Fic: Snow on Roses [JPM RPS AU]
Title: Snow on Roses
Fandom: JPM RPS [AU: City of Sin ‘verse]
Pairing: Xiao Jie/Wang Zi
Rating: NC17
Summary: A whore shouldn’t fall in love.
Notes: Female prostitutes addressed their Madam as ‘Foster Mother’, but it felt odd to have Wang Zi call Zhou Mi ‘Foster Father’, so I stuck with ‘Master Zhou’ as the honorific.
Snow on Roses
Winter had come early this year.
Wang Zi sat by the open door onto the veranda and allowed the cold to creep over him. It stung his face, tiny needle-sharp prickles draining him of warmth. If he kept very still, perhaps the frost would cover him, grant him a mask of ice. He almost smiled at the thought, and the twitch of his lips felt unnatural, like something trapped. He bent his head, let his hair fall to tickle across his face, and studied the stiff embroidery on his robes.
He wore heavy silks in the paling scarlet combination, his top robe the colour of fresh blood, a pattern of bamboo picked out in glittering black thread. The under-layers comprised two robes of scarlet touched with violet, one paler than the other, and two white glossed silk robes beneath them. His hakama was black, double-dyed to achieve inky perfection.
The padded, layered silks rustled whenever he moved. He dug his toes into the softened tatami and leaned forward, inhaling another dusting of cold as the breeze scattered snow from the tiled roof. His fingertips were numb, but still he remained by the open door.
Icicles dripped from the eaves. The courtyard lay muffled beneath a quilt of snow deep enough to obliterate most detail. In the raised beds, a silver rime delineated the petals of the late autumn roses, the flowers frozen in faded beauty.
The winter had taken most of Shanghai by surprise, but Master Zhou had seemed unperturbed. “This is not winter,” he had said two weeks ago after the first snowfall, when Wang Zi asked permission to keep the braziers alight throughout the day. “You don’t know what winter is.”
Though not a trace of the rolling northern accent remained in his voice, it was rumoured that Master Zhou was from Beijing. Wang Zi had heard that winters in the capital were endless, full of dust that fell from the heavens to turn the snow as red as blood and as viscous as mud. It sounded impossible. No wonder Master Zhou had come south.
“Please forgive my ignorance.” Wang Zi had bowed his head. “I will endure the cold.”
Master Zhou had made a soft, negative sound. “We can afford fuel. Take what you need.”
Wang Zi was careful not to take more than his allocated share. Later, he returned to his room and found a silver fox-fur cape placed across his bed. He wore it between assignations when the coals in the brazier burned too low to give off any real heat. Occasionally he wore it for the pleasure of a favoured client, but the cape was a practical gift and not intended as a prop for seduction.
He wore it now, edged around his shoulders, the fur warm against his back.
The coals in the brazier had burned down, offering little more than ambient heat. Grey-tinted light reflected from the blanketed ground and the heavy-bellied dark clouds. It would snow again tonight. Wang Zi could smell it on the breathless wind. He shuffled back inside the room, keeping the veranda door open, and withdrew into his tiny empire.
Shoji screens marked the limits of his existence. A wide, low table dominated this half of the room. Cushions lay in an artful composition across the tatami. Bonsai, carefully tended and meticulously trained, were placed in locations judged pleasing to the eye. Candles flickered in red paper lanterns. Incense painted the air, sweet pine and plum, the scents of winter and fortitude. His room was a composite of Japanese objects and artefacts gathered from throughout the International Settlement; his clothes, though to Heian design, were tailored at the shop on Canton Road where Cheng Min’s stage costumes were made.
“Most men like to feel safe when they make love,” Master Zhou had told Wang Zi when he’d first arrived at the Double Willow teahouse. “Our Japanese clients need to feel no less valued than the Chinese, the Russians, the Americans or the Europeans. Westerners entertain notions of a fantasy Orient, but the Japanese come here seeking an approximation of Japan.”
Wang Zi was not Japanese, but he had long eyes and a quick tongue and worked hard to improve himself. He had learned Japanese from a dancing girl at the Venus Cafe; from her he inherited an Osaka accent. Whenever Japanese guests visited the teahouse in search of the familiar, Master Zhou sent them to him.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Wang Zi shrugged off the fur and slid it behind one of the screens. His next appointment wasn’t until much later that evening, so this must be someone with a special request. Impromptu meetings were discouraged-Master Zhou believed quality was worth waiting for-but he acknowledged that sometimes, a man had needs that wouldn’t wait.
Wang Zi knelt on the tatami to one side of the table, smoothed out the billows of stiff silk, and arranged the falling layers of his sleeves to show off the subtle gradations of colour from scarlet to white. He set his palms on the floor and willed himself into obedience as he awaited his guest.
The footsteps stopped outside his room. A pause, and then a knock.
Wang Zi called out an invitation to enter. As the door slid open, he bowed, touching his forehead to the tatami. “Greetings, Master Zhou; greetings, honourable sir.” He straightened, raised his gaze. His breath caught, the long muscles of his thighs tensing at the sight of the man beside Master Zhou.
Liao Jun Jie.
Wang Zi exhaled, trying to smother the involuntary spark of desire. Since their first meeting in the spring, Jun Jie had requested his presence at numerous banquets and drinking parties. Only recently had he started making private appointments-once every three weeks, for two hours. Wang Zi anticipated their meetings, treasured their time together. Whores should not have secrets from their masters, but the pleasure he found with Jun Jie was something he refused to share with anyone.
Jun Jie smiled, his eyes gleaming. Wang Zi felt naked already, heat pulsing through him. He dropped his gaze, afraid his emotions would be read too easily.
Master Zhou came into the room, the panels sewn into his fitted black changshan flashing blue-green when he moved. He paused by the open door onto the veranda, glanced out at the snowy courtyard, then shifted his gaze to the smouldering embers in the brazier before he looked at Wang Zi.
“Third Master Liao wishes the pleasure of your company,” Master Zhou said, his voice husky and precise. “Please take care of him.”
From a lacquered cabinet he took a taper. Master Zhou touched the spill to one of the lanterns and passed the flame onto a tall yellow candle. Divided into twenty-four, every other notch was marked with a character. He stepped back and extinguished the taper, then returned it to the cabinet. He nodded at Jun Jie. “You have until the hour of the Rooster.”
Wang Zi bowed again as Master Zhou left. The door whispered shut. Conscious of the delicious coil of anticipation within him, Wang Zi held his position, knowing that Jun Jie must be admiring his nape, the skin there very pale between the stiff scarlet silk of his collar and the feathered glossy black of his hair.
Cold air drifted in from the veranda door, stroked across his skin.
“Wang Zi.” Jun Jie’s voice was dark and satisfied. “Let me see your face.”
Wang Zi sat back and looked up, meeting Jun Jie’s sleepy, knowing gaze. His heart pounding, Wang Zi could barely get out the proscribed formalities. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
“I think about you all the time.” Without being invited, Jun Jie seated himself in front of the table, pulling cushions closer until he lounged in a comfortable nest.
Flustered by the compliment, Wang Zi murmured, “Third Master Liao...”
“How many times must I tell you? My name is Jun Jie. Use it. I insist.”
Wang Zi lifted his hands. “I would not presume-”
Jun Jie leaned across the table, devilry in his eyes. “I want you to presume.”
“Then I will do as you wish,” Wang Zi said, holding his gaze.
“Yes,” Jun Jie said, soft and musing. “Yes, you will.”
Wang Zi swayed back a little, his lips parting at the reminder of their positions, Jun Jie the client and he the whore bought and paid for. It excited him, the difference between them, the power Jun Jie had over him, even if that power was fleeting and illusory. It aroused him, made him yearn, and it shouldn’t. This was business, their meetings strictly regulated, every transaction recorded in Master Zhou’s private ledgers.
Recalling himself to his task, Wang Zi lowered his gaze and adopted a demure attitude. “How may I serve you?”
From beneath his lashes, he judged Jun Jie’s hungry gaze, watched as Jun Jie pulled his attention away to look, unseeing, out of the veranda door at the white-drifted courtyard. “I heard you were studying the Japanese art of tea. Perhaps...”
“It would be my pleasure.” Wang Zi allowed a teasing edge to warm his voice. “But you must understand that I cannot recreate here what a master does in the proper setting.”
Jun Jie chuckled. “And you, my sweet, should understand that I only want you to make me a cup of tea.”
Wang Zi dipped his head, swallowing the laughter that threatened. “If that is all you want, I shall endeavour to make it to the best of my poor ability.”
Jun Jie snorted and leaned back on the cushions, his dark gaze assessing and flirtatious. “Your demonstration of the tea ceremony will perhaps inspire me to request another sort of performance. One in which I know your skills are unsurpassed.”
Wang Zi rose to his feet and stepped around the table to collect the tea utensils. He shot Jun Jie an imperious look. “How do you know my skills are unsurpassed? I will be quite cross with you, Third Master Liao, should I discover that you are dallying with other boys.”
“Jealous little cat.” Jun Jie gave a lazy smile and reached out to stroke a hand over the trailing stiffened folds of Wang Zi’s top robe.
“A cat, am I?” Wang Zi tugged the silk from his grasp. “And if I told you I purred only when stroked by your hands?”
Jun Jie sat up straight, a seriousness cutting through his playful expression. “I would consider myself the most fortunate of men.”
They looked at each other, the moment turning from unguarded innocence to something else, something hot and honest and dangerous. Wang Zi turned to cover his confusion, taking refuge in the formal arrangements of the tea ceremony. He gathered together the utensils and went back to kneel on the far side of the table.
“At this time of year, tea should be prepared over a fire pit. We will have to be content with water boiled over a brazier.” He lifted the tongs and stirred the embers, waking the blazing heat with the addition of more charcoal. Picking up the cold water jar, he excused himself with a bow and stepped out onto the veranda.
The air had grown sharper as evening drew on, and the sky had lowered until it seemed almost to brush the rooftops of taller buildings. Wang Zi shivered and clutched the jar tighter. He jumped down from the veranda, sinking into the squeaking, soft-packed snow. Conscious of Jun Jie watching him, he tried to move with grace, but his heavy silks were not meant for scampering about in snow. Halfway across the courtyard he stopped, his breath hanging in the air, and laughed at how ridiculous he looked.
Amused by his own vanity, he kicked at the snow and made his way across to the kitchen door. Inside, he filled the jar in the stone sink and returned to his room, snow clinging to the hems of his hakama and dampening the sweeping edges of his scarlet robes.
“You would brave the very elements to make me tea,” Jun Jie remarked, scooping up a sliver of melting snow from the floor and tossing it back outside.
“I wish only to please you.” Wang Zi gave him a challenging look as he poured the water into the kettle and set it on to boil. “Tea should delight the senses.”
“Then it was wrong of me to request it,” Jun Jie said, smiling, “for I doubt anything could delight me more than you.”
Wang Zi pretended the warmth climbing to his cheeks was heat reflected from the brazier. “You are very bold, Third Master Liao.”
Jun Jie bowed a little, a hand over his heart. “I am chastised, and shall be silent.”
Pleased with their bantering, Wang Zi hid a smile and settled himself into the correct aesthetic to serve tea. He had only been studying for five months, scarcely any time at all, but he focused on his task, wanting it to be as perfect as his recollection allowed. He set out the utensils, apologising for the lack of space in the room that made it necessary for him to place the objects on the table rather than on the tatami.
“To match the season,” he said, “I will serve a thick tea.”
“As long as it tastes good.” Jun Jie gave him a twinkling look. “I fear I am quite ignorant in these matters.”
“Third Master Liao, you are trying to make a fool of me.” Wang Zi kept his voice light as he checked the water. “Your father did not neglect to educate you.”
“From him I learned that tea is for drinking...” Jun Jie reached across the table and picked up the tea whisk. He played with it for a moment, then lifted his gaze and continued, “And boys are for fucking.”
The words hurt, knifing through Wang Zi’s flesh and stabbing into his heart. He forced himself not to betray a single emotion. To a man like Jun Jie, one of the heirs to the Liao cotton mills, he was nothing but a plaything, a distraction of little consequence. The reminder bit deep, but perversely it made Wang Zi want Jun Jie even more.
He remained silent. Jun Jie stared at him a little longer, then returned the whisk to its place and switched his attention to the open door. “Have you ever seen such early snow?”
“No. Not in Shanghai.” Wang Zi took up the ladle and dipped it into the boiling water. He poured half of the ladleful into the tea bowl then placed the whisk inside and waited for the tines to soften.
“Why do you keep the door open in such weather?”
Wang Zi removed the whisk from the bowl and tipped away the water. “Are you cold, Third Master Liao?”
“Not I. These clothes are warm enough.” Jun Jie gestured to his outfit. He wore a three-piece Western suit made of dark grey wool, a silver and black tie adding just enough of a flourish. “I thought you liked warmth, and yet here you sit, inviting in the winter.”
Wang Zi cleaned the bowl, then opened a porcelain container. He measured out three precise scoops of powdered tea. “I like seeing the roses in the courtyard.”
Jun Jie frowned. “The frost has killed them.”
“No,” said Wang Zi, his protest soft. “They still live. The snow and frost covers them, but they still live. They’re just...”
“Cold,” Jun Jie said. He looked troubled, sat forward again. “Wang Zi, I don’t want you to suffer. I don’t want you to think... That is to say, you’re not just-”
Wang Zi interrupted. “The water is ready.” He lifted the kettle onto a trivet near the open door and took a full ladle of hot water. He poured out enough to moisten the powdered tea into a paste, then added a drop more and whisked until it reached a smooth consistency. Only when he was satisfied did he dip the ladle again and pour more hot water. Once more he whisked the tea, the tines soft-scratching the ceramic bowl, blending water and powder into perfection.
Finally it was ready. He turned the bowl and lifted it, preparing to set it on the table. Bowing, he murmured, “Forgive my mistakes. I fear I am a poor student.”
Jun Jie cupped his hands around the outside of Wang Zi’s hands. The tea bowl was thick-walled, glazed green and black, and the heat slow-burned through the ceramic. Wang Zi held still, tried not to tremble. Jun Jie smiled, his fingertips stroking gentle circles on the back of Wang Zi’s hands.
The delicate touches combined with the radiant heat against his palms splintered Wang Zi’s composure. Though this was far from the patient, exquisite beauty of a proper tea ceremony, the breaking of protocol shocked him. He lifted his head, watched as Jun Jie raised their joined hands around the bowl and brought it to his mouth.
Jun Jie took a sip of tea. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the flavour. Moisture gleamed on his lips. Wang Zi stared, his breath caught in his throat. He wanted to kiss Jun Jie; wanted to be kissed by him. He wanted to taste the tea from Jun Jie’s lips and tongue.
As if aware of his thoughts, Jun Jie looked up, looked at Wang Zi-into his eyes, first, and then he dropped his gaze to linger on Wang Zi’s mouth. “It’s good,” he said, and the simple words of praise warmed Wang Zi with pleasure.
Extricating his hands, Wang Zi bowed again, leaving Jun Jie to cradle the bowl. “Thank you for your kindness, but it will be years before I can claim to prepare tea well.” He straightened, frowned. “You should drink three more sips.”
“Later.” Jun Jie put the bowl on the table and pushed it towards the open veranda door. Steam curled up, slid sideways.
“The draught...” Wang Zi said, anxiety flicking inside him.
“I like my tea warm rather than hot.” Jun Jie smiled again. He unbuttoned his jacket and lounged back on his elbows amongst the cushions. “Stand up.”
Lust slammed into Wang Zi so hard that he barely suppressed a whimper of response. He obeyed, rising to his feet and shaking out the rich layers of his silken costume. The fabric draped and fell, its weight pulling it into shape around his body. Wang Zi fixed his gaze outside, where the snow was tainted with the grey of evening. Arousal beat a lazy rhythm, firing his blood, flooding his veins with anticipation.
“Look at me.”
Wang Zi resisted, his gaze skittering from the snow to the glowing embers of the brazier to the tea utensils and then to the tatami at his feet. He stared at the mats, his breathing erratic through parted lips.
“Look at me,” Jun Jie said again, his voice commanding, and Wang Zi jerked his head up, met his gaze. Jun Jie studied him, sliding his glance up and down like a touch. “How many layers are you wearing?”
Wang Zi wet his lips with his tongue. “Six, including the hakama.”
“Take off the first two.”
The order made him tremble. Wang Zi dropped his gaze again and turned slightly so he could unfasten the side-ties on the hakama.
“Ah,” Jun Jie scolded, “don’t look away. I want you to look at me while you disrobe.”
Wang Zi blushed. He locked gazes with Jun Jie and felt his way to the knots, tugging at the ribbons until his hakama slid down to pool at his feet in a slither of black. He stepped out of the garment, moving a little closer to Jun Jie. The stiff, heavy beaten silk of his top robe was next. It rustled as he shrugged free of it, the candlelight glimmering on the embroidered patterns. The robe crumpled to the floor and he took another step forward.
“Red becomes you,” Jun Jie said, his voice low and resonant. He crooked his finger. “Closer.”
Wang Zi went nearer. The delicate fabric of his under-robes whispered, teased, flowed like water over his thighs, ran down in loose caresses over the hard thrust of his cock. A draught from the open door stole between the overlapping folds at his neck, painting the exposed skin of his throat and chest with cold. He shivered, his nipples tightening in response, chafing at the glossed silk.
Jun Jie sat up and shifted backwards on the scattering of cushions. He tapped his foot on the tatami. “Kneel in front of me here.”
Wang Zi knelt in the small space, his hands bunched in his lap to hide his erection. The edge of the table pressed against the curve of his ass. He kept his gaze on Jun Jie, aware of the cold creeping in from the courtyard, conscious of the spiralling drift of incense and the flickering candle burning away their time together.
Jun Jie studied him for a long moment. “Put your hands behind your back.”
Wang Zi drew in a sharp breath, excitement tightening inside him. He moved his hands from his lap and clasped his fingers across the small of his back. Heat rose to his face; he swayed forward, curling in on himself, head drooping until his hair fell to cover his blushes.
“No,” Jun Jie said. “Sit up straight and let me see you. Show me your pride.”
Pride was the one thing Wang Zi thought he’d left behind when he’d come to the Double Willow. Indenturing himself to Master Zhou was an act of desperation. He’d always been proud before, so proud that he’d earned the soubriquet of Prince, but coming here had stripped it all away. Here he was obedient and hard-working and humble, except for when Jun Jie demanded otherwise.
Wang Zi tossed his head, straightened his shoulders, and sat back on his heels. He lifted his chin, blazed arrogance into his expression, and gave Jun Jie a cool look of challenge.
Jun Jie gave a breathless laugh. “There you are. My proud beauty.” He paused, his smile turning wicked, then leaned forward and pulled at the knotted sash holding together the under-robes.
Wang Zi closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, unable to stop the fierce tremble of desire as the sash slid free. Pride speared him, a troubling mix of pleasure and shame and the frantic beat of lust as Jun Jie pushed aside the drape of the silk robes to reveal his naked body.
“Look at me,” Jun Jie said again, rougher this time. He put a finger beneath Wang Zi’s chin, forced him to look up. “Do I excite you?”
Wang Zi could barely speak. “Yes.”
Jun Jie let go, reached past him to pick up the bowl of tea. Still careless of protocol, he held it in one hand and took a sip, his gaze never leaving Wang Zi. “Turn around,” he said. “Clear the table.”
Wang Zi released his hands and turned, confusion fogging his mind and anticipation stirring in his belly. The table was so wide that he had to bend forward and reach across to clear away the tea utensils. He worked quickly, stacking the objects on the tatami, aware all the time of Jun Jie watching him, aware of the stroke and flutter of loose silk over his body, of the chill of the lacquered wood beneath his bare skin.
He finished his tidying. Wang Zi rested his hands on the edge of the table and waited. Jun Jie knelt up behind him, nuzzled at Wang Zi’s neck, his breath a whisper against his nape. Wang Zi quivered and pressed back, wanting Jun Jie’s mouth on his skin. Jun Jie chuckled, then said in his ear, “Lie across the table.”
Wang Zi gathered the layers of his robes across his lap to protect his erection, shivering a little as he wrapped the silk over his cock. He knelt forward and stretched out across the shiny lacquered surface, his hands curling around the opposite edge of the table. He lifted his ass high in blatant invitation, wanting Jun Jie to take him like this.
He waited, thrumming with tension, and mewled low in his throat when Jun Jie lifted the first of the four under-robes. The silk whispered as it slid and settled into folds around his waist. Wang Zi turned his head, pressed his cheek to the cold surface of the table and looked out at the gathering darkness in the courtyard. He bit his lip as Jun Jie lifted the second layer.
Now only the two thinnest white robes covered him. Wang Zi put his head down, his breath misting the table. His fingers worked, clutching at the lacquered wood. Impatient for pleasure, he rocked his hips, sliding his cock through the crumpled layers of silk. His lips formed the word ‘Please’, but he didn’t speak it out loud.
Jun Jie lifted the third layer, the silk so delicate it was like a butterfly’s wings.
Wang Zi groaned. He clawed his nails into the edge of the table, lifted his head and took a breath of the night air. “Jun Jie,” he whispered, cursing himself for his weakness even as he spoke. “Jun Jie, I want...”
He fell silent when Jun Jie put a hand on his leg and stroked upwards over the final layer of silk. The fabric shirred, a tiny layer of friction between Jun Jie’s palm and Wang Zi’s thigh. It tickled, made him hypersensitive, and he was gasping by the time Jun Jie’s hand rounded the curve of his ass.
Wang Zi waited, trembling, aware of the heat of Jun Jie’s palm upon him. Thoughts emptied from his head, leaving him only with sensation. He tensed when Jun Jie raised his hand, then yelped when something warm and liquid poured over his ass. At first he didn’t know what it was, and then he realised-the tea!-and jerked up. “Oh, please don’t!”
The tea soaked into the silk, moulding the cloth to his skin. Wang Zi tried to struggle up, but Jun Jie put both hands on his hips and held him down. He squirmed, the tea easing wetness between his buttocks and down his thighs. The warmth of the liquid soon faded, leaving a clinging wet chill when the cold night air touched him.
Jun Jie leaned close, putting his weight through his arms to keep Wang Zi captive, and lapped at the wet silk.
Wang Zi jolted up, his breathing harsh. Jun Jie’s tongue traced a lazy pattern over his lower back, circling, soothing, and just as he began to relax, Jun Jie buried his face against Wang Zi’s ass, nuzzling through the wet silk in search of heat.
The shock gave way to urgent demand. Wang Zi pushed back, wanting more. Jun Jie chuckled, grasped his hips and forced his knees further apart. Wang Zi gave a breathy little cry and scratched at the tabletop. Jun Jie sucked at the tea-soaked silk, tugged at it with his lips. Occasionally he sank his teeth into the soft flesh of Wang Zi’s ass then licked across the stinging marks.
Wang Zi writhed, heat consuming him as Jun Jie spread him open and licked at his hole. The drag of wet silk across sensitive flesh almost undid him. He cried out, thrust back onto Jun Jie’s face, and let go of the edge of the table. He shoved his right hand beneath his hips, grabbing desperately for his cock. The bunched layers of silk frustrated his efforts, so he jerked himself through the slippery fabric. He felt wet and tangled front and back, and now his hair hung in his eyes and his breaths came short and he tried to anchor himself to the table, tried to cling to something cold and solid when he felt so hot and liquid.
The sounds Jun Jie was making as he feasted made Wang Zi burn. The silk was drenched. His skin felt too tight. He sank into his need, helpless little cries breaking from him as he twisted and struggled across the tabletop. Jun Jie kept licking at him, slid a hand between Wang Zi’s thighs to tug at his balls through the wet silk, then moved up to grasp his cock. Wang Zi surrendered his grip and clung onto the side of the table.
“Let go,” Jun Jie ordered. “Turn over.”
Wang Zi rolled onto his back. Jun Jie dragged him off the table, pulled him astride his lap. He yanked the robes down from Wang Zi’s shoulders, trapping his arms. Jun Jie rocked back, grabbed the tea bowl. He took another mouthful of tea, hasty enough that it spilled from his lips. Wang Zi made a desperate sound and kissed him, all pent-up longing and hunger. The bitter flavour of the tea overlaid Jun Jie’s taste, and Wang Zi sucked on his tongue, drew him into his mouth. Urgency tore through him. He ground down against Jun Jie’s lap, gasping into the kiss as his cock rubbed at the scratchy wool of Jun Jie’s suit. The stimulation was too much, not enough, sensations switching and building, rising and falling.
Jun Jie cast aside the tea bowl and put both hands on Wang Zi’s ass, forcing him closer, fingers digging in tight through the layers of silk. Wang Zi gave a whimper of frustration and pulled at the waistcoat, clawed at the tie, ripped at the starched linen shirt to bare Jun Jie’s chest. His haste made him clumsy, and Wang Zi swayed forward, unbalanced, as Jun Jie dropped back onto his elbows amongst the cushions. Wang Zi sprawled over him, fighting free of the layered silks to touch him. Jun Jie groaned at the caress and Wang Zi kissed him again, lavished kisses over his throat and collarbones and down his chest.
Jun Jie pulled himself upright, one arm wrapped around Wang Zi’s waist, the other braced on the tatami. He caught at Wang Zi’s hair with his teeth, tugged at it, then kissed him wet and open-mouthed and hungry. “Tell me you want me.”
Wang Zi took a desperate breath. “I want you. I want you so much. Oh, Jun Jie-” He didn’t care about the honesty shimmering through his voice. Only Jun Jie had ever made him feel like this, made him want to live rather than merely exist. Stupid for a whore to fall in love, stupid and dangerous, but right now it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Jun Jie’s touch, the heat of his mouth, the fire of lust in his eyes.
Jun Jie unbuttoned his trousers, freed his cock. His arms went around Wang Zi. “Sit on me. Ride me, Sheng Yi. Ride me hard.”
Wang Zi gasped at the sound of his personal name. Even in this moment, it seemed shockingly intimate. He lifted up, took Jun Jie’s cock in his hand and guided him in, quivering with gratitude. No time to fetch the oil he usually slicked on himself and his clients; the wetness of tea and saliva would have to suffice. Besides, Jun Jie couldn’t hurt him. Nothing could ever be wrong between them. From Jun Jie, all he knew was pleasure; blind, devastating pleasure.
He sank down, tilting back his head, lips parting on a long, soft sigh. Discomfort sputtered and burned. Wang Zi forced his way through it, breathing into the brief moment of pain as his position stretched him wide. He opened his knees even wider, arched back, grinding down until he felt the roughness of the woollen trousers against his ass.
“Come here.” Jun Jie pulled him close. “Sheng Yi. Kiss me.”
Wang Zi slid a hand through Jun Jie’s hair and kissed him, started to shift his hips back and forth. He swallowed Jun Jie’s deep groan, coaxed more from him with each inch he took and released, demanded more with every flick of his tongue.
Jun Jie leaned back on the cushions, grasped Wang Zi’s hips and drove up into him. Wang Zi laughed, breathless joy spinning through his head. He wouldn’t need his hand to reach climax. He was so close already. Just a little more, a little more... This was what he wanted, what he craved. The kind of possession that made him feel complete.
“Slut,” Jun Jie ground out, his eyes blazing.
The word pierced Wang Zi, shattered him and put him back together, and he laughed again, breathless and trembling. “A slut for you,” he said. “I ache for you, Jun Jie. Only for you.”
Jun Jie thrust harder. “Tell me how it feels.”
“You fill me. So thick. So hard.” Wang Zi moved faster, the muscles in his thighs protesting as he spread himself as wide as he could. “Ah!-it almost hurts. So good.” Pain melded into pleasure, became ecstasy. “More. Whatever you want from me, do it. Just give me more.” He twisted and arched, unravelling like silk. “Jun Jie-please-oh...”
Jun Jie grabbed at him, held tight until it hurt. “Louder. Scream. Let everyone hear how hard you’re coming for me.”
Obedient to the end, Wang Zi cried out as his orgasm hit. Jun Jie snapped a curse and spurted hot and deep inside him. They rode the backlash together, Wang Zi gentling his movements and rocking forwards to kiss Jun Jie again. They lay for a moment, gasping, heat pouring from them, then Jun Jie rolled him over.
Wang Zi permitted it, the four layers of red and white silk tangling around his body. Jun Jie withdrew, using the under-robes to clean himself off before he buttoned his trousers. He knelt back on his heels and put the rest of his clothes in order, fastening his shirt, his tie, his waistcoat, and finally standing to close his jacket and brush his hands through his disordered hair.
Wang Zi lay on the tatami and watched, his heart too full even as his happiness drained away. He made no effort to cover himself, careless of the cold stroking over him, still feeling the warm drip of seed between his thighs.
Jun Jie smoothed down his jacket, then crouched and retrieved the tea bowl. He set it on the table, ran his fingers over the lacquered surface. He turned his gaze outside, stood and went onto the veranda, then down into the courtyard, wading through the snow. He returned a moment later, a frosted rose in his hand. He stood over Wang Zi, offered him the rose, then laid it on his chest.
Wang Zi flinched from the cold. The frost melted, slow trickles of water on the heat of his skin, sliding down to soak into the crumpled silk twisted around him.
Jun Jie gazed at him. “I will find your price. I will buy you from Master Zhou.”
Tears guttering, vision blurring, Wang Zi turned his head. He stared out at the courtyard, at the tracks they’d made through the snow.
“Sheng Yi, I promise.” Jun Jie’s voice was husky and determined. “Please be patient. Wait for me.”
Wang Zi covered his eyes with the width of his layered sleeves, red on white.
Jun Jie stood a moment longer, then left.
The floorboards creaked. The door slid open; hushed closed. When Wang Zi looked up, he saw only the trailing drift of smoke from the snuffed candle. The mark showed that it was a little before the hour of the Rooster.
Fandom: JPM RPS [AU: City of Sin ‘verse]
Pairing: Xiao Jie/Wang Zi
Rating: NC17
Summary: A whore shouldn’t fall in love.
Notes: Female prostitutes addressed their Madam as ‘Foster Mother’, but it felt odd to have Wang Zi call Zhou Mi ‘Foster Father’, so I stuck with ‘Master Zhou’ as the honorific.
Snow on Roses
Winter had come early this year.
Wang Zi sat by the open door onto the veranda and allowed the cold to creep over him. It stung his face, tiny needle-sharp prickles draining him of warmth. If he kept very still, perhaps the frost would cover him, grant him a mask of ice. He almost smiled at the thought, and the twitch of his lips felt unnatural, like something trapped. He bent his head, let his hair fall to tickle across his face, and studied the stiff embroidery on his robes.
He wore heavy silks in the paling scarlet combination, his top robe the colour of fresh blood, a pattern of bamboo picked out in glittering black thread. The under-layers comprised two robes of scarlet touched with violet, one paler than the other, and two white glossed silk robes beneath them. His hakama was black, double-dyed to achieve inky perfection.
The padded, layered silks rustled whenever he moved. He dug his toes into the softened tatami and leaned forward, inhaling another dusting of cold as the breeze scattered snow from the tiled roof. His fingertips were numb, but still he remained by the open door.
Icicles dripped from the eaves. The courtyard lay muffled beneath a quilt of snow deep enough to obliterate most detail. In the raised beds, a silver rime delineated the petals of the late autumn roses, the flowers frozen in faded beauty.
The winter had taken most of Shanghai by surprise, but Master Zhou had seemed unperturbed. “This is not winter,” he had said two weeks ago after the first snowfall, when Wang Zi asked permission to keep the braziers alight throughout the day. “You don’t know what winter is.”
Though not a trace of the rolling northern accent remained in his voice, it was rumoured that Master Zhou was from Beijing. Wang Zi had heard that winters in the capital were endless, full of dust that fell from the heavens to turn the snow as red as blood and as viscous as mud. It sounded impossible. No wonder Master Zhou had come south.
“Please forgive my ignorance.” Wang Zi had bowed his head. “I will endure the cold.”
Master Zhou had made a soft, negative sound. “We can afford fuel. Take what you need.”
Wang Zi was careful not to take more than his allocated share. Later, he returned to his room and found a silver fox-fur cape placed across his bed. He wore it between assignations when the coals in the brazier burned too low to give off any real heat. Occasionally he wore it for the pleasure of a favoured client, but the cape was a practical gift and not intended as a prop for seduction.
He wore it now, edged around his shoulders, the fur warm against his back.
The coals in the brazier had burned down, offering little more than ambient heat. Grey-tinted light reflected from the blanketed ground and the heavy-bellied dark clouds. It would snow again tonight. Wang Zi could smell it on the breathless wind. He shuffled back inside the room, keeping the veranda door open, and withdrew into his tiny empire.
Shoji screens marked the limits of his existence. A wide, low table dominated this half of the room. Cushions lay in an artful composition across the tatami. Bonsai, carefully tended and meticulously trained, were placed in locations judged pleasing to the eye. Candles flickered in red paper lanterns. Incense painted the air, sweet pine and plum, the scents of winter and fortitude. His room was a composite of Japanese objects and artefacts gathered from throughout the International Settlement; his clothes, though to Heian design, were tailored at the shop on Canton Road where Cheng Min’s stage costumes were made.
“Most men like to feel safe when they make love,” Master Zhou had told Wang Zi when he’d first arrived at the Double Willow teahouse. “Our Japanese clients need to feel no less valued than the Chinese, the Russians, the Americans or the Europeans. Westerners entertain notions of a fantasy Orient, but the Japanese come here seeking an approximation of Japan.”
Wang Zi was not Japanese, but he had long eyes and a quick tongue and worked hard to improve himself. He had learned Japanese from a dancing girl at the Venus Cafe; from her he inherited an Osaka accent. Whenever Japanese guests visited the teahouse in search of the familiar, Master Zhou sent them to him.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Wang Zi shrugged off the fur and slid it behind one of the screens. His next appointment wasn’t until much later that evening, so this must be someone with a special request. Impromptu meetings were discouraged-Master Zhou believed quality was worth waiting for-but he acknowledged that sometimes, a man had needs that wouldn’t wait.
Wang Zi knelt on the tatami to one side of the table, smoothed out the billows of stiff silk, and arranged the falling layers of his sleeves to show off the subtle gradations of colour from scarlet to white. He set his palms on the floor and willed himself into obedience as he awaited his guest.
The footsteps stopped outside his room. A pause, and then a knock.
Wang Zi called out an invitation to enter. As the door slid open, he bowed, touching his forehead to the tatami. “Greetings, Master Zhou; greetings, honourable sir.” He straightened, raised his gaze. His breath caught, the long muscles of his thighs tensing at the sight of the man beside Master Zhou.
Liao Jun Jie.
Wang Zi exhaled, trying to smother the involuntary spark of desire. Since their first meeting in the spring, Jun Jie had requested his presence at numerous banquets and drinking parties. Only recently had he started making private appointments-once every three weeks, for two hours. Wang Zi anticipated their meetings, treasured their time together. Whores should not have secrets from their masters, but the pleasure he found with Jun Jie was something he refused to share with anyone.
Jun Jie smiled, his eyes gleaming. Wang Zi felt naked already, heat pulsing through him. He dropped his gaze, afraid his emotions would be read too easily.
Master Zhou came into the room, the panels sewn into his fitted black changshan flashing blue-green when he moved. He paused by the open door onto the veranda, glanced out at the snowy courtyard, then shifted his gaze to the smouldering embers in the brazier before he looked at Wang Zi.
“Third Master Liao wishes the pleasure of your company,” Master Zhou said, his voice husky and precise. “Please take care of him.”
From a lacquered cabinet he took a taper. Master Zhou touched the spill to one of the lanterns and passed the flame onto a tall yellow candle. Divided into twenty-four, every other notch was marked with a character. He stepped back and extinguished the taper, then returned it to the cabinet. He nodded at Jun Jie. “You have until the hour of the Rooster.”
Wang Zi bowed again as Master Zhou left. The door whispered shut. Conscious of the delicious coil of anticipation within him, Wang Zi held his position, knowing that Jun Jie must be admiring his nape, the skin there very pale between the stiff scarlet silk of his collar and the feathered glossy black of his hair.
Cold air drifted in from the veranda door, stroked across his skin.
“Wang Zi.” Jun Jie’s voice was dark and satisfied. “Let me see your face.”
Wang Zi sat back and looked up, meeting Jun Jie’s sleepy, knowing gaze. His heart pounding, Wang Zi could barely get out the proscribed formalities. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
“I think about you all the time.” Without being invited, Jun Jie seated himself in front of the table, pulling cushions closer until he lounged in a comfortable nest.
Flustered by the compliment, Wang Zi murmured, “Third Master Liao...”
“How many times must I tell you? My name is Jun Jie. Use it. I insist.”
Wang Zi lifted his hands. “I would not presume-”
Jun Jie leaned across the table, devilry in his eyes. “I want you to presume.”
“Then I will do as you wish,” Wang Zi said, holding his gaze.
“Yes,” Jun Jie said, soft and musing. “Yes, you will.”
Wang Zi swayed back a little, his lips parting at the reminder of their positions, Jun Jie the client and he the whore bought and paid for. It excited him, the difference between them, the power Jun Jie had over him, even if that power was fleeting and illusory. It aroused him, made him yearn, and it shouldn’t. This was business, their meetings strictly regulated, every transaction recorded in Master Zhou’s private ledgers.
Recalling himself to his task, Wang Zi lowered his gaze and adopted a demure attitude. “How may I serve you?”
From beneath his lashes, he judged Jun Jie’s hungry gaze, watched as Jun Jie pulled his attention away to look, unseeing, out of the veranda door at the white-drifted courtyard. “I heard you were studying the Japanese art of tea. Perhaps...”
“It would be my pleasure.” Wang Zi allowed a teasing edge to warm his voice. “But you must understand that I cannot recreate here what a master does in the proper setting.”
Jun Jie chuckled. “And you, my sweet, should understand that I only want you to make me a cup of tea.”
Wang Zi dipped his head, swallowing the laughter that threatened. “If that is all you want, I shall endeavour to make it to the best of my poor ability.”
Jun Jie snorted and leaned back on the cushions, his dark gaze assessing and flirtatious. “Your demonstration of the tea ceremony will perhaps inspire me to request another sort of performance. One in which I know your skills are unsurpassed.”
Wang Zi rose to his feet and stepped around the table to collect the tea utensils. He shot Jun Jie an imperious look. “How do you know my skills are unsurpassed? I will be quite cross with you, Third Master Liao, should I discover that you are dallying with other boys.”
“Jealous little cat.” Jun Jie gave a lazy smile and reached out to stroke a hand over the trailing stiffened folds of Wang Zi’s top robe.
“A cat, am I?” Wang Zi tugged the silk from his grasp. “And if I told you I purred only when stroked by your hands?”
Jun Jie sat up straight, a seriousness cutting through his playful expression. “I would consider myself the most fortunate of men.”
They looked at each other, the moment turning from unguarded innocence to something else, something hot and honest and dangerous. Wang Zi turned to cover his confusion, taking refuge in the formal arrangements of the tea ceremony. He gathered together the utensils and went back to kneel on the far side of the table.
“At this time of year, tea should be prepared over a fire pit. We will have to be content with water boiled over a brazier.” He lifted the tongs and stirred the embers, waking the blazing heat with the addition of more charcoal. Picking up the cold water jar, he excused himself with a bow and stepped out onto the veranda.
The air had grown sharper as evening drew on, and the sky had lowered until it seemed almost to brush the rooftops of taller buildings. Wang Zi shivered and clutched the jar tighter. He jumped down from the veranda, sinking into the squeaking, soft-packed snow. Conscious of Jun Jie watching him, he tried to move with grace, but his heavy silks were not meant for scampering about in snow. Halfway across the courtyard he stopped, his breath hanging in the air, and laughed at how ridiculous he looked.
Amused by his own vanity, he kicked at the snow and made his way across to the kitchen door. Inside, he filled the jar in the stone sink and returned to his room, snow clinging to the hems of his hakama and dampening the sweeping edges of his scarlet robes.
“You would brave the very elements to make me tea,” Jun Jie remarked, scooping up a sliver of melting snow from the floor and tossing it back outside.
“I wish only to please you.” Wang Zi gave him a challenging look as he poured the water into the kettle and set it on to boil. “Tea should delight the senses.”
“Then it was wrong of me to request it,” Jun Jie said, smiling, “for I doubt anything could delight me more than you.”
Wang Zi pretended the warmth climbing to his cheeks was heat reflected from the brazier. “You are very bold, Third Master Liao.”
Jun Jie bowed a little, a hand over his heart. “I am chastised, and shall be silent.”
Pleased with their bantering, Wang Zi hid a smile and settled himself into the correct aesthetic to serve tea. He had only been studying for five months, scarcely any time at all, but he focused on his task, wanting it to be as perfect as his recollection allowed. He set out the utensils, apologising for the lack of space in the room that made it necessary for him to place the objects on the table rather than on the tatami.
“To match the season,” he said, “I will serve a thick tea.”
“As long as it tastes good.” Jun Jie gave him a twinkling look. “I fear I am quite ignorant in these matters.”
“Third Master Liao, you are trying to make a fool of me.” Wang Zi kept his voice light as he checked the water. “Your father did not neglect to educate you.”
“From him I learned that tea is for drinking...” Jun Jie reached across the table and picked up the tea whisk. He played with it for a moment, then lifted his gaze and continued, “And boys are for fucking.”
The words hurt, knifing through Wang Zi’s flesh and stabbing into his heart. He forced himself not to betray a single emotion. To a man like Jun Jie, one of the heirs to the Liao cotton mills, he was nothing but a plaything, a distraction of little consequence. The reminder bit deep, but perversely it made Wang Zi want Jun Jie even more.
He remained silent. Jun Jie stared at him a little longer, then returned the whisk to its place and switched his attention to the open door. “Have you ever seen such early snow?”
“No. Not in Shanghai.” Wang Zi took up the ladle and dipped it into the boiling water. He poured half of the ladleful into the tea bowl then placed the whisk inside and waited for the tines to soften.
“Why do you keep the door open in such weather?”
Wang Zi removed the whisk from the bowl and tipped away the water. “Are you cold, Third Master Liao?”
“Not I. These clothes are warm enough.” Jun Jie gestured to his outfit. He wore a three-piece Western suit made of dark grey wool, a silver and black tie adding just enough of a flourish. “I thought you liked warmth, and yet here you sit, inviting in the winter.”
Wang Zi cleaned the bowl, then opened a porcelain container. He measured out three precise scoops of powdered tea. “I like seeing the roses in the courtyard.”
Jun Jie frowned. “The frost has killed them.”
“No,” said Wang Zi, his protest soft. “They still live. The snow and frost covers them, but they still live. They’re just...”
“Cold,” Jun Jie said. He looked troubled, sat forward again. “Wang Zi, I don’t want you to suffer. I don’t want you to think... That is to say, you’re not just-”
Wang Zi interrupted. “The water is ready.” He lifted the kettle onto a trivet near the open door and took a full ladle of hot water. He poured out enough to moisten the powdered tea into a paste, then added a drop more and whisked until it reached a smooth consistency. Only when he was satisfied did he dip the ladle again and pour more hot water. Once more he whisked the tea, the tines soft-scratching the ceramic bowl, blending water and powder into perfection.
Finally it was ready. He turned the bowl and lifted it, preparing to set it on the table. Bowing, he murmured, “Forgive my mistakes. I fear I am a poor student.”
Jun Jie cupped his hands around the outside of Wang Zi’s hands. The tea bowl was thick-walled, glazed green and black, and the heat slow-burned through the ceramic. Wang Zi held still, tried not to tremble. Jun Jie smiled, his fingertips stroking gentle circles on the back of Wang Zi’s hands.
The delicate touches combined with the radiant heat against his palms splintered Wang Zi’s composure. Though this was far from the patient, exquisite beauty of a proper tea ceremony, the breaking of protocol shocked him. He lifted his head, watched as Jun Jie raised their joined hands around the bowl and brought it to his mouth.
Jun Jie took a sip of tea. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the flavour. Moisture gleamed on his lips. Wang Zi stared, his breath caught in his throat. He wanted to kiss Jun Jie; wanted to be kissed by him. He wanted to taste the tea from Jun Jie’s lips and tongue.
As if aware of his thoughts, Jun Jie looked up, looked at Wang Zi-into his eyes, first, and then he dropped his gaze to linger on Wang Zi’s mouth. “It’s good,” he said, and the simple words of praise warmed Wang Zi with pleasure.
Extricating his hands, Wang Zi bowed again, leaving Jun Jie to cradle the bowl. “Thank you for your kindness, but it will be years before I can claim to prepare tea well.” He straightened, frowned. “You should drink three more sips.”
“Later.” Jun Jie put the bowl on the table and pushed it towards the open veranda door. Steam curled up, slid sideways.
“The draught...” Wang Zi said, anxiety flicking inside him.
“I like my tea warm rather than hot.” Jun Jie smiled again. He unbuttoned his jacket and lounged back on his elbows amongst the cushions. “Stand up.”
Lust slammed into Wang Zi so hard that he barely suppressed a whimper of response. He obeyed, rising to his feet and shaking out the rich layers of his silken costume. The fabric draped and fell, its weight pulling it into shape around his body. Wang Zi fixed his gaze outside, where the snow was tainted with the grey of evening. Arousal beat a lazy rhythm, firing his blood, flooding his veins with anticipation.
“Look at me.”
Wang Zi resisted, his gaze skittering from the snow to the glowing embers of the brazier to the tea utensils and then to the tatami at his feet. He stared at the mats, his breathing erratic through parted lips.
“Look at me,” Jun Jie said again, his voice commanding, and Wang Zi jerked his head up, met his gaze. Jun Jie studied him, sliding his glance up and down like a touch. “How many layers are you wearing?”
Wang Zi wet his lips with his tongue. “Six, including the hakama.”
“Take off the first two.”
The order made him tremble. Wang Zi dropped his gaze again and turned slightly so he could unfasten the side-ties on the hakama.
“Ah,” Jun Jie scolded, “don’t look away. I want you to look at me while you disrobe.”
Wang Zi blushed. He locked gazes with Jun Jie and felt his way to the knots, tugging at the ribbons until his hakama slid down to pool at his feet in a slither of black. He stepped out of the garment, moving a little closer to Jun Jie. The stiff, heavy beaten silk of his top robe was next. It rustled as he shrugged free of it, the candlelight glimmering on the embroidered patterns. The robe crumpled to the floor and he took another step forward.
“Red becomes you,” Jun Jie said, his voice low and resonant. He crooked his finger. “Closer.”
Wang Zi went nearer. The delicate fabric of his under-robes whispered, teased, flowed like water over his thighs, ran down in loose caresses over the hard thrust of his cock. A draught from the open door stole between the overlapping folds at his neck, painting the exposed skin of his throat and chest with cold. He shivered, his nipples tightening in response, chafing at the glossed silk.
Jun Jie sat up and shifted backwards on the scattering of cushions. He tapped his foot on the tatami. “Kneel in front of me here.”
Wang Zi knelt in the small space, his hands bunched in his lap to hide his erection. The edge of the table pressed against the curve of his ass. He kept his gaze on Jun Jie, aware of the cold creeping in from the courtyard, conscious of the spiralling drift of incense and the flickering candle burning away their time together.
Jun Jie studied him for a long moment. “Put your hands behind your back.”
Wang Zi drew in a sharp breath, excitement tightening inside him. He moved his hands from his lap and clasped his fingers across the small of his back. Heat rose to his face; he swayed forward, curling in on himself, head drooping until his hair fell to cover his blushes.
“No,” Jun Jie said. “Sit up straight and let me see you. Show me your pride.”
Pride was the one thing Wang Zi thought he’d left behind when he’d come to the Double Willow. Indenturing himself to Master Zhou was an act of desperation. He’d always been proud before, so proud that he’d earned the soubriquet of Prince, but coming here had stripped it all away. Here he was obedient and hard-working and humble, except for when Jun Jie demanded otherwise.
Wang Zi tossed his head, straightened his shoulders, and sat back on his heels. He lifted his chin, blazed arrogance into his expression, and gave Jun Jie a cool look of challenge.
Jun Jie gave a breathless laugh. “There you are. My proud beauty.” He paused, his smile turning wicked, then leaned forward and pulled at the knotted sash holding together the under-robes.
Wang Zi closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, unable to stop the fierce tremble of desire as the sash slid free. Pride speared him, a troubling mix of pleasure and shame and the frantic beat of lust as Jun Jie pushed aside the drape of the silk robes to reveal his naked body.
“Look at me,” Jun Jie said again, rougher this time. He put a finger beneath Wang Zi’s chin, forced him to look up. “Do I excite you?”
Wang Zi could barely speak. “Yes.”
Jun Jie let go, reached past him to pick up the bowl of tea. Still careless of protocol, he held it in one hand and took a sip, his gaze never leaving Wang Zi. “Turn around,” he said. “Clear the table.”
Wang Zi released his hands and turned, confusion fogging his mind and anticipation stirring in his belly. The table was so wide that he had to bend forward and reach across to clear away the tea utensils. He worked quickly, stacking the objects on the tatami, aware all the time of Jun Jie watching him, aware of the stroke and flutter of loose silk over his body, of the chill of the lacquered wood beneath his bare skin.
He finished his tidying. Wang Zi rested his hands on the edge of the table and waited. Jun Jie knelt up behind him, nuzzled at Wang Zi’s neck, his breath a whisper against his nape. Wang Zi quivered and pressed back, wanting Jun Jie’s mouth on his skin. Jun Jie chuckled, then said in his ear, “Lie across the table.”
Wang Zi gathered the layers of his robes across his lap to protect his erection, shivering a little as he wrapped the silk over his cock. He knelt forward and stretched out across the shiny lacquered surface, his hands curling around the opposite edge of the table. He lifted his ass high in blatant invitation, wanting Jun Jie to take him like this.
He waited, thrumming with tension, and mewled low in his throat when Jun Jie lifted the first of the four under-robes. The silk whispered as it slid and settled into folds around his waist. Wang Zi turned his head, pressed his cheek to the cold surface of the table and looked out at the gathering darkness in the courtyard. He bit his lip as Jun Jie lifted the second layer.
Now only the two thinnest white robes covered him. Wang Zi put his head down, his breath misting the table. His fingers worked, clutching at the lacquered wood. Impatient for pleasure, he rocked his hips, sliding his cock through the crumpled layers of silk. His lips formed the word ‘Please’, but he didn’t speak it out loud.
Jun Jie lifted the third layer, the silk so delicate it was like a butterfly’s wings.
Wang Zi groaned. He clawed his nails into the edge of the table, lifted his head and took a breath of the night air. “Jun Jie,” he whispered, cursing himself for his weakness even as he spoke. “Jun Jie, I want...”
He fell silent when Jun Jie put a hand on his leg and stroked upwards over the final layer of silk. The fabric shirred, a tiny layer of friction between Jun Jie’s palm and Wang Zi’s thigh. It tickled, made him hypersensitive, and he was gasping by the time Jun Jie’s hand rounded the curve of his ass.
Wang Zi waited, trembling, aware of the heat of Jun Jie’s palm upon him. Thoughts emptied from his head, leaving him only with sensation. He tensed when Jun Jie raised his hand, then yelped when something warm and liquid poured over his ass. At first he didn’t know what it was, and then he realised-the tea!-and jerked up. “Oh, please don’t!”
The tea soaked into the silk, moulding the cloth to his skin. Wang Zi tried to struggle up, but Jun Jie put both hands on his hips and held him down. He squirmed, the tea easing wetness between his buttocks and down his thighs. The warmth of the liquid soon faded, leaving a clinging wet chill when the cold night air touched him.
Jun Jie leaned close, putting his weight through his arms to keep Wang Zi captive, and lapped at the wet silk.
Wang Zi jolted up, his breathing harsh. Jun Jie’s tongue traced a lazy pattern over his lower back, circling, soothing, and just as he began to relax, Jun Jie buried his face against Wang Zi’s ass, nuzzling through the wet silk in search of heat.
The shock gave way to urgent demand. Wang Zi pushed back, wanting more. Jun Jie chuckled, grasped his hips and forced his knees further apart. Wang Zi gave a breathy little cry and scratched at the tabletop. Jun Jie sucked at the tea-soaked silk, tugged at it with his lips. Occasionally he sank his teeth into the soft flesh of Wang Zi’s ass then licked across the stinging marks.
Wang Zi writhed, heat consuming him as Jun Jie spread him open and licked at his hole. The drag of wet silk across sensitive flesh almost undid him. He cried out, thrust back onto Jun Jie’s face, and let go of the edge of the table. He shoved his right hand beneath his hips, grabbing desperately for his cock. The bunched layers of silk frustrated his efforts, so he jerked himself through the slippery fabric. He felt wet and tangled front and back, and now his hair hung in his eyes and his breaths came short and he tried to anchor himself to the table, tried to cling to something cold and solid when he felt so hot and liquid.
The sounds Jun Jie was making as he feasted made Wang Zi burn. The silk was drenched. His skin felt too tight. He sank into his need, helpless little cries breaking from him as he twisted and struggled across the tabletop. Jun Jie kept licking at him, slid a hand between Wang Zi’s thighs to tug at his balls through the wet silk, then moved up to grasp his cock. Wang Zi surrendered his grip and clung onto the side of the table.
“Let go,” Jun Jie ordered. “Turn over.”
Wang Zi rolled onto his back. Jun Jie dragged him off the table, pulled him astride his lap. He yanked the robes down from Wang Zi’s shoulders, trapping his arms. Jun Jie rocked back, grabbed the tea bowl. He took another mouthful of tea, hasty enough that it spilled from his lips. Wang Zi made a desperate sound and kissed him, all pent-up longing and hunger. The bitter flavour of the tea overlaid Jun Jie’s taste, and Wang Zi sucked on his tongue, drew him into his mouth. Urgency tore through him. He ground down against Jun Jie’s lap, gasping into the kiss as his cock rubbed at the scratchy wool of Jun Jie’s suit. The stimulation was too much, not enough, sensations switching and building, rising and falling.
Jun Jie cast aside the tea bowl and put both hands on Wang Zi’s ass, forcing him closer, fingers digging in tight through the layers of silk. Wang Zi gave a whimper of frustration and pulled at the waistcoat, clawed at the tie, ripped at the starched linen shirt to bare Jun Jie’s chest. His haste made him clumsy, and Wang Zi swayed forward, unbalanced, as Jun Jie dropped back onto his elbows amongst the cushions. Wang Zi sprawled over him, fighting free of the layered silks to touch him. Jun Jie groaned at the caress and Wang Zi kissed him again, lavished kisses over his throat and collarbones and down his chest.
Jun Jie pulled himself upright, one arm wrapped around Wang Zi’s waist, the other braced on the tatami. He caught at Wang Zi’s hair with his teeth, tugged at it, then kissed him wet and open-mouthed and hungry. “Tell me you want me.”
Wang Zi took a desperate breath. “I want you. I want you so much. Oh, Jun Jie-” He didn’t care about the honesty shimmering through his voice. Only Jun Jie had ever made him feel like this, made him want to live rather than merely exist. Stupid for a whore to fall in love, stupid and dangerous, but right now it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Jun Jie’s touch, the heat of his mouth, the fire of lust in his eyes.
Jun Jie unbuttoned his trousers, freed his cock. His arms went around Wang Zi. “Sit on me. Ride me, Sheng Yi. Ride me hard.”
Wang Zi gasped at the sound of his personal name. Even in this moment, it seemed shockingly intimate. He lifted up, took Jun Jie’s cock in his hand and guided him in, quivering with gratitude. No time to fetch the oil he usually slicked on himself and his clients; the wetness of tea and saliva would have to suffice. Besides, Jun Jie couldn’t hurt him. Nothing could ever be wrong between them. From Jun Jie, all he knew was pleasure; blind, devastating pleasure.
He sank down, tilting back his head, lips parting on a long, soft sigh. Discomfort sputtered and burned. Wang Zi forced his way through it, breathing into the brief moment of pain as his position stretched him wide. He opened his knees even wider, arched back, grinding down until he felt the roughness of the woollen trousers against his ass.
“Come here.” Jun Jie pulled him close. “Sheng Yi. Kiss me.”
Wang Zi slid a hand through Jun Jie’s hair and kissed him, started to shift his hips back and forth. He swallowed Jun Jie’s deep groan, coaxed more from him with each inch he took and released, demanded more with every flick of his tongue.
Jun Jie leaned back on the cushions, grasped Wang Zi’s hips and drove up into him. Wang Zi laughed, breathless joy spinning through his head. He wouldn’t need his hand to reach climax. He was so close already. Just a little more, a little more... This was what he wanted, what he craved. The kind of possession that made him feel complete.
“Slut,” Jun Jie ground out, his eyes blazing.
The word pierced Wang Zi, shattered him and put him back together, and he laughed again, breathless and trembling. “A slut for you,” he said. “I ache for you, Jun Jie. Only for you.”
Jun Jie thrust harder. “Tell me how it feels.”
“You fill me. So thick. So hard.” Wang Zi moved faster, the muscles in his thighs protesting as he spread himself as wide as he could. “Ah!-it almost hurts. So good.” Pain melded into pleasure, became ecstasy. “More. Whatever you want from me, do it. Just give me more.” He twisted and arched, unravelling like silk. “Jun Jie-please-oh...”
Jun Jie grabbed at him, held tight until it hurt. “Louder. Scream. Let everyone hear how hard you’re coming for me.”
Obedient to the end, Wang Zi cried out as his orgasm hit. Jun Jie snapped a curse and spurted hot and deep inside him. They rode the backlash together, Wang Zi gentling his movements and rocking forwards to kiss Jun Jie again. They lay for a moment, gasping, heat pouring from them, then Jun Jie rolled him over.
Wang Zi permitted it, the four layers of red and white silk tangling around his body. Jun Jie withdrew, using the under-robes to clean himself off before he buttoned his trousers. He knelt back on his heels and put the rest of his clothes in order, fastening his shirt, his tie, his waistcoat, and finally standing to close his jacket and brush his hands through his disordered hair.
Wang Zi lay on the tatami and watched, his heart too full even as his happiness drained away. He made no effort to cover himself, careless of the cold stroking over him, still feeling the warm drip of seed between his thighs.
Jun Jie smoothed down his jacket, then crouched and retrieved the tea bowl. He set it on the table, ran his fingers over the lacquered surface. He turned his gaze outside, stood and went onto the veranda, then down into the courtyard, wading through the snow. He returned a moment later, a frosted rose in his hand. He stood over Wang Zi, offered him the rose, then laid it on his chest.
Wang Zi flinched from the cold. The frost melted, slow trickles of water on the heat of his skin, sliding down to soak into the crumpled silk twisted around him.
Jun Jie gazed at him. “I will find your price. I will buy you from Master Zhou.”
Tears guttering, vision blurring, Wang Zi turned his head. He stared out at the courtyard, at the tracks they’d made through the snow.
“Sheng Yi, I promise.” Jun Jie’s voice was husky and determined. “Please be patient. Wait for me.”
Wang Zi covered his eyes with the width of his layered sleeves, red on white.
Jun Jie stood a moment longer, then left.
The floorboards creaked. The door slid open; hushed closed. When Wang Zi looked up, he saw only the trailing drift of smoke from the snuffed candle. The mark showed that it was a little before the hour of the Rooster.