Chapter Text
Wen Ruohan’s cock is heavy on his tongue. It fills his mouth, the tip not pushing against the back of his throat, not yet, but close. Wen Ruohan’s hand comes up, and he can feel it on the back of his head, threading through his hair. Almost loose, right now. His Excellency likes it that way.
“Good,” the man who is raping him says. He tries not to react (he used, he thinks, in his other life, to be far better at not reacting). Good is good. If their master is pleased, that is good. Good makes it more likely that the soldiers who Wei Ying is given to today will be instructed by their commanders to bring oil, and use it. Good means there might be fewer of them. Good means - possibly, though of course this is far less important - that their master might be satisfied with his mouth, and not desire him some other way before he is finished.
He moves his lips, his tongue - he knows how to, by now, and he hates that he knows, hates that his tongue recognizes by now, where it touches, where it should touch. It is still hard, to make himself move, but - he thinks of Wei Ying in the grip of Wen soldiers - it is an easy choice. To make himself, to keep doing it, not stop when he thinks about the throne room around them, when the cock twitches in his mouth, when Wen Ruohan makes a soft sound of pleasure above him.
The tip of Wen Ruohan’s cock hits the back of his throat. His hips do not drive up harder than that, his hand does not press down. Not yet. Giving him a chance. Wangji knows what is expected of him. Makes his throat relax, swallows, moves his head down himself. Wen Ruohan’s robes are rough on their outside. He smells of himself, a smell Wangji hates that he knows; even with no battles for him to enter his robes smell of smoke and blood. There are few people in this world Wangji wishes less to allow or welcome into himself. But he is not alone in Nightless City, to be able to afford to act as he pleases, and there are worse things their master can want to do, with his cock or with his hand or with his palace full of soldiers.
He swallows further, until Wen Ruohan’s cock consumes his throat as deep as it can go, until his face is pressed against those robes. The hand on the back of his head weighs still not too heavily, strokes his hair. “Good.”
He is allowed up. He is allowed back down. Their master has exceptional self control, in this if in too few other things. The cock in his mouth is hard, unforgiving as a sword, but if his Excellency does not wish to be finished yet, wishes him to be here yet longer, then that is what will be.
He moves himself on the cock in his mouth. The discipline of his clan says to have gratefulness, and he counts them up, as Wei Ying would tell him he shouldn’t count the number of times that cock has forced itself inside him, the number of times he has parted his lips for it and felt its hot gratification on his tongue. They are in the throne room, but there are not many people here - or at least there weren’t, when they started, and he has heard no voices above him but Wen Ruohan’s, to him. The carved length inside him stretches him open, but it is not one of the ones that moves.
The taste of Wen Ruohan’s cock fills his mouth. His jaw aches. His throat aches. His knees ache - that seems ridiculous, he knelt longer even back in - even before. But it wasn’t quite like this. The muscles must be different enough. He has better endurance for this now, in his body - hates it, even though that too is something to have gratefulness for - but he only has so much of it. (He will probably get more. He hates it.)
In however many minutes Wen Ruohan will orgasm, or become bored of this, or both. Will order Wangji off of himself, or order him to stay with his soft cock in his mouth, or make himself hard again with cultivation and continue, simply. Or order Wangji into his lap, or think of some use for the carved phallus. Or order one of the others here. (Not that. All is well enough, he will bear it all and not complain, as long as it is not that.) If he was Nie Huisang, he might make bets with himself, which it will be. He is not. He only waits.
The hand in his hair tightens for a moment as Wen Ruohan pulls his head up, pulls out - not all the way, leaving the head of his cock still in Wangji’s mouth. For Wangji to circle and stroke with his tongue, find the slit in it. Taste the drops beading up. (Not shudder. He learned very quickly not to shudder.) Wen Ruohan makes another sound of pleasure. Shifts his hips and pushes with his hand, his cock claiming Wangji’s mouth fully again.
“Good,” his Excellency says again from above him. “You are learning so very well, my darling pretty jade.” He doesn’t shudder. He reminds himself that this is good. (This, is the punishment for rising to defy Wen Ruohan. Or - this, is the punishment for rising to defy Wen Ruohan, and failing. Someday, he still thinks, they won't fail. Only then will rising not be an indulgence that he cannot afford.)
He kneels at the throne of the enemy of the world, who took him and Wei Ying and their friend from their homes, whose soldiers probably still violate his home’s sanctity. As they violate -.
He kneels with a cock in his mouth, brings pleasure with his tongue and his throat to the enemy of the world, and tries not to think more than ten minutes into the future, more than a foot to his left or right or behind him.
Good , the enemy of the world says, and he does not shudder or stop or touch the cock between them with his teeth, and (Wei Ying would tell him that this isn’t his shame. That it is Wen Ruohan’s shame only) he reminds himself that this is good.