These kinds of situations were not written for a character like Shang Qinghua.
He repeated that fact in his head with increasing ire as his strength began to wane under the load of Mobei Jun’s unconscious body. Shang Qinghua stopped walking just long enough to readjust, shifting some of the deadweight to a less achy part of his shoulder.
Although considering his luck, maybe they were.
Another one of the worst days of Shang Qinghua’s life could now be attributed to visiting a tomb and twice was already enough to be a nasty pattern.
When Mobei Jun had explained that to complete the ritual of attaining the Mobei clan powers he had to visit an ancient underground mausoleum full of dead ancestors, Shang Qinghua was ready to argue with all the venom of an author unwilling to let the System fanfiction another inconvenience into being. When Mobei Jun had explained that the final rights should’ve been performed immediately after he absorbed his father’s energy and had been put off while he frantically searched for a certain someone—resulting in his powers slowly evaporating into nothingness ever since—Shang Qinghua packed his bags instead.
Not nearly well enough, it turns out. Enter a tomb, bypass some traps by flexing royal heritage, light some incense, do some bows, in and out—it all sounded great in concept, until Mobei Jun’s current power level was deemed inadequate by a glowing door with the sentience of a potato lamp and the two were dropped ten levels down into a maze-like catacomb that stank of flesh much fresher than it ought to be, which is to say, absolutely awful.
That was nine days ago, officially making this the longest Shang Qinghua had been trapped in a tomb, and every day earned the coveted title of ‘worst day ever’ until the next one came. It was also nine days of Mobei Jun getting progressively weaker as the tomb demanded constant wisps of his energy to bypass the many doors and archways that—combined with them running out of snacks and water on day two to help compensate, and Shang Qinghua’s qi little more use to a demon than a triple-A battery—left them completely unprepared to fight the horde of walking corpses they met somewhere around level six.
Shang Qinghua cursed as his foot made contact with a tree root protruding from the stone floor, nearly tripping him. Good news, it was a sign they were getting closer to the surface. Bad news, everything else. He could hear the shambling of the undead echoing in the hallways behind them, offering the barest of distraction from the state of Mobei Jun. Days ago he had taken a nasty hit from one of their gnarly set of nails coated in who-knows-what because he crumpled to the floor seconds later so magnificently that it put Shang Qinghua’s years of practice to shame.
Unable to do more than distract their attackers with the talisman equivalent of a noisy flash grenade, he hoisted Mobei Jun up and made a run for it. Unfortunately despite most having no eyes, these corpses could see very well in the dark, and despite many having no noses, these corpses could smell miles of tunnel away. Rinse and repeat with ears and whatever other lacking body parts they were using to be exceptionally good hunters. Shang Qinghua would run until he could run no more and still only get the briefest respite before he heard them approaching.
And so here they were.
“My king, please…” Shang Qinghua grunted, adjusting again. “While I admire your ability to nap anywhere, this really is too much.” He tried not to think about what poisons could be making their way through Mobei Jun’s body, leading to such a deep sleep. He filed that concern away next to wondering if Mobei Jun was always this light or if anyone would care about either of their absences enough to come looking.
The encroaching sound of scuffed bone on wood and toothless mouths gasping for air they didn’t need inspired a burst of energy. Shang Qinghua dashed forward with Mobei Jun now balanced precariously on his back, his hands cupped under his thighs and his body leaned forward to stop his unconscious partner from tipping backwards and cracking his head open on the stone floor. The courtesy backfired when it left Shang Qinghua unprepared for the ground beneath his feet to vanish, the hallway suddenly turning into a vicious downwards slant that left him tumbling into the darkness with a scream.
Shang Qinghua came to a stop approximately three front flips and four side rolls later, feeling the distinct crunch of his nose breaking as his face collided with the floor that rushed to meet him. The flurry of dust would’ve clogged his senses were they not already cut off by blood.
“Pwah!” He spit wetly onto the ground, rolling Mobei Jun off his shoulder in a mess of limbs and robes.
Covering his face with a hand, and letting his qi go to work stitching it back into something he could breathe out of, Shang Qinghua surveyed the new room. For someone trying to escape members of the undead, it was a worse-case scenario—a room littered with coffins.
The room was wider than he could make out the end of, even with the glow of small blue crystals embedded in the wooden columns, and the ceiling rose higher than any previous space they had found. Stone coffins—each identical in size and shape—covered the room in organized rows, even suspended up along the walls until they vanished beyond where Shang Qinghua could see. All appeared empty, lids half-open or missing. To both his right and left were open doorways identical to the one he’d just fallen out of, minus the treacherous slope.
A familiar haunting sound echoed throughout the room and Shang Qinghua realized, to his horror, that instead of finding the exit, he had instead discovered their pursuers’ homebase.
The shape of the room made it impossible to tell which of the three entries the sounds were coming from. It could just as easily be all of them, and would match the theming of the week pretty well. Shang Qinghua reached down for Mobei Jun, preparing to lift him back up when suddenly the demon lord stirred with a groan. Relief was quickly tempered by a wash of panic when Mobei Jun started to cough.
A shrill cry in the distance made him shudder. If they didn’t already know where they were, they definitely knew now!
As the sounds drew closer, he did the second thing that came to mind—pushing aside one of the coffins’ heavy stone lids, hoisting Mobei Jun up by his waist, and rolling the two of them inside.
“Oof!” All the air was punched from his lungs. He immediately regretted the decision to cushion Mobei Jun’s fall and second-guessed his previous consideration about Mobei Jun’s weight. Shang Qinghua barely had his wits about him in time to place a palm against the coffin lid and drag it shut.
Everything went quiet.
Shang Qinghua held his breath, no longer able to hear the shuffling outside but no more willing to risk being heard in return. Only Mobei Jun’s breathing broke the silence, slow and rhythmic and entirely unignorable where it blew onto Shang Qinghua’s skin.
Even shifting felt like a bad idea when the slightest movement sounded ten times louder than normal in the confined space. With Mobei Jun pressing down on top of him—and Shang Qinghua’s arms still wrapped around his waist, hands respectfully on his lower back—time passed with agonizing slowness.
Something outside made a thud, snapping him from his daydreams of soft pillows and lunch. The sound of dragging over the floors revealed that their followers had entered, but whether to return to roost or in search of living targets was anyone’s guess. In hindsight, either scenario meant hiding in a coffin was the worst possible thing someone could’ve done, and Shang Qinghua regretted not going with the first thing that came to mind which was taking to his sword and desperately searching those high ceilings for an easy exit. But with his energy so low and Mobei Jun in his arms…
He frowned, unable to see Mobei Jun’s handsome features in the dark but no less able to throw a hundred curses at them in his mind. Dragging him here, getting him stuck deep underground, chased by all manner of creatures, and him out like a light! So selfish!!
Sympathy made it hard to be as angry as he wanted, but at least the combination of emotions took a little edge off the fear that pooled in his gut as the noises drew closer.
That was until Mobei Jun began to stir.
“Ah, not now, my king!” Shang Qinghua hissed, tightening his grip. It had the opposite effect, causing the larger man to shift around more. Shang Qinghua bit his lip to not cry out when a bony knee jabbed into him and he immediately spread his legs to let Mobei Jun’s settle between them with more room to fit.
It didn’t help matters in the slightest when Mobei Jun started nuzzling into his throat, and the temperature of the coffin took a noticeable turn down. Memories of a sick Mobei Jun flash-freezing bath tubs and nearly sweating to death flooded Shang Qinghua’s mind as his quickening breath now escaped him in visible puffs of condensation.
Bad. Bad. Bad!
Years of settled dust, dry weeds, and rotten cloth began to crinkle and crack under the thin veneer of frost that moved out from Mobei Jun’s form. It crept up the walls of the coffin like vines seeking the sun. Shang Qinghua sucked in a breath as he felt the sensation of it blooming across his chest.
Noise was now a lesser concern than those that sought them noticing a coffin becoming encased in ice, and Shang Qinghua being turned into a cultivator-sized popsicle!
“I take it back—wake up! Wake up!” Shang Qinghua begged, rubbing his hands fervently up and down Mobei Jun’s back, attempting to both rouse the sleeping king and heat his rapidly cooling body. The sting of cold against himself was already becoming near unbearable, pressed between Mobei Jun and the coffin’s stone bottom.
It was too much!
Whispering words of apology, Shang Qinghua started the arduous task of turning them over so he could get on top and find relief from the pressure. If he was lucky, which current events would suggest he was not, he might even be able delay their discovery by putting himself between Mobei Jun and the air above. He wasn’t terribly confident his body heat could do much against the onslaught of an ice demon’s natural defenses, but at the very least he’d be in a position to burst out of the coffin before he became its new permanent resident.
Mobei Jun’s leg bent sharply in the shuffle and this time Shang Qinghua took it uncomfortably between his own. He nearly bit through his tongue to suppress the complaint.
He continued twisting until finally he rolled on top of Mobei Jun with a gasp, stabbing his chin into Mobei Jun’s collarbone and squeaking out another muffled ‘sorry!’. He fumbled his hands against Mobei Jun’s face to ensure he was properly upright and wouldn’t die of suffocation, lingering on the shape of his well-cut jaw to ensure everything remained where it should be.
For a demon turning their hiding place into a freezer, his breath was unbearably hot against Shang Qinghua’s palms, and couldn’t help a petulant pinch of his cheeks. So easy to sleep through it all!
Next he wrestled Mobei Jun’s arms away from the coffin walls to lessen the spread of the frost. He then nudged Mobei Jun’s legs apart so his legs were pressed between them—a little awkward, but it was the most sustainable position that also kept his back the furthest away from the cover above.
Satisfied, Shang Qinghua finally let his weight settle only to find something hard jabbing into his stomach. Shang Qinghua sighed, knowing his sword was safely stowed to the side but had forgotten about his bag, near-empty as it was. He shimmied a hand between their two bodies to dislodge it, but instead of the familiar fabric of its strap, his hand found the silky brocade of Mobei Jun’s robes covering a firm object.
He turned his head to the side curiously, ear pressed to Mobei Jun’s chest, as he felt along the shape in his hand. The width fit comfortably in Shang Qinghua’s palm. A sword handle? A scroll? A…
The offending object twitched.
Shang Qinghua’s face flushed as he wrenched his hand away like he’d just petted the head of an Acid Turtle Snake. Mobei Jun shifted beneath him with a grunt.
How nice, Shang Qinghua thought, gnashing his teeth. Not only sleeping his way through this, but having some pleasant dreams too!!
The coffin, though high enough to stack several full-grown men, was not wide enough to comfortably accommodate more than one. Shang Qinghua had no choice but to keep his new position laying on top of Mobei Jun. He could feel the others’ hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, only calming as they tightened around a piece of Shang Qinghua’s robes. Shang Qinghua squirmed at the near-feeling of his waist being pinched, wiggling away best he could to avoid direct contact with the wandering touches.
But they were the lesser evil. Mobei Jun’s hips suddenly jerked upwards, thrusting his royal goods into Shang Qinghua’s abdomen with alarming intent. It took all of Shang Qinghua’s self-control not to scream as he sucked in his stomach as far as he could.
Clang! Something collided with the outside of the coffin, metal on rock. Shang Qinghua felt like he swallowed his own heart, squeezing his lips and eyes shut as it made any difference. He pressed his face into Mobei Jun’s chest, praying that the mindless mob would pass.
He was too distracted by their impending doom and Mobei Jun’s sudden and horrifyingly incessant need to fidget to realize that his movements were the only thing frozen, the temperature inside the coffin no longer murderously low.
Shang Qinghua stayed like that, unmoving and trying not to breathe until he lost count in his head. Eventually, the sounds began to lessen until the only noise was that of rustling fabric and raspy groans from beneath him.
Mobei Jun’s movements hadn’t ceased. In fact they’d only gotten more consistent, repeating the same little motion again and again and a—
Shang Qinghua put his hands on either side of Mobei Jun and pushed himself up. Hearing no reaction to the clumsiness of his actions, he used one arm to push the stone cover aside until he could stand. The tomb air felt cold against his clammy skin and he only now realized how hot that small space had become.
Seeing no sign of their hunters, Shang Qinghua let out a sigh of relief so big he could’ve breathed life into the undead were they there. He quickly went to pull himself out when two large hands suddenly latched onto his hips.
“WAHHH!” He screamed, both hands slapping over top the attackers’.
“Quiet.” Mobei Jun snapped. Their eyes made contact as Shang Qinghua looked down at him, betrayed, before he found himself roughly yanked back in.
“Ah! What-what are you doing?!” He cried, scrambling to put his hands anywhere but on Mobei Jun’s body, thinking little of the damage he could do and more about wanting to be nowhere near Mobei Jun and their surprise third guest.
“I said quiet.” Mobei Jun growled, clamping a hand over Shang Qinghua’s mouth and holding him back down against his chest. Shang Qinghua went still, save for a whimper muffled by the broad palm. The sound of Mobei Jun’s heart beating against his ear battled for supremacy over the blood thrumming there already.
A moan and the sound of unbalanced hobbling passed by the open coffin, one final sentry, until it too faded into the distance. Only then did Shang Qinghua’s attention return to the hand still on his hip which was now kneading into the bone.
He squirmed, trying to get up only to find himself held in place by the prickling of nails through fabric. Trying to pull away to the other direction only caused his leg to bump against the tent in Mobei Jun’s robes, sending him into a frantic scramble to get up, all four limbs flailing for purchase anywhere but Mobei Jun’s broad torso.
Mobei Jun’s forefinger and thumb pinched Shang Qinghua’s nose.
If cutting off Shang Qinghua’s ability to breath was supposed to calm him down, then it was a spectacular failure.
Shang Qinghua grabbed onto Mobei Jun’s hand with one of his own while the other slapped wherever it could reach—the coffin walls, Mobei Jun’s arm, and eventually Mobei Jun’s head where he grabbed a chunk of hair and pulled. Only after several yanks did Mobei Jun relent and Shang Qinghua was able to sit up with a haggard gasp.
“Why are you trying to kill me?!” He whined, trying to keep his voice low. His eyes were glassy with deprivation as he made efforts to crowd himself into one corner of the small space.
Mobei Jun propped himself up and then curiously looked down at his own hand. Blood from Shang Qinghua’s earlier nose bleed was smeared across it, which frankly served him right.
“You’re hurt.” Mobei Jun commented.
“Of course I’m hurt! You think someone can run from monsters with you on their back for days and not get hurt?!” Shang Qinghua retorted bitterly. He wiped at his face with his sleeve.
“You carried me for days?”
“I did! Do you have anything to say to--”
“I wouldn’t have thought you were capable.”
Mobei Jun bent one knee and flexed the fingers on his hand. After waiting a few minutes for gratitude that wasn’t coming, Shang Qinghua begrudgingly asked how he was feeling.
“Better. I can fight them now.”
Shang Qinghua exhaled. “That’s a comfort to hear, my king. Now can we—”
“If I have no distractions.” Mobei Jun interrupted again.
“Then I’ll be sure to stay out of your way.” Shang Qinghua replied quickly, moving to stand.
Even in the dim lighting, Mobei Jun’s narrowed gaze was unmistakable. “Are you saying you won’t take responsibility?”
“Responsibility for what?!”
A silence far heavier than before settled over the shared space, before Shang Qinghua’s traitorous eyes fell to the shape between Mobei Jun’s legs like the elephant in the room that it was before snapping away.
Shang Qinghua paled in understanding. He turned to climb out when Mobei Jun lurched forward and hooked a finger on Shang Qinghua’s sash, pulling him back. Shang Qinghua’s ass landed on Mobei Jun’s thigh with his leg again pressed against it-that-shall-not-be-named.
"Were you planning to leave me like this?” Mobei Jun asked, the heat of his breath sending shivers down Shang Qinghua's spine.
“Yes!” He managed, craving escape but not daring to move. Earlier complaints were under immediate reevaluation—staggering through pitch black hallways being chased by the undead was definitely written for a character like Shang Qinghua. This however…!
His right hand was encased by Mobei Jun’s who shamelessly maneuvered it to rest on top of his still robe-covered cock.
Shang Qinghua’s whole body went stiff. Mobei Jun pressed his face into his hair.
“Finish what you started and we will go.”
“With all due respect, my king, I have started nothing!” Shang Qinghua choked, and he meant it. He didn’t write this secondary-ascension nonsense! Blame the System! Blame the monarchy! Blame your dick!
“Are you denying your hands were on my body as I slept?” Mobei Jun began to move Shang Qinghua’s hand—small back and forth motions like a deranged driving lesson where the stick shift was replaced with a hot poker.
Shang Qinghua clenched every muscle to avoid shaking. “Only to rescue you. This--ah, was not my intent! And you were a little handsy too!” The protest, though honest, lacked the bite of conviction and Mobei Jun seized the opportunity.
“Mmn. Then I will take responsibility as well.” He raised one leg so that it pressed firmly between Shang Qinghua’s thighs where they straddled him, rewarded with an interested stir. The fingers resting against the back Shang Qinghua’s hand curled, forcing it to slowly close around the erection still fully covered by clothing.
The reply was a pitch higher than normal. “You will?”
That Mobei Jun wanted Shang Qinghua to service him suddenly seemed immeasurably less difficult to accept than the fact he intended to reciprocate. It hadn’t even been one season since they established that regular beatings were not appreciated, shared one earnest chuckle over attempts to handpull noodles, and maybe spent a few nights together where personal space had been infringed upon in slightly less uncomfortable ways, but now they were already in handjob territory?!
In the grand scheme of their decades-long relationship, things were moving at a blinding speed without so much as a sex pollen plant or succubus in sight to account for it.
It was all kinds of wrong! Wasn’t it?! Cucumber Bro may’ve turned his protagonist away from his carefully curated collection of bosoms and lace, but Mobei Jun was straight as a board! Unbendable! Unbreakable! Undeniably rubbing his nose behind Shang Qinghua’s ear and breathing in!
As for Shang Qinghua?
His hip made an involuntary jerk, pressing himself firmly against Mobei Jun’s offered thigh.
Nothing mattered beyond the sensations he was feeling and the realization he was about to chase each and every one of them without shame.
Mobei Jun further bent the leg Shang Qinghua had been forced to mount. It had the dual effect of trapping Shang Qinghua against him and rubbing even more directly against his own stiffening interest. The slight change in position brought Shang Qinghua’s shoulder at level with Mobei Jun’s face where the demon greedily buried himself, licking at the sweat and blood.
“Ah!” Shang Qinghua gasped, his hips rutting again. For all his literary experience, he’d never actually had another person touch him like this. Not there. Not where the sensation of burning was building, rolling in his stomach and fogging up his mind. The coffin being nearly devoid of light, his back facing Mobei Jun, and his own growing need proved an emboldening combination.
“Then...your hand…” He muttered, a blush on his cheeks deepening.
“Hmm?” Mobei Jun nuzzled further into his neck as his other hand had begun to loosen the robes that caged it.
“If you’re going to do it, then just use your hand!” Shang Qinghua snapped. He felt a smile against his skin where teeth brushed along a vein, threatening to bite.
Mobei Jun straightened his leg and Shang Qinghua cursed at the loss of something to rub against. He wasn’t left to suffer the absence for long as the hand which had tugged loose his clothing enough to expose his collarbone, wasted no time in slipping between the folds of his robes beneath his sash and sliding into his pants.
No effort was made to undo any of the clasps or ties that kept him covered, and Shang Qinghua squirmed as the sash was hiked up his stomach and the cord of his pants bit into his lower back as it was stretched to accommodate the intrusion. Shang Qinghua’s hand pulled away from Mobei Jun’s hold to fumble at the small knot of his pants until he felt the welcome loosening of the garment around his hips.
Now unencumbered, Mobei Jun took the already half-hard cock in hand and Shang Qinghua moaned loudly, as he pulled it free from the fabric, remembering too late to cover his mouth.
“They’ll come back…” Mobei Jun warned, his voice taking on a gravely tone that sent a further surge of interest straight through to Shang Qinghua’s core and beyond.
“Whose fault is that?” Shang Qinghua argued, breathing faster as he was brought to full-hardness with ease. With his hands on the floor, he struggled to keep himself propped in a way that didn’t impede the hands that served him while failing to resist the urge to occasionally grind down on Mobei Jun’s thigh.
Mobei Jun sunk in his teeth.
Pierced skin under scorching lips sent a surge through Shang Qinghua’s body. He cried out before it faded to a low string of curses, resolving later to form coherent thoughts about the fact that Mobei Jun had just bitten him and he liked it.
Panting with every tug of Mobei Jun’s hand, Shang Qinghua realized through the growing haze of his arousal that he was no longer touching in return.
“Ah--wait,” He squirmed, weak against the urge to just lay back and take whatever Mobei Jun would give him. “This was...this was supposed to be for you...”
“Mmn. It is.” Mobei Jun countered, mouthing at the mark he had left.
Shang Qinghua looked down. The space was inexplicably brighter than before, giving him a clear view of the silk of Mobei Jun’s robes, now dampened with precome where his cock pressed against the layers of fabric. He was struck with how desperately he wanted to let it out, like a caged animal weeping against its bars.
He wanted to see it.
It wouldn’t be the first time—not in years of accidental interruptions during dressing or spoiled requests by the prince to help him bathe—but never like this. The curiosity to see what laid beneath the night sky blue of those robes made his mouth feel dry.
Or it was the fact that his mouth had been hanging open for so long, Mobei Jun’s grip perfectly firm with the occasional twist that left him gasping. He wondered in the back of his mind if Mobei Jun had practiced this or if Shang Qinghua was finally enjoying the fruits of his labour in dictating a general level of sexual prowess for his characters.
It was too good!!
If he’d known he was going to be trapped down here for over a week, he would’ve knocked a few out before they left, but instead it had been a couple weeks since he’d done it and his body was desperate for relief. Forget riches and power, if the original Mobei Jun had offered this to the original Shang Qinghua, he could see cause to burn the whole Sect to the ground.
He laughed from the absurdity, a breathy chuckle that made Mobei Jun tense. He lifted his other hand to cup Shang Qinghua’s jaw and turned his head to face him until their noses brushed together. Shang Qinghua’s eyes widened, feeling the approach of something dangerous between them, before his eyes were forced to close through a loud groan when Mobei Jun’s hand sped up and his leg ground up against him.
“A-ah! My—ah—my king—! That’s~!”
Shang Qinghua’s entire body clenched as he came, a moan trapped behind a bitten lip. His hips chased the sensation until the feeling of Mobei Jun’s hand massaging his cock became too much. He whined as he pushed it away and tried not to dwell on the poorly planned mess on his robes.
“You...” Shang Qinghua shivered. He felt light-headed. The urge to curl up and nap nearly overwhelmed him, but he settled for letting his full weight rest back against Mobei Jun’s chest.
His first climax brought about by another person...in a coffin, deep underground, possibly minutes before death, by Mobei Jun. He struggled to blame this one on the System.
Blissed out moments later, a growl in his ear snapped him back to alertness.
“Aha, right! You’re still... How do you feel?” Shang Qinghua asked, leaping from Mobei Jun’s lap. He tucked himself back into his pants with a grimace.
Mobei Jun answered with only a stare, watching as Shang Qinghua brushed away hairs from his sweat-sheened cheeks and attempted to deflect any lingering awkwardness by debating with himself the risks of using the coffin’s ratty linens to clean. Assurances that the corpses laid to rest here were not members of the Mobei clan and simply high-ranking vassals brought no relief to his concerns, but Shang Qinghua acquiesced all the same. He rubbed his hands together like he always did when feeling he’d done a good enough job as his robes now only appeared slightly soiled and not debauched.
“Attend to me.” Mobei Jun’s voice sounded low but lazy. He spread his legs wider, now free of the other’s weight.
Shang Qinghua swallowed, turning back around to take a new position on his knees before him. It was still a little too hard to look him in the eye so he welcomed the expectation to stare at his waiting cock instead.
“Then if you’ll excuse me.” Shang Qinghua leaned forward and undid the ornate belt around Mobei Jun’s waist. He let it fall behind him as the clasp came undone. The richly woven robes parted on their own, needing only a little coaxing to expose his chiseled torso to Shang Qinghua’s eyes, as well as the hemline of his pants. Acting before the haze of his own pleasure left him, Shang Qinghua moved without hesitation—undoing the last ties between him and his goal before Mobei Jun was finally freed.
In the past Shang Qinghua had ridiculed when authors would assign emotions to people’s body parts, but in this moment he could assuredly say that that was an angry dick. A large, angry dick.
Mobei Jun let out the faintest hiss as he finally got some relief but impatience soon bubbled over. “Do you only intend to look?”
Shang Qinghua refused to dignify that with a response beyond reaching his hands towards the throbbing pillar, slowly as if approaching a timid hare. He sensed something amiss. “My king…” He looked up and smiled sheepishly. “Just with my hands is fine too, ah?”
Some words should not be spoken.
A glint in Mobei Jun’s eyes preluded his arm surging forward to clamp a broad hand still smelling of sex to Shang Qinghua’s head, pulling him down with a startled cry.
Both of Shang Qinghua’s hands landed on Mobei Jun’s thighs, stopping himself just shy of losing an eye to the beast below. The hold on the back of his head laxed enough that he was able to snap his wide-eyed gawk to the beast above.
Mobei Jun quirked an eyebrow and Shang Qinghua felt his entire face alternating between red and white. He knew the concept, he’d seen it in practice (in videos), and he’d helped himself to the thought an immeasurable amounts of times, but it wasn’t quite the same as--
“Ah?” Shang Qinghua blinked. He could see the dusting of colour on otherwise pale cheeks.
Mobei Jun appeared to struggle with a decision until he let go of Shang Qinghua’s head entirely, leaning back against the coffin wall. “Do what you wish.”
Confused, but smart enough not to seek explanation, Shang Qinghua nodded vigorously. Leaning back on his haunches, then scooting his knees forward, Shang Qinghua finally took Mobei Jun’s cock in hand.
It was hotter than he’d expected. Not that he’d actually expected it to be made of ice, but he’d be lying if he said the concept hadn’t crossed his mind in earlier drafts before shelving Mobei Jun’s sexuality forever behind a wall of confused favoritism.
It was a little dryer too, a reminder of how difficult it was to make Mobei Jun sweat.
The size, however, that seemed about right. He spread his fingers to feel the veins and skin beneath his own. It twitched in his palm and Shang Qinghua couldn’t stop another laugh from sneaking out.
Mobei Jun growled. “Move.”
“Of course, of course!” Shang Qinghua grinned, then did as he was asked.
The angle was a little awkward but the feeling was surprisingly good for being on the giving end. The precome no longer left to soak into his pants was now collecting on the tip. Shang Qinghua ran his thumb over it and spread the little bit of slick down along the shaft. With his other hand supporting him on the ground, he began to experiment with pumps of his fist.
At first, it was hard to look anywhere but Mobei Jun’s cock. The sliding sensation against his palm, the weight, the heat, the building moisture, even how delicate the little folds of skin felt as they were manipulated in his grasp—Shang Qinghua had written millions of words worth of porn, and some could accuse him of having dick on the brain more than your average presumed straight man, but never before had he felt so much like a pervert.
He liked it.
Eventually he remembered there was still someone attached to the appendage, which only seemed to swell further as he worked it. Shang Qinghua looked up and was surprised to see Mobei Jun had turned away. He had fully expected to meet a familiar icy stare and was equally surprised to find himself disappointed by its absence. Instead Mobei Jun’s lashes were lowered and his brows slightly pinched. His lips were parted just enough to allow for deep, silent breaths.
“My king…” Shang Qinghua spoke softly, biting back a smile as he changed the angle of his next tug. Mobei Jun grunted and looked. His delayed attempt to look menacing was borderline adorable and Shang Qinghua was overcome with the want to bully.
“Is it good?”
Mobei Jun’s eyes bore deeper and slowly—so slowly—he nodded.
“Then this servant shall continue.”
It was already obvious that Mobei Jun would be a longer process than Shang Qinghua—it was simply testament to demonic stamina!—but Shang Qinghua’s hand was a master of repetitive tasks and he watched in fascination at every huff and twitch that even the slightest change of speed or the rubbing of his thumb over the head could draw out from that normally impassive face as time passed.
But Shang Qinghua wanted more.
That, and his body was starting to ache from hunching over.
He shuffled forward and found their faces precariously close for the second time as he straightened up to meet him. The hand that had supported him on the ground came to rest on Mobei Jun’s shoulder instead and fiddled with the strands of ripped fabric covering a wound long since healed. Mobei Jun’s hands came to rest on his hips, the two slotting together like they had done this before and weren’t just a servant getting handsy with his lord out of a will to live.
They were just two men, sitting no space apart because they definitely weren’t involved in that way. Neither of them was repressed or horny or craving the evolution of their physical relationship into something that resulted in fewer punches and more of their recent habit of hugging.
His fingers tightened around Mobei Jun’s robes as clawed hands squeezed at Shang Qinghua’s sides. He chided himself to focus on the task in hand, and not the thoughts threatening to wake up Little Airplane and trap them in an endless cycle of ‘distraction’.
“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei Jun growled, returning to his new favorite place against the side of Shang Qinghua’s neck. His hips thrust to meet the heat of his partner’s hand, a demand and a plea rolled into one that made Shang Qinghua feel immeasurably smug.
Maybe he’d get Mobei Jun really riled up. Get him to that point that had Shang Qinghua willing to commit arson and then hold him there until Mobei Jun was forced to ask for more. Beg this lowly servant for release! He snickered to himself.
“Are you close, my king?” Shang Qinghua whispered.
Mobei Jun clicked his tongue with a hiss before his hands suddenly slid from Shang Qinghua’s hips and down to his ass, gripping the flesh of either cheek with unexpected cruelty.
Shang Qinghua yelped in surprise and the sudden squeeze of Mobei Jun’s cock was all it took to send him over the edge, thrusting into Shang Qinghua’s hand as he rode through his climax with a drawn out moan.
The front of Mobei Jun’s robes caught the brunt of his release, but Shang Qinghua flinched from a hot plap against his chin. Without thinking, his tongue peeked out to lick it. The taste was not nearly as unpleasant as he would’ve expected, and his mind didn’t have time to land on proper adjectives for the combination of musk and salt before he felt Mobei Jun pushing him out to arm’s length to stop the autopilot of his hand against oversensitive flesh.
Time slowed at the realization of what he had done, as if the box he hid away his tiny remaining sense of shame had burst. He rose a robe covered hand to wipe at his face and hide his flushing cheeks. Shang Qinghua coughed as he promptly stood up and banged his head on the coffin lid.
Colorful curses rang out as he dropped to a squat, hands wrapped around his head before losing his balance and falling back to his ass.
With his brain rattling, he almost thought he heard Mobei Jun laugh. By the time he could spare him a teary frown, Mobei Jun had already made himself presentable, no sign of what they had done beyond a glow of satisfaction and a lingering scent Shang Qinghua realized most likely came from himself.
The crystals on the chamber walls now shone so brightly that even the half-covered coffin was illuminated. The light flickered over the sheen of Mobei Jun’s eyes like a dancing flame. It was under that burning gaze that Shang Qinghua cleaned himself best he could before being hoisted up by the back of his collar and tossed out of the coffin with Mobei Jun quick to follow.
The room remained shockingly empty. Shang Qinghua looked around with a sound of confusion.
“They won’t come near,” Mobei Jun assured, wiping dust from his arm.
“Ah? Why would they suddenly be so disinterested?”
“As I am now, nothing here would dare come close.” A flash of demonic qi rippled out from him, nearly activating Shang Qinghua’s urge to cower, and flawlessly proving his point. The room grew brighter still.
“So then, my king...you’re all right?”
Mobei Jun gave him a look. “Rites must still be performed but it will be no issue with my strength returned.” He leaned in dangerously close after a moment of silence. “What of you?”
The sudden proximity flared an entirely different instinct within Shang Qinghua, one that rattled him no less than the usual brace for beatings. His mouth gaped open and no words fell out.
“Good.” Mobei Jun said as he pulled away, pleased until the fish-faced stare continued. “You want something?”
The something being thought now being a something he could have encouraged a range of emotions that Shang Qinghua wasn't ready to unpack.
“I want noodles.”
Mobei Jun simply nodded and strode towards one of the exits.
As Shang Qinghua grabbed his belongings and jogged to catch up, he couldn’t help feeling that something more than Mobei Jun’s powers had just clicked into place.
These kinds of situations were not written for a character like Shang Qinghua, but that didn't mean he couldn't like them very much.