Jack hums a tune to himself as he putters about the kitchen, the bottoms of his slippers tapping softly against the tiled floor as he saunters from the fridge to the sink. He only knows a few bars of the song—the theme to Zhao Zi’s favorite video game—but it’s catchy, and Jack doesn’t mind repeating the chorus on loop. As he works, he listens for the sounds of the shower upstairs, noting when the splashing stops so that he can begin his breakfast preparations in earnest.
He does his best to hide a smile when he finally hears the quiet slide of Zhao Zi’s bare feet on the stairs. Jack continues to slice a block of firm tofu into a neat, regular dice, keeping one eye on the pot of water on the stove, almost at a boil. He sets his knife down and reaches for the head of bok choy lying next to the cutting board, whirling around just in time at Zhao Zi’s approach.
Jack taps the leafy greens gently against his boyfriend’s forehead. “Gotcha.”
Scowling, Zhao Zi bats them aside, his lips protruding in an exaggerated pout, his plan to sneak up on Jack foiled. “I could’ve sworn I had you.”
Jack chuckles. “Of course you did.” He raises an eyebrow, noting that his lover has descended the stairs with naught but a towel wrapped around his waist. It hangs tantalizingly below the navel, affording Jack a generous view of the expanse of Zhao Zi’s smooth skin, water still beading in a spot on his chest where he’s missed drying it off.
Before he spends too long staring, Jack turns back to his cooking, and lets Zhao Zi’s arms wrap around him from behind. “Breakfast is almost ready.”
Zhao Zi’s embrace tightens. “Hm, I can think of something better than food,” he murmurs, his warm breath stirring the hairs at Jack’s nape.
Jack cranes his neck to regard Zhao Zi with suspicion. “Okay, who are you, and what have you done with my Zhao Li An?”
“Jaaaack!” cries Zhao Zi, his voice plaintive above the gurgle of the water boiling in the stainless steel pot. “I’m trying to seduce you here.”
“And I’m trying to play hard to get.” Jack places the bok choy down on the cutting board and switches off the stove. “Is it working?”
Zhao Zi growls and flips Jack around roughly.
“We just had sex this morning!” Jack laughs. It isn’t much of a protest, more an amused remark on the frequency of Zhao Zi’s sexual needs. He has the rest of their lives to catch up on what he was missing during his long period of celibacy—he doesn’t have to do it all in the first two years of their relationship.
“And we’re about to have sex again,” declares Zhao Zi, ravenously consuming Jack with his gaze. Zhao Zi places a hand on Jack’s chest and gives his left pectoral a sensual squeeze. Fingertips rake downward over two layers of cloth, Zhao Zi not discouraged by the incongruously silly image that Jack surely cuts wearing Grandma’s apron. “Got a problem with that?”
Jack’s heartbeat quickens. He likes it when Zhao Zi is forward. Very forward. “Nope,” he says, the word already coming out breathy.
“Good,” Zhao Zi replies, so satisfied he’s practically purring. He grins and rises onto the tips of his toes, planting a firm kiss on Jack’s lips.
Jack opens, grinning in response to Zhao Zi’s unabashed enthusiasm and entwining his arms around him. He crushes Zhao Zi to him with equal strength, forgetting the meal he was in the middle of cooking, thankful he had the foresight to turn off the stove as the rumble of boiling water fades and the pot begins to cool.
Impatient hands slip the apron from Jack’s shoulders and paw at his shirt underneath. Jack has to help, otherwise Zhao Zi might send a button or two flying, and Jack’s already lost enough of them this month. Zhao Zi doesn’t even wait for Jack to shed his shirt, merely pushes aside the cloth as he presses his mouth against Jack’s skin, lips trailing hastily down Jack’s midline from throat, to sternum, to abdomen. Zhao Zi lowers himself to his knees as he reaches Jack’s pelvis, the corners of his mouth quirking upward as Jack inhales sharply. Zhao Zi slides down his pants and underwear without preamble.
Zhao Zi emits a low, resonant croon of pleasure, not even waiting for Jack’s clothes to finish pooling around his ankles before he presses his nose into the tender flesh of Jack’s inner thigh. Zhao Zi inhales deeply, eliciting a sigh, Jack’s voice a shuddering echo of his lover’s content reverberations. Despite their earlier exertions having concluded not even an hour ago, Jack is already hard by the time he looks down and registers that Zhao Zi is watching him intently, his glittering gaze devouring his every reaction, a predatory expression of delight and satisfaction on his face.
Jack knows Zhao Zi appreciates how easily he yields to his desires and whims—every single time. There is nothing to be ashamed of in wanting and being wanted in return. Jack smiles fondly down at his boyfriend and gives himself over, bracing his arms against the edge of the kitchen counter and letting his eyes flutter shut.
A strangled gasp wrenches itself from his chest when Zhao Zi finally takes him into his mouth, coaxing him to full stiffness in a matter of seconds. Jack’s lover is not a man of patience or deliberation when it comes to blowjobs, as exemplified by the avidity with which he swallows Jack’s length. Zhao Zi takes him deep before retreating to pleasure the head with short, deft flicks of his tongue, single-minded in his attempt to bring Jack to a quick and thorough climax.
Jack is almost alarmed by how quickly Zhao Zi seems to be able to bring him to completion—he ought to be able to last longer, Zhao Zi’s eagerness notwithstanding. Jack draws a rattling breath, meaning to say something, but his lover’s tongue caressing his sensitive tip turns it into a moan instead. Jack suffers another false start as Zhao Zi continues, and it is long moments before he manages anything remotely coherent.
“Hmm?” Zhao Zi meets Jack’s gaze coyly from beneath long lashes, not pausing at all.
Briefly, Jack considers burying his fingers in Zhao Zi’s hair and attempting to lift him off, but he doesn’t trust himself not to end up doing the exact opposite.
“Wasn’t there...something else you wanted?” Jack finally asks, panting heavily through gritted teeth.
Zhao Zi’s eyes light up. “Oh yeah!” he exclaims, the words muffled around Jack’s cock. “I forgot!”
Jack’s sigh turns into a shudder instead as Zhao Zi drags his lips along Jack’s arousal, and back to the tip, where he finally pauses.
“What were you originally planning?” asks Jack, the brief respite allowing him to gather a few of his sex-scattered wits.
Zhao Zi says simply, innocently, “I was going to have you bend me over the table.”
Jack’s eyes widen and his muscles tense as a tidal wave of lust floods his every sense. Jack eyes the kitchen table, which has already been set for lunch, though the cups and bowls are still empty. “Do you still want to do that?”
Zhao Zi doesn’t even need a moment to consider. “Of course!” he says impishly, his head tilted up from where he’s been kneeling, from where Jack’s cock is still protruding, saliva slick. He presses a frustratingly teasing kiss against Jack’s thigh again, giving the flesh a nip as he withdraws. Jack jolts at the sharp sensation and feels as if he’s gone impossibly more rigid with Zhao Zi’s playful bite.
He casts about for a suitable lubricant, dismissing the generous bottle of vegetable oil sitting in the corner of the counter. He and Zhao Zi used that once, a few months ago, when they were particularly desperate and unwilling to part from each other for long enough to go upstairs and get some proper lube. The hard lesson he learned from that difficult clean up is not an ordeal Jack cares to repeat. He hopes that Zhao Zi, having come downstairs with a mission, thought far enough ahead. “Did you bring—”
Zhao Zi shoots Jack an imperious smirk, and retrieves their lube from where he’s tucked it into the waist of the towel, behind the small of his back. Jack remembers that the oil incident was no less arduous for him, and smiles ruefully—he should know better than to doubt.
Zhao Zi rises to his feet, unceremoniously loosening his towel and letting it drop to the floor. He walks over to the table, and sets the tube down, cap first, with the distinct clack of plastic on wood. He is naked and erect, boldly baring every inch of skin for Jack to admire in silent beckoning. Come and get it. As if Jack would ever dream of resisting.
Jack shrugs out of his shirt and steps out of the pool of his pajamas to join Zhao Zi, and they engulf each other in kisses, in a ferocious tight embrace, all pent-up heat and coiled ardor. Zhao Zi’s cock nudges Jack’s leg, while Jack’s hardness presses between them, nosing into his boyfriend’s belly. They rub against each other where they stand, and what begins as a languid sway of their hips quickly rises in rhythm and urgency. Jack’s teeth graze the contours of Zhao Zi’s jawline and he throws his head back in a throaty moan. Jack almost lays him back against the table right then and there, like he did the very first night he moved in—only with more penetration and skill, and less clumsy, desperate fumbling with their hands. But he doesn’t, because he remembers how unkind that had been to Zhao Zi’s back the next day, and instead he helps his lover turn and push the two chairs aside to make enough room for him to brace his elbows.
Zhao Zi bends over the edge, sticking his ass out and wiggling it enticingly. He glances over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows as if to ask Jack what’s taking him so fucking long.
Jack lets out a good-natured huff—he will take as long as he pleases, and it would do Zhao Zi good to learn some patience—but he finishes preparing his lover sooner than he intends, what with Zhao Zi moving and tightening greedily around his fingers. The lube falls over onto its side when Jack practically slams it back on the table in his rush to pull Zhao Zi’s hips into place. He sinks in, his first few thrusts a little harder than he would have liked otherwise.
If Zhao Zi notices the difference, if it wasn’t what he wanted in the first place, the long, juddering breath that leaves him is the same as it always is when Jack fills him. It’s difficult to know who escalates first, whether it’s Zhao Zi who forces himself back or Jack who jerks his hips, but their coupling turns hot and fervent in a mere matter of seconds—desire transmuting into motion, breath, and the heat of skin against skin.
Zhao Zi sets their rhythm at a punishing pace, his hunger not even close to sated from the appetizer that he took from Jack earlier that morning in bed. He gives Jack no choice but to follow his lead, to go where he goes, as he submits to the primal pleasures of Jack fucking him to the hilt. Zhao Zi groans Jack’s name, as encouragement and in devastation, as he is enveloped in such ecstasy that he starts to have trouble bracing himself against the force of Jack behind him.
Firm hands steady Zhao Zi’s waist when he begins to slip, when damp, sweaty skin loses purchase against the smooth, polished surface of the table. But Jack doesn’t stop, he only drives harder, until air rattles from Zhao Zi’s lungs at the peak of each thrust, filling the kitchen with strangled cries and Jack’s name.
They both come with their eyes squeezed shut, with every muscle taut and singing fatigue, with surprised gasps, climax crashing upon them with sudden force. Jack’s knees are the first to buckle once he finishes emptying himself into his lover. He barely has time to grope for a chair before he falls upon it, and Zhao Zi follows quickly after, eschewing a chair for Jack’s lap. They catch their breath together, draped over each other, dazed looks on their faces.
Zhao Zi is the first to recover, shifting his weight on Jack’s legs so he can wind both arms around Jack’s shoulders. “That was so good,” he murmurs, pressing his head intimately against Jack’s.
Jack smiles. “Good,” he says, even though he’s convinced that Zhao Zi did most of the work himself.
They sit in companionable silence, hands fondly roaming skin, waiting for strength to return and the inevitable moment when Zhao Zi will snap out of his blissful state and remember he was hungry.