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“Kiss me properly.”
Lucien’s words hung in the air like a veiled threat. Irritation burned in Xiaotu’s chest. He had been kissing Lucien, tongue tentatively brushing in what he thought was the right way. He didn’t enjoy it; the taste of Lucien’s lips and the faint scent of myrrh clinging to him. It only fueled his resentment.
Regardless, money was money, and Xiaotu desperately needed it if he had any hope of escaping this place.
Lucien abruptly pulled back, his expression was cool and unreadable; Xiaotu couldn’t hold back the snap. “If anyone’s not doing it ‘properly,’ it’s you,” he muttered, heat rising to his face as he whipped his head away, staring at the wall instead.
He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, a defensive barrier against the man who always seemed to pull his strings without even trying.
Lucien’s response was a soft, mocking chuckle that sent a shiver down Xiaotu’s spine—not from fear, but from sheer annoyance. “Oh? Looking away from me now?”
Before Xiaotu could retort, Lucien reached out with slender fingers and cupped Xiaotu's chin—his grip gentle but firm, thumb pressing lightly beneath Xiaotu’s jaw while his other fingers rested along the line of his cheek.
He tilted Xiaotu’s face up until their eyes met. Lucien’s touch was never rough; the real force was the unspoken command, making Xiaotu’s stomach twist.
“You really must not want that bonus this week,” Lucien murmured, with feigned disappointment. His thumb lingered a fraction too long on Xiaotu’s jawline, a subtle reminder of who held the power.
Xiaotu froze, his breath catching. Just as quickly, Lucien released him, slipping away as if the contact had never happened.
“So be it,” Lucien continued, his tone light and casual as he pivoted on his heel, dismissing the entire encounter. He shook his head with exaggerated regret, the theatrical motion grating on Xiaotu’s nerves. “I’ll inform them you’ve reconsidered your priorities.”
Ffffuuuvkkk, Xiaotu thought.
He already had plans for that money.
And Lucien was about to take it away—just like that?
Fuck that.
That money would be his.
“Wait…” The frustrated word slipped out before he could stop it.
Xiaotu stepped forward and reached for Lucien’s pellegrina, gently gripping the edge of the cloak and stopping Lucien as he tried to leave. “I’ll do it,” he said, his voice came out strained, annoyance bubbling beneath the surface.
Lucien paused, his back still turned. The room fell into a tense hush. “…Oh?” He didn’t move at first, letting the moment stretch, likely savoring the shift in the air, the subtle crack in Xiaotu's defiance.
He then slowly glanced over his shoulder, his gaze sweeping over Xiaotu like a predator assessing prey. Xiaotu could feel his anger twisting into something weaker, something he refused to acknowledge and he hated it. Even more so because Lucien could see it, and he enjoyed it.
A grin slowly curved Lucien’s lips, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Has my little rabbit reconsidered?”
Xiaotu’s glare intensified, cheeks burning with a mix of rage and humiliation. Rabbit? The nickname was a jab, belittling him and making him feel small and trapped. He bit back the retort, knowing it would only prolong the game.
Unperturbed, Lucien’s grin widened. “By all means,” he said smoothly, “lead the way.”
With an eye roll, Xiaotu released the fabric and grabbed Lucien’s hand, his grip tightening as he gave it a small, impatient tug.
He led him toward the bed, footsteps causing the floorboards to creak loudly. “Sit,” he commanded, his voice sharp, trying to reclaim some control.
Lucien arched a brow, his expression one of mild curiosity, but he complied without protest, lowering himself onto the edge of the mattress. The bed dipping slightly under his weight.
“You’re too tall for me to kiss you properly or whatever,” Xiaotu grumbled, crossing his arms as he loomed over the seated man. Why did Lucien have to be built like a tower? It wasn’t fair—Xiaotu was always forced to stretch just to reach him.
Lucien chuckled, the low, velvety sound sending an unwelcome warmth through Xiaotu’s veins. “Ah, well,” he replied, his eyes locking onto Xiaotu’s with that unnerving intensity, “I can’t say no to you.”
Xiaotu shifted, hesitantly uncrossing his arms. “Thanks, I guess?” He said, before he stepped closer, leaning in with lips parted to bridge the gap—
But before he could close the distance, Lucien’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around Xiaotu’s wrist. With a swift tug, he pulled Xiaotu forward and guided him down onto his lap in one fluid motion.
“What the fu—” Xiaotu’s protest died as Lucien’s other hand rose, seizing his face.
Rough fingertips dug into his cheeks, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hold him steady. Lucien’s thumb traced a deliberate path across Xiaotu’s lower lip, dragging slowly, parting them just a fraction.
The touch was intimate, invasive, and Xiaotu’s pulse quickened despite himself.
“Open your mouth,” Lucien commanded, his voice calm, almost soothing, but threaded with that underlying authority that allowed no argument.
Xiaotu blinked up at him, confusion warring with irritation. “What?”
Lucien’s gaze remained steady, unblinking, a quiet pressure building in the silence. “Open.”
Xiaotu’s frown deepened. Why? What the hell is this about? His mind raced—some weird power play? Even as questions swirled, he weighed the cost. Refuse, and the bonus vanished. Comply, and… well, it was just his mouth. How bad could it be?
He hesitated, then parted his lips with a sigh, his jaw loosening under Lucien’s grip.
“Suck,” Lucien said. His smile was pleasant, almost benign—as if this were the most natural request in the world. Without warning, he pushed two fingers past Xiaotu’s lips, sliding them deep into his mouth.
Xiaotu jerked, his eyes widening in shock as a muffled gasp escaped around the intrusion.
Lucien’s fingers were slender but insistent, pressing down on his tongue, pinning it flat and silencing any coherent sound.
The taste of clean skin and faint salt filled his senses.
Lucien’s knuckles brushed the roof of his mouth as he explored, twisting slightly to map the soft, yielding interior.
The hand at his hip grounded him in place, and Xiaotu hated how his body reacted under it. A faint flush crept up Xiaotu’s neck, staining his cheeks pink, his eyes glazing over with a mix of confusion and unwilling arousal. Drool gathered at the corners of his mouth, slicking Lucien’s fingers as they pumped slowly in and out, mimicking a rhythm that was far too suggestive.
Pushing his fingers slightly deeper, he tested Xiaotu’s limits; Xiaotu let out a choked cough, saliva dribbling down his chin.
Lucien pulled back, just enough to let him breathe, before looking Xiaotu in the eyes.
“Careful, you’re drooling onto my pants.” His other hand drifted to Xiaotu’s top, resting at the first button momentarily. “Though,” he added softly, “I suppose that can be addressed."
His fingers pressed against Xiaotu’s lip.
"What are you do—”
“Hush,” he interrupted, pushing his fingers further in and down again, eliciting another perverse gag.
“You try to argue,” he murmured, almost absently, “but your reactions are less convincing.” He was methodical, watching the flicker of defiance in Xiaotu’s eyes, the way it sputtered and died under the assault of humiliation and desire.
Xiaotu’s hands, which had balled into fists on Lucien’s shoulders, slowly uncurled, trembling as they rested against the black fabric of his robe. He hated the warmth pooling in his stomach, the way his body betrayed him.
Lucien’s fingers withdrew slowly, a thin strand of saliva connecting Xiaotu’s lips to his hand before snapping.
Xiaotu coughed, taking a ragged breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He glared, but the effect was ruined by the wet sheen on his lips and the blush still coloring his cheeks.
“You’re disgusting,” he rasped.
Lucien simply tilted his head, studying him with unnerving, analytical calm. He lifted the soiled fingers to the light, examining them with detached curiosity, before returning his focus to Xiaotu.
“Am I?” Lucien’s voice was barely a whisper. “Or are you simply discovering something new about yourself?” He brought his clean thumb up, wiping a stray drop of saliva from the corner of Xiaotu’s mouth. The touch was gentle—too gentle—leaving him unsure how to react.
“Shut up,” Xiaotu mumbled, turning his head away. His anger and will to fight simmered down to a low, resentful ember. He could feel Lucien’s hardness beneath him, but he didn’t have the energy to move.
Lucien’s hand on his hip tightened slightly, a proprietary squeeze. “No,” he said. His tone shifted, losing its playful edge. “You still want your bonus, don’t you?”
Xiaotu remained silent for a long moment, his body rigid in Lucien’s lap. Finally, with a sigh that seemed to drain him, he nodded once again.
“Good,” he shifted smoothly, guiding Xiaotu backward until he was lying on the bed, Lucien hovering over him. The frilly white dress Xiaotu was forced to wear spread around him like a parody of innocence.
Lucien’s gaze swept over him, it felt possessive-no, oppressive. He reached out, not to touch, but to straighten a button on the dress. “There,” he said, satisfied. “Much better. Disorder is so… unbecoming.”
He leaned down, pressing his lips against his ear as he murmured. Xiaotu tried not to flinch from the hot breath tickling his ear. “Now,” he hummed, “let’s try that again. Kiss me. Properly, this time.“
Xiaotu squeezed his eyes shut. He was trapped, caught in a cage of Lucien’s making. He could fight and suffer, or he could comply, and get paid. Greed won, as it always did.
He opened his eyes, red irises dark with a storm of emotions. He reached up, threading his fingers through Lucien’s dark green hair, ignoring its silken feel.
He pulled Lucien down, rising slightly to meet him halfway.
This kiss was different—desperate, angry. Xiaotu poured all his frustration and resentment into it, nipping at Lucien’s lips, his tongue thrusting into the other man’s mouth with an aggression that was more a cry for help than an act of passion. Lucien let it happen, and somehow that made it worse. Xiaotu could feel himself losing ground. The anger didn’t last; it soured, leaving something raw and humiliating in its place.
Then, just as Xiaotu thought he might have the upper hand, Lucien’s hands came to rest on his hips, grounding him, holding him in place. He deepened the kiss, his own tongue asserting a gentle but undeniable dominance that left the younger man breathless and trembling.
Xiaotu wasn’t fighting anymore; he was drowning.
"Better,” Lucien said, his voice remaining and composed as if they had been discussing the weather. He reached out, tenderly brushing a stray strand of cream-colored hair from Xiaotu’s forehead.
Xiaotu flinched, recoiling from the touch like a wounded animal. “Don’t,” he hissed.
Lucien’s hand froze, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. It vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual placid mask. He slowly lowered his hand, resting it on the pillow beside Xiaotu’s head.
“As you wish,” he said, though his tone suggested Xiaotu’s wishes were of little importance.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against Xiaotu’s other ear this time. “But remember,” he whispered, sending a shiver down Xiaotu’s spine, “the bonus. It’s so close. You just have to be good.”
“Good…” Xiaotu repeated the word, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew what Lucien meant by that: obedience, surrender, remaining in Lucien’s grasp.
He hated the idea, but he wanted the money more.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his voice barely audible.
Lucien smiled. He had won. Again.
“Just lie there,” he said, his voice soft, almost kind. “And let me show you what happens when you’re good.”
He shifted his attention, his fingers tracing the delicate line of buttons on the dress. With careful precision, he undid them one by one, the soft click of each button echoing in the tense silence.
He pushed the fabric aside, exposing Xiaotu’s chest to the cool air of the room.
Xiaotu’s breath hitched, a fresh wave of vulnerability washing over him. He instinctively tried to cover himself, but Lucien caught his wrists and pinned them with one firm hand. “No,” Lucien said with a fake gentleness in his voice. “Don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you.”
His other hand came down, fingers tracing a slow, deliberate circle around one of Xiaotu’s nipples. The light caress sent a jolt of electricity straight to Xiaotu’s groin. He arched into the touch, and instantly regretted it.
Lucien’s expression shifted subtly, yet unmistakably, to a look of pleasure. “See?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the now-pebbled flesh. “Your body knows what it wants, even if you don’t.” To prove his point, Lucien leaned down, watching as Xiaotu’s body tensed from the feeling of his warm breath. Without warning, he pushed his attack. Taking the nipple into his mouth, swirling around the sensitive nub before he sucked, hard.
A stifled gasp escaped Xiaotu as his back arched off the bed. The sensation was overwhelming, and disorienting, leaving him struggling to catch his breath.
Lucien’s teeth grazed the sensitive skin of his nipple, making Xiaotu squirm.
Lucien’s hand mirrored his mouth’s actions, fingers rolling and pinching Xiaotu’s other nipple. alternating gentle caresses with sharp, stinging twists that left him breathless and trembling.
Xiaotu was lost in a haze, his thoughts swirling.
Lucien’s leg pressed firmly between his own, a steady, relentless pressure against his arousal. He tried to rock against it, seeking some relief, but Lucien held him down, his movements slow and deliberate, torturous.
“Lucien—” Xiaotu’s voice faltered, caught between protest and something weaker.
“Yes, my little rabbit?” Lucien replied softly, his thumb brushing over the wet, swollen nipple he’d been tormenting.
“I… I…” Xiaotu struggled, his mind lost in a fog of need and humiliation. He hated this, hated Lucien, yet he wanted more, needed more.
“Say it,” Lucien prompted, his soft, patient tone demanding.
Xiaotu squeezed his eyes shut before he pleaded to him. “Please,” he surrendered, “please, Lucien…”
“Please, what?” Lucien pressed, his fingers tightening slightly.
“Touch me,” Xiaotu choked out. “Touch me down there, damn it,” he growled, frustration peaking as he bucked against Lucien’s thigh. “Finger me, or something. Stop stalling!”
Lucien shifted, teasing his thigh more firmly against the bulge growing between Xiaotu’s legs. A soft whine escaped him despite his best efforts.
“Patience,” Lucien murmured. With detached curiosity, he lifted his free hand to the hem of the frilly dress, his fingers tracing the delicate white lace. “All good things come to those who wait.”
“I’ve been waiting,” Xiaotu shot back. He tried to shift away from the friction, but Lucien’s other hand held him firmly in place.
“Have you?” Lucien’s fingers continued their slow exploration of the lace, inching higher with excruciating slowness. “Or have you been fighting? Resisting? There’s a difference, Xiaotu, one you need to learn.”
He finally pushed the dress up, exposing the pale skin of Xiaotu’s thighs. His gaze was analytical and cold. A fresh wave of humiliation washed over Xiaotu, his cheeks burned.
He was completely exposed, completely vulnerable, and Lucien was just… looking.
“Stop looking,” Xiaotu mumbled, unable to meet that piercing stare.
Ignoring the plea, Lucien lowered one hand, his fingers tracing slowly up the inside of Xiaotu’s thigh. The touch was too light, a ghost of sensation that was more frustrating than arousing.
Xiaotu’s muscles tensed, shuddering.
“So responsive,” Lucien noted before he leaned down to look Xiaotu in the eyes. “You hate this, don’t you? Hate how much your body wants it, even when your mind screams no.”
“I hate you,” Xiaotu gasped, the words a weak, breathless protest.
Lucien chuckled. “I know.”
His fingers finally reached their destination, brushing against the base of Xiaotu’s erection. The light brush of contact sent a shiver through him, and Xiaotu arched instinctively, a broken sound escaped his lips.
"Luci—”
“Shh,” Lucien murmured, stroking slow, deliberate circles against sensitive skin with his thumb. “I’m here. I’m taking care of you.”
He wrapped his fingers around Xiaotu’s length with a firm grip. He began to stroke a slow, steady rhythm designed to tease and push Xiaotu to the edge.
Xiaotu’s hips bucked, a desperate, involuntary movement. He tried to match Lucien’s pace, to find release. Lucien held him in place, a hand pressing down on Xiaotu’s stomach to let him know who was in charge.
“Your body is so honest,” Lucien continued as his thumb swiped over the tip, smearing the bead of pre-cum that had gathered.
“Shut up,” Xiaotu hissed as his head thrashed against the pillow. “Just… just…”
“Just?” Lucien eased his pace until it bordered on unbearable. “Tell me what you want, little rabbit. Use your words.”
“More,” Xiaotu choked out. “Please, more.”
“Good boy,” he murmured, the praise more demeaning than any insult.
He pushed Xiaotu’s chin upward as his fingers slipped inside his mouth with a quiet insistence—an expectation rather than a request. He watched as Xiaotu complied. Only then did he draw his hand back, his fingers slick with saliva, as his hand traced a path down Xiaotu’s ass.
Xiaotu tensed as apprehension washed over him. He knew what was coming, and a part of him was terrified, while another, darker part craved it.
Lucien must have noticed this as well, the subtle tightening of muscles. He paused, fingers resting against the puckered entrance.
“Relax,” he commanded with a soothing yet firm voice. “Let me in.”
He didn’t wait for a response, pushing a finger inside in a slow, deliberate intrusion. Xiaotu’s breath caught as the unfamiliar and overwhelming sensation hit him.
Xiaotu tensed as Lucien probed his insides like a medical procedure. He could feel Lucien’s gaze on him, tracking every shift, every involuntary reaction.
He added a second finger; the stretch was more intense this time and Xiaotu cried out, a ragged sound that was half pleasure, half pain. He jerked, his body taut with need, hands fisting the sheets.
Lucien crooked his fingers, searching for that special spot, that bundle of nerves that would send Xiaotu over the edge. Xiaotu’s entire body went rigid, a choked cry escaping his lips as pleasure shot through him.
“There it is,” Lucien murmured with satisfaction. He pressed against the spot again, making Xiaotu see stars.
Lucien’s fingers continued to fulfill his curiosity, scissoring and stretching, to prepare Xiaotu’s body for what was to come. Xiaotu couldn’t hold on to his anger.
He withdrew his fingers, ignoring the whimper of protest that escaped Xiaotu’s lips, as he reached for the nightstand and retrieved a small bottle of clear lubricant.
“Preparation is a virtue, little rabbit,” Lucien hummed, a faint, ironic smile playing on his lips as he poured a generous amount of the cool liquid onto his fingers. “Or so they say.”
He spread the lubricant over Xiaotu’s entrance, the coolness a stark contrast to the heat of his skin. He worked it in with his fingers, the slickness easing the way and further preparing Xiaotu.
Xiaotu let out a helpless sound.
The added stimulation was overwhelming, a dizzying mix of sensations that left him breathless and trembling. He was so close, so desperately close to release, but Lucien held him there, keeping him in a state of perpetual need.
“Please,” the word breaking apart as it left him. “Luci, please…”
“Please, what?” Lucien hummed, his fingers continued to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm that was driving Xiaotu to the brink of insanity.
“Please… I can't—” Xiaotu swallowed, struggling to think. “I need… you.”
Lucien’s expression changed once again, satisfied.
“As you wish,” he cooed, positioning himself so the head of his erection pressed against Xiaotu’s entrance. He lingered, leaving Xiaotu painfully aware of what was coming next.
“Remember your bonus.” With that, he pushed inside.
Xiaotu covered his own mouth in an attempt to muffle his voice as he was penetrated. The sensation was intense: a stretching, burning feeling that blurred the line between pain and pleasure.
Lucien paused, allowing Xiaotu a moment to adjust. The stillness made it worse. Xiaotu could feel himself losing control, piece by piece, and no matter how hard he tried. Lucien waited, like a fox watching a rabbit tire itself out.
He began to move to a slow, steady rhythm. Precise thrusts claiming his prey. Each drag and thrust felt intense and overwhelming.
Lost in a haze of sensation, Xiaotu’s mind went blank. He was aware of Lucien’s body covering his, the pace that refused to let him think, pleased sounds Lucien was making. The dress twisted at his waist, its softness providing no comfort to the rough, primal nature of their encounter.
Tears of frustration and pleasure mixed with sweat and saliva. Lucien sealed Xiaotu’s lips with a kiss that said ‘you’re mine.’
He swallowed Xiaotu’s cries, his tongue exploring Xiaotu’s mouth. His hands roamed over Xiaotu’s body, tracing the lines of his ribs, the curve of his hips, lingering where reactions came easiest.
He reached between their bodies, grasping Xiaotu’s neglected erection, he began to stroke, mirroring the pace of his thrusts. The dual stimulation threatened to consume Xiaotu whole.
He felt Lucien’s thumb swipe over the tip, making his body react in unsteady pulses. Lucien’s thrusts deepened, each one slamming into him relentlessly. He clenched his fists against Lucien’s shoulders. He fought the urge to push him away even as his body arched greedily for more.
Lucien’s pace quickened, thrusts more urgent. The slap of skin against skin echoed, mingling with Xiaotu’s muffled gasps and the wet sounds of Lucien’s hand working his erection. Lucien lifted Xiaotu’s hips higher, filling him completely. A whimper escaped him, muffled by Lucien’s insistent mouth. Lucien’s pace faltered for a split second, a hitch that told how close he was.
Xiaotu dug his nails into Lucien’s back as he came. His body convulsing, spilling over Lucien’s fingers and onto his own stomach. The world dissolved into a blinding flash of pleasure that left him trembling and weak. For a moment, everything else faded—the humiliation, the anger, the fear—leaving only the sensation of being consumed.
Lucien followed soon after, a low groan escaping his lips as he buried himself deep inside Xiaotu, his release felt like a hot, pulsing flood. Xiaotu’s body clenched around him, the tight muscles fluttering in a final, desperate surrender.
Lucien collapsed against him, breath ragged against Xiaotu’s neck. They lay there together, the only sound being their uneven breathing.
—
Slowly, Lucien pushed himself up and looked down at Xiaotu, who lay beneath him, panting, dazed, and cheeks streaked with tears. His gaze fell upon the mess staining Xiaotu’s stomach and clothes, and a flicker of distaste crossed his face.
His fingers hovered above the mess, then withdrew. The evidence of their encounter demanded immediate attention.
"Disorder,” Lucien grumbled, more to himself than to Xiaotu.
He reached for a neatly folded cloth on the nightstand. He wiped his own hands first, expression focused and clinical. Only when his skin was perfectly clean did he turn his attention to Xiaotu.
Xiaotu flinched at his touch, a reflex, Lucien assumed. He looked exhausted, his body tense in a way that suggested even he might not fully understand the pain he was in. Lucien said nothing, working with quiet efficiency to clean Xiaotu’s stomach with careful strokes.
Lucien could feel the gradual shift in Xiaotu’s body, the tension easing, the resistance fading. The steadiness of his movements and the warmth of his touch wore down what little energy Xiaotu had left. Xiaotu’s breathing softened, uneven at first, then gradually deepened as sleep crept in.
By the time Lucien finished, Xiaotu had already drifted off, half-curled into the sheets as if he hadn’t meant to stay there.
Lucien paused at the edge of the bed, staring down at him for a moment longer than necessary.
Troublesome.
Almost without thinking, his hand moved, brushing a loose strand of hair from Xiaotu’s face. No reaction. No irritation. No sharp, defiant glare snapped back at him.
…How dull.
And yet, his hand didn’t immediately withdraw.
Lucien’s gaze lingered, narrowing slightly as if trying to make sense of something just out of reach. An odd tightness in his chest felt unpleasant, unfamiliar. He clicked his tongue, as though that alone might dismiss it.
“Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath.
Whether he meant Xiaotu or something else was unclear.
After a moment, he shifted, intending to step away, but Xiaotu moved first.
Even in sleep, his fingers found Lucien’s sleeve, catching weakly in the fabric. Not forceful, not deliberate—just instinctive, like reaching for something that eased the ache without conscious thought.
Lucien stilled.
He should pull free. There was no reason to allow this, no benefit in indulging something so careless.
His gaze dropped to where Xiaotu held onto him, loose and unguarded in a way he never was when awake. No resistance. No pride. Just that quiet, subconscious trust.
The tightness in his chest sharpened.
Irritating.
Lucien let out a slow breath, then, with a faint frown, lay down beside him instead.
It was simpler this way, he decided. If Xiaotu woke in pain or scared, he’d reach for what was closest. Lucien preferred to control that outcome. There was no need to complicate things.
Still, he didn’t remove Xiaotu’s hand.
Even as it slackened slightly against his sleeve, even as Xiaotu shifted closer without thinking, Lucien remained where he was—staring up at nothing, his expression faintly tense.
That strange feeling lingered.
Unwelcome.
Unnecessary.
…Persistent.