#abyssear

Shen Qingqiu only realizes he's sat far too long in front of the guqin by the point a warm arm is sliding around his back to tip him against Luo Binghe's chest and another arm can then worm its way under his legs, picking him up. All he can do is frown vaguely without even opening his eyes.

"Binghe---"

It's a grumble, low and half-drawled as he turns his head into his husband's chest. He! was! just! resting! his! eyes! Contemplating the piece he'd been working on all day, okay!? For once it'd actually been something that seems to be entirely original to this world, not a piece of classical guqin music Shen Qingqiu knows either from having heard it before or learned to play it himself while he sat through lessons as Shen Yuan. It's also a piece that very clearly is meant to channel qi in some way, but the music notation didn't reveal what for, so he can't just carelessly start playing away.

So he'd spent a day considering the music notation, picking out a few notes here and there and often also breaking off to play something for Binghe whenever he wandered in, especially after dinner.

But for the last little bit he's admittedly been sitting at the qin, eyes closed and fingers resting on the strings without really doing anything.

And now there's a warm chuckle above his head and Shen Qingqiu would protest this manhandling - he can walk to their bed himself, thank you! - if he wasn't, admittedly, quite comfortable. And his eyes weren't so heavy.

"Anyone's heart would be racing if they were run down like an animal," Shen Qingqiu responds with a (only the tiniest bit breathless) sniff, turning his face to the side so he doesn't have to look into those painfully bright eyes bleeding red from the pupil and sparkling like a whole galaxy.

He can't get any further, than that; Luo Binghe is boxing him in against the thick trunk of a tree. Looming.

The bark at his back and under his hands is rough, smelling vaguely of liquorice; there's a thick layer of dry needles at his feet, soft under his shifting weight. There's heat prickling along his ears, the tops of his cheeks, and down into his chest. If it's any lower, it's just because he's hot all over from the run, all right!?

Now, whose fault is it they've been running through the forest behind their cottage all afternoon? Shen Qingqiu would like to disavow responsibility, but unfortunately he was struck by a moment of madness when his husband had come in with that particular look on his face and (yet! another!) a book with a particularly gaudy calligraphy for the title.

So, what had he said? Why put himself in this position, as if running from his husband and the protagonist of this world would ever work?

'Stop. Binghe may do whatever he wants - if he can catch me first.'

@abyssear said: as the sun descends low on the horizon. their meeting goes as planned, void of pomp and circumstance, and it is not until xue yang goes to leave that jin guangyao holds up a hand. xue yang should know to follow as his sect leader turns and retrieves a small pouch from a cabinet. when he turns, the pouch is placed into the youth's hand. around it, jin guangyao's fingers close. it is gentler a gesture than he intends. "goodnight chengmei." of course, in the pouch is an assortment of gourmet candy— the finest money can buy. happy birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY XUE YANG!

Another day, another meeting. One that Xue Yang listens to, though his restlessness begins to grow near the end, fingers laced behind his head and foot tapping in the air impatiently. Xue Yang does not have any plans despite it being his birthday. What restlessness exists comes not from anticipation or expectation, only a growing boredom. So when it concludes, he's quick to leap to his feet with the full intention to make his way out the door as soon as possible. But Jin Guangyao expects at much if the speed at which he raises a hand is anything to go by, a groan of frustration leaving Xue Yang's lips. " I though you said we were done. " He grumbles, yet he stays, and then he follows when Jin Guangyao moves further into the room. So much for done. He better have something to make this worth Xue Yang's time or -

Crimson eyes peer down at the pouch for a minute and then lift towards Jin Guangyao with a raised eyebrow of expectation. Except there is no elaboration, no catch, no order that follows it. What follows is something - better? worse? Something too gentle. Fingers that gently close around it, words that are softly spoken, AND A NAME NO ONE USES EXCEPT THE ONE BEFORE HIM. Something threatens to start crawling up his throat and Xue Yang swallows with feigned casualness as he opens the bag with unyielding interest.

What stares up at him is a vault of candies, carefully chosen so as to not mix incompatible flavors, but all done with purpose. A bouquet of different colors and designs - many of which he doesn't recognize. But some he does and he knows how expensive those ones are which whisper just how much some of the fancier ones must be. For a split second, the corners of his lips wave ever so slightly and the eternal mischevious glint in his eyes fades to something distant. Then it is gone, ripped apart by the same teeth that flash in a delighted, exaggerated grin.

" A-Yao ! You remembered! " He offers a dramatic gasp before he grins, playful as he reaches into the bag for a piece to pop into his mouth. They both know that isn't what the demonic cultivator truly means. Or Meng Yao should know as much. Xue Yang knows Meng Yao would remember ; Meng Yao remembers everything like a dragon hoarding gold, waiting to utilize and weaponize whatever information he might have gained. WHAT HE REALLY MEANS IS YOU BOTHERED TO ACKNOWLEDGE IT WHEN YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO. The taste of hawthorn coats his mouth and yet for one terrifying moment, Xue Yang feels unbearably, agonizingly seen. He knows well how others look at him ; a beast waiting to bite, a rascal, an irritating delinquent. It is an image Xue Yang feeds and relishes in it rather than runs from. ( They all are, after all, true to who he is. ) But this feels like he's being seen for himself, exposed under stunning gold eyes. He covers it all with the taste of hawthorn.

The hole is still there.

Shen Qingqiu stares up at it - or rather, the thick blanket Luo Binghe has pinned up to cover it and stop cold air from falling in, until it can be repaired tomorrow - because if he stares up at the covered hole it means he doesn't have to acknowledge the now very neatly made bed.

His poor, poor bed. It has been subjected to things it shouldn't.

And so has certain parts of him, too!

His skin tingles - in fear of the (very) recent past and anxiety for the future, certainly - at the reminder, and he has to shift on his feet to relieve the sudden tension. Which means he also has to bite his lip to suppress a hiss at the slight shift and pull around those certain parts. Admittedly, after a nap he feels... better than he thought he would, much, much better than he thought. By tonight he might even feel ready to face his bed.

His bed, and...

Shen Qingqiu glances behind him, though the drawing room is, for the moment, empty. Well, he supposes it'd be ridiculous to shoo Binghe to the bed in the side room at this point. If they've gotten this far, just sharing the bed like Binghe had originally wanted before he fled to grow mushrooms and instead ran afoul of Bing-ge of all people is really nothing, ah! (Especially since he already did so with the original flavour... fuck his life.) Besides, that bed is surely too small for him now.

Luo Binghe has been surprisingly quiet since Shen Qingqiu woke up from his nap, though. If it weren't for the 'twitterpated maiden' smile Shen Qingqiu got every time Binghe spots him, he'd be worried!

... He is still worried.

It's just - Luo Binghe has been so quietly thoughtful. Of course, when his little bun of a disciple acted like that, he'd never been concerned. But now Shen Qingqiu isn't yet certain what it means, okay!? It could be anything, and especially with the vast number of new 'anythings' it could be, Shen Qingqiu thinks he's quite justified in being worried!

But perhaps it's as simple Luo Binghe thinking about what had started all this. And in such a case, Shen Qingqiu can sacrifice a little bit of face before Binghe has to ask, again.

This means he's ready when Luo Binghe comes back with a basket of ingredients for their dinner later under one arm.

VARYING KISSES PROMPT / accepting.

the  gesture  stills  her  for  a  brief  moment,  more  from  surprise  than  discomfort,  before  the  faintest  curve  touches  the dragon's  lips.  her  gaze  lowers  to  where  his  mouth  brushes  her  knuckles,  then  rises  again  to  meet  his  with  a  quiet,  measuring  warmth.

“ how  courtly  of  you , ”  she  murmurs,  making  no  effort  to  reclaim  her  hand  just  yet.  instead,  she  allows  it  to  rest  within  his  grasp,  her  thumb  shifting  lightly  against  his  fingers.  “ should  i  assume  this  is  how  you  greet  everyone,  or  have  i  been  granted  a  particular  kindness ? ”

Xue Yang makes for a rather MALEVOLENT FIGURE, arms crossed over his chest while he leans back against the wall, one foot braced against it. It isn't the well-mannered behavior of a cultivator, but then again, Xue Yang had hardly tried to play nice even back when under guise of a guest cultivator. A beast the will no be tamed, but will, for the most part, listen to who it chooses to. His grin grows and he pushes off of the wall, striding over to the papers indicated like a wolf that has caught the scent.

" Obviously. " Xue Yang is audacious enough to roll his eyes in classic Xue Yang style - but he is listening, a knife-blade glint of focus in his eyes as he scans through the information. " Do you want to make the deaths look like they came at the hands of a certain group or style, or anything goes? " He inquires. Are we staging a narrative is the real question he means. He trusts Meng Yao will know as much.