Chapter Text
It starts, as most things do between them, with a taunt.
“Tired already?” Mu Qing nudges Feng Xin’s leg with his foot, peering down at him. “You’re getting slow in your old age.”
When did Feng Xin say he was tired? He might still be laying in the dirt since the last time Mu Qing pinned him, but he’s not tired. Just catching his breath. He could fight with Mu Qing all day. Has been fighting with him all day—sparring, to be exact.
Their daily sparring matches are a post-Tonglu development. They alternate on who’s hosting; today they’re at the private training grounds of Feng Xin’s own palace since he won last time, but he has a sinking feeling they’ll be at Mu Qing’s place for the next one.
Sparring with Mu Qing is nice. Well, as nice as anything involving Mu Qing ever is. It’s a friendlier, more civilized version of their fights—but with 80% less property damage, 30% less taunts, and almost no hard feelings at the end.
Emphasis on almost.
Feng Xin scowls. “Who’s old? We’re the same fucking age, shithead.”
“You’re three months older than me,” Mu Qing reminds him, haughty as all hell. He smirks, extending a hand to pull Feng Xin up. “You’d remember that if you weren’t senile.”
Feng Xin smacks his hand aside and gets up himself. “Where’s your respect for your elders, then? You should be calling me gege.”
He drawls out the word, grinning at the way it makes Mu Qing’s mouth twist up in disgust.
“You should be shutting up.”
Mu Qing takes a half-hearted swing at Feng Xin which he returns with one of his own.
Their official match is over but they keep swatting at each other, too playful to be called fighting but too artless to be sparring, either. Just roughhousing, which is another new and exciting thing for them. It’s harmless. Fun, even.
It’s just bad luck that Mu Qing sweeps Feng Xin’s feet out from under him at the same exact moment that Feng Xin shoves him over.
Everything after that feels like it happens in slow motion. Mu Qing tries to catch himself by grabbing onto Feng Xin’s arm—a perilous mistake that just winds up sending them both careening to the floor.
There are a series of collisions.
First, Mu Qing hits the ground, flat on his back. Next, Feng Xin falls (read: Mu Qing pulls him) right on top of him. Their foreheads knock against each other with a too-loud, dizzying clunk. And then—
Their mouths smash together, hard enough to hurt.
Feng Xin would like to clarify that this is absolutely not a kiss, not in any logical sense of the word. It certainly didn’t feel like one. More like a punch, really—and Feng Xin’s been punched in the face enough by Mu Qing to know exactly what that feels like. It’s brief and unpleasant and Feng Xin thinks he might be bleeding.
If he was actually going to kiss Mu Qing, it wouldn’t be anything like this. Not that he thinks about kissing Mu Qing! He doesn’t. Not all the time.
The not-kiss is over in an instant, anyway.
Feng Xin scrambles up onto his hands and knees, cursing and wincing at the ache in his head. Mu Qing, on the other hand, stays right where he is—sprawled underneath Feng Xin. His forehead is red from where they bonked skulls, but the rest of his face is pretty red too, so that’s not saying much.
“Hey!” Feng Xin shouts, even though they’re only inches apart. As soon as the word leaves his mouth, he realizes that he has no idea what to say next. After a moment, he tries again (still shouting), “Be more careful!”
Now, this is the part where Mu Qing snaps back at him—that Feng Xin is the one who ought to be more careful, that he’s a big oaf, that this is all his fault anyway. Except Mu Qing doesn’t do that. He just keeps staring up at Feng Xin with eyes like saucers, frozen completely still.
There’s a little blood on his lip, from where someone’s teeth must have snagged it. Ah, so he’s the one who’s bleeding. Without thinking, Feng Xin reaches over to wipe it away with the pad of his thumb.
His lips are soft, if a little bruised, which is a really stupid thing for Feng Xin to be noticing right now. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, or why Mu Qing is letting him. Frankly, he’s starting to get worried.
“You just—um. Your lip. Is bleeding. Was bleeding. I fixed it.” Feng Xin says intelligently, though he hasn’t really fixed anything. This is a disaster. “Can you just fucking say something?”
Mu Qing does not say something. He does, however, suddenly spring to his senses and shove Feng Xin off of him.
Actually, he shoves him halfway across the room. Feng Xin is briefly airborne and then he’s crumpled in a heap on the floor (again), head spinning.
“What the fuck was that for?” he yells, pushing himself up onto his elbows just in time to catch sight of Mu Qing back on his feet, practically sprinting towards the exit.
“Where the hell are you going?”
It’s another question that goes unanswered as Mu Qing leaves without a word. Okay, now Feng Xin is definitely worried.
It’s not that Mu Qing storming out of conversations with him is that unusual—it’s pretty par for the course, actually—but he always has to get one extra jab in. That’s who Mu Qing is, who he’s always been. He’s a petty little fucker who’s obsessed with having the last word.
They just accidentally… touched mouths. Mu Qing should have an absolute diatribe he’s ready to unleash. He should be in the process of rupturing Feng Xin’s ear drums right now. And yet he couldn’t even manage to get out one little barb? Hm. This is maybe kind of very bad.
Or maybe not!
Lately, Feng Xin has been trying this new thing where he doesn’t immediately jump to the worst possible conclusions about Mu Qing and all his constant weirdness.
Mu Qing is notoriously thin-skinned—quick to blush, easy to embarrass. And Feng Xin can admit that their little not-kiss was certainly embarrassing. He’s probably just flustered. Hell, Feng Xin is too. (Though his reasons have less to do with wounded pride and more to do with the way that his thumb still feels warm and tingly from when he brushed it against Mu Qing’s lips.)
Maybe Mu Qing just stormed out because needs some time alone to cool off and collect himself.
Feng Xin sighs, finally picking himself off the floor. That’s probably it. Mu Qing needs some space. And Feng Xin will gladly give it to him, if it means they never have to talk about today’s catastrophe. They’ll leave this Incident behind them and things will go back to normal.
It’ll be fine.
__________
It’s not fine. Feng Xin realizes this when they hit week two of Mu Qing avoiding him at all costs.
One week? Fine. Mu Qing has done that for everything from actual fights to simple funny looks—hell, he once refused to speak to Feng Xin for a week just because he wore a guan he thought was “gaudy.”
One week is normal, but two? He hasn’t done that since before his confession at Mount Tonglu, before they were actually friends.
His sudden absence makes Feng Xin realize how much time they’ve been spending together since then. In just a few short years, he’s come to expect and enjoy Mu Qing’s presence—his constant snarky commentary, his light, graceful footsteps, even his eyerolls.
It’s embarrassing, how much Feng Xin misses him.
More embarrassing is how much Feng Xin has been thinking about their terrible, horrible not-kiss—which really was a kiss, at the end of the day.
It’s ridiculous. After centuries of vaguely imagining what it might be like to kiss Mu Qing, it finally happens—and it’s an accident? Not just an accident—a humiliating little slapstick comedy routine? The memory haunts Feng Xin’s every waking hour, even bleeding into his dreams. Every time he closes his eyes he sees the blank, shocked look on Mu Qing’s face, feels the sharp phantom press of his lips against his own. He replays Mu Qing’s scrambling exit over and over in his mind, cringing at his own inaction.
The dreams go a little differently. In his dreams, he chases after Mu Qing and kisses him properly, healing his bloody lip with a gentle stream of spiritual energy. Sometimes, in his dreams, the nasty part of their collision never happens at all—his brain just skips to frantic kissing in a heap on the training grounds floor.
Feng Xin’s dreams are wildly unrealistic and he really ought to stop sleeping.
Still, he wonders if Mu Qing has been thinking about the kiss as well.
Is that what he’s been upset about? Was that fleeting little kiss, as clumsy and unpleasant as it was, really so abhorrent to him? Does he still hate Feng Xin so much?
The only way to find out is to ask—though Feng Xin doubts he’ll get a straight answer. Regardless, he swallows his pride and barges into Mu Qing’s palace to confront him, storming past his frazzled deputies and heading straight for Mu Qing’s private quarters.
In the end, he doesn’t need to go all the way there. They nearly run straight into each other when he reaches the hallway that leads to Mu Qing’s personal room, both stopping short before they collide.
They stand silently, blinking at each other in surprise.
“You’re mad at me,” Feng Xin announces, by way of greeting.
Mu Qing is already walking away. “I’m always mad at you.”
“Okay, asshole. Madder than usual, then.” Feng Xin falls into step beside him, nearly tripping over his own feet as he tries to get Mu Qing to make some damn eye contact. “Why are you avoiding me? What did I do?”
Mu Qing doesn’t even deign that worthy of a verbal response, just rolls his eyes so hard it looks like it must hurt. Good fucking grief, he’s infuriating.
“Is this about the kiss?”
Mu Qing stops dead in his tracks, dangerously rigid. Okay, so it is about the kiss.
“Come on, it was an accident! I didn’t do it on purpose.”
Mu Qing whirls on him, outraged and faintly pink. “Stop it! Stop talking about it.”
Feng Xin can’t figure out why Mu Qing is so worked up about this. “Did it mess with your cultivation, or something?”
“Of course not.”
“Then what? What’s the big fucking deal about an accidental kiss?” Feng Xin throws up his hands. “Look, I’m sure it’s been a few centuries since the last time you kissed anybody, but it couldn’t have been that bad, right? It only lasted for a couple seconds anyway, so I don’t—wait.”
Wait a minute. Feng Xin has been talking uninterrupted for way too long.
He narrows his eyes at Mu Qing, whose flush has zoomed straight past pink and gone vibrant red. His hands are twisting nervously in his sleeves, eyes locked on the ground. He’s furious as Feng Xin’s ever seen him, but more than that, he looks… embarrassed. Almost as if—
No way. “That was your first kiss?”
“Oh sure, go ahead, scream it for everyone to hear.”
“You—how? How have you never kissed anyone before?”
“What part of ‘abstinent cultivation path’ do you not understand?” Mu Qing hisses.
“But—before that. When we were human, when we were teenagers. You really never kissed anybody? You were so—”
Beautiful, is the way he’d end that sentence. Beautiful then, beautiful now, anyone would want to kiss him—bad attitude and all. Personally, the bad attitude makes Feng Xin want to kiss him even more, just to shut him up every once and a while.
Fortunately, Mu Qing cuts him off. “I had better things to do than throw myself at anyone who looked at me twice.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Feng Xin pauses, frowning. “That was really your first kiss?”
Mu Qing groans. “How many times do I have to—”
“I’m sorry.”
Mu Qing’s mouth falls open in shock, blinking owlishly at him. Normally, that kind of wide-eyed expression on Mu Qing’s face would probably make Feng Xin laugh, but seeing him so genuinely stunned at an apology just ends up making Feng Xin feel worse.
He seriously never kissed anybody? In 800 years?
Guilt washes over Feng Xin like a tidal wave.
“Fuck, that’s a terrible first kiss. Our foreheads knocked together and—oh shit, I made your lip bleed? That’s—”
“I was there too. You don’t need to walk me through it.”
Feng Xin winces. “I really am sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Mu Qing snaps. For some reason, the apologies are only making him more upset. He shakes his head, turning away. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”
Feng Xin wants to do something about it, though. This new friendship budding between them is a fragile thing, but it’s good. There’s a startling rightness to it—to sparring instead of fighting, bantering instead of bickering, hearing Mu Qing laugh with him instead of at him. Things are far from perfect, but he can’t let them go back to the way they were, especially not over something as stupid as this.
Not for the first time, Feng Xin’s mouth moves faster than his brain and he suddenly finds himself saying: “What if—what if we did a redo?”
For a moment, everything is silent. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Feng Xin is thankful that Mu Qing’s deputies know to give them a wide berth whenever he bursts into the palace, so at least no one else can bear witness to this humiliation.
“A… redo,” Mu Qing says—slowly, carefully, like he’s testing out the shape of the word in his mouth. He still doesn’t turn to look at Feng Xin.
There’s an opportunity here, to take it back. For Feng Xin to bluster and say he misspoke, to turn this conversation into an argument, something comfortable and safe.
It’s an opportunity Feng Xin doesn’t take.
“We could try it again,” he says more confidently, even though he’s acutely aware that this is an absolutely batshit crazy thing to suggest. “Do it over. Give you a new first kiss. As long as it’s still with me, it’s all the same, right?”
That makes Mu Qing turn, eyes burning with incredulity. For a long moment, he just stares darkly, like he’s waiting for Feng Xin to break, to make fun of him, to say it’s just a bad joke. Feng Xin holds his gaze, even though his heart is racing like he’s got a blade against his throat.
Just when Feng Xin is starting to worry that Mu Qing will never speak to him again, he finally says, “Congratulations. I think that might be the stupidest idea you’ve ever had.” He sounds… pissed off, yeah, but not as pissed off as Feng Xin thought he would be. Mostly, he sounds wary. “You want to—to kiss me again?”
Yes. More than anything.
Out loud, Feng Xin says, “I just don’t want you holding a bad kiss over my head for the rest of eternity. Are you gonna let me make this up to you or are you gonna be a little bitch about it?”
“You’re an idiot.” Mu Qing crosses his arms, raising one eyebrow imperiously. “Well. What are you waiting for? Make it up to me.”
Huh. Feng Xin offered, but he didn’t really expect Mu Qing to say yes. His stomach somersaults, victorious and in disbelief.
“Oh,” he starts, very smoothly. “Yeah. Let me just—okay.”
Feng Xin takes a step forward and Mu Qing inhales sharply, freezing in place. Off to a great start. He’s impossibly tense, arms still crossed tightly over his chest, eyeing Feng Xin like he’s waiting for some kind of ambush. Whether that’s a result of Mu Qing’s inexperience or his naturally combative disposition, Feng Xin couldn’t tell you.
“Close your eyes,” Feng Xin huffs, trying (and failing) to be patient.
“Why? Trying to trick me?”
“People usually close their eyes when they kiss, stupid.”
“I know that!” Mu Qing snaps. He shuts his eyes and scowls. “This is going terribly, by the way. I don’t know how you expect to make things up to me when you—you—”
His voice goes strangled and quiet when Feng Xin’s fingers touch his face, tracing his cheekbone with unprecedented gentleness. Bet you didn’t see that coming, fucker, Feng Xin thinks smugly, like his own mouth hasn’t gone dry at the touch of skin against skin, like his hands aren’t trembling.
Feng Xin tucks Mu Qing’s hair behind his ear—an impulse he’s been fighting for years—and trails his hand down to cup his jaw. By some miracle, Mu Qing allows it.
It’s strange—ever since they first met, Mu Qing has felt so close and yet so far away. Unknowable, but still the person Feng Xin knows best. Untouchable, unless somebody’s started throwing punches.
But in the end, it’s startlingly easy for Feng Xin to close that distance, leaning forward and slotting their lips together like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
At first, he tries to focus on keeping it sweet and chaste, all the things a first kiss ought to be. But then Mu Qing makes a noise, a little sound in the back of his throat, and Feng Xin can’t focus on anything at all. His mind goes blank, all coherent thought lost in the soft press of their mouths.
It’s only when he pulls away that he realizes this is probably the only time in his life that he’ll ever be able to properly kiss Mu Qing. At least he made it count.
“How was that?” he asks. His voice comes out quieter than he wanted but somehow remarkably even, so he takes that as a win.
Mu Qing’s eyes are still closed, long lashes fanned darkly against his flushed cheeks. After a long moment, they flutter open and Mu Qing looks at him like—Feng Xin doesn’t know. Mu Qing hasn’t ever looked at him like this before. Feng Xin’s never seen Mu Qing look at anyone like this before.
Then he smirks and says, “Terrible.”
“What?” Feng Xin gapes. “You’re full of shit. That was a good kiss!”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “For an amateur, maybe,” he sneers, which is rich, considering he’s the only amateur here. “Kissing me like I’m some fragile maiden.”
Oh, that sets Feng Xin’s blood alight. Mu Qing doesn’t want him to be gentle? He can work with that. He advances forward, moving with purpose, but slow enough that Mu Qing has ample time to tell him to fuck off or shove him away.
He doesn’t.
As always, they’re in sync, walking together until Mu Qing’s back hits the wall.
“What are you doing?” he asks, eyes wide and bright and focused on Feng Xin’s mouth.
“Trying again.”
“Who said you could try again?” Mu Qing says, but he’s gripping the front of Feng Xin’s tunic, dragging him in closer.
“What?” His hands find Mu Qing’s waist. “Scared?”
“Never,” Mu Qing snarls, warm breath ghosting across Feng Xin’s lips. “Do your worst, you—”
Feng Xin kisses him again. Harder this time, greedily swallowing down the outraged string of insults Mu Qing was undoubtably about to throw at him.
Where the first kiss was unexpectedly sweet, this one is desperate, dizzying. Maybe he’s never understood Mu Qing very well, but Feng Xin knows his body like his own—centuries of brawling has taught them how to move together, how to give as good as they get. What Mu Qing lacks in experience, he makes up for in determination and sheer spite, kissing back with bruising force.
It suddenly strikes Feng Xin, as he’s dragging his teeth over Mu Qing’s plush lower lip, that they might be getting a bit carried away. This is a little obscene for a first kiss! But then Mu Qing makes another noise—something choked off and needy that Feng Xin wants to burn into his memory forever—and again, no thinking. Just heat and closeness and the slick warmth of Mu Qing’s tongue.
The kiss goes on too long. Long enough to hollow Feng Xin out until he’s nothing but a deep chasm of hunger, burning with a desire for more. He wants to trail kisses down the sharp edge of Mu Qing’s jaw. He wants to suck a dark, claiming bruise on the pale expanse of his neck, something he couldn’t cover with those stupid high collars he always wears. They’re so close already but Feng Xin wants them closer, he wants—
He wants too much. And this has already been far more than he ever dared to hope for.
He somehow manages to wrench himself away from the kiss, breathing heavily. Mu Qing leans forward, chasing after him just a little bit, just enough to make Feng Xin’s stomach flip.
“Well?” he asks. This time, his voice definitely doesn’t come out even.
Mu Qing blinks at him, dazed, like Feng Xin’s just presented him with a particularly difficult math problem instead of a one word question. He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. Feng Xin allows himself a brief moment of gleeful satisfaction at finally managing to render Mu Qing completely speechless.
Of course, the moment is too brief. All at once, Mu Qing seems to process the question, going rigid in Feng Xin’s arms. He quickly turns his head to the side, as though that will hide how red his face is.
“Your technique is sloppy.”
Feng Xin squawks in indignation. This is the thanks he gets for kissing Mu Qing stupid? His technique is not fucking sloppy.
Mu Qing clearly disagrees. “Slobbering all over me like—like an animal. Disgusting.”
“Fuck you, let me try again—”
Mu Qing puts a hand over Feng Xin’s mouth, pushing him back. “Not—not now.”
Feng Xin is about to try and lick Mu Qing’s hand, or maybe bite him, when the words sink in and he goes very still.
Not now? He couldn’t possibly mean—does Mu Qing want to do this again? Feng Xin fights the urge to pinch himself, to check and make sure this isn’t some strange, elaborate dream.
“Later?” he asks, just to confirm. His voice is slightly muffled by the hand over his mouth.
Mu Qing’s eyes rake over Feng Xin’s face, searching. Who knows what he’s looking for, but whatever he finds makes him step back, uncovering Feng Xin’s mouth and tucking his hands back into his sleeves.
He gives a short, sharp nod. “Later.”
Holy shit. He really does want to do it again.
This whole time, Feng Xin has been waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Mu Qing to tell him this was a one-time mistake that never should have happened, for this to become just another thing they never talk about. He can hardly believe that Mu Qing agreed to let Feng Xin kiss him once, never mind that he actually wants Feng Xin to do it more.
Damn, Mu Qing must be pretty upset about how bad that accidental first kiss was. That’s the only explanation Feng Xin can think of as to why he’d be willing to keep this going.
“When is later?” Feng Xin can’t help but ask. He’s aiming for nonchalant but probably misses it by a li.
He hopes later is very, very soon.
“You figure it out,” Mu Qing says, turning on his heel and starting down the hallway. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be making things up to me.”
“I will,” Feng Xin calls after him. Mu Qing’s back is turned, so he doesn’t bother trying to hide his grin. “You’d better get ready, I’m gonna blow your fucking mind!”
“Get off my property, Feng Xin.”
__________
Later ends up coming the very next week, while they’re finishing up an investigation together in the South.
Feng Xin had wanted it to happen sooner, but for some reason he kept losing his nerve. Perhaps he’s still struggling to wrap his head around the impossibility of it—that kissing Mu Qing could be something he’s allowed to do, even under circumstances as ludicrous as this.
Now, though—now Feng Xin is ready.
The timing is perfect. They’re alone, walking together out of a forest they’ve just successfully rid of any and all evil presence. The sun has started its descent from the sky, painting the horizon a rich amber. That’s good for kissing, right? Sunsets are romantic. Mu Qing has a little bit of blood in his hair from killing the demon they were hunting but the warm light of golden hour catches him just right, practically makes him glow.
(Technically, Mu Qing is in his Fu Yao form, but he still looks like himself. He always looks like himself—too vain to let go of that that same elegant bone-structure, no matter what form he takes. It would bother Feng Xin more if he didn’t like looking at the bastard’s face so much.)
Mu Qing is never not beautiful (it’s one of the most irritating things about him) but he’s especially stunning like this—at ease, just the two of them, with no one to perform for. He looks softer than usual, even as he complains about the mountain of paperwork they’ll inevitably have to handle when they finally return to the heavens.
Feng Xin should just go for it, shouldn’t he? No time like the present.
“Hey, fucker,” he says, catching Mu Qing by the edge of one of his long ass sleeves, bringing them both to a halt. The glare he receives is only mildly mutinous, so Feng Xin takes that as a good sign. “Let me try again?”
“Try again?” Mu Qing’s eyes narrow before widening in understanding. “You mean—”
“Yeah.”
“Now? That’s—” He clears his throat. “Sure. Fine. Whatever.” He squares his shoulders like he’s getting ready to take a punch. “Do it, then.”
“Eager?”
“You are.”
They both glare at each other. No one does anything. It looks more like they’re preparing for a brawl than a kiss.
This… is not going the way Feng Xin planned it would.
He clears his throat too, which somehow fails to make the situation any less awkward. “You look… nice.”
“What?” Mu Qing blinks at him like he’s just grown a second head. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s a fucking compliment! I’m setting the mood!”
“Well, you’re bad at it! Just! Just kiss me already.” Mu Qing crosses his arms and squeezes his eyes shut, as though this will effectively end their conversation.
Feng Xin can’t help it—he bursts out laughing, some of the tension bleeding out of his body.
“Bossy,” he murmurs, finally pressing in close. There’s more fondness in his voice than he’d like to admit.
He smooths his hands down Mu Qing’s shoulders, which have practically risen to his ears in embarrassment. At first brush, he goes even more stiff, before slowly relaxing with a long exhale.
As a god, Feng Xin has done all sorts of fantastic, impossible things, but even his most exhilarating feats couldn’t hold a candle to this—the simple, heady feeling of Mu Qing unspooling under his touch.
“Just, y’know, confirming,” Feng Xin pauses just a few inches from Mu Qing’s face, “you’re sure this isn’t going to fuck with your cultivation?”
Mu Qing opens his eyes just to roll them. “I think I know how my cultivation works better than you do. It’s fine, we just can’t—” he flushes suddenly and shakes his head, frowning. “Never mind. It’s only kissing. Like I said, it’s fine.”
“Okay,” Feng Xin says, trying very hard not to think about whatever images popped into Mu Qing’s mind to make him blush like that. “Then let’s fucking do this.”
Despite all that bravado, the kiss itself is a tender, quiet thing. Nothing fancy, just the gentle pressure of Mu Qing’s soft lips, tentative and warm. Feng Xin’s fingers tangle in the strands of Mu Qing’s ponytail, shorter than usual in this form, but still silky smooth.
It’s funny—they look so much like their younger, human selves when they’re wearing their Nan Feng and Fu Yao disguises. Feng Xin’s mind can’t help but drift to the way things were back then, the way things might have been if they’d done this properly, all those years ago.
It’s a stupid daydream. At the time, Feng Xin hadn’t even realized that kissing Mu Qing was something he wanted; the desire buried so deep underneath layers of resentment and misunderstanding. And Mu Qing, of course, has never really wanted him, even back then. Still, he can’t help but feel wistful imagining it—who they could have been, what they could have meant to each other if they’d reached out instead of constantly pushing away.
Feng Xin barely remembers his own first kiss, other than the fact that it was clumsy and brief, shared at a festival with a girl whose face he can no longer picture clearly. He wouldn’t mind replacing those few fleeting memories with this moment.
When Feng Xin eventually draws back, he takes the opportunity to savor the glazed, hungry expression on Mu Qing’s face. Might as well memorize it while he can, since this was probably his last chance to see it. This was a good kiss—surely it was enough, right?
“So?” he asks, resignation collecting in his stomach like sediment. “How was that?”
Feng Xin steels himself, waiting for Mu Qing to drop the hammer.
Which he does, but not in the way Feng Xin expected.
“Boring,” Mu Qing tells him, smiling sweetly.
That is just. Objectively untrue. “What? You’re fucking with me, that was not boring.”
“Hmm, what was that?” Mu Qing yawns. “Your kiss nearly put me to sleep.”
Feng Xin is going to throttle him. “You little—”
“Not good enough,” he intones, smirking. “Try again later.”
Another later.
“You really want me to keep trying?”
In typical Mu Qing fashion, he bristles at the mere idea of wanting anything from Feng Xin. The smirk drops from his face, replaced by a glare. “I don’t care what you do. But if you meant what you said about the redo—”
“Of course I fucking meant it. I said I’d give you a better first kiss, so I’m gonna give you a better first kiss. I don’t go back on my word.”
Mu Qing gives him a long look, before turning with a scoff. “How noble.”
Oh, if only nobility had anything to do with this.
Mu Qing has already started walking away, so Feng Xin races to catch up with him.
“Should we make, I don’t know, rules or something?” Feng Xin asks. At Mu Qing’s sidelong glance, he adds, “If we’re going to keep doing this?”
Mu Qing’s expression shifts from questioning to suspicious at the drop of a hat. “Why would we need rules?”
Is he being dense on purpose, or does he really need Feng Xin to spell it out? The answer feels obvious to him—but then again, Mu Qing can’t seem to understand lots of things that are obvious to Feng Xin.
“So I don’t make you uncomfortable.” Feng Xin sighs, face heating. “I don’t want to do something you don’t like.”
He half expects Mu Qing to snap back with something snarky and flippant, a “Since when have you cared about what I like?” or something similarly infuriating, but it doesn’t come. Instead, there’s a pause, followed by a surprisingly quiet, “Fine.”
Huh.
“Okay,” Feng Xin says, nodding to himself. “How many times can I try per day?”
Mu Qing turns to look at him so quickly, it’s surprising he doesn’t give himself whiplash. “You want to kiss me multiple times a day?”
Yes. “No! Obviously I don’t, it’s just—efficient.” Feng Xin gestures vaguely. “So we can be done with this sooner.”
For some reason, that makes Mu Qing’s expression sour. He starts walking faster. “Too bad. You get one a day.”
Feng Xin picks up his pace to keep in step with him. “Can I kiss you in front of other people?”
“No.” Mu Qing makes a face like he’s bitten an unripe fruit. “Why would you want to kiss me in front of other people? Does Ju Yang need an audience? Are you some kind of pervert?”
“I’m not a fucking pervert! I just—”
Their conversation devolves from there, but somehow Feng Xin manages to get all of the most important boundary information out of Mu Qing, even as they argue.
One attempt a day, nothing more than kissing, never in front of anyone, and no one—especially Xie Lian—can know about it.
The only rule that goes unspoken is the one holding this whole thing together: that this arrangement is temporary, lasting only until Feng Xin gives Mu Qing a kiss good enough to make up for the one he accidentally stole from him. They aren’t doing this because Mu Qing likes kissing Feng Xin. They’re doing it to settle a debt—because they’re friends now, because it’s the right and proper thing to do.
Feng Xin will continue to remind himself of that simple fact over and over again, as many times as he needs to.
Can’t get too comfortable when he knows it’s just going to end.