Work Text:
The slap of Zhou Zishu’s tail slashing irritably against the floor disturbed the peace of their dinner table. Zhang Chengling, ears tilted down, pretended not to notice. A different man, a man who was less suave and more tactful, might have taken the hint and stopped painstakingly placing the best bits in Zhou Zishu’s bowl. Might have stopped trying to be so slick water would slide off him. But not Wen Kexing.
Wen Kexing just kept setting fatty bits of fish on Zhou Zishu’s rice, looking up through his long lashes and—so rude—occasionally sniffing the air.
The next time he started to lean forward, Zhou Zishu knocked Wen Kexing’s chopsticks away from his bowl. “Feed yourself.”
Wen Kexing pouted. “Ah Xu never eats enough.”
Flushing angrily, Zhou Zishu knew he’d been caught out. “I eat plenty without you helping.” He didn’t. They both knew it. Zhang Chengling probably knew it too, but he was far too polite to say so.
Eyes cast down, Wen Kexing refilled his cup of wine and said nothing. Zhou Zishu rolled his eyes. Under the table, something furry ghosted across his robes and then came back and curled up under them and around his ankle—unmistakably Wen Kexing’s tail.
He shot Wen Kexing a look, but the man himself smiled like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth and tickled Zhou Zishu’s calf with his tail. Zhou Zishu didn’t slap him, but that was more out of habit than anything else. He used a little qi to flick a dumpling at him, and Wen Kexing had the audacity to catch it in his mouth instead of letting himself be smacked in the face with it.
“Ah Xu, why won’t you eat? Don’t you appreciate what your wife has cooked for you?”
Zhou Zishu unceremoniously shoved a piece of fish into his mouth. For a blissful moment, Wen Kexing turned his sharp gaze on Zhang Chengling, needling him for not eating enough vegetables. Zhou Zishu, suddenly magnanimous, said, “Lao Wen, let him eat what he wants. If he’s not strong enough for training, he’ll pay for it tomorrow.”
Wen Kexing pouted and began to complain loudly that no one respected him in this house. As his words poured out of him like a torrent, threatening to pull Zhou Zishu under, he noticed Wen Kexing pulling something out of his sleeve. A little bottle, discreet plainware, not the sort of delicate, painted porcelain that Zhou Zishu knew to expect for Wen Kexing’s cosmetics. Out of the corner of his eye, Zhou Zishu watched Wen Kexing one-handedly pour three drops into Zhou Zishu’s wine cup.
Not a cosmetic then.
In spite of his better judgment, Zhou Zishu sipped his wine. More bitter perhaps, the faint taste of wrongness at the edge of his fading palate. Odd. Well, he’d find out what it did soon enough. “Good wine, Lao Wen.”
“Only the best for my Ah Xu.”
Zhou Zishu loved the way he lied. The way his eyes didn’t change, no curl of the mouth to give him away, just the same delighted menace. “If only that level of polite concern extended to leaving me alone.”
“Ah, but then you wouldn’t have all the best, would you?” Zhou Zishu would swear that Wen Kexing’s empty eyes sparkled as he said it.
“There is a reason so many men these days abstain from matrimony.”
Zhang Chengling coughed. “Shifu, may I be excused?”
Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu exchanged a look.
“Yes, of course—” Wen Kexing started to say.
But Zhou Zishu cut in, “Don’t stay up late reading. I expect you to be ready for your morning exercises bright and early.”
“Ah Xu, he can stay up late if he wants.”
“You want the boy to be tired?”
“Let him be tired and then he’ll learn his lesson. Or don’t push him so hard.”
“I push him as hard as he needs to be pushed.”
“No,” Wen Kexing said, starting to raise his voice, “you push him too hard. He’s not old enough—”
“Good night, shifu, shishu.” Zhang Chengling scuttled out.
Wen Kexing huffed. “He didn’t even compliment the food.”
“Lao Wen—” Zhou Zishu knocked back the rest of his wine, a little oily and weird. “Shut the fuck up.”
Without being asked, Wen Kexing poured them both fresh cups, strangely solicitous. This one tasted perfectly normal. Zhou Zishu waited to see if Wen Kexing would spike this cup too, but no, no more attempts made on the integrity of his wine. And as Zhou Zishu watched Wen Kexing, making cantankerous small talk, Wen Kexing in turn watched Zhou Zishu.
The rest of dinner went by unremarkably, Wen Kexing continually setting the best bits into Zhou Zishu’s bowl and looking sorrowful whenever Zhou Zishu snapped at him about it. In spite of himself, he ate more as he went. Maybe just a better evening for his sense of taste than he’d had in a while. Eating more seemed only to egg Wen Kexing on, though.
Once he was satisfied that Zhou Zishu had eaten a respectable amount of food, even by standards applied to men who weren’t withering away, Wen Kexing loudly cleared the table, complaining the entire time that no one helped him in this house.
Zhou Zishu watched him do it, a familiar performance by then. “I could help,” he said.
“No,” said Wen Kexing, “I remember how well you helped the last set of dishes.”
Zhou Zishu smiled to himself, pouring himself another cup of wine. “Then it’s not that no one helps you, but rather that you won’t accept help.”
Wen Kexing’s wet dishrag hit his head with surprising accuracy.
“Lao Wen, that’s not very nice.” Zhou Zishu peeled the rag off and dropped it onto the table. He watched Wen Kexing wash, watched the way the muscles in his arms flexed where his sleeves were held back. Like everything Wen Kexing did around the house, he did this with an expectedly ruthless efficiency. Completely divorced from the fawning imbecile who set tender morsels unwanted in Zhou Zishu’s bowl.
He was surprised to find that, even at that distance, Zhou Zishu could smell Wen Kexing: smoke and musk and the last curling tendrils of vetiver from the perfume he wore. It made his mouth water, and that—hm. He couldn’t smell much of anything these days, the nails having taken that sense away months ago. They lived in close enough quarters most days that he should have been able to smell Wen Kexing, sparring or eating meals or fending off his advances. Sometimes, Zhou Zishu caught the occasional faint whiff, half sense-memory of what Wen Kexing had smelled like before Zhou Zishu lost his sense of smell, but this—it felt real. Overwhelming in a way that smelling other men had never been when he still could.
When Wen Kexing had finished washing up, he untied his sleeves and used a clean rag to wipe his face. It was odd how quickly the rhythms of home had fallen into place, put together across half a dozen places rented for the night. “Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing said, shifting from put-upon housewife into his usual handsy forwardness.
Zhou Zishu sighed. He knew what was coming next. He knocked back the last of his wine. He felt pleasantly warm, a little drunk. When Wen Kexing sidled over, the smell of his desire washed over Zhou Zishu. It clung to his nose, his mouth, sticking to the backs of his teeth. Did Wen Kexing always smell like that? Could everyone around them smell it? And if Zhou Zishu could smell Wen Kexing, could Wen Kexing also smell—
Swooping in, Wen Kexing groped at Zhou Zishu’s waist, possessive. Zhou Zishu swatted at his hand idly. Then Wen Kexing asked, as he did most nights when they had a proper bed to sleep in, “Would you do this humble one the honor of coming to bed with him?”
Zhou Zishu sighed. Looked him over. Wen Kexing was expecting Zhou Zishu to say no because he always said no. That was the game they played, after all. But tonight he smelled like burnt sugar and desperation, the enormity of his desire sliding down Zhou Zishu’s throat. He could say no again. But he could also say yes—for the look of surprise on Wen Kexing’s face. Zhou Zishu rolled his eyes, pushing Wen Kexing away. “Fine.”
Wen Kexing blinked at him, momentarily shocked into silence. There was a fragmentary expression of unvarnished desire, flickering away into nothingness, replaced by complacent sleaze. Then, he snaked a hand around Zhou Zishu’s wrist. “Oh, now he says yes.”
“Don’t make me change my mind.” Zhou Zishu yanked his wrist back. It required more effort than he was expecting. He stomped past Zhang Chengling’s bedroom, past the safety of his own, and hesitated in front of Wen Kexing’s. He was about to let himself in when Wen Kexing came up behind him, wrapping Zhou Zishu in an embrace that just happened to pin his arms to his sides.
“Coming in?”
“If you insist.”
“I do.” Before letting go, Wen Kexing buried his face in the crook of Zhou Zishu’s neck and huffed.
“You’re being rude,” Zhou Zishu said to cover Wen Kexing’s audible moan.
Wen Kexing didn’t say anything, just pushed the door open, gesturing him in. The room itself looked almost identical to Zhou Zishu’s, one wall over—narrow single bed, a few couches, a table for private meals.
“Where do you want to have me?” Zhou Zishu said, starting to strip before the door had even closed.
“Ah Xu!” Wen Kexing was audibly pouting. “You won’t let me seduce you?”
“Look at me, I’m already in your room. I’m taking my clothes off. What more is there to seduce?”
Wen Kexing was silent. When, after a long pause, Zhou Zishu finally looked up from shucking off his robes, Wen Kexing had the audacity to look put out. “It’s not just that.”
“It’s just that. Now, get all your ridiculous robes off. There have to be two dozen of them.” Zhou Zishu left himself in his innermost robe, trousers discarded, covered up just enough that none of the nails showed.
Wen Kexing was delicately folding his robes, piece by piece, humming something tunelessly to himself. When Zhou Zishu settled himself on the edge of the bed, Wen Kexing’s ears swiveled toward him, flattening. He darted a look over his shoulder at Zhou Zishu. Frowned. “You’re still dressed.”
“For now.”
It took Wen Kexing a full five minutes to lay out his ridiculous clothes and produce a tub of salve from one sleeve or another. Under them, he looked surprisingly soft, defenseless as he peeled off his last white layer. Zhou Zishu almost regretted not taking off his own. Wen Kexing was a map of faded scars, white lines and lifted gnarls of too smooth skin, claw marks but no bites. Sniffing the air, Wen Kexing ducked his head to hide an obvious smirk. “I didn’t realize you felt that way.”
“I don’t.”
Wen Kexing did not stop smirking. He sauntered across the room, perching himself next to Zhou Zishu. Smelling him ostentatiously. “Been a while?”
Zhou Zishu managed to cover his irritation at being caught out, but barely. “I’ve been busy keeping that little idiot alive.”
“Mmn.” Wen Kexing curled an arm around Zhou Zishu and kissed him, slow and deliberate and somehow snide. Zhou Zishu let him. Slipped his own hand down to palm at Wen Kexing’s pec, at a twisting scar on his belly, at his hard cock—
Zhou Zishu pulled back. “You have barbs.”
“Is that a problem?” Wen Kexing said, biting his ear.
Zhou Zishu should say yes. It should be a problem. “Every part of you is a problem. Is this why only whores will have you?”
“Some men like it,” Wen Kexing said, the tone making it clear that he suspected Zhou Zishu was some men.
“Disgusting,” Zhou Zishu said, his hand quick on Wen Kexing’s cock. Even against his palm, he could feel the barbs.
Wen Kexing’s eyelashes fluttered against his cheek. His breathing was quick, frantic warm pants against Zhou Zishu’s skin. “You don’t seem disgusted.”
Zhou Zishu snorted. “What can I say? I have bad taste.”
“Have you ever taken barbed cock before?” Idle question as Wen Kexing fucked into Zhou Zishu’s fist. Did Wen Kexing think he made a habit of this?
“I don’t like men,” Zhou Zishu lied. Then, the truth: “So no, of course not.”
Wen Kexing’s eyes glittered, predatory. “It’ll hurt.”
“I know.”
Oh, Zhou Zishu had heard the stories. Spent enough of his youth in brothels with Jing Beiyuan to hear stories from whores, boys and girls who’d been well-compensated for their time. Remembered one girl whining to Jing Beiyuan about how brave she’d been, how much it had hurt, angling for sympathy (and maybe some of the prince’s easy monetary favor). Remembered her friend laughing at her for it. An acquired taste, she’d called it. One of Jing Beiyuan’s boys had called it barbarism.
“Do you want it to hurt?” Wen Kexing said, breathless
Zhou Zishu didn’t say anything. His silence spoke for itself, the sound of his tail flicking against the upholstery audible over their panting breaths. Wen Kexing’s pupils were blown wide and dark. The rustle of Zhou Zishu’s robes as Wen Kexing rucked them up and pushed his hand under, groping at Zhou Zishu’s thigh, at his ass. Wrapping around his cock and rubbing his thumb over the dripping head.
“You’re leaking.”
Zhou Zishu rolled his eyes. “No shit.” He tried to sound cool, unaffected, but this close up, Wen Kexing’s smell was overwhelming. It had been so long since he’d smelled much of anything, and now this—he breathed in, feeling exposed, and then shoved his face into Wen Kexing’s throat. Oh, he could smell him.
Wen Kexing rubbed his thumb across the head of Zhou Zishu’s cock, too much, too sensitive. Zhou Zishu moaned, sucking in a breath full of the scent of Wen Kexing’s arousal. “Ah Xu,” he said, sounding so disgustingly pleased that Zhou Zishu should have pulled away just to make him shut the fuck up.
He didn’t, though. Licked up along Wen Kexing’s neck. He could taste him too. Zhou Zishu purred, low in his throat, and then tried to hide it in a growl. Whatever Wen Kexing dosed him with was good. Doubtless expensive. The heightened sense of smell—likely intended to overwhelm him but only bringing his senses back to what he would’ve experienced prior to the nails. The intensity of the arousal reminded him of heats, back when he still had them, the curling desire in his belly that begged for him to get fucked.
He’d learned a long time ago that most men didn’t feel it that way—at least as far as they’d admit. He had exorcised the feeling by ignoring it, by fucking women, by burying his fingers as deep inside himself as they would go. He wished that when he still could—that Lao Wen—he would have liked—but no.
Wen Kexing stopped stroking his cock, hand sliding back onto Zhou Zishu’s ass, thumb slipping dangerously into the cleft. “I’ll make it so good for you.”
“Lao Wen,” Zhou Zishu groaned. “Fuck.” He should stop this. He shouldn’t just climb into Wen Kexing’s lap and push his face against Wen Kexing’s skin and let the smell fill his lungs. Remember the feeling of wanting. He used to feel desire once.
Wen Kexing touched him there, delicate. “Can I?”
It’s a stupid question. Wen Kexing must have been able to smell him. “Why else would I have come back to your room?” Zhou Zishu snapped.
Wen Kexing drew in a lungful of air, pointed and smug. Smelling him. Zhou Zishu must reek of want, the sticky cloying stink of it. “Tell me I can, Ah Xu.”
Head pillowed against Wen Kexing’s shoulder, Zhou Zishu let himself sink into the warm lassitude of desire, the rising smell of Wen Kexing. The smoke eclipsing the remnants of vetiver, burning it away. “Lao Wen, don’t ask too much.”
“Oh, I can fuck you with my monstrous cock, but you can’t tell me you want me to? Ah Xu is so cruel.” With practiced ease, Wen Kexing flicked open the pot of salve one-handed and dipped his fingers in.
Zhou Zishu rolled his eyes. “So dramatic. Now go on.”
Wen Kexing huffed, but he pushed a finger in anyway. Easier than Zhou Zishu expected. He hadn’t touched himself like that in well over a year, not since before the last nail. At first because of the pain or because it had felt pointless or because something else was easier. And when he had wanted to, when Wen Kexing’s eyes had slid over him, slick and wanting, had reminded him that he could still want too, it had been a point to score in their imaginary game. Zhou Zishu, denying himself what he wanted because what if Wen Kexing found out he did? Ridiculous, really. He was still here in the end, speared open like a stupid whore.
“Don’t waste my time.”
Wen Kexing laughed at him. “I’m not,” he said. “I’m really, really not.” He began to move a little, rocking his finger in and out. Opening him up.
The soft pleasure of it crept up his limbs. It was the drug; it had to be. The ease of it, Wen Kexing pushing in until Zhou Zishu could feel the base of his hand.
“More,” Zhou Zishu said, surprising himself with the magnitude of his own desire, the way it curled into his belly. “How can I possibly take your cock like this?”
“Fuck.” Wen Kexing pushed a second finger in, easy. Zhou Zishu could feel his calluses, his knuckles, the tender press of Wen Kexing’s thumb into his taint. His fingers were slick, lazy pressure against Zhou Zishu’s insides. It should be harder to take after so long without. Shouldn’t just be a matter of Lao Wen shoving his fingers in, as many as he wanted. But Zhou Zishu supposed heat drugs were like that. Meant to take the edge off, to make it easy to fuck. The edge was definitely off, anyway.
“Give me your thumb too. Your little fingers, I can’t feel anything.”
Wen Kexing, for once, didn’t argue. Adding his thumb was a stretch, thick with the way he couldn’t press his fingers flat. Zhou Zishu gasped when Wen Kexing pushed his fingers in. The surprise, the shocky pleasure of being stretched full.
Closer to taking a cock, Zhou Zishu imagined. He rode Wen Kexing’s fingers a little, forgetful of himself. He was a creature of dignity, but not then, not with Wen Kexing inside him, leaving himself with a pleasant fullness that let him drift away a little. When he came back, when he remembered to be careful of himself, Wen Kexing was petting his ears with the hand that wasn’t inside of him and whispering to him, telling him how well he was doing. Zhou Zishu realized he was whimpering, eyes leaking onto Wen Kexing’s shoulder.
He flushed, angry with himself. Shoved at Wen Kexing’s arm—as if he could pull away. “All right, go on. That’s enough.”
“Ah Xu, if that’s all you want—” Wen Kexing said, his voice terribly soft.
“Wen Kexing.”
“No, listen, if you just want me to use my hands, that’s fine.” Coaxing. Wen Kexing thought he couldn’t take it.
Zhou Zishu scoffed. “I didn’t come here for adolescent fumbling.”
Wen Kexing looked so entirely skeptical that it annoyed him. “If you’re sure.” He pulled his fingers out, leaving behind a lingering sensation of emptiness. Zhou Zishu studiously controlled his desire to whine.
“I’m absolutely sure,” Zhou Zishu snapped. “Put your horrible cock in me or I’ll leave.”
Wen Kexing gave him a measured look. “Let me take your inner robe off first.”
It wasn’t that Wen Kexing didn’t know. But, well. Zhou Zishu remembered how he’d acted the last time Wen Kexing had seen them up close. They weren’t pretty scars but ugly, gnarled knots in Zhou Zishu’s skin. Places he’d healed wrong after pulling them out and putting them back in again so many times. “You can fuck me like this,” Zhou Zishu said, swatting Wen Kexing’s hand away as it snuck toward the lapels of his robe.
“Ah Xu, I want to see.”
“Fine,” Zhou Zishu snapped. He pulled the sides of his robe open, shrugging it off. It pooled around him like a mourning shroud.
Wen Kexing sucked in a breath. Zhou Zishu wished then that he couldn’t smell the tumble of panic and fear and fury, the way Wen Kexing’s scent became swamped with sour anger before he caught himself. Pushed it down. The flood of warm fondness that smelled like summer fruit, the rush of mango across his tongue, surprised Zhou Zishu, knocking him back into his own skin.
“Lao Wen,” he said, huffing. “Why did you get me naked if you aren’t going to touch me?”
Leaning forward, Wen Kexing ran a hand up Zhou Zishu’s side, fingers skidding around one of the nails, and pinched his nipple. Zhou Zishu bucked up against him, groaning. His tail slashed against the bed. He’d always enjoyed that, the tender humiliation of having his tits played with. Wen Kexing’s smell had shifted back to desire, the summer sweetness of his joy lingering around the edges. He was looking at Zhou Zishu, thrilled, like he’d discovered a secret. “You like that.”
“Everyone likes that,” Zhou Zishu grumbled. He should swat Wen Kexing’s hands away. He didn’t.
“Not everyone is sensitive there,” Wen Kexing said, circumspect. He twisted Zhou Zishu’s nipple between his fingers, clearly looking for a reaction.
Zhou Zishu whined. He could feel himself getting wetter, leaking precome onto his belly. The mortifying blooming pleasure in his gut. He pushed at Wen Kexing’s chest. “Are you going to fuck me or just fuck around?”
Wen Kexing laughed, mean. “Who’s going to fuck you? I think I want to just fuck around.” He dug his nail into the tender bud of Zhou Zishu’s nipple, sharp and painful and nowhere near enough. “You’d let me.”
He would too. Humiliating.
Zhou Zishu shoved Wen Kexing down flat on the bed, pinning him, before scrambling to find the abandoned pot of salve. Wen Kexing stayed where Zhou Zishu left him, tolerating his diversion. Letting Zhou Zishu do what he wanted. He opened it up and swiped two fingers in, using them to slick up Wen Kexing’s stupid cock. The barbs snicked against his palm as he slid his hand along Wen Kexing’s length. Ridiculous. Fuck. He rose up on his knees, positioning himself so that the blunt head of Wen Kexing’s cock pressed against his entrance.
“You should use more of the salve,” Wen Kexing said, not looking particularly put out at all.
“Fuck you.”
“Ah Xu—” Wen Kexing’s complaining broke off into a high whimper as Zhou Zishu bore down onto his cock, taking him in.
Wen Kexing was right, of course, damn him; Zhou Zishu should’ve used more of the salve. Not for the blunt pressure of his body being held open, but the high thready pain of the barbs, the way they shifted and caught unexpectedly, prickling along his nerves. He sank down slowly, thighs trembling, breath coming quick. All he could smell was Wen Kexing’s arousal, coating his mouth, his throat. It hurt. He was making wounded animal noises he wouldn’t want to remember making later, head thrown back, eyes watering. When he bottomed out, he sobbed.
Wen Kexing pet his thighs, prying Zhou Zishu’s white-knuckled fingers away, pale crescents left behind by his nails. He kissed Zhou Zishu’s hands, first one, then the other, linking their fingers together.
Scoffing, Zhou Zishu pulled his hands away. “Don’t be sentimental.”
“You’re doing very well,” Wen Kexing said sweetly, “for someone who’s never done this before.”
Coloring, Zhou Zishu forgot himself, pulling away. He gasped, pressing one hand to his belly as if he would be able to feel Wen Kexing’s cock pressing against the skin there. Belatedly, he said, “Of course I’ve done this before.”
“You could’ve told me,” Wen Kexing blathered, regardless of Zhou Zishu. “I might have been gentle with you.”
Zhou Zishu scoffed. “You would have been sleazy and solicitous.”
“So you admit it?”
“Fuck off.” Zhou Zishu ground down against Wen Kexing, trying to distract him. It sent sparks of pain skittering up his nerves, the ache in his core blossoming into new life. He caught himself, palms flat against Wen Kexing’s belly. Held himself still, struggling for breath.
Wen Kexing made little cooing noises, stroking Zhou Zishu’s fingers. “Go slow, go slow. I know you’re desperate for it, but go slow.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Zhou Zishu snapped. “I hate it. We’re never doing this again.”
Wen Kexing pursed his lips. Propping himself up on one elbow, he traced a finger along Zhou Zishu’s cock. “That would be more convincing if you weren’t rock hard.”
Zhou Zishu rolled his eyes. “Well, yes, we’re fucking.”
“Most men,” Wen Kexing explained in a gleeful, patient voice, “go soft when you shove a barely lubricated cock with barbs inside of them. Even well lubricated, they do. Ah Xu, usually there is coaxing involved. No one is foolish enough to just sit on my dick.”
“I have a high tolerance for pain,” Zhou Zishu said. It was not untrue.
Wen Kexing scoffed. “You’re wet and leaking. That’s not a tolerance. You’re gagging for it.”
“Fuck, I hate you.” Because Zhou Zishu was gagging for it. The pain had settled into a low steady simmer, and he wanted nothing more than to roll his hips, to feel the barbs jostle against him, to make it hurt bright and clear again. He shifted up on his knees experimentally and whined, letting himself drop down again. He rode Wen Kexing a little, thighs trembling, feeling like he was about to collapse—or come. He bit into his own lip until he tasted blood. “I can’t. Lao Wen, I can’t.”
“I know, shhhh, come here.”
He collapsed into Wen Kexing’s arms like a puppet with his strings cut. Even that hurt, jostling him, making his cock spill a little against Wen Kexing’s belly. Desperate to be fucked. He let Wen Kexing kiss him, the soft press of his mouth, his cruel tongue pressing at the split in Zhou Zishu’s lip, making him moan. It felt good. Easy. To let Wen Kexing take. To just lie there and feel.
Wen Kexing’s lips were smeared with blood as he said, “All right, let’s make a deal. I’m going to put you on your hands and knees and fuck you until I’m finished, no matter what you say or how much you cry, and you’re going to let me use as much salve as I want to.”
It shouldn’t make Zhou Zishu’s belly go hot, the idea of Lao Wen refusing to stop, of being used. “How is that a deal? Both of those conditions benefit you.”
“They also both benefit you,” Wen Kexing says, snippy. Ah, Wen Kexing was getting impatient. Excellent.
“Do they?”
“Well, what’s your counteroffer?”
Zhou Zishu couldn’t help the thrill that ran through him. “You can fuck me how I say you can fuck me for exactly as long as I say and with exactly as little lubricant as I want you to use.”
Wen Kexing’s eyes flashed. It was all the warning Zhou Zishu got before he rolled them over, trapping Zhou Zishu on his back. The movement was agony. He writhed, whined, belly clenching. Pinning Zhou Zishu’s wrists to the bed, Wen Kexing started to fuck him, shallow rolling thrusts that pushed Zhou Zishu toward the edge.
“Fuck, fuck, Lao Wen, stop.”
Unexpectedly, confusingly, Wen Kexing stopped. “Ah Xu?” He looked panicked, wild eyes, hair plastered to his sweaty forehead.
“Gonna come.” Zhou Zishu wrapped his fingers tight around the base of his cock, willing himself not to. “I don’t want—not yet.” He wanted more time with Wen Kexing’s cock in him, wanted to get fucked, wanted Wen Kexing to make him cry. It was horrible.
“You’re going to come,” Wen Kexing said, sounding a little dazed.
“Uhuh.” The feeling was ebbing away, his breath evening out. He could last a little while longer. Long enough for Wen Kexing to pull out probably.
“You’re going. To come. And you don’t want to?”
Zhou Zishu flushed. Shut his eyes. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Oh, Ah Xu, I’m going to fuck you,” Wen Kexing purred, and he bent Zhou Zishu’s leg back, pressing his knee up to his chest, and did. The angle was different, deeper. Wen Kexing had his knees under him now, fucking into Zhou Zishu, the dragging scraping ache of it, his cock pounding into him, and Zhou Zishu barely had the presence of mind to clamp his hand over his mouth, biting into it as he came screaming. Even that hurt, the curling pulse of it in his belly too tight, the way his body clenched around Wen Kexing’s horrible cock, the barbs still snagging against him. His body wanted to get away, make it stop, make it ease up, but he couldn’t get away. Stuffed full with it.
When he came down from it, trembling, whining, in tears, he wanted to be embarrassed. It was hard, though, with Wen Kexing looking at him like that. The way that Wen Kexing always looked at him.
“Ah Xu,” he whispered.
“It’s not usually like that,” Zhou Zishu said.
“No,” Wen Kexing agreed. “It’s not.”
They stared at each other in pleasant, confused silence. Wen Kexing had never looked so bewildered, so adrift. He still smelled like fucking, though, the waves and waves of arousal billowing off him. Zhou Zishu was drowning, almost dizzy with it. Wanted to be close, the horrible crawling feeling of it under his skin. Lao Wen, Lao Wen. He hooked his legs around Wen Kexing’s hips and tugged.
Wen Kexing crumpled into him, burying his face in Zhou Zishu’s throat, licking at the sweat there. “Fuck.”
Zhou Zishu ruffled Wen Kexing’s ears. “Lao Wen.” Cupping Wen Kexing’s cheek, Zhou Zishu tugged him up, close enough to kiss, and pressed their mouths together. They kissed, mouths messy, haphazardly slotted together. Wen Kexing’s tongue in his mouth, slick and hot. His teeth biting into Zhou Zishu’s lower lip, the sluggish flow of blood from the cut there. Wen Kexing lapping it away. The little flicker of Wen Kexing’s hips, probably unintentional, and Zhou Zishu hissed, sensitive. “You bastard.”
Wen Kexing grinned at him, mouth bloodied. Ground up into him, nipping at his throat, making Zhou Zishu clench and whimper, the curling threat of aftershocks. He felt the scrape of Wen Kexing’s sharp teeth against his jugular and shivered. If Lao Wen bit him there—well, that would be it. The flash of desire for it, bleeding out in Wen Kexing’s arms.
“Get out of me,” Zhou Zishu grumbled, not unwinding his legs.
“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing whined. “So cruel.” He did not point out that Zhou Zishu wasn’t letting him go. Very magnanimous of him. Philanthropist Wen indeed. He pressed a kiss to Zhou Zishu’s throat. “You’ll have to let me pull out eventually if you want me to fuck you again.”
“Who’s stopping you?” Zhou Zishu blustered.
Wen Kexing squeezed one of Zhou Zishu’s thighs trapping him. Smiled at him, wide and sunny. “I can’t bear to be parted from you.”
It made Zhou Zishu’s belly clench. He rolled his eyes. “Ridiculous.”
Wen Kexing hummed, setting about sucking a bruise into Zhou Zishu’s throat, nipping and biting. A love bite.
”Lao Wen, my disciple will see,” Zhou Zishu groused.
Wen Kexing, barely bothering to pause, said, “Oh, you don’t have a human skin mask to cover you here? No tricks for this?”
“Siji’s disguise techniques aren’t meant to hide your transgressions.” But of course Zhou Zishu could. It would be the work of a few moments to use the skills that his shifu gave him to cover up the evidence of an assignation. He’d done it before—although always as a result of other work. It felt vaguely sordid, hiding the marks left by someone who was dead—or would be soon.
“Refusing to use your disguise arts to hide the marks I’ve left on you? Someone else might think you wanted other people to see.”
Zhou Zishu’s face darkened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Wen Kexing looked extremely smug. Almost unbearably so. “In that case, since you’re so unmoved, I’m gonna pull out.”
Zhou Zishu whined, involuntary.
Wen Kexing’s smug little expression melted. “No, hush, just for a bit. It’ll start to hurt soon. You need a break.”
It shouldn’t have been such a relief that Wen Kexing was still going to fuck him, that that wasn’t it. He hadn’t ruined it. That was good. Zhou Zishu made a put-upon expression. Huffed. “Oh, it’ll start to hurt. It’ll start.”
“Ah Xu.” Whining. Conciliatory. “Don’t be like that.”
It ached, settling into a bone deep misery, but Zhou Zishu didn’t want Wen Kexing to pull out. Better like this, kept close. “Fine. Do it.”
Wen Kexing didn’t move. Looked at him, eyes narrowed. Suspicious. “You don’t want me to?”
“Of course I want you to pull out,” Zhou Zishu blustered. “I didn’t want you to fuck me in the first place.”
The little smirk that Wen Kexing was trying to suppress spread across his face and camped there. “Oh, you didn’t like it?”
Zhou Zishu rolled his eyes. “Hated it.”
Wen Kexing snorted. “Of course.”
Wen Kexing was slow and circumspect about pulling out, but it was still overwhelming, leaving Zhou Zishu feeling sensitive and new. More than anything, though, he felt strangely, mortifyingly empty. He lay there on the bed until Wen Kexing rolled him over onto his belly with a strange gentleness. Zhou Zishu shifted to get onto his hands and knees.
Wen Kexing pressed down on the small of his back, holding him in place. “Relax. Not just yet.”
Zhou Zishu let himself collapse back onto the bed. He felt good like that, face down, hidden away. Held down. Whatever Wen Kexing was about to do, at least Zhou Zishu could keep his mouth shut. Keep Wen Kexing from hearing how much he liked it.
Wen Kexing spread his asscheeks, and Zhou Zishu assumed: fingers. Maybe his cock. But, no, the slick slithering heat of his tongue flicking across Zhou Zishu’s hole.
”Lao Wen!”
Wen Kexing made an inquisitive noise, muffled against Zhou Zishu’s skin, but didn’t stop. Wen Kexing’s tongue traced Zhou Zishu’s rim, working in slow lazy circles, the sweep of it hot against tender prickling skin.
”What are you doing?” Zhou Zishu hissed, knowing full well. “That’s disgusting.”
“Should I stop?” Wen Kexing said, pulling back.
Zhou Zishu made a noise.
Wen Kexing didn’t say anything, just ducked his head down and licked at Zhou Zishu’s hole with an ecstatic vehemence that made Zhou Zishu melt into the bed. The pleasure of it crackled along his nerves, too much too soon, and he wanted, more than anything, for Wen Kexing to shove his tongue inside. He tried to relax, to let it happen. Couldn’t. He squirmed, pushing back against Wen Kexing’s mouth.
Petting his thigh, Wen Kexing said, “Tell me.”
”What?”
”Tell me what you want.”
Zhou Zishu’s mouth was dry. “Nothing. What are you talking about?”
”Fine,” Wen Kexing said. “Then I’ll take what I want instead.”
Zhou Zishu shivered involuntarily. Yes. Yes, he wanted that. Exactly that. “Don’t you dare.”
Wen Kexing pressed a fingertip to Zhou Zishu’s rim, testing, as if waiting for the muscle to give. Not that there was much resistance now. Wen Kexing had already fucked him. (Oh, god, he’d let Wen Kexing fuck him.) Wen Kexing pushed his finger in, tugging on Zhou Zishu’s rim, holding him open.
Zhou Zishu could feel the soft puff of air on his skin. Waited for Wen Kexing to touch him, to do more, to do anything. “Wen Kexing, what are you waiting for?”
Wen Kexing chuckled. Slid his tongue in, slick and impossibly hot. Ah. He’d been waiting for Zhou Zishu to get impatient. Zhou Zishu should have bothered to get embarrassed and bluster, but instead he groaned, bit at the sheets, let himself lounge in the feeling of it, Lao Wen desperately fucking him with his tongue. Strangely tender, the breathy little sighs, nuzzling whimpers. Wen Kexing spread Zhou Zishu, desperate to get closer, pushing a second finger into him, so he could make space, thrusting his tongue between them, a little further, a little deeper. There was spit dripping down his cleft, slipping down his balls. He squirmed with it until Wen Kexing pinned him down with an arm across his hips, tongue unrelenting.
It occurred to Zhou Zishu after some time like that that he was going to have to beg—and quite possibly he was willing to. “Lao Wen,” he said, voice rough. “Lao Wen, come on.”
”Hm?” The lazy hum of it against his skin. Wen Kexing settled back a little, lapping at Zhou Zishu’s hole. Not bothering to get his tongue all the way in. “Ah Xu, you don’t like it?”
”Don’t be ridiculous.”
”Is there something else you’d like more?” Wen Kexing said, voice curling upward with curiosity. He pushed a finger back into Zhou Zishu, companionable, as if he knew that Zhou Zishu was feeling oddly empty. Scraping his teeth against the skin of Zhou Zishu’s ass, Wen Kexing bit him. Hard enough to bruise, tender enough that his incisors didn’t break the skin.
”Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”
Wen Kexing sighed. “Oh, Ah Xu.” Then, he bit down, teeth sinking deep, bright pinpricks of pain.
Zhou Zishu’s cock throbbed, and he clenched down tight around Wen Kexing’s finger. The bite stung at first. Hurt worse once Wen Kexing pulled his teeth away. Zhou Zishu could feel the trickle of blood until Wen Kexing started to lap it away.
“That’s not what you wanted,” Wen Kexing said.
”No.” Zhou Zishu was still reeling with it, the roll of sharp unexpected pain. His body was good at that, regulating the pain away. It was strange to him how much he liked it like this. Pain could keep him up all night, and yet this—strange.
“Should I guess again?” Wen Kexing said.
And maybe Zhou Zishu should let him, let him keep guessing, keep biting, but—it felt obscurely ungrateful. And Zhou Zishu was getting impatient. There would be time later to play games. Probably. “Lao Wen, you’re shit at guessing.”
Wen Kexing hummed. Pushed a second finger inside, only spit slick.
Pushing back instinctively, Zhou Zishu tried to take more. He didn’t have any leverage laid out on his belly. “Fuck me,” he spat out.
”Again?” Feigning genuine surprise.
”You said you would.”
”And I’m a man of my word,” Wen Kexing said, laughter at the edges of his voice. He pulled his fingers out and slithered away, hunting through the bed for the salve.
Zhou Zishu barely had time to get his knees under him again when Wen Kexing was back, steadying hand on one hip, pushing his fingers back in. They felt almost sticky with the salve, transparently too much, feeding it into him. “That’s disgusting.”
”As much as I want to use. You said you’d let me,” Wen Kexing said, pleading, almost whining.
Zhou Zishu grunted when Wen Kexing pushed a third finger in. Superfluous—he was already fucked open. “Get on with it.”
”Zhou Zishu!” Wen Kexing snapped, and then he scruffed him. Wen Kexing’s hand on the back of his neck, threatening and overpowering, the scrape of his nails into his skin.
Zhou Zishu should have gone limp, let it happen, but the idea of fighting back, of making Wen Kexing hold him down—he twisted under Wen Kexing’s hand, a parody of struggle, tossing his upper back but very careful not to move his hips in any way that might dislodge Wen Kexing’s fingers from where they were buried inside of him.
”Is this what you want?” Wen Kexing hissed, and there was a moment where Zhou Zishu, uncertain, hung in the balance, frozen. Pulling his fingers out, Wen Kexing disappeared from behind him, and Zhou Zishu tried to turn, to twist around to see what he was doing, but Wen Kexing pinned him down, hand against his back, weight and qi keeping him in place.
Twisting against the hold, Zhou Zishu kicked back at him, trusting Wen Kexing to dodge. A second hand, nails biting into his thigh, and then Wen Kexing shifted to kneel across one of his calves, awkward and strange and so dearly painful, and Zhou Zishu was leaking, wet and desperate, onto the bed.
”Oh, you don’t want it anymore?” Wen Kexing said, voice gone nasty. “Not like this.”
”Fuck you.”
A kiss pressed to the center of his back, the horrifying raw intimacy of it. Wen Kexing rubbed the head of his cock against Zhou Zishu’s hole, slippery-sticky. Whispered: “I’m going to.”
Zhou Zishu bit down the small whimpering noise that threatened to escape his mouth. Relaxed his body, held tense in anticipation, muscle by muscle. Lingered in the billowing scent of Wen Kexing’s desire, the fog of it like a palpable thing around them. He was oddly comforted by the knowledge that Wen Kexing had to be as desperate for this was he was. “Lao Wen—” He strained to turn, glancing over his shoulder. The high flush on Wen Kexing’s cheeks, running down his chest, the way a lock of his hair was stuck to his sweaty cheek, the dark gleam of his eyes. Furious with him.
“Tell me you don’t want it one more time. I dare you.”
Zhou Zishu hesitated. Because, yes, he could push, could tell Wen Kexing to fuck off again, to get off him, but what Wen Kexing would hate even more, if only because it would rebound so clearly on him— “Lao Wen, please,” Zhou Zishu said, softening his voice, letting it run thready and soft, “please fuck me.” He glanced over his shoulder again just to see Wen Kexing’s poleaxed expression before doing his best to hide the smirk spreading across his face.
“Ah Xu.” And, oh, that was Wen Kexing’s lost little boy voice. Soft nipping bite on his flank. “You don’t know what you look like.”
Zhou Zishu rolled his eyes and wiggled his ass a little. “Come on, Lao Wen, sometime tonight.”
Wen Kexing made a furious high-pitched noise at the back of his throat and yanked on Zhou Zishu’s tail.
It hurt, a low burn, and Zhou Zishu moaned, leaning into it. “Get on with it.”
Seething, Wen Kexing pushed in, and fuck, he was right: it was easier like this. Slick and slow, the warm blunt fullness only gently undercut by the pain of the barbs, the lingering soreness from Zhou Zishu’s earlier haste. The way desire built in his belly. Yes, Zhou Zishu would want Wen Kexing to stop being patient and careful, to take and take and take, but—not quite yet. He was content to let Wen Kexing slide into him, to listen to his huffing breaths, to laze on the bed, arms draped over the bolster, not bothering to keep himself up. When Wen Kexing bottomed out, he leaned forward and brushed Zhou Zishu’s hair off his back, sweeping it to the side. Traced the lines of Zhou Zishu’s shoulder blades with one finger tip.
“Wen Kexing,” Zhou Zishu said before he couldn’t speak anymore. “Don’t forget our deal.”
“Hm?”
“Until you’re finished, no matter what I say or how much I cry.”
Wen Kexing sucked in a breath. “You’re sure?”
“If you go back on your word, you don’t get to fuck me again,” Zhou Zishu bluffed.
“All right,” Wen Kexing said, “all right, all right, but you can’t be so loud that you wake Chengling.”
“Next time,” Zhou Zishu said, smiling into the bolster, “we’ll tell Chengling we only have money to put him up in an inn and we can camp. Unless you’re worried the birds will kick us out of the forest?” It’s so vivid for him instantly, the chill night time air, the ground studded with rocks, his screams splitting the soft forest noises as Wen Kexing fucked him on the cold hard ground.
Wen Kexing groaned and started to fuck him again, slow and thorough, distracting Zhou Zishu from the thought of his fingers scrabbling at dirt and his knees skidding over half buried rocks. Zhou Zishu shifted up onto his hands again, so he could smack back at Wen Kexing, who was going much too slow. To his annoyance, Wen Kexing maintained his pace, the lazy flick of his hips, as if Zhou Zishu weren’t desperate for more.
He whined, biting into the bolster to hide the noise away. Wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch himself, but he was desperate to. Suspected Wen Kexing wouldn’t like it. It was too soon anyway; he’d only be making things harder for himself because Wen Kexing wouldn’t stop.
Getting a hand in Zhou Zishu’s hair, Wen Kexing pulled his head back. “Spit it out.”
Zhou Zishu made an irate noise. “I’m keeping quiet.”
“Ah Xu, no, I get to hear you.”
“You just said—”
Wen Kexing tugged on his hair, making Zhou Zishu groan. “Yes, I said you can’t wake your idiot disciple up. Not be silent.” He could hear Wen Kexing pouting. “That’s no fun.”
And, really, there was part of him that wanted to argue just to be contrary, to tell Wen Kexing he hadn’t the slightest right to his noises and he should be grateful to get to fuck Zhou Zishu at all, but well— “Put your back into it, and I’ll make some noise. Stop teasing.”
Wen Kexing let go of his hair and slammed into him, setting a pace that made Zhou Zishu’s toes curl, set his fingers clutching at the bed. Yes, that was what he wanted, to be fucked out of his mind, to exist only as the feeling of Wen Kexing dragging his own pleasure out of Zhou Zishu’s body. He ached, the barbs sending occasional skitters of pain up his nerves, but mostly just the lingering feeling of being forced to make space, of holding Wen Kexing inside himself. He felt suspended in it, the clear brightness of too much too much too much. Wen Kexing’s nails raked down his sides, and Zhou Zishu moaned, clenching tight around Wen Kexing, noise breaking off into a skittering whimper of pain, because the barbs hurt, they hurt, all he did was hurt.
He could feel it again, edging up to the precipice, pleasure-pain throbbing in him. Too much too soon. He’d never—not like this. No matter how long a dry spell. Pathetic. Embarrassing. Was he so desperate, so absolutely gagging for it, that he couldn’t—maybe he was. He wanted to tell Wen Kexing to slow down, but he suspected it might have the opposite affect, might push Wen Kexing to drag the orgasm out of him. Zhou Zishu’s skin tingled. Probably, he could hold on. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. “Lao Wen, I’m close.”
“How?” Wen Kexing said, incredulous. “I haven’t touched you.”
“You’re inside of me,” Zhou Zishu snarled. Ridiculous.
Wen Kexing stopped. Zhou Zishu made a small outraged noise—he’d wanted Wen Kexing to slow down, not stop—and Wen Kexing pet his back, his shoulder blades. “Ah Xu. Ah Xu, how do I explain this? Most men—no. Look, how have you never—but you must have—well, has anyone ever come just from you sticking your dick in them?”
“Oh, fuck you.” Rising up on his elbows again, Zhou Zishu stared at the railing on the bed, deeply annoyed. No, none of the people he’d fucked had ever—fine. Maybe Wen Kexing had a point. “What if you shut up and went back to fucking me?”
Wen Kexing pet his hair, scritching behind his ears. “Do you want me to? Because I won’t stop. You said I didn’t have to.”
Zhou Zishu shuddered. Yes, he did want that. “Give me a minute.”
Sighing, Wen Kexing draped himself over Zhou Zishu’s back, cock shifting a little deeper into him, jostling his insides. “Do you want to know what I think it is?”
“No,” Zhou Zishu said, completely certain.
Wen Kexing ignored him. “I think it’s the barbs. I don’t think you’d be this keyed up without them. You love it. My cock has ruined your ass for other men.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“I know you don’t mean that,” Wen Kexing said, kissing his shoulder blade. Irritatingly, he was right. “Do you come when you finger yourself?”
”Wen Kexing!”
”What? I’m trying to get to the bottom of this.” Wen Kexing patted Zhou Zishu’s ass, the double entendre loud in the room. “You do finger yourself, don’t you?”
Zhou Zishu sank into an obstinate silence. Yes, of course he did, but well, Wen Kexing could guess without being told.
”Ah Xu, you’re not going to tell me?” Zhou Zishu felt Wen Kexing rub his thumb against his rim, against where they were joined, the shocky delicate pleasure of it.
Zhou Zishu groaned into the mattress. “Don’t do that.”
”Hm.” Wen Kexing pushed just a little and then Zhou Zishu felt it: his thumb slipping in next to his cock, holding him open.
Zhou Zishu made a loud embarrassing noise that he tried to bite off into the meat of his arm, pushing back with his hips. Felt Wen Kexing sink deeper, the barbs move and scrape, slick and delicious and horrible. Zhou Zishu’s cock was leaking onto the bed continually, so wet, so messy it would be impossible to sleep there later.
Stroking the length of Zhou Zishu’s back, Wen Kexing said, “No, you’re right: I’m being unfair.” They were, somehow, the most frightening words that he could have said. Zhou Zishu felt something cramp in his gut, some horrible sudden fear. Wen Kexing pulled his thumb out, and Zhou Zishu heard himself make a little bereft noise. Sighing, Wen Kexing ground into him, deep and slow, hips flush against Zhou Zishu’s ass. It made him ache and throb, the pulse of pleasure in his belly swelling.
“Lao Wen,” he said, voice horribly close to a whine.
Hushing him, Wen Kexing put his back into it. The brutal pace he set knocked Zhou Zishu’s elbows out from under him, pushing him up the bed. Wen Kexing dragged him back into each thrust, yanking his hips back. Zhou Zishu’s skin stung and buzzed, and he felt impossibly, overwhelmingly full, and all he needed to do was lie there and take it and wait for his orgasm to pull him under.
It didn’t take long, more sudden than the first, like someone had punched him in the diaphragm, winding him. He knew objectively that he was making noises, probably too loud, but they seemed far away from the slow pulsing pleasure of coming till his vision fizzed away.
It rolled through him, continual and strange, his body unwilling to stop, clenching tight around where Lao Wen was still buried inside of him, still moving. It hurt, not the sharp pain of the barbs, but the agony of being oversensitive, of his nerves tingling and sparking, of too much.
“Lao Wen, stop.”
“No.” Wen Kexing’s voice was breathy, torn open, and his hips didn’t stop moving, kept shoving his cock into Zhou Zishu. Didn’t slow down. Surely, he should make some kind of concession to the fact that Zhou Zishu had shaken apart, broken open, but—no. He’d said he wouldn’t.
Until I’m finished, no matter what you say or how much you cry.
And Zhou Zishu could feel the tears slipping down his cheeks, distantly suspected he was sobbing openly, begging Wen Kexing to stop, to keep going, in turn. Fingers scrabbling at the brocade of the bolster. The texture of the bedsheet felt rough against his skin, every part of him so sensitive. He felt torn open, like someone had shoved something inside him and wouldn’t take it out. Bloody.
”Lao Wen—” Zhou Zishu broke off on a sob as Wen Kexing brushed against his sweet spot and his skin threatened to catch fire. He was, impossibly, getting hard again. “Lao Wen.”
“I know,” Wen Kexing said, so gentle, voice a little pitying. He put a hand between Zhou Zishu’s shoulder blades and held him down to the bed, the other one tight on his hip, dragging him deeper into each thrust. “I know.”
Zhou Zishu sobbed. Let his eyes drift shut again. Existed only in the feeling of Wen Kexing fucking him, the brutal ache of it, the way it was pushing him back to that place. He didn’t want to come again. Resented it. It shouldn’t be good, he didn’t want it to be good, didn’t want to like being held down and forced to take it. He should fight back. Should tear Wen Kexing apart.
Wen Kexing’s hips stuttered, going quick and sharp, and Zhou Zishu felt a moment’s exhausted relief until Wen Kexing wrapped a hand around his cock and started to stroke him, quick and ruthless. “Come with me,” Wen Kexing said.
”No, no, Lao Wen—”
”You can.”
Zhou Zishu scrabbled at his hand, trying to bat him away, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t fight Wen Kexing off.
Wen Kexing slammed into him, hips out of rhythm with his hand, quick and desperate. “Ah Xu, fuck—” Wen Kexing’s teeth slid into the nape of his neck, a sharp stab of pain and then the answering bolt of pleasure in his belly.
Then, the wet pulse of heat inside of him, the sense of being suddenly made messy. It took Zhou Zishu a moment to realize what had happened, why Wen Kexing was slowing down, a few last languid thrusts. Wen Kexing had come inside of him. Zhou Zishu was keenly aware of it as the other man pulled out, the feeling of it leaking out of him. After a moment, the brush of fingers against his hole and then Zhou Zishu was full again and he sighed, resting his burning cheek against the bolster as Wen Kexing fucked him with his fingers, the slick sound of them thrusting into the mess of Wen Kexing’s come in his hole. He felt a strange longing for the fullness of Wen Kexing’s cock in him.
”Touch me,” Zhou Zishu said imperiously.
Wen Kexing laughed, voice a little wet. Began to move his hand again on Zhou Zishu’s cock again, fingers stilling inside of him, uncoordinated.
Zhou Zishu huffed, batting Wen Kexing’s hand away, stroking himself instead. It felt somehow oddly imperative that he kept getting fucked, that Wen Kexing didn’t stop fingering him. There was a moment’s hesitation and then Wen Kexing was pistoning his fingers into him again, hard and quick, and licking idly at his rim. It was easy to finish like that, to drag himself over and spill sluggishly into his own hand, what little was left after the first two rounds. He let his hand drop afterward, smearing the wetness of his come onto Wen Kexing’s bedsheet.
Wen Kexing’s fingers were still inside of him, unmoving. His thumb was rubbing idly at his sensitive rim. Oddly intimate.
”Get your fingers out of me,” Zhou Zishu grumbled.
Wen Kexing hummed, rubbing his cheek against Zhou Zishu’s ass. “In a minute.”
As he lay there, Zhou Zishu felt the embarrassment, the mortification, the horror of it all crash through him. He’d let Wen Kexing fuck him. He’d liked it. He could not possibly take any of it back. He was gathering his scraps of dignity around him, considering getting up and leaving, when Wen Kexing pulled his fingers out. Zhou Zishu whimpered.
So much for his scraps of dignity.
Kissing the small of Zhou Zishu’s back just above his tail, Wen Kexing slithered up and flopped down on top of him, pressing Zhou Zishu into the bed. He was a heavy grounding warmth. After a while, he would be too heavy, but—not quite yet. Wen Kexing stroked his flank. “You liked it,” he said. A little awed but not a question.
Zhou Zishu huffed. He wasn’t foolish enough to deny it. He had liked it. “That doesn’t mean I’ll let you do it again.”
Wen Kexing rubbed the place above Zhou Zishu’s hips. “No, of course not.” He hesitated. Zhou Zishu briefly knew peace. Then, Wen Kexing said, “Three times, Ah Xu.”
Zhou Zishu groaned. “I liked it, all right?”
“I just do not understand how it isn’t surprising to you,” Then, Wen Kexing’s voice shifted, wheedling and sweet, “Ah Xu, are you just a quick shot?”
“Maybe it’s whatever you drugged me with,” Zhou Zishu snapped.
Wen Kexing went very still. “Ah Xu ah, I—”
“Don’t lie to me, Lao Wen. I saw you do it.” Zhou Zishu’s voice came out far too fond, too amused. He should be angry, probably.
“I thought—I thought you’d like it,” Wen Kexing said in a small voice. “I know you can’t, well, smell me much anymore.” He kissed the place between Zhou Zishu’s shoulder blades, oddly tender.
“It’s more than that, isn’t it?” Zhou Zishu leveled at him, accusatory. It felt like artificial heat, but that would have been hard to find, so deep in the jianghu.
“No? Just to amplify what you can already smell.” Flustered, Wen Kexing said, “It’s what they use in brothels. I keep some because of, well, the barbs. It’s just—it makes it nicer.”
Zhou Zishu’s memory—flickered. A failed experiment. Lying next to Wu Xi in his rooms and smelling him. Resisting the urge to touch. Staring at the ceiling and thinking about how desperately he wanted to get fucked, how good Wu Xi smelled. Later, Jing Beiyuan saying, I bet whores would pay for that, to make Wu Xi splutter. Whores had, in fact, paid for that. Reluctantly, Zhou Zishu asked, “What’s it called?”
“Yellow Flower Meadow.”
Zhou Zishu laughed. Named after Jing Beiyuan’s favorite brothel as a joke. Yes, it was exactly what Wen Kexing had described. And that meant—that meant—Zhou Zishu shivered. “I see.”
Wen Kexing was working himself up, little sniffles, as if preparing to defend himself from any reasonable accusation Zhou Zishu might make. Drugging him. Really.
Zhou Zishu sighed. “Stop fussing. I said I liked it, didn’t I?”
”You’re not mad?”
”I’m furious,” Zhou Zishu said, nothing of the sort. He yawned. He was starting to notice that the entire bed under him was wet.
“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing said in his most cajoling voice, “can I come back to yours?”
”What?”
”Well, I can’t help noticing that we’ve made a bit of mess of my bed, but I thought it might be nice to spend the night in my husband’s arms.”
Zhou Zishu glared at the wall. “Who’s your husband? No.”
”But Ah Xu—”
”Absolutely not. I’m not moving. You should have thought of that before you fucked my legs numb. If you want to spend the night in your husband’s arms, you can do it right here.”
Wen Kexing went quiet for a moment. Then, voice horribly tender: “Ah Xu.”
“Oh, get off me. I need to wash up.”
”I’ll do it,” Wen Kexing said, kissing Zhou Zishu’s shoulder blade. Then he rolled away, bustling around the room.
Zhou Zishu shifted just enough to get himself out of the worst of the wet spot and settle his head on his arms. He watched Wen Kexing heat the ice cold water, eyes flicking over to look at Zhou Zishu. To make sure he was still there. Zhou Zishu rolled his eyes at him.
He let Wen Kexing wash him gingerly, let him resettle them on the driest part of the bed, let him pillow Zhou Zishu’s head on his shoulder. He let himself be held until he drifted off to sleep, telling himself that, in just a moment, surely he would get up and go back to his own rooms.
He woke up to the feeling of a hand stealing between his legs and groping him. It was morning, and he was half hard in a lazy pre-dawn way. The hand started to stroke him to full hardness, grip quick and determined, and Zhou Zishu was idly moving his hips, fucking into the warm grip, and— “Wen Kexing!”
”Ah Xu?”
Zhou Zishu couldn’t smell him anymore, the last dregs of the drug long out of his system, but he could imagine it, the sleepy molasses smell of his desire, the way it would have curled over him and into the sheets. Fine. “Just this once.”
”Just this once,” said Zhou Zishu’s disobedient wife, lying.