Work Text:
By definition, Mu Qing is a person who tries to keep his emotions at bay.
At bay may be an understatement, actually. If he were being honest with himself, it is more similar to his heart being locked and tied up and buried somewhere deep where no one can find it.
When Feng Xin first told him he loved him, Mu Qing gave him a key.
He hasn't told Feng Xin he has this key, and Feng Xin hasn't asked. In fact, Mu Qing thinks it may be abnormal to split things into locks and keys in the first place, but he also thinks that he's always been an unsolvable puzzle deep down.
(Xie Lian has another key. Mu Qing gave him it out of reluctant respect that slowly blossomed into genuine friendship. These are the only two keys Mu Qing has made, and the only two keys he thinks he will ever give out.)
Feng Xin makes him feel like he finally wants to be solved.
Of course, Feng Xin is also drooling onto his shoulder, dead asleep in the seat next to him.
He is the most uncomplicated man on earth.
Mu Qing loves him so much.
Their hotel is too fancy. Mu Qing decides this as soon as they enter the lobby, suitcases clicking on the tiled marble floors.
It wasn't their original plan. When Pei Ming heard about their honeymoon plans (Northern Canada, in December, three days spent driving there and back because airfare is too expensive to justify), he showed up at their apartment the next day with two plane tickets, an itinerary, and absolutely no patience for any protestations.
Now they're in Florida. Warm and sunny Florida, where the sun is shining even though six hours earlier they were trailing their suitcases behind them through snow. It's weird. Mu Qing is too exhausted to think about it past that.
And if the lobby is too fancy, their room is criminally so.
“Why do I feel like we’re fancy businessmen on a business trip,” Feng Xin says, gliding his hand across the cream covers on their king-size bed. “Do businessmen get fancy hotels? God, I hate rich people.”
“En,” Mu Qing shrugs. “We’re gonna have to get Pei Ming a gift. This is a lot, even for him.”
(This is not the first time Pei Ming has done something like this.)
(A decade ago. Xie Lian’s 21st birthday. Pei Ming rented out the entirety of Disneyland for a night. He justified this by saying that Xie Lian deserved more since he can’t drink; he also said that it didn’t cost that much. (Mu Qing googled it. It cost three hundred thousand dollars.))
(Five years ago. Shi Wudu got his Masters Degree. Pei Ming took him and Ling Wen on a month long cruise. In Europe.)
(They have all tried to explain to Pei Ming at one point or another that, A) It is impossible to buy friendship, and, B) He does not need to buy their friendship, as they like him just the way he is. Pei Ming knows. Mu Qing thinks he simply likes the combination of seeing his friends smile and the thanks he receives when he does things like this. He’s their token 1%; he knows this will not save him in the event of a class war. He is strangely amenable to that fact.)
“I’m gonna take a shower,” Feng Xin announces, stretching his arms above his head.
“Sweet. I’m sleeping.” Mu Qing toes off his shoes. “You ruined my nap time by laying on me on the plane.”
“I’m sorry.” Feng Xin leans in.
“No you’re not.” Mu Qing frowns, but obediently holds out his cheek for a kiss.
Feng Xin smiles as he presses a kiss to his cheek. “No, I’m not.”
Mu Qing swats at Feng Xin’s rear, drinking in his husband’s laugh in response. “Hurry up. I’m not kissing you while you’re all gross.”
Feng Xin leans in again, eyes on Mu Qing’s lips. Mu Qing shrieks, shoving him away with a hand in his face.
“I just want a kiss,” Feng Xin says. “Give your poor, sweet, husband a kiss.”
“No. Come any closer and I’ll kick you in the balls,” Mu Qing deadpans.
Feng Xin’s laugh follows him into the bathroom, cutting off when he shuts the door.
Mu Qing strips off his shirt and pants, crawling into their (large, soft, feels like he's sitting on a fucking could) bed in his socks and underwear. He really is exhausted, even with the sun shining bright through the windows. He still can't believe he's here. He can't believe he's married.
He can't believe he's happy.
Feng Xin is many things, but he is not light-footed. Mu Qing is barely dozing when he trundles back into the room, sitting heavily on the foot of their bed.
"Mm. Morning," Mu Qing yawns, buried deep inside the covers.
"It's 4:30," Feng Xin says.
Mu Qing chucks a pillow at his back. "Don't wake me up just to correct me. Rude."
"Happy honeymoon to you, too." Feng Xin reaches back to take Mu Qing's hand in his.
Mu Qing tugs on his hand. "Come kiss me. Then I'll decide whether it's a happy honeymoon."
Feng Xin complies.
Mu Qing used to think about how Feng Xin would kiss, back when he first had that unfortunate infatuation on the guy sitting across the room from him in his communications class.
(Xie Lian introduced them. Mu Qing quickly grew to hate him. And then like him again, too much and tied together with the hate to create an electric and nebulous ball of feelings he never quite learned how to deal with.)
Imagination is a poor substitute for Feng Xin, propped above him, one hand on his thigh as their mouths move together. Mu Qing has received many types of kisses from Feng Xin: soft, gentle kisses on the nape of his neck when Feng Xin finishes braiding his hair in the mornings; hard, messy kisses against his neck as Feng Xin rails him straight into next week; quick, fleeting kisses pressed to the corner of his mouth when Feng Xin is running late for work; sharp, biting kisses against his inner thighs as Feng Xin works him open with his fingers.
Mu Qing thinks these kisses may be his favorite, though. Feng Xin kisses with confidence, lips warm and steady, tongue tracing along Mu Qing's bottom lip almost lazily. It's not kisses marked with intent, except for the intent to kiss and be kissed. Feng Xin's hand dipping beneath the covers to rest against his thigh is gentle and welcome, every nip against his lips accompanied by a small sigh. Mu Qing would stay like this forever if he were allowed -- he would do nothing else but lie beneath his husband and let himself be loved.
Being loved is something of a novelty for Mu Qing. He has been appreciated, yes, and liked, and tolerated, but rarely loved. Not in the way that he feels love now, exuding from Feng Xin with every kiss, every touch. It's not a fickle thing, there and then gone in an instant like Mu Qing thought it was, back when they were simply sort-of friends who fucked. It's steady and ever-present, tides forever being pulled into place by the moon.
It’s all-consuming, as welcome now as it was surprising then. Mu Qing has learned to kiss like someone who’s loved. Mu Qing has gone from faux overconfidence at finally having Feng Xin in his bed, kisses that cut as sharp as his words, wound up and begging to be unraveled to the quiet credence that settles low in his chest, Feng Xin’s lips against his.
"Don't we have a dinner or something to get to?" Mu Qing asks breathlessly, tipping his head back as Feng Xin's lips find his neck as they often do.
"Pei Ming left the entire first day open," Feng Xin murmurs, teeth grazing Mu Qing's jaw. "He said, and I quote, 'Get some.'"
Mu Qing snorts, running one hand along Feng Xin's side, smiling at the way Feng Xin shifts, ticklish even if he refuses to admit it. "He's never been subtle."
"Do you want to keep talking about Pei Ming scheduling in sex in the itinerary he gave me or do you want to actually follow it?" Feng Xin asks against his sternum, squeezing his thigh.
"Ugh," Mu Qing pouts. "Fine. We can have sex instead of talking about Pei Ming. He'd take it as a compliment if he was a part of our foreplay, though."
"Diminishing returns on the Pei Ming jokes, dear," Feng Xin says lightly.
"Boo," complains Mu Qing, breath hitching when the hand on his thigh slides up to trace along the underside of his ass. "So how do you want me, baby?"
Feng Xin pauses, and Mu Qing knows without looking that he's blushing.
"Got you quiet that easy, huh?"
Feng Xin growls, and Mu Qing's mind is a repeat of yes, yes, yes. "Shut up."
Mu Qing sneers. "You know how to shut me up, gege. So get up here and-"
Feng Xin shoves two fingers in his mouth.
Oh. Oh. It's going to be this kind of afternoon. Mu Qing was expecting a kiss, really, but you won't find him complaining if Feng Xin wants to be rough.
"Suck." Feng Xin presses his fingers down against Mu Qing's tongue, hot breath against his chest.
Mu Qing sucks, the salty taste of Feng Xin's skin melting down his throat, saliva pooling at the front of his mouth as he dots his tongue across the underside of his fingers.
"Thank you, my dear," Feng Xin says, and bites down on Mu Qing's nipple.
It's not that Feng Xin giving it to him rough is rare, exactly, but even when he's acting in charge, Feng Xin tends to be slow and gentle, near reverence for Mu Qing and Mu Qing's body in every touch.
Now, though, it's just how Mu Qing likes it, commands in Feng Xin's voice and fiery heat in the way he grips his ass with the other hand, kneading through the fabric of his boxers as he bites along Mu Qing's chest. Feng Xin presses his fingers in deeper, humming as Mu Qing laves his tongue in the crevice between them.
When Feng Xin pulls his fingers from Mu Qing's mouth, he pulls a gasp out with them. Mu Qing's head falls against the pillows as Feng Xin tugs back the covers, dragging his wet fingers down the center of Mu Qing's chest.
Mu Qing takes a moment to breathe, chest heaving.
“Okay?” Feng Xin says, voice dropping an octave, lips tickling the base of Mu Qing’s ribs.
“Yes,” Mu Qing says, running a hand through Feng Xin’s hair. “God, yeah. Please don’t stop, A-Xin.”
Mu Qing would never admit it, but he knows precisely what pet names get Feng Xin riled up. Feng Xin may act smug (with good reason), but he knows that baby will make Feng Xin hold him tighter, that dearest will make him slow down and take things gently, and that A-Xin makes Feng Xin puff up, boastful and smirking and so goddamn attractive that Mu Qing can’t quite believe that he’s married to this man.
Like right now, when Feng Xin sweeps the hand that had been pressing into Mu Qing’s mouth around his back, lifting him and tugging his boxer shorts down with the other hand, teeth finding Mu Qing’s neck.
When they get home, Mu Qing is going to find Pei Ming and kiss him on the mouth for getting them a room with a king-sized bed. When Feng Xin tosses him to the side, kneeling up in bed, Mu Qing doesn’t even feel as though he’s going to fall. He watches, kicking off his boxers, as Feng Xin folds back the blankets, going directly for his pants button, and-
“Oh my fucking god.” Mu Qing throws a hand over his eyes, groaning. “You didn’t.”
“What?” Feng Xin asks, looking away when Mu Qing peeks out at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Did you really put on skinny jeans directly after a shower?”
“It’s a special occasion,” Feng Xin mutters, face flushing pink.
“Hold on. Time out. You did not pack your date jeans on our honeymoon.” He did.
“You like them,” says Feng Xin.
Mu Qing has to admit, he’s got him there.
“Too much?” Feng Xin scratches the back of his neck with one hand, sheepish.
“What? No. Shut up and get over here.” Mu Qing reaches out with grabby hands, letting his legs fall open to reveal his half-hard cock nestled between his thighs.
Feng Xin, face still pink, crawls over, letting Mu Qing get his hands on his waistband and fiddle with his zipper.
“God, you’re so cute,” Mu Qing continues, pulling Feng Xin down into a kiss by his belt loops. He hooks his legs behind Feng Xin’s knees, running his hands up and down his chest and tweaking his nipples between his fingers. “I wish it was annoying. Keep bossing me around, gege.” He rolls his hips up against Feng Xin’s, panting at the feeling of denim against his bare cock.
Feng Xin braces one hand against Mu Qing's chest, pushing him back down until his head thumps against the soft mattress.
"Yes," Mu Qing says before he can ask. "Yes, Xin-gege."
Feng Xin cuts him off with a kiss, his hands joining Mu Qing's at his waistband. They work his jeans and briefs off without grace, their teeth clacking as Feng Xin shakes the pants off. He has to break the kiss when his briefs get tangled around his ankles. He falls forward, face mashing against Mu Qing's shoulder as he flails his ankles blindly.
"What are you doing?" Mu Qing laughs, bracing his hands against Feng Xin's shoulders.
"Nothing. Shut up," Feng Xin grumbles, pressing a kiss to the crease of Mu Qing's shoulder before righting himself. "Right. Where were we?"
"God." Mu Qing rolls his eyes. "I've lost track. Just fuck me."
"On it." Feng Xin rolls off of Mu Qing, sliding off the bed. "What pocket?"
Mu Qing props himself up on his elbows, watching as Feng Xin digs through their luggage with fervor. "Small one on the right side."
Mu Qing barely resists the urge to laugh at the sight of a naked Feng Xin, squatting over their suitcase, dick hard and hair mussed. "I can't-"
"Your other right," Mu Qing says. He circles his own cock with a lazy hand, pumping loosely as he watches Feng Xin struggle. "Hurry up, gege. It's cold up here without you."
"You're the one that packed the fucking lube, so why don't you just come down here and get it yourself?" says Feng Xin.
"Nah."
Feng Xin mutters curses, unzipping pockets with abandon now. "Fucking finally." He crawls back onto the bed, dick flagging now, even as he eyes Mu Qing with hunger.
"And here I thought I was gonna have to start without you," says Mu Qing, tugging Feng Xin down.
"En. Next time pack the lube in an easier place," Feng Xin says, accepting Mu Qing's kiss.
Mu Qing rolls his eyes, wrapping one hand around Feng Xin's cock as Feng Xin squeezes lube onto his fingers. "Be rough with me, gege." He trails his fingers down Feng Xin's chest, squeezing his base. "I can take it, A-Xin."
Feng Xin hesitates, cool fingers trailing along Mu Qing's perineum. "Fine."
Without any preamble, he seizes Mu Qing by the hips with his unlubed hand, flipping Mu Qing and knocking his legs apart apart with his knees.
Before Mu Qing can catch his breath, Feng Xin presses two fingers past his rim, curling them forward while his other hand settles against the small of Mu Qing's back, holding him down with what Mu Qing knows is hardly the maximum amount of pressure Feng Xin can give. He's seen Feng Xin lift weights before. He's felt those same muscles ripple under his hands and his tongue; he’s sucked bruises into the swell of Feng Xin’s biceps, pressed kisses to the tender skin of his wrist.
Feng Xin knows his body, too, and Mu Qing isn’t surprised when he finds his prostate with practiced precision, dragging across it as Mu Qing pants into the pillow. Mu Qing can practically hear Feng Xin’s smirk as he adjusts the hand on his back. “Rough enough for you?”
Mu Qing turns his head, just catching a glance of Feng Xin’s shoulder as he rolls his eyes, opting to roll his hips back onto Feng Xin’s fingers instead of answering. It’s practically routine now, the way Feng Xin scissors his fingers inside him, making him groan and clutch the pillows in his hands.
The hand at Mu Qing’s back curls down to rest against the curve of his ass, Feng Xin’s thumb brushing rough against Mu Qing’s rim where he’s added another finger, thrusting slow and deep as Mu Qing grinds his hips against the mattress. Mu Qing could come just like this (and has before), his dick rubbing against the sheets while Feng Xin splits him open with his fingers, and has half a mind to do just that, gasping and moans spilling from him as easily as insults.
“Don’t come,” says Feng Xin, as though he can read his mind. His hand is firm against the underside of Mu Qing’s ass, a finger trailing down the underside of his cock.
“Or else what?” Mu Qing tries his best to sneer, even though he knows he must be flushed red all the way down his back. “You know first-hand that I can go more than one round-”
There’s a loud smack, and it takes Mu Qing a moment to realize it came from Feng Xin’s hand, that the white hot, fucking amazing feeling against his ass is because Feng Xin spanked him. There’s ringing in Mu Qing’s ears before he realizes is that the high whining noise is coming from him, hips thrusting raggedly against the bed, and then he’s coming, thick cum spurting against his stomach, Feng Xin’s fingers fucking him through it, Feng Xin’s hand resting soft and heavy against the same place he’d just hit.
Mu Qing rejoins the material world slowly, the blood rushing through his ears fading, the hotel room coming back into focus. Both of Feng Xin's hands are resting against his hips now, thumbs gently stroking against his skin.
"Holy shit," Mu Qing says. His entire body flops down onto the bed, heedless of the wet spot.
"Are you alright?" Feng Xin asks. He removes one hand from Mu Qing's hip, the other hand gently running from his tailbone to the base of his neck.
"God, yeah," Mu Qing says, absentmindedly thumbing at the place where he'd drooled on the pillow. "That was fucking stellar, you lovable little idiot."
Feng Xin hisses. "Good."
Mu Qing can sense Feng Xin leaning over him, the pressure of his hand going from soft to firm. "A-Xin," he says, voice lilting as he tries to twist around.
" Fuck ."
Mu Qing can hear it now, Feng Xin's jagged breathing, the rhythm of his hand moving back and forth, skin on skin. He'd almost be shy about the fact that it's him who has the great Feng Xin all worked up, if he were a person who got shy
"You liked that, huh?" teases Mu Qing, wriggling his ass in demonstration. "Watching me?"
"Shut up," Feng Xin says, voice tight, hand moving faster.
"You want to fuck me up, gege? Show the world I'm yours?" Mu Qing tries to flip over, but Feng Xin stops him with a hand against the base of his spine. "I must be married to a fool if-"
"My dear-" Feng Xin breaks off into a moan, thumb digging into the soft flesh of Mu Qing's ass. His voice cracks when he tries to speak again.
"What? Do you want to come on me? Do it. Make me a mess, gege. It'll be your job to clean me up."
Mu Qing hears Feng Xin's hand move faster, a strangled cry escaping his lips before Feng Xin falls forward. Feng Xin comes against his back, his thighs, the crease of his ass, pressing kisses and praise into the nape of Mu Qing's neck.
Mu Qing listens as Feng Xin breathes, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, his still aching cock pulsing against his thigh. "Gege," he tries, voice soft without trying.
Feng Xin mutters something unintelligible against his nape.
“En,” Mu Qing agrees. Feng Xin rolls off of him, twisting into a graceless position to avoid the rest of the wet spot.
“We didn’t even get to fuck,” Feng Xin complains, staring up at the ceiling.
“Not my fault the sight of my scrumptious little ass was too much for you to bear,” Mu Qing snips. “You’ve seen it before, A-Xin. You should really be used to it by now. Dumbass.”
Feng Xin swats at his shoulder. “You’re the fucking worst.”
“I’m also covered in your cum,” Mu Qing says. “Carry me to the shower or you can kiss this ass goodbye.”
“Do you promise?”
It’s Mu Qing’s turn to swat at Feng Xin, but he’s laughing when Feng Xin bodily scoops him up. He never used to laugh before Feng Xin. He also never used to say ‘I love you’ so easily, and even that took time.
He can say it now, though. Feng Xin is looking down at him, hair mussed and face smug, and Mu Qing can feel the pounding of his heart from where he's cradled against his chest.
“I love you,” Mu Qing says. He watches the flush spread down Feng Xin’s jaw as he nudges open the bathroom door with his hip.
“I love you, too,” says Feng Xin.
Mu Qing trails his fingers up Feng Xin’s chest, reveling in the way it makes him shiver. “Enough to go grab the lube so we can fuck in the shower?”
Feng Xin has never dropped him faster.