Mobei Jun doesn’t typically handle this sort of thing in person.
This is something one of the junior loan officers would take care of, between taking bets on who the vending machine at the laundromat across the street will collapse on next (the Deli clerk’s leading this time) and tetris-ing the timeblocks in Mobei Jun’s GCal to let him successfully avoid his mooch uncle for another month.
But Mobei Jun will brush his teeth with a hot iron poker before he ever trusts them to run the office in his absence again. Because while he’d been called away to a “conference” two towns over (one man’s “conference” is another man’s “opening up a noodle shop as a money laundering front,” sue him), his juniors were busy making the kinds of business decisions three toddlers in a trench coat would greenlight. He’d sat down at his computer this morning and opened up his workflow to find that the forbearance on one Shang Pingyao’s loan had been, heavens help him, extended .
Now don’t get Mobei Jun wrong. Although his admiration for his father used to crescent overhead, obvious and punctured past some horizon, Mobei Jun could not be more grateful that he has failed to inherit the man’s particular grade of casual cruelty. He would never force his subordinates to push a flat-tired sedan into a river to prove their loyalty. No, when Mobei Jun metes out cruelty, it is intentional and measured (and worse).
He has worked to make himself a systemic threat. The kind of shit he brings isn’t the randomness of potholes that make you jolt for a few seconds, but the rerunning joggle of a caving street, a scare of months, of years.
And Mobei Jun is not generous when it comes to his company’s money. He is many things—an unlikely tennis player, terrifyingly good at those little match three mobile games, the most assholish cross between a GQ model and a Hummer driver (according to Sha Hualing). But he is not liberal with company funds. Ever. Ask anybody. Even the mice in the lot across the street probably know it.
Throughout the day, his irritation takes his pores for shelving and clambers up to the crown of his head. He clicks his pen nonstop throughout a meeting about a couple of botched escrow accounts; the pace of his subordinates’ stuttering increases every time his brows scrunch. One of the gangly accountants present almost knocks over their iced tea. Maybe a full frown would send somebody through the freshly-Windexed window. Mobei Jun would be amused, if he wasn’t so distracted by Shang Pingyao’s loan extension. He skips the staff meeting that follows. By the time one of his PAs is texting him live updates, he’s in his car, heading due south. Fifteen minutes away from Shang Pingyao’s residence.
The house is very in line with the sort of man who’d seek out a high-interest loan for a daytime spa/auto repair combo store (at an interest rate of over 113%). Strange enough to be eye-catching, but too impractical for sustained utility. There’s a set of garden gnomes tucked into a bird fountain like a spread deck of cards. One of the steps of the stone walkway is a high-def sculpting of a dart board and… Mobei Jun would be fully within his rights to charge Shang Pingyao another 30% in interest for forcing him to process that shit with his own two eyes. The kind of tacky that could probably kickstart a thousand-aunty battle royale at the flea market. He ignores the snail-shaped door knocker, because Mobei Jun has spent most of his thirty one years curating a very particular brand of hostile dignity, and he’s not going to have his efforts kneecapped by a door ornament.
He knocks. Mobei Jun likes to think he’s done a very good job of working on his patience lately. Still, he feels his jaw start to clench when 0.3 whole seconds have elapsed with no answer. One lifetime ago, before this white collar front, he might’ve kicked down the door like a haggard detective on a daytime police serial. But that’s not who he is anymore. He’s grown, dammit. No more getting splinters wedged in his Magnanni loafers. But his brow is already twitching with irritation when the door opens.
For a moment, he’s staring at pale yellow drywall, right across from the entrance, before an unintelligible mumbling calls him to look down. There stands a young man a full head shorter than him. His brown hair is thrown up into the most careless topknot Mobei Jun has ever seen, most of his head a smudge of flyaway hair. He’s clearly woken up from a nap, rubs his eye with a sleepy nonchalance that has Mobei Jun feeling, of all things, suddenly amused.
“That vacuum better undeviate my septum if you’re gonna be pitching this shit to me again—”
Once the young man cranes his neck up and notices Mobei Jun, his cute face fluxes into the kind of wide-eyed shock a theater actress would need about six takes to get right. He can’t be older than twenty. Dramatic little thing, this one. Or maybe not. He’s smart to be nervous. A corner of Mobei Jun’s mouth twitches upward with his amusement, but he knows the look on his face is nowhere near kind.
This is not Shang Pingyao, not unless he’s lost a paunch and a cleft chin and 20+ years since Mobei Jun saw him last month. No, this must be his son. Mobei Jun remembers seeing his name in Shang Pingyao’s file, under living relatives. Qinghua. An even twenty. Mobei Jun takes him in, from the slightly rounded cheeks to the big brown eyes and the scattered beauty marks that Mobei Jun idly imagines digging mean thumbs into. Mobei Jun’s never used the word in his life for any reason, but adorable seems to be the most apt description for the young man. He’s certainly quite pretty, but he has this glint in his eyes that screams WEAK TO TEASING, and that makes him absolutely adorable . Mobei Jun’s gaze drops lower, completely un-shy, completely disrespectful, as he takes in the oversized shirt, the smooth olive neck bare from the way the wide collar forces the shirt to slip down Qinghua’s shoulder. Mobei Jun’s eyes fall to the soft thighs he now sees are entirely bare, briefly registers a band of pale green pajama shorts peeking out from the drop of the shirt. When Mobei Jun deigns to make eye contact—after a long, long look at those thighs, the dig of the short hems in the meat of them, their smooth sheen—Qinghua’s full bottom lip is twitching with nervousness. Mobei Jun has never seen someone look so unwittingly fuckable. When Qinghua speaks again, Mobei Jun zeroes in on his soft lips like the perviest sentient camera.
“You, uh, you’re missing your merchandise today mister, aha. Not even gonna give me something to say no to, huh? What a sales tactic!”
Shang Qinghua’s word salad shields nothing. Mobei Jun sees the light of recognition in his eye. The way his cheeks flushed (quite appealingly), then ran pale, then settled back to their light tan.
Mobei Jun has little doubt. Shang Qinghua knows exactly who he is. And why he’s here.
Contrary to what most might think, Mobei Jun knows just how to adjust his presence, to go from the capital M Menacing of club bouncers and overburdened DMV workers to the sort of calm monks would break their ankles for. He doesn’t have to take up as much space as he does in Shang Qinghua’s doorway, doesn’t have to broaden his shoulders like he’s scaring off a bear, or make his face entirely, unnervingly, unreadable. But he does all those things because he’s a bastard and he’s not above leaning into it. He watches Shang Qinghua’s eyes get bigger. Shang Qinghua’s hands grip the hem of his large shirt. Mobei Jun does very little (read: nothing) to modulate his tone, and lets the mild threat smog beneath his words when he asks,
“Where is Shang Pingyao?”
Shang Qinghua hesitates, and Mobei Jun wonders whether he’s going to attempt a lie. How precious.
“He’s out right now! But I can definitely take a message, mister. I’ll just tell him that a linebacker showed up in his best date night suit—”
“Not my best suit, little Shang. You’re going to hurt my feelings.”
Mobei Jun steps a bit closer, enough that Shang Qinghua must crane his head back further. Shang Qinghua even has a beauty mark at the corner of an eyelid. Mobei Jun sees it each time the young man blinks rapidly (which he’s doing a lot). Mobei Jun (though he will not admit it out loud right now) is a bit charmed. Who else would ever speak to him like that (and through their visible terror no less)?
Full lashes and such smooth skin. Qinghua looks so soft to the touch. Mobei Jun allows his mouth to twitch in mirth, and Shang Qinghua’s lovely flush beams instantly across his cheeks again like it’s controlled by a dial somewhere. Qinghua says, nervously,
“I’m assuming a-die didn’t give you thirty thousand reasons to come give us a hearty, in-person thank you ?”
“I would never thank anyone for giving me what I’m owed.”
“Right! Of course haha.”
As Shang Qinghua responds, he tries to right the wide-open collar of his shirt (an abject failure; the boy is trying to put out a house fire with a bottle of Zephyrhills). He does nothing but draw Mobei Jun’s eyes to the dewy, tawny-gold skin of his throat and upper chest. Shang Qinghua’s clumsiness actually briefly bares a nubbed brown nipple to him, the too-large shirt dipping forward in a severe, revealing scallop. Mobei Jun is a storm biding its time. He fights against his immediate urge to lick his lips.
Mobei Jun is fairly sure he’s stumbled across the world’s most oblivious tease.
Mobei Jun wonders what kinds of sounds he could squeeze from Qinghua if he sucked on those enticing little nipples. He wonders how easily he could bully Qinghua onto the nearest flat surface—a bed, a table, a floor if need be—, whether Qinghua would thrash beneath him from the sniper-focused attention of unforgiving teeth and a rough, wet tongue on (what Mobei Jun bets are) two of the most sensitive spots on his body.
Shang Qinghua must interpret Mobei Jun’s silence and intensity as anger, because he’s quickly floundering,
“I’m really really sorry about all this! Are you going to have to take a lien out on the house? W-wait, is that how liens work?? Those are bad, right? Do you think I could mortgage a kidney? I couldn’t sell one ‘cause I’d need it right back, I do not eat healthily enough to survive on a single kidney— ”
“Hold onto your kidneys, Qinghua.”
Mobei Jun watches Shang Qinghua falter at the use of his given name, the overfamiliarity. Shang Qinghua does a double take, the loose front locks of his hair swinging briefly. Before Shang Qinghua can stutter out an endearingly nervous response, they’re interrupted.
A postman streams into Mobei Jun’s periphery, his goofy smile so big it makes him look like a live action model for clip art emoticons (one of those donkey-toothed emojis Mobei Jun is sure no well-adjusted person has ever used unironically). The postman initially only has eyes for Shang Qinghua, and Mobei Jun dislikes immediately. Mobei Jun dislikes most people immediately as a general rule (everyone’s unlikable until proven likable, it’s how he roots out true quality), but it’s never with this much fervor. He tracks Shang Qinghua’s responding smile, a pretty, friendly thing that offers up the prominent dimples on his cheeks.
“Shang Qinghua! Up a bit early from your nap today ah?” the postman greets. Mobei-jun plays host to a ballooning possessiveness as the man’s grin widens. The man, bland-faced and sweaty, is too friendly by half.
“Not on purpose, Li Shen!” Shang Qinghua gives Mobei-jun a sheepish look that urges his lips into an accidental pout, and Mobei-jun feels something greedy bunching at the back of his throat. It must show on his face at least a little because Shang Qinghua is soon whipping his head back to their interloper.
The postman notices Mobei-jun now, loses his stupid smirk as Mobei-jun’s face grows cold. He knows he’s wearing his “you’ll either leave this meeting with a signed merger document or a briefcase down your throat” face (it’s very effective; Mobei-jun thinks he should patent it as a legitimate business tactic). The postman looks like he’s about to attempt some greeting, but then seems to think better of it. Smart.
He holds out a delivery slip for Shang Qinghua to sign (like, an actual analog slip on an official mail delivery; how antiquated). He doesn’t even have a pen. Pathetic.
“No worries!” Shang Qinghua pipes up as the postman places the box just inside of the entrance hall. “I’m sure I have a pen here somewhere, just...”
Shang Qinghua turns to rifle through the drawer of a small side-table. Mobei-jun nearly swallows his tongue, a heavy heat lancing through his stomach. Because he’s now staring at the roundest, juiciest ass he’s ever seen, green shorts stretched taut across each cheek. Shang Qinghua’s plump rear is already spilling out of the shorts, but then he leans forward , apparently trying to grab something at the back of the drawer, and the shorts pull up even further. They’re a bit caught in the crease now, holy fuck. Oh he has to be doing this on purpose. The stretched hems dig into the squishy, pretty meat of Qinghua’s incredible ass and Mobei-jun wants to take a bite of it. Shang Qinghua seems particularly bite-able in general, but this ass in goddamn particular. Shang Qinghua shifts a bit—it seems that he’s found that blessed pen (thank you, Pen)—and his ass jiggles . With the tiniest, most casual bit of movement. It jiggles like Jell-O. Ancients. Mobei Jun just barely tamps down on whatever dark, tractor-engine-rumbly sound he’s sure he’d been about to make.
And he thought he had to fuck Shang Qinghua before .
There is movement out of the corner of his eye. His first impulse is to ignore it in favor of Qinghua’s, well, Everything—you’re asking a pilot to purposefully lose track of his flight course here—but then he remembers that it’s the postman, friendlier than a fucking morning talk show host.
Mobei Jun catches the postman’s eyeline immediately and finds his attention glued to Shang Qinghua’s ass.
Is Mobei Jun a hypocrite? Sure. But he’s a hypocrite with a plan and about a solid hundred pounds on the postman.
His anger finds a mathematical exponent and builds quick into something bloated and present. And Mobei Jun really has grown because while three years ago he would have, say, smashed that clipboard so hard into the postman’s face that it would’ve sounded like a car door slamming (just hypothetically), he doesn’t set a finger on the man this time.
He doesn’t need to.
He leans over to the man and says,
“Your sight will be the only thing of yours I leave intact once I’m done with you, since you seem so fond of it.”
All color clears from Li Shen’s face, till he’s as white as Shang Qinghua’s shirt. Shang Qinghua turns back to them with a cheery,
The postman’s hands shake a bit as he holds the clipboard for Shang Qinghua to sign. Mobei Jun only allows a bit of his satisfaction to show.
“I’llseeyoutomorrowShangQinghua!” the postman manages once Shang Qinghua is finished. He’s already about a quarter of the way down the footpath.
“I didn’t even know Li Shen could move that quick! He’s always lingering when he stops by.” Mobei Jun bets. He resists the temptation to roll his eyes.
Shang Qinghua looks even more disheveled now, top-knot beyond repair. And his shorts have all but disappeared beneath the shirt, their presence signaled by only the thinnest slice of green. Mobei Jun wants. And Mobei Jun is accustomed to getting what he wants. But he’s not unreasonable about it. He never is.
“I am discharging the debt,” he says.
Shang Qinghua’s eyes widen and relief vaults into them. Then it’s quickly replaced by suspicion (although on Qinghua, “suspicion” looks a lot like apprehension; the calling card of a prey animal. If Mobei Jun was any hungrier, he’d be licking his chops).
“R-really?” Shang Qinghua says. “Just… like that? Mister, you look like you could move a bank vault door with your bare hands and you’re very very handsome and you kinda look like the anti-hero from a post-apocalyptic video game but—”
Shang Qinghua glances up at him, then quickly away again. Mobei Jun’s mouth ticks up in a slight smirk.
“But?” Mobei Jun prompts.
“But you don’t look particularly, ah, charitable?”
“Mm,” Mobei Jun hums noncommittally.
He takes a few slow steps towards Shang Qinghua. The sun is high in the sky today, slinging itself towards Shang Qinghua’s entrance, and Mobei Jun wonders what kind of literal shadow he’s casting over the sweet-faced young man. Shang Qinghua looks up at him again as he advances, as he further crowds the entrance. Mobei Jun is close enough to catch the jade green specs in Shang Qinghua’s irises, to see those beauty marks even more clearly. Shang Qinghua doesn’t move, but it looks like it’s taking him all of his courage. He holds Mobei Jun’s gaze for all of two seconds, then he’s looking away again. At the wall, at Mobei Jun’s chest (which Mobei Jun notes with pride), then down at his own feet.
There is a single centimeter that separates them, and Mobei Jun can immediately feel the depth of Qinghua’s warmth, the tiered stairs of it. Shang Qinghua runs hot. And if Mobei Jun can tell all this just by standing close, what would it feel like to arrange a mewling Qinghua onto his back (Mobei Jun bets he mewls so sweet), to spread his legs and push them to his chest, to sink—
Mobei Jun pockets the thought. He needs to focus on this gentle easing, this smoother but inexorable shifting of Shang Qinghua into the event that Mobei Jun’s mind has already mapped out. Shang Qinghua is right, after all.
He is not charitable.
Shang Qinghua is still looking down at his feet. Mobei Jun can only see his messy brown hair, his disastrous bun. Mobei Jun tucks a finger beneath Shang Qinhua’s chin and lifts his head, the top knot bobbing cutely. Shang Qinghua’s lashes flutter and he licks his lips, making them even redder than they’d been. He’s trying so hard to keep Mobei Jun’s gaze, cheeks aflame. He seems to sense it’s what Mobei Jun wants. A good boy.
“Does Qinghua think he owes me?” Mobei Jun rumbles.
Shang Qinghua’s breath catches.
“I do,” Shang Qinghua answers, voice nervous but confident for the way that Mobei Jun feels him shudder.
Mobei Jun hums his agreement. He thumbs at Qinghua’s plump bottom lip and finds it permissive and soft as it looked. Qinghua’s hands come up to grip his biceps like he needs to steady himself. As if Mobei Jun would let him go long enough for him to fall, ridiculous. Mobei Jun senses the shape of Qinghua’s small hands through his dress shirt and it torches him up inside, like he’d been unbuttoned down the middle and circuited with kindling. Their difference in size has no right to be as appealing as it is.
Mobei Jun eases his thumb into Shang Qinghua’s mouth. He finds it warm and wet, the tongue twitchy and eager. Shang Qinghua closes his lips around Mobei Jun’s thumb, cherry red lips in a perfect circlet. Shang Qinghua ducks his head forward a bit to take more of the thumb into his mouth. He’s hesitant enough for Mobei Jun to sense the inexperience there—he knows his eyes darken at the realization. Shang Qinghua’s new shudder tells him as much. Shang Qinghua pulls back in a quietly smacking suck, like he’s testing the waters.
Mobei Jun smirks properly now, and Shang Qinghua’s hands tighten a bit on his biceps.
“What will Qinghua barter with?”
Mobei Jun steps into the house fully, shutting and locking the door behind him. He, somehow, has the wherewithal to kick off his shoes. When he pulls his thumb free of Qinghua’s mouth, Qinghua pouts slightly. It makes the gleaming curves of his spit-slick lips even more inviting. His eyes flutter half-closed, and his head tilts back naturally. Like he’s waiting for a kiss. Mobei Jun takes hold of his chin once more.
“Do you just expect to get your way?” Mobei Jun asks, amused.
“G—, mister wants to kiss me too.”
Mobei Jun raises a brow at the aborted address, but he lets it lay. And Qinghua is right besides.
He leans down and brushes his lips against Shang Qinghua’s, barely a proper touch. He can still tell how soft they are, and some of the heat in Mobei Jun’s stomach collapses towards his cock. He’s hardening. Shang Qinghua is tentative, but Mobei Jun gets the impression that he’s done this much before. Shang Qinghua stretches up towards him like he can’t help it, and Mobei Jun ducks down and works them into something deeper, something that allows him to fully experience the plushness of Qinghua’s lips. Shang Qinghua gasps quietly as he winds his arms around Mobei Jun’s neck, like his pleasure has taken him by surprise.
So not accustomed to every part of this, then.
Mobei Jun smirks against his mouth.
Mobei Jun eases his tongue between the momentarily parted lips and opens the kiss up into its filthiest iteration ( so far , if he has anything to say about it). Mobei Jun grabs a hold of Shang Qinghua’s waist over his shirt and finds it narrow. He knows that if he squeezed, his middle fingers would touch at Qinghua’s back, thumbs over his belly button. Qinghua moans into his mouth and shudders against him. Mobei Jun pens Qinghua’s waist with one big hand as he devours his mouth. The other one slides down the length of Qinghua’s back towards his ass, glides along the provocative slope of his lower back towards the top of his cheeks. Mobei Jun gives Shang Qinghua a short reprieve from the kiss, delighting in how the young man’s chest heaves against his own, how he struggles to catch his breath from just this much. He blinks up at Mobei Jun with bleary eyes, his lips swollen and even redder. He’s so lovely. Mobei Jun feels like the dirtiest fucker on the planet at the indecent sight.
“This sweet mouth,” Mobei Jun murmurs, the hand from Qinghua’s waist coming up to thumb at his bottom lip again, to tug down this time and reveal a line of gleaming white teeth. “What other lovely things does Qinghua have for me, hm?”
Mobei Jun lands a kiss to Qinghua’s temple as he pulls him in tighter to stare down the line of his back. Both of Mobei Jun’s hands drift towards his ass now. He grips a soft globe in each greedy hand, rumbles a growly fuck as he finds them even fatter and plusher to the touch than they’d looked. And they’d looked pretty fucking fat and plush to the touch.
So Shang Qinghua does know his name. The young man has lost all of his (admittedly charming) artifice.
“Hm?” Mobei Jun replies, his fingers sinking into the yielding, plentiful flesh spilling out of Qinghua’s tiny shorts. He finds the curve where a round cheek meets Qinghua’s thigh and traces it with his finger, digs in a bit so that his blunt nail drags against the smooth, unmarred skin. Shang Qinghua hits his forehead against Mobei Jun’s shoulder.
“Feels good,” Shang Qinghua sighs into his shoulder. He’s rocking against Mobei Jun in time with how Mobei Jun has begun to knead his ass. Their combined efforts have his shorts riding up further, forces the green band to disappear between his cheeks. Mobei Jun feels a hard line against his thigh, proof of just how Good it Feels for Qinghua. Mobei Jun chuckles.
“Don’t, ah , be mean,” Shang Qinghua complains, the pout in his voice clear. He goes to unwind his arms from Mobei Jun’s neck, likely out of embarrassment, but that just won’t do.
“Don’t be such an easy target,” Mobei Jun responds.
Mobei Jun grips Shang Qinghua’s hips and lifts him. As he’s hauled up into Mobei Jun’s arms, Shang Qinghua squeaks.
Oh that’s a fun sound. Mobei Jun immediately resolves to hear it again before he leaves this house.
Shang Qinghua’s legs wrap around Mobei Jun’s waist on instinct, his arms now tight around Mobei Jun’s neck. They’re face to face now, Qinghua’s cheeks covered in a vibrant, pretty blush. Mobei Jun leans in and noses at the smooth, exposed throat. Shang Qinghua smells like fabric softener and cucumber soap.
“Bedroom,” Mobei Jun murmurs into his throat. It’s technically a question but it doesn’t have the cadence of one. It’s too demanding. Too heated . It has no uncertain uptick, and it makes Shang Qinghua shiver. Mobei Jun latches onto the spot of skin where Shang Qinghua’s jaw meets his throat, right beneath his ear, and digs his teeth in just so.
“O-oh ngh ,” Shang Qinghua moans.
“Bedroom, Qinghua,” Mobei Jun repeats. “Unless you want me to fuck you right here?” Shang Qinghua whimpers. “Hold you up against that wall, stretch you out on my cock right here baobei? Or would Qinghua like to bend over the entryway table for me, let me spread his pretty ass while he’s on his knees?”
Mobei Jun grips Shang Qinghua’s ass and gives a pointed roll of his hips. He drags his teeth up to Qinghua’s earlobe and nips at it, earns a startled, breathy
Qinghua starts to roll his hips too, offbeat and jittery at first but growing fluid already, his dick so hard Mobei Jun swears he can already feel it leaking. He’s an eager, naturally talented little thing. Mobei Jun’s lips finds Qinghua’s and he rewards him with another deep, smacking kiss. When they pull apart, Qinghua, greedy little hips still rolling, looks down between them towards Mobei Jun’s clothed cock and pants,
“It won’t… won’t fit. You’re too big—”
There’s curiosity in his big brown eyes. Anticipation too, and a good measure of fear.
A kinder man might soften his tone, might draw on their compassion to reassure Qinghua that they’ll be gentle, they’ll take it slow.
Mobei Jun is not that man.
“I’ll make it fit,” Mobei Jun rumbles. He devours Qinghua’s mouth again and swallows whatever shocked, stuttering protest the young man might’ve emitted.
Mobei Jun saw the flash of anxiety in Qinghua’s eyes, but he saw the hunger too. Feels the growing wet spot at the front of Qinghua’s shorts, unmistakable now. Hears the breathy, plaintive little mewls as he sucks on Qinghua’s tongue.
Shang Qinghua gives him directions to the bedroom. For how distracted Mobei Jun is, he’s shocked that he doesn’t barrel into anything. Like there’s some horny, benevolent higher spirit playing live Sims , dragging walls and tables and chairs out of the way as Qinghua whines and writhes against him.
He catches the briefest glimpses of Shang Qinghua’s room, overblown posters of smooth-faced action heroes with swords (xianxia characters, if he had to guess), scattered gel pens and post-it notes on a pinewood desk.
Mobei Jun lowers Shang Qinghua to his feet, ending their latest kiss. Shang Qinghua gives him an affronted pout for it.
“Oh?” Mobei Jun says, a proprietary hand still on Qinghua’s butt. “Does Qinghua still want to use his mouth?”
The words are barely out before Qinghua’s nodding his yes. Mobei Jun reaches up with his free hand and squeezes the rounded cheeks of Qinghua’s face between a thumb and forefinger, just because he can.
“Say it out loud,” Mobei Jun says.
“Y… yes, I want to use my mouth some more.”
“Good boy,” Mobei Jun murmurs, delighted when he sees how Shang Qinghua’s eyes brighten then go all pleasure-glazed at the praise. “Where does Qinghua want to use his mouth?”
A bashfulness alights on Shang Qinghua’s face and he bites his bottom lip. He blinks down at Mobei Jun’s clothed bulge, then widens his eyes meaningfully, thinks he can just spoon all sound from language like that. Oh those big, gorgeous eyes are dangerous . Mobei Jun is sorely tempted to cut his teasing short, tempted to give in to Qinghua’s silent request. But that temptation tags other, darker feelings, barrels into them like they’re all running a three-member relay race together. His temptation to give in finds his desire to ruin Shang Qinghua, his need to see how quickly he can make those eyes gem with tears.
Mobei Jun takes Shang Qinghua’s hand and presses it to his hardened cock, through the expensive black cotton-blend. Shang Qinghua gasps like he’s the one who’s been touched. Mobei Jun presses down harder and Qinghua’s questing fingers do the rest. He outlines the shape of Mobei Jun through his pants, wonderment plain on his face. There’s no way he’s done this before with another person. Mobei Jun tamps down his groan at the thought, only lets out a bit of a harsh breath.
“Where will Qinghua put his mouth for me, hm?”
Shang Qinghua blinks up at him, boldness temporarily rallied, and says,
Mobei Jun has to close his eyes for a moment. There is a flash of arousal that sears his stomach so suddenly that it shocks him, arcs through like it’s been balled up and thrown by a pissed off pitcher. When Mobei Jun opens his eyes, Shang Qinghua’s expression has shifted back to nervous uncertainty.
“Mobei Jun?” he asks.
Mobei Jun sets a hand on his shoulder and pushes him to his knees. Qinghua looks up at him, a goddamn vision down there. Mobei Jun can see down his shirt at this angle, the brown nipples stark, his stomach soft and undefined.
“Open your mouth,” Mobei Jun tells him, voice rough.
Shang Qinghua parts his lips and presents his pink tongue. He shakes some of the hair from his eyes, and his button nose twitches. Unbearably cute. When Mobei Jun slides two of his fingers into Qinghua’s mouth, he finds it warm and silky-wet. He strokes the small tongue.
“Breathe through your nose,” he instructs as he pushes in further. “Just like that, very good. Practice for gege’s cock, baobei. Show me what you’re going to do to make me come down your throat.”
Just as inviting as the warm wet he’s begun to gently thrust his fingers into is the lush ring of rose-red lips around his digits. Qinghua ducks his head forward, eyes still on Mobei Jun, and withdraws with a suck, his cheeks hollowing prettily. Shang Qinghua ducks down again, his hair bun jolting out of its top knot and into a messy, haphazard ponytail. He’s building a rhythm for himself now, something exploratory but smooth. Just when he starts to get the hang of it, satisfaction on his face and his eyes half-lidded in concentration, Mobei Jun pushes his fingers so far back that Qinghua gags, breath stuttering. A bit of drool sneaks out of the corner of Qinghua’s lips to roll down his chin. His eyes go watery, and Mobei Jun bites the inside of his cheek, rubs himself through his pants to assuage the ache. Mobei Jun removes his fingers from Shang Qinghua’s mouth.
“I th… thought you were gonna do me, not bully me!” Qinghua whines when he can speak again.
“I’m finding that the two intersect beautifully,” Mobei Jun replies.
He takes hold of Shang Qinghua’s impromptu ponytail. Qinghua’s hair is actually a bit curly, so it’s technically even longer than it looks. Perfect. Mobei Jun wraps it around his hand and uses the grip to tip Shang Qinghua’s head back a bit, lengthening his smooth throat, forcing him to look straight up at Mobei Jun. Qinghua gasps, eyes blinking rapidly again. Mobei Jun pulls a bit harder, and Qinghua squeaks. Fuck, he loves that sound.
Mobei Jun tilts Shang Qinghua’s head back down so that he’s staring right at the older man’s groin. Mobei Jun undoes his belt single-handed and lets the jingling, wind-chimey sound of metal pebble between them, moons of suggestive sound. Mobei Jun unzips his pants and draws himself out of his briefs. He’s long since been entirely erect. The head, its red a few steps down from the color of Qinghua’s lips (how well-matched are they?), is already gleaming with precum. Mobei Jun has never been a big masturbator (he’s never really needed to; as soon as the urges came in his young adulthood, there were people more than willing to help him sate them). That said, Mobei Jun relishes the awed look on Shang Qinghua’s pretty face as he collects some precum from his tip, drags it along his length, then wraps a hand around himself to stroke himself from tip to root, then back up.
Shang Qinghua looks completely overcome. A little worried, even. His mouth has fallen open in a small o, his eyes glued to Mobei Jun’s naked cock. The expression injects Mobei Jun’s ego with helium and releases it, buoyant, into some stratosphere.
“No commentary?” Mobei Jun teases. The pleasure pulled from his own unhurried strokes is a muted, enjoyable thrum at the back of his chest. He knows it will not compare to the feeling of being inside Qinghua.
“You’re gonna break me,” Qinghua breathes, eyes still on Mobei Jun’s cock. Mobei Jun chuckles at the excited undertone in the young man’s voice.
Mobei Jun pulls him forward using the grip in his hair, tips his head back once more. He taps Qinghua’s cheek with his heavy cock, drinks in the fact that the length of his cock surpasses the length of Qinghua’s face, forehead to chin. Mobei Jun pulls his cock away and holds it right in front of Qinghua again.
“Touch it Qinghua,” he says. “It’s your fault it’s like this. Take responsibility.”
Qinghua makes an offended sound at that, but he still raises his hand and carefully—like he’s afraid the dick will lunge right at him, teeth bared—wraps it a couple of inches above Mobei Jun’s base. His hand is warm and supple, slender fingers not quite meeting when he secures his hold. Mobei Jun feels his arousal pinwheeling somewhere beneath his ribs. His cock twitches in Qinghau’s hold, and Qinghua lets out an adorably surprised, “Oh!”
Mobei Jun allows his grip in Shang Qinghua’s hair to slacken for now. The young man leans forward, wrapping his other hand around the length as well, right above the first. He looks so focused, his brows slightly scrunched. Mobei Jun, in addition to being the horniest he’s been in months, is terribly endeared.
Shang Qinghua leans in and drags his tongue across the tip of Mobei Jun’s cock. Mobei Jun digs his nails into his palm and clenches his teeth.
“Tastes good,” Qinghua breathes, earnest, almost to himself. The gentle rush of his breath carries across Mobei Jun’s sensitized tip, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from burying his cock into Qinghua’s hot little mouth.
“You horny little thing,” Mobei Jun accuses.
“Mhm,” Qinghua moans as he leans in again. He holds Mobei Jun’s cock as steadily as he can with both hands and licks at the tip some more. He swirls around the head with his tongue and, when he’s rewarded with a rough breath and approving rumble from Mobei Jun, he does it again. He closes his lips around the whole head and swirls his tongue about the smooth, precum-covered skin. Mobei Jun finds the warmth so delicious he tightens his hold on Qinghua’s hair and jerks him forward just a bit. Feeds him a few more inches, the top of the thick, flushed shaft now encased in plump lips.
Qinghua yelps then moans at the slightly rough handling.
“Suck it right, Qinghua. Just like you did with my fingers.”
Qinghua starts up with a slow, halting rhythm. He pulls back till his lips swathe just the tip. Mobei Jun watches, in real time, as Qinghua tries to figure out how to manage the big cock in his mouth, how to sheathe his teeth and use his tongue all while bobbing his head and sucking. Mobei Jun finds a dark satisfaction in it. His dick is quite a bit bigger than the fingers he’d briefly trained Qinghua on. Mobei Jun immediately forgives him for the few fleeting flashes of teeth, scratching Qinghua’s scalp in reassurance every time the young man looks up at him apprehensively. In all honesty, Mobei Jun’s never really minded a sharper blowjob, a few drags of teeth along his shaft. And he certainly doesn’t mind now, watching Qinghua work himself into such a cute, desparate mess with Mobei Jun’s dick inside his mouth.
But Qinghua does get the hang of it. He catches a smoother, steadier rhythm as he bobs his head to take in and release hard cock. He’s taking in about half of Mobei Jun’s cock now, and Mobei Jun pilots Qinghua’s head until the tip touches the back of Qinghua’s throat, Qinghua’s gorgeous lips spread wide around it. Qinghua’s so messy with it. There’s drool running down the corners of his mouth, and the sounds of his slick up-down movement on Mobei Jun’s pillar are so wet. He pulls Qinghua off his dick, but directs him to keep his mouth open. Mobei Jun crouches down and spits right into Qinghua’s open mouth, the boy whining as he takes it. Then, Mobei Jun shoves him back to his task. Whenever Mobei Jun pulls him off to breathe (Mobei Jun swears the boy would choke himself unconscious on his cock if he let him; that quality should not be as sexy as it is), he drags his cock across Qinghua’s face and stains his cheeks with precum. His full lashes are clumped with tears, eyes so wet they’re starry.
“Fucking beautiful ,” Mobei Jun tells him, and Qinghua whimpers.
He’s moaning so much, so sweetly as he takes Mobei Jun into his mouth. Qinghua’s rolling his hips into open air, the wet spot at the front of his shorts growing like he’s the one being stroked off. It looks like a fly’s vigorous landing could make him cum. Mobei Jun can’t help the reactive jerk of his hips. This, in turn, triggers a fascinating, hiccuping moan that Mobei Jun doesn’t think he’s ever heard anywhere before. Qinghua is a feast of irresistible sights and sounds.
Mobei Jun thinks about training Qinghua’s throat for his own use, about eventually bringing Qinghua to a point where he can push the young man’s face into his lower stomach, and he leaks profusely, right into Qinghua’s warm, wet mouth. Mobei Jun notices how immobile Qinghua’s hands have been, and talks him through stroking the parts he can’t quite reach with his enthusiastic mouth. Qinghua’s rhythm falters with the new movement, but soon, he gets the hang of that too.
“Quick study,” Mobei Jun manages as Qinghua strokes his shaft in time with the movement of his mouth on Mobei Jun’s member. Mobei Jun feels a familiar heat building, something tapered and intentional. He hadn’t planned on coming until he got inside Qinghua’s lovely ass, but he can’t shake off the delectable image of shooting white all over Qinghua’s pink tongue, of making him swallow while Mobei Jun watches.
“Look up at me,” Mobei Jun grunts, tightening his grip on Qinghua’s ponytail to tip his head back.
Fuck , the cutie looks debauched. His cheeks are so flushed it looks like somebody slapped him around. There are tears beading at his lashes and tracking down his cheeks, sweat dampening his throat. His chin is wet with precum and drool.
And they’re nowhere near done.
Mobei Jun is so close now. He pulls his cock entirely free of Qinghua’s mouth, Qinghua’s tongue lolling out like it’s trying to follow a treat. Mobei Jun stares down at him, eyes locked with his, and begins to stroke the slick span of his own cock. He’s almost there, hand working quick over his member, Qinghua’s debauched face and the memory of his moist mouth the perfect fodder. And then Qinghua chokes out,
“ G-gege , give me a taste,”
And Mobei Jun is there, a deep, growly groan columning up his throat as he cums onto Qinghua’s tongue. Mobei Jun works himself through the orgasm, fills Qinghua’s mouth with as much hot cum as he can manage. Soon, his ass will be filled just the same. Shang Qinghua lets out a loud moan, all the filthier for the way that his open, full mouth hauls the sound apart at its corners and distorts it. Mobei Jun thinks he sees the young man’s shoulders trembling.
Mobei Jun’s final spurts drop down against Qinghua’s collarbones and run into the collar of his roomy shirt. Mobei Jun reigns in his scattered breathing as he looks down at Qinghua, mouth drenched in white. He collects some of the cum on Qinghua’s chin with his fingers and pushes it between his swollen lips before he taps the underside of his chin, signalling that Qinghua should close his mouth.
“Swallow for me baobei,” Mobei Jun says. Mobei Jun, though he’s just cum, hasn’t even softened entirely. His cock twitches at the movement of Qinghua’s throat as he does as he’s told. When Qinghua opens his mouth again, all of his cum is gone.
“ Very good boy,” Mobei Jun tells him. “Let’s take care of you too, hm?”
Qinghua’s spluttering as Mobei Jun grabs his biceps and hauls him up.
“Wait! I, uh, um—”
Mobei Jun looks down and finds the spot on the front of Qinghua’s shorts even larger than he remembers it being. Mobei Jun pulls off Qinghua’s cum-stained shirt amid embarrassed protests, then jerks his shorts down his legs. He finds that not only is Qinghua not wearing any underwear beneath his shorts, but that his delightfully proportional cock is softening, smeared in its own cum. Some of his release has made it to the very top of his inner thighs too, smudged streaks of it wrapping inward, out of sight. Qinghua clutches the front of Mobei Jun’s dress shirt, like he can’t decide whether to pull him closer and use him as a cover to hide his embarrassment or to push him back and run from his shame. His hair has been knocked completely loose now and it drapes across his shoulders in sleek brown waves. Mobei Jun likes Qinghua’s hair up—that ponytail is great for purchase, let him tell you—but Qinghua looks like a gorgeous little forest sprite with his unbound hair framing his face like that. Something straight out of the dirtiest animated feature.
“You’re just perfect, aren’t you?” Mobei Jun murmurs at the sight of his spent cock. Mobei Jun ducks in for a kiss, slips in his tongue and thoroughly tastes himself as Qinghua’s pleased, overwhelmed little noises stream into his mouth. “Just couldn’t help yourself?”
“Get uglier if you want me to last!” Qinghua wails. Mobei Jun laughs. Qinghua gapes at him, eyes wide like he finds the sound shocking. Mobei Jun kisses the amusing look off his face.
Qinghua’s cut off as Mobei Jun pushes him down onto the comforter. The young man is entirely naked now, on sumptuous display. His arms are thin and his legs are slender. His waist is just as narrow as it had felt through his shirt, and it curves into plump, full thighs. Mobei Jun remembers the sight and feel of Qinghua’s soft ass, and the extant anticipation in his gut grows ten more heads in response. Against the green jewel tones of his comforter, Qinghua looks lovely and varnished, dewy olive skin catching the warm lantern light like it’s its job. Mobei Jun levels a heavy, dark look at Shang Qinghua as he unbuttons his shirt. The young man squirms under the look and makes to reach for a folded blanket, likely to cover himself up. As Mobei Jun shrugs off his shirt, Qinghua pauses so absolutely that he looks like a figure from a movie’s end credit freeze frame.
“Did they make you in a fucking factory?” Qinghua blurts. As Mobei Jun kicks off his pants, the little minx-in-training unconsciously licks his lips.
“Qinghua is lucky that they didn’t,” Mobei Jun tells him as he climbs onto the bed and cages the young man in, arms on either side of his head. “He’s going to have a hard enough time keeping up as is.”
“Stop threatening me in bed,” Qinghua whines, hands covering his face. “I don’t think my dick can properly react to danger anymore.”
Mobei Jun glances down and finds that to be an entirely true assessment. Qinghua already appears to be half hard again. Mobei Jun’s pretty sure Qinghua’s general body chemistry took “refractory period” as a suggestion and elected to ignore it. Mobei Jun pulls Qinghua’s hands away from his face and bites down gently on his cheek, right below his eyeline. It earns him a muted, indignant yelp. Mobei Jun laves his tongue over the spot he just bit, trails kisses down the side of Qinghua’s face and sucks a mark into the underside of his jaw that has Qinghua scratching at Mobei Jun’s undercut, whimpering. . Mobei Jun sucks a wet, gleaming trail of blooming marks down Qinghua’s neck and across his collarbones.
Mobei Jun licks around an appealing little nipple, and Qinghua wriggles beneath him, chest heaving.
“So sensitive,” Mobei Jun marvels.
He closes careful teeth around the nipple and tugs. Qinghua’s body jerks, his now-hard cock rubbing against Mobei Jun’s thigh. Mobei Jun closes his mouth around the nipple and sucks hard, Qinghua wriggling helplessly beneath him while Mobei Jun pins his hands to the bed on either side of his thrashing head. When the nipple is swelling and glistening with spit, Mobei Jun blows on it. Qinghua sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, and when Mobei Jun looks up, he finds his eyes wet, hair a glossy, messy wreath against the covers.
So naturally, Mobei Jun moves to the other nipple and abuses it just the same.
“N-nothing, ah, n-nothing’s gonna come out!” Qinghua whines in his own defense as Mobei Jun nibbles at a pretty nipple. Mobei Jun, steadily hardening again since he started exploring Qinghua’s deliciously sensitive body, feels himself firm up some more in direct response to this new thought. He holds Qinghua’s teary gaze.
“Hm imagine that,” Mobei Jun murmurs. Mobei Jun, without the hint of a warning, wraps his hand around Qinghua’s firm cock. His hand almost covers it entirely. “What about here? Is anything going to come out here sweetheart?”
With a single stroke of his hand, Qinghua stiffens and comes, spurting bright white all over his soft belly, a rousing cry on his lips.
Mobei Jun brings his cum-covered hand to Qinghua’s mouth, gives him something to do while he recovers (he can be kind). Qinghua cleans his own cum off of Mobei Jun’s fingers with little kitten licks, his lashes fluttering shyly as he alternates between holding Mobei Jun’s gaze and looking down at the fingers he’s been tasked with sucking.
“Qinghua’s so good at cleaning up his own messes,” Mobei Jun tells him, and Qinghua groans around the thick fingers in his mouth. “I’ll give him plenty of those to deal with.”
Before Qinghua can react, Mobei Jun grabs his hips and flips him onto his stomach.
“Hey—!” Qinghua exclaims, scrambling to arrange himself on his hands and knees. He doesn’t seem to realize that all his struggling has set his round, fat ass—already a sinfully delectable sight—to quivering. The cheeks bounce as Qinghua tries to raise up off his stomach. Mobei Jun’s mouth runs dry as he watches, and he swallows hard, heat lancing through his stomach, bolting to his cock like lightning to a summoning rod. The swell of his ass is so much more pronounced like this, the dip into his thin waist severe. What a curvy little thing. When Qinghua has finally managed to get onto his hands and knees, he looks back at Mobei Jun, an inquisitive look on his face. His rosy blush slants across the bridge of his nose, and he asks, voice intrigued and almost giddy,
“Does gege like it?”
Qinghua shimmies his hips and the globes of his ass jounce. Of course they do. They already jiggle at the slightest provocation, to say nothing of concerted effort (Mobei Jun might as well find a nice patch out in the woods to call home after this, he’s getting so feral).
Mobei Jun slaps a cheek on its peachiest, thickest part and watches it bounce from the impact. Pink troops across Qinghua’s skin like watercolor.
“Ow!” Qinghua cries. “Is this how you treat the things you like gege?” He goes to crawl further up the bed, but Mobei Jun hauls him back by his hips.
“It is,” Mobei Jun tells him, voice rough. He fits his hand right over the spot he’d just hit and grips the cheek. Qinghua cries out at the mean touch. The pillowy flesh spills out of Mobei Jun’s large hand, and Mobei Jun leans over his back.
“And I like Qinghua very much,” he says straight into the young man’s ear before he bites the shell of it. When Mobei Jun squeezes his handful (“O-oh!”), the yielding fat of it pushes up between his fingers.
Mobei Jun sets a hand between Qinghua’s shoulder blades and pushes his face into the sheets. Mobei Jun tugs his hips up a little further. He licks his lips as Qinghua’s wonderful ass comes even closer to his face. Qinghua whines but remains where he’s arranged. Qinghua’s back falls into a lovely arch, and Mobei Jun uses a hand to map the curve of it from Qinghua’s lower back all the way up to his nape, then down again, the motion indulgent. Qinghua lets out a contented sigh at the slide of Mobei Jun’s hand along his lustrous skin.
“Look at Qinghua behaving himself,” Mobei Jun compliments.
He takes both of Qinghua’s cheeks in hand and spreads them to reveal the cutie’s little hole. He thumbs at the tight, pretty pucker. Qinghua makes an embarrassed noise into the sheets.
“You’re so tight back here baobei,” Mobei Jun murmurs. Qinghua’s muffled, bashful noise ratchets a bit higher as Mobei Jun applies the slightest bit of pressure to the dusky thing. Mobei Jun is going to relish working it open. “Have you ever had anything inside you?”
“Just m-my fingers.”
“A virgin, then,” Mobei Jun murmurs, voice rough. “Not for much longer.” Qinghua makes a sound like he’s choking.
Mobei Jun circles the little hole with his tongue, and Qinghua spasms beneath him. Mobei Jun holds his plump cheeks tighter as he tongues at the opening with lingering, rhythmic prods. Qinghua’s whines pick up in pitch and frequency as Mobei Jun coaxes the shy little hole open. It becomes pliant under Mobei Jun’s demanding presses, cooperative and hungry enough to allow him to ease in more of his tongue. The dig of his fingers into the meat of Qinghua’s ass is so insistent that he knows that the boy has no chance of leaving this encounter without darker, more lurid handprints on his backside. Mobei Jun growls at the thought, at the heady taste of Qinghua, and Qinghua shakes in his grasp. Mobei Jun feels absolutely ravenous. He intersperses the loud, wet work of his mouth at Qinghua’s opening with borderline cruel bites at the flesh of his cheeks, sharp presses of teeth that have Qinghua wailing, but pressing his ass back for more, even as he cries out to Mobei Jun that that hurts, gege! Qinghua’s yelps derail into his moans, and his moans helix into his yelps. The sounds collage, become kaleidoscopic, till the whole room sounds like a porn audio mix.
“O-oh! Ge- ah- ge!”
Moei Jun pulls back to find that Qinghua’s hole is glittering with his spit and twitching. When Mobei Jun presses the tip of his finger to it, Qinghua’s hole sucks him right in to the first knuckle, his heat clutching at Mobei Jun’s digit. Mobei Jun pulses his finger inside the hot channel in tiny increments.
“ Mm deeper gege,” Qinghua whimpers.
“Already begging when I’ve barely given you anything? You’re going to be a fucking dream on my cock sweetheart.”
“ Yes, ” Qinghua breathes, rocking back a little on Mobei Jun’s now-still finger.
Mobei Jun can only go so much further without something slicker to ease the way. Mobei Jun asks after his lube and parts from Qinghua for a few regrettable moments while he gets it from the bedside table. He coats his finger with lube before he presses it back in, slips straight back into the silky, inviting warmth. Mobei Jun prompts Qinghua to relax and Qinghua does just that with a warbly moan. He rocks backwards until Mobei Jun’s finger sinks in slowly, almost haltingly, to the final knuckle. Mobei Jun watches Qinghua’s hole stretch around the finger, his breath caught in his chest. He lands a kiss between the dimples on Qinghua’s lower back once it’s in all the way.
“There we go baobei, just like that.”
“Ah! Gege —”
He strokes Qinghua’s walls with his finger, delighted at the boy’s twitching hips and hitching breaths. Mobei Jun’s finger runs over the unmistakable nub of his sweet spot and massages it relentlessly with the pad of his finger.
“ Nngh M-mobei Jun!” Qinghua gasps, his cock leaking into the sheets below, his whole body jerking.
“So noisy,” Mobei Jun teases with another smack to Qinghua’s ass. The boy tightens around Mobei Jun’s finger. What a little masochist.
Mobei Jun adds a second finger, liberally coated with more slick, and watches, hungry and ensnared, the pretty little hole strain when he scissors his fingers apart. Qinghua keens, back bowing into a deeper arch.
“Feel so— ngh— wet, so— oh! —good,” Qinghua whines. Mobei Jun supposes it feels wet because it is. There’s lube smeared on the inside of Qinghua’s round cheeks, trailing along his crease.
“Has to be this wet when you’re gonna take every inch of my cock sweetheart.” Mobei Jun reaches a hand around and presses it to Qinghua’s lower stomach, above his dripping dick. At the same time, he presses his two fingers deeper, both playing with the little slut button inside his cutie. Qinghua bunches up the sheets in his fists and wails.
“You’ll feel it right here,” says Mobei Jun. He can’t quite beat the vicious tinge from his own voice. Qinghua makes a high, half-distressed sound that the young man doesn’t seem to understand makes Mobei Jun want to fuck him even more.
Mobei Jun’s own dick is hard and leaking between his legs, and the notion of coring Qinghua open on his cock while the young man trembles and cries is a slab of a thought in his mind, heavy, unshakeable. But the stretch of Qinghua’s rim around his fingers—now three—is just so rousing that he has to taste his hot hole one more time. When he removes his fingers, Qinghua’s little hole closes right up, like it had immediately forgotten what had just been done to it. A fucking treat.
He flips Qinghua onto his back and swears at the sight that greets him. Qinghua’s curlywavy hair cascades over the bed beneath him, pretty face flushed, the barest hint of teeth behind his pouty bottom lip. His hard little cock is an angry red, leaking up a storm against his stomach. He looks so sweet like this. Mobei Jun uses the excess lube on his hand, far less than he’ll use when he does sink into Qinghua, to stroke himself once, just to take the edge off. Qinghua’s flush runs down to his chest as he watches Mobei Jun, but he can’t seem to bring himself to look away. He makes for a tremendously erotic picture. Mobei Jun tells him so.
“Qinghua is so well-suited to this,” Mobei Jun says. Qinghua squirms under the slow, up-down sweep of his rude gaze. The young man covers his face with his hands and squirms more.
“Mobei Jun is trying to kill me,” he laments.
Mobei Jun puts an end to his rolling around when he parts Qinghua’s squishy thighs and pushes them against his chest. Qinghua contorts under his hand without a noise of complaint (the needy sounds that make it out of his mouth are decidedly not noises of complaint). Mobei Jun pulls one of Qinghua’s hands from his face and brings it down to his hole. Qinghua jolts as his own two fingers brush his sensitive entrance under Mobei Jun’s direction.
“Show me how you use your fingers on yourself baobei,” Mobei Jun tells him, arranging himself so that his face is right in front of Qinghua’s opening. From this angle, Qinghua’s thighs frame his cock and face gorgeously. “Spread your pretty ass open for me.”
Mobei Jun grips the underside of Qinghua’s thighs as the young man slips two fingers into himself. Qinghua pulls his fingers apart a little, and mewls at the feeling. Qinghua grumbles,
“H-how can you just, ah … say that stuff with a straight fa oh fuck —”
Mobei Jun slots his tongue right in between Qinghua’s slender fingers. Qinghua holds his hole open for Mobei Jun’s wet, exacting tongue. The tiny jumps of Qinghua’s fingers as Mobei Jun brushes against them offer delightfully active counterpoints to Qinghua’s smooth, intoxicating heat. The lube has a citrus tinge to it, and Mobei Jun finds that he quite likes it. He laves over Qinghua’s knuckle as he pulls back to circle his softening rim. Qinghua’s moan is bisected by a giggle, and the heel of his foot bounces against Mobei Jun’s shoulder out of helpless reflex. Mobei Jun is growing recklessly fond. He fucks his long tongue in deep, squeezes the backs of Qinghua’s thighs, and looks straight into his dark doe eyes. Qinghua startles into his next orgasm, brows shooting up as his pretty mouth drops open around a punched-out cry and his body jerks, kept pinned by Mobei Jun’s unrelenting grip on his thighs.
Mobei Jun gives Qinghua’s fluttering hole one last open-mouthed kiss before he pulls back. Qinghua is too caught up in his post-orgasm cloud to hide his face, eyes still hazy with pleasure. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, cum still puddling on his belly. Mobei Jun drenches his length with lube and gives his heavy erection one indulgent stroke at the sight of him.
“Don’t I get a break?” Qinghua pouts. Mobei Jun gives Qinghua’s cock, somehow still hard, a pointed look.
“Do you even need one?”
While Qinghua tries to level the most unconvincing aggrieved look Mobei Jun’s way, Mobei Jun makes to move off the bed to grab his wallet, where there are at least a couple of condoms (Mobei Jun has long-since learned that it’s best to be over-prepared for any outcome). Before he can, Qinghua sits up and grabs his arm.
“Where are you going?” he asks, his voice the slightest bit shaky. And not in the overwhelmed, obscene way that Mobei Jun enjoys so immensely. Mobei Jun frowns at the thought of what might be the root source of Qinghua’s panic, at the thought that he’s ever been made to feel unwanted. Qinghua begins to misunderstand the look on Mobei Jun’s face, his grip on Mobei Jun’s slackening, which is absolutely unacceptable. Mobei Jun grabs his hands tight and leans in to nip at his chin.
“I’m getting a condom,” Mobei Jun explains, sucking on the skin on the underside of Qinghua’s jaw, and grinning against it when Qinghua gasps in his arms, “so that I can get Qinghua to make more of those pretty noises for me.”
“B-but, ah , don’t you want...”
Mobei Jun looks up when Qinghua trails off. The young man is not meeting his eyes, embarrassed. Mobei Jun smirks.
“Don’t I want what?”
“Don’t you want to spill inside me?”
Mobei Jun takes a deep, steadying breath, the blood in his veins hotter than frying oil. Qinghua continues, voice still demure but the tease there all the same, his thighs parting almost unconsciously to partially reveal his winking hole, his eyes blinking up at Mobei Jun, “does gege think he’ll get me pregnant?”
The condom is entirely forgotten now, down the same mental chute that Mobei Jun flings all advice given by his uncle post age ten and any office potluck invites.
Movie Jun yanks Qinghua down the bed a bit to the young man’s very vocal delight. He has Qinghua wrap an arm around a thigh and hold it against his chest while Mobei Jun presses the other one back just the same. That striking mix of three-quarters-anticipation, one-quarter fear is back on Qinghua’s face, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he stares down the line of his body, towards where Mobei Jun’s cock is advancing towards him.
Mobei Jun guides the tip of his cock to Qinghua’s soft hole and presses it forward gently, till Qinghua’s slick rim, a dusky golden brown, is parting docilely for the red, flushed head of his cock. Mobei Jun is so turned on he feels it in the hinges of his jaw. He rubs Qinghua’s thigh with a soothing thumb and instructs him to breathe just like he had when he’d taken Mobei Jun’s fingers so perfectly. Qinghua listens, and soon, the head pops in with a muted, moist sound. Qinghua’s so fucking tight inside, so hot. The warmth is gorgeously snug around him as he works his cock in, as Qinghua’s pucker spreads obscenely around the heavy length of him.
“S-so, hah , big! Can’t take it, gege, c-can’t—”
“Yes you can baobei,” Mobei Jun soothes.
Mobei Jun wraps a hand around Qinghua’s cock, and he shudders with a garbled moan. Mobei Jun strokes Qinghua’s little cock in the smallest increments as he works his pillar deeper, knows that any rougher, surer stroke will have the cutie cumming and likely to overnsenstive to immediately bear the rough fucking Mobei Jun has planned for him. Qinghua’s mouth falls open in a bigger and bigger o as Mobei Jun sinks in. When he’s all the way inside, balls-deep inside Qinghua’s sheath-like heat, he leans forward and pulls him into a smacking, filthy kiss and lets his own mouth fill with Qinghua’s sweet whimpers.
“H-hurts,” Qinghua whines, just as Mobei Jun feels Qinghua’s cock twitch against his own stomach from where their bodies are tightly pressed together.
Mobei Jun pulls back just a bit and eases his cock back in in a slow glide, knocking right into Qinghua’s sweet spot. Qinghua’s toes curl and he manages a
“ Ngh fuck!”
Before Mobei Jun is reclaiming his mouth.
When Qinghua has grown used to the incremental, micro-thrusts Mobei Jun has started off with, Mobei Jun pulls out till just the tip of his cock is hugged by Qinghua’s rim, then sliiiiides back in, relentless as he watches Qinghua’s brows furrow in pleasure, his mouth, it seems, unable to close. Mobei Jun feels himself growing, somehow, harder inside Qinghua. When he pulls back and fucks in slow again, caught by the sight of his thick cock disappearing inch by inch into Qinghua’s hole, Qinghua lets out a long, drawn out keen, one his legs straightening to frame his head on reflex. Mobei Jun was only barely holding on his control by a thread, but the flexible display snaps it entirely.
Mobei Jun adopts a pace that has the soft meat of Qinghua’s ass smacking against his upper thighs, flesh jiggling from the force of his thrusts.
“G-gege! So rough!” Qinghua moans as tears track down his face, as he grips Mobei Jun’s arms.
“How, fuck , can I help it when Qinghua’s made for cock, hm?” Mobei Jun manages, his voice deep and dark even to his own ears. He leans forward and takes Qinghua’s mouth again, sucks on his tongue as he takes his ass. “Made for pleasure,” Mobei Jun growls against Qinghua’s lips. Mobei Jun takes both of Qinghua’s arms and wraps them around the young man’s own thighs so that he’s holding himself open.
“Hold these, sweetheart. Let me see where I’m going.”
He fucks in rougher, meaner.
“ Nngh gege!”
“Yeah? Am I your gege? Does gege’s cock feel good inside?”
Qinghua nods frantically, beyond words as Mobei Jun barrels into his prostate, his hole working around Mobei Jun’s cock like it’s its job. Qinghua is flushed down to his chest now, baby hairs damp, shorter pieces sticking to his forehead as he cries out at the fucking he’s receiving. He looks so fucking lewd. Mobei Jun leaks more precum right inside him, making his feral thrusts even slicker, even louder, lube and precum squelching in time with the arresting ah ah ahs! Qinghua lets out.
He follows up a series of his wild, cruel plunges with the slower thrusts he’d used to teach Qinghua how to take cock, his grip on the back of Qinghua’s thighs absolutely bruising. Moves on to slow forward rolls of his hips that do not allow Qinghua to mistake his pillar for anything other than what it is, that remind Qinghua that he is being spread open on the full breadth of Mobei Jun’s cock and speared deep by its full length, that have him thrashing and matching the pace with eager rolls of his sinuous little hips. To slower extractions of his cock that have Qinghua’s ravenous ass clinging to his shaft, rim dragging at his dick, as if he won’t be right back inside. As if there is any chance in any universe that he would leave now.
“F-feel you here,” Qinghua moans as he places a hand on his lower stomach, his lashes clumped with tears. Qinghua grabs Mobei Jun’s wrist and Mobei Jun lets him pull his hand to his stomach, absolutely rapt and so, so aroused. He feels like he’s been lowered into a volcano by a mobile crane. Qinghua presses his fingers down against his stomach and Mobei Jun can make out the partial shape of his own cock hilted deep inside.
Mobei Jun fucks him rougher, can hardly help it. Qinghua cries and moans and writhes about it, and very nearly comes, but Mobei Jun wraps his hand around his cock and puts that to an immediate stop. Qinghua calls him a monster and calls out M-mobei Jun! Yes, yes, oh yes in the same breath, feisty and cute and so fucking delicious.
Mobei Jun has no idea how he’s lasted this long, but he can see the shape and form of his own orgasm approaching. That doesn’t mean he can’t torment Qinghua some more before it does. On his next withdrawal, he holds his cock poised at Qinghua’s worked-over hole.
“Qinghua likes it so deep. He’s a dirty little thing.”
Mobei Jun leans in closer, rumbles his approval at the feel of Qinghua’s plush cheeks squishing against the tops of his thighs. Qinghua’s plump bottom lip trembles with a moan at how impolitely Mobei Jun’s cock nudges against his sweet spot. Mobei Jun barges inside his tight, pretty ass like a brute. He smirks as Qinghua’s moans rise in pitch, tower into the shameless whines of tireless porn stars. Qinghua’s big brown eyes are half lidded, and with his knees so near his ears (fuck he’s a bendy little thing), Mobei Jun’s truly never seen anyone look so suited to pleasure.
“Slut,” Mobei Jun accuses, his lips brushing against Qinghua’s. Qinghua lets out a hurt, bullied sound at that, and Mobei Jun’s cock throbs in response.
“ Yeah , j-just gege’s slut,” Qinghua babbles, eyes still half-lidded like a little temptress. “Gege can do, mm , whatever he wants to me.”
Qinghua’s words stoke him hotter, brighter, rapidly nourish something undeniably possessive in his chest and turn it bionic. Mobei Jun pulls out and flips Qinghua onto his stomach in one fluid motion. Qinghua climbs to his hands and knees, his limbs loose and nearly uncooperative. The thought of I did that arcs across Mobei Jun’s mind like a plane with a message banner.
“M-mobei Jun? Wh- ohgods —”
Mobei Jun wastes no time fucking right back in, his bruising grip now transferred to Qinghua’s hips. Qinghua’s fat cheeks bounce with every thrust in, and tremble with every pull out. Mobei Jun hardly recognizes the dark, borderline-animalistic sounds he’s making, and paired with Qinghua’s sweet, bullied moans, he really does feel like the filthiest, lustiest fucker on the planet. And what a feeling it is.
“Don’t know how little Qinghua can take so much cock,” Mobei Jun groans as he watches his pillar disappear inside Qinghua’s ass over and over again. Qinghua sobs in what might be agreement.
Mobei Jun pulls Qinghua into a thrust that just buries his cock right in balls-deep, Qinghua’s ass rippling with the smacking force, and holds him right there as he cums with a groan. In the midst of his long, hot pulses inside Qinghua’s ass, he bites out,
“Come for me Qinghua,”
And the cutie convulses, wails, and clenches tight around Mobei Jun’s cock as he does just that. All over his jewel tone sheets.
Mobei Jun pulls out, panting himself. He takes a moment to thumb at Qinghua’s swollen hole, dips the thumb in the leak of his own cum as it drizzles down his crease, and pushes it back in. Qinghua shivers weakly from where he’s face-planted into the sheets, still beyond coherence. Mobei Jun gives his entrance an appreciative kiss before he rolls them both over, away from the cum-spot on the sheets, Qinghua curled up on his chest.
He strokes Qinghua’s ruffled hair with his clean hand as the young man catches his breath.
“Is it always like that?” Qinghua asks when he can speak again.
“With me, yes.”
Qinghua looks up at him, fringe nearly obscuring his eyes. “Cocky.”
Qinghua huffs a laugh, and his dimples flash, and there goes Mobei Jun’s growing fondness, spiking like the peaks on an EKG. Qinghua’s good humor sloughs off his face, and he looks away.
“You… have to go now?”
There it is again, the expectation that he will leave. Mobei Jun is good with his words when he needs to be, but he’s always much preferred action. He gets the sense that Qinghua is one who benefits from a healthy combination of both. So he keeps Qinghua’s hand in his as he gets up from the bed, then throws the young man over his shoulder, eliciting another one of those squeaks.
“Okay, you’re built like a fireman! I get it!”
Mobei Jun taps his ass, a crooked smile ticking up a corner of his mouth.
Mobei Jun has never particularly enjoyed showering with another person, but no one has ever been as easy to rile up as Qinghua. And if Mobei Jun presses Qinghua against the stall door face-first, makes a home for his newly hard cock between Qinghua’s cheeks, squeezes them around his dick, and thrusts to completion while soap suds drip down the swell of his ass, jerking Qinghua off to pull him into a climax with him, that’s their business.
Mobei Jun thought Qinghua was chatty when he was nervous, but he’s even chattier when he’s calm (or well, calm er ; the young man still blushes furiously when he looks directly at Mobei Jun for more than two seconds). Mobei Jun gets the sense that he’s experiencing the firing of his synapses in real time, directly telegraphed to his mouth. The sign of a quick mind. He mentions hand-pulled noodles a total of seven times, so as soon as they’re dried and dressed, Mobei Jun is tugging him out the door, into his car, and towards his noodle shop front (whose food he has never felt inclined to try until now).
An hour later, Qinghua is leaning across a table to spoon some of the spicy broth from his order into Mobei Jun’s mouth because you have to try it, gege!