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Zheng Yongkang was, by any reasonable standard, a menace. Not the kind that left destruction in his wake—no, that would require too much effort. He was the sort who thrived in calculated chaos, toeing lines and pushing buttons with the practiced ease of someone who knew exactly how far he could go before the consequences became unavoidable. And Zhang Zhao, his ever-patient, ever-suffering boyfriend, was usually the one left dealing with the fallout.
Today's offense? His missing hoodie.
————
"Zhao-ge, I swear it wasn't me who took your hoodie this time!" Kangkang called out from the bathroom, voice muffled by the sound of running water. Zhang Zhao rolled his eyes, already in the middle of tearing through the disaster that was his boyfriend's room.
He wasn't one to snoop around—really. It's just that Kangkang's bedroom was less a living space and more a hazard zone: clothes draped over the back of his chair, tangled in blankets, or scattered in crumpled piles across the floor whenever the younger boy couldn't be bothered to fold them. The chaos wasn't entirely careless, it was "efficient"—at least in Kangkang's own twisted logic. As if he'd mapped out the quickest path between waking up and grabbing whatever garment lay closest, never mind if it was wrinkled beyond saving.
Zhang Zhao let out a tired breath, nudging a stray pair of pants off the bed with his knee. His hoodie had to be here somewhere—he was sure of it. Kangkang was always "borrowing" (read: stealing) his clothes, then acting indignant when called out, as if he genuinely believed Zhang Zhao wouldn't recognize his own damn hoodie swallowing his boyfriend's smaller frame.
He yanked open the closet doors and dug through the clutter inside, fully expecting to find the missing garment buried somewhere in the younger's usual heap of jackets and baggy pants. He shoved aside a stack of clumsily folded shirts—then paused when his fingers brushed against something solid beneath them. Frowning, he pushed the clothes away and uncovered a small, unmarked box, the kind that looked deliberately plain—like it was trying a little too hard not to be noticed.
For a moment, he just stared at it, unease prickling at the back of his mind. His brain told him to leave it alone, to shove it back under the mess where he'd found it and pretend he'd never seen a thing. It wasn't his, after all—this was Kangkang's space, Kangkang's things. But the longer he looked, the louder his curiosity pressed in, needling and persistent, tightening in his chest until it was impossible to ignore. His fingers hovered over the lid, hesitating for only a heartbeat before giving in. He lifted it—and froze.
Inside the box was a blush-pink dildo, modest in size but perfectly shaped—smooth silicone with a slight curve, the kind designed to hit just right. It was unmistakably used—judging by the half-empty bottle of lube that sat beside it, the cap barely screwed on, as if Kangkang had been in a hurry the last time he'd put it away. Zhang Zhao's breath caught for a moment, his fingers twitching against the edge of the box.
He shouldn't have been surprised. Kangkang was shameless in every other aspect of life—stealing his things, leaving messes of empty chip bags and crumpled candy wrappers all over his desk, taunting him during streams with that infuriatingly playful lilt in his voice—so why would this be any different? Still, the thought of his boyfriend here, sprawled across his bedsheets, legs spread, fucking himself open on a toy—sent heat pooling low in Zhang Zhao's stomach. His pulse kicked up as his mind supplied the details effortlessly: Kangkang biting his lip to stifle his moans, his thighs trembling as he pushed the toy deeper, desperate and—
The bathroom door creaked open.
Light footsteps padded down the hallway before the younger boy's voice cut through the silence, all easy and unbothered. "I told you, Zhao-ge, I didn't take—" The words died abruptly in his throat as Zhang Zhao turned, holding the box between them like an accusation. Kangkang froze mid-step, towel slung over one shoulder, his hair still damp from the shower. His gaze darted from the box to the older's face, then back again, cheeks flushing a shade darker than the toy itself.
Kangkang glared at the box in Zhang Zhao's hand like it had personally betrayed him. His lips parted, before closing again soundlessly—fingers twitching at his sides, restless and guilty. After a moment, he finally choked out, "T-That's not mine." The lie cracked halfway through, brittle and unconvincing, his voice pitching higher in that way it always did when he was cornered.
Zhang Zhao arched a brow, slow and deliberate, letting the silence stretch for a beat as he waited—expectant, unconvinced. "Really?" He gave the box a slight tilt, just enough for the contents to shift inside with a soft, unceremonious thud. "Then why was it inside your closet?" His voice was cool, measured—the kind of calm he knew always made his boyfriend's stomach twist.
Kangkang swallowed hard, throat visibly bobbing. His gaze skittered away, landing anywhere but Zhang Zhao's face as his mind scrambled for another excuse. "I mean—it's not mine mine," he amended weakly, hovering somewhere between defiance and desperation. "Maybe someone left it here? Like, maybe a fan gifted it or—"
"Seriously, Kangkang? A fan?" Zhang Zhao let out a quiet scoff, flat and humorless. Disbelief sat heavy in his expression as his attention returned to the box, sweeping over its contents with thinly veiled skepticism. He lingered there for a beat before looking up again, his features smoothing into something unreadable, eyes narrowing as they fixed on the younger boy. "You really expect me to believe that?"
Kangkang's shoulders slumped, his usual bravado crumbling like a poorly built sandcastle under the tide of Zhang Zhao's unflinching gaze. His fingers twitched at his sides before curling into loose fists, as if he could physically grasp at any last shred of dignity he had left in him. "...Okay. Fine. It's mine." The admission tumbled out in a breathless rush, uneven and stumbling over itself, his face burning all the way to the tips of his ears.
Zhang Zhao's lips curved almost imperceptibly, the slightest trace of amusement flickering briefly across his face. His gaze stayed fixed on the contents of the box, quietly assessing them, as if taking his time to properly register what he was seeing before speaking. "It's pretty small, huh?" His voice remained perfectly even—detached, almost conversational—like this was nothing more than a passing comment, like they were discussing team strats instead of the fact that his boyfriend had been secretly fucking himself with a dildo when no one was watching.
Kangkang's breath hitched audibly, his fingers drawing in tighter, knuckles pulling taut as his hands curled into firmer fists—not in anger, but in that particular brand of flustered resistance Zhang Zhao knew so well. The younger boy's chest rose too quickly, his throat working around a swallow that did nothing to hide the jump of his pulse beneath the delicate skin of his neck. "It's not small—"
The protest came out quick and instinctive, barely formed, but Zhang Zhao didn't give him the chance to finish. "You could've just asked me," he cut in, his voice smooth and precise, carrying a quiet intensity that stilled the room. His free hand came up to catch Kangkang's chin before he could turn away, thumb settling against his lower lip—firm but careful—and traced lightly over the softness there. "If you wanted to be fucked so bad."
The words settled between them, thick with implication. Zhang Zhao caught the subtle tremble in Kangkang's pupils, the reflexive flick of his tongue as it darted out to wet his lips—only to stop short when he realized what he was doing, the brief lapse leaving him visibly flustered. Zhang Zhao didn't pull away, his gaze remained locked and unrelenting, holding steady until his boyfriend's composure cracked, as it always did under pressure.
"Shut up—" Kangkang lunged for the box, his stubbornness flaring in one last desperate attempt to regain control, but Zhang Zhao reacted first. He drew the box easily out of reach with one hand while the other shifted, fingers closing around Kangkang's jaw with practiced precision. The younger boy froze at once, breath snagging as Zhang Zhao's thumb pressed a fraction harder against his lower lip, tipping his head back just enough to expose the frantic pulse fluttering beneath his skin
"When did you buy this?" Zhang Zhao asked, his voice calm to the point of indifference—but the heat in his eyes gave him away, dark and smoldering beneath his usual composure. His hand remained at Kangkang's jaw, holding him just firmly enough to keep his attention locked in place. Nothing about the gesture was rough, yet the intent behind it was impossible to mistake.
Kangkang swallowed hard, something tight and restless twisting beneath his ribs. "That's—that's none of your business!" The words came out strained, pitching higher as they broke apart in his rush to force them out. His hands clenched briefly at his sides before falling loose again, hovering awkwardly with nothing to anchor them.
Zhang Zhao didn't let him pull away, his grip steady at Kangkang's jaw—the hold more insistence than restraint, keeping his attention fixed without needing to force it. "When." It wasn't a question this time—just a single syllable dropped between them, heavy and final, like something that couldn't be ignored.
Kangkang's throat worked around nothing, hesitation tightening in his expression before he finally spoke. "...Two weeks ago," he muttered, his gaze slipping away to fixate on the mess of dirty laundry piled in the corner—as if the jumble of hoodies and tangled sweatpants might offer him some kind of escape. His lashes fluttered, dark against his flushed cheeks, and Zhang Zhao catalogued every microexpression with clinical precision: the way his jaw tensed before easing again, the minute tremble in his thighs where they pressed together.
Zhang Zhao gave a low hum of acknowledgment, unhurried and controlled, his gaze dropping back to the box as he tipped it lightly in his hand. The movement caused the lube inside to slosh audibly—a subtle, almost cruel reminder of what Kangkang had been doing alone in his room. "How many times have you used it?" His voice was too calm, too measured—the kind of tone that always made Kangkang's stomach knot, because he knew better by now. Knew that calm meant danger with the older boy.
"Just twice..." The answer came reluctantly, dragged from him piece by piece beneath Zhang Zhao's expectant stare. His fingers twitched restlessly at his sides before finally catching on the hem of his shirt, twisting the fabric tight between his hands. The worn collar—already loose from too many careless tugs—slipped further down his shoulder. The newly exposed skin seemed to catch Zhang Zhao's attention, his gaze lingered there for a moment before lifting back to Kangkang's face with the same quiet intensity.
Zhang Zhao's breath escaped in a controlled exhale, the subtle pause afterward suggesting he was pleased with the answer he'd gotten, quietly savoring the confession. His grip at the younger boy's jaw remained unchanged—calm, certain, impossible to shrug off. "And why," he murmured, voice dipping lower, rougher at the edges, "didn't you just come to me?" The question lingered between them, heavy and unyielding, the air charged with something hotter than embarrassment—something that made Kangkang's thighs press together instinctively.
Kangkang faltered, the brief, involuntary pause enough to expose the cracks in his composure. He tried—and failed—to hold Zhang Zhao's gaze, his eyes darting to the side where the bedroom wall offered no salvation. "I just—just didn't want to bother you..." The excuse fell apart as he spoke, losing what little conviction it had before it could even settle. His breathing grew shallow, uneven, each shaky inhale betraying him more than his words ever could.
Zhang Zhao's thumb shifted to trace along the line of Kangkang's jaw in a slow, thoughtful pass before settling beneath it. He held the younger boy steady there, guiding his head back just enough to expose the line of his throat in a vulnerable arch. "Bother me?" Zhang Zhao echoed, voice low and even, carrying easily through the small space between them. "When have I ever denied you?" The words were deceptively light, something almost gentle on the surface—but the meaning beneath them was anything but. Kangkang shuddered, the implication coiled hot and tight in his stomach, humiliation and want blurring together until he couldn't tell them apart.
His breathing lost its rhythm under Zhang Zhao's gaze, every inhale a little too quick, a little too shallow. His hips jerked forward—just slightly, barely there—but Zhang Zhao noticed. Of course he did. The way his boyfriend's body gave him away in subtle involuntary shifts and restrained movements, betraying what his pride stubbornly resisted. A tremor ran through Kangkang's fingers where they clutched at his shirt, knuckles whitening against the fabric.
"Strip." Zhang Zhao's voice cut through the tension, sharp and absolute, the single syllable landing with quiet finality. The command carried through the tight space between them with effortless authority, pressing in alongside the heat and uneven breaths, leaving no room for resistance—no room for anything but obedience.
Kangkang's eyes widened, a protest catching somewhere in his throat before it could fully form, his fingers tightening reflexively in the hem of his shirt as if to ground himself. Zhang Zhao didn't repeat himself. Didn't need to. The silence dragged on for another beat, hot and heavy, until Kangkang finally huffed—a weak, brittle attempt at defiance—and dragged his shirt over his head in jerky, uncoordinated motions. The fabric snagged briefly around his wrists, slowing him just enough to make the struggle painfully obvious. He wrestled with it for another second under Zhang Zhao's unimpressed stare before finally wrenching himself free and tossing the shirt aside with more force than necessary, leaving it crumpled carelessly across the floor.
Zhang Zhao remained utterly still, his focus fixed on the way Kangkang's fingers stalled at the waistband of his pants, caught between hesitation and compliance. The room felt tight with anticipation, every breath seeming louder in the quiet. "All of it." He added, each word delivered with calm precision, the order deliberate. His expression gave little away, carefully composed despite the unmistakable intensity lingering in his gaze—drawn to the faint movement of the younger boy's throat, to the way his lower lip caught briefly between his teeth.
Kangkang swallowed hard, his fingers trembled as they hooked into his waistband, shoving both his pants and boxers down in one hasty motion. The fabric pooled at his ankles, and he kicked it aside with more aggression than the movement warranted, as if that could mask how his knees threatened to buckle. The hostility rang hollow—a flimsy shield against the way his breath hitched when the older boy's gaze dropped lower, lingering on the flushed length of his cock, leaving him feeling exposed in a way he couldn't ignore.
Zhang Zhao allowed the silence to stretch, watching how Kangkang squirmed beneath his stare—the weight of it more suffocating than any touch, scalding in its patience, unbearable in its precision. When he finally nodded toward the bed, the motion was almost lazy, like he couldn't be bothered to even lift his hand. "Lay down for me," the command landed flat, disinterested—and that was the worst part, really. That he could make it sound like a passing remark, something trivial, while Kangkang's pulse pounded loud enough to drown out his own thoughts.
The hesitation was brief—barely a stutter in Kangkang's step—but it didn't escape Zhang Zhao's notice, nothing ever did. His movements were stiff, stripped of their usual ease as he climbed onto the mattress, the disheveled sheets rustling under his weight. Zhang Zhao followed, nudging Kangkang's chair closer with deliberate ease, its wheels scraping softly against the floor. He settled into it like this was any other evening, like he hadn't just peeled his boyfriend open layer by layer. He tossed the box onto the bed with a careless flick of his wrist—an absent, almost idle gesture—and it landed beside the younger boy with a muted thud.
Kangkang stared at the box as if it might start moving on its own—like something inside could reach out and drag him down to hell the moment he touched it. His fingers hovered near the lid, hesitating mid-motion before pulling back, the quiet around them amplifying every flicker of uncertainty.
Zhang Zhao leaned back in the chair, all easy confidence, like he already knew how this would play out. His arms rested loosely across his chest, fingers tapping in a slow, absent rhythm against his sleeve. "Use it," the command was soft but absolute, impossible to mistake for a suggestion. "Show me how you fuck your greedy little hole open when I'm not around."
Kangkang made a small, choked noise, the start of a protest tangling uselessly in his throat as his composure slipped another inch. "W-Wha—" The room suddenly felt too tight, too warm, Zhang Zhao's attention pressing almost unbearably against his bare form.
"Now." The single word snapped through the air with enough force to make Kangkang jolt, his shoulders drawing tight on instinct—whatever fragile resistance he'd been clinging on to splintered under the weight of it. The order settled over him with quiet, uncompromising certainty, pinning him until his hands finally moved, clumsy and unsteady as they fumbled with the box. The lid flipped open with a soft click, revealing the toy nestled inside, its smooth surface gleaming under the dim bedroom light like a secret laid bare.
Kangkang's fingers hovered over it for only a moment before snatching it up like it might burn him. The weight of it suddenly felt wrong in his grip—too heavy, too familiar, carrying the lingering memory of his own fingers curled around it in the dark. His cheeks burned hotter as he dropped it onto the bed, as if doing so could erase the way his stomach twisted with shameful anticipation. The bottle of lube was next, cold plastic against his trembling fingers as he picked it up—he fumbled with the cap until it popped open with a wet sound that echoed obscenely in the quiet room.
Zhang Zhao didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched with hooded eyes as Kangkang squeezed a generous amount onto his fingertips, the lube dripping thick and slow between the digits. A shudder ran through him as he brought his hand down, the cold liquid making him hiss when he pressed it against his warm skin. His breath hitched audibly as he circled his entrance with slick fingers, the touch light, teasing—like he could stall the inevitable.
"Fuck..." Kangkang gasped, his free hand bracing against the mattress as tension flashed through his shoulders. The tendons in his wrist stood stark as he worked the first finger in—agonizingly slow and hesitant, as if prolonging might somehow lessen the way the older boy's gaze seared into him. There was a mild sting to it, the kind of unfamiliar pressure that always made his breathing falter for a second. But it wasn't the discomfort making his pulse race—it was the weight of Zhang Zhao's attention, following every involuntary tremor of his thighs, cataloging every stuttered exhale like he was memorizing the way his boyfriend unravelled.
Kangkang bit down on his lower lip hard enough to taste copper, the sharp sting grounding him for half a breath before his hips bucked up on their own accord. A broken whine tore from his throat when the tip of his finger accidentally grazed that spot inside him—the one that sent a sudden current racing up his spine. His back arched off the mattress like he'd been electrocuted, cock twitching against his stomach, already dripping from just one finger. The word pathetic echoed in his skull, taunting him with how easily his body fell apart.
Zhang Zhao still hadn't moved, not a single inch. He lounged in the chair like some untouchable deity, one leg crossed lazily over the other, his expression schooled into something infuriatingly neutral. Everything about him looked controlled—except for his eyes. His pupils were blown so wide they nearly swallowed the iris, tracking the way Kangkang's hole twitched around his finger, the way his thighs quivered when he crooked it just right. The only visible slip in his composure came from the restrained swallow he couldn't suppress, his fingers locked motionless against his forearm, the pristine fabric of his sleeves bunching subtly beneath his grip.
Kangkang's eyes shut tight, his chest rising and falling in ragged bursts as he forced a second finger inside himself, the stretch sharper this time—burning just enough to make something restless and wanting twist inside him, his toes curling against the sheets. The lube slid over his feverish skin, the squelch of it echoing in the quiet room as he began to scissor his fingers open, the sound sending a fresh wave of humiliation prickling down his spine. He could feel the way his rim fluttered around the intrusion, clenching desperately like it was already begging for more—fuck, Zhao-ge can probably see everything—His breath hitched when the blunt tips of his fingers grazed that spot again, pleasure rushing through his veins as his entire body jerked.
"Look at me baobao," Zhang Zhao's command sliced through the haze of pleasure, sharp enough to make Kangkang's eyes snap open instantly—no hesitation, no thought, just instinctive obedience. Nothing shifted in the older boy's expression—but his gaze was molten, dragging slowly down Kangkang's body with unbroken focus, lingering on the way his cock leaked steadily against the soft swell of his stomach despite being untouched.
Kangkang struggled to steady his breathing, his fingers stuttering inside himself, movements growing clumsy with how badly his hands were shaking. His thoughts turned hazy, nothing forming clearly as he forced himself to hold his boyfriend's stare. The weight of it felt suffocating in its own way—too much, too consuming, as if it reduced everything else to nothing—those dark, intent eyes making Kangkang's stomach twist with something dangerously close to need.
Kangkang whimpered, high and thin, the sound cracking in his throat like glass as he pushed a third finger in. His breath caught at the searing sensation, but it still wasn't enough—nowhere near enough. His body trembled with the contradiction of it all, too consuming, yet still leaving something unfulfilled underneath—the pleasure of stimulation warring with his desperate, hollow need for something thicker, something real. "Z-Zhao-ge—" His voice faltered around the syllables, raw and wrecked, his hips jerking forward helplessly as if they could chase the friction his fingers couldn't provide.
He curled the digits inside himself, pressing insistently against that spot—the one that left his thoughts faltering as his body arched instinctively off the mattress beneath him. A tight, burning tension coiled low in his stomach—intense and unrelenting—and, for a wild, delirious second, he thought he might cum like this—just from his own fingers and the unbearable weight of Zhang Zhao's gaze pinning him to the bed. The thought alone sent a spike of humiliation surging through him, his cock twitching pathetically against his stomach.
Kangkang's rim had gone from tight and resistant to soft, pliant—eager, even—under his own relentless ministrations. The initial burn melted into a slick, throbbing heat, his body yielding easily now to the press of his fingers, the stretch no longer sharp but deep and all-consuming. His breath came in thin, broken pulls of air, thighs trembling violently as he worked himself open. Heat rushed up Kangkang's neck at the filthy noises, he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to face the thought of his boyfriend hearing how wet he was—how ready he was.
His cock ached where it lay against his stomach, precome smeared across his abdomen in wet streaks, still untouched—Zhao-ge hadn't permitted it yet—The neglect only deepened the restless knot forming in his stomach, sharpening it into something more frantic, more desperate, the lack of relief somehow more maddening then if the older boy had simply wrapped his fingers around his cock. His hips continued to buck forward uselessly, as if his body could will the friction into existence.
Zhang Zhao drew in a breath before letting it out again, his fingers tensing against his forearm as he took in the sight of Kangkang coming undone. The younger boy was a mess of tremors now, his body barely holding itself together—his leg quivered midair where one hand shifted to hold himself obscenely open. His stomach fluttered with each unsteady breath as his fingers pistoned in and out at an increasingly desperate rhythm, his hole clenching around the slick digits. Kangkang's mouth hung slack, lips bitten red and swollen from stifling moans, his damp bangs clinging to his forehead. Pathetic. Beautiful.
"That's enough," Zhang Zhao's voice cut through the wet noises of Kangkang's fingers thrusting in and out of himself. The younger boy froze mid-movement, his breath stuttering like a stalled engine, fingers still buried to the knuckle inside his twitching hole. His eyes—dark and blown wide—snapped up to Zhang Zhao's face, searching for instruction, for permission, for anything.
Zhang Zhao uncrossed his legs with deliberate slowness, the fabric of his pants rustling as he leaned forward. His fingers closed around the discarded dildo beside Kangkang's hip, he tipped the toy slightly in his grip, letting the dim light catch its smooth surface. "You know what to do baobao," he muttered under his breath, voice steady as he tossed it onto Kangkang's tense stomach. The impact landing with a soft thump against the younger boy's sweat-damp skin, the sudden weight making hm jolt.
Kangkang swallowed with visible effort, the motion tense and restrained. His fingers twitched where they were still pressed inside himself—stretched loose enough now that even the slightest movement made his hole clench around them, slick and thoroughly prepared. His throat worked soundlessly for a moment, the words clotting in his chest like tar, before he managed to rasp out, "I— how do you want me to—?"
"On your back," Zhang Zhao cut in, voice low but firm. His fingers drummed once against his knee, the only sign of impatience. "Keep your legs spread. I want to see everything." The words left no room for interpretation, let alone argument, and Kangkang obeyed with almost mechanical precision. He withdrew his fingers with a soft, wet pop, shifting to settle more comfortably on his back. The movement caused his cock to slap against his abdomen, the flushed head leaving a glistening smear of precome across his skin, and Zhang Zhao's gaze fixed onto the sight with the predatory stillness of a wolf sighting prey.
Kangkang's hands jittered as he reached for the toy, his fingers sliding awkwardly across the smooth surface as he thoroughly coated it with lube—too much really, the excess dripping down onto his stomach in thick rivulets. He bit down on a whimper at the anticipation—so fucking pathetic—but the sound leaked out anyway, high and reedy. His hesitation lasted exactly three stuttering heartbeats, his eyes flicking up to Zhang Zhao's face in a silent plea for—what? Mercy? Permission?—But the older boy's expression remained impassive, his gaze burning with quiet intensity.
Kangkang's hold on the dildo tightened, conflicted tension written into every rigid line of his hands like he couldn't decide whether to throw it away or hold on tighter. He tried to speak, but his body refused to cooperate, pulse thudding visibly beneath his skin, a faint sheen of sweat catching the bedroom light along his collarbones. For a suspended second, he paused, eyes flicking up to Zhang Zhao's one last time in an instinctive search for hesitation—some sign he might relent—only to come up with nothing. Then, finally, finally, he brought the toy down between his thighs.
The first press of it against his rim made his body go rigid for a moment, a startled breath catching somewhere in his throat. It was different from his fingers—cooler where the silicone hadn't warmed yet, smoother with the lube coating its surface, bigger where it stretched him wider than his own knuckles ever could—and the stretch was immediate, undeniable. He sucked in a sharp breath, fingers tightening around the base of the toy as he pushed it in slowly, inch by torturous inch. The sensation burned with that familiar intensity, his body resisting for only a moment before giving in, swallowing the toy down greedily—his rim fluttered around the intrusion like it was trying to pull it deeper.
"Ah... fuck—" Kangkang let out a strained sound, his hips kicking forward involuntarily as the toy finally breached him fully. His knuckles brushed against his thighs, the base of the dildo flush against his skin now, and the reality of it—that he was full, that his boyfriend was watching, that every twitch of his stomach, every involuntary clench around the silicone was being monitored with ruthless precision—sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through him. He had to bite down hard on his lower lip to stifle another pathetic noise. The pressure was maddening as the toy seated deep inside him, stretching him in a way that bordered on too much.
"Come on, move for me," Zhang Zhao's voice dipped around the order, the words carrying through the silence with a weight that made Kangkang's thighs tremble. He lounged in the chair like nothing about this affected him, one arm draped lazily against the armrest—but his stare grew relentless, pinned unwaveringly to where the toy disappeared between Kangkang's thighs.
Kangkang whimpered, the sound soft and fractured around the edges, his fingers slipping slightly against the dildos base as he obeyed. The first drag out of his body was agonizingly slow—every inch of its shape catching against his oversensitive walls until only the tip remained inside. His breath stuttered when he pushed it back in, the blunt head pressing right against that soft spot inside him that made his mind blank. The drag was obscenely wet, lube-slick sounds echoing in the quiet room like a vulgar confession, and Kangkang's thighs shook violently where they were spread wide, his toes curling in the air.
"You've done this before, right?" Zhang Zhao's voice dropped quieter around the question, steady enough to make Kangkang's pulse stutter, rough enough to pull the breath from his lungs for a second. "Use it properly, baobao." The challenge in those words was unmistakable—it was calculated, a verbal trap laid with the precision of a crosshair settling on its mark. Zhang Zhao's fingers pressed harder into his forearm for a brief second, the tiny movement the only indication of how badly he wanted to reach out instead of just watching.
The words landed like a physical blow, hard enough to make Kangkang's stomach twist. His fingers spasmed where they held the toy, his breathing losing what little rhythm it had left. Of course he'd done this before—twice, he'd admitted as much—but those times had been private, nothing like the suffocating awareness of his boyfriend tracking every small reaction in real time. He felt his body betraying him, his hole clenching down greedily, revealing just how badly he'd craved this, how he'd imagined the older boy watching him—coldly composed while he fell apart beneath him.
Kangkang's hold turned clumsy for a moment, the excess lube causing his fingers slide against the smooth surface until he had to stop and steady it again in his grasp. A dry click echoed in his throat as he swallowed, trying to force himself to move properly—to prove just how well his body could take it. He pulled the dildo out almost completely, the drag so deliberate Zhang Zhao could undoubtedly see the way his swollen rim clung to the toy, pulsing visibly as if trying to suck it back in. Kangkang drew a strained inhale at the overwhelming sensation—fighting to keep his breathing even when he pushed back in with a slow, controlled roll of his hips.
He moved with more certainty now, quicker, more purposeful, each inch breaching him with the tight flutter of muscle yielding under relentless pressure. When he bottomed out again, the overwhelming fullness knocked the air from his lungs, his body arching off the mattress in a taut bow. There wasn't even the slightest movement from Zhang Zhao, his composure holding perfectly intact—no fidgeting, no adjustment of his undoubtedly straining pants—but the intensity of the older boy's attention followed every single reaction his body failed to hide, every aborted jerk along the strained curve of his stomach, every twitch of his hole around the toys girth.
"You're doing so well," Zhang Zhao said softly, the warmth in his voice somehow making Kangkang's head spin worse as his world narrowed to the silicone stretching him open. "Such a good boy." The praise wrapped around Kangkang's nerves and pulled tight, a helpless shudder running through his body—feet shifting against the mattress as though searching for balance. His hold tightened around the base of the dildo, pulling out abruptly—then slamming it back in with a rough snap that punched a high-pitched whine from his throat.
A brief shift crossed Zhang Zhao's expression—barely there, gone in a second—"That's it, keep going for me—faster," he said abruptly, the encouragement roughened by restraint in a way that sent Kangkang spiraling further into disarray. His rhythm faltered for half a second before he forced himself to keep going, snapping his wrist to fuck the toy into himself at a quicker pace, the slap of silicone against skin joining the symphony of noises leaving his lips. His body trembled under the effort, sweat beading along his hairline as pleasure spread through him in restless waves.
Kangkang's vision blurred when the curved shape pressed up hard against that spot—a sharp burst of overwhelming ecstasy tore through him, every muscle in his body seizing at once. "Oh fuck—" he choked out, his fingers slipping completely from the toy as his body convulsed. The dildo stayed buried inside him, his hole clenching desperately around it. His chest heaved, thighs shaking where they were spread open, completely exposed under Zhang Zhao's hungry gaze.
Kangkang's fingers scrabbled for purchase as he drove the toy deeper. The angle was perfect now—each rough thrust sent the blunt tip grinding right against his prostate, sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine with every push. The toy slipped slightly in his unsteady grip, the angle shifting just enough to send the tip scraping against his sweet spot in a way that left his thoughts scattering into static. A strangled cry tore from his throat, his hips jerking forward uncontrollably, cock spurting more precome onto his stomach.
"Z-Zhao-ge—" His voice cracked around the syllables, his lips slick with spit where he'd bitten them raw. The pleasure throbbed low and insistent inside him, too much—but he couldn't stop. His rim tightened around the toy greedily, his body trying to pull it deeper even as the overstimulation made tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. "Fuck—fuck—" he gasped, his rhythm devolving into desperate, shallow thrusts, his fingers flexing against the slick silicone. "I—I can't—" His voice broke into a sob as another brutal grind against his prostate sent his thighs spasming.
Kangkang's movements grew frantic, his wrist twisting in erratic jerks as the dildo plunged into him again and again—the rythm too fast now, too rough. His slick fingers barely kept hold of the toy as his hips arched off the bed with each desperate thrust. The slick sound filled the room in uneven bursts, loud against the otherwise suffocating quiet, punctuated by his ragged gasps. "Ah—ah—Z-Zhao-ge, p-please—" His voice splintered apart, legs unsteady beneath the mounting strain as the pressure wound tighter and tighter inside him, threatening to overwhelm him completely. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over when the toy dragged against his prostate just right, his entire body seizing with a silent scream.
From the chair, Zhang Zhao looked almost unnervingly composed, his posture loose and relaxed despite the sharp focus fixed in his eyes—he watched Kangkang's cock twitch untouched, dripping steadily onto his stomach. "Hm? Please what, baobao?" he murmured softly, the words wrapped in a gentleness that felt almost deliberately cruel, like he was fully aware of exactly what he was doing to the younger boy.
The words hit Kangkang hard enough to tear a raw sob from his throat, his hips stuttering forward helplessly. The movement sent the toy sliding out of him, the tip catching briefly against his rim before slipping out compeletely with a wet, lewd sound. "N-No—!" His voice cracked into a scream, hands scrabbling at the mattress, fingers twisting in the sheets as his hole clenched around nothing, tears streaking hot down his flushed cheeks. His chest heaved, each breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps—while his cock strained untouched against his stomach, painting his skin with glistening streaks of arousal.
Zhang Zhao let out a quiet sound under his breath, equal parts entertained and intent as he watched his boyfriend come apart in front of him. His attention lingered on every unsteady reaction Kangkang made—his throat straining around another whimper, his feet pressing deeper into the rumpled sheets. "What's wrong?" he asked softly, the feigned concern in his tone bordering on cruel. "You seemed to be perfectly content with your little toy earlier." He leaned forward slightly as he said it, head tilting with mock curiosity like he genuinely expected an answer.
Kangkang shook his head frantically, denial catching in his throat as fresh tears spilled over his lashes. Zhang Zhao's composure fractured slightly, his fingers twitching against his thigh where they'd been resting with deceptive calm. The sight of his boyfriend's rim—puffy and flushed, glistening with lube as it pulsed around absent fullness—snapped something in his restraint, arousal flooding his veins with sudden, single-minded intent. His voice dropped to a rough murmur, the words slicing through the heavy haze hanging in the room. "Beg properly."
Kangkang's mind whited out completely—leaving only the raw, desperate need for his boyfriend's cock. His body obeyed before his thoughts could catch up, voice cracking wetly as drool spilled past the corners of his swollen lips. "P-Please Zhao-ge—fuck—" The words tumbled out in a broken stream, his hips twitching uselessly against empty air. "I need your cock—N-Need you, Zhao-ge... only you—" His hole continued to tighten around empty air, the slick muscle fluttering pathetically, as if trying to suck an imaginary thickness deeper.
Zhang Zhao's pupils blew darker at the obscene sight—Kangkang's flushed rim still pulsing, glistening with lube as it tried desperately to clench down on absent fullness. A rough groan tore from his chest, all pretense of control evaporating as he pushed himself off the chair in one fluid motion. The bed dipped under his knees as he moved to loom over the wrecked boy, drinking in the sight beneath him—streaks of precome painted Kangkang's trembling stomach, tears glistening on fever-bright cheeks, his thighs twitching with aftershocks. So pathetic. So perfect.
His hands bracketed Kangkang's hips, thumbs digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks as he flipped him over in one swift motion. The younger boy's cry punched through the air—half-surprise, half-relief—as his neglected cock dragged against the sheets, the rough friction wringing another broken moan from his lips. Before Kangkang could even chase that sensation, Zhang Zhao stripped it away—hauling his hips up into the air with effortless strength, fingers digging possessively into the soft skin.
The sight that greeted him was obscene beyond words—filthy in a way that made Zhang Zhao's pulse hammer against his ribs. Kangkang's body lay open and wrecked, his entrance slick and pulsing pathetically, already worked open enough to recognize any touch as salvation. Zhang Zhao traced his thumb along the stretched rim, watching the muscle jump and flutter at the barest contact—before pressing in just enough to feel that wet heat suck his finger deeper with embarrassing eagerness, drawing a low groan from his chest. Kangkang's spine snapped taut, a sound like breaking glass tearing from his throat as his thighs jerked open wider.
"D-Don't tease.." The protest came out frayed and uneven, barely holding together as his fists twisted tighter in the sheets. His hole clenched desperately around the intrusion, body caught between pulling away and pressing back harder—as if every nerve ending was at war with itself. Zhang Zhao drew in a restrained breath, the hand spanning Kangkang's pelvis drawing him back with sudden insistence as he pushed his thumb in deeper, just to feel those slick walls flutter and clamp down in stuttering surrender. The younger boy crumpled around a wrecked cry, cock dripping untouched onto the mattress, his whole body trembling helplessly.
Whatever facade of control Zhang Zhao had clung to earlier abandoned him entirely—his breathing no longer steady, fingers digging possessively into his boyfriend's trembling hips as he tore at his own waistband, cock heavy against his palm when he finally wrenched himself free. He rested the thick length against Kangkang's twitching hole, precome beading at the tip as the younger boy's spine bowed with a strangled cry. "So fucking perfect like this—just begging for my cock." Zhang Zhao's voice had gone gravel-rough as he rocked forward, his cockhead catching against that slick rim with torturous precision, smearing the swollen flesh with the wet evidence of exactly how long he'd been waiting for this.
The lube bottle crinkled in his grip as he coated himself thoroughly, stroking from root to tip with slow, deliberate pulls that had him thrusting into his own fist, chasing friction. The ruined cry Kangkang made when the cold liquid dripped onto his oversensitive hole was obscene—his thighs falling apart wider as if inviting the intrusion, his entire body strung tight with desperate anticipation.
Any chance for Kangkang to catch his breath disappeared when Zhang Zhao's hand twisted into his hair, his other hand guiding his cockhead to that slick, fluttering hole. The first push was brutal, splitting him open in one relentless thrust that punched a scream from Kangkang's throat. His back arched violently, hands scrabbling at the sheets as he tried to process the sudden stretch—so much thicker than the toy, the burn just shy of painful as the older boy bottomed out inside him with a guttural groan.
"Oh fuck—!" Kangkang sobbed, his rim straining around the intrusion, body shaking with oversensitivity. Every inch of Zhang Zhao’s cock carved into him like a brand, the drag almost unbearable as he pulled back slowly—then slammed in again, the impact jolting Kangkang's body forward with a broken scream. "Z-Zhao-ge—s't-too rough—"
"Shh, baobao," Zhang Zhao murmured, the filthy snap of his hips belying the softness of his voice. He wrapped a hand around Kangkang's throat, not squeezing—just holding, his thumb brushing against the frantic pulse there as he leaned down to lick a stripe up the younger boy's sweat-slicked spine. "You're taking it so well.. just sucking me right in." His teeth grazed Kangkang's shoulder, biting down just hard enough to leave a faint red mark as he set a punishing rhythm, each thrust knocking punched-out noises from his boyfriend's swollen lips.
The angle was merciless—Zhang Zhao's cock driving against his prostate with every snap forward, lighting up his nerves until static flooded his skull, drowning out everything but the stretch. He was sobbing openly now, legs splayed open and helpless, muscles jumping with every brutal snap of the older boy's hips as his cock drooled helplessly onto the sheets. Zhang Zhao didn't let up, fucking into him with no mercy, focused entirely on the wet heat gripping him—the wet slap of skin-on-skin drowning out Kangkang's wrecked cries.
"This what you wanted? Hm?" Zhang Zhao's voice dripped with dark amusement, driving the question home with a sudden, deep snap of his hips. His fingers twisted in Kangkang's hair, yanking his head back to bare the vulnerable curve of his throat as he leaned in without hurry, his mouth brushing against the shell of the younger boy's ear in a teasing scrape of teeth that sent another shiver through him. "My cock fucking you stupid feels so much better, doesn't it?" He punctuated each word with a brutal snap of his hips, groaning at the way Kangkang's rim fluttered around him.
"Y-Yes—Fuck—" Kangkang cried out, his voice raw, hips twitching back desperately to meet every thrust. His nails caught in the bedding, hands fisting cotton until his joints ached. "B-Better—so much better—Z-Zhao-ge—" The sentence died in his throat, replaced by a cry that cracked apart as Zhang Zhao buried himself to the root, grinding right against that tender spot inside him relentlessly.
A rough sound scraped from Zhang Zhao's throat, low and possessive—as he pressed Kangkang's face into the bedsheets with one hand while the other locked around his pelvis, fingers digging into the hollow of his hip. The new angle forced his cock even deeper, the fullness overwhelming as he fucked into the younger boy with ruthless precision. "Y-Yeah—gonna make sure you never need anything else," he hissed, his breath hot against Kangkang’s ear. "Gonna fill you up—breed you so full you can't even think about anything but my cock—"
There was no rhythm anymore, only need—hips snapping forward again and again without mercy, each thrust driving Kangkang's face deeper into the sheets, the fabric muffling his whimpers into wet, choked-off sounds. His back bowed off the mattress, a sharp curve of desperation when the older boy angled down just right—the thick length of him carving against his prostate, the stretch sharp enough to make Kangkang's breath stutter, each thrust as brutal as the last. His face was wet, tears mixing with sweat where his cheek pressed into the mattress, each collision of hips pushing him closer to the edge.
"Ah—ah—Z-Zhao-ge—!" Kangkang's voice splintered around the syllables, his hands sliding against the bedsheets, searching for purchase. Zhang Zhao's grip on his hip tightened, fingertips pressing hard into soft skin as he dragged his boyfriend back onto his cock with a wet, filthy sound. His pace grew erratic as his hand slid up into Kangkang's hair before tightening, pulling his head back until his spine curved into a taut arch. "I'm the only one who can make you feel this good, yeah?" He drove forward hard on the final word, wrenching a shattered wail from the younger boy's throat.
Kangkang's thoughts had scattered, there was nothing left but the stretch, the friction, the heat of Zhang Zhao's cock inside him, the way it carved into his oversensitive walls with devastating accuracy. His lips parted around a broken gasp, drool slicking his chin as he struggled to form words. "Y-You—only need you—" he sobbed, his voice cracking under the weight of his desperation. "N-Nothing else—fuck—only Zhao-ge's cock—please—
The words sent a possessive thrill through the older boy, his hips stuttering as he fucked into Kangkang harder, the bed creaking under their combined weight. "That’s right," he murmured, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. "Gonna fuck you so full, you'll forget how to breathe without me inside you." He dragged his free hand down the curve of Kangkang's spine, skin damp and fever-warm, as he shifted his weight, driving his cock directly against that tender spot inside him with every thrust.
Kangkang's legs shook where they were splayed open, arousal smeared across his abdomen where his cock strained wet against his stomach. The overstimulation had reached a fever pitch, his nerves set alight with pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. His hole clenched rhythmically around Zhang Zhao's cock, his body trying to milk him deeper even as his mind frayed at the edges. "Z-Zhao-ge—I—I can't—" he was babbling now, voice raw and wrecked, "I-I'm gonna—please—"
Zhang Zhao leaned down, pressing his chest flush against Kangkang's back, the heat of his words ghosting against the younger boy's sensitive skin. "Go ahead, baobao," he coaxed, his voice rough with hunger. "Show me how good I make you feel," he reached around his boyfriend's hip, fingers wrapping around his neglected length in a tight, unforgiving grip. "Cum for me."
The command shattered whatever last vestiges composure Kangkang had managed to cling to. His back arched violently, mouth falling open in a silent scream as his orgasm ripped through him with brutal force. His cock pulsed in Zhang Zhao's fist, spilling thick streaks of cum across the sheets beneath him, his hole clamping down around the older boy's cock with desperate, rhythmic clenches. The pleasure was overwhelming, too much, his awareness narrowing to a single blinding point as tears streamed down his flushed cheeks.
Zhang Zhao groaned at the feeling, the wet heat of Kangkang's hole milking him with desperate little clenches as the younger boy twitched through his climax. His rhythm fractured, thrusts turning jagged as his hips began snapping forward erratically—his grip on his boyfriend's hip tightened hard enough to leave bruises in the delicate flesh. "Fuck, Kangkang—fuck—" The words scraped raw from his throat, his rhythm fracturing into shallow, stuttering snaps of his hips. "Gonna fill you up—" His cock twitched violently inside that clutching heat, each throb dragging another broken whimper from Kangkang's swollen lips. "Mark you up inside—make sure you drip with me for days—"
Kangkang whimpered weakly beneath him, his oversensitive body shuddering as Zhang Zhao buried himself to the root and held there—hips locked flush against Kangkang's ass, cock throbbing violently as it spilled deep inside him, flooding his trembling walls with thick spurts of cum. His hole fluttered pathetically around the intrusion, muscles trying to milk every last drop even as fresh tears tracked through the mess already on his face. The sensation sparked through him in dizzying bursts of pleasure and pain, his cock giving a feeble twitch against his stomach despite being utterly spent.
Zhang Zhao collapsed forward, settling his weight against the trembling body beneath him as he buried his face in the younger boy's nape, breathing hard against the damp skin there. His teeth grazed at the sensitive spot on his boyfriend's neck before pressing down harder, the bite sharp enough to leave a lingering ache behind as his softening length twitched inside that wrecked heat. "You're mine," he growled against Kangkang's throat, the words vibrating through the younger boy's exhausted body. "Only I get to wreck you."
Kangkang could only manage a hoarse, wordless sound in response, his fingers twitching weakly against the ruined sheets. His body felt hollowed out and reassembled wrong—existing only as a collection of raw, exposed sensation—yet he still clenched reflexively around Zhang Zhao's cock as if trying to keep him buried inside. The movement drew a low, satisfied groan from the older boy's chest, his thumb tracing lazy circles across Kangkang's hipbone.
When Zhang Zhao finally pulled out, the younger boy let out a broken whimper at the sudden emptiness, his rim fluttering weakly around nothing. Cum spilled obscenely from his gaping hole, leaking in heavy trails down his trembling thighs to pool on the sheets beneath him. Zhang Zhao's gaze went heavy-lidded at the view—his fingers brushing through the mess with possessive satisfaction before pressing two digits back inside without warning.
Kangkang's breath hitched wetly, his oversensitive body trembling beneath the older boy's touch. His cock gave another weak throb against his stomach—empty and wrung out but still jerking weakly at each prod of his boyfriend's fingers. Zhang Zhao chuckled low in his throat at the reaction, withdrawing his fingers with a filthy, wet sound. His gaze raked hungrily over the wrecked body beneath him—Kangkang's chest still heaving with ragged breaths, his cock lying limp against his stomach, flushed pink and glistening with the evidence of his arousal—his abused hole twitching weakly as more cum leaked out onto the sheets.
"You're so pretty," Zhang Zhao growled, spreading his palm across Kangkang's trembling stomach possessively. He leaned down to capture his boyfriend's bruised and glistening lips in a rough kiss, his tongue sliding wetly against Kangkang's as he tasted the lingering salt of tears on his skin. When they broke apart, the younger boy's mouth was wrecked, all puffy and red as his breath came in shallow gasps.
Zhang Zhao looked down at him with something predatory and pleased, his thumb brushing gently over Kangkang's parted lips. "Next time," he murmured, his voice honey-thick with promise as he pressed his thumb down just enough to feel the younger boy's teeth beneath the pad, "just ask me if you wanna fuck."