Chapter Text
The hard floor bites into his knees, not a stitch of cloth on him, as he waits with his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes closed. Long gone are the silk restraints around his wrists and the blindfold over his eyes; Lan Xichen has learned to control his body enough that Xiandu has deemed them no longer necessary.
(“A prodigy of our generation should be able to control oneself better than this,” Xiandu had said, words dripping disappointment, when they had first done this. Shame had coursed, acidic, through Lan Xichen’s veins. But the sealing of his core had left him trembling like a newborn fawn, unable to withstand pain without the defense of his cultivation, falling when he was asked to endure, opening his eyes when he had been ordered to remain blind.
Earning forgiveness for it, though, had hurt so sweetly…)
Still, he shivers occasionally in the cold of his rooms, a breeze that he wouldn’t feel under normal circumstances, and his skin is a field of gooseflesh. He puts the cold out of his mind, raising his chin and further arching his back, trying to look as delectable as he knows he can be. His muscles strain; he has been kneeling for a while now, but he dares not squirm. Xiandu is so quiet when he walks in that usually Lan Xichen’s diminished senses cannot perceive him until he speaks. He cannot help the twitch to his erect cock when he considers that his eyes might be roaming his exposed body already, considering his posture admiringly or critically. Lan Xichen hopes he will find no fault in him this time.
It is not until his mind has settled, though, sinking into a sea of calm until the real world feels far away and unimportant, that he hears a familiar intake of breath.
“Good.”
A wave of relief hits Lan Xichen, but he makes an effort not to relax a single of his muscles. Xiandu is so sparse in his praise, that to receive it is a rare pleasure. He can do nothing to acknowledge it, lest it be yanked from under his feet.
“Are you ready, then? Have you done what I asked of you? You may speak.”
He had been asked to pleasure himself until his peak, but to remove his hand before he could climax. The result had been an unsatisfying sputtering of his cock, dribbling over itself and on his thighs, where it has remained, cold and sticky. There had been no relief to the orgasm, and he had stayed erect after.
“Yes, Xiandu.” He counts it as a victory that his voice doesn’t tremble.
“Hm.” Something touches the side of Lan Xichen’s cock. Xiandu’s boot, if he had to guess. “I haven’t decided yet if you deserve to come tonight. It will depend on your performance.”
Lan Xichen wants to promise he will be good, that he won’t disappoint him. But he has not been given permission to speak.
All thoughts of replying flee his head when something cold comes to rest against his cheek, making his heart race and causing shivers to run down his spine.
It should not scare him. They have talked about this, worked up to it; a switch, a cane, a paddle. Xiandu’s nails scratching down his back hard enough to draw blood to the surface. This particular dagger has even come into play before, caressing his skin with promise, but today is the first time that it will break skin.
They have rules in place, limits, a way out. If Lan Xichen says the word, Xiandu will disappear, and his A-Yao will cup Lan Xichen’s face between his hands and ask him what’s wrong with all the tenderness in the world.
Allegedly.
In practice, there is no guarantee that that will happen. The point of the dagger that is now slipping over his jaw and down the side of his neck could plunge in, do some real damage. Without his cultivation, Lan Xichen has no way to stop it, and even Xiandu’s slight body and limited spiritual power would be enough to do him in. It doesn’t even need to be on purpose; one miscalculation on the other’s part, damage to an important organ, a delayed reaction… and his life will end. Or he will be hurt in a permanent way, one that makes him unable to tend to his duties; that would be an even less desirable fate in Lan Xichen’s eyes.
He starts to actually tremble when the tip of the dagger makes a circle around his nipple, pebbled with arousal and fear. Xiandu clicks his tongue in disappointment and removes the dagger, making Lan Xichen go cold with regret.
“No,” he exhales without meaning to, and receives a slap for disobeying.
“You’re not ready,” Xiandu says, voice hard. It’s more than the character; Lan Xichen can hear in between the haughtiness the real concern of his partner.
He presses his lips tightly together, trying to contain his pleas.
“You may speak,” Xiandu concedes, “but say the truth.”
“I’m scared. But I don’t want to stop. Please.”
He can imagine the flinty look in Xiandu’s eyes, even if he can’t see it. He awaits his judgment while attempting to bring his breathing under control. He can do this. He can.
He expects either a dismissal or a return of the teasing tip around his nipple. Instead, fast like the strike of a snake, he gets the first slash across his chest.
Lan Xichen screams more in surprise than in pain. His eyes remain firmly shut, but his hands almost unclasp as his body twitches and he starts to hyperventilate. Xiandu plunges his free hand in his hair and pulls, bringing Lan Xichen’s head against his robe, and keeps him there. The shock recedes after a few seconds, and Lan Xichen registers that the cut is shallow, although it must be bleeding, and it burns in a dull way. But it’s not dangerous, not life-threatening.
A fogginess creeps into his brain, making his thoughts slow, sticky. It’s a pleasure that has very little to do with sexual release, although his cock remains as hard as ever. He barely notices it when the other pushes him back to his original position and kneels before him.
Xiandu places a hand on Lan Xichen’s shoulder and brings the dagger back to his chest. This time the incision, its placement mirroring the one already there, is meticulous, slow, and Lan Xichen gets the time to enjoy it, the burn of the incision off-setting the coldness of the blade, his skin parting open to accommodate Xiandu’s wishes. He opens like a flower for him, and his body relaxes at last, letting itself be used. Lan Xichen sighs, dreamy, as Xiandu moves his dagger here and there, carving a character on his chest.
There is a pause in the movement, and Lan Xichen makes an inquisitive hum.
“That was the first character.” A drop of blood drips down from one of the deeper cuts, making a crimson path over Lan Xichen’s abs. Xiandu smears it with his finger. “Touch yourself while I cut the second one, but if you come…” Lan Xichen can practically hear the smirk in the other’s voice, “I will stop.”
Biting back a whimper, Lan Xichen obeys. His cock is hot and straining, and it takes effort not to come just by laying his hand on it. He squeezes it, hard, to stop the impending orgasm, but once the danger passes he starts pumping up and down in a loose, unsatisfactory grip, the way Xiandu taught him to do when he wants him to last. His thighs tremble with arousal, strained by maintaining his position for so long, and his knees are beginning to bother him, but he pays such things no mind. His only focus is on delaying his climax, and on not disturbing Xiandu’s movements. He wouldn’t want to get nicked in the wrong place, after all.
It takes less time than the other. Maybe. Lan Xichen’s sense of time is distorted, each careful slash of the dagger lasting anywhere from one second to an eternity, the rhythm of his own hand unknowable. There are more rivulets of blood trickling down his abdomen now, and Xiandu’s breathing grows labored as he runs his hand across them.
“Here, let me,” he says, batting away Lan Xichen’s hand (Lan Xichen dutifully returns it behind his back) and takes his cock with the bloodied hand.
The stench of iron permeates the air; Lan Xichen is not sure how he didn’t notice it before. Now it fills his nostrils, he can taste it in the back of his throat, his tongue is pasty with it. Xiandu spreads the blood on his arousal, but it doesn’t make it much slicker. Lan Xichen cannot see it, but he is hit with a wave of dizziness just by imagining it. His cock twitches.
“Xiandu…” he warns, and the hand leaves his cock. Climax evades him once more as his cock dribbles a bit of spend but gives him no satisfaction. Lan Xichen fights back a whine, gritting his teeth, as Xiandu pinches his nipple but doesn’t reprimand him for speaking out of turn.
“I want you to be still for the last one.” The one with more strokes. “I don’t want to hear a single sound from you, you understand?” Lan Xichen nods.
The next strokes of the dagger are methodical, detached, perhaps even shallower than the others, as if Xiandu is trying to get this over with. Lan Xichen appreciates the haste, if only because he hopes that, when it is finished, he will get to come. It still hurts, but he is almost numb to it now, his arousal a much more demanding sensation that clouds his every thought.
Will he get Xiandu’s hand again? Or just a boot to rut against? Has Lan Xichen been good enough to deserve to come?
“It’s done,” Xiandu says as he pulls back. He stands next to Lan Xichen and pushes his head forward a little, making him face forward instead of having his chin raised. “Open your eyes.”
The mirror in front of him was not there when Lan Xichen had closed them. He sees himself in all his naked glory, bloody and vulnerable. The characters are reversed, but he knew what would be carved since before their session started.
金
光
瑶
Jin Guangyao.
Despite knowing what it would be, he gasps. There it is, the proof of ownership, of belonging. Xiandu has marked him as his own.
He looks up at him. Xiandu is wiping off the dagger with a cloth and putting it away, seemingly ignoring him. When he is done, he tilts his head at him.
“You may speak.”
“Thank you,” Lan Xichen gasps, tears falling down his face. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…”
Xiandu smirks. “If you are so satisfied, perhaps there is no need to make you come.”
Lan Xichen takes a deep breath, fighting down his frustration. “If… if Xiandu thinks that’s for the best, then… there is no need.”
“No need?” he asks, raising an eyebrow sardonically.
“No need,” he confirms, trying not to sound defeated.
Xiandu pats his head approvingly. “Good answer.” Then he lowers himself to the ground until his head is at a level with Lan Xichen’s erection. “Keep looking at yourself. You don’t need to warn me this time.”
And then he swallows him down.
It comes as such a shock that Lan Xichen forgets to breathe for a second. He keeps his eyes on the mirror, on the words carved into his flesh. Xiandu has done this for him so rarely, he can barely remember the last time it happened. But it is not for lack of ability; there is nothing like the warmth of his mouth, the caress of his tongue, the press of his lips.
Lan Xichen disobeys at the last second and looks down, and the vision of Xiandu, his lips red with the blood that he has cleaned from Lan Xichen’s cock, is what finally pushes him over the edge. The release whites out the world around him, he becomes blind and deaf in ecstasy, nothing mattering but the warmth around his cock, the sting on his torso, and the happiness lighting him from inside out.
Xiandu swallows around him, and only drops his cock when it stops sputtering. He sits up on his knees with as much dignity as he can muster and smiles at Lan Xichen, something soft and completely void of malice.
“You did so well, er-ge. I’m proud of you.”
Lan Xichen breaks into relieved tears.