protagonisthalo | [closed post

Shen Yuan gasps into his mouth. It's not that she doesn't like her nipples played with when she's a man, but this—this is what it should feel like, the responsiveness implied by the wanton moans of every blushing, eager maiden whenever Binghe gets his hands on her tits. There's heat pooling between her thighs, somehow both less and more urgent than an erection. All the stupid, over the top nonsense of Airplane's purple prose fills her head—she aches to open like a flower to him, like the literal flowers blooming in her long, tangled hair. She is hungry, needy, a wet and waiting mouth, a beautiful sheathe for his beautiful sword—

She runs a hand down his chest, parting his robes below his belt so she can brush her fingers over the front of his trousers, shy but determined, like she can't wait. Like she's heard stories. "My lord. My emperor," she breathes, overawed and teasing at once, "What will you do with me?"

Luo Binghe has had many willing women in his bed, and in the past it has done little to rouse his desire. This charade—the domineering emperor, the shy but eager virgin—is rote to him, and the role he plays is dutiful but dispassionate. But knowing that this is Shen Yuan playing the shy eager virgin ignites a searing heat that Luo Binghe is not accustomed to feeling with a new wife. He groans at the touch, deeply enjoying the novelty, and presses his forehead to Shen Yuan's. "I would like to be gentle," he breathes, still teasing Shen Yuan's nipple between his fingers. "You deserve to be treated with care. But I'm afraid I can't control myself." He takes Ragnelle's ripped bodice in his hands and pulls, tearing it all the way apart.

There's a certain joy to this body, other than the obvious, which is that it's both more and less breakable than Shen Qingqiu's. More, because it's not immortal (probably?) and won't heal quickly, as evidenced by the scrapes down her arm, and less, because in most ways it's physically broader and stronger than Shen Qingqiu's cheating, willowy, slim-waisted-cartoon-villainy form. Ragnelle has meat on her bones, and Shen Yuan only has about half a braincell to worry about how she'll feel tomorrow about Binghe tenderizing that meat. "You don't have to be careful with me," she pants. "I can take it."

Luo Binghe growls in response. He tears at his own belt, whipping it off and letting his robes fall open.

"Are you sure?" He lifts Shen Yuan's¹ ample thighs, encouraging them to wrap around him, and presses their hips together. Shen Yuan is bare under the dress, and the only thing that separates them is the thin fabric of Luo Binghe's pants. "Can you feel how big it is?" he breathes. "How much I want you?"

¹It's Ragnelle's body, but if Binghe bothered thinking of bodies Shen Yuan inhabits as not fully belonging to Shen Yuan then where would we be??

Binghe really is exactly as hard as he always is for Shen Yuan's other body. He has exactly one moment of lingering wonder about that--that it really is about him, that bodies don't matter. But it threatens to make him overthink, pull him out of the easy desire his current womanhood allows, and she lets herself sink back into pleasure, lifting her hips into Binghe's, the thin fabric between them hiding neither her wetness nor his heat.

"Yes," She breathes. "My husband--yes."

Luo Binghe is playing a role here, giving Shen Yuan the sex-crazed Demon Emperor from the legends. But that word husband from Shen Yuan's lips threatens to make him lose control in truth. Luo Binghe has seen how aroused Shen Yuan is by their dalliances in his usual body, but it's a novel thrill to feel how wet he is now, soaking through Luo Binghe's trousers. He wants to sink into that wet heat, but his purpose here is to demonstrate his mastery of the female body, and his cock is too much for most women without preparation. For the first time, it occurs to him that said mastery—his legendary ability to make women scream in pleasure all through the night—might have been because there was no urgency. With Shen Yuan, it is much harder to be patient.

But he is too stubborn to give into his urges. He grasps Shen Yuan's thighs again and moves down, lowering himself between them. "I will have you," he says huskily, "but first I must taste you."

Shen Yuan is going to cry with frustration. Haven't we done enough foreplay, Luo Binghe!!! She grips his hair, but Ragnelle's strength is nothing compared to what he's used to, so she just ends up tugging at him ineffectually, biting at her lips, staring helplessly down at his beautiful head.

Luo Binghe buries his face between Shen Yuan's legs, eagerly licking him open. He is too worked up for finesse; he just licks all over, lapping at Shen Yuan's entrance before dragging his tongue up to tease his clit. His hands slide around to grip Shen Yuan's backside, holding his hips off the bed so Luo Binghe's tongue can reach every part of him.

Shen Yuan gasps and arches into Binghe's touch, her hands tightening in his hair so she can grind against his face, utterly shameless in a way that makes her face burn. She takes back everything she just said—she never wants him to stop. It's so, so different than being given a blowjob was, the pleasure flickering and inconsistent and maddening and building, building, building on itself. "Binghe. Binghe—"

Luo Binghe groans, unable to respond—but he loves when Shen Yuan says his name, especially in that desperate, escalating tone. It sounds just the same even in another voice, and it's making him frantic with arousal. Through the haze of lust, he remembers that he must prepare Shen Yuan for Luo Binghe to fully take his pleasure. He brings his hand around and rubs his fingertips against the rim of Shen Yuan's entrance, testing, his tongue still exploring Shen Yuan's folds.

Shen Yuan tries to bear down on his fingers instantly. He usually finds it so difficult to ask for something, during sex, a huge wall of embarrassment standing between him and what he wants, even when he knows Binghe won't mind. Even when he knows Binghe will like it. But something about this body—some synergy between this body and Binghe's body—frees her tongue. "Husband—please—I want you to fuck me," she pants, and then presses the back of her wrist to her mouth in anticipation of a shame that doesn't really come.

Luo Binghe gasps, shocked into a new peak of arousal. Shen Yuan rarely speaks to him this way, but even more than the vulgarity, the husband epithet makes him frantic with lust. He shoves his fingers in and immediately starts to thrust, more desperate than he has ever been with his other wives—barely remembering to curl them forward in the way that intensifies the pleasure—and sucks hard on Shen Yuan's clit.

Shen Yuan makes a noise she's never made in her life, and not just because it's not really her vocal chords or her throat. Her whole body curls upward as an orgasm crashes over her, loud and surprising, and leaves her trembling and squirming in its wake.

Unlike when she comes as a man, she doesn't have the urge to shove Binghe off her, to take a moment. Her clit—which by the way seems really obvious??? do non-stallion-novel-protagonists really have such a hard time finding it?? it's right there??—is a little oversensitive, but she thinks if Binghe stops fucking his fingers into her she might cry. "Mmh—fuck, fuck—"

"Wife, my precious wife—" Luo Binghe crawls up to capture Shen Yuan's mouth in a crushing kiss. The kiss is clumsy, wet, Luo Binghe too turned on to think, his fingers not pausing inside Shen Yuan. The sensation of Shen Yuan squeezing around them as he comes, of even more wetness leaking out and dripping down Luo Binghe's palm, makes him moan shamelessly into his wife's open mouth. A third finger slides in without resistance. "My dove, does it please you?"

Shen Yuan takes a gasping breath between kisses, her hands grasping and opening and grasping again in Binghe's hair. "It's—good—" she manages. "So good, Binghe—" She rallies, and the grasping hand because an intentional, gripping, tugging one, pulling Binghe's head back so she can glare up into his face and demand, "put it in."

Luo Binghe flushes; he has always liked assertiveness in his partners, the clear indication that they want him, even though he will play along if his wives wish to feign scandalized virtue. From Shen Yuan, who is often quick to feign it, it is even better. So much better that he is inclined to tease a little to hear it more. "Hm? But am I not already inside my wife? Is there something else she requires of me?"

"You shameless—!!" gasps Shen Yuan in disbelief. Binghe's teasing is so fond, so clearly based in his knowledge of Shen Yuan and her usual poise and propriety,¹ that it knocks her out of the roleplay scenario a little.² Weirdly, this doesn't lessen her incredible need, her desperation to have the Heavenly Pillar inside her in a completely new way, nor does it bring back the shame. But it does unlock her ability to yell at him as his boyfriend and not his blushing new bride. "If you don't fuck me properly, Luo Binghe, I'll—" she struggles, biting back moans, to think of anything she would willingly deprive him of, "I'll—I'll take my socks off myself next time!!"

¹?
²Obviously she's still a woman, though.

Luo Binghe laughs, delighted, and presses a kiss to Shen Yuan's cheek. He very much doubts Shen Yuan would do that, if Luo Binghe told him not to, but it satisfies him. "I'll fuck you properly," he murmurs, mouth brushing Shen Yuan's ear. "So well you'll forget what socks are." He takes himself in hand and pushes in, gasping sharply at how wet Shen Yuan is, how tight even after Luo Binghe fingered him open.

Shen Yuan wants to roll her eyes—even with Binghe, sex is never so good he forgets what socks are—but then the Heavenly Pillar is sliding into her and her eyes are rolling anyway, differently, and her mouth is opening in soundless pleasure. Her hands shift from Binghe's hair to his back, Ragnelle's nails catching in his robes. (Why the fuck is he still so clothed???) The vine in her hair is growing again, slim green tendrils curling under her ear, leaves unfurling to brush against Binghe's lips as if greedy for his gasping breath.

Feeling half-crazed with desire, Luo Binghe drags his tongue up the vine. "I love how this body betrays your desires," he breathes—as though Shen Yuan isn't already betraying his desires with such shameless, intoxicating words. He picks up Shen Yuan's legs and throws them over his shoulders, knowing that the change in angle will deepen the pleasure, and shoves himself in hard. "Ah—my wife's body was made to bring me pleasure—"

If Shen Yuan had been in her right mind, she definitely would have had thoughts about how actually, technically, her body had been made to live in trees and betray Sagramore's sworn-brother's trust. But she's not in her right mind. She's being driven higher, higher, her hips lifting as Binghe thrusts into her. She can hear her own moans, and somehow even those are less embarrassing than usual--pleasure and lightness suffuse her. She clings to Binghe, loving how close he is, how deep, hands fluttering over his perfect, handsome face.

It is a strange doubling of experience and memory. Luo Binghe has had sex just like this hundreds of times, and there are things about being with Shen Yuan that are not so different. He has always eagerly sought signs of pleasure in his wives' faces, and always been attentive to their needs. Though he never loved all those women, he cared deeply about pleasing them. That is no different. But it is strange to feel desire, the sensations not only good physically—in a detached, disengaged way—but deeply arousing. He pants helplessly, chasing a climax that approaches far faster than he expected. "Beloved—"

Shen Yuan wants it. She wants to feel Binghe come—the desire is clear in her mind in a way that is never has been before, like something she's only glimpsed through fog or dense trees that's moved at last into sunlight. He wants to pretend it's new, but it's not—it's always there, but always obfuscated. She gasps, pleased and shocked and disarmed at this clarity, the muscles of her stomach or pelvis or thighs or something working to clench around his enormous pillar, half automatic, half intentional, teasing, urging. She kisses every part of him she can reach—his shoulder, his ear, his cheek, the corner of his desperate mouth. "Binghe. My Binghe—"

The possessive makes everything burn hotter, my Binghe, after calling him husband, as though Shen Yuan is a shy bride pleasured into dropping the formalities and fully claiming him. He scrambles to get a hand between them and rubs at Shen Yuan's clit, touchy frantic and clumsy, and then he can't hold back anymore, thighs tightening as he comes hard.

Shen Yuan gasps, shocked by the touch on her clit--not that she'd thought Binghe had forgotten about it, between eating her out and now, but it was never mentioned in any of the many, many, many preventative sex scenes in PIDW. Binghe's wives just came from his dick being in them, sometimes instantly, sometimes later, sometimes instantly and then later, and then--later--oh fuck, oh, fuck---just, um. Kind of like that.

She shakes and clings and laughs, softly. This body sweats, aches, all these little human feelings that she hasn't accessed in so long. Everything between them is sticky and filthy and hot, hairy and soft, trembling and perfect. "I love you," he says, without meaning to; something in the shape of their bodies, fit together, draws it out of him.

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