Chapter Text
Shen Qingqiu was certain he should be dead. He remembered dying. His foot had hit the very edge of the chasm. There was no possibility of backing up, but in front of him had been an angry Luo Binghe and an angrier looking sword, so there was no possibility of moving forward. Luo Binghe had pushed and pushed until he’d fallen, he was certain of it, extracting his revenge for what he’d endured. But unlike Luo Binghe, Shen Qingqiu wasn’t a demon.
So the fall killed him.
Should have killed him.
And yet, he felt perfectly alive, or at least, some version of what passed for it.
Shen Qingqiu opened his eyes to investigate his surroundings. For a moment he thought maybe he’d simply started over at the very beginning again, and he half expected to see Yue Qingyuan asking him if he still felt strange from his fever.
But he was quickly disabused of that notion.
For starters, it was much darker in the room he found himself in than anywhere on the Peaks. In fact, the darkness seemed almost unnatural, as if it were intended to be darker than dark. To aid his feeble eyes, a number of candles had been set up in the room.
The decor was all reds and blacks which, of course, tipped Shen Qingqiu off to the fact that whoever’s place this was, they probably learned towards demonic tendencies. Sometimes it was nice that everything was so suspiciously color-coded, even if everyone in the story remained blissfully unaware of the obviousness of the symbolism.
There was little in the way of possessions that would have told him anything about what demon owned this room. It was all standard period furniture. A touch wealthy, perhaps, but not opulent. Shen Qingqiu sighed an brought a hand to his head, rubbing his temples. He could not discern the answer like this, so he decided it would be better to take another course of action.
But raising his hand like this drew his attention to another key point. Where, normally, he would feel the heavy layers of his robes and hanging sleeves with every movement, he felt none. His arm was bare of cloth, although it was adorned with what appeared to be solid gold cuffs, meant to mimic sleeves. Rings on his fingers had chains that met the cuffs, and further up his arm were fancy, glittering adornments.
What was this?
He looked down, and to his humiliation his body was bare, too. Golden rings had been inserted into his nipples (he winced thinking about how that must have been done, but he cannot remember the piercing), and delicate gold chains ran through them. Part of the chain went up to his neck. He felt for it and found a collar upon it. The other chains went down to a golden ring that had been fit around his cock and balls. When he inspected his cock, he found a number of piercings along the shaft, and another ring in the tip.
Shen Qingqiu gasped and then brought up a hand to his mouth to cover it, lest anyone hear him.
For a moment, he simply continued to stare at his pierced dick. There was no denying how elegant the jewelry looked upon it, but far more startling was the fact it had been done at all when he had no memory of it. Whatever demon did this to him had done truly efficient and excellent work.
Shen Qingqiu reached down experimentally to touch it. His fingers ghosted along each ornamentation until he got to the tip. He hooked his finger into the ring and tugged experimentally. The touch shot arousal through his body, pooling low in his gut. He had to bite down on his fist to keep the moan from echoing through the room.
Aside from the obviously pleasurable feeling of the tug upon so sensitive a place, the touch gave him a truly unique sensation he wasn’t expecting. Desperately, he wanted to be fucked. It was as if every nerve ending in his body had lit up with one singular focus in mind. As if his body felt empty and his hole yearned to be filled.
Shen Qingqiu, as far has he knew, had never been fucked like that. And Shen Yuan, well…he’d never fucked at all. And so this desire came as a true surprise to him, and yet, one that he had no trouble understanding.
So overwhelming was this desire that he looked around the room in his desperation for something to fill himself with. He should have been worried about the demons, or perhaps he should have still been attempting to figure out why he was alive. But none of it mattered in the face of what he’d drawn out from himself. It was hard to see in the low light so he drew forth some light of his own so that he could survey the room.
Most things seemed too small or too big. Calligraphy pens on a table were far too thin, but the pot of ink was too big, too messy, and too fragile. (Whatever part of Shen Qingqiu’s mind was still working had the good grace to bring a blush to his face for the profanity of thinking that he could use any of these things that belonged to a stranger, but it wasn’t strong enough to convince him to stop.) His eyes passed over a strange assortment of laid out objects: paperweights, chopsticks, sword oil, cups, ginger—no, no, no, no, definitely not. Nothing looked like it would work. He hissed out a sound of frustration as he continued to scan the room.
He was about to settle on the ginger (even though he’d read about the potential side effects of use of such a thing—look, he didn’t often read books that involved two men but sometimes even under his careful filters something slipped in and one became…curious) when he noticed how curiously shaped the bedposts were. The ends of them had been carved into bulbous heads, not unlike….
Shen Qingqiu rubbed his eyes and blinked but he was not imagining in. The bedposts did look like anal plugs, there was no denying it. He whispered off an apology to whichever demon’s bed he’s found himself in (though he seriously doubts they’ll care—as a demon, they probably wanted this to happen) and then moved to go get the weapon oil off the table, only to fall out of the bed and flat on his face.
Upon inspection, he found his ankles had similar cuffs to his wrists, but the chain between his ankles was both more substantial and shorter. He had to be careful with how he moved if he didn’t want that to happen again.
The feeling in his gut had not subsided from the fall. He pushed himself up slowly, using the bed for assistance, and go to his feet. He moved with slowly, shuffling steps as he headed to the table with the weapons oil. It was a laborious process, and his cock had already started to harden on the way, making it that much more difficult. Every movement seemed to make him acutely aware of the piercings and the delicious way his cock moved around them.
At long last he made it to the table and his fingers closed around his prize. He opened up the oil and his body seemed to work on autopilot, he coated his fingers and drew then back to his entrance, sliding two in and meeting resistance.
Shen Qingqiu drew in a breath.
He’d never done anything like this before.
But slowly, he began to press his fingers into his body, exploring himself with them. At first, this seemed to appease the growing hunger and need within him, satisfied that he’d found something to fill the void inside of his body yearning to be fucked. Sure enough, however, his body seemed to dull to the sensation. Two fingers which had felt full now felt empty. He desperately grabbed more oil and slid more fingers inside of himself.
Shen Qingqiu pounded his four fingers into his ass over and over, almost violently. He pulled them apart and twisted his wrist and did everything he could to get his needy asshole open. He wasn’t sure if it didn’t take long or if he was simply so needy he no longer cared, but he slowly shuffled back over to the bed (with his fingers still pressed inside of his body).
The bed was just the right height for him. If he leaned back upon it, he could stay almost standing with that plug-like end inside of him. He removed his fingers and keened from the loss before quickly planting himself upon it. The wood of the bed was nothing like his fingers. It had no give and no bend—it filled him without relent. He cried out from the stretch but kept pushing until he was past the bulb but before the flared base, sitting on the skinniest part of it. Tears of relief sprang to his eyes to finally be filled and he started to pump his hand along his cock, playing with all of the decorations upon it.
The once dignified Peak Lord had been reduced to a needy, desperate mess, skewered upon a bed post and stroking his own cock! He was glad that there was no one here to see him now in his humiliation. Glad that he had been left alone to play with and torture himself.
Shen Qingqiu was in the middle of mentally praising the demon that had done this to him for being so clever as to force his own hand; so cunning as to make him debase himself and to leave him with only inadequate tools when the door to the room opened and shattered the illusion that he was locked in here alone.
Shen Qingqiu coughed up blood when the figure strode through the door.
Luo Binghe smiled back at him, his eyes sweeping over the figure of Shen Qingqiu feebly attempting to fuck himself on a bed post. The smile turned to a grin, the grin to a smirk showing wicked fangs.
“I see Shizun has made himself at home already,” Luo Binghe said, words as sweet and thick as honey as he crossed the space between them far faster than any man could have, “Good, good,” he said, “then let’s get started.”
Shen Qingqiu yelped, but his body had sealed itself around the post. He’d have to finger himself open to get off and there was no time for that. But if he just yanked his body off, he was certain that he would hurt himself.
While his mind was racing, Luo Binghe reached down and pulled on the ring at the tip of his cock. Shen Qingqiu came instantly with a cry, his qi twisting inside of him both pleasantly and unpleasantly, as if the simple touch had delivered a full shock to his system.
“Luo Binghe’s cultivation has gotten much stronger, Shizun,” Luo Binghe said by way of clarification. He slotted himself between Shen Qingqiu’s legs and licked his way up Shen Qingqiu’s neck, “we are going to have so much fun together.”
Shen Qingqiu was certain this was both a promise and a threat.