[closed post - in an atmospherically gloomy room]

[protagonisthalo]

Luo Binghe is not proud of it, but he has spent the entire day rereading the first volume of Blood at Dusk. He's not hiding, but he has no desire to see anyone—except perhaps Nina, but when he ventured out to find her, he heard what sounded like a large number of people talking in one of the bars and turned away. He should have keyed the talisman the other way around, so he could call her. It's selfish, but he feels like being selfish.

So now he is curled up in one of the lounge areas and reading the book Shen Qingqiu gave back to him. It's the margin notes that are getting to him. Shen Qingqiu's casual writing is messier than the meticulous calligraphy on the invitation he sent, and alive with his personality—it grows sloppy when Shen Qingqiu finds something to be passionate about, then small and cramped, almost frantic as he tries to fit all his thoughts on the page. He may not be the true Shen Qingqiu, but he has a scholar's mind, criticizing certain scenes as "derivative", or the dialogue as "unrealistic." Luo Binghe treasures every note, every insight into Shen Qingqiu's mind—every opportunity to picture him hunched over the book, his cherished forehead creased with focus as he jotted down this litany of complaints.

And besides reading Shen Qingqiu's notes, Luo Binghe is reading the book. Despite what Shen Qingqiu derides as a "standard supernatural romance," Luo Binghe is not too hardened to be moved by the mishaps of Ted and Isabelle. Ted is drawn to Isabelle for reasons he cannot explain, and tries his best to care for her despite his melancholic nature. Despite the fact that he's never learned how to care for anyone. He sees, in Isabelle, salvation from his life of endless darkness, of the self-loathing nightmare of being a monster. He loves her, even though she is purely beautiful and good, and he lives in a world of blood and filth that has corrupted him utterly. And Isabelle loves him, but fears him. She is right to; what he wants from her is more than she can give, and he will never stop wanting it, no matter how much she tries to appease him. His monstrous nature would overwhelm her if she let it; it's best for her to run.

If one could die of heartbreak, Luo Binghe would have dropped dead right after his mother. So he knows he must simply continue enduring it. He runs his fingers over Shen Qingqiu's notes, reading every one five times over before moving on, wishing the book was longer.

Comments

[protagonisthalo]

"Yes."

[sagramore]

So he begins to thrust, at first quite measured -- as much to annoy Luo Binghe, let it be said, than because it's his first time (or, at least, operating on the idea that Luo Binghe would rather be annoyed than self-conscious, and thus teasing is more appealing than care) -- but he builds up speed an impact gradually.

[protagonisthalo]

Sagramore has intuited correctly, and Luo Binghe would like to be annoyed, but in truth the slower pace is appreciated. It is like nothing he's ever felt; he keeps his eyes closed, too overwhelmed to take in any visual information. Sagramore is hot and insistent inside him, and Luo Binghe cannot get used to it—as if his body forgets the sensation on each thrust and learns it anew, sensitive every time. He has no awareness of how he might be reacting—if he is making noises or stumbling over his breath, he doesn't know it.

[sagramore]

When he decides Luo Binghe is more or less adjusted, he lets his hands wander, teasing at Luo Binghe's nipples or stroking his cock -- ducks his head to suck softly at Luo Binghe's skin, careful to leave no marks for (he hopes) Shen Qingqiu to find later.

[protagonisthalo]

Luo Binghe likes Sagramore a great deal, but he cannot help thinking of Shen Qingqiu. It's been almost impossible to fantasize about him. The Shen Qingqiu who Luo Binghe knew in his own world, despite his licentious reputation, was cold and distant as a block of ice, and the thought of touching him was just as appealing.¹ The Shen Qingqiu here has played so hot and cold with Luo Binghe that it's hard to picture what he might be like in bed. But like this, flooded with pleasure, his body hot wherever Sagramore touches, it is impossible not to wonder. If this was only Shen Qingqiu's hand, Shen Qingqiu's mouth, Shen Qingqiu's cock—it brings him dangerously close to finishing. He wrenches his eyes open and pants out, "Come now—you were so bold before about having me, taking power over me—nothing to say now?"

¹RIP to Binghe's ice demon general, who would not mind challenging the assumptions here.

[sagramore]

"Far be it from me to spare thy pride, my lord," his mouth twitching into a smile. "I thought not to remind thee that thou'rt mine."

[protagonisthalo]

He shudders in pleasure. "I have already given myself—if you will not treat me as yours, it is a treasonous insult."

[sagramore]

He slides a hand into Luo Binghe's hair and pulls sharply. "Never that. Not when I have the pleasure of thee beneath me."

[protagonisthalo]

He inhales sharply at the tug. "Show me, then—show me how you like it, make me feel it."

[sagramore]

"At thy word," as if the idea of doing what Luo Binghe wants is amusing. Then he picks up the pace considerably, each time sliding home hard, a shuddering impact, though still very controlled if Luo Binghe could tell it.

[protagonisthalo]

At first, Luo Binghe moves his hips to meet Sagramore, but as the intensity builds he can't do much more than lie there and take what he is given. He feels pinned under Sagramore, tamed by Sagramore's hand in his hair, utterly powerless, and it makes him burn.

[sagramore]

Based purely on the tenor of this whole encounter, he lets himself come when he's ready, lets his weight rest on Luo Binghe entirely as he does.

[protagonisthalo]

This has Luo Binghe extremely close, and he's eager to follow before Sagramore goes soft; he gets a hand between them to touch himself, thinking helplessly of Shen Qingqiu as he finishes.

[sagramore]

He presses a kiss to Luo Binghe's brow. "Ah, feel thee, thou sweet-- how good thou art, how thou hast been."

[protagonisthalo]

Luo Binghe spends himself fully between them, in Sagramore's arms, savoring every particular of Sagramore's warmth. When the pleasure fades, some of his improved mood evaporates with it, the agony of Shen Qingqiu's rejection crowding its way back in around the edges. But after Sagramore's assurance and affection, he feels a little less hopeless than before. He captures Sagramore's face with a hand on his cheek, grateful to him for being here, and for not turning Luo Binghe away. "The physicians should know how effective a cure you are for heartache."<sup>1

1</sup>He means "thank you".

[sagramore]

He closes his eyes for a moment, leaning into the touch. "Thou'rt welcome to me whenever thou'rt ill, my lord."

[protagonisthalo]

This is what Luo Binghe longs to hear from anyone he's fond of. Hearing it now causes a rush of something dangerously near to love. To have something to do with the feeling, he runs his hands over Sagramore's body, in no hurry to retreat from their joining. He gently thumbs the edge of the bruise at Sagramore's ribs. "Was this caused by someone here? Say the word and they'll live to fear my name."

[sagramore]

"No, no, I fell. Just a fall."

[protagonisthalo]

"Show me the piece of furniture you fell against, then. It will be splinters by morning." He is joking, but the emotion is sincere.

[sagramore]

He laughs and kisses Luo Binghe again. "My lord, unless thou canst find me whenever I'm drunk and guide me safely to bed, I think there's nothing to be done about it."

[protagonisthalo]

Luo Binghe lets himself be kissed, comfortable and—if not happy—at least too worn out for anguish, for now.