His little kitty-cat grin comes back in full force at that demand, shoulders rolling anticipatorily while his hands make quick work of resecuring the garters to his stockings, then he lifts them both, spits into his right hand and lowers it between his legs to curl around his cock. The reaction is instantaneous; Sizhui's breath hitches, he slightly tilts his head back before letting it loll to the side, mouth falling open in a moan. When he'd done it by himself, it was good— simple, fast and dirty. Performing for Jiang Cheng, however, has him wanting it to be great.

So, he plays it up some, lets the hand he isn't jerking himself off with drift across his chest, up his collarbone and over his neck where he briefly hesitates at his chin, but the moment there's another groan coming on, he takes the first two digits, guides them past plush, red-tinted lips and effectively muffles the noise.