Abandon
Shaken by a hard-fought retreat, Cao Ren finds catharsis in an evening with Zhang Liao. Rated for explicit sexual content.
Dinner sat cold and untouched on the floor nearby, and the evening sun had long since slipped away into the low flicker of lamplight. Cao Ren took little notice of either as he plowed through the mountain of war treatises heaped on the table of his sitting room. Scroll upon scroll about formations and procedure and principles of leadership - surely they concealed some secret that he had yet to unearth. A yearlong defense, a personal charge to break the enemy's spirits, and Jiangling had still fallen. As Ren struggled to account for his failure, his studies seemed apt to prove just as futile.
Cao Ren told himself that he had kept a calm and decisive head. That he had roused his troops to their full strength day in and day out, even as food ran scarce and infirmaries overflowed with the ill and the injured. That these books were not Heaven's wisdom, but the words of men - and like all else human, they had their limits. And perhaps Ren had reached his as well, and he was overdue for a pot of tea and preparations to sleep.
In other words, to concede defeat.
Cao Ren snatched another scroll from the pile, snapping off the cord after a token attempt to unknot it. He slammed it onto his desk with a satisfying clack of bamboo slats on lacquered wood. The words mocked him with deceptive simplicity, smug and pithy and nigh inscrutable. A dull fury began to rise in Ren's stomach, and he measured his thoughts to suppress it. It was not worth his focus. It would not take control. Then the rage spiked and Ren's arm whipped back and sent the scroll flying. It bounced off the door frame, just missing the visitor who had seen himself into the chambers.
Zhang Liao arched a slim brow as he looked over the disarray. His eyes remained cool and collected throughout Ren's stammered apologies for the near accident, for his uncharacteristic loss of temper, for being too preoccupied to give a proper greeting. With a wry shake of his head, Liao bent to retrieve the wayward document. "You have to relax, Zixiao."
"I have to study. Hand that back, will you?"
"I suppose." Furling the scroll with slow turns of his hands, Zhang Liao strode over to do as requested. "Though our library won't withstand much more of your methodology."
Cao Ren had to laugh. "It's not my usual way."
"I figured as much. You haven't been yourself lately."
"It's that obvious?" Cao Ren took pride in keeping a stoic face. He needed no sympathy, and his men needed a resolute leader. Perhaps his restless energy told its own tale in long afternoons of horseback drills and target practice.
"Yes, but it's understandable. I've read the reports. I know how hard you fought. You gave your best to the very end." A direct and sincere look. "And I doubt I could have done better."
"I couldn't say." Cao Ren thought in terms of conventional wisdom rather than the gambles that Zhang Liao was becoming known for. Liao might have bested the men who had foiled full armies with ragtag teams of soldiers, who had roadblocked the cavalry and stolen their horses. "The fact remains that I didn't do well enough."
"You took a great toll on the enemy. Their numbers are decimated, their momentum lost. Cao Cao said so himself."
Cao Ren clenched his jaw. "And demoted me in the same breath."
"That wasn't personal."
"Of course not." Defeat had its consequences, increasingly stringent with rank. At least Ren retained a trusted title which reflected his past achievements. "Even so, it's difficult to swallow."
"I'm sure it is. But you must put it behind you in order to move forward."
Almost retorting that platitudes taught him nothing of warfare, Cao Ren bit his tongue instead. Zhang Liao had more than enough authority to speak on this subject. Formerly bound in another lord's service, he had pledged himself to Cao Cao with an unwavering focus that had won over those who remained skeptical of his loyalty. Liao never spoke of his old allegiance, and Ren did not make it his business to pry into another's. Still, he had a less intrusive sort of curiosity.
"How did you manage that?"
Zhang Liao had been slowly pacing the room. He stopped, turning to face Cao Ren with an amused twinkle in his eye. "Distraction."
Ren cocked a quizzical brow. "That's it?"
"Not quite, but it helps."
Zhang Liao cleared the table over Cao Ren's token protest about needing to get back to business. He produced a dice bag from an inner pocket of his robes, holding it up with a shake of invitation.
"Well, naturally." Ren laughed. "Losing money will take your mind off anything."
"Is that your preferred wager? I was about to suggest poetry."
"I'd say that's worse." Even with a fresh mind, Cao Ren's command of verse was middling at best. "Though it is a more sensible choice."
"I'll go easy on you."
Ren smiled. "And I'll hold you to that."
Zhang Liao gambled with the same concentration he brought to war council. Each throw was calculated, each verse recital prepared well ahead of the lost bet that called for it. Cao Ren managed to match him until an unlucky streak exhausted his supply of common poems, leaving him to improvise one that sounded more like a children's song. With a laugh, he speculated that he ought to have been studying the classics instead.
Fortune soon reversed itself. Liao weathered his own string of defeats, remaining silent after the last as he stroked the sharp point of his goatee. He straightened up and began to speak.
"Silken hair and black jade eyes. A gate of gold between her thighs. What better place to spill your seed? A string of coin is all you need."
A hot flush crawled up from Cao Ren's collar. Such dignity for a rhyme that would normally be brayed after a few too many bowls of wine, and the subject matter carried a weight that it lacked when his cousins let loose with similar ribaldry. Ren wondered if Zhang Liao had meant it in praise of some particular sing-song girl he favored, and he dismissed the notion before it turned him an even brighter shade of red.
"Spare me." Liao smirked. "Surely you've heard that one a thousand times from your men."
"Of course. But none of them have your delivery."
A laugh. "I assume that's a compliment."
"Indeed it is."
Zhang Liao embodied the precision of a honed blade secure in its sheath. His posture was strict, his manner refined, his speech chosen. His poise had a wary distance not unlike Cao Ren's own tendencies to shield himself from the world. Small wonder that Ren had never feared Liao, even as others minced words and avoided his piercing gaze. He had still wondered what was inside the mind of a man who rarely made much casual conversation. Ren now had one answer, which came as no surprise. It still embarrassed him in an odd regard that he seemed best off not thinking about any further.
Yet it proved difficult to forget. When Cao Ren lost his next throw, mulling over a recitation as Liao expectantly regarded him, his impromptu verse on nature seemed too bland of an offering. A most different one leaped to mind, learned too well over a few late evenings with cousin Yuan. Ren drew himself up with a deep breath, swallowing to keep his composure.
"An empty bed, a raw demand. I thrust myself into my hand. How else am I to quench my thirst? If I don't, I'll likely burst."
Zhang Liao peered at him as if trying to ascertain the truth of the poem. They both maintained their formal bearing as Liao's mouth curled at one corner, giving brief notice before he let forth a thigh-slapping guffaw. "I never knew you had that in you."
Cao Ren shrugged, making his best effort at nonchalance. "It runs in the family."
They went on for a few more rounds until a cramp twisted in Ren's neck. He prodded at it with a wince, giving up a few moments later after failing to make any progress. There were no obvious points of release, only a sheet of pain that would have to work itself out overnight.
Zhang Liao moved behind him, resting a hand on his back. "May I?"
The gesture was surprising but not unwelcome. In his previous mood, Cao Ren would have flinched at such contact. Instead, he leaned back into it with a nod of approval.
Liao pressed firm circles along Ren's neck, then down to the broad expanse of his shoulders. He dug deep and slow, unwinding knots into languid bliss, and Ren allowed his eyes to close in surrender. His last massage had come from a gnarled old bath attendant who extricated the stiffness without truly relaxing him. There was an elegance to Liao's technique, apparent even through the obstacle of clothing. Pondering the direct warmth of bare skin on his own, Ren found himself craving a closer touch.
Cao Ren pulled away for a moment, fumbling with the hook of his sash. Zhang Liao deftly undid it, then helped him out of his upper robes. He walked his knuckles down Ren's back, kneaded the thick muscles along the base of his spine. A different sort of tension had been swelling below Ren's waist as more and more ebbed from his torso. It grew bolder as Liao wandered, giving Ren a new appreciation for the additional fabric draped in his lap.
Silk rustled as Zhang Liao drew himself forward. His body was palpably near, his voice a close whisper. "More?"
Ren murmured assent as those hands slid around to his chest. He swallowed a groan when they brushed over his nipples to find them hard. And he gave up his silence as fingers returned to tantalize, as further exploration gave way to groping. As Liao clutched an arm around Ren to press into him with the heat of his own arousal, and they rocked against each other in time with their ragged breathing.
Zhang Liao plunged down into Cao Ren's robes and freed him from his loincloth. One hand ensconced him with powerful strokes as the other ventured back, fingers circling their target in unspoken inquiry. Ren bucked his rear backward, and those fingers slipped in to stretch him with the same wanton urgency. They were slick and insistent, yet more of a tease than a fulfillment. Propping pillows beneath him, Ren grunted a demand before Liao could beat him to the inevitable question.
"More."
Liao obliged, rough and ardent and almost too much to handle. His hands were braced on Ren's shoulders, his thrusts a hard rhythm equally met with each roll of the hips. The friction waxed vivid and clear, a dilating wash of sunlight, and Ren gripped the rug to stay earthbound as the ether attempted to claim him. Release slammed forth as a thunderbolt, punctuated by a gritted gasp as he arched off the cushions. From behind came several sharp inhalations and one great push that nearly sent him sprawling.
The men lay together in their tangle of robes as the heady afterglow abated into calm. They cleaned up, dressed, smoothed their topknots and the wrinkles in their clothing. No words were said or needed. Their eyes met with an understanding of the warrior's discretion they lived by, of seizing the night and returning to business the next day. A shared nod, and Zhang Liao was on his way out. He paused at the door before leaving.
"I suppose I should apologize."
Cao Ren awaited further elaboration.
"I didn't quite go easy on you, did I?"
A snort. "Do you hear me complaining?"
Liao smirked. "Obviously not."