LITTLE FAVORS

Copyright Information

LITTLE FAVORS

Copyright © 2022 by Adik Graves

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the publisher at [email protected]

Portland, OR, USA

ASIN: B0B55WGS9V (ebook)

Cover image by: cottonbro (pexels.com)

Cover design by: Adik Graves

Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

Content Warnings and Reference Information

This book contains potentially triggering content. Please navigate to the “Content Warnings” chapter at the end of this book to view a list. For help with names, titles, nicknames, and other terms that may be unfamiliar, please don’t hesitate to use the X-Ray feature or the “Reference” chapter, also at the end of the book.

1

THE HEIR

THERE WERE TWO airports in the city. The first was a normal international airport: parking lots always too crowded and too difficult to navigate, the departure area always packed with people who didn’t know how to read the “Do Not Turn Off Car. Drivers Must Stay with Vehicles” postings every ten feet, people falling asleep on the uncomfortable chairs as they waited for their planes, newly-arrived tourists standing anxiously at the baggage claim. The second, however, was unique. It was international, certainly, but it was also private. Only the rich and their children, the fu’erdai,1 came in and out of these airports, and those employed had to go through years of security checks before they could even dream of landing a job within its crystal-glass doors. Within this airport was an open bar, several private and comfortable seating areas, a small number of luxurious hotel rooms, and even various options for activities like a swimming pool, a tennis court, and so on. A collection of chauffeurs silently drove guests between their original hotel, the airport, and the plane they would be taking, which was almost always a private plane. In most senses of the word, this airport was like a club with an airstrip, and it was for this reason that some fu’erdai sometimes came here to spend their time, lingering at the bar and tipping handsomely, flirting with the waitresses that brought them menus and artfully-done brochures, and using the hotel rooms as more discrete places to entertain whatever partners they’d picked up for the night.

It was an unusually warm December evening. Just as always, there was a collection of fu’erdai lingering at the bar, enjoying a variety of expensive alcohol. Occasionally one would tip their glass at the bartender, slur out a “Another, another—I’m thirsty—” and the bartender, hating every bit of this but also unwilling to lose her job, would pour out another round of drinks, hoping desperately that someone would come and relieve her before her shift ended in another four hours. At least, she thought, they could go to the pool, enjoy the warmth of the water, leave her alone to take her fifteen-minute, play on her phone, text her mom—mom, who convinced her to take this job in the first place, who told her that the money was more important than anything at this age, she could just get the job she really wanted when she was older and more stable in life—

It was at this moment that Liu Xiaokai came through the door.

As far as fu’erdai went, Liu Xiaokai was an exception among exceptions—a real ‘gaofushuai.2’ If he was a dog breed, he would be an expensive one, the kind that people spent years on waiting lists for, the kind that went through careful and selective breeding before it was allowed to be put on the market. If he was a book, he would be limited edition, signed by the author, written with gold ink and bound in the softest leather. Seeing him linger among the other fu’erdai was like watching a two-thousand-dollar purebred prancing into a chain pet store, or putting that special edition copy next to the half-off grocery store paperbacks.

He looked like he knew it, too.

He dressed to the nines every day. When he moved, it was with a casual, confident kind of swagger that turned heads. In business, he was quick on his feet, and clever too; people couldn’t help but like him. It wasn’t just Xiaokai’s goal to inherit his father’s empire, to run it with the expertly-cultivated success his father accomplished before him—it was also his goal to be just as loved as his father was, to stand in front of the crowd and feel not just like a business tycoon but a beloved king.

The bartender watched him come in, a little open-mouthed—she’d not seen him come here before. There was a reason for that, something Liu Xiaokai had explained again and again on his television interviews, just as he’d explained all of the above: he’d long since abandoned the desire to “have fun” as fu’erdai youth; it was well within his capabilities and well within what society would accept for him to just mess around a bit, hang out with the other fu’erdai, drink until he regretted it, enjoy a few hook-ups—but Liu Xiaokai was looking toward the future. He was the heir, he explained. He didn’t want to become the beloved king and then have to deal with some social media post gossiping about his wild days. He especially didn’t want any of the people he would have this “fun” with revealing his embarrassing secrets as soon as they saw fit. No, he decided, he would have no embarrassing secrets. He would be perfect.

He didn’t order a drink. He bypassed the bar entirely, moving right into one of the more public seating rooms and dropping daintily into the cushioned seat, his ankles folding over each other, his hands settling in his lap. Even his posture was perfect, and his gaze was steady, moving slowly across the contents of what the window before him revealed. Liu Baiyan, the president of the company and his father, had given him an order early today, which he rarely did as Xiaokai got older: go to the airport and pick someone up. Xiaokai hadn’t complained then, of course, and even now as he was sitting and waiting instead of doing more important things—he had to reschedule a meeting with another company for this, which would have finalized a big real-estate project on the eastern border of the city—he would never admit that he found the president’s order, in any way, inconvenient. It was only deep down that he thought this whole thing unnecessary—the company had drivers, and a lot of them too, and even if the trustworthy ones were all busy, the airport had chauffeurs, all of whom the president had personally checked. He did allow himself to consciously wonder who he was picking up. On some occasions he came to pick up his father or his mother, and more rarely he would come to meet a business partner to show them around the city. His parents were both in the city already, so it couldn’t be them. And he wasn’t aware of any business partners flying in—if it was a business partner, he would already know about it, and he prepared for it. He always spent the night before a meeting reviewing notes about each partner so he wouldn’t say anything unsavory.

He could see, through the window, the plane coming in, landing gently on the pavement, and rolling to a stop. The doors opened. It was too far away to see any faces, but a dark shape moved in the doorway—a man in a suit, Xiaokai guessed as he stood. He summoned one of the chauffeurs and had them drive him over to the airstrip. Inside the car, he tried to prepare himself for this unknown guest—what should he say? How friendly should he be—or should he be more businesslike? Or perhaps he should be a mixture of the two, a nice balance. That was always safe. He could adjust according to whatever their reaction was.

His car door opened before he could reach the handle. The chauffeur, he thought, but when he looked up he saw a familiar face that made his stomach drop to his knees. The man in front of him was tall—taller than him, and slender, and the suit he had on couldn’t be more than half of what Xiaokai’s cost but he wore it as if it was four times that. Long legs, ink-black hair to his shoulders, big round blue sunglasses, and a mouth that was all too familiar—a mouth Xiaokai saw in the mirror every morning.

That mouth smiled at him. “Xiao-Xiao!3 Long time no see!”

It took everything in Liu Xiaokai’s arsenal not to scowl back at him—to snap at him, even, to demand he drop the familiarity, but he forced that all down, swung his legs out of the car, and stood to face the man in front of him.

“Xingyu.” He bowed, slightly, and then straightened up half a second later. “Xiao-Xiao is usually a name reserved for my friends.” This was meant to be an insult, but Liu Xingyu just laughed in return, his head thrown back, his shoulders shaking.

“Didi4 then?” His smile had grown wider. Now that Xiaokai was standing next to him, he felt…short. He hadn’t felt short in a while, even next to people who were physically taller than him. But Xingyu was physically taller, and he was more relaxed, and he was more handsome, and he was smarter, and Xiaokai felt like a child again.

He took a deep breath. “Xiao-Xiao it is,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were coming back to the country.”

“It was only decided a week ago.” Xingyu took off his sunglasses, wiped them on his shirt, and put them back on. It was a habit of his—and a nervous habit too, if Xiaokai remembered correctly. That pleased him. “I’m coming back to help Ba with a few things. I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying, maybe a week? But I’ll have plenty of time to hang out with you.”

“I don’t…hang out,” said Xiaokai stiffly. His palms were sweating. He had to try very hard not to wipe them on the fabric of his pants.

“No?” Xingyu didn’t seem to think much of this claim. He turned around, spotted the employee coming out of the plane with his bags. “Do you have those? I can take them if you—”

“It’s his job,” said Xiaokai. “Let him be.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“Just get in the car. I’m sure Fuqin5 is waiting for us.” His hands were trembling too. He rested one on top of the car door, the other he nestled into his pocket. A casual stance. It would be too obvious if he just hid them behind his back, no matter how natural he tried to make it look.

Xingyu looked doubtfully back at him. It was in these moments, Xiaokai thought with a small modicum of comfort, that Xingyu’s weakness was obvious: he simply did not know how to navigate the customs of their country, much less the customs of their class. Then he smiled. “You really have grown up,” he said, and reached out to ruffle Xiaokai’s hair; Xiaokai artfully ducked out of his reach. “Has Ba put you in charge of everything?”

“He is still the company president. Of course he hasn’t.”

“But soon?”

“It would be unfilial to count the days.”

That made Xingyu laugh again. He went around to the other side of the car, tried to open the door, but awkwardly had to step back when the chauffeur did it for him. This really was Xiaokai’s world. No matter how intelligent or business-minded he was, Xiaokai held the reins here.

Unless…

He had to take a few deep breaths before he got into the car next to the other man.

Unless Xingyu was here and meeting with Liu Baiyan because he was planning on taking the business. Unless he was studying abroad all this time not because he was interested in becoming a philanthropist or whatever he claimed but because he was getting the international experience to push Xiaokai out and become president in his place. Unless Liu Baiyan had been favoring his eldest son all this time and had only been using Xiaokai because he was conveniently there.

No. No, it was Xiaokai who was in this business. It was Xiaokai who knew all the ins and outs of the company, who knew the ins and outs of their competitors, who was loved by every employee he met and every employee he didn’t meet too, who made deals with partners with the ease of a greeting bow, who was so naturally talented and even naturally handsome that people outside the business world were flocking to him, too. There was simply no way that Xingyu could replace him.

The car began moving toward the exit. Xingyu was relaxed in his seat, leaning back, one hand playing with the lines of his seatbelt. When Xiaokai’s eyes met his, he lifted one corner of his mouth in an infuriating half-smile. “After all that time studying abroad,” he said, “what do you think? Should we get a drink and catch up?”

Xiaokai pushed his hands between his knees to hide their shaking.

2

THE BROTHER

UNFORTUNATELY FOR XIAOKAI, he was really very far from perfect.

He somehow managed to convince Xingyu that it was in both their best interests for Xingyu to go home first, set himself up, and then he could go to the company after getting some rest—or, even better, he could simply meet everyone else at dinner, and not disturb Liu Baiyan at work. Xingyu did not take much convincing—another comforting thing, Xiaokai thought, that Xingyu still had not mastered debate against Xiaokai—and agreed to at least unpack before he made any more decisions.

“But where are you going?” he’d asked. “Can’t you stay here with me?” Xiaokai didn’t answer; he was already on his way to remedy the business deal he’d earlier missed.

There were two strategies this young fu’erdai used to handle business. The first he learned from Liu Baiyan when he was almost thirteen: he was to be perfectly calm and poised, faintly humorous but not offensively so. What wasn’t strictly about business should only pertain to the pre-approved personal matters of the potential business partner—asking about the kids, the wife, the husband, the dog. Xiaokai was an expert at this. Liu Baiyan had an impressive document full of all the information of every current or potential business party he could possibly think of and Xiaokai had memorized it all, and when it updated as these sorts of documents always must, he had those memorized as well. It was a delicate affair, one that required grace, adaptability, and constant, careful perception, all of which Xiaokai had been practicing since childhood at Liu Baiyan’s elaborate dinner banquets.

The second strategy, he learned from Sun Yue, his mother. This was a less delicate affair, but it required just as much concentration and just as much preparation. This was a special strategy—one that could only be employed with the most special of partners, all in a list that Sun Yue and Liu Incorporated had been involved in for the last fifty-some years, maybe more. Xiaokai had never been brave enough to ask how deep it went.

It was this strategy that he needed to use on this business partner, because this partner was on that list.

Liu Xiaokai was not perfect.

He knew this down to his bones, even if he did not want to admit it. If he had perhaps only used Liu Baiyan’s strategy, he might be as perfect on the inside as he was on the outside. But he was Sun Yue’s son after all, and that list that only he and Sun Yue and the people who came before Sun Yue—it had swept up some of the best deals Liu Incorporated had seen in years. All because of that list. All because of Liu Xiaokai. And after all that, Liu Xingyu really dared to come and take everything from him?

“Sir,” said his driver tentatively, “we’ve arrived.”

Liu Xiaokai shook himself out of his stupor. “Yes,” he said, “thank you. You can pick me up in five hours.”

Something flickered behind his driver’s eyes. “Five hours? Sir—”

“I’ll see you then,” said Liu Xiaokai firmly. He opened the door on his own and got out, and the driver watched as he walked with that graceful swagger that was now so familiar to the gleaming doors. He flinched when the young master went inside.

“Five hours…” he murmured under his breath, and he shook his head as he started the car. Five hours? He’d never taken that long for this kind of business deal—even the longest ones had been two, two and a half hours tops, and afterward the young master would just slink back into the car, sit quietly the entire car ride back, and slink into his bedroom without a word. Each of these meetings broke him a little more. As Liu Xiaokai’s personal and regular driver…he really couldn’t bear to watch every time.

He drove around the block and parked across the street, his gaze trained on the doors without wavering once. As soon as the young master was done, he would be out here, ready to receive him, ready to help him.

Meanwhile, Liu Xingyu was unpacking his things in his old bedroom. Upon entering, he had taken several minutes to regard it all with some nostalgia; he hadn’t been here in over a decade now, after all, but he couldn’t drag it out any longer than that. The room had been meticulously cleaned, scrubbed of any traces he’d left in it. The band posters he’d pasted onto the wall had been taken down, the walls repainted. Any trinkets he hadn’t taken with him when he left were put away—more likely thrown away, actually. He wondered briefly if his didi had anything to do with it but pushed the thought away immediately. The kid already looked like he was ready to burst when he’d come to pick him up—had Ba not told him his ge was coming? Maybe not, and maybe that had been a good idea after all—he wouldn’t have come to pick him up if he’d known it was Xingyu.

Where was the kid now? He said he’d gone away for a meeting of some sort—Liu Xingyu pulled out his phone and sent a text: Will you be home in time for dinner?

He waited. Waited another minute. He knew how his father worked in business—the business deal was important, but he would even pause the most lucrative of deals to reply to any of his three immediate family members. Surely, since Xiao-Xiao had been training under him for so long, he would have the same habit.

Yet, he did not reply.

He sent another message: Is everything okay? I promise I won’t cause problems.

Another few minutes, and still no reply. Liu Xingyu tossed his phone onto the bed and pulled the rest of his clothes out, shook out the wrinkles, and started fitting them onto hangers. He would be back for dinner. A big family event like this, Xingyu back for the first time in years—he wouldn’t miss it, no matter how much he hated his older brother. He would at least do it for their parents. Xiao-Xiao was a filial son like that.

‘XIAO-XIAO’S PHONE WAS set to vibrate and, across the room, it was impossible to hear. Even if he could hear it, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—get up to see who it was, partly because these deals were not the kind that could be interrupted as Liu Xingyu assumed, and partly because he really, physically, could not.

A breath brushed past his ear—“Yeah, just like that—oh, fuck, yes—”

Xiaokai gripped the headboard with both hands and braced himself against it as the body behind him slammed forward with all its force, pushing deeper into him. He cried out at the feeling, not sure if it was from pain or pleasure, and the voice behind him laughed.

“Yeah, you like that? You’re sucking me in, you fucking whore.” A hand slammed down on Xiaokai’s ass, hard enough to bruise, and Xiaokai cried out again, his body stuttering for a moment, then releasing, and as soon as his cum spattered against the headboard the man behind him reached forward and seized the base of his cock, stroking up and down, milking him for all that he was worth.

“Please—please, I can’t—not again—” He was only barely aware of the words slipping out of his mouth.

“Not again? You think you get to say no to me?” He seized Liu Xiaokai’s shoulder and pushed hard, flipping him onto his back so he was sprawled beneath his weight. “Wrap your legs around me,” he hissed into Xiaokai’s ear.

Notes about this client:

His name was Hu Yongzhu—zhu as in help or assist, which Xiaokai thought was ironic.

He was forty-two years old.

He had a wife and a child, the former two years younger than him, the latter two years younger than Xiaokai.

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