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Jiang Cheng kneels on the ground of the stall, anxieties easily pushed to the side as he sucks, licks, and pumps the cock sticking through the thin divider.
The stall is relatively clean, as these places go. He might not feel the need to shower the moment he gets home, for once. It’s the first time he’s been here, to this venue. Not his first time at a glory hole, far from it, but the last place he’d frequented had been shut down ‘for health and safety reasons’, so he’d had to find another.
The man on the other side hums quietly and bucks into his mouth just a bit, hindered by the wall, unable to actually choke him. He lets just a tiny hint of teeth touch the man’s delicate skin, an admonishment, and the man huffs out a little laugh. He doesn’t buck again.
Jiang Cheng likes to be allowed to do what he wants, when he’s doing this. He doesn’t like the more demanding, controlling men, and a glory hole is good for that. There’s very little one can demand from the other side of painted plywood. Hookups have ended up too many times with hands in his hair and a cock down his throat before he’s properly ready to take it. They don’t let him enjoy it like he can at a glory hole. Savor it.
This man has a decent amount of stamina, probably not too young. He’s a little small, smaller than Jiang Cheng himself, but his cock bends a little to the left, just like Jiang Cheng’s own. He pumps him slow and steady, fist tight but not too tight, bobbing his head and making good use of his tongue.
He tastes good. Smells good. Good personal hygiene and a hint of some sort of cologne, but the fact that it’s the end of the day is clear in the way his smell is there, pleasant and musky. The cologne is familiar, actually. He can’t be sure, he can barely smell it, with the divider, but he thinks it might be the same one his father often wears.
He pushes that thought down, along with all the other anxieties, because the fact that it’s a lot less of a turn off than it should be is not what he comes here to think about.
He comes here to think about cock, to suck cock, and nothing else. Not even to get his cock sucked. He rarely even jerks off in the stall, preferring to wait until he’s back home with his toy collection and the memory of an enjoyable evening, and most importantly, a shower.
He finally decides he’s done savoring it and speeds up a bit, makes his movements more regular and rhythmic, removing his fist from the man’s cock and leaning forward until his nose meets the wall, taking him into his throat and swallowing, over and over, until the man lets out a loud, gasping breath and comes down his throat.
He stays there until the man is completely finished, until he’s stopped rocking his hips against the wall, until the man pulls out of his own volition.
He’s gotten very good at holding his breath.
He hears the man zip himself up, but he doesn’t open the door immediately. Ah. One of those men, the ones who will reciprocate. Jiang Cheng appreciates the thought, he likes those men a little bit more, in his head, but he never accepts.
Two fingers reach through the hole in the wall, beckoning, and the man speaks, “Want me to return the favor?”
Jiang Cheng freezes at the voice, halfway through wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, eyes going wide with realization.
————————————
The other man doesn’t respond to his question, and after a few moments Jiang Fengmian pulls his fingers back through the hole and shrugs to himself. Not everyone is here for the same reason, he supposes. Ah, well. His loss.
“Nevermind then, enjoy your night.” He says to the silence, and opens the door to the stall, heading out of the room. He hears a clack and a creak as he reaches for the handle of the room's door, and he looks over his shoulder just in time to see a quick flash of the man’s face in profile as he quickly shuts the door again. Not eager to be seen, apparently. But trying to catch a glimpse of him.
It doesn’t matter. He’s well known, yes, but also well divorced, so while it would be quite scandalous to be caught at a place like this, if the man happened to recognize him, it wouldn’t exactly turn his life upside-down. He wouldn’t be here if that were a real issue.
He can’t put his finger on it, but something about the brief glimpse of the man’s face he’d managed to catch had looked… vaguely familiar. Maybe the nose. Probably the nose. But the room is so dim, and the quality of the red lights so strange that he has to squint to see anything that isn’t right in front of his face, so he could be imagining things. He probably doesn’t know this man. And if he does, well… they were both here. He can’t exactly be called out on it without the other man exposing himself, too, and with how much he clearly doesn’t want to be seen, that seems unlikely.
He heads home, a slight spring in his step, feeling light and pleased after a very good blowjob.
————————————
He returns the next week, the same day, the same time. It’s a part of his routine. Has been for a while now, ever since the divorce. Sometimes he’s there very briefly, if there’s already someone in the other stall, sometimes he waits for up to an hour for someone else to come in.
This time, the other stall is already occupied, just as it had been the previous week, and after a finger taps lightly against the rim of the hole, and he unzips himself and slips himself through, he realizes that it’s the same man as last time.
It’s not always easy to tell, but some people come here a lot, and when he’s had them more than once he can often identify them by the actions they take, the little tells in how they treat him, how they suck him. This one - after a brief pause that Fengmian can’t be sure about whether it’s hesitation for some reason or if he’s just getting himself comfortable, or maybe taking himself out of his pants - he starts the same way as the last time, loose fist around his shaft, tongue circling around the head, under his foreskin, kitten licks along the sides until he’s fully hard, and then he takes him into his mouth and pumps him loose and slow as he does wonderful things with his tongue and occasionally sucks hard on the head. It’s the exact same pattern as the first time.
He’s certainly not complaining.
It doesn’t last quite as long this time, the other man seems more eager for it, taking less long to decide to speed up, taking him into his throat a lot sooner, but the pattern of actions is the same.
When the man refuses his offer again, he still shrugs, but before he leaves he adds, “I’m here most weeks, same time. I would be pleased to find you here again, you’re very good at this.”
The other man’s stall stays shut until he’s gone, this time.
————————————
The stall is once again occupied when he arrives the following week, and he can’t help the little glimmer of hope he feels that it will be the same man again.
He’s in the process of unzipping himself, already half-hard, when a hand pushes a scrap of paper underneath the divider. There’s a few words on it, in a messy scrawl, and as he picks it up that little corner of his mind that says ‘familiar’ nags at him again. He has to squint to read it under the dim red lighting.
‘I have a praise kink.’
He chuckles slightly, shoving the paper into his pocket to dispose of later and finishing pulling himself out. The finger taps the rim of the hole invitingly, and he slides his cock through, pleased to find it is the same man again, no hesitation this time.
“A praise kink, huh?” He muses out loud. He hasn’t had much practice at dirty talk, but he supposes praise is easy enough, “You’re great at this, you know.” He starts, “I’m sure you do know, actually, but if you want to hear it I’m happy to tell you.” There’s a sound from the other side of the thin wall, the rustle of clothing, a zipper, and that sends a little thrill through him, knowing the other man is getting something out of this, knowing he’s probably got a hand on himself as he swirls his tongue around Fengmian’s cockhead.
“I love the way you start slow, getting me hard with little licks. Sucking on my foreskin. I didn’t know that would feel so good until you did it, most people don’t pay too much attention to it, really.” He waits until the other man takes him into his mouth, halfway down, and then bucks his hips just a bit, hitting the wall, and he chuckles again as he gets that hint of teeth in response, “I love that you tell me off when I misbehave like that,” There’s a gagging noise followed by a cough, and the man’s mouth is suddenly off of his cock, and he tries to pull back as he hears him clear his throat, “Are you alright?” But the man’s grip on his shaft tightens when he moves, so he doesn’t try to move any further.
A moment later and the mouth is back, and he can hear the unmistakable, slightly slick sound of hand-on-cock, the man pleasuring himself as he sucks, “I take it you’re fine, then. I suppose that happens to the best of us, even those as good at this as you.” He says with a sigh, leaning against the wall for support as his knees go a little weak with pleasure, as the other man goes even faster this time, stroking them both in time together.
The man moans around his cock, and it’s the first time he’s heard him make much of any sound, really, and it feels amazing and sounds amazing and- and he’s coming already, too soon, ruining the other man’s process, and he feels a little bad about that, and about not getting to come in his throat, “Fuck, I’m sorry, you’re just too good at this baobei, I couldn’t help myself,” He gasps, “Couldn’t wait until you finished.”
He pulls away and the other man whines at the loss, so he quickly fits himself back through the wall, already going soft, and he doesn’t feel a mouth around him but instead a cheek pressed up against his cock, heavy, panting breaths audible in the room, the other man jerking himself hard and fast and finally coming with a sharp gasp and a little sob.
“Good boy, you did so well.” Fengmian adds, on impulse, and he gets another strangled little sob.
It feels wrong to leave just like that, so he waits another minute until the man stops nosing at his soft cock and he hears the sound of a zipper once again, and then finally pulls his cock back through the hole, tucking himself into his pants and exiting the stall.
————————————
Jiang Cheng doesn’t know why he’s doing this.
Well, that’s a lie. He knows exactly why he’s doing this: because it feels good. Because it feels good to be praised, to be wanted, by the one person whose attention he has always lacked and always craved.
He knows it’s wrong, knows it shouldn’t make him come so hard and so quick, shouldn’t make him come at all, to kneel there on the floor with his father’s cock in his mouth and take himself in hand.
He’s terrified that eventually, his father will find out.
He can’t decide if the worse outcome would be horror or indifference. He has no illusions that the man would still want him like this, after learning who he is. It’s not as though his father has ever wanted him in the normal way a father wants a son, why would this be any better?
Despite that fear, he keeps coming back every week, and every week the man is there, and every week he comes as hard as he ever has, always into his own hand.
It just feels so fucking good.
————————————
It takes him just over two more weeks, and two more wonderful, wonderful visits to the glory hole for reality to come crashing into Jiang Fengmian.
It starts with a box.
A simple cardboard box that his ex-wife had requested he get down from the attic for her to pick up. It wasn’t the only one she’d asked for, but it was the only one that he tripped while carrying, scattering the unsecured contents all over the living room floor.
He’d gotten a bit stuck in nostalgia picking it all back up, shuffling papers and photographs into neat piles and sorting them back into some semblance of order to pack back into the box, looking through everything as he slowly organized it.
Most of it was photo albums, loose photographs, old drawings from the children that they hadn’t had the heart to throw away. He picks up one paper that had been in a stack of what looks like schoolwork, back from when they’d been in highschool, and his eyes settle on a handwritten essay, in a messy scrawl, oh so familiar.
That’s when it dawns on him.
He drops the rest of the stack onto the floor, getting up and rushing to the bedroom with four stapled pieces of paper written by his son in his hand, frantically digging through his hamper for the pants he’d worn that night, for the scrap of paper in the pocket that he’d forgotten to throw out, and when he finally finds it he’s shaking as he holds it up to the essay, comparing the writing, seeing it clearly for the first time in the bright light of his bedroom lamp.
It’s almost a perfect match.
He sinks to the floor, boxes forgotten, and stares at the ceiling for a long, long time.
He still goes back later that same week.
————————————
Three months.
Jiang Cheng has been knowingly sucking off his father once a week, every week, for three months.
Every week he tries not to go back, and every week he fails, because he craves the praise, craves the intimacy - if a glory hole can even be called intimate - and craves the attention. He tries going on a different day, once, but it’s not the same, the other men just feel so bland now, all he can think about is how much he wishes it was his father’s cock in his mouth, how much he wishes he could hear his voice telling him he’s doing a good job, telling him he’s making him feel so good.
It’s disgusting. He’s disgusting.
He’s accepted that, by now.
Fengmian stops offering to suck him off, after the first few times, but after a couple months he requests it, a little desperately, obviously unable to voice his desire so instead hurrying to shove his cock through the hole when his father pulls away, already slick and hard from his own hand, pressing his hips against the plywood and waiting impatiently for that first touch.
He is not disappointed.
His father laughs in that gentle way he has, soft and not mocking, like he’s inviting the other person in on the joke, and wraps a firm hand around him, “Changed your mind, did you?”
Jiang Cheng nods against the wall, even though he knows his father can’t see him. His hips buck, fucking into his father’s fist, and he comes just moments later, just from that small bit of touch, just from knowing who it is that’s touching him like that.
His father laughs again and strokes him through it, pulling away once his orgasm is over and remarking, “You have such a pretty cock. Too bad I can’t see the rest of you, I’m sure you’d be gorgeous.” Jiang Cheng melts at the words, wishing so badly that he could answer, that he could let the man see him, let him fuck him, suck his cock and look up at him while he’s doing it to receive his praise.
He wants to press his father into a bed and top him and see if he still thinks Jiang Cheng is an uninteresting child to have fathered, wants to see if he can hold his attention then, wants to see if his father would praise him for that.
————————————
He’s still kicking himself a week later for what he’d said the last time. ‘Too bad I can’t see the rest of you’, what a stupid thing to say, it’s not like his son is going to agree to let him, it’s not as though he’s even going to speak a word to Fengmian, because he still thinks Fengmian doesn’t know, still thinks father is completely unsuspecting of who exactly is sucking him off every week.
He fantasizes throughout the rest of the week about telling him, about taking him home to the house he grew up in and laying him out in the bed he used to share with his mother and taking him apart. Sometimes, his thoughts drift to other things, like what his son would feel like inside of him. It’s been so, so long since he’s had anything inside of him. It was never his favorite thing, but he’d let his late best friend and first love do it a few times, and it had been pleasant enough.
They’re just fantasies though. He knows he can’t say anything, not if he wants this to continue.
He and Jiang Cheng are not close, anymore. Not like they were when he was small. He’s not sure when it had happened, but sometime between age five and when he moved out as an adult, his son had stopped caring what Fengmian thought of him, had stopped paying attention to his advice, had stopped calling.
He hesitates to call him estranged, because he still answers the phone when Fengmian calls, still speaks to him, still comes to the holiday dinners that Jiang Yanli arranges a few times a year on various occasions. Hell, his relationship with their mother is worse, but it’s more of an active kind of worse, despite them attempting to be civil at those family dinners.
Jiang Cheng just… never reaches out, anymore.
He fantasizes about that, too. About Jiang Cheng calling, or turning up on his doorstep.
The phone never rings.
For a while they hadn’t spoken just the two of them at all, when he first stopped reaching out, because Fengmian hadn’t realized until suddenly it had been two years and they hadn’t spoken outside of those few holidays. That was when he’d realized he needed to make an effort to keep his son in his life. And he’d been trying, ever since, but it hadn’t gotten him anywhere really, just a few extra conversations every so often in which it didn’t really feel like his son wanted to be speaking with him, even if he’d always been cordial.
Somehow, in some strange way, he’s pleased to have this small connection, pleased to know that Jiang Cheng wants him in his life, even like this. Even if he can’t acknowledge it, even if he can’t rock the boat by confronting the fact that he knows.
He can just… let his son continue feeling as though he’s getting away with something wrong.
And it still is wrong. Just not for one of the reasons Jiang Cheng likely imagines it is.
That’s his intention, anyway. To not rock the boat. To not let him know he’s cottoned on.
It doesn’t last.
————————————
Jiang Cheng is once again on his knees with his father’s cock in his mouth. He has his free hand on himself again, but this time through his clothes. He’s already planning on receiving another handjob after, or maybe a blowjob if he can last past one pump of his father’s fist on him this time, so he doesn’t want to take himself out now and risk getting over-excited and coming too early.
He’s enjoying himself very much, sucking diligently on the head, tongueing under the foreskin, pumping with his hand, really savoring it this time. His father has been loose with his praise tonight, and Jiang Cheng is basking in it, soaking in the pleasure it brings him. He’s so, so hard, squeezing himself through his jeans, rocking against his own hand as he bobs his head on his father’s cock, when something he was not expecting falls from the other man’s lips.
“Ah, so good, always so good with that tongue for me, A-Cheng.”
Jiang Cheng freezes for a moment, panic and anxiety and humiliation coursing through him at the sound of his name, at being caught, in spite of the fact that it’s not as though his father seems to mind.
His father seems to realize what he’s said, stammering out an apology and a curse, and addressing him by name again as Jiang Cheng’s mind races, as he stands and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, gasping for breaths he can’t seem to find as the possibility that his father speaking his name is a coincidence, that he wants but doesn’t know, disappears in a blink.
He rips open the stall door and bangs his fist on the other one, suddenly so, so angry, even though he knows that’s not fair, knows that his continuing when he thought the other man had no idea is actually worse than anything his father has done here. But with everything else the man has done, and failed to do, he hardly feels like that matters in the grand scheme of things.
“You knew! How long have you fucking known!” He snarls through the door, and a moment later it opens to reveal his father, clothes put back together but face flushed, somehow managing to look ashamed, placatingly apologetic, and condescending all at the same time.
“A-Cheng, A-Cheng, calm down.” He says, a feeble and useless attempt to pacify him, and Jiang Cheng seethes.
————————————
“Calm down? You want me to calm down?” His son practically spits the words, “Answer the fucking question!”
“I knew before I came back the sixth time.” He replies, “But I’m not sure why that matters, considering you’ve known since the end of the first time, and didn’t say anything. You came in my hand last week, don’t try to tell me you don’t want this, don’t try to pin the fault for this whole thing on me.”
Jiang Cheng doesn’t answer for a minute. Just stands there, arms crossed, jaw working, and Fengmian can see the guilt and shame warring with the anger on his face. He thinks he can hear his teeth grinding, too. What a bad habit. He’s going to give himself tooth problems.
Jiang Cheng finally snorts, shaking his head, “You know, you’re right, it can’t be all your fault. You didn’t exactly do much.” He says scathingly.
“Only because you haven’t let me, A-Cheng!” He takes a breath, calming himself, closing his eyes for a moment. He can’t screw this up, not if he wants to keep his son speaking to him, “Look, I know it’s …unconventional, I know I probably should have told you that I knew sooner, but I am not the only one here doing things they shouldn’t, and I am somehow managing not to be angry at you about that.” He reasons, “And I know you want this, so maybe you should just… let me.”
“Let you what.” His son asks flatly, arms still crossed over his chest.
“It doesn’t matter.” Fengmian answers, sweeping an arm at him in a wide gesture, “Anything you want, I’ll do it. Praise you, touch you, let you touch me, whatever it is that you need. Just let me. I don’t want to go back to seeing you only a handful of times a year.” He pleads.
“Is that why you didn’t say anything?” Jiang Cheng laughs, bitter, disbelieving, “Because you’ve missed me?”
Fengmian nods.
“So you don’t like it, then? The praise is just empty words? You just wanted to keep me around?” His son asks, not looking at him, and Fengmian feels like there is no right answer to these questions, feels like whatever he says Jiang Cheng will find a way to spin it in a negative light, to take it as a criticism of himself or a wrongdoing of Fengmian’s.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He admits, spreading his arms in surrender, “I shouldn’t like it, but neither should you, and you’ve known a lot longer than I have. You asked me to praise you, but that doesn’t mean the words were untrue. And yes, I want to keep you around! You’re my son!”
“Well maybe you should’ve acted like it!” Jiang Cheng shouts, eyes brimming with yet unshed tears, jabbing a finger in his chest, “Maybe you should have treated me like one!”
“Says the man sucking off his own father every week!” Fengmian retorts incredulously, and he knows those words are the wrong ones even as they leave his mouth.
Jiang Cheng takes a step back, half-turning away from him, hiding his face. Probably crying, then. He does feel bad about that.
“I’m not talking about that!” His son hisses, “God, you really have no idea, do you?” He laughs that bitter, angry laugh again, voice trembling, “I’m not talking about the last few months, I’m talking about the years you spent ignoring me, the years you spent paying far more attention to A-Xian, the years it took you to realize that we hadn’t even spoken outside of Jie’s house!” Jiang Cheng is looking at him now, tears running wet tracks down his face, down one corner of his lips, still slightly swollen and red from what they’d just been doing, “You’re such a shitty father that you didn’t even notice. Why the hell do you think I like being praised so much? It’s because you never did. You only care about me now because I sucked your cock and it felt good!” He accuses.
That stings, “A-Cheng, that’s not true-”
The sharpness in his son’s eyes at his denial is dangerous, reminds him of Jiang Cheng’s mother, and he cuts himself off at that look, trying again, “Okay, some of that is true. I apologize that you felt neglected, truly, but A-Xian needed the attention, he was orphaned. You know that. And the last part is simply not true. I’ve been missing you far longer than that, but you’ve deflected all my attempts to rebuild our relationship!”
“He didn’t fucking need the attention! He had plenty of attention! From Jie and me and from the fact that he was a fucking genius! You could have paid attention to us both like a good father! I’m not angry that you cared about A-Xian, I’m angry that you only cared about him.” His voice breaks on the word, and he sobs, “And maybe I deflected your attempts because I didn’t want to be fucking disappointed again! How do I know you’ll really show up to the dinner you suggested when you flaked on me so often when I was a kid?” He wipes angrily at his face, laughing again, “Knowing you I’ll agree to your stupid plans and then you’ll call me the night before to let me know A-Xian has some fucking awards ceremony and you’re terribly sorry of course but you only just got the invite because he’s so scatterbrained and I don’t mind, right? I don’t mind if you ditch me and go do that instead!” He sounds a little hysterical by the end, and Fengmian tries to reach out, to put his hand on his son’s shoulder, but he’s furiously brushed off.
“That was one time, A-Cheng.” He reasons, and Jiang Cheng shoves him, positively seething, hand flat on his chest. He stumbles back.
“It was more than fucking once!” He shouts.
“Okay, okay, it might have been more than once. You’re upset, I can see that, I’m sorry.” Fengmian soothes. He glances over in the direction of the door, “Do you really want to hash all of this out here? Someone could come in.” He’d really rather not be having this conversation at all, but he knows it probably has to happen if they want to move forward. But someone is bound to hear the shouting if he keeps it up; it would be a much easier thing to manage if they were back home.
Well, his home. It’s not really Jiang Cheng’s anymore, hasn’t been for years.
“I don’t want to go back to the house. I don’t even know if this is a conversation worth finishing.” His son spits, “I don’t know if you’re worth my time.”
“A-Cheng, please. I really do miss you.” He’s not too proud to beg, “And if you truly meant that, if I really weren’t worth your time, you wouldn’t have kept coming back after you heard my voice that first time.” He points out, hopefully. Jiang Cheng shoves him again, and he allows it. It’s not as hard, but his back meets the wall this time. He’s glad this place isn't too grimy, “Please,” He tries again, “We can do whatever you want, baobei. You can have my attention any way you want it, I meant what I said earlier.”
At that, Jiang Cheng spins around and walks away, and Fengmian frowns after him, thinking he’s fucked up, that his son is leaving, until the young man pauses with his hand on the door handle and looks back over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised, “Are we going or not?” He still sounds annoyed.
Fengmian can work with that.
————————————
Jiang Cheng pushes his father against the wall in the house he grew up in, right in the entryway, as soon as they’ve both removed their shoes, “I don’t feel like talking anymore.” He says by way of explanation, and promptly and roughly grabs the man’s crotch through his pants.
The ride here had been silent, on both sides, and his father doesn’t argue now, just lets Jiang Cheng rub his palm against his clothed cock, not yet hard, and tries to lean forward and kiss him.
Jiang Cheng makes a disgusted face, jerking his head away, and slaps a hand over his father’s mouth, glaring at him, “No.” Fengmian nods, and Jiang Cheng removes his hand, “Kissing is for people who love me.” He says, almost offhandedly, and his father balks.
“A-Che-”
Jiang Cheng interrupts him, “I don’t want to fucking hear it. I said I don’t feel like talking.” He marks the end of his sentence by popping the button on his father’s pants and yanking the zipper down, followed by his pants and underwear, pushing them all the way down until the man steps out of them, and then he pushes him towards the master bedroom, one hand on the middle of his back in encouragement.
His father obediently leads the way.
The bedroom looks basically the same as he remembers it, minus his mother’s personal belongings. All the furniture he remembers is still here, and the quilt on the bed is the same as the one they’d had when he’d moved out, years ago. He hasn’t been back here since. They’d gotten a divorce practically as soon as he’d left, and all the family gatherings now are hosted by his sister, at the house she shares with her husband and their four children, and since his mother had moved out shortly after him, before the divorce was even finalized, he hasn’t had a reason to come back.
The room feels a little bit empty, without his mother’s presence. He doesn’t really want to think about her right now, though, so that works. He almost laughs at the thought. Like thinking about his mother is somehow worse than what he’s about to do with his father. What he has been doing with his father.
He sits down on the edge of the bed, and gestures between his spread legs, pulling himself out of his pants, “Well? You wanted me to let you.” He says gruffly, and to his great satisfaction the older man kneels as directed, smiling up at him as he grasps his cock.
His father starts slow, noses at his cock and gives him some long, wet licks up the underside to get him slick before beginning to pump the shaft with one hand, “I meant what I said, you know. You have a lovely cock.” He says before he takes it into his mouth and sucks on the head just as Jiang Cheng has done to him so many times.
He can’t help the way his face flushes slightly at the words of praise.
Jiang Cheng gets a fistful of his father’s hair and pushes him down further. He doesn’t like demanding men doing it to him, but he’s sure as hell going to demand things from this man. He feels he’s owed that.
His father doesn’t seem to mind, anyway.
He gags a bit when Jiang Cheng pushes him down a little too far, but he swallows through it and manages not to cough, allowing Jiang Cheng to move his head up and down his length, even when Jiang Cheng pulls at the fist he has around his shaft so that he can press in deeper.
Huh. His father is actually quite good at this. He supposes that makes sense, seeing as he had offered to reciprocate the first few times at the glory hole.
He drags his father’s mouth off of his dick with a wet pop before he can get too close to coming and asks, “Have you ever been fucked before?”
The older man nods, licking his lips and clearing his throat, “Yes,” He answers, slightly hoarse, “A handful of times. Not recently. Not since before you and A-Li were born.”
“I’m going to fuck you.” He states, matter of fact, and his father chuckles.
“I figured that was your intention when you removed my pants and underwear so hurriedly at the door.” He hates the way the man says it, how does he always manage to make everything sound so condescending? Maybe it’s just him. Wei Wuxian never seemed to have that problem with the man.
The annoyance doesn’t want to make him fuck him any less. Quite the opposite, really.
“Do you have lube?” He glances around, as though it would just be lying out on the nightstand. Then again, his father does live alone, now. He wouldn’t put it past him.
The man stands, walking over to the nightstand on the other side of the bed. Jiang Cheng watches him go, appreciating the glimpse of ass he can see under the hem of his button down shirt. He hadn’t really thought about it until a few months ago, but his father really is an attractive man. Older, now. But still attractive.
His father opens the top drawer of the nightstand, holding the bottle up towards Jiang Cheng for a moment before tossing it across the bed. Jiang Cheng catches it, turning it over in his hands for a moment before tossing his father a disinterested look, setting it down in the middle of the bed, “Do it yourself.”
The crestfallen look that graces his father face for a split second before he smiles again brings Jiang Cheng far more pleasure than it should, and that pleasure is only increased by the way the man obeys him afterward, climbing onto the bed and laying on his back, knees up and spread wide, picking up the lube and squirting some into his hand.
Jiang Cheng moves to the foot of the bed to admire the view, hand loose around his own cock.
He watches as his father opens himself up for him, eyes closed and a look of concentration on his face, the noise of Jiang Cheng’s fist moving slickly up and down his cock and his father’s fingers pumping and scissoring inside of himself loud in the large room. It takes a while, the man goes fairly slowly, which Jiang Cheng supposes is fair after not having done this for at least three decades.
He doesn’t help, doesn’t comment, just watches silently until the other man pulls his fingers out and opens his eyes, “I’m ready for you.”
Jiang Cheng moves closer, taking some lube for himself to slick up his cock a little more. Spit won’t be sufficient, and as much as he hates his father sometimes, not using enough lube is not something he finds appealing. And besides, he doubts his father would be praising him for that, and that’s what he really wants out of this, in the end, despite how ridiculous that is.
He pushes against his father’s hip, “Turn over.” The man follows his instruction, getting on his hands and knees as Jiang Cheng positions himself behind him, lining his cock up to his father’s hole and pushing in swiftly. His father moans, long and loud, and Jiang Cheng doesn’t bother waiting for him to adjust before he starts fucking him, faster and harder than he’d normally start out with a new person, not giving him any reprieve.
The man takes it without complaint, seeming to enjoy it greatly as his son fucks him, dragging him back onto his cock by the hips as he thrusts forward, getting as deep as he can, half bent over his father’s back and before long panting with the effort, already close to his peak. He knows he should try to last longer, if he wants his father’s praise, but he can’t help it, he’s been teasing himself all evening, between rocking into his hand at the glory hall and the blowjob his father had given him, and masturbating while he’d watched his father prepare himself.
He reaches around, blindly finding his father’s cock with one hand and pumping it slightly off-rhythm with his thrusts, and when his father clenches around him and groans out his pleasure, Jiang Cheng is coming inside of him, milked by him, thrilling in the wrongness of it all, and in the way his father calls out his name.
He collapses to the side, after, closing his eyes and recovering his breath, and he doesn’t push his father away when he turns over and strokes his clean hand through his hair a few times, saying, “Good job, good boy, you’re wonderful at that, I’m so proud of you.”
He refuses to let the tears escape past his closed eyelids until the man leaves to go clean himself up.
————————————
When Jiang Cheng wakes, the room is dark, the covers are on top of him, and he’s no longer wearing his jeans. He doesn’t remember cleaning up, or taking them off, or even tucking himself back into his underwear, for that matter. In fact, he’s sure he didn’t.
His father is fast asleep beside him, snoring on his back with one hand - fingers spread - just barely touching Jiang Cheng’s hair where it fans out to the side of him.
Something about that makes him angry, and sad, and something else he can’t name.
He shoves it all down and focuses instead on the memory of what they’d done earlier that night, of all the weeks before, remembers how good it had felt, and kicks off his underwear as he feels his cock chubbing up, rolling over to get on top of his father, straddling his hips. The man doesn’t stir. He’s always been a bit of a heavy sleeper. Jiang Cheng is too, it’s probably genetic.
He leans and reaches for the nightstand, finding the lube in the same drawer his father had pulled it out of earlier that night, and slips a slick finger into himself as he kneels over the older man, quickly followed by another, and a finally a third, before he pulls them out and squeezes a little more lube into his hand and setting the bottle aside, pulling his father’s soft cock out of the slit in his pajama pants.
He works it with a slick hand until it’s fully hard, and shifts on his knees until he can sink down onto it with a soft gasp.
His father opens his eyes, blinking up at him blearily, “A-Cheng?” He mumbles, and Jiang Cheng doesn’t bother responding, just rises and lowers himself on his father’s length, over and over and over until the other man is bucking up into him, big, warm hands on his hip and his thigh stroking and gripping and pulling him down on each thrust until his ass meets the other man’s thighs.
“Perfect, A-Cheng. You look so perfect like this, riding my cock. You’ve done this plenty of times before, hm? You squeeze me so well, like you know exactly what you’re doing, good boy, my good boy.” His father rambles.
Jiang Cheng soaks in every word, preens at it, until suddenly and without warning there are hot tears running down his cheeks, not for the first time that night. He hates it. He hates that the other man can draw these emotions from him, has so much control over him, even if he’s not trying to.
He hates that his father is seeing him cry.
It’s humiliating. Especially in this position, in this situation.
Half of him wants to up and leave, right now. The other half wants the pleasure, the praise, the touch. Not to mention that running away like that would be even more humiliating.
His father reaches up, tender fingers dancing across his cheeks, not pausing in his thrusts, and draws Jiang Cheng down onto him, until their chests and stomachs are touching, and his arms wrap around Jiang Cheng, and all he can do is tuck his face into his father’s neck and cry, still grinding down into each thrust, still fucking himself on that cock.
His father shushes him and strokes his hair, his back, and fucks him through the tears, whispering apologies and praises and sweet nothings in his ear. He knows, as he comes, cock rubbing deliciously between their stomachs, that he’s fucked, that no therapy is ever going to help him get over this, whatever this is, whatever twisted part of his brain has decided that this is the kind of praise he now wants from his father, that this is the way to finally get his needs met.
He supposes he’ll just have to make sure to keep his father interested, from now on.
His father kisses his hair and holds him close as he fills him up, “Don’t cry, A-Cheng, don’t cry.” He gasps, “I promise you’re doing so well for me.”
He hates that those words are in any way comforting.
He is so, so fucked.