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What wakes Xie Lian early in the morning isn’t the usual shifting lights streaming through the window of Paradise Manor, or the clamoring of voices in the streets outside. In fact, in the night previous he fell asleep in the inner chambers of a small temple, the stone walls shrouding out most of the morning light. The mid-autumn air has just begun to turn chill and all the leaves remaining on the trees are vibrant shades of red and orange, tinting the few weak rays of sunlight that make it through the slitted windows.
It’s the stirring of the man previously asleep against his chest that wakes Xie Lian. San Lang isn’t usually the first to wake; if he had his way they would linger in bed far after sunrise each day. But this morning, he leverages his weight onto his elbows so he’s leaning above Xie Lian rather than laying directly on top of him. He retrieves one of Xie Lian’s hands from where it’s curled around his shoulder, kissing the fine bones of his knuckles.
“There’s going to be a celebration today,” he says, his voice still low with sleep. He waits until Xie Lian’s eyes have blinked all the way open to start speaking, the back of Xie Lian’s hand still pressed to his mouth.
“Is there?” Xie Lian asks, a little lazy in his still sleepy state. He curls his fingers around San Lang’s, holding onto his hand in return. His dark hair is wild and disorderly around his face, the way it usually is upon waking, save for the single tidy braid that ends in a round coral bead. San Lang nods, flipping Xie Lian’s hand over to kiss the lines of his palm, followed by the inside of his wrist.
He lays his head back for a moment, letting San Lang’s mouth wander up the inside of his arm, kissing the skin that Xie Lian’s inner robes leave exposed. It takes a moment of thought before Xie Lian comes up with the answer, suppressing a laugh when San Lang’s mouth lingers at the sensitive crease of his arm.
“Shangyuan Festival?” He asks, rolling his head to the side so he can take in San Lang once again. He nods, releasing Xie Lian’s arm to cup a hand around his cheek. Xie Lian presses his face into San Lang’s cool hand. “Are we celebrating as well?”
“Yes,” San Lang says, the sharp points of his teeth just beginning to show beneath his smile. He presses his chest to Xie Lian’s once again, kissing below his jaw. He tilts Xie Lian’s face gently to press another to the tender skin below his ear, against the slow, resonant thud of his pulse.
“I heard a story,” he continues, mouth against Xie Lian’s skin. “That this area has started the most interesting tradition in the last few years.”
It’s not exactly easy to focus on San Lang’s words like this. Xie Lian’s knees have turned inward to dig instinctively at San Lang’s hips, one arm draped loosely around his neck. San Lang’s voice is still low and quiet, speaking close to Xie Lian’s ear. Like this, it would be easy to drift off back to sleep or let San Lang pull his clothes out of the way and continue waking him slowly. But San Lang must be telling him this for a reason, so Xie Lian does his best to put those things out of his mind and focus.
“What is it?” He asks, twisting a lock of black, silky hair between his fingers.
“Each year, they celebrate the festival with a parade to please the Gods,” San Lang says, lifting his head to kiss the corner of his mouth. He pauses there, looking down at Xie Lian with a spark in his single dark eye. “It’s quite an interesting show, I thought gege would like to see it.”
“Oh, do they really?” Xie Lian asks, lifting his eyebrows. It’s curious how some relics can survive the ages. Hundreds of years have gone by, and the two of them are nowhere near close to the site that was once Xianle, but history has still found a way to endure. “That would be nice to see, thank you, San Lang.”
He pets his fingers through San Lang’s hair, curling his hand around the back of San Lang’s head when he leans in for a proper kiss. The press of their lips together is long and lingering. Xie Lian’s nails drag over San Lang’s scalp and he can feel the way San Lang’s lips turn up into a smile at the sensation.
It takes time before the two of them emerge from the temple, bathed and freshly clothed. There seems to be an extra spring in San Lang’s long strides as he leads Xie Lian around the small city the two of them have come to rest at. There is already a small market erected for the celebration, with various brightly colored stalls selling small gifts, snacks, and finely crafted paper lanterns for the evening.
Among these, there is a stall that grabs Xie Lian’s attention more than any of the others. There are sticks of incense and paper money to burn for offerings, as well as shiny trinkets, and plump fruit. Along the top of the stall hang cleverly painted masks, depicting all kinds of pleasant and terrible faces.
There are also a few small, intricately carved idols— each statue is a pair connected by joined hands and when lined up the way they are now, the pair appear to be moving through the fluid motions of dance together. When he leans in closer to examine them, Xie Lian can make out the tiny faces of each statue, all of them expressing obvious delight with one another.
The longer he looks, the warmer the back of his neck grows.
"Oh? Gege are you interested in a trinket?" San Lang asks, leaning in next to Xie Lian. He's adopted a youthful form for the day, standing just a bit taller than Xie Lian and full of mischievous energy. His hair is pulled to one side and tied off with a ribbon, keeping it away from his eyes. His smile is as sharp as ever, touching one of the dancing pair with a hum. "These aren't half bad, are they?"
"The craftsmanship is nice," Xie Lian says, standing upright once again. The approximation of the two of them is good, though admiring a statue of himself only makes Xie Lian feel vain.
"They're good luck," the man behind the stall says, nodding at San Lang. "Top notch. You should pick one out now— by the time the parade is finished there's such a rush for good offerings I'll be sold all out."
"That so?" San Lang asks, looking back at Xie Lian with a grin. "Do you want one, gege?"
"Ah, I think it's alright," Xie Lian says, shaking his head with a nervous laugh. He learned years ago that if he let San Lang purchase every icon that caught his eye, they would need to build a dozen new temples to hold it all. "Is the parade a big deal around here, then?"
"Sure it is… years ago this area used to have nothing but trouble! The lord was a terrible greedy fool and when he drank himself to death, everything fell into chaos and we didn't have anyone to help." The man leans one hand on the stall, shaking his head and speaking in a fast, gruff voice. "Everybody thought we were done for… we'd starve, or be robbed, or tormented to death by monsters."
Xie Lian nods, doing his best to steal a small glance in San Lang's direction. He's standing upright next to Xie Lian with his hands tucked behind his back, at ease.
"Throwing a parade helped with all of that?" San Lang asks, lifting his eyebrows.
"Well, we heard that if you pray to the Scrap Immortal and the Ghost King the right way, you can get a big miracle! Prosperity for a whole kingdom, if you need it, but you gotta please them both." He leans in further like he's telling San Lang the story in confidence. "There's a legend that this is how they fell in love; the Scrap Immortal chased the Ghost King all around the city to fight him off, but when they finally confronted each other, well…"
He trails off there, a grin slanting up his face. San Lang snorts, glancing over at Xie Lian with the start of a smirk. "So you reenact that every year?"
"Of course! What would please two lovers more than hearing their love story?" He asks, waving a hand in front of his face. "It worked, too! Look how well we've been able to do in this area with no one's help."
San Lang nods, standing up straight again and turning toward Xie Lian. “Sounds pretty lucky, huh gege?”
Xie Lian smiles in return, feeling a little helpless. He takes hold of San Lang’s arm, gently pulling him along one or two steps. “Do you want to see the rest of the booths, San Lang?”
“Hm, gege doesn’t want another relic?” He asks, breathing out a low laugh. He loops his arm through Xie Lian’s. He still seems amused, glancing over his shoulder to scan his eyes over the masks lining the top of the booth as well. But he pulls his attention away quickly, falling in step with Xie Lian. “Are you hungry? Should I get us some tangyuan?”
Xie Lian shakes his head, walking along with San Lang.
They take a wandering path through the city, passing along the market and down an avenue lushly decorated with flowers, the fragrance of them hanging thick in the air.
“Where do you think they got the idea from?” Xie Lian asks, pausing in front of one of the tall floral displays. There are thin wires used to twine tiny white flowers around some of the doorways along the street, their delicate blossoms trembling in the breeze.
“Ah, who knows?” San Lang says, winding one arm around Xie Lian’s waist. “It’s an old story, after all.”
Xie Lian nods slowly in agreement, pitching his weight against San Lang’s side.
San Lang’s fingers curl around his waist, thumb digging in the fabric of his robes. “It would be nice if it worked out that way, wouldn’t it?” He asks. He twists so he’s standing in front of Xie Lian, the two of them pressed chest-to-chest. His other hand comes to cup Xie Lian’s chin, thumb resting at the tip of it. “Gege is more than a match for this ghost, though. It wouldn’t be such an epic battle, in the end.”
“San Lang is quite a formidable foe,” Xie Lian says, smiling when he’s turned to properly face San Lang. The breeze whipping around carries a gust of loose petals past his head, sending them scattering off behind San Lang.
“Not against gege.” He’s quick to shake his head in response, leaning in and pressing a small kiss to Xie Lian’s lips, lingering with only a slight space between their faces.
From further down the street, Xie Lian can hear clattering footsteps and the shout of multiple voices. He takes a reluctant step back from San Lang, one arm still twisted around Xie Lian’s waist.
The group of frantic looking priests that have come sprinting down the street all screech to a stop at the sight of the two of them. San Lang releases him finally, turning to face them with his arms folded over his chest.
The priest in front seems more focused on Xie Lian at the start, pointing at him and waving several of the younger fellows forward.
“That’s the best candidate, don’t you think? He’ll really look the part, and he’s not as pasty as the other fellow so he won’t blow over before the parade is over.” The head priest speaks without addressing Xie Lian directly, turning to look at his subordinates instead.
“Um.” Xie Lian scratches his cheek, waving nervously at the group. “I’m sorry… the best candidate for what, exactly?”
They don’t have a threatening aura, really, and such a disheveled group couldn’t be a threat to the two of them. But it would be nice to pass the day with San Lang without causing trouble all around. San Lang, for his part, has a sly, amused look on his face.
“Ah, a thousand apologies daozhang,” the head priest turns to Xie Lan and clasps his hands together in front of him. “We’ve found ourselves in the most terrible spot— the His Highness that was supposed to perform today in the parade took sick suddenly and he can’t even stand up.”
“Oh, you don’t have a Crown Prince performer for today?” San Lang asks, one eyebrow tipping up.
“Even worse! The boy who was supposed to play the Ghost King got into a brawl and ran off, so he’s gone too and we don’t have anyone to replace him.” Upon seeing San Lang, the head priest begins flapping his hands madly at the two of them, looking like he might be about to take flight.
“San Lang…” Xie Lian says, his voice almost a whisper. San Lang looks up at him with a cheerful smile, the sharp points of his teeth showing beneath his lip.
“He might be quite sharp if he realized that gege is the best candidate,” San Lang says, murmuring in return.
“We’ve never failed to put on the God-pleasing Parade,” the priest says, pulling anxiously at his beard. “It’s impossible to say the kind of misfortune that we might face for displeasing someone like the Ghost King! It could be much, much worse than anything we faced before.”
Xie Lian is about to chime in with something that might relax their nerves when San Lang laughs, nodding along.
“You’re right,” he says, tapping his chin. He glances up at Xie Lian, a sparkle in his eyes. “What do you think, gege?”
“We should help out,” Xie Lian says, inclining his head. Whatever scheme San Lang has in mind, it would be easy enough to refuse if Xie Lian didn’t feel like playing along. But the signs of his tampering are already all over and Xie Lian can’t help his curiosity.
After agreeing, the two of them are whisked off the street with all haste. Instead of being taken to a temple like Xie Lian was anticipating, the two of them are led to a neatly constructed manor. The area isn’t very affluent but the house is the largest one that Xie Lian has seen, with tall stone walls outside and bright red paint on the arched roof. There is some shuffling and bickering between the priests before they decide on what exactly to do— that is, rush the two of them off to be dressed separately.
So, Xie Lian ends up in a lavishly decorated bedroom with an ornate collection of robes that he hasn’t seen in many, many years.
In the time before his first Ascension, Xie Lian had Mu Qing and other personal attendants who helped him dress, not just for occasions like these, but every day. There was never a time he had to put on such an elaborate outfit by himself in the past and so after changing into the snow-white silk underlayer, he finds himself with a bit of a problem.
It seems like none of the young priests are very familiar with it either because none of them stayed to offer Xie Lian any assistance.
Xie Lian lingers in front of the arrayed robes, passing one of the silken tassels through his fingers. There is a complicated arrangement of sashes and belts and tassels that adorn the layers of the outfit and he hardly knows where to begin without making a hopeless tangle of it.
Behind him, the door swings open and then quietly shut once more. Xie Lian turns away from the outfit slowly, a helpless smile on his face.
"Dianxia." San Lang pauses when the door closes again behind him, smirking as he takes in Xie Lian's state of undress.
He's already been appropriately outfitted himself, dressed in black clothes that cling tightly to his slender form. There's an unfamiliar saber hanging at his waist that Xie Lian would like the chance to draw and examine more closely— San Lang has so many treasures that he hardly gives one of them a thought. His hair is styled more tidy than usual, with braids framing the side of his head and pulling back into a neat ponytail.
Xie Lian suspects this is a product of San Lang's clever shape-changing rather than human hands.
"I've never put something on like this myself," Xie Lian says, scratching the back of his neck to try to hide the way it's burning.
San Lang nods, his grin curving up slightly further. "I see," he says, taking a small step closer. "Would Dianxia permit this humble servant to assist?"
The tone of his voice is hardly humble, but Xie Lian is accustomed to this already.
"Yes," Xie Lian says, tugging slightly at the edge of the silk robe he has on. The fabric is so light and sheer that it's nearly transparent on his skin, flowing like water when he moves. "I don't want to make a mess of it."
San Lang nods once before approaching, reaching out towards Xie Lian. Out of habit, Xie Lian steps forward, anticipating being pulled into his embrace. But San Lang moves to the side, opening the robe and drawing out the next layer, a much longer robe of red silk with wide sleeves. San Lang gathers it carefully in his hands, stepping behind Xie Lian and draping it delicately over his shoulders. When San Lang’s hands come to rest for a moment on his back, Xie Lian realizes he’s wearing gloves made of soft black leather, dulling the point of contact between them.
Xie Lian pushes his arms through the sleeves, standing in place, the long red skirt fanning out around his ankles. San Lang gathers the next piece, laying it once again over his shoulders making careful adjustments to it. He steps in front of Xie Lian, his covered fingers fitting the jeweled clasps at the front shut, starting in the center of Xie Lian’s chest and working up toward his throat. The way San Lang touches him is quick and focused, with no lingering, but when he draws the collar closed at Xie Lian’s throat and fits the clasp closed, Xie Lian draws in a sharp breath.
“San Lang,” he murmurs, pressing his thighs tight together. He’s not accustomed to this— having San Lang touch him without passion or intent. It affects him regardless; the agitation of being denied sinking under his skin. San Lang lifts his eyebrows in question, straightening the collar of his robe, the leather resting against the thin skin of Xie Lian’s throat.
The costume has far too many layers— Xie Lian realizes this as San Lang methodically adds each one on, pausing to tie sashes and tassels around his waist to cinch it tight. His touch remains too fast and too light, though Xie Lian stops himself from complaining about it directly.
“Almost finished, Dianxia,” San Lang says, his hands resting lightly at the dip of Xie Lian’s waist. When he turns to look, Xie Lian realizes they’ve worked their way gradually through the pile of clothing on the bed, leaving only the neat coverlet behind.
“Isn’t this everything?” Xie Lian asks, brushing the wide layered sleeves back from his hands and turning to face San Lang. Again, rather than tightening his arms around Xie Lian’s waist and hauling him in closer, San Lang takes a small step away. “What’s left?”
“A gift,” San Lang says, one hand tucked behind his waist, hidden from view. He lowers himself until he’s kneeling before Xie Lian, his chin tucked close to his chest. The posture looks proper from above but from the tone of San Lang’s voice, Xie Lian suspects he’s hiding a smile. “If Dianxia would do this humble servant the honor of wearing a small trinket…”
Xie Lian can feel the heat rising into his face. When San Lang finally lifts his head to look up at Xie Lian again, he slowly nods his head.
“I— I would be pleased to accept it,” Xie Lian says, biting the corner of his lip. He’s not good at pretending the way San Lang is, though it never seems to bother San Lang or interrupt the game. San Lang’s eyes spark with mischief and he draws his hand from behind his back, rolling something in his palm.
“Please take a seat, Dianxia,” he says, gesturing at the bed. Xie Lian sits lightly on the edge of it, folding the layers of his outfit carefully beneath him. San Lang slides closer, enough to cradle Xie Lian’s ankle in his hand, brushing back each layer of silk to reveal his bare skin. His fingers circle around it, the leather covering his hand cool on Xie Lian’s skin.
He moves his hand upward, along Xie Lian’s calf, gently drawing Xie Lian’s legs apart as he goes. Xie Lian plants his hands on the bed, fingers curling into the thick cover, trying to ground himself a little. As San Lang leans in, Xie Lian can feel the soft gusts of his breath along the sensitive inside of his legs.
“San Lang,” he says, his voice uneven. San Lang’s other hand comes to cup under his thigh, drawing his legs apart. The long flowing skirts of the robe end up gathered around Xie Lian’s thighs, obscuring the way they tremble slightly. San Lang breathes out again and Xie Lian can feel it breezing along the damp flesh of his thighs.
One of his thumbs comes to dent the soft skin, stroking a small circle there. He pauses there for a moment, no doubt taking in the sight of Xie Lian's slit flushed with arousal, a thin stream of fluid escaping to trail down the inside of his thigh. Xie Lian squeezes his eyes closed and takes a shuddering breath, his legs fighting to twitch closed despite San Lang's firm grasp. At least with the layers of silk in the way, he's saved from the hunger that usually darkens San Lang's eyes.
Cool silver touches the inside of his thigh and Xie Lian hiccups a small, surprised sound. He had almost forgotten entirely that San Lang suggested he was giving him an actual trinket. But he can feel the shape of two small silver orbs pressed to his leg, being warmed slowly between it and San Lang's gloved palm. San Lang releases his thighs only to split Xie Lian's slit with two fingers, exposing his heated skin to the colder air. Xie Lian gasps, lifting one hand from the bed to clap over his mouth.
When the first of the balls rolls against his entrance, Xie Lian twitches again but doesn’t try to pull away. San Lang kisses the inside of his knee, brief and chaste, before pushing it inside. The ball isn’t very large but it’s enough that Xie Lian can feel a slight stretch as it slides in.
One of San Lang’s fingers drags over his clit in a broad, dull stroke and Xie Lian moans quietly into his fingers. When his muscles squeeze around the ball, a thrill shoots through him, like a bolt of lightning to his core. His body responds to it instinctively, muscles tightening further for a moment before he finally forces himself to relax, tingles crawling down his spine.
“Ah, San Lang, w- what is—” Xie Lian stumbles over his words, speaking through his parted fingers. He can feel a thin silk thread joining the two together just before San Lang’s thumb flattens against his hole again, pressing the second one inside as well. It settles inside, causing the same shockwaves that settle into a persistent simmer in the base of his stomach.
“It’s just a little thing,” San Lang says, his voice low and warm against the inside of Xie Lian’s leg. He rotates his thumb in tight circles over Xie Lian’s clit, the usual pleasure of it echoing when his muscles naturally contract around the two silver balls. “To promote good health and vitality for Dianxia.”
San Lang draws his hand back slowly, fitting his hands on the outside of Xie Lian’s legs and closing his thighs together again. Xie Lian swallows a weak sound, lowering his hand from his blushing face when San Lang’s head emerges from beneath his robe. He drags each layer back into place with care, flattening the myriad of little jewels around Xie Lian’s waist.
“Are you ready then, Your Highness?” He asks, his body bent halfway over Xie Lian’s.
Xie Lian stares up at him, reaching out to grasp at San Lang’s shoulder, trying to pull him in closer. San Lang’s full intentions dawn on him slowly and the crimson color flooding his face inches down his chest as well. He tugs at San Lang’s robe, a weak frown forming on his face.
When Xie Lian doesn’t answer him, San Lang’s mouth turns up into a grin. He wraps his fingers around Xie Lian’s wrist, pulling him gently so he’s sitting upright. Xie Lian sinks his teeth into his lower lip, curling his fingers around the back of San Lang’s neck.
“You want me to perform… like this?” Xie Lian asks, chewing his lip slowly. The answer is plain on San Lang’s face as soon as he asks; his eyes blazing before he even tips his head forward in a nod.
Xie Lian swallows hard, allowing San Lang to lift him up to his feet. The first few steps he takes are unsteady— the pair of balls shift inside him and it takes a small adjustment of his muscles to ensure that they don’t slip free. But when they contract around the balls, a constant thrum of spiritual energy ebbs out of them and sends tantalizing shocks through his stomach. San Lang closes his fingers around the high collar, adjusting it back into place. Xie Lian is still gripping his shoulder tightly, wrinkling the crisp black silk between his fingers.
“Let’s go then,” he says when Xie Lian doesn’t offer an argument. He keeps his hand on Xie Lian’s wrist, prying it gently away from his shoulder and guiding him along another few unsteady steps. Xie Lian’s body quickly adjusts to the situation and while the little shocks of energy that tease him are distracting, it won’t be anything more than that.
Xie Lian swallows hard twice, following when San Lang leads him outside. When they step out of the manor and onto the streets, the young priests are waiting once again to receive them. Xie Lian is whisked away from San Lang’s side, keeping up as best he can with the rapid pace of their footsteps.
He’s led to the base of a belltower and positioned standing in the shade of it. The sun is bright and warm and sweat has already started to head on the back of his neck by the time that they arrive.
"Um." He looks around at the gathered priests, clearing his throat carefully. "About how many laps is the parade, usually?"
"Well it should go as long as possible," one of the priests says, clapping Xie Lian on the back with a wide smile. "Daozhang is pretty healthy, right? It shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Ah, I suppose it won’t be,” Xie Lian says, shifting his weight between his feet. Even that slightly jostles the two silver balls San Lang pressed inside of him, sending a warm tremor up his spine.
Xie Lian lived 800 years without indulging in any of the pleasures of the flesh. Somehow, in a far shorter time, San Lang has not only talked him into doing things like this, he’s made it so Xie Lian can hardly stand the desire pooling in his gut. It would have been better— much better— if he had avoided letting San Lang leave bed at all.
“Do you know the steps?” Another priest asks, tapping his chin. “Should we show you?”
“It’s okay! I know what to do from here,” Xie Lian says, covering the blushing back of his neck with one hand. “I’ll just… go on when the music starts.”
“You’ll meet the Ghost King in the town square when it’s time,” the priest says, folding his arms over his chest. “Don’t go too fast, though! It won’t please the Gods if you’re lazy and rush through it!”
Xie Lian shakes his head quickly, letting out a dismayed laugh. “I won’t, I won’t.”
Satisfied with his answers, the priests leave him there to see to the last of the preparations.
Xie Lian is left only for a moment when he notices a delicate silver butterfly fluttering around in the air only a few feet away. With a small smile, Xie Lian reaches a hand out, extending his finger to give it a place to land. The butterfly flies over to him, perching on his finger and beating its shimmering wings slowly, like a heartbeat. Xie Lian brings it close to his face, cupping a hand around the back of its wings to protect it from an errant breeze.
San Lang seems fine when these butterflies destroy themselves in their thousands by launching crazed, frantic attacks. But Xie Lian feels a little tenderness for each one.
“San Lang?” He whispers, holding it near his lips.
“Your Highness.” San Lang’s voice comes through low but clear. “You’re prepared for us to begin soon?”
“Yes,” Xie Lian says, lifting the butterfly and letting it rest on his shoulder instead, just beneath his ear. “Though I don’t know how well I can…” He trails off, teeth sinking into his lower lip before he betrays himself. His thighs press together and Xie Lian can’t entirely ignore his damp, slick skin.
“Gege.” When San Lang answers, Xie Lian can hear the smile in his voice. “I thought it would help boost your spiritual power while you’re running around so much. Surely gege can withstand this much?”
Xie Lian opens his mouth, closing it slowly when he hears the first strains of music begin to drift down the street.
“I can,” Xie Lian says, taking several deep breaths to steady himself, looking for a wellspring of calm in the center of his mind. He can hear another little breeze of laughter from San Lang.
“That’s good, gege,” he says. Xie Lian can almost feel the vibration of San Lang’s voice at the nape of his neck, making him shiver.
The final touch of the outfit is a neatly painted ceramic mask that Xie Lian was handed by one of the priests after he finished getting dressed. He ties the slender ribbon around the back of his head, fixing the mask in place.
Before San Lang can say anything else to him, Xie Lian takes off at a gentle loping run. He isn’t in much of a hurry and the long robes make it hard to be very agile, anyway. He keeps his strides light and elegant instead, the muscles of his thighs wound tight.
It would be easy to find San Lang if Xie Lian was looking for him directly. But the point of the parade is to reenact the supposed legend and even if Xie Lian finds it embarrassing, that's what he's agreed to.
So, he begins this the way he started in the Imperial City hundreds of years ago. First, he tours down the flower-decorated avenue that he and San Lang walked along before, gathering up one of the big bundles of flowers in his arms. He also takes one of the smaller, more delicate blooms and tucks it carefully within his robes, close to his heart, taking pains not to crush its small petals.
From there, he weaves his way around the city, greeting the people he passes and handing out flowers. Somewhere nearby, he's sure that San Lang has been set free to prank and torment the citizens until Xie Lian arrives to drive him off. Everywhere he goes in the city, music seems to follow him. The melody is sweet and high-spirited and it seems to rise and fall along with his pace.
But the more laps around Xie Lian makes, the harder it becomes to ignore the minute shifting of the pair of silver balls clutched inside him. A thin rivulet of his own slick has started to slip down the back of his thigh, slower and more tantalizing than a drop of sweat. It isn’t the constant squeezing of his muscles that teases him so much but the random jolts of spiritual energy. They sting his nerves and remind him of all the unsatisfied desire he's been left with.
It takes almost a dozen laps around the small city to empty his arms of the bundle of flowers. On the way, he never crosses paths with San Lang directly. Finally, he sees a black-clad youth leaping from a rooftop, slender and lithe as a cat, but he doesn't look back. He vanishes as quickly as he came and Xie Lian doesn’t react fast enough to catch him.
He follows after him, pausing on the same roof to suck in several calming breaths, his thighs rubbing unconsciously together. For a moment it seems like he can hear the low tone of San Lang’s laughter, but it could be an echo passed through the wraith butterfly still resting on Xie Lian’s shoulder, tucked beneath the saves of his hair.
“San Lang,” he says, frowning at the pitch of his own voice. There is a whine under his words, a hint of desperation that he would rather not so easily admit to. From on top of the roof, he cranes his neck and peers around, looking for another flash of black.
He catches sight of San Lang, the long tip of his ponytail waving behind him, dashing beneath an awning, headed toward the center of the city. He’s wearing a mask as well; ghostly white with the features rimmed in black, adding an extra hollowness to them. Xie Lian leaps from his vantage on the roof and chases after San Lang, clenching his hands into fists inside of his sleeves.
Following San Lang at a short distance, Xie Lian can see when he turns into the city square, coming to a stop in the center and twisting around, folding his arms over his chest. When San Lang turns to face him, Xie Lian can sense for a moment the real twist of his smile beneath the mask.
When they’re face-to-face, it’s difficult for Xie Lian to resist the usual temptation to fling himself into San Lang’s arms. Even in this situation, he has no doubt that if he did, San Lang would be happy to embrace him in return. But he tempers that urge and stands his ground a distance away, drawing the sword that he’s been carrying with him lately.
San Lang remains still for a moment, his focus on Xie Lian but no obvious reaction in his body language. The music, still echoing from an unknown spot, rises and turns tense. Xie Lian has emptied his arms of the flowers but small petals still cling to the front of his robes, dropping off on their own and landing at his feet.
Slowly, San Lang closes one of his gloved hands around the hilt of the saber. He draws it slowly, rays of light dancing off the silver blade. Behind his mask, Xie Lian can't repress his smile, seeing a fine weapon in San Lang's confident hands. His heartbeat ticks up, excitement burning bright in his blood. San Lang might freely declare himself to be no match for Xie Lian, but it's never been tested by either of them.
The long, tense pause gives San Lang an air of cold arrogance when he finally draws his blade but doesn't approach Xie Lian. But Xie Lian knows, rather than that, San Lang wouldn't strike at him first.
"Dianxia." San Lang's voice sounds distant and hollow with the mask over his face. He has Xie Lian's coral bead twisted into one of his braids, the sun making it glow.
Xie Lian only notices the way his body instinctively tenses in desire due to the resonant shock of pleasure that comes with it. The burst of it makes him shudder, gripping the sword in his hand even tighter. With how long he's been on edge like this, even the soft silks draped around Xie Lian's body feel rough against his chest.
The first strike he levels at San Lang is weak and without conviction. For all his skill, Xie Lian can't entirely convince his arms to follow through on the attack. San Lang has an easy time deflecting it away with the blade of his saber. The vibration of the clash echoes up Xie Lian’s arm, forcing him to focus on San Lang properly. He can feel the cool smirk on his face, even without being able to see it.
He retreats a half-step, twisting and feinting to one side. San Lang has fast reflexes and he moves immediately to avoid the strike. Xie Lian moves with him, going from a feint into a real strike. San Lang has much less time to react to this, only just moving out of the way fast enough to avoid the cutting edge of Xie Lian’s sword.
San Lang doesn’t strike back out of him. He continues circling just around Xie Lian’s precise but halfhearted blows, his footwork more than clever enough to keep him narrowly out of reach. When he’s backed his way out of the center of the square, he lifts himself smoothly up a post to perch on the sill of an open window overhead.
“Are you going to continue terrorizing this area?” Xie Lian asks, narrowly keeping from laughing at his own words. He shakes his sword up at San Lang, trying vainly to look threatening. San Lang tilts his head back between his shoulders, laughing.
“Perhaps,” he says. “Perhaps Dianxia can convince me otherwise.”
Xie Lian thinks of the delicate flower tucked within his robes and nods. “If you’d come down, I’d be happy to try!”
San Lang laughs again, lower this time. “Oh, already?” With that, he leaps from the window to a rooftop, dashing out of sight once more.
Xie Lian heaves a little sigh, watching him dart from one roof to the next. It's clear that San Lang isn't quite finished yet with the game and Xie Lian has no choice but to go after him, hair flying in a curtain behind him as he runs.
The two of them circle the city, only crossing paths and clashing on occasion. San Lang remains only on the defensive, deflecting any of Xie Lian's strikes but never moving against him in return. As relieved as Xie Lian is that San Lang won't come to any accidental harm, being still unable to catch him is frustrating.
Worse, the more time he spends directly pursuing San Lang, the stronger and more insistent the teasing of the balls inside of him becomes. The back of his neck burns blood-hot and a constant tremor takes over his thighs when he stops running for a moment.
"San Lang," he says, remembering the butterfly that hasn't left his side the whole time. He presses his thighs hard together, his skin sticky now with his own fluids. "Please, I can't anymore. I need…" Xie Lian trails off, biting hard on his lip to prevent anything more pitiful from coming out.
It's no surprise that San Lang appears in sight again, not a heartbeat later, his black clothes clean and neatly in place still.
"Gege," he says, his voice only making the trembling in Xie Lian's thighs worse.
"Ah, we should finish properly," Xie Lian says, holding his hands out before San Lang comes in close enough to embrace him.
San Lang has already proved in the past that being out in public isn't enough to stop him from putting his hands on Xie Lian. And Xie Lian isn't always quite strong enough to deny those advances; he certainly isn't right now.
He stops, inclining his head in a slow nod. "The city center?"
"Yes," Xie Lian says, biting the inside of his cheek when another unexpected shock darts up his spine.
With the mask in the way, he hopes San Lang can't tell exactly how desperate Xie Lian is now. To his own ears, his breathing sounds ragged and strained like he's been running hundreds of miles, not laps around the small city. He wants to crush his body to San Lang's and demand some relief but it would be far too obvious if the two of them disappeared now.
"Gege," San Lang says, his voice rough. He takes another step closer, his fingers closing around one of Xie Lian’s expansive sleeves, catching the silk firmly. Xie Lian swallows hard, allowing San Lang to reel him in close. He digs his nails into San Lang’s shoulders once he’s in reach, giving in to the aching need to press into him. When they’re chest-to-chest, he can feel the shiver of San Lang’s breath.
His hand cups around the point of Xie Lian’s chin, lifting the ceramic mask away from his face. Xie Lian is quick to do the same to him, letting it dangle from his fingers and cupping San Lang’s face between his hands. San Lang kisses him, heated and passionate from the start, his arm wrapped tight around Xie Lian’s waist. Xie Lian gasps, a dizzying wave of desire sweeping through him, threatening to knock him off his feet. It’s a struggle to hold anything in his mind other than the building need for San Lang.
When their lips finally part, Xie Lian gasps unevenly for air, shaking his head roughly back and forth.
“San Lang, we have to finish the parade,” Xie Lian says. His arms wrap around San Lang’s neck, biting down on a whine when San Lang’s knee fits between his thighs.
“Of course,” San Lang says, kissing beneath his jaw. His pointed canines prick at Xie Lian’s skin where it’s delicate and he has to fight to restrain another sound. “Does gege want anything else first?”
San Lang’s arm is tight around his waist, guiding Xie Lian’s hips forward to grind against his leg. Xie Lian gasps, nails digging into the back of his neck, squirming in San Lang’s hold. The way his innermost walls clench makes new waves of spiritual energy tingle through him, only making everything worse.
Abandoning his better judgment, Xie Lian nods, arching his hips into San Lang’s with a low moan. “Please, San Lang,” he says, mumbling, tears pricking at his eyes. “I can’t take it anymore, I need you to—”
He doesn’t finish before San Lang has lifted him off his feet, dashing past the mouth of a nearby ally and tucking Xie Lian’s body in a small, shaded alcove. The two masks drop to the ground, forgotten. One of San Lang’s hands wraps around his thigh, guiding Xie Lian’s trembling legs apart. San Lang knew the details of the outfit well enough to help Xie Lian put it on, so it shouldn’t be a surprise when he manages to quickly slip his hand between the layers of silk to find the bare, slick skin of his thighs.
The cool touch of leather against his skin makes him jerk and Xie Lian pulls at his shoulders. “San Lang,” he says, his voice brittle. “The gloves.”
San Lang hums, the corners of his lips turning up into a smirk. He pulls his hand back, gripping the fingertip between his teeth and tugging the glove off quickly. This too he lets drop to the ground, his hand finding its way once again between Xie Lian’s thighs. He can’t help the small whine that escapes when San Lang’s cool skin finally touches his.
“Oh, gege is like this?” He asks, kissing the red shell of Xie Lian’s ear.
He drags his fingers up the inside of Xie Lian’s thigh, calling attention to just how damp with arousal he’s become. Xie Lian’s shoulders press into the stone wall of the building behind him, his legs held open while San Lang’s fingers probe at his slit. He drags them along the soft inner folds before circling around his clit, biting the tip of Xie Lian’s ear gently.
Xie Lian's back arches away from the wall, bowing to push into San Lang. His long fingers are clever and cool against Xie Lian's overheated skin, twisting in tantalizing circles around his clit. Xie Lian turns his face to the side, leaving a series of damp, open-mouthed kisses along San Lang's jaw. He turns to face Xie Lian properly, eyes closing briefly when Xie Lian claws him into another kiss. It helps muffle the fractured sound he makes when one of San Lang's fingers pushes inside of him, stopping short of coming into contact with the balls.
The intrusion of San Lang’s finger makes Xie Lian’s walls clench instinctively. This time, rather than a brief shock of spiritual energy, the silver balls start humming with energy, causing a constant vibration inside of him. The change shocks a much louder sound from his lips, his forehead leaning against San Lang’s.
San Lang smiles, moving Xie Lian’s leg to wrap loosely around his waist. It frees up his hand to roam, traveling up his waist and over his chest, the touch too light through the multitude of fabric covering Xie Lian.
“Does that feel nice, gege?” He asks, the finger inside Xie Lian curling to drag roughly along his inner walls.
“It feels— ah, San Lang.” Xie Lian nods without a second thought, his hands twisted in the back of San Lang’s shirt, clinging desperately to him. When he tries to speak, the vibration inside of him only grows more intense, making his toes curl inside of his boots. It becomes too hard to focus on words and instead, he ends with a soft cry, close to a sob. San Lang sighs, the gust of it brushing Xie Lian’s cheek, his eyes heavy-lidded.
Xie Lian twists his body against San Lang’s, chasing the building pressure in his gut. He kisses beneath San Lang’s jaw, mouth hanging open against his neck, panting and whimpering out uneven sounds. San Lang pushes a second finger inside of him, his palm grazing Xie Lian’s clit when he thrusts them in all the way. His arm comes to wrap around Xie Lian’s waist, holding him close and allowing his hips to writhe back and forth.
As if responding to Xie Lian’s fervor, the balls increase the intensity of their vibration as well. Xie Lian’s breath catches in his chest, his whole body starting to shudder. San Lang’s hand spreads over his back, wrinkling the fine silk between his fingers. His palm applies steady pressure against Xie Lian’s clit and when Xie Lian rocks his hips forward again, the curve of San Lang’s fingers inside of him drags just right.
He does his best to muffle his voice against the side of San Lang’s neck when he comes, mindful there are still plenty of people around that might hear him. San Lang’s lips press to his temple, his fingers still moving inside Xie Lian. The pulsing waves of his orgasm make the low vibration inside him continue, drawing things out until his legs threaten to give way beneath him.
San Lang pulls his fingers out gently, his damp fingers tracing the sensitive skin inside of his thighs. Xie Lian’s breath is ragged and unsteady against the side of San Lang’s neck. He settles back into his skin by degrees, letting San Lang and the wall behind him support the bulk of his weight. It hardly seems to trouble San Lang, smoothing his hand up and down the inside of Xie Lian’s thigh and kissing the side of his face slowly.
“Is that better?” San Lang asks when Xie Lian’s breathing has started to relax. Xie Lian nods slowly, smoothing his hands over San Lang’s tidy hair before cupping his face and pulling him into a slow kiss. He realizes that the delightful, dreadful humming of the two silver balls has stopped as well, allowing him to relax further.
"San Lang… the parade," he says, trying to sound firm but failing to muster the force. San Lang puts a hand on his lower back, over his clothing, stroking the knobs of his spine. In truth the alternative, having San Lang sweep him off his feet and transport the two of them back to Qiandeng Temple is tempting. San Lang hums, kissing the corner of his mouth.
"What of it?" San Lang asks, his lips turning up into a smile.
"We should finish it," Xie Lian says, releasing San Lang's face and standing properly upright. His legs feel much steadier beneath him, though the skin between his thighs is uncomfortably wet and sticking together now. San Lang sighs once, kissing beneath Xie Lian's jaw.
"If you wish, Your Highness," he says, his voice vibrating against Xie Lian's skin. He hasn't loosened his grasp at all, still embracing Xie Lian tight against his chest. Xie Lian reaches behind him and gently detaches San Lang's hand from his back, holding it in both of his own. He kisses the space between his knuckles, smiling when he feels San Lang's hand flex in response.
"Should I go first then?" Xie Lian asks, kissing the back of San Lang's hand, enjoying the feeling of his cool, bare skin for a moment more.
He eventually releases San Lang's hand to retrieve the ceramic mask, pleased to find that it didn't shatter or crack when thrown to the side. He grabs San Lang's mask as well, passing it back to him with a smile. San Lang's eyebrows creep together, looking for a moment like he still might try to convince Xie Lian to leave with him from here.
Xie Lian ties the mask around his face with careful fingers, nodding when San Lang does the same. He steps away from Xie Lian with a little sigh, leaving the alley and scaling the side of a nearby building with light feet. Xie Lian follows after him without rushing, certain that San Lang will head back to the center of the city to meet him. There won't be any fighting this time— swinging his sword at San Lang is something his body wouldn't cooperate with any longer.
When he finds San Lang, standing at the other side of the open circle, he reaches a hand inside his robe and removes the delicate flower that he hid there before. Small as it is, it survived the whole time without being crushed or bruised. San Lang sees it immediately, his hand leaving the hilt of his saber. He only has one of his gloves on now.
"Ghost King," Xie Lian says, his voice loud and bright. To his own ears, he sounds too much like he's calling fondly after him. Xie Lian can't see him smile behind the mask, but San Lang bows at the waist with a flourish, lowering his head.
"Dianxia," he says, his voice causing Xie Lian's thighs to clench unconsciously together. "This humble ghost is ready to meet his fate."
Xie Lian closes the distance in long strides. When he reaches San Lang, he puts his fingers around the point of his chin, lifting his face. He presents the flower in his other hand, fingers tight around the stem.
His hand is trembling, strangely. San Lang catches it and takes the flower carefully, looking down at it for a long moment.
"Your Highness," he says, voice warm and full. He stands, still holding Xie Lian's hand in his own, skin-on-skin. Xie Lian steps closer to him, intending to kiss him but remembering at the last moment that they're both supposed to keep their masks on.
He presses Xie Lian's hand to the center of his forehead, keeping it lowered. There is an explosion of crimson flower petals around them and the wind tosses them wildly around, rising up suddenly.
San Lang stands, sweeping Xie Lian into his arms. Hidden beneath the mask, Xie Lian can see the wide grin on his face.
They return to Qiandeng Temple at sunset.
San Lang draws an array to take them there from the center of the city, bringing along a swirl of red flower petals. He carries Xie Lian across the threshold of the temple and Xie Lian removes the painted mask from his face, flipping it over in his hands to look at its ornate visage.
"Are you tired, gege?" San Lang asks, his arms secure around Xie Lian. "Should I take you back to bed?"
"No," Xie Lian says, reaching out to remove San Lang's mask as well. He pulls it carefully to his chest, holding one in each hand with a smile. “Should we have returned these?” He muses, tilting the lacquered wood so it catches the ever glowing candlelight inside the temple.
“These old things?” San Lang asks, raising his eyebrows. There is a cool smirk on his face now that it’s been revealed once more. Without pausing, he carries Xie Lian to the stone altar and sets him lightly on top of it, his legs dangling off the edge. “Don’t worry about it.”
Xie Lian hums, passing both masks to San Lang to be placed out of the way. When San Lang turns towards him, he’s suddenly the husband that Xie Lian is most familiar with again— his inky hair barely restrained from his face, black patch covering his missing eye, a rakish and deadly aura hanging around him. His true face is the one that Xie Lian finds most handsome, emphasized by the reflexive clench of his body around the silver balls still inside him.
The jolt takes him by surprise and Xie Lian gasps, his hands curling into fists on top of his thighs. San Lang’s smirk grows a little wider, standing between Xie Lian’s knees. He runs his hands along the outside of Xie Lian’s legs, over the layers of smooth silk.
“Dianxia,” he says, smoothing his hands along Xie Lian’s thighs. Xie Lian reaches out, tangling his fingers in San Lang’s shirt with a little frown.
“San Lang, can you please…” He draws San Lang in closer, arms looping around the back of his neck. Even as he speaks, the tips of his ears begin to burn.
“Yes?” San Lang asks, leaning in to mouth at Xie Lian’s neck. The points of his teeth make goosebumps prickle across his skin.
“Take it out now,” Xie Lian says, mumbling, pressing his body greedily into San Lang’s. He can feel the purr of desire attached to San Lang’s breathing.
“Is that all Dianxia would like?” He asks, kissing Xie Lian’s neck just above the tall collar of his robe. “This humble servant would be more than happy to provide.”
“San Lang,” Xie Lian says, dragging his fingers down his shoulders. He means to sound scolding but falls short of it. San Lang laughs softly against the side of his neck, his clever fingers working open the sashes holding Xie Lian’s robes closed. His walls clench around the balls again and this time the shock is much stronger, shooting up his spine and making him groan.
San Lang steps away to lower himself to his knees before the altar.
He cups one of Xie Lian’s ankles in his hand, drawing his boot off slowly and bowing his head to kiss the delicate bones of his ankle. Xie Lian twitches but doesn’t try to pull away, allowing San Lang to repeat the same with his other leg. San Lang’s fingers linger for a moment around his ankle, tracing the space where the Cursed Shackle once sat imprinted on his skin. He kisses the spot, cradling Xie Lian’s ankle in one of his hands and moving his lips tenderly up his shin.
He only brushes the red skirt of the robe out of his way, teeth tracing the curve of Xie Lian’s calf next. His attention to Xie Lian’s leg is disciplined, taking his time to kiss or touch every inch, up to the curve of his knee and the thin, ticklish skin behind it. Xie Lian clenches one fist in the silk of his outfit, the other reaching out to stroke through San Lang’s hair. When Xie Lian’s fingers rest on the crown of his head, San Lang sighs quietly.
The robe gets pushed up further around his thighs, San Lang’s tongue hot and avid tracing the evidence of Xie Lian’s arousal. Xie Lian’s fingers catch in San Lang’s hair, hand curved around the back of his head. He’s still in no rush, the prolonged torment of his mouth teasing the sensitive skin inside of Xie Lian’s thighs. Xie Lian can feel a thin stream of slick leaking from between his legs, made worse by San Lang’s body between his thighs preventing him from squeezing them shut once again. He removes his hand from the robes only to clap it over his mouth, trying to cover the increased speed of his breathing.
San Lang pushes his legs further apart, stroking the inside of Xie Lian’s thighs with his thumbs, one hand still clothed in leather. He pauses there, no doubt staring at where Xie Lian's slit is wet and overly flushed. The knowledge makes Xie Lian shut his eyes, his fingers tightening in San Lang’s hair.
“Gege,” he says, rough voice nearly a whisper. He kisses Xie Lian’s thigh, mouthing along the juncture of his pelvis. With the hand still wearing the glove, he grasps the silk thread and gives a slow, firm tug on it. At the same time, he leans in and drags the tip of his tongue over Xie Lian’s clit. The combination makes him moan out loud in surprise, tugging at San Lang’s hair before he remembers to relax his grip and pets it between his fingers instead.
The movement of the two balls inside of him causes another series of trembling shockwaves to overtake Xie Lian, making his back arch. For how little San Lang has touched him, he is still clinging miserably to the edge of another orgasm. San Lang stops tugging before either of the balls is actually removed, his tongue moving to trace the tender skin that frames his entrance. Xie Lian's nails scrape over his scalp in return, breathing hard into the palm of his other hand.
San Lang shifts, supporting Xie Lian’s knees over his shoulders rather than letting them drape against the hard stone edge of the altar. He licks Xie Lian’s slit in broad, hungry strokes, the blunted tips of his fingers denting the tensed muscles of Xie Lian’s thighs. With the way Xie Lian’s legs tremble and jerk, and the strength of San Lang’s fingers, there will likely be small bruises there in the morning to San Lang to fit the shape of his hand to once again.
He fits his mouth over Xie Lian’s core, lips and tongue imitating a passionate kiss. The balls thrum with energy in response, making the muscles in Xie Lian’s stomach flutter and clench unevenly. San Lang’s tongue presses into his hole, the added friction of it against his walls pushes Xie Lian over the edge. His legs squeeze reflexively around San Lang, held open by his shoulders and the firm grip of his hand. San Lang continues lapping at his slit eagerly, drawing it out even further.
“San Lang,” he says, speaking from between his fingers, voice muffled and shaking. San Lang kisses his clit in response and Xie Lian falls back against the altar with a cry, the heat twisting in his head making it too hard to sit upright. San Lang moves with him, using his grip on Xie Lian’s thighs to pull him back to the edge. His teeth sink into the tender flesh of Xie Lian’s thigh, the sharp bite sure to leave its own mark.
San Lang's fingers close around the silk thread again, slowly tugging until both of the balls gently pop free of Xie Lian's squeezing hole. The emptiness feels strange and unfamiliar after the entire day spent filled and Xie Lian makes a bereft sound.
"Ah, did that make gege feel lonely?" San Lang asks, kissing the cap of Xie Lian's knee. There is a telltale smear of wetness around his mouth that Xie Lian can make out in the candlelight when he turns his head to look down at San Lang. He nods his head slowly, though he's not entirely sure he could withstand another onslaught of San Lang's fingers so quickly.
For now, San Lang picks himself up from the floor to bend his body over Xie Lian's, hands smoothing up his waist, mussing the array of tassels and jewels. His dark eye is still burning bright with desire, letting the robe fall between his legs again. He moves his hands up, to the collar of the robe, opening the ornate toggles with care.
"Where does anyone find something like this now?" Xie Lian muses, tilting his head back to permit San Lang's fingers better access to his neck. San Lang pauses, his thumb tracing along the offered length of Xie Lian's throat before returning to the task.
"Perhaps a recreation," San Lang says, the corners of his mouth turned into a smirk. "From some old artwork of Dianxia."
"It seems too accurate for that," Xie Lian says, shaking his head. San Lang hums, ducking his head to kiss Xie Lian's freshly exposed collarbone. Xie Lian hums, curling his fingers once again in San Lang's hair, scratching encouragingly at his scalp.
Too often, the two of them lose an entire day or night like this— too wrapped up in all the love they have for each other to notice the time going by.
San Lang's mouth moves over his chest, fingers hooking in the layers of his robes and drawing them out of the way. The sash at his waist has come loose from San Lang's earlier pulling and once the collar has been undone, the whole thing comes open in the front. The cool air rushing against his skin makes Xie Lian gasp, squirming beneath San Lang.
“Oh? Is it how gege remembers?” San Lang asks, speaking against the flat skin of his sternum.
“Yes, I think,” Xie Lian says, though it's hard to focus with San Lang’s mouth wandering ever closer to one of his peaked nipples. “It’s been such a long time, though, it’s hard for me to say.”
“And what about the parade?” San Lang asks, the points of his teeth pricking Xie Lian’s skin and making his back arch for a moment before falling flat against the stone again. “Was that enough to please Dianxia? Should they expect his stalwart protection for the next year?”
He sounds amused when he asks but only gently so. His lips press to Xie Lian’s chest, just above the thudding of his heart. Xie Lian smiles, tangling his fingers in San Lang’s hair.
“Yes,” he says, curling his hands around the back of San Lang’s neck. “I’m quite pleased, but, San Lang…” He lifts one leg, curling it around San Lang’s narrow waist, drawing him in closer.
San Lang hums, pleased, closing his mouth around Xie Lian’s nipple. His tongue twists wickedly around it, making Xie Lian rub their hips together when he writhes. He can feel how hard San Lang is, pressing against the inside of his thigh. It reignites the desire in the pit of his stomach, reminding him that there’s a persistent ache inside of him as well. San Lang works the front of the robe open, his hands wrapping around Xie Lian’s waist.
He bites the muscle of Xie Lian’s pec, just below his nipple, breathing out heavily against Xie Lian’s skin. Xie Lian rolls their hips together, his leg clinging around San Lang’s waist. It makes San Lang grunt softly, pushing his hips into Xie Lian’s.
San Lang only stands to divest himself of his own clothing, the crisp silk shirt crumpling to the floor. Xie Lian remains spread out on the altar, the many layers of silk spread around his body, joined loosely at the waist. San Lang stops for a moment, his head leaning to one side, taking in the sight with a slowly growing smirk.
“It looks beautiful on Dianxia,” he says, a hand wrapping around Xie Lian’s thigh. He spreads Xie Lian’s legs apart again, fitting himself between them. Xie Lian reaches out for him, tangling his fingers with San Lang's when their hands meet. He can feel the brush of the red string wrapped around his finger. San Lang's body bows over his, mouthing along the arch of his ribs, the defined muscles that stud his stomach.
Xie Lian curls his legs around San Lang's waist, teeth sinking into his lower lip when the silky bare skin of San Lang's cock drags against his thigh. San Lang grunts quietly against his skin, fingers wrapping around himself only to guide his cock to Xie Lian's slit. Rather than pushing directly inside of him, San Lang rolls his hips forward, dragging his cock through the gathered wetness between Xie Lian's legs. His hand tightens around San Lang’s, pulling to draw him in closer. San Lang hums, kissing Xie Lian’s chest, the hollow of his throat, the tip of his chin. Xie Lian turns his face toward San Lang’s, releasing his lip from between his teeth only when San Lang kisses him.
He gasps when San Lang slowly pushes inside, mouth open against his. Xie Lian is already used to the stretch of taking San Lang inside of him. His back arches when San Lang’s hips meet his, relishing in the fullness. San Lang kisses the corner of his mouth, one hand flexing around his hip.
“Gege,” he says, his low voice rattling against Xie Lian’s nerves. Xie Lian’s arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling San Lang’s cool body against his overheated chest. Without thinking, he’s crossed his ankles together at the small of San Lang’s back, clinging to him like he’s trying to prevent an escape. San Lang’s hips rock forward before drawing back as much as the grasp of Xie Lian’s legs will allow.
Xie Lian makes a sharp sound when San Lang thrusts back inside of him, nails biting into the back of his shoulder. It feels good to have something solid inside of him, San Lang shuddering when Xie Lian’s walls clench securely around his cock. Unlike the unsteady teasing motion of the silver balls, San Lang’s cock is solid and manages to find everywhere he’s most sensitive.
San Lang adjusts his grasp on Xie Lian, lifting his hips off of the stone tabletop and supporting the small of his back with one hand. The shift in angle makes San Lang’s cock sink deeper inside him and Xie Lian groans, rolling his head back between his shoulders. San Lang holds him like that and fucks him slow and deep, his cock never pulling all the way out. Xie Lian’s ankles remain locked around his waist, his toes curling.
“Ah, gege is so squeezing me so tight now,” San Lang says, his mouth against Xie Lian’s shoulder. “Didn’t it help like I said?”
Xie Lian lifts his head to look up at San Lang with a petulant curl of his lip, gasping when his hips grind forward. It definitely has more to do with the way San Lang used them to torment him and keep him on edge all day and any other supposed properties.
The look makes San Lang laugh, kissing his shoulder and shaking his head. “Are you upset?” San Lang asks in a low purr. “But gege enjoyed himself right? This husband made sure he’s come a few times by now, too.”
“Ah, no I’m not upset,” Xie Lian manages when San Lang pauses thrusting to take in his expression. He uses the back of his hand to brush the hair away from Xie Lian’s face, cupping his cheek. Xie Lian still frowns, turning his face toward San Lang’s palm. “But, San Lang hasn’t yet… right?”
San Lang shakes his head, the smirk on his face inching a little wider. “No,” he says, his hand bunched in the layers of silk at the small of Xie Lian’s back. “Not yet.”
“Then San Lang can finish… inside me.” Xie Lian shivers, certain he can feel every shade of red his face is turning. He’s unsure if he’s really granting San Lang permission, or asking for it to satisfy his own greed. Either way, San Lang lifts his eyebrow, a spark in his eye.
“Gege is always so good to me,” he says, kissing beneath Xie Lian’s ear. He resumes fucking him, the thrusts of his hips sharper and more punctuated. Each one makes Xie Lian hiccup a small sound out, arching his body up into San Lang’s.
“I have another request.” San Lang’s teeth dig into the tender skin behind Xie Lian’s ear, kissing the mark of his teeth that remains. At least the murmur of San Lang’s voice so close to his ear is enough to hide the wet, illicit sound of his cock sinking into Xie Lian's soaked hole. “If it isn’t too much to ask, can gege come again like this for me?” He sounds pleased with himself as he asks, nipping the lobe of Xie Lian’s ear.
He can probably already feel the tremors in Xie Lian’s thighs, still wrapped around his waist. Xie Lian swallows hard, the flush on his face spreading down his chest as well. He nods, trying to regain enough of his composure to give a proper answer. San Lang thrusts forward hard before he can manage that much, filling Xie Lian until he’s on the edge of aching. San Lang’s hand leaves his face to work between his legs instead. His fingers find Xie Lian’s clit, rolling messy, loose circles around it.
The glancing contact is more than enough to make him jerk, his muscles tightening around San Lang once again. San Lang makes a muffled sound against the swell of his shoulder but the driving pace of his hips doesn’t falter.
Xie Lian cries out sharply when he comes, back arching off the altar, his eyes fluttering closed. The world beyond San Lang’s body becomes indistinct and unimportant— only the continued friction of his cock drawing Xie Lian’s orgasm further and the security of his weight matter. Xie Lian writhes beneath him, making a further mess of the fine outfit.
He only just begins to catch his breath again when San Lang groans against his throat, low and rough. The hot rush of San Lang’s come inside of him sets off another trembling wave of aftershocks and Xie Lian grips onto his shoulders tightly, mouth open to let out a stream of fractured sounds.
San Lang lays his body on top of Xie Lian’s, ringing his neck and collarbone with dozens of small kisses. He gives Xie Lian time to recover without moving much, his body solid and secure. When Xie Lian lifts his head, San Lang does the same, meeting him in the middle to kiss him unevenly.
“How is that, gege?” He asks, smoothing Xie Lian’s sweaty hair away from his face. “Are you satisfied now?”
When Xie Lian bashfully nods, San Lang pulls out of him, unlocking Xie Lian’s legs from around his waist and guiding them closed. He strokes Xie Lian’s thighs with both hands, kissing him once more.
“Would gege like a bath?” San Lang asks once he’s given Xie Lian another quiet moment or two to catch his breath. He barely waits for Xie Lian to nod before sweeping him off the altar, letting the God-pleasing costume lay crumpled and forgotten on the stone top of the altar.
He carries Xie Lian out of the main chamber and into one of the apparently dozens of side chambers, this one boasting a tub deep enough for the two of them to soak comfortably, though it doesn’t look nearly that big from the outside. There’s a slight smell of jasmine to the water that Xie Lian finds relaxing and when San Lang lowers him beneath the steaming surface, he sighs.
Xie Lian reaches out for him before San Lang can step away, pulling his husband beneath the hot water next to him. San Lang arranges Xie Lian in his lap, his cool chest providing him a place to recline and escape from the heat of the water.
The tension in his muscles starts to unwind, helped along by the way San Lang’s hands dip under the water to begin massaging at his hips.
“Which part of this was meant to be the gift?” Xie Lian asks after a long few moments of peace. San Lang laughs, kissing the side of his neck. His hands are still under the water but they’re less focused on massaging the tension out of his muscles and more exploring his chest where it’s obscured from sight.
“What do you mean, gege?” San Lang asks, a smile clear in his voice. “Do you want something nicer than that little silver trinket?”
Xie Lian laughs a little, unable to help himself. He turns in the water so his knees are resting on either side of San Lang’s thighs, perching above his lap and facing him directly.
“The parade?” He asks, lifting his eyebrows. “The missing actors?”
“I didn’t harm them,” San Lang says, his voice mocking seriousness.
“Those priests were your believers!” Xie Lian says, his fingers denting in San Lang’s shoulders. Each revelation adds to the smile on his face.
“Ours.” San Lang says, his hands gathering at the small of Xie Lian’s back to support his weight. “And the parade is a genuine tradition. I only borrowed it for the year.”
Xie Lian nods, wrapping his arms around San Lang’s neck and kissing him slowly. It is only a surprise in the most delightful way— these kinds of elaborate showings are normal for San Lang and Xie Lian can’t help but enjoy himself, even when he’s putting the pieces together so late.
“What about the outfit?” He asks finally, picking up on his biggest point of curiosity.
The robes he wore today were familiarly elaborate to the ones from his youth. Things worn in the Imperial City of Xianle haven’t been in style in centuries, so there would be no reason for anyone to know the details well enough to replicate them so carefully.
“Ah, that,” San Lang says, his lips curled into a smile. “Gege has very sharp eyes. It’s no cheap reproduction.”
“Is it real?” Xie Lian asks, sitting up suddenly and making the water slosh around them.
“Yes,” San Lang says, clearly pleased with himself. “It only needed a little restoration— since then, I’ve been keeping it in a safe place.”
Xie Lian nods slowly, his hands on San Lang’s shoulders, dark hair floating in a half-moon around his shoulders.
“Does that mean that we took a centuries-old artifact and used it for…” Xie Lian trails off, his face growing red again. Surely there are plenty of old ancestors left to get mad about something like that!
“Hm, I suppose so,” San Lang says. He’s chuckling as he says it, not an ounce of remorse in his tone. When he sees the flustered look on Xie Lian’s face, he only lifts one hand from the water to stroke his back, cradling the nape of his neck. “Don’t worry, it’s easy enough to have it cleaned properly again.”
“T- that doesn’t mean we should’ve…” Xie Lian trails off, biting down hard on his lip. San Lang smirks, using his thumb to free Xie Lian’s lip from its prison between his teeth.
“It’s one of my relics, anyway,” San Lang says, kissing him once more. “No one else can tell me how to use it.”
Xie Lian could argue that doesn’t exactly apply in this case, but he gives up on it for now. He lays himself against San Lang’s chest once more, eyes fluttering closed.
“It was all very nice,” he says, kissing the center of San Lang’s chest, above where his heart no longer beats. “Thank you, my love.”
“Of course,” San Lang’s arm tightens around his waist, embracing him closer. “Anything for Gege.”