Fake Dating My Rival at the Awards novel · Chapter 3 of 24
Chapter 3: Look at Me
In Shen's bare flat, Shen tells Tang where to look, and for once Tang does not perform; a photo of the door arrives.
Shen Yichen's flat had no photographs, and Tang Mo noticed it at once.
There was a long grey sofa, a lamp, a low table with nothing on it, and a wall of windows over the lit-up river.
"You live in a waiting room," said Tang.
"Take your shoes off," said Shen.
Tang took his shoes off.
The text had come at eleven the next night.
It said: Come. Alone. Now.
He had told his driver he was visiting a friend, and the driver, who was paid not to understand things, had understood.
Shen stood by the lamp with his sleeves rolled to the elbow and a glass of water he had not touched.
"Sit," he said.
"On the sofa?" asked Tang.
"On the floor. Between my feet."
Tang's mouth opened to say something quick.
Nothing came, and he found his knees already bending.
The rug was thick.
Shen sat down on the sofa, spread his knees, and looked down at him.
"Last night I did all the work," said Shen. "Tonight I want to see what you do."
"You want me to ask?" said Tang.
"I want you to do it."
Tang put his hands on Shen's thighs and felt the muscle under the cloth, hard and warm and taut already.
He undid the belt.
He undid the zipper.
He drew out Shen's cock, thick and heavy in his hand.
The weight of it in his palm did something to his stomach that no award ever had.
He bent his head, and as he did it his body began to turn, chin down, left cheek forward, lips soft.
"No," said Shen.
Tang froze with his mouth an inch from the head.
"What?" said Tang.
"You're angling. There's no lens here."
Shen's hand slid into his hair, not pulling, only holding.
"Look at me."
Tang looked up.
Shen's eyes were black in the lamplight, and not cold at all.
"That's it," said Shen. "Keep looking. Whatever I'm doing to you, whatever you're doing to me, you look at me."
"Yes."
"Go on."
Tang licked a slow stripe from the base to the tip, and watched Shen's jaw tighten.
He took the head into his mouth.
It was salty and smooth, and it filled his mouth until his lips stretched around it.
He sank down an inch, and then another, and Shen's breath caught on a low sound.
"Good," said Shen. "Slower."
Tang slowed.
He had been told what to do on a hundred sets.
Hold the pose, find the light, hit the mark.
He had never once been told where to look, and had never once wanted to be.
He wanted it now, with his mouth full and his eyes held, so badly that his own cock throbbed against his trousers.
"Deeper," said Shen. "You can."
He could.
He took more, until the head touched the back of his throat and he had to swallow around it.
Above him Shen made a rough sound, and the hand in his hair tightened.
"Tang Mo."
Tang hummed around him.
"Don't do that," said Shen, strained. "I'll finish."
Tang did it again.
Shen's hips came up off the sofa in a short hard thrust, and Tang gagged and took it, eyes watering, and did not look away.
"Fuck," Shen breathed. "Yes. Look at me. Like that."
He fucked up into Tang's mouth with small controlled movements, and Tang let him, jaw aching, tongue working, hands gripping Shen's thighs.
The room was full of wet sounds and ragged breathing.
Tang realized he was moaning, a low unbroken noise around the cock in his mouth, and that he did not care who heard.
"Enough," said Shen suddenly, and pulled him off by the hair.
Tang gasped, lips swollen, a string of spit between his mouth and the swollen tip.
"Why?" said Tang.
"Because I'm not finishing there. Up."
Tang stood on unsteady legs.
Shen stripped him in four efficient movements, the shirt, the belt, the trousers.
Then he pushed him back onto the sofa and knelt on the rug between his knees.
Tang stared down at him.
The cold man, the favourite, the face that never moved.
Kneeling, with his shirt open and his mouth near the base of Tang's cock.
"Don't," Tang said weakly. "You don't have to."
"Look at me," said Shen.
He took Tang into his mouth in one long motion.
Tang cried out and his head fell back against the cushions.
It was hot and tight and very skilled.
Shen's tongue flattened under the head and dragged, and his hand cupped Tang's balls, rolling them gently, and his cheeks hollowed on every pull.
"Oh, god. Oh, Teacher Shen, I can't."
Shen pulled off just far enough to say, "Eyes."
Tang looked down.
Shen's lips were slick and swollen.
His black hair had fallen over his forehead.
He held Tang's gaze and took him all the way down again, until his nose touched the skin of Tang's stomach.
Tang's hands found his hair and held on.
"I'm close," he gasped. "I'm going to. Shen. Please."
Shen's other hand pressed flat against his hip, pinning it to the cushion, and he sucked harder.
Tang came in a long helpless spasm down Shen's throat, hips straining against the hand that held them.
Shen swallowed every pulse without once looking away.
It went on for a long time.
When it ended Tang was limp and boneless, trembling all over.
Shen sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist.
"You're not finished," said Tang, hoarse.
"No," said Shen.
"Come here," said Tang.
Shen hesitated.
Then he climbed up onto the sofa, over Tang's thighs.
Tang took his cock in his hand and stroked it hard and fast, eyes locked on his face.
Shen's composure lasted about a minute.
His forehead dropped to Tang's shoulder.
His breath came ragged and hot against the skin.
His hips began to move into the fist, helplessly, and Tang tightened his grip.
"Look at me," said Tang softly.
Shen lifted his head.
His mouth was open, his eyes wide and dark and unguarded, and Tang saw the whole of him.
He came with a deep groan, hot over Tang's hand and stomach, and said Tang's name once, the full name, into the quiet.
Neither of them moved afterward.
The river lights slid slowly across the ceiling.
Tang's phone buzzed on the rug.
He did not want to look.
He looked anyway.
It was Qiu Zhan, and the message had a photo attached.
The photo showed the door of this building, and Tang's back going through it, with a time stamp from ten minutes ago.
Under it Qiu had written: Wei Chuan, who runs the gossip account Night Desk, sent me this.
He wants to know who you came to see.
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