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Suowei hadn’t remembered the moment hunger became louder than pain, louder than desperation.
He hadn’t remembered much, but the moments he did lingered like acid burning his throat.
He was a quiet kid. He was not the smartest of his graduating class, but in the top ten at least. He kept to himself, focused hard on his studies. There was no time for friends or camaraderie; college and work consumed him. Even breathing felt too costly.
So when he was targeted… he didn’t see the warnings.
An unknown professor, vile and depraved, pressed a chemically doused fabric to Suowei’s mouth after he closed the study cafe that specific night. Suowei could easily recall the laboured breathing of that disgusting man as he unleashed every fantasy against his bound, battered body.
Suowei remembered the words of his mother when she was well: “Do not hate, my dear. Hate is a horrible emotion; it breeds needlessly. It will fester like an infection and consume you.” At the time, she told him not to hate because nothing could be done for her sickness anymore and she had made peace with that. She was ready to join her husband, his father.
That had been only a year ago… and he had promised he would never hate a thing in his life…
That he would not resent her… or the world…
…Until now.
His purity was stolen by this grotesque man.
He fought… and fought…
Until his body gave in, giving that man his life as well.
When he woke up, sweat and grime clung to him like cloth. Hate had not been a whisper.
Hatred became a demand; a silent, sweeping, visceral abhorrence. Just like he had clawed out of an overgrown ditch, twigs and foliage pretending to shield his modesty, something wet and coiled crawled beneath his ribs.
It gnawed at bone, pressed against flesh, and carved him hollow from the inside out.
Hunger. Hatred. No words could truly capture it.
He followed the scent of his attacker like a wild animal, blindly, instinctively.
Hours passed before the scent led him to a door, where the events that followed were too gruesome not to remember.
He was not himself.
A sick smirk twisted one side of his face as his new claws sank into that piece of shit. He trembled with reverence and excitement as he gave back every second of pain, defiled the bastard just because it pleased him in the name of revenge.
And then, strangest of all, a masterpiece emerged.
Suowei had remembered the ambivalence of nausea and giddiness.
His first sculpture had been finalized.
That man’s face shifted first, his mouth caught half-open around a frozen moan, perhaps a fearful cry. His body quickly followed, arching into a shape that one could not mistake: a climax caught in preservation.
The messiness of the transaction, the wounds, and the sanguine seeping through Suowei’s clenched fingers. It all turned into polished stone and perfect, impossible sweeps.
Because hatred felt so suffocating, he would not keep the monument.
Bloodying his own fingers was a small price; his first sculpture eventually crumbled to dust and rubble, where only Suowei will ever know the violent exertion he had applied to expunge the sludge of darkness in his chest.
_______
Suowei stood at the railings of the hanging balcony, overlooking Nikusui, his proudest creation of controlled chaos and heady desire.
The balcony connected directly to his office, where lights dimmed just enough to avoid obstruction, and sweeping curtains of deep crimson along each glass wall camouflaged the upper level almost seamlessly.
He held a long-stemmed champagne flute daintily between two fingers, absently sipping smaragdine liquid, a wicked gleam in his eyes and a constant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth: la fée verte, neat.
His patrons of the night covered the floor below like ants. They danced and ground, drank and kissed–whatever their hearts desired–but most of all, they fed him. Their energy. Their licentious abandon. Every salacious thought and action filled the room and offered itself forward.
Since his rebirth, not once had he questioned the change. His newfound powers. His insatiable hunger. Instead, he had found new ways to replace the pieces he had lost. He satiated true hunger by feeding on desire. He found intoxication only in the highest of proofs. He sourced pleasure from creation, no matter the cost.
Occasionally, a scent caught his attention, and the desire to create gnawed at his stomach; that was a different hunger. It was a hollow hunger, sated only temporarily, and held highest within that moment.
The music vibrated through the floors, pounding like a separate heartbeat. Suowei lazily let his gaze drift, unhurried and indulgent. He never needed to search; they simply revealed themselves.
Each motion. A tilt of the head. A lingering touch. The way breath caught just slightly too long between bodies. It all rose to him in varying threads, invisible and inevitable. Presenting themselves without knowing why.
Most were dull, too boring to waste his time on. Simple, pleasant, fleeting things that were only sweet enough to taste but never enough to keep.
Then…
It was the enticing scents. The ones that were sharper and daring enough to go against a room full of others at the slightest chance to brush his interest.
Suowei stilled, the glass pausing against his lip.
There.
A thread of pink curled through the air, subtle but distinct, like a fine line of sewn pearls. It was not the loudest or most desperate presence on the floor, but it was refined. Insistent. Intentional.
His gaze lowered, following the thread and cutting cleanly through the sea of bodies until it found feline-like eyes blinking up, slowly searching for him. She stood at the center bar, long black hair sweeping her shoulders in perfect waves.
His smirk deepened. How rare.
He curled his pinky around her pink thread, invisible to her, but when he gave it a playful tug, her mouth parted. She would do.
He tipped his chin slightly, acknowledging without beckoning. He turned away from her, leaving her sight without a glance back.
He slipped back into his office, his flute now empty.
He pressed the glass into Zhong’s waiting hand.
He walked past the man, only sparing him a side-long glance. “Female. Long hair. Pink heels,” he firmly said. “Bring her to the studio, pet.”
The curtains parted as he passed through, each step echoing with a calm reserve, his heel meeting tempered glass. In the quiet of the studio, the music only came through in muffled waves. The studio was set in black and vermillion, the floor and ceiling bouncing reflections off one another. In the middle of the room, suspended in the air by taut cables, rested a large platform bed; the control panel on the wall controlled the system, pulling the wires tighter and drawing the bed closer to the ceiling when Suowei needed the space.
For this girl…
He chuckled dryly.
He would use the bed for the girl.
Pink danced more vibrantly around his fingers and wrist, signaling she was close.
He turned to the entrance just as the curtains were parted and she stepped in. She stopped as the curtains settled, the door shutting behind them.
Suowei’s eyes traced her slowly, not as a man but as an artist. He took in the sheen of her skin, assessed her shape and the countless possibilities.
“Your name,” he murmured, voice low.
“YueYue,” she offered. Her voice was light, lilting with a careful smile.
“Fitting.”
He turned. His smirk returned, sharper now.
He ambled over to a hidden closet, opened the doors. “Take your clothes off, YueYue. Leave on your underwear and heels,” he murmured while sifting through the garments before finding exactly what he envisioned. In the quiet spaces of his mind, he had already begun to shape her final form. He pulled a flowing, sheer robe of blush material off the hangar and draped it over his forearm, closing the doors.
He leisurely made his way to a corner of the bed. He finally let his eyes drag slowly up YueYue’s frame, her clothes discarded in a pile at her feet. When their eyes met, he arched a brow and her breath positively hitched.
The hollow stirred, precise and demanding. “Come here,” he said softly.
Her heels clicked against his floor. He curled her pink thread around his fingers as she neared, keeping it tight like a tether. He unfurled the robe and guided her arms through the holes, adjusting the fabric over her shoulders and arranging the frilled openings to frame her breasts.
“Look at you” he murmured, his voice slipping lower as his hands brace her hips.
He lifted her and deposited her in the middle of the bed, laying her back and meticulously caring for the placement of her hair and the robe. “Such a sight.”
He straddled her shins, placing one hand on the flat of her belly as he coiled her thread tighter. With one tap, her breath caught again and her eyes slowly clouded over. His smirk spread, sharper, wider. “Good girl.”
He arched over her body, his fingers slipping under the waistband of her lacey underwear. He brought their mouths close, just stopping right at the faintest of touches, her shallow breathing meeting his composed inhales. He manipulated her body with his other hand, moving her legs just as he wanted and pressing tilts and arcs into other areas.
When he had her in the right position, he lifted his hand to his mouth, trailing his nose along her thread. “YueYue…” he whispered.
Then, three things happened at once: his fingers slid into welcoming heat, his teeth caught her thread, and their mouths smashed together.
Suowei drove YueYue to a state of madness. His fingers were inside her, his palm heavy on her mound. His mouth and tongue devoured hers, inhaling her pink thread with gusto and muffling her wanton cries with a much slicker sound.
Just as she began to quiver, he pressed his presence down into her, paralyzing her movements with insurmountable weight. Slowly, his fingers dragged out of her, moving to stroke her swollen pearl. His mouth parted from hers, her lips already setting around a frozen moan.
Suowei dragged in a slow, full breath through his nose, a soft, gravelly noise escaping his throat as his hands lifted from YueYue’s body.
The robe became a permanent fixture on her body, perfectly encompassing her eternal elegance.
He stood on his knees above her body, licking his lips and his fingers. She was perfect.
He stepped off the platform, smoothed out the wrinkles of his clothes, and brushed fingers through his hair. “Add her to the showroom tomorrow, Zhong,” he said, knowing his pet would hear him.
He stepped out of the room; Zhong stood to the side, head bent. He returned to his office, another flute of absinthe hanging from his fingers as he relaxed back casually on the black suede chaise longue. The night was far from over, but for now his desire to create had been filled.
—
Nights bled into one another, indistinguishable save for the bodies that came and went, those he chose to preserve, and the endless, gnawing rhythm of hunger that never truly quieted.
Nikusui thrived beneath his careful hand. He had curated a masterful ecosystem of desire and freedom.
Word spread in hushed tones and curious glances regarding the experience. They called it indulgent. Rare. Home. They came not knowing what they sought, or what they gave, just that something within them would leave answered.
Suowei no longer needed to linger or indulge every passing whim. Restraint became a precise selection where instinct refined into art.
The dull were ignored.
The desperate dismissed.
Only the right ones remained.
Only those who carried something deeper beneath their surface, something that pulsed against his rhythm and waited to be shaped and completed, made the cut.
He had learned every color by now. Each offered its own texture, its own promise. They came easily. Too readily.
He mapped them, becoming fluent in their code, believing nothing could ever surprise him. Yet, on rare occasions, something new and unlearned brushed his awareness.
A fleeting impression that something might exist that would not reach for him or offer itself seemed unfathomable. The thought vanished as quickly as it came, slipping cleanly through like water through open fingers.
Suowei paid it no mind.
There were variances, yet they were tamable.
There were things yet to be understood, but all things would come to him in time. That was the way.
It was noon; the club was closed until sunset.
Suowei moved slowly through his showroom, fingertips gliding over the sculptures lined inside.
He had sold many of them, destroyed some too, yet it was his favorites that remained centerfold. Only four sculptures held their place in his hollow heart.
In a wide, forgiving semi-oval, his favorites stood in the middle of the showroom.
YueYue. She was a delicate form of marble, supine on the reflective floor. Her hair blended with her robe, breasts perked, mouth swollen, right knee bent, her hands above her head. Her swollen pearl, now a polished stone, on display, pressing as a small peak under a thin layer of marble panties. Her stomach was concave, and her chest was pronounced.
The Wangs. They were brothers who sought him out at the same time. Wickedly, he had pictured them together, joined as one in the throes of passion and fever. He had started between them, pulling from them both until their eyes clouded over and their threads of emerald and cobalt ran clear. His stomach was round with their essence and life force as he manipulated them into each other's arms, pressing the eldest into the younger. The younger Wang sat on top of the elder Wang’s lap, connected permanently with their arms wound around one another like ivy on a tree.
Yanan. Chartreuse drifted from him in wild wisps. He was energetic, responsive, and passionate. His final form rested on its marble knees, fully engorged, abdominals tight, head thrown back, arms reaching out, and hands grasping mounds of air. He was so much fun that Suowei had pulled slower from Yanan just to extend their time together. And he was not afraid to admit that he fit himself against Yanan, feeling the weight and familiar stretch when the sun is up and boredom hits hard enough.
Suowei glanced at the other sculptures, those whose names he never cared to remember.
He sighed. “A new season is just around the corner,” he said, an arm draped over Wang's monument. “I will have Zhong prepare to clean out the showroom,” he murmured, turning to talk into a stone ear. “I will display you appropriately. How does that sound?” he hummed.
He patted the marble’s shoulder. “Yes… some ambient lighting will do you good.”
Suowei shook his head. “Fuck.”
—
By nightfall, Nikusui breathed again.
Light spilled low and decadent across the floor, bodies already weaving into one another as if drawn together by something deeper than music. The air thickened quickly. Layers of intoxicating heat drowned the scent of perfume and musk.
Suowei had returned to his balcony without ceremony.
He sat in a wide, black velvet, tufted wingback chair, elegant and casual, yet so unbothered. Zhong sat at his feet, the little pet needing reassurance after a simple day of rest. Suowei was not a monster…
His fingers carded through Zhong’s hair.
He knew when his energy rubbed his pet wrong, and he’d made too many mistakes ignoring the signs of an overwhelmed human. He would not lose this pet; Zhong was too filial.
Suowei had his hair slicked back, flecks of gold caught in finger waves. He wore a floor-length cardigan in a deep, rich burgundy; it had long sleeves and only two Chinese-knot buttons to close the chest. He wore nothing underneath except a pair of black, fitted, high-waisted trousers that coincidentally v’ed just under his navel.
In his other hand, with a careless indifference, he held another flute of absinthe.
Below him, the room unfolded exactly as it should, and hours passed. Predictable. Dull.
Hungry…
His nails raked Zhong’s scalp, yet he remained quiet. It pulled a small, genuine smile forward before dropping away. He let his gaze drift past the reaching threads, slow and unhurried, tracing the familiar patterns of blooming offers. Suowei clicked his tongue.
Eager…
Repetitive…
Monotonous…
He set the flute against the arm of the chair and traced the rim with his finger. His expression remained untouched as he sifted through the air without thought.
Just as he closed his eyes, resigning to feed on the atmosphere again, something tilted.
He didn’t open his eyes; it wasn’t necessary. The doors to Nikusui had been opened, and something entered. Not loudly. Not abruptly.
Wholly.
It did not announce itself. It did not reach. It did not offer.
It simply… existed.
Suowei slowly opened his eyes, first looking at Zhong. He gently swept a finger under Zhong’s chin and tapped it once. “Up.” Zhong stood, blinking away the cloudiness in his eyes. He eventually gave Suowei a simple, formal nod, pinning his hands behind himself. Alert.
Suowei flicked his gaze sideways, dismissing Zhong to his original post.
His gaze lowered again, not out of urgency, but curiosity sharpened to a fine point.
Oh?
Amid the shifting mass of bodies, a group of new faces join the rhythm, making their way to the center bar. Except one.
Suowei’s brow twitched imperceptibly in interest. Something just entered his domain that did not follow predictability. Something darker coiled tight against itself, standing out as an anomaly.
Dioxazine. Deep. Violent. Repressed to the point of suffocation.
It did not stretch toward him like the others. It did not tremble under the weight of the room. It remained close to its host, wound in upon itself like a serpent, gleaming faintly under the low lights.
Suowei’s eyes narrowed, just slightly. How… unusual.
The man stood among his friends, reactive without looking shut off and moving when someone brushed too near. To everyone else, he blended well enough to avoid notice. Nothing about him demanded attention.
Yet…
His gaze wondered. His eyes searched, not aimlessly but slowly and deliberately, as if awareness pressed just out of reach. His head turned twice, nearly lifting but never high enough.
That man was searching Suowei out, unknowing of who he was and what that meant.
His lips tugged to one side. How… peculiar.
Suowei nodded once, exhaling a soft, short noise through his nose. That man… while his threads caught Suowei’s interest, the man fell short. Suowei was unimpressed. He stood and neared the railings, lazily propping an elbow on the bar. He lifted a single finger, drew a circle around the man’s form, and then promptly crossed through it.
He would be a waste of time. A toy. A misalignment.
Nothing more.
If the threads did not reach, the attention shifts.
Next to the man, tendrils of warmth continued to offer themselves forward. Rich persimmon had flickered boldly through the crowd, curling upward with playful insistence multiple times while Suowei observed the dioxazine man. The tone and confidence of this man’s threads spoke of promises that bordered response. Energy. Heat. Satiation.
He dropped his finger, casually resting his chin against the back of his hand. He watched the Persimmon boy now. He was tall, dressed nicely. He had a loud personality. Laughter came easily to him, posture open, completely unaware of the way he had already been chosen.
His eyes caught the bright thread, tracked its movement as it curled its way around and sought him out. He lifted his head, unfurled his pinky, and caught the thread. As he gave it a soft tug, cutting the man's conversation, he turned, and their eyes finally locked.
Dioxazine’s attention got caught in the process. His head lifted perfectly.
Suowei pointedly tugged at the persimmon thread, tilting his chin slightly.
For the first time, Suowei moved first and stepped away from the balcony. He would personally receive his Persimmon boy.
He disappeared behind glass walls and curtains, the thread tugging at his pinky almost anxiously. When he reappeared at the top of the black marble stairs, the shift below was immediate. Subtle, but undeniable.
Threads reached quicker. Eyes turned. Space parted where he walked, bodies bending unconsciously to accommodate his presence, drawn and quieted in equal measure.
His gaze did not falter, locked on his Persimmon boy. Not once did he look at the man with the coiled thread… Not yet.
By the time he reached the center bar, the chosen man had already taken a step forward, distancing himself slightly from his group of friends. His thread vibrated excitedly with each step Suowei neared.
Suowei came to stop, eyes flicking down momentarily to watch the man’s thread dance through his fingers, offering himself forward even more. He lifted his hand, then his eyes. Their eyes met, and Suowei tipped his chin toward his hand. The man stepped forward, sliding his palm into Suowei’s, his breath hitching just slightly at the contact.
“Welcome to Nikusui,” Suowei murmured, acknowledging the new faces briefly. “Enjoy your night.”
His gaze then shifted, just passingly over the Dioxazine man. The glance was sharp. Measured. Final. Yet, Suowei caught the knotting of the man’s jaw and the dilation of his pupils.
The one who did not reach or offer… The one who had not been chosen…
The man was not unaffected. But there was no curiosity left to interest Suowei, only dismissal.
Suowei wrapped his lithe fingers around the hand in his palm. “Come,” he murmured, moving without a backwards glance.
The club became background noise, and the door closed behind them.
Just like the bright energy of the man’s thread, he did not hesitate. He had already undone a button on his shirt and stepped closer to Suowei without being told to do so. Laughter still clung to the corner of his eyes, passing echoes of playfulness in warm pulses.
Persimmon curled brightly around them both, unwinding in loose, eager spirals that reached and swept without restraint.
Suowei lifted a hand and pressed two fingers against the man’s chest. “Eager,” he murmured, sounding almost chastising. “Pause. Your name.” He circled the man, his gaze dragging over the built frame with quiet consideration. He looked strong. Shoulders relaxed. Posture unguarded but not sloppy. Eyes bright with something enticingly dangerous and anticipatory.
Suowei’s sharp eyes met his. “Your name,” he repeated, smirking at his Persimmon boy.
The man’s mouth parted, catching partially on a breath. “Chengyu,” he exhaled. “Guo Chengyu.”
Suowei hummed, his smirk sharpening. His head tilted slightly and he took one step just out of reach. “Undress.”
Chengyu’s fingers fumbled with eagerness. Fabric fell away piece by piece, carelessly, hastily, and discarded without thought or shame. His movements lacked the reverence others sometimes held, reminding Suowei of those desperate things he paid no mind to.
Chengyu, however, had appeal. Like an overgrown puppy, too excited with its tail wagging wildly just because it’s receiving attention.
There was no fear here, only want.
Chengyu stood bare, his body thrumming with the urge to reach out; even his threads whipped around, unsure if they had to obey as well. Suowei stepped forward, closing the distance with unhurried grace. His fingers lifted, not touching Chengyu but teasing the air around him. His heat hovered just above Chengyu’s skin, where he tracked a path from under his chin, down his neck, and mapping pronounced muscles.
“Mmm,” Suowei hummed softly. “Obedient,” he murmured offhandedly. “Good, pup.”
Chengyu’s pupils had blown the moment the endearment slipped Suowei’s lips. Then, when Suowei’s hand made contact with his skin, settling around Chengyu’s throat, he inhaled sharply.
Persimmon surged forward, responsive and hungry in its own way. It swirled down Suowei’s hand, inviting his fingers to curl around Chengyu’s throat. Vibrant ribbons climbed up Suowei’s arm, offering itself without question.
Chengyu leaned into the touch, shuffling an awkward step forward and reaching out, asking with his eyes for permission. A sharp, almost rude, sound passed Suowei’s lips, sounding faintly amused. He curled his fingers a little tighter, guiding him to turn and walk backwards until the soft edge of the bed hit the back of his knees.
Suowei brought Chengyu’s face close, stopping just short of pressing their lips together. “Your energy is excessive,” he murmured, their lips brushing. “Make good use of it while I give you the opportunity.”
He slowly blew a simple stream of silver breath between Chengyu’s lips and tapped his pulse just under his ear with his pinky. Persimmon flooded the space, not as a thread but as wild smoke. Chengyu’s eyes cleared partially, and his energy flared like a wellspring of heated vitality.
Suowei smirked wildly. He stepped back and pushed off his clothing, keeping his eyes locked with Chengyu’s. It was a reminder. Suowei had unlocked something primal inside of Chengyu, gave it permission, but he still commanded it. He was still the predator of this game; the thin silk line of Chengyu’s thread wrapped around his pinky was all he needed.
He circled Chengyu and climbed backwards up the platform, keeping his gaze hooked. He settled in the middle of the bed, spread his own legs, and relaxed back on his elbows. “Come,” Suowei demanded, a brow flicking up tauntingly.
Chengyu laughed as he joined him, slotting himself just as instructed. His arms wound around Suowei, pressing skin against skin. He held Suowei to himself tightly, nuzzling his face into Suowei’s neck as his hips rutted recklessly.
Suowei’s fingers threaded into Chengyu’s hair, feeling a weird sense of laughter bubbling forward as well. His persimmon boy really was a grown dog with fucking puppy energy. Instead of giving the man a laugh or even a scoff, Suowei did what he always did best. He directed.
He coiled the strands of Chengyu’s hair into a semi-tight hold. His nails started to sharpen into claws, lightly scratching against the roots.
Suowei had a different ending visage for Chengyu’s final moment, but art is wild. Art has a breath of its own. He’ll find some other energetic sap to drain against a wall. Chengyu, though? Suowei will forever memorialize that puppy energy of his.
With his hand coiled in Chengyu’s hair, he pulled the man away. Distance was forced, only marginally, with a sharp hiss escaping Chengyu’s lips. “Patience,” Suowei growled. He turned over in the small space between their bodies, Chengyu’s hair still caught in his fist.
Suowei guided him back inside with his other hand, aligning their limbs seamlessly. He shaped Chengyu’s posture, tilted his hips, and arched his own back to match the bowing of Chengyu. He turned his head and brought Chengyu’s head forward as well. Their mouths sat only a breath away. Suowei inhaled sharply through his teeth, drawing in the persimmon smoke and clutching the thread tightly within his hand.
“Go.”
Chengyu’s eyes glazed over fully. His hips drove into Suowei without abandon. He didn’t even drive out; it was just a constant churn of in, in, in. Just like a knotted dog.
Chengyu’s persimmon thread surged quicker, following from Chengyu’s mouth to Suowei’s. Bright. Sweet. Endless. Suowei continued to inhale deeply, letting it fill him, settle into him.
This…
This is what creation should be. Not resistance. Not anomaly.
His ankles hooked over Chengyu’s and slid out, further impaling Chengyu deeper and locking him into the position, as if he could even pull away now. His fingers tightened in Chengyu’s hair, pulling a sharp moan from his parted lips and feeding off the noise.
“Chengyu,” Suowei murmured, voice low and slightly gravelly. He pressed their mouths together. Chengyu’s reactions came quicker. His breath broke faster, directly into Suowei’s mouth, muscles tightening, body pressing down into Suowei and pulsating in response.
Suowei felt the moment the thread trembled just at the edge of breaking. Chengyu’s climax rose quickly, helpless to do anything else, brought to the brink and then—
Everything aligned just as it should.
Suowei smiled into Chengyu’s frozen mouth, exhaling softly as he inched back to watch the transformation slowly take form.
Marbled grey took over, seeping like liquid into fabric. The bright persimmon was no longer Chengyu’s; it resided in Suowei’s stomach. Its absence turned the area around Chengyu consumingly monochrome. Chengyu’s body followed, paralyzed enough for Suowei to disconnect and turn around.
His fingers manipulated Chengyu’s “hair,” smoothing the marble out from where it froze in a chaotic clump. He eyed the swath of drool from Chengyu’s mouth to his chin, tutting to himself. “Messy,” he murmured. He thought of blending the streak in to have a perfect surface, but that would mean taking away character.
Suowei simply leaned in, cupping the sculpture’s jaw and thumbing under his mouth. “You could have been just like Zhong,” he mused. “Instead, you’ll be my favorite piece.”
Suowei stepped off the bed effortlessly. “Zhong,” Suowei called out without raising his voice. Zhong stepped in, his head bowed. Suowei walked over to the hidden closet. “Buy a collar. Put him in my office near the balcony,” he said as he slipped on a long, elegant robe. Suowei turned with a wicked smirk. “We have a guard dog now.”
“Yes, Master.”
Suowei tipped his chin. He slid his shoes back on, secured the belt of his robe, and left the studio. He returned to the balcony, another glass already waiting on a side table near his chair. He stepped past the chair and approached the railings where Chengyu’s friend strangely remained.
His eyes continued to search around but never lifted. They’d never find him without approval.
Everyone else followed the pulse of inhibition. Bodies pressed together without knowing who was who. Glasses clinked in careless celebration.
Yet… he remained a fracture.
Suowei snapped his fingers, demanding the attention of his bartender and halting his movements with the distant call. Xian, a tall man with mischievous, fox-like eyes and a calling for mixing spirits, looked up. His eyebrows lifted. He sat the frosted cocktail shaker down and gave Suowei his full attention.
Suowei lifted his hand and bit into his thumb. He turned his thumb and caught the drops of blood in his other palm. He slowly dragged his eyes from his blood to Chengyu’s friend, Dioxazine. He slowly caught Xian’s eyes, narrowed his own, and then mouthed, “More.”
Xian caught on immediately. He served the drink he was working on, threw the shaker into the sink, and grabbed a glass.
Each bottle. Each pour contained a quiet addition, perfectly measured and unseen.
Suowei’s blood did not alter the taste, and it did not dull the senses.
It took away details. Senses were never dulled, but moments were blurred enough to make faces and names impressions rather than memory. By the time they left, they only carried what he allowed. Pleasure. Freedom. Certainty.
Call it whatever you want, but it was cleaner that way. It was safer for them, his people, his domain, and himself. So if someone needed more convincing, Suowei would not hesitate to ensure everyone else's safety.
Suowei kept a watchful eye on Xian’s hands, catching the quick dosing added to the bottom of the glass before he topped it off with a top-shelf bourbon. Xian grabbed an orange peel from the undercounter prep fridge, twisted it over the liquor before swiping it along the mouth of the glass, and finally dropped it in. He sat a black square on the bar first, setting the drink on the napkin next.
The dioxazine man turned, his mouth moving on words or a question Suowei was too far to catch. Xian’s brows lifted momentarily, hesitating. Suowei snapped again, softer and slower, not to grab Xian’s attention but to reinforce. Xian blinked, a polite smile gracing his features before his lips moved. “The owner, sir,” Suowei saw him say as he slid the drink closer.
The man nodded, his lips moving again as he took the drink and promptly downed it.
Xian’s gaze finally shifted up. “Out,” Suowei mouthed, turning away without needing to ensure his demand was carried through. Xian would probably get Zhuo to escort the man out; he didn’t care as long as it got done.
Suowei returned to his chair, crossing his legs and bringing the flute of absinthe to his mouth. He downed the burning spirit, excusing the unsettling feeling in his chest for the liquor.
Because tonight…
That resistance…
It meant nothing. It was irrelevant.
The night would carry on. Threads would supply themselves abundantly, and Suowei would forget that contradicting man.
And yet…
Three weeks have passed, not that Suowei marked them.
Time bent easily within Nikusui as it always did. Creations came and went, yet none held his interest enough to keep.
Nothing disrupted the rhythm or warranted remembrance.
Except…
A gap. A fracture of unsettled space. Lingering just beneath awareness where it could not be reached, a sense of something misplaced and unfinished sat. It should have faded. It did not.
As days stretched, the feeling deepened, curating a need without form. It shaped into something lower and sharper, pulling without direction and coiling without reason. Sleep offered no escape. Feeding felt like a tasteless distraction.
It grew, quietly. Giving way until it bore teeth and demanded to not be forgotten.
The night those teeth chose to snap, Nikusui pulsed at full capacity.
Suowei should have been content. The desire was overflowing, energy teeming. He felt full yet… not. He was irritated.
He had dismissed Zhong to his formal post long ago. Zhong’s energy felt needy, and for some reason even that was rubbing him wrong.
Suowei sat in his chair, legs spread and shoulders against the tufted wingback. He had a hand up, his fingers filing through the threads without urgency, hoping to find something worth his time.
Nothing new. Nothing worthy.
It was late; only hours remained before the club’s thrumming would dull out. He decided he wouldn’t create; he’d return to his chambers and let the remaining energy lull him into another restless sleep.
Just as his hand slowly dropped, the sliding door behind him opened and curtains shuffled.
“What?” Suowei murmured tightly.
Zhou stepped around, his shoulders squared and his posture rigid.
“Someone is requesting a moment with ‘the owner.’ His words, sir.”
Suowei lifted his gaze, narrowing his eyes. Slowly, like a predator reeling in about to attack, righting his posture, closing his legs, and flicking a brow up. “So?” he asked, uncaring.
“He’s adamant. If you won’t speak to him, may I bring him in under the guise that you will? I can prepare him a drink and send him off,” Zhuo offers.
Suowei clicked his tongue. “Show me,” he demanded, casually folding out a hand.
Zhuo quickly pulled out a device from the inner pocket of his jacket. He placed the device in Suowei’s palm and stepped back with his hands behind him.
Suowei tapped the monitor’s screen, watching the display come to life. There at the entrance lobby, under slightly brighter lighting than all of the other lights in the club, stood a man too familiar to dismiss.
Suowei’s gaze lifted from the device to Zhuo. “Let him in.” Suowei smirked darkly. “As a reveller.” He casually tossed the device back and waved Zhuo away. “Tell Xian to not serve him.”
Zhuo made a sound, thought better of it, nodded, and turned away.
“Let’s see what you’ll do,” Suowei murmured to himself. Suddenly, all the threads around him were nonexistent. The irritation turned sharper and reformed itself into a sadistic form of fascination.
Suowei watched the man enter. The dioxazine threads were no longer contained. They moved violently, not outward and not reaching, but around the man like striking vipers. It was restless. The color had deepened and thickened, its once-sleek restraint was now edged with something far more volatile and suffocatingly intense.
It did not brush the room or acknowledge the others. It consumed the man and the space around him.
The man, however, stood in the middle, unfairly composed aside from the tinier, almost imperceptible nuances. His shoulders were tight, breath measured too carefully to be natural. His movements looked restrained, but not calm, as if each shift held a tension that had nowhere to go. Like something beneath his skin had claws and was pulling just under the surface.
Juxtaposed to his threads, his eyes searched with a restrained calmness.
Suowei watched, his expression unchanged, yet he found himself leaning closer. His elbows dug into the soft area before his crossed knees, one hand lazily tracing the seam along his calf while the other rested under his chin.
Those dioxazine threads still did not reach, even now. It did not offer itself, not as the others did. It remained bound to the man, circling and tightening, as though guarding something unseen.
As if…
…something not meant to be touched.
Suowei scoffed at the thought. Rather than a warning, it felt like a challenge.
The man shifted again. He stepped to the center bar, and requested a drink. Xian set a sealed bottle, of water with a resigned shake of his head, turning to the other patrons without another glance or word. The man eyed the bottle and Suowei watched as his pulse jolted along his neck. His breath hitched once, subtle but visible, fingers flexing at his sides as though resisting the urge to do something, yet clearly not knowing what.
The contradiction remained, but it looked strained. That moment. That alignment of strained vulnerability, Suowei saw it as it was.
That Dioxazine man had teeth, too. Not just his threads. Something about that man was just as volatile as his threads were.
Suowei’s gaze sharpened at that.
He decided then that he would release it. He’d align that man with his threads before consuming him to the last drop. And who was Suowei if he didn’t correct the pulse he saw beating so irregularly?
“Zhong.”
His pet appeared at his side without delay, head bowed.
Suowei did not look at him as he took a languid sip of burning alcohol. “Have Zhuo bring the man he let in to the studio,” he said, his voice even. “Lift the platform. It won’t be needed.”
Zhong lifted his head. “Yes, Master.” He left, the curtains shuffling behind him.
—
The studio waited in its usual stillness. Dark, lacquered surfaces reflected low rays of dimmed crimson light. The room looked bare at first, but upon observing further you’d see the platform pulled to its highest position, nearly flush with the reflective ceiling. Curtains of black and maroon swept the floor along the stretch of one wall, concealing other doors.
In the center, Suowei stood behind a mid-back, armless chair made of African Blackwood. A black diaphanous fabric with a crimson sheen veiled the chair. He wore an asymmetrical, deep-V button-down, with one panel neatly tucked into the waistband of dark pinstripe trousers. He had one hand in the pocket of his tucked side while the other hand rested on the back of the chair.
Suowei felt the shift in the air before the outlying curtains parted and the door opened. He watched as the dioxazine man stepped in and the door shut behind him.
The man stepped in closer, his footsteps slow. Not hesitant, but contained. As he neared, Suowei’s eyes flickered to his threads. They had not softened, but they moved differently. They appeared less violent, nearly as restrained as the man they were connected to. As if waiting…
Suowei lifted the hand that rested on the chair. “That’s close enough,” he said firmly. “You wanted a moment.”
“I–”
Suowei clicked his tongue. “Your name first.”
The man blinked, looking almost taken aback, as if he’d never been talked to as such. Dioxazine coiled sharply in response, looking close to lashing. That’s… interesting.
The man licked his lips and clenched his fingers. “My name is Chi Cheng.”
Suowei moved then. He stepped around the chair and to the side. “What do you want, Chi Cheng?”
Chi Cheng’s eyes flickered, scouring the room–its emptiness–before landing back on the chair and Suowei. “I don’t know,” he said, his threads whipping low at the ground in agitation. “Something has been calling me here. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t think.” He swallowed. His fingers curled into fists at his sides. “I can’t breathe without this irrational urge to tear something apart, and I am very composed. My emotions don’t slide like this.”
“How is this my concern?” Suowei asked flatly.
Chi Cheng scoffed. He stepped forward, just half a step. “It’s your face I keep seeing. It’s your club’s name I keep hearing,” he said, his tone shaking. “I’ve been here before, and while I don’t remember a damn thing, I sure as hell feel plenty.”
Suowei inhaled slowly. “And you thought it wise to confront me?”
“Yes,” Chi Cheng responded without hesitation. “I have never backed away; I don’t plan on starting now.”
Suowei felt the urge to smile, almost pleased with that answer. “You want answers, right?” He flicked an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
Suowei removed his hand from his pocket and slowly approached Chi Cheng. He only stepped nearer, just at the edge where his threads created a perimeter of controlled chaos. “Be honest with yourself first,” he murmured, his eyes raking languidly from the threads, to shoes, and up until their eyes locked.
“Composed, Chi Cheng?” Suowei scoffed. “You look frayed. As if I were to take a step closer, you’d put your hands on me,” he murmured, his voice lower. “Do you even notice?”
“Notice what?” Chi Cheng asked sharply, voice low.
“You’re shaking.”
Chi Cheng did not respond; however, his breath shifted.
“Something in you tells you to resist,” Suowei softly said, now moving, circling Chi Cheng predatorily. His gaze swept over Chi Cheng with clinical precision. “Yet something else brought you here.” He paused behind Chi Cheng. “They are both you.”
He circled back around. “If I gave you permission, would you take it, Chi Cheng?”
The threads lifted. They vibrated in excited interest, their answer apparent. Chi Cheng, on the other hand, swallowed thickly.
“You still hesitate,” Suowei murmured. His hand lifted, brushing into the perimeter. Dioxazine threads curl forward, stopping just short of contact. Suowei closed his eyes and calmly exhaled. “Leave.”
“What?” Chi Cheng gasped, sounding short of breath.
Suowei’s eyes opened. “You won’t find answers here simply because you can’t,” he said. He turned and slowly stepped away. “You’ll always find answers just one step out of your grasp, and you’ll never take the necessary step forward. So leave.”
“I–” Suowei heard Chi Cheng inhale, yet he did not turn back. Then…
A tendril of dioxazine reached forward, just in the line of Suowei’s periphery. Before Suowei gave it a second glance, heat spread up his arm quickly.
For the first time it was Suowei’s breath that caught. His gaze flicked down, and there it was… dioxazine wrapped around his wrist.
Suowei turned around, finding himself much closer to Chi Cheng’s chest than he expected. When did he get that close?
“I’m not leaving,” Chi Cheng said, speaking low and steady.
“I see that,” Suowei bit back. “Do you think this is your answer?”
“I don’t want it,” Chi Cheng whispered. “Not anymore.”
“What do you want?” Suowei narrowed his eyes.
Chi Cheng swallowed. “Permission.”
“To touch?” Suowei chuckled darkly. “You had it.”
Chi Cheng shook his head. “More.”
“More?”
Chi Cheng leaned in then, wrapping an arm around Suowei’s waist. “More…” he repeated, low and huskily.
“Chi—”
And then, Suowei’s voice was cut. Chi Cheng curled a hand along Suowei’s nape and dragged him in hard, smashing their mouths together. It was a violent act, more out of impulse than reaction, and the response was immediate.
His threads surged forward, coiling thick and fast along Suowei’s skin, spreading wide ribbons of dioxazine higher and higher. It wrapped around Suowei’s forearm, over his shoulder, and then curled around his throat in a tight, wide band. Underneath, it spread an unyielding heat that reached and pulled, going through muscle and marrow, and igniting something far deeper than hunger. Something that did not belong to either of them.
Suowei froze.
Internally, it felt like a stretch of minutes, hours perhaps. Something snagged too hard, catching his system off guard and throwing him off axis. It wasn’t choking or harming, but it held him with such a firm possession that it buffered his entire being.
Chi Cheng’s threads burned a testament into Suowei’s being with a language both unspoken and unknown: I know you. You are not untouched.
On the outside, it was a different story. It was like a lightning synapse. He took less than half a second to inhale sharply before his hands came up and clutched. He didn’t care where he held onto Chi Cheng or how hard; he only knew that he was matching Chi Cheng’s vitality.
Chi Cheng moved first, and before Suowei knew it, his back hit into the tinted glass. Dioxazine flared, galvanizing in waves of heat that felt right for all the wrong reasons. Desire had always unraveled and begged to be taken, but Chi Cheng’s threads did not beg. Chi Cheng did not beg.
Suowei felt out of character, like he was slipping out of his body. His hands moved from Chi Cheng’s face to his nape. His thumbs found pulse on either side and pressed in… and his breath caught. The thread beat in rhythm with Chi Cheng’s pulse.
Suowei had made a severe error, and it was too late to stop.
The thread tightens more around Suowei’s throat, tilting his head back and pulling him in nearer. His mouth opens around a silent sound, giving Chi Cheng access to slip his tongue further down his throat.
Chi Cheng hums into his mouth, the hand wrapped around his waist moving now to work on the buttons of Suowei’s shirt. Slowly, he unpeeled the fabric from Suowei’s body before quivering fingers traced pronounced muscles and caught on a perked bud.
Suowei groaned into Chi Cheng’s mouth, pushing his chest into Chi Cheng’s hands. His body had never reacted like this. His mind had never… fuck… Nothing had ever touched him like this. It was always him leaving others breathless.
Fingers left his nipple with a lingering pinch, moving to his pants instead.
Suowei groaned louder when Chi Cheng grabbed his hip hard. One of Suowei’s hands slipped to the space between Chi Cheng’s shoulder and neck, while the other dragged up into his hair.
Chi Cheng sucked on Suowei’s tongue and then parted their mouths with a lingering suck to his bottom lip. He trailed open kisses down his chin and directly over to Suowei’s own pulse, where he licked against the skin just over the wide band of his thread.
Suowei shivered then. His head fell back, hitting glass with a resounding thud, his eyes slipping shut and his fingers digging into Chi Cheng. A tendril of dioxazine slowly slid up, tracing along his jaw and his swollen, glistening lips before quietly offering itself in tiny dosages. It met his tongue, and Suowei inhaled with a restrained whimper.
Chi Cheng removed Suowei’s pants. His hands blindly felt around and found nothing underneath. His mouth moved from Suowei’s pulse to the hollow of his throat. He nuzzled the tip of his nose into Suowei’s Adam’s apple and then nipped it, receiving a sharp gasp in return.
Then his warmth was gone.
Chi Cheng held Suowei’s shoulders against the glass wall, an arm’s distance away as he raked his eyes slowly up and down his body.
“Fuck… you are…” Chi Cheng couldn’t finish the sentence. He was breathless. His eyes were glazed over, not cloudy like Suowei was used to.
Suowei knew he was no better, and that was fucking with his head. It wasn’t right. He needed control back, so for now, he’ll accept the breathlessness… He’ll accept the sensation… But he’ll take. He’ll drain this fucker for all he can offer and never look back.
Suowei blinked a few times, slow and controlled, bringing back composure and mastery.
He ignored the tremor in his fingers as he lifted his hands and wrapped dioxazine around each finger. “Strip, Chi Cheng,” he demanded, leveling a heated glare at the man.
And Chi Cheng listened. He maintained eye contact as he pulled off each garment and dropped them unceremoniously to the floor. Bare, he looked taller, more built, statuesque even. If it weren’t for Chi Cheng’s natural habit to resist… Suowei might have taken other opportunities into consideration… However…
Chi Cheng’s energy was too damning to not eat whole.
Chi Cheng’s chest heaved, restraint bubbling under his skin as he stood before Suowei. Suowei tipped his chin, and that was all it took; Chi Cheng swept in again, his hands finding their place on Suowei like they belonged.
Dioxazine coiled tighter and tighter, swirling and burning where they touched, leaving shadows of mottled skin lingering in their wake.
Chi Cheng’s mouth found Suowei’s, his tongue mapping behind teeth and soft palate. His fingers dug into Suowei’s thigh, fingertips bound to leave bruises if he were human. He hiked Suowei's thigh up onto his hip, slotting himself against Suowei and grinding forward. Dirty groans fed into each other's mouths, sharing breaths and sending Suowei to his toes.
Suowei tilted his hips, hiking his other thigh and catching it in a tight grasp just under Chi Cheng’s ribs. His core tightened and his fingers clamped around Chi Cheng’s hair, pulling hard as his tongue delved into his mouth in return.
He willed his claws to surface and sunk them into Chi Cheng’s scalp, drawing out a sharp hiss, which made his threads thrash before submitting slightly. With that slight submission, Suowei forced their lips apart momentarily and spoke into Chi Cheng’s mouth huskily, “Take what you want. After, you are mine.”
Suowei smashed their mouths together again. It wasn’t as volatile as their first, or as instinctive as the second. The third was a reminder from Suowei to Chi Cheng. I allow this. Not you.
The first drive into Suowei sent his back up the glass wall with an obscene screech. Sweat that Suowei had never seen or felt since his rebirth sheened like a second skin. Heat swelled and rolled, responding to Chi Cheng’s threads as it coiled around him tighter and tighter, and slowly slid down his throat. His knees caught, tight, under Chi Cheng’s armpits. His thighs flexed as Chi Cheng steadily drove into him. Tongues lashed just as dioxazine thrashed. Teeth bit and mouths sucked, moans and groans swallowed before they escaped.
Suowei’s grip on Chi Cheng’s hair pulled tighter, freeing a few strands from the roots. Chi Cheng’s fingertips dug into Suowei’s ass, spreading him and spearing him at the same time.
Suowei felt a sharp coiling in the lower part of his stomach. He wrapped his fingers around Chi Cheng’s hair and ripped their mouths apart to look down where their bodies were connected. His body was bent awkwardly, his abdomen completely concave, and muscles flexed to the point of looking cramped. And surprisingly, a pool of essence grew on his stomach.
He was throbbing. He was going to come and… it was… infuriating.
“Chair, now,” he demanded, his voice wrecked more than he’d admit.
Chi Cheng immediately moved. One hand slid up Suowei’s spine until fingers curled over his shoulder, while the other securely rested Suowei’s ass along his forearm, then he moved. When Chi Cheng sat down in the veiled chair, he did not set Suowei down; he kept him up. He pressed him tighter to his chest and drove into Suowei quicker, pistoning in and out without abandon.
It wasn’t a wild rhythm, or crazed. It was a deliberate pulse set for ruin.
Suowei’s claws sunk into Chi Cheng further; a cry he had never heard escaped his throat, and then they both plunged over the edge. It was a strange feeling, being filled by such heat. It was like liquid fire shot through Suowei and doused every inch possible.
Chi Cheng’s arms slid around Suowei, soothingly curling his body as he sat him down fully.
This was not supposed to happen.
Suowei felt his stomach quivering and muscles responding to Chi Cheng’s soft touch. He felt the soft press of lips along his neck and ear, down his shoulder and back up.
He also felt the threads of dioxazine tug. They tugged at his fingers, his skin, and his throat. It felt mocking.
Chi Cheng’s hands were restless, but they were so soft. His touch was so light against his skin, almost apologetic for being so rough just seconds ago. His lips were even more. Each press felt barely there until they rested above his pulse. The moment Chi Cheng’s lips touched Suowei’s pulse again, his breath hitched.
Hunger rose anew, just differently.
Chi Cheng held Suowei carefully. His arms were warm shields, embracing and protecting.
Suowei lifted his hands, again ignoring the tremor in his fingers, watching how the dioxazine vibrated along his skin. He cupped Chi Cheng’s face and swiped his thumbs over his cheeks. He shook. Every part of him shook, and there was no hiding it, but that would die here as a secret only the two of them shared.
He held Chi Cheng’s face and locked their eyes. “Chi Cheng…” he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically wavering. “You’re done.”
He lifted slowly. He fell even slower.
He rolled his hips in a way that would have made Chi Cheng’s eyes roll back if they were not locked with Suowei’s. Ensnared.
Suowei kept the pace brutally slow. Languid.
He dragged a thumb under Chi Cheng’s mouth, prying his lips further apart, and leaned in. He inhaled sharply, catching the main thread of dioxazine around his tongue. The moment the pull began, it came easily… much easier than expected. Almost as if the threads finally gave in completely.
He didn’t waste the moment. He inhaled sharply, pulling and pulling at Chi Cheng’s threads until his glazed eyes went glassy, then cloudy. He pulled away cautiously, eyes flicking from Chi Cheng’s eyes to the dulling dioxazine. He was finally pliant.
“If you weren’t such a risk, I’d keep you…” Suowei murmured, swallowing thickly. “But you’ve pissed me off. Be happy I’ll even consider keeping your sculpture.” He brushed his fingers through Chi Cheng’s hair. “You won’t get a second climax. You’ll go just like this. Reverent.”
Suowei lifted just enough to slip Chi Cheng free. He parted Chi Cheng’s legs wide and lifted his engorged, messy member to his stomach. He moved Chi Cheng’s arms, made his hands grab the legs of the chair. He then stood behind Chi Cheng, tipped his head back, and stood over him.
He curled one hand along the front of his neck while the other ventured down his sternum. He then realigned their mouths, where he pressed one more kiss before he pulled the remaining threads from Chi Cheng.
Marble spread slowly, sealing the position.
The last flicker of dioxazine seemingly went on filling and filling, to the point of overwhelming. It felt like it was endless; even when the color faded, the thread continued. Instead, it went pitch black, and it would not stop.
Chi Cheng’s body was already solid, frozen beyond time. Yet the threads continued.
His hands were frozen to Chi Cheng’s body. His breath hitched, catching entirely too wrong in his chest, feeling familiarly close to panic.
The threads pulled from inside of Suowei, sharp and wrong. They brought Suowei closer to Chi Cheng, sealing his mouth over Chi Cheng’s, surging not within him, but through them. Black smoke rose around them in all directions, inside and outside of their beings, and Suowei felt fear for the first time rise again.
Fear was an emotion he swore to never experience since that piece of shit was disposed of.
Fear was something he swore would never set foot in Nikusui.
Slowly, he focused on regaining control. It strained at first, his breathing shallowed, and his pulse flickered, but the smoke dwindled with each measured inhale. He contained the tar-like air inside his gullet and felt it fracture him from the inside out.
As he finally stepped away from Chi Cheng, draping another veil atop the sculpture, his fingers shook even more violently. They shook as he willed the fabric to stick to Chi Cheng’s body, exhaling small breaths of silver to turn the fabric into marble.
He stood back, pressing his shaking hands into themselves as he stared at his creation. A hauntingly intimate tempest of linen, frozen in time, where the secrets of their coalition lie within every fold and are kept by the loom.
He swallowed thickly and swiped his hands down his thighs roughly, hissing faintly at the soreness that shouldn’t be there.
With each step he took away from Chi Cheng’s sculpture, his shoulders squared, his spine straightened, and his jaw clenched. He slipped on a robe with a calm composure and roughly fingered his hair into place.
He stepped out of the room without looking back. He paused as the door clicked behind him. “Leave it,” he spoke firmly. "No one is allowed in.”
“Yes, Master,” Zhong’s voice echoed behind Suowei, who didn’t stay.
And instead of returning to his office or the balcony, he snagged a bottle of Absinthe Noir, and turned directly to his private chambers. He wouldn’t be able to sleep, but he’d drink and let the breath of his home lull him into a state of catatonic numbness.
_____
Months. No, seasons passed, and Suowei was different.
The tremors did not stop. They internalized.
A hollow had opened beneath his ribs. The hunger he was so familiarized with no longer satiated. Creating felt wrong.
He felt unsteady… scraped out… Raw.
In the short moments of exhaustion, he’ll dream of hands that are both soft and rough. A constellation of moles so handsome that it was unfair. And dioxazine that he could not reproduce, not that he tried.
Something carved out an absence inside of Suowei that made air feel… insufficient. As if he were both overfull and emptied.
The contradiction was violent and disorienting. Suowei was not accustomed with this twisting of something inside of him, not waiting, not receiving… but reaching. And he did not reach.
Yet…
With each day… Each week… Each month…
Reaching became stronger. It pulled at him until his steps inevitably led him to his locked studio. For many hours, he stood at that locked door with his fists clenched and his jaw tight. He never entered. He was too stubborn. Something felt too wrong.
Instead, he tried to reshape the fractures within him.
He let his body receive touches openly on the wide floor of Nikusui as threads of all colors danced, inviting and offering. He fed openly without creation, pulling just enough from everyone without leading to their final moment.
He drank until his throat numbed. Each swallow heavier than the last, each one failing to smooth the edges, failing to dull the strange, persistent sensation beneath his skin.
He allowed people to take from him, hoping it would fill the void in him. It did not.
Too many times did Zhuo have to save him from lingering touches that overstepped and left him feverish and throwing up. All just to do it again the next day, like a bad habit.
One night, after Nikusui closed and the sun was just beginning to paint the sky, Xian sat in Suowei’s bed, holding his Master’s head in his lap. He held a cold cloth to his neck and trailed fingers through his hair. It wasn’t the first time Xian had to do this, yet the heaviness of seeing his Master so wrong tugged a little harder each time.
“Master…?” Xian cautiously whispered. Suowei hummed in response, not opening his eyes.
“If you’ve tried everything except one thing… Why won’t you try that one thing?” Xian carefully asked, tiptoeing around the true subject. He knew from observing Suowei and from speaking with the others that something kept the Master from his studio… and maybe confronting that could help him.
“Xian…” Suowei murmured low.
Xian’s spine tingled at the tone; his brows rose too. “Yes, Master?”
“Hush.” He turned, his cheek pressing against Xian’s thigh. He curled a hand under Xian’s leg, and exhaustion took him under its wing.
Just hours later, when everyone was gone, Suowei woke to damp sheets. He found his feet had taken him to the studio again.
However, as he stood at the door, something unnerving drifted from under the door. It beckoned him. Almost… pleadingly.
And Suowei… begrudgingly was too weak to turn against it. He couldn’t deny it anymore.
As he turned away, something heavy knocked at his chest, nearly sending him back. He shook it off, walking to his office to grab his keys. When he returned, the pain vanished. He unlocked the door and pushed it open.
There in the middle, just as he left him, sat Suowei’s last creation, Chi Cheng.
He was in pristine condition. Still enthrallingly melancholic.
Somehow… a lone tear slipped over Suowei’s lashes, and he stepped forward.
It was only one tear, but it stretched. As Suowei neared the sculpture, the tear tracked a path over his cheek, down his neck, and slipped into his robe. The tremor surfaced, no longer hidden. His fingers shook and his pulse jumped as he straddled the marble lap.
His hands came up, positively vibrating as he traced the veil with a hovering touch. His fingertips skittering over the surface as if afraid to touch his own creation. He lifted up, his lips trembling as his breaths came out too shallow. Too broken.
Something in him was so tumultuous and torn, he didn’t know what to do with himself.
“Give it back,” he whisper-demanded. His voice was devastatingly low and not composed, whatsoever. He leaned in, his body lined with Chi Cheng’s and their faces aligning. He tried to look into those marble-clouded eyes through the veil. He brought his shaking hands up, thumbing at the fabric as if it would move, even though he knew it wouldn’t; the time to manipulate fabric and media gave in a long, long time ago for Chi Cheng.
“Chi Cheng…” Suowei whispered. “Whatever you took, give it back.”
He closed his eyes and swallowed thickly, his lips trembling. “Please…” Another tear fell. This tear slipped from Suowei’s eye and landed on Chi Cheng’s veiled eye.
Then Suowei pressed his mouth to Chi Cheng’s stone-fabric-covered mouth. It was nothing like the original texture or the previous presses, but there was something so broken within the moment. Something so… bestowing.
The contact spurred more tears. Slow. Suffocating.
Chi Cheng’s marble lips held no warmth, no softness, no life. Nothing. And something about that was more devastating than it should have ever been. He pressed himself harder to the sculpture, parting his robe and pawing at marble. He demanded a reaction from something he drained for reacting in the first place.
That’s when it hit Suowei…
Chi Cheng didn’t hollow him out. He didn’t take anything from him.
Chi Cheng carved himself into Suowei. He weaved his color into Suowei’s pulse so thoroughly that his rhythm alone responded to only one person now… And that person was gone…
Suowei didn’t realize he was sobbing by then. His moves were frantic, begging a slab of stone to touch him back.
Exhausted. Crying silently with his chest heaving on each broken sob and inhale, he fell to Chi Cheng’s lap. His body melted into the marble, clinging to it as he shivered. Weight fell over his eyes, and the last thing he saw was the tint of wet marble under his face. The last thing he whispered was a plea, “Take responsibility.”
Suowei woke with sweltering heat encompassing his being, inside and out. He couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t open his eyes.
But something was touching him with profound veneration. The touch was familiar, yet not. It was as if a gloved hand swept along his back and brushed tears from his face.
The touch guided his face up, and then his lips were pressed to thin fabric.
Warm. Soft.
Slowly, his sticky eyes opened. As his vision cleared, there before him was Chi Cheng. Alive.
Suowei gasped. He lifted his hand, pressing it against Chi Cheng's not-marble shoulder, and his eyes flicked wildly. “How?”
Chi Cheng smiled under the veil. His head tilted slightly to the side, his smile shifting to a smirk. “Did you ask that when you turned?”
Suowei’s eyes went wide. His breath caught.
“Did you wait long?” Chi Cheng asked.
Suowei remained silent.
“You didn’t miss me?” Chi Cheng mused flatly.
Suowei turned his gaze.
“I have something to return,” Chi Cheng murmured, flicking the veil off an arm and slipping it under Suowei’s robe to hold his bare waist. His eyes narrowed. “It’s different, though.”
Suowei turned his gaze back, his eyes watering without his knowledge.
“Do you accept?” Chi Cheng murmured, his voice low and darker than Suowei’s ever heard.
Suowei tipped his chin. “Give it back.”
Chi Cheng nodded. “On one condition.” He paused. “Give me your name,” he said, raising his other hand to cup Suowei’s chin and keep his head facing him.
Suowei gasped. He had never given his name to anyone… Not since his rebirth. Names held power. As long as no one knew his name, he retained control.
…but then again… he was just lying to himself if he claimed he had control over this… or maybe the control was giving in while it was still an option…
“Suowei…” he whispered, closing his eyes briefly and opening them slowly. “Wu Suowei.”
Chi Cheng inhaled slowly, controlled. Filling his lungs. He brought Suowei’s mouth back to his, with his grasp on his chin, nearly pressing their lips together, sans the veil. When he exhaled, it was a sharp, languid stream of intensely dark Byzantium. The stream mixed Chi Cheng’s Dioxazine with Suowei’s Carmine. It didn’t come out as threads but as smoke, shared and steaming. It looked as soft as velvet and as deep as unventured oceans.
If anyone else could see it, it would look like pitch black smoke, streamlining from one mouth to another. Filling one person up until it seeped out and spread, leaking to their surroundings and creating a cocoon of velvety warmth.
To Suowei and Chi Cheng, it was rectification. Harmony calibrating propriety.
Their anima and animus combined as one, filling Suowei up and properly replacing the insatiable hunger and lingering sickness. The tremor left Suowei for one reason, and came back for a completely different one. Desire.
His hands lifted, curling into fabric as he brought Chi Cheng closer and finally sealed their lips together. At the contact, Suowei moaned. Even with the fabric between their mouths, he kissed Chi Cheng with everything he had, pressing his tongue forward as far as the fabric would allow.
Chi Cheng entertained the dirty, desperate act for a short while before growling. He lifted Suowei off of him effortlessly and threw off the veil with one hand. Then he tugged Suowei to the back of the chair and bent him over the back. He ripped off Suowei’s robe, pressed a hand to the small of his spine, and clutched bruisingly into his hip.
He drove into Suowei, punishingly. He snapped his hips forward, just once, sealing their connection. The chair made a violent jolt the same time Suowei cried out.
Byzantium poured out then. It swept the floor like a fog machine before rising and sticking to their skin.
The sound of Chi Cheng’s hips brutally meeting Suowei’s ass resounded through the studio, bouncing off the reflective surfaces. He dragged his own new claws up Suowei’s spine, clutching the back of Suowei’s nape and pinning his head down. “You’ll never be hungry again,” he growled, his voice low and controlled. “Not without me.”
He rolled into Suowei, harder and deeper, punching out these wrecked, broken noises from Suowei. “I’ll keep you fed, just as you’ll keep me fed. Everything else is just entertainment. Do you understand?”
Suowei grunted, matching each pounding thrust inward. The chair rattled too, matching the same violent rhythm.
Chi Cheng curled his claws in, jerking Suowei up and turning his head so that he could mouth the corner of his lips. “Bed,” he demanded.
Suowei lifted a shaking finger, pointing at the panel on the wall; it was the closest one. Chi Cheng grunted. He pulled out and slapped Suowei’s ass, moving to the panel.
Suowei quickly and shakily moved the veiled chair, dragging it more than anything. He stood out of the way as the bed lowered, clinging to the chair as he tried to catch his breath and adjust to these new feelings that were overloading his being. His arms shook, and blinking came to him slowly. But, Gods, he has never been more aroused and stimulated before.
The platform locked in place, and Chi Cheng turned to Suowei, stalking over to him before wrapping an arm around his thin waist and sweeping him off his feet. He stuck him to his side as he made his way to the bed, throwing Suowei into the middle like he weighed nothing.
Chi Cheng stepped into the bed, crawling over Suowei’s body. He enveloped Suowei, making sure not a single point of contact went untouched. When he lined back up, his re-entry was intimate and soul-shattering.
He held Suowei tight, fucking into his body with slow, long waves. No, it wasn’t a fucking. It was lovemaking.
Suowei was unsure if he wanted to toss his head back and cry for the world to hear or curl into Chi Cheng just to soak in his heat. He chose to curl in. His face tucked into Chi Cheng’s neck, his legs wrapped around Chi Cheng’s hips, ankles crossing and digging into his ass to pull him in deeper. Chi Cheng’s neck was moist from Suowei’s moans.
Byzantium curled, sweeping like whispering curtains. It brushed skin and pulled them closer as if binding them together, even more than they already were.
Chi Cheng ran his nose along Suowei’s jaw until he found Suowei’s mouth, slotting their lips together and kissing him so softly. Suowei couldn’t help but whine into Chi Cheng’s mouth as their tongues languidly tangled and his stomach was filled again.
Chi Cheng lifted a hand, his fingers brushing through Suowei’s hair and along the side of his face. He touched and held him like he was something entirely too precious.
And that alone undid Suowei. He came with a cry of Chi Cheng’s name, their lips parting with silver strings stretching and begging not to break.
Chi Cheng wasn’t far. He rolled into Suowei a few more times, hitting as deep as possible before he spilled inside.
He groaned into Suowei’s mouth, placing two soft kisses to his lips as he rolled over, mindful to undo Suowei’s legs before doing so. One hand rubbed Suowei’s flank while the other danced his fingertips along his spine. “Did you understand?” he murmured, his eyes closed and his heart loud.
Suowei inhaled. His head rested under Chi Cheng’s chin, and his hand lay over his heart. “Mmm…” Suowei hummed, watching the byzantium dance between their skins at every point of contact. “I know.”
_______
The next time Suowei woke up, it was with a moan.
His bleary eyes blinked open to his private chambers. His body was on its side in the plush of his bedding, one knee pushed into the mattress. A tongue ravaged his ear and under it, while his body was rocked in and out of. The silk of his sheets were no match to the fevered heat of his skin; they offered no cooling.
He reached back, one hand grasping Chi Cheng’s hair, the other finding purchase on the hand that dug marks into his thigh.
“Chi–? What?” Suowei gasped and groaned.
Chi Cheng only rolled into Suowei harder, now knowing he was awake. “You’ve been asleep for three days. I have six months to make up,” he grunted low into Suowei’s ear, nipping the soft lobe.
“That–” Suowei’s breath hitched. His knee was hiked further, and his body was rolled slightly forward as Chi Cheng drove in deeper. His pace was steady, not too fast and not brutal, just deep and all-consuming. “That doesn’t—”
“I’m restraining myself, Suowei,” Chi Cheng interrupted. “Let me. Before I go insane.”
Suowei tightened his fingers in Chi Cheng’s hair, turning his head to meet his gaze. “I wasn’t… complaining,” Suowei murmured. “Take. Take what you need, whenever.”
Chi Cheng’s eyes flickered. “You’ll regret that one day,” he growled low, his nose brushing Suowei’s jaw.
“We’re insatiable, Chi. We feed on desire. I’d like to see you try,” he whispered back, his voice dipping huskily. His fingers pulled tighter, claws scratching Chi Cheng’s scalp as he pulled him closer and rolled his hips back.
Chi Cheng chuckled, low and dark, as their lips slotted together. With each thrust into Suowei, they grew more powerful and deeper until Suowei’s hips were pinned to the mattress at an awkward angle. The bed dipped at the force, and the covers kept rubbing against Suowei’s weeping member.
He was already full, yet Chi Cheng fed him again. By the time Chi Cheng was done, Suowei was not only cock-drunk but overwhelmingly stuffed; his stomach even protruded just the slightest.
Chi Cheng held him in his arms, one hand rubbing his belly with a soft smile on his face. “You look good like this.”
Suowei narrowed his eyes and glared up at Chi Cheng menacingly. “Like what?”
“Healthy,” Chi Cheng deadpanned. Then he shrugged. “We don’t know what we are capable of either, so if I picture you pregnant, don’t rain on my parade.”
Suowei’s mouth slowly gaped. He was at a loss for words.
Chi Cheng chuckled, knocking his knuckles gently under his chin. “Joke.”
Suowei’s mouth snapped shut, his lips pressing firmly together as he growled. Then he shifted, pulling the silk sheets along with him. He sat at the edge of the bed, preparing himself. “If…” Suowei started, casually getting up. Byzantium flicked behind him like a misbehaving tail.
“If?” Chi Cheng repeated slowly, moving into a predator’s crawl.
“If that were possible,” Suowei paused. “I’ll accept, only if you bear mine as well.”
Suowei heard the moment Chi Cheng inhaled sharply. He saw the way the room’s lights flickered and byzantium smoke rose from the floor.
He didn’t stay to hear the shifting of the bedding or the thud of Chi Cheng landing.
No…
He bolted.
_______
Suowei stood at the railings of the hanging balcony that oversaw his home, his domicile. His perfectly curated domain where inhibitions were nonexistent, freedom was guaranteed, and desire came without regrets.
He wore a black, lightweight, mesh, turtleneck, long-sleeved shirt over black leather pants that left nothing to the imagination. His normal flute of bright verde was replaced with a Glencairn half-full of amber liquid. It didn’t burn, but it surprisingly tasted sweet when shared between lips and tongues.
He had one hand resting on the metal bar, while the glass rested in the other hand, swirling the liquid around.
Warm, large hands drifted under the mesh of his shirt and settled on his waist as a nose dug into the folds of fabric at his neck. “You better be glad they can’t see you.”
Suowei rolled his eyes. He naturally tilted his head to give Chi Cheng more space. “Their threads can feel us, though.” He then clicked his tongue. “Even if they saw me, so what? They won’t remember.” Suowei scoffed. “Can’t even spare a night’s glance?”
Chi Cheng’s fingers inched forward, digging into Suowei’s hipbones. “No,” he growled. “Not unless I’m right there, in between your legs, showing them what they cannot have,” he murmured into Suowei’s neck as one hand ventured lower, palming over leather. “You won’t even move Chengyu to the showroom.”
Suowei laughed at that, albeit a little breathlessly. His head fell back to Chi Cheng’s shoulder, and his ass rolled into an obvious protrusion.
“You know… I actually forgot his name until you said it,” Suowei murmured. “The pup is not leaving.”
Chi Cheng growled again, dragging a hand up Suowei’s body and tugging at the mesh fabric until his neck bared. Byzantium swirled up Chi Cheng’s leg quickly, just as it curled Suowei’s throat. “I’ll fucking smash it.” He nipped into the smooth column.
Suowei chuckled darkly. “Jealous? Over a statue with a collar.” Suowei turned sharply in Chi Cheng’s hold. He hoisted himself on the railing and brought Chi Cheng in with his legs. “Do you want a collar?” he asked, his voice low and saccharine. His fingers came up to drag along Chi Cheng’s throat, drawing a line of byzantium in their path.
Chi Cheng narrowed his eyes. He leaned in. “I’d ask you the same, but you already have the best collar.” His hand lifted and pressed against Suowei’s throat, tightening at the same time as their combined band of smoke. He dragged Suowei’s face closer until their lips were a breath apart. “Every time I see him, I’m forced to imagine the position you were in.” He nipped Suowei’s lip. “You chose him, right in front of me.”
Suowei sucked his teeth and flicked a brow. “Do you know why I chose him?
Chi Cheng slowly shook his head, his eyes searching Suowei’s face as his fingers flexed along his throat.
Suowei leaned in, flicking his tongue over Chi Cheng’s top lip. “To spite you,” he whispered darkly. “And I’ll keep him for the same reason.” He slid his hand into Chi Cheng’s hair, tugged on the locks, and rolled forward. He bit into Chi Cheng’s lip, splitting it before sliding his tongue inside.
Chi Cheng groaned into Suowei’s mouth, his hand tightening briefly before letting go. He dragged his hand down Suowei’s side, claws digging into Suowei’s skin. Suowei hissed, nipping at the tip of Chi Cheng’s tongue. He dragged his mouth down Chi Cheng’s jaw at the same time as his fingers released hair and dragged down his chest. His claws tore through fabric, then crawled under Chi Cheng’s waistband.
“The dog stays, hmm?” he murmured against Chi Cheng’s throat cloyingly as his hand wrapped tight around his cock.
Chi Cheng’s hips stuttered forward, nearly knocking Suowei over the rail. Suowei’s knees dug into Chi Cheng’s sides, and a dark giggle vibrated against his neck. Suowei knew what he was doing.
“Fuck…” Chi Cheng groaned, barely a whisper.
“Say yes, and I’ll give you something exhilarating,” Suowei whispered, his tongue flicking against Chi Cheng’s neck. “Something you’ve been wanting.”
Chi Cheng rolled his hips into Suowei’s hand, byzantium smoke billowing around them. “I want the dog gone,” he said, his breath catching in the middle during a tight squeeze.
“More than a family?” Suowei whispered.
Chi Cheng’s eyes blew open, spewing into Suowei’s hand right then and there. He jolted so hard that Suowei lost balance; thankfully Chi Cheng caught him, wrapping his arms around Suowei and carrying him into the office. He sat him on the desk, one hand shakily coming up to cup Suowei’s face.
“Don’t do that,” Chi Cheng warned. “Repeat.”
A blush rose high over Suowei’s face as he tipped his chin once. “Xian confirmed it,” he said softly. “You’ve been trying, without knowing if it would ever…” Suowei spoke even softer.
His hand came up and rested lightly over his stomach. Meek eyes met Chi Cheng’s. “How about it, Ba?”