Archive of Our Own

Jin Ling kicks a rock and watches it tumble across the rough-packed dirt of the road in front of him. When his strides catch him up to it he kicks it again, much more viciously, feeling a kind of violent satisfaction as it smacks against the trunk of a tree and bounces away to the side of the path.

“Tch.”

It is the closest thing to a word his uncle has said in the last two hours, and it cuts deeper for the silence around it.

Jin Ling balls his hands into fists at his sides, glancing sharply at Jiang Cheng. Jiang Wanyin, Sandu Shengshou, Sect Leader of Yunmeng Jiang. His jiujiu.

Guilt roils in his gut, heavier than the stone he’d been kicking, and he crosses his arms over his stomach as if he can hold it in and stop it showing on his face as clear as the cinnabar between his brows.

If Jiang Cheng would only yell at him, then Jin Ling would feel better. Okay, he knew he shouldn’t have gone out - not without guards, definitely not without Fairy, almost certainly not without telling a soul in Jinlintai where he was going - but. Well.

He looks at Jiang Cheng again and winces as he refuses to meet his eye.

Whatever excuse felt justifiable at the time, he’s now in big, super big, stupid big trouble.

He’s a sect leader in his own right - or at least, will be when he’s old enough to properly help his other uncle, Jin Guangyao. He should be allowed to make his own decisions!

From the way Jiang Cheng ignores him, he doubts his uncle would agree. Especially not after… well.

Jin Ling stares morosely at the ground, feet dragging as they walk through the wide stretch of forest, deep and old and verdant green around them. He doesn’t get why they’re not using their swords and flying back. He can only assume the walking is just the start of his punishment.

If only Jiang Cheng would look at him, he would endure any punishment.

If only Jiang Cheng would look at him the way he wants him to, he wouldn’t be in this mess.

Jin Ling, Jin Rulan, young master of Jinlintai and the only son of the late Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli has a secret.

Had a secret.

There isn’t much in his life Jin Ling has had to struggle for. He doesn’t have parents, but there’s nothing left to fight for, there. He has his jiujiu, and his xiao-shushu, so it’s not like he’s alone in the world. He even has friends, kind of, now.

But for all the things he has, the one thing he wants most is so completely off limits he can’t even imagine being allowed to want it.

So he made a stupid mistake. A really, really stupid mistake. He thought that maybe if he just got it out of his system, the wanting would… go away.

He’d heard about it in passing, a giggling rumour passed from disciple to disciple, specifically passed through his hearing to rile him up and make him react. He isn’t sure his red-faced embarrassment was the reaction they expected, running off to hide before anyone could see his other more… physical reactions, but that’s what happened.

There’s a courtesan, they said, down at a brothel in a town with little else of note. A male courtesan, with a very particular trade. For a decent measure of gold you can do whatever you want with, or to, a man who looks almost exactly like Sandu Shengshou.

Or have done to you.

Jin Ling had hidden himself behind a peony-laden trellis, crouched to cover both the bright blush of his face and the unfortunate and immediate tent in his robe.

Jiang Cheng, Jiang Wanyin, his beloved jiujiu, the only thing in the world Jin Ling wants and cannot have.

Jin Ling looks at the broad shoulders in front of him, purple silks of Yunmeng Jiang stretched across the span of them. The proud stretch of his neck, the dark gather of his hair, the tiny freckle nestled in his nape that Jin Ling doubts anyone else has even noticed - his jiujiu, the centre of his world.

The guy hadn’t even looked that much like Jiang Cheng, in the end. Jin Ling isn’t sure if he’s disappointed or relieved by that now, but at the time it felt like a bitter insult.

Jin Ling had snuck out of Jinlintai, his sword in his hand and a pouch of gold stashed beneath his robes, alternating flying and walking to make sure nobody was following him, doubling back and taking back roads until he got to the village he’d heard of. It wasn’t hard to find the brothel, and the flash of gold was more than enough to get him the room and the company he was after. If anyone recognised him, they didn’t say anything.

He’d been nervous waiting in the room, unable to sit still and pacing from the window to the wall. When the door had opened his heart had jumped into his throat, and then - well.

He probably shouldn’t have immediately opened his mouth and blurted out “You look nothing like him!”, incredulous and angry.

Sure the guy had sharp features and his hair in almost the right style - the braids were wrong, and the guan cheaply made - his robes were purple, okay, sure, but he didn’t have the bearing of a cultivator, and were those lifts in his shoes?!

The fake Jiang Cheng had laughed and bowed to him while Jin Ling’s face had turned bright red, and if he hadn’t been trying to impersonate - BADLY - his jiujiu, he might have found the man attractive in his own rights.

“Ah, young master,” the man had said, sinking to his knees next to the low table and indicating Jin Ling should sit next to him, reaching out to pour them both tea. “If people wished to woo the real Sect Leader Jiang they would do so; for those that want the experiences I offer, a passing resemblance does well enough. Once bodies are disrobed and skin is touching, faces barely matter. Everyone looks the same in the dark.”

Jin Ling had wanted to argue, but really, what did he know of what people did in the dark? He was barely fifteen, the only thing he had in the dark were fever-hot dreams of strong arms and a deep voice and his own clammy palm.

So, he stayed and had tea with the man, whose easy conversation had relaxed him enough that by the end of their drinks he didn’t object when the man laid a hand on his knee and shuffled closer, murmuring softly in his ear. The first hand that stroked over his collar left him shivering, and he thought - he could do this.

He kept thinking that as the hand slid beneath his robes, as his own was guided between layers of loosened purple silk, as soft lips tasting faintly of jasmine touched his, unfamiliar but easy.

Right up until the door slammed open with a sharp electric CRRRACK and the real Sandu Shenshou walked in to find his nephew wrapped up in the arms of a man clearly designed to stand in for him.

Jin Ling shoots a guilty glance at Jiang Cheng and stumbles slightly over the roots of a tree grown into the path.

The rest had been a blur, after that, him and the man scrambling apart, Jiang Cheng’s firm grip on his collar dragging him out of the brothel, Jin Ling’s blood pounding so hard and fast in his ears that he could barely take in any words spoken to or around him, though he’s sure he heard Jiang Cheng yelling, a familiar tone and cadence.

And then there had only been silence, him and Jiang Cheng stomping through the forest, and nothing else.

A bird chirps happily on a branch and Jin Ling shoots it a death glare that it ignores.

“Why are we walking?” he finally asks Jiang Cheng, tone grumpy and accusatory.

Jiang Cheng’s fist tightens around his sword, knuckles stark against the deep purple leather, but he doesn’t turn to look at Jin Ling, and he doesn’t answer.

The sick feeling in Jin Ling’s gut returns, this time bringing with it a burning at his eyes. Shit. If he starts crying he won’t stop, he knows that about himself, he’s always been called a crybaby by the older disciples for it. He scrubs roughly at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve.

His jiujiu will probably disown him. He probably wants nothing to do with him after this, he’ll take him back to Jinlintai and then never let him go to Lotus Pier again. He’ll probably never talk to him again, not after that.

Jin Ling sniffs, wet and snotty, cheeks prickling with salt tears. Fuck. Fuck!! He’s nothing but a burden on his jiujiu, forcing him to escort him home like this. He should just go and save Jiang Cheng the trouble. It’s the least he can do.

“You don’t have to take me home, I’ll go myself. I won’t bother you any more!” Jin Ling yells his words as he levels his sword in front of him, mounting the floating blade with an agile leap and pointing it through the canopy of the trees to reach the sky.

He never reaches it.

Not because of the urgent shout of his uncle, as welcome as it is, or even the sudden crack of Zidian through the air behind him, a sound that even now inspires no fear, because he knows without fault that his jiujiu would never hurt him.

No, it’s the sudden whipping vines that wrap around his ankle and his sword and yank him out of mid-air that stop him from getting any higher, instead tossing him deeper into the forest to land in a mossy clearing dotted with small white flowers.

Jin Ling blinks up at the blue sky he never reached.

So that’s why they were walking.

He props himself up slowly on his elbows, wincing at a twinge in his ribs that feels like it’s going to leave a respectable bruise. Looking around the clearing it’s honestly lucky he landed where he did, on soft moss and sweet-smelling blossoms; there’s a large wide rock taking up a good quarter of the clearing, and a small pool gathering in the shade of it as a small stream curves through the woods. It’s practically idyllic.

If not for the hurried entrance via vine propulsion.

Jin Ling makes it to his feet, brushing off the accumulated forest debris and locating his sword laying not far away. Another blessing, though he can hardly imagine why any plant hostile to spiritual energy would do him such favours. Or maybe it was possessed? Jiujiu would know.

As if summoned, Jin Ling hears his name being called from a distance, frantic and worried and accompanied by the familiar crack and sizzle of Zidian.

Good, at least he still cares enough to worry, Jin Ling thinks, immediately cringing at his own pitiful thoughts.

“I’m here, jiujiu! In the clearing, I’m fine!” Jin Ling calls, trying to sound confident and nonchalant and not really getting there. He wipes his forehead with the edge of his sleeve, blinking as his vision slips into a haze. Ugh, it’s hot in this clearing.

He stumbles over to the pool, dunking his hand into the blessedly cool water and bringing some to his lips.

When he looks up, Jiang Cheng is just breaking the treeline, staring at him like a wild thing, or - no, like a hunter who’s found his prey. Jin Ling swallows, licking his lips and hoping the heat in his cheeks can be passed off as anything but the arousal it is.

“You brat, are you happy? Come here, are you hurt? Let me look at you.” Jiang Cheng’s brusqueness is almost as great a balm as the cool water. Jin Ling walks across the meadow to meet his uncle in the centre of the clearing, eyes downcast. A mumbled “I’m sorry, jiujiu. I’m fine.” is met by a disbelieving snort and Jiang Cheng roughly taking Jin Ling’s hands in his, fingers pressed against his wrist to read his spiritual energy and pass Jin Ling some of his own, purple and sparking.

Jin Ling screams.

What normally feels like home, like family, like love, instead feels like molten liquid poured underneath his skin. Jin Ling drops to his knees, wrenching his hand out of Jiang Cheng’s with all the force he can muster. Jiang Cheng just stares, wide-eyed, as Jin Ling curls into a ball on the soft green ground and waits for the fire to recede.

It does eventually fade, leaving Jin Ling with a throbbing in his core and skin tingling with fever sweat.

“Jiujiu?” Jin Ling calls weakly, though even with his eyes closed he can feel Jiang Cheng hovering over him, hands radiating warmth even though he seems afraid to touch him.

whatdoIdowhatdoIdo what went wrong Jin Ling wake up wake up I’m here I’m here, fuck, fuck, A-Ling please don’t do this to me

Jin Ling frowns, hands coming up to cover his ears. “So loud,” he grumbles, but Jiang Cheng’s words don’t stop.

Jin Ling? I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t want to hurt you - get up, please, Jin Ling -

Jin Ling grumbles more, shivering as he tries to push himself up. “I’m up, I’m okay, just stop being so loud.” His skin itches. He blinks his eyes and looks at Jiang Cheng, kneeling on the ground next to him, eyes raking over Jin Ling in a way that almost makes his skin itch more.

You’re okay, you’re okay thank the ancestors - fuck, A-Ling.

Jin Ling stares.

Jiang Cheng’s mouth isn’t moving.

“Think of a number,” he blurts out, eyes fixed on Jiang Cheng’s lips. “Don’t say anything, just think it!”

Jiang Cheng frowns, a mirror of Jin Ling’s own, mouth snapping shut where it was halfway to opening.

What? What is - fifteen - what?

“Fifteen. You were thinking fifteen.” Jin Ling looks up and meets Jiang Cheng’s eyes, and finds his own burning with tears again.

“You were worried about me. I could hear it. I thought - I thought maybe you hated me now,” and then he’s crying again, properly this time, sucking in giant gasps of air that barely seem to reach his lungs.

You can - oh, A-Ling, I could never hate you, Jiang Cheng says - no, thinks, and Jin Ling hiccups between his sobs. “Foolish brat. I should break your legs,” Jiang Cheng grumbles aloud, though Jin Ling never needed to be able to hear his thoughts to know what those words really meant. Strong arms come around him, encircling him with ease and pulling him against a broad chest. The fire ants itching underneath his skin immediately calm, soothed wherever Jiang Cheng touches.

Jin Ling burrows close, clinging to Jiang Cheng’s chest, practically curled in his lap. “That helps,” he mumbles, fingers gripping Jiang Cheng’s robes so tight they’ll undoubtedly crease. “Hurts otherwise.”

The mental conversation even seems to ease, though Jin Ling can’t tell whether that’s because of their proximity, his uncle controlling his thoughts, or the fact Jiang Cheng opens his mouth to speak. “What hurts, A-Ling? We need to figure out what this is, if I can’t use spiritual energy to heal you and we can’t fly out of here then we need to find another way to treat you. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

From anyone else the words would be soft and comforting; to anyone else Jiang Cheng’s sharp tone and air of order would sound the opposite. Jin Ling knows better.

He sniffs, calming down some so he can answer Jiang Cheng as best he can. “My left side hurts, I don’t think anything’s broken, though. I felt hot, so I drank from the pool. When you passed spiritual energy to me it felt like boiling oil under my skin. Then it went itchy, like fire ant bites, and a headache. But now it feels better.”

The hand he has grasping at Jiang Cheng’s collar loosens, fingers brushing against the smooth column of Jiang Cheng’s neck. “Oh,” he sighs, burrowing closer, face pressing against the other side of Jiang Cheng’s neck. “That feels better. Feels good.”

His words slur, feeling thick in his mouth. He opens it against Jiang Cheng’s skin, only instead of speaking more he just mouths absently at the sweet-bitter sweat there.

“You drank from the pool,” Jiang Cheng’s voice says and oh isn’t that weird, he can feel it rumbling in Jiang Cheng’s neck - “and you’re covered in pollen from these flowers.” One of the little white flowers passes in Jin Ling’s peripheral vision and he nods, happy where he is, plastered to Jiang Cheng’s front.

For a moment, anyway.

Jin Ling blinks up at the sky for the second time in an hour, dumped unceremoniously onto the ground. He looks up to see Jiang Cheng already inspecting the pool and one of the flowers, muttering to himself and looking around almost as panicked as he was when he found Jin Ling.

And then he doesn’t care any more, because the fire ants are back beneath his skin and he has to curl into a ball and moan.

He isn’t sure how long he has to wait before Jiang Cheng comes back, seconds dragging in a haze of pain and fever; it could have been one minute, it could have been ten. Jiang Cheng’s hand is a cool balm on his forehead and Jin Ling moans in relief when he feels it. He presses himself into the touch, hands grasping blindly for Jiang Cheng, who seems - is - surprised by it. I don’t know what any of this is, I don’t know what to do to fix this. I wish Wei Wuxian were here.

Jin Ling frowns, clutching tighter to his jiujiu and finding himself lifted upright, seated back in Jiang Cheng’s lap like he’s a needy child again. He knows those thoughts are Jiang Cheng’s, but why would he wish Wei Wuxian were here? He hates him, he always said so. Or at least, everyone else said he did.

His train of thought is derailed when Jiang Cheng presses his palm to the side of his neck, wide and cool and good enough to make him squirm. “Ah, jiujiu, that’s - good, feels better, please,” he whines, and he can’t help it, it feels so good after the itching and burning, everything about Jiang Cheng feels good. Jin Ling whimpers in the back of his throat, hands finding their way back to the opening of Jiang Cheng’s robes, seeking out the firm jut of his collarbone beneath the layers of purple.

Jiang Cheng stiffens beneath him, and Jin Ling can feel the movement of his throat as he swallows. He can feel it even better when he presses his face into the soft places beneath Jiang Cheng’s jaw, nuzzling in unselfconsciously. It feels good, and he likes to feel good, and why wouldn’t he want to feel good?

“Jin Ling, you -” fuck A-Ling please, I’m only a man, I’m your uncle, I can’t - I’m not meant to - you’re mine

“All yours, jiujiu,” Jin Ling mumbles, responding to Jiang Cheng’s thoughts, no longer sensible enough to tell the difference between words thought and spoken. “All yours, only want to be yours, only want you. Always wanted you.” He forces Jiang Cheng’s robes apart more, exposing more of his shoulders and chest, more blissful skin to touch, lips delivering his words into the hollow at the base of Jiang Cheng’s throat. From there Jiang Cheng can’t hide the sharp gasp he makes and immediately Jin Ling is entranced. He’s never heard his jiujiu sound like that. He presses his lips to the base of his throat again, a kiss that turns sloppy quickly, tongue lapping at the light salt taste of skin.

“A-Ling,” Jiang Cheng says, words strangling in his throat and a broad hand gripping tight at the back of Jin Ling’s robes. It only makes Jin Ling squirm more, legs now slung over his uncle’s thighs, knees hugging his hips as Jin Ling tries to get as close as possible. Jin Ling is still tugging at Jiang Cheng’s robes, getting them open to his navel now and practically climbing inside them. His hands run firm and a little sweaty across Jiang Cheng’s chest, the ridges of scar tissue rubbing against his palms in interesting ways.

He’s hard, Jin Ling realises about himself in a distant kind of way, but of course he is. He’s with his jiujiu and he feels so good, jiujiu makes him feel so good and he just knows that if he could get closer he would feel even better. When he wriggles forward again he bumps up against something that makes Jiang Cheng hiss through his teeth and yank Jin Ling backwards, but Jin Ling grips just as tight to Jiang Cheng, leaning back but refusing to be removed.

Jiang Cheng looks down at Jin Ling and Jin Ling grins. He feels a little dizzy, like the time he drank too much unwatered wine at one of the conferences, only better. So much better. He licks his lips, parched dry, and watches Jiang Cheng’s eyes track the movement. Jiang Cheng’s face is flushed as well, high cheekbones reddened and looking - debauched. Jin Ling squirms again, rocking his hips and his erection against - oh.

Jin Ling stares wide-eyed at the tent in Jiang Cheng’s robes, erection pinned against his own between their abdomens. He rocks his hips again experimentally, rubbing the two together, someone’s breath hitching as he does it again, and again, hands kneading absently at Jiang Cheng’s chest as he rubs himself against him like a cat in heat.

He can barely sort the thoughts in his head, unsure who the please and the no, yes, more belong to, but he eventually figures out from the desert in his mouth that the soft whimpered ah, ah, ah’s he can hear are his own. Jin Ling looks up at Jiang Cheng, skin prickling in a way wholly unlike the pain from before, shivery little tremors of pleasure rolling through him with increasing intensity.

“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling whines, voice hitching up in a gasp. “I’ve got you,” Jiang Cheng says, or thinks, Jin Ling can’t really tell any more, but it doesn’t matter because Jiang Cheng is here and has him and he feels so good - Jin Ling’s hips stutter and he falls forward against Jiang Cheng’s chest, the grip on his robes gone slack as he crests some unseen wave and warm relief floods through him. He comes wet in his robes, trousers clinging to him as he thrusts jerkily through it, gasping against Jiang Cheng’s bare chest, his uncle the only thing holding him upright.

Long, formless moments pass before some of the feverish fog clears from Jin Ling’s mind and he can process what’s happened, what he’s done, what he’s feeling. He shivers, cold suddenly in the absence of the fever, but wrapped in warm limbs and with a low familiar hum in the back of his mind. “Bells,” he mumbles, pressing closer to the warmth of Jiang Cheng’s body, especially the heavy line of heat nestled against his hip. The soft bells break their chimes with a discordant tinkling, followed by a stream of thought as Jiang Cheng’s attempted meditation is broken.

A-Ling please, I’m not meant to - I shouldn’t want - please, A-Ling, be better now, let that have been enough, I can’t - you’d never forgive - I’d never forgive myself - I can’t let you get hurt.

“M’not hurt,” Jin Ling protests, brow furrowing as discomfort rears its head, the sticky mess in his trousers making itself known. “You’d never hurt me. You just feel good, knew you would. Makes me feel better,” he says, face still pressed against Jiang Cheng’s chest. He never wants to leave here, not now he can touch his jiujiu. This feels so much better than the brothel. “Want you to feel better too. Want - want you, jiujiu,” Jin Ling says quietly, hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

He shivers, joints aching and heat prickling up his thighs. He tries to hide his face more, press closer, but the relief of skin contact doesn’t seem as strong as before and he whines, curling as small as he can in Jiang Cheng’s lap. “Hurts without you. Need you. Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you, brat,” Jiang Cheng says, voice rough and rasping, but Jin Ling can hear behind the words. I’ll never leave you, you’re mine, beautiful, look at you, I’m sorry. He clings closer, sobbing as another spasm of itching heat explodes across his skin. He barely notices as Jiang Cheng moves him until he feels a gentle breeze on his skin, robes slid off his thin frame and laid out beneath him, purple silk joining them as a bed is made among the moss and flowers. He blinks and time moves, the blue sky above him framing Jiang Cheng’s concerned face.

Jin Ling realises he’s naked only when he feels Jiang Cheng’s palm brush up the length of his thigh; he realises he’s hard again only when he feels the drip of precome on his stomach. He realises Jiang Cheng is naked only when his knees nudge Jin Ling’s thighs apart and Jin Ling looks down to see his stomach muscles rippling and his cock standing hard and proud.

“Oh,” Jin Ling says, an awed sigh as he looks at - well. “Big,” he murmurs, whole body prickling with warmth and need, his eyes glued to the dark and glistening head of Jiang Cheng’s cock. It looks, frankly, huge compared to his own, but then all of Jiang Cheng towers over Jin Ling, broad and solid in a way that makes Jin Ling’s mouth water.

He squirms a little, hooking a leg around Jiang Cheng’s hip and nudging him closer. He doesn’t stop to wonder why they’re naked, what’s led them here, the important thing is they are and he wants this so very much. “Jiujiu please,” Jin Ling says, gaze trailing up Jiang Cheng’s body to meet his eyes again. The expression there steals the air from Jin Ling’s lungs, concerned, yes, but also filled with what can only be lust. Jiang Cheng wants him, and Jin Ling could never have imagined he would ever get to see that look on Jiang Cheng’s face, let alone directed at him.

“Please,” he whispers, hands stroking up Jiang Cheng’s shoulders and curling around the back of his neck. “Please jiujiu, I need you.” He’s certain in that exact moment that if Jiang Cheng doesn’t get inside him soon, he’ll die.

What he isn’t prepared for is Jiang Cheng leaning down low and catching his lips with his own, kissing Jin Ling with more tenderness than he’s ever felt in his life.

Jin Ling lies helpless as Jiang Cheng kisses him, his heart thumping heavy and high in his chest, climbing into his throat with a needy cry. Tender kisses turn heated, Jin Ling digging his fingers into Jiang Cheng’s hair to pull him harder against him, Jing Cheng bracing a broad palm against Jin Ling’s ribs and pressing hard enough Jin Ling is sure he’ll bruise.

The hand on his chest is the only thing that holds Jin Ling down as Jiang Cheng wrenches himself away, eyes wild and hair falling free of his guan in piecemeal strands. Jin Ling can only squirm, trying to reach and pull Jiang Cheng back down as he leans to the side and retrieves something small from the pile of robes beside them.

“Quiet, A-Ling. I’m here.”

Jin Ling stills beneath Jiang Cheng’s palm and watches as his uncle unstoppers a small vial, spilling oil across his hand. He’s not a complete idiot, he read some of the spring books Ouyang Zizhen slipped him last time they all went on night hunts together, he just never thought he’d be... here. Like this. A dream he never dared have, come true.

Jiang Cheng looks nervous, concern furrowing his brow as he looks down at him. Jin Ling reaches up for him again, hands patting across skin until he can brush over the creases marring his jiujiu’s handsome face. “It’s okay, jiujiu,” Jin Ling murmurs, tugging gently to coax him back down. “I want it, please, you won’t hurt me. I need it, I need you.”

That seems to be enough to set Jiang Cheng’s resolve, his head ducking low to press a kiss to Jin Ling’s brow as his hand disappears between Jin Ling’s legs. “Tell me if you need me to stop or slow down,” Jiang Cheng rumbles from above him as the distinctly odd feeling of something pressing against Jin Ling’s ass distracts him, mouth opening to say of course he will - he lets out a soft “Oh,” instead, as Jiang Cheng’s finger slides inside him.

He shifts in place, face scrunching up as he tries to get used to the weird feeling. He’d never tried, by himself, it had always seemed too intimidating. Plus the mortification if he ever got caught. But this, it feels… okay. He arches his back and pushes down on it a little, encouraging Jiang Cheng to move as he slowly starts to finger him.

His uncle is watching so intently Jin Ling almost wants to laugh. “M’not going to break, jiujiu. More, you can give me more.” He rocks back against Jiang Cheng’s finger to prove his point “Patience, brat. I’ll go as slow as I like. You don’t know the first thing about what you can take,” Jiang Cheng snaps back, twisting his finger to make his point and sending sparks off behind Jin Ling’s eyes.

He gasps, back arching high as he scrabbles to push back into the sudden burst of pleasure. That seems to be good enough for Jiang Cheng, cursing under his breath as he presses a second finger in, the stretch now enough for Jin Ling to feel properly. He whimpers, his cock sticking to his stomach with its own fluid, feeling Jiang Cheng move inside him as the discomfort turns to something softer.

Jiang Cheng seems to be the one with the fever now, his chest flushed hot beneath Jin Ling’s hands as he touches his fill, sweat gathering in the dips and valleys between his muscles. Jin Ling doesn’t think even the gods could be so handsome, certain in that moment that he’s looking at beauty incomparable to any piece of art. It’s almost enough to distract as he feels himself stretched wider again, hissing and clenching down reflexively as his muscles start to burn.

“It’s okay, A-Ling. You’re doing so well. So well,” Jiang Cheng grits out, and Jin Ling shudders as a drip of precome falls from Jiang Cheng to mingle with his own. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to relax, pushing back against Jiang Cheng’s hand again. “I’m good, jiujiu, it’s good. Feels good. Please.” It still aches a little, but his uncle is starting to look wild around the eyes and Jin Ling wants this now, wants this more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.

His uncle nods, stilted and jerky, breathing deep to centre himself. Jin Ling winces as the fingers leave his ass, the odd feeling of being filled followed by the unbearable feeling of emptiness. It doesn’t last, it won’t, not with Jiang Cheng spreading oil over his dark-flushed dick and pressing their bodies close. Jin Ling holds on, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he holds still and good for his uncle.

Jiang Cheng moves and Jin Ling feels split apart. There’s no way in this life or the next that Jin Ling would want this to stop, but that doesn’t give any relief to that first heavy pressure of something too big pressing inside him, hot and broad and somehow, perfect. “Breathe, A-Ling,” Jiang Cheng reminds him, though his jiujiu seems to be breathing in short gasps himself, arms shaking as he eases himself forward and sinks deeper inside Jin Ling.

Jin Ling takes a deep breath, and then another, fingertips digging hard into the meat of Jiang Cheng’s shoulders. What feels impossible proves itself possible when Jiang Cheng bottoms out, his hips laying flush against Jin Ling’s ass where he’s sheathed to the root. His hands shake when Jin Ling relaxes his death grip on Jiang Cheng’s shoulders, breathing and feeling the heavy weight of Jiang Cheng inside him.

Inside him. Jin Ling whimpers, pulling his legs up to curl around Jiang Cheng’s hips, ankles hooking together behind him. He feels full, so full, not in the way of overeating or anything else he’s experienced, but like all of him has been pushed aside to make room for something new. What hurt there is fades quickly, though whether that’s a trick of his core or simply how it goes, Jin Ling couldn’t say. He thinks about asking his uncle for half a moment, but from the way his head hangs from his shoulders and his breathing comes heavy, Jin Ling doesn’t think he could answer him right now.

He slides his hands up from Jiang Cheng’s shoulders to cup his neck, brushing aside sweat-damp strands of hair, travelling up further to stroke at his cheeks, tracing those sharp cheekbones he loves so much. “Feels good,” he whispers, legs squeezing lightly around Jiang Cheng’s middle. “Feels real good. You can - you can move, jiujiu. Want you to.”

Jiang Cheng tilts his face into Jin Ling’s palm, lips catching in a passing kiss that seems to brand Jin Ling’s hand with its heat. And then he starts to move, and Jin Ling doesn’t have room left to catalogue individual sensations as he gets immediately overwhelmed by everything.

He can feel it in his throat, he thinks, gurgling in the back of his mouth as Jiang Cheng slides out and then back in, feeling all the bigger for the momentary absence. Jiang Cheng groans and Jin Ling can feel it in his bones, echoing back out of his mouth as he matches his uncle in this as he does so much else.

Jin Ling shudders as Jiang Cheng starts moving more, harder and with greater intent as he thrusts and - fucks him, and gods if Jin Ling had known this was what it was like, that this could be his - he digs his hands into Jiang Cheng’s hair and holds on as his pace quickens, his breath rasping rough against Jin Ling’s cheek. Once is never going to be enough. He can’t go on without this, not now he has it.

“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling whines, writhing against Jiang Cheng  and pushing himself up to meet him, the slap of skin loud in the peaceful clearing and his heartbeat keeping time in his ears. For his part Jiang Cheng just moves harder and faster, a hand fumbling between them and gripping Jin Ling tight, sloppy with precome as he strokes him once, twice, and then Jin Ling feels nothing but the cry in his throat and the wave of pleasure that drags him out to sea as he comes wet and hot between them.

Jiang Cheng grunts, burying his face against the bony ridge of Jin Ling’s shoulder as he follows, though all Jin Ling can feel is a spreading heat and a blissful dream as he floats pinned to the earth by Jiang Cheng’s body.

Jin Ling blinks up at the clear blue sky, the third time proving infinitely more pleasurable than the previous two as he finds himself on his back on the clearing once more. He stretches out his legs, toes curling, an ache in his thighs and ass that feels like satisfaction. A hand passes a damp cloth over his forehead and Jin Ling leans into the touch, his head falling to the side to look up at Jiang Cheng. He must have passed out somehow, missing moments between the flood of pleasure and now.

“Your fever seems to have broken,” Jiang Cheng offers, and Jin Ling nods, struggling up on to his elbows. Both of them are re-dressed in their trousers if nothing else, and his cheeks burn at the visual reminder staining his of what he’d done before. He licks his lips, mouth dry and sticky like sugar, voice rasping when he speaks.

“Doesn’t hurt anymore. Can’t hear anything weird any more either. I think you fixed it. You -” he flops back down against the moss and the soft pile of robes beneath him, groaning and covering his eyes. “You probably hate me. I’m sorry, jiujiu.” For once it doesn’t feel like he can even cry about it, worn out and drained, even if he’ll remember what he got here every day of his life. Even if his jiujiu never wants to see him again.

He jumps as a cold, wet cloth hits his chest with a wet slap. “Brat. Will you quit that. You think I’m going to spend so much time raising you just to leave you behind? What do you take me for? Don’t think you’re getting off that easy, you have a lot of apologies to make for the panic you caused by running off. I’ll have to stick around to make sure you fulfil every one of them.”

Jin Ling uncovers his eyes slowly, peering up at Jiang Cheng. His words sound gruff but Jin Ling doesn’t need stupid mind-reading powers to know what his uncle is saying, or to read the softness around his eyes. A smile slowly breaks out across his face, turning into a full fledged grin when Jiang Cheng scowls and slaps the cold cloth against Jin Ling’s cheek.

“Don’t give me that look! We have a long way to walk before we’re out of these woods and don’t think I’ll be carrying you just because you get tired, you’re not a baby any more. Put some damn clothes on.”

Jin Ling yelps at the cold sting of the cloth, rolling away and wobbling up to his hands and knees. Maybe everything will be okay. Maybe everything will even be better than okay. Maybe this was actually the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Even if he has to walk home.

--------------------

[Epilogue, two weeks later]

Jiang Cheng cradles his head in his hands, eyes staring sightless down at the book laid out on the table in front of him. He sits in the library pavilion at Jinlintai, the quiet chatter of disciples passing beyond a window facing one of the many courtyards filled with blossoming peony and clean-clipped hedges. Beyond that, he knows his nephew will be waiting for him in his rooms, as he has done every day since Jiang Cheng returned to Jinlintai, seemingly insatiable and unfortunately for Jiang Cheng, irresistible. No matter what arguments he makes, once crossed a line becomes so blurred it’s barely an obstacle and his nephew is a stubborn boy.

He wonders where he gets that from.

His eyes tracking down the rows of characters, wishing them to change and tell him anything but what they say. Unfortunately for him, the words stubbornly refuse to move, and all he can do is read them again with a heavy guilt in his gut. What’s done cannot be undone, but why do these things always have to happen to him?

The Kissing Pool;

Nestled in the midst of a glade of moss and white flowers, the pool feeds into the magically-attuned roots of this portion of the forest. It is considered a possible source for the hostile reactions of the surrounding flora to any uses of spiritual energy; all attempts to utilise these powers within range will cause the flora to remove the source and throw them into the glade, though practitioners are rarely seriously hurt by the fall.

The flowers tap into the traces of recently-expelled spiritual energy and cause a mild fever, which draws the practitioner to drink from the pool itself. Once consumed, the water travels through the meridians and induces a need for close intimate contact with another. Should spiritual energy be shared through the infected host it will mix with the existing effects and cause a temporary mental link from the infected to the assisting practitioner, though this does not seem to cause any damage or harm to either person and fades within the hour.

It is believed the purpose of the infection is to spread the traces of the water from infected host to a secondary individual, though if the new infectee has not been previously affected by the fever, then the infection will die out in the passing. No evidence has been gathered of any long-lasting effect of this passing to any individual, cultivator or otherwise. A kiss is enough to pass the infection along, and it ceases affecting the original host once it has been passed. This is why local inhabitants call this ‘the kissing pool’.