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For a Supreme Ghost King who would describe himself as beholden to nothing and no one, who claimed to to be lawless and unrestrained, Crimson Rain was always bizarrely punctual.
Most of the time, it was quietly endearing, but tonight it crossed over towards stifling. He Xuan knew better than to expect Hua Cheng to forget about a deal, but he’d held out hope for an evening to himself on Black Water Island anyway.
They had agreed to meet a few days ago, before He Xuan knew that Shi Qingxuan was going to reinvigorate her interest in cosmetics. Since then, she’d been following Ming Yi around even closer than usual, insisting they let Qingxuan experiment on them with different liners and balms. Ever present also were Qingxuan’s collection of hand mirrors. He Xuan was never more than a few inches away from his own false reflection.
For Hua Cheng to have the gall to arrive punctually after all that, it is more than He Xuan can endure, no matter how much he’s longed for Hua Cheng’s attentions recently. With a moment to himself at last, all He Xuan would like to do is scrape a few layers of skin off until all traces of Ming Yi and the Heavenly Realm are gone. What he would not like to do is endure lectures from Crimson Rain about inadequate search efforts and wretched debt.
He Xuan waves a hand and sets a few of the smaller bonefish after Hua Cheng. Traitorously, their attempts are half-hearted and don’t appear to slow Crimson Rain down at all. In mere moments, Hua Cheng is banging at He Xuan’s locked bedroom door.
“We had an appointment.”
He Xuan ignores the pleading voice. He yanks the Earth Master’s guan out of his hair, but it tangles, tugging sharply on his scalp, and he lets out a quiet hiss, more of annoyance than pain.
“Hei Shui, if you don’t answer I’ll burn this entire island away and drag you out through the rubble.”
He probably could, too. Leave it to Hua Cheng to figure out a way to burn away an ocean.
“Go away.”
In front of the bronze mirror, He Xuan pulls at his cheeks, his hair, his lips. The face of the Earth Master looks back at him, taunting.
Hua Cheng chooses this moment to kick the door down, and for a few seconds He Xuan is distracted by the flutter of silver and red behind him, but the dark accusatory stare in the mirror draws him back.
Hua Cheng is by his side in an instant, hands wrapped around one of He Xuan’s wrists, restraining him before he can tear at his cheek with ghostly claws. “Hei Shui, what’s going on?”
“I don’t remember.” He Xuan tries to yank his arm back, but Crimson Rain has always been stronger than him. Stronger. Braver. Crimson Rain wears chains on his boots so people hear him coming. He doesn’t hide behind vacant expressions and stolen powers. Crimson Rain knows who he is.
“You don’t remember what?” Hua Cheng prompts as he grapples with He Xuan’s arm. His voice is even.
“I don’t remember!” Using his other hand, He Xuan cuts a gash across his cheek. It feels like nothing at all.
Quickly Hua Cheng readjusts his grip to take He Xuan’s other wrist, and it’s such a shame, because He Xuan thinks maybe if he peels all his skin back he’ll be able to remember. “What, Hei Shui? I’ll help you remember. I always remember everything important.” Hua Cheng’s words come out in a rush that don’t suit his usual cadence, but He Xuan can’t be bothered to think about why.
“I don’t remember my face.”
“Hei Sh-" Hua Cheng’s grip loosens slightly, and He Xuan manages to pull one hand free, but as he begins to scrape at his cheeks, Hua Cheng is there again, pressing his hand over He Xuan’s so that it’s flat against this abhorrent mask. “He Sheng. He Xuan.”
He Xuan feels something in his chest breaking, or maybe dying, and it’s not fair that there’s still enough of him left to hurt like this but not enough to remember. He Xuan mourns his parents but does not remember being their son. He mourns his meimei without remembering who he was when he was her ge. The man Cai Fang loved, the man who loved Cai Fang, he bled out into the Southern Sea and never fully made it into the ghost fire of Hei Shui Chen Zhou. Anything remaining burned out in the Kiln or else was smothered by all the warring spirits stuffed into He Xuan’s too small skin.
“He Xuan,” Hua Cheng repeats, and there is the taste of honey and plum overcoming his senses as Hua Cheng passes spiritual energy to him, repairing the gashes He Xuan has made to this wretched face. It’s a silly, frivolous exercise, so very typical of Hua Cheng.
Hua Cheng has rarely spoken of whatever life he used to have- He Xuan doesn’t even know his name, just that he was once every bit as stubborn and infuriating as he is now, but confined by the form of a weak human child, and that fate thought it amusing for him to cross paths with the Crown Prince who would become the martial god of the Central Plains, among other things. How was it fair that Hua Cheng, with no fond memories of his old self, could still wear his own skin? Surely Crimson Rain, who, on the rare occasions he sees fit to discuss whatever he was before, speaks of himself as a disgrace, an eyesore, a useless thing, surely he wouldn’t mind forgetting.
Surely He Xuan had suffered enough in the loss of his loved ones that he couldn’t be expected to give up the memory of them, and who he was when he had them, too.
He Xuan must be vocalizing some of this, because Hua Cheng’s voice cuts in. He Xuan feels the ground wobbling underneath him and notices dully that Hua Cheng is shaking him.
“I remember, He Xuan. He Xuan! Look at me. I remember. I can help you. Let me- I remember.”
There are butterflies blocking the mirror now, blocking He Xuan’s peripheral vision, everything but Hua Cheng himself.
“You don’t know me,” He Xuan protests.
“I do. We’re the only two in the world, He Xuan. I know you.”
He’s absolutely pouring spiritual power into He Xuan, making his limbs go heavy. There is shifting around him, and He Xuan realizes his clothes are changing, the loathed silks of the Earth Master giving way to something sturdier. Scholar’s robes.
“I see you,” Hua Cheng insists, and he guides the hand on He Xuan’s face back to run through his hair. He Xuan feels it sweep back into a once familiar ponytail. The butterflies shift again, rearranging to form a single mirrored panel.
He Xuan averts his gaze as soon as he realizes what’s happening, lets his eyes trace the embossed silver of Hua Cheng’s necklaces rather than chance a look at another face he won’t know.
Hua Cheng does not seem to approve of this, and he cups He Xuan’s face in his hands again. “I know you. You can look.”
He Xuan realizes idly he could probably break out of this hold, but his feet have gone leaden, and Hua Cheng’s voice is siren song. He allows Hua Cheng to tilt his chin up, to guide him to look over Hua Cheng’s shoulder at the gleaming silver.
The man he sees looks so alive. High cheekbones- sharp, but not gaunt like a starved man. A fine, straight nose, tanned golden across the bridge, like someone who’s actually seen the sun. Lips that still looked capable of smiling, hair with a shine that catches light instead of deadening it in shadow.
“You never knew me like this,” he says softly. Because Hua Cheng didn’t. Hua Cheng never met He Sheng, and it is He Sheng looking back at him in the mirror. Hua Cheng has only known the Water Demon Xuan. “How-”
“I know you,” Hua Cheng says again. He moves as if to release He Xuan’s face, which is not the relief he expects. If Hua Cheng stops holding him, He Xuan does not know what he’ll revert to.
“I’m right here,” Hua Cheng says as if he can hear He Xuan’s concerns. “Just-” and he releases He Xuan, but in an instant he’s back, right behind him, holding He Xuan around the waist instead, chin hovering just above his shoulder. Their eyes lock in the reflection of the butterflies. “I’m here. I see you.”
He Xuan’s knees are unsteady, and he finds himself swaying despite Hua Cheng’s hold. “This isn’t- I’m not- this, anymore.”
And it’s true- he isn’t. He Sheng is centuries, centuries, gone. Bled out on the street with He Qing and Cai Fang, rotted away in a debtor’s prison, buried in a shallow grave with his parents, drowned in unceasing waves outside Fu Gu.
Hua Cheng just shakes his head. “It’s still you. I’ve seen it.” Hua Cheng pulls He Xuan closer so they are in contact all along He Xuan’s back, all along Hua Cheng’s chest.
“You couldn’t have,” He Xuan protests.
“I’ve seen it,” Hua Cheng insists. “Look.”
The butterflies flicker again, and now instead of showing He Xuan his reflection, they swirl through images of his past.
He Xuan watches as He Sheng smiles and laughs, as his eyes harden and his hair goes dull, as his flesh shrinks against his bones and his clothes go ragged, as his skin bruises purple and swells with water, as He Sheng disappears entirely and a small flame emerges instead.
He Xuan watches as the flame grows bright enough to cast long shadows, as the shadows darken into a silhouette, as the silhouette deepens into a figure with sunken eyes shrouded in a curtain of dark hair, as the figure grows a set of wicked teeth and sharp claws, as its hair separates into wild strands framing a bloodless face with sharp cheekbones, a fine, straight nose, and lips curled into a sneer.
He Xuan watches still as Hei Shui Chen Zhou collapses down to stand a few inches shorter, as his hair is swept back into a practical top knot and ornamented with a shining copper guan, as his robes shift into rich silks, as his face softens slightly and takes on more color, as his claws shift into a pair of clean, callused hands.
He Xuan watches as the Earth Master transforms into dozens of other officials, deputies of every palace and every rank flickering by at a dizzying speed, and then finally, the images stop, and He Xuan is looking only at Hua Cheng’s reflection through the eyes Hua Cheng claims to know.
He Xuan’s head is a little clearer now- the suffocating panic has dissipated. It’s replaced with a different, overwhelming tangle of uncertainty. Gratitude. Desire.
Hua Cheng’s thumbs trace small circles on his back. It’s soothing- his touch is so cold. Hua Cheng does not usually feel cold to He Xuan- their undead flesh usually matches, or, if anything, He Xuan runs colder. It must be the way Hua Cheng guided him into this near living form. His capacity for detail has always been extraordinary.
Something about that unsettles He Xuan, that Hua Cheng would be so aware of a form He Xuan so very rarely resembles anymore. “Is this- how you prefer me?” He Xuan asks.
“I don’t have a preference.” Hua Cheng presses his lips to the unbeating pulse point at He Xuan’s neck. “He Xuan is He Xuan.”
It’s a sweet answer, made all the sweeter by the way He Xuan knows it’s not true. Crimson Rain is an artist. He has opinions on form.
Hua Cheng has chosen to be kind; He Xuan should be grateful and leave it there. Keep a shred of his dignity and plausible deniability. But He Xuan is nothing if not self destructive. He pushes.
“Have you ever dreamed of me?” He Xuan asks. All his loveliest dreams are filled with Hua Cheng- with red silks and creamy skin and a touch that burns He Xuan up from the inside.
But Crimson Rain must dream only of his god, and He Xuan regrets that he’s asked about it at all until Hua Cheng hums an affirmation against He Xuan’s skin. “I have.”
Another sweet answer. He Xuan should take it, savor the taste of it on his tongue instead of greedily chasing after more.
But He Xuan has never once cut his losses. “How do you see me then?”
Hua Cheng’s eye glimmers with something like understanding, something like sadness.
“When I dream of you,” Hua Cheng murmurs along the shell of his ear, “you look like this.”
The change is subtle as Hua Cheng’s hand caresses along He Xuan’s temple, down his cheek, and across his chest. The false warmth leaves He Xuan’s skin. His hair darkens and falls loose around his shoulders once more. His robes take on an iridescent shimmer and go translucent, hinting at the pale skin beneath. There is a sudden weight around his neck and wrists—He Xuan is dripping in jewelry.
Hua Cheng does not dream of He Sheng, or of the Earth Master, or of the god He Xuan might have been. Hua Cheng dreams of a ghost king. He dreams of Hei Shui Chen Zhou.
Abruptly, they are not in enough contact. He Xuan twists around in Hua Cheng’s hold to throw his arms around the other ghost king’s neck. He gets the barest glance at Hua Cheng’s beloved face before he brings their lips together.
Hua Cheng’s mouth falls open, and He Xuan presses in eagerly, chasing the intoxicating taste on his tongue and the feeling of fangs on his lips.
There is no water nor nectar in the world that could make up for the cup that was stolen from He Xuan.
But if there were, it would probably taste like Hua Cheng’s kisses. Sweet and rich as summer honey, bold and bright as autumn wine.
“Would you like to know what else I dream about?” Hua Cheng whispers against his mouth, and He Xuan would be upset at him for breaking the contact if he didn’t so desperately want to know.
“Show me.”
The butterflies shift again to surround them, and He Xuan is faced with his reflection, pupils blown wide and chest heaving. It is too much, and He Xuan stares instead at Hua Cheng’s back, at the silky dark hair spilling across blood red silks.
Hua Cheng tangles his hand in He Xuan’s unbound hair, uses the new angle to worry at his neck. He Xuan hopes he leaves marks. He Xuan hopes Hua Cheng swallows him whole.
“Usually, in my dreams,” Hua Cheng confesses to the hollow of He Xuan’s throat, “you’re not wearing these clothes for very long.”
He Xuan nods, entranced.
“Are you watching?” His voice is a low rumble that He Xuan feels more than hears.
Hua Cheng skims his fingers down the collars of He Xuan’s robes, teases at the fastenings of his belts.
“Look,” Hua Cheng insists, and suddenly his hand in He Xuan’s hair turns to a fist, yanking his head back until he has no choice but to stare at his own face as Hua Cheng slowly undresses him.
He watches himself shiver under of Hua Cheng’s attentions, watches his lips part in raspy breaths. He watches as the shimmering dark robes slide off his shoulders and reveal planes of ghostly skin, watches as a telltale bulge forms in the trousers Hua Cheng has so cruelly left him in.
“I want you to watch me fuck you.”
He Xuan’s knees go weak at the words. He is unbalanced, off kilter, he is falling, falling, falling. He is weightless, swept up against Hua Cheng’s chest as he carries He Xuan across the room, followed all the while by a gleaming silver mirror of butterflies.
Hua Cheng does not place him on the bed so much as he throws him.
There is no breath in He Xuan’s lungs to be lost, but he is reeling, gasping anyway, waiting for Hua Cheng to follow him down, but he doesn’t.
“Hua- Hua Cheng.” He Xuan can barely recognize the sound of his voice, thin and needy.
Hua Cheng stands at the foot of the bed, staring down at He Xuan, pinning him in place with one burning eye.
“Yes no,” Hua Cheng says firmly.
It takes a moment for He Xuan to understand, distracted as he is by the ache that welled up inside him the second he lost Hua Cheng’s touch. He Xuan nods.
But Hua Cheng still does not move a cun, just keeps looking down at He Xuan the way he’s seen the Upper Court officials gaze upon their overindulgent feasts.
He Xuan is going to disperse right here if Hua Cheng doesn’t go ahead and devour. “Yes. Yes.”
And then Hua Cheng is pouncing like He Xuan hoped he would, his body a welcome, grounding weight, legs slotted in between He Xuan’s. He Xuan can feel Hua Cheng hard against his hip, knows Hua Cheng must feel He Xuan’s cock twitching against him, must be able to sense the frenzied swirl of energy just under his skin.
In spite of it, or probably because, Hua Cheng moves with no hurry.
He worries at He Xuan’s throat, lips moving with languid indulgence. In the mirror, He Xuan can already make out the pretty shades of the bruises blooming across his neck.
He throws his arms around Hua Cheng, one hand cradling the back of his head to bring Hua Cheng’s precious, filthy mouth tighter against him, to push it away, to hold him. Just to hold him.
Hua Cheng squeezes him in response, long fingers splayed wide across He Xuan’s ribs. His palm rests right over where He Xuan’s heart used to be, and under Hua Cheng’s attention, He Xuan can nearly feel it beat again.
“Kiss me,” He Xuan gasps.
“I am kissing you,” Hua Cheng murmurs into his jaw. He punctuates it with a particularly noisy smack of his lips.
“Come on.” He Xuan pushes half heartedly at Hua Cheng’s face, tries to adjust the angle, but his body has gone too heavy with want—Hua Cheng is quicksilver in his hands, laughing and kissing the other side of He Xuan’s neck.
The whine that escapes He Xuan’s mouth is mortifying and entirely out of his control.
Hua Cheng’s chest is shaking with what He Xuan realizes belatedly is laughter, the sound muffled against He Xuan’s skin. Hua Cheng is so horribly cruel.
“Alright.” Hua Cheng is so wretchedly beautiful. He snakes his hands up to cradle He Xuan’s face, and there he is, soft lips finally back on He Xuan’s.
He Xuan would be glad to stay like this, kissing Hua Cheng and rolling their hips together with all the ceaseless motion of the tides, until they both drown in it or are otherwise forcibly parted.
Hua Cheng, of course, has other plans, and pulls back at the first touch of He Xuan’s teeth. “Watch,” he implores, swiping his thumbs over He Xuan’s cheeks.
He Xuan had not really meant to close his eyes, had just been overcome with the all consuming pleasure Hua Cheng’s touch always brought. Slowly, opens his them again and is as disarmed as ever by Hua Cheng’s sweet face above him.
“Not me.” Hua Cheng tilts He Xuan’s chin up. “You said you’d look.”
He had, hadn’t he?
For the second time that evening, He Xuan is stopped still with what he sees. It is him, of course, but Hua Cheng has transformed him again somehow. It was clothes and illusion before; now it is less tangible, but He Xuan looks- whole. Here on this bed, he is not a false god or a threadbare patchwork hungry ghosts. Here he is a treasured thing, painted with kisses. Here he is not pretending.
Hua Cheng meets his eye again, this time in the mirror. “Good.” There is a hint of a smile playing at his mouth. He Xuan wants to taste it.
“Kiss me,” He Xuan demands again, far past the point of shame or embarrassment.
And Hua Cheng must be needy too, or in a truly, extraordinarily sweet mood this evening. He ducks down to capture He Xuan’s lips, kissing him with a fervor that had He Xuan arching up off the mattress with want.
He Xuan tries his very best to keep his eyes open and fixed on the mirror above them, lest Hua Cheng do something horrible, like stop again.
Hua Cheng kisses him like he has something to prove, like he cannot stand the thought of some part of He Xuan’s mouth not getting his full attention.
He Xuan should probably make a better effort at responding to Hua Cheng properly, instead of just lying here and twisting knots into his lovely, frivolous hair. But Hua Cheng seems pleased enough with just this, with tending the flames of desire in He Xuan into a blissful blaze on his own.
Once He Xuan is kissed enough to pass whatever rigorous inspection Hua Cheng seems to be conducting, Hua Cheng directs his attentions across He Xuan’s throat, his collarbones, his sternum, sending shocks across He Xuan’s skin wherever he goes.
Hua Cheng is still fully clothed, and the image in the mirror is striking, Hua Cheng in all his finery sliding down to reveal more and more of He Xuan’s bare skin.
A striking image, but not the one He Xuan wants.
“Let me touch you,” he says with a weak squeeze of Hua Cheng’s shoulder.
Hua Cheng shakes his head. “Just relax.” He slides He Xuan’s hand away easily, pressing a brief kiss to his knuckles, and redirects his attention to setting He Xuan’s skin alight again.
Hua Cheng is rarely this slow with him. Usually he prefers to run full speed towards their mutual pleasure and keep them there as long as possible. This languidness, this easy exploration of every part of He Xuan besides the ones He Xuan is so desperate that he touch, it is new.
“Hua Cheng,” he says, reedy and thin. “I need-”
“I know. I’ve got you.”
“Please,” He Xuan tries again, knowing it’s helpless.
Hua Cheng smiles against his chest. “Ah, my dreams never quite capture the way you sing for me.”
“You seem immune,” He Xuan grumbles. His cheeks have gone warm with the attention, and he resolves to stay silent, succeeding for all of a few seconds until Hua Cheng pinches one of his nipples and drags a moan past He Xuan’s lips.
“I wouldn’t say that.” Hua Cheng nips at the same place, his fangs making a tantalizing appearance that He Xuan fails to be quiet at again. “I wouldn’t say that at all.”
Finally, Hua Cheng deigns to take He Xuan’s trousers off, dragging He Xuan’s hips into place as he does. He must see how weak He Xuan has gone with want.
It is clear enough for He Xuan, reflected back at him as it is: his glassy eyes and stuttering chest make it obvious, not to mention his aching, leaking cock, finally free of confining fabric but still woefully untouched.
Hua Cheng traces a path down He Xuan’s stomach with his tongue, and He Xuan finds some untapped well of strength that lets him rock up into the touch, seeking, hoping Hua Cheng might put his mouth on him properly.
When Hua Cheng hooks He Xuan’s legs over his shoulders, he’s dizzy with the anticipation of it all, too dizzy to notice the way Hua Cheng tilts his head to ignore He Xuan’s cock entirely, too dizzy to understand his intentions until there’s the press of a tongue against He Xuan’s hole.
He Xuan’s hands fly down to stroke himself , but he’s intercepted. Hua Cheng smacks him away with all the ceremony one would use to swat a fly, and He Xuan shamefully drops his hands back down to grip the silken sheets in frustration.
“Watch,” Hua Cheng intones, and his mouth is still against He Xuan’s entrance.
All He Xuan can manage is a groan. He is going to shake out of his skin, he is certain of it. When Hua Cheng presses a spit slicked finger against He Xuan’s rim, He Xuan expects it to be the last thing he ever feels.
But it isn’t, because then he feels Hua Cheng doing something obscene with his tongue as he slips his finger into He Xuan, and He Xuan is firmly grounded in the moment again, intent on cataloging every sensation Hua Cheng sees fit to give him.
His cock is achingly hard now, dark like the trail of bruises Hua Cheng painted across his neck and beginning to leak.
“Hua Cheng,” he whines. When he tries to find words to outline the shape of the all consuming need he’s wrought with, there are none sufficient. Just. “Hua Cheng. ” His hips thrust instinctually into nothing at all.
Hua Cheng drags his tongue away with unthinkable obscenity. “It’s alright.” He crooks his finger, inducing another useless spasm in He Xuan before he slips a second digit into him. “I know what you need- I’ll give it to you. Alright?”
He Xuan nods, making even more of mess of his hair where it’s splayed across the sheets beneath him.
What a sinful picture Hua Cheng has painted of him. He Xuan cannot ignore it, not with the truth of his raw desire laid plainly before his eyes.
“Do you see it now? I know you.”
He Xuan shivers, too overwhelmed with the way Hua Cheng’s touch nears the core of him to answer.
“I know every cun of you.” He punctuates the words with a crook of his fingers that sends stars across He Xuan’s vision and sparks down his spine. “You see?”
“Yes,” He Xuan cries out. “I- I see it.”
“You’re divine, He Xuan,” Hua Cheng continues. “And it’s such a joke, really. All their palaces and merits. I’ve seen divinity. They don’t have it.”
His fingers are scissoring apart now, but He Xuan is split open more by the words.
“But right here? You’re divine.”
It is more than He Xuan can take, now. “Come on.”
“Alright.” He drags his fingers away, leaving He Xuan horribly and unbearably empty for the few moments it takes Hua Cheng to free his cock from damned robes and spread a cursory bit of oil over it.
The first blunt press of Hua Cheng’s cock at his entrance has He Xuan’s eyes fluttering closed in anticipation, only for the fullness he was chasing not to follow.
Hua Cheng’s laugh is as infuriating as it is intoxicating when he swipes his thumb under He Xuan’s eye. “Did you forget what we’re doing here?”
He Xuan’s eyes fly open to fix Hua Cheng with a glare, earning himself another laugh.
“You’re supposed to be watching me fuck you, He Xuan.”
He Xuan swallows down the instinctual biting response that he is right now watching Hua Cheng do nothing at all, because it will only prolong this insufferable truth the Hua Cheng is doing nothing at all. “I’m watching,” he says instead, meeting his own steely gaze.
Divine, Hua Cheng had said. He Xuan isn’t sure he’d use the same descriptor, but the sight of his skin painted so plainly with the marks of Hua Cheng’s attention, is certainly something.
“Good,” Hua Cheng says with a smile He Xuan can hear but doesn’t look at. His hands are squeezing bruises into He Xuan’s hips and finally Hua Cheng presses into him.
He Xuan watches his mouth fall open in a guttural moan, watches his fingers drag the sheets beneath him into his fists, watches his legs hook around Hua Cheng’s waist to bring him deeper, watches his eyes light up with fire he’s never seen before when he takes Hua Cheng into him fully.
This man knows him, and He Xuan is fit to burst with the confirmation of it.
“There you are.” Hua Cheng’s rough voice is more fuel on the fire taking over He Xuan. Not so immune, indeed.
Taking a gamble when it comes Hua Cheng is never a good idea, but Hua Cheng had promised to provide He Xuan with what he needed, and well- He Xuan needs to touch him, Hua Cheng’s earlier guidance be damned. It takes more effort than he’d expected to unclench his fingers enough to take hold of Hua Cheng’s strong shoulders, his wild hair and drag him ever closer.
He Xuan likes the picture it makes above them. His claim is as clear as Hua Cheng’s had been on his skin.
“There you are,” He Xuan echoes, his lips ghosting against Hua Cheng’s own. And that sets something off, the fire between them burning up to a new high as Hua Cheng finally starts to move . Not such a bad gamble after all, then.
Every roll of Hua Cheng’s hips brings a wave of pleasure, and He Xuan knows he will not keep his head above water long.
But something is not quite complete in the image reflected back at He Xuan. Even with the butterflies capturing every angle, something has been missed.
He Xuan arches into one of Hua Cheng’s thrusts, watching in satisfaction as the motion draws Hua Cheng’s brows together in pleasure. And then he realizes.
“Let me see you,” He Xuan says, not aware of how desperately he wants to until he’s spoken the words. “Will you let me see you?” He traces his thumb along the bottom of Hua Cheng’s eyepatch.
Hua Cheng stills, chest stuttering out unsteady breaths. “I-”
“I want to- I want to know you too. To see you. We’re the only two in the world.” He Xuan strokes over Hua Cheng’s cheek again, slow and gentle even as something in his chest wants desperately just to take.
Hua Cheng swallows, his gaze slipping away from He Xuan’s to land on the butterflies surrounding them. “We are,” he agrees.
There is a pause, and He Xuan tries to convince himself to be satisfied enough with that admission, with the other mind bending revelations Hua Cheng has already presented him with tonight, but then Hua Cheng is guiding He Xuan’s fingertips to rest on the patch as he reaches behind his head for the straps.
“Okay,” Hua Cheng says, quiet but certain.
The eyepatch falls onto the bed beneath them, a soft sound on impact that may as well have been a thunderclap for the way Hua Cheng jolts.
The scars are 800 years old, He Xuan knows, but he aches at the sight of them anyway, his unbeating heart full to bursting.
Hua Cheng’s dark eye is blown wide and glossy as he stares at He Xuan, waiting for a response to the question he won’t voice.
“Divine,” He Xuan answers. He presses his lips to the newly revealed eyelid, reveling at the barely there flutter of Hua Cheng’s eyelashes. “Divine,” he repeats, pressing another kiss to Hua Cheng’s lips before he tilts back, letting their foreheads press together.
Hua Cheng shudders above him, a lopsided quirk to his lips. “I’m not.”
He Xuan shakes his head. “Do you know,” he asks, “how very uncompelling it is to stare at me, when you’re right there?”
Hua Cheng laughs at that, something easing in his shoulders. “Don’t think you can distract me.” He ducks in for another searing kiss, dragging He Xuan’s lip between his teeth something wicked. “You should see the pretty faces you make when you come.”
And despite the interlude, He Xuan is back to the precipice again in a flash, tightening his legs around Hua Cheng’s hips in rhythm with the thrusts he resumes.
He doesn’t bother trying to take himself in hand knowing Hua Cheng would only thwart the attempt. He doesn’t need it, besides.
“I’m close,” He Xuan warns.
Hua Cheng’s only answer is his hand snaking down to the small of He Xuan’s back, forcing him into an arch that puts Hua Cheng’s cock directly against the sweetest spot inside him.
Hua Cheng’s other hand guides He Xuan’s face to look over his shoulder again, and it is only a few more rolls of Hua Cheng’s hips until he watches his eyes alight with pleasure and He Xuan comes, untouched, making a mess of all Hua Cheng’s finery.
Hua Cheng’s thrusts go erratic through the aftershocks, and He Xuan has just enough presence of mind to push Hua Cheng’s face up towards the butterflies.
“He Xuan,” Hua Cheng cries out, once, and then he is spilling inside him, holding He Xuan against him so tight they may as well be one body.
He Xuan loses focus for a while after that, vaguely aware of Hua Cheng rolling them to their sides, vaguely aware of the noise of protest he makes when Hua Cheng slips out of him and cleans him off, vaguely aware of Hua Cheng returning to lay before him and tangle their limbs together again, vaguely aware that he can finally feel Hua Cheng’s bare skin.
He Xuan brings his hand to rest on Hua Cheng’s chest. The flames under He Xuan’s skin have settled now; their temperatures match again. The only two in the world.
“Thank you,” He Xuan murmurs into the scant space between them.
Hua Cheng’s eyes curve into soft crescents, but his gaze is far away. “I always see you. I didn’t realize you didn’t know.”
“I know now.”
“Well. I would hope so.” Hua Cheng’s chest rumbles with laughter under He Xuan’s fingertips.
It’s a gentle laugh, one He Xuan rarely gets to hear, but always treasures. The sound has him slipping towards sleep, and He Xuan welcomes the embrace.
He tucks himself into Hua Cheng’s arms, letting his eyes fall closed, but there is something that pokes the back of his mind before he can rest fully. Ah.
“I see you too.”
Hua Cheng’s hold tightens around him as he brushes his lips against He Xuan’s hairline, mouth forming words He Xuan can’t quite catch.
He may need to give Hua Cheng his own demonstration of all he sees soon; the sweet dreams he is, for once, certain, to have will be a good starting place.