He feels the slightest bit of relaxation and wants to use it, tasting the tequila on Xiang’s lips. Xander’s not gay, he knows Xiang isn’t either, but whatever this thing was, it felt like such a natural progression of their–admittedly contentious–relationship. It had taken it’s first turn on the island, when he realized Gibbons had seen that spark in his eye, had recruited him, too. And the next one, the pain of being shot in the chest, he’d played dead, and Xiang had come to the right side, figured out the right conclusion. Whatever this thing was, it was better than anything he could have ever envisioned with Serena. Dangerous women were just that, and though he thrived on danger, there was something about this that felt more comfortable, like base jumping. A low growling grunt comes, feeling teeth in his lip, but before he can do much more, he feels his head kiss the floor again, and Xiang’s on top of him. The knife starts its slice through the shirt, “Ey, you owe me a new shirt.” Xander would just shrug and tell Adele it’d gotten stained when she eyed him leaving the club shirtless. Maybe she’d believe him. Probably not. Oh well. His skin tingles under those fingers, eyes watching the other man carefully. Appreciate the ink later, he thought. Muscles tense with the knife beneath his belt. “Don’t ruin the moment,” he chuckles.

“A chaser,” he laughs, though it’s interrupted by an annoyed grunt. “And now you owe me a belt.” The light that catches Xiang’s eyes make them seem almost actually aflame with mischief, he’s enjoying this. His head angles just a bit when he feels the lips on his jaw, and his hands busy their way up Xiang’s back,  deciding turnabout’s fair play as he grabs the top hem of his shirt and gives it a rough tug, ripping it when teeth hit his ear. This is a game, sure, but there’s something about It that makes Xander realize that this is different than any of the lovely ladies (and the few men) he’d bedded, there was an intuition between the two of them that gave this a level he’d never felt before. He revels in it. Leaning up, he keeps ripping until his fingers make contact with bare skin, feeling the tracks of scars and the muscles.

Xander cranes his neck in order to catch Xiang’s lips, but he misses them by a hair’s breadth and a chill blows across his exposed chest. Following to his feet, Xander sizes him up, biting his lip as he considers. “Yeah….yeah.” He’s mostly talking to himself. There is the insecurity, wondering if he’d made the right decision, when he changed the rules with lips upon lips, changed the dynamic. They say that sex ruins 9/10 relationships, and he wonders if Xiang is a 1 or another 9. He’s willing to gamble that, either way, because he’s not leaving this room any time soon, not when things had just gotten interesting. Lunging forward, he throws a few fists and elbows, intending to learn a bit about his fighting style while also understanding that in this game, to the winner go the spoils. Both of them want to be victorious, but only time would tell.