Work Text:
In Wu Xi’s defense, he did not mean to steal the robes.
It was a warm late spring afternoon, nowhere nearly as hot and humid as it would have been in Nanjiang — a cooler, more subdued version of the South’s heat, already scorching at this time of the year. The comparison, sudden and unbidden, struck him like a blow to the chest; yet the memory of his homeland, when it came, brought along merely a faint echo of pain.
The thought that followed was bold and sacrilegious, a blasphemy against Gazh that stood opposite to everything the Shamanet had promised himself before his departure to Central Plains — but in that very moment, Nangjiang felt like a distant dream of a naive child of ten, and not the place seventeen-year-old Wu Xi would long for the most.
No, in that very moment, home was the person in front of him, the sweat dripping down their backs, and the sweet thrumming of blood in Wu Xi’s veins whenever his fingers brushed Prince Nan’ning’s pale skin.
Getting Jing Qi to spar with him was, on most days, not the easiest of tasks. Throughout the years, whenever Wu Xi would ask, he either feigned exhaustion, expressed how busy he was, or simply laughed before snatching the reins of the conversation away from Wu Xi’s hands. You must be aware, Little Toxin, he had once said — and Wu Xi could never forget — of how I prefer to fight with my tongue instead.
And had Wu Xi been a different man, he would have played the game, too; would have said something charming, teasing, befitting of a man of the Great Qing, perhaps you could demonstrate, then — except that for him, it had always been more than just a game.
Something, however, had shifted between them the moment Jing Qi returned from the Guangs. At first, Wu Xi wholeheartedly believed that he had ruined their bond with his confession, even though he had meant every word he said — even though, weak-willed as he was, he would have ultimately always done it all again, drunk or not, and no matter the outcome. But then Jing Qi had let him back in and gathered him into his arms, and all the way throughout, even when his words were sharp like thorns as he turned Wu Xi down time and time again, his gaze held softness Wu Xi had never seen in his eyes before.
Not with any of the Yellow Flower boys, not even with Helian Yi.
Wu Xi had not thought it possible, but it caused the depths of his desire to become deeper than the abyss itself. The idea of taking Jing Qi back to Nanjiang with him could no longer be merely called something that he had yearned for. He had become possessed by it, had let it haunt not only his dreams, but also his every waking moment. He had tried going on about his days as usual — as if the other half of his heart hadn’t roamed in someone else’s body — but he still would not stop seeing those images in the back of his mind, each and every one so hauntingly beautiful, like prophetic visions sent to him by the gods.
Jing Qi, fully free from the Great Qing and from the shackles of his duty to both the kingdom and the man bound to rule it, his heart finally laying bare at Wu Xi’s feet.
Jing Qi, body wrapped in scarlet and gold, yet all the beauty of his wedding regalia paling in comparison with the warm curve of his eyes and the shape of his mouth as he promised to remain Wu Xi’s in this life and all the next ones.
Jing Qi, illuminated by the moonlight, his head thrown back in ecstasy and mouth open in a silent prayer, the strands of his hair wrapped around Wu Xi’s fingers like strings of fate.
Of this, Wu Xi could not speak out loud. Despite all of his wild, audacious fantasies, he had never truly dared to reveal to Jing Qi the extent to which he was willing to go to make him his. The moment when he drunkenly vowed to kill whoever would be bold enough to lay eyes on Jing Qi had been the only time he had gone beyond speaking of anything else than the simple wish to take him to his homeland. But perhaps it was impossible for him to fully conceal his feelings and to stop wearing his heart on his sleeve.
Perhaps when he tried asking Jing Qi to spar that day, the man had finally acquiesced not out of exasperation, but due to curiosity that had utimately won over the need for indifference.
If I let you close, his eyes seemed to say, how hard will you bite me?
Wu Xi had thought about it as they exchanged blows, dancing around each other under the setting sun that had bathed the courtyard of the Prince Estate in gold. He had — very predictably, considering his opponent’s weak constitution — ended up pinning Jing Qi to a nearby tree, throwing himself towards him with a quiet gasp.
Immediately, he became overly aware of each and every sensation that came with their sudden intimacy — their bodies, pressed nearly flush against each other, the way Jing Qi’s robes had slid from his shoulders, revealing a patch of his skin on which pearls of sweat were shining like stars, the hitch in his own breath when he realized that the man underneath him became almost pliant, with no intention to free himself from his grasp.
”You’ve won, Shamanet”, Jing Qi breathed out, and Wu Xi couldn’t hide the shiver that ran through him when he felt the faint sweetness of the plum wine Jing Qi had drunk earlier hit his nostrils. The man must have noticed it, because he slowly tilted his head back, baring his neck, as if finally, finally offering himself to Wu Xi — and yet, when he added an equally breathless “What are you planning to do about it?”, Wu Xi could only stare at his slightly parted lips, his own fists clenched in frustration.
It wasn’t merely about wanting to kiss Jing Qi — he had come close to that many times, and crossing the line wouldn’t have been a sacrilege just yet. A kiss was no less dangerous than the confession that he already had made. It was the overwhelming, burning need to make those fantasies of his real, right there and then, and that feeling had terrified him.
He had always intended to court Jing Qi properly — he had already given him the jade ring, and then, after having returned to Nanjiang with him, he planned to introduce him to the Great Shaman to ask for his and Gazh’s blessings of their eternal union — and yet all the thoughts of rationality seemed to elude him now that he had, in a way, been given the taste of that alluring future.
“I—”, he could only say, voice suddenly unspeakably hoarse, then trailed off. His gaze wandered below, to Jing Qi’s exposed collarbone, and, licking his lips ever so slightly, he thought about sinking his teeth into the delicate skin there, latching onto the bone like a feral dog. He wanted to hold that man between his lips and keep him there, mark him for both the mortal world and the heavens to see, then devour him whole so that they wouldn’t ever have to be apart again.
And it wasn’t that he feared rejection or the lack of interest from Jing Qi, not anymore . It wasn’t a game to him either, it was something more than simple curiosity, too, after all; Wu Xi could understand this much now. He knew that if he kept this up, there would eventually come a day where Jing Qi would be ready to choose him above anyone and anything else.
What he could not comprehend, however, and what he was truly scared of, was the enormity of his own desire — the answers to questions of where it came from, how much power it had over him, what he was capable of because of it.
Many men of the Great Qing had called Wu Xi’s people savages or barbarians; brutal creatures all too familiar with violence, so unlike the educated, highly esteemed nobles in the capital, favored by the deities they did not need to placate with sacrificial blood. As a child, he had heard those words over and over again and allowed them to sow a seed of hatred towards the Great Qing inside his little heart.
But then, once he had left Nanjiang and seen the capital for himself, it became clear to him that neither the emperor, the Helian brothers, nor any of the ministers at the imperial court had truly been any different from the monsters whose ways they had claimed to despise — they had simply hidden their own viciousness behind a mask of beautiful lies and faux conventions.
It was then that Wu Xi had sworn to himself that no matter how hard it would be to win Jing Qi’s heart, he would never resort to snatching it by force. If they wanted him to be cruel and bloodthirsty, fine; he could as well live up to their expectations. But hurting Jing Qi was one thing he would not ever be capable of, especially not in the name of love.
Someone had done it before, and while Wu Xi did not know the full story, the bits and pieces Jing Qi would unconsciously reveal to him sometimes were enough to make his blood boil. On one hand, he knew that he would have treated Jing Qi better; on the other, the mere thought of causing him pain due to his overeagerness and lack of experience was already enough for Wu Xi to feel like he had been stabbed by millions of small knives.
“Beiyuan, I—”, he began again, at last, but Jing Qi sighed softly before any more words could have been spoken, the exhale akin to a quiet chuckle. He straightened his back, no longer allowing Wu Xi to handle his body however he wished; and if Wu Xi hadn’t known better, he would have sworn that he had seen a hint of something much like disappointment in those beautiful peach blossom eyes.
But then Jing Qi’s eyelashes fluttered, delicate like butterfly wings, and the emotion was gone. “I see”, he whispered. His fingers seemed to have trembled slightly as they reached to the lapels of his robes, intent on fixing the mess that they had turned into during their sparring, and Wu Xi dug his nails into the palm of his hands in order to stop himself from grabbing Jing Qi’s wrist.
Somehow, even though he hadn’t done anything improper, Wu Xi felt like he had wronged the man in a way not much different from the one he was trying to avoid.
He stood there, his heart thumping so frantically he could feel its beats all the way up in his throat for what seemed like an eternity, before Jing Qi broke the unbearably heavy silence once more. “Although you’ve defeated me, Little Toxin”, he said, and Wu Xi suddenly felt like a little kid again, having his performance assessed by a master he had so desperately wanted to impress, “allow this humble one to still give you some combat advice.”
He took a step forward, crossing the already dangerously short distance between the two of them, then cupped Wu Xi’s cheek, as if getting ready for a kiss. Yet, despite the gentleness of Jing Qi’s hands, the touch stung like a slap to the face, and Jing Qi’s lips had ended up only brushing past Wu Xi’s ear when he leaned in to add:
“Do not start a battle only to be afraid of the war.”
Even with all the lessons in poetry and the customs of the Great Qing he had been given, Wu Xi had rarely ever understood the full real meaning behind Jing Qi’s fancy words and flowery metaphors. He had wished for the longest time that the man would stop speaking in riddles and be completely open with him instead, believing that Jing Qi had perhaps donned his words like an armor, even in front of him — only to, in that very moment, realize that if the weapon that was Jing Qi’s honesty had been at least half as sharp as his pretense, then the one in need of protection would have always been Wu Xi.
He had no idea which of his emotions, rushing through his heart like a current of a turbulent river, were the most visible on his face, but whatever Jing Qi had found reflected in Wu Xi’s features, it made him laugh as he pulled away. Playfully, as if the last couple of minutes had never happened, he nudged Wu Xi’s shoulder, then tugged at his sleeve.
“I’m tired”, he said, voice slightly drawly and whiny in a way that had always driven Wu Xi crazy, then, uncaring of the fact that they had stood in front of his own estate, he began dragging Wu Xi towards his quarters instead. Wu Xi followed easily, stunned into docility, while Jing Qi went on, “You know, the least you could do after exhausting this gentleman so thoroughly is to invite him for tea.”
They ended up spending the evening hunched around the table in Wu Xi’s room, enjoying the tea and some of the pastries that Wu Xi had bought on his latest visit to the market with Ashinlae. At some point, Jing Qi, having fanned himself lazily for the past couple of minutes, shrugged his outer robe off, murmuring something about how hot he was, and in hindsight, Wu Xi really should have seen that for what it truly was — a meticulous performance. a continuation of their little dance — but he had been too busy trying not to stare and most likely failing, his heart still racing as wildly as it had back in the courtyard.
Eventually, when the hues of orange and red outside had given way to the creeping darkness of the approaching night time, Jing Qi quickly downed whatever was left in his cup and put it back on the table before gracefully standing up. The noise, although not loud in the slightest, startled Wu Xi a little due to how deep in thought he had been, and the corners of Jing Qi’s mouth turned up in a small smile at the sight.
“Since it seems like my presence is making you doze off, I suppose it is time I took my leave”, he said, and when Wu Xi nearly spluttered trying to assure him that he had not been bored at all, his grin widened even further. “Ah-ah, my Wu Xi…”, he added, shaking his head and clicking his tongue, once again akin to a shifu that would lecture his disciple, and perhaps Wu Xi should have felt slightly offended at the condescending tone, but considering it had also meant Jing Qi had called him his, he found himself unable to. “You’re so cute when you’re serious, you know? It makes you so easy to tease.”
Wu Xi stayed silent — because, heavens above, how was he supposed to reply to that? — and so Jing Qi eventually teared his gaze away from him and turned around, heading for the door. For a while, it seemed like he wasn’t about to say anything else either and intended to return to his own estate leaving Wu Xi’s mind and soul in a complete turmoil. But then he paused at the doorstep one last time, and although he didn’t face Wu Xi when he uttered the words, somehow it still felt like he had never stopped looking him in the eyes.
“But sometimes… I wish you would just stop thinking so much.”
Caught in a daze, Wu Xi sat there unmoving, for what seemed like hours after the doors had closed behind Jing Qi. With the way his head was spinning and his heart pounded like a drum in his chest, he felt as if he had willingly swallowed a deadly poison and was rushing head-on towards his own demise. What was it that Jing Qi had said in the courtyard? Do not start a battle only to be afraid of the war.
Well, although he had won their little match, at the end of the day, Wu Xi felt like he had lost an entirely different fight without even knowing about it.
In spite of the advice Prince Nan’ning had shared before leaving, for quite some time he had tortured himself further with the recollections of the previous couple of hours — Jing Qi’s beautiful face, painted gold by the sunlight, Jing Qi, breathless in Wu Xi’s arms and swaying as if he wanted nothing more than to surrender to him, the way Wu Xi’s knees had nearly given out when Jing Qi touched his face, the unbidden wave of indecency washing over him as Jing Qi took his outer robes off…
As soon as that last thought had crossed his mind, Wu Xi’s heart had immediately stopped beating so furiously — for a second, before it resumed its wild pounding, it seemed like it had stopped beating at all.
Swallowing around a sudden lump in his throat, he looked at the seat Jing Qi had occupied earlier — and surely enough, they were there, carelessly spread out on the floor and left behind without a second thought. Wu Xi blinked rapidly a couple of times, and then quickly snatched the robes from where they laid, as if he had expected them to be a hallucination that could disappear at any moment. But any doubts that he might have had quickly dispersed the second he held them between his fingers — snow-white silk, covered with intricate patterns Wu Xi had briefly recognized, laced with gold as a final touch.
Wu Xi could not care less for fashion, at least for that of the Great Qing, yet even he found it obvious that they looked way too elegant to be worn for something like a mere sparring. He had not paid any mind to it before, with Jing Qi’s face being much more alluring than any piece of clothing ever could, but now he found it somewhat strange.
Back in the day, the thought that Jing Qi might have wanted to look pretty just for Wu Xi would have been a fool’s wish; however, now…
He ran his fingers between the delicate folds of the fabric, enjoying how soft and smooth it had felt to the touch — almost like Jing Qi’s skin when Wu Xi had caressed it as they brushed past each other during their fight. The thought made him shudder in an almost violent way and he quickly staggered to his feet, as if hurt by what he had just felt, then stumbled towards the doors. He needed to return these robes back to Jing Qi, he told himself, but purely because it felt inappropriate to hold onto something of such high worth that did not belong to him, because he would never resort to snatching it by force—
Wu Xi took a deep breath as he reached for the door — then, in an instant, he froze.
Earlier on, when he had pinned Jing Qi against the trunk of a tree, his scent — the perfect combination of sweat dripping down Jing Qi’s back, those expensive fancy oils he loved to use when bathing and the indistinct, yet intoxicating aroma of wine — was one of the biggest reasons why he couldn’t think straight. It was also everything that Wu Xi could smell now, and being attacked by that sensation made him dizzy to the point of nearly collapsing. It was almost as if he had inhaled a fatal dose of a muscle relaxant, or been struck down by the thrust of a sword — his knees buckled, then gave way just about instantly.
With his back hitting the doors and fingers clutching the robes to his chest like a lifeline, Wu Xi slid to the floor and whined.
Some small, distant part of him felt mortified at how he was behaving, so undignified and unbecoming of a future Great Shaman of Nanjiang — the rest, however, did not give a damn. He had felt strung out for days on end, caught in the careless arms of lust and overpowered by everything that was Jing Beiyuan, and now, at last, he had reached the end of his patience. He could no longer rebel against his own desire, not even if yielding to the temptation meant damnation for both him and Jing Qi.
(Sometimes… I wish you would just stop thinking so much, Jing Qi had said to him, and Wu Xi finally intended to listen.
He could only hope Prince Nan’ning was aware of the consequences.)
So, while it was true that Wu Xi did not mean to steal the robes, in that moment, he had no intention of parting with them just yet. For a while, he stared at his trembling hands, then, abandoning the last remnants of his restraint, brought them to his face and buried it between the folds of the fabric, inhaling deeply. He was grateful that it muffled the moan that had once again slipped past his lips the moment he was hit with Jing Qi’s scent. Although he had sent Ashinlae and Nuahar away when he returned from the Prince Estate, the mere thought of them hearing the sounds that he was making caused his cheeks to burn — and the worst thing was that it wasn’t just with shame.
Slowly, the heat had begun to spread throughout his body, travelling downwards until Wu Xi felt it pool in his stomach. Back in the courtyard, he had managed to avoid it by redirecting as much attention as possible towards the act of sparring in itself, but here, in the privacy of his own quarters and with his face pressed against Jing Qi’s clothing, there was no way he could escape his arousal anymore. Yet, a deep part of his subconscious, still guilt-ridden by the lecherous act that he was commiting, told him to bite his lip and clench his thighs, begging for it to pass.
Obviously, it was all in vain — how could it not?
Wu Xi had spent his entire childhood preparing for the future that was destined for him by fate, then needed to adjust to the harsh reality of having it all ripped away from him when he was taken to the Great Qing. He had only ever had Ashinlae and Nuahar around, and he loved them like he would his brothers, but when it came to either friendship or desire, it was Jing Qi that had taught him everything. His first zyale. The only person he had ever had a spring dream about. The last one that would ever get to wear his jade ring.
Wu Xi had never known how it felt like to crave something until Jing Qi came along — and now he didn’t know how to stop.
Finally, after what had felt like a lifetime of battling himself, Wu Xi allowed his legs to fall open. Then, as the silk to which he had still kept his lips pressed had gradually stopped feeling like cloth and once more began to resemble Jing Qi’s body, pliant and malleable like it had been in the courtyard and underneath Wu Xi, he slipped one of his hands between the layers of his own clothing with a broken whimper.
Touching his cock was a relief and torture all at once. It was but a simple, tentative brush of fingers against its head, yet it still had Wu Xi throwing his head back against the door, his eyes fluttering shut. He was already wet, more than he had ever remembered himself being, even when waking up from that dream. Had he not been so overwhelmed by the sensation, he would have found himself pathetic to be reduced to this state by sniffing someone else’s clothes like a dog.
I did not expect, Jing Qi’s voice suddenly echoed in his mind, my Little Toxin to be so indecent. What a pleasant surprise.
Despite the words being only a product of Wu Xi’s imagination, and not a memory of something they had shared together, they still seemed impossibly real. Jing Qi’s tone was, much like it often used to be whenever he spoke with the Shamanet, part taunting and part tender, and Wu Xi, feeling his cock harden in his grasp, had no choice but to embrace that fantasy. Proving Jing Qi’s words true, he pressed his face deeper into the robes, as if trying to choke on the scent, and began moving his hand up and down, stroking himself with harsh, desperate tugs.
Look at you, Jing Qi muttered after what had felt like eternity. It was hard to tell if the breathless hitch in his voice was a sign of gentle mockery or genuine awe. Both possibilities made Wu Xi equally as dizzy. Touching yourself while you breathe me in, drooling all over my clothes... What will you do next? Wrap them around your cock and pretend it is me you are taking?
A wave of humiliation surged through Wu Xi, but instead of turning the blood in his veins ice cold, it made him shake violently with need, and that took him completely off guard. Before imaginary Jing Qi uttered those words, Wu Xi had not thought he would have considered doing it, not when he had barely managed to convince himself that even taking those robes into his hands was not a sacrilege. But now that it had crossed his mind, even though he knew he would not dare to do it in the end, he could not stop thinking about it — him grinding against the same fabric that had earlier touched Jing Qi’s body until he would come on it.
“Bei— Beiyuan”, he sobbed into the silk, panting roughly as his hand sped up. Heavens above, he really had drooled over Jing Qi’s robes, all while making a sticky mess inside his own ones. He had never leaked so much on the few occasions that he had touched himself before, but now the slick sound of him smearing the precome all over his length was outright obscene, and he briefly wondered if he would hear the same noise when fucking into Jing Qi, before the vision of it made him almost feverish with lust. “Beiyuan, please, please, I’m close, I’ll—”
Even half-lucid, Wu Xi knew that there was no one around that could have heard his moans and desperate pleas, but he was so far gone that he could not keep his mouth shut. If only his limbs had been willing to cooperate even in the slightest, he would have crawled back to the Prince Estate and begged Jing Qi to let Wu Xi fuck him for real, any decorum or apprehension be damned — instead, he had been caught in a trance, unable to move unless it was to thrust up into his own fist.
Shh, shh, Little Toxin, the Jing Qi in his mind whispered instead. There was no trace of teasing left in his voice anymore; he spoke quietly and softly, as if he wanted to approach a feral animal. Right there and then, it wasn’t that far off from the truth. Trying to listen to him, Wu Xi bit his lip again, hard enough to taste blood inside his mouth, and yet it still wasn’t enough — not when he wondered how Jing Qi would have kept him quiet; with a hand pressed to his mouth, or the way Wu Xi was doing it now, with a piece of silk pushed between his lips like a gag?
Good, that’s it, Jing Qi praised him in spite of it, and although he had said those words to him before during their lessons, it was only now that they had made Wu Xi blink furiously against the sudden wetness pooling in the corners of his eyes. Now hold still for me.
Wu Xi wasn’t sure he was capable of it, not with how badly he needed to come, like he would die if he hadn’t, but it was what Jing Qi wanted and he wanted nothing more than to make him satisfied — to be good for him. So, ignoring the release building up inside of him, Wu Xi curled his fingers around the base of his cock, squeezing tight, yet after a torturously long while of straining not to move, his hips snapped up uncontrollably, then, as if on their own accord, they began to move again.
Oh, Wu Xi, Jing Qi sighed fondly. You truly are just a puppy, you know?
Despite frantically pushing himself towards it and feeling it approaching for a while now, somehow, Wu Xi’s orgasm still managed to hit him unexpectedly. Having heard the last sentence, he came just like that — mid-thrust, staining his fist and underwear, folds of white silk clasped between his teeth like a bone. For a while, it seemed like he didn’t even realize what had happened and just kept helplessly fucking into his own hand, his thighs twitching wildly from the aftershocks, until the overstimulation turned too painful for him to continue.
As Wu Xi tried to steady his breathing, he felt the cloth slip out of his saliva-filled mouth. From where they now laid on the floor, crumpled up and spit-soaked, the robes looked worse than a ragcloth. Under normal circumstances, that sight would have been enough to fill Wu Xi’s heart with dread, however, he had not yet reached the point where his consciousness was clear of that sweet haze. Later on, once the pleasure had fully subsided and the weight of all that he had done would settle in, the mortification was bound to follow. For now, however, the only thing on Wu Xi’s mind was neither shame, guilt nor self-hatred — come morning, he would spend a lot of time wallowing in those feelings — but the inevitable prospect of doing the laundry in the middle of the night.
(The next day, when he brought the robes back to Jing Qi, although they were perfectly dry and spotless, Wu Xi could swear that he was still able to see the marks left on the fabric by his own teeth. It took everything in him to ignore that, and, feigning complete indifference, say to Jing Qi while keeping a stony face: “You should really take better care of your things, Beiyuan.”
At first, Jing Qi didn’t reply, staring at the bundle of silk in his hands as he wordlessly ran his fingers through the folds. But then, just as Wu Xi was starting to worry he would be forced to come up with some explanation that involved sable, or any other poisonous animal in the Shamanet Estate that wasn’t Wu Xi, Jing Qi raised his head to look him in the eyes, a grin slowly spreading on his beautiful face.
“I had no reason to worry, Little Toxin. I’m sure you took care of them just fine.”)