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The pink twin points of Jiang Cheng's chest have long stopped aching, replaced by a low simmering burn. Almost numb, still wired with sensitivity to send faint thrills of shock through his system, rising and falling each time his chest fills with a shallow breath.
On his knees, stripped bare, nowhere else would a man of his elevated status stoop so low.
In the office, head of his department, no one would dare to look at him twice.
His word is obstinate, his tightly held. Yet, the tasks he delegates have always been pragmatic, his proposals written clearly, and his feedback concise and impersonal. He is thorough and efficient. No one could question his conduct. Even if his severe reputation preceded him despite years of grueling work.
No one in that world could doubt him, so it is clear that he ought to not doubt himself either.
And yet...
A featherlight brush sweeps along the curve of his throat, gracing the soft underside of his chin.
It shakes his stance.
Within these four walls of another’s bedroom, Jiang Cheng bows his head.
His wrists cuffed high towards the ceiling, hanging from a brass iron hook strong enough to suspend him, Jiang Cheng is powerless to stop the way a fleeting caress travels over him, down to the center of his flushed chest. He holds back a gasp, swallowing down the anticipation that swells within his core when that touch leaves him, and a whistle sounds through the air.
It should hurt, but tidal waves of heat spread from his clamped nipples to flood through his torso to pool between his naked thighs, and it causes his cock to fill and throb. The silver chain glitters and swings under the moon and candlelight from where it hangs between his bullied nipples, grazing over the glistening flesh of his pectorals.
He is flushed down his neck to his chest—not only from his mix of pain, arousal, and shame—but from the red wilts blooming across his body like a canvas takes to paint.
It should hurt, but the force of the whip that travels across his chest is not enough to knock the clamps off. It should hurt to be whipped as a swift lash cuts across his thighs, chasing that tantalizing heat before snapping back up for another hit. It should hurt, and yet Jiang Cheng hardly allows his lip to curl.
He nearly moans instead from the tantalizing heat spreading across his body, building and building.
But he can handle this.
He could overcome anything.
Twin swollen red tips continue to twinge and throb as they are abused by another round of lashes, but the nipple clamps remain. Of course they do—they had been twisted to the tightest setting. And of course, not a thing could ever occur without the full intent of the wielder of that merciless whip.
"Lift your face."
The end of that whip licks up the side of his cheek, a red sting lingering briefly across his skin as a reminder for Jiang Cheng to keep his face up. To meet that man’s stare.
A broad chest enters his line of sight, a flex of muscles and a languid roll of wide shoulders tempting his gaze to take in a set of defined collarbones, a bobbing throat, a sharp jawline. But Jiang Cheng’s vision remains out of focus, the thick fan of his lashes lowered to avoid the overbearing stare of dark amber eyes locking him in place.
To that man, his submission is evident enough of an invitation for the other male to do whatever he so pleases to him.
A well-defined bicep bulges and blue veins pump as a flick of a graceful wrist snaps out in time with the crisp slap of the whip, singing out to target Jiang Cheng's left nipple and this time—a stilted gasp escapes him. The chain fiercely swings. Another hit makes its landing, targeting the same spot, the same angle, gunning for another gasp, harder this time.
Lan Xichen is testing him, challenging him, pushing him to his limits.
Time blurs until the whip is finally placed aside. Lan Xichen steps in and then his large hands are there, squeezing the pebbled flesh not caught by the clamp, nails digging in until Jiang Cheng's lips part again.
His jaw goes slack. His breath wavers.
"More?" Lan Xichen taunts.
Jiang Cheng knows what will inevitably come. When those clamps come off, the fire that erupts across his skin, burning inch by inch—oh. He cannot tell whether he craves or abhors it. It is a pain that nothing else can compare to. Nothing but pleasure. Bright and blossoming, an explosion across his entire chest until he can no longer take it—just before the other clamp is released.
How will Lan Xichen do it, he wonders. Slowly, notch by notch? Fast, a ruthless tug?
He tries not to tremble in anticipation.
Slowly dragging his eyes up, a challenge grows within his stare. “More,” he agrees, voice already hoarse, though Lan Xichen hasn’t gotten him to scream just yet—not yet.
He has never been one to break easy despite his Dominant’s steadfast efforts.
Slow, fast, hard, light. Jiang Cheng tries his damnedest to keep it in, to keep still, but hisses when Lan Xichen closes in, a knee placed between his. He is so close, watching him, close enough for his thigh to come just a hair's breadth away from coming into contact with Jiang Cheng’s aching cock.
He has been in this state since the older male had ordered him to strip, removing layer upon layer until he was completely exposed, allowing Lan Huan to grope him and pinch however he pleased before locking Jiang Cheng’s hands high towards the ceiling, cutting him off from the option to resist when hot lips lovingly bullied his all too sensitive nipples.
After months of starting this private arrangement of theirs, Jiang Cheng knows all too well what that wicked mouth can do, a threat. Coupled by Lan Xichen's unnerving reserve of patience, the man is downright torture himself.
Swirling his tongue around the pink nub, sucking and tugging until it became a swollen red, those deft fingers had targeted its twin with firm tugs and presses, all of it a warning of what would come. Some might consider the fervent attention to be sweet or attentive but him? Jiang Cheng found it agonizing when he is honor-bound to remain as still as a living statue tonight, pinned by a deep voice, a command.
He was not even allowed to react when a hand sneaked between them to stroke his cock—a twitch of his hips had earned him a harsh slap to his ass. All he could do was clench his jaw and breathe while Lan Xichen gradually slowed his encompassing strokes, wringing his wrist slower and slower while holding his trembling stare, daring him to lean into the pleasure, daring him to succumb to his baser instincts.
All Jiang Cheng could do was try not to whine when Lan Xichen’s hands left him hanging, held tantalizingly close to a peak. He is panting now, harsh sounds from between his clenched teeth. Those cursed clamps are being adjusted tighter and tighter now, only stopping when his eyelid begins to spasm. Lan Xichen is watching him so closely, catching every single reaction.
“Colour?” he asks.
Jiang Cheng tries not to chew on his bottom lip. Lan Xichen doesn’t like it when he does that, hurting himself. But he knows what is about to happen. Those hands are cradling his sides, his thumbs so near to the painful swells of his chest.
He knows what he is choosing when he whispers, “Green.”
His reward is a genuine curve to the corners of Lan Xichen’s mouth, pleased by him. Then, the slow, loosening twist of the clamp’s mechanism, and now Jiang Cheng cannot control anything at all. The return of circulation, bringing the rapid rush of sensation with it, the heat, the pain—Jiang Cheng gasps, eyes flinching wide while Lan Xichen continues, allowing his pinched skin to rise and fill and—fuck!
It comes off. The heat erupts through his entire torso, it renders him unable to even breathe as it consumes him.
When the other clamp is pulled off, too, all in a swift second, he nearly swears out loud. He could have; he is allowed to. He usually would. Lan Xichen loves hearing his sounds.
But all he does is allow his shoulders to hunch, shivering from head to toe. He is so enraptured by the dizzying rush of pain, heat, pleasure that he hardly registers it when fingers are at his lips, pressing down his slack mouth, sliding over his wet tongue, tilting his head back. He sucks on reflex—no, it is a trained thing—swallowing to properly take it, his eyes glazed as his thoughts start to float away, his body taking over.
It is exactly where he wants to be.
Lan Huan always allows Jiang Cheng to make the first approach.
He enjoys the wait; waiting for how long or little it takes for a text to appear on his work phone, or a brush to his sleeve at the next business meeting, or even just a flash of those expectant eyes. He enjoys it the most whenever the man strides right into his office and kneels by his feet, chin tipped up, demanding all his attention that very instant.
His fierce stare has always been Lan Huan's favourite thing about Jiang Cheng. A smile twists the curve of Lan Huan's lips whenever he takes in Jiang Cheng's stubborn defiance, his submissive never meeting his eyes despite his entire being saying it all—that he is his to own for a couple of hours. A pleasure like no other enters his being when he is graced to watch as Jiang Cheng’s determination wavers, fades, melts into something else. Something calmer, subdued, a little out of this world.
Because that is the moment Jiang Cheng relents full control to him. Only him.
When Jiang Cheng is at depleted to his very last reserves, that is when the game truly begins.
His submissive tries not to show it, but when Lan Huan decides to swerve out of his sight to take his station behind him, his posture tenses ever so slightly. Because they both know his weakness. They both know that between that marginal brink between a deep ache and pain—his body is so much more tuned for pleasure.
Seating himself on a tall stool behind Jiang Cheng's slighter figure, he traces the curve of the man's spine, stroking each moon pale knob. Elongated, half held up in the air by chains, Jiang Cheng remains taut but a touch limp at the same time. His chest is already heaving with the quickened pace of his breath—then jutting out with a strangled gasp when Lan Xichen personally tortures his pinkened flesh himself.
"Nnh..."
The barest whimper tempts Lan Huan closer until his front is nearly flush with the quivering arch of Jiang Cheng's waist. His knees at his sides, caging him, Lan Huan leisurely takes his time admiring his red paintwork even as the other struggles to hold on to the last shreds of control over his body.
But he cannot control it when Lan Huan's forefinger and thumb press into the swollen mounds that are now his nipples. Swollen with churning blood after being constricted and squeezed for nearly half an hour, Lan Huan knows just how sensitive they are. But he slowly rolls them between his fingers regardless, leaning in closer and closer to pick up every hitch of Jiang Cheng's breath, patiently working that lovely voice out, pinching and tugging until—
"Ah!"
If he thought the man's lithe waist was sinful in its curve, the way Jiang Cheng's chest rises to meet his groping hands while his hips jut out at the same time, pushing against Lan Huan’s clothed groin—then the curve of his body is downright filthy.
Lan Huan leans in, sucking a possessive line of marks to his vulnerable nape. Another strained exhale trembles out before Jiang Cheng starts to struggle against the metal cuffs entrapping his wrists above his head—back to his first feeble attempts at rebellion. But Lan Huan knows that the response is involuntary, a sign of Jiang Cheng's rapid fall from autonomy over his body. He heaves again, sounding a touch desperate when the pressure massaging his sore, sensitive chest refuses to relent. Lan Huan can swear that the man is close to crying when he visibly flinches and whimpers under the way he digs his nails into the puffy swells of his nipples.
A spark of sympathy enters his chest when the next muffled noise reaches his ears. He watches intently as Jiang Cheng drops his head back between his shoulders for several seconds, trembling, as if he wants to escape from the abuse of his chest. But he is quick to duck his chin, as if refusing to lean against the support Lan Huan's body offers behind him, even as his stretched arms flex and unclench in the air as if on the verge of collapsing.
Moved by how fiercely Jiang Cheng hangs on, Lan Huan turns his face a touch to lave his hot tongue over the curve of the other's red ripped ear. He nibbles, the points of his teeth sinking into the malleable soft flesh before sucking around his satisfied smile. He soothes the man’s sides, sliding down to grasp his waist to feel the way his shaking intensifies.
"More, Wanyin?" he asks again.
He eases his lips away, then his hands, allowing the other male to catch his breath, to slow it down. He is allowing him an out, a chance to gather his bearings—unless he wants Lan Huan to push him even further?
Just how far will one man’s pride carry him, he wonders.
He calmly eyes the slight nod Jiang Cheng manages but makes no move from his seat. He waits, allowing the heat of his breath to wash down Jiang Cheng’s neck to the valley of his shoulder blades. He waits until Jiang Cheng starts to reveal his restlessness, shifting an inch towards the side before Lan Huan grabs for the flogger instead.
"I told you not to move.”
A fresh blossom of red blooms across the canvas of Jiang Cheng's back and he finally cries out, shiny wet saliva a glistening string down the edge of his red lips. He is nearly sobbing, his chest filling with desperate gasps.
“A-ah—ah!”
Without pause, while the pain is still fresh, Lan Huan drags the heavy ends of the flogger between those thighs. A deep thud sounds out, but his attention is solely focused on one point of the shivering man's body. His eyes are transfixed on the startled clench of Jiang Cheng's stretched entrance.
A greedy swallow sucks around the fat plug he had instructed the younger male to insert earlier in the afternoon, hours before their session—hours of the high-strung CEO conducting his operations while stuffed completely full. Just imagining the barest shimmer of Jiang Cheng's tight posture as he maintained his long strides, settling down in his office chair or perhaps bending to pick up a discarded sheet of paper—it brings Lan Huan such joy.
"Speak," he prompts, his orders shorter now, a touch breathless. After painting the skin of Jiang Cheng’s thighs red, he is growing impatient—or is it eagerness?
"M-more, Sir," Jiang Cheng obediently responds, his voice a faint rasp. His face is just as red as the wilts branding his lower half. "Please," he still has the mind to add.
Lan Huan only hums, opting to show his praise another way. After taking a deep breath to ground himself, he reaches behind them to lower the chain a couple of links to allow Jiang Cheng to sag, and he goes. With a tug, he settles his weight over Lan Huan’s lap to remind him of his reward, and Jiang Cheng begins to tremble again. He moans, an involuntary response when his sensitivity has been cranked to the max. He helps him to spread, draping Jiang Cheng’s thighs over his knees when he sinks into his hold, allowing Lan Huan to kiss a collection of red marks to the column of his throat.
“You didn’t come this time,” he observes lowly, skimming his hands along the smooth, pink flesh of his thighs. Jiang Cheng shivers against him from the barely there touch. “Even though are you such a slut for pain,” he adds.
All of Jiang Cheng’s energy is poured into the noise he makes when his straining erection is finally addressed again, encased by Lan Huan’s larger hand. His upright posture finally caves in. His torso slumps over as if to resist the urge to rut into his palm as he chokes out a moan which every firm stroke, his fists flashing white as he resists.
“That’s very good of you, pet. Finally, Wanyin has learned not to come without permission, so good for me,” Lan Huan murmurs into his flushed skin. “You’re allowed to move now.”
With those words, it does not take long for Jiang Cheng to let go. “Please,” he thinly gasps out, “please, Sir— mmh!”
“Tell me what you want, Wanyin,” Lan Huan encourages. They are back to chest now, mindful of Jiang Cheng’s rapidly deteriorating balance as he sways half in the air, close to toppling off Lan Huan’s lap.
A harsh clink sounds above them as Jiang Cheng attempts to pull his arms back, reaching towards Lan Huan as if needing to hold onto him, anything. He is absolutely writhing now, needing everything within himself to cooperate least he comes apart before he earns permission to. “I can’t,” he whispers, hissing through his clenched teeth, eyes squeezed shut as if to push away the stimulation bullying his sensitive cock. “I really can’t, Sir, please!”
“Can’t what?”
“I—I’ll come,” Jiang Cheng hiccups, shaking so hard that Lan Huan wraps an arm around his middle. The man bucks within his hold, no longer capable of sitting still, pushing his cock into the tight fist of Lan Huan’s hand. “I can’t hold it—I want to come, Sir. Please, I’ve been g-good,” Jiang Cheng sobs faintly. “Please, can I come?”
With his sub pleading so prettily for him, Lan Huan could not deny him a single thing, not for another second. Despite the wanted pain he inflicts, so that Jiang Cheng can endure it, surpass the constraints of his limits, he does not think of himself as cruel. Nor does he consider Jiang Cheng to be weak.
Only the ones with courage and strength are able to submit.
“Come, Wanyin,” he whispers into his ear. “Good boy.”
Jiang Cheng rolls his hips and moans, coming apart so beautifully to the sound of Lan Huan’s words.
Gone languid, he leans the entirety of his weight into Lan Huan’s embrace, trusting him completely as he trembles through his waves of pleasure, and the amount of power Jiang Cheng hands to him transfers through Lan Huan’s like a rush. Watching the arch of white painting the evening air, the erotic curve of Jiang Cheng’s spine, the drop of his sinful red lips, Lan Huan’s straining cock aches within the confines of his dress pants.
An indescribable urge threatens to overtake his rationality when Jiang Cheng, still catching his breath, cradles his hand in both of his to bring his palm to his mouth. Kitten licks to each of his fingers, sucking clean his thumb, kissing his knuckles as he murmurs, “Thank you, sir.”
It takes every last bit of his restraint to not coil his hand into a fist when Jiang Cheng sends him a sidelong glance, still holding his hand.
But he does give in and cradle Jiang Cheng’s jaw in the wide span of his hand to tilt his head back so that he can access his mouth for a devouring kiss. Jiang Cheng gasps under his hold, throat bobbing beneath his palm, but he goes easy and allows his tongue to claim and map every expanse of him. The longer he kisses him, Jiang Cheng eventually begins to relax again to reciprocate, always so shy but responsive to praise and affection.
Lan Huan has him rendered breathless by the time he releases him, hand now a loose collar around his slender neck. He meets his hooded stare, still a touch dazed, and smiles. “What’s your colour?” he asks, intending for the last section of their play.
“Green,” Jiang Cheng easily replies, voice slurring.
“Good. We are taking the rest to the bed,” Lan Huan tells him.
He helps Jiang Cheng to his feet, his nude form continuing to tremble like a newborn fawn. After releasing his wrists from the cuffs completely, he rubs his arms up and down to help his circulation return. Only when the feeling returns to his limbs does he guide his submissive into a kneel.
He sends a meaningful glance towards the other side of the room where his bed awaits, but Jiang Cheng does not follow his cue. His glassy eyes are fixed upon Lan Huan himself, never leaving his face, intently waiting for his next command, so obedient. He reaches down to massage his neck, kneading deep until the straight line of Jiang Cheng’s shoulder sink. He slides his hand towards his chin, this time to direct his gaze towards where he wants him.
Only then does Lan Huan bend to whisper into his ear, “Crawl onto the bed and present for me, Wanyin.”
Blushing from head to toe, Jiang Cheng rests on his elbows and spread knees with his waist arched back in the air. It takes all of his strength and attention to maintain his vulnerable stance after running on high for the past hour or so—he cannot really tell, his buzzing system confused by the vague chasm between pleasure and pain, blurring his grasp on time.
He jolts when Lan Huan blows a puff of air over his entrance, his rim already swollen and red. It takes the last of his effort to not move when a heavy hand curves over the swell of his ass, Lan Huan’s thumb rubbing over his hole.
“Hold yourself open, Wanyin.”
To do so—to obey—he has to sink until his face meets the pillow as he slides his arms back to reach his between his legs. Completely exposing the most vulnerable part of his body to his Master for the night, it is not his first time, but the low current of humiliation heats him regardless as his fingers sink into the meat of his ass when he pulls his cheeks apart. He is distinctly aware of his cock hanging between his legs, gradually filling with blood and arousal again when he can feel Lan Huan drinking in the sight of him with his eyes.
His breath stutters when Lan Huan’s thumb catches upon the puffy edge of his hole and digs in. He tries, he really does, but a muffled whine leaves him when the silicone plug is pushed further inside his body. The pressure against the swell of his prostate causes his vision to blur, his eyes to flutter shut as a hot shudder rolls through him.
“Wanyin, do you want me to take your toy out for you, or can you do it yourself?”
“I, I can do it,” he meekly answers, not wanting to disappoint him.
That does not stop his embarrassment, however, clenching his hole and bearing down right in front of another person. He does his best to focus on his need to obey Lan Huan’s every command, on what will come next. Lan Huan had already told him at the beginning what he wants from their scene tonight.
“After I watch your reddened ass sway in the air, I’ll eat you out and give you my cock, fuck you until you’re crying my name. Sound good?”
Oh, so good that his mouth instantly watered from the dark arousal within Lan Huan’s voice, a tone he only ever uses with him.
He cannot help his moan when just as the widest part of the plug pushes passed the sensitive bump of his prostate, Lan Huan decides to sink the toy right back inside. “No—!”
He gasps, an involuntary whine curling his voice when the flat handle of the plug is seized for Lan Huan to steadily push the body of the toy in and out of him. It drags along his walls with little resistance when Jiang Cheng had stretched himself in the privacy of his office earlier in the day. The stimulation dragging along his sweet spot causes him to clench, swallowing the toy further inside himself.
“It’s okay to ask for help, Wanyin,” Lan Huan issues from behind him. Gracefully perched on the edge of the bed, legs crossed as he plays with his submissive’s ass. “It can be better that way, don’t you think?”
“Ah, y-yes, Sir, I—”
His voice cuts off, nearly pitching forward in surprise when Lan Huan suddenly pulls the plug completely free. The hard drag and catch against his prostate and then the sudden release, it causes his empty hole to gape before his Master’s eyes.
Before the humiliation has time to sink in, Jiang Cheng’s voice is released with a shuddering moan when the soft, hot drag of Lan Huan’s tongue sinks into his loosened entrance. Gliding along his inner walls, tasting him, wetting him even further. He has to dig his nails into the flesh of his ass checks to keep himself from drawing his legs together when Lan Huan begins to suck upon his swollen rim.
“Fuck,” he groans without thinking. “Oh, fuck—!"
“Manners,” Lan Huan chides him, but Jiang Cheng can tell he is not going to punish him again. Already he is mouthing at him again, pushing his hole apart with the flat of his tongue. The sloppy wet sounds he produces are too much for him; Jiang Cheng hides his face into his pillow with a weak noise. It is not enough to muffle his shout when Lan Huan slides two fingers alongside his tongue, applying pressure to his prostate. He holds it there.
Jiang Cheng loses his grip and drops his hands to the bedsheets, bunching them in his fists. Lan Huan bites into the meat of his ass for it, and his cock twitches from the flare of heat. He feels like he’ll come again. He doesn’t notice the sound he is making until fingers are gripping tight in his hair, yanking his head back and suddenly his keening voice is loud in his ears.
“S-shit, I can’t, I really—Sir, please. I fucking need you to—I’m not gonna last—”
He breaks into a high-pitched whine when Lan Huan pulls away from him, leaning up on his arms above him. “You know, I don’t have to fuck you if you’re going to keep running your mouth like that,” Lan Huan utters darkly into his ear.
Jiang Cheng hears the threat in his voice, but the way his Master growls always sends him into a moaning mess. Before he can start to even think about begging for forgiveness, for anything—Lan Huan is pouring lube down the crease of his ass before canting his hips, sliding his cock between Jiang Cheng’s cheeks to wet himself, revealing his own hunger to get inside him.
As much as Jiang Cheng craves to be broken down into a pliant mess, Lan Huan gets just as high on the power rush from witnessing all his efforts flourishing and displayed across his bedsheets.
“S-Sir,” Jiang Cheng pants, hazy with arousal. He needs so badly. “Sir,” he tries again, louder.
“Hm…?”
Lan Huan is taking his time, always such a damn tease. It drives Jiang Cheng crazy, the way he presses their hips flush, his cock resting hot and heavy against the small of his back. His hands clench in the sheets, an attempt to get a grip on himself.
“I want to see you,” he manages to voice out. Lan Huan is always encouraging him to ask for what he really wants, but it leaves him restless, the lingering threat of rejection. It causes his scalp to prickle, his entire being already so flushed pink. “Sir, please…”
Distractedly, Lan Huan repeats, “Wanyin wants to see me?”
“Please, yes...”
Not for a resemblance of control or to be aware of what is being done to him, no. He wants it because he is afraid that he won’t be able to control himself and behave without having Lan Xichen’s stare to keep him down where he needs to be.
Relief takes him when he is flipped over. Another moan tumbles out from the sheer display of strength Lan Xichen wields, hauling him in by the waist, maneuvering him until his legs are wrapped around him, bent at the knees. Heavy lidded, Jiang Cheng’s gaze drops to watch as Lan Huan reaches does to stroke his hefty cock. He salivates at the sight of those engorged veins corded around the thick length of him, throbbing against the man’s open palm in time with his pulse. Jiang Cheng swallows, his throat suddenly dry.
Lan Xichen knows all too well what he is imagining right now. When Jiang Cheng finally drags his stare away to meet his eyes, he is sent a smirk.
“Do you want this?”
He predictably flicks his gaze back down to Lan Xichen’s massive cock. “Yes, Sir,” he readily answers, too eager.
He licks his lips but even though his hands are no longer cuffed, he keeps them to himself. He learned the hard way the first time he tried to touch his Master without his permission.
Lan Xichen’s smirk grows a touch wider. He drops his hand away. “Then put it in yourself,” he orders.
Jiang Cheng’s eyes widen in confusion for a second.
“Without using your hands,” Lan Xichen continues. His hands return to his thighs, grabbing possessive handfuls and making his way up to Jiang Cheng’s waist, then his chest. “You can do that, can’t you?”
Jiang Cheng involuntarily bucks when his thumbs drag directly over his sore nipples. Gasping, he works out a reply despite his uncertainty. Even with how stretched out he is, taking Lan Xichen’s size in is always a major feat. “I’ll try—”
“I know you will.”
The other man’s confidence in him never fails to light a fire within Jiang Cheng’s belly and never does he want to break it. So he does try. He inches forward, the strength of his legs bracing his weight as he lifts his hips to try and align their bodies. Fuck, his breath nearly leaves him when he manages to catch the fat head of Lan Xichen’s cock against his puffy rim. His mouth has left him so sensitive there. He pushes down, attempting to bully him inside.
A frustrated whimper escapes him when his cock slips away from his grasp, springing up between them instead. Lan Xichen produces an encouraging sound into his ear, his torturous mouth now working upon a spot beneath his jaw. “Keep trying,” he murmured, unmoving, not intending to angle their hips together at all.
Jiang Cheng tries not to grumble and considers how desperate he would have to be to use his feet in place of his hands. Given how perverted he knows he is, Lan Xichen would probably enjoy that. He loops his legs around the man’s waist and pulls him close instead, wishing that he would just slam it in like he usually does. His arms strain with the effort required to hold himself up when he tries once again without success.
It won’t go in. Even when he manages to get him against his hole, it won’t push through.
“I—I can’t. I can’t do it,” Jiang Cheng finally admits, ashamed. He can’t look at his Master when he speaks and tries to resist when his jaw is gripped. “I’m sorry, Sir…”
“Wanyin,” Lan Xichen says, and his eyes anxiously dart over. Lan Xichen waits for his full attention, waits for him to pull back from his spiraling before he says, “It’s okay that you can’t by yourself, pet.”
“But I don’t want to fail you,” Jiang Cheng protests, already feeling so crushed. His eyes are burning, making it hard for him to keep looking into his Master’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Wanyin, it’s okay,” Lan Xichen calmly repeats. He leans their foreheads together, forcing his stare. He meaningfully says, “You know that you can ask for help.”
He knows, he does, but he turns his face away. If only he could get his body to listen like it listens to his Master. He starts to try again but his lower back aches and his hamstring is starting to lock up. Lan Xichen could always force his body to hold at its limit so why can’t he do it now?
“Fuck, I just...”
Watching him struggle, Lan Xichen orders, “Ask me for help, Wanyin.”
He hates admitting that he can’t do something, that he can’t follow through. He hates it even more when he has to ask for help, and Lan Xichen knows this. It has never been easy for him to face his incapabilities, but Jiang Cheng knows what he will get if he asks, and he knows that his Master will be so much more pleased with him for it.
“Please,” Jiang Cheng finally whispers. His limbs are shaking again, his voice with it. It makes it infinitely harder for him to breathe out, “Sir… H-help me put your cock in, I—aah!”
The second Lan Xichen sinks into his depths, plowing through whatever resistance left in him, it is like Jiang Cheng’s thoughts all shatter away. For a long moment, all that exists is the point where they are connected and the pure amount of pleasure that space brings. And then he moves, and Jiang Cheng can feel the broken sob that is pulled out of him, the rush of air that he leaves his head floaty and his lips gasping.
The needy sound Jiang Cheng makes when Lan Huan begins to fuck him is rewarded with a reverent mark sucked at the corner of his neck and fuck, he needs that patch of burning skin to pull him back into his body.
A pair of strong hands descend to hold his hips steady and in place while Lan Huan rams into him hard and deep, just the way he loves. Enough to leave him aching and sore, the burn from being stripped down lingering for days on end beneath his impeccable business suits.
The only hitch is that Jiang Cheng already wants to melt and with each thrust targeting his prostate, the mounting pressure of another cresting orgasm is quickly brought to the forefront of his awareness. And no matter how much he tries to beg off, Lan Huan simply won’t relent, groaning roughly into his ear instead.
“S-Sir, I’m close, slow down—”
“You can hold it, Wanyin. I know you can, always so good for me,” Lan Xichen pants, rushing his words. “So fucking hot and tight.”
Lan Xichen seizes him by the backs of his thighs and presses him down, knees pushed towards the mattress to hold him in a perfect mating press. He robs him of all his leverage, and he makes use of it instead. He powers in, and an involuntary shout is forced passed Jiang Cheng’s slack lips as he is shoved into. He does not shift up the bed with it—Lan Xichen grips him too tightly for that, forces him to absorb the impact of his thrusts each time.
"Ah—! Uh, fuck, aah!”
Jiang Cheng’s eyes roll back, unseeing. Blinding white stars burst across his vision and the shuddering moan he lets out, it never ends. His voice just keeps pitching higher and higher until it breaks around a wet gasp. He’s drooling. His curled fingers twitch across the white sheets and bumps into something—Lan Xichen’s hand, pressed flat. He snags at his bunched knuckles, the only thing he really can do is hold on as he is fucked to an inch of his life.
He's screaming again but this time he hardly registers the clawing sound. It is as if he is hit by a lightning strike straight from the clouds, bursts of rapid heat surging from the core of his body and spilling into his chest, reaching the top of his scalp and dispersing out into a constant buzz of electricity, of sensation. And then he is sobbing, powerless, slumping into the mattress as he shakes.
“X-Xichen…! Xichen, ah…!”
There is a blazing hot weight holding him down now, flush to his naked form. Lan Xichen is in his arms—no, he is wrapped around him, his arms and legs. Lan Xichen is between them, pushing their bodies together again and again.
“Mmhm, you’re good, Wanyin,” Lan Xichen mouths into his ear, breathless. “You feel amazing.”
Jiang Cheng thinks he smiles at that. He can’t tell when Lan Xichen’s lips are brushing along his, then kissing his cheeks, his brow. He blinks and then Lan Xichen is grabbing his hands, intertwining their fingers before pinning them above his head.
“Look at how well you’re taking me,” he says, and he sounds so proud of him.
Enraptured, Jiang Cheng glances between them and stares for a while at the way Lan Xichen’s cock keeps disappearing from his sight. Sinking into him. And when he pulls back, his cock is such an angry dark red that he wonders if it’s painful from how long he’s maintained his erection. Fuck, the man has not even undressed, still fully clothed save for the halfway attempt to unbutton his shirt, he had been that hasty to get inside him.
But then Jiang Cheng catches sight of the mess of white pooling across his stomach and he realizes that he’s fucked up.
He lost control. He disobeyed him. He came without asking first and—
“F-fuck, I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, winded by his failure.
“Hm?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, Sir,” Jiang Cheng frantically stammers. “I know I’m not supposed to, I didn’t ask for your permission but I—"
Lan Xichen’s stare darts from his face to the mess he’s made. “It’s alright, Wanyin. I know.”
“But I fucked up and you—”
“We will talk about it after, Wanyin,” Lan Xichen interrupts him. “You disobeyed my rules, but we are going to move on from it. I’m not upset with you.”
“But why?” Jiang Cheng asks, lost.
Lan Xichen groans lowly under his breath before pressing their lips back together, startling him. “Because I want to fuck you, baby.”
An arm hooks under his left knee and spreads him back apart for Lan Xichen to fuck into, immediately starting up his previous rhythm. Jiang Cheng gasps from the intensity, head knocking back into the pillow, the air taken out from him. The rush of heat returns.
But Jiang Cheng pushes away from the pleasure, rejecting it. He doesn’t deserve it, didn’t earn it. He failed. He failed again, like he always does.
Jerking his face away, he clenches his eyes shut. He feels scorned by the hot stare roving over every inch of his body, watching it all, his shame. His nails dig into hard muscles and leave skid marks. “I’m sorry. S-sorry, I’m sorry—”
Lan Xichen stills the moment he hears him. “Wanyin, stop,” he admonishes. “I’m not fucking you as a punishment. This is your reward for being so good for me tonight.”
“But I wasn’t good,” Jiang Cheng blurts out. It nearly breaks him to say it, but he knows he has to. “I failed you, Sir.”
“Wanyin, no...”
His face is cupped, and Lan Xichen’s warm thumbs are chasing away his tears now as he shushes him, holding him so close. Closer than anyone he is ever allowed to, but he’s failed him. He’s disappointed him, surely.
“Wanyin, I do not expect perfection from you,” Lan Xichen empathetically tells him. “You don’t need to be perfect. You’re allowed to make mistakes.”
“But—"
“Listen to me,” Lan Xichen insists. “I pushed you the farthest we have ever gone tonight. You’ve proven to me how perfect you are despite what I put you though. You are so strong.”
Lan Xichen kisses him before he can argue again.
“I am not going to say this a second time,” he sternly tells him. “Good boys deserve to feel nothing but pleasure when they’re taking my cock, and you know what you are because I have told you. Understood?”
Jiang Cheng’s eyes grow wide. He knows not to question his Master’s words when they are entangled like this, and that realization, that absolute certainty brings with it an enormous amount of soothing relief.
A couple of bright tears spill when he quietly agrees, “Y-yes, Sir…”
“Good,” Lan Xichen sighs, appearing just as relieved. He takes his time stroking his face for another long moment, his affection for him showing. Then he commands, “Open your mouth.”
Blinking up at him, Jiang Cheng obediently drops his jaw and parts his lips. Lan Xichen smiles and draws in to kiss him slow and deep. It is so tender and sweet that he hardly knows how to respond, his breath hitching when the other male nips at his bottom lip before sucking his tongue into his mouth and humming. His hand is massaging Jiang Cheng’s waist, kneading deep until he starts to grow slack without realizing it. The lack of air is slowly getting to him, and by the time Lan Xichen eases back to breathe, Jiang Cheng is chasing him for more.
Before he can issue a sound of complaint, Lan Xichen rolls their hips together again and Jiang Cheng melts. His cock fills with hot blood so fast that he swoons, fingers scratching at the back of those broad shoulders in an attempt to stay present.
Oh, it is not fair how great of a hold Lan Xichen has on him.
“You may come as much as you want, baby,” he whispers along his lips before kissing him again.
But Jiang Cheng loves it too much to question it.
“This is the reward you earned.”
Jiang Cheng screams into the bedsheets, absolutely crying now as Lan Huan drives into him. He no longer attempts to escape; his arms have given out, his waist arched high, sinking into each thrust he is given. His inner muscles draw tight and he sobs, a slurring litany of “please, please,” leaving him between his wet moans.
Lan Huan reaches down to caress his nape, firm fingers adding pressure to his throat for his attention. “Why haven’t you come yet, Wanyin?” he questions hoarsely, slamming into him hard and fast. A strangled, muffled cry is his response. Brow furrowing, he asks, “What’s wrong, hm? You want more, is that it?”
"Yes!" Jiang Cheng desperately gasps out. His breathing has gone irregular, punched out with each hard thrust and yet he keeps rocking back, meeting him each time. "M-more, please—I need you, Xichen, please. More, harder, ah!"
He is speaking out of turn again, calling his name, but Lan Huan allows it to slide when Jiang Cheng is moaning so prettily around his cock. The slighter male keeps whining beneath him, hiccupping around his pleas until Lan Huan issues his response by squeezing his neck a touch harder, bowing further over his arched waist, applying more weight to his thrusts. Even then, Jiang Cheng does not stop his choked-out sounds, those high-pitched keens of delirious pleasure, his incoherent chanting.
Not until Lan Huan is practically ramming their naked bodies together and pounding his cum into his contracting hole while releasing his throat to reach for his leaking cock instead to finish him off.
"Nnh—ah!"
Lan Huan remains buried deep inside him as Jiang Cheng shivers and tenses around his orgasm, his languid moans muffled by the pillows. Lan Huan’s brow only furrows slightly at the spike of sensitivity to his throbbing length until Jiang Cheng finally gives out and slumps beneath him with a bodily sigh.
Carefully withdrawing, Lan Huan rolls onto his side but keeps close as Jiang Cheng comes down. He listens to his thready breaths as he slowly massages his back and waist, paying mind to the red wilts painted across his sensitive skin. Eventually, Jiang Cheng turns his face towards him, half obscured by his pillow, and he watches as those dark lashes begin to flutter, the wetness in them catching light.
Lan Huan greets him with an easy smile when he finally meets his eyes, the younger man’s guard completely down as he sinks, as the rapid rush of adrenaline bleeds into oxytocin. He always enjoys the delicate flush to Jiang Cheng's otherwise sharp features, and he has never been afraid to show it either. Caressing his face naturally follows until he is graced with the appearance of Jiang Cheng scrunching his nose, but he dares to rub that deliciously swollen bottom lip for a moment longer until he earns himself a nip, his finger caught between teeth.
"Be careful, Wanyin," he tuts, even though he does not pull his hand away. "You know that I don't enjoy pain like you do."
The younger CEO sends him a dry look before running the tip of his tongue along the length of his finger, lolling the wet muscle about. Only when he is satisfied, holding Lan Huan's hooded stare the entire time, does he lean back to drawl, "Damn sadist."
"Only for you," Lan Huan teases, still smiling.
Every method and toy he uses, he has trained with and experimented on himself to the point of being studious. It had taken him months of coaxing and persuasion to get Jiang Cheng to stay the night so that he could properly clean and treat his wounds with soothing salves accompanied by anything else he needed to feel grounded within himself. And Lan Xichen knew long ago that he would do absolutely everything to witness Jiang Cheng as he is now: completely at ease with himself.
“Thank you, Xichen,” Jiang Cheng whispers to him before closing his eyes again.
Lan Huan knows the immense privilege he has been granted with the amount of control Jiang Cheng offers to him. He knows the amount of trust Jiang Cheng has for him, and sometimes that alone is enough to bring him great pleasure no matter how they decide to spend their night together.
Although, he does have a favourite pass time that he looks forward to every time their eyes meet.