Xie Wang settles into his new routine with ease of someone pretending everything is back to normal.
He slides the door open to his Yifu’s room, carrying a tray of rice, shanghai rolls, and tea for dinner. He had brought a cushioned lounge-chair for his Yifu and he looks - he looks like a limp and realistic doll. His to play with and only his.
His foster brother kneels besides their Yifu washing his feet. Truly, he has grown quite fond of this foster brother of his. Obedient and faithful. Unlike their Yifu.
“Wu Yang, you can go now.” Wu Yang nodded and bowed before he left.
Xie Wang places the tray on a desk near his Yifu. “Ah, I can see now he is a bit easy to grow fond of.”
He puts his hands on his Yifu’s wrist and pulls gently.
“Really, Yifu,” he tuts “I even have to exercise your muscles for you?”
He snorts at his own terrible joke. “Do you like this chair? I had it commissioned from a retired furniture-maker especially for you. Didn’t you wonder why it fits you so perfectly?”
Pulling a chair beside his Yifu, he reaches for the bowl of rice. Putting the bowl near his mouth, he pushes his Yifu’s lips open with the chopsticks. The gap between his lips is big enough that he can push bits of rice into it. It is a slow process. His Yifu can munch and swallow but it takes time. It takes almost an entire hour before the small bowl of rice and shanghai rolls are eaten.
Perhaps Xie Wang is getting a bit impatient. When he pours the tea down his Yifu’s throat it spills all over his mouth, chin, and clothes.
“Ah!” he exclaims. “Sorry, Yifu.”
He pulls a kerchief out of his robes and dabs carefully at his Yifu’s lips, chin, and torso. Somewhere between his YIfu’s chin and torso the dabbing turns into pawing. Xie Wang gets off his chair to sit besides Zhao Jing in the lounge-chair.
Zhao JIng swallows, nervous. Without stopping at his kneading Xie Wang crowds into Zhao Jing space, forehead to his shoulders.
“Yifu,” he starts with the quiet kind of voice he only uses on Zhao Jing, “Allow this lowly son of yours to serve you.”
He pulls back, beaming. “After all, I was nothing before you.”
He pecks him on the forehead and stays there, lips to forehead, voice dropping, “I did everything you bid me to. I was ready to do anything as long as you didn’t betray me.”
Taking off his hand from Zhao Jing’s crotch to wrap him in an embrace, Xie Wang rocks them back and forth. He breaths out a short giggle before letting go and sliding down towards the floor into a kneeling position, pulling one of Zhao Jing’s ankles with him so his feet lay flat on the floor.
Xie Wang tugs at the belt slash until it comes loose. He pushes off layer after layer—four in total. He runs his thumb at the edges of Zhao Jing’s trouser, feeling the slightest of shivers running through his body. He slides them off, not forgetting to fold them before placing them onto the floor and then back into eye level of his yifu’s half-erect manhood.
Zhao JIng’s back on the chair, Xie Wang crawls up to him, bracketing his head with his propped arms. His Yifu’s eyes are staring at the ceiling—or not. His eyes are unfocused; staring at nothing perhaps. He adjusts Zhao Jing’s head so he has no choice but to look at him.
He exhales and takes the time to lay down on Zhao Jing’s chest, fingers running up and down Zhao Jin’s left arm, clamping down on his wrist. Ever so gently, he raises it up to his lips and licks. Reaching down with the other hand, he strokes Zhao Jing’s manhood into fullness.
He slides back down into the floor. “Wasn't I perfect for you?”
He kisses Zhao Jing's thigh, light and gentle leaving just the slightest wet spot with a lick. He puts his mouth back on the spot and nips the place playfully. The Scorpion stinging his paralyzed prey—break down their bodies before consumption.
He finally, finally, puts his mouth at the head of his yifu’s manhood. Not sucking, drooling all over it to be more exact. He pulls back when he inhales his spit. “Sorry, Yifu.”
He puts his mouth back on him, this time swallowing him halfway. It hits the back of his throat and he has to pull back again. He huffs.
He places both his palms around his yifu’s manhood to rub before trying to put it into his mouth again. His hands then reach up to grip at both his yifu’s wrists.
When he comes, Xie Wang feels his wrist twitch in an attempt to grip at something. He swallows and wipes his lips.
He picks up the folded trouser and slides them back on, smoothing the layers of his Yifu’s rucked up robes. He stands to move his Yifu back into place. His Yifu’s eyes are closed — one of the few movements he still has control over. Xie Wang wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and places another kiss on his forehead.
Xie Wang goes to the vanity to retrieve a hairbrush and ribbon and stands behind him to gently remove his Yifu’s guan, letting the hair come loose.
“Everything I have is yours. As long as you don’t disappoint me, I won’t let you down. Yifu, you can’t do anything like this," he murmurs in the quiet of the room. He combs, the hairbrush gliding straight down, encountering no rough tangles. “You can’t disappoint me anymore. I would have been content just being your lackey, your loyal fool of a son. But . . . this is fine too. I can do anything I want to you, be with you however I want.”
Finally, he parts his hair into three, braiding it for sleep.
Though, Xie Wang supposes, you can’t really make a mess of your hair when you can’t move.
“Yifu, we’re going to the World’s Armory tomorrow. I've had someone make you a nice carriage. I think you’ll like it. I chose the colors myself! Let us go open the armory!” he babbles. “Being cooped up inside for so long is bad for your health, Yifu.”