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Mei Changsu snatches Jingyan’s sword from its sheath at his hip and Jingyan lets it pass, a matter of no consequence on a day when everything of importance hangs in the balance. Yet he finds he cannot stop thinking about it.
The ride to Ji City is demanding enough—breakneck speed over treacherous ground—that it requires his full attention. Then there is the hasty commandeering of the troops, the explanations he has no time for delivered all the same to doubting old generals dragged out of their beds, the military seal pressed into their hands as proof. If that moment pushes again and again into his mind, he has to shove it back, keep those thoughts away from him. He can’t afford the distraction.
The journey back is strenuous, filled with near panic in his heart for the people he loves as he urges the army on without rest, praying to his ancestors in heaven that they won’t be too late, that he won’t fail. Still, as they reach the Hunting Palace and he raises his sword to lead the attack, it’s that memory that flashes through him, vivid as lightning, that carries him into battle: the echo of the blade he is holding drawn by another’s hand.
Afterwards, after the blood and the screams and the confrontation with his brother, after the hard, tiring work of restoring order in the wake of chaos, after all that, perhaps such a small matter should be washed away, forgotten. And still he can’t let it go.
It doesn’t help that he’s had no more than brief snatches of sleep in the last few days, that his mind is shivering with the clarity and haze of exhaustion. By any logic, he should have passed out the moment his head hit his pillow, but the sense of urgency that’s kept him going still throbs in his veins, and he can’t relax, even here in the dark of his bedroom, stretched out beneath his blankets, can’t make his body unwind or his thoughts settle. And his thoughts have caught now, with everything that lingers of that urgency, on the memory of Mei Changsu’s hands on his sword.
He can’t quite believe it, that such a thing happened. It isn’t something any sane man would do, any man who valued his life and position. Jingyan is a seven-pearl prince; no mere advisor has the right to touch him like that, to use his weapons like that. His rank is a warning beacon that keeps all others a safe distance away, lest it burn them. Sir Su understands that, is only too familiar with every written and unwritten rule that governs the court and anyone who comes near it. And yet…
Lin Shu had made free with Jingyan’s sword like that. Lin Shu had made free with everything Jingyan owned, with everything he was, as though no ranks existed. No rules or thought of protocol, only Lin Shu’s hands on his body, steady and eager, unhesitating.
Jingyan tosses in his bed, burying his face in his pillow, trying to shut those memories out. He can’t think about Lin Shu. That wound is too fresh, torn open again by Wei Zheng’s story, the true tale of the Chiyan army’s destruction, his heart bleeding anew with the quashing of all hope. No one else could have survived, he knows that now. They all died on that field, all murdered, even his dearest–
He can’t think about Lin Shu.
That leaves Mei Changsu, then, for his restless mind to circle around like a moth around a flame. The brush of Mei Changsu’s hand against his hip, certain as if it belonged there, pulling his sword out of its sheath. And he, Jingyan, did nothing about it. A trained warrior doesn’t give up his weapon; he knows how he should have reacted, how he would have reacted with anyone else. A reflexive grab for the offender’s arm, a sharp twist until his grip loosened and the sword clattered to the ground. Instinctive defence. He wouldn’t want to hurt Mei Changsu, though–he’s done that more than enough already, ancestors forgive him–and he wouldn’t have to. A touch to his sleeve, a single word from Jingyan would have been enough to remind him of what was proper, to make him hand the sword back instantly. But Jingyan said nothing. Jingyan allowed it, as though Sir Su had every right. Worse, it made his skin hot beneath his armour, his throat dry, to be treated with such familiarity. No one presumes such easy access to a prince’s personal space, no one ever just reaches out and takes. It shocked him, and as he stood there, staring at Mei Changsu’s face, paying scant attention to the strategy he was outlining with the tip of Jingyan’s sword on the map, the shock settled into his body, mingled with the memories of everything he missed, and shaped itself into a clear, vibrating want. Do that again, he thought. Reach for me as though I’m yours to touch. Give me a reason to reach back.
Then, of course, Sir Su apologised, holding the sword out to him, eyes downcast in deference. A show of proper remorse. But he didn’t look sorry. Worried, yes. Concerned, perhaps, that his unthinking breach of etiquette would disturb his relationship with Jingyan, but not sorry; not like a man who would never do such a thing again. He didn’t, after all, give the sword back until he was done with it.
Will he put Jingyan down, too, when he is done with him, when all his convoluted strategies have come to fruition, as a player puts a game piece down and leaves the board? Or would he want to hold on? Would he hold on if Jingyan asked it of him?
Jingyan turns onto his back again, scrubs his hands over his face. The movement makes the edges of the wound on his arm pull against the stitches the army physician insisted he needed, a sharp tug of pain. He lets out a low growl of frustration. That Mei Changsu behaved inappropriately doesn’t give Jingyan the right to lie here and wallow in these inappropriate thoughts about the man. He always feels things too strongly, he knows that. If such a small act from Mei Changsu made his heart race and his breath quicken, that doesn’t give it any meaning. It only says something about Jingyan himself.
He isn’t going to fall asleep.
He throws the blankets off and gets to his feet. He’s been staring into the dark long enough that his eyes have adjusted; it only takes him a moment to find a robe to pull on over his night clothes, a pair of slippers to stick his feet into—decent enough attire to wander the halls at this hour, when none but the guards on watch should be awake.
The halls of the palace are indeed empty, only sparsely lit with lanterns. The tapestries that adorn the walls show hunting motifs, and in the gloom the hunters and their bows, the beasts they stalk, seem distorted, violent and unsettling. Jingyan remembers sneaking through this palace at night as a boy, meeting his friends for some adventure that, by their children’s logic, couldn’t wait until morning, but he doesn’t recall the cornered stags on the walls striking him as menacing. Perhaps he had been braver then, before everything. Perhaps it’s simply that he knows now how much the world can seek to do you harm. He lengthens his steps, keeps his eyes straight ahead.
It doesn’t take long before he runs into patrolling guards. He’s seen to their posting himself, enough men on the nightwatch that everyone else should feel safe to sleep. The soldiers he meets are jumpy after the events of the last few days, and startled by the unexpected appearance of their prince. He stops and talks to them, a few words of encouragement, allowing them to give their report that all is calm; enough to make them feel their work is appreciated. It settles something in him, to put on the role of commander, it always does, but tonight, he also finds it exhausting. Besides, he shouldn’t impose on them with his restlessness, it’s unfair of him to keep them from focussing on their duty. With that in mind, he continues his roaming, steering clear of the parts of the palace where servants might be awake tending to their chores, and of the rooms allocated to the wounded, where the physicians and their helpers surely do not need him underfoot.
Most of the palace is dark, the doors he passes closed for the night, but on one of the upper floors, light comes spilling out of an open doorway. A library, he remembers, stocked with a collection of the kind of recreational reading that members of a noble hunting party might use to while away a few hours, waiting for the skies to clear enough to ride out. He stops and looks inside.
The light is coming from a candle on a desk in the centre of the room. On a cushion beside it, Mei Changsu is sitting, curled up with a book in his lap. His head is bent over the page, the candlelight casting a warm glow across the angles of his face. Jingyan’s breath catches at the sight of him, at the unexpectedness of it. Though in a way it doesn’t feel unexpected at all; of course this is where he was headed all along, to this meeting. An inevitability. He takes a step into the room and Mei Changsu looks up. If he is startled, it doesn’t show on his face.
“Your Highness,” he says, getting to his feet, book still in hand, letting it fall closed as he bows in greeting. He looks as neatly put together as though he hasn’t been to bed at all.
“Sir Su,”Jingyan says, inclining his head. He shuts the door behind him; it slides into place with a soft clack of wood against wood. Mei Changsu’s eyes track the movement, but he makes no comment. “I didn’t expect to find you here. When I inquired after you earlier, I was told you had retired for the night.”
Mei Changsu makes a noncommittal noise.
“Sleep often eludes me these days. The physicians keep telling me I need rest, but my mind doesn’t seem to agree with them. The Duchess told me about this library; I thought I might find some reading to keep me company.”
“Perhaps I should have tried that,” Jingyan says wryly, ”instead of roaming the halls in my night clothes like a restless ghost.” He folds his hands behind his back and casts a surveying eye over the shelves of books, stepping deeper into the room. “I seem to recall there were some volumes of fantastical hunting tales here that I enjoyed as a child. But to be honest,” he turns his gaze back on Mei Changsu, “your company is more appealing to me than that of a poet off a page.”
Mei Changsu gives him an unreadable look, then turns his face away, stepping over to the nearest shelf to tuck his book back among its fellows.
“If there is anything Your Highness wishes to talk through, I am at your service. These insomniac hours are good for little else.”
The shutters on the windows are standing open, letting in the night air. In the distance, beyond the palace wall, Jingyan can see the campfires of his army burning in the darkness, the odd tents where his soldiers are still awake lit from within like paper lanterns, the valley below him speckled with light beneath the black canopy of the sky. There is so much here they should talk about, matters of consequence beyond the two of them. But those are not the matters at the forefront of his mind.
“One thing,” he says, and he knows it’s reckless even as he speaks the words, knows he should leave well enough alone. “The other day, when you borrowed my sword—“
“Your Highness.” Mei Changsu raises his hands in a supplicating bow, bends his head deep over the circle of his arms. “Allow me to apologise again. My mind was on the strategy; I acted without thinking. It was not my intention to take liberties with your person. I will not let it happen again.”
Like this, his face is hidden; Jingyan cannot see his expression. He finds that he wants to, wants to see a reaction in those observing eyes.
“What if I wish it to happen?” Jingyan says, and Mei Changsu’s head snaps up. His eyes are wide, surprised, his lips slightly parted. Just this once, he’s been caught unprepared. Jingyan wants to press his advantage, push through the unexpected breach in those strong defences. “What if I wish you to take liberties?” Mei Changsu takes a step back, into the shadowed corner between the shelves, and Jingyan realises that he has taken a step forward, towards the other man, crowding him in. He’s not thinking straight, not quite in control of his actions; the lack of sleep, the overwhelming events of the past few days have left him raw, unfettered, clear in his purpose. He steps forward again, deliberately; Mei Changsu’s back is at the wall. Jingyan raises his hand, lays it against his cheek. “What if I wished to take liberties with you?”
“Your Highness,” Mei Changsu says. For a second, he sounds as he always does, well-reasoned and measured, on the cusp of imparting some irrefutable insight. As though he is going to turn Jingyan away with logic, with the perfect workings of his schemes. Then, right there in front of Jingyan’s eyes, beneath his touch, it’s as if something in him crumbles, as if he lets something go, and the weight of it must have been terrible, because without it he nearly stumbles, his face sinking into Jingyan’s palm, lips warm against the heel of his hand. “Your Highness,” he says again, and there’s nothing reasonable in his voice now, only a desperate, urgent heat that makes the blood surge in Jingyan’s veins. A prayer. “My prince.”
Jingyan kisses him.
He takes his face in his hands and tilts it towards him, and he doesn’t know what he was expecting but Mei Changsu opens like a flower, parts his lips to let him in and arcs into his body, and it’s right, the way they fit together, the way Jingyan falls against him, helpless to hold himself back. Mei Changsu wraps his arms around him, hands slipping beneath his robe, stroking his back through the thin fabric of his nightshirt, pressing him closer, drawing him in. There it is, that lack of hesitation, that certainty of touch, of being allowed. Jingyan quivers at the feel of it, makes a noise of such naked need it should shame him, but it seems he has entirely left propriety behind. Mei Changsu’s fingers dig into his back in response, his teeth catching at Jingyan’s lip, his hunger as blatant as Jingyan’s own, and his urgency.
Jingyan kisses the side of his mouth, the line of his jaw, the fine shell of his ear. Feels his pulse throb, quick and erratic, just beneath his skin. Fragility in every heart beat.
“I was afraid for you,” he confesses. “Afraid of what my brother would do, if I came too late.” He lets his hands run down Mei Changsu’s shoulders, his chest, the inward dip of his waist, feeling the shape of him beneath the fine weave of his grey robe. It startles him, how narrow he is, all delicate bones and tantalising angles, no softness left to cushion him from the world. It feels off, in a sharp, dizzying way, as though Jingyan had expected his shape to be different, despite the testimony of his own eyes, as though he’d expected Mei Changsu to feel familiar. But perhaps his sense of wrongness springs only from the unfairness of it, that someone as strong in spirit and thought as Mei Changsu should be so weak in the flesh. “It’s my duty to protect my people,” he says, another confession, “but I was too far away to do anything but hope.” He presses a kiss to the curve of Mei Changsu’s neck, beneath the high collar of his shirt. “I hoped with all my being that you would be safe, Mei Changsu.”
Mei Changsu gasps—a soft, ragged sound—and tilts his head, wordlessly asking for Jingyan’s lips on his throat, inviting him. Jingyan kisses him again, drags his tongue over the secret salt taste of his skin, breathes in the hidden scent of him. He’s edging underneath the shell of clothing that keeps Mei Changsu always so carefully covered, his body shielded from the cold and from the eyes of anyone who would truly see him, see his scars, his vulnerabilities. Jingyan wants to peel all his layers away, all his mysteries and subterfuge, wants to reach down to the kernel of truth at the heart of the man, lay it bare for no one’s eyes but his own, wants, here in the darkness, to know him as no one else does. And if not that, then at least to be another one of his secrets, a pleasure free for him alone to take.
He shifts his body, pushes close, and there Mei Changsu’s need is waiting for him, his to find, his hardness unmistakable through all the layers between them, pushing against Jingyan’s hip. Jingyan grinds against it, lets Mei Changsu feel his own response, how his cock throbs at the contact, how he burns. Mei Changsu goes still, pliant, head thrown back against the wall, shuddering at every slow drag of friction Jingyan provides. Jingyan lifts his head to look at him, needing to see, and of course Mei Changsu is beautiful like this, his breath coming in short pants, his eyes near shut, lashes quivering, faint brushstrokes against flushed cheeks. Another slide of Jingyan’s body against his, and he moans, lips pressing together around the low vibration of the sound, around the pink tip of his tongue caught between them, and his tongue drags against his upper lip as if he could taste the pleasure there, savour it like the last drops of lingering juice from a bite of peach.
Jingyan freezes, memory washing over him. He’s seen that gesture before. Lin Shu would always…
His heartbeat pounds in his ears.
He’s stopped moving.
Mei Changsu opens his eyes. Looks directly at him.
His gaze is sharp, piercing. Not dazed with pleasure or desire, but every bit the cool, calculating regard of a strategist.
Jingyan shifts his weight back, retreating.
He can’t imagine that Lin Shu—effusive, exhilarating, unrestrainable Lin Shu—could ever have looked at him like this, with such focused, terrifying intent.
He needs to stop thinking about Lin Shu.
Mei Changsu’s hands grip his sides, push him back. Jingyan is off-balance, and he isn’t prepared for the speed of Mei Changsu’s movements; in the blink of an eye he finds himself turned around, so that he is the one with his back to the wall, having done nothing, once more, to prevent it. For a moment he thinks that Mei Changsu is shoving him away, putting an end to this ill-considered closeness. That Mei Changsu will tell him to control his desires, as he is always lecturing him on controlling his anger, his impatience, his headlong rush to do what seems right. But Mei Changsu allows no space to open between them; instead he follows, leans in. His hands slide over Jingyan’s chest, press him up against the wall, a touch that tells him where to stand, where to stay. Jingyan’s robe has fallen all the way open, hanging off the points of his shoulders. He is acutely aware of the tightness of his nipples beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, the way they drag against Mei Changsu’s palms, eager for the firm touch of his fingers. Mei Changsu smiles at him, at the sound of yearning he makes. Then he falls to his knees.
Jingyan’s breath catches at the look of promise in Mei Changsu’s upturned eyes, the caress of his hands down Jingyan’s body, the brush of his fingers over his hip bones, towards the fastenings of his trousers. He wants this, and yet it twists something in him to see Mei Changsu in this position. It makes him think of him standing for hours in the falling snow, waiting for Jingyan’s attention, remember him a prisoner in Xia Jiang’s dungeon, for Jingyan’s sake. So many offerings Jingyan never deserved, given at too high a cost. He grabs Mei Changsu by the arms, tries to pull him back up.
“You are not well,” he says. “You shouldn’t—“
Mei Changsu doesn’t let himself be moved. His lips quirk with ironic amusement.
“Shouldn’t bend my knees for you, Your Highness?” he supplies. His voice is light, playful, pointing out an absurdity. But then he pauses, as if brought up short. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and his face changes, becomes serious. Becomes open. Jingyan can’t imagine the number of layers his everyday mask must have, for this naked expression to be so startling. “All I have ever wanted,” Mei Changsu says, “from the very beginning, has been to lay my service at your feet.”
Another pause, a silence stretched endless between them. Jingyan’s grip tightens on Mei Changsu’s sleeves. The fabric wrinkles between his fingers.
Mei Changsu tilts his head, the smile creeping back into his expression, a hint of suggestion sparking in his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, his thumbs trace the creases of Jingyan’s groin.
“Will you accept it, my prince?” he asks.
Jingyan’s cock throbs, thickens at the nearness of touch. He makes his grip relax, and reaches out, runs his fingertips along the high arch of Mei Changsu’s cheekbone.
Will you accept it?
Mei Changsu’s tone made the question a tease, a carnal invitation; permission to look away from the staggering depth of his confession.
Instead, Jingyan looks straight at it. At the bared face beneath the mask.
“I would be a fool not to,” he says, his tone serious, earnest, though the words crack at the edges. “I have been a fool too many times these past months, to my shame. But I see enough now to know the value of your gift. To be honoured.”
A tremor runs through Mei Changsu, a shiver Jingyan can feel beneath his fingertips. He turns his face into Jingyan’s hand once more, his eyes falling closed. Hiding whatever feelings shift behind his eyelids.
“Your Highness,” he breathes. His lips brush over Jingyan’s wrist, press open-mouthed kisses to his pulse point, to the surface of his palm. “Xiao Jingyan.”
“Yes,” Jingyan says, as though his name, too, were a question to be answered. “Yes. Go on.”
Mei Changsu leans forward, turns his attention to more intimate parts of Jingyan’s body. He drags his lips along the bulge of Jingyan’s cock, through the fabric of his trousers, rubs his cheek against it. Jingyan curses, grabs at Mei Changsu to steady himself, fingers tangling in his bound-up hair.
“Easy,” Mei Changsu says. “I will give you what you need.”
A laugh tugs at Jingyan’s throat.
“Don’t you always, my Qilin Talent?”
Mei Changsu smiles. He undoes the fastenings of Jingyan’s trousers, lifts his cock free, his heavy balls.
“I do try to anticipate any situation.” A shift in his expression, there and gone again. His fingers are curled around Jingyan’s testicles, his thumb tracing them in a complicated pattern, gentle but unhesitating. Sweat breaks out on Jingyan’s skin. “Though I admit I hadn’t quite foreseen this.”
He runs his tongue along Jingyan’s cock, licks at the first drops of wetness forming at the tip. His hand wraps around the shaft, and his fingers peel the foreskin back. The head beneath is swollen dark with blood, obscene against his lips when he opens for it, takes it in his mouth.
Jingyan bites his own lip, tries to hold back the groan of pleasure that wants to escape him. If he starts making noise, he doesn’t know if he could stop, and the guards are not far away; he doesn’t want them to come running. Still he can’t quite contain the moans, the shuddering words of benediction that well up within him, not when Mei Changsu swirls his tongue around the head of his cock, sucks it deep into the heat of his mouth. Mei Changsu’s eyes are closed now, his expression focused, as if he’s savouring the feel of Jingyan inside him, the weight of Jingyan’s desire on his tongue. There is no room for breath in Jingyan’s chest, no space for his heartbeats. There is only the vast, unnamable emotion that grows in him at the sight of Mei Changsu at his feet, Mei Changsu’s body opening to claim him.
He always feels too much. It’s going to destroy him.
He cups Mei Changsu’s head in his hands, not wanting to keep him still or pull him in, but simply to hold him. His thumbs caress Mei Changsu’s temples, a downward stroke that ends at his earlobes, brushes the fine skin behind them. Mei Changsu’s nostrils flare at that touch, his exhalation a moan that can’t quite fit around the shape of Jingyan’s shaft in his mouth. When he pulls back to catch his breath, his lips are wet with spit, with the liquid dripping from Jingyan’s cock. And yet he looks so poised, elegant and perfectly contained beneath the smear of lust on his face. Jingyan’s balls clench at the sight, at the incongruity. His hips cant forward, seeking contact, his erection begging for Mei Changsu’s touch.
Mei Changsu’s hands grab him by the hips, push him back against the wall. Not with any real force, but it’s that certainty again, that lack of caution. Mei Changsu has never feared him, never hesitated in the face of his power. He has no qualms about denying Jingyan the pleasure his body wants to take, about making him wait for it. No true strength applied, but the need Jingyan feels is like a blow, leaving him helpless.
“Please,” he says.
Mei Changsu sits back on his heels and looks at him. That strategist’s gaze again, raking over his body, taking him in, from his unbound hair to his slippered feet, reading him like a map of a battlefield. Mei Changsu licks his lips, tongue lingering at the corner of his mouth where he must taste Jingyan, and Jingyan knows that air of self-satisfaction, that hint of smugness. The map is laid out for the strategist’s perusal, and the path to victory is clear in his mind. All he has to do is follow through.
“You always did know how to ask politely,” Mei Changsu says, and a hundred moments dance through Jingyan’s mind, memories like light reflected on water, fragments of brightness skimming the surface of something bottomless, something too dark to trust. All the times he was brought to pleading, all the times the hope of touch made him beg. Every intimate moment he tries not to think of pushed to the forefront of his mind, and the thought is almost there, the shape beneath the distraction of the surface slipping into view. Then Mei Changsu leans forward again, and all thought shatters in the tight heat of his mouth.
Jingyan doesn’t last long, not with Mei Changsu applying himself in earnest. That tongue is so clever, as skilled at this as in debate and disinformation, and Jingyan is weak-kneed, shaking, by the time Mei Changsu takes him all the way inside. His pale cheeks hollow out with suction, and Jingyan slides across his palate, deeper with every heartbeat. His cock drags against the back of Mei Changsu’s throat, catches there, and Mei Changsu makes a noise of pure greed, his fingers digging into Jingyan’s hips, holding him there as he swallows, opens, muscles working around Jingyan’s flesh. Jingyan spills, giving himself into Mei Changsu’s body in long, shuddering pulses and Mei Changsu doesn’t pull away, doesn’t move, merely takes him, takes his pleasure, drinks it down like someone thirsting until there’s nothing left, until Jingyan slips soft and spent from his lips, panting into the quiet room.
The candle on the table flickers, the light swaying in a breeze from the window. Outside, he hears the night watch marching, passing in their steady circle round the building, footsteps growing louder, fading away. The night air is cold against his spit-wet cock.
Mei Changsu’s fingers loosen their grip, slowly, as though reluctant to relinquish the ground they’ve won, give up the bruises they’ve pressed into the softest part of Jingyan’s frame. He sits back. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Gathers himself away. It’s the beginning of a calculated retreat and Jingyan knows better than to let him fall back like that, knows he can’t allow him to regroup. The only viable strategy is to give chase.
He drops to his knees in front of Mei Changsu.
Equal ground. Face to face.
“You were right,” he says, smiling, letting Mei Changsu see his physical satisfaction. “You did give me exactly what I needed.” He lays his hand on Mei Changsu’s knee, rubs his thumb along the inside of his thigh. “Let me return the favour. Let me see to your needs now, Mei Changsu.”
Mei Changsu makes a sound that could be a laugh, harsh and breathless, startled out of him. His expression teeters for a moment on the edge of something like longing, something whetted sharp on bitterness, on injustice and deprivation. A hunger that could cut to the bone. He grabs Jingyan’s hand, drags it up beneath the folds of his robe, presses it between his legs. Jingyan’s fingers curl on instinct around the heat of his cock, around the rigid hardness beneath his trousers. Mei Changsu’s grip on his wrist tightens, holds him in place.
“You wish to care for your servant’s needs, Xiao Jingyan?” he says, the words rapid, his voice still roughened by the drag of Jingyan’s cock down his throat. “You wish to give me what I ache for? You don’t know what it is you’re asking; how could you? But for tonight, then, give me this.” He squeezes down around Jingyan’s fingers, folding them tight around his erection. “Your hands on my skin, your touch on my body.” He shakes his head, the smallest motion, and for a second an expression passes over his face that tears Jingyan’s heart asunder, that punches the breath out of his lungs. Mei Changsu reaches for him with his free hand, fingers sinking into the loose strands of his hair, cupping the back of his neck, pulling him in. “Heaven knows I have ached for that,” Mei Changsu says, and kisses him.
The kiss is messy, uncontained, as if Jingyan has somehow managed to peel away the smooth surface of Mei Changsu’s composure and let out something wild, something starving. He pushes Mei Changsu’s hand away and fumbles with the fastenings of his trousers, gets his fist inside. It’s an awkward angle, no room to move beneath the layers of Mei Changsu’s clothing, but when his fingers brush naked skin, Mei Changsu grabs at his shoulder, tugs him closer. He shuffles forward on his knees, almost into Mei Changsu’s lap, his own robe hanging from the crooks of his arms, pooling around them both. He gets his fingers around Mei Changsu’s erection , the heel of his hand dragging across the head. It’s clumsy, more eagerness than skill, but Mei Changsu’s grip tightens in his hair, a sharp pull against his scalp that echoes down his spine, makes his balls ache with the urge to come again, despite the limpness of his cock. He wraps his arm around Mei Changsu’s shoulders, licks into his mouth. They’re so close together, he can feel his own heart pounding with the quick rhythm of Mei Changsu’s pulse, his skin flush with the fever heat of Mei Changsu’s blood.
He feels, in a way, foolishly young, taking his pleasure in another man’s body like this, not bothering to find a bed, not even pausing to take their clothes off. He could slow down, take his time, apply some of the finesse he’s acquired through the years, with other lovers. He can’t remember when he last kissed someone like this, pulled at their cock with such desperate, eager need to feel them come apart in his arms, as though restraint were unthinkable, as though life were as simple as their lust for each other and all duties and considerations could be swept aside without a second thought by the need to sate it.
Or, no. Of course he does remember. Precisely when. And with whom.
But he will not think about Lin Shu.
He turns his wrist, the circle of his fingers sliding in a twisting motion up the length of Mei Changsu’s shaft. Mei Changsu gasps—such a vulnerable, naked noise—and they aren’t kissing any longer, only breathing, their heads bent together, forehead against forehead, Mei Changsu’s breaths coming quick and shallow against his cheek. He moves his hand faster, his knuckles snagging on the inside of Mei Changsu’s trousers on every upstroke, his palm slipping in wetness. He wants to stay in this moment forever, with the perfect heft of Mei Changsu’s hardness in his grip, with the sharp, fragile shape of him in his arms, but he can feel the tension building, every muscle in Mei Changsu’s body drawn tight like the string of a bow, and he can’t help but want to release it.
He remembers Mei Changsu admiring Lin Shu’s bow, in those early days when he first sought Jingyan out to offer his services; perhaps all they’ve done since then has been one slow, steady tightening of the bowstring, a hunter’s careful draw in anticipation of the kill. He can feel it now, in every breath and thought and heartbeat, in every word they speak and step they take: the thrum and tremor of kinetic energy held at the ready, balanced at the cusp of release. The time is almost ripe to loose the arrow, to let it find its mark. When it does, nothing in Great Liang will be the same. Perhaps Jingyan should have expected such drawn-out tension to reverberate, to spread, to translate into this coiling hunger between them, this need for a simpler kind of release. He can’t control the fallout of Mei Changsu’s plans, can only wait to follow the inexorable trajectory of the arrow he chose to nock, but he can control this; the motion of his hand on Mei Changsu’s flesh, the speed and pressure of his touch. He can make this shot strike true.
“I’ve ached for this, too,” he says. One more confession, a whisper against the heat of Mei Changsu’s skin. “I tried not to admit it, even to myself, but… Sometimes I lay awake at night, thinking of that hidden passageway between our houses. How I could visit you, in the dark, everyone else asleep, find you in your bed. You were a stranger, but I wanted you in the most intimate ways my mind could imagine. As if all my life I’d missed you, ached for you, ached to please you.”
“Don’t,” Mei Changsu says. His voice is choked, unsteady. He turns his face away. “Jingyan. I can’t—”
“Let me give you this. You have so many secrets, my dear friend. But you can show me this. You can trust me with this single truth.” He kisses the parts of Mei Changsu’s skin he can reach, the angle of his jaw, the lobe of his ear, lets his tongue linger there. He feels Mei Changsu’s hips buck up to meet his fist in response, the arrow so close to release. “You can trust me to keep your pleasure.”
Mei Changsu gives a strangled sound and his head drops to Jingyan’s shoulder, his face buried there as he tugs Jingyan impossibly closer, as Jingyan’s fingers tighten on his cock, rub him harder, and his seed spills into Jingyan’s palm, his body convulsing in Jingyan’s grip, arcing against him, into him, as though in climax all he wants is to be where Jingyan is. There is no restraint in the way he holds on, no self-control in the way he surrenders. Only the naked honesty of completion.
When the moment is over and Mei Changsu’s body relaxes, slumping against him, Jingyan kisses the back of his neck, the strip of bare skin exposed above the collar of his robe.
“Xiao Jingyan,” Mei Changsu breathes, the words warm against Jingyan’s collarbone through the fabric of his shirt. The tenderness in them makes him want to lay Mei Changsu’s pleasure-limp body down on the floor, curl around him like a lover. But that isn’t the kind of relationship they have.
He disentangles his hand from Mei Changsu’s clothing, wipes it on the hem of his shirt where any stains will be covered by his robe. He might want to rest in this closeness, but they can’t stay here like this.
Mei Changsu uncurls his fingers from Jingyan’s hair, strokes his palm down the back of his head to smooth it into place. The release of that tight grip on his scalp feels like the loss of an anchor, like being set adrift from a safe harbour. Mei Changsu lifts his head from Jingyan’s shoulder and straightens up, extricating himself from Jingyan’s arms. Jingyan lets him go. He’s being ridiculous, allowing too many emotions to colour a simple moment of mutual physical satisfaction. This shouldn’t be any different than any such encounters he had as a soldier in the army.
Mei Changsu rearranges his clothes, tucks his robe carefully closed around him. Regaining his calm composure. Jingyan stands up, collecting his own robe from its state of complete disarray, refastening his trousers.
Of course it’s entirely different. He hasn’t felt like this since—
No. He needs to keep his thoughts in the here and now. The work they have ahead of them will require all of his attention.
He holds his hand out to Mei Changsu, who grips his forearm without hesitation, allowing himself to be helped to his feet. His breathing is still shallow, uneven; it’s taking him too long to catch his breath after the physical exertion. Jingyan had let himself forget about his illness, forget how fragile he is. He should have been more careful.
“Are you all right?” he asks. “Do you need anything?”
Mei Changsu gives him a teasing smile.
“Afraid I can’t handle being bedded by you, Xiao Jingyan? That I will break like dry reeds under your prowess?”
It’s a deflection, but Jingyan still feels his cheeks flush, embarrassed. No one talks like this to a prince; it’s another liberty taken as if owed, exhilarating.
“I think you may have broken me, Mei Changsu. I— Thank you for indulging my lack of restraint.”
Mei Changsu’s eyes sparkle with amusement.
“‘Indulgence’ isn’t the word I would use, Your Highness.”
They’re standing so close, their eyes locked as though they don’t know how to look away. Jingyan realises that they’re still clasping each other’s arms.
He abruptly lets go.
“As you say.”
Mei Changsu folds his hands into his sleeves, half turning away. Putting space between them.
“Your Highness.” His tone is serious now, the measured advisor once more. “You can’t let what happened here affect how you see me. For our plans to succeed, we must proceed as we’ve begun. We must both continue to play our roles. You are Prince Jing. I am your strategist.” He looks sharply at Jingyan. “Do you understand?”
Jingyan nods, folding his hands behind his back.
“Of course.”
It feels like a lie. But if Mei Changsu wants to enforce the distance between them, Jingyan can control his emotions. He can be who Mei Changsu needs him to be.
Mei Changsu searches his face, studying him with an expression that seems half worry, half hope, unsettling in its intensity. Jingyan doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but if Mei Changsu requires reassurance to have faith in him, he can give it.
“There is no need for you to be concerned,” he says. His tone is the one he uses to command men. “We will see this through.”
Mei Changsu inclines his head in a bow.
“Indeed. Your actions on the battlefield today have brought the goal within grasp.”
Jingyan doesn’t know if he imagines it, but the second before Mei Changsu lowered his gaze, he could swear he saw disappointment in his eyes. As if Jingyan could have answered his question differently, as if he could have told another truth. As if, regardless of his levelheaded advice, a part of Mei Changsu had wished that he would.
Perhaps Jingyan isn’t the only one here whose feelings threaten to overthrow reason.
He almost takes a step forward, almost opens his mouth to speak. He tries so hard not to think about Lin Shu, but he is acutely aware, in this moment, of how suddenly Lin Shu was taken from him, of all the time they could have had that was stolen away. It seems unreasonable that reason should keep him from embracing the time he has with Mei Changsu to the fullest, if there is any possibility that Mei Changsu could embrace him in return.
Then Mei Changsu looks up, and says, with all the dispassionate calculation in the world, “We shouldn’t leave here together; you do not want to invite speculation about why we would meet alone at night. I suggest you leave first, Your Highness.”
It’s a dismissal as unequivocal as any a commoner might receive from the presence of the Emperor.
“You are probably right,” Jingyan says. It’s clear what Mei Changsu wants; Jingyan shouldn’t try to force the issue. He inclines his head. “Good night, then, Mei Changsu. Try to get some sleep.”
Mei Changsu returns the bow.
“You as well, Your Highness.”
Jingyan makes himself leave.
The hall outside the room is quiet and empty, no one there to see them together, see them part. As Jingyan turns to close the door behind him, he can’t help but look back.
Mei Changsu is standing by the window, looking out across the battlefield. That is where Jingyan should direct his gaze as well. After all, their campaign is far from over; they need to be ready for the next fight. He does understand that.
If his heart holds a different understanding, he cannot let it guide him now.
He slides the door shut, and walks away.