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Layers of history stuck onto each other, grimaces and unbearable sense of hopefulness tangled into each other like wires, enmeshed that none could tell which apart. Which means ‘go on’—which yelled ‘stop’. A constant push and pull as if a string constantly bearing intensity of each other, wrongness and the thrill of it, yearning and the ache of it.
Could he tell which apart? No, Jing Yuan could not, the truth had settled in its eternal rest in his heart, forever burning each time something leading him back to the turns of events. And how hurtful it is to swallow down want and need, let alone the dare to tie something so wrong to ‘love’, forever corrupting the meaning of it.
But despite everything, ‘love’ has never been clear, it's messy, strange. Maybe it's hurt they both caused each other, each moment passed felt like a blade sinking in further, or maybe it's the separation eating him alive, alone.
Then how ‘love’ itself guided a hand that’s supposed to stand for justice freeing a criminal. A man he loved so dear, since the age he was still bright and wanting to be mature, to now, old and hurtful of what perfect outcome had been stolen so blatantly from him.
His thoughts were never light, heavy with unsolved weight, with guilt that he did not dare to look back. Irrational and meaningless at once, Blade had had his own life ahead, trying to live, to not look back and felt resentment to what was stolen from him too.
Though, being on his mind was ever validating. Even if the intention was never mutual—never want, but hatred. The general’s softness colliding with the swordsman’s ever unsolved resentment, isn’t it an irony?
How soft he’d try to coax everyone in, how laid-back he looked to everyone else—his heart, too, was bruised. Was burning, was aching for something he knew himself could not reach much easily.
Lights-soaked streets of the Luofu greets him gently, beautifully—glimpse of golden filled with vendor sites and merchant yells, each part stacking into the busy streets of the night. Lights blinding, roads crowding—no place for sadness to bloom, let alone for it to eat away a heart.
Or was it? Jing Yuan couldn’t tell both, just watched over the crowded streets with crossed hands, silently humming as the breeze brushed his hair—fresh and gentle as if the hand of someone he once adored so dearly—still does, yet his heart sank whenever the same figure appeared in his mind. Wandered back to the peaceful days as if the wounds are still fresh, the heart’s still young.
The same figure, the same forge—instead of nostalgia, the unravel of time kills him—sinking in slowly, corrupting him gently.
Drowned in the past, the painful memories that he could not shake off—blinded his beloved in the restlessness of Mara, forcing the man to let go of his ever-burning dreams to live.
The swords, the creations decorated with pure will of a swordsmith and the dedication he etched into each hilt—as if a blessing, an encouragement to whoever hand held on it—for them all to be stored away, placed neatly into its own box like a casket for the body itself. The soul is ever restless, seeking and reclaiming what was once stolen so blatantly from his bare hands.
Blade—for all the times passed, the name Jing Yuan could never let go of. No matter how much his mind screamed at him to—liability, responsibility, all held back, all made useless under ‘love’.
For now, perhaps this is torture, resentment, love, all binding into one confusing emotion—wrecking the general’s mind. Faint restless welled up by the corner of his eyes, threateningly, as if the last straw for everything—Jing Yuan closed his eyes anyway. Settling down his ever-burning heart, thinking that, almost as childishly, Blade will come back
Maybe with more wounds, more bandages. Maybe the corners of his eyes will turn grayish—doesn’t matter, whatever soothes the general’s heart isn't Blade’s hatred of him or this forsaken place, but it’s despite how much the swordsman hated this place, he still came back.
That was the best clarification Jing Yuan could ever wish for.
Under the yellow beam of the old streets, beneath the warm lights, a crimson gaze burned itself into the general’s back. Painful, familiar, a face he did not want to remember, yet his heart ached in recognition anyway—Blade.
“Come out of the dark.” Jing Yuan chuckled, his voice didn’t sound as bright as before, but solemn. Distance felt like rejection, his voice was a plea for the swordsman to still once. Begging him to come out, to face this general just one time—even if it meant the next time they met would be unbearable. ”Don't leave me by myself.”
“Hmp.” An answer, out of spite it seems. Blade wasn’t prone to express his reactions aloud, the mere desperation evidence in the general’s voice tugged him back by the artery of his heart. “You seem well with your thoughts alone.”
“Dwelling.” He spirals, finally turning, walking towards the saddened man before his sight—but what cost? For Jing Yuan’s heart to be bruised again? Stepped on, mocked on. “Missing my presence.”
That hits a spot, a sore wound Jing Yuan thought he had healed shut by time, now ripped open like bare flesh, reddened and aching as if someone had rubbed salt onto. “I miss you.” He admitted, voice nearly breaking—the exhaustion hadn’t left, it plagued his eyes, squeezed his throat.
“Don’t twist my words.” Again, with more courage this time. Jing Yuan hated how much affect Blade’s voice held over him, how his knees seemed to crumble under each accusation even though they aren’t true. It hurts him to defend himself against those, knowing a part of him desperately screamed at himself to take it, let those accusations drape over him like a second layer than to draw any distance further away from the other.
Attachment soon turns grim, ugly. Yet none of them wanted to let go—Jing Yuan practically squeezed his lungs dry for an explanation, yet his hand still grips the red thread tight. Blade wanted to push the general away with all the will he still held before his heart took over, yet he too was holding the thread until his palm bled.
“Everything you gave me was sympathy” Harsh, cold words splattered across the space like venom—two separate atmospheres, one warm and inviting of the streets, one cold and ugly of what was left between them. “Never acceptance.”
“I do.” Jing Yuan breathed out, guilt straining his throat, felt as chains caging at his ankles—yet he still stepped, still drew himself closer to the man he saw as brightness, as someone his heart still beats for, a man he held dearly amidst the time passed by. “I will. But you kept denying me.”
For a long hurtful moment, their eyes met—crimson clashing with amber, a stark contrast illuminating the dim, saddened place. Blade looked like someone else, a complete stranger despite the nights Jing Yuan spent missing over his presence on the Luofu. Then came the questions—was he well? Did anyone harm him? Did he meet anyone else tied to his past?
Short, irreverent questions that were obviously not his business, yet the general still poke his tongue in anyway. Selfishly hoping that at least one question was about him.
And now that they’re this close—so vulnerable, so searingly close. His golden irises could not help but raked over the features he had admired for nights on end—the exhaustion palpable resting by his eyelids, the slight frown still resting by his lips, and how on guard he still is.
The tiny bit of blood splatter resting by the bandages of his arm did not go unnoticed—never can, especially with someone so perceptive as Jing Yuan here. Or well put, it was love, it was limerence still lingered in the corner of his heart, his brain, blinding his ability to think at times, blinding his heart from ever letting go fully.
“You’re still the same man I once admired.” His next words came delirious, unlike the dreamy voice he usually carried—this time it came out raw, heavy with unresolved emotions, with the weights that had long crushed his heart and made it used to carrying such gigantic weight despite being just a soft mound of muscle.
Silence became unbearable, painful. Stacks of history and love that had been hidden away for so long that the strings meant to tie it now started to fray—Jing Yuan could not hide the bone deep fatigue, why did this happen to them? Why, at what urged Blade to commit those crimes? The longing wish to for once listen to what the swordsman thinks, forced against the need to let go. His legs moved on their own. Not a single motivation behind it, just the raw desire to be close, at least felt the warmth radiating from the swordsman there.
He came bare-handed, he came teary eyed—completely vulnerable, bare for those crimson glare to see how much his departure had torture the general. Yet, amidst that, Blade did not withdraw, did not step away from his amber eyes, letting his gaze strip him bare for some dignity. The game of tug-of-war once thought to have been long abandoned, now revealed Blade had never let go of the other end in the first place.
Each word felt like degradation, felt like something deserved to be frowned on—“nights I spent frowning over you, spent staring at your creations until my eyes turned raw.”
“Don’t you look away from me this time.” That could’ve been the last straw, the final warning his weary self could utter before crumbling—surrouded to the miserable want, all the wishes, all the prayers concluded into one warm embrace colliding around Blade’s torso. Slowly, fearfully, after one awkward moment passed by did the general dare to tighten his grasp.
The swordsman stand there, unflinching, unmoving—muscles slowly relaxing like he had long viewed the warmth that was sinking down to his flesh was home, never poision—again a silent battle within himself. To run, to refuse, or to stand, to stay and feel his body loosening as if flowers had bloomed through the cracks?
The moment remains awful nonetheless, an old bruise that hadn’t healed right, one that hurts whenever something minor pressed against it. Yet Jing Yuan pressed on anyway, thinking, for once so simply—that if he hadn’t hugged the swordsmith this time, there wouldn’t be any time left for them to clash an eye, let alone an embrace.
Foolish, Jing Yuan called himself that—like the elders once called, like his master once flicked his head by—but with this bottomless, selfish want, no sane man would be able to resist, let alone a man carrying such responsibilities like the general here.
But before those poisonous thoughts could sink in further, Jing Yuan’s ears caught slight ruffling sounds—small, gentle, as if someone was trying their best not to disturb the moment—then arms came around him too. Blade’s, rough with bandages, briefly stained with metal and blood—a smell the general had soon gotten used to like breathing oxygen.
Warmth against warmth, heartbeats echoing throughout the ribcages—Blade’s grasp wasn’t gentle, nor hesitant enough to be mistaken as pity, simply a response to the general’s show of affection.
For someone whose mind had plagued around the thought of whether Blade still cared, that was all the clarification he ever needed. Closure, warmth, not as reunited fondness—simply acceptance, reassurance that somewhere deep in the swordsman’s heart, he’s still very much wanted.
All the waves of emotions, all the thoughts that seem to keep spiraling down, now settled down to “I’m still wanted. He still needs me.”
Their eyes met again, Jing Yuan's eyes stained with unshed tears, glossy and hurt like the sulky child he once was—Blade’s gaze still stayed the same, unaffected, speaking for how his pupils trembled a slight bit—emotions revoking again, warmth recoiling beneath his sternum again.
Then met their lips, laced with unresolved anger, laced with those intense emotions neither knew how to name. Jing Yuan could not deny the soft, pillowy feeling as his lips rest by the other’s, butterflies tingled in his stomach, felt as closer to bursting in sheer starvation—starved of love, of this intensity, nights he’d spent wanting, wishing for a single touch of his fingertips onto the swordsman’s face, never this boldness.
He’d only lost his mind to refuse such a lovely offer.
“Mn..” A small sigh slips past. Followed by the tightened of his grips on Blade’s torso, drawing him closer, kissing him deeper—not enough to reckon sloppy, obscene noises, but sheepish kittenish licks across Blade’s soft lips. Each time Blade responded with the same vigor, the same heat burning the organs inside him, the general felt like a long, shameful wish of his had been fulfilled.
Only a promise, Jing Yuan thought, pressing in deeper. Lips touching much further, openly gasping, inhaling the swordsman’s metallic smell that he had grown to love despite being surrounded in the scent of papers and stillness all the time.
“Jing Yuan…” Blade mumbled with a soft gasp, part startled at this vigor, part stilled as if he knew how much the general was left starved of his presence, and tempted to tease the poor man more. Until all the sharpness, the ‘respected general’ facade fades away—revealing a much needy persona Jing Yuan seemed to have mastered the tricks to hide.
The general could feel the tickling sensation of Blade’s breath beneath his nose, could feel his hand carding though the general’s white locks, gripping the back of his head—acceptance, allowance for the kiss to come through, embrace it fully with his body—their chest touched, heartbeats echoing throughout each other like an echo.
Beneath the dark spot of the streets, where golden lights could not reach, once castrated in solitude now felt like a veil shielding them both from everyone’s gazes. One a general, one a wanted criminal his scrolls of his face hung around the ship like someone despised, exiled from long ago—yet still adored, still yearned for by no one else but the man weightened by responsibility.
Their lips pressed tight, their heart seized tight like a wound finally being treated, a swell finally ceased down to a soft burn.
But suddenly, Jing Yuan broke the kiss, pulling back to admire the rare sight of the usual aloof swordsman now looking dazed, breathing out hot puffs against the general’s face. A rare sight Jing Yuan swore to have etched into his mind, intended to recall it whenever the longing felt unbearable—yet also because of this sight, the general does not intend to share to anyone, any ear, any gaze at all.
“Don’t act smug.” The swordsman could feel annoyance rising whenever that smug gaze settled on him as if nothing had happened, “you were just about to bawl for me.”
Of course, that warning was in vain for the general, as if his cheeky little ego had been polished by the kiss they shared. “I wouldn’t dare, dearest.” The general breathed out, voice still tangled with a hint of regret—for their kiss not to last longer, for they to kiss in somewhere more private than this small pouch of darkness.
“Shall we go somewhere scheduled, then?” He mused, arms snaking around Blade’s waist tighter, unyielding like a vine deeply rooted into his flesh—that if he lets go for once, emptiness would soon flood his chest once more. “Such ‘business’ could not be left unattended for long, yes?”
It surprised even the swordsman to see how fast he obliged, without an ounce of hesitation, without a moment of doubt—as if a part of him still thinks following this man was something natural, even after centuries spent apart. The exile should’ve done numbers onto each neuron in his brain, yet, this sort of ‘habit’ had never left in the first place.
After everything separated them both, Blade still instinctively follows the general like a habit, something embedded deep into the rakes of his brain, a pattern of want and care still lying deep underneath his skin.
He was supposed to dwell more after it, was supposed to pause, think—yet none of that ever happened, ever came up in his mind. Everything he recalled was the warmth of the general’s hand against his, the slow, almost gliding footsteps leading him into the back of the lantern-lit street.
Back there, their lips met again, sloppier, messier. With Blade’s back pressed against the rough surface of concrete, the palpable contrast was obvious within one step back. Such warmth dimmed obviously, dividing the streets in two—one lantern lit, bright and bubbly, soaked in the scent of dumplings and delicacy—other with the stark darkness, much slurtier than the other side.
Never would they have thought, never could their mind grasp around the fact that all the longing they held for all these years would collapse in a dark alleyway. Somewhere half-lit, somewhere stacked with abandoned crates—somewhere meant for filth and abandonment, not for something as passionate as love to bloom.
Nevertheless, Blade gave in anyway, could not help but sink deeper into the general’s embrace. He too couldn’t resist such warmth blooming, he too was starved of affection scattered across his face, snaking around his waist and holding him there like the strongest ledge he could ever rely on.
Kisses come invitingly, intimately—each press of lips against Blade’s were responded with renewed vigor, drawing out soft, pleased sighs. He can feel the general’s heartbeats spiking up wildly whenever he returned the kiss with the same passion—whether that’s a trick to get Blade more used to returning the deal or the general had long been easily spiked, Blade couldn’t care less, couldn't help but pressed tighter against the other.
Ultimately, there was no space left between them, chest against chest, heart against heart—the fact that Jing Yuan kept an iron grip around him didn’t help, only proved the same attachment that had not faded over the years, instead became more rich. Friction did poorly to soothe down the flame burning inside of him, for a moment, Blade considered breaking the gentle pace Jing Yuan sets out, instead wrapping his arms around the general’s neck and yanking him in deeper.
And the swordsman was glad that he did. Years of pent up frustration, years of responsibility weightening one another—what can stop him now? Moreover, who could find them now? Amidst these bustling streets, no one would ever bat an eye to shadowed figures hiding behind a lantern-lit food stall.
Arms wrapped tight around the general’s neck, locking him down to this embrace, forcing his lips to rest on Blade’s—until he can hear the other’s breath hitch, until he can hear the soft little noises slid past as Jing Yuan fought for dominance, then eventually settled down, choosing to let the swordsman guide him like a leash to a dog.
Their lips were locked together like vines, faint sloppiness spilling out, echoing throughout the empty alleyway—enough emptiness for them to both lose their composure, enough vacant for things to get much messier, much steamier than a passionate kiss shared between long lost lovers.
When they broke apart, a string of saliva hung obsessively between their lips, breathing hot puffs of breath into each other’s face, indicating how much they’ve gone—far more than ‘too much’, but lesser to the point of ‘no return’.
And Blade, selfishly, thinking that if the general wanted him, needed him that bad—then why not go overboard? He can still feel the warmth embedded into the bricks his back’s pressed against, ears still ringing of crowd noise bouncing off from everywhere—no one would ever notice them, no one would ever notice their respected general and a wanted criminal hiding behind a food stall.
Inches of the swordsman’s skin were set on fire just because of those pathetic eyes raking over his face, trying to etch the face of a criminal into his mind like someone deserved an altar to worship. Then Jing Yuan with his breath trembling with unrestrained want, shyishly murmuring, “May I?”
Blade just wanted to strangle him right there—after all these moments, after the kissing fest that left their faces blushing, left their breath labored—this was the question plaguing the general’s mind?
“Hmp.” The raspiness echoing from his throat sounded more affectionate than annoyance—as if Blade couldn’t help the jittery feeling blooming from deep within his chest realizing Jing Yuan’s gaze had settled on him fully instead of staying alerted to their surroundings. ”You haven’t changed one bit. Stop treating me like fragile glass.”
Upon hearing those words, Jing Yuan’s gaze softened evidently, something weary, seemingly close to helplessness flickering behind the gold of his eyes.
“Fragile?” He mused, the word sounded strange rolling out of his tongue, “Blade, my dearest, there had never been anything fragile about you.”
Strangely how words settled, stranger how neither of them shifted an inch, breaths seem to have caught tight in their sternum—facing sheer helplessness, what’s left for the swordsman to decide? Knowing a strong, respected figure had long been scraped raw by his emotions inside, like a rotting fruit waiting for its day to end.
The alleyway felt much smaller than before, crowded not by bodies but by everything left unsaid now falling over them like an avalanche. Centuries of resentment, years of absence, the eventual pain gnawing at them. The ache of finding each other again only to realize neither truly knew how to bridge the distance had grown between them.
Jing Yuan’s hand remained at his waist, steady, warm, still waiting as if this was something strict, not an accidental meeting in the back of the lantern–lit streets.
“Fine.” Blade huffed out, hand placed atop the general’s calloused ones and guided it beneath his tail coat. Though he looked sure, looked as if he’s in charge of the situation—the slight tremble he couldn’t help as Jing Yuan’s fingers touched the scarred torso of his gave him away.
“You’re.. Much warmer than you looked.” The comment came mused out, boldness slowly building up—slowly from skittish touches that tickled the skin to full-blown caress. As if the mere feeling of Blade’s flesh underneath his tailcoat were like a punch of drugs to the general’s mind, too alluring to resist, too attached to let go.
The swordsman could only sigh, heat gradually building up, blood rushing after each fingerprint Jing Yuan left on him, palpable on his face, even more obvious at the bulge of his trousers.
Cooled air once hinted at abandonment, sending chills up his spine—all now evaporated to steam, brushing Blade’s chest like the gentle, calloused hands of the man before him. Truthfully, yes, Blade wished to be touched like that—each caress long enough to leave an aftertaste, long enough to leave tingles sinking into his heart.
How shameless. For a want to run so deep.
Of course, sharp-eyed as the general, of course he noticed the slight tensing, how shy Blade had gotten, how his breathing labored, how he had gotten weak to lust now consuming him. And took it as a sign to wreck him open—those sun-warmed hands now roaming with much intention, tracing the curves, the ridged edges that made up the swordsman’s scarred torso.
Skin taunt with need. The general knew, his textured palms cupped every curve he could touch—tracing each contour as if he was trying to embed this feeling into the rakes of his hands, then marveled about it later. Something he could think of amidst working and felt warmth unfolding in his groin—merely by the feeling of Blade’s skin trembling beneath his hand.
Therefore, it felt like fuel to a fire, as love to a starved man—thick enough to fill his heart, strong enough for his senses to pick up, strong enough to feel aroused.
“Already?” Jing Yuan coos again, yet he did nothing to prevent it—only his touch grew more heavy with intention, hands splaying against the swordsman’s torso, slowly undoing his buttons as those hands went.
The tailcoat felt as thin as silk, Blade felt so bare—so appreciated as the other’s golden irises raked over him, gliding past his scars like achievement, gliding past his sweat-strained skin like worship. In the depth of desires, Blade wanted to deny yet he too felt so comfortable being loved this loudly.
“Be quick.” The swordsman finally gave up on his crumbling composure, words breathed out with a slight tremble of embarrassment. Himself was aching, the heat in his crotch was aching, starving for attention—every second pass felt like torture, easily pushing Blade past his own limits, easily making him whine out “I’m getting impatient.”
The general only chuckled in return—of course, the usual attire of a tilt of head and a beaming smile despite the poor situation they’re in. He then shifted closer, making his way into Blade’s little to no personal space, a warm hand smuttily cupping at the obvious tent poking between them, tracing down the wet spot that had surely soaked through the crotch of the gray trousers. His eyes tracked Blade’s face without much mercy, watching the tint deepening across his cheeks.
With a smirk, the general sucked in a breath and delved in the small, delicious gasp between his head and his spine. To those with years and years spent in the trenches, it’s a critical point to strike, but to a general who catches any chances he could, it’s his own, personal canvas.
Each kiss slowly turns rough, each bite mark etched by his teeth left scattered across the sensitive skin carry an obvious message—to claim, to assert dominance, furthermore, to prove this man as his—general’s property.
Both assaults felt like a blissful torment to the swordsman, the dark spot at his crotch blooming farther as faster by minutes passed, his member ached more, tight and strained by the tight fabric of his briefs. The tightness alone caged his erection—each twitch, each jostle strong enough for Jing Yuan to feel it, and returned by a small, barely satisfiable stroke—aimed to deprive Blade of pleasure.
“Hngk— you..” Blade gasped out, vision nearly blurred by tears of frustration, his body couldn’t help but twitch and squirm as pleasure wrecked him raw, urging him closer to the edge just by deprivation alone—how strange, how embarrassing.
“Haah….” His voice echoed off rough, the usual raspy tone now breaking underneath pleasure alone—so starved of affection, of touch that even a tingle of it can easily throw him off the cliff, drawing him in the depth of need, of want. So unlike himself, so near feral and needy at once—a constant battle of tug-of-war between his heart and mind.
And there’s Jing Yuan, who easily divided the swordsman’s attention in two—one hand teasingly stroking his cock, other hand slowly roaming up to his chest, fingers caught on sweat-stained nipple, aching red and raw—too painful for more stimulation, yet too starved to be left out.
Amidst that, Blade couldn’t do anything but held on, bandaged fingers gripping the general’s uniform, hiccupping out soft whimper and moans—legs trembling from the assault, his dick throbbed almost painfully, senses highlighted the more Jing Yuan’s hands teased, completely numb and vulnerable against him, like a damn puppet.
But the general’s lips are still busy, busy with licking, with biting Blade’s nape—scattering an intimate spot always so carefully shielded by the tailcoat. He kissed and bit for all his might, as if all the months, the years spent gazing at this back, a single whiff of Blade’s scent can get him aroused easily.
Dark marks soon bloomed on the skin as if spider lilies followed his steps—each suckle, each sloppy noise bounced off were more than enough to pull out a whimper from the swordsman. Yet until now, he still kept his guards up high, still wasn't able to let loose even if every bit of muscle was spasming—but Jing Yuan is a menace, isn’t he?
Blade wanted to say, to gasp out ‘too much’ before himself was pushed through the edge just by this menace—but within just minutes, the blush on his face had spread like wild flame, the bulge grew much more noticeable, oozing out precum a dark wet spot palpable on the grayish color of his pants.
“Ngh–ah… Jing Yuan…” Stars popped behind his eyelids, soon bloom and soon fade, unlike the pleasure wrecking Blade’s mind, drowning him in bliss, the unbearable feeling of being wanted, needed this explicitly—for a man had been long abandoned, this was his deepest of desires—and if Jing Yuan was spoiling him like this.. Then there isn’t much excuse as to why he should refuse.
“Mmn..” Lips leaving skin with a clear ‘pop!’, saliva staining skin, dribbling down the swordsman’s shoulder—a clear reminder of how far Jing Yuan went. The marks now appear damningly clear, promising longevity, promising they’ll take at least weeks to fade away—exactly what the general wants—for his presence, his touch lasts longer than a night of heat and pleasure, to be something Blade can scrunch his eyebrows in annoyance of.
The haze of pleasure soon corroded the swordsman’s mind, pulling both of them in depths of lust neither of them bother to hide—the dimly-lit alleyway seemed to highlight the sensitivity, which should've urged them to back away from decisions they can’t undo, and yet, pleasure grew bigger and messier as seconds pass.
The general’s face soon deepened with a shade of pink too—not embarrassed, but aroused—his dearest swordsman moaning so freely like this, the cold, tough facade all melted under his touch like ice, reducing the menacing Stellaron hunter everyone feared—-to just his dearest Blade.
And though his dear swordsman was holding up so well, so responsive with the intrusion—the tightness nestled in between of Jing Yuan’s crotch grew unbearable, soon become a nosy ache in his pants, trying to escape the crampy space and flung out like a damn sword—that slowly stripped Jing Yuan of the gentleness he’s trying to clutch.
“You make it..hard to resist.” Blade mumbled, breath hitching, fingers caught on the general’s white locks, gripping, holding him there as if this dazed feeling will soon leave if someone pulled away. The swordsman’s utterly ruined, clothes disheveled, his cock’s still twitching, oozing out arousal fluid much to his defiance—Jing Yuan’s hand still reverently stroking him there, pulling out soft hiccups and pleading moans.
Blade couldn’t help but buckle his hips once again, the feverish feeling of sex swallowed him whole. It surprised even himself as the sore joint of his hips could still pick themselves up and follow his sex-drunken orders instead of any rationality, any consequences waiting after this accidental hook up.
“..Spoil me..” An order, so dazed it felt as though aimed at no one at all, just a needy whine leaving his throat instinctively. “A-yuan..” Blade breathed out as his senses of arousals picked up tardily, strained but clearly hadn't faded out yet.
To which, Jing Yuan couldn’t help but relent. How could he refuse such needful orders spilling out from the man wrecked by his own hands?
“Your wish is my command.” He cooed in return, a smirk made its way to his face, confidence slowly building up, effortlessly replacing whatever hesitant still lingered in his mind—for a man yielded that much, the permission felt as spoiling.
Pressing one last kiss onto Blade’s soft lips, tasting the little of saliva that had unknowingly dribbled out—one hand now moved with renewed vigor, snaking down to cup at the curve of Blade’s backside, slowly kneading the tightness there, slowly working him open as his other hand slid up and down his dick in rhythm.
Jing Yuan moaned into the kiss, hands felt incredibly full—on one hand, the mound of flesh spilling out from his grip like squishing dough, on the other hand, his palm was thoroughly soaked by slick, glistening as he now switched into a faster pace, jerking up and down like a starved dog—a stark contrast to the calm demeanor he has earlier.
Blade, too, was slowly losing control. His body hadn't recovered correctly from earlier, leading to such low tolerance towards the intrusion his body once welcomed. The tremor soon returned to his thighs, strong stack of muscle struggling to hold on, leading to him involuntarily leaning towards the general more for support.
The general’s grasp on his backside tightened in barely-held need, lust soon coat over his mind a dirty haze, pulling him spiraling down to filth unfolding anywhere but the back of a food shop right on the Luofu’s main streets.
They fell into each other like a chain of chemical reactions, Jing Yuan couldn’t help it, he too hadn’t let go of that hard-headed personality he had as a child—wanting more, needing more, succumbing into lust like a damn dog. A dog for Blade, for only him. The man who had undoubtedly owned himself a soft spot in the general’s heart.
The air had soaked up the obscene smell radiating from what could be mistaken as a heap of half-buttoned clothes and bare skin— each little jerk wrecking Blade’s body now soon followed by soreness—a cruel reminder of how overboard Jing Yuan went. Moans tumbling out without much control, so uncharacteristically like himself—the reserved, rough voice that Jing Yuan’s heart used to jolt hearing was now prettily ruined.
His bared torso glistened by sweat, highlighted by the remaining lights enlightening from the stalls upfront, sweet as eye candy for the general’s amber eyes—their figures shadowed onto the empty back street, not enough to expose the filth unfolding between them, but enough for everyone to feel suspicion, or worse—enough for someone to took matters into their own hands and walked back.
The alleyway bounced off soft little sighs as Blade had long let go of the tough facade following him each step, reduced to a disheveled mess relying solely on the man before him for little bits of support. Slick dribbled hazily down to the soft tip of his dick, landing a dark, glistening spot on Blade’s shoe—and even now, the erection’s still there, twitching against the cold air in dissatisfaction, hard and aching embarrassingly in the general’s warm hand.
Blade could only stare in utter helplessness, star-struck at how badly himself was ruined, crimson gaze now softened by tears that gathered of overwhelm earlier threatening to roll down his blush-tinted cheeks, adding more to this pathetic state. He was, undeniably, lost in the haze of pleasure.
Couldn’t think straight, Blade grasped at the general’s slick-covered hand and guided it from his throbbing shaft to the curve of his hip, coating a thin layer of slick still glossy on Jing Yuan’s hand on his skin as he slid it to the designated spot—the twitching entrance of his ass, asking for more.
“… ahn.. again..” He repeated after catching the slight hesitation floating over the other’s golden gaze, rocking his hips almost shamelessly, seeking back friction from Jing Yuan’s hand. Wantonly chasing even though he knew the general will soon give it to him, dragging along short-lived whimpers whenever his aching dick grinded against that slippery hand.
Accompanied by fiction and Jing Yuan’s heavy breathing, erection was merely an easy thing. Even though orgasm nearly swallowed him before, his dick’s again twitching, needy and helpless.
“So needy..” The general’s eyes softened belatedly, voice so sensual despite the pity he wanted to convey—part of him felt almost regretful for turning Blade into a needy, wrecked mess, another part urged him to eat the man whole, until Blade cannot move without winching as of muscle strain.
The more he wanted to pull away, the more he wanted to give in—each desire contradicts each other, ripping his mind in half. Would he, the seer strategist of the Luofu, succumb to lust? Risking his dignity, his career in this dark alleyway with his dearest, man-of-his-dreams swordsman?
Yes, absolutely. Shamelessly.
He’d kept his fingers plunged deep into the warm hole there, dignity fading away, unveiling bare obsession—textured digits subtly pumping in deeper, nestling against the warm walls twitching, clamping down as in oversensitivity. Still hot and busy, Blade’s ‘lower mouth’ seemed to be more truthful than his body language here, kept on clenching—this greedy asshole eats him whole, swallowing the length deeply as if asking for more penetration, more attention.
Which, Jing Yuan would give him without ever thinking twice, without ever turning back too—perhaps, crossing the line of no return brought great enjoyment to his dopamine-starved brain. With Blade, with this obscene neediness, it all felt like a fever dream one wouldn’t want to wake up.
“Mnn…” Blade’s moans spilled out steadily, each little noise hiccupped out as he tried slamming his hips back, once again taking in those fingers, any radical thoughts seemed to have been lost, only lust, only want that driven him—all hesitation earlier now swallowed by the desire to be fucked more, needed more.
His heels tapped messily against the dirtied concrete, back subtly arching up to slam his hips down to those fingers—chasing what’s left of his climax still tingling inside of his abdomen.
Jing Yuan watched him in bewilderment, seeing his dearest doing such obscene acts out of lust widening his view in arguably the best way possible, and from only here—Jing Yuan’s mind drew out ecstasy-drunken dreams of Blade succumbing to lust, whining and starving for more. Yearn corrupting to lust-filled dreams.
Compulsion tethering to obsession, a hole of filth, of mud Jing Yuan wouldn’t mind sinking his hands down twice, or more, whatever he could take. Blade, his swordsman, his dearest—his muse.
Resigning—or doting, Jing Yuan thrusted up his fingers in a quickening pace, slick-soaked digits pistoning in that tight hole, blushing as those fluids trapped inside of the other’s anus sloshed, excess pumped out, dripping noisily onto the concrete floor between their legs. The smell of sweat, lingering food flowing around the alleyway soon replaced by the delicious scent of bodily fluid and sex.
“Ahn.. ngh..” A breathy moan soon followed up once Jing Yuan took control again, Blade’s grasp on the general’s shoulders tightened, gripping strong enough to leave back bruises—lips bitten raw, spilling the strong, distinct metallic flavor into his mouth—all because of pleasure, of years long restraint collapsing somewhere inconvenient.
Strong thrusts from those fingers caused remaining impact throughout the swordsman’s body, like electric shock, sending him drooling, sniffling and biting back moans just so they’re not heard from random poor vendors who accidentally went back to check their goods. Quickening, almost as rocking into the stooping, sore entrance that kept squirting out fluids built up from arousal—dragging along needy whines and half-spoken pleas with each curl.
Blade’s stubborn resistance faded slowly, unveiling a soft, needy, almost as lovely mess—in Jing Yuan’s eyes, of course, always the sweetest to his dear Blade. Their heat tumbling down against each other as Blade falls into his grasp, nerves fully numbed by pleasure, trembling each time he tries to lift himself up or buckling his hips back into those calloused digits.
Jing Yuan’s nostrils felt flared as of the delicious musk radiating off Blade’s body, the hot coil in his abdomen soon turned even hotter—fuming uncontrollably underneath skin, beneath that restricting layer of fabric at his crotch. That metallic, dusty smell that clung to him stubbornly highlighted by the sweet odor of sweat—a stark difference to the calm, soothing smell the general had gotten so used to lingering around the Luofu, how addicting.
His favoritism was awfully clear, obvious as to how he’s willing to risk it all for a hook up, but was it ever clear to Blade of how loved he is? How each scar decorated his skin, scattered across his torso, signifying lack of worth—all felt like new, felt like fresh pain to Jing Yuan.
“My dear,” He couldn’t help but praise—half of sympathy, half of how willing Blade is now, not running away, not hiding anywhere from him—whether it’s due to overwhelm or sincerity, the general couldn’t care less, he’s more than glad Blade let himself be gazed at.
The rough croon slipped out almost naturally between them. Either because Blade’s too numb to care, his mind had soon turned to mush, soaking up praises as he cannot think anymore, or this sort of push and pull felt as it had belonged to them since long ago. Just, neither of them had the chance to express such intimacy, nor for it to bloom at such a heated situation like this.
“My love,” He repeated, rewarding Blade by quickening his pace once again, this time aiming to stroke the soft mound of prostate nestled right near the entrance—a button Jing Yuan was so itched to press, knowing the result could derail a face like Blade’s.
Nevertheless, his mind was already fabricating whatever lust-soaked imagination based on what little assumption he had. That each contour of Blade’s face would scrunch in bliss, that his eyes would squeezed shut while tears ran, his abdomen would feel ablaze as if hot coal, the member hardened on his palm would soon spurt out semen—what magic had this swordsman held over him, making a mind so calculus thinking about something this erotic.
Perhaps because of that, because of the adjective standing before ‘dear’—because of that claiming tendency that pushed Blade tethering at the edge, crippling to fall. Never had he thought someone like Jing Yuan would fall into possessiveness—let alone asserting domination, laying claim to him, to his body this outwardly.
“Don’t—say that…” Blade gasped out, head lolling against the general’s shoulder, hair visibly matted by sweat, cheeks stained with that blushy tint. Lightheaded and vulnerable, those words reckon nothing but a slurred response, a mindless obedience Jing Yuan had accidentally trained.
But the gasp fell on deaf ears, as a result, Jing Yuan kept on pistoning in, aiming to strike that jittery sweet spot dead-on.
Once the general’s fingers curled and jammed down tight against that soft spot, Blade’s back arched up into a perfect bow, stone facade breaking beneath pleasure as control was stripped away from him. Couldn’t hold back those overwhelmed moans he’d once choked down his throat, now spilling out unrestrainedly. Pitiful little sobs and moans noisily filling up the alleyway.
Jing Yuan, as guilty as he is, felt as heat ran wild on his face, on his body, the trembling of his hands from overuse, to the tent at his crotch throbbing painfully like torture—wanting release, wanting to be flung out like one’s sword.
“C-close..” Blade could only warms, but pleasure soon overrode him, cutting off his sentence, making his mind go blank in mere seconds. His vision flashed white, numbed, wholly and fully drunken by sex, body trembling as he orgasmed.
The stickiness, the obvious odor of semen clung to his hand like an achievement, oozing out thick white fluids from the abused tip, soaking down to what ruined fabric of Jing Yuan’s glove, staining, stinking—like one would describe bodily discharge—but to him, what ruined sight of Blade like this, completely dependent, body twitching and arching as he ordered, all felt like a fever dream.
“Gege….” The once dominant tone now flipped to somewhat needy, pitiful, almost as mocking to the swordsman’s wasted state—what poor choice of notes, or was it intentional? Doesn’t know, Blade’s mind was just as blank as the sheet of paper, delirious, twitching as cum oozed out from the tip of his dick, as fluid spurted out from his ass as Jing Yuan withdrew his hand.
“I’m still hard…” He sulked, pretending, fishing for remorse, for Blade to speak again, dazed mind, whiny voice and all. “Can we do it one more time? Just once?”
Blade was arguably, reasonably pissed off once the question slipped out—utterly disrespectful, shameless—ruining someone until they can barely shift an inch, and still has the audacity to ask?
Clearly, this man won’t let him have some peace, constantly pulling him down the general’s bottomless pit of desire—worse, Blade couldn’t find himself refusing it. Even in the vague memories he still held as ‘Yingxing’, even when his mind was most dazed, numb and near whited out—his body still instinctively sought out Jing Yuan, like the man was home, was the remaining warmth Blade could still find radiating from the old days.
“You’re getting.. Bolder.” He muttered, truth be told, what he wanted to say was ‘truthful’—but calling the general ‘truthful’ felt like a punch to the gut. Throughout the time, Jing Yuan stood in between it all, a soothing wave washed at Blade’s old wounds. Making him wince, but also reminding him that he’s alive, that his desire ran far deeper than what he could’ve thought.
An irony—Blade used to be the console one here, used to be the teasing one here, not vice versa. Part of him felt warmth bloomed because of care, like an old fire finally feeding wood, sparks popped like hope—giving in meant Jing Yuan getting ahold of him, of his scarred body, his bare soul—his heart, his love.
“Fine.” A sigh, relenting, utterly spoiling, utterly relenting from someone as reserved as Blade—the swordsman swore he saw Jing Yuan’s face beamed as a small sun enlightening this cramped space. And irritation fades as easily once his crimson gaze witnesses that—a charmer, still is.
The swordsman grunted as he arched his body once again, cold air immediately caressing his skin, stealing away his warmth the moment he detached himself from the general’s grasp. Blade had expected soreness, pain that felt from deep within his bones—yet there was none, as though his body was more prone to destruction due to that ‘blessing’, embracing impact as if he was a mere blade smothered to do such.
But not in Jing Yuan’s arms, ever—the moment he saw Blade again trying to disturb the well-earned rest again, his hands moved on their own. Holding, sliding up the flushed skin, smearing semen coolly against the hot surface as he turns and shifts Blade into a much more convenient position, a doggy style—amidst the dark, open space.
As expected. Derailing far from Blade’s subconscious reminder of how scandalous they are—all that hesitation seemed to be washed out by lust in Jing Yuan’s head.
“Was that affection?” Jing Yuan couldn’t help but croon, voice dripping sweet as sugarcane—momentarily stopping, hands still warm on either side of Blade’s hips as he teased, fishing for more. “Spoiling me? Doting me?”
“Or are you simply just as desperate as I am?” His voice darkened slurtily, leaning closer, pressing his lips right next to his dear swordsman’s ear. Whispering filth, adding fuel to the fire, to the burning sensation threatening to uncoil like a spring compressed far too tightly.
What’s left of dignity for Jing Yuan to think about? What facade of Blade had he not seen unveiling just for minutes hooking up at this backstreet? They’ve been separated for years and yet—each time Blade responded to him, even just bodily, it pulled him deeper into the sinkhole of obsession, of a lost spark ignited again.
“Mmnf..” Blade’s cheek was smushed against the battered concrete surface, roughness itching his skin, roughness scratching the sweat-slick surface of his bare chest—roughness turned him on.
He knew damn well he couldn’t hide pleasure wrecking him, that his pulse actually spiked once pressed tight against a rugged surface. Lucky for him—or not—Jing Yuan read them all far too easily, spent years dreaming about him to memorize what little, almost silly habits he had. Or even the dirtier ones, the habits that made him human, a short-lived species that was helpless against fate.
Stirred, or just that dangerous voice of curiosity urged him to, Jing Yuan pressed one cum-stained hand against those bluish locks, each digit clamping down tight onto Blade’s scalp—and guided his head to sink down.
As he had expected, an embarrassed moan followed out—caught, ashamed by this strange pleasure Blade found himself mingling with. Fearing Jing Yuan might abuse this weak spot of him, yet cannot stomp down the bliss of being guided, Blade could only stand there miserably, torn by his thoughts.
Tingle ran through his body like bliss. Jing Yuan's hands were a cure to his heat, smoothing over the narrowed slopes of his hip—slowly, slurtily as if those hands were trying to track the scars, textured fingertips ran over them as if those wretched marks were beauty, were something deserved of an altar for.
After this—Blade thought, if he's still conscious enough—he'll likely miss how inches of his flesh were doted on, cherished instead of narrowed eyes in distraught.
His buttocks gave a feeble clench at that weird sensation he could never settle down to—accompanied by the presence of the man shamelessly addicted to him despite the years.
“Hm? Missing me already?” Jing Yuan caught sight of the slight clenching painfully easy, as if he'd learned Blade inside out from those curt minutes they spent with each other. Textured palm cupping and squashing at the curve, watching as softness spilled and melted by his hands—clearly enjoying himself.
“Yuan.” The swordsman warned, felt like a protest yet his body didn't shift away even once, still believing his words ever made the general pause—how miserable, how naïve.
“...Hmp. Know your place.” But whatever bitterness threatened to raise upon his throat like vomit was swallowed down with the same worry he once saw unfolding at Jing Yuan's then innocent gaze.
Strange, his long rotten heart—wrecked open by Mara—now can afford something overbearing as love, and the vast, the depth of it.
“Oh, I know mine,” The reply came up easily, like a script well-learned, like Jing Yuan had soon foreseen such words spilling. “My dearest, you held a soft spot for me, deep within” his tone dropped a pitch lower, punctuating by snaking a hand up to Blade's beating heart. “Here. This very space.”
A blunt reply tugged at Blade’s throat, defensiveness piling up like vomit, threatening to shatter the steamy atmosphere between them, forcing Blade to hold back his words—until Jing Yuan forced those words out himself by aligning that thick shaft right onto the swordsman’s rear, letting the other feel his impressive length, letting him feel each vein, each twitch aching to nestle inside.
Blade choked aloud, gasping as he felt the other man slowly moved, every tiny shift sending chills up his spine—the tip of his cock rubbing tensely against his throbbing hole, veins pressed at the fluffy entrance, feeling, comparing the size of his tip to Blade’s puffy ring just to tease.
For once did the swordsman feel worried for his own sake, mind racing, calculating the intensive soreness he’ll feel once this is over. His buttocks didn't have much time to recover from the earlier intrusion, let alone this massive length rubbing, aching to nestle inside his warmth.
Opposite of him, Jing Yuan’s clearly enjoying himself, keeping Blade’s mind afloat with pleasure, watching his body tremble by his erecting cock—the table had switched, for one, Jing Yuan was the one worrying, and to see Blade like this.. Truly is a sight to behold, something the general will constantly remind the other with.
Submission can be mistaken as many things–weakness, dependency—but from this? From the sight of his dearest swordsman arching up to graze and holding his cock atop his asscheeks like this? Unmistakably, this was want, barely concealed want Blade had held back so well before, now fraying like loose threads.
A breathless noise left Blade’s lips as wind brushed through him, once again reminding him of how wet himself is, hole slick, left stranded and twitching pitifully, cock left neglected, hanging down heavily between his legs—the swordsman was left ruined, following the general’s order like a damn puppet powered by dependency and embarrassment.
His throbbing hole gave a feeble clench, clarifying the emptiness, clarifying him that Jing Yuan’s providing nothing but a gentle nudge of pleasure, the left was his own senses. Aroused, endorsed like mad—his lower back felt the strain, yet he couldn’t help but arched up more, urging to take the length down to the hilt to please the burning sensation.
“Yuan..” Blade groaned, voice muffled by the wall he’s currently pressed onto, so easily to be absorbed by the heat between them, “you sadist—stop teasing me.”
He would, he will—his dick is more than aching to be buried inside the warmth, yet one thing tugged at him, enough to make him pause, pushing his desire aside as his eyes wandered to the sight of Blade’s voice being ruined—the blatantness of his annoyance whenever Jing Yuan deprived him just a second of friction. The general’s sure to get a few good kicks if Blade ever recalled this moment back and decided violence was worthy of the tease he endured.
The sight before him was enough to be marveled on for nights, roundness meeting the skin of his crotch, holding his thick shaft as he got wetter and wetter—until desire tipped over, until Jing Yuan decided he wanted to lay his claim over this round arse. Without a second thought, the general tightened his grip over Blade’s hips, sending the clear message of his desire, embedding into the soft skin the bruise of his fingertips.
Accompanied by a steady roll of his hips, the erection soon hardened, sliding past the tight muscle ring with such ease—before Blade could react, Jing Yuan used his grip on the swordsman as his personal leverage, and slammed in with a single, rough thrust. Burying his length to the hit, moaning out when he felt the velvety walls colliding inside, sloppy warmth embracing him in result of his well preparation.
Stretched out so suddenly, Blade whimpered as he felt his organ shifting, making room for the pleasant intrusion—one that his body had longed for, buried beneath doubts and hesitant until tonight. Even his little whine came out inaudibly, more like an accidental noise than a reaction, strained by both discomfort and pleasure that soon got into his mind and rewired his nervous system.
While his body soon catch up fast with the penetration, clenching almost naturally, embracing the length as if those muscles don’t know how to let go—his mind didn’t, instead Blade felt number, as if the collision was a drug to his weakened system—skin against skin, Jing Yuan’s groin slapping against his rear—all felt too much, all felt strangely good.
“Easy,” Jing Yuan coaxed, pausing for the other to readjust when he wasn't much better, breath heaving each moment passing—brain screaming at him to move, pulling away from the burning warmth he had nested his shaft into.
Blade felt every inch penetrating his drooling asshole, felt the slight sting as the girth stretched him further than the general’s fingers could do—the thick length sent tingles through him wildly, as if locked in place—a slight shift and sent the shaft pressing through the sensitive walls, pressing down at his bladder, inching him closer to squirting.
Nevertheless, a trail of dribbling squirt leaked from the tip of his dick, replacing pre-cum—sore and aching whenever warmth ran through, burning hot as each droplet rolled down his thighs. Blade couldn’t tell the aftermath nor see it, almost as if himself was blindfolded—left to guess how his body reacted, how his face looked in the dim alleyway.
“Ngh—” The general couldn’t help the noise scraped out of him, thick shaft all buried inside of his dearest, wrecking him slow, tortuously—like a warm embrace, except said ‘embrace’ was wet, coating his member wantonly in arousal fluid and need—drawing Jing Yuan closer like a siren.
Wet, filthy squelches echoed from where they’re connected, along with Blade’s needy moans that he couldn’t keep tight in his throat—as Jing Yuan kept a vice grip onto Blade’s hips, sliding out and slamming in with much force, enough for a slap cracked aloud between them, enough for Blade to feel the sting as the general’s groin smacked with his backside as Jing Yuan slowly quickening his harsh pace.
The swordsman couldn't help but whine out of stinginess—the noise that pathetic didn’t suit him at all, didn’t suit how his thighs trembling as the tip of his abused dick oozed out pre-cum onto the dirtied floor between them. But Jing Yuan relent, switched from long, bottoming-out thrusts to a shortened pace, pistoning into the other man—-thick girth lingering, felt each rake inside of the canal, making Blade’s eyes roll back in both pain and overwhelm.
Chimes of his ornaments clinking, shook in turmoil as Jing Yuan fucks into him relentlessly—a crude reminder to Blade of how rough the other’s going. His slurred moans felt as if in vain, made obvious by how his vocal cords are slowly ruined, high-pitched moans turned rough—until it felt like those noises were punched out of him instead of drawn out.
Sweat and tears rolled down his face, ruined and lightheaded, wrung dry by each snap of the general’s hips, pounding into the wet, unbearably warm channel—easily drenching the length of his shaft whenever Jing Yuan pulled out, then slamming in halfway, weak against the sensation of that stooping wet hole eating him whole, clutching him tight.
The sight of himself glistening not by his own fluids but Blade’s felt obscene—not by soothing balm, not by the oil his servants always left by his bedside table, Blade’s slick. As much as he wanted to linger inside, keeping Blade plunged deep, full and sore by none but Jing Yuan’s member—he knew the swordsman would damn well break.
“Taking me so good,” The general prompted, wanting more of his dearest’s ruined voice, wanting to hear the scold, wanting to hear the need echoing out—he too was just a man, weak against the drug radiated from the man he had dreamed for years. Each word was emphasized by a rough snap of his hips, buckling against the reddened skin, grinding his erected girth against the soft mound he knew was Blade’s prostate—inching him closer to squirt, closer to ruining his composure.
But the swordsman’s equanimity had long evaporated to mist, his mind had soon become light, driven by lust alone, by the desire that had been left buried, unattended for too long.
From above, Jing Yuan could only see his dearest’s back, see the mess of redness and soreness he’d made, not what business going down underneath—he knew Blade was scared of him glancing down, seeing the mess this fugitive had become—but Jing Yuan ever bear a bottomless pit of desire, the sight before his eyes was more than enough for him to worship for nights, his hand still inched underneath, aching to touch Blade’s drooling member.
Even numb, Blade can still feel Jing Yuan’s hand again roaming, textured digits mapping out each contour of his flesh as if he could never feel enough—sliding past moist, past the scars gleaming by the dimmed lighting, past the layer of hairs—cupping the weight hanging down heavily at his legs and forcing his legs apart, holding him open so that Jing Yuan had even more access. More buttons to press, to make the swordsman tremble, spilling out needy, unfiltered moans.
Amused, Jing Yuan gave a teasing thrust, one hand resting by Blade’s abdomen, checking his suspicion—there’s a bump nesting right at his abdomen, swelling up whenever the general slammed in, showing how far Blade’s body had taken his length, showing how deep he could reach inside of the swordsman and inching him closer to squirt.
“And.. what does this do?” He couldn’t resist but pressed down at the bump, chuckling darkly when Blade yelped out a broken sound, trickling out urine seeping filthily onto the concrete floor—not enough to cause pain, only enough for Blade to squirm in a feeble attempt of a protest, dazedly moaning out the general’s name as an accusation.
“A-A Yuan… Why did you– d-do that…!”
Blade will never know how the general’s countenance changed, never know how his broken babble was somehow fuel to the fire burning deep in Jing Yuan’s abdomen—-making him malevolent, jamming, pounding into Blade’s poor, abused hole. Making sure the tight ring wouldn’t be able to even clench again—-trembling wet, oozing out semen as it cannot hold the filth in without spilling.
Drinking in the sight of his beloved swordsman, once a fugitive feared by many souls on the Luofu—they could only witness the terror he caused, never able to lay their eyes on this ruined sight instead—the menacing gaze blurred by tears, body held bent, ass arched up, taking in those jamming thrusts so well.
“You’re stunning as the moon above, gege..” He praised, eyes not focused on the sight of Blade himself, but rather on their conjoined part—watching the fluffy ring plunged whole by his dick, watching cum drooling out lazily.
Blade couldn’t catch any of that low voice, but was busy holding himself upright as pleasure ran through his body like shockwaves, following each nerve endings to deliver pleasure to every part of his muscles. He himself still couldn’t get used to the sensation of being filled up thoroughly, couldn’t get used to the feeling of nausea tugged at the back of his mouth whenever Jing Yuan slammed back in.
The swordsman couldn’t keep up so well with the dual assault—the lack of attention his member was met with, and Jing Yuan’s rough thrusts aiming to tip him over like spilled glass—keeping him stuck between the wall and the general himself, cannot squirm or even twitch away because he learned far too well Jing Yuan took it as an invitation to slam in harder. His voice was strained, ruined—mind blank that all the things he wanted to say were all dumbed down to inaudible little noises that Jing Yuan could coo at and made him aroused all over.
The general, ever unsatisfiable, adored the noises pulled out from Blade’s strained throat too much for his own good—wanting, needing to push his dearest to the brink of breathing out curt, short gasps, too sore to afford noises like moans and drawled out whines. And Blade, unknowingly arching up to support himself and his miserable back—had accidentally made out a way for this greedy man he addressed as ‘general’.
Jing Yuan angled his cock once, tilting up his tip so that it grinds against the overly sensitive walls than the usual rhythm of slamming in and out—having felt and learned the structure inside, the general hastily wasted no time to pound in, striking the soft mound almost perfectly—a spot of softness amidst the ridges of the channel.
Lewd noises of slick and pre-cum mixing into something slippery as lubrication, spurting out lasciviously each time the tip of his length instantly making contact with Blade’s prostate, further worsening his trembling, further tipping over his restraint from not cumming right here, right now.
For all the general’s wishes for his gege, there are loving ones, selfish ones—beneath them all, shamefully shielded by excuses, were the lustful ones—tonight, many of them had been crossed out, one left was the desire to see Blade came undone, not by hands, not by words, but by having Jing Yuan’s dick plunged deep while also simultaneously being stroked too—yes, that specific.
He wanted to refuse it, but desires ran deep, and the swordsman looked utterly drained and sore from being messed around far too long—without much thought, Jing Yuan let his hand wander once again, much despite Blade’s pitiful protests and body language.
Holding the aching member in his palm as Blade shrieked, squishing and kneading his partner’s shaft like a stress toy—going much gentler than the pace he’s currently pounding into the man he called ‘dear’—knowing friction pains him, yet also brought him great pleasure from being toyed at.
“No– no, please– A-Yuan..!” Those pitiful little pleas were left ignored, Jing Yuan only responded by thrusting in much rougher, letting Blade feel his growing enormousness the more he was cussed at. Letting him realize that the kid Yingxing once scolded hadn't gone anywhere, the traits of pure stubbornness were still in him.
Until, a thick stripe of semen shoots out, coating Jing Yuan’s textured fingers in a sweet, syrupy fluid—but the general didn’t stop there, didn’t pause and let the sore lump spurting out cum in peace, instead kept going, jerking the now limp erection until he’s sure to make the man all sore and vulnerable—until what came out doesn’t carry that same viscous, sticky texture, but watery, that he had actually drained Blade out.
“You made a mess, dearest..” Jing Yuan murmured darkly, amused as he felt the palpable smell of slurtiness, “All pent-up emotions came undone– aren’t you proud of me, gege?”
“You… brat.” Each syllable was scraped raw from Blade’s lungs, but he couldn’t stay annoyed for too long, damn him, guilt tugged as he slowly saw through the pattern—the kiss they shared, the touch of Jing Yuan’s hands, all seek clarification, until this very moment—truly, Jing Yuan hadn’t changed when everyone parted ways, he’s still here, still waiting.
The truth was heavy enough for a lightheaded man like him to understand. Gathering every last bit of his strength, pushing through the trembling, the exhaustion of his body—ignoring the burning stretch, the slight tremble as his sensitive entrance was left with the cold air again, and aligning himself with Jing Yuan’s shaft.
“Here.” He said without much ceremony, like a natural act, like they haven’t been separated for years and every spark they ever have tonight will dimmed again for who knows how long.
With a nod, lingered as in longing, the general sighed, following as the swordsman asked him to—sliding his shaft into the quivering heat one last time, face lit pink as warmth surrounded him as home, his aching length embraced fully, clenching as if Blade too, doesn’t want to let go.
Panting out hot puffs of breaths as he shoots out thick, white stripes of burning hot semen, single-handly filling Blade up to the brink, groaning as he feels the channel inside squeezed around his length, milking him, holding up the fluid as if a dam.
But Blade wasn’t done yet, not at all, the moment he felt warmth piling up at his backside—the swordsman turned back, drained and all, gripped at the general’s messy white locks, pulling him down to a kiss, forcing him to hold, to stay.
“Hold me,” He breathed at Jing Yuan’s lips, tensed muscles relaxed as if a puppet cut off its strings when he was met with a warm, crushing hug—the general’s hands snaked around his waist, dirtied and drenched, yet none of that were on their mind—only the kiss, only the embrace Jing Yuan was so starved of.
Blade heart soothed, the heat coil cooling down like coal slowly losing warmth. The more they held the kiss, the more he realized that the general everyone sees as disciplined and wise is still at heart—the same stubborn boy who looked at Yingxing and decided the swordsmith was his. And had never really changed his mind, still bears the heavy heart for that swordsmith—still bears the heavy heart for him, no matter how much he’d changed.