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harucchi-19d · 3 years

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Qiucheng, Highschool Deliquents AU Vocabulary, moodboard and other pertinent author notes on AO3

Every school-aged runt and their cousins knew Qiu as the unparalleled best brawler in that part of town. That he’d beat every single other brat he went against. With time though, he’d gotten bored. Trained more, got into less fights. Some said he'd lost his edge, others that the blood-lust had gone down the drain. It wasn't exactly a small city, but everyone knew of each other's lives ― if not in person, then by hear-say.

Every school-aged runt and their cousins knew Qiu as the unparalleled best brawler in that part of town. That he’d beat every single other brat he went against. With time though, he’d gotten bored. Trained more, got into less fights. Some said he'd lost his edge, others that the bloodlust had gone down the drain. It wasn't exactly a small city, but everyone knew of each other's lives ― if not in person, then by hear-say.

It was well outside of his control. Qiu got intrigued. Then excited. They were from rival high-schools, was what he got from the guys on the way to class, but that didn’t spike his interest any. What called to him were people who were the real deal. Who took martial arts seriously. Not some dull as hell gang war between dumbass kids.

In high spirits, Qiu wrapped his knuckles and went to goad this He Cheng into a duel. He expected to had a good fucking time.

When the bell rang, Qiu was leaning on his bike outside the building. Compared to his, this school was top-notch, just from the looks of it. No chipped paint, no bleached hair or pierced ears, formal uniform spotless and pressed. He had no problem asking around until someone finally pointed out his mark, in the thick of the crowd of perfectly put-together students. A stranger he’d never seen before should’ve been indiscernible from the mass. And yet.

It wasn't because this guy unexpectedly came from old money that Qiu would discredit him. He wasn't one to judge. Plus, he had to give it to him: he looked the part. As tall as Qiu, not quite as broad or as thick. A panty-dropper, for sure. Chalk-white button-down under the dark blazer and a striped skinny-tie to match. His jet-black hair was combed back, showing off his unreal face. He had the eyes of a mourner.

Qiu'd had passing thoughts of guys being objectively good-looking before, but never been consciously attracted to one. He wasn't about to make a fuss about it, though. It was what it was. He'd known he liked full glossy lips, flowing hair and a nice rack. Now apparently he could go for people who looked like they could step on him and make him like it, too. He'd always been fast to adapt.

At first, He Cheng had gone easy, not lifting a finger to even defend himself, and Qiu had been immediately and soul-shatteringly disappointed. Maybe his man was a weakling, when push came to shove. All the bark and none of the bite.

But after getting a gauge on Qiu's default strength, He Cheng began fighting back. Qiu hadn’t been expecting the fast jab or the power behind it. He spat a clot of blood and a molar, and grinned up at a stony-faced He Cheng. A deity looking down on a mere mortal.

“Cheng, right? Now that’s what I was told about. Knew y’were holdin’ out on me.”

“Do you wish to fight, or to keep having a conversation?”

Even his condescending tone was nice. Yeah, Qiu was definitely interested. In more ways than he'd originally been counting on. “What, can’t do both?”

“I prefer one or the other.”

With a jerk, Qiu jumped to his feet. He must’ve look crazed, grinning widely, teeth splashed with red. “Show me what ya got.”

Cheng had deservingly won their first match, hands-down. Qiu wasn’t about to make any excuses for himself, but he’d been fucking bewitched. The way he looked, the way he moved ― Cheng was fucking mesmerizing.

The second one, it'd been a tie. By the third, Qiu had gotten a hang of his steps and his breathing and managed to wear Cheng out long enough he could put him to the ground. That time, they got so worked up they ended up jerking off together.

He hadn't needed to ‘get used to’ his newfound attraction but he did all the same. It wasn't a surprise that he popped a boner during one of their bouts, when he only had eyes for ― and hands on ― Cheng for so fucking long. He felt sore and run-over and he'd never been this thrilled. There was a cut on his cheek. It stung, so he thumbed over it with a lick of spit.

Cheng's eyes followed him as he shook dust from his jacket. There was nothing to be done about the dirt and the specks of gore, but he could well enough afford his cleaning services. Qiu shrugged off his tee and mopped at the pools of sweat on his temple, the valley between his pecs. Then he reached for the energy drink they'd brought. All the while, Cheng kept staring.

"Wha’? Wanna go again?" Qiu asked, mouth of the bottle on his lips.

"Yes," Cheng said, guarded. "I believe I do." He took the bottle from him and swallowed a mouthful before setting it down. Then he peeled the shirt from Qiu's hand and dragged it with care down his chin, catching the droplets there. On his shoulders. When he put it to his stomach, Qiu's muscles flinched reflexively and Cheng stopped, waiting. He was looking at him steadily. It was touch-and-go.

Qiu reached out and pressed on Cheng’s hand. His clothes were forgotten under their feet as they shuffled, breath mingling, hands wandering. They got right to it, just flicked buckles open, unzipped and pulled their cocks out. Qiu’s mouth went slack as Cheng gathered their dicks and curved neatly to dribble a dollop of saliva onto them, slicking up flesh. All the attention he could spare went to watching, but the sensation still made him float away and lose track. Cheng's hands were fucking pretty: trimmed nails and far-reaching fingers and implacable knuckles. They were bloody and for sure smarted when he used his hands so roughly.

He held on to Cheng’s exposed forearms, locked-on to the snug tube Cheng's hands formed around them, his jerking motion unfamiliar yet addicting. Wanted to ask if this was how Cheng jerked himself, if he did it everyday, if he'd like some company sometime. But Cheng squeezed and stroked almost cruelly, and as Qiu bit his own cheek his mind went blank.

It became a thing. After every exchange of blows, they went for a round of another sort, working out the adrenaline by messing around.

Every time, it escalated.

They were banged-up to hell and back when Cheng pulled him by the lapels and crushed their lips together in a kiss for the first time. Like a solid punch to Qiu’s face with his: front teeth knocking, noses mashing. He dropped his unlit cigarette, no fucks to give, and held on to Qiu by the hair. It was longer this year than he used to keep it and Qiu was glad he'd let it grow out. If he had the buzzcut right now he wouldn’t be able to experience being manhandled and tossed around by Cheng. Not like this.

He didn’t wait for an engraved invitation. Stuck his tongue out of his own mouth and into Cheng’s. The risk of a mauling was totally worth it, he thought, palming at those wiry thighs before gripping the full ass he kept hidden underneath his trousers. Just as sudden, Cheng turned his face away, spit linking them. Qiu loosened his hold but didn’t quite back away.

“Change yer mind?” he checked.

Authoritarian, Cheng gripped his chin and said, “Out.”

Without even getting what was being demanded of him, Qiu obliged. He showed Cheng his tongue and let him look his fill.

“Excellent,” he praised, and Qiu shivered.

From the side to the tip, Cheng lipped softly at him. Then tilted and latched onto the metal bar. He pulled with his teeth before starting to suck on the marble and Qiu groaned, hips chasing after some sort of friction.

Cheng pulled back with a nip, lids heavy. The sunset made his eyes fucking glitter. “I think we’ll get along rather well,” he said. “Don’t you?”

Qiu started smoking from hanging out with Cheng all the time, was a fact. The scent emanating from Cheng got to him first, then the taste on his lips. He didn’t mind. Qiu’d always thought he’d kick it young, one way or another. He had a custom motorcycle he'd glued and taped together on his own ― with scraps and findings and the little money he made freelancing odd-jobs.

He’s always liked to burn.

Cheng was a filthy rich son-of-a-bitch and had been spoon-fed bear paws and thousand-year-old eggs since he wore diapers, but he wasn't like those other entitled dickwads around. He crammed for his grades, bled for his name on the streets, worked after school so he wouldn’t have to depend on his old man more than he really had to.

He got Qiu a gig at the same place and they began riding to-and-fro together. A small but fancy bar, just a few blocks away from either of their turfs. While Cheng mixed drinks, Qiu controlled the in-and-out. There weren't that many troublemakers in such a place and, with the two of them, there wasn't anything they wouldn’t be able to handle.

In the early stages, Cheng had kept on offering to take his dad’s car, make it fifty-fifty at least. But Qiu had waved the idea away each time. Instead, he’d agreed to let Cheng put in the cash for gas and maintenance. He'd rather drive his baby, and it wasn't like Cheng was opposed to having him between his legs or grinding against his ass.

Qiu was a ride-or-die kinda guy. He got the feeling Cheng was, too.

First time they dowright fucked, Qiu had lost their previous fight. As per the deal they’d agreed on, whoever happened to lose had to put-out, if they were in the mood to go there. Whatever the winner wanted was game.

“Next time you come looking for me,” Cheng had whispered in his ear, “bring a condom.”

Qiu did. Took it out of his pocket and threw it at Cheng's feet. “I brought one. Now what?

Cheng let go of his cigarette and showed him what.

Sometimes, they didn’t have a rubber. Or time ― or the patience ― for the prep. Sometimes, the place was just not right. So mostly they settled for rubbing each other off. It was quick, efficient and left no evidence. Cheng had a dirty mouth on him too, lips just made for it. A contradiction, what with his prim and proper way of speaking. The gap drove Qiu up the hill with arousal.

This once, he pushed Qiu up against the brick wall, set his knees on Qiu’s shoes, and went to town. Kept Qiu’s arms secured behind his back with his own shirt to torment his pecs by chewing on them, before he switched gears and went for his sack. Clutched his balls both in warning and to impart pleasure. He always went all out, gave Qiu no breaks. Gulped him down to the root and swallowed, nostrils flaring. Qiu could feel him fighting his gag-reflex, pushing against it each time instead of pulling back. His cock hit the back of Cheng’s throat and Qiu went blind for a second or two.

Qiu wanted to stroke his cheek, pet his head, feel himself sliding down that sweet, narrow channel. He strained against the restraints and nudged up just to be slammed back, hard. The hint of teeth was probably supposed to dissuade him from trying that move again but it only had the opposite effect. He felt sizzling at the core, about to combust. Cheng was the match, was the gasoline. He’d be the death of him one day, Qiu had no doubts about that.

That day wouldn’t be today, though. Or it wouldn't take, at least. As Cheng drank him down, he felt like he'd been force-fed to a cannon rather than shooting one himself. Greedy, Cheng didn’t let go until Qiu was wrung dry and slipped from his mouth. He licked his hand like a fucking jungle cat and glided up, stepping Qiu’s legs aside to slip between them. Pressed him flat against the frayed wallpaper and kissed the shit out of him, slipping him some tongue and with it a glob of Qiu’s own come. Qiu gulped it down and clung to him with lips and teeth, damning the shirt he really didn’t want to rip but would.

Thankfully, Cheng took pity on his desperation and wrenched it out all the way. His erection was a hard and insistent line against Qiu’s front, mouth-watering and jolting for his touch.

Set loose, Qiu charged.

They were well matched. Qiu had a little more muscle on him, Cheng was lighter on his feet. While Qiu acted on natural gut instinct, Cheng relied on proper technique. There were wins and draws for both sides pretty equally.

Qiu didn’t think they really minded losing, either. Getting fucked by Cheng ― mouth, ass, whichever ― was as good as getting to fuck him. Their arrangement was an ideal one. He got to have a go at the strongest opponent he’d ever come across, which kept him motivated to hone his own skills. Got to get his rocks off, hard and rough and so fucking good. And also got to just hang out with a fellow shit-stirred. One who was up to just chilling and enjoying the quiet, too. He had his crew, all buddies of his, and classmates he could call friends easily enough. But no one measured up to Cheng.

They got each other in a way that Qiu didn’t struggle to put words to because he didn’t bother trying. It was the flip-side of troublesome. He felt like they could stay the way they were even years from now. When they were done with school, going job-hunting, leaving home.

One evening, after class, they went for a joyride on Qiu's bike. Weather was too nice not to. They got down somewhere arid and got down. By the time they were done, his knuckles were raw and his shoulder felt dislocated. Cheng would have to set it right again first, if he wanted Qiu to stitch his lip and wrap his ribs.

They weren’t in any shape to get down in other ways, so they dropped by the pharmacist to get what they needed and squatted on the usual abandoned storage-unit to lick their wounds. Qiu took the chance to finally introduce Cheng, only used to high-grade baijiu ― he’d hightailed it out of his house with a bottle of Maotai under his arm, for fuck’s sake ― to drinking cheap beer. The peeved faces he tried hard not to show were fucking hilarious.

Content and carefree, Qiu stole Cheng’s cig and flicked the ash into the empty can at his side. Little, quiet moments like this really were his most favorite.

Once, Cheng stopped right when it was getting really fucking good and Qiu felt like he could seriously fucking kill him. Then Cheng dropped his pants and bent over and Qiu short-circuited.

“Couldn’t wait for your turn?” he joked, voice uneven.

The come-hither eyes Cheng shot him gave him an answer where he wasn’t expecting one. Cheng was damn serious about it, too. Scrambling to get out of his uniform top and socks, Qiu took a rubber from their stock, ripping the casing with his teeth. He rolled it down his lenght as he used the excess slick it left on his fingers to open Cheng for him.

“So fucking tight every single time. Always feels like you’ll chop my dick off, keep me inside you like a dragon hoardin’ his gold.” Bending over, he spat right on that pink flushed hole and pushed it all in to spark an intoxicating sound out of Cheng.

“Your cock is nothing that valuable,” Cheng panted, rolling back against his hand. He reached down between his legs and opened himself up more, stretching his hole for Qiu.

“You sure ‘bout that?” Qiu needled, trading fingers for dick. Cheng's moaning was glorious music to his ears. “‘Cause it sounds to me like ya treasure it.”

Cheng gripped him tight in answer, hands feeling up his ass. Making him still and take only whatever Cheng deigned give him, as he fucked himself back on his cock like he couldn't stand not to.

“See? Fuck, wish you could look at yourself. Fuckin’ beautiful.”

Tenacious, Cheng kept at it. He swiveled just enough to get a look at him. “Why would I want to look at myself when I’d rather stare at you?”

Qiu's hips stuttered. Silver fuckin’ tongue. He dislodged Cheng's hands and hoisted one of his legs up so he could screw him from behind. From in-between those legs, Qiu got in as deep as he was long. He felt it as Cheng's whole body trembled. Saw his sweaty palms slipping, as he tried to get a grip so he could return his thrusts.

Still trying to boss him around, Qiu mused, as he braced himself and used his elbows to hook under Cheng's knees, picking him up off the ground and keeping him impaled on his dick.

“Ah-Qiu―” Cheng groaned, hands flying to get a hold behind Qiu's neck, finally letting himself fucking go. The grin on Qiu’s face was that of a madman as he brought Cheng's thighs farther apart. Exploited his upper body strength and made use of gravity to the utmost, hoisting Cheng up on his cock before loosening the hold to let him fall back on it.

Cheng didn't squirm, didn't fight it. Just drove his short nails into Qiu's scalp and held on for the ride. Putting their faces side-by-side, Qiu took in every hint of perspiration that popped up. Every string of saliva that formed when Cheng's lips parted, his noises low and close-lipped like dirty little secrets.

“Love to watch you, see you really enjoyin’ it,” he told Cheng, nuzzling at his hairline. He smelled like clean sweat and warmed-up skin. Knew Qiu liked to smell him, not that expensive-as-shit stuff he wore. “You look amazin’.”

Cheng's sounds got more urgent. He had a thing for his voice, Qiu knew. The way he spoke, too. Growing up all princely made him crave a bit of rough. The fighting, the fucking. Qiu's whatever ― his everything, really ― was right up his alley. But Qiu didn't have any grounds to lord that over him. Not when all of Cheng got him going. In lots of ways, and like nothing else.

Since Cheng was all mellow in his arms, he took his chance. Pushed Cheng back on the empty stand and gave him a hand, rubbing that flushed cock of his while wrapping the other firmly around his graceful neck. He gave him a squeeze in warning and, at Cheng's unhesitant nod, tightened his grip.

He fucked Cheng into the sturdy shelf, withholding air from him as he pumped pre-come out through his tiny cockhole. Swabbed his calluses on that delicate and sensitive area, over and over, til Cheng started to convulse. Slowly and very carefully, Qiu allowed him full-breathing range again, stopping himself from chasing after his own high so Cheng wouldn’t be overwhelmed in a bad way.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” Cheng croaked.

Qiu jerked his shoulder. “I like to read.”

Cheng’s smile was asymmetrical and amused. “I suppose being a bookworm has its many benefits.”

“Guess it’s served me well enough.”

With a hum, he mouthed at Qiu's neck, starting to swivel his hips again. “What I meant,” he breathed, “was that I was the beneficiary, and you the benefactor.”

Qiu chuckled. “That good?”

“Let me show you.”

His full smile made shivers crawl up Qiu’s spine, made his cock twitch. He doubted he’d be able to ride his bike come morning and he was so fucking whipped already he didn’t even care.

Biting at the bone of his hip, Qiu took his mouth off Cheng. He was trapped there and happily so, Cheng’s leg locked over his back. “You holdin’ back or somethin’?”

Cheng was breathing so slow and steady he looked like he was meditating. “Just contemplating how much I would like to come inside you.”

“Ya can,” Qiu huffed. “My mouth,” he offered, prodding at Cheng’s cockhole with his pierced tongue, “or anywhere else ya want.”

Previously spaced-out, Cheng’s gaze sharped at the proposition. “I’m afraid I’m not patient enough at the moment to wait that long.” He sighed, pulling at Qiu’s hair with a sharp tug.

It felt like a reprimand, for reminding him of what he couldn't have. Qiu wouldn’t mind getting a dressing-down or even a hands-on scolding from Cheng every now and then. But this time he hadn’t put the idea out there just to taunt. Never letting go of his dick, Qiu got up from his kneeling position at Cheng’s feet. He licked around the shell of Cheng's ear as he made to slip his underwear down his ass. “I got prepped before comin’ to see you,” he confessed.

He could almost hear a vein popping and barked out a peel of laughter as he was pulled hastily to the side of the shipping crate Cheng had been sitting on. The laugh teetered into a hiss and broke off on a grunt as Cheng said fuck it to getting undressed and just nudged his boxers to the side, starting to guide himself inside the wet hot hole twitching for him. Turning the tables, Qiu pushed Cheng away and to the grimy floor, who clicked his tongue at the state of it but didn't get up.

“Lemme borrow this,” Qiu said, grabbing the stiff cock and splattering it generously with saliva. After settling with his back to Cheng, he sat down, cursing.

“I'm afraid I can't let you take it home, even if you're that attached to it.”

“Too fuckin' bad. We'd have lotsa fun together.”

They wound up on the floor, screwing like dogs in the throes of heat, growling and snarling. Scratching at each other. Getting all kinds of unwanted crustiness under their fingernails. Screwed right into the ground, with pointy pebbles poking the side of his face and Cheng still in him, Qiu had never felt more alive.

“Ah-Qiu.”

Qiu shifted on his seat. He’d texted Cheng, letting him know he was done with those books he’d lent him. Could drop by on the way and give them back. He’d gotten a thank you back, followed by tidy directions. Had just gotten there, bike running and helmet still on.

“Hey,” he greeted, and then noticed the leash in Cheng’s hand and the little guy it was attached to. “An’ hello to you too.”

After squatting down a respectful distance away, he offered his palm. The little guy was well-mannered, for a slobbering pup with paws too big for his size. Trotted clumsily from his spot and sniffed lightly. Content with what smells he’d found, he gave him a lick. Then his tail began swaying as he looked at Qiu expectantly.

Cheng seemed impressed. “Gengi usually takes his time to get acquainted with someone before dolling out affection.”

“I’m a dog kinda guy. These fellas can tell that shit. Gut instinct, sixth sense. Whatever ya wanna call it.”

“Care to accompany us? I was about to take him for a walk.”

Lap full of dog, Qiu grinned from where he was giving Gengi a belly-rub. “Not the other way ‘round?”

“I suppose it’s just as true,” Cheng conceded. “Would you like to do the honors?” He offered Qiu the leash.

“Think he fell enough f’r me already?”

“How could he not?”

If he’d had doubts before, they were gone. Qiu wanted to kiss Cheng stupid. Wanted to walk his fucking cute dog with him. To hoist Cheng onto the bike and elope. Just get up on it and drive. End up wherever, when the fuel eventually ran out on them. As long as Cheng got his six, he’d cover his hide right back. Qiu was a simple guy. It was pretty dumb-kid shit, but he wouldn’t feel the need for much else.

Waiting for him to catch up, Cheng glanced over. And Qiu stopped day-dreaming about this murky possibility of a future and reached for the one right in front of him.

#Highschool Deliquents AU #qiucheng #chengqiu #fanfiction #fanfic #19 days #he cheng #brother qiu

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