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and i sell my soul for the high

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“Isn’t there anything I can do?” Wei Ying asks, batting his eyelashes.

He leans forward and nearly falls, bound by divine ropes at his wrists and ankles. Lan Zhan’s eyes are so cold, the coolness of his immortality and inherent righteousness bearing down on Wei Ying with unparalleled force.

Lan Zhan catches him at the shoulders, evaluating Wei Ying a moment before picking him up and depositing him properly on the floor of the judgment chamber—presumably so he won’t fall again. He then retakes his golden seat; from this angle, Lan Zhan lords over Wei Ying in every way.

“No,” he says.

“No?” Wei Ying pouts. “Lan Wangji, Lan Zhan! They taught lessons about you in school, you know. Second Jade of those Twin Jades of the Heavens, so upright and righteous.” Wei Ying looks up at Lan Zhan through his lashes. “Surely your resolve cannot be as perfect as they say.”

He struggles a little against the ropes. Lan Zhan watches silently.

Are his eyes darker than before? Wei Ying knows the magic of angels, knows Lan Zhan could silence him if he wanted to, but he lets Wei Ying talk, so he talks. He boasts and seduces, coaxing and playing with Lan Zhan like he’s done it a thousand times. These are the skills he knows best; they will free him.

At a natural pause in Wei Ying’s speech, Lan Zhan finally interrupts.

“You are new,” he states, which, rude! Wei Ying has been told many times that he’s the most powerful succubus anyone’s seen in centuries. He may be new, but Lan Zhan doesn’t need to—to guess like that. What does he know about succubi?!

“Was this your first assignment?”

Wei Ying stops squirming for show and attempts to genuinely wiggle out of his restraints. Lan Zhan’s divine gaze sees far too much of him for his liking. “No,” Wei Ying lies. Any angel worth their salt can detect a lie.

Lan Zhan doesn’t disappoint. He doesn’t smile or anything, but amusement is clear in his eyes. “Your first assignment,” he muses, “was my charge.”

“So?” Wei Ying refuses to let Lan Zhan make him feel—whatever feeling he’s aiming for right now.

“You were sent to fail,” Lan Zhan determines. His statement is simple; he leaves no room to refute him, though Wei Ying would like to. “Sent to be executed at my hand.” His distaste for such an illogical choice is evident.

Wei Ying struggles to argue and comes up empty.

Madam Yu never took a liking to him, which is how Wei Ying preferred to think of it when he had to. Succubi die at the hands of the angels often. It would be so easy to tell the world that powerful, clever, proud Wei Ying bit off a bit more than he could chew...

He goes quiet.

Lan Zhan studies Wei Ying’s expression as he puzzles this out, eyes sharp enough to cut. “I am not a tool for demons’ use—”

Wei Ying perks up a moment.

“—but I cannot set you free.” Hope dies instantly. It must be obvious in Wei Ying’s expression, because Lan Zhan’s eyes flash with satisfaction as Wei Ying’s dim.

“Yes, you can!” Wei Ying wriggles closer, employing what may be the least sexy motions he’s ever made—all that matters is that he manages.

There’s never been a better time to turn on the charm!

He lays his cheek against Lan Zhan’s thigh, marveling at the plush thickness of his pristine white robes. Lan Zhan burns with warmth even through the layers, flushing Wei Ying’s skin pink.

It’s so easy to blame that.

This ploy of Wei Ying’s is unlikely to work, but he’s always been someone willing to attempt the impossible. What harm can it do?

“You can let me go, Lan Wangji. I promise, I won’t tell anyone! You can feel I’m not lying, can’t you?” Wei Ying looks at him with his biggest, roundest eyes, licking his lips and trying to play as innocently as he can.

Lan Zhan’s lingering gaze seems to consider him.

“You do not lie,” Lan Zhan agrees. Wei Ying smiles, sitting up a little and looking at him from between Lan Zhan’s thighs. He never thought his first time in such a compromising position since succubus training would be in the judgment chamber of a famed angel, but Lan Zhan is so, so beautiful. For a moment, Wei Ying feels a bit star-struck.

Lan Zhan touches Wei Ying’s cheek. “My mind has changed.”

“Great! So, if you could just untie me, then—“

“There is something,” Lan Zhan continues, speaking over him altogether, “that you may trade me for your life.”

Wei Ying blinks. “Uh.”

Lan Zhan brushes his fingers over Wei Ying’s mouth. Oh, no.

Nonono, he can’t really—

 

“A kiss.”

Wei Ying swallows, feeling dizzy all of the sudden. Demons don’t really live by a lot of rules, you see—there’s nothing close to the rigidity of the angels. There are a few big rules, though.

Number one for succubi? Don’t tangle with angels. They’re addictive.

Literally.

Their bodies are made from divine energy, so every fluid—blood, saliva, anything at all—is enough to make a succubus lose their head. All that power surging through you is bound to be overwhelming. Before this rule was taught, many an angel had lured a succubus to their death with a single kiss!

Wei Ying knows the stories well: if you let your guard down on the high of an angel’s kiss, you’ll soon find their blade through your stomach. If you’re unlucky, you’ll be hauled to their judgment chambers and sentenced to torture! The best you can hope for is a clean kill, and it’s all because you can’t help yourself once you get a little taste of what they have to offer.

Wei Ying sits up straight.

“Not that,” he pleads. Surely Lan Zhan knows such a thing would be a slower, crueler death sentence. Even if he lets Wei Ying go afterward, will he be able to feed? Or will he waste away, consumed by dreams of Lan Zhan’s, slowly starving because he’s needy and rotting from the inside out?

Lan Zhan’s expression doesn’t change. “Lan Wangji,” Wei Ying begs, only to be immediately corrected.

“Lan Zhan.” His voice as he addresses Wei Ying is deceptively gentle, but the look in his eyes remains cold. Wei Ying knows the answer won’t be in his favor.

“You said you are the most powerful succubus in centuries—that you have never met your match,” Lan Zhan reminds him. “Surely you aren’t afraid?”

This is bait. He’s being baited! Still, Wei Ying’s curiosity goes to war with his good sense. He really is innately powerful. The question is, will he be strong enough to match his will to Lan Zhan’s divine magic?

“Anything else,” Wei Ying begs, trying one last time to persuade him.

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “A kiss,” he says, “or your blood.”

Put like this, the choice is between the slim chance he’ll be strong enough to resist temptation after tasting an angel, and the certainty of Bichen—Lan Zhan’s divine sword—severing his head.

Wei Ying wants to live, of course. He takes the path of least resistance.

“Fine!” Decision made, Wei Ying throws his weight behind it. “Fine! I’ll be the first succubus unaffected, Lan Zhan. You mark my words, you’re going to be so impressed with kissing me that when I earn my freedom, you’re gonna be the one chasing me down, and I’m gonna be the one that won’t even care!”

Lan Zhan lifts Wei Ying into his lap as he throws down that challenge, arranging him so that Wei Ying’s ass is pressed flush to his cock, which—is hard?

Wei Ying gives a breathless laugh, swinging his bound ankles over the side of Lan Zhan’s golden throne. “Lan er-gege,” he purrs, “what is this distasteful thing?”

He squirms as best as he can, trying to make Lan Zhan harder, but that only gets him further trapped. Lan Zhan wraps one hand around Wei Ying’s slim waist and the other around his throat.

“Silence,” he demands.

Not a chance. If Lan Zhan is going to force a kiss from him, Wei Ying can make fun of him as long as possible beforehand. It’s his due! Besides, there’s something so heady about his plays at seduction working on an angel of Lan Zhan’s caliber. Shouldn’t he know better by now?

“You’re sooo greedy. Are all angels so easily turned on? Just the sight of me tied on my knees for you was enough, wasn’t it?” Wei Ying laughs. “Your life must be so boring!”

What he really wants to ask is if all angels have such fat cocks.

It’s not that he’s too embarrassed, but he can’t think too hard about Lan Zhan’s length beneath him, pressed against the tiny shorts he was wearing when he was caught, so close—every time he moves feels sweet. Wei Ying has to be careful. A kiss his already dangerous, but to consider taking an angel inside him bare is—is—

“Don’t they satisfy you in the heavens?” he asks, desperate to focus on Lan Zhan’s sad lack of a social life rather than the way he would feel so, so full if he took Lan Zhan inside. “Centuries and centuries to find someone warm and willing, but gege still gets hard at something so innocent, hahahahaha, you really are—“

It seems Lan Zhan is uninterested in hearing what Wei Ying thinks of him. Before Wei Ying can finish, Lan Zhan’s hand tightens on his throat and pulls him in.

Wei Ying isn’t stupid. Once he was done toying with Lan Zhan, he was going to lightly peck him on the mouth—ending it long before he could taste anything at all—and satisfy their bargain on his terms.

Instead, Lan Zhan takes his mouth as he speaks, already open, easy for Lan Zhan as he invades Wei Ying’s mouth. His tongue doesn’t coax, it dominates and demands—it doesn’t take long for Wei Ying’s thoughts to splinter. How could it?

He’s never been kissed outside the classroom, and no petty incubus kisses like this.

Lan Zhan’s divinity tastes better than Wei Ying imagined, even though he was imagining it pretty hard. His hands fumble with the collar of Lan Zhan’s robes, clumsy as he tries to pull himself closer, and he whimpers when his efforts are stymied by the hand around his throat. Lan Zhan bites his lip in punishment; the pain only makes him whine louder.

The thing is—the thing is: Wei Ying has never fed on anyone before. He’s never been full, never known what it would be like to taste power like this, he’s never—and now—

Lan Zhan pulls away, holding Wei Ying in place when he tries to chase Lan Zhan’s mouth and ignoring the hungry whimper he makes. “Lan Zhan,” he slurs, struggling to open his eyes, “you can’t!”

Beneath the curtain of his fluttering lashes, he can see the gold of Lan Zhan’s eyes practically burn as he studies the succubus in his lap. It’s almost as good as the way he tastes. All the power and concentration, the focus he exudes as he hums and doesn’t answer Wei Ying’s question… something in his tone sounds just a little bit mocking.

That shouldn’t make Wei Ying feel like all his blood is going straight to his dick, but it does. It really does. His cock pulses beneath his shorts, which are rapidly turning sticky.

“Give it back,” he whines, struggling so hard against Lan Zhan’s hold he nearly chokes himself. Wei Ying’s next breath is barely more than a wheeze. “I want, I—I want it, Lan Zhan, I.“

“You have paid the price for your life,” Lan Zhan reminds him, a hint of warmth—is that amusement?—beneath his frigid tone. “You want more?”

Wei Ying begins to feel reality seeping in at the edges. He watches as the ropes around his legs loosen and fall, though the ones at his wrists remain. His cheeks feel hot.

“N-No,” he stammers. He’s never had so much trouble with his words. Maybe angels aren’t addictive, they just tie your tongue so hard you forget what it was you wanted to say.

Remembering certainly isn’t easy. All Wei Ying wants to think about is more.

“No,” Lan Zhan says back, mocking his answer. He kisses Wei Ying again before he can defend himself; Wei Ying melts, spreading his legs when Lan Zhan lifts him and seating himself over his thighs. The position puts the head of Lan Zhan’s cock at Wei Ying’s soaking hole, leaking through his shorts as the tight fabric disappears between his cheeks. Wei Ying moans into Lan Zhan’s mouth, his hole fluttering and empty, desperate for something inside.

No, not something—Lan Zhan. Wei Ying wants Lan Zhan inside him so badly he’s shaking.

They do not stop again.

Wei Ying knows deep down that he should leave, but Lan Zhan fists a hand in his hair and slides the other beneath his shorts where they cling to his ass and Wei Ying just—forgets for a second. Then Lan Zhan bites his own lip until it bleeds. Even knowing why—even knowing it will worsen his developing addiction—Wei Ying still sucks the golden blood from his mouth and decides he doesn’t need to remember.

When Wei Ying surfaces for air, Lan Zhan has ripped his shorts apart. He tosses them to the side and palms Wei Ying’s bare ass; he’s so wet that the open air makes him shiver, pressing closer to Lan Zhan, wanting his warmth.

He only needs one hand to lift Wei Ying and position him over his cock.

“Do you want to leave?” Lan Zhan asks, his mouth brushing Wei Ying’s ear.

“No,” Wei Ying gasps, “Nonono, please, Lan Zhan, you want me, don’t you? You wouldn’t make me, not when I’m so close, don’t you like me now? Don’t you want to fuck me full of—ah!

Lan Zhan pulls him down onto his cock, not even pausing to let Wei Ying adjust to his impossible size. Tears sting at the corner of Wei Ying’s eyes, but he feels his cock pulsing against his bare stomach, leaking so much precome he wonders if he actually did come and just didn’t notice.

It doesn’t matter—it hurts so much, but it’s better than anything he’s ever felt. Wei Ying thought he understood sex before, but he couldn’t have envisioned something like this.

A warm hand cups his face, brushing away a tear threatening to slide down his cheek. Wei Ying nuzzles into the touch. “Hurts,” Wei Ying murmurs, voice wobbly as he rests his arms on Lan Zhan’s shoulders. “Lan Zhan, won’t you be nice to me? You know it’s my first time.”

His words only make Lan Zhan harder, pulsing sexual energy and addictive precome deep inside Wei Ying’s body. He sways forward and presses a kiss to Lan Zhan’s jaw. “You like that, er-gege?” Wei Ying lifts himself up on trembling thighs, sliding halfway off Lan Zhan before dropping down again, a high, desperate noise forced from his throat. “You better… better impress me; when I leave, at least I’ll have s-something nice to compare t—”

Lan Zhan’s hips snap up, cutting Wei Ying’s words. He can’t breathe enough to say much more; every time he tries to gasp or pull away, Lan Zhan fucks him harder, hands squeezing Wei Ying’s ass so tight he’ll probably leave bruises. “Too hard,” he pants into Lan Zhan’s mouth, “too deep, gege, you’re mean…” Wei Ying kisses him again anyway, no longer interested in air, no longer interested in anything but how hard Lan Zhan can fuck him.

“Mean?” Lan Zhan asks, leaning down to bite Wei Ying’s neck. He moans long and loud, head falling back to give Lan Zhan more access.

“Uh huh,” Wei Ying manages.

He feels more than hears Lan Zhan hum against his throat. His hands slide under Wei Ying’s thin shirt and over his nipples. Wei Ying didn’t think his nipples were sensitive before, but when Lan Zhan touches them he keens, an animal sound he’s never made before. Lan Zhan twists one between his fingers. Wei Ying cries out.

Lan Zhan rucks up the fabric and dips his head, mouthing at Wei Ying’s nipple while his hands return to Wei Ying’s ass. Wei Ying tightens helplessly every time Lan Zhan’s tongue moves, trapped between the torture of Lan Zhan’s mouth and his fat cock. He can’t stop moaning and whining, actually thrashing when Lan Zhan bites down around one sensitive nipple.

Wei Ying wails and tries to squirm away from all that sensation, his entire being narrowed down to pure animal instinct.

In response, Lan Zhan’s hand comes down hard on his ass, leaving a stinging ache in its wake. Wei Ying yelps and tries to reach for Lan Zhan’s hand, push it away from him, but his bound hands won’t reach that far, so he hits him in the chest instead. “There! See how you like it!!!!” Wei Ying tries to sound angry, but halfway through his voice breaks as Lan Zhan’s cockhead tags his sweet spot.

“You like it,” Lan Zhan repeats, squeezing Wei Ying’s ass where it’s red and twinging. It shouldn’t feel good…

“Yeah… huh?” Wei Ying makes a high whine when Lan Zhan slaps him again, but he doesn’t have the strength left to hit back. “I—I—”

“You like mean,” Lan Zhan informs him. He thrusts in hard and spanks Wei Ying again, wringing an orgasm from him before he realizes it’s coming. Wei Ying paints his own chest sticky white; when manages to open his eyes again, he can see Lan Zhan’s fingers sliding through the mess, then raising toward his face.

Wei Ying doesn’t know why he opens his mouth. Maybe it’s an instinct left over from succubus training. His thighs are still twitching as Lan Zhan feeds Wei Ying his own come, rocking up into him again and again until there’s nothing left and Wei Ying is suckling on his wet fingers, licking the salt from them like it’s sugar.

“Good,” Lan Zhan murmurs, sending a pulse through Wei Ying’s system. “Again.” That’s all the warning he gets before Lan Zhan picks up the pace.

Wei Ying loses track of time. He floats in a sea of overwhelming stimulation, letting Lan Zhan unwind his brain piece by piece, until what’s left is the hungry, wet parts of him that will never stop wanting.

He doesn’t resurface until somewhere after his third orgasm, riding the high of endorphins, soaking in Lan Zhan’s lap. Lan Zhan has come inside him twice, now; there’s no way he’ll be able to live without having this again.

That’s when Wei Ying realizes something.

“Life,” Wei Ying says into Lan Zhan’s neck, unable to lift his head from his shoulder. Sweat drips down his back, but Lan Zhan doesn’t seem like he’ll ever stop, and Wei Ying doesn’t really want him to. “Life, not freedom...”

Lan Zhan holds Wei Ying at the hips, his fingers bruising as he keeps him upright. He lifts Wei Ying until only the head of his cock remains inside.

Wei Ying whines and tries to squirm closer, but to no avail. “Lan Zhan!”

“You want your freedom?”

Wei Ying sobs. Yes, of course, of course he does. It’s just that he needs—needs more—

“Thought you liked talking.”

Wei Ying keeps his mouth shut, rolling his hips. It’s not enough. Rather than getting him closer, the movement causes Lan Zhan to slip out of him—Wei Ying makes a positively anguished noise.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan sounds so serious. How can he sound so serious? How can he concentrate? “Is it freedom you seek?”

And Wei Ying—breaks.

“No,” he moans, “no, please? Give it back, I—“

Lan Zhan does not ask again, nor does he give Wei Ying time to reconsider.

He’d bargained for his life, but he never thought to ask for freedom. When Wei Ying passes out, far too full and too physically exhausted, he wakes in Lan Zhan’s bed, sticky and covered in golden feathers. His hands are no longer bound, and beneath him, Lan Zhan’s body acts as his mattress. The feathers come from the fact that he’s been enfolded in Lan Zhan’s white-gold wings, cocooned in warm darkness.

Safe.

In the end, Wei Ying the Succubus lived long enough that he forgot to play the captive, helpless victim. He lived long enough to marry Lan Zhan by every human, angelic, and demonic custom they could find. He lived happily bred in captivity—all things considered.