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Shang finally manages to get the old iron key to turn in the lock, and the door creaks open. Getting the key – getting to the door – was probably enough to earn him a medal of honor, but he is not thinking of accolades, he is thinking of Ping. No, not Ping. Mulan. Right.
Mulan is in this cell, yes. She is…Shang blushes. She is naked. And…chained. To a wall. Spread-eagled. Her eyes are closed, her head sagging, and she has many bruises, but he does not think she is too badly injured. Her captors were saving her for something, and he does not want to know what. Shang concentrates on her lack of serious injury, and on getting the lockpicks out of his pocket, so he can avoid looking at her beautiful, pale body with its high, small breasts and lithe hips and…he tears his gaze away again, and kneels at her feet to work on the manacles about her ankles.
Her eyes open when he touches her foot, and she blinks at him as if she cannot comprehend his presence. “Captain…Shang?” she croaks, and then, “Is this another dream?”
She dreams of me? Shang thinks, and then blushes even harder at the hopes that thought ignites. “No,” he replies, attempting to concentrate on the lockpicks, “I’m real.” Her skin is surprisingly smooth and soft under his fingers, and he bites the inside of his cheek to give himself a distraction. Soon her foot is free and he turns to the other; she sighs, and shifts her weight to help.
When both her feet are free, he stands to reach her wrists, and realizes his miscalculation a moment too late. He is pressed up against her, chest to chest, and he is about to leap backwards and apologize when she sighs and leans her weight against him and tilts her head up as though…no…yes. He kisses her, and she kisses back, and his world realigns around this moment.
He should really be concentrating on getting her hands free so they can get out of there – one of the guards might wake up, someone might come by – but her skin is soft and smooth beneath his fingers and she is making little noises of encouragement and pleasure, arching into his hands and kissing and nipping at any of his skin that she can reach. He is not sure when he unfastened his breeches, but he is hot and hard and wanting, and she wraps her legs around his waist and clenches her hands around the chains and hisses, “Yes,” and she is wet and tight and hot around him, and he has never wanted anything so much as this.
Shang pins her up against the wall, just sane enough to put a hand behind her head to cushion it, and fucks her hard and fast and wild, and she is shaking and mewling and begging not to escape but for more, more, always more, and this is better than receiving his own army company, better than being honored by the Emperor, this is the most wonderful thing which has ever happened to him, and he kisses her fiercely, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, and gives himself over to pleasure.
They walk out of the fortress together. She is wearing his tunic, which is almost a dress on her, and her lip is red and her wrists chafed, but she has a wide smile on her face. Shang is rather dazed, and fairly sure this means he’ll be getting married soon, which he hadn’t planned on doing for a while yet, and he doesn’t mind at all, or rather, he is deliriously happy and very sated. Uppermost in his mind, even before wondering how they’re going to get back to the Emperor’s court, is: When can we do that again?