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There’s comfort in the knowledge of unquestionable safety. Not protection, he doesn’t need anyone’s protecting. Safety.
Safe is a pair of soft brown eyes, a small frame, knowing that presence will always come back to him. Safe is a fragile, delicate thing. A pair of soft hands, scholar’s hands, soothing across his shoulders, hooked around his waist. Slow breaths, a chest rising and falling against his back.
The warmth behind him shifts, mumbles some incoherent nonsense into his shoulder. He shifts too, grips the hand going loose on his stomach. Shang Qinghua is falling asleep, finally, and his arms are going slack. He should sleep, as well, but he won’t drift off for some time yet. He means to enjoy this embrace as long as possible.
A thousand words could pass those lips, often do in the light of day, but not here. Here, the language they speak is different, arms and legs tangled, quiet sighs. It’s truly, truly safe, here.
Mobei Jun knows the world is cruel. It’s full of death, destruction, betrayal. He’s no fool, cannot be, carrying the weight of the title that he does. Demons who would sooner see his throat slit than not surround his throne, his kingship. He is always on guard, always vigilant. Anyone can be an opponent, and obstacle, a hindrance. Danger could come from any corner. He knows this deep in his bones, lessons burned into his mind when he was young.
But not here.
Shang Qinghua squeezes his arms tighter, has he awakened? But no, he seems to be dreaming already, his fingers twitching slightly under Mobei Jun’s. A great whoosh of warm air bathes his neck, a soft sigh. His name.
That strange feeling twists in his heart, that sensation that only this fragile little human can evoke. It’s not a bad feeling, though when he’d first begun to feel it he’d found it disagreeable. Vulnerability has never sat well for him. Time and a near loss, however, taught him that this feeling isn’t a burden, but a gift. He laces his long fingers between Shang Qinghua’s, holds that soft hand gently. It wouldn’t do to wake him now, when he’s just drifted off.
A leg swings over his hip, pulls that body flush to his back, and he startles. Did he wake him after all? But no, it’s only Shang Qinghua’s inability to stay still, even in sleep. The man carries more restless energy than nearly any other one being Mobei Jun has ever met. He always seems to be moving, working, thinking. He likes to watch Shang Qinghua think, can nearly see the gears as they turn in his head. Can see it in his eyes, when he’s caught some small detail that everyone else has missed.
He’s intelligent, formidably so, knows things he shouldn't, things no one else has any way of finding out. Mobei Jun hopes that someday, his human will share the source of his knowledge. But for now, as they are, it’s already fine. Because Shang Qinghua is safe. He uses his preternatural knowledge for his king, and his king alone. It’s enough. More than enough.
Trust is a foreign thing, in the demon realm. An exchange, a currency, a luxury. He luxuriates in the thin arms around him, in the leg draped over his hip, in the warmth that suffuses their bed. Shang Qinghua will sometimes cling to him, when the summer months come. They are not nearly as warm as the heat of the more southern territories, but Shang Qinghua says that now he’s used to the cold, he feels the temperature change more keenly . He says that Mobei Jun keeps him cool, comfortable. Shang Qinghua keeps him comfortable, too.
Mobei Jun is no fool, but he doesn’t mind being a little foolish over this man. And trust, comfort, safety...are foolish things, deadly things. A single wrong step, a solitary moment of misplaced trust, and lives end. Kingdoms fall. The balance of power can shift and change and burn those who indulge too much. But still, still…
Shang Qinghua’s free hand covers his own, and his thumb brushes a circle into his skin. Mobei Jun hadn’t noticed his waking, too lost in his own thoughts. A kiss presses warm to his shoulder, a sleep rough voice whispers to him.
“Sleep, my king, stop brooding.”
“Do not brood.” He whispers back, petulant. And that’s another luxury, another small favor granted. Petulance, childishness, these do not come easily to him. But here, now, safe, he can-
Shang Qinghua lifts his head, adjusts so he’s resting on Mobei Jun’s should. He presses a kiss to his cheek, warmth spreading from the contact. Mobei Jun can’t help it, he has to turn his head, has to brush their noses together once. Twice. Again. His human smiles, he can feel it in the warm breath that brushes his mouth.
“You are brooding, you breathe faster when you do.”
Mobei Jun hadn’t felt the rhythm of his breath change at all, but he trusts that Shang Qinghua speaks true. He’ll have to pay attention to it. Tells are a deadly business, too.
“My king, I am begging you,” Shang Qinghua moves his arms so they bracket Mobei Jun’s shoulders, lifts himself to hover over him. He’s blinking sleep from his eyes and he looks beautiful, “please stop thinking about whatever you’re thinking about, and sleep. Tomorrow the eastern delegation is coming and we have to be on our toes. My king, are you listening?”
He is listening, but he’s also running reverent fingers down his Shang Qinghua’s chest, his hips, his legs.
He can do both.
Of course his tough, delicate human needs to sleep. And if his quickened breath is keeping him awake, then-
He rolls back over, and reaches for the nearest arm. He wants them wrapped around him again, wants to sleep in a safe embrace. Shang Qinghua squeaks a little at the sudden pull, but goes where he’s directed, wrapping back around his king securely.
They’ll wake in the morning, and dress, and face whatever the day holds. There’s no safety, beyond this room. But he intends to luxuriate in this ridiculously soft feeling for as long as he can.