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The temperature aboard Linguang-Jun's ship, the Hanshan, was always bitingly cold. Though a relic from a bygone era, it was still a fine vessel that had once hosted some of the grandest parties and guests of the Northern Sector. Now, it was a shadow of its former glory; manned by a baser crew and its sole human occupant, Shen Jiu. Despite the fading grandeur and illicit renewable fuel cells, they had made few accommodations for biological differences between species which left Shen Jiu currently living in a permanent frigid winter while his uneasy alliance with the captain stood. He stalked through the halls in his borrowed Northern Sector robes, searching for his accomplice and lover to discuss their latest victory against Linguang-Jun's nephew.
An upstart to hear Linguang-Jun tell the tale, or an inexperienced ruler with a rat at his elbow in Shen Jiu's opinion. He could picture Shang Qinghua's smug face and felt his lip curl in disgust. Cold air cycled through the hall vents with a hum and a woosh, refreshing the bitter cold. The tips of Shen Jiu's fingers were nearly numb as he tucked them into the fur-lined sleeves and hurried onward under the weight of heavy layers.
Linguang-Jun hadn't been in any of his usual haunts so that left his personal quarters. Empty. Grandiose, fitting of a Regent, and empty. Of course the demon— a term coined by humanity during First Contact that had stuck around— wouldn't be there either. Shivering despite the insulating layers of fine silks, wools, and furs, Shen Jiu decided to cut his losses and retreat. He'd spent too much time on this hunt and there were intelligence reports to pour over. Future victories didn't win themselves. If the Regent of Northern Space wanted to talk strategy, he'd have to come find Shen Jiu himself.
Disgruntled and annoyed, he beat a hasty retreat to the guest wing and his own far more temperate quarters, his breath fogging into clouds that would crystallize and join the rest of the blocks of haphazard ice lining the once immaculate corridors. He huddled deeper into his furs and walked as swiftly as he could with the weight bearing down on him. The cracking of ice was his only companion aboard this ghost of former glories.
**
Welcome heat engulfed him, prickling against the chilled skin of his exposed hands and face first. He breathed in air that didn't make his lungs ache with a sigh. Not for the first time, Shen Jiu bemoaned that the rest of the ship couldn't be kept at least a few degrees warmer than what felt like the cold vacuum of space. He began shedding layers to indulge in the, comparatively, warmer air. It was still cooler than the boiling summers on Cang Qiong but anything felt warm when compared to a deep freezer. Shen Jiu stopped when he was down to just three layers, feeling eyes on him.
"Don't stop on my account, I've been enjoying the show," came a voice from further into Shen Jiu's chambers.
Shen Jiu deliberately didn't bother looking until his life-saving borrowed layers had been stored neatly for the next time he needed to venture out. Then, he turned to see what tableau Linguang-Jun had laid out for his theatrics. There was always some artifice with him, some gesture to maintain power and control. It was something Shen Jiu found as obnoxious as it was relatable.
The demon lounged behind Shen Jiu's desk in front of the heating vent disguised as a fireplace, down to a singular layer that had been draped loosely enough to bare a scarred and muscled chest in a provocative way. Linguang-Jun rolled a glass of ice wine between his fingers as he parsed through documents on the desktop— a picture of ease. The man owned everything on this ship, even the contents of Shen Jiu's personal quarters. While Shen Jiu understood this part of their deal— they both were hypervigilant of the potential knives at their backs, potential spies in their ranks— it still rankled to have nothing private but his thoughts from the blue skinned man.
"Linguang-Jun. To what do I owe the pleasure?" As though Shen Jiu hadn't just wasted nearly an hour and a half scouring the ship for this man.
The demon extended a hand, inviting Shen jiu to come around the desk to join him.
"Now now, don't be so hissy dearest. We have much to discuss about the ongoing campaign. But first," he poured another glass from a crystal decanter, the pale liquid gleaming in artificial fire light, "come warm up. I know such climes don't suit a tropical flower."
Shen Jiu didn't trust a word from his partner's mouth but, until they had both gotten what they wanted from each other, the company wasn't atrocious. He skirted the desk and found his seat on Linguang-Jun's lap, looking the perfect picture of a spoiled mistress, wine glass in hand. The wine was crisp and refreshing, sliding down his parched throat with too much ease. Shen Jiu wouldn't allow himself more than a few sips as he'd become all too aware of how the potent alien alcohol went straight to his head. Still, a glass of wine and the warmth of the heating vent weren't a terrible way to spend the evening.
Linguang-Jun put a questing finger on Shen Jiu's chin, drawing his attention away from the intelligence reports scattered over the desk, and drew the human down for a kiss. Shen Jiu accepted the closed mouth greeting with a hum and peck of his own before returning to the mission at hand.
"Our skirmishes at the borderlands were a success. Your nephew's forces are fractured among the star systems with limited access to Portaltech, leaving the capital nearly unguarded. Soon, it will be time to move."
"Soon," Linguang-Jun agreed, "but not yet. Such brilliant strategy deserves a reward, don't you think?"
His hand skimmed down from Shen Jiu's hip to his thigh, kneading at the supple flesh through layers of robes. When he wasn't rebuffed, Shen Jiu relaxing infinitesimally back against him, Linguang-Jun set down his wine glass to allow both hands to roam his lover's clothed form. Shen Jiu turned his head for a kiss. They were more nipping, biting, and sucking things than tongue. It had been an early discovery for them that too much tongue led to brain freeze for the warmer half of their union. An icy tongue along the column of Shen Jiu's throat drew an involuntary shiver as the heat in his belly grew from embers. Their physical relationship was full of such discoveries, how the temperature difference between their species had to be carefully navigated to find satisfying conclusions. They managed though, in their own way.
Like the way Linguang-Jun rose, taking his lover with him as they traded biting kisses growing more vicious in a show of strength. The way he pressed their clothed bodies to the sheets of Shen Jiu's unmade bed, towering over the smaller body beneath him. Neither were small men for their species but Linguang-Jun had at least a foot on his lover. It made some positions all the more impossible for the additional temperature-related limitations. Shen Jiu paused their kisses with a firm hand to Linguang-Jun's chest to slip open his robes, layer by layer, until his front was laid bare to be kissed and plucked like a fine instrument. Linguang-Jun played, slow and sweet, with cold fingers on stiff, chilled nipples until the fires of his partner had been well-stoked before kneeling back and turning his attention southward. With broad and heavy hands, he drew pale thighs up and up and up until they rested on his shoulders, leaving Shen Jiu bearing his weight on his own shoulders. Linguang-Jun's hands drifted to Shen Jiu's waist, wrapping his arms around the smaller man to secure him. It was time to try something new to celebrate. Slow and deliberate, he licked a long, wet stripe over Shen Jiu's furl, enjoying the way his lover's breath hitched and his neglected cock twitched.
"It's cold," Shen Jiu declared, amusement in his eyes at the familiar complaint.
"Then you'll have to be warm enough for us both." Linguang-Jun licked another stripe, downward this time before circling and twisting his tongue.
With no real objections yet, he continued, tucking into the feast of his lover's rising pleasure with tongue, teeth, and lips. Despite the chill and the growing sweat on Linguang-Jun's form, Shen Jiu was, by all accounts, enjoying himself. A pallid hand was pressed against his lips to muffle the obscene sounds coming from that oven-hot mouth. It would do no good. Demonic hearing was far better than even cultivator hearing. Anyone passing in the hall would know exactly who was making Shen Jiu sound like an expensive courtesan as Linguang-Jun suckled and thrust his tongue inside the man. It was like this— shaking and whining and nearly choking on his own tongue— that Shen Jiu finished, painting his torso in white nearly to his chin.
Linguang-Jun lowered him back onto the sheets and retrieved his wine glass, sipping as he stroked Shen Jiu's flank through the come-down. When the smaller man had recovered enough, he put firebrand hands on the demon to bring him back to full mast. The sight of small hands wrapped around his girth did things to Linguang-Jun. He put a hand on Shen Jiu's shoulder as confirmation of his readiness. Shen Jiu glanced down through his lashes, biting his lip, before rolling over onto his front and presenting himself to be mounted. Linguang-Jun would have preferred a position where he could see the acknowledgement in his partner's face of exactly who was fucking them to incoherence but such positions typically required too much skin contact. It would be a risky race between coming and overheating himself. So, like this was the better option. Even the limited contact with the near burning heat of Shen Jiu's ass and thighs caused more sweat to bead on Linguang-Jun's brow. He knew from experience that it was even hotter inside, a sweltering pressure that clenched and fluttered around his cock like it had been made for no other use.
He pushed in— gingerly, like adjusting oneself to a too-hot bath— and set a slow and constant pace. Beneath his large hands, Shen Jiu's waist looked impossibly small. He could dwarf the width of it if he splayed his fingers wide like a pianist. For such a small body to take someone as well-endowed as the proper Emperor of the Northern Sector was no small feat, cultivated sturdiness aside. Perhaps once he returned to his rightful throne he would name the man clawing the sheets beneath him as consort.
"You're taking too long, just use me and come already," his vicious viper of a lover snarled.
Still, a body didn't lie. Not in the way it gripped his cock hungrily or in the way Shen Jiu snuck a hand beneath himself to desperately strip his cock. Linguang-Jun picked up the pace. If Shen Jiu desired for him to chase his own pleasure, he would. He risked the heat of his lover's skin to blanket the man, using the angle to drive deeply as he rutted with abandon. His lover would complain about the crushing weight and sweat afterwards but in the moment, he screamed his pleasure unfiltered, clawing at Linguang-Jun's hair as his back arched into the frantic pace. All the while his hand picked up speed.
"Faster! Harder! Give it to me like you mean it, you brute!"
Linguang-Jun was generous, capitulating to his greedy and demanding lover as they moved. He felt the way Shen Jiu spasmed beneath him when he came, all guttural moans and fluttering soft insides. Linguang-Jun kept going. He hadn't reached his own peak yet and if it became too much, his viper would show his fangs.
Gradually, then all once, the heat became too much. Linguang-Jun sat back heavily on his haunches to let his lover ride him with shaking legs and glassy eyes. He was even magnanimous enough to clutch his lover's hips and lift him on his cock like a rag doll, slamming Shen Jiu down to meet his upward thrusts as he relished in his lover's whining cries. When the heat of penetration became too much and Shen Jiu had shaken himself through a third orgasm, Linguang-Jun the Merciful took pity. He stroked his cock over his lover's form, gracing it with royal seed across face and chest. A well-manicured finger trawled through his spend to brush it over his lover's lips in a claim. Shen Jiu would make a fine consort indeed once he realized how useless his revenge plot was. Afterall, wasn't the finer honed blade of a demonic seat of power better than some pitiful Alliance fleet which couldn't be bothered to keep their keenest mind?
Once Shen Jiu had recovered, he wiped the sleeve of his robe over his face, grumbling.
"You always make such a mess," he griped.
Linguang-Jun murmured in agreement and retrieved their wine glasses, passing one to his lover with a knowing smirk.
"You like it." His pleasure at the rough rasp of Shen Jiu's voice came through in his tone.
"Brute."
"Viper."
Linguang-Jun clinked their glasses together companionably. "To victory."
"To revenge." Shen Jiu smiled secretively and sipped his wine.
It may have been a superficial alliance but at least someone was in his corner when it came to taking down the sect who'd abandoned him to the whims of a literal bastard. That, Shen Jiu could work with. He'd already seeded agents of his own amidst Linguang-Jun's armies. They'd be in the perfect position to topple the Northern Sector's house of cards when the time came for Linguang-Jun to double cross him. To revenge, a promise in more ways than one. Shen Jiu hid his smile in another sip of wine and ran a hand down Linguang-Jun's chest, coming to rest over his heart.