Chapter Text
“Shizun. I don’t want to hurt you.”
A very common refrain in the bedroom of the bamboo house on Qing Jing Peak.
Shen Qingqiu doesn’t want that either, Binghe. Believe your Shizun! “Then you won’t. The blood reacts to your desires.”
Luo Binghe tilts his head to one side like a bird. A bird with a huge a boner. “Shizun, you know so much about heavenly demons. You must have studied while I was gone.”
“Y-yes, of course I did,” Shen Qingqiu sniffs. “Why wouldn’t I want to know as much as possible about my disciple?”
“You’re a very good husband, Shizun.”
Shen Qingqiu’s cheeks burn. He scowls up at the bed hangings. “Just get on with it.”
Luo Binghe’s smile flavors his voice. “Okay.”
It starts as just a familiar tremor inside him. Cold sweat breaks out along the back of his neck and slides down his spine. This feeling has always been a prelude to extreme agony.
But the pain doesn’t come, neither does the numbness or weakness that accompanies a heavenly demon attempting to force his body to follow its will.
A single line of concentration bisects Luo Binghe’s forehead.
Warmth spreads slowly outward from the pit of Shen Qingqiu’s stomach, different from how arousal usually feels, but familiar enough that he starts to get hard.
It’s a weird sensation, being touched this way, like Luo Binghe has just opened him up to rearrange his insides. Literally, instead of metaphorically. In a porno way.
“Binghe, I…I think—.”
Luo Binghe is stripped down to his inner robe, collar gaping to show off the beautiful lines of his clavicles. Shen Qingqiu wants to lick them. He wants to put his hands all over Luo Binghe, push the robe off his shoulders and soak in the heat of his skin.
“Binghe, I think it’s working,” he gasps, heat building inside him. “I think—.”
It builds and builds and then it bursts.
Shen Qingqiu comes so hard and so fast that he passes out.
This wasn’t Shen Qingqiu’s fault, okay! This hadn’t even been his idea!
He knows exactly who is to blame. He he saw him two weeks ago in the Demon Realm.
Two weeks ago, in the Demon Realm
Shen Qingqiu doesn’t like to spend too much around these parts.
It’s not that he’s in any danger. He’s a powerful cultivator in his own right, and he’s been told on multiple occasions that he smells enough like Luo Binghe, the undisputed Emperor of the realm, that nobody would dare mess with him. But still. He feels most at home in his bamboo house on the Peak, or in Luo Binghe’s Palace—at least, the inner courtyard where no one is permitted except the Lord and his husband—and not, for instance, scurrying around after Shang Qinghua, the artist formerly known as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, in Mobei-Jun’s palace.
“Don’t worry about any of that,” Airplane says, flapping a hand as Shen Qingqiu attempts to find somewhere to perch himself in the office overflowing with scrolls and half-finished paperwork. “Just throw it on the ground, I’ll deal with it later.”
“Shouldn’t you have someone to do all of this for you?” Shen Qingqiu picks delicately through a sheaf of Palace accounts.
Airplane shrugs. “I’m just used to doing it all myself. I was his office bitch before I was his husband.”
Husband.
Shen Qingqiu still can’t get used to that. It’s bad enough that he’s somehow managed to turn Luo Binghe, the stallion protagonist, into a gay, but Mobei-Jun? Next to Luo Binghe, he’s surely the most manly of all the characters of Proud Immortal Demon Way.
Although…didn’t Airplane tell him that he’d initially outlined Luo Binghe to be gay after all? And if Airplane himself is gay, then maybe all the gayness truly does come from him, and not from Shen Qingqiu at all!
In fact, maybe it’s Airplane’s fault that Shen Qingqiu himself turned out with such homo tendencies. Back in the real world, he would surely have continued on as his normal heterosexual self!!
He goes to pick up another stack of pamphlets, before recognizing one of the covers and snatching his hand back.
Airplane frowns. “What’s wrong? It looks like something bit you.”
“You have no idea,” he shudders.
If only Airplane knew exactly how bitten Shen Qingqiu has been, how traumatic and horrifying the experience of seeing this little volume sitting here is, when the last time he’d seen it had been when Luo Binghe brought it home along with a jar of aphrodisiac wine...
Wait. If Airplane has this…
Shen Qingqiu’s pulse stutters. “Wait! Did you—you didn’t—you didn’t write this?”
“Hmm? Which one?” Airplane glances over. “Nope, not me. That one’s a little trashy even by my standards.”
“Then why do you have it?”
Airplane shrugs. “I have most of the fiction about you and Bing-ge.”
“You do?”
“Why wouldn’t I? We’re friends?”
What! Shen Qingqiu splutters. What kind of friends collect each other’s RPF porn?
“It’s also important to know the market you’re trying to break into. Your books are popular, bro.” He glances back down where Shen Qingqiu has tossed the book. “Is that the volume with the blood, or the wine?”
“The wine,” Shen Qingqiu answers thoughtlessly.
Shang Qinghua’s eyebrows go up so high and Shen Qingqiu immediately realizes he’s made a mistake.
“So you have read them.”
Shen Qingqiu’s face feels hot enough to burst into flames, which is pretty damn hot considering they are in a castle that is made mostly of ice. “I haven’t! This one, just—Luo Binghe has this one. He brought it--.”
“You guys read books as foreplay?”
“If—if you can even call them books! They’re nonsense! Absolute trash.”
“Well, yeah. That’s sort of the point of books like this. You're not supposed to actually do it, it’s just fantasy.”
Shen Qingqiu very carefully says nothing and makes no eye contact.
“Oh my god.”
No. Nope!
“Cucumber-Bro. Did you try—.”
Nope! Not happening! Shen Qingqiu is not going to discuss his sex life with Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, this is not a thing that is ever going to happen ever in his life.
“I can’t believe this, okay, you need to—.”
Shen Qingqiu buries his face in the wall, carefully making eye contact with the stonework. Wow, incredible masonry. He hears another flurry of papers hitting the floor and ink being ground, before Shang Qinghua says, “Do you have any specific critiques?”
Shen Qingqiu spins around. “I thought you said you didn’t write them!”
Shang Qinghua flicks a bit of ink off the end of his brush. “Sure, but I’d still like to know in case I decide to write anything in the future.” He holds up his hands when Shen Qingqiu makes a noise of outrage. “Not about you. About other fake people! You always shit talk my sex scenes, don’t you want a chance to help improve them?”
Despite his better judgement, Shen Qingqiu feels himself thawing. “Fine.” He sits down on the edge of the desk, since there are no other uncluttered surfaces.
Airplane chews on the end of his brush in concentration. “What about the blood? The way they have Bing-ge use it in Song of Bingqiu I’ve always thought was a little out there…”
Shen Qingqiu flicks his fan open. “I wouldn’t know.”
Airplane freezes with his brush poised, still dripping. You’d think someone who’d been inside a xianxia novel for so long would be better at calligraphy. “Wait, are you saying, you haven’t with…Luo Binghe’s blood?”
Shen Qingqiu very much wishes he had something to hand that wasn’t his fan so he could throw it at Airplane’s head. “I’m not talking about my…my private life with you!”
Airplane continues to stare, before jotting something down. Shen Qingqiu suppresses the urge to grab the brush and snap it in half, pour out all his ink, and then set every one of those smutty pamphlets on fire.
“But he has fed you his blood, right?”
Shen Qingqiu breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. No arson in the palaces of Luo Binghe’s subordinates. “…Yes.”
“Good. I mean, I figured. It’s one thing if Bing-ge has become a one-consort man, but if he hasn’t even fed you his blood…that would be a little too OOC. Heavenly demons always feed blood to a prospective mate.”
Shen Qingqiu snaps his fan open, then shut. He does not mention that Luo Binghe’s blood is not the only blood he’s been made to swallow. Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky would absolutely take it the wrong way; he’d think Shen Qingqiu was some sort of—of blood slut!
In fact, this old man has been made to suffer countless indignities. They’re just not the same indignities that these pervert writers have been imagining. Well, most of them.
“I can’t think why Bing-ge hasn’t used it yet…”
Shen Qingqiu shifts uncomfortably. There have been times when he has, ahem. Wondered the same thing. Not because he wants Binghe to use the blood for that stuff! Just, he used it with his harem all the time. And Shen Qingqiu doesn't want the protagonist to be nerfed any more than he already has been!
“He doesn’t know how. How did he learn in the first place? It's not in the book.”
Airplane shrugs.
“You don’t know?!”
Just another piece of lazy writing from the world’s most lackadaisical god king!
Airplane is absolutely incapable of feeling shame, though, so he just says, “Do I detail my characters learning to walk or talk or take a shit? It’s just something heavenly demons do instinctively. Maybe you should ask him.”
And that’s how Shen Qingqiu ended up like this, half-conscious, dick oozing onto his stomach, body numb from the waist down.
“Shizun…” Luo Binghe face swims in and out of focus, creased with worry, lips bitten raw, eyes shiny. “Shizun, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
Shen Qingqiu tries a few times before he manages to raise a hand to pat Luo Binghe firmly on the head. “It’s okay. We can try again some other time.”
Their second attempt does not go any better, but it is, admittedly, less explosive. Instead it is a slow, agonizing wash of suffering, much like Shen Qingqiu’s entire life since he’d gotten onto Master Airplane’s wild ride.
Luo Binghe rings his hands from across the threshold, where Shen Qingqiu has banished him, looking less like a demon lord and more like a bedraggled bear cub that had been promised a river full of fish, but instead found only a dry, sandy creek-bed.
“At least it’s…an improvement?”
Shen Qingqiu shifts from one side to the other, all attempts to get comfortable thwarted by the persistent throb of heat between his legs. He sighs through his nose. “No, Binghe, I think I’m going to call this one a step backward.”
Luo Binghe makes a sad little noise.
Shen Qingqiu does not have the patience for this! He’s just spent two hours with a persistent, aching boner that will not go away! All because of Luo Binghe’s stupid blood!!
“Shizun…”
Shen Qingqiu lets out another soft noise of annoyance.
“Shizun, should I…go get a healer?”
Shen Qingqiu’s stomach lurches at the thought of anyone coming in here and seeing him in this state, of having to explain to Mu Qingfan that he’s experiencing an acute case of priapism because he broke down and let his husband try to fuck him from the inside with his magic demon blood.
He rolls his face into a pillow and screams in an extremely chill and masculine way. He’s already missed a Peak Lord meeting and two assessments with lower disciples.
“Go and get him,” he says, and resolves never to experiment with heavenly demon blood again.
That last for about a week and a half, and a lot of persistent wheedling.
Finally, Shen Qingqiu breaks down, declaring that he holds no responsibility for anything that happens.
“Don’t worry, Shizun,” Luo Binghe says. “It won’t happen again.” He presses Shen Qingqiu down to the bed, breath warm against his ear. “I’ve been practicing.”
“Practice—practicing? On who?” He tingles with a blend of surprise, dismay, and just the tinniest sliver of relief at the thought of Luo Binghe finding someone else to work his sexual aggression out on. His back can only take so much.
Luo Binghe moves from one side of his neck to the other, teeth grazing and sending rippling shivers up Shen Qingqiu’s spine. “Nobody important.”
“Binghe—!”
Luo Binghe sits back on his haunches and chews on his bottom lip. “Well, Mu Qingfang—.”
Shen Qingqiu, who had begun to let himself relax back against the cushions, sits upright again so fast that only Luo Binghe’s demonically preternatural reflexes keep their foreheads from smashing together. “You—fed your blood to—Mu Qingfan?”
Weird choice, Binghe!!
Luo Binghe smiles. “Shizun.” Gently, indulgently. “Don’t tease. Of course I didn’t feed Mu Qingfan my blood.”
His brain slides around in dizzying swoops. He smacks Luo Binghe’s fingers away from his ribs. They’re ticklish and distracting. “Huh?”
“I would never give a Cang Qiong Sect leader any of my blood. Besides you, Shizun, of course. I just gave him some to test.”
“Test? Test what?”
“Medical things.” Luo Binghe shrugs. “I didn’t ask. I just told him that if he feeds it to anyone, I’ll know, and I’ll kill them right away.”
Mollified, Shen Qingqiu relaxes.
So, Mu Qingfan wants heavenly demon blood? For what? Some sort of mad scientist bullshit? But that’s currently beside the point, because Mu Qingfan playing around has zero to do with the situation at hand, namely Luo Binghe learning to use that demon blood so he doesn’t push his guts out of shape every single time.
Luo Binghe’s eyes are big and guileless. Nice try, kid! Your Shizun knows your guile better than anyone; he’s constantly on the receiving end, so to speak.
“There’s a surprising number of texts on healing with heavenly demon blood.” Luo Binghe’s fingers return to Shen Qingqiu’s ribs, creeping like hungry spiders. “Mu Qingfang has some of them. There aren’t any on using the blood for sex, though.”
Shen Qingqiu rolls his eyes. “If only.”
“Aren't any medical books, Shizun. Mu Qingfan knows that we’ve been…”
Shen Qingqiu winces. He would, since he’s the one that dealt with last time’s…persistent aftermath.
“Very well.” Sigh. “Show me what you’ve learned.”
Luo Binghe’s hesitates.
“Binghe, just spit it out.”
“Shizun…to test it…I’ll have to hurt you.”
Shen Qingqiu almost laughs with relief. That’s all? Binghe, you hurt you Shizun constantly. Three to four days a week he’s limping because of you! He’ll never say this out loud, of course, because the way Luo Binghe’s eyes will glimmer with tears will be too much for him. His body has developed a reflex to Binghe tears, like he’s knocking on his knee with one of those little hammers. He’ll agree to anything.
And if he really can use it the right way…
“Go ahead. Your Shizun isn’t afraid of pain.”
Luo Binghe’s mouth turns up and he leans in to kiss him. A slow, sweet kiss that sweeps shivers through Shen Qingqiu’s bones, all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. He relaxes back against the cushions, opening his mouth with a low noise.
He’s gotten better at letting this take time. At first, he couldn’t stand allowing it to go longer than it had to, just rolling over and letting Luo Binghe do whatever he wanted. But Luo Binghe doesn’t like that. And Shen Qingqiu has had to conceptualize this as reading a very good book, or sitting down to a favorite meal. To be savored, rather than endured.
Some tries are easier than others. Sometimes he can’t get his mind to quiet, and in those moments he just let himself fall into the muscle memory of Luo Binghe having him. Giving him everything that he can.
The kiss deepens, and when Luo Binghe’s fangs sink into his bottom lip, he doesn’t think anything of it. He gets nippy sometimes, like an overexcited puppy. But then Shen Qingqiu feels a strange warmth wash up from the center of his chest, rolling up his neck to settle in his sinuses.
“There,” Luo Binghe says, sitting back.
“Huh—.” Shen Qingqiu puts a finger to the corner of his mouth. It comes away rusty, but the wound is gone. “You did it!”
Luo Binghe beams. “Now I can always heal you, Shizun. I can protect you no matter what.”
“Mm.” Protect him from everything but that heavenly pillar, but at least he can soothe the ache afterward. It’s not like he’s ever in pain for a particularly long time—his cultivation is high enough that he heals very quickly, but no pain is still better than some pain. Although maybe Binghe won’t carry him to the bath anymore…
Well, whatever! He’s a grown man, he doesn’t need to be carried anywhere!
He ends up flat on his back, as usual, Luo Binghe heavy and panting above him, trembling with badly restrained desire, pushing into him. The burn makes his eyes tear up. It hurts, it hurts…and then it doesn’t.
“What—.”
It’s alarming, at first, like something’s happened to his nerves, like Luo Binghe has finally ruptured a necessary body part and paralyzed him from the waist down. But that’s not it. He can still feel, he just…doesn’t feel pain.
“Binghe, what—.”
Luo Binghe pushes in the rest of the way, and Shen Qingqiu braces himself. But there’s…nothing. Just heat and pressure and the obscene, slick noises that make Shen Qingqiu wish Airplane had written a magical record player into his cultivation world. At least then they could drown everything out.
He realizes—consciousness floating somewhere up by the ceiling—that Binghe must be healing him. He isn’t just going to use the blood for the aftermath. He’s going to use it during.
He can’t change the fact that Shen Qingqiu’s hips are narrow and Binghe’s dick is large and heavy enough to knock in nails with. He can’t change physics. But he can soothe the enflamed flesh, washing away the sharpest aches. Having Binghe inside him still makes his legs tremble and his brain short out, but it doesn’t hurt.
Fuck. Fuck, it feels so good.
“Shizun? Shizun, are you okay? Is this better?”
He shifts the angle of his hips and Shen Qingqiu’s eyes fly open.
No, no. God, this is worse.
Without the pain, the reality of what is being done to his body claws at him, swooping like vertigo. Luo Binghe is so big and so hard and he’s inside him.
“Shizun, I can stop. We can stop if you don’t like it.” The words come out breathy and pained, like they’re being beaten out of him.
Shen Qingqiu makes an animal noise deep in his throat, covering his face with his hands. There is a dick in his ass and he asked for it, and he’s going to ask for it again in the future, and he’s going to like it then too. Somehow, whatever the demonic blood has done to him has boiled away the dregs of his denial and left nothing behind but the pure white salt of desire.
“Shizun?” Luo Binghe stops moving. It doesn’t help. It just makes it worse. Whatever it is.
“Shizun, am I hurting you?”
Shen Qingqiu shakes his head. “No. No.”
Oh god, he’s going to cry. No, no. Binghe is the crier, he can’t—
“Shizun.” Luo Binghe gathers him into his lap, still inside him. The angle makes Shen Qingqiu scream behind his teeth, pleasure sparking hot up his spine. “Shen Qingqiu.” Luo Binghe kisses his cheeks, his jaw, his mouth. “Husband. Should I stop?”
Shen Qingqiu’s chest goes even tighter, his heartbeat pounding through his entire body. He pries open gummy eyes and sees Luo Binghe highlighted in light from the setting sun, demon mark glowing on his forehead. Luo Binghe, with his beautiful face and impossibly calm eyes and building fear that he is hurting his Shizun, something he never wants to do because he loves him so much—
“Don’t stop.” He gasps against Luo Binghe’s neck. “Don’t stop.”