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“Shizun!” Binghe cants as Shen Qingqiu steps through the doors of the Bamboo house. His husband flits over to him and squeezes him against his chest a split second after he can close the door. It knocks the air out of Shen Qingqiu’s lungs.
“Welcome back, Shizun,” Binghe hums, the deep vibration rumbling against Shen Qingqiu’s body.
“Mm, I’m back, Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu absently soothes an elegant hand down his mass of curls, and Binghe leans into the touch.
“Would Shizun like dinner?”
“This master ate at the meeting,” he replies, and then his heart sinks at the way Binghe’s batting lashes still and his sparkling eyes droop. Damn this protagonist… too shoujo-esque! Shen Qingqiu’s hand whips out his folding fan and he strides over to his bedroom out of necessity for redirection. “How was Binghe’s day?” he asks with slow waves of the intricately painted fan.
“This disciple was lonely. He had a very eventless day, only doing some simple house chores and waiting for Shizun to get back,” Binghe follows him closely and wraps around Shen Qingqiu’s waist from behind.
No matter how many times Binghe uses this, Shen Qinqiu’s heart squeezes from it. Binghe’s silky hair tickles his nape as he buries his face in the crook of his shoulder. “Shizun, I’ll pour you wine.”
“Mm… Thank you.”
Binghe is sticky. He observes Shen Qingqiu’s every move and habit, and apparently, he had been doing so for years longer than Shen Qingqiu could have imagined; he has long noticed that every time his shizun comes back from a Peak Lord meeting—especially one involving Shang Qinghua, he likes to have a drink. Naturally, he started offering him wine before he could get it himself—anything to be of more service.
“Here, Shizun,” Binghe pours him a cup and sits behind him, making Shen Qingqiu raise his brows in suspicion until heavy hands start slowly kneading the muscles on his shoulders. A sigh of pleasure is forced out of him after he takes the first sip of sweet wine. Both of them are quiet and conscious of the other’s hidden smile.
He’s truly too fortunate to have such a husband… How did dying a worthless shut-in get him here?
“Did Shizun’s meeting go well?” Binghe asks quietly.
“It was fine… This master also found himself somewhat idle.” Which is code for: It was a complete waste of time, but don’t concern yourself with it.
Binghe hummed listlessly, giving a final press into Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders before grabbing one of his ankles and pulling it out from under him without warning.
“Wha—Binghe?”
“I’ll massage Shizun’s feet,” Binghe explains.
“Not bothering to ask anymore, hm?” Shen Qingqiu moves to harmlessly flick him on the forehead, but stops himself at the last second. Last time he made that particular gesture… he hadn’t meant anything of it, of course, but Binghe’s demon mark is on his forehead, and…well…he’s always been quite sensitive about it, so he thought Shen Qingqiu was expressing displeasure at his heritage. He promptly proceeded to cry and apologize, and what was supposed to be a friendly tease ended up taking days to recover from.
“Shizun is tired from working all day, this disciple begs to be pardoned of his insolence,” Binghe answers without pausing, already slipping off Shen Qingqiu’s socks and pressing into his arches.
What ‘tired from working!’ He’d been sitting in a conference hall for hours doing nothing. He can almost see Binghe’s tail wagging though, so he surrenders his feet.
One foot massage later, Shen Qingqiu startles when Binghe kisses his foot. He jerks his leg back, but to no avail—Binghe already has his fingers locked around his ankle.
“Binghe!” Shen Qingqiu grabs Binghe’s wrist as he flat-out sticks his toes in his mouth.
“Stop that,” He blushes, suddenly feeling like he’s scolding a dog. Binghe doesn’t seem to hear him, leaving his toes with a ticklish kiss and moving to lave his tongue over his high arches, the pace of his breaths accelerating.
“Shizun…” The puffs of air burn on the bottom of Shen Qingqiu’s foot, and now his breath threatens to quicken. Binghe kisses his ankle and slides the silk of his pants up to kiss his calf, and Shen Qingqiu feels inevitable heat diffusing through his body.
Binghe’s offensively handsome face inches forward, and then he’s being kissed, opening his eyes intermittently to catch a glance of Binghe’s long lashes shading his reddening irises. Binghe kisses him slowly and hungrily, like large waves crashing repeatedly over Shen Qingqiu, keeping him breathless. Somewhere along their journey Binghe had finally turned into a good kisser—or at least much better.
He kisses Shen Qingqiu deeply, exploring different angles, tasting the nectar-sweetness of Shizun’s mouth. Shen Qingqiu pulls away to gasp for air, but that little lotus of his quickly seals their lips again. Binghe slowly peels the satin layers of his clothes away, so slowly that Shen Qingqiu only realizes it’s happening once he’s down to his innermost robe.
That one comes off quickly, and Binghe finally lets go of his lips in favor of kissing and licking up and down his neck, purposefully leaving hickeys on the most visible places. Shen Qingqiu is panting wildly, so when Binghe thumbs at his nipple, he whines, which always excites his husband by an unreasonable amount.
“Shizun,” he rasps and pets Shen Qingqiu’s hard cock through his pants. Shen Qingqiu clamps his throat down to trap another unsightly whimper. The pants come off at lightning speed—an indication that Binghe has finally lost his control. He spreads Shen Qingqiu’s legs and kisses along the soft flesh of his inner thighs, then pushes his knees forward, tipping him slightly back.
Shen Qingqiu is never good at facing obscenity—not that it doesn’t excite him, but he never knows how to feel when his cheeks are burning so hard. Thus, looking down at his sweat-slicked skin, his exposed erection, and Binghe’s eyes staring back at his own as he sucks his balls is really just too much. He tries to hide behind the curtain of his eyelids.
He feels fingers tweaking his right nipple again at the same time that Binghe strokes his tongue up the underside of his dick, flicking over the head in quick motions. Shen Qingqiu tips his head back and groans as Binghe tongues at his slit and then finally sinks down on him. Binghe purposefully moans so that he can feel the vibration around his cock.
Binghe takes him deeper in each stroke, swallowing around him once he hits the back of his throat. The suction pulls a weak sound from his lanky husband.
Shen Qingqiu married a stallion protagonist, after all; It’s no wonder that he’s horny without fail every single night, and thus it didn’t actually take him very long to get good at giving head.
Shen Qingqiu can’t move his hands at the angle he’s sitting in. Both of them are busy supporting him up, and not wanting to fall back onto the wooden floor of their bedroom, he can only sit there with his legs spread, taking Binghe’s attention. Binghe pops off his cock to swirl his tongue over the tip, just so that his husband can blush harder at the lewd sight.
He can tell that Shen Qingqiu is getting close because he can’t stop his hips from jerking up when he closes his lips back over his husband’s length.
“Bing…Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu pants, and that’s all the confirmation he needs. He speeds up his pace, and his husband shoots his cum into his mouth with a shudder. Binghe sucks him through his orgasm, milking him to the last little spurt. Shen Qingqiu goes weak, falling back on his elbows to catch his breath.
“Shizun, you are so beautiful when you come. You taste so good, see?” Binghe opens his mouth to show his husband a white splotch of cum on his tongue, before making a show of swallowing down the last bit.
Shen Qingqiu’s face really can’t handle that. Spare this master ah?! There’s also no way that he doesn’t look like a lecherous old man when he comes; beautiful my ass!
Suddenly he is lifted over Binghe’s shoulder, carried to the bed, and gently laid down. “Was it good, Shizun? Was I good?” Binghe looks at him with a serious inquiry in his eyes while he shucks his robes, and Shen Qingqiu can’t believe that he really can’t deduce whether it was good or not from how hard he came. Oh well; Binghe is the type that needs a little extra assurance.
“It was very good,” he says fondly, before quietly adding, “Don’t call me Shizun,” and stroking a strand of sweaty hair behind his ear.
“Shizun!” Binghe glows in satisfaction, embracing Shen Qingqiu and pressing his bare chest and his evidently neglected pillar against the thin body beneath him.
Shen Qingqiu clicked his tongue. “Don’t ignore me, what did I just say?”
“I’m sorry Shizun, it just slipped. Ah… no, I mean husband,” He corrects himself.
Binghe lays on top of him for a while, drinking in his scent and holding him tight. While it’s endearing, Binghe is pretty big, and being crushed under his weight isn’t exactly that comfortable.
“It was good, Binghe. In fact…” Shen Qingqiu trails off, unable to say what he wants to. He pats his back instead. “Sit up.”
Binghe does so reluctantly, and Shen Qingqiu follows after him. He figures there probably isn’t a need for explanation, as soon as he leans in to kiss Binghe’s taught stomach and trail a finger down the hilariously blatant bulge in his pants, to which the other goes rigid in shock. There’s a tiny wet spot where the tip of his dick is straining desperately against the dark fabric.
What did you leave it in your pants so long for? Shen Qingqiu thinks it pitiful; it must hurt. He hooks two fingers over the waistband of his pants and pulls them slowly down, watching the way it catches on the tip of Binghe’s cock and secretly enjoying the puppy-like whine he makes as that weapon springs back up.
The head is glistening and wet, sliding easily through Shen Qingqiu’s palm as he takes his husband’s cock into his hand.
“Ah… Shi…Husband,” Binghe moans, and then again as his slender husband kitten-licks him up and down. Shen Qingqiu feels his own nether regions prick with heat again as he strokes his hand up and down Binghe’s length.
He can never fit it all in, and Binghe has never tried or expected him to, in the few times that he’s offered to do this. Shen Qingqiu wets his lips and stretches them around Binghe’s girth, sinking down a little further with each slow bob of his head. He envelops half of his husband’s cock in his mouth and fondles his balls, then strokes the remainder of the base with his other hand.
Binghe strokes a paw through his shizun’s inky silk, cradling the hair like precious jewels as Shen Qingqiu works his tongue over the impossible sky pillar. Really, Airplane-bro, what did you make this thing so big for? Sometimes he just wishes he could fit his husband’s entirety into his mouth, okay?
Of course with his stamina, Binghe wouldn’t come until Shen Qingqiu’s jaw fell off. Just as he’s getting sore, his lotus timidly asks, “Sh… Husband, can I… be inside of you?”
Shen Qingqiu releases hit wet cock, ready to get the oil, but Binghe suddenly starts to panic.
“Ah, please don’t misunderstand! It’s not that I didn’t like it; Shizun is good, it felt very good… I’m sorry, Shizun,” A ring of water swells up and sits on his lower lash line, his smooth lips pouting into something remorseful.
If it were anyone else at all, Shen Qingqiu would probably throw the nearest hard object at them for being so excruciatingly sensitive. But. It’s Binghe, and overcoming insecurity is a big hurdle for him. Shen Qingqiu understands that.
Sometimes, it’s overwhelming, though. He just wishes he could keep Binghe happy. Trauma’s a bitch.
He sighs and wraps his arms around Binghe’s neck, holding him snug. Actions speak louder than words, and it always seems to cost him much less energy to speak in actions anyway. Binghe’s tears don’t fall, to his relief.
After he seems to have calmed down, Shen Qingqiu pushes him down on his back and leans over the bedside to rummage through Binghe’s discarded robes for the oil he knows is always hidden in one of his sleeves.
Shen Qingqiu straddles Binghe’s stomach and slicks his fingers up, then leans forward to kiss him as he prepares himself—mostly because his face is too thin to sit there fucking his fingers into his ass while Binghe just watches. His husband penitently takes his kisses, and after he’s convinced that he’s forgiven for whatever offense, he strokes down his back to grab Shen Qingqiu’s ass.
Shen Qingqiu is finally four fingers in, so he oils his palm and grabs Binghe’s begging member. It twitches once under his hand and burns with heat as he slicks it up. Binghe bites his lip as Shen Qingqiu raises himself and lines up. He had never known relaxing took so much effort until he started taking the protagonist’s cock. He breathes deeply as he seats himself deeper onto Binghe, the stretch still making him sweat.
Maybe bodies truly have limits to adaptations.
He lets out a breath once fully lowered, his round cheeks flush with Binghe’s burning skin. His husband looks at him like he’s divinity, as usual.
“Shizun, you’re so tight,” he whispers.
…It’s not that he’s so tight; you’re just too big. And when will this blackened flower of his stop reminding him that he indeed fucks his student?
“If you call me Shizun one more time I won’t let you finish inside,” he pinches one of Binghe’s nipples along with his warning, unaware of just how large an effect that combination had inside the other.
Binghe’s face goes red as he nods. Shen Qingqiu plants his hands on his chest and rolls his hips to ease into the movement, and before long, he’s riding him at a steady pace.
Binghe’s mouth is zipped, afraid that he’ll utter a thoughtless “Shizun” and loose some important privileges. He pushes his hips up to meet Shen Qingqiu as he comes back down, then grips his waist to slam him down harder.
“Ah!” The sound is pushed from Shen Qingqiu’s throat, and the consecutive noises as Binghe hits his prostate are reduced to quiet whimpers, mingling with Binghe’s own groans. After a minute, Binghe rolls them over and hooks his arms around Shen Qinqiu’s legs, pulling him back against his thrusts, each one filling the room with a loud slap. From this angle, Binghe hits dead on Shen Qingqiu’s sweet spot, and he can’t hold back his moans anymore.
“A-die…” Binghe squeezes his thighs and fucks him harder.
….What? Shen Qingqiu freezes before his eyes widen in horror.
“A-die, you feel so good,” Binghe breathes.
No. Absolutely not. Shizun is better—so so so much better!
“Don’t…ah! Call me tha-t!”
“But I can’t call you Shizun,” Binghe says between heavy panting.
“That doesn’t mean you can call me that!” Shen Qingqiu snaps, although it isn’t quite threatening considering that he’s being hammered into; it ends up coming out broken and an octave higher than he’d meant.
Binghe bends forward and grazes his lips over Shen Qingqiu’s ear. “A-die,” he grumbles—undeniably sultry, and at the same time he slows his hips, intentionally grinding against Shen Qingqiu’s prostate, making his eyes roll back and forcing a filthy moan from his mouth.
Shen Qingqiu will admit that he was utterly unprepared for how arousing that was…but it’s still not okay!
“I’m not your father!” He angrily swats Binghe’s shoulder.
“But Shizun raised me, supported me, and loved me… Is that not like a father?” Binghe whines.
“No!” Shen Qingqiu winces. Whether or not Binghe has a point doesn’t matter at all right now.
“A-die, I love you,” Binghe whispers and kisses his neck.
“Binghe!” A lithe hand grabs a tuft of black curls and yanks punishingly, which unfortunately does nothing to deter the perpetrator. Binghe moans out and only fucks into his husband’s tight warmth faster.
“A-die,” he moans again.
Shen Qingqiu’s face is a persimmon, on its way to rot and fall off. He really can’t take any more of this. What is this master to do with you, disobedient child?!...disciple! He shudders and corrects himself.
“You’ve tested this master’s patience, that’s it! You, pull out! Pull—” Shen Qingqiu is rudely interrupted with a sticky heat shooting into his ass, making him gasp. Binghe’s breathe comes erratically as his hips stutter. Shen Qingqiu can feel his heavy cock pulsing with each spurt inside of him.
The thought—terrifyingly, humiliatingly, sends him over the edge, too. His back arches and he is forced up tightly against Binghe as he paints their stomachs in cum.
As soon as the afterglow fades, Shen Qingqiu pats Binghe’s shoulders.
“Binghe, a bath.”
Binghe is mildly thrown aback at how eager his husband is to clean up, but nonetheless obliges. Half an hour later they’re both clean and Shen Qingqiu finishes combing through his silken hair. He exchanges the comb for his fan which he waves in shallow, quick motions as he looks out the window.
Binghe is itching from the void of any verbal exchange between them since they finished making love, so his heart pounds wildly as Shen Qingqiu turns around and starts toward him.
“Shizun—”
Whack.
Shen Qingqiu’s face is red, and his lip is clenched tightly between his teeth. Binghe rubs his head, looking imploringly at the elegant man in front of him.
“You!” Shen Qingqiu raises his fan as if to bonk him again, but he freezes and lowers his arm at the sight of the Demon Lord’s moistening eyes.
“Shizun? Did I do something wrong?”
Do something wrong? Don’t play so innocent!
“Binghe is getting too bold!” He scolds him. “I am willing to try many things with my husband, but this was not one of them! If I hear you call me that again…” Shen Qingqiu shivers.
“But—”
“No. Tianlang-Jun is your father, not me.”
Binghe’s brows furrow. “He is not my father.”
“Fine, but you are not to address me as such,” Shen Qingqiu turns around to put his fan away. Go call Airplane-bro your A-die!
“This disciple is sorry…Shizun please forgive.” His voice cracks on the last word and Shen Qingqiu goes rigid. Sure enough, upon turning around he is greeted with the sight of those pitiful teardrops.
“Binghe…” his voice softens. No matter how many times Binghe cries, Shen Qingqiu can’t help the way his heart sinks. He walks back over and cups his face, wiping his tears away with his thumbs. Binghe stills his trembling lip and Shen Qingqiu doesn’t fight the urge to kiss his cheek.
“Shizun… I have no father.”
He understands. It’s the only reason he hasn’t absolutely insisted upon ditching their shizun-disciple address altogether—Binghe needs it—to call him Shizun. To make him breakfast. To do him favors and get patted on the head for it. To be told that he is proud of him, and that he loves him.
Shen Qingqiu smiles and sighs tenderly. “Binghe, come to bed. This master is tired.” He gives him a chaste kiss.
Binghe nuzzles into his neck after they slip into the sheets, and Shen Qingqiu strokes his hair. Binghe ah, Binghe…his lotus flower… He wishes sometimes that he was better at giving the verbal affection that he knows his husband needs. Shen Qingqiu waits until the breaths dusting his neck slow and fall in rhythm.
Binghe is faintly cognizant of the soft kiss placed on his forehead, but he’s asleep for the sweet whispers that come afterwards.