Work Text:
"So," Shen Qingqiu says, eyes sparkling. It could be from the wine, Shang Qinghua isn't sure, but it looks… knowing. Shang Qinghua pretends not to notice, humming while emptying his cup and placing it on the table for a refill.
"I believe it is that time of the evening," Shen Qingqiu prompts, and fills Shang Qinghua's cup without complaint. When Shang Qinghua simply nods his thanks, Shen Qingqiu drops a frustrated hand to the table. "Airplane-bro!"
"Yes?"
"Our wager."
"Ah," Shang Qinghua says, but he doesn't want to lay his affected boredom on too thick, so he leans forward. "Our wager. Hmm, what shall I attempt to scam my dear transmigrator out of tonight?"
"Don't get your heart set on anything," Shen Qingqiu says, voice mild, but... There it is. The man is smug. Oh, his shixiong has no idea what is coming. "The usual terms?"
"We could do that," Shang Qinghua agrees, but lets his mouth curl up at the corner, teasing. "Or we could change things up a little."
Shooting him an unimpressed look, Shen Qingqiu downs his own cup of wine, and immediately refills it. "I will not let you weasel out of this, not tonight. Tonight, I will win."
"So confident!" Shang Qinghua laughs. "So what will you be winning from me?"
"You know what I'm going to say."
"And I always tell you no."
"Well, I'm asking again."
Shang Qinghua makes a show of letting his brows furrow, of taking the time to 'think' about it. Pensive, Shen Qingqiu watches on. When Shang Qinghua covers his eyes with a hand, Shen Qingqiu clucks his tongue. When Shang Qinghua sighs, he hears a muttered 'for fuck's sake'.
"Tell me again," he finally says, and Shen Qingqiu's eyes light up, hand darting for the notes—notes!—he's rested on the shelf beside him.
"I want a story—well-written, this time—at least twenty thousand words long, from a new character's point of view, like they are a wildlife biologist in the wilderness, studying some new beast no one knew existed. Or like, it's fine if there are ancient records of it and everyone just thought it was extinct, but then this person re-discovers it. And integrates into the pack—"
"Right, a Jane Goodall knock-off," Shang Qinghua replies, just to piss Shen Qingqiu off, and openly laughs when it works.
"Fuck you! Your monsters were always the best part of your writing; forgive me for wanting the focus on that, rather than some ridiculous papapa—"
"Okay, okay," Shang Qinghua says, and Shen Qingqiu's jaw snaps shut. "I'll do it. If you win."
It seems Shen Qingqiu is finally catching on; he levels a suspicious glare at Shang Qinghua, and takes another swig. "You don't think you will lose."
Offering a half-assed shrug, Shang Qinghua stretches back, balancing his weight on his elbows. "I can't possibly know that, can I?"
"Airplane."
"Mm?"
"What the hell are you up to? You've been refusing to write this for four years, now."
"Maybe your notes—" Here, he darts up and snags them from Shen Qingqiu's hand, laughing. "Have inspired me. But…"
"But what, asshole?!"
"But, I propose an amendment to our usual deal."
Shen Qingqiu grabs his fan, opening it over his face, but not before Shang Qinghua catches his eye-roll.
"State your terms."
Well, now they are in business. Shang Qinghua returns to a proper kneel at the side of the table, chin lifted and hands pressed against the grain of the wood. "I am willing to wager that I have two secrets that are better than the secret you have prepared. If I lose, I will write this—" He waves Shen Qingqiu's notes in the air. "AND, I will write the ridiculous 'happy Binghe childhood' story you have been whining to me about for decades."
Shen Qingqiu has frozen like an animal eyeing a predator. "And if I lose," he says, completely without inflection.
"If you lose, you give me the recipe to that magical ass-loosening lube you've mentioned, repeatedly, that not even Mu shidi knows about, and exactly where to find every single ingredient."
"I CREATED THAT WITH MY OWN TWO HANDS."
"Indeed; I certainly didn't write it."
Scoffing, Shen Qingqiu scowls and sits back from the table, eyes boring into Shang Qinghua's soul. "And why would you need my… proprietary lube?"
"I don't," Shang Qinghua replies easily. Yet, he thinks, and carefully does not smile.
"Finally going to make a move on that frigid demon you follow around like a damned dog?"
Even Shen Qingqiu knows. Shang Qinghua would be mortified, if Liu Qingge and Mobei jun hadn't already burned the feeling out of him entirely. "Maybe I will," he murmurs, with another shrug. "Do we have a deal?"
Shang Qinghua can almost hear the gears grinding in his bro's head; he must be fairly confident he's gathered a primo secret, if he is not rejecting Shang Qinghua's offer immediately. Kind of fun, really; even if, somehow, Shen Qingqiu has come across a juicier piece of gossip than Shang Qinghua is holding, and Shang Qinghua is forced to write those ridiculous stories, he will be learning something good tonight.
He takes a leisurely sip from his cup, watching curiosity and trepidation flash across Shen Qingqiu's face. To the man's credit, he only deliberates for a minute.
"We have a deal," he agrees reluctantly. "BUT! I have an addendum."
"And that is?"
"You will tell me exactly why you want my lube, whether you win or lose."
Ah, shixiong, I was planning to already.
"Very well," Shang Qinghua sighs, as if making a great concession.
"Hmph," Shen Qingqiu grunts, lips pursing. He refills their wine, then takes a slow breath. He's the one that brought up their wager, so he must go first.
"Zhangmen shixiong wears an underrobe made entirely of lace. As his lowest layer. Against his skin," Shen Qingqiu says, wonder and amusement lighting his face like a kid in a candy store.
Shang Qinghua can't help his gasp; still not good enough to top what he's packing, but holy shit, what?! "Wait! How is it possible no one knows? And how the hell did you discover this? RECEIPTS, BRO."
Laughing, certain of his win, Shen Qingqiu leans over the table, whispering. "It is the only piece of his clothing he launders himself. It is slightly too small, so it does not show at his collars, wrists, or hemline. I found it hanging to dry when I'd stopped by for tea, and needed to use the bathroom. He must have forgotten it was there, but he literally burst in—while I was standing there with my dick out—once he realized!" Cackling, Shen Qingqiu shakes his head. "I forced him to spill the entire story."
"But why?" Shang Qinghua wails, so excited about this new bit of gossip he temporarily forgets his own. "Lace is itchy!"
"All he would tell me," Shen Qingqiu says, then tosses back his wine, clearing his throat. "All he'd say was that he enjoyed being reminded of 'finer things'." Eyebrows raised, Shen Qingqiu shrugs. "The fuck?"
"Damn," Shang Qinghua breathes.
Smug grin firmly back in place, Shen Qingqiu lifts a brow. "So? When should I expect my stories?"
God, Shang Qinghua almost hates to break his Cucumber-bro's heart like this, but... "We haven't completed the game."
"Your last secret was 'Mu shidi drinks himself into a stupor on his days off'. Which, while surprising, is hardly scandalous. The man works his ass off." With another eye-roll, Shen Qingqiu waves indulgently in Shang Qinghua's direction. "But certainly, open my eyes, Shang shidi."
Shang Qinghua has been dying to get these words out of his mouth since he arrived. Finally, he allows himself to grin, full and excited, and scootches closer to the table. "Soooo…"
Squinting suspiciously, Shen Qingqiu huffs his impatience. "What."
"You're not gonna believe—"
"Just say it," Shen Qingqiu snaps.
Shang Qinghua closes his eyes, briefly, just to savor the moment. When he opens them, Shen Qingqiu's expression is one-hundred percent curiosity.
"Liu Qingge. The Peak Lord of Bai Zhan. The War God of Cang Qiong."
Shoulders straightening, Shen Qingqiu opens his mouth to respond, likely something defending his shidi's righteousness, but Shang Qinghua doesn't give him the chance.
"Liu Qingge fucks."
Shen Qingqiu… winces? Then his features flatten into obvious disbelief. "That is nonsense."
Shang Qinghua knows he is grinning like a jackal, but he can't help it. "No, bro. It's true."
"How could you even prove something like that?" Shen Qingqiu asks, voice rising tremulously. "How would you know?"
"I will prove it," Shang Qinghua says, as seriously as he can when his entire body is brimming with glee, "but before I do, will you agree that, if proved, that secret is better than yours?"
"You can't prove it."
"I can."
Downing a swig from the fucking bottle, Shen Qingqiu traps Shang Qinghua with a glare worthy of the original Shen Jiu. "IF… and I do mean if. If you can prove it, then… yes."
Absolutely vibrating with excitement, Shang Qinghua nods. "Then you shall have my second secret, which is also better than yours."
Clearly confused, Shen Qingqiu blinks, slowly, eyebrows pulling together. "Okay?"
"Liu Qingge fucked me," Shang Qinghua announces triumphantly, a shiver roaring up his spine at the very memory. "And said he regularly fantasizes about my king railing me into oblivion while he did so. AND expressed surprise that it was my first time having sex, like it's something he does on the regular. CUCUMBER-BRO. Liu Qingge fucks, and he fucked me."
Savoring the look of complete stupefaction on his shixiong's face, Shang Qinghua snags the bottle from his hand and takes a drink of his own. "Very soon, Liu shidi will show up at the Northern Desert Palace, and, after fighting his way through the guards and Mobei jun himself, will be joining the two of us in bed." Shen Qingqiu still looks utterly blank, so Shang Qinghua flicks him on the forehead. "For a threesome."
Shen Qingqiu seems to startle back into himself, his mouth opening; it closes as he shakes his head. He reaches for his cup, but finds it empty. Eyes imploring, he glances at the bottle in Shang Qinghua's hand, and Shang Qinghua happily obliges him.
"No," Shen Qingqiu croaks at last.
"Mm, but yes," Shang Qinghua purrs, once more leaning back on his elbows. "I'm afraid so, shixiong."
It is staggering news, Shang Qinghua readily admits it. He allows silence to fall, the two of them sipping at their wine as if their whole world hasn't been rocked on its axis. He busies himself counting the calls of the frogs in the trees outside Shen Qingqiu's home; he's on thirty-three when Shen Qingqiu pulls himself together, eyes no longer glazed.
"So this is why you need my lube."
"Yes," Shang Qinghua replies simply.
Eyes on the table, Shen Qingqiu sighs. "Well."
Shang Qinghua waits.
"You won it fair and square."
Admirably, Shen Qingqiu ignores Shang Qinghua's victorious squealing, snatching a piece of paper and his brush. "Grind my ink," he grumbles, and Shang Qinghua has never been happier to do so.