They met, unintroduced, in the middle of a mass of sweat slick bodies. The music pulsed throughout the throb of ecstasy coated strangers. No need for names, just grab on and stick.

The brunette had his eyes closed, either lost in the music or the drugs. The blonde could ing care less but he has to taste the exposed collarbone. So he moves forward to do so. Crooks his fingers into the cutout neckline of a ridiculous airplane patterned button up, yanks the mesmerizing anatomy closer. Until they are frayed seams grinding, metal buttons biting out indents.

When the brunette popped open his eyelids to expose undiluted pupils, all thoughts of the cannibalistic nature are paused for future examination. Because the music changes, so the lights swivel, so the two are now in complete darkness. They are using exhaled carbon monoxide to echo locate. The blonde's inhale getting stuck in the fathomless dimple.

So he stands breathless, until his heart knocks on his sternum, until the brunette digs his fingernails centimeters deep into he blonde's hips. He does not particularly mind.

When the blonde goes to speak, he is stopped. The waft of scent from his mouth is shared menthols behind coffee shops. The voice that crawls over the bass drop of the music sounds like fumbled s that make no promises because he does not know how to demand.

"No names. Let it be."

The blonde mindlessly nods because he understands the rules of fate. You accept what you are handed and pray to keep it. Both men know as they part that it is not if.

But when.

~--~--~

They kiss, spontaneously, under a half lit neon sign that advertises openness. It is right. It is messy and painful and perfect except for the imperfections. This time the brunette is high, on weed and the taste of the blonde's lips.

Teeth gnash, lips softly bitten, hands roaming to the vital pressure points. Someone collides with them but they do not break apart. They tangle and fuse into one enity that slumps against the vomit painted alley bricks.

When they finally fall apart they call out each other's name because this is actually the third time that they met. The second had been in a brightly lit art studio when the brunette devoured the blonde's with his eyes as he was meant to be painting him for a grade. The grade had turned into an A+ because the canvas was left blank except for where the brunette had smeared red ink with his fingertip. The sloppy lines spelling out fate.

"Until next time, Luhan," the brunette says while walking away from their kiss.

"And the next, Yixing."

The blonde Luhan stumbles home and jerks off to the memory of his name of Yixing's lips. Across town, the brunette Yixing accidentally knocks over a vase in his hast to relieve his Luhan inflicted arousal.

~--~--~

They wait, impatiently, to take the final step to seal their destiny. Both afraid of what will happen afterwards, terrified their red string would snap from the tension.

Seven months, two weeks, and six days after stumbling across one another they give in to their animalistic desires.

No alcohol, no drugs, no music.

When they reach the no clothing stage, Luhan caves in. Awestruck by the silent pea ding from the brunette, he allows Yixing to take him like no one ever has. Sweaty palms and nervous twitching. Rutting and cursing and leaking tearducts. Bruising touches etching history over their flushed skin.

Ecstasy, leaving them wide eyes and open mouthed, dropping them from the pinnacle of their lusty height.

Yixing stays locked within Luhan's body, sealing their fate. And when he wakes in the morning to find the mop of blonde still present, he sobs. Because he doesn't have a medium to create a tangible representation of how his heart fills. And feels.

Luhan cradles the brunette and can hear the words in all their silent glory.

Fate is a fickle .

a/n: What. Is. This. Even.
Just a little bit of artsy fartsy, drabble, smushy, fate influenced . Yup. that about explains it. Love you guise!