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Shang Qinghua does not know it at the time, but his period of suffering begins like this—

They’re wrapped around each other, hidden away in an alcove in a barely travelled hall. Mobei Jun has one arm planted beside Shang Qinghua’s head, and the other braced under his rear as he holds him up against the wall. Shang Qinghua has both his legs wrapped around Mobei Jun and is trying to pull him as close as possible.

He’s holding onto Mobei Jun’s hair just a shade too tight, but it’s really not Shang Qinghua’s fault. It’s hard not to bow when the King of the Northern Desert focuses all his desire on him, especially when he’s dressed the way he is, to greet and scare guests.

They don’t have a lot of time. They don’t have any to begin with actually, but they caught sight of each other while passing through the halls and, well. There’s not going to be a day that Shang Qinghua is going to be able to say no to Mobei Jun when he’s in his finest robes, black fur slung around his shoulders. Or in general, really.

The kiss they share is wet and messy and full of promise. It tastes like the same sweets Shang Qinghua had snuck in from the kitchen an hour earlier. Neither of them are making an attempt to hide how much they want each other, and Shang Qinghua’s brain is filled with cotton.

Mobei Jun brings down the hand beside his head and uses it to grab Shang Qinghua’s thighs. Shang Qinghua finds himself hitched further up against the wall, and his own interest is rising through his thick robes. Shang Qinghua’s hips twitch, seeking contact before they’re allowed, and the taste of the kiss grows sharper.

His king is strong, and Shang Qinghua is more than eager for a demonstration. He’s about to voice as much, when he hears footsteps in the distance. He freezes, and voices start to accompany the motion as well.

Mobei Jun doesn’t realize and Shang Qinghua needs to have another talk with him about being alert even when they’re on the verge of doing it. Especially in a public or semi-public place. He’s tried before, but Mobei Jun told him that the entire palace is his, and he’s allowed to take Shang Qinghua in whichever location he wants. That had turned Shang Qinghua a brilliant red, and had put the lecture to rest almost immediately. 

“My king,” Shang Qinghua gasps, trying to pull back. “There’s someone there.”

“Good,” Mobei Jun says, immediately shifting his focus to Shang Qinghua’s neck. The touch is tempting but—

“We’re going to get caught!” Shang Qinghua lets go of Mobei Jun’s hair and starts to shove at him.

“And?”

“And?” You may be shameless, but my character cannot afford to get anymore pathetic! I cannot afford to get any more pathetic!  

It’d be Shang Qinghua that would bear the brunt of any embarrassment faced if they were to get caught. He squirms and shoves again, and Mobei Jun sighs against his neck.

He easily lets Shang Qinghua down, holding onto him so he drops gently. Shang Qinghua is surprised that he doesn’t let him fall like a sack of potatoes, but less surprised that he still makes a grab for his ass.

“We can finish this later, my king,” Shang Qinghua says in a rushed whisper. He steps out of Mobei Jun’s grasp and starts to pet down his hair. Not that Mobei Jun could ever look unpresentable, but the action makes Shang Qinghua feel useful.

“I will hold you to it,” Mobei Jun says, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. Shang Qinghua is about to retort, but the voices have grown even closer, so he focuses instead on making sure they both don’t look like they were making out a minute ago.

Somehow Shang Qinghua also manages to make himself look presentable, and by the time the guests make it down, the two of them look like it was their intention to greet them there all along. The courtier leading the guests politely looks the other way, and no one brings up the fact that they’re being greeted in a random hall instead of the main one. Shang Qinghua manages to lie his way out of it, thankful that they hadn’t showed up ten minutes later.

His lips still tingle with the intensity of their kiss, but Shang Qinghua puts it to the back of his mind. He’ll get a chance again later, to quell whatever excitement Mobei Jun had stirred within him.

(It turns out that later is a lot further away than Shang Qinghua anticipates.)

The day ends too late, with the court and a banquet to greet their guests that Shang Qinghua had to arrange. Banquets were a lot more fun to write than to organize, and Shang Qinghua regrets making them a thing in this world to begin with. 

Especially in a world where, while no one bullies him anymore out of fear of Mobei Jun, they do titter about and talk like a bunch of old uncles and aunties at a family function. At least here he has a large and terrifying king to defend his remaining scrap of honour.

By the time they retire for the night, Shang Qinghua is too exhausted to do anything but roll himself into his blankets like a sad human wrap. He dozed off by the time the mattress sinks beside him, and feels himself getting brought into a pair of strong arms. 

It leads to a rather pleasant set of dreams and when Shang Qinghua wakes up in the morning, it’s with excess energy coursing through him. It’s the kind that makes him squirm under the blankets and immediately seek a solid presence.

But when he turns over, it’s to an empty mattress. Shang Qinghua lifts his head to see Mobei Jun in the corner of their room, already dressed and tightening decorated braces around his arms. For a moment, Shang Qinghua is struck with the desire to crawl over like some sort of desperate concubine and request his lord to come back to bed.

Immediately after, it clicks in his head that if Mobei Jun is already dressed, then Shang Qinghua is egregiously late. Shang Qinghua nowadays likes to make more of a marked effort to not completely embarrass his king, despite Mobei Jun’s constant assurance that if anyone were to make fun of him, they would be in for one hell of a beating. 

He scrambles out of bed and the attendant that had been helping Mobei Jun descends upon him with pale blue and silver robes. Mobei Jun side steps the flurry with a quirk of his lips.

Whatever he woke up with though, does not quite leave him.

Yet it seems like Shang Qinghua is entering a spate of bad luck.

A small drought, one would say.

The guests take up too much of their time, quite literally. Luo Binghe and Mobei Jun recently conquered a treacherous mountain range, vanquishing a large and ravenous monster that lived within it. It had been a throwaway line in the book, but in real life, it had been one hell of a fight.

(Shang Qinghua had to admit— it had looked totally cool as well. Mobei Jun and Luo Binghe truly were a sight to see, fighting side by side.)

The tiny but powerful kingdom at the foot of the mountain is thankful to them, and have come bearing gifts to provide their thanks and discuss developing a new trade route. Every time these visits happen, it’s the same standard thing. It starts with the guests giving Shang Qinghua some nervous looks, biting back asking about the appropriateness of having a mousy human in the room while they hold their discussions. It ends with them figuring out who exactly Shang Qinghua is to the king they end up having to either bow in apology or kowtow to. It all depends on how strongly they offend him. 

In the middle it’s an excessive amount of boringness that Shang Qinghua unfortunately has to pay attention to, lest some important information gets disclosed or some low-IQ demon accidentally reveal their hand in wanting to undermine Mobei Jun.

Shang Qinghua only has himself to blame; most of these diplomatic aftermaths were only created so that the protagonist would have an excuse to develop some tension with one of the female attendants or get offered a wife or generally roll around in the hay with one sister or another. 

Now that duty lies upon Mobei Jun. 

At least this time, the glower Mobei Jun sends is strong enough to make any offer of a wife die out before it leaves the other lord’s throat. 

Shang Qinghua has his own set of jobs to do, so it’s hard for him to see his husband for some time. He’s lucky enough to sleep beside his husband, but they are unable to take a moment away for themselves. 

It’s not for trying. They sneak a heated kiss here and a love bite there, and Shang Qinghua even lets himself get groped a couple of times. It’s enough to stoke the flames, larger and larger till…

...So. Maybe it’s not the smartest thing to do when it’s hard to get a concentrated twenty minutes where he can at least rub one off with his husband. 

But Shang Qinghua, as has been long-established, is a simple and ordinary man who’s burdened with the knowledge that an unfairly attractive and powerful demon wants solely him. Anyone would be like this if they had a lover like he does, really!

Unfortunately for Shang Qinghua, it means that while he falls into bed too tired to move, he wakes up feeling excited more often than not. And more often than not, his husband is already out of bed. On the morning of the third day, Mobei Jun has left the room by the time Shang Qinghua shakes off his blankets. Shang Qinghua tries not to be too put out by it. 

So much for holding him to it! Not that Shang Qinghua wants to play the role of the neglected spouse, but really, who wouldn’t do the same in his position? This would have been fine in the initial stages of their romantic relationship, when they were trying to figure each other out and were positively atrocious in bed. 

Now that they’ve actually developed good technique, must they suffer like this?

The answer, Shang Qinghua learns quickly, is yes.

Specifically, he learns this when he finds Mobei Jun alone in one of the smaller pavilions. It’s by accident; Shang Qinghua had actually been looking for another attendant who had run away with an semi-important scroll of his. He sees Mobei Jun sitting at a desk with parchment and a brush, and all thoughts of the english letter he had written to Shen Qingqiu flies out of his brain.

“My king,” Shang Qinghua bows deeply at the entrance, all buzzing energy when Mobei Jun nods in his direction. “May I enter?”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t really have a game plan aside from getting his grimy little paws all over his man. As soon as he’s given permission, Shang Qinghua is closing the doors of the pavilion behind him and is immediately at Mobei Jun’s side, chattering something about grinding the ink for him. Mobei Jun moves over so that Shang Qinghua can sit beside him, and Shang Qinghua gives him as bright a smile as he can.

Maybe it’s the lack of contact over the past few days, but Mobei Jun looks especially good today. He’s wearing his onyx robes with deep silvers and blues threaded through, giving it the appearance of a shimmering night sky. It makes his skin look frostier and the blue mark on his forehead stand out. Shang Qinghua wants to climb all over him like a squirrel to a particularly tall tree, but he counts from ten backwards as he reaches for the inkstone. 

Shang Qinghua licks his bottom lip and grabs the pestle a little too enthusiastically. It slips out of his hand, landing on the ground with a loud clatter. There is silence for a few moments.

“Ah, looks like you have just enough ink in your well anyways!” Shang Qinghua tries to say cheerily, and Mobei Jun’s face is imperceptible. Almost. Shang Qinghua doesn’t miss the shade of amusement that briefly flickers across the handsome features.

Mobei Jun raises an eyebrow at him and Shang Qinghua flushes. “Sorry,” he mutters, and shifts to pick it up. It rolls away from him, and he has to disrupt his seated position further to reach for it. 

It’s fine, he tells himself. He’s gotten this far in his life despite being absolutely terrible at seduction.

“Ah, why are you writing, my king?” Shang Qinghua says, pretending nothing happened as he straightens up. “After all, what do you have this servant for?”

He reaches for the brush but Mobei Jun moves his hand away. Shang Qinghua pouts. Mobei Jun levels Shang Qinghua with a look and hey, Shang Qinghua doesn’t always have shitty handwriting! He’s a Peak Lord! It’s good when he wants to try! Then Shang Qinghua remembers that he’s not actually here to take up secretary duties.

So he reaches for the brush again, this time leaning across Mobei Jun.

“My lord,” he says innocently enough, as he props a hand on a muscular thigh. He feels Mobei Jun twitch and tries not to preen. “Let me.”

This time when Mobei Jun moves the brush, he only does it by a small and calculated amount. Shang Qinghua obediently tries to reach forward again, practically in his lap. His hand shifts up Mobei Jun’s thigh, seemingly involuntary till it bumps the junction of his leg. Shang Qinghua squeezes it gently as he wriggles his fingers in the direction of the brush. 

“Do not play games,” Mobei Jun warns lightly, ever blunt. Shang Qinghua doesn’t even know why he gets self-conscious about his own seducing skills when this is what he deals with. 

Then a large hand settles itself on his hip from where he leans. It slides slowly over the curve till it’s resting on his upper thigh. Mobei Jun squeezes roughly, making sure Shang Qinghua feels the bite of his fingers through his robes and against his skin.

“Shang Qinghua.”

“Yes, my king?”

“You-”

They’re interrupted by a polite knock on the door.  “My king,” The voice says on the other side. “Lord Zhuang has arrived and is waiting.”

Mobei Jun’s hand drops away and Shang Qinghua wants to scream. Or throw something at the wall. Or better yet, tell their visitor to go away while Shang Qinghua seeks some sort of relief. He knows neither of these things will be happening, no matter how much he wants it.

“Straighten up,” Mobei Jun tells Shang Qinghua, adjusting his small crown for him. Shang Qinghua grudgingly obeys, and by the time Lord Zhuang has been formally introduced and seated within the pavilion, he’s wearing the face again of the nervous but hardworking human plastered to the king’s side.

On the inside, Shang Qinghua is trying to dump many buckets of ice water on his inner self.

He decides he needs to himself to a banal job, something that will hopefully get his mind off getting off. So he tells himself that tomorrow, he’s going to pick something that’s going to be tedious but will need his attention for as long as possible. 

 Shang Qinghua could meditate (who is he kidding— he really couldn’t) or go back to An Ding, but he needs to be ready just in case Mobei Jun needs him. A little goblin voice in the back of his head tells him that he wants to be there in the small off-chance Mobei Jun finds enough time in his day to bend Shang Qinghua over the nearest surface. 

And who is Shang Qinghua to argue?

The job he chooses the next day is the one he hates the most.

Inventory was the bane of his existence back when he stocked groceries in his old life and it is the bane of his existence now, as a magically enhanced pencil pusher. Shang Qinghua would much rather be illiterate and innumerate than be asked to do inventory.

He has to admit though; it’s slightly more interesting in the palace at the heart of the Northern Desert than it is in one of the wooden shacks in An Ding peak. It’s also a good enough distraction from the fact that Shang Qinghua is crawling out of his skin with the need to touch his husband.

He’s in one of the smaller treasure rooms, busy cataloging what exactly Mobei Jun has tossed in here. Some of the items in here he recognizes and some of them make him cringe. Shang Qinghua looks for anything particularly powerful that’s accidentally been hidden away, but the room is mostly small weapons and vases and one or two ominously glowing amulets. The most dangerous thing in the room is a row of swords.

That is of course, till Mobei Jun decides to pay Shang Qinghua a visit. 

His entry into the room is soundless but by now, Shang Qinghua has developed a sixth sense for when the man is in the room.

“My king,” he greets as a familiar cold chill curves around his neck. He hears a quiet and thoughtful hum from behind him, and turns to fold his hands in front of him. Mobei Jun has told him time and again to not salute him when they’re alone, that it’s not needed, but Shang Qinghua is also perceptive enough to know just how the formality sings to him.

“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei Jun returns the greeting with a tip of his chin. “I was looking for you.”

Mobei Jun says it with enough meaning that Shang Qinghua feels a small spark at the base of his spine. Still, he’s been thwarted enough these past few days, that he’s more measured in his reply. For all he knows, they’re two minutes away from one of their guests battering down their door.

“Ah,” Shang Qinghua holds up the thin scroll of parchment he’s been working on. “I thought I would take stock of your treasures, my king.”

And also arrange all these expensive goods that you’ve thrown around like garbage and really, if you let me take one or two back to sell then An Ding will never have to hawk to local villages again.

Mobei Jun quirks his eyebrow and Shang Qinghua snaps his mouth shut as soon as he realizes that not only is it open, but it has been moving as well.

“I will consider it,” Mobei Jun says idly, and Shang Qinghua gives a nervous laugh. “What have you found?”

“Nothing unique,” Shang Qinghua shrugs and shakes the scroll. It drops down to his hips and he scans the page with his eyes. “Some extremely sharp sabres, an amulet of death, an amulet for the undead… I can read you the list my king, would you like to take a seat?”

Shang Qinghua expects Mobei Jun to brush it off. He kind of hopes he does, because there’s a lot better things they could be doing in the next couple of minutes. Shang Qinghua cannot think of anything more excruciatingly boring than rattling off the contents of a room.

Aside from writing them down in the first place of course.

But Mobei Jun nods, so Shang Qinghua finds himself leading them to a beautifully-carved alcove bed that sits in the corner of the room. It’s a cursed object that has some black smoky aura curling around it but Mobei Jun’s presence dissipates it when he sits down. 

He grabs Shang Qinghua by the wrist, but doesn’t drag him onto his lap like Shang Qinghua wants. Mobei Jun tugs him to his side instead and Shang Qinghua grumbles as he takes a seat beside him.

Shang Qinghua shakes out the scroll and clears his throat. He side-eyes Mobei Jun one more time to make sure this is something he actually wants to do. Unfortunately, it’s not the best angle to pick up the minutiae of his king’s generally inexpressive face, so Shang Qinghua starts to read. With the presence of his king, broad and stately and pressed up beside him, furs tickling Shang Qinghua, the task is…

...still excruciatingly boring. Reading inventory lists out loud is the last thing Shang Qinghua wants to do with the present company.

 Shang Qinghua can keep a straight face, but on the inside he’s thinking about what he’s done to get punished in a manner where his husband would rather listen to him take stock than give him a well-deserved kiss and maybe squeeze down below. Mobei Jun has said before that he enjoys the cadence of Shang Qinghua’s voice, but even this must be too much!

Though, halfway through reading through the list of daggers he was able to identify, Shang Qinghua realizes that Mobei Jun is wearing one of those funny faces he wears when he’s paying attention but not listening. His dark eyes are glimmering with a very specific attempt and Shang Qinghua thinks Really? This did it for you?. And— oh, it looks like that too he voiced out loud, by the look on Mobei Jun’s face.

Shang Qinghua freezes. Mentally, he makes a note to looking into getting some kind of invisibly muzzle that will prevent him from saying stupid things. 

At this moment, there’s only one thing Shang Qinghua can do.

In order to save some face, quell some of his lust, and mostly to prevent Mobei Jun from giving Shang Qinghua an answer, Shang Qinghua surges forward. To his credit, despite the momentum he does not smash their mouths together like they’re two dolls in the hands of a little kid.

Instead, in a very calm and very controlled manner, Shang Qinghua presses his lips firmly against Mobei Jun’s. Mobei Jun does not smile but Shang Qinghua can feel how pleased he is in the way that his mouth parts slightly.

His king murmurs something against his lips that Shang Qinghua doesn’t hear at first, too busy trying to set his scrolls and supplies down without leaving the kiss. It feels an awful lot like he’s saying “finally ” but Shang Qinghua is not going to get too hopeful.

“My king,” Shang Qinghua manages to say in between the kiss. “My king, would anyone be looking for you right now?”

Mobei Jun shakes his head before sucking Shang Qinghua’s bottom lip between his teeth. He bites it gently, before soothing his tongue over it.

“Our guests,” Mobei Jun presses another kiss that feels like it’s barely restrained. “Have left.”

Shang Qinghua has never heard sweeter words. 

One thing very much leads to another and it’s not long till Shang Qinghua is on his back on the daybed. Mobei Jun leans over him and kisses him, slow and deep now that they have time. It’s clear that this is the main reason he sought out Shang Qinghua, and there’s absolutely nothing to complain about.

This is so much better than counting menacing trinkets.

Long fingers trail down Shang Qinghua’s side and rest on his flank, scooping underneath and squeezing. They kiss like this for a few minutes and Shang Qinghua allows himself to revel in his husband’s big body looming over him. Mobei Jun nudges him with a thigh and Shang Qinghua lets his legs fall apart, one hanging off the side of the bed so that Mobei Jun can comfortably slot himself in between them. Mobei Jun presses his tongue against the seam of Shang Qinghua’s mouth and Shang Qinghua lets him in without a second thought.

He happily loops his arms around his lord’s neck and hums as Mobei Jun licks in. Shang Qinghua has never been more acutely aware of how long he’s gone without a proper touch like this, and he’s eager to respond to Mobei Jun’s hunger with his own.

Shang Qinghua tilts his head to get a better angle as they slide their tongues together. Mobei Jun plants one hand beside Shang Qinghua’s head and uses the other to cup the side of his neck. His palm is large enough to span the entirety of it. That knowledge never fails to make Shang Qinghua shiver.

As much as he loves Mobei Jun taking his time to enjoy him, impatience bubbles within Shang Qinghua. It’s been too long and, well, this daybed is as good as any. He’s about to roll his hips against Mobei Jun’s and get the room heated, when there’s a loud and urgent knocking sound followed by a large clatter.

It startles Shang Qinghua, and he accidentally bumps foreheads with Mobei Jun as his head jerks up. Mobei Jun brings a hand to his forehead, and looks positively murderous at the interruption.

“My king!” the voice is far away, like the owner knows better than to set foot inside. “There’s an important matter at hand— Lord Luo requests your immediate attention!”

This time, Shang Qinghua does let out a short and frustrated yell. Mobei Jun looks very close to telling the attendant where exactly the matter can be shoved, but Shang Qinghua is already crawling off the bed.

He feels bereft and empty, in more ways than one. But Shang Qinghua is not going to risk his protagonist-son’s ire by holding up Mobei Jun in his time of need.  

“We will finish this later, my king,” Shang Qinghua says, reaching out his hand. Mobei Jun makes no pains to hide his displeasure at the situation.

“You said that last time,” he points out, and Shang Qinghua can’t do anything but give a weak smile in return. A small part of him misses the guests.

The pressing matter is actually pretty serious. For Luo Binghe and Mobei Jun anyways, both of whom must go away for three days to retrieve a drop of blackened blood from the heart of a four-headed tiger without killing the creature.

It’s a stupid thing that doesn’t even qualify as B-plot material but Shang Qinghua had given it a lot of importance when he wrote it, purely because he wanted to flex his battle-writing skills. 

In the original story there was something about a group of powerful flesh eaters who had tried to deceive Luo Binghe into friendship before attempting to poison him. A wife had gotten poisoned instead as she had snuck into the kitchen to get a headstart on dinner, and Luo Binghe had torn the entire party into shreds before setting on a noble quest to obtain the cure.

In this world, it means Shang Qinghua has to play babysitter to a feverish and strangely amicable Shen Qingqiu while their two lords go out and complete their quest.

It’s actually not that bad. Shen Qingqiu is in isolation in the bamboo house and with just the two of them, they have no sense of propriety. They spend three days making fun of each other, their men, and every single cultivator under Cang Qiong mountain. Shen Qingqiu does have something akin to a bad fever so Shang Qinghua makes an attempt to take care of him, but he mostly gets in the wine and tells Liu Qingge and Mu Qingfang to go away. The latter he has to drag back with a hundred apologies but overall, it’s not too bad. 

When the two demonic overlords return, they’ve both got the antidote and one hell of a beating each. It’s unnecessary— if Shang Qinghua recalls correctly, he had hidden a small gag in this story line. A particularly spicy bone broth with a thousand and one barbed lotus seeds would have taken care of the poison as well. Unfortunately, that’s not quite a proud, immortal, nor demonic way of solving things.

Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu get left to their own devices while Mobei Jun wraps a cloak around Shang Qinghua and draws open a portal. Before Shang Qinghua can ask him if the trip was pleasant, a blast of cold air hits them and Mobei Jun stumbles.

He’s just missed their bedroom, teleporting them instead to the courtyard in front of their quarters. Shang Qinghua blinks and Mobei Jun slumps against him.

“I’m fine,” Mobei Jun grunts, wobbling on his feet. Shang Qinghua feels a pang of worry as he drags the two of them up the steps and into their chambers.

He discreetly sends some of his own energy coursing through Mobei Jun’s body for any deeper injury. There’s no curse in his blood or poison in his veins, and his meridians feel relatively clear. It looks like Mobei Jun and Luo Binghe just got their asses completely handed to them before they could reign victorious.

It takes a lot of wrangling on his part, but Shang Qinghua manages to convince Mobei Jun to take a bath. Mobei Jun’s not resisting due to an aversion in hygiene; he just seems to have not forgotten Shang Qinghua’s long standing promise.

“M-my king,” Shang Qinghua stutters as Mobei Jun nips a line of small bruises down the side of his neck. He’s trying to undress Mobei Jun as clinically and methodically as he can, but it looks like the second part of the adrenaline rush has finally made itself very evident with Mobei Jun. Shang Qinghua is trying to peel off Mobei Jun’s last upper layer and tug at his pants but his lord has a different idea and starts to paw at him.

Mobei Jun tends to act spoiled when he’s sick and this is no different. Shang Qinghua’s sure that part of this is just some delirium from the fight. By the time Shang Qinghua has wrenched the last of his clothes off, Mobei Jun is clinging on to the crook of his neck with his teeth like a rather eager vampire.

It’s more painful than sexy, and Shang Qinghua can very visibly feel that he’s supporting a majority of Mobei Jun’s weight. As much as he’s been left wanting over the past few days, it’s clear that any type of physical strain would be less than ideal for Mobei Jun. For now anyways.

Mobei Jun sways and lets go and  Shang Qinghua finally manages to draw back. Before he can even open his mouth, he sees the violent smattering of bruises across his body and frowns.

“You’re injured,” Shang Qinghua says and Mobei Jun gives him an unimpressed look. Or tries to— he’s clearly exhausted.

“And?” Mobei Jun says rather moodily, before reaching forward to nose along the corner of Shang Qinghua’s jaw. It’s sloppy and Shang Qinghua sighs, tries to pry him off. One of Mobei Jun’s hands press against Shang Qinghua’s lower abdomen, before reaching down and giving Shang Qinghua an unceremonious squeeze.

Shang Qinghua squeaks, earning a smile from Mobei Jun. With a lot more care than he had afforded his half-kisses, half-bites, Mobei Jun slowly palms Shang Qinghua over his front. Shang Qinghua sucks in his breath sharply and oh god, it’s been so long since Mobei Jun’s touched him.

But!

“My king, you need to bathe,” Shang Qinghua says firmly. Despite the fact that every fibre in his body wants Mobei Jun to keep going, Shang Qinghua’s brain has retained some of its higher function. Sadly, this means he has to be reasonable. As an afterthought he adds, “We can see to...this, after.”

Mobei Jun grunts like he doesn’t want to listen. Shang Qinghua steels himself and wrenches Mobei Jun’s hand off of him. It’s clear that Mobei Jun is in a weakened state with how easy he goes. Shang Qinghua guides him towards the tub and helps him step into the cold water.

All thoughts of fooling around are forgotten a mere few minutes in. Mobei Jun has a hard time keeping his eyes open as Shang Qinghua scrubs water through his hair and massages his scalp. Honestly, if Shang Qinghua wasn’t so concerned about his injuries, he’d find the sight rather cute. By the time Shang Qinghua drags him out of the tub, Mobei Jun is almost asleep.

To his credit, Mobei Jun does try to seduce him again once they’re in bed. Sort of. He rolls on top of Shang Qinghua once they’re settled in bed, and starts to tug at his sleeping clothes. Midway through fiddling with the upper layer, Mobei Jun falls asleep, breath fanning over Shang Qinghua’s neck.

Gently, Shang Qinghua rolls him off. Mobei Jun reaches for him, still asleep, and Shang Qinghua makes sure he wraps himself up in a blanket before he nestles between his husband’s arms.

It brings some fondness in Shang Qinghua, despite the ache.

Mobei Jun is also stubborn when it comes to being injured in that he feels that one night to sleep it off is enough. 

Shang Qinghua drifts awake early in the morning to a hand squeezing his thigh and a wet pair of lips pressed to his sternum. It’s a pleasant way to wake up, especially when the hand on his leg creeps up higher.

“Mmm,” Shang Qinghua hums, not fully conscious yet. But he feels, and whatever is being done to him right now feels good. Teasing circles are drawn on his inner thigh, while he feels a line of kisses span his chest till they reach a sensitive peak. 

A long tongue licks a stripe across it and blows gently, the cold air making Shang Qinghua’s toes curl before he feels a kiss there. It sucks and bites and circles him in a mirror of the hand between his legs. Through the sleep-addled fog in his brain, Shang Qinghua thinks he must have done something really good to receive this kind of treatment.

He shifts, trying to draw closer to the touch, and accidentally knocks his knee against a hard stomach. It’s a gentle bump, one that even a fly wouldn’t register, but his bedmate lets out a grunt of pain.

That does more to wake Shang Qinghua up than anything.

“Hey,” he says quietly, reaching down to pull Mobei Jun’s hand away. God, he really doesn’t want to, but he also doesn’t want Mobei Jun to strain himself and prolong any injury. He’s not that easy that he’d let a hurt man overwork himself. “Hey! You’re still injured.”

There’s no deference in the tone of his voice, and Mobei Jun gives him a pointedly unhappy look. He tries to roll on top of Shang Qinghua, presumably to loom, but Shang Qinghua sees the pained way his shoulder muscles twitch.

“My king,” Shang Qinghua plants a palm on Mobei Jun’s chest and pushes. “You cannot strain yourself. In fact, it might be better if you take bed rest for today.”

“Are you some sort of healer,” Mobei Jun snaps sullenly. “That I need your permission to move on with my day?”

Shang Qinghua sighs out his nose; he knows whatever he says will probably make Mobei Jun very unhappy. It’s strange because the man will take a nap in Luo Binghe’s courtroom or keep Shang Qinghua in bed for some very long mornings, but when it comes to being injured, Mobei Jun takes being horizontal as a personal affront and a sign of weakness.

“Absolutely,” Shang Qinghua replies, and Mobei Jun falls into a full sulk. 

The mood is clearly ruined but Shang Qinghua doesn’t feel too sad about it, not when given Mobei Jun’s current state. He does however send a silent apology to whichever god of luck he offended, in hopes that one day, he may get properly laid again.

Shang Qinghua remembers that he needs to return to An Ding Peak to greet the newest set of unfortunate disciples, as well as balance some (all) of the books and review whether Bai Zhan Peak actually needs that many new training dummy sets. 

Specifically, he’s reminded by a polite but curt letter sent by his head disciple. Shang Qinghua looks mournfully at the summons, then at Mobei Jun, who is radiating a cloud of dark aura as he sits on his throne. It looks intimidating, even from where Shang Qinghua stands beside him.

Shang Qinghua can see where the dark aura dissipates into Mobei Jun’s clothing, sinking below to stitch together his injuries. It’s a method of healing that looks cool in battle, and makes every attendant tremble in fear during court.

It would normally be a good sign, but Shang Qinghua knows Mobei Jun is still a little miffed from this morning. He normally makes Shang Qinghua take the seat beside him, but this time he’s let Shang Qinghua remain standing. 

It’ll probably take Mobei Jun some time to cool off, so Shang Qinghua thinks he might as well make himself useful. He’ll leave for An Ding tonight.

...Okay, so maybe Shang Qinghua is a little bit sad about it. It’s not his fault though! He may be the author but! 

Not! His! Fault!

He’s a man with needs that are normally satisfied by another man whose face could make a person weep out of a confusing mix of fear and attraction. He hasn’t been able to address those needs in a while now, and he can’t help but feel some of the tension.

And Shang Qinghua swears it’s not just the fact that he’s horny! He misses the intimacy of the touch too. He has many ways to love his husband, but this is definitely one of his more favourite ones.

Truly, the universe must hate him to keep teasing him and then denying him. Even though some of it he did to himself. Well technically, all of it he did to himself. Or, the him that was up till the early hours of the morning churning out whatever trash would make him the most popular, did it to the current him.

And when Shang Qinghua sends curses up to the sky, they only get bounced back to down him.

Alright, so maybe it is his fault.

Damn it!

Stupid, shitty novel! Stupid, shitty author!

His arrival, while delayed, like most other events on An Ding Peak, is uneventful.

Shang Qinghua’s lips still sting from the fierce goodbye he had received before he left. Mobei Jun hadn’t looked too happy when Shang Qinghua told him he was leaving, but he hadn’t been looking too happy all day. 

Yet before he opened the portal to boot Shang Qinghua through, Mobei Jun had grabbed Shang Qinghua by the hips and lifted him up like a doll. The kiss Mobei Jun gave left Shang Qinghua breathless and dazed, and he almost missed the “I'm healed now,” before he was tossed through the portal.

Shang Qinghua gets a pleasant enough welcome as two of his junior disciples help him get up and pretend that he didn’t land ass first on the grass like a graceless fool. He also gets a less-pleasant welcome when he’s greeted with the amount of work he needs to get done.

Meeting the new batch of disciples is fun enough. It’s nice to know that he gets respect somewhere in this life, even if it’s from a group of fresh faced kids who are going to soon look longingly at Qing Jing and Wan Jian peaks while cursing Bai Zhan. The rest is less pleasant.

He’s done enough to leave An Ding functioning well without him but it does mean that every now and then, he needs to come and crunch a massive amount of work in a short amount of time. Shang Qinghua feels a puff of pride whenever he thinks about how self-sufficient he’s made his disciples though, and he uses it to hunker down in his Leisure House.

Shang Qinghua almost expects Mobei Jun to be sprawled across his bed with a petulant look when he toes open the door to his small abode, arms filled with as many books and scrolls and papers as he can balance.

He tries to bite down the disappointment when a clean but empty house greets him. On the bright side, it means he can dump some work on his bed and keep his desk clear for more important things, like slamming his head against it as he reads yet another ridiculous request from one of the other sects.

The work is boring and more haranguing than cramming ten thousand words of a story in one sleepless night. Shang Qinghua thought he had suffered in his old life while he watched the little ticker in the corner of his word document increase with every foolish fluff word he threw in to meet a deadline for his cruel readers. It has nothing on reading a long line of numbers. 

The only source of entertainment he sees is a strongly worded letter from Liu Qingge talking about unnecessary stinginess with sending training equipment. Liu Qingge is actually maybe kind of sort of correct, and Shang Qinghua will need to talk to his head disciple about it, but from the looks of it it seems that An Ding’s spine is growing stronger.

As the evening trickles into later hours and the Peak settles down for the night, Shang Qinghua has a work headache that’s taken residence right in the center of his forehead. The words are starting to blur, and he has to blink the exhaustion out of his eyes. The only thing that’s keeping him awake is a deep-seated restlessness that has been building within him for a while now.

Shang Qinghua has a little bell that hangs from his waist, one that has a small jade ring attached to it. All he needs to do is warm it between his hands, send a little burst of spiritual energy through it and voice his desire. Shang Qinghua doesn’t think Mobei Jun would be averse to it, not with the way he kissed him goodbye.

He goes red thinking about it.  Him, beckoning a demon lord to his shitty little house just so that they could hook up. Shang Qinghua didn’t do those kinds of calls in his old life, didn’t really do many kinds of calls in general. Nevermind the man he’d be beckoning is technically his husband, but still! 

Maybe if he framed it as his heart missing his king…

Ultimately, Shang Qinghua decides against it. He has a lot of work to get done, and while he doesn’t mind his stays at An Ding, beckoning Mobei Jun would not only prolong his visit but the amount of time he took to do his work. Shang Qinghua doesn’t want to terrify the new disciples so quickly anyways, though he’s pretty sure they’ve already heard from some of the older ones. 

He sighs bodily, and resigns him to falling asleep in a mountain of paperwork.

A day and a half later, An Ding is attacked.

Quite a terrible affair really, one that gives Shang Qinghua both a metaphorical and physical headache. An outer disciple sounds the warning and luckily, most of the new babyfaced recruits get hidden away before a rogue group of brutal demons descend on the peak.

It’s a good thing Liu Qingge came in person to harass him because when the sky turns dark, he springs into action behind Shang Qinghua. Yes, the Bai Zhan disciples accompanying need to be reminded to only beat the shit out of the demons and not any An Ding disciple that may have “looked funny”, but the strength in numbers is deeply appreciated.

Liu Qingge makes it explicitly clear, repeatedly, that he’s doing it for harmony between the peaks and for the An Ding disciples and very much not for Shang Qinghua. Shang Qinghua kindly asks him to have this discussion after the battle instead of during it. Liu Qingge doesn’t reply, but does behead a demon that emerges behind Shang Qinghua.

It’s not long after that a thick veil of frost falls over the peak. A huge gust of cold wind blasts through as Mobei Jun descends on An Ding to see who exactly is bringing trouble to his husband’s home. 

“My king!” Shang Qinghua calls out, so loud that he misses the “Watch out!” Liu Qingge yells and gets body slammed by a particularly ugly demon. 

This one has the body of a rather muscular boar and the head of a lizard and god, it’s such an ugly motherfucker. Shang Qinghua spits blood in its face and before it can raise its hooves to crush his head in, a large sword spears it straight through the centre of its head.

The leader of the group is unceremoniously kicked off the mountain peak by Mobei Jun, quite literally. What’s left of the group is torn apart before they have a chance to escape, and Mobei Jun chooses to keep the head of the demon that had personally body checked Shang Qinghua.

Shang Qinghua thinks his next novel, if he ever completes one, should be a nice little slice of life. Just in case anyone else is ever unfortunate enough to transmigrate into his drivel.

Mobei Jun tries to whisk Shang Qinghua away but Shang Qinghua wants to stay at An Ding and account for all the damage and injured students. He’s stubborn about it, no matter how many frustrated looks Mobei Jun gives him.

“It’d be too tiring to be cowardly all the time, my king,” Shang Qinghua explains, trying to speak through the pain that’s blooming in his forehead. So with his lips in a thinly pressed frown, Mobei Jun does not argue anymore.

He helps Shang Qinghua, and summons a few of his own retainers to help clean up An Ding Peak. Mobei Jun also takes the time to have a frosty staredown with Liu Qingge, before thanking him in an extremely roundabout way for attempting to protect his husband.

When Shang Qinghua has finally exhausted himself to the point where his knees go weak from over-exertion, Mobei Jun is there to catch him. Shang Qinghua’s vision goes spotty around the edges, and his head feels extremely light.

“Master Shang!” he can hear his disciples calling his name. He had been ordering them to— he’s not quite sure, actually. Something to do with broken swords. His head has started to swim, and he thinks he’s losing consciousness.

Mobei Jun calls his name too, and it sounds so sweet. Too bad Shang Qinghua is on the verge of unconsciousness. Hopefully, he’s not on the brink of death. It’d be a terrible way to go, especially since he’s dying without breaking his involuntary abstinence.

That thought has Shang Qinghua weakly slapping himself. He thinks he registers Mobei Jun’s concerned face, and thinks he doesn’t deserve it. Who thinks about being blue-balled right before they’re about to die! 

“Don’t be mad at me, my king,” Shang Qinghua says faintly, before he blacks out.

By the time Shang Qinghua wakes up in his bed, he’s still deliriously tired. He blinks awake in the lowly lit bedroom and turns his head, making out a figure reclined in the chair against him. Shang Qinghua opens his mouth to speak but only a rasp comes out.

A second figure appears in his line of sight, and Shang Qinghua is almost disappointed till he sees that it’s Mu Qingfang. Mu Qingfang is a nice man with nice medicines and nicer methods of healing than lying Shang Qinghua down on an iceblock for the swelling.

There’s a tinkling laugh, and Shang Qinghua grins. He thinks. It might look a little ugly. He presses his tongue against his teeth and thankfully, they’re all there. So maybe the smile isn’t that ugly. Though there’s only one person who seems to genuinely enjoy his smile. Something pungent starts to fill the air, and Shang Qinghua wrinkles his nose.

And then, the most blissful feeling he’s ever felt spreads across his forehead. It’s cold, and leaves a minty taste in his mouth. Shang Qinghua moans at the sensation as it takes his pain down five notches. 

“Stop being disgusting,” a third voice says, and Shang Qinghua realizes that there’s a familiar blob of cool green hovering above him, moving slender fingers against his temples as two other sets of hands work on his bare chest and arms. Shang Qinghua wonders if any of them belong to his king. It’d be rather nice, given it’s been a while since—

Shang Qinghua winces at the flick he gets on his forehead. Presumably to stop talking. Simultaneously being abused in such a way and also being taking care of sends conflicting information to Shang Qinghua’s brain, so he decides the best course of action would be to fall asleep. 

When he comes to again, it’s just him and Mobei Jun in the room, and he’s a lot more lucid. Shang Qinghua feels like his entire body has been used like a rattle drum. 

“My king…” Shang Qinghua trues, his voice coming out cracked and dry. He reaches out, but Mobei Jun is sitting too far away, at the foot of Shang Qinghua’s bed. Shang Qinghua makes a disappointed sound, while Mobei Jun reaches over and squeezes his ankle through the blanket. 

“A simple knock to the head and you’re bed ridden,” Mobei Jun says, and Shang Qinghua sticks his tongue out at him. Or tries to. It feels so heavy in his mouth. 

“Not all of us can be stupidly powerful demons,” Shang Qinghua drawls out, before hastily adding a “My lord.” He thinks that even Mobei Jun would be a little dinged up if he got tackled by something that weighed the same as a particularly large bull. 

Thankfully before Mobei Jun can answer, there’s a knock on the door. When Mobei Jun opens the door to Mu Qingfang, the sunlight washing in makes Shang Qinghua’s head hurt. 

Mu Qingfang fusses over him under Mobei Jun’s watchful eye. Thankfully, Shang Qinghua has no grievous injuries, just exhaustion and a good deal of battery. He gets the ointment rubbed on him again, this time only by Mobei Jun. It feels just as good as it did before, and makes him want to melt into his bed. 

“No strenuous activities for a while,” Mu Qingfang says, more to Mobei Jun with a pointed look than Shang Qinghua. “He should be fully recovered in three days.”

Mu Qingfang takes his leave, and Shang Qinghua is left in the Leisure House with Mobei Jun. His king has maintained his residence on the wooden chair beside Shang Qinghua’s bed, one leg crossed over the other as he fiddles with one of Shang Qinghua’s books. 

Shang Qinghua can’t figure out why he’s all the way over there, when the small size of his bed has never stopped them before. He really does not want it to stop them now either, even if he’s so exhausted that keeping his eyes open for more than a second makes them water. 

Because Shang Qinghua’s brain is not unlike a lizard’s, he’s still filled with the need to pull Mobei Jun close despite his injuries. Even just a small taste would suffice right now, because it’s been so long. And the memory of Mobei Jun coming to An Ding Peak’s defence and single handedly wiping out the rest of the demons is enough for Shang Qinghua to stay awake if he needs to. 

He’s pretty sure. 

He swears he can if he tries! He deserves the chance; it’s really no trouble. Shang Qinghua tells Mobei Jun as much. 

“You cannot strain yourself,” Mobei Jun says and there’s a faint uptick to the corners of his mouth. If Shang Qinghua had enough energy to lob a pillow at him, he would. 

Mobei Jun is enjoying this! Enjoying throwing Shang Qinghua’s words back at him in his time of need!

Being the world’s worst bed nurse, Mobei Jun snickers.

Shang Qinghua could weep. 

It takes less than three days before Shang Qinghua springs back on his feet. 

Well specifically, it takes another two days of bed rest before Mu Qingfang finally sighs and delicately tells Shang Qinghua that if he wants to go and over-exert himself, he’s more than welcome to. Shang Qinghua’s about to open his mouth to defend his honour before he realises that there’s not much to defend there.

Bidding farewell to An Ding peak is a more involved process than normal. Mobei Jun stands at Shang Qinghua’s side as he imparts some mostly bullshit words of wisdom to his disciples to tide them over till he visits again. The older ones are still a little shell shocked but in a rare feat, seem to have grown more respect for him. The younger ones seem awestruck and Shang Qinghua hopes the fight did not put any ideas into their impressionable little brains.

While he was bedridden, Shang Qinghua still managed to accomplish most of his tasks, barking orders at his senior disciples while Mobei Jun dutifully applied the ointment. An Ding Peak should be able to run without him for a few weeks at a stretch again, unless it gets attacked again.

He prays that there isn’t another incoming attack. He can’t remember writing any more, but to be fair there’s a lot he doesn’t remember. Shang Qinghua makes the mistake of asking Shen Qingqiu, who gives Shang Qinghua a mile-long list of monsters that have yet to appear. None that are supposed to attack An Ding; seems like most will show up right at the doorsteps of Mobei Jun and Luo Binghe.

Shang Qinghua thinks he’ll take his chances. 

Upon their return to the palace, Mobei Jun commands his retainers to hunt down the origin of the rogue demon clan. He gives them strict instructions to not do anything till they report back to him. He wants to take care of them personally, and the ice in his voice when he delivers the orders sends a fierce shiver through Shang Qinghua. 

“If they catch you, let them know that this king will welcome them with open arms,” Mobei Jun says. “As will death.”

The retainers bow deeply before making themselves scarce. For once, Shang Qinghua doesn’t regret putting all this bloodlust in his world. He fidgets, and Mobei Jun notices.

“You are still in pain,” Mobei Jun states and Shang Qinghua shakes his head. He keeps his mouth shut.  He’s unsure how to tell Mobei Jun that while he’s still kind of sore, he’s mostly just desperate. 

Shang Qinghua thought that he had been burning before but nothing compares to now, as he stands in one of the halls with his king. He knows now why people are so quick to throw themselves to their heroes; there’s something incredibly alluring about the fact that Mobei Jun is willing to wreak havoc upon anyone that dares tries to harm Shang Qinghua. 

“I am fine, my king,” Shang Qinghua says, but Mobei Jun doesn’t look like he believes him.

Not that he’s going to complain. Shang Qinghua wants any excuse for Mobei Jun to drag him by the collar to their chambers. Mobei Jun attempts to send for one of his own healers, but Shang Qinghua places a hand on his chest to stop him.

“It is not needed,” Shang Qinghua says, and hopefully the I need to be alone with you comes through in his voice. “Qian Cao’s medicines are more than sufficient for this human.”

Mobei Jun frowns, but sighs out his nose and gives the guards outside explicit instructions that they are not to be disturbed. Shang Qinghua flushes at the implication but realizes it’s probably because he wants to force Shang Qinghua to rest. 

It’s happened a few times before. Once in the early stages of their relationship, Shang Qinghua had taken up an offer to be taken to bed, thinking that Mobei Jun was just looking to ditch a late meeting at a discussion conference. It turned out that Mobei Jun had taken all of Shang Qinghua’s comments about being tired seriously. He tucked Shang Qinghua into bed and told him unceremoniously that he was not allowed to open his eyes till the morning.

They’ve come a long, long way since then, but Shang Qinghua can never be too careful.

Normally, their bedtime rituals include Shang Qinghua attending to Mobei Jun. Shang Qinghua is looking forward to it— he wants that time alone, now that Mobei Jun has ensured they won’t be interrupted. Shang Qinghua is already thinking about what kind of oil he’ll use in the bath he’ll draw for his king, when he finds himself getting tugged towards the center of the main room in their chambers.

Mobei Jun pauses in the center, like he’s unsure as to where to go. He looks around, before turning on Shang Qinghua. Shang Qinghua steps back, but Mobei Jun tightens his grip on his forearm.

He looks almost irritated. Shang Qinghua squints and realizes that Mobei Jun has finally taken in that they’re alone for the first time in a long time. Shang Qinghua blinks, and realizes that ah, they might need a change of plans. For all that Mobei Jun tells him to be more direct, his lord has his own sort of shame to deal with. 

No matter. Shang Qinghua has plenty of shamelessness for both of them, if needed. Shang Qinghua inhales, and bows his head.

“My lord,” Shang Qinghua says, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Your servant has a request he wishes to make.”

A moment of silence and then—

“Speak,” Mobei Jun replies, and Shang Qinghua looks at up him through his lashes.

“Forgive me for my boldness, my king,” Shang Qinghua says as innocently as possible. He ducks his head, averting his gaze again. “But this one was hoping his husband would help him bathe.”

There’s not a lot about Shang Qinghua that’s inherently seductive. It’s easier to write about people falling into bed together than it is to actually convince someone to get dragged down with you. And yet, even though he knows he can’t quite paint a picture of the coquettish lover, Shang Qinghua will be damned if he doesn’t try.

“Very well,” Mobei Jun replies, and Shang Qinghua’s gaze snaps up. “This one will attend to his husband.”

Shang Qinghua tries not to get too hopeful as he gets tugged towards the smaller bathing room. With his luck over the past few days, there’s a high chance that a giant dragon will come and bodyslam the castle before Shang Qinghua even gets his boots off.

In the bathing room, two tubs sit, both already prepared. The soft scent of rosehips and sandalwood emerge, and the smell already has Shang Qinghua’s mood relaxing. 

Initially there had only been one tub. But Shang Qinghua had dipped a toe into Mobei Jun’s bath once and decided dying of hypothermia everytime he wanted to get clean was not the way to go, no matter how appealing the thought of bathing with Mobei Jun was.

As men with too much money do, the next day, Mobei Jun had brought in another smaller tub, one that was enchanted to keep the water warm. Shang Qinghua is so glad the magic in this world has minimal rules.

It’s clear that Mobei Jun is making a concentrated effort to be careful with Shang Qinghua. The first to go is Shang Qinghua’s headpiece. The crown is carefully set down, and his hair ribbon is untied. He lets out a sound as Mobei Jun runs his fingers through his hair, combing it out. 

“My king…” Shang Qinghua murmurs as cool fingers rub small circles against his scalp, before dropping down to the thin sash cinched around his waist.

There’s a soft tinkling of a bell as his robes loosen, and Mobei Jun starts to push away the clothing. A line of worry forms between Mobei Jun’s brows, deepening when he pushes apart Shang Qinghua’s collar.

Shang Qinghua barely notices; he’s enraptured by the feeling of having Mobei Jun’s hands on him finally. So there might be a little bit of bruising on his body. He’s suffered worse with no problem. All that matters now is Mobei Jun is touching him. Finally.

“Qinghua...” Mobei Jun trails off, attention taken by the remnants of the fight marked on Shang Qinghua’s body. The casual intimacy in the way Mobei Jun says his name has Shang Qinghua’s heart beating faster. Shang Qinghua looks at him and tries to telepathically communicate that he’s okay, and even if he’s a little beat up, it’s not going to stop him.

“Yes?” Shang Qinghua asks, and takes a step closer. 

He gets no answer, just a rough and cold palm pushing through his robes to touch his bare chest. It rests over where his heart thumps, and Mobei Jun continues to frown down at him.

After a few moments of no reply, Shang Qinghua asks,“Is everything ok?”

Mobei Jun snakes his other hand around Shang Qinghua’s waist, reaching for errant locks of hair. He pulls, curving Shang Qinghua’s neck back just enough to look at him. 

“You are still shivering,” Mobei Jun states, and Shang Qinghua tries to hold back a short laugh. Mobei Jun sounds almost accusatory. 

“I’m not hurt,” Shang Qinghua says honestly. “This one has just missed his king’s touch.”

Mobei Jun studies his face for a moment and when the crease between his brow relaxes, it takes everything for Shang Qinghua not to blush. 

“My lord,” Shang Qinghua starts, squirming under the scrutiny. “I-“

“I have not had a chance to look at you properly,” Mobei Jun says, his eyes still grazing over Shang Qinghua’s face. “Not for a while. It is a sight I have sorely missed.”

For a man of minimal words, Mobei Jun definitely knows how to use them. Shang Qinghua feels gutted in the best way. Mobei Jun casually throws such things out like they’re facts, and Shang Qinghua’s heart is simply too old to take it. 

“Well,” Shang Qinghua manages to say. “I am right here.”

“That you are.” There’s the barest hint of a smile on Mobei Jun’s lips and Shang Qinghua is flooded with the impulse to taste it. He’s a weak man in the face of his husband’s desire, and suddenly Shang Qinghua feels a need so strong bloom within him that he almost buckles. 

He reaches up onto the balls of his feet to try for a kiss, but Mobei Jun pushes him back down wordlessly. Shang Qinghua lets out a whine, but it looks like his king already has plans. 

Quickly and methodically, Mobei Jun strips Shang Qinghua down. It’s so efficient that for a brief moment, Shang Qinghua is scared that Mobei Jun is just going to dunk him in the tub and then drop him on their bed with no ceremony because he still sees Shang Qinghua as sick.

Then Mobei Jun starts undressing himself, and all intelligent thoughts leave Shang Qinghua’s brain. Shang Qinghua reaches forward, mumbling something about needing to carry out his duties as a servant, but Mobei Jun smacks his hands away.

He then bends down to hook one arm under Shang Qinghua’s knees and one around his back, scooping him up. Shang Qinghua squeaks in surprise, and Mobei Jun steps into the tub.

The water is not hot when Mobei Jun lowers them both in the tub. It’s warm enough though for Shang Qinghua to let out a content sigh once Mobei Jun seats them. Shang Qinghua tries to nestle into Mobei Jun’s lap, but he finds himself getting turned around so that he’s facing away from him. 

“Let me fulfill your request,” Mobei Jun says, picking up one of the wash towels hanging on the side of the tub. Obediently, Shang Qinghua leans forward, exposing his back.

True to his word, Mobei Jun cleans him, rubbing the towel over Shang Qinghua’s back. The scented oils diffused in the bath work to relax his muscles as Mobei Jun scrubs him down, careful to avoid being too rough by human standards. 

Every time Mobei Jun does this, he exudes such an aura of concentration that it’s tangible. It makes Shang Qinghua laugh a little on the inside— brute strength comes as easy as breathing to Mobei Jun, but gentle and measured touches is what gets the steam blowing out of his ears. But Mobei Jun will do it for Shang Qinghua and no one else, and that fact makes Shang Qinghua feel more than pleasant. 

The cool wet cloth slides over the smattering of tender spots across his skin. Shang Qinghua tries hard not to wince; he doesn’t want to let Mobei Jun on to how sore he actually is. He let out a soft noise instead, bracing his hands on his own thighs. 

Shang Qinghua feels his body going pliant under his husband’s touch. It responds without him needing to think about it, going easily when Mobei Jun slides a hand around his front and pulls till his back is touching Mobei Jun’s broad chest. This time, when the cloth runs over his torso, it’s slower and more deliberate. 

It’s been so long since they’ve been able to touch, and now they’re bare skin against skin. It makes Shang Qinghua squirm in the best way. 

“My king…” Shang Qinghua tilts his head back and angles till he can rest his neck against Mobei Jun’s shoulder and bury his face in the crook of his neck. He exhales, happy as he gets tended to by his favourite person. 

Cold lips press against the exposed line of his neck as the cloth drops lower and Shang Qinghua is very happy. When the cloth comes back up to brush against his chest, it sends sparks down his spine. Shang Qinghua realizes how starved he is when he feels teeth graze against his neck, and it’s enough to draw a louder, more embarrassing sound from him. 

He wants to hide it so he turns his head and tries to get Mobei Jun’s attention for a kiss. He catches his temple and gives him a little nip so that Mobei Jun can raise his head to meet him. The kiss he gets is chaste, and Shang Qinghua pushes to get more. 

For his efforts he gets a small nip on the lips. It’s a reprimanding one, not a loving one.

Mobei Jun is firm, and Shang Qinghua wants to cry a little. Not that he doesn’t mind getting bathed by Mobei Jun; it’s quite the opposite. While his limbs relax, his heart rate has shot through the roof, burning desire building in his gut. 

“It has been a long time,” Shang Qinghua murmurs against Mobei Jun’s lips. “I am not as injured as you think.”

“Are you sure?” Mobei Jun replies, and Shang Qinghua can feel more than see the crook of a tiny smile. This one! “Human countenances are weak. I feel that one touch will have you crumbling.”

He’s not wrong, probably not in the way he thinks. Shang Qinghua absolutely will crumble if Mobei Jun touches him, over and over again. Just the idea of it makes him feel weak-kneed and half hard. Shang Qinghua will fall apart if Mobei Jun doesn’t touch him though, and the idea of that feels a lot more dangerous.

Somehow, he wouldn’t put it past Mobei Jun.

“I’m fine,” Shang Qinghua tries, sticking his tongue out. He licks a petulant stripe against Mobei Jun’s mouth, but the other man’s expression remains unmoved. “Seriously! I’ve never felt better.”

“You’ve looked better,” Mobei Jun replies, and as Shang Qinghua lets out a squawk in protest, he presses one of the lighter bruises on his hips. Shang Qinghua frowns, and turns around, fully facing away from Mobei Jun.

He can feel an amused rumble against his back, and Shang Qinghua feels no small amount of self pity. So much time has passed without them being able to touch each other, and now that they finally can, he’s only getting bullied! 

Shang Qinghua sits and pouts for a moment, while Mobei Jun resumes washing him. He has no doubt that Mobei Jun has his own plans for him, but Shang Qinghua wants to poke the beast a little. Just a bit. He can’t be the only one suffering.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Shang Qinghua says, sighing out of his nose. “I will follow whatever orders you give me.”

He feels Mobei Jun pause against him. Internally, he gives himself a high five. Even if he’s not some master of seduction, at least he can draw in the one man that matters.  “This husband just thought that since you have not had him in a while, he would offer himself up. If it is not wanted, he will not do it again.”

Silence stretches out over them, the cloth making a soft plop as it drops into the water. Mobei Jun has gone stiff behind him, and Shang Qinghua can practically feel the intensity of his gaze through his own skull.

So maybe he played unfairly to his husband’s personality, but Shang Qinghua is just a little desperate. 

Then there’s a splash and for a moment, Shang Qinghua’s world tilts as he is spun around in Mobei Jun’s lap and immediately pressed close. Their chests slide together, and whatever gasp Shang Qinghua makes is swallowed up by a kiss that definitely does not feel restrained. 

He tries not to crow too much as Mobei Jun bites his lip, this time with intent. And then Mobei Jun grabs his hips fiercely and rolls him down onto his lap and any sort of coherent thought Shang Qinghua had gets drop kicked out of his brain.

Shang Qinghua clings onto Mobei Jun’s shoulders and water splashes everywhere as he tries to melt into the other as much as possible. He feels large hands shift up to his waist and squeeze, imprinting on him. Mobei Jun slides his tongue past the seam of Shang Qinghua’s mouth, and Shang Qinghua’s heart is on the verge of beating out of his chest.

The kiss is cool and delicious and everything that Shang Qinghua has been deprived of. The wet slide of their skin has him feeling light headed and god, it’s been so long. If he wasn’t acutely aware of the limitations of his own body, he would have spread his legs wider and seated himself down on Mobei Jun already. 

Their teeth click, and Shang Qinghua pulls back, gasping. He had been so into it he had forgotten to breathe, and his cheeks warm up further at the dark look Mobei Jun wears on his face. It’s rather fierce, and Shang Qinghua ducks his head under the heat of it.

He sees Mobei Jun’s hands around his waist, sees how the thumbs almost touch, and whimpers softly. Any sort of words he may have die a quick death on his tongue. Moreso when Mobei Jun leans in to kiss his neck.

They’re small, feather-light pecks. Each kiss feels like a tease, one that makes Shang Qinghua’s fingers twitch. Once Mobei Jun has made his way up to the corner of his jaw, he sucks in a small mark. Shang Qinghua feels the graze of pointed teeth, first at the sensitive spot at the junction, then over his earlobe.

“Make no mistake,” Mobei Jun bites down. His fingers dig into Shang Qinghua’s sides and when their hips brush together again, he feels big. “This lord intends to take you in every way he has tried to but couldn’t.”

Shang Qinghua could die. It’s only out of his strong will not to transmigrate again that he doesn’t. He feels like he’s smouldering on the spot, every fibre in his being being set alight as Mobei Jun pulls them both into another languid, luscious kiss.

Finally, his brain chants. Finally, finally, finally.

The sheets on their bed are expensive, finely-woven things with intricate stories embroidered onto them in golden thread. To touch them feels like a luxury, and they’re expensive enough to be fit for a king and his consort.

Which is why Shang Qinghua barely manages to convince Mobei Jun to towel themselves off enough so that when Mobei Jun picks him up, crosses the threshold into their bedroom, and drops Shang Qinghua onto the bed, they aren’t making a totally wet mess on top of the sheets. 

Or, any further than they’re about to, because Mobei Jun ignores all his requests to atleast pull the sheets aside.

As soon as Shang Qinghua’s back hits the bed, Mobei Jun immediately tugs him by his ankle and pushes his legs apart.

“My lord,” Shang Qinghua says, watching Mobei Jun climbing onto the bed. “What happened to being gentle? I’m still injured!”

There’s no real heat; Shang Qinghua is complaining for the sake of complaining, and Mobei Jun easily picks it up. He’s used to hearing Shang Qinghua run his mouth, and has become good at discerning when it actually means anything.

“Qian Cao’s medicines should be more than sufficient if needed,” Mobei Jun says, settling on his knees as he makes himself comfortable between Shang Qinghua’s legs. It is clear he’s still slightly  annoyed from when Shang Qinghua chased them both down with a towel, but this can only work in Shang Qinghua’s favour.

Mobei Jun scoops him onto his lap and obediently, Shang Qinghua hooks his legs around his waist. He tries to prop himself up and reach forward for a kiss, but Mobei Jun grabs both his wrists and pins them above his head with one hand. Mobei Jun is careful not to wrench Shang Qinghua, but his hold is still firm.

The look Shang Qinghua gets makes his breath go short. He’s got a line of complaints ready to fill the space but before he can speak, Mobei Jun pushes forward into a heavy, all-encompassing kiss.

Shang Qinghua gives way easily and lets Mobei Jun guide the kiss. He likes it rougher, likes to bite Shang Qinghua and suck on his tongue and generally likes it filthy in the way demons do. 

As his lips steadily get bruised, excitement brews within him. Shang Qinghua is filled with a nervous energy that crackles as Mobei Jun restrains him with one hand and grips on to his thigh with another. His legs squeeze tighter around his husband’s waist, and Mobei Jun inhales sharply, groaning as he deepens the kiss even further.

The kiss is fiercer than the ones they shared in the tub; Shang Qinghua can measure the intensity by how deep his wrists are getting pinned to the mattress. It draws sounds out of him that he’s embarrassed to make, but he can’t help it.

Then Mobei Jun uses his free hand to reach between them and give Shang Qinghua a feather-light stroke that has him making a noise that he really can’t help. He gasps when Mobei Jun breaks the kiss and tries to chase his lips, but there’s only so far Shang Qinghua can go.

He’s stroked again, firmer on the way up and light on the way down. Shang Qinghua can feel his core tightening and he bucks his hips up, trying to fight the teasing. He scrunches his eyes shut and bites his bottom lip, but it’s doing nothing to temper the building flame that’s threatening to burn him from the inside.

Shang Qinghua needs to hold out. He also knows that if he deprives his body any further, it might just turn on him. A cool tongue swipes over his bottom lip as his legs start to twitch and oh god, if he keeps getting touched this way he’s going to come embarrassingly quick.

“Wait!” Shang Qinghua exclaims, bumping a heel against Mobei Jun’s back. “Wa- ah - wait! Too fast, too fast!”

There’s no one who hates Shang Qinghua more than Shang Qinghua himself. He feels this especially so when Mobei Jun slows to a halt. He opens his eyes to see the other man looking down at him with an amused expression.

Shang Qinghua knows he looks a bit desperate and mostly pathetic but luckily enough, that’s what appeals to his husband. 

Mobei Jun is waiting for him to elaborate, and Shang Qinghua’s face starts to go a bright red. When Shang Qinghua has yet to find his words, Mobei Jun speaks.

“I thought this was what you wanted?” Mobei Jun starts, and Shang Qinghua squeaks out a “ so bad ” that has Mobei Jun letting out a short laugh.

A genuine laugh. It’s at him, but still! Shang Qinghua might as well just get struck by lightning.

Shang Qinghua nods, and then shakes his head. And then nods again. Belatedly, he realizes he hasn’t actually spoken.

“I swear I do,” Shang Qinghua rushes out. “But my lord, I was too close. I don’t want to finish like this.”

“Why not?” Mobei Jun raises an eyebrow. “It will not be the only time.”

It’s very kind of Mobei Jun to assume Shang Qinghua has the same sort of demonic stamina he does, especially after he’s gone so long without getting off. Somehow, these words make it out of his mouth unfiltered and Shang Qinghua’s eyes widen. Mobei Jun’s gaze turns sharp and predatory, and it starts to trail down Shang Qinghua’s body.

“Very well,” Mobei Jun says, finally releasing Shang Qinghua between them. “If that is what you want.”

He presses a chaste kiss to Shang Qinghua’s cheek, and brings his hand to brush against his chest. Shang Qinghua tilts his head to bare his neck, and Mobei Jun presses his lips along the line of it.

Shang Qinghua’s wrists are released. He immediately uses the opportunity to card one hand through long, dark hair. He uses the other to pinch at Mobei Jun’s chest, maybe give him a little taste of his own medicine. It’s impetuous, but he knows what his lord likes. It gets another low sound out of Mobei Jun, and Shang Qinghua feels teeth graze against a sensitive spot on his neck.

Mobei Jun tugs his hand away, and starts to map a path down Shang Qinghua’s body. He pushes one of Shang Qinghua’s knees to spread his legs further as he presses barely-there kisses across his torso. 

He runs his tongue over a nipple and Shang Qinghua shivers. His fingers tighten in Mobei Jun’s hair and his silent request is taken as Mobei Jun closes his lips over it and sucks gently. Mobei Jun blows on it and flattens his tongue over it, reaching down to palm over Shang Qinghua’s front. It’s torture, even when Mobei Jun moves to kiss the centre of his chest. 

As an eager mouth makes its way down Shang Qinghua’s front, Shang Qinghua feels Mobei Jun’s arm hook under one of his legs. A large palm slides against the small of his back and Shang Qinghua is too busy trying not to make any embarrassing noise to realize he’s getting lifted.

It’s not till Mobei Jun is sitting back on his haunches and Shang Qinghua’s legs have risen up to his biceps, that Shang Qinghua realizes their position.

Mobei Jun always manhandles him so easily, arranging Shang Qinghua just the way he likes without the other noticing. Shang Qinghua’s lower half is arched off the bed and he’s presented enough that he can feel Mobei Jun’s breath across where he’s hard.

“Maybe this will suit you better,” Mobei Jun says. Before Shang Qinghua can ask what he means, Mobei Jun licks a cool stripe up till he reaches the tip, and takes it in his mouth. He sucks lightly before peeking out his tongue and gently flicking it.

Shang Qinghua has never been so aware of how tense he is. Mobei Jun continues to tease him, getting him wet with his tongue and cooling him off with a soft whistle of air. It’s clear that he’s in no hurry, and when he noses at his base and looks down at Shang Qinghua, it’s clear that Mobei Jun enjoys what it’s doing to him.

His breath quickens, and Shang Qinghua can feel his heart start to beat louder. He curls off the bed slightly, shoulders lifting as he starts to shudder. He wants to reach down and cut himself off but his body absolutely refuses to listen to him.

Shang Qinghua curls his fists into the sheets, hoping the strain will ground him. He should be good, as long as Mobei Jun doesn’t—

His husband swallows him down, tearing a cry from Shang Qinghua’s throat. After so long, it hits him like a bag of bricks. Shang Qinghua barely has time to warn Mobei Jun before his release punches through him and he spills down the other’s throat.

Mobei Jun slacks his his jaw and takes him in even deeper, pushing his hand to help Shang Qinghua thrust into his mouth helplessly. He truly does feel pathetic now but he can’t focus on it, because of how inviting his husband’s mouth is.

By the time he comes down from his high, Shang Qinghua can’t resist the urge to cover his face with an arm, too mortified to look at his husband. He knows he didn’t have much of a plan to begin with, but he had been hoping to draw it out a little longer. This truly was a blow to his pride, especially since he has a demon to keep up with.

But on the other hand, he’s a measly touch-starved human and he should have expected that he’d finish so quickly. Actually he may even deserve a pat on the back for not coming the moment Mobei Jun lifted him onto his lap in the tub.

Mobei Jun releases him with a soft slick sound, licking his lips as he looks down at Shang Qinghua. Shang Qinghua had been so busy trying to talk himself out of a panic over coming too fast that he only now realizes that his husband’s amused expression is gone.

In its place is something that is darker and hungrier. It’s a familiar one, one that promises to leave Shang Qinghua thoroughly wrecked in the aftermath. Seeing it on such a handsome face never fails to be overwhelming to the point where Shang Qinghua forgets his shame.

He almost misses the fact that he’s still half-hard. Mobei Jun sets him down gently, moving so that Shang Qinghua is fully on the mattress instead of on his lap.

“It has been a long time, Shang Qinghua,” Mobei Jun draws out his full name again, it in itself a command that makes Shang Qinghua’s heart stutter. “Your king will make good on his word, and requests you do the same.”

Shang Qinghua does not need to think before the words come tumbling out. 

“Anything for you,” he says, already in a daze and ready to do whatever Mobei Jun wants him to do.

When Mobei Jun dips his head down to kiss him, Shang Qinghua can taste himself. He thinks Mobei Jun needs to have the favour returned so he presses his palm against a muscular shoulder and tries to flip them. Mobei Jun catches on to what he’s doing and stops him, circling his hand around his wrist.

“Let me serve you, my king,” Shang Qinghua tries, reaching between them with his other hand. This he’s allowed to do, and he circles his hand around a thick base. 

“You will,” Mobei Jun says, so simple and straightforward that it threatens to melt what’s left of Shang Qinghua’s brain.

Mobei Jun is hard in his palm, and Shang Qinghua traces his fingers up the length slowly. He imagines it stretching out his mouth and remembers the way his eyes had watered last time he had stopped talking long enough to take it down fully. It hadn’t taken much convincing for Mobei Jun to grip him by his hair and abuse his throat.

Shang Qinghua had barely been able to speak the next day. He chews on his bottom lip at the thought of a repeat performance.

Yet, Mobei Jun is not as easy as Shang Qinghua. He drips onto Shang Qinghua’s stomach, but shows no other sign of even approaching a finish. Shang Qinghua raises his palm to thoroughly lick it before circling his hand around Mobei Jun again and jerking him off.

The wetter slide inspires his king to let out a soft groan. Without breaking their connection, Mobei Jun reaches forward for something wedged in the crevice between their mattress and the wall. Shang Qinghua twists his wrist and enjoys the way the other man’s hips twitch forward.

A few seconds later, Shang Qinghua’s hand gets yanked off. He’s about to protest, when he feels something cool and slick start to reach between his legs.

Shang Qinghua closes his eyes and forces himself to ease up as he feels Mobei Jun slowly circle him and start to work one finger in. Sometimes Mobei Jun will just use himself to ease the way in but when he has plans to use Shang Qinghua thoroughly, he stretches him like this.

Regardless of how many times they do this, the initial sensation is always so strange, moreso now. Shang Qinghua’s legs fall apart and he focuses on relaxing as Mobei Jun looks down between them. Shang Qinghua wants to tell him to stop staring, but he knows his lord does as he pleases.

“My king…” Shang Qinghua grips one of Mobei Jun’s biceps. He feels it flex under his hand as Mobei Jun works a second finger in, and shudders.

Writing about acts like this is one thing— being worked open by a man who looks like he stepped out of every single one of Shang Qinghua’s wet dreams is another, and it fills him with a feeling that’s indescribable.

Maybe Shang Qinghua deserves another pat on the back for surviving despite being deprived of this experience for days. A medal even. By the time the third finger is in him, he’s arching off the bed again and twisting his hands.

He’s pushed down by the hip and flattened against the bed. When Shang Qinghua tries to buck up, he meets only air. Unable to get any friction, he allows himself to whine a little.

“Have mercy,” Shang Qinghua pleads as Mobei Jun crooks his fingers and sends searing jolts through his spine that make him almost jump. The corner of Mobei Jun’s mouth turns up at that, knowing that’s not the way Shang Qinghua would actually ask to be spared.

Right now, Mobei Jun’s moving with calm and control, despite looking like he’s ready to eat Shang Qinghua. He takes one of Shang Qinghua’s calves and lifts it up, resting it on his shoulder. He reaches for the tin of salve, and hooks Shang Qinghua’s other leg up near his neck on his way.

Mobei Jun looks incredibly self-satisfied, like an animal that has finally cornered his prey. He touches himself, slicking himself up as he stares down Shang Qinghua with intent. Shang Qinghua watches him with his mouth parted, throat going dry. 

The sight is turning him stupid, which is why when Mobei Jun tugs him closer and Shang Qinghua feels the raised embroidered threads graze along his back, he finds himself protesting.

“Wait,” he gasps out, trying to speak as Mobei Jun has already taken himself in hand. “The sheets!”

“What about them?” Mobei Jun asks idly, taking no pause as he starts to press the head in. This man will absolutely kill Shang Qinghua.

“They’re too- ah, they’re too,” Shang Qinghua doesn’t know why his mouth is still running. It’s bad enough that it acts like this when he’s in trouble; it’s even worse when he’s in bed with a demonic overlord that could buy his Peak ten times over.

But still. “They’re too beautiful my king, I don’t want to- ah, ah - my king, please-”

Mobei Jun pauses and looks down thoughtfully at Shang Qinghua. That kind of look, along with all the others he’s gotten, has only ever brought around trouble for Shang Qinghua.

“Do you like them that much?” Mobei Jun asks, and Shang Qinghua opens his mouth.

None of the subtle looks the servants who do their laundry give bother him any more. He just doesn’t want to get these sheets ruined. They’re a rich midnight blue and rather pretty. They’re definitely one of Shang Qinghua’s favourite sets and it’s hard to get stains out of the silk, and harder to get it replicated.

That’s what he means to say anyways. All that comes out of his mouth is a garbled sound.

“Very well,” Mobei Jun says, and starts to pull out. Shang Qinghua makes a sort of pathetic sound that’s ignored as Mobei Jun shrugs his legs off his shoulders.

No! No, no, no!

He’s not going to finally get his king in bed just to get interrupted because Mobei Jun doesn’t feel like pulling away the stupidly beautiful silk covers—

Mobei Jun flips Shang Qinghua over and yanks his hips into the air. Shang Qinghua starts to rise onto his elbows to look back at Mobei Jun, but Mobei Jun pushes the back of his head till he finds his face buried in silk.

“There,” Mobei Jun says from above him. “You can admire them now.”

“That’s not what I meant- ahh,” Shang Qinghua’s last semi cogent thought flies out the window as Mobei Jun starts to press in again. There’s absolutely no point in continuing now. Shang Qinghua turns his head to gasp for air, trying to breathe through the sensation of being filled.

Mobei Jun is even slower this time, dragging out and pushing in further only by small amounts. He keeps one hand on Shang Qinghua’s head and the other around the junction of his hip and leg.

By the time that Mobei Jun fully seats himself, Shang Qinghua wishes he had never opened his mouth. To feel him without seeing him is a special type of punishment in this scenario, because all Shang Qinghua can focus on is how big Mobei Jun is. Mobei Jun lets him adjust, rubbing a circle into the nape of his neck with his thumb in comfort.

Shang Qinghua breathes through his nose, and Mobei Jun begins to move.

The pace is torturous, too slow for the amount of time Shang Qinghua’s body has spent missing his husband’s. He tries to rock back onto it but a hand on his hip tempers him, preventing him from taking any more than what he’s allowed.

Instead, he’s pinned as Mobei Jun thrusts unhurriedly. He drags out at a leisurely and deliberate pace, like he’s got all the time in the world to ruin Shang Qinghua. And maybe he does, maybe Shang Qinghua should stop thinking he has a say in this.

But.

It’s incredibly maddening, and impatience boils within him. Shang Qinghua knows he should be savouring the feeling, and part of him is jelly at the fact that they’ve gotten this far at all with no interruptions. 

Shang Qinghua has worked hard and suffered harder, and wants more.

“Please,” Shang Qinghua tries to push back against his husband’s grip. It’s too strong so he thrashes around instead, as much as he’s allowed. “Please, my king, my- husband, please.”

The husband catches Mobei Jun’s attention. Unfortunately, it has him slowing down till he’s stopped. Shang Qinghua makes a desperate whine, crossing his fingers and silently praying that the world is not cruel enough to interrupt them now.

“I have missed the sound of you begging,” Oh, his voice is low and dangerous. “Look at me, Shang Qinghua.”

Shang Qinghua has no idea what makes his lord think he’ll be able to do that. Still, he tries as Mobei Jun stops putting pressure on him. He slowly starts to prop himself up until he’s on his hands. Shang Qinghua twists and tries to get a look at his king.

He knows that his own self is a mess. Shang Qinghua’s hair resembles a dropped nest and his lips are red and sticky from the kisses and the way he’s been biting it. He’s got a ruddy pink flush across his whole body that he can’t think about for too long, or he’ll get self-conscious.

Comparatively, Mobei Jun rarely ever looks disheveled beyond whatever marks Shang Qinghua leaves on him. So when Shang Qinghua looks over his shoulder and sees a dark blush spread from his face down to his chest, he stutters.

Mobei Jun’s eyes are overly bright, his lips wet. That in itself is a world away from his normally composed and stoic expression. Shang Qinghua can see this expression a million times but it’ll never fail to gut him, especially not when it’s this wild. 

It’s then that it sinks in that Mobei Jun has also been suffering the same way Shang Qinghua has been. He too has been getting interrupted in the middle of getting off multiple times, and the pent up energy inside him must be lethal.

Keeping eye contact, Mobei Jun begins to move in him again.

This time it’s more earnest. It’s still measured and steady, but has more purpose. Mobei Jun rolls his hips a little harder, and Shang Qinghua has to drop his head down between his shoulders.

The golden thread of the embroidery starts to swim in front of his vision and he starts to moan as he tries to rock back. Mobei Jun has him by his hips and tightens his grip, moving him off. He withdraws half way, before yanking back Shang Qinghua the same time that he drives his hips forward.

Shang Qinghua lets out a sharp yelp at the action. He’s a dripping mess, and Mobei Jun repeats it, pulling Shang Qinghua off even further before he thrusts back in. Shang Qinghus curls his fists, trying hard not to come close to finishing off fast again.

Yet…

Maybe it’s the amount of time they’ve gone without doing this. Maybe it’s because Shang Qinghua has repeatedly had his lord’s touch taken away from him. Maybe it’s the fact that Shang Qinghua does not know when and where to stop. 

He yearns for more, yearns to close this distance. Mobei Jun is still sitting back and while his hips cant forward with more purpose, Shang Qinghua knows they’re both holding on to some last fragment of self-control that they do not need.

“My king,” Shang Qinghua tries to get his attention. For his efforts, Mobei Jun thrusts harder. And harder. And— it takes so much for Shang Qinghua to keep talking.

“This…” Shang Qinghua stutters, part from pleasure and part because while he’s shameless, making requests while he’s laid bare like this brings on some degree of shyness. “This- oh, oh, this one wishes to be closer to his lord- please!” 

His voice cracks over the last few words as Mobei Jun shifts and re-angles himself. He thinks Mobei Jun hasn’t heard him, because he keeps rolling his hips forward with a honed focus. “My lord-”

Then Shang Qinghua feels himself getting pushed down against the mattress till he’s flat on his belly. His wrists are planted on each side of his head, and long fingers curl around them.  He squirms, earning a short thrust, before Mobei Jun drapes himself along his back.

His lord is heavy and solid above him, and Shang Qinghua can feel his own heart beat violently in his chest. He swallows, and Mobei Jun drops more of his body weight against him, trapping him completely. Mobei Jun isn’t moving, but he’s somehow reaching deeper.

“Turn your head,” Mobei Jun says and Shang Qinghua complies, trying to raise it as much as possible. Mobei Jun leans over him and angles his head to swoop Shang Qinghua up in another kiss.

Mobei Jun sucks on his bottom lip, and Shang Qinghua lets his tongue loll out. Mobei Jun licks it, before pressing his lips to the corner of Shang Qinghua’s mouth.

“I have missed you,” Shang Qinghua rasps, almost nonsensically. 

“I have missed you as well, husband,” Mobei Jun says, so close to him that their lips brush as he speaks. 

“If this one could make one last request,” Shang Qinghua says, head swimming with the rolling pleasure. “And ask to be shown how much he was missed.”

“Mm,” Mobei Jun presses one last kiss, this time to his jaw. “As you wish.”

The statement doesn’t quite process in Shang Qinghua’s head because the next moment, Mobei Jun snaps his hips forward so hard that Shang Qinghua can feel it in his throat. He screams at this, the noise shaping around Mobei Jun’s name, something that has the other man making a pleased sound.

Shang Qinghua begs for it faster, harder, and Mobei Jun listens to him, losing all semblance of his own self restraint. Shang Qinghua can barely move, completely eclipsed by his husband’s body, and he feels his eyes roll back. The sound of it fills the room, mixed in with their groans and the sound of Shang Qinghua’s breath hitching.

“Please,” Shang Qinghua doesn’t even know what he’s asking for at this point but it doesn’t matter. Mobei Jun can tell anyways, and takes him like he’s trying to brand him from the inside. 

He shifts against Shang Qinghua’s back and in the next thrust in, Shang Qinghua sobs at the sharp jolt of pleasure that the angle shoots through him. Satisfied, Mobei Jun is relentless in making sure he hits that spot over and over again.

Shang Qinghua is completely pinned as he gets fucked into the mattress. He thinks he’s crying, knows it when he feels tears start to prickle down his face. But the onslaught has left him incapable of thinking about anyone but the man inside of him.

Mobei Jun fucks him hard enough to send them shifting up the bed. Shang Qinghua catches some of that friction, and he can barely breathe with the amount of heat that courses through him. He has no room to move, yet he still manages to find enough to rut his hips forward into the smooth sheets.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t even bother to reach down to touch himself to completion. Each thrust punches out a short cry and Shang Qinghua doesn’t think he’ll be able to speak the next morning. Mobei Jun fucks faster and he yowls; he doesn’t think he’ll be able to walk either.

It feels like it’s neverending in the best way. Shang Qinghua wants to be trapped like this forever, possessed in such a way that he’ll never forget who he belongs to. He’s sure he’s getting the beautiful silk wet with spit and tears as he loses himself.

The grip on his wrists have grown so tight that Shang Qinghua is sure that he’ll have angry bruises there the next morning. Mobei Jun noses along the side of his neck before baring his teeth and biting down on the corded muscle of his shoulder. The pinpointed pain makes Shang Qinghua’s body go limp in pleasure, especially when Mobei Jun starts to use it as leverage.

Everything feels so intense that when Shang Qinghua finally comes, he barely registers it, brain already fritzing with sensation. His voice breaks into a silent cry anyways, and his legs tremble violently with the force of it.

It hits him harder than the first one did; compared to this, that one had been just a simple teaser. Shang Qinghua finds himself falling completely apart and unable to put himself back together. Mobei Jun keeps using him, keeps snapping his hips forward while Shang Qinghua makes soft, wrought noises. 

He loses track of how much time passes, happy to be pliant and wet and welcoming as Mobei Jun finds his own end. Mobei Jun stutters in Shang Qinghua with a groan but keeps moving, pinning him down harder. Shang Qinghua melts into the mattress as he feels him spill inside, days worth of frustration finally let out.

Shang Qinghua is sure he blacks out at one point, or his soul leaves his body. All he can register is the sound of their heavy breathing, and the fact that his husband has yet to pull out.  

And has yet to go fully soft. 

“My king…” Shang Qinghua says, more out of habit than anything. His wrists get released, and his hair gets pushed over onto the side. There’s a bite that throbs on the junction of his neck and shoulder, and Shang Qinghua feels bruised everywhere.

“I missed you.”

And incredibly, incredibly happy. If he wasn’t rendered incapable of intelligent thought, Shang Qinghua would wrap himself up in Mobei Jun’s clothes and parade around with a self-satisfied expression.

He might later. Who knows.

“I missed you too, my lord,” Shang Qinghua says, the words sweeter this time. Mobei Jun slumps against him, less out of exhaustion and more because he knows that Shang Qinghua likes the weight of being held after he’s been worked particularly hard.

It feels like for the first time in a while, he has been allowed to be truly alone with Mobei Jun. His king is not typically the overly affectionate type, so it brings Shang Qinghua no small pleasure to feel the gentle press of his lips against his shoulder.

Later on, Shang Qinghua wants to be the one to take his time. He wants to be the one who moves slow and teasing while Mobei Jun struggles to not flip him onto his back and take him like an animal.

For now, he’s going push and shove with what little energy he has till Mobei Jun is on his back, and Shang Qinghua is sprawled back-to-chest on him like a second feast. 

Even if he’s sure he’s spent, it can’t hurt to let his lord take him till he’s fully finished.  After this, he might be able to convince Mobei Jun to sink him back into the bath and actually bathe him this time. 

It’s greedy, but Shang Qinghua wants to sit in a hot bath with the smell of rose hips filling the air. He’s definitely going to need that ointment rubbed all over him too and in this fantasy, Mobei Jun will take his time with it, running his large and capable hands over Shang Qinghua’s body. Even if he does it quickly and efficiently though, Shang Qinghua is going to need it. He knows that while his mind is more than satiated, his body is going to be in for a world of regret in the morning. 

Maybe he can spend the day lying around like a pampered consort, nestled in the furs his husband has hunted for him. There are a few tasks he needs to finish, but Shang Qinghua thinks he’s done enough to waste a day away. Maybe he can convince Mobei Jun to stay in bed with him too. 

As long as there are no more interruptions.