Chapter Text
Heart thudding against his ribcage, Meng Yao stepped back out of Zewu-jun’s space and dropped immediately into a bow, arms circled in front of himself. Zewu-jun’s hands came up automatically to catch them, and Meng Yao watched through his lashes as Zewu-jun blinked rapidly in startlement. His cheeks flushed with a dusting of red from the kiss that Meng Yao had just placed upon the left one.
Triumph and no small amount of terror coursed through Meng Yao’s veins. The kiss had been impulse, a light buss that mimicked the one Chifeng-zun had bade Zewu-jun farewell with upon his last visit. Possible consequences had, of course, crossed his mind, and perhaps he shouldn’t have been quite so impetuous, but now that he had done it there was no going back, and he was confident that the repercussions of his...lapse of control could be contained.
If nothing else, he could now say that he had kissed the First Jade of Lan.
Best speak now before said First Jade recovered, however. In as steady and deferential a voice as he could manage, he tried, “Having now passed on Sect Leader Nie’s regards to Sect Leader Lan, I shall take my leave.”
At least they were alone in the garden in front of the hanshi. No one else was here to witness Meng Yao scrabbling to recover. Though if they had had an audience, he never would have attempted the kiss in the first place.
“Oh, don’t—” Zewu-jun began, his hands tightening around Meng Yao’s arms just above his elbows, keeping him locked in a half-bow and just slightly too close for any sort of reasonable retreat.
Meng Yao’d bowed too soon. With the kiss, he’d been far too close. Foolish. Foolish of him. He didn’t dare pull away. He refused to tremble, no matter how badly this might go.
Expressions flickered across Zewu-jun’s face after the surprise faded. Concern foremost. Followed by a faint dawning of realization. Then something thoughtful, almost speculating. Last of all, his lips settled into a smile that Meng Yao had never seen on his face before. He was hard-pressed to tell if it was a smile to be wary of or not.
“Of course,” Zewu-jun said at last. He didn’t let Meng Yao go. “Forgive me. Thank you for passing the message along.” He paused and then, in the most aggressively genial voice Meng Yao had ever heard, continued with, “You know that we value your discretion to the utmost. All our most sensitive correspondences are entrusted to you. You have proved nothing but the most trustworthy of messengers.”
Meng Yao kept his expression politely neutral. Was he—was he talking about the kiss? He had to be. That was too high a praise for him otherwise.
Honestly, Zewu-jun playing along had not been a result that he’d considered. He breathed a little easier. “It is my honor, Sect Leader.”
“And of course, Mingjue will be waiting for a return missive.”
What.
Meng Yao jerked upward, half out of Sect Leader Lan’s hold. “Sect Leader?”
“I trust you’ll be able to deliver one?” Zewu-jun’s smile remained gloriously, infuriatingly neutral, and he met Meng Yao’s gaze with straightforward patience. The question was for Meng Yao to answer and the First Jade of Lan was going to help not at all. “It is not required, if that’s what worries you. I will simply deliver this particular message next time I see him, if you do not wish to.”
“I.” Meng Yao faltered. “By return missive you—”
“How about I give it to you and you can decide after whether or not to deliver it?”
Blindsided by what could not possibly be being offered, Meng Yao only managed, “That sounds reasonable.”
Zewu-jun’s smile flickered brighter. “Good.”
Meng Yao straightened as he was released, and before he could step back, Zewu-jun gently grasped his chin and tilted his face upward. He pressed his lips to Meng Yao’s and at the first touch, Meng Yao’s eyes fluttered closed and his breath caught in his chest. Zewu-jun’s other hand curved around the back of Meng Yao’s neck, fingers sliding into his hair, holding him firmly in place.
The kiss lingered, warm and chaste and everything sweet that Meng Yao dreamt of with rapacity. Cautious disbelief kept him from doing more than matching the pressure, kept him from indulging too much too fast.
But he was not going to waste this opportunity, however it had come about.
Zewu-jun broke the kiss too soon, pulling away only to shake Meng Yao’s chin and say, “Breathe.”
Meng Yao sucked in a breath and opened his eyes to find Zewu-jun still leaning down, almost nose-to-nose with him. Embarrassing as it was, Meng Yao found himself light-headed, though the kiss had not been even a fraction as filthy as any he had witnessed growing up. He could certainly do better.
And yet.
“Will you deliver my message to Sect Leader Nie?” Zewu-jun asked, low and amused.
“I’ll think about it,” Meng Yao said before he regained control of his wits or folded himself back down into his role. “I doubt he’d be particularly amenable to any attempt of this type of communication on my part.”
Meng Yao’s words caught up with him only after they’d left his mouth. He went rigid. What deference? What humility? One kiss should not be enough to make him forget himself.
For a long, horrible moment, Zewu-jun only blinked at him. But then he laughed and released Meng Yao’s chin. “Ah, well, it’s up to you. If you do not, consider this an indulgence on my part and think no more on it.”
“Of course, Zewu-jun,” Meng Yao said as he backed away. He didn’t dare try and bow again. Who knew what would happen if he did?
Unfortunately he didn’t get far, as he was clutching at Zewu-jun’s sleeves, the grip all but white-knuckled. He gave Zewu-jun the most harmless smile he could summon to his face while cursing internally and disentangled himself from the fabric. He didn’t remember doing that. He shouldn’t have. He hadn’t been thinking. “Forgive me, please, Zewu-jun.”
“Honestly, after our exchange of, ah, messages, I think you might call—” Zewu-jun began.
“Sorry!” Meng Yao broke in. Oh but that was a dangerous, dangerous beginning to any sort of sentence and Meng Yao was officially not equipped to have anything more to do Zewu-jun today.
He fled the hanshi’s garden at a brisk walk, clutching at the remaining shreds of his dignity. Thank that ridiculous wall of rules and all the ancestors who had ground them into the poor Lan. Every white-and-blue robed cultivator he met on his way to his escort all politely pretended not to see the color that refused to fade from Meng Yao’s cheeks.
⸘◦✉◦‽
The trip home from Cloud Recesses was bumpy, the roads between it and the Unclean Realm still in need of their spring repairs. The carriage creaked as it rattled over another washout and Meng Yao tried to breathe through the infernal rocking.
They were a day out of Qinghe and Meng Yao’s smattering of guards were in high spirits as they neared home. Meng Yao was left alone with his thoughts, most of which centered upon cursing himself for his audacity. He was unrepentant, unfortunately, so that could occupy him only so long.
His thoughts otherwise seemed determined to replay the “message” he was supposed to pass on in vivid detail, over and over again. His perfect recall now seemed less a gift and more torture, because now he knew precisely how Zewu-jun kissed. The intent. The warmth. The strength of his hands when Meng Yao would have melted right out of his hold.
Regardless of the mild spring weather, Meng Yao found himself rather warm and shifting in his seat for reasons other than road condition.
One problem still remained entirely outside of how pleasant or unpleasant (or both) the memory of Zewu-jun’s lips was making this particular journey, and that was the request to pass the message on.
Oh, he had no doubt that if he truly put his mind to it, he could relay any message with the utmost accuracy. The banked heat of his arousal wasn’t going to be leaving anytime soon and that certainly assured it.
But to kiss Sect Leader Nie? Chifeng-zun? The one who Meng Yao reports directly to? Why would Zewu-jun even suggest such a thing even as a thinly-veiled excuse to kiss Meng Yao properly?
(What did he mean an indulgence on his part? Surely not. Surely he hadn’t said such a thing at all. But there it was, in his memory, in Zewu-jun’s amused tone and accompanied by that damnable smile.)
The only thing that Meng Yao could possibly think was that Zewu-jun knew that he...coveted Chifeng-zun. Which was impossible. Meng Yao had never let slip any of his own preferences. Not among the Lan. Not among the Nie. To admit he’d set his sights so high on not one but two Sect Leaders?
No, no. Unthinkable.
And while he had gambled upon Zewu-jun’s grace and won a kiss he would not forget, to do the same with Chifeng-zun had the possibility of far graver results. He wasn’t stupid. An opportunist, yes, but he did indeed know precisely where his next meal came from. To risk everything for something as crude as desire was out of the question.
Although...if he could hold to the fiction of a message passed from Zewu-jun, perhaps—well.
Perhaps.
⸘◦✉◦‽
The letter that lay unscrolled across the low desk in Chifeng-zun’s room was written in Zewu-jun’s hand. Meng Yao could tell that much from where he stood, still dusty from travel, to offer his report. The letter was not one he had delivered and he had, for the last half a year, carried all but the most time-sensitive correspondence. For it to have appeared before his arrival, Zewu-jun must have sent it by courier. Separately. Although Meng Yao was himself returning straight home.
“Sect Leader,” he said smoothly, dropping into a bow to Chifeng-zun where he was still seated behind the desk.
Chifeng-zun waved him up. “You’re back,” he said. “Sit, sit and tell me everything.” His gruff enthusiasm was endearing. Despite his entirely reasonable concern regarding the unexpected letter, Meng Yao found himself hiding a smile as he folded himself down in front of the desk and proceeded to indeed tell him everything.
The trip was, barring the incident currently making Meng Yao try to surreptitiously read the letter without looking like he was trying to read the letter, fairly standard. Sect business discussed, information they were trying to keep from the Wens exchanged, et cetera and so on. As they spoke of boring matters, Chifeng-zun “casually” spread his hand across the letter and “idly” put it away and Meng Yao was not at all anxious about what it contained.
“So,” Chifeng-zun said when Meng Yao sat back.
His nonchalant tone was alarming to say the least, but Meng Yao swallowed his reaction and plastered a curious smile on his face. “Sect Leader?”
“Xichen said you had a message for me?”
What was in that letter?
Meng Yao did not reply immediately. Instead, he ducked his head and studied Chifeng-zun. Unlike with Zewu-jun and Meng Yao’s unfamiliarity with his expressions, Chifeng-zun was easy to read. When he was happy, he looked happy. When he was angry, he looked angry. When he was hungry, he looked hungry—and possibly also angry, depending. Regardless, it was all very straightforward. Meng Yao didn’t have to guess.
Right now, Chifeng-zun looked nothing so much as anticipatory, like he was watching someone try a favorite dish of his and was impatient to know what they thought of it. He certainly didn’t look angry. He might have even looked pleased. Why and how were a mystery, but as the letter that Meng Yao was not being allowed to read clearly had mentioned something, the reaction was about as favorable as could be hoped.
Meng Yao despaired. What logic? What propriety? Wasn’t this getting a little out of hand?
All of the reasons why he shouldn’t, and he was really going to do this anyway.
“Yes, of course,” Meng Yao said, unfolding in one graceful motion to come to his feet. “If I may approach.”
Chifeng-zun gestured him over with a brisk wave, the light in his eyes sparking with mischief. That was not an inspiring expression on a man known mostly for his overwhelming battle prowess and not at all for any sort of playful spirit. It really did not help that Meng Yao thought his sense of humor was rather suspect to begin with.
Nevertheless, Meng Yao rounded the desk and knelt at Chifeng-zun’s side. Chifeng-zun shifted on his cushion, put one elbow on his desk and his chin on his fist, and looked up at Meng Yao with badly-hidden amusement.
Meng Yao huffed. This might not be how he’d ever imagined this would go, but an opportunity was an opportunity. He took a deep breath, argued himself out of being flustered by the weight of Chifeng-zun’s gaze, and let himself remember precisely what Zewu-jun had done to him.
Chifeng-zun’s hair was softer than Meng Yao expected when he slid his fingers around the back of his neck. With thumb and forefinger, he captured Chifeng-zun’s chin and tilted his head up, and then pressed in for the kiss.
The experience was both like and unlike kissing Zewu-jun, and not just because of the reversal in position. There was a similar soft warmth, a similar sense of coiled strength, but Chifeng-zun’s moustache kept brushing his upper lip and Chifeng-zun was clearly...humoring Meng Yao. The heat that Zewu-jun had brought to the kiss seemed almost entirely banked.
Meng Yao shuffled forward on his knees to get a better angle.
Chifeng-zun laughed against his lips.
Disgruntled, Meng Yao began to pull away. He certainly wasn’t going to humiliate himself. Really, he should have known better than to let a Lan influen—
Chifeng-zun caught his wrist to pull Meng Yao’s touch from his chin, folded his other hand around the back of Meng Yao’s head, and opened his mouth beneath Meng Yao’s. He pressed them back together hard, and his tongue quested the seam of Meng Yao’s lips until Meng Yao opened for him.
The kiss grew hot and wet as Chifeng-zun’s tongue thrust into his mouth. Meng Yao melted into the kiss, sinking lower on his knees. The hand on his wrist slid up his arm and down his side to settle heavy on his hip. His breaths came hard through his nose, his heart pounding as Chifeng-zun all but devoured him.
Chifeng-zun’s grip on his head and hip was the only thing that held him up when they pulled apart. Boneless, Meng Yao blinked rapidly as he tried to remember himself and what he’d been doing.
“I, ah,” he said, settling back on his heels as Chifeng-zun released him. “I believe the message got somewhat embellished in the delivery. However, I think I’ve managed to convey the gist.”
“Good,” Chifeng-zun said, voice rough. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Thank you. Go clean up and rest. You’re eating with Huaisang tonight.”
“Yes, Sect leader.” He rose to his feet automatically at the dismissal, which was good, because his mind was racing and he wasn’t going to be responsible for his actions if he stayed. He drifted toward the door, one hand on his chest as he tried to breathe evenly for the sake of all the people he would have to pass in the corridor between Chifeng-zun’s and his own.
“And Meng Yao?” Chifeng-zun waited until Meng Yao paused. “I won’t have anything to send back to Cloud Recesses for at least a week.”
Meng Yao blinked at him. “That’s good to know.”
Chifeng-zun nodded sharply at him. “Go.”
He looked satisfied. Meng Yao didn’t know what to do with that information, so he went. Only after he made it all the way back to his room did he remember he hadn’t bothered to bow his way out.
⸘◦✉◦‽
The week passed like any other. Meng Yao was kept very, very busy with all of his regular duties as Chifeng-zun’s deputy, and he did not wonder when he would be called for his next delivery. Nor did he think about Chifeng-zun’s reaction to either the first half of the kiss nor the second. He certainly did not analyse both from every possible angle as if there were some sort of code contained within that he might be able to learn through sheer will.
Really, though, what was there to think about? Meng Yao had already resolved to blame Zewu-jun for the whole business.
Outside of the incident, however, Chifeng-zun was perfectly polite—or as much as he could be, at least. The Nie in general and their leader in particular were all a little rough around the edges. Meng Yao blamed the sabers. Regardless. Chifeng-zun was not acting abnormally toward him. He asked no more or less of him than usual, and did not seem inclined to take any liberties whatsoever.
Meng Yao was both relieved and disappointed. The bitter and cynical son of a prostitute that lived within him still expected to be taken advantage of despite the fact that Chifeng-zun wouldn’t. The weeklong simmering arousal barely staved off by judicious moments alone demanded he be backed into every dark corner for a repeat of the kiss. Preferably often. With more tongue.
And Meng Yao had to stand at Chifeng-zun’s side, his most polite smile on his face, and ply his diplomatic skills upon minor sect leaders and all manner of visiting guests without getting distracted by...well, hands, mostly.
For all that he could recall precisely how breathless he’d become and the exact timbre of Chifeng-zun’s voice before he recovered himself (and wasn’t that a tantalizing hint at what he might sound like in other situations), it was the hands he couldn’t get out of his head. He could still feel the clutch of them in his hair, the weight of them on his hip—and that was it. Barely anything.
The whole experience had been a tease, a bare morsel, and not nearly enough.
It was a long week.
⸘◦✉◦‽