[m] Almost Christmas means it wasn't Christmas

In his youth, amidst the lessons of orphanages and the alleys of the city, he had learned a single truth: to keep something precious, one must clasp it fiercely to their heart, with the ferocity of a beast guarding its treasure. He had honed the art of claiming, fighting, gripping tightly onto what he desired, lest it be snatched from his grasp.

Now, as Vince’s arms wound around his neck with a willing surrender that was intoxicating, Ruìsāng’s response was visceral. He captured Vince’s lip between his own, the kiss deepening with a hunger that sought to consume, to claim every breath. Vince was his, pressed beneath him like a precious bloom ensnared between the pages of a well-read book. Ruìsāng craved to see him unravel, bared and bathed in sweat, trembling with desire, his lips parting only to utter Ruìsāng’s name like a sacred incantation.

Yet, the barriers of fabric between them were an insufferable restraint. His patience, once a well of restraint, now felt like a desert thirsting for rain. He remembered their first night, where he’d come undone by the touch of his own hand, the taste of this boy on his lips. His yearning had grown since, relentless and demanding.

His lips wandered, tracing a path of fervent kisses from Vince’s jaw down the column of his throat. He journeyed lower still, lips pressing with reverence along the curve of Vince’s chest, each kiss a step closer to their mutual unravelling. Ruìsāng’s hands worked to peel away the final layers of clothing until nothing remained.

A deliberate tug on his collar elicited a low chuckle from Ruìsāng. His voice, laden with desire, brushed against the other’s lips. “Patience,” he whispered, his words a paradox to the impatience within himself. Every fibre of his being screamed to turn this man face-down, to hear his name echo in cries against the sheets. Yet he resisted, not out of a belief in Vince's fragility, but from a desire to make their first time something transcendent - more than just clumsy touches and hurried friction.

But the struggle was real, palpable in every tense muscle of his body. As the final barrier of clothing fell away, discarded without ceremony, Ruìsāng sat up on the bed. His red eyes roamed over the expanse of revealed skin, a careful, appreciative survey that missed not a single detail. Slowly, he began unbuttoning his own shirt, letting it slide off his shoulders with a deliberate ease. His pants and underwear followed, leaving him as exposed as Vince. Then, he returned to Vince’s side, this time to linger there.

His hand, gentle yet deliberate, traced a path along Vince's neck, drawing him into a deep, consuming kiss. His other hand embarked on its own journey, skimming lightly down Vince's side, fingers grazing the skin with feather-like touches. They found purchase eventually, moving with a leisurely stroke, a subtle promise of what was yet to come. “No thinking. Let me know what you want,” Ruìsāng whispered against Vince's lips.

In their initial encounter, Ruìsāng had focused on making Vince feel cherished and valued. Now, he yearned to escalate the intensity. His feelings were far from feigned; as Ruìsāng's handmoved lazily and his lips claimed Vince's with a fervour that stole his breath, he realised he had relinquished the last vestiges of his restraint.

As Vince responded, a soft, rumbling hum of approval vibrated in Ruìsāng's throat. He nipped gently at Vince's lower lip, tugging at it teasingly, his touch growing increasingly deliberate. His hand moved with a controlled urgency, careful not to rush. It was essential that Vince wasn't spent too soon.

“Then come,” Ruìsāng’s voice was a low, seductive murmur, releasing Vince's lip to trail a hand down to his hip, guiding him with a firm, yet tender touch. He reclined slightly, creating space for Vince to straddle him.

Oh.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Ruìsāng as Vince’s lips traced a heated path down his neck, each kiss igniting a trail of fire on his skin. This was an unexpected turn, a departure from the mounting impatience that both of them had been simmering with. The surprise of it shattered Ruìsāng's carefully maintained composure, his fingers gripping the sheets with a restraint that was quickly fraying at the edges. Every muscle in his body tensed with the urge to flip Vince beneath him, to claim him completely in a fervent surrender to desire.

Yet, part of him yearned to prolong this. Just maybe, he could savour this slow exploration.

The experience was unfamiliar, uncharted in its pacing. They lingered on each other, their touches unhurried, as if time itself had conceded to their will. It was a journey, a leisurely exploration of sighs and gasps, of learning the subtleties of each other's responses. The teasing touches, the careful unravelling of desire, felt both tantalising and torturous. His mind was divided – one part basking in the exquisite, drawn-out pleasure, the other urging for a hastier culmination.

“Vince,” he whispered. His hand, previously anchored to the bed, now traced its way to Vince’s side, eventually settling on his hip, drawing him in with a controlled impatience. He spoke Vince’s name as if it were a prayer — devoted.

Ruìsāng’s longing was primal — a raw desire — yet interwoven with a gentler, almost poetic yearning. It was as if Vince held the power to undo him completely. He pushed against the creeping realisation that this intensity might be more than physical attraction.

This was maddeningly unfair.

When Ruìsāng spun them around, a torrent of anticipation surged within him. He had planned to tease Vince, to prolong just a bit more. But his mind had been astonishingly singular in its focus. Thoughts of reciprocation, of anything meant to please him, had simply evaporated. He was lost in the objective of evoking shivers of pleasure in Vince, his own needs secondary, nonexistent.

The sensation of Vince's lips on his skin, sent a fire through Ruìsāng's veins. Each touch was a spark, igniting deeper, more primal urges. He had to consciously anchor himself to the present, to resist the urge to let go completely, despite Vince's whispering challenge, You're holding back.

Gods, if Vince continued like this, restraint would be a forgotten concept. Ruìsāng imagined a tomorrow spent tangled in sheets, unable to get up.

A soft groan, uncontrollable and raw, escaped Ruìsāng's lips as his eyes locked onto Vince’s.

"But I want you feral."

In that moment, Vince was an enigma — radiating both salvation and destruction. The touch of his lips on Ruìsāng's skin was both a balm and a blaze, each touch a question that probed the depths of Ruìsāng's restraint. How long could he play this game before succumbing to the overwhelming urge to claim his prize? Vince's lips, tracing a trail of fire along Ruìsāng's skin, left him shuddering with desire, teetering on the edge of a precipice between ecstasy and ruin.

Ruìsāng's resolve shattered, crumbling like ancient walls besieged by relentless forces.

“Fuck,” the word barely escaped his lips, a whisper trembling with ecstasy, pleasure, and an unbridled yearning for more.

Feral.

The word echoed in his mind, a siren call to unleash the unrestrained part of himself. He’d show Vince the raw, unfiltered essence of feral.

His hand weaved into Vince's green hair, a moment of appreciation for the deity of desire before him. Vince, in that instant, was the embodiment of every unspoken yearning, a vision of allure that Ruìsāng almost wished he could preserve forever. But such thoughts were for another time.

In a fluid motion, Ruìsāng pulled Vince up, closer, ever closer, until his hand rested possessively on Vince’s waist. With a swift, calculated move, he flipped their positions, his knees pinning one of Vince's legs, hooking the other over his shoulder in a bold, commanding gesture.

“Feral,” Ruìsāng echoed, his voice a low, hoarse rumble, laced with a scoff that betrayed his hunger.

“Don’t regret it,” he murmured against Vince's neck as he bent forward, his lips tracing the delicate skin. His hand wandered, exploring the curve of Vince's ass before lingering at the prize.

Ruìsāng had envisioned a different scenario, one where gentleness reigned. He had imagined leading Vince to the pleasure with a tender touch, with lips meeting in delicate desire. His plan had been to give, to show Vince a world beyond raw, desperate need — a world free of bruises and marks.

But Vince, with his insatiable impatience, had other ideas. Ruìsāng had intended to tease out this longing, to playfully fan the flames until Vince himself voiced his need. Yet Vince had shattered that plan, voicing a desire for a passion that was feral. Again and again, Vince’s requests were clear — he craved to be consumed, to be pressed as intimately as a treasured flower between the pages of a book.

It was something beautifully simple, yet profoundly divine — to desire, and to be desired.

“You foolish man,” Ruìsāng whispered. His lips found the tender junction where Vince’s neck met his shoulder, a kiss there like a seal of their unspoken pact. Then, ascending once more, he claimed Vince’s lips.

With a squeeze of his hand, Ruìsāng drew Vince even closer, nothing between them as he pressed against the other. A soft groan escaped him as his hand reached to the side of the bed, fingers deftly opening what he sought. In that moment, he pressed Vince deeper into the bed, claiming every breath, every whisper, every inch of his being with a possessiveness that left no space for anything but them.

The initial intent of gentleness had vanished. In the closeness, Ruìsāng’s world narrowed to the feel of Vince beneath him. Each inch of Vince’s skin under his touch became a conquered land, a wordless declaration of possession. And as their bodies met, it was more than desire; it was a silent claim, as fierce as it was undeniable. He looked into golden eyes, before letting the world fall away.

- - -
The room settled into stillness, punctuated only by their breaths slowing in unison. Propped on one elbow, Ruìsāng’s gaze lingered on Vince with a sense of possessive contentment, a feeling so profound it nearly eclipsed the unnamed emotion stirring within him, an emotion he wasn’t yet prepared to unravel.

With a tenderness that contrasted sharply with their previous fervour, Ruìsāng reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from Vince’s face. When Vince's eyes met his, there was relief in finding no trace of regret in them.

This was usually the moment when Ruìsāng would detach, rise to shower away the remnants of the night, battling the growing disgust at his own actions. But now — though thoughts of preparing a shared bath flitted through his mind — he found himself unexpectedly content to linger.

Ruìsāng was keenly aware that the next step should be to rise, prepare a soothing bath, and ensure Vince received the care and comfort he deserved. He felt a compelling urge to tend to these tasks, a desire to do everything just right. Deep down, he might have understood his own motivations, his reasons for this diligence, but he chose not to dwell on them.

Yet, as Vince shifted, resting his head against Ruìsāng's chest, a wave of warmth and contentment washed over him, anchoring him to the bed. He experienced a brief moment of surprise, his body freezing as he blinked in astonishment. But the moment quickly passed, and he found himself enveloping Vince in a gentle embrace. His arms wrapped securely around the man, drawing him closer, as he tenderly pressed a kiss into Vince's green hair. For a moment, he lingered, before he settled back into the pillows.

The thought of closing his eyes flitted through his mind. There was no real harm in it, was there? He was comfortable. With Vince in his arms, the world and its demands seemed distant, less pressing.