marlowemuses | But haven't you heard / hearts turn to dirt

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But haven't you heard / hearts turn to dirt

The war between the Jin Sect and the Nie Sect had gone on for months, a bloody and exhausting battle of attrition. Lan and Jiang had stayed out of it, which was a kind of mercy. Everyone knew that if they took sides, Lan Xichen would support his dearest friend and Jiang Cheng would support his, and it would only spread the bloodshed. Huaisang was grateful that they were left out of this, and yet he often longed for that support and comfort.

Things had only gotten worse when Jin Guangyao had begun bringing in mercenaries. He had coin to spare where Huaisang did not, able to rely upon rich grain fields and a larger populace. Terrain and skill allowed Huaisang’s men to keep them at bay, and yet. It felt like it would only be so long.

The day’s battle had been exhausting and demoralizing in the worst way, a group of mercenaries sent forth to batter at a weakness in Huaisang’s defenses. It had taken mere minutes for Huaisang to spot the strategy, and after hours he still had no solution. The mercenaries were sent on a suicide mission, that was clear, but what was also clear was that they would succeed. They were meant to die and the breach in the border would leave the Nie Sect weak. He would have to fall back inside the very walls of Qinghe. Any peasants left outside would be killed or captured. Any peasants brought inside would starve slowly under siege. It was inevitable.

Huaisang wanted to sob, but he forced himself to think, considering hypotheticals again and again, but it was always the same answer. The walls would breach. They would fall back. They would starve.

He couldn’t change those facts, and that was what delayed him for hours seeing the one thing he could change.

The leader of the mercenary band was the one they called the Scourge. It seemed like he could kill hundreds of men on his own. His blade moved lightning-fast, though he was no cultivator. And he would die like the rest today. That was the only comfort in the tragedy of the day.

All at once, Huaisang saw how to change the pattern.

He sent his orders swiftly, commanding the breach to be surrendered, to fall back sooner, to let the mercenaries live. All that mattered was risking everything on one play which would introduce a new variable.

His men brought their captive in to Qinghe bound in silvery nets of energy. Qinghe was reinforced and the gates had been closed, accepting that awful fate, but Huaisang had a new variable brought to kneel before him in his throne room.

Heart pounding with nerves to be a prey animal facing down such an obvious predator, Huaisang lifted his chin and fanned himself idly, pretending calm in the face of his deadly captive. “So you were the price Jin Guangyao was willing to pay in order to seize my lands.”

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"Spoiled for choice." With one hand, Doul cradles the back of Huaisang's head as he pushes up and stands. It's not graceful, but he's strong enough that it doesn't really matter.

"I think you'll look best if I fuck between your thighs and then suck you off." They don't need to strip down too much, it's quick, and when done well, it's very, very good.

"Sounds like a good place to start," Huaisang agrees, flirtatiously ensuring that there will be more after that 'start'. He leans into Doul as he's lifted, helping to make his weight easier to lift, and gives him a beaming smile once they're both up. "I'm impatient. I want you. I've wanted you since that first moment you were before me, feral and chained."

"Feral? Does that mean you've tamed me or just bent me enough to take a bridle?" No answer is needed as he leans into a kiss and walks them both back towards a nicely sturdy wall, free from windows or loose scrolls. He wants to get off, but not if it risks the works available.

"May I?" He wants to undo the ties that hold their clothing shut. Skin, he very much wants to see more of Huaisang.

"Just enough to take a bridle," Huaisang confirms with a little purr in his voice, then presses a few more kisses along Doul's jawline as he's carried. "I find feral very attractive, but I do like to know that I won't be bitten. Well... feel free to bite. You may even leave marks on me, if you like. Just no blood, understand?"

Rumbling happily as he's pinned between Doul and the wall, Huaisang nods permission at once, pointing to the first tie to be undone on his complicated robes, then indicating the next. His people understand discretion and are familiar with Huaisang's whims. They won't be disturbed.

"I understand." There's a shiver of something when he's told that he's attractive and whether he's reacting to being called feral or the mention of a bridle, that's up to Huaisang to decide. Either way, Doul tugs open the ties as he balances his need to see more skin and to respect the quality of the garments.

His hands are calloused and rough from sword practice, but there are also marks and faded ink spatters from writing late into the night. It makes for a fine contrast.

Huaisang shrugs his garments aside easily, letting layer by layer slip away. He loves being watched in this way. For so much of his life he tries to avoid direct scrutiny, but in private he loves having the focused attention of a desired person. It's been a long time since he trusted anyone in his bed. Even though he's not sure that he can truly trust Doul, he desires him. That's enough.

His own hands dart over Doul's clothing, greedily tugging at straps and fastenings, demanding access to the bare skin beneath. "I want you."

"Then I'd best help you." He wears fewer layers, but the ties and stays of his own clothing are tricky and not common in the middle kingdom. Doul tugs at a couple of toggles and shucks bits of leather and fabric, letting them drop behind him.

The skin that's revealed is scarred and marked from years of fighting. A couple of blue-black fantastical animal figures are tattooed over his chest and one thigh. One is missing a leg, the ink cut off by a larger, longer, looping and very old wound. A little bit higher, a little more to the center, and he'd have a very difficult time with what comes next.

Huaisang runs gentle fingers over Doul's skin, unruffled by the shocking scars and strange markings. Such things are forbidden among civilized folk, considered to be profane, but certain religious orders favor tattoos, as well as certain groups of sailors. Huaisang graces the pattern with a fingertip, then traces the scar that follows. "I'm glad you survived," he murmurs, voice soft, but when his eyes lift they're filled with heated desire. "I'm glad you came to me."

Drawing Doul's head down, Huaisang kisses him again, whimpering with longing.

Doul is far from civilized, and he suspects that might be a part of the appeal. He lets Huaisang explore his old ink and even older injuries before leaning into the kiss. As he continues to hold him up against the wall, Doul moves to slip his thigh between the other man's legs to make sure that he has something to press himself against.

"Too many layers." He might complain, but there's no annoyance behind his words as he tugs aside undergarments and robes. "I just want to suck your cock, not hide in a tent."

Huaisang laughs delightedly at the grumbling about his complicated robes. Wiggling in Doul's grip, he helps to arch and lift himself in order to help get those clothes off. "No respectable sect leader would ever leave his bedroom in fewer than nine layers of clothing."

Grinding himself shamelessly against Doul's thigh, Huaisang whimpers again with want. His hands roam lower, cupping around Doul's cock and stroking at him through the fabric. "Uther Doul."

Finally the last of Huaisang's silken garments drops away, leaving him bared to Doul's view. He's slender and soft, skin unmarked by scars or ink aside from a few stray ink stains on his fingers from his perpetual writing and painting. He has light musculature on his arms and chest from the minimal daily Nie Sect exercises he performs, but his belly is soft and padded from his love of cakes.

Now that's a fine sight. Doul isn't one to smile easily, but there's a shift in his expression that is something not wholly unlike a smile as he quickly drops to his knees and nuzzles against the soft curve of Huaisang's belly. A kiss, maybe two, and he makes a sound of quiet and profound contentment.

"Yes." He lets one hand skim up his side for balance and because he likes the contrast of his rougher, darker skin against the other man's. Nosing lower, he keeps pressing kisses down the edge of one hip, to the vee of his legs.

Huaisang gasps at the nuzzle to his belly, smile blossoming with joy at Doul's obvious admiration. It makes him feel so desired, exquisitely beautiful, and he relaxes against the wall, settling a gentle hand into Doul's hair.

The kisses make him squeak and giggle at the rasp of Doul's scuff against his sensitive skin. He quivers a little but is careful not to move, not wanting to discourage Doul from continuing. "Ah! Yes. Please."

His cock is already hard and eager, pretty and pink and demurely sized, rising from a soft nest of dark hair.

It is always a pleasurable thing when reality lives up to expectation and that simple joy is clear on Doul's face as he leans in to nuzzle and lick at the head of Huaisang's prick. A thoughtful hum and then another lick, the broad curve of his tongue running up the underside.

There's a sound that's almost a sigh as he takes his time to explore and taste. He'll obey any request, but without guidance, he's going to go slow and relish the experience.

Huaisang's never seen anyone quite so pleased to see his cock, and he flushes shyly as he watches Doul's explorations. He's used to being teased for his size, either gently or not-so-gently. Gasping and shivering at Doul's kisses and licks, Huaisang keeps his hand gently tangled in Doul's hair, fingertips quivering and tensing every so often as Doul's mouth finds a sensitive spot. "Ah! Uther Doul. I do like you best on your knees."

Why would he tease about that? Huiasang's size is just perfect. If anything it means it's ever so much easier for him to lick and suck.

"Pink as the curve of a seashell." He breathes out warm praise and looks up, almost soft around the edges (or as close as he ever gets). Doul doesn't say that he likes being on his knees, but it's not difficult to guess.

Huaisang's eyes widen a little in surprised pleasure as he realizes that Doul's praising his cock as pretty. He agrees, but he's not used to hearing it. "Are you a poet, my mercenary?" he asks, shivering at the warm breath against his skin, still damp from Doul's kisses and licks.

Cupping Doul's cheek in his hand, Huaisang smiles warm and fond down at him in return. "All this time we've spent on strategy. Perhaps we'll have to spend more time on poetry from now on."

Eyes fluttering shut, he leans into the touch and breathes out slow and steady before speaking gently, "Ah, honey is on my tongue, and I saw you as I passed last night, framed in a sky of gold; through the sun's fast paling light, you were my lord of old."

Which is to say, he doesn't write poetry to be shared, but he is well versed in the classics.

There's another sound, almost a whine of impatience as he kisses, then licks at the head of his prick.

Huaisang whimpers at the recitation, knees faltering slightly, just as affected by the poetry as the caress of Doul's tongue. The romanticism hooks him. Even though he knows he shouldn't fall for a mercenary, a foreigner, someone whose loyalties are blatantly offered to be bought and sold, and Huaisang still doesn't have the prize that Doul wants, he can't help it. The poem's hook sinks in, and he's caught. Besotted.

"Uther Doul," he begs, all neediness and yearning. He wants more, and yet he's too entranced by Doul's reverence to hurry past it.

If he's begging, the least Doul can do is to turn his head to better bite and suck a mark on the soft skin of his inner thigh. One hand on his hip to hold him steady, another teasing over his balls, and he wants the bruise to sting, to stay there for a day or two. Once he's satisfied with his work, he returns his focus on Huaisang's cock.

Another lick over the head, a smug smile. "Honey on my tongue, my lord. Hmm?" He doesn't wait for an answer before taking him in his mouth.

Huaisang gasps at the bite, throwing his head back quick enough that there's a thud and a dull ache when his head hits the wall behind him. He quivers, needing that hand holding him steady. He moans loudly, the edge of it quavering with a whine, and he's forgotten entirely about trying to stay quiet. His attendants know well that the library needs to be left private right now.

Eyes closed with bliss, Huaisang whimpers again when Doul's mouth releases, leaving his skin tingling with aftershock and the knowledge of a pending bruise.

Moaning again as Doul takes him onto his tongue, Huaisang's hand tightens a little on Doul's head while his hips cant forward, taking Doul's mouth fully so that the head of his cock nestles against the back of his throat and Doul's nose is pressed into the soft tangle of Huaisang's pubic hair.

With his own wordless sound of desire, Doul is clearly more than willing to let Huaisang fuck his mouth. He shifts where he's kneeling, barely moving at all, but he's aware that he's hard in his trousers and the seam was pressing too much or not enough.

If he could speak, he'd ask for more.

Flushed and shivering at the sound Doul makes, at the eager way he responds, Huaisang starts rolling his hips forward with more control, gently fucking Doul's mouth. He locks his eyes on Doul's face to make sure he's not overwhelmed, but there's not a lot that needs deepthroating, and Doul's breath is never blocked for more than a couple of moments at a time.

Gasping with soft, sweet desire at how Doul offers himself up like this, Huaisang lets himself get a little bit lost in it. He hasn't taken a lover in so long, and with the exhaustion of the war he's barely had the time to tend to himself.

Always quick to finish, Huaisang manages a bare dozen thrusts before he spills himself across Doul's tongue, releasing without bothering to warn or ask permission because of how Doul had asked for honey.

Maybe it's his own post-war stress coming out to play, but there's a definite soft, almost floating feeling somewhere in his chest. He's not overwhelmed, except in the best possible way and it's an effort not to get too lost in it. If he's very lucky he'll be permitted to do this again and again. There's a greedy little part of his heart that wants to keep at this until he really can let go and just drift.

When his lover comes, he swallows down without any complaint and keeps his now soft prick warm in his mouth until he's told to do otherwise.

Eyelashes fluttering as Huaisang returns to his senses, Huaisang smiles down at Doul with dazed pleasure, gently caressing his cheek in admiration of the sweetness and devotion. He didn't expect any of this from his rough mercenary. It makes him seem almost soft, this desire to offer himself to Huaisang's pleasure.

"Well done," he murmurs, warm with affection.

A light foot lifts between Doul's legs, gently pressing the top of his foot into the waiting bulge.

"Show me," Huaisang commands. His hand on Doul's cheek is light, but he doesn't pull him back just yet, wanting to see how gracefully Doul can get his trousers open without releasing his mouthful.

Looking more than a little dazed, Doul swallows and is aware that he's going to start looking a mess soon. Perhaps he likes it? Something to think about when he's not shivering and carefully, ever so gently working to get his trousers properly undone, opened down the fly, and shoved low enough that he can tug his dampened small-clothes along with.

The wicked scar that curls over his side and his hip continues here, down over his thigh. Nearly lost some very important anatomy there, but his prick remains - hard, visibly leaking rather a lot, and of a perfectly average size.

He does not whine, but there's a soft 'wuff' of sound.

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