Chapter Text
The next bundle of missives needed to go not just to the Gusu Lan but to the Yunmeng Jiang and several smaller territories and sects as well. Meng Yao would be on the road for longer than he’d liked, but he would have several days in Cloud Recesses before he was required to return. He resolutely had no opinion on that fact.
Chifeng-zun sat at the desk in his private quarters much as he had the week prior, only this time the desk was covered in newly-sealed letters. Once his final count of them was done, he let out his breath. “All there. Take these with you. Careful of the Wen.”
“Of course, Sect Leader,” Meng Yao said from where he stood in front of the desk ready to accept them. Before he did, however, he added, “Would you also like me to deliver any personal messages to Zewu-jun?”
And without hesitation, Chifeng-zun said, “Yes, yes, come here.”
Meng Yao had been expecting hesitation. But no. Chifeng-zun beckoned him around the desk and, when Meng Yao got there, he snagged his wrist and pulled him bodily into his lap.
“Oh.” Meng Yao turned wide eyes on Chifeng-zun.
“Are you sure you’re willing to bear these messages?” Chifeng-zun demanded.
Meng Yao was touched that he would even ask. “Absolutely,” he said firmly, like he wasn’t quietly dying that the hands he’d been having significant fantasies about for the past week weren’t holding him still when he tried to shift. How could he possibly give up the conceit now, the glorious plausible deniability? It was like a gift that he had only just begun to discover the shape of.
Chifeng-zun nodded briskly, leaned in to claim Meng Yao’s lips, and they proceeded to pick up where they had left off.
The kiss began open-mouthed, Chifeng-zun’s tongue insistent. His hands smoothed their way up Meng Yao’s back, stroking his spine. Warmth spread from the contact, as possessive as it was, and he felt himself relaxing out of the tension he’d been carrying seemingly since the moment they’d parted last week.
This time, when he shifted himself to straddle Chifeng-zun’s lap, he wasn’t stopped, though their kiss did break. Warm breath puffed over his cheek as he turned his head to make sure he didn’t land his knees anywhere inconvenient, and he settled with his legs parted around Chifeng-zun’s hips. Then he dove in once more, unwilling to let a single kiss be all that he was going to get today, not when Chifeng-zun’s hands were still caressing their way down his sides to curl over his hips and hitch him that much closer.
Meng Yao did not deny himself the opportunity to touch, either, and slid his hands up Chifeng-zun’s chest. Hard muscles jumped beneath his fingers as he traced the shape of impressive pectorals hidden beneath the layers of gray and silver robe. He smoothed the fabric over them, then up over Chifeng-zun’s shoulders until he could loop his arms behind his neck and press their torsos together.
With a hard breath from his nose too quiet to call a snort, Chifeng-zun shifted his hands forward and down to Meng Yao’s ass and began to squeeze.
Sparks skittered up Meng Yao’s spine as Chifeng-zun kneaded the meat of his ass, and he had to pull away to pant against Chifeng-zun’s lips.
Arousal thrummed through him, and without thinking he ground down into Chifeng-zun’s lap. They were both hard, and Chifeng-zun hard enough in such a short amount of time that Meng Yao hazily considered the idea that they’d both come into the room today anticipating something like this.
Chifeng-zun groaned and dragged Meng Yao against him using his grip on his ass, grinding his trapped length up against Meng Yao’s own.
Unable to swallow his strangled hngh, Chifeng-zun did it for him, kissing him hard and thoroughly for the space of a long breath before pulling away.
He rested his forehead against Meng Yao’s, then, and just breathed.
Meng Yao—there really was no dignified way to describe it—squirmed in his lap to try and keep things going, because this was nearly worse than the tease from last week. But Chifeng-zun’s hands (fuck) had returned to his hips and he had no leverage whatsoever.
When both of their breaths had slowed enough for reasonably-steady speech, Chifeng-zun said, “You pass this on.”
Meng Yao was going to scream. Or bite. “As you wish,” he agreed and if there was a bit of a snap in his words, that was fine, because Chifeng-zun only chuckled and flexed his hands around Meng Yao’s hips before letting him go entirely.
“Go so you can come back,” Chifeng-zun told him.
Extracting himself from Chifeng-zun’s lap wasn’t awkward only because of the light touches Chifeng-zun kept leaving on Meng Yao’s thigh, his knee, his calf, like he couldn’t help himself. Like he was restraining himself.
Unnecessarily, Meng Yao snarled internally.
Outwardly, however, he smiled when he was once more upright and said, “I will return upon schedule, Sect leader,” and both of them had to be content with that.
⸘◦✉◦‽
Had he been received in the hanshi so much before? Surely he would have noticed when such a thing started, considering it was Zewu-jun’s private quarters, but Meng Yao couldn’t recall. Or, rather, he could remember exactly when it had started. Assigning any meaning to it had proved fruitless at the time. Now, however, he wondered.
Even so, he was in the hanshi after meandering his way through all the tiny sects between the Unclear Realm, Lotus Pier, and finally Cloud Recesses. He was tired of strained smiles and whispers behind hands about his parentage, though his status as not-quite-wartime emissary had been quieting those little by little. Lingering near the now-closed door of the hanshi with Zewu-jun holding his final delivered letter, Meng Yao just wanted Zewu-jun.
“Did you give Mingjue my message from last time?” Zewu-jun asked as if it was an entirely innocent question.
“Yes. He—” Meng Yao dipped his chin and lowered his eyes. “He appreciated it, I believe.”
“Excellent.” Zewu-jun beamed. “You’re very talented, Young Master Meng. I’m glad that you are getting the acknowledgement that is only your due.”
Meng Yao had to wrestle his heart back into some semblance of a functional organ because while that could have been a double-entendre, it had been delivered with such earnestness. When he finally did, he ventured, “I also have a return message from Sect Leader Nie.”
And that, if Meng Yao was not mistaken, was genuine surprise on Zewu-jun’s face.
Concern flickered within him. They had, after all, only started whatever this was during his last visit and that kiss had been more-or-less chaste. He had no idea if Zewu-jun would even be amenable to what Chifeng-zun and he had enjoyed.
But once Zewu-jun recovered, his smile seemed only to brighten. “Then I would be glad to receive it.”
He looked like he meant it, but Meng Yao couldn’t help but search his face. There was nothing hidden in Zewu-jun’s smile, though, or if there wasn’t, he couldn’t find it. So he said, “You’re going to have to sit behind the desk, I’m afraid.”
“Am I?” Zewu-jun asked, amused, but he dutifully made his way to his low desk and folded himself down behind it. Meng Yao trailed after him. Once Zewu-jun had made himself comfortable, he tilted his face up and asked, “What next?”
Before he could lose his nerve, Meng Yao straddled Zewu-jun’s lap.
“Oh!” Zewu-jun sounded delighted. He wrapped his arms around Meng Yao, steadying him, holding him close. The simple affection in it, the casual and natural way Zewu-jun accepted him into an embrace made Meng Yao’s heart flip over in his chest.
Meng Yao pressed a hand to his sternum and struggled to do more than gaze at Xichen’s face.
Xichen, entirely unaware of any such momentous events as the stirring of feelings Meng Yao had never expected to feel, prompted, “Is there kissing also?”
“There is,” Meng Yao breathed and leaned forward.
Once again, the kiss started chaste and firm, and Xichen seemed content enough with that. He tightened his arms around Meng Yao and kept things slow and easy.
Meng Yao, however, made an impatient noise in his throat and Xichen stilled for a second, only to resume even slower, working their lips together as if he didn’t have one meeting after another for the rest of the afternoon.
Feeling bold, Meng Yao darted his tongue against Xichen’s lips, and like he’d been waiting for permission to take Meng Yao’s mouth, Xichen immediately opened for him.
Xichen set about learning him, through licks and nips interspersed with bruising kisses until they matched each other shiver for shiver. His palm spread across Meng Yao’s shoulder blades before sinking to the small of his back and pressing in, forcing Meng Yao to arch his spine.
The opportunity to grind down wasn’t to be wasted, and Meng Yao did so experimentally.
The world spun and Meng Yao’s back hit the desk.
Papers and scrolls scattered, inkstone and candles and everything else hitting the floor of the hanshi as Xichen swept them aside and flattened Meng Yao with his weight. He ground himself against Meng Yao and made a sound low in his throat, and even with the ridiculous amount of layers the Lan wore between them, the feel of his hard length against him stoked the flame growing in Meng Yao’s belly.
“Beautiful,” murmured Xichen, pulling away to nose at Meng Yao’s jawline, to place a kiss against the pulse in his throat.
“Fuck,” Meng Yao gasped.
He wanted every one of the layers between them gone, but Xichen had him pinned, hands roving his face and sides while Meng Yao hung onto his shoulders so the next grind of his hips wouldn’t shove him right off the desk.
Xichen shifted so that he could slide a hand between them to rest upon where Meng Yao’s length lay within the folds of his own robes. He palmed him through the fabric and Meng Yao groaned.
And then Xichen sighed despite the tension still quivering between them, and pulled his hand away to run it down Meng Yao’s cheekbone. “I believe that is all for this particular message.” And he kissed Meng Yao on the nose.
Meng Yao lay panting, half-debauched on Xichen’s fucking desk, and said incredulously, “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Let me help you up,” Xichen said instead of responding, capturing Meng Yao’s hands and tugging him upright until he was sitting on the desk’s edge. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll have another message for Mingjue when you’re ready to leave, if you’re up for it.”
Meng Yao stared at Xichen and his beautiful fucking face and his kiss-bruised lips. If they had gone just a little bit longer, he would have come all over the inside of his robes.
He said, “I think I’ll be able to manage.”
⸘◦✉◦‽
Meng Yao was grateful, in a deeply annoyed way, that he had been given a private guest room with thick walls upon Xichen’s behest. The silencing talismans and fragrant oils, however, were simply mocking.
⸘◦✉◦‽
The last day of Meng Yao’s visit dawned clear and warm, spring on the cusp of summer, and he accompanied Xichen to breakfast with a flutter of anticipation low in his belly. They chatted about the Wen, about inconsequentials, and about Meng Yao’s upcoming journey home as he reversed his diplomatic tour to pick up all the return messages the sects might have. Between them lay the knowledge that Xichen was going to send a message back to the Unclean Realm with Meng Yao, and that the time when it must be given to be delivered was rapidly approaching.
Midmorning, after a few joint sect-related meetings, the two of them meandered back toward the hanshi. Cloud Recesses was quiet this time of day, most everyone at their duties or lessons, and the walkways among the private residences of the Lan were empty.
Out of the corner of Meng Yao’s eye, Xichen seemed flushed. It was time for final letters and farewells and, well.
The quiet between them grew strained enough that although the hanshi was several buildings down the walk, Meng Yao said, “Do you think your message for Sect Leader Nie—”
That was as far as he got. Xichen rounded upon him and Meng Yao barely had a chance to suck in his breath before their lips met. The sharp surprise of it flared his anticipation from warmth to heat.
Xichen yanked back almost immediately, however, and cast a swift glance back up the path. Then he grabbed Meng Yao’s hand and dragged him around the side of the nearest residence.
All of the residences, hanshi included, were rounded by privacy foliage, and whoever’s home this was had a well-trimmed tree with draping branches that shaded a section of the outer wall. Xichen backed him against the painted wood, under the tree and out of sight of the walkway.
“We’re not far from your—” Meng Yao protested before Xichen silenced him with a kiss.
One would think that Xichen had been suffering almost as much as Meng Yao these past few days. His hands trailed down Meng Yao’s sides and he licked intently into Meng Yao’s mouth. Meng Yao wasted no time in groping at Xichen’s chest, the muscles there rock-solid and flexing beneath his touch.
They were both panting hard by the time that Xichen pulled away and said, “I really couldn’t wait any longer.”
“Agreed,” Meng Yao said hurriedly and was rewarded with a hungry smile.
“Tell me if you mind,” Xichen said and then he was removing Meng Yao’s belt.
If Meng Yao’s, “No, no, not at all,” came out a little strangled, absolutely no one could blame him, not with Xichen working a hand through the layers of Meng Yao’s robe. “At your discretion, Zewu-jun.”
The delight in Xichen’s eyes sparked, but just as quickly anished into a frustrated hum. “Not enough—” Without warning, he hooked his hands beneath Meng Yao’s thighs and hauled him up the wall. “Around my waist.”
Meng Yao wrapped his legs around said waist immediately, and Xichen’s length was a large, hot pressure between his parted thighs. Xichen then hitched him higher against the wall, keeping him pressed against it with his chest and single hand under his ass.
Why became rapidly apparent as his other hand burrowed its way back into Meng Yao’s robes to close deliciously around his cock.
The noises that ripped from his throat had Xichen shushing him even as he began to stroke, too dry and too gently.
“Quiet, quiet,” Xichen said as he thumbed at the head of Meng Yao’s cock, like that would help. “Voices carry here. Hand over your mouth.”
“But—”
“Hand,” Xichen cut him off, starting to pull his own hand out of Meng Yao’s robes.
Meng Yao slapped a hand across his mouth, leaving the other clutching at Xichen’s arm. But Xichen wasn’t threatening to stop. Instead, he licked his palm before returning it to Meng Yao’s length wet, and the slide made Meng Yao very glad he was covering his own mouth.
Xichen tucked his face into the curve of Meng Yao’s neck and began to speak, to coax.
“That’s it,” he said, and as he spoke, he seemed determined to wring as many small sounds from Meng Yao as he could. He stroked, changing pressure and angle and speed with each hint at Meng Yao’s heightening pleasure, all the while murmuring into Meng Yao’s skin: “Soon the bell will ring, calling people from their classes, and the garden won’t be empty for long after that. You can't be loud now, but next time I’ll wait. Next time I’ll take you in the hanshi, my mouth on your cock.”
Panting through his fingers, Meng Yao whined and his cock leaked. Xichen’s palmed the head of his cock to spread it down the shaft. The wet noises of his strokes were almost louder than his heavy breaths.
The low murmur continued. “Or your mouth on mine, if you’d like that, and then we wouldn’t have to worry about noise at all, would we?”
Xichen did something clever with his fist, and Meng Yao’s breath shuddered out of him. The coil of his arousal tightened.
“I’m—” Meng Yao warned foolishly, like a fool, words muffled by his hand. “I’m about—”
Xichen stopped stroking.
No.
Sweetly, he said, “I’d wondered if you were close. You felt like it.”
He removed his hand entirely.
Meng Yao uncovered his mouth, emotions roiling in his chest, and hissed, “What are you doing?!”
“Sending you back to Mingjue.” Xichen kissed his way up the side of Meng Yao’s neck as Meng Yao panted, his climax ebbing away fraction by unwanted fucking fraction.
“Did you even come?” Meng Yao demanded, unable to fathom why Xichen had stopped.
Xichen chuckled into the side of his head. “Not any more than you did. Have patience, A-Yao. Patience.”
“No,” Meng Yao said, letting his head thump back against the wall. “No, absolutely not. We can’t just… I’ve waited weeks for this.”
“It hasn't been weeks. Maybe two weeks. Two and a half. And did you really wait?” Xichen asked. “Or did you use the silencing talismans?”
Meng Yao didn’t dignify the question with an answer. He wasn’t going to beg, either, not when Xichen seemed oddly determined...
“I promised,” Xichen said.
Meng Yao let out his breath in acquiescence. There was only one person he could promise anything about this to and, to his own shock, Meng Yao found himself strangely willing to see where that promise led.
Xichen kissed his way to Meng Yao’s lips, changing his grip on him to put both hands on his thighs, holding him up and letting him drop just enough so that their lengths brushed together through their robes. He kissed lazily with only the barest edge of the earlier hunger that he couldn’t quite seem to hide, and didn’t let either of them rut against each other.
They cooled down from their almost-high in the low dappled light of the tree hiding them from sight.
Meng Yao breathed with Xichen, relaxing into the kisses and letting his arms rest on Xichen’s biceps. His climax slowly eased into a heat he wasn’t going to be able to dispel anytime soon. Not when he was about to get in his bumpy carriage and be surrounded by people for the entire trip back.
Somewhere in the distance, the bell rang. Xichen’s shoulders shook as he laughed and set Meng Yao down.
“If you dirtied my belt,” Meng Yao threatened as Xichen started setting them both to rights. “The hanshi is barely thirty steps from here.”
Xichen patted Meng Yao’s restored belt in satisfaction and then led him back out to the walkway. He visibly considered the distance to the hanshi as they walked it; they still had to go get Xichen’s correspondence, after all.
After a moment, Xichen let out a small huff of laughter. “So it is.”
He hummed.
“Too bad that was still too far.”
Meng Yao’s heart did something horrible in his chest and all he could do was lower his gaze, fold his hands together in front of him, and watch Xichen helplessly out of the corner of his eye.
When they reached the hanshi, Xichen settled his hand low on Meng Yao’s back and escorted him up the steps. This helped with neither the heat nor the fluttering in his chest, but Meng Yao leaned into the touch regardless.
⸘◦✉◦‽
Meng Yao didn’t bother to be coy upon his return to the Unclean Realm. He dispensed with the polite fiction of handing over all of the business nonsense he’d collected on his way back from Cloud Recesses and all but dragged Chifeng-zun back to his private quarters. Before all this had started he wouldn’t have dared, but once the illustrious Zewu-jun had had a hand on one’s cock, a great many things in life seemed a great deal more possible.
At least Chifeng-zun seemed amused by Meng Yao’s grip on his sleeve.
“In a hurry?” Chifeng-zun asked, leaning back and slowing them down like the terrible person he was.
“I have a message for you,” he said. “From Zewu-jun.”
“Is that so?” Chifeng-zun said and Meng Yao was right. The man’s sense of humor was incredibly suspect.
Considering that he still wanted his mouth all over him, and perhaps also his hands, the argument could be made that Meng Yao’s personal taste was also incredibly suspect.
Meng Yao led Chifeng-zun into his rooms and shut the door firmly behind them, then turned and leaned back, willing himself to breathe. “That is so,” he finally agreed.
Chifeng-zun folded his arms in front of him. “Alright. Let’s have it.”
“I—” Meng Yao began and faltered. Because this was a lot more than a kiss.
Chifeng-zun had been enthusiastic about their previous dalliance, but this would cross a line. Many lines. Every line. No matter how encouraging Xichen was, sex could easily destroy his relationship with Chifeng-zun and his place with the Nie beyond repair. He could not and would not risk that without reassurance.
Something softened in Chifeng-zun’s expression. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“It’s not that,” Meng Yao said dismissively, then paused.
Perhaps they could clear things up without entirely dismantling the game or the framework that...he rather enjoyed, to be honest, the past week of unfortunately constant company aside. He wasn’t quite ready to give up the conceit.
“But,” he continued, “Zewu-jun said he promised you something”—and that little detail certainly got a reaction; Chifeng-zun’s eyebrows rose, his whole body language shifting to that of open interest—“and the circumstances in which I learned of said promise were vastly more intimate than your last message to him. Are you sure you want his message?”
A slow smile spread across Chifeng-zun’s face. “If Xichen told you about the promise, then I think I need to hear his message.”
“He only said that there was a promise,” Meng Yao said, watching Chifeng-zun’s face. “Not the promise itself.”
Chifeng-zun waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. It means I know how far you got.”
His face didn’t do anything special. It mostly settled into his ‘I’ll just let someone else figure out the details’ expression that appeared far too often when Meng Yao was around as the ‘someone else.’ Of course.
Never let it be said that he was not direct, however. Chifeng-zun pinned him with a look that made Meng Yao feel very, very seen and said, “I’m sure I want his message.”
Meng Yao let out his breath. Well. That was as unambiguous as he could get without ripping away the veil.
“Alright then.” He nodded to himself and took the opportunity to glance around the room. There was a surprising quantity of furniture pushed up against the stone, and where there wasn’t furniture there were wall-hangings, which were perhaps less than ideal. He wouldn’t want to soil one of those. “Hrm.”
Chifeng-zun tilted his head.
“We need a wall,” Meng Yao explained, and he certainly wasn’t nervous about what that implied about all the lines they were about to cross. “A sturdy one.”
With a laugh that filled the room, Chifeng-zun turned on his heel and headed for the alcove behind his folding screen. “Come on, then.”
Meng Yao took off his belt as he followed, and when he rounded the screen, he found Chifeng-zun moving furniture. With a heave, Chifeng-zun shoved one of the tall garment cabinets off in front of a shorter cabinet and surveyed the result.
“There we go.” He slapped the wall with one demonstrative hand. “Wall.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong. The wall behind the cabinet proved to be sturdy stone, smoothed and painted to keep away the damp from any nearby bathing.
“Oh. That should certainly suffice.” Meng Yao considered the belt in his hand and laid it over the edge of the unused tub where it would be out of the way.
Then, with great dignity, he went to stand in front of the wall.
This was ridiculous. How did anyone do this not in the heat of the moment?
He leaned back, pressed his shoulders against the cool stone, and lifted his chin at Chifeng-zun. “Well?”
Chifeng-zun pursed his lips and stroked his moustache, surveying Meng Yao thoughtfully. Just before Meng Yao was about to ask again, however, he stepped forward and cupped Meng Yao’s cheek with his hand. He kissed him lightly once, twice, then deepened the kiss with skill enough that Meng Yao sighed.
The arousal that had been Meng Yao’s constant companion since Cloud Recesses very much liked the way Chifeng-zun had him pinned in place with his presence. He hadn’t yet used his strength, but from the way his free hand settled on Meng Yao’s hip, the promise of it was enough to ignite the first few sparks.
Then Chifeng-zun dropped to his knees.
“What are you—?” Meng Yao startled enough to come away from the wall, only for Chifeng-zun to shove him back with a hand on his belly. Even as his arousal flared and his breath began to come a little faster, Meng Yao frowned down in consternation. “Nothing about any part of the message had you on your knees.”
“Xichen’s loss.” Chifeng-zun used his free hand to peel away Meng Yao’s unbelted robes. He yanked down Meng Yao’s pants, freeing his cock, and his calloused palm smoothed up the bare skin of Meng Yao’s inner thigh. He leaned in, his breath warm and teasing. “You can hold on.”
“I can what?” Meng Yao asked, very focused indeed on where Chifeng-zun’s mouth was and the kiss he’d just placed on the side of Meng Yao’s cock.
“Hair,” Chifeng-zun said. Then he rocked back further to grab each of Meng Yao’s hands and place them in his hair. “You can hold on. You probably should.”
“Oh, fuck,” Meng Yao breathed, digging his fingers into Chifeng-zun’s Nie braids. His thumbnails scraped against the metal of his hair ornament and knocked it askew, but Chifeng-zun didn’t seem to care. Not when he was very busy grasping Meng Yao’s length and licking at his cockhead.
Meng Yao curled forward at the sensations of Chifeng-zun’s tongue on his shaft, of the pressure and friction when he pumped it with his hand.
He tried to buck away from the wall when Chifeng-zun swallowed him down only to have the same broad, hot hand shove him back hard.
His back hit the wall with a cloth-muted thump and a low nrgh escaped him. There was the strength he’d been waiting for. Panting, he clutched at the braids under his fingers to keep himself upright, nails on scalp, and Chifeng-zun groaned low in his throat. The sound traveled up Meng Yao’s shaft, a vibration that made his cock twitch.
Chifeng-zun pulled off to lave his shaft with his tongue and, distantly, Meng Yao registered the sound of fabric and something slick. Pursuing the observation proved a little beyond him, however, as the wet heat of Chifeng-zun’s mouth surrounded him once more. Writhing against the hand that pinned him to the wall, however involuntary a struggle, sent a bolt of heat skittering up his spine.
“I’m—” Meng Yao warned automatically as he felt himself draw close, though as soon as he did he had a flash of panic that this would end.
A moment later, Chifeng-zun grunted and pulled away.
Before Meng Yao could panic any further, however, Chifeng-zun rose from his knees in one smooth, controlled motion, taking Meng Yao with him. Meng Yao’s feet left the floor and he had just enough time to register the size of Chifeng-zun’s cock before it slid against his own with the smoothness of oiled skin.
When Chifeng-zun’s unaccounted-for hand grasped them both in his large palm, it dripped with more oil, something fragrant that Meng Yao was too scattered to place. He stroked them together as Meng Yao dragged his nails down the back of Chifeng-zun’s head.
“Almost.” Meng Yao pressed his forehead hard against Chifeng-zun’s shoulder. He was still on the edge. He just needed that little bit more. And this time, he wasn’t going to be afraid to beg, not with the past week of no relief and how close he’d gotten with Xichen. “Please. You can’t stop. Don’t stop. Not this time.”
Chifeng-zun nudged his head away from his shoulder and kissed him, his hand still working both of them in slick pulls, hard and tight and delicious. “Don’t blame him,” he said before kissing Meng Yao again. His words came between each heavy breath, a rasping stutter-stop explanation. “I made him promise I’d get to make you come first.”
With an inarticulate noise, Meng Yao bucked his hips.
Leaning in, putting his lips next to Meng Yao’s ear, Chifeng-zun growled, “I found you first. That makes you mine.”
Meng Yao sunk his nails into the back of Mingjue’s shoulders as he came hard, harder for how long he’d had to wait for it, and Mingjue was quick to claim his mouth and swallow the sound. He, too, spilled within only a few strokes, and he worked them both through the aftershocks, spreading their mingled seed and oil down their shafts.
Both of them breathing heavily as Mingjue’s hand slowed and stopped, Meng Yao hooked his chin on Mingjue’s shoulder and let his arms hang limp as Mingjue held him up.
He couldn’t resist. “Message delivered to your satisfaction?”
Mingjue laughed at him, set him down, and ordered them both a bath.
⸘◦✉◦‽
The bath—taken separately, as per the rules of the game—marked the point at which Mingjue stopped acting like they had a secret between them. The servants brought Meng Yao a change of clothing and drew a second bath and said nothing to their faces.
He had no doubt they were gossiping extravagantly behind their backs. As the one in charge of details, he certainly would have had something to say about the moved cabinet if it hadn’t been moved for him.
Nothing else changed, however, neither among the Nie nor with the game. The game had yet to climax, regardless if he had, and that was something that could not be done without Xichen present.
Meng Yao remained in his own quarters, performed his duties, coddled visiting cultivators, and marveled at the pragmatism of his adopted sect.
He was favored like Sect Leader Lan was favored. That was all the explanation they were going to get, and so it was all the explanation needed.
⸘◦✉◦‽
The rug beneath Meng Yao’s knees was plush enough to cushion him from bruises as he knelt next to the bed in Mingjue’s private quarters. He’d figured out the rules of the game, and they were more than simple: he only needed to ask. In light of that, and to torture a metaphor, the next round of messages would carry his distinctive flourish.
Meng Yao had already chivvied Mingjue to expose himself, and now Mingue sat on the edge of the bed stroking himself idly as he watched Meng Yao stretch his neck and roll his shoulders. “Are you expecting a workout?”
“If I’m lucky,” Meng Yao said, eyeing Mingjue’s half-hard cock. Already it had girth enough to have Meng Yao flexing his jaw in anticipation. He placed his hands very deliberately on Mingjue’s knees. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve had this particular fantasy?”
Mingjue thumbed over the head of his cock and tilted his knees apart. “I might have some idea.”
“Well, then,” he said, smoothing his hands up the inner sides of Mingue’s legs, pushing knees and thighs sufficiently wide enough for him to slide forward between them. Looking up through his lashes at Mingjue, he asked, “Are you ready to give me your message?”
A heavy hand came down on Meng Yao’s head and guided him forward until Mingjue’s cock rested on his tongue. He hollowed his cheeks experimentally, sucking gently, and found the weight of it satisfying.
Mingjue grunted and carded his fingers through Meng Yao’s loose hair, careful of his braids, and tangled the strands in his grip.
Without pulling Meng Yao free, he tested his hold; close to the scalp and firm. Meng Yao’s eyelids fluttered at the sensation and he worked his jaw a little wider, taking Mingjue deeper.
Stroking what he hadn’t yet fit in his mouth with his hands, Meng Yao rolled his tongue against Mingue’s cockhead and allowed himself an inward smile at the groan he received in reward. If he had any skill to his name, Mingjue wasn’t going to last long.
⸘◦✉◦‽
Come pulsed against the back of Meng Yao’s throat, Xichen’s cock flexing on his tongue. Xichen’s palm on the back of his head pressed him hard forward until his nose was nearly touching hair. Xichen’s cock was longer than Mingjue’s, a little more slender, and it brushed at his gag reflex as he panted through his nose.
He gripped Xichen’s thighs with bruising strength, resisting the little jerks of Xichen’s hips as he rode out his climax in Meng Yao’s mouth.
Xichen held him there for a breathless minute before he pulled him off. He then manhandled him up off the floor by the bed and into his lap. He was flushed, color high in his cheeks, though not a hair was out of place otherwise. The only sign that Meng Yao had delivered his message was his shiny-wet cock gradually softening against his bared thigh and Meng Yao’s come cooling on the hanshi floor.
Nuzzling into Meng Yao’s jaw with a brush of curving lips, Xichen murmured, “So quiet for me with your lips around my cock.” He flopped over onto the bed proper, dragging Meng Yao down with him. “You were so perfect for me. But I think I would like to hear you next time.”
“Next time,” Meng Yao echoed. His cock, spent as it was, registered its interest in the concept.
“We’ll use the silencing talismans.” Xichen gathered Meng Yao into a tight embrace, no matter that he was in full Sect Leader regalia and Meng Yao wasn’t wearing any pants. Lazily, he pointed to the door, the window. “A couple of them. You’ll be able to be as loud as you want.” After a hummed moment, he corrected himself. “As loud as I can make you be.”
“You know,” Meng Yao said slowly, staring up at the beams of the hanshi’s roof in thought. After a moment, he shook himself, and snuggled himself comfortably against Xichen. “I think I’d like that. Next time.”
“Then next time,” Xichen agreed, placing a light kiss on his temple, “I’ll bring the talismans.”
⸘◦✉◦‽
Left at loose ends in Cloud Recesses for the next few days, Meng Yao wandered. The mountains of Gusu truly were as peaceful as vaunted, promoting relaxation and contemplation—contemplation that Meng Yao had to admit was probably long overdue, considering how badly Xichen had thrown him.
Thus far, their game hadn’t truly acknowledged itself. Oh, there was an understanding, of course. All Meng Yao had to do was ask and he would be provided with a “message” to send from one lover to the other, his choice, no pressure. However, Xichen’s casual planning ahead for Meng Yao, the blatant desire of it, meant something altogether different and put a great many things into a different context.
Whatever game they were all playing, it was heading somewhere. And not just somewhere in general (for all games did come to an end eventually), but somewhere with Meng Yao.
He could dismiss Mingjue’s eccentricity of forcing the world to deal with his choices without deining to answer for them. He’d labeled it practicality and moved on easily enough. He could also dismiss Mingjue’s possessive declaration as sex-prompted, since, well, it was orgasm-related.
But Xichen had half-squashed Meng Yao to the bed until some unlucky junior disciple was required to fetch him for his next meeting. There had been far too much affection directed very pointedly at him for denial to survive.
The thread tying the three of them together was pulling them closer and closer, and neither of the others showed any indication that Meng Yao was unwelcome between them. Somehow, for some reason, he was a part of this in a nebulously different way than he’d thought before.
But if he truly was a part of whatever this was—he himself, and not just as an eager stand-in—then…
Then the possibility that he might be able to keep them both made him realize that he wanted to.
⸘◦✉◦‽
The silencing talismans were stacked neatly on the hanshi’s desk when Meng Yao arrived to find Xichen stripped to his inner robes, his hair down, and his forehead ribbon already placed aside on the table by the bed. Xichen’s earlier airy, “Oh, the message I have for Mingjue this week is so much more involved than usual. Could you drop by tonight instead of tomorrow morning?” over dinner had been transparent enough even without knowledge of their game, the overhearing Lan elders had put in a token sputter or two when Meng Yao had agreed.
(He was, he would admit, still reeling from the creaky snicker he’d also heard but couldn’t put a white-haired or bearded face to.)
As it was, Meng Yao was glad he’d forgone most of his emissary ornamentation, since Xichen seemed determined to strip him naked as soon as he’d gotten inside. Xichen’s insistent kisses trapped Meng Yao against the closed door, his musician’s fingers plucking at the ties of Meng Yao’s robes.
Meng Yao couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled in his throat as he caught Xichen’s hands. “We have time. All night. I’m not going anywhere until tomorrow.”
“I have been very patient,” Xichen told him, though he let himself be caught. The amber of his eyes glittered in the candlelight, the humor there also showing up in the quirk of his lips as he suppressed his amusement. “Surely eagerness can be forgiven?”
“You would have to forgive me mine as well.”
Meng Yao backed Xichen into the hanshi proper and pulled him down into a much filthier kiss, all teeth and tongue.
Kisses turned into caresses and the pair of them migrated to Xichen’s bed one interrupted step at a time. By the time they were laid out on the blankets, the candles had burnt noticeably lower.
Xichen finally pulled away, panting. “I have a plan,” he declared, fending off Meng Yao’s next kiss by the simple expedient of getting up off the bed entirely. “Mingjue was telling me about how responsive you were to his mouth, and I have decided that it’s my turn.”
He padded over to his desk in bare feet and grabbed the stack of talismans.
Equally as breathless, Meng Yao managed, “And this relates to the silencing talismans?”
“Indeed.” Xichen flourished the stack. “I believe I can make you scream—don’t laugh!” His smile grew brighter for a heartbeat before he sobered to say in his most mild, even tone, “I’m very determined tonight.”
“Well, then,” Meng Yao really couldn’t help his laughter. Still laughing, he shoved himself to sitting upright and offered a solemn little bow. “I will trust you to take care of me.”
Xichen chuckled and slapped a talisman on the door. It flared bright for a moment before the calligraphy on its surface faded to a faintly glowing gold.
“There we go,” He considered the door, then Meng Yao. “You! Robes off! I’ll only be a minute.”
The silencing talismans went on each window, at least one for each wall, and by the time they were all up, the hanshi felt strangely isolated. It was as if they had somehow been transported from early summer to the depths of winter when snowfall muted the world. All that was left was the candle-lit interior growing warm with the heat of their bodies.
Meng Yao was naked and still hard when Xichen returned to the bed equally as bare and holding an oil jar.
Settling on the bed with enough laughter to keep the smile on Meng Yao’s face, Xichen propped himself on his elbows between Meng Yao’s legs and smoothed oiled hands across his cock and thighs. He then dragged his fingers down his sack and past to rub against his entrance.
Pleasure was already zinging through Meng Yao’s body by the time Xichen put his mouth on him.
When Xichen’s oiled fingers breached his body, Meng Yao sank his fingers into Xichen’s loose hair, grip tight and demanding. Between the bob of Xichen’s mouth and the fingers working into Meng Yao’s body, the silencing talismans had earned their activation twice over before night had even fallen.
⸘◦✉◦‽
Upon Meng Yao’s return to the Unclean Realm, Mingjue refused to let him pass on XIchen’s message until evening and in private, when he presented him with a welcome-home gift. The sleekly polished metal bulb fit snugly in his ass once Mingjue opened him up properly, and they neatly solved the noise issue by the simple expedient of Mingjue’s fingers in Meng Yao’s mouth.
⸘◦✉◦‽
“Of course, Sect Leader Nie,” a voice floated from the connecting corridor, the owner recognizable as a smaller visiting sect’s leader.
Meng Yao slowed when he heard it, because the tone was that of someone fishing for gossip with concern.
He was proved correct a moment later when the other sect leader continued, “But surely you understand that his heritage is a concern? His father might be the Jin sect leader, yes, but that cannot make up for the base nature of his mother’s ancestry.”
Meng Yao sucked in his breath, his stomach clenching. Overhearing others speaking had traditionally gone very poorly for him. Perhaps it was weak of him not to back away when he feared what Mingjue could possibly say, but he held his breath and stayed.
Mingjue, however, scoffed. “Do you think he would be my deputy if he couldn’t do the work? Ask anyone whose life he organizes here. He’s a rare genius, especially at logistics.”
“And his being the son of a prostitute doesn’t bother you?” the man sounded incredulous.
“Why do you care?” Mingjue asked bluntly. “I’d be stupid to let him go anywhere else.”
“But—”
“If you don’t like it, starve. Or leave. I don’t care. He’s in charge of all your food and rooms. You won’t get anything else.”
After a short silence came a stilted, “Yes, of course, Sect Leader Nie. That won’t be necessary. We value your continued support.”
The conversation as well as the participants moved on after that, leaving Meng Yao lingering in the center of the cross-corridor, heart rabbiting fast in his chest.
Had he believed that Mingjue might defend him? Truly?
Perhaps so, if he’d been thinking beyond the apprehension in his chest. Mingjue had defended him before against others that they’d both eavesdropped upon. It was not entirely rational to think he’d suddenly approve of speaking poorly of others in gossip, especially ineptly-solicited gossip.
Just—Mingjue had treated his high regard like a fact.
Meng Yao pressed a hand over his fluttering heart and thought, Oh.
⸘◦✉◦‽
As the day slid into night after the overheard conversation, Meng Yao found himself awake, thoughts refusing to settle. He remained awake as the stars wheeled across the sky and the early summer moon washed his quarters with silvery light. By the time the moon began to sink low, Meng Yao gave up on sleeping in his own bed.
The corridors were quiet between his room and Mingjue’s. It was late enough (and not yet near early enough) that even the kitchens were asleep, their fires banked. He questioned himself at least ten times as he ghosted past closed doors, but his steps did not falter.
There were to be no more deliveries between the Nie and the sects Meng Yao had been visiting until after the next Discussion Conference in Qishan, so there was no easily explained reason for him to halt in front of Mingjue’s rooms. No excuse of another lover driving his actions as he kicked off his hastily-donned shoes and edged his way to Mingjue’s bedside.
“Mingjue-ge,” Meng Yao whispered only as loud as he needed to.
Mingjue snorted awake. He peered blearily into the darkness. “A-Yao?”
“Can I sleep here?”
With a wordless grunt of assent, he moved the blankets and scooted back, leaving Meng Yao enough room to clamber onto the bed.
Meng Yao made to lay down with room between them, but Mingjue looped his arm around his waist and tucked Meng Yao’s back against his front. The summer nights still had a hint of spring in them, and the welcome warmth of Mingjue’s body was enough to melt the tension out of his spine. He relaxed into Mingjue’s embrace.
With a sound of contentment, Mingjue planted his nose in Meng Yao’s hair.
Meng Yao’s thoughts finally settled as the rhythm of Mingjue’s deep, steady breaths lulled him to sleep.
⸘◦✉◦‽
A gentle kiss on the back of Meng Yao’s neck drew him once more to wakefulness. Mingjue was still draped half over him, keeping him pinned in place, but light spilled in through the windows near the ceiling, thin and rosy with the dawn.
Mingjue’s murmured good morning was followed by, “Something wrong?”
A very good question. Meng Yao almost didn’t want to answer it, much preferring to stay as they were. That and Mingjue’s cock was hard where it rested near the back of Meng Yao’s thigh and he would rather do something with that than confess the turmoil that had driven him into Mingjue bed without the cover of pretense.
“No,” Meng Yao said, then decided bluntness was probably best with Mingjue. “No, but—yesterday. In the corridor, about me. You weren’t very diplomatic.”
“Heard that, did you?” Mingue didn’t sound like he was surprised.
Instead of the fears or arguments that had been churning through his head even after his acceptance into Mingjue’s bed, what tripped off his tongue was, “Thank you. For that.”
Voice a little rougher, Mingjue said, “I don’t need thanks.”
Meng Yao let out his breath in an amused huff, because of course he didn’t. He hadn’t been speaking anything other than the truth, had he? “Ah, then.”
“Was that it?” Mingjue asked gruffly, though not unkindly. “Someone is going to come looking for both of us before long.”
“Oh,” he said. “Yes.”
Because to his own surprise. The reassurance of Mingjue’s unwavering regard seemed to have quieted the remainder of his restless thoughts.
Then he considered and pushed himself back against Mingjue’s length. “Unless you’d like to—”
“No fucking until the discussion conference,” Mingjue objected immediately, twitching his hips out of the way. Then he startled Meng Yao by laughing. “Xichen will be there.”
Letting Mingjue’s shift be his impetus for sitting up, Meng Yao said, “You have a plan.”
Mingjue hummed his affirmative. “You’ll like it.”
“Most undoubtedly.”
And now that Meng Yao recalled the game, yes. Waiting was fitting. They were almost in the same place for the first time in months. It was only right that they do one last thing for the three of them before the game ended and Meng Yao found out what came after.
He shivered.
Mingjue draped a blanket over him as he left the bed, and Meng Yao blinked up at him.
“Don’t get cold,” was all he said before he disappeared behind his folding screen to start his day.
Meng Yao stared at the screen after him, pulling the blanket close around his shoulder.
Honestly, whatever the plan, hopefully when it was all over he could still have both Mingjue and Xichen to keep.
⸘◦✉◦‽
The first day banquet of the Wen-hosted Discussion Conference continued deep into the night, much to Meng Yao’s eternal frustration. The extravagance tailored to show off the power of the Wen reduced itself to so much background noise as he shifted in place behind his banquet table, struggling to keep still. Mingue’s gift, the metal bulb, rested heavy inside of him, present and unignorable despite every possible distraction.
There were dancers and a small instrument ensemble, at present. He supposed they were very good. They’d have to be if they were up for being scrutinized by hundreds of critical cultivators far enough into the wine to have no filters whatsoever.
Meng Yao closed his eyes and breathed heavily through his nose, trying to keep his flush down. He could only be grateful for the folds of his Nie robes that hid just how hard he’d been since Mingjue had growled in his ear to go prepare himself. It took longer than he’d like to admit to get himself back under control.
“A-Yao,” came Xichen’s voice from above, and Meng Yao blinked up to find him standing in front of his table.
When Meng Yao glanced past him in puzzlement, the dancers appeared to have left. The main part of the banquet must have come to a close and released everyone to socialize.
He hadn’t even noticed.
This was supposed to be when he’d work his way around the room and make connections for Mingjue. It really was too bad he was preoccupied tonight.
“Xichen-ge,” he said, drawing to his feet with as much grace as he could manage. Xichen’s eyes sparked with careful delight as he steadied him and kept him from bowing. “I am very glad to see you.”
“And I you,” Xichen said in deep amusement.
Mingjue appeared at Meng Yao’s side. “Xichen. You made it.”
“Mingjue!” Xichen pulled him in for a polite public kiss, one of the ones so often seen between them that it wasn’t even gossip anymore. He brushed the kiss off Mingjue’s lips with his thumb when he was done, something soft and fond in his gaze. “I almost didn’t. Preparations for the next set of lectures have been overwhelming my teachers this year.”
“You work too hard,” Mingjue told him. “You got in late, too. Will you be retiring soon?”
“Oh, yes,” Xichen agreed lightly, his gaze finding Meng Yao’s. “I’m very tired from all the travel. I’m grateful that our rooms have already been prepared. I believe they’re just a little bit down the hall from yours, too. Were you planning on retiring as well?”
“We only stayed to greet you.”
“Well, it’s late enough I don’t think anyone will miss us.” Xichen glanced around the room and the other milling cultivators before he fixed upon Meng Yao, “Ah, A-Yao, if you have any messages for me, you should stop in before you sleep.”
Mingjue answered for him. “He’ll have one last one. I’ll send him on as soon as I’m done with him.”
Xichen’s smile was beatific.
Meng Yao let out a shaky breath.
“The Wen really do ‘overwhelming’ well, don’t they?” Xichen said in sympathy, like he didn’t know exactly where Mingjue’s gift was at that very moment or that Meng Yao had stopped registering the proceedings as soon as Mingjue had touched his elbow with an order on his lips. Meng Yao had no idea how Xichen was keeping his expression serene. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to events like these eventually. Mingjue will make certain of it.”
“Of course,” Meng Yao managed in the face of that (delightfully) ominous reassurance. “I look forward to gaining the experience.”
That was apparently too much innuendo for Mingjue to bear. “Let’s go,” he said to Meng Yao. “We’ve been here long enough. Goodnight, Xichen.”
Xichen didn’t laugh at them as they made their farewells, though he clearly wanted to. After that, however, they left with little fanfare. No one seemed surprised that Mingjue was leaving early, Meng Yao in tow.
The walk back to the Nie rooms left Meng Yao very, very aware of the metal bulb within him. The Wen palace halls were cluttered with servants and other cultivators similarly retiring early, their presence enough to ensure that Meng Yao kept his gait steady and every noise firmly within his throat. Even when Mingjue settled his hand on the back of Meng Yao’s neck, possessive, none gave them a second glance.
When they reached their rooms, Mingjue all but yanked Meng Yao inside, and as soon as the door shut behind them, he bent to claim the kiss that Meng Yao had already turned his face up to give. Meng Yao gripped the front of Mingjue’s robes as Mingjue worked a hand down to press against the bulb’s flared base through his robes.
“You’ve been very good,” Mingjue said. “If I hadn't known, I wouldn’t have noticed.”
“Someone could have,” Meng Yao breathed through the hot spike of arousal, though it was very much a token protest. His control was excellent, especially under pressure. “Bed.”
“Bed,” Mingjue agreed, already undoing both of their belts.
With barely-leashed urgency, Meng Yao concentrated on untying his robes without ripping anything in his haste. The only sound between them was the rustle of clothing and the rush of their breath until Meng Yao parted his inner robes and shoved down his pants, and Mingjue caught him around the waist. He yelped as Mingjue slung him onto the bed and crowded on after him.
Meng Yao rolled until he was braced on his forearms, several layers of robes still caught around him, his ass up. Mingue’s hands stroked up his thighs, shoving fabric out the way and exposing his plugged hole to the air.
“You wear it so well,” Mingjue said, dragging one of the globes of Meng Yao’s ass to the side with his thumb. Before Meng Yao could respond, however, he grasped the base of the bulb and wriggled it free.
The bulb’s sudden absence left Meng Yao gasping, but new oil trickled between his cheeks and then Mingjue was pushing his cockhead inside of him, deep and fast. The bulb had kept Meng Yao stretched and ostensibly ready, but polite if unforgiving metal was altogether a different prospect than the significantly larger cock splitting him apart. The girth that had made Meng Yao’s jaw ache stretched him almost just to the cusp of pain and he groaned as Mingjue bottomed out.
Mingjue’s hands flexed on Meng Yao’s hips, hitching him impossibly closer as he gave them both time to adjust. “Yeah?” he rasped.
Meng Yao pushed his hips back experimentally, wringing a strangled noise from Mingjue’s throat. Mingjue’s cock dragged against his rim.
Face pressed to the blankets between his forearms, he demanded, “Good, good, yes, go.”
Mingjue did not start slow, but he did give a couple of hard, cautious thrusts, shifting his knees and hands with each until his grip settled tight on Meng Yao’s hips. Then he picked up the pace in earnest, harder and faster with every roll of his hips until Meng Yao was greeting each with a breathy ng of pleasure.
The slick drag of Mingjue’s cock stoked the heat in Meng Yao’s body higher, and he shifted to brace his head on his forearm so he could wrap a hand around himself. The silky slide of the excess oil set him aflame.
Mingjue lost rhythm. His thrusts became harder, sharper, and he chased his climax deep within Meng Yao’s body until he pushed in hard, held Meng Yao against him with bruising fingers, and stilled. Warmth spread inside of Meng Yao and he pulled at his own cock with intent, racing toward his own edge until sparks flickered behind his eyelids and he spilled over his hand.
Too soon, Mingjue pulled out. Meng Yao was still breathing hard, the muscles of his abdomen jumping, when he felt the cool touch of the bulb as Mingjue slipped it in and sealed his come inside of him.
“Now.” Mingjue didn’t sound any steadier than Meng Yao. “Now you go to Xichen.”
“Fuck,” Meng Yao said. He had no idea if he could currently stand, let alone walk down the hall.
Mingjue grasped his waist and pulled him half off the bed, insistent. “I’ll dress you.”
Staggering upright, not willing to chance sitting down with the bulb back in place, Meng Yao submitted to Mingjue re-ordering the robes he’d not given Meng Yao time to actually take all the way off. They left off his pants, but when all the ties of his inner and outer robes were tied and the layers arranged appropriately, there was no way to tell.
“There,” Mingjue said.
Meng Yao, still wobbly on his feet, patted the broad, muscular chest on display for him with appreciation. “Then I will take my leave to deliver your message.”
Mingjue kissed him, quick and hard, and let him step away.
For the first time in...he honestly did not remember how long, Meng Yao cupped his hands in front of himself and gave Mingjue the most elaborate bow he could offer. The bulb inside of him shifted as he bent and his breath caught on an oversensitive whine.
Mingjue laughed, helped him straighten again, and steered him toward the door. “Xichen’s waiting.”
⸘◦✉◦‽
The rooms prepared for the Nie and the Lan were, like Xichen had said, not far apart at all. Meng Yao was grateful. More than grateful. Every step he took down the corridor still busy with people with the banquet still ongoing was an exercise in composure. While he might look put together, he was desperately aware both that he wasn’t wearing anything beneath his inner robes and that Mingjue’s come was only held inside of him by a shifting bulb that didn’t fit quite as snugly as before.
Reassured by a harried, distracted servant that the other Lan were rooming elsewhere by request, Meng Yao followed directions to Xichen’s door. The bulb was a heavy weight on sensitive walls and, half-hard again and holding back a flush by sheer willpower, Meng Yao knocked.
Xichen opened the door like he had been standing on the other side, waiting. His sect leader regalia was absent, his hair loose with only his forehead ribbon to keep it out of his eyes, and he looked oddly naked in only his inner robes when Meng Yao was used to him in so many layers.
Meng Yao wanted to kiss him.
“A-Yao!” Xichen’s delight brought an answering smile to Meng Yao’s face. “I didn’t know when you would be here.”
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”
“Not at all, come in.” Xichen ushered him in, shutting out the world behind them with a decisive thump. “Would you like tea?”
Meng Yao blinked at Xichen in a moment of baffled incredulity before he realized he was being teased. “Ah, no. I believe I’ll be alright.”
“If you’re sure.” Xichen casually herded Meng Yao toward the bed, dousing candles and adjusting oil lamps to bring the light low. When he reached his bedside, he turned and just as casually began to undress Meng Yao. Discarding layers with sure hands, he hummed. “Did Mingjue give you his message for me?”
The swell of emotion in Meng Yao’s chest choked away any response he might have made. He reached out to grab Xichen’s collar and pull him in for a slow, heated kiss.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Xichen murmured against his lips before running his knuckles gently down Meng Yao’s jaw.
The last of Meng Yao’s clothing drifted to the floor and, without breaking the kiss, Xichen maneuvered them bedwards. He pulled away only to set aside his forehead ribbon with easy reverence and discard his own inner robe, under which he was gloriously bare.
“You answered the door like this,” Meng Yao said, pleasantly scandalized as he lay back on the bedding. Xichen followed him down. His broad shoulders and planes of muscle were smooth and warm beneath Meng Yao’s roving hands.
“And you knocked on my door like this,” Xichen teased in return, slipping a hand between Meng Yao’s legs to rub slender fingers gently across the flared base of the bulb. “With Mingjue and this inside of you.”
Meng Yao bit off a nrgh, spreading his thighs. Breathy, he asked, “Is it really a message if you already know the contents?”
Xichen hummed, considering. After a moment, he tipped his head in concession. “Maybe not in the strictest sense, but I do like it when you deliver one.”
He then eased Meng Yao over onto his front and began to kiss his way down Meng Yao’s spine.
Each knob received its own wet, open-mouthed kiss, and Meng Yao gripped at the blankets. Anticipation and heat shivered down the muscles of his back.
When Xichen reached the point between his shoulder blades, kiss by slow kiss, he curled long fingers around the flare of the bulb and pulled it out a fraction—only to grind it back inside. After that, each brush of lips on its way further south was accompanied by a tug and thrust as Xichen fucked him gently with the metal. Each press inward was at a slightly different angle until the bulb hit a place inside of him that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to the base of his skull. He moaned into the blankets.
“There we go,” Xichen said in amusement, then proceeded to suck a bruise into the base of Meng Yao’s spine, keeping up the tiny, angled thrusts until Meng Yao was panting and flexing his hips to grind himself against the bed.
“Xich—”
The rest of Xichen’s name dissolved on Meng Yao’s next breath, but it was enough.
Xichen pulled the bulb free of Meng Yao’s body and rolled him over again. Meng Yao found himself on his back, Xichen over him and pressing hungry kisses to his lips. He clutched at his shoulders and licked into Xichen’s mouth with equal fervor.
Then Xichen pushed inside him in one smooth thrust and his hand closed upon Meng Yao’s cock. Meng Yao lost track of everything but the heat and tension and the sound of skin against skin. Each of Xichen’s thrusts was accompanied by a stroke of his Meng Yao’s cock, Xichen’s sword-calloused grip tight.
Xichen’s relentless hand didn’t stop even when Meng Yao felt him shudder to a halt and spill inside of him, and he writhed in place. Shimmers of sensation zinged down the muscles of his legs and one, two strokes later he came all over his stomach. Slowing his hand down, Xichen stroked him through it, their mingled breaths hot on Meng Yao’s lips.
Skin tingling, Meng Yao went limp, and Xichen leaned in to catch his mouth again in a long, deep kiss like he was trying to seal them together. When Xichen pulled away after that, Meng Yao opened his eyes to find him propping himself above him to watch his face, unafraid when their eyes met.
Meng Yao’s heart leapt once more to pound against his ribs and he fought his impulse to look away. What he saw in Xichen’s eyes was terrifying, an affection that he felt scorched and bewildered by.
Gradually, their breaths slowed and his heart calmed and only then did Xichen slide out of him and gather him up to knock their bare foreheads together.
Then he stood from the bed and vanished behind the folding screen, and Meng Yao could hear the faint slosh of water.
There was no way that Meng Yao was moving for anything short of a large-scale attack, but he honestly did not know what the protocol was supposed to be when he was not arriving or leaving from Cloud Recesses upon a schedule. Xichen might want him here but…
He offered a cautious, “Perhaps I should head back to the Nie—”
“No,” Xichen said, popping his head back around the screen. The rest of him followed, a wetted cloth in hand. “Absolutely not. You’re spending the night here.”
Meng Yao rolled his head to squint at Xichen as he came over to help clean away the drying come. The damp of the cloth was a welcome cool against his skin. “But—”
“You can barely move.” Xichen thinned his lips and paused with the cloth resting on Meng Yao’s thigh. He glanced to the side. In one swift motion, he snagged his forehead ribbon from the bedside table and looped it around Meng Yao’s wrist. “And you belong here.”
There was no ambiguity that Meng Yao could hide behind. He held up his wrist and inspected the wrap of white cloth. The ribbon’s tails draped down onto his face. “Oh.”
“Yes.” Satisfied, Xichen abandoned the cloth over the side of the bed and curled up around him. “Oh.”
⸘◦✉◦‽
Meng Yao woke up to the sound of—but not the sensation of—kissing.
Cracking open an eye, he found the solid wall of Mingjue’s chest in front of him. Behind him, Xichen radiated heat, one familiar hand clasped proprietarily over Meng Yao’s hip. There was little light; the few candles that Xichen had left alight no longer cast shadows on the walls and the dawn felt far away.
Braced on an elbow and leaning over him, Mingjue met Xichen for lazy, unhurried kisses. Lover’s kisses. Depending on how long Mingjue had been here while Meng Yao was asleep, likely the first that they had shared for nearly half a year.
Meng Yao felt no particular urge to move and no small amount of accomplishment welling in his chest as he watched them both.
Perhaps all of this had been a game and perhaps he had not so much been filling a role as falling in love, but for all of his lovers’ time apart, he had been the thread that tied them together in a more physical way than words.
Surely there was triumph in that. Surely he was allowed to bask in it.
And...funny.
Triumph felt a lot like contentment.
Mingjue noticed his eyes open and let the kiss drop away. “You’re up.”
“The game is over, isn’t it?” Meng Yao asked a little more wistfully than he had intended.
“Well,” Xichen said, stroking up his side and back down to his hip. “I don’t think we need it anymore. Mingjue?”
“Wasn’t my idea.” After a beat, he chuckled, and the sound rumbled through Meng Yao where he was caught between the two of them. “Though I benefitted.”
“Then why do it?” Meng Yao asked the question he had been asking himself since the very start. “Why make it a game at all?”
“Your excuse,” Xichen answered. “That Mingjue had sent me a message. He would never harass you like that, of course, which meant that it had been upon your initiative. So to start, it was mostly a way to simply...see what you wanted.”
“I want everything,” Meng Yao said.
He wriggled his way up to sit between them as they lay side by side. Each of their faces contained only fondness as they looked back at him. He had no idea what he had done to deserve any of this.
His fingers sought the Lan forehead ribbon still wrapped around his wrist.
Brow furrowing, he made sure to look each of them in the eyes before he said, “I want everything.”
Xichen beamed.
“Good,” Mingjue said and pulled him back down between them.