Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Straighten your back and lift up your head.

Sometimes, Jin Guangyao found himself imagining what he would have done, had he been in Nie Mingjue’s place when all of this began.

It might even be said that this was a common pastime of his. A bad mental habit.

Owing to the strange nature of his regained memories, at times he imagined this in terms of waking up one morning as a young Meng Yao once more; but, he also imagined it in terms of waking up as Nie Mingjue instead. Standing in the Sect Leader’s shoes, knowing what he knew, and crossing paths with his future murderer as he watched Meng Yao and his mother getting tossed onto the street.

Nie Mingjue had never understood people very well. Jin Guangyao had always known he lacked social graces, but it had been strange to realize just how little the other man comprehended when it came to the natures of others. It had been eye-opening. A person couldn’t know what they didn’t, but sometimes it was difficult, even with speculation, to comprehend the true blind spots of others. If Nie Mingjue understood people the way that Jin Guangyao did, he would have simply turned on his heel and walked away from the unpleasant scene before Meng Yao could even spot him in the crowd.

Or he would have killed him that first day, just as he had planned to.

But for all that Nie Mingjue struggled to understand other people, to be subtle or tactful or kind, he understood principles in a way that Jin Guangyao never had.

It would have been so easy for him to destroy Meng Yao.

That was a thought that he couldn’t help but turn over in his hands, again and again. Worrying until it was smooth, until the unsettling nature of it felt reassuring instead. He knew of good, practical reasons for Nie Mingjue to not kill him, but for him to not destroy him - to not break him apart, to not ruin every inch of him - and it really would have been so easy, even for a man unskilled in such things… to understand that choice required an awareness of Jin Guangyao’s own embarrassingly substantial blind spot.

Principles were nice. He had always liked them, in the way that someone might like a certain shade of green or a particular dish of food. If one could afford to drape their bedclothes in that nice colour, or fill their table with preferred dishes, well, wasn’t that pleasant? And in some cases, for entertaining the right sorts of ambitions, or giving off the best possible impression, it was even required.

But luxuries were meant to be put aside when survival and necessity came into the picture. They were expendable, by nature.

Only a fool starved to death by refusing to touch a dish that wasn’t his favourite.

This was what Jin Guangyao had come to see Nie Mingjue as, at first. A man who was foolish enough to die for the sake of vanity, of luxury, of the pretense of morality that he draped around himself. Too proud, too arrogant, too full of himself to bend, because if he gave an inch then how could he look down at the whoreson spy with dirty hands? In its way, it was no different from the wealthy man who scoffed at the farmer’s soil-stained knees, but still ate the crops brought to his table. The whorehouse patrons who turned their noses up at the way its residents made a living, even as they retained their services.

It was a conclusion that made sense. It was also mostly incorrect. Not entirely. But… mostly.

Nie Mingjue didn’t condemn the blood on Jin Guangyao’s hands because he wanted to demonstrate that his own were cleaner. Nor had he targeted Jin Guangyao in a betrayal of his own, sacrificing their friendship to sate his high-handed sense of superiority. In fact, it seemed it was because they were friends that Nie Mingjue had held him to such standards; had reacted so badly to the revelation that Jin Guangyao’s principles were mere accessories to his actions, and not the firmament of his being, as they apparently were to Nie Mingjue.

Truly, had any two men ever been more opposite? More perfectly suited to being diametrically opposed to one another? To offending one another by their very natures? Jin Guangyao would kill any number of people for Nie Mingjue, and call that devotion; and Nie Mingjue would witness such an act and perceive it as betrayal. In his eyes it would be throwing his own faith and kindness back in his face, by causing others to suffer due to it. Even if the world was always built on give-and-take, on us-versus-them, he was incapable of appreciating it. The lives of total strangers were still more than an abstract value to him. Enough that he would condemn a friend for sacrificing them.

Jin Guangyao still didn’t understand it very well. Understanding or no, however, it was the truth.

Perhaps in the end they would have been wise to simply part ways.

But that was impossible.

“My loyalty lies with you, Sect Leader,” he had once said, when he was still just Meng Yao.

“I don’t want your loyalty, Meng Yao. I want you to be a righteous person,” Nie Mingjue had replied.

Even back then, the one concept had seemed much more remote and insubstantial than the other. Jin Guangyao knew how to be devoted to a person, how to protect a person, use a person, serve a person. Righteousness, on the other hand, was a subjective veneer. Nie Mingjue asked him to become a certain sort of person, and in his eyes, hadn’t even given him more than the most vague of directions to move in. Of course he was destined to fall short of his standards. To fail to meet this request, to reshape himself in an appropriate image.

Perhaps he had read too much into everything, though.

Nie Mingjue was a man who meant precisely what he said and nothing else, and Jin Guangyao lived in the world of reading between the lines. It was easy to hear ‘I want you to be righteous’ and interpret it as ‘I think you are ignoble’. To perceive an impossible demand, a scathing criticism, and then also to perceive some form of sabotage or resentment in the issuing of it.

He needed to remind himself, always, that if Nie Mingjue meant ‘I think you are ignoble’, he literally would just say that. Whether or not it was distasteful or rude or badly timed. This was a man whose approach to keeping a monumental secret of spiritual time-travel and foreknowledge of dozens of calamities was to go around confronting things as he pleased, and simply refuse to explain how he knew so much. He had never denied having a strange and mysterious secret, and had only threatened him with retribution for asking about it. Even when Nie Mingjue was actively trying to cover something up, in essence, all he did was was throw a blanket over it and threaten to beat anyone who tried to look underneath.

…Though it had been strangely effective, Jin Guangyao would concede. If only because no person in the world would ever guess the truth, or even if they did, would have any possible way of proving it. Even the accusation would just sound utterly ludicrous. ‘Sect Leader Nie is from the future!’ If anyone ever tried to make such a claim, Jin Guangyao wouldn’t even need to expend an iota of effort in discrediting them as insane.

A single facial expression would probably do it.

We will stop hiding things from each other from this point on.

That was an easy sentiment for Nie Mingjue to offer, he had been terrible at hiding things to begin with, and had never relied upon it.

And yet, Jin Guangyao still wondered. Still tried to read between the lines. He couldn’t help it, suspicion was a survival skill, and even after sharing the man’s memories - after entwining their very selves - part of him still didn’t understand.

But he wanted.

He had always wanted to understand Nie Mingjue. Even when he hated him, he had still wanted to crack open his head and scour through his thoughts, his feelings, to search and seek and find… something. Something he desperately needed to know, something that itched at him even worse after two lifetimes of hungering for it. The desire made him wry, frustrated with himself. The cynical part of his thoughts could look over the course of two lifetimes of struggling with Nie Mingjue, and put together a picture that reflected more of himself than any actual mystery of the Sect Leader. Nie Mingjue was handsome, broad, powerful. Fair but strict, judgmental but kind. And even when he hadn’t yet learned to be kind, there had always been openings to gain his approval. To win something from him, to get him to look at Jin Guangyao as if he had value.

For someone who had grown up fatherless, but constantly surrounded by the narrative of his absent father’s importance, often at the mercy of the worst kinds of men, craving both the role of a powerful man but also the presence and approval and protection of some benevolent patriarch, the attention and acknowledgement and sense of importance…

Nie Mingjue was impossibly appealing.

A crush, he had told himself uncertainly, in two lifetimes. Who wouldn’t have a crush on Sect Leader Nie? He was a very handsome figure, even if he was intimidating.

But Jin Guangyao could concede that after living through the man’s memories, after killing him and dying by his hand, after many sleepless nights trying desperately not to think of Nie Mingjue, and a second lifetime treating him like the world his moon was bound to orbit around, that perhaps trying to qualify it all as a passing infatuation was… naive.

Reconciliation brought proximity, brought effort, brought nostalgia and regret and bitterness and, yes, old shades of resentment. They were both self-centered men, fully capable of hypocrisy, grudges, and double-standards. They had made odd exceptions for one another, and they knew it. Exceptions grated on Nie Mingjue’s sense of fairness and Jin Guangyao’s sense of weakness.

They were well-versed in disappointing each other.

Meng Yao thought of all of this, and many other points besides, as he watched Nie Mingjue pace across the grounds at night.

Qinghe always looked very interesting after nightfall, especially when the moon was out. The sky lent itself to clarity, and the long, stark shapes of the buildings, the cold stone and tall bamboo groves, painted shadows across the landscape that were almost orderly in nature. On a good night, a full moon meant that visibility was almost perfect. Nie Mingjue looked like a figure carved from stone himself as he walked, silent and lost to whatever thoughts he happened to be having.

It had become an infrequent habit of the Sect Leader’s, this nightly pacing. If he had done it in the past, Meng Yao hadn’t chanced to notice it. It was only when they got back from Gusu that he had glimpsed the Sect Leader engaged in this behaviour, luck affording him the sight through a window one evening. And then, somehow, he had developed his own habit; setting himself up in a chair by the window, watching Nie Mingjue walk in silence. Thinking about going out to walk with him, but somehow never actually doing so.

He didn’t fear a bad reception. Not truly. He knew the worst that would happen would be that he was rebuffed, that Nie Mingjue would prefer his solitude, and even that wouldn’t be offensive. Solitude had its place as a preference. And Meng Yao had made some other overtures, since… ‘then’. None had been rebuffed with anything more than awkwardness, if they weren’t accepted.

Often with equal awkwardness.

But there was something oddly soothing about just watching Nie Mingjue walk around in the dark. His footsteps were always even and steady, unhurried. His posture was good but not tensed. His body moved as it ought to, whole and hale, even if it was still recovering from his qi deviation. The moonlight suited him, but did not soften him.

Most nights, Meng Yao was content to watch and think.

It was rather like a koi pond, except that there was an incredibly dangerous man instead of a fish.

Tonight, however, he felt agitated. His bad shoulder twinged. The air of the room around him seemed stifling. The scant breeze from the window felt better, and the night sky looked somehow more sheltering than walls around him. He wanted…

He wanted to connect with Nie Mingjue again.

Not that he cared to risk his mind and soul to try for a repeat of their past experiences on that front, of course. He wasn’t keen to have both of them torn apart. Or maybe on some level he was - but not enough to risk it. There were other forms of connection, however. His fingers twitched, and his skin heated. His eyes drifted towards the broad frame of Nie Mingjue’s back. The pale, exposed line of his neck. More and more, he had been craving… gestures. Overtures. Acts that would cement this bond between them; wholly unnecessary things, really, given the depths of uncomfortable intimacy that they had already shared, in exchanging memories.

Silently, Meng Yao got up, and with only a moment’s more hesitance, made his way outside.

He didn’t think much as he crossed the darkened ground, funnily enough. There were no lanterns lit. No need. His heart beat fast, though, like a rabbit behind his ribs, and the moon witnessed his approach with a watchful eye. He didn’t disguise his presence. Nie Mingjue half-turned, noticed he was there, and waited for him to make his way over. The sect leader’s gaze returned upwards as he did. Not wary, even with his watchfulness.

Despite everything, it really had been a long time since he had treated Meng Yao warily.

Meng Yao didn’t think any further. He wouldn’t let himself. If he thought, then he would hesitate. His mind wasn’t really split, but sometimes it was simpler to conceptualize his conflicting ideas as belonging to one life or the other; the part of him that was ‘Meng Yao’, perhaps, was most hesitant at the thought of presuming anything towards Sect Leader Nie. He feared crossing the wrong line and finding revulsion and rejection on his face.

But really, they had crossed worse lines twice over. The older, less awed corners of his heart propelled him forward, confident in the knowledge that if he offended, the worst result would be discomfort.

Nie Mingjue started turning back towards him again when he realized how close he was getting.

Meng Yao moved closer still.

It was an impulse he had felt for a long time. If there was only one chance to get away with something, then this was what he wanted to try. He slid his arms around Nie Mingjue’s waist, and rested his cheek against the backs of his shoulders. The taller man’s body felt firm, very firm, and warm. The heat from his skin was a pleasant contrast to the cool night air. He smelled like the dried flowers that some of the servants liked to put in the pockets of clothes when they hung the laundry; it was a scent Meng Yao associated with security and restfulness. Underneath, there was the stale note of sweat, long since dried over the course of a day.

Nie Mingjue tensed under his hands as he was embraced from behind.

Meng Yao breathed in deeply, and sighed.

It would be nice if he could read this man’s mind whenever he wished to. But then again, that would probably go both ways. He didn’t think he could withstand being known so entirely, so easily, again. Even just this much left him feeling too much like a raw nerve.

And yet, he craved it.

The embrace lasted for longer than he expected it to. One moment passed, then another. His hands rested against Nie Mingjue’s stomach. He could feel the tension, and still, he waited. He honestly didn’t know what kind of reaction he would get. Maybe Nie Mingjue didn’t know what kind to give; he thought about speaking, but the moment felt like a spell and he knew it would break the moment he opened his mouth and acknowledged it. For a long while, there was simply the warmth of contact. Nothing more or less.

“...What are you doing?” Nie Mingjue finally asked him.

There was a certain gruffness in his tone. But he didn’t try to move away, and he didn’t push off Meng Yao’s hands.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

There was another pause.

“Why are you hugging me?” Nie Mingjue amended.

“Have I overstepped?”

A huff.

“I didn’t say that.”

Meng Yao’s eyebrows went up. He had almost started to pull away, assuming the answer would be a simple ‘yes’. But it wasn’t. Nie MIngjue was only standing there, letting him get away with this. He wasn’t reciprocating, ether, but then again, it was somewhat difficult to do so in this position. There was still considerable tension in his frame. Having never hugged the man before, it was difficult to say if that was actually unusual, or if he was just always this taut.

Nie Mingjue swallowed audibly.

Meng Yao recalled the man’s penchant for awkwardness in social situations. His clumsiness in apologizing. Blunt praise, fumbling attempts at ‘making conversation’, earnest inquiries after his well-being, sharp rebukes against his decisions. How would Nie Mingjue approach someone he was interested in?

Probably either directly or not at all.

Tentatively, he moved one of his hands upwards. Stiff fabric barely shifted beneath his touch, as it migrated towards Nie Mingjue’s chest. Just when he was beginning to wonder if the other man had turned into an actual statue, Nie Mingjue abruptly reached up, and caught his wandering hand in one of his own.

“What are you doing?” he asked again. His tone was rougher, that time.

Meng Yao halted for a moment, and then began to detach himself from the position.

“Apologies to Sect Leader Nie-”

“I asked a question.”

Loosening his grip gave Nie Mingjue the opening to turn around. He kept hold of Meng Yao’s hand as he did. With the moonlight and their proximity, it might have been romantic; but the grip on him was clumsily fastened to his wrist, rather than delicately entangling their fingers. And Nie Mingjue’s brows were furrowed, his expression stormy - though that didn’t actually mean anything. With his countenance, any amount of frowning tended to look dire. There wasn’t any anger in his gaze, and that was perhaps more telling than the arrangement of his features.

It was Meng Yao’s turn to swallow. To freeze, for a moment. He almost expected to be flung away.

“This is not a game,” Nie Mingjue said. Honestly, Meng Yao had no idea if he was asking a question, making an accusation, or offering up a statement. Was he just realizing it aloud? He almost wanted to laugh. He’d literally been in the man’s head, but even so, he didn’t know.

“It’s not,” he confirmed anyway.

Nie Mingjue glared at him. Or simply stared at him. His hand was still around Meng Yao’s wrist.

“Why?” he asked.

And again, Meng Yao couldn’t help but wonder ‘isn’t it obvious?’

Half the cultivation world believed that they were fucking. His father had suspected it, had even interrogated it somewhat. It was a rumour that was widely accepted enough to no longer qualify as interesting news, or a subject of sufficient debate. Oh, it wasn’t a foregone conclusion, by any means. There was too little proof, nowhere near enough statements, or substantiated accounts. People simply made things up, of course, so there was always some servant or other that would claim to have walked in on something. Or rather, claim that some friend of a friend had - which wasn’t solid enough for more than idle gossip, infrequently renewed by incidents like the latest disaster. But even so, if most outside observers could guess, then wasn’t it obvious?

How close could two people get without understanding one another?

“If this isn’t something that Sect Leader Nie has an interest in…”

Nie Mingjue definitely glared, at that.

“Answer the question,” he demanded.

Meng Yao huffed in irritation of his own.

“We’re close,” he said, and despite the huff, his tone remained calm. Reasonable. As if they were discussing a work matter over a late lunch, and not standing a hair’s breadth out of clutched embrace beneath the moonlight. “You’re attractive. So am I. We’re already entangled in many other ways. Why not this as well? I’d do this for you. If you let me.”

Nie Mingjue let go of his wrist.

His skin abruptly felt too cold in the open air.

“Just going ‘why not’ would be a foolish reason to do such a thing,” the man told him.

Meng Yao raised an eyebrow.

“Is Sect Leader Nie a romantic?” he asked, barely managing a teasing tone. “How inconsiderate of me, then. Perhaps I should have mentioned how fetching he looks beneath the stars instead, or prepared a poem and gift in advance…”

The hand on his cheek startled him into silence.

It seemed to give Nie Mingjue pause for a moment as well, and he was the one who made the gesture. The hesitation or perhaps second-guessing only lasted very briefly. Nie Mingjue’s touch was firm. His ring finger brushed the bottom of Meng Yao’s earlobe. His palm was warm, calloused and heavy. His thumb rested at the corner of Meng Yao’s lips, just shy of indecency.

“I am not rejecting you. I am asking you,” Nie Mingjue said, roughly. In that way of his that he had taken to, when he was trying to communicate, trying to say what he thought Meng Yao needed to hear. Not in the sense of fabricating appeasing lies, but in the sense of determining what sentiments actually needed to be voiced.

It made Meng Yao feel peculiarly chagrined. He was being clumsy with this himself, wasn’t he?

But then, he had never bothered to approach someone he truly wanted like this before. Courting his wife had been pleasant, up to a certain point, but also a matter of alliances. Working in the brothel was, of course, work. Pining after Lan Xichen was its own form of indulgence and denial, like swearing his heart to a distant star or lofty mountain range. Beautiful, untouchable, untarnished. He had been content to leave it at that.

Or simply too cowardly to risk anything else.

Straighten your back and lift up your head.

Meng Yao’s lips quirked. Nie Mingjue surely felt it, with his thumb still pressed so close beside them.

He straightened his back and lifted his head.

“I offer because I want you. Come to my bed,” he invited. “Or take me to yours.”

Their gazes met.

Nie Mingjue looked contemplative. It was hard to tell, but there seemed to be more colour in his face than was typical, too. His fingers twitched, just faintly. Nervous.

After a moment, Meng Yao tilted his head, and leaned into the touch.

“Well?” he prodded quietly, as the silence stretched on. “If…”

His voice trailed off as Nie Mingjue’s hand slid backwards. His fingers moved through his hair, and a broad palm settled at the back of his neck instead, as the taller man leaned down. Meng Yao knew that, for all his good prospects and handsome bearing, the Sect Leader didn’t have much experience in these matters. It was more from a lack of interest than a lack of opportunity. Nie Mingjue was not a man who visited brothels or found the concept of trysts appealing. His knowledge of intimacy was more abstract than practical, so it was something of a surprise to find his touch still confident and assured as he moved in, and gently, deliberately pressed his lips to Meng Yao’s.

Sometimes it was easy to forget the full implications of Nie Mingjue living through his memories. That, in essence, he recollected how to kiss a man nearly as well as Meng Yao himself did.

The brush of his lips remained light and gentle. Oddly delicate, from someone so generally forceful and direct - but that, too, felt deliberate. Meng Yao’s breath hitched unexpectedly. Nie Mingjue’s lips were dry. It made the whole gesture almost chaste, and in that light, he could have been afraid that it was some sort of kindly rejection. It was how Meng Yao himself might have done it; a kiss to reassure, a touch to console, but then a step back, and a few carefully chosen words to thoroughly dissuade the entire concept of things ever going further.

The thought was enough to bring his hands up to Nie Mingjue’s shoulders, to clutch at the material of his clothes. He pulled back just enough to use his tongue to moisten their lips, to chase away the shallow, sexless quality of the contact, and then dragged the taller man into a kiss that was thoroughly lewd. He moved his mouth, curled his fingers, and stood up on his toes to try and meet Nie Mingjue on more equal footing.

The hand at his neck moved its grip upwards a little. Nails brushed against his scalp as fingers slipped into his hair. Another hand settled against his lower back to steady him, and Nie Mingjue parted his lips to let Meng Yao’s tongue inside.

Of course. If Nie Mingjue kissed him, it was because he meant to kiss him.

Realizing that his reflexive concerns were baseless didn’t mean he had to stop the pleasant escalation of events, however. The contrast between cold night air and warm, wet mouth was intoxicating. Meng Yao pressed closer. Nie Mingjue shifted the angle of their kiss, and a soft sound escaped either one or both of them; they were too close for him to tell for certain. Something about that thought made him shiver. Made him wonder if he could ever climb beneath this man’s skin and find a dark, safe place to hide, warmed by the resolute thumping of his heart; caged by the sturdy bones of his ribs. Like some beloved parasite.

He was far too ambitious, even still, to let himself be kept for long. He’d ruin Nie Mingjue if they tried it, he knew. In the end he’d eat his heart and smash his bones, break him into pieces once more, and then ruin himself over the regret of it.

Probably better just to fuck him, really.

He loosened his grip on a broad shoulder, and brought it instead to the bare skin of Nie Mingjue’s throat. The kiss broke apart into several more, lingering but less deep; a succession of lips meeting and parting until they began to feel a little breathless.

When they finally stopped, Meng Yao’s mouth was tingling.

The two of them stared at one another for a moment more.

When Meng Yao finally took a step back, it was only to grasp Nie Mingjue’s hand. Even at night, outdoors was still too public, really. There were images to maintain. At least, to the degree of not fornicating in the open air. He pulled the other man back towards the path that would lead them inside.

“Let’s go somewhere more private, Sect Leader Nie.”

Nie Mingjue, lips flushed from kisses, twisted into a frown.

“Call me something else, when we’re doing things like this,” he requested.

Meng Yao inclined his head. He’d used that form of address thoughtlessly, but considering it…

“Da-ge?” he suggested.

Nie Mingjue grunted. He didn’t otherwise object, which was probably as close as he’d come to acceptance. It was almost a surprise. Almost something that Meng Yao thought he would object to, because it wasn’t something the Meng Yao of this life had called him. But all their memories were still theirs, in the end. Two sets for Nie Mingjue and three for himself. The only distinctions they made were the ones they cared to, and the Meng Yao who was currently holding Nie Mingjue’s hand was the same one who had killed him. There was no denying it; though at times, there was plenty of ‘politely not mentioning it’. On his part, anyway.

“Meng Yao,” Nie Mingjue called him, in return. Despite the soft tug against him, he still hadn’t taken a step forward.

Meng Yao waited, and didn’t reject the form of address offered to him either.

A moment slipped by. His skin cooled again as the heat from their kisses dissipated.

Nie Mingjue tugged him closer once more. Lifting his hand, he drew it up towards his face, and then pressed his lips to the inside of his wrist.

Meng Yao kept waiting, even as his breath caught.

“Da-ge, if you’re going to turn me down, please do it faster,” he requested, after another moment drifted past. His mind was running circles around itself, trying to read between these lines while also trying to remind himself why he shouldn’t.

Nie Mingjue blinked at him.

“What part of this looks like rejection?” he wondered.

It sounded like he was genuinely asking, too.

Meng Yao sighed.

“You still haven’t accepted yet, either,” he pointed out. Making no move to pull his hand back, even so. “If it’s a matter of location…”

“It’s not,” Nie Mingjue told him abruptly. His thumb moved across the side of his wrist, the gesture almost soothing, before he let go and straightened up. He cleared his throat. For a second he averted his gaze, but of course, that didn’t last. If Nie MIngjue felt ashamed, his preference was to drag the source of it out to the fore, where he could butcher it in apology.

“Then…?”

“I’m thinking,” Nie Mingjue admitted, with another frown. “I don’t want to mistreat you. Don’t ask me to use you.”

Meng Yao found himself taken aback.

His first impulse was to shrug the notion off. Certainly, this kind of intimacy opened the door to many new forms of mistreatment and misunderstanding, but avoiding it in the past hadn’t spared them anything either. And yet, he knew - remembered - the agitation that Nie Mingjue felt at his own choice of insult, back then.

Son of a whore.

Stairs bothered the man more than they did Meng Yao, these days. Funny how it worked out between them. But then, if he himself had ever been so prone to guilt, he never would have made it to adulthood.

His problem was the opposite, it seemed.

“Da-ge, if I feel wronged, I’ll let you know,” he assured the other man.

Nie Mingjue made a low, skeptical sound. But rather than contesting the claim, he relented after a moment, with a firm nod.

“See that you do.”

Meng Yao’s lips twitched in amusement.

“Of course, you should also do the same.”

He got another nod in answer, before finally, finally, Nie Mingjue let himself be moved. With another tug he fell into step alongside Meng Yao. The two of them walked at a leisurely place. The anticipation was pleasant to savour, although it threatened to become anxiety again at the least provocation. Apart from some colour in their lips, which could easily be attributed to a brisk wind, the two of them looked no different from how they might on any given day; walking together towards a shared destination, comfortably lost in their own thoughts.

That image changed somewhat when Nie Mingjue’s hand venture tentatively towards Meng Yao’s lower back.

He felt the heat of it through his clothes.

It only stayed there for a moment, before withdrawing again.

“You can touch me,” Meng Yao said, quietly. He found he quickly missed the weight of the offered point of contact; and there were few, if any, possible witnesses to deem it inappropriate.

As they went inside, Nie Mingjue’s hand flexed for a moment. But he didn’t move it back.

Meng Yao didn’t press the point.

By the time they had made it to his rooms, the air felt frustratingly oppressive again. Nie Mingjue was too silent, and his heart was too agitated. These things were much simpler when it was a matter of strategy, civility, and mechanics. When he could distance himself from what he was doing, and maintain certain barriers even if he was clothed in nothing but his own skin.

He closed the door.

Nie Mingjue glared at the bed.

After a moment, Meng Yao quirked an eyebrow, and headed over to a small cabinet.

“Perhaps a few drinks first…?” he suggested.

“No,” Nie Mingjue declined, with typical brusqueness. Then he amended, “water or tea would be fine.”

“I wasn’t about to suggest we actually get drunk,” Meng Yao assured him. “I have some mild liquors, but I’ll have to heat some water anyway. My preference is to bathe before-”

“I know,” Nie Mingjue assured him. “We’ll bathe.”

Meng Yao glanced at him.

“Oh? Together?” he wondered, with a teasing lilt to his voice.

Nie Mingjue floundered for a moment. Would it ever stop being endearing, he wondered? Watching this confident and self-assured man get caught completely wrong-footed?

Maybe if someone else caused it, he thought.

Hmm.

...Yes, that idea was not so appealing, in fact.

As ever, it didn’t take Nie Mingjue long to rally himself. To his surprise, the man nodded.

“Why not?” he decided.

Meng Yao hesitated.

“Apologies to Da-ge, but I don’t have a large bath…”

“It’s fine,” Nie Mingjue replied. “I’ll fill it. We can take turns.”

Meng Yao might have been caught just slightly wrong-footed himself, then, as the Sect Leader rolled up his sleeves before heading off resolutely to go fill up some water buckets. There was a tap for the nearest well not far outside Meng Yao’s door, so he didn’t have to venture far. Heating the water took longer, of course. They left the servants be, silently attending to matters themselves, while they peaceably drank tea and then filled up the portable bath. Meng Yao had Nie Mingjue place it in the middle of the room.

“Da-ge may of course bathe first,” Meng Yao said.

“Nonsense,” Nie Mingjue replied. “You’re cleaner than I am. You go first.”

There wasn’t much of an opening to argue about it, even if Meng Yao wasn’t sure that was strictly true. He wasn’t filthy, at least. When the bath was filled, he didn’t let himself feel self-conscious over undressing. He and Nie Mingjue had gone to war together in two lifetimes. They had seen one another naked in a wide variety of situations, and had even bathed in shared company before. The atmosphere for this occasion was, naturally, quite different. But it was a simple thing to disrobe, to leave his skin bare, and climb into the warm water.

His heart tripped for a moment when he realized how close Nie MIngjue was to the side of the bath.

A broad hand rested atop the smooth wood. The other offered him the bathing ladle, and a wash cloth.

“Is Da-ge going to wash my back?” he wondered.

This time, the brief moment of consideration and subsequent agreement didn’t surprise him as much.

“Yes.”

If he wanted to do this, then that was fine. Meng Yao moved to offer Nie MIngjue his back.

For a moment, his thoughts drifted to a time when the man behind him had been a cooling corpse. Stripped for butchering, with sightless eyes and blood upon his lips. Jin Guangyao had wiped the blood off. An impulse he still couldn’t resist, even after all that had transpired. At the time, he had shaken his head at himself. Chased away the guilt, let it become only a lament that things hadn’t gone differently. It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t wanted it to come to that, and so the fact that it had could only be laid to rest at Nie Mingjue’s feet.

Simplistic and self-serving. Jin Guangyao would never be a noble man, but only fool could see what he had seen, live through what he had lived through, and still pretend to himself that he had no choice.

He remembered Nie Mingjue making a point of that, after Wen Ruohan was dead for the second time.

That all of it was a choice. It was a choice to commit an immoral act in order to avoid the consequences of mercy. It was a choice to kill rather than to die. Even if Meng Yao still made such choices, even if his choices couldn’t even be faulted, Nie Mingjue had dismantled all his attempts in this life to deny his own accountability.

Just as Meng Yao’s memories had indirectly done the same to him, in return.

The wash cloth brushed carefully over his skin, aided along by a smooth, earthy bar of soap.

Meng Yao reached back, and captured one of Nie MIngjue’s hands. He held it prisoner, giving the man pause for a moment, before the strokes of the wash cloth resumed behind him. Halting only once more in order to push some of his hair aside. He examined the familiar planes of Nie Mingjue’s hand. The callouses and strong bones, palms wider than his own, and fingers longer. He felt the rhythm of his pulse beneath his fingertips, and let himself admit that sometimes, perhaps even often, the proof of Nie Mingjue’s life was a terrible comfort.

After a few minutes, the hand in his grasp twisted gently away from his fingers, and reached up to brush his cheek again. Then it settled on his shoulder. Meng Yao stubbornly rested one of his own atop it, before he relented and claimed the wash cloth from Nie Mingjue instead.

“My back’s done, I think,” he said. His own voice was softer than he intended. “I’ll handle the rest.”

“Mm.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t object, but he also didn’t go very far. His hands moved across Meng Yao’s shoulders, as if tracing the outline of his muscles. Seeking out the few spidery veins and freckles that had always marred his skin, only to idly brush his thumb across those spots. While Meng Yao washed, Nie MIngjue’s touch grew more firm, until before long he found himself leaning into the broad strokes of his palms and gentle, circular motions of his thumbs.

It was pleasant.

He had always liked softer moments such as these. Courteous intimacy. But of course, Nie Mingjue knew that. Coming from another man, the scenario might have felt manipulative. Coming from Meng Yao it certainly would have, even if he still relished it for its own sake.

Coming from this person, though…

He sighed, and let his eyes slide shut.

It was a shame that the water wouldn’t stay warm forever.

The tips of his hair were damp when he finally forced himself to climb back out, so that they could change places. There was anticipation building in the bottom of his stomach. Working its way into to becoming a low, simmering heat, as Nie Mingjue stripped with his own lack of concern, and took his place in the vacated bath.

Meng Yao carefully tied his hair out of the way, before moving to offer his own assistance.

He almost liked it better.

Nie Mingjue’s body was many things to his mind, none of them inconsequential. It was beautiful in a way that had captivated him even at first glance, strong and unyielding, hard muscle and toned flesh and broad, powerful movements. The scars on his skin suited him perfectly as battle marks, mapping out a history of fighting, of strength and resilience. There was a time when Meng Yao imagined that this was what gods would look like. Even when he had resolved to kill Nie Mingjue, part of him had refused to believe that he could ever succeed against this figure cut from stone.

And he had been correct, in a way. Even broken, slain, and dismembered, Nie Mingjue had not been defeated for long.

Meng Yao’s fingers traced over his shoulders. The unbroken, unscarred skin where he had once separated limb from torso. On occasion, when he lay down to sleep and closed his eyes, the darkness of the night would suddenly fill with the wet and tearing sound of meat being cut, and he would jolt back awake.

“What are you thinking of?” Nie Mingjue asked, disapproval in his tone.

It was a force of effort not to obfuscate. But the man would know if he did, and it wouldn’t work anyway.

“Killing you,” he admitted.

A grunt came in answer. Nie Mingjue had already suspected, then. Meng Yao tutted at himself. Tracing over those spots was a bad idea, it was too telling. He moved the wash cloth he’d claimed to the backs of the other man’s shoulders instead.

“When you stand next to stairs,” Nie Mingjue admitted out of the blue, a moment later. The words were stiff in a way that said he was trying to explain something he didn’t want to. “I know you probably won’t trip and fall. But I… think of it. Even so.”

I think of pushing you.

Meng Yao swallowed.

He knew, then, that Nie Mingjue understood. ‘I think of killing you’ did not mean ‘I want to’. It meant ‘I am haunted’.

What I did - I am haunted by it.

“Ah,” he murmured. For all their many misunderstandings, there was still this, now. Leaning in, he pushed aside a lock of hair, and found a raised white scar near the top of Nie Mingjue’s shoulder. Arrow wound. The water in the tub sloshed a little as he moved forward, and traced his lips across it. Feeling the warm skin, noting the gooseflesh that was raised by the gentle press of a kiss.

Like that, the spell was broken. Corpses did not shiver at sweetness; and immovable gods did not clear their throat in an endearing betrayal of how flustered they were.

Meng Yao’s arms dipped into the bath water. He dropped a few more curious, indulgent kisses onto Nie Mingjue’s shoulders, and let himself enjoy the rarity of being able to be ‘taller’ than him for a while, as he leaned over the bath while the Sect Leader sat in it. The water was cooling, but nevertheless the two of them took their time.

Before Nie MIngjue was finished, Meng Yao got up, and threw a robe over his shoulders.

“Where are you going?”

He sighed.

“To heat more water,” he said. “For afterwards.”

Like many things, sex might seem best if romantically spontaneous, but in fact, the whole process moved much more smoothly with the right preparations already discreetly set into place. Next time, he would make certain there was rose water; his skin didn’t feel as soft as he would like.

He set things up for the inevitable second clean-up required, and when Nie Mingjue climbed back out of the bath again, the man took care to empty it of the dirtied way as well. Good. Meng Yao opened up a small dressed drawer near his bed, and pulled out several bottles. Oil that was good for the skin - in general but also for these sorts of practices - and salve that would ease over any incidental friction or scratches. Ointment that was good for the pain that happened when he over-extended his bad arm was also suitable for going inside of the body. Meng Yao lit some incense he liked, and drew the covers back on the bed.

When he turned, he found Nie Mingjue standing in place. Naked, watching him with his arms folded.

Meng Yao shrugged off the thin robe he’d put on for modesty’s sake.

“What would Da-ge like to do?” he asked.

He let his eyes trail over Nie Mingjue’s figure again. Lingering on the places where it would have been very impolite to linger in the past. His cock was not yet poised in interest, but then, neither was Meng Yao’s. They’d get there. And it was still a handsome thing, just like the rest of the man.

“I don’t know,” Nie Mingjue admitted, to his surprise. “But whatever we do, I don’t want you to feel used.”

Meng Yao blinked, and then laughed.

“Bringing that up again? Really. Why would I? Did Da-ge forget who instigated this?”

“No. But I know how you usually feel during such acts.”

The reminder brought him up short.

Ah, it really was too easy to forget sometimes that even with their misunderstandings, they still knew what they knew. And that was nearly the totality of one another’s life experiences. Unfortunately, Nie Mingjue had a point - most of the time when Meng Yao had sex, he either felt as though he was being used, or as though he was using the other person.

Not that he found that particularly unpleasant. He had said it before, and it was still true; being used meant having value. Up to a point, he didn’t mind it. It was validating.

Nie Mingjue seemed to be following a different train of thought, however, as he drew in a breath, and then nodded to himself.

“Use me,” he said.

Meng Yao came up short again.

“...What?”

“I know that look on your face. If it must be one way or the other for you, then, use me instead of feeling used.”

Once again, it seemed he was caught entirely aback.

“That… Sect Leader-”

“Who?”

“Da-ge, don’t offer me such a thing! You won’t like to feel used,” he found himself protesting, tone sharp. “Some do, but you won’t. No. Let’s leave aside how it might feel for now, there’s no need to do anything sacrificial at the moment.”

Turning towards the bedside table, he plucked up the little jar of oil he’d set out a moment before.

Clearly, if Nie Mingjue was approaching this like some sort of sparring session or battle camp negotiation, a little more seduction was required. He settled onto the bed, and motioned at the statue still glowering next to it.

“Come here?”

To his credit, Nie Mingjue didn’t treat him like a poisonous snake. He came over, and if he didn’t know the man’s capacity for awkwardness, Meng Yao probably wouldn’t have guessed that he was inexperienced or uncertain in this department. A hand brushed his cheek again. He made a mental note - Nie Mingjue seemed to like doing that, touching his face. Face-to-face would probably be best for both of them, then. The tiny sound of approval he made was for that internal decision, but Nie Mingjue seemed to take it another way, as he caressed his face and let his touch drift down towards the side of his neck.

That wasn’t bad either.

Standing next to the bed while Meng Yao was sitting on it left them at a certain accessible angle, for some things, too. He warmed some oil on his palms, and then settled a hand onto the muscle of Nie Mingjue’s thigh.

It wouldn’t do to rush.

He stroked the nearby leg, letting his fingers brush the edges of a long, jagged scar. He knew what that wound had felt like; a blow from a Wen sect cultivator, one last furious act of defiance from a figure who was already cut down and dead, but not content to bleed out without a final strike. The moment couldn’t be called the result of carelessness, because that battlefield had simply been too chaotic for every body on the ground to draw note. It had simply been a flash of pain, deep and bloody, but not terrible enough to slow down Nie Mingjue’s own fighting. Not until after the battle was done, and Meng Yao had stitched the wound closed, white-faced but silent over the ugliness of it.

He remembered doing the stitching, too. Remembered the discomfort of thinking Sect Leader Nie is mortal, after all.

As he inadvertently teased his touch across the long-healed skin, lost in thought, Nie Mingjue plucked up the jar of oil himself.

The hand that came down on his bad shoulder was very gentle.

Meng Yao sighed, but permitted the touch. Truth but told, it was a bad day for pain, and he usually only felt it these days when he did too much, or forgot the limits of his new mobility range. That hadn’t happened for a while, now. But the warm hand still felt good, and Nie Mingjue knew a great deal about massages. Any cultivator with a care for his body or the well-being of his fellows was liable to pick up at least a thing or two, even without the comprehensive bonus lexicon of someone who grew up in a brothel.

Somehow, despite his intentions, he found his hand simply resting against Nie Mingjue’s shoulder, as the oiled strokes softened his own. A long exhalation relaxed his muscles enough that they moved like putty beneath the wide palm massaging them. It felt good enough to draw a few pleasant sighs from his lips.

Relaxation was only a benefit to what they had planned, so he gave in to it.

“That feels pleasant,” he offered.

Nie Mingjue answered with an agreeable sound of his own, and moved to kneel on the bed next to him; the better to smooth his hands across his body. It really wasn’t all that different from what they had gotten up to in the bath. Were they stalling?

Perhaps a little. But more, they were just taking their time.

They had time to take.

That was… quite nice, actually. All things considered. Meng Yao let his own touch wander across Nie Mingjue’s body more idly, not bothering to suppress his soft groans and sighs as he let himself go pliant. He leaned towards the heat of the other man’s body, indulged in the impulse to rest his head against his shoulder; to press skin against skin. It actually wasn’t quite arousing yet. Too soft and steady, almost - strangely - too intimate to spark that particular flare of desire. He wanted more contact, but like that, he felt could feel as though it would have been enough to simply throw the blankets over both of them and sleep with his head pillowed on Nie Mingjue’s chest.

Sometimes, in the process of such things, a little lead-in to it all was fine. If that was all they ended up doing that night, it was still progress. Courtship, of a fashion.

Meng Yao opened his mouth to offer a suggestion, but his words cut off as Nie Mingjue’s head dipped down towards his neck. One of the arms rubbing at his back slipped around his waist, and a kiss was pressed to the soft skin just below his ear.

The previous dearth of arousal vanished as if in utter mockery of the notion. Heat rushed southward through his body, spurred by the brush of hot breath against his neck, the press of Nie Mingjue’s hand against his stomach, and the sudden, keen awareness of their positions. His cock twitched in interest. The hand on his stomach moved up to his chest. A thumb brushed, almost questioningly, against one of his nipples.

In the past, when he had imagined this encounter, he had envisioned Nie Mingjue as being reticent and forceful by turns. On the one hand, entirely the sort of person who would have troubles loosening up enough to make many moves of his own. On the other, all too likely to get carried away and become rough as the intensity of actions built up. The reality is… unexpected. There’s still reticence, but his touches, when he offers them, are deliberate and effective. Almost as if they’ve already done this before.

Or as if he knows what you like because he remembers doing it as you.

Meng Yao suddenly wanted to laugh. In this, Nie Mingjue’s lack of sexual experience was his disadvantage, because the man himself lacked memories of successful trysts for him to turn against him.

A strategy began to take shape.

He definitely couldn’t let the disparity stand. Fortunately, there were worse ways to figure out what another person enjoyed than letting them please you and watching their own reactions to whatever they tried. Enthusiasm seemed to have an effect, so after a moment, Meng Yao leaned more fully into Nie Mingjue’s body, and pressed back into his touches.

When a hand slid down to his thigh, he hummed in encouragement.

When it ventured, still slick from oil, to his slowly hardening cock, he murmured a ready ‘yes’ into Nie Mingjue’s ear.

“Touch me, Da-ge,” he encouraged, letting one of his fingers trail down the back of the other man’s palm. “I like your hands…”

Nie Mingjue’s throat bobbed. The colour in his face darkened. His touch was more tentative as he closed a hand around Meng Yao’s cock, but as it rose up under his encouragement, he ventured a firmer grip. Arousal was a warm, simmering heat, building poignantly upwards from all the points of contact between them.

Something hard and hot began to press against his hip in return.

Contrary to his initial plan, they weren’t facing one another at the moment. Nie Mingjue had gone from rubbing his shoulders to rubbing the rest of him, so Meng Yao’s back was to his chest. Their height difference was significant enough that he could tilt his head back to look up at the other man, though. Especially if he rested his weight against him. So this was what he indulged in; sliding his hips back as well until he felt that answering length right up against his skin, and shivering at the hard planes of Nie Mingjue’s bare chest supporting his weight.

Unsurprisingly, the man could take it without the slightest hint of trouble, or even give.

So strong.

His eyes met Meng Yao’s and their gazes locked for a moment. Nie Mingjue’s expression was softer than usual, heated with desire, blatant enough to make him shiver. The hand not on his cock slid between his thighs. Slick fingers toyed with sensitive places and then ventured behind them, exploring. Meng Yao spread his legs wider. He rested one of his thighs atop Nie Mingjue’s, and broke their gazes to look at the contrast between his narrow leg and the firm, scarred one beneath it.

The hand on his cock tightened to a firmer stroke.

He wanted to see this body spread out beneath him, he decided. Wanted to run his hands over Nie Mingjue’s chest, feel his heart hammering, watch the twitch of every muscle, the change in all his expressions. The thought thickened his arousal, and made his hips jerk forward into the enveloping heat of those familiar, calloused hands.

One of Nie Mingjue’s fingers slipped further back on the motion, and brushed across his entrance.

He swallowed.

“Da-ge…”

Nie Mingjue’s lips pressed to his temple. For some reason, the gesture almost surprised him. It was very… sweet. Meant to be reassuring, but Meng Yao didn’t need reassurance. The finger withdrew, as if its touch was somehow too presumptuous.

He chuckled.

“Touch wherever you please,” he permitted.

His thoughts drifted, contemplating other ‘presumptions’ and possibilities, too. Nie Mingjue, lying on his stomach. Kneeling on all fours. Bent with his calves over Jin Guangyao’s shoulders. That strong form yielding to him, Nie Mingjue willing and wanting, dignity scraped away or even somehow still present, despite his vulnerability.

Yes, Meng Yao thought. It would still be present. If Nie Mingjue found it too undignified to submit, thought it was shameful, then he wouldn’t do it. And he wouldn’t let Meng Yao do it, either.

The strokes against him grew more assured, but after a moment, Meng Yao stilled them with a hand to Nie Mingjue’s wrist.

At once, the strokes halted.

“If Da-ge keeps doing that, I’ll finish,” he explained, at the other man’s questioning look. He was a little breathless.

Nie Mingjue’s voice was low and rough.

“Good,” he said. “I want you to.”

Then he waited. Just for a moment, as if waiting to see whether this request would be denied. Meng Yao almost laughed. Here his thoughts were racing, mind filling with a thousand scintillating things they could be doing; more engaging poses, more complex acts. And yet, the heat of the hand still closed around him seemed somehow too tempting to resist. The simplicity of sitting on Nie Minjue’s thighs, of coming until his seed painted the other man’s skin, seemed somehow far too good.

He let go of Nie MIngjue’s wrist, and let out a surprisingly shaky breath.

The man held him tighter against his chest in response, and resumed his slick, assured strokes. His hips rocked, rubbing his own hardness against Meng Yao’s skin. It couldn’t have been the most comfortable act for him; he hadn’t oiled himself, after all, so the press of dry skin doubtless afforded some discomfort. But it didn’t seem to be enough to deter anything, as the slick sound of the hand job began to fill up the quiet space of the room.

Meng Yao’s uneven breaths grew quicker. His skin heated further, and the slide of the hand around him began to build up towards a familiar point. He reached back, scrambling for an anchor; one of his hands sank into Nie Mingjue’s hair, and tugged.

Nie Mingjue let out a low gasp in reply. His hips jerked faster.

Another thing to file away, but Meng Yao was having troubles thinking. The building pleasure was driving everything else away, forcing his attention down to a single point, to the responses of his body, the sensations against his skin.

He liked it.

It was such a relief.

His hips rolled unabashedly into the hand on him, and pressed his ass back against Nie Mingjue’s erection. The hand not currently occupied with his cock moved to tease at his chest.

“Da-ge,” he gasped.

“I have you,” Nie Mingjue replied.

The sentiment worked too well. Meng Yao swore as his hips stuttered, and the pleasure he’d been building up to finally peaked. He arched against the chest at his back, taken aback by how good it felt. The act itself was relatively simple, but the reality of their entanglement sent his mind spinning while his cock spent itself, leaving pale ropes across their thighs.

He was startled when he felt something wet and warm spread across his backside a few minutes later, while he was still trying to catch his scrambled thoughts.

Had… did…?

Nie Mingjue came? From just that?

It would have been inappropriate to laugh, even with delight.

Meng Yao did it anyway. The chuckle flooded out of him, soft and breathy, light with the aftermath of his release. Nie Mingjue continued to hold him, and when he tilted his head back, seemed more relieved than offended. Before he closed his eyes and buried his face against Meng Yao’s hair, at least

Hmm.

Perhaps… just maybe… it was possible he’d over-thought some things.

“Again?” he suggested, tone implying he knew full well that they’d need some recovery time.

Nie Mingjue hummed against him in agreement.

“Yes. Again.”

Meng Yao smiled.