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“Come on, relax,” Feng Xin coaxes, his hand rubbing soothing circles on Mu Qing’s back. “You have to lean into the hold for this to work.”
Mu Qing, arms by his side, fists clenched, looks resolutely over Feng Xin’s shoulder, grits out, “I’m trying.” How am I supposed to relax with your arms around me and your hand pouring heat down my back?
“Maybe try relaxing your shoulders?” Feng Xin offers helpfully, a grin in his voice though he’s wise to keep any true laughter at bay. “They’re nearly bunched up to your ears.”
As Mu Qing rolls his shoulders, he thinks back to what got him in this situation. A stupid spar session. This is the problem with change after eight centuries.
Their fights had always consisted of simply beating the shit out of each other. However, their spars were more friendly, if not still rough, and used more of their skills and techniques as they challenged one another without the end goal of flattening the other. It was now a test of feats, to see who could hold the other at bay longer, or push one past a designated point.
And the damn spar session in question just had to be grappling, holding your opponent until they cried mercy. If I hadn’t flinched so hard and been unable to hide my discomfort when we grappled, I wouldn’t be here, now.
Their fight had the new rhythm, banter and insults flying between them as they look for an opportunity to strike. When Mu Qing managed to gain the upper hand and grip Feng Xin beneath shoulder and neck, pulling him back so he lost purchase with the ground, he thought he had this contest. But Feng Xin somehow turned his head, his breath stroking Mu Qing’s jaw, and taunted, “Not yet,” as he arched back to try and toss Mu Qing over him.
It wouldn’t have worked, but Mu Qing was distracted by the feel of the archer’s breath on his skin and shuddered, loosening his hold just as Feng Xin gripped his arms to drag him overhead. Next he knows, he’s kneeling on the ground, Feng Xin’s arms wrapped around him with his wrists gripped by each hand in a firm hold. That same breath fluttered along his ear, “Yield?”
Mu Qing jolted so hard, he nearly hit Feng Xin’s nose, who only laughed thinking Mu Qing was trying to break the hold. That is, until Mu Qing began trembling, a fine, steady tremble, that started in his hands and worked through his whole body in short order at the feel of so much warmth suddenly around him. He remembers thinking, Too much, too much! But the rest of his thoughts were far too jumbled to keep track of.
Feng Xin backing off and coming around to face him, concern writ deep in his amber eyes, “Woah, there. Mu Qing? What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing,” he lied, clearly still overcome with something. “Not enough… sleep.” Gods don’t need sleep, moron.
Feng Xin reached a hand out to rest it on a trembling shoulder and Mu Qing flinched from the warmth. Drawing his hand back, Feng Xin’s brow furrowed even deeper, “Did I hurt you?”
Taking a deep breath as he shook his head, clenching his fists, Mu Qing did his best to get the trembling under control using centuries of emotional practice, “It was my… mistake. I was… unprepared for the grapple and it caught me off guard.”
“We’ve grappled plenty of times and you’ve never done this?” Feng Xin questioned, concern still in his words making it difficult for Mu Qing to push him away.
Rolling his eyes, he tried to lighten the mood as he stood up, dusting himself off, “You’ve also never fully held me like that. What kind of fight move is that?” Between his nine foot saber, spiritual energy, and martial might, he’d not been in a full grapple in centuries.
Feng Xin looked up at Mu Qing, studying his face, before a gentle question tore through the air, “Mu Qing… when was the last time you were held? Just… held.”
Annoyance, that’s what he’d felt at such a personal question asked so randomly. And a sense of panic at being seen through, though he hadn’t understood why. Anger coating his words, he narrowed his eyes at Feng Xin, “That is none of your concern. I lost this challenge, so name your damn prize.”
Standing up, Feng Xin remained calm but serious, unnerving Mu Qing, who felt trapped. He’d nearly turned around and walked off, but those amber eyes kept him pinned just as surely as any grapple. “It is my concern though. If you have a battle weakness, it could affect us in the field.”
Mu Qing’s mind had gone blank, confusion rushing in at the words and anger smothering out. Watching out for any weakness was vital as a Martial God, but he didn’t understand what Feng Xin was talking about. “What weakness? That’s not a move any ghost or demon would use on the battlefield. I don’t see how that counts as…”
“That you’ve been lucky to not come across any clingy ghosts is a miracle,” Feng Xin said. “It’s a weakness that can be overcome, if you’re daring enough to undergo the training.”
Confusion still loud in his mind, Mu Qing looks around the training yard, “What kind of training?”
“Holding. You have to practice being held,” Feng Xin explained.
Being… held? Isn’t that too simple? “How will that help?” Mu Qing asked doubtfully, uncertain about such a method. Uncertain and uncomfortable.
Feng Xin took a few steps closer, invading Mu Qing’s space, their breaths merging. “You’ll be able to keep your head, and guard, when in close quarters. It’s always been easier to get underneath your guard if I get up close, Mu Qing.” And to demonstrate, he taps lightly on Mu Qing’s chin, startling him.
I won’t admit I was focused on his eyes or how his breath felt against my face so close. He always smells of forest and cinnamon, warm spice that I could get lost in. Then the idiot has to say he can get under my guard because he’s distracting me? The nerve!
“And you think holding practice will fix this?” Mu Qing swatted away Feng Xin’s hand as he stepped back, folding his arms across his chest.
“Yes,” was the simple answer.
Mulling it over, he decided adding grappling to his training routine might be worthwhile. “Fine, I’ll see it done.”
“One more thing,” Feng Xin said.
Rolling his eyes, Mu Qing quipped, “What now?”
“My prize,” Feng Xin reminded Mu Qing, “is that I’m your partner in this new training.”
“That’s better, right?” Feng Xin asks as his hand moves up Mu Qing’s spine to lightly massage the tense shoulders just rolled.
Mu Qing hisses out a breath, not answering, as he glances at the lion incense stand on the desk, calculating how much longer he has to bear with this. As with any training, he expected it to be on the field, but when Feng Xin told him to meet him in his study and sent the junior deputies away, Mu Qing was sure there was a trick at hand.
With the door closed, the bronze jerk lit an incense and said Mu Qing just has to manage for length of time it takes for it to burn before wrapping his muscled arms around Mu Qing without any further fanfare.
What did I want? For him to tell me each move he’d make? Threaten to drown me in his warmth and scent? How it’s a struggle to focus on the scent of sandalwood from the incense?
With only a slight tremor that is quelled by a deep exhale, Mu Qing manages to get through this first hold session with stiff muscles to show for his efforts and a slight headache at his temples. As soon as the incense runs out, the last bit falling to ash, he steps back from Feng Xin’s hold, resisting the temptation to shove the other man away and run.
Feng Xin studies him and Mu Qing has an urge to rub his arms, to hide, feeling bare in front of such a look after such training. But he refuses to look away and glares back with his chin raised defiantly.
With a blink, Feng Xin’s expression shifts, and a grin spreads. “Who knew the great Xuan Zhen would be nervous over some grappling practice?”
“I’m not nervous!” Mu Qing denies, his back going ramrod straight at such an insult.
“You were as stiff as a new trainee given a sword for the first time,” Feng Xin taunts.
“Shut up,” Mu Qing grouches, his ears going red at the assessment.
Patting Mu Qing’s arm in sympathy, Feng Xin picks up the incense holder and walks over to his desk, ignoring the way Mu Qing jumped at the contact. “Only one way to get you into shape, shidi: practice.”
“Don’t call me shidi.”
“So when do you want to practice again?” Feng Xin asks, smirking at Mu Qing. “Hmm, shidi?”
Irritation and embarrassment sweeping through him, Mu Qing feels qi gather into spiritual energy in his palm as he glares down Feng Xin, daring him to keep taunting him.
And the bronze man only quirks an eyebrow as his smirk grows, “Remember, whoever breaks the other’s Palace now has to pay for repairs. I don’t mind redecorating on your merits.”
“Jerk! Idiot!” With that reminder, Mu Qing quiets the energy, but storms out of the study, slamming the doors open on his way out so they bounce off the walls. Laughter follows him out and he nearly blasts energy back… It’s almost worth a few merits… but maintains his exit instead.
Screw this training. It’s not worth putting up with Feng Xin’s nonsense.
How Feng Xin talked him into hold training again, Mu Qing isn’t quite sure.
They had just left a boring meeting for all the Upper Heavenly Court, reviewing the recent changes in ghost and demon activity, the construction of the Heavens, and other routine business. As he was leaving, Feng Xin sidled up and somehow made it seem reasonable to resume training.
This is far from reasonable. What came over me that I listened to his absurd plan to try this again?
Feeling Feng Xin’s arms wrap around him, holding him close to all that warmth and strength has Mu Qing on edge. His muscles stiff as he does everything to not shove the archer away and flee. He stares over muscled shoulders, clothed in soft robes, at the incense, counting down the time and trying to breath in the sandalwood instead of the scent of the man holding him.
“Let’s try some breathing exercises today,” Feng Xin interrupts Mu Qing’s concentration. Mu Qing startles at the husky voice breaking the silence and curses inwardly with the knowledge Feng Xin can feel it with them being this close. A light chuckle and the hand on his back begins its damned circles, “We’ll start simple, just inhale three count and exhale five count.”
“I know how to do breathing exercises, idiot,” Mu Qing grits out, frustrated at being treated like a newbie.
“Then do an exercise that makes you feel comfortable, shidi,” Feng Xin’s breath teases along Mu Qing’s earlobe as fingers traces down his spine, and he almost misses the taunt. Shivering – from annoyance – Mu Qing tries to pull away to create enough space to glare at Feng Xin but the arms around him tighten in anticipation.
He’s encased by arms around his back, with a strong chest against his, while his arms hang by his sides, fists clenched tight against the onslaught of feelings. Mu Qing’s hair brushes against Feng Xin’s, his robes whispering as they rub the other’s, and he feels overwhelmed.
“Just breathe; in: one – two – three,” Feng Xin commands. “Now out with me, one – two…” As Feng Xin’s rhythmic voice guides him through the breathing, Mu Qing’s racing heart slows, his muscles relax a fraction at a time, and he sinks into the moment.
I hear a heartbeat. Not just mine, but… is that Feng Xin’s heartbeat? I can feel it, pulsing against where are chests are joined, echoing in my body. It’s… warm. With a sigh, Mu Qing relaxes and leans forward, into the hold, resting his upper body against Feng Xin to get closer to that feeling, that warmth.
Feng Xin stops mid-chant, his hand freezing in place on Mu Qing’s back in its endless circles. The heartbeat, so steady a moment before, lurches forward, galloping like a startled thing. Mu Qing opens eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed and stiffens again, worried he did something wrong.
“Was that wrong? Is there something else…”
“No, no, that was exactly right,” Feng Xin soothes, his hand resuming its circles, with a little of force to try and pull Mu Qing back against him. “I was just caught off guard at your progression. You’re learning quickly.”
“Oh,” the praise has Mu Qing’s ears going red as he exhales long and slow, relaxing back into the moment and trying to capture that relaxed feeling. I can’t hear his heartbeat anymore. Am I too close? This feels awkward now; maybe I’m not doing it right anymore? I just need to clear my mind and breathe… clear my mind… I wish his hand would stop moving. It’s distracting, leaving traces of heat on my back.
Unable to capture the moment again, Mu Qing watches as the incense runs out, ash falling on the holder and the last wisp of smoke rising up. Slowly stepping back, he frowns, “Surely I’ve trained enough to no longer have a weakness if someone grapples me? I don’t see them holding me as long as an incense stick takes to burn.”
“You still react still and flinch at the initial touch and hold. We need to get past that. Unless you’re too scared to continue, shidi?” Feng Xin asks with a solemn expression of understanding.
Mu Qing punches Feng Xin in the shoulder, “Shut up with that already!”
Laughing as he rubs his shoulder, Feng Xin teases, “I just want to help my shidi overcome his fears, what’s – hey, hey, careful! Haha!” He dodges as Mu Qing lunges for him, blocking a fist aimed for his face and taking a kick to the side.
Shortly, Feng Xin is punching and kicking back, and the two fight around the study, knocking scrolls, ink stands, and figurines off the desk and bookshelves. For all the force used, they keep it contained, not knocking any holes in the walls or floors, the furniture remaining largely undamaged, and no energy blasts in sight.
When they end up sitting back to back on the floor, debris strewn on the ground around them, Feng Xin wipes his bloody lip and chuckles as he asks, “Feel better now, shidi?”
“If you want another split lip, keep it up,” Mu Qing threatens back, knocking his head back against the bronze god. “This is coming out of your merits for stupidity.”
“Hey now, that’s not how it works,” Feng Xin grumbles, kicking at a torn book.
“It’ll teach you the value of thinking before speaking,” Mu Qing says as he rises, straightening his robes. “If you try calling me that title one more time, I won’t practice with you again.”
Amber eyes look up at him in surprise and some other emotion Mu Qing can’t name that has them glistening with fire, “So you’ll keep practicing… Mu Qing?”
Rolling his eyes, Mu Qing kicks debris out of his way and steps over other items, “I won’t give up until you say it’s sufficient.”
Feng Xin stands up and Mu Qing swears a gleam of anticipation, like a hunter about to capture its prey, enters his eyes, before he blinks and amber eyes smile, “I’ll think of some more ways to help you progress.”
With a nod, Mu Qing heads out, leaving Feng Xin to pick up the mess that has become his study.
They meet up when time allows. After Heavenly meetings, between missions, even once they practiced while on a joint mission when they had a break at a reclusive temple in the Mortal Realm.
Mu Qing has learned the knack of relaxing, leaning against Feng Xin, and allowing his breath to sync with the other man’s. To feel their heartbeats echo through his body and soak in the warmth of the moment. It was interesting to notice when Feng Xin’s heartbeat would race at odd times.
Yet, even as he can fall into this with but a few breaths, Feng Xin says it’s still not sufficient and the training goes on.
What am I missing? I ask, but he says to just keep practicing and it’ll come to me naturally. I don’t understand. Is the idiot trying to make a fool of me? I’ll ignore the incense next time and see if I just need more time.
Leaning against Feng Xin’s chest, relaxed, and breathing slow, Mu Qing soaks in the warmth of strong arms around him. The familiar rhythm of their hearts beating sooths him, as the hand on his back tracing its path puts him on edge. He breathes, deep, and lets it out slow.
“That’s it, Mu Qing, just like that,” Feng Xin encourages. Just shut up already… you never tell me what next to do.
Mu Qing takes one last look at the incense and closes his eyes, feeling nerves stretch taut through his fingers as he ignores his safety net in this sea of warmth and spice. His hands, loose by his sides, want to clench but he spreads his fingers to resist the urge.
It’s so comforting, safe, like this. I won’t admit it to him, or ever say it out loud. But I feel like I can let go and trust him to watch over me. I can lean on him and know he’s got my back. Feng Xin has always been the dependable type. Ahhh… this is why I hate him. He makes you want to give him everything.
With a soft sigh, Mu Qing rests his chin on Feng Xin’s shoulder, tilting his head slightly until it knocks gently against Feng Xin’s. I’ll just rest here a little while. He doesn’t need to know I’m recharging. Oh – there goes his heartbeat again.
The hand on his back trails up his spine, slowly, like time has changed pace, and fingers graze the back of his nape, making Mu Qing shiver. They begin to gently knead his neck, and Mu Qing sighs, relaxing more on Feng Xin’s shoulder as he goes limp against the archer, listening to the galloping heartbeat.
He feels Feng Xin tense to take his weight and almost giggles at the thought of it, but only a smile escapes in his relaxed state. Mu Qing’s arms come up but his brow scrunches. What do I do with my arms? Maybe I should just leave them by my side? I don’t know where else I’d…
A soft, husky voice asks, breath tickling his hair, “Do you want to move your hands somewhere?”
Mu Qing nods and feels his head rub against soft hair, his chin rubbing against the fabric beneath it, and stops, replying, “I… I don’t know where…”
The other hand on Mu Qing’s back slides down his back, arm, to his hand, and leads his hand to wrap around Feng Xin’s waist. “Here’s a good start, or you could move to my back like I do yours,” he suggests.
Mu Qing shakes his head and grips the fabric at Feng Xin’s waist, feeling heat flood through him at such a daring move. Yet it felt right, necessary, to hold on, and he didn’t let go even as Feng Xin’s hand traveled back up his arm to rub circles along his back again. With both hands holding Feng Xin by the sides, Mu Qing shifted just slightly closer and nudged his face into the crook of Feng Xin’s neck, breathing in the scent of forest and cinnamon, a delightful spice.
Who’s heart is racing now? I can’t tell ours apart. Ahh. He smells so good. I feel so warm and … almost cared for. It’s a sweet dream. Mu Qing loses himself in the feeling, sinking into it, and dozing.
I haven’t felt this in far too long.
How long?
Hmm… since the days of Xianle. When His Highness was free with affection and I had my mother. I miss this.
It’s been too long, Mu Qing.
I’ve grown used to it. I wonder if the idiot will let me keep doing this.
Mu Qing?
Hmm?
Go back to sleep.
I’m not sleeping; I’m practicing.
Okay… Also, this idiot will let you keep doing this.
…Good.
When Mu Qing opens his eyes, he’s on a couch with his head resting on Feng Xin’s folded up robe while Feng Xin sits in front of his desk reading over scrolls. Mu Qing sits up, feeling embarrassed that he apparently fell asleep during training. It was simply that relaxing.
Feng Xin looks up over the scrolls at the movement, “Oh, you’re up.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Mu Qing demands.
Shrugging, “I figured you could use the rest.”
Mu Qing narrows his eyes at Feng Xin, “We’re gods. We don’t need rest.”
“Can’t hurt to take a break once and a while. Refreshes the meridians to let them relax,” Feng Xin instructs.
Rolling his eyes, “I meditate for that. No need for sleep.”
“Seems you needed it if you fell asleep in my arms,” Feng Xin taunts back.
Mu Qing feels heat flow up his neck to cover his face. What does he mean wording it like that?! “Sh-shut up, y-you idiot!” Tossing the borrowed robe back at Feng Xin, Mu Qing makes a hasty exit for the door, ready to call quits to today’s training.
“You did good today, Mu Qing.”
Pausing at the door, Mu Qing calls back over his shoulder, “But I… didn’t complete the training today.”
“You were more relaxed than any time before. That’s real progress,” Feng Xin praises.
Turning around to look at the archer, Mu Qing quizzes him, “I don’t understand. I would have thought today was a failure, but you’re saying it was progress?”
“I know you don’t understand yet. But I think you’re close to figuring it out,” amber eyes sparkle as they meet Mu Qing’s, hinting at something just out of reach of his grasp.
Mu Qing rolls his eyes, “Fine, we’ll see if I figure it out soon.”
Feng Xin smiles as the slender god walks out of his study.
Mu Qing tries to think about what the next progression in the training could be, how it relates to grapples, but the sense of peace he gets in Feng Xin’s arms… in training, is far removed from any sense of battle field furor he has ever felt.
Pacing his office, he debates asking other gods for advice, but the thought of revealing the training he’s undergoing has him dismissing this outright. For some reason, it feels… personal. Like it is his and Feng Xin’s only. Why? It’s just training. Training isn’t something kept like a charm between two people. Yet I feel the need to guard this, as if it’s our treasured time… what am I thinking? I’m acting like some love spoiled dolt.
Freezing in his spot, Mu Qing’s breath stutters in his chest as his eyes widen. Love? Is that… no. He could never… not me. I’m letting the training get to me. He’s just helping me fight better. Nothing more. I need to stay rational about all of this.
Resuming his pacing, his eye is caught by a lotus incense holder on a shelf. That was my mistake. I shouldn’t take my eyes off the time. Next time, I’ll keep track again.
And maybe I should take a break to regain my senses before resuming training.
“Are you avoiding training?” Feng Xin asks after the last junior deputy makes a hasty retreat from Mu Qing’s office, closing the doors behind them at his curt order to depart.
“Why would you think that?” Mu Qing replies, sitting back in his chair at his desk and glaring up at Feng Xin.
“You’ve used nearly every excuse to avoid it recently. From missions, to reports, to deputy training, I’ve heard everything except that you’re scampering off with on an adventure with His Highness and Crimson Rain Sought Flower,” Feng Xin accuses as he leans a hip on the desk, turning the scroll around that Mu Qing was working on.
It was a basic report on supplies for his junior deputies, administrative and something he normally let a deputy handle, but was using as an excuse to fill up time. Now Feng Xin’s eyebrows raise as amber eyes look into his, a grin playing at his lips, as he taps the report, “You still too busy to practice, General Xuan Zhen?”
“You managed to catch me between projects; I was just about to head out…” Mu Qing begins, trying to think of what he can say to throw Feng Xin off track.
“No you don’t,” Feng Xin says. “Why are you avoiding training? Don’t tell me a little embarrassment is enough to scare you away, Mu Qing?”
“I’m not avoiding anything,” Mu Qing denies. “I’ve just been too busy lately so you’ll have to wai-”
Feng Xin leans across the desk, quickly caging the ivory god in by placing his hands on the armrests of the chair. His breath brushes over Mu Qing’s face, causing his bangs to flutter and his heart to stutter, as amber eyes burn with mischief and that something. “Do you really not have time for me, Mu Qing?”
Struggling to think past amber, warmth, and the scent of spice, Mu Qing stumbles out, “I have… reports, and projects…”
“Not even one incense stick worth of time?” Feng Xin tilts his head, does something with his eyes, and Mu Qing feels his heart squeeze, wanting to give in, to give him everything. “Let me stay, Mu Qing?”
Heart pounding in his ears – bump bu-bump bump bu-bump – Mu Qing gulps and finds himself nodding, the faint sound of his voice coming to him as he agrees, “Just for one incense, we can train.”
Feng Xin smiles and backs up off the desk, returning air to Mu Qing’s lungs. He feels lightheaded, like he just climbed a mountain and was given a breath of clear spring air. Coming around his desk, straightening robes already in order, he grabs the lotus holder to set up jasmine incense.
“You should take breaks more often,” Feng Xin comments.
“This isn’t a break,” Mu Qing reminds him. “It’s training.”
Feng Xin smiles, almost sheepish, like he’s been caught, and the grin grows wider under Mu Qing’s glare. Raising his hands in innocence, Feng Xin agrees, “You’re right, training, we’re training.”
Mu Qing lights the incense, a task Feng Xin normally does, and sets it in the holder. Then he steps towards Feng Xin, into his waiting arms. The feel of muscled arms enclosing around him has him holding back a sigh. He leans against the strength that is Feng Xin, resting his chin on soft, red fabric.
Watching the incense rise, Mu Qing debates for a moment and then brings his hands up to grip Feng Xin’s robes at his waist, deciding it should be safe as long as he keeps his eyes open. Feng Xin hums, a soothing rumble that shoots through Mu Qing all the way to his toes, as warm hands pull him in tighter for a moment. Then those nimble hands begin their usual dance along his back, tracing patterns and circles that drive him crazy and soothe him at the same time.
Mu Qing nuzzles in closer, resting his face against the side of Feng Xin’s head. His hands itch to move, to wrap around the solid warrior, but he can only bring himself to bunch up a little more of the robes. Melting into the warmth and spice, he doesn’t even notice that the incense is near its end, his eyes unfocused.
“Mu Qing…” Feng Xin’s whisper is soft, husky, as he turns his head slightly so his breath rustles Mu Qing’s hair, sending shivers down his spine. “…have you figured it out yet?”
Pulling his mind up from the haze of warmth and safety, Mu Qing starts to pull back only to have the arms around him tighten, a familiar occurrence. Nestled in the warmth, he frowns, unable to puzzle out what Feng Xin wants from him. “I’m close, just a little more practice…” He won’t admit failure yet.
“What if I said I don’t want to practice anymore?” Feng Xin speaks into his hair, teasing breath over his ear. And Mu Qing feels his stomach drop, his own lungs clench at the thought of losing this, losing what he has with Feng Xin.
Panic setting in, he pulls back against the arms holding him, feeling cold and fragile as he looks into amber eyes, “Did I do s-something wr-r-rong?” He meant to say it wouldn’t matter, it would be great to end this, but he had to know: why? Searching those amber eyes, eyes he can’t read as his own eyes feel like they’re burning and his throat feels thick, he grips the robes he has as if they are the last lifelines he has.
Those amber eyes narrow, and a hand comes up to brush aside obsidian bangs that have fallen forward. Mu Qing is stunned by the motion, but caught more as Feng Xin answers, “You overthinking idiot, why is it so hard for you to notice? I want to hold you just to hold you.”
“What?” Mu Qing blinks uncomprehendingly at Feng Xin, his heart like a rock thumping in his chest and playing the drums in his ears.
Clearing his throat as if nervous, Feng Xin gives a sheepish grin, “I want to hold you, Mu Qing. Uh… not just for practice. But like… um… fuck.” Giving up on words, he lightly grips Mu Qing’s chip and leans down, dusting his lips against the frozen god. Though it is a mere moment, the feel of sharp angles and soft flesh touching his lips sends a jolt of energy tingling through Mu Qing’s face to meet the heat of the blush that rises up.
Amber eyes study Mu Qing’s face, waiting for a response, waiting for Mu Qing to unfreeze and react. Oh. Oh, he kissed me. That was a kiss, yes? He kissed me. This is real. This is real? He kissed me. Feng Xin kissed me. Feeling overwhelmed as the heat rises in his face, melting all thought, Mu Qing leaps forward and buries his face in the nook of Feng Xin’s shoulder, his hands wrapping around the archer’s waist as they’ve wanted to all night and squeezing tight.
Laughter bubbled up over his head as arms gathered him close, Feng Xin confirming, “I take this as a yes?”
Unable to answer as his tongue is tied and glued to the roof of his mouth, Mu Qing nods his head, wondering if he’ll ever feel cold again. Then he feels Feng Xin nuzzle against the side of his head, muscled arms squeezing him back, and sweet whispered words, “I’m so happy, Qing’er.”
It’s as if the sun shines through him, its rays touching every tip of his skin, reaching from the depths of his heart out to his fingers and toes. Mu Qing feels himself tingling all over, as if he could float away, held down only by the warmth that is Feng Xin. Breathing in the forest and cinnamon that is the man in his arms, he whispers, “Mmm, A’Xin.”
The answering squeeze is all he needs to bring a smile to his face. This is home. Here in Feng Xin’s arms.