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Chan suggested they stay up late to prevent as much jet lag as possible, just laughed at his whining and told him to take a cold shower, wash the grime from the flight and car journey away. He’s right, it’ll help to get through the upcoming days and their tight concert schedule in this new timezone, so the complaining really only was to receive a damp squeeze to the back of his neck and a nudge to the bathroom door. Still, it’s difficult to keep his eyes open, to resist the sway of sleep.
It's so warm and sticky in this hotel room and even though he just blow dried it, his hair is sticking to the arch of his brows and the back of his head where he's resting it on Chan's naked thigh. His bathrobe clings to his skin and he’d take it off if he were alone but he isn’t wearing anything else and he knows there wouldn’t be any comments, not from Chan, but after all these years it's just ingrained. It’s fine to just hike the skirt up over his knees and angle them towards the aircon. The hotel is fancy enough that its humming is barely noticeable but apparently not fancy enough for it to actually help much. Maybe it’s broken. Maybe they should call reception.
If he says anything, Chan would surely do it, have them in a new room within half an hour, but despite the heat, he is comfortable and he doesn’t want to move and he doesn’t want to get up and throw his things back into his suitcase and, most importantly, he doesn’t want to risk having to separate or share with a different team member. They haven’t been assigned the same room all month and although he has gotten used to not having Chan all around him anymore since they moved into new dorms, he was hoping the tour would give them the chance to cuddle up again.
Now that he’s got the chance, he is going to cling to Chan all night, will squeeze him in his arms no matter how sweaty and gross they get – and it seems like Chan is set on the same track because neither of them have as much as glanced at the other bed. The duvet is still tucked into the frame, five pillows propped perfectly, not one piece of clothing carelessly thrown across it, not even a charger plugged into the sockets next to it. Their travel outfits are hanging side by side in the open closet, matching black shirts ready for cleaning.
Chan took a shower before he did and is only wearing underwear, but he’s sweating too, his slight tan glowing from the summer heat and weeks of touring. The triangles of his scapulae are slightly burnt, pink and glistening, the outline of his spine a little more pronounced. He looks so good like that, warm weather has always suited him, brings an ease into his movements, loosens his gestures, makes him even more inviting and homey. When he came out of the bathroom and saw him on the bed, propped on his elbows and his nose illuminated by the cold light of his phone, he didn’t hesitate to search for his Switch Lite and join him, snuggle close despite, no, because of their sweat and state of undress.
Felix likes him so much. “‘m sleepy.”
“Just a little longer,” Chan says absentmindedly.
He rolls his shoulder to get rid of a slight itch, and Chan tuts, kicks back one foot without hitting him. “Be still. If you’re the reason I fuck up this round, you’re getting tickled until you scream.”
“Nooo,” Felix wails, sighs loudly. “Don’t punish me, daddy!”
Chan laughs. He finds it funny now, that title. Didn’t used to, used to get flustered and shy, even upset sometimes. But Felix wheedled him into letting go of his prudishness, slipped it into casual conversation and convinced him that everyone calls their friends by weird nicknames – Chan calls him little one because he heard it from his mother and that’s weird, too. It goes together, he had argued, and Chan loves that whole connection and matching and soulmate stuff so he eventually eased up. It’s great to get his way.
“Go back to your own game, stop pestering me.”
Felix huffs. “Don’t want to, I’m bored.”
“Did you die again?”
“...No.”
“Aaaw, baby, it’s okay. Try again tomorrow, you can do it.”
So maybe he doesn’t always get his way, maybe he doesn’t find the effort to talk back sometimes. But because it’s Chan it kind of ends up in a compromise either way. “Okay. But if I lose, you have to cuddle me every day.”
“Duh,” Chan says and doesn’t add anything else, his phone apparently more important than his dearest friend, his other half, his sunshine.
Felix sulks. He opens and reties the bow of his bathrobe, folds his sleeves up to his elbows and then further, thuds his heels on the side of the bed, stares up at the white ceiling. He battles the stubborn waves of sleep, rubs his eyes. He listens to the playful sounds of the game, the simple music, the grandiose effects, the applause. He whines, because it feels right to do so, and turns around, rubs his face into the dewy back of Chan’s knee. He smells nice here, fresh from the shower gel and his clean sweat. Felix bites him.
“Motherfucker,” Chan yelps, escapes further to the middle of the bed. Felix chases him, waddles up on his knees and ankers himself on his thighs. The music continues but the phone is screen down on a pillow, light in the room a little less blue, a little less bright. But it doesn’t hide Chan’s scowl and his hands find Felix’s neck, pinch him over the fluffy cotton. "Just begging for the tickles, are you?”
Quickly, Felix circles the heel of his palm into the dip between Chan’s hamstring and gluteus maximus, where he knows tension and knots form ever so often. He laughs smugly when Chan screeches and wiggles, climbs between his legs and repeats the action with both hands. “You’re the one getting the punishment now, daddy!”
“Daddy’s gonna beat your ass, you brat.”
Chan lunges for him, but he’s on his belly and that always gives Felix the advantage. It’s his fault anyway, for wasting the precious time that they have on their own and for having such a big ass, just a target below his back, really. His boxers are loose, probably because it’s already oppressive for him to wear this one item, nudist that he is, and the waistband snaps against his tailbone. Felix pulls it down slightly to claw into the meatiest part of his cheeks, gets a rush at how soft they always are, how they dent under his grip. “You’re mean, you’re evil, your ass is evil, I will destroy it."
“My ass is not evil”, Chan says incredulously but he is laughing, and ignores when his phone goes silent, doesn’t unlock it.
Felix very much disagrees, Chan’s ass has caused many people much painful longing, he’s sure. It’s so perfect, round and bubbly, big from working out and his incredible genetics, bounces when he swats at it and gives in beneath his teeth. It’s soft under his mouth, too, skin moisturised and smooth, only the thinnest hairs tickling his tongue. His giggling is muffled, his face basically squished, and if he’d suffocate everyone would surely understand, defend him in court.
He bites again, flesh filling his mouth wonderfully, but then he’s yanked away by the crown of his hair. Sharp pain dances over his scalp and through his spine, instinctively he twitches away from it and back down, but that just intensifies it, sends another shiver through his body. Something shifts with it, something in his nervous system or on the edges of his mind, right under Chan’s grip. He blinks. Opens and closes his mouth.
"Fuck, sorry," Chan says and lets him go. He has twisted around, eyes wide over his shoulder. His curls are drying over his brows.
Felix doesn’t know what he’s apologising for, must make an inquiring sound because Chan strokes his hair, asks if he hurt him. The patting is familiar, one two three, and a stroke to the shell of his ear. His head drops. It feels so much heavier, filling with a bottomless pool of dark water. “'s okay," he slurs, rests his forehead back onto Chan's ass. "Didn't hurt."
It’s not really a lie because it didn’t hurt like actual pain, it was sort of pleasant, like digging a toothpick into his gums or a massage ball between fasciae. It has the same calming effect, maybe that is why he feels like he is suddenly diving amidst the ocean.
Chan doesn't grip his hair again, doesn't fumble to kick him off, doesn't even shy away. Felix isn’t sure if he’s still looking back because his lids have slipped closed, but there is no more verbal protesting either, just tensed muscles. The stillness helps a little, with his swirling thoughts and warming skin. Makes it less necessary to concentrate. Makes it easier to replay that bursting sensation of not-quite-pain again and again, feel its echo travel to the tips of his toes.
The light in the room dims, or maybe his vision gets a little muddy, either way it’s aiding him to focus on his own body and how it floats a little, sunken into the mattress and yet weightless. It’s so comforting when the world narrows down like this, it usually takes longer or is disrupted but for some reason he trusts Chan to let him have it. He always takes such good care of him. Always is right by his side to hold him, secure him by the neck, calm his racing heart. It’s not exactly calm now, thumps heavily against his ribs, but it is steady in its rhythm.
He notices he’s drooling and finds it only polite to lap it up, sucking it back into his slack mouth. Skin is so lovely, he thinks, he loves skin, especially Chan’s, loves touching it and now that he knows how good it tastes, he kind of doesn’t want to stop. It’s even better than nuzzling into biceps or the flat surface of someone’s chest. His lips glide over it so readily, barely any friction, just wetness and warmth. The waistline of the boxers is soaking with his spit, so he gets it out of the way, tugs it down further, follows it with his tongue.
“Lixie,” he hears. Firm. Like it isn’t the first time, maybe.
Chan’s face is so much more defined than the rest of the world. “Daddy?”
A flush, similar to the ones that used to appear back when Felix started using the word, but a smile, too. Gentle. “There you are.”
“I am?”
The smile widens, Chan pats his head again, strokes through his fringe. “You okay, little one?”
“Yes?” Why would he ask? This is nothing bad, it’s very nice, actually. It’s always nice with Chan, no matter what they do.
A thumb wipes at the corner of his mouth and he opens it automatically, licks at it. He tries to remember if he ever tasted Chan’s spit before, must have, residue on spoons and chopsticks, on leftover ice cream, the thin plastic of wrapping paper. That thumb taps on his tongue once and is then gone. “There’s a word for what you’re doing, you know?” And Felix doesn’t quite understand why there’s anxiety in his laugh.
He thinks. “Ass kissing?”
The anxiety melts, though Chan’s flush keeps spreading as he laughs more, crinkles deepening around his eyes, dimples showing. “Oh my gosh, yeah, I guess that, too.”
Felix wonders if Chan is uncomfortable twisting his spine like that and resting all his weight on a single elbow. He doesn’t want Chan to be uncomfortable. Wants him to feel good. Wants to be the reason why he feels good. “More?”
There is a pause, bodies still, breaths held, aircon humming. “Is this it, then?”
“What?”
“Is this… are we gonna. Are we gonna do this? Now?”
Felix looks at Chan, at his handsome face, topped by pretty curls, and then he looks down to where his hands are kneading Chan’s ass, haven’t stopped kneading Chan’s ass. There are glistening trails all over it, even some pink spots where he must have spent more time than he realised. The boxers are down to his thighs now, crumpled under Felix’s forearms, and do not cover the fullness of Chan’s balls.
“Oh,” he says. Stares. Chan’s cock isn’t visible, trapped under his belly, but Felix becomes aware of his own, of how hard it is. Thankfully, it can’t tent his bathrobe. “Uhm.”
“Or we wait,” Chan says quickly.
It has never felt like waiting before. Or at least, it never felt like there was something missing that had to catch up. There was never a lack in their friendship, if anything it was too fulfilling to be true. Maybe that’s why Felix isn’t sure if this is real. “Don’t wanna wait.”
“O-okay. What do you… what do you want? Ah. What about a, I don’t know, a kiss first?”
Felix takes it as a suggestion and because Chan always knows what is right, he complies. He lowers his head and kisses Chan’s ass again, gives it many slow kisses all around. His heart jumps a little when he mouths over the crease between Chan’s cheeks, its beat hastening when he parts them.
“Oh my fucking g-,” Chan cuts himself off. There is something different in his voice but Felix can’t pick up on it.
He has never looked at someone’s asshole, of course not, how silly. But it isn’t. Silly, that is. It’s not weird, because this is Chan and many things are a little weird and new and exciting with Chan but this is just new and exciting. Felix didn’t expect this to be the first thing they did, doesn’t know what he expected, but he loves using his mouth and he loves Chan’s ass and he loves Chan, so. So he kisses Chan’s hole. It’s soft and warm and has a texture he has never felt before, and that’s exciting, too. If he wets his lips, it’s even better.
That comfort, similar to sleep, entirely dreamy, drags him under again. This might be unfamiliar but in the end it’s just skin, slightly bitter, smelling like generic hotel body wash, thin under his tongue. He can hear Chan moan and then there’s spreading pressure on his scalp again, fingers sifting through his hair. That means he is doing good. That means it’s alright if he is a little clumsy, if he’s drooling, if he’s sweating and squirming.
His thumbs need to stay crooked to allow him to lick deep and to keep breathing and a few times he accidentally lets go and whimpers at the loss, uses his chin instead. That brings it in contact with Chan’s balls and, oh, they are warm, too, and even softer, incredibly soft. They throb under his tongue and he gets carried away by chasing the sensation again and again, carefully sucking them into his mouth. He’s thankful when Chan shows him permission to be greedier, the roots of his hair stinging from the tug further into Chan’s ass, his nose pressed to the remains of his spit on Chan’s hole.
“Fuck,” Chan says repeatedly, grinds back into Felix’s face. “Baby, that’s so good, how’s that so good, your mouth, oh my gosh.”
“Is good?” Felix asks, tries to zero in on Chan’s expression but it’s difficult from this angle and the haze in his mind.
“So good, want to eat you out, too, want to–...I…”
“Tell me, daddy, please.” He goes back to licking at Chan’s balls and taint, ends up loosening his tongue and letting Chan roll back onto it, dragging him back and forth by his hair.
His jaw begins to ache a little, his shoulders cramp, but he is too drowsy to change anything about that, just opens his mouth and keenly listens to his daddy’s satisfied sounds. “I want to do everything to you, little one. Kiss you and blow you and, and fuck you, I want to fuck you so bad, want to open you up and fuck into you.”
It takes a bit for Felix’s creativity to emerge from the depth of his thoughts but once it does and once he imagines a phantom touch to his own ass, a phantom wetness that slicks up his thighs, he can’t stop swimming in it, the possibility of Chan stuffing him with his fingers and then his cock, spearing him open, getting him messy. The fantasy is only slightly tinted with worry and that is cleared by envisioning himself on his front like Chan is now, maybe in pretty panties, maybe his knees spread and back arched, maybe his neck forced down, just beautiful and good and useful for his daddy.
He is very proud of himself for having Chan speak to him like that, to have gotten to a point where he is so open about his desires. If he keeps being obedient like this, evoke moans like that, a tight grip in his hair, the thrum of a pulse, then he might get more of this, he might actually get to spend more nights in hotel rooms, sharing a bed. It makes him sniffle a little, that possibility.
“You okay, baby?”
He nods because it’s true. Pouts when his head is lifted and he’s urged to reply with words. “I’m really, really good, daddy.”
“Good,” Chan says and his grin is bright, so are his eyes. His curls are darkened by sweat and a bead of it is slipping down his neck, his neck that is still pink and now showing a thick vein. “How about I make you feel good, too, hm? You’re doing so well, but I want to make my baby happy.”
Felix's heart stops so abruptly it hurts. It pulls him up to the surface a little, towards clarity. "N-no, no, it's okay, don't need to, 'm fine." He busies himself by folding up the sleeves of his bathrobe again, they must’ve slipped down in his absentmindedness.
A concerned frown. "Lix, I don’t want this to be just… I want you to feel nice."
"I can just… bathroom or, like, later, I'm–" He is interrupted by a strong tug on his arm, wind knocked out of him, and then he's flat on the bed, Chan looming over him. Panicked, he scrambles to secure the bathrobe around himself, traps it between his knees. His limbs are slow to cooperate, still floating, but he thinks he covers himself enough.
Chan cups his neck. His breath smells like toothpaste. "If you actually don't want me to touch you, if it makes you uncomfortable, then obviously I'm not gonna. But don't think I don’t want to. Or that there could be anything that–... that, like, weirds me out."
It's obvious what he's referring to because Chan has seen it before, in changing rooms and pools and under revealing clothing, despite Felix's attempts to hide it from everyone. He shields his burning face behind his hands, presses the stinging mortification back into his eyes, finds words in his constricting throat. "Please, don't.”
“No touching?”
“Don’t laugh at me."
"I would never." He feels damp air on his wrists, then a kiss to his pulse. "Baby, I would never. Daddy would never laugh at you."
"Really?"
"Never, baby."
Gentle fingers massage his nape and it dispels his tension immediately, draining it from him like muddy tap water. This is Chan. This is his soulmate. "Okay,” he whispers, peeks through his hands.
"Okay? Can I touch you, Lix?"
He nods, slides his nails into his own hair and reveals his face. It feels wet, not because his tears spilled but because drool is still smeared over it and his lips are slack, dry air laying on his tongue.
“There you go, baby.” A warm hand trails down from his throat and into the open collar of his bathrobe, parting it softly. He shivers, tries not to whine but fails when fingers skim over his waist and tap closer to his crotch. He has half a mind to ask to stop again, but all he manages is a gasp as a faint breeze brushes his suddenly exposed cock. It twitches, throbs with heat and he imagines how pathetic it must look like that, flushed but still so tiny. Barely longer than his pinky. He keeps his eyes closed.
A single line of contact is drawn to his abdomen, to the base of his cock, up the few centimetres it takes to where he is dripping and so, so needy.
"Oh," Chan says quietly, and Felix can't look at him, can’t move. "You’re so cute, baby, your–”
"Don't, don't say it, it's, please, daddy, embarrassing–"
"It's not though, baby, it suits you so well, perfect little cock for my perfect little boy, so beautiful, I promise, it's so pretty and so are you."
He squeezes away his tears. "Daddy."
"Yeah," he hears Chan sigh. "Yeah, baby boy, daddy's got you, gonna make you feel good, yeah?"
The mattress dips, there's a weight settling over him, thighs trapping his, breathing back on his forearms and ghosting through the gap between them onto his neck. That single finger leaves him, there's a groan, so close and pleased, then there is a different touch, warmer, wetter, girthier – and that's another cock, that's Chan's cock aligned with his, covering his.
He whimpers and one would think he was hurt and to an extent the sensation flooding his body does, it's too much and too unexpected and too good, and his legs thrash, knees jerking but stilled by Chan’s strength. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, want me to stop?”
He shakes his head, he's so, so turned on, so dizzy, barely manages to inhale through his stuffy nose.
"Look at me, Lixie, please."
"Can't," he pleads. "Can't, I can't, please, Chris, daddy."
“Daddy needs you to look at him, baby," Chan says so kindly and that's so unfair, he's so sweet and understanding, not mean at all and yet Felix is thrown back into memories of teasing and laughter and pointed fingers and it turns him on even more because any painful situation becomes different with Chan, becomes more than just bearable, becomes an opportunity.
He sobs, it’s so awfully good, he feels so thrillingly pathetic, he’s so ashamed, can’t obey, shakes his head again. His cock leaks.
"Lixie," Chan murmurs into his ear, kisses the ticklish part below it. "Lixie, baby, look at me. For daddy, hm?"
For daddy. Felix swallows. Sucks on the fleshy inside of his cheek, blinks his eyes open and glances through his wet lashes, Chan's face shifting into view. And he looks so proud, so happy, he's smiling, near grinning, and he plants a smacking kiss to Felix's nose. "There you go, what a good boy."
He whimpers again, thank you daddy , but then there is another kiss and it’s on his mouth, on his lower lip that’s still swollen and sticky; Chan is kissing him properly, a real kiss. They have only ever exchanged short kisses, a joking peck, an accidental brush that was meant for a cheek, a comforting caress in the whirl of despair or elation. Kisses that were part of them, part of everything that makes them more than simple friends, soulmates, maybe lovers, too. He hopes that, if Chan truly waited, that this kiss is what he was standing still for. That this kiss is what he needed to be able to continue. Because Felix can’t imagine parting again.
He tries not to wiggle, couldn’t get far, but soon he needs to gasp for oxygen and plead. “Please, please, feels so good, want more.”
Chan’s grasp of their cocks is tight, his knuckles pressed into Felix’s pubes, he’s just holding them. He really isn’t taller than Felix and he isn’t huge, just broader, but it’s like he is encasing him, keeping him from drifting away. His shoulders are solid, but his pecs and stomach are soft, muscles only tensing when he bites at Felix’s lips and he shudders, jerking his hips.
“More?” Chan asks, kissing his sweaty cupid’s bow. “Like this?”
He squeezes them, fingers tightening one by one. It pushes the sensitive spot under Felix’s tip into the pulsing underside of Chan’s cock, and logically he knows that Chan can feel him pulsating, too, but there is this thought stuck in his head, this thought that he might be too small for Chan to feel anything but a small bump. As if it doesn’t feel different than getting himself off on his own, as if he is a warm sextoy at most.
“Sorry, I’m sorry, daddy,” he says desperately, seeking Chan’s curls and the fluffy safety of them.
“What are you sorry for, Lixie? It’s okay, you’re doing so good.”
There is so much air in his lungs and yet he can’t breathe, can’t focus, his eyes are open but all he sees is Chan’s face, glowing and encompassed in a foggy sheen. “Wanna make you come, Chris, what do I do, please, tell me.”
"What do you mean, Lix, baby, look at me," Chan whispers and he's looking down between their bodies where his hand and cock must shadow Felix's, where his palm twists and trembles, barely tugging up and down. “Baby, you don’t need to do anything, I’m so close already, your mouth, such a beautiful mouth – and you’re so beautiful, Lix, you’re so gorgeous, so hot, I could come just looking at you.”
He is blushing and that’s urging the tears back into Felix’s eyes because it’s so sweet; Chan is so earnest even though he is clearly ashamed of his words, he says this because Felix needs to hear it and because he thinks it’s true, and he is so perfect. He is such a perfect daddy. “Do it, please. Come on me?”
Chan hisses, curses, and doesn’t move his hand as much as he fucks down, into it and against Felix’s cock. “Yeah, daddy’s gonna come on you.”
The bathrobe has wrinkled under Felix’s back and it’s soaked with his sweat but it’s nice to be swaddled in it still, to have his arms covered as he holds onto Chan’s sides. It’s probably convenient too, they won’t have to worry about dirtying the sheets, can just fall asleep, and Felix wants that so much, he wants to fall asleep with Chan’s come drying on him and their limbs intertwined and the hot air in the room cradling them until they have melted. “Chris, please, don’t stop.”
There is that not-quite-pain again, it’s flimmering in his belly and in the small shaft of his cock because Chan is rutting into him hard, flattening him into the mattress, keeping him down. “You feeling okay, baby?”
“Small," he starts but can't finish, tongue too wet.
Chan kisses his temple, his brows, then his nose again, and his breathing is shaky, he's so affected too. "You like that I'm bigger than you, Lixie?"
Felix can't do anything but sob and nod his dizzy head, so overwhelmed with all of what he's feeling, what Chan makes him feel.
"I like it too, little one.” And that nickname has never felt as humiliating and perfect and loving as it does now. "My little Lixie, tiny little Lixie with your little cock, you're so cute, you're so fucking cute, baby."
"Hah," he makes, grips Chan’s warm and sweaty back, tenses his thighs desperately. "I-I think I'm – please, please, can I? Daddy, please, big and, and I'm so–"
"Gonna come before daddy does, little boy?"
Embarrassment licks up Felix's spine, hot and sparking, and bursting from his eyes as tears, sorry, sorry, daddy, s-sorry, and he is coming, twitching and crying and seeking Chan’s lips with his own. It’s so wonderful, so incredibly pleasurable that it’s close to that not-quite-pain again, whipping through him like a torrent. He feels his cock spurt and Chan’s palm slipping, his thrusts unstable, balls sliding over his tip, and then there is more wetness, dripping over his tummy and into his belly button and up to his heaving chest, his daddy is covering him, making him even stickier.
Chan uses him like that, fucks into his skin, kisses him with open lips, moans into his mouth, bites his tongue. “Fuck, oh fuck, you’re so good, Lixie, you feel so good, my little one, mine.”
He isn’t sure what comes after that, hopes he agrees, hopes he tells his daddy how amazing he is, hopes that he clings to him with all his leftover strength. But the unexpected turn of the night has him exhausted, his body wrung out, his mind trickling away, sleep caught up with him to rock him gently back and forth and into satisfying dreams. All he knows next, is that he wakes up, wrapped around Chan’s heated side, an itch on his torso and his lips puffy. All he knows that, right now, Chan’s palm is firmly wrapped around his neck and keeping him close.