"Yeahhh," I said softly, as Xiang kissed my neck and rubbed my nipples through the tank. I wrapped my arms around him again and pulled him closer. As he pressed the side of his head against my chest, I pushed my face down into his thick black mop and kissed the top of his head. His hair smelled good, like some fruity shampoo.
"I missed you," Xiang said, pulling away. He shook his head suddenly, trying to clear the hair from his eyes, but ended up needing to use his hand. I laughed.
That was cute,
I thought. Xiang's broad smile was adorable, and his eyes, dark and soft, gazed back at mine.
"Missed you too," I managed to murmur, melting from the perfection of his cute face and hot muscles. Bending down slightly, I kissed him again, pushing my lips against his, sliding my tongue into his mouth. I slipped my hands beneath his shorts and boxers, feeling his tight ass as if for the first time. He responded by grabbing my hamstrings and pushing his tongue up against mine.
I toyed with his tongue a bit and rubbed my hands over his sweaty back. Moaning softly, Xiang moved his hands to my waist and started lifting off my shirt. I expected him to say something about how sweaty and nasty I was. It was already hot, and the excitement of his breath mingling with mine had me burning up. I lifted my arms and he slid the tank up over my head and tossed it over to the sofa.
"Shit, your abs!"
I looked down.
Yep
, I thought proudly.
Better
. Though I'd forgotten to shave down there as well. A touch of hair covered the area south of my belly button.
Xiang began to explore the new, sharper contours, running his fingers along my abs and then down the ridges that formed a v-shape on my lower abdomen. Tugging at the waistband of my shorts to pull them down a bit, he finally rested his hands on my hips.
"Am I up to your standards?" I joked.
"Fuck!" he said, as if the change had been dramatic (it wasn't). But his dick was really stuffing his shorts now, so I reached down and rubbed it, cupping my hand around his bulge and using my fingers to stroke the base of his cock.
Returning the favor, Xiang flattened his hand against the long, hard rod under my shorts and started slowly rubbing up and down. The unexpected intensity of the pleasure surprised me, so I pushed us a bit further along.
Reaching into his shorts again, I slid my hands down his tight, pale ass, letting my index fingers trace the edge of his hole. I could feel the hairs around the opening. Gently pushing my hips forward, I slid my bulge up and down against his flat stomach. As his chest glided against mine, I noticed that we were both covered in moisture, almost as if we'd been caught in the rainstorm outside.
The little natural light peeking into the room caught Xiang's face, reflecting in his obsidian eyes, which were again half-hidden under his hair. I ran my hands up his back, stopping to massage his shoulders.
"Come on," I said, "let's do this." Xiang nodded and I slipped off his shorts, revealing his beautiful, smooth quads.
How lucky
, I thought. Xiang had a lot less hair on his upper legs than I did, which made the muscles there more obvious. I backed up a step to take in the whole view.
He stood in front of me now, totally soaked in sweat, wearing only his underwear, the fabric at the front stretched by his bulging cock. Kneeling down in front of him, I slowly rubbed my hands up and down the back of his legs while massaging his abs with my tongue. Then, tugging down on his boxers, I revealed more of his sexy lower abdomen and the top of his trimmed pubes. After kissing the bony ridges that made Xiang's torso so damn sexy, I stepped back up, allowing him - now increasingly jittery - to reciprocate.
Xiang used a finger to massage the head of my cock, which was again tenting my shorts. I opened my mouth and my knees buckled slightly, but no sound came out. Then he grabbed my ass and lowered himself onto his knees.
While sliding his tongue across my wet stomach, Xiang slowly stripped off my shorts. Moving his hands down my calves, he kissed along the left side of my waistband and allowed his hair to brush against my belly.
As he slowly tugged my boxers lower, using his tongue to massage my skin, I reached down and ran my fingers through his messy hair. With him kneeling in front of me, I looked down and imagined that tight, gently-curving ass just under the thin fabric of his boxers. His calves seemed bigger than I remembered; his feet were soft and pale.
As Xiang slid his hands underneath my boxers, I let out the breath I'd unconsciously been holding. With one hand he explored my ass; with the other he massaged my balls. I noticed his toes wiggle as he brought his mouth over the fabric covering my cock.
I opened my mouth again and let out a slight moan as Xiang pressed his fingers into the small space between my balls and anus. Closing my eyes, I listened to the pouring rain and crashes of thunder. Xiang closed his lips around the top of my dick and used a touch of teeth to massage the area where the head meets the shaft.
Suddenly feeling the urge to make out again, I pulled Xiang back up and kissed him deeply. When we stopped to breathe, he kept a strong grip on my arms, so I lifted him up and he wrapped his legs around my hips. I could feel his dick, hard as rock, pressed against my belly. His long hair was in our faces.
I typically preferred slow, soft, gentle kisses; I liked to cautiously move into a kiss, watching his expression, feeling his soft lips tough mine, inhaling the heat of his breath. But today I was hungry. Xiang was hungry too, and he gently bit my lip. My surprised "mmph" made him laugh.
As our tongues met, I thought about Xiang's cute face pressed against mine, the warmth of his body, the smell of his sweat, the feel of his skin . . . his biceps had grown since we last touched, his abs were hotter, his pubes a little messier . . .
My cock felt like it would tear through my boxers. I longed to push Xiang onto the bed and pull his body to my flinching pelvis. The urge to pound him and squirt in his ass was overwhelming. I imagined the cum surging out, shooting deep into him.
"Sorry, I gotta pee," Xiang said suddenly, so I gently let him down. Before letting him go, I slid my hands down the sides of his torso, feeling his obliques. Then I watched him as he walked away, noticing his hamstrings, his back, his shoulders . . .
As Xiang worked to soften his erection so he could relieve his bladder, I looked around his flat, which hadn't changed much since I'd last visited. It was small - a single, narrow room no larger than an average urban living space - and cluttered with old furniture and stacks of boxes. At the end nearest the entrance, a small nook served as a kitchen and laundry area. A doorway at the opposite end led to the bathroom and a small closet.
Many of the boxes, most of which contained food, were stacked up in front of the two windows, ensuring that nothing within could be seen from outside. Narrow ribbons of light, dimmed to a desaturated blue-grey by the cloud-darkened sky, shined through the crevices between the boxes. When it was sunny, slim highlights would land on his furniture - a dark green sofa, a wooden coffee table, a reclining chair next to a warm incandescent lamp. Two queen mattresses stacked in the far corner served as a bed.
The wall opposite the windows was lined with bookshelves. I scanned the contents: Big books, small books, magazines, large-format book reviews, and little yellow National Geographic volumes with interesting maps stuffed inside . . .
"The answers are out there but you have to read to find them," Xiang liked to say. I gave him everything I'd enjoyed reading and he'd eat it up in half the time. But our tastes didn't often mesh. He found fiction boring; I found non-fiction boring.
Additional items littered the room in a disordered fashion. Miscellaneous things were typically stored in large, taupe-colored plastic bins, three of which were placed in front of the bookcases. Larger items crowded the far wall, including some paintings, a nonfuctional grandfather clock, and two flat-screen displays. These were useful for barter.
The cramped atmosphere was cozy. Its faint smells - a mixture of Xiang's sweat and deodorant, all those dry cardboard boxes, the mustiness of some older books - stirred up memories of my previous stays, which made me smile. I remembered when we painted the walls (and the ceiling, at Xiang's insistence) with a few cans of Benjamin Moore's "Golden Tan." Then there was the day we stole a plush indigo rug from some abandoned office to cover up the original shoddy carpeting.
I felt safe here. I could understand why Xiang didn't want to give it up.
And of course the people he's helping . . .
