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The air was still as Wu Ming drew the last line of the summoning circle on the ground. Shadows were pressing in on him, the eerily motionless flames of the candles just barely holding them at bay. If he looked out of the corner of his eyes, Wu Ming could almost imagine the darkness creeping closer, and closer, and closer.
The dark maw of a giant beast ready to swallow him whole.
Wu Ming exhaled a shaky breath to calm his nerves. The low sound thundered through the quiet air and reflexively Wu Ming held his breath and listened, but the blood rushing in his ears was the only thing that answered him in the old, old temple. He laughed shakily; of course there was nothing else, what had he expected? No one came here. There was no one to be bothered by Wu Ming intruding on the oppressive stillness of this place.
No one cared about a forgotten boy with no name disturbing the abandoned temple of a nameless god.
Well, if things went his way, he would not be forgotten for much longer, and soon the world would know his name and tremble in fear. It didn’t matter that he was no one now; he’d make himself someone, and he’d make them pay for turning his life into a living hell.
And the fallen god of this forsaken temple would help him.
With new determination, Wu Ming stood up and began the summoning. He didn’t need to check the ancient scroll again; he’d memorised the words a long time ago and knew exactly who he was calling to. The world may have forgotten him, his name faded from history until only whispers of the ruin he brought remained – a god turned calamity only known by titles filled with fear and hatred and disdain, a darkness so deep even heaven didn’t dare cross its path.
Wu Ming dared.
Divine or demonic, alive or dead, never had Wu Ming felt more connected to any being. Never had he felt more alive than the day he stumbled into this crumbling temple and looked up into the eyes of this god. He’d been a child, beaten and bloodied and screaming, so full of unbridled rage that had too many targets when he was a bow with no arrows and a string wound too tight, ready to snap in a self-destructive explosion. But there he had been, this god, his ancient mural filled with life even through the gloom permeating the temple, kind yet fiery eyes looking down at Wu Ming with an all-encompassing promise of something more. Righteous fury and compassion. Forgiveness and revenge. A promise to burn the world and rebuild it from its ashes. The flower of peace and the sword of war in one, wielded in harmony. And for a moment, just a moment, Wu Ming had found peace, as if he’d finally found where he belonged, as if some restless part of him had finally found what it was looking for.
And for the first time in his life, he’d found a goal.
From that moment on, Wu Ming had been obsessed with finding every morsel of information on his god. It had taken him a long time, but finally he’d been successful. Wu Ming had found his name. His true name.
The Flower Crowned Martial God, the Demon God of Xianle, Xie Lian.
Wu Ming poured all his strength and willpower into the summoning, uncaring of how it drained him and left him weak and his limbs shaky. His voice was still strong, so he kept chanting. The energy in his body rose to his call like a tidal wave, higher and higher until it broke and flooded into his words and into the circle beneath his feet. Symbols so old they barely resembled the characters of today began to glow, power far exceeding what Wu Ming was offering pulsing in the air like the prelude to a storm that would wreck the three realms with its winds. Crude as the writing was, the intent behind it was more than clear, and the effects were immediate.
When Wu Ming was eight, lightning had struck his home, meagre and unwelcoming to him as it had been, bursting it like a ripe plum before it was consumed by flames even the rain could not douse for half an incense stick. Wu Ming – still Hong-er back then – had been outside in the storm fetching water from the well when it happened. He still remembered that moment with perfect clarity; the sharp scent in the air, how his skin had prickled like a thousand needles stabbing into his flesh, the way every second seemed to slow to a crawl before coming crashing down faster than he could follow, leaving his ears and head ringing.
He could feel the same static crackling along his skin now, the same sense of impending doom, the same inevitable change of fate that was about to occur.
Last time, it had killed his oldest brother and crippled the other, leaving him to a slow and demeaning death. Wu Ming hadn’t mourned them. This time, he was in the way of fate’s scythe, but he wasn’t scared. He was offering himself to his god – what was there to be afraid of?
Soon, the circle was glowing bright enough that he had to close his eyes and the pressure in the air was becoming suffocating, but Wu Ming grit his teeth and powered through. He was shaking by now, exhaustion creeping in as the summoning ate at his energy reserves, but he had to do this, he had to finish the summoning. He would. He would.
When he croaked out the final words of the spell, the circle’s light brightened to a blinding flash before the temple was suddenly plunged back into darkness. Power hung heavy in the air like the humidity of a hot summer day, and Wu Ming could feel dust falling on him from where the flash of power unsettled the ancient structure. He had no time to worry about the temple collapsing however, or how laboured his breath was growing. His knees finally buckled from the strain and exhaustion, unable to keep him upright any longer. He braced for the pain of crashing to the ground… but it never came.
Warm arms wrapped around him, catching him before he could fall and holding him in a secure embrace. Wu Ming had been alone before, and now he wasn’t, and a presence was bearing down on him that felt old and uncaring, but how could it be if it held him so gently? Even though it was dark, Wu Ming didn’t dare open his eyes again. He could not bear for this to be a dream.
Was this how feeling safe felt like?
The candles flickered back to life.
“My, aren’t you a sweet little thing?”
A shiver chased down Wu Ming’s spine at the sound of a voice not his own; a cold, detached voice with only the faintest hint of curiosity, but it was there as surely as the arms holding him. It had worked. It had worked. It… it had worked. The Demon God of Xianle was here, summoned by him, was talking to him. A wave of triumph crashed through Wu Ming at the realisation of his success, and in its wake he opened his eyes and looked at the fallen god who’d answered his call.
He was breathtaking.
Struck speechless, Wu Ming gazed at the god above him, for there was no doubt that he was a god. The faded and cracked temple mural didn’t do him justice. Even clad in only a simple white robe, he exuded an air of royalty that made one want to bend the knee before him in reverence. Everything about him was beautiful. His youthful face, his graceful yet strong physique, his flowing hair, his amber eyes that seemed to glow with a light of their own and spoke of years far beyond his physical appearance.
Wu Ming was mesmerised. What a crime it was that only the one mural had survived the destruction of His statues and images following His fall. He deserved a thousand, no, ten thousand statues to capture His likeness, even if they would always pale compared to the real god. It had been a long time since Wu Ming felt the desire to use his art for something other than venting his frustration and anger at the world, but now, for the first time in years, he wanted to create.
“Hmm, sweet and mute, are you? Have you lost your tongue, little one?”
Wu Ming’s eyes widened when the god set him down and took a step back, allowing them to take each other in more fully. For a second, Wu Ming mourned the loss of warm, strong arms around him, then sense returned to him like a sharp slap. As fast as he could, he sank to his knees into a kowtow. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean–!”
White boots entered his vision, the steps unnaturally silent in the echoing temple hall. Only the god’s robes created the quietest of whispers that Wu Ming could barely hear over the thundering of his heart in his ears.
“Rise.”
Wu Ming swallowed but followed the command, rising from the kowtow until he kneeled at the god’s feet. He didn’t dare look up or stand – he didn’t think his legs would hold him – but this seemed to displease the god because suddenly a deceptively delicate hand lifted his chin. Wu Ming inhaled sharply at the contact. The touch was gentle, but it might as well have a been an iron grip for Wu Ming was helpless but to obey the silent command and look the god in the eyes.
Such cold, beautiful eyes.
“I never liked it when my followers kneeled before me,” the god said slowly, almost contemplatively. His touch was so, so gentle when He caressed Wu Ming’s cheek with His thumb. It left a burning trail of fire and ice across his skin and Wu Ming couldn’t suppress a shiver.
He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him gently.
“And such pretty eyes,” the god continued, letting His thumb rest just below Wu Ming’s cursed eye. The reminder was like a bucket of cold water emptied over his head, and a cold feeling seeped into his bones, freezing him in place. “Especially this one. Tell me, were you born with it?”
“It’s a demon’s eye,” Wu Ming spat, years of hatred for the cursed thing bursting forth. He’d stopped hiding it when it became clear its curse would ruin his life either way, and had started to wear it openly – let them see, let them flinch back in revulsion and fear. Let it be a weapon that cut both ways instead of just him.
Somehow, he had not considered that he didn’t want his god to see his curse and judge him for it. He wanted to move away, but his god’s grip turned bruising, stopping Wu Ming in his tracks.
“Does that make it my eye?” his god asked, not sounding like he cared much for the answer yet there was a hint of curiosity. About what, Wu Ming did not know.
He shook his head in defiance as much as he could. “You’re not a demon.”
“Oh?” Now He definitely sounded curious, all traces of detachment gone as He stared intensely at Wu Ming. It was almost too much to bear but he could not look away. “The world would beg to differ. Tell me, little one. Why did you summon me?”
Because you’re my god, Wu Ming wanted to say, but he had no right to do that. What kind of believer summoned their god only to demand? He was just a selfish creature that wanted when he should be offering. What he wanted was power but, faced with the god directly, he faltered. How could he say Because I want your blood to burn the world when his god was looking at him with those cold golden eyes and not flinch back at the audacity of his demand?
He'd never stopped to consider how small and insignificant he truly was.
And yet, still, he wanted. He wanted. It was like a fire inside of him that burned. To take another’s blood as your own was to be one and take their power as yours, and Wu Ming wanted. Any lowly demon’s blood would have sufficed to fulfil his goal; it would have been less powerful and therefore slower and less spectacular, but it would have been enough.
Wu Ming did not want “enough”.
He wanted everyone who’d hurt him or stood aside and watched, doing nothing, to be scorched by his rage and die screaming. He wanted the power only a fallen god could grant him. He wanted the power his god could grant him.
Even if his desire was blasphemous.
The hand against his face slid lower, now pressing again his throat more than it was cradling his jaw. Its touch sent shivers down Wu Ming’s spine again and his heart sped up until it was beating a staccato in his chest that the god could surely feel through their contact. His grip tightened marginally.
“Well, little one?”
He wanted.
“I want you,” Wu Ming rasped, the fire in him burning so hot it almost hurt. “I want your power, your skill, your everything. I want them all to go to hell and know it was me who put them there. I want them to die screaming my name.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” the god dismissed, letting go of Wu Ming so abruptly that he swayed forward a little before catching himself. He drew the first deep breath in minutes and felt the loss of contact as keenly as the cut of a blade. When the god turned away, Wu Ming craved nothing more than having those topaz eyes back on him. “I’m not interested in carrying out someone else’s murders. Leave. Your revenge isn’t mine.”
It stung, being dismissed by his god like that. He swung forward and stretched out a hand as if to grab the white robes but didn’t dare get up and follow the retreating god. Desperate, he called, “I know who you are!”
The god stopped in His tracks, turning slightly until He could look at Wu Ming over His shoulder. “No one knows who I am anymore. There’s no one left. Everything crumbled a long time ago.”
“There are scrolls that survived, and old carvings in buried temples,” Wu Ming rushed to say. “I found them! I read them! You’re His Highness Xie Lian, the Flower Crowned Martial God, the Glory of Heaven.”
His Highness stilled. When He spoke, His voice was completely emotionless. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that name.”
“I can help you spread it again! We’ll both teach them our names and make them pay for trampling us!”
“Hm,” His Highness hummed, turned around fully now and walking back towards Wu Ming until He was towering over the still kneeling young man. It sent a thrill down Wu Ming’s spine. “And what is your name, little one? What will they scream when you kill them with my power?”
“I…” Wu Ming faltered, shame burning low in his belly. “I don’t know. I’m Wu Ming, still.”
“Hm,” His Highness said again, lips twisting. “What a pair we would make. The god whose name has been forgotten, and the boy who does not have a name.”
“We’ll have names,” Wu Ming promised, but he could see his words meant little to the god. He wasn’t so pedestrian as to shrug, but the dismissal was clear in His voice.
“Name or no name, I don’t care anymore. It’s all so long ago now. But you…” he paused, eyes piercing into Wu Ming and laying his insides bare until all he could do was tremble under that gaze. “You remind me of someone. He didn’t have a name either, but he was just as full of fire and passion.” One of His hands returned to cupping Wu Ming’s face, the side with his demon eye. The god’s gaze darkened. “I find myself craving it. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything like it.”
Wu Ming struggled to breathe. Every second was an onslaught on his senses; the burning touch against his cheek, those cold honey eyes sinking under his skin and making his blood sing in response, that overwhelming scent of flowers and fire and blood that shouldn’t smell good but did. That intoxicating feeling of being completely at his god’s mercy, helpless to resist His whims. “Ah, Your Highness…”
His god’s gaze darkened even further. “Such a sweet little thing. So much fire, and yet so pliant. Or perhaps naïve. Do you even know what you are asking for?”
“Yes,” Wu Ming whispered. “Your blood in exchange for my soul.”
“Not just your soul, little one. Blood magic is old and demanding.” His Highness leaned down until He was close enough that Wu Ming could feel His breath on his face. “It will take everything from you and give it to me. Your past, your present, your future. It will be mine to do with as I please. Even your death won’t be your own; you’ll be excluded from the reincarnation cycle and forever stuck in a limbo, with me. My little possession. Is that a sacrifice you are willing to make?”
“Yes,” Wu Ming said, heart pounding. “You are my god; to be one with you would be my honour. Do what you will with me, and take what you want.” He swallowed. “Everything I am is yours.”
“Then everything is what I’ll take.”
And with that, His mouth descended onto Wu Ming’s and stole every last thought he still possessed. His mind went blank, his entire being zeroing in on where his god’s fingers were digging slightly into his skin while His mouth was devouring Wu Ming, wet and hot and unlike anything Wu Ming expected kisses to be.
It was not a gentle kiss.
Few things in Wu Ming’s life were, but he found that this was one attack he did not mind surrendering to. There was no escaping his god’s hold but at the same time, that certainty felt grounding. Secure. As if he belonged. His Highness’ lips and teeth and tongue against his were overwhelming and even painful at times, but at the same time they felt real, realer than anything Wu Ming had experienced in his life. And he felt wanted.
He hadn’t felt wanted since his mother died and left him alone.
And so, when His Highness pressed into him more deeply, more insistently, he closed his eyes and let himself relax into the other man’s hold, opening his mouth willingly under the pressure and enjoying the slick feeling of his god’s tongue against his. He wasn’t quite sure when his hands had found their way into His Highness’ robes, but when the god broke their kiss and tried to move away, panting, Wu Ming was holding onto Him and refused to let go.
They stared at each other for moment before His Highness laughed. It was the first laugh Wu Ming had heard from Him, and it was utterly addicting.
Once He calmed down, His Highness smiled at Wu Ming. It made Him radiant, and Wu Ming could do nothing but stare helplessly at Him, utterly enchanted. “Ah, I had forgotten what this feels like.”
“Kissing someone?” Wu Ming asked, confused.
“Being alive. It’s quite addicting.”
That was all the warning Wu Ming got before His Highness suddenly pulled him up, pressed him against a pillar and was on him again, and Wu Ming was only all too willing to surrender to the onslaught. Standing like this, they were about the same height; he tried to give as good as he got, but he was unpractised at this and only running on instincts. Then again, His Highness was just as messy and uncontrolled and didn’t seem to mind Wu Ming’s inexperience, so maybe it was alright to just let the other man do what He pleased and go along with whatever felt good.
And gods it felt good.
Wu Ming had never been this turned on in his life.
He moaned in a mixture of shock and pleasure when His Highness’ hand wandered from his throat to his chest and then lower, just barely grazing his awakening erection through the thin layers of his clothes. His Highness stilled, then pulled away a little and looked at Wu Ming curiously.
“Oh?” He said, and then, with much more intent, He repeated the motion.
This time, Wu Ming’s moan was all pleasure and he threw his head back, instinctively trying to grind deeper into his god’s hand where it was pressing against his half-hard cock. No one had ever touched him there before. It felt divine, and very different from his own touch.
It was exhilarating and arousing and he wanted more, even as a part of him protested his god debasing Himself by touching him.
“You like that,” His Highness stated, sounding fascinated. Almost experimentally, He applied more pressure, going so far as to lightly squeeze Wu Ming through his clothes.
Wu Ming shuddered at the feeling. “Ah… Yes, yes. It feels good. Please…”
“Please what?” His Highness murmured, keeping up a steady pace of massaging Wu Ming’s now fully hard cock through his pants. Wu Ming felt like he was going out of his mind from pleasure. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
“Please touch me,” Wu Ming begged, heat slowly crawling through his whole body from where His Highness was touching him. It felt so good. His Highness called Himself a demon, but His hand was godly and so, so warm, even through the thin barrier of his threadbare clothes.
What would it feel like without them?
He wanted to find out more than anything.
His Highness hummed, and for the first time, something like uncertainty seemed to flicker in His eyes, but surely Wu Ming was mistaken. But… while His hand was still a comforting yet at the same time frustratingly steady pressure against Wu Ming’s aching cock, that was all. Perhaps He was unsure about what to do, however incredulous that might sound.
Wu Ming didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Your Highness, please touch me,” Wu Ming begged. “Any way you want, I’m yours. Take it.” Take everything.
It felt presumptuous to even think when Wu Ming had barely anything to give, but he wanted to. He wanted to give everything he had. He’d never felt like this before, and he didn’t know why he felt like it now, but something in His Highness made him want to give and give and give. It should worry him but all he felt at the thought of giving everything to his god and being one with Him was peace.
Another foreign yet exceedingly heady feeling.
His Highness was looking at Wu Ming grind against His hand as if transfixed, until a determined expression fell over His gaze. “Yes, you are. My sweet little thing. What does it matter anymore, anyway?”
Huh? Before Wu Ming could ask, His Highness’ lips crashed into his again and wiped any questions he might have had from his mind. What did it matter, indeed. Nothing else mattered but His Highness’ lips moving against his while their bodies pressed together closer and closer, as if they wanted to crawl into each other. Wu Ming was glad for the pillar against his back; he didn’t think he could’ve remained on his feet without the support.
At one point, he found himself hoisted up until his legs were dangling in the air, the god’s strength now the only thing holding him up. Instinctively, Wu Ming wrapped his legs around His Highness’ waist, groaning in pleasure at the heat from His hands beneath his thighs and the way his cock was now rubbing against His firm stomach every time one of them shifted. It was a little disorientating to suddenly be taller than His Highness, but he didn’t dwell on it for long before he used his newfound height to his advantage and bore down on His Highness, taking over control of the kiss.
His Highness didn’t let him keep it for long.
As if in retaliation, He bit into Wu Ming’s lower lip until Wu Ming could taste blood. The shock of pain made him gasp and pull away, but that also left his throat exposed for His Highness to explore, which He took full advantage of. Wu Ming gasped again at the feeling of His Highness’ mouth against his sensitive throat, whimpering a little when he felt the gentle caress of teeth. He half-expected them to sink into his skin again, possibly drawing even more blood, but His Highness showed mercy and only kissed His way down to where Wu Ming’s neck met his shoulder.
And then He bit down.
Wu Ming threw back his head and screamed; it hurt and yet it didn’t, and his involuntary jerk had rubbed his cock against His Highness’ hard stomach, and His Highness’ hands were hot against his thighs where they were keeping him steady, and now His Highness was soothing the bite with His tongue and tingling heat was radiating out from where he’d been bitten, the pain already fading to leave behind nothing but pleasure. One of His Highness’ hands was trailing up and down his side, stoking the fire in Wu Ming’s gut even further. He wanted those hands on his skin, and he wanted to touch in return.
Suddenly desperate to feel his god’s skin, he tugged on the white robe until he could slip his hands under the fabric. His Highness inhaled sharply and Wu Ming felt like he was losing his mind; His Highness’ skin felt divine against his fingers, smooth and warm and utterly addicting. In a daze, Wu Ming pushed more of His Highness’ robe aside and was met with an approving hum that seemed to vibrate against his skin. Had he grown more sensitive? It was as if he could feel every bump of the other man’s skin against his fingertips; every whisper of fabric against his skin was torture, every hot breath against his throat an inferno, every nip and lick sent heat through his body to gather in his lower belly.
Hot. He was so hot. When hat the temple become so hot?
He squirmed, trying to get rid of his clothes, trying to find relief from the scratching and the heat and the pressure, but His Highness had him pinned like a butterfly and only watched with mild amusement as he struggled.
“Shh, you’re alright,” He shushed, wiping a stray tear from Wu Ming’s cheek. When had he begun to cry? How shameful. “What a receptive little thing you are. I didn’t think so little would affect you so much.”
He sounded almost contemplative and Wu Ming blinked down at Him in confusion. “What?”
His god ignored him. “I wonder if you’ll be able to take it all if this is already enough to get you into such a state.” His Highness’ grip tightened, forcing Wu Ming to look into His eyes. There was no mercy there, only an all-consuming fire that Wu Ming could make out even through his tear-stained vision. “What do you think, Wu Ming? Can you take it?”
He wasn’t sure what His Highness was referring to, but there was only ever one answer. “Yes.”
“Good boy.” Then His Highness was kissing him again, deep and wet, and this time Wu Ming could taste the blood His Highness was feeding him. He moaned; he couldn’t help it. It didn’t taste good, but it felt vibrant. Like the euphoria of battle, the rush of danger evaded by a hairsbreadth, or the seconds before an intense orgasm tore through him. It was heady and hot and this time Wu Ming noticed how it rushed through his body, setting every nerve aflame until he wanted to cry out from pleasure or pain, he didn’t know, he didn’t know, it was all so much, so much, so good.
He'd heard the way addicts talked about drugs and scoffed at what he’d perceived as a weakness he could never fall prey to. He thought he could get addicted to this.
At one point he felt a sharp pain in his bottom lip, but it barely registered as important against the all-consuming need that was coursing through him. He needed his god, he needed release, he needed His touch against his skin and His voice in his ears, muffled through the kisses as it was, and he needed it now. His need was like a second heartbeat, pounding through his veins and growing more intense by the second as it fed off him – he could feel his god’s power replacing his own, nestling so deep inside of him that it would be impossible to remove, scooping out Wu Ming to make place for Xie Lian, slow and deep and thorough.
Wu Ming welcomed it with open arms and leaned in for more.
He didn’t know when he came, if he came, only that the rushing sensation went on and on and on, like a river growing ever-stronger in the flood with no waterfall to crest over in sight. It was euphoric. It was maddening. He thought he might go insane if it didn’t stop soon. He never wanted it to stop. He could feel His Highness pressing against him, rutting into him, biting him, licking into his mouth, letting their blood mingle, becoming one. Wu Ming moaned at the knowledge, or was he crying? It was hard to tell, but he was clutching at His Highness, legs wrapped around His middle, hands in His hair, drawing Him closer, urging Him on.
There was a high-pitched sound ringing through the air. Only when His Highness started shushing him did Wu Ming realize he was producing these sounds. Oh. Maybe he was crying.
“Please, please, Your Highness, please…”
He didn’t know what he was begging for, only that he needed something only His Highness could give him. That was the only thing he was certain of at this moment while everything else was lost in the maelstrom of emotions and sensations that was threatening to drown him.
“What do you need, little one? Tell me,” His Highness said, panting against Wu Ming’s lips. He didn’t seem able to stop himself from kissing Wu Ming because He dove in for kiss after kiss, leaving Wu Ming with barely an opening to answer.
“I– ah– I don’t know! I don’t know! I want–” he broke off in a whine when His Highness bit into his lip again, drawing even more blood. “Please.”
“I don’t know what to give you if you don’t tell me,” His Highness said, and maybe He was saying it to be cruel, but maybe He truly didn’t know. For all the possessiveness His Highness was touching Wu Ming with, and even though it felt divine to Wu Ming’s addled mind, there was not much mind nor reason behind His touches, only instinct. Somehow, that realisation felt like a hot stone had been dropped into his Wu Ming’s lower belly and he whined, overwhelmed.
He was his god’s first.
He’d never been someone’s first before, only last.
“Touch me,” he begged, pushing himself against his god as best as he could. His Highness hummed, and this time, there was definitely a cruel edge to His voice.
“But I am touching you?” As if to underline His words, His hand slipped into Wu Ming’s robes, pushing them aside until they were gaping open, before swiping His thumb over one of Wu Ming’s nipples. He gasped. He hadn’t known he was sensitive there! His Highness seemed to have enjoyed his reaction because He did it again, and then again with more pressure. He looked enthralled by the way Wu Ming’s nipples were perking up at the attention, and without blinking or looking away, He slowly, deliberately pressed His fingernail into the sensitive flesh and watched Wu Ming writhe.
Desperation made him brave; when he couldn’t take the pleasure-pain anymore, he grabbed His Highness’ wrist and moved His hand to where he was aching. His Highness didn’t hesitate. Instead of being put out because He’d been denied, His Highness chuckled, a little breathless, and took hold of Wu Ming.
“Here? You want me to touch here?” He squeezed Wu Ming through his pants and Wu Ming’s eyes rolled back at the feeling.
He shuddered but managed to choke out, “Y-Yes, there, ah.”
“Hmm, I wonder… Can I…?”
“Anything,” Wu Ming gasped, having no idea what he’d just agreed to and not caring at all.
His Highness paused for a moment and Wu Ming was just ready to whine and demand He continue when a loud ripping sound echoed through the temple. Wu Ming’s eyes widened in realisation when cold air touched him there.
“There,” His Highness said, satisfied, and then his hand closed around Wu Ming with nothing in the way.
Wu Ming thought this must be what ascending felt like.
His grip was too tight and it chafed a little when He gave a few experimental pumps in the limited space between their bodies, but Wu Ming was leaking precum and the slide soon became smoother. His Highness made an interested noise when He saw the slightly milky drops and on the next stroke up, He swiped His thumb over the slit and gathered some on His finger. Wu Ming wanted to cry when His Highness let go of him, but his breath got knocked out of his lungs when His Highness lifted His hand to His mouth and licked at the fluid.
Fuck.
They moaned at the same time and, heavy lidded, His Highness said, “You taste even better than I imagined. I’ll enjoy devouring you.”
What was a poor man to say to that?
Nothing much, it turned out. While Wu Ming was still reeling, His Highness’ hand was already back on his cock and stroking him with renewed vigour.
Wu Ming’s mind went blank.
There was only His Highness’ hand hot and tight around him, their bodies pressed as close together as they could. His Highness’ other hand had found its way into Wu Ming’s hair, gripping him tightly as He tilted his head so He could fit their mouths together again, and Wu Ming could do nothing but surrender, clinging on for dear life as His Highness made good on His words. The temple air sang with the combined sounds of their moans and pants and the slick sound of His Highness’ hand around Wu Ming.
He whimpered into His Highness’ mouth. “Your Highness, I can’t– I’m close, please– ah, like that!”
“I like how vocal you are,” His Highness panted, breaking their kiss so He could watch Wu Ming fall apart. “Does it feel good?”
“Yes, so good, please, please–”
“Do you feel alive? Is this what it feels like to feel?”
He felt more alive than ever before. “Yes!”
“I like it,” His Highness repeated, then His grip in Wu Ming’s hair tightened and He pulled his head towards His neck. “Bite, Wu Ming. Take my blood and become mine.”
And Wu Ming came. With a desperate sound bordering on a sob, he crested over the edge and fell into the abyss, into the waiting arms of his god. His teeth sank into His Highness neck and His blood filled his mouth, but he had no time to flinch at the taste as sheer power punched into his veins.
It felt like being torn apart.
It felt like being made anew.
It hurt, and it felt wonderful.
By the time he came to again, he was hanging limply in His Highness hold, utterly spent yet thrumming with spiritual power. It didn’t feel like his own though – or rather, it did, but also not. It felt… familiar, but also not, in the same way a new sword felt in one’s hands before acclimating to it.
It’s His Highness’ power, Wu Ming realised with a start. He could feel it sinking into every atom of his being, becoming his while at the same time binding him irrevocably to the god still holding him.
In every way, was his second realisation when His Highness’ hand squeezed around his spent cock, wringing a jerk and a punched-out moan from Wu Ming at the overstimulation. Too much. He didn’t think he could bear any more without breaking apart and losing his mind.
And then His Highness was rutting up against him, still hard, and touching him again, still desperate, and suckling on his bloody lip in a messy kiss, and Wu Ming thought, oh. Maybe he could bear more, after all.
“Ah, Your Highness...”
“Beautiful,” His Highness panted. “You’re beautiful. I can feel you. You’re mine.”
“Hah, yes–”
“Say it.”
“Yours!” Wu Ming wailed when His Highness grip tightened, sending shockwaves of overwhelming pleasure-pain through him. “Yours, yours, Your Highness, please–”
Suddenly, there was a moment of vertigo and instinctively he clung even closer to His Highness before he understood what had happened. His Highness was carrying him, and Wu Ming had only a moment to appreciate how secure he felt in the other man’s hold before he was set down on a hard, flat surface. The altar, Wu Ming had a second to think, then he was pushed onto his back with His Highness looming above him, golden eyes glowing hungrily.
“Mine.”