Work Text:
The inn was crowded, full of patrons squeezed at too-small tables and waiters struggling to get past one another. Zhou Zishu had barely taken his first sip of wine when he saw Wen Kexing’s eyes widen. A split-second later, an unfamiliar voice called across the room: “Wen-gongzi!”
A youth—not more than twenty-five—emerged at their table. He had a delicate face, with sharp bright eyes and full lips. These were tilted up in a smile. “Wen-gongzi, how many years has it been?”
Wen Kexing smiled as well, though his eyes tightened. Even before he spoke another word, a long-ago conversation surfaced in Zhou Zishu’s memory. He could guess the boy’s identity. Expensive robes, qin-calloused fingers, yet he did not wear any sect’s colors or token. They had stopped to rest in Yangzhou, which meant…
“Su Yue,” Wen Kexing said evenly. Yes. The courtesan whose handkerchief Wen Kexing had used, a long time ago, to bandage Zhou Zishu’s shoulder. Wen Kexing flicked a glance at Zhou Zishu, and Su Yue’s hands faltered where they might have been reaching to clasp Wen Kexing’s. Something settled in Zhou Zishu’s stomach.
It did not last. Su Yue looked him over, slowly, appraisingly. “I see Wen-gongzi has found a new favorite companion.” The way he stressed companion put Zhou Zishu’s teeth on edge. The realization hit Wen Kexing at the same time, and he hid his face behind his fan. Surely the boy didn’t mean—
“This humble Su Yue was your predecessor,” he said, giving Zhou Zishu a genuine smile this time. “Though I never accompanied Wen-gongzi on his travels, of course. May I ask your name? Perhaps we have mutual acquaintances.”
Wen Kexing made no sound, though his eyes betrayed how close he was to laughing. He wanted a show. He wanted Zhou Zishu to assert his ownership with some childish display of force, as though Zhou Zishu would make things so easy. He ignored Wen Kexing’s sidelong glance and returned Su Yue’s friendly mien.
“Zhou Xu,” he said.
If anything, Wen Kexing looked even more delighted. “Come sit, Xiao-Su, I’ll pour you a drink.” As Su Yue perched between them, chattering away with Wen Kexing—he still worked in Yangzhou city, yes, and business has never been better—Zhou Zishu drained his cup. He did not anger at trifles. Wen Kexing would have to do better than—
“Zhou-xiong,” Su Yue’s voice broke into his thoughts. The courtesan leaned forward on his elbows, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “Does Wen-gongzi still like to wrap his hands around your throat?”
The tin cup dented in Zhou Zishu’s hand. Wen Kexing had gone unnaturally still, so Su Yue wasn’t lying. His fan lay forgotten on the table. At least he knew better than to request any such thing from Zhou Zishu. After today he’d be lucky if Zhou Zishu allowed him to bring himself off in the same room.
“I wouldn’t know,” Zhou Zishu replied.
Su Yue laughed, a little inelegantly. The wine was already softening him. “Ah, Zhou-xiong is a rare talent indeed; you have your own tricks.” He leaned closer still, practically draped on Zhou Zishu’s shoulder. Wen Kexing’s eyes followed him keenly. Good, said a hot sharp voice that Zhou Zishu did not recognize. “But take it from me,” Su Yue continued, thinking himself quieter than he was, “If he’s taking his time, just hold his hand and put it around your neck. Nine times out of ten it won’t be more than an incense stick.”
Zhou Zishu met Wen Kexing’s gaze across the table. Raised an eyebrow. Wen Kexing shivered, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Likely as not he was hard already. Well, he could wait the rest of his life if he wanted Zhou Zishu to take care of that for him.
“I expect nothing less,” Zhou Zishu said coolly, not even pretending to keep his voice down. He didn’t look away from Wen Kexing. “Your Wen-gongzi has the restraint of an alley cat in heat.”
Wen Kexing tilted his head in acknowledgement. Heat gathered in his eyes, in the curl of his smile. It wasn’t easy to knock him off balance for long. “Look at him. You saw A-Xu’s butterfly bones, didn’t you?” The gesture bared the side of his neck. It was unmarked. Zhou Zishu wasn’t vicious with his teeth, not usually. “Who could blame me?”
Zhou Zishu would have him on his back before the shichen ran out. His hand clenched where it lay on his lap under the table. Though he only wore two layers, they suddenly felt stifling. He saw Wen Kexing’s lips part and eyes widen before he registered the words coming out of his own mouth: “Just two days ago I made him come twice in an hour, and you should’ve heard him beg for the third.”
Even in the crowded room he could hear Wen Kexing’s breath hitch. Zhou Zishu poured himself another drink.
Su Yue nudged his side. His eyes sparkled with interest as he glanced between them. “Zhou-xiong is truly a master. Might I interest you in exchanging some knowledge with me upstairs? No charge, of course. I’m sure we can both teach each other something…” He touched three fingers to Zhou Zishu’s wrist, leaning in again. “Worthwhile.”
The nerve. Zhou Zishu should sweep their cups off the table and bend Wen Kexing over it. Make the whole inn see who he belonged to—
“We leave for Jiangning in the morning,” Wen Kexing interjected. Though he had smoothed over his expression, his voice was rough. “Su-xiong is kind to offer, but A-Xu won’t let me hear the end of it if he falls asleep on the road tomorrow.”
“Ah, of course.” Su Yue’s gaze returned to Zhou Zishu with no small amount of sympathy. “Wen-gongzi is a hard taskmaster, isn’t he? Why don’t you let me service him for a night? I’m taking a holiday anyway. It’ll be no trouble.” Zhou Zishu took a breath to decline politely, but Su Yue continued, “A long journey on horseback is hardly the time to strain yourself, is it, A-Xu?”
Zhou Zishu snatched his wrist away. There was no thought in it, hardly any malice, only his blood pounding furiously in his ears. “I thank Su-gongzi for his concern,” he said, “but it is misdirected. Whatever pain Wen-gongzi experiences tomorrow will certainly pose no challenge for him.” He didn’t look at Wen Kexing at all as he drained his cup and made a perfunctory bow. “Well met, Su-gongzi.”
He swept upstairs. In the space it took for another hasty farewell, he heard Wen Kexing follow him.
-
The door clicked shut behind them. Before Wen Kexing had a chance to speak, Zhou Zishu turned to grab his shoulder, and then they were kissing. Wen Kexing gasped against his lips, bringing his hands up to press their waists together—one hand curled in Zhou Zishu’s hair, tilting his head closer—Zhou Zishu bit him hard enough to hurt but he only moaned, the sound vibrating in their throats—
Zhou Zishu broke them apart. They were both panting. He was too close to make out Wen Kexing’s expression. Close enough to feel how hot his cheeks were. He leaned in to speak at Wen Kexing’s ear, as though he had a secret, “Do you want to fuck him?”
“A-Xu,” Wen Kexing whined, nuzzling into the crook of Zhou Zishu’s neck. Blind, desperate, seeking warmth. “A-Xu, come on, don’t—” Zhou Zishu lifted his chin so that he had to make eye contact.
“Do you?”
Wen Kexing breathed out once, hard. “No.” His pupils were dilated with want. “Of course not.”
Zhou Zishu shoved him away. “Take off your clothes and get on the bed,” he said. “Open yourself up. The oil’s where you left it.”
Wen Kexing pursed his lips. “A-Xu,”
“Go back downstairs if you want someone to fuck,” Zhou Zishu couldn't keep the sharp petulance out of his voice. Wen Kexing lowered his gaze, peeking up with a demure interest that shouldn’t have suited his face the way it did. His hands were already working at his sash. Long, quick fingers, criss-crossed with old scars.
Wen Kexing shivered as his outermost robe fell from his shoulders. He started undoing the next set of ties on his white inner robe, his eyes periodically flickering to Zhou Zishu’s.
“I’ll do as my husband says.”
He moved so quickly as to be nearly clumsy. With a rush of annoyed tenderness, Zhou Zishu saw that his hands were shaking. Then the inner robe came off too, leaving Wen Kexing in only a linen undershirt and trousers. Only three layers this whole time. Zhou Zishu assiduously refused to consider that he could have torn it all off downstairs the way he’d considered.
Finally, Wen Kexing sat on the bed to unbutton his shirt. Zhou Zishu loosened his own robes as well, indifferently, though he wasn’t blind to the hungry way Wen Kexing eyed him. He allowed his own gaze to skim once over Wen Kexing’s bare shoulders. He must have seen Wen Kexing’s body thousands of times now, but—he thought with vicious satisfaction—seeing wasn’t having.
“A-Xu,” there was the plaintive note again. Wen Kexing reached to paw at his lapels, sighing when Zhou Zishu slapped his hands away. “Ah, pity me; my own husband won’t deign to touch me before he takes his pleasure.”
Zhou Zishu raised an eyebrow. He leaned back against the wall, though the room was small enough that Wen Kexing remained within reach. Entirely naked, now, lying on his side and propped on one elbow to look up beseechingly. Heat pooled in Zhou Zishu’s stomach, and flowed down, but he kept his voice steady. “Did you give Su Yue that much courtesy?”
Color rose in Wen Kexing’s ears and lit up his cheeks. He was touching himself; short, hard strokes that did not look pleasurable so much as imperative. He swallowed a few times before replying. “That’s not fair, I’m not—”
“Shouldn’t my wife serve me better than a whore?” The words came out cutting, though Zhou Zishu could no longer deny that he was painfully hard. Wen Kexing’s breath stuttered. Zhou Zishu snatched the vial of oil from their nightstand and grabbed Wen Kexing’s free hand, none too gently, slathering it over his fingers. “Or are you too spoiled to know how?”
“Am I—” Wen Kexing nearly choked on his indignation, but he obediently lowered his hand to trace a finger around his entrance. His cheeks stayed pink even as his hips thrust up into his other hand. “A-Xu, has it been two days since the last time I fingered you open?”
Zhou Zishu laid his soiled palm on Wen Kexing’s thigh. He stilled at once, breathing hard and relaxing against the touch. It wasn’t the same. Wen Kexing didn’t often lie down with so little of a fight, even if Zhou Zishu could be bothered to fuck him. But it was intoxicating to watch Wen Kexing respond to his slightest move as though it was the only thing that mattered. Zhou Zishu’s other hand skimmed over the front of his own pants—fleeting relief—and Wen Kexing made a desperate little sound as he pushed a finger into himself.
He spread his legs on the cheap sheets, his eyes half-closing as he arched up for a better angle. “A-Xu,” he called, his voice already cracking. Zhou Zishu’s grip tightened. His name spilled so sweetly from Wen Kexing’s mouth: “A-Xu, A-Xu, A-Xu.” His Lao Wen, flushed and wanting, his hair tangled on the pillow like an ink stain. A carrion bird who had taught himself to sing. “I’ll be good, I’ll make it so good—ah,” he gasped, slipping in another finger, “I won’t last much longer if—if you keep looking at me like that.”
“Who’s looking at you,” Zhou Zishu said hoarsely. His hands closed around Wen Kexing’s wrists. He was kneeling on the bed now. “So vain, Wen-niangzi, do you open your legs for everyone who glances your way?”
Whatever reply Wen Kexing attempted was swallowed in a low groan when Zhou Zishu slid into him. He was tight, opening steadily, and incandescently warm. He reached up, blindly, pulling Zhou Zishu down—deeper, but closer too, catching their lips together. Wen Kexing kissed him hard. All need and no grace. Zhou Zishu permitted it.
“You never let them touch you,” he managed between kisses. They never discussed it. It was just something he knew. Wen Kexing slid a hand into his hair. It fell around his shoulders; Wen Kexing must have pulled the pin out.
The kiss slowed, became languid and nearly sweet. “Did you want me to?” Wen Kexing asked, his uneven breaths hot against Zhou Zishu’s mouth. “I’d let all of them fuck me if it meant you’d—oh,” his voice broke into a whimper. Zhou Zishu had thrust his cock all the way in. “I keep forgetting how big you are—A-Xu, A-Xu, will you get on with it or will you make me beg?”
He could beg so prettily when he wanted to, and he wanted to now. He wanted the whole place to hear his pleasure. He was playing Zhou Zishu like a flute, and knowing this didn’t make Zhou Zishu any less hard.
“How much of this did you plan?” He trailed his lips across Wen Kexing’s jaw. Wen Kexing drew a sharp breath when Zhou Zishu bit down on his earlobe. Quietly, like a blade wrapped in silk: “Lao Wen. Did you arrange for the boy to be here?”
Wen Kexing grabbed his hips, rocking up and down on his cock when he showed no signs of moving. “No,” Wen Kexing said, rough and needy, “I’m not that clever. My husband thinks too much of me.”
Zhou Zishu allowed it for a moment. Then he shoved Wen Kexing onto his stomach and held him down by his shoulders. He could feel the muscles tense under his fingers—like a viper poised to strike—going limp just as suddenly. Wen Kexing’s hair was already damp with sweat. Zhou Zishu brushed it out of his face.
“So you know how to be good.” His hand lingered on Wen Kexing’s cheek. His other hand went between Wen Kexing’s legs, one finger tracing his slick hole. Wen Kexing shuddered beneath him. “I could’ve sold you to a brothel back then and saved myself some trouble.”
Wen Kexing looked at him reproachfully. Even with his face half-hidden, his expression was unspeakably tender. “I’ll cry if you don’t fuck me after all this. I’ll tear my clothes and wail in the street that my husband abandons me to a cold bed.”
Zhou Zishu braced one hand on the bed. Wen Kexing didn’t stop talking when Zhou Zishu started fucking him in earnest, but his words broke into each other with breathy gasps: “Oh—A-Xu, A-Xu, please, harder, I know you want,” his hand covered Zhou Zishu’s and squeezed. Zhou Zishu kept his thrusts relentlessly regular. Wen Kexing could beg better than this. Louder. He could be patient. Every thrust sent lightning down his spine. He bit down on Wen Kexing’s shoulder—eliciting a guttural moan, they’ll hear that across the hall—yes, he could be patient.
“Fuck,” Wen Kexing said, his voice shaking. “It’s not enough, A-Xu, husband, if you wanted to punish me you could’ve just—” Zhou Zishu gave him a particularly vicious thrust, and he muffled in the pillow a keening sound that might have been a wail. Zhou Zishu pulled him up roughly onto his elbows and knees. Wen Kexing was pushing back onto him, but he didn’t care anymore; his hands dug into Wen Kexing’s hips as he snapped them onto his cock. A mirror hung above their bed. Wen Kexing kept his gaze down.
“He’s going to hear you,” Zhou Zishu said, lightheaded with Wen Kexing’s flushed daze. He wrenched Wen Kexing’s face up so that he had to look at himself. Without stopping—he didn’t think he could stop if he wanted to. “Him and the whole inn. They’ll all know how easy you are. Wen-gongzi, were you always such a whore?”
Wen Kexing gulped for air. His skin burned to the touch. His thighs trembled with the effort of holding his weight. “A-Xu,” he said hoarsely, “I’m, can I come, I’m close, can I?”
Zhou Zishu could come just looking at him. He fucked Wen Kexing faster, harder; between the slaps of skin on skin and Wen Kexing’s ragged, wordless cries, no eavesdropper could doubt that Wen Kexing was being taken apart and consumed. His hands on Wen Kexing’s waist—did Wen Kexing hold Su Yue like this? Zhou Zishu could feel it as though he was Wen Kexing: a pleasure-house, soft music, buried to the hilt in some stranger. He was Wen Kexing, or maybe Zhou Zishu being fucked by Wen Kexing, inseparable, one being, an animal that knew no feeling except pleasure and remembered nothing except want and possessed nothing except itself.
His vision blurred white when he spilled into Wen Kexing. Zhou Zishu clung to him as they tumbled down to the bed, sweat sticky on their skin as their panting evened out.
Except Wen Kexing’s breath kept hitching and his hands shook where they gripped the bedsheet. His hips rolled against the mattress in abortive little thrusts. He wouldn’t look at Zhou Zishu.
“Go ahead,” Zhou Zishu said. They were still pressed together. Wen Kexing’s shoulder blades dug into his chest. He dipped his head down for a taste. Clean salt. Wen Kexing whined at the touch. His eyes, when he lifted his face from the pillow, were glassy.
Zhou Zishu, unmoved: “What, did you want me to do all the work?”
Wen Kexing looked feverish. “I can’t,” he said, wavering between misery and exhaustion. It seemed painful, the way he touched himself, like he couldn’t help it. “It’s not—I need—A-Xu—”
Zhou Zishu almost laughed when he realized what Wen Kexing wanted. His climax had left him lighter than air. It was easy to roll off onto his back and let his legs fall open. “You insatiable conniver,” he murmured, unable to put an edge on his voice when Wen Kexing climbed on top of him. “All that and you still want more?”
Wen Kexing’s hand was still shaking when he swiped it through the mess of oil and spend between his legs. Their bodies remembered how to fit together this way. It didn’t take long before Wen Kexing was thrusting into him, breathing wetly into the crook of his neck. Zhou Zishu held him. Wrapped one arm around his shoulders, and stroked his hair with his free hand. It was good. Zhou Zishu wasn’t recovered enough for it to be outright pleasurable, but it felt good to be filled.
“I lied back then,” Wen Kexing said, frantic and barely audible. “That night at Gao Manor. I scratched my own wrist and poured perfume on my sleeves. I wanted you so much.” What a lunatic, Zhou Zishu thought with no little affection, to talk with so much yearning about someone who was right here indulging his every whim. ”It was only you after I met you, A-Xu, didn’t I tell you? I—”
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Zhou Zishu traced Wen Kexing’s jaw with his fingertips. There was pleasure in this. A twinge in his chest, behind his navel, in his soft unguarded parts. “I know. You’re a terrible liar.”
Wen Kexing choked out something like a laugh. “I didn’t used to be.” His thrusts sped up, became irregular, just as though he was about to come, but relief eluded him. Zhou Zishu watched him with heavy-lidded interest until it seemed as though he might cry with frustration. “Don’t look at me like that, you held me off for so long—”
“Ingrate.” Zhou Zishu sat up so he could look at Wen Kexing’s face. Wide-eyed, a little blotchy, and utterly wrecked. He took Wen Kexing’s hand. “Hurry up, then,” and wrapped it around his throat, where it squeezed for a moment, tight and warm. He hadn’t expected to like it, but now it was hard to remember why.
Wen Kexing collapsed on him like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He sobbed once into Zhou Zishu’s chest, pressing their bodies close as though he were a lost limb. Something to be reattached. Zhou Zishu brushed his lips against Wen Kexing’s temple.
They would need a bath and a change of sheets, in a moment. Or perhaps Zhou Zishu would drift asleep before then. They could take care of it in the morning.
Zhou Zishu made a note to pay off Su Yue’s room bill in the morning as well.