[m] Almost Christmas means it wasn't Christmas

Vince’s response about his disinterest in dresses elicited another chuckle from Ruìsāng. “You would look so pretty in them, of course,” he commented with a solemn nod, though his expression quickly broke into an amused grin. Dresses and the like weren’t really Ruìsāng's forte, and he admittedly found little appeal in them.

Ruìsāng questioned what he truly desired from this scenario with Vince. If Vince had chosen to pull back, would Ruìsāng have felt a tinge of disappointment, or would it have stirred something else within him, something unfamiliar? His past encounters had often left him with a sense of self-disgust, an urge to scrub away the memory of fleeting touches. But with Vince, it was different. He didn’t want to erase his touches; he wanted to savour them, to explore Vince’s skin, to discover the ways he could elicit more from him.

Perhaps, Ruìsāng realised, he did know what he wanted, but admitting it was another matter.

When Vince suggested they could stay in, Ruìsāng’s eyebrows lifted in a mix of surprise and delight. “Oh?” he replied, a playful, knowing grin forming on his lips. “Am I a bad influence?” he teased, the words light but charged with an undercurrent of excitement. In one smooth motion, he moved his hand to Vince’s upper leg and effortlessly lifted him onto the counter.

The moment Ruìsāng lifted Vince onto the counter, their height dynamic shifted slightly. Vince, now slightly elevated, made a sound that was music to Ruìsāng’s ears, drawing a chuckle from him. He looked up, his gaze laced with a mixture of amusement and an intensifying desire, as he stepped into the space framed by Vince’s legs. Placing a firm hand on Vince’s upper leg, he anchored Vince against him, their proximity leaving no room for distance, no space for hesitation, unless Vince voiced otherwise.

In this charged atmosphere, it was clear that Vince had (ever so slightly) more confidence. He seemed to have found a footing in his desires, at least for the moment, as he initiated another kiss. This time, there were no lingering secrets ruining the kiss. While Ruìsāng had never explicitly revealed the breadth of his experience, he doubted it’d be a surprise. But the specifics of his past were irrelevant; his focus was solely on using his experience to envelop Vince in a wave of sensation so profound that it might just make him forget his name.

“I’ve been wanting to do this,” Ruìsāng murmured, pausing briefly to catch his breath. Then, he reached behind Vince’s neck with his free hand, drawing him in closer once again. The gesture was both a claim and an invitation. He wanted this. He’d been wanting this.

Admitting desire was akin to summoning loss. To him, love and yearning were like death on his lips. His experiences had taught him a harsh lesson: the moment he acknowledged needing someone, they would either drift away or become indifferent. This pattern had been etched into his life’s narrative, beginning with his mother’s departure, followed by the betrayal of a place he once called home, and the cold indifference of those who deemed him unworthy of their care.

Confessing a want, particularly for someone, was a monumental task for Ruìsāng. The word ‘friend’ itself barely managed to escape his lips, let alone anything deeper. To vocalise this longing for Vince, to not recoil from its truth, was an act of trust so profound that Vince might not fully grasp its meaning. Yet, understanding wasn’t necessary at this moment. Ruìsāng was aware they both carried their own scars, their own haunted pasts. Still, they were here.

Vince's words struck a chord, causing his eyebrows to arch in surprise. A soft chuckle escaped him as his hand crept higher on Vince’s leg, squeezing gently in silent agreement. He was about to respond when Vince spoke those three words:

“I’ve missed you.”

Ruìsāng wondered if anyone else ever had.

“Then, let me make it up to you,” Ruìsāng replied. “I’m here. I’m yours, however you’ll have me,” he continued, closing the gap between them once more to gently press his lips against Vince’s.

“So tell me what you want.” The words were an offer; a pledge. For Vince, Ruìsāng was prepared to offer himself in ways he had never dared before.

During their initial encounter, in Ruìsāng’s eyes, they had only touched the surface of what could be. He had been convinced back then that Vince was unsure of his desires, and Ruìsāng, already a catalogue of regrets, was determined not to become another entry in someone else’s list of regrets.

He had always been adept at distancing himself, at avoiding the deeper entanglements of the heart. But Vince, intriguingly different from those who usually caught Ruìsāng’s eye, had sparked a genuine interest in him, an unusual thirst — not just for physical intimacy.

With Vince, it wasn’t just about satisfying a fleeting craving; it was about the person himself. Ruìsāng felt his heart pounding with an intensity that was both exhilarating and unnerving. Every moment apart felt like a withdrawal, a longing to close the gap, to claim the breaths they shared.

When Vince referenced a promise, Ruìsāng’s brow furrowed in confusion. His mind raced through their past conversations, recalling moments and words exchanged. He remembered advising Vince that he deserved better, the comment about kneeling, and the irony of how their dynamics had shifted on that subject. But a specific promise? That detail seemed just out of reach.

This time, I don’t want you to hold back.

“Fuck,” Ruìsāng breathed out, the word escaping him as he leaned in to capture Vince’s lips again. The kiss was a bridge, a closing of the space between them, fueled by a need to erase any distance. One hand remained steadfast on Vince’s neck, the other gripping his upper leg, a silent yearning to draw him in even closer, to leave no room for anything between them.

Yet amidst this fervour, Ruìsāng needed clarity. “What promise? Remind me,” he asked, his voice a low murmur against Vince’s lips. If he had indeed made a promise to Vince, it mattered to him to honour it. He’d do anything.

As Vince’s words hung in the air, they took Ruìsāng by surprise, freezing him momentarily. This level of directness was something new, a departure from the usual hesitancy that characterised their earlier interactions. It was a boldness that Ruìsāng hadn’t anticipated, yet it ignited something within him, a flame that craved more of this newfound assertiveness from Vince.

With a slight pull back, Ruìsāng took a moment to gaze at Vince, his surprise morphing into a soft chuckle. He remembered urging Vince to express his desires openly, and here Vince was, doing just that, with a certainty that left no room for doubt. Despite the tremble in his voice and the shy smile, Ruìsāng sensed no pretence, no hesitation — Vince knew what he wanted.

Leaning in again, Ruìsāng’s lips found Vince’s in a kiss. His grip on Vince’s upper leg tightened, drawing him inescapably close, erasing any space that might have separated them. Part of Ruìsāng had always inclined towards caution, wanting to pace their encounters to match Vince’s comfort. But now, with Vince’s clear expression of desire, that caution melted away under the heat of his own longing. Ruìsāng hungered, yearned, and there was no longer any reason to restrain.

“You’re—” he began, his voice a husky whisper, but the words were lost as he once again sought Vince’s lips. “You’re going to kill me,” he breathed out, the statement both a jest and a raw acknowledgment of the effect Vince had on him. And Ruìsāng was willing to surrender to that fate.

“But… your wish is my command,” he murmured against Vince’s lips, his hand travelling from Vince’s neck down to his hip, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt. His fingers rested just above Vince’s hip bone, holding him close. In this moment, he was entirely Vince’s.

The sudden mention of a grandmother in such a charged moment caught Ruìsāng completely off guard. His reaction was almost comical, a single eyebrow arching slowly. The contrast between their escalating intimacy and the abrupt, quirky reminder of a grandmother was so stark, it could have been a scene straight out of an indie film.

With a groan that quickly turned into a chuckle, Ruìsāng decided to roll with the unexpected turn. “Lesson one,” he whispered, leaning in closer, as if the very air Vince breathed was essential to him. Their lips met again, and a mischievous smile played across his lips. “No grandma talk,” he teased, the smile evident in his voice.

The feeling of Vince biting his lip, an action so characteristically gentle and cautious, elicited a soft, involuntary sound from Ruìsāng. He allowed it, embraced it even — he’d allow Vince everything.

“We should take this… to the bedroom,” Ruìsāng suggested, his voice low. Though he relaxed his grip on Vince's leg, he maintained their closeness, unwilling to break away just yet. “Take this off,” he demanded with a soft pull at the other’s shirt. His words were commanding, and Vince would undoubtedly meet each of Ruìsāng's demands.

The assertive side of Vince, the one who knew precisely what he wanted and wasn't afraid to express it, was undeniably alluring to Ruìsāng. There was an undeniable charm in this newfound boldness. If Vince were to command him right now, Ruìsāng felt he would willingly acquiesce, not out of fear or obligation but driven by a genuine desire to fulfil Vince's wishes. This shift in dynamics, where Vince took charge without hesitation, was intoxicating, especially when Ruìsāng was the focus of his desire.

As Ruìsāng suggested moving their encounter to the bedroom, he noticed Vince's eyes momentarily drift towards the couch. Ruìsāng was amused by the thought. He intended to make Vince feel intensely desired, to create an experience so memorable that Vince would be emboldened to explore further, to seek more in future encounters—if there were to be any. Ruìsāng wanted this to be a moment free of regret, a memory cherished and longed for. The couch would, quite frankly, not suffice.

The question hung in the air—would it be Vince undressing again, or would Ruìsāng reveal more of himself this time? “Patience, my sweet bǎobèi,” he whispered. He leaned in, bestowing a tender kiss upon Vince’s lips. His kisses trailed Vince's jaw, then down to the sensitive skin of his neck, lingering at the junction where neck and shoulder met.

“You will get everything you’ve asked for,” Ruìsāng assured him, his breath warm against Vince's skin. He’d get even more, if he’d ask for it.

Ruìsāng was treading unfamiliar territory. When he himself had no experience, he’d been with someone a few years his senior. Ever since then, those were the people he’d go for, those who could make him forget everything but the moment. This was different. Caring for someone, guiding them gently through new experiences rather than surrendering to unbridled passion, was new ground for him. He moved with caution, mindful not to overwhelm Vince, keenly aware of the delicate balance between encouragement and pressure.

The soft whimper that escaped Vince was met with a smile from Ruìsāng, felt rather than seen against the warmth of Vince’s skin. When Vince pulled his face up, claiming his lips, Ruìsāng surrendered willingly, recognizing that they were his to claim. The request for ‘all of him’ sent a thrill through Ruìsāng, and instinctively, his hand traveled down Vince’s body. It moved down to the other’s waist, his hip, his ass, and then pulled him against himself, leaving no room between them once again.

Yet as his hand wandered and their closeness intensified, Ruìsāng realised the potential for things to escalate right there in the kitchen. That wasn't the ideal scenario, not for what he envisioned, not for the care he wanted to take with Vince. Also not for his poor groceries.

“Vince,” he said, his voice roughened with desire, a hint of urgency threading through his words. He moved his hand under Vince's leg, his other arm wrapping around Vince's waist, drawing him in even closer as he softly bit the other’s lower lip.

“If you don’t get moving now, I will carry you,” he half-threatened, half-promised. Ruìsāng’s physique, honed by regular workouts and fighting training, certainly lent credence to his ability to make good on that threat. He’d most likely make it. Probably.

It would still be safer if Vince walked.

But then he’d need to let go.

What a predicament.

The notion of carrying Vince was swiftly abandoned, thanks to Ruìsāng’s injured hand. A soft sound of frustration, a deep, resigned rumble, escaped his lips – a reaction to his own limitations. Throughout his life, Ruìsāng had been no stranger to enduring pain, to pushing through discomfort with a stoic resolve. But now, with Vince gently easing him back, he was reminded of the need for caution, despite how easy it might have been

As Vince planted a quick kiss on his lips and urged him to lead the way, a fresh grin spread across Ruìsāng’s face. Seizing Vince’s belt, he drew him close again, stepping back simultaneously. His lips reclaimed Vince’s with renewed fervour as he deftly worked to undo the belt. This was Ruìsāng’s reward, his prerogative. He deserved this moment of indulgence, this taste of what was to come. His desire was palpable, a greedy longing to have everything Vince had to offer.

With each step backward, guiding them towards their destination, Ruìsāng worked to peel away that extra layer separating them. It was a slow, deliberate undressing, an unveiling of Vince layer by layer. Their lips remained locked, a greedy, claiming kiss that spoke volumes of Ruìsāng’s intent. “I want…” he murmured into Vince’s mouth, words blurred by their closeness. “You,” he affirmed, for that was all.

Ruìsāng’s wanting was all-encompassing – a desire to explore every facet of Vince, to claim his lips, skin, body, and even his mind. He yearned to be the sole focus of Vince’s thoughts, for his name to be the only sound on Vince’s lips, for his touch to be the dream Vince chased with closed eyes. He wanted to leave his mark, both physically and emotionally.

In his pursuit of these desires, Ruìsāng was relentless.

The complexity of his emotions was as palpable as the heat of their bodies. He found himself caught in a paradoxical desire: on one hand, he longed to envelop Vince in the safety of his arms, to shield him from a world that seemed intent on inflicting pain. Yet, beneath this tender, protective urge, there was a deeper, more primal craving. It was a desire to delve into the very essence of Vince, to awaken a passion so profound that it would leave him breathless, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears as he uttered Ruìsāng's name in a fervent, desperate whisper. Ruìsāng was wholly consumed, ever insatiable, always yearning for more.

As they moved together towards the bedroom, the dance of their intertwined bodies was almost ritualistic, marked by the urgent meshing of lips and the clumsy, eager fumbling of hands. For Ruìsāng, it felt akin to a first time, a novel and exhilarating experience. His mind was awash with the intoxication of the moment, even as his experienced hands moved with a purpose. He was drowning in the desire to mark Vince, to claim him so thoroughly that anyone else who dared look upon him would instantly know to whom he belonged.

The moment they reached the bedroom, Ruìsāng's foot shot back, nudging the door open. Vince's whispered plea, “Take me. Make me yours,” was a catalyst. Groaning into the kiss, he spun them around and threw Vince onto the bed with a force that was none too gently. The landing would luckily be soft, but Ruìsāng gave Vince no time to gather his thoughts, immediately positioning himself atop him, straddling his hips. In this moment, Ruìsāng leaned in close, his breath mingling with Vince's, and whispered a single word that encapsulated the entirety of his desire, his claim, his passion.

“Mine.”

In that word lay a declaration, a promise. It was a word that spoke of possession and protection, of overwhelming desire and the promise to cherish.