Archive of Our Own

Moze finds himself on his third helping of Jiaoqiu’s special “nine-squared grid” in the span of twenty minutes. 

Not necessarily of his own volition, but not forced upon him either, per se. In part, it was Jiaoqiu’s insistence he eat enough to ‘grow healthy and strong’, as if he hadn’t been singlehandedly providing Moze’s meals since the day he was commissioned as the Shadow Guard.

The other part was because Jiaoqiu’s cooking was really, really good, and he would be a fool to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Feixiao whistles, setting down her bowl for a moment to glance between her two retainers with a curious look. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d suspect you were planning to cook Moze next with the way you’re stuffing him full of food.”

Jiaoqiu chuckles, placing another helping of meat onto Moze’s plate. “You jest, general. I am merely ensuring your most esteemed assassin is well nourished to carry out his tasks efficiently.”

Strange . Moze thinks, and with the way Feixiao raises a brow at him, she thinks so too. Jiaoqiu telling him to eat more wasn’t strange in and of itself, but the way he says it…

He’d been working closely with them long enough to notice the subtle changes in their usual behavior—a perk of his naturally silent disposition, allowing him to observe more than partake. And Jiaqoiu certainly was behaving… odd. Odd in a way that usually, his attempts at feeding Moze come with lectures on ‘keeping one’s body and mind sufficiently nourished’, a puffed up tail, and ears pulled back as he berated him until his plate was empty or the food had gone cold.

Now, he was as relaxed as ever, if not too—doting? Is that what he was doing? One glance to the side, and Jiaoqiu was smiling at him, tail wagging slightly, and his ears twitching happily at random intervals.

To be honest, Moze was more than a little concerned. He was flat out petrified.

Jiaoqiu always did unnerve him just a slight, and when he was newly appointed as Feixiao’s right hand man, he’d been blessed with the opportunity to feast on the esteemed Jiaoqiu’s ( “Just call me Jiao, or Qiu, either way we’re only saving ourselves one syllable, no?” ) cooking. Suffice to say, Jiaoqiu’s eccentrism had given him enough seeds of suspicion to reap a whole garden of reservation whenever the cunning foxian was involved.

He jumps a little when Jiaoqiu’s tail brushes against his back slightly, the well-kept furs tickling his skin beneath his thin, tight-fitting shirt. It makes his knee bump against the table and knock a bottle of wine over, spilling all over Jiaoqiu’s pants.

“Sorry,” Moze quickly mumbles, pulling down his hood. “I just remembered I have somewhere to be.”

He disappears behind a cloud of smoke before Jiaoqiu could even utter a word of complaint.

Oh well, he’d essentially polished off every lost drop on his plate so Jiaoqiu won’t be too mad at him for running off.

“The youth these days,” Jiaoqiu huffs, tail flicking indignantly. “No respect for their elders.”

“You don’t say,” Feixiao barks out a laugh, already on her third glass of wine while both Jiaoqiu and Moze were distracted. 

If Moze sneaks into the kitchen later that night to wash the dishes while Jiaoqiu finishes his nighttime routine, well—Feixiao certainly wouldn’t know, she was fast asleep on the dining table in her drunken stupor.

“Oh, allow me.”

Not really offering Moze much of a choice, Jiaoqiu takes the basket of laundry from his hands, his soft, fluffy tail bouncing behind him as he disappears behind the corner.

Huh.

For one, it was strange enough that Jiaoqiu was awake before noon considering he had the day off from work. If there was one thing the foxian enjoyed more than cooking, it was getting as much beauty sleep as he could.

“It must be old age,” Moze had joked once, when he was younger, more foolish.

Never again. He shudders.

Moze opens the door to the supply closet in Jiaoqiu’s home to grab a few cleaning supplies, finding himself with much more free time more recently.

Come to think of it, General Feixiao had been giving both of them less and less work in the past week.

Were the foxians experiencing some sort of epidemic? Moze can’t help but wonder. It was one thing for Jiaoqiu to act differently, but it seems like he doesn’t really realize how strangely he’s been behaving. More touchy. Overbearing. 

Like how a mother would look after her child.

Or a loving wife tending to her husband—

Moze was snapped out of his thoughts when he found the bottle of disinfectant he usually favored had been used recently.

He regularly keeps stock of the equipment he uses, and since Jiaoqiu had long since relinquished the task of cleaning his home to Moze, no one else should have gone through the supplies aside from him.

And Jiaoqiu, he supposes, since this was his home.

He backtracks, inspects the living room with his head on a swivel, finding not a speck of dust or fur on any visible surface.

A few more steps and he’s checking the bathroom. Spotless. Not that Jiaoqiu ever let it get dirty, but it was clean in the sense that meant it had been freshly scrubbed.

Now he wouldn’t just barge into the man’s bedroom even in the state of delirium he was in, so he calls out to Jiaoqiu, a hand already on the handle.

“I’m entering your bedroom.”

(In the next room over, Jiaoqiu was doing the laundry, his ear twitching at the sound of Moze’s voice.)

“Go ahead!”

Maybe he was being a bit too dramatic, but Moze can’t help but let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding before he opened the door like he was expecting a borisin to leap out and attack him.

The blankets and pillows on the bed were arranged strangely, but other than the usual signs of the room being very well lived-in, it was as clean as it could be, considering Jiaoqiu spends a lot of time here during his days off.

The multitude of plants and herbs he had by the windowsill were pruned and watered, his dresser in not as big of a disarray as it normally was, and the floor had been sweeped and mopped.

Did… Jiaoqiu do all of this? Just how early did he wake up that morning?

To say Moze was having an identity crisis might be a bit of an exaggeration but it was definitely an apt description.

He carefully creeps into the laundry room where Jiaoqiu was humming away as he happily scrubbed his clothes with some detergent.

Jiaoqiu always had a cheerful, sunny disposition, and while he had mastered the culinary arts, he had also honed himself in the art of combat—not with a weapon, no, but a smile.

They were either dead or deadly—resigned or blindingly bright.

Moze could categorize each of his smiles well enough. A product of years of experience in the foxian’s presence, whether he was the butt of the joke he was laughing at or the gesture of goodwill he was appreciating.

Frankly, Moze didn’t know what to do with himself now that his routine had been disrupted.

“...Did you want me to bring the sheets from your bed?” 

His ear flickers in Moze’s direction before he turns, flashing Moze a grin. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”

That grin was dangerous. 

Not in the ‘Moze gave him mung bean soda in retaliation for feeding him songlotus cake and he was giving him that annoyed grin that meant he was plotting his revenge’ dangerous, but more so ‘Moze felt his face warm up with the radiance Jiaoqiu exuded that it felt like he’d just dragged the sun into the laundry room and Moze was currently being cooked alive’ dangerous.

Dangerous for his heart.

He thinks he might have spotted one of his shirts still in the laundry basket right before he disappeared into the shadows.

Maybe.

Unlikely.

No matter how well Moze blends into the shadows, Jiaoqiu always somehow sniffs out his location almost instantly.

It makes hiding from him infinitely harder, that Moze has resorted to avoiding wherever Jiaoqiu was currently at entirely.

Not that it mattered, since their jobs warranted collaborative efforts now and then, plus there really was no polite way to refuse joining his general and their healer for lunch or dinner.

So in the off times where he wasn’t needed (and he’s been given a lot of free time lately) Moze takes cover in the shadows, only appearing to fulfill his duties when asked.

Well, his other options were to clean up Jiaoqiu’s home (he wasn’t ever stepping back in there and that was non negotiable), clean up the barracks (he’d already done that and more yesterday, even the soldiers had asked him out of concern to take a break), or clean up his own home (he’d practically turned everything inside and out in his manic cleaning frenzy).

So… taking cover in the shadows it is, until he was needed for anything.

…Which just so happened to include accompanying Jiaoqiu to the marketplace to buy groceries?

The way Feixiao was eyeing Moze with that look of hers that seemed to spell trouble, perhaps she knew more than she originally let on when she ordered him to ‘help Jiaoqiu carry groceries’.

Which is what led Moze to his current predicament.

When given the chance, he trails behind Jiaoqiu in the bustling marketplace, bags of (way too many) ingredients in his hand, and pulls down his hood over his face to hide the unfortunate scowl that was a permanent fixture on his face for the time being.

He jumps whenever Jiaoqiu’s arm brushes against his. Intentionally or not, the brief contact was enough to make him tense up for reasons unknown to even him.

It has his heart beating faster, face developing a healthy flush, sweat accumulating on the side of his face—

“—Moze? Moze.”

Snapping out of his thoughts, Moze tilts his face to the side to find Jiaoqiu staring at him curiously, the ghost of a frown on his lips. “Yes?”

“Are you feeling unwell?” His eyes narrowed into slits. Moze could barely react before a clawed hand made its way to the side of his face and on his forehead.

Too warm.

“You’re warm.”

Too soft…

Jiaoqiu’s expressions softens, concerned.

Too much!

“Moze?”

Moze jerks away once more at their sudden proximity. Before he knew it, he had gravitated into Jiaoqiu’s orbit, drawn to him in a way that magnets did. It made his heart jump erratically in his rib cage, threatening to escape.

Escape.

He should—

“Moze!”

Clawed fingers once more wrap around his wrist, and one glance down at Jiaoqiu’s face made it clear he was in no way pleased at the revelation that Moze was—supposedly ill? Strange, since Moze has never felt better, if not a little flushed.

Maybe it was the heat getting to him…

Instead of going on his usual tangent, the foxian healer only shakes his head, tail flicking behind him in annoyance as he dragged Moze back in the direction of his home.

They make it a few good feet away from their previous position before Moze snaps out of it and digs his heels into the concrete, realizing what Jiaoqiu was doing. “Wait—” 

“No, you’re likely running a fever, and I simply won’t have you overexerting yourself. We’re heading back.”

“I’m really not—”

“Don’t they teach you not to argue with your doctors?”

“It was just warmer than usual.”

Jiaoqiu turns and regards him with a discerning eye, looking him up and down.

“I heard you’ve spent the near entirety of yesterday upturning the barracks. You must be exhausted.”

He wasn’t, but how could he argue when Jiaoqiu was sporting that concerned frown which made his eyes look more rounded, like a kit. 

He clenches his fist and promptly stomps on the thoughts of cute as soon as it popped up in his head.

He’d have gone and asked a physician if he should be concerned about this tachycardia he’s been experiencing but considering the physician is Jiaoqiu… maybe that wasn’t the wisest idea.

For an assassin, he was being awfully flighty.

But the clawed grip Jiaoqiu has on his wrist seemed to remind him of his duties, and such when faced with a formidable foe, he is not one to back down and turn tail.

Not that he could.

He never could bring himself to deny Jiaoqiu anything.

Moze was stressed.

Jiaoqiu has been acting strange and Feixiao definitely knows something but she won’t say anything until Moze asks and she knows that Moze won’t ask and she still won’t say anything.

There’s only so much he can do to remain out of sight of the overbearing pink foxian without letting him know the real reason for his own odd behavior.

He’d poured over several of Jiaoqiu’s books about medicine and biology after sneaking into the man’s house late at night, and Moze more or less had a somewhat not entirely absurd explanation for his current problem.

Foxian pheromones.

Foxians tend to have a natural scent that can make others think they had fallen in love, so all he needs to do is to avoid Jiaoqiu so he can cool off, right?

But that does beg the question—why now ?

He doesn’t recall ever experiencing such a thing when they first met all those years ago, so it was a bit strange that it was happening now.

He’d assumed he had built a tolerance for it by now due to the nature of his work, being constantly surrounded by foxians, but then again he never felt a warm, tingly sensation in his veins around General Feixiao, only now and only with Jiaoqiu.

So he’d found an answer for his original problem but found himself in the midst of another one.

Suffice to say, he was more than a little stressed.

In addition to that, several of his clothes had started to go missing. 

It started a few days ago when he was training with General Feixiao early in the morning. 

Jiaoqiu sat on the sidelines, watching, since supposedly, the general had invited him over text. Though, she probably meant for him to train with them and not just sit and watch.

“Here,” Jiaoqiu handed him a towel with a smile, and Moze tried to justify the flush on his face and the quickening of his heartbeat as products of exertion.

General Feixiao clapped them both on the back right as he was drinking from a water bottle, making him choke and spill the water all on himself.

“Oops, sorry about that,” she’d apologized then, but the grin on her face made it look like she meant to do that.

Jiaoqiu averts his gaze.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

“Eh? Done so soon? Hey, Moze—”

He didn't realize he’d left his used shirt in the bathroom of the barrack’s until he was several streets down from the palace.

However, when he went back to check, the shirt was gone, and so were the general and Jiaoqiu.

He remembers that time, a few days ago at Jiaoqiu’s home, where he faintly recalls seeing something that might have been his shirt in the foxian’s laundry basket but that was absurd. 

Sure, the timelines seemed to match, but to assume Jiaoqiu had taken it?

He wouldn’t, because why would he?

Moze checks his closet, and assesses the damage.

Three shirts, a scarf, and a hoodie.

The missing scarf could just be chalked up to him misplacing it or losing it in the midst of a battle. Winters in the Yaoqing were particularly cold, and while most foxians tend to resist the freezing temperatures thanks to their fur, Moze wasn’t as lucky.

Perhaps he’d accidentally dropped it in the snow while pursuing a target and never noticed. He wasn’t used to wearing scarves anyway, and that particular article of clothing wasn’t even his to begin with.

It was Jiaoqiu’s, actually, and now that he thought about it, he distinctly remembers a few months ago when he informed him of its loss, to which the foxian only laughed it off, and told him he’d just buy a new one. That it was Jiaoqiu’s choice in the beginning to offer it to the shivering man right before their target came running past them, and Moze had chased after him.

In his haste, Jiaoqiu had barely managed to secure the scarf onto him, which could be why it had flown away during the sprint.

Moze had felt bad for being so careless with something that wasn’t his, even if Jiaoqiu insisted that he didn’t mind at all.

He’d stopped by Jiaoqiu’s home a few days later, a brand new scarf in hand, a pretty lilac and pastel pink color combination he thought the other man would like, and an apology on the tip of his tongue.

Jiaoqiu had smiled at him then, already wearing a brand new pink and gold scarf on his neck as he worked.

Flustered, Moze had intended to just leave without another word when Jiaoqiu stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, removed his own scarf and placed them around Moze’s neck, before he took the one in Moze’s hands and caressed it with his hand.

Soft. He’d said. Thank you, Moze. I love it.

—Ah.

He rummages through the back of his closet to find a box, taking it and wiping the dust away with a rag.

So there it was.

Moze wouldn’t have been able to answer if asked why he kept the scarf Jiaoqiu gave him in a box since it’d been wrapped around his neck. 

Running a hand over the soft material, Moze can’t help the fond smile that graces his lips at the memory of receiving it.

He wonders, briefly, it would somehow still smell like Jiaoqiu, but he nips that thought in the bud before it could bloom.

He didn’t know what dwelling upon those thoughts might do to him, nor did he want to find out.

So that solves that problem.

Still doesn’t explain where two of his shirts and one of his hoodies went.

And—oh.

Oh.

Maybe it was the stress of all these confusing feelings getting to him, but he now remembers letting Jiaoqiu borrow a hoodie when they got caught in the rain once and had taken shelter in Moze’s home.

Two of his shirts had been left in Jiaoqiu’s home upon the foxian’s insistence because he tended to sweat a lot when cleaning up. It saved him the discomfort of rushing home in clothes caked in sweat and grime just to shower.

He’d leave Jiaoqiu’s home smelling like the foxian’s shampoo and soap, and the thought always made him feel giddy despite himself.

That left one unaccounted for.

His phone buzzed with a text notification, bringing his mind back into reality. It was a message from General Feixiao to their group chat.

New notification from group chat “Master Jiaoi, have less spicy food please”

Feixiao: Anyone up for hotpot?

[Feixiao sent an emoji]

Jiaoqiu: Not tonight, sorry

Feixiao: Ah, that time already?

Moze frowns. Time for what? 

He wasn’t a nosy man, but he didn’t like being kept in the dark when it came to either General Feixiao or Jiaoqiu.

Jiaoqiu: Yes

[Jiaoqiu sent an emoji]

Feixiao: If you need anything I can send Moze to drop by

Jiaoqiu: No need

Jiaoqiu: I got it covered

Moze: What’s wrong? Feeling unwell?

Jiaoqiu: You could say that

Moze: I’m coming over.

Jiaoqiu: That’s not necessary!

Jiaoqiu: Moze?

Feixiao: Wow. He’s fast

Jiaoqiu barely had time to regain his composure when suddenly there’s a knock on his door. Nearly stumbling out of his bed, Jiaoqiu catches himself on the bedside drawer with a hiss as his arm knocks into the edge of the wood.

His world spun and he was flushed and sweating, trying to get a grip on himself amidst the burning heat beneath his skin. 

It hits him suddenly, another wave of need washes over his body, rendering him unable to walk or even stand.

Maybe he’d been standing there longer than he’d initially thought, because right before he hits the ground, he feels strong arms wrap around him, bracing his fall.

Warm.

Impossibly so. Moze wonders how Jiaoqiu could sleep comfortably with how warm he was, not to mention the hoodie—Moze’s, he notes, that traitorous voice in his head giving him thoughts he’d rather not think about—he was wearing.

Jiaoqiu had always run warm. Mastery over fire notwithstanding, the foxian healer had always been a source of warmth and comfort for others around him.

As a military healer, he was a brief reprieve of kindness and comfort, the sudden parting of clouds between nights of constant rain before soldiers were sent marching back into the battlefield.

It was perhaps in this fleeting respite, one night, as Jiaoqiu tended to a shell-shocked Moze’s injuries that Moze came to a realization.

"Does that hurt?" Jiaoqiu had pulled him aside with gentle hands, guiding him to sit on a rock away from the carnage.

Moze had seen it, Jiaoqiu’s horrified expression, before it was obscured by a clawed hand. Part of him wants to apologize for subjecting the healer to such a scene. This wasn’t how things were supposed to end. He wasn’t meant to draw his blade, but instead to gather intel, and yet...

He doesn’t speak, even as Jiaoqiu’s brows furrow and his movements hasten, hands gliding over his skin like a healing balm, his touch warm, grounding. 

Whether he meant to or not, he pressed down on Moze’s wounds a little too hard.

"Ow..."

"If it hurts, then say it out loud. What good does enduring your pain do? Just seeing you like this is agony for me."

His words came like cool steel slicing through him and breaking the binds that tethered him to the past.

If he was any younger he’d have choked on his words.

Not wanting to risk it, though, Moze only nods.

Jiaoqiu wakes up to an uncomfortable, stifling heat in his veins.

One second became two, and the suffocating heat ebbs away into a comforting warmth like the kiss of the sun that melts on his skin.

He also couldn’t move.

He also remembers Moze sending a message last night about coming to his house.

As if on cue, the large mass resting against him—or more like he was resting against —shifts, and the arm wrapped around him tightens.

“Good morning.”

And, oh …

Moze’s voice this early in the morning was so deep, magnified by the vibrations of his chest of which Jiaoqiu’s head, and subsequently his ears, were pressed against.

Through the fog in his mind, Jiaoqiu musters up the strength to push himself up, but Moze’s hands on him has his limbs turning into jelly, nearly sending him back down into bed if it weren’t for the stability he offered.

“Hey, take it easy,” Moze frowns, and Jiaoqiu had half a mind to wipe it off with a kiss.

He shouldn’t be thinking about that. Not with Moze .

“Jiaoqiu—”

Ah.

They were so close.

When had they gotten so close?

Moze had a hand on top of his, right above his heart hammering in his chest. His face was a pretty pink flush no doubt matching his own, and his eyes were wide, frantic in its desire to map out every inch of Jiaoqiu’s face.

Cute.

“I’m not—” Moze chokes, trying to stop the wandering hand from trailing lower down than his chest..

Oh, he’d said that one out loud.

“Jiaoqiu—” Moze sighs, taking a moment to compose himself. Jiaoqiu makes it hard to think, so he pushes him back gently to make space between them, one hand on his. “Can we talk about this?”

He gestures to the mess of pillows and blankets and clothes—some of which were his clothes—on the mattress. 

He didn’t really want to talk about it.

Talking made the mess of emotions in his head all the more real, and Jiaoqiu thinks he’s not ready for that.

Will never be ready for that.

But he wants—Aeons, he wants.

He was tired of skirting around the issue. Of Moze jerking away like he’d been burned by every touch of Jiaoqiu’s skin on his.

He’d never asked for much.

Finding a cure to General Feixiao’s affliction has always been his top priority, but just this once he allows himself to act selfishly.

Because once he’d had a taste of Moze’s affection, of the chance that he might feel the same way, Jiaoqiu could never look back.

“Jiaoqiu.”

Despite his centuries of experience, his affinity for extreme levels of spice, and his overall bravado in holding himself, Jiaoqiu was a messy, pitiful drunk.

It was a few years after Moze had joined the ranks, Feixiao had invited them all to a drink one night in remembrance of their fallen comrades, and maybe Jiaoqiu had one too many drinks, because he’d seized the attention of two younger colleagues, who only nodded along politely to his ramblings, unable to break away or deny him as their superior.

They had only managed to walk away freely once Jiaoqiu’s head drops and he was slumped across the table.

He thinks he heard General Feixiao’s raucous laughter to the side, but the music was too loud, and the alcohol had dulled his senses, magnifying the feeling of the hands on his back and shoulder, maneuvering him upwards.

“Jiaoqiu.”

The voice came more insistent this time, a hint of a frown in that cool, monotonous voice.

“General Yueyu?” 

The hand rubbing circles along his back freezes, and Jiaoqiu’s head drops slightly.

“I’m sorry, general. I… have failed you,” he whispers, barely audible to others around him, but a deafening roar in Jiaoqiu’s head. 

He couldn’t find a cure. 

Hundreds of years had passed, and not once had he made any meaningful progress.

He’d loved and lost and gave away parts of him to save the dying soldiers and General Feixiao but it was futile.

He’d pull them back from the brink of death, only to watch as they march themselves back into death’s grip.

He clutched his head. He thought he’d gotten over these senseless emotions, but in the quiet lull between the sounds of metal clashing and rampant screams, his thoughts echoed in his mind louder and louder until it’s all he could think of.

The hand on his back moved to brush his hair away from his face, but Jiaoqiu kept his eyes shut. He thought that if he dares so much as to breathe, General Yueyu’s phantom would dissolve and he’d  be left alone once more.

Only, he realized, this wasn’t his former general.

The touch was gentler, one hand clawed, while the other wasn’t.

“You did the best you could, Jiaoqiu.”

That voice…

“I’m proud of you.”

The kiss pressed to his forehead was the final nail on the coffin, and Jiaoqiu let himself weep for the first time in centuries.

“Can we talk about why you’ve been avoiding me for a week?”

He didn’t mean to sound so petulant, like a young kit denied a treat and was throwing a tantrum over it.

His heart ached, his body even more. The force in which his heat overtook him made him dizzy with want—with need. 

He can tell his eyes were unfocused, so he closes them, barely managing to force himself to take breaths.

“Fine,” Moze acquiesces, but not without a frown pinching at his forehead. “I was… uncomfortable.”

Jiaoqiu heaves a laugh, but it comes out dry, humorless.

“Didn’t I say to tell me if I ever do something that makes you exactly that?”

Because while Jiaoqiu grappled with his instincts, fighting for rationality in his clouded judgment, the thought that he had involuntary caused Moze discomfort made him feel guilty, his instincts forcing him to draw away and curl up on himself.

Moze, alarmed by Jiaoqiu’s withdrawal quickly stops him. “Wait—that’s not what I meant.”

Jiaoqiu was too sensitive at this moment to be dealing with such complicated feelings. The hand on his wrist, right on his scent gland made his instincts preen and his mind race,

He shouldn’t take advantage of Moze’s ignorance.

“Moze,” his voice cuts through the air like a knife. “I’m in heat. I think you should leave.”

“Heat…? Moze’s brow furrows.

“Yes, it’s a normal biological function of foxians to procreate—”

“Y—yes,” Moze stammers, red creeping up his neck and the tips of his ears. “I have a general understanding of what that entails… Forgive me, I should have realized the signs sooner.”

Jiaoqiu feels his own blush darken and he forces himself to look away. “No, I—I should’ve known that it was a matter of time until my suppressants stopped working.”

“You’ve been using suppressants all these years?” Moze looks deeply concerned. “Is that why you— ahem —er, is that healthy?”

Jiaoqiu raises a palm to his own cheek. “Not entirely… but duty calls and—”

“Jiaoqiu.”

“Don’t give me that,” Jiaoqiu sighs. “I’m not about to be lectured on my own biology by you .”

“You say you’re the general’s doctor but really I think it’s the other way around.”

“What is that supposed to—”

“Is this why you and General Feixiao have been acting weird lately?”

Jiaoqiu huffs at being cut off, but answers anyway. “I don’t know what you mean by weird, but yes, the general knows.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t need to know.”

“Even though you’ve been taking my clothes?”

Jiaoqiu bristles, a hand shooting out to touch the wrinkled shirt beneath, face flushed. “I didn’t take them—”

Moze smiles, barely there, but Jiaoqiu catches the slight upturn of his lips nonetheless. 

“Could you explain what all of this is, then?” his gaze softens, and he brushes a lock of hair away from Jiaoqiu’s face. “You seem… calmer now. Compared to yesterday, at least.”

“Ah—” Jiaoqiu looks away, fidgeting with the blankets. “It’s your scent,” he mumbles. “It’s… comforting.”

“I see…” Moze scans the bed, finding his lost clothes scattered around atop heaps of pillows and blankets. “Is this a foxian thing…?”

“It’s called nesting,” and Aeons was it embarrassing to be explaining the concept of a heat to Moze. “Traditionally, a nest is where kits are… conceived—” he clears his throat. “And this is where a foxian would spend most of their time during pregnancy, as well as childbirth and childcare thereafter.”

“It is an instinctual need for safety and security, as well as comfort. A foxian in heat tends to use clothing and other items that smelled or reminded them of their partner.”

“Partner?” Moze echoes. Jiaoqiu could pick up on the slight giddiness in his scent at that.

“Why do you seem so happy about that?” He doesn’t think his face could get any redder, feeling his instincts well up that his desired partner seemed excited to be treated as such.

“You said my scent was comforting,” Moze takes Jiaoqiu’s hands into his. 

“I did.”

Moze’s scent, like a peaceful night in the forest, turned sweeter, airy, like the clouds after a storm and dew has formed on the leaves on the trees.

“You ask why I’ve been avoiding you these past days. Did it bother you?”

“A little,” Jiaoqiu admits. “My instincts had already chosen you as a… worthy partner, and the feeling of being kept at an arm's length was… unpleasant.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“No, I do,” Moze smiles, and he leans in a little closer. “I’m not good with words, you know that, Jiaoqiu. But I want to try.”

Jiaoqiu’s breath hitches, and he trembles against the hand holding him by the arms. “What are you apologizing for?”

“For not realizing sooner.”

Before Jiaoqiu could ask what he meant, Moze had already made his move, ever a man of action. His hands trailed up Jiaoqiu’s arms to his face, slowly, as if to give Jiaoqiu enough time to react, to push him away if he wanted, but he didn't.

Soon, his hands reach their destination on either side of Jiaoqiu’s face, cupping his cheeks in a way that mirrored that night, all those years ago. He leans in even closer, slowly, but not hesitantly.

He gives Jiaoqiu ample enough to react, all the while his own heart threatened to jump out of his chest.

A pair of lips brush against his hairline, the barest of touch that sends Jiaoqiu’s instincts reeling from the scarcity.

He grips Moze’s wrists in his clawed hands, before he’s practically pouncing on the other man, sealing their lips together, finally.

Finally.

Years of watching his comrades die has made Jiaoqiu weary, and so to save himself from further heartbreak, he’d kept his heart sealed away behind thick walls.

For centuries, he’d built up an army to guard away his fragile emotions, only for one man to painstakingly remove each layer, brick by brick, until all that was left was Jiaoqiu, stripped bare and vulnerable.

Truly, Moze had the patience of a saint.

Jiaoqiu, however, did not.

“Wait, Jiaoqiu—” his shirt was nearly ripped away from him, claws coming dangerously close to puncturing holes in the fabric as Jiaoqiu tugged it off. His heat washed over Jiaoqiu in capsizing waves, blurring his thoughts beyond the need to feel skin on skin.

“I’ve waited for so long,” Jiaoqiu whines, stealing another kiss from swollen red lips. “Please, Moze. Don’t deny me this any longer.”

Moze laid back on his elbows, struggling for breath as Jiaoqiu attempted to suck his soul out from his lips. Panting and red-faced, he attempts to gather himself before his resolve crumbles under Jiaoqiu’s skillful hand, palming him through his trousers.

“Jiaoqiu.”

Strong hands envelope Jiaoqiu in a warmth unlike the stifling heat in his veins.

They flop over backwards on the bed, and Moze rolls them over so he was laying down on the bed with Jiaoqiu on his chest.

Like this, their faces were so impossibly close.

Which—considering they’ve literally kissed—shouldn’t be making Jiaoqiu’s heart flutter like it  did.

Moze’s face was rarely bared to the crowds, obscured by the darkness of his hood, and only ever appeared right before his target met their end.

It has become somewhat of a bad omen in that regard, but not for Jiaoqiu. 

Not when the softness of his features, the fondness in his eyes, and the smiles gracing his lips were all he can see when looking at him.

Jiaoqiu feels his heart swell.

Jiaoqiu feels his dick swell too.

“Moze,” Jiaoqiu grinds down on the tent in his pants insistently. “You are really trying my patience here. I’ve tried and kept my composure for so long because I didn’t want to scare you off but now that I got you and you’re not fucking me into mattress right now—mhf!”

Whatever choice words Jiaoqiu had to say were quickly swallowed down by Moze as he flipped them over, pinning the needy foxian into the bed. The room quickly smelled of wood and spice, like a campfire in the forest late at night. Jiaoqiu feels as if his body was about to burn up, trying to splay himself out and look enticing but Moze keeps him pressed so deep into the bed he’s unable to move save for his lips desperately chasing after Moze’s.

He bites his lip, needy whines dissolving on his tongue before they could reach Moze’s ear as the man took his time trailing kisses down Jiaoqiu’s jaw, to the column of his neck, and lower. Deft hands pulled up his (Moze’s) hoodie to just above his chest as he sucked and nipped at a rosy pink bud.

Jiaoqiu didn’t take him for a gentle lover, but he was taking his sweet time savoring the salty tang of Jiaoqiu’s skin, and Jiaoqiu—oh, Jiaoqiu needed him inside him centuries ago.

With a breathy cry of his name, Jiaoqiu grabs Moze by the hair to pull him up so he can sink his teeth into those broad shoulders.

Moze hisses at the sharp pain of his fangs, melting like slime in the foxian’s hands. “Jiaoqiu—”

“Mark me, bite me, I don’t care,” Jiaoqiu demands, licking a stripe over the puncture wounds of his teeth on Moze’s skin. “Please,” he whines, shoving Moze’s face towards his neck. “Do as you please with me. Fuck me, Moze.”

His groan was muffled by soft, pale skin, and like this, so close to his scent gland, Moze feels heady with arousal. He didn’t have the olfactory sense that the foxians do, but with how intense Jiaoqiu’s heat was, his scent permeates through every surface in the room, the overwhelming cry for his mate to come and fulfill his desires.

Rarely does Moze not give in to Jiaoqiu’s every whim.

This time was no exception.

As he sucked and bit marks onto the skin of Jiaoqiu’s neck and chest, his hands continue their descent until they reach the waistband of his boxers, teasing the skin right above the firm elastic.

His mind reels at the thought of the slight roundness of Jiaoqiu’s tummy giving way to a brood of kits.

Fuck .

He draws back from Jiaoqiu just enough to slip his hands beneath his boxers, mapping out the skin before he starts to slowly tug them down, making Jiaoqiu feel like a present being unwrapped.

The cool air against Jiaoqiu’s heated cock makes him hiss, a hand coming up to stifle his sounds.

“Don’t,” Moze grabs his wrist, placing a sweet kiss on his palm. “I want to hear you.”

He fits so well in Moze’s hand, responds so sweetly to his touch, that Moze was already hard and aching by the time Jiaoqiu started to beg him for more.

He swallows down Jiaoqiu’s cries with a tender kiss, and then his cock, letting Jiaoqiu pull at his hair and take his pleasure from Moze’s mouth. The sounds leaving his mouth went straight to Moze’s dick, but he held off in favor of getting Jiaoqiu off first.

It doesn’t take long until Jiaoqiu is arching off the bed, spilling into Moze’s mouth who eagerly laps everything up like a man starved.

Barely sparing him any time to catch his breath, Moze licks one last stripe up Jiaoqiu’s cock and starts kissing his way down to his perineum, then to the cleft of his ass.

“Moze,” Jiaoqiu whines, his thoughts scrambled from the haze of his orgasm. “That’s—Ah!”

The way Moze’s tongue prods and licks at his rim, with the fervor of a man who’s taken years and years to realize the extent of his affection for the man beneath him, it was maddening. Jiaoqiu sings so beautifully, his thighs quivering around Moze’s head as he stretches him out with his tongue first, then his fingers, the slick dripping from his hole aiding the process along.

Jiaoqiu was a mess of sweat, drool, and tears, unbearably warm and still clad in Moze’s hoodie.

“How do you want it?” Moze asks, because even as Jiaoqiu gave him free reign to do what he wants, he still considers Jiaoqiu’s wants and desires above all.

An attentive mate . Isn’t that what foxians tend to find attractive? Judging by the keen the statement draws from the other’s lips, Moze was inclined to agree.

Jiaoqiu’s gaze was unfocused, his limbs barely cooperating as he rolled over onto his stomach. Moze quickly grabs a pillow to place beneath his hips, propping him up. “Like this, and then later I want to ride you.”

Moze nods, feeling his mouth go dry as Jiaoqiu reaches back to pull at his asscheek, exposing the puffy rim and presenting himself to his desired mate.

He swallows thickly, sinking a finger into that tight heat as he hastily unbuttoned his pants with the other.

Jiaoqiu had been watching intently, and the moan he let out at the sight of Moze’s dick… well, it does wonders to one’s ego, that’s for sure.

He maneuvers Jiaoqiu into a more comfortable position before he slides his finger once more into his dripping wet hole, gathering up slick to lubricate his cock, pumping himself once, twice, until Jiaoqiu was whimpering and demanding him to hurry up.

Moze takes a moment to appreciate the view of Jiaoqiu, flushed and desperate for his touch, kneading his ass gingerly.

Once he’s had his fill, he sinks in slowly into that tight heat, making them both groan in unison.

Moze pants, his nails digging into the meat of Jiaoqiu’s ass as he slowly buried himself to the hilt. He laments the position for a while, if only because he couldn’t see what kind of expressions Jiaoqiu was making right now, with his face buried in the pillow, muffled moans leaking from his lips with every aborted thrust.

Once he was buried deep inside Jiaoqiu, he stills, willing himself not to come right then and there and embarrass himself in front of Jiaoqiu. Not now, not after how long they’ve waited for this.

He thinks he hears Jiaoqiu mumble a “Move, please—” but the heady arousal fogging his mind made it difficult to perceive anything beyond how tight Jiaoqiu was squeezing him.

Fed up with Moze refusing to move, Jiaoqiu huffs, moving to push Moze down onto their nest and straddling his hips, quickly aligning his hole onto Moze’s cock and shoving deep.

Moze curses, his hands flying up to Jiaoqiu’s hips, helping him bounce up and down, chasing that delicious friction. His orgasm quickly builds up, but Jiaoqiu shows no sign of stopping anytime soon.

“Jiaoqiu—please, if you don’t slow down I’m going to cum—”

“Do it,” Jiaoqiu moans, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. “Please, Moze. Come inside me, please.”

Moze buries his face in the crook of Jiaoqiu’s neck, smelling a mix of both the spice of the foxian’s scent and his own woodsy fragrance on the fabric of his hoodie. He wraps his arms around Jiaoqiu’s torso, pulling him close as the foxian goes limp in his arms, legs shaking.

“Moze!” Jiaoqiu cries out, claws digging into Moze’s shoulder as he loses all ability to think or move. Moze does most of the heavy lifting, his hips losing their rhythm as his thrusts stagger the closer he was to barrelling off the edge, taking Jiaoqiu with him. “Yes, yes! Just like that, I’m—”

Moze’s vision goes white as he spills inside Jiaoqiu at the same time the other man spills sticky white spend between their sweat-slicked skin. Jiaoqiu goes taut, back arched and mouth hanging open in a soundless scream.

Beautiful, Moze thinks, searing the view of Jiaoqiu succumbing to pleasure into his memory.

He was fucked.

They will need to talk about this again, when Jiaoqiu isn’t thinking with his head between his legs. When he’s no longer possessed by the lust clouding his judgment. When Moze could think of anything other than how gorgeous Jiaoqiu looked in his post-orgasmic state, breathy and fucked out and curling up against Moze, uncaring of the mess between them.

His poor hoodie had rucked up Jiaoqiu’s body during sex, but with the amount of cum that Jiaoqiu had spilled between them, the hem of it would be stained to hell and back.

Too focused was he on admiring the man on top of him, that he nearly misses the slight vibrations coming from Jiaoqiu’s chest, accompanied by the soft trilling vocalizations of contentment.

Moze stifles a laugh, his lips quirking up slightly with fondness.

“What’s so funny?” Jiaoqiu’s ears perk up at the sound of Moze’s breath hitching, a frown forming on his brows. He shivers as Moze moves slightly, his dick slipping further inside Jiaoqiu, plugging up the cum inside him.

“Nothing,” Moze answers, wrapping his arms around Jiaoqiu and drawing him into another kiss. “We should clean up.”

Before he could move an inch, Jiaoqiu pins his wrists down to the bed, a dangerous grin on his face exposing his sharp fangs. 

“Oh, we’re not done yet,” he purrs, grinding down onto Moze’s cock with a loud moan. “Neither of us are leaving this room until I’m thoroughly debauched. We have to make up for lost time, after all.”

He was so, so fucked .

Moze was used to the general’s tendency to poke and prod at him with teasing remarks, their relationship having evolved to encompass friendship, in a sense.

What he was unused to, were the countless stares from the other foxian soldiers as he and the general made their rounds in the barracks and into the training grounds. What made this even stranger, was the fact that everytime Moze turned to catch one of their gazes, they would look away with the faintest hint of a blush on their cheeks.

“General Feixiao,” one of the platoon leaders stops in front of them and raises his arm in a salute. “I heard Doctor Jiaoqu has been indisposed, is he—” the man falters as his gaze falls onto Moze, his eyes dimming with recognition and understanding.

“I see he is well taken care of,” the man clears his throat. “Do send him my regards.”

Both Feixiao and Moze watch as the man turns tail, leaving without saying another word.

Feixiao whistles, amused.

“What’s with him?” Moze asks, mildly interested only because he mentioned Jiaoqiu.

Feixiao laughs, a knowing grin stretching her lips wide as she slings an arm around Moze.

“That guy? He’s one of Jiaoqiu’s most faithful admirers. Must’ve been real worried if he came running up to me to ask about him.”

“Admirers?” Moze’s brow furrows.

“Admirers, suitors, whatever you want to call it. Jiaoqiu’s pretty sought after you know,” she grins and looks at Moze with the kind of gaze that seemed to see past him. “Such a shame he’s never shown interest in the other soldiers.”

“Is that so?” Moze deadpans.

Feixiao snorts in amusement.

Moze was so painfully unaware of the amount of hearts he’s breaking, showing up to the barracks smelling so strongly of Jiaoqiu’s earthy scent. That, coupled with the news of Jiaoqiu’s recent ‘health break’ spun a pretty self-explanatory tale.

Rumors will surely spread like wildfire before Moze even realizes it, barely partaking in the gossip culture himself, but sooner or later it will reach Jiaoqiu’s ears and he’d surely be talking Moze’s ear off for essentially telling on them.

It was about damn time anyway, as long as her retainers were happy, Feixiao wouldn’t ask for anything more.