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All Shang Qinghua needs to do is pass this last exam and he’ll be home free. No more sleepless nights in the library poring over spells he’ll never need again! No more burning his fingers when he reaches for the wrong reagents! He’ll be done!
Except!
He can’t! Fucking! Summon!
“You gotta help me,” He half-sobs to Shen Qingqiu, so exhausted that he’s not even embarrassed about being pathetic in public. “I’ll die if you don’t, I’ll-- keel straight over, and I’ll do it right here in the library , right where everyone can see--”
Shen Qingqiu gives him a disgusted look, looking up from where he’s been pretending, with moderate success, that he’s never met Shang Qinghua in his entire life. “You should have studied instead of writing what could only generously be called a novel in your spare time--”
Shang Qinghua loves when Shen Qingqiu goes on these rants, mostly because it’s really ironic to be called a failure of an author by someone who’s read everything he’s written four or five times, but he really doesn’t have time for this. “You’re my only hope, please, I will literally be in your debt forever. Please, I’ll die without you.”
“What are you talking about,” Shen Qingqiu has this way of asking questions that makes them sound more like flat demands than questions. It’s very intimidating. Luckily, Shang Qinghua is used to it and thus doesn’t let it deter him.
“You were top of our class at summoning,” Shang Qinghua says. “I just need to know how you do it, okay. I don’t even care if I can’t ever do it again. I just need to summon something for my exam tomorrow. Anything . ”
Shen Qingqiu looks, for a moment, like he’s been caught at something. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He says, voice a full octave too high, and then looks like he regrets saying that because-- like, obviously he remembers being the top of their class? They both remember it?
Shang Qinhua stares at him. Shen Qingqiu stares back. Shang Qinhua opens his mouth to say something and Shen Qingqiu throws a hand up to stop him, standing so abruptly it makes his chair teeter.
“You may borrow my book,” He says, turning around quickly enough to go through his bag that Shang Qinghua can’t see the expression on his face. “Don’t go past chapter three. No-- chapter two. No-- just pick one of the beginner circles, don’t look at the notes in the margins, and if you lose it, I’ll kill you.”
Shang Qinghua feels like he’s being handed a live rattlesnake. He holds the book (tome? It looks old enough to be a tome) as carefully as he can, trying not to breathe too hard on it. “Bro,” He says, “I can’t even do the summons off the beginner’s worksheets.”
“Wow,” Shen Qingqiu gives him a pitying look, “How did you even make it to your exams?”
Shang Qinghua wants to throw his hands up, but they’re occupied by a book worth more than his life. “Fuck if I know. I write a mean essay?”
“You don’t,” Shen Qingqiu says. “You really don’t.”
“Bro,” Shang Qinghua can’t help but feel a little maligned. “I’m so fragile right now. You want me to cry in the library? People will see.”
Shen Qingqiu grimaces. “Don’t. You should still be able to make the book work. They’re-- listen, just trust me.”
Shang Qinghua really does not have a choice. “Okay,” He says, sagging. “Thanks, bro. I seriously owe you one.”
“You owe me so many more than one,” Shen Qingqiu says seriously, “Remember, stay in the early chapters--”
“Don’t read your notes, don’t fuck it up, I got it!” Shang Qinghua calls over his shoulder, nearly bumping into a table as he scurries out.
•☾•☼•☽•
Shang Qinghua really doesn’t mean to fuck it up. It’s only-- listen, the text isn’t anything he recognizes, even when he peeks at Shen Qingqiu’s notes in the margins (he’ll never know, come on), and-- he’s tired, and he just needs to practice one circle before he actually has to do it in the morning, and--
And.
How’s he even supposed to know the book’s upside-down, anyway? Everything is a fucking circle!
It’s not until he’s halfway through drawing that he realizes that maybe the circle is kind of sort of a teeny bit extremely complicated, and by then he’s already three rings deep and he’s sort of committed. He’s never successfully summoned anything more impressive than a sort of pathetic toad spirit, anyway, so he’s not worried about summoning, like, the king of hell by accident.
Ha.
Ha ha. Ha.
Shang Qinghua finishes the final rune and steps back, examining his handiwork with his hands on his hips. It looks pretty good, but all of his summoning circles have looked pretty good. The problem is that Shang Qinghua’s never actually been strong enough to summon anything with them.
All summoning circles require offerings to convince the demon or spirit or whatever to come see what all the fuss is about. Good summoners, people like Shen Qingqiu, can just pool power at the cardinal runes and call it a day. Unfortunately for everyone (but mostly himself), Shang Qinghua kind of sucks and doesn’t have that much power to spare.
Blood works, obviously. Jizz, if all the weird porn he’s read is true. There are probably vegan substitutes, for the more conscientious witches, but-- whatever, Shang Qinghua has, like, a ton of blood in his body. It’s a free resource.
He does not contemplate the jizz further.
He cuts his hand (a little okay, just a little! He needs that hand to fail his exam tomorrow!) and lets his blood pool in his palm until he has maybe a teaspoon. His fingertips are a little cold, which is probably a sign that he needs more iron in his diet or something.
He crouches in the circle and smears the blood across the floor. It’s not really a precise sort of motion; there are better ways to do it, probably. Listen. He’s sleepy, and he’s not planning on having it work, anyway.
He doesn’t even stick around to see if it does, actually. He turns his back on the circle to get his hand cleaned up, dabbing at the little cut and whining to himself about how he doesn’t even want to be a witch that bad anyway. He misses the good old days where people just started doing magic and then got hired by kings to turn people into toads or whatever.
Behind him, something cracks. Not like wood cracking but like frost, the squeal of ice on metal. Shang Qinghua freezes like a startled animal, clutching the blood-spotted napkin to his palm.
If he doesn’t look, nothing is there. If he doesn’t look, nothing is there. If he doesn’t--
“Who would summon me,” The voice is very deep and very cold and very much not a pathetic little toad spirit. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh geez.
“Oh, God,” Shang Qinghua says, turning around and bracing himself back on his desk.
“Not quite,” The-- man. Says. Nakedly. Well-- with his tits out. He has pants on. Not that it’s-- helping. Oh, God. The man’s skin shimmers when he shifts.
“Oh God!” Shang Qinghua says, fighting the urge to cover his eyes with his hands. “I’m so sorry, um. I’m-- Shang Qinghua, I’m an apprentice at--”
The man-- makes a complicated expression, like he’s really trying not to make the same joke twice. “Little idiot witch. Do you know whom you’ve called upon?”
Shang Qinhua opens his mouth and closes it. Is it-- is it better or worse if he says no? “Um,” He says, “Well. I’m-- you know, so… glad to meet you. Your… lordship?”
“Majesty,” The demon says. Shang Qinghua can’t move less , but he tries. “His Majesty, King of the Northern Desert, Mobei Jun.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. What’s Shang Qinghua supposed to do with an A-class demon in his apartment? He hadn’t even put down a protective circle for himself, he’d been so sure it wouldn’t work, so--
“Hey,” He says, voice barely more than a squeak. “I’m not trying to be rude, but, um, do you think you could-- dismiss yourself?”
Mobei Jun blinks, slow and catlike. His slit pupils narrow a little further. Shang Qinghua wants to throw himself out the window.
“It’s only,” He explains further, “Um, I don’t know-- how. And you’re kind of-- I mean, I really just. Have an exam tomorrow? And.”
“Demons cannot dismiss themselves without killing whatever’s summoned them,” Mobei Jun says. Shang Qinghua wheezes a noise like a sad balloon.
“O-oh? I mean, um. Well. I’m sure I can…”
Mobei Jun looks down at the circle contemplatively, like he’s reading the runes. The thing about circle-crafting is that each ring is a layer of protection and request, and seven rings is, um, a lot of rings, so even if Shang Qinghua’s the worst witch the world’s ever seen, in theory Mobei Jun should be--
Mobei Jun steps out of the circle. Right. Of course he does! Of course he does. He comes to stand in front of Shang Qinghua, very tall and-- looming. Shang Qinghua desperately closes his eyes so his last moments aren’t spent in helpless admiration for the cut of Mobei Jun’s chest.
“You are an extremely bad summoner,” Mobei Jun says, patting Shang Qinghua once on the head in a way that feels deeply patronizing.
“Hey,” Shang Qinghua protests, even though it’s absolutely true. “I’m really sleep deprived.”
Mobei Jun moves away, skirting around the circle. He’s wearing a cape that drags across the floor, spangled with silver jewelry and edged in embroidery. It’s-- he certainly looks like a king. Of hell. Or-- wherever.
He drops himself onto Shang Qinghua’s bed and looks up at him expectantly. Shang Qinghua is very sleepy and doesn’t know what to do other than blink at him, more agreeable than maybe he should be.
“Figure it out,” Mobei Jun says, which would probably be more intimidating if he weren’t in the middle of sparing Shang Qinghua’s life. He stretches out in the bed and puts his hands behind his head, catching his fingers in the dark spill of all his inky hair.
Shang Qinghua has never seen a demon with beautiful, arcing horns navigate pillow use. It’s-- it sure is. Something. That he’s watching.
“Fuck,” He whispers, feeling near-tears. He’s so tired and so bad at summoning that even the demon king he’d summoned pities how bad he is. He sits on the floor right where he is and puts on a I’m thinking so hard about the problem I’ve created for both of us face, just in case Mobei Jun looks over and thinks he’s slacking.
Can he nap with his eyes open? Will Mobei Jun notice? He just needs, like, twenty-- twenty-five minutes, and he’ll be good to go. He’ll be able to use his brain again and he’ll be able to figure out how to dismiss a demon bound to his service without the demon killing him or him killing the demon or. Anything else.
Shang Qinghua puts his chin in his hand, staring blindly at the circle of runes. Just-- just for a minute. He can close his eyes for a minute.
•☾•☼•☽•
Shang Qinghua wakes up freezing and with a crick in his neck, cheek on his knees and his arms cradled to his chest. He’s too blurry to think for a moment, watching watery overcast light play across the outer rings of the summoning circle, frosted over with ice.
-- Wait.
Shang Qinghua jolts up with a gasp and very nearly smacks his forehead into the table before he can scramble to his feet, heart thudding in his chest. His trouble is multi-fold-- he’s got his exam, which is-- he’s probably going to be late to that, oh, great, cool, but more importantly and pressingly, he’s got a fucking demon king--
Except where? Is his demon king?
“Oh, fuck,” Shang Qinghua whispers, hopping on one foot to try and get his other shoe on. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Can someone make lost kitten posters for a seven-foot-tall demon? Please do not approach, he will probably tear your arms off. Ohh, Shang Qinghua is in so much trouble, he’s never going to graduate and then he’s going to die in the street or, more likely, he’s going to die in this room when Mobei Jun comes back to free himself--
Sleek black horns appear from behind the bathroom door before silky black hair. Wow, Mobei Jun is tall.
“Your heartbeat is loud,” He says, swiping at the water sliding down his belly with one of Shang Qinghua’s towels, which looks woefully undersized in Mobei Jun’s big hands. Shang Qinghua hates that he’s jealous of a towel. He hates himself.
“Right,” Shang Qinghua says, dazed, and then jolts to attention when Mobei Jun gives him a look. “Oh, fuck! Right! I need to go. I really need to-- please don’t leave, your majesty, please, I will get in so much trouble if you leave-- I just need to summon something and then I’ll be right back, okay--”
“Why would you summon something when you have this king,” Mobei Jun says, sounding dangerous. Shang Qinghua peeks despairingly out the window, trying to judge what time it is without looking too obvious.
“I need to prove I can do it,” He says, edging towards the door. “Just a toad spirit or something, it doesn’t matter, I’m pretty terrible at it anyway--”
“No summoner of mine will be known to consort with toad spirits,” Mobei Jun says, beckoning Shang Qinghua closer with a curl of his claws. Shang Qinghua goes, because he’s stupid, and Mobei Jun puts a hand on his shoulder that burns like dry ice. It goes searingly cold for a moment, dragging a hiss out of Shang Qinghua, and then evens out to just a normal amount of uncomfortably freezing. “Now it will be known that when you summon, you do so at my behest.”
Shang Qinghua gets the sense that he’s very, very in over his head. Extremely. He paws his hoodie aside and peeks at his collarbone, right where Mobei Jun’s palm had hurt the most, and stares for a little bit at the white-blue glow of a demonic house’s sigil.
Cool. Cool cool cool. Great.
“Okay,” Shang Qinghua squeaks, straightening out his clothes. “I’m gonna-- be back, please don’t leave but also, if you find a way to dismiss yourself, um, feel free, and also, I’m so sorry. Again.”
He scurries out the door, leaving Mobei Jun standing in the middle of his room, being very-- shirtless. And handsome. And… deadly. Probably.
•☾•☼•☽•
“What the fuck did you do,” Shen Qingqiu hisses under his breath after the exam, where Shang Qinghua had gone on autopilot and accidentally summoned a B-class ram-headed demon who’d bowed and murmured, “My lord.” at him, which, um, oh no. Shang Qinghua is sheltering in the relative peace of the coffee shop line, making eye contact with no one and pretending that the sigil on his collarbone doesn’t itch. Shen Qingqiu jabs him with a sharp little elbow when he doesn’t reply, because he’s the worst.
“Ow,” Shang Qinghua says, even though it doesn’t really hurt. “I don’t know, bro, I just-- I mean, it’s your book, you tell me.” Yeah, that’s a good excuse.
“There are no B-class demons in the first chapter of that book,” Shen Qingqiu jabs him again, maybe to drive the point home, and Shang Qinghua yelps, feeling maligned.
“Okay, okay, I might have-- peeked a little further, why are you getting on my case about it?”
“Maybe,” Shen Qingqiu says, sliding into line with him and making the couple behind them mutter angrily, “Maybe because you’re glowing like a fucking charms class to anyone who’s sensitive to demonic claims, idiot, maybe that’s why!”
Shang Qinghua pats himself down nervously. “What! Ha! I mean. Wow! Weird! I wonder why that would be!” His voice is probably two octaves up from standard, which definitely lends credence to his lie. He’s so convincing.
Shen Qingqiu gives him a disgusted sort of look, apparently not terribly impressed. “If you fucked up and need help--”
The problem is that Shang Qinghua definitely had fucked up and he does need help, but Shen Qingqiu’s tone riles him up and makes him make stupid choices, like saying, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about, it’s totally fine. Even if I’d summoned a higher demon, I totally know how to dismiss them.”
Shen Qingqiu opens his mouth to reply, eyebrows nearly to his hairline, but then they’re at the front of the line and Shang Qinghua can talk loudly over him to order. Shen Qingqiu is terrible at picking up hints, but he gets that one-- he drops the subject with ill grace.
“Give me my book back!” Shen Qingqiu calls after Shang Qinghua as they go their separate ways-- Shen Qingqiu to his next exam and Shang Qinghua back to his apartment to deal with his bigass demon king.
“Tomorrow!” Shang Qinghua waves over his shoulder in acknowledgement, wondering whether there’s rites of dismissal in the book somewhere. There-- there have to be.
•☾•☼•☽•
Mobei Jun is still there when Shang Qinghua unlocks the front door, which is a huge relief. He’s lounging in Shang Qinghua’s desk chair like it’s a throne, idly flicking through the local channels on the television. There can’t be anything good on-- Shang Qinghua doesn’t pay for cable-- but Mobei Jun doesn’t really seem to care much.
“My king,” Shang Qinghua says, which is definitely not an address he’d expected to roll off the tongue. “Thank you for the, uh. Help. With the summoning.” He’s no dummy. No demon would call him ‘my lord’.
Mobei Jun inclines his head instead of replying, inky hair spilling over one shoulder silkily. Oh, God, he’s so pretty. Even when he’s watching-- Shang Qinghua glances at the television-- Pancake Mountain.
“Um. I haven’t found anything about, uh-- dismissing you. Yet.”
“Hmm,” Mobei Jun says, flicking the channel to some kind of cooking show. “In your time.”
Well. -- Well. “I-- I mean, my king. I want to-- I mean, I don’t. I’m sure you’re… busy?”
Mobei Jun raises one very elegant eyebrow, judgemental in a way Shang Qinghua’s only ever seen Shen Qingqiu manage. Clearly Mobei Jun is not actually busy, considering he’s sitting here watching television instead of murdering Shang Qinghua and fucking off. Shang Qinghua actually keeps forgetting that’s an option, kind of, because he really doesn’t want to think about getting murdered. It definitely is, though. An option. Probably not a terribly far-off one, either. Shang Qinghua is probably super easy to murder.
“Do you--” Shang Qinghua cuts himself off, unsure about whether or not he’s stepping too far afield, before he musters up his courage and says, “Do you like it here, my king? Because you’re-- I mean, you’re welcome to stay.”
“I thought I was staying,” Mobei Jun says, gesturing vaguely at the room, which is really not particularly big or fit for a king. He does look sort of camped out, for all intents and purposes. He’s not using the blanket that Shang Qinghua has draped over the back of the couch, but he is leaning on a pillow.
“Okay,” Shang Qinghua says, mystified. “Cool. Right. Feel-- feel free. I’m gonna.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder at nothing in particular and scurries to take a shower. He twists the knob all the way to cold-- he’s not proud of it. It’s just that Mobei Jun is still shirtless.
•☾•☼•☽•
Shang Qinghua hadn’t thought to think about the bed situation. They’re both staring at it-- or, no. Mobei Jun is staring at Shang Qinghua, and Shang Qinghua is staring at the bed. Of which there is only one.
-- Listen. Shang Qinghua doesn’t have a death wish. He’s not going to throw a demon king out of his bed, alright, even if sleeping on the couch gives him a sore back. No way.
“Well,” He says, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Well! Uh! Good night, I-- guess. You can… you know. Use the blanket. If you need to.” Mobei Jun is an ice demon. He doesn’t need to. Shang Qinghua wrings his hands.
“Get in the bed,” Mobei Jun orders.
Shang Qinghua gets in the bed. He sticks to the very, very edge, taking up approximately thirty total centimeters of mattress and a bare sliver of pillow. Mobei Jun is really very big and (smells really good) takes up a ton of space, and he probably doesn’t like to be touched so this way is definitely the safest bet.
Mobei Jun loops an arm around Shang Qinghua’s waist and tugs him close, which, um, okay. Shang Qinghua could have died without knowing what Mobei Jun’s chest felt like (firm, cool, soft-skinned), but okay. No problem.
Shang Qinghua is very stiff. He’s extremely nervous and feels like he’s probably going to expire of a heart attack even before Mobei Jun kills him for accidentally getting a boner, which he’s definitely going to do because Mobei Jun is extremely beautiful and Shang Qinghua is extremely virginal and also very small and, uh, has a type and has been on the internet and-- so on.
“Your heart is very loud,” Mobei Jun says critically, claws curling into Shang Qinghua’s thin sleep shirt.
“Sorry,” Shang Qinghua squeaks, and Mobei Jun hums a short little noise. He traces his claws delicately up the line of Shang Qinghua’s ribs, which feels-- it certainly. Feels like something. If Shang Qinghua’s heart had been loud before, it’s probably deafening now.
Mobei Jun trips the tips of his fingers across Shang Qinghua’s collarbone, skimming over the sigil that peeks from beneath the collar of his t-shirt, then up the line of his throat and over his jaw and back down again. Shang Qinghua is, uh, starting to get the sense that maybe he’s missing something? Or--
“Tell me to stop,” Mobei Jun says, cupping his palm around the bob of Shang Qinghua’s throat. It’s a little bit like he’s threatening a murder, except then he sort of nudges his hips forward against Shang Qinghua’s ass and-- wow! That’s a dick!
“Uh, no?” Shang Qinghua says in a squeak. “Definitely don’t stop?” He may be about to get murdered in an esoteric demonic sex ritual, but how many people get to lose their virginity in one of those? Probably not that many! Anymore!
Mobei Jun rumbles a pleased noise and-- he’s not squeezing Shang Qinghua’s throat so much as pressing, and it’s exceptionally sexy in a way that Shang Qinghua’s not totally sure he’s ready to examine. God, he’s hard.
“You smell good,” Mobei Jun murmurs, curling to nudge his nose against the nape of Shang Qinghua’s neck. That’s a serial killer compliment but unfortunately, Shang Qinghua is still really into it and he feels like he’s going to burst into a million lightning sparkles purely because Mobei Jun is holding him close and, like, smelling him.
“Please touch me,” He gasps, and Mobei Jun squeezes just softly and-- is he laughing? Is he growling? Shang Qinghua has no idea but either way he’s dripping into his underwear about it.
“Aren’t I?” Mobei Jun says, low and rumbly in his chest, and Shang Qinghua nods twice in quick succession until Mobei Jun cups his jaw and holds his chin up straight, fingers pressing into the soft underneath of his chin.
“Right, yes, but also, no, and-- please, I’m--”
“Needy,” Mobei Jun names him, but he rolls them so Shang Qinghua’s sitting astride him (oh, God, Mobei Jun is so big ) and puts both hands on Shang Qinghua’s ass, which feels both like a step in the right direction and-- also like he doesn’t need to be embarrassed. About being needy.
Shang Qinghua’s shorts are short enough that Mobei Jun can just tuck his fingertips into them to touch him, which he does, and even though he’s probably being careful Shang Qinghua can still feel the prickle of his claws against fragile skin. It almost stings but not quite, and it’s-- good. It’s really good. Shang Qinghua squeezes his thighs around Mobei Jun’s hips and Mobei Jun rumbles a noise in response that’s almost a purr.
“Can I--” Shang Qinghua bites his lip and Mobei Jun’s eyes track the movement lazily. He’s so, so handsome, and also very strong looking, and his hair is so pretty. Shang Qinghua doesn’t finish the question; he leans down and kisses Mobei Jun clumsily, off-center and probably not very good.
Mobei Jun squeezes his ass (oh God) and licks his mouth open with his weirdly cool raspy tongue and that’s also really-- really, yeah, okay.
Kissing is great. Shang Qinghua loves kissing. He loves kissing even more when Mobei Jun supports his weight while they both kick off their pants, because he has something to distract himself from how, uh-- much. Of everything. Is happening.
“Okay,” Shang Qinghua whispers to himself, because he’ll be his own moral support if he has to be. “Okay, I can--”
Mobei Jun strokes his fingertips up against Shang Qinghua’s hole, which ruins the moral support thing because he loses all his breath at once and shoves his face into Mobei Jun’s shoulder so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with anything. He’s still wearing a shirt and it’s sticking to him uncomfortably, because he is so, so hot, but he’ll probably die of embarrassment if he takes it off.
“You need to put your fingers into yourself,” Mobei Jun says, sounding cool as ice (ha. ha.) about it, as if Shang Qinghua’s not freaking out over here. He curls his free hand in Shang Qinghua’s line of sight, as if Shang Qinghua’s about to forget about the, uh, sheer unfortunate number of sharp claws.
“Wow, uh--” Shang Qinghua slouches even further to get a hand under his pillow, because that’s where he keeps his lube and no one is allowed to judge him. “Don’t you think we’re-- moving a little fast? I mean.” He’s gonna do it, but still.
Mobei Jun blinks at him, a flicker of confusion across his brow. “This connection is required,” He says, which-- um?
“For what?” Shang Qinghua blinks, and Mobei Jun pushes himself up on one elbow in a way that makes him look very-- strong. God.
“Binding through dual cultivation?” Mobei Jun sounds like he’s a little concerned that Shang Qinghua has amnesia or something. “Sealing the pact between summoner and summoned?”
Shang Qinghua makes a serious effort to look like he knows what the fuck Mobei Jun is talking about. “Oh, right,” He says, “That binding. That pact. Yep. Thanks for-- reminding me.”
Mobei Jun’s expression goes a little soft, like he finds Shang Qinghua’s fumbling extremely endearing. Shang Qinghua distracts them both by dumping lube all over his fingers, because if Mobei Jun keeps looking at him like that he’s going to be really, really sad when he eventually, like, figures out how to leave. Binding rituals or whatever the fuck notwithstanding.
Shang Qinghua gets two fingers deep before Mobei Jun starts getting impatient and starts kneading at Shang Qinghua’s ass with his prickling claws, which hurts and feels good and makes Shang Qinghua feel like he’s going to pass out and also die.
“Come here,” Mobei Jun says suddenly, and Shang Qinghua twitches all over trying to figure out where here is before Mobei Jun just sort of-- drags him up, and holds him open and-- and licks into where Shang Qinghua’s spreading himself on his fingers. It’s raspy and strange and so good that Shang Qinghua wants to cry, can feel the jolt of heat that goes through every part of him all at once.
“Fuck,” He gasps, and hurriedly shoves in another finger. Mobei Jun does his best to get in the way, not really helping so much as lazily dipping his tongue in and out of Shang Qinghua, and it’s-- it’s cold, and it’s good, and Shang Qinghua’s going to come, he’s gonna, he’s--
“Not yet,” Mobei Jun says, wrapping a hand around Shang Qinghua’s wrist to jerk his fingers out of himself. “Not until I’m inside you.”
“Please,” Shang Qinghua whines, “Please, please, please, I need--”
“This king knows what you need,” Mobei Jun says, and spreads Shang Qinghua"s ass so he can lick into his hole and get him sloppy wet. He’s really, really, really going to come, he’s half-crying against the wall above Mobei Jun’s head and clenching down against his cool and mobile tongue and he’s gonna--
“Sssh,” Mobei Jun says, drawing Shang Qinghua back down to his lap. “Get me wet.”
Shang Qinghua doesn’t even use his brain for a second; he doesn’t even think of the lube. He uses his mouth instead, even though he’s never, ever done that in his life, even though he’s read all the internet horror stories and knows that spit isn’t as good as lube. He sucks the head of Mobei Jun’s cock into his mouth and then realizes that’s all that fits and, oh, god, is this supposed to go inside him? Is it-- can he even--?
“Good,” Mobei Jun says, stroking Shang Qinghua’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Wetter. Like that. Good.”
Shang Qinghua’s mouth is so wet, and he doesn’t really understand why but he just-- he really wants. He gets Mobei Jun’s cock wet with spit and then wetter with lube, until there’s a slick noise every time he strokes that makes him want to die of embarrassment and come all over himself at the same time.
“Enough,” Mobei Jun says, and Shang Qinghua could just sob with relief. He clambers back up Mobei Jun’s body and sort of-- hovers over him, half knowing what he has to do and half too scared to actually-- to actually just--
Mobei Jun tugs Shang Qinghua down by the hips, until the broad head of his cock bumps up against Shang Qinghua’s hole with a wet little noise. Shang Qinghua lets all his breath out in one long hhhah and Mobei Jun doesn’t stop until he’s nudged up inside, until he’s holding Shang Qinghua open on the width of his cock and Shang Qinghua can’t stop trembling all down the length of his thighs.
“Oh--” He whimpers, and clenches, and doesn’t know how to not do either of those things. “Oh, oh--”
“Hush,” Mobei Jun says, so, so gentle, and pulls him down and down and down, until Shang Qinghua could swear that his cock’s all the way up in his stomach, his lungs, his throat. It aches except it doesn’t, really, it’s just-- it’s just a lot, and it’s good, and he’s--
Mobei Jun’s claws curl softly against Shang Qinghua’s stomach and he shifts to press his mouth to Shang Qinghua’s cheekbone, rough tongue flicking out to catch the wet before it can drip. “Please,” Shang Qinghua gasps, and Mobei Jun makes a rough noise of agreement and arches his hips up to seat himself entirely inside Shang Qinghua’s body, probably too deep and too much but so good he really does start crying in earnest, silent and overstimulated and so close to an orgasm that he can taste it in the back of his throat like ozone.
Or-- or maybe that is ozone, actually, because Mobei Jun fucks Shang Qinghua with these slick, leisurely rolls of his hips and frost climbs up the walls, spidering across the windowpane in infinite fractal patterns. The air tastes like sex and sweat and brewing spellcraft, sparkling aldehydes and sharp ozone and magic that definitely doesn’t belong to Shang Qinghua.
“Good,” Mobei Jun hisses when Shang Qinghua seats himself all the way back on his cock, and he rolls his hips in a way that makes Shang Qinghua’s insides lurch in a way that feels good and feels bad and feels like he’s going to come, right now. “Good, like that.”
Shang Qinghua rocks himself in Mobei Jun’s lap, greedy and unhelpful when he’s shoving Mobei Jun’s cock up against his prostate. Mobei Jun scores lines into his thigh with his claws when Shang Qinghua comes, maybe because he goes tight and maybe because he bites him and maybe just because the magic in the room spikes, bright and sudden and citrussy.
“Fuck,” Shang Qinghua whimpers, jolting through the meanest, spikiest orgasm he’s ever had, and then, “Fuck, oh, oh-- please, ah-- ” When Mobei Jun starts fucking him in earnest, too hard and too deep and so good Shang Qinghua’s toes curl against the bedsheets and he can’t stop the helpless little animal whines that jolt out of him every time Mobei Jun shoves deep. It makes a slick mess across Mobei Jun’s belly, smearing and sloppy and, god, that shouldn’t be so hot, why is that so hot?
“Again,” Mobei Jun says, and Shang Qinghua shakes his head but he’s already putting a hand around his spent cock, anyway, because-- he’s not about to disobey a king, and Mobei Jun’s hitting him just-- just there, and--
He comes again when Mobei Jun comes, even though it’s too soon to be possible, like maybe Mobei Jun’s dragging it out of him with magic or sheer force of will. Shang Qinghua goes so tight it makes his stomach hurt, squeezing down on a cock that’s too big for him but too good to stop.
Mobei Jun’s come is cold inside him, and it’s weird and slick-wet as it slips out of him along with Mobei Jun’s cock. It almost makes Shang Qinghua want to do it again, even though he’s sort of already getting sore, just so he doesn’t have to think about the space that’s been made inside him.
Mobei Jun pets his flank, idle and sort of smug, somehow. The air smells like sex and clementines and an ozonic snowstorm, which is-- a weird combination that Shang Qinghua can’t deny he finds sort of pleasant. Shang Qinghua mouths a kiss against Mobei Jun’s collarbone, just where the demon sigil on his own sits.
“Hey,” He says after a moment of peace.
“Mm?” Mobei Jun says, drawing his hand up the line of Shang Qinghua’s back with terrible delicacy.
Shang Qinghua considers killing the mood, then shakes his head. “Never mind.” He puts his head down on Mobei Jun’s chest, even though he’ll definitely regret not cleaning up in the morning, and Mobei Jun puts his hand flat on Shang Qinghua’s back, idly possessive.
“Good night, Shang Qinghua,” Mobei Jun says, and turns the lights out with a flick of magic.
•☾•☼•☽•
Shen Qingqiu has his face pressed to the table, eyes closed with despair. “So you’re telling me,” He says, muffled, “That you accidentally formed a life-pact with an A-class demon, somehow, instead of banishing it?”
“Him,” Shang Qinghua corrects, and then, “No! I didn’t even bleed on him or anything.” Or-- or maybe he had, actually, but surely a few scratches don’t count.
Shen Qingqiu hisses a mean noise between his teeth. “Shang Qinghua,” He snarls, “It is a life pact. Life. You had sex with it. ”
“Him,” Shang Qinghua says, and then jolts completely upright. “Oh! Jizz!”
He says it too loud for the library, but he’s sort of having a revelation, so it’ll have to be forgiven. Shen Qingqiu buries his face in his hands.