Work Text:
“A-Jiu – feels, ah, feels good.”
Shen Jiu continues to methodically grind out ink, watching with detached interest as a puddle of black slowly forms under the stick held between his fingers. A pile of unopened letters assigned by Shizun lay before him – correspondence that, while not pressing enough for the Peak Lord to handle, cannot be handed off to just anyone. And so, as (one of) the head disciple (candidates), it has fallen upon Shen Jiu to deal with.
Shen Jiu carefully ignores the fact that he had more or less leapt at the task, when Shizun had offhandedly mentioned it during a morning meeting – and he definitely doesn’t acknowledge the way Shizun had merely raised a brow in amusement before he handed Shen Jiu the heap of scrolls, knowing, somehow, that the younger man needed a distraction – something, anything, to make him forget –
“There! O-Oh, gods.” A gasp, and a choked whine. Sweat and heat and pleasure. “Don’t stop, A-Jiu, I’m–I, ngh–!”
Shen Jiu’s grip on the ink stick suddenly constricts, and he feels the thing snap clean in two. It is a herculean task to keep his face blank as he sets both halves aside, though Shen Jiu can’t help but blanch when he realises, belatedly, just how much ink he has accidentally prepared. A veritable lake of obsidian for what will likely amount to a handful of single paragraph replies…
Fuck, he thinks, rather eloquently.
There’s almost never anyone else in the library this early, but Shen Jiu nevertheless takes a moment to fix his hair – ensuring it frames his face perfectly. His red-tipped ears burn hotter for it, not least in part thanks to the mid-summer heat, but Shen Jiu will bear the discomfort for the sake of his dignity.
And anyway, this heat is nothing compared to A-Yu–
The errant thought is killed ruthlessly, mercilessly. However, when Shen Jiu raises the back of his hand to press against his cheeks and feels warmth, he knows the damage has already been done. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Shen Jiu exhales one long, shaky breath. It is only when he is certain that he is in full control of his faculties, that he dips his brush into the inkwell and gets to work.
Three Days Prior
The mission is supposed to be a simple one, certainly easy enough for a senior disciple like Shen Jiu to handle alone. The fact that Shizun has insisted he bring someone along with him is insulting enough – that Shizun had strongly suggested that person be Shen Yuan is just salt rubbed into the wound.
It is no secret that Shen Jiu will be named Qing Jing’s head disciple soon. Personally, Shen Jiu thinks Shizun is dragging his feet on the matter too much, though that likely has to do with the fact that he has his eye on another… not instead of Shen Jiu, but additionally. The idea of two head disciples is entirely unconventional, but unfortunately, ‘unconventional’ describes their Shizun to a T, and Shen Jiu has long since learned that trying to decipher the older man is an exercise in futility.
Still, Shen Jiu has to restrain himself from clicking his tongue at the thought of his so called ‘rival’; that bumbling, airheaded idiot, whose mediocrity in both cultivation and Qing Jing’s tenets makes his kind heart and gentle demeanour the only notable thing about him. Honestly – so what if Shen Yuan is beloved by his martial siblings? So what if they aren’t scared of him, or secretly despise him, or spread baseless rumours about him the second his back is turned – or if they’re feeling particularly brave, right to his face. And so what if Shen Yuan calls Shen Jiu over when he’s alone – which is often – or sits by his side, even when Shen Jiu refuses to acknowledge his presence – which is also often – just to bore him with inane gossip, like which shimei is interested in which shidi, or which Hall Master accidentally cursed in front of the entire class and punished any student that laughed.
After four years, Shen Jiu has, for better or for worse, gotten used to Shen Yuan’s incomprehensible behaviour… but that wasn’t always the case. At 16, Shen Jiu remembers how off kilter the younger boy’s attentions had made him feel, and it was with no small amount of anger that he had confronted him one winter evening and hissed that should he wish to play hero, he’d need to find a damsel in distress willing to humour him first.
Now 20, Shen Jiu feels a little… remorseful, perhaps, at how his younger self handled the situation. Losing composure so openly was like wrapping his weaknesses up in a silken bow, ready for anyone to pick apart should they so wish; he supposes he was lucky, then, that the only person in the vicinity at the time was too busy trying not to cry. The memory has Shen Jiu’s lips twitching in the shadow of a grimace. He never asked after the fact, but he thinks he might have been the first person to yell – really yell – at the young merchant’s son. If so… it is not an accolade he is entirely proud to hold. When Shen Yuan had given Shen Jiu a wobbly smile before rushing off to the dormitory for the night, Shen Jiu had ignored the pang in his chest as he brushed off his impeccably clean sleeves, certain that the other boy had finally seen the error of his ways; Shen Jiu would not allow himself to be taken advantage of, not even by guileless, innocent looking fools like Shen Yuan.
Certain that he’d finally be alone again tomorrow, Shen Jiu had run over his plans for the next day – it would be a difficult venture to get Shizun’s attention and stand out among the hundreds of disciples already on the peak, but he had to try if he wanted to get anywhere in this life. Unfortunately, that ‘tomorrow’ had been Shen Jiu’s very first lesson in Shen Yuan’s predictability – or lack thereof. When the boy had awoken him with a tentative smile, only years of experience allowed Shen Jiu to swallow down the startled scream that had bubbled up in his throat. And when the boy only seemed more determined to bother him – once every other day now, as opposed to a couple times a week – 16 year old Shen Jiu had to eventually acknowledge that Shen Yuan’s kindness was borne of a disgustingly unassuming sincerity. There was no ‘other shoe’ waiting to drop with him – somehow, Shen Yuan really was just like that.
Sighing at the memory, Shen Jiu pulls out his fan from his belt and opens it with a practised flick of the wrist. In spite of the fact that Shen Yuan may be the only martial sibling he tolerates, Shen Jiu maintains that Qing Jing peak cannot be run on the man’s kindness alone. Skill matters. Results matter. While Shen Jiu can’t claim to know Shizun’s inner thoughts, surely the man will realise this sooner or later. It doesn’t help that Shen Jiu can’t find opportunities to pull ahead of the competition when the competition is always with him, however. A tiny voice in his head tells him that he and Shen Yuan are two sides of the same coin; one cannot have pragmatism without empathy and vice versa, and Shizun knows exactly what he’s doing when he forces them to spend time with one another. Begrudgingly, Shen Jiu admits that if any of the Peak Lords were to be the first to name two head disciples, it would be that eccentric bastard.
Tamping down the frustration before it can well up, Shen Jiu slowly fans his face. He just has to pull ahead of Shen Yuan, is all, and show Shizun that he alone is enough for the position of head disciple – and eventually, Peak Lord. To that end, Shen Jiu notes with a scowl, he will be certain to mention how Shen Yuan started off their mission late. Realistically, he knows that he hasn’t been waiting for any significant length of time, but it’s the principle of the matter. When Shen Yuan finally deigns to show up, shadowed by two of their younger martial siblings – a pair of twins who, for some reason, are particularly antagonistic towards him – Shen Jiu allows his scowl to deepen momentarily before clearing his expression with an ease drawn from years of practice.
Opening his mouth to snark at Shen Yuan, Shen Jiu is beaten to the punch when the other man jogs over the rest of the way, hand raised in greeting even as a sheepish expression graces his face. “Begging Jiu-shixiong’s forgiveness! There was an incident in the dormitory and this one was called to assist.”
“Ah, yes,” Shen Jiu drawls, “Yuan-shidi is Qing Jing’s resident peace-maker, after all.”
It doesn’t make Shen Jiu’s stomach flip anymore, but he briefly wonders if he’ll ever truly get used to it – ‘Jiu-shixiong’, that is. Shen is a common enough surname, so Shen Jiu hadn’t been surprised that another had joined the sect – though it was extremely unfortunate that it had been so shortly after him, and on the same peak, too. Still, Shen Jiu had been prepared to deal with the minor inconvenience of ‘Shen-shidi’ being called out, and two heads turning every so often, because it wasn’t as if they would ever be together enough, if at all, to cause any actual confusion.
…Naturally, these were Shen Jiu’s thoughts on the matter before meeting Shen Yuan – and the rest, as they say, is history.
Surprising absolutely no one, it had been Shen Yuan’s suggestion to start using their first names around each other. Likely, it is this assumed intimacy that draws their martial siblings to the man like moths to a flame – in a place like Qing Jing, where propriety and grace are required of everyone, Shen Yuan’s candid friendliness is like a breath of fresh air… Supposedly. Shen Jiu just remembers the entire world tilting off its axis ever so slightly, after being called his first name for the first time since (Qi-ge) early childhood. By the time the universe had righted itself, the moment had passed, and four years down the line and it is far too late to complain.
“Thanking shixiong for the compliment!” Shen Yuan says, boyish grin in place, and Shen Jiu thinks, with no small amount of exasperation, Case in point.
Honestly, how someone as naive as this man has survived until his 19th summer is beyond Shen Jiu. It should be statistically impossible, but he figures that miracles do happen every once in a while.
Not in the mood to waste any more time on useless and unwanted reminiscing, Shen Jiu unsheathes Xiu Ya. “Come along, then. We’ve wasted too much daylight as it is.”
That has Shen Yuan glancing up at the sky, where the sun has only just begun to peek over the horizon, before looking to Shen Jiu with a confused tilt of the head. “But it’s still dawn?”
Shen Jiu raises an eyebrow. “Observant as ever, shidi. The goal is to return to the peak by dusk, though – unless you would rather camp under the stars?” Letting his mouth pull up into a mocking grin, barely hidden by the rim of his fan, he adds, “Is Yuan-shidi even capable of handling a night in the wild? If I have to play caretaker, Shizun will be the first to know.”
Almost instantly, the little guard dogs that had otherwise been silent behind their master puff up, bristling like they were the ones Shen Jiu had insulted.
“Shixiong, you–!” Beast Number One begins – but whatever insults he had been prepared to hurl are interrupted when Shen Yuan laughs openly, Shen Jiu’s insults glancing harmlessly off him like water down a duck’s back. Beast Number Two stares unabashedly up at Shen Yuan, and the stars in his eyes are positively glittering. How sickening.
“This one is ashamed to confess he has been slacking off during training lately,” Shen says, eyes the shape of crescent moons like he isn’t admitting to something that could very well cost him his life, one day. “Jiu-shixiong’s concern is appreciated.”
Not for the first time, Shen Jiu wonders if Shen Yuan was dropped on his head as a child. There is only so much one can blame on a ditzy personality before it edges into ‘serious medical condition’ territory.
I should just fob him off to Qian Cao and go alone, Shen Jiu muses. Mu-shidi would probably appreciate a new pet project.
“Don’t sound so proud of your shortcomings,” he chastises instead, halfheartedly for all the good it will do. Mounting his sword, he looks down at the other man. “Are you ready?”
In response, Shen Yuan pulls out his own sword; Zhen Xin pulses a muted but cheerful yellow, not unlike the sun on a foggy winter morning. Pure hearted and sincere – truly, a blade and its wielder could not have been better matched if they tried. Patting the twins on their heads before shoo-ing them away, the little beasts only back away a few paces, giving Shen Yuan just enough room to mount his sword without the risk of getting skewered in the face. Which, Shen Jiu realises after watching what he thinks must be the most inelegant mounting method he’s ever seen in his entire life, was a genuine possibility. The shameless fool laughs brightly as he ascends on unsteady feet, and Shen Jiu’s fingers twitch imperceptibly at his side as he has to quell the urge to reach out and steady his new flying partner.
His new flying partner – now isn’t that a terrifying thought? It’s only been a year since Shen Yuan received his spiritual sword, and normally, that would be long enough to master at least the very basics of sword flight. However, watching Shen Yuan now, who is steadfastly ignoring the horizon in favour of waving goodbye to his pets on the ground, Shen Jiu is acutely reminded that he is not dealing with ‘normal’.
“Eyes forward,” Shen Jiu snaps tersely, when Shen Yuan’s foot slips a little too closely to the edge of his blade.
“Of course, shixiong,” Shen Yuan replies, as unflappable as ever. His hair is styled in its usual ponytail, low and a little messy: ergo, completely against Qing Jing’s unspoken rule calling for neatness and tidiness. Luckily for Shen Yuan, no one ever reprimands him for it – not even Shizun – which means that Shen Jiu can’t either, despite how it makes his fingers itch when Shen Yuan decides to bother him right after he wakes up, in all his glorious bedhead.
As if aware of Shen Jiu’s thoughts, Shen Yuan brushes back a few flyaway strands behind his ear, inhaling deeply before letting the breath go with a small smile.
“Today will be good.”
It’s said with such certainty that Shen Jiu can do nothing but raise a brow in question, and the action doesn’t go unnoticed by the other man.
“What? It’s true! I haven’t been on a mission in such a long time – I was getting bored!” There’s a glint of the slow, rising sun in his eyes, and it turns them a rich amber when he glances at Shen Jiu. “I was pretty excited, actually, when Shizun said it would be with you.”
Shen Jiu’s mouth is unusually dry when he informs the other man, “You shouldn’t have been. I’m planning on doing the lion's share of the work and telling Shizun as much. Naturally, you will corroborate that.”
“Will I?” Shen Yuan counters, and now it’s his turn to raise an eyebrow. There’s amusement simmering beneath the words of his faux-taunt, as he continues, “What if I lied and took all the credit for myself?”
From any other person, Shen Jiu would take that as the threat that it is. However, from Shen Yuan?
“Do you even know how to lie, Yuan-shidi?” Shen Jiu asks, bemused. “Our martial siblings seem inclined to believe butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.”
“Of course I can!” For some reason, Shen Yuan almost looks offended – like Shen Jiu had insulted his honour, as opposed to implying the very opposite. So used to Shen Yuan’s smiles, Shen Jiu can’t help but think the expression sits oddly on his face. The man continues. “I choose to be nice, and I choose to be honest, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be anything else. Their assumptions aren’t my fault.”
Shen Yuan holds Shen Jiu’s gaze when he says this, and Shen Jiu can feel himself begin to scowl at how tactlessly pointed the words are. Ignoring them entirely, Shen Jiu instead contemplates the idea of Shen Yuan being a liar, and is surprised at how discomfited the thought makes him. It seems that, at some point, Shen Jiu had subconsciously put Shen Yuan in a category separate from everyone else – a person who Shen Jiu could take at face value, because deceit just wasn’t an option. The possibility that he had been wrong this whole time is not a pleasant one.
Despite his carefully controlled expression, something must still show on his face, because Shen Yuan blanches and hastily tacks on, “I’ve never lied to you though, Jiu-shixiong.”
It would be a terrible idea to pull out his fan mid-flight, but Shen Jiu thinks he would appreciate the comfort of its familiarity right about now.
After a measured breath, Shen Jiu replies, evenly, “It wouldn't matter if you had.” This is because it shouldn’t matter, so a lie right now means nothing if it will become the eventual truth.
“Oh,” Shen Yuan mutters, and the disappointment in his voice is audible. Luckily, Shen Jiu is saved from feeling anything pesky like guilt when Shen Yuan looks at Shen Jiu resolutely as he insists, “Well… it matters to me, shixiong. I do not wish to be misunderstood.”
Shen Jiu has to stifle a sigh. He’s always so serious over the most inconsequential things.
“Consider yourself understood then, shidi.”
It’s obvious the other man has more to say, with how he tucks and un-tucks the same lock of hair behind his ear – a tic borne from anxious energy that has nowhere else to go. Nevertheless, Shen Yuan reminds Shen Jiu why he (on occasion) appreciates his company, because the man eventually drops his hands to his sides, deciding to hold his tongue – willing, if not entirely content, to spend the rest of their flight in silence.
According to Shizun, a village nearby petitioned for aid from the sect after a strange, cloying scent wafting out from the forest preceded a string of disappearances that spanned the course of a few weeks. Privately, Shen Jiu can admit that he understands why Shizun sent Shen Yuan along with him. While Shen Jiu finds the realm’s creatures interesting, he doesn’t spend all day pouring over bestiaries the way Shen Yuan does; if the culprit behind this incident ends up being some deadly flora or fauna, the man’s knowledge will no doubt prove to be a boon.
For a moment, Shen Jiu feels the ever-familiar bubble of jealousy roil within him. A world where he is allowed to indulge in days of reading for leisure just doesn’t exist – not when his cultivation is lacking for his age, and prior to entering the sect, his only experience with the arts was whatever poetry the jiejies at the brothel would read to him as he amateurishly plucked away at a pipa. Just as quickly, though, Shen Jiu allows that jealousy to fizzle out – because what else would a spoiled merchant’s son do to while away the hours but read? There’s no way Shen Yuan has ever worked an honest day in his life. Not to mention that Shen Yuan’s taste in literature, outside of what is available in Qing Jing Peak’s library, is, to put it bluntly – shit. Shen Jiu would rather spend his free time working on his cultivation like he does now, if the alternative was forcing himself to read those yellow books Shen Yuan somehow consistently manages to get his hands on.
Thankfully, apart from that one conversation, their flight to the village is an uneventful one, and it’s not long before they’re alighting from their swords in what must be the village square. The village chief seems to have been waiting for their arrival, but one look at him – ostentatiously dressed while the commoners are in rags, not to mention the woman at least half his age hanging off of his arm – and Shen Jiu’s lip is curling up in disdain before he can hide it behind the whip-fast opening of his fan. If he were alone, he would naturally do whatever it took for the sake of a successful mission. However, since that is not the case today, Shen Jiu has no qualms about brushing his shoulder purposefully against Shen Yuan’s when the chief begins to approach. He doesn’t say anything, but it seems he doesn’t need to – quick on the uptake, Shen Yuan’s eyes flash in understanding before he steps in front of Shen Jiu to greet the greasy bastard as if they were old friends.
Like a dam breaking, the residents of the village quickly congregate around Shen Yuan and the chief – drawn in by the sounds of the chief’s loud guffaws alongside a new, unfamiliar voice. The chief looks entirely too relaxed considering his people are going missing, but Shen Jiu supposes that everything must look a lot less scary from the comfort of one’s heavily guarded, luxurious home. The chief says something that elicits a laugh from Shen Yuan, and Shen Jiu is somewhat surprised that he can tell even from a distance that Shen Yuan is, albeit politely, faking it. The other man’s real laughter is a much more lively affair, and if Shen Jiu concentrates, he can still feel the phantom sting of the slaps Shen Yuan doles out against his shoulder whenever the man cackles at a particularly egregious part of whatever drivel he decided to read that day.
Leaving the chief in the company of his ladyfriend, Shen Yuan moves between the village folk with a level of grace that Shen Jiu cannot recall ever seeing him display before. The novelty of this new side of Shen Yuan holds Shen Jiu’s attention for a while, but when nearly an hour passes with no end to the conversations in sight, Shen Jiu is starting to regret making Shen Yuan the unofficial ambassador of Qing Jing. Had he thought the other man was talking for the sake of listening to his own voice, Shen Jiu would have left for the treeline ages ago. As it stands, the tidbits that Shen Jiu overhears tells him that Shen Yuan is coaxing out details regarding the disappearances that weren’t included in the initial petition. It’s thanks to the other man’s efforts that Shen Jiu has now learned that there have been six victims so far, and all were men in the primes of their lives.
A pattern, then. That certainly lends credence to the idea of foul play, but Shen Jiu can’t go pointing fingers without any evidence. Their best bet is to go out into the woods and work backwards from there.
Crossing his arms, Shen Jiu taps out an impatient rhythm against his elbow. He wants to hurry Shen Yuan along, but he’s taken in once again by this new and unfamiliar facet of the other man. A smooth talker is not something Shen Jiu would have ever pinned Shen Yuan as – and in the traditional sense, he isn’t one, not quite. When Shen Yuan asks after the health of an elderly woman, it doesn’t feel like a means to an end. By all accounts, Shen Yuan actually does care about her answer, even though what she says about her son afterwards (the third to go missing) is undeniably more important. Shen Jiu finds himself reconsidering the merits of utilising a little charisma. He’ll never be as outgoing as Shen Yuan – nor does he want to be – but perhaps a smile here and there would serve him well. It’s not like they have to be genuine.
Watching Shen Yuan bow politely to who is, gods willing, his last conversation partner, Shen Jiu lets out a sigh of relief when the other man makes his way back to his side.
“Jiu-shixiong! Sorry for the wait.”
That just has Shen Jiu shaking his head, because of all the things he could snap at Shen Yuan for, actually carrying out their mission isn’t one of them.
“So?” He asks instead. “What did you find out?”
Shen Yuan smiles. “Right. According to the villagers, if we follow that path,” he points to a well travelled but unmarked dirt trail, branching off from the village’s northern exit, “it should take about an hour or so to reach the clearing.”
“The clearing?” Shen Jiu must have missed that particular conversation point.
Beginning to walk, Shen Jiu allows Shen Yuan to take the lead as the other man answers, “Yes. Apparently, there was a seventh missing man, but he actually made it back to the village. He was out of his mind, though, muttering over and over about a clearing of blood… or something.”
“‘…Or something’” Shen Jiu repeats, raising both eyebrows in disbelief. “How reassuring. I don’t suppose you managed to glean anything more than that?”
“Nope,” Shen Yuan pops the ‘p’, then grins something sly. “But the innkeeper’s wife offered us a room for the night, if we end up needing it. Oh! And her daughter is of marriageable age, in case you’re interested.”
Shen Jiu grimaces. “Not even remotely.”
That has Shen Yuan snickering, and Shen Jiu takes in his profile, cheeky grin, bright eyes and all.
“You know,” the words leave Shen Jiu’s lips before he can think on them too hard, “I may have underestimated you, Yuan-shidi.”
That gets Shen Yuan’s full attention, and the other man turns around to face Shen Jiu fully, though he keeps walking – just backwards now.
“Oh?” Shen Yuan looks far too pleased with what was essentially a skeleton of a compliment. Ridiculous. Before Shen Jiu can rectify his mistake and take the man down a notch, Shen Yuan continues with a sigh, in a put upon tone. “Don’t worry, Jiu-shixiong. I get that a lot.”
Shen Jiu isn’t sure what expression is on his face right now, but he knows he couldn’t control it if he tried. Whatever it is, one look has Shen Yuan creasing over as he bursts into laughter. The idiot is still trying to walk, though, and Shen Jiu notices the edge of the rock jutting out from the ground in the same moment Shen Yuan does – that is to say, when its edge catches the heel of his foot, and sends him careening to the floor. Fortunately for the other man, Shen Jiu’s hair-trigger reflexes save him from dashing his head open on an unsuspecting tree branch. They do nothing to preserve his dignity though, with Shen Yuan squawking as Shen Jiu steadies him by the waist – his other hand going to catch one of the man’s windmilling arms.
Shen Yuan sucks in a sharp breath as his eyes dart between the ground and his now-saviour’s face. There’s a faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and Shen Jiu wonders absently if the man has had these the whole time they’ve known each other – either way, he’s never been close enough to notice until now. Almost as if on cue, the freckles begin to disappear, hiding now beneath the delicate pink flush that has begun to colour Shen Yuan’s cheeks.
Hm. So he is capable of shame, then. Shen Jiu honestly hadn’t thought it possible. It’s what the fool gets for trying to walk backwards on uneven terrain in the first place, though.
“Um.” Shen Yuan opens his mouth, closes it. Clears his throat. “T-Thanking Jiu-shixiong for his assistance.”
He flexes his fingers in Shen Jiu’s grip, and Shen Jiu has the brief thought that the other man’s hands are a little sweaty before he realises, more concretely, that, yes, it would make sense for them to stand up now. Shen Jiu blames his distraction on the fact that he can’t remember the last time he willingly touched another person. It has to have been years, at least. The thought might be depressing to some, but to Shen Jiu, it just means he’s doing something right – touch is usually only ever to be avoided, in his experience.
Pulling out his fan, Shen Jiu uses it to point to the treeline. His palm tingles, which he decisively ignores. It doesn’t matter that Shen Yuan had been warmer than he expected – Shen Jiu is pretty sure he runs perpetually cooler than most people anyway. “Let’s go. We won’t be able to investigate properly if we lose any more daylight.”
Nevermind that it’s the height of summer, and the sun won’t set for hours yet. Shen Jiu half expects Shen Yuan to point that out, as is his wont, but the other man seems lost in thought, looking down at his hand as he clenches and unclenches it. Shen Jiu purses his lips and gives in to the temptation that is flicking open his fan and hiding his face. Walking past Shen Yuan – making sure not even their sleeves touch – Shen Jiu carries on down the dirt path. Even without Shen Yuan’s guidance – this path is a straight line. If he somehow manages to get lost, then that is on him.
It doesn’t take long for Shen Yuan to break out of his reverie though, and after a moment, Shen Jiu hears the sound of hurried footsteps chasing after him. Reclaiming his position a couple paces ahead, Shen Yuan peers at him with a small smile; Shen Jiu huffs and looks away.
The rest of their journey, like before, is continued in silence.
Loathe though Shen Jiu is to ‘eat his words’ (as Shen Yuan had once eloquently put his aversion to being wrong), he doesn’t think he has much of a choice in the matter this time. But who could have guessed that natural daylight would mean nothing, when despite it being noon, ten paces into the forest and the pair are enveloped in an unnatural darkness? Certainly not Shen Jiu.
The sudden change has him blinking rapidly as his eyes adjust to the low light, and he can’t help glance back the way they came, just to make sure they didn’t manage to get caught in a hidden array and get teleported somewhere entirely different. Alas, the rice paddies they have just walked past are still there in all their mundane glory, and the water within each field glitters under the bright, brilliant, afternoon sun. The very same sun that, for whatever reason, does not penetrate the canopy overhead.
Strange.
Venturing deeper, Shen Jiu comes to notice that while the forest is dark, it is not entirely devoid of light. In place of the sun, it is the foliage itself that lights their way – leaves and stems and vines emitting a faint glow that only strengthens upon Shen Jiu’s approach, as if the plants themselves are reacting to his presence. Shen Jiu glances at Shen Yuan, a question on the tip of his tongue, when he notices the other man already has that look on his face. Deep in thought though he is, Shen Yuan’s gaze is sharp and focused, and he mumbles under his breath as he walks past Shen Jiu and crouches by the glowing plant life.
It quickly becomes clear what has drawn Shen Yuan to the undergrowth. Countless clusters of small, bulbous mushrooms, seemingly innocuous at first, intermittently release puffs of scattered light – luminescent spores, if Shen Jiu had to guess. Shen Jiu watches over the other man’s shoulder as a particularly eye-catching speckle of indigo disperses into the atmosphere. When Shen Yuan brushes away the leaf litter near the base of one such cluster, Shen Jiu’s eyebrows raise as what must be tens, if not hundreds, of thin, vein-like structures are revealed – bone white in colour, until Shen Yuan’s probing fingers have them dyeing themselves a deep crimson red.
“Bloodstone Caps,” Shen Yuan informs him, pointing at a bulb that Shen Jiu can admit sort of looks like a rock at a distance. “There’s still some debate on whether they’re individuals, or one huge, connected organism, but because they’re hard to study, no one can agree on an answer.”
Pushing aside more leaf litter, Shen Yuan uncovers more of those pale threads, and Shen Jiu can see that they seem to lead towards another cluster of Bloodstone Caps, further along the path. In response to the continued disturbance, the red begins to spread – slow at first, then quickly, like spilled wine, or the erratic pulse of an open wound. If Shen Jiu squints, he can see the bloody glow continue on beneath yet undisturbed forest debris, connecting one cluster of mushrooms to another, and then another – and to many more, very likely, outside of their field of view.
“Cool, right?” Shen Yuan asks, glancing up at Shen Jiu. “A little gorey for a plant, but l think they’re kind of beautiful.”
It’s difficult not to respond to Shen Yuan when he’s like this – child-like excitement glittering in his eyes as he sends Shen Jiu a private grin, like he’s sharing some precious secret and not just reciting information from a dusty tome. That he’s able to maintain this boyish joy at 19 just speaks to the kind of life he’s led, but Shen Jiu just can’t resent the other man for it when happiness suits him best.
Turning his attention to the weird, bloody mushrooms, Shen Jiu sighs. “The name could use some work.”
Huffing a laugh, Shen Yuan agrees. “It’s definitely uninspired. But what can you expect from academics? It gets the point across, I guess.”
“I suppose you could do better.” The tone of Shen Jiu’s voice makes it clear what he really thinks.
“Of course I could!” Standing, Shen Yuan brushes the dirt from his knees – a futile effort, considering the mud has already stained the pale silk of Qing Jing’s robes. It seems that defending his creative mind is more important than something as silly as cleanliness, because Shen Yuan stops bothering with the latter after a few seconds in favour of crossing his arms and sniffing, “Remind me later, and I’ll come up with something even shixiong will be impressed with.”
Smirking, Shen Jiu says, “Well, I don’t doubt you’ll try.”
But Shen Yuan is right – there are other, more pressing matters requiring their attention at the moment. Staring down the path they have yet to traverse, Shen Jiu purses his lips. With either side lined by flickering Bloodstone Caps and other manner of phosphorescent plant life, the paranoid side of Shen Jiu is inclined to believe that they’re being guided somewhere. It’s not as though he thinks they’re about to be ambushed by murderous mushrooms, so to speak, but he can’t help but feel a little on edge.
At least Shen Jiu doesn’t have to stew alone, this time.
“I’m interested in hearing Yuan-shidi’s thoughts, so far.”
Humming, Shen Yuan asks for clarification, “On the forest, or the Bloodstone Caps?”
Shen Jiu tilts his head. “Both, assuming they’re relevant.”
“Well…” Tucking his pointer finger beneath his lower lip, Shen Yuan thinks. “Unnatural for the former, harmless for the latter. Bloodstone Caps aren’t toxic, and feed off detritus like most other fungi, but,” Here, Shen Yuan frowns. “They’re usually found near entrances to the Demon Realm.”
Shen Jiu is very certain he didn’t mishear, but he still has to repeat, slowly, “The Demon Realm?”
Shrugging a shoulder, Shen Yuan says, helplessly, “I did say they were hard to study.”
“Of course.” Resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, Shen Jiu sighs. “So there is very likely an entrance to the Demon Realm in the vicinity, and the resulting demonic energy warped the plantlife nearby – if not the forest entirely.”
After a moment, Shen Jiu draws his sword, taking comfort in the fact that Xiu Ya’s harsh shine dispels some of the mysticism from the area. He realises now, with a dawning clarity, where the discomfort he couldn’t pinpoint earlier is coming from; the forest is silent. No birdsong, nor cicada cries – not even rustles in the distance to indicate other life. Apart from their conversation, there is not a sound to be heard.
Shen Jiu narrows his eyes, continuing, “And something, very likely from the Demon Realm, and also very likely nearby, killed those men.”
“It’s… as Jiu-shixiong says,” Shen Yuan agrees slowly – then, with a look of slight reproach, corrects, “But the men are missing, shixiong. They could still be alive.”
“While your unfailing optimism is as refreshing as ever, some common sense would be appreciated, shidi.” Not looking at Shen Yuan as he says this, Shen Jiu keeps his eyes fixed on the darkness that feels a lot more sinister than before.
Briefly, he considers their options. If Shen Yuan’s assessment is correct – and Shen Jiu can’t think of a reason why it wouldn’t be – then this mission is suddenly far beyond their capabilities. Almost immediately, the image of the pompous village chief comes to mind. The one who had written the missive bound for Cang Qiong had to have been him, or someone directly under his control – and it is then, that the dearth of details suddenly makes sense. A mission dealing with something as vague as ‘missing people’ would require a lot less hands, and cost far less, than anything relating to demons. Shen Jiu finds that he regrets his earlier actions of avoiding the village chief, because he is very much looking forward to a one on one chat with him after they return – which is what they have to do, now. Because Shen Yuan, for all that he has a spiritual sword, has rarely been forced to wield it, and Shen Jiu, for all that he has said in the past, would rather this not be the incident that changes that.
Also, the thought of either of their lives being put at risk over the greed of some miserly bastard is simply unacceptable.
Over my dead fucking body, Shen Jiu thinks viciously, then says, out loud, “We’re leaving.”
His tone brooks no argument, but Shen Yuan’s eyebrows still upturn in surprise at the sudden command. “What? Why?”
“Yuan-shidi said so himself, did he not? We are dealing with the Demon Realm. Senior or otherwise, two disciples aren’t enough to handle this.” And, though he doesn’t believe it himself, Shen Jiu still makes sure to add, pointedly, “Unless, of course, shidi was lying?”
“Huh?!” The squawk – because that’s the only way to describe the noise that leaves Shen Yuan – makes Shen Jiu wince, and he quickly scans their surroundings to make sure nothing draws closer, attracted to the noise. His idiot shidi, still fuming behind him, carries on, “Of course not! Why on earth would I do that?”
“Exactly. Which is why Yuan-shidi should understand why we have to go.”
He begins to walk backwards, pressing against Shen Yuan’s shoulder to get the other man to move. When he feels resistance, Shen Jiu frowns and opens his mouth – only to be beaten to the punch when Shen Yuan hurries to explain, “I understand! I just,” Shen Yuan looks longingly at the Bloodstone Caps, and the growing sense of suspicion in Shen Jiu’s gut is all but confirmed when Shen Yuan draws Zhen Xin, and the resulting shine of both their swords illuminates the pleading moue of Shen Yuan’s lips. “This will only take a moment, shixiong, I swear!”
Without waiting for an answer, Shen Yuan throws himself upon the nearest cluster of Bloodstone Caps before wielding Zhen Xin like a machete and bringing it down at the root.
If spiritual swords could cry, Shen Jiu thinks, aghast.
The Bloodstone Caps must be more sentient than they let on, though, because when Shen Yuan has just about cut clean through the mushroom’s stem, the heads release a synchronised puff of luminescent spores – probably, again, Shen Jiu still isn’t sure – right into Shen Yuan’s face. If it’s supposed to be a deterrent against predators, or one last hurrah at life, it does nothing to stop the man, who merely wipes his mouth and nose with his sleeve before pulling out a qiankun pouch and unceremoniously depositing the mushrooms into its depths.
Zhen Xin’s blade is slick with a substance uncomfortably similar to blood – but that, too, is wiped away without much care, staining Qing Jing’s silk bright red. Pushing himself to his feet and looking far too smug, Shen Yuan tilts his head at Shen Jiu in deference.
“Thanking Jiu-shixiong for his patience. Please, do lead the way.”
It is an act of great self control that Shen Jiu doesn’t whack this man upside his head. Instead, he just pushes him forward, only following when he’s sure Shen Yuan isn’t about to hack away at another unsuspecting Bloodstone Cap. Although they didn’t venture too deeply into the forest, Shen Jiu hasn’t made it this far in life by being careless, so it is with an unwavering diligence that he watches their backs, not letting up until they feel the heat of the sun on their faces once more.
Taking a deep breath, Shen Yuan rubs absently at his nose as he asks, “What’s next?”
Shen Jiu doesn’t bother hiding his scowl. “Before or after I flay the village chief?”
“Jiu-shixiong, you can’t say that!” Laughing, Shen Yuan presses a hand to the nape of his neck. He fans his face with the other, exaggerating a sigh as he says, “But, well, we can discuss your plans of murder along the way. I think this heat is starting to get to me.”
“Why Shizun ever lets you out of the library is beyond me,” Shen Jiu mutters, but he pulls out his own qiankun pouch – filled with much more practical things than demonic mushrooms – and hands the water gourd he had packed earlier over to Shen Yuan.
“I take offence at that! But, ah, thanking shixiong…”
Watching the way Shen Yuan gulps down the water, one could be forgiven for thinking he hadn’t had anything to drink in days. The alarm bells that have begun to ring in Shen Jiu’s head are temporarily silenced by the satisfied sigh that Shen Yuan lets out as he wipes away any wayward droplets that cling to his pouty lips.
Hm. Perhaps it is a little warm. Shen Jiu keeps his gaze on the rice paddies – which really are quite blinding in their radiance – as he says, “You didn’t disagree, though.”
Shen Yuan laughs. The back of his hand presses against Shen Jiu’s when he goes to return the now drained water gourd, and Shen Jiu can’t even snark at him for propriety when he is the one pointedly looking away. “I didn’t disagree.”
It takes Shen Jiu about an hour to realise that something is very, very wrong with Shen Yuan. They’re getting close to the village, which is what Shen Jiu will later blame his inattention on – too focused was he on how he’d tear into the village chief, that he hadn’t noticed Shen Yuan’s speech on the intricacies of aquaponics coming to an abrupt end until it had been 10 minutes of nothing but the quiet rustle of sun bleached grass.
It is the exact moment that he notices that Shen Yuan sounds pretty far behind, that Shen Jiu hears a choked gasp; when he turns around, it is just in time to see the other man swaying unsteadily in place before he falls to his knees.
“Shen Yuan!”
The name tears itself from Shen Jiu’s throat unbidden as he breaks into a dead run, reaching Shen Yuan’s side just in time to catch the man before he pitches over and eats dirt. Despite being sure his grip on Shen Yuan’s arm is bruising, the other man doesn’t react – only lolls his head to the side as he meets Shen Jiu’s gaze with a weak smile.
Rubbing his nose, Shen Yuan sniffles. “It’s, uh, pretty hot today, wouldn’t shixiong agree?”
Narrowing his eyes, Shen Jiu replies, tersely, “It’s not that hot.”
Because it isn’t – certainly not enough to warrant the painful looking red flush that rides high on Shen Yuan’s cheeks, nor the sweat that beads on his brow, making flyaway hairs stick to his forehead. His eyes too, are unnaturally bright – feverish, even – and bookish though Shen Yuan is, he wouldn’t succumb to a heat stroke this severe after only a few hours. Almost subconsciously, Shen Yuan’s hand goes up to scratch at his nose, and Shen Jiu lasers in on the action because again, again, again. A pit begins to form in his stomach as Shen Jiu recalls the way Shen Yuan had itched his nose after taking a lungful of demonic mushroom spores to the face, and it is with a dreadful certainty that he knows that to be the cause of Shen Yuan’s onset illness. Realistically, there can be no other explanation, much as he might wish otherwise.
Still, Shen Jiu can’t help the way his worry shows itself as anger as he spits, through gritted teeth, “Yuan-shidi said the Bloodstone Caps were harmless. ”
“Haha, well…” Shen Yuan’s head begins to list again, so Shen Jiu cups his face to keep it upright. His palm must feel cool to the touch, because the other man nuzzles into it with a sigh; Shen Yuan’s breath is damp against the exposed sliver of Shen Jiu’s wrist, and his lips brush against skin when he speaks. “I-It appears that I have been poisoned, so that theory might need some work.”
“You don’t fucking say,” Shen Jiu hisses, before biting his tongue. He’s – he is not panicking, he is not losing his composure, this is just another instance of his idiot shidi getting into trouble and Shen Jiu is used to that by now, isn’t he? Of course he is, Shen Yuan has been bothering him for years. Everything will be fine if only he calms down.
Staunchly ignoring the fact that Shen Jiu doesn’t think he’s ever seen Shen Yuan this lifeless before, he meets the other man’s gaze. “You know the cure though, yes? Theoretical or otherwise,” he is quick to clarify, before Shen Yuan can rebuke him like a smartass – because he knows the other man would, even in this state. Unfortunately, the other man’s eyelids look ready to droop, so much so that Shen Jiu worries whether he was even heard in the first place. Cupping Shen Yuan’s other cheek, Shen Jiu tilts the man’s face up and squeezes. It is an entirely undignified thing to do to a fellow cultivator, but at least Shen Jiu knows he’s paying attention when he makes an offended noise in the back of his throat and scowls halfheartedly.
Squishing Shen Yuan one more time for good measure, Shen Jiu continues, the fine edge of desperation cutting into his tone. “Surely, surely Yuan-shidi wasn’t stupid enough to have knowingly touched a demonic plant with no contingency plan in case something went wrong – right?”
The wheeze Shen Yuan lets out is a terrible excuse for a laugh, but he supposes that it's nice that one of them is able to find some humour in this situation because it sure as hell isn’t going to be Shen Jiu.
“Shixiong gives this shidi too much credit.” The lopsided grin on Shen Yuan’s face fades as discomfort takes over. He admits, slowly, “But I – yes, I might have an idea of how to fix… this.”
When Shen Yuan doesn’t elaborate, Shen Jiu scowls. “And that would be?” For a moment, Shen Jiu is worried Shen Yuan is going to pass out, but he realises that, no – the other man is actually just avoiding his gaze. Feeling irritation clashing with fear in his gut, Shen Jiu enunciates, very clearly, “Yuan-shidi. My patience is waning quickly. Do not test it.”
“No, it’s just –” Shen Yuan’s hands flutter about, but instead of itching at his nose for the nth time like Shen Jiu had expected, they fall awkwardly into his lap.
It’s happenstance, more than anything, that Shen Jiu’s gaze follows suit – Shen Yuan is poisoned, after all, so it only makes sense that any actions he takes are to be scrutinised – and the only reason Shen Jiu stares thereafter is because he… can’t quite comprehend what he’s seeing. After the lightning shock of surprise fades, the crease in Shen Jiu’s brow smooths out, quickly followed by his frown – he’s pretty sure his entire expression goes blank, actually.
“Shen Yuan…”
Hesitating, Shen Jiu finds himself at a loss for words for what might be the first time in his life. He isn’t sure whether it’s the use of the other man’s full name, or the strange tone of his own voice that has Shen Yuan responding, but he does, albeit sluggishly follow the line of Shen Jiu’s gaze. When he notices where Shen Jiu is looking, however, Shen Yuan reanimates – embarrassment overriding his poison-induced comatose state as he makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. His face, somehow, feels even hotter to the touch where it’s still cupped between Shen Jiu’s hands.
“D-Don’t look!”
Shen Jiu can’t not look. “That is not Zhen Xi.”
“Incredibly astute observation, Jiu-shixiong!” Sounding the most back-to-normal he has since before they left the forest, Shen Yuan yelps, “Now stop looking!”
“Why are…” Tearing his eyes away, Shen Jiu thinks, flustered, why are you erect in the middle of the day?! But there’s no way he’ll verbalise something so obscene. It’s really not hard to connect the dots in this situation, either, so instead he settles for safely stating the obvious: “Bloodstone Cap spores are aphrodisiacs, then.”
Looking thoroughly harassed, Shen Yuan splutters. “A-Apparently so! Lucky me?!”
In an attempt to maintain some level of dignity, the man tries to better cover his shame, but the second his hands press against the hard length, visible even through his outer robes, he lets out a choked whimper – before immediately freezing.
“I, uh.”
Shen Yuan opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again – a fantastic impersonation of a fish, really – but Shen Jiu doesn’t find it quite as funny as it could be when the noise the other man just made is still echoing in his ears. Dropping Shen Yuan’s face like he’s just been burnt – and the comparison isn’t that far off, considering how hot the other man is running right now – Shen Jiu hides his hands in his sleeves. Thankfully, Shen Yuan’s own mortification seems to give him enough strength to stay upright without the extra support.
“Your idea, wh–” Shen Jiu’s voice almost breaks, and he has to take a moment to clear his throat. When he wets his lips, he can see the way Shen Yuan tracks the movement. “What is it?”
“It would… require the help of another.” It’s clear Shen Yuan is stalling, but Shen Jiu can’t seem to find it in himself to snap at him when the other man is still staring at his mouth.
What do you mean? The question is on the tip of Shen Jiu’s tongue, but he swallows it down, because he already knows where this is going to go if he asks. History has taught Shen Jiu that there are some lines that should never be crossed. To do so would beget change – often unwanted, always irreparable. Shen Jiu briefly recalls the man who was once his gege, on the last day Shen Jiu had ever allowed himself to think of him as such. How grateful Qi-ge had been, to be saved by his long lost didi; Shen Jiu, covered in the blood of his former mentor, could only think that the colours of Qiong Ding suited their head disciple well.
Nowadays, the list of people that Shen Jiu cares about is abysmally short, and at some point in the four years that they have known each other – without Shen Jiu’s knowledge or permission, mind you – Shen Yuan has secured his place at the top. Shen Jiu will never tell the other man in so many words, but in the safety of his own mind, Shen Jiu will allow himself to admit that they are… friends, of a kind… and he would not be unaffected were that companionship to come to an end. But when Shen Yuan whimpers again – sounding much more in pain than before – Shen Jiu knows that he cannot let the other man suffer. With more certainty than before, Shen Jiu thinks, we are friends – and many things though he may be, a hypocrite is not one of them. How could he not help Shen Yuan? Unpracticed though he is in the act, Shen Jiu will just have to trust in the four years they’ve spent together. Come what may, he will live with the aftermath so long as Shen Yuan is still around to bear it with him.
Shen Jiu opens his mouth. “Help in what capacity?”
The silence that follows as Shen Yuan’s gaze drags from his lips to his eyes is weighted. While the other man’s expression is complicated, he doesn’t shy away from Shen Jiu when he says, “…Dual cultivation.”
Shen Jiu’s voice is remarkably measured as he responds with a simple, “Of course.”
Closing his eyes, Shen Jiu exhales slowly through his nose. All disciples on Cang Qiong old enough to join night hunts were made to attend mandatory inter-peak lectures on Qian Cao before they did so, ensuring they had at least basic medical knowledge on potential common injuries that could occur when out on missions. Shen Jiu is pretty sure aphrodisiac poisoning wasn’t ever brought up though, so instead, he tries to recall the tidbits of advice his jiejies liked to throw at him during his visits to the brothel. He never paid much attention, then, mostly because they were teasing, but also because at 18, Shen Jiu would have rather died than ever bed a man. He still thinks that might be the case, generally speaking – it just so happens that Shen Yuan, like in so many things, is the exception.
A hand covers his wrist and the heat almost makes Shen Jiu flinch, but of course it’s only Shen Yuan, looking up at him with uncertainty clear as day on his face.
“This shidi… would prefer Jiu-shixiong’s assistance, but I–I know you don’t like being touched.” Shen Yuan briefly squeezes Shen Jiu’s wrist in a way he thinks is supposed to be reassuring before he just as quickly releases it, twisting his fingers into his robes instead. The sight makes something tight in Shen Jiu’s chest unfurl to know that even now, Shen Yuan is still thinking about him. The other man continues, “If that’s the case, then could shixiong help find a willing man in the village? Or, ah,” Brows furrowing, Shen Yuan begins to mutter, talking more to himself now as he says, “It probably has to be a cultivator, right? So maybe… I guess, Liu-shidi…”
It’s terrifying, really, how quickly that fragile warmth turns to ice that floods Shen Jiu’s veins. He almost doesn’t recognise his voice when he viciously interrupts Shen Yuan. “No. That brute is not touching you.”
If Shen Yuan is surprised, or even unsettled by Shen Jiu’s declaration, he doesn’t let it show. More than anything, he just seems confused. “This – This shidi doesn’t understand.”
But Shen Jiu just shakes his head no, because he can’t think of a way to explain it – why a bone deep rage ignites within his core at the thought of some farmer boy, or worse, Liu fucking Qingge, getting their hands on the man in front of him. Shen Jiu knows they’ll take advantage of Shen Yuan – with how vulnerable he is right now, it’s not even a question. Men are pigs on a good day, but put something gentle and untainted and pure before them and they become monsters wearing human flesh. Shen Jiu has seen first hand the things that have been done to his jiejes, and he will not allow those same things to happen to Shen Yuan. Not to mention that Shen Jiu has only just managed to stop that Bai Zhan brute from pestering Shen Yuan after a rejected confession. Who’s to say what would happen if Shen Yuan opened his bed to the man? Shen Jiu can’t expect a simpleton like him to understand this situation for the medical emergency it is, and keep his emotions in check. No, Shen Yuan is Shen Jiu’s responsibility right now – he won’t entrust him to anyone else.
Brushing away the hairs that cling to Shen Yuan’s face, Shen Jiu clarifies, in a slightly calmer voice, “Shidi will be in my care.”
“I will?” Shen Yuan breathes out, surprise and something much sweeter colouring his tone.
Silly man, Shen Jiu thinks, begrudgingly fond when Shen Yuan’s mouth drops open in an ‘o’, like he wasn’t the one who had made the request of Shen Jiu in the first place.
Quirking a brow, Shen Jiu has to ask, “Unless shidi has changed his mind?”
“No!”
The emphatic refusal both pleases and catches Shen Jiu off guard. He has no time to dwell on it, though, when it seems that his agreement to help has freed Shen Yuan of his inhibitions.
All but falling into Shen Jiu, Shen Yuan presses his face into his neck. “Jiu-shixiong, please.” Shen Jiu instinctively wraps his arms around the other man to steady them both, but shivers lightly when Shen Yuan’s lips hover over his pulse point. “It’s so hot, it – it hurts.”
Right. Okay. With Shen Yuan indisposed, Shen Jiu must be the brains for them both. Mind racing, Shen Jiu recalls Shen Yuan saying something about a promised room at the local inn. Shen Jiu has no way of knowing how serious the innkeeper’s wife was when she made the offer, but he’ll persuade her to follow through on it if need be – they’ll need privacy for this, and potentially supplies, too. Mind made up, Shen Jiu gets to his feet and pulls Shen Yuan along with him; the other man is a solid weight against him, which is somewhat surprising. Shen Jiu had, perhaps unfairly, assumed that Shen Yuan was a waif under his robes, but considering the way the man had always absconded from the training field whenever it was time to practise sword forms, Shen Jiu thinks he can be forgiven for thinking so.
Regardless, it is evident he was mistaken.
At the feel of something hard poking into the side of his hip, Shen Jiu’s skin tingles. The sudden change from kneeling to standing had obviously jostled Shen Yuan, and the other man lets out a choked moan into Shen Jiu’s collar as he ruts mindlessly against him for one-two-three seconds, before freezing like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar. Leaning back as much as he can within Shen Jiu’s grasp, the other man peers up, somehow managing to look sincerely apologetic despite the arousal clouding his eyes.
“I’m sor–”
Since his hands are otherwise occupied, Shen Jiu presses his forehead briefly against Shen Yuan’s own to cut him off. “It’s fine.”
The other man fidgets, still uncertain, but Shen Jiu doesn’t plan on wasting any more time trying to convince him when they are clearly racing against the clock until the poison makes Shen Yuan discard his reservations entirely. Besides, Shen Jiu has agreed to this and he means to see it through – just not among the rice paddies near the entrance to the village, in broad daylight, like a pair of insatiable perverts.
Slinging Shen Yuan’s arm over his shoulder, Shen Jiu uses his free hand to deftly loosen Shen Yuan’s belt from the back. It makes the other man’s robes drape in a way that is definitely improper for a Qing Jing disciple, but Shen Jiu figures that this is a better alternative than Shen Yuan poking out the eyes of any onlookers on their way to the inn. A flash of something dark and possessive bubbles in Shen Jiu’s gut as he pushes down the thought of anyone else seeing Shen Yuan this indecently – but, well. No matter how selfish his reasoning, he knows Shen Yuan will thank him for it when he’s cognizant.
The 30 minute walk to the inn is somehow the most arduous part of their entire mission so far. Averse to using his own legs, Shen Yuan clings to Shen Jiu like a sea urchin, and it is only the fact that he knows the other man isn’t doing it on purpose that Shen Jiu stays his tongue. Muttering curses under his breath that he hasn’t used for a decade, Shen Jiu’s temper is understandably short when he kicks open the door of the tavern, interrupting the afternoon tea of a couple old women who shriek at the recoil of wood against stone. He feels a little bad about that, but not enough to apologise before turning his attention to the portly lady standing behind the bar. Her face is pale from the sudden shock, too, but she’s quick to recover once she notices Shen Yuan’s limp form.
“Oh my, Shen-gongzi! What on earth happened?” Looking at Shen Jiu, she asks, “Will he be alright?”
Readjusting his grip on Shen Yuan, Shen Jiu ignores the woman’s questions. He prides himself on concealing the strain in his voice when he requests, “We will need a room – the more isolated, the better. Towels and drinking water too, but leave them outside, if you would.”
“A room…” She trails off, gaze sliding back to Shen Yuan in concern. While Shen Jiu is delighted that Shen Yuan has managed to capture yet another unsuspecting heart, the innkeeper's wife is staring at him a little too closely, and Shen Jiu’s patience is wearing thin. Clearing his throat pointedly, the woman starts in place and looks at Shen Jiu in surprise. Coming to herself, she flusters. “A room, of course! Just a moment, please.”
Fumbling around in the pockets of her apron, she pulls out a master key ring. At least 12 keys of different shapes and sizes hang from the metal chain, and after a moment of fiddling, the woman unhooks a small silver key that she presses into Shen Jiu’s hand. If she notices how sweaty his palm is, she makes no mention of it as she directs them towards the stairs. Inclining her head, she says, “End of the hallway, to the left. It’s not our best, but you won’t get any more private than that.”
For some reason, those are the words rather than anything else that cement the reality of this situation, and Shen Jiu ducks his head as he mutters his thanks. The woman should have no way of knowing what they’re about to do – and yet for some reason, Shen Jiu feels like he’s just advertised it to the entire world. Shaking his head, Shen Jiu doesn’t dwell on the thought as he half drags the other man up the rickety staircase. The hallway, when they enter it, is devoid of life, and when Shen Jiu sends out a flare of qi, he learns that the other rooms, at least for now, are similarly empty. It makes sense, though, because aside from the fact that the inn probably doesn’t have that many customers to begin with, it’s still early afternoon – who would be retiring so soon in the day?
Aside from us, that is, Shen Jiu thinks, hefting Shen Yuan back upon his shoulder as he reaches what he presumes to be their room. Shen Jiu’s dexterity with locks comes in handy when he opens the door one-handed, and though it’s a hassle, Shen Jiu makes sure to lock the door back behind them. He doesn’t anticipate anyone to come knocking, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Nose wrinkling at the smell of stale air, Shen Jiu takes in their new, temporary accommodation. The room is… about as shabby as he’d expected, honestly. Aside from the single bed, there’s not much in the way of furniture – only a small table, atop which lays a tarnished bronze mirror, is tucked beneath the singular window that is letting in hazy rays of light. A generic painting of a mountain range attempts to liven up the atmosphere, but all Shen Jiu can think when he looks at it is that it could never compare to the view from Qing Jing’s bamboo forest.
Beggars can’t be choosers, though.
Leading Shen Yuan to the bed, Shen Jiu attempts to gently lay the other man down, but a distinct lack of coordination from them both has him still flopping backwards, bouncing on the mattress with a quiet ‘oof’. He doesn’t stay starfished for long, though. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Shen Yuan begins wrestling off his outer robes like the clothing has personally offended him. In his haste, however, he gets an arm stuck in one of the sleeves, and he continues this sad, one-sided battle for a few more moments before giving up and looking to Shen Jiu.
“Shixiong, please.” Shen Yuan whines, in that annoying, high pitched tone of voice he loves to use when something isn’t going his way.
Usually, the sound would grate at Shen Jiu… but Shen Yuan’s robes aren’t usually askew, nor are his eyes usually shining with unshed tears. Shen Jiu can’t help but think that the other man looks terribly pathetic right now, and can only wonder what it says about him, that the sight makes his stomach clench in anticipation. There’s no time for further introspection anyway, not when Shen Yuan is reaching for Shen Jiu in desperation. Taking that outstretched hand, Shen Jiu helps the other man untangle himself, letting his outer robes fall uncaringly to the floor. Despite Shen Yuan being clothed, Shen Jiu quickly realises that that is technicality only, because the other man’s inner robes do nothing to hide the outline of his length, straining against the thin fabric. Shen Jiu feels an uncharacteristic rush of heat reach his cheeks when he notices a wet patch forming near where must be the head of Shen Yuan’s cock. His martial siblings call him a lecher, but he isn’t… or at least wasn’t, until this very moment. Shen Yuan squirms like Shen Jiu’s gaze is a physical touch, but even so, he can’t look away. The knowledge that he’ll be doing a lot more than that very soon sends a terrifying thrill of electricity down his spine.
Kneeling at the edge of the mattress, Shen Jiu leans over Shen Yuan. His hair cascades over his shoulder, pin-straight and long enough to tickle the other man’s cheeks. Shen Yuan looks up at him with pupils blown wide, something akin to anticipation glittering in their depths – and Shen Jiu acknowledges the answering pang in his own chest to be his own nerves at that fact. Honestly, Shen Jiu is almost certain that he knows more about sex than Shen Yuan – real world knowledge, and not whatever tripe the other man has picked up in his beloved yellow books. However, knowing something and experiencing it are two very different things. While there is the worry of doing something wrong, Shen Jiu doesn’t think that any amount of advice from his jiejies could have prepared him for the way Shen Yuan, pliant beneath him, sets his teeth on edge with the urge to sink into soft flesh and bite.
Shen Yuan’s own teeth flash briefly, when the other man gnaws on his lower lip; bitten a deep cherry red, Shen Jiu presses a thumb against the plush skin without much thought. The slight pressure makes Shen Yuan’s mouth drop open, and Shen Jiu can feel the way his damp breath comes out in short pants. The tiniest lick of heat against the pad of his thumb is all the warning Shen Jiu gets, before Shen Yuan is ducking his head and taking the digit into his mouth, suckling lightly.
If Shen Jiu wasn’t blushing before, he absolutely is now.
It is scary how quickly Shen Jiu’s entire world narrows down to that singular channel of heat. A demon lord could be politely knocking on their door right now and he doesn’t think he’d notice – or care. Shen Yuan makes a muffled noise before his canine scrapes against the pad of Shen Jiu’s thumb, and Shen Jiu has just enough self control left to hold back a shudder. It doesn’t feel good, as such, but his imagination is pushed into overdrive by the possibility of how much better it could be, were Shen Yuan doing that to his own tongue instead. There’s no way to test that theory other than just trying it, so it’s with this in mind that Shen Jiu removes his thumb and descends, swallowing the noise of complaint Shen Yuan makes as he kisses the other man square on the mouth.
Any attempt at maintaining control is lost the second their lips touch; Shen Yuan’s reaction is instantaneous.
Sliding his hands up Shen Jiu’s shoulders, Shen Yuan laces his fingers behind his neck, like the other man is afraid he’ll pull away if he doesn’t – as if Shen Jiu even could. The moan Shen Yuan lets out when Shen Jiu licks along the seam of lips rattles inside Shen Jiu’s brain, and the heat that greets him when the other man opens up is deliciously molten. Shen Jiu lasts a minute before he has to pull away – he can’t tell if he’s melting, or drowning, or both, but he knows they need to breathe, even if Shen Yuan wants to pretend otherwise. Their lips make a quiet schlick when they part, and almost immediately, Shen Yuan is straining his neck, trying to pull Shen Jiu down for another kiss. Turning his head away does the opposite of dissuading the other man, who takes full advantage of Shen Jiu’s now-exposed neck to mouth at the line of his jaw and press wet kisses against the hollow of his throat.
“Shen Yuan, be–have!” Trying to sound stern fails when he chokes at the brush of teeth against his jugular.
“A-Jiu.” The nickname makes Shen Jiu’s breath hitch before he can help it, and he can feel the impression of a smile pressed into his skin. Shen Yuan, the little bastard, continues. “Need more. I need you.”
A-Jiu. Shen Jiu’s mind can’t help but trip over it. When was the last time he was referred to so fondly? The brothel jiejies don’t count, much as he hopes they do actually like him, because he still pays for their time at the end of the day. Even knowing that Shen Yuan’s overt affection for him right now is all a product of the Bloodstone Cap pollen, Shen Jiu still selfishly takes a moment to revel in the warm feeling it brings. The sudden burn behind his eyes takes him by surprise, though, and he feels foolish for it.
Clearing his throat, Shen Jiu says, “I know,” but to his chagrin, his voice wavers. He hopes Shen Yuan is too fever-struck to remember that later. “Let… Let me go. I need to disrobe.”
Which is a very clinical way of saying he’s about to get naked.
Right.
Methodically untying his belt, Shen Jiu shrugs his robes down to the crooks of his elbows; once again, his nerves make themselves known in the flutter of his stomach as he’s forced to consider an obstacle he’s never had to confront before. Shen Jiu has always felt neutral towards his body – though he is now realising that that was contingent on the fact that no one other than him would see it – because while cultivation has helped fade some of his scars… his time at the Qiu Manor was not kind. It would not be so simple to erase the marks of his past; Qiu Jianluo had made sure of that.
Letting his outer robes pile on top of Shen Yuan’s, Shen Jiu convinces himself that he will be fine. At the risk of sounding crude, if he’s read this situation right, Shen Yuan will be the one on his back anyway, which means there should be no issues if he keeps his inner robes on – as long as they don’t get in the way, he doubts the other man will care enough to complain. However, it is with more trepidation than anticipated that Shen Jiu parts with his fan, allowing it to join their clothes on the floor; he risks baring more than just his body without it, after all.
Shaking his head to clear it of useless thoughts, Shen Jiu returns to Shen Yuan’s embrace, feeling soothed when the other man welcomes him back eagerly. If Shen Jiu were a weaker man, then the soft, pleased sounds Shen Yuan makes while being kissed would be enough to distract him from the whole reason they’re kissing in the first place. It is a good thing, then, that he is not. Hands sliding down to Shen Yuan’s hips, he shifts the other man up a little so that his knee is pressed firmly between the other man’s legs. With both their outer robes gone, there is nothing left to hide the way Shen Yuan’s cock twitches against Shen Jiu’s leg, and the other man whines unabashedly as he is finally, finally afforded some relief. But he’s loud – too loud – so Shen Jiu recaptures his lips, licking into his mouth to muffle the noises that spill helplessly from Shen Yuan’s throat as he uses Shen Jiu’s leg to chase his pleasure. Tugging open the front of Shen Yuan’s inner robes, Shen Jiu’s wandering fingers brush against the other man’s nipples. He’s not a woman, so Shen Jiu isn’t sure how good this will feel, if at all… but when Shen Yuan arches into his touch with a choked gasp, Shen Jiu has his answer. Rolling one bud between his fingers, Shen Jiu gives in to the urge to take the other into his mouth. This leaves Shen Yuan free reign to run his own mouth, for better or for worse – but when all that falls past his parted lips are moans of Shen Jiu’s name, he finds he doesn’t want the other man to stop.
“A-Jiu, I’m gonna–” Shen Yuan bucks his hips sharply, and Shen Jiu can feel a wetness against his thigh. He must be leaking so much, is Shen Jiu’s first thought; I want to see, is his hungry second. Unaware of this, Shen Yuan pleads, breath shaky, “Don’t stop.”
When begged so sweetly, how could Shen Jiu refuse? Trailing his mouth upwards, Shen Jiu presses a gentle kiss to his chest, directly over Shen Yuan’s heart, before biting down hard. His teeth are indented in Shen Yuan’s skin, and Shen Jiu feels disgusted at the satisfaction he feels, knowing that the mark will remain for weeks to come.
“Let go, A-Yuan,” Shen Jiu murmurs, and it seems that that, more than anything, is what undoes the other man.
Locking up, Shen Yuan makes a strangled noise as he arches his back and comes, and Shen Jiu is only given a scant few moments to catch his breath before hands are cupping either side of his face and Shen Yuan is dragging him up into a filthy kiss. Nipping at Shen Jiu’s lips until he opens his mouth, Shen Jiu feels his stomach drop when Shen Yuan laps at his tongue, a thread of spit keeping them connected as he demands, “More.”
Shen Jiu spares a brief thought for Shen Yuan’s aphrodisiac enhanced refractory period, before the other man is pressing up and the hardness that is pushed into the crease of Shen Jiu’s thigh steals all of his attention. Ignoring Shen Yuan’s perfunctory noise of complaint, Shen Jiu leans back on his haunches and takes in the sight before him. Messy on a good day, Shen Yuan’s hair now is unbound and wild, fanning out over the white pillow like an ink drop in water. His eyes, usually a honey brown, are nearly black now, hooded as he watches Shen Jiu with unrestrained lust; it is a look Shen Jiu is not entirely unfamiliar with, but has never welcomed, until now. Shen Yuan’s heaving chest is glistening with sweat, and Shen Jiu watches those desperate breaths escape past lips shiny with spit. But what really paints this picture of debauchery, is what the thin slit of Shen Yuan’s mussed up robes reveal – a cock still hard and red, staining a pale thigh milky white with cum.
The amount of bodily fluids alone should disgust Shen Jiu, and the logical part of him understands that it actually is a little gross… but despite that, Shen Jiu doesn’t think he’s ever desired anyone as viscerally. He wonders, idly, if Shen Yuan is about to ruin everyone else for him, but the thought isn’t as unnerving as it should be. Shen Jiu doesn’t care for the pleasure of sex enough to deal with the vulnerability it entails – especially with strangers; the only person he’d ever trust with that is already laying naked beneath him.
“A-Jiu…” A wandering foot brushes against Shen Jiu’s side, and he catches it by the ankle, holding back the urge to sink his teeth into the soft inside of Shen Yuan’s calf.
Since Shen Yuan’s inner robes serve no purpose other than to overheat him, Shen Jiu has no qualms stripping them off. After one orgasm, the other man’s limbs aren’t very cooperative, but when he realises what Shen Jiu is trying to do, he does his best to help. Leaning forward to slide the robes off of Shen Yuan’s shoulders, the other man takes the opportunity of closeness to steal a chaste kiss that has Shen Jiu’s heart stuttering in his chest – all because of the shy smile Shen Yuan sends him afterwards, like that is the most embarrassing thing they’ve done so far. Ridiculous.
Not discarding his own inner robes proves to be useful beyond maintaining his comfort when Shen Jiu can still access his qiankun pouch, and from within it, he retrieves a small vial of hair oil. Shen Jiu always tries to carry some around on his person if he can, preferring to have the option of freshening up on missions when a bath isn’t always guaranteed. Never did he think he’d be using it for something like this, though. Actual lubricant, or even cooking oil, would probably be more appropriate… but then Shen Yuan’s tongue peeks out of his mouth – a flash of pink – as he watches Shen Jiu spread some of the perfumed oil over his fingers, and suddenly Shen Jiu can’t find it in himself to care to look for an alternative. Finally drawing his attention to where Shen Yuan needs it the most, Shen Jiu feels his mouth dry at the sight before him. The other man’s cock is drooling precum as it lays stiff against his stomach. A steady pulse of clear fluid that begins to pool in the dip of his belly button, there's so much that Shen Jiu wonders whether they even needed his hair oil in the first place.
Considering he doesn’t know how Shen Yuan touches himself (and isn’t that a thought to pick over later), Shen Jiu figures that starting off with what he likes is as good an idea as any. It’s with this in mind that Shen Jiu carefully wraps a hand around Shen Yuan’s cock. That simple touch alone has Shen Yuan hissing through his teeth, and Shen Jiu observes with a hawk eye every minutiae of the other man’s expressions. The press of a thumb beneath the crown of his cock earns Shen Jiu a furrowed brow; a tight grasp at the base gets a bitten lip. But it’s when Shen Jiu allows his fingers to slip lower – brushing past Shen Yuan’s balls and lower still – that the other man makes a devastated little noise, hips twitching involuntarily as fresh precum spills over Shen Jiu’s knuckles.
“A-Jiu,” Shen Yuan breathes shakily. “C-Can – I need you to – oh.”
“Mn?” Shen Jiu makes an inquisitive noise, like the other man’s lack of coherence has nothing to do with his ministrations.
“A-Jiu, you–!” Balling his fists into the bedsheets, Shen Yuan glares; his face has been perpetually red since he collapsed near the village, but for some reason, Shen Jiu can tell that part of that flush now is due to embarrassment. “You are terrible. I said… I need you,” Glancing off to the side, he continues in a quieter voice, “i-inside. Okay? Please.” Regaining some confidence, Shen Yuan digs his heels threateningly into Shen Jiu’s back. “And don’t ask me to repeat myself, because I won’t!”
Heart skipping a beat or ten, Shen Jiu just nods silently; he isn’t quite certain he’d have been able to handle being asked that a second time, anyway.
Rubbing his fingers together, Shen Jiu finds the precum there has already become tacky, so using his cleaner hand, Shen Jiu fumbles around on the bedsheets for the vial of hair oil. An unsteady grip means he accidentally pours out a little too much, and he grimaces as the excess spills messily down his wrist – however, one look at Shen Yuan, and Shen Jiu finds his annoyance disappearing rather quickly. The other man’s thighs fall open, seemingly under the weight of his gaze, and Shen Jiu feels, absurdly, like he’s being seduced. The fact that Shen Yuan is trying to hide his face behind his hands makes it clear his actions are unintentional, but the idea is enough to make Shen Jiu’s throat click when he swallows. Huffing a breath at his inane thoughts, Shen Jiu brushes his slicked up fingers tentatively against Shen Yuan’s entrance. He does nothing beyond carefully circling the skin there, but even that seems more than enough to have the muscles in Shen Yuan’s stomach jumping as he digs his nails into the pillow by his head.
“Relax,” Shen Jiu murmurs, using his other hand to massage Shen Yuan’s inner thigh. “It’s going to hurt if you don’t.”
Despite the aphrodisiac’s influence, the other man is still clearly nervous – which makes sense, since Shen Jiu is almost certain this is the first time Shen Yuan has ever been touched by anything other than his own right hand. Still, if he stays this tense, then Shen Jiu won’t actually be able to do anything.
“Haha.” The other man’s laugh comes out only slightly strangled. “R-Right.”
“…I’ll stop if you don’t, you know.”
Shen Jiu hadn’t meant the comment as anything more than an offhand, informative statement, but when Shen Yuan’s eyes widen in panic, Shen Jiu realises belatedly that his words have been taken as a threat.
“What? You can’t!” The other man gasps. “You – listen, just…” Scrambling for the right words to convince Shen Jiu, Shen Yuan settles on quite possibly the worst argument he could have chosen, when he blurts out, all faux bravado, “It–It won’t even hurt for long, right? So you should just put them in. I’ll be fine.”
It takes a moment before the words really register with Shen Jiu, but when they do, he doesn’t think he could stop the way his lip curls up in disgust if he tried. Unfortunately, the other man mistakenly assumes that that disgust is directed at him, and deflates immediately, looking ashamed. Shen Jiu feels guilt itch at him over that misunderstanding, but the appalling idea of willingly hurting Shen Yuan in a situation like this is much more pressing, and must be dealt with immediately.
“Do not confuse real life with those deplorable yellow books, Shen Yuan.” Shen Jiu’s voice is hard and brooks no argument, but that’s only because this is an extremely important life lesson – one which appears to have fallen upon Shen Jiu’s shoulders to teach. Exhaling through his nose, he keeps his voice stern – though it is somewhat offset by the way he’s tracing patterns into the skin of the other man’s thigh. “Sex is meant to be a pleasurable act for all involved. Do not let any lascivious bastard,” Shen Jiu narrows his eyes, “or yourself, excuse pain as a means to an end. Do I make myself clear?”
Having not expected an impromptu scolding, Shen Yuan squirms, uncomfortable. Usually able to last a lot longer under the heat of Shen Jiu’s glower, he suspects that it’s the aphrodisiac that hastens Shen Yuan’s indomitable will to crumble as he murmurs, sullenly, “…Yes, fine. It was just an idea, anyway…”
“A terrible one,” Shen Jiu agrees mildly. The other man wears a look of embarrassed affront, but before he can justify himself, Shen Jiu continues, “So allow me to try something.”
Putting his annoyance on hold, Shen Yuan tilts his head; after a moment of consideration, he nods, and at his approval, Shen Jiu, without preamble, takes the other man into his hand.
His cock is velvety and hot, and as Shen Jiu rubs his thumb slowly over the head, he spares a wry thought for how funny it is that he’s gotten accustomed to the feel of it so quickly. Shen Yuan’s hips twitch upwards, trying to coax Shen Jiu into giving him more tangible attention, but Shen Jiu ignores the other man’s whine, instead spreading the fresh leak of precum around the head as he teases the tip of his pointer finger past the rim of Shen Yuan’s hole. He’s still pretty tight, but the added pleasure has made Shen Yuan relax just enough to allow Shen Jiu to slowly press his finger in, up to the knuckle. The intrusion makes the other man’s breath catch in his throat, and he wiggles his hips, trying to get used to the feeling; thankfully not tensing up again, Shen Yuan does wrinkle his nose in a way very reminiscent of the lunar rabbits Shen Jiu once saw on a mission. It is… entirely too cute for this situation, and Shen Jiu doesn’t know how to deal with that, so he doesn’t – distracting them both as he begins to pump Shen Yuan’s cock.
“A-Jiu,” Shen Yuan gasps, “feels, ah, feels good.”
“Mn,” Shen Jiu hums, withdrawing his finger before curling it back into the other man; whimpering, Shen Yuan’s hips stutter, and he seems torn between fucking up into the smooth slide of Shen Jiu’s palm or bearing down onto his finger. “You’re doing well, A-Yuan.”
After a few moments, Shen Jiu pulls out his finger and returns with two, pressing but not yet breaching as he waits for Shen Yuan’s reaction. The pressure against the other man’s rim has him shuddering before he nods frantically, a resounding yes to Shen Jiu’s unspoken question.
“Breathe,” Shen Jiu reminds him, before pushing in – slowly but steadily spreading the other man open.
Shen Jiu tries to keep this clinical, concentrating on the motion of scissoring his fingers so he does not focus on the fact that he is preparing Shen Yuan to take his cock. Blanking out Shen Yuan’s broken whines is a lot harder, as is ignoring the sheer heat that is currently enveloping his digits. Shen Jiu doesn’t know if this is normal, or if the aphrodisiac is making Shen Yuan burn hotter, but if Shen Jiu thinks about – how it’ll feel – it any longer, he knows he’ll lose his composure; unfortunately, he is still only human.
Fitting in a third finger is a little more difficult than the second, and when Shen Yuan makes a noise that isn’t entirely drawn from pleasure, Shen Jiu pauses. Casting his mind back, he struggles to remember what his jiejies told him. If he’s recalling correctly, there should be something… if he curves his fingers up and drags down…
Shen Jiu knows he’s found what he’s looking for when Shen Yuan’s back arches suddenly, violently; he’d be worried the other man were in pain if not for the way Shen Yuan immediately demands, voice tremulous and breathy, “Again.”
And that – that voice, Shen Jiu knows, is going to stay with him for many a lonely night.
Copying the way he curled his fingers a moment ago, Shen Jiu rubs slow, deliberate circles over that same spot inside Shen Yuan. The other man trembles, legs kicking out as his hands clench and unclench in the bedsheets; Shen Jiu doesn’t even need to touch his cock anymore, with the way the other man is trying to fuck himself on Shen Jiu’s fingers. Electricity zings up Shen Jiu’s spine at the sight of Shen Yuan so dishevelled and lost to pleasure – pleasure delivered by his hand, in the most literal sense. Shen Jiu can think of a list of people who would kill him for doing this, and with a flash of irritation, realises he can think of an equally long list of those who would kill to be doing this. It’s a heady feeling, though, to know that he is the one Shen Yuan is begging relief from. Part of Shen Jiu laments that he won’t be able to break his martial siblings’ hearts with the events of today – because he knows that he’s going to take the details of Shen Yuan’s lithe jade skin and pitchy, gasping moans to his grave. Impulsively, Shen Jiu decides that should Shen Yuan ever want to do this again in the future, it will be with him. This desire is born entirely from selfishness, but Shen Jiu has never claimed to be a good person. He knows he doesn’t deserve Shen Yuan, but neither do any of the parasites that cling to the other man – if Shen Yuan is to be with someone unworthy regardless, then it may as well be Shen Jiu.
Now all that remains is for Shen Jiu to make Shen Yuan feel so good that the other man comes back to him on his own – without Shen Jiu having to deal with anything as pesky as his own emotions.
Unaware of the trajectory of Shen Jiu’s thoughts, Shen Yuan’s eyebrows pinch in desperation, squirming as he wonders, likely, why Shen Jiu’s attentions have stopped – which, actually, Shen Jiu hadn’t realised they had, until just now. And after his newfound resolution, that certainly won’t do. Redoubling his efforts, Shen Jiu aims for Shen Yuan’s sweet spot; relentlessly fucking his fingers in as he squeezes and strokes the other man’s cock in tandem with his movements. The onslaught has Shen Yuan’s mouth dropping open in a silent moan, thighs shivering uncontrollably.
Shen Jiu has to bite the inside of his cheek hard when he’s rewarded with a sweet gasp of his name, Shen Yuan begging, “A-Jiu, if you, ngh, keep doing that, I’ll–!”
“It’s alright.” Voice low, Shen Jiu says, “Come for me, A-Yuan.”
“Oh.” The word is released on a sharply inhaled breath – Shen Yuan staring up at the ceiling with eyes unfocused as he clamps down on Shen Jiu’s fingers and paints his stomach and chest white.
It’s only the second time that Shen Jiu has seen the other man reach his climax, but it is decidedly unfair how alluring he makes it seem. The jiejies at the brothel always said that men made the most ridiculous expressions when chasing their pleasure, and Shen Jiu had believed them because it made sense that men would be hideous in this aspect too… Except for Shen Yuan, apparently. Is the other man really planning on proving himself the exception to every rule?
How vexing, Shen Jiu thinks, though the thought lacks any malice.
“A-Jiu,” Shen Yuan breathes, voice strained. He doesn’t sound like someone who just had a leg shaking orgasm, but Shen Jiu can already tell why as the other man mumbles, “I still… I need–”
“I know,” Shen Jiu murmurs, because it would be difficult not to, when the other man’s cock is still hard and red – the head bordering on purple now, with the strain – in Shen Jiu’s hand.
Withdrawing his fingers from within Shen Yuan, Shen Jiu shushes the other man when he whines a complaint at the loss. Haphazardly wiping his hands off on the sheets, Shen Jiu smoothes a palm down the front of his inner robes, and, for the first time since they stumbled into this dingy room, allows himself to consider his own pleasure. It’s funny though, how once he pays attention to the tight coil in his groin, he wonders how he ever managed to ignore it in the first place. Letting his robes fall open, Shen Jiu sees the exact moment Shen Yuan becomes aware of this fact, when the other man goes very still – the haze in his eyes darkening to something unreadable as he stares, unabashedly, at Shen Jiu’s cock. The ego boost this gives is definitely unintentional – and unwarranted, since they’re more or less the same size – but Shen Jiu allows it to go to his head just a little as he feels the last dregs of his apprehension fade away under the raw hunger of Shen Yuan’s gaze.
There’s barely any hair oil left in the vial, so in a moment of impulsiveness that he will definitely question later, Shen Jiu gathers the freshly spilled cum splattered across Shen Yuan’s tummy and uses it to slick his cock instead. It feels animalistic – primal in a way that Shen Jiu had thought he had risen above, in the years since joining Cang Qiong. There’s no denying that using Shen Yuan’s essence to prepare himself doesn’t ignite a fire within him, though, and with the pressure of his fist, it’s getting decidedly harder not to lose control.
Surprisingly – or perhaps not so much, given the circumstances – it’s Shen Yuan who interrupts Shen Jiu, impatiently demanding, “Stop now – that’s enough.”
Shen Jiu thinks he would comment on the other man’s desperation, were he not already dangerously close to the edge himself.
There aren’t any extra pillows to prop Shen Yuan’s hips up, so Shen Jiu has to suffice with bunching up the bedsheets – sending a mental apology to the innkeeper’s wife for the fact that they’ll have to be burned after today. Shen Yuan’s legs wrap eagerly around Shen Jiu’s waist, and his enthusiasm would make Shen Jiu’s stomach flutter if not for how much more difficult it is for him to guide his cock to the other man’s entrance.
“I’m not going anywhere, A-Yuan,” Shen Jiu huffs, “Calm down.”
“Sorry,” Shen Yuan mutters, not sounding apologetic in the least.
Still, he relaxes the death grip his legs have around Shen Jiu, which is what matters. Tilting his hips up invitingly, the tip of Shen Jiu’s cock kisses Shen Yuan’s hole, and Shen Jiu can’t stop the shiver that runs through his body at the contact. He has to remind himself that this – this is not normal sex, this is dual cultivation, and he needs to be prepared for the ‘cultivation’ part of that, very, very soon.
But first–
“Remember to relax,” says Shen Jiu aloud, though he isn’t sure who exactly he’s directing those words at.
Holding the base of his cock, Shen Jiu keeps himself steady as he takes a breath before finally pressing into Shen Yuan. There’s resistance at first, and Shen Yuan makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat as he forces his body to stay lax. The other man is obviously in some discomfort, and Shen Jiu feels gross for the way he can’t focus on anything but the warmth enveloping the head of his cock, so much hotter and tighter and better than he ever could have imagined. It’s with scraps of self control that Shen Jiu doesn’t bottom out straight away – instead grabbing onto Shen Yuan’s thighs to ground himself, holding on so tightly that the plush skin dimples under the strength of his grip.
Shen Jiu can feel the moment that Shen Yuan’s body opens up enough to let him in, because when he tentatively pushes forward again, his cock slides in much easier. He accidentally presses a little too deep, and hisses a curse as Shen Yuan clenches down on him, a hiccuping breath escaping the other man.
“Sorry.” Shen Jiu’s apology comes out through gritted teeth, but Shen Yuan is already shaking his head.
“Keep–going.” The other man sounds unsteady, but he clenches down on Shen Jiu’s cock again, and there’s no way it’s not deliberate this time.
The weird, strangled noise that makes its way out of Shen Jiu’s mouth is horribly undignified, and he feels himself flush as he bites out a warning. “Shen Yuan, this is not a game.”
Shen Yuan’s laugh is a little warbled, but his smile as he locks his ankles behind Shen Jiu’s back is slanted with mischief. “Boo,” he complains, even going so far as to stick his tongue out like a child. “A-Jiu is boring.”
“And A-Yuan is insufferable,” Shen Jiu retorts, completely honestly.
(…Perhaps only 99% honestly).
There is a rebuttal on the tip of the other man’s tongue, Shen Jiu can tell – so, instead of allowing Shen Yuan the pleasure of verbally coaxing Shen Jiu closer to another qi deviation, he decides to silence the man preemptively. Inch by gradual inch, Shen Jiu continues to push in, and he doesn’t stop until his hips are pressed flush against the other man’s ass. He can almost see the coherency leave Shen Yuan, watching as the other man’s eyes fall shut while his brows furrow. A bead of sweat trails down from Shen Jiu’s temple to his chin as he bows his head, reciting the five steps of Qing Jing’s meditation techniques in an effort not to release in the next 10 seconds. He’s never felt this out of control over his body before and he hates it… but not enough to stop. Nowhere near enough. He just needs practice, Shen Jiu thinks somewhat deliriously – with Shen Yuan, and without demonic mushroom aphrodisiacs.
But that’s a problem for future Shen Jiu to concern himself with.
Right now, Shen Jiu is in the middle of waiting an eternity – or if he feels less inclined to dramatics, a minute at most – before Shen Yuan finally opens his eyes. The other man reaches a hand out, and Shen Jiu takes it without thought; Shen Yuan’s palm is sweaty, but Shen Jiu ignores it in favour of lacing their fingers together, and is rewarded with a dopey smile that makes his heart thud against his ribcage. The other man seems over his discomfort, but Shen Jiu still smooths his fingers over the space between his eyebrows. The action makes Shen Yuan tilt his head up like a cat looking for pets, and it’s so innocently endearing that Shen Jiu wants to kiss him breathless.
“I’m going to move now,” Shen Jiu says instead, voice rough.
“Please,” is all Shen Yuan replies.
Shen Jiu starts slow. Pulling out so only the tip of his cock is keeping Shen Yuan split open, he slides back in one smooth motion – Shen Yuan’s breath hitches on a low moan, so Shen Jiu does it again and again, filling Shen Yuan over and over and over until the other man is writhing as whimpers of A-Jiu, and please, and more spill from his rosy, bitten lips. The other man seems caught between two minds – constantly tightening his legs around Shen Jiu to keep him in place, in spite of the way his thighs tremble with the need to spread wide so that Shen Jiu can fuck him better. Huffing through his nose, Shen Jiu decides that if Shen Yuan can’t make his mind up, Shen Jiu will do it for him. Sliding his hands under the backs of Shen Yuan’s knees, Shen Jiu hitches his legs up until they’re hooked over his shoulders. The change in position keeps Shen Yuan’s hips lifted off the bed, so Shen Jiu holds his waist to support him as he bends forward, forcing Shen Yuan’s knees to touch his chest.
“Oh, fuck,” Shen Yuan curses, when the new angle allows Shen Jiu’s cock to reach even deeper. “A-Jiu, please please–”
Shen Jiu doesn’t need to be told twice – Shen Yuan is so slick and tight around him, Shen Jiu feels like he’s melting. He can’t let go yet, but he allows himself to piston his hips faster, feeling white heat smoulder in his gut when the smacking sound of sweat-sticky skin echoes obscenely throughout the room. It’s at that moment that Shen Jiu realises, far too late, that he didn’t think to place a silencing talisman on the door before they started. He already knows the upper floors are empty, but for some reason, just the idea that someone could overhear them – listen to the desperate sounds Shen Yuan is making, knowing Shen Jiu is responsible… Snapping his hips forward sharply, Shen Jiu shudders in excitement when the other man makes a garbled noise that he thinks might be some iteration of his name; he can’t tell for sure, though, because Shen Yuan is quick to bite into the meat of his palm, muffling all the other words that Shen Jiu is busy currently fucking out of his mind.
This is bad, Shen Jiu thinks, hands slipping up to the small of Shen Yuan’s back. If they carry on like this, the other man is going to cum again – not that Shen Jiu thinks Shen Yuan would complain about it, but it’s clear that normal orgasms aren't the cure to this stupid aphrodisiac so they need to get to channelling qi as soon as possible. Slowing his thrusts to an eventual stop, Shen Yuan immediately splutters out a complaint; Shen Jiu ignores the other man in favour of re-centering himself, because he doesn’t have overflowing reserves of qi so he needs to concentrate. Shen Yuan, for his part, is doing his utmost to hinder Shen Jiu’s help, arching to an impossible angle as he tries to fuck himself back onto Shen Jiu’s cock, only to whimper in frustration when Shen Jiu holds him still.
“Listen to me, you need – channel your qi.” The sentence comes out jumbled when Shen Yuan squeezes like a vice around Shen Jiu and steals the breath from his lungs. Still, he tries to make the other man understand, breathless and half desperate, “T-This is important, look, just–”
Trying to guide Shen Yuan’s palms to rest on any part of Shen Jiu would be an exercise in futility based on the awkward way he’s holding Shen Yuan up – forget the fact that the other man’s bones appear to have turned liquid, making something as simple as lifting his arms impossible. Shen Jiu decides to take it as the sign to change positions that it is, and feels relief at the idea, because his shoulder muscles were starting to complain, and the sweat on his back has made the fabric of his inner robes cling uncomfortably to his skin. The idea of pulling out of Shen Yuan’s warmth is much less enticing, however, and it is with a gross amount of reluctance that he lets the other man’s hips fall back to the mattress as he slides his legs off of his shoulders.
More concerned with the logistics of getting Shen Yuan off his back, Shen Jiu startles when the other man lets out a wail, sounding devastated as he babbles, “No, no no no – why? A-Jiu, what? Did I? Why?”
Scrabbling for Shen Jiu, Shen Yuan looks close to tears, and he is acutely reminded of the first and only other time he’d ever made the other man cry. It’s not a pleasant memory in any shape or form, and Shen Jiu finds his body moving before he realises it – caging the other man in as he seals his lips with a kiss.
“Breathe, A-Yuan,” Shen Jiu murmurs, pressing his lips to Shen Yuan’s cheek – and then the other, for good measure. The other man’s hips thrust upwards, and Shen Jiu moans against damp skin when their cocks brush against each other, feeling the pleasure spark sharply in his stomach. It would be so easy to rut against Shen Yuan, press against hot, velvety flesh until they stained the other man’s stomach a sticky white.
…But.
Sliding his hands between Shen Yuan’s back and the bed, Shen Jiu takes a steadying breath before flipping them so their positions are reversed. It’s a little awkward, and the other man lets out an indignant yelp at the manhandling, but when Shen Jiu shuffles backwards so he’s leaning against the bed frame, Shen Yuan is quick to straddle his thighs and settle into his lap. The other man’s arms instinctively loop around Shen Jiu’s neck, and Shen Jiu presses one hand between the other man’s shoulder blades while the other grips his waist, keeping him steady. With this much skin contact, it should be a lot easier for the both of them to transfer their qi… is what Shen Jiu hopes, anyway. With the way Shen Yuan has begun to rut against Shen Jiu’s stomach, though, he’s not sure the other man is really up for listening to anything.
Still, Shen Jiu reminds him, “Channel your qi, A-Yuan.”
“Ngh.”
With bated breath, Shen Jiu waits for the other man to react to his words, but the seconds pass and still nothing happens. It’s just as Shen Jiu is racking his brain for a way to force the other man to transfer his qi, that he feels a trickle of warmth, like liquid sunlight, flow into his meridians where one of Shen Yuan’s palms is curled around the nape of his neck.
The sensation makes Shen Jiu shudder involuntarily. It’s not as though he’s never had a qi transfer – the disciples on Qian Cao can certainly attest to that. However, all those times had been clinical, medical procedures; no matter the person treating Shen Jiu – because there have been many – their qi was always uncomfortably cold, and probing in a way that made Shen Jiu feel exposed beyond the patch of skin he was made to present. This – Shen Yuan’s qi – is nothing like that. Another exception, Shen Jiu thinks helplessly, though is there really any point in keeping track of those anymore? He’s slowly realising that he’ll like anything, as long as it’s Shen Yuan.
Slowly realising that he, likes, Shen Yuan.
…Somehow, the revelation isn’t as surprising as it should be, but Shen Jiu still has to take a moment to rest his forehead against the other man’s as he exhales shakily. He'll just add it to the list of things for future Shen Jiu to deal with – the immediate present requires his full attention, after all. Closing his eyes, Shen Jiu carefully begins to reciprocate the flow of qi he’s receiving, trying to keep it slow and steady because truthfully he doesn’t have much experience being on the other end of this process. There’s no way his qi feels half as good as Shen Yuan’s, but the other man still gasps at the feeling before he slumps forward with a soft moan. They can’t get much closer than this, but Shen Yuan still seems intent on pressing into Shen Jiu like he wants to crawl into his skin and stay. The thought makes Shen Jiu’s cock throb, and all of a sudden it is unbearable that he is not buried in Shen Yuan’s heat.
He needs… he needs – “A-Yuan.”
“Yes,” Shen Yuan breathes, somehow knowing – always knowing – what Shen Jiu means, “Yes, stop keeping me waiting.”
Reaching for his cock would mean having to separate from Shen Yuan for a moment, which is just – unthinkable – and it seems that the other man shares the sentiment, because he arches his back, trying to guide the head of Shen Jiu’s cock to his hole with touch alone. The other man misses the mark three times, and the way Shen Jiu’s cock slides between his cheeks is a new kind of delicious torture. By the time Shen Yuan manages to spear himself on Shen Jiu’s cock, the other man is so impatient that he takes it to the hilt all at once, and Shen Jiu has to bite the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, just so that he doesn’t cum on the spot. He wonders, very belatedly, if this position wasn’t a huge mistake, because while it allows him to sink deeper into Shen Yuan than before, his movement is completely restricted to aborted little thrusts that achieve nothing but teasing the hint of actual friction. Shen Yuan, on the other hand, seems to be having no such complaints as he grinds down on Shen Jiu’s cock in filthy circles of eight, tilting his hips as he searches for the spot that will make him lose his mind. Shen Jiu can tell when the other man has found it, because he feels Shen Yuan’s flow of qi stutter as he buries his face into Shen Jiu’s neck. The other man’s upper body goes lax, but it’s like his hips have a mind of their own – thighs shaking as short, broken moans are punched out of Shen Yuan’s lungs with every helpless bounce.
Pressing his cheek against the side of Shen Yuan’s head, Shen Jiu tries desperately to hold on to his sanity. He isn’t sure if the gentle flow of the other man’s qi is amplifying every sensation tenfold, but with their chests pressed together, Shen Jiu can feel the rabbiting pulse of Shen Yuan’s heartbeat as if it were his own – and it may very well be his, Shen Jiu doesn’t know. The other man’s lips don’t leave his neck, and between whimpers and gasps, Shen Jiu can hear his name being mouthed into his skin. Tightening his hold around Shen Yuan, Shen Jiu hugs him harder – so much so that he’s sure his arms will ache without the shape and weight of the other man for days to come. With Shen Yuan’s qi trickling into him, and his qi passing back – with Shen Yuan’s insides enveloping his cock – Shen Jiu begins to lose the ability to tell where he ends and the other man begins. Overwhelming does not sufficiently describe the intimacy of this moment; Shen Jiu hates it, is terrified of it, but if he could stay like this forever… he would. He knows then, with a startling amount of clarity, that he will never be this connected to another person ever again.
“A…Jiu,” Shen Yuan croaks, “’m close.”
And he really, really is. Shen Jiu’s stomach is shiny, soaked with the other man’s precum, and it’s obvious that just one firm stroke would be enough to push him over the edge. Unfortunately for the other man, though, Shen Jiu’s selfishness knows no bounds. He wants them to release together, even if it means keeping Shen Yuan hovering over that precipice for a little while longer.
Not that Shen Jiu is far off himself. All he needs is a little more stimulation – so… if he just –
Bending his knees as far as he can, Shen Jiu tries to brace his feet against the mattress. He manages it – albeit uncomfortably – but the adjusted position makes him slide down the bed frame and ends up unbalancing Shen Yuan. Hands on either side of Shen Jiu’s head to stabilise himself, the other man looms over him – but Shen Jiu finds, with the way Shen Yuan’s hair curtains down and blocks Shen Jiu’s field of view from showing anything but his beautiful, flushed face, that he doesn’t mind this development so much.
And more importantly…
Hands travelling down to Shen Yuan’s narrow waist, Shen Jiu tentatively thrusts upwards and cannot hide his grin when he finds that, yes, he can fuck into the other man like this. His expression must hide nothing, because when Shen Yuan takes in the look on his face, his eyes widen in understanding before melting into something thick and syrupy sweet.
The pace Shen Jiu sets is not kind. He doesn’t fuck Shen Yuan to last long, he fucks the other man to make him forget his own name. At first, Shen Yuan tries to match Shen Jiu’s pace, meeting his thrusts in an attempt to ride him – but when it becomes clear he can’t keep up, Shen Yuan just rests his forehead against Shen Jiu’s and allows himself to be taken.
“Feels good,” Shen Yuan chokes out, “why does it feel so good?”
He sounds awestruck and more than a little lost, and Shen Jiu can only empathise because he didn’t think sex could be like this either. Instead of answering, Shen Jiu digs his nails into Shen Yuan’s flesh and aims his thrusts to hit the other man’s sweet spot dead on.
“There! O-Oh, gods.” Face going slack with pleasure, the only warning Shen Jiu gets before Shen Yuan collapses onto him is the trembling of his upper arms, and then he has the solid weight of the other man pressing against him as he slumps, uselessly, onto Shen Jiu’s chest. “Don’t stop, A-Jiu, I’m–I, ngh–!”
A fresh wetness splatters between their stomachs, and Shen Yuan whines loudly before going limp as Shen Jiu fucks him through his orgasm. Slowing down only for a few moments, Shen Jiu closes his eyes and listens to the hiccuping breaths that catch in Shen Yuan’s throat when the pleasure of being fucked begins to toe the knife-edge of oversensitivity. The other man sounds so pretty, though, and his noises alone would be enough to push Shen Jiu over the edge – but Shen Yuan is still trying to clench down on Shen Jiu’s cock, and with the way his orgasm has made him so deliciously soft inside, Shen Jiu wouldn’t be able to stop the smouldering in the pit of his stomach from becoming a wildfire if he tried.
“A-Yuan,” Shen Jiu warns, breathless as his pace falters, “I’m–”
“In–side,” Shen Yuan slurs, exhaustion colouring his voice. “I need it, inside.”
Cursing emphatically, Shen Jiu thrusts into Shen Yuan one, two, three more times before forcing the other man’s ass to press flush against him – moaning as he pumps his seed deep and claims Shen Yuan where no one else ever has. The other man flutters weakly around him, as if his body is trying to milk Shen Jiu for all he’s got, and Shen Jiu decides there and then that if he were to die right now, it really wouldn’t be the worst way to go.
Heaving a breath, Shen Jiu wonders if it’s normal for his ears to be ringing this loudly. It could just be the sound of his heart, thundering so fast he’s not entirely certain it won’t leap out of his chest. He’s far too tired to give a shit, though, and quickly comes to terms with the fact that if the world were to end right now, he’d die with his dick out – or, well, inside Shen Yuan.
I must be going insane, Shen Jiu thinks, once he catches up to his train of thought. Trying to calm the thundering of his heart, he traces a finger absentmindedly along the delicate line of Shen Yuan’s spine. The other man is equally incapacitated, breath coming out in sharp pants, but he seems otherwise content to remain sprawled over Shen Jiu like an oversized cat. A spot about halfway down his back must feel particularly good, because Shen Yuan shudders and tightens involuntarily around Shen Jiu when his finger teases over the skin. Letting out a soft groan, Shen Jiu thinks, I can see why men become addicted to this.
After a stretch of time that could have either lasted minutes or hours, Shen Jiu has the sluggish thought that they should at least attempt to clean up. He feels relaxed and loose-limbed now – on the verge of napping, truth be told – but there’s no way the collective amount of sweat and cum they produced will dry in any way other than absolutely revoltingly. Though they don’t have towels or water, the already ruined bed sheets would suffice for wiping away the worst of it. Forcing his mouth open, Shen Jiu is about to instruct Shen Yuan to roll over, when the other man props his head up and looks down at Shen Jiu with a tired smile. The other man’s chin is bony where it digs into Shen Jiu’s sternum, but he finds himself able to ignore it when he looks into Shen Yuan’s eyes – unclouded now, and back to their usual honey brown.
His gaze is far too soft for Shen Jiu and his recently acknowledged feelings to handle, though – especially this up close – so he averts his eyes as he asks, “How do you feel?”
The other man’s voice is a little husky, but relatively upbeat when he answers, “Never better.”
Letting out a disbelieving snort, Shen Jiu raises an eyebrow and says nothing.
“It’s true! Well…” Shen Yuan grimaces a little, clenching down on Shen Jiu’s cock where they’re still connected. “I might be a bit sore, but as far as aphrodisiac poisoning experiences go…” His smile widens into a lazy grin. “10/10, would huff Bloodstone Cap spores again.”
The other man clearly means it as a joke, but Shen Jiu doesn’t find it funny in the least. The sleepy contentment he had been luxuriating in is quick to dissipate as reality sets in, and his voice is harsher than he intends it to be when he snaps, “Don’t be an idiot, Shen Yuan. What would you do if you were alone? Or with someone who would use their ‘help’ as an excuse to take advantage of you? Someone with feelings they couldn’t control, like…”
Me.
Pursing his lips, Shen Jiu finishes lamely, “…Liu-shidi.”
The other man’s lighthearted demeanour is replaced by surprise as his eyes widen in confusion. “Wait – What? Why are we talking about Liu-shidi right now?”
Shen Jiu doesn’t know. He must be an idiot. When it becomes clear he won’t elaborate, Shen Yuan flounders.
“I thought – I just meant,” Shen Yuan trails off, looking uncertain. He glances down for a moment, before wetting his lips and looking back at Shen Jiu. “Well, if you were the one to help me again, then… it might not… be so bad…”
That… How is Shen Jiu supposed to take that? It seems that Shen Yuan liked the sex… which undeniably soothes a small part of him, but – does Shen Yuan only want him for sex? Shen Jiu… is much less okay with that than he thought he would be. What ends up coming out of his mouth is a blunt and lacklustre, “What?”
“What?” Shen Yuan parrots, then trips over his own tongue as he sputters, “I was joking! What?! Nevermind!”
The other man, in his harried state, tries to push himself off of Shen Jiu – what he doesn’t seem to account for, however, is the way his body very much does not want to move at the minute. Yelping in pain, Shen Yuan looks at Shen Jiu in humiliation before hiding his face in his chest. He doesn’t do a very good job though, because the reddened tips of his ears are still visible for all to see, and Shen Jiu’s chest does an uncomfortable twist that makes him wonder if his heart might actually be giving out.
“Shen Yuan,” Shen Jiu begins, faintly. The other man lets out a muffled squeak that may or may not be a noise of acknowledgement. Cupping the back of Shen Yuan’s head, Shen Jiu tries again. “A-Yuan.”
Sighing, Shen Yuan looks up – not much, but just enough that Shen Jiu can see the sulky moue of his lips. “What?”
‘What’ indeed.
Shen Jiu has to pick his words carefully. Whatever he says next could turn this moment into the ‘later’ that he has insofar managed to avoid. It has to happen at some point, though – they can’t not talk about the fact that they just took each other’s virginities. Shen Jiu has never put much stock into the concept, since his purity was robbed from him at birth, but he thinks that someone as… idealistic as Shen Yuan might care, at least a little. A heart-to-heart isn’t exactly what he’s in the mood for right now, though, not when his muscles are aching and he’s still inside Shen Yuan. But, well, if Shen Jiu had his way, he’d never have an emotionally charged conversation ever again – so perhaps it’s a good idea to ignore his instincts, just this once.
It’s with this in mind that Shen Jiu allows himself to run his fingers through the tangle of Shen Yuan’s hair as he considers what to say. He starts, slowly, and with the truth. “I am not a mind reader, so I won’t know what you mean unless you tell me clearly.”
Shen Yuan gives him a searching look, though he appears less serious than he probably wants to with how the bridge of his nose and his ears are still tinged pink with embarrassment. Eventually he sighs, sounding exasperated. “Believe me, I know.”
The cryptic words only prove Shen Jiu’s point, and he tells the other man as much.
Frustration bleeding into Shen Yuan’s tone, he buries his face into Shen Jiu’s chest again. “For someone incredibly intelligent, you can be so – so dumb!” Hands balling into fists, Shen Yuan grips whatever fabric of Shen Jiu’s inner robes he can find. He doesn’t lift his head when he confesses, “A-Jiu. I like you.”
Though the other man’s voice was quiet, and muffled besides, Shen Jiu knows he heard him clearly – which is odd, actually, because he’s pretty sure his ears are ringing even louder than before.
Mouth moving without his permission, Shen Jiu says blithely, “Obviously. You wouldn’t pester me so much otherwise.” The barb, if one could even call it that, doesn’t land like it normally would, and Shen Jiu can tell his voice sounds distant.
At this, Shen Yuan’s head shoots up, and the disbelief on his face is plain to see. “Are–Are you trying to be obtuse? Ah, you’re really gonna make me say it aren’t you??” Eyebrows downturned in frustration, the other man gnaws on his lower lip. His eyes are bright with nerves, and he takes a breath so deep that Shen Jiu can feel the other man’s stomach pressing into his own. “A-Jiu. Shen Jiu. Jiu-shixiong. The reason I don’t want Liu-shidi’s help – or anyone else’s for that matter – is because I have been in love with you for years.” Shen Yuan exhales shakily, though there is a hint of curiosity in his voice when he asks, “Did you… really not notice?”
That Shen Yuan is in love with him? No, Shen Jiu is pretty sure he’d notice something like that. He’s aware that Shen Yuan puts up with him more than… Well, anyone else. But Shen Jiu had always attested that to the other man’s amiable nature, and his instinctual desire to get along with everyone. In what universe would it make logical sense for Shen Jiu to assume love as the motivation behind the other man’s continued presence?
There are – many things Shen Jiu could, should, say, but all that ends up leaving his mouth is a quiet, “Why me?”
Shen Yuan laughs, and it sounds helpless and fond in equal measure. “You tell me! I wasn’t a cutsleeve before I entered Qing Jing, you know? Take responsibility!” Despite this… revolting vulnerability he feels… the irony of Shen Yuan saying something like that while being stuffed full of Shen Jiu’s cum is too great not to comment on, and it’s clear Shen Yuan knows what Shen Jiu wants to do, because he flushes and hurries on, “I actually thought you were a girl when I first saw you. I remember I wanted to talk to the pretty, closed-off shijie for such a long time, that when I found out it was a pretty shixiong, I guess I was too curious to care. And then…” Shen Yuan goes quieter, more thoughtful. “I would see you, alone even though I could tell you didn’t want to be – not really. Don’t kill me, A-Jiu, but you sort of reminded me of a stray cat.” Shen Yuan ducks his head, and Shen Jiu can’t even bother to feign annoyance when dizziness takes hold at the brush of the other man’s lips against the skin over his heart. “You just needed someone to understand and not care. And when we eventually spent time together, I… What was I supposed to do, not fall in love?”
This conversation has quickly devolved into the surreal, but still Shen Jiu informs the other man, because someone has to, “Most people wouldn’t, no.”
For some reason, that upsets Shen Yuan. He looks at Shen Jiu, determined as he affirms, “Then I guess I’m not most people.”
And at that, Shen Jiu can do nothing but laugh – not the sarcastic or bitter chuckles that have been the norm for him for as long as he can remember, but something genuine and carefree.
“Yet another exception,” Shen Jiu muses, tucking a strand of hair behind Shen Yuan’s ear. “Why am I not surprised?”
The other man leans into the touch, though he sounds confused when he asks. “What does that mean?”
Tracing a path from the shell of Shen Yuan’s ear and down the line of his jaw, Shen Jiu tilts the other man’s chin up with the side of his finger. “It means I’m going to kiss you.”
Mouth dropping open in a little ‘o’, the hope in Shen Yuan’s voice is tentative when he says, “You are?”
Shen Jiu wets his lips. “Unless A-Yuan has changed his mind?”
There’s still a lot they have to do – many, pressing matters awaiting them outside the four walls of this room. Aside from verbally tearing into the village chief, there’s also the matter of writing a report for Shizun, to let him know about the demonic activity nearby. The villagers will likely have to be re-questioned by Shen Yuan, in light of the new information they have…
But all of that becomes insignificant when the other man rolls his eyes and leans down to press his lips, raw and sweet, against Shen Jiu’s own. A hint of tongue and a brush of teeth make Shen Yuan moan softly, and Shen Jiu, cock twitching in interest, decides that their responsibilities can stand to wait a little while longer.
[XX] Years Later
The musical tinkling of windchimes in the background is the perfect accompaniment for gazing over what might be the most beautiful bamboo garden Luo Binghe has ever seen in his 10 years of life. Unfortunately, the austere man seated opposite him with a gaze as sharp as steel is enough to remind Binghe that he is not here for such frivolities.
Shen Qingqiu, Binghe thinks, in the privacy of his mind. His new Shizun, if all goes well.
The tea Binghe poured sits untouched on the table between them – Shizun seeming disinclined to even look at it in favour of staring down at Binghe with those hard, jade eyes. He knows he’s being analysed, and resisting the urge to fidget is challenging, though he tries his best; channelling the calming energy of Qing Jing peak, Binghe tries to replicate the aura of the man at its centre. He’s not sure how well he succeeds.
Eventually, Shizun wraps a hand around the teacup and brings it up to his lips. Binghe watches the way the man’s throat bobs as he swallows his first sip with baited breath, and his entire body becomes as tense as a drawn bowstring as he awaits his verdict.
Setting the ceramic cup down, Binghe watches in dismay as Shizun’s beautiful, blank face becomes tarnished with an unhappy scowl. He says, simply, “Disgusting.”
That singular word strikes Binghe harder than any physical blow, and he wilts as if he’s been hit; though he’s already kneeling, Binghe still folds at the waist – bowing so low his forehead almost knocks against the tabletop.
“T-This one begs forgiveness,” Binghe stutters, and curses how wobbly he sounds.
Mother in heaven, he thinks forlornly, this son of yours messed up.
For some reason, Binghe half expects the man to dump the tea over his head. He knows he’s dramatising – the Peak Lord looks harsh, yes, but he doesn’t seem unnecessarily cruel. Still, the silence as Binghe waits for the man to make his decision – that is, if ‘disgusting’ wasn’t the decision already – is nigh unbearable.
Hearing a sigh from above, Binghe’s shoulders bunch up to his ears.
And then: “You will need ample practice should you wish to become a proper Qing Jing disciple.”
Eyes widening, Binghe stares at his hands where they’re fisted over his knees; the underneath of his fingernails are still packed with dirt from his morning spent digging a hole – the hole that made Shen Qingqiu take notice of him in the first place – and he feels a tiny seed of hope take root in his heart. It’s just as he’s gathering the courage to speak, that the sound of the Bamboo House door sliding open and shut echoes through to the room they’re in. Binghe can’t help but jerk his head up, because who would dare interrupt a tea ceremony between a Shizun and their disciple? Especially when the Shizun in question is Shen Qingqiu??
Eyes wide, Binghe realises that he recognises the man that flutters into the room, because he had been by Shen Qingqiu’s side during the entrance ceremony, overseeing the sea of potential new disciples. Binghe hadn’t thought much of it at the time, too focused on his task, but with how the man is waltzing into the Bamboo House like he owns the place, Binghe has the outlandish thought that perhaps Qing Jing has two Shizuns.
Is that even allowed? Binghe thinks, watching in awe as the man settles down with a flourish onto a cushion that – wait, why was there a third cushion already laid out? Had… Had Shizun been expecting this man’s presence? Sneaking a glance at Shen Qingqiu, Binghe feels shock course through him as Shizun’s eyes soften with – is that fondness?! In a blink, that gentle gleam is gone – but Binghe knows what he saw!
“Do you plan to interrupt every tea ceremony of mine, Hall Master Shen?”
Shizun sounds appropriately irritated, though not nearly as much as Binghe would have expected. Still, he’s glad he has a name to put to the face of this mysterious man, now.
Grinning, Hall Master Shen says, “Only the ones I feel like joining.”
Fixing his sleeves, the Hall Master reaches for Binghe’s tea, and… he reaches for Binghe’s tea?! Feeling his stomach drop, Binghe sits ramrod straight and makes an aborted move to grab away the proof of his failure before belatedly remembering his place and digging his nails into the meat of his palm.
“H-Hall Master Shen! This lowly one’s tea is lacking, so please don’t–”
But the man doesn’t listen. Taking a long swig, Hall Master Shen licks his lips as he hums thoughtfully. “Not bad!”
Binghe’s mouth drops open, and he feels his cheeks heat when a little wink is sent his way.
Shizun is not amused. Clicking his tongue, he says, “Of course, any tea tastes better when compared to the brew that Hall Master Shen prepares.”
Smiling beatifically, the man presses a hand to his chest. “And this lowly Hall Master is grateful that Qing Jing’s Peak Lord, in his boundless goodwill, drinks it anyway.”
“Mn.” Shizun tries to maintain a blank facade, but Binghe sees it – that little upwards twitch of his lips. Shizun smiled. Just who on earth is this man?! Surely a mere – and Binghe is using ‘mere’ here with the utmost respect, but – a mere Hall Master wouldn’t be allowed to get away with this much. Unless…
Getting up from the table, Binghe is momentarily distracted from the conclusions he was about to draw as he watches Shizun, with all the elegance of a swan, sweep over to a bookcase in the corner of the room. Running his long fingers over the spines of a few volumes, Shizun hums quietly when he finds what he’s looking for; a beginner’s cultivation manual.
Binghe’s heart thuds.
Turning on his heel, Shizun raises his voice just a touch and calls out to the hallway, “Ming Fan.”
Almost immediately, the muted thumps of hasty footsteps can be heard, and then a boy, who must be a few years older than Binghe, appears in the doorway. Bowing, he half-shouts, “Yes, Shizun!”
If Shizun is impressed by the boy’s enthusiasm, he doesn’t acknowledge it; inclining his head down at Binghe, he says, “This is Luo Binghe, your new shidi.”
Your new shidi, Binghe repeats in his head, a slow building giddiness bubbling in chest. Which means…!
Shizun raises an eyebrow at him, as if to ask, why are you still on the floor? A very good question that Binghe doesn’t have the answer to! Flushing in happy embarrassment, Binghe jumps to his feet – only to nearly stumble when his legs, numb from kneeling for so long, threaten to buckle underneath his weight. A hand is quick to grab his arm and steady him, and Binghe blinks as Hall Master Shen smiles up at him.
“Congratulations,” the man mouths, and Binghe has to blink back against the sudden pressure that builds behind his eyes.
Biting his lip, he bows low – at Shizun, Hall Master Shen, and even Ming Fan for good measure. Shizun is unmoved, but Hall Master Shen doesn’t hide the way he laughs behind his sleeve. Ming Fan looks torn between being weirded out and flustered, and Binghe is just too happy to care. When Shizun hands him the cultivation manual, Binghe hugs it to his chest and feels it press against the jade pendant that lays hidden beneath his robes. This thin book, more precious than silver and gold, is his second ever possession; he will cherish it with his life.
“Ning Yingying will likely want to show him around the peak. This Master trusts that Ming Fan will have Luo Binghe’s robes and sleeping arrangements handled before then.”
Puffing out his chest, Ming Fan is the epitome of determination when he yells, “Of course! This disciple will do as Shizun says!” Turning to Binghe, he says, still ear shatteringly loud, “Luo-shidi, follow me!”
Luo-shidi! Binghe ducks his head, hiding a silly smile. Padding after the older boy, Binghe isn’t sure if it’s the joy of the moment that gives him the confidence to turn back, but he does – looking at his new Shizun as he promises, “This lowly disciple thanks Shizun, and – and swears the next time he serves tea, it will be to Shizun’s taste.”
It is, perhaps, a daring statement, made on the bold assumption that he will have the privilege of pouring tea for Shizun again. Ming Fan certainly gawps at him for it, but Hall Master Shen looks delighted, so Binghe doesn’t think he overstepped his boundaries… too much. When Shizun inclines his head but says nothing else, Binghe is just glad that at the very least, he has not been outright rejected. Still, it wouldn’t do to overstay his welcome and make his chances of pouring tea again even slimmer than they already are, so with one final bow, he exits the room.
Ming Fan leads him outside, muttering under his breath about brats who don’t know their place, but a gentle breeze makes the windchimes dance once more, and this time, Binghe allows himself the indulgence of inhaling the fresh mountain air as he listens to their sweet melody. It’s because he lingers here, that he overhears the beginning of a conversation he definitely shouldn’t have.
“Wasn’t he just the cutest, A-Jiu?” It’s Hall Master Shen’s voice, echoing down the hallway. Excitedly, he gushes, “I didn’t know people could be so fluffy – like a sheep! I would have loved to squish his cheeks.”
Unbidden, Binghe feels himself blush. He isn’t sure he likes being compared to an animal, but… the man had sounded so sincere that it’s hard not to take his words as a compliment.
“A-Yuan…” Shizun speaks now, sounding reproachful. “You will not give the boy special treatment just because you think he is ‘fluffy.’”
“Of course I won’t!” Comes the immediate rebuke, though Binghe isn’t sure he means it. “I have my integrity as a teacher, you know?”
“Hmm. Is that so?” Shizun asks, and yep, Binghe wasn’t imagining it earlier – his voice is warm.
Hall Master Shen giggles, sounding coy, and Binghe flusters, immediately taking that as his cue to leave. Hurrying down the steps, he smiles brightly when Ming Fan huffs impatiently, hands on his hips as he waits for Binghe to catch up. Despite his brusque nature, the older boy seems to warm up to him on their walk, making a point of naming the areas they pass by on their way to the dormitories, presumably. Ming Fan ends up going off on a tangent about Qing Jing’s illustrious reputation, and sounds so proud that one would think he was the one responsible for it. It makes Binghe want to laugh, though he makes sure to flatten his smile into something serious and attentive, nodding whenever the older boy checks to see if he’s listening.
Allowing his thoughts to wander, they eventually return to the Bamboo House, and the two men currently occupying it. So… it turns out that Qing Jing isn’t run by dual Shizuns, nor does it have an ambitious Hall Master acting above his station. To think Hall Master Shen was Shizun’s lover, though… Truthfully, Binghe hadn’t thought Shizun would want one; based on the short time they spent together, the other man seemed so emotionless and detached from everything that Binghe struggled to imagine anyone managing to thaw that icy exterior. Binghe’s mother always told him to never judge by appearances, though, and he feels a little ashamed as he sends her a mental apology, because it turns out she was right. Briefly, Binghe wonders if he’ll get noticed by Shizun if he does well in Hall Master Shen’s class. He doesn’t know what the man teaches, though, and since Binghe’s education is generally lacking compared to his peers… Well. If he has to use his fluffiness to level the playing field a little, then so be it.
But before all that…
“Ming-shixiong.”
The older boy splutters as he’s interrupted mid-spiel, but one look at Binghe’s puppydog face and his anger simmers down to mild indignance. According to the older boy – because Binghe has been paying attention, just not fully – that wide building to the right houses the dining hall and kitchens. Binghe would like to think that his cooking skills are decent, but it had honestly been a shock to find out his tea brewing was lacking. Could it be the quality of the tea leaves that threw him off? He can’t imagine Shizun drinking anything as terrible as the stuff he and his mother could afford. Which just means he needs practice – a lot of it – and a willing guinea pig to try out his concoctions.
Locking his hands behind his back, Binghe peers up at the older boy and smiles something angelic; he can see Ming Fan’s resolve crumbling before he even opens his mouth.
Suppressing a smirk, Binghe asks, as sweet as can be, “Say, would shixiong like some tea?”