Xiao Xingchen carries, in his mind, a catalogue of the sounds his partners make for him.

His reoccurring favorites are intimate, like Song Lan’s wheezing laugh when humor catches him off-guard or the disoriented kittenish groaning that signals Xue Yang has begun to wake up in the morning.

But the best sounds require orchestration or luck or perseverance to drag loose. For example, the noises Xiao Xingchen waits for now while reclined on his pillows with his dick in hand—watching his boyfriend punishment-fuck his other boyfriend—are rare and to be savored.

Xue Yang is usually loud during sex. He moans, yelps, runs his mouth, curses and shouts, cajoles and taunts. Getting him *past* the loudness is the challenge. Pain alone won’t work—he lets that out in shouts and screams.

He needs to feel out of control; he needs to be scared.

Song Lan has Xue Yang flattened immobile on his front, caged beneath his bulk and forced open on his cock. His knees rest outside Xue Yang’s thighs, ankles crossed over his calves.

One big hand splays over the side of his skull to pin his face to the mattress, hair askew and tangled.

The position had kept him from kicking and biting while Song Lan stuffed him full of dick after the most cursory prep imaginable, but he’d stopped struggling ten minutes in.

His drool-glistening mouth can’t close under the pressure on his jaw and cheek. Now, after a solid half hour of machine-steady fucking, he lays limp and helpless with a distressed, blank stare.

As if he understands he has no choice in the matter.

If he wasn’t clutching their signal bell in his hand, XXC wonders if he’d find that alarming. Instead he’s imagining the sight Song Lan must be appreciating when he glances down: the slicked, swollen, stretched-to-clinging hole swallowing the first two thirds of his fat cock.

His self-control is admirable.

Song Lan lifts his eyes to Xiao Xingchen and raises a brow for permission to go further.

When he nods his agreement, Song Lan bends forward and shifts his grip from Xue Yang’s skull to scoop underneath his chest—barring his forearm across his collarbones and the base of his throat.

Xue Yang lets out a reedy strangled whimper that shoots a bolt of cruel lightning down Xiao Xingchen’s spine.

“I’ve been going shallow so far,” Song Lan murmurs against Xue Yang’s ear. “But I’m bored of being nice, if you’re just going to lie there and cry about it either way.”

“Nn,” Xue Yang manages—the start of a plea or a denial he has no words for.

Song Lan clamps his teeth over a mouthful of neck muscle and drives his hips forward so deep and hard the impact sounds more like a punch than a slap.

Xiao Xingchen watches with avid interest as Xue Yang’s eyes roll back and his jaw drops on a silent, miserable howl.

He knows Xue Yang doesn’t like taking Song Lan’s entire dick—but he also doesn’t *not* like it.

In a moment of sex-drunk honesty Xue Yang had once said it felt like he was getting fucked in his throat from the wrong end. If he was on his back with his hips up, the bulge would be visible in his lower belly.

Song Lan snarls against his shoulder and begins to hammer at him with coring, merciless thrusts. Xue Yang chokes, gagging on air. Tears flood his lashline and roll across the bridge of his nose while he stares up at Xiao Xingchen like a martyr.

The first real sound that escapes from between his slack lips is guttural, off-beat. Xiao Xingchen shivers and jerks himself quicker, meaner.

The punched-out grunts Xue Yang makes as Song Lan rails him—too far up inside, fast and brutal—are mindless, soft, and involuntary.

Xiao Xingchen burns with adoration, glories in the trust of being allowed to arrange and listen to his destruction.

“Beautiful,” he praises.

Xue Yang goes rigid, his eyes squeezing shut for the blissfully awful shock of his orgasm. Song Lan groans at the pressure but doesn’t stop fucking, sweat dripping from the fringe of his hair.

Xue Yang sobs out something that sounds like, “can’t, hurts,” and XXC climaxes in three long pulses over his own knuckles.

Song Lan pulls out of his ass, jamming his hand between their bodies to jerk himself rapidly until he finishes in stripes over his thoroughly wrecked hole.

Xiao Xingchen closes his eyes and listens to the sweet hitches of Xue Yang’s panting as he transitions seamlessly into actual tears—from adrenaline, relief, raw intensity.

Another favorite sound; another intimate gift he's earned.

Song Lan hums a warm, comforting bass note; the sheets rustle as he gathers Xue Yang into his arms. Xiao Xingchen smiles, rolling into the center of the mattress to press a kiss against the first salt-slick skin his lips can reach.

A perfect night, he thinks.

[fin & hope y'all liked this rambling porn adventure ft. xy sex crying, sl being too big in every sense, and xxc as a dedicated curator of fuck-sounds]