The letter arrives at Lotus Pier on a fine spring day, wrapped in a gilded envelope, and sealed with the Nie Clan’s crest. One of Nie Huaisang’s personal attendants had hand-delivered it, and had refused to leave it with anyone who wasn’t Jiang Cheng himself.
Upon opening it, Jiang Cheng realizes why.
I hope you have been well. The winter has drawn especially long at Qinghe this year, but it seems like the ice has finally begun to thaw, and spring is setting in at last.
I would like to extend an invitation for you to visit me at the Unclean Realm. Firstly, the peach blossom season is almost upon us, and the flowers look like they will truly be a sight. Secondly, it has come to my attention that you organized an orgy last month, and didn’t invite me?!
Needless to say, I am very disappointed. Please come over here and put this to rights.
Throwing the letter down, Jiang Cheng lights a candle. He burns the letter— envelope, seal, and all, before pouring himself a cup of tea, and taking a long sip.
Nie Huaisang, he seethes, has never known the meaning of shame.
Still, it is not a week before he finds himself alighting in Qinghe, surrounded by mountains and sea. Nie Huaisang comes personally to receive him.
“Where’s your brother?” Jiang Cheng asks.
“On a night hunt,” Nie Huaisang answers. “We won’t be disturbed.”
Jiang Cheng had previously intended to take the opportunity to greet the honorable Chifeng-zun. However, it appears that Nie Huaisang had thought the occasion out too carefully. Dipping his head, Jiang Cheng steps over the threshold, and follows Nie Huaisang into the compound.
The grounds of Qinghe Nie are especially beautiful this year. Peach blossoms bloom in abundance, spilling from boughs sinking, gravid, under the weight of fecund flowers. Amidst the flowers, fruit trees flourish, full and fertile. It’s a fine, fine, spring day. Indeed, the dawning year seems bursting with life, with a kind of youthful vigor, with promise.
They stroll, side by side, through the sprawling courtyards, quietly appreciating nature in all its awakening glory. After they’ve made a round of the gardens, Nie Huaisang takes hold of his sleeve, and pulls him into the main residence.
A series of winding paths leads them into a set of spacious rooms. The innermost room looks like a normal bedroom, with a desk full of inks and parchment to one side, a large bed on the other, and an ornately framed window between, overlooking a private garden. Peach blossoms flower atop gracefully arching trees. On the desk, Jiang Cheng sees a bunch of half-finished fans. This must be Nie Huaisang’s bedroom.
In front of the desk, a sturdy wooden trellis has been set up in the middle of the room, looking oddly out of place amidst the graceful decor. Coils of thin red rope lie at the foot of it, along with a large piece of what looks like jade, carved into a smooth cone. At the top of the cone, there’s a phallic shaped protrusion.
Jiang Cheng clears his throat, and averts his eyes, feeling a blush creeping up his neck despite himself.
“Had a good look?” Nie Huaisang teases.
Jiang Cheng grunts, and Nie Huaisang laughs gently.
Jiang Cheng's breath catches.
Some five minutes later, Nie Huaisang leads him to stand, naked, in front of the trellis. He produces a long strip of fine maroon brocade.
“Do you know what this is for?” he asks, tone friendly.
“No,” Jiang Cheng admits.
Nie Huaisang brings it up over his eyes.
“You won’t be able to see,” he explains. “After that, I will tie you that rack over there. Do you have any objections?”
“No,” Jiang Cheng says.
Nie Huaisang smiles.
“Good,” he says. “If you want to stop… call Huaisang-gege , and I’ll stop.”
At Jiang Cheng’s glare, Nie Huaisang just laughs, before tying the brocade around his eyes. The fabric is thick, densely woven. His entire world goes pitch black. There’s the sound of ropes unwinding against the floor, and then he feels Nie Huaisang throw the rope around his neck in the beginnings of a traditional five flower tie. 
“Raise your arms.”
After a moment, Jiang Cheng does so. He can feel Nie Huaisang winding the rope around his chest, his back, his waist— but not his arms? What’s this supposed to do then? Nie Huaisang seems to leave the ends hanging after securing the rope around his waist, then places his hands on Jiang Cheng’s hips.
“Horse stance.” 
Jiang Cheng hesitates, feeling suddenly conscious about his nakedness.
“Horse stance,” Nie Huaisang says again, more sharply.
After a moment, Jiang Cheng complies, sinking down easily into horse stance. Nie Huaisang pushes him backwards by the hips as he squats low. Jiang Cheng pauses as his back meets the wooden trellis.
One of Nie Huaisang’s hands leaves him. There’s the quiet sound of something being moved against the floor.
“Lower,” Nie Huaisang prompts.
Jiang Cheng obediently slides down against the trellis, but stiffens as he feels the tip of something prod against his crease. He immediately recalls the jade cone with the phallic tip that he’s seen upon entering the room, but the material does not feel like jade. From the dragging noise it had made just now, it sounds a whole lot lighter than jade as well.
After a moment, Nie Huaisang’s hand slides under him, behind his balls, smoothing over his taint until there are slim fingertips pressed against his hole. Jiang Cheng’s breath leaves him in a quiet gasp, hands coming down instinctively to settle on Nie Huaisang’s shoulders. Nie Huaisang chuckles. His breath whispers over Jiang Cheng’s ear, making him shiver.
“I didn’t expect that you’d still be tight,” Nie Huaisang whispers, fingers circling slowly around the tight furl.
Humiliation begins to curl deliciously in Jiang Cheng’s gut. His heart quickens, breath beginning to come faster. Nie Huaisang takes hold of his hips, guiding them until the tip of the phallus is pressed against his hole.
It is already oiled.
“Lower,” Nie Huaisang murmurs.
“I’m not oiled,” Jiang Cheng informs him.
“The toy is oiled,” Nie Huaisang says, unconcerned. “You can take it, can’t you?”
After a moment of hesitation, Jiang Cheng presses down on the toy. He feels it spreading him slowly open with some discomfort. It’s been a few weeks since his romp with Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian, and the Venerated Triad. He has tightened up considerably since. Still, he presses himself stoically down, without complaint, until he feels himself meeting the base of the phallus. From there, he can feel the toy beginning to flare outwards.
There’s a moment of silence, then, a quiet rustle of silk robes. A moment later, Nie Huaisang’s slim fingers slip under him again, touching him where he’s spread taut around the jade-like rod.
“Good boy,” Nie Huaisang whispers.
To his horror, a shameful moan immediately slips from his lips. Jiang Cheng ducks his head, flushing. Nie Huaisang laughs quietly.
“Lean back into the rack and hold onto the top of it. Knees together.”
Letting out a shaking breath, Jiang Cheng reaches overhead, grasping onto the trellis for stability, before he shuffles his knees slowly together.
“Very good,” Nie Huaisang praises lowly.
Jiang Cheng begins to pant, moaning quietly, as something clenches low in his stomach. His mind begins to sink into a familiar blankness. Nie Huaisang’s fingers circle his spread hole one last time, before the young man steps back.
Ropes uncoil quietly against the wooden floor. Nie Huaisang brings the rope around the back of his knees, and then begins to tie his knees together, and then his ankles. Once he’s done with that, he stands, and begins tying Jiang Cheng’s wrists to the trellis.
Jiang Cheng zones out for a little while, letting his head fall back against the rack, and closing his eyes as Nie Huaisang continues to bring the rope around his arms in long, intricate loops. Like the ropes around his chest, those don’t seem to serve any purpose. Without sight, his skin feels strangely sensitive. He’s oddly aware of the rope’s texture against him, the pressure of it sinking into his skin.
Finally, Nie Huaisang seems to finish securing Jiang Cheng’s wrists to the trellis. He puts one hand on Jiang Cheng’s chest— and pulls.
Jiang Cheng cries out as the rope around his neck and chest tighten. The loops that he had previously thought to be decorative draw taut, pulling his shoulder blades together, and his arms backwards over his head, forcing him to thrust his chest out.
“There we go,” Nie Huaisang whispers.
Jiang Cheng pants as his fingers ghost over his sides, caressing over his ribs, his pecs, his nipples. They immediately harden.
Nie Huaisang chuckles.
“Look at these pretty little pearls,” he murmurs, tweaking the one under his finger. Jiang Cheng twitches, hard.
“Oh, sensitive, aren’t you?” Nie Huaisang coos.
He draws back.
After a moment, Jiang Cheng hears the quiet sound of feet against the wood, fading as Nie Huaisang walks slowly away from him.
Something drags against the floor. There’s the rustle of parchment— then the rough sound of wet horse hairs being drawn smoothly over paper.
“Jiang-xiong, can you guess what that cone is made out of?” Nie Huaisang asks casually.
Jiang Cheng hesitates for a moment.
“I thought it looked like jade,” he answers quietly.
“But does it feel like jade?”
“... No,” he admits.
Nie Huaisang chuckles. There’s again the sound of furniture dragging against the wooden floor— a chair.
“It’s not jade,” Nie Huaisang says simply.
From across the room, he can hear the quiet clatter of Nie Huaisang setting his brush down. Blindfolded, with no other sense but sound and touch, every quiet noise sounds magnified in the quiet room— the chuff of light, leisurely footsteps against the floorboards, unhurried, with all the ease of a man in his own home; the rustle of leaves; the tranquil sounds of birdsong.
The footsteps draw to an easy halt in front of Jiang Cheng. Silk robes rustle quietly.
“It’s made of the same material as your Zidian,” Nie Huaisang continues.
From the level of his voice, he seems to be crouching down. Paper crinkles somewhere below Jiang Cheng. A talisman?
“Do you know what that means?” Nie Huaisang asks.
Jiang Cheng keeps silent, feeling vaguely uneasy. Nie Huaisang just chuckles.
“Well, first of all,” he begins easily, “that means that it can change shape.”
Jiang Cheng cries out as the tip of the phallus abruptly swells inside of him. Trying to stand, however, he finds that the tip has morphed into a large sphere, catching against the inside of his hole. It’s too large to pass through the rim now.
He settles reluctantly back down.
“Second of all—“
Jiang Cheng stiffens, realizing that Nie Huaisang is not done.
“It can serve as a conduit for spiritual energy.”
Jiang Cheng gasps as energy begins to rush along the length of the toy, washing along his walls. The orb is wedged right against his sweet spot, sending waves of energy right into his most sensitive of areas.
His thighs immediately begin to shake.
“Huaisang-xiong,” he gasps. “Huaisang— ah!”
“Does it feel good?” Nie Huaisang coos.
Jiang Cheng pants harshly, turning his face against his arm. The current strengthens suddenly, sending pleasure through his over-sensitized nerves.
“Ah!” he cries.
Nie Huaisang laughs.
“I’ll leave you to enjoy it then,” he says.
As Nie Huaisang begins to walk away, however, a bout of irrational panic overcomes him.
“Huaisang-xiong!” he cries out. “Huaisang!”
Nie Huaisang’s warmth immediately returns. His arms slip around Jiang Cheng’s back, pulling Jiang Cheng against his chest.
“What’s wrong?” he whispers worriedly. “Do you want to stop?”
“Don’t go,” Jiang Cheng gasps, pressing against him blindly. “Don’t leave me alone while I’m like this. Please.”
A small hand begins to stroke his back soothingly, the other guiding Jiang Cheng’s face into the crook of Nie Huaisang’s neck. He smells like peach blossoms, parchment, and ink.
At the homely scent, the panic begins to settle.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Nie Huaisang whispers against his hair. “I’ll be sitting right at my desk, watching you. Is that okay, Jiang-xiong?”
After a moment, Jiang Cheng nods.
“Good boy,” Nie Huaisang praises. “You’re being so good for me.”
Nie Huaisang holds him for awhile longer, stroking his flank soothingly, until the panic settles completely. Then, he kisses Jiang Cheng’s temple.
“Are you okay to continue now?”
Embarrassment curls in his chest.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, and then dips his chin. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Nie Huaisang chides. “I’m going to be at my desk, okay? Red really flatters your skin. I want to capture what you look like right now.”
Nie Huaisang brushes a hand through his hair, and then steps back.
“What do you say if you want to stop?”
Jiang Cheng pauses, and then pulls back a little, scowling.
“I’ll say it when I need to say it,” he mutters rebelliously.
Nie Huaisang laughs.
“It’s Huaisang-gege, okay?” he reminds Jiang Cheng, half-teasingly. “If you want to stop… then call Huaisang-gege, and we’ll stop.”
Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes under the blindfold.
“Okay, okay,” he sighs exasperatedly.
“So testy,” Nie Huaisang teases, before he heads to his desk, footfalls loud and deliberate against the floor now as if in reminder— I’m still here. There’s a clatter of brushes being spilled over the desk. Then, Jiang Cheng hears him beginning to grind the ink. Quiet humming fills the room as Nie Huaisang seems to settle into his work.
Jiang Cheng blinks.
Is that all? Are they not going to fuck? He adjusts his stance slightly, licking his lips. Though, he admits that it would be a little difficult to fuck or be fucked in this position.
After a moment, the humming stops for a moment. He hears a clink as Nie Huaisang seemingly sets the ink stone aside. There’s the wet sound of horse hair being dipped into wet in, and then, the rough stroking of brush over paper.
Is he not even going to use Jiang Cheng’s mouth for his pleasure?!
The gentle humming resumes amidst the slow brushstrokes, seemingly answering his question. Jiang Cheng stops paying attention to the sounds of Nie Huaisang’s painting after that, closing his eyes behind the blindfold, and settling in to wait in the... somewhat bizarre position he’s been bound in.
He stands until his thighs begin to tire, stands longer until they begin to burn, but still, Nie Huaisang continues to paint. Here and there, he hums a little tune, the sound absent.
After an indeterminable period of time, Jiang Cheng gives in, and tries to rise a little out of the squat to give his thighs a break. He is immediately reminded of the large orb inside him, as it catches on the inside of his rim. He settles back down into the squat, wincing.
He’s not getting up anytime soon.
Well, if he can’t get up, maybe he can ease downwards a little. He sinks lower into his stance, but stiffens as the toy begins to flare outwards, spreading his hole as he sinks downwards. He halts, rising back up until his thighs are parallel to the ground again, a cold realization curling in his gut as he realizes the trap he’s fallen into.
“What’s the matter, Jiang-xiong?” Nie Huaisang asks. “Are your thighs getting tired?”
When Jiang Cheng doesn’t reply, Nie Huaisang laughs.
“Sect Leader Jiang’s stamina is truly as impressive as rumored,” he says mildly. “To spice things up, why don’t we make a wager between us two? Which do you think will give out first? Your stamina? Or my patience?”
Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, trying to draw himself into meditation. But meditation has never been part of the Yunmeng Jiang way of cultivation. As his thighs continue to tire, he finds it increasingly difficult to keep his mind away from his bodily sensations. Blindfolded, the sensations also seem even more intense, with no visual stimulus to distract him.
The low thrumming pleasure of spiritual energy against his walls begins to seep again into his awareness. Despite himself, he can feel his cock beginning to rise as he starts to squirm discreetly against the trellis. The burn, the tremor of his thighs become impossible to ignore.
He finally rises out of the squat a little, letting out a quiet hiss of discomfort as the knot presses against his hole from the inside. He pants, wincing, but tries to rise a little higher. His hole begins to spread open around the orb, forcing a whimper from him.
After a moment, he gives up, sinking back down. With his ankles and knees bound together, however, he can’t even shift his footing to give his thighs a break. Against his command, his body begins to sink lower on the toy, the tremor in his thighs growing in intensity.
The cone immediately begins to spread him open, the flare wide enough to be immediately uncomfortable. Gritting his teeth, he hangs on tightly to the trellis behind him, pushing himself up with his hands. He sighs with relief when that takes some of the weight off his legs. Gripping tightly onto the bars of the trellis, he presses his weight back against it, and closes his eyes again behind the blindfold.
His palms begin to sweat. He changes his grip, pressing first into his left hand, then his right. After a moment, he changes his grip again, attempting to pull himself up instead of pushing down on the top rung of the trellis. Still, it is not long before his arms are trembling too.
Nie Huaisang, the bastard, had tied him in truly awkward position indeed. The ropes draw his back into an arch, arms pulled back behind his head, and his wrists tied together. He can’t quite push himself up on his hands, nor is he at an angle to pull himself up properly.
Cold dread creeps through him as the tremor in his thighs resumes with a vengeance. He determinedly pulls himself back up as he begins to sink slowly down on the cone.
He’s underestimated Nie Huaisang.
He’s really underestimated Nie Huaisang.
He scrabbles for a firmer grip on the trellis, panting, letting out a tortured groan as his tired thighs continue to drop him lower and lower. He can feel the cone spreading him wider, hole stretching uncomfortably. He shoves his body back into the trellis, throwing his head back against it and gritting his teeth.
“Is it really that difficult to bear, Jiang-xiong?” Nie Huaisang asks lightly from the desk. “You look to be in a fair bit of discomfort.”
Jiang Cheng doesn’t reply.
There’s a quiet click as Nie Huaisang sets his brush down.
“Well, that won’t do, will it?” he muses. “How can I let such a distinguished guest, and my good friend at that, suffer discomforts in my own home?”
He seems to think for a moment, before he snaps his fingers, as if in realization.
“Aha!” he cries. “I know what will make it better!”
Jiang Cheng cries out as spiritual energy surges through the phallus inside him, heightening the pleasure.
“Huaisang—“ he pants. “Wait—“
“I know your thighs must be really tired,” Nie Huaisang speaks cheerfully over him, “but I hope that this will make up for it! Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng tries again. “Huaisang, please.”
“Please more?” Nie Huaisang asks innocently.
The surge of energy against his prostate strengthens. The tremor in Jiang Cheng’s thighs turns to a quake. He grips desperately into the trellis, drawing in short, sob-like breaths. But still, even as he adjusts and readjusts his grip, his thighs twitch, and then give out on him momentarily. He gurgles, eyes bulging as his weight drops down onto the cone. Then, he scrabbles against the trellis, hauling himself up.
The silk of the blindfold is wet against his face now.
“Huaisang—“ Jiang Cheng sobs. “I can’t hold out.”
“Don’t worry, Jiang-xiong. I’ll make you feel better.”
He screams as pleasure tears through his body. His mind goes white as orgasm rips through him. His thighs spasm senselessly, and then give out on him completely.
“No—“ he sobs, as he drops down on the cone. “No—o—“
His orgasm dies slowly off.
The pleasure quickly turns to overstimulation.
Crying openly now, he manages to pull himself slightly up, arms weak and shaking from pleasure.
“It’s too big,” he sobs. “It’s gonna split me in two.”
“You can take it.”
“It’s too much,” he pleads.
“I can’t help you there,” Nie Huaisang says pityingly. “Do you want me to make you feel even better to make up for the discomfort?”
Panic blossoms in Jiang Cheng’s chest.
“No!” he cries fearfully. “No— please— no.”
He hiccups, taking a moment to change his grip on the trellis.
“Please,” he whimpers, “can you— make it less?”
“I can’t do that either,” Nie Huaisang denies bluntly. “All these talismans and cultivation equipment— you know me, Jiang-xiong. I never studied any of this well. I don’t know how to control this talisman at all!”
Jiang Cheng grits his teeth, tossing his head back against the rack.
“You’re a fucking liar,” he seethes.
The world goes white.
It takes Jiang Cheng a moment to realize that the screaming in his ear is his own. It takes him a moment longer to realize that he’s coming again.
He struggles to pull himself back up the trellis, face screwed up, thighs quaking as he somehow manages to raise himself back into a squat.
“Uuuu—“ he sobs.
Nie Huaisang makes a shushing noise.
“Don’t cry, Jiang-xiong,” he soothes. “I’m not even halfway done with my painting yet.”
A wrecked sob tears free from Jiang Cheng’s chest as he begins to cry harder. His fingers tighten on the trellis, face contorting as he feels the pleasure beginning to curl in his stomach.
“Gonna cum again,” he slurs.
“No—“ he moans, “no— n— ahh!”
He continues to come, strung up on that rack, and sliding slowly down the cone. From the width of about an apple, it continues to widen, to the width of a man’s closed fist, then wider still. He persists in his vain attempts to pull himself up, to maintain his position, but is helpless to stop his slow descent. He knows from the bend of his knees that he’s only halfway down the cone, and can’t help but flash back to the moment he’d first entered the room.
He remembers how wide that cone had been.
At the bottom, it had been about as wide around as his own thigh.
Fear washes over him.
“You’ll ruin me,” he moans hoarsely. “The base is too wide. I’ll— I’ll—“
Nie Huaisang doesn’t respond.
Jiang Cheng’s thighs continue to shake. His hole feels stretched to the limit around the cone, but as he sinks further, it somehow manages to stretch further.
With a grunt of effort, he manages to propel himself some way up the toy, sighing with relief as it reduces the strain on his sore hole. However, his tired thighs don’t hold for long. Soon, he’s sinking down again.
“You’ll ruin me,” he sobs. “You’ll ruin me. Huaisang, please, the base— it’s too wide. I can’t possibly—“
In his mind’s eye, he sees the cone again. He imagines himself on it. He imagines how he would look sitting at the base of it, how that bottom would look like protruding from his ruined hole— as wide around as a man’s muscled thigh. Fear begins to seize him.
“Huaisang,” he stutters. “Huaisang—“
He bites his lip, before his trembling mouth begin to form the word—
There’s a rustle of paper.
“I won’t let you slide all the way to the bottom, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang says, sounding vaguely preoccupied. “I’m well aware that even your body has limitations.”
Jiang Cheng chokes back a sob, but his mind calms a little as he slowly processes that. He licks his dry lips.
“How—“ he begins shakily. “How will you—“
He trails off awkwardly.
“Do you want to try going lower and see what happens?” Nie Huaisang proposes.
Jiang Cheng bites his lip, bottom lip trembling uncontrollably.
Nie Huaisang laughs quietly.
“I didn’t think so,” he says. “Continue then. I haven’t even started applying colors yet.”
Through the pleasure, and the pain, Jiang Cheng hears him dipping his brush in the ink again, before he gasps, as if in realization.
“Oh yes!“ he cries. “I forgot. Here’s something to make up for your troubles.”
Jiang Cheng tosses his head back against the trellis, sobbing as a burst of energy washes over him. It crackles against his sweet spot, sending pleasure through him like fire, intense enough that it borders on pain.
It immediately sends him over the edge.
“No—“ he sobs. “No— No— No—“
Nie Huaisang chuckles.
“I’ve never seen a man so reluctant to come before,” he notes mildly.
In the throes of his orgasm, Jiang Cheng’s thighs finally give out. He clings desperately to the top rung of the trellis, blinking dazedly behind the blindfold, and pulling himself up slightly. His rim is stretched so tight around the cone, like a band on the verge of snapping.
“I can’t—“ he whimpers.
He slides down further, groaning in discomfort. There seems to be a little nub on the front side of the cone. It’s small, tiny really, but he groans as his already taxed hole begins to open around it.
“It’s impossible,” he cries. “Huaisang, please.”
There’s a crinkle of paper.
Nie Huaisang continues to paint.
Just when he thinks that, for sure, he can’t take anymore, the nub slips through his rim. His arms go slack, but he barely slides a millimeter further before he’s hanging from his hands, unable to slide any further.
The nub slots right against his sweet spot.
And his eyes roll back in his head.
He hangs there in a haze of pleasure and pain, as orgasm wracks his body again and again. He loses track of how long he spends hanging there. He loses track of how many times he comes. He comes so many times that he’s coming dry, comes until he can’t even get hard anymore, and still continues to come.
Quiet, wrecked moans issue hollowly from him as his body twitches weakly. Sometimes, he calls Huaisang’s name. Sometimes, he begs. Sometimes, he just sobs wordlessly.
Finally, he pulls himself forcefully together, letting his head loll back against the trellis.
“Can’t cum anymore,” he slurs weakly.
Nie Huaisang doesn’t even put down his brush.
“Alright,” he says absently, “then don’t.”
Jiang Cheng sobs despairingly.
“Don’t wanna cum anymore,” he tries again. “Please.”
“No one said you had to come if you didn’t want to, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang tells him patiently.
Jiang Cheng cries harder.
“Huaisang, please—“ he blurbles. “Uhn— please.”
When he doesn’t get a response, he hiccups and begins to sob for real; loud, choking sobs that wrack his whole body.
Finally, Nie Huaisang seems to take pity on him.
“You should be loose enough now that you can just raise yourself off the toy,” he says.
Realizing that he’s right, Jiang Cheng gathers his feet beneath him again. Thighs quaking hard, he tries to lift himself up off the cone, sobbing with the effort of it. After a few long seconds of struggle, though, his thighs give out. He slides down all the way again, hanging limply from his hands.
“I can’t,” he whispers, defeated.
There’s the wet sound of brush being dipped in ink, before the sounds of horse hairs on paper resume.
“Jiang-xiong, you know better than I do that I couldn’t lift you if I tried,” Nie Huaisang says mildly. “You’re a head taller than me. How’s this? I can make you feel even better to make up for—“
Fear seizes Jiang Cheng.
“No!” he cries desperately. “No! No!”
He pushes up with all his might.
His trembling legs manage to propel him slowly, so slowly, up that cone, until the knot is catching again on the inside of his hole. This time, however, his hole spreads readily around it. He continues to push upwards, panting as the orb spreads him wider— wider. He strains, groaning.
Finally, with a little wet noise, the orb pops through the rim of his hole.
He collapses to the side of the toy, completely exhausted, and sobbing quietly. As he hangs there, drifting in a hazy stupor, he hears a quiet click.
Nie Huaisang has finally put down his brush.
His chair drags against the floorboards. A moment later, booted feet chuff against the wood as Nie Huaisang ambles slowly over. Those footsteps come to a halt in front of him. A moment later, Jiang Cheng cries out, and begins to struggle, as a small hand grasps his flaccid cock, and begins to fondle it.
“No,” he moans, “Huaisang, no. It hurts.”
“Hush now,” Nie Huaisang murmurs. “You can manage one more for me, can’t you?”
“I can’t—“ Jiang Cheng whines.
Nie Huaisang continues to fondle him as he cries and tries weakly to escape. Still, he barely has the strength to squirm, let alone successfully struggle free of that small, merciless hand. The palm is petal-soft, smooth and free of obvious sword callouses. Yet, it feels like sandpaper on his overstimulated cock.
He cries out as Nie Huaisang pulls down the foreskin, beginning to rub his palm over the exposed head. Pleasure washes over him, sharp, the intensity all-consuming. His hips twitch away instinctively, but Nie Huaisang presses his hip hard into the trellis.
“Stop,” Jiang Cheng gurgles.
“Not until you come for me,” Nie Huaisang says sharply.
Jiang Cheng squeezes his eyes tight behind the blindfold. Wrecked moans issue from his chest, broken only by sporadic little sobs. It feels impossible to come like this, and yet also impossible that he hasn’t come yet.
“Please—“ he whimpers, as if he could persuade his own body with his words. ”Please cum— Please—“
“Shh,” Nie Huaisang soothes, putting his other hand flat against Jiang Cheng’s abdomen, and beginning to slide it up, rubbing up over his nipples in broad, caressing strokes.
Jiang Cheng scrunches his face up with the overstimulation, whole body twisting away from that hand. Nie Huaisang’s palm continues to rub up and over his pecs in leisurely circles. Occasionally, he stops to tweak Jiang Cheng’s nipples. Jiang Cheng squirms, body and head thrashing weakly from side to side.
Slowly, he feels the familiar crest of orgasm in his gut. The wave rises slowly, so unbearably, so torturously slowly.
“Ah— ah— ah—“
His own voice echoes in his ears, broken and barely human— unrecognizable. He doesn’t sound human, doesn’t feel human either. He feels like an animal, void of thought and consciousness, focused only on the pain.
Gritting his teeth, he begins to buck his hips desperately into Nie Huaisang’s hand.
“Yes,” Nie Huaisang whispers. “Come for me. You can do it. Just one more.”
“I’m trying!” Jiang Cheng sobs, still blindly grinding himself into Nie Huaisang’s hand. “I’m trying— please! Just make me cum! Please!”
There’s a gentle swirl of energy against his cock. Jiang Cheng’s mind goes white.
He arches hard against the trellis, bucking, wailing, and thrashing against his bonds like a wild animal as orgasm finally crashes over him— washing his sanity away with it. He’s aware that he’s screaming something as he thrashes, but he isn’t entirely sure what, doesn’t know if they are words, and if the words make sense.
He screams as Nie Huaisang rubs him through his orgasm, using his cultivation to stimulate him, to guide him through the pleasure. It feels like his orgasm lasts for an eternity before it finally begins to ebb. He slumps down against his ties, moaning wretchedly, as Nie Huaisang fondles him gently through the last of his orgasm. His abdomen clenches once, twice— before finally, the contractions end.
“Gege,” he gurgles.
Nie Huaisang immediately pulls off the blindfold. Jiang Cheng blinks, disoriented by the sudden brightness. He numbly examines the intricate patterns woven into the hem of Nie Huaisang’s robes as Nie Huaisang fiddles with the bonds around his wrists.
As the bonds loosen, a moment later, he realizes that Nie Huaisang must be cutting him from the trellis. His legs make no effort to support him. He slides right down to sit dazedly on the floor, face twisting in discomfort as his sore hole twinges. He adjusts his posture so that he’s reclined against the trellis, tucking his tailbone and spreading his legs. He feels— open, and sore. He can’t quite close his legs. His wrists are still bound together against his belly.
He blinks slowly as Nie Huaisang slides an arm around his waist. A moment later, he’s being hauled up and onto the bed like the sack of potatoes. In that moment, he can’t help but be surprised at Nie Huaisang’s unexpected strength.
Nie Huaisang leans over him, eyes soft, and kisses him softly on the lips.
“Gimme a second to clean you up,” he says quietly, “and then I’ll untie you.”
Jiang Cheng closes his eyes, drifting while Nie Huaisang putters off. He feels the spark of a heat talisman, and then Nie Huaisang returns with a washbasin. With a warm cloth, he begins to wipe Jiang Cheng’s sweaty body down, paying special attention to his cum-stained thighs and belly.
Once he’s clean, Nie Huaisang hauls him further onto the bed, and begins to slowly untie him. Jiang Cheng falls slowly into a doze while Nie Huaisang arranges his limbs, pulling his legs open, and folding his hands neatly over his stomach.
He murmurs complainingly.
If Nie Huaisang is gonna fuck him, he thinks grumpily, then he had better do it now before Jiang Cheng falls asleep.
Once he is done arranging Jiang Cheng, however, Nie Huaisang steps back and leaves the bed. Jiang Cheng reaches out blindly, feeling strangely forlorn.
“Where—“ he begins plaintively. “Where are you going?”
“I’m right here, sweetheart,” Nie Huaisang calls. “Open your eyes. I’m just sitting over here.”
Jiang Cheng manages to pry his eyes open with some difficulty. Nie Huaisang is sitting at his desk again… getting his brushes and a plain paper fan out.
“What are you doing?” he asks, somewhat crossly.
Nie Huaisang grins.
“What do you think?” he asks teasingly. “That hole of yours is a real sight right now.”
Jiang Cheng blushes. But he can feel how loose he is. He must be gaping quite a bit.
“Huaisang…” he begins, squirming.
“I’ll be done in just a bit. Promise.”
Jiang Cheng sighs, but closes his eyes. If Nie Huaisang wants to paint him, then he’s going to rest first. He very quickly falls into a doze.
Outside, the sounds of spring continue to drift in through the open window. Birds chitter. Leaves rustle. Distantly, he can hear military commands being shouted. A training session has probably started somewhere in the Unclean Realm.
Finally, a gong strike rings out over the grounds, signalling the beginning of nightfall. 
Nie Huaisang finally seems to finish his painting, and comes over to join him on the bed. Half-asleep, he allows Nie Huaisang to arrange him into a more comfortable position.
“You’re gorgeous,” Nie Huaisang whispers to him, before slotting himself against Jiang Cheng’s side, and laying his head on Jiang Cheng’s chest.
Jiang Cheng finally falls asleep, lulled to sleep by the warmth of a body next to him, of a palm placed flat over the beating of his heart.
The next morning, Nie Huaisang very enthusiastically shows him the paintings from the night before. There are a few of him tied to the trellis, drawn from different angles. There’s one of his early pose, back straight against the rack, and knees bent together, as if sitting in an invisible chair. The last depicts him hanging from his hands, head lolled to one side. The red ropes and maroon blindfold are stark over the white of the parchment. Grey ink renders the tears soaking the blindfold and trailing down his face, the cum splattered over his belly and thighs.
Finally, with a bit of a lecherous grin, Nie Huaisang picks up the closed fan, and hands it to him.
“Open it,” he prompts.
Sighing, Jiang Cheng entertains him. He folds the fan open slowly. A blush begins to rise up over his cheekbones. The painting depicted inside is of him, sprawled against the sheet, with his hands folded over his belly and his legs spread wide. Between them, there is a dark splotch of red. It’s a lewd piece of work. When he opens the fan, it looks as if the painting of him is slowly spreading its legs.
Flustered, Jiang Cheng flicks the fan closed, and raps it sharply against Nie Huaisang’s chest.
“Shameless,” he chides.
Nie Huaisang laughs, taking the fan back from him, and storing the paintings securely away in a Qiankun pouch. Then, he tucks his hand delicately into the crook of Jiang Cheng’s arm.
“Breakfast?” he proposes. “Let’s walk through the rear gardens. The mountains are splendid this time of year.”
“I have no objections,” Jiang Cheng says.
Crossing over the threshold, they step out into spring.