Chapter Text
It was always unfortunate when a Peak Lord meeting occurred during his preheat. If Yue Qingyuan’s heats had been regular, he could have scheduled the meetings so they’d never fall close to his heat, but they’d never stabilized. When his heats directly conflicted with his scheduled meetings, there was nothing else for it—he had to push the meetings back. But any other time, Yue Qingyuan simply resigned himself to his fate.
Yue Qingyuan had long mastered suppressing his scent. A lack of ironclad control over one’s scent was a weakness that his shizun had not abided, and so was stomped out. Discomfort, too, Yue Qingyuan could bear with flawless composure, and during preheat he didn’t yet have to deal with the desperation that would overtake him later. These were not the problems with attending Peak Lord meetings during his preheat.
The real problem, Yue Qingyuan mused, was his own moral deficiency.
“Ah— Shen-shidi, apologies.” Yue Qingyuan pulled the teapot back from where he’d “fumbled” serving it. A bit of tea—not too hot, he’d made sure—had spilled onto Shen Qingqiu’s sleeve and wrist. “Here, one moment.” Yue Qingyuan swiftly produced a handkerchief and started dabbing at the spilled tea before Shen Qingqiu could pull away.
“This master is perfectly capable of cleaning his own hands, Zhangmen-shixiong,” Shen Qingqiu said, acid in his voice.
“It’s this shixiong’s error, please let him remedy it.” Yue Qingyuan surreptitiously held part of the handkerchief against Shen Qingqiu’s scent glands as he pressed the rest to the sleeve to get the tea out. Shen Qingqiu’s hand twitched and his brow furrowed. “Shang-shidi, please continue.”
“Uh, right. So, Qing Jing needs a bunch of supplies replaced, but that doesn’t leave a ton of budget for Shen-shixiong’s other requests, since Qing Jing peaks income is down from last time…” Shang Qinghua said.
Shen Qingqiu’s attention snapped back to Shang Qinghua, just as Yue Qingyuan hoped it would. “The reason Qing Jing’s income is down is because a supply room became collateral damage in Bai Zhan’s raids. How is my peak supposed to produce paintings to sell without painting materials? If there’s not enough room in Qing Jing’s budget, it should be taken out of Bai Zhan’s as the ones responsible for the discrepancy.”
Yue Qingyuan tuned out of the conversation as he carefully tucked the dirtied handkerchief close to his heart and continued serving tea. Some variation of this argument happened after almost every raid on Qing Jing. He was sure it would conclude the same this time too: Liu Qingge would complain that Qing Jing always tried to take from their budget even though they needed the Bai Zhan raids to get stronger, Shang Qinghua would agree to consider both sides’ requests if they’ll submit them to him on paper by the end of the month, and in the end Qing Jing’s demands will be honored because Shen Qingqiu submits a thorough itemized list of everything damaged or broken in the raids and the predicted resulting income losses, while Liu Qingge mostly forgets to submit anything at all. Shen Qingqiu will be angry that Liu Qingge gave him more work, Liu Qingge will be angry that Bai Zhan gets charged for potential losses, and they’ll do the whole thing again next time.
Yue Qingyuan let the words wash over him as he settled back into his place at the head of the table. Yue Qingyuan was sure his pupils had blown wide, but he couldn’t simply bury his face in the handkerchief, no matter how badly he wanted to. That would give the game away, and he’d never get another scented item.
It was certainly odd for a sect leader to serve his martial siblings like he does at these times, but no one had interfered or even questioned him beyond an odd glance or two. So far, it seemed they’d concluded that he was just a bit more coddling close to his heat. Which wasn’t wrong, technically—it just conveniently cloaked Yue Qingyuan’s degeneracy.
He’d refined his strategies quite a bit at this point. He only used a mild, near-scentless tea so that it would interfere with Shen Qingqiu’s scent as little as possible. He didn’t always spill on Shen Qingqiu, or Shen Qingqiu might refuse to be served by Yue Qingyuan at all. He didn’t only spill on Shen Qingqiu; his other martial siblings were also occasional victims of his preheat “clumsiness” and cleanup. They had to be, or it would be too suspicious. (The sour looks Shen Qingqiu gave him every time he wiped tea off another unfortunate martial sibling boiled his insides with guilt over the inconveniences he was causing everyone just to steal a bit of Shen Qingqiu’s scent for his nest.) He kept several sets of two identical handkerchiefs so he could use one for Shen Qingqiu and the other for everyone else without arousing suspicion. And he always picked a time to attempt scent acquisition when Shen Qingqiu was personally invested in—and incensed by—the conversation. Otherwise, he risked Shen Qingqiu more firmly rebuking him and not letting him clean Shen Qingqiu up.
He’d invested quite a bit of dedicated thought, time, and effort into his scheme. It was, quite possibly, his most successful endeavor involving Shen Qingqiu.
Which was, in its own way, a type of failure.
He’d never had so much luck doing something for Shen Qingqiu.
But Yue Qingyuan was a selfish, useless man, so instead of confessing his crimes, he let the sound of Shen Qingqiu’s voice pool low in his gut as he fantasized about Shen Qingqiu deigning to punish him for his misdeeds.
By the time the meeting concluded, Yue Qingyuan was merely a vessel for his anticipation. His ill-gotten goods felt weighty where they were pressed right next to his heart.
Yue Qingyuan stayed seated while everyone else filtered out, but Mu Qingfang lingered as well.
“Zhangmen-shixiong, may I check you over?” Mu Qingfang asked. Yue Qingyuan nodded his assent, and Mu Qingfang gently took his wrist. “How do you feel?”
“Perfectly well, Mu-shidi. Nothing unusual to mention.”
Mu Qingfang gave him a dubious look. “Your hands were shaking again today. I don’t sense anything particularly unsettled about your qi, but you must be careful—push yourself too far, and it’ll be too late by the time you notice.” Mu Qingfang sighed and patted his wrist where he still held it. “Please think about taking longer breaks, especially around your heat. I worry you’re overworking yourself.”
Yue Qingyuan briefly closed his hand over Mu Qingfang’s, then firmly removed it. “Thanking Mu-shidi for his concern. I will consider his words.”
Mu Qingfang gave him the half-smile-and-half-grimace of the long-suffering and ignored. He straightened, and amiably gestured for Yue Qingyuan to leave with him.
Yue Qingyuan’s own smile did not falter. “Please, Mu-shidi should feel free to go ahead.”
Mu Qingfang tilted his head in confusion, then flushed. His eyes flicked down seemingly involuntarily before they stared determinedly past Yue Qingyuan’s head. “Of course, Zhangmen-shixiong. I’ll leave first then.” He swept out of the room hastily.
Yue Qingyuan inclined his head. He knew that Mu Qingfang thought that he avoided standing in Mu Qingfang’s presence because he was hard, and it would show. Yue Qingyuan was hard, but that was an unavoidable consequence of being around Shen Qingqiu during his preheat. Because of this, Yue Qingyuan always tied his errant pillar to his thigh beforehand to prevent any awkward encounters. The actual reason he wanted Mu Qingfang to leave first was a bit different.
Yue Qingyuan picked up Shen Qingqiu’s teacup, turned it to get the right spot, and placed his lips gently on the rim.
Mu Qingfang was right that he gave himself more responsibilities than were wise for one man to handle. Even now, so close to his heat, there were things needing Yue Qingyuan’s attention that were better not put off until afterwards. After the meeting, he’d been in his office finishing the last of his correspondence—bravely not huffing Shen Qingqiu’s scent like a pervert—when his head disciple had come to plead with him to mediate between two hallmasters. Yue Qingyuan knew he needed to delegate more, but there was much he hated leaving to others. He’d already had to compromise on others serving him and cleaning up after him—he washed anything from his nest that needed washing himself, but he simply didn’t have the time to do all of his own laundry. Judging that he still had time before his heat started in earnest, Yue Qingyuan had agreed to deal with the quarreling hallmasters before things escalated—the elders of Qiong Ding could give Shen Qingqiu a run for his money in grudge-holding—but now he was eager to return home.
In an act of great self-control, he’d left the handkerchief behind in his office. As much as it had pained him to part with it, he’d left it on his desk so it would absorb as little of his scent as possible. He loved the smell of both their scents intertwined, but he wanted to get as much of Shen Qingqiu’s scent on its own as he could first.
He was also hoping that the scent would linger, just a little, in his office.
“Apologies again for disturbing shizun so close to the time of his… seclusion.” Yue Qingyuan’s disciple said as they reached his office.
“No need. As long as this master is fit to carry out his duties, he will.” Yue Qingyuan slid open the door to his office. His eyes landed on his desk.
Yue Qingyuan’s heart dropped.
“Where is,” Yue Qingyuan said, voice sticking in his throat, “the handkerchief that was here?”
“The…? Oh, it was probably taken with the rest of the robes to be washed.”
Yue Qingyuan flinched as if struck. “Washed?”
“I’m sorry, shizun, I thought it was laundry. It looked dirty.” His head disciple was beginning to look alarmed. “Does shizun want me to go find it? I’m sure I can.”
“No, no… there’s no need. It’s… not important.” Yue Qingyuan was not sure what his face was doing, but he did his best to wrest it back to neutral. From the look on his head disciple’s face, he was not confident he succeeded. Yue Qingyuan cleared his throat. “I will be entering seclusion shortly. Please inform everyone as per usual. I will return to my duties as soon as I am able.”
Yue Qingyuan’s head disciple still looked concerned, but excused himself regardless. Now alone, Yue Qingyuan allowed himself to collapse. His hands clutched his face.
Shen Qingqiu’s scent was gone.
His heat could start at any moment, and he didn’t have even the faintest hint of Shen Qingqiu’s scent to get him through it.
The unexpected despair left him reeling. Being distanced from Shen Qingqiu was always more agonizing for him than any physical pain. Insensate as heat tended to make him, the only thing his mind would be able to comprehend was that Shen Qingqiu was not there.
Yue Qingyuan tried to be logical. He’d gone through worse than this, much worse than this. Xiao Jiu was still near, healthy and whole, even if Yue Qingyuan couldn’t see, hear, feel, smell him to confirm it himself. Yue Qingyuan would get through this.
(But… how?)
(He had tried, once, combining perfumes to mimic Shen Qingqiu’s scent, but it was clearly only a pale imitation. While it would have been better than nothing, he’d had a faintly scented fan of Shen Qingqiu’s at the time. The false perfume scent had partially masked the real one and Yue Qingyuan was inconsolable his entire heat.)
Yue Qingyuan knew that he was being absurd. Plenty of omegas spent their heats without the scents of their favored alphas. Even Yue Qingyuan had done it before.
(When he’d thought Xiao Jiu was—)
So Yue Qingyuan, uncurling to sneak swiftly over to Qing Jing peak, was being extremely foolish. He could make do without Shen Qingqiu’s scent. Any moment now, he would regain his senses and turn back.
Any moment now.
Before he reached Qing Jing peak.
Or, before he reached Shen Qingqiu’s bamboo house.
Certainly before he snuck in the window, having cast his awareness around to sense if Shen Qingqiu was nearby and found nothing.
Entering his home, his bedroom without permission was an unforgivable violation.
Any moment now, he would—
But.
Well.
He was already here.
And everything smelled like Shen Qingqiu. Yue Qingyuan gulped down greedy lungfuls of air, the glorious scent of his alpha Shen Qingqiu making him dizzy with relief. It was the urgent heat spreading through his body, warning him that he was all but out of time, that jolted him back to his senses. He followed his nose to a recently worn robe and absconded back to his peak.
“Shizun? What…?” His head disciple was obviously surprised to see him, catching him just outside his home.
“I only had one thing left to finish up. I’ll be entering seclusion immediately.” Yue Qingyuan smiled reassuringly, then pointedly closed the door to his home behind him. A bit rude, but it couldn’t be helped.
Yue Qingyuan sped to his room and threw himself into his nest. He drew out Shen Qingqiu’s robe and pressed it greedily to his face. He couldn’t help the noise he made on every breath as he rapidly inhaled. Yue Qingyuan’s heat couldn’t be held back anymore.
“Nnh, hah,” Yue Qingyuan panted into the fabric. He rearranged so he was huffing the collar of the robe, closest to where Shen Qingqiu’s most sensitive scent glands would have been, then stuffed three fingers into his cunt and curled. “Ah—!”
With the other hand, he fumbled for the tie around his cock. Three strokes, inside and out, and he was coming with a truly pathetic sound. Electricity coursed from his toes to his scalp, and he humped desperately against his hands. The walls of his cunt clutched wantingly at his fingers, hungry for a knot, his alpha’s knot.
He couldn’t—
Yue Qingyuan stumbled to his feet, taking the now-sticky robe with him. He always had to go get the box during his heat, unwilling to admit to this weakness before it started. Xiao Jiu wouldn’t want Yue Qingyuan imagining it was his cock in place of the fake ones Mu Qingfang had provided for him.
But now, he really, really needed—
He brought all of them back to his nest and took out his favorite. It was just around an average size, but with a thick knot that made Yue Qingyuan’s toes curl. It was smaller than Yue Qingyuan’s own pillar, but then, his pillar was large for an omega’s. It would be large for even an alpha, actually, but he tried not to think about that, fearing it might disgust Shen Qingqiu.
Without great fanfare, Yue Qingyuan stripped, got on his hands and knees, and stuck the thing inside him with a punched-out groan. It stung to go that fast without stretching first, but Yue Qingyuan relished the burn. He lowered his head to his nest, rubbing his face on Xiao Jiu’s robe. He felt his own come smear onto his face, and the sheer degeneracy of the act made him shudder.
Would Xiao Jiu like it like that? Would he just shove it in, too impatient to have his cock buried in warm, wet Yue Qingyuan? Using Yue Qingyuan as a tool to make himself feel good? Yue Qingyuan thrust the toy hard into him, knot teasing at his rim. Maybe he’d want to take his time, confident Yue Qingyuan wouldn’t be going anywhere. Maybe he’d even tie Yue Qingyuan up to be sure, keeping his toy right where he wants him, so he could use Yue Qingyuan whenever he likes. He could leisurely fuck Yue Qingyuan’s face and pull out to finish, not even let him taste his cum. Yue Qingyuan would be painted white, he’d reek of Xiao Jiu. Everyone would know who he belonged to.
Then Xiao Jiu would fuck him properly, roughly taking his pleasure from Yue Qingyuan’s body.
Yue Qingyuan fucked himself faster. His head felt stirred up, everything sticky and sweet. All he could smell was Xiao Jiu, Xiao Jiu, Xiao Jiu.
“Qi-ge can take it,” Yue Qingyuan pictured him saying. He would, he would take whatever Xiao Jiu would give him.
The fake knot slid home inside him. He whined. It could simulate a knot, but it couldn’t simulate release. Xiao Jiu’s release, Xiao Jiu’s cum, deep inside him, getting him pregnant—
Yue Qingyuan ground back onto it, not willing to pull it out far. He felt his muscles trembling in anticipation, his gut hot and tight with tension.
“Xiao Jiu! Alpha! Please!” He was gasping for air. More, he needed more, more— “Alpha!”
Yue Qingyuan spread the rest of the robe out below him. He lowered himself to hump against it, sliding his hand under it to add pressure from the other side. He ground against his clit through the robe, then—with his fingers still covered by the fabric—pushed them alongside the jade cock into his hole.
His back arched hard as he came with a sob, his hand keeping the robe pressed inside him. He tensed in waves of bliss, his cunt clenching around the fake cock like he was trying to milk it.
When it was done, Yue Qingyuan collapsed into his nest like a puppet with its strings cut. His awareness came back in pieces, and when he finally felt like he could draw a calm breath, he realized he’d been rubbing his face mindlessly against the fabric he’d sprawled across gracelessly. He must look like a mess.
The fake knot was still nestled inside of him. He squeezed around it weakly.
Yue Qingyuan’s heat took longer than a few days.