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The door stands before him, lacquered red and faintly aglow with candlelight bleeding through its edges. Hua Cheng hasn’t touched it. His hand hovers—barely a breath away from the wood, trembling. Just one motion, a turn of the wrist, and he could cross the threshold.
But he doesn’t. Not yet.
His hand remains pressed to the wood, fingers trembling faintly where they rest. His head bows, hair veiling the eye that burns with something wild and reverent, raw as a wound. He’s challenged gods, burned down temples, killed. He’s walked through battlefields, died over and over, and clawed his way back every time. And yet nothing in all those lifetimes has ever felt as staggering as this.
His Highness—his beloved—is waiting for him in bed.
A low, dizzying heat coils in his gut at the thought. Wife. The word feels too sacred to speak aloud, too blasphemous to think as often as he has. But it echoes anyway, louder with every breath. They’re married. After eight hundred years, three deaths, centuries of longing—he finally gets to call his beloved god his.
Now, Xie Lian lies just beyond this door.
The image crashes into his mind like a wave, and Hua Cheng’s knees nearly buckle. He presses his forehead to the wood, breath unsteady. His cock aches against the seam of his robes, heavy and pulsing. He wants to bury himself between Xie Lian’s legs this very second—taste the sweetness hidden there, make him sob and writhe until his voice is hoarse. He wants to press him into the mattress and fuck his god until he forgets everything but his name. He wants to mark him, claim him, worship him until the stars fall from the sky.
You fucking creep, Hua Cheng. Pull yourself together.
He breathes in. Out. Straightens his spine. Closes his fingers around the door handle. For one suspended breath, he holds still—then slowly, silently, he pushes the door open.
And then he sees him.
Xie Lian sits atop their bed like a vision drawn from Hua Cheng’s wildest, most aching dreams. The soft golden light of the candles pools over him like a blessing, catching in the rich red silk of his wedding robes, in the tumbling black fall of his hair. The golden threads stitched into his sleeves shimmer faintly with every breath he takes. His cheeks are touched with pink, his eyes softly rimmed in red, lips parting just slightly.
And those eyes— They lift to meet Hua Cheng’s, and the world stops.
A smile unfurls across Xie Lian’s face. Gentle. Shy. So full of joy it breaks something open in Hua Cheng’s chest.
“San Lang,” he murmurs, voice like spring rain.
The sound lands in Hua Cheng’s chest like a prayer. He doesn’t move at first. Can’t. He might not be alive, but he swears his heart is hammering—too full, too fragile beneath the weight of it all: love, devotion, the sheer impossible joy of being here, of being wanted.
He crosses the room like something is pulling him—slow, careful, reverent. His eye drinks him in: his beloved god, his wife, his Xie Lian. Wrapped in red and candlelight, carved from the softest dream.
He stops at the edge of the bed, trembling.
“Beloved…” he breathes, barely a whisper.
Xie Lian rises like mist from still water—silent, weightless, drawn to him. His hands find the sleeves of Hua Cheng’s robes and hold on gently, grounding them both.
“San Lang… We’re married,” he says, voice trembling with joy. “You’re my husband now.”
Hua Cheng shudders. His hands lift to Xie Lian’s waist, aching to touch but still gentle, as if he’s handling something holy. “Say it again,” he murmurs, like he needs it to be real.
“You’re my husband, San Lang,” Xie Lian says again, steadier this time—and steps closer.
Their lips meet in the quiet between heartbeats.
The kiss is slow. Delicate. Almost shy—mouths brushing, testing, trembling. But beneath the tenderness coils something deeper: years of ache, centuries of silence, every moment they were kept apart. Every time Hua Cheng watched from a distance, devouring him with his eyes and daring nothing more.
Xie Lian sighs softly against his mouth and slides his fingers into Hua Cheng’s hair. The kiss deepens like a tide pulling them under. Hua Cheng groans, soft and raw, clutching his god closer, pressing him against the armorless thrum of his chest.
They sink together slowly onto the bed—no rush, no fumbling, just gravity and devotion pulling them down. The mattress gives beneath them like it, too, has been waiting for this.
Xie Lian lies back in the silken red, hair spilling like ink across the sheets. His robe slips from one shoulder, exposing pale skin flushed with heat. He doesn’t move to hide it. He just looks up at Hua Cheng—eyes heavy with trust, lips parted, waiting.
Open. Unafraid. His.
Hua Cheng’s breath catches in his throat, “You’re so beautiful…”
Kneeling between his beloved’s legs, his hands are shaking. With aching care, he reaches down and gathers the crimson skirts of Xie Lian’s wedding robes—lifting them slowly, reverently. One pale thigh. Then the other. He pushes the silk higher, past his hips, until it’s pooled around his waist.
And then—he begins to kiss.
It starts at Xie Lian’s ankle, lips soft and breath hot. Then higher. The curve of his calf. The smooth skin above his knee. Hua Cheng’s hair falls like a black curtain as he bends lower and lower, kissing along the inside of his thighs—slow, open-mouthed, reverent.
Xie Lian shivers, one leg falling further open. His fingers fist in the sheets, breath catching with every drag of tongue, every reverent press of lips. Hua Cheng doesn’t rush. He wants to memorize the way he tastes. The way he trembles. The way he breathes his name in little, shaky gasps.
And then—he’s there.
Hua Cheng lowers himself fully between his thighs, breath catching as he sees him: cunt glistening—pink, swollen, already open for him, like it’s been waiting just as long. So soft. So wet. So real.
He doesn’t touch. Not yet. Just breathes him in, dizzy. “Beloved,” he murmurs, voice hoarse with awe. “You’re perfect.”
One hand curls around Xie Lian’s thigh, the other braces beside him. Every inch of him trembles with restraint. “Your Highness,” he breathes, “may I…?”
Xie Lian’s fingers thread into his hair, shaky. “Yes,” he whispers. “San Lang… touch me.”
And that’s all the permission he needs. Hua Cheng leans in, eye fixed on the wet heat glistening between his beloved’s legs—slick and twitching and begging to be devoured. The sight alone makes his mouth water.
He lowers his head.
The first stroke of his tongue is reverent—slow, savoring, a drag through the softness of him like he’s tasting something sacred. The warmth of him, the way he opens under that first wet stroke—it makes Hua Cheng moan into him.
Xie Lian gasps, high and helpless, his thighs twitching around Hua Cheng’s head.
He licks again—deeper this time. Spreading him open with tongue and breath. He flicks over his clit, then draws it into his mouth, sucking gently, and Xie Lian chokes on the sound that tears from his throat.
“San Lang—ah—this feels—”
Hua Cheng groans and eats like he’s starving. The taste of the god is dizzying. Sweet. Addictive. His tongue works slow at first, teasing slick from him with every lap, every loving suck to that swollen pearl. But it doesn’t stay slow for long. Not with Xie Lian’s thighs trembling. Not with his voice breaking into whimpers. Not with the way his body arches to meet every movement.
Xie Lian’s hands tighten in his hair, back arching off the bed. “Don’t stop,” he gasps, breath hot and wrecked. “Please—don’t stop—”
He won’t.
He couldn’t if he tried.
Hua Cheng eats like a man starving, lips and chin wet with the mess of his beloved, the sounds of his tongue working and Xie Lian’s breathless moans filling the room. Every twitch, every gasp is worship. He drinks every drop like a blessing poured just for him.
When Xie Lian begins to tremble again, his thighs shaking where they cradle Hua Cheng’s head, Hua Cheng only presses in even deeper—tongue slow, sure, merciless in his adoration.
“Beloved…” he rasps between licks, voice shaking. “You taste like heaven.”
Xie Lian is writhing, gasping with every relentless sweep of Hua Cheng’s tongue. His thighs tremble violently, trying and failing to clamp around the Ghost King’s head. His voice cracks—thin, desperate—on a breathless sob of, “San Lang— wait —!”
Hua Cheng only groans, burying his face deeper into the warmth of his god’s cunt. His hands are iron where they grip the backs of Xie Lian’s thighs, forcing them wide apart, unrelenting. His mouth moves over him with maddening precision—sucking, licking, tonguing that soaked, swollen bud until it’s too much. Until Xie Lian is sobbing.
His hips jerk, overstimulated, his hands scrambling to push at Hua Cheng’s shoulders. “San Lang—please—I’m—ah, I can’t—!”
But he can . And Hua Cheng knows it.
“Don’t run from me,” Hua Cheng growls, the words muffled and dark against the drenched heat of Xie Lian’s cunt. His voice is rough, low with possession, soaked in reverence and hunger. “Let me taste you. Let me feel all of it.”
His arms lock around Xie Lian’s thighs, holding him wide open with unyielding strength. There’s no space to move, no room to escape—the bed creaks under the force of it as Hua Cheng pins him down, mouth never relenting. His tongue works in hard, ravenous strokes—curling, plunging, dragging over that aching bundle of nerves with obscene focus, like he’s trying to rip every cry straight from Xie Lian’s lungs.
Xie Lian breaks.
He comes with a strangled scream, spine bowing off the mattress, body locked in helpless spasms. “San Lang—! Ah—!”
His cunt pulses violently against Hua Cheng’s mouth, slick gushing in thick waves, soaking his chin, his cheeks, the bedsheets beneath them. His hips twitch, flinching from the unbearable pleasure—but he can’t get away. He can’t . Not when Hua Cheng holds him down, growling softly, drinking every drop like it’s holy, dragging his tongue through the mess like it’s his only purpose.
Xie Lian whimpers, hands flying down to push at Hua Cheng’s head, fingers trembling as they tangle in sweat-damp hair. “W-Wait—San Lang, I—” His voice breaks on a sob. “I can’t—!”
But Hua Cheng doesn’t let him go.
He snarls low against him, a sound more animal than man, and plunges his tongue deeper—burying his face in the soaked, trembling heat of Xie Lian’s cunt like it’s salvation itself. His arms flex, tightening their hold on Xie Lian’s thighs until there’s nowhere to run, nothing to do but take it .
And gods— he takes .
Hua Cheng laps up the slick greedily, tongue plunging into him in hard, wet strokes, nose pressed against the swollen mess of his wife’s clit. He devours him, mouth moving like he’s starving—smearing himself in it, slick coating his lips, his chin, glistening on his cheeks like he wants to wear it. He drinks from him like it’s nectar, reverent and feral all at once, licking every drop that spills out and chasing it deeper, chasing it harder .
Xie Lian sobs, back arching high off the bed, helpless and shaking. “Ah—stop—stop, it’s too—!”
But Hua Cheng groans against him, the sound guttural and wild, and the vibration alone makes Xie Lian jerk violently in his grip.
His tongue works deep inside, curling, fucking into him with maddening precision—so aggressive it feels like he’s trying to keep him open , keep him leaking, keep him falling apart. Every flick, every drag, every thrust is slick and obscene, a worship so filthy it borders on cruel. He licks him like a man possessed, like this is the only thing that’s ever fed him. Like he was made for this. Like no god, no emperor, no throne could ever compare to this one trembling body under his tongue.
And all Xie Lian can do is sob —not desperate, not afraid, but soft and spent, every breath hitching through his chest as his legs tremble violently, splayed wide and limp. His cunt spasms helplessly against Hua Cheng’s mouth, slick still leaking with every faint pulse, each twitch of Hua Cheng’s tongue dragging another soundless cry from his throat.
His body jolts in tiny, overwhelmed shivers—hips twitching without rhythm, too wrung out to keep running from the pleasure still licking fire up his spine. His hands are in Hua Cheng’s hair, fingers twisted in the strands, trembling—not to guide, not to stop, just there , as though it’s the only thing tethering him to this plane of existence.
And then—soft. Barely audible.
“…W-wait…”
Another breathless whimper, thready and broken: “Too much…”
Hua Cheng freezes. His mouth stills against slick, trembling flesh, breath caught mid-gasp. He doesn’t lift his head right away—just stays there, face pressed to the soaked heat between Xie Lian’s thighs, lips parted, like he’s reluctant to stop. Like he’s not done.
But slowly—grudgingly—he pulls back.
His face is wet, mouth red and shiny with slick, jaw flushed from effort. His eye is dark, blown wide, the hungry haze not yet faded, but when it lands on Xie Lian’s face—tear streaked, panting, glassy-eyed—he blinks hard, like snapping out of a trance.
“Beloved?” His voice is hoarse. His hands stay on Xie Lian’s thighs, holding him steady, thumbs stroking absently at damp skin. “Was that too much?” he asks, low and raw, eye dragging over him slowly—his flushed cheeks, his parted lips, the tears still clinging to his lashes.
Xie Lian lets out a shaky breath, blinking slowly. His chest rises and falls in quick, fluttery gasps, legs still twitching faintly where Hua Cheng holds them. Then he laughs—quiet and a little breathless, not mocking, just overwhelmed. “No… no,” he murmurs, cheeks dark red. He looks away for a second, clearly flustered, then back again, gaze soft but smoldering. “It was just—too good. I didn’t know it could feel like that. I… couldn’t keep up.”
Hua Cheng exhales, slow and rough, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. He leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of Xie Lian’s thigh—slow, warm, lingering—and murmurs, “Fuck, you’re unreal.”
He keeps rubbing his hips gently, grounding him, but the heat in his eye is already reigniting—hungry, possessive. “You didn’t have to cry like that, gege,” he mutters, teasing now, voice lower. “Almost made me lose my mind.”
Xie Lian shivers, hiding his face in his arm, but not before Hua Cheng catches the look in his eyes—shy, wrecked, still aching. Then, softly, with heat curling at the edges of his voice: “I still want more… if you’ll keep going.”
Hua Cheng groans, low and strained, his hands flexing where they hold Xie Lian open. Whatever fragile restraint he’d barely reined in before—it frays all over again. The hunger returns like a wave cresting too high to stop. It roars through him—possessive, reverent, aching. He leans forward, presses a kiss to Xie Lian’s trembling knee. “Anything,” he breathes against his skin. “Anything for His Highness.”
Then— snap.
A soft crack of power, the barest gesture of a finger—and suddenly, a small ceramic jar appears in his palm, summoned from elsewhere in the room. Xie Lian startles slightly, his breath catching at the display of effortless power of a Ghost King, but then his eyes soften, full of wonder and warmth.
“You really can do anything,” he murmurs, voice still breathless, trembling.
Hua Cheng’s mouth curls faintly—half a smile, half a strain of restraint—but he doesn't answer. Instead, he uncaps the jar with slow, deliberate care. His fingers dip into the oil, slicking themselves in one smooth pass, and though his hand is steady, his chest rises and falls like he’s struggling to breathe.
He looks down.
Xie Lian is spread open before him—legs parted, thighs trembling, flushed and glistening from the peak Hua Cheng had already wrung from him. His wife . Soft, slick, still pulsing faintly from earlier ruin.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” Hua Cheng says—low, husky, full of reverence—and then he reaches between them again.
His fingers slide through heat and slick, parting soft folds gently. Xie Lian lets out a soft gasp, hips twitching when Hua Cheng’s oiled fingers brush over his still-sensitive cunt, now even wetter from the mixture of oil and his own release. The first finger eases in slowly, the tight heat of him clenching instinctively. Hua Cheng groans low under his breath. “So tight,” he whispers, “so warm, fuck—” He cuts himself off with a kiss pressed to Xie Lian’s thigh, grounding himself. “You’re perfect.”
Xie Lian gasps, back arching just slightly as the finger sinks deeper. “Ah… San Lang…”
“I’ve got you,” Hua Cheng whispers, his voice like silk dragged across burning skin. “Shh, I’ve got you.”
The motion is slow, reverent—each stroke meant to coax and worship, not just prepare. The oil makes everything smooth, seamless, but still the tightness around his finger is maddening, clinging like a prayer. A second finger follows soon after, and Xie Lian jerks, whimpering, but his hips rise to meet the stretch.
“There you go,” Hua Cheng whispers, voice thick. “Taking me so well. You’re amazing.”
Xie Lian turns his face away, overwhelmed, the blush spreading to his ears. “Don’t say things like that…”
“But it’s true,” Hua Cheng murmurs—and curls his fingers just right.
The sound that tears from Xie Lian’s throat is broken and high and helpless, hips twitching, knees trembling where they’re drawn up beside Hua Cheng’s ribs. He’s open for him now, trembling and soaked, the slick, wet sounds between them obscene.
Hua Cheng moves deeper, scissoring slowly, fingers fucking him open in smooth, steady thrusts. His mouth trails kisses up Xie Lian’s thigh as he works, like he can’t stop touching him, tasting him, worshiping him.
Xie Lian is panting now, voice thin and shaking. “San Lang—please—”
“Please what, beloved?” Hua Cheng asks softly, even as his fingers press deeper, more sure.
“I want you,” Xie Lian breathes, eyes dazed, pupils blown wide. “I want all of you. Please, I can take it—”
“Soon,” Hua Cheng groans, like it’s physically painful to hold back. “But not yet.”
Then he adds a third finger.
Xie Lian cries out, breath catching on a jagged moan as the stretch deepens, his inner walls fluttering around the intrusion—tight, trembling, and dripping. His cunt clenches around Hua Cheng’s fingers, so slick and sensitive that every curl makes his hips twitch, thighs quivering. He can’t speak—can only whimper, high and soft, mouth falling open, eyes glassy.
But then—
He shakes his head, gasping, voice catching with frustration. “No—no more fingers,” he pants, fingers fisting in the sheets. “I’m ready. I want you, San Lang. Please—I want to feel you inside me.”
His voice cracks on the last word, pleading and raw. “Now.”
Hua Cheng’s eye darkens, his hand still slick with oil and his cock aching against the confines of his robes. “Fuck,” he breathes, voice torn and reverent. “You’re going to be the death of me”
He leans over Xie Lian, kissing him hard—desperate and deep, tongue licking into him like he needs to taste every corner of his mouth. Their breath mingles, feverish and fast. When Hua Cheng pulls back, just enough to look down at him, his voice goes hoarse. “Let me see you. Let me have all of you.”
And then he begins to undress him—slowly, reverently, with shaking hands that tug open silken layers one by one. The robes slip from Xie Lian’s shoulders like water, baring pale skin flushed with heat, a fine sheen of sweat glistening at his throat, his chest, the trembling softness between his thighs. Hua Cheng kisses each new inch of revealed skin, fingers lingering like he’s afraid it will all vanish.
When he finally lays him bare, Hua Cheng sits back on his knees and begins to undress himself. He strips the red robe from his shoulders in a single motion—revealing broad shoulders, a strong chest, arms corded with lean, defined muscle. His waist tapers into a sharp V, his frame built for both strength and speed, elegant yet deadly in equal measure. And there, inked in black across the pale skin of his arm, Xie Lian’s name burns like a brand.
Xie Lian’s breath catches. His eyes fall on the mark—the characters carved deep into Hua Cheng’s very being—and his lips part, heart thudding with something wordless. He remembers what Hua Cheng once said in a quiet moment, voice low and steady as a vow: “I never wanted to forget you. I wanted you etched into more than memory—into my soul, my body, everything I am.” The tattoo is clumsy, the brush strokes unmistakably Hua Cheng’s own hand—imperfect, devoted, permanent. And Xie Lian absolutely adores it.
Then, Hua Cheng lowers his hands to the waistband of his pants and undoes them slowly, eye never once straying from Xie Lian’s face. The fabric slips down his hips and Xie Lian’s breath catches. His gaze drops instinctively—and the moment he sees him fully, bare and thick and flushed dark with arousal, a small, stunned noise leaves his lips. “Oh…”
His thighs twitch where they’re spread, already pink and slick from Hua Cheng’s fingers. Wide-eyed, red-faced, he stares. “You’re… you’re so big…” he whispers, voice barely audible. He swallows hard, lashes fluttering. “I-I didn’t… I mean, I knew you would be, but not like this…” His gaze lingers, helplessly transfixed by the sheer size of it—the way Hua Cheng’s cock hangs heavy and hard, the flushed tip glistening with precum, the prominent vein curving along the shaft. It looks like it was carved from longing itself, and it makes heat coil deep in his belly, nerves fluttering low in his gut.
For a moment, Hua Cheng stills. Just the barest flicker of hesitation flickers through his expression—something caught between pride and concern. He watches the way Xie Lian’s thighs shift, the awe in his gaze, the way his mouth stays open like he’s forgotten how to close it. That hesitation lingers for a breath—until he sees it: the way Xie Lian’s cunt clenches subtly around nothing, the way his body responds despite all his flustered attempts to hide it.
A slow, crooked smile tugs at Hua Cheng’s lips. There’s heat in his eye—possessive, adoring, playful, but already darkening at the edges with something far more dangerous. “Am I?” he chuckles, voice low, just slightly rough with restrained hunger. “My wife, you flatter me.”
Xie Lian makes a tiny, strangled sound of embarrassment, his hands flying up to cover his burning face. “Don’t tease me like that…” he mumbles, voice muffled, lashes fluttering behind his fingers. But his thighs press together tighter, his body betraying the soft throb of heat curling deeper between them.
Hua Cheng chuckles—quiet, breathless, and warm—and leans in, brushing a soft kiss to the inside of his trembling thigh, just shy of where he’s aching the most. “But it’s true,” he says, lips dragging across sensitive skin. “You’re so cute when you say things like that. Look at you, blushing so sweetly. So shy, so beautiful… you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
Another kiss, higher now. “You say something like that and I…” He breaks off, letting his lips linger, heat smoldering low in his voice. “You make it so hard to hold back, beloved. You make me want to devour you. Ruin you. Until your pretty voice is hoarse from screaming my name.” He doesn’t even try to disguise the way his voice roughens, deepens, reverberating right where his mouth hovers against tender skin.
“Want to fuck you so deep you forget everything else. Make you come on my cock until you can’t think.” His tongue flicks out to taste the skin at the crease of Xie Lian’s thigh—wet, possessive. “Stretch you open so wide you feel it for days. Make you tremble. Make you cry. Want to make you sob on my cock, over and over, until all you know is me. Until you’re dripping for days. Ruined for anyone else. ” he murmurs against his skin, tongue dragging slow and wet. “Would you like that?”
A shiver jolts down Xie Lian’s spine, his hands fisting in the sheets. His body twitches like something electric just ran through him—too much, too sudden—but he doesn’t pull away. He’s still. Breath held. Thighs trembling in Hua Cheng’s grip.
Hua Cheng lifts his head just slightly, mouth still brushing the inside of his thigh, lips wet, eye glinting with wicked delight. “Are you alright there, my beloved?” he drawls, teasing, cocky. “Look a little dazed.”
Xie Lian lets out a noise—quiet, helpless, high. Not quite a moan. Not quite a sob. It stutters out of him like the first breath after drowning, his back arching faintly, thighs twitching around Hua Cheng’s shoulders. His mouth opens like he’s trying to speak, but no sound follows. Just a sharp, shaky gasp that turns into another soft whimper, bitten off before it breaks loose. The blush on his cheeks burns deeper. His chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, lips parted, pupils blown wide. He’s overwhelmed—but not pulling away. Not shaking his head. If anything, he’s trembling with want.
Hua Cheng’s grin sharpens, lazy and unrepentant. His voice when he speaks next is a low, knowing growl: “Ah... You like hearing it, don’t you? Like hearing what I want to do to you. What I’m going to do to you.”
Xie Lian nods—barely—but it’s there. A breathless, eager, humiliated little nod, like he can’t believe what he’s agreeing to. His thighs spread wider. “I didn’t know you could say things like that,” he breathes.
Hua Cheng huffs a soft laugh against his thigh, mouth still wet. “You have no idea about all the things i could say to you, Gege.”
“San Lang…” It’s not a protest. Not even really a question. Just a breathless sound—shy, dazed, sweetly overwhelmed.
That sound—that helpless little plea. Hua Cheng exhales, long and shaky, and leans in again, closer this time. His hand finds the mattress beside Xie Lian’s shoulder as his torso sinks lower, shifting with slow, deliberate weight. The bed dips beneath him. Their bodies nearly touch. Their breath mingles in the warm space between their mouths, and for a heartbeat it feels like the air could catch fire.
He doesn’t kiss his lips this time.
He leans in, tilting his head, and presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss just beneath Xie Lian’s ear. His breath is hot, his lips reverent. He drags his mouth slowly along the side of his neck—tongue tracing a line down the curve of his throat, licking over the racing pulse there.
Xie Lian gasps, soft and startled. “San Lang—”
The name catches in his throat when Hua Cheng licks again, slower this time. His hands twitch in the sheets. His chest rises, trembles, as Hua Cheng’s mouth maps lower—kissing the hollow of his throat, the sharp rise of his collarbone, the stretch of warm, vulnerable chest exposed just for him.
Hua Cheng pauses, hovering over the small, flushed peak of Xie Lian’s nipple. It’s already stiff, drawn tight in the cool air, rising and falling with every breath his god takes. So sensitive , so pink. So fucking perfect.
His tongue darts out, a featherlight flick—barely a touch—and he watches Xie Lian flinch , breath catching sharply in his throat.
“San Lang…” A whisper, almost scolding, but trembling too.
Hua Cheng huffs a quiet breath against the nipple, and his lips curve—crooked, reverent, a little unhinged. Like he’s smiling at the most sacred thing he’s ever seen. And then—he opens his mouth and sucks. Not a soft kiss. Not teasing. Slow. Deep. Possessive.
He draws Xie Lian’s nipple in with full suction, the kind meant to bruise, to imprint. His tongue flicks over it once, then again, lapping in wet, deliberate strokes as his lips tighten and seal around the swollen peak. The sound is obscene—slick, hungry—and Xie Lian cries out, sharp and breathless, his head tipping back so hard it nearly hits the headboard.
“Ah—San Lang!”
His thighs jerk around Hua Cheng’s waist, involuntary and trembling, the motion sending a fresh rush of slick down between his legs. One hand shoots into Hua Cheng’s hair, gripping tight, the other twisting the sheets in a crumpled fist. His whole chest is arched up, straining toward that mouth like he’ll die if it leaves.
Hua Cheng moans into him—loud, guttural, almost pained. The feel of that tight little bud under his tongue, the way it stiffens and twitches with every pass, the way Xie Lian’s cunt clenches uselessly below them, slick and fluttering around nothing—it’s maddening. His cock throbs with it, leaking, aching, rutting blindly against the bedding.
He groans and sucks harder, deep and wet, until spit’s dripping down Xie Lian’s chest and his own jaw. Then he lets up just enough to drag his tongue in slow, messy circles—lazy, practiced, filthy. Xie Lian is panting now, flushed all the way down to his belly, his lips parted in a dazed, breathless moan.
“Sensitive,” Hua Cheng murmurs, voice wrecked and low. He drags his tongue across the swollen peak again, just to feel Xie Lian shudder. “So fucking sensitive. Just from my mouth.”
Then—a light scrape of teeth. Not harsh, not biting—but just enough to make Xie Lian’s hips snap up, his breath hitch into a high, broken gasp. His cunt clenches around open air again, soaking wet, fluttering as if it can sense Hua Cheng’s cock nearby. “A-ah…!”
Hua Cheng groans again, deeper now, and lets his hand wander. It slides up Xie Lian’s other side, rough fingertips catching on sweat-damp skin, until he reaches the untouched nipple. He brushes it with a single callused finger, a featherlight tease.
And Xie Lian breaks. A high, keening whimper—sharp and wet, like he’s about to cry. His back arches, thighs spreading wider, and his mouth falls open in a silent moan.
“Both of them?” Hua Cheng growls, dark with teasing. “Need my mouth on both?”
Xie Lian doesn’t speak. He just nods, frantic, eyes squeezed shut, lashes damp, cheeks pink and slick with sweat. His whole body is trembling with need.
Hua Cheng wastes no time. He shifts down again, dragging open-mouthed kisses across the flushed skin of Xie Lian’s chest, tongue wet and slow like ink strokes over parchment. He licks from one nipple to the other, smearing spit across both, before taking the neglected one into his mouth.
He devours it. Full suction. Messy. Loud.
His hand doesn’t stop playing with the first, thumb brushing over it in slow, rhythmic circles while his mouth works the other with obscene focus—flicking, rolling, sucking until it’s red and swollen. Xie Lian is shaking under him now, his breath caught in his throat, moaning with every exhale. His cunt is soaking wet, slick dripping down to the backs of his thighs, hips rocking faintly as he tries—fails—to grind against anything.
“Fuck, Gege,” Hua Cheng groans, voice muffled against his chest. “You’re gonna make me come just from this.” He sucks harder. Then switches again—tongue flicking the one he left, mouth returning to the first, until both are raw and glistening, and Xie Lian is gasping, flushed to the ears, legs twitching uncontrollably.
“San Lang… please…” he whimpers, voice trembling like silk caught on thorns. “I—I can’t…”
Hua Cheng finally lifts his head—slowly, reluctantly. His lips are shiny with spit, eye wild with hunger, dark with love. He stares down at Xie Lian—his flushed cheeks, the sweat beading at his hairline, the way his slick cunt clenches again, twitching, fluttering open with nothing inside him.
He lowers himself again—not to kiss, not to tease. To press in. To align their bodies, chest to chest, cock to cunt. He lets Xie Lian feel just how hard he is, how thick—how close. His cock slides along those swollen lips, dragging through slick with aching slowness, grinding thick and heavy against him without pushing in yet.
Xie Lian sobs out a moan, spine arching helplessly as his hips chase every teasing grind of Hua Cheng’s cockhead against his entrance. His body is slick with sweat, flushed down to the chest, trembling beneath the weight of restraint coiled so tight it hurts. He’s already trembling, thighs parted and twitching with need, cunt wet and fluttering, lips puffy and aching around nothing. The drag of Hua Cheng’s shaft against him—thick, hot, and taunting where it rubs but doesn’t push in—is driving him out of his mind. Every second feels stretched and cruel, every near-thrust a torment that sends sparks of need ripping down his spine.
“San Lang—please,” he gasps, voice cracking with desperation. His head tosses weakly against the pillow, hair clinging to his damp forehead. “I—I need—I can’t—” The words splinter off into a moan when Hua Cheng rolls his hips again, grinding maddeningly slow against his slick folds without giving him what he’s begging for.
And then, without warning—shaking, wrecked, utterly undone—Xie Lian cries out, voice cracking on a sob: “Husband, please—just put it in—please, I need it, I need you—I can’t wait anymore, please!”
Fucking hell.
A guttural noise rips from Hua Cheng’s throat—feral and broken—and whatever thin thread of control he had left burns away in an instant. His body moves on instinct, unthinking, consumed. He grabs Xie Lian by the hips, fingers bruising where they dig into soft flesh, and in one ruthless, trembling thrust, he drives in—deep. All the way. No pause, no warning, no restraint.
Xie Lian doesn’t know if he screams or sobs or simply forgets how to breathe. All he knows is the way Hua Cheng drives into him—hard, unrelenting, with no trace of hesitation left between them. His body reacts before thought can catch up, spine arching, legs spreading wider, cunt clenching in desperate, fluttering waves around the impossible fullness stretching him to his limit. It’s like Hua Cheng’s carved himself into him with that first savage thrust and is now determined to make sure he stays there, permanently branded in the trembling cradle of his body.
The pace is merciless from the very beginning, each thrust slamming into him so deep it knocks his breath out, steals every word from his mouth and turns them into broken, high-pitched cries. His thighs shake violently where they hook around Hua Cheng’s waist, but there’s nowhere to run, no way to soften the force of it—he’s pinned, folded, opened up entirely, taken with a hunger so complete it feels more like a possession than a joining.
Above him, Hua Cheng looks utterly wrecked—eye wild and filled with nothing but lust, mouth twisted into something between a snarl and a moan, sweat shining on his brow, his entire body trembling with the effort to not devour him whole. But restraint is no longer in reach. That word, gasped so helplessly— husband —had torn through him like lightning through dry wood, igniting every corner of his self-control and leaving nothing but smoldering ruin in its wake.
“Ah—husband…! so big—so good—I can't—!” Xie lian sobs. Each brutal snap of Hua Cheng’s hips against him more desperate than the last, like he’s trying to fuck his way through time itself—to make up for every second they’ve ever spent apart, every life lost, every touch denied. And Xie Lian feels it in every inch of his body, in every bruising thrust and panting growl—he’s indeed being made love to, but he’s also being claimed, taken, consumed.
The sounds in their chamber are loud and wet and obscene, the bed creaking under the violence of their lovemaking, but neither of them care—there’s no room for shame here, only the raw, soul-deep truth of want.
Hua Cheng’s breath is a ragged snarl against his throat, his hands gripping Xie Lian’s hips so tightly it borders on cruel, but it’s exactly what Xie Lian wants—no, needs. He sobs, voice broken and pleading and high with overstimulation, “Please, please—San Lang—” and Hua Cheng answers not with words, but with a brutal thrust that knocks a strangled scream from his wife’s throat.
Xie Lian’s vision sparkles white at the edges. His entire body goes tight, cunt spasming around the thick length spearing into him, like his body’s trying to milk him for everything he’s worth, and Hua Cheng feels it—his breath catches, a ragged gasp dragged out of him, hips stuttering as he barely holds back from coming right there.
Hua Cheng growls—a brutal, guttural sound that claws its way from the back of his throat. His hips snap forward, sharp and punishing, and the force of it drives a broken cry from Xie Lian’s lungs. The bed lurches under them with every thrust, the wood groaning in protest, but Hua Cheng doesn’t slow—he can’t. His body is burning, feral with need, and the sight of Xie Lian beneath him—flushed and soaked and sobbing—is too much.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he pants, voice shredded with restraint that’s already breaking apart. “My wife. My beloved. If you knew—if you even knew —what I did in Mount Tonglu—”
He slams in again, deep and rough, forcing a gasp from Xie Lian that cuts off into a high, trembling moan. Hua Cheng’s hands are everywhere—gripping his hips, dragging him down onto his cock, pinning him open like he’s something sacred and obscene all at once.
“I carved statues of you,” he growls, breath hot against Xie Lian’s throat. “Ones you haven’t seen. Ones I made when I was starving for you. Desperate. Fucking feral. Statues with your cunt spread open, glistening, your lips parted like you were begging me to fuck you—just like this.”
He thrusts again—hard. Xie Lian sobs.
“I fucked them,” Hua Cheng snarls, voice breaking. “I fucked every one. Ground my cock into cold stone like a mad man. Until I screamed your name into the dark. But it still wasn’t enough.”
His thrusts are merciless now—deep, dragging, devastating—like he’s trying to fuck every ghost of his longing into Xie Lian’s body all at once. And Xie Lian is taking it. Legs spread, shaking. Cunt stretched and fluttering, dripping with slick and the heat of every brutal snap of Hua Cheng’s hips. His hands scrabble uselessly at Hua Cheng’s arms, his shoulders, his back—clinging for dear life.
“I painted you,” Hua Cheng hisses, voice low and dangerous. “On walls, ceilings, floors. Murals of your body under mine. Your thighs painted open. Your mouth painted red. I used my own blood just to color your cunt right. I made you look fucked-out and begging—everywhere.”
Xie Lian makes a strangled sound, somewhere between overwhelmed and wrecked. His body clenches hard around Hua Cheng, cunt fluttering uncontrollably as if trying to pull him deeper, trying to keep him there— inside , where he belongs.
“Yet I still I needed more,” Hua Cheng groans. “I would get on my knees in the dark. My cock in my fist, your name in my mouth, the taste of ash and blood on my tongue—and all I could think about was this. You. Like this. Under me. Wet and shaking and full of me.”
He thrusts—deep. Brutal. Final. Xie Lian screams.
“You kept me alive,” Hua Cheng breathes, voice falling into a desperate rasp as he pounds into him again, the rhythm wild, punishing. Xie Lian sobs at this— actually sobs, broken and wrecked and so unbearably turned on it feels like dying. His whole body clenches around Hua Cheng’s cock in a vice, slick and hot and fluttering with raw desperation.
Hua Cheng snarls, and leans down to crush their mouths together. It’s not a kiss. It’s devouring. His teeth catch on Xie Lian’s lip and bite just hard enough to make him cry out, and then he’s fucking him through the sound—relentless now, completely unhinged. “And now—now you’re actually here. Under me. Taking me. Begging me. Calling me husband —fuck, Your Highness, I’m going to lose my mind —”
Xie Lian can’t even scream anymore. His throat is raw, eyes glazed, tears slipping down his cheeks unchecked. His body is nothing but heat and motion and the unbearable pulse of Hua Cheng slamming into him, again and again, never slowing, never softening. It’s too much—it’s perfect . Every thrust grinds against that spot inside him with vicious accuracy, until all he can do is sob and cling and break , again and again, on the merciless rhythm of Hua Cheng’s hips. There’s no more modesty, no more pretense. He wants it. He needs it. He lives for it.
“You were made for me,” Hua Cheng breathes, voice cracked and low and thick with awe. “You were made to take me like this. To cry under me, to come on my cock, to let me ruin you again and again until you can’t remember anything but my name.” He thrusts deep then, grinding in and holding, and Xie Lian’s mouth drops open in a silent scream, his back bowing like a bow pulled too tight. “You like it. Don’t you, Your Highness? You like how I fuck you. You like being filled, split open, owned—”
“Yes— yes, husband ,” Xie Lian gasps, nodding frantically, desperate and high with the rush of it.
Hua Cheng hauls Xie Lian’s legs even higher, presses him down harder, folds him in half and pounds into him with a savagery that makes the headboard crack against the wall. His voice is barely a voice now—just snarled curses and shattered praise, words spat against Xie Lian’s throat between kisses and bites. “So wet for me. So tight around me. Fuck—you’re milking me. You want my come, don’t you? You want me to fill this sweet little cunt so deep it leaks out of you for days .”
Xie Lian screams, body locking tight, every muscle seizing up as his orgasm crashes over him with the force of a divine calamity. His cunt spasms wildly, fluttering and clenching and trying to pull Hua Cheng impossibly deeper, and his vision whites out entirely as pleasure tears through him in savage waves. “Ah—Husband—!”
“Fuck— shit —I’m coming—” Hua Cheng chokes.
Xie Lian can feel it—the way Hua Cheng’s rhythm starts to falter, the way every brutal thrust is chased by a shudder, every guttural breath choked with effort. He’s close. And Xie Lian wants to be filled until he’s dripping, until the only thing left inside him is Hua Cheng’s come and the ache of being made completely, undeniably his .
And something in him breaks open at the thought—at the unbearable sweetness of it, the sacred filth of belonging to Hua Cheng so wholly that even his womb would remember it. The words rip out of him before he can think, high and ruined, trembling with reverence and starved need.
“Husband—please— please , come inside me—fill me up, I need it, I need it so bad—I want it all, I want to feel it pouring into me— make it stay —”
Hua Cheng snarls like an animal. The sound is low and savage and barely human, torn from the depths of him like it costs blood. He slams Xie Lian down onto the bed so hard the frame groans beneath them, and his hands grip Xie Lian’s hips hard enough to bruise. He pistons into him with a brutal, frantic rhythm, cock slamming in deep enough to punch sobs from Xie Lian’s throat with every stroke.
“You want that?” he growls, voice shredded, panting like a beast. “You want to be filled to the brim, beloved? Want me to taint you inside out, make sure no one ever forgets who you belong to? I’ll fucking give it to you , I’ll stuff you so full it leaks out for days—”
“Yes—yes, please—please, San Lang, do it —” Xie Lian screams, tears streaking down his flushed cheeks, eyes wild and unfocused. He’s babbling now, incoherent with need, begging to be claimed, to be ruined, to be filled so completely that it’s all he feels for hours after. “Want it inside me—all of it—don’t hold back— husband , please—!!”
With a guttural growl—feral and full of fire—Hua Cheng slams into him one final time, to the hilt, deep enough to bruise, deep enough to stay . His body locks tight above him, and in a single, desperate motion, he wraps his entire arm under Xie Lian’s back and around his waist in a single, crushing motion—scooping him up, hauling him tight against his chest, like he’s afraid Xie Lian will disappear if he doesn’t hold him close enough to fuse them together . His hand spans nearly all of Xie Lian’s side,
fingers digging into his ribs, pulling him down onto his cock with the full force of his trembling body—and then he comes.
It’s like a dam breaking. Like centuries of starving love finally spilling over.
“ Fuck, fuck, fuck —Your Highness—!” Hua Cheng pours into him, hot and thick and so much— too much. Xie Lian sobs, eyes flying open, body jolting with every pulse as he feels it flood his cunt, stretching him, filling him so much it starts to spill out—leaking around the base, soaking down his thighs, painting the sheets beneath them in obscene, devotional ruin.
The pressure, the heat, the fullness—it's too much , and Xie Lian comes with a broken, shuddering scream, entire body curling into Hua Cheng’s grasp as his cunt clenches hard, spasming in tight, frantic pulses around the cock still buried inside him. Slick gushes from him, sweet and messy and overwhelmed, his whole frame shaking like he’s coming apart in Hua Cheng’s arms.
And Hua Cheng still doesn't stop.
His hips jerk in tiny, involuntary thrusts, trying to push even deeper as he gasps and groans into Xie Lian’s skin, every breath wild and shaking. That arm around Xie Lian’s waist holds firm—desperate, possessive, like he wants to merge them , seal this moment into his bones. Xie Lian clings to him, boneless and soaked, body still fluttering with aftershocks, wrecked and trembling and smiling through his tears.
His god is truly his now. Entirely. Fucked open and filled to the brim, leaking and held, loved like a treasure that was lost and finally found.
When the last tremor passes, they collapse together—still locked, still joined, the air between them thick with sweat and heat and something too sacred to name. Hua Cheng doesn’t move, doesn’t pull out, just breathes against Xie Lian’s neck, cock still seated deep, arm wrapped around him like a vow.
For a long moment, there’s only the sound of their breathing—ragged and uneven, chest against chest, skin damp with sweat, the sheets beneath them ruined and sticky and entirely forgotten. Hua Cheng stays exactly where he is, buried deep in the trembling cradle of Xie Lian’s body, one arm still wrapped tightly around his waist, holding him close like he’s afraid he might vanish if he lets go. His other hand comes up, slow and shaking, to cradle the back of Xie Lian’s head—fingers weaving gently into damp, tangled hair, thumb stroking the curve of his nape.
“Your Highness…” he breathes, barely audible. His voice is wrecked. Ruined. Soaked in wonder and guilt and awe.
Xie Lian doesn't answer, not with words. He only breathes against Hua Cheng's neck, body limp, spent, trembling still with the aftershocks that haven’t fully faded. He feels split open and full, every inch of him aching, flushed, and still wet with Hua Cheng's seed. But he also feels safe —anchored by the weight pressing him into the mattress, by the warmth of Hua Cheng’s chest against his own, the hold around his waist, the way his husband is shaking just as much as he is.
A soft sound breaks from Xie Lian’s throat—half sob, half laugh. “You didn’t hold back,” he whispers, and even though it’s barely audible, there’s something shining in it. Not pain. Not regret.
Joy.
“I tried,” Hua Cheng rasps, pressing his forehead to Xie Lian’s, eye fluttering shut. “I tried, beloved—I was going to be slow. Gentle. But you… you asked for all of me. And I—I couldn’t—” His voice cracks. “I couldn't hold anything back. Not from you. Never from you. I’m so sorry if I hurt—”
Xie Lian shifts in his arms, just enough to tilt his face up, eyes glassy and flushed. He cups Hua Cheng’s cheek with trembling fingers, and though he’s still wrecked—smeared with tears and sweat and come—his smile is soft and devastatingly beautiful.
“I didn’t want you to hold back,” he says gently. “I wanted you. All of you. Even the parts you thought were too much.”
Hua Cheng lets out a trembling breath and kisses him—softly this time. Reverent. Lips slow, plush and lingering, full of apology and worship. He doesn't move inside him, doesn't dare—not yet. He just kisses him like a prayer, like a promise, as their bodies settle around each other again, heartbeat by heartbeat.
Slowly, carefully, he pulls back just a little—his cock slipping free from Xie Lian’s body with a sticky, messy sound that makes both of them gasp softly. Hua Cheng glances down at where they’re joined and curses under his breath at the sight: Xie Lian wet and flushed and open, stretched wide and dripping with everything he gave him. He groans faintly and buries his face against his god’s neck, murmuring something that sounds like, too beautiful, it’s too much, I can’t—
But Xie Lian only hums, eyes fluttering as he leans into the heat of that embrace. “I promise you didn’t hurt me,” he murmurs. “I feel… so full. So good. I want to stay like this forever.”
Hua Cheng shudders and kisses him again, slower now. His hands wander, gentle now—no longer rough, no longer desperate. He traces over every mark he left, kissing bruises on Xie Lian’s hips, smoothing his palms down his thighs, whispering quiet, hoarse apologies against the swell of his stomach. “I’ll clean you up,” he whispers. “Let me take care of you.”
But Xie Lian shakes his head, clinging tighter. “Not yet,” he whispers. “Just… hold me.”
And Hua Cheng does.
He gathers Xie Lian into his arms fully, tucks him against his chest like a precious thing, pressing soft, endless kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, his shoulders—murmuring, you’re mine, you’re my everything, my wife, my god, my light, You’ll never be out of my sight ever again . And Xie Lian closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of sandalwood, smoke, and rain, letting it sink into his bones like home.
There will be time for washing. For tea. For tending to sore limbs and changing the bed. But for now, in the heavy warmth of afterglow and silence, they remain entwined—flesh and spirit, ruined and radiant, god and worshipper—until the stars fade into dawn and the world begins again. Together.