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The evening arrives quicker than Song Lan had expected.
When he had entered that thick forest with its bushy green trees, making his way to Yi City—truly located in the middle of nowhere—the day had still been bright and beautiful, sunlight filtering through the leaves and fluttering in tune with the wind. Song Lan had stopped to stare, stretching his tall body in the woods, momentarily too preoccupied with the playful and pretty light show to notice the way the evening had crept closer.
The memory of the forest lingers, but now, in the deepening dusk, he doesn’t mind. The darkness is like a welcome cloak covering the overwhelming feeling of mixed anticipation and unease that threatens to eat him alive as he steps through the wooden, creaking gates into a small yard.
The first thing Song Lan notices is an eerie red paper lantern swirling with spiritual energy, casting its dim light on the small, half-gardened yard. The small and rather run-down house in the background is barely visible.
The second thing Song Lan notices is him—Xiao Xingchen. His first love, second love, third love, only love. His forever soulmate, the one he had betrayed, the one he was now chasing with his heart full of dull, ugly regret. The one now basking in the lantern light in his white robes and with a white ribbon covering his eyes, darning a dark robe with nimble fingers, looking like he belongs.
The third thing Song Lan notices is also him—Xue Yang. The infinite source of all his pain, his wrath, his regret, his resentment. His forever soulhate, the one who had destroyed everything he ever had; his temple, his life, his dreams, his body, his morals. The one now basking in the warmth of his soulmate, sitting on Xiao Xingchen’s lap with his thighs spread, mouth soft and pliant, eyes closed, lashes fluttering.
The sight of Xue Yang makes bile rise into his throat, makes his belly tie itself into thousands of twisted, aching knots, makes him want to scream and burn and hurt. It’s impossible to say whether it’s only because it’s Xue Yang, or because it’s Xue Yang on Xingchen’s lap, touching him.
Song Lan had always thought Xue Yang had left nothing but destruction in his wake, that Xiao Xingchen’s life had been ruined as well. Yet he finds him here, illuminated by the same soft, red-hued lantern light as Xingchen, black hair in a high ponytail, sitting on his fucking lap. Xingchen’s arms are wrapped around him as he uses Xue Yang’s thighs as a pillow, working on the ragged robe.
Xue Yang’s naked thighs, that is.
Song Lan freezes and his fingers twitch helplessly. His heart gives a loud thump and his soul almost lurches out of his body as he stares at Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang, sitting on that little porch, silent and content and so unforgivably, hatefully intimate.
They don’t see him at first. For a brief moment he thinks he’s going to die from the pain that shoots up from his heart and zings across his body, a sharp, nasty sensation unlike anything he's felt before. It feels like someone is tearing off his limb but not making any progress, or maybe digging out his heart while it’s still beating.
It’s unbearable, and Song Lan heaves, almost retching, eyes blurry with shock.
Xiao Xingchen still doesn’t realize anything's amiss, but Xue Yang does. Sharp, devious, insane Xue Yang who lifts his gaze and—
“Fuck,” he whispers in shock, instantly trying to shoot off Xingchen’s lap.
Only he doesn’t get very far at all.
Xiao Xingchen moves quicker than Song Lan can follow. He tosses away the robe he’s been darning, hands gripping Xue Yang’s hips, digging into the flesh and bone, and brings him back down. Song Lan vaguely registers the way Xue Yang’s robes tent right there as he shifts and squirms on top of Xiao Xingchen, giving a filthy, broken moan as his hands clench into fists.
“Friend,” Xiao Xingchen says softly, whispering the words directly into Xue Yang’s ear, pressing them into his sweaty skin glistening in the lantern light. “Stay still.”
The sound makes Song Lan choke. Oh, how he had missed his voice. Oh, how wrong it is to hear him speak to Xue Yang like that.
“Daozhang,” Xue Yang starts, but his words wither away as Xingchen grinds his hips upward a few times, using his hands to shuffle Xue Yang on his lap until nothing but a low, deep, drawn-out, fucked out whimper spills from his lips. His head thuds against Xiao Xingchen’s shoulder and he shudders, trembling like a weak leafling in the gust of wind. He’s been stripped of his pants completely.
Song Lan sees red, his whole body tingling with uncomfortable understanding. Suddenly he feels fuzzy with rage and—something else altogether, something unknown and ugly, prickling at his skin, burning his insides, turning his brain inside out and making his blood boil.
He takes another step forward, then another, until a branch breaks under his foot, announcing his presence to Xiao Xingchen’s blind eyes, too.
“Who’s there?” Xingchen calls out, voice both soft and steely, Xue Yang still flattened against his body, looking—fuck— soft.
Words die out in Song Lan’s throat.
“Ah,” Xue Yang garbles, jolting as Xingchen moves. He almost seems to have forgotten Song Lan’s presence, except— he opens his eyes and smirks at Song Lan, but instead of cocky he only manages to look totally fucked out, face flushed and sweaty, lips swollen and painted crimson red, eyes hazy.
Song Lan’s hand twitches, eager to grab Fuxue and run him through, get rid of the source of his soul’s hate once and for all, stab him to death and kill him like he deserves. But of course, he cannot do that. Xiao Xingchen is right behind Xue Yang and his life is precious.
Song Lan screams inwardly, feeling like his heart, that stupid lump of bloody flesh and muscle, is being mocked and stomped upon, sent to the infinite Hells to burn together with the merciless laughter of Xue Yang.
Controlling his voice, he finally manages to speak: “Xingchen. It’s me.”
Xiao Xingchen lets out a small gasp full of pain and surprise and wonder, plush lips wobbling minutely. He shivers from the realization, and the involuntary movement makes him sink even deeper into Xue Yang—Xue fucking Yang—who moans hoarsely in turn, eyes fluttering close once more, the flush on his face spreading under his neckline like a filthy map to his body.
Song Lan cannot tear his gaze away from the way his robes tent, nor the large, wet patch on the coarse fabric, completely soaked through.
“Zichen?” Xiao Xingchen sounds lost and small but doesn’t do anything to throw Xue Yang off or to cover their bodies.
“It’s me, Xingchen,” Song Lan confirms roughly, stepping even closer. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Suddenly Xue Yang seems to remember him again, eyes shooting open and hands digging into the folds of his remaining, crumpled robes, probably in search for a demonic talisman.
Song Lan doesn’t even have time to draw Fuxue when Xiao Xingchen has Xue Yang’s arms pinned at his sides already, rendering him immobile. He hooks his chin over his shoulder like a human lock and smiles. It’s unnerving. “Now, now, friend,” he chides gently, squeezing Xue Yang tightly. “You had only one task for tonight. Are you forgetting already?”
He rolls his hips, pushing even deeper into Xue Yang who shudders out a strained groan. The wet patch on his robes gets even larger as his cock twitches underneath, and Song Lan can see a few tears gather at the corner of his vicious eyes.
And Song Lan—
His heart is trying to escape the confines of his broad ribcage because Xiao Xingchen, his beloved, gracious Xingchen, his only love, is fucking his mortal enemy, their mortal enemy; the nastiest, filthiest, most unhinged person in this realm.
Song Lan doesn’t know what to do with the realization at all, other than that he desperately wants to kill Xue Yang and shatter his soul, making sure he simply has no chance of reincarnation. More precisely, Song Lan desperately wants to fuck him to death, plow his soul out of his body and tear him apart until he’s silent and still and bleeding.
“Xingchen,” he croaks. “Don’t you know who he is?”
“You—” Xue Yang howls angrily, his expression clearing as he shifts on Xingchen’s lap. Yet he only manages to impale himself deeper on Xiao Xingchen’s cock, slumping against him like a ragdoll, going all limp and shuddery. His pores push out even more sweat, making his skin glisten with a reddish shimmery sheen.
Song Lan stares and swallows, hard.
Xiao Xingchen laughs, quiet and sure, tightening his embrace around Xue Yang. “Of course I do.”
A wretched sound tears itself from Xue Yang’s mouth and his eyes go impossibly huge, urgent panic bleeding into his expression. Song Lan revels in it, the surprised hysteria that sparkles in his huge, lust-filled eyes. He wants to bathe in it, drink it from Xue Yang’s lips just to get a taste of what it tastes like, the bitterness and violation of being exposed like that.
It’s so very obvious Xue Yang thought he had been deceiving Xiao Xingchen.
Song Lan wants to laugh.
It’s true that Song Lan doesn’t know this Xingchen, the Xingchen he had abandoned; doesn’t understand why he allows Xue Yang to be there like that, close and intimate. But it seems that Xue Yang, for all his unhinged brilliance, knows Xingchen even less.
To imagine he’d be able to deceive him? Laughable.
Xiao Xingchen nuzzles Xue Yang’s neck, biting into the skin and leaving a mark. “Friend,” he says. A thousand emotions flit through Xue Yang’s face, immense relief among them—until Xiao Xingchen wrecks it all with his next words: “Isn’t it right, A-Yang?”
Then he shifts, cruelly forcing his cock deeper into Xue Yang, whose expression turns into one of vivid shock.
“No,” he utters, shaking his head like a rattle-drum, groaning empathetically as Xingchen drills into him.
Song Lan is captivated, his heart in his throat. It must be painful. He feels giddy, like his sanity has been replaced by madness.
Xiao Xingchen hums noncommittally. “A-Yang. Don’t lie. I’ve known since forever.”
“And yet—” Song Lan says haltingly. It doesn’t make sense. He trembles from the cold; Fuxue is still on his back, a comforting, grounding weight, a touch he’s gotten accustomed to as his fury bleeds into hunger and something infinitely more complex.
Xiao Xingchen lets out an amused huff and sneaks his hand under Xue Yang’s robes, clearly taking him in his hand. Using his other hand to pull the troublesome robes away, he finally reveals all of Xue Yang for Song Lan’s eyes, allows him to see the way they’re joined: Xingchen inside Xue Yang, stretching him wide, and Xue Yang’s filthy cock drooling all over Xiao Xingchen’s pale, long, pretty fingers.
Song Lan cannot fucking breathe.
“See, Zichen,” Xiao Xingchen says, smiling, smiling, “I’d like to think that punishments come in many shapes.” He tilts his head and gives Xue Yang’s neck another small bite, hand still wrapped around his cock. “For someone like him… maybe to be known and exposed, made to serve and given pleasure in turn, is the cruelest punishment of them all.”
He slowly strokes Xue Yang, who whimpers on his lap. Song Lan’s mouth goes dry and he suddenly realizes he’s hard himself, harder than he’s ever been in his life.
Xiao Xingchen sighs happily and keeps fucking Xue Yang, gentle yet full of torment. Xue Yang looks like he’s on a verge of sensory overload, fucked out of his wits, unable to sass or snark or try to kill Song Lan, and suddenly Song Lan can see the allure of this forced domestication, of taming that fucking brat, that violent mass-murderer, once and for all.
He swears under his breath.
Xue Yang makes a choked, muffled sound as Xiao Xingchen’s thumb digs into the sensitive spot under the head of his soft pink cock, forcing even more of precome to drip from the slit. He looks painfully hard, probably having been edged for a small eternity while warming Xingchen.
Xiao Xingchen only smiles serenely, and Song Lan finds himself falling into an abyss of his own making, falling on his fucking knees before them.
His soulmate, his soulhate.
Mind completely empty of any rational thought, he places his hands on Xingchen’s arms that still envelope Xue Yang, feeling the solid muscle under the robes. Then he leans down and takes Xue Yang into his mouth, lips closing around the tip to properly plug him in, tonguing that sensitive spot before sliding down to kiss Xiao Xingchen’s hand on Xue Yang’s cock.
Xue Yang trashes and screams and comes undone in a matter of fluttering heartbeats, shooting his release down Song Lan’s throat. Song Lan keeps his softening cock in his mouth, head lolling as Xiao Xingchen finally lets himself go, giving a few harsh thrusts and coming deep inside Xue Yang.
And Song Lan—
Song Lan closes his eyes, mentally exhausted, cock hard and straining against his pants.
He cannot wait to wreck Xue Yang with his years’ worth of punishments.
