Chapter Text
The night was growing dense like an encircling wall,
My eyes in the darkness felt the fire of your gaze
And I drank in your breath, O sweetness, O poison!
And your feet nestled soft in my brotherly hands.
The night was growing dense like an encircling wall.
Charles Baudelaire – Le Balcon (tr. by W. Aggeler)
The door of the Great Martial Hall slammed behind General Xuan Zhen as he stormed out, rushing where no one dared follow. His steps were a thunder shaking the ground, brisk enough to make everyone present scatter, not quick enough to betray he was fleeing. Retreating, he corrected himself inwardly, but the excuse was cheap. After all, there was no tactic behind this retreat.
Only fury and despair.
The sun was already going down, the last rays gold and bloodred against lead-heavy clouds as his steps took him through the wide alleys of the Heavenly Court in the direction of his own palace. The air was unbearably hot, or so it seemed to Mu Qing as pearls of sweat gathered on his temples and on his taut back, running down his spine to seep into the soft fabric of his robe.
Jaw and fists clenched tight, eyes empty, stumbling more and more with each step, he counted his blessings. The streets were empty with almost everyone gathered at the Heavenly Emperor’s Palace. There was no one to witness his usual aloof demeanor unravel, no one to see him come undone.
Mu Qing wanted to scream his throat hoarse to get rid of the bitter aftertaste of humiliation, of the same old wrath burning anew in his veins. Behind the usual mask of ice-cold indifference General Xuan Zhen wore so well, there were memories kept hidden and dormant for centuries. Once awakened, they refused to be tamed.
He wanted to scream but couldn’t. If he did, the one person Mu Qing wanted to know would actually know. There were less painful and pathetic ways to take one’s own life.
Jaw and fists clenched tight, eyes empty, stumbling more and more with each step, he cursed himself over and over. He felt a gust of wind on his cheek and turned in the direction it came from, desperate for any relief he could get, but the wind was hot against his burning skin.
There was no relief for him and none would come in the days after, he felt it in his bones.
His body was surging with spiritual powers, the concrete underneath him shaking with the thunderous steps of a god, and yet he felt more powerless than he’d been as a starving child of the streets, hundreds of thousands of hot nights ago. The night was unhurriedly falling around him; the air was stifling, the whole realm solemnly quiet to make his thoughts seem even louder in contrast.
It seemed as if nothing would ever, ever be calm again.
There was no way to get rid of this particular tension. What he’d kept carefully hidden for centuries had just been ripped away from among taut nerves through the tongue and eyes, dragged into the sunlight and there to stay for all of Heavens to see. He’d been a bow drawn too tight until he snapped, not likely to be mended anytime soon.
Mu Qing had recklessly put his soul in the hands of one careless archer centuries ago and now it was time to deal with the consequences. Unforeseen, ruinous.
He was startled by the sound of his own manic laughter. He shook his head as if he could shake off the thoughts that were taking seed there, then quickened his step.
No relief came when the gates of the Palace of Xuan Zhen closed behind him. He needed to be farther away from prying eyes. As soon as his subordinates appeared to welcome him home, he sent them away with an impatient gesture.
“Clear the private rooms and the surrounding ones. No one is to approach the rear wing of the palace and disturb me until further notice.” With these words he turned away, not letting anyone present see more than a glimpse of his tense expression.
It didn’t escape his notice how they kept avoiding his gaze under the guise of polite humility. He knew too damn well why. He’d caught a glimpse of his reflection on the way to his rooms.
A face so pale as if all the blood had been sucked from his body, eyes empty, shoulders and jaw tense. Hands trembling with the aftershocks of a god’s pent-up wrath. His hair, usually arranged in a high ponytail with no strand out of place, nearly undone and moist with sweat gathering on his temples. Lower lip bitten through and bloody. He looked as if he’d just faced hell and lost, and it wasn’t far from truth.
He was facing his personal hell after all.
“Xuan Zhen Jiangjun?”
His junior officials had already left but Fu Yao stayed behind, the inquisitive gaze of his dark eyes hinting at worries he dared not voice. Reliable, resilient Fu Yao, the one Mu Qing could put his trust in, even though he was more than reluctant to trust anyone at all. The two of them truly were birds of a feather, as other officials under Xuan Zhen often noted. No wonder impersonating Fu Yao on his recent mission with Xie Lian had come without difficulty.
It was no use putting on airs around Fu Yao. Almost everything Xuan Zhen was aware of, his loyal Fu Yao was also able to figure out.
“I need some peace of mind,” he stressed, rolling his eyes. Being cared for… That feeling always seemed stifling, unwanted, unneeded.
Fu Yao knew well when to quit. He bowed. “I will make sure no one disturbs you, Xuan Zhen Jiangjun.”
As soon as Mu Qing was left all alone in the private wing of the palace, he acted on instinct to release the tension that was keeping his whole body taut. With a perfectly stone-cold expression, eyes an empty abyss, Mu Qing slammed his fist into the wall. He punched it repeatedly until his sleeve was soaked through with blood, an unsettling sight he made sure no one would witness.
He’d had his personal rooms built so that the construction would stand his fits of anger, provided there was at least a shred of control left in him. He was slipping at that moment but the walls stood strong. He let out a long exhale, a violent shiver running through his body.
Mu Qing prepared a cold bath, barely stopping to wrap a handkerchief around his bleeding, bruising fist. He lowered himself into the rose-scented water and ran his fingers through his hair, slowly getting rid of all traces of sweat, then he scrubbed himself clean until his pale skin was flushed red.
The sordid stench of bitter humiliation did not leave.
As soon as he’d spotted that bloody woman Jian Lan being escorted to Jun Wu’s palace earlier, he immediately sensed impending trouble. Following the crowd to the Great Martial Hall, heartbeat rampant in his chest, he wondered how Feng Xin would react seeing her after so many years.
Had Mu Qing turned around and left, he would inevitably spend the rest of the night in his bed, biting into his own hand, trying not to scream. He knew it all too well.
And so he stayed, only to become the object of downright asinine accusations and ridicule.
Jian Lan started throwing accusations all around, first on Xie Lian of all officials, then moved on to others. Many noticed how she kept avoiding Mu Qing like raging fire, to the point where it caused suspicion. He felt Jun Wu’s eyes on him at times, and even Feng Xin’s… The fucking audacity…! Finally the atmosphere in the Martial Hall reached a boiling point. Arguments raged all around, more and more sets of eyes turning to him. Feng Xin – that damnable idiot! – seemed distant, also observing him closely... It was all suffocating.
The presence of Jian Lan and Feng Xin in one room made his blood boil. The room and the crowd seemed to close around him, until he was ready to scream, all but writhing where he stood.
In the end, the brilliant fucking idea of proving his innocence with Jun Wu’s virginity-reflecting sword was proposed.
With a bloody perfect timing, amidst the chaos he heard whispers of “Xuan Zhen, with a woman? Impossible… She doesn’t exactly have the means to make him spread his legs and take it like he needs it, ah?”
The whispers soon quieted down, possibly only a few caught wind of them. But to his ears, these words were a thunder rolling through the sky and shaking the Heavens.
The accusations were rising and falling rapidly like waves in a storm, the situation getting more and more absurd with every passing moment. Mu Qing finally snapped, his pride unable to bear the pathetic spectacle. From among the chaos, he approached Jun Wu with words meant only for the Emperor.
“The sole notion of proving anyone’s innocence with this blade is ridiculous to say the least,” he said. “How would it serve as proof that I did anything to her? Fine. If that’s what you want me to admit, I never touched a woman and I never will. But you already know what the blade will show if you test it on me. Great fucking crime. If you need to apprehend me, you know where to find me when you’re finished with this nonsense.”
With that, he swept Jun Wu a near-mocking bow and exited the hall among rising whispers and shocked gasps.
The whole situation was bordering on insane. What made it so much worse was the fact that Feng Xin met the woman for whom he’d abandoned his closest friend eight hundred years ago… That he saw again that great fucking love of his life, that cheap liar of a woman Mu Qing could never compare to in his eyes…
And he didn’t even fucking recognize her.
Mu Qing raised his trembling hands to splash cold water on his face. He wanted to find Feng Xin and punch that damnable man into begging, to make him feel Mu Qing on his skin for days. Bruises or bites, it didn’t matter. If he couldn’t mark him with a fuck, he’d do it with a fight.
Mu Qing would never admit it to a single soul, not even at swordspoint or forced by torture, but that day he’d announced his decision to leave to Xie Lian and Feng Xin, he came back before the sun came down, crippled with regret.
He stumbled down the street that evening, pale and shaking like a spooked child, desperately re-arranging the words of apology in his head until no other thought remained. After all, apologies were hard for one who had no habit of saying sorry. Halfway out of a back alley, he spotted Feng Xin in the distance. His racing heart urged him to approach Feng Xin and apologize. He hesitated for a moment, then resumed his unhurried steps, the yet-unready but necessary apology burning in the back of his mind.
Mu Qing still remembered his burning cheeks and uneven breath.
That day, he’d wanted to run up to Feng Xin more than he wanted to draw his next breath. He stopped himself, in the end.
He would never. Past or present, back in Xian Le or in Heavens.
His pride would not allow him.
And so Mu Qing had paid for his thrice-damned pride with eight hundred years of longing and regret, all but writhing with fury anytime he was reminded of that day.
That damnable day when his first love had been shattered to pieces by strong, calloused hands of a careless archer.
If it hadn’t been for his damnable pride, he would’ve met Feng Xin halfway. They would argue and they would brawl, more punches would fly than words. His apology would be forgotten for a time, but eventually they would calm down and come back to Xie Lian’s woodland hideout. Then Mu Qing would get an actual chance to apologize – or at least attempt to – and they would eat supper together.
But Mu Qing was still bracing himself for the apology, steps slow, heart racing, his damnable pride in the way. Before their eyes could meet and their paths cross, Feng Xin stopped at the door of a brothel, hesitating, but only for a moment. A young woman was waiting for him already. She extended her hand. He took it and followed her upstairs.
On that damnable day, Mu Qing shattered.
He turned on his heel and ran; ran away from something – like some despicable coward – for the very first time in his life. Furious thoughts of how Feng Xin had seemed distracted in the days before were crowding his mind. He ran until he passed out from exhaustion, no air left in his lungs, no clear thought, no strength to go on.
As if his pride hadn’t suffered enough blows already, he crossed paths with a familiar heavenly official while still in that pathetic, desperate state. A young man new to the Palace of Ling Wen, as it turned out, kind and not openly judging. He convinced Mu Qing to come back to the Heavenly Court with him.
Starting with that day, before the week was over, Mu Qing had seduced and bedded thirty-three male heavenly officials, one after the other.
He let them all fuck him into a state of complete exhaustion, chasing oblivion, numbness and solace. He let them have their way with him until there was no unmarred spot on his whole body and his skin wept under the slightest touch like one giant burning bruise.
He openly scorned those who had the audacity to be delicate and kind.
He bloomed in the hands of those who could be provoked into nearly tearing him apart.
He stopped only because his spiritual powers started to falter with every release; breaking away from his celibate cultivation path took a heavy toll on him. And, admittedly, because he was barely visible from underneath darkening bitemarks and purpling bruises. If there had been a thirty-fourth lover at that time, even Mu Qing’s enticing lies wouldn’t be enough to convince him those marks were the results of intense training and recent battles.
He let them take him over and over until he barely had enough strength to drag himself to the empty Palace of Xian Le and slump on his bed, too exhausted to draw a deep breath.
Not once during that week did he come without thinking of Feng Xin’s strong arms holding him close.
His next meeting with that damnable man was right after Xie Lian’s brawl over spiritual ground. Seeing Feng Xin again felt like a stab and a twist of a poisoned blade, right into a fresh wound. As he’d expected, nothing good came out of this conversation.
Only more raw hurt.
Humiliated, defeated, lonely, with barely a trace of spiritual powers left in his body, Mu Qing rose in his pride, refusing to yield to fate or Heavens themselves. He threw himself into fighting and training with such intensity it almost cost him his life at one point. In the end, it was worth it.
In a short time he ascended, the reverberations of his determination shaking the Heavens.
He wasn’t allowed to properly bask in his glory. On the very same day, Feng Xin followed him in his ascension to godhood.
Apparently fate had decided they were stuck with each other for eternity.
Mu Qing was the only god that didn’t offer his greetings to Feng Xin.
After the ascension, he dealt with his first love still burning like a venom that couldn’t be cleansed from his veins in the only way he knew. He’d set out on this solitary path eight centuries ago and he was still walking it with his head raised high.
Muffling his sighs with his pillows and with his fists until the former were wet with tears and the latter were red with bitemarks.
Drowning his obsession in destructive, unrestrained brawls he and Feng Xin still engaged in, way too often for Heavens’ comfort.
Quenching his lust with an endless string of lovers, none of them ever graced with more than three nights of oblivion.
Seducing Pei Su was almost too easy. The young martial god was hopeless when tempted with beauty, no matter the form it came in. He was good enough in bed but too kind and caring, and so Mu Qing cast him aside.
With Lang Qian Qiu it was about boredom and curiosity but it resulted in a pleasant surprise. Taihua Dianxia had many unresolved anger issues that could be temporarily calmed down with a good, hard fuck, and he could deal with the effects of his outbursts efficiently enough. But Mu Qing needed someone whose anger was focused on him and him alone, and so he decided not to return after the third night.
He remembered considering both Quan Yizhen and Yin Yu at one point but gave up after weeks of careful observation. Seeking temporary relief in the arms of a god who suffered from the same kind of fatal affection equaled courting a disaster, one he was unwilling to deal with. He didn’t approach any of them, secretly wishing them a better fate than his own.
With Pei Ming, it was a spur of the moment. They met during a covert mission, mingling with a festive crowd in one faraway city, waiting for new information from Ling Wen. Mu Qing’s pride could not stand more than one unattainable man in all the Courts so he set out to prove everyone’s opinions on Pei Ming wrong. And thus Pei Ming, the great lover of women, came completely undone under Mu Qing’s hot-cold gaze. Down on his knees to worship and touch, cheek pressed against thigh, openly begging for Mu Qing’s skin on his own without barriers in between. Mu Qing put on airs of graciously allowing his advances and let Pei Ming have him for three nights. After that, he got bored.
Martial gods, he learned, all fucked as they fought; greedy conquerors ready to mark their new territory with their tall banners, eager to seize the spoils of war. Admirable in their vigor, true, but lacking the cruel finesse Mu Qing so desperately needed to take his mind off his fatal first love.
He approached Ming Yi and Shi Qingxuan separately. They both expressed interest in meeting in private but in the end both changed their minds. Judging from how those two still eyed each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking, the two martial gods of the West weren’t the only ones hiding a secret affection from the Heavenly Courts.
It was different with Shi Wudu. It almost took Mu Qing by surprise enough to make him stay. Not because of love, desire or any such ridiculous sentiments but because they gave to each other exactly what the other needed, with nothing held back. The Water Master turned out to be refreshingly shameless and adventurous, completely unlike most of his previous lovers, and so Mu Qing almost stayed for longer than usual.
But then, on their third night together, Shi Wudu told him with his usual brutal honesty, “You can scream his name if you need to. I can keep a secret.”
Mu Qing recoiled from their embrace in shock but Shi Wudu spared him no mercy. “Are you ever going to tell Nan Yang? Or are you just going to waste on others what you want to offer him, and him alone?”
And so he left and avoided private conversations with the Water Tyrant like the plague afterwards.
He was well aware of the hopelessness of this destructive chase. No matter who he turned to, nothing could permanently numb the raw fucking hurt of going unnoticed by the only one he ever cared for in favor of some cheap doll rented by the hour.
Years turned into decades, decades turned into centuries. He was still trying to get Feng Xin off his mind using the same old method, even if it meant hurting himself in the process. Switching cultivation paths would be a reasonable choice; then again, Mu Qing was far from reasonable in matters related to Feng Xin. Being drained of his spiritual powers meant both punishment and motivation. Both held an irresistible appeal.
And besides, a god’s eternity meant many lonely nights.
Eight hundred years gone by and now his thoughts were whispering to him the same old story of abandonment and regret. Mu Qing’s rage felt like a heavenly calamity shaking everything in its wake, refusing to subside.
No number of fleeting distractions could take the edge off this pain. There had to be blood.
Mu Qing wrung out the long, heavy cascade of hair and got out of the bath, not bothering with a towel or with changing the soaked handkerchief around his hand. He put on a fresh robe and loose pants, combing fingers through his hair. He avoided looking at himself in the mirror all the while, not wanting to face the wrath reflected in his eyes. He didn’t want to see the bitemarks recently left on his shoulders by an official from the Palace of Ming Guang, either.
Halfway to the bedroom door, he froze.
There were voices coming from afar, from near the front entrance.
There was no need to use his powers to investigate what fresh new calamity was coming his way. Dealing with that damnable idiot for eight hundred years and counting, he could read the signs of a Nan Yang-induced disaster in the air.
Those proud, domineering steps that made the earth shake with a martial god’s confidence, the way he threw his weight around to remind everyone of his superior power… There was no mistake.
It felt as if blood stopped circulating in Mu Qing’s veins for a moment.
No.
No, for fuck’s sake, not now-
…not ever, preferably, but especially not now…
He couldn’t deal with Feng Xin’s usual bullshittery in such a pathetic state.
If he faced Feng Xin in his current mood, he might go straight for the throat and bite, claw at the skin, leave his marks all over in a fit of blind rage.
And that was why – only for the third time in his life, but the second time that day, and also only because no prying eyes could see – General Xuan Zhen turned around and ran.
He ran towards the most remote part of the palace, to the private wing which not even Feng Xin should be able to enter. Besides, why would he? Feng Xin didn’t care for him enough to seek him out there. If he wanted to talk, he’d just use his personal communication array as always.
Mu Qing ran blindly and without care, his bare wet feet leaving glistening traces on the floors. All breathless, heart throbbing like mad at the sole thought of seeing Ju fucking Yang at a moment like this.
Mu Qing stopped abruptly after turning a corner, hands clasped tight on the windowsill by a window opened wide. Before him, the gardens of the Palace of Xuan Zhen spread in three directions; the night was blooming over the Upper Heavenly Court. The moon and countless stars lit up the sky, quiet witnesses to his resentful rage, there to be admired and never to judge. The wind was still as hot as it was earlier. His skin had barely cooled down moments before and now the heat was back again.
He intended to take shelter there but apparently on that day nothing in the Heavens could stay on its usual course.
All defenses set around the private part of the palace went down, skillfully unraveled.
Where Nan Yang ZhenJun was expected never to intrude, this time he followed.
Mu Qing faced the night and the gusts of wind, biting the inside of his cheek. How dare he… How dare he. The arrogance, the complete disregard for the most basic etiquette and for Mu Qing’s privacy… He was certain Feng Xin had never held any of those in high regard but the bloody idiot just had to completely stomp all over them without hesitation at the exact moment when Mu Qing needed his solitude the most.
He bit the inside of his cheek, then his lip until it started to bleed again.
One step beyond his defense lines.
Frozen with his hands balled into fists – one of them also bleeding, but Mu Qing barely took notice – he was suddenly reminded of their first meeting when he’d been taken to see Xie Lian at Dianxia’s request. That day, Feng Xin entered the room after Xie Lian, head held high, with an arrogant swagger to his step. He stayed silent while Xie Lian spoke, his intense gaze never leaving Mu Qing. When he finally spoke, it was to criticize and pick a fight. Even though it almost cost Mu Qing his childhood dream to study and cultivate, he refused to give ground and returned the favor.
One more step, beyond the turn of the hallway.
Mu Qing thought himself mad to be so deeply attracted to his everlasting rival, so devoted to this fatal love, his first and only. He’d been too young when the tension between him and Feng Xin made him discover attraction, then deep, intense desire, and finally – unfortunately – love. He was too young, and it happened too soon. The very first night after they’d met, Mu Qing dreamt about seducing Feng Xin and making him beg for forgiveness down on his knees.
Another step, closer and closer.
In his head, Feng Xin came to his room on the first night of their rivalry, still fuming with anger but unable to stay away. In these fevered dreams, he always started a fight but as soon as he got his hands on Mu Qing, he was unable to keep them from wandering. Heated blows turned into heated touches no amount of willpower could hold back, not until Feng Xin shivered and came inside him with his parted lips pressed to Mu Qing’s neck in a broken moan, hiding his flushed face in his hair. He yielded to Mu Qing’s vengeful seduction, to hold him and never to let go.
Over the span of these eight hundred years, Feng Xin held him countless times, but only in his head.
In the deepest, most carefully hidden corners of his mind, Mu Qing’s love wasn’t a painful affair he could never get over; it was as mutual as it was fervent. He found solace in a world woven from daydreams he would never admit to, no matter how often he would cry out into his pillows or bite his fingers bloody to stop Feng Xin’s name from spilling from his lips.
And another step, too close now.
Mu Qing turned around, tossing wet strands of hair away from his face.
Feng Xin stood a few steps away, tall and imposing in his light armor, cutting an impressive figure even among the shadows. The moonlight was bright enough for Mu Qing to see his burning eyes and a deep scowl twisting his features. The sharp line of his jaw which Mu Qing so often wanted to cover with kisses and bruises was as tense as the set of his shoulders.
Even though at times he felt there was enough sheer willpower in him to shake the universe, it took almost all of Mu Qing’s strength to keep his composure. Dealing with that damnable man required everything he could give.
“What the actual hell, Ju Yang?” He mirrored Feng Xin’s defiant pose, crossing his arms and raising his chin. At the very start he signaled a challenge. “Can’t I find some peace of mind even in my own palace?”
“You tell me.” Even Feng Xin’s voice seemed sharper, more on edge than usual. “Don’t think I can’t tell you didn’t find any before I even came here. What the fuck is going on, Mu Qing?”
“You mean besides my usual disgust at the chaotic ways in which the Upper Court deals with its problems?” Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “Nothing else. Now get the fuck out.”
“Don’t even fucking try to lie.” Feng Xin drew one step closer. “You’re not acting like yourself today. Unless it’s a new habit for Xuan Zhen to turn tail and flee.”
The bloody idiot, Mu Qing thought, never notices what he should have, always notices what he shouldn’t.
“I know your perception isn’t the best but even a hopeless idiot like you should’ve noticed by now that me storming out of a social gathering in irritation is hardly unusual.”
Mu Qing’s voice was barely louder than a whisper. If he were to speak any louder, he’d start yelling and he needed his usual cold façade. He needed his walls and needed them strong against the onslaught of those burning eyes.
Three realms help him, never before in his life had he felt so utterly humiliated and so fucking angry he was seeing red, and yet he still wanted that man, wanted him more than his next breath, more than clear thought, more than getting his reputation back.
Feng Xin stepped closer; in turn, Mu Qing’s stance got even more defensive. He cocked his chin higher.
He had a few spare verbal blows saved for a moment like this. Dealing with Feng Xin was always mentally exhausting so Mu Qing kept a selection of tactics on hand, prepared specially for the damnable idiot. At times he needed to get rid of him as soon as possible, so he’d learned how to offend him gravely enough to make Feng Xin storm out. Other times he needed a brawl so he put more provocation than offence into his words. Then they would quickly finish talking and come to blows instead.
But he choked on his own words as he noted how hard his legs were shaking. Feng Xin knew well how to spot his weak points; he would notice and use what he’d learned.
Mu Qing’s silence left an unneeded opening and the bloody idiot went for it.
“You don’t have to fucking lie to me, Mu Qing. I know you too damn well, I’ve known you for too long.” Feng Xin unclenched his fist, then clenched it again. “These past eight hundred years, I’ve never seen you slipping, and you are slipping now. Talking back to Jun Wu like that…”
“What’s so strange about me talking back? Aren’t you constantly complaining I can’t ever keep my fucking mouth shut?”
A strange, raw laughter rose in Feng Xin’s throat. “Not like that, and you know it. It’s unlike you to expose yourself like that. I’ve heard what they were whispering about you, don’t think I haven’t…” There was an unfamiliar edge to his voice now. He came another step closer. “But I saw you coming in. At that time, you had bloodshed in your eyes already.”
A wave of red flooded Mu Qing’s view, his head swimming. “Mention that again, I dare you. I double fucking dare you, Feng Xin…”
For the second time that day, a fist of a god was slammed into the wall of the Palace of Xuan Zhen, with barely anything held back.
“You want a fight?” Feng Xin’s anger died down almost instantly and yet his voice seemed more bitter than ever. “Well, this time you won’t fucking get any. I’m too bloody tired of it, Mu Qing. I’m tired of dealing with you this way. Why can’t you just say what’s wrong?!”
“Why can’t you just see what’s fucking wrong?!”
The words tore from Mu Qing’s throat in a hoarse shout before he could regain control over himself. His fingers curled around the seams of his robe as he desperately tried to hide from Feng Xin how his body was trembling with rage and despair. Overwhelming, suffocating.
“So I can get to the bottom of this if I look hard enough,” Feng Xin’s amber eyes narrowed in a scowl, “and Heavens help me, I will. I–”
He abruptly looked away, avoiding Mu Qing’s burning glare. When he took another step closer, not only his eyes, but his whole expression darkened. Mu Qing attempted to take a step back on instinct – just to have enough room for swinging a punch – but he was already standing with his back pressed to the windowsill.
“Is it true? What they were whispering behind your back?”
There was bloodshed on Feng Xin’s tongue and intoxicating poison in the air.
“Not your fucking business,” Mu Qing whispered, voice shaking.
“Is it?!”
“What’s it to you?”
There was no trace of amber in those eyes anymore, only the darkness of dilated pupils as he stood barely a breath away, a shadow against the moonlight.
“Which of them…”
“How dare you…”
“How many of them, Mu Qing?!”
They stood nose to nose. Feng Xin didn’t sound like himself anymore. Mu Qing’s heartbeat was so loud he was worried it could be heard in one of the short moments of utter silence.
“Many,” he replied with a bitter snarl rising in his throat, “but what’s it to you?”
The heel of Feng Xin’s hand was slammed into the wall right next to his head.
For a few moments, only the sound of their harsh, uneven breaths broke the silence. As soon as he was out of this strange trance, Mu Qing turned his head, away from the smoldering glare.
“Leave. Now. Or you will take responsibility for everything that might come after.”
“What, are you expecting someone to come and smooth your feathers, wild bird?”
Mu Qing shuddered at that tone, at the cruelty of his words. What had been intended as an affront aimed at his sensual faults came out dangerously exciting. It didn’t help the matter any that Feng Xin was standing so close. His hot breath ghosted over Mu Qing’s neck, caressing bared skin tingling with speeding pulse.
“Maybe I am, maybe not…” All the strength he had left was poured into the venom of his response. “Maybe you could pass someone a message to come here, on the way back to your palace.”
When Feng Xin’s hand slammed into the wall once again, this time hard enough for the sound to reverberate, he also shifted closer. And that was a level of closeness Mu Qing could not withstand without fists pounding skin into raw cuts and bruises.
His head was swimming with Feng Xin’s scent: fresh grass, dust from the road, and something he could remember from his long-lost home, something which he could no longer name. His love – fierce, vengeful, lustful, unwanted, and yet still hopelessly tender – was simmering under his skin, suffocating after being held back for so long.
It all was too much, and at the worst time possible, and he’d already started slipping hours before. The last traces of his self-control were gone in a moment.
“Leave.” He didn’t even sound like himself anymore, voice hoarse and trembling, words spilling from his mouth as soon as they entered his head. “Leave. Leave me alone. Right fucking now. Go away. Just fucking leave. Just fucking leave. Stay away…”
Feng Xin, Heavens bless his stupid, honest heart, of course did not fucking listen. After witnessing the rest of Mu Qing’s control slipping away, he reached out to him without hesitation.
The second his fingers brushed Mu Qing’s shoulder through the thin fabric, it was already too late. Mu Qing lost it.
He lashed out at Feng Xin in rage suppressed for far too long, throwing punches wherever he could. The first few landed where he usually aimed, the abdomen, the jaw, the ribs… And yet there was no usual strength behind them.
The two gods were evenly matched in terms of physical strength, they always had been. Mu Qing could punch Feng Xin through the wall like he’d done so many times before. But in that moment, when the burden of centuries was closing around him, there was no strength left in him and his clenched fists shivered like his pounding heart.
For a short while, Feng Xin let him rage away, not reacting at all. When he started to block the blows, Mu Qing just scratched at where his robe was open in the front, aimed a wild throw of the head at his nose, ready to bite if he had to, to get away. But Feng Xin would not let him. He caught his wrists and pinned them to the wall over Mu Qing’s head, drawing even closer than before.
That reckless traitor of a heart that fluttered desperately in Mu Qing’s chest felt like a wild bird indeed, stuck in a cage that had been getting smaller and smaller with every passing century.
“No point lying anymore, Mu Qing…” A sultry breath ghosted over his skin. “You are slipping, and no amount of denial will change it. If you had a shred of control left, we’d have fought just now…”
He didn’t have to finish the rest of the fucking sentence. Mu Qing was well aware of what he meant.
Xuan ZhenJun was a martial god with hundreds of years of victories to his name, untamed and proud, his thirst for attaining perfection never quenched. He led armies and destroyed armies. He could crush kingdoms under his might and leave no stone standing on stone. A deadly perfection with a sabre, a swift and strong fist in hand-to-hand combat. Every inch of him Feng Xin’s equal.
What happened just now wasn’t how a skilled, experienced warrior fought. That was how a desperate one lashed out when cornered at the point of no return.
Yes. He lost it. That’s how badly he needed to get away from that all-consuming fever sparked by closeness, by touch.
“And whose fault do you think is that?!” He spat those words in Feng Xin’s face, fighting a wave of dizziness. “Whose fucking fault? What audacity you have, Feng Xin… Eight hundred years since I’ve met you and all of my bloody problems came from you! Tending to you and Xie Lian before he ascended, coddling two naive noble boys with no notion of real life outside the palace…! Dealing with you afterwards… You even had to ascend on the same day as me, ah?! Fate just fucking had to decide I’m stuck with you, no matter what happens! You… Always baiting and provoking me into fights, just because one time a servant boy who dared to offend you was given a chance to become your equal, and you just can’t fucking bear it…! And now… And now…”
Feng Xin’s face was pale in the faint light, his pupils huge, his breath erratic. For a short moment his hands faltered but the second Mu Qing tried to break free, the grip turned bruising, rapid pulse beating furiously against calloused fingers.
That was the last straw.
“You take so much pride in your loyalty but the truth is, your loyalty isn’t worth horseshit, Feng Xin,” he sneered, his voice barely a whisper, and yet cutting deep. “When Xie Lian needed your help the most, you were busy chasing that cheap doll, too stupid to realize that keeping ones like you on a leash is her bloody job. All the while I bore every humiliation in here to pave way for your bloody return! And now, when she comes spouting accusations, you don’t even have the fucking decency to step out and confess the truth…! Worse, that great fucking love of your life… You didn’t even recognize her. Like I said, Feng Xin. Your loyalty isn’t worth shit.”
The last few words came out a choked, pathetic sob. He bit on his lower lip to stop more words from coming, hard enough for teeth to pierce the skin again.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Feng Xin answered after a long while, surprisingly calm. “First things first, you don’t have to worry about those accusations. Jun Wu was informed of what happened with Jian Lan… I suppose everyone knows by now. She refuses to talk to me so the Palace of Ling Wen will have to investigate. But you’re right about one thing. I didn’t recognize her initially. I knew her for all of a few weeks eight hundred years ago. She’s changed. Besides, I never loved her any.”
The last words were a cold shower against feverish skin.
“W-what do you mean?” Mu Qing’s eyes narrowed. He glared at Feng Xin from underneath his lashes. His head was swimming so much he could barely stand; there was a pulsing headache forming behind his temples.
“What I’ve just fucking said.” There was no real irritation behind Feng Xin’s words, only a force of habit.
The bloody idiot really seemed determined not to argue, this time. This one fucking time, when Mu Qing needed furious blows and bruises, needed blood and pain, and the residual scent of Feng Xin’s sweat lingering on his skin long after the damnable man was gone.
“Or maybe I did, the way you immediately come to love a kind stranger that sits at your table when you’re deep in your cups and listens to your story, and offers advice, and seems to have a lot in common with you… Someone like that appears when your thoughts aren’t clear and you immediately declare them your sworn friend… But soon this desperate need for company passes, cups are empty and you each go your separate ways.”
Feng Xin’s shoulders sagged. He bowed his head as if wanting to press his forehead against the wall but it would only bring him closer to Mu Qing, so he straightened his back and their eyes met.
“Not the kind of love you have in mind, Mu Qing. Not the kind that makes you want and ache and stay. She listened when no one else would but that was all. Sleeping together wasn’t even my idea. I did it just to prove to myself that…” He looked away again. “It doesn’t matter now. Just so you know, no one will come to ask you about her.”
A choked, bitter laugh ripped out from Mu Qing’s throat. “That’s what you came here for? You should’ve said sooner. Now, let go before I make you. You will not like what comes after if I do. And fucking go away.”
“That’s not all I came here for.” His previous demeanor, calm and almost kind, was gone in a heartbeat. Something dark arose in its stead. The iron grip on Mu Qing’s wrists became even tighter. Hidden between pale moonlight and errant shadows, the lines of Feng Xin’s face seemed more tense than ever, his eyes dark and burning. “Are you waiting for someone after all?”
For you, I have waited for eight hundred years, you bloody idiot. And it seems I will have to wait an eternity more.
“You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?” Mu Qing answered with a whisper. For a heartbeat, his gaze rested on Feng Xin’s pale lips.
Feng Xin’s words were still swimming in his head; centuries of unneeded jealousy suddenly unraveled only to be replaced with a different kind of tension. He wanted to lash out and bite, and then come with Feng Xin’s taste on his tongue, a strong thigh pressed between his legs. The position he was held in was all too suggestive, paired with his unrestrained thoughts.
Feng Xin pressed closer. He bit his lip, looking almost hesitant.
“Whoever comes will be turned away at the door. If you need to blow off steam, you’ve already got company.”
Mu Qing’s breath hitched. “I thought you didn’t want to fight this time.”
Silence seemed to stretch out into eternity.
He turned his head away towards the open window, yet the stifling air of a summer evening couldn’t calm down the furious heartbeat and the overwhelming dizziness rising from his chest. The stone was cool against his burning cheek but it wasn’t enough.
Nothing could calm down the storm raging in his veins.
Feng Xin rested his forehead against his temple. With lips brushing wet strands of hair covering Mu Qing’s ear, he whispered, “I wasn’t offering a fight and you fucking know it.”
The night went still.
Eight hundred years.
Blood was pounding in Mu Qing’s veins as he gathered his strength to push him away, making him stumble. Not sparing Feng Xin a glance, he turned his back to him, eyes empty, hands clasped on the windowsill, hiding how much he struggled for breath.
“How dare you,” he whispered into the night air, swaying on his feet. “How dare… No. Leave. Leave. Right fucking now.”
He felt a solid chest press against his back. Strong arms wrapped around his waist.
Feng Xin hid his face in his hair, breathing in his scent.
“I can’t…” The reply came out a choked sigh. “Not after seeing you in such a state. Not when you might seek out another when I go. Not when you look at me like that, Mu Qing.”
Feng Xin’s hot breath ran down the length of his spine, seeping into his bones.
Eight hundred fucking years.
“Mocking me after what you’ve heard, aren’t you?” Mu Qing went frigid under his touch. “That, or you just can’t stand the thought of another having what you can’t have. Leave. Get lost. Why can’t you just fucking leave?”
“Why can’t you just speak your mind for once?!” Hands wandered down to his hips and rested there in an even firmer grip. Cold lips found a spot of bare skin under wet strands of hair and pressed to his neck. Hungry, wanting.
“Maybe I am,” Mu Qing snarled. “You know me. What I want I always get. Maybe you just aren’t what I need. Or who I need.”
The arms around him tightened, trembling, followed by a sharp intake of breath.
“I know you too well and I know your damn pride, and how it holds you back. Look at yourself…” Calloused fingers reached out, surprisingly tender against the burning skin of his cheek. “Crying as you lie. So determined to hurt me you don’t see you’re also hurting yourself.”
“I’m not…” His rebuttal came out weak. There was a wet trail on Feng Xin’s fingers.
How was he supposed to stand Feng Xin’s hot breath against his skin with no press of a cold blade to counter it?
Eight hundred years.
It was too much.
The hand that wiped away the stray teardrop reached up, caressing his hair. Long fingers combed through the still-wet strands, then caught them near their ends. Slowly, very slowly, Feng Xin wrapped his hair around his hand a few times until he held it in a firm grip on Mu Qing’s nape.
It felt as if most of the blood in Mu Qing’s body went south, until he was fully hard and throbbing. Only some of it stayed up, to stain his cheeks with a dark, feverish flush.
“I will challenge and fight any man that crosses your threshold tonight, god or junior official, I don’t care” Feng Xin’s mouth brushed the spot on his neck where the pulse was beating under sensitive skin, his words and his touch coaxing a shiver out of Mu Qing. “But if you tell me to stop what I’m doing now, I will.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, giving him a clear chance to back out, Feng Xin pulled on the soft, dark strands, tilting his head back.
With a sigh on his lips, Mu Qing yielded.
Eight hundred years.
Their eyes met.
The usual deep, warm gold of Feng Xin’s irises was hidden behind widened pupils. Was it only a play of shadows, or were those eyes so dark with desire too long held back, now finally unbound?
Either way, Mu Qing could only tremble under their gaze.
Feng Xin’s arm wrapped around him tight enough Mu Qing could feel a long, throbbing hardness press against his ass through the layers of their clothes. With blood pounding in his ears, he arched back before he realized what he was doing.
Warm breath caressed his skin as the tips of their noses brushed. Feng Xin softly kissed a stray tear away, then traced the flushed skin on the cheekbone with the tip of his tongue. Mu Qing’s eyes fluttered. He swayed on his feet but there were long fingers in his hair and a comforting presence behind him, holding him steady.
Never before in his life had he felt so weak, trembling under the slightest touch.
Their short, erratic breaths ghosted against each other’s mouth. After what felt like another eight hundred years of waiting, Feng Xin brushed his parted lips against Mu Qing’s, not daring to kiss yet, only caress ever so slightly. Neither of them could hold back quiet, broken moans, barely louder than whispers among the gusts of hot wind.
Feng Xin traced his cheekbone with his fingertips, then pressed a thumb against his lower lip, opening Mu Qing’s mouth to feel the sharpness of teeth, the softness of tongue, offering him a taste of skin. Eyes dark and wide, he stared at Mu Qing with an unmistakable hunger, like a man possessed.
Mu Qing had been yearning to see that hunger for eight hundred years. In that moment, when fever dreams were turning into reality, he suddenly found himself unable to hold that gaze. His long lashes rested above his cheeks, a shivering breath breaking from his throat.
Feng Xin propped his warm forehead against his for a heartbeat. Then he leaned in and took his lips.
The night was hot, the burden of centuries unbearable. Mu Qing fell to pieces.
Feng Xin’s mouth – cool against his skin just moments before – felt searing hot against his own as he sucked and bit on Mu Qing’s lips, not holding back the tremors of ecstasy that ran through his strong body, letting each of them vibrate against Mu Qing’s skin. He licked into the eager mouth and tasted to his heart’s content, teasing at his tongue with his own. The very night around them seemed to shiver as every sigh, every moan that tore from Mu Qing’s throat was met with a matching one.
Feng Xin dominated the kiss with a humiliating ease and yet Mu Qing had no strength left in him to struggle against that hunger. Wrapping men around his finger always came to him easily but in Feng Xin’s arms he felt so weak. All of his usual cold finesse gone, no enticing poison on his tongue, he could only yield, give in.
No need to keep up pretenses. That damnable man was only taking what had been rightfully his all along, whether he deserved it or not.
The sweet slide of tongue against tongue kept sending jolts right into his aching cock, making his head swim.
Mu Qing broke away from the kiss with a deep gasp, taking in the stifling air heavy with the scent of flowers. Feng Xin left him no room to breathe as he pressed his needy lips to the exposed neck, leaving bites and bruising kisses everywhere he could reach, the milk-white skin a canvas for him to paint his hunger on.
As if reading Mu Qing’s thoughts, he let go of any control he might’ve still had in him, letting his free hand roam all over Mu Qing’s body.
Fuck the man was bold. No slightest sign of hesitation in any of these fervent touches, even though his hands were shaking. He reached and touched and caressed and pinched almost as if his very next breath depended on it, calloused hands pressing to leave bruises in the wake of their strokes, sending sweet jolts of pleasure to every inch of Mu Qing’s body. Mouth, jawline, neck and collarbone, chest and hips, ass and the inside of thighs, then back to his collarbone again, and up…
Feng Xin tensed behind him, then – with a ragged groan – he sucked on the delicate patch of skin where he could feel the beating pulse. He almost ripped the thin robe away to expose flushed skin, chasing a dark beauty mark right under Mu Qing’s collarbone with his mouth. There was something desperate and purposeful about that move, as if he’d been dying to press his lips there for a long time and could no longer hold back. The sole ecstatic thought made Mu Qing’s sight blur until he could barely see the night sky and the stars above. A broken whimper escaped his lips, a wanting echo in the dark.
Feng Xin cursed under his breath, his touches getting even bolder and more fervent as he pushed the fabric away to let his hand roam under the robe.
Rough fingers brushed against his nipple. Mu Qing arched his back with a hiss before he could help it. Feng Xin drew him closer in response, showering his hair with kisses. A long, throbbing erection strained under the fabric of his pants, pressed tight against Mu Qing’s ass.
He wanted all barriers between them gone.
With a soft gasp he raised his gaze to meet Feng Xin’s for a heartbeat, only to look away with his vision blurred. The fever burning through his body seemed to be matched by a similar storm raging under the skin of the man behind him.
As his lips were taken again, Mu Qing moaned and shivered and sighed, then scratched like a wild cat wherever he could reach, leaving red gashes on Feng Xin’s neck, but made no move to break free. After all, it was the opposite of what he wanted when Feng Xin was leaving no corner of his mouth untasted, no spot of skin where he could reach untouched.
As they broke away for breath, Feng Xin laced his fingers with his, prying them away from where they were still clasped. He raised the bruised hand to his lips. Seeing the bandage coming untied and seeping with blood, he restrained himself for a moment. He soothed the bruises with lingering kisses, then sucked away a stray drop of blood from a fresh cut. With a groan that made his chest vibrate, he pressed a tender kiss against Mu Qing’s burning cheek.
The way he breathed in and out heavily, pressing closer and closer, seeking Mu Qing’s scent… It was intoxicating.
They stayed perfectly still pressed against each other for a moment, trying to calm down their breathing but failing. The feather-light brush of lips against lips felt like a warm embrace but there was wildfire raging underneath.
The second they looked into each other’s eyes again – burning and aching, defenses down – it was Feng Xin’s turn to shatter.
His fingers tightened in Mu Qing’s hair, holding his face close to his own, not letting him get away. As Mu Qing was caught up in another bruising kiss, Feng Xin’s other hand started fumbling with his belt.
Mu Qing gasped into the kiss, then bit on his lip. He bit hard, until he tasted iron. Feng Xin responded with a moan so damn lewd and helpless it went straight to Mu Qing’s already leaking cock. It seemed as if something just broke in Feng Xin, his previous greedy yet precise movements replaced by nervous, impatient fumbling.
All coherent thoughts flew out of his head when his pants were pushed down and he felt Feng Xin’s hips press against his own from behind, skin to skin, no barriers in between.
Clothes finally out of the way, skin bared to the night air, they went still for a breathless moment. Feng Xin’s large, heavy cock rubbed against his ass and his inner thighs, the scent of his desire thick and heady in the already stifling air. Mu Qing’s body shivered violently in response, followed by an erotic, humiliating moan. He had fingers grasping his hair and a strong body pressed behind him, but the tension was just too fucking much; his legs gave out. He stumbled, involuntarily reaching out to Feng Xin, tangling his fingers in his hair in return.
Feng Xin saw it as an opening and kicked his legs apart.
Before Mu Qing’s blurring vision could steady, before he could draw a breath, he felt a hard, thick length press between his parted thighs.
The night around them, the centuries separating them, the necessity to draw breath, it was all forgotten. Only the cadence of their heartbeats remained, and the rush of blood in two touch-starved bodies.
Mu Qing wet his lips, feeling a burning, hungry gaze following the languid movement of his tongue. Slowly, ever so slowly he squeezed his thighs back, drawing a base groan out of Feng Xin. The cock between his legs was so long he could see the thick head, heavy and leaking amidst the pale expanse of his own skin. Long, rough fingers caressed the bare skin of his inner thigh, sliding up to curl around his hipbone in a possessive grip. As they drew closer to his cock, he let out a choked breath but found himself unable to breathe in.
He felt a tender kiss on his temple, pressed to the spot where tiny droplets of sweat started to gather.
Mu Qing looked up from underneath his lashes.
They were so close. Heavens, they were so close.
Eight hundred years…
“Lovely,” whispered Feng Xin with a hoarse, lewd voice. “So fucking lovely...”
Mu Qing thought his heart couldn’t possibly pound any harder but that damnable first love of his proved him wrong again.
The familiarity of Feng Xin’s heavy gaze with something unspoken underneath made him wonder – almost bashfully, and for no longer than a heartbeat – if maybe, just maybe it wasn’t the first time he was being watched like this. Wanted, oh so desperately wanted. Pined for.
He buried the notion deep as soon as it crossed his mind.
All coherent thoughts were gone from his head a moment later, when Feng Xin leaned in for a taste of his lips and wrapped his fingers around Mu Qing’s cock, right under the head already slick with pre-cum.
Mu Qing’s moans were swallowed in a demanding, passionate kiss as that damnable man finally, finally moved, fucking in between his thighs with hard thrusts that made the impressing length rub against his balls and the base of his cock.
All was lost to the sensations spurred by Feng Xin’s every move. The slow slide of tongue against tongue, his hair being pulled and him pulling the other’s soft strands in turn, skin rubbing on skin, a strong arm wrapped around his waist, a calloused hand clasped around his cock enveloping the aching length in its rough heat, the sensitive, delicate skin of his inner thighs rutted against mercilessly… The night was still and silent, growing hotter around them as they each took and gave what they needed, no shame holding them back.
Lips and tongues kept teasing at each other in messy, open-mouthed kisses that kept sending shivers down Mu Qing’s spine. His bottom lip – already sucked and bitten raw – yielded to the press of sharp teeth and broke when the kiss grew more intense, each and every tiny blooddrop licked clean with heady want. Each time he broke for breath, at least one fresh bitemark bloomed from around the most sensitive spot on his neck.
Feng Xin turned out to be surprisingly adept at finding his weak spots and using them against him with near despotic precision.
As a blow of hot breath on the abused, bruising skin of his neck made Mu Qing writhe in his arms, Feng Xin slowed down the pace of his thrusts, then drew his tongue over the juncture where neck met shoulder. His hand left Mu Qing’s cock; Feng Xin raised it to his mouth instead. Rough fingers started teasing at Mu Qing’s tongue, dealing maddening, mind-numbing torment when he sucked them in.
Then, slowly smearing the leaking pre-cum over the slit of Mu Qing’s cock with feather-light moves of wet fingertips, Feng Xin blew at the exposed skin of his neck that was still wet and raw from his earlier kisses and bites.
Mu Qing couldn’t hold back a base, low cry of ecstasy but accented it with a sharp glare. All it got him in response was a deep, dark chuckle. He turned his head, lunging for a harsh bite, his teeth marking Feng Xin’s jaw.
When the hand on his cock stopped its torturous teasing and fingers wrapped around his aching length again, he let out a quiet, sensual purr of near-satisfaction. But Feng Xin had no mercy on him. He knew how to tighten his grip and flick his wrist just right, oh so damn right, in a way that made Mu Qing’s toes curl. All this time, Feng Xin showered his hair and temples with tender kisses. When waves of ecstasy became too intense for Mu Qing’s knees not to go weak from the prolonged teasing, the cruel hand loosened its grip and slid down to wrap around the base of his cock, the press of fingers tight and relentless as it delayed his orgasm, keeping him on edge.
Held like that, he could only arch his back and rut against Feng Xin, cock or hand, pressed tight in between, pleasure pooling in his groin in an intoxicating, sickeningly sweet sensation as he cried out and whimpered and all but wordlessly pleaded for more. Feng Xin’s thrusts became harder and sharper, his gasps coming fast and heavy against his skin. He hid his face in Mu Qing’s hair, his breathing too erratic for his mouth to stay pressed to the exposed neck any longer.
“Look at me,” he growled, speeding up.
But Mu Qing would lose control and let his love spill from his lips if he did; Feng Xin’s held more danger to him than a thousand armies. He tossed his head aside, hiding his gaze under thick fans of dark lashes and long strands of hair covering his flushed face.
“Look at me.”
What had sounded like an order before came out a desperate prayer when repeated.
Under the silky cover of the night, two hearts beat like war drums.
There was nowhere to hide from this fatal affection. After eight hundred years of waiting, Mu Qing gave in and obeyed.
As their burning foreheads rested against each other, Feng Xin’s hand started moving again, in time with his relentless thrusts. Hoping that the overwhelming love held back from his lips was not reflected in his eyes, Mu Qing met his captivating, hungry gaze and was once again left breathless by the sight of his first love caught up in the throes of pleasure.
A heartbeat later his vision went white as he came with a broken moan, his whole body shaking in the embrace of his greatest rival, his dearest love of eight hundred years. The tremors of the toe-curling orgasm that shook his very core left him more dazed out and faint than all the heavenly tribulations he’d faced.
Through the blissful haze, he heard his own name from among the cries that broke the late-night silence; he caught himself calling out for Feng Xin with a needy rasp. He could feel the wetness of their releases, his own cum sloppily rubbed onto his overstimulated, aching cock with each stroke of Feng Xin’s hand, and the hot droplets of cum staining his thighs as they both rode out their orgasms, the mind-numbing rapture stretched out beyond their breaking points.
As soon as the grip around him loosened, Mu Qing stumbled, his head swimming. All blissed out, he almost fell to his knees but strong arms turned him around and held him close.
He breathed in Feng Xin’s enticing scent, sensing him doing the same as his vision went dark.
Sometime later, he felt those strong arms lift him up, hands radiating heat enveloping his ass in a bruising grip. Drowsy and utterly exhausted from the sheer intensity of the moment, he wrapped his thighs around Feng Xin’s hips almost instinctively, resting his burning cheek against his shoulder. He barely registered being carried to his bedroom before he gave in to the overwhelming bliss of centuries-old desire finding release at last.
Feng Xin’s footsteps didn’t resonate with thunderous strength as he strode the hallways of the Palace of Xuan Zhen for once. This time, they were unhurried and rather careful, a mere ripple among the sounds of cicadas and the gusts of hot wind moving through the night.