Real professors are supposed to be crusty old geezers with wrinkles and nose hair, not – well. Not ridiculously pretty creatures with perfect eyebrows and soft pink mouths, standing there in neat button-up shirts with sleeve garters, for fuck’s sakes, blinking great big puppy eyes from behind ridiculous little round glasses. How could Yunlan possibly be expected to know that Professor Shen was a real honest-to-God professor when he stood there in the doorway with his neat blue tie and his earnest furrowed brow, looking like an invitation to sin?
Shen Wei understood power. It was, he thought, why he was here. Why Zhao Yunlan had asked him. Because he understood power, not just as some abstract concept, but concretely, intimately, the heavy cloak of it a familiar weight he’d carried for centuries. Shen Wei knew how to wield it, like a weapon, like a caress, and he knew how easy it was for that use to turn to abuse.
Tonight, Zhao Yunlan needed him to wield that power on his behalf. And that was the easiest thing of all. The easiest and the most dangerous.
Shen Wei brings one hand up and starts petting at Zhao Yunlan’s face, nearly poking him in the eye. Zhao Yunlan gets out his phone and shines the torch on him. Shen Wei yelps and tries to cover his eyes, knocking the phone out of Zhao Yunlan’s hand in the process. It hits the ground, clattering against something hard, and the light goes out. “Sorry,” Shen Wei says sheepishly.
A suspicion begins to dawn. “Fuck, are you drunk?”