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On the Matter of Bedroom Affairs

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Lan Sizhui is by no means a stranger to desire when it comes to Lan Jingyi.

Truly, it started innocently enough. A bloom of happiness in his chest when Jingyi laughed or when his hand bumped against Sizhui’s as they walk together, always side-by-side. A fluttering in his stomach when Jingyi tugged at his sleeve or took his elbow to get his attention, his touch warm and familiar. His heart giving a little extra beat whenever Jingyi turned to him with a grin that outshone the sun, ready to charge forward and give their seniors and teachers more reason to tiredly investigate his Lan heritage.

Little things like that made Sizhui long for Jingyi before he knew what longing was. They have been best friends since childhood, and night-hunt partners ever since they could night-hunt at all. Jingyi’s company, his constancy and his candor, have been integral facets of Sizhui’s life for as long as he could remember.

It was when they were soon to finish their junior studies that the sweet innocence of youth started to melt into a more… well, it started to become more.

Warmth gave way to heat, simmering under Sizhui’s skin—

—driven by a want to be closer to Jingyi beyond friendship and companionship, to press his lips to Jingyi’s cheek, or wherever he may allow, to hold his hand the way Hanguang-jun and Senior Wei hold each other’s, without shame or fear—

—fueled by Jingyi’s voice deepening, rich and low and capable of turning the practice songs of his voice cultivation into wondrous melodies—

—fanned to a blaze whenever they sparred, and he could feel that legendary Lan strength against his sword, and wondered how it would feel on him

—burning, so hot it almost overtook him, when they kissed long and languid that first night after they confessed to each other. Jingyi’s soft sounds, his persistent mouth, left Sizhui so delirious with want, he had to roll out of bed to the cold floor to stop himself from begging Jingyi for more, as it was too soon for such things. Jingyi was still recovering from his injuries and under strict orders to not overexert himself; there was absolutely no room for fooling around.

And even if Jingyi hadn’t been injured and needed healing, Sizhui swore that he’d be devoted to him and their relationship. A big part of that is honoring the boundaries of their courtship, being respectful of their positions, and staying obedient to propriety.

If that means Sizhui has to run outside and stick his head in the snow every time their kisses become too heated, fighting the instinct to answer Jingyi’s plaintive calls, so be it.

If that means he must stay outside (and on the other end) of the cold springs, steeling himself to the freezing ground and keeping his eyes on the trees as Jingyi splashes around and soothes his healing aches, so be it.

If that means keeping his touches as light and quick as possible while helping Jingyi dress and put on new bandages, distracting him with the smallest pecks and urging him to rest, so be it.

If that means almost decimating the training grounds as Jingyi sleeps peacefully, scaring the other disciples when they find him—sweaty and breathing hard and glowing with energy as his sword glinted in his fist like a martial god—before they scramble to get Senior Wei and Hanguang-jun, the former of whom only guffaws while the latter hands Sizhui a cup of tea and a dry towel, so be it.

Sizhui will do this right and he will do it well, for Jingyi and himself. He already has Jingyi’s trust, affection, and love. They can kiss and touch up to a point (keeping their inner robes on) and that is already a wonderful affordance.

He will take responsibility, follow the rules, and wait for the right time to present himself to Jingyi in a mature, thoughtful, and graceful manner that befits their relationship.

Surely he can do this.


He cannot do this.

He breaks the kiss with a gasp, stopping Jingyi as he tries to clamber into his lap.

“Sizhui,” Jingyi complains. His lips are full and red and extremely kissable. And Sizhui has kissed him plenty. For hours, now. Their midday meal sits untouched in the corner. “I’m feeling a lot better, I promise! Look, you can check!”

Sizhui does not look down Jingyi’s inner robes at his chest, where long but thin scars remain after weeks of studious healing. Most will fade over time, leaving smooth skin over flexing muscles that Sizhui wants to trace with his tongue—

“We can’t,” he says and winces at how thin his voice sounds. “Not yet.”

Jingyi pouts. Sizhui clenches the sheets, feeling the fibers strain. Jingyi looks like a dream: flushed pink all over, ponytail and inner robes mussed, pouting prettily like a jilted lover, as if they haven’t left their room in two days, as if they haven’t spent the afternoon rolling around in bed, kissing and touching and lost to the world.

It is dangerously easy to get lost in Lan Jingyi, Sizhui thinks. Especially now, with Jingyi slowly crawling over to him, pout easing into a smile and hips swaying in a way that has to be forbidden.

His hips are a temptation, but his smile is Sizhui’s ruin. It has been from the start. He tries to scoot back, hits the wall, and is close to hitting the limit of his self-control because Jingyi perks up and slides into his lap. His legs tuck under Sizhui’s knees, so very warm in thin sleeping pants, and he curls his hands at Sizhui’s shoulders.

Jingyi grew broader and slightly taller this year, and there is so much to touch, so much to feel. Their chests press together, heartbeats thrumming excitedly. Sizhui rests his hands on Jingyi’s waist, outlining the curves. He feels light-headed. It must show on his face since Jingyi grins and pecks his cheek, his chin, the tip of his nose.

The affection imbued in each kiss makes Sizhui weak. He sighs and gently takes Jingyi’s mouth, sucking on his top lip. Just one more kiss, just one more before he has to separate them. Jingyi hums, almost agreeably, and Sizhui thinks he’s successful in deterring him.

Then Jingyi grinds down.

Heat bursts in Sizhui’s gut, followed by a rush of lust so strong his head knocks back against the wall and his fingers dig into Jingyi’s skin, and it is too late to hide it. He is hard, tenting his pants, and Jingyi must know it, must be able to feel it under his thighs.

“I know what you’re doing,” Jingyi says, planting pecks on Sizhui’s cheeks as Sizhui tries to remember how to breathe. “You don’t have to stick your head in the snow or jump into the cold springs. You’re so good, Sizhui, so virtuous and upstanding, but you don’t have to hold back anymore.”

“If you—” Sizhui’s toes are curling as Jingyi grazes the side of his neck with his teeth—“If you know what I’m doing, then you’ll also understand why. You still need to recover.”

Jingyi groans and withdraws enough so they can look at each other. He grabs Sizhui’s hand and puts it on his chest, right on top of the fully healed scars.

Sizhui’s resolve wavers with every shift of heated skin and lean muscles under his fingers, proof of Jingyi’s vitality and strength.

Jingyi declares, “The only thing I need to heal from is you not touching me enough. I’ve been well for a while and you know it.” A bright conspiratorial glint enters his eyes. “In fact, I think the only reason you’re holding back is that you still think it’s the proper and right thing to do.”

“It is the proper and right thing to do,” Sizhui says, but he’s throbbing under Jingyi’s weight and can hardly convince himself, let alone anyone else.

“We’re courting,” Jingyi says, and oh, hearing it makes Sizhui giddy, “and we’re going to marry next year. I want you.”

He exhales deliberately slow. Restrain yourself, Lan Sizhui. He brings Jingyi closer and nuzzles the side of his head, hoping to buy time to calm down. “Do you even know what that means?”

Jingyi noses at his cheek, long eyelashes ticking Sizhui’s skin. “I know I want you to kiss me more. I know I want you to touch me more, and not just my waist or shoulders. I want to take these robes off—I want to feel you all over.”

Sizhui’s resolve cracks. He shudders, swelling hot and hard. “Where did you learn such things? What have you been reading?”

Jingyi giggles, breathless. “I don’t need books to know that I want more. I just need you.”

Frank and open as ever. Sizhui adores him, as damaging to his self-control as he is. He buries his face in Jingyi’s neck. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jingyi insists, “I don’t want to wait until our wedding night.”

Sizhui wasn’t planning to, but he muses, “It would be romantic. Red silk and candles for our first time.”

“Don’t tease me! We don’t have to wait so long, we can be spontaneous and romantic too! If you want candles, we can get candles, the red silk might be hard though—"

Sizhui silences him with a kiss, flicking his bottom lip with his tongue. Jingyi shivers and moans as Sizhui licks into his mouth, deep and messy, the way Sizhui discovered early on that makes Jingyi shake. They’ve practiced kissing quite a lot, and Sizhui has always been studious; dedicating hours to learning what made Jingyi giggle and moan has been enlightening, more so when the reward is the ability to render his partner dazed in his arms.

Sizhui pushes Jingyi down on the bed and endeavors to do exactly that. When he pulls back, Jingyi’s eyes are hazy and his fingers tremble where they are caught in the folds of Sizhui’s collar. Sizhui runs his thumb over Jingyi’s red lips, and it comes away wet and shiny.

“Sizhui,” Jingyi breathes, smiling.

Sizhui, helpless and in love, gives in. “Okay.” He gives Jingyi another kiss before rising from the bed. “I’ll be back.”

“… Huh?”

He puts on his outer robes and headpiece, making sure to smooth out the old wrinkles. It really has been a while since he’s worn them. “I won’t take long.”

“What? Sizhui.” Jingyi rolls over on his belly, looking betrayed.

Sizhui puts on a fur-lined coat and meets Jingyi’s eyes. “I am going to get supplies.”

Jingyi freezes. Sizhui drinks in the radiant blush on his face then forces himself to leave the room before the temptation to rejoin Jingyi becomes too strong to resist.

Just before the door shuts, he hears Jingyi squeal into the pillows.

He smiles and walks faster.


Just like matters of courtship, the Cloud Recesses has few texts on bedroom affairs. The few references that can be found offer no real insight beyond suggestive metaphors and very, very vague implications.

It is characteristic of Gusu Lan, and utterly maddening. Sizhui privately agreed whenever Senior Wei insisted it would do one of the oldest and most prestigious sects good to have some sort of educational material on the topic, but he kept that to himself. No need to stir up alarm among the elders and teachers yet.

Instead, when it became apparent that Jingyi was just as interested in intimate touches before their wedding night as he was, he decided to take advantage of the resources at his disposal. Explicit books that visiting students secretly brought into the Cloud Recesses and shared among themselves offered some creative ideas, but it took multiple conversations with Hanguang-jun, spread out over tea sessions and purposely absent of Senior Wei’s presence, to yield good results. It had been nigh impossible to find the courage to stand before his father figure, of all people, and ask. But Hanguang-jun had simply nodded at his stammering, veiled questions-hidden-within-questions, speaking perfunctorily and giving more than enough subtle hints to get started.

He learned the places to visit in Caiyi Town, the right people to speak to, the correct words for the store owners to understand. His money pouch lightens, and the latest shipments of the best supplies are promised to be set aside for him, to be picked up whenever he wished.

These things were done discreetly, of course, though Jingyi knew he was doing some sort of preparation, accepting it with twinkling eyes and a sunshine smile.

All it did was make Sizhui burn through the reading material the storeowners recommended very quickly.

Theory, however, is different from practical knowledge, and Sizhui can feel the weight of that fact as he dismounts his sword and makes his way back, qiankun bag heavy at his belt. The sun sets faster in the winter, so he hurries and takes deep gulps of the frigid evening air, wills it to pacify his pounding heart.

He is both eager and afraid. Eager to please Jingyi and have this experience with him, and afraid to do something wrong. Logically, there is little to fear. Jingyi is more than vocal about what he enjoys and won’t hesitate to tell Sizhui if there is something he doesn’t like. Communication is something they’ve worked on the past weeks, in light of their courtship, and is something they continue to strengthen; in this matter, there should be no misunderstanding between them. He and Jingyi made it very clear that they both want this.

Now it’s just a matter of getting to it, Sizhui supposes, and picks up the pace. Not for the first time, he is grateful they have moved to one of the larger private quarters further from the shared complexes and main buildings. People normally don’t wander this far and this late in the afternoon, and he can run back to Jingyi without being disturbed or scolded.

The first thing he notices when he enters the quarters is the warmth. It spills out like a wave, curling around him and soaking into his robes. He leans into the welcome and takes in the accompanying smells—tea and soup and fresh sheets, and something sweeter, with hints of spice.

Tall candles are lit and scattered around the room in somewhat organized sets, bathing the room in a soft gold-orange glow. Steam rises from small pots on the table, which has been cleaned and prepared for dinner. A censer in the corner exudes fragrant incense, sweet and spicy. In the smaller adjoining room, he spots a steaming bathtub and towels neatly folded nearby with ingots of soap wrapped atop.

Jingyi looks up from where he is arranging the blankets. “You’re back!”

The candlelight softens his broad shoulders, hugs the curves of his waist, his hips, his smiling cheeks. He is still in his rumpled inner robes. His hair falls unbound down his back, though he hasn’t taken off his forehead ribbon.

Anxiety subsides into a quiet thrill.

Sizhui shuts the door behind him, sticking the talisman Hanguang-jun showed him how to make firmly on the wood.

“I’m back,” he echoes, putting his cloak away before starting on his headpiece. “You’ve been busy.”

“I wasn’t going to sit around and do nothing,” Jingyi says, leaving the bed with a nimble sway that Sizhui tracks with concentration. “I wanted some fresh air before it got too cold. The candles weren’t too hard to find. The kitchen staff is happy to know we’re actually planning on eating, by the way.”

“Is that so.” It takes every bit of restraint to not jump on him as he helps remove Sizhui’s headpiece. “Were they surprised to see you up and about?”

“No one was surprised, Sizhui.”       

Sizhui’s hair comes down. He watches Jingyi visibly swallow, putting his hands on Sizhui’s chest and scrunching the fabric separating their bare skin.

“Why did you draw a bath?” Sizhui asks, just for the pleasure of hearing Jingyi’s answer.

Jingyi wraps his arms around him. “For after.”

“How audacious,” Sizhui murmurs, brushing their lips together, light as butterfly wings. “We should eat first.”

“Was that one of the tips in your books? What else did they say? Are they in that bag right now?”

Sizhui grabs his sneaking hand. Jingyi’s pulse is running fast. “A-Yi. Eat first.”

“I’m trying!”

They pause, then burst into laughter. Jingyi flops around him and they embrace, wrapped up in candlelight and in each other.

“This is ridiculous,” Jingyi giggles, rubbing his face across Sizhui’s collar. “I’m nervous and excited like I want to run outside and shout as loud as I can, but I also want to sink into the cold springs and disappear forever. Am I making any sense, or have I been cooped up too long?”

Sizhui presses his lips into dark hair. He can’t stop smiling. “I understand.”

“You do,” Jingyi says, as if in wonder. He touches Sizhui’s cheek. His eyes are bright. “You really do.”

Sizhui reaches up and interlaces their fingers. Jingyi leans in.

They should wait a little longer. They should eat first, and talk.

If they kiss now, their dinner will go cold.

If they kiss now, they won’t be able to let go.

If they kiss now, there is no stopping what happens after.

Jingyi stops, waiting, and Sizhui thinks they’ve waited long enough.

He closes the distance.

Jingyi is pliant and warm, the bulk of him pleasing under Sizhui’s hands, and he tilts his head to kiss him with thorough dedication. He feels Jingyi shiver and moves them toward the bed. Hands fumble with the knots of his belt, sliding his outer robes off and letting them land on the floor with a dull thump.

“Wait, the—“ he breaks off to say, but Jingyi smirks and dangles the strings of the qiankun bag from his fingers.

He pinches Jingyi’s hip and licks into his mouth in retaliation as he yelps.

Jingyi bumps against the bed and goes down, taking Sizhui with him. The bag is set aside before they clutch each other, alternating between heavy kisses, tongues sliding together and stroking at red lips, and light pecks that make Jingyi hum sweetly.

Sizhui wants to get drunk on the sound, wants to bury himself in Jingyi until there’s nothing separating them, until he can’t tell where Jingyi ends and he begins.

Their inner robes end up over the sides of the bed, quickly followed by pants and undergarments. The air moves leisurely with candles burning strong, with the heat of their bodies so close, making sweat dot on bare skin.

Sizhui has to measure his breaths as Jingyi undulates, letting out little huffs, lanky limbs and shifting muscles glowing in the candlelight. He glides his hands over Jingyi’s calves and knees, his pale thighs, up his chest, gentle with the area around the scars, then going to his shoulders and strong arms corded with muscle, taking his hands and bringing them up to kiss the knuckles.

So much to touch, so much to feel. Jingyi starts his own exploration, running his hands over Sizhui with an awestruck expression. He sighs and moves with Jingyi’s caresses. After so long of aching for this, it feels like a dream, though this is so much better than what he could imagine before.

For a few minutes, they just touch curiously, mapping every curve and divot and angle, filled with a slow heat rather than an intense burn. They have seen each other naked before, often when visiting the cold springs to cultivate and sometimes when dressing in the morning, but this is so different, newly intimate and thrilling. Jingyi seems to like touching the dips of his chest and lower belly, pressing his thumbs into Sizhui’s skin and making it dimple.

Sizhui feels no shame in arching his back and giving Jingyi more room to work with. Jingyi lets out a sharp, low gasp, stiffening and pressing up hot and heavy.  

There are so many things they can do, Sizhui thinks. He remembers the books he read, the positions drawn in great detail, the written tips and tricks and hints. They crowd in his head, clamoring for attention, and he can’t focus on one. He hesitates, trying to piece together the best plan of action.

“What’s with that funny look?” Jingyi pats his cheek. “Come back to me. What are you thinking about?”

Sizhui presses a kiss into Jingyi’s palm. “You.”

Jingyi shakes his head, but it’s clear that he is pleased. “Sweet as ever.”

He wants to be more than sweet, though. He bends down and murmurs into Jingyi’s ear, “I wonder, what can I do to make you moan?”

He never says such things so blatantly, ever after affirming their courtship, and he hopes it can fluster Jingyi, can make him blush and stutter. 

He doesn’t expect Jingyi to smile cheekily. “Don’t just wonder. Find out for yourself.”

And Sizhui does.


The first time builds slow and simple. They grind together on silk sheets, Sizhui’s hand around their cocks. Jingyi clings to him and pants, squirming wildly until Sizhui pushes his tongue into his mouth, trembling when they both spill over his fingers. He brings his hand to lap at the liquid curiously. Jingyi stammers and kisses him a long time, spit dripping down their chins until they are hard again.

The second time flows fast with energy. Jingyi winks, puts his mouth to good use, and swallows Sizhui down with a loud moan, scratching lightly at Sizhui’s thighs as Sizhui throws his head back and cries out. He comes faster than before, seeing stars flash at the corners of his eyes. He redeems himself by pushing Jingyi over and sucking loudly, swallowing every drop of Jingyi's orgasm and only moving away when Jingyi is whining from the stimulation.

The third time starts almost disastrous.

“Hurry, hurry,” Jingyi is begging into his mouth as he fumbles with the qiankun bag, “Sizhui, come on—”

His hands are slippery with sweat and spend. The strings promptly knot and tangle around his fingers.

For a heartbeat, he sees red. His future husband and cultivation partner is writhing and eager beneath him. He won’t force him to wait a second longer.

At one rough yank, the strings fray and snap. 

The bag opens. Tiny clinks of glass chime around the room as he grabs one of the dozen vials. One should be enough for now, right?

When Jingyi sees the vial, the ripped strings of the bag, he whines and squeezes his legs around Sizhui’s waist. Sizhui groans, rolls his hips. His cock glides over bruises in the shape of his mouth dotting Jingyi’s inner thighs.

The way Jingyi arches and moans renders him dizzy.

The vial starts to slip out of his hand.

Jingyi shoots up to catch it at the same time Sizhui lunges forward.

They catch the vial. Their foreheads meet with a loud smack.

Ow!

“Sorry, I’m sorry!” He scrambles to tenderly kiss the red spot above Jingyi’s forehead ribbon over and over. His ears are ringing. “A-Yi, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Jingyi laughs.

He laughs, and it is sunshine after storms, bright and wonderful, and Sizhui has to laugh, too. It’s impossible not to when his best friend is filled with mirth in the cocoon of his arms. 

He sighs. “That could have been more graceful. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, that was so silly,” Jingyi hiccups, grinning wide.

Sizhui prays, hopes, aches for Jingyi to always have a reason to laugh and smile like that. He rests their foreheads together, enjoys the gentle subsidence of Jingyi’s amusement.

After a while, Jingyi finally takes a deep breath. He toys with the ends of Sizhui’s forehead ribbon, looking hopeful.

They have long chosen each other. There is no need for regulation between them now.

Sizhui smiles and kisses his cheek before nodding, going to untie Jingyi’s ribbon. Jingyi slides his ribbon off and holds it up, eyes wide.

He rubs the silk of Jingyi’s ribbon and feels like flying.

Their ribbons end up wound around their wrists, cradled between their palms. Jingyi turns his head to kiss their hands. Sizhui reaches for the vial.

All the readings and research in the world could not ready him for this—the tight heat of Jingyi around his fingers, made wet and giving by oil; Jingyi’s voice going high-pitched as he plays very gently with his rim and presses against clenching walls; the way Jingyi shakes when he coats Sizhui’s length generously.

Sizhui eases his arms around Jingyi, moves forward, and kisses every one of his punched-out, staccato sounds. Everything is so hot, slick with sweat and come mixing with drops of oil. Low grunts rumble in his throat as Jingyi opens for him.

“Sizhui Sizhui Sizhui—ah—” Jingyi keens. He opens for Sizhui so, so well.

He thrusts once, twice, gritting his teeth at the sinuous slide, sinking as deep as he can before stopping to breathe and stare.

Jingyi is a vision, lithe muscles flexing under a hot sheen and dark eyes half-lidded with pleasure. His hair is damp with sweat, framing red cheeks and the numerous love bites on his neck. His thighs sit easily around Sizhui’s hips, making a supple and warm place Sizhui wants to stay in until time loses its meaning.

He pushes in slow, just to savor the moist hot walls that welcome him in, to see Jingyi’s dark eyes flutter, his pretty mouth falling open for breathy mewls to tumble out. He's taking it so well, so good Sizhui's chest hurts.

In this private, special place they made for themselves, with Jingyi ensconced securely in his arms, Sizhui’s heart feels so full he has to kiss Jingyi again, and again, and again, because this is them, and this is theirs, and the rest of the world falls away.

They make love by candlelight. Hips roll and sway, pushing and taking and offering. Hands roam, reverent and almost disbelieving. They never let go of their ribbons, white silk joining them as they move, and their lips never part for longer than it takes to catch breath.

There is no expertise in their lovemaking, not yet. They are clumsy: Sizhui’s knees keep slipping and forcing him to adjust his balance, while Jingyi seems to move to his own fast, uneven rhythm, almost kicking Sizhui’s back with his heels.

It’s okay, though. They will have time to learn and teach each other.

He leaves soft pecks on the delicate line of Jingyi’s neck, the underside of his chin, his heated cheeks, pausing to nuzzle his nose. He is rewarded by a bright huff of laughter as Jingyi presses back, and affection blooms in his chest.

For so long he hoped to be Jingyi’s special person, chosen rather than fated, to have the deep and strong relationship shared between lovers and cultivation partners, but this—nothing could have prepared him for this intimacy, to be wrapped up in Jingyi so much their heartbeats matched.

How long can they stay like this, Sizhui wonders. How long are they allowed to remain intertwined in the most intimate way, learning how to make each other gasp and moan into completion, breathing in their shared rapture and tasting it on each other’s lips? How much time can they steal away for themselves, to stretch out these moments as long as possible?

If he has this way, he wants to stay here for the better part of forever.

He doesn’t how much time has passed when Jingyi moans, “A-Yuan, I can’t—I’m going to—” He tightens around Sizhui, throws his head back, and comes over their stomachs, beautiful in ecstasy.

Sizhui holds his hand and falls apart.


When he opens his eyes, he is on his back and Jingyi is snuggled into his side, head resting above his heart. Their ribbons lay across his chest, still holding them together. He glides his free hand up and down the arch of Jingyi’s back.

Jingyi makes a lax, happy sound and curls closer if it’s possible. Sizhui nuzzles his head and breathes him in. His body thrums with a current of energy. It feels like his golden core has been energized, even though they were not trying for dual cultivation.

They will, at some point.

“How are you feeling?” he asks and almost doesn’t recognize his voice, low and husky as it is.

“Great,” Jingyi says, sounding amused. “Really, really great. You fainted near the end, I think. Was it that good for you?”

“I didn’t faint, I just closed my eyes for a bit.” Sizhui follows the curve of Jingyi’s buttocks and seeks out the wet, soft entrance. Pleased, he hums in response to Jingyi’s gasp and withdraws. “It was good, for me. More than.”

Jingyi swings a leg over and sits astride Sizhui’s hips. His dark eyes gleam. He says simply, “Good”, and leans down.

Their lips meet yielding and hungry.

Jingyi grabs the oil.

This time, their coupling is rough and wild. When he’s prepared, Jingyi flips him over and mounts him, joining their bodies with a slick, loud slide. Sizhui’s moan breaks, seizing with the force of penetration, the sudden ache of being filled to the brim and beyond. It’s fast and deep and feels so good he wants to cry out.

He does. Jingyi fucks him through it, rides him hard, keeping one hand around Sizhui’s cock and the other curled over the edge of the bed frame. The bed creaks and groans dangerously, mixing with the harsh slapping of skin against skin. It’s much too rough to be tender lovemaking, too wild to be playful bedsport.

Sizhui doesn’t protest against the change of pace. He fists the sheets and wills it with everything he has to keep going. He screws his eyes shut; if he looks over his shoulder at Jingyi at this moment, heady arousal beating hard where they are wetly connected and dripping on the sheets, he will come too soon.

It is the least composed he’s ever felt, and the sight of him so frazzled seems to make Jingyi move without abandon. He lets his body slump into Jingyi's thrusts, lets himself be taken

“Jingyi—A-Yi—you feel so good, I want to, I want—ah—” Jingyi slams into him, grinds his cock into that sensitive spot.

He screams.

The bedframe shatters under Jingyi’s hand with a deafening crack, followed by the snaps of two wooden legs breaking.

They collapse with the bed onto the floor.

A moment of vertigo passes.

Jingyi says, “I broke the bed.”

Sizhui muffles his startled laughter in the pillow. “You did.”

“I broke the bed.”

Sizhui wheezes and clenches down. “Yes, you did. Let’s worry about it later, okay?”

Jingyi mutters a hesitant affirmation, starting to thrust. But he’s holding back, hesitant, keeping his touch light. Sizhui doesn’t like it.

He wants Jingyi to pin him down and fuck him until he screams again.

“Jingyi, move, you’re not going to break the floor,” he says, gyrating his hips.

“I’m worried about you, not the floor!”

Sizhui reaches back, takes Jingyi’s hands, and holds them to his chest. He can feel the muscles rippling in Jingyi’s forearms and biceps. His mouth waters. He bites at Jingyi’s wrist, licking at the mark.

“I like having your hands on me,” he says bluntly. “I like it when you hold me still and make sure I can feel you inside. I know you’d never hurt me. You’d rather break this whole room than hurt me.”

Jingyi swells inside him, so hot and wide his jaw drops from the stretch, the burn. A large bite sinks into his nape, and he has to rest his cheek on the pillow, suddenly weak and dazed. He hears distantly, “I might break this whole room if you talk like that, A-Yuan.”

“That’s fine,” he mumbles. “The other private quarters are empty.”

Jingyi laughs and takes him hard, sucking bruises all over his back. He keeps Jingyi’s hands at his chest. He wants Jingyi to feel his heartbeat, and know it’s racing impossibly fast because of him.

After he spills into the sheets, vision bleary and voice hoarse from screaming, Jingyi rips his hands from his slackened grip and smacks them on the floor.

The floorboards crack under his fingertips as he fills Sizhui up, moaning.

Three beats, then, “Oh no!”

Sizhui laughs until his sides hurt.


He loses count after that.

They turn over the sheets and lay on their sides with Sizhui spooned up behind Jingyi, thrusting into the tight sleeve of Jingyi’s thighs. It’s a lazy, languid round, rocking together and sharing kisses until their orgasms flow over them gently. Another round, Jingyi holds Sizhui up against the wall, effortlessly keeping him in place and making him take each thrust in full, not stopping until Sizhui is filled to the point of dripping and begging for rest. After he collects himself, he bends Jingyi over the broken bed, sinking his teeth into a pale shoulder and pulling Jingyi back on his cock in sharp, fast blurs.

The mid-winter night is long, and they finish another vial of oil before Sizhui has them sit down to eat an overdue dinner. They feed each other the best pieces and laugh as they dine completely naked with no regard for ceremony.

Jingyi pushes his sauce-stained fingers into Sizhui’s mouth. His eyes darken when Sizhui takes them to the back of his throat without blinking.

They join in the bathtub after reheating the water. He rides Jingyi twice, shaking as cum and water slosh inside him. Jingyi holds him in place and keeps him warm around his cock, quaking and slippery inside. After some time, Jingyi starts moving again, pulling Sizhui’s legs over his shoulders, but Sizhui notices the wooden rim of the tub starting to splinter under Jingyi’s hands. 

They move to the floor, still damp and glistening from the bath. Sizhui spreads out on their fur coats (the bed sheets are unsalvageable at this point) and sighs as Jingyi mouths at his neck, his clavicle, his nipples. Jingyi’s hands fold around his waist, thumbs rubbing the swell of his lower belly.

“You touch there a lot,” Sizhui says, lazily running his toes up and down the back of Jingyi’s thighs and knees. He aches and he wants more. He doesn't know if it will ever be enough. 

Jingyi turns a startling shade of red. “It’s soft. I like it.”

“Soft? Is that all?” Sizhui teases.

Jingyi makes a strangled sound and rolls them over so Sizhui is on top. His lips seek out Sizhui’s. Later, Sizhui will berate himself for being so easily distracted, but not too harshly. It’s hard to resist the heat of Jingyi’s body, the way his hands—so capable of great feats of strength—cling so tenderly to Sizhui, how his sweet little pants unfurl around Sizhui’s neck.

He has seen Jingyi in happiness and sadness and irritation, all the shared moments of their lives, and now he can see him in pleasure, in love.

He slides his fingers into Jingyi’s hair, kisses him, and moves until there’s nothing left but a rush of heat, a white oblivion, and Jingyi’s heartbeat steady under his hand.


They do eventually settle down from the frenzy of lovemaking.

Especially when the bed, the majority of the floor, and a lower portion of a wall boast significant damage to the woodwork. Only the table and bathtub remain standing due to Sizhui’s vigilance. Which, in hindsight, would not have been the biggest loses had they been destroyed.

They can explain a table and bathtub. It’s going to be much harder to explain a whole room covered in melted candle wax and wood splinters, among other things.

“Sizhui?”

“Hm?”

“What are we going to do?”

“... the other private quarters are empty.”

A snort and a kiss to his jaw. “Sizhui, no.”