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It’s not fair.
No one stops Crimson Rain from coming to the Heavens. Not anymore. But when Quan Yizhen had said that Shixiong should come with his Highness and Crimson Rain to celebrate Yuanxiao with everyone, the room had gotten quiet. His Highness had winced and pulled him aside to explain quietly, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Quan Yizhen. Yin Yu might not be welcome.”
“Why not?”
“He’s—he’s not a god anymore, Quan Yizhen. I think Yin Yu might feel a little out of place, and find that even now, others pass judgment.”
Quan Yizhen had blinked at his Highness, then pointed to Crimson Rain. “No one stops him.”
His Highness had winced again, and lowered his voice further, putting a hand on Quan Yizhen’s arm and his body between Quan Yizhen and the rest of the room like he needs protection. Or maybe it’s everyone else that needs protection. “Yes, but San Lang ascended. He is the god of Mount Tonglu. He might not have accepted his ascension, but he has a claim to the Heavens.”
And he’s strong.
Quan Yizhen knows that strength matters, even more so now that he has dozens of burn scars from the Emperor. His Highness and Crimson Rain are both strong. Quan Yizhen wants to fight them. They won’t let him, but he likes them anyways even when they want him to follow stupid rules that don’t make any sense, because they’re the reason Shixiong is back.
Quan Yizhen’s chest does something weird at the thought.
Shixiong had died for him.
Shixiong had come back.
It had taken so long, but Shixiong lets him close now, sometimes. Touches him. Kisses him. Calls him Yizhen in his calm, low voice, and blushes and glances down when Quan Yizhen stares at him for too long while trying to memorize the exact shape of his eyes and curve of his mouth. Calls him Zhenzhen in a voice that’s rough and ragged and almost a little painful to hear whenever Quan Yizhen’s hands slide under his clothes.
Most importantly, Shixiong doesn’t run away anymore.
But that makes it even more unfair that after telling Quan Yizhen that Shixiong can’t come, his Highness and Crimson Rain aren’t there either. They promised they would be, and now Quan Yizhen is bored. Quan Yizhen doesn’t really know anyone else, and doesn’t really like anyone else. They only pay attention to him because he had helped defeat the Emperor along with his Highness’s other martial gods, proving yet again that he’s stronger than they are.
It’s stupid. They’re stupid.
Quan Yizhen doesn’t want to spend Yuanxiao with them, so he decides he won’t.
He leaves before they’ve even gotten to the food, which is the only good thing about the heavenly banquets, and descends to the Ghost City to see Shixiong.
A few ghosts pick a fight with him, so he beats them up. Shixiong had tried to stop him once and make him apologize for the damage he caused, but Crimson Rain had waved a hand and said, “If they’re stupid enough to pick a fight with him, they deserve to lose, and they can pay for the damage.” After that, most of the ghosts stopped trying to keep him from seeing Shixiong, but a couple try every time he visits.
Once they’re defeated, Quan Yizhen heads towards Paradise Manor. Everyone is celebrating Yuanxiao just like in the Heavens, with ghosts on stilts, offering food from stalls, challenging passersby to riddle games, and lanterns are strung above the streets or being carried around. He ignores them all. He’s almost to the Paradise Manor when Shixiong hurries out of the palace to handle the commotion, dressed in all black, mask pulled down over his face.
Quan Yizhen hates that mask.
“Shixiong, take that off,” Quan Yizhen demands.
Shixiong stops and stares at him. “Yizhen,” he says after a long moment. “What are you doing here? You should be in the Heavens. The lanterns will be going up in a couple hours and your followers will be celebrating.”
“No. I don’t care about anyone who’s there. Shixiong, take it off.” There’s a desperate note in his voice that reminds him too much of how his chest had felt watching Shixiong face down the Emperor. It’s worse than even the pain of having his spiritual power sucked away. He tries out a new word that he’s found makes Shixiong more pliable to his requests, which makes it worth remembering. “Please.”
There’s a sigh, and then Shixiong pushes the mask to the side. Quan Yizhen relaxes. Then he uses the other phrase his Highness taught him. “Thank you, Shixiong.”
He’s rewarded with the faintest hint of red touching Shixiong’s ears, nearly hidden by his hair. Quan Yizhen reaches out to touch them, transfixed, but Shixiong grips his wrist as his gaze darts around. “Stop. Not here. It’s not appropriate.”
“Oh.” Quan Yizhen lets his hand fall, disappointed. But he greedily stares at that hint of red until it disappears and it’s just the regular jade crescent of Shixiong’s ear once more.
“Yizhen. Yizhen. Yizhen,” Shixiong repeats patiently until Quan Yizhen focuses on him, “Why are you here?”
“I’m hungry. I want to eat with you, not with them. I’ve never eaten food in the Ghost City before.”
Shixiong purses his lips. “Which is a good thing. There are things cooked here that you really shouldn’t be eating.”
“Then Shixiong can show me what to eat,” Quan Yizhen insists. “It’s Yuanxiao. I don’t care what others do. I want to eat with Shixiong. You were the one who told me Yuanxiao is for families.”
Quan Yizhen had never noticed, before, the pain that Shixiong carried in his body. Quan Yizhen knew—knows—the way Shixiong walks, the tilt of his head, the timbre of his voice, the way he gestures, the way he fights. Quan Yizhen knows very well the way he fights. But Quan Yizhen hadn’t known how to recognize pain in a body that had been there for as long as Quan Yizhen had known his shixiong, poisoning the body that bore it. Somewhere along the way, though, Shixiong’s heart gradually eased, though, as though by telling Quan Yizhen of his feelings, he had purged the poison.
His body is different now.
Quan Yizhen has spent days learning the new shape of his shoulders. The cadence of his breath. The steadiness of his hands. The strength of his kick. The softness of his skin.
Quan Yizhen wants to spend every day learning the things that are different about Shixiong’s body.
“Alright,” Shixiong murmurs, a small smile on his face. Quan Yizhen greedily holds onto the way his arms relax, the way his lashes lower. “Let’s go.”
Quan Yizhen clutches Shixiong’s hand as Shixiong guides them back into the Ghost City proper. Shixiong’s face glows in the lights that are everywhere, and he keeps his mask pushed to the side. Still, the sight of Shixiong, even bare-faced, is enough to clear their path. No one wants to anger Crimson Rain, and so no one wants to anger Shixiong because Crimson Rain is the strongest. Quan Yizhen tightens his hold on Shixiong’s hand.
Crimson Rain and his Highness might be the strongest, but Shixiong is the best.
“What do you want to eat?” Shixiong asks, as a female ghost tries to coax them into buying some of her dumplings. “No, thank you,” Shixiong says to her, holding up a hand in apology and scooting past.
“Anything,” Quan Yizhen says. The only thing he won’t eat is his Highness’ cooking. It’s really bad. Other than that, there are lots of good smells coming from different stalls. Quan Yizhen wants all of it.
Shixiong seems thoughtful, and tugs Quan Yizhen off the main street and down a long alley, through a couple of side streets towards a quieter stretch of stalls. “One of my favorite shops is down this way,” he explains. “They make food like what we used to eat.”
Quan Yizhen doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything.
Instead, he follows Shixiong inside the shop, run by an older couple that look more human than most of the other ghosts Quan Yizhen has seen. There are a few other people inside. They nod at Shixiong in greeting and then return to their food. They don’t even kick up a fuss at seeing Quan Yizhen, which is good, because if he beat them up Shixiong probably would be upset at him again.
“This way, sir,” the woman greets. “We thought you might stop by tonight, and made sure we had your favorites in case you should arrive. Thank you again for convincing Chengzhu to prevent those ruffians from returning.” She bows deeply. “This little woman did not deserve such attention from so esteemed a patron.”
Shixiong ducks his head and holds up his hands as though to ward off her words. His ear is turning red again. Quan Yizhen stares at it. “Ah, please. Truly, it was nothing. It’s my duty to see to all matters in the Ghost City for Chengzhu, including yours.” Shixiong doesn’t look away from the woman, but he catches Quan Yizhen’s wrist all the same before he can touch Shixiong’s ear.
“Not here, either,” Shixiong says, voice sharp. His shoulders are tense again, so Quan Yizhen lets his hand drop, disappointed. Shixiong herds Quan Yizhen over to the table and exchanges some murmured words with the woman while Quan Yizhen watches the other ghosts, none of whom look like they’d be good fighters.
When Shixiong sits across from him, Quan Yizhen’s head snaps around.
“Shixiong, what are we gonna eat?”
“Ah—do you remember the cabbage wraps we used to eat? And the spring rolls? I got both of them, and some jiaozi. I figured we can eat tangyuan at one of the stalls before you go back to the Heavens tonight.”
Quan Yizhen tilts his head. “I’m not leaving tonight.”
Shixiong’s body tenses again. His pulse jumps in his throat and his jaw tightens. “Yizhen…”
“I want to be here with you!” Quan Yizhen says stubbornly. “What’s up in the Heavens, anyway?”
“How can you not understand?” Shixiong snaps. “Your followers are going to send you lanterns, you should thank them! You have a responsibility to them.” He stops, and takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to argue about this with you, Yizhen. Eat dinner, and then go back to the Heavens.”
Quan Yizhen knows that Shixiong is telling him the truth, because Shixiong doesn’t lie. He just...hides, sometimes. He hid for a long time. But the hiding hurt them both, so Quan Yizhen won’t let him hide anymore, even when Quan Yizhen doesn’t always understand why Shixiong is upset with him. Quan Yizhen at least knows to try now, and to watch Shixiong’s body like he’s in a fight for Shixiong’s heart.
After all, Quan Yizhen doesn’t have anything worth wanting if he doesn’t have Shixiong, too.
“But I told you. You’re my family, Shixiong. I want to light a lantern with you.”
Dark grey eyes lock onto his face. Shixiong’s gaze has its own weight. It always has. Quan Yizhen likes it, because it makes him feel grounded when otherwise he’d fly apart in the face of the unfairness of the world.
Shixiong falters, some painful burden still on his shoulders. Quan Yizhen is strong enough to carry it instead.
“Yizhen…”
“If my worshipers get angry that I spent Yuanxiao with Shixiong, then I’ll beat them up!” He smacks his hands on the table and leans forward so he’s nearly nose to nose with Shixiong. “I don’t want those kinds of worshipers anyways! Who wants people who think others should choose gods over the people they love?”
That frustration and pain unspools suddenly, and Shixiong presses his fingers to his chest, right over his heart. His ears are red, but so are his cheeks. He closes his eyes, and Quan Yizhen misses the way Shixiong watches him, and wishes he could touch the bright curve of color in Shixiong’s dark hair.
“Shixiong, I want to be at your side.”
This time, Shixiong is unresisting as Quan Yizhen touches him, first the back of his hand and then, more boldly, up to the curve of his ear. It’s warm, and soft, and makes Quan Yizhen’s whole chest feel sore like after a good fight.
“Yizhen, stop.” Quan Yizhen can’t read Shixiong’s voice, but he’s smiling faintly, and the curve of his spine is relaxed. Quan Yizhen wants to kiss down the length of it. “Alright. You can stay. We’ll light a lantern together.”
Quan Yizhen beams. “Thank you, Shixiong!”
Shixiong asks what Quan Yizhen has been doing lately, so Quan Yizhen tells him all about the demon he fought, and visiting his Highness, and the training he did, and the other monster he fought.
“But you’ll come next time, right, Shixiong?” Quan Yizhen says as the food is put in front of them. “I want to fight with you.”
“Chengzhu may have work for me…”
“Oh. Then I’ll help you instead!”
“Yizhen, you know most of my work isn’t fighting.”
“But some of it is. Crimson Rain said you kill demons too.”
“When did he—that’s technically true. But not often. Anything that’s...too powerful for me, his Highness or Chengzhu handles.”
Quan Yizhen blinks at him. “Then take me instead if you can’t fight yourself. Then we can fight monsters together.”
Shixiong opens his mouth and then shuts it again. Then he points to the food steaming in front of them with a sigh. “Eat.”
Quan Yizhen obeys, piling his plate high and digging in. It’s as good as Shixiong had said it would be, and does remind him of the food he ate in the sect during this time of year. The chicken is tender, the jiaozi crispy, and the rice fluffy. Quan Yizhen likes it better than the food he would have eaten in the Heavens, and Shixiong tells him to finish the rest of it after Shixiong’s eaten his fill. Quan Yizhen leaves a few scraps on the table, although even that makes some part of him rebel. There’s no sense in wasting food, even if it is tradition.
As Shixiong pays, Quan Yizhen waits by the door for him and takes his hand as soon as he’s in range. Shixiong’s thumb brushes the back of his hand and it leaves Quan Yizhen unable to focus on anything but kissing. Shixiong doesn’t like getting kissed in public, so Quan Yizhen digs in his heels in a dark alley.
“I need to kiss you,” he announces.
Shixiong shudders, like Quan Yizhen has him bare beneath Quan Yizhen’s hands on Quan Yizhen’s bed. Or on Shixiong’s bed. Quan Yizhen doesn’t mind where, especially if it means that he gets to kiss Shixiong.
“Alright,” Shixiong says.
Quan Yizhen has to tilt his face up just slightly to kiss Shixiong, whose mouth is slick and soft. Yielding. Quan Yizhen wraps an arm around his waist and strokes a finger down Shixiong’s ear and gets another shudder in exchange. It’s too dim and Quan Yizhen can’t see if it’s red. Frustrated, Quan Yizhen drags Shixiong a little towards the light, breaking the kiss to study Shixiong’s ear before pressing their mouths together again. He waits to slide his tongue between Shixiong’s lips, because Shixiong prefers to start that himself, but as soon as Shixiong’s lips part, Quan Yizhen’s tongue touches Shixiong’s and they deepen the kiss.
They’re both breathing heavily by the time Shixiong gently but inexorably pushes Quan Yizhen away. “We’re in public,” he instructs.
Quan Yizhen doesn’t care. But Shixiong does. So he lets Shixiong put space between them, and clenches his hands in his own robes so he won’t grab for Shixiong.
His restraint is rewarded when Shixiong shakes his head and takes Quan Yizhen’s hand in his own again, leading him back out to the main streets. They wander around for a time, just looking at things, and Shixiong keeps hold of Quan Yizhen’s hand. There are lots of ghosts. Lots of food stalls. People keep trying to get them to answer riddles, too. Quan Yizhen doesn’t like those stupid riddles, but Shixiong stops to study them on occasion, and even answers a few of them correctly. The prizes aren’t anything special, just a couple wooden charms and a beaded tassel.
“It matches your earrings,” Shixiong observes of the beaded tassel, and gives it to Quan Yizhen.
He smiles and attaches it to his belt, touching it occasionally with happiness. “Thank you, Shixiong.”
“Ah, it’s nothing,” Shixiong demurs, and Quan Yizhen doesn’t know how to tell him otherwise, so he squeezes Shixiong’s hand.
Shixiong glances at him, faint color in his cheeks. “Are you ready for some tangyuan?”
Quan Yizhen nods. He likes tangyuan and he’s hungry enough to eat again. Shixiong guides them to another, quieter stall. The ghost manning the stall is wearing a lion mask with a fierce fur mane that falls to their shoulders. Quan Yizhen stares at it the whole time their tangyuan are cooking, until Shixiong realizes what he’s doing and hisses, “Yizhen, stop.”
“What?”
“You’re being rude.”
Quan Yizhen knows he is, because Shixiong has told him many times not to stare, but the mask is interesting. He hasn’t seen anyone else here, or in the Heavens, or on earth, with something like it.
“Don’t ask them to take it off,” Shixiong adds, somewhat despairing. “Just because you don’t like masks—”
“I don’t like masks on you, Shixiong,” Quan Yizhen interrupts. “I like that one.”
Shixiong stares at him for a moment, then touches his mask. Quan Yizhen’s hand snaps out and grabs Shixiong’s wrist. “Don’t. Please.”
“I’m not going to,” Shixiong promises, and he tilts his head, smiling faintly. For a moment Quan Yizhen almost thinks that Shixiong will kiss him, but he just brushes his fingertips briefly along Quan Yizhen’s jaw. It makes heat spark in Quan Yizhen, which makes it hard to restrain himself, especially when Shixiong is so close and Quan Yizhen has tasted his lips.
Then the bowls of tangyuan are set in front of them, and Shixiong begins to eat as though Quan Yizhen’s fingers aren’t—still—twitching with the desire to grab hold of him.
“Eat,” Shixiong encourages after a moment, and Quan Yizhen obeys.
It’s good. It’s sweet. Quan Yizhen really likes sweet things, and the insides are filled with different fruits. Shixiong’s have red bean paste in them, which Quan Yizhen doesn’t like as much. He finishes much faster than Shixiong, and idly kicks his heels against the legs of the stool as he waits. Shixiong puts a hand on his knee, out of sight beneath the counter, and Quan Yizhen’s feels the heat of him like they’re wearing nothing at all. He keeps coming back to that thought of their bodies tangled together, drawn towards it with helpless inevitability, and if he fights, it’s to fall faster, fall deeper, fall more permanently.
“Shixiong, I’m glad I’m here with you.”
Shixiong coughs politely as the lion-masked ghost leans in. “I…me—me too.”
Quan Yizhen puts his hand on top of Shixiong’s, pressing their fingers down against his thigh. He thinks about nothing in particular as he watches Shixiong finish. Shixiong tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. He answers a question from the lion-masked ghost. His spine is relaxed, like after a sparring match he’s won. His fingers start tracing little circles on Quan Yizhen’s thigh until Quan Yizhen is ready to leap to his feet and make Shixiong upset by dragging him off to some dark corner.
Even now, sometimes he’s not sure how they ended up like this. Shixiong was so—so mad at him. And Shixiong tells him sometimes that he still is, that it’s complicated, but that he loves Quan Yizhen anyways. Somehow, it’s easier to focus on those thoughts than the way Shixiong seems to be unaware of what he’s doing to Quan Yizhen’s blood.
“Shixiong,” Quan Yizhen finally blurts as Shixiong pays for them.
“I know, the lanterns,” Shixiong promises, and Quan Yizhen blinks at him.
Only then does he realize that the ghosts are all filing gradually towards the center of the city, probably to get their lanterns. “Oh,” he says as Shixiong tugs him to his feet. “Right.”
He still truly wants to send a lantern up into the sky with Shixiong at his side as they once did in the sect, and that desire wins out above all else. He doesn’t know who or what answers the wishes of gods, but after a moment of deliberation he decides it doesn’t matter anyways. There’s no wish that Quan Yizhen can’t make come true for himself, and for Shixiong, because together they’re strong, and…and, Crimson Rain and his Highness, they’re strong too. Kind. Quan Yizhen trusts them more than anyone except Shixiong. They’d help Quan Yizhen fulfill Shixiong’s wish.
It’s strange, to go from being alone, to having someone to love.
Quan Yizhen likes it. It feels like a battle that will never end.
Shixiong guides them through the crowd, his presence once again parting the celebrating ghosts. The closer they get to the center of the Ghost City, the more lanterns there are, and they’re increasing elaborate. They don’t have time to decorate their own lanterns, but Shixiong allows Quan Yizhen to select pre-made ones. Quan Yizhen picks two that have lotuses on them, because they always remind him of Shixiong. When he hands one of them over to Shixiong, there’s an odd look on his face for a moment, before he shakes his head.
There’s a ghost so old and so small that she looks like she could fly up to the Heavens alongside all of the lanterns around her. She passes them two pieces of paper on which to scrawl their wishes, and a tiny bit of charcoal.
Shixiong leads them to a quiet corner. He neatly writes his own wish, and then passes the charcoal to Quan Yizhen. Tongue sticking out, Quan Yizhen tries to scribble his wish onto the paper, but he barely gets halfway through the characters before he runs out of room. He crumples the paper in his fist in a fit of rage and lets it fall. “I need to get another one. This is important.” Shixiong doesn’t have time to say anything before Quan Yizhen runs off, and demands a replacement from the old ghost.
By the time Quan Yizhen returns, however, Shixiong has smoothed out the paper. It’s in his hands, which are shaking. “What does this say?” he demands, and thrusts the paper in Quan Yizhen’s face.
Quan Yizhen’s handwriting isn’t pretty, like Shixiong’s. His Highness had once admitted the only reason he could read Quan Yizhen’s characters was because Crimson Rain’s writing was worse. Shixiong has had a lot of practice reading Quan Yizhen’s writing, though, and so Quan Yizhen doesn’t know why he can’t read it now.
“It’s not finished,” Quan Yizhen explains. “But it says ‘Give all my happiness and—’ but I couldn’t fit the rest of what I want to give or your name, Shixiong. So that’s why I had to get another.”
Shixiong takes the scrap of paper and holds it close, breathing rough. “Yizhen,” he begins, and then doesn’t continue. Quan Yizhen tilts his head, confused. “Yizhen, you can’t—you can’t do that, en?”
“Why not?”
“You just, you just can’t. It doesn’t work like that.”
“But why not?”
“It just doesn’t!”
Quan Yizhen glowers and crosses his arms. “Well, it’s going to this time, because I’m sending this lantern to myself, and I’m going to make sure my wish gets fulfilled. It’s the only thing I really really want so that’s what I’m wishing for. That’s what you said when we were training, Shixiong. You said that what I tie to the lantern should be the most important thing to me. Well the most important thing to me is you!”
Shixiong bows his head.
It’s defeat.
Quan Yizhen doesn’t like the look of defeat on Shixiong.
“What’s bad about wanting Shixiong’s happiness?” he asks, desperate. Shixiong used to ask him if he was happy, in their days at the sect. He’d said yes. He’d had fights and training and food and Shixiong. He hadn’t known what there was to be unhappy about.
And then Shixiong had been banished, and Quan Yizhen knew what it was, to be unhappy. He would never wish for Shixiong to be unhappy, but knows that he had made Shixiong unhappy, had hurt him. So this is the least Quan Yizhen can do.
“Yizhen.” Shixiong gestures, but Quan Yizhen doesn’t know what it’s supposed to mean. His eyes are squeezed shut and he touches his fingers to the mask. “Don’t,” Shixiong snaps before Quan Yizhen can grab him or protest. He doesn’t push it over his face, though. He just stands there, too still, like his soul is gone again, with Quan Yizhen’s wish clutched in his hand.
Quan Yizhen’s chest feels like the Emperor just put his fist through it. “Shixiong?” he whispers.
“You shouldn’t sacrifice your happiness for mine, Yizhen,” Shixiong says finally. “I don’t want that, either.”
Oh. Oh. No wonder Shixiong was being so insistent. Relieved, Quan Yizhen beams. “Oh, that’s not a problem. Shixiong, this will make me happy, too. And I’ll give that happiness to you, and then I’ll be happier, and then give that to you, too. See? Shixiong, my happiness isn’t going anywhere, so long as I’m with you.”
Quan Yizhen had somehow forgotten how fast Shixiong was. Shixiong has him pinned to the stone wall in a heartbeat, and his kiss is an attack. For once, Quan Yizhen has no intention of avoiding the hit, especially not when Shixiong shoves a thigh between Quan Yizhen’s legs. He moans, fighting to get free of Shixiong’s grip long enough to pull him closer. Then Shixiong can hold onto him as tight as he wants.
Shixiong won’t let him, though. Quan Yizhen rarely loses a fight but he cannot, not even for his life, break from Shixiong’s lips long enough to wriggle free. When Shixiong’s lips move down his jaw to his throat, Quan Yizhen rolls his hips against Shixiong’s thigh and moans.
And then Quan Yizhen is cold, and bereft, and off-balance. He blinks away the fog that fills his mind, and finds Shixiong braced against the opposite wall, panting. His lips are red and swollen, and the grey of his eyes is entirely swallowed by black.
“We can’t,” Shixiong rasps. “Not here.”
Quan Yizhen takes one step forward, than another, like he’s approaching prey that will bolt. When his fingers touch Shixiong’s cheek, then down his throat where his pulse races, Shixiong shudders and closes his eyes. Quan Yizhen is hard beneath his clothes, and he thinks Shixiong might be too.
He wants to find out for sure.
“Then where?”
“Paradise—Paradise Manor. Chengzhu, his Highness, they’re, they won’t be there. Shouldn’t be there. They’ll be at—Zhenzhen.”
That’s enough to make Quan Yizhen glance up from where he’s running his fingernail across the closure of Shixiong’s robes, against the delicate skin of his neck. “What, Shixiong?”
He doesn’t get an answer. Instead, Shixiong grabs his wrist and runs towards the far end of the alley. They plunge into the crowd, and ghosts all around them protest and howl and snarl their annoyance at being shoved aside until they realize who’s doing the shoving. Before long, the ghosts realize who’s trying to make his way through and start to part. Shixiong is light on his feet, graceful, elegant as the jade for which he’s named, and the pair of them dart through the spectators. Quan Yizhen gets the occasional glance from Shixiong over his shoulder as though trying to make sure Quan Yizhen hasn’t gotten lost despite the fact that his fingers are still tight around Quan Yizhen’s arm. The lanterns are painting everything in golden light, including Shixiong’s features.
Then, finally, they burst free of the crowd.
Shixiong doesn’t slow, though. If anything, he moves faster, and Quan Yizhen matches his pace. There’s a smile on Quan Yizhen’s face.
He’s happy. How could he not be?
Paradise Manor looms large, and Quan Yizhen’s skin itches. He can see the jade crescent of Shixiong’s ear, dark hair blown back by the wind. Shixiong leads them to a side door, releasing Quan Yizhen’s arm, and suddenly that’s too much distance.
This time, it’s Shixiong being slammed against the wall. Quan Yizhen hungrily kisses him, deeper, hotter, sharper. The hunger sweeps over him, as acute as it had been in his childhood. Shixiong blindly tries to open the door with one hand, but he’s distracted with the way Quan Yizhen keeps grinding their bodies together, tongues slick and sweet between them.
Shixiong tries to say something once, Quan Yizhen thinks. But the words vanish as Quan Yizhen’s fingers squeeze Shixiong’s ass, hips rolling in frantic rhythm. Shixiong grunts against him. Giddily, Quan Yizhen realizes that Shixiong is hard too, and he keeps thrusting against Quan Yizhen like they’re fucking. But they’re not. They’re on the street, touching. Shixiong normally doesn’t like to kiss on the streets, where they might be seen. This is a lot more than kissing.
But then Shixiong pulls the ribbon out of his hair, fingers buried in the curls, twisting just hard enough to hurt, and Quan Yizhen thinks of nothing but Shixiong, Shixiong, Shixiong. He uses the grip on Quan Yizhen’s hair to force Quan Yizhen’s lips to meet his again. Only then does Quan Yizhen realize he’d been leaving scarlet marks all across Shixiong’s throat, down to his collar. He’s quivering, or maybe Shixiong is.
Quan Yizhen hopes he keeps them. Hopes he’ll choose to wear a high collar instead of healing them. Hopes that Quan Yizhen will be permitted to stay close, to touch them when Shixiong permits it, those lovely bruises.
Quan Yizhen’s toes curl as Shixiong’s arm wraps around his waist, the pair of them rutting shamelessly.
“Shi—Shixiong,” Quan Yizhen stammers, tearing his mouth away. Their bodies keep rutting, and Shixiong presses his face against Quan Yizhen’s neck.
He doesn’t think he’s going to be able to contain himself until they’re inside. He’s so hard, and Shixiong smells like salt and pine, different than the old days but so good. So good. His cock is twitching in his pants, the cloth of his undergarments almost rough compared to the sensitivity of his skin. He can’t stop though. Won’t stop. Not while Shixiong keeps moaning, hips still jerking like he’s fucking Quan Yizhen.
Quan Yizhen wants it. Needs to feel Shixiong. Later, after this, inside. He wants Shixiong to open him up. But he needs this now. The happiness is bubbling in his lungs and emerges as laughter. It’s bright, and too loud, and Shixiong would probably normally scold him but instead he’s panting, “Zhenzhen, I’m close, are you close?”
“Yes, please, please, Shixiong!”
Shixiong’s hand twists even harder in Quan Yizhen’s hair. Pain blazes, bright and hot in Quan Yizhen’s veins as Shixiong shoves a thigh between Quan Yizhen’s legs despite the fact that he’s the one trapped against the wall. Quan Yizhen fights against the grip, tears pricking at his eyes as he palms Shixiong’s ass again and pinches his nipples through his robes.
There’s a startled, raw noise, and Shixiong comes.
Even though Quan Yizhen is so close he’s shaking, he has to slow so he can savor Shixiong’s pleasure with all of his senses. Shixiong grinds against him, hips jerking, lashes fluttering against Quan Yizhen’s neck as he sighs, “Zhenzhen.” His hold on Quan Yizhen’s hair eases, and his mouth brushes against Quan Yizhen’s. He tastes soft and sweet.
Quan Yizhen whimpers. It’s too much. “Shixiong,” he gasps, panicked, but it’s alright. Shixiong knows what to do, because he always knows what to do.
Shixiong tugs him close, pressing his hip against Quan Yizhen’s hardness before guiding him towards coming, fingers tightening in his hair, mouth sharp on Quan Yizhen’s throat, relentless. The pleasure coils all around him, unyielding, and then snaps free.
Quan Yizhen can’t breathe as he comes in long pulses and then sags against Shixiong, pleasure muddling his brain.
Slowly, they crumple, their hot skin cooled by the pounded earth, entwined. Shixiong glances at the door and suddenly laughs. It’s open.
Quan Yizhen doesn’t care. He’d choose this anyways.
“Oh,” Shixiong exclaims suddenly. “Zhenzhen, look! Oh no!” He points to the sky, where thousands of lanterns are slowly rising, illuminating the Ghost City as though it’s dawn. “We missed it… I’m sorry, Yizhen.”
“Why?” Quan Yizhen asks, brow furrowed.
“You didn’t…” Shixiong flushes, and glances away. “You didn’t get to send up your lantern.”
“Oh, that,” Quan Yizhen says dismissively, and wraps himself around Shixiong again. “It doesn’t matter. I’m a god, aren’t I? I heard my wish, and I’ll answer my prayer. I’ll make you happy, Shixiong. I swear.”
They watch the lanterns in silence. Then Shixiong swallows. “Then you’ll have to stay, Yizhen. If you want me to be happy, you have to stay. Promise?”
Quan Yizhen’s heart is brighter than all of the lanterns in the sky. “Promise!”