Work Text:
Somewhere out there in the wide, terrible world, certainly existed a tomb more cheerful than Shen Yuan’s private study.
Airplane and Cucumber sat in grim silence, staring intently at anything besides one another. The wine was half-empty, and neither of them had gathered the liquid courage—or any other kind—with which to address the invisible elephant-sized pillar in the room.
Airplane cracked first, because of course he did.
“It’s definitely because we were, like, virgins,” he said.
Shen Yuan shot him a venomous look and Airplane threw his hands into the air, exasperated. “What! You want me to sit here and suffocate and not talk about it?! Do that alone! I’m busy running your fucking empire!!”
“Fine,” Shen Yuan said, icily. “Let’s talk about it.”
They made the mistake of meeting each other’s eyes, which resulted in immediately faltering and looking hastily away, because that was better than facing the truth.
The truth. The grim, honest truth. Which was that Airplane was—maybe, maybe, unless Shen Yuan remembered wrong, which was completely and utterly and almost certainly possible—a decisively better fuck than his beloved, loving, battering-ram-cock of a husband.
And, from the haunted look in Airplane’s eye, that he, Shen Yuan, was a better fuck than Mobei-Jun. Shen Yuan refused to ask any follow-up questions about that relationship status, history, or hypotheticals. He didn’t want to think about Airplane having sex with anything or anyone, because that was gross and weird.
But the alternative was thinking about Airplane having sex with him, which was gross and weird and way worse and, unfortunately, historically accurate.
“It was because we were virgins,” he agreed abruptly. Airplane’s head lifted from where he was contemplating a long-empty cup of wine. He stared, expectantly, and Shen Yuan stared back, because he was the master of staring expectantly until somebody cracked and said something stupid so he didn’t have to.
Airplane, because he didn’t need to be intimidated into sounding stupid, he’d just go ahead and do it anyway, cracked and reached for the bottle.
“Right, yeah,” he said, filling his cup and slamming it back immediately. “Like I said.” He amended hastily, “Like you said, I mean! It was because we were sex-crazy teenage virgins and a blowjob was like, worth dying for. It would be totally different now.” He filled both their cups this time.
“Entirely different,” Shen Yuan agreed firmly, and reached for his own.
They drank in silence.
The thing was.
Shen Yuan cut his gaze across the room, and Shang Qinghua’s eyes darted away hastily.
The thing was.
He opened his mouth.
“Oh, dude, absolutely the fuck not,” Airplane said at once. “No way, not happening.”
“What!” Shen Yuan demanded.
“We are not having sex, bro—“
“I didn’t say we were!”
“—because your husband would like, totally fully murder me, dude, and I do not want to fucking die.”
“He wouldn’t! And we’re not having sex!”
Oh my god, are you kidding me?! He literally would, and then he would bring me back to kill me again, and then he would stick jar me or something. Me, his loving father!! Have you even met the guy!!”
Shen Yuan mustered all his immortal master grace, gathering himself together to deliver primly, “He would not murder anyone I slept with, because we talked about—about experimenting elsewhere. Apart.” Nailed it.
Airplane was staring at him with open wonder. Or maybe horror.
“You asked your husband for permission to fuck me.”
Shen Yuan’s immortal master grace shattered to the floor, followed by the cup he flung at Airplane’s head.
“No! Literally what is wrong with you! I didn’t mention you at all! Just—Just we discussed taking time to experiment and report back. For the improvement of our marriage.” This was said with gritted-teeth, grim faced propriety.
“Right right right right. For the betterment of your marriage. Experimenting.” There was a pause. “With me.”
Shen Yuan glared at him. “Who else am I going to have sex with!”
“Ouch, Cucumber-bro, what the hell—”
“No, Airplane, really,” Shen Yuan interrupted, gritting his teeth. “Who?”
Airplane flapped his hands inelegantly. “The big boss would—” He paused, wrinkling his nose, and Shen Yuan nodded in triumph. Yue Qingyuan could not be allowed near his nubile body for quite literally any reason. For his own sake. Nobody wanted to experience those consequences.
“Liu Quingge?”
“He’s too busy trying to kill my husband. Once they calm down, we’ll—” Shen Yuan cut off and examined his cup of wine elegantly.
“Jesus, I do not want to know about your weird secret threesome plans,” Airplane whined, lifting his robe up to hide his face in it like a turtle. “Fine, fine, uh… Hm.”
Shen Yuan waited, watching him tick through the list of potential bedmates and dismiss them all, one by one, exactly as Shen Yuan had.
There was another long, pregnant pause before Airplane emerged from his robe-shell and reached morosely for the wine.
“It’ll probably suck,” Airplane said, with an air of relief, and Shen Yuan nodded in equally relieved agreement.
“Certainly,” he said, and Airplane set the wine down with a clunk and a sigh.
“Alright. Alright! Fine. Let’s go have incredibly mediocre sex and move on with our lives.”
“Sound less excited about it.”
“I hate it here.”
“Much better.”
“Oh, fuck,” Shen Yuan said, stupidly, as Airplane fucking made out with his hole. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck—“
“I can’t believe you criticized my writing as repetitive,” Airplane gasped when he came up for air. He had a hand shoved between his thighs, moving frantically, and before Shen Yuan could curse him out for being a hack writer and having a shit lung capacity, he was buried between his thighs once more and Shen Yuan could only vaguely try to choke back his moans.
It didn’t work. He was gasping and stumbling over awful little whines because Airplane, the most useless horny virgin on two planes of existence, was eating him out like he would die if he didn’t. And it was—
His face felt like it was on fire, like he was boiling from his chest all the way up to his ears. He had his hands shoved over his eyes and mouth, frantically trying to stifle the sounds his traitorous fucking body wanted to make, and he was absolutely fucking back onto Airplane’s face like he was going to die if they stopped.
Because it felt good. It was wet and messy and easy and Airplane’s hair was sliding soft against his thighs, and it felt good.
And—And those were Airplane’s fingers, soaking wet with his spit and some sweet-smelling whatever magic scum lube. They were bullying into him, shoving him open and fucking into him, followed by holy shit that was Airplane’s tongue inside of him, wet and thick and inside of him—
Shen Yuan came with a full-chested sob, fingers curling into the sheets his husband had put on their bed that morning and fucking himself onto his worst friend’s tongue. He felt the wet mess on his stomach, dripping onto the sheets, and his elbows gave out on him as he panted for breath.
Airplane paused for a nanosecond, like he was thinking of stopping, and Shen Yuan was lifting his head to say something.
He forgot what it was, though, because suddenly there was the press of something cool and firm against his fucked-out, spit-slick hole. It settled snug between the fingers that were prying him opened, just barely coaxing its way inside, and his eyes opened all the way.
“What the fuck,” he gasped, as the firm cock worked sweetly into him. It was big, bigger than Airplane’s tongue(!), maybe as big as—as big as Binghe? Surely not, definitely not, because even though it felt like Airplane was spearing him open, it went so easily. The weight of it settled deep in him, unforgiving and cold and holy shit, Airplane was only the second-most useless virgin in existence, because clearly, obviously, Shen Yuan was the first.
He clenched around the heavy jade, felt every inch where it was warming itself all the way inside him, and hiccuped around a moan.
“Custom made, bitch,” Airplane said smugly. Shen Yuan sobbed fully into his pillow as Airplane fucked him with his carved cock.
“I cannot believe I’m the only pussy you’ll ever get,” Airplane said, dazed, sprawled back in the gross cum-puddle he’d helped create as Shen Yuan remembered how to slide his fingers nicely through the wet mess between his thighs.
“Binghe would get a pussy if I asked,” Shen Yuan said firmly, and then his words caught up with him and he fully froze.
Binghe would absolutely get a pussy if he asked. In a heartbeat. In less than a heartbeat. If he thought about it for too long, Binghe would appear this very instant with a home-grown vagina and a bullied, tearful little face and say something like—
Airplane hit him.
“Don’t stop fingering me because you’re thinking about my son’s hypothetical hole!!!!” He hissed, red-faced, and Shen Yuan fumbled for the wine bottle and also Airplane’s clit because he could not, could not deal with any of these words in any order.
“Don’t call him your son,” he hissed, after he’d downed half the bottle and made Airplane squeal with a—with a—honestly he had no idea what he’d done, but he tried to do it again as Airplane started rocking desperately onto his cramping hand. “Especially not right now! We’re having sex!”
“Oh my god, you totally have a daddy-in-law kink,” Airplane groaned, and Shen Yuan sputtered and fumed and Airplane, damningly, came with a sharp moan and an arched spine.
He looked dazed and stupid as he came down. Shen Yuan watched him with vague disgust, fingers still working absently against his slick heat until he like, remembered, and pulled them away hastily.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Airplane snapped, grabbing clumsily at his wrist and dragging it right back between his legs. He was flushed, his hair was a disaster, his eyes were glazed, and he was scowling. He looked terrible. Grimly, it was a little hot. “Fair’s fair, Cucumber-bro. You owe me one!”
“We’re keeping score?!”
“You’re not?!”
Shen Yuan glared down at him, rustling up to his full height, which was really hard when he was naked and flushed and had fingers slick with another man’s cum and also an asshole still wet with that same man’s spit, but he was going to manage it because he was an immortal master, damn it all, and—
He paused and stared between Airplane’s plush thighs thoughtfully for a moment.
“Nevermind,” Airplane said. “Dude, straight up, nevermind. Whatever fucked up thing you’re thinking, I don’t want in. We’re so even, just never ever ever tell your husband who you were experimenting with and we—ah, ohmygod, holy shit!”
He arched up into Shen Yuan’s mouth, making that weird stupid squealing sound again as Shen Yuan pressed his tongue flat and curious over his clit.
“I am not teaching you how to eat out my son’s hypothetical hole!!” Airplane wailed, as he tangled a hand into Shen Yuan’s hair and shoved his mouth where he wanted it.
Shen Yuan thought about Binghe’s thick, powerful thighs closing around his ears like Airplane’s were right now, about the panting-pleading sounds his OP husband might make as Shen Yuan licked into him, and applied himself diligently to his studies to the tune of Airplane’s increasingly obvious son-in-law kink.
Some time later:
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU KNOCKED UP MY SON?!”
Mobei-Jun bowed his head. “We do not know if it is mine. It may be his husband’s.”
“BUT HE’S PREGNANT.”
“Yes.”
“MY KING!! MY KING, WHY WERE YOU FUCKING THE HEAVENLY DEMON EMPEROR IN THE FIRST PLACE?!?”
“The emperor asked this Mobei-Jun for practice,” that Mobei-Jun said, solemnly.
Shang Qinghua buried his face in his hands and spent the next twenty minutes trying to figure out if he was laughing or crying.
“Qinghua. The Emperor is your… You can…?”
Crying!! Definitely crying!!!