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They’re not—Liu Qingge isn’t—it’s complicated.
Shen Qingqiu has been married to Luo Binghe for two years. For two years, Liu Qingge has watched the relationship between Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe morph from something intense and passionate to something more tempered.
That isn’t to say that Luo Binghe is any less in love with Shen Qingqiu than the day they were wed, and that isn’t to say that Shen Qingqiu is any less head-over-heels for his demon husband; quite the opposite. Liu Qingge can testify that they are still disgustingly in love with each other. After all, he has witnessed it first hand.
Liu Qingge is the newest addition to their marriage. Okay. So. He’s not married to them. But they’re engaged. Sort of. It’s… complicated.
Shen Qingqiu has been the most enthusiastic proponent of this. Liu Qingge looks down at his left hand. A gold band, unassuming yet tasteful, is fitted snugly to the circumference of his fourth finger. Inlaid in the metal is a sparkling diamond. It refracts the light that passes through it, casting miniature rainbows onto the wall of his bedroom like droplets of water on a window.
It’s not that Luo Binghe doesn’t want to get married. When Shen Qingqiu had told Liu Qingge their decision (because it had been their decision, not just Shen Qingqiu’s), Luo Binghe had taken Liu Qingge’s hand and slid the ring onto it. He had cooked a meal for Liu Qingge. He had fucked Liu Qingge into the mattress.
But Luo Binghe has yet to say “I love you.”
Shen Qingqiu doesn’t know. When they’re tangled together, the sunset long past them, sweat beading on their temples as pleasure wells up in their chests, Shen Qingqiu often gasps his love for them. For Shen Qingqiu, affection comes as easily as calligraphy. He’s practically brimming with it, like a teapot that has been overfilled.
At times like those, it’s easy for Luo Binghe to just—agree with his husband. It’s easy for him to slide in a “Yes, Shizun is right,” as his cock hits all the right places inside of Liu Qingge. It’s easy for him to nod wordlessly when Shen Qingqiu chokes out a “Love you, Qingge—fuck! Ah, right there—fuck, Qingge, fuck—” as they cum together.
But Luo Binghe has never said it properly to him. As per usual, something inside of Liu Qingge twinges. He places a hand over his heart and frowns. This isn’t the first time Liu Qingge has had this feeling. It has been popping up more and more, recently. It’s the little things that make the feeling surface.
Things like how Luo Binghe never treats Shen Qingqiu with anything less than respect, but happily degrades Liu Qingge until his face is crimson with shame. How Luo Binghe always makes sure to place an extra portion of bok choy in Shen Qingqiu’s bowl, but never Liu Qingge’s. How Luo Binghe refuses to spar his Shizun lest he injure his teacher, but never holds back against Liu Qingge, no matter the risk.
Liu Qingge doesn’t want Luo Binghe to hold back against him during a fight. The thought makes him angry. Which is why he’s particularly confused about that last one. Why would he want that, but not want that, but…?
Liu Qingge tires of thinking, and decides to focus on doing .
The flight to Qing Jing Peak is short enough. Liu Qingge has the route memorised by now. Wind whips through his hair, sharp as knives, as he streaks through the sky like an arrow. At the sight of the Bamboo House over the rows of bamboo, Liu Qingge dives.
He alights from his sword without much preamble, Cheng Luan giving one last pulse of white before settling into its sheath. Liu Qingge marches up to the entrance and raps his knuckles against the wood. No response.
They must be out on Demon Lord Duty, or whatever Luo Binghe does in the demon realm, Liu Qingge decides, and places his hand against the door. He lets himself relax, the tension of the flight slowly melting from his shoulders as he releases a ripple of qi. The doors open.
The Bamboo House is neat in its messiness.
Shen Qingqiu’s paraphernalia leaves a trail around the house, subtly cleaned by Luo Binghe’s caring hands. Liu Qingge can see it in the way Shen Qingqiu’s bestiaries have been stacked into a neat pile, and how Shen Qingqiu’s writing set is out but arranged in straight rows.
There are Shen Qingqiu’s favourite cushions strewn about (though each set has been placed together). Luo Binghe’s chair is where it always is, next to Shen Qingqiu’s. Liu Qingge sees his own chair, on the opposite side of the table. It makes his stomach clench.
It’s so petty . He feels like a disciple all over again, kicking Xiu Ya down from where it had been resting just to get Shen Qingqiu to pay attention to him. Liu Qingge grips the edge of his seat, the only light in the Bamboo House coming from the moon outside. It warps the furniture that should be familiar to him, casting everything in a near-opalescent glow.
That’s why Liu Qingge trips over it.
It’s Luo Binghe’s outer robes. Or rather, one set of many. Luo Binghe always wears the same kind of outer robes; black, black as midnight, with red embroidery along the hems. The collars are high, with the heavenly demon sigil sewn into them on either side. There’s a golden frog clasp at the neck, and more running down the lapels for colder days.
It smells like him. The thought takes Liu Qingge aback. It’s true, though. The robes are infused with the scent of Luo Binghe—his musk. Liu Qingge would normally abstain from describing the smell as such, but that’s the most fitting descriptor he can think of. Luo Binghe is musky . He smells like smoke, his scent pungent and all-encompassing. Liu Qingge likes it.
Liu Qingge likes it a bit too much.
He curses as he feels his blood rush south. His dick presses against the fabric of his pants, the material tenting obscenely as he yanks the outer robes up from the ground. They’re not here. Luo Binghe is probably making love to Shen Qingqiu in his opulent palace in the demon realm.
And doesn’t that thought hurt? It nearly makes Liu Qingge’s arousal dim, but the scent of Luo Binghe has his dick aching. He indulges himself. After all, Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe likely won’t return until tomorrow. That smokiness he’s been craving is now pressed against his face, to the point that it’s almost painful. Liu Qingge takes a big, greedy inhale of it, eyes fluttering shut as he lets the heady smell of sweat and fire sink into his bones.
He finds himself on the floor. The door is cracked open just a sliver—open enough to let moonlight through, but closed enough to provide some semblance of privacy. The notion of getting caught, perhaps by Shen Qingqiu, heats the blood in Liu Qingge’s veins. He rolls onto his back and lets the robes cover him entirely.
He doesn’t mean to, not really. One moment, he’s inhaling like a diver starved for air, and the next, he has the fabric in his mouth. The material is thick—expensive. Liu Qingge laves at it, his tongue revelling in the feeling of something foreign, something novel. It tastes good. The thought fills Liu Qingge with shame.
He doesn’t stop.
He can’t. It’s like he’s an animal, his head empty save for one singular thought: Luo Binghe. Liu Qingge scrambles up onto one of the daybeds in the Bamboo House’s receiving room and groans as he’s finally able to get comfortable and focus wholly on his pleasure. Luo Binghe’s robes are heavy—heavy and thick enough for Liu Qingge to bunch up between his legs and grind on.
It’s easier not to let himself think. Thinking leads to feeling, and feeling leads to losing his erection. Liu Qingge needs this; needs to feel good, even if it’s only for a little while. He wants to pretend, if only for an hour, that Luo Binghe—
He can’t let himself finish the sentence.
So Liu Qingge tightens his thighs around the robes and rocks his hips, an aborted moan strangled from him as the fabric presses just right against his clothed dick. The cushions behind him shift and fall into disarray as his body jerks wantonly. Liu Qingge arches into the fabric, Luo Binghe’s scent bittersweet in his mouth. It assaults his olfactory senses, curls through his nose, until he’s half-mad with need .
He’s so busy stifling his moans with the robes that he doesn’t notice the door open wider, and footsteps come to an abrupt halt. “Liu Qingge?” comes an incredulous voice. Liu Qingge falls off the daybed.
“Liu Qingge?” the voice repeats, and Liu Qingge has about five seconds to make himself presentable before Luo Binghe figures out what’s going on, before he sits down next to Liu Qingge, before that horrible grin creeps into his voice—
“Shishu,” Luo Binghe purrs, sitting down next to Liu Qingge. “Was Shishu lonely, while this Binghe and Shizun were gone? Does Shishu need a reminder,” Luo Binghe whispered, placing a hot hand on Liu Qingge’s tense thigh, “of who he belongs to?”
Suddenly, Liu Qingge is being flipped onto his back. Sure hands make quick work of his robes, the ties at the side coming loose in a matter of seconds. Luo Binghe noticeably does not touch the outer robes, still threaded between Liu Qingge’s legs. His eyes linger on them, then flick up to meet Liu Qingge’s own.
“What do we have here?” Luo Binghe murmurs, and he probably meant for his words to come out a little more aloof, but a hint of genuine shock seeps through. Liu Qingge wishes for the ground to open up beneath him and swallow him whole. Stupid! Stupid, stupid, Liu Qingge shouts at himself, finally finding the strength to struggle.
Shen Qingqiu is nowhere to be seen, which likely means he’s still busy with some sort of Peak Lord business, or wrangling Peak Lord Shang into field research that will have the both of them away from the mountain until the early hours. Luo Binghe seems to know this already, because there is no hesitation in the way he lifts Liu Qingge onto his lap.
“Stop struggling, Shishu,” Luo Binghe grins, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Liu Qingge’s neck. He shudders at the sensation, both wet and warm. He can’t think about Luo Binghe’s mouth. If he does, his brain will take him to places he’d rather not go. Especially not while he’s sitting in Luo Binghe’s lap.
For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of Luo Binghe mouthing at Liu Qingge’s neck as his clothes are stripped from his body. Soon, Liu Qingge is wearing nothing but the accursed set of robes that began the whole ordeal. Luo Binghe has draped it around his shoulders as if Liu Qingge is some sort of deflowered maiden. The thought bothers Liu Qingge less than it should.
Wandering hands draw him out of his thoughts and into the present. Liu Qingge holds back a noise as Luo Binghe’s fingers curl around his cock. He thumbs at the tip, fangs ghosting over Liu Qingge’s neck in the silhouette of his grin when Liu Qingge whimpers. He doesn’t mean to! It’s just—Luo Binghe. It’s all his fault.
Luo Binghe pulls back for the amount of time that it takes him to fasten a singular frog clasp around Liu Qingge’s neck, then he’s reaching into his sleeve for—
“Shameless!” Liu Qingge hisses, arms tensing around Luo Binghe’s neck. Luo Binghe just huffs a laugh, fingers drenched in the oil from the bottle he’s just pulled from his robes.
“Would you prefer it to hurt, Shishu?” Luo Binghe murmurs, his fingers inching their way down Liu Qingge’s back. He arches into it, hating how easily Luo Binghe can manipulate his body. Thick fingers brush at his entrance, and Liu Qinge jolts. Luo Binghe mumbles soothing nonsense, his clean hand rubbing Liu Qingge’s back as he begins to delve into Liu Qingge’s hole.
It’s tight.
They haven’t fucked for over a week. Normally, Luo Binghe takes his time in preparing Liu Qingge for sex, but they’re both too horny to care about things like foreplay, it seems. Liu Qingge would rather die than admit it, but the tightness that borders on pain when they fuck for the first time after a while sends a spark of heat running through his abdomen.
Luo Binghe’s fingers make an obscene sound as they move in and out of Liu Qingge’s hole. Luo Binghe grins against Liu Qingge’s neck, alternating between kissing and biting the sensitive skin there. The silence of the Bamboo House would be cloying if not for the pants that Luo Binghe is allowing to escape his mouth, and Liu Qingge’s own poorly-disguised moans.
“Shishu is so tight,” Luo Binghe chokes, fingers stuttering inside of Liu Qingge as he pauses his ministrations in favour of grinding against Liu Qingge’s hip. He’s hard, Liu Qingge thinks blankly, and the thought really shouldn’t be so shocking, but it shocks Liu Qingge like he’s been struck by lightning. He gasps with it, the realisation overwhelming him.
Luo Binghe perks up at Liu Qingge’s intake of breath. “Oh? Does Shishu like that?” Luo Binghe smirks, pressing up until he touches the spot that has Liu Qingge squirming. Merciless, Luo Binghe massages that same spot, his other hand dragging Liu Qingge’s hips flush to his own. Liu Qingge bites the inside of his cheek. At this rate, he’ll rival the Warm Red Pavillion’s top-ranked whore.
Their cocks brush against each other, and both of them groan. Luo Binghe has a hand on Liu Qingge’s hip, his touch searing against Liu Qingge’s skin. Already, pre-cum is beading at the tip of Liu Qingge’s dick. Shame floods Liu Qingge like a tidal wave, and he looks away, hooking his chin over Luo Binghe’s shoulder. At least, this way, he doesn’t have to look Luo Binghe in the face.
One finger becomes two, and two fingers become three. By the time Luo Binghe adds the fourth finger, Liu Qingge is rocking himself back on the digits, his vision half-blurred as he makes little ‘ah, ah, ah’ s in time with the movement of Luo Binghe’s hand. “That’s it, Shishu,” Luo Binghe encourages, ramping up the pace of his fingers.
Liu Qingge cries out, slumping over Luo Binghe’s chest as the sound of Luo Binghe’s hand slapping against his ass grows louder. It’s disgusting. It’s depraved. Liu Qingge loves it. He can feel the oil dripping down his taint and onto Luo Binghe’s day robes. He hopes it stains. He hopes Luo Binghe doesn’t notice and wears the robes tomorrow.
When Luo Binghe’s fingers slide out of him, Liu Qingge nearly reaches back to slide them back in. Luo Binghe laughs at the whine that escapes him. “Patience, Shishu. This Binghe will satisfy you soon.” There’s a rustle of fabric, and something soft falls to the ground. His pants, Liu Qingge thinks distantly, and readies himself.
The first part is always the hardest. Luo Binghe’s cock is enormous, to the point that it’s almost ludicrous. Liu Qingge had baulked when he first saw it, and had refused to have sex for weeks on end until Shen Qingqiu had wheedled him into trying, and—
Liu Qingge flushes crimson. Don’t think about it! he shrieks at himself, but it’s already too late, because the feeling of Luo Binghe’s dick against his hole has already reminded Liu Qingge of his first time having sex with Shen Qingqiu’s husband. Liu Qingge remembers the stretch—what he’s feeling now is a mere shadow of what he dealt with the first time—and the way Luo Binghe’s face had scrunched up in bliss.
Of course, the memory is tinged with a little bit of pain, too. Not the physical kind (although Liu Qingge had definitely felt it the next morning). No, as Luo Binghe pushes into him now and curses softly under his breath, all Liu Qingge can think about is what Luo Binghe had said the first time.
“Shizun!”
Always Shen Qingqiu. Liu Qingge couldn’t bring himself to mind, because he loves Shen Qingqiu too. It’s only natural to love someone like that. Exactly, the insidious voice inside his mind supplies. Shen Qingqiu is easy to love where you are not. Sex should be enough, Liu Qingge—why do you hope for more? Pathetic!
He shakes away the thought and bites down on Luo Binghe’s shoulder. This elicits a laugh from his partner. “Feisty, are we, Shishu? Maybe this venerable one should fuck the insubordination out of you,” Luo Binghe hisses, slamming Liu Qingge down on his cock.
Liu Qingge screams . The movement of their bodies, wired and untameable, is enough to have the daybed creaking with each thrust of Luo Binghe’s hips. Liu Qingge has lost track of what’s coming out of his mouth. Tomorrow morning, Luo Binghe will make fun of him like he always does. For now, Liu Qingge would rather preserve the line of heat that courses through his body than worry about what his bedmate has to say.
Clawed fingers dig into the meat of Liu Qingge’s thighs. Luo Binghe is mumbling nonsense into his shoulder, eyes shut as he lets his baser instincts wash over him. Liu Qingge grips onto the expanse of corded muscles that is Luo Binghe’s back and takes everything the demon is giving him. Luo Binghe’s dick feels unimaginably large. If he fucks me any harder, I think I’ll feel it in my throat, Liu Qingge thinks, and he isn’t joking.
Luo Binghe always cums like a hot spring bursting, and his pre-cum is nothing to sneer at, either. Liu Qingge can feel it webbing between his ass and Luo Binghe’s thighs as the demon drags him up and down his dick. The hot length twitches inside of him when Liu Qingge tightens on the way up. Luo Binghe moans unabashedly, fingers tightening to the point of bruising when Liu Qingge’s legs tighten around his waist.
“Shit,” Luo Binghe curses, and there’s no warning before he stands up .
“Wha—Luo Binghe!” Liu Qingge yelps, clinging to Luo Binghe’s front as he walks over to a wall.
“Shishu looked like he needed a little more support,” Luo Binghe grins, grinding up into Liu Qingge. They both moan at that, a fire lighting in the base of Liu Qingge’s stomach as Luo Binghe begins pistoning in and out of his hole. It squelches with every slap of Luo Binghe’s hips, the sound only serving to darken the blush on Liu Qingge’s cheeks.
Luo Binghe’s hands are locked in a vice-grip around Liu Qingge’s waist. They press down under his ribs, Luo Binghe’s thumbs rubbing over the bone that juts out. Then, Luo Binghe uses a hand to press down over Liu Qingge’s abdomen, and he thinks he sees stars. “Ah! Luo—ah,” Liu Qingge weeps, clutching at Luo Binghe’s shoulders. It’s a futile quest for purchase, and Liu Qingge finds his grip slackening as his body relies wholly on Luo Binghe for support.
Luo Binghe’s cock is ramming into Liu Qingge’s prostate. He’s varying the pace now, slowing down when Liu Qingge looks like he’s about to cum, then speeding up again when Liu Qingge starts to regain his sense. It’s torturous. Luo Binghe’s robe is still clasped around his neck. Liu Qingge grabs a handful of clothing and brings it to his nose. He inhales deeply, and his cock jerks against Luo Binghe’s chest.
Luo Binghe pauses. “Does Shishu like my scent?” he murmured, licking the shell of Liu Qingge’s ear. It makes him shiver. “Shishu, do you want to be covered in my scent? Do you want to be filled with it, until you know nothing but my presence?” Luo Binghe hums, hefting Liu Qingge in his arms.
Then, the fucking starts for real.
If Liu Qingge thought Luo Binghe had been going hard before, that was nothing compared to what he was experiencing now. Liu Qingge is sliding up and down the wall as Luo Binghe’s cock rearranges his insides. He gives a shout when Luo Binghe yanks him further down the wall, the slap against his ass bordering on real pain. It’s all he can do to clutch at Luo Binghe and moan as he’s fucked within an inch of his life.
“That’s it, Shishu, so tight—ah, fuck,” Luo Binghe swears, stroking Liu Qingge’s hips. He sucks love bites onto the column of Liu Qingge’s neck, fangs grazing his milk-white skin until it looks like Liu Qingge got mauled by a beast. “Just a hole for me to fuck, hmm?” Luo Binghe smirks, slamming Liu Qingge’s ass down on his dick until Liu Qingge sobs from pleasure.
“What a good hole,” Luo Binghe praises. “What would Shizun say, if he could see you now? This disciple thinks he would be shocked.” Liu Qingge freezes. Luo Binghe doesn’t notice, too wrapped up in whispering things to Liu Qingge while he drags him up and down his cock.
“Shishu—ah—Shishu,” Luo Binghe continues, biting down on Liu Qingge’s shoulder. “Shizun would fuck you so well, fill you up with his cum, leave you wanting,” Luo Binghe continues, “then let me finish the job.” At that last part, Luo Binghe seats Liu Qingge fully on his cock, down to the base, and clutches him to his chest. “I would fuck you,” he groans, lifting Liu Qingge, “just like this, then leave my spend inside you. You’d keep it like a good boy, wouldn’t you, Shishu?”
Liu Qingge does not respond. Something else, something other than pleasure is beginning to creep up on him. He doesn’t know how to feel about it, so he tries to stifle the thought by softly moaning. That seems to spur Luo Binghe on.
“Such a good whore, Shishu,” Luo Binghe sneers, and oh. The feeling is not going away. If anything, it’s getting bigger. Luo Binghe presses Liu Qingge against the wall, fingers tangling in his hair and yanking . “Look at me,” Luo Binghe demands, still fucking Liu Qingge with a single hand to support his full weight.
Liu Qingge looks at him.
“Good,” Luo Binghe smiles, satisfied. “What an obedient hole. So good for me, hmm?” It feels like the world is shaking, when in reality it’s just Liu Qingge’s body quivering from the sheer force with which Binghe is fucking him. Liu Qingge drools, half-incoherent, as Luo Binghe takes and takes and takes.
“Shishu is such a wonderful hole. This one should discuss making Shishu a collar, so that he may know his place,” Luo Binghe grins, biting down on Liu Qingge’s neck. It draws blood. Liu Qingge shrieks, his cock so hard it’s almost painful. He can’t help the thought that filters into his mind. If they mark you like that, at least it means Luo Binghe wants you in some way.
“Yeah,” Liu Qingge mumbles to himself, “wants… me.” He looks at Luo Binghe, who has his eyes closed. They’re both panting. Luo Binghe has rivulets of sweat dripping down his temples, fangs fully extended as he chokes out a moan. Liu Qingge whimpers when the hand that was in his hair comes down to wrap around his cock.
“Does the hole want to cum?” Luo Binghe growls, calloused thumb rubbing under the head of Liu Qingge’s dick until he’s openly sobbing from overstimulation. “Maybe I should make him cum with this,” and Liu Qingge’s eyes widen, because—what the fuck?
Luo Binghe takes the edge of his outer robes and spits on it. Maintaining eye contact, Luo Binghe brings the material to Liu Qingge’s cock, then begins jacking Liu Qingge off. With the outer robes. Heat floods Liu Qingge’s cheeks and bleeds down his neck as he tries to yank the robe off his dick. “Luo Binghe!” he hisses, tugging on the robe.
“Liu Qingge,” Luo Binghe replies, voice teasing. “Shishu will cum like this, or not at all,” Luo Binghe says imperiously, then twists his hand. Liu Qingge throws his head back and moans . Luo Binghe’s hand is hot, and large, and tight around his cock, and Liu Qingge won’t be able to hold on for much longer before he—
“Fuck, I love—”
Liu Qingge cums.
He cums . It goes everywhere; onto Luo Binghe’s chest, onto his own chest, all over the outer robes, onto the floor, even in Luo Binghe’s hair . Luo Binghe blinks, genuine shock ripping across his features as Liu Qingge continues to cum. Speechless, he reaches up to wipe the cum out of his hair. “Shishu, you—”
“Don’t,” Liu Qingge chokes, covering his face. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I thought—it sounded like—fuck. With a start, Liu Qingge realises the feeling is back with a vengeance. It coils through him; a snake waiting to strike. “Keep going,” Liu Qingge snaps, purposefully tightening around Luo Binghe’s cock. With a gasp, Luo Binghe’s hips jerk, and he starts to move again.
“So needy, Shishu,” Luo Binghe laughs, rubbing at Liu Qingge’s tummy. “Does Shishu want to make sure this disciple is sated?” Liu Qingge does not dignify that with a response, and buries his head into Luo Binghe’s shoulder. “I asked Shishu a question,” Luo Binghe whispers, his voice taking on a dangerous tone.
When Liu Qingge still refuses to respond, Luo Binghe gives a dry laugh. “As Shishu wishes.”
His hole is already rubbed raw from the first round, so when Luo Binghe ramps up the pace again, Liu Qingge’s brows furrow. The pain… is starting to lose its pleasurableness. It’s not that it’s too painful—Liu Qingge. He likes the pain. It’s hard to admit it (and he’d never say it out loud) but in the comfort of his own consciousness, he can say it.
It’s not pleasurable, because… Luo Binghe isn’t treating him how he’d treat Shen Qingqiu. Liu Qingge is back at that roadblock again. He grits his teeth, hips rolling as he tries to adjust himself. Luo Binghe’s grip on his waist tightens. “Good boys stay still,” Luo Binghe hisses, giving quick little thrusts that don’t really sate Liu Qingge’s arousal, so much as tease him into the realm of overstimulation again.
“Luo—Binghe,” Liu Qingge gasps, scrabbling at the demon’s back as he starts to fuck him harder.
“Shishu likes it like this, no?” Luo Binghe smirks. The sound of their joining echoes through the Bamboo House, each slap wetter and messier as Luo Binghe leaks pre-cum like an overfilled bathtub. The way Luo Binghe kisses him is more like he’s trying to gnaw his lips off than actually kiss him.
“Shishu likes being my toy, my perfect little hole,” Luo Binghe cooes, gripping Liu Qingge’s chin. “Just for me and Shizun to use, hmm? Our fucktoy.” Liu Qingge goes rigid. Their fucktoy, his brain repeats. That’s all you are.
Liu Qingge bursts into tears.
He sobs, the cries wracking his body as he curls in on himself. It’s shameful, being weak like this, but Liu Qingge can’t help himself. Letting himself weep like a child is cathartic. He’s crying so hard he almost doesn’t register Luo Binghe stop moving. “Liu Qingge? Shishu, are you okay?” Luo Binghe says worriedly. Worried? Why would he be worried? Liu Qingge thinks disjointedly.
Light floods the room when Luo Binghe shoots a burst of qi at the lanterns lining the walls. “Shishu,” Luo Binghe says again, and that’s definitely concern in his tone. When he tries to move them away from the wall, Liu Qingge clings to Luo Binghe all the tighter.
“No,” he cries, gripping at the ‘v’ of Luo Binghe’s day robes. “No,” he repeats desperately, vision so blurred by tears that he can hardly make out Luo Binghe’s features.
“Shh, Shushu, let’s sit down,” Luo Binghe whispers, sounding panicked as he walks back to the daybed. He covers them both in the outer robes that started the whole mess. Liu Qingge still takes comfort in the scent that now surrounds him, even as he tries to force himself to come to terms with the fact that—
He’s ruined everything.
They’re going to call off the marriage. Shen Qingqiu will want his pretty ring back, Liu Qingge thinks, gripping his left hand. He fumbles with the ring, fingers clumsily trying to twist it off his fourth finger. Luo Binghe catches his hands, warm fingers loosening the grip Liu Qingge has on the ring. “Shushu, what are you doing?”
Why does he sound so shaken? Liu Qingge wonders, straining against Luo Binghe’s grip. Luo Binghe doesn’t let go, so Liu Qingge gives up. The whispered “Shushu,” that comes out of Luo Binghe’s mouth is as reverent as it is broken. “This one will take care of his Shushu,” Luo Binghe mumbles, cupping a hand around the back of Liu Qingge’s head. Carefully, as if Liu Qingge is something that should be treasured, Luo Binghe brings his head to rest on a muscular shoulder.
They stay like that for an indeterminate amount of time, Luo Binghe stroking the back of Liu Qingge’s head, Liu Qingge slowly sorting through the mess that is his mind. Everything feels viscous, like he’s accidentally spilled honey all over himself. He can’t make sense of what just happened, so he just—sits there. Lets Luo Binghe administer soft touches that are foreign to him and his body both, and breathes.
When Liu Qingge shifts, he freezes. Luo Binghe is going soft inside him. Unbidden, he whines. The sound comes out of him against his will. Luo Binghe blinks and looks down at him, a crinkle between his brows. “Shushu? What’s the matter?” he says, and God, his voice is painfully soft. Liu Qingge can’t—he can’t—
“No-o,” he whimpers, a tear rolling down his cheek as he gazes up at Luo Binghe imploringly. Desperate, Liu Qingge tightens around Luo Binghe’s thick length, his hips rolling in little circles. Get hard—get—why won’t he get hard? Liu Qingge sobs to himself, fingers sliding down Luo Binghe’s chest as he starts crying all over again.
It’s utterly humiliating. He hates himself for every cry that shudders through his chest, for every tear that drips from his chin onto Luo Binghe’s tanned skin. Vaguely, Liu Qingge feels his face being lifted up. “Shushu, why are you—what’s wrong, Shushu? Please tell this Binghe, hmm? Whatever it is, this one will do his best to make it better, okay?” Luo Binghe soothes, swiping away Liu Qingge’s tears with his thumbs.
“I can’t do it!” Liu Qingge explodes, the last word devolving into more pathetic sobs as he hangs his head. Soon, Luo Binghe’s arms are covered in a mixture of Liu Qingge’s tears and snot. It’s disgusting. He wants to go back in time and stay on Bai Zhan Peak, where he belongs. At least, that way, he would have avoided making a total fool of himself.
“Can’t do what?” Luo Binghe coaxes, a hand on the back of Liu Qingge’s neck as the other one rubs a calming line up and down his spine. Liu Qingge hiccups.
“Can’t—love—” Liu Qingge manages, then coughs. Luo Binghe rubs his back, hushing him as he has a coughing fit. Liu Qingge swallows thickly and buries his face into Luo Binghe’s chest. “Can’t even be a good sex toy,” Liu Qingge mumbles, tiredness hitting him like a mallet to the head.
Luo Binghe’s hands go very, very still. “Shushu—what do you mean by that?” he asks carefully.
Liu Qingge snuffles against Luo Binghe’s skin. “Couldn’t make you cum.”
Luo Binghe presses a kiss to the top of his head. “That’s okay, Shushu. I don’t want to cum if you aren’t enjoying it.”
Liu Qingge looks up sharply. “Then what’s the point?” he hisses. There’s silence.
“Shushu, wha—”
“What’s the point if you don’t enjoy it? Why do you keep me around, if not to cum?” Liu Qingge bursts, fingers digging into Luo Binghe’s arms. Luo Binghe frowns at that, his strong brows downturned in a ‘v’.
“Baobei,” he starts. Liu Qingge makes a noise so pathetic it has his entire face flushing scarlet.
“Shushu. This one has been too cowardly to express how he truly feels before now. He apologises for his mistake,” Luo Binghe whispers. Before Liu Qingge can fixate on the word “mistake”, Luo Binghe dips down and presses the chastest of kisses to his lips. He lingers there for a moment, breath ghosting over Liu Qingge’s skin. He feels goosebumps rise along his arms and neck. “I love you,” Luo Binghe says, his tone bordering on pained. “I love you, Qingge. I am sorry for not saying it sooner.”
Liu Qingge feels tears slip down his cheeks, which are still blotchy from his earlier crying, and ruddy from his shame. “Oh, Shushu,” Luo Binghe breathes, cleaning away his tears with the corner of his sleeve. “We both love you. I love you so much. We can—I’ll be softer next time, okay? I won’t stop the—the fun part,” Luo Binghe interrupts Liu Qingge’s protests with a smile.
“We can still—do all that bit,” Luo Binghe murmurs, a whisper of heat entering his voice. Liu Qingge shivers imperceptibly, and breathes in Luo Binghe’s scent. “But I want Qingge to know that he is loved by this one.” The use of his name has Liu Qingge sucking in a breath.
Luo Binghe huffs a laugh. “This one has not had the courage to tell Shushu how he feels until now, but is glad he has finally told him. Does Shushu want a bath?” Liu Qingge nods against Luo Binghe’s shoulder, too tired to actually say anything.
With a little ‘oof’, Luo Binghe stands, grinning when Liu Qingge tightens his ankles around Luo Binghe’s waist. “I will pleasure Shushu properly later,” Luo Binghe promises. “For now, let’s get clean.”
Later, as Luo Binghe swallows down Liu Qingge’s cock, Liu Qingge can finally gasp “Binghe—ah! I love—you—Binghe!”
Liu Qingge can finally bury his hands in Luo Binghe’s thick curls and moan his name with abandon. Liu Qingge can finally chant “I love you, I love you, I—fuck—I love you,” as he cums down Binghe’s throat.
And Binghe licks the cum from the side of the mouth, a grin on his face as he swallows everything Liu Qingge has given him. “I love you too, Qingge,” he says, as they fall into bed together and tangle their limbs under the covers.
Later, Shen Qingqiu will return to his husband and fiance slumbering. He will sit down on the bed, a warmth settling deep in his chest as he watches the rise and fall of their chests, Luo Binghe’s back pressed to Liu Qingge’s front, Liu Qingge’s arm thrown over Binghe’s waist, both of them as close together as possible.
He’ll join them, and smile.