The air in the training chamber was thick with sweat and the scent of lingering arousal. Liang Yue hunched over the shared bed, his fingers trembling as he fumbled with the robes, the unfamiliar weight of silk clinging to his delicate body like a second skin. He remembered nights spent in his last life—betrayals, chokes, and the hollow ache of being outmaneuvered. Now, the script was different, but the rules were the same. Adapt or die.
Beside him, Shen Jin exhaled, his breath steady against Liang Yue's exposed hip where the loose fabric had slipped. The prodigy's hands were cold, deliberate, pressing Liang's thighs wider. His lips curled into something almost like a smile before they dipped lower, tongue hot and rough.
"No," Liang Yue choked out, bracing his hands flat as Shen Jin's fingers teased his slick entrance, rubbing slow circles against the tight hole before gliding in. He wasn't the one who started it—the fuck always called the shots. "I already told you, I can—"
Fuck the talking. Shen Jin's tongue flicked again, a wet, relentless drag that made Liang's spine twitch. He hissed, nails biting into palms, but it was useless, his voice gone to ash in the face of hunger. Shen Jin pulled away just long enough to murmur, "Tonight isn't optional. You've got a cultivation session to survive." Then his lips were back, fingers still buried inside, stretching, twisting, until Liang was a writhing mess under him.
The pressure built in Liang's throat, in his thighs, in the way Shen Jin's free hand splayed over his hip for leverage. He'd played this game before.
"Fuck," Liang Yue gasped, shoving his shoulder back. Shen Jin laughed, a sharp, triumphant sound, and Liang's head slammed into the stone wall behind them.
A beat of silence.
Then Shen Jin's hand fisted his hair, yanking Liang's chin down. "Ask nicely." Liang opened his mouth, only for a thick tongue to slide inside, crushing his words into submission. They'd barely kissed a month ago—now it was a conquest.
His throat tightened as Shen Jin stood, robes pooling around heavy-lined hips. Liang Yue's gaze locked onto the prodigy's cock, long, thick, and already slick against his trembling fingers. Shen Jin gripped him back, not even waiting for Liang's useless protest.
"Ready?" he asked, low.
Liang nodded.
Then Shen Jin didn't position his dick—he thrust.
The first violent intrusion tore through Liang Yue's past life memories like a blade through silk. He hadn't forgotten this pain—he knew it intimately. The stretch was deliberate, cruel, each thick inch splitting his tight asshole apart. Shen Jin's hips rolled back, fingers digging into Liang's waist for leverage, then he slammed forward again, the blunt, swollen head hitting Liang's prostate like a mallet, making him jerk and cry out against the stone. His jaw was still clenched tight from the kiss, unable to protest.
Shen Jin's voice was a growl, low and rough, his breath hot against Liang's ear. "This is how you say please." A third thrust, deeper, and Liang's fingers clawed into the bedsheets, his legs shaking as Shen Jin's cock filled him past capacity. There was no finesse—just raw, dominating power—pounding Liang into the mattress, his delicate body jolting with every brutal fuck. The prodigy's free hand wrapped around Liang's throat, not strangling, but possessing, thumb pressing against the underside of his jaw as he forced Liang's lips open again.
"You're going to take this," Shen Jin snarled, his tongue already spearing between Liang's teeth, tasting his own choked whimpers. Liang's body betrayed him, his thighs quivering, his back arching in spite of himself—moisture already slicking his lips, his cock heavy and aching between his legs. Shen Jin pulled his head off the wall, his bite sharp against Liang's tongue before he swallowed him whole, teeth scraping along the edges of Liang's throat as he fucked.
The sound of their bodies became a rhythm—wet, slick, the obscene, rhythmic slaps of flesh meeting flesh. Liang Yue's asshole was being used, stretched, abused, but his cock stayed painfully hard, desperate for attention. Shen Jin's fingers found it, wrapping around the base and squeezing tight—"Keep it"—before his own hips slammed forward, the angle too perfect, Liang's cock caught against his own stomach, a sharp, electric pleasure that made his eyes water.
"That's a good boy," Shen Jin murmured, releasing Liang's mouth long enough to breathe. His teeth grazed Liang's shoulder this time, lips parting against the hot skin. "You're taking so well."
Fuck well. Liang Yue's body was trembling, his cock leaking freely against the cold stone. Shen Jin's hands were everywhere—tearing at his robes, gripping his shoulders, forcing his chin down as he fucked him deeper, harder. The pain bordered on pleasure, Liang's breath catching, thighs burning, and he knew—that was the rule. The sect didn't care about submission or surrender. It only recognized those who dared.