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“Keep tighter to your chest,” he grunts. His fists, encased in ice, fly towards her face and she blocks them away with her forearms.
He makes a thoughtful sound, shifts his weight and punches at her cheek again. She deflects it, pushes him back and his eyes slit. “Better.”
Her arms are beaten to shit. Any more cold will blister her, flushed pre-bruising covers her forearms and stomach. With most of the clan away on a supplies mission, only a few Lin Kuei remain in the building. It means they’ve sparred alone for hours. Far past the point of it being sensible, far past her having any energy left to expend. A second wind came and went an hour prior— the sun is beginning to set now, garish orange floods through window treatments and sears the grounds of the training hall. Her whole body feels heavy, but if she lets sluggishness slip for a second, he’ll take advantage of her. So she keeps guard up, displays neutrality. Taking a few steps back, she puts distance between them. Even from here, she can see sweat glistening from his brow, paints along the deep-set cut of his cheekbones. He took off his mask earlier in the session— restricted, heavy breathing was too much and irritated him. She wonders if it was also intentional, making her see the way he smirks when he lands a hit.
He forms shards of ice in his palms and it’s almost a relief when she watches them hurdle through the air towards her, lets her body become a flat and atomless shape against the floor. He rolls his neck and sets focused eye on the shape she disappeared into. She shifts from it instead, thankful the dusk begins to overtake and coat the room in shadows. She finds herself on one side of a pillar when her body reforms. Pressing her back to it, she slips around the side. Bi-Han is hard to evade, is already scanning the room by the time she can collect her breath.
“Do you tire ?”
He’s instigating. There’s unmistakable taunt in his voice, but she can hear the way tiredness seeps into his syllables. He’s too prideful to end the session on his behalf.
Shadowleaping behind him, she kicks him square in the spine and he lurches forward with impact. When he whips around to face her, his smoky eyes reflect excitement even if it’s veiled. His half-smile looks like bared teeth and she’s given momentary ego at the realization she’s pushed another wave of adrenaline through him. He truly wasn’t expecting it.
She kicks up at him and it hits him in the jaw, ball of ice he had been summoning slams against the floor and loudly smashes.
“Good. Good. ” His tone taints thicker. Approval sings, looks attractive on him. The shade of the evening sketches his features darker in high contrast. She goes for a combo of punches now, uses forward momentum to drive into his abs. The growling that rumbles from his chest feels less menacing now, more impressed. He withstands the blows with his hands spread to his sides, is only startled when she ends the rally with a jab upwards. He’s been complacent, she humbles him. His jaw clicks together against her knuckles and he stumbles back. Rubs a hand along his jaw and seems to finally remember what they’re supposed to be doing. Eyeing her with consideration, she feels the weight of his assessment as she settles back into idle pacing. Legs ache but she still bounces on her toes. He seems proud and she can’t squander that.
Grandmaster taught her to be stronger. Always stronger. Through their years together, he’s helped cultivate an unbreakable spirit. An endurance that rivals his own. She’d like to think she’s his favorite person to spar with— it’s not hard to come to the conclusion when she’s the one he always picks to illustrate new tactics with. Shows off her dedication to classes of training recruits, and through all his condescension, there’s an air of pride to it. He doesn’t trust other clan members like her. They call her lapdog, bitch, puppy for it. He calls her by her name.
A feeling deep within her smolders at this. Even now, she must be different to him. He would’ve dismissed or defeated anyone else by this point in the evening. Still she stands. Across from him, sharing the same sweat, same passion that he does.
His eyes dip towards her torso and when she goes to look at herself, she feels gullible. Notices the mistake as it happens, the lapse in judgment that sees the flat of his foot embedded in her stomach. Colliding with a pillar, he follows after her. Hand launches forward, she doges to the side and watches him crush the flat of his fist against the wall as she evades. Unfocused as she is, she’s still able to pull herself away.
His reaction is later than she expects, he stands dumbly in front of her. His body is a barrier between her and the rest of the room. The cryomancer looks down at her, somewhat annoyed he missed the shot but doesn’t take another. There’s something hanging in the air, a confusing hesitance she doesn’t know how to process. When she takes a breath and shakes off some of the hormones, intense from battle, her voice sounds almost normal in her ears.
“Are you?”
His brow quirks and he draws his hand away, she ducks under his retracting arm and back into the open floor of the room. She feels the need to prove she’s got plenty left in her, hopping back and forth between her feet.
“Hm?”
“Tired.”
His jaw sets into place. He’s insulted by the suggestion, head tilts menacingly to the side. “You want more?”
She chooses her words. Normally, she wouldn’t have a problem being inflammatory for fun, but they’re both visibly fatigued. His hair is falling out of his bun and there’s a sag to his posture. Leans over more, depends on brute strength rather than intellect. Within several lessons over the years, she can find ways to pick him apart. He should know when to retreat, he should find inner drive, he should use his surroundings to his benefit. Even she stumbles on fundamentals though— it’s absurd to keep fighting.
Still, in their war of attrition, she doesn’t want to let go of this. Admitting tiredness would mean the night comes to a close. No more stealing looks at him, attempting to decipher what stray comments mean when he actually seems sincere. There’s a dance to this like there is in everything with him— intentional steps like a game, movement around each other that’s mirrored but warped.
He remains expectant but she’s losing the ambition to keep propelling forward. The lanterns lighting the room are dim this late in the evening. She allows herself a momentary thought that it’d be romantic, their bodies this close together in dance, if he wasn’t trying to kill her. Perhaps there still is romance to it. The intimacy of analysis, the gentle nature of withholding strikes. She wonders if he cares in that way— as her mentor, he’s been the one to guide her hands. With that comes restraint and duty, a responsibility to her wellbeing. It’s out of consideration for both of them when she allows posture to relax a degree and speaks.
“It’s been a long day, Master.”
Breath huffs out his nose, face pulls into disdain. “I thought better of you.”
“I haven’t proven myself?” Her question is given with blank tone, she plays at unaffected. She knows that while what he says does hold truth, he’s being cruel on purpose. One of his finest skills is in identifying insecurity and collapsing on any instability he finds. She’s a mask to that and has learned like any other Lin Kuei to hold faultlines to her chest.
He takes long steps towards her, invades her senses. The pace is slowed now and she’s thankful. There’s something in his posture, he looks her over before landing back on her eyes. She can smell him, leather and oakmoss, strong in the air as he’s closer. The scent is heavy, weighs down her mind in intoxication. Like amber, it holds them in the moment. She never gets to savor it like this. He uses his height, makes her look up at him before he opens his mouth, squared off. “I expect more from you.”
There’s something vindicating about hearing him admit it openly. Skin tingles with acknowledgment, an unspoken recognition of their closeness. Of his fondness, the thing she chases down between his breaths, held between words.
Placing her palm flat on his chest feels bold. Even with the fury of their session, his robes are still faintly chilled. She wonders if steam would curl from her lips if she pressed a kiss to his neck. She pushes him back. Not hard but assertive. “I’ve done enough.”
He swipes away her hand, gives her a staggering shove now. She stumbles but regains footing, the pull of exhaustion makes taking steps harder. Her muscles ache, a pain deeper in her bones now that she’s ceased constant movement.
“Finally decide your limit?”
This does make her sour, brows tick downwards against her best interest. The implication that she’s had it, that she’s quitting. She’s endured harsher punishments from him before. Felt frostburn so deep she never thought she could recover from it, bruises so inky black she believed they’d never fade. Pain he’s delivered stains the pages of her story, but his support binds the book together. Min Yu honors herself on not backing down; tonight is different.
He had been the one to wrap her wrists.
His affection has tainted every movement she’s made. Every time she’s struck for his face, an echo of his fingertips, delicate on her arms, plays through her mind. They stood in wordlessness, she watched as thick fingers so gracefully wound mint cloth around her hands. Checking tightness, protecting her joints. He did it without being asked, just saw that she was taking a moment with preparation and took the fabric from her, looping it around her without a second thought. Like it was natural for him to do so.
His stability drives her punches. Every block she’s made has been more complete thanks to him. It’s a mental strain, this reminder. Fighting through the implication of his kindness takes effort she can’t spare if she’s supposed to be pushing until nothing is left. Her stomach ties hangman’s knot, desire like sickness fills her body.
“I’m sparing us both.”
He paces around her like predator animal, skepticism emblazoned on his features. He casts a fist for her side and it connects. “How selfless.”
She winces the pain away. It hits harder when she’s not braced for impact, so she draws her arms up again. They’re low. He stares blatantly at her and though she corrects herself, she makes an excuse. “We need to be alert for the return tomorrow.”
“You have more to give,” he growls. Four more punches come her way, but only the former two land. A grin mixes with his weathered expression, clearly prideful that he’s gotten her back to dodging. She shuffles back, makes as much space as she can get.
She doesn’t stop moving. “I’m done.”
“You do not want to leave. I can see it.” He’s got her cornered now, practically backed against the wall in avoidance.
Paralyzing.
She closes her eyes. Disbelief. It’s impossible that he’s read it from her, she chooses to believe. It’s projection from him. Must be, his insistence is confident. But humility sets in after seconds of bargaining: the grief in knowing that despite every wall she’s built, he is etched in the foundation. Architect of her afflictions, her soul is bare to the man that helped her create it. It’s shameful to think she could hide, is further humiliating to think he might already be aware of what she harbors for him.
Uncountable nights spent with him in comfortable silence, haughty that he indulges in her company. When kinship is forbidden, it’s elicit activity to reminisce. But he’s told her of his best memories, she knows just how to make his tea. Can read his mood for the day based on nonverbal greeting, and they never rehearse demonstrations. There is a naturalism to the flow of energy between them. An entanglement of auras that suit each other. It’s a lofty thing, fate. But she believes in it. That whatever has bound them together in this life is for the better.
It’s precious, fragile. Tension in the air is icy, still.
“Min Yu.”
Glasslike, she cracks.
“What would be enough?” Her voice finally raises and breaks, stops him from hitting her again by hurling herself forward. “ What will be enough? ”
Fractures faster form when he advances on her. Movement is hard to track— impulses, though shot, respond like livewire. There’s a cry from her, hot with emotion. His hand deflects hers but can’t shove away her kick, air gets knocked from her when she’s pushed back into the wall. She launches off of it, towards him, and together they free fall.
He lands flat on his back, her body is ragdolled across him. He grips at her thigh, immediately goes to grab at one of her wrists but she’s faster. Collects herself on her knees above him, knocks his face to the side with her elbow and climbs. He looks dazed when she can meet his eyes. She’s got her forearm pressed down on his neck, feels his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows hard. Her other hand is pinned above his shoulder, arm bent to hold her up. The girl is panting, chest pangs with something she dares not to name.
They stare, locked like this. Frozen together.
His lips are just barely parted, spearmint of his favorite drink pollutes the air between them. Like this, she almost tastes him. There’s steady erosion, this depreciation of willpower that has her fighting for breath. Each second that passes forces her to relive years of wanting.
He’s inches from her and still, she yearns.
The thought occurs to say something, but the utter stillness of his body is dissuading. There’s a slow, long blink that tests the waters. Neither of them shift. She’s aching now, needs something to get rid of the holding tightness in her lungs. A wavering breath is exhaled through her nose, it hurts when she takes in more air which is so shared between them. As though she’s heartbeats away from losing whatever this is. His pulse is fast against her inner arm, contradicting the placidity of his face.
Min Yu isn’t sure who leans in first. How exactly it comes to be that their lips enmesh.
A decade of resistance is disintegrated in fractions of seconds. Eyes closed, she lets go and releases herself into the darkness that’s always been her home. This time, he is there with her.
Initially, it’s a cold shock. His mouth is frigid against her, forces a shiver through her body that wracks her form. It’s more intense when his tongue presses insistently into her mouth, icy and exponentially demanding as soon as he takes in her warmth. She feels it happen— the temperature shifts and he melts for her. Warmer now is the kiss, his jaw shifts with a move of his head and he’s in deeper. They move together, slow motions of their mouths that work in sync. It feels like he’s chasing her— even pinned underneath her body, he’s advancing on her, consuming the warmth that makes up who she is.
On her sides, there’s a chill. Five tongued grasp on either hip, she knows it must be his hands. She startles though it’s slight and feels his grip tighten on her. The way they meld together makes simple sense, there’s not a second thought given until it gets harder to breathe. When she goes to pull away, he’s less willing. Blackness fades and is replaced with shades of navy. His neck is leaned up towards her. Every second he could take from her, he had.
The coolness of his breath makes the wet on her lips more intense. She can’t make eye contact straight away, studies his mouth. His stubble is growing back in, shades his skin. His tongue darts across his lower lip and the compulsion to lean down nearly overtakes her. Min Yu has the self control not to, and when she looks up, brown eyes are waiting for her.
His gaze is scorching, exposing, uncompromising. He knows.
It lies within him too.
She feels stripped bare, averts herself from admiring. Sits back with bent knees, creates a vacuum void between them in caution. They stand on the fine line together. He crosses it when he sits up, making her planted in his lap. A brisk hand lays on the side of her neck and holds her still. They reconnect.
Min Yu’s head spins. Her hands hold the sides of his shoulders and take in the feeling of more of his skin. The Grandmaster is as demanding as she once imagined but moves glacial slow as they intertwine. Leadership is paced and she doesn’t upset the balance by pushing for more. Elements of this seem too dreamlike to believe so she lives in it as long as she can. Mentally maps out the veins underneath her fingertips and the taste on his tongue. She’s as tempered as she can be, is silent barring the soft breath she takes when he pulls away from her.
They address each other contemplatively.
Bi-Han’s head angles just so, eyes jump between her lips and her gaze twice before settling. There’s a softness in his brow that can’t be from simple exhaustion.
“So it’s true.”
“Hm?”
“I’m not ignorant to whispers passed when they think we do not hear.”
“Mm.”
Words would be too revealing. Let him believe nameless rumors, she doesn’t care to validate them. Instead, she waits for him to show his hand. Regardless of who made the first act, he took the second. There’s a crushing imbalance to all of this; he holds her fate in his hands and cradles her life’s work in his lap. His eyes pierce into her being and she’s forced to harden herself to this prying. Concealment is a game they’re both fond of playing and this is too vulnerable a moment to be caught with a bleeding heart. Midnight dark eyes squint when she makes a move to pull away, she wonders if he’s preparing for a chase. If he’ll pursue this.
Her hand goes to his chest to push away, but his fingers encircle her wrist. He keeps her touch entrapped against him. Tugs her closer.
“You will not leave.”
“I should.”
“You won’t.”
He’s not wrong. She fights every desire, every wayward instinct that demands she close the gap and give in. Even through this strength, she cannot will herself to leave his lap. She can’t pretend now either. The peak they stand on is needle tip tiny, giving ground would mean giving way to an incalculable fall. The longer they share this space, the scarier the drop becomes.
He looks unafraid as ever. Undaunted, his head tilts forward now and indicates he expects a response.
Calculatedly, she prods at him. “Why not?”
“That much is obvious.”
She shifts her weight onto her knees and rises up on them. The grasp he has on her becomes vice-like as his eyes shift up to follow her.
“And if I do leave?”
For a moment, she watches his expression shift with unease. It flashes across his face and the second he seems to catch it, he grows angry. Brows collect together, mouth becomes downturned. It’s different now. His stare isn’t so steady. The breath he takes isn’t smooth.
“If you must leave, I would let you,” he murmurs. Disconnecting, he glances sidelong to the door behind her. “If you… Did leave.”
It’s force of will that makes her own breathing even. Anticipation, trepidation in every intake of air in an attempt to stay grounded. The potential within his amendment makes the boundaries between them ever hazier; for the first time, she has the upper hand.
“If I stay?”
Hush falls between them, somehow deeper than they’ve had before. It’s pitch outside now, the dull gleam of candles burning keep her company in the quiet. She’s not sure how long she waits for an answer, how long they rest in this muteness. She can’t let it go.
Her voice is thready, transparently desperate for answer when she disturbs silence. “ And if I stay? ”
“Nothing could tear me from your side.”
The magnitude of it makes her buckle. She sinks down again and instead of pushing away, she finds herself bracing against him. There’s release in this, her head finds the crook of his neck and lays, she shuts her eyes and breathes him in. His arms surround her in an instant— not claiming, but holding. She’s not sure if she’s going to cry. A strange feeling takes over her nerves, makes her jittery. Like the nervousness of this confession has caught up with her, her fingers shake.
“You’ll stay,” his voice is subdued, “you’ll stay with me.”
Bi-Han’s hand cups her head, guides her away from his neck so he can see her again. He looks sure of himself once more, there’s handsomeness in the way his features settle out of anger and into determination. He must be searching her for confirmation. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find. This kiss is less tenuous, he pushes for more and faster. Lays siege to her in a way that leaves her reeling, pulls away with near hypoxia when he absolutely refuses to let her end this embrace. He holds firm, a hand on her hip keeps her situated in his lap. She tests his commitment, goes to lean back but is immediately corrected. She’s closer now than she was before, the look in his eyes is deadly serious.
“I told you. You can try to pry me from you, and you will fail ,” his voice is raw and something deeper than confident. Something in her ears rings loyalty, his unwavering dedication to his visions. If this truly is a new tenet for him, she’s not surprised he’s acting with such conviction. “You made your choice.”
There’s electricity to this-- a spark of something brilliant and strong. It feels powerful. To be the one to shake his earth, at least enough to have him walk back long-held traditions. Forbidding friendship, forbidding fraternization. She kisses the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei and it feels as though tectonic plates shift on her behalf. The map of the world, what she once knew, is changing.
New heat is in his expression. There’s a wrinkle between his furrowed brow, an intensity in his eyes that seems restrained only by her quiet.
His head dips lower. If their mouths hadn’t just been locked together, she’d mistake his look for a glare. Instead, he seems excited. The same excitement that shrouds him when he’s challenged, the same excitement for blood. It’s possessiveness, the desire for dominance and power that fuels so much of what he does.
It’s erotic, watching him size her up in this way. She traces fingertips along the high collar of his robes, she feels his fingers twitch but he withholds. She scrutinizes this. His restraint. Caged animal that stares into the core of her person, is a hairpin trigger from devouring her. He needs only permission, the key to his lock.
“I did.”
He’s more unbound now, and the fury with which his fingers curl into her hair and tilt her carefully back is dizzying. She doesn’t resist this, gives willingly to how he wishes to take her. She feels shaky inhale against her neck, he takes a deep breath of her and there’s a growling, low sound he makes against her skin. It’s almost like a purr, he places open mouthed kiss and while not as cold as she expected, it’s still a stark contrast to her body temperature. There’s a needy sound she makes that leaves her before she expects, teeth suddenly drag along her.
Min Yu’s fingertips ghost along his neck, her wrist then lays on his shoulder. The second she relaxes, he’s nibbling at her. Teeth and tongue and lips that mark her neck, the hand on her hip goes lower. He takes a handful of her ass and pulls her flush against him. There’s no distance between them and without her heavy outer robes on, there’s very little fabric that separates him from her bare skin. He must already know this, palm drifts up her backside to her spine, creeps under the back of her wrappings. Her flesh gets pinched between his teeth-- bite serves as more of a warning than anything when she jumps.
“You want it off?” It’s more a formality, and perhaps for permission to move away, when she asks.
His voice is husky, “ yes, ” as he leaves the spot on her neck alone and is already starting to lift her top off before she can lift her arms. It’s not fast enough for him, she scrambles to squirm out of the thing and his hands are already on her breasts as she throws the fabric across the room. His fingertips are rough, calloused. They grope her, he can’t get enough of his hand around her and this seems to piss him off. Tearing himself away and forcing her from his lap, he’s up on his knees and takes to ripping off his gauntlets. They scratch against the floor, scrape against hardwood as they’re flung away. He claws his shirt off next, makes a frustrated groan as he pulls his top over his head to expose firm, corded muscle. She reaches out to touch, irresistible urge she doesn’t bother fighting.
Instead, his hand goes to her collar and he leans forward to make her recline.
“Down.” He’s kneeling above her, maneuvers between her legs.
She acquiesces to this, watches as he grips his cock over his pants. Strokes himself like this, she watches the bulge strain against cobalt blue fabric. His mouth falls open as he observes her, eyes lid before he catches himself and his jaw clenches. His head slants forward and hair falls in front of dark eyes.
She smiles, smug, hums to herself. It’s an ego stroke, knowing he’s having to monitor himself to keep up appearances. Min Yu wonders what it would be like if he let go, descended on her without holding back. Desire simmers when she watches him like this, tempted to tease him but decides better of it. There’s too much to take in without playing games; armor is being shed and she doesn’t want to make him regret it.
Instead, she settles on her elbows, but he doesn’t allow this break for long.
The tone changes and he moves forward, eclipsing in the candlelight. Warmth lines him, flushes his skin in a rusty glow. Large hands come to rest on her knees, he smooths his hand over her pants and edges closer to her center. Her legs instinctually twitch to shut closed despite his presence between them and he grunts, digs in fingers and forces her to split wider than she had before. Pinning one leg flat, his other hand is more exploratory. Trails across her inner thigh, featherlight, as he inches closer to that crux between her legs. When two fingers pass along her covered slit, swipe upwards, something ignites. Stronger than before, she feels inebriated by him. There’s an intake of breath and her shoulders jerk from the ground.
“From such a light touch.” He’s amused, proud. “Sensitive for me.” He does it again, this time much slower. Lingering, he presses his fingers in, and she’s able to feel the way that growing wetness makes her panties cling to her skin, soaking through. They adhere to her now, and when his touch is more firm, the friction of it drives her to neediness. To cling onto something, to hold and grip, to grind. Something more than she’s getting. Her hands become fists, unintentionally digging sharpened nails into her skin. It gives her something to focus on as he takes his time, she feels him studying each of the strangled little noises she makes and attempts to hide. With a particularly slow drag, her wrist ticks up and slams down, taking his attention momentarily.
“You are more patient than this,” he chides. It reminds her of comments he’s made throughout the day, admonishment for every misstep. Even now, he has this control he wants to exert over her. The idea that he knows her limits more intimately, stringent in the way he guides her.
In truth, she’s not sure he would be wrong about that.
Despite his measured reaction, his hand creeps up to her waistband. He leans over her as fingers dip below, and he can feel just how hot her waiting arousal is. This emotion she’s been stewing in, the collective result of her pining. He seems pleased-- not in a particularly cocky way, but affirmed. It reads in the slight way his eyes open. Haze of lust lifts in seconds of surprise, makes his head sink forward as that high must overtake him.
It’s a distraction, observing this. Almost makes her forget where he’s touching, though focus is snapped back as the pads of his fingers drift along her folds. Experimental, he feels her over. Her back arches up, he draws lower. Ball of his hand presses flat across her clit, his fingers hover above her hole. Her breath holds in her lungs, afraid to move and be seen as as needy as she feels.
He’s waiting for that, though. Stays still, narrows his eyes at her. When she doesn’t immediately beg for him like she assumes he expects, he leans in closer to her. Down so that their foreheads nearly meet, he’s a hair’s breadth from outright kissing her. The look he gives her is pointed. It’s not uncertain, but has an air of openness that betrays the hold he has on her leg.
“This is your last chance to stop this.” Bi-Han’s moderation seems as though it’s wavering, last bastions of his sense are crumbling being so close to her. In his words, she hears a plea. For permission, for absolution. It’s strange coming from him-- sets her in this liminal space where rules have been suspended.
Her chest feels heavier, splitting breaths with him again. The restraints for both of them are gossamer, neither are willing to cut the threads that hold them back. Frankly, she’s surprised he’s been so giving. Bending, vocalizing obfuscated affection when she couldn’t. It’s why she’s willing to set aside her pride, bury it deep as she whispers to him. “ Please. ”
He grants her what she asked for, and more than that. Slipping fingers inside her, his mouth meets hers. With a curl of thick fingers, she’s gasping, reeling, and he capitalizes on this. Tongue brushes against her lips, he swallows the moan she makes. Devours it as he pulls more from her. He’s not satisfied just dragging simple sounds from her, angles his touch so he’s brushing against a spot within her that sends a jolt of arousal to her core. With his lips muffling her, it’s hard to tell how loud she’s being.
He must not care, keeps driving into her with his hand until his palm bumps against her cunt. It’s almost as though he’s agitated he’s not able to move deeper inside her. With a shudder, she realizes that she’ll be accommodating much more than this very soon-- the ache she’s already feeling will be nothing compared to what it will feel like once he actually fills her. Fucks her how he wants to, further than meager fingers will allow.
She has to pace herself, choose her battles in focusing on what’s happening now instead of what she faces ahead. Stimulation builds faster than she’s anticipating, can’t tear herself from the idea of how he’ll look inside her. Her mouth tears from his so she can moan out louder, unbridled, and she jerks her head to the side with a pant. She can’t get enough air and he’s not helping, starts muttering encouragement in her ear.
“ There ,” he snarls, “just like that.”
He doesn’t sound angry, just driven singularly. To her. To this pleasure, the pleasure that’s searing hot and bringing her to an edge she hasn’t scraped the surface of in ages.
He feels better than her own hands anyway; the late nights she’s spent with hand clamped over mouth, thankful her room neighbored his, don’t hold a flame to this. She remembers the last time she came, hot off of a mission with Grandmaster and a few other clan mates-- hadn’t had the time to wash the blood from her hands before they were under her panties. Choking back cries fantasizing about the way he looked, fresh from battle. Bloodlust in his eyes, shoulders square and solid. Wondering if she was so stupid as to let go of herself, he might overhear. Might join her in degeneracy and indulgence.
“Nnn-- H-aaahn, Ha-Haaa-- Han, Bi-Han ,” she fumbles her way to his name, clings to it in an attempt to school all her useless moaning into coherent syllables. He doesn’t allow that. As soon as she’s able to form something, he goes harder. A hand goes to his wrist as a silent beg for mercy, he’s not deterred. Uncompromising, he’s going to take this climax from her.
On his terms, she cums. It’s so hot she’s cold, shivering as it moves through her body. The madness of it consumes her: hips jerk up, rock wildly as he works her through it. Her grip on him tightens, is her lifeline through this. Over this ledge, vision is hazy. From what she can see, he watches her wordlessly. There’s something on his face, possibly awe, possibly entertainment. It doesn’t matter. His pace slows faintly, articulated movements of his fingers coax every last whine from her chest. He’s not content just having her get off, there’s a prolongment to it. Debasing her like this. It makes her burn stronger for him, the unique position of being Bi-Han’s sole confidant. More than that-- a partner.
When he pulls his fingers from her, she makes a shrill sound. Something mournful, shakes her head though she’s not entirely sure of why. Things feel ungrounded, loose. It’s the most relaxed she’s been all day, blinks slow up at him. He’s shifted up a fair bit, takes to examining the way his fingers glisten with her arousal. Spreads them apart, smirks, glances down to her.
“Open,” he orders lazily.
When she complies after a moment, index and middle finger lay flat on her tongue and push down on her jaw. Wider. Embarrassment strikes immediately and when she goes to jerk back, he uses his leverage above her to keep her propped open. Shamefully, resentfully, her lips close around him and suck.
His jaw falls slightly when warmth envelopes his fingers, goes agape when she pushes her tongue between them to taste herself. It’s just the slightest bit tart, sweet saltiness fills her mouth. Almost second nature, the base of his fingers nudge against her lips. He thrusts his fingers slowly, lets out a breathy groan when she bobs her head forward. Accepts his treatment and matches it.
Absently, he murmurs to her. “I was never immune to you.”
She swallows around him and his eyes squint, he draws his tongue along his teeth. Hungry. His flattery doesn’t go unnoticed, but she’s not sure how to respond when she’s licking him clean.
He withdraws again, smears spit soaked fingers admiringly across her cheek to dry them. She flinches away, scrunches her nose, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His thumbs hook under the hem of her pants and as he begins to slide back, he pulls. Min Yu lifts her hips, feels the stickiness of her slickened panties peel from her, and he wrangles her pants off with her feet lifted. She watches him work for it, just bends when she needs to. He allows her to lay one leg down, the other is held up for him. Now bare, he places a kiss to her ankle. Trails a few more down her calf, inches his way down naked skin. Letting her relax, he focuses on himself.
Watching her, his hand goes again to his bulge. She watches his chest rise and heavily fall. When he starts to take off his pants, easing them over his knees, she does her best not to focus pathetically on his cock. She’s not very covert.
What was once hunger in his eyes is now akin to starving when their eyes meet. The fist around his cock moves slowly in her periphery, it’s clear he’s restricting himself. Under other circumstances, she’d be impressed by how well he’s been holding himself back. The careful, almost polite way he stares her down. But it’s not polite, really. Perhaps for him, but not in its core. He’s poised, in the same way a predator is before they lay claim. The satisfaction of a reward is paced ahead.
Min Yu is beginning to grow impatient, not that she’d willingly admit it. Doesn’t want to shake the moment, disturb the pace or end the night by being incitive. With great mindfulness of her tone, “waiting for something?”
There’s a glint in his eyes and it’s familiar. Though this wasn’t a challenge, wasn’t a taunt, he has the same devotion to showing her just how to eat her words as always. “I am done waiting,” he says. It’s matter of fact. He prods at her thigh with one knee, unspoken demand. She parts for him, feels him align his body with hers. The weight of him on top of her is intense, sobering. The bulk of his strength, the form he’s slaughtered so many others with, is almost considerate as he props himself above her.
He doesn’t waste much more time after this, hand disappears between them to help guide the head of his cock against her. She feels feverish as soon as they’re touching, slants hips back to make it easier for him to enter her. Desperation tinges each movement she makes, arms come up to rest on his shoulders. He grinds himself into her, smears wetness along his cock. She whines at this, locks her arms behind his neck. There’s no warning when he enters her, and the illusion of self-control is dispelled when she feels his hips buck into her.
To feel so full is new— he hilts inside of her with a slam, completely takes her body as his own. A smack of skin on skin, his head lolling forward. She keens, this mewling, pleased thing that sputters from her. The way he draws his body into hers makes each thrust an anticipatory thing— a slow build, then a snap of his hips into her. Intentionally makes her feel how far he’ll fill her in a moment’s notice. His power is obvious, he gives no reason for doubt.
Her eyelids feel heavy, blinks slow and gazes misty through lashes to watch the way pleasure tears through his expression. It feels more than good, it’s right . Their bodies moving together satisfies some primal urge, this carnal thing that they’ve always shared for each other. Ingrained in their touch is purpose, an understanding that they were made to fit together. His name passes her lips carelessly, hears the way his labored breathing stutters when he realizes what she’s said.
“Bi-Han,” she whimpers. Repeats it because he likes it. “More, please .”
It’s the most human he’s ever looked, overcome by gratification and pride and humbled by it all in the same second. He’s a man, a fallen titan that rocks his hips into her with a pace that’s seconds from becoming frantic. Acceleration is what she asked for, just isn’t prepared for how completely it takes hold of her.
Surprised by the immediacy of his response, she’s clenching around him. Fists ball up, she fights to keep her legs spread. But she’s tighter like this and the sound he makes is choked. He pants, quick bursts of breath that accompany even faster thrusts. He stables himself on his hands. She constricts around him again and he growls, bellows from his chest, and abruptly there’s a chill at her shoulders. Glancing to her side, frost tracks from his fingertips and spreads across the floor. Tiny shards of ice spike up from it and the tension in his hands become fists he pounds into the ground. Uses the way he steadies himself to fuck her harder.
His lack of discipline, so desperately awaited, makes her eyes roll back in her skull, moans guttural as he ravishes her with zero hesitation. She pitches louder and it spurs him on, Min Yu’s left clinging to him as he brutalizes her with his cock. Sweltering heat is building, leaves her reeling with the effort it takes not to completely give in.
Back arching off the ground, her fingers find their way into his hair. She undoes his bun, hair spills over his shoulders and he grunts at this. It means she sees his eyes between dark strands, the severity of his intention cut up by his locks. Moving his hair from his eyes, her fingers curl into him. Hold on.
Covetous, there’s a deviant satisfaction in knowing this belongs to her now. He shifts down, rests on forearms now. Compresses against her, moves her whole body with each thrust into her cunt. She’s sweating, she knows. Exertion past what she fathomed being capable of, pleasure that tingles across the surface of her skin and dips deeper where they connect. Every seam where they press together blazes with heat, she cries out as he adjusts himself, changes angle. Breathing is hurried. She doesn’t mean to pull his hair but does, when he hisses at her, she lets go. She’s got nothing left to anchor her now, thighs twitch towards each other and bump against him. She needs it. Release. The high he’s already given her isn’t enough.
As if reading her mind, “you can take it.”
“ No ,” she whines, “‘m gonna, I-I’m gonna—”
“ Wait. ” His head falls beside her own, won’t stop rutting into her as his voice is gruff by her ear. “You’ll cum with me.”
Her voice is broken in her ears, “I can’t, I c-c— I can’t , I need, need you—”
He reaches up, tears one of her hands from behind him and pins it to the ground. His eyes beam into hers like this, he forces her fingers between his own. Twines them together and gives her something to focus on other than the rapid way climax is looming over her. So intense it’s almost blinding, makes her nearly tear up in frustration. It prickles at her sinuses, she cries out and watches as his eyes roll back at the sound. Delighting in her distress, there’s instability in the way he pounds into her. Losing himself in her. Her name is filthy on his lips, saturated in possessive sin.
She’s near weeping now, stumbles over his name, pleads nonsense just for his jaw to clench. He’s close, can feel it in the way he’s crushing her hand in his.
“ Good , good girl,” he praises. It’s visceral, sincere.
She can’t take it. Breath hot on her neck, relentless way he uses her. Tension is too much to bear and she breaks, shatters into a trillion tiny pieces, and sobs when she cums. Every part of her body feels tight, taut. He plays her like this, sates exactly what she needs as she’s brought through her orgasm. Eyes squint shut, weightless euphoria takes over all sensation as he begins to slow. Pumps into her a few more times and growls through gritted teeth when he spills inside her. Each movement of his body, even slight, sends a wave of feeling through her— pointed thrusts feel magnified, the loss of his hand squeezing hers is somehow deafening. It’s all too much, overstimulation sets in within moments and she’s shaking.
He’s hardly able to hold himself up anymore, collapses on knees and elbows and their chests press together. Sticky with sweat, flushed. Now free to roam, his hands are at her side, at her neck, before he eventually relents and pulls out of her. She curls onto her side and faces him once he settles sitting upright, suddenly feels more bare than she’d like. Covers her chest with her arm the best she can, presses wet thighs together. Finally, she’s starting to breathe normally.
His staring doesn’t feel invasive now, there’s an approving note to his ogling. He’s attracted, she thinks. Wouldn’t draw his tongue over his lips like that if he wasn’t happy with what they’d just done.
Bi-Han rakes his hand through his destroyed hair, slicks it back the best he can. It still falls in his face, makes her smile. It’s so terribly real, gravity returns to her and forces her to address consequences. Dust is settling, the frenzy of the evening has come to a close and they’re left in quiet. It’s contemplative, though her thoughts aren’t entirely clear. Vulnerability is nearly gone, he’s harder to read again. There’s reciprocity from all this which she didn’t quite expect— glimpses of something deeper within him, a passion that’s not skating on icy surface. But his armor comes up fast, she doesn’t get the opportunity to formulate anything concrete to ask him.
He spares a look towards the door and she straightens. Clambers to sit up properly, can only look on as he reaches over and grabs his pants. He does her the kindness of retrieving a few articles of her clothing, stands above her as he partially redresses. His shirt’s slung over his arm, bracers are in one hand. In the time it takes him to get ready to leave, she’s only just beginning to think of standing.
He looks her over. If she’s being indulgent, she’d think there was concern from him. “We should not linger.”
It’s fair. Logical. She feels excessively lame, drowning in a range of emotions he seems to shoulder so much easier.
“Of course.”
She doesn’t move. He does.
Walking for the door, there’s a pause. His footsteps still. His upper body turns, not entirely to face her. Their eyes don’t meet.
“Things can never be the same now.”
She hums softly in agreement. Hugs arms around herself tighter.
“And you accept this?”
“Do you?” The quip back is immediate, barbed. Walls are rising again, the desire to protect and withstand and hold her back from that which she doesn’t want to hear. Internally, she distances them. Considers melting into shadow to save face and avoid looking him in the eyes, should he turn further.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Min Yu,” he replies, effortlessly cool. “That is a promise.”
He disappears from the training hall, leaves her to her thoughts. And in the darkness, she finds comfort.