Work Text:
Yan Wushi notices a hint of blue in his soon-to-be husband's eyes, so faint you wouldn't catch it. A drop of blue, like a ring that coils around his iris, beautiful, yet as if to mock him. It's like a scar within the dark brown, a memory of the years Shen Qiao lived as a blind man.
Captivating, but what right did he have to call it that?
Of course, he shouldn't be thinking things like that right now. At least, not today.
"So?" Shen Qiao's slow, drawn out syllable snaps him back into himself.
Yan Wushi's smile falters but he catches it, quirks it up on one side. He finishes inserting the golden hairpins that line Shen Qiao's face. His fingers trace a purple gem inlaid in the gold, a gift in the dowry he used to claim the Xuandu sect leader.
"You look…" he doesn't know how to continue. There's a million words, intricate lines of poetry he can use to describe all he's seeing, feeling about the man clad in all red before him, but none of it feels right. Shen Qiao looks up at him with his lustrous gaze and Yan Wushi's heart shakes.
"You look…happy."
There's a tinge of disappointment on his soon to be husband's brow. Yan Wushi knows his incompetence is unbecoming, pushes away the pieces inside of him that clamor to tell A-Qiao how he truly feels, but it's hard. Harder than any duel between half immortals.
Yan Wushi isn't an honest man.
Admitting his wrongs–his attempts at destroying the confidence and good nature of his beloved, harming him while injured and destroying his trust–is such a foreign concept. Uncharted territory for a man who has seen the world and beyond. Yet…pretending none of it happened at the end of the day is equally near impossible.
He loves Shen Qiao, that fact is indisputable. It's such a vile, obsessive feeling that rips at him, and oh so welcome. But there's fear. A fear of making the same mistakes again–losing his trust again--that's been enacting heavenly tribulations within his mind ever since.
"Happy?" Shen Qiao opens his pink tinted lips, "I suppose I am. Our wedding ceremony starts in an hour. I'm bowing to the Xuandu ancestors to bless this bond and devoting the rest of my life to the one I love. But…" he pauses. Yan Wushi's gaze is like a cold fire trained on the microexpressions of his face.
But what?
"Instead of happy, I'd describe myself as calm. Calmer than I've ever been, even more so than attaining enlightenment from the Zhu Yang Ce." A soft smile brightens the room like the grace of the eastern sunrise. Shen Qiao's hands rise up to hook around Yan Wushi's neck and lie pliant there. "You understand, don't you, Yan-zongzhu?"
He does. All too well. Since the moment Shen Qiao kidnapped his heart without ransom all those years ago, Yan Wushi had been more familiar with the calmness of companionship than in his 40 years of life prior.
And that's exactly why he's over thinking.
Shen Qiao hums a light sound and waits for his lover's kiss. A kiss that doesn't come, and Yan Wushi's pulling out of their entanglement. The blue in those eyes stings him.
He coughs, "I need to make sure the preparations are going smoothly. A-Qiao, won't you save your sweet kisses for the consummation night?"
It's unlike him to be so riled up over insecurities, but he quickens his pace out of the dressing room without looking back.
They had just finished getting dressed in the ceremonial garb, a lavishly layered and embroidered matching set. On Yan Wushi, it looks regal and fit for the emperor himself while on Shen Qiao, it softens his figure into a flowing immortal. Like yin and yang, a harmonious pairing.
The grounds of Xuandu Sect are springing with activity and celebration. Purple clouds hang over the peaks as if to officiate the marriage as one agreeable to the heavens, enhanced by the red tinted lanterns and streamers curling up the mountain stairs. It's all so perfect, so meticulous, that Yan Wushi finds himself lost of things to control. Bian Yanmei surprises even him with his organization.
But, it's too late to turn back–it was largely an excuse to run away, anyway. Yan Wushi doesn't imagine the look of Shen Qiao standing alone in the dressing room.
Luckily, the sect derives power and meditation through its connection to nature, and Yan Wushi jumps through the rocky steppes wantonly. He stops only when the festivities no longer remain in earshot.
"Don't be daft, just stay close to him and reassure him!"
"Why are you running away?"
He can hear them, the pieces of his fractured soul that refuse to meld into one. Yan Wushi scoffs and makes to sit down on a shaded rock, but realizes it'd dirty his robe and opts to stand. His foot taps the ground in annoyance.
Because they're right. Why is he running away?
His hair is done up into a high ponytail, tenderly cared for by his Shen Qiao, and the breeze seems to tug on it, ruthlessly, angrily. And then, he feels a pair of eyes lock onto him from beyond the bushes. He turns around, composes his inner qi into threads, ready to teach whoever dares to mess with him a lesson. And then he sees him.
The likeness of Qi Fengge is etched into the mountainside, like an imposing god.
"Hah! So what, you've dragged yourself up from hell to piss me off on my wedding day? Telling me not to tarnish your good disciple's reputation?" Yan Wushi laughs almost hysterically. He points at the carving and drops decorum–it's not the real one, anyway.
"A-Qiao is mine, in heart and body. I hold his everything," he starts, and then finds the words pent up over the past few months stream out of him like a tidal wave. "He needs me, he loves me. I'm his calm. And I…I've long lost to him."
It's mid-summer, there should be the endless cry of cicadas, and yet there is stillness. He doesn't even feel silly that he's talking to air.
"He's my hope," he exhales, carried into the breeze, "he's the reason I believe there's good in this world. I've lived through hypocrisy, hell, I am the product of it. All these orthodox cultivators will treat you to tea and chat about the arts with a smile, all the while having their teacups stained in posion. They never take a sip, but you do. They put up the front of morality while killing you slowly. But A-Qiao…" A memory of an abandoned Buddhist monastery flashes over his eyes, turning them introspective.
"A-Qiao would drink my cup and his own without a word. Tell me, does such a good person in this world exist in multiple?"
His chest hurts again, but its a feeling so different, so pure. It's a feeling Yan Wushi forces himself to suppress on trivial days, but not today. This once, he accepts that his entire being is overwhelmed with affection to the point that qi deviation wouldn't be as painful.
Qi Fengge sits motionless, wise eyes creased under the weight of time. And yet, the fluttering trees brush their canopy shadows over his chin, creating the illusion of him stroking his beard.
The leading expert in the jianghu, master of the Huanyue Sect…finds solace in his misgivings over this carving.
"You want him to be happy, live a fulfilling and peaceful life. You want him to have a trustworthy partner that will stand by his side." It's a statement, as if he knows all too well Shen Qiao's adoptive father's wishes. And then, he sighs out, like the exhalation of impurities.
"I intend to give that to him."
Then, what are you doing here, and not with him?
Yan Wushi flinches. It's not a voice in his head, nor is it a sound he hears externally, yet the question resounds through every fiber of his body. The true voice of an ascended being is one that echoes nature, existence itself, and he's no match.
The bamboo stalks shiver, producing a hollow melody. And then there's silence. Yan Wushi collects his thoughts, casts a narrow glare at Qi Fengge once more before jumping down to the sect grounds.
Shen Qiao is no longer in the dressing room. But he finds Yu Shengyan cleaning up the boxes the fine silks arrived in.
"Shizun," Yu Shengyan greets, cups his hands, "congratulations on your marriage."
Yan Wushi's mood is unstable while he waves him up. "Where did A-Qiao go?"
Had he thought Yan Wushi didn't want to go through with it?
"He left shortly after you, said he was going to talk to someone before the ceremony began."
"Mm. Then I'll wait for him at the altar." He doesn't spare his disciple another look and walks out.
The wedding robes are thicker, tighter, and he finds himself starting to sweat. Of course, this is all due to the fabric and not at all from the way his heart hammers in his chest as he spots Shen Qiao standing in the distance. He's hovering in the garden outside the sect leader's courtyard, not quite at the plaza yet and not quite hiding away, either.
Shen Qiao is facing away from him, but angled just enough to see the faraway look in his eyes. He's dazed, unhearing to Yan Wushi's call of his name. And Yan Wushi can't help the itch inside of him to act out.
Hot breath tickles the soft nape that peeks out under the high collar, strong arms snake around the small of his back. Shen Qiao yelps but is bound in place, he can only tilt his head back to rest on Yan Wushi's shoulder in order to catch sight of his captor. And when their eyes meet, Shen Qiao's face blooms red like fresh plum blossoms.
Yan Wushi is a smart man, just one look at the way his beloved melts into his arms tells him clear as day that he is loved equally. And so he shakes off his nerves with a laugh.
"My A-Qiao, was I gone for so long that you've resorted to sighing away the time like an abandoned concubine?"
Those lovely brows of his pinch together as Shen Qiao processes his words, and then attempts to shrug him off. It doesn't work.
"I wasn't…" the protest in his tone drops off, like he catches his tongue. Yan Wushi smiles at him and breathes in his scent.
"Why are you blushing so much, baobei?" he trails kisses on Shen Qiao's temple, "Am I that handsome?"
"Shameless…We're standing outside." Shen Qiao doesn't deny his words, cheeks, neck, and shoulders nearly emitting steam from the embarrassment. "What happened to saving the kisses for the bedroom?"
"A-Qiao."
He stiffens at the baritone whisper on his neck. "Hm?"
"I love you."
"!!"
Yan Wushi doesn't know how to apologize, but he will do all he can to pay off his debts. Slowly, over as many years as it will take.
"I know." The utterance is barely audible, like trying to grasp the morning mist, but Yan Wushi hears it. He chuckles.
It seems neither of them can be straightforward with each other.
"Apologies for barging in to your lovey-dovey moment, but everything is ready. The Xuandu disciples have all gathered at the plaza. All we're missing is you two."
Yan Wushi glares at his annoying eldest disciple. Bian Yanmei doesn't budge, just ticks off a line on his to-do list. Shen Qiao finds an opening and pushes Yan Wushi's hands off of him with a bit of qi, steps out.
"Let's go," he says with a cough.
…
The Xuandu Sect's plaza is wide and broken up by layers. The last time Yan Wushi spent time here, he was in his twenties and it had been bleak, empty. Now, red blanketed every nook and cranny. An abundance of spectators from once opposing sects, smiles and frowns alike, stand in attendance to witness the unity of the century.
Yan Wushi never particularly felt that he belonged anywhere, especially not here…but this scene wasn't too bad.
His A-Qiao walks by his side, so close he can sling a hand around his waist and connect them at the hip, but he refrains. For right now, in front of his sect, Yan Wushi wants to be serious, so serious that no one has scruples over his motivations.
They reach the foot of the altar and Yan Wushi gives Shen Qiao's hand a light squeeze under the hem of their robes.
"Commence the Baitang."
Tan Yuanchuan overlooks them and announces with a qi infused voice, "One worship heaven and earth."
Shen Qiao tilts his head and brings his arms up, preparing for a standing bow, but feels a tug on his sleeve and glances up. "Wha–"
Yan Wushi descends to his knees on the cold stone tiles and straightens his back, hands overhead. And then, between the murmuring and A-Qiao's surprise, he shows the heavens just how devoted he will be–no, he is.
Shen Qiao bites his lip, feels how his teeth tremble with the sour feeling in his throat. He follows suit, dropping to his knees and kowtows without hesitation.
Tan Yuanchuan coughs lightly from surprise before continuing, "Two worship Gaotang."
They sit up on their heels and face the altar. A newfound resolution fills their eyes, unspoken yet a perfect mirror of each other.
The seats on both sides of the altar are unoccupied, but not empty. Yan Wushi knows they are reserved for Qi Fengge and the parents Shen Qiao never knew. His as well, in a way.
They kowtow again, and Qi Fengge's statue looms in Yan Wushi's mind.
"Husband and husband make obeisance."
Their final bow, and it's one they take as a vow. A vow to be loving partners, live with and for one another, and to Yan Wushi, a vow to apologize.
When he raises his head, he spots the delicate curtain of hair that blocks Shen Qiao's face from view. Even though it's only for a second, he feels giddy, impatient. He wants to see the tender and rippling blue in the eyes that only look at him.
"Sent into the bridal chamber," he hears Tan Yuanchuan announce with a strain to his words, but he doesn't react. Doesn't move.
Shen Qiao whispers out a breath for his own hearing as he sits up, but he's too slow to hide the shape of his lip movements. Yan Wushi reads it, and then hears it clear as day in his heart.
I love you, too.
There's a rosy tint to Shen Qiao's ears but his expression is one of serenity. He smiles at his husband, and Yan Wushi smiles back.
An applause starts and it soon spreads around the crowd, thunderous like the cracking of fireworks on new years. Yan Wushi stands first, extending a hand for Shen Qiao to take. The mountain peak glimmers in a purple and orange gradient, welcoming in the evening. The sun's refractions frame Shen Qiao in a warm glow that turns the ends of his robe sheer. In that moment, he looks like a wandering immortal.
Yan Wushi doesn't listen to the crowd as they cheer for longevity, as the sound of his own heartbeat washes away all distractions. He sees in Shen Qiao's half-lidded eyes that he's thinking of their next ceremonial actions and a bubble of laughter fills his throat.
"Come, A-Qiao," he pulls him close, leans his head down to gently rub noses. "Or should I call you lao gong?"
Shen Qiao's expression stutters as he tries to push away, but Yan Wushi is eager to officiate the marriage. He activates his inner qi and the two disappear on the spot in a gust of wind.
Yan Wushi is practically carrying his husband in his embrace, arms fit snug in the dips of his back and shoulders. "It's not over yet, A-Qiao," he laughs into the wind as he jumps towards the sect leader's courtyard again.
They've cast their vows, and now they must exchange a piece of their souls.
When they arrive, a set of cups and a pot of wine sits on a low table near the bed. Yan Wushi releases his beloved and pours two glasses, gives one to the hands that blankly accept it, and then is climbing on top the bed. He extends a knee out by folding a leg over the other.
"Sit."
And Shen Qiao gingerly sits.
They're so close, he can feel the heat of Yan Wushi's skin through his thick robes. He looks at the cup in his palm. It's small, nothing more than a ritual item, and yet it feels heavier than a sword. More precious. He doesn't notice when Yan Wushi interlocks their arms, but his body moves on its own and downs the alcohol. It's a sharp sting, and then it vanishes, like a prick of a needle.
Yan Wushi's eyes are crescents under deep crows feet, looking all the more devilish and charming. He's like a cat, smugly relishing the sight of his prey acting obedient. He lifts his chin and drinks his cup.
"What should I do with you, A-Qiao. So impatient," he clicks his tongue.
"I…I just want to be with you forever," Shen Qiao confesses, "whether we have a wedding or not, whether the heavens or jianghu accept us–I want to be with you. I'm not impatient for anything."
Somehow, he had thought he made a sound case for his flustered actions. Yan Wushi smiles deeper, leans in to kiss those pink lips of his. They have the flavor of wine, now soothed into a dull spice. Utterly addicting.
"Mmm…wait, Yan-lang–"
Yan Wushi's eyes pop open. "What did you call me?"
Shen Qiao shies away from his gaze. His mouth opens and closes a few times, as if digesting the title that slipped out between kisses. "I just…don't know what to call you now."
"That's fine, keep calling me that tonight."
The simmering atmosphere flares up at his words. They both know what happens next, and to the extent it'll go on for.
Shen Qiao's legs pitch in towards Yan Wushi's crotch, and just a subtle movement would reveal the desire swelling under the layers of red. He doesn't initiate, but goes in to pepper fairy-light kisses on Yan Wushi's lips. He traces the shape of his smile with the tip of his tongue.
"You look so handsome," he pulls away for a breath. Shen Qiao has his eyes trained on the beads of sweat that run from Yan Wushi's chin to the dip of his collar. "Can you…keep this on while you take me?"
It's a musical sound, one that tickles Yan Wushi's ears and they can't help but heat up. He had remained passive for a while so as to not scare away his husband, but now that he was so openly desired…
He flips them over, easily pinning Shen Qiao to the bedsheets. The bed is lined with flower petals and lotions, and Yan Wushi doesn't hesitate to uncork a tall vial and sniff at it. It smells of peach, he knows exactly what it's used for.
"My A-Qiao, shall we get started? The wedding festivities don't end until the next morning, you know."
Shen Qiao eyes the lube that swirls around Yan Wushi's palm and withstands his embarrassment. They've had sex before, but something about this time feels strange. New. Like he's a virgin again.
He doesn't get much time to stew in his nerves because Yan Wushi expertly drills his tongue deep into the dampness of his mouth, expelling outside thoughts in a second.
"Mmm…hahh, ah! Yan-lang, ah…"
Yan Wushi peels Shen Qiao's robes off with one hand, blindly searching for the entrance he wants to stuff full with his seed. He feels tyrannical, consumed with the need of becoming one with his A-Qiao.
His remorse and apologies can wait for tonight. For now, he wants to engrave himself into Shen Qiao, steal a portion of his soul force for himself and plant his own soul force into that hole. Yan Wushi wants it so badly he moans when his fingers pierce into Shen Qiao.
The lube is cold, but the tight passage is so warm–warmer than he remembers it ever being. Shen Qiao gradually accepts the invasion while his head is occupied by a raid of kisses. He unconsciously winds his arms around Yan Wushi's shoulders, uncaring that the movement strips his own body of the loosened robes.
"Baobei, you're so tight. I'm so hard right now, it's not going to fit."
Shen Qiao makes a whimpering noise into their kiss. His hole twitches with the shame he feels, and then Yan Wushi feels him trying to relax on his fingers. He slips a third finger in and scissors them around to stretch the depths of his cavern, kisses down Shen Qiao's neck as a reward.
"It'll fit. I want you too much," Shen Qiao says, almost to himself. "It has to fit."
He raises his legs to wrap around Yan Wushi's waist in a shaky motion, clinging to him like a lifeline. Shen Qiao doesn't know how beautiful he looks, hair scattered, eyes wet with the buzz of alcohol. The sight pulls at Yan Wushi's heartstrings.
"You're so proactive today. You love me that much?" he can't help but tease, although there's no punch to his tone. "This appearance of mine is more your type than before, is that it?"
Shen Qiao shakes his head. He reaches down to cup Yan Wushi's cheeks, presses the slightly damp fingertips to the sensitive flesh underneath his eyes.
"After you left, I went to visit someone before the ceremony," he begins with a shaking voice. Yan Wushi pauses his movements down below and nods. He's heard this before.
Shen Qiao quirks up a smile and says, "I went to pay a visit to my shizun, but he was already talking to someone else." He pauses, kisses the tip of Yan Wushi's nose. "Do you understand?"
"..."
He does.
A blush so deep crimson sweeps over every inch of Yan Wushi's skin, so fast that he can't subdue it.
Shen Qiao had gone to visit the statue of Qi Fengge, but stumbled upon him venting his emotions towards it instead. Thinking of the embarrassing things he said that weren't meant for anyone else's ears but his own, for the very first time in his life, Yan Wushi wants to enter seclusion and never come out.
Seeing the rapid change in his lover, a giggle escapes Shen Qiao's kissed red lips.
"I know you'll never hurt me again. You're even so careful not to stretch me past my limit right now. But you have to trust me, too. Trust me when I say that I want you."
I want you, all your mistakes, all your ruthlessness, and all the love you have for me.
His nimble fingers spread the hem of Yan Wushi's robe and lock onto the unbearably hard cock that had gone ignored this whole time. The veins pop out along the shaft, enticing him in to feel more. A low growl rings in his ears as Yan Wushi positions himself at his neck and bites. Hard.
"Ah!" Shen Qiao is unprepared for the pointed teeth that stab into his skin.
"Seems like I've underestimated you, A-Qiao. Haha…Alright then. I'll fuck you so good even begging for mercy won't stop me."
Yan Wushi sees red, feels it eroding his cultivated self-restraint. Within moments, he's pressed against the softened entrance and slips in with the ease of Shen Qiao's arousal. They both moan, long and pitched, at the satisfaction of uniting.
"See? You fit," a misplaced chuckle, like relief, exits Shen Qiao. He lifts his legs a little higher, allowing for more room.
And Yan Wushi doesn't wait for the rush of dopamine to subside, instead chases it, pistons his hips in uneven thrusts. Shen Qiao leaves his mouth agape, releasing small cries with every inward attack. His robe is long discarded in a halo around his figure, no more than a suggestion than an article of clothing.
His prostate is slammed into again and again, sending lightning through Shen Qiao's body. Everywhere it touches catches fire, unable to be quelled. And the wet squelches of flesh meeting flesh resound in the bridal chamber, impossible to ignore. He hears himself getting fucked, his own voice producing lewd gasps, and it overstimulates him.
Tears mist over his eyes and he wants Yan Wushi to be gentler, but what spills off his tongue is a repetition of three syllables.
"I love you. I love you–hnngg ah! Aah love you…!"
Their hands somehow meet each other unconsciously, and they grip onto the sweaty palms for stability. To hold onto a piece of driftwood in a hurricane of pleasure.
It doesn't take long for Shen Qiao's abdomen to give rise to flames, and he begs for release. "Yan-lang, faster! Ohh please–please."
Yan Wushi's cock drives in deep, so deep that Shen Qiao swears he feels his body mould around its shape with each thrust. Shrieks emit from his throat incessantly, pleas and curses alike. And his husband eats the state of him right up. Yan Wushi can barely keep a steady pace, wanting nothing more than to prove how much he loves and desires his A-Qiao with the way he fucks him.
When the climax hits, it's violent, rips the air out of Yan Wushi's lungs. He arches forward, face pressed to Shen Qiao's heaving chest as he fills him full of his cum. The heartbeat in his ear is erratic, in tandem with his own. And the way he squeezes his hole around his cock quivers as if he's not able to control it.
"Baobei. Baobei–oh, A-Qiao," Yan Wushi breathes in his presence. "I can't live without you anymore."
"Hahh…" Shen Qiao's soft hands raise up to circle his head, pulls his golden crown off so his hair falls loose. He runs his fingers through it slowly as they ride their high. "I know."
After the intense lust mellows out, a crisp calmness washes over them. Still connected in their most intimate place, their qi fluctuations influence one another like a balancing act. Yan Wushi feels exactly what Shen Qiao meant in the dressing room. It's an endless reassurance, like the gods permit him to glance into the future and see his aged hand linked with A-Qiao's. It's knowing within his soul that his past mistakes will never come between them again.
They embrace for a long time, longer than they care to admit on a much later day in the future. Yan Wushi soaks up the warmth that scratches at his heart. And then, he sits up, regains his footing.
Shen Qiao blinks up at his shadowed figure with bleary eyes. He's both hot and cold at the intensity of his stare. "What?"
Yan Wushi lifts a lock of his hair and places a kiss onto it. He smiles, "that was only round one. Didn't I tell you, the festivities will continue until morning?"
And Shen Qiao keenly feels the embers begin to rekindle in the way the cock in him swells. His insides had been rubbed into a pink, puffy mush and just the sensation of being refilled sends a shudder through his hips.
But he wants it. Slow and steady. He wants to lock eyes and seek out that hint of purple within Yan Wushi's irises that the owner himself hasn't realized exists. It's a secret that Shen Qiao is the only one who has the pleasure of knowing.
And he hopes that he'll be able to discover more secrets about his husband in the future. But that's a thought for later.