The day of reckoning dawned bright and cheery, the sunlight strong enough that it made a mockery of the hard-earned reputation of Westhope’s typical spring weather. Xi, like many other unfortunate Westhope residents, smiled at the sunlight in the morning, cursed at his failing air conditioner in the afternoon, and felt nothing but utter relief once the sun finally began to go down.

He did the usual pre-fuckdate things. Showered, but hastily, because he’d likely get sweaty enough on the subway that he’d want to shower again at the other end. Primping and choosing what to wear didn’t take very long, half because Xi couldn’t help but be aware that Captain Jiong had seen him in everything from ratty beige singlets to pyjama tops with hideous ducks on, and half because he was once again quite convinced that dealing with Jiong face to face would stave off any chance that Xi would need to worry about if his flabby self looked good enough in this particular style of boxers.

He told Janey, and then, on second thought, Bertram, where he was going. In Bertram’s case, he neglected to indicate just who he was tentatively planning to fuck at said hotel, just because he knew how much shit he’d get if it became apparent that it was that MrJiong, the one Bertram, aka Fan B, had lately been developing a semi-serious rivalry with.

In a way, their rivalry had been inevitable from the very moment Captain Jiong did his best to try and buy out the mixed bun sets at the big bun event a couple months ago. Bertram, though usually not the kind of person that derived an intrinsic joy in whaling and flashing cash on stream, had a self-instituted tradition of blowing his (admittedly quite large) monthly fun fund on baked goods whenever possible. He didn’t just do that on Xi’s stream, either; he was moderately well known for that kind of laser-focused whaling amongst a certain kind of foodie streamer.

Bertram’s stream was itself a fortnightly affair, an irregular occurrence with a low view count and a handful of subs. He broadcast a mishmash of clips of himself opening and eating and commenting on the baked goods that had caught his fancy that month, and occasionally roped in his mother, an even stricter judge of quality, in order to decide which cake or bun or pastry had topped the charts this time. Though low on views, his stream VODs were diced up and widely shared around by fans of the streamers, bakeries and patisseries that he sourced his treats from, and Bertram took it as a point of pride that his VOD channel was a significant generator of traffic to many popular foodie streams.

For his efforts to prosper, Bertram required at least three or four copies of the baked goods he reviewed. Even when his mother didn’t feature on stream, she demanded a share of the haul, and showcasing interesting fillings sometimes required the sacrifice of one or more of each pastry. And of course there had to be a couple extras left over for him to savour, or, in Bertram’s words, what would be the ever-loving fucking point?

Captain Jiong had placed before him a mighty roadblock during Xi’s big bun event; instead of his usual harvest of two bun six-packs and a couple additional two-packs, i.e. around four buns of each type, Bertram had only managed to snag one six-pack and one two-pack, and he had been furious at being reduced to /rolling and hoping for the best. Annoyed, he’d taken to doing his best to troll MrJiong in Xi’s chat whenever feasible, spending money now and then to hoist the flag of the anti-jiong cause.

Never mind how successful said flag-hoisting was—personally, Xi felt the only effect was to popularize jiongjiong disease by making sure everyone in the chat knew exactly what it was—it was Bertram’s determined effort, and thus something not to be criticized unless he was in a receptive mood. The right mood meant he would storm and sneer and whine but would take what you said to heart, and the wrong mood meant he would listen in quiet and become extremely determined to specifically flout your advice.

Needless to say, Bertram’s current mood was the last thing Xi wanted to be thinking of as he entered the lobby of the hotel he and Captain Jiong were to meet at. However…

“Small fucking world, hey?” Bertram said, brightly, having long since spotted Xi at the entrance and tagged along on the way in. “I thought you’d already be in a room by now. Is lover boy late?”

“Oh my god, Bertie, don’t ask,” the woman that had drifted in alongside him said, nudging him in the side. From the way he winced and mock-glared at her, it had been a pretty solid hit. “Look how nervous he already is, d’you think he really wants to worry about whether his amour will be standing him up?”

“Hey, hey, how’s it me who’s bad for asking, eh?” Bertram cried out. “I only said he might be late; you’re the one that has him fucking ditching our Xi.”

“Well, but if he’s late, doesn’t it usually follow that—”

“Xi?” As if by magic, that warm, smooth voice was only just loud enough to be heard over both Bertram and his lady love’s spirited, silly argument. “I’m not too late, am I?”

Xi turned around immediately, half relieved, half anxious that something else would go wrong if he didn’t collect up the captain and spirit him away before he could give vent to any suspicious behaviours. However, instead of loudly, cheerily greeting him while simultaneously reaching out to tow him off toward the lifts, Xi instead found himself momentarily dumbstruck.

The words that had once given away his embarrassing crush on this man suddenly seemed all too appropriate; against the motherfxxing heavens was Captain Jiong’s appearance to the nth degree. Cap and hoodie were still in effect, but were worn over a crisp blue shirt and dark, avidly expensive-looking jeans. As he came to a stop right in front of Xi, he was stripping off sleek leather gloves, an action that made Xi both hungry and regretful. Hungry because my god, those hands, those fingers, and regretful because Xi really would have liked to be the one performing that glorious service, whether with hands or teeth…

“Oh, my,” the woman said. “Come on then, B, let’s not be gooseberries, come on, come on.”

“But I,” Bertram protested, even as he very easily let his lover drag him off by the collar, “what, I can’t even say hi?” Naturally, the moment he was well out of the captain’s line of sight, he grinned, giving Xi the most obnoxious thumbs-up known to man, and then followed it up with an exaggerated ‘ok’ sign, as if the previous gesture could possibly have been missed. “Catch you later, Xixi!”

Fuck off, Xi very much wanted to say, but because Captain Jiong was there and Very Tall and smiling down at him, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but smile back. And then say, without quite meaning to, quite like the biggest fucking lecher in the whole universe: “Shall we go up?”

“Yes, please.” Somehow, those two simple words made Xi flush all over. “After you.”

“Mmm, right.” Jesus fucking Christ, I sound like a fucking robot, and I’m already half-hard, this is unbelievable. But Xi’s searing feeling of embarrassment didn’t stop him from swanning into the nearest unoccupied lift and instructing it to take them to their pre-booked room. He felt somehow as if his limbs weren’t all fitting together; god only knew how he managed the walk in and the lean against the back wall with what he thought was a decent amount of grace.

Next to Captain Jiong’s somewhat rolling stride, Xi felt his own to be somehow mincing, but as always, feeling inferior only made him play up his usual mannerisms. He didn’t know whether or not it was a mistake. He didn’t quite dare look directly at the good captain, either, which was ten different kinds of stupid. You’re not sixteen anymore, Xi told himself, but still couldn’t manage to drag his gaze any higher than Captain Jiong’s broad, blue-shirted chest, or, more accurately, Captain Jiong’s solid thighs.

“Cold feet?”

“Hmm?” Xi finally looked up, seeking to meet the other man’s gaze, only to immediately feel like he could have done very well without it. Teasing didn’t fully describe the look in Captain Jiong’s eyes, or the expression on his solid, reliable face; it was the first time that Xi really empathized with poor Claire and her constant raging against the man’s duplicity. “You—obviously I’m not—”

“Is it really obvious?” Captain Jiong said, lifting his eyebrows, his tone now puzzled, his expression decidedly not. “You won’t even look me in the eye, what else am I supposed to think?”

There was something really quite frightening about how—now whiny he could make the latter half of that sound, just by using a slightly louder voice, lifting his tone at the end and furrowing his brow just so. Those words, those bloody words were nothing more and nothing less than the purest distillation of jiong, the exact sort of thing that wouldn’t sound surprising spat out of MrJiong’s mouth, and the worst thing was, Xi couldn’t even find anything in them to pick on as too embarrassing to be said in public.

“You,” he found himself saying, helplessly, “you’re really always like this?” Just saying those words made Xi feel like he’d already lost; when Jiong shifted over to stand deliberately close to him, he didn’t know how to react. “Can you not…”

“If Xi-er really wants me to stop,” was the low, teasing answer, “jiongjiong can stop.”

What the fuck was this guy’s voice, huh? Was it some kind of god-level bug?? Why, at a time like this, hearing that kind of thing, from a tall, solid, unmistakable man, was stupid Xiao Xi standing up like a fucking pillar??!

“Disgusting,” Xi found himself saying, his tone so harsh and hoarse that he may as well have just swooned unto the captain’s arms directly. “God, I can’t believe I’m actually fucking going to do this with trash like you.” The warmth of Jiong’s body being so close to his was already too distracting; when the other man lifted his hand to brush the backs of his fingers against the side of Xi’s neck, it felt like a brand and a provocation all at once. “Don’t.”

“Oh? But—”

“Save it for the fucking room,” Xi snapped, only to find himself somewhere between disappointed and irritated when the captain withdrew his hand. “Oh what, now you’ll listen to me?”

“It’s no problem,” was the infuriatingly normal reply. “We’re almost at the room, aren’t we?” Naturally, that was the very moment the treacherous lift chose to shiver to a halt. “See?”

Things only went downhill from there. They reached the room all right, but instead of going in like a normal couple, or perhaps only kissing or fondling each other for a few breathless moments before opening the room door, they ended up—Xi ended up half-crushed, half-fainting against the cool metal of the door, biting down on the inside of his own palm to keep from moaning too loudly as he came all over the captain’s hot, hard hands.

It had begun as flirting, the captain following Xi too closely, then hugging him from behind, his treacherous hands stroking up and down Xi’s front. Then his hands moved all the way down to squeeze Xi’s cock, and there went any chance of getting the stupidly archaic door lock to cooperate.

“Can I?” Captain Jiong’s voice was even lower than normal, and though his fingers were still teasing the slick head of Xi’s twitching, sensitive cock, the way he was pressing his own erection right up against Xi’s arse made it clear what he was asking for. “I can lick you.”

“I-inside,” Xi managed to say. Somehow the stupid door finally cooperated, hissing open just at the wrong time, so that he stumbled forward and fell, rolling clumsily to minimize the impact. “Shit!”

“You—fuck, are you okay?”

“No, I’m just—the door—are you seriously fucking laughing? Whose fucking fault—”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” was the strained answer, followed by, instead of a hand up, or any other kind of sensible, appropriate assistance, Captain Jiong sinking to his knees to pounce on Xi’s prone, sprawling form. Xi, annoyed that even this mercenary behaviour couldn’t kill his arousal, tried his very best to kick the captain in the thigh or the knee, only to end up halfway in the captain’s lap, being fondled and fingered until his toes curled. “That alright?”

“You kn-know it is, you jiongjiong fuck,” Xi said, breathlessly. He was so glad he’d prepared himself beforehand, he didn’t know how in god’s name he’d have borne more than a little bit of this sort of teasing. The captain had fairly average-sized fingers, but the way he used them—the force, the varying speed, the way he would curl them a bit, now and then, pressing in just the right spot, but not enough, not enough… “I fucking hate you.”

“You know,” Captain Jiong said, his voice still hoarse, his tone mockingly serious, “I really would be okay with you calling me Mike, if you want.”

Now he was working his fingers in and out of Xi’s clenching asshole even more slowly, in and out and deep in again, and Xi was fast losing patience. “Can you please just fucking get on with it?”

“How can I possibly manage that, with you like this?” His wicked fingers twisted deep inside Xi, rubbing that spot again and again. “Look at you. Look how hard you are again already.”

“I’m…” Xi hardly knew if he were trying to defend himself or not. By now, the captain had forced him to spread his thighs wide, and was looking down over his shoulder, and even with Xi’s belly and untucked shirttails in the way, there was no way to miss the slick, purplish tip of Xi’s newly vigorous erection standing up from the fly of his haphazardly unzipped jeans. “Please…”

“All right,” was the shockingly sudden answer, and before Xi quite knew what was happening, Captain Jiong had moved the two of them, half dragging, half shoving Xi over to the bed. Xi had just enough time to register that he was being stripped of his jeans and forced onto his hands and knees before he felt the captain’s hands squeezing and spreading his arse cheeks, exposing his hole completely. “Mmm.”

“W-wait, I—ah—nhn—” Feeling the captain’s hot, wet tongue there was a tremendous shock. It was—it felt immeasurably filthy. Xi trembled, and heard himself moan long and low, like the shameless whore he felt he was, no, knew he was, at this moment. They’d barely even kissed, and now, they probably wouldn’t, because Xi was a picky fucking hypocrite like that, loving the feel of a semi-stranger’s tongue in his arse but not wanting to deal with the aftermath. “I’m… I’ll, I’m almost—”

For answer, the captain withdrew his tongue, then pressed a hot, wet, lewd-feeling kiss against Xi’s twitching hole. “Do you think you can take me now?” he said, his voice low. Concerned, in a way Xi could barely get the wits to make sense of. “I don’t know, I think you need a little more.”

“N-no! No, I—ah!” Now there was lube as well, and it was warm and slick, and instead of a teasing tongue, there were now three thick fingers, and they were just lightly pressing in. Nowhere near enough. “Please…”

“I don’t know what you want.”

“You—you fucker.” Cursing at him was entirely ineffective; the way Xi’s voice broke on nearly every word made it sound like begging instead, and he’d already done that, and it hadn’t helped. “Please!”

“Please, what?”

Xi was shaking, half with rage, half with a searing mixture of pleasure and pain and tortured expectation. He wanted—he needed to be fucked, and here was this fucking, this jiong motherfucker trying to make him lower his head and beg for it. “You fuck,” he heard himself whimper. “If—i-if you don’t, if you don’t fucking do it, I’ll kill you.”

All that prompted from his tormentor was a brief, slightly breathless chuckle. “That’s more like it,” the captain said, shifting back, withdrawing his fingers just as slowly and tortuously as he had first inserted them. “You want me inside you, then?”

Wordlessly, Xi rocked back against him, desperate to feel more of that hot, thick cock. It was going to hurt a bit if it happened now, if the evil captain finally put Xi out of his misery and crammed his arse with that cock, but he needed it. Xi could already imagine the slight burn, the fullness, the pressure; he hated Jiong for holding out so easily, ignoring his desperate writhing in favour of squeezing his arse and reaching up to unbutton his shirt and twist at his nipples. “Fucking just… if you’re only going to—to feel up my fucking tits—”

“Honestly, I’d really like to give them a nice, hard suck,” Captain Jiong said, punctuating those low, heated words with pointed squeezes, “but I really can’t put this off anymore, can I?”

The first stroke was bliss, just bliss. So much sweet pressure, filling Xi up just right. “Fuck, but you’re tight,” Captain Jiong murmured. “Mmm…”

Xi sobbed, arching back into the next deep, slow stroke, and the next, and the next. Each time Jiong thrust in, he took advantage, reaching around to twist a nipple or give Xi’s stiff, aching cock a brief, teasing tug. Gradually, his thrusts sped up, until their momentum together was unmistakable, making the bed shift and creak beneath them.

Xi could barely breathe. The captain was going at him so thoroughly now, with rapid, shallow strokes, as if he feared that letting up would mean Xi wriggling out of reach. As if he couldn’t tell that that was the last thing on Xi’s mind right now, if only from the way Xi kept letting out half-swallowed moans.

“Aren’t—hgh—aren’t you glad I made you wait?” Captain Jiong leaned in behind him, his panting breaths hot against the back of Xi’s neck. “Think how much this’d sting, if I hadn’t been got you so open and wet.”

“Fucking shut up,” Xi couldn’t help but snarl, so far beyond his tether that he’d have given the other man a slap if he could get the breath or the steady hands to manage it. It was still so good, so fucking good that he knew he was kidding himself, he knew that if he’d been on his back and taking it and well within reach to slap Jiong’s stupid serious face, he’d just have ended up trying to pull him down closer instead.

A sudden change of pace was the last straw. Four deep thrusts, each one pounding in at just the right spot, had Xi clenching and spilling all over the wrinkled bedsheets, gasping and sobbing as he did so. Jiong didn’t slow down even an iota, and he didn’t stop those cruelly precise strokes, that relentless rubbing of Xi’s prostate, and soon, Xi found himself arching back again, crying out as his aching, half-erect cock spilled again, spattering more sticky liquid onto the existing mess between his widely spread knees.

“That enough?” All right, there was that urge to punch Jiongjiong again, to just reach out and thoroughly, no, vigorously slap him…! “Is it enough for my Xi-er?”

“Shut up,” Xi sobbed, but already his treacherous heart wasn’t in it. How the hell could it feel good to hear that, when he knew it was only the usual joke, only the usual attempt to get under his skin? But there was something in Captain Jiong’s low, somewhat breathless voice, something that wasn’t quite just teasing, but also a genuine desire to know. A desire to please. “Y-you bastard, finish up already.”

“Xi-er wants something that dirty?” This was clearly teasing too, but still—somehow—“Xi-er wants my filthy cum in his arse?”

“Y-yes.” Surely it wouldn’t hurt to play along just this once. “Yes, please.”

The captain groaned. “You’ll have to help,” he murmured. “Wring me out.”

“I—I can’t.”

“You want me to fill your arse, don’t you? Don’t you want it?”

The truth was, Xi was already doing it, helplessly squeezing down around the now slow, steady intrusion within him. It felt bigger like that, and he was almost—shamefully—back to being hard again, his cursed heritage picking just the wrong time to betray him.

“That’s it,” Captain Jiong said, hoarsely. “Help me fill you up—ungh, fuck…” His thrusts sped up, breaking out of their former, steady rhythm, his hands tightening their grip on Xi’s hips. He bent in close, so close that Xi could feel his final, telling shiver. “Mmm. So fucking good.”

“You didn’t need to take that fucking long,” Xi complained, weakly. At least he wasn’t all the way hard again, just clearly half-hard, so he didn’t look like a complete liar. “Wait, w-what are you—nnh—”

“I’m supposed to just ignore this?” Jiong said, his voice rough, his molesting hands right back where they’d started out at the beginning of this filthy journey of theirs, teasing and stroking Xi’s slick, over-sensitized cock. “You expect me to believe you don’t need it again?”

“I’ll…” But Xi couldn’t finish his complaint that he would just be made even more sore, because he could feel the slow, marked thickening of Jiong’s cock inside him. “Fine,” he spat, though it only really came out as an indignant, broken whisper. “I need it. I fucking need it.”

“Good that you know,” Jiong murmured, and somehow, again, the smugness of that statement just fed into Xi’s contrary arousal, stoking his shameless need even higher. “That’s it, just like that, Xi. So tight now, you’re so fucking tight…”