#qilian

Qi Rong deprived and horny- takes to humping the Xie Lian bowing statues- seeing his crying face makes him think how his Pure Cousin would be exactly like this in bed. He cums at the thought, and orders one of his little followers to clean it up.

Yes… exactly how it would go Qi Rong thinks, until flash forward years later and Xie Lian is holding him down. He’s hit him, cursed him, tied him up, and had the audacity to make out with someone in front of him— but none of that made tears stream down his face and him to gasp and pant.

His sweet pure perfect (chaste!) lotus cousin had him unable to move and wouldn’t stop pounding into him. He’d at first kicked and bit but found his strength slowly sapping away and his mind sliding into a twisted euphoria

This was “punishment” for his “behavior”

“Sto-“ He doesn’t get the full word out before fingers are shoved in his mouth and he’s told to ‘hush’. He feels his eyes roll back as the last of his sense drifts away.

Here Qi Rong is. Kneeling. Sobbing. And Begging.

sometimes xie lian, in his dreams, just flits by his side like a butterfly, not speaking, just dancing graceful circles around him. sometimes they walk the halls of the palace, sometimes they ride through the city, sometimes qi rong spends the whole dream gazing into his serene face and desperately reaching out to touch him—only for the dream to end abruptly the moment before his fingers make contact.

other times it's depraved. qi rong never felt he needed to hide how much he loved his darling biaoge—just that he needed, in the real world, to hide in which way he loved him. he had no chance. he knew this. the king and queen would have never allowed him to court xie lian, and now there was no chance of it ever happening.

his dreams are also often violent. they always have been, since qi rong could remember—remember waking up, a snot-nosed six year old climbing anxiously into his biaoge's bed for a touch reassuring and not angry. the violent dreams only bother him when he sees xie lian in them, face drawn in anger, frustration, irritation—all directed at qi rong. at the crude, uncouth prince xiao jing.

qi rong hates to admit, even to himself, that he's lonely without xie lian. that while the drama of the court is fun to toy with, it's draining and headache-inducing and he'd much rather lay his head in xie lian's pillowy lap.

after an irritating week of preparing food and celebration for another temple built in his dear biaoge's honor, qi rong finally sleeps easy—in his bedroom half decorated with meaningless gifts from family, half decorated with anything that could remind him of xie lian. he is terribly lonely, aching deep in his chest and his bones. he lights incense for his god, prays for a pleasant, non-violent dream, and hugs a pillow close as he drifts off to sleep.

it's very bright. there's silk strings singing somewhere a room away, or nearby—faint, but audible. a soft melody his mother once hummed for him. qi rong is standing in the palace garden—no, sitting on the swing, idly moving back and forth. the sun is sweet and warm.

ah, he's dreaming.

qi rong isn't sure how long he sits there, listening to the strings and the sparkling sunlight, but at some point he spots someone just past a tree. he'd know that silhouette anywhere. thank his god, it's going to be a good night! he follows after his biaoge's heavy silks and flower petals, reaching and reaching to grab for his shoulder or his hand. he turns a corner, and it's an empty street he recognizes.

it's not what the actual street looks like, not in real life—here it's filled with the fruit trees and flowering bushes from the palace gardens. it looks more alive than it ever does in his memories. qi rong side steps a large rock, still following after his biaoge. their sleeves are fluttering in the breeze, but qi rong can't feel any wind. everything is silent as xie lian stands in front of the sorry excuse of a shack that qi rong grew up in.

"don't go in there," he laughs, "it's not even fit for dogs." his words are thin, unechoing. xie lian turns towards him, graceful and gorgeous, smile on his lips.

"what is this place?" he lilts, head tilted towards the door.

"it's nothing. biaoge, let's go back to the garden, i'll push you on the swing!"

"aren't we still in the garden?" his god giggles, leaning down and cupping a peony in his hand. "i don't want to swing right now, anyways."

"that's alright.... i'll make you a flower crown!"

"why do you want me away from here so badly?" xie lian teases, grinning. qi rong pales.

"i can't want to spend time with you?"

"but i'm curious!" his laugh is so bright and beautiful, qi rong almost lets him. but he can't. it's really, truly, no place for someone like his sensible and proper biaoge. if he.... if they both, go inside.... there's no way of telling what they'll see in there.

xie lian is already at the door, pressing one elegant and pale hand to the old, dirty wood—stop!—pressing it gently—stop it!—and swinging it open. the sound of it creaking open drains the color from the flowers still swaying gently by their feet, from prince xiao jing's face, from the sunlight surrounding them. why won't he listen?