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Icing the Cherry

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Virginity isn’t a curse but it’s certainly starting to seem like one. With no one willing to take one for the team and do him the decency of finally fucking him, the selfish bastards have left no choice but for Shang Qinghua to resort to self-reflection in the most literal sense. He stares at himself in the mirror, trying to figure out if this appearance is just so repugnant that his only hope for companionship in this world is his hand and a well-worn copy of the Resentment of Chunshan. It’s not that he finds his awful best friend particularly alluring, but rather, the only other available erotica is written by his own hand, and he knows from experience it’s really hard to jack off to his own grammatical errors.

Logic is a fickle mistress, but Shang Qinghua thinks he’s figured out the explanation for the situation: he’s just so absolutely vile, so irredeemably ugly that he will most certainly die a virgin. He didn’t always look like this. Not to say that his original meatsack was more appealing, no, it definitely wasn’t. He didn’t have a skincare routine so much as a ‘dusting the crumbs of Doritos off his face when he wakes up’ routine. But that was okay! He didn’t need to be sexy! He was a popular stallion novel author, he had admirers and haters both, he was living the life he wanted to, he wasn’t missing anything.

But now—  now the stakes are different! He’s the Creator of this world! From his exceptionally large frontal lobe spawned everything from the peaks of Cang Qiong Mountain to the depths of the Endless Abyss! He’s fashioned living breathing humans from his mind, bestowed them with magnificent gifts! He’s amazing, frankly. And fucking hell, he doesn’t deserve to die a virgin a second time.

The first time was bad enough. He really did think at some point some sweet-hearted girl would find him endearing instead of ‘frightening’ and ‘smells of noodles’. He wouldn’t even call her waifu, not unless she was into that! He didn’t have a lot of experiences with the Fairer Sex, besides knowing they didn’t really like being called that, but figured that girls are supposed to be nice. Take pity on him! Do a good deed, fuck a nerd, what happened to being a good Samaritan?

Whatever.

He was never that good at pretending to be straight anyway.

Still, that life is in the past, his corpse is probably already ashes in the wind. He’s got this new body, a new sex drive, and a new cherry to pop. The issue is that now he’s in a world which he created and somehow he’s still undesirable. Even more so than fucking Cucumber Bro! Really! The audacity! It’s just unfair. He’s out there, getting railed on the regular by Shang Qinghua’s own son. It fills him with some kind of deep emotion. Jealousy seems the wrong word because Shang Qinghua definitely doesn’t wish he was Shen Qingqiu, like… he’s the author here. He’s written about Binghe’s heavenly pillar before. He’s grateful he doesn’t have to deal with having his guts scrambled every night.

 He pulls at the strands of copper hair, his own morose gaze reflected at him. He isn’t that ugly, right? The original Shang Qinghua was never given the gift of a handsome face like the Liu siblings — a fact that he now regrets — but at least he’s got all the pieces he’s supposed to have! Objectively, he’s got two eyes, a nose, a mouth for kissing and dick sucking, that’s the bare minimum. He’s not irredeemable, surely?

He even tried to solicit advice from the only other —  former — virgin he knew.

“Have you tried a brothel?” Shen Qingqiu had said in his wisely-shizun voice. “Maybe you could pay someone to relieve you of your burden.”

“I’m not going to spend money!” Shang Qinghua had snapped. “That’s out of the question!”

“It’s a noble profession,” Shen Qingqiu fanned himself. “Don’t look down on them from your ivory tower.” This was the worst thing about Cucumber Bro, he really thought he was so clever when really he just kind of slid by saying vague things in a reassuring tone.

“An Ding Peak doesn’t have an ivory tower, I’m not even that wealthy, this is entirely irrelevant! Is it so much to ask to be loved?” Shang Qinghua despaired, and then stopped listening to Shen Qingqiu because he just started talking about the importance of comfort in solitude. In retrospect, Shang Qinghua had used the wrong words, he was thinking with his heart instead of his dick. No, he didn’t need to be loved — he just really wanted to get railed.

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s not like he cares, he doesn’t care so much that he’s going to never ever think about this again. After bidding Shen Qingqiu farewell, dodging a slap of his fan against his forehead, he aggressively adjusts his collar and turns around, leaves the room. It only takes him ten seconds later to return and smooth out his hair, asking for Shen Qingqiu’s confirmation he seems presentable. In case he sees Mobei Jun. Just in case.

🧊

The problem with virginity is once you have it, it’s hard to lose it. He realizes that fairly early on — he remembers the day as he was attending a banquet Mobei Jun threw. This is a result of some shoddy worldbuilding on Shang Qinghua’s part, having devised a political system that relied on elaborate banquets instead of actual politics. In his defense however, banquets are much sexier and more prone to duels, orgies and dramatic love confessions than door-to-door campaigning. Such an atmosphere always ferments romantic interest, and after his allotted forty-five minutes of pining over how accomplished Mobei Jun looks on his throne, he had hoped to score as the kids say. He did not. The demon servant who’s attention he captured was a little too freaked out that it was his first, said he’d get too scared when he’d find out he had more than one dick. Shang Qinghua didn’t even have the time to yell out after: “That sounds like the opposite of a problem!”

He’s reminded of this event now, staring at the good silverware, only ever used in a banquet. Therefore, literally used almost as much as the normal silverware. He had been picking at his grilled meat of an ambiguous source, gazing at how stupidly in love his “best friend” is with his “son”. It’s devastating. Actually, Shang Qinghua decides stabbing his fork into a suspiciously large leaf, those kind of googly-eyed gazes are now illegal. It won’t be the first time Shen Qingqiu goes to prison, either, so he’ll probably be okay with it.

Still, he can’t deny that part of him wants the googly-eyed gazes. His dick is hard, yes, but his heart is soft. He’s stupidly sentimental and when he looks up at Mobei Jun, on his throne where he belongs, thoughts flood his mind. And yes, the first ten are variations on how getting reamed by him is probably a chillingly sensual affair, but the next few are much more tender, all about how melodious his voice is, how his legs are so long, how slender his hands are, and wait, no, nevermind he’s still horny. It’s all Mobei Jun’s fault, what right does he have to be so perfect and yet so untouchable?

Bet Past Airplane Towards The Sky thought he was really clever for making an ice prince that was literally ice. Really, he can’t blame Shen Qingqiu for swearing him out with his dying breath, he’s honestly feeling ‘dumbfuck author’ right now as well. Why didn’t he give his future counterpart a romantic interest? Not even a mistress? Did his past self think Shang Qinghua was the time to curb his enthusiasm when it came to unnecessary dicking down in the Proud Immortal Demon Way universe? 

And well, look, he’s certain about one thing. Just getting a fuck isn’t going to solve his problem, the big problem, the one that has luscious raven hair and wears furs and leather boots. He knows this much, he’s jacked off enough times to the image of Mobei Jun’s smirk to know that an orgasm does not cure this particular disease. That’s alright. He expects this is more terminal in nature. He’s read enough danmei about the servant lusting over their untouchable monarch to know that in the cases where it does work out, it’s usually between two stunningly beautiful individuals. Not a devastatingly handsome ice demon lord and his mousey virginial retainer with eyes too big for his face. There’s also a lot of quivering hands and tender wound cleaning in-between the rendezvous. Where’s that energy for Shang Qinghua? Where’s his moment of a heaving bosom as Mobei Jun caresses the side of his cheek?

“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei Jun says, and yeah, okay, technically shivers travel down his spine but that doesn’t count, that’s just what happens to everyone when they talk to him. “Are you not enjoying yourself?”

“Of course I am, my King,” Shang Qinghua replies once he gets his heart rate under control. “I love this meat, what is it?”

Mobei Jun ignores him, and that’s very in-character of him, so Shang Qinghua isn’t even offended. “Please make the necessary arrangements for a tour of the Eastern regions. It’s difficult to lure Lord Luo here. We should make the most of it while we can.”

“Of course, my King. Very industrious of you, my King,” Shang Qinghua nods. He’s definitely going overboard, but in his defense, Mobei Jun’s shirt is lace. Usually he wears these dense furs and thick coats, all hiding what’s underneath but it’s been so hot lately, it’s almost like the Demon Realm was supposed to be a thinly veiled illusion to Hell but Shang Qinghua would never be such a lazy writer, of course, this is 100% original content. As a result, Mobei Jun foregoes his inner robe and while he still wears his ceremonial dress, it’s just… lace underneath. He’s seeing flashes of pale skin, and frankly, Shang Qinghua wonders what happened to modesty and propriety around here, in this, a lair of demons.

There it is again, that smirk. Like, alright, Shang Qinghua gets it, he’s a living joke but the least Mobei Jun could do was try and leave him some face, not restrain laughter just at the mere sight of him!

“What do you think of the festivities?” Mobei Jun asks, and rests a hand on Shang Qinghua’s shoulder. Cold ripples out from where his flesh touches him, even through Mobei Jun’s velvet gloves. It’s impossible to repress the shiver that radiates out. It’s a physiological action, it means nothing! But Mobei Jun still feels it, and Shang Qinghua deliberately looks away, not wanting to cause himself any more embarrassment.

“It’s lovely,” Shang Qinghua says. “Less attendance than the last one. In fact, what happened to that one demon noble, the one with the white hair? I spoke to him last time and he was so interesting.”

As someone with mediocre social skills at the best of times, he doesn’t often befriend the guests of his King, but he remembers this demon. Shang Qinghua really enjoyed talking to him, and dare he suggests, even flirting, but nothing came of it. Just like the last one, but one difference was this time was not his own virginity working against him, oh no, there was an external influence. Mobei Jun had literally kicked him out of the banquet hall as soon as there was even a hint of an orgy taking place, not even a single glittery dress had been pulled back and the doors were shut in his face. Shang Qinghua had to take his wilted and dejected boner to his bathtub again.

“Him?” Mobei Jun’s grip tightens. “He died. Very tragic.”

Shang Qinghua blinks. “Oh. Okay. That’s… thank you for telling, my King.”

“You’re always welcome.” Mobei Jun bends down, leans right on top of his hand. So close, Shang Qinghua can make out the exact shade of ice blue his eyes are. It’s like a glacier, so intimidating and untouchable. His face is just so beautiful, like it was carved. He digs his nails into the table, trying to contain himself. “Enjoy yourself tonight.”

“I will, my King,” Shang Qinghua nods. His voice isn’t always that squeaky, right? Mobei Jun seems satisfied regardless and raises himself back to his imposing height.

Mobei Jun pats him on the back. Probably underestimates his own strength because it feels like the wind is crushed out of Shang Qinghua’s lungs. “Glad to hear that. You always seem so tense.”

It takes a great effort to control his breathing. When Mobei Jun disappears like a shadow, or perhaps, into shadow, Shang Qinghua gazes down at the new crescent-shaped marks he’s made in the wood of the table and sighs.

 

🧊

 

The thing is Shang Qinghua’s checked his notes. He’s written copious amounts of meta analysis and he is 99% sure that Mobei Jun’s sexuality is most likely “open-minded as hell”. That’s unlikely to change, he reasons, even with Shen Qingqiu fiddling around in his plot like a racoon in a trashcan. Thus, Shang Qinghua should have a chance. It’s commonplace for demon lords to have concubines! He really thinks that that’s a pretty sweet deal, and if he was less hideous, he would have applied for that position instead of the one of frequently abused retainer. This of course, is under the impression that the once-alive Airplane Towards The Sky chose this particular avatar, which he really did not.

He’s made it clear numerous times that he would be willing to beg for the chance to be speared by Mobei Jun’s ice pillar, perhaps in less terrible words, he’s usually more diplomatic. He even recruited advice from Sha Hualing and practised his flirting techniques. The next time he spoke to his King, he had his lips pouted and kept batting his eyelashes. All Mobei Jun did was tell him in that crisp monotone of his, “Why are you blinking so much? If you’re infectious and you spread it to me, I’ll scoop out your eyes myself.”

Enucleation is a real boner killer and it took a while for Shang Qinghua’s confidence to recover.

He tried again a few months later. Mobei Jun had seemed so overworked and Shang Qinghua thought he knew the perfect solution for that: fucking his retainer’s brains out. So many health benefits! A great source of stress relief which is precisely his problem! Very good for circulation as well and that’s so important in an ice demon, his veins are perpetually blue.

Shang Qinghua had willed every ounce of courage in his tragically short body and placed his quivering hand on top of Mobei Jun’s fur-lined gloves. He’d given up on the eyelash fluttering after the last time and just tried to smile as broad as he could, lowering his voice to a sultry whisper: “My King, if there’s any way I can serve you, I will. And I mean mind and body, I’ll do anything you ask of me, anything.”

“That’s nice,” Mobei Jun had said, a bemused expression crossing his face, “You can mop the floor in here.”

 

🧊

 

It’s become objectively clear that Mobei Jun finds Shang Qinghua absolutely repulsive, but the fact that he hasn’t said so yet still causes that stupid flame of hope to burn in his heart. And in his dick. And it really is inflamed in his dick, and this isn’t one of his better metaphors because now he’s just thinking he’s got a UTI, but this is the state he’s become because of his affliction. Shang Qinghua is done with virginity as a whole but Mobei Jun was a whole other tangle of thoughts. It’s such a stupid and unrealistic hope that one day Mobei Jun will wake up and feel compelled to dick down his retainer but he can’t stop himself.

The only solution, Shang Qinghua realizes, is to consciously extinguish that flame. And no better to do it, and he feels very clever for this pun, but with ice

 

🧊

 

“My Lord,” Shang Qinghua begins. “I have something I need to discuss with you. It’s important.”

“Speak,” Mobei Jun replies, not looking up from his scroll.

There’s many different versions of how this conversation would go. In the first draft, Shang Qinghua probably just asks flatout to get railed. Naturally, this will get lengthened and improved in edits. The second draft, now that’s where it’ll become art, this is where all the fangirls will quote his lines back to him in the forums. Shang Qinghua gets down on his knees and bares his soul, says that he’s fallen deeply in love and only wishes to service his King with his mind and body. Mobei Jun is so overcome with emotion and virility, he immediately pulls his retainer into his chambers and ravishes him for ten to fifteen hours — demon stamina, you know. The third draft is basically just the second draft but this time Shang Qinghua remembers that he needs to include lubricant in the equation if he ever wants to walk again.

There’s so many possibilities, those are just the top three that comes to his mind! This is what makes it even more tragic that in reality what happened was:

Shang Qinghua throwing himself at the feet of Mobei Jun, tears streaming down as he face wails: “Do you hate me because I’m ugly?”

There’s a prolonged pause. Shang Qinghua knows because he’s started pounding his fists on the tiles. Anxiety builds as he waits for the response from his King. Being horribly embarrassing has just become second nature to him. Anyway, there’s no other way to approach this matter, besides the other possibilities he thought about and then proceeded not to do. He cares about the answer more than what little dignity remains in his tiny, sad, virginal body. And there’s not a lot left. He’s been kicked down out of Mobei Jun’s robes like a newborn chick far too many times for that.

He can’t stop crying now that he’s unleashed the floods, unable to tamp down the emotions he’s kept locked in for so long. Mobei Jun makes a confused noise, like a cat jerked awake from a nap. It seems like he’s about to say something but Shang Qinghua’s sobs are just a little too loud and heart-wrenching. He clutches at Mobei Jun’s legs, a position he often finds himself in and never for the sexy reasons. Inhaling the scent of his long leather boots, Shang Qinghua buries his face in them, aborting the more louder of his wails. He’s getting mucus all over his King’s fancy shoes, but it won’t be the first time he’s had to shine them, the whole experience just a little too overtly homoerotic to be entirely innocent.

Mobei Jun’s body is ramrod stiff but that’s not too surprising. What is, is that he hasn’t yet plucked Shang Qinghua by the scruff of his neck and punted him halfway across the entire room. There’s a slight pressure as the toe of his boot jams into Shang Qinghua’s chest. When that doesn’t prove successful in unsticking him, more force is used and Shang Qinghua topples backwards. He coughs up a brief bubble of blood. That seems more like him!

“Shang Qinghua, I must have misheard you,” Mobei Jun says which is a complete lie. As if his wonderfully pointy demon ears could make a mistake! He can probably hear Shang Qinghua’s heart race from all the way up on his throne. “Are you crying because… you’re ugly?”

Like the ambiguous meat served at the banquets, he feels himself being pummeled and beaten into an emotional pulp, and then laid out for presentation in front of the lord of the land. “So you do think that I’m ugly!” Shang Qinghua throws out a finger accusingly. “I knew it!” He’d never dare point at his King on any normal day, but clearly this isn’t a normal day, best to lean into it. Wow, whoever said that confronting your feelings made you feel better was so incredibly wrong.

“I never said that.” Mobei Jun’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, the only crack in his blank demeanour. “Is that what you think?”

“Didn’t you say that?” Shang Qinghua shoots back. He lifts the sleeve of his oversized robe — what he wouldn’t give for a goddamn hoodie in this world — and wipes his face clean. Cringes at the state of the cloth afterwards, the mucus and tear stains plentiful.

“I did not,” Mobei Jun replies. And he pauses now. He tilts his head to the side, resting on the black fur that encircles his neck. “And I don’t.”

It takes him a moment. And Shang Qinghua replays the sentence in his mind — and hmm, okay, he didn’t actually confirm that he thought he was ugly. But this is not something that can be any shade of grey, he needs to know the truth. “You don’t… what?”

“Not often am I perplexed but you’ve truly rendered me speechless. I’m really not sure where any of… this is coming from,” here Mobei Jun gestures towards Shang Qinghua’s everything and alright, that feels a little demoralizing. “If it’ll get you to stop crying I can assure you I don’t hate you and I don’t think you’re ugly either.”

It’s not a compliment. It’s not even in the neighbourhood of a compliment. What Mobei Jun just said was the non-stop bus that drives straight past compliments and skids straight into perpetual self-insecurity territory. But it’s quite possibly the nicest thing Shang Qinghua has heard Mobei Jun say to anyone and he feels his eyes start to water again.

Really?” Shang Qinghua’s voice cracks.

Mobei Jun uncrosses and crosses his legs. The sigh that escapes from his chest is heavy. He relaxes his posture, most likely assuming this is going to be a longer conversation than he had previously thought. “I have no desire nor reason to lie to you.”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t answer. Instead tries to compose his sobs into muffled whimpers. This is a win, if nothing else. It doesn’t feel like one, but that’s because all he can feel is the saltiness of his tears. But when he processes this later in the sanctity of his bathtub, he’ll look on this as a success.

Boredom is vivid on Mobei Jun’s face. “Why does it matter to you, Shang Qinghua?” Removing his gloves, he fans out his hand, too busy gazing at his perpetual black nails to deign Shang Qinghua with a glance. “You don’t strike me as a particularly vain individual. I’ve seen you use paintbrushes dripping with ink to tie up your hair in the past.”

“It’s not… that was just convenient,” he protests. “It’s not about narcissism or anything like that, I just felt like I needed to know. It informs a lot of my own decision making. If I truly am hideous, I should be aware of that, take that into account when I interact on your business.” Feeling the need to indulge in his most favourite habit of flattery, he follows this up with: “And I trust your opinion more than anyone else, as your mind is the sharpest in the land and you are the most handsome of men, my King.”

Mobei Jun tries to appear unaffected but, well, Shang Qinghua twigged on pretty fast that the perpetual lieutenant enjoys being praised. It’s really very convenient, because Shang Qinghua loves praising him! Isn’t it so neat how that all worked out by complete coincidence?

“Surely there must be a deeper cause than something so superficial. Why else cause such a disgusting display in front of me? It can’t just be your concern that you might be deformed.”

“I did not use that word!” Shang Qinghua is quick to correct. “I just… my King, I should not divulge any further information. I’ve wasted enough of your time.”

“You have,” Mobei Jun agrees. “Tell me anyway. That’s an order.”

Objectively, he can’t get much lower than this. He’s already debased himself on the throne room floor. What next?  Mobei Jun is gonna find out he dreams of getting penetrated by that icicle he’s got hanging between his legs and then what? Throw him in the dungeon? Ha, tough luck, think Mr Ice Prince is going to serve a tour of the Eastern regions alone with those two lovebirds? Shang Qinghua’s life is a guarantee. At worst, Mobei Jun will probably just kick him down a hill again, and honestly, that’s just a fun recreational activity for him nowadays!

“I’ve told my King many times that all I ever wish to do for you is to serve you, in any way you’d want me to, anything that I can give of my body and mind is yours to take,” Shang Qinghua says. He decides against fluttering his eyelashes at the last second.

Mobei Jun considers him. “Are you expecting me to voice my gratitude or…?”

And that, that just breaks him.

“I want to know why you haven’t taken advantage of me yet!” Shang Qinghua wails. “I’ve been here for years and I’ve not been violated even once!”

If he had thought the earlier pause was long, Shang Qinghua was not prepared for how long this particular length of time could stretch.

“I’ve betrayed everything for you, and you don’t even have the decency to properly fuck me. There’s been a dozen banquets since I’ve arrived that have all devolved into demon orgies and you haven’t even taken me! You make me leave every time, so you won’t even let me get some with pretty demons, but you won’t take care of me yourself! I’ve given up hope but then sometimes you make me kneel between your legs for hours and I have to start wondering if this is a signal!” He slams his fist on the tiles. “I just feel so unwanted.” 

And now, now Mobei Jun leans forward. Interest is sharp in the quirk of his eyebrow. “Shang Qinghua, I know you find it difficult to be succinct at the best of times. That being said I implore you to find a way to summarize that verbal catastrophe in a single sentence.”

“I’m tired of being a virgin,” Shang Qinghua whispers.

Mobei Jun’s eyes are as clear as ice — and they widen, and they darken. “And what does this have to do with me?”

“Why haven’t you fixed that yet!” And then, when clarity returns like a rockfall overhead, he realizes what he’s said. Clamps both hands over his mouth and backs away. If he starts running now, maybe he’ll have a chance. “My King, I am so sorry. I must be delirious. Please do excuse me, I should just…”

Just what? Just leave? Just kick himself down a hill? Shang Qinghua makes it a total of five steps before Mobei Jun rises from his throne like a glacier through the depths of the ocean. He casts an imposing figure as he strides forward and in the span of a moment, reaches right up to where Shang Qinghua cowers — and then more. He continues advancing, forces Shang Qinghua back, right up against the wall of his throne room, and as Shang Qinghua searches for an escape. He finds none. Instead, the sound of Mobei Jun’s arm hitting the wall resounds in the empty room. His palm is pressed against the wall, directly next to Shang Qinghua’s head. All he can see is the line of Mobei Jun’s body, his legs against his own, and as he raises his chin, he finds himself staring up into those cold, fierce eyes. He’s completely and entirely caged in.

Shang Qinghua has been kabedon’d.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to leave, Shang Qinghua,” Mobei Jun says and damn his stupidly sexy baritone, it makes everything he says drip with seductive potential. “In fact, I had just given you an order and I’m not satisfied with your explanation yet.”

All he’d have to do is reach out less than a handspan and he’d be touching Mobei Jun’s chest, all he’d have to do is step on his tippy toes and he’d reach Mobei Jun’s lips. He feels the inside of his mind start to spark like a faulty electrical wire.

“My King,” his voice is weak. He’s just noticed that when Mobei Jun exhales, there’s the faintest cloud of water vapour that results from it. He can’t stop staring at it — that is to say, staring at his lips. “I really shouldn’t. I’ve been very inappropriate.”

“No point stopping now then,” Mobei Jun’s lips curve into a smirk. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what you want from me, and then I can decide what happens next.”

Shang Qinghua forces his eyes to look up. Mobei Jun’s elbow is right next to Shang Qinghua’s throat. That’s the closest proximity he’s ever really come to him. He’s so big, it’s intoxicating. He doesn’t know when next he’ll get this opportunity so he needs to remember every detail of this. Wow, his hands really are unfairly pretty, bet those slender fingers would feel even better inside him—

“My patience is running out,” Mobei Jun leans in, whispers this in Shang Qinghua’s ear, and it’s so cold he can’t stop himself shivering.

“I want you to fuck me.” Once the words burst out of his mouth he can’t stop the waterfall. “I want you to pin me down and rail me, and fuck me, and come inside, please, please, please, I don’t want to be a virgin anymore, and you’re so tall and handsome and powerful and I know I’m average and boring but it isn’t fair and—”

He was only on the introduction to a very long and very horny rant when he finds himself silenced by a tongue in his mouth that’s definitely not his own. It takes Shang Qinghua a little longer than it should to realize this because Mobei Jun is kissing him. Mobei Jun is kissing him.

Mobei Jun is kissing him.

The resulting squeal that rockets out of Shang Qinghua’s lungs is loud enough to cause Mobei Jun to pull away, brows wrinkling in confusion again. He appears as untouchable as ever, same pristine fur coat, same look of perpetual disdain but — but a strand of hair has fallen out of place, now dangles in front of his eyes, the only remnant of what had just transpired.

Before Shang Qinghua can stop himself, he reaches his hand out, twirls his fingers around the raven lock and then threads it behind Mobei Jun’s pointed ear. “There.”

Mobei Jun’s breaths are clouds of icy vapour.

“You should always look presentable, my King. You never know when a foriegn dignitary or perhaps a Peak Lord might drop by,” Shang Qinghua’s voice is thin, squeaky. Unable to adjust his mind to reality, he defaults back to what he knows: being Mobei Jun’s retainer. Keeping him neat and informed. “And now your hair is all a mess.”

It’s then Shang Qinghua notices the corner of Mobei Jun’s lips, the streak of saliva splattered across. That’s from me, Shang Qinghua realizes. He can’t stop staring. Was Mobei Jun always this tall? He seems like a world away, but he’s not, not at all, in fact, Shang Qinghua merely has to look up. He raises his thumb, sweeps it across his mouth. “All better.”

When Mobei Jun kisses him this time, he swallows his resulting squeal, and then all the other noises as well. In something pulled straight out of Shang Qinghua’s fantasy, Mobei Jun pins him to the wall, his hands relentless in their ownership of his waist. He licks into Shang Qinghua’s mouth like it’s just another of the vast territories he owns, like he can do whatever he wants, like he can dominate Shang Qinghua’s entire body. Good thing he’s absolutely right and he can do all of that.

Shang Qinghua has always wondered what it’s like to dig his hands into Mobei Jun’s furs: the answer is that they are even softer than they look. He connects his hands around the back of Mobei Jun’s neck. He falters for a moment, needing air, and Mobei Jun growls. And then decides he’s not prepared to have that happen again, and lifts Shang Qinghua up, pushes him even further into the wall. He’s definitely written about this before, and links his legs around Mobei Jun’s waist, caging him in.    

“You’re a virgin?” Mobei Jun breathes against his lips, his hands settling to the curve of his ass. “Correct?”

And Shang Qinghua is nothing if not opportunistic and looks into Mobei Jun’s icy eyes, flutters his eyelashes. “Hopefully not for much longer?”

 

🧊

 

Mobei Jun travels in shadows which, as far as teleportation goes, are extremely sexy. Definitely higher than portals in the ranking, maybe not as attractive as a set of wings. However, if one were to organize teleportation methods by, for example, the extent to which they were absolutely terrifying, shadows would definitely be number one.

Shang Qinghua has travelled several times by shadow and all of them resulted in him screaming for the entire duration, or until Mobei Jun subdued him into silence — and never the sexy kind of submission, either. It’s much harder to scream this time around because Mobei Jun’s tongue is in his mouth the entire time. He digs his nails into his arms, his unfairly thick biceps — why is everyone in this damn world fucking jacked except him? It’s this particular gripe he has with his own novel that occupies his attention while his entire body gets transposed into shadow, and it’s not necessarily painful so much as emotionally traumatic to temporarily lose an entire dimension. His eyes squeeze shut and he doesn’t open them.

Reality comes back to him slowly. He feels his legs on solid ground. And then, he’s being kissed again, kissed awake. When Shang Qinghua finally forces himself to look around, all he sees is Mobei Jun, his hair like a raven curtain. Oh, he’s really in it now.

“Where are we?” Shang Qinghua asks. Mobei Jun raises an eyebrow, as he often does when Shang Qinghua asks a stupid question. He finally removes his hand off of Shang Qinghua’s waist — a grip that’s a little too possessive, and a little too nice — and places it on the wall, next to his head. It gives Shang Qinghua a wider depth of view and he recognizes a room he’s only been in before to sweep.

From the ice blue drapery to the bed that’s as big as Shang Qinghua’s entire room, Mobei Jun’s chambers is suited to a man of such royal standing. A hundred artefacts are displayed on the walls, all gifts sent to the noble family. It’s immaculate, as is the demon himself, and Shang Qinghua almost wishes he had the time to admire it properly. And then he realizes he’s about to get dicked down, and that’s far more important than interior design.

“You teleported us two rooms away?” Shang Qinghua says, voice thick with disbelief. They could have just walked. He did not have to temporarily lose his z-axis for this. 

Mobei Jun doesn’t deign to answer that. Instead, he sweeps his arms underneath Shang Qinghua, bundles him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and throws him on the bed. Aww, he’s even being gentle now, maybe there is warmth underneath that icy exterior. Mobei Jun stops at the foot of the bed to properly consider Shang Qinghua who’s very much starting to feel like a prey animal about to be slaughtered. He wishes this wasn’t such a turn-on. Shang Qinghua curls in on himself, covers up his ‘modesty’ which he apparently decides is his face, peering at him through the cracks in his fingers alone.

“Are you shy?” Mobei Jun says in absolute disbelief. There’s a weight on the bed as he crawls forward, cages Shang Qinghua with his body. He feels his hand get pulled away from his face. He stares up into the look of absolute disbelief on Mobei Jun’s face. “You just prepositioned me in my throne room with some of the most filthiest and perplexing vocabulary and now you’re acting coy?”

“...Yes?” Shang Qinghua squeaks.

“You’re so inconsistent,” Mobei Jun frowns. “This is why I never touched you before. It had nothing to do with your foolish conjectures about beauty and vanity. I assumed you had vows you were keeping. You walk around like carnal urges terrify you.” He licks a stripe across Shang Qinghua’s wrist, and seems satisfied with the result.

“I’m like at least a little horny most of the time,” Shang Qinghua whispers. “You’re a very, very pretty demon lord.”

Mobei Jun, who, well, technically, is a ‘very pretty demon lord’ has been bestowed many wonderful and flattering titles over the years, and they’re all much better than what Shang Qinghua has just come up with. In his defense, that was his first draft. He would definitely have something better the next time — if there ever was. Mobei Jun doesn’t seem offended, though, just amused.

And then he starts purring in delight. “Is that what you think of your King?”

As hopelessly endearing as this is, he feels like his modesty is being mocked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m just a joke,” Shang Qinghua sniffles.

Mobei Jun cups Shang Qinghua’s face in his hands, does not even bother responding, just plants a kiss over his swollen lips. Shang Qinghua lies back on the bed, lets himself get thoroughly kissed, Mobei Jun’s tongue incessant in mapping out the surface of his mouth. He tastes so good, so clean and crisp and cold. It’s an exhilarating contrast to how hot Shang Qinghua feels, his blood must be boiling. He doesn’t realize he’s the one making those moaning noises until Mobei Jun pulls back and then, then there’s that expression on his face again. He licks his lips.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Shang Qinghua’s voice is hoarse. Most likely from having a tongue stuck down it, but the crying fits of twenty minutes ago probably didn’t help.

“Like what?” Mobei Jun repeats.

“Like you want to eat me?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Mobei Jun replies. “Because I do.”

Shang Qinghua really overlooked how hard he was up until this very moment, and now he doesn’t think it can be biologically possible for him to function, there cannot be any blood that isn’t currently travelling down south.

“I’ve wanted for a long time, and now, now my hunger is legendary,” Mobei Jun says, lips curving upwards to reveal a line of razor teeth. Oh boy, those are really sharp aren’t they? Oh man, he could probably leave Shang Qinghua’s neck polka-dotted in bruises. He’d probably even bleed. He feels himself get harder and tries not to think too hard about it.

This becomes easy because Mobei Jun immediately stops all thought processes from entering Shang Qinghua’s mind when he kisses him again. Mobei Jun is unfairly good at kissing. Who else has he been kissing? Why has it not been Shang Qinghua? This is unacceptable and frankly, if he finds out who, he’s gonna… well, he’s gonna write a strongly-worded letter.

It’s about now he realizes he’s been making a very high-pitched noise, reaching a note he didn’t think he previously could.

“You make such interesting sounds,” Mobei Jun says, and he’s smirking, that awful awful self-satisfied ice demon. Shang Qinghua lifts his hand up to Mobei Jun’s stupidly pointy smile, as if it can be wiped off. All he does is laugh, and start pressing kisses to his palm. How dare he be tender? Shang Qinghua is here to get railed! Nothing more, nothing less!

“I wonder what you’ll sound like when I’m inside you,” Mobei Jun muses aloud, a practiced tone of nonchalance, “My anticipation builds to find out.”

The words that fall from Shang Qinghua’s lips aren’t in any actual spoken language but Mobei Jun seems to understand it regardless. He grabs both of Shang Qinghua’s arms and pins them to the bed. Oh boy. Mobei Jun is really big, isn’t he? It’s not even that noticeable especially when he’s next to Binghe who’s built like a brick house with breasts bigger than Liu Mingyan. But that doesn’t change the objective reality that Mobei Jun is big, he’s tall and long and when he’s on top of Shang Qinghua he can’t see anything more. He’s so thoroughly pinned down, so dwarfed in comparison. 

Wow, he hopes he doesn’t cum in his pants like a thirteen year old discovering porn for the first time.

“Are you attached to this?” Mobei Jun says, trailing a finger down Shang Qinghua’s front and for a moment, he thinks he’s talking about his ribcage, and honestly, Shang Qinghua is not beyond saying: “Go right ahead, just do whatever you want.”

It’s when Mobei Jun fiddles with one of the ties that he realizes he means his robes, not any of his bones.

“Not at all,” Shang Qinghua says faintly. Fabric rips apart. Mobei Jun doesn’t even blink, flexing his fingers in triumph at the ruined state of his robes. Well. He did warn Shang Qinghua. He has no right to complain he knows that much. With new lands to conquer, Mobei Jun moves down, lips kissing each inch of skin, sucking — and biting. Lots of biting. Oh that’s gonna leave a mark. There’s going to be nothing but marks.

When Shang Qinghua realizes this, he flinches, torn between absolute pleasure and the prickling sensation of sharp teeth. Mobei Jun needs only one hand to restrain him down, and that’s just sexier, this is unfair. Shang Qinghua wanted to lose his virginity, not be ruined for the rest of his life by one night of passion. Mobei Jun is a tactician at heart, and quickly realizes the best way to make Shang Qinghua moan, the exact path to travel, the weaknesses to exploit. He’s too clever for his own good. Curse Shang Qinghua and his own tendency of making overpowered characters!

He’s finally decided he’s wearing too many layers, and shrugs off his thick furs. This is even more debilitating than seeing him naked. His inner shirt is low-cut, not meant to be seen at all, and just the suggestion of Mobei Jun’s collarbones are too much to handle. Furs hit the ground with a thump. Shang Qinghua hopes he isn’t expected to launder that when he’s done.

“You’re so soft,” he hears Mobei Jun whisper against his stomach, lips pressed to the flesh there. Shang Qinghua can’t suppress his giggle, the ice of his breath causes goosebumps to rise. He’s no adept cultivator, he doesn’t have the body type for that but it doesn’t seem like it’s an insult, no, Mobei Jun seems incredibly endeared, rubbing his face in his skin like he’s a cat trying to scent himself.

“Get off my tummy, you’re making me giggle,” Shang Qinghua mutters, and well… He tries to whack Mobei Jun’s head, in the same way that he’s seen Shen Qingqiu do to Luo Binghe a thousand times before. Except that was a dangerous thing to do because most demons aren’t Luo Binghe, and Mobei Jun most certainly is not. Shang Qinghua’s hand doesn’t even connect before Mobei Jun grabs his wrist. His grip is iron tight, his eyes are narrowed as if unable to believe he even dared.

“Did I say you could touch me?” he says. “Did I say you were permitted?”

“...No?” Shang Qinghua squeaks out.

Shen Qingqiu does this all the time and it’s fine! Now Shang Qinghua’s going to get his hand turned into an icicle and the worst part is he’ll definitely still find jack off to this with his other.

“Do try and follow instructions, Shang Qinghua, it’s your job after all,” Mobei Jun rolls his eyes. Regards his hand like it’s some limp, offending animal. “But if you are so desperate to touch me, I suppose I can be convinced to make an allowance.”

And then Mobei Jun is sucking on his fingers. It’s at this time Shang Qinghua thinks that he’s experiencing a qi deviation. Mobei Jun’s mouth is hot but his lips are cold. His tongue lavishes each digit in attention. He sucks on each finger like they’re delicious, like Shang Qinghua is delicious. Like perhaps he’s being serious when he said he wants to eat him. That’s okay, that’s entirely agreeable, if his destiny is to be vored by his demon lord, he’s just glad he got some under the shirt action before it happened.

When he pulls Shang Qinghua’s fingers out, he breathes on them first, bathing them in a gentle coating of ice crystals. In seconds the water drips down, and Mobei Jun chases the stream with his tongue.

“Can’t have you making a mess all over my bed, now can I?” he says, and oh okay, that’s how fluttering eyelashes are supposed to look. 

Shang Qinghua starts to worry this might really be his own death. His erection has never even attempted to hide itself and finally, Mobei Jun decides to acknowledge its existence. “You asked me to fuck you, right?”

“I… That is… Well,” Shang Qinghua flusters. “My King.”

A hand rests on his crotch. Applies far more force than he expected. “Right?”

The pressure builds and Shang Qinghua ruts upwards into his palm before he can stop. “Please. Please, please fuck me, really, I just need to feel you inside, it’s fine if I never walk again.” He hears how needy he sounds and despises himself, and also hopes that Mobei Jun doesn’t take that last bit too literally. He wriggles himself free of the last of his clothing just to really drive home his point.

“Allow me to put you out of your despair then,” Mobei Jun rests a finger against Shang Qinghua’s entrance.

“No, wait, hold on, don’t you dare!” Shang Qinghua protests and he sounds so serious that Mobei Jun retreats his hand, looking in confusion. “The bottle. On my nightstand. The oil. Please. Use that.”

“Am I supposed to fetch it?”

In lieu of a reply, Shang Qinghua makes a vague babyish noise and gestures to his nakedness. It’s not a question of being lazy, the fact is only one of the two people here can travel through shadow! Mobei Jun sighs, disappearing from the candlelight and from the bed altogether.  

Shang Qinghua has learnt a lot from Shen Qingqiu. Perhaps more than anything else, he’s learnt about the importance of lubrication, and he intends not to repeat his dear friend’s mistake. Despite his prior comments, he would like to walk again. It’s only seconds until the shadows part and Mobei Jun returns, with far less layers as well. He seems to have found the bottle easily enough, drizzles the oil on his fingers, but gazes at the viscous consistency in confusion.

“Have you ever seen anything like it before?” Shang Qinghua asks, half-concerned about the answer.

“Of course I have. You’re the virgin here,” Mobei Jun says, gaze still focused. “I’m just trying to fathom why it’s half full.”

Shang Qinghua pauses. “Well, there’s a reason for that.”

When it becomes abundantly clear that Shang Qinghua has no intention of delving into this reason, Mobei Jun resorts back to his new favourite interrogation technique, resting his hand against his crotch. Shang Qinghua holds out slightly longer this time, a solid fifteen seconds of heated stroking before he bursts out and tells him everything.

“It’s mine! I use it! It’s not weird!” He adds the last part as a reflex more than anything else.

He’s unaffected, relentless in his questioning. “How often?”

Getting asked his masturbation habits by, what is essentially his boss, is not something Shang Qinghua was prepared for. “I don’t know! Can you just…”

But Mobei Jun’s a tactician, isn’t he, and he’s not going to let something quite so interesting out of his grip. “What do you do when it’s just yourself? Show me.”

It’s a little embarrassing how fast Shang Qinghua goes to grab his own cock, but damn, if he’s not grateful to relieve some of the pressure. It’s a short-lived joy. Mobei Jun swats his hand away.

“Fine. If that’s what you’re used to, that’s what I’ll do,” Mobei Jun says, and he’s smirking again. Oh no, no, this will not do, if he just wanted a handjob, he’d have just stolen one of Mobei Jun’s gloves and let his overactive imagination do the rest of the work.

“No, wait, no, please,” Shang Qinghua stammers out. “There’s more, wait, don’t just…”

“More?” Mobei Jun says, in such a fake display of innocence. There is nothing pure about him, and this has nothing to do with his demonic heritage.

“I… uh,” Shang Qinghua takes a deep breath. He can do this. “Finger myself.”

“Oh? Like this?”

It’s a rush. Shang Qinghua cannot contain his resulting moan when he feels that first finger enter, and it’s rough and a little sharp, but it’s so unbelievably good. This was so much better than what he wrote about, he needs to invent a new set of vocabulary the next time he writes erotica. Mobei Jun’s smirk never fades. He’s enjoying this far too much.

Yes, like that is really great,” Shang Qinghua squeaks. And then tries to regain his composure, and straightens out his spine, and acts like he doesn’t have a finger in his ass right now and says in a display of fake bravado: “I use more than one, though.”

“My apologies, I’ll remedy that at once,” Mobei Jun replies with equally false sincerity and okay, yes, Shang Qinghua’s ruse of appearing unaffected lasted all of until he felt more inside him. It’s just so different with Mobei Jun’s fingers instead of his own, he can feel the tips of his nails, the icy aura it exudes, the oil that coats them, he feels everything.

Distantly, he thinks it would be pretty damn hot if Mobei Jun had a knot, and then expels the thought from his mind. Demons were enough. Alphas are not something he’s prepared to deal with.

“Tell me, Shang Qinghua,” Mobei Jun begins, voice melodious and slow, and it sounds like he’s about to give an order, and that’s just unfair. Shang Qinghua is hardwired to obey every one of Mobei Jun’s commands, it was a survival strategy. And also, he kind of liked doing that, but his innate submissiveness is not relevant. “What do you think about when you’re engaging in your own pleasures?”

That makes it sound so poetic when the reality he’s usually just been crying in the bathtub and decides to take his dick in hand because he’s got not much else to do. “Um, well, there’s a lot to think about, my King, you know.”

Mobei Jun pulls his fingers out, crosses his arms like he’s anticipating an interesting lecture. “Take your time remembering, I wouldn’t want to distract you.”

Shang Qinghua almost bursts into tears, already craving the weight back inside him. He’s so painfully hard, and all he wants is more. He tries to reach for Mobei Jun’s hands but he’s untouchable as a glacier. Shang Qinghua doesn’t have much left to go for in terms of dignity, so just decides to go for it. “I think about you fucking me like a lot, and I know I shouldn’t, it’s very bad, and I’m a terrible employee. But you’re a very attractive demon lord and you won’t leave my mind, all I end up thinking about is your legs, and your ears, and your teeth— oh!”

Clearly this was the right thing to say. Mobei Jun’s fingers ram back inside him and Shang Qinghua has no words left to say. Just lies back and enjoys the feeling of being so full, and oh this is wonderful, oh this is amazing, oh he can’t believe he wrote some thousand sex scenes and he never felt how good it was.

And it could be even better. Shang Qinghua thinks distantly of a certain icy pillar he’d been dreaming about for so long.

“Are you… saying words?” Mobei Jun clarifies. He adds another finger in.

He was trying to. Shang Qinghua digs his nails into the silken sheets. “Please fuck me.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Mobei Jun replies because he’s the worst and must want Shang Qinghua to die. “What if I just leave you like this on my bed and just come back in an hour or two and finish you off then? Maybe even longer. I’m very busy you see, maybe I’ll return in a day.”

Interrogation may be Mobei Jun’s strength, but diplomacy is Shang Qinghua’s.

“You can definitely do that, but I guess it would be nicer for me personally if you did fuck me?” Shang Qinghua tries to reason. His voice sounds remarkably composed considering he’s in genuine danger of coming in the next heartbeat.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” Mobei Jun murmurs, and this time when he pulls his fingers out, it’s only a second later till Shang Qinghua feels something else press against his entrance. He tries not to moan. He definitely does.

He’s written very many sex scenes, and you know what, the law of large numbers dictates at least a couple of them had to be good. Even if his knowledge of female anatomy leaves a lot to be desired, he figured he could wing most of it, just keep it through Binghe’s own limited point of view, copious usage of the words ‘moist folds’ and ‘heavenly pillar’ respectively. He knows now, that even if this was the case, even if he had miraculously written something erotic they were never accurate, they never displayed just how good it could be, how good it could be when your partner is an incredibly powerful ice demon who enjoys watching you writhe in ecstasy all while smiling like a sadistic cat?

He feels so full, so gloriously full. He babbles this to Mobei Jun, along with: “The cold is nice, I’m actually really enjoying it, this is fantastic, is this what iceplay is?”

Mobei Jun’s face is so perfect, so carefully crafted, that he can have two contrasting emotions: insatiable lust and absolute confusion co-existing at the same time. “You talk so much nonsense. It’s almost incredible.”

“I bet if you fuck me hard enough I’ll be unable to speak,” Shang Qinghua readily offers. He’s not even come yet, but he’s already pretty sure it’s going to be hard having this be a one-off. “I’m just saying— oh.”

Well, it appears that Shang Qinghua was correct, and can’t talk if he’s being thrust into, which is precisely what happens. His eyes flutter shut, savouring each and every sensation, carving it into his memory to fuel a hundred pages of erotica he’ll write one day. He’s definitely babbling again, but it’s just meaningless sounds, and Mobei Jun seems far more satisfied with this.

Mobei Jun is big, and Shang Qinghua has had time to acclimatize to this, but he never considered that this meant everything would be in proportion. Surely, something that big shouldn’t be able to fit inside? Well, too bad, it just does. Shang Qinghua sinks down on that oversized popsicle and feels far too satisfied with the stretch.

What’s an acceptable time to last? He doesn’t actually know. He knows that it’s really sexy to take a long time which is why he decided demon stamina was a thing but he’s really regretting it now because his mind is starting to come apart at the seams. Mobei Jun is just so cold, and Shang Qinghua is so hot, and everywhere where they connect is burning in the best way. He’s speared to the hilt inside of Shang Qinghua now, and objectively it hurts, but he circulates his qi and then it just feels like magic

“I’m…” Words are difficult. Shang Qinghua curls his hand around Mobei Jun’s wrist, tries to blink himself into clarity. “I’m not going to last long.”

“That doesn’t sound like my problem,” Mobei Jun replies, and Shang Qinghua almost cries at how much harder he gets. Look, maybe he likes it when Mobei Jun is mean to him, it’s kinda hot. That would be an honour really, being used as Mobei Jun’s personal sex toy. Would be his highest achievement in this life and also his final one.

But that doesn’t change the reality that Shang Qinghua is definitely not going to last. His hands reach down for his own dick, desperately trying to relieve the pressure building — but Mobei Jun whacks his hand away. He begins to whine.

Then, a cool grip tightens around him instead. Starts to stroke him. He times his thursts with a metronomic precision, how is his demon lord quite so perfect in every way? Filled so tightly, caged in by Mobei Jun’s body, it’s all too much. He’s so, so hot, blood boiling to the surface and the sensation of Mobei Jun’s icy skin contrasting with his own is enough to send him over the edge. It’s too good, it’s too hot, it’s too cold, it’s—

“Don’t cry,” he hears distantly, a little like it’s from a dream. Shang Qinghua can’t really be sure what’s reality, he’s never had an orgasm that good before, perhaps it shot him back to another dimension and he’s transmigrated there. It’s a little like shadow travel, actually, as he slowly comes back to himself, the overwhelming haze of pleasure beginning to dissipate. Settling into a much softer, calmer bliss. He can feels his legs, can feel that his thighs were wrenched apart, can feel his fingers ache from clenching at the sheets, can feel that his cheeks are wet, his eyes still watering.

An unfathomably soft hand wipes his cheeks. “Shang Qinghua, why are you crying?”

“That was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he murmurs, not even really seeing anything through the haze of tears, “Nothing will ever be better than that.”

He hears Mobei Jun’s laugh, knows that laugh, and blinks away the waterworks. He can’t stop the smile from blooming across his face when he sees him. He’s just so happy, that’s Mobei fucking Jun, he’s the sexiest ice demon in the world and he just fucked Shang Qinghua, he’s… currently… still…

“Did you come yet?” Shang Qinghua asks, gazing down to where Mobei Jun is very much still sheathed in his body. Ah, that was what that feeling was. 

“I was waiting for you to regain consciousness,” Mobei Jun says, and aww, how gentlemanly of him.

“Did I pass out?”

“Absolutely. I won’t deny I did expect it. You aren’t known for your stability. Still, that aside, I can’t deny how enjoyable this is. You’re a very… vocal individual, and I must say, it’s a nice change.” Mobei Jun appraises his sexual performance like it’s a quarterly report. Fuck, everything about this demon is so ridiculously alluring, Shang Qinghua’s competency kink is throbbing.

“But now that you’ve rejoined our conscious world—” And then Mobei Jun fucks into him, so hard and so deep, that Shang Qinghua’s mind goes white. It’s not possible something can feel this good, humans should not be allowed to partake in something this incredible, how did traditional society function? Well that’s it, isn’t it, humans were having sex with other humans instead of ridiculously powerful ice demons with giant dicks.

Mobei Jun is a vision, only in his undershirt, barely bothering to remove any other layers, like this is oh so impersonal to him, just another duty, another task to be marked off the list of a busy and industrious demon lord. His cum streaks stain Mobei Jun’s shirt and he feels bad — but not enough to stop, knowing full well Mobei Jun wouldn’t put it past Shang Qinghua to clean his own discharges. His neck is naked without the warm furs he usually drapes across, and Shang Qinghua had always wondered why bother with them, it’s not like Mobei Jun was ever cold. He realizes now it was for the safety of passer-bys. If they had seen a flash of his finely accentuated collarbone, they’d most certainly throw themselves at Mobei Jun’s feet, and thus be unable to pay attention to their work.

Much like Shang Qinghua, actually. And he didn’t even see his clavicle before all this, he was just going off his incredibly powerful imagination — and about a gigabyte of art he downloaded off the internet while alive. And honestly, far too many of them had him clothed as well.

He would very much enjoy reaching out and touching it, maybe licking it if he thought he could survive, but he’s currently still being fucked into, and there doesn’t appear to be any sign of it stopping. Shang Qinghua feels so full, so gorgeously spent out and well-fucked all he can do is just lie there, some sort of dopey bliss blossoming over his face as he watches his King just use him. There’s no real sense of time passing. Shang Qinghua keeps his eyes open, savouring the look in Mobei Jun’s own, the dark lust a contrast to the pale blue.

In a sense, Mobei Jun is the counterpart to Binghe. Where Binghe is rage, Mobei Jun is calm. Where Binghe rips out a man’s heart, Mobei Jun prefers the more bloodless approach, never a stain upon his pristine robes. This is how Shang Qinghua made him. It’s everything Shang Qinghua could want. It’s something completely different to watch that control fracture right in front of him, because of him. His grip on Shang Qinghua’s waist is punishing, his nails digging so sharply into his skin that he must be marking indentations in the flesh. Good, this will confirm later that Shang Qinghua didn’t hallucinate it all while smoking the Proud Immortal Demon Way’s equivalent of dank kush.

He’s beyond words as well, his voice cracking on syllables of an ancient demon tongue. Shang Qinghua inhales, manages to press out through his hoarse voice: “What are you saying?”

Mobei Jun swears now, under his breath, and yanks Shang Qinghua further up to his lap, seeking a better angle. “I intend to come inside.”

Shang Qinghua’s tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. An agreeable “mmm” is all he can manage. He hadn’t thought his Little Cucumber would be roused again, certainly not after that, but he feels it now, hard, renewed with Mobei Jun’s relentless fucking. He’ll never walk again, probably, but that’s less to do with the sex and more to do with how Shang Qinghua intends to commit himself into cultivation isolation and spend the entire time jacking off to the memory of this.

“You know,” Mobei Jun says, and it’s a grave effort on his part to try and maintain his facade of nonchalance. “I’m interested to hear what someone as chatty as you has to say.”

It’s an order — a thinly veiled one, but Shang Qinghua is poised to agree.

“My King, you’re so big I really think you could split me in half,” Shang Qinghua says, far more excited than he should be. “You fill me up so good, so much better than anything else, can you believe I thought I knew what sex was like before this? I definitely can’t.”

He’s purring again.

This just urges Shang Qinghua on. “I’m so glad you took my virginity but now I think you’ve ruined me forever, I’ll never be able to be with anyone else, you’re just too good my King, no one could ever as proficient as you, but that’s true of you in all capacities. There’s no one else who’s more beautiful.” His voice takes on a higher tone as Mobei Jun thrusts increase in speed. “There’s no one else in this world who I care about more than you.”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t realize it sounds like a confession until he’s already said it. 

Something snaps inside Mobei Jun. He was never capable of sweat — but tiny shards of ice crystallize on his forehead. Shang Qinghua cannot stop himself from running his thumb over them, marvelling at the way they melt instantly. Lets his thumb travel over the glimmering blue demon mark, something he’s always wanted to do, something so intimate he would never have thought it possible.

“You’re right,” Mobei Jun says, the words passing through his teeth. Coherency is a dedicated effort at this point.

“About what in particular?” Shang Qinghua says, a little terrified. He wasn’t thinking, he was just babbling! He does it all the time! No one ever actually listens to him! He cannot be held accountable, he’ll plead incoherency. It’s impossible to dispute, after all, let someone else try and be eloquent when being penetrated by Mobei Jun’s ice pillar.

“You don’t get to do this with anyone else. Only me.”

He’s not going to cry. Shang Qinghua keeps repeating this to himself so he doesn’t cry, but he does have half a mind to have Mobei Jun get that in writing. His toes are curling in happiness, and Shang Qinghua lets loose the cacophany of fantasies he’s had to keep restrained for all these years.  

“My King, you know you always say I talk too much? I really think you should consider putting a stop to that. After all you know, I can’t talk if I have your dick in my mouth, you know I’d be far too busy pleasuring you,” Shang Qinghua’s voice is giddy. “I really feel so underused in your service, my King, there’s so much more to do for you. Do you want me to lick your boots? I could do that! I could also wake you up in the mornings with head, or right before you go to bed! I don’t mind — I’m flexible! Oh that reminds me, I’m also really flexible, please try and bend me in half next time.”

“Shameless,” Mobei Jun murmurs — and then there’s that smirk again.

Shang Qinghua makes a mental note of something very important: when Mobei Jun comes, it’s a literal blizzard. The temperature of the room plummets, the candles dim with the force of the wind that whips through. Tiny snowflakes fall out of Mobei Jun’s luscious mane of hair, gently flying away, a thousand little kisses. Mobei Jun tenses, each muscle of his body pulling taut and Shang Qinghua feels like a flood breaks inside of him, unable to stop himself flushing bright red. Cold. His cum is cold, cooling inside of him and the change in temperature is so exhilarating. In a stunning display of performance of Little Cucumber, Shang Qinghua’s release is just as explosive as the first time.

He’s aware all he’s saying is the word “fuck” in varying tones and modulations but can’t handle much more. He slumps back on the bed, boneless. His predominant thought is how soft Mobei Jun’s sheets are, like, goddamn, what’s the thread count on these beauties? He cracks an eye open to ask his King, but is a little surprised to find Mobei Jun still on top of him, still inside him. In all his stories of lovers intermingling it always ends in passionate and sensual cuddling. This, this is not cuddling.

And Mobei Jun definitely came. Shang Qinghua is willing to swear an oath. He can feel his cold release inside of him, and enjoys it probably a little more than necessarily healthy. At first he wonders if his King was unsatisfied, but that makes no sense, Mobei Jun was the most debauched he’d ever seen him, he even swore in his demon language! If Shang Qinghua is just a hole to him, well, dammit, he’ll be the best damn hole this world has ever seen.    

You see, he’s changed his mind on the whole thing. Who cares if there’s no emotional attachment? Certainly he, known crier, would never! A little thing like the feeling of being wanted matters nought when the alternative is getting regularly dicked down. He’s quite happy living as Mobei Jun’s personal sex toy, in fact, he thinks it’ll be a more suitable use of his natural talents: his high pain tolerance and his insatiable lust for his fur-laden King.

“Did my King enjoy himself?” Shang Qinghua asks, struggling to get up on his elbows. Mobei Jun presses a cool palm on his stomach and pushes him back down onto the bed. Casual manhandling should probably not be one of Shang Qinghua’s kinks but it also definitely is. To his credit, Shang Qinghua tries wriggling around but Mobei Jun allows a ripple of ice to flow from his hand, effectively trapping him to the bed.

Why didn’t he use his ice powers for sexy reasons earlier?! There’s so much potential in it! Shang Qinghua’s mind starts whirring. Ice could be used as restraints, could be used to fill himself, he wonders how open would Mobei Jun be to crafting an icicle and fucking him with it—

He’s forcefully brought out of his freezing fantasies when Mobei Jun pulls out of him, and Shang Qinghua spends too long staring at his dick than probably polite but in his defense — it’s massive, a little blue and the more he looks at it, the more he wants it inside every hole he can manage.

Unconsciously, Shang Qinghua shudders as he feels the cum leak out of him, slowly warming to his body temperature. He misses the fullness but is grateful there’s still a little bit of Mobei Jun inside him. Physical evidence of his scrambled guts. He lets out a satisfied moan.

Mobei Jun is not so easily pleased. He assesses Shang Qinghua with a critical eye, allowing a finger to streak through his own cum — and then inside him again. His resulting gasp is loud. He clenches the sheets.

“Mmm,” Mobei Jun hums.

“Mmm?”

“Mmm.” Mobei Jun pulls his finger out. Determination settles in on his face as he continues his inspection. “Not enough?”

Shang Qinghua isn’t aware he’s started nervously giggling until he hears his own frantic laughter. “Hahaha… what do you mean not enough?”

“I said,” Mobei Jun licks his lips, “Not enough.” And thrusts into him again.

 

🧊

 

“Cucumber bro,” Shang Qinghua asks, steepling his hands together. “Are all demons like this about the…” he struggles to find the words. It’s not often that he struggles at diplomacy, but this truly is a very tender and personal concern — it’s difficult to phrase in a way that’s polite in public.

“About the…?” Shen Qingqiu’s head tilts to the side in interest.

Shang Qinghua swallows. “Well, okay, you know when a man and a demon lord love each other very much and they go to bed together and during this beautiful and magical union, and he comes inside—”

He instantly fans his face, obscuring his grin, but Shang Qinghua can just see it. “Is this about the breeding kink?” Shen Qingqiu clears his throat.

Yes,” Shang Qinghua hisses, dropping his voice lower. Banging a demon lord is sexy, but said demon lord being able to travel through shadows makes gossip very difficult. “Is it always…?”

Shen Qingqiu very seriously lays his hand on Shang Qinghua’s shoulder. “Always. They will always want to come again, and again, and when you pass out, again.”

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua says, undecided if he’s currently experiencing euphoria or purgatory.

“And you know what?” Shen Qingqiu says, leaning closer, letting his fan act as a shield between their secrets.

“What?” his voice low.

It’s all your fucking fault,” and then there’s only the sound of Shang Qinghua being assaulted by a fan.