Asking for a petal bath and training in rain pretty please 🥺
I had some time this morning, so sure! A bit of chengzhan bath-and-training-in-the-rain silliness that was a happy distraction for me!🥹I miss otp horribly!
Chengzhan, a bit t-rated, sometime around Sunshot gap ...
Heavy rainfall streaked the windows. Paper was bending under the weight of water, the drumming sound comforting and distracting at once. Lan Zhan watched the shadow play of rain and candlelight on his windows from the soothing warmth of his bath. Steam was still rising from the water. It had been too hot on his frozen skin, and he had welcomed the feeling instead of telling the servants to adjust the temperature. His skin paid the price with a fading redness below the water’s surface.
He was happy enough for a warm bath to clean dirt, mud, and weariness from battle. He had no thought to give to heat, barely even one for the unnecessary bowl of petals and scented scrubs the servants had placed next to the tub. He didn’t need them, found no use in them, and only felt heat in his face whenever he glanced at the red and pink petals, soft to touch when you brushed through them, touched them even for a quick, haunting moment that lingered on your skin.
A bath’s purpose was to clean the body, relax the mind, not to soften the skin with flowery fragrances.
He wondered why so many people felt the need to give him flowers, whole or broken apart.
He wondered why he wondered that instead of focusing his wandering mind.
Beyond the rain-streaked window, the distracting shadow play was disrupted. A flash of darkness broke through it to the sound of metal cutting through air. The hour was late, the fighting long left behind, and still the melody of swords seemed to have followed them here to safety.
Lan Zhan pulled the window open, ready to jump into the nightly rain, grab his sword from where it was lying next to the petals and scatter them to attack the intruders – but no one was fighting in the courtyard. No enemies, no pursuers, no disciples at odds with each other.
Just Jiang Cheng. Clan Leader Jiang. Alone in the rain, the small shielded courtyard behind the secluded houses forced into his personal training ground. The shadows of the night shrouded his figure, veiled him into a false sense of solitude as he slashed his sword through the pouring rain as if he was cutting through their enemies.
Lan Zhan caught sight of his face. Disgruntled, angry. Enraged by careless words exchanged over his head when he expected to be addressed. The early days of leadership came with many hardships, even for those that had their elders’ guidance to follow. Which Jiang Cheng had not. Yunmeng-Jiang was slaughtered, his sister safe, his senior brother lost, and all Jiang Cheng had lately was anger to vent within a storm.
Understandable. Preferable, to hide it in the shadows of the courtyard, to voice it where the rain could drown it, and to leave it here. Wrong to watch him and invade his anger. Inappropriate.
Lan Zhan nudged the window once more, the gap to outside growing wider, the view clearer. Acceptable form.
Jiang Cheng fought rain and wind as fiercely as their enemies. Sandu’s polished blade cut at a slanted angle through raindrops, slicing them apart, and he turned in a whirlwind of spraying water. Casually twisted his sword and changed the blade’s angle, caught the broken waterdrops on the polished metal where they seemed to rest for a moment, carried forward as Jiang Cheng turned, and thrown into the wind with the strength of piercing arrows.
On Jiang Cheng’s back, rain and sweat mingled into a distracting shine. In spite of the cold, and to fight the heat of training and anger, he had pulled the upper layers of his robes down, allowing them to fall over his belt and tied back by his sleeves. His bare back and chest were exposed, the tension in his arms moving over shoulders and biceps with every twist and turn of his blade. Streaks of rain and lost candlelight danced over his muscles.
Lan Zhan shifted in the tub, turned slightly to support his arms on the windowsill and watch, study. Linger, almost involuntarily, as if mesmerised by movements he had witnessed so many times lately. The water in the bath was hot, increasingly warmer, and the drops of rain sneaking through the open window cooled his face, the wind carried his breath outside like thin mist. Water tickled his tight skin, sneaking along a trail of goosebumps as he watched Jiang Cheng’s flesh and skin and muscles tense and relax with every move.
He forced his eyes back to Sandu, focused stubbornly on the blade that shifted and turned on Jiang Cheng’s palm as he jumped in a sharp angle through the air, slashed the sword around and followed with his clenched fist. The gleam of spiritual energy in Zidian gleamed in the darkness. Purple sparks danced around Jiang Cheng’s tense knuckles like the first threat of lightning. Of a storm. They never formed the lightning whip. Only the sparking light danced over the lines of defined muscles in his arm, shoulder, back as he whirled around once more, sharper than his sword.
The gleam of purple was fiercest in Jiang Cheng’s dark eyes, reflected in them as if they had sparked from within that darkness. Almond-shaped eyes, dark, narrowed under his tight brow, suddenly widening. Piercing into Lan Zhan. Catching him.
Jiang Cheng stopped mid-turn. His soles tore the wet ground open in a splash of mud as he forced himself to a halt, and Sandu’s tip pointed straight at Lan Zhan, softer than the shocked eyes of its owner. His shocked gasp echoed through the courtyard.
Lan Zhan was often praised for his calm and quiet nature. When he slammed the window shut, he could hear his uncle’s disapproving grunt within his mind. Drowned quickly by the sound of splashing water as he slipped and turned clumsily in the tub as he tried to leave, move, escape, run away. He grabbed the edge for support, grabbed the shelf with bathing inessentials and petals instead, and spilled them into the water as he slipped below the surface entirely.
With his hair wet and dishevelled, he pulled himself up again, face burning from something else than hot water. Nothing warmed better than humiliation and shame. Even cold springs turned into hauntingly searing pain. He could add the rain to the mountain of embarrassing memories now.
Sadly, drowning himself was never an option. He should not have watched, and now he needed to pay the price with his dignity.
Through the closed window, he was unable to see if Sandu approached to stab him through wood and paper screens. Perhaps Jiang Cheng gave no thought to wandering gazes. Perhaps a leader even this young had no time to spare for juvenile shame.
The doors flew open with a loud bang. Footsteps stomped towards him.
Still shocked, still too hot and caught off guard, Lan Zhan snatched the towel sheet from the edge of the tub and pulled it over his naked body in a thumping heartbeat before Jiang Cheng stormed around the folding screen.
Furious, red from his bare chest to his face, and clutching his unsheathed sword so hard that it trembled, Jiang Cheng opened his mouth – only to blink in confusion, distracted by something. His eyes, piercing under his tight frown, quickly glanced at the bathwater, at the petals soaking in it, red and pink and unnecessary and stuck in the completely soaked towel that was draped over Lan Zhan’s legs and chest to cover his naked body half-heartedly.
Jiang Cheng blushed. He sheathed his sword noisily and pointed at the water, cleared his throat. “And you judge me?”
Lan Zhan felt the boiling need to justify himself for a few petals of no importance, when it made no and would never make a difference to give this person or anyone an explanation. “I was not judging, merely watching.”
Jiang Cheng made a strained face as if that was even worse. His hair had come loose from the rain and training. Thick, wet strands were hanging in his face, shifting when he huffed full of discontent. He flipped them out of his face and stepped closer.
“Much the same, isn’t it? That you didn’t judge me right now doesn’t mean you won’t waste your time remembering my stumbling soon and chuckle to yourself, hm?” Jiang Cheng stopped at the edge of the tub, shoulders straight and chin lifted to look down at Lan Zhan, unable to hide behind anything other than a wet towel in the clear bathwater.
Lan Zhan could have told him that there was little need to watch him training for the time an incense stick burnt to remember his movements. They had studied together, they travelled together, they fought together. He knew when to dodge because Jiang Cheng growled right before he slashed his lightning whip around. He knew that he preferred to turn right to hit and left to evade. He did remember all of this.
There was no need to linger on Jiang Cheng moving with exposed skin through the rain. Unnecessary. Quite.
He had wasted only his own time. Even when his mind already desired to wander back to the sight in his memories.
“Go on,” Jiang Cheng said in a low, rasping whisper as if he was cutting Lan Zhan’s thoughts short. “Tell me what to improve, Second Young Master Lan. Tell me that I slipped too far to the side when I turned on the wet grass. Advise me how to keep my sword steadier when my hands are wet. Go on, lecture me.”
Lan Zhan clutched the wet towel over his chest, shifted his legs and pulled them up to hide himself, the soaked fabric stuck between them now. Too little cover. Too exposed. Those eyes pierced into his face, uninterested, unbothered, not caring. A blink, a quick glance, and narrowed again with sudden anger as if Lan Zhan had forcefully distracted him with his naked skin.
“I have no advice,” Lan Zhan said, ignored the tension in his voice, the beating pulse within his veins.
“Ah?” Jiang Cheng looked away, his eyes trailing over the wet towel again. Over Lan Zhan’s body barely covered below it. Lan Zhan pulled it up, one more look away from scolding, insulting, kicking Yunmeng-Jiang’s leader with all the force of embarrassing shyness, and Jiang Cheng ripped his eyes up again, unbothered. “What did you watch me for then? What a waste of time.”
“You trained to relieve anger,” Lan Zhan said. “There is nothing to improve if it helped you clear your mind. Please leave now.”
“Do you think you staring helped me clear my mind? Do you think if you were in my place, you could stay calm, hm? Should we try?” Jiang Cheng put his sword on the shelf nearby and sat down. On the edge of the bathtub. Right next to the last dry part of the towel still draped over it. “Second Young Master Lan, why don’t you try and clear your mind while I watch and learn.”
“Clan Leader Jiang,” Lan Zhan warned.
“Please, teach me how you’d accomplish this.” Jiang Cheng reached into the water, eyes piercing into Lan Zhan’s, and picked one of the red petals up with two fingers. “Does it require flowers, scented waters, and candlelight?”
Lan Zhan glared back at him, brows so tightly furrowed it narrowed his field of view. Jiang Cheng smirked down at him, rubbed the soft petal between his fingers and clutched it then, squeezed the water out of it. It ran over his wrist, followed the line of his vein down his tense arm. His breathing hitched, too obvious in his bare chest, exposed, wet, layered with goosebumps. From the cold. The steam of the still warm bath wrapped him into too warm air and forced him to breathe hard enough that Lan Zhan could hear it.
Lan Zhan noticed only now that he had pressed far back into the tub, as if he could hide, as if it mattered to hide. For someone with more important worries, the sight of naked skin would not leave a scar in the memories. Lan Zhan should watch and learn from Jiang Cheng instead. He blushed.
“I apologise.” His voice was quiet and soft, a whisper lost over the sound of Jiang Cheng reaching into the water again to pick another petal. He stopped, fingers rippling the water surface, and pulled away before touching the petal. There was a strange fresh redness on his cheeks.
“Whatever,” he said as if Lan Zhan had insulted him and jumped to his feet, reached for his sword – and slipped.
Water splashed all around them as Jiang Cheng crashed into the tub. On top of Lan Zhan. Heavy. Warmer than the water. Hand searching for balance, grabbing, reaching, touching Lan Zhan’s thigh, waist, then his shoulder – and slipping off again.
Jiang Cheng crashed with his face on Lan Zhan’s chest, right into the wet towel. Lan Zhan kicked instinctively, had tried too hard to stay still and let out a strange whine, pulled back, away, and ended with another person’s body between his legs. Too close. He whined again, pulled at the towel, and somehow pulled Jiang Cheng with it. Entangled in the towel, they pushed and pulled at each other, made it worse, warmer, splashed water everywhere, and the wood of the tub ached under their struggle.
“Stop, stop, fucking stop moving!” Jiang Cheng grabbed his wrist, ripped Lan Zhan’s hand away from the towel and slammed it against the tub’s edge. He was right above him, one breath away in the fog of steam, and breathed through it right in Lan Zhan’s burning face. Jiang Cheng’s face had been reddened by the heat of the water, his pulse raging from the struggle in his throat, in his chest pressing into Lan Zhan’s. His grip on Lan Zhan’s wrist was strong enough to break branches.
Lan Zhan breathed in shakily, swallowed protests, and stilled, forced his body to surrender under the weight of another’s.
Jiang Cheng breathed back. his eyes glanced down again, but never made it further than Lan Zhan’s mouth. For there was nothing to see anyway. Not for another man who was used to train half-naked in the rain. Whose muscles were hard, bones heavy, skin hot. Whose hips pressed into his.
His mind might never clear again from this sensation.
Legs trapped between Jiang Cheng’s, Lan Zhan feared nothing more than to move and find other sources of strange warmth. He felt his body refusing his command, demanding to move, lift, search one touch. He looked away. Waited. And Jiang Cheng breathed. Breathed. Breathed until every exhale of air tickled Lan Zhan’s skin, his lips.
If he wanted, he could have pushed Jiang Cheng out of this tub and thrown him out. And yet, he wasn’t moving. Lingering on warmth like he had never felt it before. Naked except for a towel that knotted them together, feeling too much of Jiang Cheng’s body even through the wet clothes separating them.
“Now you don’t want to watch?” A hoarse whisper, sparking shivers and goosebumps, enraging a stray heart.
Lan Zhan refused to follow that raging beat and looked up. He didn’t have far to go. Jiang Cheng was less than a breath away now. Water ran over his skin, flushed, and into his eyes even, darker than the night outside. A red petal was stuck in his dishevelled hair.
Lan Zhan reached up, slowly, hand trembling too hard to appear calm and collected. His uncle surely disappointed in him somewhere. He picked the petal from Jiang Cheng’s hair. Carefully. Until Jiang Cheng shifted his gaze, slowly pulled it from Lan Zhan’s face as if it gave him large trouble to look away, and watched the petal. Lan Zhan closed his fist around it, crushed the petal. Jiang Cheng swallowed so hard, the pulse beating in his throat appeared hard and fast.
“Go on…” Jiang Cheng looked at him again, differently, eyes too dark and open, inviting him to take a leap and fall. “I won’t judge you either… for sneaking a look.” He leant closer with every word. The steam between them was a useless shield, quite unnecessary, blurring the view of these eyes too forceful to sneak a look, drawing closer.
Lan Zhan closed his eyes. Punished himself for ever sneaking a look by refusing the warmth from these searching, questioning almond-eyes now that he craved them most. And when something warmer and fiercer than words pressed against his lips, it felt like a reward, not punishment. A kiss, too deep and desperate to waste time with judging.
2087
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