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The moment Xue Yang walks in the door, he finds himself wrapped in a warm embrace from behind as a second pair of hands tie a blindfold over his eyes.
The world turns dark, and in turn, all of his other senses sharpen.
He doesn’t need to see to know that it’s Xiao Xingchen’s arms around him, wrapped around his waist and holding him close. He can smell his boyfriend’s soap – fresh and clean, and vaguely like mint – and it’s the only reason he doesn’t tense up when Song Lan takes his sight.
“Do you trust us?” Xiao Xingchen whispers in Xue Yang’s ear, sending shivers down his spine.
His legs already feel weak, and arousal is starting to heat him from within from the anticipation of what’s coming next – whatever it is.
He tries to nod, but a hand on his chin – Song Lan’s, because his hands are so much larger, and calloused from training all day – holds him fast.
“Your words, A-Yang,” he says, his tone firmer than Xiao Xingchen’s. “You know the rules.”
“Well, Yang’er?” Xiao Xingchen questions, and Xue Yang whines.
“Yes,” he says. “Fuck, yes, I trust you.”
“Good,” Xiao Xingchen purrs, and Xue Yang’s cock hardens in his jeans.
Fuck, if he’s like this, just from a blindfold…he might not last until whatever they have planned for him.
They haven’t touched him for days – and he’d never dared to touch himself after Xiao Xingchen had ordered him not to, no matter how desperate he’d been for it - and he feels like the slightest touch could send him over the edge.
Song Lan’s hand falls from his chin, and takes his hand instead – and Xiao Xingchen takes his other, leaving him caught between the two of them.
Xue Yang doesn’t need to be able to see to know where Song Lan starts to lead him.
He knows where their bedroom is, even blindfolded.
“What are your words, A-Yang?” Song Lan asks – always the one to check in, always the one to remember the rules, to remember the importance of safety.
He’d always thought it would be Xiao Xingchen, but his other boyfriend gets lost in his dominance the same way Xue Yang can lose himself in his submission.
Song Lan keeps them sane, keeps them safe.
Even if it is annoying as hell.
“Orange for slow down, red for stop,” Xue Yang says, rolling his eyes beneath the blindfold.
“And your non-verbal signs?”
“Do you plan to make me non-verbal?” Xue Yang sasses, and lets out a yelp when the back of a hand strikes him across his cheek, sending his head to the side.
It hurts.
Fuck, it feels good.
“No back-talk,” Song Lan says, voice far too calm for their situation.
It takes a lot to unravel Song Lan – making it all the sweeter when he finally gives in.
“Two taps for slow down, three for stop,” Xue Yang hisses, check burning almost as hot as his cock.
“Good boy,” Xiao Xingchen praises, and Xue Yang shudders.
“What do you call A-Chen?” Song Lan asks, still running through his pre-scene checklist, even as Xue Yang squirms impatiently in place.
“Gege,” Xue Yang says, fighting the urge to talk back just to get hit again.
He craves the sting – the burn – but he bites his tongue, lest they stop the scene before it’s even begun.
A finger – Xiao Xingchen’s, he thinks, the long finger of a musician – runs along his check, right over where he had been slapped.
It stings in the best way.
“And what do you call Zichen?” he asks, voice low.
At this, Xue Yang swallows.
This is it – the signal to start.
“Master,” he breathes, and then there are hands on him, tugging his clothes off and exposing him to his boyfriend’s hungry gazes.
He wonders if they’re naked yet.
Song Lan probably isn’t – he’s always the last to strip, if he does at all – but Xiao Xingchen might be.
If possible, he hardens at the thought.
He wonders if they’re going to fuck him tonight, or if they’re going to leave him wanting.
He wants them to fuck him – wants Xiao Xingchen’s painfully long cock, and Song Lan’s perfectly thick cock.
What do you want from us? Song Lan had asked a week ago, when they had planned this scene. It’s your reward, for passing all your papers this semester.
A small reason for a reward, but Xue Yang knows that Song Lan is incredibly proud of him for going back to study and get a degree, and as mean as he can look, he’s the softest of his boyfriends.
The one who loves to reward and punish in equal measure.
Xiao Xingchen is the one who understands that, for Xue Yang, they’re almost the same.
I want you to hurt me, Xue Yang had replied, same as always. Pain and pleasure were inextricably tied in his mind, and he craved one as much as he craved the other. But not like you have before. I want something different. Something harder.
Then I have an idea, Xiao Xingchen had said, that glint in his eye that he always gets when he’s planning something that will absolutely wreck Xue Yang. He’s so trained by that look that his poor cock tries valiantly to harden after the several orgasms they’d already wrung out of him. But it’s going to be a surprise, okay? One week from now, when you get home from class. Do you trust us?
You know I do. But do I seriously have to wait?
Yes, had been the reply – a direct order. And if you can’t, then I’m sure you can handle being spanked a few more times for impatience? Xiao Xingchen had mused, as Song Lan rubbed lotion into Xue Yang’s red ass. I know Zichen loves to see how many you can take before you can’t sit down.
The threat, and the promise of a new thrill, had been enough to stay his tongue.
But now, now he just wants to know what they have planned.
Anticipation is an ever-present thrum under his skin.
“Arms behind your back,” Song Lan orders, and Xue Yang obeys almost on auto-pilot, Song Lan’s commanding tone ingrained in his very soul. Rope, soft but sturdy, wraps around his arms, bind his forearms to each other.
Then he’s led to the bed, and pushed back onto it – Xiao Xingchen’s firm (and bare) chest keeping him upright.
Xiao Xingchen’s hands run up and down his sides, chest rising with huffed laughter as Xue Yang whines for more, especially when his hands reach his inner thighs and Xue Yang desperately tries to shift his body so those hands touch his leaking cock.
“Patience, Yang’er,” he says. “Lan’er is getting ready, and you don’t want to disappoint him by coming before he’s even started, do you? After we’ve planned all of this just for you?”
“I don’t even know what he’s going to do!” Xue Yang protests, hissing when sharp nails dig into the meat of his thigh.
“A-Yang,” Xiao Xingchen warns, and Xue Yang falls into petulant silence.
Not that he has to wait much longer, as the bed dips at his feet and Song Lan climbs in. He can hear his boyfriend moving around, can hear the sound of something liquid pouring and something metal clinking together.
The sound of metal has him on edge, burning with anticipation.
Song Lan’s finger touches Xue Yang’s chest, running across where Xue Yang knows dozens of scars mark his skin – leftover from his harsher days before Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan had found him and brought him home like some kind of stray.
“Do you remember when we talked about these?” Song Lan asks. “You may answer,” he adds, when Xue Yang doesn’t immediately reply.
Did they hurt?
Of course they did!
Did you like it?
…yes.
Would you like more?
“Yes,” Xue Yang croaks, and Xiao Xingchen digs his nails in harder until Xue Yang gasps out the correct reply. “Yes, Master.”
The finger draws away, but it’s quickly replaced by something cold and metal.
Something sharp.
All the breath leaves Xue Yang’s lungs at once, and he freezes beneath the blade of the knife – because that’s what it is.
“Do you want it?” Xiao Xingchen asks, biting Xue Yang’s ear. “Do you want Lan’er to cut you up and paint you pretty in red? I think it would suit you, the bright red of blood. You’re so pale, Yang’er, it would be so beautiful. So will you let him cut you?”
“Yes gege,” Xue Yang all but sobs, the knife just barely touching his skin as Song Lan moves it across his chest.
“Safe words,” Song Lan says, and Xue Yang obediently tells him – no back-chat, no sass, too afraid that if he does then Song Lan will stop.
He doesn’t want Song Lan to stop.
He wants to bleed.
“I’m going to cut you now,” Song Lan tells him, and Xue Yang wants to tell him that he doesn’t need to warn him – that he craves the surprise, that he doesn’t want to know – but he can’t find the words.
Xue Yang does his best to stay still as the blade drags down the meat of his pec, just barely nicking the skin – but he can feel the sting as metal pierces flesh, can feel the warmth of the blood welling up behind it.
It feels so good, going straight to his cock.
He wonders if Song Lan plans to make him come like this, just from being cut, and he knows that he could.
The second cut is deeper, and longer, and Xue Yang can feel himself starting to slip into that fuzzy space where pain becomes pleasure and pleasure becomes pain. His whole body feels like an exposed nerve, ready and waiting for Song Lan’s next cut.
Xiao Xingchen keeps up a steady stream of filthy praise, telling Xue Yang how good he’s doing, how pretty he looks covered in blood, like a pretty painting all for them.
Song Lan is silent, as usual, but Xue Yang can hear his breathing, can hear the way it quickens and knows that he’s just as affected by this as Xue Yang is.
Xiao Xingchen is definitely interested, judging by the hard-on that’s digging into Xue Yang’s lower back.
Xue Yang is so hard it hurts, but it’s a different pain to the one left by the cuts – low and deep, unlike the sharp and stinging burn of Song Lan’s blade. He wants to come, but he also wants to wait, and his whole world is narrowed down to three things.
Xiao Xingchen’s voice, filthy and low.
The slow drag of the knife across his skin, steadily and masterfully guided by Song Lan.
And the desperate need to come.
He barely even registers the rope around his arms now, or the blindfold across his eyes, everything focused on those three things.
Song Lan’s cuts start to go lower, cutting across his abdomen and heading towards his cock – and for an instant Xue Yang wonders what it would feel like if Song Lan cut him there, even if he knows it’s impossible and far too dangerous.
He can feel the steady trickle of blood down his chest and abs, and he can hear a low keening noise – which he eventually realises is coming from himself.
His head feels stuffed with cotton wool – even Xiao Xingchen’s words have lost meaning, turned to white noise in his ears as a soundtrack to this perfect torture.
He wants to touch his cock, wants to jerk off as Song Lan cuts him, wants to see what it would feel like to use his own blood as lube as he chases his pleasure – and he doesn’t realize that he’s pulling at the ropes until he feels the hands that had been on his thighs reach up and grab his shoulders.
He hears Xiao Xingchen say something, but it doesn’t really mean anything to him right now.
All that matters is the exquisite pain, and the burning pleasure that comes with it.
“Master, please let me come,” he begs, even without meaning to. He’s crying beneath the blindfold, tears streaking his cheeks and dripping into his mouth, salty like blood but missing the metallic tang he craves. “Gege, please. I need to come, please let me come, I need to come, oh god, oh fuck, fuck, FUCK!”
Finally, there’s a hand on his cock, stroking him with the perfect amount of force that has him right on the edge of the pleasure-pain that the cuts had brought him.
His orgasm is building hard and fast, but he hasn’t been told he can come, and if he comes before he’s allowed, then this will stop too soon, he doesn’t want it to stop, he needs it to stop, oh gods never stop, oh fuck please stop I can’t take it anymore, I want to come, I need to come, please Master let me come letmecomeletmecomeletmecome….!!
“Come for us, Yang’er,” Xiao Xingchen’s words finally break through the haze, and Xue Yang sobs with relief as he comes, the hot bursts of come stinging the fresh cuts in his skin in a way that keeps him falling and falling for far longer than any orgasm ever has before.
He falls limply back against Xiao Xingchen, head still in that fuzzy space but starting to come down now that the searing desire to come has been sated, turning to pleasant static. His body feels hot and oversensitive, and the cuts sting and pull at his skin, but he feels amazing, better than any of the drugs he’s ever taken.
He stays like that, drifting, as hands reach up to untie the blindfold. He blinks in the sudden bright light – though in reality there’s only the dim light of the bedside lamps, far too bright after however long in darkness – immediately trying to turn and hide in Xiao Xingchen’s shoulder.
“It’s okay, Yang’er,” Xiao Xingchen murmurs, gently petting Xue Yang’s hair.
Ah, he likes that.
It’s grounding.
“Lean forward, Yang’er, so we can untie you,” Xiao Xingchen says, and Xue Yang obediently leans forward so he can be unbound.
Xiao Xingchen massages feeling back into his limbs as Song Lan fills Xue Yang’s vision, and Xue Yang gets his first look at what he’d been cut with.
A scalpel.
He wants to ask if Song Lan had taken it from the hospital he works at, if his boss knew he was taking it to cut up his boyfriend, but he can’t quite make words yet.
He’s not fully back, not yet.
Song Lan notices him staring at the scalpel, still red with his blood, and a soft smile pulls at his lips.
“You were so good for us, A-Yang,” he says, and Xue Yang drinks in the praise like it’s water and he’s dying of thirst. Song Lan may like to reward him, but he praises him so little that every time he does it feels like the first time – even after two years.
Song Lan puts down the scalpel, and Xue Yang follows his movements as he carefully disposes of the blade in a bright yellow container, and reaches for a pile of paper towels and a bottle of something that he pours over them.
“This is going to sting, A-Yang, but I need to clean them properly,” Song Lan tells him, but Xue Yang can’t tell him that he’s okay with that, that he wants that pain too, because he still can’t talk, damn it.
He tenses up as the damp cloth touches his skin, the stench of alcohol thick in his nose as Song Lan carefully cleans him.
Xiao Xingchen’s praises turn softer, telling how he’d been such a good boy, and slowly Xue Yang comes back to himself.
He’d never understood aftercare until meeting them; sex had always been violent, and it had always left him strung out after for hours, left to come down on his own, shaking and shivering.
Now he craves these soft moments after almost as much as he craves the pain and pleasure that comes before them.
Song Lan cleans him from blood and come, and carefully bandages over the cuts.
“I want to see them,” Xue Yang croaks out, his voice hoarse – had he been screaming?
He doesn’t remember.
“Tomorrow,” Song Lan tells him sternly. “They’ll get infected if I don’t cover them, and I don’t want to have to explain that to my boss if I have to take you to the ER.”
Xue Yang pouts, but doesn’t argue.
He’ll sneak a look later, once the other two are asleep.
Probably.
Maybe.
Once he’s clean, Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan tuck him into their enormous bed, sandwiching him between the two of them. Song Lan grabs some sweets and sports drink from the bedside table and hands them to him – though it’s Xiao Xingchen who helps him drink, and lifts the sweets to his lips so he can eat from his fingers.
“How was your reward, Yang’er?” Xiao Xingchen asks, a smile curling at his mouth that tells Xue Yang that he absolutely already knows the answer.
“Perfect,” Xue Yang says. “Though you could cut deeper, Song Lan.”
Song Lan snorts.
“You have no idea how deep I was cutting. Any deeper, and you risk scarring.”
“Maybe I want to scar,” Xue Yang says, and Song Lan just rolls his eyes.
“That’s something to discuss further at a later time,” he says. “Right now, you’re still coming down. But…you did enjoy it?”
Ah, that’s his Song Lan, his Master.
Overly confident leading up to the act and during, then shy and self-doubting after.
One day, Xue Yang hopes Song Lan will tell him why that is, and why their rules are so important to him.
One day, but not right now.
Right now, he just wants to snuggle under the covers with the men he loves, enjoying the lingering pull and sting of the cuts.
Two pairs of lips press themselves to his hair and forehead, before the other two get under the covers with him and turning off the lights.
“Love you, Xingchen. Love you, Song Lan,” he says sleepily, already fading quick.
“Love you too, Xue Yang,” two voices say as one, and warmth fill his chest.
Xue Yang falls asleep with a lover at his front and at his back, with the pleasant ache still lingering, and he feels more loved than he ever has in his life.