Work Text:
Luo Binghe watches the fight with his hands behind his back, impassive. As always, when Shen Qingqiu is not at his side he is less concerned with what is happening before him when there are other, more important things to worry about. He has dinner to prepare before too long, after all.
He does usually enjoy the informal sparring matches between his various generals when they happen, however. Luo Binghe even participates in them himself every now and then, when all of his emotions are bubbling up inside him and threatening to boil over—especially when Shizun has been spending long periods of time with his other sect siblings and away from Binghe. The act of fighting, of throwing himself bodily at an opponent and tearing with claw and fang, helps to get all of the ugly feelings out. Unfortunately, as Mobei-jun is the only one of his generals who can truly hold out against him, he often simply stands to the sidelines and watches the matches rather than participate. He takes the opportunity to categorize the various strengths and weaknesses of the combatants in order to better use them in future campaigns.
Sha Hualing is currently fighting against one of Mobei-jun’s underlings. She is frankly making short work of them, all claws and spitting vitriol as she dances the poor demon in circles. She doesn’t allow her opponent to land a single strike, though his sword manages to catch on her floaty, gauzy clothing in a few places, adding more rips to clothes that already weren’t covering that much. Not that Luo Binghe was one to care; he had eyes for only one person in his life, and Sha Hualing dressed for her own convenience and to use any covetous stares that she received against the owners. It was a power play that Luo Binghe was uninterested in participating in.
He feels the arrival of his beloved before he even turns to look; Shen Qingqiu holds himself with a comportment that is incomparable to the regular chaff and graceless inhabitants of Luo Binghe’s palace. Shen Qingqiu looks out over the training grounds from above his fan, taking in the scene of Sha Hualing finally showing mercy on her opponent and disarming him, holding her claws to his throat with a triumphant cackle.
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe greets, a warmth rising in him that lights him up from the inside, the pure joy of having his husband next to him filling him with life that just isn’t there when they are apart.
Fascinatingly, Binghe catches a glimpse of his husband’s flushed cheek behind the screen of his fan. It is an incredibly alluring look on him, one that makes Luo Binghe want to grab him and pull him close and see how low he can make that flush dip. He sighs internally, mourning the fact that his ever self-conscious husband would never let him show affection in front of his subjects the way that Binghe wishes.
“Saintess Sha truly is brave, to wear clothing like that even in combat,” Shen Qingqiu comments instead of responding to the greeting. “Look at how torn they are. The disarray that they are in! Isn’t it unsuitable?”
Ah, his husband’s thin face is acting up again. Luo Binghe feels a moment of jealousy, for Shen Qingqiu to so easily recognize sexuality in his unclothed general, but he realizes that the flush is due to scandal rather than attraction in any way. Shen Qingqiu is simply taken aback by Sha Hualing’s style of demonic dress, for all that it is natural for her to wear, especially in the lands that she is from along the southern border.
And suddenly, Luo Binghe has an idea. A bit of a curiosity, really, to see how Shizun would react if it were him in that style of dress rather than Saintess Sha. Just scandal over his potential nudity? Or would he see something different in his husband? Could Luo Binghe take advantage of such a thing?
So he hums, continuing to look out over the aftermath of the fight as if completely innocent while he responds. “Her style of dress is quite comfortable and convenient, actually.”
The fan that had been wafting slowly in front of Shen Qingqiu’s face pauses as he falters. “Pardon?”
Luo Binghe turns to Shen Qingqiu, putting on an innocent expression. “Shizun said that her clothing appeared to be inappropriate. But her style of demonic dress is quite comfortable. Does it bother Shizun that this one has worn it before?”
Shen Qingqiu doesn’t seem to know what to do with this. His eyes dart to the side, catching sight of Sha Hualing trading places with Mobei-jun, her clothes torn and barely covering her, then flick back to Luo Binghe. The flush on his cheeks deepening is enough for Luo Binghe to be certain of what it is that his husband is imagining. Good. He can take advantage of that.
“I—no, but…Binghe, that gauze?” Shen Qingqiu managed, tripping over his words in a way very unbefitting of a peak lord but very befitting of his level of fluster. Luo Binghe has to force down the urge to whisk him away in the middle of the day to have his way with him, tracing that blush to behind his ear and down his throat with his mouth, because Shen Qingqiu disapproves of nighttime activities happening during the day and Luo Binghe likes to pretend he has at least a little bit of control over himself. When he isn’t looking to be disciplined, that is.
Instead, he pretends not to see anything out of the ordinary in terms of Shizun’s reaction, and simply hums and nods. “There have been occasions.”
“Occasions?” his husband asks weakly, and Luo Binghe takes a moment to relish what turns Shizun’s thoughts might have taken to have him so flustered before he pretends to notice Mobei-jun standing in the middle of the sparring ring, waiting for him.
“Ah, apologies, Shizun,” Luo Binghe says, a little twist of glee in his chest as he refuses to elaborate further and turns instead towards the training ring. “Mobei-jun appears to be ready for our spar.”
He enters the ring, shrugging out of his upper layers to allow them to slide from his shoulders and pool around his waist. Luo Binghe doesn’t expect to go all-out today, but he has seen the way that Shizun watches him when he leaves his upper body on display while he spars. He flexes his claws at Mobei-jun with a sharp grin. They won’t use any swords for this battle. They do, sometimes, but this particular fight will be hand-to-hand, just brawling for the sake of it. Shen Qingqiu will appreciate that, too.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the way Shen Qingqiu’s eyes trace the shape of his body, his shoulders and arms, lingering on his form. He’ll explain it as an opportunity to observe Luo Binghe’s martial forms, but the excuse is transparent in its obviousness. Luo Binghe adores him for it—loves seeing every bit of proof that his husband desires him as much as Luo Binghe desires him in return.
He turns his thoughts to the fight as Mobei-jun attacks. It wouldn’t do to disappoint Shizun by putting on a poor showing. And in the meantime, he can decide what would be the best way to use the new knowledge about Shizun’s adorable scandal over demonic dress.
That morning, Shen Qingqiu had sought out Luo Binghe until he had found him at the training grounds of the palace, watching the active fight impassively. Earlier, Luo Binghe had disappeared while Shen Qingqiu had been absorbed in his meditations after their normal morning routine. It wasn’t all that unusual these days for the two of them to follow their own schedules, but a pang in Shen Qingqiu’s chest that he refused to acknowledge as loneliness—really, he had just seen his husband a shichen earlier upon waking—had him rising from his spot to go in search of his wandering spouse.
It had taken Shen Qingqiu a while to find him here; once upon a time, Luo Binghe had spent almost every moment he wasn’t with Shen Qingqiu on these grounds, fighting out his aggression and anxieties over potentially losing Shen Qingqiu’s love. After their marriage, however, the frenzied visits had started to taper off as Luo Binghe had settled into their relationship, and these days he’s usually only here for semi-regular spars amongst his generals and members of his court with higher levels of cultivation.
Luo Binghe is dressed more casually than he does on days he’s forced to hold court, simple robes more akin to what he wore as a disciple, albeit made of finer cut and quality and in dark shades of black and red. He had sets in Qing Jing colors as well, but favored his demonic color palette when getting ready to fight demons in deference to the far higher chance of dirtying or bloodying them. He is still as handsome as ever, his hands clasped behind his back, his curls held at bay with a pretty green hair tie that Shen Qingqiu is fairly certain is actually his own.
What a sweet little girlfriend thing to do, like stealing a boyfriend hoodie or wearing a bracelet of one’s significant other. How characteristic of this precious husband of his, Shen Qingqiu thinks affectionately, approaching with his fan in his hand to hide the fact that he is having emotions at the moment.
Instead, to distract himself, he looks out over the current spar, which appears to be just wrapping up. It’s Sha Hualing against one of Luo Binghe’s other generals—an underling of Mobei-jun’s, if Shen Qingqiu remembered correctly. Although she was very clearly winning the fight, it was apparently coming at the cost of the integrity of her clothing. It makes Shen Qingqiu almost wistfully remember a previous attack on Cang Qiong, when she had been similarly unclothed.
Really, she was barely wearing more than a few flimsy pieces of gauze! They couldn’t take much more damage than they’d already had. Shen Qingqiu was all for bodily autonomy and all of that, but wasn’t that just inconvenient for her? One wrong move and she was baring her entire body to the world!
Luo Binghe turns to greet him as Sha Hualing finally decides to show mercy on her opponent, disarming him and holding her claws to his throat with a triumphant cackle.
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe says, all attention to the fight immediately torn away by the arrival of his husband.
Shen Qingqiu, unfortunately, is still watching Sha Hualing, holding his fan to his face in order to hide the blush at the realization that her clothes really were far too torn to properly cover her body. He can’t keep himself from saying something.
“Saintess Sha truly is brave, to wear clothing like that even in combat,” Shen Qingqiu complains. It's true! “Look at how torn they are. The disarray that they are in! Isn’t it unsuitable?”
Luo Binghe pauses, as if taking a moment to process this non-sequitor, turning his head to study Sha Hualing. She is currently going over a few moments of the fight with her poor opponent, knocking him to the ground a few more times while she waits for him to figure out how to handle her strikes. He seems completely immune to her level of nudity—really, Shen Qingqiu did a whole number on the stallion protagonist. Not even a little bit affected by a shapely female body!
Luo Binghe hums, then shrugs. “Her style of dress is quite comfortable and convenient, actually.”
Shen Qingqiu’s casual aesthetic waving of his fan freezes as he processes this statement. Or rather, fails to process it. “Pardon?”
“Shizun said that her clothing appeared to be inappropriate. But her style of demonic dress is quite comfortable. Does it bother Shizun that this one has worn it before?” Luo Binghe turns fully to face him, his eyes big and worried, as if the thought of him dressing like that causing disappointment to Shen Qingqiu could be the end of the world for him.
“I—no, but…Binghe, that gauze?” Shen Qingqiu stammers out, completely failing to uphold his cool response in the face of imagining Luo Binghe in an outfit like Sha Hualing’s. What would he look like in it? Shen Qingqiu is mentally assaulted by the thought of Luo Binghe clothed in scraps of maybe black silk and silver jewelry, like the Emperor’s robes that Shen Qingqiu so loved to see him in, barely covered, all of his muscles and his slim frame on display.
For fuck’s sake, how could that little bit of silk even hide any of what Binghe had down there? There was no feasible way, was there?
“There have been occasions,” Luo Binghe says, apparently oblivious to the salacious direction that Shen Qingqiu’s train of thought has taken him.
Shen Qingqiu forces his brain back on track with a few mental shakes of his head, blinking, and ignores the shade that his face must be. “Occassions?” he asks weakly. He barely notices as Sha Hualing finally exits the grounds, trading places with Mobei-jun.
“Ah, apologies, Shizun,” Luo Binghe says, not elaborating on what occasions would possibly have occurred to require him to dress like…like…like that. “Mobei-jun appears to be ready for our spar.”
He strides out into the circle to meet him, his fingers tugging at the collar of his robes. Shen Qingqiu’s breath catches in his throat as Luo Binghe tugs the upper part of his robes free, pushing them down his arms to bare his upper body, flexing his claws in preparation for the fight. Shen Qingqiu finds his eyes following the curve of his spine, watching the ripple of the muscles in his shoulders and his back, and thinks that he can see a pale mark that was supposed to stay hidden by Luo Binghe’s robes in the light of day, thank you very much. And on top of all that, he imagines the drape of sheer fabric, of what it would look like for Luo Binghe to dress like Sha Hualing.
The fight between Mobei-jun and Luo Binghe starts, and Shen Qingqiu fans himself a little faster. He doesn’t leave, though. He always loves getting the chance to watch his husband fight, no matter how flustered it might make him. Still, he thinks wryly as the two demons clash, apparently foregoing weapons in favor of hand-to-hand combat, it would be nice if Luo Binghe weren’t clearly so smug and showing off for him when he did come to watch.
Nothing comes of the curious conversation over the next several days, if one puts aside the number of times that Shen Qingqiu has caught himself—not fantasizing, something else—thinking about Luo Binghe and the occasions he’s apparently had to dress in skimpy Southern demonic clothing. He certainly doesn’t catch himself idly creating humiliatingly scandalous doodles around the edges of his paintings like a teenage girl with a crush that he has to spill ink over to hide! In fact, nothing comes from it for long enough that Shen Qingqiu assumes that the subject has been entirely dropped. It’s not like Shen Qingqiu is going to be the one to bring the topic back up. What would he say? Oh, Binghe, sorry but this master couldn’t get his head out of the gutter and keeps imagining you wearing so much demonic lingerie. Mind sharing more about that? As if!
So Shen Qingqiu forces the thoughts out of his brain, refusing to acknowledge them when they pop into his head, and is busy spending a slow evening in their quarters with one of his novels while Luo Binghe finishes up with some paperwork in his office. He works in another room—they would get nothing done if Luo Binghe tried to do paperwork in the same place as Shen Qingqiu relaxing, they’ve discovered. In a few more days, they’ll be going back to Qing Jing peak for the next Peak Lord meeting, and Luo Binghe has to prepare to be away from his palace for that time. It’s a necessary evil that separates them for most of the evenings leading up to the trip.
The book is diverting enough, though it’s just well-enough written that Shen Qingqiu doesn’t actually have too many complaints so far. He’s finishing up a chapter when the door opens, presumably Luo Binghe entering their quarters, and he allows himself to wrap up the page before he looks up to greet his husband.
The greeting dies on his tongue as he takes in the sight in front of him.
It is not so much scraps of wispy gauze as it is an outfit made of fine silks and draping fabric that expose entirely too much of Luo Binghe’s body. It is made of a black silks and something else that almost seems to shimmer, all trimmed in red, and his hair is pulled into a high ponytail to show off red earrings to match. The top is miniscule, a standing collar with long, flowing sleeves attached, billowing out before being laced up at his wrists. It goes no further than the upper part of his chest, however, crimson trim framing his pectorals and looping around to his back, leaving the rest of his upper body and stomach free, his abdomen fully on display. Around his slender waist are two thin, delicate gold chains, nothing but sparkling decoration, draped prettily over his hips. The guanyin pendant that he always wears hangs lower than the trim of the top, a small flash of green to offset the dark reds and blacks of the ensemble.
His pants were loose and flowy like the shirt, tucked in at his boots. For a moment, they appear to be almost normal, before Luo Binghe shifts a little and Shen Qingqiu catches sight of the long, open slit on the outside of his thigh, running from his boot all the way up to the loose red tie holding the fabric together. One wrong move will leave him entirely exposed, but he seems wholly unconcerned, holding his arms out and shifting a bit to show off the way the loose fabric clings to his body.
The silk is so sheer that Shen Qingqiu can see the outline of his thighs, the curve of his hips and the muscles of his arms through the draping fabric. It leaves very little, almost nothing to the imagination.
Luo Binghe sashays up to him, a pleased smile on his face, evidently content with whatever reaction he has pulled from Shen Qingqiu. He can’t imagine the look on his own face, only feel the heat of his cheeks as Luo Binghe twirls and his pants twist with him, a flash of strong thigh and the curve of his ass on display as he turns.
Shen Qingqiu swallows, his throat dry. It feels very, very different when he sees Luo Binghe wearing clothing like this, as opposed to the way that Sha Hualing prances around in scraps and Mobei-jun shows off his chest.
“This husband thought he would show off how comfortable this style of demonic fashion could be,” Luo Binghe says innocently as he comes to a stop after his spin, his curls cascading over his shoulder. He steps even closer, reaching out to pluck the book from Shen Qingqiu’s limp, unresisting hands and sets it aside.
Luo Binghe braces a hand on the arm of the divan and slides his knee next to Shen Qingqiu’s thigh, hovering over him, leaving Shen Qingqiu unsure of where to look. Luo Binghe’s chest is right in front of his face, nipples and pretty skin on display, and Luo Binghe’s expression is just so smug that Shen Qingqiu has no idea what to do. Of course Luo Binghe could pull off such an enticing outfit; he was handsome in everything! But did he have to pull it off so teasingly, and right in front of Shen Qingqiu?
“Does Shizun like it?” Luo Binghe wheedles, reaching forward to teasingly pluck at a strand of Shen Qingqiu’s hair, playing with it like a needy girlfriend.
“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu manages. His throat really is so dry.
Luo Binghe preens as if Shen Qingqiu has given him untold compliments rather than just stumbling his way through complete incoherency. “It really is a very convenient outfit at times,” he continues, undeterred by Shen Qingqiu’s ineloquence. “Especially for the climate in the southern regions. The light fabric and exposed skin are the only ways to keep from suffering so much in the heat. My heavy robes can just be so hot, and the slits in the legs and exposed middle do wonders to counteract that. Wouldn’t Shizun agree?”
Well, if they’re actually useful, Shen Qingqiu thinks desperately. “I wouldn’t want Binghe to suffer from the heat,” he manages.
“And there’s so much freedom of movement,” Luo Binghe adds, hands going to the laces of his boot on the divan, loosening them to slide it off. He trades which leg he’s balancing on in order to start working on the other one. “It’s especially advantageous in terms of agility in fighting.”
“That makes sense,” Shen Qingqiu agrees, barely tracking what Luo Binghe is saying, too distracted by the gape of the pants as Luo Binghe slides off his other boot, then shifts to straddle Shen Qingqiu’s lap, hovering over him on his knees.
“The cloth is very comfortable, as well,” Luo Binghe tells him. “Incredibly fine quality, made just for comfort wherever it touches. And wouldn’t Shizun at least concur that the design is beautiful?”
“It’s very…it’s very revealing.”
Beautiful is certainly one way to put it, Shen Qingqiu thinks. Especially when the fabric clings to Luo Binghe’s body, outlining his slim form, the gold chain twinkling on his hips.
“It is,” Luo Binghe agrees, his voice dropping into a crooning rhythm, lulling Shen Qingqiu into a heated daze. “This Binghe remembers eyes on him at all moments when he wore it out for sparring in the southern heat. Their gazes were so desirous, Shizun, but none of them belonged to you. It wasn’t the same, and I would have removed the arms of anyone who tried to touch me just for the crime of their hands not being yours. Of course I only want your eyes on me, just like this. Your hands, too. Would Shizun like to touch? I would welcome it.”
Without consciously deciding to do so, Shen Qingqiu realizes that his hand has reached out to caress Luo Binghe’s thigh—on his bare skin, sliding in through the slit that goes up his flank and all the way to his waist, feeling the warmth and smoothness of him.
Luo Binghe sighs rapturously at the touch of his husband, tilting his head back and closing his fingers around Shen Qingqiu’s wrist, keeping his hand where it is. “Yes,” he murmurs. “Exactly like that. Isn’t it nice?”
Shen Qingqiu swallows. “Luo Binghe is very pretty,” he says honestly. “This type of style…it suits you.”
Luo Binghe beams as if given the most elegant, romantic proposal on earth, rather than the lackluster compliment that Shen Qingqiu had managed. Shen Qingqiu rests his other hand on Luo Binghe’s waist, hooking his thumb into the gold chain as he explores his husband’s abs, fingers playing just above the loose waistband. He can see a bulge forming in Luo Binghe’s loose pants, obvious with the sheer lightness of the cloth, and he can feel a stirring warmth in his gut at the sight.
His own robes feel heavy on him, a weight and bulk to them that he doesn’t usually feel, considering the amount of effort that Luo Binghe puts in to ensure Shen Qingqiu is clothed in the finest cloth available.
With the hand on Shen Qingqiu’s wrist, Luo Binghe draws Shen Qingqiu’s hand back, allowing him to get a handful of Binghe’s bare ass under the light cloth. Shen Qingqiu inhales sharply, allowing himself to be guided into taking a handful, into indulging in the chance to squeeze and feel. Luo Binghe moans and lurches at the touch as if he wasn’t the one to ask for it, guiding Shen Qingqiu’s hand as he had.
Luo Binghe leans in to place his lips by Shen Qingqiu’s ear, brushing the lobe as he speaks. “Shizun, I prepared myself for you before I came. Won’t my husband take his wife, when I dress up like this for him?”
The words hit Shen Qingqiu with the force of a boulder to the chest, and he immediately moves his hand further back to dip between Luo Binghe’s legs, and—yes. There’s a slick dampness at Luo Binghe’s opening, a sure sign that he’d fingered himself open right before getting all dolled up and prancing into this room to show off for his husband.
Shen Qingqiu pushes two fingers in just to check. Luo Binghe jolts and whines, pushing his hips back into the touch. He’s fully hard by now, the thin fabric clinging to the wet head of his cock, dark where the head is weeping. Shen Qingqiu cups it with his other hand, pressing his fingers to the slick fabric at the tip, then wrapping a hand around him and stroking him through the cloth.
“My Binghe was very impatient to get attention from his husband today, wasn’t he?” he muses, adding a third finger. Luo Binghe had done a thorough job, clearly not wanting to have to wait for Shen Qingqiu to prep him before getting fucked. He couldn’t help but be a bit disappointed—he would have enjoyed watching Luo Binghe with his fingers between his legs, fingering himself open as a show just for his husband, readying himself for Shen Qingqiu to slide into him.
“Aren’t these clothes so perfect for it?” Luo Binghe pants, pulling back to grin at him. “They are just so…open.” With one hand, he uses his claws to shred the ties at one hip, and the fabric falls apart in tatters. It still clings to the other side, but the rest of it parts like so many shreds, only held together by the cinch at his waist. It leaves his cock free and himself bare, and his next move is to go to Shen Qingqiu’s robes, baring fangs and tearing until he could free Shen Qingqiu’s length from their confines. Shen Qingqiu barely has the presence of mind to mourn another set of robes ruined to Luo Binghe’s enthusiasm before Binghe is straddling his hips more fully, one hand on Shen Qingqiu’s dick to line him up.
Shen Qingqiu removes his fingers and grabs Luo Binghe’s waist as Binghe lowers himself down onto him, his lips parted as he takes in the sensation of being filled. They don’t do it often like this—it takes a lot of cajoling for Shen Qingqiu to agree, most times that he’s not assaulted by the overwhelming force of his husband bowling him over with his need—so Luo Binghe is immediately lost in fervor, his eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks entrancingly.
Shen Qingqiu takes deep breaths as Luo Binghe seats himself, struggling not to let things end before they begin. He feels a stirring in his veins and his groin, and the overwhelming pleasure of being buried in Luo Binghe fades just enough for him to step back from the edge. He snaps his head up to look at Binghe, who has a little grin on his face, having intervened with his blood mites.
“Binghe can go ahead,” Shen Qingqiu manages after a moment.
Luo Binghe nods and starts to roll his hips, deep rocking moments that have Shen Qingqiu struggling not to plant his feet and thrust up into him. “This wife is so glad that his husband appreciated how I dressed up for him,” he pants as he moves, working up to a slow, rocking movement that does nothing more than luxuriate in the slick slide of Shen Qingqiu inside of him, the heat of his body and clench of him with every roll of his hips. It’s decadent, and Shen Qingqiu clutches at Luo Binghe’s thigh as he encourages him to keep indulging in it. “Considering he was so disapproving of Sha Hualing in the same.”
“It’s not like that,” Shen Qingqiu attempts to snap, though the way that he groans the words probably takes away from their authority. He doesn’t want to think about Sha Hualing right now, either. “Binghe isn’t dressing like this for everyone to see right now. You are here for my eyes.” He feels absurdly possessive at the notion, at the possibility that anyone else could see Luo Binghe dressed like this. It was far too revealing. This kind of outfit, with his body on such display, was for him.
Luo Binghe’s eyes brighten, going starry and glassy with tears at the words, joy suffusing every part of his face. “And what–ah–would my husband do if it were like that?” Luo Binghe proposes, grinding his hips down in a way that clearly stimulates his prostate, if the choked sounds from his throat were anything to go by. “If your wife walked around in such revealing clothing because it’s convenient and comfortable and you like it so much? Would you take advantage of it, husband? If I wore pretty gauze scraps like Sha Hualing, would you find me at my desk and push me over it? I could stay ready for you, wear a jade plug, keep myself prepared for you to use me however you want, whenever you want. You could touch me however you wanted, and it would all be yours. My husband could slide into me without even having to ask, mmm, anytime.”
Shen Qingqiu reaches up to pinch Luo Binghe’s nipple, a harsh movement that has tears spilling over his husband’s cheeks and a shocked groan of pleasure tearing from his throat. “Absolutely not,” he snaps, finally giving in and bracing his feet on the floor to thrust up into Luo Binghe. “Binghe is mine to see like this, and not anyone else’s. Others already covet you so much, love, how could this husband bear to give them more of what is mine to look at?”
Luo Binghe squirms and rocks back into the thrusts, allowing Shen Qingqiu to speed up the rhythm into something more frantic. “Yes, yes,” Luo Binghe agrees properly this time, clutching Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders. “Just your pretty wife. Only yours.”
Shen Qingqiu pulls Luo Binghe down into a kiss, their lips sliding slick together before he parts them. Luo Binghe licks into his mouth hungrily, greedily, and Shen Qingqiu sucks on his tongue just to hear him whine and clench down on him when he does. He’s getting close, properly this time, and he closes a hand around Luo Binghe’s length, digging a thumb against the slit at the tip in a way that makes him whimper. It’s already damp from precome, but not quite enough.
Shen Qingqiu breaks the kiss and leans back, only to reach that same hand up and push his fingers into Luo Binghe’s mouth to wet them. Luo Binghe moans around the fingers, his eyes sliding shut in bliss, and Shen Qingqiu can barely concentrate on fucking Binghe when he can feel that tongue caress his fingers, soft and wet. He thrusts them into Luo Binghe’s mouth in time with his own movements before he pulls them out to wrap his hand back around Binghe and stroke. The slide is better this time, wet with spit and precome and Luo Binghe fucks into the fist that Shen Qingqiu makes, finally getting close. He’s gorgeous like this, and the sight is enough for Shen Qingqiu to lose himself in it, thrusting up in a way that chases his own pleasure rather than doing much for Luo Binghe’s.
He comes not long after that, pressing his face against Luo Binghe’s bared chest as he grinds up into his husband, hips fucking unevenly through his release. Luo Binghe whines and tries to keep grinding down on him, but Shen Qingqiu hits his flank hard enough to make his cock jump in his hand and freeze.
“Let me stay,” Luo Binghe whines, seating himself firmly. “Please, plug me up, let me keep you inside of me, so warm and full. Husband, I won’t be able to stand it if you leave—”
“Shhhh,” Shen Qingqiu murmurs, his wrist burning as he strips Luo Binghe’s length, not doing anything to push him off. If this is what he wants, then who is Shen Qingqiu to deny him? It’s certainly not the weirdest thing that Luo Binghe has asked of him. “My Binghe is so good, he’s done well, let this husband please you–”
Luo Binghe closes a hand around Shen Qingqiu’s, and they both work together to get him off, until finally Binghe is moaning and spilling over both of their hands and Shen Qingqiu’s ruined robes. He comes so much, enough that Shen Qingqiu frankly feels that it is ridiculous—really, this world is absurd sometimes. Luo Binghe slumps over his husband, tucking his face into Shen Qingqiu’s neck and mouthing at it aimlessly in a way that makes Shen Qingqiu sigh and tilt his head to the side, giving his husband more space to work with.
Finally, Luo Binghe settles enough to pull away, though he keeps himself fully seated on Shen Qingqiu. “Shizun liked it, then?”
“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu says warningly.
“Husband liked it?” Luo Binghe corrects obediently, blinking innocently.
Shen Qingqiu snorts. “I should think that Binghe would know the answer to that,” he says, indicating their general state of being at the moment. “It was…well. Binghe really is very handsome, especially when he shows off like this.” Shen Qingqiu ignores the flush he knows is on his cheeks, the embarrassment that still sometimes hits when he admits his attraction to his own husband.
“I thought that my husband might appreciate it,” Luo Binghe says, sounding absurdly pleased.
Shen Qingqiu frowns, fingering the scraps of black fabric that had been torn with Luo Binghe’s claws. “Although they are quite shredded now.”
Luo Binghe blinks innocently. “Surely husband didn’t think that this was the only outfit that I owned?”
Shen Qingqiu pauses. “Really?”
“This Binghe has many that can be used for his husband’s enjoyment,” Luo Binghe says cheekily. “And several besides that might fit Shizun?”
A sudden foreboding feeling washes over Shen Qingqiu, and he has the sudden mental image of himself wearing nothing more than filmy fabric draped over his shoulders and hips, twisting just a little bit too far and exposing himself—his husband’s hand on his skin and ripping through the cloth like tissue paper. Suddenly, southern demonic fashion seems like it might be in his near and immediate future. The thought makes him shivery in a way that has to be fear and discomfort. Surely nothing else. “Binghe is being very presumptuous,” he manages.
Luo Binghe grins, lifting Shen Qingqiu’s chin towards him in order to place a perfunctory kiss against his lips that almost immediately turns into a second, much longer and filthier one.
“This one just can’t help it around his beautiful husband,” Luo Binghe murmurs against his mouth. “Surely Shizun won’t mind if his wife indulges just a little bit more?”
Ah, his insatiable husband. He can tell, from the way that Luo Binghe rocks slowly against him, that he is already hard again, ready to go another round. Shen Qingqiu is already tired, but the night is young, and Luo Binghe looks so plaintive, and he did go through quite a bit to dress up for his husband tonight, didn’t he? So Shen Qingqiu leans back against the divan, pulling Luo Binghe on top of him, and resigns himself to a long night.
And likely an even longer one in the future, once Luo Binghe gets him into one of these pretty little outfits.
Well. It would be all right, he was sure. As long as it was for Luo Binghe’s eyes only.