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When he comes home to Lotus Tower and finds the boy cooking dinner for him, the curdling disappointment that Di Feisheng did not return with him is swept away, leaving behind the bittersweet guilt at having wanted him to. The boy is so happy to see him. They eat dinner, and Fang Duobing says very foolish things, and it must rub off on Li Lianhua because he pours them cups of wine. Toasts to their friendship, their close friendship.
Li Lianhua, Li Lianhua, you fool.
He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. He knows it’s a bad idea. He also knows, without question, that he’s going to. Knew from the moment that Di Feisheng told him the boy was Shan Gudao’s son. Di Feisheng played him perfectly—always does—but Li Lianhua is an instrument out of tune; the melody is wrong. Di Feisheng wanted him to feel overly protective, loving, paternal.
Li Lianhua felt a hunger, held in abeyance perhaps since he first laid eyes on the boy, flare back to life. When the boy was just a naive young master roaming the jianghu, Li Lianhua might have forgotten him or might have fucked him and let him scamper away. It wouldn’t have been the first time. But he is Li Lianhua’s lost shixiong’s son. Once Li Lianhua knows, he spends his days mapping out the likenesses in Fang Duobing’s skin. Over every meal, every cup of tea, Li Lianhua stares at him, thinking of the man who loved him, cared for him, kept him alive. The man who Li Lianhua let down.
And now Li Lianhua has recovered this little sliver of him, the echoing memory of his shixiong made flesh. He knows he shouldn’t—but he’s going to. Li Lianhua is going to eat the boy raw. Pry him open like an oyster and suck out the horrible fleshy thing inside. Swallow him whole. Then his shixiong will be part of him again.
After dinner, he goes through the motions of early evening, washing up the dishes, shutting Hulijing in her doghouse with a bone to keep her busy, washing himself up. The water in the pitcher is cold enough that it stings his skin and makes him shiver. He slicks two fingers with greasy balm and works himself open, quick and clinical. No point in being sentimental about it. Trousers and undershirt discarded, he wraps himself back up in his inner robe, leaving the jar by his pillow for later, and walks upstairs. Finds Fang Duobing getting ready for bed, his hair already let down. It’s still strange to have someone staying in his guest room, left empty for so many years.
When Fang Duobing notices that he’s being watched, he stares back, eyes skittering downwards before he drags them back up again. “What do you want?” the boy says, made surly by his own longing. He’s so young in these moments. Only a bit older than his father in Li Lianhua’s earliest memories. Younger than Li Lianhua was when he died the first time.
“Come down and help me with something.”
Fang Duobing’s nose wrinkles as he makes a face. “I already cooked you dinner. Isn’t that enough? You’re going to make me carry something heavy, aren’t you?”
Li Lianhua laughs. “Yes,” he says. Not entirely a lie. But Fang Duobing won’t notice if Li Lianhua sets the burden of his grief down on his shoulders for just a short while. “Take pity on your poor, weak friend who can’t defend himself.”
Fang Duobing huffs. “Only because you were so ill before.” He trails behind Li Lianhua, each footstep on the stairs somehow sulky. When they arrive downstairs, Fang Duobing says, “All right, what is it?”
Li Lianhua turns around. Opens his mouth to try to explain. No point. He leans in, cupping the boy’s cheek in his hand, still a little puppy fat left, and kisses him. It’s only the light press of their lips together, an invitation as much as anything else. Li Lianhua knows that Fang Duobing has been looking, but that doesn’t mean he’ll want to touch.
Making a surprised noise, Fang Duobing surges forward. Wraps his arms around Li Lianhua and grabs at him and squeezes. When Li Lianhua gasps, this boy, this stupid, innocent boy who can’t talk his way past a guard or manage to feed himself, slips his tongue into his mouth. Li Lianhua lets him. Lets the boy’s hands wander. Li Lianhua pets his cheek and sucks on his tongue and thinks about where else his tongue could go.
Fang Duobing pulls back, cheeks flushed. He tucks a lock of hair behind Li Lianhua’s ear, oddly sweet. “Is this—is this what you wanted help with?”
Li Lianhua purses his lips. “No, this is.” Takes Fang Duobing’s hand and guides it between his legs, pressing it against his half-hard cock through his robe.
Fang Duobing whimpers, which gets Li Lianhua the rest of the way there. The boy looks up at him, eyes huge. Biting his own lip, Fang Duobing drags his palm over the length of Li Lianhua’s cock through the thin material. It’s been such a long time since anyone has touched him like this.
Li Lianhua rubs his thumb over Fang Duobing’s cheek. “Undress me.”
Fang Duobing freezes. “Really?”
Li Lianhua snorts. Precious that he’s quailing now, hand already all but touching Li Lianhua’s cock. “Yes, take my clothes off.” Fang Duobing watches, spellbound, as Li Lianhua demonstrates, untying the sash keeping his robe shut, so it starts to fall open. Li Lianhua picks up Fang Duobing’s hand and gently guides it to his lapels, pushing one side over his shoulder with their joined hands. “How can you fuck me if I’m still dressed?”
Sucking in a breath, Fang Duobing stares at him, eyes wide. Slowly, his hand traces across Li Lianhua’s collarbone, delicate brush of fingertips. He pushes the other side over Li Lianhua’s shoulder. It falls to the ground. Li Lianhua is naked underneath it, the evening’s humid air stealing over his skin.
Unexpectedly, Fang Duobing drops to his knees, pressing his cheek to Li Lianhua’s cock. His eyes are shut, the fan of his eyelashes dark across his cheeks. He—nuzzles in, burying his nose at the base of Li Lianhua’s cock but not trying to get his mouth on it. It’s peculiarly tender in a way that feels unfamiliar and strange. Alien.
Li Lianhua slides his hands gently into Fang Duobing’s hair, curling his fingers to scratch at his scalp. “Are you smelling me, puppy?”
Fang Duobing moans at the back of his throat. “You smell good.”
Li Lianhua doesn’t laugh at him, but it’s hard. “You can use your mouth if you want.” And he expects that that will result in Fang Duobing wrapping his lips around him, not a delicate kiss to the side of his shaft and then long wet licks—like a dog. As soon as he thinks it, he does laugh.
“What?” Fang Duobing is glaring at him, censorious.
And, no, now he’s just being cruel. He cups the boy’s chin, pressing a thumb to his lower lip. “Shush, open your mouth.”
Fang Duobing frowns at him, clearly distrustful. He looks adorable like this, nose wrinkled, frowning. Li Lianhua takes himself in hand and pushes the head of his cock against Fang Duobing’s lips. His eyes widen, and then he opens his mouth wide enough to take him in. It’s fumbling and awkward, and there’s a graze of teeth that makes Li Lianhua hiss, but there’s a surge of fondness in his chest at the way that Fang Duobing’s eyes have drifted shut, the way his hand is clutching at Li Lianhua’s hip to steady himself, the way Fang Duobing tries helplessly to take more.
“Don’t make yourself gag,” Li Lianhua says.
Fang Duobing immediately does. He looks so comically betrayed that Li Lianhua has to choke back another laugh. Pets his cheek instead and then, burying a hand in his hair, tugs gently.
“Up,” Li Lianhua says. “Get up.”
Fang Duobing stands, looking sheepish. Li Lianhua can see the outline of his erection even through his robes. It makes him look sillier, an embarrassed schoolboy. “Did I do so badly?” Fang Duobing says, not making eye contact.
Li Lianhua shakes his head. No, the boy was more or less as expected. If he were a more patient man, perhaps he’d take the time to teach him, but well—he isn’t. Doesn’t particularly want to indulge adolescent fumbling and the scrape of teeth. He leans in, brushing up against Fang Duobing, the fine fabrics of his robes soft against Li Lianhua’s skin. Whispers into his ear, “I want to touch you.”
Fang Duobing whimpers again, high at the back of his throat. “Will you—with your mouth?”
“If you like,” Li Lianhua says, unfastening Fang Duobing’s belt.
Fang Duobing glares at Li Lianhua and then leans in to kiss him. He stops a hair’s breadth away and Li Lianhua thinks he’s teasing, is about to close the distance and press their mouths together, when Fang Duobing says, “Can I?”
“What?”
“After I had you in my mouth. Is it all right if I—”
Dropping the belt to the ground, Li Lianhua rolls his eyes and closes the distance between their mouths. Fang Duobing makes an irritated noise as if his latest weren’t the stupidest thing he’s ever said in a long, long list of stupid things. Li Lianhua should not let this boy fuck him, but Fang Duobing kisses as if he can win the argument that way. Maybe he can—he’s much more skilled at kissing than sucking cock. This, he’s clearly had practice at. It sends a thrill through Li Lianhua, the idea of Fang Duobing kissing boys back home or his princess or his mother’s maids and then kissing Li Lianhua. Fang Duobing insists on embracing him, arms very properly wrapped around his back—probably the princess then—so Li Lianhua’s hands are caught against his chest. He slides one in where the neckline of Fang Duobing’s unbelted robes is falling open. His skin is hot under Li Lianhua’s hand as he skims over his chest and then, ha, pinches his nipple.
The boy leaps back. “Li Lianhua!”
Li Lianhua raises an eyebrow. “Yes?” He starts to unwind the laces wrapped around Fang Duobing’s bracers, the right first because it’ll be harder for the boy to fight back while Li Lianhua has hold of his dominant hand.
“You—I—I can undress myself.”
“Wonderful, so can I.” Li Lianhua drops the first bracer to the ground, going for Fang Duobing’s left wrist, and yes, immediately the boy grabs at him. Pouts. Li Lianhua presses a quick kiss to his lips, startling the boy enough that Li Lianhua manages to pull the second bracer off.
Fang Duobing has the good sense to help with his robes, shoving them off as one layer. Li Lianhua unties his undershirt and pushes it off. Close up, Fang Duobing is slim and wondrously unscarred, still running to the slender narrowness of youth. Li Lianhua runs his hands over Fang Duobing’s bare chest, and the boy shivers in the warm evening air. He seems almost shy about being half naked, his trousers offering the barest figleaf of modesty, as if they don’t live together most of the time. As if Li Lianhua hasn’t seen the boy as he bathed in a river. As if Li Lianhua hasn’t looked.
Li Lianhua darts his hand forward to untie Fang Duobing’s trousers, but the boy catches his wrist. Well. Li Lianhua lets himself be caught. He’s not so far gone that this stripling boy who’s never sucked a dick in his life can actually surpass his reflexes. Not yet, anyway. Fang Duobing’s hand is warm around his wrist. “No?” Li Lianhua asks.
Fang Duobing is blushing. “I—I—”
If Li Lianhua waits for the boy to figure out what his objection is—shyness, presumably, because the boy’s cock is perfectly ordinary, at least from a distance, and he clearly wants it—they will be there all day. Well, Li Lianhua knows how to solve this problem. He drops to his knees, looking up at Fang Duobing from under his lashes. Lets his mouth fall open a little, lets his lower lip jut out. Pauses. Lifts his hand near the knot again. “You’re sure?”
Fang Duobing stares down at him, eyes very wide. Shakes his head. Stupid boy.
Dropping his hand, Li Lianhua leans in and rubs his cheek against Fang Duobing’s erection through his trousers. So close, palpably warm. Li Lianhua finds the place where Fang Duobing’s cock has left a wet smear across his trousers and licks at it. Pressing the fabric to his skin, Li Lianhua laps messily at the boy’s cock.
Above him, Fang Duobing gives a high pitched whine, grabbing Li Lianhua’s hair and pulling.
Li Lianhua does his best to wrap his lips around the head, to try to suck him a little, the fabric turning translucent. He reaches up and squeezes his balls, and that makes Fang Duobing drag him up. Li Lianhua manages to sneer, “Can I kiss you after I’ve almost had my mouth on your—”, before Fang Duobing is kissing him, so apparently the boy has gotten over that particular concern. He bites into Li Lianhua’s lower lip with a meanness that’s undercut by the needy way that the boy has slotted Li Lianhua’s thigh between his, rutting against it. But Li Lianhua’s cock is trapped against Fang Duobing’s hip. For all he adjusts the angle a little, tries to make it better, he can’t quite fit them together like this. Impatient, Li Lianhua pushes the boy away.
Fang Duobing stumbles, catching himself. Looks balefully at Li Lianhua. “Did I do something wrong?”
Li Lianhua says drily, “Why are you still dressed, puppy?”
“Don’t call me that.” The boy, his little idiot, is pouting at him, wounded.
“Stop humping my leg, and I will.”
The humiliated flush across Fang Duobing’s cheeks makes Li Lianhua’s cock throb. Li Lianhua reaches for the tie on his trousers again, and Fang Duobing bats his hand away. The boy says sulkily, “I’ll do it.”
Li Lianhua picks the boy’s embroidered belt up from where it’s fallen on the floor and sets it down on a side table. Let the boy suit himself then. Somehow, perhaps because he is a foolish boy with no sense and no graces and too slow to get undressed by half, Fang Duobing manages to get twisted up in his own trouser leg. Li Lianhua laughs at him, which results in Fang Duobing pushing Li Lianhua down onto the bed, still tangled in his trousers, and kissing him, mean, tugging on his lower lip and fucking Li Lianhua’s mouth with his tongue.
He has Li Lianhua pinned under him, thighs bracketing his hips, and Li Lianhua is panting, cock leaking against his belly, and he wants desperately. He’s about to tell Fang Duobing to just put it in when the boy says, “Is this all right?”
“Does it seem not all right to you?” Li Lianhua snaps, still a little breathless. “Do I seem upset?”
Fang Duobing is looking at him now, really looking at him, and Li Lianhua wants him to stop. Wants to get away. Fang Duobing says, voice soft, “You don’t seem upset.”
Desperate to change the subject, Li Lianhua says, “Do you know how men fuck each other, puppy?” He sounds obvious to his own ears, voice still breathless.
The boy has the audacity to blush. His cock is leaking onto Li Lianhua’s belly, and he blushes. “I’ve seen paintings in books.”
Li Lianhua shuts his eyes. Nods. The boy has seen paintings in books. Wonderful. Was Li Lianhua so useless at his age? (Yes, but not for want of trying.) He sighs, put upon. “If I let you put your cock in me, will you make it inside before you finish?”
Fang Duobing squeaks. Li Lianhua feels the boy’s cock twitch, the wet slickness of precome where they’re pressed skin to skin. The answer is so obviously no, he will not, that Li Lianhua doesn’t even need him to say it. Instead, Fang Duobing, a congenital idiot, says very faintly, “Oh, you want me to fuck you.”
Raising his eyebrows, Li Lianhua says, “I told you I did.”
“I thought—I thought you meant the two of us. Together. Just. I didn’t think. Oh heavens.”
Actually, strike that: Li Lianhua isn’t sure the boy isn’t about to spill just thinking about it. “All right,” he says, “get your hand on yourself and finish on my belly and then you can try.”
Li Lianhua watches imperiously as the boy strokes himself off, the way his mouth goes slack, eyes half shut. Unconcerned with the finer points of technique, movements quick, slicked only by the steady leaking of precome over his own fingers. There is a part of him—the stupid shameless part of him that compels him to drag eighteen-year-old boys into his bed, convinced they will please him, the part of him that lets him spread his legs, forgetful of how defenseless he is now—that wants very badly to drag the boy up until he can take his cock in his mouth and let him fuck his face.
The boy’s eyes are screwed shut, and he’s biting his lower lip, and he looks so terribly, terribly serious as his breath comes in panting gasps. Li Lianhua strokes the boy’s cheek, and Fang Duobing glances at him, nervous, as if expecting to be scolded. It takes forever until eventually Li Lianhua loses his temper and says, “Should I let you try to fuck me, so you can make a mess? Is that what you want?” He shudders at the feeling of Fang Duobing spilling across his belly, the heat of it where some of his come hits Li Lianhua’s cock.
The boy collapses on top of him like a puppet with his strings cut. He buries his face in the crook of Li Lianhua’s neck, and Li Lianhua strokes his back, already a little sweaty. Like this, he could be any of the men who have fucked Li Lianhua. He kisses the boy’s temple. “Good boy.”
Fang Duobing shivers, his cock pulsing weakly against Li Lianhua’s belly.
“You like that?” Li Lianhua asks, bemused.
“No,” says the boy, stubborn.
Li Lianhua runs a hand down his back and squeezes his ass. “You like that,” he says, smug. “Good boy.”
The boy lifts himself up, furious, about to defend his honor, probably about to scold Li Lianhua about how he isn’t a boy. Li Lianhua dips his fingertips into the pool of come on his belly, brings them to his lips to lick clean. The boy watches, mesmerized. Li Lianhua smiles at him, trailing his fingers through the come again. “What were you going to say?”
“You—”
Li Lianhua shoves two fingers into Fang Duobing’s open mouth. Fang Duobing bites him instinctively and then relaxes, lapping at the pads of Li Lianhua’s fingers, almost apologetic. He looks down at Li Lianhua with his enormous eyes and, shutting them, sucks delicately. Li Lianhua watches avidly, the moue of the boy’s mouth, the rapturous flicker of his eyelashes against his cheeks. When Li Lianhua presses gently on his tongue, the boy opens his eyes, a little glassy. Stares back at Li Lianhua as he pulls his fingers out of the boy’s mouth with a loud, wet pop.
The boy whines before pressing their mouths together in a hungry kiss. He grinds against Li Lianhua’s belly, and Li Lianhua has a moment to marvel at the stamina of youth before Fang Duobing manages to shimmy his hips so their cocks line up, velvet heat, slick with his own come. Li Lianhua gasps as Fang Duobing drives their hips together, quick and easy and relentless.
He closes his legs around Fang Duobing, instinctive, the need to pull him close. It feels good the way that all kinds of fucking feel good, but it also makes Li Lianhua ache for the blunt fullness of getting fucked. “Puppy, please. Inside. If you don’t last this time, you can keep trying until you do.”
Fang Duobing stops. Bites his lip. “Do you have—I’m supposed to have something. To ease the way?”
“By the bolster,” Li Lianhua says, impatient. They both scramble for the little jar, and Fang Duobing ends up holding it. He doesn’t seem to know what to do once he has it, though, so Li Lianhua grabs it back, slicking his hand up before starting to stroke Fang Duobing’s cock. The boy has a pretty cock, curving nicely, with an attractive flush to it. Li Lianhua rubs at the slit a little where he’s wet, leaking precome. Imagines letting the boy fuck him dry, make Li Lianhua hurt. The boy wouldn’t know the difference.
“Li Lianhua,” Fang Duobing gasps out. His forehead is beading with sweat, and he’s clearly doing his best not to come on the spot, biting his lower lip.
Li Lianhua lets go of him. “Go on,” he says, lying back down on the bed and spreading his legs pointedly.
Suspicious: “I don’t need to do anything else?”
Li Lianhua arches an eyebrow. “What kind of illustrations did you look at?”
Fang Duobing is somehow flushing darker as if his blush is blushing. “In the book, they used their mouths.”
Li Lianhua nods. “Some people do. I used my fingers on myself. I wasn’t sure you’d want to do it.”
“I do,” Fang Duobing says, so certain.
“Next time,” Li Lianhua lies. “Now, inside.”
Fang Duobing lines himself up—and hesitates.
Li Lianhua can feel the head of the boy’s cock brush against his rim, the tender threat of it. He could bear down, try to force the issue, but—well. “Puppy, you won’t hurt me. Go on. Make me feel good.”
The boy takes a deep breath, biting his lower lip, so serious. It’s funny, a little silly, and then he pushes in.
Li Lianhua sucks in a breath, eyes sliding shut. All he can think of is the place where the boy is pressing into him, the anticipation of being made full. He must make a noise because the boy stops and Li Lianhua sobs before he can bite down on the sound.
The boy flinches back, slipping out. “Li Lianhua?”
Li Lianhua stares at the ceiling and tries to reassemble enough of the man he is pretending to be, so he can respond, can soothe the boy, in this moment when he wants nothing more than for the boy to be a man and take. “It’s all right,” Li Lianhua says, and he can hear the way his voice shakes. “Come on, keep going.”
“Look at me?”
Opening his eyes, Li Lianhua looks up at him. Tries to smile, looking reassuring. Fang Duobing’s eyes are wide and worried. “You’re not hurting me,” Li Lianhua says, letting his voice slide into the wry annoyance he feels.
Unexpectedly, that works. Fang Duobing smiles, this little tremulous smirk curling the corner of his mouth, and Li Lianhua can just see—in that moment, he can see his father in him. It makes heat rush into his belly. Fang Duobing says, “No? Are you sure I shouldn’t stop?”
Li Lianhua opens his mouth to beg when he realizes—the boy is making fun of him. “Xiaobao,” Li Lianhua says, “don’t be like that.”
Fang Duobing makes a horrified face. “You can’t call me that. Not here. My mother calls me that.”
Li Lianhua grins. Throws his head back, arching his back, writhing, and moans out, “Xiaobao.”
Fang Duobing hits him with the bolster, and Li Lianhua starts laughing uncontrollably. Fang Duobing hits him with it again, so Li Lianhua has to wrestle it out of his hands, tossing it out of reach and pulling Fang Duobing down to kiss him. He’s a lovely kisser, really, crowding into Li Lianhua’s arms and nipping at his lower lip. When the boy pulls back, looking at him with enormous wondering eyes, Li Lianhua grins and waggles his eyebrows and groans, “Xiaobaooo.”
“You—!” Fang Duobing smacks a hand over Li Lianhua’s mouth. It’s hard for him to keep it there, though, because Li Lianhua is shaking with laughter. “You think you’re so funny.”
Li Lianhua is so funny. Fang Duobing has never had a sibling, so it’s easy enough for Li Lianhua to lick the palm of his hand and get him to recoil in a comical panic. “You teased me first,” Li Lianhua says lightly.
Fang Duobing bites his lip. Surely, he is realizing that he did do that. But the boy is stubborn, so he says, reproachful, “You old fox.” As if it’s the meanest thing he knows how to say. He looks at Li Lianhua sidelong under his long lashes. The boy is pouting at him.
“What?” Li Lianhua says, incredulous. “Has a little teasing put you off?” It hasn’t. Li Lianhua knows it hasn’t because he remembers, distantly, what it was like to be the boy’s age.
The boy flushes. “Can I?”
Exasperated, Li Lianhua snaps, “Yes.” He isn’t going to beg. He’s resolved. He isn’t so pathetic that he has to beg the idiot child he’s brought into his bed to fuck him.
Fang Duobing makes the most serious face, brow furrowed, as he wraps a hand around his cock and guides himself in. He goes slow, slower than Li Lianhua wants him to, slow enough to make Li Lianhua squirm. The slick pleasure of it slides up his spine, arching his back. Whenever Li Lianhua gasps or whimpers or makes any kind of noise at all, Fang Duobing looks up, eyes wide, staring for a moment.
Once Fang Duobing bottoms out, Li Lianhua sighs, finally full. “Move,” he orders.
“I—” The boy is trembling all over. “I need a moment.”
Li Lianhua doesn’t laugh at him. “Do you like it then?”
Fang Duobing shuts his eyes. “Yes. Too much.”
Petting his arm, Li Lianhua says, “I like it too.”
Fang Duobing whimpers. He starts to move, slowly at first and then shifting into quick, sharp thrusts. “I’m going to—it’s just—you’re so tight.”
“You can make a mess, puppy,” Li Lianhua whispers. “It’s all right.”
It takes two more pumps of his hips before the boy spends inside of him, whimpering. It’s not enough, nowhere near enough, and Li Lianhua still wants desperately, hungrily, to be fucked, but—well, he’ll settle for this, for watching the echos of Fang Duobing’s father’s expressions in his face as the boy falls apart.
Li Lianhua pulls Fang Duobing down into his arms, letting him rest his head on Li Lianhua’s chest. His cock slips out with the awkward angle, and Li Lianhua makes a little disappointed noise. Fang Duobing startles, glancing up at him.
“I wanted to keep you a little longer.” Li Lianhua strokes the boy’s hair, fond. Kisses the top of his head. He can feel the boy’s come sliding out of him. Wants to keep it in, shove it back inside with his fingers.
“I, um. Just give me a few minutes,” Fang Duobing says into the skin of Li Lianhua’s chest.
Ah, the joys of youth. “Oh?” Li Lianhua says.
“If you wanted,” the boy says, a little smug.
Li Lianhua pulls him up and kisses him, wrapping his thighs tight around Fang Duobing’s hips. He won’t beg, not with words, but he’ll beg like this. He wants to be fucked, the longing like wildfire running through him. Fang Duobing’s tongue is slick and fat in his mouth, and that’s not where he wants to be full, but he’ll take what he can get.
When Fang Duobing pushes back in, he almost doesn’t hesitate. This time, Li Lianhua hooks his hands behind his knees and folds himself in half, so Fang Duobing can get just that much deeper. It’s worth it if only for the way that the boy starts to lose it when Li Lianhua gasps every time he bottoms out, glancing across his sweet spot. If he mostly shuts his eyes, he can imagine it’s his shixiong, solid and real and alive above him. They never did this. He wants them to have. He wouldn’t have to steal it from the boy now.
The third time, Li Lianhua makes Fang Duobing hold his legs back himself. Even though it’s just the boy, even though Li Lianhua could fight him off if he had to, being held down makes him need to touch himself. His hand is quick and loud, even over the slap of skin on skin. He’s making noises, the kind that he would have been ashamed to make at Fang Duobing’s age. He lets himself be loud because he wants to be loud, enjoys it in himself. An indulgence. And who is there to hear but Fang Duobing? He’s watching Li Lianhua, a hungry, appreciative audience, waiting to see what Li Lianhua looks like when he comes.
It feels like being hit over the head or like a bell being rung, the echo of it through his body, the sense of suddenly too much, too full, everything overwhelming. Fang Duobing doesn’t stop fucking him, but it doesn’t matter because the boy doesn’t last, tender and easy to bully, spilling inside him again before collapsing into Li Lianhua’s arms.
“Good boy,” Li Lianhua murmurs absently. “Good puppy.”
Fang Duobing makes a noise like a sob, face pressed somewhere near Li Lianhua’s throat. They lie like that, wrapped up in each other. Li Lianhua feels terribly far away for a while, thinking of another life he once lived, thinking of a man who used to pet his hair and take care of him. Who might have wanted to call him good boy.
Fang Duobing says, soft and reverent, “I felt it.”
“Hm?”
“When you finished. I could feel it.”
Yes, he would have, the spasms of Li Lianhua’s muscles, his body clutching him tight. Holding on. It’s been a while since Li Lianhua fucked anyone—part laziness, part preference—but he remembers the joy of it, his partner’s body pulling him close. “Did it feel good?”
Fang Duobing lifts up his head and gives Li Lianhua the most incredulous look.
Li Lianhua laughs. He’s allowed. “Sorry, that was a stupid question.”
“It was.”
Drawing idle shapes into the skin of the boy’s back, Li Lianhua drifts. He doesn’t usually like this, letting the man who’s just fucked him lie on top of him, heavy and useless. With Fang Duobing, it makes Li Lianhua feel oddly fond. He sighs, squeezing him with his legs.
Fang Duobing coughs. “Would you want to, uh—could I—again?”
Li Lianhua stares at him, incredulous. Tries to think if anyone has ever proposed to fuck him four times in one night. If he’s ever let anyone. He supposes the first time didn’t count, after all. But still. Four times?
In spite of Li Lianhua’s glare, the boy doesn’t quail. Looks back at him, defiant. And does Li Lianhua want to be fucked again? He isn’t hard, but well, he could be eventually. He could get there. And even if he can’t, he’s not—he’s not opposed to getting fucked again. To letting Fang Duobing use him. The thought of it—of letting the boy fuck him even after Li Lianhua can’t get it up anymore, soft and wrung out, until he tires both of them out—has him getting hard again.
Li Lianhua says, “Hm.”
Fang Duobing perks up immediately. Suddenly made bold, he sits up, looking for something, and Li Lianhua watches as he finds the lubricant. But Li Lianhua’s hole is so slick with the boy’s come by now that he doesn’t need it. Li Lianhua wants to touch himself, to feel. Slides a hand between his own legs and slips two fingers in. Hot and wet and easy. He’s loose, a little tender. “You don’t need it,” Li Lianhua says.
Fang Duobing is watching him, covetous wonder in his eyes. Oh, he doesn’t know—
“You can put your fingers in.”
The moment it’s out of his mouth, Fang Duobing drops the jar, losing it in the bed again. One hand spreading Li Lianhua’s thighs apart, he slides his fingers in next to Li Lianhua’s. It feels good to be full again, held open. Their knuckles brush against each other.
Li Lianhua pulls a little, tugging on his rim. Palms his own cock with his other hand and moans when Fang Duobing pushes another finger in. Too much, too full, the overwhelming stretch of it. “Puppy,” Li Lianhua says, breathless. “Come here.”
Fang Duobing scrambles on top of him, pausing before shifting to hook Li Lianhua’s ankles over his shoulders. It makes Li Lianhua feel horribly exposed, vulnerable, like Fang Duobing’s teeth are pressed to his throat. Fang Duobing squeezes Li Lianhua’s thigh, looking at him.
“It’s good,” Li Lianhua just about manages to get out before Fang Duobing slides in again. It aches this time, sore and overused, the delicious burn of it. He goes slow at first, long, deep strokes, and Li Lianhua strokes himself idly, basking in it.
Eyes shut, Li Lianhua listens to the boy’s sweet little grunts, the slap of skin on skin, his own gasps. He feels himself drifting away, slipping into memory, but he wants to be there, wants to be with Fang Duobing, wants suddenly to leave behind the scrounging longing for the past, to be pinned to the moment. “Puppy,” Li Lianhua says, not opening his eyes, “as hard as you can now.”
“What?”
“Make me feel it.”
And Fang Duobing is obedient for once—if only because he probably wants it as badly as Li Lianhua does. He pounds into him, the snap of his hips moving Li Lianhua up the bed until he grabs at the bedrail and pushes back, and that’s it, exactly right, sending pleasure bursting through his core.
“Like that, puppy. Just like that, right there, oh, fuck, please—” Li Lianhua falls apart, crumbles, dissolving into his constituent parts, into something less than a man. He keeps talking, he knows he’s still talking, always talking, until he’s just whimpers and scrabbling fingers and he’s coming across his own belly, vision going a bright white behind his eyes, the splendid shocking pleasure of it.
Not far behind him, Fang Duobing moans shifu as he finishes. Li Lianhua goes cold, pleasure draining out of him. His gut cramps. He can’t—Fang Duobing can’t know. He can’t possibly know. Li Lianhua’s breath is quick and sharp and panicked, the fluttering weakness of his limbs making him almost dizzy, and then Fang Duobing crashes back into Li Lianhua’s arms, nuzzling against his throat, suddenly terribly heavy, and Li Lianhua can only stare at him wondering: how does he know?
Fang Duobing lies there, breathing heavily, and slowly, with a creeping hilarity, Li Lianhua realizes. Fang Duobing has no idea. Only—Li Lianhua isn’t the only one imagining he’s fucking someone else. Thinking about someone else. But Li Lianhua has manners and practice, and he keeps his own secrets.
“Puppy,” he drawls, “what did you call me?”
Fang Duobing opens his eyes, full of panic. “I—I didn’t—Li Lianhua—”
Li Lianhua wets his lips. “No, I don’t think it was ‘Li Lianhua’.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Fang Duobing pushes himself up, eyeing Li Lianhua, a little wary, his eyes huge. Fang Duobing touches Li Lianhua’s mouth, gentle. “I really am sorry. It was rude.”
When Fang Duobing leans down, kissing him tenderly, the soft warm press of lips, Li Lianhua blinks up at him, confused. Baffled, really. Fang Duobing eases Li Lianhua’s lips open, sharing wet open-mouthed kisses that make Li Lianhua arch up into him. Fang Duobing is apologizing, trying to comfort him, to soothe away the hurt of knowing he was thinking about someone else. He’s good at it. It makes Li Lianhua wonder if he’s had to do it before. If Fang Duobing runs around whimpering shifu into pretty girls’ ears as he comes thinking about Li Xiangyi.
There’s something horribly, burningly delicious about that, knowing that Fang Duobing is as desperate to fuck him as he is Fang Duobing—only at least Li Lianhua knows it.
Fang Duobing says, startled, “Are you getting hard again?”
Li Lianhua can feel the flush on his cheeks, running down his chest. “Did you not want me to? What were you kissing me for, then?”
“I thought—”
Li Lianhua looks at him. Waits. When Fang Duobing doesn’t finish his sentence, Li Lianhua says, “You thought that if you kissed me prettily enough, I’d forget you were thinking about Li Xiangyi while you fucked me.”
Fang Duobing looks away. Oh, he was, he was.
Li Lianhua says, gleeful. “Do you think he’d ever let you fuck him?” Li Xiangyi would not have let Fang Duobing fuck him. Li Xiangyi, cruel, terrible boy, at least still had his pride.
“No,” Fang Duobing bites out, embarrassed but also obscurely angry. As if it hurts his tender heart that Li Xiangyi wouldn’t have spread his legs for him.
Oh, Li Lianhua wants that. He wants Fang Duobing angry. “Do you want me to pretend to be him?”
Fang Duobing fixes him with a look. “Li Lianhua, stop it.”
Li Lianhua resists the desire to tell Fang Duobing what a good impression he does of Li Xiangyi. How convincing he can be. He strokes Fang Duobing’s flank, trying to be soothing. Trying to contain his desire to bite into the boy’s thin skin and tear pieces off. “Puppy, will you do something for me?”
Fang Duobing looks incredulously down at him. “I don’t particularly want to right now.”
“No, you’ll like it,” Li Lianhua says. Then, licking his lower lip, looking up through his lashes, he says softly, “And don’t you owe me?” Li Lianhua slides his hand down Fang Duobing’s chest, all that hot flushed skin, over his belly, and between his legs. Fang Duobing is still mostly hard, and Li Lianhua sets to stroking him slowly as he looks up at Fang Duobing. Lets his mouth fall open a little.
Narrowing his eyes, Fang Duobing says, “I can see what you’re doing.” But he’s hot and heavy in Li Lianhua’s hand, skin like taut velvet, and Fang Duobing’s hips start to buck up, chasing the feeling of it.
Li Lianhua guides him back in, doesn’t ask, doesn’t care. The friction is intense, the sticky messiness of it overridden by how sore he is. He whimpers every time Fang Duobing thrusts in again, tears beading at the corners of his eyes until they spill over. Li Lianhua is making wounded animal noises, digging his nails into Fang Duobing’s shoulders and scoring his back. The ugly pleasure of it pulses in his stomach.
Probably, if Fang Duobing could last long enough, Li Lianhua could finish just from this, from letting his sweet boy tear him apart. He shifts and picks up one of Fang Duobing’s hands where it’s braced against the bed, fitting it to his throat.
Fang Duobing’s eyebrows draw together into a frown, worried. “Won’t I hurt you?”
“No, puppy,” Li Lianhua lies fluidly. “I wouldn’t let you hurt me.”
When Fang Duobing closes his hand around Li Lianhua’s throat, he realizes that he doesn’t know if he could fight Fang Duobing off like this. Li Lianhua shivers, feeling himself spill precome onto his belly at the thought of it, the pure animal fear. Sliding a hand between them, he touches himself, palming his cock to take the edge off.
Fang Duobing is frozen over him. Li Lianhua nudges him with his knee. “Go on, puppy.”
“You like it,” Fang Duobing says, sounding—upset?
“Yes,” Li Lianhua says blithely, “that’s why I want you to do it.”
Fang Duobing makes a complicated expression that Li Lianhua can’t quite read. Moves his hand, touching Li Lianhua’s lips, slipping his fingers in. Li Lianhua brings his tongue up to flick along the tips of them, and Fang Duobing slides his fingers down to press against the flat of Li Lianhua’s tongue. Strokes him there. Shuddering, Li Lianhua laps at his fingers, the space between them. Nips at the skin.
Then Fang Duobing shoves his fingers down far enough for Li Lianhua to choke on them, gagging, unexpected. He bucks up against Fang Duobing, clenching tight around him. Fang Duobing gasps. Li Lianhua opens his eyes, blinking wetly. Gazes up at him from what feels like very far away.
The boy pulls his fingers out of Li Lianhua’s mouth and settles them around his throat. He can feel the wet drag of them against his skin, air catching against it. Fang Duobing immediately finds Li Lianhua’s carotid artery with his thumb. Then he steadies himself, regulates his breathing, centers his energy. As if he’s going into battle. Li Lianhua rubs Fang Duobing’s arm, the one that’s holding onto his throat.
“I like it,” Li Lianhua says.
Fang Duobing nods curtly. “You like it.” He starts to fuck Li Lianhua again, hips a slow roll, resting his hand on Li Lianhua’s throat like a threat. Li Lianhua’s breath comes quickly, the anticipation quick in him. Grasping for the pain, the fear, the desperation that will spill over into desire. He aches, he’s trembling, he wants, he wants.
Fang Duobing presses down.
Li Lianhua’s world tilts on its axis, eyes sliding shut, body arching. The slick run of fear down his spine pooling into pleasure. It used to take longer for him to feel out of breath, but now it seems instantaneous, clawing up through him, dizzying. As it crashes over him, he steers himself instinctively toward the thought of Shan Gudao, his shixiong fucking him (choking him), but shamefully he finds himself thinking of Fang Duobing, clutching the moment to himself. He wants it to be Fang Duobing wrapped around him, hurting him, keeping him safe. Flicks his eyes open to look at Fang Duobing, wide eyes, the pretty kiss-swollen smear of his mouth. Tries to memorize what Fang Duobing looks like in that moment for later when he leaves. But Fang Duobing’s thrusts are relentless, and Li Lianhua’s vision is sparkling at the corners, and he gasps—tries to gasp—tries to whimper—comes hard and earth-shattering, falling apart. His ears ring. He breathes. He feels alive.
He opens his eyes when Fang Duobing pulls away from him, leaving him suddenly cold. Li Lianhua says blearily, “Puppy?”
Fang Duobing is shaking, visibly shaking. Looking at Li Lianhua like he’s seen a ghost.
Li Lianhua props himself up on one elbow. “What’s wrong?” He reaches for Fang Duobing, and Fang Duobing flinches away.
“I—” Fang Duobing makes a noise, a soft, wounded whimper. “I hurt you.”
Li Lianhua sighs. Yes, he knows. “I liked it.”
“I didn’t.” Fang Duobing crosses his arms over his chest, holding onto himself.
Li Lianhua snarls, “Why, because you wouldn’t fuck your precious shifu like that?”
“No, because I won’t fuck you like that,” Fang Duobing snaps back. “Li Lianhua,” he says, his voice going soft and wet and torn apart. Tears slide down his cheeks.
Leaning forward, Li Lianhua tries to coax Fang Duobing into his arms. “It felt good. You didn’t hurt me, not really. I let you do it because I knew that you’d stop. You did stop. Now, stop being dramatic, and tell me what’s wrong.”
Fang Duobing draws away, glaring at him. “I told you.”
Li Lianhua is desperate to touch him, to make this all right. Can’t understand the shape of the problem. “Just let me hold you. Please, Xiaobao, come here.”
Fang Duobing doesn’t move. He’s still shaking like a leaf.
Li Lianhua, muscles loose and trembling from coming, tired, sticky, sits up properly. He gets his knees under him and crosses to Fang Duobing, so they’re facing each other. “I’m going to touch you,” Li Lianhua says. Fang Duobing makes a furious wordless noise at the back of his throat, but Li Lianhua has already wrapped his arms around his shoulders. The position is awkward, putting a horrible strain on Li Lianhua’s thighs, but Fang Duobing almost immediately sets his head down on Li Lianhua’s shoulder. Relaxes into his arms. Fang Duobing wraps his arms around Li Lianhua’s waist and holds on. They lean against each other like that until Li Lianhua’s back can’t take it anymore.
He taps Fang Duobing’s side. “Xiaobao, my back hurts. I’m an old man, and you’ve tired me out. Lie down with me.”
Fang Duobing blusters at him, huffing and puffing, but when Li Lianhua lies down on the bed, Fang Duobing curls up obligingly next to him.
Li Lianhua wraps an arm around Fang Duobing again. Cups his cheek, brushing the lingering trails of tears away. “I won’t make you do it again,” Li Lianhua says tentatively.
Fang Duobing glares at him. “Is that all you have to say for yourself?”
”Xiaobao,” Li Lianhua grumbles.
Fang Duobing levers himself up. “I’m going to sleep upstairs.”
”No—” Li Lianhua says, grabbing Fang Duobing’s arm. “No. Stay here with me.”
“I don’t want to look at you.”
But Li Lianhua can’t bear the idea of Fang Duobing waking up alone, wondering in the moment between sleep and wakefulness if Li Lianhua has abandoned him again. (Can’t bear the idea of wondering if Fang Duobing has snuck out in the night.) “I’m sorry I pushed,” Li Lianhua says, voice soft and wheedling. “Don’t go to bed angry.”
Fang Duobing sighs at him. He crawls over to the far side of the bed, flops down, and turns onto his side, back to Li Lianhua. Well then.
Climbing out of the bed, Li Lianhua puts the kettle on to heat the remaining water in it. Wipes what he can off himself with a dry rag and then, once the water is warmed through, a wet one. Gets his belly and thighs as clean as he can. Maybe he can salvage the sheets. He wets another rag and returns to the bed. When he tries to roll Fang Duobing onto his back, he uses his full strength to resist, and well, Li Lianhua isn’t going to draw on Yangzhouman to roll his frustrating boy over. He spoons up behind Fang Duobing, running the cloth over his belly and then more gently over his soft cock. Kisses Fang Duobing’s shoulder before pulling the quilt over him and crawling out of bed again.
By the time Li Lianhua finds the bolster and blows out the last of the candles, Fang Duobing has rolled over and is watching him. Li Lianhua slips under the quilt, unsure of his welcome. Fang Duobing shuffles over to him. Li Lianhua tugs Fang Duobing down into his arms, arranging him pressed against his side. Very possibly his shoulder will ache soon. He kisses the top of Fang Duobing’s head. “Good boy.”
From the neighborhood of his shoulder, Fang Duobing says, “Bad old fox.”
Li Lianhua smiles at him. “Would you speak to your shifu that way?”
Fang Duobing pinches him, and Li Lianhua shoves him, and they tussle until Li Lianhua is pinned down on his back, panting a little. Li Lianhua lies there. Lets himself be held down. Fang Duobing leans in and touches Li Lianhua’s face. Strokes his neck, his shoulder. Finally, Fang Duobing bends down to kiss him, tender and open-mouthed. When Li Lianhua parts his lips, trying to coax his tongue in, Fang Duobing leaves it as the heated press of lips. Ah. It’s like that then.
When Fang Duobing pulls back, Li Lianhua touches his own mouth. It feels hot and tender and a little bruised like the rest of him. Fang Duobing strokes Li Lianhua’s hair, looking at him, eyes soft. Then, he shifts, letting Li Lianhua go. Curling up against his side. Li Lianhua doesn’t like sharing his bed, but it’s—nice. Besides, Fang Duobing will keep him warmer than the quilt does.
The next morning, Li Lianhua is poorly rested. His lower back aches, and Fang Duobing is still in Li Lianhua’s bed, curled sweatily against his side. He shuts his eyes. The day can wait.