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Wen Chaoxing had always been a natural researcher. He owned more journals than most people read in their lifetime, and he had even written three or four articles and submitted them — under an assumed name, of course — but he would never have predicted that the most intense study of his life would also be one of the world’s most niche research areas: the study of Sasha Cant. It had been a brief — so far —but intense study, bordering on the ontological, and he had come to two conclusions.
The first, of course, was that Sasha had no idea what he was doing at any point in time, and acted entirely on instinct. It had taken a while to realise that, even though it seemed obvious from the first glance. It was like he had layers. The first one was you thought, ah, this man just acts on his worst impulses at all times, and then you had a moment where you thought, no, he’s actually extremely intelligent. Then the last one was, oh, I was right at the start.
Still, the second and far more shocking conclusion was that Wen Chaoxing didn’t mind getting carried along by all of Sasha’s impulses. In fact, he enjoyed it. Nobody would have understood or predicted that, least of all him.
“Stop thinking,” Sasha said, elbowing him in the side sharply, and then almost falling over as he slipped on the ice, requiring Wen Chaoxing to reach out and steady him by the arm. He was always in motion somehow, whether that was falling or waving his arms around in the midst of some ridiculous argument that Wen Chaoxing couldn’t remember the start of. Wen Chaoxing genuinely didn’t know where he found the energy. “We’re almost here, and I need you to pay attention.”
“To what?”
“I mean, you’re slumming it down here with me,” Sasha said; he was red-cheeked and cheery even in the extraordinarily chill air of the mid-afternoon, where the sun was already setting below the Jehan mountains. “I want you to remember every detail so you recount it accurately to your Spires friends.”
“I don’t have Spires friends,” Wen Chaoxing said, carefully. Even if he did, he wouldn’t be telling one word of this to anyone. This was for him, and him alone.
“Clerk Li, then.”
“I’m not going to tell Clerk Li that I—”
“That you went to a lower city fuck-bath?” Sasha said, spinning on his heel and sliding to a stop in front of a nondescript door.
“Eventually you’re going to have to move beyond appending ‘fuck’ to any noun and expecting me to believe that’s a real term,” Wen Chaoxing said, just to make Sasha smile crookedly, which he did. He was so bundled up, with his woollen hat pulled low and his scarf pulled high, that only one errant curl of his bright hair escaped, and his eyes were narrowed chips of green.
“I thought I’d have to tie a rope around you to get you here,” Sasha said, turning and tossing the words over his shoulder like they were nothing. He always did that. He could say anything that came to mind like it was effortless. Wen Chaoxing did not know how he did it; he was also glad that Sasha was not facing him, to see him give himself away with a blink and an indrawn breath, because — because now all he could think about was drifting in the fuzzy dark with a tight rope around his neck, and Sasha’s warm fingers on his jaw, his voice saying, can’t you even stay awake?
One thing he was grateful for from the Hidden Well was a method he had been taught to organise his mind. It had been tremendously useful throughout his career as an auditor, but one thing he had not expected was how useful it would become when it came to Sasha. If his mind was a house, the room dedicated to Sasha was an expansive library, with hundreds of books penned by his hand. And within that was an even smaller, more secretive library with hundreds of sensations filed away that he would never speak of and barely ever revisited. They were too powerful, and too numerous.
“I swear to all the gods, if you back out now I’ll eat my own hair,” Sasha said, lingering at the door to the bathhouse. “I didn’t spend the last — however long it was convincing you for you to back out now.”
“I’m not backing out,” Wen Chaoxing said, holding his head high and sweeping past Sasha in a deliberate way to make him huff. The bell above the door rang as he pushed it open, but what he wasn’t prepared for was the sudden change in temperature and humidity, the steam rolling over him like a heavy blanket.
“Close the door or we’ll both get in trouble,” Sasha said, pushing in under Wen Chaoxing’s arm, as he had a habit of doing, though Wen Chaoxing did not mind. He had not been lying about the ‘however long’ it had taken to convince him. Wen Chaoxing remembered it had begun with a conversation — which was a polite way of putting it, it had been halfway to an argument — not long ago I hadn’t taken my gloves off in front of another person, and you want me to do what? That had been the beginning of it. The end of that argument — well, he was here, wasn’t he? If Sasha was lacking in anything, it wasn’t powers of persuasion. Wen Chaoxing let go of the door and shut out the world of snow and ice behind them.
Sasha nudged him in the side until he turned and went to the lockers, his hands a little unsteady on the latch, though he doubted anyone could tell. He doubted anyone except Sasha could, and he still wasn’t quite sure why Sasha could read him so well, or how he had learnt the skill so quickly. He almost feared asking. Thank the gods for the thickness of the steam, he thought, his hand lingering upon the clasp of his cloak at his throat. Everything was dim and hazy, like this was some kind of dream world, and he allowed himself to imagine it was. The only bright thing in the room, its glow permeating the steam, was the red of Sasha’s hair, like a jewelled beetle. Though he might not appreciate the comparison.
“Cant,” someone bellowed from behind them, and Wen Chaoxing blinked; at his elbow, Sasha jumped. It was a large, red-faced man coming through the steam like a veil. “Haven’t seen you in here in — gods know how long. I thought you’d died.”
“Close enough,” Sasha said, cheerfully, turning and leaning back against the lockers with an easy, rakish charm that made Wen Chaoxing’s throat close. “But I made it back all the same.”
“Read about you in the paper,” the man said.
“Is that why you’re charging me double today?” Sasha said, with a raised eyebrow.
“Ought to charge you triple, if you’re bringing Spires folk here.”
“Hey, that’s my guest, Brandt,” Sasha said, and there was a little hint of warning in his tone, though not so much that Wen Chaoxing thought Brandt had noticed. He turned a little, though in truth he did not wish to be part of the conversation. Brandt looked him up and down and then dismissed him in his esteem, which didn’t bother Wen Chaoxing, but he could see Sasha getting rankled by it, like a cat with its fur standing on end. “We can find somewhere else to go if we’re not welcome.”
“Your family’s been coming here for—”
“I know,” Sasha said, and his eyes flashed — gods, they were such a wicked green sometimes. “And I’d be perfectly happy going somewhere else.”
“Oh, it’s not that serious, little Cant,” Brandt said, holding his hands up and shrugging. “Bring whoever you like.” After that there was some exchange of coins, and when Sasha turned back to the locker, his jaw was tight and his eyes were still hard and angry.
“I can go,” Wen Chaoxing said.
“Don’t you dare go anywhere,” Sasha said, digging his thumbnail into the wood of the locker and pulling up a long splinter. “Do you really think I give a shit what they say?”
“I don’t wish to make things difficult for you,” Wen Chaoxing said, quietly. Sasha looked at the splinter for a moment. He looked as if he was going to say something, and then just shrugged and began unwinding his scarf from his neck. It was one of those moments where he truly had no idea what Sasha was thinking. After his scarf, he unbuttoned his jacket, then his shirt, and it was only when he was half-naked that he looked over at Wen Chaoxing with a raised eyebrow.
“What are you waiting for? I’m not going to tell you what to do, you know.”
“You always tell me what to do,” Wen Chaoxing said, and although it was quiet, Sasha blinked and went quite red.
“Take your — take your clothes off, then,” he said, and Wen Chaoxing had to file the slight tremble in his voice right into that dark room at the back of his mind. Sometimes he wasn’t sure the way they’d approached things was correct. Nothing quite made sense. Half the time nothing was even defined, like grasping at smoke. But: that was Sasha. He seemed so sure of himself most of the time, in a way that Wen Chaoxing could not grasp, or even remember grasping. Not since — well, now wasn’t the time to think about that.
He was slow about undressing. Sasha was fast, and Wen Chaoxing was only distracted when he heard a metallic thump of something going into the locker next to his.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“What did you just put in there?” Wen Chaoxing said, narrowing his eyes. Sometimes a medium stare was the only thing to get Sasha to stop wiggling away from the truth.
“A — a knife.”
“A knife?”
“A man can carry a knife, can’t he?”
“I’ve never seen you with a knife.”
“You’ve got your sword, I’ve got a knife. It’s proportional.”
“And where did you get it?” Wen Chaoxing said. Sasha swallowed, which meant he knew Wen Chaoxing would not like the answer. Which means Wen Chaoxing could guess the answer, like a back-alley card sharp, though he would not earn any rimes for the trick.
Sasha mumbled something under his breath; Wen Chaoxing glared at him until he went pale.
“Levi gave it to me, all right?”
“Why did Levi Cormorant give you a knife?” Wen Chaoxing said, and then became suddenly aware that they were fighting in whispers in the middle of the bathhouse changing room, which was blessedly empty.
“He wasn’t much a fan of when I got beat to shit, you know?” Sasha hissed. “I get it, I know you don’t like him, but he just gave it to me to protect me. If you’d thought of it first, you’d probably have done it.”
“I certainly would not have,” Wen Chaoxing said, aware he was sounding more and more like a collegiate snob with his clipped tones and pronunciation, but utterly unable to stop.
“Well, it ain’t like either of you are going to be around me from the godsdamned sunup to sundown, so just leave it, can't you?” Sasha said. Wen Chaoxing wondered if he knew his voice changed when he got irritated. Nothing like Levi Cormorant’s thieves’ cant, of harsh vowels and broken consonants — all right, maybe a little like that.
“Do you know how to use a knife?”
“You do a little one of these,” Sasha said, doing a stabbing motion with one hand in the air. “If that doesn’t work, you do it again.”
“You’re more likely to cut yourself than anyone else,” Wen Chaoxing said, frowning.
“Well, what do you want?” Sasha hissed. “You want me to go up to the collegium and enrol in knife lessons? Do you have a knife certificate?”
“I can teach you if you like,” Wen Chaoxing said, and he saw Sasha’s expression change so quickly it was almost certainly breaking some kind of law.
“Really, Chaoxing?” he said, and it was almost a rasp rather than a whisper. Sasha’s sex voice. Though even thinking that made Wen Chaoxing feel strange. “What happens if I win, huh? What happens if I win, and you lose?”
“Then I’ve been a good teacher.”
Sasha’s hah bounced off the walls and lockers, and he turned his full attention towards undressing Wen Chaoxing. Being the subject of Sasha’s full attention was often disconcerting, like being illuminated by a sudden bright light. Every now and then, at these moments, he remembered his very first impression of Sasha — a sodden little thing, like a wet, skinny cat, his angry green eyes flashing in the dark.
“Stop that,” Sasha said, taking Wen Chaoxing’s reverie as reluctance. “As if this is the first time I’ve made you do something you didn’t want to do.” He was unbuttoning Wen Chaoxing’s shirt with a shocking efficiency, and Wen Chaoxing had no choice but to let him do as he wished. Whenever Sasha got like this, it was better to just let himself be carried away on the hot, oppressive wave of his will. A conqueror’s will. Wen Chaoxing swallowed, his throat suddenly tight.
Sasha gave him a brief, disparaging glance up and down, which didn’t seem to quell Wen Chaoxing any further. He took in a brief breath — about as much as he allowed himself to express anything, when he wasn’t alone with Sasha — and imagined himself on a leash of air bound to Sasha’s hand. That image was enough to motivate him to divest himself of his remaining clothes, though he knotted a towel firmly around his waist. Sasha did no such thing, simply flipping his over his shoulder, making Wen Chaoxing grateful for the hazy atmosphere.
“Sasha,” he said, low enough that Sasha looked up at him questioningly. Sometimes he wished for the armour of formality, though he knew the betrayal in Sasha’s eyes at being called ‘Clerk Cant’ now would be unbearable. “When you say you’ve made me do things I don’t want to do—”
“I mean things I want you to do that you don’t want to say you do,” Sasha said, quickly enough that Wen Chaoxing thought he must have been thinking about it himself. “I’m not going to, you know.”
That was not quite good enough for Wen Chaoxing, who, in the terrible depths of his heart had occasionally thought: what I really want is to lock you in a room where no one can see or touch you, only me. Only us, forever. That was too much. His hesitation made Sasha’s eyes soften further, till they were like warm green tea.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” Wen Chaoxing said, immediately, without hesitation.
“I know this isn’t a fuck-serial,” Sasha said, cavalier enough that Wen Chaoxing knew it was in response to his earlier comment. “And everything you like is so disgusting you won’t find someone else to do it with anyway.”
Wen Chaoxing's breath caught in his throat; it was — it was the way Sasha said it. In serials, or even in his own fantasies, the conqueror always said things like they ought to be a revelation to the yielder, as if only they could see. But Sasha didn't talk like that. Sasha had never talked like that. He just said things with the certainty of truth. An immutable fact. In this case — and in most cases — he was right. Thought that didn't make it easier to hear.
The bathhouse proper was dim and filled with more steam than air. That air was thickly scented with oil and burning fragrant wood and herbs. The walls were made out of rough-hewn rock, leading flickering shadows into alcoves and niches, followed by rooms closed with dark wooden doors.
"It's not how I thought it would be," Wen Chaoxing said, low. In the gloom he could only see dim lights and the edge of Sasha's face. Sasha chuckled, low.
"It's exactly how you thought it would be," he said, gently nudging Wen Chaoxing with his hip. "Once we fill out our forms and get a little deeper."
"Forms?"
"Ah, I knew that'd get you hot," Sasha purred, looking at Wen Chaoxing sidelong. "You're not on the clock now, you know."
"Yes, I know," Wen Chaoxing said. Sometimes he didn't know how to respond to Sasha's teasing. A lifetime of being teased by his brother had not prepared him for this sort of call and response; he'd spend years training himself to simply not react — which, of course, had only spurred his brother on, though he'd not realised that for quite a while. Sasha made a movement which Wen Chaoxing knew was his usual good-natured nudge in the side, but it was as if he'd realised that he was naked, and that Wen Chaoxing was almost naked, and turned it into an awkward shrug.
"They just want to make sure of your preferences," Sasha said, drawing out the word. "Somehow it always just comes down to alignment." There was a counter with a pile of slates and chalk at one end, and Sasha picked one up and handed it to Wen Chaoxing; somehow he made even that motion sardonic. For most people, Wen Chaoxing knew — and he had experienced it himself, though he had worked past it in one way or another — there was just something about Sasha that made you want to push him over. It was the way he talked. The way he looked at you. There was something in his eyes that just said, is that it? It had only gotten significantly worse since they'd first met, which to Wen Chaoxing — and almost nobody else — was a very good thing.
He had hesitated too long, and now quickly attended to his slate. He ignored the marks for alignment, which was no one's business but his own; instead he selected private room, bath oils, and ignored the more salacious options. Sasha was fond of insinuating Wen Chaoxing was a prude, and in some ways he was right. But — the reason for that was often because Wen Chaoxing didn't want to know what was coming before it happened. Even that lit a dark spark somewhere deep in the pit of his belly. Sasha always thought of something.
But this time it was too difficult to contain his anticipation, and he snuck a glance down at Sasha's slate. This, and many other things, somehow felt transgressive; he had spent a fair number of days by Sasha's side at this point, both before and after the trial, but it still felt inexplicably fragile, like frost on a window that might disappear from the warmth of a breath. More than that, there was always a thrill in breaking long-held behaviours. He had spent so much time learning to not display the slightest interest in anything his brother did or was doing, despite how obviously he was striving for attention. Even now, he hesitated to think his brother's name at all. It seemed to have the uncanny effect of summoning him.
He was jolted from these thoughts by the words on Sasha's slate. Massage. Private room. Number of patrons: one. His eyes skipped down. Alignment: Martyr. Tolerance: High. Alignment: Taker. Requests: Penetration. Preference: Large. Wen Chaoxing suddenly could not swallow; it felt as if there was a knife lodged in his throat. Was this normal? Was this what Sasha had intended, bringing him here? That had to be right: showing him what was normal. Showing him that he knew what Wen Chaoxing could not do.
His heart was swollen with blood, and his belly clenched. He looked away, because he could not look. They had never had — there was no definition between them. They weren't bonded in any way. They certainly weren't married. And even at that word, he heard the ghost of Sasha's voice whispering, could you even perform the ceremony? It was in his head. He was doing this to himself.
He knew things weren't like the serials, where people pledged undying love and then never so much as looked at another person ever again. Sasha looked at other people. Wen Chaoxing knew that. But there had never been a moment where he'd felt comfortable enough to sit him down and spit blood into his cupped hands and say, am I enough for you? What should I call you in my mind? Also, do you know Levi Cormorant is in love with you? You can't not know that, right?
"Are you all right?" Sasha said, looking at him curiously. "You look odd."
"I'm fine," Wen Chaoxing said, and he must have sounded all right in some capacity, because Sasha did not question him further, and just took his slate from his hand and deposited it with his in the slot in the wall.
"I didn't think you'd want a massage," Sasha said. "Some stranger touching you, you know?" He raised his hands in the air and wiggled his fingers in a fairly sinister way.
I didn't think you'd want some stranger fucking you, Wen Chaoxing thought, but he could not speak. He knew he wasn't good enough. He knew it. Sasha told him often enough. His blood was rushing through his head and his body. Worst of all, it was getting him hard. His traitorous body did not know the difference between true betrayal and what a yielder such as him craved. It never had.
Something rattled down in the return slot, and Sasha retrieved it, tossing Wen Chaoxing a wooden tag. "Blue's yours, red's mine," he said. "Shall we take a walk around?"
Absolutely not, Wen Chaoxing thought, with unyielding force of iron. But — no matter how he carried himself, when he looked down at Sasha’s entreating face, that will melted. He was still quite unsure how ‘absolutely not’ immediately became ‘I certainly don’t want to, but if it’s your will’ beyond his own nature. He was sure, however, that it would not work quite so well with any other conqueror. Not that any other would even dare to try.
Sasha’s gaze on him was beginning to feel more pointed.
“Is that not why we’re here?” Wen Chaoxing said, more arch than he intended.
Sasha just shrugged, rolling his shoulders, and said, “Not really.” He refused to elucidate, and ended the conversation by walking away with what appeared to be complete faith that Wen Chaoxing would follow him.
“I bet you've never been in a place like this in the Spires,” Sasha said, a scratch of a blade in his voice. He was glancing at Wen Chaoxing sideways, which made him feel odd. He took a moment to consider the question, looking down at the lines of doors of private rooms hewn into the rough rock — some closed, some open with what he supposed was meant to be a permissive indulgence.
Sasha expected him to say there weren't any places like this in the Spires, so he instead said, “I wouldn't step foot anywhere like this without your insistence.” Which was meant to be a rebuke, but Sasha smiled his little crooked smile instead of taking offence.
“Too late to go back now,” Sasha said, peering into the gloom of an open room. “Unless you’re a coward. Are you?”
The way Sasha spoke — teasing and matter-of-fact all at once — made the back of Wen Chaoxing’s neck tingle. Of course he wasn’t a coward, was his first, most intrusive thought. How dare Sasha even say such a thing? But, had he not acted in a cowardly manner towards Sasha? He had. He had failed to confront his own feelings, and had harmed them both. His face twitched. “Maybe so,” he said.
“That’s no fun,” Sasha said, and seized his hand — he had a moment to be shocked by that, the innocent brush of skin made obscene by nudity — and pulled him into the warm embrace of the nearest dark room. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, and to interpret what he was seeing.
A man bent backwards almost double, legs tied behind his head, which was shrouded in a black hood — the only garb he wore. Wen Chaoxing’s mouth thinned, and he looked away; it felt wrong to be gazing upon another.
“Prude,” Sasha said, softly. Wen Chaoxing’s gaze flicked to him; he didn’t look affected by the display either. Of course, it wasn’t for them. This man was waiting for someone typically inclined. Sasha pointed at Wen Chaoxing, and then at the man, and raised his brows. Do you want to fuck him? It hit Wen Chaoxing like acid rolling down his throat. He pressed his teeth together, his jaw creaking. How could — how could —
Sasha was shaking his head, rolling his eyes. He pointed with more emphasis and specificity at the dark ropes pressing into the man’s skin, and then at Wen Chaoxing. Oh. He felt stupid for a moment, but brushed it away. How was he meant to tell the difference between the worst fears that cut one way, and those that cut another? He could not find the words to express this to Sasha. In all honesty, the words that were loudest in his mind were more like a treatise: well, no, not exactly like that, but if I could revisit the thought of being on your leash — he shook his head.
Sasha clearly took that as a no, though Wen Chaoxing had not specifically meant that — but he also did not wish to ponder on what not specifically meaning no did mean. That it was the setting, not the action. He did not wish to say that. It was one of those frequent moments where he preferred not to speak at all. Sasha understood this somehow. It was becoming more and more unnerving how Sasha just seemed to know what he wished. It was not as if Sasha could perceive his thoughts; he certainly knew that much. But it was almost worse that it was something else.
“Come on,” Sasha said, tugging on Wen Chaoxing’s arm. Being back in the corridor, even with its thick steam, made it easier to breathe; Wen Chaoxing felt his lungs opening up. Sasha drew him past a few more doors, his gaze steadfastly fixed forward, and dragged him into the sauna, pulling the door shut behind them. It was empty, as far as he could tell. The steam was far thicker here, the walls of the room blurry and indistinct. Sasha sat, and pulled Wen Chaoxing down, and then everything was still for a moment, apart from the sound of Sasha’s soft breaths next to him.
Wen Chaoxing snuck a look at him, even though he supposed he did not have to sneak. Sasha was as red as his hair, his eyes half-shuttered, but he sighed and leaned into Wen Chaoxing heavily, as if he was suddenly exhausted. Wen Chaoxing knew what the next step was, but he could not bring himself to move, let alone put his arm around Sasha. Everything felt like an overstep. Everything felt like not enough.
Instead, he focused his energy on shoring up Sasha’s tired weight, but that too was a mistake, because he was overly conscious of the heat of Sasha’s skin on his. Sasha was soft and he smelled good — gods, it was enough to make his cock stir under his towel. That was a learned response, a keenly taught instinct that when Sasha was near and nearly naked, something nice was about to happen.
Well. Wen Chaoxing was unsure if it could be described as nice.
Sasha appeared not to notice Wen Chaoxing’s response, however. He fought with himself. It was gauche to so directly draw attention to it, he thought, but also to neglect Sasha was —
“Are you hot?” Sasha said, his voice thick with sleep. “You feel different.”
“I’ve never been good with heat,” Wen Chaoxing said, and had to tick that off his mental list of weaknesses he'd never admitted to anyone. “I don’t enjoy the summer.”
“We can go,” Sasha said, but Wen Chaoxing shook his head. He was not fond of the idea of disturbing Sasha from his comfortable half-slumber. There had been too many nights of broken sleep of late; once or twice he’d even caught Sasha blindly stumbling around getting ready for the day’s work at the warehouse. It had taken long minutes before he’d truly woken and realised where he was, but there was a deep, bone-held anxiety in him when he’d thought Wen Chaoxing was making him late. Now, if Sasha wanted to doze against his side, he had no power within him to stop it.
Instead, he raised his hand and summoned a trickle of magic, the cold soothing in his veins as he lifted a cube of ice from the sauna pool and floated it over to the coals, dropping it with a hiss.
“Makes sense,” Sasha muttered into Wen Chaoxing’s arm. “You being all icy and not liking the heat.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Wen Chaoxing said, and Sasha gave a sleepy little murmur in response that set Wen Chaoxing’s chest ablaze in a way he could not name. It was as if his heart was the one part of his body being steamed. They sat like that for long moments, until the door creaked open again, and Sasha came awake with a little snort. He looked up at Wen Chaoxing, who looked down at him, and then they both peered through the steam.
Two men, one taller, one shorter, took up places opposite them. Neither of them had towels on, Wen Chaoxing could see — but there was not much more he could see, and little more he wished to. But, seeing them, Wen Chaoxing realised with a jolt what they must look like: a tall giver and a small taker, perfectly aligned in the most obvious way. He swallowed, slow. Sasha put his hand on the towel over Wen Chaoxing’s thigh, in a way that was more grounding than provocative. He breathed in; the other giver wrapped his arm around the taker, and then looked up and cocked his head at Wen Chaoxing, dragging the taker’s head down to his lap.
Wen Chaoxing flushed. He couldn’t help it. Sometimes Sasha’s pointed little jabs were right. Or — they often were. But this did make him uncomfortable. He was a bad Miran.
“Hey,” Sasha said, sotto voce, and looked up at Wen Chaoxing with damp lashes. “You want to—” He pointed to his own mouth, then down at where Wen Chaoxing’s cock was stirring under the cloth. It went through him like a shock, but as the lingering aftermath of the wave washed over him, it was — it was not because of the scenario. It was just because it was Sasha. It was only ever because it was Sasha. He shook his head a little, and Sasha frowned a little. That made it worse, though he was unsure if it was a deliberate contrivance.
“Then...” Sasha said, and he pointed at Wen Chaoxing and then himself, and he could not have stunned Wen Chaoxing more if he had struck him, which — he suddenly could not think. To betray his own perceived posture right here, right now, in public, to have Sasha tear away the veneer he had been so carefully maintaining and betray his weak, transgressive nature —
Oh, gods. He bit his tongue, but it did nothing to stop the rage of heat suddenly boiling his blood. Sasha’s brow had furrowed, as if he had thought twice about his own suggestion.
“Let’s go,” he said hurriedly, grabbing at Wen Chaoxing’s arm. “I think it’s time for my appointment.”
Wen Chaoxing could only nod and follow along, out of the thick steam and back into the humidity, Sasha dragging him with a quick step, his bare feet light on the damp tiles. Wen Chaoxing was drowning in his own mind, trapped in his own thoughts, following only the bright back of Sasha’s head. Sasha was — disappointed? He could not tell, but the thought that he had disappointed Sasha was only instinctively making his blood run hotter. He was being caught in that crux where everything he did made it worse, and everything being worse made him hotter.
Still, somehow they were back at the doors, and Sasha held out his hand, expectant, and Wen Chaoxing looked at it stupidly. He saw Sasha peer searchingly into his face, as if he was expecting something more from him, and finding nothing. Did Sasha even know he had plunged Wen Chaoxing into yielding with a silent point? In books they always did it by, perhaps, grabbing the yielder’s cock and saying something like you come when I say or whatnot, but Sasha hadn’t even gotten him naked.
“My token,” Sasha said, very patiently, and, oh. He had forgotten. He had forgotten that he wasn’t serving Sasha’s needs correctly, and that he needed more. He needed a professional.
“Right,” Wen Chaoxing croaked, finding where he had tied the tokens to the knot of his towel, and handing Sasha his. Sasha hung it on the hook by the door, and cast him a sidelong glance.
“You won’t be lonely, will you?” Sasha said, his eyes cutting right through Wen Chaoxing’s flesh. “On your own.”
“No,” Wen Chaoxing said, because he did not know what else to say.
“See you later, then,” Sasha said, and he slipped inside and closed the door in Wen Chaoxing’s face. It was like bathing in ice, his blood running in reverse, away from his heart. How could he just — like it was nothing. Nothing at all. No, he’d done it in front of him. He’d meant for Wen Chaoxing to know.
He was gripping the tag in his hand so hard that it was digging into his flesh, a single pulse point of pain. His thoughts, normally so structured and calm, were spiralling like cracks in glass, spreading out inevitably. Then he did something so out of character, so unusual, that he knew he would not have done it before he met Sasha: he acted on instinct.
He snatched the red tag from the alcove by Sasha’s door and threw it in the return slot; it had barely clattered against the bottom before he hung up his own in its place, the green saying: do not enter. Then, he hesitated. How would Sasha react? Transgression. A narrowed gaze saying without speaking: I didn’t want you. I wanted someone good.
All thought was gone. He put his hand on the door and pushed it inward, into a world of dim light and faintly fragrant air. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, and he sucked in a deep breath of that heady smoke from the glowing brazier. Love herbs, he thought, and struck the thought away.
Sasha was lying on a stone table, naked, face down. Wen Chaoxing’s throat closed at the sight. Pale skin, flushed — there was an air of anticipation about him. Wen Chaoxing could read that in him, the way that his shoulders were tense, his shoulder blades jutting up. There was something dark on his head. A blindfold. He understood that instantly: anonymity. No, it was more than that. More — disgusting. Sasha didn’t care who fucked him. Anyone would be better than Wen Chaoxing. Anyone.
He made a noise low in his throat, and then tried to clamp his lips shut. Surely Sasha couldn’t tell it was him from just a noise. He tried to focus. Tried to draw fresh air into his stiff lungs, but there was nothing.
“You can start,” Sasha said, stretching lazily. Wen Chaoxing saw the movement of muscle in his flesh, the play of veins under his pallid, translucent skin. His feet slipped against the stone of the table, and Wen Chaoxing’s gaze was drawn to them. There was something vulnerable about seeing the soles of Sasha’s feet, delicately smooth like the inner pearl of a shell. He was just standing and staring like a stupid statue. His breath was unsteady; Sasha could surely hear that. He tried to temper it.
He made a small noise of assent — he could not speak. Surely Sasha would recognise his voice. He blinked his bleary eyes, and tried to focus down on the table. Sasha was reclining comfortably in it, and there were bottles on either side. The first was a set of scented oils. He opened one and slicked his hands. It, too, was an uncomfortable mental trigger. When he slicked his hands like this, it was because he was about to enter Sasha. Not now, though. He had another task. He laid his hands on Sasha’s shoulders and Sasha twitched, full-bodied, as if he had not expected to be touched.
“Oh, you have big hands,” Sasha said. Wen Chaoxing could feel the tension in his body just through that one point of connection, the muscles in his shoulders hard and certainly not yielding.
Wen Chaoxing had read at least one manual on massage. All right, more than one. All right, also some erotic manuals. He knew what to do, theoretically. He knew how to do a lot of things, theoretically. But theoretics didn’t include how it felt to have his cock so hard he could barely form a thought, nor the lush scents of orange oil and whatever was in that brazier.
“I wish my giver had hands like you,” Sasha said, rolling his shoulders back into the touch. Wen Chaoxing dug his thumbs into the muscle and Sasha made a noise of relaxation, and only then did what he had said strike Wen Chaoxing in the back of the head. “He’s just — it’s not as good.”
Wen Chaoxing caught on fire. Sasha didn’t know it was him. Sasha couldn’t know it was him, not from just this. But he was perfectly willing to talk about Wen Chaoxing’s thoughts to a perfect stranger. Wen Chaoxing let out a breath and leant his weight onto his hands, on Sasha’s back; he made a little noise in between pleasure and pain.
“Gods, that feels good,” he said. “You feel so good. Not like my p—partner. My current giver.”
Wen Chaoxing could not disguise his voice, so instead he focused on Sasha’s body. It was just so responsive. That was his first thought about it. Everywhere he touched bloomed red just from the pressure of his skin, as he worked his muscles. Sasha was going loose and warm underneath him, his skin becoming blotchy with it, his arms falling slack. He made another little noise of pleasure-pain. Wen Chaoxing was seized by the sudden urge to really dig his hands into him, to press his nails into his skin and leave red trails. He knew the sound Sasha would make from that. He knew Sasha would go liquid. But — no. Sasha had been hurt enough.
Instead, he swept his hands down Sasha’s back, concentrated on the wiry muscles of his arms, his skinny ribs and waist, which made his mind splinter into a hundred thousand different pieces. Oh, gods, he had always prided himself on his ability to remain solemn even at the worst of times, but this was different.
“The sex is all right, I guess,” Sasha said. “Sometimes I wish his cock was bigger. Sometimes I wish it could reach the really good parts, you know?”
Wen Chaoxing’s grip tightened on Sasha’s waist; Sasha squeaked, and his hips kicked down against the stone, and that created a chain reaction across his entire body. Wen Chaoxing felt a part of him collapse inside, and could not name what it had been used for. His body felt like it was attuned to Sasha’s now, and evoking pleasure from him rebounded against his own mind.
“Feels good,” Sasha said, half-drunk with it, and Wen Chaoxing could just see the side of his head, the edge of his sweat-damp curls. For a fleeting second, he remembered the divine punishment, and even just those words seared against his skin like a brand. He remembered Sasha’s eyes, wet and green and commanding all at once. “You just know how to make it feel good. He tries. He really does. But he’s not that good.”
Wen Chaoxing made a noise deep in his throat, and fought to suppress it. It was uncomfortably close to — moaning. Moaning like a taker would. His face was burning hot, and there was that tight, uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach, the one that hurt and felt good all at once. Of course Sasha wanted someone better than him. He was still fresh, despite protestations. He didn’t know how to do everything. Everything that Sasha wanted. And his cock — he was inelegant. Inexpert.
He put his hand on Sasha’s ass, and Sasha jumped a little, a shiver going from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head; he lifted his hips a little, his ass jutting into the air. That wasn’t a ploy. That was involuntary. Wen Chaoxing paused for a moment, and poured oil over his hands until they were wet with it, and it dripped down the small of Sasha’s back, making him shiver again. Then he went down to his legs, the back of his thighs, and Sasha made a small, disappointed noise, but Wen Chaoxing stroked down his thighs, his fingers brushing the back of his calves, pressing his thumb hard into the sole of Sasha’s foot, which shot a jolt up his leg and made him gasp.
More, Wen Chaoxing thought, chasing Sasha’s reactions. There were three more phials of oil next to the table, marked red, orange, and green. He knew those. There was a ghost of Sasha whispering by his ear, I wish you’d used the red. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt Sasha, not like all the others had. Even though holding back on his own nature felt like trying to hold a fistful of flames.
“Tease,” Sasha said, through a choked throat. His fingers were scrabbling against the stone in anticipation. “Not like him. He’s too quick. Can’t even hold it together long enough to really fuck me.”
Enough, Wen Chaoxing thought, his mind swelling and overflowing the limits of his head. He seized the orange salve without letting himself think twice, and dipped two fingers in it, and then, without letting himself hold back, he pressed them straight against Sasha’s hole. Sasha jerked forward, almost braining himself on the edge of the stone, and gasped.
“Oh, fuck,” he said. Wen Chaoxing pushed his fingers in without stopping, Sasha’s hole tight and grasping at the same time. Wen Chaoxing knew he liked it rough and underprepared, but seeing the reality of it took him aback every time. Sasha’s whole body was burning with it now; he felt so hot inside that it was almost unbearable to touch him. He reached as deep as he could, and Sasha’s hole was beckoning him further in, squeezing, reluctant to let him go. It was always just — he was so small, his hips narrow, his waist thin, his ass — it was rude to say it was small, but, with Wen Chaoxing’s hands on it, he could squeeze it entirely, digging his fingers into the muscle until Sasha’s breath hitched into a sob. He twisted his fingers, curled them directly into his prostate, and pressed. Hard.
“Ch—cheater,” Sasha said, pushing back into that touch. The balm he was using smelled faintly of ginger, and it was making Sasha’s hole burn around his fingers; it was red and tight, and inside was only growing warmer. He pressed a third finger in, and Sasha went tense for a moment, shuddering through it.
Wen Chaoxing had lost it. He knew that. But normally it took more provocation. His world was narrowing down, becoming smaller and just focused on the tight red grasp of Sasha’s soft, wanting hole. He took up the salve with his other hand and pressed more into him, until Sasha was rolling his hips back again against Wen Chaoxing’s pursuing fingers, pressed together against Sasha’s prostate. It was — he was not seeking to make him come, but just to provide endless, tantalising pressure. A promise of what was to come.
“Just do it,” Sasha panted. The rim of his hole was stretched out now, and it looked painful — though Wen Chaoxing knew that meant Sasha would like it. He rubbed at it gently, idly with his thumb. “Come on.”
But he didn’t want to remove his fingers, even though his cock was throbbing with neglect. He did not want to give up that point of contact. He fumbled for the oil again, not the salve, and poured a generous measure across his hand, half-trapped in Sasha’s body. Sasha made a tremulous questioning noise beneath him, and then Wen Chaoxing spread his fingers out and pressed his little finger inside, making space within Sasha’s body. Sasha made a pained, shocked noise, and clenched around him, though whether it was out of pleasure-seeking or a reluctance to accept, Wen Chaoxing could not tell. He continued pressing in and out, until the rhythm of it was hypnotic. He could feel the painful press of Sasha’s swollen prostate, and his legs were rubbing, kicking against the table, his toes curled.
“Bastard,” Sasha snapped, and there was genuine ire in it that struck Wen Chaoxing to the core, and made the pit of his stomach churn. But he had to make a response to that, so he stretched his fingers again and slipped his thumb against the edge of Sasha’s rim, wet with oil, and tried to press it inside. For a moment, it would not go, and he could only hear Sasha saying, faintly, oh, my gods, oh, my gods, over and over again. Suddenly, Sasha relaxed; there was no longer any resistance, and Wen Chaoxing's hand slid inside of him, slowly, carefully, his rim clenching on Wen Chaoxing’s wrist.
Sensation ruled him. He was nothing more than the grip of Sasha’s body on him as he slowly, carefully, brought his hand into a fist, Sasha’s hole fluttering around him.
“Oh, fuck,” Sasha said, and he sounded insensate, thick-tongued, as if he might choke on it. “Oh, my gods.” Wen Chaoxing pressed further, inching his fist deeper, deeper into Sasha. The pressure was intense. He could feel nothing more than volcanic, grasping heat, the imagined thump of Sasha’s heartbeat, his frantic breaths. “Oh, it’s too much. It’s too big.”
Now that was something he’d never heard Sasha say before. Not even as a theoretical, if they happened to be speculating, or if there was a particularly outlandish detail in one of his erotic manuals. Sasha’s breath was hot and harsh, and he was pressing his head down agains the stone as if it might offer some modicum of relief.
Wen Chaoxing could feel Sasha’s pleasure in the flutter of his soft walls, and how he was priming his body to open further for Wen Chaoxing, a half-sucked in breath followed by a broken exhale. His fist pressed against Sasha’s prostate and Sasha shifted, his leg kicking against Wen Chaoxing’s thigh for a moment, with a broken moan. Then he was coming, but it was not how Sasha normally came, hard and fast. It was prolonged, his body twitching, his feet scrabbling for purchase against the stone. Wen Chaoxing could only barely see the wet hint of his cock between the crook of his legs, but that, too, was different, the come pooling out of him instead of spurting. And he stayed hard, too, though he kept coming, a paradoxical loop that increased with every movement of Wen Chaoxing’s fist.
He was reaching the limits of Sasha’s body now; he wanted to drown him in pleasure, until it was indistinguishable from overstimulated pain. And — he had reached that, he thought, already. Sasha was blotchy-red, his muscles twitching, and all that Wen Chaoxing could see was the slack press of his open mouth against the stone, his wet tongue, the vocalisation a slow groan as Wen Chaoxing pressed a little further, a little deeper, until there was nothing but resistance. Sasha came again, expressed only in the shiver through his whole body, his hips pressing back and a gasp of pain.
“Sorry,” Wen Chaoxing mumbled, forgetting himself, forgetting the ruse.
“’S all right,” Sasha slurred, but it wasn’t that which Wen Chaoxing was apologising for; he began to pull back, slow, and Sasha’s groan became louder, turning almost into a wail, as the stretch reversed, Wen Chaoxing’s thumb pressing down into Sasha’s prostate and lingering. “Oh, gods,” he said, his voice cracked through. “You’re just — you — ” and he snapped his mouth shut, cutting off whatever he was about to say. Wen Chaoxing fought the urge to push his hand back in. He looked down instead, and saw before him the red stretch of Sasha’s sore hole around his wrist, and he had to stop. The world went red and strange around the edges, and he could feel Sasha on the edge of his consciousness, his yearning pleasure, his fullness.
It felt like it took long minutes to pull his hand free of Sasha’s grasping body. It took longer still to regain some equilibrium, watching the soft gape of Sasha's hole struggle to close. He could not move. He could not speak. All he could do was look and listen to Sasha’s soft pants.
“I can’t—” he heard himself say, though he was unsure of what he could not do. At the moment, he could not do anything. “I need—”
“It’s all right,” Sasha said, though his voice was slurred, and his one eye was glazed as it peeked out from the blindfold back Wen Chaoxing. “I’ll talk to you. That’s how we do it, remember?”
“Right,” Wen Chaoxing said, and he touched the back of Sasha’s thigh for its grounding warmth.
“Come on,” Sasha said, with that tone that made Wen Chaoxing’s cock jump. “You remember how to fuck me, right? You haven’t forgotten? Only, I know it’s hard for you to do it right.”
Wen Chaoxing had to sink his teeth into his lower lip to prevent his knees buckling, to keep himself from coming on the spot. Sasha always struck right at the core of him, as if he was taking a knife and slicing through him right to the very soft centre that he kept shielded at all times. “I’m sorry,” he said, again, and even saying it made him feel strange and pathetic, like it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
Then he put his hands on Sasha’s legs and pulled, and Sasha made a squeak of pain, and Wen Chaoxing fumbled lining up his cock with Sasha’s swollen hole, sliding against the rim and making Sasha gasp.
“You can’t even — ”
He pressed in in one hot slide, Sasha twitching and shuddering beneath him. Come rushed out of Sasha, an almost-clear pool spreading beneath him, almost as if he had wet himself, and he keened. He was so hot inside, and he was managing to clench down weakly on Wen Chaoxing’s cock, as he pressed further and harder, rocking up on his toes to leverage himself as deep into Sasha as his fist had been.
“Oh, you fucker,” Sasha was gasping, and there was a growling roughness to the shape of his words that Wen Chaoxing was unfamiliar with. “Oh, shit,” he said, as Wen Chaoxing once again reached the limits of his body, his cock bumping against resistance, and nudged a little further, breaching the depths of Sasha’s body. “You’ve been holding out on me,” Sasha gasped, and he had gone rigid-tight, his whole body somehow tense and yearning at the same time. “You’ve been putting it in halfway.”
“Yes,” Wen Chaoxing said, because it was true. Inside his body were two warring impulses; the dark, sanguine urge to gouge at Sasha, physically and — otherwise, to see his blood, to scratch him, and make him whimper, and the other, rational side, that said: enough. I’ve seen enough done to him already. This was somehow coming in the crux of the two impulses.
Sasha’s brow was furrowed and damp with sweat, and his hands were twitching against the rock. Sasha had never once touched his cock. Not with one hand. Wen Chaoxing put his hands on Sasha’s lower back and pressed down, pinning him against the stone, and Sasha hissed. “I can’t come any more,” he protested, but Wen Chaoxing only tightened his grip, sliding out, slow, until he had to press the head of his cock against Sasha’s puffy hole again.
“Does that matter?” he said.
“Oh, fuck you,” Sasha gasped, and his face scrunched up as Wen Chaoxing slipped in again, first slow and shallow, then deep and hard, varying, unable to keep to a proper rhythm in a way that must seem like torture to Sasha. “I’m not some whimpering taker, you know. Anything you do to me, you’re getting back next time.”
“Yes, I know,” Wen Chaoxing said, and although he was able to sound measured, he was fraying away at the edges, his hair stuck on his own damp skin. Pleasure was concentrated in all his extremities, the centres of his palms tingling, his thighs burning with effort, his heart thundering so hard that he thought it ought to be audible.
“You’re not even good at this,” Sasha said, though it was belied by the tremble of his speech. “Bet you can’t even make yourself come, even though my ass is—” Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by Wen Chaoxing pulling Sasha back on his cock, the humiliation rocketing through him. He was coming, then, and it felt endless and wet, flooding hot against Sasha’s bruised walls. Sasha grunted, and clenched down hard, though there was nothing more forthcoming from him. Wen Chaoxing gripped at him, frantically, keeping him pinned until he felt the come beginning to drip from Sasha’s ass, overflowing, his own cock giving a feeble twitch inside, attempting to get hard again.
“You’re trying to kill me,” Sasha said, after a long moment of trying to catch his breath. Wen Chaoxing pulled out very slowly, and there was a long moment of his come following, dripping down onto the stone. He thought about putting his tongue there, tasting himself, rubbing against Sasha’s swollen flesh.
“Don’t even think about it,” Sasha said, without looking. He had divested himself of the blindfold and was lying slack on the table, peeping up at Wen Chaoxing through his curls. “My ass is closed for business. Any more and it’ll have to be retired for repairs.”
Sasha tried to sit up, but wobbled, his legs sliding on the table under him. There was more come on his thighs, and Wen Chaoxing could not help but look at them, the wetness on the red, abraded skin.
“Help me,” Sasha said, with affectionate ire. “Don’t just look.”
That spurred Wen Chaoxing into action; he slid an arm around Sasha’s waist and helping him down, Sasha's legs weak and his feet slipping on the floor, leaning most of his weight on Wen Chaoxing, such as it was.
“Um,” Wen Chaoxing said, because he knew he was supposed to speak, but he could not think; his thoughts were still a scrambled, hot pudding.
“You’re coming down, it’s all right,” Sasha said. “Just get in the bath with me.”
Wen Chaoxing could not resist an order, so he helped Sasha into the hot water, and followed him down until they were sitting side by side on the bench. The water was blood-hot, and Sasha turned pink right away, dipping his face in for a half moment and brushing back his hair. Wen Chaoxing could do nothing but look at him; he looked different with his hair pushed back like that, his face sharper, his eyes brighter. Somehow, Wen Chaoxing could see the conqueror in him like that.
“How did you,” Wen Chaoxing said, and his words were clumsy, thick-tongued. He slid down a little in the water, until his hair floated in the water around him like dark seaweed. “How did you know it was me?”
Sasha blinked at him, and then cocked his head. “It was a set-up,” he said. “You know that, right? The whole thing was a set-up.”
“What?” Wen Chaoxing said, and Sasha’s eyes went wide.
“You didn’t know?” he said, briefly aghast. “But, obviously, I mean, the whole thing—” He devolved into confused spluttering. “You thought that I would — “
“But the tag,” Wen Chaoxing said. Sasha’s mouth quirked.
“I set that up beforehand, idiot,” Sasha said, and Wen Chaoxing’s cock twitched under the water. “I know the ladies at the front desk.”
“How did you know I would,” Wen Chaoxing said, and could not bring himself to say, how did you know I would come and fuck you?
“‘Cause I know you,” Sasha said, with great flippancy and absolutely no regard to the way it made Wen Chaoxing’s stomach clench. “I was trying to get you hot. You understand that, right?”
“Um,” was all Wen Chaoxing could say again. “But what if I hadn’t?”
“Then I probably would’ve wanked off and had a disappointing swim,” Sasha said, smiling crookedly. “I really did think you knew.”
“So all of it?”
“Not all of it,” Sasha said. “I can’t control what other people do. Though, I would’ve sucked you off in the steam room if you’d wanted it.” He shrugged lazily, leaning back against the rim of the pool, and nudging Wen Chaoxing with his foot. “Maybe next time we’ll have a rule that you can’t say no.”
Wen Chaoxing went hot in the face, and it had nothing to do with the heat of the water.
“Oh, gods, don’t,” Sasha groaned. “You’ve broken my cock already. I should’ve taken out insurance.” Then he laughed a little at his own joke, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Come here,” he said. Wen Chaoxing went, as if Sasha had tugged at his leash, and Sasha pulled him down to kiss him, sliding his tongue into Wen Chaoxing’s mouth and devouring him until he felt like he was going to melt, each wet slide going right to his cock.
“I want to try something,” Sasha said, and it only took a fractional nod from Wen Chaoxing before Sasha put his hands on his shoulders and gently pushed him under the water. Wen Chaoxing hadn't had a chance to take a breath, and so he had to try and hold it, fighting for a moment against his own instincts. Sasha’s hand was firm on his head, and the water was so hot around him, making his head throb. Then — it went on. Surely Sasha knew he couldn’t hold it any longer. First, his heart began to pound, and then he went shaky, fighting against his own instincts, and then —
Everything went quiet. He was suspended, floating. Everything was utterly out of his control. All he had to do was relax into it, the burning of his lungs becoming pleasant. His heart slowed. He had no urge to breathe. He had no wants, no needs. Only what Sasha’s hands would give him. And they were urging him up, up, out of the water in a rush, into the now-cool air, his ears ringing.
“Look at you,” Sasha murmured, stroking Wen Chaoxing’s wet hair back out of his face. “You’re really in it now, aren’t you?”
“Mmm,” Wen Chaoxing said, and although his cock was hard, it was an afterthought compared to the all-over warm throb of his body.
“Pity,” Sasha said, because the red light at the door had begun to flash. “Time to get out.”
For a moment, the rational Wen Chaoxing was thinking: hang on, you’re just going to leave me like this? But the yielder was arguing his own case: what if he never lets me come again, except at his own order?
Sasha had regained some use of his legs, because he had to urge Wen Chaoxing out of the bath and into the lounging room, where gusts of hot, dry air gushed down at them from hidden vents in the walls. “Here,” Sasha said, pushing Wen Chaoxing down on the bench. “Can’t have you going out like that, can I? Other people might see. And — this is just for me.”
He knelt in between Wen Chaoxing’s legs and took the head of his cock into his mouth, and Wen Chaoxing had the deep urge to push forward into that wet heat, but his body had gone slack and passive, and all he could do was receive the pleasure that welled up from the very root of his body, Sasha looking up at him as he urged himself deeper and deeper, Wen Chaoxing’s cock bumping at the back of his throat.
“Too fucking big,” Sasha muttered to himself, pulling off, and that made Wen Chaoxing’s soul burn in a way he could not quantify; normally praise doused him. He clamped down on that reaction, buried it deep. He did not want Sasha to make a habit of that. Instead, Sasha pushed his damp hair back and made another attempt, choking himself with obvious pleasure, though he did not get hard himself. He even tried squeezing Wen Chaoxing’s cock into his throat, and failed. It was — it was like Sasha was enjoying the struggle.
“It’s impossible,” Sasha said, more to himself than to Wen Chaoxing, and began a punishing rhythm instead, his tongue on the head and his hand on the rest, until Wen Chaoxing’s stomach twisted and he came again onto Sasha’s willing, open mouth.
“You’re like one of those men in erotic serials who can go all night and into the next day,” Sasha said with faux grumpiness, drying his hair. He had turned away, so Wen Chaoxing was looking at his ass again; he could not help it. He certainly felt like one of those men. If Sasha so much as looked at him sidelong, he would get hard again.
“That’s a physiological impossibility,” Wen Chaoxing said, surprised at the scrape of his voice.
“Oh, there you are,” Sasha said, throwing a towel to Wen Chaoxing, who tried to dry his own hair, though there was too much of it to make a real effort. “And it’s not — if you’re Miran, which you are.”
“I know,” Wen Chaoxing said, and it was too frank, too raw.
“I’m not even going to look at you now,” Sasha said, “because I don’t want to deal with the consequences. Though — not looking at you will probably do it too. How uncontrolled you are.”
“If you don’t want to deal with the consequences,” Wen Chaoxing said, “then I suggest you think about what you’re saying.”
“Oh?” Sasha said, and then he did turn, and nodded with sudden put-upon seriousness. “Oh, yes. That is, thank you for your time. I apologise for my attempts to rile you up again. I’m sure I didn’t mean it.”
Wen Chaoxing arched a brow, and Sasha covered his mouth to hide his laughter. Then, without ceremony, they gathered their things at the entrance and re-dressed though Wen Chaoxing could still feel some sort of lingering heat trapped under the layers of his clothes.
“This is the worst part,” Sasha grumbled, pushing out back into the snow, his teeth chattering, his face red in the little gap Wen Chaoxing could see between his scarf and his hat. “Let’s go home.”
They walked a little way into the snow, Sasha wrapping his hand around Wen Chaoxing’s arm despite the awkwardness of heights — for balance, he said. Then a little further in silence, until Wen Chaoxing found his tongue again.
“You were right,” he said, to see Sasha cock his head.
“Often, yes,” Sasha said, loftily. “What's this specific case?”
“I think you should take out cock insurance.”
“Don’t say cock, Wen Chaoxing,” Sasha said, his eyebrows climbing high. “You’re appalling sometimes, really.”
“And ass insurance,” Wen Chaoxing said with grave solemnity.
“I honestly don’t know if you find the ‘ass’ or the ‘insurance’ arousing,” Sasha said.
“And—”
“Shut up!” Sasha cried, and laughing, he pushed Wen Chaoxing into the nearest snowbank, the world going white and cool upon his hot face, and all he could hear was Sasha’s mirth.