Work Text:
all of me I'm offering
show you what devotion is
deeper than the ocean is
🫧🧴
Everyone including Xie Lian knows that Hua Cheng enjoys taking care of him, as much as he enjoys being indulged by his dependable lover. But this, what they are about to do – it is completely new, an uncharted territory of vulnerability for the both of them.
Xie Lian stands by the side of the bath, puffs of white steam shrouding his nervous face. He clutches at the sash of his robes, fidgeting as he watches a figure hunched over a tub, whose arm is half dipped in the petal-scattered water, face furrowed in concentration.
“Gege, the bath is ready. Any hotter and it’ll be boiling, it’s best to go in now,” Hua Cheng calls, extracting his hand and shaking off the water droplets. One runs down his arm along the path of his protruding vein, and Xie Lian follows the movement with a gulp.
Indeed, it’s hot. In fact, the water has been hot enough since ten minutes ago, but still Xie Lian stalls in apprehension. It was his beloved’s idea to bathe him, a whispered request made in the tender of midnight some days ago, one that had the worshipped god melt deeper into their warm embrace. San Lang babies me way too much, Xie Lian thinks, biting on his lower lip, but it’s my fault for letting him coddle me. He gives a short, jerky nod, takes a deep breath, and steps out of his white robes. And that’s because you secretly like being taken care of by him, a treacherous voice in himself supplies unhelpfully.
San Lang watches as the other gingerly dips a leg in the tub, scented water sloshing out onto the ceramic floor. Xie Lian sinks into the bath, goosebumps rising on his skin from the steaming temperature and his husband’s undivided attention.
After a long beat of silence, Hua Cheng shifts to sit down, leaning by the side of the tub. “How is it, Dianxia?”
“Good,” Xie Lian smiles, eyes crinkled as he feels the tension dissipating from the air and his tendons. “This feels nice, San Lang-ah. Thank you–”, Xie Lian’s eyes droop close, basking in the tranquillity, “–I’m happy.”
There is a small smile playing on Hua Cheng’s face. He hums a droning, sweet note, voice low yet barely audible in the room – Xie Lian almost thinks it is unconscious, until Hua Cheng pauses and pipes: “Anything Gege wishes to listen to?”
Xie Lian brightens at this, “You’ll sing?”
“If you want me to,” San Lang simply answers, like it is the easiest, most natural thing in the world.
Xie Lian feels his breath catch. Instead he says, “I would love to hear San Lang’s singing, but only if you wish to. Do you?”
Without saying a word, Hua Cheng starts humming, a set of notes so warm and familiar that it brings a barrage of memories in Xie Lian’s mind: blurry images of his young self, clinging onto his mother’s expensive silk robes, bleary eyes looking past the Empress’ face to the moon hanging high up beyond the open window. Night breeze gently rustling past his hair, accompanied by a sweet, sad lullaby about a pair of butterfly lovers. Xie Lian pulls himself back before he gets lost in the past: he is here now, and he is healed and happy. Healing, his inner self corrected, but happy, for sure.
Xie Lian joins in the humming, his voice a silkier counterpart to San Lang’s throaty, honeyed tone. The song ends, giving way to a pleasant silence.
“One more,” San Lang croons, and humming again, dissolving into a song Xie Lian has never heard of before – something about rolling mountains and split skies, battles won and love lost.
Drunk in the atmosphere, Xie Lian soaks it all up and sinks deeper into the gentle waves. His hands float by his sides on the water surface as he allows the fragrant soap suds to engulf him, leaning into their ephemeral embrace. He tips his head back, and he feels the hot scented bath slowly work and loosen his tight muscles, from his calves up to his shoulder blades. The clear, pretty bubbles frame his face like a painting, and it is a sight to behold – Hua Cheng burns the image into the back of his eyelid, fully intending to paint the scene someday.
After some time, the singing falters into a hush, and Xie Lian peeks an eye open.
Two pearlescent wraith butterflies flutter into his eyesight, carrying a tiny, expensive-looking glass vial. They float and float with an uneven gait, as if struggling under the shared weight. The endearing sight makes Xie Lian want to laugh. Killer-grade weapon creatures, bringing him soap!
Chuckling, he pushes his body back up, intending to help them. Yet the clever tiny creatures, sensing his intention, determinedly flap their wings harder and flit away from him, straight to Hua Cheng. They clumsily deposit the vial into his open palms, before zooming in front of Xie Lian’s face again, hovering near him, as if expecting praise. And praise Xie Lian does: “How cute you are, so reliable! Thank you, hard-working soldiers.” It is both the right and wrong thing to say, for the butterflies spark brighter and start flying around his head and each other in frenzy, leaving a great deal of light trails that Xie Lian feels dizzy. One lands on his nose, and Xie Lian laughs, startled. “Oh! Shall I pet you? Or, do you want a bath too?”
A low, stern cough has the creatures jump. “Enough playing,” Hua Cheng warns, and it sends the creatures scattering back into his vambraces. The man has been standing next to the tub for some time now, white soap poured on his left palm. It seems the wraith butterflies were not the only creatures waiting for his attention.
Xie Lian huffs an amused grin as his husband makes a move to crouch by the tub, struggling to hold eye contact. “Would Dianxia… allow me to wash your hair?”
Spoiled, a voice gleefully echoes in Xie Lian’s mind. So, so spoiled.
In response, Xie Lian simply turns around and leans his back against San Lang, gazing up at him: “Then, I’ll be in your care.”
Without a word, Hua Cheng starts lightly threading his fingers against his god’s hair. He carefully lathers the fragrant shampoo on his scalp, massaging in round gentle motions. Then he feels Xie Lian relax into his touch, and this injects a pang of triumph and confidence into his movements. Suds form and dance and the air blossoms intensely with the fragrance of shampoo – and for a while, the two are in a bubble of reverie, with only lulling sounds of sloshing water and repetitive ssk ssk of fingers on revered strands of silken hair.
Xie Lian loses his sense of time, but at least half an hour must have passed before Hua Cheng calls out, somewhat ruefully: “All done, Gege.” He meticulously pours a last splash of warm water from the pitcher as it trickles down Xie Lian’s head, washing away the last of soap suds from his hair and face. Then Xie Lian feels hands gently squeeze the water droplets out of his long hair before he’s wrapped in a giant heated towel, warm and fluffy around his neck. Hua Cheng expertly pats his hair dry, his technique smooth, swift, and professional-like, to the point that Xie Lian wonders, do ghosts – does San Lang bathe? If not, where did he learn this from? Has he ever done this to someone–
“Gege, your hair…” Hua Cheng interrupts his thoughts as he gingerly grips a handful of his dried hair, bringing it close to his face. His eyes – he’s dressed in his Ghost King form today, claimed that his eyepatch would only ‘get in the way’ at Xie Lian’s confusion – are closed, and he wears a blissful expression as he brings Xie Lian’s hair to his nose on a tender almost-kiss. He exhales, “Dianxia’s hair is the most beautiful.”
“A-Ah,” Xie Lian stammers, caught in surprise. “San Lang… does San Lang bathe too?” he blurts. Hua Cheng opens his eyes and lowers his hand, probably caught as much in surprise as Xie Lian was by the random turn in conversation. He laughs, a sound so honest from his lungs, and laughs for a bit more as the reddening god continues blabbering about how he understands that ghosts do not require baths, yet San Lang is so good at washing hair…?
By the time Hua Cheng calms down enough to seriously answer, Xie Lian has sported a pout. “Dianxia is right, as always. I do not need to wash my hair nor bathe, since I can just change my appearance at will,” Hua Cheng explains with a languid smile. He shoots a wink at Xie Lian, and the next second, he’s back in his real skin, a familiar black eyepatch covering an eye. “But I do draw baths for myself from time to time, it’s a luxury I can now afford. Plus, it’s relaxing.”
“As for how good I am…” Hua Cheng ducks his head, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “Mn… After 800 years, I had to do my revision.”
At this, Xie Lian recalls the days leading up to today, and how his husband had been disappearing more often than usual to ‘take care of serious business’. This time, it is Xie Lian’s turn to laugh, giddy and utterly entranced by how much more he could adore this man more than he already does.
Another half an hour of Hua Cheng fussing over Xie Lian’s robes and insisting he apply what he had ‘revised’ by helping him dress in one of his finer garments, and they find themselves at the vanity beside their bed, one which San Lang himself had carved and built for their first wedding anniversary eight years ago.
Xie Lian stares at his reflection on the large round mirror as large hands manoeuvre strands of his hair here and there, parting and brushing them with his favourite wide-toothed wooden comb. That too was a handmade gift, proudly presented by his husband on one drizzling morning, for no particular occasion (“I wanted to make this for you and so I did,” he had said). The former crown prince was used to lavish bestowals back in his Xian Le days – rare beast hides, expensive sparkling gems, silks and fine fabrics – but till this date, his favourite presents are still his believers’ earnest offerings and his beloved’s doses of devotion.
“Gege, ah Gege… if you keep moving, your hair is going to end up the same way as the hairdo you gave me when we first met at Puqi Shrine,” Hua Cheng chides, a hand coming around to firmly but gently rest under his chin, tilting his face up. There is mirth dancing in his eye as he jokes, “Although Gege would look cute with a crooked ponytail.”
Half amused and half chastised, Xie Lian groans at the shameful memory and immediately straightens his back. He shuts his eyes and makes a great effort to stay absolutely still afterwards as expert fingers continue to pull, braid, and twist his hair into an elaborate bun. In between, Hua Cheng would randomly dip into a kiss – Xie Lian’s lips, his cheekbones, his nose, his forehead, the crown of his hair. They both erupt into giggles at the fifth kiss, when Xie Lian playfully reminds the perpetrator: “I thought you wanted me to stay still?”, to which he cheekily responds with: “I’m just collecting my payment.”
More hair brushing, then Hua Cheng gathers his loosely-braided hair, shapes it into a bun, and inserts a pin to hold it up. “Mn, finished,” Hua Cheng declares in satisfaction, stealing a last kiss on the back of Xie Lian’s neck. He looks at Xie Lian through the mirror with an expectant gaze, nervous anticipation crystal clear in the way he crosses his arms together.
Xie Lian, with hundreds of praises already lodged in his tongue, directs his attention to his reflection in the mirror, and…
Oh.
Oh.
He had expected to be met by a extraordinary set of neat and intricate hairdo, which he does see – braids of different thickness knotted together in a high shapely bun like that of an empress’, strands of hair framing the sides of his face, softening the regal look. But what Xie Lian is stunned by is the pin Hua Cheng used – it is one he has never seen before. Xie Lian twists his head left and right, leaning into the mirror in order to get a closer look at the accessory – it is a delicate thing, made by exquisite craftsmanship that Xie Lian just knows was done by the hands of his beloved. Two thin prongs of smooth, straight golden sticks combine at the end, adorned with a large exquisite flower made from white jade, butterfly-shaped crystals dangling and fluttering with every slight movement he makes. It is simple yet elegant, handmade yet refined – and it is now Xie Lian’s favourite hairpin to have ever existed. San Lang had chosen to craft a double-pin chāi instead of the usual single-stick zān, and the meaning is not lost on Xie Lian – he sucks a breath, overcome with the sheer romanticity of it all.
“San Lang,” Xie Lian calls out, and if his voice quivers a little, no one comments on it. “I love it. I really, really love it!”
Xie Lian tilts his head back on the chair and reaches out with both his hands towards his beloved’s face, capturing it between his hands and bringing his face down in an upside down forehead kiss. He may not be very good at verbalising his feelings, but he wants San Lang to know just how much he appreciates this. “This hairpin… how did you…?”
“For you,” Hua Cheng murmurs, smiling down at Xie Lian in pride. “I recently started playing around with gold and metals. Jade too, but I’m still learning.”
Xie Lian’s eyes soften in wonder, and he voices his awe. “I cannot believe you mastered that too. San Lang, you are really the most skilled artist in this world.” He lightly touches the hairpin, the dangly butterflies clinking together, and smiles at how fond he himself has grown to be of accessories that make tinkling sounds. Xie Lian holds back a laugh, thinking to himself: now we both jingle.
“I’m glad Gege likes it.”
“Like? It’s more than that–San Lang, today is one of the best days I have ever lived.” Xie Lian stresses, smiling so widely that he fears his mouth might tear. Xie Lian stands up and turns around, capturing Hua Cheng’s hands and interlocking their fingers. Hua Cheng has a smile just as wide as his on his face, squeezing their hands. “Thank you, San Lang. Ah! Next time, San Lang should join me in the bath, and we can bathe each other–”
Hua Cheng huffs a laugh at this. Xie Lian tilts his head and shoots him a confused glance, to which his husband comes closer to lasciviously whisper in his ear: “Dianxia, if I join you in the bath… I’ll have to draw another bath for us afterwards, you know?”
For a moment, they stare at each other in silence.
“...”
“San Lang, you…!” Xie Lian sputters when the meaning hits him, breaking out of his hold as his husband bursts out laughing. Face blooming red again, he picks up a nearby towel and throws it at Hua Cheng, who of course catches it all with a hand all too easily. “So, Gege…” he says in between giggles, “When’s the bath? How about tonight?”
“San Lang jokes around too much!”
Another round of laughter. “I know, I know…”
Two placating hands seek the other pair, pulling him back into a melting embrace. Hua Cheng guns for a kiss on Xie Lian’s lips, and smiles. “…I’m serious, though?”
🧴🫧