Chapter Text
梦
Feng Xin's voice, honeyed and gravelly low with desire, drips sickly sweet adoration as he touches his lips to Mu Qing's ear to sigh, A-Qing.
Warm late afternoon light filters through the window grates, pervades the room, painting it sundry hues of pink and orange, of golden glow. It washes over Feng Xin's tanned, sweat-cladded body, strong muscles gleaming brightly, mighty—
—and Mu Qing can't resist the temptation to lick the curve of his neck. Taste of salt heavy on his tongue as Feng Xin groans, curses in unmannerly fashion. He rages, “I will not call you gege, you dimwit, stop your nonsense!”
“It's not like you haven't done it before,” Feng Xin grumbles, half humouring him. Perhaps to punish Mu Qing for his bratness, or to make up for his own harsh tone, he thrusts his cock all the way in. An entire incense stick had burned down in the corner of the room while he'd just teased Mu Qing senseless, rubbing his cock between Mu Qing's now entirely oiled cheeks, pushing the tip slowly at Mu Qing's entrance, or squeezing himself halfway in, turning Mu Qing into a flustering mess whenever the head of his cock happened to catch so at his gaping hole. “Fuck. And you were so eager about it, too, begging this Feng ge to treat you nicely…”
Mu Qing's eyes roll to the back of his head at the feeling of finally, finally being fully stretched out, mouth falling open in a silent moan: the novelty of Feng Xin's endowed size and girth never really wears off, is the jest of it all. His heart is a caged, wild animal thumping uncontrollably against his chest thump thump thump. “You—!”
Feng Xin laughs.
It's a quiet, fond sort of laugh that had astounded Mu Qing the first time he’d heard it, centuries ago, long before their vows, ill-matched to Feng Xin's habitual brash, roaring existence. A soft thing carried under his ribs, the romantic, lovefool he is. Mu Qing's unpredictable little love, full of puzzling wonders below that tactless, exasperating surface. Feng Xin, so very infuriatingly beautiful in all he does: if he could, if it was physically viable, Mu Qing would tear his immortal body wide open and devour Feng Xin whole.
“A-Qing,” Feng Xin hums, fucking into him so gently, so carefully slow, Mu Qing wants to weep in frustration, wants to bite him anywhere, everywhere, until his teeth breaks skin. “Look how beautifully you blush for me, how good you take me, ah, you're always so needy for my co—”
“Shut the fuck up!” Every single nerve aflame, his body is well-versed in keeping up with Feng Xin, movements as fluid as a choreographed lewd dance. He tangles his fingers in Feng Xin's silky, dark hair, tugs at it mercilessly, babbling nonsensical bullshit to distract Feng Xin from speaking such mortifying truths. “Shut up, shut up, you're so insufferable! Beat me outside if you can! Wanna go!?”
Feng Xin chokes out a vulgar moan, a hint of a smug smile gracing his lips before he smothers Mu Qing with a desperate kiss. Sloppy and fervent, all tongue and teeth, no real finesse to it in his wild hunger, the enticing noises he lets out becoming louder as he fastens his pace.
“Ah! There!” It's too much, Mu Qing thinks deliriously for a moment, it's too much, the way Feng Xin is abusing that sensitive spot deep inside him, toe-curlingly delicious and achingly maddening; it's too much and yet not enough. One of Feng Xin's hands grabs hold of Mu Qing's hard, leaking cock, and his back arches off the bed. He claws at Feng Xin's arms, his shoulders, as he sobs, “A-Xin, Feng gege, please, please, please—”
“Yeah,” Feng Xin returns stupidly. “Yeah, fuck, shit, I'm gonna—”
“Yes, yes, inside, gege, I want—!”
It happens like it has happened the night before, like it has been happening since the first day of the new moon—a fleeting longing, a quiet bid. Pray Nan Yang hears this one's yearnings, Mu Qing recites in his head, and blesses him with a son.
醒
Consciousness returns to him like tidal waves breaking ashore.
Violent. Sudden.
This candle-lit room is not the exquisite and harmonious bedroom he has grown used to at the palace of Xuan Zhen. Feng Xin's chamber bed is constructed in different design, lattice panels and no tasteful thin curtains, his bedding refined greens and embroidered silver threads. Robes are scattered across the floor as an afterthought, piles of paper stacked on a desk in the corner of the sitting area. Still, the sights of the disorder mollify Mu Qing's jumpy heart in an instant. This, too, has come to mean home to him.
It was a dream, Mu Qing calms himself with deep, steadying breaths. It was a only dream.
Beside him, Feng Xin shifts. “Mu Qing,” he murmurs. “I heard—I thought I heard—”
“Don't,” he snaps. Feng Xin moves to lie on top of him, his brow set in a vexed frown. “I don't know the reasons for these recurring prayers. I might have to investigate if something is wrong with me.”
“Nothing is wrong with you,” Feng Xin protests, closing his eyes to press their foreheads together. He smells sleep-warm and incense-sweet, black undergarments completely creased. “I… Mu Qing ah… What if…”
“Just say what you want to say already,” Mu Qing huffs in annoyance, wrestling him out of bed. He crosses the room in quick steps. Through the lattice windows he can see the large, round moon of spring, the third month approaching its end. “I've told you before to just be honest with me.”
A century, Mu Qing has realized, may be too little of a time to unlearn how to be less antagonizing and defensive to the person he had spent so long harboring bitter and resentful feelings towards. When all was said and done, they had fallen into this blissful life of pretend domesticity so easily—at first, as companions who continued to fight side by side, protecting both their territories unanimously, until one day something had shift and changed irrevocably; oh, Mu Qing had thought to himself as he cleaned a nasty wound on Feng Xin's shoulder after a particularly gruesome mission, oh, the word had echoed in his head again and again, Feng Xin staring up at him with pondering eyes, his bloody lips parted in an unspoken question.
It hadn't been a painless, simple choice for Mu Qing to make, that of breaking the mandate, that of cultivating a new path. He's proud of every single one of his achievements, and his cultivation had been too important to be considered in any frivolous manner. Xie Lian had reasoned, What is the point of living an immortal life if you can't be happy in it? There are different paths to follow if you find this path is not the right one for you. Mu Qing had taken a deep breath not to scream at him, It's different for me, he'd swallowed his angry retort, I'm not like you!
I wouldn't ask you to break your vows, Feng Xin had told him solemnly. Even if you cannot reciprocate my feelings, can't ever reciprocate my feelings, I will never hold it against you. I will stay by your side regardless.
Damn that stubborn loyalty of his.
They had been surrounded by crimson and yellow gold when they exchanged their vows and bowed to each other. It'd been in time for Mid-Autumn Banquet, where everyone seemed greatly amused by the many plays about the two rival Generals, fated to fall for each other in the most ironic of twists. That year, the mortal realm had been abuzz over the lastest rumours, rumours that the authors of such plays had miraculously gotten rich out of selling their writings on the most emotional and ardent relationship between the Generals Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen of the Southeast and the Southwest.
Feng Xin, Mu Qing had berated.
Sorry, had been his answer, but he hadn't sounded sincere about it at all.
“Mu Qing,” Feng Xin calls out to him. “Will you just come back to bed? We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”
“I'll figure it out,” Mu Qing says as to put an end to the conversation. He raises his eyebrows at Feng Xin's light-hearted, jovial expression. “What? Do I have something on my face? Why do you look so stupid?”
“Come to bed, Husband.”
Mu Qing puffs, ha ha, before caving in. “I can't believe you actually convinced me to adopt mortal habits again just for the sake of it. You're—truly, truly a sap.”
“This husband wishes to experience every delight of a married life with his own husband,” Feng Xin explains cordially. “Of course it includes sharing this marital bed for more than one purpose.”
“Insufferable bastard,” Mu Qing mutters. He glances back at the bed where Feng Xin’s awaits, expression soft and unguarded. His face looks so young like this. It awakens a surge of emotions deep within Mu Qing, and he has difficulty swallowing it all down. “Let's go back to sleep. I'll figure it out later.”
Mu Qing doesn't figure it out.
He hoards several amounts of scrolls in the sitting area of his room, and none of them contain any information on his predicament. He informs Xie Lian of his impasse during a match of weiqi.
“Mu Qing,” Xie Lian says cheerfully. His plain white robes have an air of elegance to them, a majestic sewing job in its entirety. In the middle of this lavish sitting room in Paradise Manor, Xie Lian shines; he fits in like he was meant to be here, coddled in opulent fabrics, spread across expensive furniture. Mu Qing knows, though, Xie Lian, now, has no care for such grandiose displays of wealth. It still suits him quite well, in spite of it. “Has it ever crossed your mind that this dream version of you is expressing the desire for something you don't have the courage to voice?”
“I'm not an idiot,” Mu Qing replies sharply. “It has crossed my mind, thank you.”
“No need to be rude, now. Ah! I win.” He offers a gentle smile. “Why do you look so distressed about wanting a child with Feng Xing?”
Mu Qing gnaws at his lower lip, gaze focused on the white and black stones stacked on the board. “Do you ever consider it? With Crimson Rain?”
“Ah.” Xie Lian frowns. His smile turns awkward as he tilts his head, scratches his temple carefully. “No, not really. San Lang and I… both have things we need to work on.”
Mu Qing glares at him. “And you believe it would be fine for me to have a child with Feng Xin? As simple as that?”
“I believe you've always been the best at making decisions on your own. You think ahead, consider all the possible outcomes.” There's a sorrowful glint in his eyes when he says this. Mu Qing's stomach twirls up in knots at what Xie Lian is leaving unsaid. “So I think whatever it is that you decide, you won't regret it.” Thoughtfully, he adds, “But you shouldn't be here discussing this with me. I'm sure Feng Xin is worried sick about you.”
Feng Xin is, undoubtedly, worried about him. He contacts Mu Qing on his private array throughout the day to complain about official affairs, to ask him how his day is going, to tell unfunny jokes and laugh himself breathless. It's late into the hour of chou when he breaks into Mu Qing's room, bearing a tray of treats.
“This Wife apologises for the delay,” he announces, and puts down the tray of fresh fruit on a table. “And comes bearing gifts for his beloved.”
“Wife Feng, surely you have been told that keeping a husband waiting is a punishable offence.” Mu Qing walks up to him lazily, swaying his hips in the most alluring way he can. Feng Xin looks otherworldly handsome in his heavenly martial attire. Mu Qing can already feel his blood rush down.
Feng Xin rests his hands on Mu Qing's waist, squeezes it. His brow relaxes as he smiles lovingly at Mu Qing. “Baobei, all I could think about today was how much I want to taste you again.”
If it weren't for the last century of hearing all kinds of filthy nonsense come out of Feng Xin's mouth, Mu Qing would certainly be blushing like a young virginal maiden right now. He tsks, taking off Feng Xin's garments one by one. “As if.” He yelps when Feng Xin throws him over his shoulder, gasps when Feng Xin lays him on the bed, climbs on top of him. “Brute!”
Feng Xin snorts, nuzzling his jaw. He places hot, open-mouthed kisses all over Mu Qing's neck, nimble fingers quick to open his undergarments to expose his chest. His lips trail down to the soft pale skin of his chest, teases around a nipple with his tongue, sucks it into his mouth.
“F-uck,” Mu Qing whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. Feng Xin hums in response, sucking harder at his nipple. “Ah! Fucking animal, get off!”
Undressing him unhurriedly, pressing those hot, open-mouthed kisses on every inch of his naked body, Feng Xin quietly uncaps the bottle of oil. “A-Qing. You're so beautiful. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen.”
“Shut up,” Mu Qing whines, blindly slapping at the air to try and reach him, any part of him.
Feng Xin chuckles. He lowers his head to lick the length of Mu Qing's cock at the same time he rubs an oiled finger at Mu Qing's entrance, and Mu Qing’s voice pitches higher.
“Feng ge, don't you dare tease me or I'll—fuck!”
Feng Xin mouths at one of his balls, suckling at it—it sends waves of pain and pleasure up Mu Qing's spine. He licks his way back up the shaft, sucks at the tip, and swallows it all in. Mu Qing barely has time to catch his breath before Feng Xin is pushing his finger in, while enthusiastically bobbing his head up and down.
“Fuck!!!!” With tears streaming down his face, Mu Qing pulls at Feng Xin until he's back on top of him, crashing their mouths together, tasting his own precum on Feng Xin's tongue. “Feng ge,” he says, lips inches apart. “Fuck me, fuck me right now, I want, no, I need you inside of me…” he babbles as he fumbles with Feng Xin's robes, opening them just enough to free his cock.
“Shit, A-Qing, let me finish prepping you—”
“Come the fuck on!”
“Shit, fuck, okay, yeah, but if it hurts too much you tell me to stop,” Feng Xin rambles, dousing his cock in oil before lining himself up. “Fuck, so fucking tight, you have to relax, baobei, wife, can you relax for me?”
Mu Qing moans. He feels delirious, his own hand working his cock in time with Feng Xin's jerky movements, his other hand clutching Feng Xin's now dishevelled hair. “Nan Yang, Feng ge, come on, give me a child. I want you to—”
“Shit,” Feng Xin curses, and slams into him in one go. “Shit, A-Qing, I—”
Pray Nan Yang hears this one's yearnings, Mu Qing recites in their private array, and Feng Xin curses again, doubling him in an impossible position to fuck him with brutal force, and blesses him with a son.