Work Text:
They're reclining on Hua Cheng's plush couches when it happens.
Perhaps it's because they're bound to be found in Paradise Manor. Or, perhaps Hua Cheng's enemies are just so bold that they'd strike him in the heart of his den. The shot is so close that Xie Lian feels the breath of it whizz past his cheek. A fraction of a second later, Hua Cheng recoils with a yelp.
"San Lang!" Xie Lian cries. When Hua Cheng doesn't immediately recover, his hair shrouding his face and his hand clasped to his neck, Xie Lian scoots across the couch and lays a hand on his back. "Are you okay?"
He smooths away Hua Cheng's hair, searching for a wound with mounting concern. When he does finally touch something warm and sticky, his fingers come away not red, but blue.
His heart falls through the floor. Hua Cheng trembles under his hands.
Xie Lian has seen it before while on the street collecting scraps — rival factions nailing each other with small, blueberry-sized pellets in broad daylight, crowds diving for cover while feral predators turn on their friends and colleagues, police sirens wailing from the other side of town – but never up close. Never inches away, right under his nose.
It takes a moment for Xie Lian to realise that the trembling vibrations are from Hua Cheng’s low growling.
"San... Lang...?"
He pulls back. The dye on his palm smears blue onto his white clothes. Hua Cheng curls into himself. His breathing starts to sound wet and laboured. Xie Lian braces involuntarily. He watches Hua Cheng's back heave, and yet he can't seem to move an inch.
Hua Cheng finally turns to face him. One stark, bloodshot eye glowers out of a face that's clammy and pallid. Saliva wets his mouth and chin. His lips pull back over his teeth in a snarl, revealing sharp white canines and pink gums.
For a split second, they're frozen, each waiting for the other to make a move — for something to break the bubble of tension, for someone to seize the upper hand.
Instinct takes over. Xie Lian bolts. He doesn't look back, but he knows that Hua Cheng goes careening into the spot where he was just sitting barely a second later because he hears the couch groan across the floor. He flies out the door and down the hallway, his half-baked knowledge of Paradise Manor leading him on. All he can hear is the barest thumping of Hua Cheng's fleet-footed gait from behind over the sound of his own pounding heart – it could almost fool him into thinking that his pursuer isn't even there.
But he is; Xie Lian can feel it. Normally, Xie Lian is quietly enamoured with Hua Cheng's effortless power, his raw natural ability. Now, they are more evenly matched than he would like, predator and prey always within a hair's breadth of each other in nature's eternal arms race.
His lungs burn. His legs burn. Every breath burns. He feints a left and leaves Hua Cheng skidding on the lacquered floor when he goes right. Xie Lian tears through a room lined with impossible treasures and filled with the fragrant smell of incense. He ducks behind a shelf holding a small incense burner, thin wisps of grey smoke peeling from seemingly endless joss sticks.
Catching his breath is more painful than losing it. The mix of adrenaline and exertion has him feeling sick not to the stomach, but to the very marrow of his bones. The room has one door leading in and another leading out; the exit is barely metres from where he's standing. He could make it. But what then? Hua Cheng's feral state won't subside on its own. Even if Xie Lian escapes Paradise Manor, he’ll only unleash Hua Cheng, out of his right mind, on the unsuspecting people of Ghost City.
Hua Cheng barrels into the treasure room barely a second later, and the option disappears. The best Xie Lian can hope for is that the incense will cover his scent and the fox will pass right through.
But he doesn't, because Xie Lian is Xie Lian, and his bad luck flies in the face of probability or reason. Crafty and cautious, Hua Cheng stops dead in the middle of the room and drops his nose to the floor.
The incense will cover Xie Lian’s scent, but not for long. He’s sweating hard, and the treasure room is only so large. He covers his mouth with his palm to stifle his panicked breathing. The animal part of his brain tells him to run, rabbit, run.
The part of him that's still rational, that's indifferent, that cares for Hua Cheng, freezes him in place and makes his every muscle quiver. “Like a rabbit in headlights”, isn't that what they used to say? Gauche, but Xie Lian feels it now. It's not only Hua Cheng who’s having his animal exposed.
Xie Lian can hear the gentle whuffs of Hua Cheng's breath, the huffing of his nose as he traverses the room. Scanning the perimeter. Sniffing Xie Lian out.
Xie Lian closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. He is not a feral animal, and neither is Hua Cheng. San Lang would never hurt him. He has to believe that.
He steps out from behind the shelf. "Sa–"
Xie Lian doesn't even finish the first syllable before Hua Cheng slams into him at high speed and sends them both crashing to the floor. Overriding his instincts to box Hua Cheng in the stomach and claw at his face takes monumental effort. It must be the same for Hua Cheng too, because when his head stops spinning, he's pinned down but in one piece.
Hua Cheng leans over him. Xie Lian gazes up into bloodshot eyes, trapped by Hua Cheng's trembling arms and a black curtain of his wild, unbound hair.
"San Lang?" he whispers.
"Gege," Hua Cheng forces through gritted teeth. Every noise sounds like it's causing him pain.
"You need to run. You need to get away from me."
His words belie his actions, like his higher thoughts are battling his instincts. He doesn't move, and Xie Lian would have to fight him off to do what he says.
"Let me help."
"You can't. I don't know how – I want –"
His gaze drops to Xie Lian's throat. Xie Lian's pulse picks up instinctively. Hua Cheng is so close. He wonders if he can hear it.
"I don't want to hurt you," Hua Cheng says softly.
"You won't," Xie Lian says. "I won't let you."
Hua Cheng laughs. The end peters out into a pained groan. His claws gouge shallow scratches into the floor.
"Let me try something," Xie Lian says. Hua Cheng squeezes his eye closed and nods tersely. He breathes deeply through his nose. When Xie Lian inhales, all he can smell is Hua Cheng; every breath the fox takes must be laden with the smell of a prey animal. It must be torture.
He reaches up with both hands. Even though he does it as slowly and carefully as possible, Hua Cheng still jumps when he moves. He cradles his face in his palms and wipes the dampness from his brow. The closer he gets, the more Hua Cheng shakes, and the hungrier the glint in his eye becomes.
This is wrong. A rabbit shouldn't be bearing its neck to a fox.
Xie Lian tentatively presses their lips together. He tries to be gentle. Hua Cheng does not. He growls so strongly when their lips meet that Xie Lian feels it in his fingertips.
Xie Lian was wrong – he isn't hungry, he's starving.
Sharp teeth and bruising lips devour him with a passion to parallel Hua Cheng's prey drive. Hua Cheng bites Xie Lian lip and tugs, then his long tongue unfurls from snarling jaws and bullies its way into his mouth.
The kissing is messy and aggressive. Their teeth clack against each other. Xie Lian's heart races so fast he feels dizzy, and not just from excitement – Hua Cheng's teeth are right there, canines and molars and incisors specially designed for piercing, tearing, and ripping flesh. It feels wrong to think of him that way. It feels wrong to be so aware that the only thing separating teeth and flesh is a thin barrier of fragile skin.
Xie Lian makes a small yip that makes his cheeks smoulder when Hua Cheng spreads his legs with one knee and lays heavily in between, pressing them flush together from head to toe. He’s bold, arrogant. It shouldn’t feel as thrilling as it does. Hua Cheng’s waist lies heavily against Xie Lian’s own, and his stomach does a flip when the bulge in Hua Cheng's pants grinds against him shamelessly.
Hua Cheng devours his little noises. Xie Lian finds himself trussed up in his arms, caught in the undertow of his feral state even though he’s not feral. Hua Cheng is always composed, always in control — but right now, he isn't, at least not of himself. Xie Lian finds himself wondering whether Hua Cheng would desire him like this if he hadn't been shot. Furtively, guiltily, he wishes he would.
A thrill runs through him and settles in his core when Hua Cheng effortlessly flips him onto his front, rough hands kneading his ass and thighs and straying wherever they like. This smouldering at the crux of his thighs is unfamiliar. If Xie Lian could distil need, this would be it. Heat radiates through his body from that one point, making his extremities feel cold.
He tries to squeeze his thighs together, but Hua Cheng keeps them apart. Once he notices Xie Lian's efforts, his left hand stops wandering. Instead, it moves with purpose right to where Xie Lian is burning up and strokes between the cleft of his fattening pussy through his clothes.
"Ah!" Xie Lian cries out.
Hua Cheng rubs him through his underwear until the friction decreases and fingers and fabric both start to slide smoothly, the cloth covering his pussy growing damp. His other hand on Xie Lian’s nape keeps his face to the floor.
It should feel humiliating — anyone could walk in and find Xie Lian being held down and prepared like little more than a piece of meat, although Hua Cheng's feral scent probably keeps them away — but it doesn't. This is what surprises him most of all, even more than the two fingers that push aside his underwear and stuff themselves into his cunt without warning. He tenses, surprise flexing the muscles in his legs and glutes – but what it really feels like is relief. Something loosens in his core and his cunt hungrily meets Hua Cheng where he is until his fingers disappear into Xie Lian to the knuckle, like his pussy is relieved to finally have something inside it.
He isn't feral, but he feels halfway there. It can't always feel like this. Hua Cheng's feral state must be affecting him, too.
Xie Lian can smell himself in the air. Hua Cheng fingers his pussy until his thighs feel wet, making short work of his layered clothes with a rip and a tear through the cheap fabric. All Xie Lian can see is the horizontal high shine of the dark wood floor.
Then, all of a sudden, Hua Cheng’s fingers disappear and the pleasure disappears with them. A moment later, the raw, tapered tip of his cock touches Xie Lian's pussy for the first time.
Xie Lian lets out a gasp, first at the feeling and then at the realisation. Of course, he knows what sex is, knows broadly how it works – but theory does little to prepare him for the reality of Hua Cheng's cock insistently pushing inside him without so much as a warning.
"Hnn, ah!" he chokes. His claws scrabble against the floor and scratch the lacquer. There's barely a second between Hua Cheng unsheathing his cock and stuffing him to the brim, making his vision go hazy for a second, and even less time again before Xie Lian's aching, virgin cunt is being pounded in a feral frenzy.
"S-San La-ang, slow d-down!" Xie Lian begs, tears beading at the corners of his eyes. Hua Cheng doesn't. Instead, he locks his arms in a vice grip around the bunny's hips and fucks him in brisk, short strokes. The slap of their bodies against one another grows increasingly wetter, and soon even the burning incense can't cover the scent of raw, animal fucking.
The differences between them are stark. Xie Lian babbles fruitlessly, caught between Hua Cheng and the floor, between pleasure and discomfort. Hua Cheng doesn't say a word. He's still clothed, as well, if the silk sliding against the back of Xie Lian's thighs is anything to go by; he must have pulled his pants down just far enough to expose his cock, while Xie Lian is stripped from the waist, naked as the day he was born.
"Hmmn, ah – ah! ah! – mercy, please, San Lang, just give me a second… just one second… ple– eeease, gege, ah–"
The term slips out before he can help it. If begging is useless, what Xie Lian just said is worse. Hua Cheng snarls and releases Xie Lian's hips to drape himself across his back. When he braces against the floor beside Xie Lian's head, his hand glistens to the wrist.
Teeth find his nape. Not enough to break the skin – but enough to remind him of Hua Cheng's fangs. Xie Lian shudders. San Lang would never hurt him, but if he tasted blood with this drug in his system and truly went wild… the thought makes him weak.
Hua Cheng's tongue laves over his neck and his hot breath condenses on Xie Lian's sticky skin. His jaws hold Xie Lian still. He's utterly selfish, chasing nothing but his own pleasure. It makes Xie Lian's brain slow to a crawl, viciously aroused, so insanely aroused that he's sure he'll come the second Hua Cheng touches his clit. But Hua Cheng doesn't; lost in a feral haze, he fucks him however he likes, bruising and biting and rough. Xie Lian will feel it for days. He'll relish it.
Maybe it's the presence of a fertile male that makes him so receptive, because there's no other explanation for the way his toes curl when Hua Cheng's breath comes faster against his shoulder and he feels the tickle of something that can only be cum warming him from the inside. Hua Cheng is already in so deep, the tip of his cock kissing Xie Lian's cervix, that Xie Lian fancies his cum must be shooting straight into his womb.
He arches towards the floor and comes with a scream, hot fluid gushing from his cunt and soaking Hua Cheng's trouser front. Hua Cheng's cock is so completely different from how another rabbit’s would be. His knot searches for purchase and swells, locking them together. Xie Lian arches into it and whimpers, clenching hard on it. He hasn't even been touched. He moans gibberish into the floor.
Hua Cheng licks and nuzzles the back of his neck obsessively. His soft yips and whines land right by Xie Lian's ear and his hips still flex rhythmically even though his knot prevents him from thrusting any deeper.
"San Lang... San Lang..." Xie Lian moans weakly. His neck aches from pressing his cheek to the floor. His cunt throbs around Hua Cheng's knot.
Hua Cheng doesn't respond in words. In all fairness, Xie Lian can barely manage them right now. But a cold nose presses behind his ear and a comforting tongue soothes the livid bite mark on his trapezius, and Xie Lian sags against the floor with relief.
Hua Cheng is going to be okay. They just have to wait out the deflating of his knot — tied together at the waist, covered in sweat and Xie Lian’s slick, the air thick with incense and the stink of sex. However long it takes.