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It begins like this.
“Gege,” Hua Cheng says at the doorway, the look on his face something like a triple take as he stands there looking so sexy in his suit. The next breath he lets out is slow, almost guttural—a hiss of air pushed out through teeth. “Fuck.”
It’s the way the expletive rolls off his tongue that gets Xie Lian to really look at him from where he’s sprawled out on the bed, all silk fabric and languid limbs. Xie Lian smiles a little, but it feels woozy, mellowed out by wine. “Hi,” he says, sure his face must be a flushed pink.
Hua Cheng advances, and with every step comes a heated anticipation that sizzles like lightning in the burnt-orange light of the room. He stops, though, once he reaches the foot of the bed. Just sits there at the edge, so tantalizing in red and black. “I thought you were ready to go,” he says, one of his hands reaching out to encircle an ankle.
Xie Lian thinks: he definitely heard a crack somewhere in the pitch of Hua Cheng’s voice. And Hua Cheng, he’s definitely ogling the naked sprawl of Xie Lian’s legs; Xie Lian can feel the heat of his eye—well, his eyes now. They make a contemplative circuit of Xie Lian’s face, before dipping down to rest at his collarbones, at his chest, like he tried to hold back but ultimately couldn’t help himself.
“I am,” Xie Lian says, but he’s still smiling. “I just—need to get my clothes on.” He tilts his head in the direction of the dresser that faces the bed.
“If I didn’t know any better,” Hua Cheng begins in that low tone that typically precedes a steamy interlude, “I’d say gege was trying to get his poor San Lang to help him undress and tear off this flimsy thing instead.” The hand that was on Xie Lian’s ankle flicks the fabric of Xie Lian’s robe as a warning.
Xie Lian feigns a scandalized expression. “Not at all.” He throws in a moue for enhanced effect.
“Then get dressed”— Hua Cheng pulls at the robe—“before I assume otherwise.”
“God, I love it when you’re mean,” Xie Lian laughs, his shoulders now bare from the force of Hua Cheng’s tug.
Hua Cheng’s eyes are red irises and demonic slits, but his hands are gentle when they pull down Xie Lian’s hips, and his thumbs get in a few caresses that straddle the line between tender and dangerous. “I can be meaner.”
Xie Lian shivers a little—both from this, and the memories of marks on his thighs, of bruises that wouldn’t fade from his skin for days. “I know.”
Black nails scrape his skin, and Xie Lian senses a smug promise behind the action. It’s not the time for it, however, so Xie Lian decides to get dressed and then they’re both out the door, eighty floors down, to head towards where the car waits.
Almost immediately Xie Lian recognizes it’s an upgraded model. He sees the mahogany wood consoles and adjustable partition in the privacy compartment; takes note of how the seats have a sleeker leather finish, of the extra legroom that wasn’t there before. The colour of the exterior is a pitch darker, too; almost grey. It smells new inside, clean. Like air freshener and cologne.
They’re well on the highway when Xie Lian registers the burning look that Hua Cheng gives him. Of an arm that snakes around his waist, of a mouth that presses kisses to his neck. They can’t be seen by Yin Yu back here; but if they aren’t quiet the noises will most certainly be heard.
“You drive me insane, did you know that?” Hua Cheng murmurs into the spot where Xie Lian’s pulse point rests, lips accompanied by hints of fang—sharp enough to puncture skin.
The thought should make Xie Lian recoil; make him wince in fear, but all it’s done is the complete opposite for however long it is they’ve known each other. He likes those teeth, those hands—how it all feels like playing with fire that would never actually hurt him. This surety, this confidence nicely lends itself into the knee-jerk instinct to give in and let Hua Cheng have his way with him.
But Xie Lian senses some restraint behind his actions; Hua Cheng has opted for slow, fleeting kisses instead of his usual wet, bruising bites. Makes sense; they’ll be pulling up to the casino anytime soon now, and Xie Lian knows how Hua Cheng likes to take his time, drag things out.
“Mm, ah—San Lang,” Xie Lian breathes out, tracking the movement of that hand where it nears the apex of his thighs.
The kiss beneath Xie Lian’s ear is a parting peck, but the way Hua Cheng’s gaze remains trained on him is like sex in and of itself; it’s the same look he gets when they’re in bed, those eyes contracting into twin swirls of interest, like a magnet that keeps hooking you in. Xie Lian will never stop being addicted to it; never, ever.
Eventually, the car pulls up to the curb—and there it is, the Gambler’s Den. Decadent in its sprawling, red-hued glory. Bright lanterns illuminate the way into the establishment, and it’s a full house tonight so there are luxury cars and people all over the place; you can practically taste the anticipation in the air. Even the gold of the ornate lion showpiece seems to shine a little brighter. Like it glows with all the money that sits on the house tonight.
“Well, let’s head on over and see what the trash are up to this time, hm, gege?” Hua Cheng drawls out, his smirk predatory and sinuous.
Xie Lian can only glance away and take his inhibitions in stride. Really—it’ll be near impossible not to think about that mouth on him; about those hands pushing his thighs apart so a body can settle in between them, if Hua Cheng keeps looking like this. Like a work of art on two legs.
“I’m, ah, glad San Lang decided to take me along with him today,” says Xie Lian, in an attempt to ease the rush of blood that thrums in his ears as they make their way inside.
Hua Cheng laughs. His palm is a steadying weight on Xie Lian’s back, and Xie Lian’s centre of gravity re-calibrates around it. “I needed something pretty to look at, and I decided gege would do the trick,” he says.
Xie Lian blushes. “You flatter me too much.”
Hua Cheng’s response comes as a low murmur directly into Xie Lian’s ear. “On the contrary, I don’t think I do enough of it. Am I not allowed to compliment my beautiful husband?”
So maybe Xie Lian’s knees go weak at this, but at least he has the coherency of mind to keep walking and keep in check the heat he feels in his chest. Finally, they reach the lobby and what immediately sticks out is the security detail: suits wearing earpieces and concealed holsters, accompanying some of the world's richest and most powerful men and women as they head on in for the main event.
A single glance and you can tell just how packed the place is; filled with gangs and businessmen, political figures and royalty, all lured in by the sway of diamonds and blood money. They always come back to this place for one thing: for prizes that can’t be bought by coin. There’s a certain thrill to be found in it—staking limbs in lieu of gold, laying down riches in exchange for a lost soul, and that’s just to name a few. Sin is a mortal’s game, and most play it well.
It’s easy to pinpoint the exact moment everyone recognizes Hua Cheng has arrived; the ghost crowd grows a little wilder, more frenetic, and then you have heads turning towards Hua Cheng’s direction and bodies freezing over. Whenever Hua Cheng enters a room, he radiates power. There’s always something about the way he moves that commands respect, demands attention, and this time it feels more prominent than ever. It’s a devastatingly alluring look on him; it’s the kind Xie Lian wants on his face as he pins Xie Lian down and fucks him.
Slot machines roll and chime, dealers shuffle cards, and dice clink in cups, as Hua Cheng moves over to take his place behind the curtained dais where his throne lies. There’s space for Xie Lian, too—just barely. He suspects it’s so that he’s always at least partially on Hua Cheng’s lap.
“Well?” Hua Cheng says this with a casual indifference that tempers the deadly undertones it betrays, and Xie Lian feels himself shiver at this—at the way his voice carries over the crowds so effortlessly. “Don’t let me stop you.”
And so the people get back to it. The games pick up as usual. They both have a clear view of it; the delicate veil of red offers a crystalline viewing experience from the inside. But you wouldn’t know that from a distance. Hua Cheng points out a few names as his nails go click-clack against the armrest—the heads of three famous crime syndicates; some Saudi princes; American oil magnates—and going by the way he surveys the room, you’d think the whole place was worth less than the trinkets he throws around for fun.
He may be San Lang in Xie Lian’s heart, but he’s also Crimson Rain—especially here— and he never lets anyone forget. That this is his territory, his domain, and that he’s king.
It’s…actually such a turn-on, it hurts. Xie Lian doesn’t get the time to dwell on it, though; soon Hua Cheng is whisking them both away to the Velvet Room, where a high-stakes poker match is being held. Xie Lian senses the octane in the air, a palpable tension that resides between all nine players as the blinds are placed, the dealer hands out the cards, and they settle in for a long game.
Hua Cheng and Xie Lian sit in a booth that’s elevated above the main area, but the sight is still clear here, and Hua Cheng has some mild commentary going on as the round progresses. Most call; some fold; the rest raise their bets. Chips are tossed in, faces remain impassive, and eventually the flop is revealed: a jack and king of spades, and a seven of hearts.
So distracted is Xie Lian that he almost misses the look Hua Cheng gives him as possessive fingers settle on his waist. “Bored yet, gege?” he croons.
Far from it; Xie Lian shivers at the patterns being traced on his skin. His body flashes hot, but Hua Cheng’s palms are cold, and it’s this dizzying contrast that coaxes his tongue loose. “I like being here with you,” he says, voice edging on a breath.
There’s no wind but the curtains flutter. The lantern that illuminates the booth casts an atmospheric red hue; it makes Hua Cheng seem demonic—makes him look like the lord that he is. Those crimson irises flare, and Xie Lian admires the play of light on his face. The shadows make the cut of his jaw look sharper, like a knife’s blade you could cut yourself down to the marrow with.
Finally, the betting interval ends. The dealer burns a card then flips the turn.
The reactions are subtle but immediate—Hua Cheng notes their tells. He laughs as he yanks Xie Lian’s hips onto his lap; Xie Lian knows he’s somehow reading the players’ hands. No surprises there. He has eyes everywhere: from the wrought-silver butterflies that adorn the walls to the crystal sentinels that flutter about.
It’s not long before the sensation of fingers digging into his waist registers, and Xie Lian jolts. He shifts a little, finds that Hua Cheng’s eyes hold lazy, self-indulgent focus where they study his face. Hua Cheng’s erection is a hard line against the swell of his ass, and Xie Lian’s toes curl, because this right here—along with the stinging caresses Hua Cheng administers onto his skin—is going to be his undoing, he’s sure.
“S-San Lang,” he can only manage weakly, made dizzy by the blood that pounds hot in his veins.
Cool knuckles brush past Xie Lian’s chin so sweetly. “Look at you, gege,” Hua Cheng murmurs. “You’re so beautiful when you beg for me to touch you.”
The grip on Xie Lian’s waist is iron, and Hua Cheng’s face is like a sieve, letting out only the tiniest fractions of expression. Calm coolness at first, and then wonder, and then lust. The aura that radiates off of him is like dark energy, and it permeates Xie Lian down to the core.
He feels it acutely; running fingers up his spine, tracing the line of his jaw. There’s little warning for what comes next: Hua Cheng kissing him with heated need, bracing his back against the armrest. Xie Lian starts tense, but Hua Cheng works him over slow and probing, searching for some give. Eventually he gets there—a nip on the ear has Xie Lian melting, has him going pliant in Hua Cheng’s hold.
This break in composure is what Hua Cheng takes as encouragement to part Xie Lian’s legs and fully slot himself in between them. The v-neck of Xie Lian’s dress shirt hangs low, accentuating his collarbones rather nicely. They’re what Hua Cheng latches onto next, in the form of exploratory kisses that skirt over their shape before tapering off at the curve of Xie Lian’s shoulder.
“But the game,” Xie Lian says after a brief flash of coherent thought.
Hua Cheng draws back enough for Xie Lian to note the amusement in the curl of his mouth. His incisors are prominent peaks against his bottom lip, and a phantom memory of those teeth sinking into the inside of Xie Lian’s thigh summons a wave of heat.
“Are you worried we’ll be heard?” Hua Cheng nuzzles Xie Lian’s outstretched palm.
“I mean, we’re a little out in the open,” Xie Lian says. “And you’re supposed to be watching, San Lang.”
Hua Cheng kisses his wrist, his pulse. “I’d rather be looking at you. Besides—” Dark eyelashes lazily flick up then down. “Nobody can see or hear us.”
At this a shiver passes through Xie Lian. The cold then thaws to a sharp thrill that seizes him by the throat. It’s true enough; the warding array is always in place. Xie Lian averts his gaze momentarily, returning his attention back towards the centre of the room.
Chandelier light catches on Rolex watches and jewellery with every movement of the wrist and every chip tossed. The ghost working the bar moves with calm efficacy. Glasses clink, piano keys play softly, and there’s something about the gilt of the room that seems to really glow.
The final card is flipped, then there’s a show of hands.
It’s a four of a kind that wins the round.
The rattle of chips ensues, and the dealer takes back all the cards. Shuffle, deal, repeat.
Xie Lian feels it first before seeing it: fingers unbuttoning his pants. With a gentleness incongruent with the overt strength of those hands, his pants are pulled down to his thighs, then knees, then ankles, and Xie Lian finds himself twitching in interest. Lips latch onto the underside of Xie Lian’s jaw and it’s a bruising pressure, rough and real. It’s cunning manhandling, the way Hua Cheng plays with him—the skin of his neck worked purple between teeth, the shape of his nipples teased by clever thumbs.
This—isn’t the experimental toying Hua Cheng usually does whenever he wants to prolong lazy mornings; this is calculated exploration, with a clear goal in mind.
“How are you feeling?” Hua Cheng murmurs into the space where his mouth hovers at Xie Lian’s ear.
Xie Lian’s response comes in the form of a heated exhale: “G-Good.”
Both his hands squeeze Xie Lian’s thighs before coming over to encompass his waist, prompting Xie Lian’s arms to loop around Hua Cheng’s neck. Hua Cheng’s mouth dips for another sticky kiss; their noses brush, their tongues meet, and steam fills Xie Lian’s mind.
Soon, Xie Lian’s shirt is peeled from his chest and left to pool on the booth’s parquet flooring. Hua Cheng is still dressed, but his own suit begs to be removed, so that’s what Xie Lian does now. His jacket first, then his tie and shirt. Hua Cheng’s tattoos are beautiful swirls of ink against the pale of his skin, and Xie Lian can’t help but trace them once they come into view. Dice at his hip, silver butterflies along one arm. And then there’s Xie Lian’s name.
“Gege is as lovely as always,” Hua Cheng croons, head lowering to kiss the space above Xie Lian’s bellybutton.
It’s a fleeting touch of the lips but it leaves fire in its wake regardless. It’s enough to work Xie Lian up into full hardness, and the heaviness between his legs only grows the longer this goes on. His hips lift slightly on instinct and Hua Cheng smirks.
His demon eyes are alight with fervour when he says this next: “You want to be fucked so badly, don’t you?”
Xie Lian does. He does. And the mental manoeuvring it takes to voice aloud an open admission just about drives him to the brink, but a baritone chuckle sets him at ease. Then the hands that were on Xie Lian’s waist push up his knees, leaving nothing to the imagination. His cock weeps where it twitches on his belly, and he watches Hua Cheng stare like Xie Lian is something to marvel at.
It’s not long before Hua Cheng’s touch becomes more deliberate, and the transition is electrifying. Fingers glide down a thigh to feel for Xie Lian’s ass and squeeze, and it’s also those same fingers that Hua Cheng coats in lube to position at Xie Lian’s rim.
Like this, Hua Cheng’s curtained divan feels separate from reality—a domain of shadows—but the sounds that occasionally filter in from beyond the veil serve as a grounding fixture. From this vantage point, the array has somehow hidden the visuals of the room behind an almost dreamlike fog—or maybe it’s just the heat that shimmers in his eyes.
“Ohh, that feels nice, San Lang,” Xie Lian sighs, as a finger slips in and a chin brushes his inner thigh.
Hua Cheng’s gaze visibly sparks up with delight, and he’s sinfully gorgeous like this: on his knees, muscles glistening, and collarbones prominent. The kiss he presses to the inside of Xie Lian’s knee is a tease, in addition to the pace he’s already working his finger at. Then another one joins in, eventually a third, and it quickly becomes a fullness that stretches.
Fingers slide down to the second knuckle, and Xie Lian, unable to stop himself from clenching, gasps. Hua Cheng just hums in quiet appreciation, but his words are imminent. It’s with rosy glee that he observes the expressions Xie Lian makes.
“You’re sucking me in so greedily,” he teases, curling them in deeper.
“Mm—ah!” The words escape Xie Lian on a punched-out whimper.
Hua Cheng takes it as a cue to nudge in further and set up a rhythm that builds. It’s all Xie Lian can do ride out the motions and stop himself from squirming. His breathing is loud, but that’s all; it’s an exercise in restraint that he doesn’t come on the spot.
“Shit, you sound so fucking hot,” Hua Cheng breathes out, pupils dilating.
His next move is to go for Xie Lian’s prostrate, and when Xie Lian knocks his head back against the headrest, sharp arousal lights his eyes. Xie Lian’s focus has narrowed down to the sensation of those fingers, but just when another wave of pleasure crests it withdraws, and he’s left feeling empty. An exhale leaves Xie Lian’s lungs in a hot drag of air.
“San Lang,” he finds himself whining.
Nails scrape alongside a hip, sending a jolt down Xie Lian’s spine. “I want you coming around my cock,” Hua Cheng says, palm already moving to slick himself up.
Hands then proceed to further push apart Xie Lian’s ample thighs, and Hua Cheng stares down at him with a smolder in his gaze. The look he gives Xie Lian is intoxicating, reminiscent of worship and reverence. His cock bobs heavy between his legs and as soon as Xie Lian imagines being fucked into, his mind shorts out from the anticipation.
“Gege is so pretty just for me,” Hua Cheng murmurs, so sweet the sting of his grip is dulled by it.
It’s hard not to feel drunk with Hua Cheng’s scent when he licks up the side of Xie Lian’s neck. Xie Lian has zero control over the moan he lets slip; the skin-to-skin contact could make him melt. Hua Cheng positions his cock at Xie Lian’s entrance, and Xie Lian’s knees go up to bracket his hips by reflex. His palms find purchase, too, but on broad shoulders, the muscles there firm where his hands knead appreciatively.
Hua Cheng kisses his chin as he pushes in, and Xie Lian’s mouth falls open at the pressure of having something so big enter him. It’s not as if it’s anything new, but Hua Cheng is a lot thicker than three fingers, so the initial ease inwards is always a renewed feeling.
“You’re—tight,” Hua Cheng says into his skin.
That prompts only a mild shock through Xie Lian’s body, but it’s still a shock nevertheless; he seizes around Hua Cheng’s cock, earning a strangled exhale in response. Nerves then hotwire into pleasure; the burn becomes ecstasy the deeper Hua Cheng gets. The rhythm starts off slow—just a few simple thrusts forward, granting Xie Lian the room to adjust.
“Right there, right there,” Xie Lian groans, looking up at Hua Cheng through eyelashes damp with tears.
The pace quickens, turns fuller. There are gentle growls whenever Xie Lian squirms too much, but he holds firm, and the high just builds. Skin slaps skin; bites work bruises into his neck—Hua Cheng isn’t exactly rough, but he isn’t gentle either, providing a middle-ground that hits all the right spots.
It’s heaven to dig fingers into Hua Cheng’s hair; the strands are like silk, soft, and yanking on them just sharpens the piston of his hips. The sounds they make are honestly obscene—wet, and loud, and wet again. Hua Cheng’s chest glistens; sweat pools on his pecs, in the crooks of his elbows, and Xie Lian can’t help but chase the trickle that drips off a shoulder.
“God, I really can’t have enough of you—” Hua Cheng’s voice cracks on a moan.
He defaults into languid leisure; this isn’t the kind of fucking that could make Xie Lian feel like he’s being split apart, and there’s a side to him that craves more. Xie Lian wants this to last, wants the pleasure to go on possibly forever, but he also wants to come, and it’s a need that sets his teeth on edge.
He keens when Hua Cheng’s weight rocks him forwards. Stars gather in his peripherals. Those hands and that mouth on him are greedy, and his skin is alight with the force of Hua Cheng’s desire. Sounds escape him every time Hua Cheng pulls out to the tip and slams back in, but it’s the good kind of crying and it just spurs Hua Cheng on.
Xie Lian has a hard time keeping his eyes open; it’s only natural when this steady back-and-forth has him seeing double. It feels as if his eyeballs are going to roll out of his skull, and not for the first time, Xie Lian wonders how he must look—if the flush of his cheeks and the bitten-red of his lips paint a picture of debauched ecstasy.
He can’t help but look down. The sight of where they’re connected is almost too much to handle, but it’s gratifying. It’s what his heart sings for: the feeling of being owned, taken apart, by fingers that could choke just as easily as they could soothe.
He’s hurtling towards orgasm; Hua Cheng must know that, too, because suddenly he’s hiking Xie Lian’s leg over a shoulder, changing the angle.
It’s practically a beg, the way Xie Lian whines, “Oh, fuck, San Lang, go faster—ah!”
“Not so loud, gege, or I’ll have to gag you,” Hua Cheng croons, and Xie Lian knows it’s only mild teasing, but the lust that pools in his gut renews anyway.
He laughs shallowly, breathlessly, then halts the moment Hua Cheng hits his pleasure points dead-on. Blood rushes past his ears, the bite Hua Cheng administers onto his inner thigh sends a jolt through his core, and his mind is all murky waters, deep in a blissed-out state.
The end is within reach; it’s a painful precipice to be on the edge of, because Xie Lian is so close, he’s almost there, but the cresting thrill remains unbroken, further exacerbating his throbbing ache. Hua Cheng kisses his jaw, his mouth, then finally, finally, provides him with the relief he desires; a hand wraps around Xie Lian’s cock to stroke along the sides, and it’s not long before his climax tears out of his very soul.
“Mm, yes, yes, yes!” Xie Lian sobs out, his nails digging into Hua Cheng’s back.
He comes so hard both their chests go sticky from it. Tremors wrack through Xie Lian’s body, splintering his vision, and his voice catches on a wet gasp. It’s instinctual, how his body arches into the thrust, and it’s honed reflex, how he grips Hua Cheng’s shoulders to keep him there.
Hua Cheng hasn’t come yet, but he throbs in a way that resonates in Xie Lian’s bones. He goes for another kiss and it’s sloppy, rough and exhilarating, how their teeth click together and lips grind. Xie Lian is shaking from the aftershocks, but it’s the easiest thing in the world to just melt into the kiss.
The smooth slide of Hua Cheng’s hips turns into a stutter, and that’s how Xie Lian can tell he’s close. Xie Lian takes all of it in: the sticky, uneven pace; the hot press of Hua Cheng’s mouth; the rapt focus in his eyes. Xie Lian is more than entranced by the view—he’s utterly hooked on it. The waves of Hua Cheng’s hair over his forehead, the cut of his cheekbones, the furrow in his brow as he concentrates.
Hua Cheng builds the pace to something steady and relentless, and he loses coordination as he does so, like he’s going off from pure intuition instead. Less technique, more feeling. Muscles tense underneath Xie Lian’s fingers and his leg slips off Hua Cheng’s shoulder, so hands grab onto his thighs in response.
Xie Lian’s ankles then go on to lock at the small of Hua Cheng’s back. Hua Cheng presses in deep, and Xie Lian’s body reacts every time he slides in: rocking back against him, toes curling, clenching tight. The weight on Xie Lian’s leg resolves into an arm that pulls him in closer, and the next time they kiss it’s a little disjointed, a little messy, but they make it work anyway.
Xie Lian comes alive underneath his touch—he makes these little oh! oh! oh! sounds; his head spins; his veins fill with flashfire—and it’s a high they both ride off with mutual elation. Hua Cheng’s focus is magnified now, like he’s stopped thinking, like he’s concentrated his efforts towards feeling instead.
The idea he’s let loose of all his inhibitions makes Xie Lian’s chest go molten; he’s rendered breathless by it all. The dull heat, the friction, the depth and speed of his thrusts. Hua Cheng is halfway to gone; it’s something of a spiritual experience watching his face—flushed cheeks, red lips, tousled hair. He only needs a couple of thrusts before he’s rasping out, “Fuck—ah—I’m going to come,” into Xie Lian’s shoulder, hips driving in deep as the rhythm he worked towards begins to falter.
Xie Lian holds Hua Cheng through it. Shoulders flex then shudder underneath Xie Lian’s palms; wet warmth spills; and the hands that are on Xie Lian’s body grip harder, sure to leave purpling imprints. Hua Cheng’s eyes burn bright crimson now, those slitted obsidian pupils pronounced against the red. Adrenaline continues easing Xie Lian’s comedown into a shimmery haze of amorphous stills, and the breaths they share linger sweetly, helping to ease the fires of passion.
Hua Cheng buries his face into Xie Lian’s neck as he pushes in for a final thrust. It’s hot and sticky where their hips meet, but the wetness that coats Xie Lian’s thighs is hotter still. Eventually, his body eases off, though his mouth doesn’t let up: kisses continue peppering Xie Lian’s skin. The curve of a pleased smirk is present there.
Still in recovery, Xie Lian lies prone. There seems to be an odd disconnect between vision and mind—or maybe it’s just the post-orgasm effects kicking in. He waits for the fog of his thoughts to subside.
“San Lang,” Xie Lian finally manages.
Hua Cheng’s lips break off softly, stickily. He then rests his chin on Xie Lian’s sternum, and a sneaky hand goes up to trace patterns onto Xie Lian’s chest, feeling up muscle and skin. “Yeah?”
Xie Lian takes in the shadows that swirl at the corners of the booth and the lantern that glows deep red. It’s far from a welcoming aesthetic, but it fits the mood and the moment. “We're in one of your pocket domains, right?"
Hua Cheng gives him an idle smile. “Mhm. I know there’s the warding array, but…I didn’t think gege would like it if I took him in front of an audience,” he says, voice mild but still laced with sultry undertones.
Xie Lian doesn’t reply, and it’s this silence that Hua Cheng takes as tentative disagreement. His smile widens. “Unless…it’s something you’d be interested in—?”
“San Lang, don’t tease!” Xie Lian says, blushing now that the images are in his head.
He can’t say he’s comfortable with the idea, but there is, however, a tiny part of him that isn’t vehemently against it. Small mercies that Hua Cheng forgoes his usual torment, opting instead to clean up, get redressed. It doesn’t take long; within minutes they’re back to where they were.
They see the game to the end. The final round nears resolution with millions in the pot so the vibes are tense now—cautious. Heads crane in close and bodies press in shoulder-to-shoulder, the audience waiting for a victor. Hua Cheng has made himself visible to the crowd, and he looks just as imposing as ever, otherworldly. Every bit a lord.
It’s almost silent when the last community card is revealed: a six of diamonds.
The remaining players turn their hands face-up.
An ace of spades, a two of clubs; a four of spades, a king of hearts; a seven of diamonds, a nine of clubs.
Eyes flash, coins jingle.
It all hinges on a straight now.
But it’s ultimately a full house that sweeps the board. Three queens, two sixes; the high hand.
Game over.
The crowd breaks into applause. But it’s easy enough to discern something’s off. The suits blended into the audience make a surreptitious approach and the people ducked inside various alcoves have started to whisper into their earpieces, urgent.
The dice now on Hua Cheng’s hand spin, and his smirk is feral, matching the intensity of his gaze. Money, blood, power—a war between factions is about to go down.
Xie Lian knows Hua Cheng can hardly wait.