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He was supposed to kill him.
There is a dull throb in his chest as he watches Yixing’s nimble fingers glide over the piano keys, the melody soft and pure as it flows through the air. There is something almost painful about the song that he is playing, communicating a feeling of desperation so deep that it creates sores in Zitao’s heart; and even when eventually Yixing stops, beautiful hands coming to rest on his thighs as he looks unseeingly into the distance, that ache is still there.
The moonlight pouring through the large glass windows makes Yixing’s pale skin glow, and Zitao thinks that the other man looks as gorgeous as he is fragile, Yixing’s dark brown curls falling over a his smooth forehead, the slender slope of his nose resting just above enticingly plump, pink lips. “I know that you’re there, you know,” the blind prince suddenly murmurs, and Zitao masks his alarm expertly, as he had been trained to do since he was young. “Did you think that just because I can’t see, I also couldn’t feel you watching me all this time?”
Zitao wonders if he should even bother giving a reply when all he needed to do was snap the prince’s lovely neck and his job would be over. He thinks it over for a few minutes, knowing that he’d already done away with the guards outside of Yixing’s chambers―it wouldn’t hurt to talk just a little, right? He had always been more sympathetic than his appearance gave him credit for. “If you noticed me for a while now, why haven’t you called your guards? That wasn’t very clever of you, Young Prince,” Zitao criticizes softly, against his better judgment.
A smile tugs at the corner of Yixing’s mouth, lips curving prettily as a dimple presses deep into his right cheek, and Zitao wonders if it is humanly possible to be so stunning, especially at this time of the night, when a person should be curled up between warm sheets and fast asleep. “But then you’d have killed me before I could even try,” the prince admits, and he turns his head to face a direction startlingly close to where Zitao was standing, irises gray from blindness. “And that would have been a waste of precious time, wouldn’t you say?”
He’s still smiling and Zitao hates the way it embodies Yixing’s innocence, the way it softens his already kind features, and the way it burns his insides knowing that there were people out there actually wanted someone as blameless as Yixing dead. Instead of acknowledging the prince’s words, Zitao asks quietly, “Can you play another song?”
Yixing hums his agreement, turning back around to face the piano, hands poised over the keys before he pauses for a few beats. Without moving, he states thoughtfully, “I’ll only play if you sit next to me.”
To say Zitao was amazed by the request would have been an understatement. “Are you sure that is wise?” he questions carefully, studying the changes in Yixing’s expression.
The blind man simply shrugs, the dimple on his cheek winking at Zitao in the pale lighting. “I want to feel the one I’m playing for.”
Zitao hesitates longer than he probably should have―what he should have done was kill this man, as he was bid to do―before he approaches Yixing, the smaller man’s delicate hand resting on the bench that he is seated on, patting it invitingly. His head is turned towards Zitao but his gray eyes remain unseeing.
“I cannot see, dark stranger,” Yixing giggles, hair falling into his eyes. “Please, don’t be fearful.”
“You are also defenseless and fragile, your highness,” Zitao huffs. “I am most certainly not afraid of you.”
The sweet dimple on the prince’s cheek winks at him again mischievously. “Then sit.”
Zitao wonders if he’d forgotten all of his instruction, stupidly sliding onto the piano bench next to the prince; his only solace is that Yixing is as helpless and blind as he looks―truly a naïve being in his existence―and there was nothing he could possibly do to defend himself from the assassin. Once seated, Zitao grasps belatedly that the seating space is small, meant for only one person, and as a result the length of their thighs press together, shoulders bumping slightly. Yixing smells of flowers and something even sweeter, the scent radiating from the long, pale column of his throat, his skin gossamer and unmarred as it disappears into the low neck of his translucent white silk nightshirt.
Up close, the prince is even more breathtaking, and Yixing’s smile brightens impossibly more when Zitao has finally settled next to him; the larger man is sure that the stars in the sky were made from the radiance of the prince’s pearly teeth. He lets the prince take a hold of his right hand, delicate white on calloused tan, fingers thin and pretty as they smooth over the intruder’s rough palms. Yixing hums softly, a sweet, age-old lullaby that Zitao hasn’t heard since he was stolen away from his mother. His eyes never leave the prince’s face as the smaller man repositions his hands over the piano keys, fingers brushing over the gleaming white before they apply pressure.
Yixing plays the lullaby in tune with his singing, voice warm and rich with emotion as he plays, and he looks so utterly blissful with his hands on the keys and Zitao’s body pressed up close to his own. The younger finds it hard to breathe when Yixing leans against him, his entire being emanating a trust that Zitao didn’t feel like he deserved. Yixing is warm and soft beside him, like fluffy cotton, and a lump grows in the assassin’s throat.
When the prince stops playing, Zitao inquires quietly, “Have you forgotten that I’m here to kill you?” His voice is barely above a whisper but Yixing can hear it in the same way that he can sense a presence, can tell the difference between something dangerous or benign.
“No,” Yixing replies, “no, I haven’t.”
This only bewilders Zitao more. “Then why are you so peaceful?”
The prince turns to face the larger man, unseeing eyes focused unsettlingly on Zitao’s own. His expression is wistful now, and yet even in his sadness Yixing is breathtaking. “Because I was lonely,” he admits, biting at his tantalizingly supple pink lips. “And you make me feel safe.” Those words are Zitao's undoing, a floodgate of emotion bursting through his body as the realization that he has already fallen so deep and irrevocably in love destroys everything he believed in up until this point. The lust he feels for Yixing in that very moment is frightening in its intensity and Zitao cannot resist brushing Yixing’s dark, wavy hair out of his eyes, fire thrumming through his veins and scorching his fingertips when it comes in contact with the prince’s silky skin.
"Touch me," Yixing whispers breathlessly, and when Yixing leans in to slot their mouths together, Zitao lets him, sucking the prince’s lower lip into his mouth and pulling with his teeth, the smaller man trembling against him, gentle hands gripping the front of his shirt tightly. Yixing is as velvety soft and flexible as it looks, snowy skin tasting sweet against his tongue; his body is indulgent and pliant, arching into touches as gasps pour through rosy, swollen lips, slick with spit. He is beautiful―so beautiful and flawless and untouched that Zitao almost feels guilty spreading those pale legs open wide and fucking hard into his docile body.
But it is the only way Zitao knows how to make love, the only way he’s ever known―pressing bruises into fair skin, sucking marks into his neck as his teeth scrape over jutting collarbones―but Yixing is responding, and that is enough. His loud moans sound lewd in the silence of the night and he looks absolutely obscene spread open like that, exposed and clenching wantonly around Zitao’s length as it disappears in and out of him, his own erection leaking precum and leaving wet streaks against his smooth stomach. There are tears in his eyes from the pleasure as he orgasms, whimpering when he feels Zitao’s essence pour hot into his body, the viscous liquid leaking down his trembling thighs as the larger man pulls out.
As expected the prince can no longer move his body now that he is well-fucked with limbs like jelly, and so Zitao tenderly wipes the blind man’s body clean before tucking him into the large four-poster bed at the back of his chambers. The assassin’s plan was to leave and never come back―he couldn’t bring himself to kill the prince, doesn’t think that he would ever be able to―but stops when he feels a small hand grip his arm.
He turns to find that Yixing’s gray eyes are fixed just a few centimeters to the left of Zitao’s shoulder, expression pleading. He doesn’t know how to hide the raw emotion in his face―being blind did that to you, every emotion he experiences written in the contours of his lips and eyebrows―and he begs in a soft voice, hoarse from misuse:
“Don't go.”
So he doesn’t.
Yixing’s half-brothers look exactly as royalty should―just as beautiful as Yixing, yet not nearly as delicate.
Emperor Lu Han, with his bright, clear eyes and long, dark hair that brushed over his shoulders, stood tall and proud in front of the throne; his Korean manservant, Minseok, stood by his side as something scandalously more than he should be, but no one could deny the emperor anything so no words were said. Prince Wu Yifan took on the role of war general, and his appearance fit the part; strongly built and towering over everyone, his icy glare could render a man helpless. He spent most of his time outside of the kingdom with an army of men, creating diplomatic ties or conquering nearby land.
Including the blind Prince Yixing, the three of them didn’t look even remotely related, likely due to the fact that they were all born to different wives; only Prince Yifan looked like their father, the previous emperor, but Emperor Han, being the eldest, was the one who was christened as the crown prince prior to assuming the throne. Despite the many vicious rumors, the three of them were very close; they grew up together, Han and Yifan constantly fighting over who would get to hold Yixing’s hand as they went on their many little adventures, until one day Yixing just sighed and took both of their hands in either of his and went on his merry way.
They still fought over who would be the one to coddle Yixing to this day, which is why the three of them continue to live in the same castle as a concession. Imagine their disbelief to find their beloved brother in the flower garden with a dangerous looking stranger by his side; they were just lucky that the high-collar of Yixing’s gold and white changshan prevented them from observing the hickeys and light bruises that marred the youngest prince’s white skin, or else the both of them would have collapsed from the distress.
Han and Yifan stood a little ways off, watching in misery as Yixing talks animatedly to the dark-eyed visitor; it is the first time either had seen Yixing look so cheerful since his mother had passed on years ago. Neither is sure what to make of this alarming intruder, what with his tanned skin, lean muscles, and sharp eyes heavy with experience. He doesn’t say much, just looks on after the prince with an almost fond look on his face that doesn’t stay long when he thinks someone is watching.
“Xing Xing, who is this man?” Lu Han questions when he finally decides to approach the odd pair.
Yixing just smiles brightly when he says, “This is Huang Zitao of Tsingtao. He has promised to stay by my side.”
“And is it wise, believing him?” Yifan murmurs, appearing beside him and resting a hand on the youngest prince’s shoulder. “And when did you even meet?”
The blind man’s cheeks flush pink, a coy look on his face when he replies honestly, “Last night, in my chambers. He said that he came to kill me, but instead we…” Yixing giggles shyly, unable to continue as he rises to his feet and shuffles over to where he knows Zitao is standing, latching onto his arm. Zitao runs an affectionate hand through Yixing’s hair, sliding down the prince’s back and resting low around his waist.
It is Yifan who faints, the blow so overwhelming that he can’t take it despite his many years of experience involved in battles and wars, and the servants rush towards him in fear for his well-being. Lu Han is also starting to feel lightheaded, his large eyes seeming to grow even larger. “Yixing! This isn’t safe, I can’t let him―”
“He promised to protect me, Hannie,” Yixing assures, “he said that he wouldn’t let anything happen to me, right, Taozi?” Zitao’s expression doesn’t so much as change in the least, but Yixing must feel something that no one else can see because his smile only grows wider. The emperor faints as well; Minseok is already standing by, a sympathetic look on his face as he fans Han’s sweat-laden face.
Zitao isn’t sure what happened when he snuck into the castle yesterday with the intent on murdering the blind prince, only to wake up the following morning with the said prince’s arms wrapped tight around his torso and face pressed into his back, and a substantial weight in his chest that told him to protect this man with his life. Perhaps it was due to love at first sight, his heart stolen within seconds by Yixing’s dimpled smile and earnest voice, but Zitao planned to stay by the prince’s side as long as he was needed.
He hoped that he was needed for a long, long time.