Encountering a Snake C13

Chapter 13: Lost Voice

Shen Qingxuan had not thought that doing this thing would feel like this—a taste past putting into words. Each time that thing pressed the hot, clinging flesh and thrust in, ruthless, it brought wave after wave of softening pleasure that made a person want more. His waist had gone completely slack. Under Yi Mo he swayed with the rhythm whether he wished it or not, making broken sounds. The passage answered the excessive friction by seeping fluid to ease it. In that primitive motion wet sounds rose, and the longer it went the louder and thicker they grew, adding to the wanton air. His gaze unfocused, he looked up and arched by instinct, lifting his hips high to make the driving easier. The place that was usually ignored was now struck into waves of sore numbness that spread through every limb. The whole body was glad.

“This comfortable?” Yi Mo looked down at his scattered expression and, teasing, gave a light pinch to the peak on Shen Qingxuan’s chest. “Listen to yourself. Soaking wet.”

Shen Qingxuan made a sound and held his shoulders tighter. When he came back to himself he ignored him, his own face burning. It was true—how had it grown so wet? That place was not meant for this, and yet it had gone this wet. It was almost unbelievable.

He had no time to react. Yi Mo stopped, still inside him, and would not move, pleased only when he had forced an answer.

Shen Qingxuan was at the height of it. That stop nearly drove him mad. His waist began at once, by instinct, to sway, rubbing as if coaxing. He hummed, unwilling to give the other what he wanted, and yet could not hold the flood. The secret place that had tasted sweetness would not stop either. What had only received now tightened of itself, like a small mouth, wet and soft, wrapping Yi Mo’s root and sucking without rest.

The sight drew a faint crease between Yi Mo’s brows. Still he did not move. Compared with desire, which to him could be had or not, teasing Shen Qingxuan was more interesting.

Shen Qingxuan knew that and hated him at once. Almost violently he lifted his head and bit Yi Mo’s neck—hard, nearly drawing blood. “Will you move or not?” he asked. Desire had drowned his mind. He had no idea what shocking thing he was doing. Yi Mo raised a brow, looked at the eldest Young Master Shen who was now in the act of “forcing the matter,” and asked, rather pleased, “How shall I move?”

“You…” Shen Qingxuan opened his mouth and could not speak. Desire and the feeling of “being repaid” rose together. It was as if a great stone sat on his chest. He reddened at the eyes with a rage that had no clear source and said bitterly, “That’s enough from you!”

Seeing him like this, Yi Mo knew the sense of stopping while ahead. He caught the small peak on that thin chest, kneaded it between his fingertips, and sighed. “This time I truly am waiting on you.”

Hearing that, Shen Qingxuan turned his face away toward the green gauze curtains and thought of something that did not show.

Yi Mo began to move again. This time he did not tease. He drove his waist, forced a seam in that soft, wet place, and drove through it hard—each time deeper, each time heavier. The water sounds rose again in the small space under the bed curtains.

Shen Qingxuan was still angry from the teasing and would not answer him. Yi Mo bent while he moved, one hand fixing the unfeeling legs, the other passing under his neck, and gathered him into his arms. Still he asked, “Do I make you comfortable?”

To be doing this and still be angry—Shen Qingxuan found it funny himself. He had meant to soften, make peace, finish the thing properly and speak of the rest later. He had not expected that Yi Mo, whose motions were clearly coaxing, would still ask a sentence like that. He did not know whether his face should be red or black.

Truly neither red nor black would do. Meeting this old demon snake, he could use no method at all. After a turn of thought he closed his eyes and answered, earnest and through his teeth, “Extremely comfortable!”

“If it is comfortable, why is there no reaction here?” Yi Mo’s hand slid between their bodies and took Shen Qingxuan’s thing in his grip, giving it a turn. “Are you lying to me?”

“…You made me angry, that’s all.” Saying it, Shen Qingxuan laughed himself. He looped his arms around Yi Mo’s neck again and whispered at his ear, “Play with it and it will react.”

“Play with this?” Yi Mo put force into the thing in his hand—soft still, yet endlessly spilling clear fluid—then lifted his waist, paused, and slammed in. “Or here?”

Shen Qingxuan made a sound, the nasal note long and sweet, holding a wantonness that startled even himself. He bit his lower lip quickly to force the voice back, then lifted his waist, trembling, his voice as small as a mosquito. “Both.” He paused again, rubbed his cheek against Yi Mo’s, and said in a hoarse, stumbling whisper, “Kiss me.”

By then his clothes were all gone. His legs were open, his hips lifted. Between his thighs the water sounds ran on. The pale line of his waist had bent into an arc past believing, striving to receive. The thrusting had loosed his long hair; spring sat in his brows and eyes. The posture was already past bearing, and still he stammered that request. The lingering tenderness he could not hide in the words was several parts more wanton than a courtesan who posed all day in the pleasure houses—yet there was no artifice in it. Even the wantonness was sincere and frank.

Yi Mo did not hesitate. He bent and kissed him. The moment their mouths met, Shen Qingxuan came up in a rush, as if already climbing the peak. His tongue lost all order, fierce and disordered. Fine gasps and low moans escaped between. He tangled mouths like a madman. The fluid he could not swallow ran from the corner of his lips in a thin, clear track. In Yi Mo’s arms his waist moved like a fish about to drown, endlessly asking and taking.

Held above and below by two hot, wet mouths, even Yi Mo, however calm, felt the illusion of stepping into a marsh—as if he walked on cotton, drawn down whether he wished it or not, unable to pull free.

At last he could not hold. He took his mouth away. A few parts of feeling showed on his face. He said with hate in his voice, “Wanton like this—you like being taken by me that much?” The words were barely out when the uncontrolled anger in them startled even Yi Mo himself. He had cultivated in quiet for a thousand years and walked the red dust for several hundred more. When had such an uncontrollable feeling ever risen? A thread of violence flashed in his eyes. He looked down at that face, not unfamiliar, yet not cut deep in his mind. Fortunately Shen Qingxuan was lost in the chaos of the moment and noticed nothing. He even hummed, as if answering the question just asked.

As if to say: yes. I like it.

The unknowing, indifferent look returned to Yi Mo’s face. He drove his waist and thrust some dozens of times, extremely fast. His hand worked with him, holding in his palm the thing that had swollen red and still could not spend, and moved it with skill. Shen Qingxuan gave a long cry, almost a sob. A tide of red washed over his whole body. He trembled like a leaf in the wind. His back bent; by the strength of his waist alone his body drew into a bow, and he spent in Yi Mo’s hand. At the same time he opened his eyes.

Their gazes struck—like a river of ice ten thousand years old colliding with mud from a volcano in full eruption. A violent roar rose. Then the ice mountain was as before. The mud flow was gone. Everything returned to what it had been.

Yi Mo drew out and withdrew.

The candle at the head of the bed printed those deep black, icy eyes, without desire, without feeling. He said farewell, and vanished from Shen Qingxuan’s room like light smoke.

Shen Qingxuan lay alone for a long time. Then he pulled the disordered quilt over himself and thought that next time it would be better to do this thing in the dark. Not so bright. Not so clear a view of those eyes that stayed cold to the end.

Thinking this, he began to laugh—heh, heh, heh—one burst after another. His mouth was open. There was no sound.

It was as if the whole world had lost its voice.