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It’s a shock and the least surprising thing all at once. It never could have happened, and yet it feels inevitable. Maybe, Feng Xin thinks, if you live long enough anything is possible. It’s the only explanation for the way he now knows what Mu Qing’s bony hips feel like between his hands, or how his mouth tastes, or the soft, breathy sound he makes when Feng Xin kisses him for the first time.
He doesn’t remember when he first thought of kissing Mu Qing. He tries not to think too hard about it, and then he thinks about Mu Qing performing in the Shangyuan Parade when they were young. Xie Lian was the star, but Mu Qing was graceful and powerful. And he was beautiful behind the mask, even then.
Feng Xin wonders if somehow, somewhere, he’s always thought of Mu Qing like this. Has always wanted to know what he’d look like calm, happy and smiling, if he’d ever let Feng Xin see him content. Lately, every time Mu Qing laughs, even when it’s at his expense, something in Feng Xin cracks open, like his heart needs to take up more space in his chest, shoving his ribs and other organs out of the way. Like this, with Mu Qing staring at him, open-mouthed and confused, surprised, Feng Xin thinks maybe they were never meant to be something as simple as “friends.”
When the corner of Mu Qing’s mouth twitches up the barest amount and no punches have been thrown, Feng Xin can’t help but ask, “Yeah?”
And when Mu Qing, true to form and as predictable as he is fierce, scoffs and says, “Well, is that all?” Feng Xin realizes there’s nothing else he could have said. It had to be laid out as a challenge, a familiar pattern that makes it possible for both of them to lean in for more.
Mu Qing isn’t gentle, but Feng Xin didn’t expect him to be. Mu Qing is only gentle with small children and animals and, apparently, with dangerous spiritual weapons that he has to weave back together. His hands are hard on Feng Xin’s shoulders and their teeth keep clacking together but it’s perfect. This is one of the worst kisses of Feng Xin’s life, and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. When he bites Mu Qing’s bottom lip softly, tugging, Mu Qing whines in a way that makes Feng Xin reorder all of his priorities.
They don’t even make it out of their armor before Feng Xin has a hand on Mu Qing’s cock, hard and hot, so, so hot, through the fabric of his pants. His other layers are shoved aside, and Mu Qing’s lip curls like he’s worried about future wrinkles. He doesn’t complain, though. He pulls Feng Xin closer, his long fingers tight in Feng Xin’s cloak.
“Should we,” Mu Qing pants out, “really be doing this h-here?”
Feng Xin ignores him, focused on the feeling of Mu Qing getting harder, growing in his hand. On the wet patch that’s similarly growing on the fine fabric of his underclothes.
Mu Qing slaps his shoulder. “Feng Xin!” he hisses. “We’re in your temple!”
Feng Xin blinks and looks around. They are, of course. It’s a bustling Nan Yang temple at midday, his believers praying and leaving offerings all over the place. They’re tucked away in the corner, and Feng Xin has Mu Qing shoved up against a pillar.
Feng Xin shrugs. “No one can see us anyway,” he points out. He's not lying, they’re in their true forms.
“That’s not— what are you doing?!”
Feng Xin is glad he’s a god, or dropping to his knees on a stone floor would have hurt. “You’ll figure it out.”
All told, Feng Xin barely gets his mouth on Mu Qing before he comes. Feng Xin manages to swallow most of it. He can feel Mu Qing shaking underneath his hands. He doesn’t prop Mu Qing up, because he knows Mu Qing would hate the help right now. He sits back on his heels, and he watches as Mu Qing slides down the pillar to sit on the floor. His cock is still out, half-hard and glistening against his thigh.
“Pervert,” Mu Qing says, quickly putting his clothes back in order. He sounds breathless — looks breathless. His cheeks are stained with color, and he keeps sneaking glances at Feng Xin. “Why did you do that?”
“I wanted to make you feel good,” Feng Xin says, staring him down. Mu Qing looks away again. Feng Xin thinks his ribs have just permanently rearranged at this point. His heart is beating so fast they might all be broken. “I want to make you feel good. I want to kiss you more. I want to do everything with you.”
Mu Qing swallows and looks at him, and Feng Xin deliberately licks at the corner of his mouth, even though he knows he’s already cleaned up Mu Qing’s come. Mu Qing’s blush deepens, but he doesn’t back down.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “I— not here, though. Brute.”
Feng Xin smiles as Mu Qing stands, and Mu Qing reaches down a hand to help him up. Feng Xin doesn’t let go as they ascend.
After their first night together — a long, sleepless night that leaves them both littered with bruises and bite marks — Mu Qing avoids him like the plague. Feng Xin tries not to worry about it. He should have known this would happen. Mu Qing isn’t good at having productive, honest conversations. Grudgingly, Feng Xin will admit it’s one of the only things Mu Qing is bad at. He’s even worse at having feelings, much less acknowledging them.
“If you sigh one more time, I’ll kick you out,” Pei Ming says. He’s giving Feng Xin a hard, serious look, which is the first sign something is very wrong.
“This is my palace!” Feng Xin protests.
Pei Ming shrugs and gestures around at the Nan Yang deputies. “Look, they’re sick of your moping, too. They’d probably welcome the change in leadership.”
Feng Xin’s deputies turn to the pair with horror, which is a dead giveaway they’ve all been listening.
“General, no—!”
“We would never—!”
“Ming Guang knows not of what he speaks, sir!”
The last is spoken by an intense deputy whose dedication often humbles Feng Xin. Then Pei Ming winks at her, and Feng Xin wonders how much of an overstep it would be to put wards into all of their robes against Pei Ming. Probably they could be sewn in, but he’d need Mu Qing’s help for that.
“Is this about the fetching Xuan Zhen?”
Feng Xin scowls. “Don’t call him that.”
Pei Ming raises a single eyebrow. “Oh, you disagree? You don’t find him attractive?”
“Shut up!”
“You know, he wouldn’t tell me why he needed power, but I think I’m starting to put it together.” Pei Ming wipes his hands off and stands, his drink unfinished.
“Why he needed— did you give him spiritual power?!”
“Put me down, Feng Xin,” Pei Ming says in a low voice, and Feng Xin realizes he has Pei Ming by the collar, hefted off the ground. He lets go, even though all he wants to do is throw Pei Ming through a wall.
He doesn’t need to fight Pei Ming. He doesn’t even really want to fight Pei Ming. He shouldn’t fight a friend, especially not over another — is Mu Qing a friend, now? Is he something more?
Pei Ming pats him heartily on the shoulder. “If it makes you feel better, he glared and insulted me the whole time.”
Feng Xin sighs. He likes Mu Qing insulting and glaring at him, just how messed up is he?
“Thanks for the drink, Nan Yang. Let’s do it again soon!” Pei Ming crushes him in a one-armed hug before he walks to the door.
“Sorry!” Feng Xin calls out. “For, you know.”
Pei Ming laughs. “Don’t worry about it. I promise I won’t be touching Xuan Zhen anytime soon!”
Ever, Feng Xin thinks and then shakes himself. He needs to go shoot some targets, or maybe give all his deputies busy work so they stop watching him out of the corners of their eyes. He won’t seek out Mu Qing. He won’t. It’s not his place. He can give Mu Qing space.
“Do you always show off?”
Unless Mu Qing finds him first. He’s frowning, but that’s nothing new. He’s not wearing his armor, and Feng Xin can’t help but think how slender he’d been, spread out on the blankets, his pale skin glowing in dim candlelight where it peeked out from his layers.
Feng Xin lets his bow arm drop to his side and looks exaggeratingly around. There’s no one else in the courtyard. Mu Qing clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. He even crosses his arms. He looks so uncomfortable, like a cat ready to run and hide under the bed.
Feng Xin takes pity on him. “The arrow thing at Tonglu—”
“You mean when you shot them off with your teeth like an animal?” Mu Qing’s tone is scathing, but Feng Xin can see his blush from here.
“Yeah, that. I’d never done that before, so I wanted to try again.”
“Well, it looks stupid,” Mu Qing says. He shifts from foot to foot.
“I’m not going to apologize for carrying you away from fucking lava,” Feng Xin says. He nocks three more arrows and focuses on the target.
Mu Qing clears his throat. “I’m not asking you to, I’m— th-thank you.”
Feng Xin doesn’t totally miss the target, but the arrows are nowhere near the center. He whirls on Mu Qing. “What did you say?”
Mu Qing kicks at the grass. “You heard me. I’m not saying it again.”
Feng Xin stares at him. “You’re welcome. You really don’t need to thank me, I know you’d do the same.”
Mu Qing laughs. It’s so cold that it sends a shiver up Feng Xin’s spine. “Do you?” Mu Qing asks. “You thought I’d left you to burn alive in the heavens.”
Feng Xin takes a deep breath. “Well, thank you in return, then. For saving me, too.”
Mu Qing sniffs and looks away. “This is boring.”
“Yeah,” Feng Xin says. He doesn’t know what to say that won’t scare Mu Qing off. He wants to kiss him again. He puts down his bow and walks closer to Mu Qing.
“Do you have to do this shirtless?” Mu Qing asks, sounding pained.
Feng Xin snorts. “I always train like this. It gets hot.”
“You’re never shirtless when we spar,” Mu Qing says. His eyes roam over the sweat on Feng Xin’s chest and then dart away.
Feng Xin touches his chin lightly. “I never wanted to make you uncomfortable.”
Mu Qing nods. His eyes are so dark, looking into Feng Xin’s.
“Plus we don’t usually plan our fights,” Feng Xin says, and Mu Qing laughs, a short bark of a sound. “I want to kiss you.”
Mu Qing nods again. “Okay.”
They kiss until they’re both laid out on the ground, the air cooling around them. Color stains Mu Qing’s face and neck, and his hands have explored every part of Feng Xin’s back and chest that they can. Feng Xin’s nipples don’t do much for him, or at least they never have in the past, but he’s not going to stop any of Mu Qing’s fun.
“Please don’t borrow power from Pei Ming again,” Feng Xin says, which is not at all what he means to say.
Mu Qing stiffens. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
Feng Xin tucks Mu Qing’s hair behind his ear. “I know I don’t. I’m only asking.”
“You have a bedroom, don’t you?” Mu Qing asks after a long moment, and the wooden way he says it does nothing to kill Feng Xin’s desire.
They undress completely this time. Their first night had been more a matter of shoving clothes out of the way, ripping seams and too much haste. Now, Feng Xin lays Mu Qing out and drinks in the sight of him, and Mu Qing does the same. Feng Xin kisses him, their bare skin pressed together in a way that makes him lightheaded. He pulls back before he gets lost in it, and Mu Qing’s knees press against his hips.
“This doesn’t mean,” Feng Xin starts, and then dives back in to kiss him again He can’t help himself, especially not when Mu Qing shivers beneath him. “This doesn’t mean I have to fuck you,” he finally pulls back and says.
“Why,” asks Mu Qing indignantly, “would you not?”
Feng Xin shrugs and smiles. “I don’t know, maybe if you wanted to fuck me instead?”
Mu Qing whimpers, his eyes wide. “Maybe next time”
“Next time,” Feng Xin says, kissing from Mu Qing’s jaw down to his throat, “you should. Next time, you should fuck me up.”
“You can count on it,” Mu Qing says, breathless.
They’d gotten off several times when they tried this last, but they hadn’t done — this, Feng Xin’s oiled fingers petting at Mu Qing’s entrance, Feng Xin swallows all the soft sounds that Mu Qing makes when he gets something inside of him. He rushes Feng Xin along, because of course he does. He’s so good at pretending to be patient. He’s got everyone but Feng Xin fooled.
“I’m ready, just do it,” Mu Qing groans, and Feng Xin sits back to slick his cock with the same hand.
Mu Qing pushes himself up on his elbows, watching intently. He reaches out slowly, and Feng Xin moves his hand so Mu Qing can touch him. Mu Qing hasn’t touched him like this yet, not completely nude. He forms a loose fist around Feng Xin’s cock, slowly tightening his grip as he watches precome bead at the tip.
“It’s not as big as I expected it to be,” Mu Qing says, pushing his nail into the slit. “You know, with the poem and everything.”
Feng Xin laughs, bracing himself with both hands over Mu Qing so he can thrust lightly into his fist. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he says honestly.
Mu Qing shakes his head. “It’s— it’s still… large. I think it’s a good thing.” He glances up at Feng Xin’s face and back to his cock. “That it’s not any bigger, you know?”
Feng Xin kisses his nose, just to watch his whole face crinkle up. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure you could take it if it was.”
Mu Qing lets go of his cock and smacks his hip. “Vulgar!”
“I am,” Feng Xin says. “Here, let me— yeah, that’s it.” Mu Qing easily rests his ankle on Feng Xin’s shoulder. Feng Xin wants to test his flexibility, but maybe now’s not the time.
He presses in as slowly as he can, gritting his teeth against how good Mu Qing feels. He’d been hot and tight around Feng Xin’s fingers, but around his cock it’s unbelievable. Feng Xin struggles to remember all the breathing techniques that Xie Lian tried to teach him when they were kids. He could probably get hard again, or even stay hard, thanks to spiritual power, but he doesn’t think Mu Qing will let him live it down if he comes without even getting all the way inside.
“Move!” Mu Qing says, knocking his ankle against Feng Xin’s skull.
“Fuck, okay!” Feng Xin moves too fast then, the slide too easy, and Mu Qing moans, his cock twitching against his stomach. His whole body is taut, all his muscles in sharp relief. It’s hot, but — “You have to relax.”
“You think I’m not— fuck, come here. Come down here.”
Feng Xin readjusts, letting Mu Qing’s leg fall. When he’s breathing the same air as Mu Qing, he nudges Mu Qing’s nose with his own. “Hi,” he says, and feels incredibly stupid.
Until Mu Qing says, “Hi,” back, in a whisper. Then he tilts his chin forward, taking Feng Xin’s lips with his. He opens up beautifully to Feng Xin’s tongue, and his body, slowly, carefully, opens up to his cock, too.
Neither of them last long, as it turns out. Mu Qing gasps and writhes underneath him, fisting himself and biting Feng Xin’s neck. Feng Xin lets him, will let him do anything he wants, as they chase a frenzied finish together.
“Is it okay if I—?”
“Yes, whatever,” Mu Qing gasps, and Feng Xin tips his head down to watch Mu Qing come all over his own hand. He’s hot, he’s so hot. Feng Xin comes inside him, praying that it’s covered under “whatever” and that Mu Qing won’t kill him.
“It feels weird,” Mu Qing says, some time later. Feng Xin lies beside him, watching Mu Qing shift his hips. He’s been feeding power back to Mu Qing in soft caresses and kisses, and Mu Qing has smartly stayed quiet about it.
“I can grab a cloth and—”
“Shut up,” Mu Qing says. His ears are pink. “It’s fine.”
Feng Xin files that away for later, content to kiss Mu Qing until they fall asleep.
Their next sexual encounter is rushed. They’re in their deputy forms, and Xie Lian has only popped out to find food.
“Like that,” Mu Qing whines, bucking into the fist Feng Xin has wrapped around him, his hand tight on Feng Xin’s cock, too.
They finish fast and easy, and Mu Qing has just barely fixed his hair before Xie Lian swans back in with steamed buns that he, thankfully, did not cook.
The time after that, Feng Xin pulls Mu Qing to him when they’re both covered in dark purple monster blood. They kiss for so long pressed together that the blood starts to dry, and Feng Xin’s tunic sticks to Mu Qing’s robes.
“Are you fucking— this is ridiculous!” Mu Qing tugs again, and Feng Xin moves forward with his strength. “What even bleeds this color?!”
Feng Xin takes off his tunic so they can ascend as separate beings. Mu Qing eyes him in his shirtsleeves until Feng Xin makes up some excuse to follow him home.
The fifth time, Mu Qing initiates, showing up unannounced with a quiver of beautifully made arrows that are infused with his spiritual power.
“It’s my turn,” he hisses in Feng Xin’s ear, and he’s so confident in stripping Feng Xin and bullying his way between his thighs that Feng Xin has a feeling he’s researched this.
He pauses with his cock lined up, his sticky fingers on Feng Xin’s hip and back. “Tell me if— I don’t want anything to hurt.”
Feng Xin looks over his shoulder at him. “You can’t hurt me,” he promises, and then he groans when Mu Qing pushes in.
He comes before he’s fully inside, just as Feng Xin feared, but he grows hard again quickly, buried tight in Feng Xin’s body, and it’s worth it for how he moans with sensitivity as he begins to thrust. Mu Qing is a quick study, because of course he is, and Feng Xin’s arms give out before Mu Qing comes again.
“Does it feel like this,” Mu Qing gasps, “all the time? For you?”
Feng Xin moans and nods, reaching for his cock. Mu Qing bats his hand away and it takes only a few strokes for Feng Xin to lose it.
They have tea with Xie Lian and the demon he’s married to, and Feng Xin tries not to feel jealous of the way they drape all over each other like sleepy puppies. Hua Cheng lays his head on Xie Lian’s shoulder, they feed each other bites of sweets, Xie Lian touches Hua Cheng’s face like he’s something precious.
If Feng Xin reached over to take Mu Qing’s hand, how many bones would Mu Qing break in his arm? Feng Xin shoves the thought down and tries to focus on what Xie Lian says. He shifts so his knee brushes against Mu Qing’s, and he pretends not to notice Mu Qing’s curious look.
“What’s wrong with you?” Mu Qing asks when they leave the shrine.
Feng Xin’s stomach sinks. “I’m sorry, it’s stupid, I—”
“It’s like you weren’t listening at all,” Mu Qing continues. He bumps his shoulder into Feng Xin’s. “Are you okay?”
Feng Xin stops in his tracks. What’s wrong with you, Mu Qing had said, and, in typical Mu Qing fashion, he’d meant something else. Feng Xin has to get better at looking past Mu Qing’s tone and understanding what he’s actually saying. Mu Qing is frowning at him.
“I’m fine,” Feng Xin rushes to say. He catches up to Mu Qing and kisses him, and the stiff, worried set of Mu Qing’s shoulders relaxes instantly. “I’m fine. Come back to mine?”
In Feng Xin’s bedroom, Mu Qing says, “I want to try using my mouth.” He looks determinedly at Feng Xin when he says it as if he can will his flush away.
“Yes,” Feng Xin says. “Please. However you want.”
Mu Qing’s brows knit together. “Are there other ways? Then what you— in your temple, I mean.”
Heat sparks beneath Feng Xin’s skin. “Get undressed and lay down, I’ll show you.”
“But I want to do it to you!”
“We can both do it,” Feng Xin says stupidly. “To each other.”
Mu Qing eyes him distrustfully but undresses. He takes his hair down, too, and Feng Xin marvels at how long it’s gotten. It’s shiny and Feng Xin knows it’s soft, but Mu Qing usually has it tied or braided back even when they’re together like this. He fists his hands in it before Mu Qing can move to the bed, and he kisses Mu Qing’s surprised whimper straight out of his mouth.
“Lay down,” Feng Xin says, releasing him.
“It’s ‘lie down,’” Mu Qing grumbles, but he does it anyway.
Feng Xin follows him. “No, like this. On your side, facing me.”
Mu Qing looks down the bed at him, his mouth pursed. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Feng Xin scoots closer, all too aware of how close his cock is to Mu Qing’s face. He’s been mostly hard since Mu Qing insinuated he wanted to blow him, it can’t be helped. He slides a hand between Mu Qing’s thighs to part them, resting his cheek on one and bending the other up and out of the way. Mu Qing’s thighs are lovely. All of him is, really, but his thighs are thick with muscle and Feng Xin can’t get close without wanting to mark them up.
Feng Xin can’t see Mu Qing from this angle, so his hips jump when he feels something wet and warm against his cock. Mu Qing’s tongue, he realizes.
“Like this?” Mu Qing asks, and he scoots closer, taking the head of Feng Xin’s cock into his mouth.
“Yeah,” Feng Xin breathes. He kisses Mu Qing’s cock, then his sac, and then lower still.
“What are you— oh, fuck.” Mu Qing’s hips move forward, giving Feng Xin an even better angle to lick over his hole. “That’s, that’s disgusting, why would you… ah, ah, Feng Xin!”
Mu Qing loses track of trying to pleasure Feng Xin in return, but Feng Xin doesn’t mind. He loses himself in this, he always has. He loves eating his partners out, no matter who they are or what’s between their legs. The first time he’d tried it, with Jian Lan’s teasing corrections and advice, he’d made a point to dedicate himself to it.
This, though, this is better. He loves making Mu Qing’s legs shake, loves the soft, high whines that he’s clearly trying to hold back. Mu Qing’s whole body is trembling, and Feng Xin tries to lick deeper into him. When he slips in a finger so he can reach that spot inside Mu Qing, curling it as he licks around it, Mu Qing wails.
“Feng Xin, Feng Xin,” Mu Qing mumbles, and then his mouth is on Feng Xin’s dick again.
He doesn’t go very deep, but the way he moans around it makes Feng Xin fight to hold back on jerking forward into Mu Qing’s throat. All too soon, Mu Qing pulls back, and his whole body is pulling away, so Feng Xin can’t reach him with his tongue anymore.
“You have to— fuck me, Feng Xin, come on, I— I want it, you—”
“Shh, shh,” Feng Xin says. He pulls Mu Qing into his lap, kissing him quiet. It’s easy to slick up his cock, to position Mu Qing and help ease him onto it.
“Oh,” Mu Qing breathes when he’s fully seated. “It feels different like this.”
Feng Xin nods because he can’t be trusted to say anything other than how gorgeous Mu Qing looks like this, shaking apart on his cock. Feng Xin wants to fuck him until he cries. Feng Xin wants to keep him forever. Instead, he kisses him.
It takes Mu Qing a bit to get the handle of riding him, but he’s as good at this as he is at anything else. He shoves Feng Xin down to the bed and bounces, his hands splayed on Feng Xin’s chest. He whines and tosses his head, and the best thing about it is knowing he’s not putting on a show. As aware as Mu Qing is of his appearance, he’s always authentic with Feng Xin.
Feng Xin wraps a hand around his weeping cock, and Mu Qing allows it, thrusting between that and Feng Xin buried inside him. He’s so, so beautiful. When he throws his head back, Feng Xin can feel the tickle of hair against his thighs. When he opens his eyes to look at Feng Xin, they’re so dark and hot that Feng Xin wants to drown in them. Feng Xin is never going to get used to this. It’s never going to be anything other than the best thing Feng Xin has ever done.
What’s worse, Mu Qing could decide tomorrow that all he wants to do is hold hands, and it would still be perfect. He could decide he doesn’t want to touch Feng Xin at all anymore, but as long as he stayed close, stayed in Feng Xin’s life, that would be enough. It would suck, and it would hurt, but all Feng Xin really needs is to have him near. He has nearly a thousand years to prove that.
“I didn’t know,” Mu Qing says. His eyes are closed, his head tipped back, jaw clenched as he shakes. “I never thought it’d be like— like this.”
“Sex?” Feng Xin asks, because he has to know. He’s stupid, and he has to hear it, even if it’s a risk.
“With you,” Mu Qing says, and he’s lowering himself to kiss Feng Xin again, to kiss him while he comes into Feng Xin’s hand. Feng Xin follows him over, burying himself as deep as he can get.
Feng Xin means to ask him about it, he does. He plans to bring it up as he’s cleaning them up, but Mu Qing’s already snuggling into the blankets and furs, and Feng Xin doesn’t want to risk him leaving if he wakes up. He means to ask again the next day when they have tea together, and the week after when they fight a small army of ghosts alongside Yushi Huang and her ox. It’s a heavy, momentous thing to Feng Xin, hovering over him like a rain cloud whenever he’s with Mu Qing. He has to ask. He has to say something.
But it’s so much easier not to.
For his part, Mu Qing doesn’t seem to notice the weight of it at all. He lets Feng Xin into his bedroom, and he comes to Feng Xin’s, and they exchange gifts instead of words like they’re courting nobles back in Xianle.
The sex only gets better the more they learn about each other, and Feng Xin thinks that must mean something. Even if he can’t confess anything to Mu Qing, surely his body is doing it for him. Mu Qing must know that Feng Xin doesn’t come this easily and that his hands don’t shake like this with anyone else.
Feng Xin has had partners through the years, the centuries. Many of them have repeated because he has an easier time being intimate when he has a connection with someone. He’s never had a connection with anyone the way he does with Mu Qing. Sometimes he wants to wring his neck, and sometimes he wants to marry him, but Mu Qing is ever-present no matter what. He was too young and dumb to realize it at the time, but the months he spent without Mu Qing were some of the darkest in his long life, and even crashing into half of the palaces in the heavens was better than not having him at all. He’d take broken bones over solitude, and he doesn’t want to know what that says about him.
“What are you looking at?” Mu Qing asks, narrowing his eyes from across the table. “Is there something on my face?”
They’re in their deputy forms at an inn, hoping to overhear something useful on an investigation Ling Wen dispatched Feng Xin on this morning. Mu Qing had tagged along, and Feng Xin never thought to question it.
“Seriously, what are your eyebrows doing?!” Mu Qing whisper-shouts.
Feng Xin means to make a joke, tell him something actually is on his face. Or maybe he’ll proposition him, suggest they go up to their rented room. Feng Xin feels responsible for Mu Qing, for his pleasure. He loves getting to show him what he likes, and how good everything can be. Just in the last month or so he’s finally gotten Mu Qing to admit — nonverbally — how much he likes being fingered, even if it’s not a means to an end.
Feng Xin means to say something sexy or silly, not earnest. Instead, he says, “I want to hold your hand in front of Xie Lian and Crimson Rain Sought Flower.”
Mu Qing drops his chopsticks. Feng Xin has never seen him drop his chopsticks. His whole face screws up like he’s tasted something awful. “Why?” he asks in a croak.
The cracking thing in Feng Xin’s chest freezes over. “I just— it would be nice to… you know.”
“I know?!” Mu Qing shrieks. Half the inn turns to look at them. Feng Xin leans over the table to touch his hand, but Mu Qing jerks away. Feng Xin has to remind himself that he doesn’t need to breathe if he keeps struggling like this.
“I like you,” Feng Xin says, and it feels too small, too inconsequential. “Mu Qing, I— I love you.”
Mu Qing’s eyes go wide and his blush pales. His mouth works but no sound comes out.
Feng Xin laughs joylessly. “I think I always have.”
“You—!” Mu Qing points furiously at him but never finishes the sentence.
He’s up from the table and stomping toward the door before Feng Xin can think to move. By the time Feng Xin gets outside, Mu Qing is gone. He doesn’t come back to their room that night, and he doesn’t show up for breakfast or the investigation the next day.
It’s fine, it was supposed to be a solo mission anyway.
Feng Xin spends weeks taking every assignment he can from Ling Wen. Luckily. she’s too overworked to care about his reasons. His report writing gets better at least, since he doesn’t have Mu Qing helping him with it. He visits Xie Lian more, and even Shi Qingxuan a few times.
Shi Qingxuan tries to ask him about Mu Qing, because he’s scarily perceptive when he puts his mind to it, but he gives up when Feng Xin argues he has no idea what Mu Qing is up to. He really doesn’t. He’s only seen him in passing or at meetings. Sometimes he hears his voice in the public array, and he spends hours trying to puzzle out how Mu Qing sounds. Is he happy? Sad? Indifferent? Is he really as cold as everyone makes him out to be?
He’s not, Feng Xin knows. He’s seen Mu Qing unraveled and soft. He’s seen Mu Qing when he’s been kissed enough that his ire starts to fade away. Everything he knows about Mu Qing feels like a secret now, like something Feng Xin was never meant to know.
He knows how sensitive Mu Qing’s neck is and that he won’t let Feng Xin hold his hand unless he’s already half-gone either in sex or sleep. He knows that Mu Qing likes to be hurt, a little. That, sometimes, it will make him go boneless and pliant. He knows where Mu Qing keeps his favorite tea, and he knows the chaotic organization system of his armory. He’s seen Mu Qing at his best and his worse, and Mu Qing has seen him back. They’ve been undressed in front of each other in any and every way that matters, and Feng Xin would give up his divinity to get Mu Qing to just look at him again.
He keeps at practicing shooting arrows with his teeth. It never gets easier, exactly, since it’s kind of ridiculous all around, but he thinks he’s sort of getting the hang of it. It has nothing to do with Mu Qing, even if it’s a trick he used to protect them both. Mu Qing can defend himself. He starts trying it all angles, just to see if he can, which is why he’s up in a cork oak when Mu Qing wanders back into his life — or at least into his courtyard.
Mu Qing tilts his head. “Do I want to know?”
It feels wrong to have the high ground when he deals with Mu Qing, so Feng Xin flips down from the tree. He tries not to notice the way Mu Qing’s eyes follow his body, but it inspires a sick kind of satisfaction in him anyway.
“Can I help you?” Feng Xin asks. Mu Qing opens his mouth, but Feng Xin barrels over him. “Is there something wrong with Xie Lian? Do you need help with a fight? Did you come over to return all the things I gave you?”
Mu Qing stands still, a stricken look on his face. Feng Xin feels a little bad for it, but he’s not a good enough person to make this easy on Mu Qing.
“It’s not like that,” Mu Qing says softly.
Feng Xin steps closer, getting into Mu Qing’s space. “Then what is it like, huh? I haven’t heard from you in—”
“I haven’t heard from you!” Mu Qing cries. “You, you spilled out all these feelings to me, over fucking dinner while we were working, and then you never tried to talk to me about it again!”
They’re nose to nose now. At least this feels familiar. “You ran away!”
“I thought you’d—” Mu Qing’s voice breaks, and he blinks rapidly, looking at the ground. Feng Xin’s gut twists. “I thought you’d follow me.”
“I did! You weren’t there!”
Mu Qing stares at him with his mouth hanging open. “You idiot! I was right around the fucking corner!”
“I thought you’d come back here!”
“Like you wouldn’t know where to find me if I had!” Mu Qing’s hands are gripping Feng Xin’s right hand, which Feng Xin realizes he’s fisted in Mu Qing’s robes. His other is still clutching his bow. He drops it to the grass so he doesn’t snap it in half.
Mu Qing could break his hold easily. He’s done it a hundred, if not a thousand, other times. They’re panting in each other’s faces, and Feng Xin thinks with a jolt how much he missed seeing color flood Mu Qing’s cheeks and the tips of his ears. He’s so —
“I’m not taking it back!” Feng Xin shouts.
“Good!” Mu Qing shouts back. “I didn’t want you to!”
Feng Xin shakes his head to clear it. “What?”
“You heard me! Don’t be fucking stu— mmph!”
If it’s possible to pour everything into a kiss, Feng Xin does his best. He feeds Mu Qing his anger and his frustration and his adoration and his love, and it’s all he can do to hope that, this time, Mu Qing gets the message. Even a sliver of the message. He needs Mu Qing to understand, and he’ll keep trying to tell him in every way he knows how.
Mu Qing’s lip is bloody when Feng Xin pulls back, and Feng Xin feels an answering sting on his tongue. He’s radiant, lit up by the setting sun of the heavens, all rich, dark colors against the lush green backdrop of Feng Xin’s palace courtyard.
“I’m not going to apologize,” Mu Qing says.
“I know,” Feng Xin says. “I’m not either.”
Mu Qing nods shortly. “Good. We’re— we’re on the same page, right?”
Feng Xin is still holding onto him, so it’s easy to yank him into a hug. Mu Qing bristles, but he doesn't pull away. “I love you,” he says to Mu Qing’s hair.
Mu Qing shivers in his arms, and he murmurs something almost too soft to hear, but Feng Xin doesn’t have a god’s senses for nothing. Feng Xin smiles and holds on tighter, and Mu Qing eventually grips him back. Feng Xin wonders how big their audience is. His deputies are going to be over the moon.
When they pull away, Mu Qing takes his hand, threading their fingers together like it’s something they do every day. (Maybe, Feng Xin thinks, it is now.) “We can show Xie Lian and Crimson Rain,” he says, “but we have to beat them at their own game. Somehow.”
Feng Xin grins. “We’ll figure it out. We make a pretty good team.”