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Chapter Text

When the thugs drag Wang Zhi out into the courtyard, Sui Zhou assumes that’s who they're here for. Sui Zhou hasn't been involved in anything that could lead to gangs of armed men breaking into his house, and to his knowledge, the most exciting cases Tang Fan has been investigating recently are the disappearance of a tailor's favorite hen and a neighborly dispute about plum trees. Somebody, Sui Zhou assumes, must have followed him and Wang Zhi when they made their way here, Wang Zhi's thick covering of mud from his fall into the potter's pit an insufficient disguise from the spies of whatever enemy was waiting for his chance.

Wang Zhi has finished his bath and shed his coating of mud, but his hair is still wet and falling in loose tangles around his shoulders and down his back. He's barefoot, wearing only white underpants and an underrobe that does not fit him (Sui Zhou's?) and hangs open about his chest. His face is completely blank, locked into slightly sullen impassivity that – to Sui Zhou – looks like he is plotting the slow, painful death of everyone in the courtyard.

Sui Zhou thinks, with the cold, detached focus of combat, that he will be able to use the distraction of Wang Zhi's death to free himself from the grip of the men holding him on his knees. These people are no more than thugs; the way they have positioned themselves around the yard is far from ideal, and their leader is the only one with a military posture. Most of them are armed with knives only. Of course, Sui Zhou is not armed at all right now – but one of the men behind him has a sword, and is holding it at Sui Zhou's throat, conveniently within reach. And once he has a sword... once he is free and has a sword, he will kill them all.

And he knows, with a tangled rush of steel-cold emotion that rises into his throat to choke him like blood, that he will never forgive Wang Zhi for being careless enough to get himself killed like this: by a band of common thugs, barefoot and with his hair undone, in Sui Zhou's house, in front of Sui Zhou.

But then the thug manhandling Wang Zhi laughs, pulling him up short in the middle of the courtyard and turning him to face the gang's leader. His hand is clenched around the back of Wang Zhi's neck as though he's holding an unruly puppy. He even shakes him a little. "Look what I found in Baihu Sui's bedroom. It's a boy!"

Wang Zhi offers no resistance, obligingly moving where he is pushed. His expression is closed tighter than the gates of the inner palace. Sui Zhou is the one who blinks, because – it's a boy?

A dizzying wave of relief washes over him a split second later. Whoever these people are, they have no idea who Wang Zhi is. They are here for Sui Zhou. They are still a danger to them both, of course, and if Tang Fan comes home now, the situation will get even worse. And yet, he is relieved, because now, there is a chance that Sui Zhou will not have to watch Wang Zhi die this day.

The thugs break into jeers and lewd suggestions, jumping straight to the most obvious and, at the same time, most utterly wrong explanation for Wang Zhi's presence. It's fortunate Wang Zhi was able to get partially dressed; even these men would probably have thought a bit further if they'd realized the "boy" they'd found was a eunuch. Even as it is, Sui Zhou cannot help but feel that they are inexcusable fools for looking at Wang Zhi, of all people, and seeing a harmless bed warmer.

Yes, Wang Zhi is half-naked, his hair is indecent, and Sui Zhou's borrowed robe is now threatening to slide from one of his shoulders. But it isn't the dragon-embroidered robes of office that make him a man to be reckoned with, and the calculating sharpness of his gaze is exactly the same as ever. An opponent who assessed Sui Zhou with that kind of steely, assured patience... that was an opponent he would take very seriously, regardless of their state of dress or how young and attractive they might be.

"Who'd have thought." The thugs' leader is a large, athletic man with a nose flattened by many fights, chest broad as a barrel and banded with muscle. His clothing is a cut above his men's in quality, but just as bare of seals or insignia. His sword is of middling quality, and not military issue. A mercenary, a gang leader, or someone's private enforcer? "Our strict and haughty baihu is neglecting his duties to run home and fuck pretty boys in the middle of the day. Not such a paragon of virtue after all, are we?"

Whoever he is, he now steps forward and looks Wang Zhi up and down, leering demonstratively. Behind him, Wang Zhi lifts his gaze to Sui Zhou and raises his brows the slightest fraction.

So he doesn't know who sent these men, either. Not surprising, really, considering it's becoming more and more obvious they hold some kind of grudge against Sui Zhou, even if he's never seen them before. "What do you want?" Sui Zhou asks again, only to be summarily ignored, just as before. The blade at his neck presses closer, nicking his skin, and the men holding him on his knees twist his arms a little bit higher on his back.

"A little old, maybe," the leader chuckles, and reaches out to grip the second most dangerous man in the empire by the chin and lift up his face. Sui Zhou jerks a little at the insane audacity of it, and has to stifle a gasp as he wrenches his arms. "He does have a lovely mouth, though. What's your name, pretty boy?"

Wang Zhi narrows his eyes at the man, cold and deadly as winter in the steppe. "What's yours?"

And in that moment, to his horror, Sui Zhou realizes that the idiot thug is right about something, after all. Wang Zhi does have a lovely mouth – the type of mouth seen on every idealized portrait of fabled beauties, sweet and full and rosebud-shaped.

This was not something he needed to know about the Commander of the Western Depot. Sui Zhou is a great believer in the strategic restriction of knowledge, and this... this is dangerous knowledge that he did not need.

Head Thug chuckles again. He turns a bit more to the side, giving Sui Zhou a grin full of malice as he slowly and deliberately rubs his thumb over Wang Zhi's lower lip. Wang Zhi does not react; does not move at all, frozen into waiting stillness. "You like them spirited, huh?"

Sui Zhou does like them spirited. What he does not like is the speculative glint in the thug's eye. The situation is now well on its way to becoming the kind of horror worthy of joining the slaughter and devastation in his nightmares. Wang Zhi will not break, he knows that. Not for something like this; not for anything this man could possibly do. But Sui Zhou –

"He has nothing to do with this." There is too much venom in his voice, but there's nothing he can do to stop it. "Lock him up in the house, and we can talk."

It's a strategic error – he knows it as soon as the words leave his mouth. The look of disgust Wang Zhi levels at him is subtle, but scorching, and Sui Zhou wants to swallow everything back down when it's already far too late, and the thug is watching him with a cruel, knowing smirk.

"But then how would I get you to behave, huh? And besides, your little whore is so nice to look at." He turns back to Wang Zhi, thumbing his lip again, more slowly. "I want to keep him around. In fact, you know what? I want to watch this pretty mouth suck someone. Who it will be... well. That's up to you, Baihu Sui."

He doesn't know what to do.

His heart skips into a panicked rush, and he fights for breath as his blood turns to shards of ice. This is going terribly wrong, and he doesn't know how to stop it, how to protect – Wang Zhi should not have to endure this. Nobody should. He's bright and sharp and cunning, but he can be hurt just as easily as anyone, and Sui Zhou – it's his job to protect him, he wants to, it's up to him, but he doesn't know how –

Desperation claws at his guts, tearing him open, spilling him out onto black and rotten ground. Bloodied bodies and abandoned swords and the reek of the battlefield rise all around. Nausea climbs his throat as he struggles to breathe without gagging on the stench of death. And Wang Zhi – he's – Sui Zhou can't protect him. He can't protect anyone. Not when it truly counts. He is -

Wang Zhi makes an odd, quiet sound and drops straight to the ground, right out of the thug's grip. Sui Zhou's head is swimming so badly he can hardly focus, the air thin and cold in his lungs and the wrenching pain in his arms almost too distant to notice. What...? Something is happening, he needs to – Wang Zhi. He has to protect -

Something is happening. Wang Zhi is crawling across the courtyard on his hands and knees, the open robe dragging across the dirt. His gaze is locked on Sui Zhou with fierce focus, and something is wrong with his expression. Sui Zhou can't really focus right now, but if he didn't know better, he'd almost think that he looks worried.

By the time Wang Zhi is in front of him, Sui Zhou can breathe again, and the darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision is receding. Nobody has tried to stop Wang Zhi, and when Sui Zhou tears his eyes away from him for a second, he finds the thugs' leader openly ogling his ass.

Nobody tries to stop Wang Zhi even when he reaches Sui Zhou and curls into him, pressing his face into Sui Zhou's neck. His damp hair is cool against Sui Zhou's cheek, his breath hot on his throat. Sui Zhou's heart skips another beat, but this time the reason his breath comes shorter is just confusion, and maybe the fact that he's never been this close to Wang Zhi, or to anyone he wasn't sleeping with.

Without thinking at all, Sui Zhou tries to put an arm around Wang Zhi, but of course the thugs behind him don't let him. Wang Zhi puts his arms around him, instead, draped lightly over the thugs' hold.

The sword at Sui Zhou's throat is gone. He doesn't remember when it was taken away. He also doesn't know what his part in this is meant to be, so he does nothing, and holds himself ready.

"Looks like our little whore has a preference," the thugs' leader drawls. "Alright then, let's start there. I'm not a bad guy, you know."

If he says anything more, Sui Zhou misses it, because Wang Zhi is shivering a little. It's the cold; winter has yet to give way to spring, and it's nowhere near warm enough to be outside in underwear. Wang Zhi's exposed nipples are drawn to tiny, pink points, and Sui Zhou stares at them for too long and knows it; can only hope Wang Zhi doesn't care. It fits into the show he's putting on, anyway.

He smells like Tang Fan's bath salts, and the herbs Sui Zhou packs between his robes to keep away insects, and something more subtle and more alluring. And that is when, with the worst timing in the world, Sui Zhou realizes that the low thrum of heat awakening in his belly is not the result of the situation and an attractive young man practically rubbing himself against him. It doesn't even have that much to do with Wang Zhi's lovely mouth and handsome face, or his moon-pale, sleekly muscled body. It's that it's Wang Zhi, and that Sui Zhou knows he has a plan, and that the cool, narrow-eyed look he gave the thugs' leader earlier was akin to a death sentence, and that nobody in this courtyard is as dangerous as he. Nobody in this city, perhaps. Nobody in this whole damn country.

Sui Zhou has always admired competence.

Wang Zhi draws back a little so he can climb into Sui Zhou's lap, facing him and straddling his legs. He catches Sui Zhou's eyes and flicks his gaze down, imperious – an order. And Sui Zhou realizes that there is a hardness pressing against the outside of his leg that should definitely not be there.

A knife. There is a knife strapped to Wang Zhi's inner thigh.

His head clears immediately. A moment later, when Wang Zhi does something that makes the thug behind him bellow and release Sui Zhou's sword arm, Sui Zhou is ready. The knife slides into his hand eagerly, as though they'd practiced this, and the second thug falls back with a gurgling cry, blood spurting from beneath the hand he has pressed to his throat.

The memory of warmth and soft skin lingers on Sui Zhou's fingertips long after he has abandoned the knife for a sword – even when the courtyard has fallen silent again in the aftermath of the clashing weapons and hoarse cries of battle.

Chapter Text

Tang Fan's shocked exclamation can be heard all the way on the other side of the house. By the time he bursts into the kitchen wild-eyed and out of breath, Sui Zhou has already chopped a handful of scallion greens, and dropped an extra-large portion of noodles into the pot.

Wang Zhi waves a cordial greeting while sucking in another mouthful of noodles. He's in his usual chair at the kitchen table, his hair tied up in a simple half-bun and swept back neatly behind his shoulders. Sui Zhou's best blue robes look twice as formal and expensive on him as Sui Zhou would previously have thought possible.

The naked relief on Tang Fan's face is wrenching, and Sui Zhou is immediately swarmed by guilt. Tang Fan should not have had to come home to a scene like the one in the courtyard – they should have done something about the bodies. It's only... Wang Zhi had been so cold his lips had been turning blue. And Sui Zhou...

Sui Zhou is still scattered, even now. He hasn't yet regained his footing. Cooking has always helped him ground himself. It's useful, and structured, and requires concentration without being stressful – and in the end he will have created something delicious and nourishing, that can be served to someone who will enjoy it. Tang Fan, usually... and sometimes, like today, Wang Zhi.

"I'm hungry, too," Tang Fan complains, after a long moment he spends staring at the hair falling down Wang Zhi's back. Sui Zhou can sympathize. It's distracting him, too, although it's a perfectly respectable style. It's just unexpected on this particular man."You'd better have saved some noodles for me. And I want a larger portion than him, because I'm sure it's his fault our yard is littered with bodies."

Wang Zhi's smile is crooked, and Sui Zhou can't be certain he isn't looking at his mouth for too long again. "How hurtful, Tang Fan. How unprofessional, too. Aren't you supposed to consider all the evidence before coming to a verdict?"

It's his usual light, half-serious teasing, but now, it feels different. Part of it is Sui Zhou's confused, ridiculous impulse to come to his defense, which he duly ignores – but that's only one part, and Sui Zhou isn't ready to deal with any of it.

He heaps Tang Fan's bowl high with noodles, beef and vegetables, and doesn't say anything. He doesn't have the right words yet. He will find some soon, though. He has to, because he wants to have Tang Fan consider the evidence and sort out a likely course of action. Tang Fan is better with this sort of thing... most of the time, at least. And even when he isn't, Wang Zhi usually lets him get away with his gaffes because he likes him. It works out either way.

"You're wearing Sui Zhou's clothes." Tang Fan's brows are drawn together, hovering halfway between confusion and suspicion.

Wang Zhi smirks. "This is why you are renowned for your investigative skills, Tang Fan. Nothing escapes you."

When Sui Zhou deposits the noodles in front of Tang Fan, he is subjected to a pointed glare and a slightly petulant frown, both of which demand information. He still doesn't have the words, though – especially not in front of Wang Zhi – so he just shrugs, and goes back to filling his shrimp dumplings.

"Someone will be by to clean up." Wang Zhi stands and turns to give Sui Zhou the politest, most distant and appropriate of shallow bows. "Thank you for the meal, Baihu Sui. If you feel the Western Depot's assistance would be beneficial to your investigation..."

With a loud clatter, Tang Fan drops his chopsticks.

Sui Zhou jumps at the sudden noise, and has to stop and just breathe for a moment. When he recovers, Tang Fan is wide-eyed and astonished, gaze flying back and forth between him and Wang Zhi as though he's never seen them before. Then, he closes his mouth and leaps up to grab Wang Zhi by the arm.

He grabs Wang Zhi – the Commander of the Western Depot, arguably the most dangerous man in the damn empire – by the arm. And then, he drags him back to the table, and pushes him down into his seat. And Wang Zhi just... lets him.

One of these days Sui Zhou's heart is going to explode from the stress of being around Tang Fan.

On the other hand, to be fair: Sui Zhou is the one who stuck his hand down the Commander of the Western Depot's underpants. He's the one who can't seem to stop himself from staring at the man's lovely mouth, and has been trying hard and with limited success to think only virtuous thoughts while he does. And he's also the one who has been unable to prevent himself from dwelling on the fact that the arguably most dangerous man in the damn empire is pleasingly lithe and muscular in a way Sui Zhou would not have expected from a court official – not bulky by any means, but definitely well-trained in some form of combat.

Evidently, he and Tang Fan are a matched pair of suicidal fools, at least when it comes to this particular man.

"You can't walk out of here looking like that," Tang Fan admonishes, shaking a stern finger in Wang Zhi's face. "Stay right there. Don't move."

Tang Fan rushes out in the next second, leaving the forgotten noodles steaming on the table – and Wang Zhi stays. He does move, though, first to turn and quirk quizzical eyebrows at Sui Zhou (Sui Zhou can only shake his head in reply), and then to lean over and steal some of Tang Fan's scallion-sprinkled beef. He shoots Sui Zhou a mischievous little grin as he does. It makes him look absurdly young.

Wang Zhi stays until Tang Fan returns with a comb and various accessories he arranges on the table; he doesn't leave even when Tang Fan unceremoniously pulls the tie from his hair and loosens it with his hands, as casually as though it were the most normal and expected thing in the world. When Tang Fan arranges his hair down his back, smooths it into place with a palm and begins to carefully comb it out, Wang Zhi looks over at Sui Zhou, wide-eyed and oddly, uncharacteristically uncertain – but even then, he stays, and doesn't say or do anything to stop Tang Fan, and Sui Zhou finds he has forgotten how to breathe.

Walking over to the table seems like a journey of a thousand miles, but nothing could keep him away. Tang Fan doesn't even look up when he stops next to them – just grabs a jar of scented oil to shove into his hands. Sui Zhou can't open it because he can't tear his gaze away from Tang Fan gently pulling the comb through Wang Zhi's hair. He feels shaky and unsteady with the intimacy of it.

"So, I've been thinking about my new romance novel." Tang Fan is trying too hard for a casual tone; it's the first sign he's given that he isn't quite as self-assured as he appears. "I want to branch out a little. Capture a new market, you know. A eunuch as one of the romantic leads would be ideal. Any thoughts?"

Silence falls in the wake of the question. It swells until it seems to fill the room, heavy and oppressive, stealing all the air from Sui Zhou's lungs. He doesn't like the blankness that has fallen over Wang Zhi's face – it reminds him too much of how he looked when that leering thug touched him. So he takes in a long, unsteady breath against the oppressive silence, gathers himself, and is just about to speak when Tang Fan shakes his head, not looking up from the gleaming fall of hair he's working on.

Fine, then. He releases his air in a loud sigh, and simply waits. Not long after, Tang Fan decides Wang Zhi's hair has been sufficiently combed; Sui Zhou helps him work oil into the entire length, and watches Tang Fan separate it into sections. He twists and braids with a neatness and care Sui Zhou has never seen him afford his own styling, and fixes the topknot in place with his favorite pin before stepping back with a somber nod. "There you go. All done."

Wang Zhi looks to Sui Zhou first when he rises to face them. His gaze is sharp and cool, interrogative, and Sui Zhou finds himself tongue-tied and gut-punched like a youth in the throes of a violent crush. All of his words abandon him in an instant.

But Wang Zhi is waiting for an answer, and there is only one possible way for Sui Zhou to reply.

He's taller than Wang Zhi, but not by all that much. Wang Zhi's lips part slightly just before Sui Zhou brushes them with his own. Perhaps he was about to say something – but he doesn't, in the end.

His mouth is soft and warm and intoxicating, and far more lovely to kiss than to look at. He smells of Tang Fan's bath salts, the subtle cedar notes of Sui Zhou's hair oil, and himself. By the time Sui Zhou draws back, his world has shifted into a new shape, realigning itself once again.

"I think," Wang Zhi starts, and then catches himself short. The blankness has fled his expression; his eyes are huge and stunned, his mouth is soft and sweet, and Sui Zhou wants him with a slow, deep burn that already threatens to consume him. "It's... an interesting idea."

He forgets to take his mud-encrusted dragon robes when he leaves. Tang Fan eats his noodles with a broad, silly grin on his face, and doesn't even complain that they've gone cold and soggy. And Sui Zhou...

He still doesn't have the right words. But he thinks he might not need them, after all.