#he just. unveils himself to li lianhua like that

[eirenical]

Hey, MLCB fandom. We've been bombarded with some amazing photoshoots today, and I've been losing my entire mind over them all day, so GUESS WHAT. You all get to suffer with me.

For reference, the photoshoots and edits that inspired this post: [Cheng Yi in white] [BTS video of Cheng Yi in white, starring the photographer arm that sent this whole thing down a difanghua path instead of just a fanghua path] [@difeisheng 's edit/compilation of Cheng Yi and Zeng Shunxi's parallel photoshoots] [@la-muerta's edit of the photographer arm that made that vision a reality]

(ETA: This fic has now been cleaned up and posted to AO3. You can find the new tumblr post here and the fic on AO3 here.)

I don't have extensive context for all of this, but Di Feisheng, Fang Duobing, and Li LIanhua have gone to an event of some kind.  Maybe it's Di Feisheng' gallery opening.  Maybe it's Fang Duobing unveiling a new invention at a huge conference.  It doesn't matter.  What matters is that they all go, and they all have to get dressed up, and the event lasts all evening and long into the night and they don't make it home until well after dawn.

They get home and Fang Duobing has been in these clothes for far too long now and he desperately needs to get out of them and shower off the excitement of the night.  There's too much of a buzz under his skin and he's been talking everyone's ears off the entire ride home and he's losing patience with himself, so surely the others must be losing patience with him as well.  He needs a chance to let the buzz of energy die down a little bit before he irritates the others past the point of being able to deal with it, so he heads off to the giant bathroom to do just that.

Li Lianhua is quiet.  Mellow.  He didn't get drunk, per se, but he's somewhere in the slightly buzzed vicinity; enough that he's floppy and tired and half in love with the world and just wants to be petted and held, something he'd gotten plenty of on the drive home, but he still wants more.

(If pushed, he might admit that he doesn't handle crowds well, that he hasn't done since his days as a child prodigy fell far behind him.  Crowds do nothing but intimidate him now, bring back memories he'd rather leave far in the past, but he wants to support his partners, even if he has to blur the world a little to get through doing it.)

Di Feisheng has been rigidly well-behaved and contained all night and remains so even after they get home.  He has his own childhood traumas and handles crowds as well as Li Lianhua does.  He doesn't appreciate being touched by strangers, even accidentally, but crowds are a necessity in his line of work, sometimes, and there's nothing to be done for it. Now that he's home, he should be able to relax, but he can't.  He won't be able to until the hypervigilance fades.  So, he doesn't really want to be alone, but his choices… he could join Fang Duobing, let that inane chatter wash over him along with the water from a hot shower, to take the edge off his nerves.  But he doesn't want to be naked right now, doesn't want to be that vulnerable until his he's no longer twitching at every errant sound. So he stays with Li Lianhua.  To make sure he doesn't do something stupid while impaired.  It wouldn't be the first time.

But Li Lianhua is just... wandering around the room.  He's wandering around the room and slowly undoing the buttons at his cuffs… his neck… all the way down his chest to reveal the half-sheer singlet underneath.  He's wandering the room, undoing his clothes and gently touching things like it's the first time he's ever seen them, in spite of having lived in this room already for nearly three years.

And something about that soft wonder on his face relaxes something in Di Feisheng, finally releases him from the coil of tension he's been wound around all night.  So he does what he always does when a moment means something more than it should.  He pulls out his camera and begins taking pictures.

Li Lianhua notices, of course, and his gentle meanderings start to become a little bit of a performance.  Not a true dance, he hasn't done that in years, not since—  Di Feisheng cuts off the thought before he can dwell on it for too long.  They'd both lost too much in the accident that had ended Li Xiangyi's career and turned Di Feisheng into a fugitive for a decade.  Tonight isn't about them.  It isn't about that.  It was about their Xiaobao's accomplishments, about realizing the dream they'd helped him bring to fruition together.  And right now, it's about Li Lianhua, and a dance that isn't a dance.  Here in this room is the one place Li Lianhua allows a spectre of his former self to rise, allows himself to enjoy being noticed, being watched.  Because it's them.  Because he enjoys when the two of them watch him, focus on him, blocking out everything else but the safety of the space they've carved out here together.

And so, Di Feisheng takes picture after picture: Li Lianhua at the window, staring out into the garden, Li Lianhua in the hallway, hand settled gracefully on the railing as though at a barre, Li Lianhua in bed, rolling around and rumpling up the sheets, half asleep already the moment he's supine among the blankets and pillows. 

And he sends each one of those pictures to Fang Duobing.

Even Li Lianhua manages to take one very shaky selfie of himself sprawled in their bed, rumpled and bleary-eyed and barely awake.  Di Feisheng sends that one, too.

It isn't more than a minute later when Fang Duobing comes sprinting down the hall, clad in nothing but his boxers, wet hair half in his face, as droplets of water drip down his chest.  He's holding his phone in front of himself like a talisman, eyes narrowed accusingly at Di Feisheng.

Di Feisheng simply smiles and slides onto the bed to pull Li Lianhua into his arms for a kiss.  By the time it's over, Li Lianhua is draped half in his lap and whimpering, pulling at the sleeves of his shirt as he tries to peel it off and mold himself around Di Feisheng's body at the same time.

Di Feishing looks back up… and smiles wider.  "I didn't want to you miss the show."

Moments later, he has a armful of very wet Fang Doubing toppling them all over into the blankets.

It's undignified.  It's clumsy.  It's ridiculous in so many ways—more giggling fits of laughter than moans of pleasure.  And Di Feisheng wouldn't trade it for anything.