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Zang Hai directed him to sit on the edge of the bath wall. Without fanfare, he pushed his legs apart by the knees and situated himself between them. It still made Zhixing blush, even though it was far from the first time, how straightforward Zang Hai was. Zang Hai lowered his face to Zhixing’s stomach and kissed a line down to his cock, skimming past it to press his lips to the inside of his thigh. The ticklish skin there twitched at the first brush, then yielded to the attention. He kissed him gently, sure not to leave a mark, which Zhixing was grateful for. Privacy in any form had become much less guaranteed since he had begun his military service. Zang Hai caressed his other thigh with his hand, leaving behind drops of water where they clung to the thin hair. Zhixing’s eyelashes fluttered as Zang Hai nipped at the sensitive skin right at the join of his hip.
Zang Hai pulled back slightly so that he could meet Zhixing’s eyes. When Zang Hai looked up at him through his long lashes with plain devotion, Zhixing’s breath caught in his throat. He reached out to thumb over the beautiful dark freckle just below Zang Hai’s lip. His eyes flicked down, making him look so submissive. Turning his head, he kissed Zhixing’s palm, and Zhixing almost couldn’t bear how tender it was. The edges of his short nails landed against the underside of Zang Hai’s jaw, soft and unprotected, as Zang Hai’s lips grazed the beginning of his wrist.
A small ripple of water lapped against Zhixing’s legs when Zang Hai ducked away and brought his hand up to delicately touch Zhixing’s cock. His warm fingers grazed up the length and pointedly ran over the slit. Zang Hai stroked him like that, teasingly light, a few times until he finally closed a real grip around the base. He moved his hand only shallowly, leaving room for himself to lean down and kiss the side of his cock up to the head, which he took into his mouth. Zhixing moaned quietly as Zang Hai’s smooth, lush lips slid around him. His tongue was a comforting pillow, and Zhixing’s dick twitched when Zang Hai lightly sucked at him. Zang Hai held him there, stroking the base of his cock and delicately mouthing at the head until Zhixing was fully hard. Dark eyes meeting his own, Zang Hai pulled off of him with a wet pop.
Zhixing let out a disappointed sound, but he didn’t have to wait more than a couple seconds before Zang Hai put his lips back on him. He licked and kissed and sucked on his balls, making Zhixing gasp and squirm in pleasure. Zang Hai was still looking up at him, and something about seeing his handsome, constantly guarded face being put to use sucking on his balls really did it for Zhixing. It was honestly so demeaning, and Zhixing was caught in a strange combination of embarrassment and uncontrollable lust while watching him.
Zang Hai let his eyelids droop closed for a moment as he gave a few parting kisses to Zhixing’s balls. Then he licked a long stripe up the underside of Zhixing’s cock and flicked his gaze back up to his face right before enveloping his mouth around him completely and taking him down until his nose hit Zhixing’s body. Zhixing let out a yelp of a moan, his abdomen tensing at the tingling wave of pleasure. Zang Hai didn’t stay in place long, and he started to blow him in earnest, enthusiastically bobbing his head as he did.
A little furrow of concentration appeared between Zang Hai’s brows each time he took him deeper. His hand worked everything he didn’t have in his mouth at a given time, splaying out flat to make space when he sank close enough to the base. He made wet slurping sounds as he moved. Zhixing felt like the utter corporeality of it should have grossed him out, and maybe it would’ve without actively having a tongue on his dick, but regardless, it did not. It only made him hornier to think about the raw, vulgar nature of what Zang Hai was doing to him. Sex reduced them to just animals, uncritically and shamelessly compelled to chase after pleasure. He could forget, for once, that he was supposed to be a dignified son of proper standing, and that Zang Hai was supposed to be a cruel deceiver. It was just them as bodies, as nothing.
Zang Hai sucked on Zhixing hard, his cheeks visibly hollowing, at the same time as he skillfully dragged his tongue along the underside of his cock. Zhixing moaned loudly and swooned over him. There was a definite twinkle of amused pride in Zang Hai’s eyes as he did. Most of the time, Zhixing felt a bit insecure about his lack of experience compared to Zang Hai, but there was still something exciting about being in bed with someone who had such a sure command over pleasure. Zhixing was always impressed when Zang Hai touched him.
After a few minutes, Zang Hai grabbed one of his hands and demandingly placed it on the back of his head. Zhixing got the message, and even though it flustered him, he curled a fist into Zang Hai’s hair and roughly shoved him down. The moan Zang Hai let out around his cock was obscene, and Zhixing could feel the vibrations of it. He dragged Zang Hai back up and then down again, forcing him to take it at an unforgiving pace. Not wanting to look away from Zang Hai, Zhixing fought the urge to let his head tip back in pleasure. The luxurious, wet heat of his mouth felt like it was meant for Zhixing to fuck into. He moaned as well, blinking stutteringly down at the picture before him.
Saliva shone on Zang Hai’s lips. A rope of it trailed off as he slackened his jaw to ease the movement, unabashedly messy. He gagged a bit each time Zhixing pushed him all the way down, and he let out muffled whines and moans when Zhixing pulled his hair. As Zhixing settled into a rhythm, Zang Hai became entirely passive in his grip, letting himself be used. Water splashed against Zang Hai’s collarbone. The white light through the window screens rebounded off the water and danced thinly, hypnotically over Zang Hai’s wet skin. His hands were braced against the bath wall between Zhixing’s legs with his fingers curled over the corner. Zang Hai didn’t move to touch Zhixing or himself; he didn’t do anything but receive.
Zhixing let out little noises of pleasure while he fucked Zang Hai’s face. It was just as good as actually fucking him, and it made his toes curl and his hips rock of their own accord. Without thinking, he grabbed and clawed at Zang Hai’s shoulder with his free hand to ground himself. White marks sprang up underneath his nails and flushed into smarting red. Zhixing swore to himself, immediately guilty for scratching him, but Zang Hai didn’t seem to react. Even so, Zhixing removed the offending hand and held the side of Zang Hai’s head instead as he continued.
In his urgency, Zhixing accidentally pulled Zang Hai too far back, and his cock slipped out. The air was much cooler than Zang Hai’s mouth, and Zhixing inhaled sharply at the loss of pressure and heat. Zang Hai let his tongue loll out as he mindlessly and clumsily tried to get Zhixing’s cock back into his mouth. Zhixing found it kind of cute, and he couldn’t help but smile as he guided him back down, upon which he sighed.
Zhixing moaned Zang Hai’s name and praised him, calling him so beautiful and perfect and so good, so good. He knew that Zang Hai liked to be insulted in bed as much as he liked to be complimented, but Zhixing never really had the heart to do it. It was so much more natural to adore him, genuinely and wholeheartedly. Zang Hai was pretty and sexy and always, always exactly what he wanted, and it just spilled out of Zhixing’s mouth to tell him so.
Once he was getting dangerously close to finishing, Zhixing pulled Zang Hai off him, which Zang Hai limply accepted. There was a dazed, loose quality to his expression, as if he had lost the ability to think about anything but his face getting fucked. He didn’t even look up at Zhixing while he held him there, his eyes unfocused and cast in the direction of Zhixing’s cock. A thin strand of spit connected it to his parted lips. It was almost unfathomably lewd, though Zhixing couldn’t deny how it made the blood rush to his lower half. As soon as he wasn’t too close to the edge, Zhixing pulled Zang Hai back towards his cock again. Zang Hai received him with ease, eyes falling shut and moaning contentedly as he sank just shy of entering his throat.
Zhixing felt Zang Hai breathe out in a puff through his nose, otherwise perfectly unbothered by holding the position. Seeing the peaceful, unconcerned look on his face was enough to convince Zhixing that Zang Hai could stay there forever. Zhixing pushed him down further, making him take him to the root, in response to which he gurgled happily. Zhixing groaned at the sensation of Zang Hai’s throat squeezing tightly around him, and he felt the muscles work uselessly as Zang Hai tried to swallow. It made Zhixing feel so powerful that he got a bit lightheaded. That for him, Zang Hai would submit to such treatment without complaining—and even vocally enjoy it—was a rush he had nothing to compare to. Half of him was ashamed of how much he liked it, since he didn’t want to think of himself as someone who got off on degrading others, but he couldn’t not feel on top of the world when Zang Hai played the role of his obedient slut.
Only when Zang Hai started to make a frantic whimpering sound did Zhixing let him pull off. Zang Hai gasped for air, then coughed raggedly. Zhixing petted his hair while he did, smoothing the damp strands back into order. Relatively quickly, Zang Hai recovered, and he caught Zhixing off guard by immediately diving back down onto him. Zhixing let out a sound somewhere between a strangled shout and a moan, reflexively making a harsh fist in Zang Hai’s hair. It must have been painful, and Zhixing saw Zang Hai’s fingers tense and scrape against the bath wall while he groaned with his mouth full.
Zang Hai resisted, for the first time, when Zhixing next went to pull him back off of him. It was probably only to make him pull his hair harder, though, because he moaned entirely pornographically when Zhixing yanked him off. Then Zhixing brought him all the way back down, and Zang Hai’s eyes rolled back in his head. Zhixing began to roughly use him again, repeatedly forcing Zang Hai down as far as his body would allow. The tight vise of his throat felt amazing each time he entered it. Zang Hai drooled over him, unable to do much of anything else, making the thrusting slick and easy. Zhixing couldn’t help but curl over him and gasp in overwhelming pleasure. His own hand would never be good enough for him again, since he had learned what this was like.
Zhixing fucked Zang Hai’s face until he came, with a loud cry, down his throat. He held Zang Hai in place, face pressed against his pelvis. Zang Hai choked a bit, but obligingly stayed still. Zhixing barely noticed it anyway, far gone as he was. It felt like he had everything he wanted in the world, for a second.
When he came back down, Zhixing released Zang Hai—who coughed and swallowed wetly, still wearing that dazed expression—and immediately flopped onto his back with a groan. He threw an arm over his face, sprawling the other out to the side, and took a heavy few breaths. The floor was pleasantly cool against his skin, though the air was warm enough to keep him comfortable. Slowly tuning back into the greater world, he smelled the pleasant, clean herbs of the bath and heard the faintest impression of music, drifting up through the windows from somewhere distant on the street. He sighed in satisfaction and relaxed completely.
At some point, Zhixing instilled himself with the motivation to sit up on his elbows. He saw Zang Hai sitting in the water a few feet to the side of his legs, serenely combing his rinsed hair. Zhixing took a moment to observe him. He only noticed the tension that usually held up Zang Hai’s shoulders now that it was absent. The scar on his back was just visible; pale and, as he remembered from running his fingers over it on many nights, slightly raised. Zhixing couldn’t see Zang Hai’s face, but he could imagine the calm splay of his lowered lashes and youthful, untroubled smoothness of his brow. His fingers carded through the sections of his hair after he brushed them out, arranging them neatly.
The comb he used was quite plain, made of simple wood, and looked old. It reminded Zhixing that Zang Hai hadn’t always been such an important figure in the Capital, having spent the past decade of his life as a commoner. They were really so different, the two of them. Zang Hai had no past, no background, no family anymore, while a Zhuang was all Zhixing was and would ever be. And yet here they were together, naked before each other in body and spirit, the exact same age, haunted in parallel by the ghosts of those who had borne them.
Love couldn’t change the man who Zang Hai had become, Zhixing doubted. All of the fire in the world was nothing against the sea of memory, the sea of hatred and injustice that laid within him. Still, Zhixing thought—sometimes, at least—that he did love him, and it stung not to believe that it could mean something grand. He wanted to hope for a person whom he could convince to exist, who would be as devoted to him standing as he was on his knees.
Zhixing resolved to buy Zang Hai a new comb, made of real silver, the next time he had a free moment in the city. Maybe he would like that sort of thing.