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Wen Kexing took every opportunity Zhou Zishu left open, and several he didn’t, to try to touch him. His waist, his backside, even the back of his hand brushing against the front of Zhou Zishu’s robes in search of contact with Zhou Zishu’s cock.
It was irksome, but letting him do it felt the same as standing in the middle of an orchard shouting curses at the sky, untying all the bindings around himself and finding that the consequences didn’t matter after all. Before Zhou Zishu was dying, he would have thought about what Wen Kexing’s motives were, if he had poison hidden under his tongue or information he wanted to glean about tianchuang’s activities.
Now it was just another experience on offer, and Zhou Zishu was only limited by trying to decide if it was interesting enough to be worth the trouble.
Together they delivered Zhang Chengling to Zhao Jing’s extravagant manor, and Zhou Zishu found himself trapped at a banquet, seated next to Wen Kexing. He felt the event was very tedious. Eating held less joy for him now that all he could feel was the texture of food in his mouth and none of the flavor.
Wen Kexing made a nuisance of himself, unsurprisingly. At first it was just a barrage of smugly recited poetry and unwanted tasty morsels placed in his bowl.
But a few hours in — after Chengling was bustled away and most of their fellows were as drunk as Zhou Zishu was pretending to be — Zhou Zishu felt a hand creeping up his thigh.
Zhou Zishu shot Wen Kexing a quelling look, unimpressed.
The hand stopped its upward journey but didn’t retreat. Was it worth the fuss of throwing the persistent letch across the room? Wen Kexing’s fingers were warm, his palm heavy. Across the table, Zhao Jing stood to greet another of his sycophants, spreading his arms in welcome, displaying the ornate embroidery that decorated his sleeves. The man made no secret of his wealth. Wen Kexing turned his head and shifted his chair as if to catch a better glimpse of the newcomer, but the movement was a cover for a different goal — shifting his grip higher on Zhou Zishu’s thigh, bunching Zhou Zishu’s outermost robes up in the process to make a rumpled mess that partially covered his motions.
“Wen-gongzi is overly familiar tonight,” Zhou Zishu said, and kicked at Wen Kexing’s ankle. He was deftly evaded.
“We’re traveling companions. Haven’t we become close these past days? I saved your life, and that of your charge,” Wen Kexing replied with a straight-toothed grin. “You could say we’re almost sworn brothers.”
No. Not that. Zhou Zishu jerked away, his reaction stupidly outsized, incongruous with his disguise.
Wen Kexing only widened his eyes. “My mistake. Something closer? More intimate, perhaps?”
His hold had slipped when Zhou Zishu startled, leaving him with a fistful of fabric. He tugged on the handful of Zhou Zishu’s robes, pulling them askew until his paler under-layers showed under the table. Nothing deterred the man.
“I could be your teacher,” Wen Kexing said, voice low and curling. “Or your pupil.”
“You’re not worth educating,” Zhou Zishu said. “Who lectures a mud brick in hopes it will turn to silver?”
“Ah, that...you‘d be surprised,” Wen Kexing said. He raised his wandering hand, clearly aiming to brush his knuckles against Zhou Zishu’s jaw as he had in the run-down temple. His gaze was much too intent for a man who’d drunk the better part of two jugs of wine. Zhou Zishu grabbed him by the wrist and held him fast before he could reach the skin-mask.
“Don’t touch me,” Zhou Zishu snapped.
Wen Kexing looked at where Zhou Zishu’s fingers were wrapped around his bare wrist, then back up to his face.
“I believe if one were to rub the dirt from this raw beauty’s surface, something precious would indeed emerge. Teaching Zhou-Xiong would be more than worth the time,” Wen Kexing said.
Zhou Zishu huffed and practically threw Wen Kexing’s hand out of his grip, annoyed beyond reason by his pretty words and sunny manner. Wen Kexing, for the moment, was content to be pushed away. He drank some more — as did Zhou Zishu, not about to let Wen Kexing put him off his cups — then cracked open a prawn and sucked the juices from the head with a lewd hollowing of his cheeks.
What a despicable wretch. Zhou Zishu couldn’t stand him. It was only because he found the other men in the room even more intolerable that he allowed Wen Kexing’s presence at all.
That, and a nagging curiosity about what might happen next, if he let it.
What happened next was Wen Kexing leaning in close. He indicated one of the other banquet-goers with a sly gesture and tipped his head as if he were about to whisper a piece of gossip or catty observation into Zhou Zishu’s ear.
But what Wen Kexing actually said was, “Hold still or he’ll look up and notice us,” as he slipped his hand fully into Zhou Zishu’s robes.
Wen Kexing’s questing hand found what it sought in an instant, making assertive contact between Zhou Zishu’s legs. Zhou Zishu’s breath hitched as Wen Kexing groped his crotch with interest, then covered with a cough and another slug of liquor.
He could stand and shake Wen Kexing off. Zhou Zishu wasn’t a serving girl to be grabbed by the waist and diddled on a wealthy patron’s lap. He could break the man’s wrist, or at least put in a genuine enough effort that Wen Kexing would need both hands to defend himself.
It was amusing, however, to surprise Wen Kexing. Resistance was expected; maybe even what Wen Kexing wanted. Zhou Zishu clamped his knees together, trapping Wen Kexing’s hand between his thighs, and glared. Wen Kexing’s unbearable facade faltered, confusion and apprehension playing across his features before he found his composure again and wiggled his fingers. Seeing Wen Kexing wrongfooted, even for a moment, brought Zhou Zishu a rush of heady satisfaction.
“I’ll remove that hand at the wrist,” Zhou Zishu threatened.
“Cut off the other as well — I consider it fair payment,” Wen Kexing said smoothly. His thumb found the head of zzh’s cock through the fabric of his pants and rubbed. It didn’t feel bad.
Zhou Zishu got tired of clenching his thighs together and relaxed them, which happened to give Wen Kexing more room to play. Zhou Zishu didn’t care. Let him dig his own grave. Zhou Zishu had never killed anyone for this type of behavior before, as he was a purely political creature in his past, blood-drenched life; the deaths he caused were expedient, not vengeful. Still, first times were always interesting.
A flourish of green and gold sleeves heralded the return of Zhao Jing to the center table, and Zhou Zishu’s stomach clenched as Wen Kexing’s hand made no move to retreat. That was also interesting.
Zhao Jing said something. Wen Kexing threw back his head and let loose a laugh like the peal of bells. Zhou Zishu grunted noncommittally in the direction of his empty plate. The touches on Zhou Zishu’s cock lingered on the head, rolling motions that made the foreskin slide back and forth until Zhou Zishu’s body started to respond. Zhou Zishu shook his bangs loose so they shaded his face and chanced a look at Wen Kexing. His mouth was wet, like he’d been licking it, and there was something wild around the edges of his flat black eyes. Zhou Zishu’s molester was not as in control as he appeared.
“That serving girl with the missing earring is onto us,” Wen Kexing whispered.
“Onto you,” Zhou Zishu corrected. “I warned you not to touch.”
“This is so thrilling,” Wen Kexing said happily. “I wonder if she’ll tell her friends.”
“Hands off,” Zhou Zishu said.
“Ask me again,” Wen Kexing said, eyes gleaming, as Zhao Jing rose to greet another guest.
“Stop,” Zhou Zishu said.
Wen Kexing beamed. “No.”
Zhou Zishu rolled his eyes and leaned across the table to snatch a full jug of wine. If that happened to push his hard cock into Wen Kexing’s fingers, so be it. Clearly Wen Kexing would not be deterred no matter who was watching or what Zhou Zishu said. He slumped forward drunkenly as he refilled his own cup. Zhao Jing’s wine was good and Zhou Zishu’s head was swimmy. Fitting — the head windowmaker’s only vice was his fondness for alcohol. That was what they said about him. In all other respects he was a flawless servant to the bright cause.
For the sake of that shining future Zhou Zishu had said yes many times. Yes to murder, to arson, to seduction.
Zhou Zishu turned his head slowly and regarded Wen Kexing, whose mouth was open, lips parted enough to show just the tips of his eyeteeth. His hand still worked between Zhou Zishu’s legs, better hidden now that Zhou Zishu was leaning forward against the table.
“Ask me for more,” Zhou Zishu said.
Wen Kexing drew in a quickened breath. He shifted his chair closer with a squeak of wooden legs over tile. “Let me loosen your belt,” Wen Kexing whispered.
“No.”
It felt so good, not being beholden to yes.
Nimble fingers vanished from Zhou Zishu’s cock and tugged at the fabric around his waist, pulling it askew. If he stood now it would be indecent. How wicked of Wen Kexing, ignoring Zhou Zishu’s words in favor of his own desires.
“Moan for me,” Wen Kexing said. “Quietly, don’t make a show of it.”
Zhou Zishu clenched his teeth together, silent, even when Wen Kexing returned to touching him, even as the strokes got rougher. He bore it all until Wen Kexing pinched him, cruelly, using his fingernails. The sudden fresh pain shocked a sound out of Zhou Zishu; Wen Kexing grinned like a fox.
“Imagine me putting my fingers in you, right here at the table,” Wen Kexing said then. There was a flush warming the pale tone of his cheeks.
“I’ll do no such thing,” Zhou Zishu said.
“Oh?” Wen Kexing said. He raised an eyebrow and held out his free hand, examining it himself. He turned it over so Zhou Zishu could see the length and narrowness of his fingers. “What a pity. I think they’d look very nice with you around them.”
“Shut up,” Zhou Zishu said with some difficulty. Wen Kexing was working him quite effectively now, the fabric of Zhou Zishu’s pants starting to chafe in a prickly, pleasurable way that made Zhou Zishu’s guts twist and his breath come faster. If Zhou Zishu didn’t intervene to stop Wen Kexing from taking what he wanted, he was bound to finish soon.
“I want to get on my knees and suck you under the table,” Wen Kexing said, not quite hushed enough that a sharp-eared listener couldn’t discern his words. “Let you spend on my face, walk out of the room with my Zhou-xiong’s seed painted across my cheeks. I’d bend you over the railing in the courtyard and fuck you with the night breeze caressing our thighs and the moon above us, I’ll use your mouth and then kiss the taste of my —“
Zhou Zishu slapped his palm over his own mouth to stifle the noises as he came into Wen Kexing’s hand. A passing disciple — one of Gao Chong’s perhaps? It was no longer Zhou Zishu’s job to know — gave him a concerned look.
“Too much wine, I need to vomit,” Zhou Zishu gasped, puffing out his cheeks and making a gagging sound behind his hand to sell it.
Wen Kexing put on a sickeningly concerned expression and hurried to help Zhou Zishu stand, tutting over him and fixing his clothes for him. “Overindulged again,” he said patiently. His hand rubbed sympathetically over Zhou Zishu’s back. “Let’s get you outside for some fresh air.”
Neatly cornered by social nicety, Zhou Zishu could do nothing but allow Wen Kexing to guide him out of the banquet hall. The wet spot on his pants clung unpleasantly to his leg as they walked, and he felt slightly hollow and weak-kneed now that he’d come, in public, into Wen Kexing’s hand.
The same hand that was still rubbing Zhou Zishu’s back as they passed through the doorway to meet the open air of the front steps. Zhou Zishu realized something and glared at Wen Kexing.
“Did you wipe your hand off on my clothes, you bastard?”
Wen Kexing made a noncommittal sound that served as an admission of guilt. Zhou Zishu shrugged him off in irritation. At least Wen Kexing had bought him these clothes and was only staining his own possession. Zhou Zishu would make him buy new ones for his sins.
Like a sticking burr that was impossible to dislodge for long, Wen Kexing crowded back into Zhou Zishu’s space as soon as he was shrugged off. He followed Zhou Zishu over to the railing at the edge of the raised courtyard snugged himself up behind Zhou Zishu. His cock bumped Zhou Zishu’s backside, stiff and hot even through all his layers.
Zhou Zishu elbowed Wen Kexing in the gut; Wen Kexing retaliated by biting the side of his neck hard enough to leave dents in the skin.
“My turn now,” Wen Kexing said. He licked where he’d bitten Zhou Zishu’s neck and rolled his hips slow and filthy against Zhou Zishu’s ass.
To his mild discomfit, Zhou Zishu found himself aroused by the idea of Wen Kexing taking him raw like this, humping him like a stray bitch in heat getting fucked by a cur in the middle of the street, people averting their eyes and the shopkeeper waving a broom trying to shoo the dogs off. He entertained the thought of succumbing to base animal urges, shedding his humanity and spending his last years a dumb, hedonist creature. It made him slow to react when Wen Kexing took his hips in both hands to grind harder against him.
But he still had his pride, and the thrill of the chase called to him. The fertile bitch also ran from her snarling pack of suitors, making them race and snap before she surrendered to breeding.
Zhou Zishu spun to face Wen Kexing, who wasted no time bending to kiss Zhou Zishu’s mouth. Zhou Zishu slid his hands up Wen Kexing’s torso like a caress until he had both hands planted flat against Wen Kexing’s chest. Then he shoved hard enough to send Wen Kexing stumbling backwards.
Wen Kexing was caught off guard by Zhou Zishu’s shove and only narrowly avoided falling on his ass.
“What makes you think I’ll grant you so much liberty?” Zhou Zishu laughed.
Wen Kexing had the audacity to look hurt. “Zhou-xiong,” he whined, “so unfair! You’ll leave me needy after you allowed me to pleasure you so skillfully?”
“I allowed no such thing,” Zhou Zishu said tartly.
Wen Kexing opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again as he was forced to admit that Zhou Zishu had never given him permission to touch. He changed tack; canting his hips and running his hand suggestively down his front.
“Keep your hands off yourself, you shameless wretch,” Zhou Zishu said as he stepped sharply forward to grab Wen Kexing by the wrist, then twisted it behind his back. Wen Kexing squirmed, so Zhou Zishu grabbed the other wrist and held him fast.
The breath rushed fast between them. Wen Kexing let himself be held off-balance, not shifting into a stance with the leverage to throw Zhou Zishu off. “I could bend you over and fuck you, Zhou Zishu whispered in Wen Kexing’s ear, just to see what the other man would do.
“You can get it up again so soon?” Wen Kexing snorted. “Doubtful.”
“I can stuff you with my fingers just as well,” Zhou Zishu replied. That knocked the wind out of him quite pleasantly, Zhou Zishu thought.
“Do it,” Wen Kexing said breathlessly. “See what happens.”
“Not interested,” Zhou Zishu said, and dropped Wen Kexing. He busied himself fishing his flask out of his sleeve.
Wen Kexing squwaked in outrage and puffed up like an offended rooster.
Zhou Zishu turned away and wandered over to lean his elbows on the nearby railing. He took a deep swig from the flask, immensely pleased with the world and his place moving through it. Even the sticky patch on his pants and the irritating sound of Wen Kexing complaining about his cruel treatment couldn’t dim Zhou Zishu’s sudden feeling of contentment.
Perhaps he would say no to Wen Kexing more often.