He stretched out both legs, then bent them upward, pushing his hips toward Kang Haichi. Slowly he reached into his pants. He knew how Kang Haichi liked it—slow, agonizing, feeling as if he were watching someone masturbate without them knowing rather than someone masturbating for him. He stroked himself for a moment, willing himself to get hard, and then when it started getting uncomfortable he unzipped, pulled himself out, let his head fall back as his hand moved faster and rougher. He could hear Kang Haichi panting in the corner, but he didn’t look over at him—Kang Haichi didn’t want him to, wanted to keep up with the fantasy. As soon as the man came, Xiaokai could leave. He wasn’t the sort to stick around for another round, and he definitely wasn’t the sort to cuddle.

He started lifting his hips, thrusting into his fist. A moan leaked from his lips before he could control it. He wanted to turn over, thrust into the bed for relief, but it wasn’t what Kang Haichi wanted—Kang Haichi wanted to see everything.

Kang Haichi was moaning in the corner too.

Why wasn’t he getting up? If he gave in and came to Xiaokai, he would get off a lot faster. That was always the case. But he wasn’t moving—was he holding out?

Fuck it.

Xiaokai pushed his pants down a little further and stuck two fingers in his mouth, wetted them properly, and then eased them into himself—tenderly at first, careful not to bother the soreness that Hu Yongzhu had left him, and then steadily he went faster, and he added moans here and there, rocked his hips down onto his hand. This wasn’t necessarily enjoyable; he’d never been able to masturbate anally with any success. But from the sounds Kang Haichi was making, it was doing the job.

“I want to touch you—so badly—”

Then do it, Xiaokai thought furiously at him. Get it over with.

“God, you’re so—ugh, I want to—”

Xiaokai let out another moan and pressed his face into the pillow, both hands working furiously at his lower half, his legs trembling.

The chair squeaked.

Finally.

In the next moment, a shadow loomed over Xiaokai, but he didn’t look up.

“Xiaokai.” Kang Haichi’s voice rumbled, unsteady. “Your—your hand—”

Xiaokai pulled both of his hands back and Kang Haichi crawled over him. His face was red from exertion, his cock swinging between his legs. But he didn’t reach down and touch himself just yet—he bent and buried his nose between Xiaokai’s legs, just inhaling first, and then dragging his tongue down Xiaokai’s length, and then he swallowed him down.

Xiaokai came out of the room half an hour later.