Work Text:
Shang Qinghua is not cut out for-- this. This ghost hunting thing. Any of this, actually! He’s cut out for sitting around and typing and occasionally standing up and eating. He’s not made to wander around in the dark and the cold!! He gets cold easily! He’s not very tall and gets startled by loud noises!
A door slams behind him and he wheezes, then actually yelps aloud when a hand lands heavily on his shoulder.
“Be quiet,” Mobei Jun says. “The radio is for talking, not hyperventilating.”
Shang Qinghua hyperventilates some more, mostly just to prove a point, and clutches at Mobei Jun’s sleeve. The house feels safer when he’s not alone in it.
“Nothing has happened,” Mobei Jun points out. “The lights are on.”
“I had to turn them on!” Shang Qinghua protests. His trail through the house is actually marked out by the lights that he’d turned on in panicky succession.
Mobei Jun peers around a corner to consider the closed doors of the hallway, then gives Shang Qinghua a flat-faced and deeply unimpressed look. “Do you want to sit in the car.”
“Yes, I want to sit in the car, thank you, goodbye,” Shang Qinghua says, rapidly stripping off all of the ghost hunting gear that he’d come in with and leaving it in a pile on the very nice sideboard. There’s a picture of the family on it, presumably the one who had been murdered or chased out by a ghost or something. Fuck haunted houses! Fuck ghost hunting! Fuck this!
Mobei Jun does not look impressed, but whatever. Shang Qinghua does good work from the car! He watches the video recorded on the go-pro and listens to the radio and stays out of danger and keeps the doors locked. Shang Qinghua doesn’t care at all about being impressive. He cares very much about not being dead.
Of course, when he tries the front door, it’s like it’s being held shut from the other side. Shang Qinghua’s life is a series of cruel practical jokes.
“Open this,” He says, trying to sound as pitiful as possible so Mobei Jun will take pity on him and use his superior muscles and height and good looks to get the door open. At the sharply raised eyebrow, Shang Qinghua tacks on a hasty, “Please? Please open this, my king, I will die. Of fear.”
“You should die of shame,” Mobei Jun says, and barely tries the door before giving up on it. Mobei Jun sucks! He wants Shang Qinghua to perish in this stupid haunted house and he wants ghosts to eat Shang Qinghua’s entrails. “Hm.”
“Oh God,” Shang Qinghua whines and plasters himself up against Mobei Jun’s back even though it’ll ruin the camera angle completely. “Please protect me.”
“There is still nothing happening,” Mobei Jun says, but he’s apparently decided that they’ve lingered in the front hallway long enough because he starts scooping up pieces of equipment- EMF reader, journal, the stupid talking radio box- and shoving them into Shang Qinghua’s arms. “Make yourself useful.”
“I can’t,” Shang Qinghua whimpers, but he does anyway because the only other option is being left alone.
They start going through room by room, starting in the hallway. Bedroom, bathroom, a terribly haunted-looking baby’s room, bedroom. Shang Qinghua is shivering like a leaf the entire time, especially when the talking radio box squawks at them and Shang Qinghua drops it on the floor and then has to scramble to pick it up without letting go of Mobei Jun’s shirt.
“The lights are still on,” Mobei Jun feels the need to remind him, because he is evil and doesn’t feel fear.
“Don’t you think it’s cold in here?” Shang Qinghua hisses while he edges into a bathroom as carefully as he possibly can.
“No.” Mobei Jun flips the sheets on the bed and lets them drop. “She’s not here.”
Shang Qinghua finds the confidence with which Mobei Jun makes that assertion deeply disconcerting, actually, but is stupidly soothed regardless. He opens a bathroom cabinet and finds where the family had stored their spare toilet paper.
“Why do you think it’s a woman?” Shang Qinghua feels safe enough to ask, peeking into the walk-in closet next. It’s dark in there. He immediately retracts his head and closes the door.
“Her name is Janet.” Mobei Jun says. Shang Qinghua turns to stare at him and Mobei Jun raises both eyebrows at the same time. That’s his Shang Qinghua, you fucking idiot eyebrow configuration. “I know you can read. I don’t know why you don’t read the dossier. It’s one page.”
“Those are always so useless,” Shang Qinghua mutters bitterly. “We don’t exorcise them anyway.”
All of the lights flicker at the same time when he says ‘exorcise’, making him wheeze with shocky fear and magnetize himself to Mobei Jun’s side.
“Mm.” Mobei Jun says. “Basement.”
“Fuuu-huuuck no,” Shang Qinghua says, clinging to Mobei Jun like he can single handedly stop him and, by association, Shang Qinghua himself (because he will literally die of a heart attack if he’s left alone) from going anywhere but out.
“Fuck yes,” Mobei Jun says blandly, and drags Shang Qinghua with him on his way out of the bedroom. The bedroom door slams behind them emphatically, making Shang Qinghua sob with barely-stifled fear, and the basement door creaks open to block their way into the kitchen.
“God,” Shang Qinghua whispers, in case ghosts can hear him, which they probably can, “OSHA would have a fucking field day.”
Mobei Jun snorts and drags Shang Qinghua down the dark, dark, dark stairs. Who keeps the light switch for a basement at the bottom of the basement stairs? Someone who designs houses for haunting, probably. Someone who is a fucking moron.
“I can’t do this,” Shang Qinghua whimpers, turning around to go back up the stairs, and Mobei Jun catches him by the collar of his hoodie. “God, please, I’m going to die of a heart attack, you don’t want me to die of a heart attack. Who will go through all of our Youtube comments then?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mobei Jun says, because he doesn’t understand how the Youtube algorithm works, and flips on the basement light. It flickers threateningly and Mobei Jun tosses a journal vaguely in the direction of the circuit breaker to intimidate the ghost through sheer lack of fucks given. “Turn the EMF reader on.”
Mobei Jun always has a weird sense for when things should be turned on or off or what sorts of things will actually be effective for evidence. It’s-- you know, now that Shang Qinghua is thinking of it--
“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei Jun says, voice going faintly threatening, and Shang Qinghua whines and fumbles for the button. It immediately blares an piercing and indignant five, the light going red-red-red, and Mobei Jun immediately stifles the noise with a palm. “Go pick up the journal.”
“I’ll die if I go over there,” Shang Qinghua says with absolute certainty. There’s a ghost over there that’s gonna snap his neck and he knows it.
“Unlikely,” Mobei Jun says. “But not impossible. Go pick it up.” He gropes Shang Qinghua’s waist for several long and confusing moments, comes up with their shared work cell phone (hahah, of course. Right. Totally normal, yeah), and then shoves Shang Qinghua over towards the breaker and the notebook.
Shang Qinghua takes a single step and all of the lights immediately go out. He whimpers, hands going up in front of him so he doesn’t knock into the brick wall and break his nose, and swipes through-- through--
Something takes a rattling breath straight in his ear and Shang Qinghua shrieks, wheeling back until he collides with Mobei Jun’s broad chest and shoulders. Shang Qinghua is not crying, and nobody could prove it if he were crying, because it is pitch fucking black. There are footsteps echoing around the basement accompanied by some sort of death rattle and God, God, God, he is going to die in a basement, oh God--
“Move,” Mobei Jun says, sounding significantly less urgent than perhaps he should, given the circumstances. He seems to recognize that Shang Qinghua is absolutely not capable of moving himself because he is thoroughly frozen with fear and herds him over to left, keeping one arm looped around the front of Shang Qinghua’s chest. “Open the lid.”
Shang Qinghua fumbles in front of himself in the pitch darkness, knuckles banging against the metal of what must be an oversized foot locker before he pulls it open. He decides that he’s not going to ask how Mobei Jun can apparently just see in the dark. It’s fine. Mobei Jun physically picks him up and drops him into it, climbs in after him, and closes the lid just as something bangs on the top with both palms.
“Oh my God,” Shang Qinghua whimpers, sinking a little bit lower. It’s-- it is a very tight fit with both of them in a teeny-tiny coffin-like space. Shang Qinghua has his knees spread to accommodate Mobei Jun between them and his feet braced against the far wall and-- “Oh my God, I’m going to die.”
“You’re not dying,” Mobei Jun says. He’s holding the lid closed with one hand like it’s no big deal that they’re about to get murdered by a ghost vengeful about getting a journal tossed through it. “Hold the lid.”
“What!” Shang Qinghua squawks, but reaches up to do it because Mobei Jun is apparently emotionally prepared to just let go even though they’re in critical danger. “Why are you- ah, what’re you-?”
“Shut up,” Mobei Jun says, jostling Shang Qinghua until they’ve swapped positions. This is worse. This is so much worse. Shang Qinghua squeezes his eyes shut and shifts to get his knees more comfortably underneath him, trying to keep an ear out for Janet while also-- also.
“What the fuck, are you hard,” He hisses, clutching at the lid of the locker like he normally grabs for a car’s oh-shit handle.
Mobei Jun is tellingly silent. Shang Qinghua cannot fucking believe this guy.
“I can’t fucking believe you,” He tells Mobei Jun seriously. They’re so close together that he can feel Mobei Jun’s breath ruffling his hair.
“Can’t you,” Mobei Jun says neutrally. He sets his hands on Shang Qinghua’s waist and sort of-- pulls them together. Which is very revealing. Because Shang Qinghua is also hard. He’d been trying to kind of ignore it.
“There is a phantom out there,” Shang Qinghua’s voice is trembling, along with-- basically the rest of him. “A ghast. A ghoul.”
“Technically,” Mobei Jun says, “She’s a revenant.”
The revenant, thanks, steps so close around the foot locker that the metal vibrates faintly against Shang Qinghua’s knees. His breath shivers out and he inches a tiny bit closer to Mobei Jun, which puts him a little bit more in contact with Mobei Jun, which--
“Ah,” Shang Qinghua whispers. Mobei Jun’s laugh rumbles in his chest and flutters through his hair. “Fuck, I’m going to die.”
“Not yet,” Mobei Jun says with probably-unearned confidence. His hands slide lower, fingers tucking into Shang Qinghua’s waistband. “As long as you don’t let go.”
Shang Qinghua does not consider himself a man blessed with particularly impressive grip strength. He fumbles as soon as Mobei Jun reminds him that he’s actively meant to be holding the lid closed, and re-finds his grip at what feels like the last possible moment. Oh God, oh God, he is seriously so hard. Is he getting off on the fact that he’s going to die?
“Adrenaline,” Shang Qinghua tells himself and also Mobei Jun, who has taken the liberty to start working Shang Qinghua’s pants off. “Blood pressure. Uh-”
“Hm,” Mobei Jun says, stoking across Shang Qinghua’s hole with two fingers. It makes him jump so hard he bangs his head against the lid of the box, which elicits a hard bang from outside in response. Shang Qinghua is leaking into his underwear, probably because he is a sick fuck and also an idiot.
The click of a bottle is very loud in a very enclosed space, even with Shang Qinghua’s panicky rabbit heartbeat thudding in his own ears. “Are you fucking serious,” He wheezes, dropping his forehead against Mobei Jun’s shoulder.
“Deadly,” Mobei Jun tucks two fingers into him, slick with lube, and Shang Qinghua gets the weird sense that he’s been played but seriously can’t figure out how. Who plans to get hunted by a ghost? Who.
Mobei Jun fingers him open with a brutal sort of efficiency, probably because the angle sucks for his wrist and he’s trying to get it over with. Shang Qinghua can hear the rasp of something and he can’t tell if it’s ghost-voyeur Janet loitering or his own breathing catching in his ears.
“Ugh,” He says, helpless, and bites Mobei Jun’s shirt. “--Aha, ah. You are so fucked up.”
“There’s a phrase I’m thinking of,” Mobei Jun says idly, pressing another finger into Shang Qinghua. It’s so slick it just feels good even though Shang Qinghua is tight as fuck with terror. “Something about stones and houses. Perhaps you recall it.”
“I don’t,” Shang Qinghua says, because he’s in denial, and rolls his hips back into Mobei Jun’s fingers. Three is not enough fingers, probably, because Mobei Jun is big and Shang Qinghua is not, but it’s fine because they’re both going to die and what’s a little back pain in the grand scheme anyway? “Just fuck me, don’t let me die a virgin.”
“You are not a virgin,” Mobei Jun says, but he hitches Shang Qinghua’s hips up obligingly so he can line them up. The head of his cock catches against Shang Qinghua’s hole and slides up his tailbone because the angle is terrible. Shang Qinghua almost reaches down to help before remembering the reason that his fingers are currently going numb against the steel lid.
“Virginity is a social construct, I can be a virgin if I wa--ah, oh God, oh my God--” He babbles, curling forward like a stupid little pill-bug. “Fuck.”
“Shut up.” Mobei Jun says, pushing in-in-in with an inexorable slide. His fingers are tight enough on Shang Qinghua’s bare hips that they’re definitely going to bruise and Shang Qinghua can feel the way he’s dripping into his underwear, still caught around his thighs.
“Ah,” Shang Qinghua whines helplessly, hitching his hips in tiny little motions. He doesn’t have any leverage like this; it’s so slow. He can feel how tight he is around Mobei Jun’s cock, too, jolting every time he hears a noise. Like a rubber brand, taut to snapping. “Fuck, I’m going to die, I’m dying.”
“Hurry up, then,” Mobei Jun says, and pinches him high on the thigh to make him jolt and whimper. “Fuck yourself.”
He can’t. He literally can’t, the space is too small and Mobei Jun’s dick is too big and there’s still something outside, probably, even if Shang Qinghua can’t hear it, and he’s going to die literally and also, like, emotionally--
Mobei Jun makes an impatient noise and uses Shang Qinghua’s hips as a hand-hold to shove up into him, jostling him hard enough against the top of the box that it rattles. Shang Qinghua smothers a whine into Mobei Jun’s shirt and braces his palm flat against the inside of the lid to keep his head from slamming into it while he holds it closed with the other.
“You’re going to kill me,” He half-sobs. He wishes he had a free hand. He wants to jerk himself off so bad he can feel it tingling between his shoulders, but Mobei Jun is deep and it aches and the air between them is humid and cold and God, it’s really, really good. “I’m, I’m gonna-”
“Not yet,” Mobei Jun says, but he reaches between them to give Shang Qinghua something to grind into so he can’t mean the orgasm. Shang Qinghua jerks and shudders through it, spilling between Mobei Jun’s fingers and going so tight he can feel Mobei Jun’s cock everywhere. He slumps against Mobei Jun’s chest and Mobei Jun spares a hand for the lid of the box, using it as leverage to fuck Shang Qinghua so hard his teeth rattle.
He comes inside Shang Qinghua, grinding into him and pressing him down with a palm at the small of his back, deep enough that it actually hurts. Shang Qinghua weakly punches Mobei Jun in the chest, panting and feeling that weird sort of clammy-sweaty. It is very cold in the box.
He’s shuddery all the way down to his fingers and toes. He consciously has to uncurl them in his sneakers.
“Janet just heard us fuck,” Shang Qinghua says after a moment and smears his face mournfully into Mobei Jun’s very firm, very handsome chest. Mobei Jun shudders with silent laughter, curling his fingers against the curve of Shang Qinghua’s spine.
“She may thank us,” He says, tone magnanimous. He’s even weirder after an orgasm, actually. He doesn’t pull out for a while, content to keep them pressed as close as two people can be without climbing into each other. So weird.
They open the lid eventually, slow-slow-slow, and Shang Qinghua peeks out to make sure the coast is clear. The lights are back on and the change is enough to make his eyes sort of sting. He can’t tell if they’re about to die or not, but Mobei Jun doesn’t have any patience for his dithering. He just stands up, eyes fixed on the stairs.
“Fuck off,” He tells the stairs in the voice he uses when he’s serious, and the lights only flicker once before coming back on. Shang Qinghua awkwardly clambers out of the box, trying to pretend that he’s not absolutely covered in jizz. God, they're going to have to edit so much video. It's going to take forfuckingever.
“Who are you, uh-?” He stutters the end of the question when Mobei Jun turns to look at him, eyebrows up expectantly. Shang Qinghua holds up his hands and starts towards the stairs.
He doesn’t want to know.