Chapter Text
Hours later, his hand still stung from the force of that slap.
To claim he hadn’t meant to do it would have been a lie. He’d been aggravated, watching his brother whisper asinine strategy to that scowling redhead of his. Incensed, really.
“My brother is rich, let him…”
Spoilt entitlement. The kind of Cheng’s own making. It would be Tian’s destruction, that which had been put in place to spare him. The irony of it all was infuriating.
“Come back home with me. Let’s talk,” he’d commanded him. But it had been an olive branch taken for a live wire.
“No.”
One word, and he’d reverted to the tactics of their father.
Tian’s head had snapped sideways from the force of his hand, and when it swung back around, those eyes, cruel and hard and looking so very like his own, slid right past him. Through him, as if he were nothing but a bothersome mirage.
Cheng knew then and there that he’d lose his case. The eyes that had once peered up at him, wide and wet and beguiling, as if he were the world’s only safe haven, now saw him as nothing worth his time at all.
No…his brother had only had sights for the red boy, grabbing his forearm and pulling him along without another word.
There was trust in that touch.
But Tian trusted no one.
Protection.
But Tian defended no one.
Devotion.
But Tian worshiped no one. That pedestal had stood empty after Cheng had stepped off of it himself.
And he couldn’t make sense of it. This is what he’d wanted, for Tian to wash his hands of his legacy. This is what he’d risked life and limb for when his father had objected, insisting he’d have two heirs. This is what he’d mutilated his fraternal relationship for, with the grim knowledge that Tian would always follow in his footsteps so long as he felt there was a bond between them to honor.
He’d succeeded. And now, Tian had seemingly found someone he felt worthy of his faith. The bitter bile of jealousy and sweet note of solace created a caustic mixture in his chest. And under it all burned a longing. Longing for what could have been had they not been born into such a fucked up family. Longing for what once was, those few, precious years when the innocence and gullibility of youth had kept his brother blind to the reality of the kind of person Cheng was.
But those days were gone. Shot at point blank range and weighted down to a watery grave in place of that puppy.
“You became the kind of person I hate the most.”
He Cheng stubbed out his cigarette with more force than intended, sending sparks flying.
He needed a fucking shower.
***
The penthouse was shrouded in darkness when Qiu let himself in. He didn’t bother reaching for light switches whose placements he’d memorized as he strolled through the entryway. The multi-colored lights of Shanghai’s cityscape, plainly visible through the wall of windows covering the entire east side of the apartment, were enough to guide him.
Cheng had told him to meet him at the office to discuss something related to Mr. Yi’s latest instructions. Qiu had done as requested, pissed that the last minute “request” meant canceling a date with one of the hottest women he’d seen in a while.
A cancellation that was proven unnecessary when He Cheng failed to show up to his own impromptu meeting. Qiu had waited twenty minutes before texting him, twenty minutes before calling when he didn’t answer, and another twenty when he didn’t answer that , before hopping on his bike and gunning it to Cheng’s place. He’d let himself in without so much as a knock. If the bastard insisted on inconveniencing him then he’d do the same.
That is, if he could fucking find him.
As he passed into the equally dark living area, his eyes roamed over the various arm chairs and sofas scattered about, in search of his boss’s distinct profile. He wasn’t there. He didn’t bother calling his name, knowing good and well he’d receive no answer. He headed towards the spacious balcony where he knew Cheng loved to brood, poking his head out the sliding door.
No dice. But on the glass table that doubled as a fire spit, the fading yellow of recently fallen ash glinted.
He’d just missed a brooding session, then. A particularly intense one, given the amount of cigarette buts he assessed in the ashtray.
Moody bastard.
Qiu sighed, heading back through the living room and down the corridor off to the side that led to Cheng’s private quarters.
Gym—empty. Home office—empty. Sauna—empty.
Nearing the end of the hallway and the limits of his patience, Qiu paused, listening.
The faint pattering of water droplets smacking against a hard surface reached his ears.
Bingo.
He used his foot to nudge open the heavy wooden door leading to Cheng’s bedroom and stepped inside with a boldness that only familiarly could grant.
A rectangle of tawny light stretched across the floor of the otherwise dim space. Qiu followed its path, the sounds of falling water increasing steadily. Reaching He Cheng’s bathroom, he leaned a shoulder against the doorway, folding his arms.
Steam permeated the air, lazy clouds of it wafting about the ceiling and fogging up the massive vanity mirror at the back of the room. Responsible for it were the several overhead shower jets placed in one corner of the room, turned on full blast and raining their near-scalding contents down on the object of Qiu’s search.
He stood motionless, his back turned. Broad back and narrow hips. Tight ass and powerful legs. All of it had gone from its usual fair, almost porcelain complexion to a faint pinkish hue under his self-induced watery assault.
Cheng was upset. Qiu could see it in the tension between his shoulders. In how low his head hung and the clenching curl of his fingers.
There were no shower doors, a feature He Cheng had no doubt insisted upon. Always on guard. Always alert. So it didn’t shock Qiu when the other man spoke, displaying his awareness of his presence despite his turned back.
“You’re getting more and more bold, coming in as you please.”
Qiu hesitated for half a moment before pushing off the wall. He shed his shirt, and then his pants and boxers, leaving them in a heap on the floor in a way he knew he’d be scolded for. He then crossed the room on light feet, pushing past He Cheng once he reached the warmth of the jets.
“Christ, why do you always insist on bathing in boiling water?” he grumbled, grabbing the lone bath sponge hanging on the wall and assessing the row of various lotions and potions lined up on the stone bench built into it.
“It decreases the odds that people will invite themselves to join me.”
Qiu chuckled, selecting a bottle whose contents were among the lowest. It was a body wash labeled to smell like blood oranges and clove. He Cheng’s scent. He squeezed a healthy amount of the sponge and turned, moving to stand directly behind him. Running the sponge along his neck and shoulders, he was mindful not to press too hard on his scar.
He Cheng tensed, the skin between his traps puckering. Qiu looped his fingers around his wrist in preparation for when he pulled away. But He Cheng stilled, and Qiu could almost see the fight wilting out of him. He had yet to raise his head.
Oh, something had really pissed him off.
“I would have appreciated a heads up that you’d chosen a pity party in favor of our meeting,” he began, his tone casual as he rubbed the sponge over He Cheng’s skin. “I bailed on a date for nothing.”
“I’m sure your cock’s relieved to have a break from your whoring.” The bite in his words was at odds with the way his shoulders began to sag under Qiu’s rough, rhythmic scrubbing.
Qiu soaped up his lower back before rubbing the sponge in circles around each of He Cheng’s ass cheeks. “You say that as if you’re not partially responsible for its overtime.”
“Watch your tone,” Cheng all but growled, and Qiu could practically feel his glare. But he didn’t miss the light shudder that ran down the other man’s spine when the sponge made its way across each of his inner thighs.
“I’ll consider it if you tell me who’s responsible for the current stick up your ass.” He crouched, running the sponge down He Cheng’s hamstrings, the backs of his knees, and down each calf before standing again. Back half nearly done, he stepped around so that they faced one another.
He Cheng kept his head lowered. His hair, normally dark with slightly grey undertones and slicked back away from his face, hung forwards now, looking black as split ink under the weight of the water. Qiu lathered his chest, his patience infinite now that he stood before the object of his earlier frustration.
He’d finished both arms and was rubbing his way across Cheng’s washboard stomach by the time he raised his head. Qiu stood a head taller than him, forcing him to tilt his head back to meet his eyes.
Reaching up a hand more confident than most, Qiu smoothed back He Cheng’s soaked fringe, exposing his face to his scrutiny.
It was a face as gorgeous as it was cruel. Under heavy brows and above seemingly permanent dark circles of stress and sleeplessness, those pale grey eyes pierced Qiu. Cheng had a way of eyeing people the way a hawk eyed a mouse before sinking its talons in its belly, his gaze filled with a chilling combination of malice and apathy.
He wouldn’t look at him like that nearly as much if he knew how much it got Qiu off. Or perhaps he would. They were both sick, sick bastards, after all.
But unintentional seduction aside, there was something else in Cheng’s expression. Something pinching between his brows and the corners of his haughty mouth.
“Gonna tell me what’s wrong?” Qiu pressed. He soaped up each of He Cheng’s hips, then moved to his quads, bypassing his cock—which was noticeably flaccid despite Qiu’s very naked and handsy presence, another indication that something was off with him.
“I’ve frozen all of Tian’s accounts,” came his voice from above where Qiu squatted, his tone low and acerbic.
Qiu’s work and He Cheng’s shins stuttered slightly. Well this is new, he thought. His surprise was in reference to the fact that Cheng was actually volunteering this information on Qiu’s second try to pry it out of him, not the fact that Tian was the source of his aggravation. Only a select few could produce this type of response in the usually unflappable He Cheng, and his brother topped the list.
Qiu liked to think he’d be on that list someday.
“What’d the punk get up to this time? Up,” he commanded, pulling lightly on He Cheng’s left ankle.
He acquiesced, resting a warm hand on Qiu’s shoulder for balance as he raised his foot. Again, Qiu kept his surprise to himself.
“He ran from me.”
His voice was steady, but held a dark undertone. Qiu could hear the anger behind it. Anger Cheng likely didn’t realize was masking hurt. “Up.” He rubbed down the sole of Cheng’s right foot. “In response to what?”
He Cheng’s little brother hadn’t quite yet reached emotional maturity, and he boasted a bratty, capricious nature that was possibly more volatile than even Cheng’s. But as much as he delighted in doing so, he never defied Cheng for absolutely no reason.
“I slapped him for his insolence.”
“That would do it.”
Cheng pulled his foot away. Qiu didn’t bother telling him he wasn’t finished. “He refused to come home with me to talk things out. And this is after I caught him assuring that redheaded kid that I’d pay for the damage to the random Corvette whose windshield he decided to shatter."
“And did you?”
“Of course I did.”
It was only with an impressive amount of self-restraint that Qiu contained his snort as he went back to the shower bench. He set the sponge down and selected a bottle of over-priced shampoo, squeezing some into his palm.
“He’s insolent,” He Cheng insisted. He hardly seemed to pay attention as Qiu came up behind him once more and slipped his hands into his hair, tilting his head back so that shampoo wouldn’t run into his eyes. “He has the gall to continuously defy me. He views me as little more than a mop. I exist for little more than cleaning up his messes.”
“I mean, I don’t take orders from mops either,” Qiu commented, half of his mind marveling at the silky density of He Cheng’s hair as he massaged his scalp.
Grunting, Cheng pulled away, but Qiu held fast to his hair, holding him in place.
“Remind me again why you invited yourself in here?” he demanded coldly. But his eyes slipped closed, and he ceased his struggle. It was testament to how much he truly didn’t mind Qiu’s manhandling; both of them knew Cheng was more than capable of making him let go, particularly when his cock and balls were so exposed.
“I told you.” He resumed his attentions to his scalp. “I bailed on my date for you, only for you to bail on me. So I came to see if someone had finally done me a favor and succeeded in shooting you.”
“It’s not even ten yet. Don’t act as if you don’t have time to call her and reschedule.” The frown that had marred his brow since Qiu had first laid eyes on him tonight deepened.
Qiu smirked. “We had to grow up fast,” he spoke, ignoring him. “Too fast. Don’t forget that you never wanted that for Tian. And the downside of the decision is that the little asswipe has a lot of maturing to do. He’s still just a kid. They both are—Tian and the redhead.”
He Cheng’s lids slid open. He stared at the ceiling with a flinty look in his eye.
Qiu felt his brows rise with his sudden understanding. Ah. So Cheng was feeling jealous. Protective, even. Cute.
“Listen. When it comes down to it, you and He Tian are brothers—and ones bonded by a fuck ton of trauma. You have a relationship with him that no one can replace. You know that, and Tian knows that, or the punk wouldn’t be trying so hard to get under your skin. But if you keep pulling his leash so tight, he’ll continue to fight it.”
Cheng closed his eyes once more. “Are you suggesting I unfreeze his accounts?”
This time, Qiu did snort. “Fuck no.” He stepped back a little, allowing the water to rinse the suds from Cheng’s hair. “You spoil him too much where finances are concerned. That’s probably half the reason he doesn’t respect you. He needs a brother, not an accountant. When’s the last time you talked to him apart from giving orders?”
He Cheng’s lip curled. “He won’t let me talk to him.”
“So you’ve given up? Is this the Great He Cheng’s weakness? The whims of a seventeen year old?” Qiu circled him, coming to stand in front of him again. Cheng raised his head, opening his eyes. “You better hope I don’t let this information get out. You’d be fucked.”
As he reached for the shower gel Qiu discarded earlier, He Cheng pinned him with a look that would’ve broken a lesser man. “So would you, if you hadn’t taken it upon yourself to come here tonight. A shame.”
Qiu smiled, shamelessly watching as Cheng soaped up his junk. His intent was clear: he wouldn’t be giving Qiu any ass tonight. Again, Qiu reached for the shower gel, this time soaping up himself.
“So you’re not looking for a distraction?” He ran his hands over his arms…chest…stomach…the whole time knowing damn well he’d already scrubbed himself down hours earlier in anticipation of his date.
“Not one of second-rate, no.” Cheng’s voice was dead-panned, its tone as dismissive as his insult. But he made no move to hide the way his gaze roamed over Qiu’s body, following the trajectory of his hand as he scrubbed his balls and lathered his shaft, its length hardening under the attention of that stare.
Hook.
“Hmmm. That’s too bad.” Qiu blatantly stroked himself now, teasing himself as much as the man before him. “Self-pity looks terrible on you.”
Line.
Cheng’s hand shot forwards with impressive speed. He wrapped his fingers around the base of Qiu’s cock and squeezed hard. Biting back a curse, Qiu reached for the other man’s ass and hauled him against him. Their chests pressed into one another, Cheng’s unforgiving hand trapped between them. He slipped his soapy fingers between Cheng’s cheeks, rubbing the pads of them across his hole. He Cheng shuddered, his grip on Qiu’s dick growing tighter still.
He stared up at him, eyes narrowed but steadily succumbing to that sleepy, heavy-lidded look he got when desire overpowered his sass. “If you’re so hellbent on running your mouth,” he hissed, twisted his hand in a way that ripped a groan from Qiu’s lips, “then you may as well do something useful with it.”
And sinker.
Qiu didn’t stop the grin he felt overtaking his face, though he knew it would piss Cheng off like nothing else. He leaned down towards his ear, flicking his tongue along its shell and earning another shudder from him. “Took you long enough to ask,” he whispered.
Slipping his hands around He Cheng’s waist, he spun him around and pressed his body to the wall before sinking to his knees. Face level with the cleft of his ass, he pressed a kiss to one tight cheek as his fingers rediscovered that hidden hole, stroking soap along its puckered circumference. Above him, Cheng’s breathing became audible—soft pants that went straight to Qiu’s cock. Cheng pushed back into his fingers in a command for more, to which Qiu responded by sinking his teeth into his cheek.
“Fuck!” Cheng cried out in outrage that morphed into relish when Qiu pushed a digit inside of him. He twisted and pumped his way through Cheng’s suctioning heat, adding another finger and quickly finding the spot that would unravel him in conjunction with the kisses and nips his lips peppered across his cheeks. His inner thighs. His ass crack. But just as his legs began to tremble, Qiu withdrew.
He Cheng grunted at the sudden loss, and grunted again when Qiu spread his cheeks wide, exposing him to his hungry gaze. Washing away all traces of soap, water ran down his crack and over his rosy pink hole. It twitched, seeking to be breached once more. Qiu watched, his cock twitching in turn before he felt fingers in his hair that yanked his head back to meet He Cheng’s glare, dark and starved.
“I told you to use your mout— oh. Mm!!” Qiu held his stare as his tongue flicked out to run along his entrance. He did it again, and again, until Cheng’s lids fluttered closed, allowing him to truly get to work. His tongue worked up and down, side to side, in circles and zig zags and loops until He Cheng was groaning and shaking and pressing Qiu’s face deeper into his ass, ever the greedy bastard. But ever the acquiescent lover, Qiu gave him what he wanted, sinking his tongue into him and swirling it about his quivering insides. Cheng’s cries grew steadily louder, each of them going straight to Qiu’s throbbing cock until he’d had enough.
He groaned into him, the vibrations arching Cheng’s back before Qiu pulled his mouth away from him and rose to his full height. Cheng turned his head, staring up at him as if it wasn’t a question of whether to hit him, but a question of how hard. Qiu merely jerked his chin towards the bench. “Gonna finish getting yourself ready for me?”
Cheng’s eyes narrowed, but he chuckled shortly, then stepped forward to grab the smallest bottle on the bench. “I’d kick your ass out for such laziness if I didn’t know how much you like to watch,” he rumbled, bending over and squeezing a liberal amount of its contents on himself.
Qiu chose not to respond. He was otherwise occupied—staring at the viscous oil slipping its way down Cheng’s ass crack. As he pushed his slender fingers into himself, Qiu licked his lips, his own hand coming up to stroke his cock in time to Cheng’s pumps. Not for the first time since peering across the bathroom’s threshold nearly an hour ago, he acknowledged his canceled date for the blessing it truly was. Cheng was right, not that he didn’t know it: this picture before him, this image of his boss playing with himself, preparing his ass for the stretch of Qiu’s cock, was an image his mind regularly conjured to get him off.
Whether or not someone else was present.
By the time Cheng had worked three fingers into himself, Qiu deemed him ready. He knocked his hand away, knowing He Cheng’s impatience matched his when he didn’t protest. He grabbed his hip with one hand, and lined his cock up with the other. “Brace your hands on the bench,” he murmured, rubbing his tip over Cheng’s slick hole. “We don’t want your head going through the wall.”
Cheng pinned him with a look that said he was thoroughly unimpressed, but obeyed nevertheless. The moment his second hand gripped the bench’s edge, Qiu pushed into his heat, driving himself to the hilt with one rough thrust.
Fucking shit, he was tight. Cheng’s walls gripped him mercilessly, as if the two of them had done nothing to prep him. The moan the stretch of him pulled from Cheng, long and low, sent Qiu’s balls tingling. Qiu groaned in response.
“Fuck, Cheng. How are you this tight? Hm?” He crossed his forearms and fastened his hands to Cheng’s hips. “Don’t tell me the last person to fuck you was me.”
Cheng squeezed himself around him, nearly sending Qiu’s knees buckling. “What if it was?” He retorted, his voice low and strained. “You clearly didn’t loosen me up enough.”
That was bait if Qiu ever knew it. He took it gladly, withdrawing his hips to snap into Cheng. His back arched, and Qiu took off, setting a punishing pace. The pace he knew He Cheng adored. He grit his teeth, his eyes glued to the spot where Cheng’s hole eagerly swallowed his cock, shrinking and widening with each of his ruthless pumps. His balls slapped against Cheng’s ass, the sound echoing in the steamy chamber and just barely overpowered by the entwining, low bass of their moans. Always one to give as good as he got, Cheng pushed back into him, meeting each thrust with a rock of hips. Qiu fought the acute urge to smack his ass, knowing good and well that if he did, he’d likely wake up sprawled on the shower floor, freezing water raining down on his swelling face.
All in due time…there was a point where He Cheng would have rather died than bend over for him like this. Breaking down his defenses was a long game, one that required the right balance of patience and audacity.
And Qiu had plenty of both.
“C’mon baby. Don’t hold it back,” he found himself urging. He lifted a foot, placing it beside Cheng’s hand and deepening his angle. Cheng’s moans cut off with a choking sound. “Come for me. You know I’ll give you more. I’ll give you as much as you want.”
“You talk too much,” He Cheng snapped, his words breathless. But he brought a hand from the bench to grab one of Qiu’s ass cheeks, pushing him impossibly deeper into his ass. Humming his approval, Qiu reached a hand around to milk Cheng’s cock, until, with the sweetest of groans, he felt hot, creamy moisture spurt into his fist.
Qiu grinned, satisfied with his job well done. He rolled his head back and closed his eyes, concentrating on relieving the taut ache in his balls as he snapped his hips into Cheng’s still-contracting core.
But between one thrust and the next, the dizzying heat enveloping him vanished. He stumbled back a bit as a hand pushed him away, firm and steady.
Looking up, he found He Cheng facing him, rolling out a kink in his neck as if Qiu wasn't standing there with balls bluer than the fucking Pacific.
Qiu huffed with a heady combination of aggravation and arousal. “You gonna let me come tonight?”
It was a valid inquiry. There was many a time when He Cheng wouldn’t let him come in his presence. He’d allow Qiu to fuck him within an inch of his life, reaching two, three, sometimes four orgasms himself, only to dismiss Qiu from his sight, sending him away to jack himself off to anti-climax.
And yet Qiu always found himself coming back for more.
He Cheng raised a hand to smooth his hair back from his face, his high cheekbones pink and cruel eyes bright with his recent orgasm. Qiu held his breath as he opened his mouth to deliver judgment.
“Dry off and wait for me on the bed.”
*****