Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Shen Qingqiu blinks awake, the first thing he sees is Luo Binghe. Only, he looks absolutely pissed instead of teary-eyed like he’s come to be familiar with, and Shen Qingqiu briefly thinks that he may have accidently ended up in the original webcomic where Luo Binghe seeks to end his life.

But then, upon seeing him open his eyes it seems, those eyes turn from murderous to relieved.

“Shizun!”

Mu Qingfang walks into his field of vision next.

“Peak Lord Shen, it’s good to see you awake.”

Shen Qingqiu goes to sit up immediately, as he always does when he finds himself bedridden in this world.

Only, this time, his body doesn’t rise at all. Hmm.

Remaining calm, he asks, “Should this master be concerned about not being able to move?”

Mu Qingfang moves to the bedside table, and different bottles clink together as he starts placing them back into his bag. “Not too much. It’s nothing lethal. The poison has been distributed through your meridians and nerves, paralyzing your lower body and all limbs for a temporary time. It appears to work like an extreme relaxant of sorts. Based on the wound’s depth, I’d say it’ll wear off in one week.”

Really, truthfully, Shen Qingqiu feels like he deserves some sort of medal or achievement for just how many times he’s been poisoned since transmigrating.

Hello, System? Maybe a few B-points, or something?

Of course all he gets is silence.

Well, poison. Again. At least this time it was from a plant, and not a living creature—as far as he can remember, anyway. He last remembers going with Shang Qinghua on a quest to find a specific spore, but it must have gone awry at some point.

Shen Qingqiu actually feels relieved. One, that Shang Qinghua doesn’t seem to be here (thank god—he had run out of patience with him after the hours trekking into the woods). Two, that he’s home safe now (and Luo Binghe is here). And three, only a week of symptoms! (That’s nothing compared to the five years he spent stuck in the ground!)

But when he manages to turn his head enough to look at Luo Binghe with a smile, he finds the other with a devastated look on his face.

Poor thing must be worried.

Shen Qingqiu’s instinct is to reach up and pat that head to rid him of that expression. He even tries to do so, forgetting that he’s just been told of his symptoms.

It seems he won’t be able to offer much more than a smile, for now. But he can’t stand that sad-puppy look on his husband’s face, so he has to think of something to say to wipe it away. And the idea he comes up with is a bit shameless, and certainly embarrassing, but will no doubt be effective.

“This master will need a lot of assistance, then,” he says, trying to sound troubled. He moves his head just enough to look right into those bright red eyes. “Can I trust you with my care?”

Relief, excitement, joy—it all flashes through Luo Binghe’s expression in an instant.

 “Of course, Shizun!”

Mission accomplished. Screw The System—he’ll just assign himself B-points for that one.

If Luo Binghe’s actions had been doting before, now they’re tenfold. If he wasn’t so drowsy, Shen Qingqiu might feel humiliated by just how much assistance he needs, or smothered by all the attention he’s getting. But really, how can he complain when nearly everything is bleary.

Luo Binghe carries him to their elegant washroom, and settles him into the tub. The water is perfectly warm, and the steam in the air is lightly scented with oils. It’s lovely, and such thoughtful details make Shen Qingqiu even more sleepy (and undeniably fond).

“Shizun?”

“Hmm?” He hums, just to acknowledge that he’s heard him.

“Is the bath to your liking?”

Shen Qingqiu sighs, barely managing to crack his eyes open enough to look at Luo Binghe, who waits patiently for an answer. He hates that his first instinct is to reach up and wrap his arms around his husband to bring him in too, but he hates it even more that his arms don’t respond to the request.

He clears his throat, embarrassed by how clingy he’s let himself get. “Yes, very much so,” he answers, hoping that he can blame the pink on his cheeks on the warm bath as he looks away and adds, “though, I might like some company.”

Luo Binghe’s eyes twinkle with excitement. If he had the ability to move, Shen Qingqiu would be hiding his face behind his fan right now.

He kind of wants to be upset that Luo Binghe disrobes outside of his field of vision. He pouts, but has too much pride to actually say such a thing out loud, so he just waits patiently for the other the walk back where he can see.

Shen Qingqiu barely gets to appreciate the view before Luo Binghe slides into the tub, too. But he doesn’t complain, as his husband maneuvers his body to be behind him, so Shen Qingqiu can lean against his unfairly sturdy chest.       

And then comes the relentlessly soothing process of Luo Binghe bringing cleansing oil and gently running it through his hair. He can’t help the hums of satisfaction as gentle fingers massage it into his scalp. Luo Binghe carefully scoops up water to pour down from the top of his head, cautiously avoiding getting any water in Shen Qingqiu’s eyes.

He could nearly fall asleep.

Except that…

This routine of theirs… well, it usually…

Usually it comes after… after they fool around in bed a little. Shen Qingqiu can feel the bulge of Luo Binghe’s heavenly pillar against where his lower back rests. It’s not fully demanding yet, more so, requesting attention. Attention Shen Qingqiu currently cannot give in this state of immobility.  

So, he’s waiting for his husband to make a move. To take him, in this warm and sleepy scene—make love while completely and utterly relaxed and pliant.

Only, it doesn’t happen.

Not at all.

Instead, when the bath is done and Luo Binghe is pleased with his work tending to his Shizun, he simply lifts him up and carries him to their bed. Without a single word, he begins dressing him in his silkiest, softest, most favorite robes. Luo Binghe doesn’t even cop a feel, just gently guides his arms through the sleeves and loosely ties the robe shut. Shen Qingqiu feels properly spoiled.

“Be careful tending to this master so much,” he comments with a sigh as his eyes close. “I might get too used to being this pampered.”

Luo Binghe sounds pleased. “Good. My greatest desire is nothing more than to spoil my husband rotten.”

The sweetest kiss follows. Shen Qingqiu waits for a tongue to bully its way into his mouth, or teeth to bite.

But they don’t.

Those lips leave without even a nibble. Instead, there’s just the slightest soft press of them onto his forehead. And then Luo Binghe leaves.

Shen Qingqiu frowns. He’s exhausted, and feels himself falling into sleep. But surely Luo Binghe wants to… to take care of that. And, well, Shen Qingqiu isn’t necessarily opposed.

“Binghe?”

But there’s no answer. So Shen Qingqiu huffs, deciding to leave it alone, and drifts into a blissful rest.

Maybe it had just been a stressful day for him, Shen Qingqiu considers in the morning. He had awoken to the smell of Binghe’s cooking, and when Binghe came in to set him up to eat, he didn’t seem off at all. He doted on him all day, even fed him his meals from a spoon (which Shen Qingqiu would like to say he resisted, but it was the most practical thing to do, so why even try to fight it?)

But, again, that night, something strange happens.

They’re outside, enjoying some snacks in the evening air and the last stretches of sunlight. Shen Qingqiu is thankful there’s a slight breeze, too. It’s refreshing, after doing a whole lot of nothing today.

He hates to admit it, but the effects of the poison are starting to affect his mood. Unless he’s meditating, Shen Qingqiu is used to being busy. Either busy with disciples on Qing Jing Peak, managing some chaos between the Demon Realm and the human one, reading the newest literature from the towns, or… being… entertained with Binghe.

And now, any duties he has as a peak master are effectively on hold. He can’t turn book pages on his own, or hold any scrolls.  He can’t even tap his finger on a table.

So, in order for time to pass a bit faster… it leaves just the last option.

But how to go about it? He won’t ask out loud. That’s not how Shen Qingqiu does things—how embarrassing would that be. Besides, he just wants something to pass the time. It’s not like he’s desperate or anything.

“Is the food not to Shizun’s liking?”

The sound of Binghe’s voice makes Shen Qingqiu blink, realizing he’d been zoning out.

“No, nothing like that. This master was simply thinking.”

“Thinking?” Shen Qingqiu can feel the way Luo Binghe drops his head lower onto his shoulder, speaking now directly into his ear. “About what, Shizun?”

The husky vibrations of his voice cause a chill to run through Shen Qingqiu’s skin. If he had control over his body, he fears he might’ve melted from the simple way Luo Binghe’s breath tickles his ear. As it stands though, Shen Qingqiu can’t melt—he’s already something akin to a liquid with how his body refuses to hold itself up.

Speaking of up…

Can he even… get it up, like this? Hm. He hadn’t thought of that, yet. But… he wonders if, well—if taking the heavily pillar might be less uncomfortable than usual, if he is this pliable and his muscles have no way of tensing.

… Purely for scientific reasons!

Now’s the time to do something about it, though, not the time to think about it. With Binghe here, wrapped around him and anxiously waiting for Shen Qingqiu to answer what should’ve been an innocent question, before his own mind started delving up depraved theories to get his husband to fuck him.

So… what to do here?

“Ch-cherries,” he finally stumbles into an answer.

Binghe nuzzles into his neck, huffing a light laugh.

“Cherries? That’s what’s got you so distracted, Shizun?” A kiss is pressed onto his neck. Then, another.

Shen Qingqiu chastises him in his flustered state. “Do not tease this master. Feed him another one.”

Binghe’s fingers pluck up a single cherry, intending to pop it into his master’s mouth, just as he has been doing for the later half of an hour. But this time, Shen Qingqiu has a plan.

With the use of his neck muscles, some of the few left unaffected by the poison in his veins, he leans back as far as he can. Enough so, that he can watch Luo Binghe’s eyes. Then, he opens his mouth wide, sticking out his tongue far before the cherry is ever in range of it.

Binghe blinks, hesitating for a second. But then continues as per usual.

The second the fruit hits his tongue, Shen Qingqiu curls his tongue around it—as slowly and sensually as he can, he closes his mouth, and his eyes, and moans.

Ugh, he’s become far too shameless. He knows his cheeks must be a bit pink from the effort of mimicking an orgasm, but hell, what else is he supposed to do? Ask?! Preposterous!

He opens his eyes just a tiny bit when he feels Binghe’s grip tighten around his waist. And he finds that those brilliant eyes are absolutely burning with passion. And he’s sure he feels the twitch of a hardening appendage behind him.

Got him. Ha! The brilliant mind of this peak lord once again finds success!

(Still no B-points from the system, though. Bullshit.)

Luo Binghe must be dying to ravish him right here and now—to give him a real reason to make such an expression, and such a noise. But here, in the bamboo gardens, is hardly the place for this to continue. The bedroom would be much nicer. So Shen Qingqiu fakes a big, dramatic yawn. That way, Binghe knows where he wants to go next.

A gentle hand cards through his hair. Strange. He had thought Binghe might kiss him.

“Shizun must be tired in his condition,” his husband says simply. It doesn’t sound cocky in the way he had expected. “Shall we retire for the night?”

Shen Qingqiu blinks. Is Binghe just playing along with his fake tiredness?

“Yes, yes. This master is… tired.” He tries to emphasize the word, to make sure Luo Binghe understands.

And he’s pretty sure he does, when suddenly he lifts Shen Qingqiu up like he’s light as a feather, hoisting him up with a hand under his knees and one supporting his back.

“Binghe, must you throw this master around like a ragdoll?” In truth, it’s less like a ragdoll, and more like a… like a princess, or one of his favorite concubines in the original novel. So, his complaints are without any true anger, and his face is likely red as a tomato.

In turn, Binghe does not sound truly sorry when responding, “This disciple apologizes. Shizun may reprimand me as much as he’d like once he’s better.”

Shen Qingqiu sighs dramatically. Well. No use fighting it now. Might as well bask a bit in his husband’s arms. “No need. Just take me to bed.” And keep me busy there, he adds only in his own thoughts.

When they make it to their large bed, fit for a demon king and several wives, had he taken them, Binghe sets him down so gently. If he had control over his limbs, Shen Qingqiu would take this opportunity to stretch, letting his robes open wider. Entice him—give Binghe a sight he couldn’t refuse.

But he doesn’t even get the chance.

“Go ahead and sleep, Shizun. I’ll return later.”

Wha—? Huh?

But the door is shut before he can say anything about it. Shen Qingqiu is left alone with his thoughts—confused and a bit frustrated.

Binghe was clearly aroused before. Not to toot his own horn, but Shen Qingqiu knows it takes far less than that to get his husband worked up. So why run away just when things were about to get good?

Did he think I didn’t want it?

He supposes that is possible. Usually, he’d accept Binghe’s sexual propositions via a kiss, or perhaps knocking their hips together if he’s extra shameful that day. And now he can offer neither.

And one of Binghe’ favorite things to do is get Shen Qingqiu writhing first, so… maybe he misunderstood.

Hm.

Let it be known that Shen Qingqiu is absolutely not pouting just because his husband left him high and dry after a top tier performance earlier—with only a cherry as a prop, no less!—no. He’s simply… upset that he can’t get up to demand his husband to bring him another bowl of treats. Of course.

He must be taking care of it on his own. The thought puts a frown on Shen Qingqiu’s face. It displeases him, the fact that Binghe felt the need to, ahem... help himself, without involving Shen Qingqiu at all.

…He could’ve at least let me watch, Shen Qingqiu thinks, before forcibly hitting the record scratch on his own thoughts. What the hell is up with him today? He must be bored out of his mind to come up with such a blatantly salacious idea!

Anyway, he tries to wait up for his husband to return, but he must fall asleep in his state of boredom and inactivity.

When he wakes up, he’s exactly where he was, of course. No movement yet from his limbs yet, unfortunately. He turns his head, ready to call for his husband in a whisper.

Only to realize… that he’s not here.

How long did I sleep? Binghe got out of bed and I didn’t even notice.

But then he blinks.

Not only is Binghe not here, the sheets aren’t ruffled at all. Binghe never slept here last night.

… Thinking back, he may have avoided the bed the night before last, too. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t remember him climbing in or out of bed that night that they had bathed together.

He wonders why, until he thinks back to what he felt poking him both nights.

Ah!

It seems… that Luo Binghe is afraid of getting an erection while Shen Qingqiu is immobilized. That must be it!

He must be clearer in communicating it, then. But—

He already feels his face going red with just the thought of having to say it out loud.

Please fuck me Binghe, he grimaces at his own imagination, I want to know how it feels to take you when I’m relaxed like this.

Gah! No! No, he’d never stoop so low as to say that. Not that Shen Qingqiu wants that, anyway! It’d would just be for Luo Binghe’s sake, and for… research! Yes, a poison this strong is enticing. It could make a good weapon to disable enemies, or perhaps a diluted version could be a medicine, something to relax someone who, say, usually has a hard time taking their husband’s…

Good god! There must be some sort of aphrodisiac in this toxin, because Shen Qingqiu would surely never think these things naturally! Also, is it usually this warm in this room? He’s feeling hotter by the second!

It’s at this moment that Shen Qingqiu looks down. And he realizes that, even though his limbs may not be capable of moving at the moment, it’s doing nothing to stop the blood flow to his fifth appendage.

Well… that answers that question. He can, indeed, get it up.

“Binghe,” he calls after clearing his throat. It does not sound like a desperate whine. It does not. “Binghe!”

There’s a scuffle of noise, and then his husband steps in the room. “Good morning, Shizun. Did you need something?”

Shen Qingqiu bites his lip until it nearly bleeds. Fuck, this is humiliating. He has to suck it up—and then maybe Luo Binghe will suck him—

Dammit! Can he stop thinking with his dick for one second today? This is insane!

After a few huffs, Shen Qingqiu braces himself, and speaks.

“I just want you to know,” he starts, gritting his teeth, “this husband is… willing.”

Willing for what, Shizun? Shen Qingqiu dreads him asking. He’d answer, probably. He thought his dignity far gone, but yet here he is, feeling like he’s somehow hit a place deeper than rock bottom.

But the idea of saying such honest things… Argh! Maybe he should just rot here, anyway, like the trashy, horny concubine he’s seemingly become.

In his momentary distraction from his own thoughts, he completely misses the way Luo Binghe goes pale. He does, however, see him turn around suddenly, and start toward the door.

“Shizun, I’ll be back later.”

The door slams. Luo Binghe fucking left.

And that is how Shen Qingqiu gets stuck, blue balled and helpless and husband-less, for the better part of a day. With only one thought in his mind: what the fuck?

It’s probably his utter confusion that leads to his erection dying off fairly quickly. But still, the fact that it had to “die out” is frustrating in itself.

He knows he was far more clear this time. How is it possible for Luo Binghe to just turn a blind eye to it and leave? It doesn’t make sense!

He’s already in a rotten mood when, against all his prayers, wishes, and pleas, he hears something that makes his hair stand on end.

Shang Qinghua’s irritating, grating voice.

“Cucumber bro can’t hit me with a fan like this, huh?” He jokes, bounding into his line of vision looking all too pleased.

“No,” he growls, “but I can tell my husband that an annoying pest kept me from resting. What do you think he’d say to that?”

The stupid author moves his arms to hold himself as if he’s cold. Ironic, considering who he lives with.  “Don’t even joke like that, man. I’d like to not live the rest of my life in a pickle jar, thanks.”

Shen Qingqiu huffs, annoyed at the reminder of this character’s previous fate. “What even is this poison? I don’t remember it from the original novel.”

“As per usual, my genius has extended so far that I have created too much to really remember all of it. So I don’t know. At least it’s temporary!”

Fuck this useless scummy author.

He groans, rolling his eyes. Shang Qinghua is irritating on a good day, but today he’s utterly infuriating. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“Ah, well, Mobei was ordered by the Demon King to ‘make sure his dear husband wants for nothing’ while he has something to attend to.” Shen Qingqiu doesn’t appreciate the mocking tone Shang Qinghua uses to recreate the demand, but he doesn’t call it out because it’s the last part that gets Shen Qingqiu to furrow his brow. “So yours truly tagged along!”

“What did Luo Binghe need to do?”

Shang Qinghua, the bastard that he is, hops onto the bed with a bounce (and without permission). “Beats me, but— hey these sheets are nice! Why do you get the warm stuff?”

Cursing his lack of ability to smack his, ugh, “friend”, Shen Qingqiu reprimands him. “Don’t complain. I nearly died a dozen times in this terrible world of yours, I deserve nice sheets.”

“Please,” Shang Qinghua scoffs, grabbing a handful of cherries from the bowl on the nightstand and stuffing them in his mouth. “All you did was seduce your disciple, and boom, your life is set. Nice sheets, great dick, magical energy out the wazoo.”

What an utterly ridiculous and infuriating statement from the man who had to help him create a fake body in the past just to stay alive.

With a sigh, he decides to just say, “One day I might actually kill you.”

“I know you secretly love me, Cucumber Bro,” he says, and while he does, juice from the cherries squirt out of his mouth and onto the sheets. The beautiful, nice, soft, and unbelievably expensive sheets that Shen Qingqiu not-so-secretly loves. The culprit doesn’t even notice it in his gluttonous enjoyment of the treats not meant for him.

Shen Qingqiu wonders if he should get B-points simply for the fact that he hasn’t yet strangled him since meeting him. If he could, he would right now. Maybe not enough to kill him, but enough to make him fear him, for sure.

“But anyway,” the annoyance continues. “I really don’t know what your psycho husband is up to. I did hear some guards earlier talking about a forest randomly burning? Dunno if it’s related to him heading out today.”

Ah. Finally. Some useful words from his mouth.

A random forest fire? It certainly sounds like something an irritated, frustrated, probably pent-up, Luo Binghe would do. Dammit. His inability to communicate his needs had left his husband on a horny rampage! Fuck, why couldn’t Binghe just understand his signals? It’s so frustrating! But also, Shen Qingqiu should’ve known—he knows his husband better than anyone else— of course he left instead of actually talking about this!

Shen Qingqiu sighs. Even now, it’s difficult at times to keep up with Binghe’s emotional swings. He supposes that’s to be expected, when he’s taken on the task intended to be delegated amongst hundreds of women.

But let’s not forget who’s most at fault here.

He looks at the nuisance, now eating an apple that was certainly not intended for him.

“Airplane bro, while you’re here, and per my devoted husbands request,” his smile feels evil, and he finds great joy in the way dread falls over the other man’s face, “there is actually something I need you to do…”

For the first time since being immobilized, Shen Qingqiu actually has some fun. It was objectively hilarious to watch Shang Qinghua sweat and beg Mobei-Jun to go home, only to be denied by his demon partner under the threat of Shen Qingqi’s demonic significant other. He makes him do tedious, moronic tasks like fluffing the pillow a million times—no, no like that, Binghe will kill you if I have back pain because of this—and moving his body every other second—I need to face the window, no, the other window. My foot is twisted weird. What would Luo Binghe think if my foot is sore because no one fixed it for me?

Anyway, Shang Qinghua basically bursts into grateful tears when Mobei-Jun announces they can go back to their palace. It pleases some longstanding villainous intent in Shen Qingqiu’s heart to make him suffer, at least a bit, with all he’s had to go through in this stupid universe of Proud Immortal Demon Way.

And since they left, it must mean that Luo Binghe has returned. However, he doesn’t come into their room right away.

Nor does he in the first ten minutes.

Not even the first hour.

This time, regardless of how drowsy he is, Shen Qingqiu forces himself to stay awake. They need to talk.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when finally, his husband’s form creeps in through the door, clearly trying to be quiet. He only gets a few steps in, before realizing he’s being watched by the man laying still on the bed.

“Oh. You’re awake.” He sounds uncomfortable—defensive, almost— like he’s been caught doing something wrong.

“Where have you been all day?”

Something flashes in Luo Binghe’s eyes. “That’s none of your concern.”

Excuse him? What the actual fuck? Binghe does not talk to him like that—not anymore. The momentary shock of the tone leaves him flabbergasted for the better part of a minute.

When he does manage to recover, Shen Qingqiu hears the indignant manner of his own reply.

“I thought you agreed I’d be in your care. And yet here I was, lying around all day with no one to spoil me. I feel it was very much my concern.” He huffs, feeling like he’s earned the right to complain.

Binge clenches his fist, looking at the ground. “Did Mobei-Jun not do as I asked?”

“Binghe! It’s not about that, and you know it.”

Binghe, apparently, doesn’t seem to deem that worthy of a response. And its then Shen Qingqiu realizes that this whole time, ever since the first night that he’d been poisoned, Luo Binghe hasn’t really looked him in the eyes, once. What, does he think he can’t control himself if he even looks him in the eyes? Is that really how low he’s stooped, just not to have sex with him?

It makes an ugly, bubbling anger rise from Shen Qingqiu.

Fine, he’ll play dirty.

“I told you I was willing! You didn’t need to scurry away from bed just to keep from getting… excited. If you’re wiping out forests because of some sexual frustration—”

Luo Binghe spins around so fast, eye wide and shocked and devastated in a way that makes Shen Qingqiu shut up immediately, without finishing: I’d be very disappointed in my disciple.

Suddenly, he has no words left. Because Binghe looks hurt.

Silence falls for a moment. Two. Three. Until Luo Binghe breaks it in a voice so small, it sends Shen Qingqiu spiraling back to memories where this man in front of him was simply a lost child.

“You—you really are clueless, huh, Shizun?”

… It appears that, somewhere, Shen Qingqiu was very, very wrong.

“Maybe about some things, yes,” Shen Qingqiu agrees quietly. The sting to his pride is nothing compared to the burning in his heart from having hurt his dear Binghe. “Binghe, husband, please… tell me why you won’t sleep with me at night. Why you can’t look at me, now.”

Luo Binghe doesn’t say anything for a while. Instead, he takes slow, cautious steps closer to the bed. Once there, he kneels at the bed, not entering, not touching, not confident. He looks so very sad.

“Shizun,” he eventually chokes out, “it reminds me of when— when you were gone.”

Gone? Shen Qingqiu thinks. When was I gone? His best guess was his brief exploration of the forest, which he had only been gone for a few hours before getting poisoned for the nth time.

Luo Binghe continues, sounding more broken with every word, “and all I had of you was… this horrible, beautiful, cold body that never took a breath, never called my name, never moved, never—"

Oh. That type of gone—

Words start tumbling out of Shen Qingqiu’s lips before he can even process his own horror.

“Oh, oh Binghe—” he tries to soothe, to reach out, but nothing moves when he tells it to, and Binghe continues in his despair.

“I can’t stand it! It makes me sad thinking about it again. And so mad at what did this to you. And it made me think about then—how sad I was, how angry! I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you, my beloved husband, but I really can’t stand it. I had to burn the forest down—it hurt you.” He’s crying these big, awful tears. Nothing like his crocodile tears of usual.

It shatters Shen Qingqiu completely.

In something akin to a beg, he frantically says, “Let this husband comfort you— Lean on my chest. Feel me breathe. Please, Binghe, come here.”

Luo Binghe, whose head was close to Shen Qingqiu’s body anyway, shifts to do as told. Such a loyal disciple, even now. Shen Qingqiu makes his next inhale as dramatic as possible, desperately wishing he could pet Binghe’s head, too.

“See?” He says on another large breath as his husband’s arms clutch tightly to him. “It’s nothing like it was back then. I’m here, Binghe. I promise, I’m alive.”

It’s quiet for one, two, three seconds. Luo Binghe’s sobs are starting to stifle, and Shen Qingqiu still longs to run his hand through his hair, or pull his face closer so he could make sure those tears are stopping, and kiss his swollen eyelids.

Still sounding a bit wobbly, Luo Binghe asks a question.

“Breathe again for me, Shizun?”

Shen Qingqiu complies, once again dramatizing each step.

“Again.”

He does.

“Again.”

So he does.

“Again.”

Shen Qingqiu huffs playfully, trying to break the tension. “Is this master not doing a sufficient job of breathing?”

Luo Binghe hums. He looks up, now, finally meeting Shen Qingqiu’s eyes. The tears have stopped. “He is doing a very good job of it, actually. Thank you.”

For the first time in days, lips finally touch his. It’s a sweet, languid thing, that Shen Qingqiu makes sure not to take lazily. He moves his lips, swipes his tongue, nibbles— just to make sure his husband knows he’s alive.

It seems to work well. Luo Binghe cups his chin and makes sure to listen to him breathe every now and again, before sliding that hand down to his throat. He kisses Shen Qingqiu again, and exhales in pleasure each time he feels Shen Qingqiu’s Adam’s apple bob with a swallow.

It may be minutes or hours. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t know. But he does know that it gets interrupted by Luo Binghe himself, when he suddenly seems awfully amused by something, if Shen Qingqiu’s inclined to take the small laughs at his lips as any sort of hint.

He’s just about to ask what’s so funny, when Luo Binghe takes initiative to go ahead and explain.

“Shizun thought I’d wipe out a whole forest just because I wanted to fuck him?”

Shen Qingqiu turns his head away, face flaming in indignancy.

“You’ve done worse for less,” he argues.

Luo Binghe seems far too happy with this line of conversation. “Shizun should have more faith in his star pupil,” he says. “After all, I have never once failed at a task.”

Well. That, he supposes, is true. And it gives Shen Qingqiu an idea.

“Luo Binghe, I have a task for you,” he begins. Luo Binghe’s eyes sparkle, expectant and so much happier than before. “I want you to stay here tonight, and I want you to not let go of me for a second. Make sure you feel my heart, and my breathing. Understand?”

His words squeak at the end, and his face is still bright red, he’s sure of it.

But even so, he sighs in relief when Luo Binghe moves to do just that, hands wrapping around him, warm and secure, and head a gentle pressure over his chest. Finally.

“Yes, Shizun,” his beloved whispers, sounding at peace. “My husband. Your wish is my command.”

Days pass. Shen Qingqiu is pampered and spoiled in every which way. Now that Luo Binghe figured out what he has really wanted, too, he makes sure not to leave him wanting for any desires.

He never got to find out if it was easier to take his husband’s dick like this, because Luo Binghe didn’t want to take it that far without him able to move (completely understandable, now that he knows the reason why he’s been skittish around him during this ordeal). Instead, he absolutely worshipped Shen Qingqiu’s cock with his mouth, and hands sometimes, too. Those orgasms were incredibly pleasant, leaving a fuzzy feeling in the wake of what has been feeling numb. Though, he wishes he could repay the favor.

It’s only fair that he’d want to repay Binghe, after such dedicated treatment!

He’s also been smothered in kisses—enough so that his lips tingle in between each time Luo Binghe has to leave the comfort of their room. Which, okay, yeah, has also really helped the time pass faster.

Seven days. One full week. Then—

He wakes up one morning with his own arms wrapped around his husband, and he smirks. He hugs tighter, just to test.

Fuck yeah. He’s back to full control.

“Binghe,” he says, scooting over to tuck himself into Luo Binghe’s side even more. “Wake up.”

Ever the responsible disciple, he immediately does as his master commands and his eyes snap open. An embarrassing amount of glee fills him as Shen Qingqiu decides now is a good time to start repaying Binghe.

He’s kissing him before Binghe even finishes saying “Shizun—”

Shen Qingqiu grabs his husbands face, and grabs onto those dark locks of hair he’s been longing to pat, hold, and grab for so many days. He moans at the soft feeling, and rolls his hips to bump into Binghe’s. A clear signal. This time, there should be no miscommunication as to what he wants, thank you!

Binghe pulls back, holding Shen Qingqiu’s face back just to look at him in wonder, eyes sparking in joy, desire, and wonder. It’s clear that he understands. Then, he licks his lips.

It makes Shen Qingqiu shiver. He kind of, maybe, actually loves being looked at like he’s something to be devoured.

“Does my husband want me to keep treating him like the royalty he is?” Binghe asks, with an arrogance that it unfairly incredibly attractive.

“No.” Shen Qingqiu says, firm. He takes advantage of Binghe’s brief pause or confusion to roll him onto his back, and then climbs up, sitting on top of where the heavenly pillar is buried in sleep robes. He revels in the fact that he can move like this now, and in the fact that his husband is already stiffening up after just one kiss.

Hell yeah. I knew I was irresistible. B-points, please!

Binge hums, but it doesn’t sound upset. “’No?’”  He questions. It sounds interested, and his hands come up to grip each side of Shen Qingqiu’s waist. The touch burns in the best way.

And, well… maybe that’s what gives Shen Qingqiu the confidence to say exactly what he means, for once.

“No. Because today…” He swallows, and deliberately rolls his hips down and firm. “Today, this husband wants to show you just how alive he is.”

Binghe’s eyes flicker in delight and hunger, and Shen Qingqiu is determined to make sure they watch him every second. There’s a twitch from the absolute log beneath him.

Shen Qingqiu smirks, feeling victorious before he even really gets started.

Oh yeah. Today, he’s going to ride his husband into pure oblivion.

… Only to repay Binghe, of course!!!