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Shang Qinghua is having a really fucking weird day.
Accompanying Mobei-jun to some corner or another of the Demon Realm is a fairly normal occurrence these days. This time, it’s a diplomatic visit to some minor Northern noble. He’s used to some amount of strange looks from local demons – after all, a draconic cultivator is a fairly rare occurrence, especially one in a demon lord’s retinue – but today, for some reason, everyone just will not stop staring at him. People keep offering him footstools and bringing him cups of water and asking if he wants any snacks. It’s really, really disconcerting.
Shang Qinghua is starting to wonder if he’s developed some kind of scale disease, because people keep looking at the patches of scales that blend into human-looking skin on his forearms. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say glancing, because they always look away immediately as if they’ve seen something they shouldn’t have, and then inevitably they offer him things or say vague bullshit about how much of an honor it is to have a dragon in their midst, blah blah. His scales don’t feel any different than they have since they came in years ago, but something is clearly wrong with them. Maybe demons have UV vision and can see the disease spreading??
Also, probably unrelated, but he is just so emotional today that he can barely handle someone raising their eyebrows at him without wanting to burst into tears. For fuck’s sake, he was supposed to be done with periods after transmigrating, so why does it feel like he’s about to get it…
“Congratulations,” the third demon in a row tells him, glancing quickly at his arms and then down at the floor. And then, “A dragon child is an auspicious event.”
A fucking what!!!! Shang Qinghua thinks frantically, nodding politely to the demon and shuffling away as quickly as possible. His hind claws make little clacking noises on the tile, so he can’t exit as quietly as he would like.
Cold dread settles in the pit of his stomach as he remembers one of the key points of the bullshit fanfiction of his equally bullshit stallion novel that he’d transmigrated into. He’s pretty sure one of the hornier chapter summaries he’d skimmed through on Lofter had called it “shimmer”: a slight shine to a dragon’s scales that signaled they were ready to lay eggs.
Of course, with draconic cultivators being as rare as they are, natural dragon children are even rarer in this world. Most people, like himself, would have to cultivate for years to achieve a dragon form, even longer if they didn’t have a few drops of dragon blood like the original goods did. Most dragons never produce eggs in their lifetimes. He hadn’t paid any attention in the brief lecture on sex ed he’d gotten as a disciple, because he didn’t think he’d ever fucking need this information. Why would he, a random cannon fodder character who’s barely even important to the story, get a protagonist-level buff like an egg cycle?!
Okay. Okay. This is fine. He’ll just… lock himself in the guest quarters for a day or two and… eugh. Deal with it. On his own. He is not entirely clear on where the eggs will, like, come from, nor whether it’s even possible to deal with it solo, but it should be, right? It’ll just be… a little uncomfortable, probably. And also sorry to the draconic bloodline or whatever but there is no way Shang Qinghua is going up to any of these demons and going “hey, wanna let me put eggs in you?”
…can you put dragon eggs in the trash? Are they biodegradable? Is some adventurer hundreds of years from now going to stumble upon his cold dead eggs and take them as treasure???
He rounds a corner, still frantically going over his options in his mind, and walks straight into Mobei-jun. Or, more accurately, he slams his chest into Mobei-jun’s face.
“There you are, Qinghua,” Mobei-jun says, approximately into his left nipple. Shang Qinghua squeaks and pulls back belatedly, cursing himself for starting an already awkward conversation by giving his king a faceful of dragon tits.
“Haha! Sorry about that, my king, this one was not paying attention, please forgi –”
“Forgiven,” Mobei-jun cuts him off, waving his hand dismissively.
“Oh, uh, okay, great! So I actually needed to talk to you about something a little, um, sensitive. Is there any chance I could take some time off? Like… a day or two or um. Yeah, two days should do it. I hope. I would continue working but it’s just that something has… come up… that will make it a little difficult, physically, but if you really need me to I can probably manage somehow and just uhhh duck out? When I – when the – um, anyway, sorry for the inconvenience but I just really – my king?!”
Mobei-jun’s hand. Is grabbing him by the chin. This is not a thing that Mobei-jun’s hands usually do in relation to his face and he’s not really sure how to process it. There are long black claws making little indents in the skin of his face and now is a really bad time to flash back to all the times you’ve jerked off thinking about his hands, Shang Qinghua, you idiot –
It’s a little uncomfortable, leaning down at this angle. Mobei-jun tilts his head left, then right, staring intently at the scales dotting his forehead and the tips of his ears. His other hand comes up to – run a finger?? Over the tip of one ear?? Shang Qinghua just barely suppresses the full-body shiver that wants to come over him at that.
“Three days off,” Mobei-jun says decisively, letting him go. “You have the shimmer.”
“Oh, no, really it’s fine, it’s supposedly a little uncomfortable on your own but I can handle it, I don’t have other options really so –”
“Yes, you do.”
Shang Qinghua wracks his brain to try to figure out who the hell he might be talking about. Is there someone who’d traveled with them who has dragon blood or something? Or a really strong cultivator? He’d thought everyone was pretty much middling, but maybe… “Er, do you think any of the demons who accompanied us are strong enough? I’ve heard that it takes a particular –”
Mobei-jun huffs, almost imperceptibly. “This king will do it.”
“Oh, right, of course, you’ll – what?!”
“I will inform the others. Three days in seclusion,” Mobei-jun says, as if he’s discussing the weather and not the fact that he’s gonna let Shang Qinghua impregnate him, holy shit, what the fuck.
He probably thinks it’s an honor to incubate dragon eggs, Shang Qinghua concludes very calmly, ignoring the very large part of his brain that is screaming and running around in circles. The cultivation benefits are allegedly pretty good. God he wishes he’d read that stupid fanfiction more closely and/or paid attention in sex ed, fuck.
“That’s. Great, my king, thank you,” Shang Qinghua says weakly. Something in his stomach feels like it’s… shifting; he puts a hand on it and. Well. There sure are eggs in there!!! He would very much like them to not be in there anymore!!!!
“I will await you in your quarters,” Mobei-jun pronounces. Shang Qinghua manages to get out a strangled “uh huh” in response before he’s vanished through a portal, leaving the faint smell of ozone behind.
There is a demon naked in Shang Qinghua’s bed.
Mobei-jun. Naked. His bed. His brain is short-circuiting and all it can produce is little exclamation points and question marks.
“Oh god, we’re really doing this, huh,” he says under his breath. “Um. Hi, my king. Are you sure about this? Like really sure? Because I’ve never done this before and you do know that I’m gonna have to, um, top, right? Like, you’re gonna have to – and there are gonna be eggs in there, like you are aware of the eggs and how they have to go inside of you mmph!”
Mobei-jun’s lips are very, very cold.
For a second the cold is almost too much, and then something shifts and the temperature is bearable again. Shang Qinghua isn’t sure if this is due to some trick of qi or the fact that his own body seems to be rapidly heating up.
Since transmigrating and cultivating into a dragon, Shang Qinghua has done his level best to figure out all the possible ways a dragon can get off without actually, you know, having a partner. He’s learned his own body very well – so well, in fact, that he has perfect control over both his dicks, only letting them emerge from his slit when he wants them to. No awkward boners, ever! He doesn’t even need to let them out to get off, either, and a lot of the tricks that worked back in his old body still work with that, uh, configuration, as it were.
All of this is to say that Shang Qinghua really should not be popping a double boner from a minute or two of kissing.
“Sorry,” he gasps out automatically.
Mobei-jun makes a displeased little noise into his mouth, but doesn’t seem to want to stop kissing him, not even for long enough to get his clothes off. It’s not exactly hard to do that, though. Dragon fashion is designed to transition easily between forms and allow a tail to move freely, and dragons don’t care much about nudity or exposure – after all, everything important is internal, held safely in a lightly scaled slit at the apex of their thighs. Clothes expand at the waist and are slit at the sides to accommodate a larger, more serpentine form, and come off quickly and easily if you want to get really big.
It’s still really fucking sexy when Mobei-jun basically rips them off and tosses them to the side.
The room is bracingly cold – these Northern demons and their damn ice palaces. By now Shang Qinghua has learned all the qi-circulation tricks to make life bearable when you spend a good chunk of it following an ice demon around, but he still lets out a gasp when his cocks are exposed to the air. They’re peeking halfway out of his slit by now, flushed a deep gold and embarrassingly wet. He has the brief thought that this is worse than ovulating and then the crushing realization that it literally is ovulating, but worse, and then all the thoughts fly out of his head completely because Mobei-jun is tugging him down onto the bed.
Prep. He should probably – there’s – he tries to retract his claws. He should be able to, just – if he just –
Impatiently, Mobei-jun shoves him backward, pressing down on his legs until he sits down with a thump between Mobei-jun’s spread thighs.
“What –” Shang Qinghua starts, and then Mobei-jun is effortlessly folding himself in half.
Oh. He’s already taken care of that, it seems. He’s – oh. Shang Qinghua’s mouth waters.
“Are you going to get on with it,” Mobei-jun says flatly.
“Uhhh,” says Shang Qinghua’s mouth. His body doesn’t quite seem to be doing what he tells it.
“Fine,” Mobei-jun says, reaching out a hand. “This king will do it himself,” and then he’s sitting up again, bracing himself on Shang Qinghua’s shoulder and straddling his lap.
“Holy shit,” Shang Qinghua breathes. This close, he can smell the faint scent of ozone and something that smells like cold. Despite himself, the familiarity of it makes his body relax a little, recalling late nights falling asleep with a furred cloak pillowed under his head. His cocks slip out a little more, firming up; he feels that odd shifting in his stomach again and gulps hard.
Mobei-jun rolls his hips, searching, until his already-loose hole is lined up with the fat head of Shang Qinghua’s topmost cock. He’s pretty sure, like, maybe 90% sure, that this isn’t the one the eggs come out of, but also it might be necessary to use this one first. He thinks. Maybe. All of his bodily functions have currently been diverted to fully unsheathing himself and all of his blood has rapidly rushed to his cocks, so thinking is… a little difficult at the moment.
“Wait, I don’t know if –” Shang Qinghua starts to say, but Mobei-jun is already sinking down, spreading himself open with both hands.
“You will not break me,” he grits out, brow furrowed. “This king can – nnh – take anything you can give –”
This, at least, is familiar ground. “Of course, of course, my king,” Shang Qinghua placates, wrapping his tail tightly around Mobei-jun’s leg to help anchor him. “This servant was unthinking, he simply couldn’t bear the thought of doing any harm to ohhhhh fuck oh my god –”
Mobei-jun, a look of concentration on his face, sinks down the last third of the way, and suddenly all Shang Qinghua knows is tight and the little shifts and flutters of Mobei-jun’s hole around him, the feeling of his lower cock pressing up against his cleft. In this mostly-human form, he’s larger than average, but manageable; probably nothing on the Heavenly Pillar, though it’s not like he’s gotten a look at the thing.
It’s so strange, being inside an ice demon. It’s not cold, exactly, but it’s not the overwhelming heat he’d expect, either, just… neutral. This way, it’s even more obvious when Mobei-jun deliberately clenches around him, making his inner walls ripple deliciously. Mobei-jun isn’t moving at all, just… sitting in his lap, a displeased pout on his perfect lips, as if he’s expecting Shang Qinghua to do something.
Mobei-jun’s hand leaves his thigh to press down on his own stomach, a little grunt escaping him as he does. Still dazed, it takes Shang Qinghua a moment to realize why, but when he sees the slight bulge rounding Mobei-jun’s stomach, he can’t help but make a punched-out noise himself.
If there’s a bulge just from this, how will he look filled with Shang Qinghua’s eggs?
White noise fills his brain, and when he’s capable of conscious thought again, he finds to his dismay that he’s manhandled Mobei-jun onto his back and is frantically pounding into him. He almost apologizes again, but… the look on Mobei-jun’s face is one he’s seen a thousand times, whenever the spoiled little princeling gets his way. He looks terribly pleased with himself, arching his back and meeting every one of Shang Qinghua’s thrusts. Shang Qinghua is mesmerized, watching his own golden scales disappear over and over again past a reddened, puffy rim, already stretched wide around him. It’s incredible how deep he can take it. Shang Qinghua almost wonders if he could fit both of his cocks inside.
It’s probably embarrassing how quickly he comes, but he has a vague sense that it’s only the beginning. If anything, the heat suffusing his body is even stronger than before, his cocks pulsing with need.
“Sorry,” he gasps, “I don’t know if I can hold back –”
“Don’t,” Mobei-jun replies, almost a growl, and that’s all it takes for Shang Qinghua’s tail to wind around his waist and slam him against the icy wall of the guest room. Thick, slimy fluid is already dripping from his abused entrance – much thicker than usual and almost clear. It must be related to the shimmer, a way of preparing a partner to take his eggs. The thought makes a shudder of need run through him.
Like this, he can see the little marks from Mobei-jun’s fangs biting into his bottom lip, the way his eyelids flutter as Shang Qinghua lines himself up again and pushes in with his lower cock this time. It’s longer and much thicker, fat and ridged, and Mobei-jun tries valiantly to drop himself down onto it the second the head kisses his rim. He’s so impatient, as demanding as always – what is this gap moe, huh?! Shang Qinghua didn’t create you to be like this!! But he doesn’t think it was the weirdo fanfiction author, either – that guy hadn’t even mentioned Mobei-jun in the thousands of characters he’d written. No, this is all Mobei-jun himself, alive and breathing and soft around him for all that his eyes are harshly narrowed in concentration.
“Oh, shit, I can feel them moving,” Shang Qinghua gasps, putting a hand on his own lower stomach. It’s strange, but not entirely unpleasant.
He pulls out nearly all the way, delighting in the little microexpressions he drags out of Mobei-jun as he does, and then slams back in to the hilt. Mobei-jun’s cock releases a thick spurt of precum as he shudders violently, clenching tightly around him like he’s trying to pull Shang Qinghua even deeper inside.
A guy could get addicted to this, Shang Qinghua thinks, and then tries really hard not to think about that ever again, because this is definitely a one-time affair.
It’s a surprise to both of them when Mobei-jun comes, spattering Shang Qinghua’s abs with white. It dribbles down to the top of his slit and starts to ooze inside, and Shang Qinghua can feel it and he can’t help but slam his hips forward, chasing stimulation. He’s about to apologize and use the last of his remaining willpower to drag himself backward, but Mobei-jun throws his head back and moans and lifts a shaking thigh as if in invitation and oh, Shang Qinghua can’t help himself.
Mobei-jun’s tip, dark blue and glistening with fluid, releases little spurts of cum over and over as Shang Qinghua’s thrusts move him up and down the wall. His winter-pale skin is barely capable of flushing, but it seems to be trying its best, a dusting of blue-tinged pink resting over his cheeks and the tops of his shoulders. Even as overstimulated as he is, he seems to recover incredibly quickly, becoming even more demanding and vocal with every thrust. He – Shang Qinghua can’t possibly call it begging, but he is certainly demanding more, deeper, faster.
“I don’t – ah, hah – I don’t know if t-the eggs will fit, I don’t know how – how big – nnh –”
“This king will make them fit,” Mobei-jun says with complete confidence, only marred a little bit by the fact that he’s more than a little breathless and being bounced up and down on Shang Qinghua’s cock. “I can s-still take more. Give me both.”
Both what – oh, he can’t possibly mean –
With effort, Mobei-jun gets a grip on the wall above him, freezing a bit of the air or shaping the wall somehow to create an icy handhold, and pulls himself up and off Shang Qinghua’s cock with just his arms and his terribly impressive abs. Distantly, Shang Qinghua feels more of that slimy fluid leak out of his upper cock and make a mess of his thighs.
“Well? I am waiting.” Mobei-jun manages to look defiant and proud while face down and ass up, bracing himself on the edge of the bed. His hole is absolutely glistening with fluid, something with a slight sheen that must be the lube he’d used to prep himself and then the thick slime still leaking out of him from Shang Qinghua’s first orgasm. As Shang Qinghua watches, it flutters invitingly, just as greedy as the rest of him.
Shang Qinghua feeds him both cocks impossibly slowly, carefully holding himself with both hands while Mobei-jun spreads himself open wide. It’s so, so tight, and every slight hitch of breath makes cold panic settle in his stomach, but Mobei-jun doesn’t throw him off, doesn’t tell him to stop. Draconic cultivators are powerful, sure, but this is Mobei-jun – if he didn’t want this, he could easily stop it, could portal himself away, even, if he really wanted out of a situation. Although he’s so fucking stubborn that even if he were in terrible pain, he probably wouldn’t stop, if it’s in the way of something that he wants – god that’s so hot of him –
“Oh,” Shang Qinghua breathes as something gives way and he slips the rest of the way inside, almost to the base. He’s taken both his cocks in hand plenty of times, knows how the ridges feel on his sensitive upper cock, but like this with impossibly soft walls sucking him in it’s even more intense.
He can feel the slight bulge of the first egg distending the base of his – well, he guesses it’s an ovipositor dick, huh!! That’s a thing that he has!!! Before he can get in his head about it again and start panicking, though, Mobei-jun makes a satisfied little noise, a soft mmm that sounds absolutely blissed-out, and Shang Qinghua’s stomach twists pleasantly.
“So good,” Shang Qinghua mutters, thrusting shallowly – there’s not really room for much else, with how tightly stuffed Mobei-jun is right now, but from the way his waist twists and his legs shake, his king seems to be thoroughly enjoying his offering.
His upper cock slips out when he comes again, spilling more of that viscous liquid and thoroughly coating Mobei-jun’s insides. Some draconic instinct takes over, and he slams his lower cock deep inside, watching in dismay as his own hands gripping Mobei-jun’s waist grow larger and their claws sharpen. His legs and tail meld together into one long, sinuous form until he’s coiled around himself several times, still holding Mobei-jun steady on his cock as it swells larger and larger inside him.
“I think – it’s starting,” Shang Qinghua pants, momentarily overwhelmed by the white-hot sensation of the first egg settling itself at the base of his cock. It feels almost like sounding – something he has tried, because why wouldn’t he when he got not one but two free dicks on transmigrating – but the pressure is different, more, like he’s simultaneously coming and straining to come and poised on the brink. The ridges of his cock expand, thickening around the base until Mobei-jun is unable to even squirm.
The coils of his lower half catch Mobei-jun’s legs, lifting him until he’s sitting more comfortably across Shang Qinghua’s thick tail and leaning back against his now much larger chest. Shang Qinghua’s upper cock presses almost uncomfortably against the dip of his back, smearing more fluid, but he’s so focused on contracting his muscles to push out the egg that he can’t spare the energy to do anything about it.
Finally, it slips free, the tip of his cock expanding almost uncomfortably to accommodate the stretch and contracting again with a spasm. Driven by instinct once more, he hauls Mobei-jun even deeper onto his cock, thrusting a few times until the egg makes way for the next. They come faster and faster, driving him out of his mind with pleasure-pain as he pulls back more and more until just the tip of his cock remains inside.
The drip of – cum? lubricating… fluid? that’s running down Mobei-jun’s thigh has started to… congeal. At first Shang Qinghua’s hazy brain attributes it to the temperature, but when he meets some resistance trying to pull out, he realizes what it is: it’s going tacky, almost like glue, in preparation to harden up and become a plug to keep the eggs inside. This is something he does vaguely remember, because it was hot as a concept. There was… something else, though, in between this stage and the plug stage. Don’t the eggs have to be fertilized?
Shang Qinghua carefully sets Mobei-jun down on the edge of the bed on his side, trying to avoid letting his sensitive ass touch anything. He’s gone suspiciously quiet, barely even a whimper, and hasn’t demanded anything from Shang Qinghua in ages; Shang Qinghua needs to check him over, see if he’s all right.
…He’s an absolute sight. Shang Qinghua’s cocks are both retreating into his slit, which is… somewhat odd for his usual nearly-nonexistent refractory period and doesn’t seem to be something he can control, but they both give a violent twitch as he takes it all in. Mobei-jun’s stomach and even chest are absolutely coated in his own spend, but his cock is still rock hard, clear fluid dribbling out even now.
Oh. It’s. Is he still coming? Or… his prostate is being milked mercilessly by the eggs, so maybe he isn’t even –
Shang Qinghua moans helplessly and bends his upper half over the bed to kiss him.
“So fucking hot, oh my god, you’re so –” he pants into Mobei-jun’s mouth, catching his bottom lip with a sharp fang and delighting in the answering whimper. Mobei-jun kisses back, but it’s sluggish, not as fierce as before, like he has to take extra time to force his body to obey his own commands, and it’s at that point that Shang Qinghua gets the distinct feeling something is wrong.
He pulls back, carefully lifting Mobei-jun into his arms in a bridal carry, and looks down at him more carefully.
Oh.
Yeah, that’s a womb tattoo.
“ Fuck fuck fuck oh my god did I just mindbreak the fucking future king of the North and the protagonist’s future right hand oh my god –” Shang Qinghua babbles aloud, too panicked to care about the nonsense he’s spouting.
“I said,” Mobei-jun says weakly, “you would not break me. You have not.”
Despite his words, his eyes are starting to glaze over, the pupils nearly disappearing. Shang Qinghua wracks his brain, frantic to remember what this part of the process was like in the fic. The author’s ships had been super weird, hadn’t they? It was part of the reason he’d clicked in the first place, other than the fact that Peerless Cucumber was complaining about it in his comments.
Oh. Yeah. That was it.
The horny guy who’d written the dragon fic liked three things pretty much equally: dragons, Qi Qingqi, and cucking. The fic had been an unholy mishmash of the three, starting with a MILFy dragon!Qi Qingqi teaching innocent white lotus Bing-ge the ways of the world, continuing to Bing-ge banging his way through a bunch of Xian Shu disciples, and culminating in an incredibly odd not-quite menage a trois between Bing-ge, Qi Qingqi and, of all people, Yue Qingyuan.
As an excuse to have Bing-ge cuck Yue Qingyuan, who had apparently married Qi Qingqi while he was in the Abyss (LOL), the author had come up with a certain tidbit of “lore.” Namely, that as part of the mating process, once a dragon had filled a partner with eggs, they’d be unable to get it up for a certain amount of time. Shang Qinghua vaguely remembers the reason being given as something about the viability of the eggs – if a second partner adds their cum to the mix, or even a third or multiple, it increases the chances that the eggs will be fertilized. Something something evolutionary something, whatever, the guy clearly hated Yue Qingyuan and wanted to get off on him standing there figuratively limp-dicked while Bing-ge fucked his wife.
Shang Qinghua is fascinated by the psychosexual implications of this, but mostly he is horrified, because of the other piece of “lore” that goes along with this:
Mobei-jun is definitely about to get mindbroken.
The womb tattoo is some kind of qi seal that makes the, er, egg-receiving partner absolutely insane with lust, ready and willing to get fucked stupid until the egg-laying partner gets over their temporary ED and finishes the job by plugging them up. Shang Qinghua almost wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of this situation except for the part where he’s in it.
“My king, this servant apologizes and begs that you spare his life when you’re lucid again,” Shang Qinghua says weakly. “You are about to become, uh, overtaken a little bit, and I, well. Can’t satisfy you as I am now. Normally dragons mate in threes, or more, because of this, I should have thought of that, I – tell me, tell me who you want me to get, okay? There’s that one guy from the bird demon clan, what’s his name, he’s kinda cute and he fights well, he’d probably have some stamina, right?? I can go get him, I can –”
Mobei-jun’s hand grips his wrist with a surprising amount of strength. “No,” he says, decisive. “Only Qinghua.”
??????
“Are you sure, my king? I won’t be able to help you, I –”
“Only Qinghua,” Mobei-jun repeats more forcefully, and then his eyes glaze over completely.
He’s squirming in Shang Qinghua’s arms now, muttering something under his breath, and Shang Qinghua doesn’t know what to fucking do. He tries in vain to change back to a more humanoid form, but evolutionary instinct has him in a vice grip; his body will not be doing what he tells it to until this is over, it seems.
Carefully, he maneuvers them until Mobei-jun is propped up on his lap, facing him and straddling his tail. Mobei-jun’s head lolls to one side; he’s still saying something, over and over.
“What is it, my king - Mobei, how can I help, let me help you –”
“Qinghua,” Mobei-jun whimpers. “Please.”
And then he’s sliding off Shang Qinghua’s lap to kneel in front of him, and before Shang Qinghua can process that, there’s a long, cool tongue prodding at his slit.
He yelps, a combination of surprise and pleasure; even though his cocks have retreated, he’s still just as desperately turned on as before. Mobei-jun laps at him like it’s his purpose in life – Shang Qinghua has never had his pussy eaten, but he imagines it might feel something like this, little bumps and ridges on Mobei-jun’s tongue stimulating every sensitive place he’s found on himself and some he hasn’t. Mobei-jun spreads him open, tonguing at the head of his upper cock that’s still valiantly peeking out, and then makes a frustrated little noise and stands on shaking legs.
“Oh. Oh, you want – yeah, yeah, fuck me, yes –”
Mobei-jun’s cock is standing just as proud as before, flushed an even deeper blue and coated in all manner of sticky fluids. It feels incredible when he pushes in, the ridges rubbing against Shang Qinghua’s cocks and stimulating the swollen edges of his slit. Mobei-jun lets out a contented little sigh, nuzzling his cheek into Shang Qinghua’s abs, before starting up a stuttering rhythm.
“Oh, fuck, so good – here, do you want more? I’ll give you my fingers, here, that’s it –”
Finally able to sheathe his claws, Shang Qinghua dips his fingers inside himself, collecting more of that slimy fluid, and carefully slides two into Mobei-jun’s gaping hole. He seems to like it, if the desperate little moan and hitch of his hips are any indication. There’s an egg just past his rim, and Shang Qinghua quickly finds just the right spot to make it bump and roll against the others inside him, coaxing soft, pleasured moans out of a surprisingly pliant Mobei-jun.
After a while, his hips mostly still, and he seems content to let Shang Qinghua warm his cock while his ass is gently massaged. Shang Qinghua presses down on his stomach, over the sigil, glowing gold – his color – and feels the eggs shift. When Mobei-jun lets out a whine, he starts to rub him from that end, too, pressing lightly in circles until Mobei-jun can’t seem to stop making little noises and soft cries of “please” and “yes”. Shang Qinghua might, possibly, growl “mine” once or twice. It’s probably instinct.
It’s both a relief and absolutely terrible when Shang Qinghua feels himself start to firm up again, his upper cock starting to peek from his slit. As both cocks fill out, Mobei-jun slips out of him, making a dissatisfied little noise as his mouth twists up in annoyance. His eyes have pupils again, but the glowing sigil has only barely faded.
“Oh thank god,” Shang Qinghua breathes, carefully pulling his fingers out and taking Mobei-jun’s chin in his hand. “Are you all right? We need to finish the process, but if you need some time –”
In lieu of answering, Mobei-jun turns around, face down and ass up again, and reaches around behind him to guide the tip of Shang Qinghua’s upper cock to rub between his cheeks.
“Oh,” says Shang Qinghua, “okay,” and carefully guides himself the rest of the way inside, feeling the longer, thinner cock displace the eggs as it pushes in. The stimulation is incredible, the way they roll and massage his cock. He tugs Mobei-jun backward, settling him all the way to the base, and Mobei-jun slumps into his lap, held up by the coils of his tail.
His thrusts are shallow, careful, guided only by the undulations of his snakelike lower half. Mobei-jun’s face is a mess of tears and drool, his body a mess of cum and sweat, and he’s so beautiful and he’s Shang Qinghua’s. He might have said some of that out loud. It’s hard to think when he’s so close to pumping Mobei-jun full of cum, breeding him, choosing him to carry his eggs –
The orgasm starts with the lower cock, this time, spurting weakly with what looks like the fairly normal cum he’s used to seeing from himself. It’s almost painful, rubbed raw inside from so many eggs, but then the orgasm ripples upward as his slit contracts and twitches the way it does when he comes internally, and then his upper cock joins the wave of sensation and he nearly whites out from the force of it. It’s like his entire lower half is pulsing, his tail undulating along with his cock, and he’s faintly aware of Mobei-jun shouting as a dry orgasm is ripped from him. Wave after wave of thick, sticky fluid pumps out of him, filling all the gaps between the eggs and inflating the bulge in Mobei-jun’s stomach even further, until it’s too full for his cock to fit anymore and he slips out with a choked-off gasp, splattering the last of it all over Mobei-jun’s lower back.
It takes a long time to recover. Everything hurts and also doesn’t hurt and he feels floaty and weak and like he could conquer the world. He finally slips back into humanoid form and just barely keeps from falling on his face as he suddenly has legs again.
Mobei-jun is lying on the floor, propped up on a fallen cushion, his hand idly rubbing circles over his distended stomach. Despite how exhausted and gross he must feel, he looks pretty pleased with himself. His hips are lifted far enough that Shang Qinghua can see the way his own cum has hardened into a plug, semi-transparent; could he see the eggs shifting, if he pressed on it?
“The eggs,” Mobei-jun says hoarsely.
“Yeah? Yeah, you took all of them, you did so well –”
“Ours,” Mobei-jun says, a faraway expression on his face. “They will be very strong.”
“Uhhh,” Shang Qinghua says, his brain repeating “ours ours ours” over and over again.
“Ours,” Mobei-jun says one more time for good measure, sitting up enough to put his hand on Shang Qinghua’s cheek in an almost tender gesture.
And then he passes the fuck out.
Shang Qinghua can’t help it: he laughs semi-hysterically to himself for what feels like hours, because what the fuck. Did that seriously just happen??? He – with Mobei-jun –
Ours, he thinks again, and the word settles somewhere deep in his chest.
Shang Qinghua shifts into his largest, full dragon form, nearly too big to fit inside the room, and curls carefully around Mobei-jun, keeping his clutch and the man carrying them safe.