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It has been more than a month since Shen Qiao has seen Yan Wushi.
This is fine.
Of course it’s fine. They each have their own lives and responsibilities, their own needs and goals. There is certainly nothing strange about Yan Wushi wandering off to spend his time attending to Huanyue sect business. Shen Qiao has plenty to keep himself busy with. And honestly, without Yan Wushi around inflicting mayhem on everyone he meets, life on Xuandu Mountain is calmer than ever. A month is hardly any time at all, really. It is a mere fraction of the life Shen Qiao has already lived, one he has spent the majority of without Yan Wushi by his side.
Over the course of these passing days and nights, Shen Qiao has enough to do that he hardly has time to think of Yan Wushi. At least, he should hardly have time. And yet… Now that Shen Qiao has grown accustomed to Yan Wushi’s presence, his absence is strangely obtrusive.
While training disciples, Shen Qiao keeps half expecting to hear acerbic mocking comments. But only a blink later, he finds himself peculiarly disappointed to get through a lesson in peace. It is not that he wants to subject his own disciples to Yan Wushi’s brand of training, so different from Shen Qiao’s own methods. It is certainly not that anyone deserves that derision and disdain that are all that Yan Wushi seems to offer to most people he encounters. Yet still Shen Qiao finds himself in odd moments imagining what Yan Wushi might say.
(It is almost as if a fragment of Yan Wushi has embedded itself within Shen Qiao’s mind, guiding his thoughts onto paths he never would have tread alone. It is almost as if Yan Wushi is still beside him, vibrant and cutting. But Shen Qiao’s imagination can never quite compare to the actual Yan Wushi’s wit, nothing but a pale phantom that haunts his waking moments.)
Each day, Shen Qiao walks the paths of Xuandu Mountain unmolested, no rogue hands reaching out to grasp him from behind, no presence lurking around a corner to drag him into an unexpected kiss. This should be a relief. He has an image to uphold as the sect leader, after all, one that absolutely does not include being caught wrapped in Yan Wushi’s lustful embrace.
Except in reality, Shen Qiao finds himself missing even this, now that it is gone. Shen Qiao has never been a lustful person. He has never been one to seek out carnality. But he knows now what it feels like to melt beneath Yan Wushi’s touch. He knows the heat of Yan Wushi’s lips, the fire in his every caress. And it is as if that heat still burns beneath Shen Qiao’s skin, embers just waiting for the slightest encouragement to flame back to life, ridiculous yearning that refuses to leave him alone.
No matter that Shen Qiao has lived so long on his own, perfectly content, it seems Yan Wushi has taught this body of his what it is to desire. He has learned what it is to long for another’s touch. And now, as each day passes without even a trace of Yan Wushi’s presence, not the barest echo of his voice, it is as if something within Shen Qiao feels as if it is half a step off a cliff, the ground strangely unstable beneath his feet.
Shen Qiao steadfastly ignores all of this. (At least he tries to.) (He even tells himself he is succeeding.)
He certainly does not think of Yan Wushi constantly. He keeps busy with the endless tasks of a sect leader, not allowing his day to become filled with something so absurd as pining.
He is a sect leader. He is a Daoist. He is not some weak-willed lovelorn youth to be swept along on the currents of romance. Yet somehow Yan Wushi, even in absence, pulls new experiences out of the very depths of Shen Qiao’s very being.
Shen Qiao does not let any of this affect his day to day life, of course. He lets no one see the longing that at times seems to permeate every fiber of his being. He is very good at presenting a façade of indifference. Sometimes he even believes in it himself.
But in the depths of night, when Shen Qiao is alone without those beloved arms to hold him, there is no denying what lurks within to himself.
Shen Qiao misses Yan Wushi. Misses every glorious and frustrating bit of him. Even if Shen Qiao knows he will inevitably be angered half to death by Yan Wushi within hours of his return, he cannot help but long for it to come soon. He longs for Yan Wushi’s voice, his embrace, even the fury that he stokes withing Shen Qiao’s chest.
And Shen Qiao yearns for Yan Wushi’s safety. Shen Qiao has seen Yan Wushi on the verge of death too many times to feel fully secure, no matter how strong Yan Wushi might be. Without business to distract him, concern threads through Shen Qiao, leaving him desperate to have Yan Wushi back safe by his side. He knows Yan Wushi can take care of himself, trusts that he is powerful enough to accomplish whatever it is he set out to do. But still this worry spills through him, twining viscous with desire and longing.
Shen Qiao is fine without Yan Wushi. Of course he is fine. He has so much to keep him occupied.
(But he would, perhaps, be slightly more fine if Yan Wushi would return quickly.)
Shen Qiao wakes the moment someone walks through his doorway.
There is no sound, the intruder’s footsteps silent upon the ground, yet it is a presence Shen Qiao recognizes immediately. Without even noticing, his lips quirk into a welcoming smile, and he turns to watch as a shadowy figure approaches his bed. Shen Qiao’s room is illuminated with only the barest dusting of frosty moonlight, but that is more than enough to identify the man who walks in. Silver glints along his hair, and light flashes against teeth as his mouth widens into a grin.
“You’re back,” Shen Qiao says, when Yan Wushi reaches his bedside.
“Did you miss me?” Yan Wushi leans over to run his hand along Shen Qiao’s jaw, his thumb trailing along the curve of the smile Shen Qiao cannot repress. But before Shen Qiao can reply, Yan Wushi, as always, unfortunately, continues. “Did you miss the feeling of me inside you?”
“You—” Shen Qiao’s smile instantly vanishes. He bites his lip, and his face burns. “I’ve been busy,” he manages to say. “I hardly thought of you at all.” Yet despite his words, he cannot help the way his body sways towards Yan Wushi, the echo of each syllable Yan Wushi spoke still vibrating within his body, as if a prelude to something more.
“Oh, A-Qiao, you wound me.” But Yan Wushi’s tone is light, a thread of enjoyment unmistakable. With a smooth motion, Yan Wushi sits beside Shen Qiao in the bed, pressing their bodies together. “Your Yan-lang was forced to leave for so long, and you can’t even spare a kind word for my return?”
Shen Qiao feels that, to keep his dignity, he should probably deny everything. Yet he knows Yan Wushi. Knows there is no way this man will stop pushing until he is nothing but a puddle in bed, his body wrung out as Yan Wushi’s hands and words twist him into knots. And pleasurable knots they might be, but suddenly, Shen Qiao no longer wishes to be only the passive recipient of this bounty.
And Shen Qiao truly had missed him. Missed even this infuriating side of him, as integral as anything else to who Yan Wushi is as a person. What sort of life could he even lead with Yan Wushi at his side if he couldn’t enjoy this taunting, whatever resistance he displayed? It is simply all part and parcel of how Yan Wushi expresses himself, just one more thing Shen Qiao has grown to accept – and love.
So without any further waiting, before Yan Wushi’s wandering hands can continue their relentless journey, Shen Qiao turns and presses his lips to Yan Wushi’s. Yan Wushi freezes. It is a light kiss, the mere brush of lips, yet it is enough to stir heat in the night’s cool embrace. Shen Qiao does not often initiate intimacy, and Yan Wushi clearly was not expecting him to give in nearly so soon. Yan Wushi tries to press forward to deepen the kiss, but once again, Shen Qiao moves first, pulling away.
Gathering all his courage, throwing dignity to the wind, Shen Qiao presses his lips to Yan Wushi’s ear. “Yes, Yan-lang. I missed you.” His words are quiet, mere breaths almost lost in the scant space between them. Yet they pierce Yan Wushi like daggers to the heart.
“A-Qiao,” Yan Wushi murmurs, the name awed on his tongue. His arms wrap around Shen Qiao, pulling their bodies together until no more space remains between them. “Only a month away and you’ve grown so bold. Perhaps I should leave more often.”
“Any longer and maybe I’d forget you entirely.” But Shen Qiao lets himself melt against Yan Wushi, absorbing this warmth that he has been without for far too long.
Perhaps Shen Qiao is fine alone, as he has always been in the past. But with Yan Wushi returned to his side, drawing him into a deep kiss, his world once again feels complete.