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There’s an array blocking his spiritual energy, he’s in an inconveniently visible human form, several very angry demonic cultivators are chasing him, and he’s stuck with Mu Qing of all people. All in all, this is not one of the best days Feng Xin has ever had.
“We need to get to a temple and call for backup,” he says, very reasonably, as they both press their backs to the wall of an alleyway. “I’m completely tapped out, and with the weird shit I just saw them doing, there is NO way we can take them without spiritual energy.”
“Ugh. You’re right,” Mu Qing says. His face looks like he’s swallowed acid, and Feng Xin allows himself a moment of smugness over the fact that he’s admitted it.
“Fuck, hold that thought, I think they’re headed this way.” Feng Xin ducks around the corner of the alley to check and winces; they’re definitely headed this way, and there now seem to be more of them. Not for the first time, he curses Qi Ying for vanishing again and leaving him to clean up this mess in his territory, and then Xie Lian for begging the two of them to sort this out because he’s busy with his creepy husband.
“Shut up, then!” Mu Qing whirls around, his ridiculous ponytail whacking Feng Xin in the face, and then crowds him up against the wall with one hand on his chest and the other on the wall behind him. Feng Xin fills his mind with thoughts of Hua Cheng’s stupid face in order to shove down the other thoughts that are flooding it right now.
“The fuck are you—” he starts to say, but Mu Qing jerks his head towards the entrance of the alley and Feng Xin notices one of the weirdos from earlier rapidly approaching, carrying some contraption that appears to be powered by ghost fires and looks seconds away from exploding.
“I’m going to try something I s-saw once, just—be quiet and don’t move,” Mu Qing says, barely audible, and before Feng Xin can really take the time to wonder what’s got Mu Qing blushing and stammering like this, Mu Qing is leaning in.
He’s—what. WHAT?
Shamefully, it has taken Feng Xin eight hundred years and Mu Qing almost dying to realize that, unfortunately, a good amount of the reason that Mu Qing makes him so angry all the time is that he is stupidly attractive and Feng Xin wants to kiss him about it, and now that that seems to actually be happening he has no idea what the fuck to do. He’s frozen in place, anticipating a kiss but also half expecting a punch, when Mu Qing’s palm is suddenly shoved over his mouth and Mu Qing is… leaning into his own hand and… kissing it? More like leaning on it with his mouth, honestly. His eyes are still open and he’s glaring at Feng Xin like this idiotic scheme was all his idea.
Feng Xin thinks that maybe he died in Mount Tong’lu after all and this is hell.
“Hmghfff,” he says. The creepy cultivator seems to have wandered off, so he does the first thing he can think of and licks Mu Qing’s hand. Predictably, this gets him a gut punch, but the hand does leave his mouth so he’ll count it as a win.
“There is no way anyone will be convinced by whatever the fuck you just did,” Feng Xin says, managing not to sound as breathless as he feels. “Where the hell did you learn that?”
“Listening in on some actors once,” Mu Qing admits, looking away. “It’s a technique they use for stage kissing, when they don’t actually want to kiss the other person. Which I don't. Obviously.”
Feng Xin gets the underlying idea here, of course. The guys after them are looking for two cultivators on the run, not two cutsleeves making out in a random alley, and it’ll make it harder to see their faces. It will definitely work, if they manage to actually make it look like kissing and not… weirdly bumping their foreheads together while Feng Xin is being smothered to death.
He also really wants to kiss Mu Qing, but he’s trying not to think about that.
“Okay, hang on,” he says, and reaches out a hand to untie Mu Qing’s ponytail, then loosens his own hair and tucks the distinctive ribbon into the front of his robes.
“Whatever you’re doing, hurry it up,” Mu Qing hisses, eyes darting back to the main road to track the cultivator’s approach.
“Shut up, this will help,” Feng Xin bites back, then carefully arranges his hands so one is cupping the back of Mu Qing’s head, fingers tangled in his hair, and the other rests along his cheekbone. “You’re supposed to do it like this,” he says, brushing his thumb up over Mu Qing’s chin until it rests lightly across his lips, and then he leans in, breath ghosting over Mu Qing’s mouth in an imitation of a kiss.
Feng Xin has his eyes screwed shut, because he really does not want to see whatever disgusted facial expression Mu Qing must be making right now, but he feels Mu Qing’s lips part a little under his hand. And then he lets out a little sigh, tilts his head, and the hand that’s been braced on the wall this whole time wraps around Feng Xin’s bicep while the other comes to rest behind his neck. His lips are moving on Feng Xin’s thumb, like he’s changing the angle and pressure of the kiss, and it’s weird and awkward and not real but it’s absolutely killing Feng Xin all the same.
And then Mu Qing moves a thigh between Feng Xin’s legs, pushing him further into the wall, and Feng Xin almost bites his own knuckle in shock before he pulls back, bumping their foreheads together with a crack.
“They’re literally right across the street,” Mu Qing hisses, and destroys Feng Xin further by immediately shoving his entire face in Feng Xin’s neck. He hasn’t moved his thigh, and it’s fucking warm and the heat is seeping through the layers of his robes and setting Feng Xin on fire.
“Hgh,” Feng Xin manages, because Mu Qing is now pretending to kiss his neck by pretty much headbutting him, but his hair smells like jasmine and his breath is coming in little puffs and sending jolts of electricity through Feng Xin. His nose bumps the underside of Feng Xin’s jaw and Feng Xin just barely bites back an embarrassing noise.
"Fucking— sell it, idiot," Mu Qing growls, pressing closer. He gets a hand into Feng Xin's hair and pulls, tilting his head up, and this time Feng Xin can’t stop the noise from ripping its way out of his throat, somewhere between a whine and a punched-out exhale.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees another little group of demonic cultivators running in their direction. Selling this. Right. He gets one hand into Mu Qing’s dark curtain of hair, hoping with the tiny part of him that’s still capable of rational thought that it’s doing something to hide their faces, and hovers the other hand a fraction above Mu Qing’s waist, trying to make it look like a caress without actually touching him.
Mu Qing lets out a frustrated grunt that should not sound as hot as it does and bumps his hip into Feng Xin’s hand. “Just—do whatever you were trying to do, stop hovering over me like an idiot, we're already this close," he says, and then bites down on Feng Xin’s clothed shoulder in what is probably a weird expression of anger and frustration. Unfortunately, Feng Xin’s body has not gotten the memo, because a jolt runs through him from head to toe and for a second it feels like all his blood has migrated southwards.
Nearby someone is yelling “This is a dead end, they can’t have gone far,” and Feng Xin freezes for a second before grabbing for Mu Qing’s collars to loosen his robes.
“Okay?” he asks, voice wavering, and waits for Mu Qing’s impatient eye roll before pushing his robes down off one shoulder. “Can I—”
“Hide your damn face already,” Mu Qing says, burying his own face in Feng Xin’s neck with something that feels suspiciously like a shudder.
The fabric, plus Mu Qing’s hair and his own hand, do a decent job of getting his face out of view as the group passes by. He runs a hand up and down Mu Qing’s side, even though that’s probably not visible, because he’s way too far gone at this point and he’s not sure if he can actually stop himself.
“Hey, are those two—” one of the cultivators says, and Feng Xin panics and grabs Mu Qing’s face with both hands, too rushed to arrange his thumbs carefully. He leans in but can’t find the angle where their lips aren’t actually touching.
And then his hands are being pried off Mu Qing’s face with considerable force, his wrists are being held above his head, and Mu Qing slams his back into the wall and shoves him into a messy, very real kiss.
It’s pretty terrible. Their teeth clack together, their noses keep bumping painfully, and Feng Xin is barely moving. Clearly, Mu Qing has stuck to his cultivation path—shit, is this going to mess with his cultivation path? Feng Xin tries to pull back and ask him, stupidly, and Mu Qing bites what feels like his entire mouth. Right, the weirdos are still here. Feng Xin grabs handfuls of Mu Qing’s ridiculously soft hair and tugs him into a better angle, scrapes his bottom lip with his teeth, and Mu Qing gasps into his mouth and suddenly he’s being kissed within an inch of his life.
The demonic cultivators seem to have decided they really don’t care to get in the middle of whatever this is and are beating a hasty retreat. Dimly, he registers one of them muttering about public indecency and another saying something about how those definitely aren’t the annoying Daoists from earlier—those two clearly hated each other!
That’s probably all of them, and they probably should go find a temple now, but Feng Xin can’t bring himself to care because Mu Qing’s tongue has just found its way into his mouth and he never wants this to stop. He frees his wrists from Mu Qing’s iron grip and flips their positions, half lifting Mu Qing in the air before slamming him into the wall and pinning his wrists in turn, and is rewarded with something that is definitely a moan.
He breaks the kiss to finally get his mouth on Mu Qing’s stupidly pale collarbone. It’s been taunting him ever since he had the brilliant idea to expose it, which, in hindsight, may have been Ju Yang talking and not a legitimate part of the “acting” they’ve been doing. Mu Qing twists free of the grip on his wrists and tentatively runs a hand up Feng Xin’s back (which he should not find cute) and then he’s wrapping one leg around Feng Xin and—
“—Xin? Mu Qing? Oh good, San Lang must have broken the array! We’ll be right there, stay where you are!”
—and Mu Qing shoves him to the ground, hard.
“Fuck,” Feng Xin breathes.
Mu Qing is staring fixedly at something over Feng Xin’s shoulder. He twists around, wincing as the new scrapes and bruises make themselves known, and feels his heart stop.
It’s one of those fucking butterflies.
“THAT FUCKING CREEP! HOW MUCH DID HE SEE? I’LL KICK HIS ASS FOR THIS,” Feng Xin yells, scrambling up from the ground and trying to crush the butterfly in his fist to no avail. Behind him, Mu Qing is still pressed against the wall, eyes wide, looking like… well. Looking like he’s just been making out with someone. There’s definitely a hickey forming on his collarbone. He notices Feng Xin (and presumably, the stupid fucking butterfly) staring and hastily yanks his robes into place, glowering at the ground.
Fuck, he’s pretty. And it’s Feng Xin who’s made him look completely wrecked, lips kiss-swollen, blushing all the way down to his chest. And Feng Xin needs to be calming down right now, not making himself even hornier, so he glares at a distant market stall and tries to slow his racing heart.
Xie Lian and that fucker come into view a few seconds later. Hua Cheng is lucky he’s Dianxia’s husband, because Feng Xin would be kicking his ass right now otherwise. He’s in his stupid “innocent youth” form, looking all nonchalant and chewing on a blade of grass for no reason, and by the way he’s smirking he probably set this whole thing up just to humiliate them. Asshole.
“We took care of those demonic cultivators,” Xie Lian says cheerily. “Actually, San Lang took out most of them—he barely even needed me, haha!” He gives his husband one of those ridiculously sappy, adoring looks that seem to be his new default expression.
“Of course I needed you, gege, I always need you,” says Hua Cheng, in the most punchable manner possible.
“San Lang…”
Well, at least this has the effect of completely negating any lingering sexy thoughts.
“Okay that’s great, can we go now?” Mu Qing says in a monotone, one hand covering his still-bright-red face.
“Oh, Mu Qing, you’re hurt!” Xie Lian pries Mu Qing’s hand away and inspects his face with innocent concern. Feng Xin can’t watch. “Was it one of their weird ghost-fire contraptions? Although, haha, it almost looks like… something bit you…?”
Without another word, Mu Qing transports himself back up to the heavens.
“Wh—poor Mu Qing, I hope he’s all right…”
“I’m sure he’s fine, gege.” Hua Cheng’s predatory smirk turns into a simpering smile the second Xie Lian looks his way.
“Oh no, Feng Xin, it looks like you got bitten too?! In fact, it’s almost like….”
“WHOOPS I THINK YOU MISSED A CULTIVATOR, I’LL JUST GO AND DEAL WITH HIM, WE’LL CATCH UP LATER BYE!” Feng Xin yells desperately before running off in a random direction.
“...That worked better than expected,” Xie Lian says once they’re both out of earshot. “Was it just me, or were they…”
Hua Cheng grins, flashing his fangs, and summons a particular butterfly.