Behind the Scenes

Chapter 1: Collision Course

[Episode 1: the photoshoot announcement]

It's nothing, that first glance.

Almost nothing.

Last year's Campus Moon and his friends are looking down from the balcony as a photoshoot field trip is announced to the new crop of Suns and Moons. Ming's glance skims over the trio and past them, then swiftly back again.

Pha he recognizes at once, of course, from the halls of their high school and the photos in Wayo's lovingly curated shrine to unrequited love. And the other two...

"The guys with Pha are Kit and Beam, right?" he asks Yo. He continues to gaze up at them as Yo confirms it, thinking that Beam's dimples befit his name and that Kit is adorably small but handsome—no, cute—no, handsome—no, he's both and how is that possible?

Ming drops his gaze and continues teasing Yo, but not before he sees Kit incline his head just a fraction, enough to make the soft, dark forelock of his hair fall across his perfect brow.

Haughty little P'Kit, acknowledging Ming's stare.

~

[Episode 2 - lunch break for the Suns & Moons]

The line of Suns and Moons queuing up for lunch is long, so Ming ducks into the corridor with a quick restroom break in mind. But as he rounds the corner toward the men's room—his attention admittedly more on his phone messages than his destination—he collides with another student hard enough to send them both staggering against the wall, clutching at one another for balance.

Ming has just opened his mouth to apologize when he realizes two things: The air is filled with vicious curses and his arms are full of Kit.

P'Kit.

"—dimwit oaf of a—"

P'Kit, his weight half supported by Ming and half by the wall.

"—clumsy fucking buffalo—"

P'Kit, angry and off balance, flushed and gorgeous.

"—thundering asshole of a giant—"

P'Kit seething, almost spitting in his rage.

"—goddamn blind, lumbering mmmppphhh—"

P'Kit, silenced by Ming's mouth as the Moon of Engineering yanks him closer and proceeds to kiss him as though both their lives depend on it.

Ming can't begin to explain why he does it or why Kit allows it. Allows? No, Kit glories in it. After a single frozen second of disbelief, Kit comes to furious life in Ming's arms and climbs him like a fucking tree, wrapping his legs around Ming's waist and clenching both fists in Ming's hair as he rage-kisses him so hard that Ming tastes blood in his mouth. His own blood? Kit's? Ming doesn't know and doesn't care. Ming has just discovered that kissing Kit is his life's work, and by god he means to do it well.

He thought he understood kissing. After all, he's experienced. Ming's had first kisses and last kisses, puppy-love kisses and sex kisses, little pecks in public and passionate moaning kisses in the throes of climax. Hundreds of kisses. Maybe thousands.

But he's never had Kit's kisses and oh god, oh sweet god, holy fucking god almighty, Kit's kisses put every other kiss to shame.

Kit is still incandescent with rage. Ming can feel it in the coiled tension of Kit's slender body, taste it in the coppery flavor of Kit's tongue, hear it in the half-growl, half-moan he utters as Ming presses him more firmly against the wall. If anything, Kit grows even angrier as they continue to kiss. Kit bites. Kit scratches. Kit even hits him once, a small hard fist smacking Ming between the shoulder blades. But when Ming raises his head, certain that the wallop is Kit's signal to cease and desist, Kit seizes hold of his hair again to draw Ming back where he belongs.

"Don't you dare stop," Kit hisses.

"P'Kit—"

"Stop and I'll hurt you."

"KitKat," Ming groans against his mouth. Kit growls in earnest at that but Ming doesn't mind. Already he understands that a riled Kit is a passionate Kit.

Afterwards, Ming wonders what would've happened next if they hadn't been interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Surely they wouldn't have fucked in a public hallway in broad daylight. Surely not.

Well. Maybe if P'Kit had begged him to.

But the question is moot, because they do hear those footsteps and they scramble madly to separate themselves. Ming drops Kit back onto his own two feet again, Kit yanks his rucked-up shirt down, and Ming takes three hasty steps sideways to bend over a nearby water fountain, where he gulps water like a parched man at a desert oasis. When he risks a quick glance at Kit he sees that the other boy is kneeling, untying one shoe with a yank so he can be observed innocently tying it when their classmates round the corner.

It's no coincidence that both of them have chosen positions that help hide a raging hard-on.

"There you are!" exclaims a familiar voice. It's Pha, with Beam close behind. "Come on, Kit, we're going to bring lunch to Yo."

Kit keeps his head bent over his shoe. "Why the hell does it take three people to carry one lunch?"

"Two people," Beam corrects him. "Pha is too nervous to do it himself."

"Oh, all right," Kit grumbles. "Chickenshit bastard."

Ming doesn't dare look at them any longer for fear of drawing attention to himself, so he straightens up and strides toward the men's room as quickly as his aching balls will allow.

He's back in the practice room in time to see the Wild Doctor Gang spoiling Yo rotten with a hand-delivered lunch and pink milk. He hangs back till they walk away—and if he harbors a special appreciation of that view after having cupped Kit's perfect ass in his own two hands, well, that's his little secret, isn't it? God knows Yo is too preoccupied to notice.

~

[Episode 2 - after Sun & Moon dance practice]

It's dark by the time they emerge from practice, but not too dark to see a tall figure leaning against a nearby pillar. Yo stops dead in his tracks, Ming halting beside him.

"I think he's been waiting for you," Ming says softly, giving Yo a little push in Pha's direction. "Go get lucky."

He hears Yo's yelp of dismay as he veers off but chooses to ignore it. He tells himself it's simply to clear the way for his friend, who needs to man the hell up and make a serious play for his crush at long last.

It's pure coincidence that Ming's new path takes him toward a small figure standing motionless in the shadows across the courtyard.