Chapter Text
Your tie should be on the center line, your shirt must not protrude from your vest, your trouser creases should be perfectly straight and always aligned with the tips of your shoes.
Sunday had lived by those words for the vast majority of his life. Unlearning them was a challenge he hadn't succeeded in yet. There were good days and bad, as with anything, and on the bad days… The chaos that came with life as a traveler on the Astral Express could still be, frankly, anxiety-inducing for him.
It hadn't been Sunday’s idea to step into the role of conductor. Not on the Express, but for a concert. Some type of charity performance in which a few other acquaintances of the Nameless would take part as well. He’d been signed up with little fanfare and without his knowledge and had been gently bullied into “embracing these new experiences” by March and Stelle.
Now here he was.
Backstage. Alone. Rehearsing. His hands were trembling.
Most things that could go wrong had, indeed, gone wrong. Stelle kept grinning at him whenever they ran into each other after his catastrophic photoshoot. She had assured him multiple times that the photos had come out well, but it didn't change the fact that everyone had seen him bumbling through it. There had been some other mishaps along the way, including him losing his rhythm not once, but twice while conducting during the last rehearsal, as well as losing his sheets for one song. Sunday was going to single handedly ruin this show, he was certain of it.
He tried to gather himself and catch his breath, but it felt like an impossibility. The small space behind the stage was dark and dusty, cluttered with props and instruments and crates that could contain a treasure trove of things or nothing at all. Outside the heavy red curtain shielded the stage from the hundreds upon hundreds of empty seats in the audience. They would be filled in a few measly hours, and all of those people would have their eyes on him. Him, Sunday, in the spotlight once more. He hadn't intended to find himself back in that position. He would be seen at last, they would watch him fail again and–
Sunday nearly jumped out of his skin when a large but gentle hand grasped his shoulder. He did not whirl around, but it was a close thing. Not that he could have hidden his surprise in front of the general that had snuck up on him.
“General Jing Yuan! Apologies, I did not hear you join me”, Sunday said with as much grace as he could muster once he’d—slowly—turned around. He tucked one arm behind his back, his old defensive position, and immediately dropped it again once he realized what he was doing.
“I could tell”, Jing Yuan said, an indulgent smile on his lips. “Are you quite alright, Mr. Sunday? You seemed out of sorts.”
The lie was already on the tip of his tongue without him having to think about it. It would have been easier to say that he was fine, that he was just going through all the songs one last time on his own. He had been doing that, before his worries had come rushing back. Jing Yuan watched him with those half lidded eyes, looking ever like the Dozing General. Yet Sunday hesitated, somehow knowing instinctively that Jing Yuan was seeing more than he was letting on.
His shoulders dropped and he lost a bit of his proud posture. “To be quite honest”, Sunday said softly. “I’ve been feeling a little… out of sorts. I’m nervous about the concert.”
“Because of earlier?”, Jing Yuan asked gently. Sunday fought hard not to wince. Jing Yuan had been right there at the rehearsal after all, watching Sunday scramble.
Sunday’s silence seemed to be answer enough. Jing Yuan smiled at him, taking a step closer to comfortingly grasp his shoulder again. “Do not beat yourself up over a few mistakes, Mr. Sunday”, he said. “You have been working hard. All of this is quite new–”
“But it isn't”, Sunday said firmly. He stepped out of Jing Yuan’s grasp and turned around. He tucked one arm behind himself, his hand clenched into a fist, as he started pacing. Slow, measured, or an approximation of it. “I am not new to being in the spotlight. I am not new to the stage, or even to being a conductor. I’m supposed to be better. I need to be better.” He thought of Stelle and March who had believed in his abilities and signed him up, of Mr. Yang who had encouraged him when he’d been uncertain, of Dan Heng and Himeko who had helped him practice. Sunday did not want to let them down.
He stopped pacing, still facing away from Jing Yuan. Sunday let out a measured breath instead of a loaded sigh. His clenched fist twitched. Anxiety made his stomach churn and his wings twitch. How unbecoming, how disgraceful. And he was showing it so clearly in front of the General of the Xianzhou Luofu. Sunday had been a leader once, but in that moment, he had never felt more separated from that role. Behind him stood the personification of everything he had failed at being. It didn't make this any easier.
Slow, calm steps sounded behind him after a moment. Sunday straightened, but he did not turn around. Jing Yuan walked right up to him, until he could feel the warmth of his breath ghost over his wings and the back of his neck. Sunday twitched slightly when he could suddenly feel Jing Yuan’s hands land on his shoulders again, his thumbs and fingers pressing into the tight muscle in a firm massage.
“You’re so tense”, Jing Yuan murmured. “It is only a concert, Mr. Sunday. We’re playing music for a good cause. Nothing more, nothing less. Nobody requires a perfect performance from us.”
“But–” Sunday wanted to argue. Of course he did. He was his own harshest critic. Jing Yuan shut it down with little fanfare.
“No buts. I mean it, Mr. Sunday”, he said. His voice was a comfort, as was the way he was still touching his shoulders. Sunday sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he decided not to argue. He dropped his strict posture, his arm falling limply to his side again. Jing Yuan hummed behind him. “That’s right. It will do you good to relax a little. You won't be doing any conducting later if you worry yourself sick.”
Sunday’s head dipped slightly forward in silent acknowledgment. He desperately wanted to listen to the older man, and if he was being honest… It felt easy to trust his words. Something about Jing Yuan made Sunday able to put his guard down, to trust him with this vulnerable side. Jing Yuan kept massaging the tension out of his shoulders, even going as far as moving his hands up his neck to carefully dig his fingers into the knots there.
“Feeling better?”, Jing Yuan asked after a minute of this. Sunday only made a soft sound of assent; he didn’t trust his voice not to break. Jing Yuan huffed a quiet laugh behind him and kept going, evidently not fully satisfied. His thumbs moved along his spine, up into his hairline. His fingers graced his neck, firm but gentle. It would have been a perfectly relaxing massage had they not suddenly brushed against the base of Sunday’s wings—Jing Yuan’s newest target, clearly.
Sunday's reaction was instantaneous. A choked sound got stuck in his throat. His hands darted up to catch Jing Yuan’s wrists while his knees buckled. His face flushed and his wings immediately moved to cover it.
Sunday could hear the blood rush in his ears as the silence so suddenly stretched in the dim backstage area. Jing Yuan was utterly silent and unmoving behind him. His fingers had stilled at the base of his wings, and that touch alone made Sunday feel like he was being set on fire. The situation was suddenly tense and heated, waiting to be broken by either of them. Sunday should step away. He should not let Jing Yuan touch his wings of all things. Jing Yuan hadn't known that it was inappropriate, but he had certainly realized now, and yet he wasn't moving away either.
When the tension between them felt close to snapping, Jing Yuan hummed softly once more. Sunday’s knees grew well and truly weak when the other man very tentatively stroked his thumbs along the base of his wings, his index fingers moving to press into the downy underside. Sunday moaned, his eyes fluttering shut in defeat. He did not attempt to pull Jing Yuan’s hands away, even if his own still tightly clung to his wrists.
“Well”, Jing Yuan murmured. “That certainly seems like one way to get you to relax. Am I right?” Sunday wasn't sure what came over him, but he nodded without missing a beat. Embarrassing. Utterly embarrassing.
Jing Yuan made another soft, curious sound. He let go of one of his wings in favor of wrapping his arm around Sunday’s waist instead. Jing Yuan pulled him flush back against his chest, and Sunday took the chance to weakly lean against him. His legs still felt shaky, especially because Jing Yuan started exploring his left wing a bit more firmly. His fingers traced along smooth feathers, until he reached the very tip of his wing. Sunday bit his lip to hold back another moan, but his breath caught all the same.
“I wonder if all halovians are this sensitive, or if it’s just you”, Jing Yuan said softly and leaned into Sunday’s other side. His warm breath ghosted over his ear and his right wing and it sent a shiver down his spine.
“You could—ah—find out just how sensitive I am if you kept going”, Sunday pressed out. It was shameful, how quickly he’d given in to his basal desires like this. Even Jing Yuan seemed to be a little caught off guard by it, considering it took him a moment to let out a breathy laugh.
“With pleasure”, Jing Yuan said darkly into his ear.
Things happened too quickly after that for Sunday to even process them in the moment. He could do nothing as Jing Yuan turned him around and suddenly pressed their lips together in a heated kiss. He could feel the tight, greedy embrace of strong arms around him as the older man guided him backwards. Within seconds Sunday was deposited on one of the many crates pushed against the far wall behind the stage, his legs spread apart for Jing Yuan to move into. His mouth was claimed with tongue and teeth without missing a beat. Jing Yuan greedily swallowed the soft sounds of pleasure that left Sunday’s lips. He only kissed him harder in turn, as if hoping to hear more from him.
Sunday was weak to it all, only able to feebly cling to the robes Jing Yuan was wearing. He hooked one of his legs behind him, his heel digging into the small of his back and forcing the other man closer. The other leg was spread far for him, kept open by one of Jing Yuan’s hands resting on his thigh, his fingers digging into his flesh through his pants. His free hand made its way back to one of Sunday’s wings, his thumb caressing the sensitive underside. Sunday couldn't have held back the loud moan that left him even if he wanted to.
Sunday turned his head from the kiss, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. “Do not tease me”, he forced out, his hands moving up to cling to Jing Yuan’s shoulders. Jing Yuan only laughed, however, so Sunday softly added, “Please.” If he had to beg for the heat under his skin and coiling in his core to be addressed, then so be it.
Something flashed in Jing Yuan’s eyes, his expression turning… hungry, for lack of a better word. A beat passed, two, and then Jing Yuan pressed another heated kiss to his mouth. Sunday’s mouth parted just as Jing Yuan’s hands found their way down to his pants. He unbuttoned them deftly, pulled down the zip, somehow lifted Sunday enough with just one arm to pull his pants over his hips with the other. He gasped when Jing Yuan moved away so he could pull off Sunday’s shoes and then his pants all the way. He hadn't expected to be stripped so unceremoniously, but somehow it only made the situation hotter. To be wanted so clearly, despite all his failings and misgivings, was a balm to his soul. Especially because of how quickly Jing Yuan returned to his lips, as if not wanting to be parted from them for too long. As if even taking the time to get naked was too much to bear.
When Jing Yuan parted from his lips the next time, Sunday tried to needily follow after him. The other man laughed softly and held him back with a firm hand at his chin at last. “Now, now, little bird”, Jing Yuan said, a teasing little smirk on his lips. “I thought you wanted more.” Sunday blushed, his wings fluttering before covering his cheeks. “I–” He bit his lip when Jing Yuan chuckled at his obviously flustered reaction. “I do”, he finally said softly. He craved it at this point. Even without the pressure of his tightly fitted pants, he desperately needed his underwear gone too, already damp from arousal and uncomfortable against his skin and feathers.
“Lift your hips then, hm?”, Jing Yuan said gently, unaware of the need coursing through Sunday’s veins. “Let me get you bare for me, Sunday.”
Sunday swallowed thickly before he leaned back, bracing his hands on the crate behind where he sat, enough to lift his hips. The General had dropped the titles as easily as Sunday was about to drop his panties for him, a ridiculous thought, one that made him even wetter. Jing Yuan hooked his fingers under the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down over his hips and thighs. The drag of the cloth against his skin was slow, torturous. Indulgent from Jing Yuan’s eyes, considering how intently he was staring down at Sunday’s body and what he’d revealed.
He could have complained when Jing Yuan dropped his underwear onto the dusty floor, but he had no chance. Not when he pushed his legs open and knelt before him as soon as his crotch was laid bare for him. Sunday’s breath hitched, his cheeks flushing all over again.
The General of the Xianzhou Luofu, the Divine Foresight, was kneeling in front of Sunday, between his spread legs.
Jing Yuan’s hair fell into his face, as wild and unruly as always, but Sunday could still make out that same hunger from before in his eyes again. There was curiosity there, too, as his gaze roamed over the pair of wings, one to each side of his crotch, almost shyly covering what lay beneath.
“How pretty”, Jing Yuan murmured, his voice full with admiration. “There’s no need to be shy, though. Show yourself to me.”
Sunday exhaled hotly and after a moment his wings twitched and fluttered apart, revealing his slick folds. His excitement had turned the feathers damp and slick stuck to them even now. Jing Yuan swallowed before him, the sound loud in the quiet backstage area.
“You’re breathtaking”, Jing Yuan said darkly before diving straight between Sunday’s legs.
Sunday gasped when Jing Yuan’s lips closed around his cunt. The only thing keeping his legs from clamping around Jing Yuan’s head in surprise was the tight grip of his hands on his thighs. Jing Yuan indulgently licked across his folds, groaned right into his cunt at the taste and then latched onto his dick. It was already swollen from his arousal, growing a little harder still as Jing Yuan sucked on it. Gently, for now, though it still made Sunday’s hips buck in pleasure at the attention.
“O-Oh”, Sunday said breathlessly, twitching in place as Jing Yuan took him apart. His wings moved to cover his flushed face and he raised one hand to cover his mouth. He had to be quiet. The backstage area might be deserted now, but there was no telling whether one of the others might come to practice again too, or whether one of the staff members at the concert hall might show up. Anyone could walk in on them, and the last thing Sunday wanted was to be heard moaning his pleasure.
But oh, Jing Yuan made it so hard for him. He kept sucking him, occasionally letting his tongue run through his folds, licking up his slick. He dipped it into his waiting hole sometimes, as if desperate for a taste straight from the source. Sunday gasped into his hand, barely muffling his sounds, and he only struggled harder when Jing Yuan moved one hand to his crotch. Sunday could do nothing but take it when Jing Yuan carefully, but insistently shoved two fingers up into his cunt. He experimentally hooked them up into his walls and rubbed against the spot that had made Sunday cry out the loudest so far. Jing Yuan chuckled against him, his mouth still pressed to his clit. How cruel, that even his amusement at Sunday’s expense only made him feel better.
Sunday ended up coming with one hand buried in Jing Yuan’s hair, the other pressed to his mouth in a futile attempt to remain somewhat quiet. His walls clenched and tightened around the fingers lazily thrusting into him. His dick throbbed where Jing Yuan continued sucking on it until his hips were twitching from overstimulation. Only then, when the wings framing his cunt tried to desperately close and when tears formed in Sunday’s eyes, did Jing Yuan finally get up.
They were both panting for a long moment, staring. Taking in how they'd made a mess of each other. Even though Jing Yuan, unfairly, looked quite composed. He was still fully dressed after all, and if it weren't for the bulge in his pants and Sunday’s slick coating his mouth and chin, he could have walked out the door looking as if nothing had happened between them.
Jing Yuan suddenly raised his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean, before wiping his thumb over his lower lip and doing the same. At this rate Sunday’s face would never return to its natural shade.
“Undress”, Jing Yuan finally said, breaking the silence with that one simple word— command. Sunday’s eyes widened slightly and his walls tightened around nothing. He swallowed thickly and then sat up—ignoring the horrible way his wet cunt pressed against the crate beneath him—and unbuttoned his jacket. Took it off. Resisted the urge to fold it. Repeated the same with his shirt.
Sunday peeled himself out of his remaining clothes as Jing Yuan watched on in silence. He didn't give him much space to move. He’d put his hands to each side of his thighs onto the crate and remained right between his legs. Only when he was naked did Sunday finally speak up. “I want to see you as well”, he said with much more calm than he felt. He met Jing Yuan’s eyes, though that took effort as well. He wasn't sure how he managed not to back away, or for his wings not to cover his face.
Jing Yuan smiled knowingly at him. “Needy”, Jing Yuan murmured, though it sounded more like praise than admonishment coming from him. “You sure know what you want, hm?” Sunday watched as Jing Yuan took a step back and started stripping as well. He failed to think of an answer, not when he got a first glimpse of his toned chest, or stomach, or biceps. He figured the Dozing General might not keep up with a strict exercise routine, but he must be wrong. Jing Yuan very, very much looked like a proper general.
At some point Sunday’s wings had covered his face again. His cheeks were flushed by the time Jing Yuan moved back between his legs, as naked as Sunday himself. Sunday spread them eagerly for him and leaned back, bracing himself on his elbows on the crate. “You’re…” Sunday trailed off and bit his lip when Jing Yuan pressed their crotches together. His dick slid along Sunday’s folds and his wings immediately moved to wrap around him and keep him close. By that point any compliment that might have been on the tip of his tongue had been forgotten.
Jing Yuan shivered above him. “That’s… an interesting feeling”, he mumbled. “Do you want me this badly, little birdie?”
“Yes”, Sunday said, and something in his tone made Jing Yuan laugh. “Then you shall have me.” Jing Yuan smiled at him, and that smile had something so disarming to it that Sunday could only stare at him and blush. He barely noticed that the other man was guiding his dick down to his waiting hole, not until the tip already pushed into him.
Sunday groaned, his head tipping back. Jing Yuan filled him slowly, steadily at first, but when he realized how wet he was and how little resistance was holding him back, he pushed in all the way in one smooth thrust. Sounds of pleasure left them both as Jing Yuan knocked their hips together. The general’s hands settled on his thighs in a tight grip, keeping him spread open. Sunday couldn't help but clench down hard on the dick filling him now.
“Aeons”, he pressed out. “You feel so good inside of me.”
Jing Yuan chuckled softly at that and finally started moving. “Someone needed this, hm?”, he asked, the teasing only making this worse for Sunday because it was the truth. He pressed his lips together as Jing Yuan slowly pulled his hips back all the way, only to just as slowly fill him again. He could feel each thick inch like this, every rippling vein across his length. Sunday could feel it twitch inside of him when he moaned softly, or how Jing Yuan’s fingers dug into the flesh of his thighs. The general was being careful with him, indulgent, so, so good to Sunday. He felt bad because it wasn't nearly enough.
“You can be rough”, Sunday said after only a minute, his eyes heavily lidded as he looked up at the other man. “You can use me. I don't care. Don't give me any space to think about anything other than you.”
Jing Yuan had looked as calm and collected as always, even when Sunday had started speaking already. But by the time he’d finished, that same hungry look from before was back in his eyes. Jing Yuan groaned and briefly closed his eyes, as if doing his best to compose himself. And that wasn't at all what Sunday wanted.
“Do it!”, he said and reached out, putting his hands on Jing Yuan’s waist to urge him closer. “I want it, please.”
Barely a beat passed before Jing Yuan suddenly pulled out. Sunday didn't even get to process the situation enough to realize that there was something to complain about before the older man pulled him off of the crate. He yelped when he was so suddenly put back onto his feet. Jing Yuan turned Sunday around and pushed him forward, forcing him to bend over the crate. Sunday barely got to brace himself before Jing Yuan pushed back into him in one harsh, rough thrust.
He cried out, his walls spasming around the dick spearing him open, and quickly slapped a hand over his mouth. Sunday squeezed his eyes shut when Jing Yuan set a rough, punishing pace from the start now. Jing Yuan pressed his chest to Sunday’s back, forcing them close. He thrust into him hard enough for the sound of skin slapping against skin to be loud in the room. The crate cracked ominously after one such harsh thrust, something Sunday tried to ignore.
“Let me hear you”, Jing Yuan said darkly, his voice too close to his ear. Sunday only frantically shook his head. Even the muffled sounds behind his hand were much too loud.
Jing Yuan didn't seem to like this answer, though. He suddenly reached around him and pulled Sunday’s hand from his mouth. He pinned it down against the crate with his own, his fingers moving between Sunday’s, intertwining. With the other Jing Yuan reached for his mouth, two fingers hooking into the corner of it. So Sunday could do nothing. He couldn't close his mouth. He couldn't hold his desperate sounds back any longer. He could barely offer Jing Yuan any resistance as he kept ramming into him.
“That’s right, just like that”, Jing Yuan said and sighed hotly. “Let me hear you. You’re doing so well.”
The praise was entirely too much for Sunday. He could do nothing but cry out as another orgasm suddenly caught up with him. His legs shook, trying to squeeze shut as Jing Yuan kept happily fucking into him. His release splattered onto the floor, Sunday trembled, and the only relief came from Jing Yuan pressing his upper body flush down against the crate. He could rest his body a bit like this, a small blessing.
Jing Yuan had pulled his hand from Sunday’s mouth as if only now trusting him not to keep quiet. Jing Yuan slowed his pace a little through the little aftershocks that threatened to wreck Sunday and it gave him a chance to catch his breath. “I hope you’ve got another in you”, Jing Yuan murmured. He’d leaned in, past Sunday’s halo, to press his face between his left ear and wing. “I’m not done with you yet, birdie.”
Sunday thought to himself that if Jing Yuan kept fucking him like this, he could probably force ten orgasms out of him. He might not be able to walk at the end of it— or think— but that was a different matter.
What Sunday ended up saying was, “Don't worry about that.” He sounded a little breathless and small, quiet moans caught in his throat when Jing Yuan pushed into his sweet spot just right. It made the older man chuckle softly, but he didn't seem to question Sunday’s resolution.
So he kept fucking him. Pushing into him with long, deep thrusts. Always rocking his whole body against the crate beneath him. He started kissing and sucking at Sunday’s neck at some point, though Sunday only really lost it when Jing Yuan gently bit into the flesh of his wing.
Sunday’s back arched violently, his head thrown back. It was a good thing Jing Yuan was this close or he might have hit him straight in the face with his halo. He cried out as sweet pain and torturous pleasure crashed into him. And all Jing Yuan did was chuckle against his wing before pressing a kiss to it. “Oh, you’re so tight on me right now. You feel lovely.” Sunday whimpered, the praise going straight to his head, or his cock, maybe both, because he’d never been called something as ridiculous as lovely in bed.
Jing Yuan did something perfect, which was wrapping his arms tightly around his body as he kept fucking into him. He pressed them flush together, held Sunday close, let him feel his strength and desire. Jing Yuan had buried his face against the crook of Sunday’s neck, groaning quietly against his skin, and fuck, if that wasn't hot. It only riled him on more.
“I– I’m close”, Sunday pressed out. He could feel the pleasure coiling in his core, shooting up his spine and down his legs, making his toes curl.
“Oh, you sweet thing. I know”, Jing Yuan murmured and pressed another kiss to his neck. “Come on, let me help you. That’s right, just like that. Use me for what you need.” Jing Yuan had moved one hand down his body, pressing his flat palm against his throbbing dick. Sunday cried out immediately, his hips jerking wildly away to escape the sudden attention. It took him a moment to settle into the sensation, and then he was nearly frantically chasing his orgasm by humping against Jing Yuan’s hand.
Sunday came, shouting Jing Yuan’s name like the most sinful of prayers. He squirted his release for the second time today, this time all over Jing Yuan’s hand. He clenched down so hard on his dick that Jing Yuan had to stop moving, settling with grinding into him instead. It worked like magic in drawing out Sunday’s orgasm, and then in pushing him straight into blinding overstimulation. It made him whine, and cry, his wings wrapping around Jing Yuan’s dick, as if it would do anything in releasing him from his struggle.
At least Sunday didn't have to suffer for much longer. Jing Yuan groaned heartily into his ear, thrusting a couple more times into Sunday’s spasming hole, before finally pulling out. He came over Sunday’s ass and lower back a moment later, and then they collapsed into a messy heap onto the crate at last.
They were silent for a minute, both of them catching their breath. Jing Yuan kept holding him, and it felt nice, perfect even. Sunday groaned and pressed his forehead to the crate.
“Well. Looks like I managed to successfully relax you at least.”
Sunday could hear the amusement in Jing Yuan’s voice and he couldn't help it—the laughter that came bubbling out of him.
“Remind me to thank you appropriately for it later”, Sunday mumbled, smiling as he turned his head. Jing Yuan moved into his field of vision and gave him his signature lazy smirk. “I shall hold you to it, Mr. Sunday”, Jing Yuan said and when he leaned in to press their lips together, Sunday returned the kiss happily.