Luo Binghe can get a little greedy. He knows this.
He also knows that Shen Qingqiu would thwack him on the head and correct him, telling him that he gets too greedy. Especially when it comes to his beloved.
And Shen Qingqiu would not be wrong.
“Do not make me say it again,” Shen Qingqiu scolds with importance in his voice, and Luo Binghe shakes his head.
“I won’t, Shizun,” he says dutifully, eyes downcast. Luo Binghe knows it’s not worth it to bring out the waterworks, not yet. They’re still having too much fun and he is willing to hold out on his pathetic act for a bit longer, given how easy his master is right now.
But he will slip just enough melancholy into his words that Shen Qingqiu will reach forward to cup his face. He squishes Luo Binghe’s already warm cheeks, before pinching them and stretching them apart. Shen Qingqiu assaults Luo Binghe’s face with utmost concentration.
There’s a beautiful light flush across the bridge of Shen Qingqiu’s nose which matches the one that sits on Luo Binghe’s face. Luo Binghe feels the warmth of the aromatic wine still swimming within him; it takes every fibre in his being right now not to pounce on Shen Qingqiu.
He would have already, really, if it wasn’t for the fact that Shen Qingqiu seems to be already part way through a journey which will end on Luo Binghe’s lap.
They had started the night sitting across from each other at the small table that sits in the centre of their temporary quarters. Well, they had technically started the night at the summer lotus festival held in the town they were passing through. Shen Qingqiu is always oddly fascinated by the dozens of tiny, inconsequential festivals held throughout the year, and for something like this, Luo Binghe will never refuse him.
And likewise, when Luo Binghe spots a specialty wine peddled by a demon pretending to be a human and intimidates them into surrendering a couple of jars, Shen Qingqiu won’t refuse the cup he pours them in the middle of the street. Nor will he refuse to buy the jar so that they can take turns from it, Shen Qingqiu’s face pinching with each sip.
It had been a fragrant drink, uncharacteristically sweet for such aged wine. It’s imbibed with enough magic to have the same effect on a demon as wine would on a human, and everything from thereon took a pleasant, golden tint. Especially the peerless beauty of his husband’s handsome face.
Luo Binghe has never been drunk before; apparently he’s not drunk tonight either. Shen Qingqiu is insistent that they are both “tipsy”, so Luo Binghe goes along with it. He’s not going to complain— the more sips Shen Qingqiu took, the more publicly affectionate he had become with Luo Binghe.
He had taken Luo Binghe’s hand in his own and twined their fingers together to pull them through the crowd. It was odd seeing Shen Qingqiu flit between the aloof, restrained master and the warm and loving husband, but pleasing to see the pink blush that had creeped above the collar of his robes.
Luo Binghe had gone along with it, feeling excessively lush himself. He is always ready to be at his master’s beck and call but had been feeling it more so since the wine. His head nearly fell off his shoulders when Shen Qingqiu had pulled him in between two closed off stalls to kiss him silly. Luo Binghe took it eagerly; Shen Qingqiu loved to tease him when it came to public affection, so to be able to kiss him where anyone walking by could easily see was a treat.
Shen Qingqiu had looked embarrassed once they drew back, and had yanked out his fan. He hid some muttering behind the decorated silk, but Luo Binghe is so finely attuned to him that he only needed a look. He had guided them back through the celebration and to the stately inn that they are staying in. Their room looks more like a home, and Luo Binghe hasn’t told Shen Qingqiu it’s because it’s actually the innkeeper’s own quarters on the property.
They had tried to settle down for the night, and Shen Qingqiu had said something about wanting tea. The kettle slipped a couple of times from Luo Binghe’s hands but he had managed to prepare a tray for them anyways.
Which brings them here.
“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says adamantly again. “Do not make me say it again.”
“Say what, Shizun?” Luo Binghe blinks innocently. So maybe it’s a little too much— but he just wants to be close to Shen Qingqiu. The amount of affection in Shen Qingqiu’s eyes when they were out with the festival goers has bloomed something warm in Luo Binghe’s heart that will only be sated with more attention.
Shen Qingqiu frowns at him.
Despite his affections out in public, Shen Qingqiu has been more restrained since they got back. It normally goes the opposite way, but wine does funny things to a man. He had insisted that Luo Binghe sit on the opposite side of the small table as they drank tea, and gave Luo Binghe a small thump with his fan when he tried to disobey.
Luo Binghe barely had to make an effort to let his face fall as he took his seat. “Whatever Shizun wants,” he had said dejectedly, picking up the small pot to pour for Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu sipped in silence, his drunk lustre slowly dimming. Luo Binghe had to bite back disappointment, still feeling the alcohol in his own veins, when Shen Qingqiu set down his cup delicately and migrated to his side. Both their outer robes have long been discarded.
Shen Qingqiu had said something about wanting to come closer that he could tell Luo Binghe a secret. He had leaned over then, close to Luo Binghe, and had huffed, pausing before he finally said…
“That I like you this much,” Shen Qingqiu tells him yet again, in such a matter of fact way that Luo Binghe can’t help but have his own expression brighten. This has a rippling effect, with Shen Qingqiu looking at him with a very satisfied face like he’s accomplished something.
Still, Luo Binghe prods for a little more.
“How much?” he asks, and gets another thwack between his brows with a fan. He barely has the time to turn the waterworks on, before a pair of soft lips follow.
“I said not to repeat it!” Shen Qingqiu then commands, hot breath fanning over Luo Binghe’s face, “You, hold still.”
It smells like the same wine Luo Binghe can still taste on his own tongue. He bows his head demurely, and is rewarded with another kiss on his forehead.
And then another. And another.
And another. Luo Binghe wonders if he has picked up a trinket for good luck as well, because Shen Qingqiu starts to press a series of kisses all across his face. They’re all wet and sloppy, and some are misguided, but each have Shen Qingqiu saying his name and calling him unbearably handsome in between them.
Luo Binghe thinks he must have earned the favour of a god to get this kind of treatment from Shen Qingqiu.
Shen Qingqiu leans into Luo Binghe’s space and plants his hands on thighs. He squeezes and Luo Binghe uses the opportunity to scoop him into his lap. Shen Qingqiu goes easily and much to Luo Binghe’s delight, it’s not long before he has an armful of his husband.
Gracefully as ever, Shen Qingqiu wraps his legs around Luo Binghe’s waist, his heels hitting the floor behind them with a soft thump. Luo Binghe feels his own heart beat faster as Shen Qingqiu keeps kissing him all over his face with the same determined look he has when he looks down a challenger.
Pointedly, Shen Qingqiu seems to be avoiding Luo Binghe’s lips. It’s a shame, given that that’s where he wants him the most.
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe asks. He’s always bold, he knows this, but he feels it more so now. “If your disciple may ask for a proper kiss.”
Shen Qingqiu draws back and gives Luo Binghe a disdainful look. If Luo Binghe’s emotions were not tempered by the sweetness of his master’s prior actions, the face would drive a small knife into his heart.
“My disciple may not,” Shen Qingqiu replies, and Luo Binghe does allow himself to furrow his brows and drop his mouth into a frown.
“Shizun is so cruel…” Luo Binghe is only a little disappointed, but he blinks back watery eyes. It still hurts, even if it’s an infinitesimal amount. Shen Qingqiu stares down at him, squeezing Luo Binghe’s face again from where it’s squished between his hands.
Shen Qingqiu’s expression grows stormier, but in the exaggerated way one carries out their emotions when their drink is making them feel it more than usual. He doesn’t notice Luo Binghe slyly uncinching his sash.
“Don’t you ever make that pathetic face again,” Shen Qingqiu says, and moves his hands to bury them in Luo Binghe’s hair. He tugs, pulling Luo Binghe’s head back to look down at him. “Not when you know that this one loves you.”
“Shizun!” Their exchange makes sense and it doesn’t. Luo Binghe is too happy to care; it feels like there’s a laugh coursing through his body.
“Shizun this, shizun that,” Shen Qingqiu drops his hands and chooses to loop his arms around Luo Binghe’s shoulders instead. “What happened to you always crying because you want to call me husband?”
If Luo Binghe smiles too wide like he wants to, he knows Shen Qingqiu is going to scold him again. Shen Qingqiu seems to want to lecture him and shower him in affection in equal parts, and Luo Binghe will take either with open arms.
“Yes Shizun,” he says, and his head gets tugged again. Shen Qingqiu leans in and brushes his lips over the tip of Binghe’s nose, before giving it a small nip. “Husband,” Luo Binghe corrects, and that satisfied look is back on Shen Qingqiu’s face.
“May this husband then ask for a kiss?” Luo Binghe tries, and Shen Qingqiu hums thoughtfully. He looks at Luo Binghe with such intensity that Luo Binghe decides to test whether or not he can slip his hand between the robes that have started to fall apart.
The first soft green layer parts easily, the white and gold one embroidered one not so much.
“He may,” Shen Qingqiu replies, and he finally drops a kiss on Luo Binghe’s lips, just as Luo Binghe pushes apart his second layer.
It’s as eager as the one that they shared in the makeshift alleyway. Shen Qingqiu’s lips are firm against his, and Luo Binghe barely restrains himself. He only manages to because Shen Qingqiu’s second layer of clothing finally gives way, allowing him to untie the small thread around his underclothes.
Shen Qingqiu squeezes his arms tighter around Luo Binghe and swipes his tongue across his bottom lip. Luo Binghe opens up for him, lets him deepen the kiss and lick in as he finally, finally manages to touch bare skin.
His master is wrapped too tightly around him for him to pull off any of the robes, but Luo Binghe is content with what flushed warmth he can feel under his palm. One of Shen Qingqiu’s legs hook firm around Luo Binghe’s waist, allowing Shen Qingqiu to pull himself impossibly close, like he wants to melt into Luo Binghe.
It makes Luo Binghe feel even more elated. He’s always hungry for Shen Qingqiu’s attention and to receive it so freely is truly a boon.
He can’t help but be a little insistent with the kiss when their tongues slide against each other, both of them letting out soft sounds. Shen Qingqiu is radiating heat like a fire, and Luo Binghe wonders briefly if the wine had an aphrodisiac.
He remembers what happened the last time Shen Qingqiu had accidentally had one, and how Luo Binghe had tried to be respectful about it until Shen Qingqiu literally throttled him, shouting at him to name anyone else who would help him with his problem if it wouldn’t be his husband. After Luo Binghe had learned that Shen Qingqiu didn’t mind if he took advantage, it had been extremely pleasant.
“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says against his lips in between the kisses. It tastes sweet against his mouth, and Luo Binghe cannot get enough. “Binghe, Binghe.”
Luo Binghe slides his palm up to Shen Qingqiu’s chest, brushes it across his sensitive areas. He thumbs over the peak of it and bites at Shen Qingqiu’s lips as he asks, “Yes, husband?”
“Binghe is so good to this one,” Shen Qingqiu says and if he holds onto Luo Binghe any tighter, Luo Binghe is going to get crushed. It would be an ideal way to go. Luo Binghe places a kiss against Shen Qingqiu’s neck, feather-light. “But does Binghe want to be even better?”
“This disciple is willing,” Luo Binghe says against his skin. Shen Qingqiu tips his head to the side, baring his neck further. Luo Binghe licks his lips before pressing them in reverence against the pale skin.
His husband tastes so good. Luo Binghe cannot help but peek his tongue out, eliciting a soft noise from Shen Qingqiu. It’s impossible for Luo Binghe to imagine a better place to be, his lap filled with his husband as he kisses along the elegant line of his neck.
Shen Qingqiu’s hands drop to Luo Binghe’s arms. The action has his robes sliding off his shoulders, like he’s a gift that’s getting slowly unwrapped. For good measure, Luo Binghe presses a kiss to an exposed shoulder.
“Take me to bed, Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says, then pauses. Luo Binghe moves to pick both of them up off the floor, but Shen Qingqiu stops him with a smack on the shoulder. “Wait, no! Binghe, stop.”
“Shall I not lift us up?” Luo Binghe asks, bemused, and Shen Qingqiu shakes his head.
“Take me right here,” Shen Qingqiu says with finality, and a wave of lust hits Luo Binghe so hard that he freezes.
It’s not often that Shen Qingqiu is so direct. He’s intelligent and coy and normally tricks Luo Binghe into being the one who initiates, even if Shen Qingqiu is the one who has the initial desire. And the forwardness does things to Luo Binghe that he cannot describe. Things that make him want to truly act like the brute that Shen Qingqiu claims he is so often.
Especially since they’re both tipsy.
Luo Binghe manages to suppress a shiver, knowing more interesting things are lying ahead.
“Binghe!” Shen Qingqiu is embarrassed, and there’s a little bit of clarity in his voice now.
Ah, Luo Binghe had taken too long to reply. The silence must have sobered up his husband slightly.
“Forgive me,” he says, drawing back to look up at Shen Qingqiu. “This lord is ready to provide whatever his husband wants.”
Shen Qingqiu is about to reply, but Luo Binghe sweeps him up in another kiss. Leaning forward, he grabs the two cups and sets them down gently so that Shen Qingqiu won’t complain. The pot and tray follow, and Shen Qingqiu yelps between them as Luo Binghe tips them over. The fan lays long forgotten on the floor.
He cups the back of Shen Qingqiu’s head so that it doesn’t hit the wooden tea table as he lays him down on it. It’s futile because Shen Qingqiu’s head hangs right over the edge, so Luo Binghe uses his hand as a support instead.
Luo Binghe doesn’t build up to a hungry kiss; he goes for it immediately, making sure he’s bruising Shen Qingqiu’s lips. Shen Qingqiu is responding with the same fever, the noises he’s making starting to increase in volume.
It’s so sweet, so sticky sweet, and how can Luo Binghe not be greedy for this? He must make sure this is all his, always. Nothing he has won or conquered will ever compare to this, though his husband always gets flustered whenever he voices it out loud.
Slender fingers weave through his hair and tug him down further. The legs around him squeeze and Luo Binghe presses their fronts together. He can already feel Shen Qingqiu’s interest rising against him, tasting it in the way that his husband gasps.
Luo Binghe pushes his robes further but makes no move to take them off completely. He starts to shrug off his own clothes while staying connected, till he’s hovering shirtless over his husband.
Shen Qingqiu reaches down below them to palm over the front of Luo Binghe’s pants and Luo Binghe inhales sharply. The touch is sloppy but certain and Luo Binghe rolls his hips into it. Shen Qingqiu squeezes and this time it’s Luo Binghe that’s gasping. He’s not ashamed of the small whine that runs out of his throat.
Finally, after making sure Shen Qingqiu has been kissed breathless and getting annoyed with how much cloth is between them, Luo Binghe breaks off the kiss. He sits back on his haunches, tugging so that Shen Qingqiu’s lower half sits more on Luo Binghe’s lap but his head has support on the table.
Luo Binghe is eager to take the sight in, and what a sight it is.
Shen Qingqiu looks like a feast, supine and sprawled out on the table. His robes pool around him, hanging off the crook of his elbows now, creating a soft nest of fine cloth. Long dark hair fans around him and his Peak Lord crown has been knocked askew. He looks up at Luo Binghe with a blush that creeps down to his chest and an expectant expression.
Luo Binghe hears Shen Qingqiu murmur something under his breath about feeling like a concubine and that fills him with something tempestuous. Without thinking, he digs his thumbs in the waist of Shen Qingqiu’s pants and tugs sharply, leaning back to pull them off and ignoring whatever tearing sounds there are.
“Be careful with my clothes,” Shen Qingqiu admonishes and his voice is definitely getting clearer. But he still grabs Luo Binghe by the back of his head and pulls him back down, reaching to undo and push down his pants.
When their hips are brought together again, the skin on skin contact feels divine. Luo Binghe plants his hands on Shen Qingqiu’s side and curls his hands into the fine silk as he rolls his lower half, growing harder by the moment. He’s about to ask Shen Qingqiu how he would like to be served, but Shen Qingqiu beats him to it.
“This husband wants you fully,” he says, no attempt to hide the desperation in his voice like he normally does. Luo Binghe scrambles, tilting off to the side to dig through his discarded robes and retrieve the oil. It takes moments but Shen Qingqiu still looks impatient when he returns.
Luo Binghe hooks Shen Qingqiu’s legs over his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the inside of his knees. He’s quick to slick his fingers up but slower to press the first one in, knowing when not to be impetuous.
Shen Qingqiu sighs and closes his eyes. The pink across his skin has yet to abate, and Luo Binghe wants to keep it there as long as possible. He’s long memorized where to push and press to get Shen Qingqiu squirming on his hand and get him to take more, get him all pliant for Luo Binghe. He uses more slick, knowing it’ll make a total mess of the robes underneath them.
“Binghe…” Shen Qingqiu says his name again, and Luo Binghe hums in acknowledgement. He’s concentrated on preparing Shen Qingqiu because he’s certain that once he slides in him, he’s going to have very little self control.
“Let this servant take care of you,” Luo Binghe says, dipping down for another kiss. Shen Qingqiu’s legs remain bracketed around his neck and Shen Qingqiu keens at the stretch. Luo Binghe licks the seam of Shen Qingqiu’s mouth but teases, never quite pushing in with his tongue as he works him open below.
One hand spans over the scar on Luo Binghe’s chest, pausing briefly to brush over the raised skin before it moves to his shoulder and digs its fingers into the muscle there. Luo Binghe doesn’t realize what the other hand is doing till a few moments later, where Shen Qingqiu is arching into his touch and making louder sounds than normal.
Luo Binghe feels the brush of knuckles against his own stomach, and looks between them. Shen Qingqiu has a hand around himself, moving it in tandem with Luo Binghe’s fingers. For a moment, Luo Binghe is so stunned he thinks he’s dreaming.
The sight makes Luo Binghe’s head spin, and he makes his own noise when Shen Qingqiu stops.
“Keep touching yourself,” the words spill out more a command than a request, because if Luo Binghe gets deprived of this sight, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.
Surprisingly, Shen Qingqiu listens and resumes stroking himself. His eyes are scrunched shut, like he’s embarrassed and doesn’t want to show his face. Luo Binghe raises himself up again, and he truly cannot take it anymore. Not with the sight of his master touching himself, spread beneath for him to take.
He sits back, and pulls his fingers out. Shen Qingqiu pauses and Luo Binghe is about to say something when he sees Shen Qingqiu reach down and squeeze his own base. Luo Binghe’s mouth runs dry and he starts to pour the oil over himself, slicking up a liberal amount.
“Shizun is so shameless,” Luo Binghe purrs, stroking himself. He’s so hard that if he wasn’t concentrated on Shen Qingqiu, it would hurt. Shen Qingqiu’s brows furrow and he opens his eyes just a crack.
“Husband,” Luo Binghe corrects again, and starts to push in. He grasps onto Shen Qingqiu’s thighs and his gaze drops between, to where they are joined.
The heat around him is all-encompassing and as he slowly eases in, he has to reach down to his own base so that he doesn’t come too quick.
“You make me this way,” Shen Qingqiu says breathlessly, a fond accustation. “This one would not be like this if it was not for Luo Binghe.”
Luo Binghe preens at that and presses another wet kiss to one of Shen Qingqiu’s knees. He sucks the skin there between his teeth, enough to bruise it. Shen Qingqiu looks like he’s already fallen apart, but Luo Binghe wants him to look absolutely wrecked.
He lets Shen Qingqiu adjust as he bottoms out, but he feels more impatient than normal. Luo Binghe always covets his husband but he’s normally got enough sense to take his time and make sure that he feels good before he chases his own end.
With Shen Qingqiu still touching himself as he says Luo Binghe’s name, he’s not quite sure how much composure he can keep. He rocks slowly, keeping his thrusts short to get Shen Qingqiu used to the sensation. His body is more warm and welcoming than normal, and Luo Binghe takes time to enjoy it. Shen Qingqiu is taking measured breaths through his nose, eyes finally opening to half mast.
The sight must embarrass Shen Qingqiu, because he finally does remove the hand that’s touching himself and slings the arm over his face.
“Shizun, I want to see you,” Luo Binghe complains, and he’s unable to make out what Shen Qingqiu grunts in return. The other man doesn’t move his arm, blocking his beautiful face from Luo Binghe’s view.
Very well then.
He bends forward once again, planting his hands beside Shen Qingqiu’s head. He knows the stretch feels different when it’s him as opposed to his fingers buried inside, and Shen Qingqiu’s eyes fly open.
Luo Binghe uses the opportunity to wrench off his arm and pull back the other one he had on Luo Binghe. He pins them with his own hands, twining their fingers together. He leans forward enough that Shen Qingqiu’s thighs are almost pressed against his chest.
“Binghe- Ah!” Shen Qingqiu yelps, and Luo Binghe feels him squirm under his hands. “How flexible do you think I am!”
“As much as I need you to be, Shizun,” Luo Binghe replies simply, pressing a kiss against Shen Qingqiu’s forehead. The words earn him an indignant squawk that masks a tremble— Shen Qingqiu does that sometimes, when Luo Binghe gets like this. Shen Qingqiu likes to serve and be served, and Luo Binghe will always go with the tide of his husband's moods and desires.
When Luo Binghe brings their mouths together again, he gets a sharp bite on his bottom lip for his efforts. It’s followed by a soothing lick which has Luo Binghe chasing his tongue. Despite his complaints, Shen Qingqiu refuses to let go, and Luo Binghe can feel him try to bump the side of his head with his calf.
Obediently, he starts to roll his hips again. The movement is short and slow as he pays great care to his husband’s body. He squeezes Shen Qingqiu’s hands in an effort to temper himself and not get too eager; he’s long learned if he’s patient at the beginning, he’ll be allowed to lose himself later.
Their lips move slowly against each other, Shen Qingqiu spending more time cursing and saying Luo Binghe’s name while Luo Binghe drives in deep. He’s more and more pliable as they go, though one of his legs slip off Luo Binghe’s shoulders.
“Is my husband enjoying himself?” Luo Binghe murmurs, moving to kiss Shen Qingqiu’s jaw. It clenches under his lips and he can’t help but smile against the skin.
“He is,” Shen Qingqiu replies. And despite his voice sounding strained, his voice cracking over the words, Shen Qingqiu still seems to be able to add an aloof, “Though, one wonders if Binghe is tired?”
Luo Binghe’s eyes widen, and he looks down at Shen Qingqiu. “This one is completely fine,” he replies, and feels the thump of a heel against his back. It’s then that he sees the greed he feels in spades mirrored in his husband’s face.
“Then move,” Shen Qingqiu says, eyes overbright and Luo Binghe makes a vow to track down the demon merchant and seize his entire supply of wine.
“As you wish,” Luo Binghe complies, and shifts their hands further up. He lets go of Shen Qingqiu’s hands and slides his palms down to circle around thin wrists, pinning them against the wood of the table.
He watches Shen Qingqiu’s face as he withdraws out more than half way. Luo Binghe teases with a short thrust before pulling back even more. Shen Qingqiu bites his lower lip in anticipation, and Luo Binghe does more than deliver.
The sharp thrust has Shen Qingqiu keening, and Luo Binghe starts to snap forward with a lot more purpose. He keeps the rhythm steady but makes sure to roll his hips and push himself in as deep as he can go.
“Better?” he asks, and Shen Qingqiu shoots him a glare from beneath him. It melts a second later, as Luo Binghe pushes further up on his own knees to get a good angle.
“Stop talking,” Shen Qingqiu half-says, half-moans, as Luo Binghe continues to work him. Luo Binghe cants in at a particular angle and Shen Qingqiu goes cross-eyed. Attentive as ever, Luo Binghe makes sure to brush over that spot intermittently— he misses on purpose sometimes, not wanting Shen Qingqiu to spin out until he lets him.
The heat has his gut coiling in pleasure, and he shifts, pressing down and bringing their bodies even closer despite Shen Qingqiu’s protest about his old hips. Luo Binghe grazes his teeth over Shen Qingqiu’s throat and bites, sucking a pretty mark into it.
His husband lets out a beautiful cry at that has Luo Binghe fucking into him harder, faster, till the table underneath them starts to creak ominously. The steady ah ah ah ’s underneath him are melodious, and Luo Binghe makes sure to draw out more, his own moans mingling in with them.
Lean legs tremble from where they’re still wrapped around him, and Shen Qingqiu is arching off the poor tea table. He’s making delicious sounds, and Luo Binghe finds himself growing greedier and greedier.
He lets go of one of Shen Qingqiu’s wrists, using his hand to grip the edge of the table instead. It shakes underneath them, but he pays it no mind as he watches Shen Qingqiu’s hand fly down to touch himself.
Everything dissolves from there, and Luo Binghe feels like he’s gone into some sort of primal state. He barely registers wood splintering under his palm as he makes sure to fuck into his husband with a bruising intensity, all while watching him stroke himself. His desire threatens to tear him apart from the inside with its ferocity, and Luo Binghe has no intention to stop it.
Shen Qingqiu comes first— Luo Binghe always makes sure he does, whether it’s working him with more enthusiasm or holding himself back. He hears his name screamed into the night prettier than any song, and it makes him unravel as well.
Luo Binghe’s vision blurs as he rapidly reaches his own end, and thinks the table cracks underneath them. A wet hand cups his face and pulls him down into a kiss that’s as filthy and demanding as the palm against him. Shen Qingqiu swallows up the sounds he makes as Luo Binghe comes, devoid of his normal complaints of being over used. It feels like the best punch to the gut, and a hard shiver wracks through Luo Binghe’s body.
The high seems to last forever; Luo Binghe can’t stop working his hips in until there’s nothing left in him to spill. They’re both making soft, punched-out sounds as Luo Binghe finally reigns himself in enough to stutter to a stop.
For a few moments they lay there panting, Shen Qingqiu’s head lolling to the side as Luo Binghe struggles not to flatten out on top of him. Luo Binghe drops his head and lets their foreheads touch as their huffed-out breaths intermingle.
The room feels exceedingly hot. Shen Qingqiu’s hair is plastered to his face and his lips are a deep, bitten red. He looks so debauched it feels illicit, especially sprawled out on a rickety tea table, still nestled within his robes. Shen Qingqiu was right; he really does look like a concubine, something that Luo Binghe takes a not so secret delight in.
Shen Qingqiu makes an impatient hissing sound, and shoves at Luo Binghe’s shoulder. Following his silent request, Luo Binghe sits back on his haunches and holds him with one hand on his hip as he slowly withdraws. It’s messy in a pleasing way, and Luo Binghe wonders to what extent he’ll be permitted to clean him.
Carefully, he leans forward to unpin Shen Qingqiu’s headpiece. It’s long been knocked askew, and falls to the ground with a clatter. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t scold him like always, and goes easily when Luo Binghe gingerly picks them both up.
By the time they reach their bed, Shen Qingqiu already looks like he’s starting to doze off. His eyes are at half-mast, and he clings with his arms around Luo Binghe’s neck as Luo Binghe pulls back the sheets.
However, as soon as Luo Binghe sets them down, he finds himself getting flattened onto his back with considerable strength.
“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu crawls on top of him, and brackets his head with his arms. Luo Binghe shoots him a questioning look. His voice slurs, though it’s unclear whether it’s from the remnants or the drink or from the full force of his exhaustion. “Do not think this husband has forgotten what he was doing.”
“What was he doing?” Luo Binghe asks innocently, and is rewarded with a flick on his forehead. It’s followed by a soft kiss, one that has him grinning. It’s all the answer he’s going to get and all the answer that he needs as Shen Qingqiu resumes his first task of the night, kissing Luo Binghe’s face while simultaneously praising and insulting him.
It lasts for all of five minutes before Shen Qingqiu finally passes out from exhaustion and flops down onto Luo Binghe’s chest, but the warmth carries him for the rest of the night.
The next day, the festival continues in full force. Luo Binghe thinks about the most nondescript way to find that merchant and sweep up their entire supply for a handsome price. Shen Qingqiu foils it early on and tells Luo Binghe that he is absolutely not allowed to bully a demon looking to make a sort of honest living, no matter how teary-eyed he gets.
(As they move onto the next town, Luo Binghe hears a suspicious clink as Shen Qingqiu moves. He raises an eyebrow and Shen Qingqiu raises his fan, and Luo Binghe has to work hard not to look too smug.)