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Chapter Text

Yue Qingyuan’s hands were soft and careful—too careful.

Shen Qingqiu lay on his back, bare-chested and robes untied, his long hair undone across the silk pillows. His arms are stiff by his sides, the muscles locked tight with tension. Every time Yue Qingyuan kisses lower, every time those patient hands slide along his hips, his entire body twitched unconsciously.

Things had been going well since their reconciliation. They spend their mornings and evenings in domestic bliss in their now shared bamboo cottage on his peak- or in the sect leader's quarters when business kept Yue Qingyuan tied to his desk.

He still didn't understand why the stubborn oaf kept everything a secret for so long- but that was all (mostly) in the past for now. After several rough conversations and heart to hearts they were now in a steady established relationship, the kind Shen Jiu didn't even let himself dream of during their estrangement.

He fell asleep in strong, steady arms. Woke up to gentle touches. Exchanged soft glances across the table during meals and walked arm in arm, sometimes hand in hand through the peaks gardens. It was like a dream. Everything was perfect. 

Well, nearly perfect. If only it weren't for his damn-

“I'll go slow,” Yue Qingyuan murmured, voice low and coaxing Shen Qinggiu out of his thoughts. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Shen Qingqiu gave a jerky nod. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t.

The moment Yue Qingyuan’s fingers dipped lower—fingertips barely grazing him with practiced ease—Shen Qingqiu’s breath hitched. His inner muscles clenched violently.

Yue Qingyuan paused.

“It’s fine,” Shen Qingqiu repeated, sharper this time, as if the harshness could smother the panic crawling up his throat.

Yue Qingyuan’s hand retreated.

“No,” he said gently, with a patience Shen Qingqiu hated more than anything. “You’re shaking.”

Shen Qingqiu sat up fast, yanking the bedcover over his lap. “Don’t coddle me.”

“I’m not coddling you.” Yue Qingyuan pushed himself up slowly. “I’m trying not to hurt you.”

“You think I’m too fragile for this? I’m not some—some fainting virgin.” Shen Qingqiu was glaring now, fury bubbling up to bury the shame threatening to drag him under. “You don’t have to tiptoe around me like I’m going to shatter.”

Yue Qingyuan didn’t flinch. He just watched him with those heartbreakingly earnest eyes.

“Then why are you trying to force yourself through it when it hurts?”

The silence that followed was loud enough to ring in his ears.

Shen Qingqiu looked away, lips curled in a sneer. “You’ve made your point.”

“I’m not trying to—” Yue Qingyuan took a breath, ever the cool collected diplomat. “I just want you to be comfortable, Xiao Jiu. Safe. I don’t care how long it takes. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Maybe you don’t care,” Shen Qingqiu snapped, “but I do. I can’t— I’m not going to lie there like some helpless—”

He cut himself off, fists clenched in the blankets. His voice had started to shake.

Yue Qingyuan’s face softened. “Then we stop here. Come lie with me. That’s all I want right now.”

But Shen Qingqiu was already moving, gathering his robes with stiff hands, not looking at him. “Don’t pity me.”

“No one is pitying y-”

But Shen Qingqiu was already storming out the door of their shared bedroom in the bamboo hut.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t follow.

He stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the curtain rustle as Shen Qingqiu disappeared, footsteps vanishing into the dark.

—

Shen Jiu was going to lose his mind.

He was frustrated. He was sore. He was one good stretch away from crawling into Yue Qingyuan’s lap and begging to be wrecked like a common whore. The worst part? He wouldn’t even need to be told what to do. Just get him on top, hold his hips, and let him bounce on that massive cock until his legs gave out and he forgot his name.

He wouldn’t even be embarrassed about it. Not really.

He was past that now.

Almost.

So instead of climbing Yue Qingyuan like a tree and begging to be split in half, he turned on his heel and went to the only place that ever let him breathe.

The Warm Red Pavilion was quiet tonight.

It always was when he needed it most. Somehow, the girls always knew.

Shen Jiu walked through the beaded curtain with his chin tilted high and shoulders squared, face still flushed with frustration and old shame. The cloying scent of incense curled through the warm air, familiar, indulgent, and disarming.

“Welcome, Immortal Master Shen,” came a voice like honey and needles.

Yu Xueyan, madam of the house, was lounging across a chaise in the main sitting room, one leg draped over the other, fan open against her cheek. Her gaze tracked him like a cat eying a mouse she didn’t feel like chasing.

He didn’t respond, just waved off a red-lipped courtesan who moved to help with his outer robe. He didn’t need ceremony tonight. Or control. He just needed… not to feel like he was about to crawl out of his skin.

Yu Xueyan snapped her fan shut. “He’s wound tighter than a qin string. Girls, bring wine—and no flirting until he stops snarling.” Madam Xu rose from her reclined position and led him back to his usual room.

A ripple of soft chatter followed as three courtesans followed them into the room, one with a lacquer tray of cups and plum wine, another already brushing his hair loose from its tie, the third pulling his robes open at the collar to let him breathe.

Shen Jiu allowed all of it. He let them fuss, let them touch.

The women at the Pavilion treated him less like a customer and more like an exasperating little brother they’d collectively decided to spoil rotten.

It wasn’t a sanctuary—not in the soft, storybook way. The Pavilion was a brothel, plain and simple. But it was the only place in the world where he could sit down, shut his eyes, and not feel watched. Not feel hunted. There were no men here. No one reaching for him with rough hands. No one who might decide they were owed something.

They let him rest. They let him eat, or sulk, or curl up in the corner and sleep like he hadn’t in weeks. No one ever touched him unless he asked.

They gave him the one thing no one else had ever offered: familiarity without cost.

They called him didi. They let him be difficult. They let him be tired.

It wasn’t kindness. It was just a place where no one tried to hurt him. That was more than he got anywhere else.

He sat on one of the velvet cushions and let his head fall back. 

Madam Yu sat beside him, now serious. “ Jiu di. Why are you here? What's wrong?"

He didn’t answer. He stared into his cup. The wine wasn’t strong enough to numb him, but it was warm. Like her voice.

“You don’t have to talk,” she said softly. “But I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s eating at you. Let me be nosy—just a little.”

“I’m not broken,” he said suddenly, the words leaving his mouth like a cut. “I’m not—”

She reached out, placed her hand gently over his.

“No, you’re not.”

Another long silence. Then:

“I tried. With Yue Qingyuan,” he said, softer now. “It didn’t work. It never does.”

Yu Xueyan said nothing at first. Just tilted her head slightly, considering him.

“You wanted it?” she asked gently.

He nodded. “I did. I do.”

“But your body said no.”

Another nod, tighter.

It had taken years to get here.

Not just years of silence—years of anger. Of sharp words and colder silences. Of standing on opposite ends of the sect and pretending they hadn’t once shared everything. 

He hadn’t forgiven Yue Qingyuan. Not at first. Not even after he apologized. Properly, this time.

It wasn’t until they started speaking again—really speaking, with all the old wounds wide open between them—that something shifted. Not forgiveness. Just… recognition. A beginning.

They'd had to learn each other from the ground up. What Yue Qingyuan’s silences meant now. What Shen Jiu’s bitterness was hiding. What they could and couldn't reach for without tearing old scars open again.

And somehow, after everything, he’d ended up here. In a brothel. Talking about his inability to get laid.

Madam Yu tapped his knuckles, bringing him back to the present. “That doesn’t make you broken, sweetheart. It just means your body learned to be careful. Now it’s time to show it it’s safe again.”

She waved a hand. The other girls disappeared behind the door.

Madam Yu didn’t say anything right away. Just poured him another cup of wine, hands graceful, movements unhurried. She watched him sit there like a drawn bow—back stiff, eyes avoiding hers, shoulders tight enough to snap.

Then, softly:

“So. What did he do?”

Shen Jiu nearly choked.

“I didn’t say it was him.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He bristled. “It’s not—he’s not—he’s doing fine.”

“Oh?” Her brows rose. “Then why do you look like you're a hair away from fleeing out that door if someone looks at you wrong?”

He scowled. “It’s not funny.”

“No, sweetheart,” she said, voice warm. “But it is familiar.”

She tilted her head slightly. Waited.

Shen Jiu stared down into his cup. His knuckles were white around it.

“…We tried,” he said eventually. “It didn’t work.”

She stayed quiet.

He didn’t look up. “I didn’t—my body didn’t cooperate. He didn’t push. He stopped. But I…”

His throat worked.

“I tensed. And I couldn’t stop.”

Madam Yu reached out and set a hand over his—not firm, just a weight, a grounding point.

“Pain?” she asked gently.

He gave a stiff, unhappy shrug.

“No. Not… not really. It just—everything locked up.”

She nodded slowly.

“Sometimes the body remembers even when the mind tries not to.”

He made a tight, miserable sound. “I hate it. I wanted it. I want him.”

“Of course you do.” She gave his hand the smallest squeeze. “Wanting doesn’t undo what’s lived in your muscles. It takes time.”

Silence stretched between them again.

Then, more quietly:

“Do you trust him?”

Shen Jiu closed his eyes. “Yes. More than anything.”

“Enough to let him be gentle with you?”

“…That’s the worst part,” he said, voice cracking with something too raw to name. “He was gentle. I still—flinched.”

“Sweetheart.” She smiled, not pitying—knowing. “Gentleness doesn’t erase fear. Especially when you spent so long teaching your body to expect pain.”

He didn’t answer.

“Does he know it scared you?”

Another nod. Barely a breath.

“And did he shame you for it?”

“…No.”

“Then good. That’s something.” She let that land, let it settle. Then, lighter:

“You’re not broken, Jiu di. You’re just wired to survive. That’s not something to be ashamed of.”

Shen Jiu didn’t move. His fingers stayed clenched around the cup like it might shield him from the weight of her voice.

But he didn’t pull his hand away.

He didn’t leave.

Madam Yu sat with him in the hush that followed. Long enough for the sharp edge of shame to dull into something more brittle. He hated this part. Hated how it sat in his throat like a stone. Hated that he wanted her to keep talking.

So she didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, she refilled his cup. Her fingers brushed his—just lightly, just enough to steady him—and then she leaned back on the cushion beside him like they were any two friends on any quiet evening.

Eventually, he spoke. Low, embarrased.

“He’s… big.”

She arched a brow. “And?”

“It’s not funny.”

“I didn’t laugh.”

A beat.

Then, with the same even tone:

“And did he try to rush?”

Shen Jiu shook his head.

“He asked. Waited. Touched me like I was made of—of silk, or glass, or—” He broke off. Jaw locked.

“Something precious?” she finished, when he couldn’t.

“…Yes.”

Another silence.

He didn’t look at her. “I didn’t know what to do with it.”

Her voice was soft now, no teasing left.

“You’re used to being treated like an object. Not held like a person.”

His breath caught.

He hated how right she was. Hated that it felt like relief to hear someone else say it.

He blinked hard. Didn’t speak again for a long moment.

Madam Yu poured herself a cup of wine, took a slow sip.

Then, almost casually:

“There are ways to work with that. If you want.”

He stiffened.

Not visibly—not to anyone who didn’t know him. But Madam Yu had known Shen Jiu long enough to read the shift in his breath, the sharp tilt of his chin, the slight tightening around his eyes.

“I didn’t come here for… that.”

“No?” she said mildly.

“I didn’t come to be—fixed.”

“I didn’t say you were broken.”

“I know,” he snapped, too fast, too loud. “But it’s what everyone thinks, isn’t it? If I can’t lie back and spread my legs like it’s nothing, there must be something wrong with me.”

Madam Yu gave him a long look over her wine.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that if you weren’t already punishing yourself for this, you wouldn’t be here.”

He looked away.

“I’m not here to shame you, Jiu di. You know that. I’m not here to push you. But if something’s getting in your way—if your body is locking up, or panicking, or going numb—that doesn’t mean you failed. It just means you need a different approach.”

He said nothing.

“I know how long it took for you to let someone in,” she continued, voice quiet. “You did the hardest part already. This—this is just the maintenance.”

“And if I say I don’t need it?”

“Then I’ll pour you more wine and talk about Liu Qingge’s terrible fashion sense until you die of secondhand embarrassment.”

A reluctant snort.

Madam Yu smiled. Sipped her tea. Waited.

And then—

“…Fine,” Shen Jiu muttered. “Talk.”

Madam Yu set down her cup.

“You’re not the first person who’s come in here with the same problem, you know,” she said. “It’s more common than you think. Especially with people who’ve been… taught to flinch.”

His jaw tightened.

She went on, calmly. “What usually helps is retraining. Not just the mind, but the body—teaching it that not every touch is a threat.”

Shen Jiu narrowed his eyes. “Retraining how?”

“A few different ways,” she said. “But the main one is practice. Slow, steady stretching with something small—something you control. Dilators. Plugs. Something you ease in, hold, and take out on your own terms.”

He looked like he might bolt.

She didn’t react. Just sipped her wine and added lightly:

“No one’s saying you shove it in and start doing sword forms. It’s just to teach your body how to unclench. How to stop assuming the worst.”

“I already have one,” Shen Jiu muttered. “A plug.”

“I’m sure you do. And I’m also sure you’ve been using it like you’re preparing for battle instead of warming up for pleasure.”

That got a sharp look.

She smiled, entirely unfazed. “You need to work your way up slowly. Smaller sizes, daily. With warmth, with breath, with care. No rushing. And no penetration until you’re soaked and stupid from at least two orgasms.”

His ears went red.

“I’m not joking,” she said. “You want to retrain your body to relax? Start by making it feel good. Often. Over and over. Before he ever puts anything inside.”

Shen Jiu glanced down into his teacup.

“And when he does?” she added gently. “You don’t brace for it. You’ll already be soft. Ready. Wanting it.”

Silence again.

Then, without looking up:

“...What if I still mess it up?”

“You won’t.”

“You can’t know that.”

She reached over and tapped his knuckles again, softer this time.

“I know what it looks like when someone wants to fight their way through it. That’s not you. You’re here. You’re asking. That’s how I know.”

—

Back on their little bamboo house on Qing Jing, Yue Qingyuan sat by a quiet brazier, robe loosely wrapped, waiting.

When he saw Shen Jiu return, eyes rimmed pink and clutching a lacqueres box like a sacred text, he said nothing.

He only opened the door.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t say a word. Just looked up from where he knelt beside the bed, lighting a few candles. The room was warm. Dim. Private.

Shen Jiu didn’t meet his eyes as he stepped in and set the box down on the low table between them.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t move.

He gave Shen Jiu space—let the silence settle before he spoke, voice low and warm.

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I want to,” Shen Jiu muttered. Still not looking at him.

Yue nodded. Waited.

Shen Jiu’s fingers hovered over the box. “I went to Madam Yu.”

“Good.”

“She gave me advice. A plan. It’s… stupid.”

Yue’s smile was gentle. “Is it?”

“Don’t make that face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you’re proud of me and pretending not to be.”

“I am proud of you,” Yue Qingyuan said simply. “And I’m not pretending.”

Shen Jiu flushed and scowled at the same time. He opened the box. Small bottles and smooth, curved objects gleamed in the candlelight—neatly arranged by size and shape.

“She said I need to go slow,” he muttered. “Retrain my body. Use these every day. Stretch, breathe. Orgasm first.”

Yue Qingyuan made a soft sound of acknowledgment. Not amusement—agreement.

“Can we do that?” Shen Jiu asked before he could stop himself. “That kind of… structure.”

Now Yue Qingyuan did reach out.

His hand rested lightly over Shen Jiu’s, not gripping, not pushing. Just steady.

“We can do anything you want. As slow as you need. As long as you need.”

“And if I stop in the middle?”

“Then we stop,” Yue said. “Every time. No disappointment.”

Shen Jiu’s jaw worked.

“And if I ask to keep going?”

Yue’s hand tightened slightly around his. “Then I’ll ask again. And again. Until I’m sure you want it.”

They sat like that in the glow of the brazier. Warm. Quiet.

“You’re not here to fix me,” Shen Jiu said suddenly, bitterly.

“No,” Yue said. “I’m here to love you. And this is part of that.”

Shen Jiu’s breath caught.

“Do you want to start tonight?” Yue Qingyuan asked, voice gentle.

He nodded. Once.

“…Yes.”

“Good,” Yue Qingyuan said. “Then lie back for me. We’ll take our time.”

Shen Jiu let him help undress him slowly—not like porcelain, but like something sacred. With care, not caution.

Yue Qingyuan folded each layer of silk as he slipped it off, setting it aside like it mattered. Like he mattered.

When Shen Jiu was bare, he paused.

He looked at him—not down, not hungrily—but fully, with reverence. And then he leaned in.

He began with his hands.

Massaging the slight mounds of Shen Jiu’s chest with long, slow circles, thumbs catching gently on the soft peaks, brushing until they stiffened beneath his touch.

“Hnn—” Shen Jiu swallowed the sound. His eyes fluttered, lashes trembling.

Yue Qingyuan kissed one, then the other.

Then again.

Then again—until Shen Jiu was squirming, flush spreading down his pale chest, hands twisted in the sheets to stop himself from pushing into it.

“Sensitive,” Yue murmured, a statement, not a question.

“…No I’m not.”

But the way his hips shifted told the truth.

Yue Qingyuan’s lips returned to his chest—softer this time, lingering. His tongue flicked the hardened nub, slow and teasing, then soothed it with a warm breath before moving to the other side. He sucked gently, tongued carefully, lips pressing a wet kiss that left Shen Jiu gasping.

“Qi–”

“Let me,” Yue Qingyuan said, voice calm, reverent. “You deserve to be touched like this.”

One hand rubbed circles into the dip of his waist. The other traced the faint lines of old tension in his ribs—all without urgency.

He kissed down, again and again: over the curve of his chest, the flutter of his ribs, the delicate hollow between his sternum and belly. Worship, slow and sure.

Shen Jiu breathed faster.

It was too much. Too gentle. Too focused.

No one had ever paid attention to him like this. Like every inch of skin was worth knowing.

Yue Qingyuan’s tongue dipped below his ribs. His hands cradled his hips.

Shen Jiu tensed again—every muscle in his body drawn tight, as if he were lying beneath a blade, not a lover.

His fists clenched in the sheets. His jaw tensed. The heat in his belly twisted with something too close to panic.

Then Yue Qingyuan looked up and murmured, voice low and steady:

“Stop thinking. Let me take care of you.”

The words made him shiver.

Yue Qingyuan dipped lower. A slow kiss at the hollow of his hip. Then his tongue found a place that made Shen Jiu gasp.

Just a single, sharp intake of breath. Like surprise.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t rush.

He moved with the patience of a man reading scripture—pausing at each dip and hollow of Shen Jiu’s abdomen, pressing warm, reverent kisses that made him twitch and breathe faster.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured, lips brushing skin.

“Shut up.”

“You are.”

A kiss just below the navel. A slow circle of his tongue against the soft skin there, almost idle. Shen Jiu’s stomach jumped.

“Qingyuan—”

“I said I’d take care of you.”

His hands gripped Shen Jiu’s thighs now, firm but gentle, thumbs pressing into the muscles to keep him steady. He kissed the crease where hip met thigh, slow and indulgent. 

The heat of Yue Qingyuan’s breath moved further down to his aching core. Shen Jiu’s breath hitched, expecting the next wet caress against his skin.

Then—nothing. No mouth. No tongue.

Just heat, hovering.

Yue paused, just a breath away, exhaling against his folds—not touching. Letting the anticipation hum in the space between them.

Shen Jiu squirmed.

“Stop teasing.”

“I’m not teasing,” Yue Qingyuan said softly. “I’m showing you how much you matter.”

A single kiss. Just one. Right over the top of him, no tongue, no pressure—just lips, soft and sure.

Shen Jiu jolted.

Then again. A little lower. Still no tongue.

He was so wet now it ached.

“You don’t have to—” Shen Jiu tried, voice cracking.

Yue looked up from between his thighs, gaze calm and devastatingly fond.

“I want to.”

Another kiss. This time, finally, a lick—slow and deliberate, from the bottom up.

Shen Jiu gasped.

Yue Qingyuan did it again, tongue dipping just slightly, just enough to catch the slick that had gathered there.

His thighs trembled.

“You taste like you’ve been waiting for this all day.”

“Shut up—”

Yue Qingyuan chuckled—and then, finally, got to work.

He mouthed at him slowly, like he had all the time in the world. His tongue worked in gentle strokes, firm but unhurried, always pulling back just as Shen Jiu started to chase it.

Hands holding his thighs open. Mouth worshipping him like a shrine. And Shen Jiu, trying not to beg and failing.

Yue Qingyuan’s tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles, each stroke just a little firmer than the last, never enough to push Shen Jiu over, but more than enough to keep him trembling.

His hands were steady on Shen Jiu’s hips, keeping him open, grounded. But the real trap was his mouth.

Because Yue wasn’t just licking him. He was listening. Every gasp, every twitch, every half-choked sound that escaped—he responded to them like music. A little pressure here. A slower lick there. Mouth sealed warm over him, drawing out the slick, swollen tension building deep in Shen Jiu’s belly.

“You’re already so wet,” Yue murmured between strokes. “Just from being touched.”

“Y-you’re the one—mm—doing it,” Shen Jiu managed, voice shaking.

“You let me.”

The praise was worse than the teasing. It made his chest go tight.

Yue Qingyan sucked softly on the sensitive bud at the top of him, tongue flicking against it just so.

Shen Jiu’s thighs jerked.

“Ah—don’t—”

“I’ll stop,” Yue said, breath warm against him.

“No!” The word slipped out, raw and startled. Then quieter: “Don’t… don’t stop.”

Yue Qingyuan’s mouth returned immediately.

His lips closed around him again, slower this time, tongue rolling in rhythmic, careful strokes that made Shen Jiu gasp, then choke on the moan that followed.

The pressure built painfully slow, tight and hot and unbearable.

He wanted to clench his thighs shut, but Yue Qingyuan was holding him open too easily, like he knew what his body needed better than he did.

He was going to come.

Too soon, too slow, too much—

“You can,” Yue Qingyuan whispered, mouth still against him. “Let go.”

And somehow, hearing it—being told—made something inside Shen Jiu snap.

He came with a breathless cry, hips stuttering, thighs trembling.

The orgasm rolled through him in hot, wet waves, sharper than he expected, too much and not enough, dragged out by Yue Qingyuan’s mouth still moving just enough to keep him gasping through it.

Yue Qingyuan held him through the whole thing—hands steady, tongue gentler now, licking softly through the aftershocks until Shen Jiu twitched from sensitivity.

Only then did he pull back.

He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of Shen Jiu’s thigh.

“That’s one,” he said, voice low and warm. “You’re doing so well.”

Shen Jiu turned his face away, breath ragged, chest flushed. But he didn’t argue.

Yue Qingyuan stayed where he was, warm breath still brushing against sensitive skin.

He didn’t pull away completely—just let his hands smooth up Shen Jiu’s thighs in long, grounding strokes, circling the tension from his muscles with care.

“That was beautiful,” he murmured, kissing the inside of his thigh. “You’re beautiful.”

“Shut up,” Shen Jiu rasped, but it lacked heat.

Yue Qingyuan smiled. Pressed a kiss lower. Then another. Just soft enough to tease.

Shen Jiu twitched when Yue Qingyuan's tongue flicked gently across him again—too sensitive, too much—but when Yue Qingyuan paused, he didn’t say stop.

Didn’t say anything at all.

“Can I keep going?” Yue Qingyuan asked softly.

A pause. Then, a breathless, reluctant:

“…Yes.”

Yue Qingyuan’s lips curved against him.

He leaned in again, slower this time, licking gently at first—until Shen Jiu’s hips gave the smallest roll forward, almost unconsciously chasing the warmth.

Then Yue Qingyuan deepened the pressure.

It made Shen Jiu’s eyes flutter shut. Made his spine arch off the bed, his body drawn taut with overstimulation—already too raw, already too close, and yet somehow still climbing.

Yue Qingyuan stayed where he was, kneeling between his legs like he belonged there. Like worship wasn’t just foreplay, but a duty.

He kissed the slick crease of Shen Jiu’s thigh, then nosed in again—his breath maddeningly warm.

When his tongue slid up the center of him, slow and deliberate, Shen Jiu jerked.

“Nn—don’t, I—!”

Another soft kiss to his clit. Gentle. Too gentle. His whole body trembled.

“You’re so sensitive,” Yue Qingyuan whispered, voice low. “But you’re still open for me.”

Shen Jiu whimpered.

It was too much. He wanted to close his legs, to squirm away, to scream. But Yue Qingyuan's hands were there again—steady, firm, cradling him open like it was sacred.

And then Yue Qingyuan went down on him again, mouth slow and cruelly careful. His tongue dragged over oversensitive nerves with unbearable precision—too soft to let Shen Jiu come down, too steady to let him escape.

“Ah—fuck—Qingyuan, it’s too—too much—”

Yue didn’t stop.

He didn’t speed up either.

He licked and sucked with focused, reverent patience, mouth warm and devastating, pressing him past the edge of what he thought he could take.

Shen Jiu couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. His hips twitched and rolled, trying to escape and chase the friction at the same time.

“I—I can’t—!”

“You can,” Yue murmured against him. “Just one more.”

He sealed his lips around his clit and sucked—soft, wet, devastating.

Shen Jiu sobbed.

His whole body seized, toes curling, knees jerking. The orgasm slammed into him like a tide: violent, wracking, long. His cunt spasmed around nothing, slick pouring down his thighs. He shook through it, gasping, crying out—not words anymore, just helpless, high sounds.

Yue Qingyuan moaned into him, tongue still working him through the aftershocks.

“Qi ge—!” Shen Jiu begged, but even he didn’t know for what.

To stop. To keep going. To hold him.

He collapsed back against the mattress, chest heaving, thighs trembling uncontrollably. His hands were fisted in the sheets. He couldn’t stop twitching.

Yue Qingyuan finally lifted his head, face flushed, mouth wet with slick.

He looked at Shen Jiu like he was something beautiful.

“That’s two,” he said softly.

Shen Jiu made a sound that barely qualified as human.

“Don’t count,” he croaked, voice ruined.

Yue only smiled and leaned in to kiss his forehead—chaste and unbearably sweet.

“Can you give me one more?”

“No more,” Shen Jiu panted, but he didn’t pull away. His legs were trembling, too sensitive.

Yue Qingyuan pressed a kiss to his knee. “You’re safe. I have you.”

Shen Jiu's whole body was twitching, oversensitive, every nerve singing—but he didn’t close his legs. He didn’t push Yue Qingyuan away.

And that was all the permission Yue Qingyuan needed.

He kissed back down, lips brushing damp skin, nuzzling the inside of Shen Jiu’s thigh like he had all the time in the world. Shen Jiu shivered violently, already whimpering.

Yue Qingyuan licked a slow stripe up his cunt again, now swollen, flushed, dripping.

 He was so wet, the taste of his slick soaking into Yue Qingyuan's mouth, sweet and raw. Shen Jiu keened—a high, thin sound, embarrassed and wrecked.

“I c-can’t—” he gasped, voice cracking.

But he didn’t stop him.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t rush.

He stayed low between Shen Jiu’s thighs, mouth wet and reverent, licking softly through the mess he’d already coaxed out of him. Shen Jiu was still trembling from the first two orgasms, too sensitive, whimpering with every pass of Yue’s tongue.

But he wasn’t pulling away. His hip were meeting his mouth, subconsciously chasing more.

Yue Qingyuan took his time. His hands stayed gentle, palms smoothing down the insides of Shen Jiu’s thighs, stroking calming circles into flushed, twitching skin.

 He kissed softly along his lips—left, then right—pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses over the slick folds like he was memorizing the shape of him.

Then, with exquisite care, he used his thumbs to part him slightly, exposing the flushed pink of him, wet and trembling.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, low and warm.

Shen Jiu made a choked sound, one hand flying up to cover his face. “Don’t—say shit like that—”

“I’ll say it as many times as I need to,” Yue Qingyuan whispered, brushing his lips just over Shen Jiu’s clit. “Until you believe it.”

He kissed again—lower, deeper—letting his tongue explore, dipping down with soft, steady licks, each one drawing out more slick, more shudders.

And then, only when Shen Jiu was melting, breathless and soaked, did Yue Qingyuan reach for the small vial of oil the Pavilion had given them—warming, herbal, delicate.

He warmed a drop between his fingers, rubbing them together carefully, then brought his hand down to gently stroke along Shen Jiu’s entrance. Not pushing. Just sliding over it, getting him used to the idea of touch there. Touch that didn’t demand anything.

Shen Jiu twitched under him. But he didn’t close his legs.

“Still with me?” Yue Qingyuan asked, voice low and close.

A shaky nod. “I’m—fine,” Shen Jiu whispered, too blissed out to bite.

Yue Qingyuan leaned up, kissed the inside of his thigh again.

Then, slowly, he brought his slick fingers down again—one hand holding Shen Jiu steady, the other easing in just the tip of his index finger.

Shen Jiu gasped.

His inner walls fluttered around him, muscles clenching with instinct, but not pushing him out. Yue Qingyuan paused, held perfectly still.

“You’re doing so well,” he said, thumb brushing along Shen Jiu’s hip.

A long breath. Another inch. Yue Qingyuan's finger slid deeper with gentle resistance, until it was fully seated, the warmth of Shen Jiu’s cunt wrapping tight around him.

Yue Qingyuan stilled again, just letting him breathe. Only then did he begin to move: slow, shallow strokes, careful and smooth, testing every reaction.

And when he curled his finger just right, pressing toward the soft ridge inside—

Shen Jiu jerked.

“Ah—!” His voice cracked, raw and startled.

Yue Qingyuan looked up, and smiled.

“There it is.”

His breath was oming in short, unsteady bursts. His body was hot, flushed, loose in a way he didn’t recognize—like something inside him had finally unclenched.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t rush. He moved with patience threaded into every motion. His single finger stayed slow and steady, easing in and out in shallow, slick strokes, never too deep, never too fast. Just enough to let Shen Jiu feel it—to feel full, and not afraid.

“You’re so good for me,” Yue Qingyuan murmured, brushing his lips over the crease of his thigh. “You’re doing perfectly for me, Xiao Jiu.”

Shen Jiu made a helpless sound—half protest, half plea.

He didn’t say more, but his hips lifted, just slightly, chasing the rhythm. And Yue Qingyuan understood.

He slid his finger out, carefully, and added a second—coating it again with warm oil, waiting just long enough for Shen Jiu to nod before pressing in. Slowly. Gently.

Shen Jiu tensed at the stretch—sharp and unfamiliar—but it was different this time. His body didn’t lock up. It welcomed it. He whimpered, breath hitching, hands curling into the sheets again as the second finger slid in beside the first.

The stretch made him feel held, not invaded.

“You’re taking me so well,” Yue Qingyuan whispered. “Just relax. Let me make you feel good.”

Then, with his fingers moving in a slow, even rhythm, he leaned back down—and licked.

Yue Qingyuan’s tongue slid in beside his fingers this time— slow and slick with warming oil. His fingers moved gently, curling forward, stroking right against the spot that made Shen Jiu jolt like he’d been struck.

“Ah—fuck, Qi ge—!”

His clit was throbbing, aching—and Yue Qingyuan flicked his tongue over it again, softly, insistently, while his fingers pumped slow and deep.

Shen Jiu was unraveling. Sobbing now, mouth open, no words. Just sounds. Raw, high, broken little cries as his hips twitched to meet Yue Qingyuan's strokes.

His legs kicked once, shaking violently, and then—

Another orgasm slammed into him, harder than the first two. His whole body convulsed, cunt clenching on Yue Qingyuan's fingers and sucking them in.

 He squirted—wet, gushing, a helpless flood soaking Yue Qingyuan's hand, his own thighs, the already ruined sheets.

He let out a cry that shamed him—too loud, too honest, not sharp or controlled at all.

“Qi ge—please, I—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. His fingers clutched Yue’s shoulders like he was the only solid thing left in the world.

And Yue Qingyuan just held him through it. Kept pressing kisses to his cunt, rocking his fingers against that spot, to his trembling belly, whispering:

“That’s it. That’s so good. You’re perfect, Xiao Jiu. Just let go.”

He didn’t even notice the fourth until he was sobbing through it—soft, broken sounds escaping without his permission. Waves of pleasure rolling one into another as Yue Qingyuan continued to work his swollen, aching cunt through each wave.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t stop—not fully. He gave him a few seconds to come down, to breathe, and then resumed with featherlight touches. Fingers stroking the soft folds, lips brushing his clit like a kiss to a wound.

Too much. Too soft.

Shen Jiu was crying now—fat tears sliding down his flushed cheeks, his whole body vibrating.

And still, he didn’t stop him.

Yue Qingyuan's mouth returned to him, this time slow, lazy—just enough friction to make him feel every spark of sensitivity like a live wire. One finger still inside, gently stroking, the other hand petting his hip.

“Can’t,” Shen Jiu sobbed. “Gege I c-can’t—”

“Yes you can,” Yue Qingyuan murmured, voice low, steady. “Just breathe. Let it happen. You’re doing so well.”

And then he sucked—just once, soft and deep—right over his clit.

Shen Jiu shattered.

His back arched, his voice caught in his throat. He writhed, legs trembling uncontrollably, cunt spasming around Yue Qingyuan's fingers like it was trying to hold onto it, like it couldn’t bear to let go.

The fifth orgasm hit like a wave crashing over a broken dam—hot, sharp, endless. He sobbed through it, not even moaning anymore, just broken, hiccuping sounds that couldn’t decide if they were pain or ecstasy.

His thighs twitched. His hands scrabbled at Yue Qingyuan's shoulders, then fell limp. And then he collapsed.

Completely wrecked. Soaked. Shaking.

Yue Qingyuan kissed his brow and kissed the tears away, his voice as soft as silk.

“There you are. You’re safe now. You did so well, my love.”

When it was over, Shen Jiu collapsed against him, boneless. No tension left. Just warmth and breath and the slow, steady thud of a heart learning not to be afraid.

“You—” Shen Jiu started, voice hoarse. “You didn’t…?”

Yue Qingyuan smiled. “This wasn’t about me.”

“That’s stupid,” Shen Jiu muttered, and tucked his head under Yue Qingyuan’s chin like a cat claiming a sun-warmed windowsill. “You’re stupid.”

“I know,” Yue Qingyuan said, and kissed his temple.

A beat passed. Then:

“I liked it,” Shen Jiu whispered, barely audible. “I liked… feeling it.”

Yue Qingyuan held him tighter. “Good. You're allowed to.”

Shen Jiu drifted off to sleep as Yue Qingyuan gently cleaned him off. Instead of ending the night stiff, sore, and frustrated, Shen Jiu fell asleep safe and sated in his love's arms.

Chapter Text

“I’m not wearing that,” Shen Jiu said flatly, staring down at the plug Yue Qingyuan held between two fingers.

It was small—modest, even. Pale green jade, polished smooth, barely thicker than Yuen Qingyuan's thumb. Embossed with a tiny golden blossom on the base. The kind of thing Madam Yu had called “a beginner’s favorite.”

Yue Qingyuan just gave him that maddeningly patient look.

“You said we’re trying everything.”

“I didn’t mean—this. Not in the morning .”

Yue Qingyuan's smile didn’t falter. “You’ll feel better.”

“I feel fine.”

“You’re frowning.”

“That's just my resting face.” Shen Jiu snapped. 

Yue Qingyuan only patted his lap. “Come here.”

Shen Jiu hesitated—then sighed like a man condemned and stepped between Yue’s knees.

---

It had started innocently enough. A suggestion from Madam Yu: “Daily stretching, just ten minutes. Helps the body learn.”

But Yue Qingyuan had turned it into a practice . A ritual. And Shen Jiu, against all reason, had let him.

Yue Qingyuan was so annoyingly gentle about it, too. He warmed the plug with his hands. Coated it in herbal oil. Massaged Shen Jiu’s hips and thighs until the tension bled out of him like ink in water.

And then he’d part him, slowly, reverently, and push the plug in inch by careful inch .

It always started with grumbling.

But by the time it was seated inside, snug and warm and just enough to feel full, Shen Jiu’s voice would quiet. His body would soften. His eyes would flutter half-lidded, breath low.

---

Yue Qingyuan stroked a line down the small of his back. “Breathe.”

Shen Jiu sucked in a breath between his teeth as the tip slid in. It burned—just a little. Not pain. Just the stretch.

Yue Qingyuan’s other hand rubbed slow circles into his hip. “That’s it. Almost there.”

When the base finally pressed against him, snug and cool, Shen Jiu let out a long, involuntary exhale. His shoulders sagged. His knees trembled a little.

Yue Qingyuan leaned forward, pressed a kiss to the base of his spine.

“You’re softer when you’re full,” he murmured, smiling against his skin.

“Shut up,” Shen Jiu muttered, face burning. “That’s not— this doesn’t make me—”

“Mm.” Yue Qingyuan kissed him again. “Go terrorize your disciples, love”

---

Later that morning, Yue Qingyuan sipped his tea and glanced out at the back garden.

Shen Qingqiu meandered his typical path—arms crossed behind his back, hair pristine, robes sharp—but his posture was just the slightest bit softer . More relaxed. He fretted over the various plants in their garden as usual, but without the usual tightness around his mouth.

He shifted his weight as he turned, just slightly favoring one side.

Yue Qingyuan's eyes dropped, unhurried, to the subtle way Shen Qingqiu's hips moved. Stiff. Deliberate. Practiced.

Like someone trying very hard not to squirm around a jade plug.

Yue Qingyuan turned back to his scroll, fighting a smile that tugged insistently at the corners of his mouth.

He didn’t need to say anything.

The evidence was all there.

—

The first time Shen Qingqiu stood up after having the plug put in, he immediately sat back down.

Fast.

Yue Qingyuan, kneeling beside the bed and adjusting his robes, paused. “Too much?”

“No,” Shen Qingqiu said tightly. “Just… readjusting.”

He tried again.

This time, he rose with stiff-backed elegance, like someone attempting to perform a sword form on top of a pile of hot coals. His legs moved with the cautious precision of a deer on a frozen pond.

Yue bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

He took one experimental step.

The plug shifted.

His face didn’t change, but Yue Qingyuan caught the way his throat bobbed. The way his breath caught.

He cleared his throat and straightened his sleeves. “I will not be late to morning lessons. This changes nothing .”

Yue Qingyuan bowed his head low, just enough to hide his smile.

 “Of course not.”

—

Shen Jiu had managed to avoid thinking about it for most of the morning.

The plug sat snug inside him—comfortable, more or less, especially after how thoroughly Yue Qingyuan had prepped him. It was small. Manageable. Nothing worth being distracted over.

He’d told himself that three times already.

And then he leaned forward over his desk to reach for a brush and—

“Ah—!”

The sound escaped him before he could choke it down. Sharp, breathy, high.

He froze.

Quill in hand. Half-twisted. Eyes wide.

The room was still.

Thank the heavens he was alone.

He remained perfectly still for several seconds, heart thudding like a drum, waiting for the echo of his shame to stop bouncing off the walls.

Then, very slowly, he sat back. With dignity.

And adjusted his robes.

 “Stupid,” he muttered under his breath. “Utterly ridiculous. It’s not even that big.

He did not shift again for the next two hours.

—

It started subtly.

First, Shen Qingqiu didn’t snap at the junior disciples during morning formations.

Then, he actually gave instructions without calling anyone an “idiot,” or “barnyard waste,” or “cultivationally stunted disappointments.”

And by the time he looked up during sword drills and said, “Good effort,” to a student —

That’s when the whispers started.

   “He smiled,” whispered a wide-eyed Outer Peak disciple. “Not… fake smiled. With his eyes. ”

   “He complimented a technique without insulting the disciple’s form or appearance,” someone else muttered.

They began to compare sightings like ghost stories.

One claimed he’d handed out two compliments back to back .

Another said they’d seen him pause outside the kitchens to thank the cook.

A third, too stunned to lie, said he’d caught Shen Qingqiu humming.

   “Just a few notes,” the disciple insisted. “But it was a tune.”

By the end of the week, consensus had formed.

Something was wrong with Peak Lord Shen.

   “...Do you think he’s dying?” one disciple murmured.

—

Liu Qingge had long since given up trying to understand Shen Qingqiu.

He was petty, proud, brittle as cracked glass, and somehow still a better teacher than half the sect put together.

But today?

Today something was off .

He watched Shen Qingqiu from the corner of his eye as he crossed the courtyard, robes flowing like always—but his posture was… different. A little more deliberate. Less whipcord tightness in his shoulders. Less “ready to kill a man with one word” in his aura.

And—Liu Qingge squinted.

Was he walking... more carefully?

Shen Qingqiu barked something at a disciple who was scurrying past on some missive—but the venom in his voice lacked bite.

The kid didn’t even flinch. Just bowed and said thank you.

Liu Qingge blinked.

Shen Qingqiu did not scream. Did not stab anyone. Just walked on.

 “...What the hell is going on?”

—

Yue Qingyuan lays Shen Jiu out across the bed, robes parted, body warm and pliant from a long day.

“Ready?” he asks.

Shen Jiu scowls at the ceiling. “Just—don’t comment on anything.”

Yue Qingyuandoes not promise that.

He slides the plug out so slowly , watching as Shen Jiu exhales through his teeth, trembling at the feeling of sudden emptiness. It pops out with a wet squelch. Yue Qingyuan stares mesmerized as it gapes—

And then?

Shen Jiu curls into Yue Qingyuan’s chest, sighing like he’s been through an intense battle.

Yue Qingyuan strokes his hair. “You really are spoiled now.”

Shen Jiu doesn't answer. He just hooks a leg over Yue’s thigh, the unspoken request loud and clear.

Chapter Text

“I think this one’s getting too easy,” Shen Jiu said casually, arms crossed, pretending to examine his reflection in the polished tea kettle.

Yue Qingyuan looked up from the plug he was oiling. The same modest jade one they'd used the past three mornings. The one Shen Jiu had once called “an insult to his cultivation rank.”

“Too easy?” Yue asked gently, as if he hadn’t heard this line rehearsed in mutters all yesterday.

Shen Jiu sniffed. “It doesn’t do anything anymore. It’s... practically decorative.”

Yue lifted an eyebrow. “Decorative?”

“Well, yes.” Shen Jiu waved a hand, still not looking directly at him. “It doesn’t even stretch. Barely feels like it’s there.”

“That’s interesting,” Yue Qingyuan said, uncapping the vial of warming oil, “considering how you moaned into my sleeve for three minutes straight when I removed it last night.”

Shen Jiu’s face flushed instantly.

“That was involuntary.”

“Of course it was.”

Yue Qingyuan set the small plug down and opened the next slot in the lacquer case. A slightly larger one—still slim, but with a bit more girth, a subtle curve, and a smooth, weighted base.

He said nothing.

Just oiled it slowly, methodically.

Shen Jiu hovered near the foot of the bed, still not sitting down. Still not asking.

Eventually, he huffed. “If you're going to act like that, just use the next size up already.”

Yue Qingyuan paused mid-stroke, smiling faintly.

“So you’re requesting it?”

Shen Jiu looked murderous. “I’m allowing it.”

Yue Qingyuan set the plug aside and reached for him, warm hands gentle at his waist, drawing him in. Shen Jiu came without resistance.

“You’ve done well,” Yue Qingyuan said, voice low, steady. “I think you're ready.”

Shen Jiu rolled his eyes, but he was already lowering himself into Yue Qingyuan’s lap, robes slipping down. “Flatter me less and fuck me open more.”

Yue Qingyuan laughed softly into the skin of his throat.

“As you wish.”

But he didn’t move right away.

Instead, his hands slid around Shen Jiu’s waist—slow and warm—settling over his hips with a steadiness that made Shen Jiu shiver despite himself.

Yue Qingyuan kissed just below his jaw. Then lower, to the hollow of his throat.

“You always rush,” he murmured. “Let me enjoy you.”

“I’m sitting in your lap with my tits out. Is that not enough?”

Yue Qingyuan chuckled, but didn’t answer. He nuzzled into the curve of Shen Jiu’s neck, then pressed an open-mouthed kiss behind his ear.

Shen Jiu inhaled sharply. His hands clenched on Yue Qingyuan’s shoulders.

Then those big, warm hands slid lower—over the flare of his hips, to the soft flesh just below, cupping his ass with slow, kneading pressure. Yue Qingyuan rocked him forward, gently grinding him down into his lap.

Shen Jiu hissed between his teeth.

He could feel the shape of Yue Qingyuan’s cock through the robes—thick, heavy, nestled right between his thighs.

“Look at you,” Yue Qingyuan murmured, voice rough now. “Already so soft for me.”

“I will set you on fire.”

“You won’t,” Yue Qingyuan said, thumb brushing just under his navel. “Because you like this.”

He leaned in again, kissing over his collarbones, suckling lightly at the base of his throat until Shen Jiu tilted his head back with a sound he hadn’t meant to make.

His hips rolled again—smaller this time. Needy.

Yue Qingyuan let him grind slowly, until the friction made Shen Jiu’s breath come in short pants. His hands drifted over his stomach, chest, down to where his thighs spread open across his lap.

He adjusted his own hips slightly beneath him—enough that the thick shape of his cock pressed up between Shen Jiu’s slick folds, heavy and hot through the fabric.

Shen Jiu gasped and immediately tried to pull away.

“Don’t,” Yue murmured, arms tightening around him. “Let me feel you like this.”

He guided him back down, slow and steady, until Shen Jiu was grinding against the length of him, slick smearing through thin silk. He could feel every twitch and throb of Yue Qingyuan’s obscenely large cock between his throbbing folds.

The pressure was perfect . Unbearable.

Every roll of his hips dragged his aching cunt along that thick ridge and Yue Qingyuan’s thigh beneath him. The friction made him whimper, soft and broken, as his fingers dug into Yue Qingyuan’s robes for balance.

“That’s it,” he whispered, mouth brushing his ear. “Just like that. You’re so wet, I can feel it through everything.”

Shen Jiu moaned and tried to bury his face in his neck, pleasure twisting up inside him.

“You’re doing so well. Look how easy it is now. Look how your body moves for me.”

Yue Qingyuan gripped his hips with both hands, guiding the rhythm now—slow, grinding circles that made Shen Jiu choke on a gasp and jerk in his lap.

The friction built too fast. Too hot.

Yue Qingyuan pressed a kiss just behind his ear.

“Come for me like this,” he said. “I know you can. You’re so close, aren’t you?”

Shen Jiu nodded blindly, voice caught in his throat.

Another roll of his hips—another glide of his soaked cunt against the fabric clinging to Yue Qingyuan’s cock—and it hit.

Sharp. Wet. Sudden.

He came with a desperate, breathless cry, legs tensing, hips locking up in a final helpless grind. Slick gushed against Yue Qingyuan’s robes, hot and soaking through both layers where they pressed together.

Yue Qingyuan groaned, deep and heavy into his ear as Shen Jiu twitched and whimpered in his arms.

“Fuck— Xiao Jiu—”

He didn’t even mean to thrust—but Shen Jiu clenched down in his lap, and his whole body shuddered . He’d been hard for what felt like hours, grinding slow, controlled, patient—and now that tight, messy friction pushed him over with humiliating ease.

Yue Qingyuan came with a low, broken moan, rutting between slick folds, face buried against Shen Jiu’s throat, his hips rocking once, twice before stilling.

Warmth soaked into his underrobes—thick, wet, caught between their bodies.

Shen Jiu felt it.

“Did you—?” he asked, voice still raw, half a breathless laugh.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t deny it.

He just kissed him again, soft and flushed, hands stroking down his spine.

“Couldn’t help it,” he murmured. “You’re too perfect like this.”

Shen Jiu huffed, but didn’t move. He stayed exactly where he was—sweaty, sensitive, soaked through—and let Yue Qingyuan hold him like something he could never give up.

All Shen Jiu could do was bury his face deeper into Yue Qingyuan’s neck.

“You want me to stretch you?” he asked, voice low and so terribly kind. “Right here like this?”

Shen Jiu’s fingers dug into his arms.

“…Yes,” he said, barely more than a breath. “Yes, but slowly.”

Yue kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Always.”

Yue Qingyuan’s hands didn’t leave him. They skimmed up Shen Jiu’s sides, over his ribs, back down to cup the weight of his hips again as he gently rocked them together.

“You feel good like this,” Yue Qingyuan murmured. “Like you were made to be touched.”

Shen Jiu scoffed, but the flush on his cheeks said otherwise.

He dipped a hand between their bodies, fingers trailing slowly down. When he found Shen Jiu’s cunt —wet, swollen, still twitching with afterheat—he groaned softly into his skin.

“Still so wet. Even after coming once. You really do like being in my lap.”

Shen Jiu buried his face in Yue’s neck.

“Qi ge—”

“I’ve got you.”

His fingers slid through the slick folds, lazy at first. Just pressure and heat and slow circles around his clit that made Shen Jiu’s thighs tighten in reflex. He whined, soft and low, and tried to lift his hips, but Yue Qingyuan held him steady.

“Shh. Let me take care of it.”

One finger pressed in—not too deep, just enough to breach him—and Shen Jiu sighed , tension bleeding from his spine. The position made it easy; he was already open, soft from earlier, cradled in Yue Qingyuan’s lap like he belonged there.

Yue Qingyuan kept his other hand circling his clit, coaxing more slick out of him, slow and steady.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered against his ear. “Taking me so sweetly. Look how soft you are now, how easily you open.”

Shen Jiu let out a choked breath. His back arched slightly.

“I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

Yue Qingyuan curled his finger just so—brushing that perfect spot—and Shen Jiu jerked.

Then a second finger slid in beside the first, and Yue Qingyuan’s rhythm changed.

“That’s it. Give it to me. Let me feel you fall apart.”

Shen Jiu’s breath came faster now, each exhale stuttering. He rocked into Yue Qingyuan’’s hand without realizing it, chasing the pressure, the warmth, the care.

It came on slowly this time—tightening, building—his whole body curled in around the pleasure. He clung to Yue Qingyuan's shoulders like a lifeline.

“Qi ge— ah —please—!”

Yue Qingyan’s fingers didn’t speed up, just pressed more firmly, more confidently , coaxing him over that edge until—

It broke.

Shen Jiu came with a shuddering cry, thighs trembling, cunt spasming around Yue Qingyuan’s fingers. The pleasure rippled through him, slower this time, more drawn out—less a wave and more a tide.

He shook through it, whining high in his throat, body boneless in Yue Qingyuan’s lap.

He held him through every second.

“That’s it,” he whispered, kissing his hair. “Good boy. You did so well.”

Shen Jiu didn’t speak. He just melted against him, flushed and panting, and let himself be held.

They said like that for a few moments, Yue Qingyuan pressing soft kisses to his face, gently running hands across his hips and up his back as Shen Jiu came down from his high.

Then Yue Qingyuan laid him down on their bed, his back against the pillows. Shen Jiu parted his legs automatically, shrugging his robes the rest of the way off. His hair spilled across the mattress, face flushed from Yue Qingyuan’s earlier minstrations.

He looked... soft. Well on his way to blissed out.

But his voice was still sharp. “You're stalling.”

Yue Qingyuan gave him a look.

“I’m making sure you’re ready,” he replied, uncapping the vial of oil and setting it aside.

Shen Jiu rolled his eyes. “I’m not—”

Yue Qingyuan leaned down and pressed a kiss just above his mound. Gave him a silent look, eyes asking more?

Shen Jiu went silent. That's all the confirmation Yue Qingyuan needed.

That first kiss was soft. Thoughtful. Almost reverent.

Then another—just lower. Then one to the inside of his thigh.

He didn’t go straight for it.

Instead, he let his hands explore first—broad palms smoothing up Shen Jiu’s sides, tracing over the faint curve of his belly, the soft skin below his chest. He brushed his thumbs gently over his nipples, watching the way Shen Jiu twitched, the slight hitch in his breath.

“You like that,” Yue Qingyuan said softly.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Yue Qingyuan leaned up and kissed his chest, slow and patient—tongue flicking over one nipple before sucking lightly.

Shen Jiu exhaled through his nose again, sharper this time.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak—but his spine arched ever so slightly, like his body was responding on its own.

Yue Qingyuan smiled against his skin.

He took his time—alternating between soft, fluttering licks and slow, deliberate sucks that made the sensitive nub tighten under his tongue. One hand splayed across Shen Jiu’s stomach, grounding him. The other slid up to cup his chest, thumb brushing lightly over the opposite side.

 “You’re so responsive here,” he murmured. “So sensitive.”

Shen Jiu made a low sound in the back of his throat, jaw clenched. His arms were trembling now, stiff at his side in the sheets.

He ducked his head again and suckled harder, tongue swirling in lazy, practiced circles. He grazed lightly with his teeth, then soothed the sting with his tongue, again and again.

Shen Jiu gasped and rocked his hips forward without meaning to, trying to find any friction. He whined with need.

Yue Qingyuan slid one hand back between Shen Jiu’s legs, slick with oil and knowing exactly where to touch. His fingers found his clit again— so swollen, so sensitive —and circled lightly, teasing just enough to make him twitch.

“You’re close again already, aren’t you?” Yue Qingyuan whispered against his chest. “You don’t even need much anymore.”

“I—I can’t—fuck—”

Yue Qingyuan didn’t stop.

He sucked on his nipple and rubbed his clit in small, gentle circles, never overwhelming, just steady. His body was caught between melting and tensing, hips grinding reflexively, thighs trembling from the effort to hold himself together.

“Don’t fight it,” Yue Qingyuan said softly. “You can let go.”

Shen Jiu’s hands gripped Yue Qingyuan’s shoulders, fingernails biting into muscle.

Then it happened again—faster this time, hotter, like his nerves were already wound tight and just needed the lightest push.

He came with a sharp, stuttering breath, mouth open in a voiceless cry. His whole body convulsed—hips jerking forward, chest arching into Yue Qingyuan’s mouth as a wet gush of slick spilled down his thighs.

Yue Qingyuan moaned softly against his skin but never let up—guiding him through every wave, every twitching aftershock.

Shen Jiu collapsed into the bed, skin flushed and sticky with sweat and slick.

 “There’s my good boy,” Yue Qingyuan whispered into his hair. “That’s three.”

Shen Jiu was still twitching when Yue Qingyuan shifted beneath him.

He’d barely finished gasping through that third orgasm, his body limp against the sheets, when Yue Qingyuan came up to give him a chaste kiss on the lips.

“We’re not done yet,” Yue Qingyuan murmured, brushing sweat-damp hair from his temple.

Shen Jiu made a broken sound. His legs tried to close instinctively—but Yue Qingyuan was already there, kissing down his stomach again, coaxing them open with steady palms.

“You’re still so soft. So perfect. Let me stretch you a little more.”

Shen Jiu didn’t argue. Not now. His chest rose and fell fast, breath shaky but not resisting.

Yue Qingyuan reached for the vial of oil again, coating his fingers carefully—slowly enough that Shen Jiu could hear it, smell the warm jasmine scent on the air. Then he kissed the inside of his thigh and pressed two slick fingers gently into his soaked cunt.

Shen Jiu gasped, back arching slightly.

“Shh. Just relax,” Yue Qingyuan murmured, voice thick with adoration. “You’re already so open for me.”

The stretch wasn’t painful. Not with how slick and soft he’d become. But when Yue Qingyuan began to move—curling, stroking, pressing just right—it still made him twitch, made him squirm.

Then came the third finger.

He didn’t warn him.

Yue Qingyuan pressed it in slowly , letting Shen Jiu feel every moment of the stretch. His hand was patient, thumb resting lightly against the seam of his folds while his fingers moved inside—scissoring gently, working him open with sinful control.

Shen Jiu moaned—high and helpless.

“Qingyuan—too much—”

“No,” Yue Qingyuan said gently. “You’re taking it so well. I want to feel you stretch around me. You can take it.”

His mouth followed— hot , wet , mercilessly soft —lips closing around Shen Jiu’s clit, tongue flicking with rhythm that matched the slow thrust of his fingers.

The pressure built again, fast and sharp.

The stretch, the stimulation, the feeling of being filled and licked and seen —

Shen Jiu couldn’t keep quiet.

He moaned, head tossing back, fists twisting in the sheets as Yue Qingyuan fucked him open with his fingers and mouth at once.

“So good,” Yue Qingyuan murmured between strokes. “You were made for this.”

The heat coiled again— l ower, harder, his whole body wound tight like a bowstring—

And when Yue Qingyuan curled his fingers just right , dragging across that sweet, aching spot, Shen Jiu came again with a hoarse cry that caught in his throat. His legs jerked, thighs trembling, cunt clenching so tightly around Yue Qingyuan ’ s fingers it almost burned.

Slick gushed down over Yue Qingyuan ’s hand, coating his wrist.

Shen Jiu sobbed softly into the blankets.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t move yet. Just held him through it, mouth pressed to his thigh, whispering:

“That’s it. That’s my beautiful boy. You’re perfect like this.”

Shen Jiu didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He was boneless, breath hiccuping softly, thighs still twitching around Yue Qingyuan ’s wrist.

Yue Qingyuan kissed the inside of his knee and slowly— so slowly —withdrew his fingers, watching the way Shen Jiu’s cunt clenched around the loss. Slick dripped down, making a mess of the sheets. Shen Jiu whimpered at the emptiness.

Yue Qingyuan stroked a soothing hand down his thigh.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’re ready.”

He reached for the lacquered box on the bedside table and opened it with quiet, deliberate movements.

Shen Jiu blinked up at him, dazed, eyes wet at the corners.

Yue cradled his hips with both hands, steady and warm.

“Now,” he murmured, “we go up.”

Shen Jiu lay flat on the bed, soft and pliant. His knees were bent and spread wide, legs still quivering slightly from the last orgasm, his breath shallow as Yue Qingyuan knelt between them.

The plug gleamed faintly in the morning light—larger than anything they’d used before, polished jade slick with oil. Yue Qingyuan held it delicately, reverently, his other hand smoothing slow circles into Shen Jiu’s thigh.

“You don’t have to,” Yue Qingyuan said quietly, even now. “We can stay with the smaller one.”

Shen Jiu’s voice was strained. “I said—use it.”

He stayed open, vulnerable, chest rising and falling, gaze locked stubbornly on the ceiling even as his whole body vibrated with anticipation.

Yue Qingyuan slicked the plug again and brought the tip to Shen Jiu’s cunt, pressing it just barely inside—enough to part him, not enough to stretch.

Shen Jiu hissed.

“You’re ready,” Yue Qingyuan said softly. “I’ve got you.”

He pushed forward—slow, millimeter by millimeter—and watched as Shen Jiu’s face twisted, jaw tight, eyes fluttering shut.

The stretch was rea* now. No denying it. Shen Jiu gripped the sheets, his mouth a thin line of focus and effort. But not in pain- in pleasure. It —

“Breathe,” Yue Qingyuan whispered. “Let me see you.”

The next inch slid in, and Shen Jiu’s whole body jolted. His eyes flew open. He gasped, high and sharp, hips trying to lift off the bed.

“There it is,” Yue Qingyuan murmured. “Just like that. You’re opening so well for me.”

He angled the plug—gently, expertly—and the curved tip pressed just right.

Shen Jiu’s moan cracked open with a broken moan.

His back arched, fingers clawing into the sheets as his cunt spasmed around the plug. Yue Qingyuan watched, mesmerized, as slick dripped down over his thighs—he was so wet,  pulsing around the toy.

“Qi ge—” His voice broke. “It’s too— ngh , I—”

“You’re doing so well,” Yue Qingyuan said, voice warm and low. “Look at you.”

Shen Jiu was a vision. Wide-eyed. Flushed. Tears gathering in the corners of his eyes from the pressure, the stretch, the sheer fullness.

Yue Qingyuan began to fuck him with it—slowly, shallow thrusts with the plug, angling each motion to nudge against that tender spot inside, again and again.

Shen Jiu sobbed.

He was crying before he came for the fifth—wet, breathless little gasps, tears sliding down his cheeks as his legs twitched and kicked uselessly.

“Please—fuck—don’t stop—!”

He didn’t.

He drove the plug in deep, holding it there as Shen Jiu’s orgasm ripped through him. His cunt clamped down hard, squeezing the plug like it was trying to keep it in forever. Slick gushed out of him, drenching the sheets, the base of the toy, Yue Qingyuan ’s palm.

Bu t Yue Qingyuan kept going.

Another slow thrust.

Another nudge against that spot.

And Shen Jiu screamed .

His sixth orgasm hit while the first hadn’t even ended. His hips jolted off the bed, legs flailing, chest heaving, mouth open in a perfect, shattered moan. Cunt clenching down on the toy over and over again in ecstasy.

 “You’re so full,” Yue Qingyuan whispered, brushing tears from his face. “So beautiful like this. I could watch you fall apart all day.”

Shen Jiu was gone- fucked stupid and blissed out. Barely coherent. His lips moved in silent pleas, hands scrabbling for Yue Qingyuan ’s sleeves.

“Please, please, it’s too—” he mumbled.

Yue Qingyuan leaned down, kissed his temple. “You’ve done enough.”

He drew back slowly, watching Shen Jiu shudder with aftershocks, his own need long forgotten. He was too enraptured with the love of his life twitching and sobbing below him.

Yue Qingyuan kissed him again.

 “You did so well, my love.”

---

An hour later, Shen Jiu stood in front of the mirror.

His hair was perfect. Robes crisp. Mouth carefully neutral.

Yue Qingyuan stood behind him, adjusting his collar with maddening calm.

“You’re glowing,” he said, lips brushing his ear.

Shen Jiu narrowed his eyes. “I am composed .”

Yue smiled. “Of course you are.”

Chapter Text

The morning sun glinted off the dew-slick grass as the disciples lined up for formation drills. Shen Qingqiu stood with one of his fans open and covering his lower face- the fact that it was a gift from Yue Qingyuan is only a coincidence- the wind catching the edges of his inner robe. He looked like serenity carved from jade.

He felt like a disaster.

Not that anyone would guess. His face was expressionless, eyes sharp, posture stiff—but that stiffness had nothing to do with discipline and everything to do with the faint, maddening pressure between his legs. The plug inside him had been there since last night.

Not that it was big. It wasn’t. It was manageable .

He’d walked. He’d meditated. He’d eaten his breakfast without even flinching. But then one of the brats had to go and get their footwork right on the first try and ruin everything.

The girl, probably no older than thirteen, performed her sword form with focused precision—light steps, balanced grip, clean pivot. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes followed the arc of her movement before he could stop himself.

And the words were out of his mouth before he realized he’d said them.

“Good. Keep that form.”

The heads turned.

The girl’s eyes widened. “Y-yes, Shizun!”

She looked radiant. Like someone had just handed her a treasure. Like she’d be telling this story until the day she died: the moment Shen Qingqiu, Peak Lord of Qing Jing, had praised her without sarcasm, insult, or visible disgust.

Shen Qingqiu blinked. Realized what he’d done.

And immediately turned on his heel.

—

He made it halfway to his office before the panic hit.

What the fuck was that?

His boots echoed too loudly against the stone tiles as he stormed through the hall, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

It’s because of the plug. I’m going soft. They’re going to think I’m soft. Next thing you know I’ll be complimenting the kitchen staff. I’ll be offering people tea. I’ll be… smiling. Like Yue Qingyuan .

He stopped walking. Swore under his breath. Loudly.

“This is your fault,” he hissed, to absolutely no one.

The pressure between his legs hadn’t faded. If anything, the awareness had deepened—his body buzzing with unspent tension, his muscles too aware of how open he felt.

He hated it.

He hated how good it felt.

“Stupid. Weak. Embarrassing—”

Another disciple passed by and bowed. Shen Qingqiu snapped upright, adjusted his sleeves with all the fury of someone fighting for his life, and pivoted to walking toward the one place he could hide without being judged.

He headed for Yue Qingyuan’s office.

Because if he was unraveling, it might as well be in the arms of the man who’d made him this way.

—

Yue Qingyuan’s office was quiet. The paper door slid open with the faintest creak, and the scent of sandalwood and pressed ink greeted Shen Jiu like a slap to the face.

Yue Qingyuan looked up from a half-written scroll, brush still in hand, robes immaculate.

“Ah. Qingqiu shidi.”

Shen Jiu didn’t answer. 

Yue Qingyuan blinked. “Something wrong?”

“No,” Shen Jiu snapped. Then, a beat later: “Yes. Obviously. ”

He shut the door behind him harder than necessary and crossed the room in quick, angry strides. He looked like a man one bad word away from committing a murder.

Yue Qingyuan set his brush down. “Talk to me.”

Shen Jiu didn’t.

He stood in front of Yue Qingyuan 's desk, arms crossed, refusing to look at him. His jaw clenched, and his throat moved as he swallowed down whatever nonsense had followed him from the training yard.

Yue Qingyuan waited.

He was good at that.

Finally, Shen Jiu exhaled through his nose, sharp and quick. “I told one of them she did well.”

“…One of the disciples?”

“Yes. She didn’t trip on her sword. I said ‘good’ and now she’ll probably cry about it for three days.” He turned his face away. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

Yue Qingyuan’s mouth twitched. “Ah.”

“And now they’ll think I’m—” Shen Jiu’s voice cracked, and he cut it off, fists clenched. “It’s your fault. ”

That startled a laugh out of Yue. “My fault she has good form?”

“Your fault I’m like this. ”

That made Yue Qingyuan go still.

Then he stood, slowly, and came around the desk—not touching, not crowding. Just there . Waiting.

Shen Jiu didn’t move.

Didn’t yell.

Didn’t look at him.

But when Yue Qingyuan lifted a hand toward his face, Shen Jiu let him cup his cheek. His eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling.

“Say it,” Yue Qingyuan said gently. “What do you need?”

Shen Jiu’s mouth twisted.

“I don’t need—” He stopped. Swallowed. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Make it stop.”

—

Yue Qingyuan sat back in his chair and drew Shen Jiu close between his knees, pulling him in by the waist. He guided him gently, patiently—like handling fine silk— hands shaking as they curled over Yue Qingyuan 's thighs.

“Xiao Jiu.”

“Don’t,” he muttered. “Don’t say anything.”

Yue Qingyuan didn’t.

He just untied the front of Shen Jiu’s robes, slow and practiced, and let the silk part to reveal pale thighs already damp with slick.

The plug was still in.

Shen Jiu flushed deep red but didn’t look away. He couldn’t. Not when he felt this keyed up, this raw—humiliated from earlier, overstimulated from walking around all day with the plug pressing against his cunt, and now desperate to do something about it. To be useful. To feel in control.

So he dropped to his knees without being asked.

Yue Qingyuan sat down again in his high-backed chair and let Shen Jiu undo the ties at his waist. The fabric parted. His cock lay already half-hard, flushed and heavy, and Shen Jiu didn’t even give it time to fully swell before he leaned in and took it into his mouth .

No teasing. No buildup. Just desperation.

Warm, wet suction. Shallow bobs of his head that quickly grew deeper. Messy. Determined. His hair slipped forward like a curtain, hiding the red in his cheeks, the tears that welled up from the stretch.

Yue Qingyuan exhaled slowly. “You're always so beautiful.”

Shen Jiu made a noise in his throat. Not a laugh. Not a denial. Just a moan—and a tiny twitch of his hips.

Between his parted thighs Yue Qingyuan could see the plug still seated inside him, jade gleaming faintly, his cunt flushed and wet and throbbing.

And he was grinding against Yue Qingyuan 's boot.

Just the tip of it—smooth and polished, the toe angled upward slightly. Shen Jiu rocked against it with unconscious desperation, dragging the plug against the inside of his swollen walls with every movement, pressure blooming sharp and sweet with every grind of his hips.

His breath came hard through his nose, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to his temples. The silk of his robe had slipped off one shoulder, baring the curve of his collarbone and the faint tremble in his chest.

Yue Qingyuan looked down at him—flushed, filthy, mouth stuffed full of cock and still rutting against the leather at his feet—and something in his expression flickered between awe and hunger.

“Oh,” he said softly. “You want to come like this?”

Shen Jiu whined around the stretch of Yue Qingyuan’s cock, lips stretched red and wet around the tip, throat working to take him deeper. His body betrayed him, shuddering with need. The movement of his hips turned sloppy—a slow, grinding rut that pressed slick against the boot’s toe in rhythmic, messy thrusts.

Saliva spilled from the corners of his mouth, coating Yue Qingyuan 's cock with a sheen of spit that caught the light. Shen Jiu moaned low, vibrations rumbling down Yue Qingyuan 's length. He sucked harder, faster—desperate, reckless—with no thought of dignity. His thighs trembled, the friction and fullness making it impossible to think.

Each grind of his clit against the angle of Yue Qingyuan 's boot made the plug shift inside him, pushing deeper, pressing up into that too-sensitive spot that made his knees buckle.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t say anything else. He just watched.

And then Shen Jiu made that sound.

That guttural, choked-back sob that only ever escaped when he was right on the edge—
Mouth still full, body trembling, his whole frame locked up—

“Nn—gguh—”

His eyes rolled back. His hips jerked once, twice, plug driving into him with each movement, and then—

He came.

Messily. Loudly. Grinding helplessly against a boot like a heat-struck beast, mouth stretched wide around Yue Qingyuan 's cock, tears beading in the corners of his eyes as his cunt clenched and pulsed around the plug. Slick soaked his inner thighs, wetting the leather under him. He sobbed once, thick and wrecked, before choking on a moan that turned into a gag.

Yue Qingyuan let out a slow, trembling exhale, brushing his hand through Shen Jiu’s hair. His voice was low, like a prayer.

“That’s it. That’s my beautiful boy.”

Shen Jiu barely heard him. His body wouldn’t stop trembling.

But his mouth never left Yue Qingyuan’s cock.

And he didn’t stop.

He didn’t even slow down.

He kept sucking.

Sloppily now—more spit than precision, more moaning than breathing—but he didn’t stop. His throat burned, his jaw ached, and still he bobbed his head with frantic need, chasing Yue Qingyuan’s release like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

And he was grinding harder against the toe of Yue Qingyuan 's boot.

Faster now, more desperate. The leather slick with his arousal, every drag of his cunt against it dragging the plug deeper, grinding it right against that unbearable spot inside him .

His whole body shuddered. Tears streamed down his cheeks, unchecked and unimportant.

“Xiao Jiu,” Yue Qingyuan moaned.

That was all he said. All he needed to say.

A warning. A tether. A praise.

And Shen Jiu broke on it.

He moaned again, voice thick and wet, still wrapped around Yue Qingyuan 's cock—and that vibration made Yue Qingyuan groan, low and dangerous, hand tightening in his hair. Shen Jiu’s thighs jolted. His body jerked, plug pulsing with every grind of his hips as slick poured from him.

And then—he came again .

Harder. Faster. Wrecked.

He didn’t even register it at first. Just the sudden lock in his thighs, the dizzying white-out behind his eyes, the pulse-pulse-pulse of his cunt clenching around the plug as he kept humping down on Yue Qingyuan 's boot. The orgasm dragged through him —hot, relentless, merciless.

He came without breath, chest heaving, eyes wide and blank, face wet with tears and spit.

And he didn’t stop.

Couldn’t.

His mouth was still stretched around Yue Qingyuan 's cock, drooling down the shaft, lips red and slick with spit. His thighs spasmed around nothing. His hands trembled against Yue Qingyuan 's knees. He moaned—quiet and broken, a ruined noise—because the second orgasm didn’t fade. It kept rolling, dragging him deeper with it.

Yue Qingyuan watched him fall apart.

Watched the tension bleed out of his shoulders, his jaw go slack, the need melt into something softer—something surrendered.

There it is.

That haze. That sweet, foggy emptiness creeping into Shen Jiu’s eyes. He was blinking slow now, movements messy and uncertain. The fight was gone. The venom. The shame.

All that was left was this quiet, trembling obedience.

He wasn’t trying to be in control anymore.

“Look at you,” Yue Qingyuan murmured, running a thumb along his jaw. “You’re already gone, aren’t you?”

Shen Jiu moaned around him, low and shaky.

Yue Qingyuan 's thumb stroked his cheek, wiping a tear.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “You’re doing so well. Just stay with me.”

Shen Jiu whimpered, mouth still full, humping Yue Qingyuan 's boot like a bitch in heat, eyes fluttering closed with every grind.

His legs were soaked. His thighs slick and trembling with effort. The plug gave a faint squelch with every movement, pressing up into him like it had always belonged there.

Yue Qingyuan leaned forward and kissed the crown of his head.

“Let go, Xiao Jiu. I’ve got you.”

Yue Qingyuan stood—slowly, deliberately—and tangled one hand in Shen Jiu’s hair.

“Breathe through your nose.”

He barely gave a warning before thrusting in, smooth and firm. Not cruel, not punishing—just decisive. Deep. Rhythmic.

Shen Jiu’s eyes flew wide with a shrill whine, then fluttered shut again.

His hands clutched at Yue Qingyuan 's thighs as his mouth was filled over and over, the motion pushing the plug deeper inside him with every subtle jolt. His cunt clenched, wetness still dripping down onto the floor.

He moaned helplessly, the sound muffled by Yue Qingyuan’s cock bullying its way into his throat, thick and insistent. His grip on Shen Jiu’s hair wasn’t cruel—but firm. Anchoring. A tether to reality as much as a claim.

The sting of it—fingers tight at his scalp, the slow, purposeful drag of Yue Qingyuan 's hips—shot straight to his core, heat blooming behind his navel and dripping lower.

“You take me so well,” Yue Qingyuan said, voice low, fraying at the edges. “Let me use you a little more, sweetheart. You can do that, can’t you?”

Shen Jiu’s only answer was a tiny, trembling nod.

Even that was almost more than he could manage. His throat stretched, his breath rasping slow through his nose. But he stayed open, obedient, letting Yue Qingyuan guide the rhythm—not fast, not cruel. Just deep. Steady. Inevitable.

He felt the weight of it everywhere: on his tongue, in the sting of his scalp, in the low pulse between his thighs. The plug inside him shifted with every thrust—nudging just enough to make him feel so full, so utterly possessed that it blurred the line between pain and pleasure.

He was so close— hanging on the precipice of complete surrender. He just needed a bit more, a small nudge to fall over the edge. 

Yue Qingyuan, ever the devoted and obsessive lover, delivered. He carded a hand gently through Shen Jiu’s disheveled hair. Paused his deep, intentional thrusts for a moment. Gave him a moment to breathe.

Then Yue Qingyuan began to bounce his foot, fucking up into Shen Jiu’s sloppy, ruined cunt, grinding it against the jade plug and his swollen clit.

Shen Jiu screamed. Writhed. Came with a sudden, violent squirt that soaked Yue Qingyuan’s robes.  His hands frantically clenched against Yue Qingyuan’s thighs, clinging on for dear life. It was too much and not enough, the motion from Yue Qingyuan’s foot passing through to the plug and causing it to vibrate against that spot inside him. 

He saw stars as the orgasm rocketed through him, Yue Qingyuan continuing to fuck his mouth with his cock and cunt with his boot. Shen Jiu choked on that massive length as he humped and bounced against Yue Qingyuan’s leg, desperately imagining that the length splitting his throat open could replace the cold, hard object ruining his cunt. 

He wanted more—needed more—needed Yue Qingyuan to fuck him and ruin him until he forgot even his own name. Tried to convey that with his desperate whines and moans against the cock in his mouth.

Yue Qingyuan heard every sound. Felt every tremor.

And he gave it to him. Not just with his cock, but with his whole body—with hands gripping his hair tight enough to make Shen Jiu sob, with the arch of his boot pressing slow and steady between trembling thighs, with his hips grinding forward in slow, hungry thrusts that dragged every last moan from Shen Jiu’s mouth.

Yue Qingyuan grunted, groaned, hips stuttering forward.

“Xiao Jiu—”

His voice broke like his control had—raw, reverent, breathless .

Shen Jiu’s throat pulsed around him, desperate sounds vibrating up his shaft and curling deep into his gut.

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

He fucked Shen Jiu through the aftershocks, slow and grounding, cock still buried in his mouth, foot still angled just right beneath him—pushing the plug deeper every time Shen Jiu rocked forward in helpless rhythm. The wet slap of skin, the slick heat of his mouth, the faint tremble in his thighs—it all blurred into something ritualistic, almost sacred.

And then—something in Shen Jiu simply gave out.

His fingers slipped from Yue’s thighs, his posture softened, and the tension drained from his body like breath leaving lungs. He didn’t flinch or gag or resist.

He just let go.

Silent. Pliant. Completely open.

His lips stayed wrapped around Yue Qingyuan’s cock, trembling slightly as his body sagged in place, surrendering to sensation. Saliva clung to his chin in strings, his lashes fluttering closed. Every exhale was a tiny, involuntary tremor, and with each slow breath, his throat twitched around the length still buried deep—drawing another low groan from above.

Yue Qingyuan looked down at him, wrecked and radiant, and his heart stuttered.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, softer this time. “So good for me. So beautiful like this.”

Shen Jiu, red-faced and soaked, didn’t respond. He couldn’t, too blissed out to comprehend speech or come up with a response.

He was drooling heavily now, chin shiny, throat relaxing each time Yue Qingyuan 's hips rolled forward. He wanted it. Needed it. This was how he quieted his thoughts: with Yue Qingyuan 's voice above him, his heat in his mouth, and his own pleasure forgotten.

No plug. No grinding. No stimulation but the ache in his jaw and the dizzy, floaty feeling rising with every wet stroke.

“Can you take more?” Yue Qingyuan asked, voice low and rough.

Shen Jiu nodded, still working him down. Yue Qingyuan 's hand tightened, and this time the rhythm changed—quicker, more desperate. His hips rolled up in smooth, even pulses, and Shen Jiu let him take control, surrendering bit by bit.

“That’s it,” Yue Qingyuan murmured. “Open up for me. Just like that.”

Shen Jiu did.

He opened up for him, jaw loose, tongue obedient, breath slow and steady through his nose. His body already trembled from overstimulation, but he didn’t pull away. He held himself still, letting Yue Qingyuan guide the rhythm—deeper now, needier.

And Yue Qingyuan … broke.

The hand in Shen Jiu’s hair tightened— firm in a way that made Shen Jiu moan around him, that told him Yue Qingyuan was no longer pretending to be calm.

“That’s it,” Yue Qingyuan whispered, voice rough. “Just like that, sweetheart. Gods, your mouth—”

His other hand braced against the desk, knuckles white. The slow, reverent thrusts turned urgent. Quick. Brutal. Desperate. Full of helpless hunger. Every time he pushed in, he sank deeper, harder, the wet heat of Shen Jiu’s throat welcoming him like it had been made for this.

The chair creaked.

His hips stuttered.

His composure cracked.

“Xiao Jiu,” he groaned. “You don’t even know what you do to me—”

He wasn’t in control anymore.

He was chasing the feeling—the slick pull of Shen Jiu’s mouth, the way he moaned around him, the flutter of his throat with every shallow breath. Shen Jiu was pliant beneath him, hands gripping Yue Qingyuan 's thighs, tear-streaked and flushed, and still giving. Hips twitching and bouncing against his soaked boot.

Yue Qingyuan 's movements got faster. Sloppier . He was grinding forward now, every thrust fueled by some frantic, wordless need to be deeper, to be closer.

“You’re perfect,” he choked out. “Mine. Let me—just let me—”

Another wet, strangled moan tore from him, and Shen Jiu shivered in response.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t stop.

Even as his thighs tensed, even as his breath came in short, harsh bursts—he kept moving, hips twitching forward, using Shen Jiu’s mouth like a feral beast. As if he could pour every emotion he’d never said into the rhythm. As if this was the only way to show how much he needed him.

The tension coiled tight, then snapped.

He came with a ragged, breathless sound, thrusting in deep one last time as he spilled down Shen Jiu’s throat. Hot. Sharp. Endless. He trembled through it, still murmuring praise, even as his voice broke.

“So good. So good for me. You’re mine—Xiao Jiu, you’re—”

Shen Jiu stayed right where he was.

Knees sore against the stone, mouth still wrapped around the softening weight of Yue Qingyuan's cock. His throat worked gently, instinctively, swallowing everything offered to him with the kind of obedience that didn’t ask for praise anymore. It was simply who he was now—right here, on his knees, his body undone by the act of being used with care .

And then—his vision went white .

There was no warning. No grinding. No friction.

Just the throb of heat between his legs. The pulse of fullness from the plug still seated inside him. The ache in his jaw, the slick between his thighs, and Yue Qingyuan 's hand still cradling his head like something precious—

And he came .

Soft. Silent. Violent.

His whole body seized—a sharp gasp against Yue Qingyuan 's cock, a tremble so sudden it made his breath catch and his fingers curl in Yue Qingyuan 's robes. Slick spilled between his legs again, soaking the inside of his thighs, his cunt clenching down on instinct, not in search of stimulation.

He crumpled.

A soft sob broke out of him, barely more than a hiccup, as he swallowed down Yue Qingyuan’s salty release. He twitched through the orgasm, overwhelmed and completely at its mercy. His lashes were damp. His shoulders shook.

Yue Qingyuan noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He reached down, gentle now, and brushed the wet strands of hair back from Shen Jiu’s temple. His thumb found a tear and wiped it away.

“You came,” he whispered, not as a question, but a reverent acknowledgement. “Just from that?”

Shen Jiu didn’t speak. Couldn’t. He just let out a tiny, content moan and sagged forward, spent and dazed, leaning into Yue Qingyuan 's hand like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the room.

And maybe it was.

—

The room smelled like sweat, slick, and incense. The sun had shifted, throwing gold across the room where Shen Jiu lay slumped against Yue Qingyuan with his head resting against the man’s knee.

His eyes were half-closed. His hair clung to his temples, cheeks flushed and damp, lips still swollen from being used.

The plug was still inside him.

He didn’t have the energy to pull it out.

Yue Qingyuan shifted in his chair slowly, carefully, and guided Shen Jiu up from the floor with both hands.

“Come here,” he said, quiet but sure. “Let me hold you.”

Shen Jiu moved like his limbs weren’t entirely his—loose, trembling, pliant. He let Yue Qingyuan lift him, arms curling weakly around his neck as he was pulled into his lap, robes rumpled and half-falling off one shoulder. His head found the crook of Yue Qingyuan 's neck and rested there without protest.

He didn’t speak. He just breathed. Slow. Shallow.

Yue Qingyuan rubbed small, warm circles into his back, one hand slipping down to rest at the small of his spine.

“You did so well,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “So good for me. I’ve got you.”

The scent of sandalwood clung to his robes. The chair creaked quietly as they settled, the only sounds left in the room were the crackle of the brazier and the faint hiccup of Shen Jiu’s breath as he came back to himself, inch by inch.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t rush him.

He held him there, steady and warm, letting his hand drift through soft hair. Every now and then he’d hum under his breath—nothing specific, just a grounding note that said I’m here. You’re safe.

A long silence followed. Comfortable. Heavy in the way that good aftercare always is—like rest sinking into the bones.

Eventually, Shen Jiu dozed off like that: curled against Yue Qingyuan 's chest, robes in disarray, plug still snug inside him, and utterly, completely at peace.

Chapter Text

Shen Jiu woke up warm.

He woke to the smell of sandalwood, a soft cotton coverlet pulled to his waist, and a solid chest pressed against his back.

Also: the plug was still in.

It throbbed gently, a dull fullness between his legs—not painful, but enough to remind him of where he was, and what he'd done.

What he keeps doing.

“Ugh,” Shen Jiu muttered, voice wrecked with sleep and bitterness.

A hand slid over his hip immediately.

“Morning,” Yue Qingyuan said behind him, voice infuriatingly awake. “You were out cold.”

“You drugged me.”

“You came four times in a row and then crawled into my lap. I didn’t have to.”

Shen Jiu hissed and shoved the blanket off—but made no move to actually get up.

Yue Qingyuan's hand was still at his waist, warm and steady. His fingers moved in small, casual circles. Soothing. Thoughtless. Intimate. 

“You’re doing that thing again,” Shen Jiu muttered.

“What thing?”

“The thing where you pretend this is normal.”

Yue Qingyuan pressed a kiss behind his ear. “Isn’t it?”

Shen Jiu turned slightly, enough to glare at him over his shoulder. But it wasn’t much of a glare, not when his cheeks were flushed and his robe had fallen off one shoulder.

Yue Qingyuan ’s eyes flicked down. Slowly. Thoughtfully.

“You’re staring,” Shen Jiu said flatly.

“You’re beautiful,” Yue Qingyuan replied, maddeningly sincere.

Shen Jiu made a strangled sound and rolled fully onto his back, one arm thrown across his eyes.

“I hate you.”

“You don’t,” Yue Qingyuan said gently. “But I do think we should talk.”

That made him freeze.

Talk. The worst possible word.

Shen Jiu lifted his arm just enough to peer at him, suspicious. “What kind of talk?”

Yue Qingyuan hesitated—just a beat—but his tone stayed soft.

“About... how we’ve been doing things. And what you want.”

The flush on Shen Jiu’s face deepened.

“I’m not writing a contract, Qingyuan.”

“I’m not asking you to. But we’ve crossed into something more structured—routines, plugs, rules…”

He paused, watching Shen Jiu’s expression carefully.

“I want to be sure it’s what you want. Not just something you’re tolerating.”

Shen Jiu was quiet for a long moment. He stared up at the ceiling.

Then: “You’re not making me do anything.”

“I know.” Yue Qingyuan shifted closer, propping himself on one elbow. “But I need you to know that too. And I want to make sure you feel like you can stop any of it. Any time.”

Shen Jiu’s lips twitched into something almost like a smirk. “You’re ruining it. With your concern.”

Yue Qingyuan smiled. “You like rules. You like knowing what’s coming. You like being touched when you’re ready for it—and ignored when you’re not. That’s what this is. Not control. Not shame. Just structure, with care.”

Shen Jiu turned to face him properly. The blanket shifted, revealing the soft line of his stomach, the faint press of the plug between his legs.

“...Fine,” he muttered. “But no scenes in public. No obvious marks. And if you try to lecture me like a disciple I will stab you.”

“Understood.” Yue Qingyuan leaned in and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“And don’t call me ‘good boy’ in front of anyone.” Shen Jiu added under his breath. 

“I’ll try to restrain myself.”

He reached down and gently brushed Shen Jiu’s thigh.

“One more thing,” he said. “While the plug’s in—no coming unless I say so.”

Shen Jiu scoffed. “I’m not that insatiable.”

Yue Qingyuan raised a brow.

Shen Jiu glared for exactly two seconds—then looked away.

“...Fine. But don’t get smug.”

“I would never.”

They lay like that for another minute, the silence warm and close.

And Shen Jiu—flushed, wrecked, sore, and full—finally whispered:“This is... fine.”

Yue Qingyuan smiled into his hair. “Then we keep going. As slow as you want.”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he said.

Yue Qingyuan's  smile deepened. “I am.”

Yue Qingyuan smoothed a hand down to the curve of his ass, thumb brushing the edge of the plug still nestled inside.

“You’re so quiet when you’re like this,” he murmured. “Letting me help. Letting me touch you.”

Shen Jiu sucked in a sharp breath.

“Stop talking like that—”

“You’re softer in the mornings,” Yue Qingyuan continued, ignoring him. “Sleep-warm. Plugged. Mine.”

That last word slipped out too smoothly.

Shen Jiu flinched like it had hit a nerve—but didn’t move away.

Instead, he buried his face in the pillow and groaned.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re in my bed.”

“I was compromised.”

“And I’m going to help you clean up,” Yue Qingyuan added, like that was the most natural conclusion in the world. “Unless you’d prefer to handle it yourself..”

Shen Jiu didn’t answer.

He just stayed facedown in the pillow and muttered, “This is your fault.”

Yue Qingyuan chuckled.

“Come on,” he said, shifting to sit up. “Let me take care of you.”

—

Yue Qingyuan brought the lacquer box to the bedside care. Shen Jiu stared at it like it might bite him.

“I’m not wearing that next one,” he said flatly.

Yue Qingyuan sat at his side and opened the lid with soft fingers. “You don’t have to. Not yet.”

“…‘Not yet?’”

“I want to check how you’re doing first.”

Shen Jiu narrowed his eyes. “You mean you want to finger me again.”

“I mean I want to make sure you’re not sore,” Yue Qingyuan said, voice infuriatingly calm. “Unless you’d like to end up limping for real this time.”

Shen Jiu turned bright red. “I didn’t limp.”

“You tripped going down the stairs.”

“Because I was distracted.”

“By the plug.”

Shen Jiu muttered something Yue Qingyuan couldn't pick up on and rolled onto his side with a dramatic sigh.

“…Fine.”

He didn’t make eye contact as Yue Qingyuan shifted the blankets back.

He stayed quiet as Yue Qingyuan helped him out of his loose robe, exposing pale thighs and flushed folds, the slick curve of the plug still snug between his legs. He placed a pillow beneath Shen Jiu’s hips, further exposing his swollen cunt and the glistening plug.

Yue Qingyuan hummed low in his throat.

“You’re already dripping.”

“From last night,” Shen Jiu hissed.

“From right now.”

That shut him up.

Yue Qingyuan leaned in and pressed a kiss to the small of his back—soft, reverent—and then pulled a small vial of warming oil from the box.

Shen Jiu buried his face in the pillow again, muffling a sound halfway between a moan and a curse.

“Ready?” Yue Qingyuan asked softly.

No answer.

He took it as permission.

Yue Qingyuan spread him with gentle hands, thumbing the plug just slightly to the side. Shen Jiu twitched. The slick already coating his inner thighs had a fresh sheen to it now.

He rubbed a little oil around the rim of the plug, then eased it out slowly—twisting just enough to tease, not enough to hurt.

Shen Jiu whimpered, whole body tightening—and then relaxing again once the pressure released.

Yue Qingyuan made a quiet sound of approval.

“Still so tight. But your body remembers me now.”

He let the plug sit beside the pillow, still glistening, and brought two slick fingers to Shen Jiu’s entrance. He didn’t push in immediately. He circled . Teased. Massaged the soft, sensitive lips, coaxing them open gently.

“You’re already fluttering,” he murmured. “You want something, don’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“Then stop clenching around nothing.”

Shen Jiu gasped as Yue Qingyuan ’s hand settled between his thighs with that infuriating, reverent care he always used. Like Shen Jiu was something treasured. Something meant to be handled delicately, even when he was shaking and sore and already on edge.

The first finger pressed in slowly, the glide maddeningly gentle. Shen Jiu’s hips twitched, breath catching against the pillow.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t say anything yet. He just watched. Mapped the way Shen Jiu’s body moved around the touch — how his legs tried to tense before easing open again, how his back arched just slightly when that single finger curled forward.

Then the second joined it. Just as slow. Just as deliberate.

Shen Jiu whined. He hated whining. Hated how easy it was to melt under this, how easily Yue Qingyuan could turn him into a shivering mess with just his voice and his patience and his cursed, steady hands.

“You’re doing so well,” Yue Qingyuan said, finally. His voice was quiet, low. 

Shen Jiu tried to bite back the sound that caught in his throat. He failed.

Yue Qingyuan's  thumb smoothed lazy circles along his inner thigh, just a grounding touch, while his fingers moved with devastating rhythm—not fast, but deep. Focused. Intentional.

Every push dragged across something deep and tender inside him, a place he couldn’t think around. Couldn’t breathe through.

“You can come like this,” Yue Qingyuan murmured, bending forward to speak against his shoulder. “You’ve done it before.”

“I won’t,” Shen Jiu muttered, already shaking. “I’m not that—”  The sentence broke apart in his mouth, lost to a sob as Yue Qingyuan's  fingers pressed forward again, coaxing more warmth, more tension, more helpless pleasure from his trembling body.

“I want you to,” Yue Qingyuan whispered. “I want you to let go.”

Shen Jiu didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

He just shook, thighs quivering, the air catching in his lungs. His whole body burned — overstretched, overfilled, and desperately open. It was too much and not enough. It was everything.

And then—

It broke over him.

No scream. No dramatic cry.

Just a quiet, trembling exhale, and the softest moan, like something he’d been holding onto for years had finally, quietly slipped free. His hands curled into the bedding. His spine arched, then collapsed. He pulsed, breath stuttering, overwhelmed.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t stop touching him. He just slowed down. Smoothed a hand up Shen Jiu’s flank, grounding him again with touch and quiet praise.

“There you are,” he whispered.

And Shen Jiu — flushed, dazed, and barely able to lift his head — finally let himself sink.

And Yue Qingyuan didn’t stop.

He just pressed in deeper, curling, dragging another broken whine from Shen Jiu’s throat.

“You’re not done yet,” he murmured.

And he was right.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t withdraw.

Instead, he slicked his fingers again—generously this time, his touch slow and deliberate—and added a third.

Shen Jiu flinched.

Not from pain. From realization.

“W-wait—”

“Shhh,” Yue Qingyuan said, soothing, pressing a kiss just above the curve of his tailbone. “You’re doing so well. Let me stretch you properly.”

The third finger didn’t force its way in. Yue Qingyuan coaxed it—working slowly against the other two, circling, easing pressure into the soft give of Shen Jiu’s cunt until it finally slid in with a wet, obscene sound.

Shen Jiu moaned helplessly into the pillow, his hands twisting in the sheets. His breath caught and stuttered, his body trembling with the effort of staying still.

“Too much—” he gasped, voice breaking on the edge of a sob.

“You can take it,” Yue Qingyuan said softly,  lovingly, as if the praise could coax him open just a little more. His fingers curled inward again, slow and steady. Then—gentle pressure—scissoring. Stretching.

Shen Jiu’s back arched automatically. He didn’t mean to. His hips lifted just slightly off the mattress, chasing that deep, aching heat that bloomed every time Yue Qingyuan moved in that specific way.

The pressure wasn’t fast. It wasn’t harsh. But it was relentless.

That wordless, growing pulse surged up again—low in his belly, spreading out through his limbs. Slick heat spilled freely now, and the air felt too thick, the sheets too soft, every nerve tuned too sharply to the points of contact between their bodies.

Yue Qingyuan's  voice stayed low and sure. “You’re stretching for me,” he murmured. “So good, so open. Your body knows what it wants.”

A choked sound broke from Shen Jiu’s throat—half a sob, half a shattered moan. He wasn’t even sure what he was reacting to anymore: the praise, the fullness, the maddening way Yue Qingyuan kept stroking that trembling spot inside him like it was sacred.

The rhythm never faltered. Three fingers, curled just right, spreading and pressing deeper with each pass. His free hand glided up Shen Jiu’s spine in calming arcs—steady, soothing, grounding. A contrast to the deep internal pressure threatening to push Shen Jiu right over the edge again.

And then Yue Qingyuan twisted his wrist—just a little—adding his thumb in the perfect place, low and soft and devastating.

“Right there,” Yue Qingyuan whispered. “Let it happen.”

Shen Jiu let out a cry. 

The clench of his body gave him away—the sharp, involuntary pulse of muscles gripping around Yue Qingyuan's fingers, the full-body tremble that followed. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t violent. But it was complete.

He came again. From fullness. From pressure. From being so thoroughly held open that his body didn’t know how to do anything else but fall apart.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t pull away. He just kept him there—fingers steady, body warm, voice a soft murmur against the sweat-damp skin of his back.

“That’s it,” he said. “You’re doing so well.”

Shen Jiu’s hands loosened in the sheets. His jaw went slack. All that tension he carried in his spine, his shoulders, his ribs—gone.

And in the quiet, between aftershocks, the only sound left was his soft, hitched breathing.

Tears smeared into the pillowcase. Shen Jiu was shaking. He was grinding against Yue Qingyuan's  palm now, desperate and glazed, chasing the pressure.

“You’re taking it beautifully,” Yue Qingyuan murmured, dragging his fingers out just far enough that Shen Jiu whimpered and pushed back down.

The reaction was pure instinct.

“No—wait—don’t take them out,” Shen Jiu said, voice wrecked , words slurring from how hard he was breathing. “Please. I’m—don’t take it out yet—”

Yue Qingyuan's  heart twisted and lit up at the same time.

He leaned over him, fingers still moving deep inside, and whispered against the shell of his ear:

“Do you want more?”

Shen Jiu shook his head.

Nodded.

Shook it again.

“You don’t know what you want, do you?”

“ You, ” Shen Jiu choked. “I want—I want— fuck, please just put it in. ”

“Put what in?”

“You know. ” His voice cracked. “That plug, the big one, the one that’s—just—fuck, please—I’ll be good—”

He didn’t even hear himself. Didn’t realize he was begging.

Yue Qingyuan did.

Yue Qingyuan heard every word and memorized them, heart pounding, cock twitching, absolutely high on the sight of Shen Jiu open and pleading with slick shining down his thighs and three fingers still inside him.

“You’re ready,” he whispered, reverent.

And slowly, he pulled out—careful, slick, admiring the stretch that stayed after his fingers left.

He wiped them with a soft cloth. Reached for the next plug in the box—longer, slightly wider, curved to press into that spot they both knew too well.

Shen Jiu didn’t protest this time.

He just spread his thighs a little wider.

Yue Qingyuan kissed the back of his thigh.

“Good boy.”

Shen Jiu tried to smother his whine.

He pressed the tip in—slick, warm, slow.

Shen Jiu hissed. Moaned. His thighs tensed, trembling with the effort to stay still as Yue Qingyuan pressed the plug in deeper—slowly, relentlessly, like he had all the time in the world.

It stretched him open, inch by inch, with overwhelming thoroughness. Full. Heavy. So much that he couldn’t quite breathe around it.

Then it pressed just right—right there—that place deep inside that made him see stars. His cunt clenched— it was so big, so hard, forcing him open like nothing before.

He choked on a sob.

His hands scrambled for the bedding, grasping for something to anchor him. But the pleasure didn’t stop—it bloomed, sharp and hot and helpless, until his whole body was taut with it.

The plug seated with a final, perfect twitch. No more motion. Just… presence .

And Shen Jiu—stunned, dazed—let out one shuddering breath. His whole body jerked once, subtle but unmistakable.

A quiet, broken moan escaped him as he collapsed into the sheets, shaking in the aftermath. No friction. No touch. Just fullness and surrender.

Yue Qingyuan smoothed a hand down his spine.

“There it is,” he murmured, voice filled with pride. “You’re perfect.”

Yue Qingyuan pressed a palm over his lower belly. “Full?”

Shen Jiu nodded, tears slipping silently from the corners of his eyes as he twitched through the aftershocks of the orgasm.

“Want to rest like this for a while?”

Another nod.

Yue Qingyuan pulled the blankets back over his hips. Climbed in behind him. Held him like something priceless.

And Shen Jiu—already halfway under again—mumbled against the pillow:

“Still hate you.”

Yue Qingyuan smiled.

“I know.”

—

Liu Qingge burst through the office door without knocking.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look up from the scroll he was writing, brush strokes steady and calm.

“Liu-shidi,” he said warmly. “To what do I owe the—”

“What the hell’s wrong with him?”

The brush paused.

Yue Qingyuan looked up slowly. “Pardon?”

“You know who I mean.”

“I might,” Yue Qingyuan said mildly.

“He was polite to my senior disciple. Said ‘thank you.’ Smiled. Didn’t threaten to have anyone kicked off the mountain. And yesterday? I saw him pet a dog.”

Yue Qingyuan blinked. “Is that so?”

Liu narrowed his eyes. “You’re doing something to him.”

“I assure you,” Yue Qingyuan said, setting the brush aside, “I haven’t done anything Shen Qingqiu hasn’t asked for.”

Liu blinked. Visibly processed that. Regretted it.

“...Is he dying?” he asked finally. “You can tell me if he’s dying.”

Yue Qingyuan chuckled. “He’s not dying, Liu-shidi. He’s just…happy.”

Liu stared at him.

Then snorted. “Happy? Shen Qingqiu?”

“It’s rare, I know.”

“No. It’s unnatural. ”

“He’s sleeping better. Eating regularly. Less yelling, fewer injuries to the junior disciples.”

“That’s because they’re all too scared to ask him questions,” Liu muttered.

“Is that really it?”

Liu Qinggeopened his mouth.

Closed it.

Thought for a second.

“...He did say my junior’s formation was adequate.”

Yue Qingyuan smiled, all innocent grace. “See? Progress.”

Liu Qingge stared at him for a long time.

Then, finally: “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you.”

Yue Qingyuan didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

—

Three junior disciples sat huddled behind the koi pond wall with their talisman scrolls clutched like shields.

One of them peeked over the edge, then ducked back down like she’d seen a ghost.

“He’s smiling again. ”

“No he’s not.”

“He said my sword form was ‘decent.’ That’s… basically a hug.”

The third, the oldest, looked like she’d seen things. “He didn’t make me scramble out of the way when walking through the halls yesterday.”

A horrified pause.

“Did he—like— make eye contact ?”

She nodded grimly. 

They sat in stunned silence.

Someone further up the path whispered:

“He’s been possessed.”

“Or maybe it’s a heavenly tribulation.”

“What if it’s sex?”

They all turned.

The youngest blinked. “Shizun? But he hates people.”

“He does seem… sore.”

“I saw him sitting down really slowly yesterday.”

“No one’s that sore from paperwork, and I don’t think he’s been doing any extra sparrs.”

The oldest leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “So. If he’s not yelling. If he’s saying things like ‘good effort’ and ‘I’m proud of you’ —”

“He didn’t call me an idiot this morning!”

“—then someone is either fucking him or blackmailing him.”

They all turned toward Qiong Ding peak.

Toward Yue Qingyuan ’s residence.

Silence.

Then, one brave soul:

“It’s Sect Leader Yue. Has to be.”

The others gasped.

“He’s the only one strong enough to survive it.”

“Or gentle enough to like it.”

“...We have to tell the others.”

They scrambled up and fled with the urgency of junior disciples about to light a gossip wildfire that would burn for months.

Back behind the koi pond, one lone paper talisman fluttered to the ground, abandoned and forgotten.

On it, in scribbled handwriting:

“He smiled. Save yourselves.”

—

Night fell

By the time Shen Jiu finished bathing and dressing, the peak was silent. The stars had begun to flicker, soft light catching on the lacquered edges of the plug nestled between his thighs.

He didn’t need to wear it this long.

He could have taken it out an hour ago.

But Yue Qingyuan hadn’t said anything about it… and Shen Jiu hadn’t asked.

He hated how well it fit now. How comfortable it was. How he walked through Qing Jing all day plugged and calm, and no one had dared to ask why.

He hated even more that he kept looking forward to the quiet evenings in their home, where things made sense.

Where he didn’t have to fight anymore.

—

Shen Jiu stepped into the study without knocking.

Yue Qingyuan looked up from his scrolls. “Come in.”

“I’m already in.”

“You’re late.”

Shen Jiu narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t give me a time.”

“Mm.” Yue Qingyuan set the scroll aside and sat straighter. “Clothes off. Let me see you.”

The command was soft. Painless. But it cut straight through Shen Jiu like a blade to the gut.

He could have refused. He could always refuse.

But his fingers were already tugging loose the belt at his waist.

He stripped down slowly. With every layer, he glared harder. By the time he was bare and kneeling on the silk rug—plug still seated, flushed and slick and quietly aching—his jaw was locked tight.

Yue Qingyuan came over and circled behind him.

Not to touch. Not yet.

Just to look.

“Still wearing it,” Yue Qingyuan said, pleased.

“You didn’t say to take it out.”

“Would you have obeyed if I did?”

Shen Jiu clenched his jaw, stubborn.

But when Yue Qingyuan knelt beside him and ran his hand down the line of his spine, Shen Jiu tipped his head forward like he was relieved .

Yue Qingyuan pressed two fingers to the edge of the plug. Then the base. Then nudged it just slightly .

Shen Jiu shivered .

“Not too sore?” Yue Qingyuan asked.

“I’m fine.”

Yue Qingyuan hummed, gently rocking the plug inside him with barely-there motion. “Your body’s holding it so well. I could make you come just like this.”

Shen Jiu turned his face away. “Then do it. ”

Yue Qingyuan didn’t move.

The plug stayed right where it was.

The silence dragged on just long enough to hurt.

“…Qingyuan?”

Still nothing.

Shen Jiu twisted to look over his shoulder, mouth opening—then froze.

Yue Qingyuan was smiling at him. Calm. Perfectly dressed. Kneeling behind him like some divine statue.

“I think you’ve had enough for today,” he said. “Unless you’re going to ask for it properly.”

Shen Jiu's pride flared . “ What? ”

“Then you don’t come.”

Shen Jiu’s breath hitched. “You—fuck—you can’t just decide —”

“I’m not deciding,” Yue Qingyuan said calmly. “I’m giving you structure. You wanted this.”

“No, I—”

Yue Qingyuan leaned in. Whispered:

“You begged for it this morning. Remember?”

Shen Jiu’s entire body went still.

The ache between his legs deepened—throbbed.

Yue Qingyuan kissed the nape of his neck.

“You were beautiful when you begged.”

Shen Jiu made a choked sound—somewhere between a sob and a moan—but didn’t fight.

He just curled in on himself slightly. Tried to breathe through it.

And stayed plugged, untouched, aching .

—

Later, when Yue Qingyuan sat down to finish his scrollwork, Shen Jiu moved without being asked.

He sat at his feet. Curled against his leg like a cat. Cuddling against him—but wouldn’t be caught dead calling it that.

And after a long pause, he muttered:

“I’ll ask. Next time.”

Yue Qingyuan smiled. Reached down. Brushed fingers through his hair.

“Good.”

And kissed his forehead like a benediction.

Later, after the candles had been blown out and the air had cooled, Shen Jiu let Yue Qingyuan guide him to the washbasin.

He didn’t complain when Yue Qingyuan helped him kneel on the small cushion by the edge of the low table.

He didn’t complain when Yue Qingyuan lifted the back of his robe and pressed one hand to his lower back.

And when Yue Qingyuan finally— finally —slid the plug free with slow, careful hands, Shen Jiu hissed softly but said nothing else.

He stayed still through the cleaning. Through the warm cloth and the soothing balm. Through the whisper of soft oil around his entrance.

He didn’t even flinch when Yue Qingyuan kissed the back of his thigh.

—

Later still, Shen Jiu curled under the blankets with a sharp sigh and turned his face to the wall.

Yue Qingyuan joined him a minute after.

No contact.

Not at first.

Just silence.

Then Yue Qingyuan's voice, soft in the dark:

“New rule.”

Shen Jiu opened one eye. “What now.”

“If you want to come, you ask. If you want more, you ask.”

“I hate you.”

“I know. But will you obey?”

Shen Jiu was quiet.

Then:

“...Maybe.”

A beat.

Then Yue Qingyuan's arm slid around his waist. Pulled him back gently against his chest.

“Then maybe I’ll make you come tomorrow.”

Shen Jiu made a frustrated sound—but didn’t pull away.

He didn’t argue, either.

Chapter Text

The sun was too bright. The courtyard too loud. And Shen Qingqiu was absolutely not in the mood for this.

He had only meant to walk across the eastern field— drop off a scroll, check on formations, maybe scowl at a few juniors for sloppy posture —and then leave. Efficient. Simple.

Instead, he walked straight into a living sin.

There, at the center of the sword training field, stood Yue Qingyuan.

Bare to the waist. Sparring with Liu Qingge. Muscles taut and gleaming. Hair tied up, strands sticking to his flushed, exposed neck.

And for some reason—because the heavens clearly hated him—both of them were laughing.

Shen Qingqiu froze mid-step.

The laugh Yue Qingyuan let out wasn’t his usual courtly chuckle. It was low . Loose. Like it belonged to a younger version of him—back before titles and robes and all the heavy things they couldn’t take off anymore. It rumbled from his chest as he ducked under Liu Qingge’s blade, knocked it wide, and retaliated with a fluid sweep that made the younger man skid back across the field with a grin.

Shen Qingqiu’s throat went dry.

His eyes flicked down. Big mistake .

Every muscle in Yue Qingyuan’s back flexed as he moved—rippling under the sweat-slick skin. The cord of his spine dipped low, disappearing under the waistband of dark training robes that hung low on his hips. Too low.

And then—worse—he turned.

Smiling. Breathless. Glowing with exertion.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Just stared .

“Shizun?” a passing disciple said behind him, clearly startled. “Do you need—?”

“No.” Shen Qingqiu snapped without turning. The disciple wisely scurried away.

He should leave. Now. Before Yue Qingyuan noticed. Before Liu Qingge noticed. Before he spontaneously combusted from sheer humiliation.

But he didn’t move.

Not until Yue Qingyuan caught his eye. Not until he smiled again—this time gentler, more familiar—and raised a hand in casual greeting.

That broke the spell.

Shen Qingqiu turned on his heel and walked away like the grass behind him was on fire. He did not stumble. He did not let his fan hide the flush crawling up his throat. And he certainly did not clench his thighs around the soft, shameful pulse of want starting to bloom inside him.

No. He was fine.
He was dignified.
He was absolutely not some sex-crazed beast lusting after—

—a thick waist and solid, powerful arms and the trail of chest hair peeking out beneath his robes.
Not after the way the sunlight caught in the dark hair dusting Yue Qingyuan’s belly, or how his sparring robes clung to the shape of his broad chest and softer middle, or the way he filled them out like he’d been carved for comfort, not vanity.

Certainly not after the sweat-slick stretch of fabric clinging to a thigh-thick cock that looked more suited for ruining someone than polite swordplay.

Absolutely not.
He was above that.

…He was going to die.

Shen Qingqiu choked on his own thoughts.

“I’m fine,” he muttered aloud, jaw tight. “Perfectly fine.”

He stormed back toward Qing Jing Peak, clutching the scroll like it might smite him clean of sin.

But the image stayed burned into his mind.

Yue Qingyuan. Sun-warmed. Laughing. Bare and strong and so fucking solid .

Shen Qingqiu’s thighs squeezed together on instinct.

He hissed through his teeth.

Fine. He wasn’t a beast.

…He just wanted to bounce on that third leg until he couldn’t remember his own name.

—

Back at Qing Jing Peak, the scroll was nowhere to be found.

Mostly because Shen Jiu had tossed it onto a random shelf the moment he slammed his office door shut.

He paced.

Once. Twice. Sat down.

Then stood up again.

The chair felt wrong . The air felt thick. His skin too tight. His thighs kept brushing—too aware of what was still seated snug inside him.

That damn plug.

He should take it out. He should do anything except sit here, flushed and leaking and thinking about the way Yue Qingyuan's muscles flexed every time he turned his hips. The sound of his laughter. The visible proof of how big—

“ Stop it, ” Shen Jiu snapped at himself.

He sat again. Hissed through his teeth as the plug shifted inside him. The pressure wasn’t even painful—it was worse. Just... there . A dull, hot ache that throbbed with every breath. Every twitch. Every stubborn reminder of how empty he still was.

Shen Jiu shifted in his seat again.

The pressure hit deeper this time. A little sharper. Not pain—just stretch. A pulse that echoed in the wet heat between his legs.

He squeezed his thighs together.

Then parted them. Slowly. Testing.

His cunt throbbed.

“ Stupid, ” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “You are a grown man. You are not going to rut on your—”

He rocked forward.

Just once.

The plug rubbed up, slow and heavy, against the chair. A bolt of sensation shot up his spine, bright and awful. His mouth fell open in a silent gasp.

He rocked again.

The edge of the seat caught the plug’s base, pressing it upward in a firm glide that made his breath catch. Heat surged low in his belly, shame rising with it like smoke.

Another grind. Another press.

He gripped the desk edge, knuckles white. His hips moved on their own now, slow and shallow, like something in him had snapped its leash.

“Not—doing this,” he hissed, grinding down harder.

The friction was maddening. The plug shifted with each roll, nudging deeper, sparking tiny flashes of pleasure that bloomed hotter with every motion. Slick was pooling beneath him—he could feel it now, soaking into his underlayers, clinging to his thighs.

He rubbed harder.

Faster.

His breath turned ragged. His body tensed. Every nerve buzzed like lightning under his skin. His thighs trembled as he rocked forward again, chasing that pressure, mouth pressed to the crook of his sleeve to muffle the sounds.

“Ah—ah—fuck—”

The orgasm hit like a slap.

Fast. Hard. Embarrassing.

Shen Jiu came with a helpless whine buried in his sleeve, legs spread wide, cunt clenching around the plug as slick gushed out of him in thick, wet pulses. He twitched through it, hips jerking once, twice—then stilled, slumped against the desk like a puppet with cut strings.

His vision blurred. His heart pounded.

“Fucking idiot, ” he whispered, shaking.

His thighs were still trembling. His seat was ruined. He couldn’t tell where the plug ended and the ache began anymore.

Then—

Knock knock.

“Shidi?” Yue Qingyuan’s voice was calm. Gentle. Too close.

Shen Jiu froze.

“I brought the report you asked for,” Yue continued, muffled through the door.

Another pause.

“…You sound busy. Should I come back?”

Shen Jiu said nothing.

His sleeve was still halfway stuffed in his mouth. His thighs were still spread, body limp, lips bitten swollen. There was no salvaging this.

Another pause. A little longer.

Then, mercifully, footsteps retreating.

Shen Jiu stayed very, very still.

He buried his face in his arms, still breathing hard, and cursed the heavens. And himself. And Yue Qingyuan’s stupid face and stupid arms and stupid third leg that should absolutely be registered as a divine weapon—

He groaned.

He was so going to get punished for this.

And worse?

…He kind of wanted it.

—

By nightfall, the air on Qing Jing Peak had cooled into a gentle hush.

Shen Jiu sat still as Yue Qingyuan combed through his hair.

It had become part of their evening routine—cleansing, quieting, a soft intimacy layered in silk and silence. Shen Jiu never asked for it. Never said thank you. But he came every night, robes loose, hair damp from bathing, and folded himself into Yue Qingyuan’s quiet hands like it was inevitable.

He hadn’t spoken since returning from his office.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t push. Just sat behind him on the edge of their bed, gently separating dark strands with long fingers, moving with the practiced calm of a man who had learned to wait for answers.

“You’re tense,” he said eventually, brushing a knot loose near the base of Shen Jiu’s neck.

“I’m fine,” Shen Jiu said. Automatically. Too fast.

Yue Qingyuandidn’t answer. Just continued with the comb, smooth strokes from crown to tip.

After a long moment, he reached forward, gentle and sure, and tugged Shen Jiu’s outer robe down from his shoulders.

Shen Jiu didn’t stop him.

His bare back gleamed faintly in the candlelight, skin flushed and prickled with residual heat. His breath came too quick. His thighs were too tight where they rested apart on the bed.

And beneath the thin inner robe—Yue could feel the way he trembled.

When Yue Qingyuan’s hands slipped lower, brushing over the soft flare of Shen Jiu’s hips, he paused.

Wet.

Even through the silk. Dampness soaked the inner layers, clinging to the curve of his thighs like a confession.

Yue Qingyuan said nothing.

He just let his fingers linger. Not groping— not yet —just tracing the outline of the heat radiating from between Shen Jiu’s legs. He adjusted the robe slightly, fabric whispering open to expose the clinging mess beneath.

Still wet.

Still leaking .

Shen Jiu inhaled sharply.

Yue Qingyuan hummed, low and thoughtful. 

His fingers ghosted upward, brushing the seam where the wet fabric stuck to swollen lips.

Shen Jiu jerked.

“You’re shaking,” Yue Qingyuan said gently.

“I’m not,” Shen Jiu snapped. “You’re imagining things.”

“I see,” Yue Qingyuan murmured. “So this”—he traced a single finger over the damp patch again, slow and maddening—“is what? A heatwave? Condensation? Sect Leader Shen’s renowned work ethic?”

Shen Jiu’s breath stuttered. “It was hot today.”

“Was it.” Yue Qingyuan pressed down this time. Just a little. Enough for the soaked fabric to shift, to catch on the plug still seated inside him.

Shen Jiu bit back a sound. His fists clenched in his lap.

Yue Qingyuan leaned in behind him, mouth brushing the shell of his ear.

“I think,” he said quietly, “someone got himself worked up over something.”

Shen Jiu grit his teeth. “I didn’t—”

“Mm?” Yue Qingyuan’s hand moved again, spreading the damp robe further. His thumb traced the curve of Shen Jiu’s inner thigh, wet skin meeting air with a soft, obscene squelch. “You didn’t what?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Shen Jiu snapped, voice sharper now, panicked. “It wasn’t—on purpose.”

“Interesting,” Yue Qingyuan said, calm as ever. “Because it smells like you came hard .”

Shen Jiu’s face went scarlet.

“I didn’t—”

Yue Qingyuan slid a single knuckle just beneath the robe, pressing against the plug’s base. “Did you grind on your chair, Xiao Jiu?”

Shen Jiu made a high, involuntary sound.

Yue Qingyuan smiled into his hair. “Tell me.”

“It just— happened! ” Shen Jiu turned his face away, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to! I was thinking about—” He choked himself off.

Yue Qingyuan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Thinking about what ?”

No answer.

Yue Qingyuan’s hand moved again, cupping Shen Jiu’s dripping center, fingers spread between soaked thighs, pressing just enough to make his breath hitch.

He waited.

And waited.

Until Shen Jiu’s voice came out, brittle and ruined:

“You.”

Yue Qingyuan hummed again, pleased.

“Hmm. I was afraid of that.”

His hand withdrew.

Shen Jiu blinked, startled by the loss—only to feel Yue Qingyuan stand behind him, shift closer, warm breath ghosting over his cheek.

Then that voice, calm and soft as silk:

“Do you remember the rule?”

Shen Jiu didn’t answer.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t repeat himself.

He just reached around and pressed a slow, slick finger right over the plug, rocking it gently in place.

Shen Jiu whimpered. “Don’t—”

“You’re leaking down your thighs,” Yue Qingyuan said. “You came with your plug still in.”

He leaned down, lips brushing his neck.

“I told you not to come without me.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Shen Jiu turned halfway, face flushed scarlet. “I—I tried to stop—”

“I know.”

Yue Qingyuan shifted, drawing Shen Jiu closer, chest to his back now, his arms wrapping around his waist with quiet steadiness.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Shen Jiu whispered, shaking. “I just—after seeing you—and it was too much and I—”

“I’m not angry,” Yue Qingyuan murmured.

That was worse.

“You’re not ?” Shen Jiu snapped, twisting in his arms. “I broke a rule. You said not to come without you. You said—”

Yue Qingyuan leaned in and kissed the back of his neck.

Then, near his ear, voice soft and utterly devastating:
“I told you not to come without me.”

Shen Jiu froze.

His whole body went still in Yue Qingyuan’s arms—except for the faint tremble in his thighs and the sharp, shallow breath ghosting from his lips.

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Yue Qingyuan said, lips brushing his skin. “That was a rule.”

Shen Jiu’s chest rose and fell faster now.

“I—” His voice caught. “It was just once.”

Yue Qingyuan’s hand slid down, over the front of his robe. Cupped the heat between his thighs with maddening calm.

Still wet. Still warm.

Still swollen from earlier.

Shen Jiu shuddered.

“One is all it takes,” Yue whispered. “And now you’re going to learn how to behave.”

Shen Jiu swallowed hard.

“Lie back,” Yue Qingyuan said.

Shen Jiu obeyed.

He settled onto the bed, robes bunched around his hips, legs parted without being told. His thighs trembled. The wet heat between them was obscene—slick still dripping from him, shining in the lamplight, the plug nestled snug inside.

Yue Qingyuan knelt between his legs, calm as ever. Reverent. Terrifying.

“You’re still wet,” he murmured. “Still aching.”

Shen Jiu swallowed hard.

“Do you know what happens when you disobey?”

He didn’t answer.

Yue Qingyuan leaned forward, kissed the inside of his thigh. Then again. Then bit .

Shen Jiu gasped, jerking.

“You don’t come again tonight,” Yue Qingyuan said simply. “No matter how much you want to.”

Shen Jiu whimpered, breath catching.

Yue Qingyuan’s hands moved to his hips. Steady. Slow. He curled his fingers around the base of the plug and twisted—just slightly.

Shen Jiu gasped.

Not from pain. From the pressure—deliberate, thick, shifting deep inside him. The curve of the plug dragged against sensitive walls as Yue Qingyuan rocked it, shallow and slow, not removing it yet—just moving it.

“Qi—ge—” Shen Jiu’s voice broke on the second syllable.

Yue Qingyuan hummed softly, calm as ever. “Does that feel good?”

Shen Jiu didn’t answer.

Yue Qingyuan rocked the plug in again—just a little deeper this time. Then back. Then in again.

The slick squelch of it filled the room.

“You’re soaking it,” Yue Qingyuan murmured, eyes fixed on the way Shen Jiu’s cunt fluttered, stretched open around the jade plug. “Dripping all over yourself. Just from this.”

He pulled the plug out a little more, slow and wet, until only the tip remained inside—and then pushed it back in with deliberate pressure. Shen Jiu keened.

“Stop—” he gasped, voice shaking. “If you keep—if you do that again I—”

“You’ll what?” Yue Qingyuan’s voice was soft. Cruel. “Come without permission? Again?”

Shen Jiu sobbed through his teeth.

The plug rocked in and out now in slow, rhythmic thrusts—Yue Qingyuan holding him open, fucking him with it like it was his fingers, his cock, anything but mercy. The stretch was maddening. The pressure perfect. Shen Jiu’s thighs shook where they were held wide, his hole fluttering with each drag of the plug’s curve against that aching spot inside.

He writhed. Whimpered. Tried to twist away—and back into it at the same time.

“Qi ge—please—I can’t—!”

“You can.” Yue Qingyuan kissed the inside of his thigh, still fucking him open. “You’re taking it so well. It’s so sweet how your body begs without you even realizing.”

Shen Jiu was a mess now—panting, flushed, cunt soaked and swollen. Slick gushed out around the plug with every push. His eyes rolled back as Yue Qingyuan twisted it just right and—

“ Ah—! ” Shen Jiu screamed. “I’m gonna—gonna— please —!”

The moment Yue Qingyuan heard that ragged edge in his voice—so close, so ready to break—he stopped.

Just… stopped.

The plug stilled deep inside him.

Shen Jiu twitched and whined, grinding down with the desperation of someone still chasing the edge.

But Yue Qingyuan’s hands tightened on his hips.

“No.”

A single word. Absolute.

“Qi—”

“No,” Yue Qingyuan repeated. “You don’t come again tonight.”

And then, only then, did he slowly, agonizingly , pull the plug out.

Shen Jiu cried out—high and sharp—the sudden emptiness making his cunt clench around nothing, fluttering helplessly in search of the fullness that had just been ripped away.

“So needy,” Yue Qingyuan whispered. “Look how you flutter.”

He spread him gently—hands strong on trembling thighs, holding him wide open. The cool air hit Shen Jiu’s slick cunt like a slap. He moaned, overstimulated and aching.

His hole pulsed again, soft and gaping, slick still leaking in rivulets.

“Already soaking the sheets,” Yue Qingyuan said, voice calm. 

He tapped two fingers lightly against Shen Jiu’s entrance.

The fluttering tightened. The ache grew.

“Empty now,” Yue Qingyuan murmured. “And you’re going to stay that way.”

Shen Jiu sobbed, hips twitching in search of pressure, anything to ease the ache inside.

But Yue Qingyuan didn’t give it to him.

Instead, he let his fingers trail lightly through the slick still dripping from Shen Jiu’s hole—coating his fingertips in the evidence of how desperate he already was.

Then he circled them. Slowly.

Not inside. Not even near the rim—just around it, tracing maddening spirals on flushed, trembling skin. Featherlight touches, soft enough to drive him mad.

Shen Jiu moaned, legs straining.

His hole clenched again, fluttering with every teasing pass of Yue Qingyuan’s fingertips.

“You’re pulsing,” Yue Qingyuan said softly. “So empty. So wet. But still not ready to behave.”

Shen Jiu writhed beneath him, head thrown back.

“Please,” he gasped. “Just—your fingers—just a little, I’ll be good—”

“No.” Yue Qingyuan’s voice was steady. Final.

But his hand didn’t stop.

It dragged downward, tracing the soaked outer lips of Shen Jiu’s cunt—pressing just enough to feel how engorged and aching he was. He brushed slowly over the soft folds, then circled the swollen bud at the top, never quite landing where Shen Jiu needed it.

Every stroke left him gasping.

Every time Yue Qingyuan got close , Shen Jiu’s hips lifted—chasing it—only for Yue Qingyuan to pull back again, infuriatingly controlled. He dragged two fingers along the slick seam, from clit to entrance and back again—slow, slick, deliberate.

“You came without permission,” he said. “So now? You stay ruined. Open. Wanting.”

Shen Jiu shook his head, half in protest, half in desperate plea. “I—I’m sorry—I won’t—please, Qi ge, I’ll be good—just touch—”

“You want touch?” Yue Qingyuan asked, voice dark with something almost amused.

He leaned down, kissed the inside of Shen Jiu’s thigh.

Then he did something awful.

He raised his hand.

And slapped his pussy.

Not hard. Not cruel. Just enough to make it sting .

Shen Jiu jolted.

“Ah—!”

The sound was wet. Obscene. His cunt throbbed, clenched, flushed red from the blow. Yue Qingyuan watched the way it pulsed in the aftermath. A glistening drip of slick slid down, catching the soft curve of his thigh.

“Still dripping,” Yue Qingyuan murmured. “Still begging for attention.”

He traced a finger through the wetness. Up. Down. Then pulled back—and slapped him again.

This time, right on the folds.

Sharp. Measured. Cruel.

Shen Jiu arched with a gasp, thighs twitching in reflex. “Qingyuan—!”

But he didn’t say stop.

He never said stop.

Yue Qingyuan spanked him again—lower this time, right at the tender entrance, where his cunt was fluttering open around nothing. The sound was sharp, but it was the aftermath that wrecked him: the twitching, the clenching, the desperate emptiness.

“You don’t get to come,” Yue Qingyuan said, each word slow, paired with another slap. “Not until I say. Not until your body learns to ask.”

Shen Jiu sobbed now—little, gasping cries spilling from his lips, his body a trembling mess of slick and overstimulation. His hands gripped the sheets. His chest heaved. His thighs shook violently where Yue Qingyuan held them open.

And then Yue Qingyuan leaned in again.

He brought his hand up between Shen Jiu’s legs and pinched .

Right at the bud of his clit—swollen, slick, flushed dark pink. Just two fingers, light at first, rolling the sensitive nub between pads like something delicate.

Shen Jiu choked. “Nn—!”

“You’re so sensitive,” Yue Qingyuan whispered, thumb brushing across the peak. “So responsive. This little thing’s twitching like it’s about to burst.”

He pinched harder.

Shen Jiu screamed.

Yue Qingyuan smiled, slow and devastating. He didn’t torture it—but he worked it. Little circles. Little taps. A teasing press, then a rougher rub that made Shen Jiu thrash.

“You’re close again,” he murmured, mouth warm against his thigh. “Aren’t you?”

Shen Jiu nodded, wild, shaking.

“No words?”

“I— please —Qi ge—I’ll behave, I swear—just let me—let me—”

But Yue Qingyuan was already moving.

He leaned up, and his hand trailed upward, pressing flat over Shen Jiu’s belly. Then higher. Palming his chest.

Shen Jiu’s breath caught.

“You’re flushed all over,” Yue Qingyuan murmured. “Your nipples—look at them.”

One peaked nipple was already trembling under the heat of his palm. Yue Qingyuan brushed his thumb over it—slow, slow, slow—then pinched .

Shen Jiu arched. “Ah—fuck—!”

Then the other.

He alternated—left, right, left again—slow pinches that turned sharp just when Shen Jiu’s cries reached a new pitch. He rolled each nipple between firm fingers, watching them stiffen under his touch, tight and dark with need.

His cunt throbbed with every pinch.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t stop. Just layered the stimulation— pinch , slap , rub , all while Shen Jiu was still twitching from the emptiness inside.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Yue Qingyuan said softly, lips brushing over his ribs. “Open. Desperate. Ready to beg for it.”

Shen Jiu whimpered, clit pulsing under Yue Qingyuan’s thumb, his nipples stinging in time with each spank.

And he was begging.

Soft now. Raw.

“Please… please just fill me—I’ll be good—I’ll stay plugged—I won’t come—I swear, Qi ge, just— something —”

Yue Qingyuan stilled all at once.

Then leaned in and kissed his trembling cunt. Just one soft, reverent kiss to the raw, aching flesh.

“No,” he whispered against him. “Not yet.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I know,” Yue Qingyuan said, and kissed the inside of his thigh again. “But sorry doesn’t mean you get to come.”

His hand moved lower. Pressed two fingers just outside Shen Jiu’s entrance— not inside. Just resting there, letting him feel how empty he was.

Shen Jiu whimpered and tried to grind down.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t let him.

“Please,” Shen Jiu gasped, voice wrecked. “I need—I need—”

“I know exactly what you need.” Yue Qingyuan’s tone was soft. Cruel. Kind. “And you’ll get it. Later. When you learn not to come without permission.”

Another slap. Then a stroke. Then a kiss—soft and loving—right over the stinging skin.

Shen Jiu sobbed.

“You’re so good like this,” Yue Qingyuan whispered. “So wet, so sensitive. All mine. But you don’t get to come.”

Shen Jiu buried his face in the pillows. “Please—Qi ge—please, just your fingers—just the plug—anything—!”

Yue Qingyuan pressed the plug back in—slowly, steadily—until it was seated deep, the base snug against flushed skin.

Shen Jiu shook.

His cunt clenched hard around it, fluttering like it couldn’t decide whether to hold it in or push it out. The stretch was too much —not from pain, but from how full he already felt, how raw and sensitive his body had become under Yue Qingyuan’s hands.

“Breathe,” Yue Qingyuan murmured. “That’s it. You’re taking it so well.”

But Shen Jiu’s breath was breaking.

His spine arched.

His thighs tensed.

“Nnng—wait—”

Too late.

The orgasm rolled through him like a thief in the dark—hot and wet and mortifying . His body clenched down hard, cunt spasming around the plug, slick gushing in messy pulses down his thighs. He let out a strangled, helpless cry, one hand flying to his mouth as if he could stuff the shame back in.

Yue Qingyuan stilled.

He didn't scold.

He just waited—watching, listening—as Shen Jiu’s orgasm shuddered through him, soft and unstoppable. It left him trembling, overstimulated, utterly wrecked.

Shen Jiu didn’t dare open his eyes.

“…I didn’t mean to,” he whispered.

Yue Qingyuan said nothing for a long moment.

Then, calmly:
“You came.”

“I didn’t— mean to—”

“But you did.”

Yue Qingyuan’s fingers slid over the plug again, rocking it gently inside the still-quivering heat.

“You were told not to,” he said softly. “Twice now.”

Shen Jiu turned his face into the pillow, red with shame. “I tried—I really tried—”

“I believe you.” Yue Qingyuan leaned in, lips brushing his temple. “But now we need to remind your body what ‘not yet’ means.”

Shen Jiu looked up—eyes wide, still glassy. “Qi ge—”

“We’ll go up a size,” Yue Qingyuan said gently, reaching for the lacquered box beside the bed. “Tonight.”

Shen Jiu’s breath hitched. “Without—stretching?”

“No stretching,” Yue Qingyuan confirmed, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Unless you say no.”

That gave him pause.

The old panic didn’t come. Just the ache. The burn. And under it, want.

He was still twitching around the smaller plug—still soaking the sheets. His body wanted more. Craved it. Deserved it.

He nodded.

“Words, Xiao Jiu,” Yue Qingyuan said softly.

“…Yes,” Shen Jiu whispered. “You can.”

Yue Qingyuan smiled. “Good boy.”

He kissed him again—slow, deep, proud.

Then reached for the next plug.

It was longer. Wider. Curved just enough to press deeper. Smooth and heavy, polished to a gleam.

Yue Qingyuan poured a few drops of oil into his palm, warming it carefully before coating the toy in practiced strokes.

Shen Jiu spread his legs again without being told.

Yue Qingyuan held the next plug up to the light.

Thicker. Much thicker.

The curved base rested heavy in his palm, and the widest part of the plug was nearly the girth of his wrist—maybe more. Smooth, solid, unyielding. 

Shen Jiu stared at it with wide, wet eyes.

“That’s not going to fit,” he whispered.

Yue Qingyuan leaned in, kissed his cheek. “It will.”

“I—I can’t—”

“You will,” Yue Qingyuan said, voice calm and low as thunder, “because you’re ready. You’ve been opening for me for weeks now. You’ve taken my fingers. My tongue. You came twice just from the smaller plug. And look—”

He traced a finger through the mess between Shen Jiu’s legs, slow and indulgent. “You’re still dripping.”

Shen Jiu whimpered.

“You want to be full,” Yue Qingyuan murmured. “So full you can’t think. Isn’t that right?”

Shen Jiu bit his lip. Nodded.

“Words.”

“…Yes.”

Yue Qingyuan smiled. “Good.”

He reached for the vial of oil again, coating the new plug in slow, reverent strokes. It glistened in the lamplight, heavy with promise. He warmed it with both hands before turning back to Shen Jiu’s trembling, open body.

The smaller plug was still seated deep.

Yue Qingyuan kissed the curve of Shen Jiu’s hip, then slowly, slowly , pulled the plug out.

It left with a wet pop.

Shen Jiu sobbed.

His cunt clenched around nothing, aching. The emptiness was worse now—unbearable. He was raw and open, slick pouring out of him with no resistance.

And then Yue Qingyuan brought the new plug down between his thighs.

It looked too big.

When the thick, oiled tip pressed to his entrance, Shen Jiu’s body flinched.

“I’ve got you,” Yue Qingyuan murmured, kissing his thigh. “We go slow. You say stop, we stop.”

Shen Jiu nodded, jaw tight.

Yue Qingyuan pushed.

Just the head.

The stretch was instant.

Shen Jiu cried out , legs jerking.

“Breathe,” Yue Qingyuan said, hands steady on his hips. “You can take it. You’re perfect.”

Shen Jiu’s hole pulsed around the intrusion, already fluttering and spasming—but not rejecting it.

Yue Qingyuan pushed deeper.

Half an inch. Then another.

The pressure was intense —a slow, splitting fullness that made Shen Jiu’s eyes roll back. The wide flare of the toy dragged against every nerve, pressing hard against the spot that had made him scream earlier.

“It’s so thick,” Shen Jiu gasped. “It’s— fuck —it’s like your arm —”

Yue Qingyuan chuckled softly. “It’s not quite,” he said, kissing the sweat on his brow. “But if you want my arm next, you can ask.”

Shen Jiu screamed into the pillow at that—at the image , the fantasy, the utterly filthy thought of Yue Qingyuan’s thick, muscular arm pinning him down, of those broad, calloused hands fisting into him with quiet, devastating patience.

His cunt clenched hard. His hips rolled. The movement dragged the plug deeper—inch by merciless inch—until it pressed right up against that sweet, aching spot inside.

Every time Shen Jiu’s hips lifted, Yue Qingyuan pressed down—calm, patient, inevitable. The plug spread him wider than anything ever had, until he wasn’t clenching anymore—he was quivering, his muscles forced open, struggling to accommodate the sheer size.

“You’re almost there,” Yue Qingyuan whispered. “Just one more breath, love.”

Shen Jiu sobbed.

He took that breath—and Yue Qingyuan pressed in.

The plug seated with a slow, wet squelch, and Shen Jiu shook apart.

Tears streamed down his cheeks. His legs kicked, then locked open. His cunt spasmed violently around the heavy stretch, and for a moment he couldn’t speak—only cry.

Yue Qingyuan held him through it. Pressed kisses to his hip, his ribs, his mouth.

“You did it,” he whispered. “You took all of it. Look at you. Look how well you hold me.”

Shen Jiu twitched.

He was crying again—silent tears, lips trembling. But not from pain. From everything .

The pressure. The surrender. The unbearable, beautiful feeling of being full .

“I can feel it—” he sobbed. “It’s pressing everywhere—I can’t—”

“You can,” Yue said softly. “And you did.”

He reached down and rocked the plug, just slightly.

Shen Jiu’s eyes flew open.

A strangled sob tore from his throat.

“ Don’t— ”

“Just a little,” Yue Qingyuan said. “I want you to feel it. How deep you’ve taken me. How stretched you are. How much you’re mine.”

He rocked it again.

Shen Jiu wailed .

The plug shifted deep inside him, dragging over every oversensitive nerve, stretching him full and tight. Slick spilled out around the base in slow, messy gushes, soaking the sheets beneath him.

“You’re staying like this tonight,” Yue Qingyuan whispered into his ear, voice rich with praise. “Just like this. Plugged. Dripping. Full.”

He kissed him—slow, deep, proud.

“Tomorrow, we’ll see if you can take something bigger.”
Shen Jiu whimpered. His legs were shaking. His hands fisted in the sheets, eyes wide and wet.

Yue Qingyuan leaned down to kiss the curve of his spine—soft, final. He reached for the blankets to pull them up, smoothing them gently over Shen Jiu’s hips.

But Shen Jiu was still trembling . Still pulsing around the plug. Every breath he took hitched like a sob, and his thighs refused to relax.

He tried to be still. Tried to breathe through it. But the heat wouldn’t leave.

His body ached —wet and stretched and far, far too full of need.

“…Gege,” he whispered.

Yue Qingyuan paused.

Shen Jiu turned his head, tears streaking his cheeks. His voice broke:

“ Gege, please. ”

That word —rare, reverent, raw—hit Yue Qingyuan like a blade in the ribs.

He exhaled slowly.

“You’ve been so good,” he murmured, trailing kisses down Shen Jiu’s inner thigh. “So obedient. So brave.”

Shen Jiu sobbed, nodding.

Yue Qingyuan lowered himself between his trembling legs, spread wide with the heavy plug seated deep. The swollen folds around it were flushed and soaked, his clit stiff with need.

“I’ll give you one,” Yue Qingyuan whispered. “One. For being perfect.”

He licked.

One long, slow stripe over Shen Jiu’s clit—then circled his tongue, soft at first, then firmer. Shen Jiu cried out, back arching hard, his body clenched so tight around the plug that it pulsed with every heartbeat.

He licked, sucked, praised —mouth warm, slow, rhythmic—while his hand reached under and rocked the plug again, gentle and deep.

Shen Jiu shattered.

The orgasm slammed through him like a flood. His whole body arched, then crumpled, then convulsed again— spasming around the plug, slick gushing out in desperate waves as Yue Qingyuan sucked his clit through every aftershock.

“Gege—ah—Qi ge—” Shen Jiu sobbed, voice breaking into pieces.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t stop until the cries turned to whimpers. Until Shen Jiu couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Could only twitch around the plug, overstimulated and wrecked.

—

Shen Jiu slept hard, body exhausted and mind blissfully empty.

Yue Qingyuan lay behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, nose buried in his hair, fingers stroking soft, lazy circles across his belly. The plug was still inside him. His cunt still full. Still stretched wide from the plug Yue Qingyuan had worked into him hours ago.

Every now and then, Shen Jiu would twitch.

Little unconscious pulses. A faint clench.

And then—he moved.

A slow, rolling grind of his hips—barely a breath of motion. But Yue Qingyuan felt it.

Shen Jiu pressed back into him, the fat base of the plug nudging deeper between his legs, his slick thighs spreading wider in his sleep.

Yue Qingyuan stilled.

Then Shen Jiu shifted again, head nuzzling into the pillow, voice barely audible.

“…gege…”

Another grind.

Slower. Wetter. Hungrier.

He was humping Yue Qingyuan’s thigh now, lazy and mindless, his body chasing friction even while dreaming. Yue Qingyuan could feel the heat of him—slick and flushed, pressing down with helpless need.

Yue Qingyuan swallowed hard.

He’d gone the entire night untouched, ignoring his rock hard cock and aching need. Focused. In control.

But now?

Shen Jiu gasped softly, hips twitching again, voice muffled the sheets:

“Want your cock…”

Yue Qingyuan’s breath caught.

He gripped Shen Jiu’s waist instinctively, steadying him. But Shen Jiu didn’t stop. His cunt rocked back against Yue Qingyuan’s thigh, plug shifting deeper, grinding against his clothed cock through damp robes.

“Please…” Shen Jiu whispered, breath hitching. “Want you inside… need it …. So big…”

Yue Qingyuan’s control cracked.

He bit his lip. Pressed his forehead to Shen Jiu’s shoulder. Don’t move. Don’t rut into him. Don’t—

But Shen Jiu kept going.

Still half-asleep. Still lost in some filthy dream he’d never admit to in daylight.

“Want you to ruin me,” he murmured. “Want to be fucked full—on your desk—on my knees—while the window’s open—”

Yue Qingyuan groaned.

“Plug’s not enough,” Shen Jiu mumbled, voice thick and slurred. “Need your cock. Want it deep… so deep I can’t think…”

He humped again—slow, slick, perfect —grinding the fat plug against his aching walls while his soaked folds slid along Yue Qingyuan’s thigh.

“I’d beg for it,” he whispered. “Gege… I’d beg so sweet…”

That was it.

Yue Qingyuan broke.

With a strangled sound, he rutted forward—hips jerking against Shen Jiu’s slick thighs, cock trapped between their bodies, pressed tight by Shen Jiu’s slow, needy rocking.

Shen Jiu gasped again. Still asleep. Still fucking down like he needed it to breathe.

“Wanna come on your cock,” he slurred, panting. “Want you to come in me—fill me up—fuck me til I cry— breed me. Wanna have your babies.”

Yue Qingyuan groaned , hips stuttering.

He grabbed Shen Jiu’s waist, pressed tight between his legs, and came— hard —his cock twitching through his soaked robes, release spilling in thick, hot waves against Shen Jiu’s slick skin. It smeared between them, dripping down Yue Qingyuan’s thigh, soaking into silk and skin alike.

His whole body shook .

And Shen Jiu… sighed.

Content.

Still fast asleep. Still grinding softly on Yue’s thigh, the plug shifting with every breath. But now, the slick sounds between his legs turned wetter. Needier.

Yue Qingyuan barely had time to breathe before Shen Jiu gasped.

A sharp, high, shattered little cry.

His hips bucked—once, twice—plug rocking deep.

Then he came.

In his sleep.

A soft, helpless orgasm that took him like a tide—his thighs trembling, slick gushing out around the base of the plug as his body clenched down in waves. His cunt spasmed tight and needy, fluttering around the unyielding plug like it was trying to milk something that wasn’t there.

Yue Qingyuan felt it all.

Every twitch. Every wet pulse. Every breathy whimper of a man completely unaware of how sweetly his body responded.

Shen Jiu shivered in his arms.

Then melted again. Limp. Wet. Utterly spent.

Yue Qingyuan kissed his temple, heart pounding.

He hadn’t planned this.

Hadn’t planned to come.

Hadn’t planned to be ruined by a sleep-drunk plea and the way Shen Jiu’s body sought him like prayer.

But he didn’t regret a second of it.

He held Shen Jiu tighter.

Let the mess soak into both of them.

And whispered, into the dark:

“You’re mine.”

—

Shen Jiu woke with a soft, confused sound.

Everything was warm.

Too warm.

Sticky.

His eyes opened slowly, lashes damp. The first thing he noticed was the sunlight filtering through the curtains, soft and golden.

The second was the way his thighs were spread.

The third was the plug —still seated deep inside him, snug and unyielding.

He inhaled sharply.

His cunt throbbed. Sensitive. Aching. Slick.

His robes were soaked. Clinging to him with the unmistakable texture of dried release and fresh arousal, the fabric stuck to his inner thighs, his ass, even the back of his knees. There was a wet spot beneath him that had long since cooled, and the scent of sex— his sex—lingered thick and unmistakable in the air.

He blinked.

Then froze.

Yue Qingyuan’s arm was still around him, heavy and warm, holding him close. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm against Shen Jiu’s back. One of Yue Qingyuan’s thighs was nestled under him, and Shen Jiu realized— mortified —that he was half-straddling it.

His own slick had dried along Yue Qingyuan’s skin.

The evidence was everywhere.

“...What,” Shen Jiu croaked.

He wriggled, then gasped as the plug shifted inside him. His cunt clenched down immediately, still too full, still too sensitive. It made him ache .

His face burned.

He tried to think back—how had he fallen asleep? He remembered Yue Qingyuan licking him, praising him, calling him perfect—and then…

Oh.

Oh no.

His heart skipped.

“Did I—?” he whispered.

He had. He could feel it. His body was sore and wet and satisfied in a way that made his ears go hot. The kind of satisfied that came with release. Hard release. Messy release.

He'd come again.

In his sleep.

And worse?

He could feel the faint, sticky residue on his lower back. Yue Qingyuan had come, too.

Shen Jiu went completely still.

If he didn’t move, maybe the bed would eat him.

If he didn’t breathe, maybe Yue Qingyuan wouldn’t wake up and see him like this—soaked and wrecked and needy all over again.

But Yue Qingyuan was already awake.

“Morning,” came the warm, sleep-rough voice behind him. Amused. Fond. Knowing.

Shen Jiu wanted to die.

He shoved his face into the pillow. “Don’t talk to me.”

Yue Qingyuan chuckled and kissed the back of his neck. “Too late.”

Another kiss, lower. Then a soft press of his hand on Shen Jiu’s belly, rubbing slow circles.

“You came in your sleep,” Yue Qingyuan said gently. “And begged for me.”

Shen Jiu groaned into the pillow. “ Shut up. ”

“You said the filthiest things,” Yue Qingyuan added, clearly delighted. “I think I have a few new ideas now.”

“ Yue Qingyuan— ”

“You also humped my leg until we both made a mess,” Yue Qingyuan said, wrapping him tighter in his arms. “It was very sweet.”

“I will kill you.”

Yue Qingyuan just laughed, warm and happy, and nuzzled into his hair.

“You’ll do no such thing,” he murmured. “You’re too good like this. Sticky and sore and all mine.”

Shen Jiu glared at the wall.

But he didn’t move.

He didn’t pull away.

Not even when Yue Qingyuan reached down and gave the plug a slow, teasing nudge —just enough to make Shen Jiu gasp, thighs twitching.

“…Pervert,” he muttered, blushing furiously.

Yue Qingyuan kissed his shoulder. “You started it.”

“We need a bath.”

Chapter Text

The training field shimmered in the morning light.

Dew clung to the edge of swords, blades catching sunlight like polished mirrors. Footwork drills moved in steady rhythm—left, pivot, strike, back again—but every few seconds, one disciple’s eyes darted away from the forms and toward the small knot of whisperers gathered near the stone pavilion.

“Don’t turn your head, he’ll see,” one hissed.

“I’m not turning— you’re turning,” another whispered back.

They clustered close, shoulders brushing, sweat cooling too fast in the breeze. Their voices were low, but not low enough.

“He’s been… calm, lately.”

A beat of silence passed. The kind of silence where everyone knew what came next but no one wanted to say it first.

“He hasn’t insulted anyone in days,” someone added, like they couldn’t believe it even as they spoke.

“Or smacked anyone with a fan,” another said. “I heard someone called his newest painting bad and he just— ignored them ”

There was a pause, reverent with fear.

And then one more whisper, hushed and scandalous:

“Someone said he’s nicer when he’s getting fu—”

Thud.

Every head snapped around.

Shen Qingqiu stepped into the field.

He wasn’t running. He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t even looking at them— yet.

But the air changed.

A spiritual pressure, subtle and cold, rolled over the grass like a drop in temperature before a storm. The sound of his boots on stone echoed far too loud.

The knot of disciples scattered.

Swords were raised in panicked angles. Postures snapped back into place. One poor soul dropped his stance entirely and bent down to retie an already-tied boot just to avoid eye contact.

Shen Qingqiu’s gaze slid past them without comment.

Unbothered.

Uninterested.

Which somehow made it worse.

He handed a scroll off to a hallmaster at the edge of the sparring ring without a word, then turned, robes flaring sharp as blades.

Behind him, the whisperers held their collective breath.

Only when he was fully gone did someone dare to mutter:

“…He’s definitely getting fu—”

“Shut up!”

---

By the time Shen Jiu reached the gates of Qiong Ding Peak, the sky was streaked with gold and lavender. He didn't knock. He never did here.

A few passing disciples bowed as he walked past—too quickly, too nervously—but Shen Jiu barely noticed. His posture was perfect, but his steps were restless. 

He found Yue Qingyuan still at his desk, surrounded by scrolls and low-burning lamps. The soft scrape of brush on parchment paused as he glanced up and smiled

“Ah Qinggiu shidi. Did I run late again? Did you miss me and come to fetch me for bed?”

Shen Jiu clicked his tongue and looked away. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not,” Yue Qingyuan said, rising to meet him. “Ready?”

Shen Jiu simply turned his heel and headed towards the bedroom.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t call him on it. He just stepped close, slow and warm, and brushed his fingers along Shen Jiu’s waist.

Shen Jiu’s body shivered—small, sharp, betraying him instantly.

The plug was still inside.It had been inside for days now.

The monster plug —thick, unrelenting, stretching him full and raw until even walking carried a subtle ache. Yue Qingyuan had let him keep it in with no added stimulation, no reward—just presence. A constant, throbbing reminder.

Now, standing in their secondary residence on Qiong Ding, Shen Jiu looked flushed and untethered. His hands twitched at his sides. His eyes refused to meet Yue Qingyuan’s.

“Xiao Jiu,” Yue Qingyuan murmured, tone slipping soft. “You’re trembling.”

“I’m not—” Shen Jiu started, sharp as ever. But the end of the sentence frayed.

Yue Qingyuan kissed his temple. Then his shoulder. A warm press of lips against cloth, no pressure.

“You’ve been pushed enough lately,” Yue Qingyuan said quietly. “Tonight, no plugging. No penetration.”

Shen Jiu blinked. Eyes flicked up, uncertain.

“No stretching?” he echoed, cautious.

“Just touch,” Yue said. “If you want.”

He reached down slowly and cupped Shen Jiu’s lower belly—right where the plug pressed deepest inside. Not pushing. Just holding. A grounding warmth over the fullness.

Shen Jiu shivered again.

He looked away. “…I don’t want anything weird.”

“No pain. No edge. Just softness.”

“…Softness?” Shen Jiu said it like it was a foreign language.

Yue Qingyuan smiled and kissed his cheek. “Come to bed.”

---

The Sect Leader’s quarters were quiet by nightfall, lit only by the low flicker of one night pearl lamp and the cooling scent of tea steeped hours ago.

Shen Jiu stood near the edge of the bedding, arms folded tight. His robes were unbelted but still clinging to his frame like armor. He hadn’t said a word since Qingyuan had pulled him away from the desk and guided him gently toward the inner room.

Now, Yue Qingyuan stood behind him—close but not touching—giving him space.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Yue Qingyuan said softly. “No stretching tonight. Just stay with me.”

Shen Jiu didn’t answer right away.

With a long breath, he let his arms fall. Shrugged his outer robe off and stepped forward onto the mattress.

Yue Qingyuan followed in silence, helping him lower onto his side, back to chest. His hand ghosted along Shen Jiu’s spine—checking, steadying—but Shen Jiu didn’t flinch away. He let himself be held, even if stiffly at first.

The plug was still inside him. Still thick. Still there.

The slightest shift of his hips made it press deeper, stretch harder. A slow ache had settled into his body after days of being kept full, and tonight, even without movement, he could feel it —the weight, the pressure, the slick heartbeat of arousal that refused to burn out.

Yue Qingyuan’s hand slid over his belly. Gentle. Grounding.

“You’re doing well,” he murmured, kissing the back of Shen Jiu’s shoulder.

Shen Jiu shivered. He just let out a soft, broken sigh that made Yue Qingyuan smile against his skin.

Then Yue Qingyuan pulled back—just slightly—and Shen Jiu heard the sound of oil being uncorked. The scent of sandalwood and heat filled the air.

Shen Jiu swallowed.

Yue Qingyuan slicked himself in long, slow strokes. Unhurried. Letting Shen Jiu hear it, the quiet slide of his hand as he worked the oil into his length.

Shen Jiu couldn’t help glancing back—just enough to see Yue Qingyuan’s cock flushed, heavy, gleaming in the low light.

He looked away again, face burning. God did he want that thing inside of him.

He didn’t protest when Yue Qingyuan reached down and eased Shen Jiu’s thigh forward, opening his legs just slightly to cradle Yue Qingyuan’s cock between them. The motion rocked the plug forward, and Shen Jiu gasped softly.

Then—

Yue’s cock nestled between his folds. Thick. Heavy.

Long enough that even in this position—cradled between Shen Jiu’s thighs, not even inside—his length dragged hot and deliberate across swollen lips and flushed clit, the tip grazing just beneath the base of the plug.

Shen Jiu shivered.

He could feel the difference. Not just warmth, but weight. Yue Qingyuan’s cock pressed firm between his legs, too thick to ignore, the head bumping the underside of the plug with every shallow shift, grinding over nerves that were already overstimulated and raw.

His clit throbbed where it met the tip of Yue Qingyuan’s shaft—just barely touched, and yet it felt deep. He bit his lip.

It would be so easy for Yue Qingyuan to push forward, just a little harder, just a little lower—and fill him completely. Stretch him further. Ruin him for anything smaller.

But he didn’t. He stayed there, resting thick and hot between Shen Jiu’s slick folds like a promise yet to be made.

Shen Jiu exhaled, deep and slow.

“…Like this?” he asked, voice rough.

Yue Qingyuan kissed the top of his spine. “Exactly like this.”

Shen Jiu swallowed. Then exhaled shakily, the soft puff of air ghosting across his own skin.

His hand drifted downward. Slow. Searching. Until his fingers brushed the thick heat pressed flush between his slick thighs.

He froze for a breath. Then wrapped his hand around it.

Gods. It was hard. It was heavy. His fingers didn’t meet around the girth.

He stroked once—carefully—fingers trembling as they slid from the fat, leaking tip down to the thick base trapped beneath him. The skin was hot. Silky..

Shen Jiu whimpered.

“So big…” he whispered, half to himself. “You’re always this big?”

Yue Qingyuan chuckled behind him, voice low and unbearably fond. “Only for you.”

Shen Jiu bit his lip, stroking again—slower this time, more deliberate. The head dragged wetly against his inner thigh, smearing precum where he was already soaked. He tightened his grip and gave an experimental squeeze.

Yue Qingyuan groaned softly in his ear.

“I can feel it,” Shen Jiu whispered, hips twitching. “It’s—so hot. And thick. And—fuck, it’s so heavy between my legs I can barely move.”

“You don’t have to move,” Yue Qingyuan said, his arm tightening around Shen Jiu’s waist. “You just have to feel.”

Shen Jiu flushed and did just that—rocked his hips back, slow and careful, until the length of Yue Qingyuan’s cock nestled tighter between his folds. He could feel it now, even clearer than before: the thick shaft trapped between his slick lips, the flushed tip catching against the sensitive spot just above the plug.

He gasped.

It rubbed against his clit like it belonged there.

He rocked again. Pressed his thighs tighter. The head of Yue Qingyuan’s cock dragged through the soaked heat of him, leaving a shameful trail of slick between his legs.

Yue Qingyuan grunted behind him. “You’re squeezing me.”

“I want to feel it,” Shen Jiu said breathlessly, squeezing harder, grinding slow and obscene. “I want to remember what it’s like. I want—”

He cut himself off. A moan slipped out instead.

Yue Qingyuan dipped his head lower, kissed the back of his neck. Then murmured—voice thick with restrained want:

“Do you think you’re ready for it, Xiao Jiu?”

Shen Jiu froze.

Then moved again, even slower—pressing his ass back, grinding the plug in deeper, letting the length of Yue Qingyuan’s cock slide slick and perfect between his thighs.

“I—” he gasped. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just—”

He reached down with both hands this time. Cradled it. Held it. Worshipped it like it was something sacred. “It’s too big. It won’t fit. But I want it anyway. I want to try. I want to feel it inside me—so deep I forget everything else. I want you to ruin me”

Yue Qingyuan swore under his breath.

“I could split you open on this,” he whispered. “I could fuck you slow or ruin you in minutes and you’d still be begging for more, wouldn’t you?”

Shen Jiu nodded helplessly.

His thighs trembled.

“Try me,” he whispered.

And then—

Yue Qingyuan moved. He shifts behind him, one arm sliding beneath Shen Jiu’s waist, the other curling around his chest—holding him steady.

A slow roll of his hips. A careful press of his cock between Shen Jiu’s thighs. Not thrusting—just grinding. Letting the thick length drag over slick folds and swollen nerves, every pass catching on the flushed nub of Shen Jiu’s clit.

The pressure rocks the plug forward.

Shen Jiu gasped.

It wasn’t even hard. Not deep. Just enough to make everything shift —his cunt tightening around the plug, the base pushing forward, sending a shiver of sensation that made his toes curl.

Yue Qingyuan pulled back and did it again.

A slow, careful slide of his cock through the mess between Shen Jiu’s thighs, dragging hot friction from base to tip. His length rubbed right over the plug’s broad base, nudging it slightly deeper each time.

By the third grind, Shen Jiu’s hips had started to move.

Tiny reactions. Barely-there twitches.

But Yue Qingyuan felt every one.

He smiled against Shen Jiu’s neck. “There you are,” he murmured.

Shen Jiu made a sound—half protest, half moan. His thigh tensed as he tried to still himself.

But it was no use.

The stretch inside him was constant—the plug seated so deep that even the smallest motion made him feel it shift. And now Yue Qingyuan’s cock dragged across the soft flesh just above it, thick enough that the friction wasn’t just outside . It radiated inwards. Everywhere.

Yue Qingyuan rocked again.

This time, the head of his cock pressed right against Shen Jiu’s clit and stayed there for one long, delicious second before slipping down again.

Shen Jiu whimpered.

His thighs clamped tighter around Yue Qingyuan on instinct—not to push him away, but to hold him closer, trap him there, keep that friction going.

Yue Qingyuan’s breath hitched softly. He adjusted his angle, one hand drifting down to Shen Jiu’s hip to guide him open just a little more.

“Greedy,” he whispered. “You’re not even asking, and you’re already holding me tighter.”

“Shut up,” Shen Jiu muttered, but his voice was breathless.

Another roll of Yue Qingyuan’s hips. Another thick slide of cock through drenched folds.

This time, when it caught Shen Jiu’s clit, he trembled.

Yue Qingyuan chuckled low in his throat. “You like that.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Yue Qingyuan’s hand drifted lower—slow and sure—skating over the soft skin of Shen Jiu’s hip before curling around it with firm, reverent pressure. His palm molded to the curve, possessive but not rough, anchoring Shen Jiu against the slow rhythm of his body.

He rocked his hips again.

A shallow thrust. Barely more than a nudge. But his cock slid slick between Shen Jiu’s thighs, heavy and hot and thick, dragging slow friction across his clit and the base of the plug in perfect unison.

Shen Jiu gasped.

The sound was soft. But Yue Qingyuan caught it, like he caught everything.

“You feel so good,” Yue Qingyuan murmured into his hair. “So soft. So wet.”

Shen Jiu turned his face away, ears burning.

Yue Qingyuan kissed the shell of his ear. Then his hand began to wander again—up from his hip, across the narrow plane of his belly, finally sliding up beneath his inner robes to cup his chest.

Shen Jiu stiffened—just for a second.

Then melted.

Yue Qingyuan’s fingers found his nipples—already sensitive, already begging for attention—and rolled one between his thumb and forefinger. Gently. Slowly. Again and again.

Shen Jiu’s body twitched.

“Still so reactive,” Yue Qingyuan whispered, mouth brushing his cheek. “And we haven’t even done anything yet.”

Shen Jiu opened his mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to curse—but another thrust came. Another slow drag of Yue Qingyuan’s cock through slick heat, bumping his clit, shifting the plug inside him just enough to burn.

The words fell apart in a moan.

A real one this time.

Yue Qingyuan smiled against his throat. “You love this, don’t you?”

Shen Jiu bit down on his lip. Didn’t answer. But his body did.

He was trembling now. Just slightly. Enough that Yue Qingyuan could feel the way his thighs tightened, how his cunt clenched desperately around the plug, fluttering with every pass of Yue Qingyuan’s cock through his folds.

The thrusts stayed shallow. Consistent. Insistent. Not fast—but constant. Like waves crashing against a shore. Like prayer. Like Yue Qingyuan could ruin him without even entering him—just with heat, with pressure, with presence.

He rolled his hips again.

Dragged thick, hot length across Shen Jiu’s clit in a perfect glide.

Shen Jiu whimpered.

This time, Yue Qingyuan didn’t let it pass.

He reached up and took Shen Jiu’s jaw in his hand—gentle, firm—and turned his face until their eyes met.

“You love this,” Yue Qingyuan said softly. “You love how I touch you. How I use you. How I hold you like this and make you feel everything without even fucking you.”

Shen Jiu’s mouth trembled.

“I—” he whimpered.

But then Yue Qingyuan rolled his nipple again, pressed his cock in deep between his thighs, and Shen Jiu moaned instead.

Yue Qingyuan kissed his temple. “Good.”

He rocked again. And again. His other hand slid low to cup Shen Jiu’s belly—holding him still, keeping him open. Pressing against the slight bulge caused by the plug nestled deep inside of him.

“You don’t have to pretend,” Yue Qingyuan whispered. “Not with me. Just feel.”

And Shen Jiu did.

He gave up pretending not to like it.

Didn’t even try to hold in the sounds anymore—just let the moans slip out as Yue Qingyuan rocked against him, as thick heat dragged between folds and against his clit, cock sliding in slick strokes again and again, never fast, never deep, but endless.

A thousand tiny touches.

Each one worse than the last.

Each one perfect.

—

By now, Shen Jiu was soaked.

His cunt dripped around the plug with every lazy grind, slick pooling between his thighs, coating Yue Qingyuan’s cock in thick, glistening heat. Each slide dragged over his clit—barely, but constantly—a cruel and perfect rhythm that made his thighs clench tighter around Yue Qingyuan’s shaft.

Yue Qingyuan moaned behind him.

Low. Deep. Uncontrolled.

“Fuck, Jiu-er,” he breathed, voice thick with hunger. “You feel—so good. I can feel your slick—can feel how you flutter—every time I move—”

He thrust again—slow and heavy. His cock slid between Shen Jiu’s folds and pressed hard against the plug’s base, nudging it deeper.

Shen Jiu sobbed.

His hands scrabbled at the bedding, trying to push back, trying to stop, trying to do something—but Yue Qingyuan held him in place, one hand firm on his lower belly, the other palming his chest, fingers gently kneading already sensitive nipples.

“Qi ge—” he gasped, “I—I can’t—”

Yue Qingyuan groaned, thrusting again, cock catching against his clit, thick head rocking the plug deeper.

“You can,” he whispered, voice ragged now. “You love this. You love being full. You love when I touch you like this.”

“Don’t—say that—”

But the moan that followed made a liar of him.

Yue Qingyuan leaned closer, lips brushing his ear. His breath was hot and uneven, thick, hairy chest heaving against Shen Jiu’s back.

“You’re so wet,” Yue Qingyuan growled. “I can feel it every time I slide. You’re soaking me. Fuck—listen to us.”

And it was loud. The slick drag of cock between his thighs. The obscene sound of wet heat and thick pressure, the soft slap of skin-on-skin with every slow rut.

Yue Qingyuan groaned again—lower this time, almost a growl—hips stuttering slightly as he rocked forward harder.

Shen Jiu cried out. The drag of Yue Qingyuan’s cock over his clit—no fingers, no extra touch, just that blessed friction—had his whole body clenching. His cunt spasmed around the plug, fluttering helplessly.

“Feels so good,” Shen Jiu gasped. “Please—please, I—”

Yue Qingyuan rocked forward again. Ground his cock just right.

Shen Jiu’s mouth opened in a silent scream.

And Yue Qingyuan didn’t stop.

He slowed. Torturously. Drew his cock back, then forward again in the shallowest grind imaginable—just enough to kiss Shen Jiu’s clit, to nudge the plug, to press against nerves that had been screaming for release for hours.

“Not yet,” Yue Qingyuan whispered, breath hot against his cheek. “You’re not coming yet.”

Shen Jiu shook. His thighs twitched, his hands clutched the sheets, and his voice broke on a sob:

“Gege—please—I’ll be good—I’ll be so good—”

Yue Qingyuan’s head fell forward against his shoulder. He moaned again, hoarse this time. Wrecked. “You’re perfect,” he panted. “Perfect like this—soaking for me, begging for me, my pretty mess.”

He pressed his hand harder into bulge in Shen Jiu’s lower belly, right where the plug was buried deep—adding just enough pressure that Shen Jiu gasped again, cunt clenching with another wave of unbearable pleasure.

“You’re going to come,” Yue Qingyuan whispered. “But not yet. Not until you ache for it.”

And Shen Jiu did. He ached. Everywhere.

His whole body shook—tension coiled so tight he couldn’t breathe without feeling the ache of it. The friction, the plug, Yue Qingyuan’s thick cock dragging over him with every pass—his voice whispering filth into his hear—it was too much.

“Gege—please—please—I can’t— please— ”

Yue Qingyuan’s mouth was at his ear, hot and hoarse and desperate. “Come for me,” he whispered. “Let go. Show me how beautiful you are when you break.”

And Shen Jiu broke.

His orgasm hit like a storm—sudden, shattering, full-body. He wailed , legs spasming as his cunt clamped down around the plug in pulsing, wet waves. His hips bucked helplessly, grinding against Yue Qingyuan’s cock as slick gushed between his thighs.

But it didn’t stop.

Not with Yue Qingyuan still grinding. Still rubbing thick and slow over his clit with every glide. Still murmuring praise in his ear like a prayer.

“Look at you,” Yue Qingyuan  whispered. “Still coming. Fuck—you’re so wet, you’re soaking my cock. I can feel every flutter—every twitch—mine.”

“Yours—” Shen Jiu gasped. “It’s yours—it’s all yours—”

His body jerked again. Another orgasm.

It tore through him like heat lightning—wild and bright and endless. His cunt clenched hard, then fluttered uncontrollably, his clit so sensitive that every brush of Yue Qingyuan’s cock felt like fire and mercy rolled into one.

He sobbed, clawing at Yue Qingyuan’s forearm, babbling.

“Please—just—just fuck me—fuck me already—”

Yue Qingyuan moaned, hips jerking forward instinctively.

“You want my cock?” he rasped, rutting slower now, dragging long friction over Shen Jiu’s overstimulated clit. “You want to be filled like a good boy?”

“Yes—yes—yes—please— I’m ready— I can take it!”

His voice cracked. He was limp in Yue Qingyuan’s arms now, held in place by nothing but love and muscle and need. His legs wouldn’t close. His thighs were soaked. His cunt was still pulsing in little aftershocks—twitching around the plug like it still wanted more, needed more.

Yue Qingyuan kissed his shoulder.

“You’re ready for it,” he whispered. “I’ll give it to you soon. I’ll fuck you just like you want. You’ll take it so well.”

“Now—now—” Shen Jiu begged, hips rolling mindlessly.

But Yue Qingyuan only held him tighter, still grinding slow. Still feeling every flutter. Still whispering filth like.

“You’ll take me raw. I’ll stretch you open around my cock. I’ll make it fit. You’ll come on it again and again and again—”

Shen Jiu whimpered, eyes glassy.

“Fucck, Qi ge—just don’t stop—don’t stop—”

Something in Yue Qingyuan snapped .

“Don’t worry,” he growled, voice shaking with restraint he was rapidly losing. “You’ll get everything—”

He adjusted his grip, dragging Shen Jiu back tighter against his chest, one arm under his ribs, gripping his hip hard enough to bruise. His cock was already sliding back through the mess between Shen Jiu’s legs—hot, thick, flushed angry-red and leaking as it dragged through those soaked folds.

But he didn’t aim for his entrance.

The plug stayed in.

Still locked in place, snug and obscene, the soft jade base now pressed tight against Yue Qingyuan’s cock every time he thrust between Shen Jiu’s thighs.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “You’re so wet—just from this—just from me not even fucking you—”

Shen Jiu moaned, long and ragged, legs trembling. The length of Yue Qingyuan’s cock ground hard against his clit, again and again, caught perfectly between his thighs and the plug still buried inside him. Each rut forward squeezed the plug deeper, pushing it from the outside and inside, just pressure and fullness and that unbearable drag across his swollen nerves.

“Qi ge—ah—ah fuck—” he sobbed, clawing at Yue Qingyuan’s arm. “Feels—feels like you’re in me—”

“I’m not,” Yue Qingyuan panted, hips pistoning now. “Not yet. You’re not getting that until I’ve earned it—until you’re soaked enough to beg for it—”

“I am begging—!”

“Not like I want.”

His grip tightened. His thrusts turned brutal.

Yue Qingyuan fucked between his thighs in earnest now, cock rutting fast and slick and wet, grinding the plug with every thrust. The fat head caught Shen Jiu’s clit again and again, dragging sparks of unbearable pleasure through his overstimulated body.

“I can feel you fluttering around the plug,” Yue Qingyuan hissed. “Clenching like you want to suck me in. But you’re not getting it. Not until you come just like this. ”

Shen Jiu wailed.

The stretch inside him, the heavy press of Yue Qingyuan’s cock outside him—slick and brutal and relentless—was too much. His legs twitched. His hole squeezed tight around the plug, every thrust jostling it deeper. The friction on his clit was punishing. Perfect.

“ Qi ge— please, I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. ”

Yue Qingyuan thrust harder.

His cock slid between those thighs with lewd, wet slaps—smearing come and slick across Shen Jiu’s cunt, grinding the plug harder, shoving the pressure deeper until—

“ AH—! ”

Shen Jiu came.

Soaked the sheets. Screamed Yue Qingyuan’s name. Twitched and trembled and choked on a sob as slick gushed out of him, flooding Yue Qingyuan’s cock, soaking his thighs, drooling around the base of the plug.

And Yue Qingyuan didn’t stop.

He kept fucking into the mess, chasing his own end now, gasping rough against Shen Jiu’s ear.

“You feel what you do to me?” he rasped. “You’re ruining me—look at you—look at how wrecked you are and I haven’t even fucked you inside— ”

Another thrust. Another grind of cock to clit. Another gasp from Shen Jiu, already limp in his arms.

Yue Qingyuan was close— too close.

He could feel it building, every nerve alight, cock soaked in Shen Jiu’s slick, twitching between his thighs like it wanted to bury itself and never leave. But he wouldn’t come. Not yet.

He pulled back with a growl, chest heaving. Shen Jiu whined at the loss, blinking through tears, thighs trembling, the plug still snug and soaked inside him.

“On your stomach,” Yue commanded, voice raw.

Shen Jiu barely managed to roll over before Yue Qingyuan manhandled him the rest of the way—hands gripping his hips, dragging him down the bed until he lay flat, ass slightly raised, legs together, face pressed into the pillows.

He didn’t even have time to gasp.

Yue Qingyuan mounted him like a beast—didn’t enter, didn’t tease—just shoved his cock back between those thighs, slick and hot and still aching with denial.

And then he thrust.

Shen Jiu screamed into the pillow.

Yue Qingyuan’s cock rammed down between his thighs, pressing hard against the plug from the outside , grinding it up and in, like it was fucking inside him all over again.

“F-fuck—fuckfuckfuck—!” Shen Jiu sobbed, biting into the pillow, legs kicking out from the intensity of the thrusts. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Yue Qingyuan’s full weight was on top of him, fucking him into the mattress, cock hammering the plug deeper with every rutting grind.

Yue Qingyuan let out a sound like a snarl .

His thrusts were animal now—slick cock dragging through the mess of Shen Jiu’s folds, catching on the jade base with every movement. The plug rocked inside with every slam of his hips, bumping Shen Jiu’s walls, pressing into that spot that made him shake.

“You feel that?” Yue Qingyuan growled, voice barely human. “You feel how the plug moves when I fuck you like this?”

Shen Jiu sobbed, high and broken, fingers twisted in the sheets. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t beg. His entire body was locked in place, trembling under Yue Qingyuan’s weight, every thrust pushing the plug deeper—rubbing, pressing, grinding into that sweet, horrible place that made him lose control.

He bit the pillow again, moaning and groaning into it.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t stop. He fucked him down harder, humping between his thighs like an animal—cock grinding against the mattress now, wet and hot and leaking, sliding along Shen Jiu’s slick thighs while he drove the plug ruthlessly into him from below.

“You’re taking it so well,” he panted, hips slamming down again. “So fucking full and still begging for more— listen to yourself.”

Shen Jiu was sobbing now. Loud. Messy. Half screams, half whimpers, every sound more desperate than the last.

He could feel it. The pressure of the plug pushed forward with every thrust, pressing into him deep , the slick drag of Yue Qingyuan’s cock against his clit sending sparks up his spine.

“Qi—gege—ah, fuck— I’m gonna— ”

“Do it,” Yue Qingyuan growled. “Come on the plug, sweetheart. Soak it for me. Let me fuck you into the mattress while you fall apart.”

He shoved forward, cock grinding hard against his folds, the base of the plug catching perfectly —

And Shen Jiu exploded.

He screamed into the pillow, body convulsing, thighs kicking helplessly as he gushed, slick pouring out of him and soaking the bed, the plug, Yue Qingyuan’s cock, everything . His hole clenched and spasmed around the plug like it was trying to pull it in deeper, and every rut of Yue Qingyuan’s cock only made it worse .

He came harder than before. Shaking. Crying. Wrecked.

And still, Yue Qingyuan didn’t stop.

He rutted down again, groaning low against Shen Jiu’s ear. “That’s it. Just like that. Come for me again.”

“C-Can’t— please— ”

“Yes, you can,” he hissed. “You’ll come for me until this pretty little hole can’t hold the plug anymore.”

And Shen Jiu wailed again, body twitching like a live wire under him.

Shen Jiu was gone.

Slicked up, sobbing, trembling under Yue Qingyuan’s weight, the plug still locked inside him and twitching with every jolt of aftershock. The mattress beneath them was soaked , and Yue Qingyuan’s cock was still sliding through the mess between his thighs—hard, leaking, slick with come and slick and desperation.

He hadn’t slowed down.

If anything, he was fucking harder now.

Not into Shen Jiu— between him, rutting through his thighs like a beast, cock grinding along the plug’s base, dragging obscene pressure through overstimulated nerves with every thrust.

Shen Jiu couldn’t speak anymore. Could barely breathe.

He was face-down in the pillows, moaning like a whore, clutching at the sheets while Yue Qingyuan used him—hips snapping forward, cock catching on his clit, grinding the plug mercilessly deeper.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m not gonna last,” Yue Qingyuan gasped, voice right in his ear, wild with lust. “You feel what you do to me? How wet you are—how soft— how fucking wrecked— ”

He thrust again. And again. Wet sounds, sharp gasps, his cock rutting through the tight heat of Shen Jiu’s thighs like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

“I should be inside you,” he groaned, voice breaking , “but I’d never last. Not like this. Not when you’re this- ”

Another thrust. Another grind. His cock bumped the plug again and Shen Jiu wimpered.

“ Ah—ahhh fuck— ”

“You want it?” Yue Qingyuan hissed. “You want me to come all over you? Spill it between your legs like you’re already mine?”

Shen Jiu sobbed.

“ Yes— please—please—fill me up— do it— ”

That was it.

Yue Qingyuan snapped.

He shoved forward with a snarl, cock dragging across Shen Jiu’s cunt, grinding against the slick mess and the base of the plug one last time—

And came.

With a broken, desperate moan, he jerked hard between Shen Jiu’s thighs, hips rutting in helpless spasms as thick spurts of come spilled over Shen Jiu’s skin—coating his folds, the plug, his thighs, the ruined sheets beneath them. It was messy and hot and endless , soaking him in heat and possession and everything Yue Qingyuan had been holding back.

He kept grinding through it, panting against Shen Jiu’s ear, shuddering with every pulse.

“Take it—take all of it—fuck—look at you—so perfect— ”

Shen Jiu twitched under him, moaning low and broken as the plug pressed deeper with every tremble of Yue Qingyuan’s hips. His thighs were shaking. His hole was fluttering. His whole body was wrecked.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t pull out. Didn’t move.

He just collapsed on top of him, chest heaving, cock still throbbing between soaked thighs, his come leaking down Shen Jiu’s trembling legs.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing.

Then, hoarse and wrecked, Shen Jiu whispered into the pillow:

“…I still want it.”

Yue Qingyuan laughed—quiet and breathless—and kissed the back of his neck.

“You’ll get it, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “But not until I’m sure you’re ready.”

Shen Jiu couldn’t move.

His body twitched with every tiny shift — thighs still parted, plug still snug and warm inside him, Yue Qingyuan’s come sticky between his legs and smeared across his skin. The sheets were soaked beneath him. His chest heaved, breath stuttering into the pillow, and his arms refused to hold his weight.

He felt wrecked. Used. Worshipped.

Yue Qingyuan hadn’t moved either. He lay draped over him, breath heavy against the nape of his neck, one hand still curled around his waist like he couldn’t bear to let go.

Shen Jiu whimpered, the sound muffled and weak. His mouth barely worked.

Yue Qingyuan lifted his head slowly. Pressed a kiss to his shoulder, soft and reverent. Then another. And another.

“You’re alright,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Shen Jiu let out a small, broken sound — something between a whimper and a sigh — and tried to push up onto his elbows.

His arms gave out instantly.

Yue Qingyuan was already moving. He rolled them gently to the side, careful not to jostle the plug, not to break the fragile warmth between them. Shen Jiu ended up tucked against his chest, cradled in strong arms, head buried under Yue Qingyuan’s chin like something too precious to be put down.

He was still trembling.

Yue Qingyuan kissed his temple.

“Too much?” he asked softly, stroking a hand down his back.

Shen Jiu shook his head. Then again, more insistently. “No,” he whispered hoarsely. “Not too much. Just…”

He didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.

Yue Qingyuan hummed low in his chest, rocking him gently, like soothing a child from a nightmare. His hand moved slowly up and down Shen Jiu’s spine — grounding, steady, warm.

“You were perfect,” he said. “You’re always perfect.”

Shen Jiu made a noise of protest into his shoulder. Yue Qingyuan just kissed the top of his head.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Eventually, Yue Qingyuan reached between them, fingers ghosting along Shen Jiu’s thighs. His touch was careful now, reverent, cleaning what he could with the edge of the sheets. Shen Jiu flinched when Yue Qingyuan’s hand brushed the plug — oversensitive, pussy still throbbing and clenching in the aftershocks of orgasm after devastating orgasm.

“Still okay?” Yue Qingyuan murmured, kissing his cheek.

“…Still full,” Shen Jiu mumbled.

Yue’ Qingyuans laugh was soft. “Do you want me to take it out?”

There was a long pause.

“…Not yet.”

And that answer — hoarse, trembling, honest — nearly undid Yue Qingyuan all over again.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Not yet.”

He tucked the blanket up around them, his hand never leaving Shen Jiu’s back. One arm around his waist. One hand stroking slow, soothing circles into his skin.

The room was warm. The air was thick with incense and sweat and the fading scent of sex.

Shen Jiu lay there in silence, face pressed to Yue Qingyuan’s chest, too tired to glare, too warm to speak, too loved to run.

And when Yue Qingyuan kissed his forehead and whispered, “You’re safe,” he didn’t argue.

Shen Jiu drifted, warm and sore and so achingly full.

Yue Qingyuan’s arms never left him. His voice was soft, low, murmuring nothing and everything: praise, comfort, promises he didn’t have to prove. Not now.

Not with Shen Jiu cradled in his arms like this, plug still nestled inside, body soaked and spent, safe in the wreckage of their shared hunger.

They didn’t need to speak.

Not yet.

The silence said enough.

—

The next morning, Shen Jiu moved down the corridor with careful precision.

His robe was immaculate. His hair was pinned in a perfect sweep. His expression, as always, was unreadable.

But his walk… was measured .

Each step was just a fraction too slow. Each shift of his hips just a little too deliberate.

And two disciples noticed.

They were young. Barely into their training. And clearly idiots.

One nudged the other as they passed, barely a whisper:

“He’s walking stiff. And is that a smile?.”

“I told you he’s nicer when he’s getting fucked.”

They didn’t expect him to hear it .

Shen Qingqiu’s steps stopped. Dead still.

He turned his head—just slightly—and the look in his eyes could have killed on sight.

Both disciples vanished before he could blink.

A moment later, a loud slam echoed up from the path toward Qing Jing Peak.

Back in his quarters, Shen Qingqiu threw open the door with a stormcloud scowl and threw himself dramatically onto the couch. He crossed his arms. Refused to speak. Refused to admit he was sulking .

Yue Qingyuan found him like that not long after.

“…What happened now?” he asked, voice warm, teasing.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t look at him. “They said I walk like I’ve been—” he made a sharp, dismissive gesture. “— fucked. ”

Yue Qingyuan made a thoughtful hum and sat beside him.

“Were they wrong?”

Shen Qingqiu elbowed him. Weakly. “I should throw them off the mountain.”

Yue Qingqiu leaned in. Kissed his temple.

“You could,” he said softly, lips still brushing his skin. “Or…”

He tilted Shen Jiu’s chin toward him. Smiled.

“You could just sit in my lap and let me fuck you calm again.”

Shen Qingqiu glared at him.

And didn’t say no.