The tent flap of the military tent flip dramatically behind the white figure that entered. The bottoms of Xie Lian’s white robes are stained red. The red spreads up his body, like angry paint splatters. A small trail of red drops is left on the ground in his wake.
A darkly-dressed figure enters behind him.
“Dianxia–”
“Out.” Xie Lian’s voice is dark and strict, leaving no room for Feng Xin to argue with him. “Tell Mu Qing to prepare a bath.”
“Of course, dianxia.”
Xie Lian unwraps his protective arm guard. The metal, engraved with flowers and butterflies as commissioned by his mother, had lost its shine in the grime of war. As a cultivator and martial god, he does not wear the armor of the Xianle army. He wears white robes, often engraved with flowers, the sign of the Xianle kingdom. However, after suffering an arm wound that would have been enough to have him lose the arm had he not been a martial god, he took to wearing the protective guards.
He slams the guards down on a table—one of his attendants would come and polish the bloody grime off later.
The Xianle army had suffered another defeat today. Four years into the war against Yong’an and the kingdom does not seem to be gaining back the ground they lost. Five thousand lives had been lost in today’s battle, general Chen had finally called a retreat and Xianle’s light cavalry had turned and fled, Xie Lian among them.
The martial god who pleased the gods lost his mystery and fable years ago. Xie Lian has been reduced to the army’s mascot and gets employed thusly. Despite being the crown prince of the nation, he holds no sway in the Xianle generals’ plots and tactics. He is allowed into the room, allowed to open his mouth, that does not mean the generals take his suggestions seriously. They’ll smile at him like a father at an ambitious child, complement his sense of foresight and then continue their own line of reasoning, completely abandoning Xie Lian’s contributions
Without his status as the strongest martial god in the heavenly realm, his only merits are his royal blood and immortality.
“Your bath is ready, dianxia,” Mu Qing’s soft voice calls from outside the tent.
Xie Lian doesn’t answer but stalks past him to the improvised bathing room. None of the soldiers or generals use a bathing room while employed. They all opt for the river within their military camp. It would not be decent for the crown prince—a martial god!---to bathe alongside mortals.
And, privately, as Xie Lian soaks in the water, brushing the blood off his skin and the pieces of dirt and deceased human out of his hair, he can not bear being seen after he returns from the battlefield. While his image as the untouchable martial god has long been demolished, having suffered one too many defeats in his name, his pride as a member of the royal family remains.
He joins the Xianle generals smelling like jasmine and donned in fresh white robes. The four generals of Xianle stand around a table, a map of their territory spread out on top of it. At his entrance, they fall quiet and bow their heads, the servants lined against the edge of the tent doing the same.
“Taizi dianxia,” they greet in unison.
Xie Lian lifts one hand to dismiss them, and takes his spot at the head of the table. He makes eye contact with Feng Xin, who has risen as the youngest of the four Xianle generals quickly after his employment as Xie Lian’s deputy general. Though Xie Lian can’t admit it out loud, he can see the passion and real talent Feng Xin had in the army.
Where Xie Lian and Mu Qing are best suited for the graceful control and the art of cultivation, Feng Xin is in his element bowing over military strategies and motivating his troops into battle.
“Continue.” Xie Lian crosses his arms over his chest and peers down at the map.
Chen Qiantao clears his throat and pushes a finger onto the map. “The last sighting of Hui Qiao was out here.” He traces his finger down and follows the place where he suspects the Yong’an general has hidden his small but vicious group of mercenaries.
Zhou Yu butts in, “We know his military provisions are stocked in Niu-er encampment, over here. My Gui Huyin has reported a number of six horses with Hui Qiao’s company, they cannot have transported enough provisions to last any longer than four days in hideout.”
Chen Qiantao nods. “I agree, today’s sudden attack was clearly meant to draw out the full of Xianle’s forces and ambush them from here.” He draws a circle around a small hill, a half-day on horseback to the right of the Xianle military camp. “We were fortunate to only send a quarter of our forces.” Had they sent all Xianle soldiers stationed at this encampment, they surely would have met with the full force of the Yong’an army. As it is, Yong’an is unwilling to expose its true strength for just a quarter of the Xianle encampment, clearly counting on the element of surprise to do them in at a later time.
The three older generals at the table nod in agreement. Feng Xin is stroking his chin with his thumb, glaring down at the map as if he isn’t quite convinced.
“I disagree,” a young voice pipes up from the edge of the tent.
The four generals, one martial god and a handful of attendants all turn their heads in the direction of the voice.
A young man stands, shoulders squared, wearing the uniform of a high-ranking Xianle soldier. Half of his face is wrapped in dirtied white bandages, probably a casualty of the war.
Xie Lian frowns. He feels as if he has seen this man before.
“Don’t mind my prodigy,” Chen Qiantao chuckles nervously. “I brought him along so he could get his first taste as a general and strategist, but he is clearly too young and inexperienced.”
Xie Lian tilts his head. He is quite sure he has seen this man, broad shoulders and impressive arm strength, on the battlefield before. His eyes trail to the sword hilt. Instead of the regular Xianle army saber, a scimitar hangs at the man’s waist.
Suddenly, Xie Lian remembers. This is the young shoulder who has jumped in front of Xie Lian from the very moment he has been allowed onto the battlefield, showing great courage and potential. Xie Lian remembers his form, his fierceful and near-wicked way of fighting that is much better suited for a scimitar than the plain army saber. Clearly, the young man has heeded Xie Lian’s advice, but judging from his form in the past battles, there is still room for improvement.
“Let him speak,” Xie Lian speaks up. “I want to hear what he has to say. What is your name, soldier?”
“Hua Cheng, dianxia.” The man bows his head in respect, black hair falling down his shoulder like a curtain. “Thank you, dianxia.”
Hua Cheng takes a step forward, making Chen Qiantao take a step back to allow him space. He points a slender finger down at the map. “Niu-er encampment is indeed too far for Hui Qiao’s forces to reach. But it is foolish to suspect Yong’an forces are simply hiding out in the forest, waiting for us to come chasing them like a cat would a mouse. Instead,” he trails his finger along a dip in the mountains of east Xianle. “The provisions are being provided through this slim mountain pass. I went scouting there this morning and found fresh horse tracks in the mud. Yong’an is planning a large attack on our camp.”
A stunned silence settled over the generals.
“He’s right,” Feng Xin is the first to speak up, still gazing down at the map. “It is indeed foolish to suspect Yong’an to wait passively, Lang Ying has never been that type of warrior, nor are his generals. We know Hui Qiao is a Xianle native. He knows the terrain like the back of his hand and will have no trouble leading his troop of light cavalry through the mountain pass. We will send a group of scouts to the pass to confirm Hua Cheng’s story, in the meantime, we need to come up with a plan.”
“I have a plan,” Hua Cheng speaks up again.
The other generals exchange glances but nod their heads. Chen Qiantao agrees with the tactic suggested by Hua Cheng, and after making the necessary plans, they all say their greetings and exit the tent.
Feng Xin calls softly, “Dianxia, we need to discuss your heavenly duties. Mu Qing told me to–”
“Ask Mu Qing to fill in for me.” Xie Lian barely spares him a glance, his eyes are trained on Hua Cheng, who has just left the tent. “And send that Hua Cheng to my tent later.”
He leaves Feng Xin frowning in confusion.
Xie Lian strides out of the tent, eyes flitting around to find that young man.
His eye catches the swaying of a ponytail and the glint of a scimitar disappear into the crowds.
“Dianxia, Hua Cheng is here,” one of his attendants calls when he is back in his tent later.
Xie Lian puts down his sword and the cloth he’d been using to polish it and stands up. “Let him in.”
The tent opens and in strides Hua Cheng. The only light inside of the tent is cast by three candles, each flickering wickedly at the brush of cold air that comes in with Hua Cheng.
“Dianxia.” The young man immediately drops to one knee in front of his crown prince and god.
“Please, get up.”
The man listens and rose, his single visible eye meeting Xie Lian’s boldly. There is a power, a hunger in this man’s gaze that sends a shiver down Xie Lian’s spine. Yet, Xie Lian thinks, as he analyzes the soft curve of the man’s smile, the nervous clench of his hands, there is devotion.
Devotion to a god Xie Lian no longer is.
“Your insights impressed me today.” Xie Lian remembers the soldier’s skills with the sword, his eye trail down to the scimitar at his waist. “And I see you have listened to my suggestion. However,” he takes a step closer, basking at the attention Hua Cheng’s eye bestows upon him. “There is still room for improvement.”
Hua Cheng’s eye glints as he looks at his god. There’s a distance and respect in his gaze that Xie Lian craves. “Please, dianxia, enlighten me.” He presses one hand to his chest and bows at the waist.
Xie Lian approaches the soldier. “I saw your form on the battlefield today. You’re clearly too accustomed to the army sabers. To optimize your use of the scimitar you need to work on your footwork. May I?” He grabs a hold of the scimitar’s hilt and unsheaths it. “A scimitar is best at slicing away at your enemy.”
Xie Lian twists and neatly slices the air to Hua Cheng’s left. He takes a swift step to the left and spins, slicing the same place in the air from the right this time.
“Swift footwork is key when using a scimitar.”
Hua Cheng’s eye trails over Xie Lian’s form. Xie Lian is used to being watched as he performs martial arts. Yet, there is something about Hua Cheng’s gaze that seems to peel away the layers of dress and act to expose the barest part of him. He feels naked.
Xie Lian returns the scimitar to Hua Cheng and ignores the heat that shoot through him as their hands brush. He quickly turns and grabs one of the typical army sabers that is stored in his tent. He skillfully demonstrates the stabbing movements that are suited for the saber.
“So,” he says, turning back to face Hua Cheng. He’s aware of the light sheen of sweat that sticks the small hairs to his temples. “You need to increase your speed and agility.”
Hua Cheng’s eye is dark and his face flushed. The grip on his scimitar is tight enough to whiten the skin of his hands.
Xie Lian feels a thrill shoot through him. All anger he had felt earlier that day has channeled into this strange tension that heats the air between them.
“You should try.” He motions for Hua Cheng to step in front of him and mimic his earlier moves.
The man does so easily and gracefully. Xie Lian claps his hands together in appreciation, it’s a gratifying thing to have a talented student to teach.
They go through a set of moves together, Xie Lian’s mood improving along with Hua Cheng’s skill. They’re touching each other over the fabric of their clothes. Soft, teasing brushes of hands under the pretense of studying martial arts moves.
Hua Cheng is flushed, Xie Lian thinks his own cheeks must be just as red.
Then, Hua Cheng’s hand brushes the bare skin of Xie Lian’s neck, making his breath hitch and his eyes widen.
“Dianxia,” the man sinks to his knee again, pain in his voice at having touched the holy skin of his god.
“Please rise, Hua Cheng.” Xie Lian’s own voice is shaking. An unknown need, a hunger runs through his veins.
Hua Cheng worships him. He is Hua Cheng’s one god. Yet, Hua Cheng is here, letting Xie Lian correct his stance with the scimitar with soft and gentle hands, unafraid to be touched by a god.
Devotion and sacrilege lay close together within the palms of Hua Cheng’s hand.
And Xie Lian wants to feel the man’s hands—devotion, sacrilege and passion—on his body.
The thought makes his stomach curl pleasantly.
Hua Cheng obeys the command and rises to his full height. He towers over Xie Lian easily, even with his head bowed.
“Look at me.”
Look at your god. Worship me. Look at me.
“Hua Cheng.” The name curls around Xie Lian’s tongue. He imagines crying out in pleasure, calling that name, calling that man. Watching his own debauchery in the reflection of that one dark eye.
“Kiss me,” he breathes.
Hua Cheng looks down at him, his dark eye impossibly darker. His hands are clenched at his side, fingers white with pressure.
“Dianxia,” he breathes, unbelieving.
“Kiss me,” Xie Lian demands again.
“Dianxia.” Hua Cheng takes a step closer. He reaches out a trembling hand and brushes it through Xie Lian’s hair, making the god shiver.
The warm hand settles at the base of Xie Lian’s neck. So soft and careful. Too soft and careful. For a second, Xie Lian thinks he’d seen wrong, that there had only been devotion and a distant worship in the man’s eyes. Then, the hand clenches around the back of Xie Lian’s neck, nails press into his skin possessively, like no one has ever dared to hurt him.
Xie Lian gasps and knows he’d seen right. The same desperation is mirrored in this man’s eyes.
Warm lips meet his and he allows himself to melt into Hua Cheng’s embrace.
“I am your god,” Xie Lian gasps against Hua Cheng’s lips.
Hua Cheng wraps his free arm around Xie Lian’s waist, pressing the shorter man against himself. He pants against Xie Lian’s mouth, eye lidded.
“Yes,” he breathes. “My god. My only god.”
Xie Lian’s heart skips a beat and he possessively licks Hua Cheng’s lips. “You're my believer.” Mine.
Hua Cheng smiles, dirty and mean and possessive. “This lowly worshiper is yours.”
Immediately, he leans in again and captures Xie Lian’s mouth in another searing kiss. His hand releases Xie Lian’s neck, leaving the imprint of four sharp nails into the pale and delicate skin. He trails down Xie Lian’s holy body until that hand finds Xie Lian’s leg. He curls it around the back of Xie Lian’s thigh and wraps it around his hip, pressing Xie Lian impossibly closer.
Xie Lian gasps as the most sensitive part of him is pressed against Hua Cheng’s sturdy thigh.
“Hua Cheng,” he breathes against the man’s lips. His hands curl around Hua Cheng’s upper arm and he forces their upper bodies apart. “You…”
Hua Cheng smiles, eyes trailing over Xie Lian’s face as if he can never get enough of looking at him. The hand holding Xie Lian’s leg pushes down.
Xie Lian throws his head back at the sudden friction. “Ah!” he exclaims.
Lips and teeth find the soft skin of his exposed neck. That hand, the strong arm, guide Xie Lian in a tantalizing back and forth on a raised thigh. The fabric of their robes rub together noisily but Xie Lian can’t hear it over the feeling of his own pleasure.
Never has he experienced something like this. His own hips take over the pace set by Hua Cheng and he clings to his strong shoulders as he lets his need guide his movement.
Hua Cheng’s teeth nip and tease the sensitive skin of his throat and leave a trail of shivers up to Xie Lian’s jaw. Xie Lian keens as he finds a particularly sensitive spot just underneath his jaw. He can feel Hua Cheng’s grin against his skin as he locks in and bites that spot.
All the while, Xie Lian’s pace against Hua Cheng’s thigh has not let up. It feels good. The pressure feels good. He can feel something, some destructive wave, building inside of him. But it’s not enough.
“Hua Cheng,” he whines, frustrated.
Hua Cheng replies, “Dianxia.” He smiles against his god’s skin and hitches his thigh up higher, making Xie Lian gaps out again. “Dianxia, let me.”
Before he knows it, Xie Lian is lifted in the air by two strong hands underneath his thighs. He has no time to mourn the loss of friction, as he’s thrown onto the soft sheets of his bed. The crude bed set up in the middle of his military tent is nothing like the royal bed that sits abandoned in the royal palace. It is still leagues above the crude mattresses that the soldiers sleep on.
Xie Lian’s back sinks into the mattress and the comforting weight of the soldier follows him. He lets his legs fall open and bites his lip at his own shamelessness. He burns.
Hua Cheng has two arms braced at either side of Xie Lian’s head, gazing down at him hotly. “My god,” he pleads before leaning back. His hands are clenched into the bottom of Xie Lian’s robes, the embroidered gold flowers ruined in his grip. “Can I…” He lifts the edges of the robes, exposing Xie Lian’s trousers underneath.
“Yeah.” Xie Lian leans up and unwraps the tie around his waist. His outer robe falls open, exposing the thin silk of the inner robe.
Hua Cheng’s gaze falls on him hotly. Xie Lian bites his lip and arches his back as he lets the robe slip off his shoulders, now lying below his soldier in only the see-through inner garment.
He vaguely thinks Mu Qing might kill him if he could see the creases they’re making in his expensive outer robe, but all thoughts of his servant leave his mind when Hua Cheng leans down and captures his mouth in another dizzying kiss. His knees force Xie Lian’s legs open wide, and the lack of friction has Xie Lian arching his back and sighing softly into Hua Cheng’s mouth.
One of his own hands slides down his chest to his crotch. He shivers as he cups himself over two layers of fabric. The pressure is exactly what he needs and he moans softly as he presses against himself in a slow rhythm.
Hua Cheng releases his lips and his gaze falls on Xie Lian’s hand, shamefully touching himself. “Dianxia, let me.” He carefully grabs Xie Lian’s wrist and pins it down beside his head. His free hand replaces Xie Lian’s in cupping him through his inner robe and trousers.
Xie Lian can only let his mouth fall open as Hua Cheng applies careful pressure. He rubs back and forth. At every stroke up, he catches a bundle of nerves that makes Xie Lian cry out softly.
“Does that feel good?” Hua Cheng’s voice is low and hoarse.
Xie Lian nods, a soft sound escaping him at Hua Cheng singles out that bundle of nerves and rubs it.
“Hua Cheng,” he gasps, tilting up his hips and turning his head to hide it in the sheets. “I need…” He bites his lip, unable to finish the shameless sentence.
Thankfully, Hua Cheng seems to understand him wordlessly. His warm hands slide up his body and slip Xie Lian’s inner robe open, letting it hang loose around his shoulders and arms. He traces the contours of Xie Lian’s body, the bandages around his chest and the soft dip of his waist. Xie Lian can only shiver and close his eyes.
Despite being a god, he has never been worshiped like this.
Hua Cheng’s careful hands find the edge of his trousers and slowly pull them down, leaving Xie Lian time and opportunity to stop him. He doesn’t and lets the soldier expose him to the air in the military tent.
Xie Lian bites his lip and watches Hua Cheng watch him. The man’s eye is gazing down between his legs as if he’s seeing a rare and beautiful flower. Xie Lian, despite his thousands of statues and millions of worshippers, has never felt so seen.
“Hua Cheng,” he begs. “Please.” He bites his lip and breathes out, “Touch me.”
Hua Cheng’s eye flits up to him briefly before he looks down again. His warm hand comes up and cups him, like before. But this time, there are no layers of fabric separating their skin. His hand feels sure against him and Xie Lian can only bite his lip harder.
He is throbbing and wet as Hua Cheng’s hand slowly picks up the pace from before. His fingers glide through Xie Lian’s slick easily. His index fingers dips briefly towards his entrance, gathering the slick and dragging it upwards to that bundle of nerves.
Xie Lian gasps loudly as two of Hua Cheng’s fingers find his cl*t. “Hua Cheng!” His fingers curl into the sheets at his head as those fingers gently roll his cl*t back and forth.
“Does this feel good, dianxia?” Hua Cheng shuffles on the bed, free hand coming up to hold Xie Lian’s hip and soothingly stroke the skin there.
Xie Lian can only breathe out a small yes, so overcome with sensations.
Hua Cheng’s pace is slow and confident. Pleasure builds inside Xie Lian like a wave as his cl*t is played and teased by Hua Cheng’s deft fingers. Soft moans slip past his lips, drowning out the slick sounds of Hua Cheng’s hand on him.
Without warning, Hua Cheng’s free hand leaves Xie Lian’s hip to stroke softly at his entrance. Xie Lian’s eyes shoot open and he looks at the man between his legs. The grin on his lips is as teasing as the fingers at his entrance. They stroke softly back and forth, dipping a tip inside briefly but never more than that.
All the while, the pace with which he is stroking Xie Lian’s cl*t doesn’t slow. Every upstroke makes the muscles in Xie Lian’s stomach clench.
“Hua Cheng!” Xie Lian cries out when Hua Cheng’s index finger slips in further than it had before.
He has never had anything inside of him, not even his own fingers had ever wandered that far. But now, he feels like he will fall apart if he doesn’t get something inside soon.
“Dianxia.” Hua Chengs leans close to his face without slowing his pace in an impressive show of skill. “Tell me what you need.”
“You,” is the only thing Xie Lian can gasp. “I just… need you. Inside me.” He presses his eyes closed.
“Do you?” Hua Cheng slips one finger inside of him. It goes easy all the way inside until his knuckles touch his folds.
Before Xie Lian can bask in it, the finger has left him and resumed circling his entrance again. His cl*t is caught underneath his thumb, slow circles.
“Yes! Please!” Xie Lian arches his back off the bed, pressing his lower body into Hua Cheng’s hands in a desperate attempt to get more fingers inside of him.
Hua Cheng chuckles. “This lowly worshiper will do anything for his god.”
And with that, he slides two fingers into his god. They go inside shamefully easily. The stretch is on the edge of painful for a split second as Hua Cheng’s knuckles catch on his rim. Then, they’re inside and Xie Lian relaxes around him.
Hua Cheng’s assault on his cl*t has slowed, allowing Xie Lian time to adjust to the way he is being filled for the first time in his life. He gracefully lets Xie Lian catch his breath before the rubbing continues.
The muscles of Xie Lian’s c*nt squeeze around Hua Cheng’s fingers. He’s so close. He’s so close to coming undone under Hua Cheng’s hands.
Slowly, Hua Cheng starts pulling his fingers out. Xie Lian whines in complaint, but it turns into a moan as Hua Cheng pushes them back in immediately.
He sets an aggravating pace, playing with the catching and releasing of Xie Lian’s rim around his fingers. When he curls them inside of him for the first time, Xie Lian’s body jumps.
“Gege!” he exclaims, overcome with a new sort of pleasure as Hua Cheng hits a spot inside of him that has him see stars.
“Dianxia.” Hua Cheng leans over him, hand leaving his cl*t to hold himself up. His body half leaning on top of Xie Lian. He presses a kiss to Xie Lian’s slack lips.
His fingers don’t slow down, they thrust in and out of his god faster and faster. His hot breath warms the side of Xie Lian’s face. All Xie Lian can do is turn his head towards Hua Cheng and moan softly, body jostling with the force of Hua Cheng’s thrusts.
His hair sticks to his forehead, sweat covers his body like a shimmering layer of water. Exposed and vulnerable he lies in his bed, his soldier and devout worshiper desecrating his holy body inside his military tent.
None of that matters when white-hot pleasure runs through his veins. Not when Hua Cheng’s eye is gazing down at him almost lovingly, responding to every call of his hoarse voice, every twitching muscle.
Hua Cheng’s thrusts never slow, he curls his fingers and rubs them against that sensitive spot inside of him.
Xie Lian is approaching an edge—he can feel the tension in his stomach and the clenching of his thighs. He throws his head back and exposes his throat to Hua Cheng, who immediately latches onto it with lips and teeth.
“Gege,” he pleads desperately.
“Touch yourself, dianxia.”
Xie Lian can feel the shape of the words against the skin of his throat. He wastes no time in trailing his hand down his stomach. He finds his cl*t and gasps softly. He rubs two fingers back and forth against himself, matching Hua Cheng’s pace.
Hua Cheng’s fingers thrust in and out, his own rub his cl*t at the same pace. That wave builds, higher and higher and higher. He approaches that peak and then—the drop.
With a loud cry, Xie Lian comes. White flashes behind his eyelids.
Hua Cheng’s fingers still inside of him. Xie Lian presses his own hand against his cl*t, shivering through the aftermaths of his first org*sm. Hua Cheng licks into his open mouth as Xie Lian’s body burns with the force of his org*sm.
Hua Cheng waits patiently for Xie Lian to come down from his high. When Xie Lian opens his eyes, muscles completely slack and still tingling, he grins.
“Was that dianxia’s first time?”
Xie Lian swallows a mix of his own and Hua Cheng’s saliva. “Yeah,” he breathes.
He shivers as Hua Cheng strokes once inside of him before pulling his fingers out. To Xie Lian’s mortification, he lifts them to his lips and sucks them inside his mouth. Xie Lian watches as Hua Cheng’s tongue sucks and licks his slick off his fingers, grinning as he does so.
“Dianxia tastes delicious." He leans in close to Xie Lian again, pressing his lips against his cheek. “Next time this lowly worshiper will eat you out.”
Xie Lian’s thighs and c*nt clench at the thought of it.
When the tingling his body calms down, he turns his head to watch Hua Cheng. He has his brow furrowed and his eye trained on Xie Lian’s face as if committing every imperfection to memory. The rhythmic rustling of fabric pulls Xie Lian’s attention downwards.
Hua Cheng has one hand shoved down his pants, rubbing furiously at himself.
“Hua Cheng,” Xie Lian says as he leans up. His hands reach for Hua Cheng’s robes, fingers coming up to untie the knot around Hua Cheng’s waist.
Hua Cheng’s hand slips out of his pants, fingers glistening, to help Xie Lian undress him. He feverishly slips out of his two layers of robes and shoves his pants down, hand coming back between his legs.
Xie Lian trails his fingers over the angry scars on Hua Cheng’s chest. He bites his lip at the sight of the fit and muscular body. His gaze is drawn back to the hand Hua Cheng is rubbing against himself. His pace and the pressure are unkind, rough and furious. Not at all like the careful way he had caressed Xie Lian and stroked him to completion.
“Gege, let me.” He gently grabs Hua Cheng’s wrist and pulls his hand away.
He immediately replaces Hua Cheng’s hand with his own. Hua Cheng’s c*nt feels warm and wet against his hand. He strokes his fingers between the folds softly.
Hua Cheng holds his breath as his god explores the most intimate part of him. Xie Lian finds his cl*t and rubs soft circles on it. Hua Cheng’s thighs shiver and his stomach clenches.
“Dianxia, my god.” Hua Cheng worships him still. “I need you, my god.”
“You have me,” Xie Lian responds to his calls. He kisses the bridge of Hua Cheng’s nose. “I’m here for you.”
Hua Cheng clenches his eye shut, his brows furrowed and lips slightly parted as he pants. He grabs Xie Lian’s wrist and holds his hand against him, applying more pressure. His hips roll against Xie Lian’s hand.
Xie Lian tenses his fingers, providing Hua Cheng a surface to chase his own pleasure.
Hua Cheng is quiet as he pleasures himself using Xie Lian’s hand. He’s wet and slick and panting softly. Xie Lian watches every little muscle twitch in his face as Hua Cheng approaches his climax.
He comes with a soft inhale of air. Thighs twitching as he presses Xie Lian’s hand against himself. His hips roll softly through the waves of his org*sm.
“Dianxia,” he sighs finally, releasing Xie Lian’s hand and falling back against the sheets. He grabs a hold of his own simple robes to wipe Xie Lian’s hand clean.
Xie Lian sighs and lets himself curl onto Hua Cheng’s chest. His inner robe and the bindings around his chest are his only cover. The anger he had carried with him has dissipated to the back of his mind for what feels like the first time in months.
The god, the face of a failing army, lies in the arms of his most devoted worshiper, a mere mortal whose only value is in his death protecting the one he’s holding. This one night, they found recognition in each other’s desperation.
