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When knights in shiny golden armor come knocking at the foot of Shang Qinghua’s mountain for the fifth time in two months, he’s really at the end of his fucking rope.
Like, really. Really? Life hasn’t been annoying enough lately? Everything is out to get him in some way or another. The pesky harpies nesting at the peak of his mountain have gotten so broody with mating season that they’ve taken to dive-bombing him when leaves to go hunting. His best friend eloped with some faerie half-breed half a year ago and hasn’t been seen since. A nasty patch of scale-rot keeps cropping up on his shoulder blade, just out of itching range, whenever it gets too humid. The fucking roof of his cave is leaking again.
To top it all off, his long-awaited (not) first eggs came in four months ago, and have been weighing him down like a lump of iron ever since. It took four hundred years for them to finally come in, and they couldn’t have waited a little longer? But nooo, now he has to deal with harpies and itching and loneliness and dripping and being bloated like a leech all at once.
Side note - he really wishes Shen Qingqiu were still around, because he actually has no idea how to get the clutch out. The eggs stopped growing after three weeks, but haven’t done anything since and it feels like he’s pregnant with a horse. Having a wizard for a friend has its perks (when said friend doesn’t abandon you to go frolic with his apprentice-turned-husband for the next forever); Shen Qingqiu’s mental bestiary is better than most written ones, and he often knows more about Shang Qinghua’s body than Shang Qinghua does. The self-isolating nature of dragons has never been fantastic for their sexual education, it must be said.
Anyway. Knights. Scaling his mountain. Obnoxious golden armor.
He can’t actually see them yet, because there’s no way he’s trundling down the mountain just to scare them off when he’s this gravid - but he can hear them coming from the very start. Gold makes a delightfully awful sort of dull clanging noise on rocks. Very obvious. If they want to steal his treasure so bad, they can make the hike like the rest of the idiots who come along.
Because, again - fifth time in two months. It used to be that a random adventurer or dashing prince would come by every few years or so to claim the noble title of dragonslayer, which was fine. Shang Qinghua would push a few boulders down the cliff to scare them off or hide away for a bit if he was feeling particularly cowardly, they’d leave, all would be well. But these gold-plated assholes are persistent . Every couple weeks, they crop back up again like common weeds in a field of magic herbs. They shout and cry about the majesty of Huan Hua Palace and reclaiming the lost treasures of dynasties past , and then inevitably go scampering off when Shang Qinghua drops rocks on their heads. Honestly, he’s not even sure they’re the same guys each time. It’s hard to tell with all that shiny armor on their heads.
Right on cue, a tinny voice distantly calls, “Show yourself, fiend! Today is your day of reckoning!”
Ugh.
By the echo, they should be about halfway up the mountain by now. If he’s going to be reckoning anything, he reckons that’s close enough for them to be suitable target practice by now. With a sigh, he heaves himself up off the ground and peeks out the entrance. If it takes him a second to get there, they don’t have to know that it’s because he’s got twelve-to-eighteen unfertilized idiots camping out in his belly. As far as they should be concerned, he’s just making a dramatic, irreverent entrance.
Shang Qinghua pokes his head out of the hole he calls home. For a brief moment, he’s distracted by the way the sun glares off of the golden armor he’d anticipated below; he nearly misses the fact that someone is a lot closer than they should be.
There’s a man, much higher up the rocks than the knights below. It’s easy to tell why. There’s no clunky armor covering him from head to toe, no banner streaming in the hands of a proud fool very close to falling, no sword drawn for the duration of the hike (causing it to get all dented and dinged). The man is clad in dark leathers and an armored doublet, face protected from the windy altitude by a dense fur mantle. His massive sword is securely strapped to his back. The intense wear and tear on his thick gloves suggests he doesn’t really need the sword in the first place.
He is, unfortunately, horrendously dashing. Long dark hair streaming in the wind and all that. Shang Qinghua feels just a little bad about having to pitch rocks at him; he’s clearly a different breed from the usual pompous fare.
Not bad enough to not do it, though.
“Hi,” Shang Qinghua says, scuffing a few pebbles off the cliff face with a single claw. They’re too small to do any real damage and miss the competent man entirely, but his aim is good - they ping off of the knight’s armor in a delightfully irritating way.
“Beast!” the first knight yells. “We have come for the riches of kings past, heinously stolen from their immolated corpses. Lay them down to us, or prepare to lay down your life!”
Dumbasses. Shang Qinghua can’t even breathe fire. And all of the riches he has are ethically sourced - plucked from the skulls of lords long since past! Clearly no one else was taking them, the castles were all overgrown and crumbled to shit! If there are any artifacts in Shang Qinghua’s collection that once belonged to Huan Hua, they were stolen by someone else first, a long time ago. (And let’s be honest, the chances that any of it does belong to them are slim at best. As with most ‘heroes’, they’d probably just take his whole hoard if they could).
“A compelling argument,” Shang Qinghua says, carefully weighing a horse-sized boulder in his claws. “Very compelling. Really. And what, exactly, is preventing me from knocking you glittering tin cans over like the last batch that came through?”
He squints.
“Or are you guys the same ones? I honestly can’t tell, sorry.”
The head knight is sputtering with offense, so one of the men behind him pipes up, “It won’t be the same as previous attempts, reptile! We’ve accepted the generous help of a fair champion!”
Shang Qinghua looks back at the competent man, who hasn’t really moved much or shown much interest since Shang Qinghua popped out. He squints at the man’s face, hard to make out from this distance but pretty notably impassive.
“Yeah, okay. And how much did you pay him?” Shang Qinghua says doubtfully.
“He agreed to aid us out of the goodness of his heart, in the face of the righteousness of our cause!” the second knight says, at the exact same moment that the competent man blandly states, “Thirty thousand gold coins and three of the Master’s finest horses.”
The knight chokes a little at the bluntness, and Shang Qinghua hisses through his teeth sympathetically.
“This is gonna be sooo embarrassing then,” Shang Qinghua says. “For you guys anyway. Mr. Champion, sir, I hope you signed a contract that stipulates payment will be delivered regardless of outcome.”
And without waiting to see if they have anything else to say - being eggbond is making him a little hormonal, he thinks, he has so little patience these days - he casts the first rock over the side. It tumbles down the mountain violently, picking up momentum as it goes. The man sidesteps it neatly, but the knights further below are not nearly so agile, nor are they lucky, and three immediately get bowled over in rapid succession. Standing in a single file line probably didn’t help. Shang Qinghua sends a few bigger boulders down, one after the other, to clean up the rest of the little posse.
The man, fascinatingly, does a fairly good job of not getting hit. One of the rocks manages to clip him in the shoulder, making him stagger, but he otherwise remains unharmed and unmoved. The rest of his party isn’t so lucky; whether they’ve been hit and are now heading back down the mountain the hard way, or are just fleeing the boulder rain, pretty much the entire gaggle of knights is now very far away.
For a heartbeat, the man stares up at Shang Qinghua. His eye color is indiscernible from so far away, but the intensity of his gaze makes Shang Qinghua shudder, weighty and cold. It seems, momentarily, like he’s going to attack. But the stare lasts only a moment before he turns and nimbly picks his way back down the mountain after his employers.
The whole debacle only lasts about 5 minutes (not counting however long it took the knights to climb up in the first place). Somehow, Shang Qinghua still gets the irritating sense that his valuable time has been wasted.
Or maybe that’s just the scale-rot flaring up again.
Grumbling about his swollen ankles, he trundles back into his cave to find a good ledge to itch against.
-
Late in the night, a different sort of itch rears its ugly head.
Irritably, Shang Qinghua shifts his sitting position for the third time in as many minutes. His whole body burns in a way that makes sleeping impossible; he tried to distract himself by reorganizing his coin stash in order of descending size (they were in order of value before he deliberately shuffled them back into a huge metallic pile), but it’s not working. He’s so, so fucking horny.
He’s been getting flare-ups like this intermittently since the eggs stopped growing, usually when he’s trying to relax. It’s honestly pretty obnoxious - like, hello, he’s sleep-deprived enough already because he has crippling anxiety about getting murdered by a stronger monster in his sleep, thanks. It sucks being a three-ton biologically compulsive hoarder when you’re ass at fighting! And now, whenever he feels safe enough to sleep, his body kicks it into high gear and screams get fucked! Get fucked right now!
In retrospect, he can admit, it’s probably his body telling him how to. Well. Get the eggs out. Not that it matters anyway; he hasn’t had sex in like, two hundred years, and he has no clue how to go about getting a partner now.
So instead he will sit in miserable, horny silence and push his piles of coins around until he either passes out or dawn breaks.
Fate, of course, has a different plan. Neither the light of the sun nor the sweet embrace of unconsciousness rise up to look him in the eye, but a secret third thing; a sharply handsome face, cresting the ridge outside of Shang Qinghua’s cave. The competent man from earlier is just. Climbing right up into Shang Qinghua’s house.
And he is handsome, it has to be said. Looking at him up close for the first time, backlit by the moon, his beauty is apparent. The man is as chiseled as stone and just as stern, brows drawn tight over piercing blue eyes like curtains to protect the rest of the world from being struck. And yet, despite his severe beauty, there is something in his expression, the pull at the corners of his mouth, that speaks of youth.
This does not change the fact that he has a very big sword and is in Shang Qinghua’s cave.
Belatedly, Shang Qinghua shrieks and lunges away, summoning up the small coil of magic that spins in his chest. It spills out and envelopes him. His body contorts, even as he’s already making a break for the back of his cave; space and reality begin to bend, golden limbs turning into concave and convex angles too strange for the mind to comprehend. The transformation is painless, but it feels like mounting water pressure up until the moment where he bursts free of the last of the magic, reformed.
Disorientation overtakes him for a moment and he stumbles; being upright on two legs, even if they’re still scaled, is really weird. The steam released from the impact of transforming feels wispy against the parts of his body that are bare, peachy flesh, making him shiver. The hair streaming down his back tickles worse than the scale-rot on his shoulder.
Still, despite the sensory overload, he manages to scramble the rest of the way to the back of his cave under cover of the steam. He feels along the wall until he finds the crevice he’s looking for.
“The dragon!” a familiarly annoying voice cries. Shang Qinghua has the striking realization that in fucking with his coin pile, he inadvertently made it very hard to hear armored idiots scaling his mountain.
“It has the ability to shift its form! It must not have the strength to fight back. A most fortuitous discovery; this smaller form will make extraction much easier.”
Oh, fantastic. I am the maker of my own doom. Neat, Shang Qinghua thinks hysterically as he crams himself as deep into his bolt-hole as he can get. It's a great hole. Very cozy. Just big enough for his tiny form, too small for adult humans to easily squeeze into. Especially when they’re not as flexible as he is, or are wearing bulky armor.
That doesn’t change the fact that one is already at the entrance, reaching his arm in after Shang Qinghua and blindly attempting to grab whatever he can. He manages to nab a leg and yanks; Shang Qinghua howls like the undead and kicks with his other foot until the man lets go and retracts his hand, cursing at the deep scratches left by Shang Qinghua’s claws. Suck on that, dick. Shang Qinghua’s combat abilities may be ass, but one can never underestimate the age old technique of flailing wildly and having fuck-off big knives attached to your toes.
“Be more careful!” one of the other knights hisses. “If you just drag it out, you risk harming the eggs inside.”
His…eggs?
Shang Qinghua, now that he’s temporarily not being actively accosted, takes stock of his body. He feels…noticeably more gravid. His true form always felt heavy with eggs, but they did little to affect his physical shape. In this body, which he hasn’t assumed in quite a few decades, the skin around his stomach feels taut. When he looks down, there is a swell around his navel, and that tracks - he feels like a stuffed pig on the feast table. Presumably, the eggs have shrunk down in size with him, else he’d be bursting open like a wart on a teenage witch; but he feels fuller than ever, perhaps due to the construction of this form.
In other words: he feels as pregnant as pregnant gets. And that reminds him-
“What the fuck do you want my eggs for, freak?!”
“You’ll not have to worry about that soon,” a man spits. “Like everything else here, they’re now the property of Huna Hua Palace.”
Before Shang Qinghua even has time to articulate how completely fucked up that is - even ignoring the egg thing, he’s spent centuries building this collection, asshole - the handsome champion speaks up.
“Extraction,” the man repeats. His voice is dark and rich, like the foreign sweets Shen Qingqiu’s apprentice once brought before he stole Shang Qinghua’s best friend. “Eggs. You are attempting to steal the dragon’s unhatched young.”
There is a hint of danger in his tone. Most of the knights have picked up on it, if the sudden silence is any indication.
Not all of them, though - one breaks the quiet to boast, “Of course! Once our court diviner uncovered the creature’s condition two months ago with her scrying, the Palace Master knew it was a power that ought to belong to us. Imagine! An infinite supply of golden dragons, kept tame beneath our hands!”
“Hm,” says the man mildly, and the cave goes terribly silent again. Which. Yeah. Shang Qinghua has to process for a full minute. Good gods, no wonder the bastards were coming back so religiously. What the fuck.
That being said - with his incredible observation skills, Shang Qinghua gets the inkling that maybe the handsome man was not made fully aware of this mission’s goals, and may thusly be willing to negotiate.
“Fucking idiots,” Shang Qinghua says. “That wouldn’t work anyway. The eggs aren’t growing anymore, I probably need to like, get fucked or something to fertilize them first” - one of the men audibly chokes - “so like. That’s a problem for you. Anyway, Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome, what are your thoughts on betraying your nasty little companions and giving a poor lizard a helping hand?”
“I’m not a very helpful man,” the champion responds wryly. His next words, however, make the men around him immediately sweat. “But I dislike being manipulated; I could be convinced. What’s in it for me?”
It’s a fine question; Huan Hua palace is paying him a lot of fucking money (and three horses) to literally kill Shang Qinghua. What’s in it for him to step in? But then again, the fact that he’s humoring Shang Qinghua at all does not bode well for his buddies there. And then, like the dawning of a horrible, mischievous new day, Shang Qinghua has a few ideas all at once.
“...What are your thoughts on interspecies copulation?” he calls out.
Oh, Shang Qinghua can taste the heroic and civilized offense rolling off of the knights at that line. But they’re trying to steal his eggs, so they can go suck a fat knob. The only one whose opinion he cares about is the man’s. Shang Qinghua angles himself in the crevice so he can peek out at the man’s face, and is encouraged to find it twisting up with a mixture of amusement, interest, and gobsmacked confusion.
(Those are generally the safest emotions Shang Qinghua tends to inspire, on a good day.)
Feeling like he’s got a foothold, Shang Qinguha cajoles, “Listen, you’d be helping me out twofold. I don’t particularly want to die, and I’m pretty sure I need a partner to get these bad boys out of me. These Huan Hua guys are just trying to take advantage of your strength to do shady shit, and honestly, who wants to be associated with that?”
“And you’re not trying to take advantage of my strength?” the man says over the rising protests that the knights are directing his way.
“Oh, I am, but at least I’m up-front about it.”
The man snorts.
“Look, I’ll even pay you the same amount they hired you for,” Shang Qinghua continues. He pauses and frowns, then adds, “Well, not the horses. I don’t have any of those. But I can do the gold.”
The knights really start fussing at that. Seems like whoever this champion of theirs is, they really don’t want him going turncoat, if they’re this panicked despite their greater numbers. One of the knights dares to approach the man and even place a hand on his shoulder. Not the brightest idea, if the man’s contemplative expression is anything to go by.
“You- you musn’t listen to the beast’s lies! We may not have been truthful, but this is for the good of humanity! Its…seductions are merely self-serving!” the knight says.
Shang Qinghua gets a front row seat to the way the man’s face goes blank as he replies, “The good of humanity is no concern of mine.”
And suddenly, there is the smell of blood in the air. Within the space of a blink, the man has unsheathed his sword and cleaved the knight’s arm from his body, sending a spray of red bursting across the floor. The knight realizes what’s happened to him moments after Shang Qinghua did and belatedly screams. Just as quickly as his arm, his head is lopped off, silencing the scream with violent prejudice.
Ooooo , Shang Qinghua thinks queasily, I’m glad I never got into collecting paintings or tapestries. That’s gonna stain.
And stain it does. In the time it takes for the gaggle of knights to realize they’ve been betrayed for the promise of thirty thousand gold coins and some dragon pussy, the man has already slain another one. His sword is really something, or maybe it’s the strength of his arm; regardless, his blade slices through their armor like it’s butter instead of gold. The knights struggle to draw their own weapons and fight back, but the man is an indomitable force. He shreds through their ranks with ease, arterial sprays and limbs flying like feathers from a panicked chicken, and his clothes are thoroughly soaked. It would be easier to find a spot on the floor of Shang Qinghua’s cave that doesn't have blood on it at this point.
The man comes to a lazy stop when there’s only one knight left, quaking and backing out of the cave on unsteady legs. The man makes no move to pursue him.
“H-huan Hua will remember this- this betrayal!” the knight stammers out before fleeing.
“Good,” the man says flatly, watching the gold armored coward tumble out the cave’s entrance, “maybe next time it will remember not to lie to me.”
Silence reigns amidst the carnage.
“Gods above,” Shang Qinghua says, poking his head out to assess the damage. “I thought you were gonna like, beat them up and chase them off or something, not slaughter them like pigs. Murder is so messy.”
The man’s face, made ever more severe by the haphazard spray of blood across the bridge of his nose, twists with an unknown emotion. He says, “Two men were crushed to death by your rocks this afternoon.”
“An accident,” Shang Qinghua sniffs. “And the harpies always clean up the bodies down there.”
Despite his momentary boldness, Shang Qinghua promptly pulls his head back into the crevice when the man approaches. He can’t help it; at heart, he’s a coward himself. And there’s something about how remorselessly, not to mention effortlessly, the man had dispatched the knights that makes Shang Qinghua feel more like prey than a four hundred year old dragon.
But the man does not suddenly declare that he’ll be taking all of Shang Qinghua’s gold, nor does he stick his blade into the hole and run Shang Qinghua through. He can’t fit in the crevice, not with shoulders like that, so he merely slides his arm in. He offers his hand, palm up, to Shang Qinguha. The glove is dark and sticky with blood. He doesn’t grab at all, just patiently waits; his gaze, fastened on Shang Qinghua through the framing of the jagged stone, is piercingly blue.
“Come,” the man compels.
And Shang Qinghua - either due to his survival instincts running out, or his horny levels ramping up again - gingerly places his hand in the man’s, and lets himself be pulled from the crevice with surprising care.
“Mobei Jun,” the man says, settling Shang Qinghua’s rear in the crook of his arm, instead of putting him on the tacky ground. Shang Qinghua is so distracted by the realization of how naked he is in comparison that he almost doesn’t process that the man has introduced himself.
“Shang Qinghua,” he responds, and lets himself smile with all of his pointy teeth.
-
“I will warn you,” the man - Mobei Jun - says, laying Shang Qinghua down on the only patch of rock distant enough to be only mildly drenched in blood. “I am not a gentle lover.”
“No worries, good sir. Dragons aren’t that delicate,” Shang Qinghua says proudly, slapping one of his bulky, draconic legs for emphasis.
“That does not mean you like to be treated roughly.”
“Trust me, I’m asking for it,” Shang Qinghua grins. “I didn’t run screaming for the hills even when you slaughtered like, fifteen guys in front of me, right?”
“You did hide ,” Mobei Jun replies, but his eye roll seems more fond than annoyed, and he’s stripping off his top, so Shang Qinghua is confident in calling it a win. And what a win - man’s got tits for absolute fucking days. He’s got shoulders for weeks. Mobei Jun’s build was somewhat visible even with the mantle and doublet on, but it’s another thing entirely to see it in all of its nude glory.
He seems equally endeared to Shang Quinghua’s body, which is gratifying. His hands - big and warm, stripped of bloody gloves - skim over every area where golden scales intersect with skin; hips, ribs, hands, neck, cheeks, lower back.
The base of Shang Qinghua’s tail, in particular, catches his interest. Shang Qinghua yips in surprise when two fingers form a v-shape to massage on either side of the scaly root.
“Sensitive,” Mobei Jun muses, which - rude. You try being celibate for two centuries, dick.
He does, at one point, lift up one of Shang Qinghua’s legs to take a proper look between them. If he’s surprised to see a cunt, framed by the scales on Shang Qinghua’s thighs, he doesn’t show it - Shang Qinghua has been naked this whole time, after all, and Mobei Jun may have already gotten an eyeful when the whole stuff-myself-into-a-hole thing was happening. His opinion is only expressed by the noticeable bulge growing in his pants. Beneath his impassive stare, Shang Qinghua can feel his body heating up again, supposed breeding impetus triggered by his normal arousal.
This means, of course, that he’s literally oozing slick in a matter of seconds. Mobei Jun finally smiles.
“Like what you see?” Shang Qinghua says, aiming for flirtatious and probably landing somewhere around mildly tolerable. Admittedly, he’s not 100% confident in his sex appeal; not everyone wants to fuck something that looks like an Argonain by-blow, his personality isn’t exactly charming, and he’s not sure how appealing a visibly clutch-wielding body is.
The last concern, at the very least, is cleared up by Mobei Jun’s eyes, which go dark as he rests his free hand on Shang Qinghua’s stomach.
“Yes,” he says, “very much so.”
Without further preamble, he removes his hand to pull down his pants - and whoof, yeah, that thing won’t be gentle alright. Shang Qinghua is honestly a little flabbergasted. How does this guy walk around with that weapon just hanging around down there?
Mobei Jun lowers himself to lay on the rock next to Shang Qinghua - hiking up a golden leg over his muscled bicep in the process - though he doesn’t lay fully back. He instead hovers over Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, lips dangerously close to his ear. There’s still blood on his face. He’s sort of- lounging, holding Shang Qinghua open for his own perusal, like he’s enjoying his prize. That shouldn’t be as hot as it is. His free arm winds under Shang Qinghua’s neck to give him easy access to Shang Qinghua’s nipples, which are already pebbling in anticipation.
“Here you are, pretty thing,” Mobei Jun murmurs, breath hot in Shang Qinghua’s ear.
And Shang Qinghua draws in a short gasp, because that is a hand on his pussy . Thick and calloused, Mobei Jun’s fingers barely tease across the skin before dipping in to make a shallow sweep through the wet folds, gathering up slick. Shang Qinghua is distinctly relieved that his body mostly seems to have the whole how do I get that big dick inside me thing under control with the slick production, because he doesn’t possess a single drop of oil.
Mobei jun drags his fingers a few more times up and down the length of the slit, flicking up at Shang Qinghua’s clit on each updraw (making him jerk), before pressing a single digit against the give of the weeping hole. Shang Qinghua’s cunt resists for a moment; it really has been a while. After a few gentle proddings, however, his body gives way.
Mobei Jun sucks in a sharp breath at the grip of Shang Qinghua on his finger and says, “Fuck, you’re a tight little thing, aren’t you.”
“M’not trying to be,” Shang Qinghua pouts, attempting to relax his body.
It’s hard, though; Mobei Jun starts pumping his finger in and out, and while that begins to stretch things a bit, it also sends little daggers of pleasure up Shang Qinghua’s spine that make it impossible to stop clenching.
The sensation is more intense when Mobei Jun curls his finger into the textured spot inside that makes Shang Qinghua’s claws curl, but true to his word, Mobei Jun is not gentle. He does not coax Shang Qinghua’s body into relaxing - he bullies it into submission. The pace of his finger is relentless, plunging in and out over and over until the second finger he has pressed against the hole begins to make way for itself. Little by little it creeps in, until Shang Qinghua quickly finds himself being bullied by two fingers.
Mobei Jun’s reach is much better with two fingers inside, and he uses that reach to be a menace. Shang Qinghua moans whoreishly at the pressure constantly flirting with the sensitive spot in his cunt. On the outside, Mobei Jun’s other hand is plucking at his chest, which is suuuper not helping.
And just as Shang Qinghua is about to beg for more, Mobei Jun slips a third finger in. It burns just a little, but so good. Three fingers feels like enough - even though Mobei Jun is huge, even though Shang Qinghua hasn’t been touched in so long - and he wants to feel that fat cock inside him now , and he says as much. But Mobei Jun does not oblige.
“Still too tight,” he grunts. “Come for me.”
So saying, he tucks his pinky in and stretches Shang Qinghua’s cunt until he’s seated halfway onto the large palm. Only Mobei Jun’s thumb is excluded, though that quickly makes itself useful by drawing quick, tight circles over Shang Qinghua’s clit. Shang Qinghua groans. The stretch is so, so much, and the short, intense stimulation of his clit has his hips twitching into the feeling already.
“But I want your diiiiick,” Shang Qinghua whines, canting his hips up; his tail, wriggling, sways to the side unconsciously, as though to make room. “How else am I supposed to get these damn eggs out?”
“Get them out, get them out,” Mobei Jun muses. “You keep saying that; you do realize what that actually entails, don’t you?”
Shang Qinghua blinks at him.`
“I’m going to knock you up,” Mobei Jun says, baring his perfect pretty teeth with relish.
Then he draws his hand back and rams it back into Shang Qinghua’s dripping pussy, hard enough to lift his hips. He abandons his teasing thumb in favor of a punishing litany of thrusts, developing a rhythm so intense that it feels like he’s bruising Shang Qinghua’s pelvis. The sound is obscene . The meat of his palm claps against the swell of Shang Qinghua’s cunt, and in turn, the spill of slick oozing down his wrist clicks and claps with every thrust.
Shang Qinghua throws his head back and tries not to choke on his own tongue.
Fuckfuckfuck but it feels good, even though he knows his poor hips will be aching for days. His thigh burns from the way it’s forced to bend, calf bouncing over the crook of Mobei Jun’s elbow with the rhythm of him single-handedly (ha) destroying Shang Qinghua’s higher brain function through his pussy.
“Gonna knock you up,” Mobei Jun says, voice rough with arousal, “so I have to spread this pretty cunt. Make sure my cock will fit, so your precious little clutch can have my seed.”
“Fuck!” Shang Qinghua cries. That voice, saying those things, right next to his ear-
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Been sitting up here in your cave waiting for someone to come to you, pretty thing. Couldn’t be bothered to find one yourself. Needed someone strong enough to get all the way up here, so your hatchlings would have good blood. Wanted to get fat and lazy as they swelled in your stomach.”
Shang Qinghua throws his head back and wails; he’s so close. His cunt is throbbing in time with his heartbeat, even as the bones of his hips ache. Mobei Jun’s pace is relentless.
And then, just as Shang Qinghua’s orgasm is cresting - just as his brain is addled with thoughts of Mobei Jun breeding him until it takes, until his eggs are so well-grown that he can’t walk - just as his hips are shuddering involuntarily and his clit twitches from the inattention-
Mobei Jun rips his hand out and snarls, “ Come for me .”
A sudden, hefty smack claps over the entirety of Shang Qinghua’s cunt, catching his clit. He shrieks at the smarting intensity and squirts on the spot.
The aftershocks are just as intense as the initial climax. It takes a minute for the trembling to stop and the black spots in his vision to fade; in that time, he finally processes that Mobei Jun spanked his pussy and made him come like that. Evidence to the fact - the bastard’s big, warm hand is still nestled between Shang Qinghua’s thighs, cupping his dripping folds.
“Good gods,” Shang Qinghua wheezes, once he can breathe again, “you really weren’t kidding about playing rough.”
“And you took it very well, as promised,” Mobei Jun rumbles, pleased.
Their breaths echo and mingle in the air; Shang Qinghua’s, fast and reedy, Mobei Jun’s, slow but rough. Even though his body is still shuddering from the punch of his orgasm, Shang Qinghua’s arousal burns hot.
And thank every spirit and god on Earth for that, because Mobei Jun is already sitting up to kneel before Shang Qinghua’s still-pulsing cunt. He adjusts his hold on the leg he’s captured as he shifts, pressing the underside of Shang Qinghua’s knee until the thick, scaled thigh presses against his rosy chest. Considering how much he’s been lazing around the cave ever since his clutch came in, Shang Qinghua is shocked that his hips still flex that far. The joint is definitely groaning under the strain, though.
Mobei Jun does not bother to give a warning - in between one breath and the next, his cock is bullying its way inside Shang Qinghua’s weeping hole.
Like he’s been struck, Shang Qinghua seizes. Holy shit , in no way had Mobei Jun been kidding about being rough or Shang Qinghua being too tight. He’s so fucking big that by the time he’s slid all the way inside, Shang Qinghua can feel him in his teeth . What the fuck.
There’s no adjustment period, no courteous wait for one or the other to get used to the tightness, the stretch. Mobei Jun simply draws his hips back (as well as he can, with the way Shang Qinghua’s pussy is clinging to him) and rams back in, sheathing himself fully. When Shang Qinghua hiccups and thrashes from oversensitivity - a very reasonable response, he’ll later reflect - Mobei Jun bears down more of his weight, keeping them pinned together.
And it’s in this position, squashed like a bug and brain oozing out of his ears with pleasure, powerful mate thrusting intently, that Shang Qinghua comes again.
It does nothing to stop Mobei Jun, of course. If anything, the pulsing clench of Shang Qinghua’s orgasm ratchets the intensity of his thrusting even higher. He’s so, so, so hot inside Shang Qinghua’s cunt, absolutely scorching. Every rut of his hips sends a ripple of pleasures ricocheting through Shang Qinghua’s body; the burn of his hole stretching, the satisfaction of something so big for his walls to squeeze, the drag against his sensitive nerves, the kiss of the tip of Mobei Jun’s cock on his cervix, the sharp stinging of hips impacting on soft flesh.
The punishing rhythm is, of course, nothing to sneeze at either.
“Ff-huckkkkk,” Shang Qinghua slurs, scrabbling at Mobei Jun’s thick forearms for something to hold onto. “You tryna’- ah, fuck, fuckin’ obliterate my pussy or sumthin’-”
Mobei Jun barks out a laugh, but for all his control, he’s not doing much better - his brow is beaded with sweat, the heavy line of his brow is pulled down with intent, and every breath seems to come out more and more uneven. In an odd moment of sweetness, he leans up to press his lips to Shang Qinghua’s temple (not that he has to go far, contorted and pinned as Shang Qinghua is). His exhales are hot and dizzying.
It's almost exhilarating to bring such a brutal man so close to earth. It would be more so if Shang Qinghua wasn’t also visibly gagging for it.
Things start to get a little hormone-y towards the end. Shang Qinghua was fully prepared to sit back and let Mobei Jun take what pleasure he needed, but his body has other ideas. When Mobei Jun’s hips start to shudder with each thrust, when his voice begins to seep out in helpless groans - when Shang Qinghua knows , without a shadow of a doubt, that Mobei Jun is on the cusp of release - it’s like a lever has been thrown. Every muscle in Shang Qinghua’s body is desperate to ensure that this coupling is successful.
Mind abruptly wiped of any thought other than breed breed breed , Shang Qinghua gathers what little strength he can muster to surge up; his muscular tail, mostly used for wiggling provocatively until now, braces beneath his hips and shoves. Mobei Jun inhales in surprise as both of them are raised up a few inches. The clunkiness of the motion temporarily dislodges Mobei Jun’s cock, but before he can complain or Shang Qinghua’s instincts can start bitching, Shang Qinghua frees his trapped leg and flips around onto his knees. His tail sweeps up and curls into the small of Mobei Jun’s back, and pushes, and-
In tandem, they groan as Mobei Jun’s cock sinks back in. Shit ass motherfucking tits , it feels so much deeper, like it’s going to punch straight through into Shang Qinghua’s womb. Saliva trickles out of the corner of his mouth as he tries to think of anything besides getting pumped full of come.
“Don’ break th’ babies,” he whines nonsensically, even as he pushes back into Mobei Jun’s hips.
“Fuck,” Mobei Jun rasps. His voice is full of greed and awe.
In the new position, it only takes a handful more of shaky, savage thrusts before Mobei Jun is snarling and releasing into the tight, hungry grasp of Shang Qinghua’s cunt. Devoid of any high brain function, Shang Qinghua presses Mobei Jun against his ass with his tail as much as he can, loathe to lose even a single drop of seed. His own orgasm, the third one, is practically a side note. The feeling is euphoric .
Despite the fact that his neck is pinned to a rock floor that reeks of iron, and his legs are still twitching with overstimulation, and his poor pussy is going to the be sore for days , Shang Qinghua thinks he wouldn’t mind playing target practice with some knights and having a few more clutches come in if it meant getting fucked this good. That could be the delirium speaking, though. But there’s no denying how his body sings as come floods the deepest reaches of his body, satiated at long last. Two months of horny, egg-bound frustration, cured!
(If only it was so easy to get rid of scale-rot.)
“Hhhhhhh you’re definitely getting an extra twenty thousand in payment for that,” Shang Qinghua groans, basking in the discomfort of his lower torso. Good gods, he swears he can feel come trickling into his womb. “I gotta be like. Double pregnant after that.”
Mobei Jun makes a suspiciously noncommittal noise behind him, and lifts some of his weight up.
It’s then, pulled from his reverie of self-satisfaction, that Shang Qinghua realizes that Mobei Jun is still rock-solid inside him. If anything, he’s more excited than before. Which, uh oh, because Shang Qinghua is already having trouble feeling his toes.
Shang Qinghua’s head is pulled back, baring his throat; Mobei Jun has a grip on one of his horns, grasping it like a handle. The other hand sneaks around to grope at the swell of his belly, hanging low with gravity. A whine escapes Shang Qinghua’s sore throat as he’s hauled up to have his back pressed against Mobei Jun’s chest, instincts upset by the thought of precious seed dripping from his cunt and down his thighs, wasted.
Against a pointed ear, Mobei Jun rumbles, “Perhaps we could consider making my protection from wayward ‘heroes’ a more permanent arrangement. I think you’ll find my long-term rates much more… desirable .”
And, well. Never let it be said that Shang Qinghua passed up favorable deals.