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"Come here," Wen Kexing said one night, and pulled Zhou Zishu to him, into the warm space between his thighs. He had made sure to already be loose and perhaps overly wet, and Zhou Zishu's cock, nudging against his hole, came very close to sliding in at once.
Zhou Zishu made a surprised noise, feeling the heat of Wen Kexing's body around him—stilled his hips, which clearly wanted to jerk forward—then sank in slightly anyway, taking the invitation. Curious.
Some things were not whims, but could only be presented as such.
Wen Kexing shifted encouragingly.
"Let me try," he said. "Go on."
It was a little like being young—the restless anticipation. Like the first time: uncertain of one's body. Of what to expect. But the first time had, in fact, been fine. He had thought, once, that he might grow to like it—and then he never had. His body had grown strangely insensate, after a few more times.
Zhou Zishu studied him. The tip of his cock was mosly inside Wen Kexing, holding him stretched open. It was a warm and slightly prickling sensation—one which at any rate woke no revulsion in him. The intimacy of it, of it being this man, was almost relaxing. Not deeply erotic, but promising.
With a small huff, Zhou Zishu pressed his hips down and forward: a slow smooth movement. The stretching sensation increased. Zhou Zishu's pulse ticked against Wen Kexing's insides, quick but even.
Zhou Zishu made a strange noise, a slight whine to it—uncertain too. He moved cautiously, staying deep inside, just rocking his hips. Adjusting.
Wen Kexing felt each movement—felt it all the way in, into the places where he had once been used to simply going numb. It remained a warm sort of feeling, the heat of Zhou Zishu's cock waking something in Wen Kexing little by little.
Zhou Zishu didn't comment on the softness of Wen Kexing's cock, which had been hard earlier as they kissed and touched and teased.
Wen Kexing reached for him. Wrapped both arms around him. Tried to remember how to hold his legs, and then, failing at that, to think of how Zhou Zishu usually did it—but of course, his hips were not quite as loose as Zhou Zishu's.
Zhou Zishu's hand wrapped around the back of his thigh, lifted one leg for him. Angled his body. Zhou Zishu's lips ghosted against the side of Wen Kexing's neck.
It was a soft thing, to be fucked by this man—that promising warmth did not fade—and then, abruptly and slightly alarmingly, as the angle changed, it was good. The sudden pleasure made Wen Kexing's body jerk and tighten, and the squeeze of his muscles sharpened the feeling further. He panted and trembled and managed not to squirm away. Not to kick Zhou Zishu or flip their positions, although being suddenly turned on in a way which was visceral rather than quiet and half-abstract confused all his impulses. He wanted to take Zhou Zishu—wanted to do it roughly—wanted to hold him down and thrust into him without preparation. But he also wanted to stay here, to try and withstand the unexpected intensity of it.
He clawed at Zhou Zishu's back, fought to breathe evenly.
Zhou Zishu was good enough to Wen Kexing that he did not comment on the way he was starting to grow hard again, just as he had not commented on his softness—nor did he stop moving. There was a slightly jabbing quality to the way the tip of his cock pushed against Wen Kexing's sweet spot with each small thrust, and he remembered that sensation, but now that he felt warm, didn't feel numb, it was—good. The feeling of it connected, shuddered through him.
To think I could have enjoyed this. To think, to think—
But he probably couldn't have, at any other time. He would not have wanted to—at any other time.
He urged Zhou Zishu on with his legs, with the tightening of his arms, a part of him still looking warily for the point where the sensation would drain out of him again—but it only built, until he began to chase the other thing. Grit his teeth, arched his body. He had to take one arm back, reluctantly, to get his hand between their bodies—found his cock had even grown wet—but reached down to gather some of the lube which had been pushed out of his body as Zhou Zishu fucked him before wrapping his hand around himself and stroking.
Zhou Zishu was breathing harder, moving with more urgency, getting closer. His face was sweaty against Wen Kexing's shoulder.
"Not inside," Wen Kexing said, remembering a feeling he had deeply disliked—and regretted it—because he wasn't going to come from this if Zhou Zishu stopped now, which seemed suddenly like a shame—when it had been, unexpectedly, so likely.
Zhou Zishu pulled out, leaving him with a gaping feeling—lifted his hips to make space for him to jerk himself off in quick rough tugs, the movements echoing through both of them, shaking the bed slightly—came with a grunt all over Wen Kexing's stomach.
Wen Kexing kept touching himself, but more slowly, not pushing now—allowing himself to calm down a little, and to get used to the feeling of having been fucked. Zhou Zishu was still breathing hard, nuzzling against Wen Kexing's neck. Wen Kexing rubbed the back of his head, his neck, down between his shoulder blades.
"Good?" he asked.
"Sure," Zhou Zishu said, muffled. "You?"
"I want to ruin you," Wen Kexing said. His insides were still feeling the echoes of pleasure, the broken-off promise of orgasm.
"Alright," Zhou Zishu said. Swallowed. "Please."
Although he felt somewhat weak-limbed, Wen Kexing managed to roll them over—to send Zhou Zishu sprawling on his back.
He looked painfully lovely.
"You don't want this," Wen Kexing said.
"Alright," Zhou Zishu said. Groaned. "Of course I don't. I'm not even hard."
Wen Kexing took him by the throat, tilted his head this way and that. Zhou Zishu let himself be heavy and limp in Wen Kexing's hands. One might believe that he had been drugged. That he could not resist at all. That he had been deposited here ready to be used—but not too ready.
Wen Kexing pressed one finger into Zhou Zishu's hole, roughly. Felt Zhou Zishu's throat vibrate with a moan—felt him flinch.
"You don't want this," Wen Kexing said again.
Zhou Zishu tossed his head as Wen Kexing worked lube into him, still using just the one finger. Tried to twitch away from Wen Kexing's cock when he felt it against his hole.
It was almost impossible, Zhou Zishu was so tight—but Zhou Zishu pushed back, meeting Wen Kexing half way, helping Wen Kexing force him, until Wen Kexing finally managed it. It would have been much easier if he really didn't care about what became of Zhou Zishu's body—but there were limits to his ability to pretend—and he felt clumsy, besides.
Still—he could hold Zhou Zishu down as Zhou Zishu tried uselessly to close his legs, now when it was already too late—he could go a bit too fast, at an angle which couldn't feel too good. Appear sufficiently inconsiderate.
He took Zhou Zishu's soft cock in his hand and squeezed it, tugged on it. Zhou Zishu cried out, kicked his feet against nothing, his legs tense against Wen Kexing's thighs. He stayed soft in Wen Kexing's harsh grip as his body slowly loosened, until Wen Kexing could fuck him hard, harder—Wen Kexing hung onto his self-control desperately, not ready to come yet now that he had Zhou Zishu like this. Not wanting to stop until he had forced Zhou Zishu's body to respond—which it eventually did.
Wen Kexing laughed breathlessly to feel the unmistakable stirring of Zhou Zishu's cock between his fingers.
"You like it," he said. If he were more collected, he could have made it sound taunting. "Don't worry—I'll have you whenever I feel like it—you don't need to be willing. I'll always make you like it anyway."
Zhou Zishu cried out, clenched around Wen Kexing. His cock twitched and swelled.
Wen Kexing came hard, shaking, everything blurring—and Zhou Zishu, strangely desperate, kept moving, fucking himself on Wen Kexing's cock until it was too soft—then fucking himself on Wen Kexing's shaky fingers—until he came for a second time, much harder than the first.
How strange, Wen Kexing thought, with a still rather fuzzy sense of amusement mixed with other unnameable emotions—in the end I enjoyed getting fucked by him more than he enjoyed fucking me. That's what this is.
The possibility gave him a confused competitive impulse, which he tucked carefully away to either consider properly or entirely discard later.
How terrible it would be, he thought. To live a day without this man—without either his presence or else the promise of it. He felt very in love, a sharp swell of emotion which caught briefly in his throat.
In the soft early summer night, it was pleasant to sit outside and drink. Zhou Zishu sat on one of the stone benches, leaned his elbow on the table behind him. It hurt to sit after the way Wen Kexing had fucked him, but that was pleasant too—the soreness of his ass, his hips, his lower back. Like training very nearly too hard—kind of.
Moths fluttered around the lantern. The moon was brighter, casting strong cool light which, cut apart by the canopies of trees, fell in angular patches across the table, the benches, Zhou Zishu himself.
Wen Kexing came to him silently, settling close enough for their legs to touch.
"Be rougher next time," Zhou Zishu said. Held out the wine for Wen Kexing to take, which he did, drinking deeply.
"Rougher how?" he asked.
"You stopped too soon," Zhou Zishu told him.
"Oh—like that—I'll keep you all night next time, then. I can make you feel useless for days, if you like."
Zhou Zishu nudged his foot against Wen Kexing's ankle, not quite a kick, and Wen Kexing laughed, deep and soft.
"You do want that," he said.
Zhou Zishu shrugged. There was little point to denying it.
"And," Wen Kexing said, "do you also want to have me again? Like that, I mean."
Zhou Zishu snatched the wine back. "Who wouldn't," he said.
"Oh, plenty." Wen Kexing smiled a sharp smile. "For one reason or another."
"We can do it again," Zhou Zishu said.
"But you don't especially want to," Wen Kexing said—not surprised, only testing.
Zhou Zishu tilted his head, acknowledging the point. "It was good," he said anyway.
"Of course it was," Wen Kexing said, with every appearance of blithe confidence. "I was there."
"You really think a lot of yourself—"
"You give me enough reason to," Wen Kexing said. "In general."
Zhou Zishu sat quietly for a while, considering. One's first time was, as far as he understood it, rarely much good. The other disciples had sometimes tried things out together, laughingly called it practice, to make sure they performed well—but he had never—it had simply never been the right time. He had been too young and then he had been set apart. And so he had fumbled a little—the first time. And he had not tried to hold onto the details of it, after, beyond a sense of what one must become competent at. And after that, he had not fumbled. But there had been nothing especially revelatory in the act, compared to some others. The use of mouths had been the important thing he had learnt.
"It would have been the best thing I'd ever had," he said at last. "At one time."
Wen Kexing turned attentive, leaned closer.
"There's no exciting story," Zhou Zishu told him. "Don't get your hopes up."
"All the same," Wen Kexing said. He shifted closer, pulled Zhou Zishu to him—onto his lap—he was too absurd. But he was warm, and the smell of his skin was enticing.
"It was a risk and a nuisance," Zhou Zishu said. "Better to do other things."
He left the rest for Wen Kexing to pick apart. He felt restless, thinking too hard about it. The things he had and had not done, that had and had not lingered in his mind. He would have said that it was natural to linger more on what might have been than what had happened—except he thought about things Wen Kexing had done to him constantly. Had always thought a great deal about things he had really seen, in detail or in passing.
"Of course," Wen Kexing said.
"But it wasn't only about complications, I suppose," Zhou Zishu said. "There. Happy?"
"Very," Wen Kexing said. "But let's try once more."
They finished the wine and went to bed, and fitted their bodies together again, just to make sure. It felt good; it would always feel good. Wen Kexing knelt over Zhou Zishu, rode him. Kissed him over and over, touched his chest—and that made Zhou Zishu arch and gasp satisfyingly—and when Zhou Zishu was getting somewhat close Wen Kexing pulled him on top of him instead.
"Harder," he said—and Zhou Zishu fucked him harder—stroked his cock—until Wen Kexing, surprised after all that it had actually worked, came with Zhou Zishu still inside him—and kept Zhou Zishu close until Zhou Zishu, too, came.
Even this, Wen Kexing found, felt good.
Even something like this, Zhou Zishu thought, can't really compare to—
The confirmation came with a vestigial sort of unease, although it did not burrow down into his chest. He was warm and sated regardless.
"I promise," Wen Kexing said, stroking Zhou Zishu's hair in the calm and exhausted aftermath, "I'll wake you up roughly—alright?"