Work Header

lips of sugar and wine

Work Text:

Ouyang Zizhen’s day has gone from bad, to worse, and then straight to awful. It is currently hovering right around agonizingly miserable, and he is ready to give up completely. He is a filial son, truly , but there is nothing filial about the way he wishes to murder his father right now.

His father, who has been talking to Jiang-zongzhu for the better part of an hour on the eligibility of his daughters. 

Now Zizhen knows that his sisters are pretty; read, gorgeous, sexy, heartbreaking, stunning, or whatever other adjective any self respecting man would wish to see in a future wife, but his father is barking up the wrong tree with Jiang-zongzhu. Not only has Zizhen never seen Jiang-zongzhu express interest in any woman, he feels guilty at the hidden insult that Jiang-zongzhu would need to take a sixteen year old for his bride. 

Zizhen waits, and waits some more, until finally his father excuses himself for the evening. Zizhen is just about to follow — he is exhausted and wants a few moments of quiet before moving on to the next of his father’s victims — but Jiang-zongzhu stops him. 

“I’m sorry,” Jiang-zongzhu says, standing up from his lotus throne to step down to meet Zizhen.

Zizhen looks up at him, and is shocked to see that Jiang-zongzhu looks as if he is doing his best to hold back a grin.

“Jiang-zongzhu, what could you possibly be sorry for?” Zizhen asks. He remains still as Jiang-zongzhu approaches him, taking the opportunity to truly look at the Sect Leader.

The gorgeous, handsome, heartbreaking Sect Leader.

“It must be awful to have your father be quite so…” Jiang-zongzhu grimaces, “enthusiastic about all the wrong things. You must struggle with this, am I wrong? If I had to be filial to such a degree? Well.”

Zizhen’s mouth drops open; no one has ever dared speak so openly about his father like this, at least not to his face. Zizhen is well aware that his father is hard to handle — Zizhen will vehemently blame Yao-zongzhu for this — but to hear someone as powerful as Jiang-zongzhu declare it so openly? It rattles him. He wants more. 

“Come on, sit. Have some tea with me.” Jiang-zongzhu raises an eyebrow as he settles down at one of the tables to the side of the throne hall, busying his hands with the task of pouring himself a glass. Jiang-zongzhu pauses and looks back up at Zizhen for a few long moments before he also pours a glass for Zizhen. “What, unless you’re scared I’ll bite?”

“More worried that you won’t bite me,” Zizhen mutters, but sits down anyway. His eyes are fixed on Jiang-zongzhu’s hands and he misses the smirk that tugs on Jiang-zongzhu’s lips at Zizhen’s words. 

“Sit.” Jiang-zongzhu pushes the cup across the table to Zizhen, and Zizhen sits. “I won’t bite.”

“Well that’s—” Zizhen starts but Jiang-zongzhu interrupts.

“Only because I don’t like to bite. I prefer to be bitten, if we are being honest.” 

Zizhen blinks. Then blinks again. He grabs the cup and takes an unceremonious swig of the tea, which goes down the wrong way. He starts coughing, the tea spilling from his mouth and onto the chest of his robes. 

“You’re supposed to swallow,” Jiang-zongzhu says, and the pitch he intones and the inflection of his words only makes Zizhen blush harder.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Zizhen coughs, wiping his cheeks and chin with his sleeve, “your skin is incredibly thick to insinuate what I believe you are insinuating!”

“Only what I believe is ripe for the picking.” Jiang-zongzhu stands and crosses the room and before Zizhen can catch his bearings he is back, this time with a bottle of wine. “Perhaps wine will go down easier.”

“If I drink wine,” Zizhen hesitates, “I cannot leave this room with my dignity still intact.” 

Jiang-zongzhu pours himself a cup and swallows it down, raising his eyebrow at Zizhen. “Are you implying that your actions under the influence of wine might be untoward or shameful?” 

“No! No. Not at all.” Zizhen flushes, squirming in his seat. “It’s just that…”

“Then what is stopping you? I will be forthright; I have zero interest, or plan on marrying any one of your sisters. I like my dalliances a bit more… unrestrained. You seem to fit that bill. Tell me, Ouyang Zizhen, are the rumors true?”

“What rumors?” Zizhen asks, taking the glass of wine offered if only to have something to do with his hands. 

“The rumors that you have a talent with your mouth that make the women working in the brothels cry in jealousy.” 

Jiang-zongzhu says this with such a straight face that Zizhen almost laughs. It is true, he does have skill with his mouth that most brothel workers can only dream of, and he has a rush of courage to prove this. 

“It’s true.”

“I figured as much,” Jiang-zongzhu murmurs, and this time his eyes are fixed directly on Zizhen’s lips. Zizhen knows what he is thinking, which encourages his shamelessness even further. 

“I could… show you?” Zizhen says slowly, gauging Jiang-zongzhu’s reaction. 

“Only if you call me Jiang Wanyin.” 

“I could show you… Jiang Wanyin.” Zizhen repeats, climbing to his feet. He isn’t sure what he is going to do next — despite how attractive Jiang-zongzhu is he still intimidates the hell out of ZIzhen — and he is sorta shooting his only shot. 

It seems as if Jiang-zongzhu is prepared for this and stands as well, walking backwards to his throne without taking his eyes off Zizhen. It seems as if Jiang-zongzhu has done this before, and that thrills Zizhen. 

Jiang-zongzhu sinks down onto his lotus throne with the air of grace and dignity that sends chills down Zizhen’s spine, and he walks forward almost as if in a haze. 

“Jiang Wanyin,” he breathes as he sinks to his knees. There are cushions here, and Zizhen wonders if they are here for this specific reason; wonders if Jiang-zongzhu is in the habit of bringing men here to suck his cock in his receiving room.  

“Has anyone told you how beautiful you are?” Jiang Wanyin says, his fingers curling into the soft strands hanging around Zizhen’s face. Zizhen flushes at the misdirection — he is not here to be romanced, and yet it works — but smiles nevertheless.

“Once or twice,” Zizhen’s blush on his cheeks spreads as Jiang Wanyin tugs on his hair. “But you’re the first who I truly believe means it.”

“Good. I am not in the habit of saying things I do not mean.” 

Zizhen nods at this and slowly tugs at Jiang Wanyin’s ornate belt, parting his robes with a delicacy and grace. Jiang Wanyin’s cheeks are flushed and Zizhen grins. The unwrapping of Jiang Wanyin’s robes feels quite like unwrapping a virginal young mistress. Zizhen has done this many times before, but never quite like this, and the thrill races through his chest.

Jiang Wanyin’s cock is thick and heavy by the time Zizhen coaxes the waist of his pants down, and Zizhen licks his lips.

“Stop teasing me,” Jiang Wanyin growls. 

Zizhen laughs. “As you wish,” he says right before he wraps his lips around the head of Jiang-Wanyin’s cock. The taste is bitter, and Zizhen wraps his fingers around the base of the shaft. He is not particularly long, but he is thicker than Zizhen is used too, and it takes a few minutes to gather his bearings. 

But then he has his bearings, and Jiang Wanyin is moaning. 


His hands tighten in Zizhen’s hair as Zizhen increases his pace, pausing to slide his tongue in the slit where droplets of precome are steadily beading. 

“Fuck,” Jiang Wanyin moans, and Zizhen happens to agree. He takes Jiang Wanyin deeper into his mouth and combines the long slow drag of his lips with the drag of his tongue. Jiang Wanyin is tugging on Zizhen’s hair hard and then spilling into his mouth.

This time, Zizhen swallows. He also licks his lips for good measure, keeping eye contact with Jiang Wanyin as both of them adjust their clothing. 

“This was fun,” Zizhen says as he clambers to his feet, “but I really must go find my father.”

“Must you?” Jiang Wanyin asks, his usual scowl back in place. 

“Unless you wish for him to come find me? Which would lead him back here.” 

Zizhen suppresses a grin at the dawning look of horror on Jiang Wanyin’s face. 

“No, no that’s quite all right.” Jiang Wanyin fixes the front of his robes in such a way that would be impossible to tell that anything inappropriate happened mere moments ago. “I’m guessing I shall see you around, then.”

“You shall.” Zizhen bows, and turns and leaves the room in search of his father, for the rest of what will be a marginally less awful day.