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They’ve been travelling together for untold years now, the great Mountain God and the little Ghost King, and who would even count the years of immortals? Certainly not a god of the lofty peaks and frozen wind, and not the ghost born from the darkest filth of the earth.

Yet, time didn’t stand still even for them, and it brought a slow change over them. First it was the youth following the steps of Kunlun-jun, hungry for anything the god would deign to tell him, basking in his silence when he got lost in thoughts, used to the wordless companion of his cat only. But as years turned around the seasons, they were circling each other in tightening rings for eons now, previously meaningless touches lingering and filling the air with the high strung tension of impending storms.

Wei didn’t know what this new urge was, bubbling up from the deepest core of his ghost nature. He felt it roaring, to rend flesh and smash bones, to tear and bite and eat, and he was hungry, oh so hungry, confused and yearning to devour his god. He was laying in a corner of a cave they found as shelter from the endless pouring rain, curled up in a ball, biting his wrist to keep himself from making noise and bothering Kunlun with the trembles wracking his body as he tried to suppress these unseemly urges.

Suddenly there was a touch on his hunched back, just a lightly resting palm, a friendly inquiry, but he felt an all-consuming fire raised in his belly in turn, and had to bite down harder, until he felt blood welling on his tongue.

“Xiao Wei? What’s wrong?”

He heard the words, the worry laced in the question, but all he managed was a keening sob in the back of his throat. He was boiled alive, burned by the fire inside his veins, and Kunlun’s scent so close to him. He couldn’t answer, shame and confusion tying his tongue - the last thing he wanted was to show this ugly side to Kunlun.

There was a steady hand on his wrist now, touch calm and cool but doing nothing to soothe the raging flames inside. Kunlun examined the bloody bite on his skin with a frown, lifting the arm to his lips. Wei couldn’t take his eyes away as the god softly breathed over the wound and it disappeared, those lush lips nearly touching the sealed skin, and he felt his insides quaking with the force of his want. A soft whine escaped his lips, making Kunlun look up, right into his feverish eyes. He had no idea what the god must have seen there, but he made a thoughtful humm and leaned closer. Wei stopped breathing altogether.

There were hands framing his face, and soft lips on his, and he was falling, falling and frozen motionless, torn between the trepidation of so casually touching his god, and the need to get more. He clutched Kunlun’s robes, finding himself pressing closer, the burning flames centering in his abdomen and groin, making him rut against the solid thighs under him. He was straddling Kunlun, drinking up the taste of those lips like sweet honey, like the first breath of air after the staleness of the Profane Lands, like the very lifeblood of creatures devoured. He was distantly aware of the constant keening and whining noises breaking from his throat, of one of Kunlun’s hands moving into his hair, cradling his head and keeping him in place, while the other disappeared under his robes, and oh, there were strong, sure fingers on him, and he was nothing but a beast reduced to the basest of instinct, rutting up to that tight grasp until the world exploded in a burst of color and sensation.

He came back to himself with a feeling of warm contentment he never knew before. He was still cradled close to Kunlun, his face resting on the god’s shoulder, and Kunlun, he was looking at his soiled hand with a mild, thoughtful interest. He lifted his palm, and licked a wide stripe through the stickiness covering it. Wei felt his ears grew hot, another type of fire spreading all over his face.

“Well, Xiao Wei, we both learned something new today, hm? I say, it's worth a repeat performance, don’t you think?”

The ghost king couldn’t help but push his flaming red face deeper in the chuckling god’s robe even as he made the tiniest nods.