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Long nails comb through Shen Yuan’s hair, pleasantly scratching against his skull. They had made him anxious at first, worried that they would dig in and make him bleed, but Sha Hualing had been content enough to just scare him with them a little, giggling at his shivers every time her nails scraped against his head.
Relax, Yuan’er, and let me make you pretty, she had giggled, and as Shen Yuan wasn’t one to argue with a woman—especially not one who had claws and knives hidden in untold places—he had let her do as she pleased.
Now it is a ritual, and Sha Hualing sits him down to dress him up and gossip every time Shen Yuan’s summons comes.
He had already gone through the extended process that getting dressed for the evening entailed. Or undressed, as Sha Hualing had insisted. She loved to dress him up in clothes reminiscent of her family’s along the border, nothing like the more austere robes that had been vogue in the territories that Shen Yuan had grown up in. His chest was left open by the soft green silks, making him feel cold and exposed, and the pants that he wears are nearly sheer, with silver chains dripping from his bare arms and green gems twinkling, offsetting the pale green cast to his skin.
The open vest he’d ended up with was still among the more conservative choices compared to several other outfits Sha Hualing had presented to him earlier. She’d made him try each of them on, though Shen Yuan had refused to take so much as a step out from behind the changing screen after looking at his own reflection in the mirror.
Now, he tries to put it out of his mind as Sha Hualing plays with his hair, carefully manipulating the leaves in his tresses to decorate his head like a crown. He studies himself in the bronze mirror, Sha Hualing hovering behind him in an indistinct blur. She does good work, he has to admit; even he could admit that he begins to approach the beauty required to belong in Emperor Luo’s pristine harem.
A tug on his hair makes him wince. “Hey!” he complains.
“What did you do to make Lord Luo like you so much, hah?” Sha Hualing tuts. “You never put in any effort, and I can’t imagine that you did anything special to attract him to you. It’s not fair that he calls on you so often.”
Shen Yuan shivers. It was true—Shen Yuan had been the demon lord of a small territory without any beautiful princesses for Luo Binghe to bring into his harem. As far as he could tell, he was brought in simply due to the lack of other options, along with Luo Binghe’s own insistence that he had wanted something…different.
Still, why did it have to be him, huh?
“Saintess Sha is still one of Lord Luo’s most treasured wives,” he says diplomatically, because he really doesn’t need Sha Hualing scheming against him. He has seen the sour looks given to him by some of the other harem members as he is called to Lord Luo’s chambers again and again. Thus far, he has managed not to attract the ire of some of the more senior wives, if only because new wives like himself often face an increased level of affection when first pulled in. As it is, he’s not looking to make enemies on purpose.
It was only Sha Hualing who had singled him out when he’d first entered the rear palace, who had slinked into the pavilion that Luo Binghe had provided for him without bothering to announce herself beforehand. Shen Yuan had felt both incredibly teased and incredibly threatened when she had said that she was taking him under her wing, for reasons that escaped him entirely. It was part of harem politics of some kind, he was sure, but Shen Yuan had no allies and few connections, and he could use all the help that he could get.
Even if it was help coming from an indecently dressed demoness who liked to describe graphic scenarios with their shared husband.
“Of course I am,” she responds to his praise, flipping one of her golden-studded braids over her shoulder. “But you would be far more fun if you’d at least share some of the juicy details of your nights, you know.”
The words sound almost like a pout, for all that she’s trying to get sex details out of Shen Yuan.
“That’s…” Shen Yuan sputters. “That’s private! I already said no!”
Not that he had anything to complain about. Luo Binghe’s prowess had long since been immortalized in song—which were impossible to avoid both outside and inside the palace, hence why Shen Yuan knew them so well—and Shen Yuan could attest that he was as skilled as the many, many accounts praised. Not to mention the massive leaps in his cultivation, though he would be mortified to explain how he had advanced so far in such a short time to anyone who asked.
“And you’re so boring for that,” she tells him, tugging on his hair once more. “Done, by the way. I could eat you, you know. Lord Luo is in for a treat.”
Shen Yuan can feel his cheeks flushing a darker green, chlorophyll filling them as he looks in the mirror. His hair has been pulled into an elaborate weave of dark tresses and green leaves, exposing his pointed ears and the earrings that Sha Hualing had pierced his ears with upon one of their very first meetings.
Honestly, despite her pushiness and cattiness, Sha Hualing is surprisingly fun to hang around with. Completely disregarding his own sense of personal privacy, she’d poked through his pavilion and quickly found his stash of literature, and it hadn’t been too long before they’d bonded over it. Although Shen Yuan has a sneaking suspicion that Sha Hualing enjoyed the bad literature and yellow book plots for drastically different reasons than him.
She does like to join him in scathing commentary about what was possible when it came to women, at least. Shen Yuan had learned a….disturbing amount about women from her explicit explanations.
“Are you ready?” she asks.
The question somehow brings the reality back to him, that he is going to be visiting the Emperor once more to service him in his chambers. It’s enough for nervousness to kick back in, his heart pounding in his chest, just like every other time he’s gone. It’s not excitement, he’s sure. It’s a cocktail mixture of nerves and thrill, the knowledge of what is to come combined with the admiration and respect that he has always felt for the Emperor.
The tales of his exploits over the past centuries have always fascinated Shen Yuan, and despite his promiscuous nature, the Emperor was undeniably powerful. He was simply cool, and Shen Yuan couldn’t help it if that kind of thing instilled this reaction in him!
Emperor Luo had provided Shen Yuan with expansive grounds, uniquely suited to his existence, overflowing with plants native to the Demon Realm for him to tend to, unique species that he never could have had the chance to study anywhere else. His pavilion was exposed to an artificial sun for him to cultivate in, ensuring that he never grew tired or hungry from lack of sustenance. It was a charmed life, even so far from his home, and Shen Yuan found that he had very little to complain about, especially once some of the younger ones had begun poking their noses into his home to see the man in the rear palace, and stayed to learn when Shen Yuan taught them about the various species he kept.
It hadn’t been his choice to join the harem. He never would have if he had been given an option, but who could say no to Luo Binghe? Who could turn down the Emperor?
And ever since he joined, Lord Luo has been oddly infatuated with Shen Yuan. He is provided with anything that he could ask for and more things besides, and has been visited with constant regularity by the Emperor. Then again, as the first man in the harem, isn’t that just to be expected? He is a novelty, he’s sure. Luo Binghe will stop calling him when he gets his fill.
His stomach twists at the thought. Shen Yuan hopes that when it happens, losing favor with the emperor won’t cause him to suffer at the hands of the more jealous harem members. The scheming of the harem makes him nervous.
Is he ready?
The nights that they’ve spent together up until now…they have certainly been something. Shen Yuan suppresses a shiver.
“Ready enough,” he decides.
“Ah, I can see that little blush,” Sha Hualing sighs, pinching his cheeks with sharp nails that make him flinch and jerk away from her, nose scrunched. “You’re so cute, Yuan’er. What kinks could you possibly be into to make you turn so pink? Tell me, does he tie you up with your own vines? You would not believe what we’ve done with immortal binding cables—”
“I’m not into kinks,” Shen Yuan protests weakly, pushing himself up from the pillow he’d been resting on. “I don’t—I don’t need to hear about what you and the Emperor get up to!”
“But I’m trying to give you advice,” she complains. “Don’t you want to maintain his favor?”
Shen Yuan hesitates, then hardens his resolve. No! Retaining his favor would mean more of all of this, and Shen Yuan had never asked for this! Even if it does mean that he gets to see Luo Binghe so often—who has turned out to be a surprisingly interesting conversationalist—and he’s enjoyed their times together outside of bed, he doesn’t want to involve himself in all of the politics!
“I don’t need it,” he says.
“You have the petals of the Blushing Sweet Peony and you don’t even use them,” she complains. “You never take any of my advice.”
Shen Yuan straightens his robes in a huff. The chest continues to gape open. “I don’t need an aphrodisiac for the Emperor to call on me,” he snips.
Sha Hualing grins at him. “Oh? Someone’s confident.”
“I’m leaving,” he says, refusing to acknowledge her any further. If he hesitates too long, he’ll be late, and no one keeps the Emperor waiting. He’s just following instructions, not trying to escape Sha Hualing’s terrible teasing.
She waves him off, long nails glinting in the light as she picks up one of his books and makes herself comfortable on one of his divans.
“Have fun,” she sing-songs. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
That leaves pretty much everything under the sun! Shen Yuan thinks furiously as he inelegantly stomps out of his own rooms, leaving Sha Hualing to do whatever she wants. He’s long since learned not to argue with her for too long, because Saintess Sha was completely shameless and totally willing to embarrass him to pieces. He prefers when other people are their joint victims, not when he’s the target.
On his way out of the sprawling expanse of the rear palace, Shen Yuan passes by many of the Emperor’s other flowers. They stick together in little groups for the most part. The mechanations mostly go over his head, but he knows that only half of them truly like or are allies with those that they keep themselves near. Every single one is just as beautiful as the other, however, entirely fitting for a concubine of Lord Luo.
Though none of them can truly match his brilliance, Shen Yuan thinks privately to himself. That must be why Emperor Luo has never raised any of his wives to Empress—no one has truly been able to measure up to him in any meaningful way.
They watch him with varying levels of derision and curiosity as he passes by, some of them far more circumspect about it than others. Shen Yuan is one of the few that have been summoned directly to Luo Binghe’s chambers rather than being visited in his own rooms, and he supposes it makes him an object of curiosity. He does his best to avoid the stares and tittering whispers, focusing on making his way through the gardens and to the wing he has been summoned to.
Really, these girls gossip worse than the maids at Shen Yuan’s old manor! He has heard some of the things they speak about—gossip over who has seen the Emperor lately, judgement over the outfits and jewelry chosen by the various other wives, and jabs towards others meant to raise their own meagre self esteem.
Shen Yuan thinks it’s quite tragic that so many of these girls put all of their effort into following palace drama, because several of them are quite intelligent, and they are all far too beautiful to be caught up so badly in all of this ugly jealousy.
Shen Yuan winces internally. It feels dangerous to refer to these flowers as beautiful even in his own head, even if he would never dare to lay a hand on one. These women are all Luo Binghe’s, and Shen Yuan would never think to indulge in such impropriety, even if it wouldn’t risk having himself executed for touching what isn’t his.
Sometimes, Shen Yuan wonders why Luo Binghe had such confidence that he wouldn’t disgrace him in any way when he brought Shen Yuan into the rear palace. He was a healthy young man, after all!
Moving from the rear palace into the main palace is a total shift in tone. Everything fades from bright colors and smooth lines to massive hallways with obsidian flooring and deep, dark woods that have been carved by the most talented craftsmen over the centuries, inlaid with gold and detailed with vermillion paints. It gives the Underground Palace a dark, intimidating aura, like venturing into the belly of a beast that could swallow one whole. Shen Yuan has been impressed with the craftsmanship from the moment of his first visit, taking in the massive tapestries and paintings that line the walls.
Many depict some of the Emperor’s most famous conquests and accomplishments, though others are simply art created by the most talented hands in the merged realms, serving to emphasize the palace’s majesty.
The intimidating presentation of it all is breathtaking.
Shen Yuan can feel his steps quickening as he approaches the hallway where Luo Binghe resides, his feet cold against the obsidian floor. He forces himself to slow down, to take measured paces rather than rush. Still, he doesn’t dawdle. Luo Binghe is waiting for him, and it wouldn’t do to keep him waiting.
There are guards outside of Luo Binghe’s doors, though as far as Shen Yuan can tell, they are nothing but a show of power. The wards on the door alone would be enough to keep out all but the most powerful of demonic practitioners or spiritual cultivators, and Luo Binghe would certainly be able to dispatch any assassins with ease.
They stand aside without a fuss, used to Shen Yuan’s presence. He smiles at them as he slips in, one of the guards closing the door behind him.
The room itself is dark, lit only by a few lamps set to a low flame. It is outfitted with the same aesthetics as the majority of the palace, though the flooring is a warm, polished wood instead of cold stone. The furniture is all made in the same style, with intricate carvings and rich fabrics covering the divan in the corner and the bed opposite Shen Yuan.
Luo Binghe lounges on the bed, cradling a cup of wine in his palm as he watches Shen Yuan take a few slow steps into the room. He’s resplendent in sheer red fabrics, far more revealing than even Shen Yuan’s outfit. Gold drips from his ears, and a guan that matches the earrings rests off to the side, having clearly been recently removed. His hair tumbles over his shoulders in waves, barely doing anything to cover the bare planes of his chest, lithe and muscled in the way of most powerful cultivators and swordsmen.
Shen Yuan swallows. As always, Luo Binghe is a sight.
“Shen Yuan, come in,” Luo Binghe urges, the red of his eyes disappearing for a moment as he closes them and tilts his head back to drain the cup of wine in his hand. A drop of it trickles from the corner of his mouth, falling onto bared skin, beading at one of his exposed nipples. Shen Yuan tracks the movement with his eyes, his breaths shortening.
Luo Binghe straightens and opens his eyes again, fixing his gaze back on Shen Yuan. “Well?”
Hurriedly, Shen Yuan steps forward, approaching the bed where Luo Binghe lounges. “Apologies if I made Lord Luo wait.”
Luo Binghe’s lips curl into a smile. “I have been waiting for you.”
Shen Yuan feels his throat click as he casts about for a response. “Saintess Sha wanted to ensure that I would be presentable for you, my lord,” he finally says.
Sure, maybe that was throwing Sha Hualing under the bus. But it was a bit of a compliment, too, if Luo Binghe enjoyed his outfit as much as his hungry, roaming gaze indicated! It was Sha Hualing’s own fault for spending so long teasing him, Shen Yuan reasons to himself.
As he approaches, the details of Luo Binghe’s appearance come into focus. Shen Yuan had heard from Sha Hualing that once Luo Binghe looked almost human. Over the centuries, however, Xin Mo had taken its toll. Even in the warm light of the fire, Luo Binghe’s skin is an unearthly pale, with eyes dark as night save for the red glow of his irises. His zuiyin is a constant flame on his forehead, and black horns curl around his temples.
The sight of them makes Shen Yuan’s fingers itch.
Luo Binghe grins at him with a flash of fang. “She did a good job, then. Shen Yuan is temptation itself, it seems to me.”
Still, he doesn’t move.
And anyway, wouldn’t it be Luo Binghe that is temptation itself, lounging with barely a scrap of fabric around his waist and his thighs spread, lust clear in his eyes? Shen Yuan surely cannot hold a candle to the demon lord in front of him!
Then again, he has seemed fascinated with Shen Yuan from the moment that they met. “You’ve asked for me many nights in a row already, Lord Luo,” he finally says. He doesn’t really know what he’s fishing for—a reason? An explanation? A break?
Does he want a break?
“Is that a problem?” Luo Binghe asks, pushing himself further up onto his elbows.
Shen Yuan draws himself straighter. “Your other flowers grow anxious; they need tending as well.”
He pushes down the swoop in his stomach at the thought of being reduced to one of those twittering women watching the one that Luo Binghe has called walking through the gardens and to his rooms. Shen Yuan never asked to be so favored! He wants to be left alone!
Luo Binghe laughs outright at him, a rich sound that has Shen Yuan feeling oddly warm. Luo Binghe has a laugh that is smooth and deep as molasses, and Shen Yuan has only heard it a few times before now. He hoards the memory of it in the back of his mind, thinking I did that with a completely unnecessary amount of pride.
“But this lord needs tending,” Luo Binghe says, still chuckling, “and in a way that those other flowers of mine can’t manage. Wouldn’t my dear A-Yuan like to try his hand once more?”
Shen Yuan knows enough to take this as the invitation that it is. He steps forward once more, approaching the bed the rest of the way, and lets out a squeak when Luo Binghe grabs him by the wrist and pulls him in. He’s left straddling Luo Binghe’s thighs, balancing against Binghe’s chest as Binghe gives an amused grin to all of Shen Yuan’s awkward flailing.
It is just as nerve-wracking as every other time that they have done this. Shen Yuan isn’t accustomed to being this for anyone, especially not when his continued favor and new station in life depends on him doing well.
Shen Yuan does not think that he has done particularly well even once, but Luo Binghe doesn’t seem to mind, and he’s leaning up to press a hungry mouth to Shen Yuan’s just as eagerly as he had the first night.
Half of Shen Yuan thinks that he should fight this; the sliding hands along his body, warm through the thinnest layers of cloth that Sha Hualing has clothed him in. Shouldn’t his new position be demeaning, a glorified bedmate for the Emperor, stripped of his title and the holdings of his lands passed down to someone else? He lives for Luo Binghe now, his body his key to favor, and something inside him tells him that he should be resentful of this.
But Shen Yuan had known from the very first time this had happened that he wouldn’t be going back.
The first time he had lain with Luo Binghe had been mere days after the first time they had met.
The Emperor had called on Shen Yuan’s territory for the first time in years. He’d conquered the combined realms centuries ago, but the forests that Shen Yuan grew up in were so remote that they rarely necessitated a visit.
In fact, during the years in which Luo Binghe had conquered the territory, the demons hadn’t yet bonded with the forests—verdant trees hadn’t grown in the Demon Realm with its harsh sun, and the emergence of Shen Yuan’s particular powers and species was supposedly relatively new, the product of experiments and magical bonding carried out by Shen Yuan’s ancestors to increase their ties to the lands and supplement their harvests. They were too remote to sustain themselves solely through trade.
So it had been a surprise when Emperor Luo had called on them, tearing a hole through reality with that cursed, hungry sword and announcing the need of a small statue they protected within a shrine hidden deep within Shen Yuan’s forests. A sun relic, infused with the power of light, and with the ability to heal the effects of the poison distilled from the Frosted Sleeping Snowberry, which would turn the victim’s veins to ice and send them into a suspended, eternal sleep unless the freeze could be melted.
Shen Yuan had agreed to lead the Emperor to the shrine, under the condition that he got to observe the poison’s effects. It had been a once in a lifetime chance, so he had dared to ask, and he’d been elated when Luo Binghe had magnanimously agreed.
They had been attacked by the Crystalline Cave Wolves that guarded the shrine; Shen Yuan had been prepared for this. He summoned flowers to his palms and released the spores that dazed the wolves, leaving them pliant and harmless.
He hadn’t expected that his spores would have any effect on the Heavenly Demon Emperor.
When he’d turned to see Luo Binghe leaning against a tree and watching him, flushed and breathing deep, Shen Yuan had panicked. What if he was executed? People got executed for drugging the emperor, didn’t they?
He’d knelt by the Emperor’s side, frantic and certain that Xin Mo was soon going to be piercing his guts. As much as he thought the legendary sword to be amazing, he really hadn’t wanted to see it that close!
Instead, Luo Binghe had grabbed him by the wrists and pulled him in for that very first kiss.
Shen Yuan had been helpless to deny him—it had all been his fault in the first place, after all.
And when Luo Binghe had made request after request, pushing until Shen Yuan was gasping and expiring from the shame of it, trying and utterly failing to satisfy the Emperor, Shen Yuan hadn’t protested.
Luo Binghe had whispered promises of protection into his ear, of prosperity for his lands, of the care he would receive as Luo Binghe’s newest consort. Shen Yuan had considered running then, too, but the promises he’d whispered had been too sweet.
Anyway, Shen Yuan had been tired, and Luo Binghe had held him on the forest floor so sweetly. How could he be blamed for falling victim to those honeyed words?
And so Shen Yuan had married the Emperor.
Luo Binghe’s kisses have never failed to overwhelm Shen Yuan. The touch of his tongue is enough to send frissons of pleasure through Shen Yuan’s body, making him immediately melt into the kiss.
He barely notices it when hands begin to strip him of his carefully chosen outfit, claws tearing through what little he has covering his torso like through water, leaving him bared to Luo Binghe’s touch. His pants are similarly removed, leaving him bare atop Luo Binghe’s thighs.
When Luo Binghe breaks the kiss and leans back, his gaze takes in Shen Yuan, naked on top of him. Shen Yuan doesn’t cover himself up, even though he’s already shamefully hard—he knows that will do nothing other than invite more teasing, and he’s experienced enough of that in the past, thank you very much! It’s not his fault that he’s accustomed to all of this shamelessness that seems to exist within Luo Binghe’s inner circle.
”A-Yuan always tastes so sweet, like nectar,” Luo Binghe says, leaning back onto his elbows.
He spreads his thighs wider; Shen Yuan shifts to straddle just one, one of his knees settling between Luo Binghe’s legs. Luo Binghe himself is also already growing hard, an intimidating bulge barely covered by the gauzy cloth around his hips.
Shen Yuan tries his best not to stare. “It would make sense, with my ancestry,” he says, floundering, because that was a horribly unsexy response given everything else that is happening at the moment.
Luo Binghe does not seem put off by this; instead, he grabs Shen Yuan’s wrist and pulls it forward, until it’s under his nose. “Let me smell?”
Shen Yuan nods and concentrates; his body is far more plant than animal, and his appearance as a demon is only for convenience. It is the work of a thought to summon the blooming, blush-pink flowers to sprout from his wrists, a gentle sweet fragrance emanating from their centers.
Luo Binghe inhales slowly, a smile on his face. They’re the same flowers that had drugged him that first time, though Shen Yuan doesn’t command them to release their spores. As they are, their scent simply works as a bit of a relaxant, and Luo Binghe has asked for them most times that they’ve lain together.
Luo Binghe reaches up to curl fingers around Shen Yuan’s wrist, holding his hand in place. He brushes his lips against the palm, a soft fluttering touch that makes Shen Yuan feel shockingly self-conscious. Luo Binghe looks up at him from under his lashes, a smile curving into Shen Yuan’s palm.
“Is A-Yuan going to make me feel good?” he asks, an unmistakable teasing tone coloring the words.
“Ah,” Shen Yuan says intelligibly. “Why would you say it like—that?”
Really, what is Shen Yuan supposed to claim at this point? If he says yes, isn’t that overconfident of his surely lacking skills? And no one wants to outright announce that they’re going to do poorly in bed!
And on top of that, what Luo Binghe wants—Shen Yuan can still barely accept it. Sleeping with the Emperor is one thing; being drawn into the harem instead of executed for his transgressions is another. But this? Shen Yuan can still barely process what Luo Binghe asks from him night after night, the request that has sent him mentally shying away from the inconceivableness of it all.
Luo Binghe surely knows the proverbial corner that he’s backed Shen Yuan into, because he wears a self-satisfied expression as he lays back fully into the sheets, leaving Shen Yuan straddling a thigh on his knees. “How about you set about it, then?” he teases.
For a moment, Shen Yuan is unable to tear his eyes away from the Emperor spread out under him, his thighs parted. Luo Binghe pulls away the last bit of sheet covering his modesty, revealing a hard, flushed cock. He wraps a hand around it, stroking lazily as he watches Shen Yuan, looking deceptively patient.
Luo Binghe is not a patient man.
Shen Yuan’s plant body easily yields to his wishes. One of his legs unravels at a thought, the pale green flesh darkening into deep viridian vines that split apart to expose the sap running through his veins. He presses his fingers into the opening to get them wet; when he pulls them back out of his thigh, they're slick with a viscous substance. The opening in his leg seals back up, his form reverting back to its more human appearance.
Then, heart pounding, he presses his fingers between Luo Binghe’s thighs.
Part of him can’t believe that he ever considered trying to turn Luo Binghe down, that he ever complains about getting this chance, because the Emperor arches under his touch and makes a noise more beautiful than anything Shen Yuan could ever have imagined. Luo Binghe is a vision in sex and Shen Yuan doesn’t doubt that he can upkeep his massive harem with little to no effort—but Shen Yuan is the only one that gets to see this, by Luo Binghe’s own admission.
The Emperor should never lie underneath someone else, Shen Yuan’s inner voice exclaims, but how could Shen Yuan say no to the request when it came from Luo Binghe’s own lips?
He is warm around Shen Yuan’s fingers, and Shen Yuan swallows at the thought of sinking into him properly.
“More…more…” Luo Binghe murmurs, encouraging Shen Yuan to speed up his movements. He’d be worried about hurting him—Shen Yuan certainly can't see himself begging for the ache, the stretch—but Binghe simply pants and rocks back against his fingers when he adds more, eyes closing.
Luo Binghe reaches out for him with the hand not jerkily stroking himself, tugging at him to pull him down. Shen Yuan goes easily, allowing Luo Binghe to pull him into a kiss. Claws dig into his scalp as Luo Binghe kisses him, and Shen Yuan feels his body light up in response.
It’s the scrape of fingers in the leaves of his hair that sets off his reaction. Shen Yuan’s spine splits open behind him; long, whip-like vines emerge from his shoulders and curl around his body to wrap around Luo Binghe’s wrists. He breaks the kiss to watch as he yanks Luo Binghe’s hands to either side, preventing him from touching either himself or Shen Yuan.
He hadn’t planned to try and restrain Luo Binghe—if anything, Binghe could tear through his vines like they were nothing, shredding the restraints. But Luo Binghe just bares his fangs and growls at him like an animal even as he pliantly allows his wrists to be pressed to the bed.
Shen Yuan knows to hurry at this point—the bright red in Luo Binghe’s eyes that offsets the inhuman paleness of his skin has grown more luminous, burning hotter. He pulls his fingers from Binghe’s body, takes his own cock in hand—oh fuck, he’s been hard this whole time, hasn’t he?—and sinks inside.
Luo Binghe wails. He throws his head back and gasps as Shen Yuan pushes in, the absolute picture of a maiden in the throes of pleasure. Shen Yuan can feel the headiness of it rush to his head, the power in the knowledge that he has done this. It makes him almost as dizzy as the tight, clenching heat of Luo Binghe’s body as it welcomes him inside, urging him to press in far faster than he should.
Luo Binghe only groans and rocks his hips into the burn of it.
“Is this—“ Shen Yuan starts to ask, voice strained. “Should I—?”
He feels like a mess even though this isn’t the first time they’ve done this, not even close. He has this urgent, burning desire to make it good, to please Luo Binghe in a way that his other wives cannot. He wants to be better than all of them, to send Luo Binghe writhing with pleasure, to always be called on and always look down on those others in the harem who aren’t as favored as him.
He wants to travel with Luo Binghe once more. He wants to gather more plants for his pavilion, and continue to be subject to Sha Hualing’s teasing and scheming against the other harem members. He wants to spar with the cultivators of the harem and look up and see that Luo Binghe is watching him, wanting him in return.
He wants, he wants.
Now he burns with it, his body rippling as he begins to lose his grip on his more humanoid form. He’s holding onto it by the tips of his claws, and so he grits his teeth and curls in to press them to Luo Binghe’s shoulder.
Luo Binghe lets out a sound akin to rapture. “Yes, A-Yuan fills me so well. Now do something about it, dear flower.”
Shen Yuan snarls and begins to move. He fucks Luo Binghe in a fervor, his feet digging into the sheets to scramble for purchase. He bites down on the warm, slightly salty skin under his tongue, unable to help himself—fuck, no one should be able to mark the Emperor, but Luo Binghe just arches into the bite, groaning as if receiving the sweetest kiss. Shen Yuan has nothing to fear from the coppery taste as his sharp fangs break skin; he has long since drunk Luo Binghe’s blood, whether he wanted to or not.
Luo Binghe’s wrists strain weakly against the vines holding him down, but he doesn’t truly try to break free. Still, the show of resistance is enough to make Shen Yuan lift his head with another snarl, instincts kicking in. Luo Binghe’s shit-eating grin tells the logical part in the back of his brain that he’d done it on purpose just to rile Shen Yuan up, but the rest of him lurches up to wipe it off his face, pressing their lips together once more. He buries his fingers in Luo Binghe’s gorgeous hair, whimpering into his mouth when Luo Binghe clenches down on him.
Shen Yuan can feel his own hair coming loose from his unrestrained movements, hairpins long since lost to the sheets around them. One of his leaves flutters free, landing in Luo Binghe’s waves spilling across the sheets, and Shen Yuan breaks away to admire the striking contrast of dark jade and black.
Sha Hualing would congratulate him for ruining her careful styling so thoroughly, a wry piece of him thinks.
Luo Binghe tilts his head up, teeth bared—whether to kiss him or sink fangs into him, Shen Yuan can’t tell. The move is enough to trigger his instincts a second time, and he wraps his hand around one of Binghe’s curling horns to pin his skull to the bed, snarling.
Luo Binghe only thrashes under his touch, practically writhing on Shen Yuan’s cock as he makes the filthiest sounds Shen Yuan has ever heard.
Shen Yuan opens up the slit in his thigh to dip his fingers into it once more, collecting more slick fluid, and wraps it around Luo Binghe’s cock. His fingers barely encircle it, a massive size made impotent by Luo Binghe’s preference to have Shen Yuan inside him.
Shouldn’t Shen Yuan be the one spread out in these luxurious sheets, desperately trying to get away as Luo Binghe forces him onto that length, fucking him to tears? Isn’t it wrong for Shen Yuan to be doing this, to push Luo Binghe down and press inside of him instead?
But Luo Binghe takes it so beautifully, so decadent in the way he arches his spine and allows Shen Yuan into him, as if there’s nothing he could ever want more. He’s the most beautiful man in the combined realms, possessing of a massive harem of beautiful flowers, and right now, he is all for Shen Yuan.
With Shen Yuan’s hand stroking him—clumsily, rhythm poor and barely in time with the thrusts that are becoming more and more desperate as he draws close—Luo Binghe comes first, spilling over Shen Yuan’s fingers and himself, clenching down with a moan as he does so. The apparent force of the orgasm is enough for him to finally break free of the vines pressing his hands to the sheets, and he uses his newfound freedom to grab Shen Yuan’s ass, grinding his hips forward by force.
“Keep going,” Luo Binghe growls, eyes bright, apparently chasing the pain of overstimulation.
Shen Yuan surrenders to the urging, rolling his hips and relishing the tight heat of Luo Binghe, who closes his eyes and gasps, his chest heaving.
Heat surges in Shen Yuan’s belly at the pleasure and beauty of it, and he can feel himself finally coming unbound, his body splitting into countless vines as his limbs unwind. They brace against the massive posts of the bed, giving him leverage to fuck harder, blooming with dangerous flowers that Shen Yuan has, over decades, carefully cultivated into his body. The sweet scent of poison as Shen Yuan loses control might kill a lesser demon, but Luo Binghe pays it no mind, instead grasping at Shen Yuan’s hips to urge him to keep going, uncaring of the writhing mess his limbs and back have become, of the twisting tendrils wrapping around Luo Binghe, his torso, his limbs, his throat.
When Shen Yuan comes, it’s with a desperate moan, curling over Luo Binghe’s wrung-out body, emptying inside him. He can feel Binghe half hard against his belly as he collapses, mortified over his lost control as he calls his limbs back into order.
Petals and leaves dot the bedsheets, leaving ample evidence of his failure to hold himself together.
Luo Binghe just stretches out like a cat underneath him when Shen Yuan finally pulls out, a smile tugging across his lips.
Shen Yuan can feel his breath catch as he watches the play of bare skin and muscle, Luo Binghe completely at ease with the mess covering him and beginning to drip out of him. Shen Yuan doesn’t know how he can stand it—Shen Yuan himself would be burning with humiliation, with the need to get clean. But isn’t it just like Luo Binghe to be able to luxuriate in it, to find pleasure in the mess and somehow look so alluring as he does so, enough that Shen Yuan can feel his mouth go dry?
“A-Yuan, A-Yuan,” Luo Binghe coos, reaching up to cradle his warm face. “This is why I call for you.”
It’s a mix of pride and humiliation that causes Shen Yuan’s cheeks to darken further. How could Luo Binghe just say such things? But he leans into the touch anyway, wetting his lips with his tongue before he speaks.
“This servant aims to please Lord Luo in any way he desires,” he recites.
Something sparks in Luo Binghe’s eyes. “Who taught you to say that?”
Shen Yuan winces, caught out for speaking by rote. “Saintess Sha has taken it upon herself to coach me.”
There is a marked shift in the energy of the room as Luo Binghe frowns, his hands falling from Shen Yuan’s cheek and leaving him feeling bereft. “Has she been instructing you in the physical things? I’ve not left any restrictions of your interactions with the women, but—“
Shen Yuan hurriedly cuts him off, so eager to set the record straight that he interrupts Luo Binghe entirely. “Of course not!" he exclaims, feeling a bit put-upon.
Really, he would never dare touch one of Luo Binghe’s other wives! Sha Hualing especially—she would probably gut him for fun and not look back. Anyway, shouldn’t those women be devoted to Binghe? Shen Yuan wouldn’t have a chance in hell with any of the harem!
He realizes he still has his fingers loosely curled around Luo Binghe’s horn and hurriedly lets go. “Sorry,” he mutters.
Luo Binghe’s lips curl into an affected pout. “I don’t mind that A-Yuan prefers to have his hands on me than off,” he says, which does nothing to assist with Shen Yuan’s fluster.
It makes Shen Yuan feel overly aware of where they’re touching, having curled against Luo Binghe’s side, who draws him close with an arm around his waist until Shen Yuan is practically sprawled on top of him again. Isn’t he at least a little bit heavy? Shen Yuan doesn’t have the same pretty delicacy of Luo Binghe’s female wives; couldn’t he at least be treated a little bit more like a man?
Then again, Luo Binghe is warm and comfortable, and Shen Yuan is easily coaxed to rest his head on the demon lord’s chest, his body loose and relaxed.
“Sha Hualing really isn’t coaxing you into bed under any pretenses?” Luo Binghe asks a second time a moment later, making Shen Yuan huff. He had said so the first time!
“Saintess Sha just likes to tease with words,” Shen Yuan says. “Her nails are too long and sharp for me to even think about that with her—I wouldn’t find it enjoyable at all. I can’t believe—“
He cuts off before he insults Luo Binghe’s tastes, but Luo Binghe just laughs softly, chest moving under Shen Yuan’s cheek. Shen Yuan feels light fingers on his chin tilting his head up. Luo Binghe looks down at him with a pleased, hungry expression.
“Yes,” Luo Binghe agrees. “Shen Yuan needs a much gentler touch to coax him out of his shell.”
Shen Yuan swallows.
“If this Lord is the only one to provide A-Yuan with his instruction on physical pleasures, then more practice will not go amiss,” Luo Binghe continues smoothly. “How about I call on you again once more tomorrow night?”
Simultaneous threads of shame and thrill shoot through Shen Yuan. He thinks of being called again, night after night, to entangle with Luo Binghe. He thinks of coaxing him until Binghe grants him extra favors and visits, until he has everything that he wants. He thinks of holding the harem in his hands.
Treacherously, he thinks of positioning himself at Luo Binghe’s side, whom he has always admired and held in such high esteem, never dreaming he could get this close.
Does the manner in which he’s finally done so truly matter? Shen Yuan finds it hard to care when Luo Binghe smiles down at him with such obvious desire.
“Whatever Binghe says,” Shen Yuan breathes before he can stop himself, irreverent with his use of the Emperor’s name.
Luo Binghe’s lazy grin just grows wider, and he coaxes Shen Yuan up into a filthy kiss, tongue and teeth sending Shen Yuan’s head spinning. When he finally pulls back, Luo Binghe’s fingertips brush almost lovingly over Shen Yuan’s cheek.
“Exactly, my sweet flower,” he murmurs. “You will be just what I want, and you won’t regret a thing.”
Shen Yuan shivers, but he doesn't deny it. Instead, he nestles back into Luo Binghe’s arms, relishing the warmth.