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[supra_et_ultra]

Jiang is aware that he's always been sort of on the outside of the group, of any group, at Aglionby. He doesn't come from an up-and-coming family, like most of the Vancouver kids. He isn't white, like the rest of Prokopenko and Kavinsky's miscreants. But he is vital. He is reliable. He is dedicated to these boys.

He is aware that, in more than just what he looks like or where he comes from, he's a little outside of the group. It comes in waves, in whispers. In a tiny scowl when Skov sneers something nasty, or Swan assures that his watching Jiang at soccer practice isn't a gay thing. Jiang never says anything about it. He isn't, so it doesn't matter.

But his eyes linger. He looks at boys as much as he looks at girls, and that's probably pretty dangerous for him to do. So he's quiet and doesn't say anything about it.

Tonight, they're getting high in Kavinsky's weird in-home theater. Kavinsky has taken over three seats all to himself. Skov's wandered off to hit on Kavinsky's mom. Jiang has no idea where Swan is. But Prokopenko is nearby, half glancing toward Kavinsky's ostensibly sleeping form as if no one will notice. Jiang does. He pinches his joint between his fingers and sits down, offering it to Proko as he exhales slowly.

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[supra_et_ultra]

"Ssh," Jiang murmurs, but his smile is thick in his voice. He leans down, hips still pistoning, and scrapes his teeth against the nape of Proko's neck. He gives Proko another playful slap on the ass.

"I don't speak Ukrainian, asshole," he murmurs. "Ni yao wo shuo zhongwen ma?"

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The teeth, the tease of Jiang's breath against his neck have him moaning. He's trying to be quiet, he is. His voice catches the next time Jiang slaps his ass and it's not fucking fair how much he likes the sting of it.

"I can't-- I can't--" He hiccups on his breath, unable to get the words out. He can't speak Chinese; he isn't sure he can keep translating himself. He meant to say at least one of those. Instead his hand gropes back, pressed it over Jiang's where it's gripping his hip. Proko hopes there's finger-shaped bruises when this is over. "Shit-- shit, oh fuck," he gasps, tensing for a second when Jiang's dick does something just fucking right. Holy fuck.

"Fuck I wanna come," he whimpers.

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Jiang bites his lip for a second. He wants that too; he wants to come too, though not quite yet.

He pulls out and drags Proko around onto his back. He can't look right at him, a little embarrassed to want this so badly, but he nudges back in, wrapping Proko's legs around his hips and grabbing the other boy's hips so he can fuck into him roughly.

"Rang wo kan ni."

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"What the fuck," he gasps when Jiang just pulls out like that. Proko doesn't have a lot of time to make a full protest though because he's on his back, looking up at Jiang as he pushes close again, pushes in. His thighs tighten against Jiang's sides and he can't help the euphoric look that crosses his face.

"Oh fuck," he moans, mouth hanging open. "Fuck-- fuck, like that, like that."

He grips the pillow, the blanket, whatever the fuck he can get his hands on as he tries to keep moving, to meet every hard thrust of Jiang's hips. Proko drops one hand down to stroke his cock, needing, needing to fucking come.

Prokopenko slaps his free hand over his own mouth, struggling to shut up when his orgasm hits him, more intense than the one in the back seat.

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In that moment, Proko looks so euphoric, so blissful, that Jiang thinks he knows why Kavinsky is always looking at him.

"Holy shit," Jiang hisses. Proko makes a mess of his stomach and chest, and Jiang keeps going, desperate, straining. And watching Proko now, watching the faces he makes as he's fucked.

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He isn't sure which is better: getting fucked when he's feeling needy or getting fucked after he's come. Prokopenko moaned, voice muffled behind his hand as Jiang fucked into him, the force of it making him rock a little.

Slowly he let his hand slide away, instead trying to grab Jiang's thigh, urging him on. "Fuck you feel so good," he whimpers, voice strained as he tries to stay quiet.

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Jiang shivers and leans down, kissing Proko. It smears the mess of his come between them, but Jiang doesn't care, can't, just then. His hips are starting to lose rhythm, erratic and wild and rough. He wished he wasn't wearing the condom, but it's good for the first time.

He can feel it coming, but he tries to hold off. His lips smudge against Proko's. "Where should I come. Huh?" He pushes Proko's hair off his forehead. "Bet you'd look good with a facial."

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Proko caught Jiang's face, trying to hold him into the kiss as their bodies brushed together, lewd and slick. The question and its follow up make him moan. Well, he's been thinking all night he wants to be marked up by Jiang, right?

He nods but it takes a moment for him to manage actual words. "Yes," he gasps out. "Do it, Will."

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"Fuck," Jiang breathes. He grabs Proko's chin for a second, just holding him as he fucks into him a few more times. He's too close; it's a struggle to not come in the middle of pulling out, but Jiang manages. Manages to get the condom off. Manages to climb up onto Proko's chest.

It only takes him about two strokes before he's starting to come, painting streaks of come onto Proko's cheek and chin and mouth.

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Proko is in a daze by the time Jiang pulls out. He stares up at him, lips parted as he tries to catch his breath; he closes his eyes as soon as the first streak of come hits his cheek - he doesn't want to get it in his eyes, even if Jiang has good aim.

"Shit," he breathes. "Holy shit."

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Jiang takes a second to look at the gloss of his come on Proko's face. Then he laughs, a little breathlessly, and lets himself roll over, sitting down next to him.

He feels boneless, floating. His laughter turns into little giggles, and he shoves Proko's shoulder gently.

"Not a bad showing. You sure you've never done that before?"

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Proko just grins and looks over at him, not even trying to clean up yet. He feels a mess and he wants to linger there. "Promise," he says, feeling a little shiver inside. Shit, Jiang looks really good like that, just kind of smiling and breathless and loose. Shit.

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Jiang grins, and reaches out, ruffling Proko's hair gently. Now, in the aftermath, he waited for Proko to excuse himself, to ask for a ride, to call this whole mess of a moment off. That was fine; Jiang's used to it.

He leans over and kisses him, despite the come on his face.

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Proko leans to meet the kiss, humming quietly against Jiang's mouth. Then he gives him a light shove. "I need something to clean my face, man. Or else my eyelashes are gonna glue shut."

Never mind that Jiang had actually been quite polite in not streaking come across his eyes. Prokopenko didn't seem in a particular hurry to go anywhere.

He wonders if Jiang would say anything if he just... doesn't.

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"Shower's open," Jiang says. And all his. There's no worry about crossing the demilitarized zone that is the Jiang House.

For a moment, he lingers where he is, close to Proko, wanting to kiss him again and again. It eats through him, a vice that he can't ignore.

Finally, he nudges Proko. "C'mon. It's big enough for two."

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Prokopenko rolls his eyes, because he'd been looking for an option that doesn't involve getting up. But maybe a shower is fine. He nudges Jiang back.

"Asshole, making me walk after that." With a grunt he rolls over to get out of bed to shuffle towards Jiang's bathroom. At least he has a private one.

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Jiang follows after Proko, enjoying the view. He's such a gangly boy, for being the shortest of them, all knobby knees and long limbs and digits. Slim as a rail.

Jiang reaches out for him once they're in the bathroom, catching him around the ribs from behind.

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Proko lets himself bump backwards against Jiang, leaning into him for a moment. "C'mon, we can be all over each other under hot water," he urges. He turns his head to catch Jiang in a kiss but he ends up getting more of the corner of his mouth than full on.

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Jiang grins and nudges Proko away, then pushes his head a bit more insistently. If he doesn't pry Proko off, he won't let him go, so it's best to tussle him a little.

They slip into the shower. Jiang tends to be good in gym locker rooms, not glancing at other naked bodies. He lets himself glance now. If Proko were going to freak, he would have already, probably. So Jiang lets his eyes linger on Proko's wet skin.

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Prokopenko is far from freaking out. After he scrubs the come off his face and chest, he turns so he can lean on Jiang, wet head on his shoulder. Maybe it makes staring hard, but whatever. He's tired, okay? Fucking is serious exertion.

"Can I crash here, man?"

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More than making staring hard, it makes Jiang getting himself cleaned up pretty difficult. He doesn't really mind. He runs his fingers through Proko's damp, fair hair, tugging gently.

"Yeah," he says. "I kick a little. Just shove me out of bed if I do it too much."

And there, the unspoken question: not just crashing, but crashing in the bed with him. Staying close, bodies pressed against each other.

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Prokopenko nods. "I wiggle," he answers. "Not a lot, but when I'm falling asleep I move until I'm comfortable." He knows it can be a lot of tossing and turning before he finally settles. He grins. "You better not kick too much, man. You don't want one of these elbows in your ribs."

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Jiang grins back, a lazy sort of thing, just thinking of what sort of wiggling Proko might get up to. Maybe, they ought to sleep. There was school in the morning--Jiang never missed.

He catches Proko's arm, squeezing at his elbow, and then leans in to kiss him filthily.

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Proko is already debating not going to class. He knows Jiang would go. Maybe he can get notes or whatever. Maybe he can just stay in Jiang's bed all day and be waiting when he gets back. He grins a little at the thought but he doesn't get a chance to voice it, because Jiang is kissing him and it's so good. Proko moans quietly, tangles his fingers in Jiang's hair and grips his shoulder to keep his balance.

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If they keep going like this, they're going to fuck in the shower. Jiang has absolutely nothing against that, except he's never done it before, and he has visions of them slipping and fucking themselves up.

"C'mon," he breathes against Proko's mouth. "We can shower again, if you want. Later."