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Wen Cheng had realized that his…fascination with his fuqin was perhaps a bit inappropriate at times. How could he help himself? His fuqin was the Chief Cultivator, the best of the best, the leader of the great Wen sect, the most powerful and amazing man in the world in the world, Wen Cheng’s own flesh and blood.
There were so many things Wen Cheng could say about his fuqin, so many praises he could heap upon him. His hair was as dark as night, his eyes were like beautiful gems, his skin was as fair and smooth as snow on a mountain, his lips the most tantalizing shade of pink, and he smelled intoxicatingly of patchouli and spice. The very air around him was thick with power, so much so Wen Cheng could taste it upon his tongue.
To bask in Fuqin’s greatness, his prowess, his very presence, to have him turn his beautiful visage upon Wen Cheng’s worthless self, he truly wished for nothing more.
He had once shared these thoughts with his brothers, annoyed when Wen Xu laughed and called it an obsession, and Wen Chao scowled and called him insane. It didn’t matter what his older brothers thought, only what Fuqin thought, and Fuqin never said anything about his behavior or gave any indication that he even noticed.
Wen Cheng was a little afraid of what would happen if his fuqin ever did take notice, and what consequences he would face. He knew that he got away with a lot of things because he looked like his mother but those looks might not save him when his retribution came. He hoped, prayed, that Fuqin would find it funny like Wen Xu did, even if the thought of it made his heart ache and his eyes burn. Being called disgusting by his own fuqin may actually break Wen Cheng, and anything else was too much to bear thinking about.
…
Sometimes, Fuqin got into a mood and would have one of his sons accompany him for the day. It was usually Wen Xu, as he was the heir and supposed to be training to take over one day, but occasionally he would have Wen Cheng tag along, and Wen Chao even rarer.
Today, the mood had hit and Wen Cheng was the lucky son to accompany him, something that had Wen Cheng vibrating with excitement as he kneeled beside Fuqin’s throne. He did his best to hide it, keeping his trembling hands closed in his lap as he half-listened to whatever the disciple was prattling on about. Something about the latest night hunt maybe? Requesting permission for a night hunt?
Wen Cheng felt himself zoning out again as the man continued to speak, pausing briefly whenever Fuqin shifted even the tiniest bit as if trying to gauge his mood. Wen Cheng’s attention too was focused on each movement, though for different reasons.
He enjoyed watching the way his fuqin’s robes would move every so slightly with each flex of his muscles, the way his robes would part every so slightly as he shifted, how the skin of his hands moved as his fingers absently tapped on his throne, how badly Wen Cheng wanted to slot himself between those legs and press his face into—
“That’s enough,” Fuqin said, his voice as smooth as the silk of his robes, and waved his hand. “Do as you wish, just make it someone else's problem.”
The disciple gave a pleased grin and bowed, taking his leave. Fuqin and Wen Cheng were the only two left in the hall now, and Wen Cheng wondered if it was time for lunch yet. He enjoyed watching everything his fuqin did and eating was no exception, even if his fuqin rarely partook in such base human desires anymore. It was always a treat when he did, seeing how his hands would so skillfully use his chopsticks, how his mouth would wrap so tantalizing around the wood, how—
“You seem distracted,” Fuqin said, startling Wen Cheng as those beautiful eyes glanced down at him.
“I apologize, I was just wondering when lunch will be served. I didn’t eat my fill this morning.” Wen Cheng said, lowering his head in submission.
“Is that so,” Fuqin hummed, still staring at Wen Cheng, his expression impassive. Wen Cheng loved it, how utterly unimpressed Fuqin seemed with everything around him, but he also loathed it. It made him hard to read, made it hard to gauge when his mood was going to shift to something more violent, and made it hard to determine if he could read the guilt of Wen Cheng’s inner thoughts written across his face and had passed judgment on them.
“You must be uncomfortable kneeling there for so long,” Fuqin said after an agonizingly long moment, spreading his legs slightly and patting one of his legs. “Come, sit here. It’s more comfortable than the floor and we have much more drivel to listen to before lunch.”
Wen Cheng would object, as the pillow underneath his knees was comfortable, but he knew an order when he heard one. And, shamefully, he would have crawled up there at a mere suggestion. He was only a man, after all, a very weak man who was so weak to his fuqin’s will and the promise of his warmth.
He stood up, his legs slightly cramped from the few hours he had knelt, and carefully moved to sit on his fuqin’s leg. He’s a bit stiff and allows himself to be adjusted as his fuqin sees fit, being moved into a more relaxed pose as his legs there pulled over one side of the throne. He relaxed as his fuqin’s arm came up to wrap around his shoulder, resting his head on his fuqin’s shoulder, giving a small gasp when his fuqin’s other hand found its home on his thigh.
He decided not to think about the placement, instead choosing to snuggle closer, breathing in the scent of spice on his fuqin’s skin and the natural scent beneath it. It was just convenient to place his hand there, as Wen Cheng was taking up all of the space, and he doubted his fuqin was paying any mind to it. His other hand was gently running up and down Wen Cheng’s arm, so he might not have even noticed.
Another person came in, giving no reaction to the position, and Wen Cheng found himself zoning out again, focusing his attention once again on his fuqin. This close, so beautifully close, he could feel just how warm his fuqin was, feel each rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. The hand on his thigh was almost as hot as a brand, the heat of it felt even through his pants, but he was able to ignore it in favor of the one on his arm, feeling his fuqin’s nails through his robes, suppressing a shiver that was running up his spine.
It felt good. It felt really good and he was trying so hard to keep himself in check. He couldn’t embarrass himself by letting his fuqin see his shame, couldn’t let his fuqin know how depraved his youngest had become. It became harder when the hand on his arm stopped and the one on his thigh began to lightly massage his muscles, making his breath catch in his throat as it trailed along his inner thigh.
Fuqin didn’t seem to notice, still listening to what the disciple was saying before answering and dismissing them, only for another to come. Wen Cheng’s hand grabbed the front of Fuqin's robes, trying very hard to hold in a moan as Fuqin’s hand dipped lower and lower, closer and closer to his hardening cock.
“Uh, Fuqin—”
Nails suddenly dug into his thigh, making him wince. “Cheng’er, you know the rules.”
Listen and don’t speak, one of the few rules Fuqin enforced when they accompanied him during sect duties. Wen Cheng had thought this would be an exception but now he just felt silly for thinking so.
“Sorry.” Wen Cheng said softly, ducking his head to hide how warm his face was becoming.
Fuqin didn’t answer but the nails finally stopped digging into his skin, instead returning to the teasing touches, a bit firmer this time. They glided along his inner thigh a few more times, nails dragging slightly. Wen Cheng let out a low moan when that hand finally made contact with his cock, fully cupping him through his pants and giving a deliciously firm squeeze, his hips unconsciously pushing against it.
“Eyes up.” Fuqin snapped and Wen Cheng immediately snapped his attention back to the disciple before him, realizing too late that the command hadn’t been for him. Their eyes had locked briefly, the disciples wide with shock, before they very quickly looked away, finding someplace just to the left of Wen Cheng, and continued with whatever he was saying.
Wen Cheng felt his face grow even hotter, remembering that there was an audience here, seeing what his fuqin was doing to him. It made shame climb up his spine along with the fire of desire, knowing that someone was seeing just how much his fuqin aroused him but also how much his fuqin was willing to indulge him.
He shuddered when he felt Fuqin drag his fingers along the outline of his cock, whining loudly when the hand retreated and his fuqin chuckled.
“What a spoiled child,” Fuqin scolded softly, his head tilting to place a kiss on Wen Cheng’s forehead, his hair falling slightly onto Wen Cheng, the smell of smoke and honey making his cock twitch. “Lift your hips.”
Wen Cheng was eager to obey, raising them as his fuqin pulled down the top of his pants, letting his cock spring free. He would have been embarrassed but his robes still covered his modesty and he was too far gone to care; he wasn’t even sure if the disciple was still in the room or if he had left while Wen Cheng was distracted.
“That’s my good boy.” Fuqin purred, his hand wrapping around Wen Cheng’s cock as the other pulled him closer, earning a quiet sigh as Wen Cheng buried his face in his fuqin’s neck. His skin smelled so nice and Wen Cheng tentatively placed an open mouth kiss on the skin there, pleased when he earned a quiet hum of approval.
He let out a moan when his fuqin’s hand started moving, the precum leaking down his cock making the glide so deliciously smooth. It was truly heaven for Wen Cheng, the feeling of Fuqin’s hand around his cock, the feeling of Fuqin’s skin against his mouth as he panted, the smell of Fuqin; all of it, right now, was for Wen Cheng, and he drank in the moment greedily, sure it won’t happen again.
Up and down, up and down, nails lightly scratching up his cock and fingers tracing back down, his hand drifting lower to cup and lightly pulling at Wen Cheng’s balls, it was everything he had ever wanted. He didn’t last long on his own imaginings of Fuqin’s hands on him, but now, in the reality of it, the heat in his belly coiling tighter and tighter, he was sure he wouldn’t last much longer.
He was proven right a moment later, his fuqin’s hand squeezing the head just right as his thumb dragged over the tip, it was too much for Wen Cheng. He came with a silent cry, his body curling into the pleasure as his hands gripped his fuqin’s robes tighter, pulling himself closer. His fuqin’s fingers had stilled, cum splashing onto them and onto Wen Cheng’s robes, occasionally moving to prolong the pleasure.
Once Wen Cheng had finished, Fuqin’s hand retreated, coming into Wen Cheng’s line of sight. Those beautiful fingers, so long with nails so sharp, were dripping obscenely with ribbons of his cum, forming thin white strands when Fuqin separated his fingers.
“Open your mouth,” Fuqin said and Wen Cheng flushed but obeyed, unsurprised when those fingers slipped into his mouth. “Good boy. Now suck.”
He found that he didn’t mind the taste of his own cum if he was sucking it from his fuqin’s hand, especially when he could feel something large and stiff poking into the back of his thighs.