Work Text:
“Okay… So these are…” Luo Binghe cringes. “Better?”
Mobei Jun wipes flour from his face and sighs deeply. “They look awful, Junshang.”
“We’re both covered in flour. There’s no need to be formal, Mobei,” he says with a small smile. Mobei Jun raises an eyebrow at him. “Anyway… These noodles are fine. I think your body temperature may have made them harder to pull, so they look… different?”
Mobei Jun’s chest feels hollow. “Awful. The word you want is awful. This won’t make up for what I’ve done.”
“You promised to not hit him anymore, right? And just because the noodles aren’t beautiful doesn’t mean it won’t taste nice!” Luo Binghe says with an air of fake positivity. He takes Mobei Jun’s sad excuse for noodles, which glitter from the frost covering them, and dumps them into hot water. Steam pours up from the pot, Luo Binghe’s unruly curls fluffing even more.
“But I need it to be perfect. How else will Qinghua know that-?”
A knife stabs into the cutting board between Mobei Jun’s hands, and he’s met by Luo Binghe’s blank expression.
“Shang-shishu never has and never will demand perfection from you. Now chop the scallions.”
Mobei Jun grumbles under his breath and gets to work.
The scallions frost over just as quickly as the noodles.
⤜❅⤛
Shang Qinghua is in the most dangerous mood he could possibly be in.
He’s bored.
Undeniably, bone-achingly bored.
(And he can’t do anything about it, thanks to a particularly vengeful Uncle He’d Probably Fuck If He Wasn’t Such A Dick.)
He pouts at the furs and leather wrapping his left leg, deemed necessary by Mu Qingfang because Linguang Jun not only used ice, he used ice that would slowly freeze Shang Qinghua’s leg off if he didn’t keep it unbearably warm.
So other than it looking like he’s turning into a werewolf, which is hilarious, this ‘cast’ is pure, sweaty torture that won’t even let him bend his knee. Shang Qinghua has become quite skilled at hopping around, but whenever he’s been caught standing up, Mobei Jun has immediately grabbed him by the waist and flung him on his bed with a single word: “Rest.”
Pah! He’s so tired of resting!
Could he write? Of course! His hands are fine! But there’s only so much writing he can do before he’s completely and utterly done with it. And there are only so many papapa scenes that one can write before realizing how awful their writing actually is.
You win, Cucumber-bro.
For example: this papapa scene he finished last night.
It’s awful.
Sighing heavily, he slumps on the low table and surveys the perfect example of his life’s work: erotica written by an idiot, full of scribbles and flourish, signifying nothing. He touches the parchment, enjoying the texture of everything but the cinnabar-red ink.
Shang Qinghua sits up slowly and carefully folds the parchment and tears off a long strip. Then another. Then another and another until all eight pages of his manuscript are shredded.
He slowly starts folding stars.
⤜❅⤛
“Qinghua.”
“No, ‘m sleepy…” Shang Qinghua groans, his eyes fluttering open for only a moment. A large, cool hand combs through his hair and a low rumble sounds above him. His shoulder is shaken again and he takes a deep breath, stretching out his arms over the table, pushing a small pile of paper stars across its surface.
Something heavy is placed by his head and he blinks awake, smelling the thick salt of a bone broth.
“What’s this?” He pokes the object, which in his half-awake state he has (mostly) determined is a bowl.
“Noodles. They should be warm.”
Mobei Jun! My king! Even ice can be considered warm in the North! Shang Qinghua huffs and squints at the bowl.
It’s steaming.
It’s! Steaming!
Suddenly very awake, Shang Qinghua sits up and peers into the bowl, greeted by blissfully warm steam wafting up from delicate pulled noodles covered with carefully chopped green onion and sprinkled with sesame seeds.
Okay, so the noodles aren’t delicate. They’re thick in some places and impossibly thin in others. And the onions don’t look chopped as much as they look like they’ve been smashed apart with a rock. And the sesame seeds aren’t really sprinkled, just thrown on top carelessly.
However! The poor presentation and complete absence of finesse points to one thing-
“My king… did you make this? For me?”
“This one knows it’s average at best.” Mobei Jun’s eyebrow twitches and he turns his head to glare at the wall. “Qinghua does not have to eat them if they are not to his liking.”
“Are you kidding?! It smells amazing, my king, of course I’m going to eat them!” He grabs the chopsticks that rest on the bowl’s rim. Sure, the technique itself is completely absent, but it’s warm and aromatic and probably one of the best things that Shang Qinghua ever put in his mouth in either lifetime.
“Acceptable?”
“More than acceptable. Thank you, my king, for fulfilling this servant’s request.” Shang Qinghua bows his head slightly. Mobei Jun hums, his mouth ticking up slightly. He straightens his posture, his shoulders wriggling as if he’s preening.
(It’s cute.)
Mobei Jun sits across from Shang Qinghua and rests his head in his palm.
“My king! You don’t have to stay!”
“Want to.”
Shang Qinghua feels warmth stir in his chest. Honestly… it’s been lonely as he’s recovering. He’s only received a few letters from Cucumber-bro and Mobei Jun has been spending so much time with Luo Binghe that-
“Qinghua?”
“Hmm?”
“What are these?” Mobei Jun holds a paper star in between his claws, his brow furrowed. “A talisman?”
“Oh, no! Nothing like that. Those are paper stars, my king! People make them as gifts. Each is supposed to signify a wish. At least I think so… I can’t remember. But I used to make them when I was sick as a kid. I guess my hands moved on their own.”
“Qinghua was sick often?”
“Well, um-” He grimaces, then shoves more noodles in his mouth to avoid answering. Mobei Jun narrows his eyes and Shang Qinghua shivers. He swallows his mouthful roughly, then places his chopsticks on the edge of the bowl.
“Anyway! Not a talisman. They’re more like tokens of friendship. Or love. We used to say you could make wishes with them or something.”
Mobei Jun hums and returns the star to its brethren. “What did Qinghua wish for?”
Isn’t that a little personal?!
He shrugs, his eyes darting around. “You know, just… things a child would wish for. Silly stuff.” Shang Qinghua picks up a strip and plays with it in his hands.
“What would you wish for now?”
The question is so quiet and gentle that Shang Qinghua huffs out a laugh.
“It doesn’t matter, my king. These don’t grant wishes. But they’re fun to make.” He folds the paper strip into a knot, then turns that knot over and over again into a pentagon, finally tucking the end of the strip. He pinches the pentagon gently, the star puffing into its final shape.
“Here,” Shang Qinghua murmurs, holding the star out. “For you.”
Mobei Jun blinks and cups his large hands beneath Shang Qinghua’s. He watches closely as the star drops into his palm and marvels at it, his pupils dilating softly.
“I can teach you, if you want.”
Mobei Jun shakes his head. “I’m not skilled when it comes to making things. Even compared to other demons.”
Shang Qinghua snorts. “There’s no way you’re worse at this than I was when I started.”
(This is a lie. Shang Qinghua has always been good at making stars.)
(And now he finally has someone to give them to.)
Mobei Jun stares at the star for a moment longer.
“Okay.”
Shang Qinghua beams and pats the cushion next to him. Mobei Jun crawls over, much too undignified for a demon lord, his pupils wide as he takes a paper strip.
“Okay, my king… First thing to remember is to be delicate! You can easily snap the paper if you pull too hard.”
Mobei Jun nods and slowly, carefully ties a knot at the end of the paper, but in his excitement, he pierces through the knot with his claw. He growls under his breath and grabs another strip, this time snapping it in two.
Shang Qinghua grabs his hand before he can reach for another strip. “Just practice making the knot, my king. Then we can move to the next step.”
Mobei Jun grumbles but nods, staring at the broken strip in his hands. He then tucks it into his sleeve pocket along with the other broken papers.
“This king will practice.”
꧁꧂
“Consort Shen.”
“Hm? Oh, Mobei Jun.” Shen Qingqiu smiles gently and gestures at the seat in front of him. “If you’re here to see Binghe, he is currently training with Liu-shidi.”
(Mobei Jun grimaces. It’s not so much ‘training’ as it is ‘Junshang reminding his shishu that he is stronger and more deserving of Shen Qingqiu’... But Consort Shen can think whatever he wishes.)
“No, I’m not here for Junshang.” Mobei Jun takes a deep breath and bows his head slightly. “This one needs assistance from Consort Shen.”
“Is Mobei Jun sure? Wouldn’t Shang Qinghua be a more appropriate choice?”
“It concerns him.”
“I see.” Shen Qingqiu closes his fan. “How may this master help?”
“This Mobei Jun wishes to purchase a gift for Shang Qinghua,” he continues, “to properly convey his feelings.”
Shen Qingqiu’s posture straightens, his eyebrows lift. “Oh!”
“This one tried to make noodles for him… They were unsatisfactory.” Mobei Jun huffs.
(Even though Shang Qinghua had eaten all of them, Mobei Jun knows that the noodles were subpar. They couldn’t have been anything but awful. His Qinghua deserves more…)
Shen Qingqiu taps his chin with his fan. “So Mobei Jun is looking for a gift?”
Mobei Jun nods once. “Yes. Shang Qinghua is provided everything he needs in the North.” He’s also provided with things he doesn’t need, but… “Has Qinghua mentioned anything that he wants? He… does not ask anything of this one until his items are falling apart.”
“So he only asks for things he can use?”
“Yes.” Mobei Jun blinks. “And noodles.”
“Hmm, so a practical gift…” Shen Qingqiu taps his chin with his fan. He then smiles, stands, and flicks his sleeves. “Come with me.”
Mobei Jun follows; he touches a pocket in the front of his cloak where a small paper star is kept.
⤜❅⤛
“Is Consort Shen sure about this?”
“Yes. There’s something here that I remember Shang-shidi admiring for ages until he decided not to buy it.”
“Not that.” Mobei Jun weaves around the crowd, feeling his heart in his throat. “Too many people.”
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Shen Qingqiu says, that same stupid smile on his face.
Mobei Jun stifles a whine and stares at him, eyes wide and unblinking. He doesn’t hate humans, not since Shang Qinghua forced his way into his life, but he can’t tamp down the growl forming in his throat. Weaving through this crowd without bumping into someone is impossible. The market is stifling the way the hot springs beneath the palace are, as if he’s breathing thick, heavy steam. Mobei Jun, feeling very awkward and small, steps closer to Shen Qingqiu. The immortal looks him up and down, blinking twice before he whispers a small ‘oh’ and loops his arm around Mobei Jun’s as if they’re off to pick flowers together.
“They’re staring.”
“Just stay with me. We won’t be in this crowd for long, and as soon as we’re finished you can transport us back to Cang Qiong, okay?”
“Mn.” Mobei Jun feels his heartbeat calm in his chest. “Thank you, Consort Shen.”
⤜❅⤛
Mobei Jun finally relaxes when they enter a small stationery shop that smells like Shang Qinghua’s favorite incense.
“A-Mei?” Shen Qingqiu calls. “Are you here?”
A young woman wearing the same teal of Qing Jing Peak pops out from the back of the shop and throws herself at Shen Qingqiu.
“Shizun!” she exclaims squeezing him into a bone crushing hug. Mobei Jun shifts from foot to foot and glances around the shop, subconsciously pulling shadows closer and closer to him like a thick, velvety cloak. “This disciple hasn’t seen you for ages!”
“A-Mei, you’re no longer a child,” Shen Qingqiu scolds playfully, tapping the top of her head with his closed fan. She laughs, the sound akin to wind chimes.
“This disciple knows, but how could Shizun ask me to not be excited to see him? He so rarely comes by my shop!” She lets him go and steps back. “So what are you looking for today? Watercolors? A new inkstone?”
Shen Qingqiu shakes his head. “Mobei Jun is looking for a gift for your Shang-shishu.”
A-Mei blinks, then slowly tilts her head up, taking in the behemoth of an ice demon. “Oh! This one apologizes! I didn’t see Mobei Jun until just now.”
“It’s okay,” Mobei Jun mumbles, avoiding eye contact. A-Mei frowns slightly.
“Is there anything Mobei Jun is looking for in particular…? Did Shang-shishu mention anything he wanted?”
Mobei Jun shakes his head, his gaze still lowered. Shen Qingqiu clears his throat.
“This teacher remembers a brush set that Shang-shidi wished to buy a few months ago. Does A-Mei still have it in stock?”
A-Mei’s face brightens. “Yes! I do, actually. I put it in the back in case he changed his mind.” She runs to the back, calling that she’ll only be a moment over her shoulder. Mobei Jun flinches at a touch on his arm, the frost covering his fingertips melting when he realizes it’s only Shen Qingqiu.
“A-Mei is very kind,” he mutters, adjusting an arm guard.
“She is,” Shen Qingqiu says proudly, flicking his fan open. “And very talented.”
A-Mei rushes from the back, a black lacquer box in her hands. She beckons them over to the counter and Mobei Jun crosses the small shop on shaky legs.
His breath catches when he sees that the carvings mimic a region in the farthest reaches of the North, one where it was too cold for even trees to grow.
“I recently finished this box for them,” A-Mei explains, “as Shang-shishu loves the Northern Territory.” She opens the box, revealing a set of four brushes, all different sizes, complete with an inkwell and a small brush rest. A black, almost iridescent, inkstone also rests in the packaging.
Mobei Jun looks from the brushes to A-Mei, his fingers twitching where his hands rest on the counter.
“You can touch them,” she says proudly. Mobei Jun picks up one of the brushes, twirling it gently in his hands. The carvings swirl up the handles like snow flurries, the ivory almost glowing white. The bristles, though Mobei Jun isn’t brave enough to touch them, are obviously soft and shine with the same brilliance as the ivory.
“The handles, inkwell, and brush rest are all carved from Black Moon Rhinoceros Python ivory, decorated with silver inlay. The bristles are from my Snow Rabbit Fox, so if Shang-shishu ever needs the bristles replaced, he can come to me.”
“They’re beautiful,” Mobei Jun whispers. He twirls the brush in his hand once more then meets A-Mei’s eyes. “How much?”
A-Mei holds her hands up and waves them dismissively. “Ah! This one doesn’t expect payment from Mobei Jun!”
Mobei Jun narrows his eyes and places the brush in its box, closing the box with a ‘click’. “How. Much?”
She sets her jaw. “Nothing.”
Shen Qingqiu, looking thoroughly amused, takes two steps back, fanning himself languidly.
Mobei Jun clicks his tongue, then digs in his cloak. He then stares A-Mei in the eyes and drops eight silver taels on the counter in front of her. Her face reddens.
“This is too much!”
“It’s too little.” Mobei Jun bows softly and gently takes the lacquer box. “Thanking A-Mei for setting these aside.”
She huffs and grabs the taels, which threaten to spill out of her small hands. “Of course. Shang-shishu has always been kind to this one. He deserves them.”
Mobei Jun’s mouth twitches into a smile. “He does.”
⤜❅⤛
After transporting Shen Qingqiu back to Qing Jing Peak (and profusely thanking him), Mobei Jun arrives just outside of Shang Qinghua’s office. He touches the door handle, intent on barging in when he remembers that his advisor really hates it when he comes into his office unannounced.
So he knocks.
And he waits.
But Mobei Jun is nothing if not an impatient demon, so he presses his ear to the door to hear soft, even breathing.
Shang Qinghua is asleep.
Mobei Jun cracks the door open, double checking that Shang Qinghua is, in fact, slumped over on his desk with his head pillowed in his arms. He pets Shang Qinghua’s head, the human exhaling softly in his sleep, his mouth curling into a small smile. Mobei Jun places the black lacquer box on Shang Qinghua’s desk, just on top of the work he was doing before he fell asleep.
He latches the door quietly, leaving as quickly as he came.
⤜❅⤛
Shang Qinghua wakes up to a twinge in his neck and a deep pit of dread filling his stomach.
He has to defend his proposal for a cultural center… again.
They haven’t even begun to budget for it, and already every dignitary in the North (aside from Mobei Jun and a few elders) are fighting fang and claw against it. Shang Qinghua groans and rubs the sleep from his eyes. He yawns, cracking his neck, ready to review his proposal one more time when he notices something that wasn’t on his desk the night before covering his thesis statement.
“Oh, no.”
Shang Qinghua doesn’t know where this black lacquer box came from or why it is on his desk, but if his suspicions are to be trusted, someone in the Northern Fortress is trying to kill him. The box itself has an intricate design, one that reminds him of the mountains in the far reaches of the territory, of the treeless (but beautiful) wasteland.
But it’s a trap. It’s obviously made to be beautiful so he thinks it’s a gift and opens it!
He plucks one of his ratty brushes from its hook and pokes the box with it, wincing when the noise comes back slightly hollow. Careful to not jostle the box too much and potentially cause an explosion, Shang Qinghua pushes the box as far away from his paperwork as possible. He makes a mental note to show Mobei Jun the box the next time they’re alone; after all, if someone is threatening his life, then his king for sure has something to worry about! Assassins are much too smart to only try to kill Shang Qinghua! Even if he died, the North would still be in perfect shape! Why only kill a servant-
Shang Qinghua swallows roughly and stares down at his plans for the cultural center. He rolls up the scroll, grabs his tatty brushes and ink, and limps off to the council room.
⤜❅⤛
His presentation is a disaster.
Not that he hadn’t prepared well. He had. For days, skipping sleep, meals, baths, any kind of self care imaginable and the council made a fool of him. Even Mobei Jun was unimpressed, ending the meeting in the middle of his argument that his want to connect the realms isn’t an attempt for humans to take over and-
He slams his scrolls down on his desk and slumps in his chair.
-now there’s this box that’s sitting innocently on his desk.
Shang Qinghua doesn’t know what he did so wrong… Sure the box hasn’t exploded or dispelled a poison (yet), but there’s no way this can be a gift. Not when he’s so hated here! He sniffs and holds his throbbing head in his hands.
A soft knock at his door almost makes him look up. He should look up. But he can’t let anyone see him like this, especially-
“Qinghua?”
-especially not Mobei Jun.
“Come in, my king,” he says, voice watery. He doesn’t look up as Mobei Jun’s footsteps grow closer, nor as the demon crouches next to him. “Does Mobei Jun want any tea? This servant can cold brew a blend he received from Shen-shixiong last week.”
Mobei Jun huffs. “No.” Shang Qinghua peeks past his fingers to see Mobei Jun frowning at the box, his fingertips nearly touching its surface-
Fuck!
“My king, don’t touch it!” Shang Qinghua shrieks, slapping Mobei Jun’s hand away. Mobei Jun stares at him, lips slightly parted and brow furrowed. “I-This one hasn’t had a chance to examine it, but I- this servant suspects that it may be a trap!”
“Why would it be a trap?”
Why wouldn’t it be a trap?! Ah?!
Mobei Jun picks up the box (“My king, don’t!”) and with both hands carefully presents it to Shang Qinghua. The cultivator’s heart thumps hard in his chest and he swears he feels it stop once or twice as Mobei Jun’s stare grows colder.
“Take it,” Mobei Jun commands almost petulantly. “It’s for you.”
“I know it’s for me! But my king, I think it’s meant to kill-”
Mobei Jun’s face softens, his features falling. “It’s a gift,” he says quietly. “From me.”
Shang Qinghua’s face reddens and suddenly he feels as if he’s about to cry. “Oh.”
“You don’t have to accept it…” Mobei Jun murmurs, his brow furrowing as his hands curl protectively around the box.
Shang Qinghua winces. “I… I don’t get a lot of gifts, my king. It was… a surprise. I’m more than happy to accept anything my king wishes to give me.”
With those words, Mobei Jun once again presents his gift (gift!) to Shang Qinghua, who takes it with shaking fingers. He allows himself to touch the design, admiring it without any paranoia before he opens it and his breath catches in his chest.
“Oh my god, it’s the brush set… How did you-”
“This king had help,” Mobei Jun says with a proud tilt of his head. “Does Shang Qinghua like them?”
He doesn’t just like them, he loves them. Shang Qinghua gently touches the handle of a brush, too scared to properly hold it. He swallows hard, his thumb stroking the intricate carving on the handle, the delicate silver inlay that A-Mei worked so hard to perfect. His breath stutters in his chest.
“My king… I- I don’t know if I can’t accept these…”
“Why?”
It’s more of a command than a question. Shang Qinghua’s eyes mist over, his fingers shaking.
Mobei Jun, annoyed: “Are they unsatisfactory?”
“No! No, nothing like that! It’s- I’m the-” He sniffs and covers his face with his hand, his shoulders shaking. “I-”
“If this king offended Qinghua-”
“No, no, you didn’t! Please don’t think that! These… they’re too beautiful for me. I’m just a servant-”
“You’re not a servant.”
“-who can’t even get a fucking proposal for a cultural center, something that would benefit both realms, taken seriously. I don’t deserve something like this…”
A soft, cold touch to his wrist momentarily shakes Shang Qinghua from his spiral into self loathing. Mobei Jun takes his hand from his face and squeezes it gently.
“Look at me.”
Shang Qinghua sniffs and stiffly turns his head. Mobei Jun looks so much more gentle than he’s ever seen him. He takes a shallow breath, his bottom lip twitching. Shang Qinghua shakes his head and Mobei Jun lets out a long-suffering sigh.
“What makes you think you’re undeserving of these?”
He laughs and scrubs wetness from his face. “I’m a joke, my king. You saw what happened at the meeting.” The temperature drops, frost creeping along the floor; Shang Qinghua swallows around a lump in his throat. “This servant brought shame to you, my king.”
“You did not. That dignitary did. We do not treat others the way he treated you in my court.”
(Shang Qinghua nearly laughs. His king really hasn’t changed; he’s the same petulant prince he’s always been and he loves him for it.)
“And you’re not a servant, Qinghua. You’re worth so much more to the North than that… to me.” Mobei Jun stands and gently rests his hand on top of Shang Qinghua’s head. “You deserve more than these brushes.”
“I don’t-”
“This king will decide what Shang Qinghua does and doesn’t deserve,” Mobei Jun says softly, as if he’s scared that Shang Qinghua will flee. “You deserve these brushes. You deserve to use and enjoy them.”
“Okay,” Shang Qinghua whispers, his mouth twitching into a smile as Mobei Jun strokes the top of his head. “Then… Thank you, my king. They’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever received.”
Mobei Jun’s eyes spark, his eyebrows lifting. He does the same shimmy of his shoulders, the same preening he did when he gave Shang Qinghua the bowl of noodles.
“Qinghua should rest. He’s worked hard today.”
Shang Qinghua nods. “After I file away these notes, my king.”
“I’ll make sure that you do,” Mobei Jun says, voice low and eyes narrowed.
“Is that a threat, my king?”
“Mn.” With an amused huff, Mobei Jun leaves Shang Qinghua alone. He curls his ink stained hands around the box, smiling to himself.
There’s a small strip of paper, with a knot tied in the end lying neatly next to the thinnest brush.
꧁꧂
Wei Qingwei squints at the scroll muttering to himself. Mobei Jun, his legs completely entangled by pangopups, leans heavily against the forge’s exit, desperate to get some relief from the heat. A fully grown pangolin, the pangopups’ mother, is curled up at his feet, sleepily enjoying the coolness seeping from Mobei Jun’s body.
“So?” Mobei Jun says, picking up a pangopup that’s trying to chew the edge of his cloak. He cradles it, tickling its belly until it lets go. “Can it be made?”
“With all respect, Mobei Jun, I craft spiritual swords.” Wei Qingwei furrows his brow. “I don’t know if I can craft an amulet like this. Especially one that’s demonic…”
“So Wei Qingwei is not willing to try?”
“I didn’t say that,” the cultivator murmurs, still studying the scroll. “Of course I’m willing to try. Xiuying likes you almost as much as she likes Shang-shidi.”
(The pangolin mother snores quietly at his feet.)
“But Mobei Jun should lower his expectations. I haven’t made an amulet in decades, and I definitely haven’t forged anything that actively uses demonic energy.” Wei Qingwei sets the scroll down and unties his braid, quickly pulling his loose hair into a messy bun.
Mobei Jun hums. “Then this one will take his leave.”
“No.”
The demon king blinks, then narrows his eyes.
“Since this will be connected to you,” Wei Qingwei grunts, stretching up to his toes to grab a silver ingot, “I’ll need some of your blood.”
Mobei Jun wordlessly pulls a vial from a pocket in his cloak.
“It has to be fresh.”
Mobei Jun rolls his eyes and sheds his cloak, the pangopup in his arms wriggling in protest. “Fine. I will stay.”
Wei Qingwei smirks. “I’ll see if we can get any cooling talismans here for you.” He nods at a tree. “You can sit there until I need you.”
⤜❅⤛
“Qinghua.”
(Shang Qinghua chews at his thumbnail, squinting at the order form for palace supplies. Somehow he’s gotten some of the supplies needed for An Ding mixed up in this order form. It would explain why half of the staff has taken up watercolor, but-)
“Qinghua.”
Shang Qinghua, without bothering to look up: “What is it, my king?”
Quick as an arrow, Mobei Jun grabs Shang Qinghua’s earlobe. Shang Qinghua yelps, flinching slightly as Mobei Jun forcibly pulls out the earring that he’s worn ever since he became a Peak Lord.
(Of course, he thinks wryly, Mobei Jun is more gentle now than he was when he first gifted Shang Qinghua the earring he’s now yanking from his ear.)
“My king, if you wanted these back, you could have just told me…”
Mobei Jun clicks his tongue as he takes Shang Qinghua’s hand and slaps the earring into his palm. “Do you really think I would ask you to return a gift?”
“No! Maybe!” Shang Qinghua hisses when he tugs at his ear again, yanking his head away. “Ow! What are you doing?!
“Stay. Still!” He grabs Shang Qinghua’s ear again, a small ‘click’ soon following. He then feels something cold slide onto his ear, Mobei Jun’s claws grazing gently against the cartilage.
“There,” the demon announces as if Shang Qinghua has any idea of what’s happening.
As warmth spreads through his body, Shang Qinghua reaches up and touches his ear; a small cuff is attached to the shell of his ear and a simple hoop with what feels like a cold gemstone dangling from it is attached to his lobe. They’re both connected by what seems to be a delicate chain, but if Shang Qinghua knows anything about this world, it’s that what Mobei Jun has given him is anything but delicate.
“To keep Qinghua warm. And safe,” Mobei Jun explains. “My blood was used to forge this.”
Shang Qinghua’s mouth falls agape. If Mobei Jun wanted both of these things to happen, he could have force-fed his blood to Shang Qinghua. It would have been the quickest and easiest solution.
“Does Qinghua not feel warm?”
“N-no-”
Mobei Jun’s expression darkens.
“I meant no to not feeling warm!” Shang Qinghua squeaks. “I’m very warm right now! Almost like spring at Cang Qiong!”
Mobei Jun, looking slightly convinced, nods. “It will also tell me if Qinghua is in danger. Or sick.” He cups Shang Qinghua’s jaw, turning his head to the side so he can better examine the amulet. “Because Qinghua is very skilled at hiding when he needs help.”
Shang Qinghua squints and side-eyes Mobei Jun. “Why are you giving me this?”
Mobei Jun flinches, his lips slightly parted as his brow pinches.
“I’m accepting your gift! I- I just want to know.”
The demon sighs and strokes Shang Qinghua’s cheek, his fingers playing with a loose wave of hair. Shang Qinghua tries to tell himself that the touch means nothing.
“Qinghua deserves nice things,” Mobei Jun says simply. “And he deserves to be safe.”
After those words, Shang Qinghua finds himself leaning into Mobei Jun’s touch. Mobei Jun rumbles, the noise soon crescendoing into a short chirrup and the same excited wiggle he’d shown with the previous two gifts. Like a kitten ready to pounce.
“So…” Shang Qinghua murmurs. “I saw that you’re able to tie a knot in the paper. Do you want to learn the next step?”
Mobei Jun nods and Shang Qinghua excitedly grabs two paper strips. The demon ties a knot in the paper, slowly, carefully, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
“Okay… so the next step is simple, but really easy to mess up if you use too much pressure.” Shang Qinghua holds up his star. “You fold down the small tail.”
Mobei Jun follows that instruction, then flicks his eyes back up to Shang Qinghua.
“Then fold the rest of the strip and tuck the tail… after that you pinch the sides to make the star.” Shang Qinghua demonstrates, Mobei Jun following his instructions carefully with shaking hands, his claw tucking the paper in gently-
Then he slips, his claw puncturing a hole right in the middle of his pentagon. The air around Mobei Jun grows cold and he growls under his breath. Shang Qinghua touches his wrist, the grumbling stopping instantly.
“This king will practice.” Mobei Jun sighs through his nose. “Again.”
꧁꧂
“This is impossible…” Shang Qinghua groans into his palms, his fingers tightly pressing against his eyelids.
He can’t even say he has a headache, really, because it doesn’t hurt. but the smallest bits of light that are burning through his eyelids are dizzying and he can’t read without wanting to throw up on Shen Qingqiu’s concerningly inaccurate budget calculations.
(Then again, throwing up on Shen Qingqiu’s forms will probably fix his arithmetic. It certainly won’t make it any worse…)
There’s a soft tap at his shoulder, followed by an even softer “Shizun?”
“Mn?” He exhales shakily and straightens his posture to come face-to-face with his smallest disciple. “Hello, A-Hui.”
Ren Hui’s lip wobbles slightly. “This- This disciple, he, um-” Ren Hui throws his armful of scrolls in front of Shang Qinghua. He then bows deeply, his shoulders shaking. “This- this disciple found a mistake in his calculations! Begging Shizun’s forgiveness!”
(Shang Qinghua’s headache pounds even stronger.)
“It’s alright, A-Hui,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Judging by the amount of scrolls Ren Hui dumped on his desk, Shang Qinghua would need a strong pot of tea to get through today. Well, tonight. He glances out the window, the sun setting lazily on the horizon.
Ren Hui sniffs again. Shang Qinghua sighs and pets his head.
“You told this teacher when you found out, correct?”
Ren Hui nods, his bottom lip wobbling.
“Then there’s nothing to worry about.”
“But… Shizun!” Ren Hui’s face scrunches up and he begins to cry in earnest. Shang Qinghua sighs, his head pounding as he tries to smile for Ren Hui.
“Show me your error?”
Ren Hui opens one scroll and points to a simple transcription error that’s unfortunately early on in the accounting process. But it’s not impossible to correct. It only adds another sichen or so to Shang Qinghua’s work.
But even that’s too much… His vision swims and he presses his fingers into his temple. Ren Hui notices, a small whine caught in his throat as his shoulders shake.
“I’m sorry!”
“Hey, hey, none of that. It’s alright… I promise it’s alright,” Shang Qinghua shushes him. “This old teacher has made much worse mistakes in the past, ah?”
Ren Hui sniffles and clumsily wipes his cheeks.
“Now go eat dinner,” he says, patting Ren Hui on the shoulder. “Drink some tea to help you sleep if you can’t manage it on your own.”
“Yes, Shizun.” Ren Hui smiles shakily and bows again. “Thanking Shizun.”
The sound of Ren Hui’s boots fade as Shang Qinghua’s headache drips hotly through the rest of his body, his arms and legs shaking, his jaw tight as stars dance across his vision. His head is heavy as it falls back into his hands.
He doesn’t even flinch when there’s a hand at the back of his neck, the chill welcoming.
“Hello, my king…”
“Qinghua’s hurting,” Mobei Jun remarks, briefly touching the earcuff he’d given Shang Qinghua the month before.
Shang Qinghua opens his mouth, fully intent on laughing it off, on telling Mobei Jun that everything is fine despite the pile of work, despite his headache making it impossible for him to do anything.
His dismissal morphs into a shuddering exhale.
“I can’t do this, my king,” he whispers hoarsely. “Everything hurts, I’m tired… there’s nothing else I can give.”
Mobei Jun rumbles behind him, his thumb stroking Shang Qinghua’s tense neck muscle. Shang Qinghua’s head (and honestly, the rest of his body) hurts too much to even appreciate how Mobei Jun is touching him so intimately right now.
“You should sleep.”
“I can’t,” he says, catching the sob in his throat. Shang Qinghua vaguely gestures at the entirety of his desk. “Due tomorrow morning, so in about… three sichens?” He sniffs roughly. Mobei Jun removes his hand, and Shang Qinghua longs for the touch until Mobei Jun sits on the cushion next to him.
“What needs to be done?”
“Please don’t joke about this, my king,” Shang Qinghua moans, peeking at Mobei Jun through his fingers. “I can’t take it…”
“I’m not joking.” Mobei Jun’s microexpression is hard to read this time, especially when Shang Qinghua is so tired he’s on the verge of throwing up.
“No offense, my king, but I’ve never seen you balance a budget…”
“I know how to do basic mathematics like any demon lord,” Mobei Jun quips, grabbing a scroll. “Now tell me which forms need to be completed, Qinghua.”
Without lifting his head, Shang Qinghua explains which forms need to be filled out in what order, every idiosyncrasy, every nuance. Somehow, he manages to finish his explanation before he’s swaying where he sits and Mobei Jun insists that he go to sleep now. Shang Qinghua stumbles to his bed, not bothering to undress or even unbind his hair.
As Shang Qinghua drifts off to sleep, curled tightly on his side, he watches Mobei Jun, watches him focus on forms he has no business completing and he wants to cry. Not from stress (okay, maybe a little from stress), but from how lucky he is that Mobei Jun still wants him around, wants to help him…
Maybe he has more of a chance than he thought…
Shang Qinghua yawns and suddenly his eyelids are too heavy and he falls into a pleasantly dreamless sleep.
(Well, mostly dreamless… he remembers being tucked in more securely, remembers his body humming from a kiss on his temple and a whispered ‘I love you’.)
(It’s a wonderful dream.)
⤜❅⤛
When Shang Qinghua wakes up, he’s alone with a pile of completed financial reports and a steaming pot of tea. He still feels weak and shaky (but strangely not cold — he touches the amulet safely attached to his ear) from sleeping so little this week, but Mobei Jun forcing him to rest made him feel like a human again and not a walking corpse.
He pours himself a cup of tea and takes a small sip. He’s able to take one of the first fulfilling breaths he’s ever taken since transmigrating.
It’s then he notices a small pentagon next to the teapot. Something warm and beautiful swells in his chest.
(Maybe telling Mobei Jun won’t result in disaster after all.)
He finishes his tea and gathers his scrolls, heart light.
⤜❅⤛
The peak meeting goes off without a hitch until Shen Qingqiu descends upon Shang Qinghua like the green menace he is.
“So, Shang-shidi…” he starts, tapping his chin with his fan. “Are you going to attend the banquet at Huan Hua this week?”
“Oh! Yes, I think so.” Shang Qinghua rolls up the main financial report and passes it to Yue Qingyuan’s head disciple. “Unless something comes up.”
“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t you go?”
“Well, there’s always stuff to catch up on here and it’s not really necessary for me to be there, ah? I’m not Mobei Jun’s consort and no diplomacy is happening.” He shrugs. “I’d just be in the way.”
Flipping his fan open, Shen Qingqiu: “Those are lovely brushes, Shidi. Aren’t they the ones that A-Mei crafted?”
“Shen-shixiong is observant,” he replies, putting the brushes back into their box and carefully tucking it into his qiankun pouch.
“When did you go back to buy them?”
“I didn’t. They were a gift from my king.”
Shen Qingqiu hums and languidly fans himself, completely blocking his face. “So that’s a new earring.”
Please show your emotions for once!
“En, also a gift from my king…” Shang Qinghua touches the jewelry, unable to stop his smile. “It’s supposed to keep me warm in the North and make it easier to call for help when I need it.”
Shang Qinghua yelps when there’s a clap on his shoulder.
Wei Qingwei: “So it works! Maybe I should go into forging demonic amulets after all.”
Shang Qinghua blinks up at his shixiong and gathers the remaining scrolls in his arms. “You made this?”
“Your demon lord asked me last week. Even stood in the forge with me. Thought he was going to melt.” He grins. “Xiuying is quite fond of him, too, he may replace you as her favorite.”
(First of all, Mobei Jun will never replace him as Xiuying’s favorite. Second…)
“He had you forge this for me?” His fingers brush against the earring again.
“En. So did you accept his courtship?”
Shang Qinghua: “…”
Shen Qingqiu: “…”
Wei Qingwei: “…”
Shang Qinghua nearly drops the pile of scrolls in his hands. He blushes crimson and slaps his forehead. “Oh my god, that’s what he’s doing?!”
“What did you think he was doing, Shidi?”
“I don’t know!” Shang Qinghua waves his free hand around wildly. “Being nice?! Oh my god, I’m an idiot…”
“That’s an understatement,” Shen Qingqiu snorts.
Shang Qinghua dashes off, ignoring his bro’s insult. He’s got work to do.
꧁꧂
Huan Hua Palace is in better repair these days. Instead of the battle-ridden halls, scarred by both Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge, the palace is now back to the splendor Mobei Jun remembers from when they first took over. He slowly walks to the dais, his claws scraping gently beneath a gilded portrait of Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu. He pauses, a longing breath caught in his chest.
The portrait is beautiful, but typical. Luo Binghe and Consort Shen face each other, flames intertwined between them, but Luo Binghe is still very much the dominant figure in the portrait, despite the opposite being true. It shows a lord who saved his consort over and over again, even though Shen Qingqiu is the reason Luo Binghe awoke to his true potential.
The portrait of him and Shang Qinghua wouldn’t be like this. It wouldn’t be a typical portrait of a lord and their consort, Mobei Jun wouldn’t allow it-
“Mobei!”
He retracts his hand and spins to a brightly grinning Luo Binghe. He walks up to him, shining and regal as the day Mobei Jun unsealed his demonic blood.
“Junshang.”
Luo Binghe’s smile falters. “You don’t have to be formal, Mobei.”
“Apologies.” Mobei Jun’s gaze falters and he shifts from foot to foot, his gaze still on the painting. “This one did not intend to be.”
Luo Binghe lets out a long sigh and touches his forehead. “Anyway… Shizun and Shang-shishu should be arriving soon.”
Mobei Jun’s posture straightens. He touches the paper star hidden in his cloak pocket. He follows Luo Binghe back to the banquet hall, his limbs tingling.
In spite of himself, he’s smiling.
Today’s the day.
⤜❅⤛
Shen Qingqiu arrives alone a sichen later. Before Mobei Jun can ask when Shang Qinghua is set to arrive, Shen Qingqiu smiles at him sympathetically.
Mobei Jun’s fists clench at his side.
“This one apologizes, Mobei Jun, but he may not be able to attend. He has work he needs to complete.”
“I see.” Mobei Jun’s fists clench tighter, his claws digging into his palms.
Work to do? Qinghua always has work to do! And while Mobei Jun has significantly reduced the amount he wanted Shang Qinghua to do for him, all of the work from the sect is endless, as if Cang Qiong is trying to keep Shang Qinghua occupied and away from him, and it isn’t fair, not for him, not for Qinghua-
“Are you alright, Mobei?”
Mobei Jun blinks when he feels Luo Binghe’s hand squeezing his shoulder.
“I’m fine,” he murmurs, eyes cast to the ground. “Thanking Junshang for his concern.”
“Come on. We should head to the dais.”
Mobei Jun follows, the paper star burning in his pocket.
⤜❅⤛
Every moment that passes only makes the seat to Mobei Jun’s right feel emptier. The emptier it feels, the more Mobei Jun wishes that he can crack everyone’s skull in two.
He just wants Shang Qinghua here. He had plans.
But… None of his recent attempts at courting gifts have worked.
And how could they? Shang Qinghua is everything Mobei Jun is not; he’s subtle, calculating, clever… Nothing like Mobei Jun, who is brash, someone who kills before asking questions.
Shang Qinghua certainly deserves more than to be the Consort of the North. More than an immature, spoiled king who only recently learned that hitting Shang Qinghua wasn’t-
Mobei Jun is startled out of his stupor when there’s a tap on his shoulder.
“What?” he snaps, bearing his fangs.
Luo Binghe furrows his brow and jerks his head towards the steps leading up to the pavilion. “Someone’s coming.”
Mobei Jun’s ears twitch and he tilts his head to the size, surprised that he hadn’t noticed the footsteps before Luo Binghe (even though his thoughts were so negative and all-consuming that half the dais is covered in sparkling frost).
He hears the small, uneven stutter between steps and his breath catches. Mobei Jun sits up straighter, his muscles itching to move, his ears straining to listen.
Shang Qinghua’s gait is different than it had been before; his uncle had given the human a limp that Mobei Jun suspects will never leave him. Maybe that’s why he was so slow to notice.
The human has always been skittish, constantly shaking or jittery as if he’s about to fall apart. But as he approaches, the shake in his step is even more pronounced. His head is held high, but he looks at nothing and no one except for Mobei Jun, as if they are the only two people in the realm.
Shang Qinghua stands before the dais, a cinnabar box clutched in his hands. The red lacquer gleams under his fingertips, but Mobei Jun can see small highlights of blue and yellow peeking out from the carving.
The human stares at Mobei Jun with his large brown eyes and then drops to his knees. He bows his head low, exposing his freckled neck, the round cinnabar box gently in both hands.
The banquet falls silent around them.
Mobei Jun takes a sharp breath and he stands, looking down upon Shang Qinghua, who looks so much smaller than usual. Mobei Jun tilts his head and blinks, his fingers shaking when he notices it’s because Shang Qinghua is wearing the dark, deep-as-midnight blues of the North over the gem-toned yellows and blues of An Ding Peak.
“This one apologizes for his previous ignorance, my king.”
(Mobei Jun briefly looks back at Shen Qingqiu, who still wears the greens of Qing Jing Peak.)
Junshang can’t get his consort to wear his colors. But Qinghua already wears mine.
Mobei Jun silently descends the dais steps.
⤜❅⤛
Shang Qinghua quivers like a leaf, painfully aware of everyone’s eyes on his kneeling form.
“I didn’t understand… well, I didn’t believe your true intentions. Not due to any fault of my king. You couldn’t have been more clear. However… This one considered himself unlovable for years, so… so the thought of anyone wanting me, especially you, was- is- laughable. I still don’t see what you do, but…”
Mobei Jun slowly kneels in front of Shang Qinghua. He can feel his legs shaking as he does.
“It’s not much, nowhere near the value of the brushes or the amulet, but please consider this gift as my acceptance of your courtship.”
Shang Qinghua’s fingers flex against the cinnabar box, which Mobei Jun takes from his hands. Two fingers hook under his chin and his gaze is lifted until it meets his king’s beautiful blue eyes and he looks so confused and fuck, he shouldn’t have done this, he shouldn’t have assumed-
“Why wouldn’t I accept your gift?” he asks softly, his thumb stroking Shang Qinghua’s cheek. Shang Qinghua’s breath sticks in his chest as he leans into the touch.
“Did you make this for me?”
Shang Qinghua nods and kisses Mobei Jun’s palm. “It’s the work I needed to complete, my king… There’s another gift inside as well,” he says, wetting his lips nervously. Mobei Jun’s hand leaves his face quickly and he opens the box.
“Qinghua…” he breathes, pulling out a pale yellow hair ribbon, the same color as Shang Qinghua’s. The Mobei Clan’s sigil is lovingly embroidered at one end of the ribbon, the blue shining beautifully against the silk. He carefully places the box on the ground between them. Mobei Jun unbinds his hair, removing the hair ornament and placing it to the right of the box.
(Shang Qinghua is pretty sure that Mobei Jun has broken at least fifteen different Mobei Clan traditions by placing his crown on the floor, but he’s not about to interrupt.)
Mobei Jun silently fingercombs out the braids in his hair, the locks falling over his shoulder in inky waves. He braids it quickly, the braid somehow even despite how quickly his hands move. He ties the braid with the pale yellow ribbon.
Shang Qinghua swallows hard, his throat clicking as Mobei Jun reaches into his cloak pocket.
“Open your hands, Qinghua.”
He obeys and Mobei Jun drops something light and tickling in his palms. Shang Qinghua’s shoulders shake and he takes a shuddering breath that quickly turns into a sob.
It’s a star. It’s a perfect paper star, its corners even sharper than what Shang Qinghua can make.
“I accept,” Mobei Jun murmurs, cupping Shang Qinghua’s face with both hands and carefully wiping the fat tears rolling down his face. “I accept.” He kisses between his brows, then the tip of his nose. Shang Qinghua closes his eyes and clasps his hands around the star, careful to not crush it. He holds it close to his chest.
“I accept, I accept, I accept…” Shadows surround them, Mobei Jun presses their foreheads together as they’re transported home.
⤜❅⤛
Mobei Jun and Shang Qinghua land softly on Mobei Jun’s bed. He quickly moves the box and crown to his side table. Shang Qinghua shakily gives Mobei Jun the star so it, too, is out of the way. He doesn’t know what he would do if it were destroyed.
“My Qinghua…” Mobei Jun whispers, once again cradling Shang Qinghua’s face in his hands, a low purr vibrating in his throat.
“Yours,” Shang Qinghua murmurs, his voice quivering. “Always yours.”
Mobei Jun brushes their noses against each other, his breath stuttering in time with Shang Qinghua’s. Their lips meet, touching briefly, shyly in chaste little kisses until Shang Qinghua’s tongue peeks out and licks at Mobei Jun’s mouth.
Mobei Jun growls and grasps the back of Shang Qinghua’s head, pulling into a bruising and deep kiss. Shang Qinghua whines, his spine melting until he realizes-
“Wait! My king…” he breathes, taking the opportunity to come up for air. “The banquet…”
“What about the banquet?”
“Isn’t it important?” Shang Qinghua pants. Mobei Jun scoffs and kisses the corner of Shang Qinghua’s mouth, one hand slipping underneath his inner robes. Shang Qinghua shivers from something other than the chill.
“Not as important as this,” Mobei Jun purrs in his ear, slipping his robes off his shoulders. He ducks his head, kissing and gently sucking along Shang Qinghua’s neck. The human mewls, his eyes half-lidded as he slips his own hands beneath Mobei Jun’s robes.
Mobei Jun sucks in a breath and pulls Shang Qinghua’s belt apart, nearly ripping the fabric. He tugs at Shang Qinghua’s robes and growls one word: “Off.”
Shang Qinghua obeys quickly and clumsily, yelping when he nearly falls over on the mattress. Mobei Jun, already undressed because demons don’t believe in layers, chuckles low and draws Shang Qinghua closer, pulling him into his lap. He strokes Shang Qinghua’s side and stares into his eyes, his own soft, his pupils dilated, and suddenly Shang Qinghua wants to cry again.
He can’t believe this is happening. That he’s in the lap of his ideal man - no - the man who he loves and has loved for so long. He holds Mobei Jun’s face in his shaking hands and kisses him again. It’s slow, unhurried, Mobei Jun’s cold tongue politely pressing into his mouth. Shang Qinghua keens, his hips shivering as Mobei Jun pinches at his waist. His hands trail down the demon’s strong jawline, his neck, his collarbones until he’s cupping the pecs that have peeked so temptingly, so unfairly from Mobei Jun’s robes for years. He squeezes lightly, Mobei Jun whimpering when his blunted nails gently scratch against his nipples. Mobei Jun hands wander down to Shang Qinghua’s hips, squeezing the slight plushness that he’s always been insecure about.
(Why must melon seeds only go to the hips?! The rest of him? Perfectly respectable! The picture of a muscular and healthy cultivator! But his hips?! He looks like a damned pear!)
“My king!” Shang Qinghua squawks, face scarlet. Mobei Jun squeezes his hips again, then his round ass, a near-feral growl in his throat.
“Bite…” he whispers to himself.
“What?!”
He pushes Shang Qinghua down onto the pile of furs covering the mattress and flips him onto his stomach. “Gonna bite.”
“What do you mean you’re-?!” Shang Qinghua yelps, then moans as Mobei Jun’s fangs pinch at his ass, his large hands cupping both mounds. The demon rumbles behind him, kneading and biting for what seems like forever, heat slowly building in Shang Qinghua’s lower belly. He gasps, trying to crawl away when Mobei Jun’s clawed thumb briefly touches his hole.
“My king, if you’re going to do that, this servant requests you trim your claws!”
“Not a servant,” Mobei Jun growls. He roughly pulls him back. “And not using my hands.”
“Then what are- ahh!”
Something slowly, shyly strokes him, Mobei Jun’s hands now massaging the dimples at the base of his spine. Shang Qinghua moans low as… whatever it is slowly pushes its way in. It’s thin, but it’s been so long since Shang Qinghua had time for that so it nearly fills him. A punched out whine escapes him as he’s fucked, his hands curling into the furs.
“My king…” he gasps. “What- what are you - ohhhhh - you using?”
Mobei Jun kisses one of the dimples on his spine. “Shadows.”
“Oh, fuck…” Shang Qinghua’s fingers curl harder and he ruts against the second-coolest use of Mobei Jun’s shadow manipulation. “Feels so amazing…”
“Can you take more?”
“Please…”
Another tendril caresses his inner thigh and then slowly works its way into him. The stretch burns slightly, but it’s nothing compared to the fullness he feels. He arches his hips upward and presses his hand against his stomach, moaning when he feels the slight bulge.
He’s flipped onto his back and suddenly there’s Mobei Jun, pupils dilated so wide they’re circular. The shadows press against his prostate and Shang Qinghua cries out, his body burning pleasantly.
“Does Qinghua think he can take this king?”
Shang Qinghua glances down and suddenly sees his life flashing before his eyes.
Absolutely not! That thing (though he nearly came from thinking about it inside him) will split him in two! He shakes his head. Mobei Jun pouts, but nods.
“Someday,” Shang Qinghua says, moaning as the shadows continue to fuck him. “Someday soon.” He stares at the absolute unit between Mobei Jun’s legs, ridges and all, and his mouth waters.
“But… I… I can do other things. If you lie on your back…”
Mobei Jun, his lips slightly parted, obeys, lying back on the bed. The shadows don’t let up as Shang Qinghua crawls towards him. He begins by massaging the crest of Mobei Jun’s hips, then scratching lightly down his thighs. Mobei Jun exhales softly when Shang Qinghua gently grabs hold of his shaft and runs his lips along it, feeling each ridge against them. He does the same with his tongue, Mobei Jun’s head arching back.
“Qinghua…”
He flicks his tongue out against the slit, already leaking precome. His eyes flutter shut; he’s finally tasting him… Shang Qinghua’s hips rut against the furs beneath him as he licks Mobei Jun’s shaft again, the demon making the most beautiful and undignified whine. He takes the tip into his mouth, sucking gently before swallowing more of him down. His hand pumps in time with the bobbing of his head, which sinks lower and lower, Mobei Jun’s whimpering becoming more and more panicked as Shang Qinghua is closer and closer to taking him fully into his mouth.
“Wait, Qinghua, you- you don’t- aaa-aahhh!”
Mobei Jun is an incoherent mess, Shang Qinghua swallowing him down to the root over and over, his cock growing thicker with every passing moment. His demon mark glows a soft blue, the shadows now fucking Shang Qinghua harder than before, pressing against his prostate mercilessly. The furs are overwhelming as he uncontrollably thrusts against them.
Oh, fuck, he’s so close-
Mobei Jun gasps, his back arching perfectly off the bed, come spilling down Shang Qinghua’s throat. It’s cold, chilling his throat and belly as he swallows it down, working Mobei Jun through his climax. The shadows have mercifully stopped for now, allowing him to focus on His Mobei.
Once Mobei Jun is a collapsed, shivering mess, Shang Qinghua pulls off of him and licks the corner of his mouth.
“You haven’t finished,” the demon murmurs, sleepiness draped over his voice like a blanket.
“It’s okay, my king, this servant is more than happy to-”
“Not a servant,” Mobei Jun growls. The shadows once again start moving, even more roughly than before and Shang Qinghua’s eyes roll back. Mobei Jun grabs him, cradling Shang Qinghua in his arms as they lie facing each other.
Shang Qinghua tries to bury his head in Mobei Jun’s chest, but his jaw is pinched roughly as he’s forced to look into Mobei Jun’s eyes.
“Want to see you, A-Hua,” he pleads. “Please…”
Shang Qinghua’s face burns, but he stares back at Mobei Jun as the pressure at the base of his spine grows. Mobei Jun gently strokes his cock, careful of his claws. Shang Qinghua’s nose scrunches, his eyes squeezing shut as he’s pushed closer to the edge.
Mobei Jun’s thumb strokes his slit as the shadows press hard against his prostate and that’s all it takes for Shang Qinghua to shake apart. He cries out loud, long, the edges of his vision white. Mobei Jun’s murmured praises only make his body hum more, the pleasure working its way deep into his marrow.
“Qinghua…” Mobei Jun whispers, pressing their foreheads together. “My Qinghua…”
Shang Qinghua, slowly coming back to his body, kisses Mobei Jun’s jaw. “My Mobei.” He tucks his head underneath Mobei Jun’s chin and kisses his throat. “My king…”
Mobei Jun purrs quietly and wraps an arm around Shang Qinghua’s waist. He kisses Shang Qinghua’s forehead and murmurs two words: “My king.”