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Their husband had left with a huff earlier in the day to go into town.
Alone.
This, of course, left Wen Kexing with too much free time. When he had free time, he would find ways, or people, to entertain himself with. That brought Han Ying to where he was now—deep in his cups, playing a terrible game of Truth or Dare against Wen Kexing, and losing.
It hasn’t all been terrible. Primarily embarrassing. Han Ying has lost several rounds and been made to expose several undignified stories of his time in Tian Chuang, stories of how flustered he had gotten during training with Zhou Zishu as a teen, and waking up to wet dreams and soiled sheets. Realizing the depth of his emotions as he got older and having to fight the fantasies to stay professional.
With each new story, Wen Kexing shifts a little closer, taking large gulps of wine directly from the jar to quench his dry throat. He devours each crumb of detail from Han Ying and Zhou Zishu’s shared history and their life before like he is starving for it.
Han Ying has suffered all night, and sees a chance to get back at Wen Kexing. He moves closer while explaining in detail how Zhou Shouling looked in his uniform, sharp and rigid, a frigid beauty of grace and killing intent, more regal than even the imperials.
“Can you imagine him, Wen Daren? Imagine him so noble and commanding?” He’s nearly made it into Wen Kexing’s lap. The hand on his waist is warm and clenched tight in the fabric of his robes.
“I could imagine his beauty when he still wore the disguise of a beggar; of course he would be stunning.” There’s a breathy quality to Wen Kexing’s voice, revealing how affected he is by the thought. “My memory recalls Xiao Daren looking quite menacing and commanding when I took him captive.”
“Oh no, Wen Daren, I was only Tongling; Shouling looked much better, draped in the trappings of his station.” His voice dips low, bringing it close to Wen Kexing’s ear, “I ask again, can you imagine him like that? Would you want to have Zhou Shouling put you in your place? Make you beg to kneel at his feet?”
Wen Kexing’s large hands grip Han Ying’s waist, and Han Ying knows he will find bruises there in the morning. He slides his hands into the cascade of Wen Kexing’s hair, pulling his head down so Wen Kexing can mouth along his neck. Their hips grind lazily against each other. The absence of their husband is poignant, like a candle flickering without a breeze; they are both aware, but neither looks directly at it.
Han Ying senses Wen Kexing’s intention to bite him with only a moment to spare, his mouth opening wide, and Han Ying tightens his grip on Wen Kexing’s hair, yanking him back. Wen Kexing gasps, forced to meet Han Ying’s gaze, his own neck now exposed.
“Well? I asked you a question, Wen Daren.” He lets the authoritative tone slip in, a bit of the cruelty he would use to intimidate men of power.
“Yes!” Wen Kexing gasps. “I want your Zhou Shouling to force me to my knees, I want him to make me beg.”
Victorious, Han Ying drags Wen Kexing’s face to his so he can claim his lips, devouring and being devoured in return. He brings his free hand up to claw at Wen Kexing’s robes, gripping at his collarbone. Wen Kexing grunts and pulls away from the kiss, glancing down to complain about Han Ying wrinkling his robe. They both freeze, staring at where Han Ying’s hand is gripping, a spot where they both know their missing husband has a puckered scar. Six more scars match across his chest, the cost he paid never to wear those robes of office again. Like that, it’s as if they have been doused in glacier melt.
Han Ying bumps his forehead lightly against Wen Kexing’s, then kisses his temple before climbing from his lap. Wen Kexing attempts to pour them a cup of wine, but all three jugs he reaches for are empty. He slumps against Han Ying’s side with a huff.
Neither of them speaks, but Han Ying knows with certainty what Wen Kexing is remembering. It will be many more years before the memories of Zhou Zishu’s deathly still coma desiccate in their minds and drift away on the wind.
When their husband comes home that night, he’s met with two sticky partners who refuse to leave his side. Each time he grumbles, one of them leans in to kiss him. They both hold onto him tightly, needing to feel his strong and steady heartbeat beneath their hands.
But the thought of seeing Zhou Shouling again doesn't leave Han Ying. He shares a look with Wen Kexing in the market one day when he finds the right shade and material of fabric. The way Wen Kexing’s eyes darken and his lips part on an ‘oh,’ obviously imagining Zhou Zishu wrapped in the material, means he hasn’t stopped thinking about it either. They share no words, but they order the fabric. Wen Kexing has Zhou Zishu’s measurements memorized, after all.
It takes a few months—robes need to be sewn, and belt, guan, and bracers made to specifications. Han Ying is unsure if he can even ask Zhou Zishu to wear them. If he can stomach it. But the time it takes for the clothing to be completed gives him the time to think through ways he could, possibly, ask.
—
It’s a warm day in spring, the gardens are blooming a riot of colors, and all three of them had slept late after a night of watching the moon. Han Ying and Wen Kexing, typically the earlier risers, slept a bit later than usual. Now Wen Kexing is off handling the disciples and the manor, and Han Ying is moving slowly through the process of dressing himself. He’s reaching for what he thinks is his own robe when he realizes it is in fact Zhou Zishu’s. It’s loose and light and makes him think of Zhou Zishu laughing with Chengling and other disciples in the orchard the day before. It still smells of azaleas. Han Ying slips it on just as Zhou Zishu starts to grumble awake in bed. He ties the belt loose, just as Zhou Zishu always does, and it feels right, settling into place.
Han Ying hears the mouse-like steps of a servant in the hall, and he opens the door before they can knock and rouse Zhou Zishu. “Zhou Zhuangzhu is indisposed. But please go to the kitchen and tell Wen Daren that Han Ying is expecting him here in our lord’s rooms.” The servant nods and steps away.
He rouses Zhou Zishu with kisses, gentle fingers carding through his hair, and Zhou Zishu looks at him with soft eyes, fond exasperation in them when he realizes Han Ying is wearing his robes from the day before. They grin at each other when Zhou Zishu picks a petal that must have been stuck in the folds of the collar.
Han Ying guides him to stand and reaches to untie Zhou Zishu’s sleep robes. He looks up at him, eyebrows drawn together in a plea. “Let me help you dress, Xianggong?”
Zhou Zishu huffs and closes his eyes; there’s a slight upturn to his lips. “If my Xiao Furen demands.”
Han Ying smiles shyly and pulls the ties free, slowly moving through the process of dressing Zhou Zishu in his first layer. The robe he pulls across Zhou Zishu’s shoulders is similar to his usual white underrobe, but stiffer, with a higher neckline than Zhou Zishu has been wearing at Siji. He sees the frown line between Zhou Zishu’s eyebrows and launches into his first story before Zhou Zishu can comment.
“Do you remember how terrible I was when you first brought me in? I had no formal training, even less than most other recruits, and I would stumble through the basic forms. You would walk through the ranks and correct everyone’s posture and stances, but you had to spend so much extra time adjusting my feet, my hips, my shoulders, or my arms. I was always red with embarrassment.” He laughs for a moment, letting it calm his own nerves. “But as I began to get better, you had to correct my forms less and less. You would walk through the ranks and not touch me, and I realized I missed it. I even tried doing poorly once or twice, but all I got from you was that disappointed frown, and I couldn’t handle that.” It’s hard to admit this, to speak about it so openly with his eyes trained on Zhou Zishu’s.
“You didn’t let us progress to archery until we could at least defend ourselves sufficiently with a staff, and again, I was terrible at it. I would sneak away to the archery field whenever I had a free moment and practice. You found me there once. I don’t know how long you had been watching, but I turned around after picking up all of my arrows, and there you were.”
“You nearly dropped all your arrows again in your haste to bow.” Zhou Zishu says with a sly grin.
Han Ying beams but glances away abashed. He can’t believe that Zhou Zishu remembers. “You told me to try again, and when I took up my position, you stepped up behind me, your chest against my back—I nearly dropped the bow! But you caught my arms and repositioned me. Moved my legs and shoulders—I was…” He has to pause and swallow. He’s not Wen Kexing with his poems and innuendos, he has no other way than straightforward. “You put your hand on my hip, and I was so afraid you would feel how hard I was.”
He risks a glance up, and Zhou Zishu is looking at him with surprise. “You made me shoot an entire quiver of arrows with your body pressed against mine, and all I could think about was imagining your cock pressed against me—of what it would feel like if you bit my neck. And then you made me pick up all the arrows and try again with you watching. The moment you left, I hid behind the targets and took myself in hand, and I—that was the first time I came thinking of you. But it wasn’t the last.”
Zhou Zishu’s lips are parted, and his entire focus is on Han Ying now; he barely even notices when Han Ying drapes the second layer over his shoulders. The robe is black, much darker than any of them wear these days, but Zhou Zishu is too distracted to notice, maybe thinking back on his own memories of that event.
“I started dreaming about you and would wake up to soiled sheets. Bi-Shushu had given us all the talk, but it was embarrassing dropping my sheets and robes off for laundry.” He pauses to place his forehead against Zhou Zishu’s shoulder. He can feel his face flaming, and Zhou Zishu’s own body heat provides no relief. Zhou Zishu’s fingertips fit beneath his chin like hot brands, tilting his face up. His eyes are intense, obsidian depths focused solely on Han Ying and only made deeper by the black robes.
Han Ying wets his lips and continues, “Sometimes I woke up in the middle of the dream, and I would have to use my own hand to finish, even knowing I would have to strip my bed again. I tried to be quiet, but one time I must have woken up Cheng Zichen because he touched my arm—and then he was between my legs and—that was the first time someone put their mouth on me. And in the dark, it was so easy to imagine it was you. My own fantasy was that you had come to the barracks to check up on me, take care of me like you always had. I had half my fist between my teeth trying to keep quiet, but when I finished, it felt like I nearly screamed for you, calling out for Shouling.” Han Ying whispers the last word right against Zhou Zishu’s ear as he ties the silky fabric of the short-sleeved outer robe closed from behind him, his hands around Zhou Zishu’s waist and chest against his back, a mirror of his earlier confession. He is getting hard from his own confessions and presses forward to make sure Zhou Zishu can feel it.
“I was delirious afterward. Cheng Zichen just rolled over and went back to bed. I tried to roll away and do the same, but I had been loud, and I had woken someone up; Bi Xingming was staring right at me. I remember holding my breath, burning red from embarrassment, but he just nodded to me and went back to sleep.” He moves around to stand in front of Zhou Zishu now, hands liberally running over his shoulders and chest as he tugs the robe into place. He had eventually repaid Cheng Zichen the favor—in fact, a few times back and forth. It was not an uncommon thing in the barracks. They were young men, living in close quarters as they forged their bodies into tools their Shouling could use.
Han Ying steps forward, chest to chest with Zhou Zishu, and wraps his hands around his waist, belt in hand, his eyes never leaving Zhou Zishu’s. There is a hitch to both of their breaths as their cocks brush against each other, but Zhou Zishu does nothing to act on his desires, seemingly too wrapped up in Han Ying’s stories.
“I eventually got better, stronger, didn’t I, Shouling?” Zhou Zishu’s eyebrows raise at the address but says nothing and lets Han Ying continue. “I had to be worthy of you, and I couldn’t stand to see your disappointment, so I worked toward being the best. Soon I was good enough for Shouling to use for demonstrations, and that meant I could feel your hands on me again, feel your body pressed against mine.” Zhou Zishu’s eyes widen, a sharp inhale. It gets easier for Han Ying the more he talks about it, how much he had been driven purely by Zhou Zishu’s approval.
He cradles Zhou Zishu’s hand as he slides the bracers on, letting his fingers work over the laces like he had done a hundred times before. The lines around Zhou Zishu’s eyes tighten, but he doesn’t pull his hand away.
“Ying’er, what are you—”
“I especially liked the grappling demonstrations when Shouling put this humble servant on his knees at Shouling’s feet. It felt right. Like I belonged there.” Han Ying hurries to cut in. If Zhou Zishu says so, he’ll stop, but if he asks him to explain before he finishes he isn’t sure he could continue after.
He moves to Zhou Zishu’s other hand. “I was older then, better able to tamp down my arousal, but it was still hard not to moan when you would knock me on my back. I could tell by the looks the others gave me that I wasn’t always convincing.” He’s blushing again, remembering Lu Tongling's look after one particular lesson where Zhou Shouling had knocked Han Ying to the ground, arm twisted behind his back while kneeling across his thighs. The sound had been far closer to a moan of ecstasy than a gasp of pain. “Could Shouling tell?”
Zhou Zishu’s eyelashes flutter across his reddened cheeks, and he lets out a quiet “Ying’er…” That’s all Han Ying needs to know to continue. He smiles, pulls Zhou Shouling across the room, and sits him at the dressing table.
“Shouling, do you remember the mission at the Kang mansion? You pushed me out of the way of an attack during our escape, and you were injured instead?” Han Ying works slowly to brush out his Shouling’s hair, knowing he’s being watched from the bronze mirror on the dressing table. He looks up to meet Zhou Zishu’s eyes and is met with his knowing gaze. “It scared me—there was a lot of blood, and we had to go so far to make it back to camp, and it was my fault you were hurt. I was terrified my mistake would get you killed.”
He’s proud that his fingers sliding through his Shouling’s hair barely tremble at the memory. But his strict muscle memory means even the slight tremor won’t interfere with how perfectly he pins the ink-black hair.
“Once we were back in camp, and you let me lead you to your tent for treatment, my heart was suddenly beating for another reason. I cut your pants off and washed away the blood from your thigh, but I would have licked you clean if I could. I never once believed I would have you, and here I was, washing away the only part of Shouling I could take and keep safe within me. But you were watching me, quiet and expressionless, even while I sewed you back together. I wanted to run my hands over your warm skin, feel the shape of your muscles, and worship you with my lips.”
The gaze that watches him from the bronze mirror is fathomless and hungry. Han Ying feels lightheaded with the intensity of it and finds himself swaying forward to lean against Zhou Zishu, letting out a breathy whimper at the pressure against his swollen cock.
It may only be a moment, but it feels endless, the way his heart yearns for both the man of his memories and the man before him now, neither entirely the same nor wholly different. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to step away from the warm contact with his Shouling. He slides the stiff black leather guan into place and brushes his lips against the back of Zhou Zishu’s neck—a presumption he would have never dared before—and marvels at the red blush spreading across that elegant neck.
“You were injured again a few months later, and I wasn’t with you. I was Tongling then and in charge of my own agents. I never knew how bad it was, but I watched Shouling struggle with his cloak and knew it must have been incredibly painful if you showed even a modicum of discomfort. But I couldn’t go to you, couldn’t reach out to help.” He steps around to face Zhou Zishu, taking his hands to pull him to his feet. Han Ying can’t help but bow his head and kiss the fingers he cradles lightly.
“I knew Shouling had reports to write that night, so I brought tea and snacks. Made myself useful and available to Shouling. And you did. Teased me about my handwriting and made me practice by being your scribe. It was one of my happiest memories, spending an evening alone with you, hours where I could sit and listen to your voice.” Han Ying directs Zhou Zishu toward the center of the room and pulls his cloak across his shoulders before taking his hands again. He isn’t done with his preparations, but he is hesitant to pull away from his Shouling, his lover, his husband.
Zhou Shouling is blushing shyly now, barely meeting Han Ying's gaze as if Han Ying's last confession was the one that finally undid his composure. And that is a heady thought, that he made his stoic and severe Shouling blush just from his confession of an evening spent in each other’s company.
Han Ying leans forward to kiss the knuckles, down the long slender fingers, turning the hands over to lay a kiss across the palms, and brings the warm and calloused hands to his cheeks.
"I shall go wherever my Shouling goes, for where he goes, this husband will follow." He steps forward to offer his lips in service, feeling the heat of his Shouling’s lips open to his.
“Oh, am I interrupting?”
They step apart and turn toward the interloper, although of course there is only one man it could possibly be.
Wen Kexing is resplendent in the crimson regalia of Ghost Valley Guzhu, a golden guan in his hair and red lining his eyes. Han Ying is torn between appreciating the theatrics of his husband’s chosen attire, and concern for Zhou Zishu’s reaction—he doesn’t know yet if Zhou Zishu is okay with this, he thought he would have more time to check in before Wen Kexing arrived.
“Don’t stop on account of me.” Wen Kexing saunters in, waving his fan lazily while he glances around the room as if it is his first time seeing it. He turns back toward them and settles in a comfortable stance, a smirk pulling his red lips while his eyes rove over the men in the room. “I can wait.”
This has all gone wrong, Han Ying laments. He opens his mouth to start apologizing and freezes–instead of distress or annoyance on Zhou Zishu’s face he reads curiosity and amusement. Zhou Zishu is steps in front of him, blocking Han Ying with his body and subtly giving the hand signal to Follow. He looks again at his husband, but it is a different man standing before him. Despite his earlier concerns, Zhou Zishu has slipped on the persona of Tian Chuang Shouling as easily as any of his cicada-thin skin masks.
Zhou Shouling’s eyes have always been his most striking feature; they pin you to the wall and dissect your secrets and lies with cold, indifferent, precision. Han Ying had told Wen Kexing it was the uniform that made Zhou Shouling such a dignified figure, but the uniform’s purpose has always been to intensify the effect of Zhou Shouling’s gaze landing on you. The high and sharp collar of the cloak focused the onlookers' gaze directly on his, the robes’ hues foretelling shadows, cold steel, and blood.
Han Ying glances back toward Wen Kexing to determine his reaction and is rewarded with the way Wen Kexing’s eyes widen a fraction, then intensify with interest.
“What are the Guzhu’s intentions in breaking into my manor?” The tone of Zhou Shouling’s voice pulls Han Ying’s body to shift, posture straightening with discipline and feet shifting, ready to spring without his conscious thought. He hadn’t considered what an impact this would have on him.
“Direct and to the point, my intel was correct about the Tian Chuang Shouling. Except they forgot to mention what an exquisite specimen he is.” The Ghost Valley Guzhu heaves a put-upon sigh and strolls across the room like it is his stage. “I come with an equally beneficial offer; I rub your back, and you rub mine.”
Zhou Shouling tracks his movement, then blinks and lets his gaze fall away. Han Ying observes their peacock of a man bristle at the loss of attention. “I know plenty of ways in which Ghost Valley could benefit from Tian Chuang’s assistance, but I do not think the Guzhu can afford them. I’m skeptical of what you consider equal, but by all means, continue.”
The Guzhu tilts his chin up, augmenting his height advantage as he paces back across the room. “I have the small issue of the imminent arrival of a Jianghu mob on my doorstep. I do not intend to let them lay siege to my valley and need only the simple assistance of Tian Chuang to crush the bugs against my gates.”
“And what can the Guzhu offer in return?”
“A favor from me, of course, anything the Ghost Valley can do to assist Zhou Shouling.” The Guzhu’s grin is back, eyes intent on his success.
“And why would I need a favor from you? What can your valley offer that I may need? A draft that makes one forget their worldly obsessions? Rather unhelpful when I trade in secrets. The use of your army? They are nothing but costumed bandits lacking skill and discipline. Riches and treasures from the Guzhu’s horde? I have no interest in such greedy ambitions. So I ask again, what can you offer me?”
The fan snaps closed in the Guzhu’s palm, his eyes wide with the lunatic rage he’s so well known for. “Oh? Is Zhou Shouling so confident he doesn’t consider services owed by the Ghost Valley Guzhu a boon at all?” He steps forward and Han Ying shifts to interrupt, bowing quickly before speaking.
“Shouling, this humble one has a suggestion.”
“Proceed,” Zhou Shouling says, his voice losing some of the chill he uses for the Guzhu.
He can feel the weight of both of their gazes on him now. “It would not tax our resources to assist the Guzhu in this scenario. On the issue of repayment, this one has heard that the Ghost Valley Guzhu is accomplished in matters of the body for both giving and receiving.”
Oh, Wen Kexing is going to make me pay for that later, Han Ying thinks, but there’s a glimmer of mischief in Zhou Zishu’s eyes.
“Interesting proposal, Han Tongling. The Guzhu did offer his services. I believe his exact words were ‘rub my back if I rub his’.” It’s a challenge and Han Ying can hear it in Zhou Shouling’s voice, knows the Guzhu hears it as well.
“It is not such an unreasonable ask to provide pleasure to a beauty such as yourself, Zhou Shouling.” The Ghost Valley Guzhu’s gaze is suggestive over his once-again fluttering fan. “Who knows, after this exchange, you may be the one coming to me with a request next.”
“That remains to be seen, Guzhu. Do we have a deal?”
“Only if I may call Zhou Shouling more familiarly? I am Wen, Wen Kexing, so you may know whose name to scream later.”
Zhou Shouling’s expression stays stoic, only a single eyebrow quirking. “Wen Xiong may call this one Zhou Xu.”
Han Ying has to bite his lip to stop himself from rolling his eyes.
“A virtuous man is impartial, his steps as light as catkins.” Wen Kexing steps forward, his eyes dancing with delight over the edge of his fan, “I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful partnership, A-Xu.” He closes his fan and moves to place it under Zhou Zishu’s chin. Zhou Zishu knocks his wrist away with an unimpressed glare.
“I think you have misunderstood the arrangement you agreed to, Wen Xiong. This is nothing more than an exchange of services.” Han Ying sees the smirk pull at Zhou Shouling’s lips and a shiver runs down his spine. “So kneel and service me.”
Han Ying knows to watch for Wen Kexing’s reactions, so he catches the dilation of Wen Kexing’s eyes, the slight tremor of his robes, like his knees were ready to bend. But he won't—not that easy, he’s too proud.
“Still so direct and demanding, A-Xu. Don’t you want me at my best?” Wen Kexing steps closer, nearly chest to chest with Zhou Shouling and leans in to murmur in his ear, making Han Ying strain to hear. “Let the master work.”
Zhou Shouling catches Wen Kexing’s face in his hand, moving faster than Han Ying can see.
“All I hear is you delaying the inevitable, Guzhu. You will kneel.” Wen Kexing’s eyes are huge, his lips puckering together in an aborted ‘Oh’, and he bends easily as Zhou Shouling bears him down. The thud of the Ghost Valley Guzhu’s knees hitting the floor resonating in Han Ying’s chest like a blow.
“Ah, A-Xu,” Wen Kexing swallows. He sounds breathless and garbled with Zhou Zishu’s hand still gripping his face. “If you wanted me to suck your cock you only had to say so.”
“And yet if I wanted you to shut your mouth I would need to tie you up and gag you. Be thankful my cock is the gag you are getting.”
It renders Wen Kexing speechless, even after Zhou Shouling’s hand is removed from his face. It leaves his cheeks red, matching his lips and eyes, where before his skin was porcelain. There’s a clatter as the fan drops from limp fingers and Wen Kexing moves to part Zhou Shouling’s robes, his eyes never straying from Zhou Zishu’s. Once he has Zhou Zishu’s cock in hand, he licks his lips as if preparing to speak. Zhou Shouling tilts his head only slightly and Han Ying can see as Wen Kexing reconsiders.
Wen Kexing’s eyes slide shut as he parts his lips without any intention to speak. He works with the skill Han Ying has always seen, yet with none of the pompous commentary.
“Ying’er.”
The command pulls him out of the focus he had on Wen Kexing. He didn’t even realize how absorbed he was, but the gleam in Zhou Zishu’s eyes tells Han Ying that he had noticed.
“I think you may have oversold the Guzhu’s skill—”
“A-Xu!” Wen Kexing pulls off with a wet pop and Zhou Shouling ignores him except to place a hand in his hair in warning. Han Ying bows quickly with his hands clasped before him.
“My apologies, Shouling! Please let this undeserving one make amends by assisting the Guzhu.” Zhou Shouling nods in acceptance and Han Ying drops to his knees beside Wen Kexing. It’s the same as he has done hundreds of times before. It’s also the very first time.
Wen Kexing huffs as Han Ying shifts closer, leaving only a sliver of heated air between them. Han Ying ducks his head and licks a long stripe up the underside with the flat of his tongue. It earns him a shiver and Han Ying’s heart soars. He repeats the gesture, then leans lower to swirl his tongue over Zhou Shouling’s balls, earning him a long exhale. He feels Wen Kexing shift beside him, and then hears a grunt. He holds back a grin when he glances over to see Wen Kexing’s head tilted back, Zhou Shouling’s grip in his hair stopping him from leaning forward to join Han Ying.
He works slowly and diligently, making sure to appreciate every trace of skin that will make Shouling sigh. Zhou Zishu’s Xiao Furen knows the spots that make him shake and shiver, and Han Ying uses this knowledge now even though Han Tongling would not have been as skilled, though he would have been just as determined. He has been on his knees for the man who loves him, body and soul, but never for the man he first devoted his life to. It feels like servitude, like worship.
“A-Xu…” Ah, of course, Wen Kexing can’t stay quiet for long, Han Ying muses. “A-Xu, let me! I can make it good, truly I can. Xiao Daren didn’t oversell my skill, let me show you! Ah—” Another jerk of his hair makes Wen Kexing grunt once more.
“The Ghost Valley Guzhu will have to prove himself before he can try again.”
“But—” Wen Kexing’s interruption is cut short with another yank to his hair, his head tilted so far back he can only stare pleadingly into the abyss of Zhou Shouling’s stern gaze.
“You will sit quietly until you are told otherwise.” Han Ying has yet to meet someone able to disobey a direct command from Zhou Shouling. There is no room for argument in that tone of voice.
Han Ying hears another huff from Wen Kexing, then movement indicating Zhou Zishu has released the grip he had on Wen Kexing’s hair. If Han Ying wasn’t so focused on his task, he might time how long it takes for Wen Kexing to act out again.
He closes his eyes and directs his focus completely back to Zhou Shouling. With his eyes closed he thinks only of Shouling’s taste. The familiar silk of Tian Chuang robes beneath his fingers against Shouling’s thigh and the scent of Shouling’s musk intertwined with leather. He could be in the capital, the stone floor of the interrogation room beneath his knees. This assignment may only be part of the negotiation with their guest, but Han Ying will devote himself to it like any other mission.
“That’s better,” Zhou Shouling says with a sigh. “It’s a shame our accomplished guest can’t perform as well as you, Ying’er.”
Han Ying hears a sharp inhale from Wen Kexing, but he shivers at his praise and swirls his tongue around the head of Zhou Shouling’s cock before swallowing as much as he can at once, pushing himself to be deserving of his Shouling’s words. He’s rewarded with a thrust of hips, driving deeper than he was prepared to take, but he breathes around it, letting the tears form in the corner of his eyes, and reveling in the pleasure he can bring Zhou Shouling.
There’s a susurration of moving fabric beside him. Han Ying blinks to clear his vision and pulls off in time for Zhou Shouling to move. Wen Kexing’s keening sounds wounded and desperate as Zhou Shouling’s foot presses over Wen Kexing’s hand, which is grasping at his clothed cock.
“Did I say you could touch yourself?” Wen Kexing curls over himself as Zhou Shouling applies more pressure. “I didn’t realize the Ghost Valley Guzhu is nothing more than a cur in heat.”
“A-Xu! Ah! Zh…Zhou— Zhou Shouling!” Wen Kexing’s words are stuttered out between gasps and heavy panting. His hair falls forward, shielding his face from them, and Han Ying wonders if he may be crying.
“Since you can’t seem to follow orders or perform a basic task, I shall set your use instead.” Zhou Shouling shifts his weight away and Wen Kexing blinks up at him. His makeup has run and the lipstick is smeared where he bit his lips, but his eyes are dark and hungry and there’s a wet patch spreading on his robes. Han Ying’s mouth is suddenly dry. Zhou Shouling tilts his head at him curiously, then tsks. “You came just from that? Maybe Ying’er’s sources are only…misguided.” It’s said clinically, like Zhou Shouling is pondering how to use this new information. “Ying’er, are you hard?”
“Yes, Shouling.” Han Ying blushes, but tries to keep his expression neutral as he looks up at Zhou Zishu from his knees.
“Good. Use his mouth.” Wen Kexing and Han Ying both start, opening their mouths to appeal, and are waylaid by Zhou Zishu putting a hand up to silence them. “This isn’t punishment for you, Ying’er, you did well. I would let you continue if I wanted to bother to make you do both at once.”
And that shuts them both up. Han Ying and Wen Kexing exchange a glance, both thinking the same thing. The image is tempting, to say the least.
“Yes, Shouling.” Han Ying bows from his knees, then stands, keeping his eyes on the Guzhu at his feet. Wen Kexing flashes him a grin, showing teeth.
Zhou Shouling sits down in a chair, pours himself a cup of wine from the table, and leans back. His robes are still parted and he runs his hand lazily over his cock while he watches them. “Wen Xiong, I expect to see some of this skill you claim if you intend to be allowed to kneel for me again.” Wen Kexing splutters and shifts to move but Han Ying grabs a fistful of his robes and holds him still. The Ghost Valley Guzhu glares at him, but settles, waiting.
Han Ying feels the heat of Zhou Shouling’s gaze. He tells himself it’s no different than being watched during training or mission reports, but it is. There’s a prurient sense of expectation in Zhou Shouling’s gaze and the look the Ghost Valley Guzhu is giving him makes him feel no more settled and Han Ying tries to meet it with the same detached coldness Zhou Shouling exhibits.
He shakes back the long, flowing sleeves of the robe he stole from Zhou Zishu that morning, and pulls his cock free of his robes. Wen Kexing eyes it, his tongue darting out to dampen his lips.
“Wen Xiong, do I need to tell you that you may not touch yourself? Or will you behave?” Both of their eyes snap to Zhou Shouling. He watches them right back over the rim of his cup, then pours himself another.
“Of course I’ll behave, Zhou Shouling.” Wen Kexing smiles in a facsimile of a docile courtesan. “But I would much prefer it be you than our Xiao Daren here.” He even bats his eyelashes.
“Something you fail to understand, Guzhu, is that Ying’er is my man. He’s an extension of my will and blade. If you hope to please me, you will have to please him first.”
Han Ying grabs the Ghost Valley Guzhu’s jaw and forces him to look at him. His fingers dig into the muscles behind the teeth to force open the Guzhu’s mouth, sliding in his cock before the Guzhu can muster some retort. Wen Kexing holds to his promise to behave, but his eyes still speak of danger. Han Ying is having a hard time focusing on that right now. He thrusts, slowly and shallowly at first, high onh Zhou Shouling’s words, high on the heat and wetness of Wen Kexing’s mouth. He had forgotten that he’s been hard nearly since he woke up this morning and started dressing Zhou Shouling. He cannot ignore it now as Wen Kexing’s eyelashes flutter, betraying his enjoyment, and Zhou Shouling watches them. In fact, he’s not even sure he can hold off for long.
He shifts his grip to Wen Kexing's hair and thrusts deeper. Wen Kexing's eyes fall closed and his hands fall limp in his lap. It's good, it's very good. And Han Ying knows his 'informants' were not wrong about the Guzhu's skills. Zhou Shouling is only maneuvering chess pieces across the board. Han Ying doesn't mind being his pawn.
Zhou Shouling's exact words were to 'use his mouth', did that mean Han Ying could use him to completion? Or should he hold off for permission? He grits his teeth to keep the moans at bay, but can't stop his hisses of pleasure.
He thrusts deep and holds, needing a moment to breathe, and watches beads of tears collect in Wen Kexing's long lashes. He pulls out, resting the tip on Wen Kexing's lips, and is transfixed to see how much of the remaining lipstick has been transferred to his cock. Wen Kexing reaches out and grabs his thigh. Han Ying tenses, expecting violence, but Wen Kexing only pulls him closer, urging Han Ying back into the wet heat of his mouth. Han Ying can't hold back the moan this time.
"Are you close, Ying'er?" Han Ying’s head snaps to look at Zhou Shouling, taking in his relaxed posture, his hand steadily stroking his cock while he watches them, his eyes dark with hunger. Han Ying nearly comes right then.
"Ye—yes, Shouling!" It comes out on a gasp, his hips snapping forward. He's come shouting that name before, and yet it's never sounded so wrecked and dirty as now.
"Good boy, Ying'er. Come when you're ready." Zhou Shouling's voice is low and it sends a shiver down Han Ying's spine.
"Yes, ah, Shouling!" Wen Kexing moans around his cock, his fingers tightening on Han Ying's hips, but they are only to keep him close—he doesn’t push him away. Wen Kexing's eyes are open and locked on him, expectant and nearly pleading. He thrusts twice more and pulls off sharply, coming with a cry as his spend streaks across Wen Kexing's waiting tongue and face, catching in the mess Han Ying made of his hair, and dripping onto his robes. Wen Kexing licks his lips and leans in to suck on the head of Han Ying's cock, getting every last drop and leaving him panting.
“Ying’er.”
The simple call catches both of their attention. Like moths to a flame they turn to gaze at Zhou Shouling. He’s holding the base of his cock, the rest red and angry. The light coming in through the window makes precome shine where it’s beaded at the tip. When Zhou Shouling says, “Come,” Han Ying is already moving, dragging the Ghost Valley Guzhu by his hair with him, making him scramble forward on his hands and knees.
Han Ying drops to his knees before Zhou Shouling and looks up with pleading eyes. He’s ready to beg if need be. Zhou Shouling nods to him and Han Ying ducks to take him as deep as he can, relaxing his throat and trying even deeper. He’s engulfed by Zhou Shouling’s scent again and something within him settles. If he had the time, he could work himself to hardness again with just this proximity. Zhou Shouling moans and Wen Kexing shifts beside Han Ying, trying to make room for himself between Zhou Zishu’s thighs.
“Zhou Shouling, please! I’ve done well, ask Xiao Daren. Let me, please!” He truly is begging now and Han Ying wonders if Wen Kexing can see the way it makes Zhou Shouling’s hips jerk, driving his cock deeper.
“Ying’er—” The command is breathy and strained this time and Han Ying pulls off and wraps his hand around Zhou Shouling’s cock, pumping it while he shifts out of the way. Wen Kexing isn’t prepared when Han Ying feels the first pulse, but he crowds in as close as he can, trying to catch what he can on his tongue.
The proud and salacious Ghost Valley Guzhu looks debauched and thoroughly claimed; his makeup and sanguine robes are ruined with their spend, Han Ying doesn’t know when he lost his guan, and one eye is closed to keep the come from dripping into his eye. Han Ying had warned him Zhou Shouling would put him in his place.
He leans in and licks across the closed eye, realizing it was a terrible idea a moment later when his taste buds are assaulted by the remnant of Wen Kexing’s makeup.
“Idiot, what were you expecting? A-Xu, get him some tea.” And like that the haze around them clears with the sounds of Zhou Zishu’s laughter as he passes Han Ying a cup, which he drinks gratefully, washing out the taste of the makeup. Wen Kexing grouses, while he tries to rub at both eyes now with a clean bit of robe. Han Ying grabs Wen Kexing’s wrists and pulls them away, using the clean, long sleeves of his own, much cleaner, robe to help gently dab at Wen Kexing’s eyes and face, cleaning him up.
“Wait, Ying’er, that’s my robe.”
“As if you do any of the washing anyway, A-Xu.” Ah yes, Han Ying thinks, the bickering is back. With his face cleaned off, Wen Kexing starts complaining about his hair and fussing, while Han Ying carefully pulls Wen Kexing’s belt free so he can slip out of the soiled thing.
“Lao Wen, it’s not my fault you two came up with this plan and didn’t tell me about it, I just gave you the most authentic experience. Ying’er and I haven’t even had breakfast yet!” Zhou Zishu pouts at them from where he still looks clean and put together in his chair, his cock tucked back into his pants and robes arranged neatly.
“Oh? You want me to go out like this and bring us back breakfast? I’m half dressed and a complete mess and—” His words are cut off as Zhou Zishu pulls his cloak from around his shoulders and settles it around Wen Kexing’s with a flourish, using his grip on the cloak to pull Wen Kexing in for a deep kiss that leaves him shocked and blinking when Zhou Zishu leans back. “Ah…This wife will be right back.” Han Ying chuckles at the dazed look his husband walks out with, wrapping the Tian Chuang cloak tightly around him.
Zhou Zishu turns to regard Han Ying, hands on his hips and a fond smile tugging at his lips. Han Ying grins up at him from where he has slumped on the floor against the table. It’s surreal to see his husband grinning at him like this while still in his Tian Chuang uniform, the expression incongruous with who he was in those robes.
“Did Shouling enjoy?” Han Ying hopes his nerves don’t show through. Zhou Zishu steps forward and kneels, then scoops Han Ying up into his arms with a yelp from Han Ying. It’s an instant reaction to wrap his arms around Zhou Zishu’s neck, and then he’s hiding his face in the silk-clad shoulder. “Zishu!” But his husband only laughs at him, then spins them around in a circle making Han Ying yelp again and hold on tighter.
It doesn’t feel that long ago that Zhou Zishu could barely lift a cup to his lips without assistance, and now he is hauling Han Ying around like a child. He’s come a long way in his recovery, in more ways than Han Ying could tell before. When Zhou Zishu stops spinning, Han Ying looks at him with a small smile and big eyes. He knows Zhou Zishu can’t deny that look, and his husband acquiesces now, pulling him closer for a kiss.
When they part Han Ying sighs happily and leans his head against Zhou Zishu’s shoulder. “You know, the last time you carried me like this was when you saved me. And brought me to Tian Chuang” He sees the muscle twitch in Zhou Zishu’s jaw, probably disagreeing with the ‘saving’ bit.
“You were lighter then too,” is what he responds instead. Han Ying huffs out a laugh and smiles when Zhou Zishu leans in to kiss his forehead. He’s placed back on their bed and Zhou Zishu climbs in after him, placing his head in Han Ying’s lap so Han Ying can slowly remove the tight guan and knot from his hair.
“Ying’er,” he says a moment later. They can both hear what must be their wife returning with a tray of food and fresh tea. “I saw you, back then, too. I just never thought I was deserving of the way you looked at me. But I tried to be. I’m trying now.”
Han Ying smiles at him and runs his fingers through his hair, checking for knots. He brings his free hand to Zhou Zishu’s cheek and strokes beneath his eye. “You are. You have always been.” He leans down to kiss him, timing it just right so it’s the first thing their returning husband sees when he walks back into their room.