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Arrays blocking his spiritual energy. An inconveniently conspicuous human form. A horde of murderous demonic cultivators at their heels.
And worst of all—trapped in close quarters with Feng Xin.
“The good news is,” Feng Xin says, “we seem to have lost them.”
“Shut up,” Mu Qing snaps.
“The bad news is,” Feng Xin says, “we’re kind of stuck here until they’re gone, probably.”
“Shut up.”
“Hey,” Feng Xin continues, decidedly not shutting up and instead chattering on way too calmly for someone who’s just barely survived a rockfall, “at least this time we won’t have to pretend to make out like some—”
Mu Qing whirls around, grabbing Feng Xin by the front of his robes and slamming him up against the rocky wall that’s cutting them off from their only way out. “I’m trying to think,” he hisses, seething through Feng Xin’s nattering, the stupid predicament they’re in, the closed space, the inane breadth of Feng Xin’s chest against Mu Qing’s grip—
Feng Xin’s jaw tightens, his gaze flickering down to Mu Qing’s mouth briefly. “Is it just me,” he asks, “or does this always happen whenever we’re cleaning up after Qi Ying?”
“Just let me think,” Mu Qing snaps, shoving Feng Xin back when he realizes how dangerously close he is to Feng Xin. He takes one step away before turning around to look at exactly how trapped they’ve gotten. “We need to get out.”
More importantly, Mu Qing needs to leave. It was bad enough having to come down here with Feng Xin, again, because neither of them can ever say no to Xie Lian, but—
“I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think we can,” Feng Xin tells him.
“There’s gotta be some kind of tunnel or—” Mu Qing says, feeling around the shallow walls beside him. Running into the cave had seemed like a safe bet when their biggest concern was finding a place to hide, somewhere the demonic cultivators might pass by in the chaos. But then entering the cave triggered some kind of array, causing the entrance to collapse in on them. And now—
Rock, stone, wall. Barely any crevice that could lead into anything else. Just hard, solid surfaces on hard, solid ground.
“We might have to wait this out,” Feng Xin says behind Mu Qing, voice coming in far too close in his ear. “The blocks on our spiritual energy have to fade away eventually. We should be able to take care of the rocks then. Besides—”
Mu Qing jolts away, his spine tingling with nerves and his heart in his throat at the merest brush of Feng Xin’s fingers against the sleeve of his robe. In the dark, he hopes Feng Xin can’t see the heat creeping on his face, warm on the back of his neck.
In the dark, he can’t see Feng Xin’s own reaction, only the faltering step he takes away from Mu Qing, the muted resignation in his voice as he clears his throat and says, “Right. Sorry. It’s just—you’re soaking wet.”
“You fell behind,” Mu Qing says at once, defensive. “I didn’t know if it was because you’d already let them get to you.”
Feng Xin had slowed down to try and take some of them down, his bow and arrow at least allowing him long-range defense. But for a moment Mu Qing had wondered if Feng Xin was slowing down too much, and he’d whipped his head back long enough just to check—
Then the ground turned slippery and the river came rushing at him before he even realized he was tumbling into the water. The next thing he knew, Feng Xin was hauling him up, strong arms around his waist, and they were running again, the state of his robes far from his first priority.
“I know,” Feng Xin says. Is it Mu Qing’s imagination, or is he being uncharacteristically agreeable today? He tosses his outer robes over to Mu Qing. “Just—take those off and dry up. I’ll see if there’s anything we can use for a fire.”
“How?” Mu Qing asks, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Feng Xin wasn’t looking—he seems to be padding around for something on the ground—and quickly stripping himself of the wet clothes. He pats himself dry with the sleeve of Feng Xin’s robe before he puts it on, biting down on his lower lip when he breathes in a scent that is distinctly, uncomfortably, addictively Feng Xin.
God damn it.
“What? I can make a fire without spiritual energy,” Feng Xin says. “You just need—hah! Here we go.”
“I’m allowed to be surprised,” Mu Qing says. “After all, you always left that work to me when we were—”
“Well,” Feng Xin starts, pausing as Mu Qing trails off too.
He remembers, now, the other reason that speaking with Feng Xin sometimes sets him on edge as much as it does. It’s the taste of bile at the back of his throat, the heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. A reminder of the worst years of his life, carrying some of his deepest regrets.
“Sorry,” Feng Xin says, the second time in the span of an incense stick that he backs off, when normally he’d charge forward.
“Why would you be?” Mu Qing challenges him. “I’m the one who left.”
“So did I, eventually,” Feng Xin says. After a long moment of quiet, he adds, “You don’t have to act like I’m any better because I left later. And anyway, I should’t have let you do the fire tending all on your own. It was about time I learned myself, that’s all.”
And he has, somehow, because in the next breath there’s a spark of light, the dry bark of a wayward stick catching smoke, the flicker of a yellow-orange glow upon his face.
“Careful,” Mu Qing tells him, because it’s easier than acknowledging the absolution in Feng Xin’s words. He scoots a little closer instead, finding the loose pile of tinder Feng Xin’s collected from around the cave. It’s a measly bunch, the kindling even less impressive, but it’s something. It’s enough to let Mu Qing work quietly with Feng Xin to tend to their fire until it’s a stable, if small, flame.
“It’ll have to do for now,” Feng Xin says once it’s been going for a while. He leans back, palms flat on the ground, the firelight casting his face in light and shadow, spotlighting his strong nose, his straight jaw, the perfect bow of his lips. “Are you dry enough?” he asks, turning his attention to Mu Qing, who jerks away once he realizes he’s been staring.
“What?”
Feng Xin furrows his brow. “Maybe you should come closer to the fire,” he says, patting the space next to him. “It’s warmer here. Look, I’ll even move away, if you hate sharing the same air as me that much.”
“I don’t hate it,” Mu Qing snaps, catching the arched look Feng Xin levels him. “I don’t,” he insists.
“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me the last couple of weeks?” Feng Xin asks. The light must be playing tricks on Mu Qing, because for a moment there Feng Xin almost looks… wounded? “If it’s about the kiss—”
It is about the kiss. How could it not be about the kiss?
“—then just forget it happened, alright?”
Mu Qing hasn’t had a moment’s rest since Feng Xin grabbed his hair and yanked him closer, letting him know how it feels to be pressed against each other. His dreams have been haunted by the sensation of Feng Xin’s teeth against his lips, the strength in his arms as he lifted Mu Qing and pinned him to the wall, the heat of his mouth on Mu Qing’s collarbone. Of course Mu Qing’s been avoiding Feng Xin, one look and he’d—
Wait.
What did Feng Xin just say?
“Forget it happened?” Mu Qing echoes, his mind finally catching up to Feng Xin’s words.
Feng Xin shrugs. “You can relax, I guess. I’m not going to attack you or anything. Sorry if I fucked with your cultivation path.”
“You didn’t fuck with my cultivation path.” Not enough for it to matter, anyway. Not enough for Mu Qing to feel anything but a twisting in his gut at the thought of—what? Pretending like he’s got no idea just how built Feng Xin feels beneath his hands? “You didn’t—I’m not—”
“Then can you stop running away whenever I try to talk to you?” Feng Xin asks. “You almost asked if Pei Ming could go with you instead—I mean, Pei Ming? Seriously?”
Mu Qing would have been able to punch Pei Ming square in the jaw if he tried anything on him. Mostly because he would not have welcomed anything coming from Pei Ming. Mu Qing does not say this out loud.
Feng Xin shrugs. “It’s just weird when you won’t even fight with me.”
Mu Qing frowns. “I don’t just fight with you.”
“You know what I mean,” Feng Xin says, the corner of his lips tugging up into a half-smile. “See? Doesn’t this feel more normal?”
“Right,” Mu Qing says, fighting the swelling disappointment down. This was what he’d been hoping to avoid, the kind of thing he hadn’t wanted to hear, not after knowing the taste of Feng Xin’s lips. He tries not to sound like anything when he clarifies, “So you want to go back to normal.”
Feng Xin makes a frustrated sound. “No, not really,” he admits, face in his palm, fingers rubbing his temple, ears red. Ears red? Mu Qing’s heart stutters for a beat. “But if the other option is nothing, I’d rather have anything over that. Pathetic, right?”
Mu Qing swallows hard. “Absurdly so,” he says, helpless. “If you don’t want to go back to normal, what do you want to go to?”
The look Feng Xin flashes him makes Mu Qing glad he’s sitting down, or his knees would have buckled then and there. “Your collarbone,” he says.
“My what?”
“It’s so stupidly pale, has anyone ever told you?” Feng Xin asks. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
Mu Qing huffs out a laugh. “Just my collarbone?” he asks, eyes widening when Feng Xin shakes his head, shifting to crawl closer to Mu Qing, movements slow and deliberate. Like maybe he’s trying not to startle Mu Qing by moving too fast. Maybe he’s letting Mu Qing figure out if he wants to flee again.
Not that there’s much room to hide.
Not that Mu Qing wants to.
So he doesn’t try to move closer, but he also doesn’t back away. He keeps his gaze on Feng Xin, willing his jackrabbiting heartbeat to slow the hell down before Feng Xin notices.
“It’s really not gonna fuck with your cultivation path?”
“Shut up about my cultivation path already and just kiss me again,” Mu Qing tells him, grabbing the front of Feng Xin’s underrobes and tugging him over to close the last bit of distance between them.
Their second kiss isn’t much better than the first—all teeth at first, and then all tongue, faces turned in the same direction so their noses keep bumping into each other.
But Mu Qing has the benefit of hindsight now, and many many many nights of thinking about how he’d do this. So he holds Feng Xin still for a moment, adjusts his head a little, and then the angle works so much better than before, and Feng Xin’s crawling fully onto his lap and pinning him down to the ground, and Mu Qing doesn’t even mind one bit that it’s a little damp and cold, because Feng Xin on him is all heat, warmed by the fire, solid and heavy and—
“Fuck,” Feng Xin groans, grinding against Mu Qing’s thighs. “Fuck, you are so hot, I’m not gonna last long if we—”
“Don’t you dare,” Mu Qing warns him, whimpering when the meatiest part of Feng Xin’s thigh rolls against his groin. “Wait, that’s not your thigh, is it—”
“Shut up,” Feng Xin says, resting his forehead against Mu Qing’s shoulder. He takes one deep breath, and then another, like he’s calming himself down.
“It’s fine,” Mu Qing says, rolling his hips up to rub against Feng Xin’s—against Feng Xin.
“I’m gonna want to do more than just kiss you,” Feng Xin confesses.
Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “I already want to do more than just kiss you,” he points out, pushing Feng Xin’s robes off his unfairly broad shoulders and nipping at the bare skin he finds there. “So whatever it is you wanna do, just—Feng Xin!”
“You can’t just do that,” Feng Xin growls, sitting up all of a sudden and grabbing Mu Qing over so he’s sitting on Feng Xin’s lap. He cups Mu Qing’s cheek, the heat of his palm sliding down the curve of Mu Qing’s neck, rough calloused fingers surprisingly tender against Mu Qing’s lips.
Mu Qing’s eyes close automatically before Feng Xin pulls him down, meets him for another kiss. This one’s slow and searching, tender in a way that makes Mu Qing’s stomach swoop with a different kind of anticipation, that makes him want to melt against Feng Xin when he circles his other arm around the back of Mu Qing’s waist.
Like this, face to face, Mu Qing can feel just how hard Feng Xin’s gotten, noticeably brushing past the back of his thigh, the meat of his ass. Mu Qing can’t help rocking against it, his hips rolling of their own accord as his arousal rubs against Feng Xin’s stomach, covered only barely by Feng Xin’s outer robes.
Feng Xin catches Mu Qing’s lower lip between his teeth, grazing them slightly before he lets go. “Can I touch you?” he asks, his voice low and raw in a way that sends a shiver down Mu Qing’s spine. “I really wanna touch you.”
“Okay,” Mu Qing manages. He really wants Feng Xin to touch him too, his throat going dry at the sight of Feng Xin’s palm disappearing into his robes, the rough slide of it against his length. “Oh, fuck.”
“Yeah,” Feng Xin agrees, glancing up at him with dark eyes. He leans up, licks a line up Mu Qing’s throat, sucks a bruise just beneath his jaw. His breath is hot against Mu Qing’s neck while he strokes him, agonizingly slowly. “How do you still smell so good when you fell into river water?”
“Your mouth is not nearly busy enough,” Mu Qing tells him, though he can’t even bother to put any bite into his tone. He’s far too distracted with running his fingers through Feng Xin’s hair, rocking himself between Feng Xin’s hand and his massive prick poking behind him— “Wanna—you too—we should—”
Feng Xin just grunts in reply, but he must have figured out what Mu Qing was trying to say, because he’s moving Mu Qing around one moment, and in the next he’s got his hand wrapped around both of them.
Mu Qing bites down on his lip, cutting off the noise that’s threatening to slip out of him. The sensation’s different, this feeling of bare skin on bare skin, touching Feng Xin as intimately as he is like this. Then Feng Xin’s pulling him close, his entire body a veritable furnace against Mu Qing, mouth wet on a spot beneath his jaw and Mu Qing’s whiting out, spilling right onto Feng Xin’s hand and clinging onto his shoulders because he doesn’t trust himself to stay upright.
Feng Xin’s lips find his again after that, kissing him with thinly held restraint, and then he’s on his back again, but this time lying down on Feng Xin’s discarded robes. Feng Xin pulls up one of Mu Qing’s legs to rest his ankle on his shoulder, his gaze staying on Mu Qing even as he turns his head slightly to press velvet-soft lips to the inside of Mu Qing’s knee, the kiss whisper-light. He slides his hand up the length of Mu Qing’s leg, pushing Mu Qing’s knee up to better bare him to Feng Xin’s attention, and then his mouth is upon Mu Qing in a wholly realm-shattering new way, his tongue hot and eager, and Mu Qing—
Mu Qing never stood a chance.
He cries out, tightening his grip on Feng Xin’s hair, his hips bucking helplessly, uselessly against the onslaught.
“Feng Xin—” he manages, but Feng Xin’s stretching him with his fingers and easing him open one moment and looming over him the next, the breadth of his body covering Mu Qing’s own as he leans down, licks the shell of Mu Qing’s ear before he calls him by his name.
Then he’s pressing in, slowly, so slowly, and Mu Qing’s splitting open and holding on and urging Feng Xin to move, damn it, faster and deeper, Mu Qing can take it—
Feng Xin groans, low and deep in Mu Qing’s ear, when he spills inside him, his hips slowing down until Mu Qing urges him on with a light kick to the back of his thigh.
“I’m not done yet,” he reminds him, shivering when Feng Xin replies with a low laugh and the sweet press of his lips on Mu Qing’s, followed by the heat of his hand closing around his length.
“Yeah, I’m still here,” Feng Xin says, but this time his thrusts are slower, more deliberate, punctuated by the occasional tightening grip on Mu Qing while he strokes him more leisurely.
It takes a moment to build up to it, when the first time had felt so frenzied and desperate, but Mu Qing likes it like this too, especially when he can trade lazy kisses with Feng Xin, whose smile is half-sleepy and gentle, sated and at ease.
“Okay?” Feng Xin asks, something about the tender way he says that tugging at this blooming, insistent sort of ache beneath Mu Qing’s rib.
He nods, because he doesn’t fully trust himself to answer. And then, because Feng Xin keeps looking at him with this kind of unsettled hunger, and because, deep down, Mu Qing wants to, he answers, “Kiss me again.”
Feng Xin draws him closer, his arms practically engulfing Mu Qing as he closes the distance between them, entwines around him like he never wants to go, like fulfilling Mu Qing’s request is his whole purpose in being.
Mu Qing reaches his peak with a soft whimper and Feng Xin’s mouth on his, Feng Xin still inside him. He keeps his eyes shut, feeling the soft flutter of kisses upon his lashes as Feng Xin, instead of letting go, simply settles them into a more comfortable position.
“Can I stay here for a bit?” Feng Xin asks.
“It’s gonna be so gross in the morning,” Mu Qing points out with a wrinkle of his nose, though he doesn’t make it a point to try and move away. It’s far warmer in Feng Xin’s arms, anyway, and maybe he doesn’t mind as much, feeling Feng Xin as deeply as he does at the moment.
“I’ll clean us up then,” Feng Xin promises, nosing into Mu Qing’s hair. “Just don’t run away again. I won’t let you.”
Mu Qing huffs softly. “Whatever,” he murmurs. This time, he doesn’t fight the way the corner of his lips curls up, nor does he try to quell the satisfaction he feels at hearing those words. There’s not much he can do right now, anyway, not with exhaustion catching up to him and sleep beckoning so alluringly. His eyes flutter close, vision going hazy enough that he thinks, for a moment, he sees a flicker of silver from the corner of his eyes. Whatever. He nuzzles closer to Feng Xin, whose chest is far too warm and pillowy-soft for him to care about anything else. “Do what you want, I guess.”
“I think that should be long enough, right, San Lang?” Xie Lian asks. The outside of the cave still appears intact, though—San Lang’s arrays are really so impressive! “Should we try to let them out now? I’m a little concerned they haven’t realized that the blocks on their spiritual energies are gone.”
Hua Cheng places a hand on Xie Lian’s arm, pausing while he looks somewhere Xie Lian can’t see. “Maybe give them a little bit more time, gege—”
“What? But it’s been all night!” And then most of the morning—the sun is so high in the sky already! “How much more time do they need to figure it out?”
Hua Cheng smirks at him. “I’d say they’re well into figuring it out now.”
“Oh!” Xie Lian covers his eyes, even though he can’t see anything. “Then, in that case, why don’t we just come back for them later, ahahaha—they probably need the privacy, huh?”
Hua Cheng nods before offering Xie Lian his arm. “That sounds like an excellent plan, gege.”