Song Lang swallowed hard and said frankly, "Of course."
Shen Zhifei shook his head, one hand
He slipped into Song Lang's pants and poked him along the cleft of his buttocks, saying, "I mean here."
Song Lang choked for a moment, coughed, and stood up with his face flushed red. He returned to his seat.
"Hurry up and eat, it's getting cold. Go do whatever you need to do this afternoon, don't stay downstairs and get chilled by the cold wind, it's not worth getting sick."
"Okay." Shen Zhifei reached out and straightened his rolled-up clothes, no longer teasing him.
After lunch, the two lingered, reluctant to part. Shen Zhifei personally escorted Song Lang to the classroom door and stuffed a small box, no bigger than the palm of his hand, into his pocket.
"This is a birthday present. I'll come see you again tomorrow afternoon."
After saying that, Shen Zhifei turned and left.
Song Lang opened the box, revealing a finely crafted mechanical watch. Underneath the watch was a hard card that read: "Thinking of you every minute and every second."
He rubbed his eyes, smiled, and carefully packed his things away. When he got home that evening, his good mood hadn't faded; he was practically floating on air.
This day felt a little unreal.
Song Lifeng, who rarely had to work overtime or go on business trips, bought a birthday cake to celebrate at home with him. They even had a video call with Shen Lingyu, who was far away, and the atmosphere was unusually relaxed and pleasant.
The next morning, Song Lifeng stood in the entryway changing his shoes, dragging his suitcase. Song Lang came out of the bathroom, his hair a mess and still half asleep, stretching and asking, "Dad, are we going on another business trip?"
"No, go home and see your mother. She cried last night, and I'm worried about her."
"Huh? Are you alright? You were fine during the video call."
“It’s okay, I put the living expenses on the coffee table. Call me if you need more,” Song Lifeng opened the door, took out his suitcase, paused, turned around and looked at Song Lang, and said, “Let Feifei go home to live. A hotel is not as good as home.”
"Oh—ah?" Song Lang froze, instantly becoming mostly sober.
Song Lifeng said no more, only reminding him to pay attention to water, electricity and gas safety, before rushing to the airport to go home and coax his wife.
Song Lang sat blankly in the living room for a long time, still not understanding what his father meant.
It wasn't until evening, when Shen Zhifei returned with him, that he finally came to his senses: "Holy crap! Did they agree?!" He excitedly grabbed Shen Zhifei's hand, urgently seeking confirmation, "Did they nod?! How did Dad know you were here? Mom must have told him, but how did he know I knew you were here? The tone of his voice—"
Before he could finish speaking, Shen Zhifei gently captured his lips with hers.
Song Lang paused for a moment, then began to respond enthusiastically, using both hands and feet to remove the layers of obstacles to skin-to-skin contact.
Shen Zhifei grabbed his hair, forcing him to tilt his head back, then bent down to kiss his sexy Adam's apple and collarbone. With his other hand, he kept rubbing Song Lang's buttocks, his wet tongue swirling around the boy's pink nipples, continuing to rub down his waistline and V-line.
Song Lang hummed comfortably.
He lay on the sofa, one leg propped up on the backrest, raising his waist to make it easier for Shen Zhifei to kiss him.
Suddenly, the kissing stopped, and a wet sensation came from her lower abdomen.
Song Lang put a hand to his forehead, chuckling and panting lightly, "Damn, are you drooling like this? Why are you drooling?"
Shen Zhifei hesitated to make any further move, and Song Lang then remembered something, propped himself up to touch his face, and found it was indeed wet and cold.
"Why are you crying? Are you touched?" He smiled and wiped away his tears, his eyes full of affection.
With red-rimmed eyes, Shen Zhifei pressed her fingertips against Song Lang's taut abdomen. Near the lower left side of his V-line, there was a tattoo that clearly engraved his name.
Chapter 62
When was the tattoo done?
Shen Zhifei used his fingertips to trace the name on Song Lang's lower abdomen repeatedly through a thin layer of air. The handwriting was exactly the same as his, as if he had written it himself.
Song Lang replied, "Around the New Year."
After receiving the set of practice books and discovering the note buried in the pen cap, Song Lang seemed to live a calm day until the fireworks and bells of New Year's Eve exploded in the sky, at which point he felt lonely.
That kind of loneliness is truly unbearable.
Ten years have passed; this should have been the tenth Lunar New Year's Eve he and Shen Zhifei spent together.
Song Lang lay in the darkness, the fireworks bursting in the night sky outside the window unable to penetrate the heavy curtains. He rested his head on his arms, recalling the sweet words Shen Zhifei whispered in his ear at this time last year. His heart swelled yet felt empty, as if suspended in the clouds, with firecrackers exploding into a massive thunderstorm, threatening to tear him to pieces at any moment.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and put one hand inside his pants.
With Shen Zhifei's beautiful and alluring face lingering in his mind, and his breath damp with moisture in his ears, Song Lang felt a sharp pain in his lower body from the tightness of his underwear. He took off his pants and reached climax while thinking about Shen Zhifei.
Even so, it wasn't enough; the extreme emptiness after ejaculation drove him crazy.
He desperately needed something from Shen Zhifei to comfort him.
He reached out and pulled open the drawer of the desk next to the bed, fumbling for the fountain pen. The cold touch did not sober him up; all he wanted now was to indulge in pleasure and have Shen Zhifei fill his body.
Since Feifei isn't here, let his pen do it.
Am I a pervert? Never mind, it doesn't matter, I just miss him so much.
Song Lang held the pen tightly in his hand. The slender pen barrel was just like Shen Zhifei's long and strong fingers. He opened his mouth and put Shen Zhifei's fingers in, licking them wet little by little.
A slight metallic taste came from the tip of his tongue. He frowned and took the pen deeper into his mouth, gradually warming it with the warmth of his mouth.
He closed his eyes again, reached out and touched himself, imagining those fair hands stroking his chest, brushing against his ribs one by one, lightly circling around his navel, and then continuing downwards, the fingernails pressing a thin red mark into his lower abdomen, finally grasping his newly erect organ.
So comfortable.
Song Lang bit the pen, his tongue curling around the damp pen shaft, as if he were kissing Shen Zhifei tenderly through the pen.
Shen Zhifei pressed down on him, playing with his lips and tongue, inserting his fingers into his mouth to make him lick them wet, and stuffing his erect and swollen penis into his mouth to manipulate him... His whole body was burning hot, and he couldn't help but bend his right leg, whispering Shen Zhifei's name, and inserting the pen into his body.
It hurts a lot.
He hadn't experienced this kind of pain in a long time, and he actually missed it terribly.
I must be crazy.
Song Lang lay on his back with his legs bent and his buttocks slightly raised, a position that allowed him to open his body wider. He raised his chin, his Adam's apple bobbing restlessly, and inserted the pen even deeper.
He gasped for breath and opened his eyes a crack, looking at his wide-open legs. His glans had already soaked his palms and lower abdomen, and his black, curly pubic hair was covered in the filthy semen he had previously ejaculated.
"Non-non-existent—"
In a daze, Shen Zhifei knelt between his legs, grasped his left hand, and firmly and forcefully used the pen to pry open his anus, rubbing and grinding against the hot intestinal wall. The pleasure surged wildly inside him, but he still felt it wasn't enough.
"Brother, do you like it? Please tell me you like it."
He recalled their first embrace and their conversation.
I like it, fuck me hard, Fei Fei.
Song Lang kept poking the G-spot that drove him crazy with his pen, while his right hand quickened its pace to stroke his erect penis. In the waves of pleasure from both ends, he tightened his anus and reached another climax.
With the pen still in his mouth, he rested for a while, then masturbated again.
Song Lang only stopped this self-destructive pleasure when his semen became as thin as water.
He turned on the light, his eyes reddening, and looked down at his wet abdomen. His limp penis lay there listlessly, like a believer who had trekked across an entire desert but still saw no hope at the end.
He reached down and wiped away the semen below his V-line, thinking that he had to brand hope onto himself.