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The way of the Cloud Recesses is that a dominant must intimately understand what they are doing to their submissive. To understand, they must experience. There are, when needed, exceptions given. Sizhui has never asked for an exception and isn't about to ask for one now. Being on his knees isn't natural, but neither is it unpleasant. Tonight is not the first time, nor will it be the last, that he must yield to another for his training.
The sharpness in Lianfang-zun's gaze isn't new either, but it has never been turned on him like this before. It is the first time Sizhui has found himself so completely over his head before the scene begins. Anxiety is not a feeling Sizhui is familiar with, but it rises in his throat now, thick and almost choking.
He could stop this; he could stop this and still be permitted to do it himself as a dominant. To satisfy the requirements of the Cloud Recesses, he only has to try, but he wants more than just trying.
Sizhui wants to grab hold of a submissive's tender vulnerabilities and push and stretch them to their very edges. He wants to know what it feels like to pin someone under them and feel their struggle, to see the fear in their eyes, to play at taking away their choice. How can he learn that without experiencing it himself?
It would be foolish not to accept a masterclass from Lianfang-zun, even if it means Sizhui's limits will be putty in Lianfang-zun's hands.
A good Lan submissive lowers their eyes demurely; a good Lan submissive does not anticipate. Lianfang-zun is not Lan. Sizhui takes a deep breath, lifts his eyes to meet Lianfang-zun's gaze, and pulls himself into kneeling attention, sitting up off his heels, splaying his legs slightly, and folding his arms in the center of his back; his posture nearly as flawless as Bofu's. He expects corrections on his stance. That his arms aren't high enough, his legs not spread in the right way.
Instead, Lianfang-zun closes the space between them, grabs Sizhui's hair, and drags him upward. Sizhui's eyes water. He resists. Not because he was planning on it or because it is a part of the scene, although both are true. He pulls back, scared, flailing with prey instinct to escape a predator.
Sizhui's struggle is meaningless. Lianfang-zun is stronger than he looks. He and Sizhui are roughly the same size, but much muscle is hidden under that perfectly tailored clothing. Sizhui is in over his head. He was in over his head the second he agreed that he would submit to Lianfang-zun for this scene. What was he thinking?
"You Lans, you always think so much," Lianfang-zun says as he releases Sizhui's hair. But there isn't time to think because that same hand cracks across Sizhui's cheek hard enough that he staggers backward. He opens his mouth, and Lianfang-zun keeps speaking over him. "I'm going to have fun with you, little boy. Your uncle is too easy. He sinks so deep. But you? I don't think you'll hit subspace and ruin my fun, will you?" he asks as he steps forward.
Sizhui steps back. Lianfang-zun smirks, and the urge to flee takes Sizhui. He darts to the side, Lianfang-zun moves, and before Sizhui can process what's happening, he's slammed back against the wall with Liangfang-zun's full weight.
It's not Sizhui's hair that Lianfang-zun now reaches for, but his throat. Sizhui forgets to breathe and forgets that it was Lianfang-zun who marked choking as a limit in their negotiations. He forgets everything but the threat of the hand across his trachea.
"I asked you a question, A-Yuan."
Sizhui shudders as his birthname echoes in his ears. It's not that it's dead to him, nor that he's rejected it. It sounds contemptuous in Lianfang-zun's mouth, as if Sizhui doesn't deserve the respect of his full name.
Between that, the hand on his throat, and the riotous thudding of his heart, Sizhui doesn't remember what question Lianfang-zun even asked. He starts to struggle again, hard enough to succeed in dislodging Lianfang-zun.
The success is short-lasting. Lianfang-zun trips him, and Sizhui goes down hard on the floor of the Hanshi, his hands aching from the impact of catching himself.
"I see you forgot I trained in the Unclean Realm," Lianfang-zun says, sounding bored as he kicks Sizhui down onto his back and thumps his foot at the center of his chest. "But I suppose you gave me my answer."
What answer? Wait, didn't Lianfang-zun ask him something about subspace? Sizhui's anxiety turned to animal terror so quickly that he can't make sense of anything. His knee throbs from where he went down on the ground, his palms sting, and his chest aches where Lianfang-zun's foot presses into it. His thoughts churn, and safewords flash through his mind. Yellow, red, yellow ? He can stop this; he could stop this. Should he stop this?
Then Lianfang-zun lowers himself onto Sizhui, straddling his hips, and everything leaves his mind.
"Poor little A-Yuan, you didn't expect this, did you?"
When Lianfang-zun cups Sizhui's jaw in his hand, Sizhui whines and braces himself for a slap. Instead, Lianfang-zun strokes his thumb across Sizhui's lips. It's gentle until it isn't, until Lianfang-zun pushes his thumb past Sizhui's lips and teeth and pushes down on his tongue so that he can't talk even if he wants to.
This time, Sizhui stops himself from struggling. He could bite, he could kick out, he could—he could hurt Lianfang-zun.
He could tell Lianfang-zun to stop.
Sizhui lays flat on his back on the hard wooden floor, pinned in place by Lianfang-zun's weigh over him, and he doesn't do anything. He hardly even breathes.
"You should stop me, little boy." But Lianfang-zun's thumb presses down on Sizhui's tongue even harder.
Spit pools uncomfortably in Sizhui's mouth. He doesn’t want to stop this. He doesn’t want it to continue. He's scared. Frozen by the conflicting thoughts clashing in his mind. His paralysis doesn't seem to phase Lianfang-zun.
"You should stop me before I get you naked," he continues. Sizhui knows he's right. "You should stop me before I get my fingers in your hole and see how wet you are."
Sizhui shudders, tries to whimper, only for the sound to get caught in his mouth, muffled and dying on his trapped tongue. He's drooling over his cheeks now, uncomfortable and gross. Lianfang-zun opens his mouth wider, pulling down on Sizhui's jaw with his thumb.
Sizhui likes being fucked. He likes bottoming as much as he does topping, possibly even more. But not like this. He doesn't want it like this. He agreed to it, though. He remembers enough, the negotiation breaking through his thoughts only to deliver a slick all-encompassing shame.
Lianfang-zun looks down at him, and Sizhui closes his eyes. He doesn't want to see the considering look on Lianfang-zun's face or try to figure out what he means.
"You know," Lianfang-zun says as he slides his thumb off Sizhui's tongue and rubs the spit across his cheek, "Xichen and I should consider continuing the family line. Maybe I shouldn't be fucking you at all. Maybe I should go get your bofu. Although he would want to be so gentle with you," Lianfang-zun snorts, but Sizhui hardly hears him after continuing the family line .
Sizhui surges up to push Lianfang-zun off him, but Lianfang-zun was waiting. Sizhui is slammed back against the floor, Lianfang-zun’s hands bruisingly hard on his shoulders.
"Ah, do you not like that, little boy?"
Yellowredyellow? Flashes through Sizhui's brain, and he shakes his head, unsure if it's at himself or Lianfang-zun's words. Either way, a tear tracks down his face as Lianfang-zun holds him down.
Lianfang-zun is hard. Sizhui has had his hands on bofu's cock, but he's never been this close to Lianfang-zun's. It's… terrifying. Sizhui's seen how he and bofu play; it's glorious to watch. Sizhui doesn't dream of recreating it. He knows who he is as a dominant, knows what can can learn from Lianfang-zun. And yet—
Sizhui realizes he'd like it. Right now, crying, terrified, if Lianfang-zun fucked him or brought bofu in, he'd like it. The truth makes him cry even harder.
"Ah, this is why your uncle isn't here with us. He couldn't stand to see you cry." Lianfang-zun sighs and shakes his head. "I could get his dick hard. I could force him to fuck you. It'd be pretty, the both of you sobbing in each other's arms." Lianfang-zun rolls his hips, grinding down against Sizhui as he speaks.
"No," Sizhui whispers, his first word in this whole scene. Pathetic.
"Ah, did I so easily find your breaking point?" Lianfang-zun asks, his voice soft as velvet. "Is it that I'd force your bofu or that I think you'd make such beautiful babies with him?"
The way Lianfang-zun smiles when Sizhui starts to fight, hurts. Sizhui can feel how wet he is as he shifts up with all his force. Lianfang-zun only pushes back, matching him.
"Use your safeword, Sizhui," he coaxes, still smiling so gently.
Sizhui wants to scream. He opens his mouth, but a scream isn't what falls from his lips. "Red," he whispers instead.
Lianfang-zun rolls to his feet and bends down, helping Sizhui up. "Good boy," he praises, and to Sizhui's burning shame, it feels good.
Later, when he has come down and is tucked against bofu's side, he realizes the scene with Lianfang-zun lasted seventeen minutes.