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Liu-shidi rarely asks for anything from anyone. He is the eldest son of a matriarchal merchant clan who chose to enter the jianghu at age ten in order to smooth over the transition of power to his older sister. Anything he needs for his missions is provided, and material comforts are sent often from his natal clan with sincere wishes for his health and prosperity.
The sect leader had been sent a curiously polite missive from Bai Zhan Peak scheduling a two hour lunch to “discuss logistics”. The formal, stilted tone of the letter had even baffled Shen-shidi who read the invitation over his shoulder with a strangely intense scowl. The request was small, and easily granted.
The Qiong Ding Peak Lord was more than a little alarmed.
The youngest member of their generation was often away from his peak, battling any and all threats to the Cang Qiong Sect. He was a week out of surgery, wisely subdued by Mu Qingfang’s promises of retribution should the man ignore the doctor’s ordered month of bedrest.
Yue Qingyuan steps into the Bai Zhan Peak Lord’s inner courtyard, steeling himself. The blow to his right kidney doesn’t sting. His attacker loses his balance, careening into the pine doorframe. The sect leader cushions the back of Liu Qingge’s head before it knocks into the wood. His shidi’s hair is loose and unbraided, and his fingers catch in several snarls he uses as leverage.
“Fucking fight me!”
Ah. The letter was a trap. That was a relief. He was worried there might have been brain damage.
He intercepts the second punch, and leans his weight against Liu Qingge. They are precariously balanced against the beam, Yue Qingyuan careful not to apply any pressure to his shidi’s abdomen. The newly formed scar tissue is as delicate as a newborn’s.
“I trust Mu-shidi’s expertise,” the sect leader replies, bemused. He had not seen this belligerent side in well over a decade.
Liu Qingge exhales harshly against his sternum, like a rebellious beast of burden, and attempts to knee his shixiong in the stones. It does not connect.
That move had not worked since they were teenagers, after Yue Qingyuan’s final growth spurt left him a head and a half taller than most men. Liu-shidi needed more room than he would be allowed for that kind of trick to work.
He does not mean to laugh, but it escapes him anyway. “Are you really attempting a coup because you are too impatient to let your body heal?”
The joke does not land. Yue Qingyuan does not know why he still tries. Shen Jiu does not even acknowledge his existence beyond their mandated meetings, and his didi was the only one who ever thought he was funny.
His youngest shidi inhales sharply. “Zhangmen-shixiong, I would never -”
“Never attempt to unman me?” Yue Qingyuan interrupts fondly. “I would never have thought so either, until you lured me here with hopes to end my bloodline.”
Liu Qingge visibly deflates, arms going limp at his sides. “You’re not going to fight me.”
“Certainly not right now. Perhaps in three weeks, after Mu-shidi’s final checkup, we can have a no holds barred brawl, for old times’ sake.” They had not fought properly in years, too busy with their peak lord duties. Yue Qingyuan promised the spar with little thought, but the way Liu-shidi perks up at the promise makes any lingering doubts about abandoning decorum as a sect leader disappear.
It would be good for them both, to be able to let loose against an opponent that has a chance of defeating them with little to no consequence.
The Bai Zhan Peak Lord does not pout, exactly, but Yue Qingyuan thinks if he had more than five facial expressions available to him outside of life and death situations this would be his sixth. “You really don’t want to?”
The aggrieved tone and the bruise dark skin under Liu Qingge’s tired eyes awaken a rarely fed hunger inside the sect leader. “I don’t want to thwart a second coup in a month,” he deflects. His shidi is pliant beneath his considerable bulk, no longer attempting to break free. “The Grandmaster of Divine Poison and Hellish Antidotes is free to usurp my position if he so chooses.”
Yue Qingyuan straightens his spine, his bronze guan knocking against the top of the door frame with an unpleasant sting. He watches his shidi track the movement of his free hand as he uses it to tug the modest hair ornament free and toss it aside.
“You seem to be suffering from an excess of yang energy,” he chooses his words carefully, extracting his fingers from Liu Qingge’s hair and sliding them to rest on the man’s jugular. “Do you need assistance in relieving it, Liu-shidi?”
The overly forward flirtation has the man’s tanned face flushing, eyes sliding away endearingly. It was not unusual for martial siblings to “help” each other with these things, but the youngest had always been aloof and, as far as Yue Qingyuan could ascertain, chaste.
Or very, very discreet. He selfishly hopes it is the first.
Liu Qingge’s throat clicks underneath his loosely cupped palm. He does not make any move to throw his shixiong off of him. Instead, he tilts his head upwards. The shadow of his lashes sweep over his beauty mark in the noon sun.
“This shidi would be grateful for Yue-shixiong’s assistance.”
Yue Qingyuan was surprised at the acceptance, but not hesitant. He does not release the loose Winter’s Dawn Chokehold and instead uses it to guide Liu Qingge into his private chambers.
He is sure to close every set of doors they walk through, ears attuned to the shaky breaths and mind focused on the number of heartbeats.
After forty-two, Liu Qingge swallows and moves to disrobe. He is only in a single white summer robe and no shoes, clearly not having the energy or the care to dress in more layers in the summer heat.
The sect leader clicks his tongue in disapproval and the Bai Zhan War God’s fingers clench on the hooked knot.
“Are we not…” The question is quiet in the ascetic bedroom, only eight pieces of furniture in the spacious room. It looks more similar to an outer disciple’s quarters, or an off season storage room, than a peak lord’s resting place.
The look of uncertainty on Liu Qingge’s face only stokes the heat in Yue Qingyuan’s core. He is unable to stop himself from drinking in the sincere and honest reaction even as he keeps his own face neutral. The guilt that always accompanies his lust is less present than usual.
Instead of answering, he tugs them to sit on the bed. His shidi follows without a word of complaint. It is heady, the power given to him. It makes him feel like a lecherous tyrant, bullying a naive servant into his bed. His dick is straining against his robes for any sort of attention, but this isn’t about his need.
“Does Liu-shidi know the procedure?” The sect leader tries to make his voice kind, but he can hear the untrustworthy eagerness echo behind the polite words. Liu Qingge shakes his head, not breaking eye contact even as his blush spreads from his cheeks to his vulnerable throat.
Yue Qingyuan is a selfish lover. He knows his cock is unwieldy and burdensome to take, so he rarely indulges his mostly dormant desires. But here, with his trusting shidi, he does not have to take anything. “I will direct you, but we must take care. I do not want to injure you further.”
Liu Qingge’s throat bobs, and distracts him again. He rubs his thumb up and down the vein, meaning to soothe. The catch in his shidi’s breath is impossible not to notice.
“Lie down, and let shixiong take care of you for now.” This is also meant to reassure, but the sharp toothed hunger he never grew out of roughens his voice. “I will undress you. Do not focus on anything but allowing the energy to flow out of you.”
His instructions are followed perfectly.
Yue Qingyuan savors it. He should not be surprised that Liu-shidi is obedient, given how he is a man of his word and a loyal general even the continent’s many emperors fear. It is an aching sweetness, to know that one of the fiercest warriors to have ever completed the Rainbow Bridge Trials lies underneath him without even a token protest. He can feel his own cock staining the silk of his inner robes.
He removes his layers until he is bare, folding them over a simply made room divider. Liu Qingge is watching him, eyes half lidded from his supine position on his prescribed goose down mattress. It had been an amusing argument to mediate, but Mu Qingfang is the doctor between the three peak lords. He almost always wins any intra-peak disagreements he brings forth.
The man is not relaxed, but he is breathing steadily, gathering his qi and centering it as best he can. Yue Qingyuan regrets removing his final layer, as his erection has not flagged despite being ignored completely. He moves to the desk and rummages through the chest of post surgery supplies he had personally overseen the assembly of. The Head Disciple had been calm and unselfconscious, ignoring the sect leader in favor of making custom poultices and reading Mu Qingfang’s prescription carefully.
He locates a small pot of unscented ungent, likely meant to prevent bedsores.
“This is used to keep skin supple. It can be used in delicate places, as well.” Yue Qingyuan steps closer and shows the ointment to his shidi, who nods in bashful understanding. He scoops out two fingers worth, testing the consistency. The high quality ingredients smooth over his thumb and does not run with the warmth of his body.
Swinging his leg up, he straddles Liu Qingge’s thighs, distributing his weight evenly. The man doesn’t react at the sudden movement, but a rosy hue has overtaken almost all of his sun soaked skin, radiating heat. The pot is placed with care on the nightstand, waiting to be needed.
He does not bother to completely remove his shidi’s robe entirely, only baring his chest and draping the thin linen over his narrow hips for ease of access. It is too bright out, for the sect leader to be able to boldly strip him without a thought.
Yue Qingyuan repositions himself back into his previous stance, towering over his younger martial brother with a hand wrapped around his delicate throat. Now, he does not softly threaten. He presses his thumb down with intent, restarting the countdown of death.
“If you wish for me to stop, you need only say so, shidi. I can assist you with an alternate method.” He does not know Liu Qingge’s heart demons, but he knows the shape of the man’s soul well enough to know that he would not risk his own life unnecessarily.
The flutter of lashes on a strained exhale is an adequate enough response. It is the man’s first time for this, at least, so some shyness is expected. The sect leader’s arousal flares, yang energy singing in unison between them, and he begins his own breathing exercises to control his base urges.
Liu Qingge’s dick is hard and deeply flushed as the rest of him. He is trying not to obviously stare, but his partner’s eyes are mostly closed, focused beyond his left shoulder.
It curves towards his navel, of moderate size, with a small bead of natural wetness already at the head. Yue Qi circles the base and smooths the ungent upwards to meet it. The fabric begins to absorb the slickness, and become transparent.
His shidi’s stomach jumps, neat stitches not breaking or bleeding at the aborted gasp. A half smothered whimper makes its way out of Liu Qingge’s encircled throat. The sect leader closes his eyes and focuses entirely on the count, his slick hand steady and sure as his killer’s palm.
The noises he is able to coax from his taciturn martial brother is intoxicating. The man still remembers his first instruction, keeping his hips still and his breathing deliberate.
It makes Yue Qingyuan burn hotter, his heavy cock starting to add to the mess between them.
A calloused hand curves onto his tensed hip, and pulls him down to rest more securely onto lithe thighs. He can feel his own pulse in his stones where they nestle onto the soft hair of the body beneath him. Liu Qingge’s eyes are hazy, his dick pulsing a half step behind his throat’s timing.
He pulls back both hands and plants them onto the bed, his own chest heaving. “It is best to delay climax at least once to draw out the maximum amount of yang energy into physical essence,” Yue Qi murmurs. He can see the effect of the words as they ghost across his shidi’s ear and chest, somehow still having enough blood to darken further.
“And for you?” The question is quiet. They are matching breaths, the afternoon light cloaking them a lazy haze.
“The assisting partner does not need to do anything for themselves.” This is his first time explaining such a common dual cultivation technique. It does not burden him. Rather, it makes his blood sing, to have his words be taken for the sincere guidance he always means them to be. “The purpose is to release yang energy in a controlled and satisfying way. Adding more yang essence would be counterintuitive.”
Liu Qingge thinks it over, and does not speak until Yue Qingyuan shuffles into place for a final time. “I want you to release too.”
His traitorous cock lurches obviously. His shidi drops his gaze to it, and parts his lips, ever so slightly.
Yue Qi has been with enough men to confidently identify that kind of look. It would be the opposite of helpful for Liu-shidi to take in more yang energy, when he is so restless. He closes his eyes and pushes his thumb into the critical pulse point, wondering if the bruise he is leaving will last until their scheduled spar.
“Shixiong?” The address is plaintive, and trembling.
“Do you want me to stop?” He does not open his eyes. Yue Qingyuan has a soft heart, and most of the jianghu know it. If he sees his Liu-shidi with tears in his eyes, pleading for him to come, he might embarrass himself.
“No!” The loud urgency of this answer startles Yue Qi into alertness, his thumb lessening pressure without a conscious thought. The rest of his hand tightens, the rasp of breath echoing in the room.
Liu Qingge’s eyes are not wet, but a sliver of spit trails its way down his cheek from his open mouthed panting. “No, shixiong- Don’t stop, p-please help me.”
Yue Qingyuan’s left hand is steady where it is pinning his martial brother to the bed, but his right hand tears the clinging fabric off of the begging body beneath him to shove a knee between shaking legs.
“I won’t,” he reassures, hauling his shidi one handed into his lap. He moans in relief as their cocks align, rolling his hips and reaching for the ointment. Yue Qi is sweating like a pig, hair sticking to his face as he smears slick down Liu Qingge’s thighs haphazardly. He rests his shidi’s calves against his broad shoulders, lightheaded with his own blood loss and the knowledge that he was considerably more muscled than his partner.
Their spar was going to be very interesting, now that Yue Qingyuan would not be surprised by his martial brother’s flexibility, and he, in turn, would have an approximation of his shixiong’s strength.
“Fuck-” He does not mean to moan, but the smell of sex and the heat of their bodies in the bed has turned his thoughts to hot wax, running down his body to pool at their joined cores.
This is cultivation, no matter what croaking immortals tried to spit down on them from their rotting thrones. Yue Qi could feel the energy between them coil around the room, muddling his own thoughts until all he can focus on is the beat of their hearts, counting down as their bodies move in tandem.
Liu Qingge is whining, each roll of Yue Qingyuan’s hips forcing the little air he is allowed to draw back out of his no doubt burning lungs.
Three breaths before he would kill his lover, Yue Qi releases his hold and cages his shidi in with his body, fucking not with bruising force but lethal intent.
“Come all over yourself, and I will do the same,” he promises, and Liu Qingge obeys.
-
Shen Qingqiu is waiting at Bai Zhan Peak’s bottom step, glare fierce and fan flicking at a pace more suited for a fisherman’s wife than an elegant scholar.
“What did he want?” His didi is hissing questions before Yue Qingyuan has stepped foot on the path. “Are his demands unreasonable? Is his clan making trouble?”
The sect leader has only had a few minutes of time to pull himself back into diplomacy, so he is unable to hide his irritation. “Liu-shidi is recovering from a grievous wound, and only wanted pleasant company.” Cruel delight sparks in him when he sees his first and only love stand with his mouth agape, pretenses shocked out of him.
Shen Jiu has always had a quicker mind than most. Yue Qingyuan studies him leisurely in the few moments it takes for him to grasp the situation. His eyes darken with outrage. “So the great Xuan Su sword of Qiong Ding makes personal house calls to his peak lords? How noble.”
The insult does not sting. It never has, not even when they were street urchins stealing from the old and the weak to feed themselves. Yue Qi does not know what Shen Jiu did to survive in the years they were parted, but the scathing tone is proof enough of his midnight fears.
He squares his shoulders and looks down at the Qing Jing Peak Lord.
“I only give what I am willing to part with, and take what is freely offered in return with grateful hands.” It is a quote from a dogblooded theatre production that has taken the common people by storm. He does not know if Shen Qingqiu patronizes tea houses that use clay cups instead of porcelain anymore. Yue Qi has always loved star-crossed romances, and Yue Qingyuan is known as a generous benefactor of many storytellers.
The sect leader does not wait for a response, and turns to walk the lonely path back to Qiong Ding Peak.