Tang Fan is feeling smug.
There is nothing he likes better than the successful coming together of a plan, and there is no better success than the kind that leaves him in the hands of someone very handsome and capable. At the moment, he is pressed against the wall of the hallway leading to Huanyi’s bathrooms, Jin San’s tongue in his mouth, his skirt hitched higher by the press of Jin San’s hand on his ass, which means the night has panned out exactly as Tang Fan intended.
When he came out of the bedroom at Qing Ge’s in this dress, Qing Ge raised her eyebrows at him. He tossed back his hair and said, “I’m trying something new. You can’t make fun of me. I am very vulnerable.” The look is a lot less camp than usual, is the thing. He’s forgone the sparkles and hardcore lipliner and eyeshadow for something softer, and he hasn’t put on a wig, opting instead to straighten his own hair, now longer than he thought he could achieve and a great point of pride. The dress is peony pink, skirt skimming his thighs, the back plunging in a deep V, revealing more skin than he has yet revealed at Huanyi. As Qing Ge painted his lips and eyes and cheekbones a matching soft pink, plumped up his lashes, carefully lined his eyes, she asked first, “Meimei tonight?”
“No more than usual,” Tang Fan told her. (It is a bit of a thrill, wearing his brand new backless pocket bra and seeing the breast forms do their thing while his back is bare, but he doesn’t think it does anything more than make him feel pretty. Many late-night conversations with Qing Ge have only confirmed for him that he is 90-95% sure he is a man—mostly, anyway—even if he never feels sexier than he does when he’s Feifei.)
“Mm,” Qing Ge said. “For someone else, then?”
“I’m a chaste woman,” said Tang Fan primly.
“Of course you are,” said Qing Ge.
Tang Fan is not a chaste woman, man, or anything else, and Qing Ge is very aware of this, because she requires Tang Fan give her the chance to subtly vet whatever twice-his-age suit, bartender, or expat he lets take him home, and she makes him drop a pin on his phone whenever he gets where it is he’s going. If he doesn’t, she will call, and she will keep doing it until she hears his voice.
“But theoretically,” he said while Qing Ge made up his eyes, unable to stop running his fingers through his hair, smooth and warm from the straightener, “If I were interested in a friend of yours.”
“Yes, yes,” said Qing Ge. “Stop blinking. And stop fucking with your hair, it’s distracting. But yes, I had a feeling that was heading this way. Jiayou.”
And it was. The moment he locked eyes with Jin San at the bar and Jin San’s eyes flicked down the length of his body, Tang Fan knew his plan was going to work. Jin San’s less camp today, too, more casual, and the way he was leaning with his elbows on the bar, his forearms exposed in a t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, his short hair floppy in his face...well, it made Tang Fan want to be exactly where he is, getting kissed deep and dirty in public.
Jin San’s gender situation, as far as Tang Fan knows, is “Jin San does what Jin San wants,” and Tang Fan has never hooked up with anyone who isn’t strictly a man, but at Huanyi, Jin San is handsome and charming and masc in a way that makes Tang Fan’s knees weak, so who cares, and also, it’s nice, because—Jin San gets it.
Tang Fan knows Jin San moves with more swagger at Huanyi than he does anywhere else. It’s obvious. He puts on this look like he doesn’t care, and he doesn’t, largely—he definitely cares less than Tang Fan cares about the way people perceive him. But it’s impossible to hide ego from Tang Fan. He knows ego. If you let it peek out at all, Tang Fan is going to see it, and he recognizes the way it puffs up in Jin San when women giggle on his arm. He recognizes Jin San’s awareness that this is the place he gets to be hot, where people’s eyes are tracking him, where nobody is concerned or confused or conceding, just like Tang Fan’s own awareness that his height and the breadth of his shoulders and the bump of his throat don’t matter here, or at least they don’t matter in a bad way.
So, while Tang Fan might usually flirt with bulky older men, and Jin San might usually flirt with women, tonight, Tang Fan—or Feifei, anyway—can be exactly what Jin San wants, and Jin San can be what Tang Fan wants, and that’s more than half the fun of it.
In the hallway, Jin San removes his hand from Tang Fan’s ass, bringing both hands to his waist. He’s the shortest person Tang Fan has kissed, he thinks. (Experimental smacks on the lips with a girl at age fourteen do not count.) As tall as Tang Fan is, he’s used to slouching and crouching to make himself smaller in situations like this, but there’s only so much that can be done when you’re somewhere around 30 centimeters taller than someone in heels.
“Come here,” Jin San says, voice low and rough, and he wraps a bare arm around Tang Fan’s waist. Jin San isn’t jacked, but he works out for sure, arms definitely more defined than Tang Fan’s, and he’s strong when he tugs Tang Fan through a bathroom door. Tang Fan doesn’t know which one it is. It doesn’t really matter; it never really matters at Huanyi.
When the door swings shut behind them, he lets himself be jostled into a stall. This isn’t exactly his ideal hook-up spot, but...it’s kind of hot, in a way that squirms in his lower belly, having his ass groped under his skirt in a public bathroom. Maybe if they didn’t have full stalls in here, he thinks distantly, if they weren’t so fucking cosmopolitan with their sit-down toilets, they’d have less people hooking up in the bathrooms. He considers telling Wang Zhi this. In the moment, he whines, “Jin San. It’s dirty in here.”
Jin San just snorts, letting go of Tang Fan’s ass. He closes the toilet and sits down with his legs spread wide. Tang Fan’s eyes fall automatically to his crotch, and he notes Jin San must be packing, judging by the just-noticeable bulge of his jeans; Tang Fan might never have hooked up with someone like Jin San, but he is, after a year of this scene, well aware of the various tricks of the trade.
“Sorry, princess,” says Jin San, and he reaches up to grab Tang Fan by the hips and pull him into his lap. Tang Fan, embarrassingly, squeaks, and Jin San grabs Tang Fan by the hair and pulls his head back, melding their mouths together again. Fuck, Tang Fan cannot believe he is allowing himself to be kissed on a toilet, a toilet where, who knows, Wang Zhi or Qing Ge or Cui Mama could end up in listening distance––but Jin San has such a firm hold on his head Tang Fan can’t do anything but open wide and take his tongue, and just taking it makes Tang Fan whine and squirm in Jin San’s lap.
“Mm,” Jin San murmurs, grabbing Tang Fan’s ass again with the hand not gripping his hair. “You’re easy, aren’t you? I thought this was too dirty?”
“It is,” Tang Fan insists, his face hot, but he is definitely getting hard, and this is going to pose a problem soon, what with his dick being tucked back between his legs. It happens, he’s weathered a boner while tucking before, but it isn’t comfortable, and Tang Fan is not a huge fan of discomfort.
“This is nothing,” says Jin San, pulling lightly at Tang Fan’s hair, bending to mouth at his neck. “I can be a lot dirtier,” he says, fixing his mouth right above Tang Fan’s Adam’s apple.
“Ah, gege, you can’t––I’m a lady,” Tang Fan insists, closing his eyes at the sensation at his throat.
“Hmm.” Jin San grips Tang Fan’s hair a little tighter. Tang Fan thinks Jin San liked being called “gege,” judging by the moment his grip tightened, and files that neatly away for reference.
“Ow,” Tang Fan pouts.
Jin San does not let go. He brings his other hand up from Tang Fan’s ass to grip his chin, holding him tightly in place. “I think this lady likes to be dirtier than she thinks,” he says. “Hmm?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Tang Fan says, blinking prettily up at him, slouching down as much as he can to make himself smaller. Jin San’s mouth is smeared with Tang Fan’s lipstick.
“Hmm,” Jin San repeats. He straightens up and over, and Tang Fan opens his mouth, ready for Jin San’s tongue again, except––except instead Jin San spits in his mouth.
“Jin San!” Tang Fan shrieks, and he chokes in surprise on Jin San’s spit. He was very sure he had the upper hand in this situation, but now he is scandalized, his face and ears are so hot and probably bright red. But he is also...okay, he’s very hard now, and tucking without an erection sometimes makes him irritable by the end of the night.
“No good?” says Jin San. He has let go of Tang Fan’s hair and is running a gentle hand through it, and his face has gone—not soft, but more solemn. “I should have asked.”
“No, no, it’s just—I’m tucking,” Tang Fan says hurriedly, and then he realizes he has, in this statement, absolutely admitted to liking Jin San spitting in his mouth in a public toilet.
His face is very hot. Suddenly he can’t tell if it’s too hot or too cold in here. His legs and back feel very bare.
“Ah.” Jin San laughs, but it isn’t cruel. He leans back, giving Tang Fan space to remove himself from his lap if he wants. “You like to keep it that way or no?”
“No,” says Tang Fan. He squirms again, his inner thighs rubbing on the denim of Jin San’s jeans. He has never not worn stockings or tights in drag before; he’s felt more exposed than usual all night, but oh, it feels very worth it right now, despite the whole dick situation. “It’s not—comfortable. And I don’t mind my dick. But we’re in public, and, uh, my skirt is...short.”
“We don’t have to be,” says Jin San. “In public, I mean.” He leans close again, one hand back in Tang Fan’s hair, but gentle, stroking, pushing strands behind his ear. “How about I take you back to mine,” Jin San murmurs against the shell of Tang Fan’s ear, “And fuck you better than any of the men here have?”
Tang Fan shivers. Oh. Oh, he thinks if he was standing, he might actually crumple to the ground.
He tries to get his wits about him. He’s the one who made this happen. This is going according to plan. Yes.
“Yes,” he says. He swallows hard. “Let’s.”
Jin San’s place is nearby and tiny. It seems like maybe other people live there, too, but there’s no one here, and Tang Fan assumes, from Jin San’s attention to his phone on the way, they know not to show up.
The bed is small and hard, but Tang Fan can forgive this once he’s on his back with Jin San straddling him. Jin San took off his jeans when they got in, but he kept on his boxers, though he tossed the balled up socks inside of them somewhere onto the floor. He’s keeping his shirt on, too, and the binder keeping his chest flat underneath it; when he pressed Tang Fan down onto the mattress, he’d murmured, “No hands up here,” and Tang Fan breathed, “Yeah, okay,” more than okay with this and mostly very interested in the pink blotches on Jin San’s mouth from Tang Fan’s lipstick. Tang Fan kicked off his heels and underwear and untucked his dick, but he is not going to take off the dress, and the breast forms remain. There is something very sexy about this, lying on his back and seeing the shape of his chest as it heaves.
He tries to keep his brain from analyzing this; he’s reasoned it through a thousand times by now. There is nothing else to run through. It might drive him crazy, but there are just some things that defy categorization.
They make out until Tang Fan is back to semi-hardness, Jin San holding himself up with arms on either side of Tang Fan’s face. Jin San kisses roughly, with a lot of tongue, totally in control. Tang Fan loves just lying back and getting worked over, so it does not take long for his dick to get right back to interested.
Jin San backs away just enough for only the tips of their tongues to touch, and Tang Fan whines softly, leaves his mouth open in anticipation. Jin San laughs, just a little, smug, and does it a few more times, teasing Tang Fan with just barely any contact. “Such a whiny girl,” Jin San murmurs. Tang Fan’s eyes flutter open, and he does not shut his mouth when he makes eye contact with Jin San, heart pattering quickly in his chest when he remembers what happened in the bathroom. Jin San guesses correctly what he is thinking; again, he spits in Tang Fan’s mouth, and this time Tang Fan is ready, expecting it, and lets out a strangled moan.
“Let’s get you fucked,” says Jin San.
“Oh,” says Tang Fan, dizzy.
Jin San slides off of him, and Tang Fan feels lightheaded and cold on his own on the bed. He doesn’t move. His dick is very hard, and he can see the bunch of it in the skirt of his dress; a little jostling and it would be exposed, and this sends a hot blush up Tang Fan’s neck.
Jin San returns from rummaging in a drawer with different underwear on, these with a ring at the crotch for the dick, and three dildos in varying sizes. They are fairly realistic, or attempting to be, veiny and thick; they even have balls attached. Tang Fan’s own dildo is nothing like these—it is just a smooth, aquamarine shape.
“Lucky you,” says Jin San, laying them out next to Tang Fan on the bed. Jin San’s thighs are more exposed now, and they look strong, too, thick. “With me you get to pick what you can take.”
Tang Fan pulls himself up onto his elbows. The smallest one is smaller than his own toy, so he knows he can probably take at least the next one up. The third is...intimidating, so fat he can viscerally imagine tears springing into his eyes at its entrance, so he goes for the safe option, picking up the middle-sized dick and running his thumb along the head as he would to a real one. “This,” he says, then realizes he needs to clear his throat and does. “This one.”
“Too delicate for my best dick?” Jin San says with a smirk. He really is handsome—he has the kind of face that makes Tang Fan want to giggle and hang off his arm.
Instead, Tang Fan glares. “There is nothing wrong with being delicate,” he sniffs.
“Of course not, princess,” says Jin San, and Tang Fan can feel himself blushing even worse, which only makes Jin San laugh again. He leans forward and runs a thumb over Tang Fan’s bottom lip. Tang Fan wonders how much lipstick is even left on his mouth. “Let’s turn you over,” Jin San says. “Get you on your belly.” He quirks an eyebrow. “I want to see your pussy.”
“Jin San!” Tang Fan squawks, mortified.
“No pussy?” says Jin San.
Tang Fan needs a moment to consider this. No one has ever said it to him, but it’s kind of...well, here in the dress, his dick hard, his face hot… “It’s.” Tang Fan shrugs one shoulder jerkily. “If you want.”
Jin San laughs, more nicely this time, and says, “Turn over, meimei.”
Tang Fan turns over.
He presses his cheek into the pillow and looks at the wall, does not watch Jin San do whatever it is he’s doing to prepare, just listens to the sounds of clothes shifting and drawers opening and closing. When Jin San settles suddenly between his legs, he jumps.
“Okay?” says Jin San.
“Yeah,” says Tang Fan, and he’s being honest, but he doesn’t look.
Jin San runs a hand down Tang Fan’s bare back, making him shiver, then reaches for his thighs and pulls at them a little. “Ass up,” he says. When Tang Fan scrambles up onto his hands and knees, Jin San reaches up and presses lightly on Tang Fan’s upper back. “I only said ass,” he says.
Ah, fuck. “I am a lady,” Tang Fan insists again.
“And I’m a perfect gentleman,” says Jin San. “Face down, ass up, Feifei. I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise.”
Tang Fan grumbles about it, making sure his embarrassment is noted, but the squirmy feeling remains a good one, so he readjusts, brings his forearms to the mattress and pulls his knees further forward. The skirt is short enough that it falls forward easily like this, revealing his bare ass, the air cold on his skin.
“Good girl,” says Jin San, and that’s, ah. Tang Fan is not used to that sort of thing being directed at him. He doesn’t really like to be called a “good boy,” at least he hasn’t liked it when men have tried it in the past. Good girl, though, and from Jin San...it feels different. Tang Fan hears the sound of a bottle squeezing. “Look at you,” says Jin San, and his hands land on Tang Fan’s ass, spread his cheeks apart. “So pretty. I bet you’re so tight.”
Tang Fan bites his lip hard.
“I’m gonna get this pretty pussy nice and ready for me,” says Jin San, and Tang Fan is unable to stop himself from gasping at the phrasing.
“Jin San gege, you’re so dirty,” he says, closing his eyes.
Jin San gives Tang Fan’s ass a little slap, nothing much, just enough to be noticed, and laughs. “I thought we established that,” he says, and then he gets to work.
Getting fingered can be nice. Tang Fan has enjoyed it before. But he’s used to men wanting to rush to the main event, and on his own, he’s not very good at getting the angles right, so fingering has never been more than a means to an end, a way to prepare himself for his dildo, if he feels like it. It can even be kind of boring, in truth, something that takes too long and provides not enough of what he wants.
This is not like that.
Jin San fingers him thoroughly. Jin San fingers him forever. Jin San fingers him with long, slick fingers and slow, intense care, scissoring inside of him, curling against his prostate, until he is going out of his mind.
“Shh, pretty girl,” Jin San murmurs after a while, the hand he’s been using to spread Tang Fan open squeezing, and Tang Fan realizes he’s been letting out some very embarrassing whines for the past—however long. He shivers, partly from mortification, partly from the way it feels. By now Jin San has three fingers in him. “Does that feel good?” Jin San asks.
It feels so good. It feels so good and it’s just Jin San’s fingers, it isn’t even the strap.
Tang Fan is so hard, and he can’t get any friction in this position.
“Good,” he manages. “Yes.”
Jin San laughs. “I thought so,” he says. “You are easy.” He curls his fingers just right, and Tang Fan’s toes curl, too. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a shaky little breath.
“Gege,” Tang Fan whines, rocking his hips. “This is too, it’s—you’re being mean now!”
Jin San snorts. He slides his fingers out of Tang Fan with an embarrassing wet noise, leaves him empty and slick in the cold air, and Tang Fan makes a bereft noise he didn’t even mean to make. “Jin San,” he complains. He feels so hot and squirmy about the way he’s bent over, ass up and clenching with the loss of Jin San’s fingers. He can probably see it. He probably notices.
“Thought I was being mean,” says Jin San. “Thought you were done with it.”
“You know what I meant!” says Tang Fan, squirming, his legs rubbing against the sheets. His right leg is stiff, like he really should stretch, but he doesn’t actually want to move from this position. He kind of likes the way his face is burning, which…just makes it burn more.
“Tell me what you meant,” says Jin San.
Tang Fan doesn’t look up. Hearing the amusement in Jin San’s voice is enough. He is not touching him anywhere anymore. Tang Fan groans into his arm.
“What was that?” says Jin San. There is a ghost of a touch on Tang Fan’s ass, a far-too-gentle grip. “Tell Jin San what you want, baby girl. I can’t give it to you if you don’t tell me.”
Oh, oh. “I want your cock,” says Tang Fan. He bites down on his arm immediately, squeezing his eyes further shut with embarrassment.
“What do you say?”
Tang Fan kicks his feet in frustration, and Jin San laughs. He laughs, and he gives Tang Fan a light little slap on the ass, once again not enough to do anything but be noticed, and Tang Fan moans, “Please.”
“Good girl,” Jin San says, running one hand along Tang Fan’s spine, the other gripping his hip. “You’re so pretty in this dress. Did you wear this dress for me? Trying to look pretty for gege?”
Tang Fan groans. “I wore it hoping I’d get fucked,” he says, irritable, and he stretches out his legs obstinately, tired of the cramping, letting himself fall fully on his belly and burying his face in his crossed arms.
Now he really can’t look at Jin San, because Jin San is laughing even more this time, genuine and delighted. “Feifei,” he says, faux scandalized. “Talking about how dirty I am.” Jin San crawls forward so he is leaning over Tang Fan and takes a handful of Tang Fan’s hair, gripping it. Tang Fan can feel the silicone dick between them, pressing painfully into his bare back. “When you pick your little dresses hoping to get fucked.”
Tang Fan lets out a tiny whine. “Come on,” he says. Jin San got him so worked up with his fingers, he’s so hard, he’s aching and empty and he wants the stupid dick inside of him now. “Please.”
“I guess you’ve waited a long time,” says Jin San, but he moves only enough to get his grip in Tang Fan’s hair tighter, harder. “Thinking about getting your pussy filled up since you put this on.”
“Jin Sa-a-a-n,” Tang Fan says, kicking his legs in frustration, and Jin San lets up, letting go of his hair and moving to settle back between his legs.
“Get your ass back up here,” says Jin San, and Tang Fan scrambles back up onto his knees, elbows digging into the mattress. “Good girl, come on. Gonna fill you up like you want.” Tang Fan pushes back, closer to Jin San, and Jin San says, “So eager—hold on. Let me get my dick wet for you.”
Tang Fan moans into the sheets, but it doesn’t take long before the slick sounds of Jin San lubing up the dick give way to Jin San’s hand on Tang Fan’s ass and the tip of Jin San’s dick at Tang Fan’s hole. He lets out a gasp when it breaches him; he expected it to be colder, but it’s not bad, firm and slippery with lube.
“Good?” Jin San asks as he slides in, and Tang Fan thinks he made the right choice, dick-wise; it is a pleasant stretch, satisfying. He groans and rocks back, and Jin San seems to take this as an acceptable answer, because he pushes further in to meet him.
“Look at you,” says Jin San. “All stretched around my cock.”
Tang Fan wants him to say it again. He wants him to say it again, but he wants him to say...he doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants. “My,” he starts, and then he bites his lip, squeezes his eyes shut further, presses his face into his forearm. He can’t. He can’t say it. He already has his ass in the air and his face down on the bed and his skirt flipped up and a dildo he chose in his ass, he’s not going to say...
“Your what?” says Jin San.
“I want you to say it again,” Tang Fan says faintly.
“Say what?” Jin San asks. “You want me to talk about how I’m stretching you open?”
“Ugh,” Tang Fan groans, rocking back again, and Jin San grabs his hips and holds him tight, halting him, which—oh.
“Tell Jin San what you want,” he repeats firmly.
Tang Fan whimpers. “My pussy,” he whispers. His entire body is burning up.
“Ah,” says Jin San, and Tang Fan can hear the delight in his voice, but he doesn’t tease. He rocks into Tang Fan, runs a hand down Tang Fan’s back, then straightens back up, grips Tang Fan’s hips again. “Look at you,” Jin San repeats. “Pretty pussy stretched out around my cock,” and Tang Fan shudders. His cock is leaking. He still can’t get any friction like this. He is going to die. “What do you want me to do with it?” Jin San asks with another far-too-gentle rock of his hips. “What should I do with your pussy?”
“Fuck me,” Tang Fan says, “Please,” and Jin San does.
Tang Fan has been fucked well before. He likes to be fucked. But this is…Jin San spent all that time figuring him out with his fingers, and now he’s drilling into Tang Fan with the kind of precision that’s ripping the most embarrassing sounds from Tang Fan’s throat, high-pitched and loud. The dick is thick and slippery with lube, sliding in and out of him so well, so easy, the noise of it even worse than the noises Tang Fan is making.
“There, sweetheart?” says Jin San, and the way he says “sweetheart” isn’t sweet at all, makes Tang Fan feel like he’s being heckled on the street, and this just makes him whine some more. “Is it good like this?” Jin San asks, drilling into him, circling his hips in a way that gets Tang Fan’s prostate so good. “Right here?”
“Yes,” Tang Fan gasps, grabbing at the sheets. “There. It’s good, it’s good.” He realizes with a vague, distant humiliation that he is drooling, and he tries to wipe his mouth, smearing a faint line of more lipstick on the back of his hand, but Jin San’s ramming into him so hard he barely achieves it. He can’t imagine what he looks like. He is certain his lipstick is smeared all over his mouth from all the kissing and the drooling.
“You’re so noisy,” says Jin San. He’s gripping Tang Fan’s hips so hard. “I like that. So noisy and so pretty taking my cock.”
Tang Fan makes a wet noise in the back of his throat. He can’t even…he can’t even really be embarrassed anymore, it’s too good, it’s too much, he can’t think of anything else. His entire world is the dildo, his prostate, his dick, the way his thighs are shaking. After a while, he barely even knows if he’s making noises anymore. He thinks they might have all been pulled out of him. There might be nothing left.
“Look at what a mess you are,” says Jin San.
Okay, Tang Fan can still make noise; he groans, faint and reedy, into the mattress, his face dragging along the sheets as his body is thrust back and forth with the force of Jin San’s fucking. He is pretty sure he’s getting makeup all over Jin San’s sheets, too. He blinks and realizes there are tears gathering in his eyes. It’s just—so much, and it feels so fucking good. Jin San is not chasing his own pleasure—he is laser focused on Tang Fan’s, on wrecking him until he can’t breathe, until he’s in tears.
“Such a good girl for me,” says Jin San, and another strangled noise is ripped out of Tang Fan’s throat as his knees are pushed up the bed. “Has anybody ever fucked you like this, huh? Did you ever get dicked this good by any of those dirty old men who bring you home?”
Tang Fan makes another wet noise, his throat clicking. He thinks he’s going to come. He thinks he’s going to come hard. His thighs are shaking so hard he’s surprised he hasn’t collapsed onto the bed.
“Well?” Jin San says.
“No,” Tang Fan manages.
“Nobody’s fucked you like Jin San?”
“Nobody’s fucked me like Jin San,” Tang Fan says wetly, and he realizes the tears have spilled over. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, gege, I’m so, so…”
“You gonna come on my cock?” says Jin San, “When I haven’t even touched your cock?”
“Yes,” Tang Fan gasps, “Yes, yes, yes, Jin San, please,” and a few more heavy thrusts send him right over the edge, and it is insane. He feels it all over. His eyes roll back and everything. He doesn’t even—not that much even comes out of his cock, but the feeling curls his toes, arches his back, sends him rocking his hips back onto the dick. His face is wet from tears. Oh, this is...this is a prostate orgasm, he thinks faintly. Oh, fuck.
Jin San keeps rocking into him, gently now, taking Tang Fan through the aftershocks jolting over his skin, and Tang Fan realizes one of his ears is ringing. Is that normal? Should his ears be ringing? This has never happened before. He feels like maybe his ears shouldn’t be ringing.
He lets out a quiet little sob. “Too much, too much,” he slurs, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth, and, slowly, Jin San pulls out, leaving him feeling stretched out and empty. Tang Fan moans and collapses onto his belly, fingers clenching at the sheets. He realizes he is all sweaty, his arms sticky in the tight long sleeves of the dress. Jin San is saying something to him, but he’s not sure what. His ear is still fucking ringing.
Jin San strokes Tang Fan’s hair behind his ear with a gentle hand. “Okay?” he asks after a moment.
Tang Fan...does not know the answer to this question. He rolls over on his side, wincing a little at the ache in his elbows and his thighs and his ass, and says, stupidly, “Are my ears supposed to be ringing?”
Jin San snorts. “Yes,” he says, and Tang Fan can tell he is very pleased with himself. He knows that look well. “You can shower before you go if you want. Once you get adjusted.”
Tang Fan considers pretending to be devastated at the assumption he will not spend the night, but...it might not have the effect he wants when he is the one lying wrecked on the bed, limbs shaky and cheeks sticky from drool and lipstick. “You didn’t want me to…?” He gestures at Jin San, who is now standing up and removing the dick. “I mean, I...finished, but you…”
“God, no,” says Jin San. He leans over and grips Tang Fan’s chin in his hand. “I got what I wanted from you, sweetheart,” Jin San says, tapping Tang Fan’s cheek with a wink.
Tang Fan is too muddled to do anything but shiver at this statement until later, when he gets home, freshly showered and in his everyday clothes. He is sore, but his ears are back to normal, and he is floating in the pleasant haze of a job well done, a plan following through as expected. Then he settles into his bed and opens WeChat, ready to send a smug message to Duo’erla, and finds she’s already messaged him.
Congratulations on a Huanyi milestone! the message says. You’re officially a regular now. I’ll bring you sustenance tomorrow. I was tapped out for a whole day after. Hope you didn’t fall in love ¬‿¬ though none of us would blame you (≧▽≦)
Tang Fan throws his phone down in a huff.
Well, fine. Maybe he was not the sole orchestrator of the night.
This doesn’t mean he didn’t get what he wanted.