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Small cranes bobble down a blocky rainbow river, some are neatly folded, others incomplete, some are squashed, the neck and wings bent at an awkward angle. Chu Wanning sits at the low table surrounded by a gaggle of noisy children as he folds his seventh crane, his back and legs cramping from sitting like a shrimp for the entire afternoon. When he finishes it, he cautiously places it in the middle of the table—alongside the other crumpled papers, failed airplanes and capsized boats—and upon the crane not immediately being destroyed by the ink-stained fist of a six-year-old, he sighs and leans back as far as he possibly can in his tiny chair.
Chu Wanning doesn’t know why he thought he’d be able to teach a group of children how to fold origami, but he simply ran short on ideas when his employer told him (only this morning) that they would be hosting a barbecue at their home later in the day. As a result, he had to take an emergency trip into the city to grab a bunch of art supplies and interesting looking games that caught his eye in preparation of what was to come.
Chu Wanning isn’t exactly the best babysitter in the world, he can get by with looking after the two young children of the family who hired him, but when they have social gatherings like these, the children on his hands multiply at an alarming rate, and soon he’s fighting for his life trying to keep them all busy and out of their parents’ hair as the adults party away in the next room.
“Wanning-gege, look, do you like my picture?” A giggle from his left interrupts his thoughts, a small girl with pigtails and deep purple eyes is beaming at him—She proudly displays a drawing to Chu Wanning, creasing the pink sheet of paper between her hands.
It’s an explosion of crayon lines and colours picked without logic or reason, and Chu Wanning tries his hardest, but he can’t really figure out what it’s supposed be depicting, so he instead he cheerfully replies with, “You’re doing a great job, Heli.”
Heli is the eldest child of his employer, she’s shy and quiet, a pleasantly sweet kid and—he’ll never take this for granted—seems to like Chu Wanning a lot. She was the only one who fully cooperated with him earlier when Chu Wanning tried to steer the group into a fun (and calmer) painting activity after a game of snap got too heated and ended up in tantrums and tears.
It had taken a while, but eventually Chu Wanning managed to settle everyone down around the table, and now all the children are quietly scribbling away. He eyes the mess of papers, the spilled ink pots and colouring pencils rolled onto the carpet—it’s going to take him a while to clean up the scene after the guests leave. He’s about to ask Heli to explain her drawing when a kid further down the table knocks over his plastic cup and sends orange liquid flying over the papers in front of him. Chu Wanning mechanically stands up and walks over to remedy the situation. He wonders how hard it can be to keep a liquid inside its container.
He wonders when he can leave this job.
It had started five months ago when he woke up in the sterile whiteness of a hospital room—after the financial stress of studying abroad away from his estranged father, grappling with his useless partners in an important group project whilst juggling two part-time jobs and his perilous lifestyle (four hours of sleep, coffee for breakfast and instant noodles for dinner) had finally gotten to him. Xue Zhengyong—his professor and possibly the only person he could call his friend from the university he was studying at—loomed over him, his face twisted in a concerned grimace. Take a gap year, he said. Chu Wanning couldn’t go on like this. It just so happened that at the same time, Xue Zhengyong’s nephew, a high-ranking executive at some new energy company, was looking for a nanny to help look after his two young children.
Xue Zhengyong had passionately referred him to his nephew despite Chu Wanning’s lack of experience with looking after anyone, especially children, confident that he would be able to fit into the role quickly because of how reliable and hardworking he was. It took him a while to get over the mortification of things like burning dinners and dyeing an entire load of laundry pink, but the family were understanding towards him. The perks of the job was basically a free ticket into the world of the upper class—a world that he hasn’t experienced since he broke off all ties with his father. The luxurious residence that comfortably housed ten people, business trips abroad in first-class flights, restaurant bills that exceeded his food budget for two months. He was treated well—not all—but most of the time, and of course—because Xue Zhengyong personally saw to it—the pay was really, really good.
Because of all this, Chu Wanning often wonders when it all started going so wrong.
He jumps when the glass patio doors abruptly slide open with a noisy rattle, and the hum of the party rushes into the kitchen in a full-blown tide. A woman with long dark hair and dressed in an emerald green bikini pokes her head though the gap, her voice a cheerful singsong—
“The food is ready! Come outside and eat,”
In the back yard, there’s a small gathering of around ten people scattered around the patio, their idle chatter masked by the music playing from the speaker tuned to a popular radio station. The delicious smell of food drifts past his nose under the cool evening breeze. The sky is coral and cloudless, yellow fairy lights wound around trees and parasols illuminate waves of water of the pool. Large foldable tables carry sleek ice buckets and an assortment of expensive-looking alcohol. Salad in a massive cherry wood bowl, caviar tarts, gem like fruits encased in butter pastries. Meat sizzles on the grill, burger patties, hot dogs and chicken wings—food that Chu Wanning won’t touch, not because he’s a vegetarian—he doesn’t like meat that much unless it’s cut into smithereens and stir fried into the dishes of his childhood.
After Chu Wanning herds all the children into the back yard, he looks around in search of his next task as is customary during events like these. Sometimes, there are acquaintances—the more curious ones who must feel some sort of pity to see him hanging around—who will gesture to him and say, ‘don’t be so polite, come join us!’ but he never takes them up on the offer. He’s only there to work, after all (the tactics of networking forever out of his reach), and that involves drifting about invisibly in the background and faithfully tending to any tasks he can find.
Chu Wanning finds him in the centre of the patio, manning the barbecue with expert hands. A black shirt hangs off his broad shoulders and flutters in the breeze, unbuttoned to a scandalous degree to reveal his muscular chest to reveal skin a shade tanner than Chu Wanning’s own.
Heli’s father, his employer—Mo Ran.
On instinct, Chu Wanning’s eyes are guided to his face, and he scans it in the familiar routine he’s secretly harboured for longer than he’d like to admit. His hair is combed messily to one side, falling over his dark eyes, sharp and youthful. Straight nose, high cheekbones, a defined jawline. Mo Ran’s posture is open and relaxed but exuding effortless confidence, always managing to gravitate the centre of attention to himself no matter where he goes.
At his side stands his wife—Song Qiutong—a retired model who runs a successful fashion blog. She’s adorning a sundress, layer upon layer of translucent silk fading from grey to pale silver. She picks up two cocktail glasses and hands one to her husband, laughing as the vessels clink together. They’re both beautiful and picture-perfect, like the celebrity couple gracing the front page of popular tabloid magazines.
Upon witnessing this scene, Chu Wanning’s footsteps falter, thinking he should find something else to do first to not interrupt their moment. Before he can turn away, he hears Mo Ran calling out to him.
“A-Ning, come help me serve our guests.”
After months of interacting with the family, Chu Wanning has accepted by now that he’s not just imagining it when Song Qiutong turns up her chin as he approaches, her smile visibly turning artificial. As the chattering of the adults weave around him, Chu Wanning silently helps plate food, assembling finger sandwiches and spooning out the homemade tiramisu bought by one of the guests from a casserole dish, cutting up hotdogs for the younger children.
Amongst all the guests, there’s a man with spiky blond hair and striking green eyes who stands out to him due to the amount of attention he directs at Chu Wanning. He tries to ignore it at first, but the man remains standing near him and Mo Ran at the tables after the majority of the group has scattered. He starts to speak when Chu Wanning is negotiating with Xinyue—Heli’s brother—about putting some salad onto his plate.
“He’s such a great little helper,” The man says in English, and Chu Wanning, along with finding it uncomfortable, is confused about the way his eyes rove down the length of his body. He’s currently at the worst he could possibly be appearance-wise, eight hours into the most exhausting job he’s ever had, sporting a haphazardly tied ponytail and white T-shirt. His shorts and flip flops are an embarrassment compared to the silk shirts and floral dresses adorned by his employers and the rest of the guests, it’s not possible his attire is interesting to look at.
“He is a great little helper,” A smooth voice sounds from behind him. Chu Wanning turns to see Mo Ran taking a sip of his cocktail, tilting his head and assessing him with an unsettling glint in his eyes intense enough to match the lecherous gaze of the other man.
Chu Wanning wishes he could retreat into the kitchen, he wishes he could be doing the dishes or cleaning up spilled apple juice. Anything other than being trapped between the two men.
“Hey, kid. If you ever get bored of this job, I can get you an offer to come work for my wife and I at our hotel.” The man supports the woman wearing the green bikini when she throws her arm around his neck and presses her face into the crook of his neck, “The pay will be generous, I promise.”
“He’s got such a pretty face,” The woman adds with a giggle. “You would be super popular with the guests.”
Before Chu Wanning gets the response out of his throat, Mo Ran cuts in, placing a hand on his shoulder, “I’m afraid A-Ning will be stuck in this role for a while, my children are awfully fond of him, they’ll will turn my house upside down if he ever leaves.” “Besides, I already pay him generously. Don’t I?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, A-Ning, would you mind taking these dishes back to the kitchen for me? Thank you.” Mo Ran says, his tone managing to sound firm despite maintaining its light-heartedness. He’s smiling playfully, but Chu Wanning likes to think he’s become quite good at reading Mo Ran’s expressions in the past few months, and the smile isn’t quite reflected in his eyes, so Chu Wanning quickly scoops up the stack of dirty plates and disappears through the sliding glass doors.
Despite his job being a nanny, despite the fact the family has hired cleaners and gardeners, sometimes Mo Ran and Song Qiutong will assign him miscellaneous tasks around the house. Cleaning, housekeeping, and sometimes Mo Ran summons him to his office in the city to deliver forgotten documents and the sort, things that Chu Wanning thinks should be the job of his secretary.
He doesn’t mind though, it’s something to keep him busy around the house, because Chu Wanning doesn’t really go out a lot unless it’s to take the children or accompany the family somewhere. His employers have a…peculiar way of doing things. When he leaves the house by himself, he’s expected to give a detailed schedule of what he’ll be doing and present receipts when he returns—he supposes it’s got something to do with how high profile the family is. And after a few times of delivering humiliating pitches about going to his university’s library to return books and visiting newly opened dessert shops to an unimpressed Mo Ran, Chu Wanning has slowly lost all interest in making the effort to leave the house.
Ever since he started this job, his social life has all but completely vanished into smoke. But…It’s okay, it’s not like he really had one to begin with.
After the dishes are piled high beside the sink, Chu Wanning returns to the backyard. He politely refills drinks and is dragged to kick around an inflatable beach ball with Xinyue and the two other boys he’s made friends with. After they get bored, the group go off to play at the edge of the pool. Chu Wanning also finds himself a quiet corner of the pool and sits on the ledge, picking at a vegetable skewer as he dips his ankles into the glowing cerulean water.
The vegetables are charred and seasoned to perfection, which is to be expected, since it was cooked by Mo Ran, and everything he makes is good—and that thought alone is enough sour the taste in his mouth.
He wishes he could enjoy the food without being so aware of the fact it was cooked by Mo Ran.
Waves of blue light sway on his bare limbs. It’s dark now, the sun swallowed up by a starry sky, and the roaring flame of the party has quietened down to flickering ambers. Occasionally, the delighted shriek of a child offsets the radio faintly murmuring in the background, currently on an advertisement for a chance to win a package holiday with some aviation company. The adults lounge on deck chairs on the opposite side of the pool, Song Qiutong squeezed onto the same lawn chair as her husband, practically laying across his lap as Mo Ran’s arm slings over her back. Their quiet chatter too far away for Chu Wanning to discern, but no doubt they’re conversing about work, their million-euro contracts, how their older children are faring at private schools abroad. The clinking of crystal flute glasses, the rattling of ice in lemonade pitchers.
“Hey,” Someone comes to sit on the ledge beside him
It’s the man from before, wearing a smile too enthusiastic for the occasion, the collar of his Hawaiian shirt crumpled and sits askew on his neck.
Chu Wanning greets him. “Do you need something, sir?”
“Nope. Just thought you looked lonely sitting here by yourself, why don’t you come and sit with us?” He tips his glass to Chu Wanning, the contents neon blue, a ring of crystals stuck on the rim complete with a green paper umbrella, “Qiutong makes a really good margarita, wanna try some?”
Chu Wanning shakes his head. “Thank you, sir, but I don’t drink.”
It’s not entirely true, Chu Wanning can be an appreciator of alcohol, but he’s got an extremely high tolerance, so he doesn’t really see the point of drinking when there’s no sufficient reason or occasion for it—he doesn’t think it would be very professional to be drinking on a job that involves working with children. There’s only one person who can force him to forgo all his rules and morals, and it’s not the man in front of him.
“Ah, come on.” He drops his legs into the water beside him, “You need to loosen up a bit, seriously! Your personality is really a completely accurate reflection of your appearance. Like…The uptight, mysterious type— lots of people tend to be drawn to that kind of thing. I have a penchant for scouting out people, I hardly ever read them wrong.”
Chu Wanning doesn’t know what to say to that. During his earlier years of university, he was usually so busy that anyone who might be drawn to him are quickly put off by his indifference and curt replies. He continues to watch the man’s legs as he slowly kicks at the water.
“Regarding what I said earlier. I was being serious. If you want, I’ll pull some strings and get you a serving position in the clubs or in our casinos. It’s a starting position, but many high-profile guests frequent those establishments every day, so you’ll make connections quick.”
“Thank you for the offer, sir, but I’m going to have to decline, you already heard what Mr. Mo said earlier, so,” He lets out a small, awkward laugh, “And besides, I enjoy working here.”
“Do you really enjoy working here? You can be honest with me, I won’t tell your boss, I promise.” The man winks at him. “You have a lot of potential for alternative careers, at somewhere that’s more high-end than this, with a lot more money and prominence. The offer is extremely negotiable, y’know. I can be extra generous just for you.” For a split second, Chu Wanning wonders how wealthy the man has to be for him to not consider this a high-end place to work, but then a large hand finds a place on his knee, and he freezes completely.
A familiar fear courses through his body, causing his stomach to cramp and his breathing to hitch, and suddenly the water around his ankles feels freezing cold.
“Sorry…I, uhm—”
At that moment, Chu Wanning feels a tug on his shirt from behind. It’s Heli, asking if he can accompany her to the bathroom because she’s scared to go back to the house by herself. From the other side of the pool, the plastic beach ball twangs sharply as it bounces too hard against the patio, a large shriek as something clatters to the ground, radio static grating against his skull. Suddenly, Heli’s timely appearance makes him want to sob in relief.
Chu Wanning stumbles over his words as he excuses himself to the man before rising and gesturing with a come on to the little girl.
He’s starting to get really tired of these social gatherings. The uncomfortable tightness around his chest which had been present the entire afternoon making his exhaustion spiral.
He wonders again when he’ll be able to leave this job.
He circles around the pool with Heli, when he passes by the group of adults, he catches Mo Ran staring at him intently.
This time, he’s not smiling.
-
After what feels like an eternity, the family finally sees the guests off into the night. Chu Wanning puts the kids to bed, accomplishing the task much easier than usual because of how worn out they are from the evening. He brings in all the dishes and bottles and pool toys inside. Glassware filled with water arranged neatly by the sink for the cleaner, who usually comes to work in the mornings.
Chu Wanning is now collapsed by the low foldable table in living room, scooting around on his knees and fumbling around the fluffy rug for lost pens.
In the family’s home, the kitchen and living room are located within one large space. Everything’s covered in grey streaked marble, with dark wood accents and warm lights lining under the cupboards. Quirky light fixtures dangle before multiple panels of floor to ceiling windows, separated by a sliding glass door that unfurl out to a massive patio and garden.
The kitchen is one of the most stocked he’s ever seen, like the working space of one of those celebrity chefs he sees on TV. Japanese knives, a sous vide machine, measuring tools that could probably serve as lab equipment. He remembers when he first came, he spent a lot of time here with Mo Ran teaching him basic knife techniques because Chu Wanning was probably too bad in the cooking aspect to be a nanny.
He has a lot of good memories in this kitchen from the first few months he started working with the family. Mo Ran bringing home boxes of artisan desserts he was gifted, sitting at the island as Mo Ran made him soup on days he woke up sick, being able to witness Mo Rans’ creations first hand as he proudly invited Chu Wanning to taste test. And after things changed between them, Chu Wanning could never enjoy Mo Ran’s food the way he used to, as if the tainting of those memories had bled right into the taste of his cooking.
Chu Wanning hears footsteps from the hall as he scoops all the origami creations into the recycling bin. The surface of the table is now clear as if it was never used.
“Mo-xiansheng,”
Mo Ran is standing by the entrance of the living room, his shoulders almost spanning the length of the doorway, casting an ominous shadow into the room. At Chu Wanning’s address, he only tosses him a brief glance before striding into the room with hands tucked into the pockets of his shorts. The moonlight engulfing his form as he takes up a spot on the couch.
“Qiutong drank too much,” He says flatly, “She’s out like a light,”
“…Heli and Xinyue are asleep too,” Chu Wanning offers. “I’ve sorted everything for the cleaner, if there’s nothing else, I’m going to go to bed.”
“Come here, Chu Wanning.”
It was worth an attempt to try to get away, even though he knows it’s completely futile. Chu Wanning reluctantly approaches where Mo Ran is sprawled on the couch with his legs spread arrogantly.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
The band around Chu Wanning’s chest seems to tighten even more, restricting his breathing. He’s suddenly aware of the uncomfortableness between his thighs. The fabric sticking to his skin.
“Take your clothes off.”
Following his words, there’s a moment of awful silence where the temperature of the room seems to plummet and everything comes to a stop around him. And then Chu Wanning’s brain snaps to autopilot mode, his arms move by themselves, obeying the man’s words without him even being able to think about what he’s doing. He undresses in the dim light of the living room, when he slips the last of his clothing—his shirt—off, his hands are trembling.
He thinks it’s worse than usual, standing in the middle of such an open space with the moonlight at his back and being scrutinised by Mo Ran’s dark gaze—he feels more exposed than being naked, even if the sheer, lacy bralette and matching panties he’s wearing means he theoretically is not. Either way, the humiliation makes his face heats up until it feels like he’s being burned from the inside, his scalp numbing when Mo Ran runs a hand up his thigh.
Mo Ran’s hand trails up his torso and eventually finds his nipple, peaked in the chill air of the room, and presses down hard over the lace. “You’re getting used to it, aren’t you? Were you going to wear this to sleep?”
“I—I wasn’t—” He whispers, shivering at his touch. Despite how the fabric is surprisingly soft against his skin, Chu Wanning simply can’t get used to having something tight under his clothes (he doesn’t know how women manage), and even though he’s not particularly well endowed, the panties barely manages to hold him and hardly covers anything at the back, and it makes him uncomfortable.
“No? So why were you so confident tonight, going around left and right to seduce my colleagues? How dare you act like such a little pervert when you’re around my children?”
“Stop—” Chu Wanning flails in his hold in an attempt to escape, but Mo Ran’s hand locks around his wrist, jerking him forwards until he falls into his lap.
“I don’t have any more patience for you, A-Ning. You have no idea how hard it was for me to control myself earlier—how hard it was to not drag you back into the house and fuck you while all the guests were still outside.” A hand on the back of his head, twisting into his hair and pressing his face against Mo Ran’s crotch, where something hot and hard is straining against his shorts. “Now get on with it. If you do a good job, I’ll let you off easy,”
Chu Wanning clumsily pries open the button and zipper, pulling the garment down enough for the massive length to spring out. He latches onto his cock and gingerly sucks at the tip before taking him fully into his mouth. When Mo Ran is in one of these moods, no amount of struggling is going to convince him to stop. It’s best to just get it over with. Chu Wanning concentrates on not gagging, flattening his tongue like Mo Ran taught him to in order to make more space. His cheeks bulge with effort, and trails of saliva start to escape from his lips.
“You’ve gotten so much better at sucking cock, A-Ning.” Mo Ran sighs as he bobs his head up and down, building up a rhythm as best he can. Muscular thighs tense under his hands. “You’re still not great, of course, but you’ve come a long way from that abysmal first attempt.”
Chu Wanning almost flinches at that unwanted comment. But Mo Ran isn’t exactly lying, is he? He had gotten better at everything when it comes to sex, as much as he loathes to acknowledge. Still, it’s not like those changes came willingly, it’s all due to Mo Ran’s threats and blackmail that he had to delve into that forbidden territory and force himself to learn what he likes, how to please him.
The first time…Which one had it been again? Apart from the incident between them before the beginning of summer, during that business trip aboard when Mo Ran came onto him—assaulted him—in their holiday home, Chu Wanning’s memories of Mo Ran’s advances had all blurred into one in his mind. He took him after Chu Wanning put the kids to sleep, walking in on him during the shower, hiding him under his desk at work, in the car, against the dining table, in the bed he shared with Song Qiutong, at the luxurious hotels Mo Ran sometimes took them to.
Those were the only times when Chu Wanning was more enthusiastic to agree. In fact, he would even beg Mo Ran that if they were going to have sex, he should take them somewhere away from the house. Because at least then he didn’t have to worry about the possibility of Song Qiutong—or god forbid—one of the children discovering their affair.
Chu Wanning doesn’t want to ruin their marriage. He doesn’t want Heli and Xinyue to grow up in a broken household. So he convinces Mo Ran to rent out hotel suites so they could have more privacy during their trysts.
He knows how ridiculous it sounds.
It came at a price, privacy and time would result in Mo Ran tormenting him all night long. Chu Wanning would wake up tangled in white streaked sheets as the grey light filtering through satin curtains painted a scene of his grim aftermath. The ropes, the toys, the outfits, Mo Ran lacing his wine with something that made him cry and beg for him. The memories of those nights painting the backs of his eyelids and could fuel his dreams for months.
“You’re getting hard again,” Mo Ran shifts his leg to rest between his legs, nudging at his filling cock with a slippered foot.
It’s just a conditioned reaction at this point, his body so used to Mo Ran’s invasion and skilful touch that even mere memories can make him aroused. He searches for the pleasure on instinct even as his brain is in agony over the implications. It’s evident in the way his hips automatically twitch, searching for any friction to relieve the building pressure between his thighs.
“You’re just so damn desperate for it, aren’t you? I’ll give you what you want.” Chu Wanning lets out a muffled cry as Mo Ran’s foot exerts force, stepping down on his erection “Can you come like this, A-Ning? You’ve done it before, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
The friction against the slipper eases the heat between his legs bit by bit as he rocks against it. The heady scent of Mo Ran under his nose, the veins on his shaft ribbing under his tongue, his foot pressing against his dick. It’s all just so, so much. When Chu Wanning comes, he flinches and coughs, throat trying to close around the unnatural intrusion. He tries to pull away as Mo Ran groans and warm, bitter fluid explodes at the back of his mouth, but Mo Ran fists his hair and forces him against his groin, and it has nowhere to go but down.
“Ah…Be a good boy and swallow it all,”
Chu Wanning forcibly chokes down the rest, taking several deep, strained inhales to avoid retching. When Mo Ran lets him go, he pulls away with a wet pop and immediately falls into a violent coughing fit. He sits with his head lowered, hiding his tear-stained face and wiping the spit from his face with the back of his hand, shifting against the uncomfortable dampness between his legs. When he speaks again, his voice is a timid rasp.
“I…Did as you asked…Again, so…Can you delete it now?”
Mo Ran is silent for a moment before his face breaks out into a wicked smirk, and Chu Wanning already knows what he’s going to say.
“It’s about this again, hm?”
Chu Wanning wants to scream in frustration.
Of course it’s about this, everything is about this—the photo of Chu Wanning splayed on his bed that he took without his consent during their first time together—and he knows—Mo Ran knows—so why is he asking? This situation has played out a million times, no matter how many absurd requests Chu Wanning puts up with, the end result is always the same—stalling, casual dismissals, sharp veers from the topic—Mo Ran never keeps his promises. As he’s yanked upwards roughly by the wrist, he wonders why he’s still falling for it after so many times, wonders why he still has hope.
“Tell me, why should I, when you were behaving so outrageously the party earlier, A-Ning?” He forces two fingers past Chu Wanning’s lips, prodding around the cavity and gathering wetness. Once satisfied, he reaches downwards, and Chu Wanning feels the fabric of the panties being lifted to one side. He gives a full body jerk when two long fingers are shoved into him.
“It might not necessarily be your fault, but even when you’re not doing anything, you manage to seduce the men around you. I suppose it just comes to you naturally,” Faint squelching noises as Mo Ran pumps the digits in and out, his voice low and husky. “Fuck. You’re still so loose and sloppy from this morning, I don’t even need to lube you up again.”
Chu Wanning is prepared for it—he always is—when Mo Ran sinks him down on his cock with a firm hand on his hip, but that doesn’t mean he’s always in the right headspace to fully control his reactions, especially when Mo Ran immediately begins manhandling him with a furious pace, slamming his hips against his ass. He cries out and slumps against Mo Ran’s body, a much more convenient position for Mo Ran to slam his hips against his ass.
“Sit up straight, A-Ning. Show me your face.” A harsh grip pinching his jaw and forcing him away from the warm embrace when he doesn’t comply immediately. “Look at me.”
Chu Wanning reluctantly obeys and puts all his efforts into not making any more noise as Mo Ran’s cock drags against his oversensitive walls. It’s embarrassing when they’re face to face like this; his face scrunched up in an odd way, red and sweaty, covered in remains of Mo Ran’s release. The man doesn’t seem to care that much, because he frowns and attacks his lips, a rough clash of tongue and teeth against his own open, unmoving ones, a shimmery string of saliva connecting lips when they part. Then he roughly grasps the band of the bralette and lifts it up before leaning down to bite and suck at his chest.
“Ah—d—don’t—” He’s too harsh, and it hurts.
“…What should I do with you, A-Ning?” Brows are furrowed in concentration, deep in muse, running his hands across his waist, over his ribs and stroking his sternum. “You’re such a little slut that I can’t even have you showing your face in front of anyone. Maybe I should just lock you up in your room, chain you to the bed so you can’t leave…What do you think of that?”
Chu Wanning can’t answer. His hands are on his ass, kneading the flesh as he slides Chu Wanning up and down his cock. He imagines it, tied up and hidden away from the world, and Mo Ran is the only person who will come to see him every night to torture him—No, he would never want that. It’s nightmarish, it’s unnatural—
Every brush of Mo Ran against his insides feels unbearable.
“You’d like that, hm? Look at you, fucking yourself on my cock like a good little whore.”
He doesn’t realise when it happened, but his hips are now making downward, kittenish movements to meet Mo Ran’s thrusts, seeking for more, taking him deeper. He gets so agitated at Mo Ran’s filthy words—when he labels him a slut—he wants to deny it furiously. But when he’s like this, spread open in Mo Ran’s lap with the man’s cock carelessly shoved past his panties, reduced to a moaning and panting mess, he feels too ashamed to even try to dispute him.
He squeals when Mo Ran suddenly presses their bodies together to lay him down on the couch, the manoeuvre and shift in angle causing his cock to go deeper than it’s ever been. “Shit…You just squeezed me so tightly.” Mo Ran grunts and folds him in half, the back of his legs against his shoulders.
His hands have a vice grip on his waist, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of his abdomen and stroking it in contemplation. In this folded position, through his half lidded eyes, Chu Wanning can clearly see the small bump forming on his lower belly from the massive thing shoved inside him, as well as said thing pistoning in and out of his hole, red and puffy from trying to take it inside.
He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to look anymore.
He wishes he could just stop feeling and dissociate himself from the situation, but Mo Ran is not someone who can simply be ignored, after all. Besides, he’s always vying for Chu Wanning’s attention, forcing Chu Wanning to heed him in whatever way that pleases him when he doesn’t get his way. Like now, Chu Wanning’s eyes snap open when Mo Ran wraps a hand around his throat.
“Pay attention, A-Ning.”
And so he has to, through his eyes which feel like they’re going to explode, a vein throbbing in his forehead. Mo Ran’s muscular forearm and unbuttoned shirt taking up his field of view, sweat gleaming on his collarbone, hair falling over deep obsidian eyes, his hand and his comforting scent and his cock moving inside him, making him so full and hot and content as muscles tense and pleasure shoots up his spine with every thrust.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
He wishes it would stop feeling so good.
“I can’t believe you just…Showed up at my door one day. I keep thinking, how did I get so lucky? But then I realise that you could have just been as likely to have ended up somewhere else…In someone else’s hands…And it drives me mad. You’re mine now, A-Ning, don’t you ever think about leaving me. I’ll ruin your life,”
His vision darkens, the edge of the abyss filled with twinkling stars. “…Won’t,” He slurs. It’s a lie. It’s a lie. More tears slide down his cheeks.
The hand on his neck disappears, and Mo Ran gives him a greedy, slobbering kiss, stealing his air when he tries to gasp for it. The dim orange light from the kitchen lamps cast their shadows moving in tandem, lewd, wet noises coming from their coupling, barely audible to Chu Wanning over the sound of his own ah, ah, ah’s and the couch—creaking so loudly Chu Wanning worried if they’re going to break it.
When he reaches the edge again, his body is overtaken by sheer exhaustion, and he lies there boneless as Mo Ran manhandles him like a rag doll to seek his own pleasure. Chu Wanning doesn’t know how much more of this he can take, working long hours that drain his physical and emotional energy while getting fucked twice a day, bent into all sorts of unconventional positions as guilt eats away at him. His back hurts.
With a few more stuttering thrusts, Mo Ran empties himself inside his body, his uneven breath hot against his ear, the warmth spreading in his gut familiar and oddly comforting. Chu Wanning knows he’s going to have to spend extra time trying to clean himself out after. It didn’t used to be like this, at the start, Mo Ran would use condoms while fucking him because it was a lot easier to clean up the evidence. It was only after a night of social gathering—one similar to this—that Mo Ran took him without one, and it’s been like this ever since. It’s all your fault, he said. Until this day, Chu Wanning still doesn’t know what he did wrong.
Mo Ran blames him for a lot of things, and Chu Wanning has no choice but to silently endure those injustices because he wants Mo Ran to delete the blackmail. But there’s always a small part of him that genuinely wants to indulge Mo Ran, to fix things and do all that he can to make it better, and Chu Wanning doesn’t like thinking about why that might be the case.
It’s not important, after all.
Mo Ran is married. He has a wife and kids, and Chu Wanning is just a convenient toy he picked up to play with; he’s already made that very clear.
When Chu Wanning first fell for Mo Ran, he was aware that his fantasies were just that, and he never wanted it to go further in any way. Maybe in another lifetime, Chu Wanning would be able to love what Mo Ran is doing to him—love him—too. His feelings simply manifested for the wrong person at the wrong time, and that’s all there is to it.
None of it matters.
He only needs to focus on one thing—everything he’s endured for so far for, the ultimate goal of his actions—to get Mo Ran to delete the picture—If he could just convince Mo Ran to erase it, he would be freed from the ties of this household, he would be free to leave.
(Even as day by day, he’s slowly realising that the picture might be the tip of the iceberg of things that Mo Ran holds over him. But it’s still a physical object, a checkpoint in the long path to his freedom, and if he doesn’t have something small to work towards, he thinks he might lose his mind.)
“You’re leaking everywhere, A-Ning. Your hole is so small that you can’t even hold it all in after I come once.” Mo Ran gently elevates Chu Wanning’s hips, long fingers gathering the wetness escaping from his entrance and firmly shoving it back in. “I already told you to put more effort into keeping it all in. How else is it going to take?”
He thinks he’s already losing his mind.
It’s not like he hasn’t thought about going to the police, but Chu Wanning knows how this story will end, Mo Ran has infinite amounts of resources and influence compared to him— and he can struggle and fight, but it’ll be like trying to climb up a vertical mountain with grease-covered hands. In the end, he’ll come crashing down with nothing to show for it.
Sexual misconduct on a nannying job is no joke, A-Ning. He had said to a teary Chu Wanning a few days after the incident in their holiday home, after Chu Wanning booked his own plane ticket to fly back into the country early. He had just returned from an appointment with an academic advisor at his university about cancelling his gap year plans, and when Chu Wanning opened the door of his accommodation—a flat he shared with his roommate—he found Mo Ran sitting on the couch, face sealed with an indiscernible emotion and wearing a suit that made him look incredibly out of place. When Chu Wanning refused to go with him, he dropped onto him the photo which had so very quickly become the bane of his existence. I’ll make sure you’re never able to get a job again. Come back, A-Ning, the kids miss you so much.
He missed them too. He’s grown too attached to those children, which makes what he’s doing with Mo Ran so much worse. He thinks of Heli’s laugh, Xinyue’s annoyed whine when Chu Wanning won’t give him ice cream before dinner. Even Song Qiutong, who was never malicious towards him despite her palpable distain. His life has turned into a big joke—he’s…A homewrecker. He fits comically into the cliché role of villainous homewreckers from trashy romance dramas and nightmare online anecdotes.
Like clockwork, his thoughts circle back to the thing that always makes him break down in the end. Xue Zhengoyng—his kind, magnanimous elderly professor—empathetic and supportive towards his situation and bringing about such a great opportunity for him. Chu Wanning imagines what his face would look like if he found out how much of a mess Chu Wanning made in his nephew’s household—and he wants to dig himself into a pit and never emerge again.
“What are you crying for?” Mo Ran asks with a laugh when he sees Chu Wanning’s shoulders start to shake. He’s hard again, his cock flushed and wet as it stands between his legs. He’s using Chu Wanning’s abdomen as a drip tray to catch the sticky smears of semen to prevent it from staining the couch.
“Ah…You can’t anymore…” He pleads softly as Mo Ran rolls the ruined underwear down his thighs. He can feel the massive length pressing against his thigh before poking against his entrance. With as much force as he can muster (which is still barely above a whisper), “Don’t, I have to get up early tomorrow—Heli has a dance class—”
“I’ll take her,”
Chu Wanning gasps when Mo Ran plunges back in once more, meeting little resistance against his wet and swollen rim. He knows they’re going to be at it all night.
The guilt is eating him alive.