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There are few things that escape Qingxiao's eyes. Atop the mountain peak, even as the world turns, even as the seasons change. Even as flower buds open, as leaves dance about, all red and yellow, before falling away as snow falls, the wind whispering by her side.
Time ebbs and flows, like all things inevitable. As though night that hangs in the sky were to last forever, in their embrace, unwavering as the moonlight that streams through the cracks in the partitions that sway in the breeze, draping her form in pale light, the strings of her guqin glimmering in delicate silver.
In silence, she plucks at them, a gentle melody echoing like a wordless prayer, rippling throughout the mountains and plains, fading into the distance. Countless years, and she wonders what has changed, what would continue to change. If anything would change at all. Absently, she plays the same notes over and over, as if this song the only thing that keeps her mind from wandering.
For how much longer will she continue to watch over Xuanfang, ever faithful, even as the seasons pass, she wonders. Through the blooming and wilting of plum blossoms, the sway of branches, for how long she would traverse the skies. For how long she would continue to bear the title of Paragon.
From the very beginning, she’d accepted it - for all of its loneliness, its responsibility. A title bearing its fair share of burdens.
Lost in her thoughts, the rustle of the partitions shifting and a delicate pair of footsteps cuts through the quiet night, that woman’s company offering no explanation. Qingxiao doesn't look up, for she already knows whose presence approaches.
A low, contemplative hum. Then, a familiar voice that floats beside her ear.
“All by yourself again?”
Cracking her eyes open, there’s a hint of curiosity, a childlike sort of wonder that glitters in those eyes. She approaches with steps Qingxiao knows all too well, with all the grace of a sly fox, until she hovers over Qingxiao’s shoulder, looking down at her with a smile.
Her gaze merely flicks to the side to meet Hsin’s own, her expression never once changing. “Not anymore, it seems.”
Soft laughter fills the space between them, a whisper of silk as a mischievous sort of smile spreads across Hsin’s face. With crimson, black and white robes just barely brushing the edge of Qingxiao's sleeve, the fragrant scent of fresh plum blossoms fills her senses with a faint sweetness.
Hsin’s ears swivel in amusement, the corners of her lips tugging into a smile and tail swishing about without a care in the world, like nothing else matters.
“Yet your greeting is as cold as usual,” she notes, drawing closer, “my little Qingxiao is quite cruel, isn’t she?”
Even after all this time, Hsin’s intentions are difficult to read, even if she surely knows the Sentinel better than most would. A moment of weakness, perhaps, a singular indulgence that should mean nothing more or less. Yet, an excuse to clear her mind, to forget, for even a single moment, about everything else.
Qingxiao closes her eyes and lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“And your return is sooner than expected.” Distantly, she registers a few stray notes that echo as she idly plucks at the strings of her guqin. “You wouldn’t come here without reason.”
“Can’t I just want to see you?” Slowly, slender fingertips brush against Qingxiao’s arm, trailing downwards, gently caressing her wrist, and the air around them falls into silence once more as they follow the lines of Qingxiao’s own. “Your fingers will get injured if you keep playing the same way you always do. You ought to at least use wax to ease the pain. Or is the soreness really all that you find enjoyable these days?”
There is only the hum of the night breeze, then, as Qingxiao tilts her head ever so slightly, to study Hsin's expression, to take in the smile that spreads across her face. For a moment that stretches into seconds, Qingxiao doesn’t reply, doesn't so much as even move, the faint glimmer of mischief in those scarlet eyes already telling her that this woman has many more things on her mind, desires that flicker in her gaze.
She’s always been like this - elusive, never afraid to take what she wants without a shred of hesitation or shame, as though a fox playing with its prey. And perhaps it’s the familiar warmth against her, the moonlit embrace that comes without judgement, that pulls at the strings of Qingxiao’s patience, her restraint.
A soft sigh escapes her as she lifts a hand, the guqin fading into wisps of light, leaving not a trace behind. The grin on Hsin’s face grows, ever so smug, as she circles Qingxiao with nimble steps, until Qingxiao can see all of her, the thin rays of light that slip through the partition illuminate Hsin’s features.
“You’ve always been quite the cunning one.”
Hsin merely smiles in response, without any shame, pressing the softest of kisses to Qingxiao’s temple, one hand brushing strands of pale blue hair from her face, as though in silent invitation. “And you’ve never once had an issue with it.”
Pale fingers glide from where Hsin settles atop Qingxiao's lap, straddling her, as the scent of flowers and incense fills her senses. The caress of those fingertips lingers, light as a feather, careful enough not to leave marks as they dip to brush against the expanse of her stomach, her waist. Wrapped in the embrace of night, tucked away in a tiny corner of time, only Hsin could tempt her so, to indulge in such worldly desires.
“No,” Qingxiao murmurs, “I don’t.”
Yet, Hsin makes no move of her own, watching her intently, with those gentle, almost teasing touches, waiting to be pursued, instead. Slowly, Qingxiao’s fingers thread through strands of silver, as if woven from moonlight, careful, like she means to ask for permission.
A hand snakes around her waist, pulling her closer in response. It's a mere sliver of contact, nothing more, that Qingxiao can barely call such an indulgence ‘trust’. In the darkness of night, the chilly breeze, it's hard to notice the lack of distance as Hsin draws close, nipping at the base of her throat, over her pulse in silent promise.
When she pulls back to meet Qingxiao’s gaze, leans reflecting in the glimmer of those scarlet eyes. It's strangely gentle, waiting, reminding her of the blossoming of plum blossoms in the spring, waiting for the moment to wither and fall.
An amused smile tugs at Hsin’s lips, tail swishing behind her. “That’s more like it.”
With careful hands, Qingxiao pulls Hsin closer, wrapping around her waist, hands wandering about, until Hsin’s robe falls over her shoulders with one smooth motion. Their lips brush, and Qingxiao takes in the breaths of anticipation that Hsin makes no effort to hide.
“So you were planning something, after all.”
Amidst the passing seasons, the flow of time, Qingxiao had learned that, too, at some point - Hsin only relents her own agency when she desires it so.
“Call it curiosity, little Qingxiao,” Hsin breathes, “perhaps even a pretense for such an occasion, to see how far you can go.”
The push and pull between desire and instinct, quiet, like the song of a lone flute amidst the autumn winds, and if it weren’t for the ache that shoots down the base of her spine at each brush of their hips, each passing second, she wouldn’t believe this isn't just another dream. That it isn’t the silver light alone that leaves her skin flushed in the cold night.
A hand caresses the back of Hsin’s neck, while the other holds her close. “I suppose we shall see, then.”
For all the teasing, all of the games Hsin is so fond of, there’s a strange sort of affection in her gaze, even now. Hsin leans into the touch as their lips meet, dim light gleaming upon her form. Moonlight spills from her skin, hair framing them like a veil, and Qingxiao holds her tight, as if that warmth is the only thing keeping her grounded.
The breeze drifts, lapping at fabric and bare skin like water. Something tugs at her, when Hsin meets her eyes, but only then, when her form shifts against Qingxiao and it comes to her like an instinct that this isn't enough, yet. With each press of their lips, it’s more urgent, hungrier, tongues entwining.
Desire curls between her legs, stirring, and if it were possible for one to crave an experience, perhaps it might be the sight of Hsin with the weight of moonlight against her shoulders. There's the tell-tale twitch of Hsin’s ears under her hands as the Sentinel whimpers softly in the gaps between their lips, just barely audible, as she feels beneath her fingertips the goosebumps that form as they trace patterns upon Hsin’s back.
Quietly, she muses, leaning her forehead against Hsin's, silver bangs tickling her skin, that it’s one of those rare occasions to see her this flustered, to witness this side of her. And Hsin allows it, melting under Qingxiao's fingertips, her lips, as though to willingly grant her authority, an illusion of control.
“More,” Hsin whispers, an invitation and a plea all at once, “this isn’t enough.”
A gentle brush of her knuckles, pale skin warm beneath her touch, and, again, in the cool air that falls over them like a haze, an unspoken desire stirs deep within Qingxiao. Her hands slide across bare flesh to Hsin’s front, as if tracing the rays of silver that illuminate, the curve of Hsin's shoulders, over her breasts, grazing Hsin's hips.
Every movement has her shivering, delicate, back arching in Qingxiao’s grasp, so unlike her. Her skin flushes at the careful brushes, a soft gasp that's cut short, the words dying on the tip of her tongue as Qingxiao kneads the swell of her chest, a nipple between two fingers.
As their eyes meet once more, a pleading gaze stares back. A fragile illusion that burns behind that look, every stroke upon her belly and further down earning her a moan that slips past those lips. It’s so unlike her usual self, yet so very like her to willingly hand control to Qingxiao without shame or hesitation, that for a moment Qingxiao wonders just how far she can take this, how much Hsin would be willing to take.
She trails a finger downwards, brushes it along Hsin's inner thighs and earns her another shudder. Leisurely, with the most delicate of touches, pushing Hsin's thighs apart to part her just a bit further. The tail draped over Qingxiao's legs curls at that, and there's a pleased sort of exhale that brushes against Qingxiao's skin as her fingertip dips inside, before absently holding it up to reveal a glimmer in the light.
Qingxiao stares at it for a moment, before her gaze flicks upwards to meet Hsin’s half-lidded one, eyes glassy with anticipation.
“If you wish for me to stop at any point, do let me know.”
There's only the slightest hitch in Hsin's breath as she shudders, offering an eager nod. Pressing ever close, she leans her head against Qingxiao's chest, a soft purr of delight escaping her as she shifts, shuffling her hips atop Qingxiao's, insistently grinding.
With another finger pressed against her hole, pushing inside with a gentleness reserved only for her, Qingxiao buries an exhale into silver strands.
Hsin has always been the greedy kind, and tonight, too, is no exception. A quiet sort of moan, one that vibrates deep in Hsin's throat, as she thrusts a couple more times, curling her fingers, and the hold around her loosens a fraction as Hsin squirms in pleasure, the cool air washing over them as Qingxiao fucks her leisurely, unhurried, with a practiced, steady rhythm.
There’s a hitch of breath, then, of pleasure, unspoken pleas in scarlet eyes cloudy with longing. And then, Qingxiao pushes harder, deeper.
It's all too effective of a distraction, to so easily forget their positions. In the still air that hangs over them, Hsin melts into her embrace with each breath, voice growing hoarser, as if a silent plea for release that sets a coil of tension in Qingxiao's own muscles, almost painful in the ache it leaves. She presses a fourth, insistent finger against Hsin's slit, the dig of sharp nails against her back a pleasant sting.
Qingxiao can’t quite remember the last time she’s had the Sentinel writhing under her hands, like this, or whether this may be the first. Under the gentle stream of moonlight, that silky curtain of white hair that hangs loose and fall over her shoulders, as though an omen, fate, a hope that she would not fall and wither, like that of plum blossom petals.
And when Qingxiao sinks a finger deeper, thumb lightly circling against her clit in smooth motions, she takes in each gasp, the trembling breaths. Pale fingertips dig into Qingxiao’s back with a distinct quietness, tracing its outline, curling in, with the sounds of pleasure that spill from those lips.
Those hands wander, finding Qingxiao’s shoulders, gripping for dear life as Hsin raises her hips for a moment, as though angling herself. At this, Qingxiao raises an eyebrow.
“I’d thought you would prefer to let me do the work.”
And a soft breath of laughter escapes Hsin, like she takes delight in Qingxiao’s surprise, in that expression, no matter how slight.
“It’s no fun if it’s just one person,” she whispers, her breathing short, hoarse. A coy look, like she knows all too well what it does to Qingxiao, that lazy smile only stretching further, “especially not if it’s with you, my dear paragon.”
How a few simple words break her down so easily, leaving her craving a temptation she thought foreign. With their forms brushing against each other, their lips, their entwined fingers, their heat, something twists inside her chest, a creeping guilt, an unfathomable tenderness, as if, for once, she could forgive herself just this once for indulging.
Slowly, Hsin begins to sink down upon those digits, and she lets out a strained, breathless gasp. A fourth, and then there's a quiver, a familiar sensation, tight around Qingxiao's fingers, thighs trembling where they settle atop hers.
Qingxiao presses her lips into a thin line, even as Hsin’s back arches and her hips twitch, a single kiss left on Hsin's forehead, hand never once stilling as Hsin rides her fingers. “Does it truly feel that good?”
With a series of shallow breaths, eyes dark with yearning, Hsin raises her gaze, and the lack of control that lingers in her gaze tempts Qingxiao, to want it all. To feel that tightness around her fingers, that wetness, that desire, to hear the moans muffled by Qingxiao’s lips.
“Oh, you have no idea, darling,” the fox murmurs, leaning into the hold, her tone somewhere between amusement and desperation, “you could go faster, for one. Harder. Won’t you show me what you can do?”
There's something in that playful tone of hers, a certain promise, like a request, an answer, the simple and primal desire to be ruined, to be taken apart by Qingxiao’s hands. With a measured pace, it becomes difficult, watching, feeling Hsin so tight around her fingers, barely even making a sound apart from the rush of air in her lungs, the gasp as Qingxiao lets out a breath and speeds up ever so slightly, yet it is far less than she wants, than Hsin needs.
Even beneath the thin streams of moonlight, against the paleness of her skin, Qingxiao dares to think that the warmth isn't entirely a figment of her imagination, that the strain in Hsin's breath when their eyes meet isn’t just a trick of the wind. With each breath, it's clearer, harder to ignore - the gasps that fill the air, the tension that tightens in her muscles, in the furled edges of her ears as Hsin shudders with each pass of Qingxiao's thumb over her clit.
A quiet moan, wanting and shameless, spilling out, and as though to ground herself in this moment of stolen time, her nails dig into Qingxiao’s shoulders as her hips move with a rhythm that grows erratic and desperate, lips finding Qingxiao’s neck, teeth grazing the skin. Like she means for it a distraction, so as to not lose herself.
Then, Qingxiao’s fingers pause, just as Hsin tightens around them once more.
“You’re getting close.”
Soft, and just barely there, Hsin whines against her skin. “You’re really going to tease me like that?”
And Qingxiao only responds by curling a finger deep inside Hsin, earning her another moan, slightly louder, yet cut short. She holds it, feeling her clench in that moment, so painfully tight, before relenting, drawing her fingers nearly all the way out.
Qingxiao tilts her head. “Shall I keep going?”
“God, yes,” Hsin breathes, voice filled with need, ragged with desire, “I can’t wait anymore.”
For the briefest instant, her walls grip them like an embrace, almost not wanting to let them go. When Qingxiao adds another finger and pushes back in, the shudder in Hsin's frame sends a thrill down her spine, her core twitching, unable to take this anymore, she's almost certain.
Silver locks drape themselves over shoulders, hiding the flushed cheeks, a cloudy sort of haze behind her half-lidded gaze. They trail like threads, shimmering as they catch the moonlight that glides over their forms, the nape of Qingxiao's neck as she thrusts her fingers, once, twice, quickly settling into an unforgiving pace.
It's not as if Qingxiao is unaware of this feeling, to have someone entrust their body and their pleasure, their wants, to another. A sort of trust, perhaps, in her alone. And yet, there’s a strange gentleness in those gasps, in her trembling form, as though in devotion.
Hsin lets out another gasp as she lowers her hips, a weak noise of protest as Qingxiao adjusts their position, like she's fighting against her own reflex, an attempt at trying to swallow it. As though to keep herself from slipping away, like petals shaken from their branches, she finds Qingxiao’s lips once more.
Then, the slight brush of their noses, followed by a needy sigh, the taste of a shaky breath on Qingxiao's tongue as Hsin’s chest heaves, filling Qingxiao’s senses. Her free hand threads through silver, that hair, those fox ears that swivel and twitch in delight softer than she could have ever imagined, like caressing fragments of the moon.
How strange that her appearance now would so resemble it, falling to pieces by Qingxiao's fingers, in her grasp. It's almost instinctual, the desire that burns inside of Qingxiao as Hsin begins to tighten, to be unraveled with each slow roll of their hips. She tastes the sweetness of flowers, of sweat and the night, even as their tongues entwine, even as the rhythm of her hips never once pauses.
It's animalistic, uncharacteristic, and yet, Qingxiao dares to think, that she wouldn't mind indulging in this sight again.
She comes apart, then, with a moan that melts into a whine, echoing through the night as her tail stills and her hips shudder, curling around Qingxiao's thighs like she can no longer bear the tension in her muscles, even when the sensation leaves her limbs trembling. The Sentinel wraps her arms around Qingxiao, pulling her ever closer, as though to let Qingxiao’s fingers fill every inch of her, heated breath fanning across Qingxiao’s lips.
As though a prayer, a devotion, the god made to crumble in the hands of the mortal. Surrendering, like she wanted to be torn apart. Like this is what she’s always wished for.
Quietly, slowly, she opens her eyes, breathing hard against the crook of Qingxiao's neck, trying to catch her breath as Qingxiao pulls her fingers away at last. It's a rare occasion indeed, that there's something in that piercing gaze - not that of mischievousness or that subtle threat, a longing that makes Qingxiao pause.
A peaceful silence is left hanging in the air, the night breeze catching onto strands of silver brushing over bare shoulders. Even like this, with her cheeks flushed and pale skin slicked with sweat, she continues to bear the embrace of moonlight upon her features. Hsin nuzzles her cheek into the crook of Qingxiao’s neck, slender legs twining together and tail draped around them.
She dares to thread her fingers through Hsin’s hair once more, her other hand idly, still wet with release, held between them.
“Are you alright?”
There’s the slightest hum against the base of her throat, the sensation of fingertips drawing light circles over her back, her hips. The chill of the night is hardly a concern, now, not when Hsin’s warmth lingers upon her skin.
“Are you alright, she asks.” Amusement flashes across Hsin’s features. “Is that even a question, little Qingxiao?”
“Forgive me. Did I perhaps go overboard?”
“Goodness, no,” Hsin chuckles, fox ears swiveling as she shifts, curling deeper into Qingxiao’s touch as she gathers her robes pooled on the ground, “you doubt yourself too much. That was perfect, just as expected of Qingxiao the Transcendent herself.”
For all of Hsin's arrogance, her pride, it is moments such as these that the cracks in her facade show itself, from the smallest gesture to her idle fingers, trailing patterns into Qingxiao's skin, as if searching for her warmth. The subtle changes in the tilt of her head, the flicks and furls of her ears, and Qingxiao dares to wish this moment would last even one second longer.
And still, she ignores the desire coiling in her gut, aching for her own release. Her own indulgences would not serve well for cultivation.
“I see.” She meets Hsin’s gaze, her expression as still as ever. “I’m relieved to hear that, then.”
The night breeze wafts past, sending goosebumps up and down her skin, carrying the chill of autumn with it. With it comes a flicker of moonlight, the telltale shimmer of silver in the air around them, of something in its depths.
There’s an easy, relaxed smile on Hsin’s face, tugging at the corners of her lips, as if she isn’t putting up a front, now. Like Qingxiao’s presence truly does mean something to her. Against her, she can feel even the faint movements of Hsin’s ears, the brush of her tail against fabric.
“You’re always up here, even throughout the night,” Hsin murmurs, “so let me stay with you until the sun rises.”
Qingxiao raises a slight eyebrow. “Are you certain?”
“It’s comfortable here.” Without a hint of shame, she nuzzles closer, tail swishing in satisfaction as she lays her head down on Qingxiao’s lap and flashing Qingxiao a teasing smile. “If you’re opposed, I could always leave, though. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of the great paragon’s training.”
For once, that carefree smile suits the Sentinel, and Qingxiao finds that she doesn’t dislike it.
“… No, it’s alright,” she presses her lips into a thin line, “I’d like for you to stay.”
The smile on Hsin’s face grows, as though she finds the answer humorous, for some reason. And yet, there’s no mischief, no hidden agenda, this time. She settles into a comfortable position and lets out a contented purr, as though a dream, as though the moonlight upon her skin, too, is merely an illusion.
“How charming.”
They stay in silence, Hsin with her eyes closed, head resting upon Qingxiao’s lap, as if she trusts Qingxiao with everything in this moment. It’s so different from her usual, yet more like her than anything else, yet this night is already unlike most.
Slowly, carefully, as to not disturb her, she leans over and trails a fingertip through Hsin's silvery bangs, brushing them away from her eyes. The familiar scent of flowers drifts about, clinging onto Hsin's skin.
Their gazes meet in that brief silence, and Hsin holds it, curious, fox ears swiveling in interest. Carefully, Hsin shifts herself onto her side, twisting in Qingxiao's hold. Even without a single word exchanged, Hsin's response is clear enough - that knowing smile, that lazy tilt of the head.
Moonlight slips between the gaps in the partitions, and Qingxiao pauses in the stillness of her movements. Like she, too, could melt into the night with Hsin in her arms, her weight bearing down upon her lap and her fingertips. A faint fluttering, and like this, even Hsin appears human, then. Just slightly more like her.
As though this moment could be taken from them in an instant, that it could slip between the gaps of her fingers like petals upon the breeze, she could only wish, however selfish, that it could last for just a fraction of a second longer. In the long night, of shadows and light, of silver and plum blossoms upon their skin, the mortal holds the god close.