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After Jiao dies defending Gan, Gan pays tribute to his soul in the way Jiao would have loved best.
For the first time in his life, Gan masturbates and thinks of making love to a man: what it might have been like, had Gan been able to reciprocate Jiao's desire.
He finds it quite difficult to arouse himself for a man, so he thinks of women at first, to get himself hard. He thinks of hot little mouths sweet from wine, of heavy breasts spilling out of tight bodices; he thinks of plump, peachlike cunnies dripping with nectar onto his tongue, cunnies warm and soft around his cock as it plows in and out. He thinks of big, heavy buttocks jiggling as he pounds them with his hips, their lovely fat rippling in his squeezing hands; he thinks of tight little arseholes squeezing around his prick, so silky and so burning hot on the inside.
He loves fucking arses, loves anal play more than any other form of sex; surely, then, he could fuck a man's arse if he truly wanted to?
But the moment he thinks of a man's smell, a man's hairy arse, he shudders with revulsion and his prick starts to feel numb. Yet, he steels himself: somehow, he feels like he owes it to Jiao to give him this. Jiao had given him his life, for crying out loud; surely Gan can sacrifice him a little... love.
Yes, why pretend and call it by any other name? It's his love Jiao had wanted, after all.
So, he thinks of the conditions under which he could be persuaded to have sex with a man. Jiao would've agreed to anything he'd said, not only out of duty but out of love; he would have been eager to please Gan.
So, he thinks of ordering Jiao to make himself as much like a woman as possible, to feminise himself utterly: considering Jiao'd been the most feminine man he'd ever met, it would've come to him naturally.
So, on the appointed night, Jiao arrives in Gan's quarters in a woman's costume, all his body hair depilated, his face as smooth as polished ivory; even his eyebrows are plucked into the kinds of half-moons the court ladies prefer. His face is powdered and rouged, his eyes kohled and flirtatious as he glances at Gan coyly from behind his fan; his body language is so perfectly feminine it's eerie.
Gan stands there in his full armour, just like he always does when he receives a woman he means to conquer: he has drenched himself in musk, kohled his eyes deeply, his moustache and beard sporting the most dashing of curls.
He looks at Jiao up and down, devouring "her" with his gaze: his prick pulses in his trousers as Jiao begins to dance.
He's never seen Jiao dance, but knowing his sense of rhythm, he'd dance beautifully: swaying like a flower in the wind, twirling his skirts in a flurry of colour, rolling his hips as sensually as a courtesan. He casts suggestive glances in Gan's direction, his big white smile dazzling, his attraction for Gan rippling in the air like summer's heat.
"Bravo!" Gan applauds at the end of Jiao's dance, beckoning for Jiao to come closer.
He pulls Jiao into his arms--how strange to embrace someone of his own height, he thinks, not having to lean down like he normally does! As Gan leans in for a kiss, Jiao looks at him with such adoration, such love it breaks his heart: it's rare that a woman has ever looked at him in such a manner. He cups Jiao's smooth, soft cheek and pulls him to sit in his lap on the bed; Jiao wraps his arms around his neck and sits on him daintily, sideways with his legs together over Gan's thighs.
Only then does Gan tip Jiao's chin and kiss him, kiss him like a girl he loved. Jiao's mouth tastes of peaches and of sweet yellow wine; his sighs are just as sweet, joyous as Gan sips them from Jiao's mouth. Jiao knows how to suck Gan's tongue, knows how to drive him mad with desire; he is as brilliant a kisser as Gan himself is, returning Gan's licks and sucks with great passion of his own.
Yet, it's with a soldier's precision that he now unbuckles Gan's armour, undoing it in a heartbeat; girls often fumble, and Gan laughs between kisses at the speed with which Jiao undresses him, too.
"What a sweet girl you are," Gan murmurs and pulls Jiao back into his arms, Jiao still fully clothed.
He lays Jiao down on the bed and runs his hands up his red silk under-drawers, kissing his way up Jiao's thighs.
And in that moment, in the warm evening sunlight, Jiao smiles at him so beautifully that for a moment, Gan is fooled: suspended in the golden haze of the sunset, the magic weaves its spell around them and it's a woman now swooning in his embrace.
Gan closes his eyes, inhales Jiao's groin and smells honey; his sensitive nostrils quiver from the thrill. "What have you got for me here?" he murmurs.
Jiao turns around to lie down on his front, then lowers his drawers to present his buttocks; he glances seductively over his shoulder and croons at Gan, even his voice honeyed.
"I've made myself sweet for you, sir," he says and lifts his hips from the bed, slowly rolling down the drawers just low enough to still hide his balls: he exposes his anus and perineum, and what Gan sees there makes his breath stop.
For Jiao has painted the seam of his perineum with a streak of bright red, glistening syrup: a mixture of honey and berry paste, the kind women use to paint their lips. The stripe is a little uneven, imitating the outline of a woman's slit; he's even shaded the sides of his perineum with it, too, creating a perfect illusion of a vulva.
All of this is crowned by a daub of the same red paste over his anus, glistening invitingly--an anus with the kind of raised rim one only sees on people who enjoy anal sex and lots of it. All in all, this living painting of a cunny is a masterpiece of erotic art, and must've taken quite a while to paint so delicately: Gan is amazed it hasn't been smeared more, but it seems Jiao has even glazed it with a cosmetic fixative of some sort, now that the light catches the glossy skin. Egg white and honey, perhaps?! The sheer detail is both hilarious and arousing as hell.
"Oh, Heavens," Gan laughs, unable to believe his eyes.
Jiao flutters his eyelashes. "Sir, do you like my pussy?"
Gan moans at that. "Vixen!" he cries and bends down to inhale it, to nuzzle it, to worship it with his mouth.
Gan licks Jiao's groin all over, framing it with his hands and lapping at it just like he would a plump pussy; snarling in his greed, he pinches Jiao's perineum between his thumbs and massages it with his tongue until Jiao whimpers. And let him: if he makes himself a pussy, then Gan's going to lick it like a pussy and that's that. Refusing to touch Jiao's anus just yet, he tortures him with his tongue for a long while, licking off all the syrup; when his perineum is entirely clean, Gan begins to suck it violently to break the skin, leaving bruises all across its seam, covering it in love-bites.
When Gan finally slides his tongue onto Jiao's anus, Jiao is moaning, clawing at the bed. Gan stiffens his tongue and spreads Jiao's arse roughly, sniffing and snorting and fucking it with his mouth just like he would a woman's; when there's no more syrup left, he plunges his index finger inside and rolls it there, fucking Jiao with it.
"Have you made yourself ready for me here, too?" he asks and spits on Jiao's arse, then inserts two fingers and hooks them until Jiao gasps. "Hmm?"
Jiao glances at him over his shoulder and spreads his buttocks, and now, his drawers fall down enough for Gan to see his smooth, bare genitals, all golden brown and pink: his balls are tight with arousal, his cock as hard as an iron rod. He's made a wet stain on his skirts, and as he lifts out his arse, sticky strands of sap dangle between his cock and the silks; as Gan hooks his fingers in his arse again, Jiao moans and his cock strains, pulsing out a new drop of sap sluicing down one of the strings.
"Answer me!" Gan says, smacking Jiao's buttocks--very pale and firm--with his free hand. "Did you clean your arse for me? Hmm?" he asks, now twisting his fingers inside Jiao's arse roughly, deliberately rubbing them hard against the walls of his guts. "Rinse this hole while you were playing with yourself, dreaming of having my cock up here?"
Jiao just narrows his eyes, pouts and coos. "Find out."
Gan lets out a sharp, barking laugh. "All right," he says and pulls his fingers out, bringing them to Jiao's mouth.
Jiao opens his mouth eagerly to taste them, but at the last minute, Gan takes his fingers into his own mouth instead. Yet, the musty taste he was expecting is not there at all: instead, a taste of honey now spreads onto his tongue.
His eyes fly wide, his balls jumping so hard he cries out, having to squeeze himself by the sack so as not to come; and oh, the way Jiao is now smirking at him and biting his tongue!
"You son of a bitch!" Gan cries and grabs Jiao by the hair, smacking his buttocks as hard as he can until Jiao shrieks with laughter; he presses the head of his cock to Jiao's anus, snarling. "I should fuck you with just spit for that!"
Jiao just laughs and digs out a little bottle from the folds of his dress. "Please, sir," he pleads as if a maiden being ravished, "please don't hurt me!"
Gan is beyond coherent noises, now; as he uncorks the bottle with his teeth, he tastes sweetness and realises it must be the same stuff Jiao had used inside of himself: oil flavoured with a little honey. To give Gan the illusion of fucking a woman? Whatever it is, it's thrilling, the sweet scent of the oil intoxicating as Gan smears himself with it and presses his cock against Jiao's arse again.
"Hold yourself open," Gan hisses and pulls Jiao up onto all fours. "Take it; rock yourself onto my cock."
And there, in the setting sun's light, Jiao spreads his buttocks and begins to dip his arse onto Gan's cock. Gan holds himself in place, his thighs trembling in arousal as the ring of Jiao's arsehole envelops the tip of his cock again and again, like a little mouth dropping soft kisses over it; this allows Jiao to do all the teasing, to torment Gan with all these hot, wet dips that promise exquisitely tight, hot envelopments to come. His breathing unsteady, Gan watches as his glans is swallowed just a little more deeply with each new dip; as the muscle begins to give way, he can hear Jiao's breath starting to catch, too.
Finally, Jiao strains and plunges himself down onto Gan's cock with all his might, Gan finally slipping inside.
Gan moans low in his chest and takes charge: he grabs a hold of Jiao, wrapping his arms around Jiao's hips in a wrestler's grip. Throwing the full weight of his body behind his thrusts, Gan drives deep inside of him with deliberate cruelty, far too hard and far too fast; Jiao chokes, nauseated as Gan sheathes himself to the hilt and stays there, his balls pressed against Jiao's sticky perineum.
Gan chuckles deeply, his beard scratching Jiao's ear. Keeping him captive within the cage of his muscular limbs, Gan uses the power of his entire body to take Jiao: with his strong arms, he crushes him against his chest, the rumbles of his laughter vibrating through Jiao's ribcage. He is all heavy, golden muscle around Jiao's soft, pale, feminine flesh; his enormous prick filling Jiao to the utmost, his low, growling noises animal.
In this manner, Gan claims him with his body, conquers him utterly, while at the same time giving all of himself: driving all of his power, all of his virile strength, all of his sex into Jiao.
And as he masturbates to this vision, Gan realises it's as if he were giving to Jiao of his very life: as if by penetrating him with his abundant health and strength, he could turn back time and make Jiao alive again.
Suddenly, before he can control himself, he finds a sob breaking in his chest; blinking fiercely, sniffing back tears, he squeezes his cock so hard he is hurting himself.
Why did you have to go and get yourself killed, you stupid little faggot? Just to prove yourself to me? If I'd fucked you, would you then have refrained from doing something so ridiculous as sacrificing yourself for my sake?
But no. They are soldiers, and Jiao had died a hero's death, a manly death, a death befitting an officer of the Great Tang.
So, Gan sniffs and pulls himself back into his fantasy, into this ritual sacrifice in honour of Jiao's soul--and, perhaps, a kind of atonement for never having been able to love Jiao the way he deserved to be loved.
Thus, he imagines himself making love to Jiao passionately, of kissing him over his shoulder as he takes Jiao from behind; he can see the red and orange hues of the sunset so clearly as they bathe Jiao's skin, Gan pulling off Jiao's feminine clothes to reveal the man underneath. He fucks him slowly and sweetly, reaching around Jiao to stroke his cock as naturally and as easily as he would his own; when he rolls his hips at the end of a thrust, Jiao's cock drips over his knuckles.
Gan moans as he watches his cock sliding in and out of Jiao's soft, pale arse, gleaming with the honey-oil: he swoons from the rich, sweet scent, the tight silken heat of Jiao's body so yielding, so perfect. How many bodies have ever welcomed Gan so, opened to him so, with such eagerness and love?
But he must see Jiao's face. "Turn around," he says.
And soon, Gan is sitting on the bed and Jiao is sitting in his lap, leaning his back against the wall: making love like old, familiar lovers, they ride like this for a long time, until the first stars start to twinkle in the sky. Jiao has his arms around Gan's neck, and his big white smile lights up the room; his eyes glimmer mischievously as he rides Gan's cock, dances around it with sweet gyrations of his hips.
"You always had such a great sense of rhythm," Gan laughs.
"And every time you saw me dance," Jiao says and cups Gan's cheeks, kissing him hungrily, "I dreamt of riding your cock, sir; just like this," he whispers, "just like this."
"Let me see you come," Gan says, spits on his hand and strokes Jiao's cock. "Show me how I can make you come."
Jiao laughs, a seductress's laugh. "You'll never guess how, sir," he says and rolls his hips like a bellydancer, making Gan groan.
"Tell me," Gan asks, slapping Jiao's cheek playfully.
"Well," Jiao says mock-coyly from under fluttering eyelashes, his arms around Gan's neck, his voice a whisper. "What do you think the honey was for, sir?"
When Gan realises what he means, he moans and shoves Jiao off himself, so as not to come this very instant: he kneels there, panting and his prick straining, his fingers claws in his thighs.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
But he knows it must be true: Jiao had shared so many of his perversions. And given the way he had always salivated over, or even come to the sight of Gan forcing that particular act on women--and always looking like he wanted to be on the receiving end, far more so than the women did--well. So many times, Gan had almost indulged him. So many times, he'd hovered there with his slick, foaming prick poised between two open mouths, almost plunging into Jiao's, but choosing the woman at the last minute.
Now, he feels a deep shame for not having given Jiao his treat, for not having indulged his love of being subjugated so; Gan's sadism has always thrived on forcing his perversions on the unwilling, not on other perverts. It'd hardly be sadism otherwise, but he still regrets not having tried it at least once.
What a chance he'd missed in never having made Jiao his catamite! What untold pleasures, what extremities of perversion he'd left unexplored! To think that he'd had a willing submissive, a glutton for humiliation and punishment right by his side: an out-and-out masochist worshipping at his feet, and still, he'd refused to take up the offer.
And all because Jiao didn't have breasts, all because Jiao didn't have a cunny.
Anguished, Gan presses his forehead against Jiao's. "Why did you have to be born a man in this life, you silly little faggot?" he whispers.
And in Gan's fantasy, Jiao understands: he doesn't judge him, just smiles wistfully and strokes his hair. "Karma is strange," Jiao murmurs and kisses him softly.
Sighing, Gan lays Jiao down and spreads his legs; he coats his cock richly in the honey-oil and begins to fuck him slowly, looking deep into Jiao's eyes.
"To think of what might've been, had you been born a woman," Gan says and strokes Jiao's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "In another lifetime, perhaps..."
Perhaps you have been--or will be--the love of my life.
"Perhaps," Jiao laughs and holds himself open.
And then, there are no more words: they just make love. Gan takes Jiao with long, pleasure-bearing strokes, enjoying his body and letting Jiao enjoy his. It's true that he looks at Jiao as if he were a woman, and if he keeps his eyes above Jiao's waist and squints, it's all right: the figure in his blurred vision is that of an adoring lover of indeterminate sex, the tight silken heat around his cock the same bliss of anal sex he enjoys with every woman.
Jiao is loud, his flesh palpitating around Gan's cock with his deep moans of pleasure; his body tosses and trembles, and as Gan glances down at Jiao's genitals--his balls so high, his prick distending in his fist--he can tell he's close to orgasm.
Thus, with a snarl, Gan grabs Jiao's wrists and stops him from touching himself; he pins them down into the bed and fucks Jiao hard, racing him to the top of the wave. Oh, he's close, too, Jiao's cries of pleasure-pain and the anguish on his face causing the first ripples of orgasm to whip through his hips.
"Hold yourself open," Gan growls, folding Jiao's legs against his body with a shove. When Jiao does that, Gan begins to fuck him aggressively, roaring from the red-hot friction, unable to stop.
"Open your mouth!" he barks, a general to his lieutenant.
Jiao does, Gan whimpering through his nose at his eager obedience. Jiao is not looking into his eyes, but in hunger at his cock; Gan turns to look at it himself, moaning in perverse joy at the sight. His cock is glistening with oil, sticky with honey, the scent intoxicating as the warmth of their bodies and the friction of their rut diffuses it into the air. His fucking has churned so much rich foam out of Jiao's arse, too: the mixture of anal mucus, oil and honey now forms a ring of white and yellow froth around the rim of Jiao's arse. When Gan pulls back, thick strings of white foam lash across his cock, adorning it like perversion's vines, entwining around the dark golden shaft and encircling the root.
He stabs inside of Jiao to the hilt and stays there, his eyes narrowing with cruelty. "Beg."
"Please, sir," Jiao croons, his voice feminine, honeyed. "Please let me taste it!"
Gan tuts and shakes his head. "But, my girl, it's dirty!" he says in mock-shock. "What kind of a girl would want to taste that?"
Jiao moans in affected despair, like a girl; he even squeezes around Gan's cock. "A girl who likes to taste her guts," he lisps, smiling as he sees Gan grin at his outrageousness. "Please, sir!" he keeps on crooning. "It's so tasty, so rich and delicious!"
That goes straight to Gan's cock, his fantasy come to life, down to his favourite trigger words; he cries out, trembling upon the edge of orgasm. "One more time," he pants and pulls out, straddling Jiao's chest and holding out his cock: marbled with white and yellow, a thick dollop of foam crowning his glans, he offers it to Jiao's lips.
"Please, sir," Jiao says and stares straight into his eyes. "Please let me taste my arse!"
It's at that that Gan howls and plunges his prick into Jiao's waiting mouth. He's so frenzied in his thrusts that Jiao's teeth graze him a little, but he doesn't care; he's coming before Jiao even begins to suck. Jiao screams his ecstasy around his cock, the vibrations of that scream divine around Gan's prick; Jiao's sperm splashes onto the small of Gan's back, making Gan cry out in surprised delight. Gan thrusts and thrusts, sobbing in the ecstasy of this, their shared vice and Jiao--oh, sweet Jiao!--so eagerly embracing his perversion and matching it with his own.
He is sobbing dry tears as he caresses Jiao's hair, with a tenderness he never knew he was capable of; on and on he rocks into Jiao's sweet suck, pouring his essence, his life-force into Jiao's throat, a sacrifice to feed Jiao's soul.
He imagines floods of come, imagines an orgasm that lasts as long as a woman's, with pulse after pulse of rich seed shooting out of him in great shudders of pleasure: pleasure so great that for but one shining moment, he becomes empty of all sorrow, his consciousness hovering in that realm where all is spirit and there is no want, no desire, no grief at all.
And Jiao is there, his loving smile dazzling like the noonday sun.
And in that moment, Gan knows that out there somewhere, Jiao knows and is holding Gan inside of his body, holding him within his love, holding him tight.
In his bed, Gan ejaculates upon his belly, careful not to spill a single drop: with shaking hands, he scoops up the sperm--perhaps a few tears, too--and gathers it all very carefully into a teacup on his bedside table.
After, he transfers the sperm into a little vial, sealing it tightly.
The next day, he rides to the graveyard, making sure to do it at a time no one is there to see him.
Jiao's gravestone gives his title as a Commander of the Right Cavalry: a rank Gan had bestowed upon him posthumously. Gan lights incense before it, then opens a little bottle of very sweet yellow wine--far too sweet for his own taste, but the kind Jiao had always loved, like women do. He takes out the vial with his sperm and pours some of the wine into it, using it to rinse every last drop of his sperm out into a little cup.
He lifts that cup with both hands and bows his head, smiling at his own audacity--Jiao's ancestors must be looking on in horror. Yet, he knows this is exactly what Jiao himself would have wanted: Gan giving him the thing he'd craved more than anything else in the world while he was still alive.
In fact, Gan can feel Jiao smiling upon him out there somewhere: that big, toothy, dazzling smile he'd always had on his face whenever Gan had shown him affection, understanding his taunts and torments for the endearments they were.
"See you in the next life, faggot," Gan grins, pouring out his libation.
***
THE END
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