Work Text:
The storage cupboard was cramped, smelling of old scrolls and incense dust.
Mu Qing’s back pressed against shelves that dug into his shoulder blades, but he barely noticed—too focused on the infuriating ghost king whose hand was fisted in his collar.
“You’re—insufferable—” Mu Qing hissed between kisses that were more teeth than tenderness.
“Says the one who followed me in here” Hua Cheng shot back, his eye gleaming with malicious amusement even as he yanked Mu Qing closer.
“To yell at you—”
“Sure.”
Their mouths crashed together again, angry and graceless.
Mu Qing bit Hua Cheng’s lower lip hard enough to draw blood—which only made the ghost laugh against his mouth before retaliating with equal force.
His hand slid up to tangle roughly in Mu Qing’s hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat.
“Still want to yell?” Hua Cheng murmured against his jaw before biting down.
Mu Qing’s response was cut off by his own sharp intake of breath.
His fingers dug into Hua Cheng’s shoulders hard enough to tear fabric.
“You—bastard—”
“There it is.” Hua Cheng’s voice was dark with satisfaction as he dragged his teeth down the column of Mu Qing’s throat, leaving red marks in his wake.
The silver butterflies in his hair were fluttering wildly, bumping against Mu Qing’s face like tiny, judgmental witnesses.
Mu Qing shoved at Hua Cheng’s chest with enough force to make a mortal stumble.
Hua Cheng barely swayed, instead using the momentum to pin him more firmly against the shelves.
A jar of something clattered above them.
Another fell, shattering on the floor. Neither cared.
“I hate you” Mu Qing snarled, even as his hands moved to Hua Cheng’s collar, yanking him back down.
Their lips met again, all violence and venom, teeth clashing as they fought for dominance neither would concede.
Hua Cheng caught Mu Qing’s wrists, pinning them against the shelves on either side of his head. “I know.”
“Arrogant—” Mu Qing twisted one hand free and grabbed a fistful of Hua Cheng’s hair, pulling hard. “—conceited—” He punctuated each word with increasingly vicious kisses. “—insufferable—”
Hua Cheng’s laugh was breathless and razor-sharp.
He released Mu Qing’s other wrist only to grab his waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise even through layers of robes.
“Keep going. I’m enjoying this.”
That only made Mu Qing angrier. He hooked his leg around Hua Cheng’s, attempting to throw him off balance, but the ghost king was immovable.
Instead, Hua Cheng pressed closer, crushing Mu Qing against the shelves with his full weight.
More jars rattled. A scroll fell and unrolled across the floor.
“You’re destroying His Highness’s storage room” Mu Qing managed between harsh breaths.
“Then maybe you should stop being so—” Hua Cheng bit down on Mu Qing’s lower lip, drawing blood this time, “—distracting.”
Mu Qing tasted copper.
He surged forward, away from the shelves, forcing Hua Cheng back until they crashed against the opposite wall.
The door rattled in its frame.
Mu Qing’s hands were everywhere—pulling, grasping, trying to find purchase, trying to win some ground in this battle that had no victor.
Hua Cheng’s eye was blazing now, that dangerous crimson glow that meant his control was slipping.
Good.
Mu Qing wanted him off-balance, wanted to break through that infuriating composure.
He kissed him harder, meaner, all sharp edges and spite.
“This means nothing” Mu Qing growled against his mouth.
“Obviously” Hua Cheng agreed, but his voice was rough now, losing its usual smooth mockery.
He grabbed Mu Qing’s jaw with one hand, tilting his head at a punishing angle as he kissed him with renewed ferocity.
His other hand slid down Mu Qing’s spine, pressing him impossibly closer.
They were a tangle of limbs and barely controlled violence, all harsh breaths and bruising grips.
Mu Qing’s fingers found the ties of Hua Cheng’s hair, yanking them loose so that dark strands fell around them both.
The silver butterflies scattered in confusion.
“I still think you’re—” Hua Cheng started.
Mu Qing cut him off with another bruising kiss, this one somehow even more aggressive than the last.
His hands fisted in Hua Cheng’s now-loose hair, using it as leverage to bite at his jaw, his throat, any exposed skin he could reach.
Hua Cheng’s grip on him tightened to the point of pain. Perfect.
Mu Qing wanted it to hurt.
Wanted the marks, the evidence, the proof that he could affect the untouchable ghost king.
He dragged his nails down Hua Cheng’s neck, satisfied when he felt the skin break beneath them.
The door swung open.
“Mu Qing, have you seen the—oh.”
They froze mid-movement, Mu Qing’s teeth still pressed against Hua Cheng’s collarbone, Hua Cheng’s hand still tangled in the back of Mu Qing’s robes.
Xie Lian stood in the doorway, ladle still in hand, his eyes wide as saucers.
His face bloomed into the brightest shade of red either of them had ever seen, spreading from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears and down his neck.
For three excruciating seconds, nobody moved.
Mu Qing’s hands were still fisted in Hua Cheng’s now-disheveled hair.
Hua Cheng’s knee was still wedged between Mu Qing’s legs.
A silver butterfly landed on Mu Qing’s nose.
The room was a disaster—broken jars, scattered scrolls, both of them visibly mauled.
“I—” Xie Lian started, then stopped. His eyes darted everywhere except at them—the ceiling, the floor, the destroyed storage room, anywhere but the two of them.
“I was just—the soup—it’s ready—”
His voice was slightly strangled, and he seemed frozen in place, caught between retreating and his natural inclination toward politeness.
Mu Qing tried to extricate himself with some dignity, failed spectacularly, and ended up elbowing Hua Cheng in the ribs hard.
Hua Cheng, to his credit, actually let him go this time, though the smirk on his face was once again insufferable.
“Your Highness” Mu Qing said, his voice wrecked.
He could feel his lips were swollen, knew his hair was a disaster, and there was definitely blood on his collar—whose, he wasn’t entirely sure.
“—we were—”
“I made soup!” Xie Lian blurted out, his voice pitching higher than usual as his face somehow achieved an even deeper shade of red.
He held up the ladle as if it were a shield.
“For dinner. There’s plenty. If you both wanted some. The soup. That I made.”
He was rambling now, words tumbling over each other, still determinedly not looking at them directly.
“It has vegetables. And, um, noodles. The good kind. Not the ones that turn to mush. I know you both like—I mean—food—eating—” He cleared his throat.
“I’ll just—should I come back? Are you—do you need—I can wait—”
“How thoughtful of gege” Hua Cheng said smoothly, though his voice was rougher than usual.
He was casually attempting to retie his hair with hands that weren’t quite steady.
“We were just having a discussion” Mu Qing attempted weakly.
Xie Lian nodded rapidly, still studying the ceiling with intense focus.
“Yes. I can see that. Very… thorough discussion.” His blush deepened further.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt—I should have knocked—I usually do knock—I just thought—the soup—” He gestured vaguely with the ladle, nearly hitting himself in the face.
“We’re finished” Mu Qing said firmly, finally managing to step fully away from Hua Cheng, though his legs felt oddly unsteady. “Discussing.”
“Very finished” Hua Cheng agreed, that insufferable amusement creeping back into his voice.
“Right. Yes. Good.” Xie Lian nodded several more times than necessary.
“Well. The soup is in the kitchen. Whenever you’re… ready. Both of you. Together or separately. Whatever you prefer.” He started backing away, still not quite looking at them.
“I’ll just—set out bowls—three bowls—and maybe some—tea? Do you want tea? I’ll make tea. Something calming. Or cooling. Maybe both—”
He fled, nearly tripping over a fallen scroll.
In the silence that followed, Mu Qing and Hua Cheng finally looked at each other properly.
Mu Qing’s lips were swollen and split.
Hua Cheng’s throat was covered in bite marks and scratches.
Both of their robes were disheveled beyond repair.
The room looked like a small tornado had passed through.
“We don’t speak of this” Mu Qing said flatly.
“The kissing, or His Highness walking in on us?” Hua Cheng’s smirk was infuriating.
“ANY OF IT.”
“He already knew, you know.” Hua Cheng began gathering the fallen silver butterflies from where they’d scattered around the room.
“He’s known for months. He just doesn’t like… witnessing it.”
Mu Qing felt his face heat. “That’s—that doesn’t—shut up.”
“Articulate as ever.” Hua Cheng moved past him toward the door, pausing just long enough to add, “You have my blood on your mouth, by the way.”
Mu Qing wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, glaring. “Your face is a mess.”
“So is yours.”
They glared at each other for another moment before Mu Qing shoved past him toward the door.
He paused at the threshold, not looking back, trying to will his heartbeat back to normal.
“The soup actually does smell good, I'm concerned” he muttered.
Behind him, he heard Hua Cheng’s quiet laugh. “After you, General.”
In the kitchen, Xie Lian was very intently focusing on ladling soup, his ears still bright pink.
He smiled at them when they entered—brightly, cheerfully, and with the kind of determined normalcy that only made the situation more awkward.
“Sit anywhere!” he said, voice only slightly too high.
“I hope you both like it! I added extra ginger—it’s good for, um, energy. Not that you need—I mean—it’s just tasty!”
They sat on opposite sides of the table. Xie Lian sat at the head, still blushing but making a valiant effort at normal dinner conversation.
“So! How was everyone’s day? Anything interesting happen? Besides the—I mean—in general?”
The soup was terrible, and dinner was the most awkward meal any of them had ever experienced.
Xie Lian kept his eyes firmly on his bowl, though a small smile played at his lips whenever he thought they weren’t looking.
He wasn’t judgmental about it—had never been, really, once he’d figured out what was going on between them.
He was just… shy about these things. Always had been.
Walking in on them like that had probably mortified him more than it had mortified them.
Well. Almost more.
-----
Later that night, Mu Qing would find a small silver butterfly resting on his windowsill. He tried to shoo it away three times before giving up and letting it stay.
When he touched his lips and felt the split from where Hua Cheng had bitten him, he tried very hard not to smile.
He failed.