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Xingqiu is pretty when he cries. Chongyun relishes in being the only one to see him like that; he adores the embarrassed red that rips across cheeks, his nose, out to his ears and down his neck, the way he trembles lightly with each shuddering breath, his little sniffles and his sugar-sweet pleas. Chongyun takes his time when he wants to make Xingqiu cry. He delights in the art of peeling away that cool, mischievous composure he has, wresting it from him and forcing it to dissolve like wet paper-mâché. Of course, he also loves Xingqiu’s delicate, crystalline tears, the way they slide down his scorching cheeks to catch in the curve of his lips, perfectly placed for Chongyun to lick up and kiss away. Xingqiu may be a master in the art of making Chongyun lose his cool, but Chongyun isn’t without his own tricks.
He’s a little sad that he can’t see Xingqiu’s face right now. Chongyun brings a cupped palm down on Xingqiu’s already cherry-red ass. He gives a wet, choked cry, and Chongyun feels tears soak into his pant leg.
“How many was that?” He asks. He keeps his voice soft and cool—Xingqiu doesn’t need to be punished, not this time, not when he’d shown up in Chongyun’s room, nervously wringing his hands and shifting from foot to foot and quietly asked for this. It’s far from the first time they’ve found themselves here, Xingqiu thrown over Chongyun’s lap, shirtless with his shorts shoved down just past the pert swell of his ass and Chongyun putting the strength he’s cultivated from using a claymore to good use. This is the first time, though, that Xingqiu has come to him out of the blue, asking for it. “How many?”
“Uh, ah,” Xingqiu hiccups, burrowing his face farther into Chongyun’s thigh. His heart squeezes a little bit, and he smooths his hand comfortingly over Xingqiu’s abused ass, pressing down just slightly to see the way his hips grind desperately against nothing. “I, um,” he mumbles, “fifteen?”
“Correct. Good boy,” Chongyun says, and Xingqiu whines, high and needy, his breath landing in hot puffs against Chongyun’s leg. “How many more, Xingqiu?” Xingqiu chokes out five like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to remember. Chongyun rubs his palms in small circles just under the angry red of his ass, urging him to relax, to come back to reality just a little bit. “Can you count for me?”
Xingqiu nods, chin bumping against the outside of Chongyun’s thigh—it’s clear as day, but Chongyun taught him better than that. He slides the hand on his legs all the way up the length of his body, pressing down to make his callouses scrape meanly across oversensitive skin, following the enticing curve of his spine to take up a fistful of soft, silky hair. The grip is firm without being painful, but Xingqiu gasps like he’s been shot, spit-slick lips parting around the sound in a way that makes Chongyun’s blood course hot through him. “I asked you a question, Xingqiu. Can you count for me?”
“Yes, yes,” Xingqiu pants out, swallowing heavily around a sniffle. “I’ll, I’ll count, just, please, Yunyun, please.” Chongyun gently releases the hair in his hand as he guides Xingqiu’s head to rest back against his leg. Xingqiu turns to look at him, and were Chongyun any less, he would’ve come in his pants right then and there. He looks fucked-out, even though there hasn’t even been anything in him; his eyes are hazy and unfocused, his slick, open lips bitten a ruddy red, an embarrassed flush on his cheeks decorated by wet, glistening tear tracks, and eyes brimming with ever more. Chongyun thinks Xingqiu knows how much he loves to watch him fall apart—they’ve never been able to keep anything from each other, anyways.
“Thank you,” Chongyun murmurs. Xingqiu shivers and whines and arches his back, his dripping, neglected cock rubbing against Chongyun’s thigh as he does, and that’s when Chongyun brings his hand down on red, red skin with a sharp smack! Xingqiu’s pupils blow wide as his whole body spasms and shakes at the shock of it. Those plush lips form a perfect little o, and the one! that falls from them sounds like it’s been surprised out of him. Chongyun wonders if Xingqiu knows what he really does to him, allowing him to indulge himself like this, and enjoying it so much.
“So pretty,” he murmurs absentmindedly, and Xingqiu moans, high and breathy, leaking pearly precum onto the floor beneath their feet. Chongyun spanks Xingqiu hard and fast four more times, and once he warbles out five, he’s sobbing openly around needy, barely incomprehensible begs of Yunyun, and please, making a mess of the carpet and rutting desperately against Chongyun’s thigh, chasing friction that they both know won’t be enough to satisfy him.
“Yunyun,” Xingqiu’s face is a mess of spit and tears as he writhes on his lap, “I, I want, I need, ah! Yunyun, please, please,” he babbles. Chongyun shifts almost imperceptibly to relieve some of the strain of his cock against his pants—he’ll deal with that after Xingqiu finishes. After he makes Xingqiu finish. His hand is pale where it rests gently atop Xingqiu’s ravaged ass. Mine.
“What do you want, Xingqiu? You did so well,” Chongyun murmurs appreciatively. “Do you want my mouth?” Xingqiu shakes his head. “My cock?” He shakes his head again—Chongyun doubts either of them would’ve lasted that long anyway. “My hands?” Xingqiu whines and grinds harder into his thigh. “You want me to stretch you open on my fingers until you come? Is that what you want?” He nods. Chongyun knows he should make him say yes, but he’s been so good that he forgoes his mean streak just this once in favor of indulging him. He grabs a vial of oil he’d put within arm’s reach as soon as Xingqiu had asked (so shyly, so demurely) to be bent over and spanked until he saw stars, pops it open and lets it drizzle down three of his fingers before carefully spreading Xingqiu apart and smearing the excess slick across his hole. The oil is tossed somewhere among a pile of pillows.
Xingqiu makes the most delicious noise when Chongyun’s first finger slips past his puckered rim, a moan caught on the edge of a gasp that drives him wild. Soon, he’s got two fingers knuckle-deep in that tight, velvety heat, his other hand kneading Xingqiu’s sensitive ass, pressing down on his own handprints to make Xingqiu’s legs tremble and his whines grow louder. He works in a third, and it’s a tight squeeze, but he knows Xingqiu likes the burn, likes to feel a little used.
“Does that feel good?” Chongyun asks. Xingqiu is scrabbling weakly at his pant leg, drool soaking into the fabric as he shakes, cheeks aflame, eyes half-lidded and glassy.
“F…full,” he manages. Chongyun shoves his fingers in a little farther punch another sound out from him, pumping them in and out at a pace fast enough to keep him breathless but slow enough to keep him from finishing. Xingqiu’s brow furrows, frustrated, and he grinds back against Chongyun’s hand. Chongyun stops moving, and a tear falls from Xingqiu’s lashes to trail down his cheek.
“Do you want to come?”
“Yes, Yunyun, please!” Xingqiu cries, and Chongyun is helpless to do anything but make him.
“Then, come for me.” He presses hard against Xingqiu’s prostate, relishing in the way he screams, his whole body going taut as he finally finishes, sobbing as Chongyun milks him dry until he’s nothing more than a trembling, whimpering mess.
In the blink of an eye, Chongyun has him swaddled in an enormous plush blanket, propped up like royalty on a mountain of pillows as he frantically searches through his drawers for something soothing to put on Xingqiu’s poor, bruised ass. It doesn’t take him long to find a tube of ointment (that will need to be replaced embarrassingly soon), and immediately he returns to Xingqiu’s side, peppering his face with kisses and telling him how well he did, how good he was.
“Thank you,” Xingqiu murmurs, once he’s returned to himself. Moments like this always make Chongyun’s heart flutter—he can’t believe he’s so lucky to have Xingqiu all to himself.
“Of course,” Chongyun says.
“Wait, what about you?”
“…Don’t worry about it.”
“Chongyun!”