Work Text:
Liu Qingge, the War God of Bai Zhan, had been defeated.
Luo Binghe had watched it all happen. Watched how the once-mighty Peak Lord’s defenses had crumbled, one by one, over the last mere shichen. Watched how the man had been reduced to a wretch kneeling upon the floor of the bamboo house, his head bowed, his body trembling.
It had been...fascinating.
And so effortless. Shizun truly was amazing.
“Tilt your head a little to the side, shidi” Shen Qingqiu said. “There—thank you.” He slid the lacquered comb through Liu Qingge’s hair in smooth strokes, taking care not to pull on the dark strands draped over his free hand. That comb had been just one of the weapons with which he had wrought Liu Qingge’s ruin. The other, and the far more dangerous one, Luo Binghe understood, had been the sound of his voice—firm as mountain granite, yet gentle as a meadow breeze, a voice which Luo Binghe himself knew he’d burn the world to ash for if ever it asked it of him.
Shen Qingqiu leaned forward on his stool so he could better reach the man curled at his feet. “Now, shidi, a bit to the left, please. Like that. Good.”
“Ngh...”
Even from where he lounged on the bed, Luo Binghe could see Liu Qingge quiver at the final word. He made sure to catch Liu Qingge’s gaze when it wandered towards him, and he gave him a smirk that was all fangs and promises and I know what you are, shishu.
Liu Qingge glanced away, his teeth gritted but his...enjoyment betrayed by the flush that reached halfway to his navel. He was wearing a spare set of Shen Qingqiu’s inner robes—he’d refused Luo Binghe’s, though they would have fit him better—and the white silk clung tightly to his shoulders and left a swathe of his chest bare. His sharp collarbones looked especially inviting, but Luo Binghe had already decided that Shizun deserved the first bite.
Which, based on how quickly Shen Qingqiu had wrapped Liu Qingge around his finger the moment he’d put his mind to it, might happen sooner rather than later. Much sooner.
The three of them had returned to the bamboo house from a fight against a Giant Lesser Platypus-Billed Wasp-Bear (a long story) shortly after sunset, covered in (benign, but disgusting) demonic ichor. At which point, Shen Qingqiu, with only a few flutters of his fan and a heavy look from beneath his eyelashes, had persuaded Liu Qingge to stay and let them draw him a bath. Following this, he had then convinced Liu Qingge (Please, it was all my fault, won’t shidi allow me to assist him?) to let him scrub his back, which had in turn led to him washing Liu Qingge’s hair (Oh no, I insist, it’s no trouble at all). A few more careful, perfectly logical steps after that eventually brought them to where they were now: gathered in Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu’s bedroom with Liu Qingge kneeling between Shen Qingqiu’s thighs, exactly and precisely where he should be.
“There. All done,” Shen Qingqiu said, setting the comb down on a side table. He trailed his fingers down the bare nape of Liu Qingge’s neck. “How does that feel?”
“It is—it’s fine.”
“Shishu has such pretty hair,“ Luo Binghe said, sitting up on the bed. “He should wear it down more often. Don’t you agree, husband?”
Liu Qingge glared at Luo Binghe, but his retort was lost to a shiver when Shen Qingqiu coiled a dark lock around his hand.
“It is indeed very nice. Does shidi do anything special to care for it? Does he braid it for sleep? I could do that now for him, if he likes.”
“I don’t—“ Liu Qingge began, then his eyes went wide. “You want me to spend the night here? To sleep here?”
“Of course,” Shen Qingqiu tutted. “It is quite late. And Binghe has only just washed your robes. Surely you would not like to fly all the way back to your peak in damp clothing!”
Drying talismans were a thing that existed, and the War God of Bai Zhan routinely returned home from battle drenched in far worse than water. Luo Binghe knew that. Shen Qingqiu knew that. Liu Qingge certainly knew that. For a brief moment, however, Luo Binghe thought Luo Qingge might still refuse to seize the excuse. Then his shoulders slumped; his defeat was complete. “I will stay.” he said.
“Excellent.” Shen Qingqiu rose gracefully from the stool and offered Liu Qingge a hand up. “Now, where would shidi best like to sleep? Would he prefer the side closest to the wall?”
Liu Qingge, only halfway to his feet, turned to stare at the enormous bed that dominated the room and atop which Luo Binghe still sat. Luo Binghe immediately swung his legs over the edge and stood as well. Much had changed between the two them over the last few years but it still raised his hackles when Liu Qingge looked down on him—even if it was only literally.
“The edge. The side by the door.” Liu Qingge said after a pause.
“Oh? That is usually Binghe’s place. Would you be alright with that, Binghe?”
“I think shishu should take the middle,” said Luo Binghe.
“The middle?”
“Yes. Between myself and husband. I think he would be most comfortable there.”
“Absolutely not!” Liu Qingge snapped.
“Oh dear,” said Shen Qingqiu. He plucked a fan from...somewhere, opened it, and began idly waving it in front of his face. “This master has just remembered that he promised zhangmen shixiong that he would courier over a certain report first thing in the morning, and that he has not yet completed it. If you gentlemen would excuse me? Oh, and do let me know by the time I return what you have decided, if you would.” And with that he swept from the room, shutting the door behind himself and leaving his husband and Liu Qingge fully alone.
“Shishu seems to have strong opinions on where he belongs. And on what he does and does not want,” Luo Binghe said, folding his arms.
Liu Qingge squared his shoulders and his right hand drifted reflexively towards his sword-hip. “I will not lie next to you, demon.”
Luo Binghe snorted. “While you are certainly welcome to sleep where you like—the bed, the floor, propped against a tree outside like a bandit—you are being a fool tonight.”
“I’m not—“ Liu Qingge began, hotly. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Explain.”
“Shizun clings in his sleep. He seeks out warmth as might a cat. He wants to be held, to be petted, to be cossetted. Ah, shishu, you should see him in the morning—soft and pliant, waking like the rising sun. If you were to have the edge of the bed, as you have insisted—and Shizun, the middle—it would leave open the question of to whom Shizun would turn in the night. Would it be to you, merely a...friend, or to me, his husband? Surely shishu knows the answer to that.
“On the other hand, if shishu can deign to bed down beside a demon—to lie between a demon and a righteous cultivator—things might turn out differently, yes? It would be you my husband would seek out in his slumber. It would be in your presence he would find comfort, and in your arms he would wake. Just think of it, shishu,” Luo Binghe purred. “Shen Qingqiu, for an entire night, yours alone to hold.”
As he spoke, Liu Qingge had grown glassy-eyed at the picture his mind’s eye must have painted for him—of Shizun curled against his body, sleep-mussed and yet still peerlessly beautiful—and this pleased Luo Binghe greatly. But then Liu Qingge seemed to rouse himself. His face creased in anger, though a fetching blush still stained his cheeks.
“What is this?” he said. “Why say such things? Shen Qingqiu is your husband!” His hand clenched, as if he were missing the hilt of Chen Luan. “After everything, he chose you. And now you dare offer his—his affections to another man?”
Luo Binghe’s qi flared—enough for the demon mark on his forehead to glow like a red star—before he he was able to leash his temper. Still, he could not quite keep the growl out of his voice when he spoke. “Oh? I find it strange that you of all people would accuse this lord of being insufficiently covetous of his husband,” he said. “But very well. I will explain.”
He closed the distance between them in two long strides, and in a moment he stood chest-to-chest with Liu Qingge. Luo Binghe was the taller by a hand’s breadth, so even when Liu Qingge drew himself up furiously Luo Binghe was still able to loom over him.
“My reasons are simple: Shizun wants you. He wants you, warm and willing, in his bed, he wants to offer you his affection and receive yours in return. And I cannot—would not—deny him this.”
Seeing the other man’s scowl soften, Luo Binghe bared his teeth. “Do not think me a martyr, Liu Qingge. I desire whatever my husband does, and thus whomever my husband does. Though...I do admit, making myself want you took surprisingly little effort.”
“Shameless!” Liu Qingge snapped. His gaze flitted about frantically—landing briefly on Binghe’s face before flicking away again—and if he were not already flushed from before he would likely be turning scarlet from hairline to throat.
“Yes,” Luo Binghe agreed. “We demons are greedy by nature. As I am sure shishu is aware.” He moved a little closer to Liu Qingge, until they were almost touching. Was the man actually trembling again? Interesting.
“But with that settled, have you yet changed your mind with regards to your place in Shizun’s—and my—bed? Will you take the wall, the middle, or the edge?
“The edge,” Liu Qingge said, setting his jaw.
Luo Binghe chuckled. “So obstinate.” He tilted his head and looked at Liu Qingge through his eyelashes. Shizun usually bent like a willow branch whenever he did this, so Luo Binghe suspected it might be effective here, too.
“I do not think you have considered one thing of great importance,” he said. “If you were to have a place between us tonight, it would put you within Shizun’s reach—but it would also put you within mine. Perhaps it is in my arms you will be held all night long. Perhaps it in my arms you will wake in the morning. What would you say to that?”
“I would hate it,” Liu Qingge said. But there was no fire in his words.
“You seem quite sure, shishu. But surely it wouldn't so bad, letting yourself be loved.”
Liu Qingge’s eyes went wide.
Luo Binghe placed the tip of one finger beneath the point of Liu Qingge’s chin and raised it, tilting Liu Qingge’s face upwards towards his own. Then he leaned forward, closing the small distance between them. “Tell me, Liu Qingge,” he said. His breath ghosted over his lips. “What is it that you truly want…?”
Liu Qingge shut his eyes. “I—“
The door flew open and Shen Qingqiu swept back into the bedroom. A speck of ink marred his pale cheek. “This master’s report is finished and has been left outside for pickup,” he said, brightly. Then he blinked at Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge. “My apologies. Have I interrupted…?”
Liu Qingge stumbled away from Luo Binghe, choking, but Luo Binghe laughed and tucked his hands into his sleeves. “Nothing that cannot be continued later, husband.”
“Ah, I see,” Shen Qingqiu said. He snapped open his fan and began fanning himself vigorously. “I suppose—ahem.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose shidi has now come to a decision on where he wishes to sleep?” He looked at Liu Qingge.
Luo Binghe also looked at Liu Qingge.
Luo Qingge looked at the floor, his face reddening and whitening by degrees. He said nothing.
As the silence stretched on, Shen Qingqiu dropped his gaze. “If...If shidi would prefer it, this master could have the side room prepared for—“
“The middle.”
“—him instead. Sorry, what?”
“The middle,” Liu Qingge said, hoarsely. “I will sleep in the middle.”
Shizun’s smile was like the dawn breaking. “Oh, good! I had hoped Binghe might be able to convince you!” Shen Qingqiu patted Liu Qingge on the shoulder. Out of sight behind him, Luo Binghe gave Liu Qingge a fang-filled smirk. Liu Qingge glared back at him.
“Now, unless there is anything else...Binghe, shidi, shall we go to bed?”
And so they did, but not without difficulty. There was a not-insubstantial amount shuffling about first—with elbows and knees turning up (perhaps intentionally) in unexpected places—before they were all settled down snugly next to one another. The bed in the bamboo house may have been unusually wide, yes, but they were also three tall men.
“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu called sleepily from beside the wall. “Make arrangements in the morning to find us a larger bed, please. If shidi is going to be spending the night often I would prefer it if we were not all packed in here like fish.”
“Of course, Shizun,” Luo Binghe answered from the far edge.
Liu Qingge, squeezed between them, spluttered with shock.
“Surely shishu did not think this was a one-time happening?” Luo Binghe said, letting his voice dip low. “From now on, he is welcome to stay with us whenever he likes. Isn’t that right, husband?”
“Indeed. Whenever he likes.” Shen Qingqiu said, yawning. He cuddled up to Liu Qingge, tucking his head under the man’s chin, and then he pressed a butterfly kiss to Liu Qingge’s bare collarbones. “Goodnight, shidi.”
Meanwhile, Luo Binghe had wormed his way towards the center of the bed. He draped an arm over Liu Qingge’s waist and placed a kiss of his own on the back of Liu Qingge’s neck. “Goodnight, shishu,” he said. Then he closed his eyes.
Liu Qingge released a sound that was not quite a gasp, not quite a whimper, but he also did not make even a token effort to struggle free. Finally, after a too-long pause, he spoke.
“Tomorrow. If I returned here tomorrow…?”
His words hung in the dark.
Shen Qingqiu only mumbled incoherently, nuzzling deeper into Liu Qingge’s chest, so Luo Binghe answered for the two of them.
“Shizun and I will be waiting for you.”
.
.
.
fin.