Poikilothermic

by FreeTheSoul

Summary:

Dan Feng, exhausted by his duties, makes a habit out of secretly napping in Yingxing’s forge.

Things inevitably escalate.

Notes:

This fic is based on an idea my darling Brim gave me a while ago, and then I decided to go crazy.
Thank you, Brim, for dealing with my insanity while I worked on this, and for being my beta read.

The first time had been an accident. 

The presence of the Xianzhou Luofu’s High Elder in Yingxing’s forge was not altogether uncommon. It was the easiest place to find the blacksmith whenever there were matters to discuss, or if he was late to one of their rendezvous because he had inevitably been swept up in his projects, or—

“Did you just come here to watch me work?” Yingxing asks, tone light and teasing as he busies himself with shaping a piece of metal. 

“Something like that,” Dan Feng replies. 

Yingxing hums, the sound deep and pleasing. Several minutes pass in companionable silence while he focuses on his work, and when he has the opportunity to take a break he sweeps a hand through the hair sticking to his sweat-slicked face and glances over at Dan Feng. 

The man is seated comfortably a few meters away in an old chair pulled from Yingxing’s workbench, his long tail draped over his lap. It twitches when the two of them make eye contact, and a moment later loops itself lazily around one of the chair legs as Dan Feng leans forward with a faint smile. 

Their relationship is good, Yingxing thinks. Better than most can claim, given that if looks could kill, the ice-cold and arrogant gaze of the Imbibitor Lunae would probably have more casualties within the Xianzhou Alliance than Lan’s stray arrows. 

He smiles to himself, slightly humored by the fact that those same cold eyes are now trained on him as if he’s the only interesting thing in the Xianzhou Luofu. 

“You’ve truly nothing better to do?” Yingxing asks, if only to make conversation. “It’s been weeks since the last commission for anything unique came in. I can’t imagine this is very engaging.”

Dan Feng arches an eyebrow, his lip curling at the obvious bait.

“I can’t come watch the Luofu’s most talented blacksmith at work? You’re just fishing for compliments,” he sighs, without any real bite to it. “I’ve already told you plenty of times that I enjoy watching you craft — your skill is fascinating, even if the project is nothing novel.”

Yingxing bows his head at the praise, allowing himself to feel smug about it. Dan Feng is not the type of man to give undeserved compliments, much less sweet-talk so boldly.

“Besides,” Dan Feng continues tiredly. “It’s a nice escape. An hour or two, if I’m lucky, without one of the Preceptors chasing after me with things to do. They can guess where I am, I’m sure, but it forces them to weigh if what they’re bothering me with is worth interrupting time spent with a dear friend. Their precious High Elder in an unpleasant mood is something they are keen to avoid whenever possible.”

Yingxing nods at the explanation. He had long since pieced together that this was Dan Feng’s intent, though he had never openly admitted it like this. He wondered now if the uptick in skirmishes lately had meant more was demanded of the High Elder, and the exhaustion was beginning to take a toll on him.

He busies himself by tying his hair back into a tight bun, trying to sound casual. “Well. I’m no more fond of them than you are, and your company is always a delight. Stay as long as you’d like, and visit as often as you want — even if it’s just to watch.”

His cheeks warm, feeling more than a little embarrassed by the words now that they’ve left his tongue. He turns back to his forge rather than be forced to look at Dan Feng’s face after that, and focuses on his work.

 

—————

 

An hour passes, and then two, and then Yingxing loses track of time entirely. 

Their conversation had been steady at first, but it was obvious from his responses that Dan Feng was tired, and Yingxing had graciously let it taper into silence. He did not particularly mind; as much as he loved Dan Feng’s keen mind and sharp tongue, he preferred to focus when he was working.

Finished for the evening, Yingxing sets down his tools, turns around to fetch a pair of dry clothing, and nearly startles when he remembers that his company had never left. 

Dan Feng is still sitting in the old wooden chair, arms crossed and head slumped into his chest. His tail is twined around his body like a poor excuse for a blanket, and his eyes are closed — he’s clearly resting, and must have been for a while. Yingxing freezes and blinks owlishly; he’s never seen Dan Feng asleep before. 

It is with exceptional stealth that he approaches, practically holding his own breath so he doesn’t wake him and ruin the moment. He peers carefully at his face: his handsome features are more relaxed in his sleep, but his mouth is twisted into a frown even as he dreams. Most striking, however, is that there is a pallor about him. The vibrancy that inhabits every corner of Yingxing’s memories has been stifled under a heavy layer of exhaustion. There are faint bags under his eyes, and Yingxing wonders why this is the first time he’s noticed all of this. He remembers what Dan Feng had said earlier about needing an escape, and suddenly feels a peculiar tightness in his chest.

Yingxing reaches out and cautiously puts a hand on Dan Feng’s shoulder. His skin has always been cool to the touch, a curious Vidyadharan trait he is familiar with, and a shiver runs down Yingxing’s body.

“Dan Feng?”

Dan Feng jolts awake at the sound of his name, and Yingxing pulls back his hand as if he had been scalded. His eyes cast around his surroundings in confusion and alarm, but when he realizes where he is and that the two of them are alone, he visibly relaxes back into the chair.

“...Oh,” he says, voice rough from sleep.

“You fell asleep,” Yingxing says, and then wants to kick himself for it when Dan Feng gives him a flat look that says yes, obviously. “I don’t mind, but— is everything alright?”

Dan Feng stifles a yawn before he replies. “Yes… I apologize for dozing off. Matters have been stressful, lately, while your workshop is pleasantly warm, and the sound of you at work is a familiar comfort.” He stops himself and clears his throat, looking a little embarrassed. “How long was I asleep for?”

Yingxing casts a quick glance out the window— the exterior is dark and unhelpful. “A few hours, at least. No one ever came looking for you, and I’ve only just finished for the night. It seems you got your escape after all.” He smiles, not unkindly. 

“Is that so,” Dan Feng murmurs. He stands up and stretches, his long tail unfurling behind him. “All things considered, it was pleasant. Certainly much more comfortable than the chill of the palace. Thank you for letting me sleep, and I hope I won’t repeat the discourtesy.”

Yingxing shakes his head. “No, no, like I said, I really don’t mind.” 

His mind lingers on Dan Feng’s comments that he had slept better in the heat compared to his usual chambers, and it dawns on him that his naturally low body temperature might not make him dissimilar from a cold-blooded animal. Associating the Vidyadharan High Elder with a common lizard was the sort of endearing, inappropriate thing that Yingxing would usually tease him about, but right now it only gave him a flash of inspiration.

“If I may speak freely,” Yingxing hedges. Usually he would not hesitate around Dan Feng in private context, but he knew the other man was already embarrassed, and the comment on the tip of his tongue was toeing the line of being downright blasphemous. 

Dan Feng tilts his head, silently granting permission. 

“Is it possible…” He starts, choosing his words carefully. He briefly considers backing out, but then he remembers how tired the other man had looked even while unconscious. “...That your cold— Um,” he swiftly corrects, “ Low body temperature means you sleep better in warm places?”

Dan Feng narrows his eyes — he knows Yingxing well enough that he’s definitely guessed the connection he made in his head, and is probably waiting for the other shoe to drop. Yingxing shivers, knowing from his glare that there is no god that could save him if he made a joke about it. Still, Dan Feng answers honestly:

“Yes. Even among the Vidyadhara, I am somewhat of a unique case thanks to my affinity for water. When I was young, the Pearlkeepers would have to make sure I didn’t fall asleep in the hot springs. I passed out and suffered heat stroke more than once, which was how we found out, after they ruled out simple childhood foolishness.”

Yingxing nods, and ignores the stupid part of him that screams cute! at the confession. In the back of his mind, he makes a note to invite Dan Feng to a hot spring sometime.

Having his theory confirmed encourages him to continue boldly:

“In that case, why not sleep in my forge when you need a break? I don’t mind, truly. Everyone is less likely to bother you when you’re here, and if you’re tucked away somewhere they’ll all have to take my word when I say that I haven’t seen you.”

The offer obviously surprises Dan Feng, and it takes him a moment to school his expression. “I…”

Yingxing twists his lip; he can already hear the modest refusal from that single word, and his frustration bubbles to the surface. “Dan Feng, you look exhausted. I can’t imagine how much they’ve saddled you with since redoubling the war efforts. The Counsel might not care or even notice that they’re running you into the ground, but I do. Forget being the High Elder, or the Imbibitor Lunae, or any other pretentious titles they give you. I am asking you as nothing more than my friend.”

When he finishes, he realizes that Dan Feng is openly staring at him. The expression on his face is indecipherable, and one he’s never seen before. It makes something itch with nervous energy under Yingxing’s skin, and — unable to hold the boiling intensity of the stare — he casts his gaze elsewhere in the room.

“I’m not asking you to come here every night. People would make— assumptions, and, you know,” he finishes lamely, waving a hand as if to dispel the thought. “Just… When you need it. My doors are always open for you. I just want to help you, and it would make me happy to know that I can.”

A wordless moment passes. When Yingxing looks at Dan Feng again, the odd expression from before is gone, replaced by a warm smile.

“Given your strong feelings, it would be rude of me to decline. I still hope that I won’t need it, but that thought seems wistful lately.”

Dan Feng bows graciously.

“Thank you, Yingxing. Truly.”

 

—————

 

The workshop doubled as Yingxing’s home, but that had been an afterthought. Amenities had been built as attachments, designed to fulfill the bare minimums and little more. The upstairs, where Yingxing slept and ate, was a single room that had been carved out of the attic. It was comfortable, but not particularly spacious, and certainly not meant to host guests.

Critically, this meant that he didn’t actually have anywhere to put Dan Feng unless he wanted to offer up his own bed, and the thought was so mortifying that he dashed it immediately and violently.

So, when Dan Feng appeared on his doorstep, looking so worn down that his intent was obvious even if he was too proud to admit it, Yingxing could only sheepishly offer the same worn-out chair and marginally-less-messy desk. Of course, Yingxing very clearly recalled boldly promising something along the lines of Dan Feng being out of sight, and now the back of his neck burned with embarrassment. He would not apologize for the state of his home, and knew that Dan Feng would not appreciate it from him, but the temptation was heavy on his tongue. 

Despite this, Dan Feng expressed no surprise; he had probably made the same realization and already came to terms with it. He was intimately familiar with the state of Yingxing’s home, not in the least because Dan Feng made a frequent habit of insisting that the Luofu’s coffers were open to provide anything he could ever want. It was an enduring argument of theirs, and Yingxing would always deflect by accusing him of playing favorites. Now was the first time Yingxing had ever thought that he should have yielded even an inch of his mulish pride. 

Dan Feng was as full of grace and gratitude as ever regardless of the accommodations offered. Despite a respectable effort to hold a conversation with Yingxing while he worked, he nodded off even faster than the first time. Yingxing was neither surprised nor offended by the way Dan Feng was clearly trying to avoid openly acknowledging their arrangement: Yingxing was confident that, even if you were to strip away every other part of him, the man was just naturally a stubborn bastard. 

The inevitable didn’t take long. When a wizened Vidyadhara came knocking, there was no hiding the High Elder dozing in plain sight. Dan Feng’s expression had been positively glacial as he was hurried back across the Luofu for something-or-other of alleged importance, and Yingxing had watched through a window until long after his back had disappeared from view. 

So, there was a small problem. But Yingxing was an innovator — fixing problems was what he did.

 

—————

 

The solution came to him several days later, in the form of a large delivery of miscellaneous supplies. The crates were piled tall and menacing in a corner of his workshop, and organizing the product was a daunting task that Yingxing avoided until he couldn’t. It was another week until he dropped his best pencil and stood there helplessly as it rolled between the crates, retrieval hopeless and condemned to its fate to rot forgotten for another half year until the crates were moved. It was another night until an epiphany struck. 

The next morning, Yingxing gets to work.

When Dan Feng visits later in the week, he’s barely through the door before he stops in his tracks, eyeing Yingxing with suspicion.

“What’s wrong?” Yingxing asks innocently.

Dan Feng crosses his arms as if guarding himself. “You only get that look on your face when you want to show off a new creation that you’re proud of. What is it?”

Yingxing barks out a sudden, delighted laugh. “I suppose you’re not far from the truth, though calling it a creation would diminish my actual accomplishments. Come, come,” he gestures, already leading the way to the back of his forge.

Dan Feng puts on a show of heaving a long-suffering sigh, but he follows along dutifully. When they come to a stop a short distance away in front of an ordinary-looking collection of stacked boxes, he eyes them with the wariness of someone who expects them to come alive. 

“...What is it?” He asks. 

“Ah-ha," Yingxing replies, a shit-eating grin on his face. He crosses his arms and closes his eyes, if only to maintain the affected arrogance in the face of Dan Feng’s murderous gaze. “Something that has even the immaculately skilled and perceptive High Elder at a loss. Yes?”  

Dan Feng sighs but plays along. “Yes.”

“And—”

“Yingxing, just tell me what it is already.”

Yingxing sputters out a laugh. “Fine, fine. You’re no fun, you know.”

Dan Feng has the decency to look a little guilty. “Maybe if you didn’t do this every time,” he mutters sulkily. 

Yingxing just beams at him as if he hadn’t heard him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him along to the side of the stack. Near the wall, hidden by shadows, is a small gap slightly taller than him and only so wide that he has to turn sideways to enter. Dan Feng arches an eyebrow but allows himself to be pulled through behind him.

The interior is dark. In a practiced motion, Yingxing flicks on a lantern propped on a nearby crate. Warm light spills out and reveals a hollow space, walled in by the crates. On the floor, taking up much of the free space, is an expensive futon and blankets to match.

“...It’s not much,” Yingxing admits quietly, showing no traces of his earlier bravado. He fiddles with his hairpin. “I promised you a space no one would find you, though. And… um, well…”

He feels a bit stupid. He’s seen Dan Feng’s living quarters before, opulent and sprawling and empty. What he’s offering here is a pitiful, cramped hovel that’s the furthest thing from luxury. Only now does it occur to him that Dan Feng might take it as an insult. 

Dan Feng is silent beside him for long enough that Yingxing’s brain can run rapid-fire through every possible reaction, all of them bad. 

“Yingxing,” Dan Feng says at length. His voice sounds strained. “What is this?”

Yingxing briefly considers the merits of dropping dead right there. 

“It’s… for you,” he admits. He forces himself to finally look down at the other man’s face, but the expression is unreadable. “For when you need to rest. I hope you don’t mind.” 

“It’s for me,” Dan Feng echoes thoughtfully. His lips slowly curve into a pleased smile, and he meets Yingxing’s concerned gaze with bright eyes. “It’s not like you to be so shy,” he continues coyly. “I asked for nothing, and you’ve gifted me something wonderful: a secret that only you and I share.”  

The reassurance melts Yingxing’s anxiety, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to return the smile.

“Why not praise me after you try it?”

“I may as well,” Dan Feng muses. “It’s why I came here, after all.”  

“And,” he continues, hesitating, “If anyone should come looking for me…”

Yingxing straightens his back, assumes a solemn expression, and begins to recite dutifully: “I only saw him once this afternoon, when he passed by briefly. He told me he was busy but didn’t give me any details.” 

He breaks into a cocky grin the moment he’s done speaking, and Dan Feng huffs. Yingxing loves that sound; it’s what he always does when he wants to laugh but doesn’t want to give Yingxing the satisfaction of hearing it. 

“Please, never become an actor. You sound like I’ve threatened you.” 

“I thought it was good!” Yingxing protests, laughing. 

“Mmm,” Dan Feng hums, refusing to even entertain the thought. A rare, playful smile pulls at his lips. He looks over to the futon again, and his expression softens.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. 

“It’s really not much,” Yingxing says again. It was a bit of a lie: the back pain from all that lifting was going to linger something fierce. Still, Dan Feng’s praise seemed heavy-handed for something so simple, and it made him feel both undeserving and a little silly. 

“Oh, now you’ll be humble? Please.” Dan Feng frowns, looking terribly sulky. He schools his expression and assumes the diplomatic tone of a Flagship leader: “You have done me a service out of the goodness of your heart. I extend the appreciation of not only myself, but of the entire Xianzhou Luofu. We are in your debt, and will gladly go to any length to repay it.”

“...There,” he sighs, ducking his head to rub his forehead with his hand. “No one ever says no to that one.” 

He peers up at Yingxing from under his sleeve, and when he sees the dumbstruck expression on his face, he snorts— then drops his hand and lets out a peal of sharp, unrestrained laughter. 

Yingxing stares.

Affection crushes him, sudden and overwhelming. All at once it constricts his chest and liberates his heart. He feels like he’s taken a step too far into the ocean, abandoning the safety of the coast only to be swept up by a relentless undercurrent, and now he is drowning, drowning, drowning with no hope of rescue. 

His brain is still lagging when Dan Feng good-humouredly shoos him away to go warm the forge. He complies wordlessly, distracted for the rest of the night; the pleasant echo of Dan Feng’s laughter rings in his ears for longer than he would like to admit.

He feels like someone has ripped back a curtain to reveal a terrible, terrible truth—

—Has he always been in love? 

 

—————

 

Out of necessity, Yingxing gets better at lying. Every visitor asking after the missing High Elder is met with the same retinue of excuses and a forlorn, apologetic smile that comes almost a little too naturally. Eventually, the palace attendants seem to unanimously decide that he is largely useless, and steer clear of his forge except for when they are truly desperate.

He did feel guilty keeping a secret from Jingliu and Jing Yuan, made worse by their reactions to the claim that Yingxing was somehow uninvolved in Dan Feng’s peculiar disappearances: the former silently stared him down for a solid ten seconds, and the latter gave him a too-polite smile and left without further comment. He didn’t even bother trying to hide it from Baiheng, who had grinned knowingly and proudly clapped him on the back a few times before demanding he treat her to dinner to keep her lips sealed. 

Dan Feng’s visits quickly become a steady constant, though only as often as once or twice every week to avoid raising suspicion. Sometimes, he arrives at noon and only stays an hour before rushing off. Sometimes, he sleeps an entire evening, emerging to lounge on Yingxing’s furniture and chat until the early hours of the morning. 

The only thing that manages to break this arrangement is, inevitably, the war and its many demands. 

“Miss me?” Yingxing teases, once, when Dan Feng visits nearly every day for a week after returning from a grueling four-month campaign.

He plays it off as a joke, a mask to hide the way his heart now feels incomplete when they’re apart. But Dan Feng goes silent for a long while, considering the question seriously, and answers without an ounce of hesitation:

“For the first time, I was eager to come home.”

Yingxing doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing at all.

 

—————

 

Once, Dan Feng appears on his doorstep in such a hurry that the door is shut behind him before Yingxing has time to register that he has a visitor. His hair is strewn messily around his face as if he’d run the entire way here from the palace; he looks as close to “disheveled” as a divine creature like the High Elder is probably capable of being.

Yingxing gawks at him, but Dan Feng presses a finger to his lips in a shushing motion before he can ask what this is about. He shuts his mouth and nods, eyeing the door as Dan Feng presses himself against the wall.

It’s only once several minutes pass in silence that Dan Feng relaxes.

“I suppose no one saw me. My apologies for the sudden intrusion.”

Now that Yingxing has a chance to look at him, he realizes that Dan Feng is dressed in what looks to be ceremonial attire: an elaborate, dark hanfu that just barely strikes the balance of being flattering on his lithe form without overwhelming him in its endless silk. 

He stares at the other man, eyebrows raised. He has a dozen questions, but the most pressing one spills from his lips first:

“What’s with the outfit?”

Dan Feng falters, glancing at himself, then brings a hand up to rub the side of his face. 

“Rehearsal, for a sealing ritual in the Scalegorge Waterscape. Again." He moans. “I have been performing this rite since I was old enough to recite the words, and still the attendants lose their heads and act like I’m a newborn hatchling. A dozen rehearsals, each lasting hours. They’ve barely let me sleep. As if I would forget how to execute the most important ceremony of the decade!”

Yingxing can’t help but loudly laugh at his petulant attitude, artfully ignoring the sour glare Dan Feng tries to spear him with. 

“So you ran away?” 

“Yes,” Dan Feng snaps. “The maids left to go fetch makeup after they got me dressed, and I took the opportunity to tell one of the guards that I was needed urgently — and confidentially — on the other end of the Luofu.”

Yingxing only laughs harder.

He gets halfway through a joke about the High Elder playing truant like a naughty teenager before Dan Feng’s tail hits him across the waist in a full-body smack, which both smarts and nearly topples him over. The intended message rings loud and clear, and Yingxing promptly shuts up. He bows his head in a not-entirely-honest show of deference as Dan Feng sighs, weaves gracefully through the messy workshop, and does not look back once. 

Yingxing pulls his gaze up in time to catch the last wisp of flowing cloth before it disappears into the Vidyadhara’s shadowy nest. His lips curve with delight and satisfaction both; he has never been the type to diminish his accomplishments, and he feels very much accomplished over the haughty and frigid Imbibitor Lunae choosing his forge as a secret hideaway.

Humming tunelessly, he refocuses his attention on the weapons commission he had been toiling over before the interruption.

 

—————

 

The sky is beginning to lighten by the time the forge is cooling and Yingxing feels satisfied enough by his progress to stop for the day. Immediately he heads to one of the windows and forces it open, leaning his aching body across the sill as he takes in lungfuls of the crisp dawn air. He needs to dunk himself in one of the bathing pools, badly, and peels himself away from the window before he can succumb to the temptation of just passing out right there.

He grabs a clean shirt from where it had been thrown haphazardly on his workbench and changes into it as he crosses towards the back exit of his forge. He is halfway out the door when he suddenly remembers something, coming to an abrupt stop and turning on his heel to cast his tired eyes across the empty workshop.

Oh, right, he thinks. Usually Dan Feng would steal out the back in the middle of the night, but never without at least some sort of thanks and farewell. Is he still here?

It was getting dangerously close to morning — the maids would surely throw a fit if the High Elder was still missing the next day after pulling his little disappearing act. Yingxing takes slightly more care in muffling his steps as he walks back down the hall and stops right outside the stack of crates where Dan Feng had disappeared last night.

“Dan Feng?” He calls softly. 

After a long minute of silence, Yingxing steels himself and slips through the small gap between the boxes.

It takes a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He had stacked the boxes deliberately to block as much light as possible, but he’d done the job almost too well: without the keen eyesight of a Vidyadhara he may as well be fumbling around blind. 

Mercifully, the small space was faintly illuminated by the ethereal glow of Dan Feng’s horns. The light was weak, but it was enough to pick out shapes and vague features amongst the heavy shadows.

Dan Feng had always been very particular about leaving the bedding folded in neat stacks every time he left, so Yingxing had never actually seen the way Dan Feng kept his bed. Now that he had, he understood why Dan Feng had been so private.

The space could pass for a beast’s den, the futon hidden under layers of blankets arranged around the body nestled in their center. Dan Feng was asleep curled on his side, tail looped around him and being used as a makeshift pillow. Yingxing was suddenly struck by a vivid memory of the way the Vidyadhara slept in their eggs. 

At the sight, Yingxing feels something treacherous slip between his ribs and squeeze his heart. He stares for several long moments, desperate to imprint the memory on his soul, and then Dan Feng shifts in his sleep and the moment shatters. Yingxing is abruptly, uncomfortably aware that he is an intruder in this scene, feeling very much like a filthy dog. He clears his throat and tries again:

“Dan Feng.”

Mercifully, this time it manages to wake him. He is still curled around himself when his eyes slide open, sharp irises reflecting the meager light as he makes eye contact with Yingxing. The realization that he is not alone sparks something in his gaze, urging him to make himself presentable. Dan Feng’s body unfurls like a flower from his sleeping pose, every inch of him radiating an untouchable elegance even now. When he yawns, Yingxing catches a glimpse of sharp canines before Dan Feng can bring a hand up to hide them. 

He raises his upper body into a pose that is half-sitting, half-lounging, all those layers of silk fanning out around him like a shallow pool. There is an arrogance to it: Dan Feng manages to pull off looking down at Yingxing even when his neck is craning upwards.

It is, regrettably, more than a little arousing.

When Yingxing shakes himself out of his thoughts, he realizes that Dan Feng is silently watching him. He doesn’t look offended or angry, but Yingxing cannot identify the expression on his face. If he had to make his closest guess, it would be of a snake sizing up dangerous prey: cold, calculating interest. It leaves him paralyzed, an apology trapped in his throat and suffocating him.

Dan Feng breaks the silence first:

“You look terrible,” is the first thing that escapes his lips. He wrinkles his nose. “And you smell like you need a bath.”

It is so abrupt, so undignified, so rude that Yingxing forgets his apprehension and laughs, clear and bright, his heart soaring.

It takes him a moment to collect himself, and when he looks back down at Dan Feng the expression that now greets him seems dangerously close to fondness. He quickly pushes down the thought.

“I have been working hard for the sake of the Xianzhou Luofu, esteemed High Elder,” he says, amusement dancing in his voice and on his lips. “Unlike a certain someone…?”

Dan Feng makes a scoffing sound, gently smacking his tail against Yingxing’s leg a few times in a half-hearted reprimand. 

“Your esteemed High Elder was taking a much-needed nap, else he might pass out from exhaustion in the middle of the sealing ritual and doom the Xianzhou.”

Yingxing grins. “Well, I suppose that might be as important as what I do.”

Dan Feng lets out a small laugh, then moves to finally get up. Yingxing gracefully helps the other man stand up, wishing him well as he slinks away before the entire Luofu can wake up.

He tries not to think about the way Dan Feng had looked at him when he was drowsy, and tries even harder not to listen to that treacherous creature wrapped around his heart that tells him he would rather like to wake up to that view every day.

 

—————

 

Though it hit the High Elder the hardest, the strain of the never-ending war was not lost on the Luofu’s premier blacksmith.

Personal projects were shoved in a dusty corner and left untouched for months at a time. Each new commission that came in from the Xianzhou government was something more brutal, more precise, always with higher stakes and less time. In between commissions, when hands were short and resources were low, Yingxing crafted weapons for the army. Common swords, spears, glaives, bows, and catalysts, all sturdy and of exceptional quality, but mass-produced and without passion. He had never been under any illusions: he had known that this job would not always be easy or satisfying, but it weighed on him. This work was grueling, even when he took on only what he could handle alone. His workshop has no disciples, no other smiths aside from him. He declines every bright-eyed and bushy-tailed applicant that comes knocking, directing them to a different workshop where he knows they will flourish under the tutelage of a long-lived artisan.

He does not have the time, the energy, to teach.

Once, Dan Feng comments that he thinks it’s a great pity. He is deep in his cups, speech uninhibited and laced with venom. The war is a waste of life, a waste of time, and a waste of talent — especially the talents of a man who does not have the time to waste. He spits out the last part as if it’s what angers him the most. 

When he heard this, Yingxing had stared at his wine and said nothing. He has tried to convince himself that he is grateful to flourish and be recognized in the Xianzhou Alliance at all, no matter the context. Deep down, he cannot help but agree. Deep down, he had been waiting for someone else to say it for him so that he could admit it to himself.

The war leaves him tired.

Still, he works, and works, and works. He works himself to the bone, and then he works more. He wants this war to end, and he knows that every blade and each machine he crafts is one step closer to that goal. He has not forgotten the tragedy that started him on this path.

Privately, he motivates himself with the knowledge that every day he is in his forge is one where Dan Feng might secretly come visit.

Even still, there are days where he accomplishes nothing at all. He sleeps through the morning, unconscious until the late afternoon. He knows that the day is a write-off from the moment he wakes feeling sluggish and useless; he knows that days dedicated to resting are important, but it doesn’t make him feel like any less of a failure. He still tries to accomplish something, slouching over his workbench with blueprints spread around him and ink leaving marks on his palms, but everything he attempts ends in frustration.

A waste of time, Dan Feng’s voice echoes viciously in his ears.

Eventually, he gives up. Yingxing rests his head on his arms, staring up at the moon through a gap in the window.

He wonders what Dan Feng is doing right now. If he’s busy entertaining some guest, or strategizing war tactics, or sifting through endless paperwork. He hopes he hadn’t been planning to visit tonight only to be disappointed by a cold forge.

When he finally closes his eyes, he slips into a deep and dreamless sleep.

 

—————

 

The feeling of being jostled rouses Yingxing, but only barely. His senses are so muddled by exhaustion that the experience is distant and dreamlike: there is a sudden, but secure, weightlessness, and then the feeling of being gently laid down on something soft - a bed, his mind supplies helpfully. He can feel the futon dip at his side where there is something heavy on it.

He feels someone brushing his hair away from his face, tucking the loose strands behind one of his ears. There is a moment of nothing, where he almost wonders if he fell asleep again, and then he is vaguely aware of something cool and soft gently pressing against his forehead for a lingering moment. When it pulls away, the bed creaks with lost weight as the person gets up to leave. He makes a disappointed sound, an incoherent attempt at asking them to stay, but unconsciousness sweeps over him before he can tell if they heard him.

He sleeps terribly after that.

His dreams are at once hot and cold, drowning and intoxicating him in equal measures. He is pinned down by steady hands, desperate hands, a naked body shifting erotically on top of his own bare skin. He is struck boneless by the pleasant pain of long nails digging into his skin, of sharp fangs biting his throat. His pulse flutters erratically under the touch of soft lips, and they explore every inch of him.

In the dream, he lets himself be devoured. 

Yingxing wakes up with a start, immediately discovering that he is tangled in his sweat-drenched sheets as if he had been fighting with them the entire night. He doesn’t need to look down to know he’s hard, and he collapses heavily back into his pillows with a frustrated groan. After a long moment of staring at the ceiling, he kicks his legs free of the bedding, and then continues staring at the ceiling uselessly.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself.

His heart is still thundering in his chest. His blood still feels like someone boiled him alive, coursing through him with so much violent unrest that it hurts.

It wasn’t hard to guess who the dream had been about, even if the memory of lust-blown emerald eyes hadn’t been crystal-clear in his mind. He’s not particularly surprised, either. Dan Feng is an unfairly attractive man, and affection was deep-rooted in Yingxing’s heart. He also wasn’t stupid, and he’d been well aware that with each personal sparring session, each private rendezvous, each moonlit drink together, he had been taking another step towards the edge of the cliff.

But.

Maybe he was stupid for convincing himself that he could handle the jump.

Dan Feng was as difficult and reclusive as he was talented and intelligent, and it had taken a lot of work to get in a position where he could earnestly say that they were friends — that they were close, even. Holding private feelings close to his chest was one thing, but having them explode into vivid dreams of passion was something else entirely. The last thing he wanted was to scare him off with his unwanted, unreciprocated feelings.

Yingxing lets out a long-suffering sigh. He had maintained a firm line on his emotions for so long, only to end up betraying himself.  

If it gets bad enough, at least the Xianzhou Alliance has plenty of brothels with handsome Vidyadhara in them, he thinks despairingly. They’ll be missing the tail, but he can make do.

 

—————

 

As his luck would have it, that same day was one where Dan Feng had previously invited him to come spar in the palatial courtyard. 

They hadn’t been at it for very long when—

“Stop.”

The order is crisp, clear, and irrefusable. Dan Feng’s tone carries the same weight as when he commands soldiers in the thick of war, and Yingxing is as loyal as they come: his sword is in its sheath immediately and without question. 

When he had been younger, this command promised that he was about to receive scathing criticism of his poor form. He has improved in leaps and bounds in the years since, making it a rare occurrence nowadays, but the association remains burnt into his mind.

When he looks across the yard, Dan Feng’s expression is harsh.

“What’s wrong, Yingxing? You look like you’re half-dead, not to mention the childish mistakes you’re making anytime you aren’t busy tripping over your own feet. I’m grateful on your behalf that no one else is here to watch this embarrassment.”

Yingxing tries not to wince; Dan Feng has never sugarcoated his critique. He’s long since learned not to let it bother him, knowing what he does now about the way the Preceptors raise their elders, but the words still sting in the moment. 

“The Quintet’s reputation would never recover,” he finishes drily. Yingxing snorts, and the icy atmosphere evaporates when the corner of Dan Feng’s lips curve in shared humor. Still— his eyes are stern, and he is expecting a serious response.

“I’m… just tired,” Yingxing excuses himself lamely. “And it’s making me lose my focus. I’m sorry for wasting your time today. I know how much you look forward to sparring with someone who can actually beat you.” 

It’s a non-answer, and a weak one at that. He feels a little bad for the lie, but it’s better than admitting that his mind wanders to hazy visions of firm hands and slender legs every time he looks at Dan Feng for too long. He had already let himself be disarmed once today, Dan Feng’s face inches away from his own while a speartip pressed against his heart and a hand wrapped around his neck, and it had scattered his thoughts so wildly that he was still trying to pick them up.

Dan Feng stares at him for a long moment, his pretty face marred by the way his brow is furrowed in confusion. His training spear dissipates into the air with an elegant swoop of his hand, and he paces forward as if he’s going to grab Yingxing and inspect his condition personally.

Instead, he starts speaking, voice low and warm: 

“You know that I’m happy to spend my free moments with you, regardless of how productive it actually is.”

The words are private and gentle, but they barely have a chance to settle before he sighs sharply.

“However, I do not appreciate being lied to. I know you actually slept last night — for once,” he adds, muttering. “If there is a problem, tell me. You short-lived species are delicate things, but the Xianzhou Luofu boasts peerless healers. If I find out too late that you’ve been hiding something, I— don’t know what I’ll do, but I will be angry.”  

From his tone, the words are obviously meant to carry a threat, but Yingxing knows too well that the Imbibitor Lunae would sooner swallow his tongue than admit uncertainty. His ears burn with guilt for making him worry over something so trivial. 

Of course, it must have been Dan Feng who’d carried him to bed last night. He’d suspected as much, but the quiet confession was still thrilling.

“Sorry,” Yingxing sighs.

Their eyes meet, and Dan Feng’s gaze is chilling. Maybe it really was a threat. He clears his throat.

“It’s not that serious— I just had awful dreams, and they’ve left me distracted. It would have been better if I hadn’t slept at all, to be honest.”

A frown twists Dan Feng’s mouth, the concern different but no less intense now that he knows it isn’t a matter of health. 

“I see. My condolences. Do you wish to talk about it…?”

Yingxing smiles, placatingly, but shakes his head. “I don’t recall much.” 

“A pity,” Dan Feng says, sounding like he knows he is being lied to. Still, this time he doesn’t push: “But nevermind. Please, tell me the next time something is bothering you like this.”

“Because you care about me?” Yingxing teases thickly.

Dan Feng rolls his eyes, at once immature and endearing. “Too much, it seems. No, because we could have been doing something more productive than this, like drinking.” 

“The evening is still young,” Yingxing says. “And I imagine it would help take my mind off of things.”

Dan Feng gives his assent by a pleased-sounding hum, his tail swishing eagerly behind him as he sets off in the direction of the moon-viewing platform the two of them are so fond of. Yingxing pauses behind him, amused as he watches the small flurry of golden leaves disturbed in his wake, before hurrying to catch up.

“Also,” Dan Feng calls out flatly, “Whether you can beat me is very different from whether you ever actually do.”

For a moment, Yingxing is confused by the non-sequitur before he remembers what he’d boasted earlier. He laughs abruptly at the pettiness of it, clapping a hand affectionately on the other man’s shoulder and keeping it there.

He misses the adoration that spreads pleasantly across Dan Feng’s features at the first sound of his laugh, allowing Yingxing to lean on him as he leads them out of the training grounds.

“But I did— once!”

“Yes. Once."

 

—————

 

In retrospect, Yingxing is not sure what possessed him to think that getting drunk around the unwitting subject of his wildest fantasies was a good idea. 

He is self-aware enough to try to be careful about how much he drinks, but still, he drinks. Being around Dan Feng does not help, given that Yingxing is likely to die of alcohol poisoning before Dan Feng feels more than pleasantly tipsy. 

“The moon is beautiful tonight,” he finds himself saying after consuming significantly too much wine. 

It was for the most part only something he’d said so that he had something to focus on that wasn’t Dan Feng, but it wasn’t a lie. Indeed, the moon is hung full and yellow in the sky, its pale light cast across the Luofu. The Flagship glimmers beneath them, the warmth of its many lanterns reaching up to meet the moonlight in a glorious marriage. 

Dan Feng hums his agreement beside him, and returns to savoring his drink. Inevitably, irresistibly, Yingxing finds his gaze drawn to him again.

The wine has left a pretty flush on his cheeks, and he is so radiant he nearly glows. Yingxing’s eyes trail across his fine features as they’re outlined in the moonlight, thinking that there is no angle where Dan Feng doesn’t look like a bonafide god. A thought strikes him, deep in his core, that if he were a particularly religious man, he would worship him for a thousand lifetimes. 

Dan Feng’s eyes slide over to look at him, vivid and piercing and gorgeous. He tilts his head slightly, lips curving in the beginning of curious amusement, and Yingxing realizes he probably has a stupid look on his face. 

“Something wrong?” 

He isn’t sure how long he’s been staring. He doesn’t want to look away.

He wants to say something charming. He wants to tell him how long he’s loved him.

He wants to lean in and kiss him.

He opens his mouth to let his desires tumble out in a clumsy confession—

—But Dan Feng looks like he’s realized something that makes him unhappy, and he cuts him off first.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink, Yingxing,” he says, very quietly. He reaches over and takes his cup from him, and when their fingers brush, Yingxing feels a slight tremor in his hands.

Yingxing doesn’t resist nor protest — he knows he’s probably right. His mind is still lingering on what he’d wanted to say, but the moment is gone now. He shakes away the thought and straightens his back, realizing that he had bent in towards Dan Feng at some point. 

“And what about you?” He teases.

He expects to be rebuked. In their usual script, Dan Feng would balk at the suggestion that his tolerance was as weak as a lightweight short-life, and then shotgun the rest of his cup out of spite. Instead, this time Dan Feng goes silent for a long while, and then sets his cup down next to the one he had taken from Yingxing.

“I probably have, too.”

 

—————

 

For several weeks after that, Yingxing barely sees Dan Feng. His impromptu visits grind to a halt, and any arrangements they make to meet in private are inevitably canceled when Dan Feng cites something urgent that he has to deal with. The most that they see each other is when Yingxing catches him by chance on the streets, and Dan Feng’s greetings are always cordial and clipped before he cuts their conversation short to continue with his business.

Yingxing tries not to feel slighted by it all. It’s petty, and selfish — he gets more attention from the High Elder than most of the Luofu combined, and he’s dealt with his long absences before. But Dan Feng is not away from the Luofu, and he’s always made time for him before. In the end, he can’t entirely stifle the ugly voice that tells him that he’s being shut out for some reason he doesn’t understand. 

Eventually, it starts to affect his work. He makes swords that are too brittle or too heavy: amateur products that would get him laughed off the Flagship if he tried to present them anywhere. 

He tosses another woefully unbalanced longbow into the scrap pile and forces himself to take a break to clear his head. His distraction is getting ridiculous. If Baiheng saw him now, he’d never hear the end of it over him acting like a useless, lovesick wife. He sends up a small prayer of thanks that she had been busy playing ambassador on one of the other Flagships for the past half year and had managed to miss most of this terrible ordeal. 

When did it get this bad? Yingxing wonders hopelessly.

He’s slumped over his desk, trying to work up the courage to go to one of those brothels after all, when a voice interrupts his misery.

“...Yingxing? Are you done working?”

Yingxing startles and jumps to his feet. He’d been too swept up in his thoughts to hear anyone knock. The moment he sees his visitor, his face lights up.

“Dan Feng!” Yingxing exclaims. “I was just taking a break. How are you?”

A quick glance-over indicates that the answer is probably tired, given that Dan Feng looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. Guilt and shame suddenly stab him in his chest for concocting such a selfish narrative about being deliberately avoided.

Dan Feng returns the enthusiasm with a gentle smile.

“I’m fine, thank you. I’m sorry for… not visiting. I’ve had much on my mind recently.”

He gives a polite half-bow. Yingxing is still trying to figure out how to deflect the apology when Dan Feng straightens.

“I’d like to make things up to you,” he continues, his voice sounding odd. “If… you’ll permit me an indulgence?”

With each word he shortens the gap between them until they are close enough that Dan Feng can reach out one of his hands and rest it on Yingxing’s shoulder. His thumb rubs the fine line of his collarbone with unrestrained intimacy, and Yingxing’s heart jumps into his throat.

Yingxing would probably follow him into hell if he asked, let alone permit whatever indulgence Dan Feng has in mind right now. His face is so close that it frightens him, those keen emerald eyes searching his face for an answer that he wants to lean in and give.

He smells wine on Dan Feng’s breath and stops short, frowning.

“Have you been drinking?” He asks cautiously.

Dan Feng looks annoyed by the question. “A bit. The palace had guests.”

Bullshit, Yingxing thinks.

To partake in wine with the Imbibitor Lunae was a courtesy offered to diplomats and other esteemed visitors when they visited the Luofu, and generally considered a great privilege. But this custom was a show of respect, an invitation to only a single cup— and Dan Feng reeks of alcohol. 

“Is something wrong?” Dan Feng presses after Yingxing goes silent. “We drink together all the time.”

“I know, but…”

He couldn’t in good conscience do what he wanted to do to Dan Feng while he was drunk, even if he had made the first advance. If this was just some drunken whim, one that he later woke up regretting, Yingxing knew his heart wouldn’t be able to bear the consequences.  

Yingxing takes a deep breath and carefully grabs Dan Feng’s wrist, lowering his hand back to the other man’s side. A gamut of emotions flash across Dan Feng’s face as he stares at him: confusion, anger, and finally settling on hurt. It makes Yingxing want to take a sword to his own heart. 

“This isn’t a good idea,” Yingxing finally grits out. “Right now. You’re drunk, and you don’t look like you’ve been sleeping. You— you need to rest.”

Yingxing is still holding onto his wrist, and he forcefully directs him towards where he usually sleeps. Dan Feng opens his mouth, once, and then closes it wordlessly, looking stricken— looking as if he hadn’t even considered this outcome.

Yingxing feels very distinctly like a complete and utter moron.

“If—” He hastens to add, desperately trying to salvage things. “If you still want to… make things up to me, we can… we can continue talking about it after you wake up.”

Yingxing’s neck burns with the shame of how pathetic that offer was. At this point he would be lucky if Dan Feng decided to pretend none of this had ever even happened. He ducks his head and quickly turns his back on the other man, keenly aware that he is being stared at but not having the courage to look at him. A few moments pass before he no longer feels the weight of his gaze on his back, and when he finally checks, the hallway is empty. 

Very belatedly, he realizes something, and wonders if this was exactly how Dan Feng had felt that night they had been drinking together. 

 

—————

 

In an effort to burn off his nervous energy, Yingxing runs the forge hot. It forces him to strip his upper half down to just his workman’s smock, but it at least succeeds in clearing his head.

It’s not often that he works at such high heat, and it tires him out faster, so he takes the opportunity to work on a personal project. The indulgence put him in a better mood: he decides that if Dan Feng is still interested after that terrible fumble, he would stop being a coward and seize the opportunity. Resolutely, he puts the entire matter out of mind and lets the project engulf him. 

Several hours later, he cools his forge. For the first time in a while he is satisfied by his progress, and he hums to himself as he turns around to find a towel to wipe off his sweat and grime. 

He starts when he sees Dan Feng leaning on the opposite wall, arms crossed and silently watching him. He smiles pleasantly when their eyes meet, but there is a ravenous edge to his gaze. Yingxing struggles to return it: the other man is dressed down to a degree that seems indecent, stripped of the ostentatious silk and left in nothing other than an undershirt and slim pants that leave little to the imagination. His body is slender, especially compared to Yingxing, but no less muscled; there is an elegance to his form that would make anyone jealous. 

Yingxing swallows thickly, feeling like a pervert when he has to forcefully drag his eyes from the sublime curves of Dan Feng’s waist to look at his face. 

“You look better,” he offers weakly. It isn’t a lie — there is more color to him now and a healthy flush on his skin. He does, also, currently look very good, but he tries his best to put the thought from his mind.

Dan Feng tilts his head gratefully. “Isn’t it dangerous to work exposed like that?”

The question is framed innocently enough, but from his tone it is clearly anything but. 

“Sometimes,” Yingxing replies conversationally. He points to a part of his forearm where there is a distinct white scar. “I’ve been nicked before, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” 

Dan Feng’s gaze rakes across him slowly, pointedly, and most certainly not at the part of his body he had gestured to. Yingxing feels like he is being sized up by a hungry beast, and nearly shivers despite the broiling air around him. 

It is also outrageously fucking hot. His grip tightens around the tool he had been holding as he tries not to let the jolt of arousal go straight to his groin. 

“...As I can see,” Dan Feng answers at length, his tone languid and his expression unreadable. His tail flicks, once, betraying his amusement — the moment Yingxing sees it, his heart jumps to his throat. 

It takes every ounce of his self-restraint to play along with the coquettish act. He does not know the breadth of Dan Feng’s experience — though he can imagine more than his fair share of maidens eager to roll belly-up for a High Elder so elegantly-crafted — but decides to play his hand plainly.

Each movement is measured as Yingxing sets down his tools and steps away from the still-warm forge, and out of the corner of his eye he watches Dan Feng track him with poorly-veiled desire. The beginnings of a cocky smirk pull at the corners of his lips, and he wets them before he speaks.

“Well,” Yingxing starts, low and husky. “Perhaps you ought to get a closer look.”

The way Dan Feng’s gaze darkens at his words brings no small measure of satisfaction.

Dan Feng is slow as he closes the gap between them, his beauty otherworldly and enchanting even when every inch of him reads with the intensity of a ravenous and cocksure predator. His tail - what should be a bulky, inconvenient thing in such a small and messy space - flows as if made of pure water as it slides behind him, untouched and unmarred. If it weren’t for the steady click of his shoes hammering down on Yingxing’s nerves with each step, he would believe that the man was not walking on the ground at all with how effortlessly he moved.

Yingxing’s heart is pounding in his throat by the time Dan Feng is close enough to reach out and touch him, and his hand cups his jaw for a brief moment before sliding down to rest splayed against his collarbone. His touch is cool, comfortably so, even after resting in this furnace for hours. The other man’s eyes are shadowed by his heavy lashes as his gaze prowls the body in front of him with an intensity generally reserved for appraising fine art.

It takes a few moments for Yingxing to remember how to breathe.

“And?” He encourages. 

“And," Dan Feng echoes, each word dripping from his lips, “I might need to make you promise that no one else ever gets to see you like this.”

Arousal prickles down Yingxing’s spine. He fights to keep his voice even.

“Other than you?”

“That should go without saying,” Dan Feng replies smoothly. 

So demanding, he thinks, endearingly. 

Slender hands ghost up his waist and chest until they come to a rest loosely holding each of his biceps. For a few moments Dan Feng contents himself with idly massaging the muscle there with his thumbs, and Yingxing takes the opportunity to place his hands on the other man’s hips. Absently, he wonders if he could completely encircle that slim waist within his grip, but is promptly drawn away from the thought — filing it away for later consideration — when Dan Feng squeezes his arm to get his attention again. 

When he blinks and refocuses on the face only inches away, he watches Dan Feng’s intense gaze morph into something downright lustful. Immediately, he feels the blood in his head drain right down to his groin.

He blames that for why his next statement is so bold:

“In that case, does that mean I belong to you?”

Dan Feng does not startle nor flush at the forwardness of the question. Instead, he seems to honestly consider it, his smile curving into something razor-sharp and dangerous. 

“I daresay it does,” He murmurs slowly, each word honeyed. He pauses for a moment, bringing his mouth so close to Yingxing’s neck that his breath puffs wetly against the skin. “And I take it that you’ve no objections?”

He feels something thick coil around his leg, trapping him in place. As the tail tightens its grip it presses their hips together, and suddenly he is deeply aware that he is not the only one who’s aroused.

Oh, he thinks; the High Elder is a wicked man. 

“I am yours, Imbibitor Lunae,” he pledges reverently, and he feels Dan Feng’s sharp inhale against him. “In heart, body, and soul— I have always been yours.” 

"Good,” Dan Feng hisses.

Teeth scrape against his jugular when Dan Feng kisses him, raw and desperate and wanting. Yingxing gasps, feeling nails dig into his skin when Dan Feng grips him tighter, and he tilts his head back to expose more of his neck. A pleased sound rumbles in Dan Feng’s throat as his mouth slowly travels upwards. One of Yingxing’s hands travels down the soft curve of his ass and pulls him even closer, the friction making Dan Feng sigh pleasantly against his jaw.

When Dan Feng’s trail of kisses leads him closer to Yingxing’s mouth, he hesitates. Wordlessly Yingxing brings up his other hand to cup Dan Feng’s cheek, gently stroking the soft skin with his thumb. Dan Feng searches Yingxing’s gaze for a moment before closing his eyes and leaning into his touch.

The sight seizes Yingxing’s heart in an iron grip. He bends down to meet him, pressing a gentle kiss to one of his eyelids instead. Dan Feng makes a wordless note of surprise but does not move, remaining pliant in his hand as Yingxing encourages him to tilt his cheek to the side. He places another kiss to his temple, then to the sensitive shell of his ear. 

He hears Dan Feng gasp, his hands clinging even tighter, and it delights him. He kisses it again, this time sliding his tongue along the upper edge, and he feels the body against him shiver.

“Go ahead,” he whispers lowly against his ear.

He pulls back, and Dan Feng brings both his hands up to Yingxing’s face and surges up to meet him.

The kiss is ravenous, eager, a craving finally fulfilled. Dan Feng licks into Yingxing’s mouth with insatiable hunger, and Yingxing moans into him as he lets himself be devoured. Dan Feng tastes as sweet as the wine they always share as Yingxing drinks from him, intoxicating and overwhelming. His hands grip Dan Feng’s waist with the intensity of a drowning man, his thumbs bruising the soft flesh. 

They part briefly when Yingxing pulls back to gasp for air, and he takes the opportunity to look at Dan Feng. He’s gorgeous, a pink blush high on his cheeks and his lips swollen a deep red. His gaze is searching, all-consuming, as if Yingxing was the only thing in the world to Dan Feng and he wanted the feeling to be mutual.

They meet each other in another kiss, and then another, and another, mouths and teeth and hands roaming with dizzying intensity.

Dan Feng’s hands are clutching his back when Yingxing pulls away from sucking a bruise on his neck, forced to catch his breath and feeling very lightheaded. 

“Someone might see us,” he murmurs.

Dan Feng reaches up to steal another kiss before he bothers answering.

“So?” Dan Feng growls against the corner of his mouth. “Let them see. Let them know. What are they going to do about it? The Luofu depends on me — and not the other way around.” 

Dan Feng’s lust-drunk arrogance is electrifying, and a thought briefly flashes in his mind of letting himself be taken right there on the floor of his workshop. He shakes it away, clinging to the last few scraps of reason that haven’t yet abandoned him.

“I know, I know—” Yingxing gasps between kisses. “But— upstairs.”

Dan Feng ignores him in favor of sucking on his bottom lip. Eventually, Yingxing feels his patience run out. He brings a hand up to the back of Dan Feng’s head, grabbing a fistful of hair and tugging him back until they can make eye contact.

“Upstairs,” he repeats firmly. 

There is a savage glint in Dan Feng’s eyes, and Yingxing knows he’s going to pay for this later. Still, the tail wrapped around him unravels, finally allowing him to move. 

The journey to the bedroom becomes a significant challenge, considering that neither one of them is capable of letting go for longer than a few seconds before they end up pinned against a new part of the wall. When they finally make it up the final stair, Yingxing considers it a moderate feat that the only article of clothing lost on the way up was his smock — at Dan Feng’s insistence so his hands could freely roam his chest. 

Dan Feng pushes him down onto the small bed without hesitation and nearly pounces on him. Yingxing is pinned helplessly as a mouth and hands travel down his body, a needy moan escaping him when Dan Feng licks a wet strip from his collarbone down to his navel. Dan Feng eventually eases himself off the bed to kneel in front of him, and Yingxing pushes himself up on his elbows just in time to catch his lust-filled gaze before he bends forward to press a gentle kiss to the thin strip of skin between his navel and his waistline. His cock twitches in his pants, and he feels Dan Feng smile against his skin.

“Allow me,” Dan Feng murmurs. 

He doesn’t wait for permission before he tugs Yingxing’s pants down his thighs, leaving his cock still contained in his underwear. His lips slide down to press a chaste kiss to his head through the thin fabric, mouthing at his flesh hotly as he works his way back up. He keeps his face pressed close when he pulls Yingxing’s dick free, slender fingers working him to full arousal.

Greedy for a better view, Yingxing pulls himself up into a proper sitting position. Dan Feng pauses to let him readjust comfortably, and then returns his attention to Yingxing’s cock. He holds it loosely with one of his hands as he brings his mouth to its base, licking a wet trail up its length. His lips explore his arousal endlessly, searching for what draws the greatest reactions from his partner, and it is nearly agonizing.

Something electric jumps up Yingxing’s spine when Dan Feng finally looks up at him through his lashes, holding his gaze for a wordless second before he finally wraps his lips around his head.

Yingxing feels as though he’d been punched, gasping breathlessly as Dan Feng swallows him hungrily, his mouth wet and hot and eager. It takes all of Yingxing’s dwindling composure not to buck into his tight throat, letting Dan Feng take him at his own pace. 

“Dan Feng,” he begs helplessly.

Feeling unsteady, Yingxing’s hands gravitate to rest on Dan Feng’s head. Dan Feng glances up at him briefly, encouragingly, and Yingxing’s hand roams until it meets the base of one of his horns. He grips it loosely, squeezing it in his warm palm. It makes Dan Feng moan, the vibration of his throat pleasant around his cock. He pulls back enough to catch his breath, lapping the precum beading at his cockhead with the flat of his tongue. 

Dan Feng braces his hands on Yingxing thighs, then swallows him again, this time taking him impossibly deeper. Yingxing’s self control finally erodes and he thrusts roughly into his mouth. Heat coils restlessly in the pit of his stomach.

“I’m close,” he gasps.

Dan Feng ignores the warning and slides his lips down to the base of his shaft, nose buried in the fine hair. Yingxing moans and grips the back of his head desperately, keeping him held firmly in place as he finally peaks and spills down the back of his throat. Yingxing releases his grip, but Dan Feng swallows his seed without complaint, his tongue sweeping along his cock to catch the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Finally, he pulls back, gasping for air. His eyes are wet with tears when he looks at Yingxing, but his gaze is carnivorous. His lips are slick and swollen, and he wipes the back of his hand along his mouth before he crawls back on top of Yingxing like an animal in heat. Yingxing guides him into a kiss with a hand on the back of his head, fisting his hair as he licks into Dan Feng’s mouth to taste himself. Dan Feng gives an approving chuckle as he lets Yingxing stake his claim, hands clutching his hips as he balances on his lap. 

Yingxing lets go of his hair and lets his hands travel lower down his body, Dan Feng kissing him sweetly all the while. His hands massage Dan Feng’s chest through the thin fabric of his undershirt, a thumb catching on one of his nipples and eliciting a rough hiss. Yingxing pushes his shirt up needily, cool skin warming under his rough palms as he rolls the hard nub between his forefinger and thumb. He pinches the tender flesh and Dan Feng gasps into his mouth, biting down on his lip in surprise and drawing blood with his sharp canines. 

“Ow,” Yingxing mutters into his mouth.

Dan Feng slides his tongue along the wound in apology, but Yingxing pushes him down into the bed and breaks their kiss. Dan Feng watches him silently, chest heaving under Yingxing’s hand and blood smeared on the corner of his mouth. Briefly transfixed by the sight, he watches Dan Feng smile before he slowly flicks his tongue out to collect the blood. Yingxing growls and surges back down to meet him, their teeth knocking painfully in his urgency. This time he allows Dan Feng to suck on his lip until he no longer tastes blood between them, and only then does he allow them to part again. 

He keeps Dan Feng pinned under him as his gaze roams his body hungrily, admiring his divine form. His eyes catch on his horns, the unmistakable proof of the god at his mercy. After a moment of consideration, he ducks forward and presses a kiss to the base of one of the horns.

Dan Feng moans wordlessly, gripping the sheets until his knuckles go white.

The horn is cold under his lips and tastes of nothing. Magic thrums through it, and he can feel its faint vibration as he explores it with his mouth. Experimentally, he presses the flat of his tongue to it and slides up its length, leaving behind a slick trail of his spit.

Dan Feng bucks helplessly beneath him, a needy whine escaping his lips. Yingxing keeps him pinned firmly in place with the weight of his body and a hand pushing down on his chest. The High Elder powerless to his whims — his lips curl in smug self-satisfaction at the thought.

His free hand explores the other horn, alternating between rubbing it between his fingers and stroking it. Dan Feng writhes under him, spreading his thighs further apart in invitation, and Yingxing obliges by bringing his knee up until it meets his crotch. He can feel the hard outline of Dan Feng’s cock as it strains against the tight confines of his pants, untouched and aching. He shifts his body slightly so that his knee grazes against it, and Dan Feng throws his head back and makes a high-pitched keening noise.

“Yingxing,” Dan Feng moans desperately. “Enough, Yingxing…”

“Not yet,” he whispers. His mouth is still pressed against Dan Feng’s horn, and he gives it another chaste kiss. 

The response is a dissatisfied sound beneath him, and he feels Dan Feng rut shamelessly against his leg. Yingxing repositions his knee again so that he is just barely out of reach, ignoring the louder whine this elicits, and then — without any warning — wraps his lips around the tip of the horn. 

A strangled sound rips free from Dan Feng’s throat, but he manages to keep his body mostly still to prevent himself from knocking against Yingxing’s teeth. Once Dan Feng has settled, Yingxing brings his hand to the base of the horn he’s sucking on and steadies himself as he brings it further into his mouth. 

The sensation is odd, and not particularly pleasant. But when he wraps his tongue around one of the branches and sucks at it wetly, the cry it draws out of Dan Feng makes him feel dizzy with lust— so he continues for several minutes until the sounds of his begging reach a fever pitch. He is very careful as he slides the horn out of his mouth, leaning back on his knees to catch his breath when he’s done.

Dan Feng is strewn underneath him like a broken doll, eyes screwed shut and hands fisting the sheets with an intensity that threatens to tear the fabric apart. His chest heaves violently with each gasp. As Yingxing watches, a weak shiver runs through his entire body.

Yingxing takes a moment to admire the view, and then reaches forward to caress Dan Feng’s thigh. Dan Feng’s eyes snap open at the touch, but Yingxing ignores his heavy gaze to focus on sliding his palm up his body. His fingers carefully trace the outline of his dick before they eventually reach the waist of his pants, wasting little time after that to yank them down to his ankles and finally free his aching cock. 

He spits in his hand and wraps around its weight, giving it a few rough pumps and delighting in the noise it draws out of Dan Feng. He presses the flat of his calloused thumb to the fattened tip, wet precum slicking his grip as he rubs a slow circle around the glans. Dan Feng’s hips give an aborted buck into his fist, and Yingxing moves his other hand to hold his waist and keep him still. His thumb presses into the indent of his hip, threatening to bruise if he doesn’t behave. 

Yingxing returns his attention to his weeping cock, flicking the head with his thumb once before he wraps around it in a fist again. He strokes him lazily, feeling the way he struggles to keep still under him. 

“Please,” Dan Feng pleads, finally. 

Yingxing obliges, jerking him off properly in fast, tight motions. Dan Feng gasps at the sudden change in pace, chest shuddering, letting out a breathless cry as he comes into Yingxing’s hand. Yingxing slows his pace but gives a few more strokes until Dan Feng is fully spent, semen coating his hand and dripping onto his exposed stomach. 

Dan Feng watches through half-lidded eyes as Yingxing cleans his hand with his tongue. Once satisfied, he sweeps his thumb along the seed that had spilled over his belly, bringing it up to Dan Feng’s lips and pushing his fingers into his mouth without resistance. Dan Feng sucks his fingers obligingly until Yingxing is content, his hand retreating only far enough that he can run his thumb along the sharp edges of his teeth. Dan Feng bares his teeth with a grin, closing his jaw enough to dent the pad of his finger. 

Yingxing makes a pleased sound and pulls his fingers away fully, moving off Dan Feng’s legs and making to leave the bed.

At some point, Dan Feng’s tail had coiled around one of Yingxing’s ankles without him noticing. He uses it now to yank Yingxing back down, and he makes a surprised little sound when he falls inelegantly on his back. 

Any indignation he might have felt dies immediately when he sees the vicious way Dan Feng is looking at him, his mind immediately flashing to the torment he’d just inflicted. He lays obediently still as Dan Feng climbs on top of him, his bottom half naked as he straddles him by the thighs. He holds him by the waist, his fingernails digging gently into his skin in warning.

Dan Feng bends in, pecking his lips with a dainty kiss. When he pulls back, his gaze has softened somewhat.

“Where do you keep your lubricant?”

He tries not to feel offended by the fact that there hadn’t been a question of if he had any.

“But you just came,” Yingxing protests weakly. 

Dan Feng blinks, then his lips curve into a terrible smile, dangerous and mocking.

“Oh, my dear Yingxing. Am I the first Vidyadhara to bed you? Did you think I was done?”

Yingxing swallows around the lump in his throat at the obvious implication. The room suddenly feels very, very hot. 

“I’m honored,” Dan Feng continues languidly. “But you may have bitten off more than you can chew. You told me you belong to me, and I intend on claiming every piece of my prize.”

While he spoke, Dan Feng’s tail had wrapped around him again, this time coiling around his chest and arms like a rope. Yingxing resigns himself to his fate, and doesn’t wait to be asked a second time.

“It’s in the side table,” he mutters.

The smile Dan Feng gives him is beatific before he slides off of Yingxing’s body and rummages through the drawer for his reward. While his back is turned, Yingxing takes advantage of his temporary freedom to kick off his pants.

Dan Feng pauses at the sight of his nude body, gaze heavy and dark as it drinks him in. He peels off his undershirt and tosses it into a distant corner of the room before he gets back on the bed, kneeling between Yingxing’s legs. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Dan Feng says. Then he adds, pleasantly: “I’ll try to be gentle.”

Yingxing suppresses a shiver at the use of the word try, and parts his thighs a little further so that he has a clear view of Dan Feng as he slicks his fingers. Dan Feng keeps his gaze low, a fingernail tracing a path up the soft flesh of his inner thigh towards his ass. 

“Relax,” Dan Feng murmurs. 

A wet finger presses into him, stretching the tight ring of muscle with well-practiced movements. Yingxing sighs and lays his head back, closing his eyes contentedly as he is steadily worked apart. When he can, Dan Feng adds a second finger, scissoring them a few times before he adds another generous drop of lube. His fingers curl just right inside him, and Yingxing lets out a shameless moan; Dan Feng works the spot until Yingxing can’t take it anymore.

“Fuck me already,” he pleads, breathless. 

“As you wish,” Dan Feng replies lightly.

His fingers retract, leaving Yingxing feeling suddenly empty. There is the sound of the bottle being uncapped again, and Yingxing lifts his head again to watch Dan Feng coat his palm with the contents and jerk himself off until his cock is hard and slick. He wipes a hand on the bedding before he nudges Yingxing’s thigh and coaxes him to lie on his side, his cheek pressed into the pillow and hair curtaining his vision as he keeps his visible eye trained eagerly on Dan Feng. His tail wraps securely around Yingxing’s ankle, propping up his leg effortlessly as Dan Feng gets into a more comfortable position between his legs. 

“Deep breaths, Yingxing.” 

Yingxing tries, but his breath still hitches in his throat when Dan Feng penetrates him. He parts him slowly, tender as he works his way deep enough that he can begin to roll his hips. Once assured that he can handle it, Dan Feng steadily picks up his pace until he is pushing deep into his core. His cock scrapes against the tender, sensitive muscle, drawing a series of shameless moans from Yingxing as he is fucked into the mattress. 

Dan Feng hisses in pleasure, continuing to thrust into him as he bends forward and braces himself on the bed, trapping Yingxing between his arms. The muscles in Yingxing’s thigh burn painfully as his leg is angled higher to accommodate the position, and he rolls his eyes up dizzily to look at Dan Feng. His neck is bowed, expression hidden by his dark hair, but he seems to sense Yingxing’s gaze and tilts his head up so that his hair falls away from his face. His eyes are dark with lust and his face is flushed; Yingxing has never seen him more beautiful. 

He catches his breath enough to speak:

“Kiss me.”

Dan Feng meets him eagerly. He ravages his mouth, sucking and biting and consuming with the desperation of a dying man. Yingxing’s eyes flutter shut, and when their lips finally part he lets out a contented sigh. Dan Feng’s mouth roams lower, alighting on the meat of Yingxing’s neck again and indenting his skin with his teeth as if threatening to mark him. 

Dan Feng pulls back again to sit on his knees, briefly pulling out. Yingxing only has a moment to mourn the loss before his thoughts are scattered by the feeling of Dan Feng’s strong hands around his waist. He is forcefully repositioned onto his back, bringing his raised leg back to the bed, though the tail never lets go of his ankle. His hands follow the curve of his ass to prop his hips up off the bed, and then he plunges into him again. 

Yingxing whimpers, high and needy, hands scrabbling for purchase against the sheets. The angle allows Dan Feng to penetrate deeper, his cock dragging against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside him and drawing a new sound from his throat each time. 

His back arches as he’s fucked senseless, nearly at his limit. He reaches a hand down to his cock, but Dan Feng bats him away and wraps his fingers around his shaft instead. His hand is rough when he jerks him off, but it takes little effort for the pleasure building in Yingxing’s gut to overflow, gasping loudly and clenching around Dan Feng’s cock as he finally peaks.

Dan Feng’s hand retracts as Yingxing rides out the waves of his pleasure, still chasing his own high. Dan Feng’s nails dig painfully into his ass as his hips snap up into him one final, definitive time, moaning hotly. He only barely manages to pull out in time to climax on Yingxing’s stomach rather than inside him. He pumps his cock with his hand as he works through his orgasm until he’s spent, and then he leans back on his knees to catch his breath. Yingxing flutters his eyes open to see Dan Feng watching him, expression adoring, and he bends in for a final fluttering kiss before he collapses beside him in the bed with an arm thrown across his chest. 

They bask in the afterglow for a few warm moments, each catching their breath now that their lust is finally sated. Yingxing feels boneless, every inch of him sore as he tries to gather himself again. He’s tempted to just fall asleep, but the semen cooling on his stomach is uncomfortable and filthy, so he gently picks Dan Feng’s arm off of him and forces his legs to work enough to support him when he slides out of the bed. 

He hears fabric shifting behind him, and half-turns to see Dan Feng propping himself up on his arms and watching him curiously with his tail flicking behind him. He’s on his stomach, unashamed of his bare figure, and Yingxing is momentarily distracted as his eyes follow the alluring line of his spine. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Looking for a cloth,” Yingxing mumbles. His entire body aches when he bends down to dig one out of a drawer; getting down the stairs is going to be a challenge. “I’ll be right back. The bathroom is downstairs.”

Dan Feng gives him a withering look, gesturing impatiently for Yingxing to give him the rag; he passes it over wordlessly, watching in fascination as he summons a suspended bubble of water with a lazy twirl of his index finger. He soaks the cloth with it, then wicks away the excess with another small hand motion. His eyes slide over to Yingxing, who is still standing at the side of the bed and watching him dumbly.

“...Come here,” he demands.

Yingxing complies, crawling back onto the bed and surrendering himself to Dan Feng’s delicate hands as he cleans him. Once satisfied, Dan Feng discards the rag in a neat pile at the side of the bed. He turns back to Yingxing, expression gentling when they make eye contact; he reaches out a hand to caress his cheek, idle fingers brushing his hair from his face before he presses a tender, fleeting kiss to his forehead. 

Yingxing feels affection threaten to spill over, but he keeps his mouth shut. He’ll have to save the confession for a better time when Dan Feng can’t misconstrue it as a postcoital impulse. To sate the urge, he draws Dan Feng tighter into his embrace so that the other man is tucked into his chest. He feels more than he hears the contented sigh against his skin.

“You’re very warm,” Dan Feng murmurs. “Next time I need a nap, I might demand that you join me.” 

Yingxing chuckles, a low rumble in his throat. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Dan Feng hums, pleased, and his tail twines between their legs in his own version of an embrace. Secure in each other’s holds, exhaustion finally catches up to Yingxing. The night has been long, and sleep is eager to claim him.

Right before he dozes off, he’s roused by the sound of Dan Feng’s voice.

“I might have to take you with me the next time they send me off on a campaign,” Dan Feng muses quietly. 

Still only halfway conscious, Yingxing struggles to form a response. Dan Feng doesn’t seem to mind and continues talking as if to himself, muffled by how his face is pressed into Yingxing’s chest. 

“I thought of you every day of that last outing. It was unbearable. Months used to pass by in a moment, but now I feel every second that I know you.”

The confession is heavy, and it makes Yingxing’s heart ache. He stays silent, not wanting to interrupt. 

“Now that you’re mine, I don’t think I could survive it again. I would abandon my post if they kept me from you. How much time have we lost— how much more are they going to take from me?”

Dan Feng’s voice grows desperate, working himself up into distress. Unable and unwilling to hear him so upset, Yingxing stops feigning sleep and brings a hand up to the back of Dan Feng’s head to stroke his hair. 

“Dan Feng…” He murmurs. “It’s okay. We have plenty of time.”

The body against him shudders. Dan Feng pulls his head back to look at him, and although his eyes are dry, Yingxing is struck by the wretched expression on his face. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats gently. “I don’t want you to abandon your people for me. You might feel differently, but I have plenty of life left in me yet.” He smiles, hoping it comes out with more reassurance than he feels. Dan Feng will live at least ten of his lives, and there’s nothing he can say to change that fact. 

Dan Feng gives him a despairing look. “That doesn’t mean I want to waste any of it. Come with me the next time I go. Please."

There’s an undercurrent to his voice when he begs, a mad intensity that makes Yingxing’s skin prickle. His instincts warn him of an unseeable threat, the distant roaring of a tsunami that he cannot run from— and he shoves the feeling forcefully to the side. 

“If you took me to the battlefield, what would I do? I may be trained, but I’m no knight.”

He feels nails dig into his skin when Dan Feng tightens his grip around him. 

“I wouldn’t dare put you on the field— How could I? So many Xianzhou have drowned under my hand…”

Yingxing smiles, pitying. “Then… again, what would I do? Sit there uselessly?”

Dan Feng bites his lip, considering the question for a moment before averting his gaze. Yingxing is suddenly hit by a surge of unease: was that what Dan Feng seriously desired, as illogical as it was?

“I would get in the way, Dan Feng. Let me stay here, and I will always be waiting upon your return. Moreover…” He trails off, choosing his words carefully. “My soul is here, in my workshop and my smithing. I would be devastated if you took me away from it.” 

The look Dan Feng gives him is curious—

—As if this was the first time he had even considered how Yingxing might disagree.

“Yes,” he murmurs slowly, thoughtfully. “I suppose that simply would not do.”

He speaks with finality, ending the discussion. He shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts and tucks his head back into Yingxing’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer with his arms and his tail.

“I’m sorry for keeping you awake. Goodnight, Yingxing.”

Yingxing makes a reassuring noise, stroking Dan Feng’s back until he falls asleep. For a long while, his mind churns with formless anxiety as he stares out at the moon making its slow crawl through the night sky.

When Yingxing finally sleeps, he dreams of being devoured. 

Notes:

Thanks for reading.

Small indulgent rant on xingyue dynamic:

It is of vital importance to me that Dan Feng is more than a little crazy but just very good at hiding it most of the time. DF’s yandere-ism is both never fully understood and never totally reciprocated by YX. DF wants to selfishly and nonsensically keep YX at his side by taking him to the battlefield, in a sentiment meant to parallel how he later forces immortality on him; that YX might desire otherwise or even be hurt does not naturally occur to DF. Good luck Yingxing! I'm rooting for you!

Not to say that YX is wholly normal either. Blade clearly has a worship complex with DF, so I like to think there was a seed of that in YX idolizing him via godhood comparisons. Granted, I have to be careful since xingyue is a relationship built on YX being someone DF feels like he can be a “person” around, so I like to keep the fixation physical/sexual. He really would do whatever the hell his hot dragon wife wants.

I’d only planned this as a 5k pwp and I have other projects I need to work on…