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Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua is tentatively hopeful as he hangs up his apron at An Ding Peak Coffee Traders! He has a date, and he is leaving work early! Jumpy and anxious all day, this manager had finally been asked by his long-suffering employees to just leave, please, the customers can smell your fear and are getting confused!!

“Go get ‘em, boss!” Ning Yingying says. This is all her fault! She keeps on throwing men at him, an endless barrage of brothers, brothers’ friends, cousins, colleagues, and, once, her OBGYN! She is too kind-hearted to understand why it never works out!!

“Yeah,” Cucumber-bro echoes, bored, staring at his phone and sipping a mint choco frappe. “Go get ‘em.”

Shen Yuan hates coming to An Ding, and only rarely does, because Shang Qinghua ‘will embarrass him.’ What the hell does that mean?! Anyway, today he faced it, wanting to give his support before Shang Qinghua’s date! His bro truly is peerless!!!

It’s the Fourth Date. His first one, actually! His first Fourth Date! He smiles to himself as he leaves, a bit proud, actually. His therapist is certainly proud!! He thinks she was beginning to lose hope! In fact, he’d mainly submitted to Ning Yingying’s constant nagging about ‘putting himself out there’ as a way to prevent Ms. Therapist from quitting her job from burnout!  She is very sweet, and kind of useless, but a very good listener! Mainly she just tells him to hang in there! He worries that his pathological singleness is causing her to think that she’s incompetent, when he knows for a fact that no doctor, no matter how capable, could make him normal!!

Case in point: by the second course, Shang Qinghua is sweating so much that he has to excuse himself and mop at his armpits with toilet paper in the bathroom. He sighs, sitting in a stall for a moment. He should go back out there. It’s not that he dislikes Ming Fan. He’s nice enough, easy on the eyes, has a good job. By all accounts, way out of Shang Qinghua’s league!! This, actually, might be one of the reasons he’s having such a hard time: more than anything, his impression of Ming Fan is of being supremely normal. What if Shang Qinghua has a flashback or a freakout while they’re together??? It takes normal people a lot of time to adjust to this one’s strangeness, and he’s not sure if he’s worth the investment!

Ming Fan had invited him back to his place on the third date, and, when this one had refused, he’d pursed his lips in a way that Shang Qinghua imagined must mean he was annoyed! Shang Qinghua had claimed he had to work early the next morning, which could have been true! An Ding Coffee Traders opens at the crack of dawn! In any case, he thinks Ming Fan is running out of patience.

Shang Qinghua lets his head fall into his hands in the bathroom stall. He wants to lose his virginity so badly—he just. He can’t seem to get out of his own head! Anytime anyone touches him with even the remotest of sexual intentions or connotations, he reverts to his hind-brain and freaks out! Why is his brain so stupid??? Why can’t it just let him have nice things??? It’s been ten years!!

He thinks of calling Cucumber-bro, but knows that he will probably just tell him to stop being a moron, you just need to be patient, find the right person. Easy for you to say, bro!!! Maybe you’d like to switch places with this pathetic, touch-starved lunatic! You know what, on second thought, Peerless Cucumber probably would! He’d be grateful for a break from Luo Binghe’s endless jackhammering, which had been disclosed to this one only after Shen Yuan had drunk enough to kill a small elephant!! TMI, bro, TMI!!!!

Okay! It’s been weirdly long time, now! He needs to go! He forces himself to leave the stall, and glares at himself in the mirror.

“You got this!” he says, pointing at his reflection. Ms. Therapist frequently tells him to think positive. He doubts it helps, but he does it anyway! “Go get railed!!”

When he returns, they order dessert, and make inane conversation about Ming Fan’s boring job at An Ding HQ. Shang Qinghua kind of just wants to go home!

Twenty minutes later, check paid, they’re walking to the metro.

Suddenly: Shang Qinghua is pressed up against a brick wall and kissed!

???...!!!...!!!!!!!

Ming Fan is kissing him!

This one, shocked, simply blinks, unable to even move his lips against Ming Fan’s! And it’s not because Ming Fan is a bad kisser! His lips are soft, and clearly experienced! Shang Qinghua isn’t even giving him much to work with, and he’s still doing his best! He’s put on lip balm! He’s trying, unlike Shang Qinghua, who just kind of…whimpers? And really not in a sexy way!!

Let him be clear: he has kissed someone before. But it had been in university, nearly ten years ago, right before everything happened, and it had been with a girl (he’d been repressed, sue him!!!). They’d made out while buzzed on boxed wine, before Shang Qinghua quietly realized, yes, he was definitely gay!! Get him the membership card! Sign him up for the weekly newsletter!

So, what is the problem?!!!! He’s here, he’s gay, he’s being kissed by a hot guy! Check, check, check!! He’s written this scenario a million times! He can write the most mind-blowing kiss you ever want to read! Commenters frequently leave eggplant and water droplet emojis on his writing! He knows what that means! He is a master of smut!

But, in real life, faced with the chance to be close to someone, something is his mind just—exits to a back room. Checks out. He goes still as a statue under Ming Fan’s touch. It’s only when the other man backs off that he begins to vibrate with anxiety.

“What is the problem?” Ming Fan asks, scowling.

Shang Qinghua blinks at him with big eyes, breathing going shallow. Oh god. Ming Fan seems angry! He seems upset! This one shrinks away from him anxiously.

“You give me all these hints you’re interested, and then—nothing!” Ming Fan continues to rant.

Shang Qinghua feels his throat start to close up.

“This one—this one is sorry—” he tries.

Had he really been leading him on so much? He hadn’t realized, he thought he’d been leaving hints he wanted to take things slow—

“Ning Yingying said you were cool, what the fuck? Is this, like, some kind of tease thing? Because that shit is not funny.”

“No, this one didn’t—this one didn’t mean—” he stammers out. Swallowing hard, he tries again. “If you could just—be patient—”

“What do you call waiting this long?!” Ming Fan yells. Shang Qinghua winces. He really dislikes it when men raise their voice at him! It makes his chest go even tighter. “Most people would’ve at least had the decency to suck me off by now!”

Shang Qinghua is staring down at his feet, breath going shallow, focusing very hard on trying not to descend into panic.

“That’s not very—polite,” he pants.

“Whatever. I’m going home.”

Counting Ming Fan’s steps as he walks away, Shang Qinghua squats down on the curb, head between his knees.  What a disaster!! Why is he like this??? He sits quietly on the sidewalk, breathing deeply, trying to not to cry. He is okay. He is safe. Ms. Therapist calls these mantras, and he is supposed to chant them at himself when he’s anxious. They would be great, if only he could believe them!

Eventually he begins to feel well enough to walk, and he gets up. All the way to his cramped little bedsit, his footsteps say to him: Loser. Loser. Loser. A mantra that seems more credible.

At home, he takes a long, hot shower, staring numbly at his knees. He’s thinking of giving up on this. Maybe he should just stop trying. Was it even worth it? All the trouble, all the stomachaches and sweaty hands.

When he gets out, he makes himself an instant ramen, since he’d been way too nervous to eat at the restaurant. Waiting for it to microwave, he checks the comments on his latest chapter and smiles!

Peerless Cucumber: Did you really just make me read that with my own eyes?

winkybinch2322: bing-ge can fuck me upppppppppp

binggay: ok but does no one see the tension between bing-ge and his old teacher?? no one???

Shang Qinghua frowns, considering. Nah, most of his readers would hate that!!!

What does it even matter, he thinks to himself as he continues to read. There is joy to be found in life besides in relationships! He has his writing, and his readers, and he has his bro! All this nonsense about sex, and touch, and—and love: who needed it?? It just gave him a headache!!!

He peruses his DVDs, looking for something comforting to watch! He pops Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon into his disk drive. His laptop is from, like, 2004, and frequently makes noises that one would expect to come from a choking racoon! He simply cannot afford a new one!! Besides, none of the latest models play DVDs!! What the hell!! If this is progress, he doesn’t want it!!!!

He settles down and wraps himself in blankets. What could be better than this, he asks the silence of his flat. If he were still with Ming Fan, he’d probably be awkwardly cleaning himself up, making his excuses to leave. Surely this is much better! Much neater!

          (…and just like that, he can convince himself he is better off alone.)

He watches in awe as Michelle Yeoh and Zhang Ziyi fly over the rooftops, punching and kicking and jumping, weightless and free. He’s seen this movie way too many times! It is his favorite!

He only begins to regret his choice when Chow Yun Fat brings Michelle Yeoh’s hand to his face. Shang Qinghua has to pause it for a moment to let the high-tide of loneliness fall once more. He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t need that. 

         (He is better off alone.)

Fortified, he presses play again.  

“But when you were holding my hand just now,” Michelle Yeoh asks Chow Yun Fat, “wasn’t that real?”

Shang Qinghua’s eyes burn.  

He doesn’t cry. He checks his messages to distract himself.

Cucumber-bro!!!!!: bro how did your date go

Cucumber-bro!!!!!: this one saw your response to his comment an hour ago

Cucumber-bro!!!!!: that little bitch ming fan did something didn’t he

Cucumber-bro!!!!!: answer me you absolute hack

Shang Qinghua calls Shen Yuan, huddling himself even further into his blankets.

“Bro?”

“Airplane-juju, what happened?” comes Shen Yuan’s voice, sharp with concern, over the line. 

Shang Qinghua has to press his lips together a moment, trying not to cry. Shen Yuan already knows What Happened. This one had spilled it all in a drunken heart-vomit one night.

“He said that…most people would’ve at least had the decency to suck him off by now,” Shang Qinghua says. “This one kind of almost had a panic attack?”

“What?” Cucumber-bro asks, horrified. “Is this the kind of person Ning Yingying introduces you to?!” He sounds like a teacher scolding a student, and Shang Qinghua almost gives a watery laugh. Shen Yuan sighs. “Are you okay? Are you home?”

“Yes, this one is fine. He is watching Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.”

It’s a movie they’ve watched together before. They had bonded, after their initial spats on the message boards, over their love of Michelle Yeoh, and old-school kung-fu movies.

“Good.” There is a murmured conversation on the other side, and then Shen Yuan says, “Do you need this one to send Luo Binghe to beat Ming Fan up? He knows him, actually, and has volunteered his services.”

Shang Qinghua sighs. “No. No, it’s—it’s my own fault.” He pauses. “I think,” he says, voice scrapingly low, “I think it might just be time to give up on this, bro.”

Cucumber-bro scoffs. “You don’t mean that, Airplane-juju.”

He glances up at his laptop screen, then, and it’s showing Chow Yun Fat’s face as he looks at Michelle Yeoh. Shang Qinghua gets caught on the way he’s gazing at her, constant and steady, eyes serene with affection. He makes a liar of himself immediately, and thinks, Just once. Just once, he wants someone to look at him that way.

He laughs ruefully. “You’re right.” He pauses. “You know the part when Chow Yun Fat is poisoned by the Purple Yin, and Michelle Yeoh is begging him not to waste his last breath on her?”

“…Yeah?”

“He says to her, ‘I’ve already wasted my whole life,’ and that’s—that’s how I feel right now. Ming Fan is right. This one needs to stop wasting so much time. “

He looks down. He should have just—He should have just let Ming Fan—

“Airplane!” Cucumber-bro says sharply. “How did you miss the whole point of this movie? Were you asleep when Chow Yun Fat asks Michelle Yeoh to be patient with him?”

“What whole point?” Shang Qinghua shrieks. “The whole point is that they were too patient! They wasted all this time meditating and shit when they could have been fucking each other’s brains out!”

“No, the whole point is that they have wasted their time pursuing society’s notions of what’s right, instead of what really matters, which is love!” Cucumber-bro rages. “God, aren’t you supposed to be an author? Shouldn’t you be good at deducing themes, or whatever?”

Shang Qinghua frowns. He supposes he might have been projecting a bit too hard on the characters! Whoops!

“Patience is not the problem, Airplane-juju. Patience is the cure, if only you would let it work,” he says, annoyed. His voice is a little stiff and angry, the way it always is when he’s talking about emotions, like he’s upset that he’s being forced to experience them and is very much blaming you for it.

Shang Qinghua frowns. “I don’t know, Cucumber-bro.”

 “Is it really so bad to ask someone to be patient with you?” his bro asks. “Don’t you think you’re entitled to that?”

Maybe if Shang Qinghua were very good-looking, or funny, or rich! There would be some sort of reward for that patience! But who would waste all that time on him, when there was no prize to be won at the end? He is really just not worth the effort!!

And yet, Shang Qinghua thinks of Cucumber-bro’s question all night! How can his friend be so wise??? He thinks of it as he finishes the movie, crying his eyes out at the ending. He’d always loved the bit where Chow Yun Fat is gazing at Michelle Yeoh as the poison kills him. He just looks at her and looks at her, like there is no other sight he’d rather see before he dies. It makes Shang Qinghua’s heart ache. He falls asleep, clutching a pillow close.

***

“Shang Qinghua, not everything in life relates back to Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon,” Ms. Therapist says.

What?! Shang Qinghua is horrified, and makes a face to express this thoroughly! Respectfully, Ms. Therapist, you’re just wrong!! Ang Lee is a genius!!

He’d just filled her in on what had happened the previous night: his horrible date with Ming Fan, his near-panic attack on the street, his self-soothing strategies, his talk with Cucumber-bro. She seems uncharacteristically worried, her face pinched in a frown when she would usually be telling him, cheerily, it’s all about perspective!

“Given what happened to you, Shang Qinghua, it’s understandable that you’d be hesitant about having sex. But to be honest, I am becoming a little concerned at the way you immediately withdraw into fantasy when things go wrong,” Ms. Therapist says. “You seem to be stuck in a cycle of freeze and flight. You play dead and withdraw into your mind instead of confronting anything.”

Shang Qinghua looks at her, eyes wide. Where is all of this coming from, Ms. Therapist??? He thought he and she had been on the same page: just let this Shang Qinghua live out the rest of his miserable days a touch-starved virgin who writes about brave stallions shoving their heavenly pillars into the untouched chrysanthemums of hapless maidens! He thought they had agreed to leave well enough alone! She certainly had never been of use to him in the past! Ah! He could vomit blood!!

“Ten years ago, you did it to survive, and that was good. But now, Shang Qinghua, now—” she pauses, and sighs. “You know I supported your writing as a way to…confront your anxieties about sex,” she continues, “but…I think it’s become a crutch.”

“A crutch?!” Shang Qinghua practically shrieks.

He is acting outraged to cover up how accurately Ms. Therapist has targeted his deepest insecurities. Why so mean Ms. Therapist?! Why so laser-accurate?!

Use a crutch? This Shang Qinghua? Obviously!!! Things were hard enough! If he wants to blast himself into a ramen-and-Red-Bull-fueled haze of demonic cultivators and denial and papapa, that’s his business!! Who is Ms. Therapist to stop him?!

(She couldn’t stop him, right?!)

Shang Qinghua wants to wail! Please, Ms. Therapist, please! Don’t take away the only bright spot in this one’s life! His Proud Immortal Demon Way! One nice comment sustains him for weeks at a time! More importantly, one chapter pays for his monthly grocery bill!!

“I think it’s time that you began the next phase of healing. Touch, Shang Qinghua.”

Touch? Touch?!

“I think writing about sex for so long has elevated it to mere fantasy in your mind, instead of a real experience shared by two loving parties. You’ve estranged yourself from the world, in more ways than one.”

“Hey!” Shang Qinghua objects. He’s not some kind of hermit! “I hang out with Cucumber-bro all the time!”

“And do you two ever touch?”

Shang Qinghua makes a face. “Ugh!”

Ms. Therapist, please!! What’s with the disgusting questions! Besides, she knows by now that if he ever touched Shen Yuan, Cucumber-bro’s very glower-y, very punch-y boyfriend Luo Binghe would turn this Shang Qinghua into a human stick!! Does she want him to be beaten to a pulp by Junshang, world-renowned taekwondo master and MMA welterweight champion???

“Platonic touch. It’s a very powerful stress-reliever. When’s the last time someone touched you, besides, of course, Ming Fan?”

He blinks, properly taken aback. He can’t…he can’t remember. A woman on the metro had touched him very briefly that morning, but only to brush Cheeto dust from his coat! He had been very thankful! Does this count?

“I’d like you to find some kind of arena in which you could touch someone, and be touched, without any sexual connotations. Perhaps a professional cuddler?”

A—a what? Shang Qinghua tries to school his face into a look that said: Yes. I know what that is. I am very worldly and manly!

He doesn’t say what he is really thinking, which is: sounds expensive! The only reason he can afford therapy is because his mother is paying for it! She has started a new family around the world without him and is trying to assuage her guilt, and Ms. Therapist knows this!!! Ugh, who does she think this one is??? He lives on writing glorified soft porn and managing a mediocre coffeeshop franchise!!

Shang Qinghua leaves Ms. Therapist’s office in a haze of disbelief. When he gets home, he replies to a few rude comments with very aggressive language! Don’t look at him like that, he is in a bad headspace!! Laying down on his bed, he hugs his pillow and thinks very hard. Perhaps it would be nice to have some Platonic Touch in his life!

***

Shen Yuan swats him on the head with the drinks menu. It’s a nice change from his usual electronic fan! He has low blood pressure and faints a lot in the heat! If this were a historical webnovel, he would certainly be the one with consumption!

“Ow!” Shang Qinghua is yelling, shielding himself from the continuing blows.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Cucumber-bro demands. “Are you coming on to me, Airplane Careening Towards the Sea?”

Shang Qinghua denies the charge wholeheartedly, partially because he hadn’t been, and partially because he fears Luo Binghe’s wrath no matter what the truth may be! He had simply patted Shen Yuan on the shoulder! No reason to hit this lowly creature on the head with the brick-heavy weight of the Outback Steakhouse drink menu!! Mercy, please, Cucumber-bro!!

“This one is simply trying out Platonic Touch!” he exclaims, feeling wronged. See what you get me into, Ms. Therapist?! This is all your fault!!

“Explain,” Shen Yuan says.

Shang Qinghua does.

“But you’re too broke for a professional cuddler!” Shen Yuan objects when he’s done, put out. Shang Qinghua, feeling vindicated, nods vehemently. Precisely! “Doesn’t she know that the only reason you peddle that trash is to pay the bills?”

Hey! Slow down, Cucumber-bro!! You’re giving this lowly author whiplash!! One minute you’re defending him from the evil ways of Ms. Therapist, the next you’re calling his magnum opus trash?! From someone who paid extra to read the holiday special, that is a little rich!!

“That is ridiculous,” Shen Yuan is saying.

Obviously!! But, still, Platonic Touching!!

“Help me, Cucumber-bro!” He makes his most pathetic face. “How else will this lowly virgin get to the next phase of healing!”

Shen Yuan’s face crinkles into a disgusted expression, but he hides it with the now-open drink menu, rather kindly! Cucumber-bro truly is a good friend!

Shang Qinghua watches him think.

“This one might have an idea.”

He doesn’t miss the slightly malicious glint in his bro’s eyes over the menu. He gulps. Cucumber-bro, what now?! What evil do you have in store?!

***

Shen Yuan is very cagey for a few days after, answering Shang Qinghua’s increasingly panicked messages with one-word replies. Finally, Cucumber-bro tells him to come to the dojo Luo Binghe trains at. Ominous!! Very ominous!!

A help-wanted ad is plastered on the door of the dojo as he swings it open, and he steps inside the waiting room to find an assortment of tired-looking parents and their children, wearing those little martial arts pajamas! The dojo offers classes in jiujitsu, taekwondo, judo, and karate. Shang Qinghua doesn’t know the difference between them, and will admit it cheerfully! Once Shen Yuan had dragged him to one of Luo Binghe’s showcases or whatever, and he’d spent much of the time ogling the men and hanging out by the concessions stand. It’s a coincidence he’d gotten a hot dog for lunch, he swears!!

At least he’d gotten to see Luo Binghe’s stupid perfect face smashed in by the protective helmet. Ah! Who is Shang Qinghua kidding! Junshang had still looked beautiful! Where is the justice?! Where is the balance?! This wronged one demands a refund! He demands an exchange!! That night he’d gone home and angrily wrote 10K of his protagonist doing spin kicks and karate chops. Cucumber-bro had annihilated him on the message boards!

Anyway. Shen Yuan had told him to enter the practice room, and so he does, feeling very out of place and hesitant. Shang Qinghua got injured enough as it was in real world! He is very clumsy! He doesn’t need to court danger like this!

It’s freezing in the padded room, which has two mirrored walls, and he rubs at his own arms. Cucumber-bro is seated on Luo Binghe’s lap on the mats, and they are murmuring gently to each other. Shang Qinghua coughs very loudly as he enters. This one really doesn’t need to see that!!

Shen Yuan immediately goes to get off Luo Binghe’s lap, spots of color coming to his cheeks, but his boyfriend tightens his grip and glares at Shang Qinghua. This one puts his hands up innocently! Do what you want, Junshang! No worries! Don’t mind this lowly one!!

Cucumber-bro, however, scowls and swats at Luo Binghe with his fan. “What are you, an animal?” Shen Yuan asks sternly, shoving out of his lap.

Luo Binghe, momentarily stunned, releases him. He makes a face that is hilariously contrite for someone wearing a custom-made bright-red tracksuit with JUNSHANG written across the back.

“Sit, Airplane,” his bro says, and Shang Qinghua does.

Luo Binghe observes this one, his face clearing into something marginally less hateful. “So, you’ve finally decided to stand up for yourself?”

He almost seems…proud? Sympathetic? It makes Shang Qinghua’s blood run cold!!

He is, however, too confused to question. So, you’ve finally decided to stand up for yourself? What does that mean? Who stand up? Shang Qinghua stand up? No way! No way!! He will sit down, thank you!!

Shen Yuan looks at Shang Qinghua and winks. Shang Qinghua, confused but willing to play along, tries to return the gesture, but he can’t wink as smoothly as his bro. Luo Binghe looks at him with a baleful expression. Shen Yuan rolls his eyes. Sorry, bro!! This one is not as cool as you, what can he say?!

“I told him that people in your neighborhood were bothering you,” Shen Yuan says, with a deliberate look. “That you wanted to learn to defend yourself.”

Shang Qinghua blinks. Huh? Wait. Wait, wait, wait—

“I don’t want you visiting that neighborhood anymore, Sensei,” Luo Binghe says to Cucumber-bro. “It’s too dangerous.”

Shang Qinghua is too busy thinking to be upset at the idea of Shen Yuan no longer visiting him. In fact, he would rather Shen Yuan not visit him at all right now!! This was his genius idea?! Platonic touch!! In the form of a karate chop?! What the hell, Cucumber-bro!! This one thought we were friends!!

“Cucumber-bro,” he chokes out, “may I—may I speak with you a moment?!”

He is aware of the way his eyes were bugging out of his head, and yet he is unable to stop it!

They retreat into the corner of the room.

Shen Yuan hisses, “What?!”

“Cucumber-bro!!” Shang Qinghua whisper-shouts. “Are you insane?! This one tells you he needs platonic touch, and your big plan is to have Luo Binghe judo-kick him into the next dimension?!!!!”

“Luo Binghe? What Luo Binghe? This Shen Yuan doesn’t want you to die, does he!”

You could have fooled this one!!!

“Besides, there aren’t kicks in judo,” his bro says pedantically. “And Luo Binghe only teaches taekwondo. Someone else will teach you.”

“But…this one can’t afford lessons! He is too poor!!”

“Don’t worry about it. This one has it all figured out.” He fans himself gently, a smug expression on his face, before going back to Luo Binghe’s lap, much to the man’s delight.

“Mobei-Jun will be here in a minute. He will be teaching you judo,” Luo Binghe says, back to glaring at Shang Qinghua for the unpardonable sin of taking his sensei away from him.

Shang Qinghua frowns. “Mobei…Jun?” The name seems vaguely familiar, but he can’t place it. 

“Luo Binghe’s trainer. You met him at the showcase, remember?” Cucumber-bro reminds him. “He had injured his ankle?”

Shang Qinghua squeaks. He remembers! He very much remembers!! How could he ever forget?! The very mean, very beautiful friend of Luo Binghe!! Whose face had haunted him for weeks after!! With a chest that looked as though it had been cut from a block of ice!!

He and Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe had watched his fight from the side of the mat. Shang Qinghua had immediately been starstruck by the one Cucumber-bro had pointed out as Luo Binghe’s trainer, and owner of the dojo now named Junshang after its most famous student. Everyone had been chanting, Iceman, Iceman, Iceman, and Shang Qinghua could see why! So cool, even as his opponent grappled with him! So calm, even as he grabbed the puny man with one giant hand and slammed him over his body onto the ground! Shang Qinghua had never seen such a thing! He’d been very glad he’d worn jeans and not sweatpants that day! He wanted this man to step on him!!

The next round, or whatever it was called, was stopped short as the opponent grabbed Mobei-Jun’s leg. Apparently this was not allowed, and a whistle blew. The beautiful fearsome Iceman had relaxed his body, only to be tackled by his opponent! Unworthy of the man, no, the god Shang Qinghua now knew as Mobei-Jun!! Caught off guard, no longer in a defensive position, he’d been injured in the process. At first Shang Qinghua had not realized this, as Mobei-Jun had charged single-mindedly after his opponent and screamed his head off at him, looking very robust indeed! But after he’d cooled down and been handed an ice pack by a medic, he’d limped over to where they were sitting, making the cheap seats rattle as he sat heavily next to Shang Qinghua. He’d glanced at this lowly one only briefly before turning his attention elsewhere! Understandable!

He and Luo Binghe had conversed tersely, then, something very manly about leg-grabs, interspersed with grunts. Shang Qinghua had been a party to conversations like this before, and knew to keep his mouth shut! Instead, he’d stared at where Mobei-Jun’s pajama-thing was gaping open, and gaped right along with it. The hard planes of a broad chest! The slightest hint of a nipple! It was indecent! Spare a thought for this blushing virgin, Iceman!!

Shen Yuan had been giving him a death glare, and he’d tried to turn his attention elsewhere, but he just couldn’t take his eyes off the man’s chest! What was he doing, little cretin that he was, looking at a specimen like this with his dirty, hungry eyes??? Truly, Shang Qinghua should be put in jail for the safety and comfort of others!!

Mobei-Jun hadn’t seemed to notice, busy talking to Luo Binghe. He had a very nice voice, low and assured and private, like what he was saying was just for the two of them. Shang Qinghua had had a vague wish to be spoken to in such a manner by Iceman, and must have made a noise, because the bigger man turned to look at him expectantly.

In an attempt to save face, Shang Qinghua had said, “Your…your little jacket is open!” He’d pointed vaguely at it, before turning his attention to the current match-up, because he was very manly and he enjoyed manly things too! What did it matter to him if Mobei-Jun’s pajama top was gaping open! It was nothing to this very respectful one!!

He’d felt the burning cold gaze of the man next to him. Shang Qinghua was suddenly being frozen alive, to be fed in chunks over time to a hungry lion!

“My…little jacket,” Mobei-Jun had said slowly, completely toneless.

What did that mean??? Shang Qinghua had started to panic!

He’d gulped, and faced Iceman again. “I’m sorry, sir! I don’t know the proper name! I just came here so Shen Yuan would have company while Luo Binghe was busy! Please don’t hurt this very apologetic one!”

Glancing up at Mobei-Jun, it had looked to Shang Qinghua as though he were considering it anyway. The man had narrowed his eyes, and pointedly done nothing about his little jacket!

“Hold this,” he’d demanded instead. Shang Qinghua, confused and a little aroused, had followed the man’s gaze to the ice pack he was holding to his ankle. In his other hand, he’d held a sports drink that had yet to be opened. Eager to please this terrifying man, Shang Qinghua had obeyed, and placed his hand over the ice pack. Eyes wide, he’d looked up at Mobei-Jun, who had grunted and opened the drink with both hands. Even after he’d taken a sip, though, he’d made no move to take the ice pack back from Shang Qinghua. Um, sir? Iceman? Hello??

“I have to go warm up for my match,” Luo Binghe had said then. He got to his feet, bringing Shen Yuan with him. “You gonna watch me win for you, Sensei?”

Shen Yuan had blushed (ugh!). Shang Qinghua was just glad the end had arrived: his fingers were starting to lose feeling, and he wanted to go, even if it meant having to watch Luo Binghe be sticky all over his Cucumber-bro! He’d removed the ice pack from Mobei-Jun’s ankle, going to put it on his chair after he left, when the man pinned him with a terrifying stare.

“Where are you going?” he’d asked, flat as a pane of ice.

Shang Qinghua had blinked, feeling as though his nervous system had entered the process of shutting down! “Uh—I—uh,” he’d stammered, pointing vaguely at Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe.

“Keep on holding the ice pack.”

“Oh, right!” he’d yelped, and like a marionette whose strings had been cut, he had sat right back down! “Sorry!”

He’d hurried to replace the ice pack, and, for the next two hours, he’d marveled at how it continued to stay cold, receiving glares from the big man whenever he so much as shifted. He couldn’t type for two days after, his arm was so sore!

“M-Mobei-Jun?” Shang Qinghua stammers, in the present, lost at the very idea of such a specimen Platonic Touching him. He’s so…large! And so…intense! He would probably pulverize Shang Qinghua!!! What had Cucumber-bro been thinking???

“He’s hiring. He said he’d teach you if you agreed to help out around the dojo for free,” Luo Binghe continues to explain, looking bored.

Shang Qinghua clamps his mouth shut so he won’t wail in despair!! What was he going to do??? Now he would surely die before he ever got any!!!!

Mobei-Jun enters the practice room just then, freshly showered and wearing a clean set of his little pajamas. Shang Qinghua can only blink at the power of the visual! He is equal parts delighted and terrified when Mobei-Jun’s deliberate gaze lands on him.

He begins to reconsider his rage at Shen Yuan.

Could it be that…he is actually the best bro to end all best bros???

“Ice pack guy,” Mobei-Jun says.

Shang Qinghua is unsure whether it is a question or some sort of accusation, so he simply nods brightly, hoping for the best! Mobei-Jun tilts his head minutely, as if gauging an angle of attack! Is he…asking for his name?

“Shang Qinghua,” Shang Qinghua says, pointing to himself. “Nice to meet you.”

Mobei-Jun stares. “Ice pack guy,” he repeats, with an air of finality. He goes to continue walking, only to do what Shang Qinghua hesitates to call a double-take. What has he seen?! “You weren’t wearing glasses last time.”

Shang Qinghua had, indeed, been wearing his contacts at the showcase. He usually only wore them at work, or on the rare occasions he went out socially. His eyes needed lots of breaks! If you squinted at a screen for hours a day trying to think of new ways to describe a cock hammering inside some poor maiden, you would have eye strain, too!!

“No…?” he says in reply, touching his glasses, agreeing but unsure what they had to do with anything.

“Don’t wear them Thursday, or they will be broken,” Mobei-Jun says simply.

A statement of probability or some kind of threat? Shang Qinghua decides that he will never know, and just nods! Mobei-Jun, apparently satisfied, walks into the little office across the room. Shang Qinghua stares after him. He is in so much trouble!!!!

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua exists in a state of terrified excitement for the following days, waiting for Thursday to roll around as he makes lattes and writes increasingly homoerotic fight scenes in PIDW. One reader complains that there is too much man-on-man action and not enough man-on-man action. How rude! You can you up, binggay!!

The truth is that Shang Qinghua never writes gay sex scenes. Never. Never, not once!! He knows that he would wind up showing too much of himself and Shen Yuan would die of secondhand embarrassment! He would never do that to his Cucumber-bro!! Not to mention how much it hurts to actively imagine and sculpt something that he wants so badly. It is better to keep it hetero! He could describe his dream protagonists and their heavenly bods without implicating himself!!

Thursday rolls around, and he bikes to the dojo wearing a large sweater, remembering how frigid it had been the last time he was there. The night before he’d had a dream that he’d gotten an erection as he and Mobei-Jun were sparring, or whatever the hell the terrifying man had in store for him, and then when he’d looked down his cock had turned into a cucumber and it was yelling at him! Better, he thinks, not to look too closely at that one!

He's anxious as he cycles, wondering what the first day of training will consist of. He isn’t completely sure how he’ll react to being touched, and the idea makes him feel a little dizzy and sick, actually! What if he can’t handle even this level of Platonic Touch??? What if he has a panic attack and Mobei-Jun kills him???

He supposes that, without any sort of sexual intent, just a teacher and their student, he wouldn’t freak out too much. Besides, he’d watched a few judo videos and they seemed to be more about throwing each other around than about submission holds or anything like that. As long as he is not trapped under anyone, not helpless as he had been once, nothing too bad would happen. It would be okay!!

Shang Qinghua enters the dojo and sticks his head into the practice room to call out that he’s arrived. There is a little girl in the waiting room that is glaring daggers at him! He wants to get away from her as quickly as possible. Little girls in particular seem to be able to smell weakness on him!

Mobei-Jun shouts for him to come in, and he does, following the sound of his voice to the office. He pokes his head in hesitantly, as if a guillotine were about to drop on it. Mobei-Jun spares him a glance, and then shoves a plastic bag at him. Shang Qinghua opens it to find a pair of pajamas and some compression pants.

“My very own pajamas!?” he blurts out.

Mobei-Jun sends him a glare that could kill!

“Th-Thank you, sir!” Shang Qinghua stammers, bowing. “This one will take good care of them!”

“It’s called a gi,” Mobei-Jun says flatly. The moron is implied. “And you will call this one sensei.”

Shang Qinghua involuntarily makes a face. All he can think of when he hears sensei is Luo Binghe’s sticky face whining it at Cucumber-bro!

“How about Master?” he suggests hopefully, crouching away as if expecting a blow.

“No,” Mobei-Jun says shortly.

Shang Qinghua thinks. “My king?” he says, playing on the meaning of jun.

Mobei-Jun looks at him like he’s crazy, but seems to accept that there is nothing he can do to change it. “Fine. Go change.”

He points towards a little door attached to the practice area. Must be the bathroom. Shang Qinghua, in that moment, notices that Mobei-Jun is wearing earrings, small silver hoops in the first hole, and dangling sapphire drops in the second. They tinkle together in a soothing way whenever he moves his head.

Obediently, Shang Qinghua turns and goes to the bathroom. It is small, with a full-length mirror hanging behind the door. Shang Qinghua locks it, and then removes his sweater and his trousers. Surveying his body in the mirror, he thinks: Not so bad! Not awful! His shoulders are actually quite broad for his size, and he has a slim waist and strong legs! Spending all day on his feet making coffees, and walking around the city when he has writer’s block, has kept him in surprisingly good shape. His mother once told him that he had the body of 15^th century peasant, or perhaps his donkey! Reliable and sturdy! He pokes a little sadly at the softness of his belly, though. While he does not have the money to be eating a lot of food, what he does eat is mainly chemical-laden trash! He will admit it cheerfully!

Shrugging to himself, he pulls on the compression pants and then layers the pajama bottoms over them. Then he wraps the little jacket around his t-shirt. There is no way he was going to give a show the way his king had at the showcase!! He has his dignity! Kind of!

All thoughts of dignity vanish as he exits the bathroom to find that the practice room is full of small children. The leader of pack is the little girl from the waiting room, who he is pretty sure has fangs!!

“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun says. He gestures to a free part of the mat. “Have a seat.”

“I—my king!” he squawks in reply. He is going to kill Cucumber-bro!!

Mobei-Jun narrows his eyes. “Problem?”

“No, no, no problem!” Shang Qinghua says, putting his hands up and taking a seat.

He hugs his knees into his chest, wondering what he’s gotten himself into. Clearly he has put himself at the mercy of a maniac!!

The little girl turns to glare at him. “Pretzel-style!” she hisses.

Shang Qinghua’s eyes widen, and he obeys in a panic. He’s not stupid! This girl can, and clearly will, kill him!!

“Sha Hualing,” his king says then, with an air of boredom. “Stop torturing Shang Qinghua.”

“Shang Qing-BLAH,” she says.

“Hey!” Shang Qinghua objects. What a rude child!!

“Enough,” Mobei-Jun rumbles, like a wise, benevolent monarch. Shang Qinghua blinks up at him in awe. “Today we will learn ukemi. How to fall.”

How to fall?! How to fall?!

Shang Qinghua watches with horror and fascination as his king demonstrates the proper way to break one’s fall, jumping a little when he slaps the mat with his powerful hands. He has never wanted to be a mat more in his life!!

They then begin the ukemi drills, which mostly consist of flopping on the ground like a fish and slamming down on the mat with your arms and legs. Shang Qinghua doesn’t really understand it, but he has a good time doing it! He feels aware of his body in a way that he hasn’t in a long time, almost like he’d forgotten it even existed and had been living solely inside his head.  It’s nice to move around freely, not for a customer or for transport, as if he is a child again! For his own pleasure!

His king looks over his form and seems satisfied. It makes something warm pool in Shang Qinghua’s gut.

After the lesson is over, he changes back into his normal clothes and meets Mobei-Jun in his office. His king is sitting at his desk, and gestures towards the chair in front of it. Shang Qinghua sits, and leans forward onto it, eyes big. What can this one do for you, my king??

“You want to learn to defend yourself?”

“Yes, my king.”

“It won’t happen overnight.”

Shang Qinghua nods. “This one knows, my king.”

Mobei-Jun frowns at him, then, but doesn’t elaborate.

The silence stretching between them is broken by Shang Qinghua’s phone beeping. He gets it out and smiles when he sees it’s Ning Yingying. She’s probably asking him how to clean the espresso machine again. She can never manage it on her own!

He’s going to answer when, suddenly, the phone is snatched out of his hands! His face whips up to see Mobei-Jun check it briefly, and then chuck it across the room with an enraged expression! My king?!!! What the hell!!!

Shang Qinghua goes to get up, to retrieve his poor phone, when he hears Mobei-Jun say, sternly, “Sit down.”

This one obeys, eyes huge! My king! Don’t kill this one, please!!!

Mobei-Jun leans forward, slowly, dark eyes narrowed into the most terrifying expression Shang Qinghua has ever seen! All this one can do is cower in response! Have mercy, my king!!

“When you’re here, Shang Qinghua, your time is mine,” Mobei-Jun says threateningly. “This one is sure your girlfriend can wait to speak to you until you’re done working off your lesson.”

His—his girlfriend??? Oh. Oh!!!! Ning Yingying!

Shang Qinghua starts laughing, then, and Mobei-Jun’s face, if possible, goes even stormier.

“Oh, that was just one of my employees, my king!” he says easily. “She always—”

Something hits Shang Qinghua, then, and he frowns. Does—does Mobei-Jun know that he’s interested in men? Would he perhaps be uncomfortable with teaching someone that is gay? He doesn’t know how the culture is in martial arts! Was it all, don’t ask, don’t tell?? Luo Binghe is very openly out, but he’s Junshang!!!! For him, everything is allowed! But for this lowly one? Perhaps Mobei-Jun wouldn’t be so open-minded.

He’s watching Shang Qinghua expectantly, looking mildly annoyed.  

“Um. My king. Just so—just so you know—this one is actually, um, gay?”

 “Is that a question?” the other man asks in reply, with the air of someone developing a migraine.

Shang Qinghua flushes. “No, no, it’s—I’m gay. I am gay. Is that—is that going to be a problem?” he asks, brow furrowed in concern.

Mobei-Jun stares at him. “Why would that be a problem,” he answers flatly.

This one blinks, surprised and pleased! He smiles, then, and begins to babble, “This one—this one doesn’t know—I guess I thought, maybe, in the martial arts world—”

His king makes a face, and begins to wave a hand around, annoyed. “Stop talking.”

“O—okay.”

“There is another class in ten minutes. You may get something to eat while this one is teaching. When class is done, clean the bathroom and the practice area.”

Shang Qinghua almost groans at that, because he already cleans the toilets at An Ding! No one else will do it!!!

It is sometime later, after a sad dinner of microwave ramen, while he’s scrubbing toilets, that Shang Qinghua realizes that Mobei-Jun hadn’t actually Platonic Touched him at all that day! The closest he’d come was when he’d snatched his phone from his hands! What the hell!!

The thought occurs to Shang Qinghua: maybe this is some kind of test? He recalls all the kung fu movies he’d watched. Usually, the teacher makes the student prove something before they can fully start training! Maybe this is Mobei Jun’s way of gauging his worthiness?!

On his knees in front of a toilet, Shang Qinghua cannot help but feel he has failed somehow! Perhaps the test was to check whether or not this one had any dignity! Perhaps it was to force Shang Qinghua to push back! If so: complete and utter disaster! Dignity is very much not intact!!

After saying goodnight to Mobei-Jun and receiving a grunt in return, Shang Qinghua bikes home, half-dead, and falls into his bed, not even bothering to get into pajamas. He cannot help but feel that this was a mistake!

***

The first two weeks of training pass in much the same way. Shang Qinghua goes to work, practices falling, cleans toilets, and flops into bed, completely exhausted. Who knew healing could be such hard work?! He wonders if his king will ever give him the chance to do something besides flop on the ground like a fish. Though, he must admit, the rolling breakfalls were a lot of fun! He hadn’t done a somersault since he was a little kid!

It's Friday, and Shang Qinghua has just finished disinfecting basically every surface in the dojo. He is all sweaty and miserable! Looking forward to taking a nice long shower at home, he goes to his king’s office to say goodnight. He hasn’t had the chance to write all week, and he plans on spending his free time that weekend to hammer out a few chapters. His brain is buzzing with all kinds of ideas! Maidens being slammed into walls and kissed senseless! Bandits karate-kicking the princess’ royal escort and dragging her away on horseback! Long-suffering servants being ravished by their very attractive bosses in broom closets!!

Wait. Forget that last one!!!!

“My king?” he asks.

Mobei-Jun looks up at him, seeming annoyed, somehow? He always seems to be putting in a heroic effort to stave off a headache while talking to this lowly one!

“May this one ask when we’ll be moving on from ukemi? He is eager to learn how to defend himself, my king,” he says, trying to be as inoffensive as possible.

Nothing, however, seems to offend Mobei-Jun more than his trying to be inoffensive.

“This one reminds his pupil that judokas never move on from ukemi,” he replies shortly, turning his attention back to the papers on his desk. 

“I know, I just—”

Mobei-Jun puts a hand up to silence him. “End of the month,” he says.

Shang Qinghua’s eyes widen. That was two more weeks away! He really needed an entire month to learn how to fall?!

He opens his mouth to say so, but Mobei-Jun silences him with a glare.

“This one cannot teach you anything until you learn how to fall properly.”

Shang Qinghua feels himself droop. He is exhausted. A woman had actually, literally threatened to pour her drink on him at work that day! And a kid had thrown up in the dojo’s bathroom yesterday after Sha Hualing had punched him in the stomach with her tiny demon fist! He is trying! Why can’t anyone give him a break!! Can’t they tell he is at the end of his rope?!

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Okay.”

He is not sure how much longer he can take this, if he isn’t even getting what he needs from the lessons. Cucumber-bro had said he should be patient, but he cannot help but feel that is just wasting more time, time that he does not have. Not to mention the fact that he’s exhausted! He feels like he has given it a fair chance. He has given it his all. Maybe this just isn’t the path he’s meant to take.

Mobei-Jun looks at him, then, brow creased into a slight frown.

“This one understands that ukemi is not so exciting,” he says slowly. “But, outside this dojo, in the real world, what will truly help you is the knowledge that you can fall, and you can control that fall, and you will get up unharmed.”

Shang Qinghua is taken aback, and swallows around the golf ball that had somehow got lodged in his throat at some point. What sort of thing was that to say??? Why does he feel like he’s going to cry??

 His king is staring at him.

“Do you understand, Shang Qinghua?”

He nods, eyes wide.

“Be patient,” Mobei-Jun says.

Shang Qinghua nods again, eyes downcast. He slowly takes his leave, shuffling in his exhaustion, feeling the weight of his king’s eyes on him.

***

Shang Qinghua returns to Junshang on Monday, genuinely prepared to let Mobei-Jun know that today is his last day, thank you for all the practice falling and for once more making this one believe in a benevolent, intelligent creator, but it’s just too much!!! If he were getting some Platonic Touching out of it, maybe it would be worth it, but he’s not! He’d been going back and forth about it all weekend, but, ultimately, it’s not helping his mission!!!

What he is unprepared for is this: Mobei-Jun catching his eye and beckoning him to the front of the class wordlessly. Shang Qinghua freezes. Had—had his king read Shang Qinghua’s mind?? Is he aware that he’s planning on leaving?? Is he about to be publicly shamed for being a quitter??? This one is terrified at the thought!! Shang Qinghua walks over as if compelled, heart caught in his throat, feeling like a sacrifice climbing an altar! What does his king want from this lowly one?!

“Y-yes, my king?” he asks, practically shaking.

“On your hands and knees.”

This lowly one chokes on thin air!!

“On my—?”

Shang Qinghua glances up at him to check if he heard correctly, but Mobei-Jun just raises his eyebrows slightly, a signal of impatience. My king!! What are you doing?! There are children present!! This is indecent, please!!

He sinks to his knees in front of Mobei-Jun, cheeks burning, and then positions himself so he is perpendicular to his king. No need to be facing his direction, or, indeed, facing away!!

Mobei-Jun calls the class to attention. “I’m going to demonstrate the next drill on Shang Qinghua. Pay close attention.”

Shang Qinghua idly wonders if he is sticking his ass too high in the air, and sort of curls in on himself self-consciously. This is kind of embarrassing!

“This one is going to grab Shang Qinghua’s sleeve and flip him,” Mobei-Jun announces. To Shang Qinghua, he says, “Use the ukemi techniques to break your fall.”

This one nods, feeling a little breathless. Mobei-Jun then squats down next to him, giving Shang Qinghua a great view of his pecs below his little jacket! He smells like a fruity slushie, like the coldest tangerine popsicle on the warmest summer day, and Shang Qinghua tries to blink the thought away!

“Did you eat an orange recently, my king?” he asks stupidly.

Mobei-Jun glares at him, but answers, “Yes.”

Shang Qinghua nods, as if anything about this situation makes sense.

And then, his king reaches one giant hand under his stomach to the opposite sleeve of Shang Qinghua’s pajamas, fists it, and pulls! This lowly one squeaks like a chew toy! Sha Hualing is laughing somewhere in the background, little demon child!! His body flips in the air, and before he knows it, he is slamming down on the mat like his king taught him.

Dazed, out of breath, he blinks up at the ceiling. He did it!! He is laying at his king’s feet like a ragdoll! Mobei-Jun had whipped him through the air like he was nothing! Amazing!!!!

Shang Qinghua stares up at Mobei-Jun, who has risen to a standing position: even from this angle, his king is beautiful! Still in a haze, he tilts his head a bit to appreciate the man more fully. This lowly one is a human floor! Step on him!!!

“Good,” Mobei-Jun says. Shang Qinghua smiles breathlessly. “Find a partner,” his king says to the class, “and practice.” He then kneels down beside the prone body of his lowly servant, and asks, shortly, “Okay?”

Okay? Okay?! That was fun! Flying through the air, weightless for a moment! He laughs a little, and sits up. Nothing on him hurts, even though Mobei-Jun had slammed him into the mats with such velocity that the sound had echoed on the padded walls!  Something about being thrown onto a hard surface makes this one feel alive!

His king leans closer and says, voice low, “You’re good at falling.”

Shang Qinghua blushes at the compliment! His body is kind of like rubber. Ever since he was a child, whenever he fell, he would just sort of bounce right back up and keep going! It’s probably because his parents were always too busy screaming at each other to notice! Much easier for baby Shang Qinghua to pretend like it hadn’t hurt at all, so as not to give his parents more stress! Eventually, he supposes, the pretending became the reality!

All he says, however, quite stupidly, is: “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Mobei-Jun gives him a strange look, then, but ignores the statement.

“Let’s go again, my king!” Shang Qinghua says, assuming the position, back to his hands and knees.

He has the strangest urge to wiggle his ass in the air, but resists valiantly!

Mobei-Jun just stares at him a moment, eyes wide.

“My king?” Shang Qinghua asks.

The bigger man blinks, scowls, and reaches for him again.

Slammed onto his back once more, Shang Qinghua laughs breathlessly.

“Good,” his king says again.

It is in that moment, flat on his back on the mats, flush with praise from Mobei-Jun, that Shang Qinghua decides to stay.

Chapter Text

Things change after that. He still attends the children’s class, but it is more as Mobei-Jun’s helper and demo partner than as a student. His king even hires someone to do the cleaning in the mornings, and has Shang Qinghua doing other tasks like folding gi, making brochures, and registering students. Thank god!!

He is still only working on ukemi, but he doesn’t mind so much! He is too excited! Besides, Mobei-Jun has begun to allow him to stay and get some extra practice late at night, so he can master it more quickly! His king’s apartment is right upstairs, and he tends to stay late at the dojo, working on the administrative side of the business. Some nights, when he is not too busy, he watches as Shang Qinghua does his drills: falling, getting back on his feet, falling, getting back on his feet, again and again. The weight of his king’s gaze as he moves his body is heavy, and Shang Qinghua figures he is looking for mistakes. If this one doesn’t master ukemi, he could hurt himself!

One day, they are sitting together, watching Mobei-Jun’s advanced evening class spar amongst themselves. Shang Qinghua is eating his dinner, takeout he bought himself as a treat for completing another week of training.

“Is it one man? More than one?” Mobei-Jun asks casually, gaze on his students.

Shang Qinghua nearly spits out the bite he’d just taken. What the hell did that mean!!! His king couldn’t possibly be asking—? He couldn’t possibly know—

“W-who, my king?” this one asks, anxious.

Mobei-Jun glances over at him. “The people bothering you.”

“Oh. Oh! Haha!” Shang Qinghua exclaims, laughing nervously. He hadn’t thought about it! He hadn’t expected anyone to ask! Trying to buy time to think of a convincing and consistent network of lies, he asks, “Shouldn’t you have asked me these questions earlier, my king? When we first started training?”

Mobei-Jun turns to face him, and glares. “This one never believed Shang Qinghua would last so long.”

Shang Qinghua, who had just stuffed a too-large spoonful of rice into his mouth, looks at his king, blinking, with chipmunk cheeks. “Hwa?” he says.

The bigger man rolls his eyes, a fucking lethal move when he does it, and shoves his lowly servant so viciously that he nearly topples over! This one practically asphyxiates on his rice!!!

“Shang Qinghua is not the first person to be…bothered by others and come to this one’s dojo,” Mobei-Jun says. “He is the first one who didn’t drop out after a week when he couldn’t already chop a board in half.”

Shang Qinghua swallows his mouthful, and side-eyes him. “Can my king…do that?”

“No. That is taekwondo. Ask Luo Binghe if you want to do that.”

This one scrunches up his nose. Did he look like he had a death wish?!

Mobei-Jun watches him, impassive.

“So? How many? What do they do?”

Shang Qinghua stuffs a spring roll into his mouth to buy time! He can lie! He can totally lie! He’ll say…he’ll say three! That sounds reasonable!

“Three,” he lies. Ah! What do they do, though?? “They…” he hesitates. He hasn’t gotten that far yet! He can’t say they beat him up, because he has no bruises or injuries to speak of. Think, Airplane, think!!! “They…take my money!”

That sounds good, right? That makes sense!

Mobei-Jun grunts. “This is bad, Shang Qinghua. Allow this one to accompany you home one night. One beating from these hands will be enough to scare them away.”

“What?!” Shang Qinghua sputters out. No! No, no, no!! If Mobei-Jun walks him home, he’ll see that no one is bothering him at all!! “My king! No! This one wants to defend himself!”

His king looks at him like he’s not quite buying it.

“Besides,” Shang Qinghua continues, unsure where his mouth is taking him, “besides…that would be…unsporting!”

“Shang Qinghua,” his king says, like he is fighting off a headache, “they are being unsporting if there are three of them and one of you. It is only fair you bring this one along. He is the equivalent of at least three men.”

Shang Qinghua stares at Mobei-Jun, anxiety unreeling in his stomach. His king can’t come with him. He can’t find out. He can’t!!

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” this one says, nearly in a panic. “I just want to scare them off. Really!”

Just then, Mobei-Jun gets to his feet, barking instructions at a pair that had gotten too rowdy. Phew! That was close!!!

***

Later that same night, as Shang Qinghua is getting ready to do his breakfall exercises, Mobei-Jun joins him.

“My king?”

“This one has very little work tonight. He will teach you some basic defensive poses,” he says.

Shang Qinghua grins. Yes!!! Finally getting to the good stuff! Who knows how his king would Platonic Touch him tonight!!!

“The best defensive position is turtle,” Mobei-Jun says.

He crouches down into child’s pose, and curls up, tucking his head in and his arms under.

“Turtle,” Shang Qinghua echoes, before getting into the same position.

It feels vulnerable, somehow, exposing his back to someone, unable to see their face or what they’ll do next. His cheek is pressed up against the mats. He doesn’t…particularly like the feeling.

In his peripheral vision, he watches Mobei-Jun sit back up on his heels, and closes his eyes against the odd sensation of being watched like this. A hand grabs his wrist, and Shang Qinghua startles a bit, eyes flying open.

Swallowing heavily, he squeaks, “Surprised me! Sorry, my king!”

“This one is just going to move your arms into the proper position,” Mobei-Jun explains, sounding vaguely peeved about it. His hands encircle Shang Qinghua’s wrists, and this one squeezes his eyes tightly shut against the wave of anxiety that rises in him. He allows his arms to be moved. “If they are too far from your torso, an assailant can wrench them up and break your position.” 

Shang Qinghua is not sure why his king gently moving his wrists is making him so anxious when he regularly does ukemi drills that entail him being slammed into the ground by the man! The position is too similar, he supposes, too similar to That Night: face down, cheek pressed up against the mat, hands around his wrists. There was no defensive curl to his body, then, though. He begins his deep-breathing exercises, afraid of the flashback that is trying to get him in a chokehold.

“If you are ever overtaken, get into this position,” his king says. “It protects your face and your important organs. It will buy you time until someone comes to help.”

Shang Qinghua swallows thickly, closing his eyes against the rising panic.

“But what if…” he says, breath going shallow. “What if no one…”

(What if no one comes? What if he is all alone?)

“Sit up,” Mobei-Jun orders, cutting through the noise in Shang Qinghua’s head. This one obeys with relief, but cannot look his king in the eye. “Someone will come,” he continues firmly. “Make a lot of noise. Like you always do.”

Shang Qinghua looks up at his king, and smiles weakly. The other man is looking at him with a queer expression.

“Let’s move on to some easy defensive moves,” his king says. “If you ever need to stop—Shang Qinghua, are you listening?—if you ever need to stop, tap twice.” He demonstrates with his own giant hand. “Tap twice, and it stops.”

Shang Qinghua looks at his king with wide eyes, and nods.

“On your feet.”

He feels a lot more comfortable when he’s not on the ground, and they do a few dodges and trips. If this one’s heart flutters whenever Mobei-Jun gets into his space, if his breath begins to get ragged for reasons beyond exertion, well. That’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? Ms. Therapist would be so proud of Shang Qinghua! He knows it’s not exactly Platonic Touching if he gets a little hot under his pajama collar, but it’s certainly not Erotic! His king would never deign to touch him like that!

“Your assailants are untrained. They will come at you straight on, with a lot of force,” Mobei-Jun is saying, stepping into range of Shang Qinghua and resting his giant hands on his shoulders. Shang Qinghua swallows thickly. “Their momentum will be forward, and it will be strong.”

He nods vaguely, aware he ought to be listening, looking down as his king toes his student’s feet into the proper position, shoulder-width apart. Mobei-Jun is so much bigger than him, so close, and he smells like mint and lime. How is Shang Qinghua supposed to learn when his head is swimming like this? 

Then, Mobei-Jun’s hands press down into his shoulders, making Shang Qinghua bend at the knees. “Strong stance,” his king says. “This will send me off balance, and force all that momentum backward. Slip your right foot behind my leg and wrench up while shoving me back.”

Mobei-Jun’s earrings tinkle gently as he demonstrates the leg motion on Shang Qinghua. He then checks his face for comprehension. Apparently, he sees it, because he steps back, bows, and begins to approach him at drill speed. 

Shang Qinghua sets his stance, waiting for impact. His king comes at him, slow but firm, and tries to push him backward. Shang Qinghua stands firm, and Mobei-Jun begins to bounce off him.

“Now. Leg.”

Shang Qinghua does as he’s told, bringing his leg around and up. His king’s body wheels back over it, until he hits the ground. This lowly one blinks down at the prone body of his instructor!

“I did it!” he exclaims, putting his hands to his face in shock. Mobei-Jun sits up. Realizing what he’s done, Shang Qinghua continues, panicked, “Oh my god! I’m so sorry, my king! Are you okay???”

He reaches a hand out to help Mobei-Jun up, and his king glares at him before taking it and yanking him to the floor, too. Shang Qinghua lands in a pile beside the other man.

“You’re not supposed to help them up, Shang Qinghua,” his king says. “You’re supposed to give them a kick and run.”

“Right. Right. Next time!”

***

Sha Hualing locks herself and Qin Wanrong into the bathroom one day. Demon child!!! Somehow she’s convinced the extremely high-strung younger girl that they are now trapped in the bathroom forever, even though the lock is very much on the inside!! The locksmith would apparently arrive in fifteen minutes, but things were getting critical!!

“MR. SHANG!! MR. ICEMAN!! SAVE ME FROM SHA HUALING!!” she’s screaming.

Shang Qinghua is slumped outside the door, having spent the last quarter of an hour trying to calm down Qin Wanrong enough that she realizes she can get out any time she wants to!

Sha Hualing, however, keeps shouting, “THIS IS YOUR NEW HOME, QIN WANRONG!! WON’T YOU SHOW ME AROUND?!”

This makes Qin Wanrong scream her head off even more!! Shang Qinghua can appreciate the pure horror of being confined in a small space with Sha Hualing, and so cannot begrudge the little girl her ear-splitting wails!!

“Qin Wanrong, please, listen to this one,” he’s pleading. “The lock is on the inside, sweetheart, the inside!”

Mobei-Jun is watching the scene, agitated, arms crossed. He’s very quickly running out of patience!! Shang Qinghua glances up at him, helpless. He doesn’t know how to negotiate with baby sociopaths like Sha Hualing!!

“A-Ling,” Mobei-Jun says, dark and persuasive, “if you don’t come out of that bathroom in one minute, this one will never teach you about pressure points.”

The demonic chanting stops for a moment. Clearly this is an enticing offer, and Shang Qinghua looks up at Mobei-Jun in awe.

“The ones you can pinch to freeze your opponents?” the little demon asks.

“Yes.”

Shang Qinghua’s eyes widen. He doesn’t think such a thing is possible, but when it comes to his king…

“You can’t do that…” says Sha Hualing suspiciously.

“Why do you think they call this one Iceman, then?”

Oooh! Good one, my king!!

She’s thinking. There is a logic to his king’s words that is hard to deny.

“Do it on Shang Qing-blah, then!! Right now!”

Shang Qinghua looks up at Mobei-Jun in horror. What has he done to earn such hatred from this child??? Mobei-Jun, for his part, drops the sweet talk, face going white with fury.

“No,” he snaps. “We do not hurt Shang Qinghua.”

Aww, my king!!

“So boring!!!” Sha Hualing groans.

“That’s it,” Mobei-Jun says, eyes alight and furious. “Get back.”

Not even giving Shang Qinghua the chance to obey, his king shoves the smaller man behind him and steps forward. He then grabs the doorknob, rattling it with such ferocity that the hinges begin to squeal. It’s an old door, rusted and squeaky, and Shang Qinghua can’t imagine the horror Qin Wanrong is experiencing at the moment!

He watches with wide eyes as Mobei-Jun proceeds to rip the door from its hinges and toss it aside like it is a piece of trash!!!!!

The two girls are inside, eyes wide with shock and fear.

Qin Wanrong runs out, straight into Shang Qinghua’s arms. He cradles her distractedly, still caught on the literal door that his king just threw!!

My king! Mobei-Jun! Why are you like this??!! The locksmith would be here in five minutes!!! That was so unnecessary!!!

The man himself is staring down Sha Hualing, who actually looks scared! That is the power of Mobei-Jun!!!

“Apologize to Shang Qinghua and Qin Wanrong,” his king says.

“But—”

“Now.”

She scurries forward, and bows to them both.

“Sorry, Qin Wanrong,” she mutters. “Sorry, Shang Qing-blah.”

Shang Qinghua makes a face, but doesn’t press. It’s more than he thought he’d get!

Mobei-Jun points at his office. She trudges there, annoyed, and he follows.

“Take care of the rest of class, Shang Qinghua,” his king orders, because this one is technically his indentured servant!!

“Uh,” Shang Qinghua says, and looks around to find twenty little faces staring at him.

What the hell was he going to do with them???

“Okay. Right.” He pauses. “Well. Ignore what just happened!”

One of the kids looked pointedly at the wrecked door, a mess of splintered wood. Shang Qinghua’s own eyes slide over to it. Haha! Don’t worry about that, little dude!!

“Who wants to have a dance party? Qin Wanrong, you pick the music!”

About twenty minutes later, Sha Hualing is released back into the wild. Her face is stormy, but her little friend who transferred over from Huan Hua Dojo coaxes her into dancing. Mobei-Jun watches the kids from the office doorway, arms crossed, and meets eyes with Shang Qinghua, who is doing a silly dance to cheer Qin Wanrong up. Blushing, this one sends her off to dance with her friends and walks over to his king.

“This one never knew you were such an excellent dancer, Shang Qinghua,” he says, dryly amused.

Shang Qinghua flushes an even deeper shade of red. Why does he always have to embarrass himself like this?! Ugh!!!

The locksmith chooses to arrive right as Sha Hualing has organized some sort of deranged dancing circle around the corpse of the door. She’s screeching like a banshee, and he looks over with real fear in his eyes! How is this Shang Qinghua’s life now????

***

It is a few weeks later that Mobei-Jun throws Shang Qinghua for the first time.

One night, after a set of ten rolling breakfalls, this one is lying flat on the ground of the dojo, breathing heavily. Mobei-Jun walks over to him, and looks down.

Why so handsome, my king?! Why so panther-like and graceful?!

“This one will throw you,” he says.

“Really?” Shang Qinghua asks, sitting up and smiling.

Mobei-Jun places a massive hand on his head, like he is a dog! Shang Qinghua, confused, glances up at him from under it.

“My student is ready,” his king says. He removes his hand. “It will be good ukemi practice.”

Shang Qinghua gets up, nerves thrilling through him. The only throws they’d ever done were the very small ones in ukemi drills. Surely a proper one would require all kinds of Platonic Touching!!

Mobei-Jun takes his little jacket off. Shang Qinghua certainly doesn’t notice the pull of his undershirt across his chest as he does so! In fact, he doesn’t notice so much that when his king enters his personal space and begins to untie Shang Qinghua’s pajamas, he startles like a newborn foal! His breath gets caught in his chest and rattles around as a little wheeze.

“The people bothering you do not wear gi,” Mobei-Jun explains shortly, gliding it down his shoulders and tossing it to one side with his own.

His king steps back, and bows lowly. Shang Qinghua, still catching up, hurries to do the same. It’s quiet in the dojo, evening classes all done, just the two of them in the low fluorescent light.

“Ippon seoi nage. Very slow,” he says. “This one will walk through it first.”

His voice is low, and intimate. Shang Qinghua can hardly focus on what he’s saying, but tries very hard for safety reasons! His king grabs Shang Qinghua’s right arm, one hand just shy of his (sweaty) armpit, one resting on top. His palms are enormous, his grip casual but inexorable. Shang Qinghua stares down at his king’s hands like he is hypnotized. He’s only wearing a t-shirt, and Mobei-Jun’s touch is cool on his exposed skin. He’s going to die!!

“This one will grab your arm, give you his back,” his king moves so Shang Qinghua’s chest is pressed against his back, “drop his shoulder, and then flip you over.”

Shang Qinghua gulps. So much Platonic Touching!! It’s too much! Up against his king, he reaches the bigger man’s shoulder, so close to his thick black hair cropped around his ears, his little glinting earrings. His king spins out again, almost like they’re dancing.

“Okay,” Shang Qinghua says, nodding. “This one is ready.”

Slowly but smoothly, Mobei-Jun repeats the movement, but this time he continues after turning, dropping one powerful shoulder and using the ensuing leverage to topple Shang Qinghua over it! Like a sack of potatoes! This lowly one lands in a heap, using his ukemi techniques to bear the brunt of the impact. It hardly even hurts!

Breathless, he rolls onto his back and laughs.

Mobei-Jun frowns down at him, looking enormous. “Shang Qinghua is the least graceful person this one has ever seen.”

“That was amazing,” Shang Qinghua says, ignoring him. “My king is so strong.”

Mobei-Jun juts his chin out, smug and trying not to show it. “Just leverage,” he says. He pauses. “You could throw this one with the right leverage, despite being so much smaller.”

Shang Qinghua snorts, disbelieving. He hadn’t taken his king to be the kind of person to try to make someone feel better with obviously false flattery.

“Don’t be ridiculous, my king!”

Mobei-Jun’s expression hardens. “Shang Qinghua thinks he knows more than this one?”

Shang Qinghua squeaks!

“No, no, no!!” he exclaims, sitting up and clutching at Mobei-Jun’s calf. “This one knows nothing! The brain of this one is completely empty, my king!”

“Hmm,” says Mobei-Jun. He seems placated by Shang Qinghua’s groveling, and spends the rest of the evening bouncing him off the walls and floor of the dojo.

***

“My king, it hurts!!!”

“Shut up. You’re fine.”

Shang Qinghua is on his fifth push-up!! It is awful!! His arms are burning!

“Ten more and you can take a break,” his very evil king says.

“Ten—!”

“This one can make it twenty,” he says, bored, foot tapping where it rests near Shang Qinghua’s head.

Mobei-Jun has started this one on an exercise regime! Apparently, he needs to build some muscle so his judo will be more effective later on! Shang Qinghua doesn’t know what that means, and he doesn’t care! All he knows is that he gets to spend more time with his king!

Now, instead of going to the kid’s class, he does work in the office and occasionally helps his king out with a demo. Then, during the advanced class, he eats his dinner and keeps on working. After that, the whole evening is just him and Mobei-Jun!!

Now, however, he’s wondering what’s so great about that! He’s on his last push-up, genuinely about to cry! Mobei-Jun has been watching him all the time, staring down at him from where he’s standing with his hands joined behind his back!

“Straighten your arms all the way,” his king is saying. “No slacking.”

Trembling, Shang Qinghua begins to press himself up, only for Mobei-Jun to rest a socked foot on his back and press!!! What the hell!!!

“M—my king!” Shang Qinghua chokes out, arms shaking.

“If your chest touches the ground, you’re doing ten more.”

“Please—please let this one up,” he gasps.

“Hmm,” his king says, as if considering it.

Is Mobei-Jun some kind of a sociopath?????  Shang Qinghua thinks he will have a stroke as he waits!!! He is wobbling quite violently!!

“Fine,” Mobei-Jun says at last. “Since you asked so nicely.”  

His foot leaves Shang Qinghua’s back, and the smaller man straightens up with a pained grunt before letting himself collapse completely.

Mobei-Jun sits down beside him.

“You’ve done well tonight, Shang Qinghua” he says. This one, still flopped on the floor, preens quietly with the praise. “Static stretching, and you’re done. Follow along.”

Thank the heavens!! Shang Qinghua doesn’t think he can take much more!! He rolls onto his back, and then mimics his king’s position, touching his toes with noodly arms. Shang Qinghua likes this bit! He can touch his nose to his knees! He is very bendy!

When he looks up, though, he finds his king staring at him, expression somewhere between annoyed and horrified!

“What?” Shang Qinghua asks, straightening fully. 

“You’re…very flexible, Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun says, blinking.

“This one told you, my king! I’m basically made of rubber!” he exclaims with a smile.

His king’s expression turns almost…disgusted???

“Just…be careful. Don’t pull anything,” he ultimately says, slowly. He shifts into another stretching pose, clearing his throat a little as he does.

Why so inscrutable, my king??? If you hate flexible people, just say so, and this one will endeavor to remedy it!!! Ugh!! There is no pleasing him!!

***

“So…you just let Mobei-Jun throw you around all night?”

Shang Qinghua blushes and sputters through his swallow of beer. He only gets a little on his shirt.

“It’s important to learn how to fall properly!” he wails.

Shen Yuan stares at him. “This one always suspected you were some kind of M.”

“Hey!” Shang Qinghua yells, throwing a pillow at him.

He doesn’t go to the dojo on weekends, so he has the night off. After getting off of work that day, he’d whipped himself into a writing frenzy, and posted a new chapter. They are now watching Wing Chun on Shen Yuan’s couch. He feels satisfied with himself, belly full of fried chicken and beer, new comments rolling in, hanging out with Cucumber-bro!

“Seriously, though, Shang Qinghua,” his friend says, “it’s going okay? You feel…safe? Mobei-Jun is very large.”

His voice is a little stilted, uncomfortable, but it is also warm. Shang Qinghua is so grateful to have a friend like Peerless Cucumber! He knows what he is asking. Mobei-Jun is very large, and very skilled in the art of physically subduing people! He has the potential to do a lot of damage to Shang Qinghua! On the face of it, he is kind of terrifying, actually! Awe-inspiring! Violent! For all that, though, this one never feels unsafe around his king. Perhaps it’s because Mobei-Jun only touches him in very precise and limited ways with his large, cool hands, and releases him immediately upon completing the throw. His violence is always tightly leashed, released only when and how Shang Qinghua allows it. There is a sort of power to that.

He frowns. Now that he’s thinking about it, actually, he and his king hardly Platonic Touch at all!! Mobei-Jun is supposed to be teaching him judo and all he’d done was throw him repeatedly into various hard surfaces! Don’t get this one wrong, he kind of enjoyed it, but he wouldn’t scrub toilets for the privilege!

Okay. So maybe. Maybe he would a little bit!

But that isn’t the point!!!

“This one feels safe with his king,” Shang Qinghua says finally.

“Okay,” Shen Yuan says slowly. “You know that all you have to do is say, Airplane, and Luo Binghe will beat the shit out of him for this one.”

Shang Qinghua rolls his eyes. “My king would beat the shit out of him. Come on! Mobei-Jun is a legend! He trains your little bun!”

Shen Yuan whacks him with the remote. “Hey! Watch it! This one’s little bun is the welterweight champion!”

“This one’s little bun is the we—oof!” Shang Qinghua mocks, before Cucumber-bro tackles him and shoves a pillow over his head like he’s an evil old lady in a drama and Shang Qinghua is in a coma!

He releases him a moment later, and they both laugh and go back to watching Michelle Yeoh kick ass.

“This one is very gay, but he would die for Michelle Yeoh,” Shen Yuan says after a moment.

“Same,” agrees Shang Qinghua. He pauses. “You’re happy with your little bun, right, Cucumber-bro?”

Shen Yuan shoots him a look, but nods.

“Good,” Shang Qinghua says. “Good.”

***

Here’s the thing about Shang Qinghua: he has worked just about every job in existence, and, if his resume is to be believed (it’s not), a few that are completely made up! He’s driven an Uber! He’s flipped burgers! He once taught theater at a Bible camp, despite being a little hazy on who exactly Jesus is! He’s greeted people at a theme park while dressed as a cartoon rat!

This lowly one is therefore left with a lot of useless knowledge and experience!

“Useless?” his king says. Shang Qinghua really needs to stop doing that. “How is it useless if it is helping this Mobei-Jun?”

Shang Qinghua considers this. He had just finished explaining how he had got his CPA on the same website he got his license to legally officiate a marriage. He declined to mention that the course was a breeze primarily because Shang Qinghua’s formative years were spent balancing the family budget and praying that his father wouldn’t blow it all on his gambling habit! He couldn’t really blame his mother for getting out while she could!

Mobei-Jun doesn’t expect an answer, and nudges the ledgers he was peering at with a tortured expression towards Shang Qinghua. This one had waited an entire hour for his king to finish up and do some Platonic Touching. He’d plotted an entire multi-chapter arc in the meantime! Tired even of his own imagination—a rare occurrence—Shang Qinghua had stomped over to the office to find his king massaging his temples and poring over the accounts.

They are, predictably, a mess! One entry states simply, in handwriting he recognizes as Luo Binghe’s, “WAFFLE FRIES.” Shang Qinghua is at a loss!

 “What…” he despairs, flipping through. “I don’t…I don’t understand…”

“Help me,” Mobei-Jun blurts out. Shang Qinghua looks up at him in alarm. “Help me, Shang Qinghua.”

This one narrows his eyes. “No more toilets,” he says. It’s a gimme, really! He hasn’t cleaned toilets in a few weeks, now!

“No more. This one promises.”

Shang Qinghua nods as he continues to shuffle through the pages.

“This will—this will take me days,” he says, more as an aside than a statement of annoyance. He is almost impressed by the level of laziness and incompetence that were necessary to produce such a nightmarish accounting system!

Hours pass as Shang Qinghua begins to sort through boxes of unorganized receipts and barely legible records. Mobei-Jun brings him a cup of coffee at some point and he barely notices!

Later, when evening has passed into night, Shang Qinghua is sleeping, drooling all over his notes, and his king bangs a giant fist on the desk his head is resting on. This one shoots up like a rocket, and falls out of Mobei-Jun’s chair to the floor! It might be embarrassing if his king weren’t already so used to it!

The bigger man looks down at his lowly servant with a faintly disgusted expression.

“Time to sleep.”

 “My king!! This one was!”

Mobei-Jun reaches down to pull him up, but Shang Qinghua goes deadweight. He wants to be carried! He deserves to be carried in his king’s very strong arms!!!

The other man, however, lets him go. Shang Qinghua responds by hugging his thigh and resting his head against it! It’s not his fault his king’s thighs look so comfortable! He is so tired!!

“This one set up a tent on the mats.”

Shang Qinghua looks up and pouts, cheek still pressed against thigh. “Carry this one.”

“No.”

He puts both his arms up and makes grabby hands. Mobei-Jun rolls his eyes, but bends down, and for a moment, this one thinks he’s gotten his way! What actually happens, however, is that his king hooks his arms under Shang Qinghua’s and begins to drag him backward!

This one could cry! 

“My king,” he sobs, letting his head loll around.

Mobei-Jun seems uncaring of how Shang Qinghua yelps as he drags him over the lip of his office’s doorway, and just asks, annoyed, “Why does your sweat smell like ramen?”

“Ramen is a balanced meal,” Shang Qinghua says sleepily. “Also this one is poor.”

“Shang Qinghua does not take care of himself,” his king admonishes, adjusting his grip on the smaller man’s body roughly and shoving him into the open mouth of the tent. The ironic tension between word and deed is not lost on this hack author as he lands with a thud on a sleeping bag!

Mobei-Jun kneels next to the tent. When Shang Qinghua goes to sit up, his king shoves him back down with one large hand!

“Sleep,” he orders. “This one is just upstairs.”

A blanket is draped over Shang Qinghua, and the last thing he remembers before falling asleep is the sound of the tent zipping shut.

***

Shang Qinghua startles awake in the darkness, gropes around for his phone, and fails to find it. Whatever. His internal clock will wake him! He falls back asleep feeling warm and pleased.

Morning comes quickly. There is a strange grunting noise outside his tent, and he opens the zip warily. His king is doing one-handed push-ups in a frankly unnecessary and borderline obnoxious display of strength! Shang Qinghua stares at his messy morning hair, his white t-shirt and mesh gym shorts and bare feet, and blinks, feeling vaguely as if he is in danger!!

He checks the time on his phone.

“Shit!” he shrieks. He’s very late!

He rockets out of the tent towards the bathroom, wearing boxers and an undershirt. There is not even any time to be self-conscious, even for Shang Qinghua, who always makes time for that!

Mobei-Jun saunters over to where he is washing his face and leans one hand on the door frame.

“Isn’t Shang Qinghua in charge of his coffee shop? How can he be late?” he asks in a lazy, but somehow menacing tone of voice. Shang Qinghua doesn’t know how his king manages to weave malice into the simplest of expressions!

“In charge! What in charge?!” Shang Qinghua exclaims, pushing past Mobei-Jun’s stupidly large body. “I’m just the manager! It’s a franchise!”

He begins to dig through his bag, placed thoughtfully outside his tent, for his glasses.

“Would you like to take a shower?” Mobei-Jun asks.

“Uh, no thanks. The communal showers here are grody. I have nightmares about them,” Shang Qinghua answers primly.

His king gives him a withering look, and then silently points one finger up at the ceiling. Shang Qinghua looks up, confused, expecting to see something horrifying, but, no, it’s only the water-stained paneling. Horrifying in its own way!

Mobei-Jun rolls his eyes, grabs him by the arm, and drags him towards the back staircase that leads to his apartment. Oh. Ohhhhh!!

“My king!” Shang Qinghua says breathlessly, being manhandled up the stairs in his underwear by Mobei-Jun. “Are you—”

“Shut up, or this one will push you down the stairs.”

Shang Qinghua promptly shuts up! He lets Mobei-Jun lead him into his apartment, unlocking the door and shoving him inside. This one tries to have a good look around, but barely has time to before he is once more being grabbed and forcefully escorted to the bathroom! Still, he takes in the plush furnishings, the gleaming fixtures and appliances, the dark mahogany wood!

“My king!” he exclaims. “Are you rich or something???”

Mobei-Jun pushes him into the bathroom.

“Yes,” he says flatly. “Spare toothbrush and towels are under the sink.”

He shuts the door. Shang Qinghua, stunned, looks around a moment. If only he weren’t running late! This is a golden opportunity to learn more about his dream man!! Grumbling to himself, he fishes a towel and toothbrush out, and starts the shower. He quickly brushes his teeth and then hops in. Three bottles are in the shower: basic shampoo and conditioner in a minty scent (very nice) and body wash that smells of limes. Shang Qinghua has smelled it on Mobei-Jun before, in the split second before he’s tossed like a bag of garbage! It is so pleasant! The thought that he will smell like that all day settles very oddly in Shang Qinghua’s stomach!

He shrugs it off and finishes his shower, drying himself thoroughly and dressing in the same clothes. His uniform is kept at work, so he would simply change and no one would notice. As if they would care anyway! They know Shang Qinghua well enough by now that they wouldn’t read anything into it!

Still in his boxers, blushing at how he’d stupidly forgot to bring up his trousers, Shang Qinghua pads into the kitchen area, where he hears Mobei-Jun moving around. His king sits himself down at the table, drinking a glass of something violently green. Shang Qinghua ought to have known that he would be a green drink type of person!

His eyes widen as he sees a second glass on the table next to his king, also an alarming green! Mobei-Jun looks up at him, his eyes travelling along the line of Shang Qinghua’s body, before meeting his eyes.

“I know, I know, I forgot my jeans!” Shang Qinghua grumbles. He crosses his arms over his chest self-consciously. “I just wanted to—”

Mobei-Jun cuts him off with a glare, and jerks his head slightly in the direction of the drink.

“Is that…for me?” Shang Qinghua asks.

His king nods. “Shang Qinghua needs to take better care of himself,” he says, before taking a large gulp of the shake. “It’s impossible to build muscle while eating only microwave ramen.”

Shang Qinghua warily sits, and then inspects his own bicep. “Who’s building muscle?” he asks idly.

“You, supposedly,” his king says venomously. He pauses, expression clearing. “Shang Qinghua has mastered ukemi. Tonight, we’ll move on.”

“Really?” Shang Qinghua asks, pleased, before taking a tentative sip through the straw Mobei-Jun has kindly provided.

It’s not…awful? It tastes kind of like grass and pineapple. He takes another sip. If Mobei-Jun made it with his own two hands for him, he will enjoy it thoroughly!

“That’s pretty good, actually, my king, thank you,” he says, feeling shy for some reason. Remembering the time, he begins to gulp it down.

His king’s expression is hard to read. Something steady is in his eyes, and his lips twitch minutely.

“The pineapple covers up the taste of the chicken very well,” he says.

Shang Qinghua spits out the gulp he’d just taken. The. The what?!

“My king!!!” he wails. “Ugh! What the hell!! This one is going to puke, ugh!!”

He sticks his tongue out and begins wiping at it manically. Mobei-Jun has an evil gleam in his eyes!

Shang Qinghua holds up a finger at him as he gets up, chair scraping across the floor.

“That’s bullying, my king,” he says somberly. “That is bullying. This one won’t stand for it. I’m leaving, and it’s not because I’m late for work.”

His king is making that expression again. “Is Shang Qinghua busy Saturday night?”

This one’s eyes widen what he is sure is a comical amount! “Is Sha—what?! Are you bullying me again, my king?!”

“This one is teaching a women’s self-defense course at the community center and needs a demo partner,” Mobei-Jun explains. “The women will feel more comfortable if someone like you is there.”

Shang Qinghua freezes.

His blood runs cold.

Cucumber-bro, what have you told him?!

“Someone like…someone like me?”

Mobei-Jun’s brows furrow. “Someone with a friendly face who is not so large.” He pauses. “What did you think this one meant?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Shang Qinghua answers hastily, feeling his body start to produce sweat at an alarming rate. “Sure, sure, this one is free. I’m free. I’ll—I’ll see you tonight, my king. Thank you for the shake and everything.”

Mobei-Jun frowns, but doesn’t say anything as Shang Qinghua runs out the door.

Chapter Text

It’s Saturday, and it is open mat hours. Shang Qinghua doesn’t particularly enjoy open mats, mainly because a) Mobei-Jun has banned him from participating on pain of death until he gets more experience, and b) they make a lot of noise while he is trying to do boring admin things!! (Wet wipes don’t order themselves, you know!!) Don’t get this one wrong: it wasn’t like he was interested in grappling with the randos that showed up—in fact, he’d nearly scoffed when Mobei-Jun forbade him so sternly, as if Shang Qinghua would ever—but he didn’t really appreciate the questions people asked him. Why won’t you grapple? Are you scared? Yes! Yes, he is! Scared of Mobei-Jun wringing his neck!

Cheers go up outside the door, and Shang Qinghua frowns to himself at his desk. (Yes, he has a desk now!!! Right across from Mobei-Jun’s!!) He tries putting in headphones to block the noise out and get back to his supply ordering. 50% off paper towel if you buy in bulk? Yes please!!

It’s no good. The screams of JUNSHANG JUNSHANG JUNSHANG and ICEMAN ICEMAN ICEMAN get too loud, and Shang Qinghua just has to see if the two men are truly sparring. Shang Qinghua’s never seen them matched up before, and would really enjoy having something to hold over Cucumber-bro’s head if his king wins! Definitely worth getting bonked on the head once or twice! He slinks out the door and gets a good spot in one corner where no one will see him.

From what he can tell, they’re doing taekwondo, which is Luo Binghe’s specialty. They’re not wearing any protective gear besides gloves, which likely means they’ll pull their kicks at least a bit. Shang Qinghua watches, rapt, as his king moves. For such a large man, he is surprisingly silent as he moves, like a great panther, lithe and graceful and effortless. Luo Binghe, on the other hand: all energy and ferocity and grunts! While Shang Qinghua could easily watch his king fight for hours, ten minutes of Junshang is enough make him want to take a nap!!

Someone steps close to Shang Qinghua, then, and he gives them a vague smile before returning his attention to the fight. Luo Binghe has just done a spin kick, taking the bite off it only a moment before his foot tapped Mobei-Jun on the chest. When his king retaliates with a smooth spinning leg-sweep, Shang Qinghua nearly cheers. They go a few more rounds, and it ends up about even. They bow to each other and talk quietly on the other side of the mats.

Shang Qinghua, no longer watching the fight, realizes that the person next to him had not left, and indeed has been standing near him, watching him, the whole time. It’s a man, and he’s maybe in his late 30’s, wearing a gi. He’s not as large as Mobei-Jun, but still quite intimidating!

“Can I help you?” Shang Qinghua asks him.

“Interested in randori?” he asks. He wants to spar.

Shang Qinghua frowns, confused. He’s in office clothes, wearing his glasses, clearly not looking to spar. What the hell is this guy doing?

“No, no thank you—I have to get back to work,” this one responds, gesturing vaguely towards the office. The man moves forward, backing him further into the corner. Shang Qinghua blinks, irate.

“Oh,” the man says, smiling in a way Shang Qinghua is sure he imagines is charming. “You’re Mobei-Jun’s little guy! It’s unfair the way he keeps you locked up!”

Mobei-Jun’s little guy??? What the hell!!! He’s not that little!! Quietly, though, he warms at the idea of being Mobei-Jun’s anything!

“This one isn’t locked up,” Shang Qinghua replies, beginning to try to edge away from him.

“Your glasses are cute,” the man says. “Maybe you’d be interested in getting some lunch? Maybe a drink?”

“Um, no, thank you,” Shang Qinghua says politely, going to leave. He jumps a little when the man places a hand on the wall, blocking his path to the office. He tries to remain calm, but his voice takes on an edge of disquiet when he tries, “Excuse me.”

“What, you got a boyfriend or something?”

Shang Qinghua scowls.

His voice shakes a little when he says, “No. I—I need to get back to work. Excuse me.”

“Come on, don’t be like that,” the man says, stepping closer. Shang Qinghua backs himself further into the corner, trying to put some distance between himself and this jerk! His heartrate picks up, razor-sharp anxiety prickling at his spine. The man clearly is not picking up on it, and crowds him further, a smug smile on his face. “Anybody ever told you you have a fantastic ass?”

Shang Qinghua blanches, and is right about to make a run for it when he hears an annoyed voice from a few feet away snapping, “Shang Qinghua.” He looks up to see Mobei-Jun, expression murderous. “What are you doing slacking off? Back to the office, now,” he says venomously.

The man moves away from Shang Qinghua with Mobei-Jun’s arrival.

“Slacking—? I—This one wasn’t—?” Shang Qinghua sputters out, amazed but not surprised at the injustice of it all! He begins to walk back to the office, shaking his head, ready to get his ass handed to him by his king, when Mobei-Jun speaks again.

“You,” he is saying to the man. “Front of the mats. This one needs a demo guy.”

Muttering to himself, pissed off beyond belief and still a little wired with anxiety, Shang Qinghua is startled when he feels Mobei-Jun’s presence by his side a moment later. His face is peaceful, now, and they walk to the office together. Shang Qinghua frowns at him, confused, and goes to sit at his desk warily. Mobei-Jun is by the door, and he catches Shang Qinghua’s eye and—smiles?? Yes, he smiles, like a shark showing its teeth, before closing the door on him. This one can only stare at the door, dumbstruck! What the fuck?!

Mobei-Jun’s teacher voice, booming when he wants it to be, comes through the closed door a moment later.

“This Mobei-Jun is going to demonstrate a few throws,” he says. So he really had needed a demo guy. “Please watch carefully.”

There is pained-sounding grunt, followed by the slap of a body on the mats, hard! Harder than Shang Qinghua’s ever been thrown, that’s certain! A few moments of silence pass. Then, a startled yelp, followed by that same resounding slamming noise!

“Get up, get up, don’t be a baby,” Mobei-Jun says, unbothered.

The pattern continues for a few more minutes, until his king must have thrown the man twenty times! Shang Qinghua opens the door a crack to see him wobbling around slightly, assuring Mobei-Jun that he is okay.

“Good, good,” his king says. “One more then.”

Shang Qinghua shuts the door, trying to suppress his laughter. One final slam is followed by a hollow moaning noise.

“You’re alright,” Mobei-Jun says. “Walk it off.” He pauses. “Okay. Open mat over. Everyone leave now.”

Groans of disappointment fill the air, as it is ten minutes to the usual end time, but no one argues. They’ve only just seen Mobei-Jun body-slam someone over twenty times in the space of two minutes, after all!

Seeming cheerful, his king swings the door open a few moments later, before dropping into his chair. He puts his feet up on the desk.

“My king,” Shang Qinghua says quietly, smiling.

Mobei-Jun exhales through his nose and leans back in his chair.

“This one did what needed to be done,” he says simply, folding his hands behind his head in a move that screamed BDE! “Is Shang Qinghua okay?”

Shang Qinghua’s quiet smile becomes a full-on grin. “Yes, my king, I’m fine.” He pauses. “Were you defending my honor? I am deeply touched!”

Mobei-Jun snorts. “What honor?”

“My king!!!”

***

Shang Qinghua, watching Mobei-Jun set up the mats under the fluorescent lights of the community center, quietly calculates to himself that, of the previous nights, he’d spent nearly all of them at the dojo. Of the meals he’d eaten, most had been with his king. Ever since this one had begun his workout regime, it seems that Mobei-Jun had decided that he was in charge of Shang Qinghua’s diet, too, and would shove a bowl at him whenever he was around at mealtimes. He smiles at the thought, stapling together information packets!

The women taking the class file in about five minutes before it’s meant to start. They’re a wide range of ages and appearances: a teenager wearing all black, a middle-aged lady in yoga pants, a young professional in spandex shorts, a mousy-looking girl in baggy clothing. Shang Qinghua wonders what has brought them here. Wonders if they can sense the same on him.

They smile warmly in his direction, and then look up with wide eyes at Mobei-Jun. His king does cut a rather intimidating figure! He’d opted to wear a gi, and Shang Qinghua thinks that was wise. This one had decided on gym shorts and a Junshang Dojo t-shirt. Mobei-Jun gave it to him as thank-you. Or, at least, that was what Shang Qinghua had deduced when it was shoved at him upon his arrival at the community center!

He and Mobei-Jun introduce themselves, and Shang Qinghua hands out the packets. His king is holding a clipboard in one hand, a pen in the other, looking down at the notes he’d scribbled on his copy. He says to the women a lot of the same things he’s said to Shang Qinghua: his goal is that they never have to use these techniques, flight is always preferable to fight, etc., etc

His king shows a video, then, and Shang Qinghua sits on the mat to watch along with the women.

The screen buzzes to life with a title slide.

YOUR BODY IS YOUR OWN: WOMEN’S SELF-DEFENSE.

It fades to a good-looking young man that Shang Qinghua vaguely recognizes from television.

“Your body is your own,” he says.

The girl in baggy clothing blinks up at the screen, like this is the first time she is hearing these words. Perhaps it is. It is the first time Shang Qinghua is hearing them.

The announcer continues to speak. “Martial arts can help you assert that more clearly.” He pauses. “Still, it’s important to remember that, even if you are unable to defend yourself, the assailant is in the wrong, not you. They have breached this rule: your body is your own.”

Shang Qinghua tries to push down the wave of nausea that rises in him at the announcer’s words. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

Another title card comes up: WHAT MAKES WOMEN’S SELF-DEFENSE DIFFERENT?

“Women are more likely to be sexually assaulted than men, and they tend to be smaller than the average perpetrator of violent crimes,” the announcer answers. “Of course, these techniques can be used by anyone to feel safer and more confident.”

More words flash across the screen: WHAT DO I DO IF I FEEL UNSAFE?

“Trust your instincts,” the announcer says. “There’s no need to be paranoid, but if you’re getting a bad feeling about something, trust your body. Unconsciously, you may be picking up on something important.” 

Shang Qinghua looks down.

(Something’s wrong. Something’s not right.)

Even drunk—even drunk, he had sensed it.

 (Why am I feeling so nervous? So afraid? He seems nice, right? He gave me all those drinks. His hand on my arm is soft. I am being crazy.)

“Stay safe. Go into a nearby store. Call someone. If it’s nothing, laugh at yourself later, when you’re safe,” the announcer is saying.

(Maybe I should try to get someone’s attention?? I can’t—I can’t seem to—)

Shang Qinghua tries to blink the memories away, and focus on the film.

The next title flashes: WHAT DO I DO IF SOMEONE APPROACHES ME?

“If you can’t immediately get away, illustrate your discomfort, and set your boundaries. Most people mean no harm, and will respect them. If they don’t, you now know for certain that you are in danger.”

Shang Qinghua stops watching entirely, and looks down at his toes where they are pressed into the mats. He curls them into the plush texture rhythmically, breathing deeply, trying to ground himself.

(What is he doing? Where are we going? Can’t he see I don’t want to go with him?)

“Don’t wait until they’re two feet away to check that they’ll respect your boundaries. If they ignore them, consider it license to do whatever you need to do to be safe.”

(I told him I want to leave. Why isn’t he letting me go? Am I not being clear? Have I led him on somehow? I didn’t mean to.)

The movie runs a few minutes longer, but Shang Qinghua can’t seem to keep his attention focused on it. He is too busy swimming through the waves of memories assaulting him. Feeling a little like he might be sick, he is breathing deeply through his nose, focusing on the floor in front of him. He becomes vaguely aware of Mobei-Jun’s voice. The other man has stopped the video, and is speaking to the women, calmly and clearly. Shang Qinghua struggles to swim to the surface, to listen to his king and try to bring himself back to the present. He tries rubbing at the mesh texture of his gym shorts, breathing deeply.

“There is no need to be polite,” his king is saying. “There is no need to be nice.”

(He’ll be angry if I pull away. His feelings will be hurt. He’ll—he’ll do something to me—)

“You will be panicking. You will be high on adrenaline. So use simple, effective moves—the heel of your hand to the eyes, a knee to the groin—and run.”

(I can’t breathe. I can’t move. What do I do?! What do I do?!)

“Get to where other people are. They will help you if you ask.”

(Help me. Please, someone help me. Please, please, someone help me, please—)

Shang Qinghua pushes the memory away as if with physical force, digging his nails deeply into his palms. The sharp pain of it helps. Ms. Therapist would be proud of him for grounding himself like this. He is doing very well! He is not even crying!

His king is saying something about the heel of your palm being good for striking without injuring yourself. Shang Qinghua looks down at his own hand, at the half-moon impressions of his nails, and forces himself to pay attention.

“This one will demonstrate a few different scenarios with Shang Qinghua now,” Mobei-Jun says to the group.

Shang Qinghua gets up, careful to keep his face neutral. They had talked a little about this earlier, so he had known this was coming. He is grateful for the distraction, for the chance to use his body and, in doing so, shut off his mind. He stands next to his king, waiting for instructions.

“Let’s say your assailant comes at you from the front.” Mobei-Jun beckons Shang Qinghua with the clipboard, and says, lowly, “Approach this one at drill speed, try to sling your arm around my neck.”

He is relaxed, casual, his clipboard and pen still in his hand, and Shang Qinghua goes slow as he steps towards him and puts an arm around his neck, trapping the shoulder of the arm holding the clipboard in place.

“This hand,” Mobei-Jun waves the clipboard, “is out of commission. But this one,” he waves the one with the pen, “is free. Take the heel of your palm right to his nose.” He mimes the motion, and Shang Qinghua obligingly pretends to be in pain, stepping away. “This is where you run.”

Mobei-Jun resets.

“Again. Full speed,” he orders his lowly assistant. “And more aggressive. Remember you’re trying to hurt this one.” Turning to the women, he says, “Watch what this one does with his feet.”

Shang Qinghua lunges, then, and grabs Mobei-Jun by the back of the neck! The skin is cool and soft against his palm as he grips it hard. They meet eyes for a moment, and he can tell that the other man is a little shocked! Mobei-Jun lets out a little strangled noise, and appears to stab himself quite viciously in the thigh with his pen! Shang Qinghua immediately backs off, eyes wide!

“Oh no! I’m sorry, my king!!” he says, wringing his hands. What has he done?! What is wrong with him?! He is a violent lunatic!!

Mobei-Jun swallows visibly. His eyes seem larger than usual, and he is a little out of breath. “No. No, you did well. This one was only surprised.” He pauses, and then sets his pen and clipboard down before beckoning Shang Qinghua forward once more. “Again,” he says lowly. “At speed. This one is ready.”

He goes again, and they complete the form, the heel of his king’s palm stopping right before Shang Qinghua’s nose. Mobei-Jun, breathing heavily through his nose, is staring down at him. His body is rigid, leashed, his gaze dark and intent. It feels as though everyone else has disappeared, and it’s just the two of them under the low lights of the community center gym. Shang Qinghua, breath caught in his lungs, can’t help but stare right back, caught under the searchlight of the other man’s eyes.

And then, silently, Mobei-Jun touches the heel of his palm gently to the tip of Shang Qinghua’s nose. It’s strangely tender for something that, with a bit of speed behind it, might send bone fragments into his brain. This one looks down, stepping away and swallowing heavily. His breath feels shallow and strange.

“Partner up, and practice,” he hears Mobei-Jun say. He’s turned to face the students.

They follow his instructions and begin practicing on each other. He walks around with a critical eye, adjusting stances and giving advice. His touch, when he does touch the women, is perfunctory and light, like a doctor’s.

“Shouldn’t we go for the chest?” the goth girl asks. “Try to knock him off his feet?”

Mobei-Jun shakes his head. He beckons her closer with one hand, and she squares up about a foot or so away from him.

“Hit this one. As hard as you can,” he orders, patting his chest to show where she should strike. The girl looks up at him in alarm. “You won’t hurt me,” he says, dryly amused. “Heel of your palm.”

The girl looks at him dubiously, but says, “Okay…”

She winds up. Her hand smacks into his chest, hard, and the sound resounds around the grody little gym. Mobei-Jun sways slightly backward, but is hardly fazed!

“Hey!” the goth girl protests. “Most people aren’t as big as you, though!”

Shang Qinghua laughs.

 Mobei-Jun rolls his eyes.

They do a few more moves in different scenarios, then, and the women must demonstrate them on Shang Qinghua before they are given their certificates. How typical!!!

The goth girl pipes up at the end of class. “Could you show us some more advanced stuff? This is so cool!”

Her enthusiasm gets Shang Qinghua all excited, and he says yes before he can stop himself! He wants his king to show off how amazing he is!!!

Mobei-Jun glares at him, but the women seem excited, and sit down.

“Throw me!” Shang Qinghua says to the bigger man.

Mobei-Jun steps closer to him. His voice is a menacing purr as he says, “Shang Qinghua. This one won’t go easy on you just because there’s an audience.”

Shang Qinghua exhales shakily, and then looks up at his king with a weak smile.  

“When has this one ever asked you to go easy on him?”

Mobei-Jun laughs, then, properly laughs, teeth glinting horribly. He squares up. “Okay then, Shang Qinghua,” he says, bowing lowly. “Okay.”

This one bows in return, and barely has a moment to set his position before he’s being thrown over his king’s shoulder onto the ground! The women flinch and ooh and aah, and Shang Qinghua has the time of his life being thrown around like a rag doll! His king truly is impressive!!!

Later, as the women are leaving, they sit side-by-side on the mats.

“Good job tonight. Keep on practicing at home,” his king is saying to his students.

“I’ll definitely come by the dojo soon! I can’t wait to learn more!” the goth girl exclaims.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t reply save for nodding and smiling vaguely, too busy thinking about the instructional video. Maybe if he’d seen something like that before everything happened—

He swallows, and shoves the thought away. When he looks up again, the women are all gone.

Trying to distract himself, he asks Mobei-Jun, “How much do they pay you for this?”

“They don’t,” his king answers simply.

Shang Qinghua looks over at him, surprised.

Mobei-Jun eyes his expression. “What?” he demands.

“My king!!” Shang Qinghua exclaims. “Why do you hide your kindness?!”

His king scowls. “What’s so kind?” he says. “This one simply cannot understand why anyone would try to have sex with someone who doesn’t want to have sex with them.”

Seeming annoyed for some reason, he begins folding the mats up grumpily.

Shang Qinghua just sits, and smiles to himself, hands on his knees.

***

Mobei-Jun drives them both back to the dojo, and they unload the mats together. It’s late by the time they’re done, and the streets are raucous with weekend crowds along the busy strip the dojo is on. Shang Qinghua says goodnight, and goes to leave, but his king follows him!

“Did this one forget something?” Shang Qinghua asks.

“No. This Mobei-Jun will walk Shang Qinghua home tonight.”

My king! No!!

Thinking quickly, he says, “They usually don’t bother me on weekends.”

“This one was not asking,” Mobei-Jun answers flatly.

Shang Qinghua shoves down his internal panic, and nods. He hopes his lame excuse would be enough to stifle any questions that will inevitably arise when no one in his neighborhood appears to be bothering him. He’s not quite ready for the night to end, and, despite his worries,  is quietly pleased to be able to spend more time with Mobei-Jun.

They walk in comfortable silence for the most part. It’s a nice night out, and they’re both a bit tired. Just being quiet together is good.

Fifteen minutes later, as they approach his building, Shang Qinghua says thoughtfully, “My king was good with the women, today. You didn’t need this one at all.”

Mobei-Jun is quiet a moment.

“It is important to say the right thing,” he finally answers. “They have put their trust in us.”

Shang Qinghua looks at him warmly. He does not know what to say to this that will not reveal everything.

“This one thinks they’ll come back to the dojo,” he winds up saying. “I’ll be happy for you to have students besides the demon spawn Sha Hualing!”

Mobei-Jun shoots him a glare, but it seems friendly, somehow! Either his king is expanding his repertoire of glares, or Shang Qinghua is becoming better at distinguishing them!

“This Mobei-Jun trains the MMA welterweight champion, Shang Qinghua. He does not need more business,” he replies flatly.

“My king!” Shang Qinghua exclaims. “You may be training the champion, but the dojo is only barely making money! No wonder you had to train this lowly one in exchange for janitorial services!”

“A favor to a friend,” he says dismissively. “Speaking of this favor,” he looks around ostentatiously, and then elegantly raises one eyebrow, “where are these morons who bother Shang Qinghua? This one wants to hit something.”

“I told you, my king,” Shang Qinghua says, looking away. “They don’t bother me on weekends.”

“Hmm.”

Shang Qinghua cannot see his face in the darkness. They approach the door to his building in silence.

“Here I am,” he says. “Does my king want something? This one can offer you…ramen, Red Bull, or An Ding Coffee Traders iced mocha!”

He realizes with a start that he wants his king in his space, taking up room with his big body, wants him to stay a bit longer. What is that about!!!

But Mobei-Jun just huffs. “Good night, Shang Qinghua.”

This one’s heart drops. He smiles at his king anyway.

“Good night, my king,” he says quietly.

They part ways. He is sorry the night is over. Sorry that he’d had to return home.

***

Sunday mornings at An Ding Coffee Traders are always insane! Professors from the nearby university come in to grade papers and sip Americanos, retirees come to split an egg sandwich and a newspaper, and young families come to shut their kids up with promises of hot chocolate for breakfast! It is particularly fine out today, so their outdoor tables are filled with people lounging and enjoying their delicious An Ding Coffee Beverages ™!

Shang Qinghua is at the cash register, which is somewhat unusual, as he frequently gets anxious while making change. He prefers to be making the drinks, or even better, delegating tasks from his tiny office! Unfortunately, the girl who usually works cash on Sunday mornings dragged herself in hungover, so he sent her to the storeroom to do inventory. This one is very kind like that! 

He’s just finished ringing up the order of a very good-looking guy around his own age. An iced vanilla latte and a chocolate croissant. Very respectable order!

The man takes his credit card back from Shang Qinghua and says, “Can I give you my number?”

“Certainly!” Shang Qinghua answers cheerfully. “It may take a few days for the points from this order to show up on your account, though, is that okay?”

The customer frowns. “No—I mean. I meant that I think you’re cute, and I’d like to call you sometime,” he says.

Shang Qinghua blinks. Huh? His heart picks up, mainly because he isn’t sure how to get out of this one! For some reason his first thought is to escape the situation! Why did this man put him on the spot like that?! Doesn’t he see that this one has an anxiety disorder?! He gulps, and scratches his head, and tries to think of what to say.

“No?” he eventually answers. He is very impressed with himself! “No. No thank you. Have a nice day, though!”

The man, confused by the politeness, but sensing he’d been dismissed, shuffles towards the drink pick-up area. Shang Qinghua’s heart is still beating like he’d dodged a bullet, even though the man had been very good-looking and seemed very nice! He frowns to himself. Why hadn’t he just said yes? What would have happened? What harm would have been done? Here Shang Qinghua is, moaning about dying a virgin, and when someone as lovely as that man asks him out, he refuses! He panics! He shuts down! What the hell!! Is wrong!! With this one!! Why is he like this?!!

Mentally admonishing himself, he looks up to greet the next customer, and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees who it is! Mobei-Jun, Luo Binghe, and another man, who’s slightly smaller than his giant friends, but still very fit-looking!

“My king!” Shang Qinghua exclaims, attention naturally drawn to Mobei-Jun first. He has a satisfied little smile on his face. Then, Shang Qinghua turns to Luo Binghe. “Luo Binghe!” He turns to the third man. “…sir!”

Luo Binghe leans over the counter, over-familiar in a slightly menacing way.

“Did that man just hit on you, Shang Qinghua?” he purrs.

“No,” this one blurts out, too quickly to be true. Damn it!

“Why didn’t you say yes?” Luo Binghe asks, tilting his head in a way that seems somehow threatening. “He’s not your type?”

Mobei-Jun grabs him by the scruff of his neck and yanks him backward, stepping in front of the cashier himself. Luo Binghe just laughs evilly! Why does he enjoy torturing this one so much???

“Shang Qinghua,” his king says, quiet. “This one came to see you at work.”

This lowly servant smiles! And not his customer-service smile, a real one!

“It’s good to see you, my king!” he says. “How can this one serve you?”

Mobei-Jun’s eyes flick over Shang Qinghua.

“We will have two iced Americanos and a…vanilla frappe.”

The third man steps forward with an apologetic smile. “This one has a terrible sweet tooth,” he says. He seems very kind!

“This is Gongyi Xiao. He is the new jiujitsu instructor,” Mobei-Jun explains, handing his card to Shang Qinghua. Previously, Mobei-Jun had taught jiujitsu as well as judo, but with Shang Qinghua in charge of the accounts, they have enough money to hire more staff!

“Oh, right!” this one says. He had approved his salary, and done all the paperwork for his hiring! “Nice to meet you!” he says, giving a short bow.

It is returned, but then Gongyi Xiao is quickly shoved aside by Luo Binghe, who looks frantic. 

“Sensei just texted. May I order another vanilla frappe, please?”

Say what you want about the man, he is always very polite to servers! Shang Qinghua nods, smiling as he inputs the order. Cucumber-bro’s drink choices were always fussy like that! He is such a diva!

“He’s meeting us at the dojo later,” Luo Binghe adds on dreamily.

How nice! The two men smile at each other like idiots. Shang Qinghua thinks that Cucumber-bro is the only thing they agree on!

Ning Yingying starting the order startles Shang Qinghua to attention, and he immediately shoves her aside, saying, “Move, move, these are my friends’ drinks, move.”

Shang Qinghua makes them as quickly as he can, though the frappes take some time.

Finished, he sets them all down on the bar. Mobei-Jun, waiting close by, thanks him, and Shang Qinghua smiles and bows.

“Shang Qinghua,” the bigger man says, “When are you done with work?”

“Off at two, my king!”

“To welcome Gongyi Xiao, we are having a friendly competition between the instructors and some of the more advanced students this afternoon,” he explains. His eyes narrow. “Come, or this one will make you do push-ups until you collapse.”

“Sensei!” Gongyi Xiao exclaims. “Don’t threaten Shang Qinghua! You’ll scare him off!”

“Oh, don’t worry!” Shang Qinghua assures him cheerily. “That’s not the worst thing he’s threatened to do!”

Gongyi Xiao sips his frappe thoughtfully. “That’s not as comforting as you think it is, Shang Qinghua.”

“Will you come?” Mobei-Jun asks, as though Gongyi Xiao were not involved in the conversation at all. “As Luo Binghe said, Shen Yuan will be there.”

“I’ll be there, too!” Gongyi Xiao chimes in. “Maybe I’ll convince you to take up jiujitsu instead of judo!”

The bigger man turns to glower at his employee.

“This one will be there, my king,” Shang Qinghua says, attempting to nip any attempted murder charges in the bud!

Mobei-Jun turns back to him, earrings winking in the sun, and smiles a fraction.

***

Shang Qinghua brings leftover pastries for everyone, and matcha lattes for himself and Cucumber-bro. For his king, he decides to surprise him with a mint choco frappe. He never eats anything sweet, but Shang Qinghua has noticed his fondness for mint-flavored things! He hopes he will like it! His king could use a little sweet, he thinks.

The students gather around Shang Qinghua in awe, grateful for the croissants and tarts! His king and Gongyi Xiao are busy grappling, Luo Binghe watching from the sidelines and shouting obscenities. Junshang is retiring from fighting soon, and will be joining the staff at his namesake dojo, so he is included in the tournament. Pastries placed on the side for people to nibble at, Shang Qinghua goes to sit down next to his bro, who is in the corner watching cat videos on his phone.

The two grappling men finish up, and Mobei-Jun comes over to greet him. He is a little out of breath, cheeks flushed.

“Thank you for the food, Shang Qinghua,” he says. “The students are very happy.”

Shang Qinghua shrugs it off. They can’t be too happy, as most of them were stale!

“This one brought you something, my king!” he says, shoving the mint choco at him.

Mobei-Jun accepts, but stares down at it in confusion. “What is it?”

“A frappe!” this one exclaims. “Try it, you’ll like it! I made it just for you!”

His king looks up at him at that, expression wide-open and unguarded. Quickly, he looks down to take a sip, brow furrowed.

“It’s mint,” he says, a smile twitching on his lips. He glances up at Shang Qinghua.

“You like mint, right?” this one asks. “I know you don’t usually have unhealthy things like that, but—”

“It is good,” Mobei-Jun says. “Thank you.”

He takes a seat next to Shang Qinghua, sipping his drink, watching as Luo Binghe gets his ass handed to him by Gongyi Xiao. The smaller man’s body seems to be made of noodles as he slips out of Junshang’s hold again and again.

Mobei-Jun leaves shortly after, going to observe two students sparring. Sipping their drinks, he and Cucumber-bro half-heartedly observe the fights, but mainly just talk. The only bouts that have Shen Yuan’s undivided attention are Luo Binghe’s, which is just gross! And Shang Qinghua pretends not to be watching Mobei-Jun’s matches, but ultimately can’t keep his eyes off him! He is astounding!! He wonders why he doesn’t compete in MMA competitions like Luo Binghe does. Perhaps trainers are not allowed to!

“Bro,” Shen Yuan says. He is now reading the latest chapter of PIDW, which included a round of fuck-or-die papapa. “You really need to work on some new ways to describe orgasms.”

Shang Qinghua nearly spits his drink out.

“What?” he exclaims, eyes bugging out of his head as he looks around warily.

“How many times can you say dizzy, or feverish, Airplane? Do your heroines have low blood sugar or something?”

“Hey! You think of five hundred different ways to describe orgasms and we’ll talk!!” he sputters, flushing. Writing sex scenes is hard, especially the orgasm bit!! There were only so many ways he can put it into words!!

Cucumber-bro is laughing at him, tapping what is likely a mean-spirited comment into his phone!!!

The tournament eventually devolves into Luo Binghe teaching spin kicks to the starry-eyed students. His king is standing near Shang Qinghua, arms crossed, periodically rolling his eyes as Junshang shows off. Shen Yuan, for his part, is enthralled. This one, bored out of his mind, begins to eat a pastry. His king spies it, and slaps it out of his hands with truly terrifying speed!!

Shang Qinghua’s jaw drops, and he watches the croissant fall on the floor.

“My king!! What the hell!!!”

Mobei-Jun spares him a glance.

 “We have spoken about Shang Qinghua’s poor diet already,” he says flatly, though this one can tell he is fighting off an evil little smile. “He does not take care of himself.”

Shang Qinghua looks at him like he’s insane, picks up the croissant, dusts it off, and takes a bite anyway! “Mmm!” he says aggressively, at his king. “Delicious!”

“You little—” his king says, starting after him. Shang Qinghua shrieks, and hides behind Shen Yuan, who is still watching Luo Binghe with starry eyes.

Gongyi Xiao, bless his heart, takes this moment to walk up to the little group, and Mobei-Jun goes back to watching Luo Binghe. Shang Qinghua continues to cower behind Cucumber-bro, munching at his croissant like it’s the first thing he’s eaten in days and it’s about to be taken from him!

“Sensei!” Gongyi Xiao says with a bright smile. “Shang Qinghua works so hard for you! Can’t you let him have a snack?”

Mobei-Jun narrows his eyes at him. “Why are you always defending him?”

“He got me hired!” the other man says easily. He reaches down and plucks a piece of coffee cake from the tray. “This one will be in his debt forever! I needed to get out of Huan Hua!”

“Hmm,” is Mobei-Jun’s unimpressed reply.

“You better start treating him right,” Gongyi Xiao says through a mouthful of cake, “or he might start looking for alternate employment, too!”

“Oh, this one technically doesn’t work here!” Shang Qinghua says helpfully, popping out from behind Shen Yuan. “I’m paying for my lessons with my labor! It’s like bartering!”

Cucumber-bro huffs, still watching Luo Binghe. “Isn’t bartering supposed to be equal? You’ve definitely given Mobei-Jun way more than he’s given you.”

Shang Qinghua glances over at his king. He’s watching, too, but his expression is stormy.

“That’s not true!” Shang Qinghua says, putting the croissant down. He feels oddly defensive of his king. “This one has learned a lot from Mobei-Jun!”

The bigger man glances at him briefly. His brow is pinched.

“Hey, Iceman!” Luo Binghe calls. “This student wants to know the steps to a double leg takedown.”

Mobei-Jun nods silently, and gets to his feet. Leaning over, he whacks Shang Qinghua on the back of the head and says, “Demo.”

As this one gets up to follow him and they walk over to Luo Binghe, he feels his king’s hand return to the spot, cradling it gently, fingers in his hair, before it disappears. Shang Qinghua blinks up at him, but Mobei-Jun doesn’t look in his direction.

***

Later that night, after the tournament is over and everyone has gone home, Shang Qinghua is wiping the mats down when he catches himself in the mirrored surface of one of the walls. He thinks of the man at An Ding that day. He’d called him cute! This one flushes just thinking about it!

Mobei-Jun is in the office, so Shang Qinghua isn’t embarrassed to touch his own face like he’s never seen it before. It’s strange, being called cute. He’d never thought of himself as particularly attractive.

“My king, do you think this one is good-looking?” he calls over. He drops his hands, but continues to look at himself. When there is no answer, he rushes to continue, “Don’t get this one wrong. He knows he’s not on his king’s level, not an angel sent to walk the earth and strike people down with power of their cheekbones, but…this Shang Qinghua isn’t so bad, is he?”

“You look like a hamster,” says his king flatly, and Shang Qinghua startles at how close the voice is. Mobei-Jun has emerged from the office and is looking at him in the mirror, too. Staring, really. It’s kind of weird!

Shang Qinghua turns to him. “My king!! What the hell!! You scared this one!”

Mobei-Jun simply continues to stare at him!

Discomfited by his king’s eyes on his person, Shang Qinghua flushes and shifts.

“…A-a cute hamster, at least?” he asks awkwardly. 

“Adorable,” his king says, toneless, before returning to his office.

Shang Qinghua stares after him. What the hell was that!! Had Mobei-Jun really needed to come out into the practice area and stare at him just to say that??? This one goes back to cleaning, grumbling to himself.

“Shang Qinghua,” comes his king’s voice again, a moment later. Shang Qinghua freezes! “My office.”

He walks, half-petrified, to the tiny office, unsure what he’s done wrong now. Was his question inappropriate? Maybe what he just did counts as workplace sexual harassment?? Oh no!! Is Shang Qinghua some kind of predator???

“Sorry, my king,” he says upon entering the office. “This one didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, it—”

“Come work for me,” Mobei-Jun says, cutting off his imminent rant.

Shang Qinghua, taken aback, frowns. “What do you—what do you mean, my king?”

“Quit your job at An Ding, and work at Junshang. Full-time,” his king replies steadily, as if he hadn’t just said something insane.

“My king—my king wants this one to work here?” Shang Qinghua asks, dumbfounded. “As what?”

He already did most of the jobs besides teaching at the dojo. What more was there to do?? What more could his king possibly want from him??

“What you already do. This one will pay you double whatever An Ding does.”

“D-double?” he sputters in disbelief. “But—how will you pay—the accounts—”

They’d just blown all their extra income on Gongyi Xiao’s salary!!!

“Don’t worry,” his king says simply. “This one has the money.”

“Really?” Shang Qinghua says, a smile spreading across his face. He’d never have to make a frappe again!! He’d never have a breakdown in the walk-in again!! He’d get to hang out with Mobei-Jun all day!! “My king!! Thank you!!”

His king’s mouth curls into a little smile, eyes steady, and he nods. 

Grinning like a fool, this one skips away! Shang Qinghua, official Junshang employee!! Yes!!!!

Chapter Text

“Thirty is a big one,” Ms. Therapist says.

Shang Qinghua frowns. He doesn’t like being reminded of his age! 

“I know it’s still a bit far off, but are you planning anything to celebrate?”

“Shen Yuan is throwing me a party. Everyone from the dojo and An Ding is invited,” he replies. Cucumber-bro has rented out a karaoke room, and Shang Qinghua would provide ramen from their favorite place. Gongyi Xiao said he would bring vegan dumplings, a concerning but kind offer! Ning Yingying is in charge of dessert, and will probably bring stale leftover pastries!  Shang Qinghua is excited!!

Ms. Therapist is smiling. “Shang Qinghua, you’ve made so much progress these last few months! I am so very proud!”

He shrugs, then, a little desultory. “This one still hasn’t come any closer to—you know.”

“That’s not true,” she says. “You’re working on platonic touch with your instructor, and doing very well! Can’t you see how far you’ve come?”

Shang Qinghua thinks. He guesses that’s true. He’s gotten much more comfortable with touch, particularly when it comes to his king. He thinks, strangely, of Mobei-Jun’s hand, gentle on the back of his head, and he smiles a little shyly at the thought.

“Not only that, but you seem much healthier and happier. You’ve made new friends, you’re starting a new job soon, you’re exercising, you’re eating healthily—that’s something to be proud of, Shang Qinghua! You’re taking care of yourself!”

Blushing, Shang Qinghua waves it off. “That’s all Mobei-Jun, really!”

Her face turns intrigued. “Mobei-Jun…takes care of you?” she asks slowly.

“Well, kind of, I mean, he makes all this healthy food and he shares it with me, honestly some days I eat all three meals at the dojo and he’s the one who’s been teaching me about fitness and he says he’ll break my legs if I don’t exercise, so I guess that’s kind of motivational?” he rambles. Ms. Therapist’s face is stuck in a sort of shocked confusion, but he keeps on talking. “He is also the one who gave me my new job. But he’s not mean or anything, don’t worry, he lets this one eat as much ramen as I want as long as it’s homemade. Of course, this one is very lazy, so he rarely ever eats it, and of course that was my king’s whole point—he’s. He’s very smart like that,” he finishes lamely.

Ms. Therapist blinks. “…wow. He seems like a good friend. Will he be attending your birthday celebration?”

A good friend. Shang Qinghua’s nose crinkles at the appellation. That seems like the wrong word for Mobei-Jun!

“Uh, I think so? He’s invited?”

“And he’s the one you’ve been learning judo with?”

“Yes. You really should see it, he can throw me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing!”

He could go on and on about how amazing his king is!

Ms. Therapist nods knowingly. “Sounds impressive.”

“Oh, he is! He’s very impressive!”

Without noticing, Shang Qinghua spends the rest of his session waxing poetic about Mobei-Jun. How amazing at judo he is, how big his hands are, how he’s changed out the sapphire drops for aquamarine ones lately, how he makes claypot rice and gives all the crispy bits to Shang Qinghua, how he once ripped a door off its hinges—

“Oop, our time is up!” Ms. Therapist says suddenly. This one looks up, shocked! “I’ll see you next time, Shang Qinghua.”

***

It’s Junshang’s farewell match, and Shang Qinghua clings close to Mobei-Jun’s side as they walk through the arena. Large gatherings of straight men always make him nervous! His king uses a hand on his newly-minted employee’s back to guide him through the crowd to where he and Cucumber-bro will be sitting! It is alarmingly pleasant. Occasionally, people call out ‘Iceman!’ and then look at Shang Qinghua like they are unsure what breed of dog he is, but Mobei-Jun ignores everyone!

When they arrive, Junshang himself is fussing over Shen Yuan, bringing him an orange juice with lots of shaved ice and prawn crisps and telling him that he has spare batteries for his fan, Sensei, just ask. Cucumber-bro had gotten a little dizzy earlier. He is likely just nervous that Luo Binghe will get hurt, as he always is before his matches, but will never admit.

Mobei-Jun and Luo Binghe leave to prepare.

“He’ll be okay, bro!” Shang Qinghua says to Shen Yuan. “It’s only Mo Ran, that guy sucks.”

“This one knows,” Cucumber-bro snaps, looking put out, opening the bag of crisps violently. “This one knows that.”

Silently fuming, he plows his way through the bag like a man possessed. Shang Qinghua watches him with concern, but senses it would be best to say nothing!

When his friend gets to the bottom, Shang Qinghua asks, “Do you want another?”

Cucumber-bro looks miserable as he nods. “Yeah…” he says, plaintive.

“Okay. Okay. This one will be right back.”

Shang Qinghua scurries over to the concessions stand. Food is always guaranteed to cheer his bro up!!

He gets the crisps, but is distracted by melon seeds! He’s waiting on line for them when he sees the strangest thing: a man that looks like a faded, and vertically stretched, Mobei-Jun! Rubbing at his eyes like a cartoon character, Shang Qinghua stares!

The man in question notices him, and his eyes sharpen in way that is both extremely similar to his king, and entirely different. Most importantly, this one can tell from his expression that he recognizes Shang Qinghua! The man smiles, and something about it makes this one’s blood run cold! He starts to walk towards Shang Qinghua!

How is he going to escape this?! They’ve already made eye contact! Aah!! Shang Qinghua looks around in vague, desperate panic, but no brilliant plan comes to him. And then the man is right next to him, wearing an expression that looks like it’s trying too hard to be friendly.

“You’re Mobei-Jun’s little dog, aren’t you?” he says. “Shang Qinghua, if I’m not mistaken?”

His voice is smooth and icicle-sharp. Shang Qinghua just stares up at him, mind working, trying to figure out who this man is. In the end, he simply nods jerkily.

Hey, woah, hold on!! Shang Qinghua’s brain finally gets around to what the man has said, and he scowls. What the hell!! It isn’t even that he minds being called his king’s little dog, because have you met his king??? He’s honored to Mobei-Jun’s anything, and it’s not exactly an unfair appellation: he spends a lot of his time either at his king’s beck and call, or being tackled to the ground by him. It’s not so bad! What he does mind, however, is the contempt in this man’s voice!!

“Er, who are you?” Shang Qinghua asks. He has lost his craving for melon seeds, and wants to get back to his bro. He hates this guy.

The man’s smile gets wider. “Linguang-Jun,” he says, sticking a hand out. His fingers are creepily long. “Mobei-Jun’s uncle.”

Shang Qinghua can’t hide his surprise, and he shakes the man’s hand in a dazed sort of way. He is trying to think if Mobei-Jun ever told him about his family. 

“He’s never mentioned me?” Linguang-Jun asks, smirking knowingly. “As ungrateful and spoiled as always.”

Okay. So not a big happy family, then. He looks at Shang Qinghua like they are sharing some kind of inside joke. Like he expects him to agree. Who, exactly, does this man think Shang Qinghua is?

“You, on the other hand: you work quite hard, don’t you?” Linguang-Jun says smoothly. “Since you were young, you’ve been only just scraping by, am I right?”

Shang Qinghua frowns. He’s not wrong, but something about this conversation is making him uncomfortable. “Uh, this one supposes so, yes?”

“You’ve had to work jobs that are beneath you, haven’t you? Someone as smart as you, capable of making my late brother’s dojo profitable again: are you really happy being Mobei-Jun’s little dog?” he asks. “Aren’t you tired of running errands for a brat like him?”

This one makes a face. He dislikes those who look down on workers who provide them with food and drinks and other essential things. And he extra dislikes those who look down on his king!!! Tired? Who’s tired? What tired? How could this one ever be tired of helping Mobei-Jun?!

Undeterred by the clear disgust on Shang Qinghua’s face, or perhaps not noticing it while he pontificates, Linguang-Jun continues to speak.

“My nephew has had everything handed to him on a silver platter. The only reason he was ever able to compete is because my brother was famous!”

Well. Shang Qinghua can think of a lot of choice words to describe Mobei-Jun. He is mercurial, and taciturn, and frequently oblivious! His immediate instinct is almost always violence! He once flicked Shang Qinghua’s forehead so hard that this one cried!

But…having things handed to him? What? What Mobei-Jun is he talking about? The one who works day and night training Luo Binghe? The one who practices his forms every morning, and unfailingly does his strength training in the evening? The one who once earnestly explained to Shang Qinghua that ‘fruit is a valid dessert choice?’ Who teaches people as anxious as the women at the community center, as nightmare-inducing as certified demon child Sha Hualing, as utterly hopeless as this lowly one?!  

Just as Shang Qinghua opens his mouth to object, Linguang-Jun says, “Surely you’ve heard of the time he tried to buy—”

“Uncle,” a cool voice says.

“Ah, there he is! The Iceman!” Linguang-Jun says mockingly.

Mobei-Jun’s expression is thunderous as he finishes walking over, eyes cold and wary. Shang Qinghua looks over at him, immensely grateful. His king’s timing is as impeccable as always!!

Ignoring his uncle, Mobei-Jun ducks his head and places a hand on Shang Qinghua’s arm, as if checking that he is unharmed.

 “Shang Qinghua,” he says. “Are you okay?”

This one nods, and his king seems relieved. His big body maneuvers itself so that it is slightly in front of Shang Qinghua, in between him and the evil uncle. His hand remains on Shang Qinghua’s arm.

“What are you doing here,” Mobei-Jun asks his uncle flatly.

Linguang-Jun smiles. “I was just about to offer your little dog here a job.”

Shang Qinghua glances up at Mobei-Jun, alarmed, trying to communicate somehow that he would never accept a job from this creep, but his king doesn’t look at him.

His eyes only narrow dangerously, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and the hand on Shang Qinghua’s arm grips a fraction tighter.

 “We have to go,” Mobei-Jun says to his uncle. “Junshang’s match is soon.”

Linguang-Jun laughs, and his teeth glint dangerously. “How typical of you,” he says. “Living off of someone else’s fame.” He pauses. “How much longer do you think Luo Binghe will stick with a has-been like you? You think he’s going to teach at your shitty little dojo for such a meager salary?” He laughs again. “How much longer until Liu Qingge, bright and shiny and squeaky-clean, finally poaches him? Enjoy it while you can, nephew.”

Shang Qinghua stares, jaw open. Does this man want to die?! Why is poking a bear like this?! Can’t he do it while Shang Qinghua is not in the vicinity?! Everyone knows that Junshang and Iceman have a bond that can’t be broken!

Mobei-Jun’s face is carefully shuttered, and this worries Shang Qinghua! Usually his king is so open about his anger, to the point where inanimate objects often paid the price, so to see him like this is upsetting!

With his free hand, Shang Qinghua touches his king’s arm, gently pulling.

Mobei-Jun glances down at his hand, and his whole body turns.

“Let’s go,” Shang Qinghua says quietly. “Let’s just go.”

“And this little parasite,” Linguang-Jun says, relishing the word. “Look at him. Once he gets what he wants from you, he’ll abandon you just like everyone else.”

“Hey!” Shang Qinghua says.

What the hell?! What is with the very personal attacks?! He’s so busy being offended that he doesn’t notice Mobei-Jun’s face progressively darken, so busy that he’s unable to stop his king before he launches himself at his uncle!

“Oh my—my king, stop!!” he yells, panicking. Nephew and uncle are busily trying to get each other in a headlock. What the hell kind of family is this?! Shang Qinghua, unsure what else to do, jumps in himself, pounding on Mobei-Jun’s brick-wall back. His king doesn’t seem to notice him any more than he would a mosquito! “My king!! It’s almost time for Junshang’s match!” Shang Qinghua wails. “Forget about your stupid uncle!!”

Mobei-Jun has achieved supremacy, and is currently strangling his uncle while he ignores Shang Qinghua’s desperate pleas! If he could see his king’s face, he is sure it would be gleeful! But this one can’t let him murder someone in broad daylight, no matter how much they might deserve it, or how much his king might enjoy it! So he gets his arms around his king’s neck and tries to pull him backward!

“Shang—Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun growls, half-choking, trying to shrug his pathetic little employee off his back while continuing to strangle his uncle. His king is very good at multi-tasking! “What—the fuck—”

People are starting to stare, but no one is jumping in. Shang Qinghua supposes that, at an event like this, fighting is sort of the norm! But surely, security would be notified at some point and they would step in! Shang Qinghua needs to stop this before his king gets thrown out!

Mobei-Jun, meanwhile, is still attempting to shrug off his well-meaning employee! He very nearly succeeds more than once! Work with this one, my king!!

Shang Qinghua counters his king’s attempts by jumping on his back and wrapping his legs around his waist like a little baby koala!! From there, he gets a good view of Linguang-Jun’s face, which is turning purple!

“My king, you’re going to kill him!”

“That’s—the point,” Mobei-Jun croaks. “Get—off.”

“Sorry, my king, it’s for your own good!!” Shang Qinghua wails, hugging him closer and burying his head into his neck.

Mobei-Jun, at last, sighs, and lets go of his uncle, though he shoves him to the ground for good measure! Nice one, my king!! As Shang Qinghua relaxes his hold on Mobei-Jun’s neck, his uncle is gasping on the floor.

“Ha!” Shang Qinghua says, from the safety of his king’s back. “Take that!”

Mobei-Jun’s hands move to support the legs wrapped around his waist, and he hitches the smaller man up his waist slightly.

“My king!” Shang Qinghua squeaks. He is suddenly aware of full-body Platonic Touching that is currently happening, and forces himself to resist the urge to bury his nose in his king’s hair! It looks so soft! Ah, he is enjoying this too much! “Let me down,” he demands.

His king obeys, crouching a little so the smaller man can dismount. Shang Qinghua brushes himself off, feeling flushed and a bit dizzy, actually.

Mobei-Jun turns to him and says, not fondly, but not not fondly, “Idiot.”

Shang Qinghua gives a helpless smile!

Linguang-Jun has gotten up at some point and he is looking a little less smug now.

His king steps closer to him and says something quietly into his ear. This one cannot hear, and, as Linguang-Jun’s eyes widen, he’s not sure he wants to!!

The evil uncle, massaging his throat, jerks his head in understanding. 

They walk back to their seats in silence, save for Shang Qinghua saying, awkwardly, “Your family seems pretty messed up.”

Mobei-Jun just grunts his acknowledgement. He doesn’t seem to want to talk, so this one doesn’t push.

The prawn crisps were crushed in the chaos, and Cucumber-bro whacks Shang Qinghua on the head for his thoughtlessness. He apologizes when he hears what happened. Mobei-Jun leaves, expression stormy, hands shoved in his pockets. Shang Qinghua watches him leave, worried.

“Did something happen between him and his uncle?” he asks Shen Yuan.

His bro shrugs, fanning himself. “Dunno. This one can ask Luo Binghe?”

Shang Qinghua shakes his head. “No, no, that’s okay,” he says. He’s sure Luo Binghe will deduce who reallywants to know, and report it to Mobei-Jun, if only so he can sit back and enjoy while Iceman beats this lowly one into minding his business! Besides, if his king had wanted Shang Qinghua to know, he’d have told him.

Luo Binghe wins the match easily, and they go out for celebratory drinks. Mobei-Jun leaves after one round, and Shang Qinghua does the same shortly after. He has no desire to be a third wheel! When he gets home, he texts Mobei-Jun.

     me: u ok my king

     my king!!!!!: Yes.

     me: this one didnt choke u too hard?

     my king!!!!!: You will pay for that next training session.

     me: my king!!!! spare this one!!! he was only trying to help!!!

     my king!!!!!: This one knows.

     my king!!!!!: Thank you.

     my king!!!!!: See you tomorrow.

Shang Qinghua stares at his phone for a long time after that, and decides to send a little smiley face emoji. He wishes he could do more.

***

In the bathroom of the dojo, Shang Qinghua inspects the bruise on his chest, right over his heart. It isn’t the first one he’s gotten since starting his mission to be Platonic Touched, but he hasn’t had one in a while, not since he’d mastered ukemi. He figured it was from when he’d still been working at An Ding. It had been his last week, and he’d been very busy training his replacement and making sure the transition went smoothly! He’d closed on Sunday night and opened early the next morning. The nightmare had culminated in a lukewarm latte being poured over his head, and a very long crying session in the walk-in!!

Even his king had seemed to be in a bad mood that day, and when questioned on the especially stern set of his brow, he’d merely replied, “Family.” Well, if anyone could understand that, it was Shang Qinghua! Say no more, my king!!

His king’s throws that night had been a little more forceful than usual, but this one had shrugged off any look of regretful alarm that may have passed over Mobei-Jun’s face at the resounding “Oof!” he’d let out when hitting the mat. He was okay! He was more than okay! He’d just been stressed, too distracted to use ukemi. It was only later that he realized his chest had gotten a little bruised from the throws.

Normally it would be okay! The t-shirt he wears under his gi would more than cover the bruises! But there is just one problem! While he’d been stretching on the mats, drinking one of his king’s brightly colored sports drinks, he’d received a panicked phone call from Ning Yingying about the new manager, and promptly spilled the sticky, bright-blue liquid all down his front!

Mobei-Jun had heard his yelp from his office, leaned his head out, and said, “If that stained the mats, this one will shave both your eyebrows off.”

Shang Qinghua had raced to the bathroom, and began to rub at the stain frantically.  In ten minutes, all he wound up managing to do was get the entire shirt soaking wet and stretched out. Wonderful! He’d then taken it off, doing a double-take in the mirror at the greenish-blue blotch on his chest.

Ahh!!! What is this one going to do??? His king will probably make him run laps around the dojo for such a poor showing of ukemi! Please, no, my king!!

He sighs. He was expected on the mats soon! There is nothing to be done! He’ll just do his best to hide it from his king!

“Sometime this century, Shang Qinghua!” Mobei Jun barks from outside.

Sighing to himself, Shang Qinghua pulls his little pajama jacket on over his bare chest and prays for the best.

As he squares up to Mobei-Jun, his king is staring at him.

“Gi off,” he says shortly.

“No,” Shang Qinghua blurts out, stunned at his own bravery!

Mobei-Jun just looks confused. “No?” he says. “What no? We always—”

“Y-you heard me,” Shang Qinghua interrupts, backing away a little. “No. No.”

His king steps closer, hands extended, clearly aiming to press-gang his employee into semi-nakedness. Shang Qinghua shrieks and jumps away, pressing his hands against his own chest defensively, like a blushing damsel whose swimsuit fell off!

“Stop being stupid,” Mobei-Jun says, lunging at him.

Shang Qinghua dodges away. He’s not very strong, but he makes up for it by being doubly wily!!!!

“My king, I am shy!!” he explains, breathless.

Mobei-Jun is following him with long determined strides, clearly unwilling to lower himself to running after Shang Qinghua. Fine! All the better for this lowly servant!

“What is the matter with you?” the bigger man demands.

“This one is naked!” Shang Qinghua shrieks, somewhat nonsensically, skirting around his king. His hands are still tucked under his armpits like a wronged maiden!

“Take your shirt off!” his king bellows, picking up his speed, barreling towards Shang Qinghua like some kind of very sexy freight engine! The heart of this lowly one drops into his stomach at Mobei-Jun’s words, no matter how violently they are truly intended!

“My king!” Shang Qinghua gasps, scandalized, one hand in front of his mouth.

Mobei-Jun’s expression turns murderous, and he does some kind of feint fake-out move that causes Shang Qinghua to stumble! Amazing! This is why he owns a dojo and this lowly one was daily threatened with coffee being dumped over his head! His king grabs his arm, yanks him sideways, and slams his back into the padded wall.

Shang Qinghua had only just written a scene like this the day before! Was he becoming some sort of psychic now?! Breathless, and very rapidly developing a hard-on the scale of which he hadn’t been aware was possible while wearing compression pants, he gulps and looks up at his king. Mobei-Jun glares down at him, unamused and clutching at his arm with his big cool hands. The breadth of his shoulders is caging Shang Qinghua in, and he feels like he is drowning.

“Move, and this one will break your legs,” Mobei-Jun grumbles, releasing the other man’s arm warily.

Shang Qinghua stills immediately: he needs his legs if he ever wants to be tenderly railed by the man of his dreams!!! He does, however, keep the hand spread across his covered chest where it is. His king’s hands go to the knot in his pajama top and undo it carefully. The sash drops to the floor silently. Shang Qinghua cannot breathe!

“Don’t be scared,” Mobei-Jun says, seeming vaguely annoyed.

“This one is not—scared,” Shang Qinghua murmurs, and his voice comes out quieter than he’d intended. He doesn’t bother to point out that his king had just threatened to break his legs!

Mobei-Jun rolls his eyes, and puts one giant hand over Shang Qinghua’s, removing it from his chest. The little jacket parts, revealing his bare chest, and his king’s brows knit together at the sight. Shang Qinghua winces at the stormy expression. It is somehow endearing!

“Shang Qinghua,” he says quietly. “When did this happen?”

“My king—don’t worry! It looks worse than it is! It hardly even hurts!”

“How can this not hurt?!” Mobei-Jun barks down at him. His face drops into something contrite, then. “This one apologizes,” he says. “He cannot always control his strength.”

Shang Qinghua makes a face. “My king, please! It is this one’s fault! He was tired that day and had cried in the walk-in and got a latte dumped on his head! He didn’t listen to his king! He didn’t use ukemi! This is why he was bruised!”

Mobei-Jun’s eyes widen. “Someone poured a latte on Shang Qinghua’s head?” he asks, shocked.

His king is clearly the kind of person who’d never had a breakdown in a walk-in fridge, and it showed!!!

“A customer had wanted low-fat milk, but she said she could taste the 2% in her drink. She yelled at Ning Yingying until she cried, so this one had to step in.” Slumping, too tired to be embarrassed of his shitty job where people are allowed to treat him like garbage, he says flatly, “It did not end well. This one was too burnt out to focus on ukemi that day.”

“It’s a good thing you are leaving that place, then,” his king says.

He’s watching Shang Qinghua carefully, looking down at him with an expression that this one cannot read. Something pleading and proud and indignant all at once. He steps away from the smaller man, only a few feet.

Silently, his king removes his pajama top completely, letting it fall to the ground, and then takes off his undershirt, too! Shang Qinghua, eyes wide, has to steady himself against the padded wall to keep himself from swooning!  Then, his king bows lowly before standing to his full height and placing his hands behind his back. Shang Qinghua has a terrible desire to throw himself down at his feet! He wrings his hands together in an attempt to quell the urge!

The jut of his king’s chin is proud as he says, “This one will let Shang Qinghua bruise him in return.”

“Wha—my king, what?!” Shang Qinghua sputters. This lowly one?! Hit his king?! In what universe?! “This one—this one doesn’t want—!”

When he doesn’t make any move to hit him, his king breaks his posture and gets closer, narrowing his eyes. “Is Shang Qinghua already planning some sort of revenge? Some sort of comeuppance?”

“What—? Respectfully, what is my king talking about? Would this one want revenge for a little bruise?”

“A little bruise!” Mobei-Jun huffs. His face turns serious. He steps closer to Shang Qinghua, and his bare chest is right there, all that skin and hard muscle and—

Shang Qinghua swallows heavily, looking up at his king with wide eyes.

“Why did you hide it from this one?” Mobei-Jun peers down at him, considering, quiet for a moment. “Did you think he would ignore your pain, and slam you down onto the mats again?”

“Uh, no—no, my king. I—I just.” He blinks, feeling like his king’s gaze on him has stripped him bare, like he’s the one completely exposed. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you.”

“Shang Qinghua,” his king says, eyes flicking over his face.

He rests a hand against the wall, right next to the smaller man’s head, caging him in with the expanse of his bare chest. Shang Qinghua starts to breathe heavily, trying to stop himself from staring at his king’s nipples, for fuck’s sake, is there no mercy in this world???

“Y-yes, my king?” he stammers out, pressing himself against the wall as though he were trying to become one with it!

Mobei-Jun stares at him a moment, face gone serious and thoughtful. Everything seems to slow and quiet, lights fading, world receding. Shang Qinghua looks up at his king with parted lips.

“If you’re tired,” Mobei-Jun says lowly, “say you’re tired. If you’re in pain, say you’re in pain. If you want to cry,” his eyes flick down to Shang Qinghua’s mouth, he tilts his head to one side, “then cry.”

Shang Qinghua blinks, startled by the sudden scald of tears behind his eyes. He is caught, pinned by his king’s gaze, and shocked by his words.

How did his king—how did he do that? How did he know exactly what Shang Qinghua has been wanting to hear, for so long now? How can his king just say things like that??? This one can’t seem to formulate any sort of reply, mouth opening and closing like a fish!

“Tell this Mobei-Jun, even if you think it will inconvenience him, or hurt him somehow,” his king continues, gaze steady and earnest. “Do not cry in a walk-in. Tell this one, and he will adjust accordingly.”

Shang Qinghua feels as though he’s been very kindly stabbed through the heart, and he stares up at Mobei-Jun uselessly.

My—My king. My king.

“I—” Shang Qinghua tries. “I—“ He pauses, and then gives up. “Okay. I—I will. I will tell you, my king.”

Mobei-Jun steps back, and Shang Qinghua watches, sure that his eyes are shining with some mortifyingly affectionate expression.

His king sniffs, looking away from his employee, and crosses his arms delicately. “Shang Qinghua will take the night off. And rub arnica on his chest,” he says, with an air of being indulgent.

“Yes, my king,” this one says quietly. He glances at Mobei-Jun, shy. “Thank you.”

Mobei-Jun just grunts, and spins on his heel, collecting his clothes and heading for his office. Shang Qinghua watches him go, feeling stranded, somehow, like his king had recovered his ship from a storm and brought him to dry land only to abandon him there. 

If you want to cry, then cry. How can his king just say things like that, and then leave?

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua is taking a break, watching students grapple during open mat hours from the corner, eating melon seeds and chatting with some of them. They’ve become familiar with Mobei-Jun’s hamster-shaped shadow and speak comfortably with him! For someone who’s spent most of his life locking himself away from others, it is strange, and pleasant!

It is his first open mat as a full-time Junshang employee!! How exciting! His king is working in the office, so Gongyi Xiao is supervising for the moment. He’s currently doing some grapple-y stuff with one of his own students. Shang Qinghua watches, wondering if he might ever be able to do something like that.

An older student approaches Shang Qinghua. He’s called Du Bi, and he’s a little…intense?

“I never see you spar, Shang Qinghua,” Du Bi says. He was at the open mat during which his king had thrown the shit out of the guy who’d cornered him.

Shang Qinghua glances over at him nervously. “Mobei-Jun says I’m not ready yet.”

The other man laughs lightly. “When will you be, then? You’ve been training with him for months! At this rate, you’ll never move beyond your white belt.”

This one frowns, thinking about it. It is true that he’s been a little frustrated with his lack of progress! When he’d tried to bring it up with Ms. Therapist, she had instead talked about how well he was doing in other areas of his life, but he hadn’t forgotten the whole point of his coming to Junshang. Platonic Touching!! In order to unlock EroticTouching!!

“Would you like to spar with me, Shang Qinghua? I’ll go easy on you.”

Shang Qinghua thinks of the man at the cash register. Maybe he is still a virgin because he’d never put himself out there, never took a chance even when it was presented to him on a platter. Sure, he’d never really been attracted to anyone—not since—you know—but perhaps he should just fake it ‘til he makes it? Here he is, getting an offer to do some more Platonic Touching! He should say yes to this! It would be good for him! It would be truly platonic, as he gets aggressively straight vibes from Du Bi, and Du Bi is not really his type anyway! His king might be a little annoyed with him for disobeying his orders, but what’s the worst he could do? He already makes him do planks until he cries!!!

Shang Qinghua also cannot help but think of his birthday. He would be thirty soon. Soon he would be thirty. He needs to speed things up.

“O—okay,” Shang Qinghua says, getting to his feet. He is trying to be brave!!

Du Bi is square with him, and they’re both crouched, in the ready position. The older man beckons Shang Qinghua forward, waiting for his attack, and Shang Qinghua goes, trying to do a nice backwards leg sweep. This backfires immediately as Du Bi slides to his knees for a double leg takedown, throwing Shang Qinghua onto his back, hard. In a room full of practicing students, no one bats an eye at the local admin being slammed into the next dimension!

Things begin to get troubling, however, when Du Bi takes the opportunity to climb on top of Shang Qinghua in the mount position. Immediately, Shang Qinghua can feel panic beginning to crawl its way up his spine, and his breath goes short. He fidgets under Du Bi blindly, trying to find a way out, but the man’s weight on him is smothering. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Shang Qinghua’s head is swimming, filling with cotton wool, as the manic, cramped feeling begins to take over.

Du Bi is speaking to him, asking him something? All Shang Qinghua can hear, though, is his heart pounding in his ears. He squeezes his hands into fists, so hard that he feels his nails dig into the soft meat of his palms. “I—I…don’t—” he tries to communicate, feeling like he is being slowly suffocated. He needs to get away—he needs—

“How do we escape from mount?” Du Bi’s mocking voice reaches him, as if from underwater. His face seems hideous, contorted and gleeful.

Shang Qinghua feels weak, boneless limbs moving fruitlessly, and he beats at Du Bi’s thighs faintly with a fist. “How…do we…?” he repeats breathlessly, continuing to struggle.

“Do something, or stop moving,” Du Bi says harshly, pinning the other man’s shoulders down.

Panicking, Shang Qinghua’s body listens to Du Bi’s command, and he stops struggling.

 (Don’t hurt me. Just please, please, don’t hurt me.)

 Du Bi is pulling at one of his arms, then, and Shang Qinghua just lets him, unable to put up a fight, frozen in terror. His throat is closing up, and someone is shoving him down onto the mat, and his vision begins to move with speckled black spots. Who is this stranger on top of him?! He’s suddenly on his stomach, arm wrenched up behind him, and he can’t—he can’t breathe. He wants to get out. He wants to go home. His mind floats away gently as a body shifts above him. Just go still. Go silent. Let them do what they want and then they’ll go away.

(It will be over soon. It will all be over soon.)

He remembers, suddenly, Tap twice. Tap twice, and it will stop. Mobei-Jun had told him that! His king had told him that, so it must be true! His mind grasps onto it like a lifeline, and he uses his free hand to tap twice, desperately!

Nothing happens, so he tries it again, and again, panic reaching a fever pitch now that this last escape valve has failed him. Whoever is on top of him just wrenches his arm back even more, and Shang Qinghua can hear laughing. Is someone—is someone watching? Watching the stupid, drunken nerd being shoved down and used, a pathetic loser with a stripe of cum on his jeans? No, no, no—please, no, stop, stop—

Suddenly there is yelling, people struggling, and Shang Qinghua just dives deeper into the dark water, hiding away. Make it all disappear. Just make it all go away. He’s vaguely aware of sounds and shouting, but his ears feel clogged with water. Everything is slow and strange.

The weight on top of him is suddenly lifted, and he blinks dully for a moment before skittering into a protective position, sitting up with his head between his knees. He takes deep breaths, feeling blunted and buzzy, hands itchy. They are actually shaking where he has them wrapped around his legs. Ms. Therapist is always saying things like, Ground yourself in the present moment, so he tries that, scrunching his toes, flexing his feet, moving all the way up his body. It doesn’t seem to help! He squeezes his eyes shut tight against the fresh wave of panic!

Someone sits beside him, then, and says his name.

“You’re okay, Shang Qinghua,” the voice is saying, cool and familiar. It washes over him like cold, clear water. “You’re safe.”

Something about the voice makes Shang Qinghua believe its words. He believes it. He will believe whatever it says.

A large hand comes to rest on his back, and he realizes, stupidly, that it’s his king beside him! He grabs onto the voice, the feeling of his hand, like they are the only solid things in a world of shimmering images. His harsh breathing begins to slow, slightly, gradually, his panic melting into something closer to despair.

Shang Qinghua picks up his head. He must have scurried back into the corner at some point, and Mobei-Jun is kneeling in front of him, the broad width of his back blocking him off from the rest of the dojo. The students must still be there. So embarrassing! Why did Shang Qinghua have to make such a big deal out of it! He hadn’t been in any danger!!

His king’s gaze is steady and calm. “Shen Yuan is on his way,” he says, and his voice is like a balm to a burn. “This one will take care of Du Bi. You don’t need to worry about anything.”

Shang Qinghua’s hands are still shaking minutely when he says, “Sorry, my king. Sorry about all of this.” He shifts out of his little ball. “This one is fine. This one is okay.”

Mobei-Jun’s eyes narrow a little, then, but he doesn’t say anything. He simply keeps his hand on Shang Qinghua’s back, keeps on shielding him from the world, until the smaller man feels ready to stand.

“Airplane-juju,” comes Shen Yuan’s voice, sounding bored, from across the room. “This one is tired. And hungry.Stop messing around and come get ramen with me.”

Shang Qinghua looks up, and gives his bro an empty little grin that he can tell doesn’t reach his eyes. He is fine! He is just fine!! Mobei-Jun is watching him with a blank expression, and the students have begun to talk amongst themselves. Their conversation is too loud and forced to be genuine, but this one appreciates the gesture!

Cucumber-bro ignores Luo Binghe’s whine from the office that he wants ramen, too, sensei, and simply ushers a docile Shang Qinghua out the door. Shang Qinghua is aware that this is amusing, but can’t bring himself to laugh. How odd! His limbs feel strangely hollow, and he wonders if that is normal.

Out on the sidewalk, Cucumber-bro is in front of him, tugging him along, and, embarrassingly, Shang Qinghua begins to cry in the middle of the street. He’d been so stupid! So stupid, thinking that he would ever be able to get past this! He tries to hide his rueful tears, and wipes at them surreptitiously. Shen Yuan is looking at him with concerned eyes.

“This one is okay!” Shang Qinghua says. “This one is fine!”

“Stop being stupid,” Cucumber-bro replies, and it reminds Shang Qinghua of Mobei-Jun.

Their favorite ramen place is near the dojo, and the booths are conveniently dimly lit. They walk in and Shen Yuan shoves Shang Qinghua towards the bathroom before going to order. Grateful to be given some privacy, he goes into a stall, sits down on the toilet, and gives himself a few good, silent sobs into his hands! His face is probably all red! He is very ugly when he cries!

It’s okay! He’s okay! He doesn’t need to have sex! Plenty of people throughout history have never had sex! Monks! Eunuchs! Saints! That’s what dildos are for!! That’s what showers are for!! He is fine!!

Never mind that the sex itself isn’t really the point, but the intimacy! The closeness! He begins to feel himself spiral down into despair. Never mind that, he said!!!!! He will never stop crying if he thinks about that!

He shuts his eyes, he takes some deep breaths, and he gets himself under control. A few minutes later, he exits the cubicle. He splashes cold water on his face and wrists, too numb to really feel it. His red and swollen face truly is horrifying to behold!

Cucumber-bro is in a booth with two steaming bowls of ramen in front of him when Shang Qinghua exits the toilets. This one goes over and sits down quietly.

“Peerless Cucumber got my favorite,” he says, barely managing it. “Thank you.”

Shen Yuan nods, and they both begin to eat, wordlessly.

It’s been ten minutes, and they’ve both eaten most of their noodles, when the question is asked.

“What happened?”

Shang Qinghua exhales, putting his chopsticks down.

“This one thought he could do it,” he says quietly. “But he realizes now that it’s useless.”

Cucumber-bro throws one of Shang Qinghua’s chopsticks at him. It whacks him right in the face, but he doesn’t even move as it falls to the ground.

“I thought I could do it,” Shang Qinghua says again.

“You are so stupid.”

“This one knows.”

“No, idiot. The whole point of your Platonic Touching mission is to get used to these things being safe slowly! I think I would panic if a random stranger mounted me like that! Why the hell would Airplane-juju do that to himself!” Cucumber-bro rages.

It is like the message boards, but real life! The familiarity of it makes Shang Qinghua feel a little better, weirdly enough!

“So much time is passing,” Shang Qinghua says, looking down at his bowl. “I’ll be thirty soon.”

“What thirty? What does that matter? You’ve waited this long, can’t you wait a little longer?!”

“Maybe I should stop. Maybe this was a bad idea.”

Shang Qinghua is tired of trying.

“You’ve made so much progress, though!”

“Have I? My king is just letting me start doing real stuff now. What if I panic like that again, with him? How can I explain that? He will be so angry.”

The idea of his king finding out—of Mobei-Jun knowing—is too terrifying for words! Not only would he see how pathetic and useless Shang Qinghua is, he’d know that he’d been lying to him all along! His king would surely kick him out of Junshang, out of his life, and Shang Qinghua is really not sure he would survive that!

Cucumber-bro looks at him with a hesitant expression. “Has Shang Qinghua ever thought of just…telling Mobei-Jun what happened? This one is sure he would understand. It might even be more helpful.”

Shang Qinghua’s eyes widen. “No way! Are you crazy, Cucumber-bro?! What will this one say?! Yes, actually, this lowly one lied to you and was using you for Platonic Touch because he was,” he lowers his voice, “sexually assaulted ten years ago and can’t get over it???”

 “This one is only trying to help,” Cucumber-bro hisses.

He flips his electric fan out and begins to fan himself angrily.

Shang Qinghua sighs. “Sorry, bro,” he says, contrite.

Shen Yuan puts his fan down and regards him a moment. “It’s okay, Shang Qinghua,” he replies. He pauses. “Don’t give up yet, okay? Be patient for a little longer.”

This one nods, desultory.

They return to the dojo with three more orders of ramen, and Mobei-Jun gives him the afternoon off. He is frowning at Shang Qinghua as he says this, like he is trying to puzzle something out. This one is too exhausted to care what.

***

INTERLUDE, PT 1

Mobei-Jun comes to his own conclusions, and is quiet about them

Mobei-Jun is a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them. Certainly, he is aware that he’s not the most intelligent, that he has the tendency to solve his problems with brute force, but that doesn’t mean he can’t see what’s right in front of his eyes.

Shang Qinghua can be secretive sometimes. This one is aware. He writes his dirty stories online, and thinks that Mobei-Jun doesn’t know what they’re about. He has a complex relationship with his parents that he never talks about. This one would not push. Ultimately it is none of his business. But, this? This most certainly affects Mobei-Jun, and the way he treats Shang Qinghua, and he is disturbed that no one thought to consider this.

His suspicions are confirmed shortly after Shang Qinghua starts working full-time at the dojo. Open-mat hours. He’d been working on Luo Binghe’s teaching schedule when he’d heard Gongyi Xiao yelling from the mats. Mobei-Jun had gotten up, ready to smash some heads together. If even his fucking annoyingly cheery jiujitsu instructor had lost his calm, something dangerous was happening.

Everything seemed to go sideways as he’d entered the practice room to see Gongyi Xiao prying Du Bi off of Shang Qinghua. He’d been on top of him, wrenching one of his arms into a painful-looking hold. Shang Qinghua’s free arm was tapping a desultory tattoo: give, give, I give. Clearly, he’d been doing it for a while with no result. And his face—his face had told Mobei-Jun everything. It was oddly blank and unfocused, like he had gone somewhere far, far away. It was something beyond panic, beyond pain, something much deeper. It was playing dead in a last-ditch hope for survival.

Mobei-Jun had rushed forward, helping Gongyi Xiao wrangle Du Bi. He had no compunctions about hurting someone who ignored tap-outs, and had twisted Du Bi’s arm so hard he nearly broke it. Du Bi had very quickly gotten off Shang Qinghua, whose hands were shaking with fine tremors.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Mobei-Jun had spat at Du Bi.

He’d laughed. “Oh, come on, sensei, it was just a little fun!”

“Get him out of my sight,” he’d growled at Gongyi Xiao, who had obediently dragged him to his office. The rest of the students at the open mat had backed away, confused and terrified, as Mobei-Jun knelt next to Shang Qinghua. He had sat up and skittered into a corner. Head between his knees, he was curled into a protective posture. Mobei-Jun had put a hand on his back, feeling his breath come shallow and harsh.

He had seen that face before, plenty of times. He’d been teaching women’s self-defense classes for years. Many people took the course, or came into the dojo, after something like that had happened.

The panicked expression on Shang Qinghua’s face in turtle position. The strange, vague descriptions of the men bothering him, and their total absence when Mobei-Jun had walked him home. The emotion that had shone in his eyes at the self-defense seminar. Things were beginning to slot into place. Looking back, he is annoyed with himself for not seeing it. He had wondered. He had certainly thought something had happened, and had clumsily tried to communicate to Shang Qinghua his desire to help.

But he hadn’t realized it was this. The idea makes him—it makes something in him go jagged and cold for Shang Qinghua. It makes him want to wrap the man in a soft blanket. It is confusing, and distressing. 

Luo Binghe had walked in, eyes wide with confusion at the scene in front of him, just as Shang Qinghua had begun to calm down a little.

“Call Shen Yuan,” Mobei-Jun had said.

When they left for ramen, he’d pulled Luo Binghe aside.

“Is there something that you want to tell this Mobei-Jun about Shang Qinghua?”

Luo Binghe had scoffed. “What, that he’s a giant nerd?”

Mobei-Jun had glared at him, but he really seemed not to know.

Great relish was taken in punishing Du Bi by banishing him from the dojo and promising to blacklist him from the other ones in the area.

Later, Mobei-Jun meets separately with Shen Yuan to see if he can get any more information.

“You lied to this one,” he says to Shen Yuan, who is sipping bubble tea.

The other man’s face goes cold at Mobei-Jun’s accusation, but he doesn’t answer.

They are at An Ding. Neutral territory. Mobei-Jun thinks that this might be the first time he’s spoken to Shen Yuan alone, without Luo Binghe looming somewhere in the background.

When he continues to simply drink his tea, Mobei-Jun tries again.

“Shang Qinghua. What happened to him.”

“What happened when?” Shen Yuan asks innocently. “This one has no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Stop it.”

“If you’re so curious, ask him yourself.”

Mobei-Jun’s eye twitches.

“Did it occur to no one that this one’s teaching process might be different if he knew the truth?” he asks. “This one would never have—”

He cuts himself off. This gets Shen Yuan’s attention, and he puts his bubble tea down warily. Mobei-Jun is practically steaming. He’d thought Shang Qinghua was a sweet, innocent idiot who was in over his head. He’d wanted to scare him off before he got himself into real trouble, and speed up the process so the moment when he inevitably quit judo came more quickly. Just as he’d seen a lot of assault victims, he’d seen a lot of those types, too: they watch one Bruce Lee movie, fantasize a little too much about body-slamming their boss or their brother-in-law or whoever is bothering them, and come to the dojo for a few weeks at most. That’s why he’d put him in a children’s class, why he’d made him clean toilets and practice only ukemi for so long.

“Never would have what?” Shen Yuan asks slowly, eyes wide. “It didn’t…make things worse, did it?”

“How should this one know?” Mobei-Jun snapped. “Du Bi may have. If this one had known, he would have told his students never to do randori with Shang Qinghua. He has no idea of his own limits.”

“Don’t kick him out. Please,” Shen Yuan says. “He’d doing well, isn’t he?”

He is. Mobei-Jun grunts his confirmation.

“Why lie?” he asks, then. “This one doesn’t understand.”

Shen Yuan’s face changes, and he looks down at his drink, playing with the pooled condensation on the table.

“Does Mobei-Jun think it’s easy for someone like Shang Qinghua to admit such a thing to someone like you?”

Mobei-Jun frowns. “Someone like—”

“He wasn’t able to fight him off. But you, you—”

This one’s stomach sinks like a brick. If it had happened to Mobei-Jun, Shang Qinghua imagines, probably correctly, that this one would have been able to stop it.

“He’s not a weak person,” Shen Yuan says, voice hard, as if Mobei-Jun would have something to say about it. “What happened to him—wasn’t his fault.”

“This one knows.” He pauses. “Who was it?”

Shen Yuan scowls. “Some guy. This one doesn’t know him, so don’t ask. In fact, stop asking questions, period. This one can’t tell you anything more.”

Mobei-Jun glowers, but nods.

He is unsure what to do with the information now that he knows it. He hasn’t been particularly wary with Shang Qinghua, throwing him around the gym like a ragdoll, mainly because of the awed expression that came over his stupid face after he landed. The way he looks at Mobei-Jun makes him want to stand taller. It makes him want to be the person Shang Qinghua thinks he is.

It is strange how quickly he’d grown accustomed to Shang Qinghua’s presence in his life. He’d slotted himself in so easily, so seamlessly, it’s like he’s always been there. Working with him, exercising with him, eating with him. Going through his daily routine with him. It had happened without this one even noticing. Shang Qinghua brightens up everything. When they work out together, he wears Junshang Dojo t-shirts and complains about exercises Mobei-Jun could do when he was seven and, when he’s watching this one demonstrate form, drags his shorts up his thighs absentmindedly. Mobei-Jun does not watch in the mirror. His presence is very annoying. Mobei-Jun loves it when he is there.

He supposes that he will just have to take things slowly. The last thing he wants to do is scare Shang Qinghua off by moving too fast. This one can be patient. He can learn. He would do whatever it took to keep the other man beside him.  

***

Shang Qinghua calls in sick the day after Du Bi incident. He thinks he’s earned it! Since he’d started working at the dojo, their profits have gone up by 50% and they have more students than ever. Everything had been going great!!

And maybe it’s that—the fact that he was flying so high—that explains why he feels so low after what happened. He’d felt good. He’d been doing so well. He’d been writing a bunch, and he liked his new job, and he’d felt hopeful about things! To have all that wrenched away from him because of what happened—it feels unnecessarily mean of the universe, that’s all!

He uses the day to write a very sad arc in which even his protagonist’s cock cannot save the life of a poor maiden poisoned by an evil rogue cultivator. He sobs while writing his stallion desperately thrusting away, saying, “Live! You will live! You will live, I swear it!” It’s not his best work. He eats three bowls of microwave ramen and cries some more as he reads the angry comments on it. It’s a bad sign when, instead of his usual verbal assault, Peerless Cucumber posts, shit bro you okay?

He calls in sick the next day, too. He considers calling Ms. Therapist, maybe setting up an emergency appointment, but she had been so proud of him last time! He doesn’t want to disappoint her. No. He will remain in bed, stewing in his own juices.

Shang is Qinghua is doing just that, curled up in bed, staring at the wall, when he hears a loud knock on the door. He ignores it! Maybe then it will go away!

“Shang Qinghua!” someone yells.

His blood runs cold. His king!! Mobei-Jun—is at his flat?! Oh shit! He is in so much trouble!!! He tries to remember, as he walks slowly to the door, what exactly he’d said was wrong with him. Flu? Food poisoning? No, it was definitely a bad cold!

Grabbing a tissue and wiping at his nose with it, Shang Qinghua opens the door to a very cross-looking Mobei-Jun.

His king gives him a once-over, at full bitch-face!! He has his phone in his hand, and he begins to read off of it.

“’This one is so sick he can hardly walk. Have mercy on me, my king,’” he recites, icy. The tone is all wrong! Shang Qinghua had definitely put a bunch of emojis and explanation points!!

“Um,” this one gulps. He tries a smile. “Have…mercy on me?”

Mobei-Jun’s face crinkles in disgust. I know, my king, I know!! This one is pathetic!!

“Get ready. This one is dragging you to the dojo in five minutes, no matter what state you’re in,” Mobei-Jun threatens.

Shang Qinghua’s eyes widen. This is definitely a breach of labor laws!

“Five minutes starting now,” his king says, smiling like a shark.

This lowly one blinks, and then runs!

He throws on a shirt and a pair of shorts, shoves slides on, and sprints back to the door.

As he returns to Mobei-Jun’s side, panting, his king gives him a sidelong look of absolute contempt, and then leaves. Shang Qinghua follows behind, and they pile into the van. The silence is deafening as they pull away.

“Uh. My king?”

“What?” Mobei-Jun says, keeping his eyes on the road, his voice crisp and annoyed.

“This one is sorry.”

His king spares him a glance, then. It is strange, appraising.

“Don’t let it happen again.” He pauses. “Du Bi won’t be back anytime soon.”

Shang Qinghua pales. Just what he needed! Du Bi trying to get vengeance on him, like the psychotic lunatic he definitely was!!

“My king, no!!” he wails. “It was my fault—”

Mobei-Jun gives him a sharp look, shutting him up.

“You tapped out?” he asks.

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then it was his fault,” he says, brooking no arguments.

Shang Qinghua shuts up, then. Feeling guilty, he looks down at his hands. Why does he have to make such a big deal out of everything? So Du Bi was holding him down! What could have happened?  It was ten years ago. He should be over this by now!

“Stop thinking so hard,” Mobei-Jun says, cutting through the silence.

“Stop—?”

“You’re giving me a headache.”

Sputtering, Shang Qinghua sighs, and gives up!

His day improves relatively quickly after its inauspicious start. Gongyi Xiao buys him a donut from An Ding, where he gets his vanilla frappes now, and Luo Binghe even grunts a “You okay?” at him. Some of the students from the open mat who’d witnessed the event come into the office to talk shit about Du Bi, and how he’d nearly choked them to death that one time, how he had a habit of pulling hair instead of gi, etc. It is comforting to know that even proper judokas get flustered when someone stops playing by the rules!

Mobei-Jun, however, takes an entirely different tack.

After the dojo closes, they’re stretching, and he says, “Just because Du Bi fucked you up doesn’t mean this one will let you off easy today. You sparred, despite being forbidden to, and you owe this one a whole day of work.”

He smiles, then, and this one has to work not to shift backwards, away from him! My king, don’t hurt this lowly one!! He is traumatized! He can bring a signed certificate from Ms. Therapist if you’d like!!

“This one was sick!” he protests.

His king’s smile drops, and he glares at him flatly.

Shang Qinghua, reverting to the tried-and-true, bows quickly and starts groveling!

“My king, this one is perfectly healthy and ready to train! Just tell this lowly one what you’d like him to do!”

“Get on the floor.”

Shang Qinghua’s eyes widen, but he did ask! Why did he always have to ask?!

“The—the floor? Why?”

The floor is bad! The floor is the enemy! The floor means grappling, which means panic attacks!! He’d like to stay on his feet, please, my king!!

“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun says, cool but not unkind.

“Yes, my king?” he replies timidly, knowing full well that he looks like a frightened hamster at the moment. He hopes it will kick off some instinctual response in Mobei-Jun, some latent urge to protect cute little defenseless creatures!

“Has this one ever made you feel truly unsafe?”

Shang Qinghua wants to scream All the time!, but something in his king’s eyes stops him. They are dark, and strangely earnest, as he stares down steadily at him. He is taken aback by them. Mobei-Jun is asking him. Really asking.

“I—well, no, my king. No.”

His king nods once, slowly, as if to say, That’s what I thought.

“Get on the floor,” he then repeats, like he knows what’s best for Shang Qinghua, if only he would listen.

The idea makes Shang Qinghua’s knees go a little wobbly, and he’s not sure if it’s because of that, or the command itself, that he finally sinks to the ground.

Mobei-Jun won’t hurt him. Mobei-Jun won’t hurt him.

His king sits down, too, a few feet away.

“Shang Qinghua tends to panic when he’s on the ground,” he says, thoughtful. “So this one felt it would be useful for you to learn some techniques there. Now that you know how to fall, you must learn how to get back on your feet.”

Okay. That makes sense! This is okay!

“I’m going to show you what to do if someone gets on top of you.”

Shang Qinghua freezes, heartrate immediately through the roof! “If…someone…gets…” he repeats slowly, feeling like he’s swallowed a mouthful of plaster. “My—my king, I don’t…I don’t think—”

His mouth snaps shut as he watches Mobei-Jun lay back on the mat, knees spread wide, and pat his stomach like it was the seat of a motorcycle.

“Get on top.”

Shang Qinghua’s brain, already fried, short-circuits! He blinks in disbelief. Get on—? Get on top?! This is some kind of cruel prank, isn’t it?! Any minute now, Luo Binghe will hop out from behind a curtain with a video camera and say, “You’ve been Punk’d!!!!” and Shang Qinghua will burst into tears!!!

Because this can’t—this can’t really be happening—this is the kind of shit that would happen in one of his own webnovels!! In fact, he feels like somehow he might have actually written a scene like this once??? Was he sleeping right now, drooling on his laptop, after writing this?? Because things like this didn’t happen in real life, and if they did, they happened to the beautiful people, not to little cretins like Shang Qinghua!!

Mobei-Jun lifts his head up to glare at him, and honestly how does he look good even doing that?! No one looks good like that!

Feeling a bit like he is having an out-of-body experience, Shang Qinghua scoots his bum across the mats until he is right next to his king.

“Go slower,” Mobei-Jun says, voice dripping with sarcasm. Unnecessary! Uncalled for! Have a little patience with this shaking virgin, my king!! He is trying to get himself together so he doesn’t rub off on your washboard abs like a cat in heat!!

Shang Qinghua stares over at his king, gulps, and says to himself: It’s just bodies! Just two bodies near each other! Very near each other!!

Taking a deep breath, he swings a leg over, and sits, quite gingerly, on his king’s stomach, firm and warm. He lets the weight fall mainly on his spread knees. No need to have his ass directly in contact, haha!! He blinks down at Mobei-Jun, hoping he’s not sweating too much. What the fuck is happening?! Good thing he is too anxious to get hard right now, because holy fuck, he is straddling Mobei-Jun!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Straddling!! Mobei!!! Jun!!!! His king!!!! What the fuck!!!!!!

Where does he put his hands?! He’s being so weird! Stop being so weird, Shang Qinghua!! He places them on his thighs, in tight fists. Totally relaxed and nonchalant and natural!!

“This is a good position,” Mobei-Jun says, bringing Shang Qinghua’s life to a momentary end, “for the attacker.” One of his huge hands reaches out and grabs one of Shang Qinghua’s perfectly normal, respectably-sized hands and makes it ‘punch’ him in the face. Shang Qinghua’s knuckles touch his cheek gently. “Easy access to my face, head, and neck.”

When he releases his hand, Shang Qinghua keeps it there, blinking down at him, wondering if he is imagining all this. What soft cheeks his king has. Mobei-Jun is looking up at him, too, eyes half-hooded under the lights, and Shang Qinghua really never noticed how dark and full his eyelashes are. He leans forward helplessly, ever so slightly, like metal to a magnet.

Catching himself, he blinks back to reality and brings his fist back to his thigh guiltily. Get it together, Airplane-juju!! This isn’t one of your lame novels! This is reality!

“This one wants to make sure you can’t hit me,” Mobei-Jun says, his voice more a murmur than anything else, “so he will knock you forward, like this.”

Suddenly, his king bridges upward underneath him, bouncing Shang Qinghua forward with a yelp. The smaller man catches himself on his hands, which have been planted beyond Mobei-Jun’s head. In fact, his king’s head is just about in line with Shang Qinghua’s chest, and his hands have come to brace him around his hips. They are so large that they almost completely encircle Shang Qinghua. It feels—it is—it is certainly something that is happening right now!! His legs are spread wide across his king’s body, his ass slightly up in the air, and, his stupid, stupid brain says: Mobei-Jun could put his mouth on one of your nipples right now, he is so so close, just take it into his mouth through your shirt and lick and—shut UP, brain!!! Not helpful! At all!!

 His breathing has already gone a little ragged, what with all the man-handling going on, and he tries to regulate it desperately. What the hell, my king!! Give this one some warning! Are you trying to give him an aneurysm???

Mobei-Jun’s breathing has gone a little labored, too, or at least it sounds like it from where Shang Qinghua is. His stomach is taut and tense underneath the smaller man, like he is struggling not to move.

“What,” Shang Qinghua murmurs, swallowing thickly, “what now?”

 “This one will bridge up, and then lift you.”

Shang Qinghua’s brain is not in a place where he can process what exactly that might mean, but he still replies, “O—okay.”

His king lifts up his hips underneath him, bridging, forcing Shang Qinghua to put more weight on his hands. Once he is up in the air, his king clutches him by the hips, leaving Shang Qinghua’s legs dangling and almost all his weight forward on his hands, and oh my god, oh my god, oh my fucking god, Mobei-Jun lifts him like he’s fucking nothing.

Shang Qinghua is dying! Shang Qinghua is in ecstasy! His soul has left his body!!! He can imagine the eulogy that Cucumber-bro will make. RIP Airplane-juju, who died doing what he loved most: getting manhandled by an enormous, beautiful, mean man!!!

“Now,” Mobei-Jun says, “This one brings his feet to your inner thighs,” and yes, Shang Qinghua can confirm that, the tops of two weirdly cold feet pressing against him, “and roll up.”

His king does this smoothly, so smoothly that Shang Qinghua feels a bit like he is some kind of swooning maiden being whisked away from her captors, and is left breathless and lost! They wind up in a weird sort of embrace, both sitting, legs entangled, arms wrapped around each other. Shang Qinghua can smell his king, can see the smooth pale skin of his neck, so close he could press his lips against it easily, and he is suddenly terrified that he is shaking! His throat clicks when he swallows, staring at Mobei-Jun’s earrings tinkling together quietly.

“Good,” his king says, disentangling them gently. “Good.”

The praise pools hot and candy-floss sweet in Shang Qinghua’s stomach. He doesn’t know if he wants to do this forever, or expire right on the spot. Surely this is the pinnacle of his existence!!

“Again. This time at half-speed.”

***

Shang Qinghua groans loudly, squatting down to retrieve a file from the lowest drawer of the cabinet. His thighs are on fire!! As punishment for sparring and for lying about being sick, Mobei-Jun made him do approximately five million squats, and fifty trillion push-ups! That man is sick in the head!! All Shang Qinghua had been able to do after was crawl to his tent and pass out!

When he gets up, groaning again, he sees Gongyi Xiao in the doorway, looking concerned. Shang Qinghua’s eyes widen. How mortifying!

“Sorry, sorry! Just sore from last night!” he says, gesturing vaguely to his thighs.

Gongyi Xiao looks confused at first, but then his face clears. “Oh,” he says. “Oh.”

Shang Qinghua tries to figure out what that means, but decides he is ultimately in too much pain to care.

Gongyi Xiao steps forward gingerly. “Shang Qinghua,” he says, “is Mobei-Jun…treating you well? You know, taking care of you?”

Shang Qinghua frowns, confused. “Yeah…?” he says. “He’s kind of mean, but he let me stop when my legs kept on giving out.”

Gongyi Xiao looks horrified! “Shang Qinghua! Your—your legs?! Let you?! You know that you can stop whenever you want, you don’t have to do everything Mobei-Jun tells—”

He is cut off by the man himself entering the room, and glaring at Gongyi Xiao. The jiujitsu instructor is very cool about it, which impresses Shang Qinghua very much! He’d already be a puddle on the floor if his king had aimed that death-ray at him!

“Finish your sentence, please,” Mobei-Jun says, a polite sort of murderousness coloring his words! Truly his king has such a unique way of expressing himself!!

Gongyi Xiao, amazingly, narrows his eyes at him and pokes his boss in the chest. Oh my god!! Did he want to lose a finger?! Shang Qinghua watches in pure horror!

“Take better care of Shang Qinghua,” he demands. “Don’t be so selfish.” 

Mobei-Jun’s face goes stormy, before turning to confusion at the second part. He glances, puzzled, at Shang Qinghua as Gongyi Xiao storms out of the office, and all this one can do is shrug!

His king’s gaze hardens again at Shang Qinghua’s innocent expression. He steps towards his quivering employee with an air of menace, and the room seems to go frozen.

“Have you been complaining about this one to Gongyi Xiao?” he asks icily.

“No!” Shang Qinghua yelps, taking a step back and hugging his poor file against his chest protectively. “No, I just—”

His king takes another step forward, looming over Shang Qinghua, trapping him against the file cabinet. This one’s heart jumps to his throat, and he very nearly brains himself on the metal handle of the highest drawer as he steps back into it! My king!! Why so terrifying?? What sin has this one committed??

Mobei-Jun flicks his eyes over Shang Qinghua, gaze seeming to sear his skin wherever it fell.

“Has this one been too hard on you, Shang Qinghua?” his king murmurs, planting an enormous hand next to the smaller man’s head.

Shang Qinghua’s skin prickles and aches, trapped between his king’s big body and the cabinet. He is dying. He’s going to die, and he can’t even seem to work up an objection. Lips parting, this one can only stare up at his king, and everything feels suspended in midair for one long moment. It seems to stretch between them like taffy, and Shang Qinghua bows his head slightly under its growing weight. His king lowers his head, too, then, and tilts it to one side, as if trying to catch Shang Qinghua’s eyes, trying to get an answer.

“Shang Qinghua wants this Mobei-Jun to go a little easier on him?” he purrs.

This one gulps, and shakes his head desperately. He lifts his chin, daring a glance at his king, and is taken aback at how close he is, his lips only a few inches away from Shang Qinghua’s forehead. When, this lowly one wonders, did his king’s mouth get so plush and lovely and—

Suddenly, Mobei-Jun pulls away, looking annoyed, and rounds his desk to sit. Shang Qinghua, feeling like he needs to straighten his clothes and tamp down his hair, blinks a moment before launching after him!

“My king, I didn’t complain, really!” he says. Mobei-Jun lifts a skeptical eyebrow, sparing Shang Qinghua only a glance. “This one was just bending down, and made a noise, because my thighs hurt from the very-deserved forty million squats my king made me do!! Gongyi Xiao heard, and that’s it!”

Mobei-Jun looks up at him fully, then, considering, and nods. “This one believes you, Shang Qinghua. Training will be lighter today so you can recover.”

Feeling relieved, Shang Qinghua spends the rest of the day walking stiffly around the dojo, wondering why in the world anyone would ever exercise! The fact that he went through so much misery for so little gain, and that he would have to continue doing so???? Seems fake!!

At least Gongyi Xiao is being nice to him! He keeps coming into the office at frequent intervals, glaring at Mobei-Jun, and inquiring after Shang Qinghua. The last time he’d done it, his king had physically chased him out! He hadn’t even been able to give this one the heat-patch he’d been holding! So rude, my king!!

The evening rolls around quickly, and the last of the night classes ends. Shang Qinghua is stretching, trying to rid his poor, tortured limbs of some of their stiffness. He moans and grunts and sighs as he does so, feeling like a giant bruise!

“Okay, this one is ready!” he exclaims, sitting back on his heels. Even though yesterday had ended in a bloodbath of squats and push-ups, it had been a good lesson, with a lot of Platonic Touching! He is excited for whatever is next!

Mobei-Jun, who had sat down next to him while he was stretching, looks at him a moment, blinking. He has Shang Qinghua get on top of him, which will really actually never get old, and begins to explain what they’ll be working on that day. It’s some sort of rolly move, which ends in Shang Qinghua flat on his back and Mobei-Jun between his spread legs! What the fuck!!! Is this Shang Qinghua’s life now??? Unfortunately, when the roll is done, his king backs away almost immediately, so the Platonic Touching factor isn’t even that high!! Also, Shang Qinghua keeps on groaning because ow!! His thighs!! Mobei-Jun is starting to become annoyed with the noises he’d making, but he can’t help it! My king!! This is your own fault!!

Frustrated and sore, arms feeling like noodles, Shang Qinghua gets into position again and his king bumps him like he did the night before. The smaller man tries to catch himself on his hands, but his arms give, and he just falls flat down on his king!! He is probably suffocating the other man, face to chest, chest to stomach, and, wow, Mobei-Jun is truly built like a fucking brick house!! Shang Qinghua scrambles up on his hands again, face red.

“Sorry, sorry, my king, my—my arms—”

Mobei-Jun rolls them up into a sitting position, leaving Shang Qinghua basically in his lap, nestled like a little baby bird between his terrifyingly muscular legs! This one blinks, tries to pull away before he embarrasses himself, but is stopped by hands on his sides. His king very calmly lifts his pathetic little employee off his lap and places him on the ground.

“That’s enough for today,” his king says, refusing to look at him. “Shang Qinghua needs a warm soak for his muscles. This one should have thought of it yesterday.”

Shang Qinghua, whose brain is stuck on wow Mobei-Jun just lifted you like you weigh nothing that is certainly something that certainly just happened, nods absently.

“Yeah,” he says. “Ye—wait, what?”

His king, getting to his feet, says, “You probably want to go home. Do you have a tub?”

Shang Qinghua snorts. Tub? What tub? Yeah, right, my king, very funny!!! This one writes soft porn to make ends meet, hello!!!!

His king reaches down, his face a dangerous mixture of impatience and violent intent, and yanks Shang Qinghua up by the arm! This lowly one yelps, and brushes himself off when he gets to his feet.

“Shang Qinghua may use mine.”

The smaller man’s head whips up. What!!! Mobei-Jun is letting him use the extremely glorious, enormous soaking tub that Shang Qinghua eyes with ship-sinking envy every time he uses his king’s shower???

“Really, my king??? Thank you!!”

Mobei-Jun grunts, but Shang Qinghua can tell he is pleased by his employee’s reaction. “Just don’t break anything—”

“Or you’ll break this one’s legs! Message received, my king, don’t worry about a thing!” he says happily, jogging stiffly towards the stairwell. He’s about to stay in that tub for hours. Mobei-Jun would regret this until the day he died!

Shang Qinghua gets all the way to the top, thighs burning, before realizing that he doesn’t have the key to his king’s apartment!

“Shit,” he mutters to himself.

He looks down the stairs, and they seem to mock him. Surely he’d die if he had to go down those stairs right now!!

“My king!! My king, let me in please!”

“Stop yelling,” Mobei-Jun says, appearing at the bottom of the staircase and starting to walk up. When he arrives, he drops a silver key into Shang Qinghua’s palm.

“Thank you, my king.”

Shang Qinghua opens the door and enters, and then turns to Mobei-Jun, the key in his outstretched hand to return it.

His king doesn’t react, besides an offhand, “Keep it.” He brushes past Shang Qinghua and his stupid dumbstruck expression, heading towards the kitchen.

“My…king?” this one asks timidly. Something tentative, and sweet, is blooming in his stomach.

“You shower here so much, this Mobei-Jun thought he may as well give you a key,” he explains, refusing to look at Shang Qinghua as he opens his fridge and pulls out one of his pre-made protein shakes. Disgusting! He chugs it down, and it doesn’t even faze Shang Qinghua anymore! Especially not now, when he is so caught up in his king’s unexpected gesture. “You always asking for it was annoying.”

“Oh,” he replies, suppressing a smile even when he is being insulted. Maybe Cucumber-bro was right. Maybe he really is a closet M. “Thank you, my king. Sorry about the bother.”

Mobei-Jun shrugs it off, a little too nonchalant to be genuine. “No bother.”

Shang Qinghua looks down, smiling to himself, and pockets the key. The feeling rises, and expands in his chest like a bubble.

“I’ll just—” he says, gesturing vaguely towards the bathroom.

His king nods aggressively, grunting a little, and Shang Qinghua scurries to the bathroom like a little mouse! By himself, he sits on the edge of the tub and runs the water, fingering the key in his pocket and grinning like a fool.

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua is on his lunch break, half-gnawed carrot forgotten in one hand as he expounds upon the finer points of character exposition in a fantasy setting. He’d been pacing along the office, trying to puzzle out a plot hole when an unwitting Mobei-Jun had walked into his path and thus into his imaginary Ted Talk! His king is making that face he makes whenever his insane employee starts rambling on about the craft of writing, like he doesn’t quite understand what’s going on, but will come along for the ride anyway? It involves a lot of blinking!

Anyway. That’s what’s happening when Du Bi just waltzes right into the office, as if he were not banned from this and every other dojo within a ten-mile radius! Who does he think he is??

At the man’s appearance, Shang Qinghua screeches in shock, before leaping behind Mobei-Jun and peeking out timidly. This is precisely what this one had feared most!! His hands grasp lightly at the back of his king’s gi, and the bigger man puts a hand out, as if to shield him from Du Bi.

“Was this one unclear when he told Du Bi he was no longer welcome at Junshang?” his king seethes.

“Oh, no, Sensei,” the other man answers, eyes narrowing. “Mobei-Jun is certainly not subtle in displaying his loyalties.” He pauses. “This one only came to deliver a message.”

At this vague statement, Mobei-Jun steps fully in front of Shang Qinghua. This one, confused, peers up at his dark head and then gets up on his toes to look over his shoulder.

“From whom?” his king asks darkly.

“Your uncle,” Du Bi replies smugly. “He’s coming for the dojo.”

“The dojo?” Mobei-Jun asks, seeming genuinely taken aback. Shang Qinghua is, too! As far as he knew, Linguang-Jun had never shown any interest in Junshang, even when his brother, martial arts legend Longwei-Jun, had been the one running it! “He has no right to it.”

Du Bi laughs. “Does this one look like he cares? All he knows is that he has been paid.”

P-paid??? Shang Qinghua’s eyes widen. Things are beginning to make sense! He’d been wondering why Du Bi had gone after him so aggressively! Surely, he had done what he’d done on purpose, trying to scare this one away from the dojo!

Shang Qinghua frowns. Why, though, would Linguang-Jun be so invested in that?

Mobei-Jun scoffs, crossing his arms. “My uncle must truly be desperate. Book not doing too well?” he asks mockingly.

Book?! Linguang-Jun is published??? What the hell!!! Where is the justice?!!! Shang Qinghua could spit blood!!!

“As it turns out, no one is interested in how to train a cheater.”

The words drop like an anvil between Du Bi and Mobei-Jun. Shang Qinghua looks on in utter confusion. Cheater? Who cheated? What is going on??? My king, this one needs a synopsis!!

Mobei-Jun takes a step forward, and says, voice heavy as lead, “Get out. Scurry back to Linguang-Jun before this one really gets angry.”

Du Bi backs up, hands in the air. “Alright, alright. I’m going. No need for that.” He smiles. “Just be on the lookout, Sensei. Don’t get too comfortable.”

He laughs, and leaves the dojo.

“My—my king,” Shang Qinghua says, looking up at Mobei-Jun with wide eyes as he turns around to face him. “What was he—?”

He is cut off by his carrot being shoved in his mouth, quite rudely!!

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, Shang Qinghua,” his king says, patting him on the head like a well-behaved dog. “This one will take care of everything.”

With that, he turns and leaves the office. Shang Qinghua is left, blinking, carrot hanging out of his mouth. This business with Mobei-Jun’s uncle is too unsettling!! His eyes narrow. He will get to the bottom of it, no matter what his king says!!

Spitting his carrot out into the trash can, he goes over to his computer, plot hole completely forgotten! A quick Internet search of Linguang-Jun leads to an article entitled “Former judo champion linked to nephew’s Olympic cheating scandal.” Shang Qinghua scans it quickly!

         Linguang-Jun, brother of late martial arts legend Longwei-Jun, denies any involvement in the cheating scandal his Olympic-hopeful nephew is currently embroiled in. After the death of Longwei-Jun, his brother was awarded custody of the young judoka, and supposedly cut off his weekly allowance after a 100,000 yuan spending spree. Sources close to the family claim that Mobei-Jun, known to his fans as “Iceman,” tried to buy his way onto the Olympic squad. 

Shang Qinghua blinks, finding it very hard to square with what he knows of this king. He lives so sparsely now that it’s hard to imagine that he grew up in the lap of luxury, son of the legendary Longwei-Jun. Shang Qinghua could see his king being a bit of a bratty, spoiled teenager, but—the idea of Mobei-Jun cheating? Not only does it seem unlike him, why would he need to buy his way onto the squad? He’s the most talented and hard-working person Shang Qinghua has ever met!! No way! Something is wrong, here, and he suspects that Linguang-Jun is at the heart of it.

He continues his Google search, and finds the evil uncle’s book. Iceman Cometh: Training a Champion. Ugh, gag this one with a spoon!!! He places a hold on the one copy at the library, because there is no way he’s putting a dime in Linguang-Jun’s pocket!! If his king won’t let him help, he’ll have to do what he can on his own!!

***

Shang Qinghua smuggles the book into the dojo, and reads it in his tent one evening by the light of a little lamp. It only takes him about two sentences to decide that Linguang-Jun (ugh!!!) is a very, very unreliable narrator, but he keeps on reading anyway! He will get to the bottom of this!

The first chapter is entitled Failure Is Not an Option, and this alone fills Shang Qinghua’s stomach with dread!! It details an incident when Mobei-Jun was eleven. His father had only just died, and Linguang-Jun had been put in charge of his training. Even at that age, everyone had known that Mobei-Jun was something special, and they’d had high expectations for him. Thus, Longwei-Jun had left a stipend for his brother, money for the purposes of training a champion.

The big catastrophe was this: Mobei-Jun had only earned a silver medal at a big judo tournament, losing in the finals. He had failed. Shang Qinghua feels sick as he reads Linguang-Jun’s ensuing advice:

         Like rats who learn that pressing a button delivers a shock, and avoid that button, so must young athletes be trained: if they learn from a young age that failure will not be tolerated, they will simply learn not to fail.

Linguang-Jun’s way of providing a shock had simply been to abandon his recently-bereft young nephew at the tournament, leaving him crying in the parking lot as his car peeled away.

From then until the cheating scandal, Mobei-Jun had never won less than gold.

Shang Qinghua cries as he reads, as Linguang-Jun details the way he would make his nephew spar with him on hardwood flooring, so he was that much more motivated to avoid being thrown. Ukemi, says Linguang-Jun, had not been a high priority: if it doesn’t hurt when you fall, what reason do you have to try and stay on your feet? Shang Qinghua thinks back to his early training with his king, when he’d insisted on ukemi being the most important lesson he could teach, and feels a rush of pride and awe and affection. His king truly is amazing!

Shang Qinghua continues to cry. One thousand repetitions, or dinner was withheld. Mistakes greeted not with patience, but with punishments like kneeling in place for hours. Mobei-Jun had been made to call his uncle ‘Master’ at all times. He’d been forbidden to tap out, even if he was in pain. Linguang-Jun was obsessed with his wild, spoiled nephew submitting to his will, while never submitting in a match. Shang Qinghua wonders at how his king so easily allowed this one to climb on top of him during training, when this had been his upbringing.

He decides to stop reading, because it is simply too vile!!! The book is thrown across the tent in pure contempt, and Shang Qinghua buries his face in his hands and wails! But this one must not have realized how loudly he’d been sobbing, because the zip on Shang Qinghua’s tent suddenly opens to reveal the very aggravated face of Mobei-Jun!

“My—king,” he wails, eyes wide.

Mobei-Jun looks at him in disgust! “Are you watching Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon again?” he asks, annoyed.

Shang Qinghua shakes his head, crying too hard to respond verbally! His king’s face drops into something a bit more concerned, and he enters the tent warily and sits next to his sobbing employee.

This one responds by shuffling over on his knees and throwing his arms around Mobei-Jun. “It’s okay, my king,” he says, still hiccupping and crying, rubbing his back soothingly. The bigger man is stiff as a board under his hands, looking down at him in confusion. “It’s all going to be okay, I promise,” he continues between tears. “You’re going to be alright.”

“Shang Qinghua,” his king sighs, frustrated, shoving his employee away, “you’re the one crying.”

He looks at the smaller man expectantly. Shang Qinghua sniffles, wipes at his cheeks.

“Well,” he says, guilty, “don’t—don’t be angry with this one, but he may have…read part of your uncle’s book?”

Mobei-Jun freezes, face dropping completely. Shang Qinghua winces.

“I’m sorry!! I just wanted to understand what Du Bi was saying about cheating, and see if I—”

“This one never cheated,” his king objects, expression murderous.

“I know, my king, I know you didn’t!!” Shang Qinghua says, hands up.

Mobei-Jun frowns. “You…do?” he asks. His eyes are wary, tentative. “You—believe this one, and not his uncle?”

There is a weight on those words, many years’ worth, and Shang Qinghua’s heart aches to hear it. He wonders how many people have simply taken Linguang-Jun’s word over his king’s, seeing a spoiled child used to having his way paid.

“Of course,” this one says.

“You will believe this one when he says his uncle is the one who paid off his opponent, without this one’s knowledge, even if there is no proof?” Mobei-Jun continues, voice hard with disbelief.

Shang Qinghua gazes at the other man with eyes he knows are too soft. “This one will believe anything you tell him, my king,” he says quietly.

Mobei-Jun stares at him, then, eyes alight in the dimness of the tent. His expression is difficult to read. Shang Qinghua interprets it as doubt, and pans around for the book.

“As for your uncle, here is what this one thinks his word is worth!”

He rips out page after page after page, letting them flutter around the tent. As a writer, he is very against the destruction of books! But as Mobei-Jun’s friend (?), what else can he do but destroy this hateful thing??? Fuck the library fees!! He’ll pay them gladly!!

His king watches in slight alarm as his lunatic employee tears a book to shreds in front of his eyes. The light from Shang Qinghua’s little reading lantern casts a warmth over Mobei-Jun’s fine features as he watches the pieces dance around the tent and hit the ground. He seems speechless, and looks at Shang Qinghua with parted lips.

“If Linguang-Jun is coming after the dojo, this one wants to help you fight him!” Shang Qinghua states firmly. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing for me to worry about!”

Mobei-Jun stares at him a moment, and simply nods. Silently. Gaze warm on Shang Qinghua’s face. This one cannot help but smile a little! He would show his king what he is capable of!!

That night, Shang Qinghua thinks about Linguang-Jun, and his various flaws. His rage. His jealousy. His confidence in his own righteousness. All these traits will make him easy to manipulate. It almost makes this one smile as he lays in his little tent!! He realizes as he thinks that it’s not enough for him to protect the dojo. He wants to destroy Linguang-Jun, too. He wants to hurt him. It’s a strange and unsettling feeling, one that Shang Qinghua has never experienced before. He wants to hurt Linguang-Jun for what he did to his king.

So, he thinks, what would really hurt this evil uncle? What would make him sick to watch? The answer is elegant, and solves all their problems at once: Mobei-Jun needs to become a champion! It would make Linguang-Jun spit blood, ruin his plans to get his hands on the dojo, and discredit all the nonsense he wrote in his book! Junshang would have not one, but two teachers who had competed at the highest level! No way Linguang-Jun would be ever to take control away from them then! It would be hilarious to watch him realize that all his stupid plans have come to nothing!

Now, the only question is how.

***

When you’ve been just scraping along for as long as Shang Qinghua has, you start to squirrel things away. Information. Leads. Things you might use to get a job, or, at least, some money! You take note of the shady things your boss is doing! You notice that the overworked intern is growing resentful! You keep the gossip-mill secretary in Crystal Light, and chat with her about her kids! Because you never know when you might need a leg up.

It begins with a poster: Cang Qiong MMA Showcase!

They receive promotions like this all the time, invitations to and advertisements for various tournaments and events. Usually Shang Qinghua tapes them up and forgets about them. But this one catches his eye.

Why? Because there was one customer at An Ding that has always stuck in Shang Qinghua’s mind. One that he had stored away. Unfailingly polite, unobtrusive, wearing sunglasses and a baseball hat. Yue Qingyuan. Cang Qiong Sports’ lead anchor. He really thought that the baristas wouldn’t recognize him. (There is a naivety there that Shang Qinghua hesitates to exploit!)

He came to An Ding every Saturday morning, sat quietly in a booth in the back, and waited for a man with frighteningly sharp cheekbones and cool, cool eyes. Shen Jiu. They would spend an hour bickering, mainly Yue Qingyuan promising the other man that he would leave his husband just as soon as the kids started kindergarten, sometimes providing a necklace or a pair of earrings to assuage Shen Jiu. Then, they would kiss sweetly, looking for all the world like two newlyweds!

 Shang Qinghua did not judge! Really! It was none of his business!

(All the same, it’s not hard to justify what he’s planning on doing, for his king’s sake.)

It comes to him fully formed. He stops what he is doing and immediately walks over to the office.

Mobei-Jun is leaning back on the front of his desk, nodding at something Gongyi Xiao is saying. The smaller man exits the office right as Shang Qinghua enters, and greets him brightly as he goes. Shang Qinghua responds only distractedly, lost in the mechanics of his plan.

His king narrows his eyes, and crosses his arms.

“What is it?” he asks.

Shang Qinghua stands right in front of him, quite close, not wanting to be overheard.

“My king,” he asks, voice low, “if this one could to get you a slot in the Cang Qiong showcase, would you be interested in fighting again?”

Mobei-Jun blinks down at him. And then rises to his full height.

Shang Qinghua’s breath hitches at the way his king is now a foot taller, at the way he suddenly feels so small in front of him. His king certainly—certainly knows how to use his size for the fullest affect!

Looking down at Shang Qinghua, Mobei-Jun murmurs, “What sort of question is that?”

The smaller man exhales, staring up at his king. “Well,” he says, casual as he can manage, “this one has decided to destroy your uncle Linguang-Jun.” His king’s eyes widen. “If that’s okay with you, my king, haha!”

 Mobei-Jun lets out a sort of strangled noise. “What did you just say,” he asks.

“Your uncle,” Shang Qinghua says, voice gaining confidence. “He deserves to be destroyed. This one will destroy him.”

He watches as a slow, lovely smile spreads across Mobei-Jun’s face. “Is that so,” his king says softly.

It’s not quite a question, because there’s no doubt in it, but there is an element of breathless wonder. Shang Qinghua thinks he might like to save that tone of voice forever, keep it in his pocket like a child keeps a pearlescent seashell found at the beach! He’d take it out from time to time, polish it off, admire it!

Shang Qinghua nods, and smiles. “Yes, my king.”

Mobei-Jun frowns, puzzled. “What are you planning?”

This one reaches up, and pats the other man on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, my king. This one will take care of everything,” he says, grinning.

His king’s mouth twitches briefly, and he leans back on his desk. “Just be careful, Shang Qinghua,” he says. “My uncle…can be dangerous. Don’t go too far.”

Dangerous? What dangerous? This one has Iceman on his side!!

“Don’t worry, my king,” Shang Qinghua assures him. “This one will be sure not to antagonize him directly!”

Mobei-Jun’s hand goes to where Shang Qinghua touched him, and rests there softly. He stares down at his employee, like he is a tangle that needs to be teased straight.

“Why?” he asks suddenly. “Why are you doing this, Shang Qinghua?”

The smaller man flushes. “What do you—what do you mean, my king?” he says, heartrate kicking up. “To—to protect the dojo. This is the best job I’ve ever had!”

“Hmm,” his king says, pursing his lips.

He seems…disappointed, somehow? Something in his expression makes Shang Qinghua go serious, then, and he looks down, toeing the ground, unable to meet Mobei-Jun’s eyes.

“And—and because…he hurt you. He hurt you, my king, and this one would really just like to see him suffer a bit, you know?” he says.

He braves a glance up at Mobei-Jun, and he is startled by the expression on the other man’s face. It’s—soft. Very soft, and open, and Shang Qinghua just stares up at him for a moment, because he hadn’t known his king could make a face like that??? It is the best thing this lowly one has ever seen!!

“Shang Qinghua!” comes Gongyi Xiao’s voice as he enters the office. “You dropped your key again!”

Two heads swivel to face the jiujitsu instructor, one bright red with embarrassment!

Gongyi Xiao had stopped short at the scene in front of him. They are really way too close to be professional, gazing softly at each other, and Shang Qinghua steps away in panic!!

“Uh…sorry to interrupt?” Gongyi Xiao says awkwardly. He hands the key to Shang Qinghua.  “You just—you dropped this.”

“Thank you! Haha!” Shang Qinghua accepts it, harried, bowing. “I’ll just—just go, then—” he’s saying, bowing again, nearly tripping over his own feet as he rushes to exit the office once more. “This one—this one really needs to get a keychain for this, haha! Something big so he won’t keep losing it!”

Why is he babbling like this?! Why does he always feel the need to act like he belongs in a psychiatric hospital??? Aah, Shang Qinghua, get a grip!!

***

It is very much worth the latte that Yue Qingyuan had dumped on his head to see the look on Mobei-Jun’s face as they walk into the arena. This one had probably deserved it for blackmailing someone with their infidelities!! Predictably, their conversation had been a very…fraught one! By the end, though, Yue Qingyuan had been in tears, swearing that he would do right by Shen Jiu, that he would leave his husband and treat his love like he deserved to be treated! Shang Qinghua, sticky with coffee, had nodded supportively! He adores a good love story!!!

All’s well, Shang Qinghua had noted, mopping himself off in the bathroom of An Ding, that ends well! And, now, the way Mobei-Jun just kept on smiling, a little content thing, as he looked around the arena’s lobby, where twenty-foot versions of himself hung as banners: safely within the realm of well!!!! His king deserves more moments like this, more sweetness, because he hasn’t had nearly enough!!

“My king, your pose is so cool! So tough!” Shang Qinghua exclaims.

Mobei-Jun just looks at him in reply, gaze steady and clear, and this one doesn’t know what it means. He can only smile in return, lost in that inexorable regard for a moment. He tears himself away, then, to point at the banners of his king’s opponent, Wei Qingwei. He’s busy making fun of him and his very underwhelming game face when a man in a neat suit approaches them, introducing himself as Yue Qingyuan’s assistant.

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” he says to Mobei-Jun. “I’ll be showing you to the locker room. The network would love to do a pre-match interview.” He turns to Shang Qinghua. “And—is this your—?”

“My manager,” Mobei-Jun says. “Yes.”

Shang Qinghua’s head whips around. “Your—your—ma—?” he squawks. He promptly descends into a coughing fit, and his king smacks him soundly on the back. Ow, my king, what the hell!! It only makes him cough more!!

Yue Qingyuan’s assistant watches them awkwardly a moment, looking like he’s unsure if he should offer Shang Qinghua a cough drop or something, before extending a hand towards the locker room. They follow, Shang Qinghua trailing behind in a daze. He is floating!!!! Did his king really just—? Did he really mean—? He’s blushing just thinking about it! His king had been so pleased with him that he’d promoted him to manager!

He, Shang Qinghua, writer of internet porn, former slinger of lattes, long-time psychotic virgin, is now the manager of Iceman, the great Mobei-Jun, the hottest man on this and every other planet!!! Can life be so kind??? Can there be such a benevolent entity guiding this one’s footsteps??? Shang Qinghua imagines for a moment a world where he never went to Junshang, never met Mobei-Jun, never greedily wormed his way into his king’s life! It makes him go all quiet and thoughtful!

They set up a camera in the locker room, getting some shots of Mobei-Jun as he prepares for the match, and Shang Qinghua just watches him with what he is sure is a very dopey expression! There is something…enthralling about him, as he wraps his hands quietly, ignoring the camera. Shang Qinghua finds he cannot look away.

Mobei-Jun answers the questions they pose him with mainly grunts, and Shang Qinghua can only imagine the aneurysm Yue Qingyuan will have watching this footage! A small price to pay for keeping your marriage intact!! My king, if you only knew the lives that were sacrificed in order to restore you to your rightful place!!!

The match is about to begin when Mobei-Jun turns to Shang Qinghua. He is shirtless, hands wrapped carefully, wearing ice-blue shorts that make his skin seem to flush with breathless agility and athleticism!

“You have worked so hard, Shang Qinghua,” his king says.

Shang Qinghua frowns. Work hard?? This one?? His king has been training night and day for this match, for weeks now! Shang Qinghua had just made a few phone calls! He’d hardly done anything!

“Will you be very disappointed in this one if he loses?” Mobei-Jun asks quietly. His face is grave, and it makes him look strangely young and unsure. “Your plan would be ruined.”

Shang Qinghua’s brow furrows in concern, and he hears the question, stripped bare: What happens if I fail?

This one smiles easily, then, face clearing. The fact of the matter is that Mobei-Jun hasn’t ever fought MMA competitively. He’d trained Luo Binghe for years, and they’d sparred regularly and fiercely, but that wasn’t the same. Shang Qinghua isn’t expecting this to happen overnight, and he has all sorts of contingency plans depending on how this first match goes. He’s confident that his king would hold his own in the ring with Wei Qingwei, but, beyond that, he doesn’t have much by way of expectations. This is really just to get his king’s foot in the door.

“Not at all!” Shang Qinghua replies. He glances at his king, all conspiracy. “Do you really think this one has only one plan? A lawyer at Bailu owes me about thirty favors, and there’s a doctor who said he would do anything I asked if I—well, let’s not go there, my king—haha!”

(He’s an avid reader of PIDW, and said that he would sign a certificate claiming that Linguang-Jun took steroids if Shang Qinghua wrote something about furries! See how this one cares for his king that he is even considering it!)

Mobei-Jun looks a little confused, then, but doesn’t say anything.

Shang Qinghua pats his bare shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I like working at the dojo with you too much to let it go so easily!” he says. “Besides this one—this one could never be disappointed in you, my king.”

He’s let his hand linger, and he snatches it away quickly once he realizes. Mobei-Jun frowns down at him a moment, and then his expression clears.

“Thank you, Shang Qinghua,” he says, intense and earnest, before heading into the ring.

The match begins, and the stadium is packed. They’d tried to stay away from watching the promotions and reading the articles, not wanting to know what people were saying, but it seems like everyone still remembered Iceman, or at least they remembered his father, and were keen to see him. Most of the posters Shang Qinghua could spot in the crowd were in support of his king!

Shang Qinghua is biting his nails throughout the first round, watching the two men circle each other warily, getting in hits here and there. When Wei Qingwei lands a punch, he yelps and covers his eyes, terrified to see his king get hurt.

It’s the second round when everything changes. Mobei-Jun is an animal, restless and vicious, moving frighteningly fast for such a large person. Wei Qingwei can’t predict his movements, faltering and flagging with every hit, and it isn’t long before his opponent has him in a chokehold. The announcers are losing their minds!! Shang Qinghua is stunned. He’d known his king was good, and, for Shang Qinghua, he’s the best, no matter what!! But he hadn’t realized his king was this good! He’s Luo Binghe at his best, good! He’s Linguang-Jun at his most explosive, good! He’s Longwei-Jun before the knee surgeries, good!

“Holy shit,” Shang Qinghua breathes, watching as his king slams Wei Qingwei into the mat. He flushes, beginning to sweat as he watches the flex and pull of Mobei-Jun’s muscles as they worked. Um! Where is his bro’s fan when he needs it!!!!

The knockout comes shortly after. Wei Qingwei, left side of his face awash with blood, slumps over. He had never stood a chance!!!

Mobei-Jun faces the crowd, then, arms up, roaring, and they go wild!!! Shang Qinghua gets goosebumps as his king turns to him and spits his mouthguard out, smiling like mad! He covers his flushed face with his hands, grinning broadly, unable to help it!

His king is mobbed, then, and Shang Qinghua’s phone rings. It’s Yue Qingyuan.

“Did you see that?” the anchor asks.

“I told you!” Shang Qinghua shouts over the roar of the crowd, laughing. “Didn’t I tell you I was doing you a favor?”

“You little shit,” Yue Qingyuan says, and the curse sounds unfamiliar in his mouth. “I hear you’re his manager now?”

“Yes, sir, Manager Shang, sir, reporting for duty!” He feels drunk he’s so happy!

“The league wants him. Get him down to their headquarters.”

Shang Qinghua lets out a yelp of delight!

And just like that, Iceman is back!!!!!

Chapter Text

Luo Binghe is singing karaoke stone-cold sober, still as statue, staring at Shen Yuan. He’s the designated driver, but has proclaimed that he won’t let his sobriety stop him! Cucumber-bro, who is very drunk, is clutching onto Shang Qinghua’s arm and shaking with what appears to be both genuine sobs and laughter. Junshang is singing “Endless Love,” and it’s almost painfully earnest! Shen Yuan keeps on looking up at his boyfriend, covering his mouth in shock, and hiding his face in Shang Qinghua’s shoulder. Shang Qinghua, for his part, is trying so hard to contain his laughter that he thinks he might be having an aneurysm. He cannot seem to look away from the train wreck in front of him!

It’s his birthday, and it’s been a fun night so far! Gongyi Xiao’s vegan dumplings were actually pretty good, though that might be more due to the fact that Shang Qinghua had doused them in chili sauce than anything else! Ning Yingying had drunk so much that she’d begun trying to pole dance on a support beam! She has always been a very sloppy drunk! She’d spent most of the night telling Shang Qinghua that she’s going to set him up on a blind date with her cousin who is a doctor. She even wrote his number on Shang Qinghua’s palm before he deposited her into a taxi!

The only thing souring his mood is that his king is not there. He’d watched the door for the first hour or so of the party, hoping that he’d show up, but it seems that Mobei-Jun wouldn’t be making an appearance tonight. His new MMA career was keeping him very busy. Shang Qinghua is laughing it off! Whatever! He doesn’t care! He would have fun anyway! He’d even managed to give a nonchalant shrug when Gongyi Xiao had asked him where Mobei-Jun was!

He is not imagining the way his king would be rolling his eyes at Luo Binghe, or how he would have begrudgingly eaten a bowl of ramen, not even mentioning its sodium levels as a birthday treat. He is not wondering what could be so important that Mobei-Jun couldn’t at least stop by.

When Luo Binghe’s interminable song ends, Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan stumble onto the stage to sing “The Boy Is Mine.” Shang Qinghua wins the rock paper scissors that determines who gets to be Monica. Yes!!! It ends in them crying of laughter, yelling the “Not yours, but mine” part in each other’s faces.

“Junshang! Junshang come collect your man!” Shang Qinghua says into the microphone. “He is going crazy!!”

“Little bun!! Little bun where are you!” Cucumber-bro shrieks, pouting. He sinks to the ground near the edge of the stage. Shang Qinghua makes a silent promise to himself that he will absolutely never let his bro live this one down!!!

Luo Binghe, looking like this is the greatest moment of his entire existence, comes over to the stage. Shen Yuan crawls over to the edge and deposits himself into his little bun’s arms. Junshang carries him bridal-style, his face so beatific he looks as if he’ll ascend in the next moment.

“Little bun,” Shen Yuan says quietly, tucking his face into his boyfriend’s neck.

“Sensei, you drank too much,” Luo Binghe scolds gently.

“Shhh,” his bro says. He pecks Luo Binghe’s cheek and pats it fondly. “Drive me and Airplane-juju home please.”

This one slumps down onto the floor, the tender scene in front of him like something behind glass at an aquarium. Not for land-dwellers like Shang Qinghua.

This night reminds him so much of when Luo Binghe first came back from training overseas all those years ago. Shang Qinghua didn’t know exactly how Shen Yuan must have felt, but the expression on his face when he told Shang Qinghua that he’d bumped into one of his former students had spoken volumes. Luo Binghe had been getting ready for a fight, so he hadn’t been able to talk, but he’d promised his sensei that he would call later.

Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua had gotten drunk together that night, waiting for Luo Binghe’s call in a bar.

Completely off his nut, Shen Yuan had turned to Shang Qinghua with tears in his eyes and said, “This one doesn’t mean to be dramatic, Airplane-juju, but if he doesn’t see Luo Binghe again, he thinks he might die.”

Shang Qinghua had nodded, drunk and alarmed. He’d never felt that way about anyone before. More than anything else, he’d thought: If I were writing this story, Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan would end up together. He’d then pictured the two of them as characters in PIDW and nearly killed himself trying not to laugh.

“What are you waiting for, then???” Shang Qinghua had ultimately said. When a chance like this was laid out in front of him, a chance at love, how could his bro be wasting time like this??? “Pull yourself together, Cucumber-bro!” he’d shouted, shoving Shen Yuan’s phone at him. “Pull yourself together, and get your man!”

“…what?”

“Call him!!”

Maybe he wasn’t writing the story, but he could certainly help it along!

Luo Binghe had come to collect Shen Yuan a half-hour later, looking like he’d just won the lottery.

Shang Qinghua thinks of that night, and now, feeling cold and isolated, past the drunken fun and diving right into the drunken tears, he wonders if he will always be alone. He has his friends, sure, but it’s not the same. It’s not like Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan. No one has picked him out of all the rest, and he has tried and he has tried not to think about it, to write around it, to keep himself busy, but he just can’t anymore. He is so lonely.

They walk to Luo Binghe’s car, a flash red thing, and Shang Qinghua and Cucumber-bro pile into the backseat. His chest feels hollow as a drum.

“Oh, fuck,” Luo Binghe says, looking at the passenger seat. “Forgot to give you this, spaz.”

Shen Yuan whacks his boyfriend with his fan, boneless and weak.

“Apologize. ‘S his birthday,” he slurs.

Luo Binghe rolls his eyes, but gives an emotionless, “Sorry, Shang Qinghua.”

“Shang Qing-blah,” he replies absently, accepting the little blue box Luo Binghe leans back to hand him. He stares down at it. “What is this?”

“Present from Iceman. He was too busy to come tonight,” Luo Binghe says. He pauses. “Kind of rude of him, I thought. You are weird as hell, but the two of you are friends, or…whatever the fuck you are.”

Frowning, mustering all his currently non-existent fine motor skills, Shang Qinghua eventually unwraps the present and opens the box. Inside is a keychain, with a little hamster token.

He swallows hard against the tangled ball of emotions rising in his throat. It’s just a stupid little hamster, why is he like this?! He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the key to Mobei-Jun’s apartment. Cucumber-bro watches him silently, slumped half-asleep next to him. Shang Qinghua’s hands are too drunk-dumb to get the hamster onto the keyring and he growls in frustration.

He suddenly wants—needs—to see his king. It rises up in him like a tide, and he doesn’t know what he’s planning on doing once he sees him, but somehow—somehow, he needs to.

“Can you take this one to the dojo, please,” he asks Luo Binghe.

Junshang glances back to him, then over at Shen Yuan.

“To the dojo!” his bro shouts, like he is leading some kind of military charge. Shang Qinghua can’t help but laugh, this crazy peerless Cucumber!!

They hug in front of Junshang, because his bro is very sticky when he is drunk!

“Happy birthday, Airplane-juju,” he says.

“Bro, bro, thank you for my party,” Shang Qinghua says. “I love you, bro.”

“Bro, I love you.”

Luo Binghe honks loudly. His eyes seem to glow red in the dark! Cucumber-bro snorts and scurries back to the car with a little wave.

“Bye!!”

Shang Qinghua waits until they peel off, and approaches the dojo’s door slowly. The lights are still on. He takes a deep breath, and tries about four times to get the key in the lock. Success!! He staggers in.

The lights in the practice room are on, so he stumbles in that direction. Music is playing very softly. He looks around and sees Mobei-Jun doing pull-ups in a cut-off t-shirt and sweats. Blinking, he thinks: wow, his king is really built like that, huh?

And then he quickly recovers, because his king skipped his birthday party for this?!?! Couldn’t even give him his present in person for this?!?!

“What are you doing?” he blurts out, annoyed and unable (unwilling) to hide it.

If Mobei-Jun is startled by his presence, he doesn’t show it. He simply lowers himself to the floor and turns to look at his lowly employee.

“Shang Qinghua,” he says.

“My king!!” the other man replies, walking forward very slowly so Mobei-Jun won’t realize how drunk he is. He thinks it works, until he sort of vaguely stumbles into his king and big hands catch him gently.

Mobei-Jun frowns. “Did you walk home like this?”

Home?

“No,” Shang Qinghua grumbles. “Junshang drove.”

“You’re very drunk,” his king observes.

Wow, so perceptive!! Give the man a cookie! Shang Qinghua rolls his eyes.

“It’s my birthday. I’m thirty, or did you forget?”

 “This one wished you a happy birthday today, and sent you a present,” he says. He looks adorably puzzled, and Shang Qinghua scowls. He wants to rub his king’s brow straight. “Did you not like it? Shang Qinghua mentioned—”

Mobei-Jun cuts himself off as Shang Qinghua pushes off of him. Stumbling backward a little, Shang Qinghua retrieves the hamster and his key from his pocket. He shoves them both at his king, who looks down at them briefly, and then up at the smaller man with an expression of devastated confusion.

“Do it,” Shang Qinghua says. “Put them. I’m too drunk.”

“Put…them?”

“Yes,” he confirms, making a hand motion that he hopes conveys his meaning.

Mobei-Jun’s expression clears, then, and he pops the hamster onto the keyring easily. He hands it back to Shang Qinghua.

“It’s me,” Shang Qinghua says, gesturing to the hamster. “It’s me.”

Mobei-Jun nods, eyes flicking over his face.

“My king,” Shang Qinghua says, scrubbing at his face. “My king, why didn’t you come tonight? This one was looking for you.”

The other man purses his lips. “This Mobei-Jun thought the invitation was just a courtesy. You see enough of this one at work, and he didn’t want to intrude on your time with your friends,” he says.

“Intrude?” Shang Qinghua shrieks. What sort of stupid excuse is that?! He pushes Mobei-Jun, and his king stumbles back obligingly, more amused than anything else. “What intrude? How can you intrude on my time with my friends if you’re one of them, my king?”

Mobei-Jun’s face does something complicated, then, and he steps closer. When he looks down at Shang Qinghua, they are so close that he needs to bend his neck to do so. This one swallows at the sudden proximity, staring up at his king, and the world seems to narrow down to the space between them.

“Are we friends, Shang Qinghua?” Mobei-Jun asks, his voice a low rumble.

This one practically hears a record scratch! “Are we not friends?!” he shrieks.

What the hell!! They spent practically every waking moment together! How can they not be friends, at least! Is his king being serious?!

“My king, what are you saying?!”

Mobei-Jun steps back, and sighs. “Never mind.” He sits down grumpily. “This one needs to stretch.”

He gets himself into a butterfly position.

Shang Qinghua slumps down to the floor, and then crawls over to his king. Feeling a little crazed, he decides it would be a good idea to climb onto his king’s back like a baby koala!! He wraps his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist.

“Shang Qinghua, what—”

“You didn’t come to this one’s party,” he pouts. “And now you say you are not even my friend??? My king is so mean.”

He lets his head slump onto Mobei-Jun’s shoulder.

“Stop being stupid,” his king says, trying to shove him off. But Shang Qinghua is still attached to him like a particularly stubborn barnacle! Once he gets a good grip, he is impossible to shake! “You’re drunk. Get off me.”

“Make me. Come on, Iceman!” He clings even tighter in a preemptory move. “Aren’t you a big MMA star now???”

Mobei-Jun laughs a little, and Shang Qinghua grins like a fool.

“Shang Qinghua,” the other man rumbles, “this one could crush you if he wanted to.”

Shang Qinghua swallows thickly.

“Do it, then,” he murmurs into the bigger man’s ear. His king shivers below him. “Crush this one.”

But instead of crushing him, Mobei-Jun grabs Shang Qinghua’s hands and simply falls to one side, bringing his human backpack with him. When he then shimmies onto his back, Shang Qinghua continues to cling to his side determinedly.

“I will stick to you like gum,” he states.

Mobei-Jun very quickly makes a liar out of him when he simply shoves him away, a giant hand planted on his chest, rolling the smaller man onto his back. Shang Qinghua squawks indignantly!

His king laughs, then, probably at how pathetic his little employee is, and lays back on the mats. He looks like he’s in a lovely hammock on a summer day, one hand behind his head, one on his stomach! This enrages Shang Qinghua even further!

“Hey!” he yells, climbing on top of Mobei-Jun, straddling him like he does when they are grappling. “Did you just push me on my birthday?? That’s—that’s not allowed—”

“Oh?” his king asks, lifting a brow.

“No, it’s—it’s not…” Shang Qinghua replies breathlessly, trailing off at the sight of his own small hand on his king’s stomach, next to the other man’s giant ones. He’s so small compared to Mobei-Jun. Usually the thought would make him anxious, but right now it’s just making heat pool low in his stomach.        

Mobei-Jun smiles easily, amused. “This one never said he would go easy on you, Shang Qinghua.”

This one ignores him in favor of staring at their hands. He grabs one of Mobei-Jun’s and places it palm-to-palm with his own.

“You have big hands, my king,” he says, a little dazed. His own fingers are a whole inch shorter than Mobei-Jun’s! “Wow.”

The other man is staring up at him, eyes dark and intense.

They stay that way a moment, touching, like there is nothing and no one else besides each other. Shang Qinghua swallows, feeling unsteady.

Bringing his other hand forward, his king says, “Both.”

Shang Qinghua obeys, pressing his other hand against Mobei-Jun’s. He inhales sharply at the image.

His king crooks the tips of his fingers down, then, so that they enfold the tips of Shang Qinghua’s. He repeats the motion, and there is something so tender about it that Shang Qinghua thinks he might scream. When he looks down, he sees Mobei-Jun watching the movement of his own fingers intently, eyes glassy.

Shang Qinghua shifts, pants getting uncomfortably tight, and tries to disguise the hot-cold arousal that flashes through him as a drunken wobble. Shang Qinghua wants. He wants so much. The thought hits him like a fucking truck. He’s thought people were attractive before, in a passive sort of way, people on TV, strangers on the street, but he’s never—never wanted, not like this. Never thought, Get closer. Touch me. Because that would imply that he thinks he deserves things like that.  

Feeling a little out of control, he shifts backward. Something in him thrums to life, and he exhales shakily. Mobei-Jun must have heard that, and this one looks down and shuts his eyes in embarrassment. Don’t kill this lowly one!! He is only human!! Their hands are touching! What is he supposed to do?!

Mobei-Jun sits up suddenly, breaking their connection. Shang Qinghua, now in his king’s lap, looks up in alarm. Their faces are very close together, but Mobei-Jun quickly looks down, swallowing thickly.

“You’re drunk,” he says.

“Sorry,” Shang Qinghua breathes, going to climb off his king.

He is stopped by Mobei-Jun’s hand on his back. The other hand grabs Shang Qinghua’s, and his king peers down at it curiously.

“Is this…someone’s number?” he asks quietly.

“Oh!” Shang Qinghua squeaks, embarrassed. “No—s’just—Ning Yingying, from An Ding, she keeps on trying to set me up with her cousin, like, um, like a blind date?” He laughs nervously. “He’s a doctor, I guess, and very nice?”

“And this is his phone number?” Mobei-Jun’s voice is hard to read.

“Ye—yeah, I guess?” Shang Qinghua says, feeling vaguely guilty?

His king looks down at the phone number, already a little smudged, like he is considering something.

“Get up,” he says, whacking him on the back. Shang Qinghua, confused, doesn’t move. “Get up.”

“Okay, okay!” the smaller man says, flustered.

He gets to his feet, wobbly and perplexed, and his king grabs his hand and drags him to the bathroom. Suddenly, his palm is shoved under the sink, and Mobei-Jun is scrubbing at the blue ink scrawled across it.

After a moment, the number is nothing but a blur of blue ink. Shang Qinghua stares, horrified. He blinks, hard, and then looks up at his king, waiting for an explanation. The other man is inspecting Shang Qinghua’s hand, seeming satisfied.

“Good,” is all he says, before waving Shang Qinghua up towards the apartment. “You can have this one’s bed tonight and I’ll sleep in the tent. Let’s go.”

Shang Qinghua, still confused, but getting too sleepy to do much about it, simply staggers along behind Mobei-Jun. “No offense, my king, but that’s really stupid. You’re rich so I know your bed is big enough for the two of us.”

 “No.”

Shang Qinghua fumbles at the first stair up to the apartment, catching himself on his hands, and decides that he will just stay there. This is his home now!!

“C’mon,” he slurs into the floor. “I won’t molest you, I promise. This very respectful one will keep his hands to himself.”

“Stop talking.”

“Can’t seem to, my king.”

Mobei-Jun comes back down the stairs to where Shang Qinghua is slumped, and hooks his arms under his employee’s armpits. They were in this situation far too frequently! Shang Qinghua is dragged, unceremoniously, up the stairs. At the landing, he slaps Mobei-Jun away. He wants to use his newly-improved key!!

But he doesn’t get the chance. Mobei-Jun opens the door with his own key and more or less kicks his employee through it.

“Alright, alright!” Shang Qinghua yells, getting up slowly, swaying a little. “This one doesn’t need to be shoved around. He is fine!”

Mobei-Jun raises an eloquent brow, and stalks off to his bedroom. Shang Qinghua follows silently, grinning sleepily to himself at the idea of seeing where his king sleeps!

It’s much as he expected: sleek, dark, masculine, boring.

“Stay here,” Mobei-Jun says. “Don’t move. This one needs to lock up.”

While waiting, Shang Qinghua begins to get ready to go to bed: he first untucks his shirt and begins to work on the buttons. He’s getting to that phase of post-drunk exhaustion. He’ll be asleep and snoring within moments.

A few minutes pass. Mobei-Jun is still gone.

Feeling strangely sad and small all of the sudden, Shang Qinghua flops backward against the pillows. His king’s bed is very plush, with high thread-count sheets. It feels like a giant cloud, and Shang Qinghua wants to die there!

He looks up at the ceiling and thinks: I am thirty today, and I am still alone.

He closes his eyes against the feeling. Being maudlin wouldn’t help anything. He is in his king’s bed, in his king’s apartment! The thought makes him smile.   

Remembering his task, he starts on his trousers. His belt is a particularly difficult challenge!!

Suddenly, he feels a cool hand on his own, over his belt buckle. Prying his eyes open, he sees Mobei-Jun hovering over him with a pinched expression.

“Where’ve you been, my king?” Shang Qinghua mumbles.

“Had to lock up.”

“Hmm.”

 Mobei-Jun shoves his hands away and undoes the buckle. Shang Qinghua’s breath goes a little ragged, and he lifts his head only to slam it backward into the bed. He’s being pushed too far!! Is there no mercy?!

“This one needs pajamas,” he mumbles.

“Sleep naked,” his king says flatly.

Scandalized, Shang Qinghua gasps. “My king! What sort of thing is that to say?!”

Though he can’t see his king’s face, he can hear his eye-roll.

Mobei-Jun returns a moment later with a small pile of clothes. Shang Qinghua undoes the button and zip of his jeans and shoves them down his legs before kicking them off the rest of the way. He is tired, and frustrated, and he kind of wants to cry. Wordlessly, he sits up and shoves his shirt off, leaving himself only in boxers and socks. Pawing through the pile of clothes dully, he selects a big navy-blue sweater (Mobei-Jun’s big navy-blue sweater, his brain supplies evilly) and puts it on. It smells like laundry detergent and cool mint, and of course his king would coordinate his scents like that!!

“My king,” Shang Qinghua says. “My king.”

“What.”

Mobei-Jun sits down on the edge of the bed, and gently eases Shang Qinghua backward. This one lets him, because he is too exhausted to do otherwise.

(He is thirty today, and he is still alone.)

Shang Qinghua grabs one of his king’s hands, and tugs at it like a child.

“Stay. Come on. Stay.”

He doesn’t want to sleep by himself in Mobei-Jun’s bed. What would be the point, if his king wasn’t there, too?!

The bigger man looks at him, then, eyes alight like they had been in the cramped little tent. They flick over Shang Qinghua’s face curiously. He inhales and exhales deeply through his nose.

Finally, he says, “Fine.”

Shang Qinghua grins!!! His king is so kind!!!

Brusquely, Mobei-Jun lifts the blankets and covers them both. 

“Now go to sleep,” he orders, punctuating this by reaching up and turning the lamp off.

Blinking in the darkness, Shang Qinghua snuggles up against his king’s warmth. Mobei-Jun goes very silent and tense, and turns his back to him. Shang Qinghua, disappointed, shrinks away guiltily.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Sorry, sorry, my king.”

He is really pushing his luck. He should know better.

A moment passes, and Shang Qinghua’s eyes begin to adjust.

“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun says from the darkness. The other man can make out the outline of his nose, now. He must have turned onto his back once more.

“Yes, my king?”

Mobei-Jun turns on his side, then, to face the other man. He is suddenly very close in the dim of the room, and Shang Qinghua stares. He blinks once, hard, and then goes back to staring blearily.

“Don’t go on that date,” his king says, voice calm and even and somehow entreating.  His expression is steady and earnest as he returns the other man’s gaze.

“But…why?” Shang Qinghua asks, glancing down at the palm the number was written on. 

His king’s eyes narrow. “Are you so attached to this doctor whose name you don’t even know?”

“No, my king, of course not…” he laughs.

“Then…just don’t. Stay here with this Mobei-Jun. Stay here with me.”

What is he talking about?! This one already practically lives at the dojo!

“O—Okay, my king.”

Satisfied, Mobei-Jun nods. “Good.”

Shang Qinghua watches in confusion as his king turns his back to him once more! What the hell, my king!! What just happened??? You can’t just say things like that and then turn around!!!!

But then, right as he’s opening his mouth to object, three things happen:

Mobei-Jun slots his body against Shang Qinghua’s, so they are basically spooning!!

He grabs Shang Qinghua’s arm and drapes it over his side!!

He holds Shang Qinghua’s hand tight against his chest!!

This lowly one is left in utter shock! Glad of the warmth and closeness, and too tired to hedge around it, he presses himself closer, letting his cheek rest on the broadness of his king’s back. He can’t believe his king is a little spoon!! This is the best birthday Shang Qinghua’s ever had!!!!!

“Better?” comes the low rumble of Mobei-Jun’s voice.

“Hmm!” Shang Qinghua says, letting his eyes fall shut in satisfaction. Much better, he thinks. Much, much better.

***

Shang Qinghua wakes up half on top of Mobei-Jun, head curled on his chest, leg thrown in between his king’s muscled thighs. The bigger man is breathing heavily and evenly, face perfect and pristine in sleep. His hand is curled around this one’s shoulder. Shang Qinghua feels warm and satisfied and safe.

Predictably, because he is a mere mortal in the face of Mobei-Jun’s divine perfection, this one has drooled lightly on his king’s t-shirt! Just a little! A cute, adorable little drool! He just closes his mouth and snuggles in further. Look at all this Platonic Touching! Ms. Therapist, eat your heart out!!!

He shifts, and is a little taken aback at the hardness he feels against his thigh where it is pressed against the junction of Mobei-Jun’s legs, and that’s—that’s definitely a cock! That is definitely Mobei-Jun’s stupidly large cock! His eyes widen.

He goes to roll off his king slightly, though he is tempted to stay, to allow himself to just be held in his king’s arms—like he is Mobei-Jun’s, like he belongs in his bed, like he deserves something so lovely. But he can’t. This—the warmth and comfort of Mobei-Jun’s body wrapped around his—isn’t really his to have, and he knows it.

As he moves, though, Mobei-Jun makes a little grumbling noise, and follows him! Shang Qinghua, who had rolled over to show his king his back, now finds himself enfolded even further into his embrace! He’s the little spoon now! Panic spikes momentarily as Mobei-Jun presses his whole body—morning-hard cock included—against Shang Qinghua’s, and throws the band of his arm across him. But this one tries to breathe through it! He is safe! He is not drunk! He can get out any time he wants to!

The surprising fact that Shang Qinghua had been drunk, and had voluntarily gone to see a man who was much larger than him, had gone alone, and had then more or less begged said man to sleep in the same bed as him (yikes!!!!) floats through his mind. In the past, the only man he’d ever in a million years feel comfortable being drunk around alone was Cucumber-bro! And maybe Luo Binghe, because he is strictly Shen Yuan-sexual!!!

His eyes begin to drowse shut despite himself. Mobei-Jun’s breath stutters across Shang Qinghua’s neck, strangely cool, and the smaller man shivers. He presses further back against the too-much embrace, and his king responds by splaying one giant hand across Shang Qinghua’s stomach. It is too nice to be real!!!

The next time Shang Qinghua wakes up, he is alone, wrapped up like a burrito in Mobei-Jun’s blankets. He peers around drowsily, and noises from the kitchen confirm that his king had not, in fact, killed himself in shame for snuggling his lowly employee!

This might mean, however, that he blames Shang Qinghua! Which would be very bad! Very bad indeed!! Eyes wide, Shang Qinghua throws the covers off and runs to the bathroom! Maybe his king would be angry with him for barging in here last night, forcing him to sleep in the same bed, and then snuggling with him??? Shang Qinghua splashes water on his face in an attempt to stop panicking. Who had started the spooning? Had it been him? He thinks. Technically, yes, it had been him, but he had backed off and Mobei-Jun had pulled him back! Okay! Great! He wasn’t going to be murdered!!

Sinking to the ground, he tries to remember what happened! He looks down at his hand, at the smudge of blue ink, and blinks stupidly! Had that really happened??? Don’t go on that date. Stay here, with this one. What did it mean?? Why is his king acting like this? The dojo wouldn’t fall apart if Shang Qinghua spends an hour or two outside of it!! Does his king want Shang Qinghua to die a virgin?!?! Argh!!

A knock on the door startles him.

“What are you doing in there?” Mobei-Jun asks brusquely. “There’s breakfast.”

He says this as if, somehow, Shang Qinghua ought to have magically divined this fact minutes ago, and that, furthermore, he is wasting Mobei-Jun’s time just by existing!

Sighing, this one exits the bathroom, suddenly very aware that he’s only wearing Mobei-Jun’s sweater which reaches his mid-thigh, his boxers underneath, and a pair of socks with orange slices on them. It looks like he has no pants on! His king has returned to the kitchen, thankfully, so Shang Qinghua can look for his shirt and jeans in peace, but he still cannot find them! 

Resigning himself to his fate, he creeps into the kitchen warily, unsure what to expect from his king.

He walks in and says, strangled, “Good morning.”

Mobei-Jun looks up at him from where he is leaning against the counter, sipping from a mug. His eyes widen minutely, and flicker over Shang Qinghua’s outfit. He swallows his mouthful slowly, and then gestures wordlessly to the table, which is laden with food.

“Where are my clothes?” Shang Qinghua asks shrinkingly.

“They had two bottles’ worth of beer on them,” Mobei-Jun explains, tone crisp, pulling up a chair. “This one will have them dry-cleaned.”

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua says, running over to the table. “You don’t have to do that!”

Mobei-Jun simply places a steamed bun on the other man’s plate and turns to his own food. Clearly, it is not up for debate!

Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait!! A steamed bun??? Where was the wheatgrass? The egg-white? The chicken-infused shake??? What’s going on here???

Shang Qinghua narrows his eyes, and decides that he is too hungover to question it. He takes a bite into the steamed bun and moans loudly. Mobei-Jun turns to him in alarm, you tiao forgotten in one hand.

“Did my king make these?” Shang Qinghua asks around a mouthful.

Mobei-Jun looks disgusted! “Is this one Luo Binghe?” he says in reply. He pauses. “This is to apologize for not coming to your party.”

Shang Qinghua sobs a little. “How are you so perfect, my king? Why are you like this? I swear to God.” He thinks he has tears in his eyes.

Mobei-Jun continues to watch him with faint disgust.

Shang Qinghua swallows heavily, because he’d shoved way too much in his mouth at once, and chases it with some tea that has been kindly placed at his elbow. He then considers the tragic perfection of the situation with clear eyes. This is what he wants. Mobei-Jun. All morning-soft. Breakfast, wearing his lover’s clothes. It’s everything he’s never allowed himself to wish for. His face goes all ugly and soft, he can feel it, but he just shoves another bun in his mouth in the hopes of choking to death!

Okay. Fine. Fine. He will admit it! He is interested in Mobei-Jun. Obviously, you may say, with an eye roll!!! But it’s not just about his ice-cut abs anymore, or even his hands that could probably palm Shang Qinghua’s head! He’s interested interested. Mobei-Jun in his mind is no longer the Unattainable Ice Princess, he is…his friend? He has shape and depth. He’s not very good at talking, but Shang Qinghua does enough of that for the both of them! And he’s kind of violent sometimes, but never with Shang Qinghua (unless he asks???). He takes care of Shang Qinghua in his own sort of emotionally stunted way! He listens to his rants about characterization and foreshadowing! This one likes being around him. He likes how Mobei-Jun makes him want to do better. He likes how, to Mobei-Jun, he is intelligent and useful!

Now that he knows what he wants, though, would he ever be capable of having it? Did he even have the ability to be in a relationship? His sex issues were only one particular variety of flower in his absolute garden of emotional deficiencies! When he’d first told Ms. Therapist about his family, she’d had a field day!! He writes erotica on the internet for money!!  He has precisely one (1) friend!! He can go on like this!!! He is way too messed up to be capable of being with someone!!

It crosses his mind to be upset that his king almost certainly doesn’t return his affections, because why would he, but it seems clear to Shang Qinghua that this is probably for the best! This one would mess things up somehow! His king would realize what a lunatic he is after the fourth panic attack, or whatever, and would pack it in! Shang Qinghua is, on the face of it, not all that much closer to being able to have sex with anyone, and surely his king would grow tired of waiting!! Surely anyone would grow tired of waiting!! What did this lowly one have to offer that would be worth it??

Shang Qinghua is looking at Mobei-Jun with moon eyes, and he knows it. His king keeps on kind of glaring at him in mildly angry confusion, like he can sense the stupidity of his employee’s emotions but doesn’t know how he’s doing it.

This one sighs. Why is something he wants so close, but still so out of his reach?! Why is he emotionally twelve?! Damn Ms. Therapist and her Platonic Touching!! He was better off when he was isolated completely!! He didn’t have to deal with things like this while he was mainlining Red Bull and writing PIV scenes!! The Realness of the situation is so completely uncalled for!! He wants to go back to when the only emotional stimuli he received was from books and TV, where all he’d have to do was watch the next episode to see the conflict resolved, to watch the couple ride off happily into the sunset! He hates reality!!

“Why’s that?” Mobei-Jun asks off-handedly, now scrolling through his phone.

Shang Qinghua really needs, like, a lobotomy or something. Why does he have no filter between his brain and his mouth?!

When he doesn’t answer immediately, his king glances in his direction.

Eventually, Shang Qinghua answers, “There’s no narrative structure.”

Mobei-Jun wrinkles his nose, and doesn’t reply. He hates it when Shang Qinghua talks about narrative structure.

This one sighs heavily, and stares down at his tea. “And even if there was, I wouldn’t be the one writing the ending.” 

His king looks at him, considering, but still doesn’t speak.

***

Later that day, replaying the feeling of Mobei-Jun’s cock pressed up against him, Shang Qinghua realizes something, and nearly falls out of his desk chair: he’d felt that before. He’d felt that several times before. The slight bulge against his hip or stomach, while grappling with Mobei-Jun? Not actually a sports cup or something, but the man’s actual, real cock, that is actually, really half-hard! What the fuck???? What the actual fuck??? His king gets hard while they grapple??? The thought seems completely contrary to reality!!!

 How had Shang Qinghua not realized? Perhaps because the idea of Mobei-Jun of being aroused by this one, even in a purely friction-based, biologically-mandated way, seems impossible! Perhaps because he has zero-point-zero-zero experience to draw from! Perhaps because he had always been so busy making sure he wasn’t getting hard! Aah!!!! This one is losing his mind!!

Obviously, Shang Qinghua had known that he was attracted to Mobei-Jun (because have you seen his king?!). But this is different. This is—overwhelming. Shang Qinghua wonders if this is how women with hysteria felt in the 1800s or whatever, because, honestly, he’s falling apart at the seams! He thinks about it all night!

They have not talked about any of what happened the night of his birthday, because, honestly, what had happened??? Hardly anything! Instead, they just continued as they have been! And so it is that Shang Qinghua’s evenings are spent with his compression pants getting the test of a lifetime and his sanity slowly deteriorating!!

Monday, for example: they practice butterfly guard, and it is the first time Shang Qinghua feels the bulge while knowing what it was! It’s pressing against him, and oh my shitting fuck. That is a cock! That is definitely Mobei-Jun’s cock against his ass! Half-hard and enormous??? Hello, 911??? Emergency!!!! This one is panicking!!! How had he not realized???

Days go by like this!! But he can’t say anything about it. He’s gotten the sense from the culture at the dojo that, if you get hard while grappling, you just don’t talk about it. If your partner gets hard, you double don’t talk about it! You pretend you don’t even know dicks exist! That seems to be the set of rules Mobei-Jun is following, too; though, shortly after Shang Qinghua begins to feel it, he usually pulls away and ends the session. Shang Qinghua tries to have no reaction at all, what cock, whose cock, what do you mean cock, but maybe he gives away his anxiety anyway. He doesn’t mind, exactly, he’s just confused! And aroused! He doesn’t want to make Mobei-Jun uncomfortable for what is a simple physiological reaction.

So, yeah. The cock thing. The cock thing! (That’s what he’s calling it now, because calling it Mobei-Jun’s enormous half-hard cock constantly brushing against my ass just seems too on the nose!!!!) The cock thing does something to Shang Qinghua, flips some switch, because, over the next few days, the floodgates of his libido seem to open, and refuse to close.

It’s the following Thursday when Shang Qinghua finally loses it. He’s in his king’s shower, fresh off a grappling session that had involved Mobei-Jun taking his back, his chest hard and broad behind him, his half-hard cock pressed up against him. He’d had to physically stop himself from shifting back against it, because his brain was fried with arousal! Thankfully, his king had had the presence of mind to call it a night, cheeks slightly flushed! Shang Qinghua had been so embarrassed!!

In the shower, though, all alone, he lets his mind wander. He lets himself imagine grinding back into his king, big hands travelling down to undo his gi and pinch at his nipples, hot breath on his neck. He runs his hands over his body experimentally, heart racing.

Was he really—was he really going to do this? Really going to jerk off to a real thing that had happened to him? To Mobei-Jun? In Mobei-Jun’s shower? He lets out a soft little noise at the thought, teasing his hands over his chest and stomach. This is more real than he’d ever allowed himself before. This is skirting close to an edge he’d never let himself look over.

Shang Qinghua wraps a hand around himself, hissing at how good it feels. He thinks of how his king would tease him a little, laughing softly at how easy this one is while he presses kisses along his neck. He snaps open the bottle of mint conditioner with fumbling hands, squeezing a bit out and spreading it along his now very hard cock. The smell hits him with physical force, and he has to grit his teeth against the desperate little noises that rise in his throat as a result. He braces himself against the wall, imagining how his king’s hair would feel under his hands, how it would smell if he buried his nose into it.

He’s panting now, stroking himself mercilessly, without quarter, just how he imagines Mobei-Jun would. Big hands. Press him against a wall. Get him so incoherent that he can’t overthink everything. Kiss him until he can’t see straight. Oh, that would be so nice, that would be so, so nice. Yes, yes, yes—just like that—he’s gonna come, my king, my king, please—

Shang Qinghua comes all over his hand, a broken little hitching noise escaping despite his best efforts to stay quiet. Breathing ragged, he lets his head fall forward and hit the wall with a quiet thunk.

He goes online and orders himself a dildo that night.

When it comes a few days later, he fucks himself so hard with it, lost in images of Mobei-Jun rawing him on the mats, that he physically can’t stand up for twenty minutes! The following morning, he winces every time he sits down. Gongyi Xiao looks at him all day with an expression of exquisite concern! Why do things like this always happen to Shang Qinghua!!

The most embarrassing part is this: when he finally comes, it’s not to his licentious fantasies! It’s to the sound of his king’s voice saying, “Stay. Stay here with me.”

Oh, this one is in so much trouble!!!

Chapter Text

Mobei-Jun’s cheeks are slightly flushed as he exits the dojo’s bathroom, and his temples are wet, like he’s just splashed water on his face. Shang Qinghua, looking up from his stretches, says, “Are you okay, my king?”

“Hot,” he answers.

Shang Qinghua frowns. His king keeps the temperature in the dojo roughly that of an arctic igloo. What the hell is he talking about, hot?

“Remember baby spider?” Mobei-Jun asks, kneeling down next to the smaller man. Shang Qinghua nods. “Today, you’ll use it on this one.”

They’d gone over baby spider in the past: Shang Qinghua sat in the v of Mobei-Jun’s thighs as he lay on his back, and his king would use his legs to counter Shang Qinghua’s arms. This time, it would be Mobei-Jun kneeling between Shang Qinghua’s spread legs.

The thought makes him a little nervous. He no longer gets anxious when Mobei-Jun is in dominant positions, though he’d still never been on top of Shang Qinghua, but his king did tend to back off very quickly, probably thinking that Shang Qinghua is extra wary after the Du Bi incident. Baby spider would require longer spans of Mobei-Jun looming over his lowly employee!

They get into position. Shang Qinghua is flat on his back, hardly daring to breathe, and Mobei-Jun is sat between his spread legs.

“Closer,” he demands. This one scoots an infinitesimal bit forward. His king rolls his eyes, grabs under Shang Qinghua’s knees, and yanks, bringing their bodies flush! Alarmed, the smaller man yelps! Very smooth, Shang Qinghua! Very smooth!

Mobei-Jun’s hands come to rest on Shang Qinghua’s hips, looking almost comically large! This one blinks, mind completely blank. What are they doing again?

“Go ahead, then,” his king murmurs. “No rush.”

Shang Qinghua isn’t sure if he’s being sarcastic or not! It doesn’t matter! Okay. Okay. Baby spider. Little baby spider. What are the steps for that? Yes. Wrists first!

He grabs his king’s wrists and pulls them down, and then he bends his knees, placing his feet on Mobei-Jun’s thighs. This forces his king’s arms wide and his chest forward, until his shoulders are hovering over Shang Qinghua. Then, he takes his right foot and presses it into his king’s bicep, forcing him into an off-kilter posture.

“Good,” Mobei-Jun says. “Now roll.”

Letting his left leg fall open, Shang Qinghua pushes with his right leg and pulls with his left arm, rolling them over until he winds up on top of his king, pinning his wrists to the mat above his head!

Mobei-Jun is staring up at him, chest rising and falling against Shang Qinghua.

“Good,” he says again, and this one can feel the vibration of his voice. “Very good.”

 Shang Qinghua just stares down at him, this strong, powerful man, spread out beneath him like a present, and swallows hard. He feels overheated and strange, and takes a shuddering breath.

“How would you get out of something like this, my king?” he asks with numb lips. He wants this man to destroy him! God, he would do anything his king said. Anything.

Mobei-Jun licks his lips, and Shang Qinghua can’t help but track it with his eyes.

In a split second, he’s knocked forward by his king’s knee, lifted by a bridge, and rolled back and then sideways. Mobei-Jun climbs on top of him, then, pinning him under his body. Shang Qinghua, breathless and dazed, arousal swooping low in his stomach, becomes painfully aware of how terrifyingly dangerous his king is, how, if Mobei-Jun so chose, he could do whatever he wanted to his weak little employee! The truth of it hits him like a ton of bricks, and he can feel a dull sort of panic knocking on the door. It’s strange, though—even as his mind tries to fly away like it did when Du Bi had him in an armlock, this time it doesn’t. The insistent weight of Mobei-Jun on top of him keeps pulling him down, somehow, grounding him like a too-heavy anchor. Like his body is the only thing keeping Shang Qinghua tied to earth.

Before he can even move to tap out, before he can even process what this all means, his king very quickly gets off of him, looking a bit like a kicked dog! Shang Qinghua sits up, blinking, breathing heavily. He did ask. Why did he always have to ask???

“I have to pee,” he blurts out, getting up and heading towards the bathroom.

Once inside, he falters a bit. What had just happened?? Mobei-Jun had been on top of him. And he’d…been aroused by it??? He tries to process the crowded sensations of the last few moments: the weight of Mobei-Jun’s body on his. The roller-coaster flip of his stomach. The dark, dark eyes watching him. The beat of his pulse in his ears. What did it mean, the double-edged sword of his reaction? Arousal, or panic? They shared so many traits Shang Qinghua isn’t sure what he’d been feeling!

He had been relieved when his king had rolled off of him, so perhaps that meant he was still reacting to the empty memory of ten years ago? And yet: there had been some kind of warmth spreading in his limbs, slow and sweet, like he’d been waiting for that moment, waiting to be caught, all this time. Sitting up, he’d felt hollow and cold. Perhaps his blind panic had been just from the sheer overwhelming novelty of it all: being so close to someone he wanted, so close he could feel the rise and fall of their chest, the warm weight of them draped over him—

He swallows thicky, resisting the urge to stick his entire head under the faucet. He can’t keep on doing this! He’s going to lose his mind! If Mobei-Jun knew what he was thinking—fuck, he can’t even consider how angry he’d be! Argh! This is all Cucumber-bro’s fault!! Why had he ever listened to that crazy lunatic??? Just because he’s living out his wildest self-insert dreams, doesn’t mean this one would! This is Shang Qinghua they’re talking about, here!

He splashes some water on his face and glares at himself in the mirror.

“Get it together,” he mutters, jabbing a finger at his own reflection. “Get it together!”

Exhaling deeply, he opens the door and returns to the mats.

Mobei-Jun is laying down where Shang Qinghua had left him, arm draped over his eyes, knees up.

Immediately forgetting his own issues, this one asks, voice small, “My king?”

“What.”

“Are you…okay?”

“Yes.”

A beat passes, and his king sits up and peers at him curiously.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?”

Shang Qinghua flushes. “Sick? What sick? Haha! Does this one look sick to you, my king?”

Mobei-Jun narrows his eyes, annoyed.

“It’s just hot, haha!” Shang Qinghua says. “Just got overheated there for a minute.”

“Hmm,” his king says. He stands. “That’s enough for tonight. Let’s take a break.”

Despite the fact that they’d only just begun, this one agrees readily, glad to move back into safe territory. Things were getting dangerous.

***

It’s Sunday the following day, his day off, and Shang Qinghua decides that he’s going to make a night of it.

Though he had initially been disturbed and confused by Mobei-Jun on top of him, the more he thought about it, the more he felt like it was simply something he needed to explore further. The more he thought about it, the more he found himself idly imagining scenarios wherein his king would be on top of him, pressing him down, the weight of him comforting instead of terrifying. He wouldn’t do anything Shang Qinghua didn’t want, he’d just look down at him with those dark, dark eyes, and tell him that he was doing so well. Shang Qinghua’s eyes flutter closed just thinking about it.

He—he thinks he might…want that. He thinks he might be able to do something like that without panicking. It’s kind of a terrifying thought, and Shang Qinghua is exhilarated by it. Things that he’d always wanted, but never thought he could manage, are suddenly within sight.

So. Making a night of things. Letting himself luxuriate in these exciting new feelings. Light some candles, play some music, read the new chapter of a fellow author’s dumb xianxia webnovel that had promised lots of [BEEP] and even some [BEEP]!! The whole nine yards!! Shang Qinghua deserves it for coming so far with his mission!!

He lays down in bed on a towel with all his supplies: dildo, lube, phone. He opens the tab to the story and starts reading. It’s sort of a forbidden love thing, the twink prince falling in love with a very large blacksmith who had saved his life. This chapter consists of some very confusing throne sex! He’s not sure the positions the author is describing are physically possible, and trying and failing to imagine them is putting him off. He skips to the next chapter, and it’s ridiculous but pleasing papapa to break a curse! Yes! Just what he wanted!

The prince is railed into incoherency by his cursed paramour, who needs to come twenty times or some stupid number like that. He laughs a few times as he reads, but, ultimately, Shang Qinghua is a sucker for shit like this, and he’s pretty well in the mood by the chapter’s end. He starts to finger himself in a sort of perfunctory way, more about getting to the dildo than anything else. Images begin to invade his mind, though: fingers much longer and bigger than his own, hot eyes roaming over his skin, blue earrings tinkling gently as his king moves above him. Pretty soon, he’s panting and twisting on three fingers, flushed all the way down his chest, and he decides that he’s ready to move on. Using a lot of lube, trying to be careful and gentle in order to spare Gongyi Xiao some worry, he presses the dildo inside him bit by bit. He gasps loudly at the glide and drag of it inside him, thankful he’d put on music to cover any noise.

Going slow at first, on his back, he works the dildo in and out. His wrists start hurting pretty quickly, though, so he shifts to a kneeling position. Just like when he’s on top of his king during training. The thought is so keenly arousing that he has to stop for a moment, head in his hands, and catch his breath. He starts moving again, imagining large hands on his ass, pulling him wide open, dragging him along the cock inside him.

Whimpering, he pictures Mobei-Jun, arranging him in whatever shape he wanted, broad chest pressed down against him, flattening him against the mats until all he could feel or see or hear is his king. Nothing but him. No noise, no panic, no anxiety, just Mobei-Jun’s weight like a blanket, and pleasure like a fist tightening in his spine.

God, he’d really needed this, he’d really, really needed this—fuck, my king, please please please—

He comes very quickly after that, clenching down hard on the dildo, stroking himself roughly with one hand. His mouth opens but he doesn’t make a sound. He’s shaking as he falls back on his bed, muscles fluttering around the dildo, and he curls himself into a tight ball, waiting for the aftershocks to subside. 

 A few moments later, he very gently pulls it out. He’s still panting, and he smiles a little to himself. That had been nice!! Usually after masturbating, especially with a toy, he feels a bit pathetic, but, tonight, it’s like his orgasm has cooled in his veins to something glowing and bright!! He feels good! He does a big stretch, humming contentedly, very pleased with how far he’s come! Shang Qinghua is…proud of himself. It’s a strange, foreign feeling. He is trying to hold onto it.

***

Mobei-Jun is pacing along the office when Shang Qinghua arrives at work the next morning. His, er, activities had kept him up the night before, and his ass had hurt too much to bike, so he is late!

He’d arrived at the same time as Gongyi Xiao, who also biked to work. The jiujitsu instructor had seen him come in on foot, late, and had given him a puzzled look.

“Ah, this one was too sore to bike!” he’d blurted out. Gongyi Xiao’s face had gone concerned, but Shang Qinghua had just brushed past him! What is his deal anyway!!

“Sorry I’m late, my king!” he chirps. He finds it’s better to acknowledge it. One time he’d tried to slink in like nothing was wrong, and Mobei-Jun had glared at him all morning until he apologized!

Still a bit tired, he ignores how his king stops his pacing short and stares at him with wide eyes. What’s his deal?? This one simply starts to fish out his drinkable yogurt from his bag.

His king, looking like he’d seen a ghost, says, “Shang Qinghua.”

 “…yeah?”

Is there something on his face? Toothpaste? What?!

“This one didn’t think you’d come,” his king says. He pauses, starts towards Shang Qinghua, stops. “This one thought you’d…left.”

Shang Qinghua makes a face and scratches at his head. “What are you talking about, my king?” He pauses, and narrows his eyes, jabbing a finger towards Mobei-Jun. “If this is some sort of way of asking me to work Sundays, you can forget about it! This one has his limits! He needs to sleep, too!”

“Shang Qinghua,” his king repeats, in the same stupid tone, making that same stupid face. He could say this one’s name wistfully all he wants, he’s not giving up his one day off!!

“What?!” Shang Qinghua snaps. He sits down at his desk, winces slightly, tries to play it off, probably fails, and shoves a straw through the foil on top of his yogurt. Very smooth!

His king asks, “Would you like to go through some drills at lunchtime?” He pauses. “This one is too busy to train tonight, and our last session was cut short because—”

He blinks, but doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead he just looks at Shang Qinghua expectantly. His king is too busy tonight? Oh, that’s right, he had to shoot some ads for his upcoming match! This one had forgotten! He’d planned on simply not training at all today.

 “Uh, I mean, if my king is busy, you don’t have to—to do this just because—”

“This one would like to.”

His king’s voice and expression are steady and earnest. Shang Qinghua feels like a butterfly pinned behind glass. This one would like to, too.

They meet at noon. They are continuing to drill baby spider when Shang Qinghua has a sudden flash of himself that morning, waking up groggy, ass sore. He’d lightly touched his poor chrysanthemum, still a little loose and soft, and hissed at the feeling. Now, legs spread in front of Mobei-Jun, his stomach clenches with the idea that if his king wanted, he’d pull off Shang Qinghua’s clothes to find him stretched and ready, able to take a finger or two easily. So, so easily, they’d just slide in, and Mobei-Jun’s face as he realized—

“Sensei!” someone shrieks.

Gongyi Xiao had come back from picking up his lunch, and his expression is one of pure horror.

“You’re going to break Shang Qinghua! Let him rest!”

“What,” his king says flatly. He becomes annoyed when he doesn’t understand things.

“Let him rest!!” Gongyi Xiao says, stamping a foot. When Mobei-Jun simply blinks at him, sitting in Shang Qinghua’s guard, the smaller man’s legs wrapped around his waist, Gongyi Xiao groans and throws his hands up in the air. He trudges to the office.

Mobei-Jun looks down at the smaller man, eyes narrowed in confusion. “Shang Qinghua, what does he think this one is doing to you?” he asks.

“This one doesn’t know, my king, really!!”

“What sort of awful lies are you spreading about the big, bad Mobei-Jun?” his king asks, voice curving into something amused as he leans over his employee. “Tell this one, and he won’t punish you too harshly.”

“My king! My king, I’m—I’m not—!” this one squeaks, caught between laughter and terror! He begins to thrash a little, trying to get away from Mobei-Jun. His king is dangerous when he’s in a mood like this!

“Admit it, Shang Qinghua,” he demands, playfully angry, grabbing at the smaller man’s flailing limbs.

Shang Qinghua shakes his head, shoving at his king with his feet, beginning to laugh in earnest! Mobei-Jun pins the other man’s legs to his side and makes a very frightening face at him! He looks as though he will get it out of him some way or other! Shang Qinghua’s eyes widen, and, still laughing, he tries to retrieve his legs and scoot away.

His king responds by pulling, a vicious sort of glee in his eyes, and Shang Qinghua shrieks.

“No, have mercy, please!!” he laughs madly.

“This one has said many times that he won’t go easy on you,” the bigger man purrs, leaning over his prone employee, eyes alive with amusement even though the rest of his face is serious.

Somehow, Shang Qinghua is yanked sideways, and Mobei-Jun moves so that they are in juji gatame. The smaller man is on his back, perpendicular to his king, who is also lying down. He has this one’s arm tucked close to his chest, and the crook of his knee is around this one’s neck! It is terrifying, but also kind of hilarious, still!

“My king, please!!” Shang Qinghua says, still laughing his ass off. The muscular leg resting on his neck is hovering slightly, so there is no pressure. The one on his chest, however, is all full-weight, pinning him down.

“Just tell me, Shang Qinghua, and this can all be over,” Mobei-Jun replies, and this one can hear the smile in his voice!

Someone else enters the dojo, just then. His king sits up, releasing Shang Qinghua’s arm and shifting his bum forward, but when Shang Qinghua goes to get up, the leg on his chest bears down.

“Ugh!” he says, still cracking up, face red with laughter!

“Junshang,” Mobei-Jun says, shifting into a more comfortable position, leaning back on his hands. Oh, god, it’s Luo Binghe!! The thought makes Shang Qinghua’s laughter dull a little, but then he remembers that Luo Binghe already thinks he’s the world’s most pathetic creature, and nothing he can do will worsen that opinion. You can’t get lower than rock bottom, he says to himself reassuringly!

“You’re being nice to Shang Qinghua, aren’t you, Iceman? Sensei won’t be happy if he hears otherwise,” Luo Binghe says, bored.

“And I suppose you’ll report back to him?” Mobei-Jun drawls in reply.

“Correct.”

They continue to talk for a few minutes, as if Shang Qinghua isn’t in the room! He tries to shift again, but his king uses his legs to keep him in place! All this one can do is lay there as Mobei-Jun talks casually about changes in Junshang’s teaching schedule! He will be taking over Gongyi Xiao’s afternoon classes so the jiujitsu instructor can work with his king! Who cares!

Shang Qinghua turns his head to look at Mobei-Jun, and his king’s expression is too innocently focused to be entirely genuine. He keeps on stealing looks at Shang Qinghua beneath him, reminding him of a mischievous child. This one is going to murder him once he stops laughing!

Finally, after Luo Binghe has left, his king lets him up. His eyes are gleaming, amused, and Shang Qinghua wants to bottle up that expression and sip at it slowly all his life! What the hell!!

Wisely refraining from saying this aloud, though, this one simply smacks his king on his very built chest! His king grabs his hand and keeps it there.

 “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me self-defense?” Shang Qinghua asks grouchily, tugging to get his hand back, and failing. “This one needs to be defended from you, my king!”

“What do you mean?” Mobei-Jun is all fake innocence. “You could’ve tapped out that whole time,” he says, demonstrating the double-tap with Shang Qinghua’s hand on his chest, and then letting it go.

Shang Qinghua holds his newly-released hand against his own chest protectively.

“Was my king born evil,” he whispers to it, “or did he become evil?”

Mobei-Jun answers by palming Shang Qinghua’s face and shoving, sending him rolling back onto the mats. Then he snorts with amusement. What was that for, my king?!!!

Shang Qinghua remains there, limbs sprawled, acting very hard done by even though the shove hadn’t hurt at all. He senses more than sees Mobei-Jun lie down next to him, too, in a similar shape.

“I didn’t know Gongyi Xiao was helping with your training,” Shang Qinghua says thoughtfully.

“This one needs to improve his ground game,” Mobei-Jun says.

“My king has been working too hard lately.” Shang Qinghua rolls onto one side, leaning on his elbow, so he can look at Mobei-Jun.

The bigger man moves one hand to cushion his head, staring up at the ceiling with a stormy expression. “This one has been feeling a lot of pressure to prove that his early wins weren’t just luck.”

Shang Qinghua frowns. “You win because you are the best,” he says. “Everyone knows this.”

Mobei-Jun smiles slightly, before rolling over to mirror him.

“Shang Qinghua looks tired, too,” he says quietly. One of his hands reaches up to the smaller man’s face, and he traces the undereye circles he finds there with a thumb. My king! No need to be pointing out this one’s many flaws! He knows he has bags! Have some compassion!!

But his king just continues to roll the pad of his thumb over Shang Qinghua’s eyes, unaware of his panicked inner monologue. He’s staring at his lowly employee! This one simply swallows, unable to look away!

“He needs to take better care of himself,” Mobei-Jun says.

“This one is okay. Just couldn’t sleep last night,” Shang Qinghua protests. If his king only knew why!! This one would freeze under the power of his glare! “The dojo has been keeping this one busy, too.”

His king lowers his hand and rolls back to his previous position. He says, in a heavy voice, “Shang Qinghua taking care of himself is more important.”

This one can only gaze over at Mobei-Jun softly. What good had he done, he wonders, that he had someone like his king caring for him?

***

Mobei-Jun has traded out his silver hoops for little dangling spikes. Shang Qinghua notes this in a desperate attempt to keep his rational brain online amidst an onslaught of sensory experiences!

“Remember, Shang Qinghua, you can tap out anytime you feel uncomfortable.”

His king’s voice is crisp and professional. A very large contrast to the position they are currently in: Shang Qinghua flat on the mat, chest heaving with exertion, Mobei-Jun’s full weight on top on him, and not showing any signs of moving! The one time this had happened, now a few weeks ago, his king had seemed to be joking, and he’d rolled off almost immediately.

Shang Qinghua had not stopped thinking of it since.

This time it seems different. His king is settled across Shang Qinghua’s hips, all easy and in control, like a wolf mauling its live prey. His hands are settled near his employee’s neck, miming a real attack. Despite the aggressive position, however, his eyes are watchful and almost…soft?

Shang Qinghua is breathing deeply through it. Just a few months ago, he would already be spiraling down into the depths of a panic attack, swallowed up by memories of a stale-smelling comforter being pressed against his mouth, but things have changed. Shang Qinghua considers this as he watches Mobei-Jun demonstrate how he should be placing his hands. He can’t seem to focus on them right now. He knows that, technically, he is supposed to be trying to get out from under his king. But all he can think about is how he wants to be closer.

You can tap out anytime you feel uncomfortable.

Shang Qinghua wasn’t comfortable, not by a mile, but uncomfortable isn’t really the right word, either. He feels—wound up. Loose. Like a rubber band about to be snapped. Like a soft length of silk. Overwhelmed and wanting more.

His body under Mobei-Jun’s is blooming, like a flower given sun after a long period of darkness. The air feels hot and sticky and humid, and Shang Qinghua has the strangest thought that, if not for the weight of Mobei-Jun’s body on his own, he’d fly apart into a million pieces. He only wishes that his king would get closer, and stroke his hair, murmur something into ear. He only wishes that he could feel Mobei-Jun’s cool skin against his own superheated chest.

Lean over, he wants to command his king. Give me your full weight. Hold me down until I forget everything else.

He blinks. Is this…what desire feels like? Desire unimpeded by fear? For so long, he thought that he was incapable of this. He thought that any time anyone got close to him, he would vibrate out of his skin or curl up into his shell. He never imagined, not even when he’d accepted Ms. Therapist’s Platonic Touching mission, that he would ever really get to feel this. It’s just not in the cards for me, he used to think, drafting some new plot line where his OTT son would have to deflower some hapless, large-breasted enchantress. He could accept that.

But now, trapped under Mobei-Jun’s stupidly muscular thighs, his helpless, hopeless little desire seems, impossibly, in reach. He can get close to someone. He is able to get close to someone. He is not so irreparably broken that he is incapable of even that.

Stupidly, he begins to cry, soft little wet noises, because he’s an idiot, because it’s his king on top of him, and he’s never felt anything like this before. He could have what he wanted, if only he were brave enough to reach for it.

The thought dawns bright in his mind, happy tears still running down his face. Everything feels vivid and too-bright, drenched in sun, snow melting into a clear mountain stream. Shang Qinghua has too many metaphors for the way he’s feeling, and, even so, he doesn’t think he could do it justice! Overwhelmed, he hiccups through tears.

“Tap out,” his king demands, looking annoyed. He sees him crying, clearly, and thinks that his pathetic employee is a weakling!

“No,” Shang Qinghua chokes out. “No, no, this one is fine! Keep going!”

His king leans over him menacingly, and Shang Qinghua’s breath hitches. When his perfect, immaculate face is an inch or so away, he says, “Tap. Out.” He sits up. “You’re crying. Acting like you’re okay won’t help anything.”

“I’m fine!” Shang Qinghua protests, smiling wetly even as more and more soft tears begin to leak from his eyes. He can’t seem to stop crying! He can’t seem to stop smiling! “I’m not crying, it’s just…it’s just sweat! I’m just…sweating a lot, that’s it!”

His king glares down at him. “This one was unaware humans could sweat from their eyes.”

Shang Qinghua punches out a manic laugh. “My king, haha!” He sobs a little. This is amazing!! He wants to feel this way forever!! “Don’t worry, I’m okay!”

“You are not okay, Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun says, jaw clenched tightly. He gets off of his crying employee and sits on his knees next to him, looking down at the mats like he is thinking very hard.

Shang Qinghua, for his part, bites back a sad little whimper of protest! When he looks at his king’s face, though, he sits up in alarm. Something is wrong, and he watches with concerned eyes.

“This one wishes you would stop pretending,” Mobei-Jun says, voice tight with some kind of emotion.

This lowly one swallows. “Stop…pretending?”

Pretending what? Could he…could he know? Could he know about Shang Qinghua’s desires? He’d thought that the combination of anxiety and compression pants had been enough, but he couldn’t mask his jagged breathing, his blown-out pupils, his shaking hands. This one had kind of been delighting in his king’s purely biological reaction to their closeness, which he supposes might make Mobei-Jun uncomfortable! If Shang Qinghua were a specimen of such beauty, and a little cretin like himself was constantly pressing up against him, he would probably be upset, too!!

Mobei-Jun glances over at Shang Qinghua, and then looks down again. He is clearly measuring his words. Preparing to tell his employee to fuck off, probably! Fair enough!

“If even after all this time…” Mobei-Jun says, “if after all this time, you are still scared of this one, why do you stay?”

Shang Qinghua stares, dumbfounded. No offense, my king, but what the hell are you talking about???

“This Mobei-Jun has tried to be respectful, tried to mind your boundaries, but when you refuse to tell him the truth about what happened to you, and pretend that everything is okay no matter what, how can he know where these boundaries are?”

His king is staring at him, gaze intense and steady. Shang Qinghua feels like he has just been blasted with a stun-gun. Is he—is he talking about—?

“Wha—what?” Shang Qinghua says, voice shaking. How did he—when did he—? This one never imagined—he never imagined that this was what his king was talking about. “What are you saying?”

His king’s eyes narrow. “Stop it. Stop pretending.”

Shang Qinghua’s heart is thumping so loudly in his ears he almost cannot hear his king speak. He considers continuing to try and play dumb, anyway, because—because he had never, never wanted Mobei-Jun to know about this. He had never wanted him to look at Shang Qinghua and see that night, that fucking night. He can stand his king’s contempt for just about anything, but not that night. This is something deeper. He doesn’t think he can bear for Mobei-Jun’s sharp eyes to look upon this.

Embarrassment and shame writhe in Shang Qinghua’s chest.

“Did—did Shen Yuan tell you?”

His king stares at him a moment, and when he speaks, his voice is hard. “How stupid do you think this one is, Shang Qinghua?”

Not Cucumber-bro, then. He should have known.

Shang Qinghua nods, pressing a shaking hand to his lips. “Ah. Okay. Just figured it out, then.” He draws his knees up and wraps his arms around them to try and hide the tremors coursing through him. “I guess this one didn’t realize that it’s so obvious that anyone can see,” he says, bitterness creeping unbidden into his words.

Mobei-Jun regards him flatly. “This one never said it was obvious.”

“Then h-how did you—”

“When Du Bi was on top of you,” he answers, eyes faraway, “you looked like you had gone somewhere else.”

Shang Qinghua’s head bows, then, as he begins to cry once more. This time, it is not because he can feel everything opening up in front of him. It is because he can feel everything crashing down around him.

Mobei-Jun speaks again. “This one is left to wonder why, after all this time, Shang Qinghua has not told him any of what happened.” He pauses. Shang Qinghua cannot see his king’s face, and he’s not sure he wants to. “Did you imagine that this Mobei-Jun would…make fun of you? Blame you?”

“It’s none of your business,” Shang Qinghua grits out, not even looking up. He just wants to disappear into himself, to go very, very far away and never come back to Junshang. He’d built something here, and now it’s ruined. Why does Mobei-Jun have to push like this?

“None of my business?!” his king barks. Shang Qinghua looks up, alarmed. “You had this one throwing you around the mats, putting you into submission holds, and you say that this is none of his business?!”

Shang Qinghua is still crying, silent, hands wringing anxiously.

Mobei-Jun’s voice, when he speaks again, is softer, but still upset.

“If you had panicked and lost control, you might have hurt yourself. This one might have hurt you accidentally.” His king pauses, breathing hard in his anger. He looks down. “You put yourself into a situation where you could have been badly injured, Shang Qinghua.”

“I’m—I’m sorry, my king. I didn’t—realize.”

Mobei-Jun doesn’t speak, doesn’t move for a moment. His hands are clenched into fists at his side.

“Do you think this one enjoys Shang Qinghua being so afraid of him?” he asks quietly.

This one tries to smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. “My king, you actively cultivate my fear, what are you talking about?!” he jokes lamely. It comes out all wrong.

Mobei-Jun glares at him, clearly unimpressed.

Shang Qinghua just wants to run away. He cannot believe that this is happening.

“Look, it doesn’t even matter, my king! I’m okay! What happened with Du Bi won’t happen again, don’t worry!” he protests. “It’s not that big of a deal!”

“Shang Qinghua,” his king says icily, clearly running out of patience.  

Backed into a corner, this one can feel himself begin to shut down. All he can think of is how to escape this, how to run away from Mobei-Jun and the wounds he seems to be insisting on ripping open.

But—but—he had felt so good just a few minutes ago—

Voice jagged as piece of broken glass, Shang Qinghua asks, “So, what? What is it you want from me?” He looks down, and the words well up in his chest and throat like acid. “To—embarrass me? Because, really,” his voice cracks, “well done, I must say—”

“This Mobei-Jun doesn’t want to embarrass you,” his king says, impatiently. “There is nothing for Shang Qinghua to be embarrassed about.”

This one snorts derisively. Spoken like someone strong enough to never have been forced to do something they didn’t want to do.

“Don’t say that.”

“This one will say what he pleases. Shang Qinghua has nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Stop it.”

“All this Mobei-Jun wants is for you to explain yourself,” the bigger man says. “This one wants you to talk about it with him, not…hide it like it’s some shameful thing.”

Talk—? Talk about it?!

Panic bubbles up in Shang Qinghua’s chest, then, blocking his windpipe and pressing down on his chest.

“No, no, no,” he’s saying, shaking his head rapidly. “No way.”

“Just so this one knows what to avoid—”

“I said, no,” Shang Qinghua spits. He scrambles to his feet. He needs to get out of here. He needs—he needs to get away from Mobei-Jun, away from the dojo, away from all of this. He runs to the bathroom and locks the door behind him, feeling a bit like he might be sick.

His king doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand what he’s asking. He can’t. He wants Shang Qinghua to talkabout this? To reveal the ugliest moment in his life to Mobei-Jun, who he only ever wants to give his best to? To open himself up to those same questions he’d been asked all those years ago, the same questions he still asks himself every day? Why did you drink so much? Are you sure you didn’t lead him on? Why didn’t you do anything? Did you even try to stop him?

 What if his king says something like, well, maybe it was a misunderstanding. You weren’t clear enough. Are men supposed to be mind readers? Or, even worse: just because you regretted it the morning after doesn’t mean it was assault. Were you trying to get back at him for rejecting you or something? Why would someone like him go after someone like you?

Shang Qinghua remembers the looks, and the whispers. All those words have been flying around in his head for ten years, sometimes to the point where he had begun to doubt his own memory of that night, and he had finally, finally been getting to a place where they were fading. Shang Qinghua doesn’t think he could live if he hears his king questioning him like that.

He doesn’t think he could live if his king knew everything. Because worst of all, at the very bottom, small and fragile, the truth of it is this: Shang Qinghua hadn’t really tried. He’d said no a few times, but when it had become clear that nobody had been listening, he’d just gone…frozen. He hadn’t fought back. He’d hardly even made a noise. How could someone as strong as Mobei-Jun ever understand that? How could anyone understand that?

Shang Qinghua hangs his head. Everything is ruined. Everything is spoiled. He can’t handle this. He isn’t equipped to deal with this. He just wants everything to stop.

Things were better before he’d come to Junshang. Well, maybe not better, but certainly easier. Not so—real. Not so heart-punching. He had done what he had to do, and he had gotten by. But ever since he’d met Mobei-Jun, things had become so different. 

Shang Qinghua gets up, and his feet take him, unsteady, to the office so he can gather up his things. Mobei-Jun watches him, eyes wide, as if he doesn’t dare to interfere. Good! This one is grateful. He will—he will go back to his little cave as if none of this had ever happened, and he will be the more peaceful for it. He will detach himself from all this—all this living, and exist like a monk, instead.

As he shoves all his things from his desk into a little box, he thinks of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. When Chow Yun-Fat left Wudan Mountain, where he’d been in deep, solitary meditation, that’s when all his troubles had begun. It is safer to be alone. Safer to be isolated.

Mobei-Jun is blocking the office door when he goes to exit, staring particularly at the little potted succulent in his employee’s hand.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?”

Shang Qinghua clutches his box to his chest protectively. “I can’t—” he sighs, “I can’t do this anymore. Please find someone else to be your little dog.”

Mobei-Jun’s eyes widen, and he grips tightly to the door frame with one hand.

“This isn’t a judo match, Shang Qinghua,” he seethes. “You can’t just tap out whenever things get difficult.”

“Let me go,” Shang Qinghua grits out, staring at the floor.

“No.”

Shang Qinghua’s head whips up. “What, are you going to keep me here against my will? Force me?”

Mobei-Jun, his expression murderous, almost panting with anger, glares at him. He lowers his hand from the door frame slowly, and moves to one side.

“Go ahead, then,” he says venomously.

As Shang Qinghua moves past, a muscle in his king’s jaw jumps. His feet guide him towards the exit even though he can barely see for the tears in his eyes. He is nearly out the door when his king speaks again.

“Shang Qinghua,” he says.

This one stops dead in his tracks in front of the door, a puppet on a string, but he does not turn around.

 “Don’t leave,” Mobei-Jun pleads behind him. “Please, don’t leave.” He pauses. “Hit this one. Yell at him. Please. Just stay. Just stay, Shang Qinghua.”

This one squeezes his eyes tight against the burn of his tears, and walks out the door. 

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua is still crying when he knocks on Ning Yingying’s door. She owes him for the approximately thirty million shifts he’d covered for her, and she knows it! He remembers well how Mobei-Jun had sought him out as his own apartment when he didn’t show up for work, and Shen Yuan’s is way too obvious. He just wants to disappear for a little while, stick his head in the sand until all his problems go away.

My king, why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone??? Why did you have to press the way you did, try to open doors that Shang Qinghua has kept firmly closed for so long???

Ning Yingying opens the door and lets him in with a concerned expression.

“I hope this isn’t because of the blind date I tried to send you on?” she asks quietly, eyes large. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone! I’m sorry!”

Shang Qinghua shakes his head. “No. No. This is all my fault.”

He doesn’t bother to correct her further than that, because it’s really the only part that matters: Shang Qinghua has ruined everything!!! Why is he like this???

“Is he…dangerous?” she asks. “Why are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding so much as…removing myself someplace I can’t be found?”

Ning Yingying frowns, but doesn’t press further.

“Well. Make yourself at home. I have a shift in twenty minutes.”

Shang Qinghua is glad when she leaves shortly after, mainly so he can wail at full volume in the shower! He doesn’t know how he went from crying euphoric tears with the length of his king’s body hard against his, to crying despairing ones alone in Ning Yingying’s ugly little apartment!!! He had been so happy! But now, thinking of the look of betrayal on Mobei-Jun’s face, replaying how he’d quietly asked him not to leave—his heart aches. Why had he ever thought drama was fun and interesting??? It is awful!!!

His king had known all this time. Since Du Bi. The idea kind of makes Shang Qinghua want to puke! He’d thought this one was afraid of him! Well, Shang Qinghua kind of is, but!!! Not like that! Not really! He’s mainly afraid of the stupid things that tend to come out of his mouth when he’s around Mobei-Jun! He’s afraid that his king will be able to divine his feelings, and laugh in his stupid pathetic face!! Aah!!

Someone as powerful and self-assured as his king must think he is so weak and useless. He’s had to tip-toe around Shang Qinghua all this time. This one is so ashamed he wants to stay in Ning Yingying’s shower until he melts into a puddle of goo!! He thinks of all the times that his king was gentle with him, all the ways he clearly put Shang Qinghua’s comfort first while they were training, and cringes. Looking back, this one had been foolish to think that Mobei-Jun was so gentle and hands-off with all his students. He’d once seen him put Sha Hualing, who was seven, into a fiercer arm bar than he’d ever put Shang Qinghua in!!

Not only that, his king has known that this one has been lying to him all this time, too! Do you think this one is stupid? He’d been angry, and you know what: fair! Shang Qinghua deserves his king’s anger for that. This one had never expected anything less. All the same, he couldn’t regret it. He had only been protecting himself.  No one could understand how badly he just wants to bury it all away, never look at it again. No one could understand the shame he gets lost in whenever he thinks about it. Why couldn’t he have stopped it? Why couldn’t he just get over it? Why has he been so weak as to allow it to poison any potential relationships? Ten years! Ten fucking years, and he still—he still couldn’t—

Shang Qinghua bows his head under the spray, and lets himself cry. He’d been doing well. He’d been doing really well.

He starts crying again as he puts his clothes back on: he’d been wearing Mobei-Jun’s sweater that day. Folding himself down onto Ning Yingying’s couch, letting the tears leak from his eyes, he presses his nose into the sweater and inhales deeply. It’s better this way. He will repeat it to himself, another mantra, until it is true.

***

Morning breaks, and Shang Qinghua just lays on the couch. He doesn’t even have any plot ideas, even though he’d promised his readers an update days ago. All he can do is blink dully at the ceiling.

His king has called and texted him about forty times. He very bravely ignores them all! He texts Shen Yuan where he is, and they agree to meet that weekend. Until then, Shang Qinghua thinks, he would just lay here! He makes a liar of himself when he trudges down to nearby convenience store to buy some instant ramen. He has a bite or two and then leaves it. It doesn’t taste as good as it used to. He’d grown too accustomed to his king’s cooking, now, he supposes. He’d grown too accustomed to his king, period.

The days wear on. He writes a little here and there, soulless sex scenes, or clear projections where his protagonist is borderline cruel to lying harem members, disloyal servants, etc., etc. They deserve it for being unfaithful to his son!! He vomits out the words and posts them without any editing. Every night, he does his exercises and goes through his forms. He uses Ning Yingying’s civil service exam study guides as weights.

Saturday, he meets Shen Yuan.

“He lost,” Cucumber-bro says.

Shang Qinghua nearly spits out his drink. “What?!”

His king had had a match Friday. Shang Qinghua had been telling himself and telling himself that he shouldn’t watch it, but he was itching to know what happened. How the glorious Mobei-Jun had bested his opponent this time!

But he had…lost. Against some random, no-name upstart! What the fuck??? He scowls as he thinks about how fucking gleeful Linguang-Jun probably is about it. He hates that guy!!!

The thought of Linguang-Jun, and all that he’d done to his king, brings up the uncomfortable fact that his king knows exactly what it’s like to feel small, to feel powerless. Shang Qinghua shoves it away. That doesn’t mean anything. It certainly doesn’t mean he would understand the truth.

Cucumber-bro interrupts his thoughts. “He’s been hanging around your place. Your super almost had him arrested.”

Shang Qinghua slaps a hand over his mouth. My king!!! What are you doing!!! Don’t you know that if you get arrested, they’ll kick you out of this league, too???

He’s probably upset because the smooth operation of the dojo depends on Shang Qinghua. Junshang is likely falling to bits as they speak. No one would know how to unjam the printer! They would forget to bribe the janitor service with lemon squares!

“He even came to see me. He said, ‘Shang Qinghua belongs at the dojo,’” his bro continues, leaning back and sipping at his drink.

Shang Qinghua scowls. He knew it! Mobei-Jun only wants his little slave back!!

Cucumber-bro frowns, more confused than empathetic. Perhaps with a smidge of disgusted! “Are you upset or something?”

“Upset?!” he shrieks, before correcting his volume and repeating, “What upset? Who? This Shang Qinghua? He can eat ramen whenever he wants! Even the microwave kind! Why would he be upset?”

Shen Yuan makes a face at him again, but ultimately shrugs it off with an “Okay, whatever.” He pauses. “What…exactly happened?”

“He…figured out…you know,” Shang Qinghua grumbles, making vague hand gestures.

“Oh,” Cucumber-bro says, confused. “This one is pretty sure he’s known for a while.”

“What?! You knew he knew??”

“Yeah, he asked what happened,” his bro says. “This one told him to ask you.”

Shang Qinghua blinks, confused.  

“He was mad?” Shen Yuan asks.

“Kind of? Mainly he—he was trying to get me to talk about it?”

“What the fuck,” his bro says. “What do you mean by that.”

“Well, he. He wanted to know which submissions to avoid? So this one wouldn’t…panic. He was…telling this one he has nothing to be ashamed of.”

As he says it aloud to his bro, it doesn’t sound so bad.

“Oh,” Cucumber-bro says, quietly, blinking. “Oh.” He pauses, and frowns, ceasing his fanning before looking at his friend thoughtfully. “Airplane-juju, why did you leave? Why didn’t you work things out with him? This one thought things were good.”

“They were,” Shang Qinghua says quietly, shoulders slumped. “But Mobei-Jun kept on saying it, kept on saying that this one has nothing to be ashamed of.” He pauses, swallowing heavily against tears. “And this one…this one really cannot agree.”

When he returns to Ning Yingying’s that night, he finds a replay of Mobei-Jun’s match on his phone, ignoring more missed calls from the man. He’s about to press play when he panics and throws the phone across the room like it’s burned him! He shouldn’t watch this. If he watches this, if he sees his king, he’ll definitely want to go back. He’ll forget all his reasons for staying away. He’ll forget how complicated everything is.

An hour passes. Shang Qinghua tries to write something, but he keeps on closing his document and toggling to the internet instead. It’s like he can’t stop himself!! Another hour passes. He has a few beers to try and get the writing juices flowing. Before he knows it, he has found the replay again!!

Fuck it.

He presses play.

He watches with bated breath as his king squares up. His opponent is some idiot with a rattail! Mobei-Jun really does look awful, or at least, as awful as someone with a face sculpted by the gods can look. His eyes are puffy and his skin seems sallow and tight. He must not be sleeping!

Shang Qinghua watches, eyes wide, as the exploratory phase of the match ends and the real plays begin. He feels sick! Mobei-Jun is clearly much slower than usual, and even the hits he is managing to get seem to lack their typical power.

His king is pinned shortly after, but doesn’t seem to react much, hardly even tries to get up, until his opponent punches him in the face. My king, what are you doing?! Get up!! Get up!! After the first hit, he finally gets protective hands up, and manages to escape from the submission hold. A cut has opened above his brow, and his face has gone red with blood.

The first round ends. The commentators, like Shang Qinghua, are confused at such a poor showing from Iceman. When the camera pans to Mobei-Jun, his eyes look dull and unfocused. The cleaned cut above his eyes is livid and red. Shang Qinghua really doesn’t want to watch anymore, but forces himself to continue.

The second round, Mobei-Jun takes even more of a beating. He just can’t seem to get the upper hand. His footwork is slow and sloppy, and his throws barely seem to affect his opponent. Shang Qinghua can hardly watch, peeking out from behind his hands.

Finally, in the third round, when his king is having the life choked out of him, Shang Qinghua slams his laptop shut. That’s enough! That’s enough! It’s all his fault! He cries and cries into his pillow, feeling horribly guilty. Even if he wanted to go back to dojo, he could never face Mobei-Jun after this. And Mobei-Jun would certainly never allow him back.

***

A week passes during which Shang Qinghua does nothing but wallow in guilt, and sniff sadly at his king’s sweater. He feels lost and confused without Mobei-Jun yelling directions at him! Without some sort of purpose to devote himself to, Shang Qinghua is adrift and uninspired.

A part of him expects some kind of divine vision to strike him in his holy isolation, to tell him what to do, where to go, but the only things that strikes him after a few days is how bad he smells! He is suddenly reminded that he has not taken a shower since his first night here! He has subsisted primarily on water from the sink and some offerings from An Ding that Ning Yingying has left by the couch in pity, like he were some sort of melancholy god she has to appease!!

One day, he supposes that he should be looking for a job or something, but all he does is watch Ip Man 1 and 2,and cry some more. Donnie Yen is awesome, but even he cannot distract Shang Qinghua from his troubles. Ah, when not even his go-to films are letting him escape, what can he do???

All he can think of is his king’s face during that match, unfocused and strange, covered in blood. He’d been hurt, and Shang Qinghua isn’t so self-effacing that he couldn’t see it was his fault. It makes him feel a bit sick, actually, how badly he’d fucked up. How much his king must be suffering. Perhaps it would make him see that he is well rid of Shang Qinghua. It would be better that way.

Better for both of them. Now Shang Qinghua could really focus on his writing, and his mission to lose his virginity. His king had been taking up so much of his time, all his pushing and shoving, all his stay with this one, Shang Qinghua. He’d find a new job, and he would scrape by the way he’d always done! It’s a good thing he hadn’t exhausted all his connections when trying to resurrect his king’s career, or he’d be in trouble! And when Mobei-Jun finally realized that Shang Qinghua wasn’t worth the trouble, he’d go back to his little studio. This fever dream would end, like it had never happened at all.

He watches Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon three times in a row one day, too dazed even to cry, surrounded by a mountain of food wrappers and crushed cans.

After he comes down from Wudan Mountain, Michelle Yeoh asks Chow Yun-Fat, “You were enlightened?”

“No,” he answers. “I didn't feel the bliss of enlightenment. Instead...I was surrounded by an endless sorrow. I couldn’t bear it. I broke off my meditation.”

Shang Qinghua stares at the screen, and wonders if he hasn’t misunderstood something terribly.

Suddenly, he pauses the movie, and gets up. He has a craving for some homemade ramen.

Ning Yingying comes home that night with wide eyes, which turn round with concern at Shang Qinghua, who is on the floor in the kitchen, crying! He’d tried to make himself some homemade noodles, but they just didn’t come out as chewy and light as Mobei-Jun’s did!!

“What,” he says to her, as if what he is doing is normal.

She blinks. “Your…your Mobei-Jun came into An Ding today. He looked…bad.”

Shang Qinghua simply hugs the colander he is holding closer.

“By the way,” she says, grinning a little, “He’s gorgeous, well done!” Her smile drops when Shang Qinghua’s face starts to contort into a sob again. “Anyway, he looked like he hadn’t slept, or something. He asked if I’d seen you, if you were doing okay.” She pauses. “Is this some kind of mafia thing? Have you faked your death or something?”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t respond, save for a confused frown. Mobei-Jun is looking for him even at An Ding?! Why hasn’t he given up yet!! It’s been days!!

“He said he’s been looking for you all over, and that he was worried,” Ning Yingying continues.  

“He’s been…he’s been looking for this one?”

Even after what he’d done? After he’d made it clear that he is a traumatized, insane lunatic? Doesn’t his king know that he shouldn’t get on a sinking ship??? This is a truly alarming amount of patience being shown for this one’s tomfoolery!!! Shang Qinghua doesn’t understand!!!!

He sits up on the floor, his chest an icy pond cracking under the image of his king searching all over town for him. 

“I guess he tried calling a bunch, but you haven’t been picking up?” Ning Yingying says, with a hint of admonishment. Fair enough!

Blinking, he reaches into his pocket for his phone. His king has left him about forty voice messages, and he picks the latest one. He wants to—he wants to hear Mobei-Jun’s voice again. Ning Yingying leaves, starts to bustle around in the other room.

“Shang Qinghua,” his king says in his ear. This one very nearly starts crying at that alone, his name said in Mobei-Jun’s rumbly voice! “Shang Qinghua. This one shouldn’t have pushed. He won’t ask you any more questions, just please—just come home. Come home.”  

Emotion like a hard ball clogs Shang Qinghua’s throat. The message ends with Mobei-Jun sighing.

“Come…home?” Shang Qinghua croaks out loud, blinking, placing his phone on the ground in a daze.

Come home? He is so confused. His king, who had been so angry, so vehement, had simply given up, and told him to return home? No more questions. No more pushing. Just come home. Come home.

Shang Qinghua thinks, head in his hands, utterly distressed. What could his king have meant by that? Had he been trying to say that—that Junshang is this one’s home? (Shang Qinghua belongs at the dojo.) Could he possibly mean that he still wants Shang Qinghua to be part of his life? Whether or not he tells him what happened?

Is it that—is that his king doesn’t actually care? No, no, Mobei-Jun definitely cares what happened, at least insofar as it pertains to not harming Shang Qinghua further. (This Mobei-Jun has tried to mind your boundaries.) Is Shang Qinghua happy for that to be the case? Does he want his king to care about what happened to him? Yes, of course, he does, yes, but he also doesn’t want to be the little pathetic charity case, either!

He thinks of all the ways his king had been silently supporting him these last few months since Du Bi. He’d been helping him learn to defend himself, to stop panicking when he was down on the ground. He’d been so patient with him, but, at the same time, he hadn’t been treating him any differently, really. He’d still made him do endless push-ups, still depended on him to run the dojo and be his manager, still looked at him with same steady, serene gaze.

Perhaps—perhaps he’d let his past blind him to his king’s patience and care. Perhaps it is time for Shang Qinghua to be a little brave. Just a bit. It is time for him to stop running. He can’t let that night continue to dictate his life, not when the world had given him a chance like this. Not when the world had given him Mobei-Jun. He hopes that the other man could forgive him for being so slow to arrive at the present. He hopes that he could understand.

He thinks of the words his king had said to him, months ago now: If you want to cry, then cry. Only now does this one understand. He’d been asking Shang Qinghua, pleading with him, to share the burden. Shang Qinghua had been—had been drowning, and his king had been the only one to notice. And now, after having tasted what it was like to be close with Mobei-Jun, Shang Qinghua thinks for the first time that staying inside his little shell of silence and isolation might be far more painful than the unknown terrors awaiting him outside it. At least—at least his king would be there, extending his hand. Beckoning him home.

Abruptly, Shang Qinghua gets to his feet.

“I—have to go,” he blurts out. He isn’t even sure if Ning Yingying hears him, he just can’t—can’t stay away a moment longer. He rushes around the apartment, getting his things, and hits the pavement at a run, heading for Junshang.

He almost laughs to himself as he jogs lightly towards the dojo. His king has been looking for him for days and days! How could Shang Qinghua have left him, when he’d practically begged this one to stay? How could he have left his king to get hurt like that?

He is out of breath when he reaches the dojo, and crashes inside. The waiting room is empty except for Gongyi Xiao, who is drinking a vanilla frappe with an uncharacteristically stormy expression.

The jiujitsu instructor blinks up at him, and then says, relieved, “Oh, thank the heavens! You’re back, Shang Qinghua!”

He springs up, ignoring Shang Qinghua’s noises of confusion, and muscles him towards the practice room. A late class is being taught, and, as he enters, the entire room goes completely silent. All the students turn to look at him, and his king is standing stock-still at the front of the room, livid red wound over his eye, staring at Shang Qinghua like he is a ghost.

He is caught by Mobei-Jun’s dark gaze, unable to look away.

“Shang Qinghua,” he says, in quiet awe.

“My king,” this one replies, trying very hard not to cry.

They stare at each other a moment, unheeding of the students shifting uncomfortably around them.

“Uh, sensei…?”

Mobei-Jun blinks. “Everyone out!” he barks. “Out right now!”

“But sensei!”

His king glares daggers at the speaker, who immediately shuts up. The students begin to walk towards the exit, muttering to themselves.

“This class will be comped, haha!” Shang Qinghua assures them brightly, bowing to each student as they go. “Don’t worry! Junshang guarantee!!”

As the room slowly empties, Shang Qinghua begins to panic! How long ago was that message? What if his king had changed his mind? What if he is angry with Shang Qinghua for staying away so long? For making him run around looking for him? For making him lose his match? His expression is so intense that it is actually kind of hard to read???

Gongyi Xiao goes to leave, and Shang Qinghua grabs his arm.

“Wait, you don’t have to go, haha!” he tries, but the jiujitsu instructor slips away easily, an apologetic smile on his face.

This one gulps in the ensuing silence, and slowly turns to face his king. It is just him and Mobei-Jun. The air seems charged and dangerous, and his king is staring at him, clearly waiting for his lowly employee to speak first. Shang Qinghua starts forward, and then hesitates a few feet away from the bigger man. Mobei-Jun closes the distance even further, looking over Shang Qinghua with ice-chip eyes.

The tension builds too high, and Shang Qinghua suddenly launches himself forward, wrapping his king into a hug. “My king,” he murmurs into the flat plane of his chest. “This one is so, so sorry.”

Mobei-Jun is stiff as board at first, clearly shocked. It doesn’t bode well for Shang Qinghua.

“Please, please,” he begs, beginning to cry, “please forgive this one for leaving. Please let him come back.”

The ice around his king seems to melt at that, and he makes a little grumbling noise, wrapping his arms around his crying employee. Being hugged by him feels like being gently mauled by a very friendly bear! It feels like a promise! This one sobs a little at how nice it is! His king’s chin comes to rest on top of his head, so Shang Qinghua’s body is completely tucked into Mobei-Jun’s. Now that this one has started crying, he can’t seem to stop, so he sobs onto his king’s little pajamas while big hands rub his back soothingly. Mobei-Jun really should look into a second career as a body pillow!! Or a professional cuddler!! Why is he so good at this???

“There is nothing to forgive, Shang Qinghua,” his king rumbles. “This one was in the wrong as well.”

The smaller man surreptitiously wipes his snot on his king’s gi, and pulls back to look up at him. “I should never have left,” he says wetly. “It was so stupid, and my king got hurt—”

Mobei-Jun shakes his head minutely. “Forget that,” he orders simply. Still keeping their bodies pressed together, he raises a hand to smooth away hair from Shang Qinghua’s forehead, and frowns. “Where were you all this time? Where have you been living? This one was worried.”

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua sniffs pathetically. “With Ning Yingying? She works at the coffee shop. We are friends.” He buries his face in Mobei-Jun’s chest again, the heartbeat sure and strong and comforting. “It’s been—it’s been awful, my king,” he murmurs lowly, a little embarrassed of the sentiment, no matter how true it might be. 

Mobei-Jun wraps him up tightly again. “Yes,” he agrees. “Yes.”

They remain that way for some time, Shang Qinghua crying silently into his king’s chest, so happy that his king seems to be allowing him back into his life. When they break their embrace, Shang Qinghua finds one of Mobei-Jun’s hands and holds it, wanting some Platonic Touch to ground him.

“Let’s go up,” his king says. 

Shang Qinghua is led around by him, docile and quiet, as he locks up and turns off all the lights. They climb the stairs together, and Shang Qinghua digs his hamster-adorned key from his pocket and opens the lock himself. Mobei-Jun looks down at him with an expression that is hard to read.

“This one has been looking for that sweater,” he murmurs as they enter the apartment.

Shang Qinghua frowns, confused, and looks down at himself. He is, in fact, still wearing Mobei-Jun’s sweater from his birthday! How embarrassing! He’d hardly taken it off in the time he’d been gone!

“Oh,” he says blushing. He lets go of his king’s hand and begins to take it off. “I’m sorry, here—”

“No,” Mobei-Jun says, pulling the hem back down, but not letting go. “Shang Qinghua…may keep it.” He pauses, fingering the sweater thoughtfully. “Are you hungry?”

Shang Qinghua nods, feeling like a child.

“Take a shower,” his king commands. “This one will make you something.”

This one obeys, and takes a short shower. He emerges from the bathroom freshly washed and wearing his king’s sweater, his boxers, and his socks.

Mobei-Jun is sitting on the couch, which has been piled high with blankets. Two bowls of ramen are steaming in front of him! Is this heaven??? Shang Qinghua moans a little at the smell, and sits down next to Mobei-Jun.

“Thank you, my king!” he says. “This one hasn’t had ramen in ages!”

Mobei-Jun peers at him suspiciously.

“Really!” this one protests. He looks down. “The instant stuff isn’t nearly as good as this one remembers.” Leaning over his bowl, he begins eating. His king does, too. “You know, my king,” he continues around a mouthful of noodles, “I’ve been keeping up with all my exercises, and I do my forms every night.”

He glances over, and his king looks…proud, almost?

Shang Qinghua ducks his head, blushing, and tries to change the subject.

“How is the dojo?”

His king’s face drops into a grimace. “Awful.” He glares at Shang Qinghua and says, “My best employee disappeared one day.”

Shang Qinghua smiles sheepishly, mouth full of ramen.

He swallows and asks, “Can this one have his job back? I’ll go on a trial period, I’ll take lower wages, I’ll do whatever you want.”

Mobei-Jun rolls his eyes. “You were never off the payroll, idiot.”

This one grins like a fool! “My kiiiiing!”

“Shut up and eat.”

 Shang Qinghua giggles into his ramen, but obeys.

When he’s finished, he pushes the bowl away and leans back onto the couch, contented. He inhales and exhales deeply, a little sleepy from crying and eating so much, from the bone-deep relief he feels to be back. He is safe, and warm, and drowsy, belly full of noodles, wrapped in blankets in his king’s apartment. Nothing can hurt him here. The night seems to stretch and settle like a cat around him.

He looks at his king, who’d finished his food long ago and had simply been watching Shang Qinghua eat with a pleased expression on his face. What a strange man. Shang Qinghua had missed him so much. His king sits back, spreading his legs wide as he relaxes. He looks like he feels everything is right with the world, and maybe it is.

 “This one missed you,” Shang Qinghua tells his king dreamily. “This one missed you a lot.”

Their eyes meet, then, and Shang Qinghua is pretty sure he stops breathing. It’s like he’s been hit on the head with a blunt object. His king’s gaze is heavy and dark, hooded, as he stares at other man. All the air seems to have left the room, and everything is silent and still.

Mobei-Jun raises a hand, then, and slowly pats his thigh twice, spreading his legs a little wider.

“Come here, then,” he rumbles.

Shang Qinghua is momentarily transfixed by the sight of his king’s big hand on the inner slope of his spread thighs. Swallowing thickly, pulse pounding in his ears, he glances back up at Mobei-Jun as if his gaze were pulled by magnets. His lips part gently as he returns his king’s quiet regard. Vaguely, he wonders if this is how people feel when they are hypnotized, because, without even consciously making the decision to move, he finds himself crawling onto Mobei-Jun’s lap.

His king grabs his legs, and positions them comfortably across his own, so Shang Qinghua is seated on his thigh. He leans into Mobei-Jun, burying his face into his neck and inhaling deeply, relishing it when his king’s arms wrap around him again.

“This one missed you as well,” Mobei-Jun says, nose glancing the top of Shang Qinghua’s head.

Shang Qinghua’s eyes flutter shut. “I won’t leave,” he promises. “I won’t leave again.”

His king’s breath stutters out unevenly.

“Shang Qinghua better not,” he says grouchily, “or this one will break his legs.”

The smaller man laughs into his neck, but feels himself become pensive.

“There is nowhere else to go if Mobei-Jun is here,” he says quietly.

 A pleased hum vibrates from his king’s chest. “Hmm.”

***

With only a vague memory of moving there, Shang Qinghua wakes up in Mobei-Jun’s bed. He’s facing his king, wrapped up tightly in his embrace, arms bunched up against his chest. Like Mobei-Jun’s back is protecting him from some imaginary threat.

His king is awake, and staring at some point beyond Shang Qinghua’s head. This one blearily turns, realizing that Mobei-Jun is scrolling through his phone behind him.

“You could have woken this one up,” he says, embarrassed, squirming to get out of his embrace.

Mobei-Jun drops his phone and tightens his arms around Shang Qinghua, a sort of smug look on his face.

“You looked comfortable,” his king states flatly.

He releases Shang Qinghua then, and the smaller man shifts back and drinks him in.

How could someone wake up looking so beautiful?! His skin is glowing! The only spot is the gash above his eyebrow, which makes Shang Qinghua frown in consternation and remember why exactly he’s in his king’s bed.

With shaking hands, he reaches out and touches the vivid red mark very, very gently. He remembers his king’s voice as he said, Please. Just stay. Just stay, Shang Qinghua, and his face crumples a little, guilt flooding him all over again. His king just stares at him steadily.  

His expression makes Shang Qinghua want to tell him everything. To explain why, exactly, he left, which would require telling the whole sordid tale. But he owes his king that much, doesn’t he? And it’s only words, now, ten years later. It can’t hurt him anymore, and, if it does, perhaps a little pain would be worth it, for his king’s sake.

Mobei-Jun hadn’t asked, though, or shown any indication that he would again. On the contrary, he seemed quite content to let things go on as they had been! It is then that Shang Qinghua fully realizes, something that comes to him soft and unhurried, that he wants Mobei-Jun to know. He wants him to understand. He wants his king to know what’s on his mind. Of course, there is the possibility of—of maybe not receiving the reaction he wants, but he thinks he knows his king well enough by now, sees clear enough by now, to realize that will probably not be the case. It’s only a little brave. Only a little leap. One small enough even for this cowardly one to attempt.    

Ah, but how?? It’s different from when he’d told Ms. Therapist and Cucumber-bro. Ms. Therapist is someone who is paid to help him, trained for it. And as for Shen Yuan, well, Shang Qinghua hadn’t really meant to tell him at all. Afterwards, he’d fallen to his knees to apologize, drunk and ashamed of himself. He’d just wanted his bro to know that he hadn’t intended to say it. That it had just spilled out of him. His bro had been as peerless as ever, all choked up as he said, “This one is so sorry that happened to you, Airplane.” He’d mixed Shang Qinghua a fresh Red Bull and vodka, and they’d watched The 36^th Chamber of Shaolin.

This would be the first time he’d be purposefully telling someone who wasn’t paid to know these things. Someone he had a personal relationship with. While completely sober.

Shang Qinghua groans, half-dreading it, and shifts.

He realizes with a start that he’s hard against his king’s thigh!

Aaah!!!!!! No!!!! No!!! Abort abort abort!!!! He swats at Mobei-Jun’s chest until he is released with a grumble! He rolls onto his back and glares up at the ceiling, muttering to himself! God truly does play favorites, and Shang Qinghua is not one of them!!

He almost leaves the bed, almost chucks his grand plan to tell his king What Happened. Almost.

Blinking, he says, abruptly, “There are some things this one needs to tell you.”

Mobei-Jun, who had sat up at some point, grunts noncommittally. He’s rubbing at his face. When Shang Qinghua doesn’t elaborate immediately, he glances over at him.

Apparently picking up on something, Mobei-Jun says, feelingly, “Oh.” He pauses. “Breakfast first?”

Twenty minutes later, a very disappointed Shang Qinghua is holding a green smoothie in his hand. They are on the couch again. Mobei-Jun is chugging his.

Shang Qinghua grimaces, holds his nose, and does the same. When he’s done, he looks up to find his king looking at him expectantly, like he is about to give a school report. Shang Qinghua’s hands float, anxious, rubbing at his thighs, twisting at each other.

“Could you maybe—could you maybe not look at me?”

Mobei-Jun frowns. “Not…look at you?”

“Yeah, like—turn around, or something?”

His king seems confused, but obeys, moving himself to the floor and turning to one side. He’s sitting cross-legged, and he tilts his head in question, making his earrings tinkle gently.

“That’s—better. Thank you, my king.”

Shang Qinghua inhales deeply. Now that he’s here, about to tell the other man, he’s not sure if he can pull it off. But he owes it to Mobei-Jun, owes it to him to be honest—in fact, Shang Qinghua feels so far in his king’s debt, happily in his debt, that he can concede he probably owes the man far more than that.

“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun says evenly.

“Y—yes?”

He’s getting annoyed, probably. Wants him to get on with it! Believe me, my king, if this one could be done with it, he would be!!

“This one…pushed too hard. You don’t have to share anything. Just tell this one what to avoid on the mats and he will be happy.”

Shang Qinghua is grateful for the out, but cannot accept it.

“No, this one—this one wants to. It’s just—the forming sentences part he is having trouble with.” Mouth feeling dry, he says, “Let this one—let this one explain.”

His king is quiet.

Shang Qinghua’s blood is roaring in his ears, and he takes a deep breath.

Licking his lips, he says, voice small, “No one—” He pauses, swallowing. He starts again. “No one believed me.”

His king exhales.

“No one believed me,” Shang Qinghua repeats, feeling tears climb up his throat. He inhales and exhales deeply. He is trying not to cry. “He was…I was…” he says, voice trembling. He trips over every word he tries to say. “Oh, God,” he exhales shakily. Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he tries again. “He was…very popular and outgoing. Athletic. And I was—kind of a nerd? No one thought that someone like him would ever—” He looks down. “Everyone either didn’t believe me, or they…thought it didn’t count, I guess?”

His king is still as a statue, save for a hand flexing on his knee.

“So, I—I just got in the habit of…not telling anyone. I didn’t tell my parents. I didn’t tell the police. I didn’t tell anyone until Shen Yuan a few years ago, and Ms. Therapist.” He pauses, and swallows. “This one didn’t tell you because—because you are so strong, my king. So strong that this one didn’t even think you could imagine being weak.” The tears begin to flow, then, angry and despairing and hurt.  “I thought you would say that I should have fought him off, that I should have screamed, aren’t I embarrassed that I didn’t even try?”

His king is shaking his head slightly, hand gripping at his knee.

“This one never,” Shang Qinghua says quietly, “he never wanted you to think badly of him.”

He pauses, tears falling silently.

“And then you,” he continues, bitter laughter coating his tongue, “you just went and figured it out, just like that.” He shakes his head. “Suddenly, you knew. I—I didn’t know how to deal with that. I couldn’t—get it to make sense in my mind. Not only did you seem to believe me, I hadn’t even needed to tell you.”

Shang Qinghua draws up his knees to his chest, and rests his chin on them.

“It was ten years ago,” he says quietly. “And it wasn’t even that big of a deal. He hardly even—he hardly even touched me. All he did was shove me down and rub himself against my ass and say gross stuff to me. It was—it was very hot in the room, and he was holding my head down.” He frowns, staring into the distance. “This one had to walk home with cum all over the back of his jeans that night.”

His king shifts, leans forward. His head bows.

Shang Qinghua quietly tries not to descend into dissociation. He had been so ashamed. He’d thought everyone had known. He opens and closes his hands a few times, and digs his toes into the plush carpet. Scooting a little closer to his king, he watches his earrings glint in the sunlight. It comforts him somehow.

From the silence, Mobei-Jun speaks. He doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t offer any condolences. All he says, quiet as death, is this:

“His name, Shang Qinghua.”

Shang Qinghua stares. His king’s head is still bowed, and his hands are clutching, white-knuckled, at his knees. His voice is strained, low, tight with emotion.

“Give this one his name, and he will rip his fucking heart out,” he says through clenched teeth.

Shang Qinghua is staggered by this vicious brand of devotion. His king had apparently taken him at his word, no questions asked, and immediately offered to violently and sadistically murder someone for him.

“My king,” he says shakily. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s really not worth it.”

Mobei-Jun turns around, shifting on the floor, looking up at Shang Qinghua.

“This one will decide that,” he says. His eyes narrow. “Though he is curious what deranged logic has led you to such a stupid conclusion.”

“My king,” Shang Qinghua says, fond and frustrated, “he—he didn’t even hurt me, or anything. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t go to the police, because they would have laughed this one out of the station.” He pauses. “It wasn’t even—I’m not even really sure it counts as sexual assault.”

Mobei-Jun’s mouth is a thin, pale line.

“Shang Qinghua didn’t want it?” he asks.

This one looks down, and shakes his head silently.

“Then it counts,” Mobei-Jun says simply, and Shang Qinghua wishes that he could borrow some of his king’s certainty. “The way Shang Qinghua feels counts. If anyone says different, this one will strangle them with their own intestines.”

Shang Qinghua can only stare down at Mobei-Jun, wondering how in the world he’d gotten this man in his corner. Eyes puffy with tears, emotionally exhausted, he climbs down from the couch, kneels next to his king, and wraps his arms around him. The way Shang Qinghua feels counts. Why does that feel like such a revelation? Why had this one never seen that? Who cares what people had said about him? Who cares what they think is the truth? This one had been there, and he is the foremost expert on his own experiences! What he says is the truth! It matters what he thinks, and feels!

He begins to cry again, softly, clinging onto his king like he is the only solid thing in existence. Mobei-Jun hugs him closer, body forming a roof and four walls around him. When Shang Qinghua pulls back, embarrassed, tears still falling, his king lifts his hands to the smaller man’s face. They are cool on his tear-swollen cheeks, and his eyes flutter. Mobei-Jun uses his thumbs to gently wipe the tears away, eyes liquid and dark.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t understand what he has done to merit this kind of tenderness.

They sit that way for a moment, quiet and soft. After a few minutes pass, Mobei-Jun offers him some tea, and goes to make it in the kitchen. Shang Qinghua sits on the floor, feeling a little hollowed out, but relieved, too! He should have known that this would be safe in his king’s hands. He should have known that he would be safe in his king’s hands.  

When Mobei-Jun returns with two steaming mugs and sits down on the floor next to Shang Qinghua, this one smiles. He wants to thank his king, but doesn’t know how, so he just crinkles his eyes at him over the rim of his mug!

“One thing this one doesn’t understand,” Mobei-Jun says softly, setting his mug down to one side.

Shang Qinghua sits back, tense, waiting for the question.

“You never seemed interested in self-defense,” his king frowns. “But if you didn’t come to Junshang for that, why did you come to this one’s dojo?”

Shang Qinghua freezes, undoubtedly looking like a deer caught in the headlights!! Oh no!! This is way too embarrassing to admit! He will die if he has to tell the truth about Ms. Therapist’s mission! He will die right here on the spot!!

“Uh,” this one squeaks, setting his mug down on the nearby table as an excuse not to look his king in the eye. “Well. That’s—that’s really quite an interesting story, but maybe—”

Mobei-Jun clearly smells blood, and grins like a shark. He could sense an embarrassing story about Shang Qinghua from a mile off!

“You may as well tell,” he says threateningly. “You know this one will get it out of you somehow.”

Shang Qinghua sighs and grimaces, because he knows it’s true. His king would probably put him in an arm bar until he admitted it! Nothing for it now, he supposes.

“Platonic—Touch?” Shang Qinghua squeaks out, wincing.

The bigger man wrinkles his nose. “What?” he says. “What do you mean, platonic touch?”

My king, why so mean??? Why do you make this one embarrass himself like this???

Eyes squeezed shut, Shang Qinghua blurts out, “This one has never had sex because he is afraid so Ms. Therapist told him to try out Platonic Touch so he can stop associating being touched with his trauma! She recommended a professional cuddler but this one is too poor!!”

His king is silent. Shang Qinghua cracks open an eye warily.

Mobei-Jun’s face is confused and little alarmed. “You…decided the best way to associate touch with good feelings was…martial arts?” he asks slowly. He truly excels at showing Shang Qinghua the stupidity of his own logic!

“This one didn’t have a lot of options?”

After a moment of puzzlement, his king’s expression clears. He leans in, then, a slow, threatening smile beginning to spread across his face. Shang Qinghua’s eyes widen in terror, and he tries to back away, but just sort of winds up falling on his ass?

“Why didn’t you tell this one sooner?” Mobei-Jun purrs, advancing on Shang Qinghua like a very sexy panther! “He would’ve gladly touched you however you wanted. As much as you wanted.”

“Oh!” Shang Qinghua squeaks. “Is that—is that so?”

Mobei-Jun nods silently, practically on top of him, eyes flicking over Shang Qinghua’s face. This one, caged under his king’s arms, just blinks up helplessly, breathing ragged. Is this—is this really happening???

And then, out of nowhere, his king sits back up on his knees. He sighs heavily.

“This one has a match tomorrow. He has to train today.” Getting to his feet, he grabs Shang Qinghua’s hand and yanks him up. “With me, Shang Qinghua.”

Dizzy with the whiplash of it all, Shang Qinghua lets himself be pulled along gladly.

Chapter Text

“My king! This one needs clothes!!” Shang Qinghua wails.

It’s the following morning. He’d mentioned returning to his apartment to Mobei-Jun, just to change clothing and grab a few things, and the other man had flatly refused, not even looking up from his methodical kale chopping.

“This Mobei-Jun will share his happily.”

“I need clean underwear!”

“Has Shang Qinghua not heard of a washing machine?”

“And what is this one supposed to do while it’s going, stand around naked??”

Mobei-Jun tilts his head, considering.

“My king!!!!”

All the same, he relents and drives Shang Qinghua home, looking supremely put-upon by the whole situation. They go straight to the match afterwards.

The night before, Shang Qinghua had insisted on sleeping in his tent on the mats like he usually did. His king had seemed vaguely peeved. Shang Qinghua hadn’t really understood the problem. He’d still been reeling from his king’s pronouncement that he would have touched him however he wanted, whenever he wanted (!!!), and needed some space to process what exactly that meant, because, pardon this one’s language, my king, but what the fuck!!!! You can’t just say things like that!! Mobei-Jun had always been a little flirty with him, but only ever to embarrass Shang Qinghua! That had seemed…different, though. Weirdly intense and earnest! This one is still thinking about it.

When the match ends, Mobei-Jun walks out of the ring triumphantly, knuckles bruised, spitting out his mouthguard. He’s happy, and Shang Qinghua can’t help but smile. He’s been clapping for about twenty minutes straight, and his hands hurt, but it’s good to see his king so pleased with himself. He deserves it! Shang Qinghua is so happy to be back!!!

Mobei-Jun catches Shang Qinghua’s eye as he walks towards the locker room, and beckons his employee over. Shang Qinghua, confused, runs over through the throng of reporters and admiring fans. Sweaty, still breathing heavily, with bits of his opponent’s blood all over him, Mobei-Jun slings an arm over Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, and they continue to the locker room. This one blushes at the state of his king, so close and so vital.

“Did this one do well?” Mobei-Jun asks lowly.

“Of course, my king! You were amazing!”

The bigger man is too busy preening with Shang Qinghua’s praise to see the figure waiting for them by the locker room. Linguang-Jun, ugh!!!!

He does a slow clap, like the absolute asshole he is!! “What a dramatic turnaround,” this evil uncle says to Mobei-Jun. “To think that, only last week, you got your ass handed to you by some nobody.” He pauses, clicks his head in Shang Qinghua’s direction like a reptile assessing its prey. “Where were you, little dog? My nephew could have used a little TLC.”

Mobei-Jun stiffens, and this one scowls, but neither offer the man the response he is looking for. Ugh, Shang Qinghua hates this guy!!!

Linguang-Jun scoffs at their silence. “I suppose I should be thanking your little dog here,” he says to his nephew. “My book is doing fantastically these days. Everyone wants to know how I whipped a little piece of shit like you into a champion. I added a new chapter, and raised the price by five bucks.”

Shang Qinghua sees red! He shrugs off Mobei-Jun and pokes his evil uncle right in the chest! How dare he! How dare he talk about his king like that???

“Hey!” Shang Qinghua exclaims. “You’re the piece of shit! You’re an abusive, self-righteous—”

Mobei-Jun, slightly alarmed by the smaller man’s outburst, presses him back with a hand on his chest. “Shang Qinghua—” he says.

“No!” this one all but yells, turning to Mobei-Jun. “This fucking asshole,” he jabs a thumb at Linguang-Jun, “writes a book basically called How to Abuse Your Child Into Being a Famous Athlete and he thinks he’s going to come in here and call you a piece of shit???” He goes back to Linguang-Jun, and shoves him little. The taller man only laughs, but Shang Qinghua hardly notices. “You? You have nothing to do with any of this. Everything my king did, he did in spite ofyou,” Shang Qinghua rants. “And you know what! Your book is not only a piece of trash topically, it’s a piece of trashstylistically! It makes me want to puke! You need an editor, because I’ve written better things while high on Adderall and Red Bull!”

“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun says again, physically pulling him away from his uncle.

“What? It’s not worth it?!” Shang Qinghua shrieks, swatting at his king. “This one will decide that!!”

Mobei-Jun rolls his eyes, but can’t hide the small, pleased curl of his mouth.

Shang Qinghua turns to Linguang-Jun one last time and says, “I’ll see you in court, shithead!!!” before letting his king drag him away.

Linguang-Jun is visibly confused as they go, and Shang Qinghua can’t blame him! Not even Shang Qinghua knows exactly what he meant by that! But it had sounded cool!!

(It’s only later that he remembers Zhuzhi Lang.)

***

It’s approximately 6 am the following morning when Shang Qinghua creeps up the stairs to Mobei-Jun’s apartment. He’d stayed up all night thinking of Linguang-Jun’s smug little face, of his king’s silent support all these weeks, and of one ambulance-chasing lawyer by the name of Zhuzhi Lang! His plan builds quietly in his head.

Shang Qinghua is far too enthusiastic to wait a minute longer, and he knows his king gets up around six. He’d been practically vibrating with excitement in his tent waiting for 5:59 to shift another minute!! His plan is fucking genius!!! It’s really just like plotting a harem intrigue chapter!! Who knew those skills would come in handy one day!!

He hears life coming from within the closed bedroom door, and goes to knock. His knuckles are about to hit wood when the door swings open to reveal his king.

Mobei-Jun is wearing nothing but an aggressively fitted pair of briefs and a very loosely tied dressing gown, and he is looking down at Shang Qinghua with soft, early-morning eyes. This one blinks up at him stupidly, taken aback by the power of the visual! Surely, one day, he’d get used to be being around such beauty!!!

“Shang Qinghua,” his king rumbles, leaning against the door frame, letting his gaze flick over this one’s face. He seems…intrigued? “Was there something you wanted?”

This one will cheerfully admit to being too distracted by the very obvious outline of Mobei-Jun’s cock in his briefs to immediately answer! He is only human after all!!

When he regains full use of his vocal cords, Shang Qinghua says, “Um. To—talk to you?”

His king smirks a little. “Are you sure about that?” he murmurs. Clocking the other man’s alarmed expression, he ducks his head as if to look him directly in the eye. “Only, it sounded like a question.”

“N—no, I—well. Um.” Shang Qinghua gulps, nervous for some reason, looking down at his hands. “It’s just that—seeing Linguang-Jun the other day—it reminded me all over again why I hate him so much,” he says. “This one—stupidly—didn’t consider that his book sales would improve with your success, and he would like to remedy his mistakes.”

His king is looking down at him, eyebrows creased. “Not stupid,” he says shortly. “No mistakes.”

Shang Qinghua blushes. “My king—”

“Explain to this one over breakfast,” Mobei-Jun says airily. He brushes past Shang Qinghua, flicking the belt of his robe behind him regally.

This one follows. What else can he do??? While his king prepares his grody green shakes, Shang Qinghua considers where to start. He supposes he should begin with explaining about Zhuzhi Lang! He’d been an ambulance chaser, until the bigshots at Bailu Law Firm had decided he was someone to keep an eye on. Tianlang-Jun, for some reason, had really taken a shine to the young man, and made him his protégé. The thing is, though, Shang Qinghua had known Zhuzhi Lang when. As in, when the man was a penniless paralegal, and Shang Qinghua sold melon seeds outside the shitty little firm he was toiling away at. Feeling sorry for the guy, who seemed to spend the whole day being trod upon by his superiors without much to show for it, Shang Qinghua had always given him free melon seeds.

One day, after Shang Qinghua had done his usual, “This one’s on the house,” as if every one weren’t on the house, Zhuzhi Lang had turned to him and said, “This one will never forget your generosity, Shang Qinghua.”

Well, now this one is banking on it!!!

“Okay,” his king says, having chugged his shake down. “Tell this one.”

He is standing, leaning on the counter, and Shang Qinghua is seated at the nearby table. He begins to explain his plan. First, Zhuzhi Lang would file a lawsuit for libel. Best-case scenario, the book would be pulled from the shelves. This is admittedly unlikely. Failing that, and this is what Shang Qinghua thinks will happen, they can use the lawsuit to ruin Linguang-Jun’s reputation! Yue Qingyuan, who was now very eager to have Mobei-Jun on the show, would invite him to talk about the case. A few leading questions, a close-up on his king’s devastatingly handsome face, maybe a guest appearance from a tearful Junshang, talking about his mentor! Oof! No one would stand a chance against that! Then—and this was the part Shang Qinghua was most proud of—he’d have his readers flood Twitter with opinions in support of Mobei-Jun! He’d promised one request per twenty tweets! Zhuzhi Lang would then follow up with something about emotional damages! No one with a heart would buy Linguang-Jun’s stupid book, then!

 Shang Qinghua even had a plan if Linguang-Jun retaliated with an interview of his own! He begins to talk about that when Mobei-Jun, who’d been listening patiently all this time, suddenly interrupts his employee.

“You…planned all this for me?” he asks slowly.

“Of course! For who else, my king?” Shang Qinghua replies brightly. “Say the word, and this one will set it in motion!!

Dark eyes intent on Shang Qinghua, Mobei-Jun asks, “Why?”

The smaller man blinks. He’d been hoping for a bit more gratitude! “W—why?”

His king continues to look at him, then, steady and still, like he is the only person in the world. Shang Qinghua’s heart starts a breakneck gallop, caught in that serene gaze.

“Why are you doing all of this for me?” his king asks. “These favors you’re calling in—these things you’re promising. You were saving them for yourself, weren’t you? In case you ever needed them?”

He leans closer to Shang Qinghua, as if trying to divine the answer from his panicked expression.

“Well—well, yes. I suppose so, yes,” he stammers out. “But—I guess—nothing seemed important enough to use them on? Until now.”

“Hmm,” is his king’s only reply. He looks very pensive.

Shang Qinghua stares at him expectantly.

Mobei-Jun stares right back.

“Yes,” he says, finally. “Yes. Do it.”

Shang Qinghua grins! He is so powerful!!!! He is on top of the world!!!

“My king!! You won’t regret this!! We’re going to destroy your evil uncle!!”

He gets up and runs down the stairs, muttering to himself, making all sorts of plans.

Ducking into his tent, he gets to work!

His first call is to Zhuzhi Lang.

A bright voice answers, and dials up to a delighted squeal when Shang Qinghua introduces himself.

“This one was hoping he could ask you for a favor.”

He explains what he wants, and asks a few questions, which the lawyer diligently answers. They wind up talking for a couple of hours.

“Would you be willing to do that for me?” he asks when they’ve sketched out a plan together. 

“Ah, Shang Qinghua. For you, it’s on the house!”

While his king is showering, he sneaks over to his little stash of Monster energy drinks that he keeps under his desk For Emergencies Only!! He gulps one down quickly!

The next call he makes is to Yue Qingyuan, who curses when he introduces himself! Ha! You really thought this one was through with you???

It must be a few hours later when a pair of legs appears before the flap of his tent.

Mobei-Jun’s face comes next. “What are you doing in there?” he asks, peering in warily.

“I’m working,” Shang Qinghua says, furiously writing the set of questions he’d like Yue Qingyuan to ask his king. He can picture it now!! “Go away.” He reaches out of the tent and swats at Mobei-Jun’s legs. “Go away, go away, I’m busy.”

His king straightens out. “It’s your day off. You’re not supposed to be working,” he says, sounding very pleased with himself. “Your contract says so.”

Ah, Mobei-Jun is too gracious, even when he is a little too impressed with his own ability to comply with basic labor laws!!

Shang Qinghua sticks a hand out of the flap and waves him away wildly.

Unbothered, his king says, “It’s your day off.” He pauses.  “This one is going to the stores. Do you need anything?”

“Yes. Yes. Red Bull. A big case of Red Bull.”

His king’s face appears again, this time to glare at his employee!!

“This one is only joking, haha!! So funny!”

He is unaware of the secret stash of Monster!! This one only begs for Red Bull to put him off the scent! He will admit he feels vaguely guilty about it, but it’s for a good cause, isn’t it, my king???

Mobei-Jun’s expression doesn’t change. He just says, moodily, “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Shang Qinghua says, waving him off. His king leaves. “Where would this one go, anyway?” he mutters to himself, remembering the words he’d spoken to Mobei-Jun the night he’d returned. Silly of him! He’d shown too much!! His king had seemed pleased, though! Shang Qinghua is beginning to get the feeling he knows about his employee’s crush, and tolerates it because he likes the consequent devotion. Ah, did the embarrassments never cease?!

Then, finally, he calls Cucumber-bro and tells him to come over and to bring Luo Binghe! It’s all coming together!!!!

He downs two more Monsters, busily working, in the time it takes them to arrive.

“Hey, loser!” Luo Binghe shouts from outside the tent. “What’s so fucking important?”

There’s a whacking sound, and a displeased little whine.

They climb into the tent, and Cucumber-bro is trying to hide his excitement behind his tsundere façade! Harem intrigue chapters were always his favorites!! Instead of calling them a blight upon the very name of literature, he usually stuck to not the worst thing this one has ever had to read!! Thanks, bro!!! This one would quibble with the idea that you have to read anything, but, still, thanks all the same!!!

They cram themselves into the little tent, which is, as far as this one is concerned, the HQ of their Operations! Little pieces of paper are taped onto the walls of the tent, packed with Shang Qinghua’s chicken-scratch writing. His two friends look around warily!

“What’s all this,” Luo Binghe says, and this one doesn’t think he’s imagining the slight edge of concern in his voice!

He rapidly explains the basics of his plan to the two of them!

“Airplane-juju seems crazier than usual,” Cucumber-bro says, peering at him. “Can you relax?”

“Bro!!!” Shang Qinghua says, running a hand through his hair with an air of mania. “No, I can’t actually! I think it is a biochemical impossibility at the moment!”

 “This one thought Mobei-Jun forbade you from drinking Red Bull.”

“Well, yes, technically, he did, yes, but this one has been drinking Monster, not Red Bull!”

He’d only had, like, three!! Maybe four!!

Luo Binghe’s face is one of pure disgust as he watches this exchange, and he leans back on his palms. “Can you hurry it up? Me and sensei were kind of in the middle of—”

Shen Yuan swats at his boyfriend.

“Sensei,” the bigger man whines miserably.

“Stop grumbling, and listen to Shang Qinghua,” Cucumber-bro says, before leaning in and whispering something to him with a smirk.

Shang Qinghua watches in horror as Luo Binghe’s face dips into something…aroused? It’s the worst thing this one has ever seen, and he seriously considers committing ritual suicide for a moment!!!

“So what do you need from us, Airplane?” Cucumber-bro asks, looking rather smug.

Luo Binghe still hasn’t recovered and is staring at his boyfriend with glassy eyes. Ugh!!! Plowing right through it, hoping that if he doesn’t acknowledge it, it will simply disappear, Shang Qinghua begins their part. Luo Binghe would participate in the interview, pleading for people to stop buying Linguang-Jun’s book, and Shen Yuan would help him marshal his readers! 

Luo Binghe nods, looking a little impressed despite himself.

“This one will help on one condition,” he says. “Please add something onto the libel suit.”

“Okay,” Shang Qinghua says warily. “What?”

“The new chapter calls Mobei-Jun Junshang’s sensei, while everyone knows that this Luo Binghe only acknowledges one sensei, and that is not Iceman,” he says, glancing over at Shen Yuan almost shyly.

Shang Qinghua watches Shen Yuan’s face go red in reply, before he begins to fan himself. God, they’re disgusting!!! It makes Shang Qinghua want to puke!

Luo Binghe sits forward, confident because of his boyfriend’s reaction. “Linguang-Jun’s claim otherwise has caused grave damage to be done to this one’s dignity.”

Shang Qinghua begins to look through his papers in hopes of changing the topic, because what the hell??? That definitely does not meet the legal burden for damages!!!

“Uh, well, this one will certainly ask Zhuzhi Lang, I’m sure that’s fine.”

Junshang narrow his eyes. “If you do this for me, Shang Qinghua, I won’t give you wet willies anymore.”

Shang Qinghua frowns, still shuffling through his papers.

“You don’t give me—ARGH!!!!”

He shrieks as a wet finger is inserted into his ear, flailing wildly as he tries to get away! Luo Binghe is cackling, because he’s fucking evil, and Cucumber-bro is whacking him repeatedly with his fan! Is this really the team Shang Qinghua is depending on???

***

INTERLUDE, PT 2

Mobei-Jun is soaked in the rain, and does not mind it

Mobei-Jun is many things, but most people would not say patient is one of them. And yet he has sat, patiently, with his growing confusion for a long time now.

It’s raining outside, and he is not prepared for it. He’d been too eager to leave the dojo, knowing that, like a rocket, he’d need to build up some sort of escape velocity to ever evade the pull of Shang Qinghua’s gravity. If he’d stopped for a moment, he would have simply turned around and crawled into that tent and pushed and shoved until Shang Qinghua was back in Mobei-Jun’s bed where he belonged.

But he is trying to be patient. He is trying to give Shang Qinghua time, and not just for the other man’s sake. Mobei-Jun wants to know that it’s his decision, soberly made, completely informed. He wants to know that Shang Qinghua chooses him.

Mobei-Jun is aware that his employee is attracted to him. He is also aware that his employee is scared of him. He sees the way he panics, eyes wide and dark, breath short, whenever this one is on top of him. He knows that Shang Qinghua needs more time, and, when it comes to the physical, he is happy to give it to him.

But—when it comes to everything else? He is not so happy. He is tired of groping around in the dark for a light switch. Shang Qinghua is so confusing. He’d gotten his hands all over Mobei-Jun’s life, asking him what he wanted from it, and then just—giving it to him. And still he asked for nothing in return, not even things this one would be more than willing to give. Happy to give. Is this simply the sort of thing that Shang Qinghua does for everyone he knows? It doesn’t make any sense. Instead of Mobei-Jun using his considerable resources—money, fame, strength—to make Shang Qinghua’s life easier, the other man is using his shadowy and vast network of levers and pulleys to help Mobei-Jun.

He is so confusing. So amazing. He’d decided one day to resuscitate Iceman’s fighting career, and then he’d just done it, overnight. He’d read two chapters of Linguang-Jun’s book, and has since devoted himself wholeheartedly to the man’s destruction, just for the sake of this Mobei-Jun. When Shang Qinghua had calmly informed him of this, it had taken everything in his power not to simply bend the smaller man over the nearest flat surface and fuck him so soundly he would never leave his side.  

Mobei-Jun is obsessed with him. He thinks, night and day: What does it mean? What is this one to Shang Qinghua? It must be more than friendship. It must be, because it feels like something closer to devotion, or belonging, like some sort of searing brand that Mobei-Jun would display proudly. He thinks he knows what Shang Qinghua is trying to say, or is, perhaps, saying inadvertently. But still he is unsure about making a move. The other man has been through too much already. If this one pushes, he is afraid that Shang Qinghua will leave again, and that is—not an option. Mobei-Jun does not think he would be able to withstand that.

And yet.

Patience does not have to mean silence, he supposes moodily. It does not have to mean inaction. He had been quietly, gently encouraging Shang Qinghua to get closer to him for some time now, like you would draw out a mistreated animal. Asking him searching questions. Providing him with food, and comfort, and whatever else he needed. Showing him that he was not going anywhere. Mobei-Jun sighs. He could continue to be patient, continue to impress upon Shang Qinghua that he wanted whatever the other man was offering, continue to pull him in, inch by inch. He would wait for as long as Shang Qinghua needed, though he could not promise he would wait quietly. How long can he continue with the way things are? How long can be pretend that he doesn’t want more?

These questions are getting harder and harder to answer, now that he’s had a taste of the other man’s affection and trust. They had slept in the same bed twice. Mobei-Jun had had him in his lap. Shang Qinghua had shared so much with him, even the most painful experiences of his life, and this one wanted to show him that his trust had not been misplaced. This latest phase in Shang Qinghua’s crusade against his uncle is merely the most recent in a series of confusing and maddening hints of the other man’s loyalties and affections.

Yes, Mobei-Jun is a lot of things, and most people would say that greedy is one of them. Now that he’s had a taste, he wants more. He wants everything. He wants to be Shang Qinghua’s, and he wants everyone to know.

He is soaking wet by the time he returns to the dojo, and not any clearer on what he should do. Perhaps it is time to push things, just a little. Time to extend a hand, and see if Shang Qinghua would eat from his palm. Mobei-Jun feels in his bones that he and the other man have long reached, long passed, the point of no return. When Shang Qinghua would realize this, if he would ever seek anything more from this one, is not as clear. Soon, he prayed, soon. Surely Shang Qinghua feels the pressure, the magnetism, the heat, growing and growing, about to reach its peak, just as this one does?

***

Shang Qinghua, coming down hard from the Monsters he’d crushed, decides to take a nap when his king doesn’t return shortly after Cucumber-bro’s departure. It had started raining at some point, and the dojo is quiet and peaceful. He snuggles into his sleeping bag, pleased with the work he’d done that day. He hopes that Mobei-Jun will be pleased, too!

It must only be a short while later that he hears the bell of the front door. Shang Qinghua stirs, and peers out the flap of his tent to see his king enter with a few grocery bags. His hair is all wet and his sweatshirt is stained dark with rain! He must have gotten caught in the storm! Not even bothering to look in this one’s direction, he heads upstairs.

Shang Qinghua stumbles out of the tent, going to follow, but then stops a few steps later. Perhaps he’d overstepped. Maybe his king doesn’t want him meddling in the business with his uncle like this. Maybe that’s why he’d asked Shang Qinghua so seriously why he was doing this. Or maybe his king is just cranky from getting caught in the rain, and Shang Qinghua, as usual, is overthinking things!! He sighs, and stays put, unsure what to do.

He is rescued by his king, whose footsteps fall heavily on the stairs a few moments later. Mobei-Jun is still soaked by the rain, and he’s frowning, like he’s trying to put together the words to express something.

“My—my king?” Shang Qinghua prompts quietly. When he doesn’t reply save for a further creasing of his brow, the smaller man continues to speak. “Everything—everything is set. Zhuzhi Lang, and Yue Qingyuan, and Luo Binghe. Everything.”

He watches expectantly, but his king remains quiet. The only noise is the rain, settling like a grey blanket over the city. Here in the dojo it is warm and dry and low-lit. Protected. 

“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun says lowly. His eyes settle bright and appraising on the other man.  “Why are you doing this for me?”

This one, watching a bead of water travel down his king’s neck, feels like fly caught in a spider’s web. He swallows thickly, and shifts his gaze to meet Mobei-Jun’s. They are staring at each other in the quiet of the dojo, rain tapping against the windows.

“You—you already asked this one that, my king,” he says, muted.

Mobei-Jun exhales through his nose, and looks down. His hands flex minutely.

“Shang Qinghua,” he says, voice tight with frustration. “You are not hearing this one.”

The smaller man is at a loss, heart racing for some reason. His king seems upset with him, and he’s not sure why.

“I don’t—I don’t understand,” he sputters. “I’m doing this because—because you’re…my friend.” He blinks, praying this is what his king wants to hear. “You’re my friend.”

Sighing heavily, his king shifts slightly, face flashing into some complex expression before going completely shuttered. Ah, this one had said something wrong!!

“This one sees,” Mobei-Jun says.

Shang Qinghua stares at him, already regretting his words. You’re my friend. That isn’t why. That isn’t why by any measure. Hadn’t he—hadn’t he promised to tell his king the truth?

They are not friends. Or, at least, Shang Qinghua doesn’t think of Mobei-Jun the way you should think about a friend. How many times had he touched himself, imagining it was his king? How many things had he told Mobei-Jun that he could scarcely admit to himself? How long had he held out before he’d run back to his king? A week? Pathetic!

No. They are not friends.

Something finally clicks in Shang Qinghua’s brain, then, and he looks at Mobei-Jun like it’s the first time he’s seeing him. He thinks of all that had passed between the two of them, all the late nights and shared meals and tentative touches. If you want to cry, then cry. Stay with this one. Just come home. Gladly touch you however you want.  He finally, finally hears what his king has been asking. What his king has been hoping to hear in return. Could it—could it really be? Could his king, perhaps, against all hope—?

“No, I don’t—I don’t think you do see, my king,” Shang Qinghua murmurs, hand twitching minutely.

He closes his eyes, aware of what he’s just done, unable to take it back. Hoping that he is not making a complete fool of himself. Taking a deep breath, he opens them again, to see Mobei-Jun’s gaze alight on his face, alive with something.

When Shang Qinghua speaks again, it is soft and hesitant.

“You think this one is afraid of you,” he says. Mobei-Jun’s steady eyes on him confirm it. “But, my king, when we’re grappling, and this one’s breath gets short, and his hands begin to shake, and his mouth goes dry…” he looks down, twisting his hands nervously, “it is—it is not because this one is afraid.”

His anxiety nearly eats the last few words, but he powers through it anyway, not even daring to look at Mobei-Jun. He actually feels a little dizzy, and he wishes his king would say something!

He risks a glance up, and the other man is staring at him, lips parted. Shang Qinghua’s legs are wobbling like a baby foal’s when Mobei-Jun takes a step forward. And then another. Staring down at the smaller man, his king licks his lips, and this one can’t help the way his eyes flick up to watch the gesture.

“Shang Qinghua,” his king says, voice rough and low. He lifts a hand, its knuckles bruised and red from his last prize, to run his thumb along the seam of Shang Qinghua’s lips, making them part slightly. His eyes flutter shut at the sensation. “What is this one to you?”

Shang Qinghua exhales shakily, and opens his eyes. He has no clue! He has no experience with any of this! He is making his way blindly through a minefield here! Help this lowly one out, my king!!!

“I don’t—I don’t really know,” he says breathlessly, working hard to keep his eyes open and his mind focused. Mobei-Jun’s thumb rests gently on the curve of his lower lip, and the world is spinning around him. “This one is unsure, my king, but please, please know that he would do—he would do anything you ask. Anything you want.”

His king is gazing down at him with hooded eyes, and, suddenly, that thumb presses. Shang Qinghua opens his mouth to the pressure, eyes fluttering softly as he allows his king to push into him. Closing his lips around the intrusion instinctively, he’s breathing heavily through his nose, skin feeling too-hot and strange, staring up at his king. They meet eyes, and all at once, Shang Qinghua’s bones turn to water, and, with a low whimper, he grabs at his king’s arms desperately.

Mobei-Jun is watching, intent, brows knit together, lips parted gently, and Shang Qinghua wishes for some way to convey the strange arousal muscling its way up his spine. He starts to suck lightly at his king’s finger, and, for a moment, he’s afraid he might look like some kind of idiot, but Mobei-Jun’s expression reassures him on that count. His eyes have gone all glassy, and his free hand is grasping tightly at his own thigh.

“You—you really would, wouldn’t you?” his king asks in disbelief.

“Mmpf,” Shang Qinghua answers, helpless. He’s already hard in his pants, exactly where his king wants him. Why should he deny it??

Eyes heavy and hooded, Mobei-Jun presses his thumb in further, making saliva pool in Shang Qinghua’s mouth. The finger feels huge and hot and he makes a soft little noise around it. He can’t breathe! It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him!!

Blinking, his king removes the thumb and rests it gently on Shang Qinghua’s jaw, hand shifting to grip the side of his neck.

“Anything this one wants,” Mobei-Jun murmurs. “That’s good. That’s very good.” The approving tone makes Shang Qinghua all but melt. “But what about what you want?” His king’s eyes rove over his face, scalding and sweet all at once. “Tell this one what he can give you.”

Shang Qinghua blinks. Is this real??? Is this really happening??? Has he died or something??? He lets out a shaky breath, pinned by his king’s gaze, his king’s big hand where it rests on his neck, and tries to string together an answer.

“A-a kiss, maybe?” he manages eventually, shy. His mouth is aching for Mobei-Jun’s lips against it.

A warm flush travels up his cheeks as Mobei-Jun’s mouth curves into a little smile. Shang Qinghua continues, lips numb, “A kiss would be good. It would be very good.”

His king nods gently, smirk fading into something a bit more earnest and awed. There is roaring in Shang Qinghua’s ears as the other man leans in closer.

Mobei-Jun presses his mouth to Shang Qinghua’s in a way that seems far too delicate for such a large man. Quick, and soft, and light, it has the smaller man chasing after it. His king quickly obliges, shifting his head slightly, bringing both his hands up to cup Shang Qinghua’s face.

It’s slow, and gentle, his lips moving against the smaller man’s, and Shang Qinghua is drowning in it before he can even think to stop. Somehow his mouth has gotten the memo, and he is kissing Mobei-Jun back, sliding his hands up his chest. It feels like his king is everywhere, all around him, filling his head with cotton wool. Big hands wander all over his body, wrapping around him, supporting him as he’s tipped backward slightly. Their chests are pressed together, and he snakes his arms around his king’s neck, hanging on for dear life. No one had ever—no one had ever touched him like this before. Like he was something worthwhile and precious and sweet. It is rewriting every notion Shang Qinghua has ever had about sex and intimacy. It sets him to shaking, and when Mobei-Jun licks into his mouth, tongue all plush and hot, his knees might give a little, but his king’s body supports him, strong as a tree.

They break apart for air a moment later, and Shang Qinghua, lost, runs his thumb against Mobei-Jun’s jaw, over and over. Is that—is that allowed?? His king’s eyes are hooded and dark as they stare down at him, their bodies flush, and they are both breathing heavily.

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua whispers.

Mobei-Jun just hums, pecking him gently on the mouth once, twice.

Shang Qinghua grips his hair to keep him there the third time, and is treated to a pleased grunt. They continue to kiss, then, letting things get wet and little messy, tongues tangling, until the smaller man is dizzy with it, until the world is shifting sideways and he can’t find his legs. Mobei-Jun keeps him anchored, mouth the kind of hungry that Shang Qinghua had never expected would be for him, pushing and pressing and invading his personal space. Shang Qinghua keeps on making broken, helpless little noises, embarrassing things, like he is about to cry.

Moving to his lips to the other man’s neck, Mobei-Jun begins to lick and suck at the tender little hollow there, just below his jawline, and Shang Qinghua cries out at the sensation, clutching tighter at his king. The shift in position brings the heft of Mobei-Jun’s thigh between Shang Qinghua’s legs, and smaller man ruts forward helplessly, practically sitting on him. He’s half-hard, and so is his king, and wow that is certainly a thought!!!

Mobei-Jun has dragged down the collar of Shang Qinghua’s shirt, and is biting and licking with determination, making his poor employee slump uselessly against him.

“Oh, god, please,” Shang Qinghua says, hardly knowing what he’s doing.

Apparently satisfied with the mark he has definitely left on the other man’s collarbone, Mobei-Jun returns to Shang Qinghua’s mouth, kissing him wet and deep and plush. Everything feels so good, hot-cold pins and needles dotting his skin, and he threads his fingers through the bigger man’s still-wet hair, drawing another pleased grunt from him.

His king pulls back, pupils blown wide, panting.

With bruised lips, Shang Qinghua says, “Can I—could we—tent—tent, please, please—”

Mobei-Jun nods, and releases him, and they both clamber inside the tent. It’s only a second or so before he lifts Shang Qinghua and deposits him back onto his lap, and they begin to kiss again. He’s perched on his king’s thigh once more, moving against it because he really, really can’t help himself, and yes, okay, Shang Qinghua is fully hard now, hips moving of their own accord, pathetic little noises pouring out of his mouth. Mobei-Jun grunts in satisfaction, grabbing his face roughly and kissing him so deeply that his whole body flashes hot and cold. His big hands then move to Shang Qinghua’s ass, and his king makes a noise similar to the one Shang Qinghua makes when he’s had his first bite of ramen, like he’s been waiting and waiting—

“Fuck,” Mobei Jun growls, biting at Shang Qinghua’s mouth. “Fucking perfect ass.”

Shang Qinghua squeaks in surprise, unable to do much else as those giant hands knead and press and squeeze. His head comes to rest on Mobei-Jun’s shoulder, mainly because this one feels he cannot support its weight any longer! He’s panting and hiccupping, and he can only make a high-pitched yelp of pleasure when his king’s hands move under his pants, grabbing his bare ass. Mobei-Jun pulls the cheeks apart, making Shang Qinghua sob with the sensation, and then he pushes the smaller man’s entire body forward, encouraging him to basically hump his king’s thigh! It is somewhere around this time that Shang Qinghua’s brain goes completely offline! Overwhelmed and lost, he just spreads his legs wider, rubbing up against his king like an animal, practically in tears.

“Okay, Shang Qinghua?” Mobei-Jun rumbles into one ear.

“Yes, yes, just please—” he pants into his king’s shoulder, “please, please, tell this one what to do. This one doesn’t know what he’s doing. Tell this one what to do, please, please.”

“Hey,” his king says gently, stilling his hands, using one to tilt Shang Qinghua’s head up to meet his eyes. They are worried, soft, dark. Shang Qinghua blinks up drowsily at him. “Just let this one take care of you.” He presses a gentle kiss to his lips, and sweeps some sweaty hair off of his forehead. “This one will give you everything you need.”

Arousal swoops low in Shang Qinghua’s stomach at that low-toned promise, and he knows that it’s true. Mobei-Jun is here. Mobei-Jun would take care of things. Using his big hands to move Shang Qinghua’s slumped body, his king sets a slow, languorous rhythm. This one follows along, rubbing himself against Mobei-Jun’s thigh, and squirms when the bigger man presses gentle kisses to his jaw.

“Please,” he hiccups, desperately hitching his legs up. He keeps on trying to move his hips faster, but his king’s hands keep him in the same torturous pace. “Please.”

His king hums, mouthing along Shang Qinghua’s jaw and neck. “This one teased you for too long, didn’t he?” he murmurs softly.

“Yes,” this one sobs, “Yes, my king. For so long.”

“Allow him to make it up to you.”

Shang Qinghua’s only reply is to moan incoherently.

Mobei-Jun plants his hands back on the smaller man’s ass and starts to knead and pull again. A finger rubs gently around his hole, and Shang Qinghua presses back against it frantically.  Eyes practically rolling back into his head, he feels his orgasm coming at him like a freight train.

 His king is panting, too, looking down at his lowly employee with hot eyes. “Are you going to make a mess of yourself all over my thigh, Shang Qinghua?” he rumbles. “Rubbing up against me like this?”

“Yes, yes, I—ah—ah,” Shang Qinghua says, a little embarrassed but mostly not caring. He feels wound up so tight, half out of his mind, sick-hot and lost. “Please, please—”

“Good,” Mobei-Jun says lowly. “This one wants your cum all over him, wants you to leave your mark, wants everyone to know—”

“I—I can’t—oh, oh, fuck,” Shang Qinghua moans. He feels his orgasm tightening and tightening in his spine, until finally it snaps. His hips jerk jagged and sloppy as he comes, waves of sick-hot heat vibrating through his body endlessly. His king holds him close against his body as he continues to jerk and shake. 

What feels like minutes later, dull-eyed and wrung out, he rests slumped against his king’s thigh. Mobei-Jun is rubbing his back and along his thighs, smoothing his hair out of his face, pressing gentle, chaste kisses to palms and wrists.

Shang Qinghua’s brain has short-circuited, and he is suddenly afraid that if he opens his eyes, it will all have been a dream. He’s wanted for so long, hoped for so long, and now that he’s gotten it, he is in absolute shock. He never thought that something so wonderful would be his, never thought that anyone would want him, let alone someone like his king, and he can’t quite come to terms with it yet! All he can dully register at the moment is quiet contentment.

He noses along his king’s collarbone, smiling softly in between kisses, and makes his way up to his king’s mouth. They start to kiss slowly and gently, and Shang Qinghua blinks back to life, cum cooling in his pants. He pulls back, breathless, and smiles dopily. His king is looking down with a gaze that is steady and serene.

“Alright, Shang Qinghua?”

“Hmm,” this one hums, so content he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He shifts around, rubbing against his king’s body like a satisfied cat, and in doing so realizes that Mobei-Jun is still hard. The outline of his cock in his grey sweats is marginally terrifying, but this one is feeling so loose-limbed and carefree that it doesn’t even bother him.

“My king,” he murmurs, running a finger along it gently.

Mobei-Jun exhales harshly at his touch, his whole body curling around it.

“Tell me,” Shang Qinghua says “Tell me what to do, please.”

His king’s eyes flick over his face, gaze hot. Wordlessly, he grabs Shang Qinghua’s hand and drags it under the elastic of his sweats. This one moans at the way his cock feels, blood-hot and hard and slightly damp. He wraps his hand around it tentatively, and Mobei-Jun hisses. Shang Qinghua looks up at him, heart kicking up once again at the pained expression on his face. His king wraps a large hand around Shang Qinghua’s, and starts to pump slowly, dragging the smaller along. Catching on quickly, this one mimics his rhythm, and begins to work him in earnest, staring down at his king’s lap with parted lips.

Mobei-Jun grunts, hips jerking up, and removes his hand. This one feels like he is flying! Why did no one tell him handjobs were so fun???

“Shang—Qinghua,” his king grits out. This one looks up. A hand is brought to his cheek, thumb tracing a shaky line there. Mobei-Jun’s face is blown open, flush and beautiful and like nothing this lowly one has ever seen before.

“Faster,” the bigger man demands, leaning their foreheads together. Shang Qinghua obeys immediately, not minding the ache building in his wrist. “Like that, yes,” his king grunts.

His hips are thrusting in earnest now, powerful, jarring Shang Qinghua’s body up and down. This one can’t help but moan! Why is this so hot?! He’s not even the one being touched!

Mobei-Jun grunts, jerking up into his hands. He leans in to kiss Shang Qinghua, and their mouths move against each other sloppily. His hand is squeezing the back of this one’s neck possessively, like some kind of sexy and terrifying vise!!

“My king,” Shang Qinghua says hoarsely.

He just wants to give Mobei-Jun what he needs, anything he needs, he wants him to be satisfied—

“My king, my king,” he begins to babble. “This is amazing, this is so, so amazing, and I know I’m not very experienced, but I can learn, I can make it so good, I can be so, so good for you, my king, just for you—”

Mobei-Jun makes a sound like he’s dying, then, curling in over himself, hips going jagged and broken into Shang Qinghua’s hand. Suddenly, that hand is wet, making this one’s chest go warm with satisfaction, but he keeps on going, gentling his motions just a little, the way he does with himself. Mobei-Jun falls backwards, then, bringing his lowly employee with him, panting heavily. He grabs Shang Qinghua’s hand and drags it out of his pants, hissing. Then, he rolls them over so he’s pressing down on his lowly employee, kissing him with such intensity that Shang Qinghua feels like waves are crashing over his head, one after the other.

His king pulls off him, rolling onto his back, breathing heavily. After a moment of pure panting, elated and in shock, Shang Qinghua reaches out for Mobei-Jun’s hand with his own. It is too-warm with sweat.

Shang Qinghua just continues to lay there, breath slowly returning to normal, wondering what the hell just happened. Had he just upgraded to Erotic Touching?! Were he and his king…together now?! Shang Qinghua laughs, bright and bubbly, because what the hell!!!! There are no words, not even for noted purveyor of the written art form Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, that could describe the joyous feelings loop-de-looping in Shang Qinghua’s heart!! He is floating on air!! He is among the clouds!! It is too much!! He cannot stop smiling!! He will never stop!!

They lay there a few more moments, linked that way, before Mobei-Jun sits up.

“This one will be right back,” he says. He narrows his eyes at Shang Qinghua. “Don’t move.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, and leaves the tent. Alone again, cum turning tacky and itchy in his pants, Shang Qinghua starts to spiral down a bit. His king left so quickly, with hardly a word. This one thought that usually there was snuggling after. Had he misunderstood something? Had he misread the situation somehow? Anxiety nips at him.

Mobei-Jun reenters the tent, then, a wet rag in his hand. Sitting down next to Shang Qinghua, he hands him the towel.

“Clean up,” he says quietly.

“Thank you, my king,” Shang Qinghua replies, sitting up but not looking his king in the eye. He doesn’t really understand what’s happening. He feels out of his depth.

Trying to push aside the feeling, he removes his shirt and divests himself of his pants, too, frowning at the mess he’s made inside of them. He remembers his king’s words, and shudders a little. Are you going to make a mess of yourself all over my thigh? He wipes his softened cock and stomach carefully.

When he looks up to give the rag to Mobei-Jun, he is alarmed by the look on his king’s face as he takes in his naked form! He looks…surprised? Oh no! Should Shang Qinghua not have taken his clothes off?? Is he being weird? Was this some kind of one-time deal? Mobei-Jun helps the inexperienced little nerd get off, and that’s it? Of course his king didn’t want to see him naked!! God, this one could be so stupid sometimes!! What a virgin move, thinking someone wanted a relationship with you just because he let you rub off against his thigh!!

“Is this—” he gestures vaguely to himself, in a panic, “Is this okay?”

His fears are quickly assuaged by a little smile appearing on his king’s face.

Mobei-Jun nods, silently, one hand holding the wet towel, the other playing with the hem of his sweatshirt. His brow goes all creased after a moment.

Shang Qinghua looks on with wide eyes, wondering what exactly was going on.

“Is everything…alright?” he asks awkwardly.

Eyes alighting on the smaller man, Mobei-Jun silently removes his upper layers. Pensive, shirtless, hands lingering around the waistband of his sweats, Mobei-Jun says, “This one did not want to push too far, too fast.” He pauses. “The last time he did so…Shang Qinghua disappeared and this one could not find him.”

Shang Qinghua stares at him with guilty eyes. He watches as his king thinks, face a little hurt moue. He wishes that he could kiss him again, convince him that he wouldn’t leave, but he doesn’t know if that’s allowed.  

“This one was concerned that Shang Qinghua would feel that this Mobei-Jun had taken advantage of the situation.”

His king finally shucks his sweats then, and this lowly one merely stares a moment at the beauty laid out before him. Take advantage?! If anything, this cretin was the one taking advantage!! What right did he have to see this?!

“My king, you can take advantage of this one whenever you want,” Shang Qinghua says dreamily, drinking him in. Mobei-Jun truly is the most beautiful being ever created! And yet, in spite of how incongruous it may appear, this divine creature in Shang Qinghua’s lowly little tent, everything seems as it should be.

The thought distracts the smaller man so much that he doesn’t realize the danger he’s in! His king shoves him, making him topple sideways in what he is sure is a very unalluring fashion!

“This one is being serious.”

Shang Qinghua sits back up, unbothered. “So am I, my king!!” He pauses. In light of what he’d recently shared with his king, perhaps that joke hadn’t been in the best of taste. But, hey! It’s his trauma, and he’ll make jokes about it if he wants to!!!

Mobei-Jun ignores him, cleaning himself up and then shuffling over to Shang Qinghua’s sleeping bag. This one is about to be rather peeved at his king taking his place when impatient hands beckon him closer! My king!! Don’t mind if this one does!

The bigger man lays down inside the sleeping bag, and Shang Qinghua tucks himself into his embrace, letting Mobei-Jun zip them in, grinning like a fool. This one is truly in shock. He’d just had sex with his king??!!!!! He’d not panicked once??!!! This is the best day of his life??!!!

“Shang Qinghua?” his king says. There is puzzlement in his voice.

“Hmm?”

“…if you were not scared of this one, why did you cry that day? The day you left?”

This one immediately cringes in embarrassment! My king!! Why do you ask questions like this??? Leave this one a bit of face, please!!! Let him enjoy the afterglow!!!!

“Oh, um. Well—”

What could he say??? He realized that he could probably be intimate with you without having a panic attack, if you were so inclined? He realized that he trusted you more than he ever trusted anyone before? He realized that his trauma had not rendered him completely irreparable? Ah, what answer would leave him with anything to come back to??? What answer would not flay his heart open before his king???

“This one was—this one was just so happy, my king,” he settles on. He is quiet, and thoughtful. “Because his brain and his heart were finally on the same page.”

He smiles, remembering that moment fondly, despite all that happened after it.

“Because he realized that there was a chance he could have what he wanted.”

“And what was that?” Mobei-Jun asks softly.

This one huffs out a quiet little laugh.

“You, my king,” he answered. “To be close to you.” He laughs gently again. “Until then, I had thought that I would never be capable of being close to anyone. But you—you made it possible, my king. You make this one feel so safe.”

Shang Qinghua is caught in a quiet, sweet disbelief. He’d never thought—he’d never really thought he would have something like this, because he never truly believed he deserved it. But the shame and the loneliness and the sadness had lied. He deserved this. He deserved—affection. Intimacy. Love. His king had been the one to make him understand this, finally. Ten years too late.

Mobei-Jun hums behind him, nuzzling at his neck.

“You are safe,” he says softly. “This one will make it so you are always safe.”

Shang Qinghua sighs, contented, and settles back into his king’s arms. Soft and low, shielded from the rain, they doze off shortly after.

***

It must be hours later when they blink awake again, still wrapped up together, and Mobei-Jun starts to press gentle kisses to Shang Qinghua’s jaw. This one nearly startles! It hadn’t been a dream, then!!!!

They begin to kiss again, though the angle is a bit awkward, over Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, and soon enough they are rubbing their bodies against each other. His king is hard again behind him, and it is still surprising to this lowly one! He thinks it always will be!

“My king,” Shang Qinghua says, in awe, breaking away from the kiss. “This one—this one had no idea that you were…interested in him.”

Mobei-Jun snorts behind him. “Surely you must have felt it while we were grappling.”

“This one thought that it was just, you know, a totally biological reaction?” he says. “The idea that someone like you would ever be interested in someone like—”

He stops himself short, exhaling harshly. How mortifying! Why could he never control his stupid mouth!!!

Mobei-Jun is quiet behind him, and Shang Qinghua feels himself flush with embarrassment. He wants to curl in on himself, but his king’s arms around him prevent it.

Suddenly, he feels Mobei-Jun nuzzling at his neck, and he gasps, body seizing up. Truly Shang Qinghua is all elbows!! His king’s arms tighten around him to stop his flailing, but he continues his attentions, and even starts to let his hands roam around Shang Qinghua’s body. It feels unfairly good, and this one’s breath starts to go a little labored!

“Shang Qinghua, this one has been losing his mind,” his king murmurs into his ear. He sounds annoyed! Sorry this one is so sexy, my king, haha! The thought that Shang Qinghua could make anyone lose their mind with lust, let alone the godly Mobei-Jun, is quite laughable, and he cannot help the giggle that escapes him.

“Dreaming of this one’s perfect ass?” he says. He is aiming for carefree and flirty, but instead it comes out a little disbelieving. He mentally admonishes himself. Insecurity is really not sexy!!!

“Hmm,” Mobei-Jun rumbles in agreement, either missing or ignoring his employee’s stupidity, as is his custom. One big hand snakes down to grope at Shang Qinghua’s ass, and the smaller man startles and yelps, feet kicking up. “You know,” his king says, calmly, conversationally, even as his hand kneads and squeezes, “this one grapples with Luo Binghe, and Gongyi Xiao, with many students.” Shang Qinghua is moving in aborted little jerks, held down by Mobei-Jun’s arm, caught between pressing further into his king’s hand and trying to get away. “But no one has had quite this effect.”

“O-Oh—?”

“This one thinks it might be the fact that no one blushes such a lovely shade of pink as you, Shang Qinghua,” he finishes, as if commenting on how lovely the weather is, uncaring of his poor, aroused employee! Mobei-Jun’s hand leaves his ass, then, and Shang Qinghua makes a little dejected noise. He’s hard again, and his king almost certainly knows it, but he’s just letting his poor employee suffer, holding him close as he takes big gulps of air.

“My king,” Shang Qinghua pants, “why are you being so cruel to this one?”

“Perhaps this Mobei-Jun would like you to feel how he has felt all this time.”

“As if this one hasn’t suffered, having you manhandle him around the dojo for months!!” Shang Qinghua shrieks, aggrieved.

“You were the one who insisted on that ridiculous lie,” his king replies, dry and amused. “And besides, this one has been trying to make his intentions towards Shang Qinghua known for a long time now. Shang Qinghua has simply been too dense to understand.”

“My king! I think you were the one who was too dense to understand! This one started crying with joy when you were on top of him!”

“This one maintains that crying with joy is actually impossible,” Mobei-Jun says flatly. “Besides, it was important that Shang Qinghua make the first move.”

The smaller man smiles. “This one is grateful,” he says quietly. He pauses, feeling warm and pleased. “So does that mean that you and I are…together?” he asks, hesitant and hopeful.

“Yes,” Mobei-Jun answers, like he is annoyed at Shang Qinghua for even asking? When he speaks again, though, his voice is gentler. “If…Shang Qinghua would like that, too, then…yes.”

“This one would like that very much,” Shang Qinghua whispers, smiling so hard his face is beginning to hurt.

“Good,” his king replies next to his ear, bending to kiss at the other man’s neck.

Shang Qinghua almost immediately feels himself go boneless at the sensation, a tongue circling his ear, a hot mouth making its way down the column of his neck, teeth scraping along his jaw. How is he so good at this?! Shang Qinghua’s brain feels like it’s trickling out of his ears!!

“My…my king,” he says mindlessly, turning around so he is facing Mobei-Jun, blindly

trying to find purchase.

Mobei-Jun’s hands are roaming around his body once more, and when they stop to rub and roll one of his nipples, Shang Qinghua jerks and lets out a hitching little gasp.

Apparently impatient, his king doesn’t waste much time on his chest, instead moving his hand down towards Shang Qinghua’s cock, which is hard and bobbing hopefully against his stomach.

“Oh god,” this one whimpers, watching as his king’s hands travel down his pubic bone and the tops of his thighs, tracing through the dark thatch of hair there. He cannot help but let his legs fall open even further.

Mobei-Jun wraps a hand around his cock. Mobei-Jun. Wraps a hand. Around his cock. Mobei-Jun wraps a hand!! Around his cock!!!!!!

Shang Qinghua lets out a strangled sort of wail, body bucking underneath his king’s firm grasp, which immediately turns into the most toe-curlingly wonderful friction. He is caught by that hand, large and dexterous and unyielding. Recovering from the initial shock of sensation, he returns his gaze to the scene between his legs, which is just—it’s just—Mobei-Jun’s hand is enormous, damp and callused and bloody-knuckled, wrapped around Shang Qinghua and making his spine arch with pleasure. It’s so different from when he touches himself, unpredictable and overwhelming, nothing at all like he thought it would be.

“Feel good?” his king pants harshly in his ear.

“Yes,” Shang Qinghua gasps emphatically. He wants to dive in further and further, until he can’t breathe or think or anything. Until he is just a mess under his king’s hands.

Mobei-Jun spits into his palm, then, slots their cocks together, making Shang Qinghua shiver and shake. He doesn’t even know what his king is doing but it’s so, so good—

“Shang Qinghua,” his king says, biting at his lips. The rhythm of his hand around their cocks picks up, while his other hand wraps loosely around the other man’s throat. “Tell this one that he’s yours, tell him he’s the one you’ve chosen, I want to hear you say it—”

“Yes, yes, my king, you’re—you’re mine, I want you, only you—” the smaller man babbles, staring down at Mobei-Jun’s hands on his body, still unable to process any of it. “This one has never—never felt like this before, please—”

He shakes apart under his king’s hands for the second time that day, orgasm spreading through him like molten lava, clutching at the bigger man like he’s drowning. Mobei-Jun bites down on his shoulder as he’s coming off the high, and Shang Qinghua shivers violently.

“My king, my king,” he murmurs, dazed and unfocused. He can’t think. He can’t stop his mouth. “I want it to just be you, only you.” He doesn’t know if he’s making any sense. “Make it so there is nothing but you.”

Mobei-Jun grunts thickly, and suddenly, his hips go sloppy and jagged. As he comes, Shang Qinghua feels it like it’s his own orgasm, his king jerking hot and hard, muscles seizing, powerful body losing control against this lowly one. Grunting, Mobei-Jun fucks up against the smaller man. He falters, then, hot wetness going cool on Shang Qinghua’s skin. He mouths gently at the shallow bite mark he’d left on the other man’s shoulder, clearly still reeling from his orgasm.

“Fuck,” Shang Qinghua says, utterly wrung out.

Mobei-Jun, face a picture of smug satisfaction, then carries him up to his big bed, and they stay there all night and much of the next day. Shang Qinghua, wrapped up in his king’s arms, in his king’s bed, wonders at all the time he’s wasted so far. All the time he’s spent running. How long had his king patiently waited for him? How much pain had this one put him through when he’d left? Now, Shang Qinghua has forgotten why he’d ever wanted to run at all.

Chapter Text

“Just. Just maybe smile a little less like there’s a gun to your head, okay, my king?” Shang Qinghua asks sweetly.

Mobei-Jun, looking terrifyingly handsome in his bespoke suit, drops his grimace of a smile for his usual glare. He is about to go on air with Yue Qingyuan to talk about his uncle’s book.

“Okay, or not!” Shang Qinghua says, putting his hands up in surrender.

His king had liked the idea in theory, but in reality? Not so much. Beating people up on camera is much more his speed than answering questions. He’d been on edge for a few days before, which had, happily for Shang Qinghua, usually manifested in him pinning his lowly employee to the nearest flat surface and kissing him senseless! This one found himself walking around the dojo in a near-constant state of dazed arousal, hair out of place, lips feeling bruised and swollen.

They were trying to Go Slow, but it hadn’t totally been working? Mainly they just made out for what felt like hours and hours, in the bathroom, or the supply closet, or, if they were alone, pressed against the mats. Shang Qinghua was slowly becoming more confident with the whole idea of Erotic Touching, something he had very frequently thought about, but never really imagined he would be able to do. He had a lot of theory, but very little practice, and that made for some awkward moments.

The thing is: he got very overwhelmed when he was aroused. He lost control of his limbs, and his mouth, and he usually wound up elbowing Mobei-Jun in the ribs, or blurting out something embarrassing like how he’d let his king do literally anything to him! He had very little stamina, which Mobei-Jun didn’t really seem to mind, but Shang Qinghua was privately kind of embarrassed about. His king was so patient with him!! He’d hardly even yelled at him when he’d almost kneed him in the balls! I’m sorry, my king, but how is this one supposed to control his flailing when you do that with your tongue???? You are setting this one up to fail!!!

Anyway. His king is anxious, which makes him moody and aggressive. They know what questions Yue Qingyuan would be asking, and they’d practiced what answers his king would give, but Shang Qinghua can understand why he would still be nervous. It isn’t easy, talking about these things.

The broadcast begins. Shang Qinghua gives his king a big thumbs-up from behind the camera, and Mobei-Jun actually smiles, small but genuine. Win!!! This one challenges even the most heterosexual man watching the program not to fall in love with his king after a smile like that!! He’d put in just his small silver hoops that day, taking special care with his hair. Shang Qinghua had helped him put some styling gel in, like Ning Yingying used to do to him when the Theater Appreciation Group held their weekly meetings at An Ding. Mobei-Jun had made a mess of Shang Qinghua’s hair right after, kissing him fiercely against the bathroom sink, before stepping back, straightening his tie and cufflinks, and heading for the door. Shang Qinghua had been left a shaking, panting mess, slumped back on the sink.

His king had looked back innocently. “You coming?” he’d asked, like a bastard.

When they’d arrived at the studio, Yue Qingyuan had said, “Who knew your little blackmail would wind up like this, Shang Qinghua?”

Mobei-Jun’s head had whipped to look at his lowly employee with an expression somewhere between shock and adoration.

“Blackmail?” he’d mouthed.

This one had simply flushed and shrugged, smiling shyly!

Now, Yue Qingyuan begins the interview. His king’s face turns serious, handsome and clean-shaven and grave.

“How did it feel, reading your uncle’s book?” the anchor asks.

His king looks down briefly. “It was…painful for me.” He pauses, seemingly gathering his thoughts. “This one knows that my uncle was doing what he thought was best, but…my years training under Linguang-Jun were difficult ones.”

“Is everything in the book true?”

“The parts about my training are true, yes.” Yue Qingyuan’s face expresses disgusted shock. Mobei-Jun says, flat, “Yes, even those parts.”

Leaving him at the tournament. Making him practice on hardwood flooring instead of mats. Withholding meals until he practiced a certain form hundreds of times.

Shang Qinghua watches with his jaw set.

“Would you do it over again, to get to where you are now?”

Mobei-Jun’s brow furrows. “This one disagrees with the idea that my uncle had anything to do with my success. He imagined that his techniques made me disciplined, but they only made me afraid. Had the cheating scandal not occurred, this one would not have been successful on the Olympic squad anyway.”  

“If not your uncle, to what or who do you credit your newfound success in MMA?”

Mobei-Jun smiles just a fraction again. “Luo Binghe, and my students at Junshang Dojo. Myself.” He pauses, and glances at Shang Qinghua a moment. “But most of all, this one must thank his manager, Shang Qinghua. Without him, none of this would be possible.”

This one covers his face, embarrassed at how broadly he is smiling!!!!

“How heartwarming,” a voice next to him whispers. It’s Junshang, grinning deviously. Shang Qinghua makes a face. Luo Binghe had come to take part in the interview, to testify to Mobei-Jun’s excellence as a teacher and a person.

They go to a commercial break, and everyone starts chattering. Mobei-Jun is approached by two makeup girls, who pat and prod at him.

“Did you amend the lawsuit to include my bit?” Luo Binghe asks.

Shang Qinghua had mentioned it briefly to Zhuzhi Lang, who had merely frowned with sort of a confused expression. They hadn’t discussed it since.

“Oh, yeah, of course!” he lies brightly.

“Good.” Luo Binghe pauses, and crosses his arms, watching Mobei-Jun. “So what’s gotten into him? What’s with all the teary-eyed thank-yous?” Suddenly, his eyes widen, and he slowly turns to Shang Qinghua with the most terrifying expression this one has ever seen!! “Oh my god. Are you finally giving Iceman that good—”

Shang Qinghua squawks, and leaps forward to slam his hands over Luo Binghe’s mouth. Junshang, laughing his ass off, shoves him away easily, but Shang Qinghua continues to swat at him ineffectively.

“Holy shit,” the bigger man laughs. “God, I thought his balls were going to shrivel up—aah!”

Shen Yuan, who had arrived only a moment earlier, whacks him soundly with his fan several times. “Can Luo Binghe be so shameless???” he hisses.

“Ow! Sensei!! I’m sorry!!”

“Go to makeup,” Shen Yuan says, sternly. “They’ve been looking for you for ten minutes.”

“Sensei—”

“Go.”

Luo Binghe walks away, hilariously downtrodden. Shen Yuan begins to fan himself gently. Both he and Shang Qinghua gaze out at the set for a moment.

Then, Cucumber-bro asks, in a disinterested voice, “So, did you?”

Shang Qinghua sputters. “Did I what???”

Shen Yuan snorts. “You totally did.”

Shang Qinghua tries hard not to smile, but can’t help the broad grin that stretches across his face.

“Airplane-juju!” his bro says, fake-scandalized, whacking him gently on the arm. “Congratulations. This one never wants to hear another word about it. Okay?”

***

Their physical relationship continues to progress. Mobei-Jun sucks him off in his immaculate suit after the interview, letting Shang Qinghua ruin his perfectly coiffed hair. This one is sure that he nearly dies twice during the experience! He has to muster every single solitary ounce of his self-control not to buck uncontrollably into his king’s mouth! It is terrifying! It is wonderful! It gives him a lot of anxiety! He privately wonders if his king could possibly be satisfied with what they’re doing, being a normal, healthy man in his thirties, when they mainly consist of things that happen during the first few moments of a porno. He knows that he is moving kind of slow, and is kind of inexperienced, and doesn’t yet feel comfortable initiating anything, but he hopes that his very clear enthusiasm makes up for that! Despite his insecurities, he continues as if everything is fine, knowing that this relationship is far too important to ruin over his sexual hang-ups.

Shang Qinghua hasn’t actually slept in his apartment at all since they started…whatever it is that they’re doing, instead staying in his king’s bed every night. They more or less live together, actually, which is a very strange thing. This one loves it! The sex is amazing, of course, but what he likes even more is the quiet intimacy of their daily life together. The way his king smooths Shang Qinghua’s hair out of his face, or brushes a hand against the small of his back as he passes. Snuggling on the couch. Smelling like the same shampoo and body wash. Joking about adopting Sha Hualing. Throwing roasted melon seeds at his king when he wants his attention in the office.

That’s what Shang Qinghua is doing one night at the dojo, wanting to draw his king’s eyes away from the glowing reviews of his interview with Yue Qingyuan. People were going bananas for Mobei-Jun! As they should!!! Every living being with a pulse had fallen in love with him during his interview, and the sales for Linguang-Jun’s book had basically gone into the toilet after Luo Binghe’s heartfelt plea for a boycott. The man truly is gifted at emotional manipulation!

Shang Qinghua is about to throw another melon seed when his king suddenly looks at him, eyes dark and intent. This one’s hand pauses in mid-air at the power of that gaze!

“Was there something you wanted, Shang Qinghua?” Mobei-Jun purrs. His hand flexes where it rests on his desk, and this one giggles nervously! His king truly is too much!

“Uh,” Shang Qinghua says stupidly, swallowing hard. “Your attention?”

“Hmm,” his king says, getting out of his chair and walking around his desk.

He leans back onto it casually, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that emphasizes his size and power. Shang Qinghua is basically a puddle at this point, melon seed forgotten in his hand.

“You always have this one’s attention.”

“Do—Do I?” Shang Qinghua replies, blinking, sitting up in his chair and placing the melon seeds on his little desk. He rests his chin on his hand like a teenage girl, wanting to hear more from his king! How can this possibly be true?! Shang Qinghua is just…Shang Qinghua!!

His king just nods, looking pensive, almost a little annoyed. A moment passes, and Mobei-Jun beckons him forward with a quick flick of his wrist, like he is a flame and Shang Qinghua is a stupid little moth and he knows it. This one is helplessly drawn in. Slowly, mouth going dry, he gets up and walks around his own desk. His king meets him there, muscling him backwards against it, caging him in with his arms. Shang Qinghua, caught in his gaze, can only stare up at him with bated breath. He wishes his king would kiss him.

“Now that you know you have it, Shang Qinghua,” his king murmurs, eyes flicking over his face like live embers, “what will you do with it?”

Okay. It’s Shang Qinghua’s turn to initiate! He can do this! It’s just a kiss! They’ve done this for what probably amounts to hours and hours, now. All he’s doing is starting it this time!

Feeling a bit dazed, he brings his hands up to his king’s smoothly-shaven face, and holds it in the v of his palms and fingers. They are too small to cover much. If his king were doing this to Shang Qinghua, he wouldn’t be able to see! The thought makes him smile fondly at him. He strokes a thumb across elegantly sculpted cheekbones, letting his eyes drink his king in, and kisses him once, soundly, on his upper lip. Mobei-Jun’s arms flex minutely, hands still resting on the desk, and his breath stutters all sweet against Shang Qinghua’s mouth as he watches the smaller man with lazy-lidded eyes.

Shang Qinghua goes in to kiss him again, this time lingering on his lower lip, soft and slow. He runs his hands back through his king’s hair, dragging his nails as he goes, drawing a sweet little sigh from the bigger man. The kiss starts to deepen, and Shang Qinghua slides his tongue into his king’s mouth, and it is all wet and hot and radio-static for a few moments. Endless and molasses-sweet, like a hot summer afternoon. He gets lost in the slide of their tongues together, lost in the press of his Mobei-Jun against him, like they are the only two people in the world, like they exist in the eye of hurricane.

At some point, his king seems to start to chafe under the slow pace, and he surges forward, big hands moving to cup Shang Qinghua’s face, all but shoving him back against the desk with his body. This one can feel his king’s impatience, the hard press of his cock against his stomach. The sheer power in his body, and the way his king seems to have focused all of it on Shang Qinghua, is making his knees shake!

Then, Mobei-Jun is gripping him hard by the hips, spinning him around so he is facing his desk. Something changes, a slight shift, but Shang Qinghua ignores it. His cock, hard and throbbing, is pressed against the edge of the desk, and he moans at the sensation. His king’s hands move to his belt, and begin to unbuckle it. The clink of it opening makes his spine go shivery, and he presses back against the other man’s cock. Trying to help, Shang Qinghua begins to unbutton his shirt, opening up more real estate to Mobei-Jun’s mouth, which is gasping hungrily along the line of his shoulder.

His king is being a bit more aggressive with him than usual. Trousers are shoved down roughly, shirt is yanked down, and Shang Qinghua kicks them both aside, feeling a little bit of unease. He is just nervous, probably. This is the fastest they’ve moved. He thinks of Junshang, saying that he thought Mobei-Jun’s balls were going to shrivel up. Shang Qinghua needs to get over himself. He ignores the little pit of anxiety in his stomach. Mobei-Jun’s kissing his neck and it feels nice. Shang Qinghua throws his head back on his king’s shoulder, and the bigger man rumbles his approval at the improved access.

Feeling reassured, Shang Qinghua reaches back and tries to undo the belt currently digging into his back. He’s not totally sure where this is headed, but it seems like safe place to start. Mobei-Jun grunts. Shang Qinghua wishes he could see his face. The belt is opened, and his king finishes taking his trousers off. Shang Qinghua shivers at the newfound heat he can feel against his ass, and presses back against it.

Suddenly, without warning, Mobei-Jun leans forward and shoves some things off Shang Qinghua’s desk. The smaller man then finds himself being pushed down onto it, bent over the desk, face pressed down against the wood by a hand on his neck. His stomach seems to drop like a brick, and he jerks and shifts against the discomfort. This isn’t—this doesn’t feel right. Mobei-Jun removes his hand, runs it down Shang Qinghua’s back.

“Okay?” he asks roughly.

“Yes,” Shang Qinghua answers quietly, convincing himself that he can push through this feeling. He is okay. Mobei-Jun isn’t going to hurt him. If this is what he wanted, then Shang Qinghua could give it to him. He wants to prove to his king that he is improving, that he is willing to try new things and put himself out there. He’s not a stiff little virgin.

Mobei-Jun’s cock feels enormous against his ass, and his hands have left his back. Shang Qinghua wonders what he is doing back there. He really wishes he could see his face again. Panic begins to rise inky and thick in his chest, but he just swallows it down and turns his head the other way. The wood of his desk feels hard and too-cool, pressed up against his cheek, and a hand is firm on his back.

The heat of his king behind him is gone for a moment, and Shang Qinghua feels unmoored and cold. He closes his eyes, breath shallow and stale, when warm hands pull his underwear down. He wants to hide, ashamed and exposed, but doesn’t know if that’s allowed. Where is he again? There is too much sensation, too much anxiety crowding his senses and he feels for a moment that the floor is falling out from underneath his feet. His vision blurs and tunnels strangely.  Something wet—a tongue—traces up along his bare thigh and ass. It feels foreign and unpleasant, not at all recognizable as Mobei-Jun’s. Who’s—who’s back there? Who is touching him?!

“Stop,” he says, quiet and strained.  “Stop, please, stop, please, please—”

Tongue, hands, everything—they disappear. Feeling unsteady, Shang Qinghua supports himself against the desk and shifts back to a standing position. Someone is talking to him, but he is not sure what they are saying or who they are. Shaking, he scrambles to pull his boxers back up, and looks around dully for his clothes.

“—ang Qinghua,” a firm voice is saying. “Shang Qinghua, can you hear this one?”

A hand closes on his shoulder, and he flinches away. Sound and color seem to return all at once, the world shaking back into existence, and he looks up to see his king. He is shirtless, only wearing briefs, eyes wide, hands up in reassurance. Shang Qinghua blinks at him, confused. Had it been his king behind him all along?

“Are you okay?” Mobei-Jun asks, a hand coming forward tentatively. “This one didn’t mean—”

Realizing what he’s done, Shang Qinghua blurts out, “Oh god.” He slaps a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles through it, running on spongey legs towards the bathroom.

“Wait,” his king says, voice strangely pleading, following behind.

Shang Qinghua ignores him, unable to do anything else, and locks himself into the little bathroom. Sinking to the ground, he covers his face with his hands and tries to breathe. I am okay. I am safe. It had only been Mobei-Jun. Mobei-Jun isn’t going to hurt him.

He squeezes his eyes shut. God, what is wrong with him?! Why can’t he just be normal?! Mobei-Jun is probably second-guessing ever starting any of this! He’s going to break things off, and everything would be ruined! Tears start streaming down Shang Qinghua’s face quietly, and he beats his head back against the door two, three times.

“Get over it!” he says to himself, slapping at his own face. “Just get over it already!”

He sits, head in his hands, until the world seems less liable to fly apart. There is a solution to this. There must be a solution to this! He has to fix it!

Getting up, he runs his wrists and hands under the cold tap, and then splashes it all over his face. He is okay. He is safe. It’s only Mobei-Jun. It’s only his king.

“Shang Qinghua?” Mobei-Jun asks tentatively from outside. He probably thinks this one is a lunatic!! “Please come out.”

This one does so, still feeling a bit like he might shake out of his skin at any moment. He stops short at what he sees: Mobei-Jun on his knees in front of him, wearing his gi top untied, hair askew like he’d drug his hands through it a few times. His eyes are rimmed red. In his hands is Shang Qinghua’s clothing, neatly folded.

Upon seeing his employee exit the bathroom, his eyes widen. He thrusts the clothes forward, laying them at Shang Qinghua’s feet, and bends into a bow, his forehead touching the floor. He doesn’t move.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t move, either, just stares down at his king.

“Um. What are you doing?” he asks awkwardly.

When his king replies, it is not an answer. It is another question, quiet and strained, his dark head still bent to the ground:

“Are you going to leave again?”

Shang Qinghua’s face scrunches up at the sheer pain in the question, so overcome with guilt. Ignoring how vulnerable he feels just in his underwear, trying to muscle through the churning of his gut so he could salvage this, somehow salvage this, he carefully gets to his knees across from his king.

Mobei-Jun looks up, then, and returns to a normal kneeling position.

“This one apologizes,” he says, hardly able to look Shang Qinghua in the eye. “He does not know what he was thinking—”

“You have nothing to apologize for, it is this one’s fault—”

His king shakes his head, looking down at the mat.

“It’s okay, my king,” Shang Qinghua says, shifting closer. “We can—we can continue where we left off, it’s okay.”

Mobei-Jun frowns, confused and looking miserable.

Shang Qinghua nervously gets closer, runs a hand up his king’s thigh, kisses him gently on his jawline. He prays the other man does not notice the way his hands are still shaking. His king stays still as a statue, eyeing him oddly.

Confidence faltering, Shang Qinghua persists, hand traveling tentatively towards his king’s softened cock. “Let this one—”

“What,” Mobei-Jun interrupts him, grabbing at Shang Qinghua’s wrist, “are you doing?”

“I’m just trying—” this one huffs, confused, “I’m just trying to make it up to you.”

He removes his wrists from his king’s loose grip, and smooths shaking hands along the bigger man’s shoulders. His king’s face turns a bit dangerous then, dark and displeased, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he grabs at the smaller man’s wrists again, locking his two hands into place where they are. Shang Qinghua tries to wrench them free, but Mobei-Jun holds firm.

“Stop,” he says. This one tugs again. “Stop, Shang Qinghua.”

His eyes are dark and hard. Shang Qinghua lets his arms go limp. He doesn’t understand what his king wants from him. He watches as Mobei-Jun lets him go, grabs his shirt, and drapes it over his shoulders lightly. The bigger man’s face changes as he does so, dropping into something more unsure, and he seems careful not to touch Shang Qinghua.

“There is nothing to make up for, Shang Qinghua. This one is the only one at fault,” he says, tone tight with some emotion. He pauses, looks down. His voice goes alarmingly kind when he says, “Just rest for now. Go up and rest. We can talk later.” He ducks his head, then, trying to meet the smaller man’s eye, trying to convince him of something. “Yes?”

“But—” Shang Qinghua objects, voice going watery. He doesn’t understand. It feels like he is being punished. Why, when he offered to keep going? He understands his king’s impatience, and he’s willing to try again. Why is he being sent away like this?

“Do you want this one to call Shen Yuan, tell him to come over?”

Shang Qinghua frowns. Why would—?

“No, no,” he says. He knows when he’s being dismissed. Slowly, he gets to his feet and trudges upstairs.

He lays in his king’s bed for what feels like hours, listening for Mobei-Jun’s heavy footsteps on the stairs, stewing in his own misery. How could he have messed this up so badly, again??? Why does he have this evil impulse to fuck up good things???

Finally, he hears his king clambering up the steps, cadence unsteady. It’s nearly two in the morning. The bed feels way too big without Mobei-Jun beside him, and he just wants to cuddle up close to him and apologize and pretend like today had never happened.

But his king doesn’t come into the bedroom. Shang Qinghua hears some clunking around in the bathroom, the sound of the fridge opening, and, then, heavy footfalls going down once more. Clearly Mobei-Jun wants to be alone. Shang Qinghua closes his eyes and tries not to cry.

***

Shang Qinghua wakes up early to find Mobei-Jun sprawled rather inelegantly in the tent down in the dojo, beer cans strewn around him. This one has never seen his king consume even a drop of an alcoholic beverage, let alone get drunk! He covers him tenderly with his sleeping bag, collects the cans, and immediately calls Cucumber-bro, begging him for Luo Binghe’s famous congee recipe! He promises 10K of any plot his bro wants, magical beasts coming out of his ears, anything!!!! His very evil friend demands that he include the use of lube and condoms during a sex scene (!!!) and Shang Qinghua agrees, grateful but filled with trepidation! His readers will be so confused! It’ll be worth it, though, so he can make his king the ultimate hangover cure!!

Wracked with guilt, he spends the morning fixing the congee, a very laborious process for Shang Qinghua, who has the kitchen skills and palate of a twelve-year-old boy! Finally, he sets it to simmer on the stove for an hour or so. While it’s cooking, he takes out the recycling, filled to the brim with beer cans, and says a silent prayer for his king’s liver!

Next task: get his king upstairs!!! It’s Saturday, which means they have morning classes. Students would be arriving in an hour, Gongyi Xiao in thirty minutes!

He creeps into the tent, and pokes at his king tentatively. Mobei-Jun just moans, eyes fluttering open, and he peers at Shang Qinghua with slitted eyes.

Throwing an arm over his face, he mumbles, sleep-heavy, “Go away.”

“My king, there is nothing I’d like to do more, but—students will be arriving soon!”

The arm is removed, and his king rolls his head to one side to glare at his employee properly. “What time?”

“9 am, my king!”

Mobei-Jun rolls into a sitting position, shielding his eyes miserably.

“Lower your voice, moron,” he grumbles.

“Sorry!” Shang Qinghua chirps. He lowers his voice to a whisper. “9 am, my king.”

If Mobei-Jun weren’t so green, this one might say he were about to strangle him! Instead, his king gets up and staggers out of the tent, clutching at his head. Shang Qinghua shadows him like a nervous little mouse, ready to sacrifice himself to pillow the other man’s fall!

Gesturing towards the tent with a pained expression, his king says, “Take it down.”

“On it, my king,” Shang Qinghua whispers. “Let me help you upstairs first.”

Mobei-Jun rolls his eyes, but allows his employee to follow him up. He’s moving slow, clearly miserable, and he has to pause a few times on the staircase, looking like he’s trying very hard not to puke.

He permits Shang Qinghua to guide his shuffling footsteps towards the bedroom. This lowly employee has already changed the sheets on the bed so they would be nice and cool and fresh, and closed the blinds so it would be dark! He guides him to his side, and watches as his king climbs in with a sigh of relief. He’s asleep within moments, and Shang Qinghua brushes a sweaty lock of hair off his forehead. Quietly, he goes to the kitchen, fills a glass with water, and retrieves some painkillers. He places them on Mobei-Jun’s bedside table, and closes the door gently. Now he will be able to sleep.

Shang Qinghua periodically stirs the congee while attending to his other tasks, tasks that are usually shared by himself and Mobei-Jun. He breaks down the tent, posts the day’s schedule, gets the equipment ready, and gives the bathroom a quick once-over. He considers cancelling Mobei-Jun’s classes, but decides to put it off for another hour or so.

Gongyi Xiao arrives precisely thirty minutes before his first class is due to begin. Shang Qinghua is doing some paperwork in the office, and sticks his head out to say hello.

“Oh,” the jiujitsu instructor says, surprised. “This one saw the beer cans in the bin and thought you’d gone again!”

Shang Qinghua blinks. “Huh?”

The other man ignores his question, and says, “Has sensei done something to upset you?”

Shang Qinghua looks down, sheepish. “No, uh. I’m afraid this one has been doing the upsetting,” he says, sighing.

Gongyi Xiao waves him off. “Ah, I don’t buy it, Shang Qinghua! You’re too good!” He pauses, smiling. “Where is sensei, anyway?”

“He’s, uh, sick. I’ll be filling in for him.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

After that, Shang Qinghua heads upstairs to tend to his precious congee! It smells delicious! While he’s adding some seasoning, and boiling water for ginger tea, his king emerges from the bedroom, looking like a very beautiful zombie!

“Shang Qinghua…?” he says, clearly alarmed by the sight of his culinarily-challenged employee cooking something besides microwave ramen.

“Hey! Back to bed!” this one shrieks, leveling a spoon in his king’s direction.

Mobei-Jun winces, but does as he’s told, shuffling back towards his room. Shang Qinghua ladles out a bowl of congee, hoping it’s not poisonous, and pours out a cup of a ginger tea, with lots and lots of honey. Piling it all onto a tray, he brings it into the bedroom. Mobei-Jun sits up at his entrance, and Shang Qinghua is pleased to see that’s he drunk the water and taken the pills.

His king sniffs the air warily. “Smells good,” he mumbles.

“Don’t worry, it’s Luo Binghe’s recipe, haha!!” Shang Qinghua laughs, setting the tray down over his king’s lap. “The things this one had to promise Shen Yuan to get it—!”

Mobei-Jun is staring at him, and Shang Qinghua cowers a little under the steady regard. Searching for something to do, he reaches out to grab the now-empty glass.

“I’ll refill—”

A big hand wraps around his wrist before he can take it. He looks up, alarmed, to see his king looking at him with a desperate sort of expression. It’s…pleading, somehow? It makes Shang Qinghua want to die of shame!

“Can we—talk, Shang Qinghua?”

The smaller man shakes him off, swallowing down the sudden swell of emotion and grabbing the glass frantically.

“This one is very busy! He promised he would fill in for his king!” he blurts out, leaving the room.

He refills the glass, staring into space, and returns to the bedroom warily.

His king watches him as he places the glass on the side table, and says, quietly, “Thank you.”

Shang Qinghua clears his throat awkwardly. “Just—just eat your food.” He pauses, softens his voice. “You shouldn’t drink so much, my king,” he says, unable to return Mobei-Jun’s gaze, wringing his hands. “Anyway. Feel better, okay?”

He scurries out of the room, down to the dojo, where the first class of the day has begun. Everyone greets him, and he returns it distractedly, shutting himself away in the office.

An hour later, someone knocks on his door.

“Come in,” he says, voice a little shaky. He droops in relief when it’s only Gongyi Xiao. He should have known when they knocked. His king would never have done that!   

“This one wanted to go over the drills you’ll be demoing for the Little Warriors class?”

“Little—huh?” Shang Qinghua says dully.

“Little Warriors. My 11:30. Sensei does the demos with me. You said you were filling in for him?”

“Oh. Oh.” Little Warriors is a jiujitsu class for kids. The demos would definitely involve grappling. At the best of times, this would be a firm no from Shang Qinghua, and these certainly weren’t the best of times. “Maybe just…review with them, or something? I can’t do those demos.”

“I already promised them we would do Ezekiel chokes today. Sha Hualing is foaming at the mouth,” Gongyi Xiao says, looking worried.

Ezekiel chokes?! Why does that sound like some kind of medieval torture device?! Uh, double no thanks!!!

“Jiujitsu isn’t really my thing,” Shang Qinghua says, trying to convey how uncomfortable he is without saying it outright.

“Mobei-Jun says you’re doing excellently with judo grapples! It’s very similar! Don’t be nervous! All you have to do is lay there!”

Shang Qinghua frowns. That’s exactly why he doesn’t want to do it!!

“This one really doesn’t do well with submission holds,” he says, embarrassed. “Ever since Du Bi…”

“Maybe we could practice now? See how you do?” Gongyi Xiao asks hopefully. “It’s only—Sha Hualing really can be a handful, and her friend is in this class, too, the one who transferred from Huan Hua? They’re—well,” his voice drops here, “I think they might be evil, Shang Qinghua. They scare me. Usually Mobei-Jun is there to keep them in line, and, to be honest, I don’t know what I’ll do on my own.”

Shang Qinghua sighs. He knew better than most how terrifying Sha Hualing was, demon child!!! “Fine…we’ll try it.”

Almost immediately after they get into position, Shang Qinghua knows he’s made a mistake. Gongyi Xiao is on top of him, and he’s much smaller than his king, and has a disposition far less inclined towards violence. But still, he’s not—he’s not Mobei-Jun.

Shang Qinghua’s breathing is shallow, and his vision is starting to go all kaleidoscopic and strange, and when the jiujitsu instructor leans forward to get the choke, he takes one look at the expression on his face and says, “Oh.” He scrambles off of him like he’s been burnt. “Shang Qinghua! Are you okay?”

Chest heaving, Shang Qinghua sits up and curls his arms around himself. He tucks his head between his knees and repeats to himself, I am safe. I am okay. No one will hurt me.

“You really don’t like submissions, huh?” Gongyi Xiao says feelingly. “Sorry, man!”

A voice from the office startles them both.

“What the fuck is going on here?” it says.

Shang Qinghua whips his head up. Mobei-Jun! Oh, shit!!!

“My king,” this one says faintly. He must admit, despite the stormy expression on Mobei-Jun’s face, he is relieved to see the bigger man somehow. “You’re looking better.”

“What did you do to him?” his king demands of Gongyi Xiao, rushing over and squatting next to Shang Qinghua with an expression of worry. He still looks quite pale and drawn. Reaching out, he seems to remember himself, and he abruptly stands again. This one watches in hurt confusion!

“I needed a demo partner today since you are sick! Shang Qinghua said he was filling in for you!” Gongyi Xiao explains, his voice saying that he understands that he’s in trouble, but he doesn’t understand why.

“Gongyi Xiao, was it not made clear that no one is to grapple with Shang Qinghua besides this Mobei-Jun?!”

“Yes, sensei, but—”

“And you,” his king says, seething, turning to Shang Qinghua. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You wanted to try out what we’ve been working on with someone else? Wanted to see if your training would hold up with someone besides this Mobei-Jun?”

Shang Qinghua sputters out an aggrieved, “No, no,” very much understanding that they were not talking about grappling techniques!

“Is this one a set of training wheels?!” his king barks.

Even Gongyi Xiao seems to be aware of the deeper currents in their conversation, and he is watching with wide eyes. He scrambles over to Mobei-Jun’s feet, and bows lowly.

“It’s all this one’s fault, sensei! Don’t blame Shang Qinghua!” he cries. “He didn’t want to do the chokes, but I begged and I begged and I wouldn’t leave him alone! He was only trying to save me from Sha Hualing!”

Mobei-Jun glares down at him, looking as though he’s considering kicking the poor man! “Don’t apologize to this one,” he bites out. “Apologize to Shang Qinghua.”

In front of Shang Qinghua, Gongyi Xiao bows once more.

“This one is truly sorry,” he says, sounding distraught.

“It’s…okay? I mean—this one didn’t stop you?” Shang Qinghua says. Mobei-Jun gives him a look that could freeze blood!

“You were only being polite, and this one should have realized. Sensei is right. This Gongyi Xiao shouldn’t have gotten on top of you like that.”

“Gotten on top—!” Mobei-Jun roars, looking like he was ready to separate his jiujitsu instructor’s head from his body.

“My king! My king, stop, it’s okay!!” Shang Qinghua yells, getting to his feet in a panic. “It was just a misunderstanding!! No one got on top of anyone!!” He pulls at his king’s hand. “Let’s just—let’s just talk in the office, okay! Haha!!”

Mobei-Jun looks down at where their hands are joined, disgusted, but follows Shang Qinghua anyway.

Once they’re inside, his king pulls his hand away and turns to the door, shutting and locking it.  The click of the mechanism seems magnified in the quiet of their shared office, and Shang Qinghua blinks up at him from behind the relative safety of his desk, ready to be yelled at.

Mobei-Jun crosses his arms, looking lethal. “Explain yourself,” he says.

“Explain?! What do you mean, explain? It’s exactly as Gongyi Xiao said! He was afraid Sha Hualing would rip his heart out if he didn’t do Ezekiel chokes!” Shang Qinghua replies, words running frantically out of his mouth.

“Does this one look like he cares about Gongyi Xiao right now?” his king asks icily. He uncrosses his arms and steps towards his employee, who is currently cowering in fear! “You are not to grapple with others, and you know this. It’s dangerous, and it upsets you.”

“My king!” Shang Qinghua exclaims, trying desperately to find a little backbone when he is also feeling guilty. “You were sick and upset! This one was doing it for you!”

Mobei-Jun scoffs, and Shang Qinghua really starts to get angry.

“Hey! I was! This one made you stupid rice porridge and ginger tea and tried to cover your responsibilities, because you decided to shut me out and get wasted instead of talking to me!!” he yells, throwing his hands up in frustration.

His king frowns darkly. “This one was trying to give you space,” he grumbles, like he read about this thing called ‘space’ in a book and isn’t actually sure it exists.

“My king, I don’t want space from you!!!” Shang Qinghua wails, flailing wildly, about ready to rip his own hair out. What a stupid thing for his king to think!!! Feeling suddenly wrung out, Shang Qinghua slumps a little. “This one wants to be close to you,” he says sadly. “This one only ever wants to be close to you.”

Mobei-Jun does that pained blinking thing he does when he’s confused, frowning. “But…yesterday…this one scared you. You…were making that face again.”

Shang Qinghua looks at his king, eyebrows knit with concern. He is startled at how upset Mobei-Jun looks about it, and scrubs a hand over his face, trying to find the words to explain. Today, he had been scared, even though his rational mind is aware that Gongyi Xiao is harmless. He had been scared because Shang Qinghua doesn’t knowhim. He isn’t the one that Shang Qinghua knows. Mobei-Jun is. Mobei-Jun is the one he looks for, always, to assure him that he is safe. 

“My king, I—yesterday happened because I was scared you weren’t there,” he says. Mobei-Jun’s expression indicates that he is now even more confused, and Shang Qinghua looks down at his hands, trying to explain. “What I mean is—this one couldn’t see you. I couldn’t see your face or hear your voice to know it was you, and I was pressed up against something, and this one forgot where he was for a moment.” He pauses, and, when he speaks again, his voice is a thin, panicked little whisper. “This one looked around and—and he could not find you.”

His king’s face clears like the sky after a storm.

“Shang Qinghua,” he says softly.

He seems overcome, and looks at the smaller man with wide eyes and parted lips. Shang Qinghua can do nothing but return his gaze, feeling tears glitter in his own eyes.

“But…why did you run, then?” Mobei-Jun asks. “Why did you run away from this one?”

Shang Qinghua sighs. He had known it would come to this, but he was still dreading it. He really did not want to have this conversation!!

“My king,” he says, “my king, are you—are you happy with the things that we do? The—the sex things?”

Mobei-Jun’s brow goes stormy again, and he narrows his eyes. “Are you not?” he asks, deadly.

“Of course I am!” Shang Qinghua squeaks, alarmed. “This one is very satisfied, my king, very very—” He abruptly shuts his mouth, blinking, and clears his throat, feeling a flush crawl up his neck. “It’s just—there are some things that I,” his voice cracks, and he looks down in shame, “won’t be able to do. I…don’t think I can handle being pushed down against things like that, and…I think I might need to see your face, or, at least, hear your voice?” He gulps, staring fixedly at the floor, so embarrassed he wants to sink into it. “This one is aware that he is inexperienced, and is moving kind of slow, and is probably really not worth all the trouble—”

“Shang Qinghua,” his king interrupts, “what the fuck are you talking about?”

He sounds like he has a tension headache! Shang Qinghua looks up to see that he has crossed his arms again, and is looking at his stupid employee with a bewildered and annoyed expression.

Wringing his hands, Shang Qinghua explains, nervously, “This one only means to say that he understands why you might get a little impatient with him—”

“A little—?” Mobei-Jun interrupts, incredulous, head jerking forward like he’d misheard. “A little impatient?” He pauses, scrubbing at his face and sighing. “Shang Qinghua, this one merely observed that you seem to enjoy being manhandled. That’s all.”

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua says, voice small. He does enjoy that, usually!!

“Even if this one were frustrated, which he is not,” Mobei-Jun continues, pinning the smaller man with a glare, “he would not take it out on you like that. Believe this one when he says he didn’t intend to scare you.”

The smaller man looks at his king for a moment, feeling flayed-open and caught.

“Talk to this one, Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun says, frustration and affection clear in his voice. “Stop stewing in your made-up problems, and ask me what you want to ask me.”

Shang Qinghua blinks. What can he do but obey? He tightens his fist and asks, voice surprisingly even, “Are you happy with what we do, sexually?”

“Yes,” his king answers, steady and earnest. He draws the pad of his thumb along his lower lip in a move that makes Shang Qinghua’s stomach flip. “Very much so.”

All of this one’s brief bravado disappears. “Even though I’m—the way I am?” he asks tentatively. “You know, like, all these restrictions, and making such little progress?”

Warmth enters his king’s eyes, then. “It’s very normal to have preferences when it comes to sex, Shang Qinghua,” he says, dryly amused.

“Yeah, but people don’t usually have panic attacks as a result,” the smaller man grumbles.

Mobei Jun ignores him, and says, “And if ‘making progress,’” he rolls his eyes, “is something you want, we can work on that.”

He pauses, and steps towards the other man. His hands land heavy on his waist.  

“Just tell this one what you want, when you want it,” he says lowly, brushing a piece of imaginary lint off Shang Qinghua’s shoulder. His gaze flicks over the other man’s face, and he smirks lightly. “And he will be ready to serve you diligently.”

Shang Qinghua chokes on thin air, arousal rising like flame in his chest.

“My king!” he cries. “Are you trying to give this one an aneurysm?!”

“Of course not,” Mobei-Jun says coolly, though the slight quirk to his lips suggests otherwise.

Shang Qinghua laughs, and looks up at him adoringly, unsure how to stop his face from being so disgustingly open! Everything seems to hit him in that moment, the things that he would do for his king. He is being so patient with this one. Shang Qinghua cannot believe someone as wonderful as his king thinks someone like him is worth the trouble. His smile fades a little, and he glances up at his king with sad eyes.

 “The thing is, my king,” Shang Qinghua says quietly, “this one really, really doesn’t want to mess this up.”

“Shang Qinghua. There is nothing you could do now, nothing, that would drive this one away,” Mobei-Jun says. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

Emotion swells in Shang Qinghua’s throat, and he swallows it down, batting embarrassedly at the tears still threatening.

“Yes, my king,” he says, voice cracking. “I think so.”

Mobei Jun stares down at him, eyes lingering over the other man’s face, and says, “Good.” He pauses. “This one has some Ezekiel chokes to demonstrate now. Perhaps we can,” he glances his thumb across Shang Qinghua’s jaw, “continue this discussion later?”

“I—uh, yes,” Shang Qinghua says dumbly. Very smooth!!!

His king’s hands drop, and he heads towards the door with an evil gleam in his eye. “This one will volunteer to be the one doing the choking,” he says airily. “Surely Gongyi Xiao won’t mind.”

“My king!!!”

***

That evening, they are in Mobei-Jun’s kitchen fixing dinner. Or rather, Shang Qinghua is eyeing the leftover congee with hungry eyes, while his king stir-fries something green on the cooktop. They are chatting lightly about Sha Hualing, who had almost choked the life out of Gongyi Xiao during class that day. Mobei-Jun seems weirdly fond of her, and Shang Qinghua is truly wondering if his king might be clinically insane!

“It’s what he deserves for trying to mount you,” his king rumbles, grinning like a shark at his protégée’s cruelty, eyes on his spinach.

“He didn’t try—!” Shang Qinghua screeches indignantly, before cutting himself off with a defeated sigh. Mobei-Jun always knows which buttons to press! “My king, do you see these hands?!” this one says, holding them up to the bigger man. “These hands made congee for you today! Why are you being so cruel?!”

Mobei-Jun grabs one, and bites at the meat of its palm gently. Shang Qinghua hisses, but doesn’t pull away. It feels weirdly nice. His king unclamps, and then presses a kiss to the spot before returning to his task. Glowing after their reconciliation earlier that day, Shang Qinghua floats closer to him, standing behind him and peering past his shoulder. He is still getting used to the luxury of being able to touch Mobei-Jun whenever he wants, and he smooths a hand along his lower back just to delight in the privilege.

“Smells good,” he comments.

He lets his hand continue moving sideways, until it’s resting on his king’s flank, and he follows it around until he can rest his head between his king’s shoulder blades. He wraps his arms around Mobei-Jun’s stomach, grabbing his own hand, and presses his cheek against his back. Humming happily, he feels comfortable and grounded. He begins to absentmindedly rub his hands all over his king’s front, rhythmic and unhurried, up and down. They run over his stomach, hipbones, ribcage, pecs—Shang Qinghua luxuriates in the touch. His king’s breathing picks up, chest rising and falling under roaming hands, and he shifts his whole body minutely, as if trying to get comfortable.

“My king?”

“Hmm?”

“When were you first attracted to this one?” Shang Qinghua asks. He thinks he already knows the answer. “When I started to work out with you? My body improved a lot.”

“No,” Mobei-Jun answers flatly.

“Oh,” this one replies, surprised. “When, then?”

“Shang Qinghua,” his king says, sounding impatient. “What do you think the maximum amount of time you should ice a sprained ankle is?”

Shang Qinghua frowns, unsure what that has to do with anything. “Like, thirty min—” His eyes widen. “Oh. Oh.” He pauses, lagging like his computer has done ever since he’d spilled Red Bull on it the third time. “But that was when we first met!!” he shrieks. “And you were so angry with me!!”

“Don’t be stupid,” his king says flatly. “This one wasn’t angry. He remembers being quite pleased that day.”

“My king…” Shang Qinghua trails off, blush rising.

Truly Mobei-Jun has had to wait a long time for this one to catch up! I’m sorry, my king!!! Thank you for your patience!!!

Smiling to himself, he lets his hands fall to the hem of his king’s shirt, and slides them under, exhaling harshly at the feel of cool skin stretched over muscle. Mobei-Jun’s body tenses and shifts under his touch, and it’s the actual best thing ever!! This one simply moves closer, using his hands to press their bodies together fully, trapping Mobei-Jun, as much as he could be trapped.

His king makes a soft little noise, then, unlike Shang Qinghua had ever heard him make, and pushes back lightly. Wow! That just happened!!! This one is thrilled! His cock fills against the lower curve of his king’s ass, helplessly aroused. It’s easy to let his hands sink further down, past the waistband of Mobei-Jun’s sweats, blunt nails scraping along muscled thighs. Even easier to trace a hand along his king’s cock, half-hard and filling, and Mobei-Jun shudders.

“Shang Qinghua,” he says, warningly.

This one shifts so that his forehead rests flat against his king’s back, and swirls a thumb over the head of his cock.

“Ah,” Mobei-Jun sighs, pressing into the touch. God, this is heaven!! His king shuts the stove off with a click, and shifts a hand to the cabinet above, as if to steady himself.

“My king?” Shang Qinghua asks, voice high and reedy.

“What?” Mobei-Jun grinds out, jerking slightly as the other man plays gently with his balls.

“This one wants to try something, but—he’s not sure how?”

“What is it.”

“This one would like to—to suck you off?” he asks, closing his eyes against his king’s back.

Mobei-Jun makes a noise like he’s been punched, then shrugs Shang Qinghua back so he can turn around in his arms. This one looks up pathetically at the bigger man.

“What did you just say,” his king asks, flat, like he really wants to be sure of what he’d heard.

“This one wants to suck your cock?” Shang Qinghua repeats, like it’s a question. “Please?”

Mobei-Jun’s lips part, staring down at his insane employee for a second, and then he just nods. Silently.

Shang Qinghua smiles, feeling brave, and catches his king’s lips in a quick kiss. Mobei-Jun, however, leans into it, chasing after Shang Qinghua’s mouth to deepen things. They kiss sweetly for a moment, and Shang Qinghua lets his king muscle him along towards the bedroom. Somehow, Mobei-Jun’s shirt gets discarded, and suddenly they’re nearly halfway to his room. Wait, wait, hold on a second!!!! Feeling his grand seduction slipping away from him, Shang Qinghua bats the bigger man away. Mobei-Jun blinks down at him, and watches him with a heavy gaze as he gets to his knees.

“We can go to the bedroom,” his king says, bemused.

“No, I want here,” the smaller man says. He likes the idea of kneeling in front of Mobei-Jun. The jut of his chin is stubborn, even as he’s already half-stupid with nervousness. He just has to keep on reminding himself that his king will not hesitate to tell him what to do. His king won’t let him flounder alone. “Here.”

Mobei-Jun reaches out to card a hand through the other man’s hair, and murmurs, “Whatever you want, Shang Qinghua.”

This one’s eyes flutter shut at the feeling, the touch grounding him while he is adrift in aroused anxiety.

They’re both quiet a moment, and Shang Qinghua lists forward towards his king’s cock, heart thumping loudly in his ears. Licking his lips, he uses both hands to pull down his king’s grey sweats. He’s not wearing anything underneath them, and his cock bobs out, hard and heavy and—ugh, the word mouthwatering unironically comes to Shang Qinghua’s mind! He is a goner!!!

He lets his hand trail his king’s muscular thighs, his hipbones, his lower stomach. They bunch and tense under his touch. He inches closer, and he can practically feel his own eyes dilate with how aroused he is. It’s the first time he’s been this, uh, up close and personal??? It’s making him feel a little insane!!

Noticing a pearl of fluid gathering at the tip of his king’s cock, he laps at it gently, no hands, without really consciously deciding to do so. Mobei-Jun exhales, and Shang Qinghua watches with fascination at the way his abs ripple a little with it. Spellbound, he brings a hand up to wrap around his cock. The skin is soft, and it is hot and heavy. Oh, yes. He definitely wants that in his mouth. He’s just going to have to figure out how.

Start slow, he figures, and it’s only when he drags his tongue around the head that he realizes how heavily he’s breathing. He continues by lapping at the tip, trying to figure out what his king might like. The little licks only seem to frustrate him, so he tries long drags of his tongue along the length, and Mobei-Jun grunts his approval.

“Good,” he grits out.

Shang Qinghua looks up at him mid-lick, eyes wide. The praise settles like molten lava in his stomach, heavy and hot, and his cock throbs, neglected, between his legs.

“Very good,” his king repeats lowly, eyes dark on the other man. A big hand brushes his hair back tenderly. “Put it in your mouth, now.”

Grateful for the direction, Shang Qinghua obeys immediately, wrapping his lips around the tip, letting them cushion his teeth carefully. He uses his tongue to lave at the head softly, moaning a little at how hot and heavy and too-much it felt in his mouth. He’d thought giving a blowjob would be a very unpleasant experience, one to muscle through for the sake of your partner, but he can’t help the way his lids flutter at the weight of his king on his tongue. The smell and feel and taste of Mobei-Jun swirls around him like a drug. He begins to bob his head cautiously, bringing his hand up around the remainder of his king’s cock, and Mobei-Jun makes a soft little hah noise, and places both giant hands on Shang Qinghua’s head. They card softly through his hair, and their weight on his head feels so good, like he is being submerged in warm water.

Sinking down a little further, until he reaches halfway, he feels himself going all loose and relaxed. He is breathing carefully through his nose, beginning to suspect the weighted-blanket sensation he is currently experiencing might be oxygen deprivation! It’s too good to stop, though, and he continues to move his head carefully, applying suction, letting his palm glide along the spit-soaked length.

His king lets out a shuddering, pained breath, and Shang Qinghua looks up, wanting to see his face. Mobei-Jun’s eyes are dark and hooded and intent.

“You look so good, Shang Qinghua,” he says. “So good like this.”

Shang Qinghua’s eyes flutter and drowse at this praise. His king is so good to him, he thinks, delighting in the way Mobei-Jun is petting at his head, adrift in sensation.

His cock pulses thickly as he works, and he shifts a bit to try and ease the pressure. It doesn’t help, and he moans, losing himself a little, taking his king’s cock a little too far. He chokes around it and backs off totally, breathing heavily.

His king is panting, too, when he looks down with worried eyes and asks, “Okay?”

“Hmm,” Shang Qinghua says, feeling a little too spaced to talk. He jerks his king’s cock instead, getting his breath back.

“Hey,” Mobei-Jun says, bending down so he can grab Shang Qinghua gently by the chin. This one stops the motion of his hands to focus on his king. “Are you okay, Shang Qinghua? We can stop. You’ve already done a lot. This one—this one is very pleased.”

Flushing with the praise, Shang Qinghua squirms a little. His lips must be all shiny and swollen, and he’s embarrassed to have Mobei-Jun looking at him so directly. “My king,” he says, “This one is okay. He wants to continue. Please?”

Watching him with heavy-lidded eyes, Mobei-Jun nods, and releases him. Shang Qinghua immediately shifts his focus back to his king’s cock. There is no way he’d be able to take it much further than he had, not today at least. He decides to go back to dragging it back and forth along his tongue, twisting a wet fist along the length of it he couldn’t manage to fit. His king had seemed to like that! He does so, slipping a wet hand back to fondle his king’s balls, dragging a thin little moan from Mobei-Jun. Haha!!! He’s getting pretty good at this!!

Shang Qinghua gets a nice rhythm going, glancing up to see his king making a very pained expression: mouth open in a pleasured sort of grimace, eyes closed. It’s easy to lose himself in it, especially when Mobei-Jun starts to follow his lead, thrusting his hips very gently and very shallowly. Shang Qinghua’s instinct is to let his mouth go slack and easy, so he does that, still breathing through his nose. It causes the saliva that has built up to spill a little down his chin, and, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that he should be embarrassed, but all he can do is look up at his king blearily. He feels a little bit like he’s floating, held in place only by his king’s hands heavy on his head. He wants it to go on forever.

Mobei-Jun groans. “Feels good,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so well, Shang Qinghua, doing so well for this one.”

The praise bubbles warmly in Shang Qinghua’s stomach, and he begins to make little helpless whimpering noises around the cock in his mouth. He just wants Mobei-Jun to keep on praising him. 

His king’s grip on his hair tightens, and Shang Qinghua moans loudly, lost in sensation: the prickle of his scalp, the heavy musk of his king in his nose, the slick sounds of wet hands and tongues, the fine tremors in his king’s strong thighs as he grips at one. He feels like he’s suffocating slowly in honey, just sinking, sinking, sinking. His cock is aching. His knees hurt and so does his jaw, but it’s kind of hot somehow???

Spit is dripping down his chin, and his eyes are starting to water. His king has been thrusting progressively deeper, carving out a space for himself, making increasingly growly noises. Shang Qinghua’s stomach feels heavy and tight, like a rubber band being stretched to its limits, a steel ball of pleasure gathering. Shifting uncomfortably, trying to ease the pressure of his trousers on his cock, it only seems to make things worse.

Desperate, just trying to take the edge off, he presses his palm to his cock. Clearly, he’d miscalculated because he immediately stiffens, orgasm overtaking him in a silent tsunami, hot-cold shivers wracking his body as he comes in his pants. He moans brokenly around Mobei-Jun’s cock, hoarse and a little wounded-sounding, feeling like he is being swallowed whole by sick-hot pleasure. Everything is spasming and shaking. His king, startled, pulls back immediately. His cock falls from Shang Qinghua’s mouth as the smaller man lists to one side, palm still pressing down on his cock, shuddering and jerking as he goes to rest his forehead on his king’s bare thigh. He wraps his free hand around his king’s ankle, trying to find some grounding. A string of saliva connects his slack mouth to Mobei-Jun’s spit-slick cock.

Silently, his king reaches down to wipe it away.

“Shang Qinghua,” he says, quiet with disbelief. “Did you just—”

He can’t seem to say it. Shang Qinghua just whimpers a little, slumping forward on his king’s thigh.

“Fuck,” Mobei-Jun bites out. “Fuck.” Shang Qinghua looks up at him, still holding onto his leg, embarrassed and helpless and achy. “Get up,” his king demands. He reaches down and hauls the other man up. “Get up.”

Shang Qinghua’s knees almost immediately buckle under him the instant he puts any weight on them, but his king’s hands hold him up. Still supporting him, Mobei-Jun picks up his discarded shirt, and uses the sleeve to gravely wipe the spit from Shang Qinghua’s chin. This one is vaguely concerned that his king is mad at him, but mostly he wishes they could cuddle a bit. The bigger man pushes his hair off his forehead tenderly, eyes watchful and dark.

“Are you okay, Shang Qinghua?” Mobei-Jun asks.

This one’s legs wobble a bit, still shaky from having a muscle-locking orgasm after being on his knees for so long, but he manages to stay upright. 

“Hmm,” he replies, trying to blink away the slightly drunk feeling he has, and focus on his king. He pulls back so he can stand on his own. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay.”

Shang Qinghua is most certainly coming to his senses, now, and realizing that his king is still hard!!!

“This one knows you didn’t come, but—did I—did I do okay?” he asks. He palms the back of his neck shyly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Shang Qinghua was perfect,” Mobei-Jun says. He grabs one of his hands in his and drags him towards the bedroom. “Come with me. We need a bed.”

“Huh,” this one says dully, allowing himself to be pulled like a ragdoll.

In the bedroom, Mobei-Jun yanks him forward, until he is standing in front of the bed. He advances on the smaller man, staring down at him as he pulls Shang Qinghua’s shirt over his head. This one cannot help but gawk at his king’s spit-slick cock, huge and aggressive and just there. It looks angry. So big, and for what?!

Mobei-Jun shoves him onto the bed, unbuttoning his jeans and yanking them down his legs, along with his stained boxers.  There’s still a bit of cum on his now-soft cock, and his king moves it around with an almost experimental air. Shang Qinghua shudders and jerks, oversensitive. The hand is removed.

“This one will be right back.” Mobei-Jun points at him accusingly. “Stay there, or he will break your legs.”

Shang Qinghua didn’t plan to move anyway! As his king stalks off to god knows where, he slides back on the bed, and lays down. Feeling warm and loose and satiated, he stretches and grins. Mobei-Jun returns a moment later, lube in hand, shoving the smaller man further back up the bed impatiently. Shang Qinghua is confused, and looks down at the bottle with a bit of trepidation, but decides that he trusts his king with whatever he’s thinking of doing next. The bigger man sits between Shang Qinghua’s spread legs, consternation written clearly on his furrowed brow. He uncaps the bottle and pours a generous amount into his hand. Shang Qinghua gets up on his elbows for a better look!

The bottle is thrown, with some force, off the bed. It clatters on the floor. Shang Qinghua watches with wide eyes as his king rubs the lube between his hands to spread it and warm it up, and then brings one palm to his cock, slicking it up even more, hissing a bit. Shang Qinghua’s brain stutters to complete halt at the image!! He is unsure he will ever regain the power of speech!

His king then turns his considerable attention to Shang Qinghua, who gulps! His other hand, still coated, travels towards the v of the smaller man’s legs. With an expression is exquisitely focused, like he’s being very careful to do a good job, Mobei-Jun roughly smears the lube all over the tender skin of Shang Qinghua’s inner thighs. Sounding almost annoyed, he is saying, “Coming all over yourself at the first taste of this one’s cock…for fuck’s sake.”

Shang Qinghua shivers and moans, his mind swimming. His king’s words, his hands so matter-of-fact all over him, what he’s about to do—arousal swoops low and sweet and blood-hot in his stomach. His eyes narrow to slits and he’s panting as he watches his king’s giant hands on him.

Mobei-Jun is shaking his head, making sure everything is smooth and slick. “How are you so innocent and so fucking depraved at the same time?”

His hand moves from Shang Qinghua’s thighs to rub the remaining lube onto his cum-smeared cock. The smaller man jerks, still oversensitive, legs flailing around Mobei-Jun and nearly whacking him in the face. His king reacts, impatient, by grabbing his ankles, pinning them together with one giant hand, and shoving, exposing the smaller man entirely to his gaze. Shang Qinghua makes a noise like his is about to sneeze, a little embarrassed, a lot aroused.

“This one was just—overwhelmed,” he says, answering his king’s earlier question.

Mobei-Jun glares down at him, now holding him with both hands by the ankles. “It was a rhetorical question, idiot.”

With that, he spreads his legs a little bit, shifting closer. Shang Qinghua feels the slip of his king’s cock against his own perineum and balls, and shivers. Then, he moans as he feels it slide between his thighs, and tightens reflexively. His king thrusts a few times, experimental, and Shang Qinghua is really unsure why it feels so good! He has never considered his inner thighs a particularly erogenous zone! Perhaps it’s the expression his king is making, a little pained, holding Shang Qinghua in place while he uses his body for his own pleasure.

“Does this one,” Mobei-Jun pants, “overwhelm you, Shang Qinghua?”

He picks up the pace, grunting a bit. His brow is stern and focused. The hot slide of his cock between Shang Qinghua’s thighs feels like heaven, and the sound—it’s obscene, all squelching and wet and filthy.

“Yeah,” Shang Qinghua answers, quiet and shaking. “Yeah, yeah.” He looks up at his king to see that he’s smirking a little, clearly pleased with the answer. Shang Qinghua is a little surprised, mainly because he always thought his spastic flailing was a big turn-off for Mobei-Jun, and for everyone, but his king seems to enjoy being able to reduce him to that state so easily. “My king,” he says, breathing heavily, “my king likes that, doesn’t he? Likes—what a mess you make of me.”

“Fuck, yes,” Mobei-Jun growls in reply, and his hips slam forward, making the bedframe rattle against the wall. The slap of skin against skin is horrifying and so fucking hot Shang Qinghua thinks he’s going to melt.

“Your cock was so good in my mouth, it felt so good,” he’s saying, unsure why exactly, words falling from his lips unbidden, “I couldn’t help it, this one couldn’t help it, my king—”

Mobei-Jun groans, hips stuttering. His eyes feel like a brand on the smaller man’s skin. Lips feeling numb, Shang Qinghua reaches forward so he can let his hand slip over the lube-slick head of his king’s cock where it peeks through his thighs.

“Oh,” he whimpers. “Oh, god.”

“Should this one,” his king grits out, “keep you under my desk? Let you suck my cock, keep you down there even after you’ve made a mess of yourself? You’d be so good, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” Shang Qinghua hiccups. “Yes, I’d be good, I’d do whatever you wanted—”

His king’s head bows, then, hips going sharp and almost mechanical. He moans loudly, looking down at where their bodies meet, and then stiffens severely, coming all over Shang Qinghua’s belly. Mobei-Jun leans on his legs for a moment, panting, hugging them tightly to his body. His eyes are closed. Shang Qinghua looks up at him, lips parted, sinking slowly into a sort of dazed affection like a feather-down bed.

A few moments later, his king’s eyes flutter open, and he lowers Shang’s Qinghua’s legs gently. The smaller man winces anyway, sore from squeezing his thighs without a break, sore from earlier. Between his legs, it’s an absolute mess of lube and sweat and Mobei-Jun’s cum and his own cum, and he rubs them together with a filthy sort of satisfaction.

“Fuck,” his king says, eyeing the motion before tipping forward, half on top of Shang Qinghua. He reaches a hand down, dragging it through the sticky-slick mix. His ribcage is contracting and expanding like a bellows on top of the smaller man, his weight almost suffocating, but Shang Qinghua doesn’t want him to move. His king leans over to suck a mark onto his neck. Shang Qinghua, sighing contentedly, likes the way he feels right now, close and safe and skin on skin.

This is…intimacy, isn’t it?

He runs his hand through his king’s hair, feeling his own eyes flutter shut drowsily.

After a moment, Mobei-Jun rolls off him. He grunts and gets to his feet, stalking towards the bathroom. Shang Qinghua feels cold, but knows he’ll be back in a moment. He figures that’s what the caveman noise meant!

His king returns, wiping at himself with a wet towel, before climbing back onto the bed.

“Spread,” he orders quietly.

Shang Qinghua obeys, silent, blinking up at his king. The towel is warm as it cleans him up. His king’s motions are considerate, and thorough. Shang Qinghua feels taken care of, and he smiles softly at the man.

Mobei-Jun throws the towel off the bed, probably to be with the discarded lube bottle, and then very carefully tucks Shang Qinghua under the covers. He gets under, too, a peaceful expression on his face. He’s on his side, looking at the smaller man.

“Okay, Shang Qinghua?”

“Hmm,” he answers immediately, smiling warmly. He turns to face his king, so that they are mirror images. “Did you really like this one when you first met him?”

Mobei-Jun smiles, a little thing. “Yes. You got so flustered.”

Shang Qinghua laughs gently, remembering how terrified he was. “This one always thought you might prefer someone…a bit more smooth. More practiced. But—you don’t, do you? You—really like this one, even though he is a mess.”

His king smooths a giant hand over Shang Qinghua’s cheek, and leans in to kiss him soundly on the lips. “Yes, Shang Qinghua,” he says once he draws back. “This one likes you as you are. Why is this such a difficult concept?”

Shang Qinghua pouts. “This one just doesn’t…understand,” he says.

Mobei-Jun’s dark eyes flicker warmly over his face. “Let this one see if he can explain,” he says, licking his lips. “Your mind is always working, Shang Qinghua. This one can see it. You are always using your brain to stay one step ahead of everyone.” He pauses. “Can you see why this one might enjoy having the ability to turn such a powerful thing to slush?”

Shang Qinghua blinks. “Oh,” he says. He hadn’t thought of it that way.

Mobei-Jun’s gaze drops, then, and he looks almost troubled. “You make this one feel like he is your first choice,” he says. “You’re not with him to get to Junshang, or because of his father.”

Shang Qinghua snorts, and shifts closer. “You are this one’s first choice.” He glances his nose along Mobei-Jun’s, all conspiracy. “My king, when you touch this one—everything else disappears. It’s just you. Just you.” He smiles broadly. “You’re the best. You’re the best one.”

His king frowns a little at him, moving his hand from his cheek to his neck. “You really do think that, don’t you?”

“Hmm.”

And when Mobei-Jun kisses him, then, soft and sweet, it’s like Shang Qinghua is a bubble he’s afraid of bursting.

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan are watching Reign of Assassins when suddenly, Cucumber-bro sits up, staring at his phone. There is a strict no-Luo Binghe policy on movie nights, so Shang Qinghua, indignant, prepares a dressing-down worthy of Peerless Cucumber’s most heated hate comments!!

“Change it to Cang Qiong,” his bro says, before he can get going.

“What?”

“Cang Qiong! Cang Qiong!” he repeats, snatching the remote from Shang Qinghua and changing it to cable. Who has cable these days?! Only rich brats like Shen Yuan!!!

The channel changes, and Shang Qinghua’s jaw drops at who’s on screen.

Linguang-Jun, ugh!!!!!!

“—of the matter is, my nephew is a spoiled, angry young man. Somehow, he feels terribly hard done by, so he’s making up all of these lies about his upbringing,” says the fucking snake, his face a mask of smug contempt.

“Linguang-Jun, your nephew hasn’t said anything that’s not clearly stated in your own book, besides, of course, his contention that the cheating scandal was your idea,” Yue Qingyuan replies calmly. Yeah!!! Take that, evil uncle!!

“True, but let’s just say that my depiction of young Mobei-Jun was very generous,” Linguang-Jun says smoothly. “I had to discipline him so harshly so he wouldn’t endanger others with his temper and size. Of course, he hasn’t mentioned that.”

“If that is true, which this reporter cannot confirm, does Linguang-Jun not think that perhaps his abusive behavior towards his nephew might have caused some of these violent tendencies?” The anchor pauses thoughtfully. “Besides, Mobei-Jun was a child, then.”

Get his ass, Yue Qingyuan!!! Shang Qinghua practically cheers! It doesn’t even matter, anyway, because he’s had plans in place for this for weeks. Linguang-Jun had no idea what he was in for. Yue Qingyuan hasn’t even gotten to the good stuff yet, and Zhuzhi Lang was going to tear him apart for this. Not to mention what Shang Qinghua’s loyal readers were capable of when working en masse!!

On screen, Linguang-Jun laughs. “Less than a year ago, he chased an opponent off the mat for an illegal leg grab at a judo showcase,” he says. “My nephew is still the same cold-hearted bastard he’s always been, he just hides it better these days.”

“They’re destroying him on Twitter,” Cucumber-bro snorts. “Asshole.”

 “Perhaps we can get another opinion on this,” Yue Qingyuan says, ever the professional. “Here’s one of Mobei-Jun’s students, now.” He pauses, and the screen splits to reveal a young woman, the goth girl from the community center. Shang Qinghua smiles. It’s all going to plan. “Qin Wanyue, so nice to have you on the show. Tell us, please, how you came to know Mobei-Jun.”

“Sensei teaches women’s self-defense classes for free at the community center. I’ve been practicing what he taught me, and now I feel safe walking home from school at night.” She pauses, tucks a strand of hair shyly behind her ear. “I didn’t realize he was so famous. He let me punch him in the chest!”

“And did he retaliate?” Yue Qingyuan asks seriously.

“No way! He did toss around his little assistant a lot, though. Poor guy!”

Cucumber-bro is laughing his ass off as Shang Qinghua sputters indignantly!! Little assistant?! What the hell!!! He’d paid her $20 to do this interview!!!

“Were you ever afraid of Mobei-Jun?”

She snorts. “No!”

Yue Qingyuan asks her a few more questions, and she refutes much of what Linguang-Jun said of his king.

“Interesting. Well, that’s about all we have time for, thank you, Qin Wanyue,” the anchor says when she’s done. He then turns to face the camera full-on. “Well, we’ll leave it to you, viewers. Who is Mobei-Jun?”

Shen Yuan is staring at his phone. “Everyone’s on Iceman’s side. You fucking did it, bro.”

Shang Qinghua smiles, happy to hear it, but wishes the very vile Linguang-Jun had simply not gone on air at all! “This one should probably go and see how his king is doing,” he says. “He’s probably upset.”

“Hmm. His uncle is so fucked up,” his bro replies bluntly. “Mobei-Jun’s lucky to have you on his side, Shang Qinghua.”

“Bro!!! You’re going to make this one cry!”

A pillow whacks him in the face. “Fuck off.”

Shang Qinghua bikes home, feeling melancholy. What does it matter that he’s by his king’s side now, all these years later, when the damage has already been done? He’d once foolishly thought that Mobei-Jun wouldn’t understand what it is to feel powerless, but, thinking back to the two chapters he’d read of Linguang-Jun’s book, he realizes how utterly wrong he’d been. Mobei-Jun had been completely at his uncle’s mercy. All he could do was try to jump through the endless hoops he’d set up for him, higher and higher each time. It’s actually making Shang Qinghua feel kind of sick. He wishes he could somehow write a different childhood for his king, not just slap his uncle with a few lawsuits.

The dojo is dark when he enters. Not surprising. He trudges upstairs and lets himself in.

“My king?” Shang Qinghua calls, putting down his things and taking off his shoes.

The shower is running. He enters the bathroom, momentarily knocked backward by the steam.

“Hi,” he says lamely.

It’s silent a moment.

“You’re home early,” Mobei-Jun says flatly. For someone less versed in the nuances of his king’s voice, it might sound completely emotionless. But, for Shang Qinghua, there’s something despairing playing just below the surface. “This one supposes you saw?”

Shang Qinghua sighs. “Yes.” He sits down on the toilet cover, sad for his king. “Your uncle really is evil. But don’t worry, my king, the plan is working well. He’s being eviscerated on social media as we speak!” His voice is falsely bright. They both know that’s not the point.

Mobei-Jun is silent. The water drills down.

“Perhaps my uncle is right,” he says eventually, so quiet Shang Qinghua can barely hear over the sound of the shower. “Perhaps this one did need disciplining. To this day, he is not…the easiest person.”

Shang Qinghua’s heart aches. He stands, and pushes the shower curtain aside a little, to see Mobei-Jun, facing away from him, leaning heavily on both palms where they lay on the shower wall, head ducked completely under the spray. Without thinking, Shang Qinghua simply steps in with him. His Junshang t-shirt and exercise shorts will survive.

He wraps his arms around his king, half-soaked by the combination of the spray and Mobei-Jun’s wet skin. Embracing him firmly, Shang Qinghua rests his head between his shoulder blades. His big body seems unsteady, somehow, liable to buckle under some weight he cannot show.

“It’s not your fault,” Shang Qinghua says quietly. “None of it was your fault. No matter what you did, you didn’t deserve that.”

“Whether or not I deserved it, my uncle’s training was effective, wasn’t it?” his king asks bitterly. “For better or for worse, Linguang-Jun made this one what he is. How can that be denied?”

Shang Qinghua frowns against his king’s back, thinking.

Sometimes he thought to himself that he’d only met Mobei-Jun because of what happened to him ten years ago, and, in some twisted way, he had his attacker to thank for his newfound happiness. But the more he considered it, the more he realized that this wasn’t true at all. He’d met Mobei-Jun because of Ms. Therapist, and because of Shen Yuan, and because of his own determination to get better. He met him because of the decisions he’d made to try and heal, not from the trauma itself.

“No, my king,” he says quietly. “Everything that makes you great is your own.” He pauses, thoughtful. “If—if an earthquake demolished a building, a perfectly good building, turned it into rubble, and then an architect came along and built something beautiful there, do you thank the earthquake? No! You thank the architect!”

“Shang Qinghua—” his king says, frustrated and fond.

“What this one is trying to say is that—you’ve built something. You’ve built something all your own. The dojo, and Junshang’s success, and your success. Let him throw all the rocks he wants. He can’t touch what you’ve built.”

Mobei-Jun turns around in his arms. Suddenly his king is looking down at Shang Qinghua, blocking the shower spray with the impressive width of his back!

His lips are white despite the heat of the shower. “But what if they all believe him, Shang Qinghua?” Mobei-Jun asks, voice low and intense. “What if they all turn on me, and leave?” He looks down at the smaller man, who is shivering in his wet clothes, cold now that the water isn’t directly on him. “Would you leave with them? Would you go, too?”

This one hugs himself and smiles thinly, shaking, aware that he must look kind of pathetic. “Even if everyone abandoned you, my king, this one would still be by your side,” he says quietly. He gazes up at Mobei-Jun adoringly. “Always by your side.”

His king frowns, bewildered. “Shang Qinghua, what good did this one ever do to have you in his corner?”

The other man grins, and his teeth clack together, chattering a bit. “You make this one feel like he is your first choice,” he says, a wet little laugh escaping his mouth.

Mobei-Jun juts his chin out a little in the way that means he’s trying not to smile. He steps closer to Shang Qinghua, cradling the smaller man’s face in his giant hands, and ducks his head so their lips nearly touch. “Don’t be stupid, Shang Qinghua,” he murmurs. “You are this one’s first choice.”

He presses his lips to the other man’s forehead, gently, gently.

“Hm,” his king says, pulling back a little. “Shang Qinghua is cold.”

He draws him backward so they are both under the warm spray, rubbing at his arms adorably, and the smaller man hums, content. His king breaks the embrace to pull Shang Qinghua’s shirt off, to divest him of his shorts. Once he’s done that, he tucks the whole of his body around him, dark head tipping down above Shang Qinghua’s. They stay there a moment, entangled under the spray.

“This one is always in your corner,” Shang Qinghua murmurs, wrapped in Mobei-Jun’s arms. “This one is always on your side.”

***

INTERLUDE, PT 3

Mobei-Jun sends a message, and hopes that Shang Qinghua will hear

Mobei-Jun is a lot of things, but eloquent is not one of them. At least not with words. He finds that, with his body, he can convey more than enough. He hopes that it is enough, anyway, that Shang Qinghua will understand what he is trying to say when he pays back violence for violence. 

Before Mobei-Jun began his search, he’d asked Shang Qinghua: “If this one were to find him, would you be displeased?”

The smaller man had immediately caught his meaning, and frowned, saying, “The whole reason I’m not telling you his name, my king, is so you don’t do anything you’ll regret.” He’d paused, looking thoughtful. “Don’t get into trouble for this one, my king.”

Mobei-Jun had thought to himself: If not for you, then who?

He doesn’t fully understand the strange emotion that had been unfolding in his chest lately, but he’d quietly accepted it, and all the impulses that followed. He knows better than to try and fight something so strong.

The intention had formed in the hours following Linguang-Jun’s interview. He’d thought of all that Shang Qinghua had done for him, of the steady, unswerving devotion he’d offered.  Shang Qinghua is so certain of this one, more certain than this Mobei-Jun is of himself. He feels humbled before such faith and regard. He wants to repay it ten-fold, let Shang Qinghua know that he has not put his faith in the wrong person. Doing his best to destroy the lives of those who hurt him had seemed a good place to start.

The man’s name, he finds out, is He Yanlin.

He Yanlin. It’s been churning in his mind like a curse for the past few weeks.

It had taken him a while to track identify and track him down, mainly because the only time he could work on it was when Shang Qinghua wasn’t with him, and that was surprisingly rare. He hadn’t really known where to begin, and, ironically, wished he could ask Shang Qinghua for his help. The other man would have known where to start. Mobei-Jun had eventually visited Shang Qinghua’s old university one day, trying to get his hands on a yearbook.

“It’s my husband’s birthday, soon,” he’d explained to the librarian at the desk, “and I’d like to invite his old friends from school for a surprise party.”

The woman had smiled indulgently and asked for the graduation year of his “husband.”  Mobei-Jun had frowned, realizing he had no idea. He’d quickly done a rough calculation in his head, and provided a year. She’d handed him a copy, and he’d sat down at a nearby table to look over it.

The first thing he’d done, of course, was look for Shang Qinghua’s photo, but his picture didn’t appear where it ought to have. It didn’t appear in the formal portraits at all. Mobei-Jun had frowned. Perhaps he’d gotten the graduation year wrong? He’d texted Shen Yuan to ask when Shang Qinghua had graduated.

His reply:

            He didn’t

            He dropped out a few weeks after

            Why do you think someone as smart as him was working at An Ding lol

Mobei-Jun’s blood had boiled. He will think of this fact later, as his fist connects with He Yanlin’s jaw.

Finally, Shang Qinghua had appeared in a section entitled Years of Memories, which included photos from throughout the graduating seniors’ university careers. He’d looked so young, surrounded by a group of smiling girls. Mobei-Jun had noted their names, and then, remembering Shang Qinghua’s comment that his attacker had been athletic, did the same with those involved in the team photos.

Next, he’d called the Alumni Committee, using the same excuse, and secured the number of one of the girls from the photo.

“Shang Qinghua?” she’d said quietly. “I haven’t heard that name in a while. You said you’re his husband?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I—I doubt he wants people from university at his birthday party. He only attended for a year and a half, after all.”

“Of course, but you don’t have to be somewhere a long time for it to change your life irrevocably,” he’d said, slight menace in his tone.

The woman had been quiet a moment.

“Is he—is he okay? I was studying abroad when it happened—” she’d cut herself off.

“How nice for you,” he’d replied flatly. “Can you tell me who did it?”   

She hadn’t answered immediately.

“No,” she’d said, hushed. “Well. Kind of.”

“What.”

“By the time I got back, everyone was just pretending like nothing ever happened, like Shang Qinghua never existed. They’d all just—turned on him. I only got bits and pieces of gossip.” She’d exhaled. “The things they said about him—”

Mobei-Jun was breathing heavily through his nose, trying not to throw the phone across the room.

After a moment, she’d continued. “I’m almost certain it was He Yanlin.”

He’d thanked her curtly, and hung up.

It had been terribly easy from there to find He Yanlin online, and find out, luckily, that he is an MMA fan. The Alumni Committee had happily provided his home address.

And so here Mobei-Jun is, at He Yanlin’s door.

When it opens, the man’s expression is one of genuine shock and excitement. Mobei-Jun smirks, impatient to wipe it off his stupid face. He’s still quite big, though more given to fat than muscle now; he will not present any sort of challenge for this one.

“Iceman!!” he exclaims.

“You went to university with my partner,” Mobei-Jun says carefully, unsure how He Yanlin feels about same-sex relationships. “I was told you were a fan.”

Too excited to see an MMA star in the flesh to care about details, He Yanlin invites him in eagerly. He begins to prepare some coffee, and they chat a little. Mobei-Jun quickly grows tired of it, and segues towards why he’s really there. He wants to confirm the woman’s identification of He Yanlin.

“My fans mean a lot to me. They supported me even after the allegations of cheating,” Mobei-Jun says silkily. “I wonder if you can understand how it feels to have people so jealous of you they’ll accuse you falsely?”

He Yanlin takes the bait beautifully, forgetting the coffee altogether. He begins to tell Mobei-Jun of a little nerd who he’d deigned to have sex with, only for him to turn around the next morning like a scared little virgin and accuse him of assault.

“I was quite the catch back in that day, if you can believe it,” He Yanlin says, patting his beer belly sheepishly and grinning. “That little twink had been absolutely gagging for it.”

As he listens, Mobei-Jun feels himself grow colder, and colder, and harder, and harder, until he is nothing more than a glacier-forged blade. He is going to cut this pig into pieces, he thinks.

“You must worry about that kind of thing all the time, am I right? Probably have a different groupie each day of the week!” He Yanlin grins, boorish and stupid.

Mobei-Jun doesn’t answer, letting the other man’s words drop like an anchor. The grin falls. Chuckling awkwardly, he pours Mobei-Jun a cup of coffee to fill the silence, and sets it down in front of him.

“I didn’t know you were married,” he says stiltedly. “What did you say your wife’s name was, again?”

“Husband,” Mobei-Jun corrects curtly, stirring some sugar into his coffee. The clinking of his spoon seems magnified, echoing sinister in the silence. “And this one didn’t say.”

“O-oh?”

Mobei-Jun sets his spoon down, and takes a small sip. Placing his cup back onto the table, he catches He Yanlin’s eye and smiles like a shark.

“He’s called Shang Qinghua.”

He says it with relish, and takes another sip of his coffee, delighting in the way He Yanlin’s eyes have widened to saucers. Mobei-Jun savors it. He thinks of Shang Qinghua, frozen in fright, and savors it.

He gives He Yanlin two options, then, and prays he doesn’t choose the police. His prayer is answered. Still unwilling to take responsibility for what he’d done, the man does as Mobei-Jun had expected.

All the better, Mobei-Jun reflects, as he grabs He Yanlin’s arm and wrenches.

He thinks of Shang Qinghua as he beats He Yanlin, thinks of Shang Qinghua walking home all alone that night, dried cum flaking off his jeans. He thinks of him gathering up the nerve to tell someone what happened, only to be dismissed. He thinks of him making the decision to leave school. Always all by himself. With no one in his corner.

Mobei-Jun drops He Yanlin off at the hospital, and warns him what will happen if he says anything. He’d got off easy, as far as this one is concerned.

He looks at the bruises on his knuckles, and hopes that Shang Qinghua will understand the message that he is trying to send: this one is in your corner now, and always will be. He will make sure every wrong you were done is paid back in full. He will make sure that no one will hurt you again. He will make sure you are never on your own.

***

Shang Qinghua is delighted with the effect Linguang-Jun’s failed interview had. His book sales are practically zero, and everybody hates him! Mobei-Jun has more fans than ever, and fights each week with a newfound steel that makes this one go all shivery! Shang Qinghua is a tactical genius!!!

His king has been in a strange mood for the past few weeks, despite their various successes. Sometimes he’s a little distant, going off to god knows where and returning a few hours later looking ready to punch something, and sometimes he locks himself in the office and won’t open the door even for Shang Qinghua. This one assumes it’s about Linguang-Jun, and tries to let his king know that he is here for him!

In spite of this, things are good between himself and Mobei-Jun! Going Slow has been tossed out the window! Shang Qinghua is treated to all different kinds of Touch! Work has become an obstacle course, and he has to tread carefully unless he wants to find himself flush-faced and hot while talking to Gongyi Xiao about requisition forms! Mobei-Jun would make a show of watching Shang Qinghua as he bent over to retrieve something from the file cabinet, eyes roving hot on his body, or, if he were closer, he’d knead his ass with a giant hand, saying something like, “I’m going to destroy you tonight, Shang Qinghua,” and laugh softly when the smaller man made a helpless little noise in reply. Other times, alone in the office at night, his king would have Shang Qinghua sit on his lap as they finished their work, and then whisper filth into his ear as he jerked him off slowly. Helpless, this one would watch the bruised knuckles work between his legs, let the familiar voice wash over him like a wave, until he crumpled in on himself, overwhelmed with pleasure.

Mobei-Jun enjoys watching him squirm like that, and would periodically do things like ask him to demo some ridiculous submission where his king’s cock is basically in Shang Qinghua’s face, or sit next to him in a meeting with parents and secretly run his hand down his thigh, across his back, along his flank. It’s very mean, and Shang Qinghua likes it way too much!!

He'd been able to check off a few firsts in the weeks after Linguang-Jun’s interview, when his king seemed to devote every spare moment of his time to driving Shang Qinghua up the wall with arousal. He’d also gotten more experience giving pleasure, which, in a lot of ways, he actually might enjoy more than receiving. Mobei-Jun gives him such detailed directions, guiding him with his hands and with the noises he made, soft and almost reluctant, and Shang Qinghua is addicted to the way his king’s hands flex in his hair when he does really well.

The past few days, he’d been trying to work up the nerve to ask Mobei-Jun to fuck him. Like, put his cock up Shang Qinghua’s ass fuck him. He’s a little afraid that his king would be reluctant, perhaps fearing that anal sex would be a bridge too far for his flighty employee. Mobei-Jun frequently makes noises about how he doesn’t want to push too far, he wants Shang Qinghua to always feel comfortable, and the fact of the matter is, having a cock as big as Mobei-Jun’s up your ass will probably entail some discomfort, and Shang Qinghua is sure his king is aware of that. So. Yes. Working up to it. Asking for more, harder, when Mobei-Jun fingers him. Babbling about having his king’s cock inside him when he’s about to come. Shang Qinghua is sure his king must be getting the picture, oblivious as he frequently is.

Tonight, he thinks, waiting for his king to come back from wherever the fuck he went, is The Night.

At least, that’s what he thinks until Mobei-Jun walks in a few hours later, sweaty, eyes unfocused, knuckles cut up. Shang Qinghua, who had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him, sits up with wide eyes. What the hell, my king!!!

Mobei-Jun walks over to him, and kneels at his feet.

“My…my king?”

“Shang Qinghua. Don’t be upset.”

“Don’t—don’t be upset?!” this one shrieks. “How can I not be upset?! What happened?! Was it your uncle?!”

His king shakes his head wordlessly. Shang Qinghua waits for bated breath for him to explain.

 Finally, he says, “He Yanlin,” and Shang Qinghua’s heart falls into his shoes.

“My king…” this one pleads. “My king, please tell me you didn’t—”

“This Mobei-Jun hardly touched him. He won’t even need to stay in the hospital very long,” the other man says soothingly, as if such a thing were soothing!!

“My king!!” Shang Qinghua wails.

“This one gave him a choice,” Mobei-Jun says, shrugging flippantly, “and he said that he desired being beaten over turning himself in to the police.”

 “What if he goes to the police?!”

“He won’t,” his king promises darkly. “This one was very clear about what would happen if he did so.”

Shang Qinghua drags his hands through his hair, stress levels going through the roof!!

“What if your uncle finds out?!” Linguang-Jun would be thrilled if he ever caught wind of this! A piece of evidence for his crusade against his nephew! “My king, what were you thinking?!”

Mobei-Jun’s brow darkens, then. “You know what this one was thinking, Shang Qinghua.”

The smaller man’s face creases with confusion. “But—but this one doesn’t understand. How did you even find out his name?”

“This one got in touch with a friend of yours, who was studying abroad?”

“Su Fang,” Shang Qinghua breathes. He hasn’t thought of her in years. He’d cut ties with everyone from university when he left. The realization that he hasn’t actually ever told Mobei-Jun that he dropped out crosses his mind. “So, you—you must have figured out that this one never—never graduated?” he asks, wincing.

“Hmm,” his king agrees. “This one got the sense that Shang Qinghua…was not treated very well by his former classmates.”

Oh no. Had he talked to them? Heard the things that they had said about Shang Qinghua when it happened? Desperate for it. Regretted giving it up so easy. Or, the opposite: He Yanlin rejected him, and he’s getting his revenge.

Shang Qinghua’s lips feel numb when he asks, “You…spoke to my classmates? About what happened?”

Mobei-Jun frowns. “No. Only Su Fang is aware that this one is connected to you.” He pauses. “No, that’s not true. He Yanlin knows too. They are both under the impression we are married.”

“What?!” Shang Qinghua shrieks.

His brain is left sputtering, trying to process that little revelation, when his king speaks again. 

“This one lied and said he was trying to find people to invite for his husband’s surprise birthday party,” his king explains easily. “They’re all very unconcerned with privacy.”

My king, what the hell!!! Is this what you’ve been working on in the office? Is this where you’ve been disappearing to?  Shang Qinghua is sprinting to keep up!

“Wait, so…” he says, “you didn’t even—you never even asked them about it?

 “No. Not beyond confirming He Yanlin’s identity.” Mobei-Jun frowns, confused. “Why would this one care what they have to say?”

Shang Qinghua is gobsmacked. “But—my king—!” he exclaims. “You’ve only heard this one’s side of the story. You really beat up He Yanlin on my word alone? Aren’t you at all concerned that I might have been too drunk to remember correctly, or that I just did something I regretted?”

“Shang Qinghua,” his king says evenly, “as far as this one is concerned, your side of the story is the story.”

The smaller man blinks hard. “But—you can’t—you can’t possibly—”

Mobei-Jun just continues to look up at him steadily, and Shang Qinghua is utterly taken aback by the serene devotion he sees there. Emotion rises like a hard fist in his throat.

“You mean, you…” he says, voice going shaky and wet, “you put a man in the hospital…just because I said he’d hurt me?”

Mobei-Jun says, simply, “Yes.”

Taken aback by this quiet, steady confirmation, a sob builds in Shang Qinghua’s chest. Throat thick with tears, he takes his king’s bloody hand, grips it tight with both of his own, and presses a kiss on the back. He cries softly there, eyes shut tight, because he cannot believe—he really cannot believe—

“My—my king,” he stutters out, trying to get his mouth around a thank you.

Still kneeling in front of him, Mobei-Jun strokes his hair back again and again, letting Shang Qinghua cry on him. “Shh,” he keeps on saying softly. “Shh,” until the other man’s sobs devolve into little sniffs.

His king is staring up at him when he glances up. He takes Shang Qinghua’s hand, and presses his mouth against it briefly, as if mimicking him.

“Tell this one—tell this one he did the right thing,” he says. “He needs your guidance, Shang Qinghua.” His eyes are dark and intense. “Tell me I did the right thing.”

This one frowns, not expecting such a question. His king’s face is pleading, and Shang Qinghua looks down, thinking.

“I don’t know if it’s right, my king,” he says quietly, “but I am,” he swallows, “very grateful.”

Mobei-Jun moves himself next to the smaller man, then, sitting beside him on the couch, their hands still entwined.

“This one just wishes that he could have done more,” he says, voice rough with emotion. His eyes are rimmed red. “He is so sorry, Shang Qinghua.”

 “Sorry for what?” this one asks quietly. What could his king possibly have to apologize for?

And then Mobei-Jun’s face creases in a way that Shang Qinghua has never seen before, just crumples completely. “This one wasn’t there with you. You were alone. You were all alone, Shang Qinghua,” he says, voice catching horribly. His eyes are shining when he looks at Shang Qinghua, and it’s all this one can do not to break down all over again.

Instead, he clambers onto his king’s lap and hugs him tightly, pressing his face into strong shoulders. Mobei-Jun wraps himself around the smaller man without hesitation.

“Well,” Shang Qinghua says, voice wavering, watery and thin, “you are with me now.”

Mobei-Jun nods tightly, holding him closer.

They stay that way for a while, embracing. Shang Qinghua is the one to back away first, stroking his king’s hair back from his face gently, examining the bruises on his knuckles. There’s blood, too, but no cuts, and he frowns in confusion.

 “This isn’t—yours, is it, my king?”

Mobei-Jun scoffs. As if. “He got a bad bloody nose.”

Shang Qinghua laughs wetly. “This one should have known. Let me—wash this off.”

He takes his king’s hand and leads him to the bathroom. Mobei-Jun follows, strangely docile, shoulders slumped as if trying to make himself smaller. Shang Qinghua has the oddest notion that his king is trying to convey that he is not a threat to him, and it almost makes this one laugh.

Running the warm water, he takes his king’s bloodied hands and guides them under the faucet. Mobei-Jun allows it, gazing down at Shang Qinghua, completely surrendering his hands to him. He doesn’t even glance at them, too busy watching the smaller man fuss around with the soap and the towels. Even when Shang Qinghua massages the lather into his king’s hands, taking special care with the nail beds, Mobei-Jun’s eyes, heavy-lidded, never leave his face. This one tries to ignore it, but the weight of his king’s gaze is so strong he is practically trembling under it. It’s near-silent in the apartment, the only noise the water running over his king’s hands. Everything feels suspended in time, crushed under things too unwieldy and large to speak aloud, heavy with the blood-soaked devotion running like a river between them.

Shang Qinghua’s eyes are drawn back to his king’s again and again, despite the task he is trying very hard to finish. He feels distracted, his throat stopped-up, tied fast like some sort of willing hostage. Fumbling the nail brush in the sink, the clatter is hugely loud in the small echoey bathroom, and he returns it to its place with hands that feel too clumsy for the job. Refocusing, he runs his king’s soapy, clean hands under the spray to rinse them. Mobei-Jun takes pity on him, then, grabbing a towel and drying his hands himself, eyes finally cast down. Shang Qinghua takes the opportunity to look at his king in the mirror, his fine features, severe cheekbones, plush-soft lips.

Mobei-Jun’s eyes find his in the mirror, then, and this one gulps. The bigger man turns to face him, body listing forward slightly. Shang Qinghua exhales shakily, and his king’s approach continues, steady, and silent, and foreboding as a thundercloud. His hand comes to rest on the wall besides Shang Qinghua’s head, and the smaller man can only make a little hitching noise in reply, all the oxygen suddenly leaving the room. Their eyes meet, then, and it’s fucking electric.

His king crowds him back against the wall, crowds all his faculties while he’s at it, and Shang Qinghua can do nothing but stare up at him. The things he wants from this man seem too big to name, so he decides he will settle for a kiss. His lips part in invitation.

Mobei-Jun takes it, hands coming up to cradle the smaller man’s face gently, neck bending so their noses can glance against each other shyly. Shang Qinghua’s eyes flutter shut, and he plants his hands on the firm chest before him, the only thing he can think of to combat the way his whole world seems to be tilting on its axis. Lips slant against his, then, citrus-flavored lip balm, and he makes a little noise of relief. Sweet and soft and all-encompassing, Mobei-Jun kisses him, making warmth well in his chest slowly. His king exhales gently as their lips move, unhurried, against each other’s, and his breath is sweet and cool on the smaller man’s skin. 

Shang Qinghua is submerged. He can’t hear, can’t see, can’t speak. There is only his king, nipping his lower lip gently, swiping his tongue along it. This one’s hands grip tighter on Mobei-Jun’s shirt, lips parting easily under the warmth, and his king licks into his mouth, slow and hot and plush. Shang Qinghua melts into him, off-balance and underwater, heat seeping through his limbs, weighing him down. They kiss, tongues sliding sweet between them, and Mobei-Jun’s knuckle-bruised hands move, then, dragging through his hair, thumb pressing against his pulse point.

They break apart, panting, still pressed up close, Mobei-Jun’s hands brushing his hair away from his face gently. Shang Qinghua’s eyes flutter open, and he noses softly against his king’s jaw, catching the mint and citrus and musk scent of him.

“Fuck me,” he breathes. “Fuck me, fuck me, please, I don’t want to wait any more.”

His king smiles, then, moves his hand to palm the back of Shang Qinghua’s neck, firm and commanding. The smaller man’s knees wobble a bit at the sensation.

“This one wasn’t aware you were waiting,” Mobei-Jun murmurs. He drags his teeth along the other man’s jaw, prompting a full-body shiver. “Haven’t you figured out by now, Shang Qinghua, that all you have to do is ask, and this one will give it to you?”

Shang Qinghua is panting. “Oh, please,” he whimpers.

“As long as you’re sure that’s what you want.”

“Yes, yes, this one wants to be close to you, please, please, don’t make me wait,” he babbles, head reeling.

Mobei-Jun’s eyes go big and dark, and he grabs Shang Qinghua and frog-marches him towards the bedroom. They pause to kiss again, and, with shaking hands, Shang Qinghua presses the bigger man up against the door. His mouth travels from his king’s lips, along his glass-cut jaw, down his throat. Feeling bold, he licks a stripe along his pulse point, and Mobei-Jun lets out a surprised grunt, hands flying to the smaller man’s hips to anchor himself. He then relaxes against the door, letting his head loll back, panting. Shang Qinghua preens, leaving open-mouthed kisses all along the sensitive skin of his king’s neck to a chorus of pleasured sighs. Oh, this was something he could do all night!!

His hands travel down, slow and leisurely, and ruck up the tucked-in dress shirt covering his king’s immaculate torso. That done, they return to the buttons, working with surprising dexterity as Shang Qinghua kisses his way down the newly revealed skin, flicking out to taste the salt-sweet of it. The muscles of his king’s body shift and tense under his attentions, chest rising and falling heavily. He looks like something from one of Shang Qinghua’s most shameful imaginings, shirt ripped open to reveal his frankly ridiculous abs, and he stops himself from releasing a crazed bark of laughter. Instead, he runs the shirt down his king’s shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, and bends his head to lick at a dusk nipple. Mobei-Jun’s hands feel unsteady on his shoulders, running along his arms and down his back like he has more energy than he knows what to do with. Shang Qinghua continues to work his mouth around his king’s chest, periodically running his tongue over a nipple, letting blunt nails drag down his bare back. His king makes the loveliest noises!!

Pretty soon, Mobei-Jun is yanking at his shoulders impatiently, jerking him up. Shang Qinghua goes gladly, dragged in for a near-bruising kiss, and slings his arms around his king’s neck. Big hands go rough as they work their way under Shang Qinghua’s (Mobei-Jun’s) sweater, and, eventually, pull it over his head. It’s thrown across the room carelessly, and his king is kissing him again, urgent and blinding. They stumble towards the bed together, until Shang Qinghua is sitting back on it, blinking and dazed.

Mobei-Jun kneels in front of him, going to work on his belt, periodically stopping to plant kisses here and there.

“You know,” he rumbles, “this one has thought about this for a while now. Thought about what he might do.”

“Really?” Shang Qinghua murmurs, as his trousers and briefs are yanked down with very little finesse. His king gets like this when he’s impatient, lacking his usual elegance and attention to detail.

“Hmm,” he confirms. He waves Shang Qinghua back, signaling that he should move up the bed. This one obeys, and Mobei-Jun, satisfied, goes to the side table to get lube.

Returning to the bed, he is still half-clothed, and Shang Qinghua watches him with what he is sure is a very stupid expression. What good did this lowly one do to deserve such a heavenly sight?! He thinks this very frequently!!

Mobei-Jun beckons him closer with a flick of his hand, and Shang Qinghua clambers to obey, climbing into his lap. His king smiles gently, leaning in to kiss him, running his hands up and down the thighs draped over his own. When Mobei-Jun goes non-verbal like this, it either means something very bad, or something very, very good!

His king’s hands travel back to grope at his ass, each one large enough to comfortably span a cheek, pulling apart, kneading. Shang Qinghua moans into Mobei-Jun’s mouth, slotting their hips together so that the hardness of his cock can rub against his king’s.

They take a break from kissing, panting, so Mobei-Jun can coat his fingers in lube. The first time his king had fingered him, they’d been lazing around, kissing, touching hazily without any real intent. His king had looked at with heavy-lidded eyes, and demanded, “Let this one finger you.” Shang Qinghua had truly been in no position to argue with that!  Mobei-Jun had worked two fingers into the smaller man before he’d had gone off like a fucking rocket. Now, thankfully, he is able to take much more before he loses it.

While his king is busy, Shang Qinghua works at the bigger man’s belt, and his king lifts his hips obligingly when he unbuttons and unzips his trousers. Short work is made of them, and soon enough, both of them are naked, and Mobei-Jun is circling Shang Qinghua’s hole with slick fingers. It’s as delicious as he remembers when one of his king’s fingers slides inside him slowly, down to the last knuckle. His hands are so much bigger than Shang Qinghua’s, the angle so much better, and it’s like every time this one had touched himself and wished for something a little more has led to this moment, like Mobei-Jun knew it’s not been enough, and has set out to give him what he’s been needing. As the finger is fully seated, he surges up against his king, mouth open on a silent moan, and the bigger man goes with him, like he’s feeling it, too.

 The finger starts to move, easy and smooth, and Shang Qinghua lets out a strangled little noise against Mobei-Jun’s lips. They’re sharing the same air, limbs entangled, heat rising between what little space exists between them, filling every crack and crevice.

Mobei-Jun is watching his face, lips parted, like he wants to memorize his stupid expression. It feels like too much, it’s embarrassing and it makes him blush, but he can’t bring himself to do anything about it. If his king likes to watch his dumb sex faces, who is he to deny him???

“More, more,” he requests after a few moments.

Mobei-Jun obeys, sliding another slick finger in beside the other and beginning to move them gently. The resulting squelching noise makes something sink heavy and hot in Shang Qinghua’s stomach, and he starts to press against his king’s fingers helplessly.

“Yes,” Shang Qinghua blurts out, voice cracking on it, lifting his heavy head to glance at his king. The other man nods, eyes flicking over his face hotly.

 They kiss again, wet and a little sloppy, tongues sliding hot and sweet. Mobei-Jun takes this opportunity to crook his fingers just right, pressing up against his prostate, making Shang Qinghua hiccup and shudder. A pleased little smirk steals across his king’s face a moment, before he backs off and continues scissoring two fingers. Shang Qinghua delights in the feeling, burrowing closer to his king and humming contentedly. He feels connected to Mobei-Jun, and he never wants to let it go. He could do just this for hours and hours.

His king, however, has other ideas. He begins to speak to Shang Qinghua is a low voice, right into his ear, so the smaller man can feel his breath hot against his neck. He’s saying things like so tight, so good, going to stretch you out for me, going to make you come on my cock, is that what you want, Shang Qinghua? And yes, actually, that is what he wants!! Especially when Mobei-Jun’s fingers start to press up against his prostate every couple of thrusts. Shang Qinghua practically goes boneless, heat muscling its way through his body, whimpering at the toe-curling pleasure. Clutching at his king’s shoulders desperately, he shakes and shakes.  Mobei-Jun, the bastard, is smiling, a smug little thing.

“Fuck, Shang Qinghua,” he murmurs. “Look at you. Look at you.”

“Feels so good,” the other man mumbles, letting his forehead drop to his king’s shoulder.  “Feels so, so good.” He’s burning up, flushing hot and cold as his king takes his sweet time opening him up. He wants his king’s cock in him, and he’s tired of waiting. “Another, come on, please,” he murmurs.

Mobei-Jun pauses to add more lube, and then another finger is worked inside him. Shang Qinghua feels wet and aching, hole fluttering around his king’s fingers, and he clings to him with an air of desperation. Seeming to read this, Mobei-Jun begins to rub his back soothingly, though he doesn’t let up with the steady, deliberate pace of his fingers.

Pretty soon, Shang Qinghua begins to go a little dark-eyed and wanton, jostling up against his king’s cock with every jolt of his hips, feeling fucked-open and vulnerable. He’s sweating, clenching and unclenching on the too-big intrusion of three massive fingers, helpless and squirming in his king’s lap. Lube and sweat are running down his thighs, and it’s too open, too wet, too much. He isn’t sure how much more he can stand this.

“My—my king,” he whimpers. “Please, please, I need—I can’t—”

At those words, Mobei-Jun’s fingers stop moving entirely, making Shang Qinghua clench down desperately on them. His king’s eyes are dark and watchful when this one looks up, and he brushes back a sweaty piece of hair from his forehead, eyes searching the smaller man’s face.

“Don’t—don’t stop, please, please,” Shang Qinghua begs, squirming, trying to get his king moving again. “I’m just—I’m ready, my king, I’m ready, and I don’t think I can take much more of this, please.”

“Oh,” Mobei-Jun says, blinking. His voice is hoarse. He removes his fingers from Shang Qinghua, who whinesand squirms in protest. “Let’s change positions, then.”

Ha! Very funny of his king to think that this one is capable of moving his limbs right now! He thinks his knees are permanently locked in this position!

It turns out not to be a problem, as Mobei-Jun simply grabs him and eases him back along the bed. Slowly, he unfolds Shang Qinghua’s legs, massaging gently as he extends them.

“On your side,” his king commands. “This one doesn’t want you to feel held down.”

Shang Qinghua obeys silently, considering this. He thinks he would be okay either way, but maybe Mobei-Jun is right to err on the side of caution. No need to make this more difficult than it has to be! His king is retrieving the lube again, and squirting a generous amount onto his hands. Shang Qinghua, feeling a little dazed, reaches behind himself and presses a curious finger against his hole. He lets out a surprised, “Oh,” at the way it feels, all sensitive and soft.

Mobei-Jun is watching him when he looks up, eyes dark as slate, hand wrapped around his cock. The reality of the situation hits Shang Qinghua then: his king is about to fuck him. Anxiety tightens momentarily in his chest, because holy shit!! His king’s cock is about to go inside Shang Qinghua’s body! He gulps loudly, because he genuinely, genuinely had thought he would die from some ramen-related injury before this happened to him!! What the fuck!!!!!

His king tilts his head. “Having second thoughts, Shang Qinghua?” he asks evenly.

This one stares up at Mobei-Jun’s calm and composed face. He blinks. His king is always so cool!! How does he manage it? The thought steadies him, somehow. His king is here. His king will take care of everything.

“No,” he finally answers, quiet and earnest. He puts his hands under his head like he is about to go to sleep, and lets a smile play over his face “No. This one just—this one never thought he would have something like this, that’s all.”

Mobei-Jun lays down beside him, posture mirroring his own, expression uncharacteristically thoughtful. He doesn’t say anything. His king prefers to show rather than tell, and Shang Qinghua, sometime Internet wordsmith, likes that about him. He takes his clean hand and places it on the smaller man’s cheek. And then he kisses him, soft and slow. It almost makes Shang Qinghua cry, the tenderness he can feel coming from his king, and in that moment he is so, so grateful, grateful for everything. Grateful for his king’s patience. Grateful for every moment they’ve spent together. Grateful for the way his king had made a place for him in his life. He can’t stand all the emotion that’s surging inside of him, like great swells of ocean water off a stormy coast. He doesn’t know what to do with it all, so he just kisses his king back.

Heat very quickly thrums afresh in his blood as they kiss. He’s the one who deepens it this time, crowding himself against his king, trying to show him what he cannot say. The way his king replies, lube-smeared palm searing at Shang Qinghua’s hip, feels satisfactory. That hand migrates to his cock, stroking and twisting, and immediately Shang Qinghua feels like he’s hovering over the precipice of something huge.

“Knees up to your chest,” Mobei-Jun orders, seeming to understand the other man is reaching his breaking point. Shang Qinghua obeys, and doesn’t protest when his king moves closer, positioning his legs over his own shoulder, pressing the smaller man in half.

They are facing each other on their sides, Shang Qinghua bent double, one calf slanted across his king’s chest, the other over his king’s shoulder. It leaves Shang Qinghua breathless and exposed, and he moans weakly. All he can really see is Mobei-Jun’s face, looking down, frowning in concentration. He moves one hand to the bigger man’s cheek, and sneaks the other below his neck.

“Ready, Shang Qinghua?” Mobei-Jun asks, glancing up at him, licking his lips.

“Yes, yes, please,” he answers readily.

His king reaches down, one hand spread on Shang Qinghua’s ass, the other guiding the blunt head of his cock against his hole. It’s enormous, hot and huge and insistent, and the smaller man can’t help the way he clenches down in response. He’s sure he’s shaking, folded up against his king’s chest, and his stomach swoops with anxiety. Mobei-Jun circles the head around his hole, all slick and loose, and Shang Qinghua isn’t sure if he’s teasing or being kind. He really could cry!! Come on, my king!! This one is going to die from nerves if you don’t stick it in soon!!

As if reading his mind, his king lines up, one hand spreading Shang Qinghua’s cheeks, and begins to press in.

“Relax for me,” Mobei-Jun says, the insistent heat of his cock bearing down on this lowly one. His face looks a little pained, so Shang Qinghua does his best to obey. He apparently manages the task, because his king sinks in a little further, and they both moan brokenly. “Okay?” his king asks, voice stretched thin.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shang Qinghua answers, trying to adjust to the sensation. It’s similar to his Mobei-Jun-prompted dildo in size, so that’s not new, but the warmth of it, the searing heat inside of him—that’s—that’s going to take some getting used to. “Don’t—don’t stop,” he stutters out.

Mobei-Jun, brow creased in exquisite concentration, fucks in further, hand moving to hold Shang Qinghua’s hip in a bruising grip. The smaller man makes a strangled noise, feeling split apart and impaled. They’ve done a lot of prep, so he’s not in pain, and the slight discomfort very quickly becomes a craving, a desire for more.

His king keeps going. The heat is unbelievable. Like someone’s just spilled hot coffee and Shang Qinghua is the soaked tablecloth. His king’s thigh is nearly flush against the smaller man’s ass, and this one drops his hand from his king’s cheek to grab at it desperately.

“Breathe, Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun says. “Breathe into it.”

This one can confirm that he has, indeed, forgotten to breathe!! He takes a deep breath, long and shaky, and Mobei-Jun pushes in even further. The stretch is incredible, hot pressure like nothing he’s ever felt before, and, somehow, somehow, it feels…good??? Beyond good, even, it’s more—more all-encompassing, a tide sweeping him off his feet.

“Good, you’re doing so good,” Mobei-Jun says, and Shang Qinghua is at sea.

“Re—really?” he hiccups.

“Hmm,” his king replies, mouth twitching into a smile. He pauses, and swallows thickly. Shang Qinghua watches him, feeling dazed. His eyes are blown wide, flush rising on his cheeks, sweat darkening his hairline. This one wants to hang him in the Louvre! His king snorts, then, and Shang Qinghua covers his mouth with his hand, because why can’t he keep his stupid thoughts to himself!!!

A little further, and, suddenly, his king’s thighs are completely flush against Shang Qinghua’s ass! Success!! Shang Qinghua feels so full, feels his king in his lungs, practically, and they purposefully did this so that he wouldn’t feel pinned down, but, fuck, he does anyway. He feels pinned, and impaled, and trapped, and he likes it so much he thinks he’s going to die!! He clenches down experimentally, and Mobei-Jun grunts, face creasing with pleasure.

“Fuck,” he bites out. “Fucking blinding.”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t really know what that means!! But it sounds good!

His king moves, then, drawing his cock out slowly, and Shang Qinghua moans loudly, the drag of it something exquisite. In fact, he can’t seem to stop moaning, as his king completely withdraws and then pushes back in. How is it even more overwhelming the second time?! Mobei-Jun continues to thrust, setting a rhythm, now, hips moving smooth and easy. All sorts of noises are leaving this one’s mouth, growls and grunts and moans and whimpers, and Shang Qinghua has come to peace with the fact that his body is no longer within his conscious control!

“Shang Qinghua,” his king is panting. “This one does have neighbors.”

“Stop being—so good at this, then,” the other man says brokenly.

“Oh?” Mobei-Jun says, smug smile spreading. “Does that mean Shang Qinghua is enjoying himself?”

How is his king able to formulate actual sentences?! Is he some kind of sex wizard?! Shang Qinghua is going to scream!!

This poor soul is unable to even rise to the teasing lilt in his king’s voice. All he is capable of doing is babbling out, “You—you feel so good, my king, so perfect.”

Ugh, my king!! You’ve fucked this one stupid!

His king looks delighted, and changes the angle of his hips slightly, brushing against Shang Qinghua’s prostate teasingly. This one, predictably, jerks and flails, vision going all black a moment, and he’s distantly aware of his king grunting in…pain? Everything stops, and Shang Qinghua’s eyes fly open in concern and fear.

“My king!?”

“You kicked this one,” Mobei-Jun says in disbelief, hand clutching at his jaw.

Shang Qinghua is mortified!

“I’m so sorry!!” he wails, going to…remove himself… from Mobei-Jun’s cock, but big hands trap him where he is. God, this is so embarrassing! Why is he like this!!! “My king, please, I hurt you, we should—”

“Stop. Moving,” is the hissed reply, as big hands pin his legs down, keep them still. His king moves his own jaw experimentally, and then turns a glare onto the smaller man. “Kick this one again, Shang Qinghua,” he says lowly, “and he will tie you to this bed.”

This one can only whimper at the idea, of being entirely at his king’s mercy, the only person he would ever trust. He is surprised at the way the thought makes arousal shiver up his spine.

“Now. Let’s—try that again,” his king growls, beginning to thrust again.

The slight change in position has drawn them closer, almost close enough to kiss, bent into strange angles, and Shang Qinghua has precisely no leverage to work with. He can only take what Mobei-Jun is giving him, helpless and full and overheated. His king is fucking into him in earnest, now, skin slapping against skin, and it burns a bit, the stretch and drag and thrill. Shang Qinghua knows he will feel this tomorrow, will be shifting in his seat under Mobei-Jun’s sharp gaze, and, fuck, he likes that idea. His king’s cock keeps on brushing against his prostate, and this one is doing his best to flail, but, pinned as he is, can only shake and jerk in the bigger man’s arms.

Truly Shang Qinghua is about to ascend to another realm, because it feels like his king is everywhere, inside him, around him, on top of him, inescapable and solid. As this one loses control, Mobei-Jun is the one holding him down, taking care of him while he floats, lost, in pleasure. Shang Qinghua is making some truly horrifying noises, but he can’t seem to help it, overwhelmed and dizzy and fever-hot. His king’s cock feels too-big inside him, like the man himself, just barging in and rearranging this one’s whole life. (Is he using his own ass as a metaphor for his life??? Yes, and, truly, Mobei-Jun is scrambling his brain with his giant cock. My king!!! Have some mercy on this one!!! He is a mere mortal! What are you trying to do your lowly employee???)

“My king,” he chokes out, scrabbling at the man’s arms desperately. The sheer gale-force pleasure of it all is probably rewiring his brain!!!  He likes this so much he thinks he might die!! There would be no coming back from this! Mobei-Jun would have to keep fucking him, or he would drop dead from withdrawal symptoms! No one else would do!!

His king grunts, beginning to look a bit worse for the wear, and clutches at Shang Qinghua. This one goes willingly, glad to be closer, not minding the way he’s being bent to his very limit. Mobei-Jun kisses him, then, though it’s more just broken panting against each other’s lips. His mouth, when it does touch his, burns, hot and alive. Hands runs through his hair softly, holding his head close, and Shang Qinghua feels cared for and cradled, such a contrast to the merciless way his king is fucking into him. He’s close, now, he can feel it, and he buries his head in his king’s neck, eyes squeezed shut, standing under the shadow of a wave of pleasure so large he’s not sure what he’ll do.

“Please, please, my king,” he sobs. “I’m so—I’m so close, please—”

Mobei-Jun’s gentle touch in his hair turns rough, tugging back so that he can scrape his teeth against his jaw. “Yes,” he growls, “come on my cock, just like that, let this one feel it. You’ve been so good, taking my cock so well—”

It hits him like a fucking truck, then, the whole of his body locking up, sick-hot shivering pleasure. The muscles of Shang Qinghua’s thighs are quivering violently, and he can’t make them stop, he can’t make any of it stop—he’s being burned alive, shaking and jerking, clawing at his king, gasping out broken little noises against his neck. There’s a sudden wetness on his stomach, and Mobei-Jun continues to grind into him, moaning, never letting up even as Shang Qinghua’s ass flutters desperately around him.

“Oh, my king,” he says, voice absolutely wrecked, clutching onto Mobei-Jun desperately. He’s coming down, hips still jerking minutely, mind swimming. “What are you—doing to this one?”

Mobei-Jun moans in his ear, begins to pick up his pace again.  

“What are you doing? Trying to—ruin me?” Shang Qinghua continues to murmur softly. He’s feeling slightly overstimulated, just letting his thoughts flow from his lips like water. “Fuck me so well that I’m—ruined for everyone else?”

Shang Qinghua draws back to look at his king, whose eyes are shut tight in pleasure, and mouth at his lips softly. There is no one else like his king, no one as good as him, no one who would make him feel like this. He clutches tighter at the man, moaning and clenching and sweating, knowing deep down that there would be no coming back from this.

 “Oh, my king,” he murmurs, head in his king’s neck, “are you trying to ruin this one?”

“Yes,” Mobei-Jun answers, snarling into his ear, clearly pushed to his limit, fucking into him viciously. “Yes, this one wants to ruin you. He wants to keep you here, Shang Qinghua, he wants to be yours—”

“My—king,” Shang Qinghua hiccups, “You’re so good to this one, you feel so, so good, I’m so—I’m so happy with you.”

 Suddenly, his king’s hips go sloppy and jagged, and he presses his forehead to Shang Qinghua’s, eyes squeezed shut, big hand on his cheek. Grunting, he thrusts in and in and in, hips stuttering against the smaller man’s ass.

“Fuck—fucking yes, yes,” he grits out. He’s panting, clutching at Shang Qinghua like he’s afraid he’ll float away. This one rubs at his back soothingly, feeling him come down from his orgasm. His king is trembling a little from the force of it.

 They’re essentially hugging now, wrapped in each other’s arms, and Shang Qinghua leans into the warmth, leg cramps notwithstanding. They are both panting heavily, entangled with no hope of disentanglement. His king slips out of him gently, and Shang Qinghua makes a little wounded sound, feeling empty and strange. Minutes must pass that way, quiet and soft.

His king’s face is all sweet and scrunched up, and Shang Qinghua runs a finger down his cheek tenderly.

Mobei-Jun’s eyes then flutter open, and he asks, “Okay, Shang Qinghua?”

“Hmm,” he hums happily, closing his eyes like he is leaning into the sunshine. “Yes, my king.”

Mobei-Jun rolls them over gently, so that he is kneeling over Shang Qinghua’s bent legs, and then he sits up.

“You must be sore,” he says quietly, helping him lower his legs and wincing a bit when the other man whimpers. Shang Qinghua stretches contentedly once totally laid out, not minding the stiffness so much, or even the slight burn in his ass. “How are you feeling?”

“Sleepy,” he answers, eyes fluttering shut. He frowns. “Cold.”

Mobei-Jun laughs a little, and lays down next to him. Shang Qinghua automatically turns into his warmth, snuggling close, and he dozes off for a bit.

When he wakes up, he’s being carried in his king’s arms like they’ve just gotten married, and they’re walking to the bathroom. He feels sticky with lube and sweat and come, and his ass is throbbing.

“Ran you a bath,” his king says, peering down at him.

A warm bath seems like heaven to this one, and he moans a little at the prospect. His king carries him into the bathroom, and lowers him gently into the tub. Shang Qinghua hums, contented, noticing that Mobei-Jun has put some lavender bath oil in. What a genius. Truly a visionary.

He sinks further into the water, feeling a little vulnerable, achy and empty. He wishes his king would cuddle him a bit, and is very gratified when the bigger man steps into the bath right after. Mobei-Jun glides closer, and drags him back, turning him in the process. He settles back against one side of the tub, arms wrapped around the smaller man. Shang Qinghua, heart warm with affection, slightly overheated from the water, from the pillow of his king’s body under him, leans back against his chest tentatively. He sighs, and gets comfortable. It’s too nice to be real! This one does not deserve such a perfect moment! Surely the heavens have gotten two people’s fates mixed up!!

His king rumbles, contented. Shang Qinghua quietly marvels at the whole situation.

“My king,” he says quietly, “You really are trying to ruin this one.”

Mobei-Jun’s mouth, pressed against his shoulder, curves into a smile.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, this one supposes he is.”

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua is waiting with some students for their parents to come pick them up when a dark presence enters the dojo.

Linguang-Jun, ugh!!!! This one scowls at his entrance.

“Ah, Shang Qinghua,” the man smiles, all greasy and hideous!!! “Where’s your master, little dog?”

Shang Qinghua hates this guy!!! He looks at the remaining children waiting for pickup, one of which is Sha Hualing, and motions for them to cover their ears. They do, even Sha Hualing, though she sticks her tongue out in protest. Satisfied, Shang Qinghua speaks. 

“This one just swept,” he says.  “How does filth keep finding its way in here?”

Shang Qinghua is so busy celebrating his little burn (need some ice for that, Linguang-Jun, haha!!!!) that he is taken aback by the evil uncle getting in his face, looming down over him like some kind of sinister scarecrow.

“Oh my—”

Linguang-Jun lets one long-fingered hand make its way to Shang Qinghua’s neck. This one, terrified, gulps against the pressure of his palm, and the children watch with wide eyes. The evil uncle leans forward to murmur into his ear.

“Don’t think that just because I’m Mobei-Jun’s uncle that I’m an old man, little dog,” he says smoothly. “It wasn’t long ago that this one was the Terror of the North, and he can still break every bone in your pathetic little body.”

Shang Qinghua squeaks in fear, and Linguang-Jun pulls back.

“Now,” he says, “where is my beloved nephew?” When Shang Qinghua doesn’t answer, he smiles. “In the office?” This one nods, eyes wide. “Very good.”

Linguang-Jun enters the practice area, and then opens the door to the office. Shang Qinghua follows behind him after reassuring the children, and is greeted by his king when he approaches the entrance to the office.

“Did this one’s uncle bother you, Shang Qinghua?” he asks lowly.

Shang Qinghua peeks warily over his king’s shoulder at Linguang-Jun, and makes an expression of terror. Mobei-Jun frowns.

“Wait out here,” he says. “This one will handle his uncle.”

The smaller man’s eyes go big with concern. He doesn’t want to leave Mobei-Jun alone with his evil uncle!!!

Mobei-Jun, however, nods reassuringly, then leans down to give him a peck on the lips before closing the door. Shang Qinghua immediately presses his ear to it!

“How can this one be of service, uncle?” he hears his king say through clenched teeth.

“Ah, so formal all the sudden?” his uncle mocks.

Mobei-Jun doesn’t speak for a moment, and Shang Qinghua can practically hear him glower.

“Just because this one once called you master, don’t think he is beholden to you any longer, Linguang-Jun.”

“And just who is it you’re beholden to now, nephew? Hmm?”

Mobei-Jun does not answer. His uncle chuckles mockingly.

“Here’s a name you might be familiar with,” Linguang-Jun sings, smug and unbearable as usual. “He. Yan. Lin. Ring a bell, Iceman?”

Oh no!!!!! How did this evil uncle find out about that??? This is a disaster!!! Shang Qinghua’s blood pressure is skyrocketing right now!!!

Mobei-Jun doesn’t say a word.

“Imagine my delight,” his uncle says, “when the tail I placed on you reported such fantastic news.” He chuckles. “I don’t know what that slob ever did to you, and I really don’t care. All that matters to me—all that will matter to the police and the ethics committee—is that you beat the shit out of him.”

“What is it you want, uncle?” Mobei-Jun says, dryly amused. “You know as well as this one does that Shang Qinghua has blackened your name so thoroughly no amount of backtracking on my part will undo it.” He pauses. “Perhaps you should remember that the next time you think to insult him.”

Shang Qinghua heart warms at the way his king seems to be…proud of him! He smiles.

“Give me the dojo,” Linguang-Jun suddenly demands, “or I will turn you in to the police.”

“The dojo?” Mobei-Jun laughs coldly. “If you need a job, uncle—”

“This one has video evidence.”

“Hand it over to the police, then,” his king says casually. “Go ahead. This one wants you to.” He pauses for effect, and it works beautifully! “Do you know why, uncle?”

The other man doesn’t answer. Shang Qinghua hears a heavy step, probably his king’s.

“Because you’ve missed something in your calculations,” Mobei-Jun says lowly. “You’ve forgotten that I have Shang Qinghua in my corner, now.” He pauses. “This one isn’t alone anymore, and he is no longer a child at your mercy, so don’t think you can intimidate him into getting what you want.”

Shang Qinghua’s jaw drops. My king!!!! Some fierce emotion clamps down on his throat: pride, maybe, or protectiveness. A sudden desire to shield his Mobei-Jun behind him!! He feels sort of…warmly possessive of the man.

 “That Shang Qinghua certainly is a character. I can see why you keep him around,” Linguang-Jun says thoughtfully. “A bit jumpy, maybe, but he looks like he’d take orders well. And I haven’t even gotten to that ass yet—”

“Linguang-Jun,” Mobei-Jun says, voice like a deadweight. “Get out. Now.”

“I’m going to pay him a visit one of these days—”

Shang Qinghua hears scuffling and grunting, and sprints back into the waiting room.

Mobei-Jun reappears, shoving Linguang-Jun to the floor near Shang Qinghua’s feet. This one yelps, and motions to the children to get behind him. They look at him dubiously, and stay where they are. Understandable!!

Linguang-Jun gets up, and looks toward Shang Qinghua, whose eyes widen in fear. The evil uncle spits at him, “You’re going to regret the day you came to Junshang, Shang Qinghua. This one will make you beg him for mercy, like the dog that you are.”

Shang Qinghua, shocked, can’t seem to reply.

Looking apoplectic, Mobei-Jun is about to finish throwing his uncle out of the dojo when Sha Hualing suddenly springs into action.

“Hey!” she shrieks. She marches up to Linguang-Jun, and kicks him in the shin, hard.  The older man yelps in pain, and grabs his leg. “Leave. Mr. Shang. Alone!”

Everyone blinks in surprise.

Lianguang Jun looks around, clearly feeling that his dignity has been compromised. “This is not over, nephew,” he warns, before storming out.

“Whoa,” Shang Qinghua says. He kneels down next to Sha Hualing. “My precious child!!” he says. “You protected this one!!”

She scowls. “This Sha Hualing is the only one allowed to threaten Mr. Shang,” she says sullenly. As an afterthought, she adds, “And Sensei.”

Shang Qinghua glances up at Mobei-Jun, who smirks.

***

“This one thinks that you might be taking things a little too seriously, my king,” Shang Qinghua says, letting them both into his apartment. He hasn’t been there in weeks.

“You are not taking this seriously enough, Shang Qinghua,” is Mobei-Jun’s moody reply. He looks around the tiny little studio, distinctly unimpressed. “My uncle is dangerous. This one told you as much when you first decided to go up against him.”

This one had relayed to Mobei-Jun what Linguang-Jun had said to him in the waiting room, and his king had decided that they would both stay at Shang Qinghua’s apartment until everything blew over. Linguang-Jun doesn’t know about it, let alone where it is, and it would buy them some time to think of a plan to counter him.

“There’s no way he has video evidence, or else he would’ve turned you in already,” Shang Qinghua says.

“That’s not the point,” his king mutters unhappily.

He grabs Shang Qinghua by the arm, interrupting his tidying.

“My uncle can be violent if provoked,” he says, “and you’ve backed him into a corner. Please take this seriously.”

“Alright, alright,” Shang Qinghua says, waving him off. “This one will do as you say, my king.”

He is scared of the evil uncle, sure, but he doesn’t think he’s in danger of bodily harm or anything like that. Mobei-Jun is being over-protective! He’s also not that concerned about Linguang-Jun possibly having his king arrested. As he said, if the man had any viable evidence, he’d have used it by now. And there was no way He Yanlin would help Linguang-Jun by going to the police. How could he, when there’s a chance of what he’d done ten years ago coming out, this time backed by someone like Mobei-Jun? Not only that, he must know that he’d have Mobei-Jun to contend with all over again. No, this one feels confident that He Yanlin will keep quiet.

Shang Qinghua grabs his king’s hand and leads him over to the bed. It’s more or less the only place to sit in his cramped little studio, besides the ergonomic desk chair he stole from a paralegal job he worked for about two days! (He’d heard them pondering whether Harvard Paralegal Academy was actually a real school, and had gotten the hell out, chair in hand!!)

“Maybe we can order some takeout?” he says, as his king sits down on the bed. It’s neatly made, thank god!! “This one doesn’t really have any food in at the moment.”

Mobei-Jun nods. He seems content to look around Shang Qinghua’s personal space curiously. Probably looking for something to embarrass him with!!

“Lemme go wash up, and then we’ll find something?”

He leaves to go to the bathroom. It’s weird being back in his apartment after staying exclusively at the dojo for so many weeks. Periodically, he would stop in for clothing or books, but that was all. It hardly counts as his home, anymore, he supposes! But, if it puts Mobei-Jun at ease, he doesn’t mind staying here. At least his king is with him!

He finishes up, and then returns to the living area.

He freezes when he sees Mobei-Jun turning something over in his hands curiously.

Oh my god. Oh my god!!!! OH MY GOD!!!

It’s his dildo!!!

His eyes widen as he remembers: the last time he’d slept here was during his Mobei-Jun-inspired masturbatory phase. He’d had plans to, er, make a night of things on the day that he’d run away from the dojo to Ning Yingying’s. Sterilized his dildo, and shoved it under the pillow. Ahh, how could Shang Qinghua have been so stupid!!! He should know by now that his king has the nose of the bloodhound when it comes to sniffing out ways to embarrass this one!!

Panicking, he looks around, trying to find a hiding spot that would be safe from his king. This is mortifying!! Why does the floor refuse to open under this one’s feet and save him from the impending shame???

His king must hear him making noises of incoherent terror, and he looks up, eyes sparkling. Oh no. Oh no, no.

“Well isn’t this interesting,” he says. He smiles, and Shang Qinghua takes a reflexive step backward! 

“I’ve never seen that before in my life,” this one blurts out.

His king presses his lips together, looking like he’s trying not to laugh, before he schools his expression into polite (fake) confusion.

“Really?” he asks. “How strange, because this one found it under your pillow. Almost like you’d—laid it out, maybe?” His voice drops, and his eyes flick over Shang Qinghua. “Looked forward to using it on yourself later?”

Shang Qinghua gulps. Once he’d been watching Animal Planet—he’d needed inspiration for a PIDW creature—and they’d shown a scene of killer whales gleefully tossing around a bloodied seal before they ate him. In this moment, he feels he knows exactly what that seal must have experienced!! Why so cruel, my king??? Why must you play with your food?? Can’t you see this one is suffering enough as it is???

Shang Qinghua squeezes his eyes shut, cheeks flaming with embarrassment, and says, so quiet it’s almost inaudible, “This one had forgotten he’d laid it out the last time he was here.”

He glances up when his king doesn’t speak.

“And when was that, exactly?” Mobei-Jun asks, a hard edge in his voice.

Is his king serious?! Does he think Shang Qinghua had come back here in between bouts with Mobei-Jun and fucked himself up the ass with a dildo?! He’s sore enough as it is!!

 “It was months ago, when we first started grappling!!” he wails. “This one had your cock in his face constantly, and he is only human!! Give this one a break, my king!!”

Very slowly, Mobei-Jun gets up. His smugness would be unbearable, if this one weren’t so obsessed with him!!

“No. This one will not give you a break,” he murmurs, slowly approaching Shang Qinghua with a terrifying expression on his face. The dildo is still in his hands! This lowly one is combusting!!

When Mobei-Jun gets close enough, he leans down to whisper into his shaking employee’s ear, “Is this clean?”

Shang Qinghua nods, eyes huge.

“Good,” his king says. “Take off your clothes and lay down on the bed.”

“T—take off—?”

“Now.”

This one scrambles to comply, so turned on he thinks his brain might have melted. His work clothes are quickly dealt with, under his king’s approving gaze, and he goes to lay down. He’s shaking with nerves and arousal, cock already hard and curving up against his stomach, when Mobei-Jun comes to the side of the bed. He places the dildo down next to him.

“Okay, Shang Qinghua?” he rumbles.

This one looks at his king, and smiles nervously. “Yes, yes, I’m okay.”

Translation: he may look uneasy, but this one is on board with whatever freaky shit you want, my king, no worries!!

Mobei-Jun runs a hand up his arm affectionately.

“Lube?” he asks quietly.

“Bathroom cabinet.”

His king disappears, then, and Shang Qinghua exhales shakily, running his hands through his hair. His stomach is clenched with arousal and anxiety.

Mobei-Jun reappears a moment later, lube and bath towel in hand. Something in his expression makes Shang Qinghua’s nervousness evaporate, and he smiles. He has no idea what the other man is planning, but he trusts that he is in safe hands.

His king places the lube on the bed, and motions with the towel. “Up,” he says.

Shang Qinghua gets the picture, and lifts his hips, never looking away from Mobei-Jun. The towel is spread under him, to keep his bed clean. His king is so thoughtful!!

And then Mobei-Jun…walks away? Shang Qinghua cranes his neck to watch him as he walks over to the desk, pulls the chair beside the bed, and sits down on it. His king looks at him expectantly.

“Show me,” he says lowly.

Shang Qinghua’s heart stops.

“Sh—show you?”

Mobei-Jun nods. “Show me what you would do to yourself,” he says, voice low and rough, making this one’s eyelids flutter, “all those nights you came home after having my cock up against you all night.”

The room seems to turn unbearably warm. Shang Qinghua thinks of those nights, when he was so elated to be feeling real attraction, not nervous or upset or down on himself as he’d masturbated. They were good nights. He smiles as he thinks about them.

“O—okay,” he says, voice shaking a little. He runs his hands down himself slowly, very aware of the way he is naked while his king is still fully dressed. It makes him feel like—like  he is at Mobei-Jun’s mercy, so shameless and ready to be taken. He knows that isn’t true, not really, but the thought lights him up inside.

He plays a little with his nipples, though he usually wouldn’t do that if he were alone, too eager to just get off and get it over with, but the weight of Mobei-Jun’s gaze on him is making him feel a bit—hot? Desirable? Like he wants to put on a show? It’s a new feeling for him, and he undulates a little, hoping his king will like it.

Mobei-Jun shifts a bit in his chair. When this one looks over, his face is rapt, dark, perfect. He’s leaning forward, watching Shang Qinghua closely. His king’s eyes trace the way the other man’s hands are running down his body, teasing lightly at his cock.

Shang Qinghua places a pillow under his back, lifting his hips, and then pours some lube into his hands, getting his fingers all slick. He lifts his legs, pressing his knees towards his chest, and presses the excess against his entrance. It makes him flush with embarrassment, this position, even though his king has seen him in far dirtier ones, and much closer up. He slips a finger in, shivering under the weight of Mobei-Jun’s eyes on his skin.

“This one didn’t realize you had been so desperate, Shang Qinghua,” his king says, voice like a dull blade against the other man’s skin. “You should have told this one. He would have taken care of things for you.”

Shang Qinghua gently presses another finger into himself, breathing heavily. He’s moving fast, too impatient to do otherwise. It feels good, and he sighs.

“N-No,” he says, casting back for what, exactly, he was saying no to, “you would have just—teased this one.”

“Maybe a little,” his king says. “But not for too long. This one had been a bit desperate, too.”

Frowning in concentration, working his fingers, Shang Qinghua asks, “W-What—?” His voice is shaky and distracted.

Mobei-Jun drags his chair forward, so he’s right next to Shang Qinghua’s head. The scrape of it across the floor makes this one shiver.

“Do you think you were the only one who had to take the edge off, somehow?”

Shang Qinghua makes a noise like he’s about to sneeze. His—his king had—? Because of him???

“You—you really—?” he pants.

He scissors his fingers, and moans, thinking of his king touching himself. He’s getting impatient already, pressing down against his hand. 

Absentminded, he adds, “I wish I—could have seen it.”

“Hmm. Maybe next time,” his king says. He pauses. “But maybe you would like to hear how this one would go upstairs after you’d gone into your tent and wrap a hand around himself, so impatient he could hardly wait to close the door?”

“Oh—I—yes,” Shang Qinghua says helplessly, touching his cock with his free hand. Mobei-Jun grabs it, and pins it to his side.

“No. Slow.”

Shang Qinghua makes a face, but obeys, and focuses only on the two fingers inside of him. They squelch with lube as he scissors, trying to prepare himself for the dildo. It’s actually quite similar in size to his king, maybe a bit smaller, so he needs to make sure he won’t be in pain. He’s impatient, though, wanting to feel the fullness of the dildo, wanting to show his king how good he could be. His skin feels too-tight and hot, and he whimpers a little, frustrated that he isn’t allowed to touch his cock. When his king begins to talk again, though, all he can focus on is the cool smoke of his words.

“This one would think of you, all flustered and sweet, taking him in your mouth,” his king is saying, scraping a large palm along his own jaw line. “Shang Qinghua, you have no idea how much this one wanted you.”

Shang Qinghua moans softly, squeezing his eyes shut, working another finger in. He’s being rough with himself, and he knows he’ll feel it tomorrow, but he is too frustrated to do otherwise. His king’s words are driving him insane.

Mobei-Jun leans over him, then, thumb running a line along his cheekbone, and kisses him gently. “You don’t have to rush,” he says against his lips. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“But I want—I need—” Shang Qinghua tries to say.

“Shh, shh, this one knows,” his king says, kissing him again, slow and sweet. Taking mercy on his pathetic employee, his big hand travels down to Shang Qinghua’s cock, and begins to pump slowly. The smaller man whimpers into the kiss, and then Mobei-Jun pulls back, though he leaves his hand where it is. “You’re doing so well.”

He leans down to mouth at Shang Qinghua’s chest, slow, wet, lots of tongue. It makes the smaller man shiver, makes the movements of his wrist falter.

“Hmm. This one is distracting you,” his king says, backing off entirely. “Apologies.”

“My king!” Shang Qinghua wails. He’s flushed from head to toe, three of his own fingers inside of him, and his king is torturing him!!!

Mobei-Jun ignores him, and picks up the dildo, regarding it thoughtfully. He then squats down next to the bed, so he’s level with Shang Qinghua. The dildo is still in his hands, and his eyes find the other man’s unerringly.

“You wanted to know what this one would feel like?” his king murmurs, soft and somehow menacing, too. Shang Qinghua can feel his face going bright red, a shock of arousal turning his blood to fire. “Get as close as possible?”

This one turns his face into the pillow, hiding it a bit, unable to stand the feedback loop of embarrassment and arousal. “Yes,” he grits out.

His king laughs breathily. “When we first met, this one thought you were so innocent,” he says. “He was so careful not to offend you.” He pauses. “How is he supposed to cope with the fact that you were fucking yourself like this, thinking of him, all alone, all this time?”  Mobei-Jun sighs dramatically. “Very poor behavior, Shang Qinghua. This one really should punish you for it.”

“No, no,” Shang Qinghua pleads. He is panting, hardly able to understand what his king is saying, but knowing it is something Bad. “This one—apologizes,” he says distractedly. “Can you—could I maybe—”

Shang Qinghua is just stretched enough—it will probably burn a little, and he certainly wouldn’t be any use tomorrow, but he just didn’t fucking care! His cock is practically purple, dripping against his stomach, and he’s so turned on he can’t see straight. If his king touched him now, he’d probably go off like a rocket.

Mobei-Jun picks up what he’s asking for immediately. “You want this?” he asks, holding up the dildo. “Is it that good, when you fuck yourself with it? Is it better than the real thing, Shang Qinghua?”

“No, no, of course not, no,” this one groans, feeling a little bit like he was being pushed to his breaking point. Why is his king so evil today?! More importantly, why did Shang Qinghua find it so hot??? “Just—just please—I’m ready, I need it—”

His king scoffs. “You are not ready, you haven’t prepped nearly enough—”

Tears rise to Shang Qinghua’s eyes, and he bounces himself on the bed a little, so frustrated he thinks he might explode! What does his king know?! He’s just being difficult! Shang Qinghua is more than ready, and he feels empty, so empty, and he just—he needs—

“Please, my king, please, please, I promise I’m ready!”

Mobei-Jun peers down at him, seeming as though he’s genuinely trying to determine if Shang Qinghua is being truthful. Something about his face must convince him, because he nods and says, “Let this one prep it.”

He grabs the bottle of lube and very carefully spreads a large amount over the toy. Handing it to Shang Qinghua, he sits back down on the desk chair, eyes hungry and expectant.

“Thank—you, my king,” Shang Qinghua says thickly, settling back.

His throat clicks as he swallows, surprised he’s gotten what he wants. Now that he has the dildo, he’s afraid he might have been a bit cavalier. He probably could have used a bit longer to prepare, but it’s too late now. Thankfully, his king had drenched the dildo in lube, which would help.

He uses one hand to spread his ass, the other to guide the dildo to his entrance. His king’s eyes follow the movement greedily, and he’s rolled the chair ever so slightly down, for a better view. It makes Shang Qinghua’s stomach drop with arousal, and he clenches against the tip of the dildo that rests against his hole. Forcing himself to relax, he takes a deep breath, pushing in, and it slips in just fine. The prep had been enough, thank god, or else he would have had to endure his king’s icy glare as he went back in with his fingers.

He’s breathing hard as he glances at Mobei-Jun, who is watching with a hilariously hangdog expression. It makes Shang Qinghua, who has been drowning in embarrassment for way too long now, feel like they are on even ground again. He continues to work the dildo in, eyes fluttering at the sensation, until the base is flush against him. Then, he pulls out slowly, making soft little noises, pushes it back in. It feels good, and his toes curl a little at how nice it is. It strikes him that it would feel even better if his king were closer, if he were the one fucking the dildo into him.

“My king,” Shang Qinghua pants, seeing if he can’t make that happen. Mobei-Jun’s eyes flick over to his face. He’s white-knuckling his chair, and this one can see a clear bulge in his sweats. “Do you remember—that day I was late for work?”

His king frowns, momentarily distracted by the slow, deliberate way Shang Qinghua is moving the dildo, and then answers, unsteadily, “Yes.”

“This one was late because he—he was too sore to bike to work,” he says.

Mobei-Jun’s face goes all dark, and his eyelashes flutter a little. He lets out a shaky breath. Shang Qinghua just keeps on gliding the dildo in and out, panting, and the wet noises are mortifying.

“When we—when we grappled later that day,” he says, swallowing thickly, “this one kept on thinking, kept on hoping—he thought that if you were to spread him open, you would find him all loose and wet and ready, and you could—you could just—”

He can’t even finish the sentence, because the idea still gets him so hot, and then the bed shifts, and Mobei-Jun is practically on top of him, knocking his hands away and taking hold of the base of the dildo. He pushes it in and grinds, making Shang Qinghua almost buck off the bed, convulsing around it.

“What?” his king demands, going back to fucking Shang Qinghua steadily, but more mercilessly, with the dildo. “Could just what?”

All this one can do is making a strangled noise of pleasure: the pace his king is setting is vicious, and it makes him feel like his body is vibrating out of its skin.

“Are you telling me, Shang Qinghua, that while we were grappling, you were all stretched and ready for this one? If he had rolled you over and spread your legs, he would have found you all wet and loose, just for him?”

“Yes,” Shang Qinghua wails, grasping at the sheets and arching painfully. “Yes, fuck, yes, I wanted that so much—”

His king slows down his hand, and, wow, Shang Qinghua really had not thought this one through! He whines and tries to fuck his hips into the dildo, faster, but Mobei-Jun’s free forearm presses down against the backs of his thighs, keeping him still.

“Did you think of this one, fucking you into the mats, while you came on a cold piece of rubber?” he purrs.

“Yes, yes,” Shang Qinghua cries, looking down at where his king is fucking the dildo into him. “It was never enough, it never, never felt like enough—”

His king smiles. “You’re a slut, aren’t you, Shang Qinghua?” he says, clearly pleased, bending down so he can press a kiss onto the back of one of his thighs.

“N—no—” Shang Qinghua replies, but he can’t hide his arousal at the delighted way his king had called him such a name. He’d seem so pleased by it that it landed like praise on Shang Qinghua’s ears. That, combined with the slow, deliberate grind of the dildo, glancing against his prostate, sets something in him alight. He’s not going to last much longer.

“But just for this Mobei-Jun,” his king says, hooded eyes flicking to the other man’s face.  He leans down to drag his tongue along Shang Qinghua’s inner thigh. “Only for me.”

Ah, what’s the point in denying it?? When it came to Mobei-Jun, Shang Qinghua wanted everything. He’d do anything his king asked, anything he wanted. 

“Yes, yes,” he agrees, finally, voice shaking. “Just for you, only for you, only for you.”

“Good,” Mobei-Jun says. Shang Qinghua’s heart stutters. “You can touch yourself now,” his king continues, with an air of giving a reward—a reward, Shang Qinghua imagines, deliriously, for finally admitting it.

Immediately, Shang Qinghua does, so desperate to come he feels like he’s going to cry. He moans loudly when he wraps a hand around himself, feeling his orgasm starting to tighten and build, pressure like a vise clamping down on him.

Mobei-Jun sighs, pleased, looking down at where he’s pressing the dildo into the other man. “You’ve been so good tonight, Shang Qinghua. So good for me.”

Shang Qinghua’s thighs start to tremble violently, pressed down by Mobei-Jun’s arm, and he feels the muscles of his ass start to contract and flutter. He throws a hand down to clutch at his king’s forearm, desperate for something to ground him before he completely lost control.

“God, you’re shaking,” his king says, quietly awed.

“I—I’m gonna—my king—you’re gonna—make me—” Shang Qinghua tries to say, before his orgasm crests and breaks, shattering him into a million pieces. All his muscles contract and tense, sick-hot and molten, and his ass clamps down so hard on the dildo that all his king can do is grind it into him.

“Good, good,” his king is saying, and Shang Qinghua is almost crying at how amazing everything feels, like he’s flying. He’s overwhelmed and adrift and alight, and it seems like it lasts forever, shuddering and shaking under his king’s hot gaze.

His eyes flutter open a few moments later, dazed and lost. His king has shifted so he’s half-lying beside the smaller man, and he’s pulling the dildo out gently. He places it down on the towel carefully, and Shang Qinghua just blinks, panting harshly.

This one suspects he came so hard that he might have brain damage!!

“Okay, Shang Qinghua?” his king asks, swiping some sweaty hair off his forehead and looking at him with concern. He helps him straighten his legs onto the bed.

“Ye—Yeahhhhh,” this one manages, feeling like someone’s laid a thick blanket over him. He’s still out of breath. “Yeah, very okay. Very, very okay.”

They lay side by side for a moment, and Shang Qinghua suddenly laughs.

“My king, you embarrassed this one so much he thought he was going to die.”

Mobei-Jun huffs out a little laugh. “Not embarrassing,” he says, pressing his lips softly to the other man’s jawline. “Hot.”

They kiss again, and Shang Qinghua becomes aware that his king is still hard against him. He pulls away.

“Take off your clothes,” he orders imperiously.

And, wonder of wonders, Mobei-Jun does. Wordlessly, staring at Shang Qinghua like the world’s most passive-aggressive strip-tease!

“Do you want to fuck me, my king?” this one asks innocently.

Mobei-Jun shakes his head, divesting himself of his pants. “You’ll be too sore,” he says. “This one still thinks you didn’t prep enough.”

“You go overboard with prep,” Shang Qinghua says. Noting the stormy expression that crosses his face, he amends, “Not that it doesn’t feel good, my king!! You just worry too much!”

The other man rolls his eyes, and lies back onto the bed. He places a hand behind his head, deceptively casual, for he can’t hide the blown-wide look in his eyes.  He is letting Shang Qinghua call the shots. Pleased, Shang Qinghua gets onto his knees beside him, and leans over so he can lick at his cock. His ass is still up in the air, because he knows his king likes to see him like this. He feels satisfied, well-used, and he wiggles his ass a bit as he places a kiss at the tip of his king’s cock.

Mobei-Jun grunts, pleased, as Shang Qinghua puts him into his mouth. He makes himself choke on purpose, letting spit gather in his mouth and run down the length of his king’s cock. His other hand comes around the base to pump, reaching the bits his mouth can’t get to, and he starts a nice rhythm. His king’s hand comes up to his ass to press gently at his hole, still sensitive and wet, and Shang Qinghua whimpers around his cock.

“Shang Qinghua,” his king says. This one looks up at him, and his face is dark with desire. “You don’t need those toys anymore.”

“Mmmh,” Shang Qinghua agrees, mouth still full. He knows his king doesn’t mean that literally, isn’t the type of jealous lunatic who’d throw away his dildos. What he means is that he would make sure Shang Qinghua is satisfied, and that makes futile arousal gather like a ball of steel in his stomach.

His king starts thrusting, very shallowly, and it doesn’t take long for Shang Qinghua to get back to his rhythm, even as his king touches him softly, never too much, mindful of how sensitive he must be. He’s beginning to sink into that lovely haze, floating peacefully underwater, lost in the overwhelming feeling of his king’s cock in his mouth. It’s so good, his king is so good to him.

“This one will take care of you, now.”

Some kind of strange, scalding feeling rises in Shang Qinghua’s chest at his king’s words.

“Mmmh,” Shang Qinghua agrees again, this time with an edge of frantic emotion.

Yes, his—his king is taking care of him, now, his king would make sure he had all that he needed. Shang Qinghua shifts so he’s sitting between his king’s thighs, clutching at his hips, taking his cock as far as he can. He wants to get closer, he wants more, he never wants to let his king go.

His eyes are squeezed tight, and Mobei-Jun is making these wonderful pained hitching grunts, thrusting gently into his mouth. The suction is creating these truly horrifying slurping noises! Shang Qinghua’s eyes are tearing up, saliva all over him, but he’s so enthralled by the tense and shake of his king’s muscular thighs that he hardly notices. He sinks further down, swallowing around the cock in his mouth, and the bigger man’s chest begins to heave, great gulping breaths of air entering his lungs.

“Shang Qing—Shang Qinghua—what—what are you—doing to this one?” Mobei-Jun begins to pant. When Shang Qinghua looks up, he sees his king tossing his head around, face contorted with pleasure. “Can’t—you’re making me—lose my—lose my—”

Soon enough, his king’s hands clutch painfully at Shang Qinghua’s hair, and he comes with a strangled moan, trembling. Shang Qinghua cannot be bothered to swallow, and lets the come drool out of his mouth, mixed with saliva, down his chin and onto his king’s cock. He coughs a little, jaw sore, and wipes his face on the nearby towel, feeling wrung out and boneless.

His king is breathing heavily, still recovering from his orgasm, but he manages to say, “Come here.”

Shang Qinghua scrambles into his arms, helpless to resist. And then, Mobei-Jun is kissing him, kissing him like he is in quicksand and Shang Qinghua is solid ground. He’s kissing him like Shang Qinghua is the answer to some question he’s been asking all his life. Shang Qinghua could live on this, he thinks, he could go without water or food or sunlight, just so long as Mobei-Jun visited his dark little dungeon every now and then to kiss him just like this!

His king pulls away, then, catching his breath, leaving the smaller man dazed and blinking. Shang Qinghua tucks himself into Mobei-Jun’s arms. They tighten around him, pressing him into his king’s neck, where he licks and sucks lazily, enjoying the salty taste of sweat there. Something stretches and settles in this one’s chest, then, a cat curling up in satisfaction.

A few minutes pass like that, soft in each other’s arms, before Mobei-Jun whispers into his ear, “This one is starving.”

They order dim sum from a nearby place, little bites, and his king cleans them both up while they wait for their delivery. Shang Qinghua almost (almost) enjoys this bit more than the sex itself, when the bigger man goes all gentle and sweet, asking after his throat and bringing him drinks and being adorable. He likes to carefully clean Shang Qinghua up and then drape him in blankets, pressing him close to his magnificent chest. Today, he even rolls him over and inspects his ass carefully, making Shang Qinghua flush and squirm.

“This one is fine,” he insists.

“Stop talking.”

Their food comes shortly after, and when Shang Qinghua goes to get the door, his king shoves him back down onto the bed.

“Stay there,” he says. “This one will bring it to you.”

Shang Qinghua climbs onto his lap when he returns. Mobei-Jun, humming his approval, feeds him bite-size taro dumplings and bits of lo bak go in between kisses. When Shang Qinghua sucks one of his king’s fingers clean of red bean paste, perhaps lingering a bit longer than necessary, the bigger man flicks him on the forehead impatiently.

“Stop that. Eat.”

Shang Qinghua just smiles dopily at him, not even minding the sting, and allows his king to feed him another leek dumpling. Is this heaven??? Surely nothing on earth could be as wonderful as this???

Mobei-Jun places a tentative kiss next to his mouth, and asks, “This one didn’t push too hard?”

Shang Qinghua shakes his head. Probably worried about the slut thing!! But surely he’d noticed how much this one had enjoyed it!

He turns to his king so their noses were nearly touching.

“No,” he says, brushing his lips against his king’s. “No, I—I liked it. You seemed—pleased with this one, so I liked it.”

He’s all flushed again, embarrassed, but wanting to ease his king’s mind.

“This one is always pleased with you,” his king murmurs. Shang Qinghua ducks, and he is probably red as a tomato! You can’t just say things like that, my king!!!!

He slumps against the bigger man’s chest. “My king,” he says, “this one knows he seemed embarrassed of…everything, but—he’s not, really.” He pauses, delighting in the way cool hands are running over his back. “This one was so happy, then, because he was attracted to someone for the first time since….everything happened. People had seemed—too unsafe for that.” He lifts his head to look up at Mobei-Jun, who is looking down at him steadily. “And then—I met you, my king,” he says, blinking.

“And are you happy now?” Mobei-Jun asks him, eyes searching his face.

“Yes,” Shang Qinghua says on an exhale, smiling. “Yes, I am.”

His king smiles, too, more with his eyes than his mouth. “Then this one is happy as well.”

***

“My king,” Shang Qinghua shouts into the phone, “this one is leaving now! Leaving as we speak!”

He is not leaving! He has only just woken up! What a mess! This is such an important match! It will determine whether or not his king makes it to the finals! How could he oversleep on a day like this!! He is a terrible boyfriend!! His head is fucking pounding!!!

“Okay,” his king replies, clearly not as upset as this one is. “Be careful, Shang Qinghua.”

It’s the day of Mobei-Jun’s qualifying match. They’ve been staying at Shang Qinghua’s for a week, wary and plotting, trying to find a way to protect themselves and the dojo from Linguang-Jun. Zhuzhi Lang says that there is no legal avenue for him to pursue, but, as for illegal ones, that’s a different story. They have no idea what evidence, if any, the man has of He Yanlin’s beating, so the only thing they can do is try to find some leverage of their own.

Thus, Shang Qinghua’s pounding headache.

He’d been poring over articles about Linguang-Jun all night, trying to find possible paths of inquiry. A promising one was Mu Qingyang, a former doctor who apparently claimed that the Terror of the North had been using steroids. Shang Qinghua was wondering if there might be something to that, and, in his research, stumbled upon something even more troubling: an ex-girlfriend claiming Linguang-Jun had assaulted her, and retracting her claim 24 hours later. It’s long buried, from the time when Lingaung Jun had been on top of the world and thus immune from any criticism. This is why sports made Shang Qinghua so nervous!! In any case, he’d resolved to look into it further the next day, only to glance blearily at the clock and realize that it was the next day, and that they were due at the stadium in a few hours. Mobei-Jun was sleeping soundly on his bed, undisturbed by Shang Qinghua’s clicking and clacking. He’d crawled in next to him, exhausted.

Shang Qinghua had pried an eye open the next morning to see Mobei-Jun, showered and dressed, packing his things.

“Hey,” this one had said, drowsy and grumpy.

His king had come to the side of the bed and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You were up all night,” he’d murmured. “Sleep for a few more hours. You don’t need to be there for the press and the warm-up.”

Shang Qinghua had frowned, and stirred, going to sit up. A big hand on his face had shoved him back down.

“Don’t argue,” his king had said flatly.

“My king,” Shang Qinghua’d said sleepily, “this one will be there for your match, he promises.”

He’d snuggled back in.

Now, launching himself out of bed, he slaps on deodorant and sticks his head under the sink instead of taking a shower, and throws on jeans and a t-shirt. Then, he shoves a gross energy bar into his mouth, chewing past the sawdust texture, and leaves, nearly at a run!

His apartment is on the second floor, so he skips the elevator and takes the stairs. It’s an old building, so they’re not enclosed.

He’s almost to the landing that connects the two segments of stairs at a right angle when he sees it: Linguang-Jun (ugh!!!), and a very large man dressed in all black. His heart drops to his shoes. They’ve gotten into the building, somehow, and are looking up at him from the empty lobby.

“Shang Qinghua!” Linguang-Jun says, delighted.

All this one can think about is the ex-girlfriend, bruises all over her face, contusions, the police report had said. He swallows, and tries to remember what Mobei-Jun has taught him. First, check their intentions! Make sure they respect your boundaries!

“What do you want?” he asks, voice shaky.

Linguang-Jun smiles. “You’re a very hard man to get alone, Shang Qinghua,” he says, smooth and cold as ice. He takes a step forward.

“W-why would you—”

The man puts his hands up, protesting his innocence. “I just want to talk.”

“Why don’t you meet this one at the stadium then,” Shang Qinghua says, voice gone flat with fear. His skin feels clammy, and he is suddenly aware that his hands are trembling quite badly. Mobei-Jun’s voice in his ear: your first instinct should always be to run and get help.

Linguang-Jun’s eyes narrow. “No. Here.”

And in that moment, Shang Qinghua knows he is in trouble.

He takes off, turning around and booking it up the stairs. Linguang-Jun shouts, and steps follow behind Shang Qinghua, so heavy he knows they must be the thug’s. He crashes into his door, hands shaking, trying to get his key in the lock. God, he’s going to be sick!! Finally, he gets it to open, and very nearly has it shut before a large hand slams against it from the other side. The goon is pushing!! Shang Qinghua has both hands on the door, and it still won’t shut!!

Panicking, he goes back to what his king said: get help! Get help! He slams his back against the door and grabs his phone, calling Mobei-Jun. He doesn’t pick up, and Shang Qinghua nearly cries, because he just wants his king to be here, to protect him and tell him that everything is going to be okay. Hands shaking, he sends two nearly incoherent text messages:

Helpf

Lonfing jun

The goon slams into the door again, and Shang Qinghua hears Linguang-Jun’s impatient voice ordering him to fucking open the door, you idiot! Brain stuttering, unsure what else to do, he tries Mobei-Jun again. He’s probably at the press conference, and can’t answer! Aah!! The two men outside shove the door open right as he’s getting his king’s voicemail, sending him flying, and one of them snatches the phone from his hands. From the floor, he sees it crushed under the heel of Linguang-Jun’s very expensive shoes. Shang Qinghua gulps.

The thug grabs him by the front of his shirt, and punches him down. It hits him like a fucking brick, pain exploding through his temple, and he lays limp on the floor as Linguang-Jun squats down next to him.

“Look what you’ve made me do, Shang Qinghua.” He sighs. “Why did you have to call my nephew?”

Shang Qinghua is dragged so that he is sitting up against the wall. He’s breathing heavily, temple throbbing all hot and pained. Tears leak out of his eyes helplessly.

“What…do you want?” he grits out.

Linguang-Jun’s eyes narrow. “You’ve put ideas into my nephew’s head that are…less than helpful. He’s forgotten his place in this family.” He pauses. “What I want is very simple: leave him.”

Shang Qinghua all but stops breathing. Leave—his king?? Leave Mobei-Jun??

“Break off whatever pathetic thing you two have going. You must know it will end soon anyway, little dog. The things my nephew finds charming about you now will eventually sour, I promise,” Linguang-Jun says, almost pitying.

Shang Qinghua’s brow crumples a bit. He doesn’t want to believe Linguang-Jun’s words, but all alone on the floor, head pounding, it is hard not to feel like he might have a point. This one has always known that Mobei-Jun is far too good for him. He has always known that he is not very easy to love.

“Feng Xiaobo here will even help you pack a bag, keep an eye on you for a while, if you’re worried.”

This one grimaces. Somehow he doesn’t think Feng Xiaobo will be watching him just to make sure he’s doing okay!! Also—pack a bag?? Did they expect him to move? The thought pains Shang Qinghua as much as the thought of leaving his king does. He’s built a life here, and not just with Mobei-Jun. With Shen Yuan, and Luo Binghe, with Gongyi Xiao and the people at the dojo, with Zhuzhi Lang and Sha Hualing and Ms. Therapist.  

“How many different jobs have you worked, little dog?” Linguang-Jun says, easy and casual. “You’re not meant to stay in one place too long. Let Junshang be just another in a long line of brief stopovers.”

Shang Qinghua blinks, feeling sick. This evil uncle is speaking every one of his insecurities aloud, fears and beliefs he’d kept close to his chest for so long. He doesn’t want to believe them, but he feels like he is on shaky ground, trying his best to stay standing.

“And—if this one says no?” he asks. His voice hardly even shakes.

“This,” Linguang-Jun says, leaning forward with an iPhone, “will be shown to the police.”

It’s a very fuzzy black-and-white video of someone getting out of the Junshang van and going into someone’s apartment. Clearly cut for the purposes of intimidation, the next scene shows the man leaving, dragging along another person who looks like they’re struggling to stay upright. Mobei-Jun and He Yanlin. It’s such poor quality, though, that it can’t prove anything.

Shang Qinghua snorts, and then winces in pain.

“You can’t even tell who’s on that video. I’ll just say it was me there,” he says, almost laughing. “God, you really stink at being a villain, you’re, like, so bad at it—”

He’s cut off by another punch, this time to the jaw, and his head slams up against the wall. Moaning, he clutches at his head with his hands.

“Fine,” Linguang-Jun says, “We’ll just keep you here until you agree, then. Feng Xiaobo can be very persuasive.”

Seeing the goon approach him once more, Shang Qinghua’s stomach drops to his shoes. He puts his hands up. He needs a minute to think, too busy swimming through waves of pain. There must be some way out of this. If he could just get his thoughts to clear for a moment, he could find a way out of this.

“Just—just give me a minute. Let me think. Please. It’s a big decision.”

Lingaung Jun stares at him. “If you think you’re buying yourself time, here, little dog, please think again.” His voice is almost kind. “Even if you did somehow manage to get ahold of my nephew, he certainly won’t come. This is the qualifying match. This is what he’s been training for his whole life.” He smiles pityingly, tilts his head. “No one is coming to save you, Shang Qinghua.”

The thought is a sobering one, and Shang Qinghua brings a clammy hand to his mouth, entire head throbbing. It’s hard to think past Linguang-Jun’s words. He’s all alone, here, isn’t he? Maybe the evil uncle is right. No one is coming to save him.

“I’ll give you a moment to think about it.”

Shang Qinghua considers his options. He could pretend to leave, but he doubts Mobei-Jun would stand for it long, and who knows what kind of trouble that would get him into. Besides, would they even be able to fool Linguang-Jun? Shang Qinghua feels sure that he will find himself in the same exact position he’s in now. His king can only protect him so much.

On the other hand: Shang Qinghua feels a hideous certainty that Linguang-Jun will not hesitate to beat him half to death if he refuses. He probably won’t last much longer than ten minutes. He considers this. His building is definitely the mind-your-own-business type of place; no one will have called the police when they heard shouting, so that’s out. Would Mobei-Jun leave the match for him? The one that will let him prove, once and for all, that he is more than the shadowy kingmaker, more than the spoiled protege, more than the overshadowed son?

Shang Qinghua could run. The idea feels like cold metal under his hands. He could run like he always has, take the evil uncle’s offer and disappear from his king’s life, just like he’d disappeared so many times in the past, without a word. Linguang-Jun would spare Shang Qinghua today, and Mobei-Jun would fade from his mind with time, just like Su Fang had, just like all the others. This one would fade from his king’s mind, too. His control of the dojo is more or less ironclad, now, and if Shang Qinghua were to leave, that wouldn’t change. What good would staying be now? Surely things could only go downhill from their current, beautiful heights. Surely Shang Qinghua would find some way to ruin this. It’s time, perhaps, for him to go. This one would have been useful, and, having completed his task, he would have left. Simple as that. Neat as that. None of this mess. None of this danger. None of this potential heartbreak. It’s hard to see an argument against this option.

         And yet.

He thinks of the way his king looks at him sometimes, gaze steady and serene, and tears rise in his eyes. My king, Shang Qinghua thinks, squeezing his eyes shut against them. My Mobei-Jun.

Linguang-Jun interrupts his thoughts.

“Tick tock, little dog,” he sings flatly. Shang Qinghua opens his eyes to find the older man glaring at him with clear disdain. He is losing patience with this one. “Stop your crying. You don’t belong at Junshang, and you don’t belong with Mobei-Jun, and you know it.”

It is time for Shang Qinghua to make a decision. Did he dare to defy this Linguang-Jun, to brave whatever bloodied pain Feng Xiaobo had in store for him? Did he dare, for Mobei-Jun?

Shang Qinghua’s mouth twitches into a bitter smile.

Ah, for his Mobei-Jun, what wouldn’t he dare?

No, he could not leave, not now.

He had promised his king. His king, who had told him exactly where he belonged. His king, who had made a place for him by his side. His king, who took such good care of him.

In what universe could Shang Qinghua leave him now???

He won’t leave!! He refuses!!

And if he doesn’t make it out of this, well—at least he would have kept his promise to his king. At least he would have tried.

Shang Qinghua swallows around the vomit he feels rising in his throat. He gets to his feet, head feeling heavy, pulse pounding in his ears. His tears have dried.

“Okay. Okay,” he says unsteadily.

Linguang-Jun has taken to pacing across the room. Feng Xiaobo is close by, trying to look intimidating. He leans in, ready for Shang Qinghua’s answer.

All the sudden, Shang Qinghua stomps on his instep, making him curl in pain, and then aims a kick at his crotch. Just like his king had taught him!! Now he has to go find help! Adrenaline soaring, he dodges an irate Linguang-Jun, and flies out the door.

Shang Qinghua knows he won’t be able to get away for long, but he needs to buy his king some time. Linguang-Jun knows nothing!! Of course his king would come and help him! He would never leave Shang Qinghua alone when he needed help! The only question is how quickly he could make it!!

As he’s heading for the staircase, he sees Ms. Su from next door, peering out from under the chain on her door. Just in his king doesn’t come in time—

“Ms. Su, call the police!!!” he screams, nearly stumbling at the stairs and eating it before he can put more space between himself and a very pissed off Mr. Feng, a few feet behind him.

Shang Qinghua is almost at the first landing when a heavy weight crashes into him, and he is airborne for one stomach-churning moment. Mr. Feng!! His heart sinks as they both slam into the ground. A sickening crunch fills the air, then, and Shang Qinghua screams! Pain like the jaws of an animal clamps down on his ankle, where the bulk of Mr. Feng’s considerable weight seems to have landed!

He’s crying, now, because holy shit, his entire leg feels like it’s being fed through a woodchipper!!!! Writhing in pain, he tries to shuffle himself backwards, away from the goon currently sitting on his probably-broken ankle!

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he’s muttering. Clearly this plan had not been his best!! “Oh god, okay, okay, focus, focus.”

Even Mr. Feng seems a little alarmed at the situation he finds himself in, and shifts off Shang Qinghua’s leg. The pain blossoms, making this one sob in renewed agony, and then eases a bit. Nausea rises in his throat, and he closes his eyes against the dizzy blackness clawing at his consciousness.

“FENG!” Linguang-Jun shouts, bearing down on them like a thundercloud. “Watch the door! This little shit is mine.”

Feng listens, leaving Shang Qinghua on the first landing. Linguang-Jun is terrifying, eyes white with rage, practically foaming at the mouth.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Shang Qinghua is muttering, fruitlessly trying to drag himself backwards on his elbows. Panic grips at his throat, and he can’t think, he just needs to get away—get away from the frightening man—

Linguang-Jun aims one perfectly polished dress shoe at his ribs. Shang Qinghua can only gasp like a dying fish around the all-consuming pain, too out of breath to even grunt.

“You little bitch,” Linguang-Jun is seething. “You little fucking dog. You thought you could run away from the Terror of the North?!”

Shang Qinghua, in so much pain he thinks his higher functions have simply shut down, can only curl into a ball. Vaguely, he remembers something about being a turtle, and he tries to do that, but Linguang-Jun kneels down and grabs him by the front of his t-shirt. A fist connects with his nose again, and his head snaps back before lolling forward uselessly. Then, Linguang-Jun grabs a fistful of his hair, forcing Shang Qinghua to face him, but his eyes won’t focus, can’t. The position makes blood trickle down his throat, and he coughs and chokes, gurgling up blood and saliva. For a moment, it seems clear to Shang Qinghua that he’s going to die like this.

“Is it really worth it, Shang Qinghua?” Linguang-Jun hisses. “Is all this worth it, just to be Mobei-Jun’s little bitch?”

“Mmph,” Shang Qinghua gurgles in reply. His mind is swimming, stomach churning, and he tries to swallow the blood flooding his mouth. “Ye—ah,” he finally manages, fully expecting Linguang-Jun’s face, white with rage, to be the last image he sees on this earth, amen, hallelujah. Sorry, my king, he thinks, blinking exhaustedly. This one tried his best.

“Sir!” yells Mr. Feng, who is peering out of the building’s main door. “It’s…your nephew! And—Junshang?”

Shang Qinghua is too out of it, in too much pain, to even feel relief. He was sort of looking forward to dying, actually, so it would stop hurting so much! Linguang-Jun, for his part, laughs, then, tilts his head back and laughs. He gets up, and grabs Shang Qinghua by his arm.

“Let’s see what Iceman has to say about this,” he says, beginning to pull him down the remaining stairs to the lobby floor. Shang Qinghua can only grunt and sob in pain, practically incoherent, doing his best to keep his head up so it won’t be jarred against the floor. His ankle is a lost cause: when he looks at it, it’s bent all funny and makes him feel kind of sick!

They’re nearly down the stairs when Shang Qinghua hears Mr. Feng say, “Oh, fu—” and the sound of fists hitting flesh fills the air. He’s wrenched the rest of the way down the stairs, and he sobs in pain, landing in a crumpled heap. Clearly something important is happening, and he tries to swim his way to the surface.

“Shang Qinghua!” he hears shouted at him from underwater. Wait! His king!! That’s his king!! Thank god!!! Shang Qinghua attempts to move, then, shift himself so he can figure out what’s going on, but the pain weighs too heavily on him. He grunts, and then gasps in surprise as he’s being lifted by his lapels once more. Vision going in and out, he sees Mobei-Jun, standing with his hand outstretched, eyes wide. Behind him, Luo Binghe is beating the absolute shit out of Mr. Feng.

“You’ve got one loyal dog, here, nephew,” Linguang-Jun says, a smile curving his voice, before letting Shang Qinghua drop to the floor once more. He groans, feeling like a giant bruise, eyes slitting open to watch his king, for reassurance that he really is here!

Without hesitation, Mobei-Jun launches himself at Linguang-Jun, shoving him up against the wall with his hand around his neck.

“Uncle,” his king says, voice quiet as death. “You have it all backwards.” He slams Linguang-Jun’s head back against the wall, a sickening crack resounding through the air. And then, hissing through clenched teeth, Mobei-Jun says, “This one is Shang Qinghua’s loyal dog.”

His king’s fist connects with his uncle’s face, then, again and again, until the older man drops to the floor. He then climbs on top of him and continues to hit him, fists all red with blood.

Another voice draws Shang Qinghua’s attention, and he looks around dully. It’s Cucumber-bro!! He’s knelt down next to Shang Qinghua’s prone body, staring at him in horror. Is it really so bad, bro???

“Fuck,” Shen Yuan says.

“Crghh,” Shang Qinghua gurgles in reply. “Cucumbrghhh.”

“Shut up, shut up, don’t speak, you idiot,” Shen Yuan says, hands fluttering nervously. “This one called the police, they’re on their way.”

Shang Qinghua blinks in understanding. He tries to say Ms. Su, but it comes out like “Merssu.” At his bro’s frown, he gestures down to his ankle with a hand.

“Don’t move. Don’t move,” his bro scolds him. Shang Qinghua is pretty sure that if Shen Yuan had his fan, he’d be batting him with it even now!

Shang Qinghua turns his head to the side and coughs, letting the blood in his mouth pool on the floor. Shen Yuan is looking on with disgust.

“Bo,” this one says thickly. His mouth is still swollen and all fucked up, but, if he focuses hard, he can form words. “Thunk. Angle bo—kin,” he slurs out. Bro, I think my ankle is broken???

The sound of sirens fills the air. It must have only been about fifteen minutes since he’d seen Linguang-Jun on the stairs. Tears are welling up, because everything hurts so much, and he just wants it all to go away! He wishes his king would come back from beating the shit out of his uncle! He moans a little, half panic, half pain.

“Whur…mking?” Where is my king???

“This one is here, Shang Qinghua,” a voice says, getting closer, and suddenly Shang Qinghua’s hand is being held. My king, you came back!! He grasps as tightly as he can at the big, cool hand.  “This one is here.”

His king’s voice is tight with worry. Shang Qinghua wants to reassure him, but just winds up making some vague gurgley noises. He coughs, more blood trailing down his chin.

“Shh, shh, this one is here,” Mobei-Jun soothes. “You’ll be in the ambulance soon.”

“Fuck, look at his ankle,” Luo Binghe says from somewhere above him. “It’s all, like, twisted—”

“Binghe! Shut up!”

“Sorry, Sensei.”

Shang Qinghua takes a deep breath, and lets out a hitching, surprised grunt of pain. He squeezes his king’s hand tight because it hurts, it hurts. He isn’t sure how much longer he can hold on. He is so, so tired.

A cool touch comes to his head, brushing gently, trying to soothe him. “It hurts, I know, this one knows,” his king says gently. “You’ve been so brave, Shang Qinghua, so rest now. You can rest. This one is here. He will take care of everything.”

These words put Shang Qinghua at ease, and he feels himself slip down into the dark water below.

Chapter Text

Shang Qinghua flutters awake in the ambulance, and his king is beside him, holding his hand tightly in his own knuckle-bruised ones. His head is down, his expression pinched. He’s still in his MMA shorts, with a hooded sweatshirt on top.  His eyes are rimmed red.

Satisfied that his king is nearby, Shang Qinghua fades back out, and wakes up in the hospital with doctors and nurses around him. It seems like they’ve given him something for the pain, because he’s floating gently along, feeling good. Not even the muted anxiety of Where is Mobei-Jun breaks through the cotton-down.

He’s sitting up, and his leg is elevated, and there is some kind of splint thing on his ankle. He’s also shirtless, he notices, and his chest is all bruised on one side. One eye is swollen shut.

A doctor says to him, “Sheesh, they really did a number on you, man.” He shakes his head.  “Just sleep now.”

Shang Qinghua does, floating gently in and out of consciousness. He at some point becomes aware that he doesn’t know where his king is, and, feeling a hollow sort of panic, slurs out to a nearby nurse, “Where’s…my…my…Mobei-Jun?” Was he still at the arena? Had he made it to the finals? He is so confused. “His…match?”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, your husband’s down in the cafeteria. He’ll be able to see you after your surgery.”

His…husband?!?!

“Yeah,” says another, “He’s very worried about you, so just focus on getting better, okay, my love?”

His husband, his husband…his husband is worried about him?

“It’s so unfair that they disqualified him,” the first voice mutters. “I mean, he was saving his husband’s life!!”

“Girl, I know.”

When Shang Qinghua next pulls himself back to consciousness, it’s to his king’s hushed voice speaking on the phone. He looks around, and is relieved to find the other man sitting in a nearby chair. He’s in a bit of pain, doubtless only this lucid because his meds are waning, but he wants to stay awake and alert for a bit longer. He wants to speak to Mobei-Jun, to ground himself, give himself something to hold onto.

His king looks a little ragged, hair unwashed, a bit of stubble shading his chin. He says goodbye to whoever he is speaking to, puts his phone in his pocket, and folds his arms across his chest, resting his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. Shang Qinghua drinks him in.  He’s the most beautiful sight this one has ever seen!!!

“Hi,” he says stupidly. His head feels like it’s packed with cotton.

Mobei-Jun’s eyes fly open.

“Shang Qinghua!” he exclaims. He shoves his chair forward so he can clutch at Shang Qinghua’s hand with both of his.

“It’s good to see you, my king,” this one says, and his voice is scraped raw.

Mobei-Jun’s face twitches into a little smile. “It’s good to see you too,” he says quietly. “Very good.” He pauses. His eyes catch on the other man’s face a moment, before he looks away. “Here,” he says, letting Shang Qinghua’s hands go so he can pour a cup of water from the plastic pitcher beside the bed, “drink this.” He hands it to him and watches carefully as he drains the whole thing. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Shang Qinghua replies. “I think I’m on a lot of painkillers.”

His king’s brow crumples. “Yes,” he says tightly. “Yes, this one thinks so, too.” He looks down, mouth twisting. “You had—two bruised ribs, a broken ankle, a concussion, a black eye, and,” his voice wavers, “a broken nose.”

Shang Qinghua grabs his hand. His king will not look him in the eye. After a moment, the bigger man speaks.

“This one has…let you down,” he says, quiet, jaw tense. “He is sorry. He is very sorry for that.”

Shang Qinghua frowns. “How did you let this one down, my king?” he asks softly.

Mobei-Jun exhales harshly, eyes still averted.

Finally, he says, “You were alone.” His voice is tight with self-loathing. “You were alone, again.” 

Shang Qinghua is silent a moment, watching his king.

“No,” he says slowly. “No, I wasn’t. I had everything you taught me, everything you’d given me. I got help.” He pauses, and smiles tiredly. “I kicked your uncle’s thug right in the balls! You would have been so proud!”

Mobei-Jun huffs out a reluctant laugh, but then frowns. “Stop comforting this one. You’re the one who’s injured,” he says, grumpy.

“My king,” this one admonishes, “you can’t be with this one every minute of the day.” He pauses. “I’m the one who should be sorry,” he continues, voice going quiet. “This one is surely more trouble than he’s worth.”

His king looks at him flatly. “I would think that this Mobei-Jun is the one who fits that description. This one promised he would keep you safe, and you were badly injured defending him.”

“Defending you?!” this one exclaims, confused. “My king, this one couldn’t even defend himself!”

Mobei-Jun shakes his head. “Shang Qinghua,” he says, eyes alight. “My uncle told me what he asked you to do. You defended this one. You refused to leave him, even when Linguang-Jun was threatening to beat you to death.” His voice is quietly awed. “Why did you not take the chance, and escape this one, and all the trouble he brings you?”

Shang Qinghua gives his king a petulant glare. “What escape? What trouble? Don’t be ridiculous, my king.”

Mobei-Jun is watching him, gaze clear and steady.

“You must have been terrified,” he says softly. 

Shang Qinghua remembers the cold fear he’d felt, the sinking certainty that Linguang-Jun would kill him if given the chance, and nods absently. Tears rise in his eyes.

“I was,” he says softly, nearly a whisper. “I was so scared. He said—he said that no one was coming to save me.”

Mobei-Jun peers at him, jaw tight. He brings Shang Qinghua’s hand to his mouth and presses it there, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. This reassures Shang Qinghua, grounds him, and he blinks his tears away. He is safe now. He is okay.

“This one knew you would come, though,” he says quietly. “He just had to hang on a little longer.”

His king looks up, and pins him with an icy glare. “You could have died. Don’t ever do something so stupid again. Try it, and this one will break your other ankle.”

“Why would this one try it!??” Shang Qinghua exclaims.

“Stop getting so excited,” his king orders, as if he weren’t the one who’d just threatened the other man so dramatically. “You’re going to re-open the cut on your lip.” He huffs, and looks at his employee with a sidelong glance. Seemingly getting annoyed all over again, he asks, “What were you thinking?”

“It was a calculated risk, my king!!” this one wails hoarsely.

“Shang Qinghua,” his king says, voice hard. “Your safety must always come first. Always. Are you listening to me?”

He pauses, sullen. Staring down at where their hands are joined, he is very still.

“You have to understand, Shang Qinghua—” he begins, before pausing. “This one—this one saw you on the ground.” His voice is dead flat, carefully devoid of emotion. “This one thought—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening.

Shang Qinghua looks at his king with big eyes.

Mobei-Jun’s mouth twists, and it seems like he is thinking, eyes still lowered.

“Shang Qinghua must take more care with himself,” he says, voice wavering, refusing to meet the other man’s eyes. “He has gotten his sticky fingerprints all over everything, so if he could please be kind and remember his promise.” He pauses, and exhales. Finally, he looks at Shang Qinghua, and his voice is steadier when he speaks again. “Don’t leave this one alone. Take care of yourself, and stay with this Mobei-Jun, because—things fall apart when you’re gone.”

Torn between indignant and euphoric, blinking through tears, Shang Qinghua yanks this hand away from his king’s and asks, “Where would this one go, my king?! Do you think he could leave you now?” He scoffs. “When you’ve made such a nice place for me in your life, a place just for me, do you think I could leave you now?”

His king’s eyes crinkle as he gazes steadily at Shang Qinghua. He snatches the smaller man’s hand back.

“This one would like to kiss you,” he says, red-rimmed eyes glittering a bit with tears, “but he cannot, so—”

Very carefully, he presses his lips to the inside of Shang Qinghua’s palm.

“My king,” this one says softly. “Mobei-Jun.”

His king sighs, pulling back and blinking hard a few times. Shang Qinghua pretends he hadn’t seen the start of tears.

“Don’t think you’re going back to that apartment,” Mobei-Jun says, abruptly changing the subject, but unable to hide a slight watery shake to his voice. “This one is not letting you out of his sight any time soon.”

Shang Qinghua thinks it comes out more fragile than the other man intends.

“And you’re moving in with me while you heal,” Mobei-Jun gives him a sharp look, “no arguments.”

This one grins. Why would he argue with that, my king???

***

“Here,” Mobei-Jun says, pressing an ice pack wrapped in a towel to Shang Qinghua’s swollen eye. This one startles at the temperature. “It’s for the swelling.”

“I—I can—” Shang Qinghua says, reaching a hand up to hold it.

“No. This one will do it.”

They sit, awkwardly, holding each other’s hand, pressing an ice pack to a blackened eye. His king is staring at him. This one gets the sense that he is trying to make up for something.

It’s Shang Qinghua’s first day out of the hospital. His king has been carrying him around the apartment, as Shang Qinghua is on so much pain medication he can hardly see straight, let alone function the wheely crutch they’d given him!  Gongyi Xiao and Luo Binghe are running the dojo so Mobei-Jun can stay with Shang Qinghua, bringing him all of his favorite foods and glaring at him when he tries to hop to the bathroom himself.

“This one just spoke to Zhuzhi Lang,” Mobei Jun says. “My uncle is in jail, and so is Feng Xiaobo. You don’t have to worry about them ever again.”

Shang Qinghua’s one good eye widens. “Will this one have to testify?”

The drama!! He’d wheel in, bandaged like a mummy, and point an accusatory finger at Linguang-Jun!! Sha Hualing would be called to recount the evil uncle threatening him, and she’d put on the angel-child act she did whenever her father came to pick her up instead of her nanny!! It would be legendary!!!

“No,” Mobei-Jun says, smiling a little, no doubt following the diseased tracks of Shang Qinghua’s mind. “Your neighbor is the star witness against them.”

“Ms. Su??”

“Yes. You did well to get her help. It was her call to the police that prompted the ambulance.”

“Well, you said that if this one asked for help, he’d get it, so I called you, and I got Ms. Su to get the police—”

“Shang Qinghua, why didn’t you call the police?” his king asks, exasperated.

This one snorts out a little laugh. He’d only just realized he could have done so in the time he’d texted and called his king. What an idiot!!

“This one doesn’t know,” he says. “I guess I—I just wanted you to be there with me. I wanted to hear your voice telling me it would be okay.”

Mobei-Jun’s face does something complicated, then.

“This one was in the press conference. He should have answered immediately,” he says. “Please forgive this one, Shang Qinghua.”

The other man waves it off.

“This one—this one is sorry, too, my king,” he says. “He…heard you were disqualified.”

Mobei-Jun scowls. “Who cares?”

Shang Qinghua looks up, shocked. “My king!!” he protests. “This one knows what it meant to you. You wanted to show everyone what you could do.”

“This one doesn’t care what other people think of him,” his king says grumpily. “This one only cares what Shang Qinghua thinks.” He glances at the other man, and smiles sharply. “And you have already said that you think this one is the best. Do I need some stupid belt to prove this?”

Shang Qinghua can’t help but flush and smile at that. It is good to be home.

***

 TEN MONTHS LATER

Shang Qinghua’s ankle only ever hurts when it rains, these days. The months of his recovery had been difficult, but successful, in no small part because of his king’s particular brand of slightly-mean motivation. Mobei-Jun had even asked his physical therapist for the list of the exercises Shang Qinghua had been recommended, so he could make sure his lowly employee was doing everything he possibly could! He’d glare down at Shang Qinghua as he completed his regime, and bark instructions at him when he was slacking. My king!! Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to do three sets of 30 ankle extensions when your muscles have been withering away in a cast???

Everyone had heard what happened, and many had sent flowers, or melon seeds, or chocolates. The first day Shang Qinghua had felt well enough, Mobei-Jun had carried him down the stairs into the dojo. He’d invited all the students to Junshang that evening.

“They are eager to see you, make sure you are okay,” he’d said to Shang Qinghua.

The smaller man had privately doubted this: the thought of so many people caring about him had been something very foreign to him. They were only being polite.  And yet, down in the dojo, he could see that his king hadn’t been lying. He’d nearly cried as Mobei-Jun had carried him through the crowd of people in Junshang, pausing to let students ask after him and wish him well. He was too buzzed to do much more than nod, all choked up.

“We’re so glad to hear you’re okay,” Qin Wanyue had said.

“Mr. Shang!! Get well soon!” Qin Wanrong had exclaimed, there with her big sister.

He’d waved down at her, feeling himself go all wobbly with emotion.

His king had noticed, and said, “Let’s go back upstairs. It’s nearly time for your next dose, anyway.”

Shang Qinghua hadn’t been in much of a position to argue. He was tired. He’d nodded simply.  

Everyone waved as Mobei-Jun carried him off. Back upstairs, Shang Qinghua was exhausted and emotional, overwhelmed with gratitude. He’d had to sleep sitting up at that point, which meant that he could see his cast and read the names of the people who’d signed it as he began to fall asleep. He’d stared at them and stared at them, feeling warm.

Speaking of casts, his wheely crutch was awesome! He’d ridden around the dojo, and even let Sha Hualing and the rest of the little brats use it like a surfboard! His king had not been amused, and began to insist that he simply carry Shang Qinghua around the dojo when he had to move, like some sort of caveman! Thankfully, cooler heads had prevailed when Shang Qinghua mentioned that he should really be doing as much gentle exercise as possible, so his ribs would heal nicely. Mobei-Jun had grumbled, but agreed. He’d still banned crutch-surfing, though! (Shang Qinghua had let Sha Hualing do it anyway, when her nanny was late picking her up! Now, bereft of its original purpose, it lives at the dojo for that sole reason!)

The worst stage of his recovery had been the middle few months, when Shang Qinghua had been cleared by his doctor for, er, physical activity, but Mobei-Jun had refused to touch him anyway!!! His king would just look at him with these puppy-dog eyes, and say something stupid like, “You’re still recovering, Shang Qinghua,” or “This one will not injure you further.” Eye roll!!!! Like, yeah, okay, this one understands guilt, but come on!!! It had gotten ridiculous!! For a while, the closest they got to intimacy had been Mobei-Jun watching Shang Qinghua do ankle stability exercises. It was all ankle at forty-five degrees, moron, or if you don’t do two more reps, I’ll pinch your nipple until you cry! It had made Shang Qinghua think wistfully of the early days of their courtship!

Thankfully, Cucumber-bro had come over a lot, to ease his boredom! They’d mainly watched Jet Li movies, or talked about the thousands of words of PIDW Shang Qinghua was churning out on the daily as he’d recovered. As it turns out, the combination of being high on pain medication and having effectively no responsibilities besides not succumbing to pneumonia brought on by a rib fracture is great for the muse! Creatures had come to him in his sleep! Wife-plots had appeared nearly as soon as a bottle of Percocet was placed in his eye line! He’d filled every single prompt his followers had requested in exchange for helping his king! There had been, however, some drawbacks, especially during the long months of Mobei-Jun drought: once, while buzzed on Oxy, he’d written a threesome between his very straight protagonist and two other men!! Cucumber-bro had told him not to publish it on pain of death! Shang Qinghua had just made up some strange race of demon woman that had cocks, and put that bitch up anyway!! Sue him!!!

Now, having momentarily exhausted his previously unlimited fount of papapa production, Shang Qinghua has decided to try his hand at writing something different: Mobei-Jun’s biography! His king is even more famous than ever, because someone (Zhuzhi Lang) had leaked to the press the details of Shang Qinghua’s attack. The news reported everywhere that Mobei-Jun had saved his husband (!!!) from the evil clutches of his heinous uncle, and people everywhere had fallen even more in love with him! The MMA had begged him to come back, as he’d quit after being disqualified, and Mobei-Jun had returned after demanding a very hefty raise. Now, they are running the dojo together, drowning in new students. Life is good, and there is a Mobei-Jun shaped hole in the biography market!

“Why would you want to write about this one?” his king asks one day, massaging Shang Qinghua’s ankle with Tiger Balm. “He is hardly that interesting.”

“Hardly that—?! My king!!” this one shrieks, trying to drag his ankle away. Mobei-Jun, predictably, yanks it back impatiently and continues his onslaught. “You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met, my king! Your life story is something from a wuxia!” He pauses, and begins moving his hands like he’s a movie announcer. “Having your name blackened, working so hard to undo it, only to realize that, all along, the only person you need to answer to is yourself!”

“And Shang Qinghua.”

“And Shang Qing—!!” He whips his head around, looked at his king questioningly. “And Shang Qinghua?” he asks, voice soft.

His king nods simply, not even looking up from his task.

***

Shang Qinghua is preparing a surprise for his king! They will be sparring for the first time in nearly a yearafter work today, and he is trying to do something special. Thinking of the night his king had found the dildo in his bed, and his reaction to Shang Qinghua’s guilty admission, this one has decided to make it a reality!

It’s his afternoon break, and he’s just finished preparing himself with his fingers in the apartment’s bathroom. A little strung out, already doubting his ability to follow through with his plan, he then slides in a well-lubed butt plug. It feels so good he has to steady himself against the sink for a good minute, and then splash his face with cold water, before he can properly stand. Hard, and a little miserable, he tucks himself gently back into his work trousers.  Checking that no one will be able to tell, he sighs, and washes his hands. All they have is orange-flavored lube, and he can’t seem to get the smell off of his hands! He heads for the stairs. The plug is heavy and hot inside of him, and he’s already breathing hard, feeling all over-heated, by the time he reaches the office.

“You okay?” Mobei-Jun asks, looking at him strangely from his desk.

“Yeah,” Shang Qinghua answers, sitting down and very valiantly containing a shudder as the plug moves deeper inside of him. “Just…taking inventory of the storage room. Had to move some boxes around.”

His king simply stares a moment before returning to his work. 

It’s Friday, so all their classes are done for the day, but they still have to do a little bit of prep work for the coming weekend. Some of Mobei-Jun’s students would be participating in a showcase that weekend, and Shang Qinghua has to make all the travel arrangements. He’s busy with that for a while, shifting and sweating and clenching down on the plug until he thinks he’s going to lose his mind. He has to ask the man on the phone to repeat the confirmation number three times!!

Mobei-Jun is glaring at him as he puts the phone down. “Is your ankle bothering you?”

“No. This one is just tired—his brain his fried, my king!!”

The bigger man frowns. “Why don’t we spar another night, then?”

Shang Qinghua’s eyes go big. “No!! My king!! This one has been looking forward to it all day!!” He pouts. “Please???”

“Fine,” his king grumbles. “Go change. This one will meet you on the mats in a minute.”

Shang Qinghua grins, pleased, and walks as fast as he can with a plug up his ass to change. He also has to take the plug out, scared of jarring it the wrong way while they are doing throws or grappling. In the dojo’s bathroom, he removes it slowly, the drag and slide making him curl in on himself with pleasure, and then wraps it in a towel and places it on top of the pile of his clothes. Sliding on compression pants—he didn’t want any lube to leak out, that would be hard to explain!—he dresses for sparring.  

On the mats, Shang Qinghua bows to Mobei-Jun. Mobei-Jun bows back.

This one can’t help but smile, thinking of those early days practicing ukemi under his king’s sharp eye!

“Throw me, my king!” he demands. “Ippon seoi nage. It’s the first one you taught me, do you remember?”

He’s still aroused, but it’s buzzing gently below the surface, now, manageable. His ass feels strange, and wet, but it will be worth it for his king’s reaction!

Mobei-Jun smiles, and steps closer. “Yes,” he says warmly. “This one remembers well.” He pauses as he grabs Shang Qinghua’s arm. “Why do you smell like oranges?”

This one gulps! “New, uh, new moisturizer! Do you like it?”

His king makes a face, but doesn’t reply. He simply grabs his lowly employee and throws him over his shoulder smoothly, sending him careening towards the mats. Shang Qinghua lands with a grunt, breathless and smiling and laughing. Ah, he has missed this!!

His king has Shang Qinghua throw him a few times, too. He can’t do the same type, needing more leverage to shift his king’s weight, and he can’t do too many, either: exercising has been difficult since Linguang-Jun’s attack, and even the gentlest exertion can sometimes leave him breathless. He lets his king throw him one more time before he calls it, laying back on the mat and panting.

It’s like he’s back at the beginning again, fresh from Ms. Therapist’s office, and he feels his expression go thoughtful as he considers how far he’s come. He’d been so uncomfortable with the idea of being touched, so cramped-up and hopeless that he’d thought he would never be able to be intimate with someone in any sense of the word. And then his king had crashed in, had grabbed his life by the throat and shook, and this one could not be more thankful for it.

“What are you thinking about, Shang Qinghua?” his king asks, looking down at him curiously. He’s sitting next to the smaller man, hair dark with sweat at the temples, earrings glinting in the fluorescent light.

“About the early days here,” Shang Qinghua replies, smiling. “This one is very lucky to have people who care enough about him to be a little mean to him.”

Mobei-Jun, Ms. Therapist, Shen Yuan, Ning Yingying, even Luo Binghe: they had all pushed him a little, made him take responsibility for a life he had already given up on. Maybe that had required hitting him with a fan, or forcing him to seek out Platonic Touch, or throwing him across the room, but he had been shaken awake, somehow. He felt like his life had begun again when his back had hit the mats for the first time. His heart had jolted back into rhythm.

“Who is being mean to Shang Qinghua?” Mobei-Jun asks teasingly. “Point this one is their direction.”

Shang Qinghua laughs. “You, my king!!”

The bigger man grins like a shark. “You like it when this one is mean to you.”

Before Shang Qinghua can even protest, Mobei-Jun gets him in side control, leaning over him and wrapping one arm under his neck, the other under his arm pit. It’s like a very aggressive side hug!

“Don’t you.”

“My king!” this one protests, laughing.

“Don’t you, Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun repeats, tightening his grip.

This one shakes his head, still laughing, so fond he thinks he might die. He’s close enough to kiss his king’s cheek, so he does. Mobei-Jun jerks back, and this one takes the opportunity to escape his grip and then swing his legs so they’re wrapped around his king.

“Shang Qinghua,” his king grumbles. He’s not fooling this one, though! He can hear the smile in his voice. “That is against the rules.”

This one almost laughs, picturing a line in the rulebook that says: No leg grabs, no head dives, and absolutely NO KISSING!

His king goes to grab at Shang Qinghua’s gi, nowhere near his real match speed, just trying to frighten him, and wrenches him up. This one is rapidly reminded of his surprise when what’s he pretty sure is a gob of lube drips out of his ass! Uh oh!! He wasn’t expecting this to take so long!! He got sidetracked by his own stupid emotions!!

In any case, his king really should stop bringing their faces so close together, because Shang Qinghua takes the opportunity to kiss him again, this time a small peck on the jaw! Mobei-Jun blinks, surprised, so he does it one more time!

“Stop it. That is not permitted.”

“Even if your opponent is your boyfriend?” Shang Qinghua asks gleefully. Now that would be an interesting fight!! Maybe he would watch sports if they had people grappling with their significant others! Or, better yet, their will-they-won’t-they love interests! Imagine the UST!!!

Mobei-Jun ignores him, but can’t hide the little smile on his face. “Baby spider,” he orders.

Shang Qinghua completes the form easily, tipping his king sideways and rolling on top of him. He braces his hands on his king’s chest, and leans down.

“Even if you’re dating the most beautiful…” he coos, petting at his king’s chest and getting underneath his gi, tearing it open. He rubs a thumb gently across Mobei-Jun’s nipple, just to hear his sharp intake of breath. His king’s eyes have gone all dark, and his lips have parted gently. “…most amazing,” Shang Qinghua continues, “most terrifying, most—”

Mobei-Jun, gi ripped open like the cover of some trashy romance novel that Shang Qinghua definitely would not read, suddenly uses his hips to shove him off, making him squawk like a terrified bird. That done, he takes Shang Qinghua’s back, locking his legs around him and using his massive arms like a seatbelt.

“That is enough, Shang Qinghua,” he says, breathing heavily, into his ear. This one can hear the smug little smile in his voice, though! His king is loving this!

And so is Shang Qinghua! He feels his king’s cock pressed up against his ass, half-hard, and so, so close to where he had prepared everything so nicely for him. The hum of arousal turns into something more electric, prickling under his skin. He’s starting to get a little impatient now, having denied himself an orgasm when first opening himself up and having then teased himself further with the butt plug. It’s more an instinct than a choice when he rubs himself back against his king.

Mobei-Jun’s breath exhales hot against his neck as he noses along Shang Qinghua’s jawline. This one shivers, something in the air changing, and he takes one of his king’s hands and presses a kiss into the palm. At that, Mobei-Jun starts to mouth at his neck in earnest, heated and urgent, making Shang Qinghua whimper and shift his head, and big hands travel down to undo the knot keeping his gi together. They make short work of it, and begin to roam around Shang Qinghua’s bared chest and sides, brushing gently over a nipple, skirting along the softness of his tummy.

“Is this what you wanted, Shang Qinghua?” Mobei-Jun murmurs into his ear.

“Mmm, yes, yes,” he gasps.

He fidgets around, letting his king know he wants to change position, and, in reply, the bigger man unhooks his legs and draws back. Shang Qinghua takes the opportunity to get on his hands and knees. He’s practically shaking, looking back at his king with a pleading expression. Mobei-Jun, eyes wide, seems to read the mood, and immediately shoves the trousers of the smaller man’s gi down, making an annoyed noise at the compression pants.

“When the fuck did you start wearing these again?”

He tucks his hands under the band at the top and drags the pants down slowly over Shang Qinghua’s ass.

And then his king suddenly freezes, and this one has to bite his lip to keep from excitedly telling him what he’s done.

“Why are you all—wet?”

“Um,” Shang Qinghua says, mouth dry with arousal. He swallows heavily, and tilts his chest down, getting onto his elbows, opening himself up completely to his king’s gaze. “Surprise?”

“What—” his king says dully. “Oh my—” Shang Qinghua feels two hands on his ass and they pull, spreading the cheeks roughly. His head drops, and he whimpers a little at what a mess he must be there, all stretched and loose, sloppy with lube. “Shang Qinghua,” his king’s voice comes, disbelieving, “Shang Qinghua, you’re all—”

“You didn’t get to see, last time,” this one explains, voice shaking. “You didn’t get to—”

“Fuck,” his king bites out. He circles a finger around the lube-wet rim before pressing inside, making a soft, desperate noise as he did so. Shang Qinghua nearly buckles at the sensation, thighs trapped together by his compression pants, so turned on he thinks he might die. Mobei-Jun, panting heavily behind him, circles his finger lightly inside of the smaller man.

“Is this all for me, Shang Qinghua?” he asks lowly, voice suddenly close to his ear, breath hot on his cheek. “All for this Mobei-Jun?”

“Ye—ah,” Shang Qinghua sighs, face burning.

“Fuck, fuck.” His king works two fingers in, testing how much work Shang Qinghua had done, and moans raggedly. “Such a good little slut,” Mobei-Jun murmurs, warm and pleased, “stretching yourself out so nicely for this one. You did so well.”

The praise ricochets around Shang Qinghua’s head until he’s sure his eyes have rolled back in his head. Oh, this had been such a good idea!!!

“On your back,” his king demands, then, pressing at his hips with a bruising grip. Shang Qinghua listens, turning around, and Mobei-Jun yanks his gi the rest of the way off, followed closely by the hated compression pants, before pulling the hips of his shaking employee onto his lap. He then lifts and presses Shang Qinghua’s legs back then, nearly to his chest, opening up his ass to his gaze. “All this time, you’ve been like this?” he asks, raw disbelief in his voice.

“Since my afternoon break,” Shang Qinghua answers, breathless and smiling. “I had a plug in to keep it loose.”

“A—plug?” His king scrapes a hand along his jaw. He blinks, and runs a hand through his hair wildly. He looks like he’s just won a prize he’d never expected to win, and doesn’t quite know what to do with. Shang Qinghua would die for him!!

“I need to—” Mobei-Jun says, stilted, “This one needs to taste you, let me, Shang Qinghua, you need to let me—”

Shang Qinghua nods hurriedly. He’s never heard his king like this before, like the filter on his mouth had been turned off.  “Please, please, yes—”

He’s shoved back again, knees up to his chest, and Mobei-Jun scoops his hips up, bringing his lube-slick ass up to where he’s bending down. Shang Qinghua gives a startled moan at the feeling of a tongue on his hole, and clutches at his king’s hair in a panic. Mobei-Jun just grunts against him, mouth gentle and tentative where this one is all sensitive. He suddenly presses the flat of his tongue against Shang Qinghua’s entrance, and rubs, making the smaller man arch up off the mats.

“M—my king,” he slurs, pressing up against the mouth hot on his skin.

He can’t stop staring at Mobei-Jun’s hands, clamped around his thighs, holding him down, holding him in place like his king knows what’s best for him, like his king knows just how to make him feel good—

Mobei-Jun backs off, then, licking up the length of Shang Qinghua’s thigh, nipping gently with his teeth against the soft skin there. He glances up at the smaller man before returning to his hole, licking long and wet before basically beginning to fuck Shang Qinghua with his tongue. Shang Qinghua stares up at his dark head moving between his thighs, practically in a daze. He is wet and fucked-open, tightly wound and clamping down hard; he is lost, like his king’s mouth on him is the only thing keeping him afloat. Empty and aching, he knows that he wants his king’s cock in him soon, or, like, now???

“My king,” he says. “My king, please, please—”

Mobei-Jun looks up at him, mouth all wet and shiny. Shang Qinghua blinks.

“What’s wrong?” his king says, panting.

“Please, this one had the plug in him for so long, he needs—he needs you, please, please,” Shang Qinghua says, embarrassed heat rising along his chest.

His king tilts his head, smiling in a way that makes Shang Qinghua stomach coil with arousal. “You want to come on this one’s cock? Is that it?”

“Yeah, yes, please,” the smaller man answers breathlessly.

Mobei-Jun gives him one last, sound lick, before divesting himself of his loosened shirt and gi pants. He then moves Shang Qinghua’s legs so they are wrapped around his waist and begins to kiss his way up the smaller man’s body, pausing to place a few teasing caresses on his hipbones, very much ignoring his cock, before finally arriving at his mouth. Their mouths meet, then, wet and dirty, tongues sliding hot and sweet. Shang Qinghua’s head is spinning.

“Let this one get lube,” his king says, sitting up.

“No!” Shang Qinghua objects, wrapping his legs around his king’s torso to stop him. “No need! Please, please.”

“Hmm,” his king teases, using a thumb to trace Shang Qinghua’s lower lip.

“Please, my king,” the smaller man says. He is practically vibrating. “This one prepared for so long, please. Please, please.”

Mobei-Jun lifts him easily, then, face considering, and arranges him in his lap. He strokes his hair affectionately.

“Fine. Since you asked so nicely,” he murmurs, mouthing along Shang Qinghua’s jaw. “But you have to do something for this one, then.” When the smaller man nods, Mobei-Jun pulls back and presses two clean fingers to his lips. “Open.”

Shang Qinghua does, and the two long, thick fingers press in. Not completely understanding, he closes his mouth around them anyway, sucking at them, as Mobei-Jun pushes in deeper and deeper. This one whimpers, breathing heavily, letting his eyes flutter shut. His king goes until Shang Qinghua chokes a little, and then pulls away, a trail of spit connecting the two. Coughing a little, mouth flooded with saliva, this one looks at his king for direction. A palm is held out underneath his mouth.

“Spit,” Mobei-Jun demands.

Understanding dawns on Shang Qinghua, and he obeys, spitting into his king’s palm. Mobei-Jun drags it along his cock, slicking himself up, and Shang Qinghua lets his eyes, heavy-lidded, follow the motion. His king’s hand returns to his mouth, and shoves in once more.

“Again,” the bigger man says, repeating the whole process.  

This one licks his lips, dazedly following the motion again, limbs feel strangely warm and heavy.

“Good, very good.” His king smiles, pleased, and uses his clean hand to rub softly at the smaller man’s jaw. “Did you like that, Shang Qinghua?” he asks, voice muted and sweet and seductive. His head is tilted, hooded eyes flicking over the other man’s face. “Choking on this one’s fingers?”

Shang Qinghua, in a haze, can only nod. Yes, he had liked that. He had liked that very much.

His king leans in, then, fingers weaving through his hair and holding him still. He nips at his lower lip before kissing him, and the smaller man gets lost in it, letting Mobei-Jun lick into his mouth until he can’t see straight.

When he pulls back, he brushes a piece of hair off of Shang Qinghua’s forehead and asks, softly, “Ready?”

Something about the question gets this one’s brain partially back online. Ready?? Is he ready?? My king, this one has been ready for hours!!!

Shang Qinghua nods. “Come on,” he says, breathless, shifting his hips up against Mobei-Jun’s. “Come on, my king, don’t tease this one anymore.”

“Aw,” his king says mockingly, pinching at a nipple, making Shang Qinghua shiver. “Poor thing,” he murmurs, then, low and amused. “Squirming around a plug all afternoon.” He tilts his head in false concern. “Did Shang Qinghua get himself all worked up?”

“Yes,” the smaller man says, unable to even rise to the mocking tone of his king’s words. He is too busy worrying that he genuinely might die if Mobei-Jun doesn’t get his cock in him soon. “Yes, I did.”

Smirking, but taking pity, his king shifts his hands, one to Shang Qinghua’s ass, the other to his own cock. This one leans forward in Mobei-Jun’s lap, spreading his knees further apart, so wide that he can’t move much without tipping over. When he feels his cheeks being spread by one giant hand, and the blunt tip of a cock against his ass, he drops his head to his king’s shoulder, letting out a shuddering breath. Finally, finally!!

“Mmm,” his king says, pushing into Shang Qinghua. “Torturing yourself like that, just for this Mobei-Jun?” He thrusts in further, drawing a gasping moan from the smaller man, and moves the hand on his ass to his back, rubbing soothing circles. “You’re so sweet, Shang Qinghua.” He dips his head to mouth at the juncture of shoulder and neck. “So good.”

Shang Qinghua, flush with the praise, nuzzles at his king’s neck. He goes all warm and boneless with satisfaction! He knew his king would like it!!

The first few thrusts are slow and searching, and the smaller man squirms in Mobei-Jun’s lap, suddenly aware he’s been on edge for far too long. All satisfaction is gone, and he starts to clench down rhythmically, as if trying to keep his king inside him. Mobei-Jun grunts and grips the back of Shang Qinghua’s neck in response. His thrusts gain power, then, and the smaller man throws his arms around his king, feeling his knees begin to shake, spread too wide for too long. Mobei-Jun notices, and moves his hands to support his thighs, never letting up his pace.

“Oh, fuck,” Shang Qinghua whimpers, already overwhelmed and it’s hardly been two minutes.

It’s scorching where his king is inside of him, absolutely incredible, and Shang Qinghua knows that he’s not going to last long. He’s spread open so wide, so desperate for it, heat rippling along his body in waves, and, still, he wants to get closer, he needs—he needs to get closer. He burrows further into the other man’s arms, feeling a little out of control, searching for the stability his king offers, and Mobei-Jun responds by gripping him even tighter, so tight Shang Qinghua can hardly move. His king is basically holding him completely still and fucking up into him, using his body however he wants, and this one can only moan raggedly into his king’s ear. His cock is jostling along Mobei-Jun’s stomach with every thrust, ass fluttering and clenching, pressure building and building and building—

He grabs a fistful of his king’s hair and presses his face into his neck, and he can’t breathe, he can’t think, all he knows is the shuddering, sick-hot pleasure overwhelming his body, Mobei-Jun’s cock holding him open, slamming inside of him—and he’s coming, cock jerking against his king’s stomach, inner muscles locking up and pulsing.

“My king, my king—” Shang Qinghua is saying desperately, clutching onto the man like he’s drowning. His own words sound strange to him, and for a moment, he’s afraid he’s come so hard that he’s gone deaf. A ringing noise fills his head, like he’s been in an explosion, and suddenly Mobei-Jun has tipped him down onto his back.

He’s fucking into Shang Qinghua, all sinuous power, hips rolling once, twice, three times, before he shudders and stills, grunting. The whole of his body curls over the smaller man, hips jerking, pushing in deeper, deeper. Shang Qinghua, limp and useless, watches with lips parted in awe.

His king just sits, panting, for a moment, eyes closed, before gently pulling out of the other man. This one makes a soft noise at the sensation, which devolves into a moan at the feeling of Mobei-Jun’s fingers at his entrance. He’s inspecting it, probably admiring the gobs his own cum gathered around the rim, and this one shivers at the look of concentration on his face. The idea of his king’s cum leaking out of him is somehow troubling to Shang Qinghua, and he brings his hands to his entrance and tries to push the wetness he feels there back in.

“Get the—get the plug, please,” Shang Qinghua croaks out, gesturing towards the bathroom where it currently is.

Mobei-Jun stares down at him, dumbfounded.

“What—?”

“Please, please,” Shang Qinghua says. Something akin to panic is rising in him, and he doesn’t know why. He just knows that he wants something of his king’s to remain inside of him. He wants to be marked by him, claimed by him, somehow, wants him to stay always. “Don’t—let it all leak out.”

The other man blinks at him, silent and still and shocked, but gets to his feet anyway. He has the good sense to bring some lube and a wet paper towel as well.

“In me,” Shang Qinghua says urgently. “In me, hurry, put it in me.”

Mobei-Jun’s hands are shaking as he, probably unnecessarily, coats the plug with lube and brings it to his entrance. His hands, slick and sticky, spread him apart again, and gently brush a bit more of the wetness inside. Shang Qinghua feels himself spasm a little at the soft, careful touch.

Mobei-Jun’s eyes flick up to the other man’s face, and he presses the plug against him, says, quietly, “Relax a bit.”

This one does, and the plug slips right in. His king lets out a surprised little moan, and the smaller man shivers, clenching down. The plug feels heavy and grounding. Mobei-Jun traces Shang Qinghua’s stretched rim with a finger.

“Fuck,” he says. He ducks his head to Shang Qinghua’s cock, which is coated in cum, and slowly, gently, licks him clean. The smaller man, strung-out and oversensitive, shakes and whimpers under his attentions. Mobei-Jun then follows it up with a wet paper towel, wiping Shang Qinghua down softly and then doing the same to himself.

His king gathers him up against him, placing him in his lap. The plug shifts a bit as he goes, and Shang Qinghua moans softly at the feeling, letting himself slump against his king. The other man retrieves the top of his own gi and drapes it over Shang Qinghua’s shoulders before cradling him close to his chest.

“Okay, Shang Qinghua?” Mobei-Jun asks, nuzzling him softly.

“Hmmm,” he answers, a soft, pleased smile spreading across his face. The momentary panic has receded. It is strange how, once, his first instinct would have been to run from Mobei-Jun. Now, somehow, his king had become his sanctuary. The thing that he ran to.

“You always take such good care of this one, my king,” Shang Qinghua says.  He pauses, and burrows further into Mobei-Jun’s embrace. Something occurs to him, and he frowns thoughtfully. “This one thinks you have needed someone to take care of for a long time.”

His king exhales, and Shang Qinghua wishes he could see his face, but doesn’t want to disturb the warm and comfortable position he’s in just yet.

“Yes,” Mobei-Jun rumbles against his ear, pressing a kiss to his hairline. He pauses, and then continues softly, “And Shang Qinghua has needed someone to take care of him.”

Emotion rises in Shang Qinghua’s throat, and he squeezes his eyes shut against it. He nods against his king’s neck, afraid of what sound will come out if he speaks.

He has needed that. He’s needed that for a long, long time.

“Tired of it yet, my king?” he asks eventually, the question like acid in his mouth.

He feels Mobei-Jun shake his head gently, hears the soft tinkle of his earrings clicking together.

“You take care of this one, too,” his king says.

Shang Qinghua leans back so he can look at his face. His eyes have tilted all gentle.

“You share his life,” Mobei-Jun continues. “You share every part of yourself with him, without even making him ask.”

“That’s because you make it so easy, my king.”

The other man’s gaze flickers over his face then, eyes crinkling into a smile, and he leans in to kiss Shang Qinghua. It’s sweet, and plush, and slow-burning, and Shang Qinghua melts into his embrace. When they draw back, their foreheads are tilting against each other.

“If you give this one some time to rest, he’ll let you fuck him again later,” Shang Qinghua says lazily, smiling.

Mobei-Jun laughs gently, soft cool breath puffing against the smaller man’s mouth. “We’ll see,” he says. His eyes narrow playfully. “Maybe if you’re good.”

Shang Qinghua laughs, too.

“But you need to rest first,” his king says seriously. “Come on. Can you stand?”

Mobei-Jun helps him to his feet. He wobbles a little, legs feeling like jelly, trying to get used to the weight of the plug inside him again. He has to move slowly so it doesn’t jar, but they eventually make it up to the bed. His king tucks him in, and goes to shut off the lights in the dojo and lock up.

When he returns, Shang Qinghua suggests a movie, and they settle on Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Mobei-Jun likes Chow Yun-Fat, but has somehow never seen it. Shang Qinghua grins as his king watches the bamboo fight, entranced. It makes him sleepy.

He rouses himself right as Chow Yun-Fat is poisoned with Purple Yin, and Michelle Yeoh is begging him not to waste his last breath on her.

“I’ve already wasted my whole life,” he says to her, eyes burning. “I want to tell you with my last breath that I have always loved you.”

Shang Qinghua remembers his words to Cucumber-bro, what feels like a lifetime ago. He can see now that all that time hadn’t been wasted. He’d needed that time, every precious moment of it, to heal. And sometimes it had been long and miserable and lonely. He’d made things harder on himself than they’d had to be. He’d been too blinded by self-loathing to even see the processes going on below the surface, let alone foster them. He’d thought he was stagnant, half-dead, never realizing that his body was giving him the time and space he needed to heal. The world had told him that he wasn’t normal, wasn’t on-schedule, and he’d stupidly bought the idea that there was a schedule at all, stupidly tried to contort himself into the shape that everyone had wanted. Now he sees that there is just him, taking steps along a path, turning off when it feels right, plodding ahead patiently when it doesn’t.

The only time he considered wasted, now, is how long it took him to see his king—to truly see him, the sanctuary of his body, the shelter of his care. He’d told Shang Qinghua that he’d left his sticky fingerprints all over everything, and Shang Qinghua wants to say to Mobei-Jun, you have left the imprints of your knuckle-bruised fists, because his king truly didn’t know subtlety. He’d blustered and pushed and shoved his way into Shang Qinghua’s life, put him into his bed, because he knew that was where he belonged even when this one didn’t. He had caught Shang Qinghua by surprise, somehow knowing exactly what this one needed before he could even shape his mouth around the words. His king had carved out a place just for him, slotted him into his life like he’d been there all along. So accustomed to loneliness, Shang Qinghua hadn’t been able to recognize it for what it was. He hadn’t seen.

Suddenly, looking up at the man, Shang Qinghua is filled with so much affection, so much devotion, that he doesn’t know what to do with it. It’s just there, muscling up his spine, clogging his throat, filling his lungs. He breathes, accepting it, letting it pool and shimmer serenely, spread like a puddle underneath his prone body. It’s been some time, now.

The credits are rolling in the darkness.

“My king,” Shang Qinghua says quietly. Mobei-Jun looks at him. “I think I am in love with you.” He pauses. “I think I have been for a very long time.”

He closes his eyes, then, because all he’d wanted to do was let his king know how he felt. Make him understand that he would always come first in Shang Qinghua’s book. He deserves to know that someone felt that way about him, even if he didn’t return the sentiment.

“This one knows, Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun says calmly. “I know.”

“What?!” the smaller man squeaks, sitting up, eyes shooting open. The plug shifts—he’d forgotten it was even inside of him—and he squawks in pain. Recovering, he continues, “You? You know?! When did you find out?!”

Oh my god!! This is so embarrassing!! How long has his king been quietly aware of this one’s mushy and mortifying feelings???

Mobei-Jun frowns. “I don’t know,” he says. “It is clear from your actions.” He pauses, and looks at Shang Qinghua with a small smile. “From the way you look at this one sometimes.” 

Shang Qinghua falls backwards, wailing, and covers his eyes in shame! My king, why not just shoot this one with an arrow?? Why not crush him under your shoe!! Why could you not just accept it quietly and move on??? He blinks up at the ceiling, and then shuts his eyes, attempting to get ahold of himself. It’s okay. His king doesn’t have to reciprocate. It’s okay!

“Well, don’t…don’t feel like you have to say anything,” Shang Qinghua eventually manages, trying to make his voice as unbothered as possible, and probably failing. “This one just—wanted you to know how he felt, that’s all.”

“Shang Qinghua.”

This one’s eyes slide open to look at Mobei-Jun, who is now leaning over him.

“What.”

A big hand comes to his cheek, and Shang Qinghua cannot help but lean into it. Even if his king doesn’t love him, this is nice. He smiles. Mobei-Jun’s thumb brushes against his cheekbone.

“This one knows he isn’t very good with words,” his king says, “but—haven’t you heard him saying it back all this time?”

Shang Qinghua blinks up at him. Saying it—? His brows crease as he thinks, and Mobei-Jun looks down at him, bemused.

Begging him to stay. Looking for him everywhere. Seeking out He Yanlin. Leaving the qualifying match. All those months caring for him, letting him stay in his apartment.

Shang Qinghua sits up, careful of the plug this time, because, wow, is he some kind of idiot??? He’d been right when he’d said his king didn’t know subtlety; the problem was that this one is the world’s most oblivious moron! He blinks. Is he really so foolish to have missed that??? Had love seemed so out of his reach that he hadn’t even seen it when it was right in front of his face???

“My king,” he murmurs, smiling, and their lips are suddenly very close together.

“Are you getting it now, Shang Qinghua?”

“Y—yes,” this one replies, eyes fluttering as his king presses a kiss to his jaw. “Yes, I think so.”

His king—his king loves him???? His king loves him!!!!

“Good,” Mobei-Jun says, before releasing him, going to lay back down.

“Wait,” Shang Qinghua objects, following after him. “You can’t just—you can’t just say that—”

“This one didn’t say anything,” his king smirks, like a bastard.

“My king, please,” Shang Qinghua begs. “Please.”

Some strange, blunt emotion is muscling its way up his throat, like gratitude, like indebtedness, like devotion. Like belonging. He doesn’t understand it, but he is desperate to show it. He wants his king as close as he can get, he wants them to be intertwined, sharing the same breath. His fingers are blunt and a little clumsy as he presses them against his king’s cheek, and chest, and jaw, and he follows up with frantic little kisses.

“My king,” he says, “Fuck me again, fuck me one more time.”

“No,” Mobei-Jun is saying, like he is stupid. “It will hurt. You’re too sore from earlier.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” this one replies, climbing into his lap, gasping a little at the way the plug presses into him. “I just want to feel you, my king, please.”

He is mortified to feel tears rising. He is just so happy, so grateful.

Be patient with me.

His king had been. He had been so patient with Shang Qinghua, even when this one had thought he wasn’t worthy of any patience at all.

Mobei-Jun’s brow creases in confusion. His hands begin to rub at Shang Qinghua’s back soothingly, not understanding this urgency. Shang Qinghua just palms his king’s cock, already half-hard in his pants.

“Please,” he begs, voice watery.  “You promised.”

His king looks down at him, then, lips pursed, and says, “Fine. Lay down on your side.”

He does so, and Mobei-Jun follows him. He reaches a hand around Shang Qinghua and pulls out the plug gently. The smaller man moans and ducks his head into his king’s chest. He’s sore and oversensitive, but something wild and longing is pulling at him, setting his blood on fire. Closer, closer, he thinks. Wetness leaks out with the plug, lube and saliva and cum, and Shang Qinghua lifts his legs to his chest.

“Please, please,” he begs frantically.

“Shh, shh, okay, I’m coming,” Mobei-Jun says, using his big hands to press Shang Qinghua’s hair away from his face again and again. “This one is coming.”

His king maneuvers them into the same position as when they’d first fucked, Shang Qinghua’s calves more or less hooked over Mobei-Jun’s shoulders, and then licks his palm and quickly uses it to slick his cock up.

He presses into Shang Qinghua agonizingly slowly, the smaller man muffling his cries against his own leg. It’s perfect, just what Shang Qinghua wanted, overwhelming and earth-shattering, his king crowding his faculties until he can’t think anymore, until he’s just a mess of sensations.

“Hurts?” Mobei-Jun asks.

“No, no, s’good,” Shang Qinghua slurs, feeling drunk.

Pleasure rolls through him in ceaseless waves as his king fucks him slow and easy, grunting as Shang Qinghua clenches around him. He stares at the smaller man, not speaking, like he’s waiting for him to tell him to stop.

Right as he’s shaking on the precipice, Shang Qinghua gasps, “I—love you, I love you, I love you so mu—”

They both come shortly after, clutching at each other with frantic hands, like they would never have to let go if they held on tight enough.

After a few minutes, Mobei-Jun helps the smaller man lower his legs, and wraps his arms around him again, holding him close against his chest. Shang Qinghua actually starts to cry, then, the wave of everything that had happened to him finally breaking: the violence that had been done to him, the loneliness that he had confined himself in after, the sheer relief of being held and feeling safe. Mobei-Jun would take care of him. He didn’t have to be alone, always running, always scraping by. He didn’t have to be scared anymore.

“Hey,” his king says, drawing back. He uses his big thumbs to wipe the tears from Shang Qinghua’s cheeks. “What’s wrong? You’re hurt?”

“No,” Shang Qinghua answers. “No, I’m—I’m okay.” He pauses, and then laughs wetly. “I just—the lease on my apartment is almost done, and—this one was thinking of just letting it run out?” He looks up at Mobei-Jun, and smiles through the tears. “Would that be okay, my king?”

Mobei-Jun’s eyes crinkle, and he nods. “Yes. That would be good,” he says. He places a hand on his broad plane of his bare chest, and pats. “This is where you belong, Shang Qinghua. This is where you’ve always belonged.”

Shang Qinghua stares up at him, tears streaming down his face. “I know,” he says, voice breaking a little. “I know that, now. Thank you for being so patient with this one.”

 Mobei-Jun rumbles contentedly, and holds him close.

“There is nowhere else to go, if Shang Qinghua is here,” his king says.

Smiling, Shang Qinghua presses his head against his king’s chest, and hears the pulse of his heart. He counts the beats, strong and steady. Patient and sure. This is where you belong.