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His fist bites around the metal of his Vision, hard enough that he hopes it cuts into his palm and grounds him into pain instead of this unrepentant desire.
He does not unclench his fist on the walk back, deliberate with each footstep until he reaches the inn and orders for separate rooms; until hears Xingqiu’s strained voice Goodnight over the pounding of his own heart and the door thuds shut behind him. He lets go of the metal edge, examining the deep imprint on his palm — disappointingly, the metal wasn’t sharp enough to cut through his callouses to bleed, but there’s a thin cut there, just on the first layer of his skin. A reminder that every time he’s around Xingqiu, he feels a little bit flayed.
He flexes his palm once, twice, exhaling an icy breath that drops the room a few degrees but does nothing to cool down his arousal, the tight coil of it at his groin.
Chongyun’s eyes flick open. He clenches each finger one at a time, counting under his breath, trying to get his pulse under control, trying to get the memory of Xingqiu’s fragrance tinted with sea-salt air out of his olfactory.
He had been good.
He opens his eyes. He had been so good, even with Xingqiu close enough to taste his breath and feel the tremor of his throat when he had felt selfish enough to inhale.
Chongyun flexes his fingers and stands, calmly removing his robe, folding meticulously to lay on the back of the chair. He steps out of his loose tied pants, wets his lips, his eyes half-lidded as he finally, finally palms his cock, wrapping his fingers around the base. From there, he drives toward the bed, grabs a pillow and shoves it under his hips — just to have something to mount, just to have something underneath him. He grunts when the fabric smears against his painfully hard cock.
He has never been tenser, never felt this desperation — spits into his hand, letting the haze of arousal take over, the baser instinct of moving, rutting against the pillow before he fists himself with a too-loud groan as his blood throbs through his cock. Grabs the second pillow, curls his forearm over it and bites down until dry cotton and damp, musty feathers overwhelm his tastebuds.
The pillow keeps him from grinding his teeth as he works his fist over himself, dampens his feverish snarling, though he sounds no less animal like this, fucking his fist that isn’t tight enough. His hips rock down, thrusting against pillow and fucks back into his fist as he thinks about Xingqiu — tries capturing the feel of him somehow in this room, the rays of light in his hair — his mouth.
Chongyun has never had an imagination, can’t conjure up images or fantasies beyond wondering how it’d feel if the pillow wasn’t beneath him but Xingqiu, Xingqiu, Xingqiu. He shudders — feels good as it does wrong.
He had tasted his spit in the bite of dango that Xingqiu didn’t finish. He tries thinking of that through his hot, uncontrolled yang energy overflowing from his center — it makes his palm scalding hot, but he’s not doing this for pleasure more than punishing himself in merciless strokes.
It feels like it lasts forever, this sex-yang-hot thrall that’s overtaken him. He can barely drag his eyes open. He lets it consume him — his unwieldy love, all of that feeling inside of him he can’t contain sometimes. The rhythmic grind down against the stroke of his fist builds up, jaw tight as the first crest comes, halting enough that his hips jerk erratically.
His moaning vibrates through his throat as he starts to come — he’d unbitten the pillow at some point and a groan escapes, too loud in this empty room. Chongyun shoves his forearm against his teeth and his jaw snaps shut as he comes, hips rolling tight, fist clamping down as bright, white, hot pleasure releases down his spine, spilling over his knuckles and into the abused pillow.
He pants, unlocks his jaw, tasting his own skin and blood.
Chongyun sits up, crosses his legs and slows down his breathing, focuses on the minor sting of his arm and exhales again, cold, colder, cold enough to burn.
The room is dark and punctuated by the heavy scent of his own cum and his sweat. He’s still hard.
It will be a slow night of meditating for Chongyun to see the light of day.