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cw inherent eroticism of sharp objects // sl likes knives. so does xue yang. that's a given at this point. cutting is a good, clean feeling. works between the two of them; it's simple. it helps song lan to see the wounds, narrow and pale before blood seeps into the gaps. https://twitter.com/spikekat1/status/1357748780389593094
likes hearing his own moan, swimming from outside himself. song lan craves it. when xue yang hurts him like this, when he doesn't perceive, really, or understand; isn't supposed to.
and it's simple for xue yang too, who will never tire of watching pain waver through song lan's body knowing he's the cause of it. dribble of blood in his mouth. the heady flush of light inflected in song lan's eyes when xue yang puts him under.
needles are a different story. to be fair, it starts as a joke. a dare? either way it happens. wen qing over one night, a little drunk, a little high. hair wisping loose and lopsided from her usually severe bun, and xue yang goading her mercilessly about how messy she's gotten.
'what good even are you like this,' he makes an exaggerated sigh. 'the great dr wen, felled by a case of PBR. can you fucking believe that?'. song lan's feeling good, relaxed, lets out a low laugh. 'really,' wen qing replies, curt, and downs a whole beer.
grabs xue yang by the scruff of his neck and slams the side of his face into the table. she looks at him consideringly. then; 'song lan, pass me my bag, please,' she says, in a voice that brokers no argument.
wen qing's fingers are still steady and deft, when she weaves the slim needles into a pattern at the juncture of xue yang's neck and shoulder. red nails flashing. the way she works, so sharp and smooth that the metal might be moving through water instead of meat.
the glint of them hurts song lan's eyes. needles are nothing to xue yang, song lan knows, whose whole body is pierced both visible and invisible: the swell of his eyebrow, the flat of his tongue. the tip of his cock. the shell of his left ear
so weighted down that sometimes it jingles. song lan likes the press of soft flesh against metal when he tugs on a piercing or catches one accidentally. how it feels like something from deep inside xue yang is vibrating up to the very tips of song lan's fingers.
song lan knows he likes blowing xue yang and getting desperate, so desperate to chase the kiss of cold metal deep in the back of his throat.
but what song lan's unprepared to see; xue yang's pupils dilating with the immediacy of an explosion. white and bright when the first needle pierces his flesh, wen qing's hand bracing against it as it moves with a quiet, authoritative 'good.'
the way xue yang lips twitch involuntarily, breath coming shallow at first, and then deeper, slow and even when the sensation ripples through him.
what song lan's unprepared to see: pleasure and pain repelling each other inside of xue yang with such force that he can't fight it. can't fight anything. goes entirely limp. 'good,' wen qing smiles, when he makes a soft sound. it could be a whine. his eyes are wet.
song lan's whole body's so hot, his vision blurred and glowing red around the edges. he wants to press into xue yang like that, into where he's not supposed to be. wants to force xue yang open where his body doesn't want to yield.
wen qing catches his gaze and holds it, a smile playing about her lips. she crosses her legs delicately. 'he's nicer like this, isn't he.' hand still firm, heavy on xue yang's neck, even though it's obvious he's not going anywhere.
xue yang looks drunk, gorged on the feeling. song lan feels his hand clench into a fist.
i want to give the people what they want.
idk what happened here, ended up having to re-thread. ty for your patience, everyone. evidently this whole situation is Cursed.
'you don't like me touching him like this, do you' wen qing says, levelly. thumbing the base of xue yang's neck. 'no,' song lan says back, just as levelly, taking a single step forward. he can feel his nails, half-crescents digging into his palms. breathing getting ragged.
his cock is half-hard against his thigh. it's moving through him now, that familiar hum of anger. can't help it, to see someone else make xue yang look like that, already so wrecked and in seconds. someone who's not him. not xingchen.
wen qing seems unconcerned. looks back down at xue yang and calmly makes a few adjustments; the slide of needle in her hand, a quick, silver extension of her body. song lan takes a breath, tries to push the feeling down, back into his sternum, deep into his belly.
because what is he going to do, /grab wen qing/? throw her across the room? he wants to. he wants her far away from xue yang. wen qing flicks another needle up between her fingers and pushes it in. xue yang's whole body stutters. the pain is so pretty when it blossoms in his eyes
wen qing twists and his face goes red. possessiveness flames through song lan. he can barely stand the noise that escapes xue yang, the neediness of his whine. back arched as if calling for song lan to touch him. as if xue yang needs him, needs badly to be close to him.
it's like the whole room balloons when song lan tangles his hand in xue yang's hair; trembling and tender. pushes dark strands back from his face and carefully away from the needles sticking out of his skin; inflamed from the intrusion and hot to the touch.
xue yang's lashes are fluttering, the lids of his eyes open-shut. song lan can't resist; so he helps himself. leans down and presses his mouth against xue yang's. can taste how cracked open xue yang is; all sour and soft, a rare, heady mix of desire and fear.
like this, he's malleable, limitless, so easy to push. like this, xue yang can take so much. and song lan kisses like he wants to claim him, wants to climb inside of him; tongue bruising in his throat, teeth in his lip. xue yang pants into it, needing air.
song lan won't let him breathe, holds him down by his hair, anchoring him. won't let up. won't let him go. and when he finally pulls back, xue yang is a mess, mouth red and shiny with spit. eyes glazed over and gasping. he's so far under. song lan hasn't seen him like this since-
'shhh,' wen qing says, appreciatively, tugging cruelly on a needle. xue yang's body goes taut, fingers scrabbling at the table. 'zichen,' he whines, and thick grief rises in song lan's throat. xue yang really must be addled; if he's calling song lan that.
'xue yang,' he says, keeping the break from his voice, trying to soothe him with the weight of syllables, the uncharacteristic sweetness rolling off his tongue. xue yang automatically stills. wen qing tilts her head. 'hm. seems he was never as good for me as he'll be for you.'
he ugly thing in song lan rears its head. he's hard now, so hard, and not sure about any of this. doesn't understand what's happening. 'don't worry big guy,' wen qing says, after long, searching glance. 'it was a long time ago.' 'a long time ago,' song lan says, 'is not now.'
wen qing licks her lips. 'no,' she admits. wen qing's usually so composed, inscrutable, but song lan can see the nerves in the clench ofher jaw, the slight worry in her eyes. xue yang stirs, getting impatient. 'zichen,' he says again, but trails off, can barely get the name out.
song lang puts his thumb in xue yang's mouth. strokes at his tongue; just a placeholder, for now. xue yang sucks hungrily, biting back a moan. he's rutting against the table but song lan tsks softly,
hands closing hard around xue yang's hips to hold him back, stop him from chasing his own pleasure. xue yang kicks out, frustrated. 'don't,' song lan says, firmly. wen qing strokes a hand over his back, soothingly, like an echo. 'xue yang, how do you feel,' she asks.
'i... zichen,' xue yang slurs, a little garbled around song lan's thumb. song lan shivers involuntarily. he's losing the thread a little. gets like this, sometimes, when xue yang's laid out so prettily, begging for him to do whatever he wants to him. song lan gets like this, when
how much he /wants/ theatens to overwhelm him. xingchen always knew what to do, how to gently guide him. always knew what he needed. what xue yang needed. without him, song lan is frozen. without him, all song lan feels is /need/, a black furnace inside of him.
his eyes ache, where they're swelling with tears. and when he looks up, wen qing's eyes are sharp, discerning. she only hesitates a little before reaching out to stroke a hand down his cheek. it's too gentle.
he can't help but lean into the touch at the same time as he tries to flinch away. 'it's okay,' she says, not taking her gaze off his face. 'xue yang,' wen qing says, and song lan feels suddenly wrecked by the quiet authority in her voice. it's so different from xingchen's.
'open that pretty mouth for us,' says wen qing, digging her nails into the hinge of xue yang's jaw. she turns to song lan; 'fuck his mouth for me,' she says and he's so flooded with relief at the /direction/ of it, he could cry. he knows how to do this.
'you want my cock in your mouth, yang'er?' song lan asks gently, moving his thumb out of xue yang's mouth to tilt his chin towards him. belt buckle already clinking open. xue yang's eyes are dark with need. he licks his lips uncertainly, glancing at wen qing.
but; 'i don't.. zichen please,' xue yang folds immediately at the sound of song lan's zipper. wen qing laughs, light and malicious when xingchen would have been kind. xue yang's out of it but head jerks a little, as if remembering. it makes song lan's chest hurt.
the first slide of song lan's dick into the wet heat of xue yang's mouth is so deep that he cuts xue yang's air off all together. xue yang can't help but writhe, swallowing desperately around him. the clench of his throat is so delicious. there are tears running down his face.
'pretty,' wen qing says, wiping them away. tugs again at the needles and xue yang chokes. song lan pulls back to give him some respite. but; 'no,' wen qing says, and xue yang moans. his voice is hoarse, destroyed. 'i told you to fuck his face.'
