Chapter Text
The air in Feng Xin's private chambers was thick. It smelled of incense and leather. Mu Qing stood at the center of the room, posture rigid, his elegant features set into their usual mask of disdain. His dark eyes were darting back and forth, tracking Feng Xin's movements as he paced around him in a slow, predatory circle. Feng Xin had summoned him here under the pretense of discussing border security. They both knew it was a lie.
"You've been avoiding me," Feng Xin said, voice a low rumble. He stopped pacing, standing directly behind Mu Qing. He didn't touch him, but Mu Qing could feel the heat of his body. "For three days."
"I've been busy," Mu Qing replied, his tone clipped. "Unlike some, I don't have the luxury of eight thousand temples to laze about in. And the prayers from the southwest-"
A hand clamped down on his shoulder. Feng Xin dug his fingers into the expensive black silk of his robe. "Don't lie to me. You've been ignoring me. Deliberately. After what happened at the mid-autumn banquet."
Mu Qing's spine went even straighter. That. A brush of hands in a corridor, a look that held for a second too long. A moment of unforgivable weakness that Mu Qing desperately tried to bury under sarcasm and distance. "Nothing happened. You're imagining things, Feng Xin. As usual, your temper is clouding your simple mind."
The hand on his shoulder spun his around. Now they were face-to-face, furious determination meeting defiant pride. Feng Xin's eyes, so often narrowed in anger, were different now. They were hungry.
"My mind is simple, is it?" Feng Xin murmured, his face so close Mu Qing could feel his breath. "Then let's make this simple. You owe me an apology. Not for ignoring me. For lying."
"I owe you nothing," Mu Qing spat, but the usual venom was undercut by a traitorous hitch in his breath. Feng Xin was too close.
"You do." Feng Xin's other hand came up, not to strike, but to trace the line of Mu Qing's jaw with a single fingertip. The touch was electric, a shock that went straight to Mu Qing's core. "You look at me with that fucking sneer, but your eyes give you away every time. You want to fight me so you don't have to think about what else you want."
Mu Qing jerked his head away. "You're disgusting."
"Am I?" Feng Xin's smile was all teeth. "Then why are you shaking."
It was true, a tremor had taken hold of Mu Qing's hands. Rage, he told himself. It was only rage. "Let go of me."
"No. You need to learn your place, Mu Qing. You've been pushing, testing for eight hundred years. Tonight, you're going to stop. Tonight, you're going to obey."
The atmosphere shifted. Mu Qing's heart hammered against his ribs. "I am a Martial God, not your servant to order around."
"In this room, right now," Feng Xin said, voice dropping deeper, "you are exactly what I say you are. And I say you're a prideful brat who needs to be taught a lesson." His eyes raked down Mu Qing. "Starting with this robe, take it off."
Mu Qing stared at him in disbelief. "Go to hell."
Feng Xin's hands moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, gripping firmly. "I won't ask again. I'll rip it off you. Your choice."
It was a real threat. Mu Qing could see it in the set of Feng Xin's jaw. The humiliation of being forcibly stripped was far worse than the humiliation of complying. His fingers, trembling slightly, went to the intricate fastenings of his outer robe. He fumbled with them until the heavy black silk pooled at his feet, leaving him only in trousers and a thin, white under-robe that clung to his slender body.
"All of it," Feng Xin said, eyes darkening.
Swallowing hard, Mu Qing untied his under-robe, letting is fall from his shoulders. The cool air of the chamber hit his skin, raising goosebumps. He stood there, muscles taut with tension.
Feng Xin looked him over. "Good, now you're belt."
Mu Qing's hands went to the ornate leather belt at his waist. He undid the clasp, leather sliding through his hands.
"Not on the floor," Feng Xin instructed. "Give it to me."
Mu Qing held out the belt. Feng Xin took it, fingers brushing Mu Qing's.
"Turn around. Hands behind your back."
The command was so blunt, so unexpected, that Mu Qing froze. "What?"
"You heard me. Hands behind you back. Now."
A wave of understanding crashed over Mu Qing. This wasn’t just about stripping him of his clothes. It was about stripping him of his control, his autonomy, his precious, hard-won pride. He stood frozen, warring with himself.
“Mu Qing.” Feng Xin’s voice held a warning. “Don’t make me force you.”
The thought of Feng Xin manhandling him into position broke the dam. With a sound that was almost a whimper, Mu Qing turned, presenting his back. He slowly brought his arms behind him, wrists together. The vulnerability of the position made his skin crawl and his blood heat simultaneously. He felt the leather wrap around his wrists, not with brutal force, but with a terrifying tightness. Feng Xin looped the belt several times, securing it with a firm knot that bit into Mu Qing’s skin. The binding was secure, but not cruel; it was a restraint, a symbol. He was truly at Feng Xin’s mercy.
Feng Xin leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of Mu Qing’s ear. Mu Qing shuddered violently. “There. That’s better. Now you can’t run.”
He guided Mu Qing, hands on his bare hips, to kneel in the center of the room on the plush carpet. The position was agonizingly submissive, his bound arms pulling his shoulders back, arching his spine slightly. He was on his knees before Feng Xin, who remained standing, looking down at him with an expression of dark satisfaction.
“Look at you,” Feng Xin mused, tracing a finger along Mu Qing’s flushed cheekbone. “General Xuan Zhen, on his knees. Where you belong when you’re with me.”
“Fuck you,” Mu Qing breathed, but the words lacked their usual fire.
“Language,” Feng Xin chided, his thumb swiping over Mu Qing’s bottom lip. “That mouth of yours is always causing trouble. Always spitting venom. I think it’s time it served a better purpose.”
Mu Qing’s eyes widened as Feng Xin’s hands went to the ties of his own black robes. He didn’t undress fully, just loosened the front enough to free his cock. It was already half-hard, thick and impressive, just like the man it belonged to. Mu Qing’s breath caught in his throat. He’d seen it before, centuries ago in communal baths, but never like this. Never presented as a demand.
“Open,” Feng Xin commanded, his voice gravelly.
Mu Qing shook his head, a frantic little motion. “No. I won’t.”
“You will.” Feng Xin’s hand fisted in his hair, not yanking, just holding him firmly in place. “Or I leave you here, bound and naked, and go inform the entire Heavenly Court that the mighty Mu Qing was found in my chambers like this. Begging for it.”
The threat was a masterstroke. The social annihilation, the loss of face… it was Mu Qing’s deepest fear. A broken, desperate sound escaped him. He stopped resisting, his body going limp in Feng Xin’s grasp.
“That’s what I thought,” Feng Xin said, his tone softening into something almost like praise. It was worse. “Now. Open.”
Slowly, Mu Qing parted his lips. Feng Xin guided himself forward, the broad head of his cock nudging against Mu Qing’s mouth. The smell of him, clean skin and masculine musk, flooded Mu Qing’s senses. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight.
“Look at me,” Feng Xin ordered.
Tears of humiliation pricked at Mu Qing’s eyes as he forced them open. He met Feng Xin’s burning gaze as the first inch pushed past his lips. It was hot and velvety, filling his mouth, stretching his lips. He made a choked, gagging sound.
"Easy,” Feng Xin soothed, his hand stroking his hair. “Just relax your throat. Take it. You can do it.”
The commands, the harsh dominance paired with the low, encouraging tone, unraveled Mu Qing further. He tried to relax, letting Feng Xin slide deeper. The taste was salty, uniquely Feng Xin. It was overwhelming. His bound hands flexed uselessly behind his back, a physical manifestation of his helplessness.
Feng Xin began to move, shallow thrusts at first, setting a rhythm. “That’s it. Use your tongue. Don’t just sit there.”
Mu Qing obeyed, tentatively swirling his tongue along the underside. A low groan from above him was his reward, a vibration he felt in the cock in his mouth. The sound sent a jolt of something hot and shameful through his own gut. He was making Feng Xin feel good.
Feng Xin picked up the pace, his hips moving with more purpose. Mu Qing’s world narrowed to the sensations: the weight on his tongue, the stretch of his jaw, the salty pre-come that started to bead at the tip, the overwhelming presence of the other man. He was being used, utterly, and a treacherous part of him was responding. His own cock, trapped between his body and his thighs, was fully hard, aching with every thrust into his mouth.
“You’re better at this than I thought you’d be,” Feng Xin grunted, his fingers tightening in Mu Qing’s hair. “All that sharp talk, and here you are, sucking cock like you were made for it. Maybe you were.”
The degradation, paired with the sheer physical pleasure he was giving, created a feedback loop of desperate arousal in Mu Qing. He moaned around Feng Xin’s length, the vibration eliciting another, louder groan.
“Fuck, just like that,” Feng Xin praised. He was thrusting deeper now, hitting the back of Mu Qing’s throat. Tears welled up and spilled over, tracing clean lines down Mu Qing’s dust-streaked cheeks. He was a mess, bound, crying, servicing his rival, and he’d never been more turned on in his long, immortal life.
He could feel his own climax building, a tight, urgent coil in his abdomen. The friction of his own trapped erection against his thigh, the obscene sounds, the taste, the sheer submission of it all was driving him to the edge with shocking speed. His hips began to move in tiny, helpless circles, seeking friction against the air, against nothing. Feng Xin noticed. Of course he did.
“Nope,” he said, his voice thick with lust. He pulled his cock all the way out of Mu Qing’s mouth with a wet pop.
Mu Qing gasped, coughing, a string of saliva connecting his lips to Feng Xin’s glistening tip. He looked up, dazed and desperate, his body screaming for release.
“Did I say you could come?” Feng Xin asked, his breath coming hard. He looked down at Mu Qing’s flushed face, his wet, swollen lips, his tear-filled eyes. “You don’t come until I say you can."
“Feng Xin, please,” the word tore from Mu Qing’s throat, raw and cracked. It was a plea, stripped of all pretense.
“Please what?” Feng Xin taunted, lightly tapping his cock against Mu Qing’s cheek. “Use your words, General. What do you want?”
Mu Qing shuddered, his whole body trembling with need. The denial was a physical agony. He felt like he was hanging over a cliff by his fingernails. “Please… let me… I need…”
“You need to come?” Feng Xin supplied. He leaned down, his face inches away. “Beg for it. Properly.”
Mu Qing’s pride shattered. It was dust. There was only the ache, the emptiness, the devastating need. “Please, Feng Xin. Please let me come. I’m begging you. I need it. Please.”
He looked down at Mu Qing, who was panting, weeping, grinding his hips pathetically against the empty air, his bound wrists straining behind him. “You look beautiful like this. Destroyed. Mine.”
He stepped back, tucking himself back into his robes, leaving Mu Qing kneeling, bereft and frantic on the carpet.
“Now,” Feng Xin said, his voice returning to a semblance of its normal, commanding tone, though it was still rough with desire. “You’re going to stay just like that. And when I decide you’ve learned your lesson… maybe then I’ll let you finish.” He walked towards a side table and poured himself a cup of wine, taking a slow sip, his eyes never leaving Mu Qing’s trembling form. “Maybe."