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Detect the Fiction on Your Lips

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Nie Huaisang’s pornography collection is extensive, varied, and truly impressive; and not only because he’d somehow managed to sneak it all into the Cloud Recesses with him on the reasoning that it would be better if my brother didn’t find it... Due to the necessity of secrecy, he guards its contents carefully, leaving Jiang Cheng wondering exactly why he is still being granted the privilege of borrowing from it, given that his idiot brother had apparently destroyed one of Nie Huaisang’s favorite titles in an incident involving Lan Wangji (of course; Jiang Cheng was getting sick of hearing that name falling incessantly from Wei Wuxian’s chattering mouth).

If it were his collection being destroyed by another Sect’s disciples, Jiang Cheng wouldn’t trust a single one of them. But Nie Huaisang had been surprisingly magnanimous about the situation, after a brief period of dismay and downcast eyes and what Jiang Cheng had been sure was a slight quiver of his lower lip. Jiang Cheng had looked away at that point, to avoid the pathetic sight of Wei Wuxian begging forgiveness for his crimes against their illicit entertainments.

The resolution was apparently this—a night of snacks, Nie Huaisang’s collection, and all the jars of wine Wei Wuxian could manage to sneak into the Cloud Recesses under Lan Wangji’s nose (which, as it turned out, was rather more than Jiang Cheng expected him to manage).

Lurking behind covered windows after curfew, all three of them are well on their way to passably drunk when Nie Huaisang lays his current volume down on the table, scattering peanut shells, and sighs.

“I wonder what it would be like,” he muses, and Jiang Cheng obligingly makes an inquisitive sound and looks over. The book is open to a woodcut image of a man with a woman bent over his lap, her mouth around him, both of them looking as if they’re enjoying themselves immensely.

Wei Wuxian, who has been flipping through one of Nie Huaisang’s more exotic volumes (Jiang Cheng doesn’t know why Nie Huaisang has so many collections of cutsleeve drawings, and even images of women with other women, which is mystifying—what’s the point of that? They couldn’t possibly enjoy it...), leans over the table and laughs, gesturing with his own open book.

“Out of all these options?” He grins, and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. It’s not as if Wei Wuxian has any more experience than the rest of them; Jiang Cheng would definitely know if he did, because Wei Wuxian is incapable of shutting up for more than a few minutes at a time.

“It’s not as if it’s something you can just ask for,” Jiang Cheng chides him. Many of the pictures are lurid, of course, but the actual acts aren’t so far from what would be expected between husband and wife (at least, as far as Jiang Cheng understands these things). But that...Jiang Cheng can’t imagine ever asking the sort of dignified, noble lady he’s destined to be married to, to do...that.

“But it does look like it would be...” he trails off, thinking about it. A wet, hot mouth, and soft lips wrapped around him...His cock gives a twitch, which he does his best to ignore. They’ve all been ignoring how each of them is at least half hard, and the way a hand will sometimes reach down to press over robes with the flick of a page. “It probably feels really good,” he finishes awkwardly, having trouble tearing his eyes away now that he’s starting to imagine it’s his cock in someone’s mouth. “If you could ever convince someone to do it.”

“There are brothels all over the place,” Wei Wuxian waves the hand holding his own book lazily in the air, and Jiang Cheng really does roll his eyes at that statement. As if Wei Wuxian has ever been to a brothel. As if Jiang Cheng could ever visit one, knowing that his mother would skin him alive and leave him to be devoured by fierce corpses if she found out (and she would find out; he has no doubt of that).

Wei-xiong!” Nie Huaisang has turned bright red and picks his fan off the table to hide behind it. And Jiang Cheng knows he must be drunk, he has to be, because he could swear he hears Nie Huaisang mumble, “I could never walk into somewhere like that and ask for a boy...”

But perhaps he isn’t that drunk after all, because Wei Wuxian’s face lights up in a way that means he definitely heard the same words.

“Ahhhhhhh,” he says, tapping his chin with a finger before using the same finger to flip through the book in his hand, holding it up before them so Nie Huaisang can see the illustration and Jiang Cheng is forced to.

“So you wonder what this would be like!”

It’s similar enough to the first illustration, both in style and in content, except that both of the figures are clearly male, and both of their mouths are...occupied.

“Don’t tease!” Nie Huaisang’s fan can only cover so much of his face, and since he’s primarily using it to shield himself from Wei Wuxian at the moment, Jiang Cheng can see how red his face has gotten. “I shouldn’t have said anything...”

“What? I’m not wrong, am I?” Wei Wuxian puts the book down, on top of the one Nie Huaisang had set down earlier, covering the old illustration with the new.

It’s not even that good of an illustration.

Neither of the men in the picture are even half as pretty as Nie Huaisang, and Jiang Cheng says so with all the confidence that several jars of wine can produce.

Nie Huaisang drops his fan, and for some reason Wei Wuxian is laughing again.

“J- Jiang-xiong?” Nie Huaisang asks, startled, his fingers grasping in his lap for his fallen fan.

Jiang Cheng’s brain finally catches up with his mouth.

Shit.

He’s pleasantly warm from the alcohol, but the new heat that rushes to his cheeks is less pleasant. At a loss for anything else to do, he reaches out and plucks Nie Huaisang’s fan off his lap, where he would have easily found it if he’d bothered to look down, and presses it into his searching hands. There’s a brief moment where he feels something else, familiar and strange at the same time, beneath Nie Huaisang’s robes, but the way the other boy squeaks probably has more to do with the suddenness of Jiang Cheng’s movements than anything else.

“Well, that solves your problem!” Wei Wuxian announces, as if this exclamation means anything.

What problem?” Jiang Cheng asks flatly, refusing to allow Wei Wuxian the pleasure of seeing him continually flustered. Wei Wuxian does not seem to notice, which is just typical.

Instead, he takes a drink of wine that must be about half a jar’s worth, setting the jar down on the table with an alarming thunk and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You,” Wei Wuxian says, waving a hand at Jiang Cheng, “want to get your dick sucked, and you,” gesturing to Nie Huaisang, “want to suck a dick. Seems obvious enough to me.” He gives Jiang Cheng a bright grin, that Jiang Cheng would absolutely want to smack off his face if he could process anything other than the outlandish, ridiculous, extremely inappropriate suggestion his fool of a brother has just made.

“Wei-xiong, you can’t say such things!” Nie Huaisang manages to speak first, though he’s still mostly hidden behind his fan, which he’s now angled to try to hide from both of them at the same time. Jiang Cheng is about to chime in his agreement when Nie Huaisang continues, “Jiang-xiong would never do that!”

The words that had been forming stick in Jiang Cheng’s throat. What’s that supposed to mean?

“And you would?” he scoffs instead, turning his attention fully to Nie Huaisang, who freezes and blinks at him like a startled rabbit.

“I—” Nie Huaisang starts, then clears his throat when his voice comes out high and squeaky. “That is, ah. What I would do doesn’t matter, as Jiang Wanyin would not—”

“Who says I wouldn’t?” Jiang Cheng bites out, riding the rising swell of indignation in his chest and realizing only after the words have been spoken exactly what he has said. He feels the heat of a flush spread over his cheeks again, but doesn’t take it back.

Nie Huaisang gapes at him, his fan falling aside to reveal his mouth, a perfect little moue of surprise, and Jiang Cheng can’t help but think about it, now that the idea is floating in the air around them. What would Nie Huaisang’s lips feel like, wrapped around him...? Nie Huaisang’s tongue darts out over his lower lip, leaving it glistening in the soft light, and Jiang Cheng swallows hard.

“You—you would?” Nie Huaisang ventures, and Jiang Cheng is too aware of Wei Wuxian’s unusually silent presence on the other side of the table to back down now, but his face was never thick enough to brazen through something like this.

“I mean,” he says, fixing his gaze somewhere around Nie Huaisang’s ear for the sake of whatever sanity he has left, “If Nie-xiong wants to, I wouldn’t...mind. If Nie-xiong wants—”

“I do...want to try it,” Nie Huaisang admits in a small voice. His eyes aren’t on Jiang Cheng’s face anymore; they’ve slipped down to his lap, where the robes he had strategically arranged to hide the burgeoning erection Nie Huaisang’s collection had given him are no longer doing much to hide the fact that his cock is certainly interested in the idea of Nie Huaisang himself, as well as his supply of erotica.

Nie Huaisang places his fan neatly on the table, and somehow manages to close the space between them, which is good because Jiang Cheng knows he couldn’t have been the one to do it.

He does spread his thighs, just a bit, as Nie Huaisang reaches out a tentative hand to brush his fingers over the bulge of Jiang Cheng’s cock. The touch is almost absorbed by the layers of silk between them. Nie Huaisang has pulled his lower lip between his teeth, biting at it nervously as he looks up through his lashes at Jiang Cheng as if expecting to be kicked away at any moment. Jiang Cheng’s cock twitches, and Nie Huaisang’s eyes widen, then darken in a way that makes Jiang Cheng’s mouth go dry.

“Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang’s fingertips drift upward, to his belt. “May I?”

Jiang Cheng nods, and ends up leaning back to allow Nie Huaisang more room to work. It doesn’t take long for him remove the belt, and then his hands are slipping inside Jiang Cheng’s robes, plucking ties open and pulling the layers apart until he’s exposed down to his waist, where the remaining layer of cloth is woefully inadequate to hide the way his cock is straining against it.

Nie Huaisang gives him another hesitating look as his he hooks his fingers into the waistband of Jiang Cheng’s pants, then he just waits there, his fingertips so, so close to brushing Jiang Cheng’s cock, until Jiang Cheng can’t take it anymore. He tangles his hands with Nie Huaisang’s pushing his pants lower and encouraging Nie Huaisang’s tugging until his cock springs free, bobbing up right in front of Nie Huaisang’s face.

“Oh!” The exclamation slips out, breathy and surprised, but Nie Huaisang doesn’t move away. Instead, his eyes focus on it, and Jiang Cheng tries not to feel self-conscious. He’s happy enough with his size, but some of those drawings could make even the most virile of men feel inadequate! He keeps his attention firmly focused on Nie Huaisang’s expressions, resolutely ignoring the way that Wei Wuxian is looking. They’ve pissed next to each other enough that Jiang Cheng knows he’s bigger than Wei Wuxian anyway. (Not by much, but it still counts.)

It gets easier to ignore Wei Wuxian’s scrutiny when Nie Huaisang reaches out with delicate fingers to touch the slit at the end of Jiang Cheng’s cock, already glistening wet with precome. It’s like when he touches himself, sort of, but so much more at the same time. His hips twitch upward of their own volition, chasing more of the sensation and painting a slick line across Nie Huaisang’s palm, and Nie Huaisang pulls his hand back at the sudden movement, rabbit-quick like he’s leaping away from a snakebite.

“Sorry,” Jiang Cheng mutters, his cheeks blazing hot. So much for having some self-control.

Nie Huaisang shakes his head, his loose, short hair fanning out like a dancer’s skirt.

“It just surprised me,” he says, and reaches out again, less tentative this time, and wraps his slender fingers around Jiang Cheng’s cock. His fingers and his thumb don’t quite meet, and maybe that’s because Nie Huaisang is small and delicate and his hands are likewise, but Jiang Cheng likes it.

“It’s so warm,” Nie Huaisang observes, and Jiang Cheng leans back on his elbows, fisting his hands in the fabric of his discarded robes, and fights down the urge to buck up into Nie Huaisang’s grip. His hand is at such a different angle—is such a different hand—that as he carefully strokes Jiang Cheng from the head all the way down to the root, his touch finds sensitive little places that Jiang Cheng barely knew existed. Nie Huaisang’s palm rubs against his cockhead when he strokes upward, smearing slick around, and when he strokes downward again Jiang Cheng has the wild thought that if the goal is to get Nie Huaisang’s mouth on him, he’d better hurry before Jiang Cheng comes from just this.

Jiang Cheng squeezes his eyes shut and tells himself not to come even as his cock throbs and he can feel the precome dripping down his length. But Nie Huaisang must have had the same thought, because when he opens his eyes again, it’s barely a moment before the tip of Nie Huaisang’s tongue laps up the wetness from his cockhead like a kitten at a saucer of milk, and Jiang Cheng groans and comes all over Nie Huaisang’s surprised face.

Normally, when he strokes himself, Jiang Cheng lets himself enjoy the hazy afterglow of release, but instead of that comfortable, languid feeling there’s the sharp burn of embarrassment instead.

He has no idea what to say, and Nie Huaisang seems equally lost for words. He blinks owlishly at Jiang Cheng, and that’s Jiang Cheng’s come sticking to his eyelashes and streaked across his cheek and his chin and his lips, still slightly parted. He looks messy and debauched and Jiang Cheng’s cock is still hard in the grasp of his fingers, and if Jiang Cheng thought Nie Huaisang looked pretty before, it’s nothing compared to how he looks now, as he sticks out his tongue to taste the drops of come at the corner of his mouth.

“What does it taste like?” Wei Wuxian asks, which is when Jiang Cheng remembers Wei Wuxian.

The embarrassment returns in a rush, overrunning the swooping, coiling sensation of want that had settled low in Jiang Cheng’s belly. He starts to soften, just a little, but Nie Huaisang’s grip tightens around him because Nie Huaisang’s hand is still on his cock, so all Jiang Cheng can do is sit there, hard and exposed and wanting while Nie Huaisang says, “Hmm. Not bad? Just a bit odd.”

He uses a finger of his other hand to wipe more of Jiang Cheng’s come off his cheek, then brings it to his mouth and licks it off, and Jiang Cheng takes a moment to realize that the low whining noise he hears is coming from his own throat.

“Would Jiang-xiong mind if I try again?” Nie Huaisang asks, big-eyed and innocent even though Jiang Cheng’s come is still caught in his eyelashes and his hand is leisurely stroking Jiang Cheng’s cock.

Jiang Cheng shakes his head, then, like a possessed thing, finds his arm moving without real thought, finds himself cupping Nie Huaisang’s face in his palm, brushing his thumb over the corner of Nie Huaisang’s mouth where a bit of white is glistening. Nie Huaisang presses into the touch, and that’s enough to keep Jiang Cheng’s hand where it is as Nie Huaisang lowers his head.

Rather than licking as he had before, Nie Huaisang merely presses his lips against Jiang Cheng, kissing along the line of the vein until he reaches Jiang Cheng’s balls, and then he kisses those, too, wrenching a gasp out of him that Jiang Cheng couldn’t have stopped even if he tried. With a pleased noise, Nie Huaisang gives the sensitive skin another kiss, then licks a stripe back up the underside of Jiang Cheng’s cock, all the way to the tip.

“I’m going to try sucking it now, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang says quietly. Against his palm, Jiang Cheng can feel the hinge of Nie Huaisang’s jaw opening, so so wide as those soft lips slide over the head of his cock and envelop the whole tip of him in wet heat. His fingers grasp for something, anything, and find Nie Huaisang’s hair. He grips it too tightly, pulling, but his apology is drowned in a groan as Nie Huaisang makes a startled noise and the vibration sends a tingling jolt up his spine.

Then Nie Huaisang’s tongue presses up against him and that’s—

“Oh, fuck. Fuck,” Jiang Cheng hisses as Nie Huaisang hollows his cheeks and sucks. Nie Huaisang draws a spurt of precome out of him, swirling his tongue around to gather it up, like he wants to taste it, wants to savor it.

“Does it really feel that good?” Wei Wuxian asks, and Jiang Cheng manages to gather his scattered thoughts long enough to hurl a handful of peanuts at his head.

“Why the fuck are you still hee—ah!” Jiang Cheng cuts himself off with a moan as Nie Huaisang opens up even more, and takes the next few inches of Jiang Cheng’s shaft between his lips. The sound he makes when Nie Huaisang stops and pulls away is nearly inhuman.

Does it feel good? You have to tell me, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang implores, his mouth wet and sticky with spit and precome. “I don’t know if I’m doing it right.”

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng agrees; would agree to just about anything to get that mouth back on him. “It does; it feels good,” he adds, just in case, though ‘good’ seems woefully inadequate

“Okay,” Nie Huaisang agrees, smiling quick and sweet before he goes back to his task.

They work it out, over the next few minutes. Nie Huaisang finds a rhythm, bobbing his head over Jiang Cheng’s cock, sucking and licking as if it’s as sweet as tanghulu. And in return, Jiang Cheng tells him when it’s good, when it’s really good, stroking his fingers through Nie Huaisang’s cropped hair.

It’s halting, at first, because Jiang Cheng isn’t used to saying anything like this. But he gets better, and as Nie Huaisang’s mouth seems to get wetter and hotter it gets easier to let the words spill out.

“Oh, fuck, whatever you just did with your tongue,” he encourages, and Nie Huaisang hums in understanding and does it again.

He knows it won’t take much more to make him come, but neither of them is prepared for the moment when Nie Huaisang swallows and Jiang Cheng’s hips jerk up into it, burying himself deeper until the tip of his cock slips into the tight clench of Nie Huaisang’s throat.

Nie Huaisang panics a little as he chokes around it, trying to pull back but failing because Jiang Cheng’s fingers are still tangled in his hair. The ripple of muscle is a sensation impossible to give up, and Jiang Cheng chases it mindlessly, putting his thighs into it as he fucks Nie Huaisang’s throat in quick, shallow thrusts until his vision goes hazy and he comes, spending himself as Nie Huaisang chokes again and finally manages to pull back as Jiang Cheng’s hand falls away.

For the span of several deep, heavy breaths, Jiang Cheng isn’t aware of much at all. The first thing he notices, as the fog rolls off and coherent thought returns, is the way Nie Huaisang is coughing, ineffectually wiping at his mouth and chin and not doing much but spreading the pearlescent wetness over the bottom half of his face. Then he notices the way Nie Huaisang’s nose is dripping (kind of gross, honestly) and then how red his eyes are, and how wet, how the tracks of moisture spill down his bright red cheeks.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Jiang Cheng scrambles up and to his knees, not caring that his spit-slick cock is still hanging out of his pants, not even fully soft yet. He reaches out to turn Nie Huaisang’s face toward him, and feels the stab deep in his chest when Nie Huaisang flinches away.

“Sorry,” Jiang Cheng blurts out; too fast, too honest. But he can’t be otherwise. “Fuck, Huaisang, I didn’t mean to—”

Nie Huaisang turns those watery eyes on him and doesn’t flinch away this time, when Jiang Cheng turns his face with careful fingers and uses his own sleeve to clean the mess off his skin.

“It’s alright,” Nie Huaisang says, once he’s back to something that might pass for a respectable state—on a moonless night with no lanterns, anyway. He ducks his chin, hiding as well as he can without his fan back in hand yet. “It wasn’t...I didn’t expect it, but it was. Ah, Jiang-xiong!

The way he was sitting, shifting, Jiang Cheng thought it was a bit odd, but his questing hand finds Nie Huaisang still hard beneath his robes. He gapes, and some of the flush that had begun to fade from Nie Huaisang’s cheeks returns.

“Ah, that is...”

Jiang Cheng waits for more, but nothing seems forthcoming, and Nie Huaisang is rocking up into the press of his palm, just enough to get some friction.

He can’t bring himself to do it with his mouth, not even in his thoughts, but his hand. That’s not so far from what he does to himself; Jiang Cheng can manage that. Nie Huaisang’s robes are already in somewhat of a disarray, so it’s not difficult to sneak his hand in underneath the layers and around Nie Huaisang’s shaft. It’s already slick with precome, the silk of his robes soaked through with it. They’re both kneeling; an awkward position for getting Nie Huaisang’s pants out of the way, but not awkward at all once that’s dealt with and Nie Huaisang ends up most of the way in Jiang Cheng’s lap.

Their bare skin meets where Jiang Cheng gets a knee between Nie Huaisang’s legs, and the delicate softness of Nie Huaisang’s balls against the corded muscle of his thigh resolves into something like terror that settles in his gut, but Jiang Cheng started this and he’s going to finish it.

He does what he likes for himself, at first. The firm grip, the pace he likes and the little twist of his wrist that always seems to work when he wants to get off.

Except.

“Ah, not so hard, Jiang-xiong,” so Jiang Cheng loosens his grip a little, slows the pace of his strokes until Nie Huaisang is panting and rutting into his fist. He wraps his arms around Jiang Cheng’s shoulders as he slumps forward, his hips still rocking into Jiang Cheng’s strokes, and his forehead comes to rest against Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.

It’s not Jiang Cheng’s fault. It’s really not.

It’s entirely the fault of Nie Huaisang’s stupid cutsleeve books that have gotten into his head, and the alcohol still warming his blood.

Nie Huaisang’s breathy moans are getting higher pitched, his precome leaking all over Jiang Cheng’s fist as he bounces a little in Jiang Cheng’s lap, and it’s not Jiang Cheng’s fault.

“Would you let me fuck you?” Jiang Cheng breathes, less than a whisper into the side of Nie Huaisang’s head, where his hair is damp with sweat from the drinking and the—the sex; they’re having sex—and Nie Huaisang cries out beautifully as his muscles tense and he spills hot come over Jiang Cheng’s fingers and his thigh.

They don’t talk about it, though Nie Huaisang allows Jiang Cheng to clean him up, and if his hands wander a bit more than strictly necessary, then he’s just being thorough.

At some point—Jiang Cheng has no idea when, precisely—Wei Wuxian apparently managed to pass out. He’s sprawled like an octopus across the floor of Nie Huaisang’s room, his mouth hanging open so he’s drooling on the wood.

“Don’t worry about him,” Nie Huaisang assures, his fan once again hovering near his face. “He’ll be fine there until morning, and you’ll get caught if you try to drag him all the way back to your rooms.”

It’s sound enough logic, though Jiang Cheng still can’t help but feel that Nie Huaisang has gotten the worst part of the evening, first with...well. And then stuck with the drooling lump of his brother snoring away on his floor for the night.

“I promise, Jiang-xiong. My brother’s snoring is much worse,” Nie Huaisang gives him a conspiratorial smile. His lips are still puffy and red, and Jiang Cheng is very, very fucked. Even more so after Nie Huaisang takes his arm just before he slips out of the room, turns him around, and presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Sleep well, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang whispers, the slightly-open door a warning against making too much noise.

Jiang Cheng makes a tactical retreat back to the rooms he and his siblings share, too distracted to even begin to think how to explain Wei Wuxian’s absence in the morning.

A few minutes pass in relative silence as Nie Huaisang gently blows the remains of peanut shells off the delicate pages of his books, collecting them neatly to stow away once more in their hiding spot.

“You can stop pretending now, I think,” he says absently as he finishes his work. “And help me clean up this mess.”

Wei Wuxian sits up. “Fine, fine,” he says, and proceeds to help clean up the remains of the wine jugs. Checking, of course, to ensure that any remaining mouthfuls ended up where they belonged.

“So, am I forgiven?” Wei Wuxian rests his chin on his folded arms, peering up at Nie Huaisang with his most pitiful expression. It works on Shijie most of the time, and on Lan Wangji never, which is terribly unfair in Wei Wuxian’s opinion.

Nie Huaisang hides his smile behind his fan.