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lady-of-the-lotus · 3 years

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Poison Kiss (But, Like, In A Good Way)

A poisoned Tang Fan is hot, then cold.

Sui Zhou takes care of him.

(come for the overdramatic beginning, stay for the fluff!)

The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty - Suitang - 1.7k - T - pretty fluffy overall - AO3

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Heat, flaming heat, melting his skin and cooking his marrow—

Something wet. Water? Cold, wet, all around him—

Tang Fan opens his eyes. He’s in the bathtub, with Sui Zhou and Old Pei standing over him. Sui Zhou is bent over the rim of the tub and holding him from behind as if afraid that Tang Fan will slip beneath the water if he lets go. He does so slowly, keeping a grip on his arm as he moves around the tub to look down at Tang Fan.

Old Pei breathes a sigh of relief as Tang Fan blinks. “How do you feel?”

Tang Fan blinks. The room is spinning, Sui Zhou’s worried face the only thing in clear focus. “I feel—I feel—hot—”

“I need to get more ice.” Sui Zhou ladles cold water over Tang Fan’s shoulders. “I’ll find someone—”

“No.” Old Pei’s voice is grave. “I don’t think ice will help. The heat is coming from within…take him out, Sui Zhou.”

Gently, Sui Zhou lifts Tang Fan from the bath, wrapping his naked body in a towel. “Hang in there,” he tells Tang Fan, almost too low to hear. “Old Pei is working on something…”

“Get him back to bed.”

Sui Zhou carries Tang Fan back to bed. His arms are warm, too warm, but there’s a sense of security about him that Tang Fan clings to even as he feels himself begin to float, mind adrift again.

Hot. Too hot…

Something soft beneath him as Sui Zhou lays him down in bed. He removes the towel, draping it modestly over Tang Fan’s midsection but leaving the rest of him bare to sweat into the sheets.

“What now?” he hears Sui Zhou’s asking. A tugging sensation at his scalp, and he hazily thinks that someone must be combing out his wet hair. “He can’t go on like this.”

“I know—I know—let me think—”

A damp cloth dabbing his jaw, his throat, his chest. The familiar scent of Sui Zhou’s soap, the soap he’d brought home from the army, a clean fresh scent, as Sui Zhou bends near him. The faint scent of cooking, still clinging to Sui Zhou's clothes. Sui Zhou’s hair, tickling his bare chest as Sui Zhou sponges his skin. His face, magnified by Tang Fan's fever: his eyes wide with worry, usual dark circles under his eye even darker, well-formed lips slightly parted as if about to speak—

Tang Fan reaches up with a shaking hand, hooks a finger in Sui Zhou’s collar, pulls him down, pulls him close.

Kisses him.

He’s too hazy to have put much thought into it. Any thought into it.

The kiss is soft and sweet and broken abruptly by Sui Zhou as he jerks away.

A small gasping sound, and Old Pie’s amused voice: “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised, but—”

“He’s delirious!”

A clucking sound. “It’s alright, Sui Zhou. I’m a broadminded man, though I can’t say I’m—”

“Doctor Pei, this is not—”

A laugh. “I’m not judging you. Take care of him. I have a lead on some ice. Keep sponging him down! Give it another hour, then you can bathe him again. I’ll be right back—”

A flap of material, and the sound of a door closing.

Sui Zhou looks down at Tang Fan. He stares up at him, eyes bright, face flushed. He’s in just his kun, or drawers, looking even thinner and frailer than usual after days of fever and malnourishment. He's begun to move again, as if the heat in his skin has become painful. Gently Sui Zhou pins him to the bed, his skin hot beneath his hands.

"Just lie still," he whispers, keeping his head back this time, out of kissing range. "Hush. Lie still...."

The sound of his voice seems to sooth Tang Fan, and he stops moving, though he still grasps at Sui Zhou's robe, as if trying to draw him closer.

Leaning away, Sui Zhou dips a cloth into a bowl of tepid water and begins dabbing at Tang Fan’s narrow chest, sponging the ice-cold sweat from his skin. He’s still alarmingly warm to the touch, damp hair stuck to his throat and shoulders, skin pink and splotchy, lips white and chapped.

Lips that had…

Delirious. Tang Fan must be delirious…

Tang Fan reaches up a long slender arm, resting his hot sweaty hand on Sui Zhou’s cheek.

“Where did Old Pei go?” he asks. His voice is rough, almost inaudible. “Don’t leave me too…”

Sui Zhou swallows. “I’m not going to leave you.”

“Don’t…”

“I won’t.” He removes Tang Fan’s hand and wipes it down, laying it gently on the coverlet. “I’m here. I’m still here…”

Tang Fan tilts his head. “I knew you wouldn’t, Guangchuan. I can always count on you. Always.”

Sui Zhou swallows a surge of anxiety. Tang Fan, for all his surface frivolity and friendliness, is not one to speak about his feelings, or anything truly intimate. Sui Zhou can count on one hand the number of times he’d said anything like that.

And as for the kiss—

Tang Fan closes his eyes.

Gently, Sui Zhou runs the washcloth over Tang Fan’s flushed limbs. His skin is smooth and unscarred, the long slender lines of his throat meeting his frail-looking collarbones, his whole appearance of that of something fragile and beautifully delicate.

Something to be protected.

He turns him over on his stomach, moves his damp hair aside, and sponges the sweat from his bony pink-and-white back. His shoulder blades are sharp, his backbone a long bumpy line, his ribs visible.

Tang Fan twitches, rolling over on his side. “Guangchuan?”

“Still here.”

Weakly, Tang Fan pushes the damp cloth away. “I’m cold now.”

Sui Zhou feels his forehead. Tang Fan is right. With alarming abruptness his hot pink skin has gone white and cold to the touch, his entire body wracked with sudden chills.

Sui Zhou straightens in alarm. “I’ll go heat water for a bath—”

“Don’t leave me!” Tang Fan is speaking more clearly than before, but there’s unmistakably febrile panic choking his voice. “Don’t leave me alone—”

“I can’t let you freeze—”

Tang Fan clutches the front of Sui Zhou’s robe. “You’re warm.”

“I…”

Tang Fan moves aside, one trembling grayish hand on the sweaty sheets beside him. “Please, Guangchuan, I’m so cold—haven’t you ever been cold?—”

That settles it for Sui Zhou. He has been cold. Many times, while serving at the border. Cold, and hungry, and alone, and—not that he would admit it aloud—afraid, at times, as Tang Fan is now. At least until the creeping numbness took over as he kept surviving, and surviving, and surviving while everyone around him died...

He removes his damp outer clothes and crawls into bed beside Tang Fan, pulling the blankets over them. Tang Fan curls into him, a shivering bundle of bones. He wraps his arms around him tightly, moving Tang Fan’s hair away from his cold clammy skin so that it can dry without chilling Tang Fan further.

Tang Fan’s face is pressed against the hollow of his throat, his shallow breath cool on his skin. Sui Zhou pulls him closer, making sure the bedclothes are tucked tightly around them, keeping his warmth contained for Tang Fan to absorb.

He’s never shared a bed with someone before, definitely not someone pressed tightly against him like a sick kitten. Tang Fan is trembling, shivering violently, ice-cold hands inside Sui Zhou’s undershirt and pressed against his chest as if seeking his warmth.

Sui Zhou reaches around him, runs his hands up and down Tang Fan’s arms, tries to rub heat back into him. Tang Fan's arms are too lean, with little flesh or muscle to warm his fragile body. Hesitantly, fearing he’s going too far but uncertain of how else to help the shaking bundle of bones in his arms, Sui Zhou wraps a leg around Tang Fan, pinning Tang Fan’s long thin legs between his.

Take it, he wants to say. Take my warmth, take all of it…

Slowly, Tang Fan stops shaking, his violent trembling tapering into a gentle shiver. He moves slightly, resting his head on Sui Zhou’s shoulder. His eyes are still hot and glazed, but his breathing is deeper, steadier, chest moving against Sui Zhou’s.

Sui Zhou is afraid to move. He’s not used to this. He’s used to protecting by using his body as a weapon, not something that can warm, heal, comfort.

But it’s always been like that with Tang Fan, he realizes suddenly. And with Dong’er, brought into his life by Tang Fan. He's never done this kind of thing before, but cooking for them is something soft, something nurturing, something that gives life instead of bloodily protecting it.

“I want soup,” Tang Fan murmurs as if he can read his thoughts. “A brand-new soup.”

Sui Zhou feels his forehead again. He wants so badly to stay like this, but there's a fear again, a fear of what this might mean. A memory of the kiss—not a memory. The kiss has yet to have left his mind at all...

“Are you hungry again, or just cold?" he asks. "I’ll go fix you something—”

“No.” Tang Fan’s fingers dig into Sui Zhou’s chest, his voice a mere whisper. “Stay with me.”

Sui Zhou wonders if it’s the fever talking, as he’s certain it was for a kiss. It’s as if Sui Zhou is a giant puppy or a hot stone wrapped in cloth and tucked under the covers, warming Tang Fan. Nothing more than that. Anyone could do the same thing…

“Guangchuan." Tang Fan is almost inaudible. “You won’t leave me, right?”

Sui Zhou swallows. “I told you I wouldn’t.”

“I mean…if I get well…”

“You will.”

“…if I get well…you won’t leave me, will you?”

“Why would I leave you?”

“Make me leave you. I owe so much in rent…and food…”

"Forget all that." Sui Zhou smiles to himself, suddenly wanting to laugh, not something he feels often. Tang Fan is still cold against him, but Sui Zhou suddenly feels warm. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Tang Fan presses his face against Sui Zhou, fingers beginning to lose some of their chill. “Promise?” he murmurs.

“I promise.” He wants to ask him about the kiss, but he has time.

Tang Fan will get better. He knows he will.

And now that he’s promised him free rent and food, he’ll never get rid of him.

Pulling Tang Fan closer, he closes his eyes and thinks of soup.

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Enjoy? AO3

#suitang #tsomd #the sleuth of the ming dynasty katie #tang fan #sui zhou #old pei #pei huai #lotus writes #poison kiss (but like in a good way)#yeah....#look it's late and I had to come up with a title before I posted..............

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lady-of-the-lotus · 3 years

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Not Till Then

Tang Fan goes undercover in Yunhe disguised as a woman.

A very beautiful woman.

Sui Zhou has no choice but to play along as his servant.

For those of you who watched Episode 21 and thought, “This episode is great but could use more public humiliation and nudity.” (...I am my own target audience.)

Suitang - TSOMD - 7k - E - Read on AO3!

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“Are you ready?” Tang Fan calls through the curtain.

Sui Zhou stops pacing up and down the room. He’s been waiting for almost an hour. They’re due in Yunhe that evening, and they don’t have time to waste. “Hurry up.”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Just hurry up already.”

The curtain parts, and Tang Fan steps into the room.

Sui Zhou stops pacing.

Tang Fan is dressed as a woman.

Not just any woman.

A beautiful woman.

A very beautiful woman.

Tang Fan does a slow spin. “Like what you see?” he asks in a falsetto, coquettishly fanning his face with his fan.

Sui Zhou glances away. He’s never been attracted to women—is barely attracted to men, unless he knows them well, but—

He knows Tang Fan well.

And he looks beautiful.

Very beautiful.

“I’m my sister,” Tang Fan says in his normal voice, “setting up the house for me to come in a month or so. Nobody will suspect a woman of being a spy.”

Sui Zhou nods. Tang Fan taps him on the chest with his fan. “That’s all you’re going to say? No complaints about being kept in the dark? I wanted it to be a surprise!” He does another little spin, covering his face with false modesty and peering at Sui Zhou over the top of the fan, then bursting into laughter.

Sui Zhou finally finds his voice. “And I’m still going as your servant, I suppose?”

Tang Fan bustles him out the door. “Of course. I wouldn't deprive you of that treat."

All is in readiness when they arrive in Yunhe . The mansion, the horses, the carriage, and the—the half-dozen maids.

Eight, if he’s being precise.

Sui Zhou tries to ignore them. It makes sense for “Tang Yu” to have female attendants.

But still—

Did there have to be so many? And did they all have to be so pretty?

“Do they have to help you in the bedroom, too?” he asks Tang Fan a week later. It’s the first time they've had a moment alone. Tang Fan had slipped into the kitchen to “supervise.” “Tang Yu” leans against the table, draped in embroidered pink silks and gauze. His long hair is half-loose, half-up in glossy black knots, with bangs hiding his forehead. His face is made-up more carefully than on that first day, with red lipstick, faint rouge, eyeshadow, and winged eyeliner turning his delicate features into those any beauty would be proud of.

“Guangchuan?”

Sui Zhou pulls his eyes away and turns back to his vegetables. “Did you find anything out?”

Tang Fan holds a finger to his lips and jerks his head at the window for some reason.

“Of course they help me into bed,” he says, tilting his head at Sui Zhou. “They’re dutiful servants, unlike some people I could name.”

“I’m not giving you the mutton soup recipe.”

Tang Fan pokes him with his fan. He’s gotten far too free and easy with that fan, most often using it to poke Sui Zhou when he doesn’t move fast enough or anticipate his needs or speak in a respectful enough tone. “You dare disobey your mistress?”

Sui Zhou struggles to hide an eye roll. This is a serious case, but Tang Fan has been treating it like a drama being put on for his own amusement.

Tang Fan would make a good actor, Sui Zhou has to admit. His entire body language changes when he’s dressed as Tang Yu. His posture, the way he tilts his chin, the slope of his shoulders and flick of his eyes. His usual awkward gait has become graceful, and he carries himself with an authority the male version of Tang Fan can only feint at.

His voice is different, too. Not just his fake Tang Yu voice—it’s the curt, authoritative way he gives orders, as if adopting a feminine persona has unlocked an entire new side of his personality.

Sui Zhou knows it should annoy him, but he…doesn’t hate being ordered around.

He’s never minded taking orders from someone he deems competent. And Tang Fan…

Well, Tang Fan is many things, but competent is one of them.

Most of the time, anyway.

Tang Fan holds out his hand. They’re beautiful hands, long and slender and delicate, but they’re the only part of him that hint at his true sex. He hides them in long gauzy sleeves, for the most part, but not around Sui Zhou. “The mutton soup recipe. Now.”

“No.” Sui Zhou continues chopping vegetables. Tang Fan is standing a bit too close to him, and he wants to move away but doesn’t want to make it obvious. He can smell Tang Fan’s perfume at this range, the first time he’s ever noticed such a thing about a woman (Not a woman, he reminds himself), and he once again he notices the soft red sheen on Tang Fan’s lips and pale pink rouge on his cheeks and black defining his already beautifully-shaped eyes…

He moves away under the pretense of fetching a bundle of bok choy, and Tang Fan’s entire body seems to move along with him even as Tang Fan remains standing in the same place, a sinuous, feminine rolling of his hips and shoulders.

“You dare disobey your mistress?” Tang Fan asks again, and there’s a new note in his voice this time.

Sui Zhou glances over. One of the maids stands in the doorway. Ah.

“I will discipline you later,” Tang Fan says coldly. He straightens, tucking his hands inside his sleeves. “Present yourself to me after dinner.”

Gripping his knife a little tighter, Sui Zhou ducks his head.

Tang Fan barely deigns to nod, as if Sui Zhou is not worth his time. He glides gracefully out of the kitchen with the maid, who gives Sui Zhou a curious look and follows Tang Fan at a respectful distance.

Sui Zhou helps serve dinner. Oversees it, really, as the head servant, but as usual Tang Fan finds a thousand different ways to send him running back and forth between the dining chamber and the kitchen, fetching more sauce or seasoning when Sui Zhou knows good and well everything is perfect.

Annoying as it is, Sui Zhou doesn’t mind, for the most part. He’s never felt more useless than he has since being suspended from the Imperial Guard, and taking care of Tang Fan—or, more accurately, catering to his increasingly ridiculous whims—is something he can do, at least. And do well.

He could do without an audience, though. The eight maids stand lined up behind Tang Fan like a row of bodyguards, and Ma Lin and his family are guests tonight. His sons are away, but his wife, their four daughters, and a niece fill the room.

A veritable crowd.

He can feel the women watching him as Tang Fan harangues him for the soup not being hot enough (it’s the perfect temperature, Sui Zhou knows) and the meat being too rare (exactly how Tang Fan likes it, Sui Zhou also knows).

Sui Zhou struggles to keep from dumping the soup over Tang Fan’s head. This is all part of the Tang Yu persona—a frivolous yet exacting young woman, rather vain, interested in nothing but her own pleasures. The exact kind of person who Ma Lin’s wife and spoiled daughters would befriend.

But, also a very soup-dumpable one.

He and the maids clear away the dishes, and Tang Fan and the Ma family retire to the tea room with the eight maids lined respectfully against the wall and the Ma women’s five attendants behind them.

Sui Zhou is about to withdraw when Tang Fan turns to him, a faint smirk on his painted red lips. If Sui Zhou didn’t know better, he’d swear Tang Fan had enjoyed badgering him all night.

“Sui Zhou,” he says, “present yourself as ordered.” He slaps his fan in his palm when Sui Zhou doesn't move. “At once!”

Gritting his teeth, Sui Zhou gets down on one knee. “Mistress.”

His eyes are fixed respectfully on Tang Fan’s feet, but he can hear the frosty smugness in “Tang Yu”’s every syllable.

“And what did you do to deserve this punishment?”

Sui Zhou ducks his head. “I disobeyed the Mistress.”

Tang Fan is walking back and forth before him, fan clasped behind his back, silky pink robes floating about him. “And how did you disobey your mistress?”

“I…”

A sudden sharp rap on his skull, and his head jerks up. Tang Fan has struck him with his fan, much to the appreciation of the Ma family, which believes in treating the servants harshly, from what Sui Zhou has seen on his visits to the Ma Mansion. Ma Lin himself is a kindly old man, but as for the rest of the family...

Tang Fan smiles as he pushes Sui Zhou’s head back down. “Speak!”

“I disobeyed a direct command,” says Sui Zhou through clenched teeth.

A swish of silk as Tang Fan parades back and forth before him. “And?”

“Please…give me severe punishments.”

Tang Fan bends down, tilting his chin up with the fan. He’s mere inches away from his face, and Sui Zhou feels a flush of warmth spreading through him despite everything.

Or perhaps because of everything, which is a confusing idea he doesn’t have the time to think about right now—

Tang Fan digs the tip of the fan deeper into his chin and rises. “Remain kneeling there the rest of the night, and never repeat your mistakes again.”

“Is that all?” asks Owner Ma’s niece. She’s about twenty, a bright-eyed, rather fluffy little thing with big, innocent eyes that have not left Sui Zhou all night. “Back home, we make them kneel naked for disobedience!”

“And then we beat them,” adds one of the daughters.

Sui Zhou glances up at the girl. Tang Fan shoves his head back down.

“You heard the ladies,” says Tang Fan. “Strip.”

Sui Zhou rises. Tang Fan shoots him a quick look. Sorry! Sui Zhou wants to believe he's saying. You know I have to ingratiate myself—

Except Sui Zhou is no longer certain he believes that. It’s been a week, and Tang Fan has learned no new information, just spent his days with Ma Lin’s pretty daughters and niece, the pretty maids, the pretty neighbors who come for tea—

“He’s disobeying again!” squeals the little niece when Sui Zhou makes no move to disrobe. “Tang Yu, make him listen!”

Tang Fan looks Sui Zhou in the eye again, but there’s no way Sui Zhou can fool himself into believing there’s anything but cruel pleasure in his face.

“Do it,” he orders, “or I’ll do it for you.” And he undoes Sui Zhou’s thick leather belt and stands before Sui Zhou, holding the heavy leather strap-like belt in his delicate hands.

Sui Zhou’s robes fall open. As slowly as he dares, he slips his dark blue outer robe off, followed by his middle clothes and undershirt and trousers. He hands them to a maid, who doesn’t even try to avert her gaze. He’s wearing only his kun, or drawers. They’re loosely bound around the waist and leave part of his legs bare.

“Shoes,” orders Tang Fan, and Sui Zhou obeys, slipping off his shoes. He stands there, mostly naked and barefoot, and bows to Tang Fan.

“Once again I ask for severe punishments,” he says, trying to keep his humiliation out of his voice.

There’s a familiar smug look on Tang Fan’s face that almost gives Sui Zhou hope that this is just an act. “You don’t sound very apologetic.”

“Once again I ask for severe punishments,” Sui Zhou repeats, bowing this time.

“Kneel!”

Sui Zhou gets down on his knees. A yellow mirror runs along the wall, and he can see himself as the others do: long black hair around his broad shoulders, muscles standing out starkly as he struggles to keep from clenching his fists, glimpses of leg through the open sides of the kun. See himself kneeling at Tang Fan’s feet, the ravenous women, the scars crisscrossing his muscular back and arms and chest, the sharp V of the muscles on his lower back.

Tang Fan circles him like a hungry shark, trailing the serrated edges of his fan over Sui Zhou’s shoulder blades. “Hands and knees.”

Sui Zhou doesn’t move. He is not a prideful man. Quite the opposite. But—

A thudding in the small of his back, and suddenly he’s sprawled forward on his chest, Tang Fan’s foot pressed against the back of his neck.

“I said hands and knees,” says Tang Fan, and Sui Zhou feels a flush of shame prickle his cheeks. He’s never been bested physically by being taken by surprise, but he had not expected violence from Tang Fan—

Something stirs in his kun, and he’s horrified to realize that he’s…he’s aroused by this.

He closes his eyes and tries to think of something— anything— other than Tang Fan’s foot on his neck, the long slim leg attached to that foot, the slender torso and painted face.

Sui Zhou is suddenly very grateful that his kun are loose.

“On your knees,” orders Tang Fan. He finally removes his foot, only to jerk Sui Zhou’s head up the hair. “Over there!” He points to his chair.

Sui Zhou begins to rise, and Tang Fan puts a foot on his shoulder and shoves him back to the floor.

“Did I say you can rise?” He gazes down at Sui Zhou with eyes as cold as they are beautiful. “You disobeyed me like a dog; crawl like one!”

Swallowing hard, Sui Zhou crawls across the room to Tang Fan’s chair. Tang Fan seats himself in a rustle of silk and puff of perfume.

“I’ll train him, in time,” Tang Fan says to the women, almost apologetically, and sets his teacup down on Sui Zhou’s back, the cup almost hot enough to burn his bare skin. Sui Zhou’s heavy leather belt rests on Tang Fan’s knee as if to say, Step out of line, and I can have you stripped fully naked and flogged right here in the tearoom, beaten like the disobedient dog you are. These women would delight in it….

Sui Zhou closes his eyes again.

Tea seems to last for hours.

His back and arms and shoulders ache, but he relishes the pain. Something to distract him from the fact that he’s still half hard. Half-hard and mostly naked in front of all these people, in front of servants he’s supposed to be master of—

Tang Fan sets a fresh cup of hot tea down on his back, and he grits his teeth.

Tang Fan is enjoying this. He knows he is.

The thought makes him harder even as he's decided that Tang Fan must be faking it. Can’t genuinely enjoy being surrounded by these women, covered in silk and perfume and jewelry despite knowing how depraved their owners are, how corrupt and unjust Ma Lin is.

He opens his eyes, looking up slightly. Tang Fan is gazing down at him intently. Tang Fan maintains eye contact as he sets his hand down beside the teacup, spreading his fingers over Sui Zhou’s shoulder blades, one fingernail running along a long raised scar left by the torture Sui Zhou had undergone in Ji'an.

Sui Zhou swallows hard, the memory of Ji'an a comforting one despite the torture.

Tang Fan had risked his own life to save him. Risked everything for justice.

Surely a man like that wouldn’t change overnight, wouldn’t allow his head to be turned by a few pretty maids, a few luxuries…

Would not be like all the other government officials he knows.

Tang Fan is different. He knows he is...

He focuses on the burning in his arms and legs again. Better than trying to figure out why he’s feeling more aroused than he’s been in recent memory.

Any memory.

“What are you going to do with him?” asks Madam Ma as they’re getting ready to leave. She grasps Tang Fan’s hands maternally. “Here in Yunhe, we make the erring servant wait on us hand and foot for a week.”

“He already does,” says Tang Fan carelessly, casting a contemptuous look down at Sui Zhou. He lifts Sui Zhou’s chin with his fan again, forcing his stiff muscles to stretch as Sui Zhou’s neck cranes upward. Sui Zhou is not much of a blusher, but he feels his cheeks grow hot as he sees the amused smile on Madam Ma’s face as she drinks in the naked length of his back.

“Oh, my dear, that’s not quite what I meant.” She winks at Tang Fan and raises an eyebrow at Sui Zhou. “You’ll both get used to our ways, soon enough.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She gives a little laugh. “Do yourself a favor and don’t be too gentle with him, my dear. It’s more fun that way.” She claps her hands. “Girls! We’re leaving.”

“Don’t move!” Tang Fan orders Sui Zhou as he begins to straighten his cramped limbs, and Sui Zhou freezes in a kneeling position.

A flurry of bowing, and suddenly the room is empty.

Sui Zhou remains kneeling in the empty room.

Footsteps. A familiar pink hem and whiff of perfume.

“Now, what should I do with you?” Tang Fan circles him again, trailing one long slender finger across Sui Zhou’s shoulders. “Should I let you dress? Or make you kneel here all night? Or use you as a footstool as I write a letter to Runqing?”

Sui Zhou takes a deep breath. Tang Fan’s tones are the same cold, indifferent tones he’s been using all night, but he can’t deny the shiver the contempt in Tang Fan’s voice sends down his back.

He deserves contempt. He, who has been the cause of so much death and misery. He knows this.

What he’s not quite certain of is how Tang Fan knows it.

Or why it’s kept him hard for longer than he can remember.

Tang Fan stops walking, leaving one hand on Sui Zhou’s shoulder. It’s warm and soft and nothing at all like his gaze or voice.

“You will be helping me to bed for the next week,” Tang Fan says, and Sui Zhou ducks his head.

Tang Fan’s fingers bite into Sui Zhou’s shoulder, nails digging into his skin. “Is that all? Did you hear me?” And then, bending closer, as if to taunt Sui Zhou, he whispers, “The maids are nearby.”

Sui Zhou feels a surprising rush of relief, as if he hadn’t been entirely sure that Tang Fan had been acting, after all.

“Yes,” he says.

Tang Fan straightens. “Yes what?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Better.” Tang Fan removes his hand and turns away and glides towards the door. After a few steps he turns, frowning. “Well?”

“Mistress didn’t tell me I could rise.” The words feel foreign on his lips, but if the maids are nearby—

“You’re learning.” Tang Fan gestures imperiously. “Get up and follow me. Unless you prefer to crawl like a dog?”

Sui Zhou shakes his head and rises, muscles stiff, and bows. Tang Fan nods with affected impatience and heads to his bedroom, Sui Zhou following at a respectful distance. He wants to put his clothes back on, but Tang Fan hasn’t given him permission, and something tells him not to ask.

Tang Fan locks the bedroom door behind them, but instead of dropping his mask, he looks Sui Zhou up and down and says, “Hand and foot, Madam Ma said.”

Sui Zhou opens his mouth, but Tang Fan puts a finger to his lips and tilts his head at the door, as if to say, They’re listening.

“Undress me,” he orders, loud enough for anyone listening behind the door to hear. He stands before the full-length mirror and beckons sharply at Sui Zhou.

Sui Zhou has no idea how women’s clothes work. Hesitantly, he reaches for the belt-like tie and fumblingly undoes the buttons. He finds more ties and buttons, his fingers brushing Tang Fan’s bare skin and he removes layer after layer. He can see Tang Fan’s face in the mirror, watching him, and see himself in the mirror behind Tang Fan, half-naked and nervous. His fingers brush Tang Fan’s bare skin again, as warm and soft as his hand had been on his shoulder, and he pulls away.

He removes Tang Fan’s outer skirts and steps back, the silken clothes bundled over his arm. Tang Fan stands in just a gauzy pink skirt and light green apron-like undergarment, back left bare save two thin silken ties around his waist and neck, graceful shoulder blades standing out in the lamplight.

Without thinking, Sui Zhou reaches out and trails his fingertip down a sharp shoulder blade, and he feels Tang Fan shiver. His hands must be cold, he thinks—

Then he realizes what he’s doing, and pulls his hand away, but it’s too late. Tang Fan is facing him, that same imperious look on his face.

“Did I say you could touch me like that?” Tang Fan asks, and Sui Zhou wishes he had put it any other way. Sui Zhou hadn’t meant it that way—he’s not sure what he had meant to do, but this made it sound like he was trying to—to take advantage of his mistress somehow—

“Put my clothes away properly, and get down over there.” Tang Fan points at the dressing table.

Face red, Sui Zhou hurriedly obeys, neatly folding the clothes and placing them in the large lacquered chest against the wall. When he turns back to the dressing table, the chair that had been set before the dressing table is gone, and Tang Fan is still pointing at the floor, his long slender arms bare in the candlelight, his collarbones standing out sharply, his slender waist accentuated by his fitted undergarment.

“Hand and foot, said Madam Ma,” says Tang Fan, tilting his head at the floor.

Swallowing hard, Sui Zhou gets down on his hands and knees before the dressing table.

Tang Fan seats himself on his back.

Sui Zhou’s cock begins to stir again.

He closes his eyes. He can’t imagine why this, of all things, is what wakes him. The soft weight on his back, the brush of silk skirt on arms, the scent of Tang Fan’s perfume…

He risks a quick glance up.

Tang Fan is combing out his glossy black hair with a wooden comb inlaid with gold flowers, the ends of his hair grazing Sui Zhou’s bare back. The loose hair framing his face makes him even more beautiful, emphasizing his delicate features and narrow face. As Sui Zhou watches Tang Fan applies cream to his face, wipes it off, removes the color from his lips.

Sui Zhou looks away. He doesn’t want to see Tang Fan right now. He knows it’s all an act, but—he’d rather Tang Yu treat him like a dog than Tang Fan.

After a moment he looks up again. Tang Fan is reapplying his cosmetics, reddening his lips, painting his eyes, transforming himself back into Tang Yu.

Tang Fan smirks at himself in the mirror, as if he knows Sui Zhou is watching, knows Sui Zhou is hard, and leans back with the heel of his palm digging into the sensitive half-burn left behind by his teacup.

“Like what you see?” he asks.

Sui Zhou looks away.

Tang Fan reaches down, trailing his fingers through Sui Zhou’s hair. “I wonder how you would look done up like a woman,” he says musingly, giving Sui Zhou’s hair a little tug. “Would the disobedient dog like that?”

Sui Zhou swallows hard.

Another tug, sharper this time, and Sui Zhou is now painfully hard. Something twice as humiliating as anything Tang Fan can do to him.

“Your mistress asked you a question.”

“...Whatever the mistress wishes.”

“A good answer. For once.” Tang Fan rises and points to the bed. “Get on the bed. Lie on your back. You may rise,” he adds when Sui Zhou remains on his hands and knees.

Sui Zhou’s heart is beating fast as he lies on Tang Fan’s bed, the silken coverlet soft against his aching muscles. Tang Fan drifts over the bed, a small pot and brush in his hands. Still dressed in his cinched, shoulder-baring undergarment and long, gauzy skirt, he straddles Sui Zhou and stares down at him.

Sui Zhou looks away again.

The maids can’t see into the room…can they? Surely they can’t watch Tang Fan's every moment, can they? Tang Fan would need to shave in the morning, at the very least…unless he doesn’t grow a beard, which, by the looks of him, is somewhat likely.

But...after what had happened tonight...surely they would be on duty now....

Is that why Tang Fan is still Tang Yu?

Is that why he’s obeying Madam Ma?

Is that why Sui Zhou is obeying Tang Fan?

Because…

It’s not like he’s enjoying this, he tells himself.

It’s not like he’s enjoying being called a dog—he deserves it, he knows that, but it’s not something he should like—and it’s not like he’s enjoying being treated like a slave, but—

Tang Fan rests one hand on Sui Zhou’s abdomen, his scholar’s hand soft on his scarred skin. He looks particularly beautiful from this angle, his dark hair spilling down around his bony shoulders and falling onto his slender chest. He must notice how hard Sui Zhou is, but he doesn’t say anything.

Sui Zhou isn’t sure if the discretion is the Tang Fan side of him or the Tang Yu side of him, but he’s humiliated just the same. He’d almost rather Tang Fan say something.

Anything.

“Close your eyes,” orders Tang Fan, and Sui Zhou obeys.

A shifting on his legs, and the feeling of someone leaning over him, hair sliding over his chest. Warmth near him, soft breath. Something touching his face, pulling gently at his eyelid.

The sound of the pot being opened. A brush, gliding over his eyes. A finger, softly smudging at his eyelids. A faint, almost pleasurable tickle on his inner eye.

“There.” Tang Fan settles back, gazing down at him with something new in his eyes. “Look how pretty you are.” He holds up a hand mirror. “You’d make a beautiful maid, Sui Zhou. We should shave that ridiculous mustache and dress you in silk. Would you like that?”

Sui Zhou looks at himself in the mirror. His eyes are lined as if with kohl, giving him an the air of a foreign woman from the southern continent.

He swallows hard. It’s hard to get his tongue to work properly. “No.”

Tang Fan sets the mirror down and sets a hand on Sui Zhou’s diaphragm. “No, what?”

“…No, mistress.”

Panther-like, Tang Fan bends forward, back arced, his hair falling over Sui Zhou’s chest, hand gliding all the way up to Sui Zhou’s throat. He strokes his thumb over Sui Zhou’s Adam’s apple, finger trailing over his jaw.

He leans in close, so close Sui Zhou can feel the warmth of his skin, and murmurs, “You can go if you want. I'll make some excuse."

Sui Zhou’s heart is beating so hard he imagines it’s moving the air above his chest, sending a current through the air that Tang Fan can feel. “Are they watching?”

“They might be.” Tang Fan brushes his lips over his ear, as if trying to provide an excuse for leaning in so close, just in case. “I haven’t a moment’s peace.”

“I’ll stay,” Sui Zhou whispers back.

He wonders what he would have said had Tang Fan said, “No, the maids are long in bed.”

It’s not as if…it’s not as if he doesn’t want whatever this is. Not how he would have chosen to go about it, but…

He had a lover in the army.

That wasn’t the right word—“lover”—but somehow “sweetheart” fits even worse.

“Lover” implied something more physical than it had been, he thinks. There had been a few stolen kisses, but there had been little privacy on the border, and only one or two true trysts.

Sui Zhou had been fine with that. Better than fine. Sex has never been on his list of needs. Merely having someone to share the horrors of war with had been more than enough.

Until he sent his lover to his death, and lost him together with the rest of his brothers in the ambush he should have seen coming—should prevented—

His fault, his fault—

Tang Fan he can take care of. Nothing bad will happen to Tang Fan because of Sui Zhou. Including failing at his mission because Sui Zhou couldn’t play along for a single night.

“Are you certain?” Tang Fan whispers, nuzzling Sui Zhou's throat.

Sui Zhou nods and closes his eyes briefly, then opens them when Tang Fan’s true face appears in his mind's eye in place of Tang Yu’s.

He can handle being in bed with Tang Yu.

He’s not sure he can handle being in bed with Tang Fan. Not just yet.

Tang Fan’s face has replaced his old lover’s in his dreams of late, something almost worse than the nightmare itself.

He deserves this humiliation. Deserves whatever Tang Fan has in store for him. Deserves to have maids watch whatever this is.

Deserves it for having moved on. For surviving when his brothers had not.

For not just surviving, but living.

This is for the good of the mission, he reminds himself. And doing his duty, doing good, is something he can point to in his darkest moments and tell himself, “This is why you survived. You have purpose yet…”

It doesn’t always work, or even usually work, but it’s something.

“Lovely.” Tang Fan straightens, rolling his shoulders in a way that accentuates the delicacy of his collarbones and sharp ridges of his shoulders. “Now, what do we do with disobedient servants?”

“Punish them.”

“And have you been disobedient?”

“Yes. Yes….mistress.”

“Excellent. You’re learning. Don’t move.” Tang Fan slips out of bed and moves gracefully across the room, far different than his usual bobbing stride.

Sui Zhou lies very still.

Tang Fan returns with a candle in each hand. He sets them on the small table beside the bed and straddles Sui Zhou once again.

“What do you have to say, servant?”

Sui Zhou swallows. The warm glow of the candles gilds Tang Fan's pale smooth skin and makes his silky black hair shine. “Please punish me, mistress.”

Smiling, Tang Fan takes a candle from the table. “Where would you prefer it, back or chest?”

“Back.”

“In that case, we’ll do chest.” Tang Fan holds the candle close to Sui Zhou’s chest and lets a fat glob of yellow wax fall onto his skin.

Sui Zhou grits his teeth.

Another wax drip, hotter this time, and another, and another, melting the wax beneath it. It runs over his pectoral and over his chest, hardening over his ribs and scalding the soft skin under his arm.

Sui Zhou closes his eyes. A hot splash on his clavicle, another between his pectorals. Wax dripping over his abdominal muscles, onto his naval…

It feels almost…

He’s still hard.

Harder, if anything.

Another hot splash, on his nipple this time, and he flinches slightly.

“You flinch, and I keep going,” says Tang Fan, touching his throat. He presses his thumb between Sui Zhou’s collarbones, wrapping his other fingers around Sui Zhou’s throat and squeezing slightly before stopping.

Sui Zhou opens his eyes. Tang Fan has a slightly confused look on his face, as if unsure of what he’s doing—or rather, why he’s doing it. When he sees Sui Zhou eyes open he smooths his face back into Tang Yu’s usual cold, haughty expression.

“Eyes closed,” he orders.

Sui Zhou obeys.

Another hot splash, on his throat this time, as if Tang Fan wants to burn away the half-choke. He can feel the delicate skin of his throat sear beneath the hot wax, and is surprised to realize he’s savoring the sensation.

More heat on his abdomen, then his hips, hot wax dripping on the ridges of his hips that rise above his kun. Every drop of wax is more intense than a true burn would be, all of his senses concentrated on each splash, every inch of him waiting for each successive drip.

A creak outside the door, and he feels Tang Fan freeze, then relax.

“Well,” says Tang Fan, and Sui Zhou knows he’s finally chosen to acknowledge his erection, perhaps thanks to the creak outside the door, “what have we here?” He runs a finger along the rim of Sui Zhou’s kun, and Sui Zhou tries to still his beating heart. “Someone enjoying his punishment a little too much?”

Sui Zhou holds his breath.

“What a greedy servant,” clucks Tang Fan. “Is that truly what you want? To do as Madam Ma suggested?”

Sui Zhou doesn’t respond. Heat is rising in his cheeks, spreading through his body, almost hot enough to melt the hardened wax on his chest.

He hears Tang Fan set the candle back beside the bed. “Look at me when I speak to you!” Tang Fan orders.

Sui Zhou opens his eyes. Tang Fan’s head is tilted at him questioning, belaying the bark in his voice. “Is that what you want, servant?” he repeats, and Sui Zhou sees the question in his eyes—Tang Fan’s eyes, not Tang Yu’s. “Answer your mistress when she speaks to you!”

Sui Zhou nods. Yes. Anything for the mission…

Not because all of his senses are awake, not because this is painful, not because he…he…

He closes his eyes again, and Tang Fan snaps in his face. “Beg me for it,” Tang Fan orders. “I want to hear you say the words.”

Sui Zhou licks his lips. They’re suddenly dry, his entire body trembling. He’s never felt this way before, not even during his few actual sexual encounters. “I...I want to…make love to the mistress.”

“ ‘Make love’?” Tang Fan— Tang Yu, he reminds himself—laughs in his face. “What do you think this is? A reward?”

“It’s a—punishment—”

��Don’t forget it. Getting above yourself…we should put that mouth to another use, so it has less time to say stupid things.”

Tang Fan blows out the candles and seats himself on the edge of the bed.

“Strip and get on your knees,” he orders, pointing at the floor.

Hesitantly, Sui Zhou obediently removes his kun. Silvery moonlight pours through the window, illuminating the room and laying him bare before Tang Fan and any spies.

Tang Fan’s eyes widen at the sight of Sui Zhou naked. Biting his lip, he seems about to speak, then remembers the creak at the door—at least Sui Zhou thinks he does—and smirks instead.

“How presumptions,” he says, addressing Sui Zhou’s groin. He tips his chin and tilts his head coquettishly, eyes still locked on Sui Zhou’s cock. “I see we’ve got quite a lot to work with here.”

Sui Zhou feels himself blushing. He’s blushed more in this one night than he has all years.

Tang Fan smiles. “Get on your knees.”

Sui Zhou kneels beside the bed.

Tang Fan parts his legs. “You know what to do.”

Sui Zhou has no idea what to do.

Tang Fan frowns. “Don’t tell me you’ve never pleasured a woman before?”

Sui Zhou fights the urge to wrinkle his nose. He wonders if this is the kind of dialogue in Tang Fan’s romance novels, and if so he wonders how they ever sold.

“Use that smart mouth of yours,” orders Tang Fan.

Oh. Is that even possible, with a woman in this position?

It must be, or Tang Fan wouldn’t have asked him to do so, right? Tang Fan has to have done at least some research for those ridiculous books of his…

Sui Zhou wonders if Tang Fan has ever been with a woman before—been with anyone—and feels a pang of jealousy.

Tang Fan lifts his gauzy pink skirt to his ankles and gestures.

Sui Zhou ducks under the skirt. He grips one trousered leg, holding it steady, and tugs the trousers down.

Tang Fan is just as hard as he is.

Sui Zhou’s not sure why he’s surprised, but he is.

Tang Fan grips his head through the skirt. “You make your mistress wait?”

There’s a definite note of glee in his voice. Sui Zhou isn’t sure why he didn’t notice it there before.

Sui Zhou isn’t sure how he feels about that.

“Get to work!” Tang Fan orders, and Sui Zhou delicately grips Tang Fan’s cock and experimentally runs his hand up and down its length.

Tang Fan’s nails dig into his scalp, gripping his hair through the skirt’s thin, gauzy material. “I said use your mouth!”

Swallowing hard, Sui Zhou slides the tip into his mouth. It’s hot on his tongue and fills more of his mouth than he would have expected.

“That’s a good little servant,” says Tang Fan patronizingly, a little catch in his voice, and for reasons he doesn’t understand, Sui Zhou almost comes then and there. “Making yourself useful for once.”

Sui Zhou takes him deeper, suddenly filled with an urge to take as much of Tang Fan into himself, even this cruel, imperfect version of Tang Fan. He fills his mouth with as much of Tang Fan as he can handle, his cock bumping up against the back of his throat. Half-choking, he pulls off his cock, trying to take a deep breath despite the enveloping skirts.

Tang Fan grips his hair tighter, tugging it sharply. “Did I say you could stop?”

Sui Zhou runs his tongue along the sides of his cock, delicately rubbing his fingers over the base, and slides his head down onto the rock-hard length again, sucking hard, bobbing his head up and down. Tang Fan guides him back down onto it with every stroke, harder and harder, shoving his cock deeper and deeper into his mouth, until his eyes fill with tears at the gagging sensation.

He sucks hard at the tip on the last go, pushing back against Tang Fan’s brutal hand, and Tang Fan comes, shoving Sui Zhou’s head down on his cock as he gasps.

Something hot paints the back of Sui Zhou’s throat and he chokes, mouth filling with salty liquid.

“Swallow it,” Tang Fan commands in a whisper, and Sui Zhou obeys, wanting to take more of Tang Fan into himself despite everything, despite everything that had happened that evening, despite—despite…

He’s still hard. Painfully so.

Sui Zhou fixes Tang Fan’s skirt and settles on his knees. Tang Fan leans back on his palms, lifting a bare foot to rest lazily on Sui Zhou’s shoulder.

“Finish yourself off,” he orders.

Sui Zhou has trouble finding his voice, heart pounding, throat sore. “I beg your pardon?”

Tang Fan moves his foot, jerking Sui Zhou so that he almost falls forward on all fours. Drops of precum splatter the floor, further evidence of his shame. “I said, finish yourself off, like the rutting dog of a servant you are.” He eyes Sui Zhou’s cock, a mocking smile on his face. “Unless you still want to make love to me.”

Sui Zhou shakes his head. Aroused as he is, he’s feeling slightly sick. He reminds himself of the whispers, of Tang Fan’s whispers. Of the creak outside the door.

And act. This is all an act—

But there’s genuine pleasure in Tang Fan’s eyes, and his foot is heavy on his shoulder.

Still he hesitates, and Tang Fan removes his foot, running a toe up the side of Sui Zhou’s cock, up and down, then holds his foot up before him.

“Kiss it,” he orders, and Sui Zhou leans forward and kisses his slender ankle despite himself.

Smiling, Tang Fan returns his foot to his shoulder, using his toe to play with his ear, sending a rush of heat through Sui Zhou.

“I believe I ordered you to do something.” Tang Fan is leaning back on both hands, idly watching Sui Zhou while examining his nails, as if Sui Zhou’s humiliation isn’t important enough for him to give his full attention.

Unlike the maids, who are probably watching—listening, at the very least—

Sui Zhou reaches between his legs. His cock is stiff and heavy in his hand, hot and almost painful to handle.

Swiftly he slides his hand up and down, equally desperate for release and to get away from Tang Yu, who is watching him with cold, beautiful eyes as he rubs his cock, made slippery by the beads of precum that dribble from the tip.

“Faster,” orders Tang Fan, and Sui Zhou moves faster, faster, until he comes in his hand, cum squirting between his fingers and splattering the floor.

“Wipe it up,” Tang Fan orders, eyes bright. He lifts Sui Zhou’s chin with his foot, gazing down into Sui Zhou's flaming face. He pats his cheek with his foot and spreads himself over the bed, as if sated by Sui Zhou’s humiliation. “I should have made you lick it up,” he adds musingly as Sui Zhou, shaking, obediently mops the floor with a handkerchief and rises with a bow.

“Is there anything else the mistress wishes for me to do?” Sui Zhou asks. His voice is rough, heart still beating too fast.

“Prepare ink, and bring it here.”

Silently, Sui Zhou grinds the ink and brings it to the bed while Tang Fan watches, his eyes never leaving Sui Zhou’s naked form.

“Lie on your stomach,” Tang Fan instructs, moving aside.

Sui Zhou lies on his front, eyes closed. Tang Fan straddles him from behind, an uncomfortable weight on his legs.

Tang Yu. That’s all. It’s Tang Yu—

A brushing sensation over his shoulder blades.

“Aren’t you going to ask what I’m writing?” Tang Fan asks.

“I wouldn’t presume.”

Tang Fan claps delightly. “You’re learning! But I’ll tell you anyway: I’m writing my name on you. Like a Jurchen branding cattle…” He laughs, as if this is funny. “Do you like that idea?”

Sui Zhou closes his eyes.

“You may sleep here for the night,” says Tang Fan carelessly once he’s finished writing his name over and over on Sui Zhou’s back. “There.”

He points to the foot of the bed.

“What is it?” Tang Fan cocks his head when Sui Zhou doesn’t move. “You aren’t grateful to be allowed to spend the night in my bed? Alright, then. Go to your room, or kennel to curl up in, or whatever you normally sleep in.”

“I’ll stay,” Sui Zhou hears himself saying. He hates himself for it, but he wants to be close to Tang Fan—what’s left of Tang Fan—

Tang Fan smiles. “Your choice.”

Sui Zhou doesn’t risk sleeping that night, afraid of hurting Tang Fan, even this cruel new version of Tang Fan. He’s up early the next morning, limbs stiff after a cramped night at the foot of the bed all night. Tang Fan must be a restless sleeper, because he’s moved halfway down the bed, one hand resting on Sui Zhou’s head.

Like someone petting a dog, Sui Zhou thinks. Soundlessly he dresses, slipping from the room.

Quickly he makes his way to his own chamber, hoping he’s early enough to avoid meeting any maids. He’s not sure how he’ll look any of them in the eye after—after—

He shuts his bedroom door behind him.

An act. It was all an act.

It had to be.

He couldn't have been wrong about Tang Fan.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t…

Sui Zhou has only a small hand mirror in his room. He wedges it between two vases on a shelf and strips to the waist, flakes of dried wax falling to the floor. Craning his neck, he turns to read what Tang Fan wrote on his back, needing to see it for himself before he scrubs it off.

When the hills are all flat,

The rivers are all dry.

When it thunders in winter,

When it snows in summer

When heaven and earth mingle,

Not till then will I part from you…

Oh.

Blushing again, Sui Zhou smiles.

___________________________

liked it? AO3! Or spare a reblog for a humble fic writer laboring in a tiny fandom?

#suitang #tsomd #the sleuth of ming dynasty #the sleuth of the ming dynasty katie #sui zhou #tang fan #lotus writes #Not Till Then

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