Archive of Our Own

Despite popular belief, Mu Qing has never been the picture of virginal innocence. He is, after all, a healthy young man, with his own fair share of experience. All of which has been way too bland for his own taste - but no one needs to know that. Let them all believe he is the virgin they think, and not the animal he feels like when he thinks about everything he would rather be doing. 

Faceless figures falling to their knees, the endless string of begging, the heavy weight of restraints pulling hands and feet taut, collar tightening around a fragile column of bare throat. There is a sense of excitement he has always felt about these pictures, taking permanent residence in his mind. He can’t pinpoint what is exactly that pulls him towards them with an almost frightening sense of belonging. 

Maybe it is the feeling of control he has always imagined having, the way Mu Qing himself can steer his own decisions and never fall into that wrong thread of fate he has never been destined to belong to. 

Maybe it is the pleasure he has been denying himself for way too long, with endless studies and now a restless work schedule. 

It can be anything, for all he cares. But he needs this control now, more than anything. 

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It is weeks after his promotion to department head - one of the, if not the youngest one in the company, mind you - that he feels everything spiraling so, so out of control. His tight grip around all things is something he treasures dearly, to hold onto the precious little reins and pull and make the rush of time slow down, to make fate obey. Yet no matter how hard Mu Qing pulls, nothing slows down, nothing waits for him to catch his breath as life starts passing him by with a terrifying speed.

And then there are his superiors - it has been foolish of him to think that the higher he got, the easier they would go on him - always putting him in the front, forcing him to take the blame for something his subordinates do, something entirely out of his vision or his duties. The responsibilities on Mu Qing’s shoulders are too much, piling up and almost suffocating him - and he needs an out.

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The day has almost ended when Pei Ming struts into his office, one whole arm holding an enormous stack of files, the other too occupied with typing on his phone to stop for even a second. He doesn’t look up as he deposits half of the pile on top of Mu Qing’s desk, not even bothering to tear his gaze away from the phone screen. 

“C’mon, you don’t want to keep that frown eternally on while going over those reports.”

“Why do you assume I’m frowning?” Mu Qing asks, scowling all the harder as he watches his colleague’s furious typing. 

“You always are,” comes the short reply with a grin as Pei Ming finally looks up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“Didn’t you promise me a coffee?” Mu Qing raises an eyebrow as he reaches for the worryingly large folder that threatens to slip and scatter off the edge of his table. 

“I’m not your slave,” Pei Ming replies with a smirk that seems to be loaded with something a touch more than friendly banter. “Anyway, I gotta run, see ya’ later!”

And with that, he is already out the door. Mu Qing mumbles a quiet ‘See you’ in reply to the closed door before exhaling a deep sigh and taking a glance at his phone to check the time. There is still a little more than an hour before he can finally escape for the week and he couldn’t be any more excited than this. 

He needs that drink that Pei Ming has promised him days ago really bad . He wants to just forget everything that has happened these past few days and possibly just drown in alcohol. His fingers twitch for the comforting warmth of a cigarette too, a good lungful of nicotine, but he knows he can’t tolerate it while he is sober, so the thought dies as quickly as it came.

Instead, Mu Qing reaches for the bursting file and pulls it open, his eyes immediately catching on a bright card on top, abstract red and black with the name of a bar ( Scarlet ) in large cursive, and the address. Underneath, there is a scribbled line, in the already familiar, barely legible scrawl of Pei Ming. 

‘7PM, dress nicely’ . 

So that is the bar the other man had been trying to introduce Mu Qing to. Pei Ming had wanted to pull him away from their usual place for a good month now, stating he had found something more interesting. But Mu Qing has dismissed him too many times. Mostly for the desperate need of familiarity he longs for on these Friday night escapades. 

Looks like today is going to be the day he finally succumbs to Pei Ming’s whines and takes the invitation - not like he has much of a choice, as the little card is much more a direct order than anything else.

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“This is not your normal club,” Pei Ming starts as he takes hold on Mu Qing’s arm, pulling him forward, but not right into the entrance. There is a small area covered by a protruding section of the roof and Pei Ming stops right at the edge, so they are covered against the falling flakes of snow, and looks at him expectantly. Mu Qing realizes it’s almost as if the other man is giving him a chance to back away. 

“What kinda club is it then?” He asks finally, knowing that Pei Ming wants him to be like this, to see his curiosity bubble up with the question, to set up the illusion of Mu Qing being the one eager to know and not Pei Ming being the one overexcited to tell. And as if Mu Qing haven’t just knowingly taken the bait, Pei Ming chuckles.

“A BDSM club,” Mu Qing hears rather than sees the smirk on the other man’s face, hidden by the dark winter evening, only occasionally highlighted by the lights of the passing cars. In the sparse light, the distant glint in Pei Ming’s eyes looks partly feral and partly excited - and worryingly more like a child, leading his friend to his secret candy stash than a grownass adult, attempting to pull his colleague into a BDSM club. 

Or maybe it is his secret candy-stash - but then the question is, why would he so willingly and confidently share it with Mu Qing?

Pei Ming starts in a hushed voice, but his excitement picks up halfway and makes his voice go louder with every syllable. “Well, I’m not exactly sure how deep you want to go into this, but I wanted you to have a taste before you mingle with the wrong cro-” 

Until Mu Qing interrupts him: “Wait, wait, time out,” He puts a hand on Pei Ming’s shoulder heavily. “Where did you even get the idea from? To bring me here, I mean,” Mu Qing feels his cheeks burning, because while yes, it is his deepest desire to be a part of something like this, he just hasn’t shared it with anyone before. No one should know about this. Yet Pei Ming - Pei Ming, of all people! - does. 

The question is clearly written in the knit of his eyebrows and Mu Qing’s teeth itches to bite nervously on his nails, because the man is not answering. But it just so happens that Pei Ming already feels like teasing, so when he finally does answer, it is not outright. “Oh? You gave me the idea yourself.”

“Me? That’s impossible,” Mu Qing denies immediately, but as Pei Ming’s knowing stare burns a hole into his head, he asks in a quieter voice: “When?” He is still trying to process everything, when his mind helpfully flashes him back a few weeks to a drunken conversation that revolved around ties and leather and begging and most importantly domination . “Oh.” Mu Qing breathes out eloquently as his mind comes to a screeching halt. 

“ Oh indeed,” By this time, Pei Ming’s cheeks must already hurt from that annoying smirk being plastered onto it - at least Mu Qing hopes so. “Listen, Scarlet is a good place for figuring things out. You don't have to partake in anything and you can just watch and see if you like things or don't. Sometimes it's only the thought that excites you but then you go to try it and just go soft halfway. You know I won’t judge, it has happened to me before-”

“Oh for- Can you be even more shameless?” Seeing Pei Ming's lips open for a reply, Mu Qing hurriedly adds: “Don't answer, you ass.”

“This isn't about shame , this is about want ,” Pei Ming nudges him with an elbow and a flash of a coquettish grin. “No one will judge you here for who you are or what you want. 'Seek and you shall find', they say and I must admit, so far I have always found,” his grin is less suggestive now as it tames itself into a content smile.

“So all those girls..?” Mu Qing's eyes round out and his jaw falls open only a tiny bit.

“Yup,” Pei Ming nods.

“But you haven't had anyone for the last few months, wh-”

“That is for later,” Pei Ming interrupts with a quiet shake of his head, suddenly unnervingly serious. So the topic is off-limits. For now . “If you are interested, I will introduce you. But I'm-” There is a sort of hesitation laced with Pei Mind's tone, and his face turns into a strange expression, one that Mu Qing hasn't seen before. It makes him look open and unusually vulnerable.

“It's okay, I understand,” and maybe he really does. Pei Ming is afraid, because this is not a one-off. This is serious, way more serious than he has ever been before. Now there is a little monster wedged inside Mu Qing's mind, giggling and shuffling around, wanting to know this special person who made the self-assured playboy of the century into a loyal puppy, with an almost perverse curiosity.

But then this monster, the little traitor, wants to know when Mu Qing will have this special person and he can’t be more thankful that Pei Ming starts talking again.

“Okay, I think I gave you enough time to think now. Have you decided?” when Pei Ming looks at Mu Qing again, the strange longing is banished from his voice and his eyes and he is back to his usual flirty-asshole self. 

“Yes. I want to,” Mu Qing replies instantly, following the pull of the fire that has lit inside the pit of his stomach.

“No 'Guide me, oh Lord Pei Ming, God of all that is sex'? or 'I'll follow all of your footsteps, my esteemed friend'?” Mu Qing almost manages to muffle his snort. Almost. “You're no fun,” Pei Ming pouts, but elbows him and jerks his head into the direction of the entrance - unmistakeable with the presence of four burly security guards at the front and then some more sneakily lurking behind the pillars near the gate.

With a deep inhale, Mu Qing smooths out the nonexistent creases on his thick coat and follows Pei Ming's confident stride.

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Mu Qing doesn’t know what he had expected, but this was not it. The interior of Scarlet is, surprisingly, not dominated - hah! - by red. The walls are a deep blood red, but everything else seems to differ. The floor is pitch black, the bar’s lights are a dimmed yellow, the barstools a crisp white and the drinks surprisingly colorful. At first glance it is like every other bar he has been to before - maybe the air is a little hotter, and there are some people who avoid his searching glance with bowed heads and tight collars around their necks.

Not wanting to seem impolite or worse, like a lost puppy trailing after Pei Ming, Mu Qing takes the initiative to stride over to the bar and orders two beers for them. For once, he doesn’t want to get drunk, but it is always more comforting to have something cold and solid to hold onto when he is nervous. And right now the sparks of his nerves are everything he feels. 

Pei Ming nods his thanks after Mu Qing slides him the other glass, and sits down next to him. They don’t engage in small talk as they contently sip on their own alcohol, both men just watching the dancefloor, the mass of bodies whirling closer and closer to each other - it’s almost hypnotizing.  

“This part of the club is really tame, if we stay here, there is not a thing to see. There are some rooms in the back - some are private ones for, obviously, private use, but some are open for an audience if you know what I mean,” Pei Ming says as he flashes a grin at Mu Qing.

“Fine, we can go,” Mu Qing gives in to Pei Ming’s implied invitation - and to his own curiosity - and downs the rest of his beer. He revels for a bit in the cold sensation that spreads in his chest, but it doesn’t help cool down the blood that is rushing through his veins in a flaming haste. 

They pass by the vast dancefloor and Mu Qing can’t help but steal a glance again. It’s not like he hasn’t seen a club’s dancefloor before. It’s the same on the surface: bodies grinding together, hips rotating, skin bared suggestively. Maybe it’s a little more sensual than a ‘normal’ club would be, but also more controlled, more safe and he can’t help but wonder at how that’s possible. It’s probably the trust and the one connecting trait all these people have that makes them so warm to each other, almost protective towards people they don’t even know.

Even as he turns away, the thought in Mu Qing’s mind is still prominent: I want this. 

It’s only a few more steps until a lowly lit hallway opens up before them, doors on both sides, some open, some closed. The music of the dancefloor is already dull behind them and it’s a different melody that plays in this area. Low moans, whines, shouts and commands. There is nowhere to hide now as it is the main attraction, the reason Mu Qing is standing behind Pei Ming’s broad back as it obscures his vision of the room they stopped in front of. 

Mu Qing leans forward to look, but Pei Ming puts a heavy hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. “Not for you,” he adds with a grin. The room is filled with moans, but all of them distinctly female, as they are lost in the throes of pleasure. Mu Qing nods in affirmation and follows him to the next open door. 

Now he doesn’t need to try and peek as Pei Ming pulls him into the room before himself, giving Mu Qing a few seconds to take in the interior and the company in the room, before pulling Mu Qing with him and moving to sit at one of the empty armchairs along the wall.

The room’s walls are curiously pure black leather, and the floor is lined with a thick woven carpet - in the same shade. In the middle, as contrast to the room’s colors, two men kneel, with collars circling their necks, and silk blindfolds almost slipping away from their eyes. One is a taller blond with such pale skin that it almost rivals Mu Qing’s own, the other is a shorter, stockier brunette with bronze toned skin and harder defined muscles, two burly men - their Doms - standing behind them, forcing them together in a fierce kiss. Drool drips from their lips and low whines and moans still spill into the small space between them. It looks and sounds positively obscene - but Mu Qing hasn’t ever been more aroused before. 

At this moment he feels like singing odes to Pei Ming, partially for inviting him out, but mostly for pulling him into the chair before his knees gave out - but he is too distracted to care. Mu Qing hasn’t become aware of the erection straining against the soft fabric of his trousers, his eyes are just glued to the two submissives. They look beautiful together, their contrast with each other, with the room. The way their Doms keep a steady hand in their hair to not let them catch their breath even for a second. The way the blond’s blindfold shimmers wet with his shed tears, the brunet’s arms straining against the heavy chains woven around his wrists - both men’s lips bitten raw and red.

But it’s only when Pei Ming’s hand rests on his knee that Mu Qing notices his own breathing has sped up to match the two men’s and he is holding the fabric of his pants in such a tight grip it’s a wonder they are not torn yet. 

“Want to stay and watch or would you get home?” Pei Ming asks in a low whisper so nobody else hears, even though he is sure the two subs have the undivided attention of everyone in the vicinity. His voice, for once, is void of all jest and his pupils are, while blown wide, still filled with worry. Mu Qing feels thankful for him, because while he is enjoying what he sees, he needs to sort out his own feelings about what he has seen today and nods. 

“Home,” he whispers quietly, unsure of his own voice. 

They slip out from the room, while quiet moans are still echoing behind them, but Mu Qing can only see the jumble in his own mind. Leather, blindfolds, collars, chains, breathlessness - words are just revolving in his mind without any aim, other than to make him go insane. He cannot be even more glad (for the umpteenth time this night) when Pei Ming pushes against his shoulder as the taxi stops in front of his flat and wishes him a good night with his own traitorous thoughts - and his right hand.

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Mu Qing can’t help but think that it's not right, but he still wants it. The daydreams about faceless people - subs, he knows now - kneeling down, blindfolded and restrained are becoming more and more frequent since the last visit to Scarlet , yet he is always seems to be eerily detached from the scene: never sees them kneeling at his own feet, never feels the coil of a leash between his fingers. But even so, during sleep, during work, he can't stop his mind from wandering off to a faraway place where everything smells of leather and sweat and getting lost in the sensation. 

It should be embarrassing how often he has to run to the bathroom to douse himself with cold water to will the rising flush and the awakening arousal from his body. 

One time, while coming back to his office, sweeping the nonexistent dust from his shirt, he is intercepted by a very strange looking Pei Ming. The man's usual phone is unstuck from his hand and his face is uncharacteristically serious. “Wanna have lunch together?” he asks. 

“Sure,” Mu Qing nods before taking a quick look at his clock. It reads barely a few minutes before 1PM, so he gestures to the other man to take the lead. 

Pei Ming walks him down to the cafe a block down from their company and orders two cappuccinos, one sandwich and a salad for Mu Qing, but during all this time he still doesn't look at his colleague. 

“Pei Ming, is there something wrong?” Mu Qing asks, words of concern only slightly foreign from his lips. 

“There is nothing wrong, necessarily,” Pei Ming sighs and props up his chin on his fist. “There is a proposition I have for you. Mind you, this is something I would have offered sooner, but it was not only my decision to make and you should feel more than honored to have this chance.”

Mu Qing looks at him confused, his brows knit together by concern. “Alright, fire away.”

“Us - me and my sub - we want to offer you to join. This is not a long time proposition, not more than once or twice and only while you are new to the whole BDSM scene. To see if you want it and let you have a- deeper insight into things, so to say. But only if you are serious about joining the scene - which, judging by last Friday I’m quite sure you are,” Pei Ming adds with a lighthearted smile, but that doesn’t do anything to make Mu Qing any less speechless. 

It was only days ago that his fantasies have been only a part of his own mind, something private and guarded, yet now his own colleague - friend - is offering to let him in on something equally private of his own. Mu Qing doesn’t know what to say, but can’t bring himself to outright refuse.

“Hey, you don't have to answer now, but I want you to think about it,” Pei Ming says, watching Mu Qing’s face with a thoughtful expression. “Also, Mu Qing. I wouldn't offer this just to anyone. You are one of my most important friends, if it’s too much, just say it - don't be a stranger, alright?” 

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The next time Mu Qing returns to Scarlet , he is alone. It hasn’t been a whole week since his last visit, but since his lunch conversation with Pei Ming, he couldn’t just sit back, contemplating on something he can’t completely grasp yet. This is why he is back to the club on a quiet Wednesday night, clad in a midnight black shirt and skin-tight jeans, eyes lined with kohl. He has been aiming for the just-walked-out-of-a-wet-dream look and is quite sure that - judging by the amount of hungry gazes Mu Qing has been feeling on his body since he walked in the gates -, he succeeded.

He spends most of the night sitting at the bar, exchanging a few words with the cheery bartender and declining any and all who offer to take him home, but his main focus is on the dancefloor. There is one silhouette that looks quite familiar to Mu Qing, as a man rolls his hips against a blond boy. It takes a good few seconds until he gets a good look on them within the flashing lights, but he slowly recognizes the blond from last Friday’s public room. He wants to scold himself for his sluggish memory, but to be completely fair, it is not Mu Qing’s fault that without a blindfold and with significantly more clothes, it’s harder to play guess-who!

The man behind him also looks familiar - he is tall and muscular, and Mu Qing recalls the Dom of the boy looking similar - not that he has spent much time looking at the Dom when there was something else that used up all his attention. 

Their dance looks vaguely sexual. It’s not intense or wild by any means, but there is not even a hair width of space between their bodies as the blond leans his head back onto the Dom’s shoulders and closes his eyes. His expression is one of pure bliss and sings of trust, and a gentle smile curves up his lips as the Dom’s hands circle around his waist possessively. Mu Qing fights to tear his gaze away from them, because this is strangely intimate, something he or anyone else surely should not be privy to, not with the way the sub looks completely relaxed and the Dom’s eyes twinkle with bright adoration for the boy in his arms. 

This is more than simple passion - this is love that stretches out in between those two men, curling around each other like they are the only ones, not only on the dance floor, but in the whole world. 

Mu Qing’s heart gives a painful throb. He wants this too, that look filled with fondness and devotion, one that sees him and only him, that careful touch that holds him close, that gentle smile directed at him. He knows he is greedy, but he wants it all - and he can get it. He has a way now. To fulfill his desires, both these tender feelings, that seem to curl uncomfortably in his heart and the wilder, more animalistic ones he has tried to deny and hide for as long as he has known. 

Because it is here and only here, in the dim hallways and dark rooms of Scarlet , that smell of leather and sweat, that Mu Qing finally feels like he can be himself. 

The next day he accepts Pei Ming’s offer.

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They agree on meeting next week Friday so Pei Ming has time to properly plan out both his weekend and their playtime. Time is going slower and slower with each passing day and by Friday lunch, Mu Qing is counting down the seconds until his escape to what appears to be his new safe haven. 

Even when he is finally out of work he takes a glance at his phone screen every few minutes. Even while driving home, every red light he tilts his head to spy the numbers as they slowly crawl towards 7PM. Even when getting rattled by the underground, Mu Qing can’t help but steal a glance at the bright numbers at the top of the carriage. 

By the time he arrives at Scarlet , he is already dreading clocks and watches and phones as they all show him the same mocking time. It’s not even 6 yet and Mu Qing is standing outside the entrance, curling his scarf around his neck and digging his hands deeper into the deep pockets of his thick coat, cursing his own decision to not bring a hat - it would have been a fashion disaster, but at least his ears wouldn’t freeze off.

Just a few minutes after 6, the heavy doors of Scarlet open up and the middle-aged bartender waves him in with a badly-suppressed giggle and sets a steaming mug of tea in front of him. Mu Qing flashes him a thankful smile - it’s the same bartender he met last week Wednesday and spent a good amount of time talking to, even if they never exchanged their names.  

The tea smells somewhat sweet and pepperminty, and even a single small whiff helps Mu Qing unknot the mess of nerves at the pit of his stomach he hasn’t noticed was there. 

It’s only after his mug is drained and his mind blissfully blank, that people finally start streaming in. Pei Ming arrives a good ten minutes late - fashionably , he huffs childishly. “I wanted to give enough time for Shui-ge to set up before we both go into my private room.”

“You actually have a private room in here, huh?” Mu Qing looks at him incredulously.

“Well of course I do. I’ve been a patron for quite a few years,” Pei Ming replies with a grin. “But we still have about twenty minutes, Shi- my sub needs his time to get into the right mindset. And I wanted to talk to you before.” 

“About?” Mu Qing raises an eyebrow. “I already told you I want to be here.”

“Oh no, not about that. I know you are an adult and can make your own decisions,” Pei Ming smiles at him and stands up. “But there are things that are in our private contract that I want you to know.”

This seems to pick Mu Qing’s interest and he quickly follows behind Pei Ming. They stop near the restrooms, where both the music from the dancefloor and the fervent sounds from the public playrooms are both tolerably drowned out. 

“Alright,” Pei Ming turns to face Mu Qing and fishes out a small sheet of paper from his inner pocket. “This will be the first time we have a third with us inside our room. It might be awkward at the start, but my sub doesn’t mind the attention,” he winks at Mu Qing. “Inside the playroom you will join me as a Dom, and he will have to address you as such: Lord - Master is reserved for me and me only. You are only to address him with derogatory terms,” Mu Qing’s breath chokes in his throat at that, but Pei Ming gives him a severe nod and an understanding grimace. “And while I do trust you, my sub doesn’t yet. Until he explicitly tells me that he does, I cannot allow you to engage with him sexually or anything that can cause bodily harm, such as choking. If it is his decision to approach, it’s fine, but I don’t want you to give him a hard time. Or vice versa. You can still give him orders and tug on his leash, but it quite stops at that.”

Mu Qing nods quietly as he takes in all the information. It’s not that it’s too much for him to understand, but his brain is still stuck on the degrading names part and it gives him the chills. The cold, down the spine ones. But he has to do this. He has to be firm and decisive because he finally has a chance to be in possession of the control he so desires.

“Ah, and his safeword is Wind, ” Pei Ming throws it over his shoulder flippantly, almost as if it didn’t matter, but his eyes are watching Mu Qing intently, burning with pure protectiveness, making sure the word is tattooed into his mind.

When the clock ticks 7:30PM sharp, the door to Room 793 swings open by Pei Ming’s push. 

━━━❮◆❯━━━

As Mu Qing steps into the room, he wants to instantly turn and run away - he was expecting everything, but stepping into a small dungeon room, that looks more like a torture chamber than a bedroom. 

His chest tightens with something unpleasant.

The walls are lined with shelves, and on them all kinds of devices, all of them in different shapes and sizes - Mu Qing is pretty sure he recognizes some as whips and paddles, and there is a row of increasingly worrying shaped dildos directly across the door. There are numerous coils of rope - most of them in deep red -, and chains, and cuffs and - 

Oh my- that is an unhealthy collection of anal beads.  

The initial shock is cut short as there is an insistent sound from the middle of the room. The man, Pei Ming’s sub, is sitting on the floor - thick carpeted, like everywhere else -, legs spread out so far he is almost in a split, but his elbows seem to still push his knees further out. He is blindfolded, but his head is still turned towards the direction of the door. Pei Ming keeps his gaze on him, standing still until the next whine falls off of his submissive’s lips. Then he is in front of the man in a flash, taking hold of his long hair and waves at Mu Qing to come closer. 

Mu Qing starts walking on unsteady feet, but they don’t carry him far, before his body refuses to work. The uncomfortable feeling in his chest still hasn’t subsided, no, it is getting stronger the closer he is to the sub. 

Yet he cannot deny the beauty of the man, the fair, unblemished skin, the criss-crossing red ropes woven around his chest and pecs artistically, the plump red lips, the defiant lift of his chin - he is not simply attractive, he is breathtaking. 

Maybe this is why it’s getting harder to breathe, Mu Qing thinks to himself. 

“Master?” The man looks in Pei Ming’s direction through the hold in his hair.

“Shut up, slut, I did not allow you to speak,” Pei Ming hisses into his ear and the man straightens his back a bit before pursing his lips tightly together. Mu Qing still winces at the term, even though he knew it was coming. “I have brought a friend today, just because you asked, so I thought you would play nicely, but well…” he trails off in a warning tone. 

“My Lord?” The man’s head now turns to Mu Qing, who has worked up his courage and pushed down the uncomfortable feeling in his chest and he is standing just a step behind Pei Ming now. The Dom is looking expectantly at him and Mu Qing knows what he is waiting for. 

“Kneel,” Mu Qing says, the order falling off his lips easily and monotonously. The man struggles for a second to pull his legs back under him, but the next moment he is kneeling right before Mu Qing, his head exactly in level with his crotch. It’s the very picture Mu Qing has always fantasized about, sans the collar and the proper restraints - he is waiting for the fire to start in his stomach now. 

The air is thick with anticipation - this should be the most arousing sight, the realization of his age-long dreams--

But where is the burning wildfire that has always ignited him? It seems to have got lost somewhere between the lines and Mu Qing cannot find an explanation for why he is still not hard, despite everything being just as in his own fantasies.

“Touch him,” he hears Pei Ming’s voice from somewhere beside him and immediately feels a pair of hands running up his thighs. The digits are lithe and thin and quick, gliding over the fabric with ease. It should be teasing and seductive, but Mu Qing is too lost in his own mind to feel aroused. Even his previous erection from the thick, hot air of the club and the devious thoughts seems to have flagged. 

It’s not okay. It’s not right. It’s wrong. It’s so wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong! His mind is screaming at him, but Mu Qing’s breaths are coming in short gasps, and he is standing frozen with his hand in the air, hovering just above the sub’s shoulders. 

And Mu Qing realizes he wants to push him away.

It’s wrong.

“Wrong?” Mu Qing thinks he hears from somewhere far away in an unfamiliar voice. It’s only after a few seconds has passed that he realizes what it is he has said out loud. “Are you okay?” Asks the voice again.

“No- I’m- I’m sorry, I can’t-” Mu Qing chokes out, before he bolts for the door, leaving behind the two other men, with mirrored worried expressions on their faces.

━━━❮◆❯━━━

“I’m really, truly sorry. I ruined your night and-”

“Don’t you dare start with that, Mu Qing. Things like that happen and we are not angry with you,” Pei Ming cuts in with a stern voice. “Something made you uncomfortable. Something made it feel ‘ wrong’, as you said. And despite how much of an asshole you can be sometimes, you are still my friend. I- We both want to help.”

It’s Saturday afternoon and they are sitting at the cafe near their workplace. It took Pei Ming countless missed calls and a few more texts to finally reach Mu Qing. When the man finally picked up the phone, Pei Ming barked ‘ lunch in 30’ at him and slammed down the phone.

“Right, we sort of skipped the proper introductions. Dearest, this is Mu Qing, Mu Qing, this is Shi Wu Du. He is my sub,” Pei Ming says, with a broad smile that lasts until he receives a deathly glare and an accompanying growl - and, judging by the pained hiss, a shoe into his kneecap. “And my boyfriend,” he adds quickly to try and escape his certain death. 

‘Their dynamic outside the playroom is entirely upside-down,’ Mu Qing muses.

“Nice to meet you,” Shi Wu Du hums contently at his boyfriend, before he holds out his hand for Mu Qing to shake - he looks and sounds every bit of an ice prince. “At least eye to eye now,” he says with a completely straight face, the sentence probably an attempt of a joke, but sounding nothing of the sort. “Ol’ Pei, I’m hungry, get me a sandwich, one of those turkey-mustard ones,” he says as he dismisses Pei Ming with a wave, and Mu Qing is quite sure he hears the man chuckle ‘Yes, Your Majesty’, as he walks over to the counter - but only after he swipes Shi Wu Du’s own wallet. 

The few minutes until his return are spent in a companionable silence as Shi Wu Du looks him up and down. Mu Qing wants to squirm under the scrutinizing gaze, but decides to stay put instead and watch the steam curling up from his tea as it’s cooling down, enjoying the distraction as his loud mind finally quiets down. 

Pei Ming comes back with a tray, loaded with three plates - one with the ordered sandwich, the other bearing a slice of cake, that he places in front of Mu Qing and the last one with a generous serving of chocolate pudding he pulls in front of himself and sticks his spoon into it. 

“Alright, now that we are no longer in danger of death by hunger, we can start addressing the elephant in the room. What was it that made it feel wrong last night?” starts Pei Ming.

“No rest for the weary, I see,” Mu Qing grumbles under his breath, but sighs and starts talking. “Last night, I thought I wanted to do that, but it just…” Mu Qing sighs before he makes a grand gesture with his hands and finishes his sentence. “Didn’t feel right.”

Pei Ming holds back a chuckle at the obviousness of Mu Qing’s statement and chokes as he most likely tries to swallow the ‘yeah, wrong is not right , we can adjourn the English class now’ and tries his hardest to remain serious. “How so?”

“I thought it was fine for me to be at least giving commands. But it may have been a simple visual fantasy, or something,” Mu Qing tries to shrug it off, but Pei Ming is not having it. 

“Bullshit. I saw you on the first day at Scarlet , not only were you unable to look away, I thought you were going to join them any second. But yesterday you literally ran away from the club. You didn’t even answer my calls until this morning,” he scoffs. The unsaid ‘I was worried out of my mind’ is buried there somewhere. “There is something else you are not saying. Was it only your uh- fantasies that made you think you were interested in BDSM?”

Mu Qing thinks for a second then shakes his head slowly. “No. At least I don’t think so. It’s...” he trails off thoughtfully. 

“What is it? Tell me,” Pei Ming swaps in the middle of his words into a strange, low voice Mu Qing is sure he has heard before - it’s the one he has only heard him use on Shi Wu Du before, behind the closed doors of Room 793. The other man is just lounging back in his seat, quietly chewing and raises an eyebrow at the tone, but otherwise remains silent.

“Control,” Mu Qing answers finally. 

“Control?” Finally, Shi Wu Du puts down his sandwich to talk, his voice no longer the cold melody, but is now carrying such arrogance and authority that Mu Qing has to do a double take - this shouldn’t be a sub’s voice, yet-

Shi Wu Du leans forward. “Who do you think has more control out of the two people?”

“The Dom obviously,” Mu Qing’s confused look doesn’t slow down his answer. Yet Shi Wu Du just snorts at him. 

“Wrong,” he scolds. “It’s the sub.”

“What? How?” Mu Qing sounds incredulous. “The Dom can do whatever they want with the sub, doesn’t that mean anything?”

“ That. Is precisely the reason,” Shi Wu Du smirks and spares a look at Pei Ming. “The Dom can only do whatever they want with the sub, because it is the sub that gives them the power to do so,” he stops for a second and lets his words sink in. “I have another question for you, Mu Qing, and please spend some time thinking about this one before you answer,” he adds teasingly. “It is before the play that the sub gives the Dom the power to do what they want. But during a scene, does the sub have any of that control ?”

Mu Qing stops for a second, his fingers go rigid around the handle of his spoon, frozen in the middle of a stir. ..does the sub have any control? He wants to reply with an immediate no, but something tells him it’s the wrong answer. But then how? Where is that elusive control from?

Shi Wu Du doesn’t say anything and lets Mu Qing get lost in his own thoughts. Instead he turns towards Pei Ming with an expectant look. Only when he gets a spoonful - or five - of his boyfriend’s pudding, does he seem content enough to continue the conversation. 

“The safeword,” Mu Qing says when he feels Shi Wu Du’s gaze return to him. 

“Good job,” he praises and Mu Qing feels warm pride bubble up in his chest. “So do you realize how things aren’t as you thought them to be? You and Pei Ming both just assumed you would be a Dom, just because you craved control and you talked about restraints and domination, didn’t you?”

Shi Wu Du sighs when Mu Qing gives him a hesitant nod in reply and Pei Ming doesn’t meet his eyes. “And you told me you are bringing me another Dom-” he hisses in a low voice at his boyfriend when he thinks Mu Qing is not listening.

“Lot of people are forced to realize that the scene is different compared to what they assumed it to be. Some think that being a Dom is easy, just order people around and have fun, but it's more than that,” Pei Ming says. 

“There is something about it that doesn't sit well with people and ruins the perfect little picture they had imagined in their innocent minds. But I say most of those are just sadistic fuckers,” Shi Wu Du hums. 

“Shui-ge,” Pei Ming says in a warning tone, but then looks at Mu Qing's puzzled expression and shakes his head. His friend needs to hear this, as blunt as Shi Wu Du may be, he has never failed to convince people before. “Go on.”

“We are not in a scene, don't scare him, Ol’ Pei,” he replies with a fond pinch to his boyfriend’s side, then turns back to Mu Qing. “Some people want to be a Dom exclusively for the inherent control and the rush that a person on their knees in front of them gives them. But many don't realize just how much responsibility comes with it, they are the one being trusted with not only their own, but their sub's safety and desires. For the duration of the scene, we become completely bare and it is our needs that will steer the Dom's actions - what we do, how we do it and when we stop. If they are unable to see this aspect and become selfish in the face of desire, sooner or later they will end up doing something that neither wants, thus proving they can't be a good Dom. And in the end no one gets satisfied,” Shi Wu Du finishes his monologue with a shrug. 

“Going back to what you said before: I think your desires are real, don’t even think for a second that they aren’t. As real as mine or Pei Ming’s. Ol’ Pei told me how turned on you were from one visit to Scarlet , and how he was scared that he would need holding you back from jumping them” he chuckles as he sees Mu Qing look away with a flush of shame. “There is nothing wrong with admitting what you want. What I think the problem is that you are trying to force yourself on the wrong side of the leash,” he smirks. 

“The wrong side..?” Mu Qing asks with a raised eyebrow, but realization slowly crystallizes on his face. Could he be one of them ? “What do you mean?” 

“What?” Shi Wu Du laughs warmly. “Don't you want it? To be good for your Dom, to give up a part of yourself to make them happy?”

Mu Qing feels a flush spread on his cheeks. ‘No, no, absolutely not!’ he wants to say, but even in his thoughts it sounds like a lie. In lieu of an answer he shakes his head wildly. 

But Shi Wu Du is relentless and continues as he leans in towards Mu Qing and turns his voice a whisper: “Can't you imagine it? You, kneeling, collared and blindfolded, writhing in pleasure and begging for permission to come? You, with reddened asscheeks as your Dom finishes giving you punishment, kissing away your tears-”

“Shui-ge,” Pei Ming warns him again, but this time he also pulls his boyfriend back into his seat with a tight hold around his waist. It sounds like they are whispering among themselves, but Mu Qing can’t seem to listen anymore. 

Suddenly, the pictures in his head clear out. And Mu Qing couldn’t hate himself even more.

In his mind it’s now him, falling to his knees, it’s him who begs and begs, it’s him who is kept in restraints and it’s not a collar, but his own favorite choker, tightening around the column of his throat. All those fantasies of faceless figures, surrendering themselves completely, plaguing him for months, years - but all along, those were things Mu Qing wanted done to himself.

How the fuck could he have been so blindly ignorant?

He feels a painless gasp leave his mouth and two pairs of eyes jump back at him immediately. He shakes his head again, but it doesn’t amount to anything, only digging himself deeper in denial. 

He thinks he can hear Shi Wu Du sigh ‘ Why do you keep lying to yourself?’ , but for once, Mu Qing can’t bring himself to sass back. 

Pei Ming laughs, short and loud. “I should have known that all the sarcastic assholes are subs,” he winces as he gets a bony elbow to his side, but doesn’t stop grinning at Mu Qing’s rising flush.

“I’m not saying he is one, I merely gave him ideas,” Shi Wu Du states quickly. “I have no way of knowing this, it’s only Mu Qing himself who can possibly have an idea. But it doesn’t hurt to give it try, does it now?” he offers.

“Right,” Pei Ming nods and returns his gaze to the completely silenced Mu Qing sitting across from them. “If he wants to, that is. I’m not sure how much we managed to scare him.”

“I-” Mu Qing starts, but doesn’t know where he wants to go with the sentence. 

“Do you want to try?” Pei Ming asks again in that low, commanding tone that earns him another bruise between his ribs and he pouts at Shi Wu Du for the rough treatment. 

But it doesn’t matter when that voice somehow makes Mu Qing reply instantly. “I want to,” he says without as much as a tremble of uncertainty in his tone. 

Both men across him are sporting matching proud grins and it somehow feels like he answered correctly to a question that doesn’t have a right answer.

━━━❮◆❯━━━

‘I have someone who could show you the ropes. ;) Usual place&time, Room800 -PM’

Mu Qing’s phone screen reads on Thursday night. It takes him a little more than a second to realize that the clenching feeling in his stomach isn’t fear. It’s anticipation - but he would be long dead before he would ever admit it. 

━━━❮◆❯━━━

After last week’s disastrous play, Mu Qing feels apprehensive about returning to Scarlet. Even if he knows that neither Shi Wu Du or Pei Ming are angry with him - because they did talk about it -, it still doesn’t help settling his unease. They already explained that Shi Wu Du wants and needs Pei Ming to be exclusive to him - something about taming the playboy -, so they will not be able to help him if he wants to sub. And Mu Qing wants to try.

But to surrender to some unknown man, to have his body given up to someone he doesn’t know - it scares him. 

Even more so, than the thought of ordering and degrading someone he doesn’t know, he tells himself. But even Mu Qing knows it’s a lie. 

Maybe he is only back to defy this ‘unrealistic fear’, as Mu Qing himself calls it - but it doesn’t matter, because he is back, and won’t let the large neon letters of Scarlet put any more panic into his mind. 

━━━❮◆❯━━━

When he enters Room 800, it is nothing like Pei Ming and Shi Wu Du’s private room. There is a lone desk and two armchairs sitting in the middle and nothing but bare walls with tiny locks and short, dangling chains all around. The man, sitting in one of the deep wine red armchairs is tall and broad, but not overly so. He would be probably about Mu Qing’s height were he to straighten up and a red silk shirt stretches obscenely over bulging muscles as he is hunched over something, twirling an elegant ballpoint pen with his fingers absently. 

As soon as the door opens, his head rises slowly, taking in Mu Qing from bottom to top, raking his eyes over his shiny black boots, leather-clad legs, the almost sheer fabric of his top and his face almost turns disappointed when he sees that the fabric covers the skin almost all the way up to Mu Qing’s neck. 

His eyes linger a second too long on his face and his appreciative smile hardens for a flash, but it returns in the next moment as he tears his gaze away in favor of looking at the row of piercings lining Mu Qing’s left ear. 

Mu Qing wants to tell him to stop gawking but as he opens his mouth, the words get stuck in his throat. The pair of chocolate brown eyes, the chiseled lines of a jaw, the slight bump in a nose - Mu Qing is the one that broke it years ago, and the idiot hadn’t bothered to have someone realign it properly, making it heal in a slightly deformed way. The tanned skin that Mu Qing hated so much, for years - and still does - and the curling lips that have always answered his insults. 

It has been years since he has seen Feng Xin. Three, to be exact. And two months and seventeen days. Not that Mu Qing has been counting. The man just quit their shared internship at the company and fell off the face of the earth and now he is here, in all his previous glory and then some more. 

Outwardly, Feng Xin doesn’t look changed. He is the same punchable idiot he was years ago, plucking on Mu Qing’s nerves with every single word, every single glance, every single punch he threw. The same fire is burning in his eyes now, albeit it now looks more languid instead of the all consuming wildfire - like it has been tamed, flickering slowly but confidently. His posture is more relaxed, not ready to pounce on every taunt that flies his way. He looks proper with his silk shirt and tight trousers, and not even the messy bun seems to ruin the picture. He looks mature. So unlike the Feng Xin of the past. 

And he looks at Mu Qing with a silent admiration in his eyes, the gentle smile still playing on his lips - and that’s everything he needs to see to know that Feng Xin hasn’t recognized him. Not that Mu Qing will give him a chance to do so. With this shield of one-sided anonymity, Mu Qing feels safer. He has the advantage and he is going to play his cards right - meaning he will keep them in his hands and never show any of them. 

This gives him back the confidence he hasn't noticed he had lost when recognizing Feng Xin. Mu Qing’s back straightens and his chin raises defiantly, as he strides forward to stand next to the other chair and with his best stoney facade he offers his hand. 

When Feng Xin takes it, he stands up to the same height, tall and relaxed as his fingers curl around Mu Qing’s, soft and warm, calluses burning an imprint into his skin. Somehow it feels more like a truce than an introduction. “My name is Feng Xin, pleased to meet you,” he adds in a low voice, kind and warm, something Mu Qing isn’t entirely familiar with. Maybe it’s just the honeyed tone that is reserved for leather and restraints. 

Mu Qing contemplates only for a second - in his mind he sees the hand, still full of his unplayed cards, that is unrelentingly whispering to him: If you give Feng Xin an inch, he will take a mile. “Fu Yao. Nice to meet you too,” Mu Qing says with confidence, the fake name slipping off his tongue like the sweetest poison. ‘ Not even an inch,’ he thinks. 

For a second, Feng Xin looks taken aback, his brows drawn and his eyes searching for something he cannot seem to find. But then the gentle smile is back and he squeezes Mu Qing’s hand back, just a little bit tighter - just this side of painful. 

“Fu Yao,” it sends a shiver down Mu Qing’s spine as the name rolls off of Feng Xin’s tongue. Unfamiliar and sour, judging by the other man’s contemplative expression. As soon as it’s out in the room, the air tastes bitter for Mu Qing too.

“So,” Mu Qing starts, trying to shake Feng Xin out of his thoughts, and he pulls his hand away as if he has been burned and settles back into the leather armchair. It creaks uncomfortably as its leather sticks to that of his own pants. “What are we going to do?” He tries to will away all of his nervousness so it doesn’t seep into his words, to use a firmness and authority that his subordinates are already familiar with. It only earns him a raised eyebrow from Feng Xin. 

“ We are not going to do anything for now,” he starts and Mu Qing already doesn’t like the low tone that Feng Xin talks with. “ You are going to talk. I am not going to just blindly agree to something just because a friend asked for it. I need to know what you want, what you need, to make it-” Feng Xin stops for a second as if to think about the right words, but his gaze is pinning Mu Qing down. “mutually beneficial.” 

“Didn’t you talk with Pei Ming?” Mu Qing asks with a scowl, biting back the insult that is on his lips about Feng Xin being able to finally use grownup words. It would do him no good to piss off the man within the first three minutes. 

“Oh, I did. But first of all, he only told me the bare minimum. And second,” Feng Xin leans forward in the chair, resting his forearms on the low table, his hands mere inches away from Mu Qing’s knees. “I want to hear what you want, from you and nobody else.” 

The intensity in his glare and the low tremble of his words send shivers down Mu Qing’s spine as he shifts uncomfortably in his own chair - leather scraping against leather with a high pitched noise yet again. But Mu Qing says nothing, as he is sure Feng Xin already knows what he came here for. Instead he just raises an eyebrow at the man - waiting for the exploding reaction that he is sure will follow--

“You agreed to this meeting, so let’s play by my rules and not yours, shall we?” Feng Xin talks in a quiet voice, but it still fills the silence of the room. His smile is gone and he is giving Mu Qing a hard stare - one that could give Shi Wu Du a run for his money. 

“Whatever,” Mu Qing mumbles under his breath as he cannot help, but avert his gaze from the Dom. That’s why he misses when a dangerous glint lights in Feng Xin’s eyes. 

“Care to repeat that?” Feng Xin whispers and leans forward until he is halfway across the table. Mu Qing, sensing the movement from the corner of his eyes, quickly pulls back until his shoulders meet the backrest of the armchair, determined to keep that already short distance to the maximum between his and Feng Xin’s heads.

Silently cursing himself under his breath, for being this affected by the other man, Mu Qing shakes his head in reply, hoping the action will make Feng Xin back away. And the man does, with a heavy sigh as he reclines back onto the soft leather seat.

“Fine, then. If you don’t want to talk, I’ll help. I need to know what are your soft and hard limits,” Feng Xin states.

“My what?” Mu Qing prides himself on sounding only slightly confused with the terminology. 

“Your soft and hard limits. Everything,” Feng Xin says with a strange smile. “With that I mean everything I need to know about your desires, kinks. What are things you want to do, things you want to try. What are things you want me to push you to try. What are things that, under any circumstances, we should avoid,” Feng Xin stops for a second to look at Mu Qing and only continues when he sees the slow nod and the clear understanding. “We need to trust each other. You need to trust me that I will only do things you want - or don't know if you want them yet, but desire deep down - and nothing more. And I need to trust you, that you know yourself. To know what you want, or when you are at your limit. And I need your honesty,” he rests for a moment as if waiting for a reaction, but shakes his head and continues. “Don't hide if you are in pain or if you are uncomfortable. There should be nothing to hide from me while we are in here.”

Mu Qing trades the eyeroll he wants to throw at the other man for another stiff nod and watches as Feng Xin bites his bottom lip with an exhausted expression.

“Are you serious about all this?” Feng Xin asks in a stern voice. It’s warm again, but there is firmness and something else in it that makes Mu Qing freeze. It’s the hardened voice of a Dominant as he is talking to him, but Mu Qing cannot bring himself to answer. Even if this is Feng Xin - especially because this is Feng Xin. 

He wants to scream and hurl insults at the man, because that’s all he knows about how to deal with Feng Xin. But this new person, this someone who wants to bare him, he feels different. Warmer, softer. A tiny prick of pain rises in Mu Qing’s chest: this could have been Feng Xin, if they became friends instead of rivals.

“ Fu Yao ,” Feng Xin says his fake name almost as a curse, but the bitter feeling dissipates from his voice in a second as if it has never been there. “Do you want this? Do you want to submit to me?”

“I…” Mu Qing starts, but doesn’t know what to say. He wishes the definite ‘ no’ would fall off his lips easily, so he could leave this suffocating room and Feng Xin and everything else behind, but the sound refuses to leave his mouth. 

It’s hard, because he is still unsure of what he wants - and if the things he wants can be granted to him by his old rival. Even if the old enmity between them has slowly simmered down in his own chest, Mu Qing doesn’t want to know what Feng Xin would do, if he found out, exactly who is the man in front of him. 

Yet against all odds, it is Feng Xin’s strong words that swim back into his mind, clearing the confused jumble of need and want and hate . ‘ I need you to be honest,’ says the Feng Xin in his head . 

And so Mu Qing is. “I don’t know,” he answers truthfully.

“Thank you,” Feng Xin smiles slightly at him, it almost feels like he is proud of Mu Qing’s honesty - which is ridiculous, mind you. “Okay then, this is what we are going to do,” he leans back into the leather chair comfortably and swings one leg over the other. His eyes don’t leave Mu Qing even for a second. 

“Kneel.”

The command - because it is a command, clear and stern - resounds in the emptiness of the room. Mu Qing hesitates for a second, before lifting his own gaze to meet Feng Xin’s. The man holds the eye contact, but lifts his chin in an arrogant display of superiority. 

Except, it isn’t arrogant when coming from Feng Xin. It’s prideful and dominant, but his eyes hold Mu Qing’s in an almost adoring grasp, under which the man can feel his cheeks starting to burn. It’s too intense and he cannot help, but look away from Feng Xin. 

His gaze redirects to the floor with a gentle bow of his neck. He hasn’t noticed it before, but the carpet in here is plush and a deep, almost black shade of red. It would probably be comfortable to sink down onto his knees and get lost in its softness-- No.  

Mu Qing shakes his head and takes a calming breath, then another, before shutting the traitorous thought out of his mind. When he looks back up, Feng Xin is still staring at him patiently with an expectant look. 

Mu Qing wants to defy him and to push away his words. Really bad. He has already made Feng Xin wait for almost a minute after his command, but the man seems relentless, even while doing nothing but watching him with that burning gaze. And with every passing second, Mu Qing’s resolve seems to be crumbling. Until he lets out a defeated sigh and stands up. Instead of bolting for the door like he oh, so wants to , he steadies one hand on the table and sinks down onto his knees in front of Feng Xin - his eyes still defiantly staring at the other man. 

But there is something else. Something deep inside that tells Mu Qing that this is right, a little flame that has been flickering faintly since the first moment he stepped into Room 800, but has now ignited him from the inside - something he hasn’t felt when he has been in Pei Ming’s room. This is so right, the way the carpet sinks under his weight, the way his fingers aimlessly try to hold onto the leather of his pants, the way his cheeks warm from something that doesn’t quite feel like embarrassment. The way his neck curves upwards as he looks up at the Dom in front of him.

And then there is Feng Xin. The Feng Xin, who hated him, who picked every fight possible with him for years, who gave him just as hard of a time as Mu Qing did himself. The Feng Xin who disappeared from his life, but is now back with the force of a wrecking ball, toppling all the solid walls that Mu Qing has built around himself. The Feng Xin, who doesn’t know the man that kneels before him, but still wants his trust and honesty and is offering his own in exchange. 

The Feng Xin who is staring at him with indescribable hunger in his eyes, something almost animalistic, something he would never direct at Mu Qing himself - but as Fu Yao, he takes it all and yet it’s not enough. This wildness is like oil to the fire that has started burning inside him. It is threatening to consume Mu Qing from the inside out, rattling his bones loudly. So much so, that he almost misses the next time Feng Xin talks to him in a low voice. 

“Do you want to submit to me?” He asks the same question again, but now Mu Qing doesn’t feel the trickle of uncertainty elude his mind. He knows exactly what he wants - because he is exactly where he wants to be. 

“Yes,” the answer is loud and clear in the silence. 

━━━❮◆❯━━━

For the next hour, their time is spent going over old BDSM contracts, reading how they describe the roles of the Dominant and the submissive, how they address each other, what punishments are in order, where boundaries lie. Mu Qing is still slightly apprehensive about the intimacy of it all, especially to the part where he gets a glimpse into other people’s private life - and his mind involuntarily wonders how it would be like for him to be in that position - but Feng Xin tells him that it will help with understanding. Especially because according to the other man, not having faces to match to names makes it easier to detach them from their original context. And it really does. 

Mu Qing has a thousand and one questions, because while he has always entertained the idea of BDSM, he has never quite had the time to do his research, much less engage in it. By the end of the evening, he has managed to satisfy most of his curiosity and while he has been holding back at the start and pretending to know terms he didn’t, Feng Xin easily catches him out. 

“What’s shirging ?” he asks Mu Qing at one point. 

“Uh it’s… some kinda play with clothes?” The answer is as uncertain as most of them have been before and it’s clear he has no idea about the word, but still attempts to bullshit an answer. It’s almost endearing - except for the possible harmful misinformation part.

“Good guess,” Feng Xin laughs. It’s rich and deep and so warm and makes Mu Qing’s gaze linger on the gentle curve of his lips and the slight dimples in his cheek - he can’t believe he hasn’t noticed them before. Somehow seeing Feng Xin laugh makes him smile too. “Too bad it doesn’t exist,” he finishes when the laughter shaking his body finally dies down. “Remember, trust and honesty? I’m not holding an exam or waiting for you to mess up something. I’m here for you to trust in me and do not hide if you think something is embarrassing,” his voice turns more serious as he looks at Mu Qing, his smile already wiped off his face, but the warmth of it still lingers. “And not having an extensive knowledge on the BDSM scene is not something that should be embarrassing.”

Sometime along the way Feng Xin jerks his head towards the empty chair across him with a questioning look on his face. He does not want to put it into words, so Mu Qing doesn’t take it as a command, but even wordless, the other man understands the implication. Mu Qing finally stands up from his knees and walks unsteadily back into the comfort of the chair, wincing as pinpricks of pain assault his legs from sitting on them for too long, but the admiring look that Feng Xin shoots at him makes it feel like it has been worth it. And that single thought makes Mu Qing curse himself for it ten times over.

“It’s getting late,” Feng Xin says as he glances at his wristwatch. 

“Are we going to make a contract now?” Mu Qing asks, drumming his fingers impatiently over the table. 

“No.”

Mu Qing’s digits stop in the middle of the movement, his pinky and ring fingers the only ones in contact with the tabletop. “No?” 

“Not this soon. I don't know yet if we are compatible enough for that,” Feng Xin offers a small smile. “For now I want you to read through this list, and write down anything you are interested in and everything you absolutely don’t want to do. This is a part of the contract that I haven’t shown you before, but you should know most of the terms after today. If we have a lot of things in common, I’ll make an agreement with you,” he adds as a consolation. 

Mu Qing hums in lieu of a reply and nods absently as he folds the few sheets of paper in half and tucks it into the pocket of his coat. “When do we meet next?” 

Feng Xin contemplates for a second. “Next week, same time?” 

“Okay. I’ll be here. Good night,” Mu Qing says in between two stiffled yawns, not even bothering to wait for a reply before he slips out into the cold night. As he walks for the underground station, he realizes this has been the longest time he spend in Feng Xin’s company and not only did they not murder each other, Mu Qing - even with the way he can still feel the burn in his kness - almost enjoyed his time.

━━━❮◆❯━━━

Next Friday can’t come soon enough. Mu Qing is skittish all week, and each day he cannot wait to return home, to pour over the sheets of paper, to think and fantasize about all things he had no idea ever existed, but now wants to try them all. The meeting with Feng Xin has been enlightening for him to say the least, maybe even more so than the one with Pei Ming and Shi Wu Du. 

He can still remember how the pressure of the soft carpet felt through his leather pants, the hungry glint in Feng Xin’s eyes, the liberating feeling when he saw the flush of pride on the other man’s face. Mu Qing wants this. He wants this more than he could have imagined before, maybe more than he is willing to admit to himself. But now he knows how it feels - he has got a taste and it is too sweet to give up. 

When Mu Qing glances back at his clock, it’s still barely 11AM - he realizes with a groan he still has almost half the day left before he can return to Scarlet. Somehow the anticipation makes the wait even worse. 

━━━❮◆❯━━━

When Mu Qing finally pushes open the door to Room 800, Feng Xin is already inside, currently coiling up a length of rope and he doesn’t hear the other man arrive, only after the door shutters to a heavy close. 

“You’re here,” he flashes a warm smile at Mu Qing, before walking over to one of the walls and pulling on the short chain that hangs from it. The section of the wall falls open, revealing the hidden shelves of other restraints behind it - leather, chain, linen, silk. Mu Qing is still standing at the door where he stopped after a single step, watching the devices with rounded eyes. “I didn’t want to show off all my collection this soon, but I guess it was inevitable,” Feng Xin chuckles almost shyly as he closes the hidden closet back. He maneuvers around the large bed that has now been placed into the corner of the room as he walks over to the table. 

He motions for Mu Qing to sit down into the opposing chair - quite innocently, like he didn’t just expose his impressive collection of everything naughty -, and the man follows without a word, still slightly in shock. Is every wall that surrounds them lined with things like that, so full that they are almost bursting, but kept hidden like a dirty little secret? Somehow , Mu Qing thinks, this is worse than Pei Ming’s boldly showcased playthings. Is this what he has been up to for all those years? Collecting dildos and handcuffs?

However his thought process is cut short when Feng Xin turns to him with one hand held out expectantly. “Did you do your homework?” he asks with a grin, and this time Mu Qing doesn’t even fight the eyeroll he knows is coming. Reaching into his pocket, he fishes out the folded sheet of paper so full of ink that it’s hard to determine its original color. 

Even so Feng Xin, the idiot, is only looking at him as he feels around the air for the paper. Only when his fingers make contact with the sheet and his grip on it tightens, does he wrench away his eyes from Mu Qing’s face to finally start reading. 

It’s only a few minutes but Mu Qing is feeling restless, doing nothing but staring at the other man. He keeps rearranging his legs and never manages to find a position that feels comfortable for even ten seconds. And now Mu Qing realizes that his biggest mistake has been putting on the same leather pants as last time - it’s not his fault he doesn’t remember the awful, awful noise they made then in contact with the leather armchair, just the way Feng Xin’s eyes glided over his thighs appreciatively.

He only freezes when he feels a burning gaze on him and notices Feng Xin has looked up from his list and raises an eyebrow. “Can you stay put or do you want to go back on your knees? You seem to have enjoyed it last time,” he adds with a teasing grin that tells Mu Qing it is meant as a joke, but the thought of it is too tempting- No. 

Mu Qing is not going to do things just because Feng Xin likes it when people look up at him. If the man wants something from him, he can quite well work for it, like he already is, poring over Mu Qing’s elegant handwriting, probably already planning devious, naughty things in his mind - even the plain thought of it sends a jolt of excitement down his spine. And it is with dread seeping into his bones, that Mu Qing realizes he is already half-hard - from fantasizing about all that Feng Xin can and will do to him. 

Thankfully, Feng Xin choses this moment to put down the paper with a smile and turns back to Mu Qing. “Alright, I’m pretty sure we can work this out, but first of all I need to know, are you entirely sure you want to do this?” Mu Qing nods in reply. 

“No,” Feng Xin raises his voice, but quickly quiets down with his next words as he sees Mu Qing flinch - only slightly - in surprised confusion. “Moving your head is not good enough. I need verbal affirmation. Do you want this or not?”

“Yes, I do,” Mu Qing drawls in a mocking voice to which Feng Xin only raises an eyebrow. 

“If I were you, I would watch my tone,” he warns, his eye suggestively eyeing one particular part of the wall - Mu Qing already knows about these secret compartments, and he is quite certainly that is not the one with restraints. So he just pointedly purses his lips together and defeatedly slumps backwards into his chair with a creak. “Well then. Is everything you wrote down something you are willing to do or do you want to cross anything out?” 

“No,” Mu Qing replies quietly. “Everything is fine.”

He cannot pinpoint the exact emotion on Feng Xin’s face, but he looks almost impressed. “Are you willing to submit to me and trust me for today? Not asking anything more, but I need to know this. I don’t want to hurt you. Accidentally, at least,” Feng Xin adds after Mu Qing’s face goes blank at his question. 

“Yes,” he says finally, but his chin is raised high in defiance. 

“Good. This is a one time, verbal agreement of sorts and I want us to be on the same page. If this goes well, I wouldn’t be opposed to writing up a full time contract with you - but first I want to talk about three more things with you. Well, two things and a question.”

“Get on with it then?” Mu Qing huffs impatiently, his annoyed tone earning another warning look. He hasn’t come for a chit-chat. 

“Put some reins on your temper,” he huffs. “While we are here, I want you to address me with respect. So we can avoid this sass of yours,” Feng Xin says in that low voice of his, the one Mu Qing associates with pure dominance. “One,” he says as he lifts one finger of his right hand. “In scenes I would want my sub to call me by title - you can say Lord or Master, but I personally prefer Sir. I would like it if you did too, but because you are new, I will not punish you if you don’t. But if you by any means, disrespect me,” he narrows his eyes and Mu Qing feels a shudder run up his spine. “I will make you never want to do it again.”

“Two,” Feng Xin raises his middle finger too. “If things are too much - be it physically or mentally - you are allowed to tap out and I will stop altogether. Normally you would only have a safeword, but I’m not sure how well you will be able to remember it and reach for it. So if you say stop, even if it is not your safeword, I will stop.”

“What, afraid I'll break?” Mu Qing snorts with a mocking smirk. 

“Yes,” Feng Xin answers him bluntly and it wipes the grin off of Mu Qing’s lips completely. “So, do you have a safeword or would you like to use the traffic light system?”

“..the traffic lights are fine,” Mu Qing concedes. He knows this is not an argument he can win - nor one he should have in the first place. 

Feng Xin nods in acknowledgement. “Right. Three,” instead of raising another finger, he lays his hands down on the table. “Do you want me to tell you what I’m going to do or do you want to go in blindly?” 

This is not a question Mu Qing has expected. Why does Feng Xin even care? He contemplates for a second, before answering. “I don’t want to know. So no.” There is nothing that Feng Xin can do to him that he cannot take, he thinks. 

“No, what? ” Feng Xin smirks. And Mu Qing looks at him with a confused look in his eyes, before he echoes it back. 

“No..?”

Feng Xin doesn’t answer him with words, but he does with actions. He stands up slowly from his seat and walks over to Mu Qing - who is only eyeing him warily out of the corner of his eyes -, looming over the other man with a hungry look in his eyes. “No, what? You know what I want to hear, ” Feng Xin says as he lifts a hand to his jaw before he hooks a finger under his chin and tilts his head to the side and back - making Mu Qing stare right up at him. 

Realization blooms in Mu Qing, but he would be damned if he did that . Instead, another idea pops into his head. It doesn’t sound like a good plan and he is pretty sure it is going to piss off the other man, but that used to be Mu Qing’s life goal for so long, why not pick up old habits again? “No, Feng Xin ,” he says with a mischievous smirk plastered onto his face.

“You are unbelievable,” Feng Xin hisses at him, his fingers tightening only a bit over Mu Qing’s jaw. “So you only listen to direct orders, don’t you? Very well, then,” he says as he steps back and Mu Qing knows he has done something bad - something that enabled that primal part of Feng Xin. That flame is now a wildfire in his eyes but Feng Xin somehow still keeps it tame and doesn’t make a single move towards the temptation. “Strip.”

Out of every possible outcome, Mu Qing expected this the least. But under the watchful eyes of the Dom, and every single cell of him thrumming with anticipation, he can’t help when his body moves by itself. First he stands, then his fingers pop open each button on his shirt, but he makes no move to take it off. 

Even if it is extremely hot in the room, his body is still trembling- no, shivering under Feng Xin’s hungry gaze. Mu Qing wishes it could be easier, maybe if he could turn off his brain and let his body take control, he wouldn’t wish to fight what’s happening with every passing second. He could bask in the warmth of another’s undivided attention and the adoration that lights up the other man’s face every time Mu Qing moves to take off another piece of clothing. 

His boots lie under the table, his coat gently folded and laid on the armrest of his chair, socks stuffed into his boots, the studded belt he loves so much, slipped out of the loops of his pants and curled. 

He knows that if Feng Xin wanted to, he would already have ripped his clothes off. But the man doesn’t want Mu Qing plainly naked - he wants him to shrug down his clothes and his boundaries. He wants Mu Qing to be the one to take off his own clothes and offer the submission that comes with baring himself. It’s dirty of him, and yet, even as Mu Qing shivers from the thought, he continues with unclasping his choker, laying it down on the table, like he is laying himself open for Feng Xin to take. 

Even though Mu Qing is taking his sweet time, delaying the inevitable as much as he can, Feng Xin’s patience is admirable. His eyes keep gliding up and down on Mu Qing’s body appreciatively, yet he is back to comfortably reclining in his chair, almost as if he was unfazed. The only thing that indicates he is paying any attention is the prominent bulge at the front of his trousers. Fuck, Mu Qing curses inwardly.

But it seems even his patience has a breaking point: “Shirt, off,” he orders. And Mu Qing’s body is again, moving on its own, attuned to this new, dominant Feng Xin - the one who doesn’t fight, doesn’t insult, but gives and gives and only takes what Mu Qing offers. 

Mu Qing is still partially clothed, but standing in front of Feng Xin, bare chested, in only a pair of leather pants that leave nothing to imagination, it feels like a new form of naked - a filthier, deeper, more passionate kind. Like it was not only his shirt he tugged off seconds ago, but the skin of his chest too, opening it up and offering his whole being along with his body. 

His hands tremble - no, still shiver! - as he is reaching for the zipper on his pants and Mu Qing is not sure if the fear he feels inside is showing on his face or not. He hopes it doesn’t, but of course he is proved wrong.

“It’s fine, the pants can stay,” Feng Xin says, shattering the illusion of Mu Qing being able to hide his panic. He knows he should be thankful, but this old, spiteful part of himself condemns the very thought of it. 

When Feng Xin finally stands back up, Mu Qing doesn’t know what to do. A good sub would probably kneel, but he knows he won’t. Not until he has no other choice. So he just keeps holding Feng Xin’s gaze with his own. His hands are dangling uselessly by his sides and it upsets him more than it should. 

Mu Qing just wants to run up to the other man and scream at him, to hurry up, to tell him what to do, because he is fairly certain that Feng Xin, this new not-so-innocent Feng Xin sees when he is struggling with that insanely observant gaze of his. And he seems to love watching him squirm, to have Mu Qing slow down, to take away his outlets for anxiety. 

Normally Mu Qing would already have something solid to tap on or a stress ball to squeeze, his phone to toy with, but now there is nothing and his fingers flex uncomfortably around the empty air. It’s unnerving and unusual and he longs for the familiarity of a punch he can throw at the other man. 

Feng Xin is standing close now, so close that Mu Qing can smell his scent: pine and chocolate, he notes. But he is still not doing anything. Anything at all! He is supposed to take the lead, to help Mu Qing feel, to deal with his needs , but Feng Xin is just standing around like he is waiting for a damn train to arrive. 

“What are you waiting for?!” Mu Qing finally snaps at him, whipping his head around to stare right into Feng Xin’s face. Their noses are only inches apart and they almost collide. Normally, they are the same exact height but Feng Xin still has the advantage of his shoes and his straight spine - as Mu Qing cannot stop his shivering body from wanting to curl in on itself -, giving Feng Xin an extra inch or two. 

“For you to stop fighting it,” Feng Xin replies quietly. “You already admitted what you want. So why do you still want to deny it? I can make it feel so good for you, I can give you whatever you need, if only you ask,” Feng Xin is not begging, because he is not - he is the one in control, it’s not his job! -, but something tells Mu Qing, he is really close to. And that makes him want to push him even more, to see how much more until Feng Xin snaps, to have him angry again at Mu Qing’s whims - just like all those years ago.

“Then why don’t you force me on my knees?” Mu Qing tilts his head to the side, baring his throat suggestively. A disappointed twinge shoots through him when Feng Xin only shakes his head. He is still too calm. 

“I will not take what I’m not given. Submission is a gift - especially yours,” Feng Xin says, but he cannot keep away from Mu Qing anymore. Both of his hands cup the other man’s head - and it’s gentle, so gentle, like Mu Qing would break from a touch while Feng Xin is worshipping him with words. “You are already gorgeous, but I still remember last week, when you kneeled, willingly, for me. You gave that gift to me then, will you be so gracious to give it again?”

Mu Qing is staring at him, his eyes searching for the lie - because there must be one. But all he can find in Feng Xin’s own gaze is pure honesty. It is just Feng Xin himself that reflects in those chocolate orbs - the old straightforward Feng Xin with his stupidity and inability to lie, and this new, warm Feng Xin with his control and his stupid, stupid adoring gaze that just cannot leave Mu Qing. 

“Nothing in this world is more beautiful than you surrendering,” he whispers and that’s when Mu Qing finally breaks. 

“Sir,” he breathes out and Feng Xin shudders like he has been shocked. His fingers relax over Mu Qing’s jaws for a second, but then tighten again as Feng Xin turns him roughly to face him completely and Mu Qing’s body follows like a marionette pulled along its strings. He almost crumples too, but Feng Xin’s hold keeps him steady and upright. 

“I am not going to make you regret,” he whispers hotly into Mu Qing’s ears and leaves a wet kiss right at the curve of his jaw - sucking and nipping gently but not bruising -, before taking a step back. “Kneel for me, sweetheart,” Feng Xin orders and Mu Qing just lets himself fall. 

It shouldn’t be this easy - but it is. And Mu Qing - for once - instead of cursing himself, just keeps his gaze on Feng Xin, to watch the man look at him with such pride and adoration and hunger that makes everything feel too unreal. 

Mu Qing can’t believe it. It’s not the savage anger anymore that brings out this dangerous, predatory side of Feng Xin he loved to see, loved to coax it out with well placed punches and insults - loved to see that fire burn and direct itself towards Mu Qing. 

No, it is with him falling to his knees that this indescribable emotion is back on the other man’s face - and yet, it is still because of Mu Qing that the fire is there, but this time it’s his submission and not his rage that fuels it.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?” Feng Xin’s voice brings him back from his musings. He doesn’t sound angry or impatient, only amused. “Don’t look at me. Eyes on the floor,” he orders. He’s never loud or overly bossy, but none of his commands fail to send a shiver down Mu Qing’s spine, like the very breeze in the air wants to force him to bend to Feng Xin’s will. Yet he keeps his gaze stubbornly on Feng Xin. The uncomfortable tingle of disobedience is worth seeing that beautiful, raging fire in the man’s eyes. 

Until the man steps out of his vision. 

“I hope you still remember what I said about disrespect.”

It makes Mu Qing want to disobey the order even more, to follow Feng Xin’s movements but his body doesn’t listen to his own command to turn. The man seems to somehow know to exactly what extent Mu Qing will follow his orders and with a single move, pushes him to just the point of dancing on the edge of disobedience. It’s thrilling how much more control Feng Xin seems to have over his own body than himself. 

As the seconds tick by, nothing happens. The room is in complete silence and it’s more unnerving than anything else. Mu Qing somehow expected the other man to go and start rummaging in his stash, to find something to torture him with to the point of incoherence - even if Feng Xin doesn’t need to try, the quiet seems to discipline him better than any whip or cane could. 

It was only the cold that has just made him shiver, Mu Qing swears stubbornly. It’s still only the cold that makes a quiet, almost desperate whine leave his throat. 

As if the man has been waiting for the cue of his voice, Mu Qing finally feels Feng Xin’s warmth behind him before he feels his touch. There is a finger tracing down from his shoulder down to his wrist, first on the right, then on the left - taking great delight in Mu Qing’s full bodied shivers - before both of Feng Xin’s hands are holding his arms by his sides. There is nothing dominating about the gentle hold around his forearms, but it still makes him tremble and Mu Qing fights down the urge to arch back and melt into the body behind him. 

It would be too easy - and his submission is not that cheap. Mu Qing kneels, because he wants to and he disobeys the order of not looking at Feng Xin, because he wants to. Even if the man has threatened with implied punishment, Mu Qing doesn’t care. He needs to see those chocolate orbs as Feng Xin’s gaze is burning patterns into his skin. Even if his neck hurts by leaning back so far, he has to see Feng Xin.

When their gazes meet, sparks shoot out and they both hold still for a second. It’s uncomfortable, with Mu Qing’s neck arching and straining. It’s also intense, how Feng Xin looks at him with such adoration, the fire of passion in his eyes is burning strongly. Yet he still narrows his eyes, making them sharp and strict and it feels like a warning for Mu Qing to look away. But he doesn’t. He can’t. Feng Xin’s gaze is holding him hostage and even - especially - with the flash of danger, Mu Qing can’t look anywhere else. He feels a defiant smirk curl his lips and revels in Feng Xin’s controlled fury for a second before averting his gaze.

The hands holding his arms are ripped away roughly and there is a finger under his chin, forcing him to look back up at Feng Xin with a painfully arching neck, at those brilliant sparkling eyes and that expression, a calm before the storm. And yet again, Mu Qing is trapped. He wants to move away, to find somewhere that isn’t so terribly full of Feng Xin , but no - the man is everywhere, he is standing behind Mu Qing, he is looming above him and he is under his skin.

“For someone who willingly kneels for me, you are quite bad at obeying any other orders, sweetheart,” Feng Xin whispers wetly into his ears and Mu Qing can’t help the shuddering breath that falls off of his traitorous lips.

Feng Xin’s finger disappears from his chin, but Mu Qing keeps his head tilted up. It’s dancing on the edge of being painful, but he does it as an act of rebellion - to prove that Mu Qing himself is the only reason his neck is straining and it’s not Feng Xin with his sure hands and gentle voice that controls him.

But the man’s fingers are back over Mu Qing’s wrist before he knows what’s happening, squeezing them gently before pulling them over the small of his back to cross them over his bare skin. Then pulls them some more, to make his shoulders roll back uncomfortably and his spine arch slightly. Mu Qing expects a strip of leather or that coil of red rope to be strapped over his hands, but the only thing that settles over them is coldness as Feng Xin withdraws bodily. 

“Keep them there,” he orders in a clear voice. Mu Qing wants to snarl at him, but instead settles for an angry hiss, torn between the spite of keeping his chin raised and command of keeping his arms still. In the end he decides to keep his body rigid as a statue as his eyes search for Feng Xin, preferably to murder him with a single look. 

How dare he keep Mu Qing teetering on the edge of madness, where he doesn’t know whether to fight his stubbornness or his instincts. Does he not know how hard it is, not to fall for either side and keep being himself? 

But maybe, this is exactly what Feng Xin wants from him - for Mu Qing surrender this choice and give this decision over to him and let Feng Xin lead him. 

Maybe this is what he wants from himself too. 

“What do you want me to do?” Feng Xin asks suddenly, his mouth too close to Mu Qing’s ears - he can clearly feel every inhale and feel every exhale over the sensitive skin of his neck. 

When Mu Qing doesn’t answer, Feng Xin plants an open mouthed kiss over his throat. He doesn’t suck or bite, just keeps the wet pressure over his pulse point. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

“Just whatever,” Mu Qing tries to sound nonchalant, but his breaths are coming in small puffs. He doesn’t know what he wants - not that Feng Xin is allowing him any chance to ponder over it. The man is everywhere and it’s just too hard to think. 

“ ‘Just whatever’ , you say? Would you like it if I just left you hanging? Or if I tied you up with a vibrator in your ass and a ring around your cock? Or let’s forget those, you are such a brat, you would probably love it if I pulled you over my knees and spanked you for your insolence.” Feng Xin lists, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through two bodies at once. 

Mu Qing doesn’t know what to say. All the ideas are just too much, he couldn’t possibly accept any of those willingly, but the idea of pain- maybe it is the very idea of pain that pulls him towards the last one as he slowly nods. Which question it answers, he doesn’t know. 

Before he can do anything else, Feng Xin swats the outside of his thigh - not enough to hurt, but enough to serve as a warning. “I want verbal answers,” he scolds as his fingers massage Mu Qing’s thigh apologetically, but his eyes watch the other man with an ever widening smile. “Do you want to get spanked, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” Mu Qing breaths out. 

“Yes, what ?” Feng Xin pushes on as his hand stills. It’s hot, almost burning against the leather of his pants.

Mu Qing grits his teeth and contemplates mocking Feng Xin only for a second, before replying. “Yes, Sir. ”

“Good boy,” the praise shouldn’t amount for much, but coming from Feng Xin it means everything. Warmth spreads through his chest uncontrollably, it’s a whole unique brand of pleasure. 

As Feng Xin steps back from him, Mu Qing has to suppress an embarrassing whine from escaping his throat. It’s from the loss of warmth and nothing else. 

The man walks up to the armchair - the one that doesn’t have Mu Qing’s discarded clothes - and stops behind it. Feng Xin eyes the bed in the corner for one second, before his gaze returns to him. “Come here.”

But just as Mu Qing is moving to stand up, he hears a disapproving click of Feng Xin’s tongue. “I said come, not walk,” the man smirks deviously and Mu Qing all of a sudden feels so dizzy, like he will fall over right that second - and he almost does, but manages to catch himself with his hands on the soft carpet. “Exactly,” Feng Xin laughs, although not maliciously, yet Mu Qing still spares him a deathglare. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Feng Xin adds in a softer tone. “But it would make me happy.”

Mu Qing curses himself - since when does he care about things that would make the idiot anything but angry? - but stays on all fours and lifts a hand tentatively. His face is burning and so is all of his neck, the embarrassment harsh and red on his skin, but he still crawls over to the armchair before defiantly settling back to his haunches, hands folded comfortably over his lap. 

“You removed your hands from your back,” Feng Xin comments idly and Mu Qing gasps, pulling his arms backwards hastily to cross them over the small of his back again. He doesn’t know why he cares for the tinge of disappointment he seems to have heard in Feng Xin’s tone. “But you did so well, you made me so happy, I will forgive you for it. You were so beautiful obeying me, sweetheart,” he praises more, running a gentle hand over Mu Qing’s shoulders and whispers ‘Good boy’ once more as he feels the muscles relax under his palm.

“I’m going to spank you right now. You alright to go on?” he whispers in a low voice to Mu Qing, almost as if afraid to break the fragile atmosphere. “Color?” He waits patiently for the answer. For a second, worry flashes in those chocolate brown eyes - and Mu Qing hates it. He will not be pitied by Feng Xin of all people. 

“I’m fine. Green, Sir,” still, Mu Qing decides not to fight it and Feng Xin nearly glows up with a smile. But his eyes are back to fully burning with that raging fire and he couldn’t be more glad. 

“Alright. You can release your hands now. Pants off,” he orders. Mu Qing seems to hesitate, still almost shy about the intimacy of the situation. 

But once he makes his decision, his hands immediately fly to the waistband of his pants and pushes them off in one go, before he could opt out of it. He has half a mind to curse himself for not wearing boxers underneath, but Feng Xin’s hungry gaze lingering on the pale skin of his thighs and the length of his half-hard cock makes Mu Qing forget about everything else. The leather just drops onto the floor carelessly and is already forgotten within a second.

“ Beautiful ,” Feng Xin mouths to himself as he rounds the chair, taking in Mu Qing’s entire bare form with a lick of his lips. 

It should be too much, he should want to cover up. But he doesn’t, not with the way Feng Xin’s admiring gaze glides over his skin.

“Over the armrest, sweetheart,” he finally says. 

Mu Qing walks the remaining few feet to the chair, eyeing it suspiciously, before taking a deep breath to firm his resolve. As he is leaning over, he pulls his hands on the seat to help steady himself, but is quickly intercepted in the movement as Feng Xin grabs his wrists again, with an almost bruising force and pulls them back over the small of Mu Qing’s back. “Without,” he says curtly, talking over the undignified gasp coming from the other man. 

When Mu Qing doesn’t make a move to settle over the armrest how Feng Xin wants him to, the man roughly pushes Mu Qing’s wrists a bit higher on his back. He waits for the uncomfortable wince from the man, then relaxes his hold only a tiny bit to banish the pain, but keep the threat of it in Mu Qing’s mind. Then Feng Xin grips both his wrists with one hand, while using his other to push down the man’s head over the seat of the chair. In this position, Mu Qing is effectively folded over the armrest, weight resting on his shoulders and cheek, his unsteady feet and the armrest is digging uncomfortably into his hip bones. He groans loudly at the almost painful pose he has been manhandled into, but bites back the curse that wants to fall from his lips. 

It is not only a little embarrassing - his ass high in the air, and his cock trapped between his body and the rough leather of the chair - but between the shame of being so exposed and the whispered ‘Gorgeous’ and ‘Beautiful’ over his back, it’s always Feng Xin’s words that gain victory over his skin. So Mu Qing accepts the position with pride - it’s how Feng Xin wants him, it’s the way he admires him, it’s how he wants to touch him, to make him feel. 

And Mu Qing is so, so glad that he can hide his face in the seat of the armchair. Even if the other man sees the redness on the back of his neck, at least he doesn’t have to face him. 

“You disobeyed me three times and disrespected me once,” he hears Feng Xin’s voice from above him, clear and authoritative. One of his hands is still settled over Mu Qing’s crossed wrists, but the other is caressing his side encouragingly. “If you were my sub, I would give you twenty for disrespecting alone. But because it’s you, I’ll be merciful and only give you twenty altogether.” 

Mu Qing lets out a helpless whimper at the simple thought of it. It sounds like too much. He will break, he will be forced to tell Feng Xin to stop and that is not something his pride would survive. He feels like fleeing, but again, it’s Feng Xin’s hand that stills and squeezes over the skin of his waist in a calming manner. “Let’s make a deal before you panic, sweetheart,” his voice is so gentle that Mu Qing’s heart nearly melts and the cold dread seeps out of him within seconds. This power Feng Xin has over him should be impossible. “I want you to count them out loud and I will cut the numbers in half. Is that alright with you, precious one?”

This care, this adoration, even the way Feng Xin talks - it is not normal how much it affects Mu Qing. He wants to cry, to scream at him to come to his senses and realize who he is talking to - the man who ruined his school years, the reason behind broken bones and week-long black eyes and blooming bruises. But he cannot bring himself to say anything else, but “Yes, Sir.”

And so, without a warning, Feng Xin’s hand lifts from his crossed wrists and the first hit falls on Mu Qing’s behind. The sound of skin against skin echoes in the room, barely louder than his own gasp. 

It is with a silent gasp of realization, that Feng Xin is using his own hand and not a whip or a paddle, like he has expected him to. Somehow it makes the pain more personal and the sting more exquisite - knowing that for every hit Mu Qing suffers, Feng Xin’s hand will prickle similarly. 

But even so, Feng Xin’s palm lingers on his lower butt, massaging the reddening skin with the echoing pain of the blow until Mu Qing remembers to count and whispers out “One”.

The next blow falls on his other cheek, granting him a mirrored sensation of the blood rushing under his skin. It’s not entirely unpleasant, even as it tingles for seconds after with phantom pinpricks of barely-pain. “Two,” he gasps out, just to banish the unsettling hotness of Feng Xin’s hand. 

The next two blows fall right under the previous ones, but Mu Qing is faster with the quiet “Three, four”. Even so, the sensation teeters finely on the borders of pleasure and pain and is so intimate that he feels like burying his face deeper into the seat of the armchair. And so he does. At the same time he tenses up, muscles pulled taut to brace for the hit that doesn’t come. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” and like magic, Feng Xin’s words wash over him. 

He, who is ready to put pleasure in the pain just for Mu Qing, he is the only one that can witness how he falls apart - he has always been - so Mu Qing lets him. 

But he cannot resist - there is no way he can - the friction. Not with the way his behind stings slightly and he already wants to pull away from the pain and into the comforting warmth of pleasure. It’s right there and Feng Xin is not holding him back and it’s almost painful how his cock is being pressed into the hard leather by his own weight. So Mu Qing shifts. Only a little, but even such small movement increases the pressure against this painfully hard cock and he bites back a moan.  

At least he thinks he does. Because in the next second, Feng Xin’s hand is holding his hips completely still in a bruising grip, lifting them just a hairwidth over the armrest to cease the contact and the man is leaning down by his ears and whispers ‘bad boy’ disapprovingly. 

“Did I give you permission to pleasure yourself?” Feng Xin asks, his voice still gentle, yet there is a dangerous sharpness in it. He patiently waits for an answer and Mu Qing wants to snap at him, to tell Feng Xin that he, in no way, does need permission to feel good, but the words refuse to leave his lips. In the end, he simply settles for a disgustingly unsteady shake of his head. 

Feng Xin clicks his tongue in response. “So do you want to get punished? Maybe you do want more? I s ten not enough for you? ” he smiles wickedly at the tremble that runs through Mu Qing’s body at the last sentence and Mu Qing can almost see it - it’s with a feral and wild kind of lust. “It seems like I cannot reward you, as you have already taken the reward yourself, so I can only serve with punishment,” Feng Xin sighs theatrically and Mu Qing’s breathing picks up - but no, he doesn’t turn his head to look at the man behind - over - him.

“Be good for me and stop counting until I say so, sweetheart,” Feng Xin orders and immediately delivers four strikes. They are swift and heavy, each of them landing exactly over the same patch of tingling, red skin. They echo in the silence of the room, just barely louder than Mu Qing’s surprised gasps.

The third hit barely lands when Mu Qing resolutely sinks his teeth into his lower lip to muffle a yelp. It is not as successful as he would have liked it and a pained whimper still escapes his lips.

“You can take it. You can take it for me, sweetheart,” Feng Xin whispers into his ears before delivering another four slaps to the other cheek. His other hand is warm and steady on Mu Qing’s back and it’s the only thing keeping him from bolting out of the room and never looking back. But as he arches back into the searing hotness of the hits, it sounds like a pathetically weak excuse. 

Rather than fleeing, Mu Qing struggles to hold back his moans with gritted teeth, because this should be a punishment and not a reward. Yet his body still aches for the almost-pain. Even if he bites through his lips, Mu Qing still can’t suppress the low whine as Feng Xin steps back to observe his handiwork, the steadily reddening skin and taking the comforting warmth - and the promise of more with him.

“Shh, it’s okay, you did so well, you took your punishment so good, sweetheart. You can continue counting now,” Feng Xin praises and adds quickly, “You know what to say if you want to stop.”

Feng Xin only waits for a second - to give Mu Qing a second to think whether he wants to halt them or not - before he settles back to the previous strikes. 

They hit softer and his hand lingers longer, but no matter, all of them still send the little jolts of sensations all throughout Mu Qing’s body.

Five and six hit right on the spot where his thighs meet his buttocks and Mu Qing lets out a pained whimper for each, before he whispers out the numbers. His fingers flex against the skin of his back, but instead of letting them slip, he just pushes them up further - until the tips of his fingers are resting against his shoulder blades - instead of just keeping them where Feng Xin ordered him to. 

He doesn’t want to fight the commands anymore - because it’s only the slightly uncomfortable pull at his shoulders that distracts him from the pinpricks of this foreign mix of pain-and-pleasure, he thinks. 

Except until Feng Xin whispers in a low voice: “You are so beautiful, you are doing so well” and Mu Qing’s heart involuntarily flutters - even if he knows what liars they both are.

Seven and eight are wide and heavy, falling into the exact same spots the hits from his punishment have landed - Mu Qing counts, but his voice breaks as he feels his sight getting blurry. He is perfectly sure those are not tears - but he still mumbles a silent prayer that they aren’t - as he aches to arch away from the now uncomfortable warmth of Feng Xin’s hand. It’s almost scorching against his sensitive skin.

Nine and ten are quick and merciful, but Feng Xin’s palm still lingers on the reddened skin, as if wanting to massage the painful pleasure inside his body. Mu Qing almost sobs out the numbers, but holds back the very real tears that now threaten to fall.  

Feng Xin pulls him up gently and whispers into his ears about how good he was and how proud he is. It hurts him to see how Feng Xin looks worried, almost guilty, as he wraps his arms around Mu Qing’s waist and pulls him into his chest. It should be an awkward hug, but they fit so well together as Mu Qing unconsciously clutches onto the soft silk of Feng Xin’s shirt and rests his head in the crook of his shoulder.

“Are you alright?” He feels the whisper against his ear. 

“I’m fine,” Mu Qing answers flatly. Deeming it too mild for his liking, he reconsiders. “You can do worse,” he adds before he starts to feel weak. But when he sees the worry transform into a flash of hurt across Feng Xin’s face, he recognizes it as something even worse than Mu Qing thinking himself weak. He pries his lips open to apologize, but his mouth feels too dry to talk all of a sudden. 

It takes both of them a few breaths to simply bask in the warmth and safety of another body, to gather themselves, but as Mu Qing finally steadies himself, Feng Xin withdraws immediately. “Color?” he asks, and his face and voice seem almost distant. 

“Green,” Mu Qing answers, because he needs it. He needs more. 

And he needs to do something so the other man can stop looking like a kicked puppy. He thinks about taking that one step towards Feng Xin to pull him back into the hug, or maybe even apologize - even if his voice is broken and raspy and still wet from unshed tears -, but this… This is not the right place for any of that. 

He won’t touch or talk without permission, because he wants- no, he needs Feng Xin’s praise. And because, no matter how strange it sounds, he wants to respect the man and his boundaries. Feng Xin put the distance between their bodies because Mu Qing had put a distance between their hearts. 

And so, Mu Qing does the next best thing he can. He kneels. Unprompted and subservient, right where he is, only a step away from Feng Xin. His hands tightly clutch behind his back and his thighs slightly spread. He would never go as far as to expose himself as pompously as Shi Wu Du did, but this, he can do - because the submissive in him wants to please Feng Xin, to comfort him in a way the man may even accept.

He watches as Feng Xin’s gaze returns to him and when he is sure that the man is not only looking at him, but seeing him, Mu Qing lowers his head. 

It’s awful not being able to see Feng Xin’s reaction, but there is a hissed inhale and Mu Qing can hear his breathing pick up in pace and that sounds good enough for him. He also cannot ignore that little glimmer in his heart, thinking it’s because of him that Feng Xin became like that - it’s a small triumph for Mu Qing, but it’s a thread of control he has just witnessed. 

His own control. Over Feng Xin. And all of that, for the prize of his willing submission. Mu Qing quivers slightly at the thought. 

“You are unbelievable,” Feng Xin whispers for the second time this night, but now it sounds more like a praise than anything else. That one step distance becomes none as he closes it, his palm - still red and hot - placed over Mu Qing’s shoulders and swiping up, over his collarbones, loosely closing around his throat, and faintly caressing his jaw, before tilting his chin up to stare at the other man. “Please don’t look down, I want to see you,” Feng Xin says. It’s not exactly a command and maybe this is why Mu Qing still obeys it, holding his gaze proudly. 

That one precious trace of fondness is back, shining brightly in Feng Xin’s eyes and it makes Mu Qing confused - that idiot is not supposed to look at him like he is the only person in this world. This is not what he has agreed to. This- this doesn’t feel like submitting. It feels like Mu Qing has been put on a pedestal and is being worshipped, with words, stares and firm hands that give him only what he needs. 

Despite how complicated it feels, neither of them can look away. Feng Xin looks positively entranced as he leans down, his eyes focused solely on Mu Qing’s lips. They are breathing the same air, too hot as it burns in their lungs, but neither care.

Mu Qing waits and waits, he doesn’t dare move an inch, but it’s only when he feels a soft peck over his cheek, that he feels a curious stab of disappointment in his heart. Feng Xin does not kiss him - not that he wants to kiss Feng Xin, not that he has ever wanted him to - but the missed opportunity hurts more than it should. Even when Feng Xin takes hold of his arms and pulls him over to the bed, the low thrum of dissatisfaction is still coursing in his body. 

When they reach the bed, Mu Qing expects to be shoved down onto it roughly, with the sheets painfully scratching over his still buzzing behind - but instead a low command and a gentle hand guide him onto his front. It’s not as uncomfortable as he expected, even as the sheets rub painfully against his hard erection - that, for some reason nothing seems to faze tonight. It becomes slightly worse, when Feng Xin, still fully clothed, climbs over his body and settles down over his upper thighs, barely a hair width space away from his skin that has been reddened by such delicious pain. The man runs his hands over Mu Qing’s body, trailing over his sides, praising for how his wrists are still obediently crossed over his back, before reaching around his neck and with a solid hold over the bone of his collarbones, he pulls up. 

Mu Qing’s back arches as his upper body is forced off of the sheets. Feng Xin’s firm hand is barely not a chokehold, just a tiny slip away from danger. “Open your legs,” he commands as he lifts off lightly and repositions higher: over Mu Qing’s butt - the rough fabric of his trousers unkindly rubbing over the still aching bruises. Mu Qing wants to gasp, but Feng Xin’s other hand is resting over his throat now - not pushing, not restricting his air, just burning the sensitive skin with his palms - and it’s only a choked whimper he manages. 

The weight over his hips is heavy and something hard is rubbing over his asscheeks and it’s both tempting and cruel how Feng Xin’s own erection fits so well against his behind. Maybe that’s why Mu Qing ignores the sweet pain and opens his legs, as wide as he can- 

And suddenly all touch is gone. His upper body falls back into the mattress like a ragdoll and his breathing is still ragged, but he is wide and exposed and it’s only Feng Xin’s murmured ‘Beautiful’ over the bare skin of his shoulder that keeps him from pushing his thighs together forcefully. 

He is rewarded with a sharp bite to the back of his thigh, and he moans as Feng Xin’s teeth scrape the delicate skin, but a wet tongue soothes the slight sting right away. Mu Qing somehow finds himself disappointed that the teeth haven't sunk into his flesh to leave a blooming bruise. 

“Sweetheart, can you do something for me?” Feng Xin asks, his voice low and so, so raw with want, that Mu Qing doesn’t dare do anything but nod softly. But as always, it’s not enough. Two calloused hands grab onto his asscheeks and he feels each and every finger sink into the supple, abused skin. Mu Qing arches off the bed with a broken cry. 

When the cruel hands don’t release him, Mu Qing lets his hands fall from behind his back and fly downwards, trying to blindly grab onto Feng Xin’s wrists to pull them away, to take away the pain - but he fails as Feng Xin simply lets his whole palms rest on the reddened skin. 

Mu Qing’s hands fly up to grab onto the sheets instead as he gasps through the deep-rooted, buzzing agony.

“Do I need to ask again?” Feng Xin questions him in a low voice as his hands finally let go in favor of running up the length of Mu Qing’s arms to take hold of his wrists, and push them deeper into the mattress. The pain is not quite gone, but now his whole body looms over Mu Qing, displaying his endless control so unabashedly. “Verbal answers, please.”

“No, Sir,” Mu Qing manages to choke out as the pain dissipates slowly, completely uncaring for the ironlike grip around his own hands as he forces himself to relax into the warmth of another body. “Yes I can do something else, Sir.”

Both replies get him a kiss over the column of his throat and he arches towards the wet mouth instantly, baring the skin for Feng Xin - who lets out an almost animalistic growl at the sight of plain, voluntary submission.

Mu Qing doesn’t remember anymore when exactly he has stopped fighting it, but now it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter when it feels so good, to let go, to let himself be led, to have those gentle hands to unspeakable things, to let them hold him against a strong body. He wants to deny how much he enjoys it, but this little voice in his head, that sounds so suspiciously like Feng Xin, whispers to him ‘I need you to be honest’ and he can’t bring himself to lie. Not to himself, nor to Feng Xin anymore.

“Beautiful, I need to know now. Can you still go on?” Feng Xin asks, his body trembling almost as hard as Mu Qing’s own. 

“Yes. Green, Sir,” he doesn’t say ‘ please’, but hopes his broken voice conveys the plea instead. Mu Qing wants this - to be held down and to be adored in this reckless, unbalanced way. He trusts Feng Xin - fuck knows why , he seethes inside, but resolutely leans into the gentle touch against his skin - and he is too lost to fight back anymore. So he does the only thing he can, at this point of no return. He submits and fully gives himself over. 

“If at any point you want me to stop, tell me. I will stop no matter what, remember that, alright?” Feng Xin’s voice is clear, like it always is - even when the rest of the room is fuzzy. His body is fuzzy, his mind is fuzzy, but Feng Xin? Never. He is, he has always been the exception.

“Alright,” Mu Qing says and he notes that even his own voice feels dim. 

His reply is not even finished yet, but Feng Xin is already off of him, his warmth cruelly ripped away from the skin of his back. Mu Qing whines low in his throat, a sound he doesn’t even dare acknowledge. He wants to sit up, to look around for the other man, but a command stops him. “Stay still,” and just like that, his body goes completely relaxed against his own will. In this state, he barely feels as his thighs are nudged even further apart, only that Feng Xin is back and he is settling between Mu Qing’s legs - and oh, just how much he wants to arch into his touch . But he doesn’t. Because Feng Xin’s voice, his orders hold too much power over him. 

Gentle fingers trail over his legs - from the soles of his feet, up to his knees, all the way to his inner thighs. They splay over and play with the sensitive skin, too close, but still too far from Mu Qing’s balls and his aching cock - that has been ignored for way too long now, and he can feel every throb of blood that rushes through it. But still, Feng Xin keeps teasing. 

“C’mon,” Mu Qing gasps out - he is painfully hard, his butt aches so pleasantly, but he is still not allowed any relief, how is this fair?

“So impatient,” he feels, more than hears Feng Xin’s murmur, over the skin of his thighs and braces for the swat he is sure is coming- but nothing. Feng Xin’s hands just continue massaging his skin, making it more and more sensitive as blood rushes to the surface. Blatantly teasing. Making sure that Mu Qing feels each and every cell of his body burning with a desire for something that only Feng Xin can grant him.

But Mu Qing can’t take it anymore. He shifts his hips, and oh , the friction of the sheets against his neglected cock is heavenly, so he does it again - it’s only a small twitch of muscle, so maybe Feng Xin won’t mind? 

But he is stopped by a hand pushing heavily at the small of his back - yet Mu Qing doesn’t care, it’s more, it’s better, it’s so good , it’s finally the pleasure he has been waiting for. So he grinds down into the soft linen and moans at the divine friction. 

“Again? What did I tell you?” Feng Xin asks in a warning tone and he immediately freezes. He had an order that he didn’t obey, and he had a punishment that hasn’t sunk in - oh, but fuck it, it felt so good . 

Mu Qing knows he should regret it, but he doesn’t. 

He only does, when his hips are effortlessly raised high and he is pulled up to his knees. But his chest is still flat against the bed, waist bending impossibly, this position-

He wants to gasp, to hide, because this is the worst - he is more exposed than ever before. At least the armchair provided some sort of solidity, something he could lean on, some way to hide. But now the friction is gone and Feng Xin, oh god, Feng Xin is trailing a finger down the crack of his ass, over the thin skin of his balls and his twitching cock and then it’s gone. And Mu Qing chokes down a moan. “Don’t-”

“Don’t what?” Feng Xin withdraws completely, listening intently. If Mu Qing wants to stop, he will - even if it’s everything he doesn’t want - but he needs to know what the other man wants. 

“Don’t stop touching-” Mu Qing whimpers into the sheets desperately. He doesn’t care about shame anymore, he just wants, wants, wants. But he promised to be good for Feng Xin, and that’s the only thing stopping him from pushing back to chase the elusive fingers.

“So demanding,” Feng Xin chuckles behind him and scrapes his nails down the tender skin of Mu Qing’s inner thighs, making him gasp for breath. “One would think you had some manners. So, what do we say when we want something, sweetheart?”

Mu Qing knows what he wants. He knows, but it’s too much, he can’t- Not to Feng Xin. 

He has broken a promise he made to himself once already, he has already surrendered one layer he didn’t want to give up, he can’t do it again. Why is it not enough to call him Sir , when he knows - he has to know - all Mu Qing wants anymore is Feng Xin. His touch, his words, his praise, his skin, his cock, his anything. So why does he have to beg for it?

“I know how stubborn you are. Here, let me help,” Feng Xin offers slyly. There is a soft popping sound and not even a second later, Mu Qing feels something cold and wet against his entrance - rubbing circles over the sensitive skin, dipping but never sinking in. He shivers and holds onto the sheets, as if they could help him stay anchored to reality.

But then the touch is gone and Feng Xin gives another command, one he doesn’t know he can fulfill. “I want you to hold yourself open.”

Mu Qing wants- he doesn’t know what he wants. The lines between what Feng Xin wants for him and what he wants for himself are starting to blur, but this is not something he would ever willingly do. Yet his control on his own body is slipping - his hands let go of their death grip on the sheets to hold onto his asscheeks, and he almost sobs in delight when he hears Feng Xin inhale sharply behind him. “You are so good, so beautiful for me,” the man whispers over his skin, and maybe Mu Qing believes it. 

But then the fingers are back on his entrance and he shudders. He wants to let go, his ass feels scorching hot from the spanking he received before and Feng Xin’s fingers feel like they are freezing cold as one finally, finally pushes into him and Mu Qing can’t hold back the choked moan. It doesn’t hurt as much as he remembers all those times he has bottomed before. But he is still glad for the distraction as another of Feng Xin’s hands starts exploring his torso, bumping over his nipples and dipping into his navel playfully, the barely-there touch more ticklish distraction than passionate teasing.

One finger turns into two, which is joined by a third one soon enough and Mu Qing can’t help but push backwards onto them, trying so, so hard to change their angle - he wants to feel them brushing over his prostate but Feng Xin keeps them painfully straight. Reaching deeper inside instead of granting him the pleasure he longs for. Even if he moans, gasps, spreads himself further, nothing fazes the man. He keeps angling his fingers in just the wrong directions, driving Mu Qing crazy with the slow rhythm of madness. 

He wants to push back, but Feng Xin’s other hand is keeping him still with only a featherlight contact over his chest. Stuck between chasing two sensations, Mu Qing feels like he is losing his mind. 

“Sir, please- ” there is only so much of maddening almost-pleasure that Mu Qing can take before he finally gives in. And the effect is immediate. Feng Xin’s hand splays over his chest to steady him and his fingers slam right into his prostate. A strangled cry leaves Mu Qing’s lips, one that he tries to muffle with the sheets, but doesn’t quite succeed. 

Almost as a present, Feng Xin’s other hand pulls away from his chest to curl around his cock and he outright screams. He is almost there, the orgasm he has been waiting for is almost there, the tides of it rising high, so high, and Mu Qing is waiting for it to crash down onto him, to wash him away. He doesn’t realize that his lips keep mouthing words, most eerily similar to ‘please’ and ‘Feng Xin’ , but he is far too gone now to care. When Feng Xin is finally ready to give Mu Qing what he wants-

But then Feng Xin, the fucking bastard , rips it all away - his warmth, and the orgasm Mu Qing has been on the edge of. “Don’t come,” he orders and Mu Qing just collapses. Without the fingers inside him, he crashes down onto the sheets - already wet with his own pre-come and the dripping lube from his hole. He can’t scream anymore and it’s only desperate sobs that wrack his body. 

“Please, Feng Xin, pleaseplea- Sir, please” he doesn’t know anymore what he is saying, he just wants, but doesn’t remember what. But Feng Xin knows, he knows what Mu Qing needs and he can give it to him, so why won’t he?!

But the man just rolls him onto his back, weak boned and trembling, and grips his wrists, pushing them down into the mattress beside his head. “Stay still,” he commands.  

And it’s easy, too easy, because Mu Qing is not fighting him anymore - he doesn’t have the power to do so, he gave it all over to Feng Xin. And now the man, the cruel, cruel man is just kneeling over his still twitching body, kissing away his tears as if he is trying to fill the void of that orgasm he took away from Mu Qing. 

“Ssh, it’s okay,” he pets Mu Qing’s hair and kisses the shell of his ear, the row of his piercings with too much care. “You are so gorgeous, sweetheart, can you do one last thing for me?” he asks with those honest chocolate eyes staring right at him, right into him and Mu Qing starts to realize why he can never say no to him. 

“Anything, Sir,” he rasps out even as his head feels like it’s underwater and his voice not his own. Because this is Feng Xin and he is willing to give everything and more to him - even if Mu Qing’s body is already his. 

“Fuck, you don’t know what you are doing to me, ” Feng Xin’s voice trembles with the intensity of an emotion - that little something Mu Qing keeps seeing in his eyes whenever Feng Xin looks at him. That heart-deep adoration, honest and crystal clear. “I want you to come only when I say. Can you do it? Can you wait for my command?” He asks as his hands tremble around Mu Qing’s wrists. 

“Yes, please, please, Sir ,” Mu Qing begs endlessly, even if he doesn’t know what for. 

“Fuck, you are not alright anymore are you? Sweetheart, color!” Feng Xin orders desperately, his muscles pulled taut and trembling with the force of holding himself back as he waits for the answer. 

“Green, Feng Xin. Green,” Mu Qing says as he lets his legs fall open even wider. He doesn’t even wince as the sheets rub against the raw skin of his behind. 

Feng Xin curses under his breath before he dives down. He looks like he wants to kiss the living daylights out of him, but instead Mu Qing feels sharp teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his shoulders. Feng Xin’s hands leave Mu Qing’s wrist to wander around his body, as if wanting to discover each patch of his skin again and again, almost worshipfully. His mouth presses wet kisses over his shoulder, and up the pale column of his throat, before finding the line of his piercings again and biting down on the tender flesh. He watches as Mu Qing squirms under him and Feng Xin swears. He could probably keep doing it all day, just to have Mu Qing writhing underneath him like this.

But soon enough, one hand returns to Mu Qing’s entrance, massaging the relaxed ring of muscle until Feng Xin finally hears the quiet ‘please’ he has been waiting for. Then his fingers are sinking inside Mu Qing’s hole again. This time Feng Xin doesn’t miss - not even once. Every in and out, he brushes against Mu Qing’s prostate and the man is sobbing and trashing in just a few seconds. 

Yet miraculously, his hands are still gripping onto the sheets tightly on each side of his head. He hasn’t moved them away since Feng Xin’s command and “ Oh god, you are so good for me” , Feng Xin voices his praises. And the proud smile it earns him is beautiful as it lights up Mu Qing’s face. 

So Feng Xin doubles his efforts as he works his fingers in and out of the man under him and relishes in the way Mu Qing surrenders his body, to pleasure and to Feng Xin. 

But just as he feels the rapid tremors building up in the man’s body, Feng Xin once again tears his hands away and lets Mu Qing sob out a scream as he is denied yet another orgasm - he is cursing, begging, opening his legs even wider, even trying to push up towards Feng Xin, to chase the feeling, the mind blowing pleasure. But not even once does his hands release the sheets, still obediently keeping his wrists pushed deep into the mattress. 

It would be so easy for him to just touch his cock with a hand and he would come like he has never come before. If only he would disobey Feng Xin and let go - something he would have gladly done even just a few minutes ago. It’s only a single brush against his sensitive cock he would need to cross that fragile distance to completion. But he doesn’t. Because Feng Xin has told him to wait for his command. 

Mu Qing’s eyes are hazy, almost glassy. He is looking, but not seeing, like the entire world is there, unchanged, but Mu Qing is watching it from underwater. And it’s Feng Xin’s voice that cuts through the haze like a sharp knife, before making him sink even deeper. It’s making him let go of his mind and his worries as pleasure becomes the only thing that exists in his world. Mu Qing's body stops becoming his own, he is used, played like an instrument and he sings, shouts, screams, sobs through it, as his orgasm is ripped away from him again. But he doesn't care because this is the deep and it's pulling him down and down until his eyes lose their focus and it's only Feng Xin's hand that guides his breathing with a steady palm on his chest. 

He is so gone, but Feng Xin is still there and he is still giving Mu Qing everything. “Feng Xin-” he can’t help the broken whisper that falls off his lips. “Please, inside-”

“Fuck, yes,” Feng Xin curses again but pats around for the lube - wherever it is he has thrown it - and slicks himself up. He feels like bursting already, but a stolen moment isn’t too long to linger his eyes on Mu Qing. The man is splayed out on the bed, tear tracks dried on his face. His hands are trembling, but still kept in the same position - and Feng Xin is so, so proud - , and the muscles of his whole body strain against something invisible, but he is being so still, so good for Feng Xin. If it wasn’t for the rapid rise and fall of his chest and his bleary blinks, one might think he was a statue rather than a human being - too perfect to be real. 

Feng Xin wants to watch him some more, to think about all the ways he wants to ravish Mu Qing later, all the kinks he wants the man to try, all the different positions he wants to fold him into, all the different places he wants to bring him to- 

But the Mu Qing of the present is the most important. As another broken “Feng Xin” falls off Mu Qing’s lips, he knows he is fucked. Completely and utterly. So he lines up his cock with Mu Qing’s entrance and pushes. 

The man is so beautifully pliant under him, it almost hurts. He is still conscious, but looks as if he is in another world. But he still moans and sobs as Feng Xin thrusts into him, finds his prostate and grinds into it - maddeningly slow. He is trying to beg again, but his words only come out as a jumble. His hands are straining against that invisible restraint of command, he is clenching down uncontrollably and gasping and sobbing and crying and giving everything he has to please Feng Xin. Mu Qing is so close to the edge, but he is not falling yet. He is waiting for Feng Xin, for the command to let go. 

And Feng Xin doesn’t care that he is not there yet. This night is not about him, and Mu Qing might just go insane with want if he doesn’t get his release now. So he leans over to Mu Qing’s neck, biting down on the pale, sweat-covered flesh of his throat and whispers his doom: “Come for me.”

With a shuddering breath, floating with that blissful feeling of sinking underwater, Mu Qing lets go. Untouched and screaming, tears freely flow from his eyes from the pure pleasure and he keeps chanting something that sounds dangerously close to Feng Xin’s name. His hands tremble, but in the mindless moments of his orgasm, they coil around Feng Xin’s shoulders as he tries to hold on with an unsteady grip on slippery silk.

Feng Xin is still hard, but he pulls out, just to take Mu Qing into his arms and watch as the man struggles with gulping down the air as his fingers curl desperately into Feng Xin’s shirt and he rests his head in the crook of his shoulder. He places one hand on Mu Qing’s chest and the man immediately breathes more easily. 

He trusts the hand on his chest, because it is Feng Xin’s and everything else is just too unclear. But there is another hand that pulls him closer, even closer, but Mu Qing doesn't feel where it makes contact with his body; there is a wet towel that brushes over his reddened skin, but it's just a dull sensation against the pleasure still sparkling over his heated flesh.

But the hold around him is comfortable, maybe even too comfortable and Feng Xin can feel Mu Qing start to drift away. “Can you stay with me for a bit more?” he asks in a gentle voice, but Mu Qing seems to not be able to focus on him. 

He is falling, sinking underwater, but yet there is a pair of eyes, concerned chocolate orbs that float into his vision as the waves wash over him and blur his vision. But those two eyes become clear and Mu Qing knows he is safe. He wants to lift his hand, to brush through that messy hair that almost falls out of his hair tie, to reassure Feng Xin that he is here, he is okay, but his body is still not responding to him.

“Mu Qing,” Feng Xin tries again with a desperate whisper, not even bothering to remember the fake name the man gave him. But Mu Qing’s eyes clear - even if just a tiny bit - and so Feng Xin holds up a cup of water to his lips. He gulps it down quickly, fingers clutching desperately onto the glass, grip slippery and loose over Feng Xin’s own. 

And Feng Xin can’t seem to shut up. With every second, another praise falls off his lips, how good Mu Qing was for him, how proud Mu Qing made him, how thankful he is to be given this gift of Mu Qing’s submission. The words jumble up in Mu Qing’s brain, but their presence reassures him and he feels his high-strung body relax into the gentle hold even more.

As the glass leaves his lips, Mu Qing’s head rolls to Feng Xin’s shoulders and he falls asleep.

━━━❮◆❯━━━

When Mu Qing finally comes back to himself, it is to the unfamiliar, but safe feeling of something - or rather someone - curling protectively around him. He doesn’t know how much time has passed. It feels like hours, but the low buzzing in his body tells him it has probably only been minutes. His head is resting on a solid chest, bare, bronze skin warm underneath his cheek and strong arms hold him around his waist and shoulders. 

His mind is still blissfully blank. 

“Feng Xin?” he tries his voice, not entirely sure if it’s in a usable state. He is slightly thankful when it comes out as a whisper instead of a raw, scraping rasp. 

“Mu Qing? Are you okay?” Feng Xin pulls back slightly to take a look at his face. And fuck, if Mu Qing will ever get used to those painfully honest eyes fill with concern - for him. Because this time it’s not ‘ Fu Yao’ or ‘sweetheart’, it is ‘Mu Qing’ and he doesn’t even flinch from surprise. 

“You knew it was me,” he whispers and it’s not a question. 

Feng Xin nods slowly with a torn expression on his face. “I did,” he admits. 

“Since when?”

“The very start,” he says and Mu Qing blinks, taken aback. “Since the first second you walked through that door. Do you really think I wouldn’t recognize you of all people?” Feng Xin laughs quietly.

“Is that why you didn’t kiss me?” Mu Qing asks. His words shouldn’t sound this broken, but his throat still clenches around them painfully. It’s only because his throat is still raw...right?

This is Feng Xin, the man he hated - wanted - more than anything and Mu Qing doesn’t know how to feel. It has been years since he last saw the man and now he surrendered his body to him. It’s bad enough as is, especially the way he feels like an open book in front of those eyes - but he cannot understand Feng Xin. The man changed so much, he grew up, yet he still remained the same idiotic, loyal puppy, just short of wagging his tail. 

“I promised to do only what you want and nothing more,” Feng Xin answers as he averts his eyes. Even if his arms are still holding Mu Qing close, his mind seems to have wandered off to someplace distant. Mu Qing lifts an arm, still trembling slightly and his fingers trail over Feng Xin’s cheek. It’s still slightly heated. 

“So if I wanted to, you would have kissed me?” He asks and the words and the gentle touch together prove to be enough to bring Feng Xin back. Even if his expression is still unreadable.

Mu Qing still doesn’t know what he is doing. It’s only the afterglow, the intense force of the orgasm that is still running through him. But no- 

‘ I need you to be honest,’ echoes in his mind. And he needs himself to be honest too. To be able to admit what he wants.  

And he wants this moment, this soft attention from Feng Xin, without reasons, without excuses.

“I-” Feng Xin stutters. The previous controlled, prideful man is at a loss for words. His eyes are almost pleading for Mu Qing to drop it, to not continue whatever it is he is doing. But no, he cannot. 

“I wanted you to,” he admits without meeting Feng Xin’s eyes. He is not ready for that stab of rejection while he is still cocooned inside the man’s arms. “I still do.”

‘Have wanted you to, for longer than both you and me even know,’ his traitorous mind supplies. 

“Have you?” Feng Xin asks him and only when his unreadable voice sends a shiver down his spine, does Mu Qing realize that it was not only his mind that voiced that thought. He himself did. 

‘You need to trust me,’ the Feng Xin inside his mind tells him and instead of panicking, Mu Qing slowly nods.

“I wanted you too. Even back then,” Feng Xin admits. It’s the real one talking now, - not the memory Feng Xin living inside Mu Qing’s mind -, even if his voice is still somewhat distant. “I did not realize it. But it’s not like you did anything else, but snarl and scratch like an agitated cat and I thought this desire to fight you, to push you down on the nearest surface was hate. Only after I got into the scene did I realize what it really meant-” he cuts himself off as if remembering something unpleasant.

“I grew up. I was forced to grow up,” Feng Xin laughs humorlessly. “I spent some time alone with only myself as company and had time to think,” he shoots a warning look at Mu Qing, fully expecting the man to sneer at the implication that Feng Xin has the ability to think, but the man is just watching him intently, without any of that contempt in his eyes. That deep, warm glint feels more like fondness than disdain. “I-” Feng Xin’s tongue stumbles over the word once, before he starts again.

“I wanted to tame you - for the lack of better words. To help you deal with all these things that were hurting you in here,” Feng Xin removes his hand from over the other man’s waist and places it over the left side of Mu Qing’s chest gently. He visibly relaxes as the man doesn’t resist but leans into the touch and so, Feng Xin pulls him closer. “I did not understand it. This desire to take control: while it’s not ordinary, it’s not that unique either. I did not know shit about Domination. But now I do. And I know why I want to make you submit. I wanted to see you surrender yourself to me, so I can take care of you, without you wanting to pierce me through with a fucking fork. I wanted to see a side of you that no one else can. And I wanted to grant you this time, this space, this piece of myself where you can just let go and forget everything.”

“This is the longest, most coherent thing you ever said,” Mu Qing chuckles after a prolonged silence and looks up with a fond smile playing on his lips. It’s like he is still lost in subspace somewhere and the only thing in his world is Feng Xin, but with the mindless pleasure long forgotten. He wants to ask ‘why’ , but the contentment he feels is too real and he doesn’t want to break its spell.

“I was so happy that you gave me a chance. You submitted yourself so beautifully and-” Feng Xin exhales shakily. “And I would have kissed you. I wanted to kiss you,” Feng Xin whispers into the small space between them. Mu Qing is now leaning on shaky arms over Feng Xin’s chest, his face only an inch away from the other man’s. Even an hour ago, they both would have wanted to pull back, but there is something that doesn’t let them free - like that coil of red rope is keeping them tied together.

“Then what are you waiting for ?” Mu Qing breathes out over the skin of Feng Xin’s lips. 

“For you to ask, sweetheart ” Feng Xin answers, but his only focus is on the other man’s lips as he pulls Mu Qing closer by the hold around his shoulders, but holds him just a breath away from his own lips. “You know we will have to talk about this.”

Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “ Just shut up and please kiss me, Sir.”

And Feng Xin does. Deep and long, with the sole purpose of pouring all those silent affections into something more than words.