The Devil’s strings wrapped around Zong Jiu, cold and harsh even through his jacket. For a moment, Zong Jiu considered struggling; he could, with care, cut the Devil’s strings from him.
Then he sighed and relaxed. The timing on when the whale would breach the water had already been disrupted by the drag of the Devil’s net, and Zong Jiu’s plan had relied on catching that whale himself. If the Devil was in a helpful mood, then Zong Jiu would see what his game was and what price he was interested in extracting today.
Zong Jiu did his best, in the murky salt water and the tangled lines, to arrange himself in a bored and uncaring posture. The way his wet hair clung to his neck, emphasizing the pale lines and the thin curves of his body, did not help. He knew that his colorful Magician’s coat hanging heavy on his alabaster limbs simply made him look smaller, which the Devil liked but Zong Jiu found frustrating.
Whatever. He emerged from the ocean and hung in midair for a moment before the Devil reeled him into—where else?—the captain’s quarters.
It was confirmation Zong Jiu didn’t need of Captain Bai’s status. Not that Zong Jiu truly expected the grizzled NPC to be present; the other contestants should be keeping him busy on-deck after he’d forced Zong Jiu to walk the plank in punishment for asking too many pointed questions.
And, indeed, the only person waiting to greet Zong Jiu was the Devil himself, dressed in crisp black-and-white, his dark hair pulled back in its typical queue. Golden eyes slowly took in every inch of Zong Jiu’s body, predatory in a way Zong Jiu had become inured to. The Devil flicked his fingers, and the strings switched from carrying Zong Jiu across space to tugging at his clothes. “Let’s get you into something warm,” he crooned, falsely solicitous. The lascivious avarice in his eyes made his true intent clear.
Zong Jiu glared at the Devil. He’d expected this, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant. “I don’t need your help,” he snapped, crossing his arms. “I had everything well in hand.”
The Devil’s eyes narrowed. He reached out with white-gloved hands, taking Zong Jiu’s wrists in his firm grasp. “You think I’m helping you?” He pried Zong Jiu’s arms off his chest. Zong Jiu might be able to resist, but not without injuring his most valuable body part, so he scowled but allowed the Devil to force his arms apart. Like this, he was wide open. Vulnerable. He couldn’t do any good magic tricks, either, not with the Devil’s hands on his. “I’m keeping you out of the way. How can you complete your task from this room?”
“Should you be playing favorites like this?” Zong Jiu tried to ignore the way the Devil’s strings were still tugging at his clothes. As soon as the Devil released his physical grip, Zong Jiu was certain his clothes would be whisked away. Better to keep him talking. “Does the System judge your performance in your role too?”
The Devil’s mouth curled ever so slightly. “Bold,” he said approvingly. “What makes you think I’d tell you anything?”
The Chariot, upright, Zong Jiu thought, but did not say. He’d stared at that card for a long time when he’d drawn it before this instance. He’d been trying to figure out what the Devil thought of him, in hopes of learning something about what he might be able to expect. But the meanings were complicated and potentially contradictory: succor and providence, trouble and vengeance.
It had told him nothing but what he’d already known. What a waste.
Zong Jiu sighed dramatically. “It was worth a shot.”
The Devil released him, and Zong Jiu affected nonchalance as the strings stripped him. He’d be lying if he said he was comfortable with the Devil’s habit of trying to remove his clothing, but Zong Jiu was, at least, used to it. It wasn’t pleasant to have the Devil’s eyes rake across his moon-pale skin and find every scrape and bruise lingering there from earlier trials, but it at least meant that he wasn’t in mortal danger right now.
Probably.
There were other ways for the Devil to threaten him. Such as leaving him standing here, nude, in the drafty cabin. Zong Jiu’s skin puckered, and he forced himself not to shiver as the Devil considered him. The darkness in the Devil’s eyes never boded well, and neither did the way his strings were wrapped firmly around Zong Jiu’s limbs, holding him still.
“I thought you said you wanted me in warm clothes,” Zong Jiu said, ignoring how dry his tongue was and how overly aware he was of the blood pulsing beneath his ocean-chilled skin.
The Devil slid his fingers along Zong Jiu’s forehead, gathering up his waterlogged white hair and brushing it behind his shoulders so that nothing hid Zong Jiu’s pale skin from his eyes. The Devil smiled, hot and hungry, and said, “I lied.”
The kiss which followed was not a surprise.
From the moment the Devil had removed his clothes, Zong Jiu had been waiting for it. With this pretense of privacy, the Devil could ravish his mouth, slide cold fingers down his ribs, wring pleasure from Zong Jiu whether he liked it or not.
Zong Jiu did not want to like it.
He struggled until the Devil’s strings bit into his wrists and cut against his ankles and thighs. At that warning, he stilled. The instance wasn’t yet over, and Zong Jiu didn’t want to explain the marks the Devil could leave to anyone who saw him in this instance. Once it ended, Zong Jiu would immediately pay the System to heal them, of course, which Zong Jiu suspected was why the Devil only came for him during the instances; here, his touch could linger.
As soon as the Devil’s mouth released his, Zong Jiu asked, “How long are you going to take?” His muscles were still taut despite his seeming relaxation, and goosebumps still covered his limbs and puckered his nipples, but the Devil didn’t seem to care about either fact. The only refuge Zong Jiu had was insolence, and he was more than happy to take advantage.
The Devil smirked at him. “Your little friends”—the cluster of surviving newcomers and weaker C-rankers who looked at Zong Jiu like he was already S-rank—“will take at least fifteen minutes to quell the Captain.” His fingers squeezed around Zong Jiu’s hips, hard enough to bruise. Zong Jiu stared back at him, refusing to flinch. He’d been hurt worse. The Devil sighed and stepped back from him. As he unbuttoned his trousers, he said, “That’s enough time, isn’t it?”
Zong Jiu stared at him, dead-eyed. The Devil’s persnickety nature frustrated him. He would happily ensure Zong Jiu was nude, but he had yet to allow Zong Jiu to see more skin than what was necessary to bare his cock, which Zong Jiu was pretty sure the Devil allowed him to see mostly to try and intimidate him.
The Devil’s cock, which he was pulling from his pants, was thick, long, and possibly would be intimidating if Zong Jiu thought he had any choice in this matter. But since the Devil would do what he wanted regardless, Zong Jiu’s best choice was to refuse to give the Devil the reactions he so craved. Zong Jiu affected boredom as he looked at the Devil’s growing cock and said, “Is the damp getting to you? You’re usually bigger.”
“You’ll warm me right up,” the Devil assured him. His condescending smirk said that he’d understood exactly what Zong Jiu was trying to do and thought it was a pointless diversion. The Devil twisted his fingers, and his strings cradled Zong Jiu, lifting him off the ground and spreading his legs apart so that his ass was presented to the Devil.
Zong Jiu craned his neck so that he could watch the Devil approach. He supposed the antagonism was why the Devil wasn’t even pretending to care about lube this time; he just adjusted Zong Jiu’s position to better line up with his cock and thrust straight into Zong Jiu’s ass.
Zong Jiu did not scream, or cry out, or do anything other than close his eyes and exhale. He relaxed into the intrusion, feeling the way the Devil’s cock—which was big, even if Zong Jiu liked pretending otherwise—filled him. It pressed against his prostate, and Zong Jiu’s cock twitched; whether or not he wanted to enjoy this, the Devil was very good at making sure his body reacted from animal pleasure.
When the Devil’s hips touched Zong Jiu’s, the Devil paused for a moment. His hands moved thoughtfully across Zong Jiu, stroking his sides and pinching his nipples. Zong Jiu ignored the sensations filling his cock and bared his teeth. “Go on,” he said, waving a lazy hand as best he could. The strings couldn’t keep his fingers tied, not without more active effort than the Devil would put in right now. Zong Jiu rolled his hips. “I’m getting bored.”
That, at least, was true. There were many more interesting things for him to do than be the Devil’s playtoy, but once he was caught in the Devil’s web, there was rarely any safe way out. As evidenced by how the Devil smiled at him, clearly amused, and then took hold of his hips and started fucking him.
Zong Jiu let his head loll back into the strings’ grasp. If he ignored that the Devil was the person fucking him, it was quite nice, really; firm thrusts, steady and strong, glancing against Zong Jiu’s most pleasurable points. Zong Jiu wriggled against his bonds, attempting to find a more comfortable angle, but the Devil’s hands held him still. Those were truly unmistakeable; strong and lean and always gloved, and Zong Jiu resented the way that knowledge did nothing to keep his own cock from stiffening and his balls from tightening.
The Devil laughed, low and resonant, and slammed into Zong Jiu. A helpless moan slipped from Zong Jiu’s throat, as much as he tried to swallow it back. This was always how it went. Pleasure slipped across him, filled his body until all the control he worked so hard to achieve slipped, and from there the Devil took his due.
Zong Jiu bit his lip. It didn’t stop huffs of air from escaping with every thrust. It didn’t keep him from being aware of the pre-come dripping onto his stomach where his cock lay untouched. It didn’t keep him from squeezing his hands, trying to grab onto the Devil’s strings just so that he could hold on to something. But the Devil was clever, and his strings danced out of Zong Jiu’s blind grasp.
When the Devil deigned to take Zong Jiu’s cock in one silk-gloved hand, Zong Jiu gasped. Then he whined, because the Devil’s hand was cool and gentle against his arousal-flushed skin—the Devil was right about this being a warming activity—and it wasn’t enough. He squirmed, trying to move his cock in the Devil’s grasp, and all Zong Jiu was rewarded with was the tightening of the Devil’s bonds.
The Devil’s other hand, now freed from Zong Jiu’s hip, reached up to rest on Zong Jiu’s throat. Zong Jiu swallowed, feeling the Devil’s palm positioned right above his most vulnerable spot. He couldn’t do anything about this. He had his voice, but Zong Jiu refused to beg the Devil for release.
The slow circles of the Devil’s finger around the head of Zong Jiu’s cock was maddening. They had nothing to do with the quickening rhythm of the Devil’s cock in his ass, or the way the Devil was tapping out the rhythm to an unknown song on Zong Jiu’s throat. Zong Jiu whimpered, clenching around the Devil’s cock because it was the only action he could take that might bring an end to this sooner.
“Is there something you desire?” The Devil slowed his thrusts and stilled his hand. “I’m in a good mood right now, Magician; tell me what you want.”
Zong Jiu couldn’t breathe without being aware of the Devil’s hand. He couldn’t adjust to the cock’s presence in his ass, because it kept moving, reminding him of how it filled him. He couldn’t avoid his own arousal, because his cock throbbed against the Devil’s too-gentle fingers.
He refused to beg.
Zong Jiu opened his eyes the barest slit. The Devil smirked right back at him, and Zong Jiu’s only consolation was the thin sheen of sweat on his perfect skin. It lent him a glow in the old-fashioned lantern light, made his pale skin nearly ethereal against his dark hair and clothes. Zong Jiu figured he had to have spent points on making himself more attractive, just to frustrate everyone even more than his personality did.
Those unsettling golden eyes darkened, and the Devil said, “There’s nothing you want, Magician? Then I’ll take what I want.”
As warnings went, this one was acceptable. Zong Jiu braced himself, and was grateful that he’d been able to generally strengthen his body with points before this instance. Otherwise, he thought the Devil’s cock might have split him in half.
Even so, Zong Jiu couldn’t keep himself from groaning at the pain. The Devil’s smile widened, and his hand tightened on Zong Jiu’s throat. As Zong Jiu struggled to breathe, the Devil kept fucking him. The pain on his throat, the heat in his ass, and—finally—the blessed relief of the Devil stroking Zong Jiu’s own cock all combined into something that Zong Jiu might not have called pleasure before he entered the infinite loop.
But here, his body had learned the sweetest pleasure of survival.
When the Devil released his neck and Zong Jiu sucked in an easy breath of air, he felt himself come. The heat in his groin suffused him, and Zong Jiu moaned outright, unable to stop himself from making noise with all the air suddenly in his lungs.
The Devil didn’t stop there, of course. His fingers closed tight again around both Zong Jiu’s neck and cock, and his thrusts didn’t stop. Zong Jiu focused on keeping himself conscious through the assault on his oversensitive cock and the thin threads of breath he was allowed to take. What was happening in his ass didn’t matter. It was just a steady rhythm, slowly speeding up, eventually turning ragged as the Devil bore down on him, and Zong Jiu’s heart matched it’s pace.
The Devil came with a rush of heat and a convulsive clench of his fingers.
Zong Jiu screamed, artificially high-pitched, as another orgasm was wrenched from his cock. He could feel how close the Devil had come to crushing his windpipe and larynx alike. The heady rush of adrenaline blended with orgasmic pleasure, and Zong Jiu’s consciousness whited out at the combination.
When he came to, the Devil had vanished and Zong Jiu was lying on a pile of his own damp clothes. A blanket covered him, which Zong Jiu thought was probably the Devil’s idea of being nice.
Zong Jiu stared up at the rough-hewn ceiling of the captain’s cabin. With one shaky hand, he reached up to touch his throat. It was sore. He’d need to come up with an explanation, and hope that it wasn’t too clearly bruised in the shape of fingers.
Then he ran his hands over the rest of his body. The Devil’s strings had a hard time attaching to him, but he’d rather be safe. There was nothing there, and he was surprised to find that there wasn’t even any lingering sticky come on either his stomach or his ass. Zong Jiu made a face and stood up. His body still felt how hard he’d been fucked, and the Devil had left fingerprint bruises on his hips. At least those would be easier to hide and explain.
Zong Jiu got dressed, already starting to run through explanations for how he’d gotten out of the ocean and into the captain’s quarters. If he just smiled and acted mysterious, everything should work out in his favor, but it was better to have a backup plan.
He took a deep breath, controlled his wince at the pain in his throat, and looked around.
He’d wanted to get here anyway. There had to be some clues to solving this instance in this normally-locked room.
Zong Jiu smiled and pushed the Devil’s toll from his mind. It was time to return to the game.