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The last thing in the world he wanted was to find himself in such a ridiculous situation. One moment he was in his sect, in his bed, the next he was lying on someone's warm not too soft chest, and then he got hit on the head. Cheong Myeong tried to get up, but then de bumped his head; above, to the right and glory of the wall, and below him a man with his current face staring at him.
It's completely dark here — wherever this is — but the chi directed to his eyes helps settle the matter, but strikes far more questions in return.
Exactly the same face he has now, but a little softer, a little more round.
"What the hell...” they say the same thing, in sync, and the stranger's hand slams roughly into the ceiling next to his head. Space doesn't twitch from the impact, unfazed by any attempt to break it.
It feels like a coffin, but there's enough air for two people, especially their discontent. The next dozen minutes were spent arguing. Cheong Myeong was surprised that the other's voice was a little softer, a little more melodic, but not younger. Experiencing by and elbow strike to the ribs, it was clear that this strange other him was a woman.
Which started more arguments over, until both of them had sore throats.
The time was wrong, and the darkness wasn't going anywhere, and he had to keep on his elbows and not entirely his knees to keep from collapsing into that flat chest once more. It was annoying.
It took at least a shichen before he remembered such a phenomenon; a very long time ago, fifty and still on top of a century ago, Sage had told him about some ridiculous phenomenon that locked someone in, regardless of space, only to have the way out be double perfection. They concluded that if such a thing existed, it was invented by a perverted god.
The other version of him took it surprisingly well. Well enough that he was yanked towards him, forcing him to pile on with all his weight, and their dry and nibbled lips met. They were the same, regardless of their gender, and air became scarce for the first time. Undressing was uncomfortable, and moving was worse, the tightness squeezing them and the space refusing to expand.
Their frustrations continued with each other as they tried to roll over in some way — they managed to shift onto their sides, and he got a bite on the side of his ankles for it. 'Fuck you', Cheong Myeong thought, pushing his fingers inside her and grinning at her wetness.
For his chuckle, the little bitch ran her fingernails over his nipples, still biting his neck.
Hot and stuffy, they clashed limbs, hot breath and tightness in this not-quite-coffin.
Hot, Cheong Myeong thinks, holding her leg, entering halfway, while the other version of him crawls lower to mount his cock, muttering unhappily.
Cheong Myeong understands her perfectly, it would be a little more comfortable on the bed.
It's funny how the option of not fucking if they met under different circumstances doesn't occur to him.