Archive of Our Own

He wakes up with his cheek on Chan’s thigh and Chan’s cock resting on his tongue.

For long, honey-slow seconds, he thinks Chan moved him, pulled him on the bed and used the defencelessness of his sleep to stuff his mouth. His entire body warms at that, at being picked up and carefully used, before he remembers that he was the one who sought out Chan, found him resting against the headboard and crawled to his crotch, desperate and dizzy. It hadn’t taken long for him to drift off, eyes and mind as heavy as they have been recently, and with tender fingers at his nape the tension in his shoulders had blurred, too.

The day hadn’t been long but it had been overwhelming, first a meeting with way too many unimaginable demands, then a negotiating zoom call with oversee producers. His rehabilitation exercises took more effort and strain than usual and left him irritated rather than content with the resulting ache. He did destress a bit by playing Overwatch with Jeongin and Seungmin, though that had also started getting stressful eventually and then their teasing made him the awful kind of flustered, the kind where he wants to sulk or tell them to play without him if they don’t like his choices. In the past weeks there were plenty of decisions to make, important ones, those with longterm effects. Right now, he doesn’t have to decide anything. Doesn’t have to be anything, except a warm hole for Chan. All he has to do is keep his jaw loose and focus on his breathing. 

Way back when they had first tried this it was too thrilling for his heartbeat to slow and for him to fall asleep, he couldn’t stop wiggling, had to be trained. Had spent hours teething at his dildo, twisting it down his throat as he was using his other hand to clean his setup or type messages, sent Chan videos choking himself before demonstrating his progress on him the next day, measuring his pulse and following soothing exercises he was taught as a trainee. Together, they carved him into an effective cocksleeve, one that doesn’t disturb Chan or puts his needs above his, and now he gets to be that. It’s exhilarating, he still feels as slutty as in the beginning, tucked between Chan’s legs like this, so needy for touch that even receiving it offhandedly settles his restlessness. He likes that pleasing a man has this impact on him, especially after he understood the science behind it, learned about the nerve that leads from the back of his throat into the bottom of his spine, tells his system to relax when stimulated. It’s as if he was made for this, made to gag and splutter until his body accepts it and complies.

He suckles. Chan’s cock is not entirely hard, but that’s okay. Wonderful, even. There’s something lovely and comforting about that, about being in this in-between state, maybe because it means that they’re in no rush. They don’t have to worry about tomorrow. No matter how long he has been lying here for - and it must have been a while because his joints feel gooey and adhered to each other - there’s no obligation to get Chan off quickly because Chan will have an eye on the time. Chan is the one who sets the pace. Chan is the one who decides when either of them come. 

Nonetheless, it’s almost like verbal praise when a salty taste drizzles onto his tongue and Chan’s cock begins to fatten; like a whispered compliment except that there’s no way it’s faked or exaggerated, there’s nothing more veritable of Chan’s love and attraction to him than this silken pressure growing past the base of his tongue. 

The dull tapping, a sound he only registered now that it is gone, stops. Maybe he sighed or twitched or maybe Chan just knows him throughout. “Oh, Lix, you awake?” The light behind his lids becomes less blue, less bright . “Aaw, look at you. So pretty. Your face is so pink. Did you have nice dreams? You’re so cute, you were moaning.”

That makes him blush more. He doesn’t remember any specifics but there were fluffy clouds and a sunset and summer heat. 

“Yeah?” A finger outlines his brows and draws down his nose, around his parted lips. “Such a cute, messy boy.”

Embarrassment rushes to his ears, makes him pant. There is drool on his chin and a wet spot on Chan’s sweatpants that dampens his aching cheek. This is the flaw in all of this, he knows he gets gross, can only endure being looked at because he gets to make up for it. More spit slips out of him when he extends his tongue between his teeth and under Chan’s cock to accommodate its girth. That kindling finger prods into the corner of his mouth, angles into it and pulls lightly. He drools even more. “Look at that, so good, yeah? It’s so nice having you on my dick, Lixie. I love you, love you more than anything.”

Felix loves him too, so brightly and all-consumingly that it sometimes feels like there’s a little star burning and collapsing and revitalising in his chest. Gratefully, he sucks properly, makes it tighter and keeps inhaling steadily so he won’t let Chan down too quickly. The salt isn’t pungent, he never tastes too bitter or thick. And he smells so good as well, especially here and after a long day, slightly musky and sharp, trimmed pubes treasuring his sweat and twisting into tickling waves. He wants to be anointed with it until he can’t smell anything but Chan, until the burning in his chest flares into every limb.

Chan gasps, his thighs twitch, cage his sides. It causes his cock to bump into Felix’s palate and he gags a little, wetness welling in his tear ducts. Another gasp, then a soft laugh. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t expect you to do that. Thought you wanted to be still and obedient, hm? Are you getting a little worked up?”

The embarrassment squirms into his abdomen and urges him to straiten his suction, to lift up. Now that the sleep is flaking off of him, it’s difficult to ignore his own want, the throb in his own cock, leaking and chubbed up the second Chan spread his legs to make room for him earlier. It’s true, he’s so greedy for it, always is, but as much as he loves it and is proud of his improvement, there is always that tremor of shame, the nagging doubt whether this is right, whether he is dirty for the amount of his desire. Not everyone swims in bliss just because they’re having their mouth filled, servicing someone and being praised, and certainly not everyone thinks about it as much as he does, for as long as he has.  

A hand cards through his hair, scratches his scalp and paints a strand around his ear. It tickles but not enough to cause a shiver. His head gets tilted back, held gently but firmly between palms. "I'm gonna fuck your mouth now, okay, baby?"

That does cause the shiver — they want the same thing, they’re on the same wavelength all the time, Chan understands him so well, loves him so rigorously. He whines, relaxes his tongue, waits for his throat to be stretched and widened, patient because he wants to be good, open because that way it’s easiest for Chan to go deep. 

"You know I need you to look at me, c’mon.” His head is tipped back further, forced off Chan’s cock in a smooth angle, he’s been drooling so much that his lips glide easily, too easily, he can’t stop it. A sour puddle of remorse spreads in his tummy. “Look at me, Felix."

At first he doesn’t remember how to open his eyes. Wants to ask for help, but can’t and thus garbles his pleas, gags on his own spit.There’s just not enough energy in his facial muscles, all of them too lax. Another sob spills with more of his spit and he sounds pathetic even to his own itching ears and what must Chan think, who teases him about his brattiness and inclination to bawling whenever he can? 

“Still, it’s okay. Shh, little one.” He’s not allowed to stuff his mouth and choke his shame, firm thumbs under his cheekbones holding him back. “Baby, it’s alright. Can you feel this? Where I’m touching you?”

Emphatic taps on his temples, then dancing inward, under his brows and lower. “Right here. Yeah. Let daddy see your beautiful eyes, okay? You can do it. Ah. There you go. Hi, baby, hi.” 

Chan is so beautiful. The warm afternoon light brings a tan to his skin, a gleam to his eyes that are narrowed in fondness. It sits on his big nose and chiselled skin, outlines the heart of his upper lip. He is leaning forward, his hoodie loose, hair fluffy, flimsy curls haloing him, and he is the softest person in the world, the most handsome, the most important. No one will ever be as perfect. Felix feels a bit like crying. 

"Do you like this, having daddy's dick in your mouth, making me feel good?"

He likes it so much and he would nod if he could, would voice his gratefulness, but instead he whimpers, blinks slowly. 

“Yeah, I know you do. You’re such a good boy," Chan says and strokes beneath his lashes, rubs an escaping tear into his cheek. “Don’t close them, yeah? Keep looking at daddy. Wanna see you when I, when I do this-”

It’s all the preamble he gives before feeding Felix his cock again. One hand still holding the side of his head, the other pulling down his chin and keeping his lips parted. That would be insulting if it wasn’t so sure and authoritative. It has nothing to do with Felix, whether he’s able to please him on his own, but rather a reminder not to get too greedy again and he intends to honour that. So he contains his gagging, doesn’t flinch, only quivers, breathes and breathes and breathes through his tingling nose. It’s running a little but he sniffles, can’t be that dirty, not when they’ve just started. About half way, his throat contracts and won’t relax despite his desperate attempts, despite the countless times he has done this before. Guilt-ridden, he paws at Chan’s thighs, makes fists to will the pain away.

“Hey, hey, don’t force yourself, shh,” Chan says, tugs Felix’s bottom lip down. “That’s my job, isn’t it?” He laughs and blushes, so shy and yet he remains inside, right where it’s sore. 

Felix loves him so fucking much. 

“Ready? It’s not going to be nice anymore, baby, you understand?”

Oh. He knows what that means. The thrill nearly jolts him. Then he blinks with intent.  

Maybe he seems overeager because Chan giggles, his dimples popping. “Yeah? No more nice, you want daddy to be mean?”

Embarrassment extends into shame, it washes down his neck, drowns out the faint sensation that he needs to pee, the static in his leaden limbs. It’s hot and prickling because he does want Chan to be mean, cruel even. He’s always so supportive and kind and encouraging, except in those bursts when he is not, when he’s strict and irritable and demanding more than Felix is sure he can give. It made him cry in those first few months of knowing each other and it still does but the difference is that it makes him so fucking hard now, too. 

Chan laughs at him, rubs the warm curve of his ear. “It’s alright, baby, I know. Know you need it to hurt.” His words are hesitant, quiet, inquiring, as if it was the first time he’s said them. “Are you a little painslut, Lixie?”

There’s more giggles and somehow that makes it more intense, the fact that Chan is also flustered, that Chan is also still anxious to say it, to call him that even though they both know it’s true. All these years and all that intimacy and those early scoldings have led to Chan’s cock twitching on Felix’s tongue because they both want him to endure it. It’s so astonishing, how far they’ve got to come. He wants to curl up and cry, has to remind himself not to break eye contact, he’s not allowed to conceal his emotions when they do these things, one of the rules is that he has to keep looking until he physically can’t anymore. He blinks again. 

Chan bites his lip after he stops smiling. “Alright. Yeah. Let me – let me give you–” His grip on Felix’s chin tightens, fingers comb back into his hair, nails digging in, and then he pulls him down until his cock passes the resistance, fucks right through it. Immediately, his tears spill, his stomach lurches and his throat spasms and he can’t stop his sounds, can’t swallow, can’t see properly, but Chan doesn’t let up, slides in undeterred until he’s wrecked by nausea and unable to do anything but hang on.

"Shhh, shh, it's okay, you can take it, right? You can, you can.” Felix knows but also doesn’t, teeters on the edge of not knowing anything at all. “Fuck, your throat feels good.”

It burns though, his throat. Has it ever burned as much before? Probably. Chan has fucked it many times, has stuffed it with a dildo while he used his ass, has given him his fingers and toes, and naturally there have been concerts and colds that left it raw, so he’ll be fine, he’s so safe and in the most gentlest of hands, but it hurts and disorients him and he can’t get away. None of his squirming or coughing are helpful, he’s choking on his own spit and his own gasps and Chan’s fat cock pulsing inside him, jammed deep and he can’t get away. 

“Ten more seconds, baby, you’re doing so good.” Chan counts down but in the lower numbers Felix’s hearing dims and time stretches, his vision glitters, he’s tumbling, falling -  until his head is guided up again. As soon as his throat is free, he lunges for air, greedy and frantic, and ends up coughing more, tip of Chan’s cock bumping into his lip. He’s glad for the cupped palm to his cheek because he’d be flinching otherwise, nuzzles into it to calm himself, aligns his breathing with the rhythm of a stroking thumb. 

Once his lungs can expand and the white noise in his ears quietens, he gathers all his strength and croaks: “Thank you, daddy.”

Chan swears, all his giggling gone, and tugs him back onto his cock. Both his hands scrape into Felix’s hair, insistent and rigid at the back of it. Sparks burst down his spine where Chan’s fingers dig into his nape, his body is waking up, nerves alight, but his mind is increasingly hazy. His heartbeat echoes in his feet and in his arms and most of all under his tongue, his eyes and nose are prickling, his jaw cramps, but none of his thoughts stick. Even his worry for oxygen or the need to impress Chan are muffled, he couldn’t do anything about either anyway – Chan is the one who decides now, Chan knows best.

His own cock is so hot and swollen, sensitive because of the sheer amount of time it’s been hard, because of the faint undulations in his bladder. He’s used to holding it, working long hours on stage or set, so he can easily ignore it, even lean into the sensation a little to make himself believe it’s pleasant. Right now, it just intensifies the general pulsations in his body, that high he’s in whenever they get to do this, whenever he gets to be a slut for Chan. 

“Such good breath control, hm, Lixie? All that training and now you’re, ah fuck, still, be still, baby, such a nice and wet, f-fuck, I said be still -” Felix thought he was still but now he’s noticing his hands clutching onto Chan’s hips and his shoulders shaking and his neck tensing up. It’s because it’s hurting too much now, his throat will bruise, but that shouldn’t make him act up, he shouldn’t misbehave just because he’s uncomfortable. “If you can’t take it, then you know what to do, Lix. If not, behave. Hear me?”

“Please,” he whimpers, in the brief moment after he’s let up. “Please, please, can’t–”

There’s no patience or concern for his spluttering and trembling, he’s jerked back down. Wetness runs into his collar, uncomfortably cold, probably a mix of his saliva and tears and his snot, oh god, he can’t sniffle anymore, too useless, too used. Chan likes to watch him when he cries, teases and coos, and ducks into his vision just to prod at his cheeks, holds him tightly and listens with earnestness when it’s really bad, but he surely doesn’t want him to be disgusting like that, especially not when he’s supposed to be good and pretty. 

“You sound so-,” Chan falters, bites his lip, curls them aggressively. “Like you’re paid to do it, God, look at you, little–”

Felix wishes he could hide his face, wishes he was better, he feels like a cheap whore, like he’s inexperienced and at the mercy of bad men. But he can’t move and can’t lie to himself about the leaking in his pants and the beautiful snare of the fantasy. He imagines himself covered in come. He imagines himself covered in come that’s not just Chan’s because Chan decided to lend him out, decided he wanted to show him off, let others ruin him only to take him back and stutter praise like he does now. 

“Could look at you forever, want to take videos, would you like that? Would you like it if I filmed you like this, showed you how pink your lips get?”

He sobs before the next downstroke, does his best to show his affirmation through his eyes, wonders where Chan’s phone is right now, whom else he’d show the video to, if he’d brag about him, if he’d make fun of him. 

Chan doesn’t laugh, but his tone is smug. “Of course you would, a natural in front of the camera, aren’t you, baby? So photogenic, so pretty.”

That fullness in his bladder is actually a gracious distraction, exactly what prevents him from creaming himself. And that would be awful, he wouldn't just soil his pants, he’d probably leave stains in the sheets, and then Chan would have to make the bed or maybe wouldn’t, would make him sleep in the wet spot, in his own come. He’d confront him with his own sloppiness, his impurity; and maybe he’d get the other men to come on him, make him sleep covered in it, dirtied and put into place. 

He just wants to be good, he just wants Chan to love him, he just wants him to fuck him like this forever. 

Fingers stroke down his forehead, linger between his brows, tap sporadically over the bridge of his nose. “Remember the rules, Lixie. Look at daddy.” 

Even when he meets Chan's unwavering gaze, the dread and temptation won’t stop playing in his mind, they’ve settled into his body, it’s like he’s both here and there, dozens of hands all over him, groping and clawing and pulling him apart. 

“What’s going on in there, hm?” Chan's smiles and strokes his forehead. “Do you need it to hurt more? Yeah? I can do that for you, little boy, take a deep breath for me.”

As soon as he does, he’s back in Chan’s pubes, struggling, crying in pain and then those wandering fingers rub his nose and then they squeeze his nostrils shut and he can’t inhale and can’t exhale and his entire skull throbs, echoing with the rush of his blood and the panic buzzing in his ears. It’s not just his throat that burns now, it’s his entire chest, his spine, even the soles of his feet. Scraped open, bared for everyone to prod and dig into every crevice, examined and flattened by vicious eyes and bursting inside. He’s never going to breathe again. He’s never going to feel anything but this bursting pain. 

But then he does. Daddy unclasps his fingers and tugs him up by his numbing scalp, and euphoria twirls through him, relief expelling the fear as oxygen fogs his head. He gets to breathe and blink and see, feel his hot tears and his tight skin and his bloated abdomen and be reminded that he’s so very alive and held and taken care of by the love of his life. His head feels so heavy, like his spine is unable to raise it any longer, like his muscles forgot how to do so, so he rests it on Chan’s hip to share the weight, hears it welcomed with a coo and blunt nails in the dips under his skull. That’s good, will prevent his thoughts from swashing all over the place, spilling out of his ears, dripping into the mattress. 

“You took that so well, Lix.” He smiles, kisses over a tendon in Chan’s pelvis. “Thank you, baby. Keep breathing for me. Very good, so good.”

But like this he can hide his snot and tears, has to hope Chan doesn’t realise it's a mix of them he’s smearing into his skin. His underwear is sticky, too, soaked by his cock, but when he shifts his hips in a certain way, he creates wonderful, wonderful friction. Combined with the air he’s allowed to breathe now and the pointed massage it’s heaven. Even the weight in his bladder turns into something that is beyond longing or discomfort, like coming three, four times and being sore and achy but fuzzy and raw and tingly, a persistent reminder that he has a body and that his body is shaped and formed by what is around him, by Chan.  

Drowsily, he mouths on Chan’s cock, his balls, veins pulsating and his own spit spreading, flowing into trimmed pubes. They’re coarse under his lips and tongue, their scent, musky yet mellow, just as vibrant as his sweat. It’s tart and warm and something only he gets to lap up and swallow, only he gets to smell when he falls asleep. Sometimes he catches Chan after a workout and before a shower, jabs and pouts at him until he lets him lick his collarbones and pecs and pits and all the other expanse of shimmering skin. Reality is never safer than when daddy’s taste fills him. 

“You’re drooling so much, little one. You wanna get me as wet as you are?” Chan’s laugh is muffled.

He whines. 

“That’s alright, you can get daddy wet, always make me wet, don’t you?” His face is too far away and cast in too much sunlight for him to discern his expression, but he chuckles lightly, outlines Felix’s bruised lips. “Fuck, you’re a mess, you’re such a fucking messy boy, you get so out of it when I fuck your mouth. Can you even think?”

He whines again, has to pinches his eyes shut, his tongue twists but he can’t form syllables, he can’t deny anything. He doesn’t want to be messy, he doesn’t want to be pathetic, but he is and Chan sounds like he likes it, like he wants him to be. That doesn’t make it easier, doesn’t prevent the sudden realisation that his need to pee is just barely tolerable anymore because if Chan knew that he wouldn’t finger his mouth and tell him how good he is, how beautiful he looks when he’s so ruined. 

There’s a light slap to his cheek. “Don’t do that, Felix, don’t ignore daddy. Answer me.”

He nods then shakes his head. 

“No? No, you can’t think? That’s okay, pretty boys like you don’t have to think, right? Just, come here, yeah, that’s so good.” He’s guided back to Chan’s cock, tries to sculpt his tongue around the tip before he’s made to swallow it down again, thankfully so, because he has lost control and doesn’t know how to make it tight anymore. All of his concentration is focused on those muscles in his crotch, constricting them, but that also puts so much tension around his dick, even on his prostate, and he worries it’s obvious how he’s fucking into the mattress, disobeying the rules. 

Maybe he should safeword and get up, but that would be so embarrassing to explain, and maybe it would disappoint daddy and maybe he wouldn’t want to keep going after, maybe a few minutes would be enough for Chan to get bored, for something more important to come up and demand his attention, and then Felix would have to go home and be alone and everything would be horrible. He just has to be still, that’s all. If he can’t even be still then he doesn’t deserve any of this. 

The roots of his hair sting as it’s yanked backwards. "Is there something you need to tell daddy?"

Felix slurs on a chain of Nos, struggles in Chan's grip, but Chan is stronger than him. “Please,” he opens his mouth, hopes it shows how obedient and good he is, how much he wants Chan’s cock back. He feels saliva slip from the sides of his tongue. 

But Chan just laughs: “You’re such a dumb brat, grinding into the bed like that. Gets you off to choke on my dick, right? That’s not the rules, baby, only I get to make you feel good.” He angles Felix’s head from side to side like he’s regarding a particularly exasperating conundrum, laughter airing into sighs. “Maybe I spoil you too much... Should I be stricter with you? You wouldn't make me do that, would you?”

“Wouldn't,” he repeats, musters up the tension to speak and it’s not a lie, not really, so he isn’t being bad. The throb in his bladder is now persistent and spreading, he feels it above his belly button and in his thighs, he wants to pee so badly, but Chan can’t know, he can’t know how dirty he is. "Feels good."

“I can tell that you do. That’s the point, Lixie, this isn’t for you, remember? You told me I should just use you for myself.”

He sobs, sticks out his tongue further, but Chan doesn’t give his cock back to him, strokes it right in front of his face, big knuckles sliding up his shaft, twisting at the crown, strings of wetness between them. “Please, daddy, please.”

Chan grips him by the hair and makes him look at what he can’t have, what he lost, makes him watch as he fucks his fist hard the way he could, has , fucked Felix’s mouth and hole, and he feels so bereft and admonished that he cries, that his eyes and nose burn and leak just like they were when he got his throat stretched and his air cut off. “‘m sorry, ‘m’so sorry, daddy, please, will be good.”

But now he’s definitely not being truthful because he’s not good, he’s needy and clumsy and he won’t be able to hold it in anymore and it must be written all over him, because then Chan pokes his hip with his toe. Softly, he says: "Don't lie to me, little one. Remember what happens when you disobey daddy?"

He discovered a while ago that that edge of fear feels electrifying and maybe that’s exactly what he needs right now, maybe that’s what will prevent him from making a mess. "Please, please, no, please, daddy, don't hit me." 

The lie is obvious, but Chan will give him what he wants anyway because he loves him so much and overcame his worries of hurting him because he's such a great, wonderful daddy. He's gonna bend him over the table or the desk and then Felix will have to ride this edge, endure nothing but pain, and he will be so so good and obedient and won't soil himself, and then Chan is going to be so proud of him and let him come and call him his best boy. 

"So tell me what’s on your mind, why you’re distracted. Don't be stubborn.” He’s using the first in Felix’s hair to tilt his face from side to side, keeping him away from his big cock. His lips twitch but he doesn’t quite smile, though his eyes crinkle. 

He shakes his head. 

“Ah. No?”

“No, please, daddy, don’t make me.”

A sigh. “Alright, baby boy.” And then, to his terror, Chan wrangles him up, with the ease of a dozen men, doesn’t get off the bed, instead lays him over his lap like he weighs nothing, feet brushing the floor but not finding balance. He’s exposed to the whole room like that, made to arch his back as if he’d want others to watch, as if he’d want them to join. 

Felix bites his lip to muffle his squeak, struggles, crawls away, but daddy grabs him by the neck and waist and puts him back over his thighs, kicks them up in the process, right into his aching bladder, and he shrieks again, hopes to God that he’s imagining the little stream of piss escaping him. If he spills now, it’ll be awful, mortifying, he'll soak both of them, he'll get them both so dirty, the sheets, the bed, everything, but he can't move and he's so turned on and he wants it, wants the pain and Chan’s embrace. 

"Shh, Lixie, I got you, yeah? I'll make it hurt, it’ll be good, promise."

It always hurts good, even this terror, and he tries to vocalise that, gasps Chan's name, makes his wet mouth utter fear and gratefulness. 

"I know, baby," - warm circles on his ass, over his pants - "I love you, too, love you so much," - mean little pinches now, zapping pain - "and you're gonna take your spanking like the good boy you are, yeah?"

He nods, his neck straining against gravity, shoulders drooping. He can’t get away. He can’t. He needs to accept that. He’s just little and weak and daddy knows best.

“There you go, good boy.” The palm on his ass squeezes it, firmly and repetitively until his skin is sensitive under the layers, until it’s just as uncomfortable as the pressure in his belly, until he’s too exhausted to protest. There’s a hum in acknowledgement of that but instead of more praise, he receives a harsh slap. He cries. Chan does it again. 

Oh, and it hurts. It hurts and he doesn't think he can take more, how ruthless of daddy to start so brutally, but then the hurt increases and he can take more and he does, takes it again and again and again, broad hits on both cheeks that slam him down against Chan's thigh and squish his cock into it, and it burns, his skin, his face, his bladder, and he can't see past his tears.

"Plea- se–, please, daddy," he begs, pulls at the sheet and scrambles, kicks out his legs, but it’s as if the grip of others weighs on his ankles. "I dunno, I don't, I dunno-"

"Yes, you can, baby, you know you can do this. You're so hard, I can feel it, hmm? You like it so much, my little slut."

He shakes his head and regrets it because it gets him so dizzy and his vision even blurrier and it's bad to lie to daddy, he shouldn't, he shouldn't, but if this continues it's gonna be so bad, it's gonna be the end of the world.

"Are you going to come already? Is that what it is, Lixie? Got so worked up from sucking my dick, didn't you, and now a little spanking is gonna make you come?"

Despite the rules, he shakes his head again, then decides that it’s better than the truth, it is the truth, sobs yes, daddy then sobs soundlessly and gives into his trembling. The next hit has him rocking forward, movement shooting up his spine, hips snapping, shoulders jostling, then the vibrations flickers back down, dangerously low. He's so, so close to opting out, fleeing to the bathroom, locking himself in. "I can't, daddy, stop, please."

"But we just started, baby, those were only five slaps."

And then Chan hooks into his waistband and pulls it over his ass and thereby creates tension that drags down his tummy and cuts right over his bladder and he wails stop stop stop.

Chan does stop but only the tug to his pants, keeps thumbing into the side of his neck, over his dashing pulse, keeps him steady on his lap. "Hey, hey, Lix, it's okay. You're okay. You've done this before, remember–"

"No," he interrupts, interrupts his daddy and he's so bad, he's so hard, he's so messy. "Never, never."

"Yes, baby, you're so good, so good at taking a spanking, I'm always so proud of you. Hmm? Will you take five more for me?"

He hesitates and that's his downfall. 

"Felix," Chan says, forces him to crane his head back. His gaze is heavy, so heavy. "You're going to tell me now, yeah? Why you're acting like this."

There is no other option. His daddy said so and so he has to. "I need to-..." His inhale is too big for this raw throat. "I need to pee, daddy."

He can barely understand himself through his crying and shame but Chan does, Chan gets him, always gets him, always got him. "Aaw, baby, you need to pee? Have been holding it in this entire time?"

He whimpers. His ass hurts. His bladder hurts. 

"You're so cute, little one, you're crying because you need to pee so badly?"

He whimpers more, hopes he sounds very small and helpless and like he needs to be released, shakes, squirms. Hearing it plainly like that is humiliating, being talked down to is humiliating, but there is absolution in it, in the truth told out loud. 

"Hm, what was that? You need to speak up, baby."

"Yes," he still only manages a whisper. "Need to pee, daddy. Crying, crying 'cuz I- cuz I–"

And Chan lifts his thigh, flexes it right under Felix's crotch, and it's too much, too awful, and his mind wipes out and his soppy mouth falls open and he must drool, spit trickling from his lips, he can’t believe this is happening, can't keep it back anymore, and then he’s pissing himself. It's bursting out of his pulsating cock, warm and unstoppable, leaking into his wrinkled pants, it’s clammy against his skin and surely against Chan’s too, and it’s so much that it has to flow into the sheet.

What would people think? Would they even still want to use him, would he even function as an open hole anymore when he’s so gross and sticky and incompetent? What kind of slut loses control like that? 

He’s so ashamed, cries into his palms, but the strong clutch around his waist and neck won’t let him get away. He can smell it, faint but sharp, he was warming Chan’s cock for a while, has been hydrating responsibly, so it’s a lot and it takes a while to trickle down, keeps blurting from his tip whenever he thinks it’s done and relaxes. His shudders rattle his torso, his lungs are still smarting from earlier and he can’t calm himself, might never get past this. 

Chan is breathing audibly above him. His voice is thready. "Fuck, baby, that is so hot, jesus– you're so messy, you're so wet, did you -? We're not gonna stop. You're gonna take the rest of your spanking. Not because it's a punishment but because I want you to feel how wet you got both of us, and, and I want you to know that I, that daddy's not just gonna let you go, gonna keep you on my lap, yeah? Messy little boy, gonna keep you on my lap. Don't stop crying."

Felix couldn't stop crying if he put all efforts into it, the tears are streaming from his puffy eyes and over his lips and because he can't close them he tastes salt on his thick tongue, an unforgiving confrontation with his own lack of discipline but not as unforgiving as the rapidly cooling fabric of his underwear and sweatpants. Oh God, Chan isn't wearing pants. Felix pissed all over his naked thigh, he's so embarrassing and rude and selfish and he is still hard because he is so bad.  

"Don't come yet, either," is the warning he gets before there’s another hit to his ass and the pain is back in full force, never went away, layering with every following strike. 

Even though he's already misbehaved so horribly, he's still fidgeting, humping into his ruined underwear. "'m sorry, sorry, daddy, I'm–'

"This is not a punishment. Felix, are you listening?"

"Listening."

"Repeat what I said."

"Not a punishment."

"And why is that?"

He's confused, it's confusing, he doesn't understand. 

"It's because I know how much you like it when daddy puts you over his knees, yeah? This is never a punishment because you love it so much. You're a– I'm rewarding you because you were so honest with me, baby, told me you needed to pee and then you did, didn't you, good boy, good little— good little painslut."

The sound Felix makes is so high that it vibrates in his head. Suddenly the air reaches into the depths of his lungs.

"Daddy’s slut, yeah baby?" Chan asks softly because even in those rare cases he’s mean he's so caring and so loving and gentle and never hides it. "I'm so lucky, having you, fuck, i love you, prettiest boy. Prettiest slut."

Maybe, maybe he’s right, he sounds like he’s right, he’s always right about everything else. So maybe he’s right about Felix, too? Maybe it’s okay that he’s dumb and unmannered, that he did something dirty. For a moment it was preposterous to imagine, to remember that Chan wants all of him, all of his marred and scuffed naiveté, but he shouldn’t have doubted him, should trust that bright understanding between them. Even when he struggles, especially then, Chan has got him. Daddy’s got him. 

A sure pat to his ass. “Tell me again what I said.”

“Not a punishment,” he whispers into his palm. 

“Exactly. And why?”

His pants are only pulled down at the back of his thighs, the front still cutting into the tip of his dick, his pee has lost its heat, cold on his skin and in the fabric that feels somehow rougher like that. He likes it so much, he is going to add to the mess way too soon. “Cuz. Cuz I like it.” A hum. “Cuz I’m, I’m, I –” 

“Shh, breathe, little one.”

He gnaws on his knuckle. “‘m a slut, daddy.”

“Good boy, that’s right, my little slut, I — yeah. Yeah.” A rough palm spreads his cheeks and fingers rub over his hole, crudely and full of ownership. “Are you a painslut here, too, Lixie?”

He whimpers, shakes his head, but this time anticipates the touch, does his best not to squirm as two fingers press inside him, dry and blunt despite the fact that he’s wet and slippery everywhere else. The stretch is nothing compared to the one his throat endured or the blood rising into bruises, but it’s still uncomfortable and thus perfect. Even in his hazy state he notices that Chan doesn’t even pretend not to go straight for his spot, he knows exactly how to aim and crook, barely stretches him before drawing out and fucking back in. He bites into his palm. “Hurts,” he gasps, raises his hips.

“Yeah?” Chan pinches one of the hot areas on his ass. “More?”

More stretch, more pain, more of Chan telling him how well he’s at taking all of it, how he is made for him and vice versa, how thankful he is, how he’s never going to let him go. His rim is spread, spat on. 

“Please, daddy.” His snot is so viscid on the heel of his palm but it’s alright, he’s already messy and he’s already got daddy’s promise that he’s good, that he’s cute and pretty. “More, yes, yours, ‘s good, hurts.”

The slap rocks Chan’s fingers inside him, and then he alternates between rubbing them deep and hitting Felix’s sit spot, widening the  pain. It’s not as hard and quick in succession as before but it makes  him keen nonetheless, builds up on all the previous sensations.His wet waistband is tugged to the tops of his thighs as if it was any other spanking, but his cock, brushing against the minuscule hairs on Chan’s legs and the cotton of the sheet, is dewy, both hot and cold. 

“Daddy,” he tries to warn this time, repeats it after he realises he’s muffling it with his hand. “I’m, ‘m gonna. Gonna come.”

“I told you not to, Lixie.”

He cries out as the next blow is back on the top of his ass, where it’s already aching most. “But, but y’said ’s not a punishment.”

“It’s not, but I know you can do better, hm?” Chan laughs and Felix hears himself echo the joyful tone. “You can hold out a little longer for me?”

“Can’t,” he’s not lying anymore, his cock is twitching a lot, he has to flex it so much to keep it from spurting. “I don’t, daddy, think I can’t, Chris, please.”

Another finger, the third one is forced into his pulsing hole and his teeth sink into his wrist now, it feels so incredibly good, so mean. It’d be even worse, better if Chan fucked him with his cock, if he’s took two at once, if the only way he’d get wet inside was if he was filled with come, even if it would go on and on until he’d pass out. They could take more videos, of him lying in the dirty sheets, sleeping and pliable, and show him after, show him whenever he needs to be reminded that his worries don’t matter. 

“Alright, but you’re-” He doesn’t hear the rest of the sentence. He got  permission, which means Chan has decided that Felix’s body is done now and needs to let go, and so it does. He comes with the first word, comes bend over and in-between daddy’s thighs, still wet, so much wetter, and it’s too hot on his damp skin, too hot as it flows through his throbbing cock, soiling his pants once more. He didn’t know it could be this intense, so tender and sensitive that he can feel every bead welling at the tip.

He’s probably voices as much, biting into his wrist again, writhing; and Chan rubs into his spot, forces more out of him, grips his waist so hard it’ll leave pretty marks, tells him he’s a sweet and dirty boy, that he’s needy and eager and perfect. It’s alright that he needs him to decide, to make him take it. “Love doing this for you, baby boy,” he picks up. “Thank you for letting daddy touch you like this, you’re so fucking hot, so cute when you cry, you’re good.”

He flinches when the fingers eventually pull out, gasps into his pulse. For a couple of seconds, he’s being inspected and massaged, and he tenses, expects to be filled again, doesn’t know if that’d be bad, but then warm palms squeeze his ass and he's turned around. Despite his gooey limbs, he’s flipped so his stinging ass lies on Chan's thighs, the bottom of his spine arched and his neck in the sheet damp from his drool. He stares at the ceiling. The sunset tints it golden. 

"Look at that," Chan says and Felix remembers how to control his gaze, lugs it over the blurred space of the room to his own crotch and has to face his mess, the darkened patch in his pants. It’s so big. He’s so exhausted. He watches, breath held, as Chan trails a finger over his tummy, tickles him there, swirls from hip bone to hip bone and then over the shape of Felix’s cock, acting like Felix’s pee isn’t gross or like his come isn’t tacky. "Couldn’t stop himself, hm?”

He shakes his head, croaks: “Couldn’t.”

“That’s okay, little one, it looks so good on you, everything does. Prettiest boy.”

In this headspace, everything Chan says weighs more. Everything he commands is irresistible, every praise undeniable and Felix can’t help but believe him, wants to believe him. He smiles, squeals happily when Chan hauls him upright and holds him in his lap bridal style, reliable arm wrapped around his back. He given a small kiss to his temple and then a firm one to his mouth. Chan sucks on his upper lip, still sore from earlier, bites it when he moans, bites it again and again. His tongue slips past his teeth, must catch his own taste, swallows Felix’s own. “You don’t even know,” he says roughly. “Baby, you don’t even know how fucking much I love you, how much I-... I want to do to you, eat you, kiss you all the time, my little baby, love you so much.”

“Love you, too,” Felix says, brings his shaking hand to Chan’s jaw and holds onto him. “Daddy, love you.”

Then a palm into his underwear, cups his spent cock, squishes it gently. Chan kisses his eyelids, the side of his nose. “Alright, baby, one more.”

“Wha-”, he breaks off in a cramp.

“Told you, only got to come cuz you’ll give me another one.” His hand is so steady, doesn’t falter despite Felix’s thrashing legs, his beseeching fingers. 

"No," he begs. It can’t possibly hurt more. 

"Hm?" Chan’s hum brushes his lips. "Oh, no, baby, you don't decide, yeah?"

He begs again, sobs quietly into Chan’s neck. For a second, he thinks he’s heard, the touch leaves him and he gets to take a deep and shuddering breath, but then he hears the tear of a zip and a moan huffed into his cheek. “Get on daddy’s lap, properly, here you go.” He refuses but that doesn’t matter, he’s wrestled into the right position, thighs bracketing Chan’s. 

Hovering on his weak knees only gets him a slap to his ass and before he has to bear another spanking he drops down, smothers his cry in Chan’s hair. Everything is too much, he feels like a single wound. His tears might have never stopped, they’re dripping into feathery curls now. Promptly, his cock is pulled out of his soaked pants and pressed into Chan’s bigger one, fingers gripping both of them, undeterred by the stickiness. “You’re so fucking tiny,” Chan groans, embrace crushing Felix’s ribs. “Can do anything to you, let me do anything to you, my slut, my baby boy, just let me hurt you like that.”

He mewls Chan’s name, his wet lips slipping down his forehead. “Yes, daddy, can hurt me, anything.”

“You let me use your mouth even though you had to pee so much,” Chan says and strokes them tightly, fat and pulsating. He sounds like he is also in pain, he’s got his brows furrowed, his teeth are all over Felix’s neck, scraping into him. "Didn't even know you like that so much, didn't even know I like it, fuck, just like everything when it comes to you, could do anything, want you forever."

“Wanna be good for you,” he whispers, a confession he has made thousands of times. “Wanna be good for you, daddy, even though it hurts.”

Chan chokes on a laugh. “No baby, because it hurts. Little liar, hmm? Little lying slut.”

He’s kissing Felix’s adam’s apple, not far from where his throat is aching and raw and will be so for the next days. He’ll carry that ache proudly, the one on his ass, too, will bend over so Chan can check on the bruises whenever he wants, will let him darken them if they fade too quickly. “‘m your little slut. For you.” He’ll let him fuck him whenever he wants, too, dry like he did with his fingers or drenched in lube, wet like a pussy. He nuzzles into Chan’s cheekbones, gnaws on his earlobe. “Made me so wet, got so wet for you.”

“Yeah,” Chan says, he’s speeding up, fucking his hips up and bouncing Felix like a doll. “Got you so dumb you couldn’t help yourself, can’t even think when you get your mouth fucked, when you, God, fuck, Lix, Lixie, baby, I-"

He has been waiting for a long time, has been such a patient daddy, used Felix the way he needs to be used and now he’s covering him in his come, covering him in his bite marks, the mess now theirs, smeared between them. He doesn’t let go of Felix, hugs him, crushes his arms against his ribs so he’s unable to free himself or stop the thumb stroking along his slit, mouths over his tears and licks them into his mouth so he gets to taste himself, and he's smiling and he is happy, and yet again Felix loses all control and shudders and sobs and comes a second time even though he didn’t get entirely hard again. 

The setting sun is not nearly as bright as the white spot dancing in his vision or the nova in his chest, but all three of them give Chan something of a halo, not actually palpable as Felix is carding through his curls, and he knows Chan is real and human, but it fits him, it’s perfect. He loves him so clearly, with actions and words and the decisions he takes from him. He’s so handsome, letting Felix sprinkle his face with kisses. “That was mean, daddy,” he lies quietly, noses over Chan’s stubble. 

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Chan says and his smile broadens. “You were begging for more the whole time.”

Felix can only vaguely remember that, knows he did and said a lot of stuff he wasn’t aware of, still isn’t aware of. “Made me messy.”

“Yeah.” He sounds proud of himself. He’s beautiful when he’s proud of himself, when he allows himself to make Felix cry and protest and coaxes more tears out of him. It’s hot. It took them a while to get here. And now they found out they get to discover even more together.

The dancing light splits into glittering colours and comforting shadows, he can only see those and Chan, strong and solid Chan, kissing him and loving him. Gentle massages are sprinkled all over his body, on exactly those trigger points that make him melt even further, careful along his spine, pointed on the sides of his neck. He bathes in trustworthy touch and reality. When he’s less disjointed, Chan picks him up and carries him to the bathroom, sits him down on a plastic chair in the shower and caresses him with warm water. And, oh, they’re naked now, flushed. Through the pelting stream, he receives kisses and praise. His hair gets washed, so does everything else, reverent fingers that exude just the right pressure to keep him docile but tempt him to awaken more. 

Chan is kneeling before him, grinning as he lathes his stomach in bubbles. 

"Stop," he whines, makes a grab at Chan’s shoulder but misses it. "Stop laughing."

Chan doesn't stop laughing and his hands sneak down to his crotch, clean his dick, his inner thighs. "Nooo, Lixie, but you're so cute."

"I pissed on you."

A giggle. " Yeah."

"I pissed on your lap ," he says as he raises himself so Chan can get to his ass, hisses, but can't stop his smile because Chan's delight is infectious and bright and unashamed. 

"You did. Little pissbaby, yeah? Peed all over daddy's lap–"

"Stop it!!"

"Little peepee boy–"

"You're such a fucking cunt, I'm gonna murder you–"

"What, with your little peepee hands and your little peepee dick?”

He flails his arms at Chan, fruitless, refuses to open his eyes as he tips forward to bite, gets to sink his front teeth into appled cheeks. "I hate you, i hate you, i hate–"

Chan kisses him with tongue, with a grin, with water drumming around them, onto their heads and limbs, kneeling before him, unperturbed.