I Sealed the Demon Lord for a Hundred Years, Now He Wants His Jailer novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Held Up

Chenjue takes him standing against the black jade wall, carried the whole time, and in the morning the chain is off and the door unlocked.

"I don't know," Wuhen said.

Chenjue's palm pressed flat over the place under his ribs, and the pale light had already faded.

Skin lay under the hand, warm and ordinary, with only a pulse in it.

"It felt like a lock."

"Then someone locked something in me, and I'd like to know who as well." Wuhen shifted against him. "Ask me later."

"I'm asking now."

"And I'm lying on your bed with your mouth still on my breath. Ask me later."

Chenjue was quiet.

Then a short, rough breath of a laugh ran down Wuhen's neck.

"That's the voice I remember," he said. "Fine. Later."

His hand moved off the ribs and down.

Wuhen was already hard again.

It was humiliating how fast the qi had woken the rest of him, after a hundred years of cold.

Chenjue's fingers closed around him, and he swore.

"I wasn't done with you," Chenjue said. "One isn't enough. You'll want me to say it twice."

"I'll want you to stop talking."

"You always did."

He sat up, pulled the black robe off his own shoulders, and threw it on the floor.

Wuhen looked.

He couldn't help it.

The body was exactly as he remembered, broad and hard and scarred in a dozen places.

Lacquer-black scale ran down the backs of the forearms.

His cock stood heavy and flushed against his stomach, thick as Wuhen's wrist.

Wuhen's mouth went dry.

"Take your eyes off it or I'll make you use your mouth," Chenjue said.

"I wasn't looking."

"You were drooling," Chenjue said.

"I was starving. It's a different thing."

Chenjue grinned.

He reached to the table by the bed, uncapped a small jar, and the smell of sesame and ash-blossom filled the air.

"On your back. Knees up."

Wuhen obeyed.

He told himself it was only because he couldn't do anything else.

Chenjue knelt between his thighs and slicked two fingers, and pushed one in.

It burned, a clean, tight, long-forgotten burn.

Wuhen's head went back into the pillow.

"Breathe."

"I am."

"You're not." A second finger. "There. Look at me."

Wuhen looked.

The red eyes were intent and dark, and the lamplight cut the planes of that face to bone.

For one moment there was nothing in them but the man.

Wuhen's chest hurt, and he looked away first.

"Don't be gentle," he said.

"You can barely stand."

"I can lie down. That's the only part you need."

Chenjue's jaw tightened.

He crooked his fingers and found the place inside, and Wuhen shouted into his own arm.

"Again," Chenjue said, flat and hungry.

"Fuck, there..."

"You're clenching," Chenjue replied.

"You're slow."

"I'm making sure you take all of me," Chenjue answered.

He pulled his fingers out, and Wuhen felt the loss of them.

"Hold on to my neck."

Wuhen wound both arms around that thick neck.

Chenjue slid one arm under his back, the other under his thighs, and stood up with him in his arms.

The chain on Wuhen's ankle rang as it pulled taut from the bedpost, and gave exactly enough.

"What are you doing?"

"Carrying you," Chenjue said.

"I can see that, but why?"

"Because you can't walk, and I want you against the wall," Chenjue said.

He crossed the room with Wuhen held against his chest.

The black jade of the wall was cold on Wuhen's back, and the shock of it made him gasp.

Chenjue spread his legs around his own hips and held them there with both hands under his thighs.

The thick head of his cock pressed against Wuhen's hole.

"Look at me," Chenjue said.

"I'm looking."

"Tell me what you want," Chenjue replied.

"I want you to stop asking and put it in."

Chenjue pushed.

Slowly, the whole broad head forced its way past the muscle, and Wuhen's mouth opened on a silent cry.

It was too much.

It was so much more than he remembered, thick and hot and filling him until he couldn't tell where it stopped.

"Look at you," Chenjue breathed. "Taking it. Look at you."

"Shut up. Move."

"Not yet," Chenjue answered.

"Move, Demon Lord."

The hands under his thighs tightened until it hurt.

Chenjue went still with his cock buried halfway and his forehead dropped to Wuhen's shoulder.

"Say that again."

"No," Wuhen said.

"I'll wait."

"You'll wait a long time," Wuhen said.

"I've waited a hundred years."

He pushed in the last of it, all the way, and Wuhen's heel struck the wall behind him.

"I can manage a night."

He began to move.

Long slow strokes at first, dragging out and slamming in, so deep that each one punched a sound out of Wuhen's chest.

His back slid on the cold jade.

The chain jangled on the floor.

Chenjue was holding him up entirely, with no help from the wall and none from Wuhen's legs, and he never so much as slowed.

"Harder," Wuhen heard himself say.

"What?"

"Harder, you slow bastard."

Chenjue made a sound that was nearly a growl.

He gave it to him.

The strokes turned brutal.

Wuhen's body bounced against the wall with every thrust, and each one drove the air out of him in a shout.

His cock rubbed trapped and leaking between their stomachs.

He grabbed Chenjue's horns by their bases and held on.

Chenjue shuddered all over.

"Don't," he said hoarsely. "Don't do that, I'm not..."

"Why? It's working."

"You know it is," Chenjue replied.

"Then go on."

He pulled Chenjue's head down and bit his shoulder.

The man groaned and hitched Wuhen higher, and the angle changed, and the next stroke hit the place that made his vision white.

"There. Right there."

"Here?" Chenjue asked.

"Yes. Yes, there, don't stop."

Chenjue didn't stop.

He drove into that spot again and again, and pleasure rolled up Wuhen's spine in great heavy waves.

He couldn't speak anymore.

He could only hold on, mouth open against the demon lord's neck, gasping out nonsense.

"You feel like fire," Chenjue said into his hair, and his voice was torn.

"That's your doing."

"Come for me," Chenjue said.

"I won't be ordered..."

Chenjue wrapped a hand around his cock.

Three strokes, and Wuhen came all over his fist and their stomachs with a cry that echoed off the dragon-carved ceiling.

He clenched around the cock inside him.

Chenjue swore in a language Wuhen hadn't heard in a century, and slammed in deep and came.

Heat poured into him.

It was qi and seed together, flooding his belly, and his core drank it down and lit.

For a moment Wuhen could feel every bone in his body, whole and warm.

Chenjue held him against the wall until they both stopped shaking.

He was still hard inside him.

Wuhen felt it, and so did Chenjue, who laughed once, low and wrecked.

"Not done," he said.

"I can't stand."

"You won't need to."

He carried him back to the bed with the cock still buried in him, every step a slow grinding jolt.

He laid him face down on the black silk and covered him with his whole weight.

The chain ran taut from the bedpost to Wuhen's ankle, and for the first time he thought of it as a leash.

His cheek was pressed into the pillow, and big hands gripped his hips and hauled his ass up.

"Stay there."

"Fuck you," Wuhen said.

"Tonight, I think I'm the one doing that."

Chenjue fucked him slow this time, with his chest against Wuhen's back and his mouth at the nape of his neck.

Each long drag out left Wuhen empty and shaking.

Each slow push in made him sob into the silk.

A hand slid under his hips and held his cock loosely, not stroking, only holding.

"Please," Wuhen said before he knew he would. "Move your hand."

"Say it again."

"Move your fucking hand."

Chenjue stroked him once, slow and tight, and Wuhen came for the third time in a night with a long broken groan.

Chenjue followed him a moment later, biting down on his shoulder, spilling hot and deep.

Then he rolled them on their sides and pulled Wuhen back against his chest.

"Three," he said. His voice was a ruin. "Sleep, Jailer."

"I'll sleep when I like."

"You'll sleep now," Chenjue replied.

"Is that a term?"

"It's a threat," Chenjue answered.

Wuhen lay with his eyes open in the dark, the arm around him heavy and hot.

His heart was beating so hard it frightened him.

He told himself it was only the qi.

He told himself a number of things, and he was asleep before he finished.

When he woke, the room was gray with a false dawn.

The bed behind him was empty and cool.

He lay still for a moment, listening.

There was no sound but the lantern wicks.

Then he sat up, and looked down.

The jade-iron chain on his ankle lay open on the pillow, unlocked, with the key beside it.

And across the room, the great black door stood wide.

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