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“Come here,” Zheng Yan said, beckoning to Duan Ling.
“How did I agree to this,” Wu Du groused. He sat on the other end of the room from Zheng Yan, who was lounging on the divan. Duan Ling stood before him. Changliu-jun slouched in a chair nearby, while Lang Junxia sat stiffly in another, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.
“Agree? Wasn’t it your idea?” Zheng Yan said, drawing Duan Ling closer.
Slightly dazed, Duan Ling let himself be pulled sideways onto Zheng Yan’s lap. “It was your idea,” he confirmed, casting a glance over his shoulder at Wu Du where he crouched by the wall like a big black cat. The turn of his head exposed his neck to Zheng Yan, who leaned forward and nipped at his fair skin. Duan Ling shivered; Wu Du flinched.
“I didn’t think you’d all take it seriously,” Wu Du said. “Even Wuluohou Mu is here.”
Duan Ling blushed prettily as Zheng Yan began to kiss his way down his neck. “As the crown prince, I belong to all my assassins,” he said. “Plus, you wanted to see, didn’t you?”
“That’s right,” said Wu Du. There was a vicious glint in his eye. “I know how much you love ogling men. You flirt with every handsome one you meet. I can’t believe I was the first one to fuck you.”
“Enough, you two,” Changliu-jun piped up. “I’m not here to listen to you flirt.”
Zheng Yan’s lips moved over Duan Ling’s skin with perfect self-possession; it seemed he had come by his reputation as a scoundrel honestly. While his mouth sucked a bruise into Duan Ling’s collarbone, his steady hands skimmed down to Duan Ling’s hips, coaxing him wordlessly to shift up and straddle his thighs. Once he had Duan Ling arranged to his liking, he trailed his way back up Duan Ling’s neck and finally captured those lips that looked so like his father’s, his hand coming up to grip Duan Ling’s jaw as he deepened the kiss. His other hand found Duan Ling’s shoulder, where it peeled away his robe to reveal his leanly muscled shoulders and chest, then roamed down again to take a generous handful of his ass.
Despite Wu Du’s caustic comments, he was obviously aroused by the sight. There was a telltale tent in his pants, and his breathing came quicker now as he watched Zheng Yan’s experienced hands manhandle the prince in his lap.
When Zheng Yan broke the kiss, Duan Ling was flushed to the tips of his ears. Even without looking, he could feel Wu Du’s hot gaze on him. Zheng Yan sat back on the divan and gestured toward Changliu-jun. “Your Highness, I think your loyal subject could use some attention.”
Duan Ling reluctantly slid out of Zheng Yan’s lap and turned to Changliu-jun, who was slouching with his legs slightly spread, his expression unreadable under his mask. With a quick glance at Wu Du for reassurance, Duan Ling stepped closer, in between Changliu-jun’s legs. Then he sank to his knees.
Zheng Yan watched approvingly as Duan Ling ran his hands up Changliu-jun’s thighs and unfastened his belt. Wu Du’s eyes were dark, fixed on the movements of Duan Ling’s hands. Lang Junxia had turned his face away. Duan Ling looked up into Changliu-jun’s eyes over his mask and found him gazing steadily back.
The assassin raised a hand and grabbed the back of Duan Ling’s head, pushing him toward the bulge in his pants. Duan Ling could already feel the heat radiating off Changliu-jun’s stiff cock even through his dark assassin’s clothes. He swallowed a mouthful of saliva and tugged down Changliu-jun’s pants; his cock sprang free.
Changliu-jun was the tallest of the four assassins, and his cock was proportionate to the rest of him. Duan Ling, used to Wu Du’s not inconsiderable size, didn’t hesitate. He leaned in and tasted the head of Changliu-jun’s cock, where fluid was already beading.
Changliu-jun looked down into Duan Ling’s beautiful eyes. “You don’t have to, you know.”
“I want to,” Duan Ling said, before opening his mouth and swallowing half of Changliu-jun’s length as if starved.
Changliu-jun threw back his head and groaned under his mask. Duan Ling was completely focused on his task, swirling his tongue around Changliu-jun’s head and shaft. He pulled off Changliu-jun’s cock with a pop, then dove right back in, quickly building up a rhythm as he sucked him off.
Zheng Yan, palming himself through his pants as he watched the show, quipped at Wu Du, “I see you taught him how to suck cock like a pro.”
“Shut your mouth,” Wu Du snapped.
Zheng Yan rose from the divan and stretched, then sauntered over behind Duan Ling. He looked down, taking a moment to enjoy the sight of the pretty crown prince on his knees with his lips parted around Changliu-jun’s cock. Then he knelt down and gently patted Duan Ling’s ass.
“Hips up, Your Highness,” he said.
Duan Ling didn’t stop bobbing his head as he obligingly raised himself higher on his knees for Zheng Yan. Changliu-jun’s hand was in his hair now, fingers fisted in his dark locks; the clasp Duan Ling had been wearing was hopelessly askew.
Zheng Yan shimmied Duan Ling’s pants down, exposing his prince’s pert ass and neglected arousal, standing stiffly at attention though no one had touched him yet. Reaching into his pocket, Zheng Yan produced a jar of grease. He stripped off his glove and set it neatly aside, then dipped two fingers in.
“I’m going to loosen him up,” he said.
Wu Du watched with hooded eyes as Zheng Yan’s grease-covered fingers slid into the delicate cleft of Duan Ling’s ass and began to circle his tight hole. When he stuck the first digit in, Duan Ling pulled off Changliu-jun’s cock with a gasp.
Zheng Yan drew his fingers away and smacked him on the ass. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt—just enough to sting. “Don’t get distracted.”
“Don’t tell him what to do,” Wu Du said.
Zheng Yan smirked. Duan Ling obediently swallowed Changliu-jun again. Changliu-jun was breathing raggedly under his mask now. He couldn’t stop himself from jerking his hips in time with Duan Ling’s motions. Duan Ling’s lovely cheeks were hopelessly flushed; tears stood out in his eyes as he gagged on Changliu-jun’s cock.
Zheng Yan returned his finger to Duan Ling’s entrance and began to slowly work it in and out. When he added a second, Duan Ling arched his back in pleasure. This time when he whimpered, he didn’t pull off Changliu-jun’s cock. Drool dripped from the corner of his mouth. His own untouched cock was painfully hard, but his hands were braced on Changliu-jun’s knees, while his ass was raised high for Zheng Yan to play with. He was completely at the two assassins’ mercy.
Suddenly, Zheng Yan removed his fingers. Before Duan Ling could whine at the loss, he felt a new warmth as Zheng Yan licked a stripe from Duan Ling’s balls all the way to his entrance. Duan Ling quivered as he felt Zheng Yan’s tongue circle his rim. When it finally probed inside, he jerked in shock.
Zheng Yan didn’t give him time to recover. He reached a hand down and closed it securely around Duan Ling’s weeping cock, stroking him off as he ate him out with the same enthusiasm most people applied to Zheng Yan’s own cooking. Duan Ling moaned louder around Changliu-jun’s cock, and the low thrum finally pushed Changliu-jun to breaking. He gripped Duan Ling’s hair and bucked his hips, his restraint gone as he fucked Duan Ling’s mouth with rough strokes. Finally his hips stilled, and he came down Duan Ling’s throat with a muffled groan.
Duan Ling swallowed on instinct, cum leaking from the corners of his mouth. He pulled off Changliu-jun’s cock and gripped the assassin’s knees, head hanging low as he gasped for breath.
Zheng Yan sat back and wiped his mouth. He looked back at Wu Du. “You never did this for him? Don’t tell me you just shoved your dick in.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval.
Wu Du scowled. “Shut the fuck up, Zheng Yan.”
Lang Junxia was still staring at the wall.
Zheng Yan hummed lightly, entirely undeterred by Wu Du’s attitude. He dropped a kiss on Duan Ling’s back, right in the middle of his spine. “Hips up again, Your Highness. I’ll show you something good.”
Duan Ling shakily gripped Changliu-jun’s thighs and obeyed, his cheek brushing Changliu-jun’s spent cock. Changliu-jun was breathing heavily, his bright eyes taking in the sight of Duan Ling wrecked between his legs, hair coming loose around his face and Changliu-jun’s own cum painting the crown prince’s lips. He said succinctly: “Fuck.”
Kneeling on the floor, Zheng Yan plunged three fingers into Duan Ling and pumped them in and out in a firm rhythm. He crooked his fingers, searching for the spot he wanted, and was rewarded when Duan Ling cried out: a long, a drawn-out whine. With a few more thrusts of Zheng Yan’s skillful fingers, Duan Ling shuddered apart, coming all over the floorboards.
Zheng Yan chuckled. “Was it good? It’s not too late to leave that man of yours and marry me. You’d have much more fun in my bed.”
Wu Du scowled again. Changliu-jun rolled his eyes.
“I think you’re ready,” said Zheng Yan.
“Ready for what?” Wu Du asked.
Zheng Yan didn’t answer. He helped Duan Ling sit up and shed his sodden pants, then stroked Duan Ling’s sweat-damp hair, gazing into his unfocused eyes. He chuckled again. “You love this, don’t you?”
Duan Ling’s already hot cheeks blazed even redder. He glanced again at Wu Du.
“Don’t worry about him,” said Zheng Yan. “Look how hard he is. He’s about to come untouched just from watching you.”
It was true—Wu Du had pulled his pants down at some point and now held his massive length in his hand. His gaze was stormy, but Zheng Yan was right: his cock was oozing precum, so hard it looked painful. Wu Du’s eyes were wild as he took in the sight of his lover’s face, sticky with another man’s cum.
Internally, Duan Ling smirked. You liar. You’re enjoying this just as much as I am. Aloud, he said to Zheng Yan, “You haven’t finished yet.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Zheng Yan said. “Someone else needs you first.”
He grabbed Duan Ling’s hand and helped him to his feet. Duan Ling’s knees buckled when he stood, but Zheng Yan held him steady as he led him toward the chair where Lang Junxia sat, his shoulders tense.
“Wuluohou Mu, it’s your turn,” said Zheng Yan.
“I raised him,” Lang Junxia said.
“And look how well you did. Don’t you want to see what a fine young man he’s become?” returned Zheng Yan. “Besides, you’re not fooling anyone right now.”
He looked pointedly down at where Lang Junxia’s erection was threatening to burst out of the taut cloth of his pants.
Zheng Yan guided Duan Ling to straddle Lang Junxia, and Duan Ling set a knee on either side of Lang Junxia’s thighs, hovering. He looked down into Lang Junxia’s eyes pleadingly. “Wuluohou Mu. Please. I want it.”
He held Lang Junxia’s gaze as he reached down and freed the assassin’s straining erection. Lang Junxia didn’t speak, but he gripped Duan Ling’s thighs, his fingertips digging in painfully. That sharp pain was all the answer Duan Ling needed. He raised himself higher on his knees, positioning himself over the head of Lang Junxia’s cock, and slowly started to sink down on that massive length.
Lang Junxia wasn’t quite as long as Wu Du, but he was thicker. Even after Zheng Yan’s practiced ministrations, Duan Ling felt like he was being split apart as he worked himself slowly down onto his cock, savoring the stretch. With a slow breath out, Duan Ling sat down the last few inches, until he was flush with Lang Junxia’s lap. Lang Junxia sucked in a sharp breath.
“He really took the whole thing,” said Changliu-jun, sounding impressed.
“Our prince isn’t one to shrink from a challenge,” Zheng Yan joked. “Is he, Wu Du?”
If Wu Du answered, Duan Ling didn’t hear it. He took a moment to adjust to the feeling of being so full. He closed his eyes and arched his fair back, canting his hips slightly as he found a comfortable position.
When he opened them again, Lang Junxia was looking back at him. The two gazed at each other for a silent moment.
“It’s a bit different than when I sat on your lap as a kid,” Duan Ling quipped, attempting to break the tense silence. He was a little short of breath.
Lang Junxia said nothing. To Duan Ling’s surprise, he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Duan Ling’s forehead.
Wu Du scoffed loudly.
Lang Junxia pulled back and met Duan Ling’s eyes again, then kissed his lips carefully. His rough palms came up to clasp Duan Ling’s waist, his fingers—only nine, with his missing pinkie—splayed over the prince’s pale skin. Duan Ling returned the kiss, parting his lips and letting his tongue flick into Lang Junxia’s mouth.
Whatever control Lang Junxia had been exercising seemed to evaporate. He slammed up into Duan Ling, the opposite of gentle. As Duan Ling cried out, Lang Junxia quickly set a punishing pace, driving up into him as if he couldn’t hold back another second—as if he’d been waiting for this all his life.
Duan Ling could do nothing but take it. Each of Lang Junxia’s thrusts plunged so far into him he felt like the assassin’s cock was in his throat. Duan Ling felt himself grow hard again, his cock bobbing up and down as he was bounced on Lang Junxia’s lap like a rag doll, moans trailing from his lips. Duan Ling wound his arms around Lang Junxia’s neck just as one particularly rough thrust set sparks skittering up his spine. “Lang Junxia!” he cried.
Wu Du shot to his feet.
“It’s my turn,” he said, stalking toward Duan Ling. Lang Junxia paused, taking in the dangerous look on Wu Du’s face, then glanced back at Duan Ling.
Duan Ling, finally given a respite from Lang Junxia’s brutal pace, heaved for breath. Just as Lang Junxia began to pull out, ready to pass Duan Ling to his lover, Duan Ling gasped out one word.
“No.”
Both men looked at him, startled. Before Wu Du could explode, he continued, “No—I’ll take you both.”
Even Zheng Yan’s eyebrows rose in astonishment. Changliu-jun whistled.
Before Duan Ling could lose his courage, he leaned heavily into Lang Junxia’s chest, presenting his ass to Wu Du. It was already stuffed with Lang Junxia’s considerable girth. At the sight of Duan Ling’s rim stretched pink around another man’s—this man’s—cock, Wu Du’s breathing quickened. “You can’t be serious.”
“I can take you both,” Duan Ling repeated. “Wu Du.” He looked back, eyes hazy with pleasure, in a silent plea.
Wu Du’s breath hitched. He stepped forward and ran a hand down Duan Ling’s back, which was soaked with sweat. He stopped just at the base of Duan Ling’s spine, his long, slender fingers resting lightly over Duan Ling’s tailbone. Duan Ling felt that touch like fire.
“Zheng Yan,” Wu Du said, holding up a hand.
Zheng Yan tossed the jar of grease over, and Wu Du caught it without turning his head. Sucking in a breath, he scooped up two fingers full and slicked up his aching cock. Then he dipped his hand in again and began to work a slippery finger in beside Lang Junxia’s length.
Duan Ling held his breath—but when Wu Du added a second finger, he whined loudly. This was torture; Lang Junxia was holding perfectly still, robbing him of the stimulus he so desperately needed, while Wu Du seemed to apply the same careful diligence he did to poison-making here as well. His intrusions were tantalizingly slow. Just as Duan Ling thought he might go mad, he finally heard Wu Du say, “I’m putting it in.”
Wu Du was hung like a horse. As soon as Duan Ling felt the head of his cock bully in next to Lang Junxia’s, he gasped. It hurt—but there was pleasure right behind the pain. When Wu Du’s cockhead finally shoved past his overstretched rim, Duan Ling spasmed. Wu Du froze. He leaned forward, his lips brushing Duan Ling’s ear, voice too soft to be heard by any but his lover: “Okay?”
Duan Ling nodded vigorously; he couldn’t speak. As Wu Du’s shaft slid in smoothly beside Lang Junxia’s, Duan Ling felt like he was being torn apart. There was no way he could take them both. What had he been thinking?!
Through the buzzing in his head, Duan Ling heard Wu Du distantly. “I’m going to move.”
Slowly, Wu Du began rocking his hips. Before Duan Ling could get used to the sensation, Lang Junxia joined him, and his vision went white.
It took only a few moments for the two assassins to work up a rhythm, each one seemingly trying to drive deeper than the other. Duan Ling couldn’t breathe—he felt like their cocks were in his lungs; he was suffocating. His world winnowed down to isolated sensations: his own shallow breathing in his ears; the exquisite pain from being stretched to the brink; the slick, wanton sound of Wu Du and Lang Junxia fucking into him. Duan Ling let himself float. He was so full that every thrust brushed against that bundle of nerves that made him see stars. With the two working in tandem, the stimulation was constant. Vaguely, he felt Changliu-jun’s and Zheng Yan’s eyes on him. He knew he must look obscene, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
The pleasure built into a tidal wave, threatening to drown him. “I’m gonna…”
Just as he felt himself on the precipice, Lang Junxia growled and tightened his grip on Duan Ling’s slender waist. His hips stuttered as he spilled inside Duan Ling.
Wu Du paused for a moment, head bowed and gasping. He looked up just in time to see Lang Junxia reach up and brush a thumb over Duan Ling’s sweat-sheened cheek. Duan Ling, unthinking, leaned into the touch.
A sharp hiss of breath behind him was the only warning Duan Ling had before Wu Du suddenly pulled out. Duan Ling found himself yanked off Lang Junxia’s lap, the assassin’s softening cock slipping out of him and spilling a sticky trail down his thigh. Wu Du tossed him to the ground, face down, and loomed over him. His cock was hard and dark, glistening with their mingled fluids, and his eyes blazed with something like fury.
Duan Ling tried to raise himself up to look at him, but Wu Du grasped the back of his head and held him down. Wu Du was strong, but he rarely used his strength against Duan Ling. Now Duan Ling found himself completely helpless, cheek pressed into the rough floor, his back arched and his hips in the air for everyone to see as his abused entrance clenched around nothing. “Wu Du…”
Wu Du drove back into him, sheathing himself in a single brutal thrust. Gripping Duan Ling’s hips to yank them higher, he fucked him like a beast in rut, slamming into him with such force Duan Ling could already feel the bruises he’d be sporting the next day, five distinct fingers on each side. For a moment, the only sound in the room was ragged breathing and the obscene slap of flesh against flesh. Duan Ling’s cheek scraped the floor, his nose filled with the scent of old wood mixed with the heady smell of sex and Wu Du’s sweat.
“Look how loose you are,” Wu Du hissed. “You want to get fucked by two men at once? Well who’s the one fucking you now?”
Duan Ling’s only answer was an incoherent moan. All he could do was let himself be used—let Wu Du take out all his fierce possessiveness on his pliant, pleasure-drunk body.
“You fucking love being a whore, is that it? First it was your little Tangut lover, then that Mongol brute. Now you’re gonna let every assassin fuck you. Why stop there? Let’s get the whole shadow squad in to take turns with you. You don’t care as long as someone’s shoving their cock into you, is that it?”
With every thrust, Lang Junxia’s cum leaked out around Wu Du’s thick cock. The sight seemed to whip Wu Du into a frenzy. “Who do you belong to?”
“L-Laoye,” Duan Ling stuttered.
“Who?”
“Laoye,” Duan Ling said hoarsely. “Laoye, I need—please—”
“Laoye, I haven’t finished my turn, you know.”
Wu Du’s head snapped up. At some point, Zheng Yan had left his seat in the divan. He stood indolently next to them, watching with interest as Wu Du fucked Duan Ling into the floor.
“I’ve been so very patient. Share, won’t you?”
“Don’t fucking call me that,” Wu Du said, but he seemed to come to his senses. He paused and eased off Duan Ling, who could barely breathe, and effortlessly gathered him up off the floor. He sat back, settling with Duan Ling in his lap and his cock still buried deep. Duan Ling sagged back against his chest, then shuddered as Wu Du rolled his hips. Duan Ling’s cock was stiff and leaking, but Wu Du didn’t touch it.
“Open up, Your Highness,” Zheng Yan said.
A gentle hand came to his jaw, and Duan Ling obediently parted his lips for Zheng Yan to slide his cock inside. Zheng Yan wasn’t rough like Changliu-jun, but he was firm. He fed his cock into Duan Ling’s mouth and threaded his bare fingers through Duan Ling’s disheveled hair, guiding him to bob his head up and down his length. Zheng Yan’s cock was hot in his mouth, but it felt cool compared to Duan Ling’s body, which was pink and flushed from exertion, with bruises already blooming on his hips and waist. Zheng Yan canted his hips and shoved his length deeper, and deeper, until Duan Ling’s nose was nearly brushing the dark thatch of hair at its base.
Below, Wu Du resumed fucking him, driving his hips up as Zheng Yan plundered his throat. Briefly, Duan Ling realized he’d be lucky if he could talk at all tomorrow.
Zheng Yan picked up the pace, and it didn’t take long for him to reach his climax; as Duan Ling swirled his tongue around the head of Zheng Yan’s well-sculpted cock, he felt Zheng Yan hips jerk, and the hand in his hair suddenly yanked him off. Startled, Duan Ling glanced up to find Zheng Yan’s brows knit in pleasure, his lashes lowered as he took himself in hand and came over Duan Ling’s cheek and mouth, painting them with stripes of white.
Wu Du didn’t pause, continuing to bounce Duan Ling in his lap. He knew Duan Ling’s body too well; he hit that sensitive spot inside him with every other thrust, just slow enough to keep Duan Ling teetering on the edge without tipping over, until Duan Ling was in tears from being denied release.
Breathing a little labored, Zheng Yan took a moment to admire his handiwork. He leaned forward and swiped his own spend off of Duan Ling’s cheek.
“Have a taste, Your Highness.”
He slipped two fingers into Duan Ling’s mouth, and Duan Ling, delirious, sucked them clean. The taste—all salt and musk, yet particular to Zheng Yan—finally pushed him over the edge. His second climax slammed through him, and he added another mess to the floor, shaking and clenching down hard on Wu Du’s cock. A second later, Wu Du tumbled over with him, burying his face in the crook of Duan Ling’s neck as he came with a low cry. Duan Ling felt the slow spread of warmth as Wu Du spilled deep inside him, filling him up with his second load of the evening.
For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was their heavy breathing. Wu Du dropped a line of kisses along Duan Ling’s shoulder and neck, then gingerly lifted him off his spent cock and turned him around to face him in his lap. He smoothed Duan Ling’s sweat-soaked hair back from his flushed face and kissed him deeply, tasting two other men’s cum in his mouth. Duan Ling wrapped his arms around Wu Du’s neck in return and clung to him as if grasping the last piece of driftwood that would keep him from drowning in the flood.
Indeed, only his grip on Wu Du’s neck kept him from slumping bonelessly to the floor. Wu Du kissed him until he couldn’t breathe, until only his scent remained in Duan Ling’s mouth, then drew back and studied his lover’s shattered expression: eyes glassy, color high, with tendrils of fine, damp hair plastered to his cheeks. Wu Du leaned forward and kissed the tip of Duan Ling’s nose. “Let’s get you in the bath.”
With infinite tenderness, Wu Du scooped him up, cradling him carefully against his sturdy chest. Even dazed as he was, Duan Ling could feel the steady beat of his heart, and the warmth of the strong arms wrapped around him.
“I can take him,” Zheng Yan offered.
“Don’t even think about it,” Wu Du snarled before striding out of the room without a backward glance at his fellow assassins.
Good heavens, Laoye.
It was Duan Ling’s final thought before he passed out in Wu Du’s arms, safe and perfectly sated.