Archive of Our Own ^beta

The evening begins as it always does. 

Shen Qingqiu receives the summons for a game of xiangqi with Luo Binghe in his chambers from a cowering servant. He’s no doubt heard about his infamous temper, already flinching when Shen Qingqiu grips at a bowl, the urge to throw it at the door until it shatters to pieces already overwhelming. 

Four or five palace maids will flit inside his chambers without preamble holding baskets of flowers, soaps and oils. Several men follow after, heaving wooden buckets full of freshly boiled water that they pour into his large tub, filling the room with steam.

He never snaps or lashes out at the women, even as he bites down on his tongue and lets them toss petals into the water and work the soap through his long hair, his neck straight and tense with distrust. 

It would be all too easy to sway into those gentle hands massaging scented oils over his skin, to let go. But Shen Qingqiu can’t afford weakened defenses; he resists the sweet siren call, beckoning to him from the edges of his exhaustion, tempting him to lower his guard and close his eyes. 

He knows it. And yet, he still wishes he could sink into the hot water, until all the noise and light from the world is gone from beneath the scattered flower petals. To lean back into the sighs of the ripples and waves splashing gently at the edge of the tub, lose himself and disappear into the mist blanketing everything in the room.

Shen Qingqiu looks up at the ceiling, blinking back the water from his eyes.

They had started playing games of xiangqi on a lark weeks ago. A heavenly demon noble had presented a beautiful stone chessboard to Luo Binghe as a gift, with the most exquisitely carved jade pieces Shen Qingqiu had ever seen. 

Perhaps Luo Binghe had seen him startle slightly at the sight from where he had been chained in a corner of his court, perhaps he hadn’t, but that very night he had been bathed with lotus petals and summoned for a game of xiangqi with Luo Binghe in the palace. 

The foul beast had smirked while standing behind him, right before he sat down in front of the chessboard.

 “Let’s play a little game, Shizun,” he’d breathed  into Shen Qingqiu’s ear. “Let’s discuss the spoils of war.”

 “There’s nothing to discuss.”

“I beg to differ.” Luo Binghe had gripped his shoulder, tracing a thumb against the rigid line of Shen Qingqiu’s neck. A strange electric tingle pulsed along his skin, then; he tried not to think too hard about it. “If this lord wins, I’ll take you as my prize.”

“And when I win?” Shen Qingqiu asked, for the sake of asking. It wouldn’t have made a difference whatever the answer was, but he still turned away and lifted his chin to stare down Luo Binghe. Because he could.

Amused, Luo Binghe had tilted his head. 

“Then, this lord supposes it would only be fair Shizun gets to claim me.”

He’d thought, then, that he would rather die than sleep with the filthy mongrel, regardless of whether he was being fucked or doing the fucking. Shen Qingqiu wanted neither, but it wasn’t as though he had a choice.

Thirty-odd years of being a virgin without him letting anyone past his walls, without ever having to be vulnerable in front of someone else—of course Luo Binghe would strip this last defense from him, too. 

Unlike in cultivation, where Shen Qingqiu was laughably and utterly outclassed by Luo Binghe when he’d returned from the Abyss, they were more closely matched in xiangqi. Shen Qingqiu had not been the strategist of Cang Qiong for nothing—as they traded move for move and check for check, he’d come close to defeating Luo Binghe many times. 

But as with xiangqi and anything in life, nothing matters except for who finally conquers the battlefield at the end, and whose general finally emerges triumphant. Time and time again, Luo Binghe had rallied and snatched victory from the jaws of his near defeat at Shen Qingqiu’s waiting hands, claiming his former Shizun as his prize.

Having lost count of the games they’d played, both on and off the chessboard, Shen Qingqiu had only managed to defeat Luo Binghe the one time, taking advantage of an uncharacteristic slip by the demon lord to corner Luo Binghe’s marshal with two cannons.

Shen Qingqiu had expected Luo Binghe to renege on his stipulated terms; to override the results of the game and still push Shen Qingqiu down on the bed to fuck him. 

But instead, to Shen Qingqiu’s surprise, Luo Binghe had kept his word and gone through with it.

Seeing the cold, flinty ire in Luo Binghe’s eyes as he slicked himself open and sank down on Shen Qingqiu’s cock had almost been worth it. While nearly imperceptible, Shen Qingqiu had seen him wince slightly, lips parting as the beast sat astride his legs, eyes never leaving his face.

He hadn’t wanted it to feel good. But as that tight heat engulfed him, as Luo Binghe gripped Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder to steady himself so he could roll his hips, that huge dick smearing slick all over Shen Qingqiu’s stomach, he couldn’t deny that it had. 

Conflicted, even now, Shen Qingqiu tells himself it was only because of relief—that it felt good as a timely respite from Luo Binghe’s streak of victories and his taking Shen Qingqiu several nights in a row. 

If he repeated it enough times, he reasoned, he would eventually forget the thrill of watching Luo Binghe ride him, forget how that wild surge of hunger had felt.

Forget how Luo Binghe had thrown his head back, baring his neck when he came.

Still, there’s no telling if Luo Binghe would keep to his promise a second time. Shen Qingqiu sighs, feeling a throbbing rhythm begin at the edge of his temple.

After that one time he’d fucked Luo Binghe, the brat had redoubled his efforts—no longer just playing with Shen Qingqiu for his amusement, he’d become more ruthless with his games, fiercer, forcing Shen Qingqiu to take increasingly aggressive stances and countermeasures. The few times he’d had his way with Shen Qingqiu again after that, he’d been punishing. Brutal. 

As though he was fighting, fucking, to take back control.

Fuck that. Fuck the stupid brat and his games. Shen Qingqiu is tired. Sick and tired of taking the beast’s monstrous wolf-cock inside his body, of being speared open and being nearly unable to walk the next day. 

His pride is often the only thing that keeps him standing, limping, wishing he could dig out the eyes of the knowing attendants who bring him his meals for having seen him so weak. So humiliated.

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t want to go through that again. 

Not tonight.

His outer robes today are delicate black shadows of silk, threaded with silver. When the girls have towelled his hair dry, combed out all the tangles and fastened his hair into a silver zan, they take their leave. But not before Shen Qingqiu gets to his feet.

“Wait,” he says, voice clipped. The last palace maid startles and nearly stumbles over the step outside his room. “Leave the oils.”

“Th-these, Master Shen?”

“Are you daft, girl? I said, leave it.” He moves towards her abruptly, hears her squeak as she reaches out her hands to hurriedly drop the basket on one of the cabinets. “Now get out.”

Shen Qingqiu walks over to the cabinet and the large, round mirror he’d propped up on it. It’s probably the third mirror he’s had since he set foot in this place. He’d driven his fist into the first one in a fit of pique one night, watched his distorted reflection in those misshapen fragments as he bled from his knuckles onto the floor. 

He’d thrown the second mirror at Luo Binghe when he had sauntered into Shen Qingqiu’s chambers without so much as a by your leave, only to watch as Luo Binghe’s demonic qi surged in front of him, black tendrils crackling as the mirror exploded, shards flying, one piece slicing open Shen Qingqiu’s cheek. 

Luo Binghe had slapped him across that same cheek, the sting of it lingering even after Luo Binghe had arranged for a third mirror in his room, enchanted to never break no matter what Shen Qingqiu did to it. Almost as if he’d anticipated how Shen Qingqiu might consider breaking a shard to slit his own throat out of spite.

Looking at his own reflection and the shadows under his eyes, he takes out a vial of oil from the basket and  examines it in the candlelight. Uncorked, it smells of jasmine—sweet, light and cloying, unlike the bitterness on the tip of his tongue. 

He pours out the oil onto his palm and begins to liberally apply it on his skin—on the pulse of his wrist, his nape, and around the dips of his neck. Hesitating for a moment, Shen Qingqiu sighs and dabs a few drops behind his ears. 

The cabinet drawers are well-stocked with thin jewellery and accessories from the palace maids, per Luo Binghe’s instructions. Shen Qingqiu had seethed when the maids began to drape him with them the last few times they had prepared him to receive Luo Binghe’s summons: chains threaded with pearls, the occasional bracelets made of precious stones, elaborate headpieces with red beads and golden sheets.

He loathes being decked in Luo Binghe’s colours and finery; the sighs of the black silk and clinking jewellery on his skin make him uncomfortable and restless. They make it difficult to remember how he used to look like as Shen Qingqiu, scholar and strategist of Qing Jing Peak, instead of the stranger in his mirror the attendants dress to look more and more like one of Luo Binghe’s three thousand concubines every day. 

Luo Binghe knows this very well; knows just how much it unsettles him.  

Shen Qingqiu wraps a long, thin gold chain around his neck, making several loops until there are different layers falling onto his robes. He holds up a jade bracelet, glancing sideways at the mirror—it brings out the hint of green in his eyes, so he slides it on. Adds just a touch of rouge from one of the girls’ boxes.

“Master Shen. Our lord is expecting you,” a reedy voice reminds him nervously from outside his room. 

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t snarl, but it’s a near thing. “It’s late in the evening. Your lord can wait.”

Working the last of the oil into his hair and adjusting his robes, Shen Qingqiu straightens up and pushes the long jade pin into his zan, fastening it before finally stepping out of the room. When he turns his glare onto the servant, the small demon mumbles apologies, bowing and walking further ahead of Shen Qingqiu so as to not further incur his wrath.

Oh, but Shen Qingqiu hates that he’s gone to all this effort for the beast. While he’s made sure to not overdo it, having only added a few more choice accessories than what the maids usually set out for him, he’s deliberately loosened the front of his clothing and skipped one layer between the dark silk and his soft, translucent inner robes. 

Yes, the thought of doing all this for the beast sickens him, he thinks, as he walks down the long, dark corridor.

But Shen Qingqiu— Shen Jiu —is nothing if not a survivor. 

His exposed neck feels cool in the oppressive chill of the palace, with tendrils of demonic qi curling around in every room. Shen Qingqiu clenches and unclenches his fists almost reflexively as the servant announces his arrival, fingers digging crescents into his skin when the door opens.  

Luo Binghe notices; of course he does. He immediately leans into Shen Qingqiu’s space, crowding Shen Qingqiu against the door and grabbing his wrist, the jade bangle tinkling like a bell against its tassel as he takes a perfunctory whiff of the fragrant jasmine oil Shen Qingqiu had slathered on his skin.

Almost as if he were offering himself up like a well-seasoned meal.

His breath tickles Shen Qingqiu’s neck briefly; Shen Qingqiu clenches his teeth, trying not to react to the ghost of the sensation. To not show fear. 

“This is new,” Luo Binghe says at last, stepping back and looking at him, really looking at him, expression unreadable. “What are you playing at, Shen Qingqiu?” 

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t miss how those questioning eyes trace the looped gold chain around his neck before lingering on where his loose robes reveal the faint bruises that sit on the curve of his shoulder, the very ones that Luo Binghe had sucked onto his skin.

“Hmph.” He doesn’t dignify Luo Binghe’s question with an answer; he rarely does. 

Luo Binghe stays there at the door, silently watching Shen Qingqiu move past him in a  swish of silks to sit at the mahogany table in the middle of the room.

Already reaching for the black jade pieces to set up his pieces on the board, Shen Qingqiu takes a deep breath, trying to still his shaking hands as he repeats the names of the pieces in his head like a mantra. General. Elephant. Cannon. Chariot...

In contrast, Luo Binghe saunters slowly over to the table, taking his time. A patient, grizzled lone wolf circling its prey.

“Well?” Shen Qingqiu says irritably.

A soft chuckle. “So… eager, Shizun.” Luo Binghe lets the pause drag, thick with meaning, before he sits down on his own chair, raising a small cup of rice wine to his lips. “We have all night. What’s the rush?”

There’re only so many aggressive opening moves in xiangqi. This time, Luo Binghe starts with moving a cannon. Shen Qingqiu knows better, of course, than to assume his next five, ten moves will follow any semblance of a pattern from their previous games.

Watching Luo Binghe, Shen Qingqiu moves one of his horses.

He wonders what is running through that sharp, calculating mind. Luo Binghe likes to keep him guessing, striking suddenly when Shen Qingqiu least expects it so as to knock him off balance.

Once, Shen Qingqiu could read the brat like a book—see every moment of hurt, every crack in his facade, the hatred flashing in those furious eyes before Luo Binghe would duck his head and look away.

Now, he no longer can.

“Is Shizun enjoying our xiangqi games?”

The very idea. “Why would I?”

“This lord is merely starting conversation.” The soft clink of jade on stone is almost hypnotic.

Shen Qingqiu lowers his lashes. “Xiangqi. Torture. Sating your animalistic desires. All this, you do because you are able. Just because. There’s no reason for this master to enjoy any of this.” 

Every time Luo Binghe had won a match, he would find a new way to degrade and humiliate Shen Qingqiu in his chambers. Gagging him, tying his hands up with immortal binding cables while he was on his knees, or laying him out on the table with his legs spread open so Luo Binghe could take him right there next to the fallen xiangqi pieces—he already knew that his depraved, former disciple had a knack for torture, but Shen Qingqiu had miscalculated just how far he was willing to go to break him.

How unfortunate for Luo Binghe that Shen Qingqiu is not so easily broken. Still, he knows in his heart of hearts Luo Binghe is not disappointed that he has yet to crumple and yield; quite the opposite. Luo Binghe enjoys tearing apart his new toy only to put him back together again, Shen Qingqiu’s defiance only serving to fuel the perverse excitement in the gleam of Luo Binghe’s eyes.

“Very good, Shizun,” he would breathe into Shen Qingqiu’s neck, twisting Xin Mo’s sword hilt up inside him. “I see you have some fight in you yet. This lord would hate for you to bore me.”

Still, there were only so many things you could still hope to control with your body after being subjected to endless hazy nights of pain and pleasure. His cultivation gone, the movement of his body no longer his, and even his desire—ah, Luo Binghe could manipulate that, too, as Shen Qingqiu learned the hard way. 

Luo Binghe prefers to draw it out with his mouth and hands himself, torturous and slow until Shen Qingqiu’s body betrays him—but when he staves off his orgasms or remains stubbornly quiet while Luo Binghe is fucking him on his knees, the heavenly blood inside would sing, making his cock drool and his mouth beg.

Those are the little victories Shen Qingqiu pettily delights in, he counts it as a win whenever Luo Binghe is forced to manipulate him with his blood, because he knows those triumphs ring cheap and hollow; there is no fun in a hunt without a chase, a conquest without a clash.

“How harsh, Shizun.” Luo Binghe sits back in his chair, placing a hand on his chest, as if wounded. “As this lord recalls, you participate equally readily in sating said mutual animalistic desires when you’re in my bed. Or do you require a gentle reminder, I wonder?”

Shen Qingqiu breaks Luo Binghe’s gaze, setting his next black jade piece down with two fingers. “This master would never willingly lie with a half-breed like you.”

Ah. He normally can’t read Luo Binghe anymore, but he recognises the ice-cold fury that flits across that serene, handsome face. In an instant, his expression shutters and is replaced by a polite, calculating smile, full of the promise of pain especially doled out for Shen Qingqiu.

Heh. Shen Qingqiu is not afraid of pain; they’re familiar bedfellows. The Qius had made sure of that. He knows the bite of rope on the coldest winter’s nights,  the sting of a whip lashing across his back for another’s amusement, the crack of bones from the impact of blows that would not leave him useless to the household but would be agonising enough that he would feel the twinges of pain for weeks on end. 

Shen Qingqiu thought he knew pain, before Luo Binghe had dragged up all that he remembered with the fresh agony he put him through. He’d kept his former Shizun wide awake while the blood parasites amplified every wail of every meridian Luo Binghe burned as he patiently and methodically destroyed Shen Qingqiu’s already meagre cultivation inch by pathetic inch, carving off his spiritual core as easily as if he were dismantling a house of golden foil. 

When Luo Binghe first ripped off his limbs with his bare hands, Shen Qingqiu had honestly thought he was going to die. The white-hot, searing pain of it had drowned out all of his other senses; time had stuttered to a stop while he heaved and retched from the horrible, raw feeling of it, writhing against the other chains that held him below Huan Hua Palace.

And yet.

The worst torture that Luo Binghe puts him through, by far, is the pleasure.

He hates that sometimes, Luo Binghe doesn’t even need to ignite the heavenly demon blood to force him to feel the pleasure—when Shen Qingqiu knows that the desire ever building in him is all him .

There are hidden, shameful moments where Shen Qingqiu is the one who wants, keening wordlessly with a gag as Luo Binghe fucks him open with clever fingers and a soft voice, staving off his orgasm with a firm hand on his cock. When he’s being speared open by that thick cock on his knees and Luo Binghe hits that cursed, sensitive spot inside him, tearing gasps from his mouth that he knows aren’t all forced.

Or even when his memories are dragged up in his dreams, unbidden, of Luo Binghe pushing Shen Qingqiu down as he straddles him, taking Shen Qingqiu inside himself. As Luo Binghe’s dark, molten gaze met his own, when the beast’s low groan went straight to his cock. 

Too many times he’s woken up in a cold sweat from those dreams of Luo Binghe, heat pooling low between his legs as he clutched his sheets in the dark. 

And so Shen Qingqiu tells himself now that he aims to distract Luo Binghe enough tonight to win only because fucking the demon spawn is preferable to getting fucked. Because he’s had enough of being vulnerable as Luo Binghe forces him into submission to have his way with him. That there’s all there is. 

In these moments, when he can’t fully make himself believe his own lies, Shen Qingqiu hates himself.

Still, he lets the lock of hair he’d teased to come loose fall in front of his face, looking up at Luo Binghe while he makes his move. Intentionally taking longer than usual, Shen Qingqiu draws back his sleeve, revealing the pale turn of his wrist as he picks up a soldier piece, crossing the river in the centre of the board.

No going back now.

“Perhaps,” Luo Binghe says curtly, eyes flicking to his exposed wrist. Interesting. Shen Qingqiu makes a note of it. “Not like it matters, since no one had been willing to lie with Shizun unless the terms were laden in silver.”

It’s not a jab that hurts, and it’s certainly not a jab that’s true, so that rolls easily off Shen Qingqiu’s back. He’d expected that people would talk, even if he only forked out money to sleep at the pleasure houses some nights to truly get a good night’s sleep in an empty room when nightmares of the Qius haunted him at Qing Jing Peak. 

Of course, even if other immortal cultivators fucked every whore in every brothel within a thousand li of Cang Qiong, they would still zero in on him as the easiest target to ridicule and to condemn. The mindless mob would always find a scapegoat, and that scapegoat in recent years had too conveniently been Shen Qingqiu. 

Even for all the investigating and probing his dreams that Luo Binghe had done, he never discovered that prior to his debasing of his Shizun, Shen Qingqiu had never been intimate with anyone. All he’d assumed was that Shen Qingqiu had never been with a man, which was not inaccurate. 

Shen Qingqiu had never corrected him. There had never been any need to give Luo Binghe further ammunition against him, after all.

“A business is a business. Perhaps others have actual duties and commitments instead of so much leisure time that all they do is engage in licentiousness with an unreasonably sized harem of women, too many of whom were recruited as concubines after just the first tumble,” Shen Qingqiu comments lightly.

Luo Binghe huffs softly, moving his red cannon. “Jealousy has never been a good look on you, Shizun. Try again.”

Looking up at him from under his lashes, Shen Qingqiu lets his gaze linger. He knows his eyes are filled with hate, with spite—there’s no point hiding them under the guise of bashfulness or coquettishness. Luo Binghe knows him too well for that; he likes that Shen Qingqiu still has that fight in him, the frosty sneer that tells him that even after climbing to the pinnacle of both realms, Shen Qingqiu still sees him as the dirt beneath his feet.

Shen Qingqiu knows the only reason he’s still alive is because Luo Binghe has not yet tired of him. While death would be a quick mercy, Shen Qingqiu continues to survive so that he can one day witness the pivotal moment Luo Binghe falls by his hand once more. 

This time, Shen Qingqiu would finish the job. He will not know rest until he has eaten his fill of Luo Binghe’s flesh and slept on the rugs he would sew from his skin. 

“What are you thinking of, Shizun?”

Shen Qingqiu jerks, nearly biting on the inside of his cheek in surprise.

Resting his cheek on one hand, Luo Binghe smirks at him, eyes glinting, one finger tapping at the edge of the chess board. “You have kept this lord waiting.”

He isn’t supposed to be the distracted one. Shen Qingqiu tilts his head, throwing the rest of his long hair behind his shoulder so that the pale expanse of skin Luo Binghe had marked is on display for them both. The bruises are already fading after three days, but Shen Qingqiu knows Luo Binghe has a perverse fixation on never really letting marks he’d left on his person dissipate. 

Degenerate.

Shen Qingqiu moves a soldier piece forwards, watching Luo Binghe’s gaze travel to the sliver of skin near his chest, almost as if it’s tracing every single one of the faded blooms he’s left there. He shivers, despite himself, at the sudden phantom memory of Luo Binghe’s tongue mapping the terrains of his shoulder blades.

“Is Shizun ready to be fucked again, then?” Luo Binghe says casually, leaning back, as though he is commenting on the weather in the demon realm. Baiting him. Goading him.

Shen Qingqiu curls his other fist under the table, biting back the insults that threaten to spill as anger flares in him, hot and sudden. 

Another clink of jade as Luo Binghe makes his move. “We all know how it turns out for you week after week. Thanks to Shizun’s tutelage on the subject of xiangqi while we were still at Qing Jing Peak, unlike all the other times you sabotaged me, this lord has met few players who can rise to the challenge of besting me on the battlefield. Whether on a chessboard—” He taps the cool stone surface with a finger. “—or when enemies are facing down my armies on the plains.”

Capturing one of Luo Binghe’s horses with his cannon, Shen Qingqiu smiles thinly. “Your eyes truly see nothing around you, what with your arrogance.”

“This lord disagrees.” Luo Binghe looks a little too long at Shen Qingqiu’s fingers this time as he sweeps the red jade piece off the board. “It is precisely the opposite. How else do you think you came to be here, Shen Qingqiu, if not for your hubris?”

The truth, as always, is cutting. 

Shen Qingqiu had always known Luo Binghe was a wolf pup in sheep’s clothing, loathed his transparent attempts to hide his true, malignant nature underneath it all. He had not been fooled; he’d seen Luo Binghe for who he was, seen the darkness that lurked behind the feigned charm and mild politeness, the viciousness in those dark eyes when Luo Binghe thought no one else was looking.

Despite knowing the truth, Shen Qingqiu watched distantly as Luo Binghe’s xiangqi pieces cornered him through the years; each new unexpected move saw Luo Binghe capturing and sacrificing his allies, forcing Shen Qingqiu to take a step backwards each time until his back was against the wall, with no one left to defend him. 

Not even Yue Qingyuan. 

Luo Binghe had made sure of that, too.

There is nothing that Luo Binghe will not try to find in the depths of Shen Qingqiu’s dreams to drag out into the open, making him revisit intervals of despair and self-loathing while Shen Qingqiu works on keeping his eyes cold and carefully blank through it all. 

He’d made the mistake once of slipping, making a muffled sound of anguish when Luo Binghe first showed him his memory of those ten thousand arrows raining down. It was not unlike watching a wolf respond to a whimper from the prey it had pinned beneath its claws.

After days of relieving the moment Yue Qingyuan drew his last breath while Luo Binghe gently, carefully cut off his remaining limbs, after he had screamed himself hoarse both from tears of grief and agony, Shen Qingqiu had learned his lesson. 

Still, no matter how much he provoked and tormented Shen Qingqiu, he had yet to pry open the gates of that iron fortress. Even after he’d been carved, healed and recarved into a human stick for days on end, the agony and humiliation consuming him every waking moment, he’d still grabbed onto his last threads of sanity and spite to continue spitting at Luo Binghe’s feet.

He would not give Luo Binghe the satisfaction of breaking him.

So Shen Qingqiu holds his head up high, lets a matching sneer bloom on his face. “The night is still early. You hear the wind, and assume it will rain? Foolish.”

Luo Binghe smiles, a little dangerously. “I wonder how I shall take you tonight, Shizun.” His tone is light and conversational as he moves another piece. “The last time, I had you on your knees. Holding your hair back as I spread you open, watching my seed dribble out of your used hole like that of a common whore’s. Perhaps this time I’ll have you from the front, so you can see just how filthy you are when I’m fucking you.”

It’s tempting to strike Luo Binghe across the face with his fan, just like the old days when he was still a naive, trusting little sheep who wouldn’t fight back. He should’ve killed the brat when he had the chance. “Shut your mouth.”

“Or did Shizun prefer the time I took you against the wall? You were so loud then, and left me such nice gifts on my back. Why, one would think you were the one with the demon claws instead.”

Sliding a soldier away to avoid Luo Binghe’s capture, Shen Qingqiu snaps his head up. “You controlled me with your filthy blood.”

“Only for a bit,” Luo Binghe says, entirely unrepentant. “You didn’t even realise I loosened its hold on you. The way you submitted to me had nothing to do with my blood at all; that was all you. So feral, Shizun—you could contend with the wildest of them in my harem. I suppose you do like it when I make you scream.”

Although his blood is boiling in his veins, Shen Qingqiu takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes to concentrate. It isn’t the first time Luo Binghe has tried to get a rise out of him by taunting him in the game; Shen Qingqiu has been guilty of applying the same tricks, after all. 

Xiangqi aside, they both know which sore spots to prod, which festering and unhealed wounds to add salt to—Luo Binghe masks it well these days, but he is sensitive to comments about his heritage and forced topics about his time at Qing Jing, while the fastest way to provoke Shen Qingqiu now after he’d become numb to Yue Qingyuan’s passing is to mock the fact that he is now one of Luo Binghe’s countless bed warmers. 

How the mighty fall.

Well, at least he knows now just how obsessed Luo Binghe is with him. Even if this nonsense with their tumbles is a passing fancy no doubt born out of Luo Binghe’s boredom as the now undisputed and unchallenged ruler of both realms, his unexpected and abhorrent desire for Shen Qingqiu of all things, is certainly something he can use. 

And so, while Shen Qingqiu glares up at Luo Binghe from under half-lidded eyes, he slowly and deliberately wets his softly rouged lips. Lets the tongue swipe out just a little, adding that hint of shine he’s seen on the prostitutes when he used to frequent the brothels in near Qing Jing Peak.

Luo Binghe’s eyes widen, by just a fraction. 

Shen Qingqiu watches as his fingers waver over a soldier piece for a few tense heartbeats, only to move it away from the original spot he’d intended. 

It’s the opening he’s anticipated. The only opening he needs.

“Then,” Shen Qingqiu says, crowing silently as Luo Binghe drags his gaze away from his lips with difficulty. “it’s this master’s turn.”

Suddenly, it’s almost as though the air shifts in the room. They’re already nearing the endgame, Shen Qingqiu having slowly engineered an advantage. He captures the soldier Luo Binghe had just placed down in short order, retaliating with an all-out offense. 

Although Luo Binghe chases at his heels by wiping out Shen Qingqiu’s other black jade pieces that he had cross the river, it’s too little, too late. The game had swung in Shen Qingqiu’s favour the moment Luo Binghe had allowed himself to be distracted.

Pride and dignity are all well and good. Shen Qingqiu still had them in spades, would rather break than bend in too many instances than most people would be comfortable with. But although Shen Qingqiu had once aspired to climb to renown, to carve a place for himself as the lofty Qing Jing Peak Lord, he had never forgotten his roots behind closed doors. Deep in his core, the street rat Xiao Jiu still thrived, still held his lessons from the alleys and the scraps of food he had to fight stray cats for close to his chest. 

Shen Jiu had no use for pride, not if it didn’t keep him alive.

Excitement rushes through him now that the tables are turned. Luo Binghe’s polite facade cracks, like thin ice hiding a rushing river, his knuckles turning white where he curls his hand into a fist tightly next to the stone board. 

Shen Qingqiu waits and observes, having foreseen the different playing paths he’d projected Luo Binghe would take with his remaining pieces. When he captures his next piece, advancing ever closer to Luo Binghe’s marshal, he makes sure to slide it off the board closer to where Luo Binghe’s hand is so that it looks like an accident, brushing his fingers against it when he picks up the red chariot piece.

As if that flash of contact had burned him, Luo Binghe yanks back his hand so quickly he knocks his palm against the board so hard that the jade pieces on the board shift a little from their original positions. 

“That’s not a gentlemanly thing to do, beast.” Shen Qingqiu admonishes, steadying the board, pouring as much condescension over his words as he can muster. “And all only because you’ve made a few ill-advised missteps due to your conceit.”

Glaring at him, Luo Binghe says nothing, moving his elephant forward to defend a soldier from one of Shen Qingqiu’s horse pieces.

It’s exactly what he needs. Shen Qingqiu keeps him occupied with the horse as he moves his chariot to the other side of the board, just as he’d planned.

They play for a few more turns like this in silence, Luo Binghe ramping up the aggression of his campaign against Shen Qingqiu. He makes good saves, blitzing and conquering half of Shen Qingqiu’s territory across the river while his remaining pieces dance defensively against the wave of black jade infiltrating his palace.

When Luo Binghe advances his cannon to the last rank and comes dangerously close to giving check, Shen Qingqiu leans over to the left a bit further than strictly necessary, pushing one chariot to Luo Binghe’s edge of the board and letting his loose robes fall forward to hint at the shadows of his nipples.

He thinks he hears one of the jade pieces crack in Luo Binghe’s grip.

Good.

When Shen Qingqiu moves his chariot to come face-to-face with the marshal, he forces Luo Binghe’s hand. Unable to move elsewhere lest their commanders face each other on the battlefield, Luo Binghe moves an advisor to a previous position.

Tucking his hair behind his ear and looking directly at Luo Binghe, Shen Qingqiu nudges his other chariot towards the intersection of carved lines at the centre of the palace. It’s promptly captured by Luo Binghe’s first advisor piece, of course, but he’d factored that as part of the plan.

Sure enough, he’s limited Luo Binghe’s moves—Luo Binghe, who has no choice but to move the elephant to the edge of the board. The inevitable happens as Shen Qingqiu captures Luo Binghe’s second advisor, directly threatening the marshal with his chariot.

The only difference now is none of Luo Binghe’s remaining red jade pieces can counter it.

“Check,” Shen Qingqiu declares quietly. “My chariot slits your marshal’s throat.”

Luo Binghe, flushing all the way down his neck, jerks his head up only to see that, indeed, Shen Qingqiu has cornered him. There’s nowhere left for his marshal to turn.

“You...” Luo Binghe’s voice is brittle. 

Shen Qingqiu pulls back his sleeve, leaning back to place his hands on his lap. There’s nothing to celebrate about yet, not until he gets to leave these cursed chambers and is safe within the walls of his own. “I win.”

He watches carefully as Luo Binghe’s fists slowly clench and unclench before Luo Binghe forces a show of teeth. “So, Shizun wanted to fuck me so much that it pushed you to this, hmm?”

“No, I don’t.” Shen Qingqiu says, ignoring the peculiar heat stirring in his navel at hearing those words coming out of Luo Binghe’s mouth. “I don’t want that tonight. As this master has won this evening’s match, I will be retiring to my chambers.”

There’s a pause, before Luo Binghe grabs his wrist, squeezing hard as his thumb presses right against Shen Qingqiu’s pulse point. “Did this lord permit Shizun to take his leave?”

“We’ve already played.” The brat is strong, his grip like iron. “I do not wish to engage. Let me go, Luo Binghe.”

Those inhuman eyes flash red before him. “Those were not our terms.”

“Terms that you set!” Shen Qingqiu snaps, the last strand of his composure fraying at last. “Terms that I never wanted. I should’ve expected no less of you, you wretch—”

In the next dizzying second, he’s yanked forward by his wrist, a fist digging into the front of his already loose robes. His belt loosens by itself, revealing more of his skin; Shen Qingqiu has never felt so exposed before he’s usually forced by Luo Binghe to strip.  

“You try this lord’s patience,” Luo Binghe whispers, words like silk as they drag softly over his skin. “Shen Qingqiu. You’ve long relinquished any right to protest or to make your own decisions. You belong to me , and it’s high time for me to once again force you to see that.”

“See?” Shen Qingqiu barks out a laugh, feeling a vein throb on the side of his wan face. “I see you, beast. I always have.” 

His hand flashes out like a snake, snatching at the string dangling from Luo Binghe’s neck so that the little familiar jade pendant falls out of those black robes. “I see the disgusting creature that lies beneath.” Fastening his trembling fingers around it, he uses it to pull Luo Binghe closer until they’re almost face-to-face, harsh breaths coming slowly between them as he takes in Luo Binghe’s flinty, darkening expression. 

“Fooling the sycophants and the simpering masses left and right, the blind brainless simpletons who don’t know any better. Playing at being a lord, a conqueror, acting like you’re above me, above everyone else.” He grips the pendant tighter, wishing he still had his cultivation so he could shatter it, tear out Luo Binghe’s heart right here where he stood. 

“Daring to wear something like a Guanyin pendant around your neck, how laughable. As though this useless thing can mask the filthy stench of your tainted, demon whore son’s blood!” 

Luo Binghe backhands Shen Qingqiu across the face, the force of it pushing him sending the xiangqi board on the table between them and the pieces on it clattering to the ground. The string snaps as he falls, the Guanyin pendant rolling over to the side of the bed.

Shen Qingqiu scrambles to stand. He has just enough time to spit at Luo Binghe’s feet before a hand is shoved against his throat, slamming him down on the table so hard that stars burst behind his eyes.

“As filthy or tainted as I may be...” Tutting, Luo Binghe squeezes his fingers tighter, eyes glinting red as he stirs up the heavenly demon blood inside Shen Qingqiu. It renders his own body immobile, his hands fixed uselessly on the table as he tries to muster the strength to kick Luo Binghe away, his limbs betraying him. “Shen Qingqiu, your memory has been faltering, lately. Have you forgotten that it is by this lord’s will whether my esteemed Shizun lives or dies?”

“Your esteemed Shizun—” Shen Qingqiu coughs out blood onto the floor, fixing his most condescending glare on Luo Binghe, “—doesn’t give a fuck.”

That gives Luo Binghe some pause, before he laughs a cold, gentle laugh. It is gentle in the way Shen Qingqiu recalls the first stirrings of snow on a winter’s night, minutes before the wind whips up into a cruel, unforgiving blizzard. A storm that consumes you in the darkness. 

“Yes,” Luo Binghe says, amused, pressing his thumb against Shen Qingqiu’s agitated pulse on his neck. “This lord suspected as much.”

Without warning, he yanks Shen Qingqiu up off the table, covering his mouth with his own in a bruising kiss, biting at the edge of Shen Qingqiu’s lips until the blood parasites force them to part and he’s licking wetly in, taking, taking, always taking. 

As before, Shen Qingqiu is trapped, his every nerve alight with the fire of the heavenly demon blood screaming inside him. The pain distracts him, blinds him, so much so that when his world is suddenly tilting dangerously sideways and he’s bodily thrown against a surface, it takes him a while to come back to himself and realise that he’s blinking blearily up at the ceiling from his back on Luo Binghe’s large bed.

Head spinning. Shen Qingqiu tries to gather strength in his fingers again, feeling them tremble and curl, control slipping every time he tries to focus on them.

“Why are you struggling? Isn’t this what you wanted?” Luo Binghe says mildly, mouth curving as he straddles Shen Qingqiu, their game of xiangqi long forgotten. “After you came in here looking like a freshly fucked courtesan, putting yourself on display for me?”

Luo Binghe’s hand moves down between them, palming between Shen Qingqiu’s legs. He hates how the beast has his body trained like a dog by now; when Luo Binghe strokes him once through his robes, he’s already half-hard, involuntarily arching into that poisoned touch.

“Why would I want it,” Shen Qingqiu spits, biting down hard on his lip before he can let a strangled moan escape it. 

Laughing darkly, Luo Binghe lends a twist to his wrist, squeezing his length before he uses that same hand to rub his knuckles against Shen Qingqiu’s jaw. “So many more falsehoods fall from this pretty mouth of yours than truths. You writhe in your bed at night dreaming about how this lord fucks you, rides you, and you can still find it in you to lie so brazenly to my face.”

Shen Qingqiu freezes.

His tensing up doesn’t go unnoticed. “Oh, yes. There are so many things you hide, but you’re not used to hiding your desires in your dreams, Shizun. And isn’t it so interesting that this lord happens to be a recurring feature in them?”

Feeling like a provoked dragon whose reverse scale has been grazed, Shen Qingqiu turns his head away from Luo Binghe’s hand. “Do I look like I would have had the means to lie with another while in captivity here?” He spits, rabbit-heart hammering in his ribcage as Luo Binghe continues to tear down his walls. “That’s obviously the only reason; a merely physiological affair.”

“Your defensiveness is telling.” Luo Binghe grips his jaw, rests his forehead against Shen Qingqiu as he stares into his eyes. “Do you know what this lord discovered? Images upon images of you gasping, arching as I took you from the front, pinning you down.”

“Luo Binghe!”   Shen Qingqiu snarls, face flushing down to his neck.

 “Sometimes, I had you tied up with the immortal binding cable, your wrists as helpless as your legs as your heels dug into my back. Your voice, rough as you bit back your moans, still stubbornly keeping silent when I fucked you.” Those darkened fingernails sharpen into claws, abruptly,  pricking at his skin and threatening to draw blood should Luo Binghe dig them in a little more at his throat. “Shen Qingqiu, you are such a control freak that you can’t even let go in your dreams, can you? I bet that’s why you hate it when I take you on your knees, because you hate to have your back to me where I could stab you so easily, hmm?”

Seething, Shen Qingqiu struggles against Luo Binghe’s hold—his limbs refuse to listen to his commands as they are drowned out by the haunting, foreign song that sings within his veins. 

“But the most interesting thing to me,” Luo Binghe says, pulling back the layers of robes to push his hands up Shen Qingqiu’s thigh. “Was how many times Shizun dreamed of me riding you.”

Shen Qingqiu closes his eyes, letting out a shuddering exhale.

“Dreams of me pushing you down so I could take you inside me. Dreams of you pushing me down, touching my pillar of your own volition, fucking me hard and rough while you had me on my knees. They’re not even memories of the one time you took me, but your actual fantasies and desires that you’d never speak aloud. Fucking me while you curse me, hating how good it feels, hating how good I made you feel—”  

Shen Qingqiu interrupts, “Dreams are just dreams, nothing more.”

Luo Binghe chuckles. “Even now, you lie.” His hands are hot inside Shen Qingqiu’s robes, one brushing over his nipples, the other resting at the dip where his hips meet his thigh, warmth radiating near his cock. “Never mind, Shizun. Your body is always honest with me when your mouth isn’t, and I know how to get the answers I want.”

“Of course you can only hope to subdue this master by brute force now that you’ve lost.” Shen Qingqiu tries for a sneer, curling his lips to bare his teeth. “I expected nothing less of the filthy half-breed you are.”

His fingers clench, itching to lash out, to scratch, to hurt with his nails and fists instead of with just his words, but he knows what awaits him if he does so this early in their little twisted dance before the night ends.

And so, he waits. 

Luo Binghe’s eyes flash, dagger-sharp, and Shen QIngqiu doesn’t miss it—that’s the moment he knows he’s won tonight’s game in more ways than one.

“And yet.” A tinge of frost creeps over Luo Binghe’s ruthless smile, the fist slowly clenching tighter in Shen Qingqiu’s hair the only outward evidence of his simmering anger. “Shizun felt the need to cheat even during a mere game of xiangqi in order to best this half-breed, did he not?”

His hair is yanked back suddenly without warning, punching out the breath from his chest in a pained hiss. Luo Binghe pulls out the jade pin from his hair in one swift movement, throwing the zan across the room. The zan bounces off one of the dark mahogany cabinets with a thin clang. Like the draw of a curtain, Shen Qingqiu’s hair spills over his shoulders with a rustle while the pin falls onto the bed, forgotten.

Shen Qingqiu’s heartbeat begins to thunder in his chest; he knows an opportunity when he sees one. All of a sudden, the giddying prospect of finally being able to claw back his freedom away from this hellish prison doesn’t seem so far off. 

Even if he doesn’t make it out of the palace alive, he would be free of Luo Binghe, at last. 

He can feel his hands and legs again. Shifting and moving back on the bed in the pretense of shuffling away from the brat, he quickly hides the pin under the nearest pillow before he’s promptly yanked back towards Luo Binghe in short order, presumptuous hands already slipping under his layers, hot on his skin.

“Cheating?” Shen Qingqiu looks away as Luo Binghe pulls the black and silver robes off his shoulders, teeth with a hint of fang dragging hard and sharp over his protruding collarbones. “One hardly needs to spare any effort. Once a beast, always a beast; merely a slave to its base, primal desires.”

Luo Binghe scoffs, rolling his eyes. Something childish flares inside Shen Qingqiu, but he can’t think after that as Luo Binghe dips in, mouthing at the curve of Shen Qingqiu’s neck, digging in his teeth to darken the fading bruises from just days ago when he’d had Shen Qingqiu on his knees, balls-deep inside him. 

"Maybe this lord should remove your tongue, since you’re so keen to be parted from it."

"You could," Shen Qingqiu bites out. After all, Luo Binghe had already done it before in a fit of pique, before he’d gotten bored of his mute Shizun and healed his tongue. Luo Binghe laves at a particularly sensitive spot just under his jaw; Shen Qingqiu tries to hold back from shuddering. “But you wouldn’t. There’s nothing else anymore in your life, is there, that you would stoop so low for entertainment? Pathetic swine—mmph!”

Two fingers are shoved roughly inside his mouth, pressing against the back of his tongue. Shen Qingqiu nearly chokes, coughing when Luo Binghe instructs, “Suck,” against his ear.

Luo Binghe sits back, moving his long fingers inside his mouth and sweeping the bit of drool that catches at the edge of Shen Qingqiu’s mouth with his thumb. “Get them nice and wet for me.” His voice is deep and close, far too close for Shen Qingqiu’s comfort, his hair standing on end as Luo Binghe begins to trace the shell of his ear with his tongue, murmuring his name.

Irked tears prick at the corners of Shen Qingqiu’s eyes as he reluctantly sucks on those digits, leaning forward to lick between them, wet and messy, spit dribbling clumsily from the edges of his lips. He can feel how hard Luo Binghe is already even through the fabric, that inhuman thing straining against his robes hot and throbbing against Shen Qingqiu’s own length.

“You’re so…” Luo Binghe utters, almost as if to himself, weaving words in between the bites he leaves on Shen Qingqiu’s throat. “Such a pretty mouth, on such a vicious creature. What a waste.” 

He should’ve left this vicious creature alone, Shen Qingqiu doesn’t say, biting down sharply on Luo Binghe’s fingers while trying to pull away. There’s nearly no reaction except for when Luo Binghe twitches a little, using Shen Qingqiu’s thick hair like a rope to pull his head roughly to the side.  The line of his neck is exposed, baring it easily for the descent of Luo Binghe’s mouth to lick a hot path down to the subtle scars past his shoulder, where his arm had been stitched back to his torso by the man touching him now, just like the rest of his limbs. 

The scars are still impossibly sensitive, even after all this time; Shen Qingqiu can’t help the little stifled gasp that escapes him. Luo Binghe pulls off his robes so that they spill loosely on the bed, that wicked mouth chasing the lines of his arm down to his narrow, trembling wrist.

Deep in thought as he nuzzles at Shen Qingqiu’s knuckles, soft as the dip of a dragonfly on a lake, Luo Binghe turns his hand over so he can drag his teeth over Shen Qingqiu’s pulse point while looking up at Shen Qingqiu with his dark, searing eyes.

A flash of primal fear courses through Shen Qingqiu, not unlike the time he’d had to face wild wolves in a mountain years ago as the head disciple of Qing Jing. The press of fangs between his fingers as he possessively sucks a small mark there on his wrist is a threat to devour, a promise to consume, and Shen Qingqiu doesn’t know what it says about him that it elicits arousal in him instead of disgust.

Sometimes, Shen Qingqiu realises detachedly, the filthiest beast in this room is the one he sees in the mirror.

Luo Binghe uses those cool, saliva-slick fingers to tease at his nipples now, circling them, wrenching a cry from his throat that he can’t suppress in time. He can feel the stirring of the heavenly demon blood again, sighing in answer to Luo Binghe’s fingers trailing across his skin, sparking a fire he can no longer put out.

How many times has he done these exact same things with his countless women, Shen Qingqiu seethes, hips bucking when Luo Binghe pulls and pinches them, flicking a sharp hint of nail for that rush of pain that is immediately soothed by the wetness of his tongue. These same tricks—!

Luo Binghe picks up Shen Qingqiu’s discarded sash, looping it once around his neck on top of the thin gold chains like a noose before giving it a sudden, sharp tug. Shen Qingqiu is pulled forward to fall onto Luo Binghe’s muscled chest. 

“This is a good look on you, Shizun. Maybe I should get you a collar, like the ones I have commissioned for my demon hounds.”

When Luo Binghe closes his mouth over Shen Qingqiu’s, he can’t help but get swept up in the feeling of it; contrary to what he’d expected of the brute when he’d first forced himself on Shen Qingqiu, his kisses aren’t always rough, although they can be. 

The push and pull of Luo Binghe’s touches, the alternating between playing at tenderness and digging fingers harshly into Shen Qingqiu’s thighs to bruise, and the sheer unpredictability of his tactics in the arsenal of his bed-games is what keeps Shen Qingqiu alert and on his toes, keeps him guessing as he tries to keep ahead of the roiling pleasure in his belly, tries to anticipate what move will come next so that he might counter or defend against it.

But unlike the control he can feign with xiangqi, behind his lofty pretenses and the sweep of his sleeves—here, under Luo Binghe’s relentless ministrations and skillful hands, Shen Qingqiu finds himself helpless.

Occasionally, Luo Binghe teases with his lips, coaxing, trailing his blackened fingernails up the nape of Shen Qingqiu’s neck until his skin goose pimples from the twin sensations. In the blink of an eye, he switches to suck on Shen Qingqiu’s tongue while pressing closer, the hard line of his body impossibly hot against his own.

He moans into the kiss, unthinking, only realising his mistake when Luo Binghe smiles and huffs against his mouth, sliding a broad palm down his side, all intent and maddening fire when it eventually envelops his drooling cock.  

“Look at you,” Luo Binghe says huskily, thumbing at the head. “I’m not even doing anything to you with my blood right now.” A sardonic chuckle rumbles deep in his throat as he yanks Shen Qingqiu closer by the cloth and the chains around his neck, rolling his hips as those powerful thighs cage and pin his body to the mattress. “You can deny it all you want, Shen Qingqiu. This makes you hard. You get off on this.” 

“I do not,” Shen Qingqiu grits out. The spoken lie seems to crawl and cling like a layer of film over his entire body. 

He hates that Luo Binghe is right.

Shen Qingqiu hates that he enjoys it. Hates that he wants it.

He is loath to admit it to himself; whether it is being unravelled by those filthy, wicked hands that play Shen Qingqiu’s body like an instrument, getting bent over nearly in half as he takes more of Luo Binghe’s impossible size inside him or even when Luo Binghe acquiesces to take Shen Qingqiu inside himself—

—Shen Qingqiu wants .

So much of him has turned to hate, now. He hates that Luo Binghe makes him feel this way. But most of all, he hates himself for slipping; for having allowed this sorry state of affairs to happen.

Desiring the touch of a beast.

Does that not make him even lower than one?

When Luo Binghe turns away to reach for the jar he always keeps by his bedside for their xiangqi nights and his innumerable wives, Shen Qingqiu flexes his hands slowly. Whatever Luo Binghe is doing, he’s not controlling him with the blood parasites at this moment.

The edges of Shen Qingqiu’s numb fingers brush against the sharp jade pin. He pulls it closer to the side of his thigh, his blood roaring in his ears until all he can hear is the frenzied sound of his own wild, irregular heartbeat.

Luo Binghe is fingering himself while straddling Shen Qingqiu, reaching between his legs from the front to wetly take in two fingers, slick from Shen Qingqiu’s mouth and the oil. He’s quiet through it, eyes clouded with focus and lust while he slowly works himself open.

Shen Qingqiu can only stare. The jade pin is cool in his hand, reassuring. It would be so easy to kill Luo Binghe like this, when he’s made the fatal mistake tonight of underestimating the enemy in front of him. 

The parasites are dormant, humming gently in his bloodstream, and his hands are free. 

Why can’t he move his hands?

“You call me a beast, a degenerate.” Luo Binghe bites down on his lower lip, doesn’t move his eyes away from Shen Qingqiu’s. The sounds coming from where he’s fucking himself are growing progressively louder and filthier, soft squelching sounds that raise the hairs on Shen Qingqiu’s skin, making his mouth water behind his teeth in spite of himself. “The dirt beneath your feet. And yet, here you are, watching the very things you denigrate with such rapt attention. You just can’t look away, can you?”

He swallows, unable to retort as his eyes stay fixed on Luo Binghe’s rippling musculature, the waves of his body as he shows himself off for Shen Qingqiu, oil dripping down from his hole and all over his hand where he’s twisting three fingers inside now, down to those thick, golden thighs on either side of his legs.

Pulling out his fingers with an obscene sound, Luo Binghe pours more oil from the jar onto his hand. The liquid spills out from between his fingers onto Shen Qingqiu’s chest, trickling down over the fine dusty hairs of his stomach and around his neglected, aching cock.

Tutting, Luo Binghe tilts his palm to the side, letting the oil drip slowly onto Shen Qingqiu’s hardness, mingling with the slick dribbling from the head. “I thought so. As expected, Shizun’s body is the only honest part of you.” Roughly grabbing at Shen Qingqiu, he begins to stroke; the cool oil and the heat of his hands are a terrible, devastating combination, dragging out the unwilling moans from Shen Qingqiu that he tries so hard to tamp down. “Unlike your hateful eyes, or your lying snake-tongue.”

“Mongrel!” Shen Qingqiu tries to close his legs despite the pleasure swelling up inside him, but Luo Binghe keeps his knees apart, flicking his nail at his slit as if in reprimand. “Nngh—”

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe’s voice is a dark, low purr; all ash and smoked honey as his lips graze at his brow, his ear. “Why fight it? You know I’ll make you cave in the end. No matter how you resist it.

“Your fate was sealed the day you pushed me down. You may occasionally win these little games of war we play, Shizun, but it doesn’t matter in the end. Don’t forget—I own you, every strand of hair on your body, every inch of your skin.” The hand on his length is firm and sure as it grips him, lining his cockhead against the tight, slick furl of Luo Binghe’s entrance. 

 “Only I can mar you this way, take you this way, break you this way. Your life is mine, and you will only part with your last breath when I decide I’ve had enough of you.”

“You have your wives,” Shen Qingqiu says between shaky breaths as Luo Binghe begins to take him inside his body, inch by inch, hand an iron vice on his shoulder for balance. “You don’t even want me. You hate— fuck , you hate me, just as I hate you. Why waste your time on this, you stupid brat?”

“So foolish, Shizun.” When he’s fully seated inside Luo Binghe, Shen Qingqiu has to focus on everything else to not think about how good it feels, how fucking good the beast is making him feel, filling the aching, hungry echoes of his lust. It is suffocating just how much he wants to thrust up into that tight heat, to feel more of it around him. 

“I told you before. I’ll return to Shizun a hundredfold all the things you did to wrong me. You will continue living the rest of your miserable life under my rule to atone for your sins.”

He hates him, he hates him, he hates him. But God, he can admit now just how much he wants him, wants this , craving this last profane connection to another that Shen Qingqiu still has in this world. Luo Binghe is hellfire, burning everything that touches him; but it’s only by being burned does Shen Qingqiu still remember he’s alive. 

Luo Binghe is all he has left. 

The thought fills him with ice-cold fury.

Gripping his hairpin, Shen Qingqiu strikes out to slash at Luo Binghe’s throat with his full strength.

It’s as if time slows. As Shen Qingqiu bears down on him, Luo Binghe throws up his hand to block him, falling back so the hairpin slashes at his arm instead. The sharp edge pulls at that perfect skin like teeth, carving an angry red gash as blood begins to flow down Luo Binghe’s hand.

His pulse jumps. Fuck! Fuck. One chance, and he fucked it up, he missed—

Shen Qingqiu hasn’t felt fear crawling down his spine for the longest time, having long numbed himself to it ever since he’d first been thrown into the water prison. It comes rushing back like a flood, pulling him under as Luo Binghe’s eyes flare a glowing red in the dark room.

Right in that moment, he feels the prickle of the heavenly demon blood in him surging into a fire, almost as if he were burning up from the inside. His limbs are twisted this way and that as the parasites rush to heed their master’s command, Shen Qingqiu’s grip on the jade hair pin loosening when his fingers flex on their own. 

The pin falls off the edge of the bed and onto the floor with a soft, muted clink.

“Very good, Shizun,” Luo Binghe says, voice soft and dangerous, but his mouth has curved into a smile. “I knew I could always count on you to keep things interesting.” He takes Shen Qingqiu’s shaking right arm, baring his teeth, kissing down from the soft inner skin to his wrist to his palm, sucking gently on the finger pads. 

“Come to think of it—” He turns Shen Qingqiu’s palm up, spreads it open so he can lick and nibble between where his calloused fingers are joined, tracing his tongue down the lines there. “This is the same cursed hand that first poured hot tea on this disciple, wasn’t it? And the same hand, too, that pushed me into the Endless Abyss.”

Luo Binghe bites down, hard, on Shen Qingqiu’s hand just under his thumb, fangs piercing the skin. 

“Nngh!” Shen Qingqiu feels his eyes stinging with unwanted tears at the sharp pain. “You fucking brute!”

Licking his lips where Shen Qingqiu’s blood has trickled down his chin, Luo Binghe’s laugh is a deep, sardonic rumble. “And now, with this very same hand, Shizun makes a laughable attempt to slit my throat. As though this lord doesn’t have complete and utter dominion over you, Shen Qingqiu; you just can’t resist any opportunity to try and get the upper hand, can you?”

Blood is still flowing from Luo Binghe’s arm. He looks dispassionately down at it, raising his arm so he can lick up the individual rivulets of red, staining his lips. 

Pulling Shen Qingqiu towards him, he forces his mouth open for another rough, claiming kiss—except that the iron tang of blood is on his tongue this time, choking him while Luo Binghe feeds him his own blood. Shen Qingqiu tries to push him away, but Luo Binghe’s sealed off his movements, rendering his own limbs disobedient and disconnected from his own consciousness. 

“Such a shame that you’ve only known failure after failure, one after another. Not setting a very good example for your disciple, Shizun, I’m afraid. ”

Shen Qingqiu narrows his eyes, breath coming ragged as he comes down from the initial onslaught of the surging demon blood. Luo Binghe forces him to lock his hands behind his back, and although he tries to resist it, it’s no use; the additional blood that Luo Binghe has fed him drowns out everything else but the parasites’ howling in his veins, in his head, in his heart. His head spins from the sensation, almost like he’s ingested too much wine too fast, too soon.  “I could have succeeded.”

“Ah.” Luo Binghe raises an eyebrow. “But you didn’t.”

Damn him, curse him to the underworld and back, but Luo Binghe is right. As long as he doesn’t succeed in taking Luo Binghe’s life, all his fantasies at revenge count for nothing.

They would only remain fantasies.

“Fuck you,” Shen Qingqiu says icily, instead.

Luo Binghe reaches out to pull at the cloth around his neck, straddling him and rocking against Shen Qingqiu. “Oh, you will.”

He starts to ride Shen Qingqiu just like that while he is unable to breathe, one hand supporting himself as he slides down on Shen Qingqiu’s cock, the other tightening his grip on the cloth choking Shen Qingqiu like a leash. It’s humiliating.

“Well, Shen Qingqiu. You wanted to fuck me, didn’t you?” Luo Binghe grunts, star-bright eyes wild and hungry, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slippery expanse of Shen Qingqiu’s back, already soaked from sex and sweat. “So fuck me. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The nails digging into his back sharpen into claws, the points pricking and already drawing blood. Legs flexing, Luo Binghe eases himself off only to slam back down again around Shen Qingqiu, that monstrous cock of his bouncing with each movement, red and angry and wet.

Shen Qingqiu thrusts up unthinkingly, only realising the movement of the snap of his hips after the fact when Luo Binghe lets out a pleased, guttural groan as he fucks up into him. Only his arms and legs are motionless; he can still move the rest of his body. 

Luo Binghe makes him feel it: the claws on his back break more of his skin while the heavenly demon blood inside him creates phantom sensations of teeth and tongue over the different sensitive spots Luo Binghe has discovered all over his body, inside and out—the back of his neck, the dusky outer rings of his nipples, the soft hollow between his hip and thigh and cock that when sucked just so, never fails to push him over the edge, spilling his hot seed into Luo Binghe’s patient mouth.

All this, while Luo Binghe bites down on his ear, moaning softly as he uses Shen Qingqiu for his pleasure, spreading his legs to take him deeper, harder. “Hmm, I thought it was a fluke the last time,” he laughs, a rich, dark sound. “Shizun’s pretty cock is good for something. Who would’ve thought?”

“Shut up,” Shen Qingqiu hisses, looking away from him. He clenches his muscles, driving deep into that heat, resentful and aggrieved. Frustratingly, Luo Binghe still has all the control even without using his heavenly demon blood—fingers tighten around his throat, pushing up his jaw so that Luo Binghe can bite his neck again like a rabid dog, making a mess of him anew with fresh bruises littered down to his shoulder. It’s almost poetic, that Luo Binghe is painting him violently this way with his mouth the way Shen Qingqiu had poured water on the paintings he’d made for his Shizun all those years ago, all with a sneer on his lips. 

So what if that had been another strike, another notch in Luo Binghe’s book of sins for which he would never forgive Shen Qingqiu? If he is to be subjected to torture like this anyway as a result of this blackened brat… If he were reborn in this life once more, Shen Qingqiu would do it all again just to see the hate begin to blossom in the little beast’s eyes, just to watch him burn. 

They called him a coward when he fought and stabbed others in the back to survive. But Shen Qingqiu has never shied away from the consequences of his actions; he would spit again at Luo Binghe’s feet, pour that tea again over that crying face, and curse out the demon lord before him once more while Luo Binghe flayed him and tore the limbs from his body. 

Luo Binghe, a monster of his own creation. Perhaps Shen Qingqiu had invited this fate upon himself the day he took the brat under his wing having seen him for what he really was, but he would face it head-on, just like he had everything else in this wretched life. 

“If you want to shut me up,” Luo Binghe purrs, yanking Shen Qingqiu’s head back by the fistful he grabs of his hair, “You’ll have to fuck me harder and make me, Shizun. Unless you simply don’t have it in you.”

“Reprehensible creature.” Shen Qingqiu says, seething. “You’ll have to try harder than that to provoke me.”

“Ah, Shizun.” Luo Binghe hooks his thick, powerful legs around Shen Qingqiu’s waist to settle himself in his lap, shifting so that he’s balls-deep inside the beast. Luo Binghe taps his fingers lightly against Shen Qingqiu’s arm, calling forth the telltale burning, itching sensation of the parasites under his touch as a reminder. “You never fail to amuse me. Come on, now. Move.”

Glaring up at Luo Binghe, Shen Qingqiu reluctantly obeys, panting from the effort of holding up Luo Binghe’s weight on him, snapping his hips up, Luo Binghe meeting every thrust as he sinks back down. It’s utterly infuriating how Luo Binghe is as adept at this as he is when he takes Shen Qingqiu, how he still holds all the power—even with Shen Qingqiu fucking him, Shen Qingqiu is the one nearly overcome by pleasure on multiple fronts, the heavenly blood inside him sighing with each ripple of movement and every inch of skin that Luo Binghe maps out on Shen Qingqiu with his mouth. 

“Mm, good.” Luo Binghe throws his head back, lips parted as Shen Qingqiu rams deep into him, eyes falling to half-mast as his dark eyes glaze over. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips, his gaze challenging and defiant from beneath his long lashes. “Is that all you’ve got?” 

“Brute,” Shen Qingqiu spits. Luo Binghe looks so maddeningly composed, nearly unaffected, except for the occasional hitches of his breath between his laughter as Shen Qingqiu fights against Luo Binghe’s control over the pace, snarling while he sets a more punishing, erratic rhythm, imagining how sweet it would be if he could properly grip at Luo Binghe’s thighs to fuck into him so deep that Luo Binghe would be able to feel it in his throat. 

“This master should’ve fucked you when I had the chance. Humiliated you in front of the other disciples with my cock in your ass as they watched. Let you live your miserable years in the Abyss with the rest of your kind knowing you’re nothing but filth, nothing but a hole, a lowly demon mongrel—”

For whatever reason, that only seems to excite Luo Binghe further as he squeezes his fingers tighter around Shen Qingqiu’s neck, choking him and cutting off his words. 

“I always knew you were scum, Shizun,” he says, murmuring those words against the edge of Shen Qingqiu’s mouth, eyes glinting as he stirs up his blood inside Shen Qingqiu. He can feel it spread like lightning dancing across his skin, sparking an almost savage pleasure right where he’s joined with Luo Binghe while invisible mouths tease at his nipples and the hollow of his back, tracing tantalising patterns up his spine. 

“Scum, and a sore loser,” Luo Binghe adds, smirking, sweat trickling down his handsome face. “You’re only spouting all this now because you never managed to. A golden opportunity at the Immortal Alliance Conference, and you didn’t even think to drive Xiu Ya through my heart.”

Struggling against the hold, as the fire of his blood screams in his ears, Shen Qingqiu manages to yank one hand free to pull Luo Binghe towards him by his hair in one jerky, agonising movement. “Yes,” Shen Qingqiu says, pain searing through his entire body, revelling in the shock in Luo Binghe’s eyes. “It was this master’s fault for not killing you the first time. Or the second. But as long as I’m alive, beast...” His fingers shake, numb from the pain, as he steels them to grip Luo Binghe’s hip in a bruising hold. “I will stop at nothing to bring you down.”

Luo Binghe lets out a sharp breath, messy hair in front of the glowing red of his eyes as he swoops in, biting roughly at Shen Qingqiu’s bottom lip. “I’d like to see you try.”

Shen Qingqiu shoves his lips equally roughly against Luo Binghe’s, hips stuttering with the increasingly disjointed rhythm, growing erratic in their shared urgency. Their teeth clack briefly in the respite of their warring tongues until Luo Binghe rouses the demon blood in him, rendering him hypersensitive to the filthiness of the kiss, the heat of the beast’s slick against his stomach, the feeling of Luo Binghe being stretched wetly around his cock. 

“You love this, Shizun. Shen Qingqiu, you shameless hypocrite, you dirty slut—” Luo Binghe pants into his ear while rotating his hips, pressing Shen Qingqiu’s hands on his skin to grab his thighs tighter, forcing Shen Qingqiu to fuck into him deeper, forcing the pleasure to climb higher and higher inside him. “You’ll never admit it. You’ll even rather lie to yourself, even when you dream of us fucking like animals in heat. Even when you mount me like this.”

“I’ll kill you,” Shen Qingqiu snarls in a rage, thrusting up harder inside Luo Binghe. “Beast, I’ll choke the life out of you, watch you bleed out on my dagger, I’ll carve your fucking eyes out —!” 

Abruptly, Luo Binghe twists his head to the side so he can bite down hard on Shen Qingqiu’s neck, a crazed wolf in a savage moment of their coupling, pressing down so harshly with his teeth the breath is punched right out of his throat.

It’s too much, way too much, when he’s already been so close to the edge for so long. Shen Qingqiu comes wordlessly with a single choked gasp, squeezing his eyes shut, his cock pulsing uncontrollably as Luo Binghe rocks against him, heavenly demon blood amplifying the pleasure tenfold. Luo Binghe tightens his chokehold on Shen Qingqiu as he rides him through it, and he nearly blacks out from the force of the white light flashing behind his eyelids while every last shudder is forcefully dragged out of him for what feels like an eternity.

Dimly, he realises sensation has returned to his fingers again when his orgasm finally ebbs. The blood parasites scatter while he scratches desperately at Luo Binghe’s hands around his neck, gulping for air, nails seeking purchase while the beast laughs softly, a slow grin on his face.

“You came so much while rutting inside me, Shizun.” Tutting, Luo Binghe finally loosens his hold on Shen Qingqiu’s throat. The first full inhale of air is sweet, even through the sweat-drenched stench of their mating, the stickiness clinging to their skin. “How unbecoming. Who’s the beast, now?”  

He can’t drag his eyes away from where he sees his seed trickling down from between Luo Binghe’s thighs, from his puffy hole where they’re joined. The brat’s huge cock is still hard, but Luo Binghe doesn’t seem to care;  he lifts his hand coated in Shen Qingqiu’s slick and his own to his mouth so he can lick it clean from his palm to the tips of his fingers, staring unblinkingly at Shen Qingqiu the whole time. 

Shen Qingqiu’s softening cock twitches traitorously with interest again. He feels rather than sees Luo Binghe noticing it, when the vile beast spreads a new smirk slow and lazy, clenching down around him again in response before letting Shen Qingqiu slip out of him.

It sickens him, that Luo Binghe knows just how to drag him over the precipice like this time and time again, no matter how much Shen Qingqiu resists. No matter how much he keeps lying about how he doesn’t want it.

And Luo Binghe knows this all too well, too.

"Oh no, Shizun.” Luo Binghe moves back slowly to settle himself between his thighs, pulling at Shen Qingqiu’s length, casually ignoring his pained hiss from the overstimulation right after he’d spilled inside Luo Binghe. Impossibly, the heavenly blood is stirred again fiercely where Luo Binghe is touching him. “You wanted to have me like this. This lord would hate to disappoint by ending the night so early."

Luo Binghe’s smile widens, leaning forward to lick and tease the slit on Shen Qingqiu’s cock with the tip of his tongue, a hint of fang.

"We're just getting started."

Checkmate?