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Zewu-jun is a study in grace. He stands naked; his back is straight, shoulders squared, arms folded behind his back in parade rest. Zewu-jun keeps his head level, and his eyes demurely lowered. There isn't a millimeter of his posture out of place for Lan Sizhui to correct. He is, Sizhui thinks, perhaps the most exquisite submissive he's ever seen. Although Sizhui's well aware that he's relatively inexperienced in the grand scheme of dominance and submission and the power exchanged within the Cloud Recesses' hallowed halls.

As the current director of the Cloud Recesses, Zewu-jun oversees all the training of the applicants. As Lan Sizhui's beloved uncle, he perhaps shouldn't be leading Sizhui's training so directly, yet here they are. Here being the Hanshi, Lan Xichen's private quarters. Not his offices, but the room appointed for his personal scenes, his private lessons.

Sizhui's hand wants to tremble as he gestures wordlessly for Zewu-jun to kneel. His breath wants to come in a rush as Lan Xichen sinks down to the dark wood floors with liquid grace. Sizhui does not gasp. He is a Lan, perhaps not by birth, but he is a Lan. Tonight is a test he will not fail. He carries within him the same grace as Zewu-jun and will control himself.

He does not gasp, but as he picks up the rich blue collar, leather embossed with silver clouds, his hands do shake. Lan Xichen holds perfectly still as Sizhui buckles and locks the collar in place, but Sizhui feels the slow exhale of his breath against his thigh.

It is not Sizhui's collar; he has not yet earned the right for one of his own. It is not the deep brown leather, aged brass, and goldstone collar Zewu-jun wears for Lianfang-zun. Yet it is not without meaning. Something only an accepted member of the Cloud Recesses can use on another.

Tonight is the first time Sizhui's permitted to lock it around the throat of anyone else.

Sizhui allows himself a smile as he steps back to see Zewu-jun's eyes closed. He allows himself the indulgence of stroking his fingers along the perfect line of Lan Xichen's jaw, trailing down to the faint dimple in his chin, and to sweep his thumb across his lips.

Tonight is a test, but it is a gift as well. Zewu-jun does not submit for just anyone. Lan Sizhui will show himself worthy of both the test and the trust placed in his hands.

"Stand." Sizhui taps his fingers on the underside of Lan Xichen's chin and steps back.

With Lan Jingyi, Sizhui might drag him by the collar over to the waiting bench. With Zewu-jun, there is the matter of their size difference; for another, it's a sheer pleasure to watch his obedience. There isn't a second of hesitation as Lan Xichen rises and follows Sizhui's motions to the spanking bench.

"Down, bofu," Sizhui commands, and his mouth curls into a private smile at bofu, a strange out-dated formality between the two of them. A twist in their dynamic that pleases them both, if Lan Xichen's answering smile is a tell.

There isn't any need for words between the two of them as Sizhui takes Lan Xichen's hands, one by one, and wraps matching blue cuffs around each wrist. He knows his uncle likes a quiet scene, doesn't need to talk himself, as he ties him down to the bench. Wrists clipped to the dark wood frame before matching thigh, and ankle cuffs follow, O-rings bound to the bench as well.

Finally, Sizhui picks up a quick release clip and hooks it through the O-ring on Lan Xichen's collar and binds that, too, to the bench.

It's satisfying to hear the hitch in Zewu-jun's breath and to see the spreading goosebumps over his arms at the immobilization. Sizhui, in his uncle's place, prefers rope, but Zewu-jun responds so beautifully to leather.

"Does anything chafe or feel uncomfortable, bofu?" Sizhui asks as he strokes a hand up the curve of Lan Xichen's back.

"No, Sizhui," Lan Xichen answers. Perhaps one day, Lan Sizhui will carry a title of his own, but he's not earned anything but his name just yet.

Sizhui checks the cuffs anyway before he's satisfied they aren't too tight. Only then does his hand find the long braid of Lan Xichen's hair. He wraps it around his fist and pulls until Zewu-jun's head is forced back, and the collar catches.

Lan Xichen groans, low and deep in his throat, as Sizhui forces his head as high as he can with the bondage. Sizhui's fist tightens in his excitement. Gooseflesh breaks up his own arms as his desire breaks through his nerves and washes, scalding hot, through his body.

"I'm going to hurt you." Somehow, his voice doesn't crack. They'd discussed this; neither of them is coming into this scene improvising. Not when it's a test of Sizhui's abilities. It still thrills him to say those words aloud. To know that they're real. To know that short of Zewu-jun using a safeword, he'll leave this room with Sizhui's marks upon his skin. That he will go back to his penthouse shared with Jin Guangyao with welts covering his ass and thighs.

It's thrilling. Sizhui wants to laugh with delight. Especially as Zewu-jun answers with another low groan. "You're going to like it, aren't you, bofu?"

"You know I will, Sizhui."

If it's backtalk, it's mild. It's nothing compared to the banter Sizhui and Jingyi sometimes find themselves exchanging. Zewu-jun is not Lan Jingyi, and Sizhui does not want the same things from him as he does his boyfriend. He jerks at the braid still in his hand.

"Answer me properly." It is not a request.

Lan Xichen answers him, first, with a shudder. Sizhui does not think his uncle meant disrespect, does not believe it was a test of Sizhui's authority. But that does not mean he won't demand the respect he wants from this scene, anyway.

"I will, Sizhui."

"Everyone focuses on what a perfect submissive you are, and they don't always see what a painslut you are." Sizhui drops the braid, and without waiting for an answer, snaps his hand down on the curve of Lan Xichen's ass.

He's apprehensive, yes, but in taking control of what he wants, he's easing into the scene and the headspace that just feels right. The sting of his palm against Zewu-jun's ass grounds and centers him in his nerves.

Lan Xichen doesn't need the same amount of warming up someone else might, but that doesn't mean Sizhui isn't careful as he works his hand across the curve of Lan Xichen's ass and down the muscular expanse of his thighs. He focuses in on every little jolt of Lan Xichen against the bench, the initial flinch from impact, and how it fades into a relaxed pleasure as Sizhui keeps spanking him.

Sizhui follows his instincts, the flush of Zewu-jun's skin, and the echo of pain in his own hand as he takes them deeper. Follows, too, the low throb of his arousal. Not Zewu-jun's, though. His cock is locked in stainless steel, the answering key around Jin Guangyao's neck.

Sizhui reaches down to cup his balls in his hand, squeezes them gently in his palm. Zewu-jun's flinch is delicious; Sizhui rewards it with the expected sharp little slap to his balls. Lan Xichen cries out for the first time, and Sizhui strikes again.

He doesn't linger, though, not when he has other plans, other pains he wants to inflict. Bigger ones, more exciting. With one last slap of his palm to Zewu-jun's balls, he pulls away to the echo of another shout.

Zewu-jun is tense, and Sizhui scratches his nails down the curve of his ass for the pleasure of watching faint welt form in the wake of his touch.

"You can take so much more right now, can't you, bofu?" Sizhui asks.

It takes a moment for Lan Xichen to find his voice, but Sizhui doesn't rush him for his answer. Delights in the silence before he speaks: "Yes, Sizhui."

"If this wasn't a test of my skills, would I even need to warm you up?" On the last word of his question, he digs his nails into the soft skin of Lan Xichen's inner thighs hard enough that he twists in his bondage. The carabiners holding him to the bench rattle satisfyingly.

"No, Sizhui." Zewu-jun's voice is tight now, and Sizhui pushes his nails in harder, provoking a sharp inhale. "You wouldn't need to warm me up."  

"I don't need to warm you up any further. I'm not going to."

Lan Xichen's only answer is to press his forehead against the brown leather of the spanking bench. Sizhui leaves him to his silence.

On the walls of the Hanshi are a myriad of tools. Floggers hang in neat rows, straps dangle from their handles. Sizhui bypasses them all for the neat line of canes. He's planned this and reaches right for a slender rattan cane with a pale blue rope wrapped handle. He's intimately aware of how it feels in his hand, the weight and swing.

Learning at the Cloud Recesses means one submits to pain if they wish to inflict it upon another; Sizhui's carried welts from this cane on his body. They were almost, not quite, too much for him.

Not for Zewu-jun, however.

Sizhui presents the cane before Lan Xichen. "Kiss it," he orders.

Zewu-jun lifts his eyes and presses his lips reverently to the wood, and Sizhui thinks he might die, just a little, at the perfect picture of submission. He loses track of his thoughts as he watches Lan Xichen's lips against the wood, as they veer from wanting to hurt him with the cane to wanting to force his mouth open on his fingers.

So he indulges himself because while this is a test, it's also about pleasure. His fingers push into his mouth, and he moans as Lan Xichen's mouth opens and takes what he's being given. At the gentle caress of his tongue, before Sizhui fucks his mouth with two fingers.

Sizhui does stop himself before he altogether loses himself to the sensation. He'd fuck Zewu-jun's mouth with more than just his fingers if he could, but that's not what tonight is about. He slides his fingers out of Lan Xichen's mouth with a wet "pop" and then pulls his hand back and brings it down, still wet from his mouth, across his cheek.

The sound of the slap is loud in the stillness of the Hanshi. It reverberates down Sizhui's hand and echoes in the throb of his arousal.

He slaps Zewu-jun again, across the other cheek. Zewu-jun whimpers, even as he tilts his head up for another blow, offering himself up readily. It's a heady rush of pleasure and power, and yet Sizhui denies them both another blow.

Instead, he moves behind Zewu-jun. He gives the cane a few swings without impact, testing the feel of it in his hand, letting his muscles remember the pattern of violence to come.

"Fifteen strokes." If Zewu-jun was Sizhui's, it'd be more than just fifteen. Yet this is what he'd negotiated with Lianfang-zun, the number of marks he was allowed to leave upon Lan Xichen's body.

Fifteen welts, wherever Lan Sizhui wished to lay them.

Sizhui gives no additional warning. The whistle of the cane announces itself.

"Oh," Sizhui whispers to himself as it lands, as the redness blooms over Zewu-jun's ass. If Zewu-jun hears him, he doesn't answer with anything more than a broken moan. Fourteen more. Sizhui already feels like so much kindling under a match.

His own breath is louder than Lan Xichen's as he lays the second welt below the first. He is precise. He has been trained well, and he intends to prove himself.

Lan Xichen tenses, and before he can relax, Sizhui lays the third and fourth stripes down with vicious intent. He waits, then, for the tension to bleed out as Lan Xichen settles in the wake of the initial sting of pain. The fifth blow crosses the first four in a neat diagonal. Here, the true test of Sizhui's skills, not so hard that it breaks the skin, hard enough that—

It is gratifying when the famed Zewu-jun yells wordlessly in his pain. It is gratifying and painfully arousing. Sizhui reaches out to stroke his fingertips down over the welts and feels how Lan Xichen trembles.

"Ten more." This reminder delivered with a blow of his palm across the welts, which forces a guttural sound from Zewu-jun's mouth.

"Please," Lan Xichen's voice comes out as if his mouth is dry. Good.

Sizhui steps back and delivers the next blows from the cane down his thighs in as even lines as he can manage. Zewu-jun's shaking when he's done, the clips holding him bound to the bench clinking together as he does. Sizhui wants to drop the cane and fuck his uncle right there on the bench until they're both shouting. He wants to sit on Lan Xichen's face until he's coming so hard he can't see straight.

There are still five more strokes left.

The eleventh and twelfth cross over the neat welts on his thighs. One for each side. Zewu-jun is gasping now, body pressed down against the bench's leather, hands curled into fists.

Thirteen and fourteen lands across Lan Xichen's calves and Sizhui watches as he tries to kick out in his bondage; as the cuffs around his thighs and ankles stop the movement of his leg and the frustrated whine from aborted motion.

"Be still," Sizhui snaps, and Lan Xichen jerks back into place, ever obedient even as he suffers.  Lianfang-zun, Sizhu thinks, is inordinately lucky.

The final snap on the cane lands right at the juncture of Zewu-jun's ass and thighs. Sizhui does not pull this blow, and it walks a very fine line to breaking skin as it cracks on skin. Lan Xichen goes utterly still at the burst of pain, and a sob breaks through the room.

Sizhui chases it. He drops the cane to the side and slaps his hand down over the first five welts on the curve of Lan Xichen's ass. He spanks the welts until his palm burns, and Zewu-jun chokes back soft sobs of pain. He doesn't stop until Lan Xichen's cheeks are wet, and neither one of them is breathing steadily.

He has to reign himself in because Zewu-jun is not his, and this scene was carefully negotiated. The slaps turn to caresses.

"You did so well, bofu," Sizhui praises, knowing full well that it works just as well for Zewu-jun as pain. "So well, for me. The welts look so lovely on your skin." He even leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the uppermost welt. They'll be livid, raised on his skin for a while, and it makes Sizhui ache with desire to know Zewu-jun will carry the discomfort with him into the next day, every time he sits down.

As he moves to unbind Lan Xichen from the bench, Sizhui can feel his own wetness between his thighs. He pushes down his arousal and focuses on taking the clip from Zewu-jun's collar and helping him up onto his knees.

There is no orgasm to be had for either one of them, but the pleasure is undeniable.

Sizhui wipes Zewu-jun's cheeks with his sleeve and brushes a stray strand of hair back behind his ear before finding a bottle of water and holding it to Lan Xichen's lips to drink.

"You're magnificent, bofu." He takes the empty bottle and tosses it aside as he turns his focus back to Zewu-jun.

The simple praise causes a flush across Zewu-jun's cheeks, and Sizhui allows himself to lean forward and kiss his uncle on the mouth. A chaste kiss, for all he wants more.

"What do you say, A-Huan?" The soft voice from behind Sizhui's shoulder snaps Lan Xichen to attention faster than anything Sizhui could say.

"Thank you, Sizhui," Zewu-jun says, eyes lowered as Jin Guangyao rises from where he sat to supervise the scene.

"Display." Jin Guangyao does not raise his voice nor help Lan Xichen off the bench. It takes several moments for Zewu-jun to complete the order as he stands, legs spread, and raises his arms to clasp his hands behind his head.

Jin Guangyao is not Cloud Recesses trained. He was not, in fact, taught in any club. He made his way from professional sex work into the formal scene and cemented his place within the various societies as one of the people who exposed the Nightless City for its abuses. The man who brought down Wen Ruohan from the inside.

By that right and his right as Zewu-jun's dominant, he assesses Sizhui's work.

It's a terrifying few moments as Lianfang-zun strokes his fingertips over the welts on Lan Xichen's ass and thighs. A wonderful few moments as Lan Xichen whimpers prettily.

"Very well done, Lan Sizhui," Jin Guangyao finally announces.

Sizhui is too much of a Lan to sag in relief, but a brilliant smile breaks over his face at the praise. He expects, then, that he'll be given Zewu-jun for aftercare, and he is looking forward to that.

Jin Guangyao surprises him.

"Are you aroused?"

Sizhui is too well trained not to answer a direct question from someone so highly placed as Lianfang-zun. Well trained, but that doesn't keep the flush from his cheeks. "I am."

"You may use his mouth, if it pleases you, Lan Sizhui." Jin Guangyao does not even look at Lan Xichen as he offers his husband's body for Sizhui's use. Sizhui's mouth goes dry.

"Oh."

Lianfang-zun simply smiles at the dumbstruck look on Sizhui's face. Zewu-jun does not move from his position, facing away from the two of them, does not even seem to breathe too deeply.

The world spins. Sizhui reorients himself and steps toward his uncle as Jin Guangyao motions him forward.

"Serve him well, A-Huan," Jin Guangyao says as he taps Zewu-jun on the shoulder, and Zewu-jun takes a wordless cue Sizhui cannot read to turn and stand at rest as he had at the beginning of their scene.

Now there is something to correct.

"Eyes up," Sizhui orders, and now his breath is coming in a rush as he regards Lan Xichen. "Do you want this?"

From his place beside Zewu-jun, Sizhui catches the bemused look on Jin Guangyao's face, but he does not stop himself from asking. He is not Lianfang-zun, does not think he will ever play as sharply as Zewu-jun and Lianfang-zun do, so he needs to hear it from Lan Xichen's mouth.

His uncle's pupils are wide, lips slightly parted, when their eyes meet. Behind his collar, his throat works.

"If it would please you, Sizhui, I would be of use to you."

The world spins a little faster for Sizhui at those words, and that soft oh passes his mouth again before he can bite it back. But his body knows what he wants, and in one stride, he closes the gap between them and has his fingers in Lan Xichen's collar and pulls him down into a messy kiss. He practically fuck's Lan Xichen's mouth with his tongue as he takes what he's wanted since long before he began his training in the Cloud Recesses. If he's honest, what he's wanted long since before he was old enough to start training at the Cloud Recesses.

Sizhui doesn't break the kiss or his grip on his collar as he pulls Zewu-jun back toward the bed. It's awkward, and he's too short, but Zewu-jun follows without being dragged.

"Bed," Sizhui gasps as he breaks the kiss and releases Lan Xichen's collar. "On your back." He doesn't even watch Lan Xichen obey because he's too busy getting his pants off. He does, however, take the time to bind Lan Xichen's hands over his head. Wrist bound to D-rings set into the headboard.

"Knock the headboard if you need me to stop," Sizhui manages to tell his uncle before he unceremoniously throws a leg over his head and sits on his face.

It's not elegant. Sizhui doesn't care. He's so fucking wet, and he's throbbing as Lan Xichen licks and oh. Oh. 

"Bofu," he gasps as he grinds down against his uncle's mouth, as Lan Xichen's tongue finds his clit and sucks. He feels electric, his skin crackling as he rocks, and Lan Xichen's mouth works magic over slick and swollen skin. Sizhui fists his hand in his hair and loses himself to pleasure.

He's aware of Jin Guangyao's eyes on them, far more than he was while he caned Zewu-jun. He doesn't care. It makes this feel filthier than it already is to be watched by his uncle's husband. To know that he's going to leave Lan Xichen with Jin Guangyao with the taste of his come on Lan Xichen's lips—

"Oh, fuck." Sizhui so rarely loses control of his language, even in sex, but Zewu-jun does something with his tongue. "Again. Harder, bofu," Sizhui demands.

And Lan Xichen complies. Again and again. He loses track of how long he straddles Lan Xichen's face, grinding down, wet and messy all over those perfect lips until Sizhui's shaking apart and coming so hard stars spark behind his eyes.

His uncle does not stop, but he does gentle. Soft, indirect strokes in circles around Sizhui's clit until Sizhui's whining and pushes up on wobbling knees, so he doesn't tip toward overstimulation.

Zewu-jun's face is slick with Sizhui's come as he pulls off and flops down with his head on his uncle's chest. Slick and flushed, and Sizhui enamored. He needs to have Zewu-jun teach Jingyi how to do that thing with his tongue. He needs to—

He needs to reach up and unbind Lan Xichen from the bed. He reaches, finds his arms are a bit too short.

"I've got them," Jin Guangyao says as he comes to the bed.

Sizhui's content in his afterglow, and when Lan Xichen just hums in pleasure, he doesn't check in as Jin Guangyao unbinds the cuffs.

"I am supposed to watch you provide aftercare, but I find I am not done with what you started, Lan Sizhui. I'm satisfied you'd perform admirably."

Sizhui opens his eyes to meet Jin Guangyao's and opens his mouth to protest—  

"You may stay and watch if you like, and tend to his welts when I’ve finished.” As he speaks, Lianfang-zun pushes two fingers into Zewu-jun’s mouth, just as Sizhui has earlier. "Or you may do what tending you would at the end, now."

Lan Xichen whines around Jin Guangyao's fingers, but it's not a protest, nor a signal to stop. From the way his eyes close and his head arches back on the pillow, Zewu-jun has no interest in seeing this stop.

It is a rare gift to see Jin Guangyao command Lan Xichen. There is also a shocking intimacy that makes Sizhui hungry for more.

"I would stay, Lianfang-zun." He watches as Jin Guangyao's look turns appraising, even as his fingers keep working in and out of Lan Xichen's mouth. As those fingers hook into his mouth, under his tongue, and pull. Lan Xichen whines again, but he follows the pull to sitting upright. Zewu-jun hisses at the friction to the welts on his skin, and Sizhui can't help but beam again.

"Sizhui, if you'd sit against the headboard." A request, not an order. Sizhui follows and leans back against the dark wood. "Will you allow me to have him lean back against your chest?" Jin Guangyao asks as if Sizhui would say no, but he appreciates the respect given.

"Please do, Lianfang-zun." Sizhui's eyes feel dinner plates' size as Jin Guangyao pushes Zewu-jun back until his head rests against Sizhui's shoulders.

"You may speak to him and touch as you please." An offer carelessly given. No, very thoughtfully provided, sounding careless. This is a masterclass in a very specific type of dominance, and while Sizhui is not sure it's what he wants to become, the lesson is welcome.

The lesson is welcome and coaxes the flames of his arousal back to life. Sizhui wraps his arms around his uncle's chest, stroking the hard lines of muscle.

There are a hundred small things that Sizhui, so adept at reading Zewu-jun's non-verbal language, cannot understand here. Jin Guangyao says nothing to Lan Xichen. He touches him, a tap here, a tap there, and silently Lan Xichen draws his legs up and spread and grasps his ankles to keep himself open.

Jin Guangyao scratches at the exposed welts until Lan Xichen whimpers and turns his head into Sizhui's throat. Sizhui's breath catches, but he keeps his eyes on Jin Guangyao and takes his offered words to heart.

Sizhui waits for Jin Guangyao to scratch upward and closes his fingers over Lan Xichen's nipples, pinching in counterpoint to the scratching. He feels, rather than sees, his uncle flinch.

"I'll have fun with these marks you've left for me, Lan Sizhui." Left for him. Sizhui shivers and unconsciously turns his head to press a kiss to Lan Xichen's temple, only catching himself with Jin Guangyao laughs.

"You're very soft in your sadism. It suits you." It should sound like an insult, but it's merely who Jin Guangyao is, sharp all the way through.

"I appreciate your lessons in sharpness, Lianfang-zun."

"Do you?" Jin Guangyao does something with his hands that Sizhui can't see, and suddenly Lan Xichen arches up and shouts, muffled, into Sizhui's throat. Jin Guangyao's arm jerks back, and Sizhui sees, then, that he's got his fingers wrapped around Zewu-jun's balls, pulling them until Zewu-jun whines continually.

"It does well to appreciate an artist at work."

Lan Xichen's breath is hot against Sizhui's throat, and Sizhui thinks he's going to combust. Jin Guangyao's constant lack of acknowledgment of anything he's doing to Lan Xichen fans the flames of his desire even more. Lan Xichen's body is a toy for Lianfang-zun's own amusement, and he plays him so skillfully.

"Flattery?" Jin Guangyao raises an eyebrow, but Sizhui holds firm.

"Truth."

"They can be the same, Lan Sizhui. But very well, you may flatter me." The muscles in his arms flex, and Zewu-jun's entire body goes rigid as he cries out.

"Shh, shh." The instinct to soothe comes instantly. Sizhui squeezes Zewu-jun in his arms. "It's okay, be a good boy for Lianfang-zun, bofu." Sizhui rubs his fingers in gentle circles around Lan Xichen's nipples as he continues to shake, but the whining fades into punched out gasps.

"I'm going to fuck him unless you object, Lan Sizhui?" Jin Guangyao meets Sizhui's eyes, and Sizhui is very thankful he's never been called to submit to this man.

"Zewu-jun is yours to do with as you please, Lianfang-zun. It would be a privilege to watch."

It's going to be burned in Sizhui's mind for the rest of his life. Jin Guangyao does not undress, simply reaches down and draws his cock from his slacks while Zewu-jun spreads his legs open wider.

Sizhui's mouth opens before he thinks better of himself. "I didn't realize you were such a slut, bofu," he whispers into his uncle's ear, to the soft laughter of Lianfang-zun.

There is no prep, no condom, just the "pop" of a bottle of lube, and then Jin Guangyao's cock is stretching open Zewu-jun's hole, and Sizhui wishes he could see. It's enough to feel Zewu-jun go still, hear the guttural groans forced from his mouth as his husband fucks into his body.

Sizhui scratches his nails over Lan Xichen's nipples, flicks the peaks with his middle fingers. "That's such a good boy, bofu. You take it so well." Sizhui speaks to him as he would to Jingyi now, lost in the pleasure of watching Zewu-jun be so well used.

"It must ache so much to have your cock locked in such a tight cage." Sizhui has no context for the sensation, but it seems an obvious conclusion. "But you like being so well used, don't you?"

"Yes," Lan Xichen's voice breaks free in a shout as Jin Guangyao slams forward into his ass, forcing Lan Xichen back against Sizhui's chest.

"No, don't speak. Just take it, bofu." If Lianfang-zun doesn't speak to Lan Xichen, Sizhui has no desire to allow his uncle words or to allow him any kind of agency. To take so much away from someone, for someone such as Zewu-jun to give so much away willingly. Sizhui will never cease to wonder and delight in the gift of submisson.

Lan Xichen cries, after that, with hardly a sound. Soft half-panted moans as his hips jerk back against Sizhui. Jin Guangyao is not gentle. His hands cup Zewu-jun's welted ass in a tight grip as he slams into his hole over and over. Sizhui's shoulder is wet with tears, and he strokes his hands back and forth over his uncle's chest.

Sizhui stops speaking and just drinks it all in, floats in the haze of his renewed arousal. He feels the drive of Jin Guangyao's hips and wishes he was the one fucking into Zewu-jun. That it was his hands scoring his nails over the welts from the cane.

Lan Xichen starts to violently shake the longer Jin Guangyao fucks him. The faint sounds turn to total silence, but the tears don't stop. Sizhui holds him tighter and kisses his temple, whispers soft words of encouragement into his ear.

Then, Jin Guangyao goes still, cock buried deep in Zewu-jun's ass. He's almost as quiet as his husband, but a moan passes his lips, and when Sizhui looks, Lianfang-zun's eyes are closed in pleasure as he comes. He looks back to Lan Xichen, giving Jin Guangyao so measure of privacy.

"Such a good boy, bofu," he praises, where Lianfang-zun would not. For the second time tonight, Sizhui wipes the tears off Zewu-jun's cheeks with his sleeve. "You took that so well for Lianfang-zun."

Lan Xichen tips his head to the side and looks at Sizhui, half a smile on his mouth, his eyes distant and dazed. Sizhui allows himself to kiss the curl of his lip, catching the groan as Jin Guangyao eases from Zewu-jun's body.

"He was adequate," Jin Guangyao says unprompted. "He could have kept himself tighter for me."

Sizhui, still painfully aroused and deep in his own top space, does not laugh. But it's a near thing. Zewu-jun whines but melts, boneless, against Sizhui's chest as his husband reaches up to cup his cheek in his hand.

There is pride in that touch, Sizhui realizes. So much unsaid in a gentle caress.

"Come, let your nephew up." Fingers in Zewu-jun's collar, Lianfang-zun pulls him up so Sizhui can wiggle out from behind him. "Facedown."

Lan Xichen, of course, obeys. The welts from the cane blossomed in faint purple lines where they cross. Sizhui smiles as he reaches and trails his fingers down the curve of Lan Xichen's ass. There is come splashed across his thighs, and it's obscenely beautiful.

Jin Guangyao leaves Sizhui to the required aftercare of the welts. In a drawer next to the bed is an array of creams, oils, and lotions. Sizhui eyes them and selects an arnica cream. He warms it in his palm before tending to each of the fifteen welts over Zewu-jun's body. He doesn't linger, but he enjoys the hiss of pain as he tends to them.

Jin Guangyao watches from the foot of the bed, impassive. "He likes being cuddled after a scene. Would you stay, Lan Sizhui?"

Sizhui wills the deer-in-the-headlights look off his face before he turns to Lianfang-zun. "It would be my pleasure, thank you."

Lianfang-zun inclines his head.

Tonight was a test. Lan Sizhui passes with flying colors.