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It’s funny that a crown prince should have fewer people seeing to his needs in the heavens than on earth. Xie Lian only brought along Mu Qing and, unfortunately, Feng Xin in his ascension, though. He hasn’t found any other deputies, and he’s only taken on a couple attendants that have been suggested by the Palace of Jing Wen to help cook and clean. In Mu Qing’s opinion, Xie Lian has no fondness for Jing Wen, but of course Xie Lian will never say so. Too nice by half, as always. The politics of the heavens are no less complicated than the ones in Xie Lian’s father’s court so far.
Mu Qing has spent years dressing Xie Lian, and it seems silly to hand it off to someone else now. Xie Lian hasn’t offered to have one of the new attendants step in, though they’re so quiet and largely invisible that it’s possible he’s forgotten they’re there. For Xie Lian, everything happens with a touch of magic. His clothes are always clean, he’s never gone hungry, and there’s always someone to help when his hair gets tangled.
“Let me try,” Xie Lian says, reaching up for the comb, but Mu Qing keeps it deftly out of reach.
“Don’t be silly, Your Highness,” Mu Qing says, perhaps a little sharper than he should. He really doesn’t want to detangle Xie Lian’s hair again. Xie Lian pouts at him in the bronze mirror, but he doesn’t protest. Not that his pouting isn’t successful. It is, it always is. But Mu Qing’s almost built up an immunity.
“Well then,” Xie Lian says, when his hair is free around his shoulders, shiny and soft, with the slightest wave to it, “let me practice on you?”
Mu Qing turns to look at him. “On me?”
Xie Lian reaches out, his fingers barely grazing Mu Qing’s bangs before Mu Qing rears back. Xie Lian pouts again. “You could teach me how to do my own, though, don’t you see? It’d save you so much time,” Xie Lian says. His tone is wheedling, and he lays his hand on Mu Qing’s, where it’s still clenched around Xie Lian’s comb.
“Let me finish yours first, Your Highness,” Mu Qing says, rolling his eyes. Xie Lian raises his eyebrows at Mu Qing, but he stays quiet while Mu Qing pins up his hair.
“It’s just a small imposition to show me how, right?”
He’s bargaining, Mu Qing knows. He does this sometimes, as if he can’t just command Mu Qing and Feng Xin to do his bidding. He prefers to ask them for things, to pretend like they have any say in the matter. Mu Qing doesn’t know if this is another way Xie Lian’s exceeding politeness manifests, or if he really, genuinely thinks they’re all friends.
Sometimes, when Mu Qing lets his guard down, when he’s exhausted or homesick or bruised from another brawl with Feng Xin, he’d like to believe it’s the second. He dreams of a world where that can be true, where they’re all on equal ground and choosing one another.
“C’mon,” Xie Lian says, his magnetic smile on full display, “let me pamper you for a change.”
Mu Qing must be feeling way too sentimental, because he lets Xie Lian sit him down in front of Xie Lian’s own vanity, filled with all of the luxurious things that Mu Qing only gets to use on Xie Lian, never on himself. Xie Lian leans down and smiles at him in the mirror over Mu Qing’s shoulder, mischievous. “May I have the comb?”
Mu Qing wordlessly hands it over, and Xie Lian holds it in his teeth while he unties Mu Qing’s hair. He’s started wearing it up lately, even though the shorter pieces in the front still get in his face. He likes the swing of the ponytail against the back of his neck as his hair gets longer. His is still so much shorter than Xie Lian’s, but it’s finally reached past his shoulders.
“It’s growing,” Xie Lian says, and as soon as he takes the comb to it he hits a tangle.
Mu Qing winces. “You could, um. You can use your hands? First? Like I do.”
“Oh, that’s right! You do, don’t you?” Xie Lian holds the comb in his teeth again, carefully running his fingers through Mu Qing’s hair to detangle any big knots. There aren’t many — Mu Qing’s hair is like silk. He’s not being prideful, it’s just true. His hair has always been soft and straight as reeds, smooth like freshly frozen ice.
In his moments of vanity, he wishes he’d had all the time Xie Lian did to grow it out. That he’d been able to start cultivating at a younger age and encouraged to let it get longer. Xie Lian’s fingertips against his scalp send shivers down his spine, and Mu Qing fights to keep still.
He grimaces as Xie Lian takes the comb from his mouth and tries to run it through Mu Qing’s hair again, and Xie Lian laughs, the sound warm and tinkling as a bell. “I’ll clean it before you have to use it on me again, I promise.”
The touch of the comb is cooler than Xie Lian’s fingers, but the sturdy teeth are soothing all the same. No one has done this for him, other than his mother, and she hasn’t done it for years. He remembers kneeling by her bedside, facing the door so she could brush out his hair. She always sang while she did it. She doesn’t have a voice for singing, but the sound was beautiful all the same. There’s an old folk song she’s fond of, and Mu Qing still finds himself humming it sometimes.
(“What is that?” Feng Xin had asked once, while they were alone together, sorting through prayers.
Mu Qing bristled, embarrassed that he’d gotten so comfortable with Feng Xin that he’d forget himself like that. “Don’t worry about it. Or did I distract you too much? Is it too hard for you to hear a song and read at the same time?”
“Fuck you, never mind,” Feng Xin said.
Mu Qing nodded, and they went back to the prayers. After several minutes of silence, Feng Xin grumbled softly, “It was pretty, alright? I was just curious.”)
Mu Qing blinks, and Xie Lian is pulling the top part of his hair up and away from the rest, clipping it up and out of the way. Xie Lian shakes out the rest of his hair, letting it slide through his fingers. “It’s so soft,” Xie Lian says. “Just stay still and let me try this, okay?”
“Okay, Your Highness,” Mu Qing says, eyes fixed on where his hands are clamped together in his lap.
Xie Lian makes quiet little sounds as he works, the familiar considering hums that mean he’s focused and trying to figure something else. Mu Qing grits his teeth when a pin drags against his scalp, but he doesn’t flinch. Xie Lian still notices, judging by the way he abruptly drops the hair he had in hand and mutters, “Sorry, sorry!”
The next time Mu Qing looks up into the mirror, Xie Lian has twisted almost all of his hair up, and Mu Qing marvels that he managed to braid a few sections without pulling so much that Mu Qing noticed. The style is formal, youthful but fit for a state dinner — fit for a prince.
“Your Highness,” Mu Qing hisses, scandalized. “You can’t— this isn’t—”
“Shush, I think it looks nice,” Xie Lian says, sliding in a decorative pin. It’s ornamented with painted white flowers, stark against the black of Mu Qing’s hair.
Mu Qing blushes. Of course it looks nice, it looks just like something that Mu Qing would craft for one of the many parties Xie Lian attended while he was human. It’s more elaborate than Xie Lian’s own hair is right now, and far too rich for Mu Qing.
“This isn’t appropriate,” Mu Qing says, but he turns his head from side to side as directed by Xie Lian’s light touch on his chin. It’s messy, and there are already strands falling out, but when Xie Lian smiles over his shoulder, Mu Qing can’t help but notice how similar they look with their hair done in almost the same way.
Xie Lian shrugs. “Who says? I’m your prince, right?”
Mu Qing swallows. “You’re my god.”
Xie Lian blinks at him, his cheeks turning a splotchy red. “Sure, yeah, haha! I suppose so. Does that mean you’ll let me do your makeup, too?”
Mu Qing has only worn makeup once, when he was small. He managed to save enough extra from all his errand-running that he could buy a small tin of lipstick for his mother’s birthday. She’d been delighted, her eyes shining with unshed tears. The plum color had looked beautiful on her, and she’d smiled and said, “Do you want to try it, my dearest?”
The color that Xie Lian paints on his lips now is brighter, a happy red that threatens to wash out Mu Qing’s pallor. Mu Qing sits still as Xie Lian rouges his cheeks, waking up the warmth hidden in his skin. Xie Lian smiles at him all the while, a small, hidden kind of smile that’s tucked into the corners of his mouth.
“Y-your Highness, you should— may I… you, too?”
Xie Lian smiles shyly, as if he’s not used to Mu Qing doing this for him, but he pulls Mu Qing up all the same, so they’re standing and facing one another. He holds the pot of lip color for Mu Qing, and then the rouge, watching intently as Mu Qing makes Xie Lian face up to match his own.
Mu Qing considers Xie Lian’s face for a long moment before he picks up a fine-tipped brush. He paints a simple huadian carefully onto Xie Lian’s forehead, the color matching his lips. He then turns to the mirror and, under Xie Lian’s reassuring gaze, does one on himself. He feels treasonous, and it’s scary and exciting all at once.
“You should’ve let me do it,” Xie Lian says.
Mu Qing scoffs. “I didn’t want to have to redo it, Your Highness.”
Xie Lian hits his shoulder, laughing. “My calligraphy is great!”
“That may be true, but I’ve seen you paint,” Mu Qing says. It’s good, to tease Xie Lian like this. To have Xie Lian bump his hip into Mu Qing’s and smile at him, almost like they’re just normal teenagers, somehow.
“You look very nice,” Xie Lian says, reaching up to run the back of his hand along Mu Qing’s jaw. “You,” he continues, and he looks away, bashful. “You look nice all the time.”
“Your Highness,” Mu Qing says, his voice strained.
“May I—?” Xie Lian starts to say, but he cuts himself off by pressing his painted lips to Mu Qing’s. He’s up on his toes, and Mu Qing instinctively holds onto his hips, steadying him, though Xie Lian has a strong, sturdy grip on his shoulders.
They both freeze when their mouths make contact, and Mu Qing blinks open his eyes to find Xie Lian staring back at him. Xie Lian’s eyes widen and then he squeezes them shut, pushing his mouth harder against Mu Qing’s. Mu Qing lets him, not sure what else to do. He fights to keep his grip on Xie Lian’s hips light, to not betray his sudden desire.
Xie Lian pulls back, sinking so his heels touch the floor again. His hands are still on Mu Qing’s shoulders. “Oh, oops,” he says, and then he’s using his thumb to clean up Mu Qing’s mouth where the color must have smudged.
Mu Qing reaches out with a shaking hand to do the same, and while he’s tidying, Xie Lian starts talking, his lips moving against Mu Qing’s fingers. “Won’t you let me dress you, too?”
Mu Qing tries not to frown. “Your Highness, that’s not… I don’t know.”
“It’s only right that I learn how to dress myself, don’t you agree? We’re not children anymore,” Xie Lian says, like that makes any sense. Like anyone of royalty dresses themselves regardless of age.
Mu Qing stares back at him, unsure how to argue when he’s already allowed so much. He can’t risk inciting Xie Lian’s anger, as slow as it always is to come. He has to stay in the heavens, he has to. He’s finally able to provide for his mother, even if he rarely gets to see her. He’ll do anything Xie Lian asks for, and only partly out of sheer loyalty.
“Please?” Xie Lian asks, his eyes wide. Mu Qing sighs, but he doesn’t say no again. Xie Lian claps in excitement. “Great, wait here!”
Xie Lian roots through his wardrobe, messing up the neat order Mu Qing tries to keep it in. He seems to know exactly what he’s looking for, like he’s already decided which of his luxurious clothes he wants to drape Mu Qing in.
He sets aside a small bundle, leaving it on the vanity stool. “Let me?” he asks, his fingers at Mu Qing’s belt. Mu Qing swallows and nods, holding his breath.
Xie Lian is slow, his fingers unpracticed, and Mu Qing balls his hands into fists to stop himself from taking over. Xie Lian hesitates when he gets Mu Qing down to his under robe, but then he bites his lip and soldiers on, bold as brass.
“You’re going to ruin your makeup like that,” Mu Qing points out, trying to keep his voice steady.
Xie Lian grins at him, sly. “I’m going to ruin it if I kiss you again anyway.”
Mu Qing makes an embarrassing noise and Xie Lian laughs. He folds Mu Qing’s robes carefully, averting his eyes from Mu Qing’s bare torso. It’s ridiculous. They’re ridiculous. They’ve seen each other in greater states of undress than this so many times, in so many innocuous situations.
Xie Lian helps him slide his arms into one of his own undergarments, the silk is light as air on Mu Qing’s skin, and Mu Qing can’t help but run his hand down his arm. He feels it when he dresses Xie Lian, every day, but it’s different having it on his own body. The next robe is a deep navy and heavy, thick and beautifully embroidered. The air is charged between them, like when the world holds its breath between strikes of lightning.
Xie Lian’s hands are trembling as he ties the outer robe closed, securing the belt around Mu Qing’s waist. He ties it tighter than Mu Qing normally does, a little too tight to be comfortable, but Mu Qing doesn’t correct him. When Xie Lian settles his hands there, as if to see how far around Mu Qing’s body he can reach, Mu Qing understands.
They’re both built lithe, though Xie Lian’s shoulders are nothing to sneeze at. Xie Lian is stronger than him, Mu Qing knows it, at least in terms of brute force. Xie Lian is always better than him, in every way, and Mu Qing should be used to it by now. But Xie Lian’s hands on him, hot even through the soft fabric, don’t make him feel lesser, or inferior. He’s touching Mu Qing with consideration, with interest. He’s touching him like Mu Qing’s slimness is something he likes to feel.
Xie Lian turns him toward the mirror again, so they’re standing side by side. The robes they’re in are markedly similar, and they’re like reflections of one another, just as similar as they are different.
“It’s a shame your ears aren’t pierced,” Xie Lian says thoughtfully, touching Mu Qing’s earlobe with careful fingers. Mu Qing stays quiet and still, staring into the mirror at the stranger who has his face. “Jewelry would complement the clothes.”
Mu Qing turns to look at him, still surprised sometimes to find himself taller. “What are we doing, Xie Lian?” he asks. It sounds strange to drop Xie Lian’s title outside his own head.
“I like when you say my name,” Xie Lian says. “You should do it more often.”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “I don’t need Feng Xin to yell at me even more.”
“He’ll get over it,” Xie Lian says, with the surety of someone who’s clearly never met Feng Xin. “I’m going to kiss you again.”
“Then do it,” Mu Qing says, surprised at his own daring.
Xie Lian shifts back and forth. “I am.”
“Well you don’t have to,” Mu Qing says, churlish now, embarrassed. It was just a fluke, an impulse Xie Lian never should have acted on. “I should change back, and I’ll go—”
Xie Lian’s lips are just as warm the second time, and he’s braver, opening his mouth against Mu Qing’s, letting them breathe into each other. Mu Qing moves his lips, trying to find what feels right, trying to make it good for Xie Lian. Neither of them know what they’re doing, and it shows. But then Xie Lian tilts his head and fits their mouths together again, licking at Mu Qing’s lips, and Mu Qing can’t help but pull Xie Lian closer, stopping just short of pressing their bodies together.
They shouldn’t be doing this, not with their cultivation, not with who Mu Qing is to Xie Lian, and vice versa. Mu Qing tries to find it in himself to stop, but this is — easy. It doesn't feel wrong, and technically Mu Qing is doing what Xie Lian wants, which is sort of his entire job description.
Soon, Mu Qing thinks, he’ll put a stop to this soon, before it gets too out of hand, before anyone does something they’ll regret. But he keeps pushing “soon” farther and farther away in his head, and it takes something much more disruptive to break them up.
“What the fuck!” Feng Xin thunders from the doorway.
Mu Qing leaps back from Xie Lian, out of breath from the shock and, a little, from the kissing. “What the hell are you doing here?!” he demands. Feng Xin has never burst into the room when Mu Qing was dressing Xie Lian. He should already be at the training ground, or doing whatever it is he does when he’s blissfully out of Mu Qing’s sight.
“I was invited!” Feng Xin yells back, and there’s a long, drawn out silence following his words. Mu Qing turns to look at Xie Lian, where Feng Xin is already glaring.
“You planned this,” Mu Qing says, his voice like ice.
Xie Lian laughs nervously, waving his hands. “No, no, not really! I just, ah. I really wanted to see you all dressed up like me, and I thought, who would be a better audience than Feng Xin! Do you see?”
“No,” Mu Qing says firmly, and he’s unsurprised to hear Feng Xin echo him. Mu Qing has few friends, either in the heavens or among humans, but it wouldn’t be hard to build a list of people who would rather see Mu Qing trussed up than Feng Xin.
“Doesn’t he look good?” Xie Lian persists to Feng Xin.
Mu Qing grinds his teeth and crosses his arms, staring at the floor. He doesn’t need to hear Feng Xin say something rude or belittling. He doesn’t need to be told that he has no business wearing something so fine, or that it’s laughable for him to be styled like a prince.
This time, though, Feng Xin does surprise him. “Of course, but that’s not the point!” Feng Xin says, and when Mu Qing’s eyes dart up, he’s looking anywhere but at Mu Qing. “What are you playing at, Your Highness?”
Mu Qing is tense, waiting for Feng Xin to turn his rage on him, like he always does. Guilt is a heavy stone in his stomach, even though all he’s done is what Xie Lian commanded. He should have said no more firmly. He should have left. He never should have kissed back.
“You got him to, what, look like you? So then you could make out with him?” Feng Xin continues. “How narcissistic.”
Xie Lian laughs, a short burst of sound that startles Mu Qing into looking at him. He’s blushing again, and Feng Xin doesn’t look as angry now. He’s smiling, and he doesn’t immediately look away when he sees Mu Qing examining him.
Xie Lian rubs at the back of his neck, his hand close enough to his updo that Mu Qing mourns all his own hard work for a moment. “It’s not that, it’s just— he does look awfully like me, doesn’t he? Like this?”
Mu Qing groans, but Feng Xin says, “Yes, you’ve made him into your little doll.”
“How dare— I am not a doll!” Mu Qing yells. He takes a step toward Feng Xin, but Xie Lian stops him with a hand on his arm.
“We know you’re not,” Xie Lian says, “that’s not what I intended.”
“What’s your plan, Your Highness?” Feng Xin asks, and Mu Qing remembers asking Xie Lian the same thing.
Xie Lian’s blush deepens. “Well, it’s only that I… I see how you look at me, Feng Xin, and I wish I could, um. Reciprocate? I am curious, of course, but with my cultivation…” He shrugs, looking between the two of them.
Feng Xin looks distinctly uncomfortable, and Mu Qing doesn’t like what he’s piecing together from Xie Lian’s rambling.
“It’s my cultivation, too,” Mu Qing points out softly.
“I know, I know! But you have time that I don’t, Mu Qing. If we pursue this, then I’ll help you find a new path. I can lend you spiritual power whenever you have need until you build yours back up. You’re not a god yet, you still have time,” Xie Lian says, his eyes beseeching.
Mu Qing’s mouth tastes sour. “We’re not your playthings.”
“Oh, Mu Qing,” Xie Lian says, and then he’s embracing Mu Qing. Not kissing, just holding onto him, waiting for any of Mu Qing’s stiffness to abate.
Mu Qing doesn’t grip him back, but he can’t help the way his posture loosens under Xie Lian’s hands.
“I know you’re not,” Xie Lian says to his shoulder. “I didn’t mean for you to think that, I’m sorry. I only thought this might be fun.”
“Fun,” Feng Xin echoes, his eyebrows high.
“He’d rather kill me,” Mu Qing says to Xie Lian, stepping away from him.
Before Xie Lian can say anything, Feng Xin huffs loudly. “Shut up, don’t put words in my mouth.” He’s scuffing his boot against the floor, sullen and long-suffering. “You’re not that bad to look at.”
“Thanks so much,” Mu Qing says, the syllables brittle.
Feng Xin shrugs. “I’m here to do as His Highness wishes.”
“What are you hoping will happen?” Mu Qing asks.
Xie Lian doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he drags Mu Qing in for another kiss. Mu Qing’s eyes are open, grossly aware of their audience, but Xie Lian’s mouth is thorough and precise, and Mu Qing nearly reaches for him when he pulls back.
“Great, so,” Xie Lian says, breathless, “now you do the same to him.”
“To Feng Xin,” Mu Qing clarifies. Feng Xin is staring at him in shock.
Xie Lian beams at them. “Yes, like how I did it!”
Mu Qing eyes Feng Xin warily. He thinks Feng Xin is closer than he was before. “This is what you want,” Mu Qing says to Xie Lian, not looking away from Feng Xin.
“Please,” Xie Lian answers, and Mu Qing wishes Xie Lian would stop being so polite and just force him to do it.
Mu Qing stomps up to Feng Xin, painfully aware of how expensive and fine the fabrics he’s draped in are. Feng Xin waits for him, his eyes round.
“Are you really going to—?” Feng Xin starts, but Mu Qing surges forward and cuts him off with his mouth. Feng Xin makes a startled noise against his lips, and Mu Qing struggles to replicate the soft way Xie Lian had opened his mouth, the way his tongue had just barely touched Mu Qing’s teeth.
Feng Xin’s hands grip his robes, and Mu Qing yanks himself back out of reach. “You’ll ruin them, you imbecile!” he hisses, hoping he doesn’t look nearly as lost as Feng Xin does.
“They’re not yours anyway,” Feng Xin says snidely.
“Oh, so you want to wreck His Highness’s things?”
“Do you count as one of his things?”
Mu Qing's face heats, struck by the double entendre of Feng Xin’s words. “Shut up!”
Xie Lian sighs. Mu Qing doesn’t know what he was expecting, pushing them together in this way. All they do is fight, did he really think it would be different if there was kissing involved?
“Try again?” Xie Lian suggests, his voice cautious, as if he’s taking care as to where to step next on a freshly frozen lake.
Mu Qing scowls at Feng Xin. “Hands to yourself.”
“Sure, until His Highness tells me otherwise,” Feng Xin says with a smirk, and Mu Qing kisses him before he can say anything more absurd.
He strives to keep Xie Lian at the front of his mind, to think of how Xie Lian would do this, of how he would act. He thinks of Xie Lian’s unyielding strength, the steel of his blade, of how uncompromising he can be. But then he thinks of Xie Lian’s gentleness, of his compassion. He thinks of swords and flowers, and he tries to find the balance that Xie Lian embodies so effortlessly.
They kiss for long moments, Mu Qing fisting his hands in Feng Xin’s robes while Feng Xin does as he was told and keeps his own hands at his sides. Xie Lian directs them, standing close enough that Mu Qing can feel the heat of his body sometimes.
“Slower,” he says, and he nudges Mu Qing closer to Feng Xin. Or, “Be soft, how you would be to me,” he reproaches Feng Xin.
Mu Qing’s mouth is sore when they pull apart, his lips almost numb, like he’s eaten something spicy. He’s never been so aware of his mouth in his life, not even when he was young enough to have loosened teeth to tease with his tongue. He doesn’t realize he’s still holding onto Feng Xin’s robes until Xie Lian’s hands fold over his.
“That was very good,” Xie Lian says, smiling at both of them.
Feng Xin preens at the words, and Mu Qing fights down his own pleasure. “Have we satisfied your curiosity?” he asks instead. His voice is deeper than normal, raspy and unfamiliar.
“Yeah, what next?” Feng Xin says, and Mu Qing lets go of him in surprise. Next?
Xie Lian takes a step back from them, toward the door that leads to his bedroom. “We could move somewhere more comfortable?”
“That’s a great idea, Your Highness,” Feng Xin says quickly, and Xie Lian turns to lead the way.
“What are you doing?” Mu Qing asks lowly.
Feng Xin darts forward for another kiss, this one more rough. Mu Qing freezes. Xie Lian isn’t in the room. He can’t see them at all right now.
“What was that for? He’s not even here!”
Feng Xin’s grin is roguish. “Don’t worry so much. Come on.”
He grabs Mu Qing’s wrist, dragging him into the most intimate part of Xie Lian’s rooms. Mu Qing has been in here, of course. He’s an attendant of the crown prince. It would be more strange if he hadn’t been in his bedroom.
Mu Qing follows the insistent tug of Feng Xin’s hand, trying to remember to breathe. Feng Xin leads him through to find Xie Lian sitting primly on the edge of his own, extravagant bed. When they get close enough, Xie Lian gently pulls Mu Qing down with him. Mu Qing flails, trying to stand back up, but both Xie Lian and Feng Xin press on his shoulders until he’s forced to lie back unless he wants to put up a serious fight.
Xie Lian touches Mu Qing’s wrist, smiling and clearly trying to soothe him, but Mu Qing swears he can feel his own heartbeat where Xie Lian’s fingers press. Feng Xin is looking between Xie Lian and Mu Qing, hovering beside the bed.
“Sit down,” Mu Qing says, but it comes out as a whisper.
“What?” Feng Xin asks sharply.
Mu Qing clears his throat and remembers to glare. “Sit down, you buffoon.”
Feng Xin grumbles, sitting next to Mu Qing’s hip. His eyes skip over Mu Qing’s body, and Mu Qing fights to stay still. Xie Lian’s thumb rubs at his wrist, a back-and-forth rhythm that Mu Qing times his breathing to.
Feng Xin looks up to Xie Lian. “What now, Your Highness?”
Xie Lian is flushed, and he flaps the hand not touching Mu Qing. “I… I suppose you should kiss again? More? I’m going to have to defer to you soon, I think,” Xie Lian says with a sheepish grin.
Mu Qing’s eyes snap back to Feng Xin. He’d heard the rumors, of course, when they were on Mount Taicang. Even without friends to talk to or commiserate with, the gossip had been difficult to miss. Mu Qing had never put much stock in their flapping mouths. As much as he loves to disparage Feng Xin, it seemed unlikely he had the free time to fool around so much.
But now that Mu Qing thinks on it, Feng Xin hadn’t had to spend his mornings and evenings sweeping and mending Xie Lian’s robes. Maybe he had plenty of time to tumble whoever caught his eye into bed. Maybe he whiled away his nights with stable boys and disciples and swordmasters alike, because Mu Qing knows for certain he wasn’t touching any women given his unfounded fear.
Mu Qing props himself up on his elbows. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
Feng Xin’s lip curls and he looks at Xie Lian. Mu Qing sees Xie Lian nod in encouragement out of the corner of his eye, and then Feng Xin is leaning over Mu Qing’s prone body, holding himself up on one hand as he comes closer. Mu Qing refuses to be impressed by the show of strength and balance as he holds himself there, his chest brushing against Mu Qing’s. When he kisses Mu Qing again, it’s harsher, like he’s trying to win something.
Mu Qing pushes back against him, digging his fingertips into Feng Xin’s back, unaware that he’d even moved his arms. He’s used to warring over every small thing with Feng Xin, this is just one more.
“Softer,” Xie Lian reprimands, smoothing a hand up Feng Xin’s back and then down Mu Qing’s arm. “Slow down.”
Feng Xin makes an irritated sound against Mu Qing’s lips, but they both grow more gentle. Mu Qing fights to keep Xie Lian in his head, to focus on the tender, reverent way he would kiss Xie Lian — had kissed Xie Lian.
“Good, just like I showed you,” Xie Lian says.
Feng Xin opens his mouth when Mu Qing does, and Mu Qing’s whole body jolts when their tongues touch, like he didn’t know it was about to happen. Feng Xin kisses him deeper, like he’s trying to crawl inside Mu Qing, to possess him. Mu Qing follows as best he can, mimicking Feng Xin’s movements. Anything that makes Feng Xin make noise or shiver, he repeats. Feng Xin likes it when Mu Qing sucks on his tongue, he likes it when Mu Qing uses his grip on Feng Xin’s shoulder to dig his nails in.
Mu Qing likes it when Feng Xin bites his lip, or lightly closes his teeth on Mu Qing’s tongue. He likes it when Feng Xin pulls away only to kiss a wandering path down Mu Qing’s neck. He likes Feng Xin’s teeth scraping against his throat, so much so that his eyes fly open to find Xie Lian looking down at him fondly, almost with pride.
Xie Lian smooths Mu Qing’s hair away from his face, acting like Mu Qing is sick with fever rather than growing hard in his pants.
“Your Highness,” Mu Qing chokes out, but Xie Lian shushes him.
“His mouth, Feng Xin,” Xie Lian directs, and Feng Xin immediately reclaims Mu Qing’s open mouth. “Doesn’t he feel good?”
Mu Qing has no idea which of them Xie Lian is talking to, but he hears Feng Xin rasp out a, “Yeah,” before he finally drops down onto Mu Qing.
Mu Qing moans, his back arching sharply, pushing him into Feng Xin’s body like they’re not already close enough. Feng Xin swallows the sound and feeds Mu Qing a moan right back. Mu Qing can feel where Feng Xin is hard against him, and Feng Xin must be able to tell that Mu Qing is, too. Feng Xin rolls his hips against Mu Qing’s, and Mu Qing gets tangled in his borrowed clothes as he instinctively tries to spread his legs and make room for Feng Xin. The brocade is so heavy and cumbersome. Mu Qing wonders how the rich ever get anything done, up to and including this.
“Here, here, let me,” Feng Xin says, shoving up Mu Qing robes so he can push Mu Qing’s legs apart. Mu Qing gasps when their hips realign, and he ducks to bury his face in Feng Xin’s shoulder.
Xie Lian makes a pleased sound from above them, and Mu Qing’s cheeks burn hotter. “That’s good,” he says softly. “Keep going?”
“Yes,” Feng Xin agrees. Mu Qing doesn’t know if anything could make them stop now, short of an order from their prince.
“Touch him like you’d touch me,” Xie Lian says.
Feng Xin groans. “Yes.”
Feng Xin’s kisses Mu Qing’s neck, shoving aside his robes to get to his collarbone this time, before finding his lips all over again. He keeps coming back to kiss Mu Qing, his hips rocking down against him, their cocks rubbing alongside one another through too many layers of fabric. Mu Qing is dimly aware of Xie Lian stroking his hair and the curve of his ear. The pins Xie Lian put in his hair are digging into his scalp despite the plush down cushion, but everything that’s not Feng Xin feels far away.
Feng Xin’s lips are moving, as though he’s whispering something, but it takes a few moments for the soft sound to make sense. “Your Highness,” Feng Xin is saying, voice low and worshipful. “Your Highness,” he says into Mu Qing’s throat, to the skin right under his ear, and Mu Qing goes cold. “Your Highness, Your Highness.”
“Stop,” Mu Qing says, shoving Feng Xin hard enough that he ends up on his side, his head practically in Xie Lian’s lap. “Please stop.” Mu Qing can hear how wet and small his voice sounds, and he hides his face in his hands as he sits up.
It’d been unthinkable for Mu Qing to forget who was on top of him, but of course it should be easy for Feng Xin to imagine who he really wants beneath him. Feng Xin doesn’t have any feelings he keeps under lock and key, any stirrings he needs to repress. His devotion to Xie Lian is clear in everything he does, just as his anger at Mu Qing is always clear on his face. Feng Xin has certainly never watched Mu Qing nock an arrow and felt his whole body go hot despite the winter chill in the air. Feng Xin has never looked at Mu Qing with anything other than contempt, when he’s bothered to look at all.
“Mu Qing, are you alright?” It’s Xie Lian’s voice, and he sounds anxious. Concerned. “Was it too much? Are you hurt?”
“I didn’t hurt him!” Feng Xin says, loud. Then, quieter, “I didn’t, right? I didn’t mean to.”
“Mu Qing?” Xie Lian asks again. The bed dips as he comes closer. His hand on Mu Qing’s back is gentle but firm.
“I’m sorry,” Mu Qing forces himself to say. He takes a great, shuddering breath, because he can’t cry. Not in front of them, and especially not over this. He hasn’t cried in years; he’s not a child. He’s probably forgotten how, anyway. His breath hitches again. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I’m sorry, I can do better. I didn’t think—”
“We know it’s you,” Xie Lian says, and Mu Qing feels a light brush of lips on the back of his hands. He fucked up, and he’s still hiding, but Xie Lian kissed him anyway.
“We know, okay?” Xie Lian sounds saddened, like he’s worried he messed up. “We know it’s you, Mu Qing, of course we know it’s you. Just because I— I dressed you up, I know it was selfish, but I didn’t do it to make us look the same. You must know how beautiful you are. Always, not just like this, in silks and rouge. Tell him, Feng Xin.”
Feng Xin takes longer to speak, but in a gruff voice he finally says, “He is. You are.”
“It was just a game,” Xie Lian says. His hands are in Mu Qing’s hair, and Mu Qing realizes he’s pulling the pins free. He’s bad at it, slow and clumsy, but it helps with the aching in Mu Qing’s skull. “It was a silly game, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want you. That we didn’t. Or don’t?”
“A game,” Mu Qing says dryly, looking up at Xie Lian. His face is very close. “A joke.”
“Not a joke!” Xie Lian says, waving his hands. He’s holding hairpins, and one nearly stabs Feng Xin in the nose. Feng Xin rears back, tumbling off the bed, and Mu Qing can’t help but laugh.
“What would you know of bedroom games anyway,” Mu Qing says, rolling his eyes.
Feng Xin shares a brief look with Mu Qing as he crawls back on the bed, a grin forming. “Yeah, it’s a little advanced. If you wanted to watch us like that, doing that, you could have asked.”
Mu Qing chokes, and Xie Lian goes red, and now he’s the one covering his face. “No, no!” Xie Lian shouts, muffled and mortified. “That’s not what I mean!”
Mu Qing wraps his fingers around Xie Lian’s wrists, careful of the pins, and tugs his hands away so he can meet Xie Lian’s wide eyes. “What do you want, Xie Lian?”
Feng Xin makes a noise, likely at the too-familiar address, but Xie Lian nods quickly.
“I already said, remember? I’m curious what it would be like to, ah, to touch either of you— both of you… like that. And I can’t, but you can,” Xie Lian says. He cups Mu Qing’s cheek with his free hand, and Mu Qing stays stock-still. “I think you would look good together, and be good together.”
“Have you met us?!” Feng Xin asks.
Xie Lian only nods. “I thought this could be a way around that. You’re not in competition, if you’re with me, do you see?” He smiles at Feng Xin. “If you pretend to be kissing me, you wouldn’t be putting up a fight.”
Feng Xin’s mouth twists, but he looks like he’s considering Xie Lian’s flawed logic. Mu Qing understands, somewhat, but it sounds more like a rationalization than anything else.
“You want to experience this through us,” Mu Qing states, “and keep your cultivation intact.”
Xie Lian winces. “Only if you want to. Didn’t it feel good?”
“Yes,” Feng Xin says immediately, and then turns away from them both. Mu Qing can see his ears turning red.
“Is it fun,” Xie Lian asks Mu Qing, “to play at being the prince?”
“I don’t— I don’t know,” Mu Qing says.
“If Feng Xin calls you ‘Your Highness,’ that could be for you. Not for me. Couldn’t you enjoy that?”
Mu Qing chews on his lip, shooting a glance toward Feng Xin. He’s still pink, but he nods behind Xie Lian’s back.
“Does that mean he has to do whatever I tell him to?” Mu Qing asks Xie Lian.
“Fuck you,” Feng Xin says and Xie Lian laughs.
Mu Qing squares his shoulders and faces Feng Xin. He gathers every bit of cold detachment he has spent years developing and refining and commands, “Kiss me.”
Feng Xin’s face goes blank before his brows furrow in anger, but then they smooth out again. He walks toward Mu Qing on his knees. “Your Highness?” Feng Xin asks, looking nowhere but Mu Qing.
“Kiss me,” Mu Qing orders him again. The words are strong and even, and he hides shaking hands inside voluminous sleeves.
Feng Xin cups Mu Qing’s face between his palms before he kisses him again, surging against him as he bears him down to the mattress. “Yes,” he says against Mu Qing’s mouth. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Mu Qing shivers, and he pulls Feng Xin down the rest of the way, reveling in the weight of him, the solidness and the heft. His shoulders seem so much broader when they take up most of Mu Qing’s vision, and Mu Qing wonders when they got so wide, when Feng Xin filled out so much. They’re of a height, but Mu Qing feels small suddenly, despite his own hard-won muscles.
“Stop thinking,” Feng Xin mutters, taking Mu Qing’s mouth again. He slips one of legs between Mu Qing’s, and Mu Qing barely keeps back an embarrassing noise when Feng Xin’s thigh rubs against his clothed cock. “Yeah, that’s it.”
“Shut up,” Mu Qing says. He clutches Feng Xin closer and struggles to catch his breath. With everything that’s happened since Xie Lian pulled the belt so tight, Mu Qing had put the constant pressure of it on his waist out of his mind. Now, coupled with Feng Xin’s weight and the ardor of their kissing, Mu Qing gasps for air every time Feng Xin pulls back.
He lets go of Feng Xin to scramble for the belt, and Feng Xin smirks. “That desperate to get out of your clothes?”
“Fuck off,” Mu Qing says, trying to undo the knot. Feng Xin’s hands find it first, and he deftly undoes it with care, probably keeping in mind that he’s touching garments that are actually Xie Lian’s. Mu Qing sucks in as big a breath as he can, his ribs expanding under Feng Xin’s hands.
“Why the fuck did you tighten it so much?” Feng Xin asks Xie Lian incredulously. Then, he remembers himself and adds, “Your Highness.”
Xie Lian’s laugh is nervous and flighty. “Oh, it’s only that our Mu Qing has quite a slim waist. I thought it looked nice… haha.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Feng Xin asks Mu Qing. His hands haven’t left Mu Qing’s middle.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Mu Qing argues. “I forgot about it after a while.”
“Fuck, I bet that thing left marks, even. Your Highness, you should be more careful.”
“Don’t talk to him that way!” Mu Qing says, feeling like he and Feng Xin have swapped places for once.
“I’m sorry!” Xie Lian says, taking Mu Qing’s hand in his.
“Your Highness, it’s fine, I— what are you doing?!”
“I want to see…” Feng Xin mutters, he’s already pushed the heavy outer robe away from Mu Qing’s chest, and he’s working at the hidden ties of the soft under robes. He can’t get it, though, and he turns an exasperated look on Xie Lian. “Did you do this, too?”
“Um,” Xie Lian says, forcing a smile. “You could just push that robe up?”
“Your Highness!” Mu Qing hisses, but Feng Xin nods and does just that.
Bunching the long skirt of the under robe in his hands, he shoves at it until it’s around Mu Qing’s hips, and then keeps going. Mu Qing turns his head to the side, refusing to watch. He’s still wearing pants, but he knows Feng Xin can see the pale skin of his stomach, the fine trail of dark hair leading down. Feng Xin keeps pushing up, until he can see Mu Qing’s waist and run his fingertips over Mu Qing’s ribs.
“Fuck,” Feng Xin says, “it really is red here. Mu Qing, hey, look at me!”
Mu Qing does, biting his lip and refusing to glance down. Feng Xin’s touch on his bare skin makes him want everything and anything. He wants Feng Xin to try to untie the robe again. He wants him to bare more of Mu Qing if it means he’ll keep looking at him with that glint in his eyes.
Feng Xin’s fingers trace absent patterns on his ribs. “Does it hurt?”
Mu Qing shakes his head.
“Do you want to, uh. Do you want to keep going?”
Mu Qing swallows. “If His Highness wishes it.”
“I—” Xie Lian starts, but Feng Xin interrupts.
“I’m not asking him. No offense, Your Highness. I’m asking you, Mu Qing. Do you want this?”
Mu Qing is miserable with wanting. He’s almost scared of how much it’s consuming him. It’s unimaginable that he’s wasted so much time without Feng Xin’s hands on him. “Yes.”
“Good,” Feng Xin says, and he falls forward to kiss Mu Qing again, his hands hot as brands against Mu Qing’s exposed skin.
Mostly free of his robes, it’s easy for Mu Qing to spread his legs for Feng Xin’s bulk, and he moans high and loud when Feng Xin grinds down against him. There are so many fewer layers between them, and every movement that was dulled by fabric before is now loud and bright, like small fireworks beneath Mu Qing’s skin.
He was already absorbed by the groundswell of arousal, this makes him feel mad with it. He lets his hands fall to Feng Xin’s own belt before he can think too much about it. He’s seen what Feng Xin looks like shirtless before, and he’s always avoided looking for too long. He wants to look this time, he needs to see how his own pale hands stand out against Feng Xin’s skin.
Feng Xin helps him, shoving his robes out of the way enough that Xie Lian can reach forward and tug them away. Mu Qing isn’t sure where they end up, too busy seeing how much of Feng Xin’s chest he can cover with one hand. Feng Xin obligingly holds himself above Mu Qing, his hands braced outside Mu Qing’s shoulders.
Feng Xin smirks down at him. “Enjoying the view?”
Mu Qing flicks his nipple out of curiosity, and Feng Xin sucks in a sharp breath. “It’s fine,” Mu Qing says with a shrug and a smirk of his own.
“I’ll show you fine,” Feng Xin says, leaning down to kiss Mu Qing again. The bare skin of their bellies touches, and Mu Qing grabs onto Feng Xin’s shoulders. He can properly dig his nails into the skin there now, causing Feng Xin to whimper into their next kiss.
Feng Xin pays him back in turn, sliding his hand up from the back of Mu Qing neck and into his hair. He makes a sound when he gets a handful of it. He doesn’t tug, and it feels like he’s just rubbing a lock of it between his fingers.
“What are you doing?” Mu Qing asks, staring up at him.
“Soft,” is all Feng Xin says, and then he kisses Mu Qing again, burying both of his hands into Mu Qing’s hair, deftly seeking out the pins that Xie Lian missed.
He rubs at Mu Qing’s scalp while he does it, and Mu Qing can’t help the soft sigh he releases. He feels Feng Xin’s lips curve into a smile against his own. Mu Qing thumbs at Feng Xin’s nipple, hoping to get another reaction. Feng Xin moans softly, so Mu Qing does it again.
“I can take them,” Xie Lian says, and Mu Qing nearly jumps.
He hadn’t forgotten Xie Lian was there, not exactly. He could never really forget about Xie Lian in any circumstance. But he’d been so consumed with having Feng Xin’s attention. Mu Qing watches Feng Xin hand over the rest of the pins, and Xie Lian sets them on a low chest beside his bed. One must roll off, because Mu Qing hears something clink onto the floor. Xie Lian doesn’t make a move to get it, though, or seem bothered at all. Mu Qing makes a mental note to track it down later, before Feng Xin diverts him with another kiss.
“How far,” Feng Xin says, pressing his lips to Mu Qing’s cheek, “were you hoping,” another kiss, this time on Mu Qing’s jaw, “this would go,” he sucks a biting kiss just below Mu Qing’s jaw, and Mu Qing moans, “Your Highness?”
Xie Lian kneels beside them, resting back on his heels and watching eagerly. Color blooms high on his cheeks. “Would you like to, ah, take off your clothes?”
Feng Xin is down to his pants, whereas Mu Qing is awkwardly stripped. The finely detailed outer robe is still pushed open around his chest, with the inner one shoved up underneath.
Feng Xin drops his hands to Mu Qing’s hips. “Can I?”
Mu Qing’s face burns. “You moron, start with this,” he grumbles, sitting up so he can push the first robe off his shoulders. He lifts his hips and Feng Xin scrambles back so he can wriggle it out from under him. Xie Lian pulls it away, folding it to stack with the clothes Feng Xin has already lost.
Feng Xin smooths down the silk robe again, so he can get to the narrow ties of it. He huffs out a breath through his nose and turns to Xie Lian. “Can you do something about these knots? I don’t know how you did this.”
“Wait,” Mu Qing says, before Xie Lian can move. “I want to l-leave it on.” His eyes skip between them, painfully aware of how he’s still laid out on his back. “For now.”
When neither of them respond, Mu Qing turns his head away, looking out at Xie Lian’s beautiful room. It’s spacious, at least twice as big as his own room, which of course is singular, not a set of multiple spaces. His own room in Xie Lian’s heavenly palace is gorgeous, airy and bright and the nicest place he’s ever slept. It doesn’t hold a candle to Xie Lian’s, though, despite the same woods used in the furniture. Everything is smaller in Mu Qing’s room, less ornate.
And why shouldn’t it be? Only one of them is the darling of the heavens. This luxury isn’t for someone like Mu Qing to have.
He jumps when someone touches his cheek. It’s Xie Lian, his fingers moving light but steady across Mu Qing’s cheekbone, along where he painted his face earlier.
“Of course, if that’s what you want. We can stop at any time,” Xie Lian says, once Mu Qing’s eyes meet his.
“Of course,” Feng Xin echoes. He’s on his hands and knees next to Mu Qing’s legs. He hasn’t moved since Mu Qing spoke. He looks ridiculous, and it soothes something tight in Mu Qing’s chest. “Do you, um. Your pants?”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “You have more experience of course, but I imagine it’ll be awfully hard for you to fuck your crown prince if he still has his undergarments on.”
“You—” Feng Xin starts, but shakes his head before he can finish. Instead, he goes to work on Mu Qing’s pants, and Mu Qing holds his breath and pushes down the inner robe so he’s somewhat covered.
Once his legs are bare, Feng Xin runs a careful finger up Mu Qing’s shin, over the sparse hair there. Mu Qing grits his teeth against a reaction. “You, too,” he tells Feng Xin.
Feng Xin isn’t shy in his nudity, and Mu Qing privately thinks he has no reason to be. He starts to crawl back up Mu Qing’s body, his half-hard cock hanging heavy between them.
“Oh,” Xie Lian breathes. “That’s— wow.”
“Your Highness!” Mu Qing snaps. He’s relieved to have somewhere to look that’s not between Feng Xin’s legs.
“No, no! It’s just, well.” Xie Lian laughs, a little hysterical. His face is so red. “You know what they say. It’s supposed to be… good? If it’s… big?”
“Not if it’s too big,” Mu Qing points out.
“Hey!” Feng Xin protests, but he looks contrite. In a smaller voice he says, “It’s not that big.”
“Are you delusional?! How do you expect that thing to fit inside me?” Mu Qing demands. He hates that he likes the thought of it. He hates that he wants to know what it would feel like to be stretched open on… that.
Holding himself up above Mu Qing, Feng Xin looks confused. “I, well. It doesn’t have to?”
“What are you talking about? I thought you wanted to fuck,” Mu Qing says. He doesn’t flinch at the vulgarity through sheer force of will.
“Well, yeah, I’d like to? But we could do it, you know.”
Mu Qing is confused. “I know?”
“The other way around?” Feng Xin asks, making some stupid gesture with his hands.
Mu Qing blinks up at him. They’re not touching at all right now, it’s strange. “You’ve… you’ve done that before?”
Feng Xin tilts his head. “Yeah, sure, why not?”
“Oh,” Xie Lian says softly from beside them, but Mu Qing ignores him.
“Did you like it?” Mu Qing asks.
Feng Xin shrugs, the movement awkward with how he’s holding his weight up with his arms. “They’re both good.”
“Really,” Mu Qing says flatly.
“Really. I want you to feel good, too, so whatever, okay? Whichever you like.” Feng Xin is so earnest in this moment, so genuine, and Mu Qing knows from experience that he doesn’t have a deceptive bone in his body.
Mu Qing nods. “Okay, I want.” He swallows. “You could.” Fuck it, Mu Qing wraps his arms around Feng Xin’s neck and yanks him down into a hard kiss. Their teeth clack together, and the pain of it flashes through Mu Qing’s body. He pushes Feng Xin away enough to speak. “You should to— to me.”
Feng Xin nods. “Sure, yeah. I mean, yes! Yes.”
Mu Qing raises his eyebrows. It’s easy to play at being unaffected when Feng Xin is such an idiot. “Yes?”
“Yes,” Feng Xin repeats. “Please?”
Mu Qing fights a smile. When he chances a look at Feng Xin, he tries to be coy, looking up through his eyelashes. “Yes,” he says, and Feng Xin beams back at him.
Feng Xin glances to Xie Lian then back to Mu Qing. “Would you allow me that, uh, imposition? Your Highness?”
Mu Qing can’t help but laugh, even as something slinks down his spine. “Imposition?”
“Shut up, I don’t know,” Feng Xin says. He looks desperate and forlorn and angry all at the same time. Mu Qing laughs harder. “I can’t pretend you’re him!”
“Mu Qing,” Xie Lian says, and he’s laughing, too. “Don’t tease him too badly.”
Without looking away from Feng Xin, Mu Qing slyly says, “I can’t tease anyone, Your Highness. I barely know what I’m doing.”
“You little shit,” Feng Xin growls, and then he’s kissing Mu Qing again, hard and deep, probing even. Mu Qing groans, opening his mouth to Feng Xin like it’s nothing.
When Feng Xin pulls back, Mu Qing gasps, “Fuck me already then.”
“Fine, I will!” Feng Xin looks determined, so intent on Mu Qing. It makes Mu Qing want to squirm under his scrutiny, but then Xie Lian is handing over a small container of something.
“Where did you get this?!” Feng Xin asks. Xie Lian blushes and turns away, and Feng Xin simply sighs a long-suffering sigh. “Give it over then.”
He’s holding the vial when he looks up at Mu Qing. His other hand is heavy and hot on Mu Qing’s leg, just above his knee. Mu Qing would like to think he’s above this, that he wouldn’t feel self-conscious without all his clothes, but he fights to hold still under Feng Xin hand. His robe is barely covering anything unseemly.
Feng Xin pours the oil out onto his hand. He rubs his fingers together, and Mu Qing’s breath catches, watching the slick glide as Feng Xin warms it up. He spreads his legs and closes his eyes. He’s not sure if the angle will work like this. Maybe he should cant his hips up? He’s sure his face is bright red, thinking of giving Feng Xin such easy access.
He holds his breath and waits, and then waits some more. He keeps his eyes shut and opens his mouth to tell Feng Xin to get on with it, hoping his voice won’t shake too much. But what comes out instead is a weak cry. Feng Xin has wrapped a warm, wet hand around his cock, stroking him slowly, firmly.
Mu Qing whimpers when Feng Xin rubs his thumb across the tip, and he hardens fully in Feng Xin’s hand with only a few simple touches. It’s been years since he took himself in hand, so long that he can’t remember the last time. It was likely even before Xie Lian discovered him and convinced Guoshi to take him on. Mu Qing never had the time for such distractions, nor the inclination for anything this slow and exploratory.
When Feng Xin squeezes lightly, Mu Qing gasps and his hips come off the bed. Mu Qing opens his eyes to see Xie Lian focused on the movements of Feng Xin’s hand and Feng Xin’s smug smirk at whatever embarrassing face Mu Qing is making.
“Not so cold after all, are you?” Feng Xin says. His hand is still on Mu Qing’s thigh, but it’s moved up, his thumb rubbing the soft skin on the inside of his leg, back and forth like he’s calming a horse.
“Fuck off,” Mu Qing gasps. “Just get on with it!”
Feng Xin takes up the oil again, letting go of Mu Qing’s leg to spill some onto his other hand. The bottle is going to be wet and tacky with it, Mu Qing thinks absently. One of Feng Xin’s hands returns to stroking him off, while he grabs Mu Qing behind the knee with the other, pushing his leg up to expose him.
“Don’t just push me around,” Mu Qing complains, pretending like his cock didn’t twitch in Feng Xin’s hold at the propriety and strength of the action.
Feng Xin doesn’t bother to argue with him, for once, and Mu Qing lets his head fall back on the bed when his wet fingers find their destination. He strokes firmly over Mu Qing’s entrance, not pressing in, and Mu Qing’s breath is unsteady.
“Do it, just do it,” he says, unsettled by how close to begging he is already.
“As you wish,” Feng Xin says, and there’s a fingertip sinking inside Mu Qing’s body. Feng Xin keeps pushing, until the whole thing is — is inside him.
Mu Qing pants for air, fisting the bedclothes beneath him. It’s not bad, it’s really, really not bad. It’s — “Strange,” he says, when Xie Lian asks. “A little uncomfortable maybe bu— oh fuck.”
“That’s right,” Feng Xin says with a grin. He rubs over the same spot again, and Mu Qing whines. Feng Xin slides in a second finger soon after, curling them so that Mu Qing loses all sense.
“How long do you think, Feng Xin, or how many— ah, you know?” Xie Lian is nearly as breathless as Mu Qing. He watches Feng Xin’s hands work Mu Qing’s body with intent, and Mu Qing has to look away when Xie Lian licks his lips.
He wishes Xie Lian would let them touch him, he wishes he could see his eyes flutter close, his face crumpled in pleasure.
“Why, are you impatient, Your Highness?” Feng Xin asks. Mu Qing is spread open on three of his fingers, and he can’t stop his hips from rocking into the slow strokes, stuck between Feng Xin’s hands.
Xie Lian laughs nervously. “Just curious! How will you know when he’s ready? Will you put another one inside him?”
Mu Qing moans at that, and at the feeling of Feng Xin spreading his fingers apart. If Feng Xin gets four fingers inside him, he’d be stretched around most of Feng Xin’s hand. He thinks about every time he’s noticed Feng Xin’s strong, capable hands in the past. He thinks about Feng Xin’s archery gloves.
He’d been worried, when Feng Xin started touching him, that he wouldn’t be able to give Feng Xin and Xie Lian what they wanted. He worried he wouldn’t be able to feel pleasure like this, that he wouldn’t be able to reach climax. It’s been so, so long, what if he’d forgotten how?
Feng Xin’s fingers curl inside him, seeking out that spot again, and Mu Qing feels foolish for his concerns. It’s so easy, with Feng Xin’s hands on him, in him. It’s so easy to give in.
Xie Lian runs a hand through Mu Qing’s loose hair. “Mu Qing, are you close? Just from this?”
“‘Just,’” Mu Qing says sarcastically, though the effect is ruined by the way he moans afterward.
He’d like to see Xie Lian try not to come, laid out like this. Feng Xin knows what he’s doing, he knows what to do with Mu Qing’s body. It’s not fair, and a small part of Mu Qing is jealous that he perfected this with anyone but them.
“You can come, you know,” Feng Xin says conversationally.
Mu Qing is unimpressed. “Oh can I?”
Feng Xin huffs a breath, and he drives his fingers in harder this time, smiling when Mu Qing keens. “I mean,” Feng Xin says, “that it will make it easier when I fuck you.”
Mu Qing shivers at the words. He knows what this is leading to, what they’re planning to do, what Feng Xin intends to do to him, but it still feels far-fetched.
He props himself up on his elbows, meeting Feng Xin’s gaze over the length of his own body, over his flushed skin and Xie Lian’s silk robe. “I want to wait, I want— don’t, don’t make me, yet.”
Feng Xin nods, and he stops stroking Mu Qing’s cock. It’s what Mu Qing asked for, sort of, but it makes Mu Qing groan and drop his head back between his shoulder blades anyway. Feng Xin laughs.
“Are you ready, then?” Feng Xin asks.
“I think he is,” Xie Lian interjects. Mu Qing swallows and nods.
“Do you want to stay on your back? It might be easier if you flip over.” Feng Xin tilts his head like he’s considering the possibilities.
“Like this is— it’s fine,” Mu Qing rushes to say. He can’t shake the fear that if he turns around, if he hides his face and Feng Xin can only see a robe suited for a prince, that Feng Xin might forget who’s really under him.
“Here, come here, Mu Qing,” Xie Lian says, moving closer. He shifts to lie down, pressing himself close to Mu Qing. He tilts Mu Qing’s face up and kisses him again, fleeting but deep.
“Keep doing that,” Feng Xin says. “Please, Your Highness.”
“Like to watch?” Mu Qing snarks.
Feng Xin gets flustered. “That’s not— I— it’ll help, okay?! It’ll help you relax, so I can get… inside.”
Mu Qing nods dumbly, and he lets Xie Lian kiss him, following the slow, gentle movements of his mouth as Feng Xin slides his fingers out of Mu Qing’s body and lines up his cock.
“I’m going to—” Feng Xin tells him, and then he’s pushing in.
The stretch is intense, so much more than it was with Feng Xin’s broad fingers. His cock is slicked but the press of it feels impossible, big and thick. Feng Xin’s hips push forward, sure and inexorable, and Mu Qing pants into Xie Lian’s open mouth. Finally, finally, he’s all the way inside, and Mu Qing is positive he’s been ruined in some way. He can’t think of anything but the weight of Feng Xin inside him, his sharp hips forcing Mu Qing’s legs apart. He screws his eyes shut and tries to breathe.
Xie Lian pulls back and runs a soothing hand down Mu Qing’s chest, slipping inside the robe to flatten his palm where Mu Qing’s heart is racing. “How does he feel, Feng Xin?”
“Good, really, really good,” Feng Xin says. His hands are hot on Mu Qing’s hips, and he uses one to hike up Mu Qing’s leg again, this time over his shoulder. He rocks in, somehow getting even deeper, and Mu Qing moans at the angle.
Xie Lian pats Mu Qing’s chest. “And you, Mu Qing? Does Feng Xin feel good?”
“Yes,” Mu Qing says through gritted teeth. He forces his eyes open to look at Feng Xin. “Now move, you asshole.”
Feng Xin nods and pulls out, slow and careful, before snapping his hips back in. He looks like a god in his own right, rather than a mere deputy general, with sweat beading on the impressive breadth of his chest. Mu Qing can see his muscles bunching and releasing as he moves, the slide of it smooth and even. He’d look like he was carved of bronze if Mu Qing couldn’t feel, intimately, the heat of him.
Mu Qing’s erection had flagged with the initial push inside, but he’s hardening again now, his cock leaking where it bounces against his belly as he moves back into Feng Xin’s thrusts. Xie Lian bends to kiss him again, just before a particularly well-aimed jolt of Feng Xin’s hips makes Mu Qing moan loudly.
“Your Highness, I’m sorry, can I—?” Feng Xin asks, and he’s tugging Mu Qing away from Xie Lian so he can kiss him instead. He devours Mu Qing’s mouth as his hips pick up speed, letting Mu Qing’s leg fall from his shoulder so he can get even closer.
He cages Mu Qing in against the bed, weighing him into it as his thrusts get rougher and less coordinated. Mu Qing swallows his moans and gives them right back, tangling a hand in Feng Xin’s hair as he nears the edge of climax again. Mu Qing half expects Xie Lian to try to get them to slow down again, to keep up the ruse that Feng Xin could ever fuck Mu Qing the way he would His Highness, but he stays silent.
“So good,” Feng Xin mumbles, before sucking a mark into Mu Qing’s neck. “So hot, so fucking tight.”
“Is that how you’d— ah! Is that really how you’d speak to His Highness?” Mu Qing asks, but it sounds too close to a whine for it to be a rebuke.
Feng Xin growls, the sound deep in his chest. “No, it’s how I’d speak to you.”
“Fuck, fuck, don’t stop,” Mu Qing gasps.
He has no concept of how much time passes, of how long they’ve been locked together like this. Feng Xin is dripping sweat, and Mu Qing’s back is soaked inside the silk robe. They find a rhythm easily, like this is just another form of sparring. Their bodies know well how to move together.
“Mu Qing,” Xie Lian ventures softly, his hand in Mu Qing’s hair again, tugging lightly to get his attention. “May he finish inside you? I’d like you to tell me how it feels after.”
“Fuck, Your Highness,” Feng Xin groans, and Mu Qing laughs.
“Yeah, yes, that’s— do it,” Mu Qing says.
“Okay, but you first,” Feng Xin says, wrapping a hand around Mu Qing’s cock.
“It’s not a competition,” Mu Qing lies.
“Sure,” Feng Xin agrees, pumping Mu Qing’s cock.
“This isn’t fair,” Mu Qing gasps, his back arching. “You have the advantage.”
“I do not! Do you know how good your ass feels?”
Mu Qing kisses Feng Xin again so he can’t see Mu Qing’s blush. He’s close, so close everything is heightened. Every touch is a spark to a bonfire that’s already consuming him.
“Mu Qing, you should let go,” Xie Lian says, a hand on his shoulder. “I want to watch you.”
Mu Qing moans, clutching at Feng Xin’s shoulders as his whole body tightens. He comes over Feng Xin’s fist, and Feng Xin strokes him through it, just as he keeps thrusting into Mu Qing’s body.
“I’m going to,” Feng Xin gasps, “I’m going—”
“Fucking do it then,” Mu Qing says, pulling Feng Xin into a kiss as his hips stutter. Mu Qing can feel Feng Xin’s cock twitch, can feel him spilling inside, his hips rocking still, like he’s trying to get it deeper. He kisses Feng Xin harder, licking into Feng Xin’s mouth as he pants for air.
He bites Feng Xin’s lip, hard, and Feng Xin barely even grumbles, too sated to retaliate. Mu Qing thinks he might prefer Feng Xin like this, limp and out of breath, his arms trembling as he tries not to let himself fall onto Mu Qing. Mu Qing winces as he pulls out, but he lets Feng Xin fling an arm over him after he collapses to the side. It’s too warm, and everything is a sticky mess, but the weight of it over his chest is good.
Mu Qing thinks he must doze, because when he blinks, Xie Lian is right there, helping Feng Xin to untie his robe finally. Xie Lian smiles at him.
“I figured you’d want to get cleaned up,” Xie Lian says, and proceeds to use the robe to wipe up Mu Qing’s come where it spilled on his stomach. He hesitates at Mu Qing’s thighs, and Feng Xin takes it from him to clean his own come from Mu Qing’s skin as best he can.
Mu Qing scrunches his nose. “I’m the one that has to clean that.”
“I’ll help,” Xie Lian says sunnily, and Feng Xin and Mu Qing both snort. Xie Lian swats at them. “I could learn how!”
“Okay,” Mu Qing says, and for once he doesn’t try to fight the smile on his face.
“You’ll see!” Xie Lian insists. “I’ll ask one of Jing Wen’s deputies to prepare a bath.” He climbs off the bed, wandering off and leaving his servants to relax. Mu Qing can’t muster any worries about the impropriety of it all right now.
“Do you think he— you know,” Feng Xin says.
Mu Qing turns to look at him. “I know?”
Feng Xin sighs. “Never mind. Your hair’s getting longer.”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “That’s how it works, yeah.”
“Take the compliment,” Feng Xin says, rolling his eyes right back.
“Was it one?”
Feng Xin falls back on the bed, groaning. “Can’t believe you’re still like this, even now.”
Mu Qing shrugs, surprised when the sting of Feng Xin’s words doesn’t touch him. Feng Xin is still pressed close, his shoulder overlapping with Mu Qing’s. His words sound almost fond, if he’s even capable of that.
Feng Xin reaches out to touch the huadian on MQ’s forehead. “How’s your cultivation?”
Mu Qing doesn’t look over. “Don’t worry about it. Like His Highness said, I can find a new path if I— if I need to.”
Feng Xin is quiet for a moment. “I could help you find one, if you want?”
Mu Qing glances at him and then away, and this time he does fight the smile. “We’ll see.”
A few days later, Xie Lian calls Mu Qing down to the Xianle Pavilion to ask if he’s heard any prayers about a drought. Xie Lian’s insufferable cousin is yelling at some poor worshipper, and Mu Qing fights down the urge to put the brat in his place.
Before Mu Qing leaves to get to the bottom of the situation in Yong’an, Feng Xin grabs his wrist, hauling him in. He kisses Mu Qing, quick and easy, invisible to everyone else in the temple.
“I’ll see you when you return,” Feng Xin says, his eyes bright and intent, and Mu Qing scoffs at his sentimentality.
When he does come back, and Xie Lian learns the full extent of the people suffering, there’s no time for playing dress-up anymore. It was just a game, Mu Qing thinks, a childish game, and grown men going to war for their kingdom have no time for games.