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It had been four months and three days since Luo Binghe left on an extended business trip - a week longer than promised. Shen Qingqiu reluctantly admitted that he wasn’t happy about that.
It was harsh. The work took a toll on him - Liu Qingge was buzzing his ears off with security issues - and the right shoulder was bothering him again, aching for a massage. Falling asleep wasn’t a struggle anymore, yet he still sometimes woke up in the ungodly hour, listening to the metronome of stray droplets falling from the ceiling. Maybe, he thought, just maybe - not a testament to anything - it was a bit too quiet without that helpless guy working alongside with him in his study.
He knew perfectly well that long-distance interstellar routes were a bit unpredictable, especially if they led to the other side of the galaxy, so there was no surprise in Luo Binghe being late for a day or two.
But, no matter how often he told himself to stop sulking, he couldn’t. Shameful anticipation settled in his chest, bottomless despite the voice of the mind, and grew on him, like so many things did since he found himself in this relationship. It was simply lonely without Luo Binghe.
That’s probably why when he emerged from the study late at night, alone and cracking from tiredness, and full-force collided with the solid wall of embrace and hushed breaths, Shen Qingqiu didn’t resist.
“Binghe,” he sighed. The embrace tightened, pinning him against the doorway. Breathing in hints of gasoline and metallic taste, Shen Qingqiu patted the bigger man on the leg. “Binghe, you’re crushing me.”
“Shizun,” the hoarse voice puffed in his ear, and Shen Qingqiu felt his heart skipping beats with embarrassing affection. Four months apart did nothing to numb his unreasonable feelings for this guy. “Shizun, Shizun, I’m home…”
“Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu steeled his voice in an attempt to cover up the happiness bubbling in his throat. The cage of the embrace weakened, hand sliding down from his shoulders to circle around his waist, and Shen Qingqiu moved back, the upper curve of his spine pressed to the wall and left hand freed from the iron clutch so that he could look further up and finally utter: “Welcome back.”
Luo Binghe looked dirty and tired. The loop of his hair almost unraveled in the hurry of the moment, but his smile was incredibly bright, right on par with the bloodgem in his forehead. Shen Qingqiu mindlessly tilted his head, lost in studying lovely features all over, and almost missed Luo Binghe surging closer to kiss him.
“Ack, no,” he blurted, slapping the hand over the other’s lips and narrowing his eyes. “When was the last you brushed your teeth?”
Luo Binghe immediately assumed tearful expression and nuzzled closer, pressing him harder into the wall like an affectionate overgrown puppy. Shen Qingqiu felt lips moving against his palm: “Shizun, this disciple’s heart was in unimaginable pain at our separation… Can’t Shizun allow it once?”
“No,” he said without a second thought. Knowing the guy, he would kiss once and then never stop! Shen Qingqiu wasn’t up for a make-out session with a sweaty gasoline-smelling creature! “You need a shower, right now.”
“Please?” Luo Binghe whispered, tears brimming in his red eyes. If he had dog ears and a fluffy tail, he would make a picture-perfect vision of a beaten starving dog. His tone was pleading: “I won’t ask for more, just once…”
Shen Qingqiu averted eyes to look down the corridor and let his hand fall down, resting at the firm shoulder, smoothing out the collar out of habit. Luo Binghe didn’t try to kiss him again, mindful of the previous remark, but still haven’t let go, arms clasped together and eyes glued to the other’s expression.
The standstill wasn’t meant to last long - Shen Qingqiu realized it the moment he glanced back to see a sliver of the familiar fondness in sated features. The man smiled like that each time he successfully made his master blush, and Shen Qingqiu could bet that he was indeed slowly turning pink under that gaze.
What could he say? Anybody would fluster if they were being stared at by a handsome face like that!
“On the cheek, and that’s it,” he said with a frown.
Luo Binghe’s face brightened, smile stretching wider. He didn’t waste even a second to lean closer and leave a loud cheezy kiss on Shen Qingqiu’s cheekbone. It was so undoubtedly him - dramatic, lovely, unrestrained - that Shen Qingqiu couldn’t even frown anymore, infected by the warmth. With that, he finally pushed away, leading them away from the study.
The way to the private chambers was filled with quiet chatter. Luo Binghe’s voice was low and rumbling as he explained the reason for his unexpected delay. His hand was securely wrapped around Shen Qingqiu’s as if letting go would kill him, and the governor thanked gods that it was the middle of the night and everybody was asleep. If somebody saw them, the rumors would spread like wildfire, and they only barely quieted down.
In the end, Shen Qingqiu was still first in line to wash up. Luo Binghe, being the stubborn selfless self, left to get a midnight snack for his husband and himself, and, honestly, something sweet sounded perfect at that moment, so Shen Qingqiu let him bustle about, too tired to stop him.
So, after a shower and a proper lazy yawn, he walked out into the main room and noticed a curious thing on the table.
“What’s this?” he asked, grasping the neck of the bottle and lifting it up to look at the label. Slender but slightly shorter than a wine bottle, it was made out of thick tanned glass, clear liquid softly splashing inside. His tongue tangled, mind connecting slightly familiar curvature of the cursive on the label with spoken words: “Albinau G-shi?”
“Albeou Gaishyo,” Luo Binghe recited from across the room, slipping out of his filthy coat. Shen Qingqiu nodded - sounded close enough to what he said. Before he could ask where he got it, Luo Binghe was already by his side, unquestionably touch-starved and sly enough to distract him with explanations: “It’s a new type of liquor from shattering seeds. This lord does not care much for the alcohol, but he thought that Shizun might appreciate the taste.”
“Hm?” hummed Shen Qingqiu, not paying any mind to the hand setting on his right shoulder to claw at the tense muscles. Secretly giving into the warm and familiar feeling, he knew well that if he dared to look up, he might once more get embarrassingly stuck looking at his stupidly handsome and sticky former student. He turned the bottle over, mindlessly scanning over the compact writing. “A gift?”
He meant to ask if it was given to Luo Binghe by some diplomats on his trip, but the question unintentionally came off as bashful. Really, since when did he turn into such a gullible man?
“It wouldn’t be right if this disciple came back empty-handed,” Luo Binghe said. Shen Qingqiu quirked his brow to express his doubts. He was sure that only his protagonist was shameless enough to re-gift his presents, and these lavish ones at that.
The hand slid higher, and Shen Qingqiu sighed at the sweet pain of the stretch in his wooden shoulder, head falling down and to the side. As warm rough fingers moved to caress the exposed patch of sensitive skin, Luo Binghe asked: “Is Shizun’s shoulder hurting again?”
The worried tone stirred the drowsiness in Shen Qingqiu’s head. He breathed in and set the bottle down.
“It’s fine.”
“Does Shizun want to retire for today? It must’ve been a long day,” Luo Binghe inquired softly, blunt nails hooking under the collar of the shirt.
Shen Qingqiu frowned, giving into the push of the other’s thumb at his nape. Retire? They only just met after four months of complete radio silence, and now he told him to go and sleep?
“No. It’s too early,” he said, lifting his head to look at the Luo Binghe’s worried expression. He slightly turned to face him, and the warm weight on his shoulder immediately disappeared. “Why won’t you drink with me? Go, I’ll get everything ready.”
“If Shizun says so,” the man mumbled. He stepped back, hand still held high, and shuffled the direction of the shower, leaving behind a trail of gasoline smell.
As he glanced over his shoulder, checking if his husband was still standing there, Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help but smile and tease: “Brush your teeth and shave. Thoroughly. I’ll be waiting.”
He hadn’t seen anyone disappear into the bathroom as fast as Luo Binghe did, already unzipping his armored suit. The sight made Shen Qingqiu want to laugh, but he swallowed the urge, only allowing a toothy smile appear on his face. He pressed the back of the hand to his hot cheek.
This - charming, beautiful, lovely Luo Binghe brightening his days - felt much better.
He stuck his head in the closet and rummaged around, going purely by hazy memory. It was long since he used a cup set - it was offensively fancy, but, since it was another gift, he thought that it would suit the occasion.
And no, Shen Qingqiu thought, it wasn’t something to be called an “occasion”. However, if he had to use them sometime, it could as well be now.
Shen Qingqiu spotted the right box on the high shelf and carefully pulled it down, one hand over the mahogany lid. On the way back to the table he unlatched the lock and, after moving plates with snacks to the side, put two cups on the table. The black gloss shined and, under the soft blue lights, ghostly holographic butterflies fluttered in flight, trapped on the curved surface. Luo Binghe, as expected, had a sophisticated taste when it came to presents: only best was dragged back to be presented.
Seating himself cross-legged on the floor pillow, Shen Qingqiu didn't hurry to open the bottle. He lazily turned it around, watching the light get caught on the bumpy ornament. With his diet, he couldn't try many beverages but this one didn't seem too heavy on the tongue.
Just as Shen Qingqiu was about to snatch a jelly bite from the plate, the door of the shower flew open. Luo Binghe, practically glowing, with damp black hair plastered to his forehead, marched over, dragged the floor pillow closer and dropped to his knees. Long warm fingers sneaked to cup under the back of Shen Qingqiu's head, and the next moment, he was kissed.
Mouth-numbing powdery mint and honey cough drops; opening his mouth under the persistent press of a tongue, Shen Qingqiu wondered if Luo Binghe ate the dentifrice straight out of the jar.
He caught wrists tugging his head up and guided them to his neck, softly, gently, cutting the erratic tempo in half. Luo Binghe's chest rumbled in one of his needy purrs, puffs of breath coming out in rare low whines. Sharp needles pulled at Shen Qingiu's lower lip, biting but not piercing, and he tilted his chin up, stomach jumping from the tickle of wet locks on his cheekbones.
It always felt like Luo Binghe was eating him alive. With his long slick tongue, inhuman strength and red hypnotizing eyes, he went too far, pushed too much, inexperienced but painfully desperate to taste. Shen Qingqiu let himself be bent, twisted, folded, invaded - completely pliable and patient with a child who didn't know better. In modern standards of his past life, he could consider himself a saint.
Thumbs gently massaged the skin behind his ears, and Shen Qingqiu for a moment forgot that he had to breathe.
Well, the protagonist's talents in everything still did some good for him.
One last drag of a tongue and Luo Binghe's lips latched to the corner the open panting mouth in a light butterfly kiss as if half-heartedly apologizing. Slowly, he moved further: cheeks, the point of the nose, the corner of the eye, brows, and forehead.
"Shizun," he whispered in each peck, "Shizun, Shizun, is this good? Shizun? Are you listening?"
"Don't call me that," grumbled Shen Qingqiu out of habit, melting at the sweet caress behind his ears. How laughable it was that his brain was steadily turning into mush, almost reflexively, after a simple touch. In a bout of petty resistance, he pinched the back of the gentle hand. Luo Binghe smiled with a power of trillion stars. "Scoundrel."
“Apologies,” the man said. He sat back on his heels, catching Shen Qingqiu’s palm and kissing it - more of a posed joke, hiding an overwhelming devotion. “This husband got carried away.”
Curling fingers around Luo Binghe’s smooth warm cheek, Shen Qingqiu scrunched his nose and sighed. Now the man was acting cheeky, asking for pats! He sometimes believed that the protagonist, despite becoming one of the most fearsome and respected figures in the galaxy, didn’t grow up even for a year: still as sticky, spoiled and radiant as ever.
The fleeting memory of figure leaning in the cryogenic chamber in the silence of the ancient temple didn’t feel real.
Cups clinked. Wet curly locks brushed against the pale bird-boned hand. “Shall we?”
Narrowing his eyes at the second willful peck, Shen Qingqiu nodded and retracted his hand to bring the set closer. Luo Binghe didn’t press on and instead settled with seating himself cross-legged in half-turn, knee flush to his thigh, uncorking the bottle with a pop.
The first shot went down well.
Albeou Gaishyo tasted like sugar and barberry put through a round of caramelization. Shen Qingqiu swirled it his mouth, trying to discern other notes, but came up with nothing. It was sweet, it had some spirit to it - he could see himself drinking it again but without fanaticism.
Luo Binghe put the cup down and leaned in, elbow slipping on the low table as he looked up at him.
“What?” softly said Shen Qingqiu.
“How is it? Do you like it?”
He hummed, running thumb on the black glossy edge. “Not bad.”
Luo Binghe’s lips parted in the sliver of an adorable smile, revealing rows of sharp teeth. Maybe it was his infectious nature, or alcohol quickly muddling his head with courtesy of Without A Cure, but Shen Qingqiu couldn’t stop himself from giving him a head pat. In the way the man - six feet tall (and still growing) alien of an ancient extinct race - caved into his touch, eyes closing in comfortable bliss, he discerned that it was the right move.
They stayed like that for a moment. Then Shen Qingqiu got tired of monotonous petting and asked about Luo Binghe’s whereabouts. The talk started anew: their voices stayed hushed, unhurried, in tact to the stray droplets falling in the corner. The hour surely had fallen over midnight. The complete silence of the palace was calming - a bubble of intimate laughter and hums.
One shot, another, and soon Shen Qingqiu noticed his eyes closing on their own. He put down his drink and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Shizun?” Luo Binghe whispered worriedly, supportive hand clasping his shoulder.
“I’m drunk,” he grumbled honestly in disappointment. The stuff wasn’t even that heavy! If he was in his original body, he could’ve drunk the whole bottle!
“Shizun had already tried plenty,” Luo Binghe said and pushed the cup away, replacing it with a plate of snacks. “We should stop for today. I will clean up.”
Words tangled in Shen Qingqiu’s head, changing implications and making him frown. He grabbed other’s wrist a bit clumsily but effectively, stopping the man on his tracks.
“Wait.”
“Shizun?” Luo Binghe called, obediently lowering back to kneel by his side. Shen Qingqiu turned away for a second, skimming through plates, cups and smooth of the table, and blinked in a tired daze.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he uttered, looking at Luo Binghe’s hand clasping the edge of the table. “Stay longer.”
A pause befell in the space between them. Noticing the lack of answer, he looked up to see the man staring at him slack-jawed. That was a rare expression. It appeared only when Luo Binghe didn’t expect his husband to go to extreme lengths for their relationship or when he was scared out of his wits. Shen Qingqiu’s thoughts clicked, processing what he said--
When brakes finally kicked in, Shen Qingqiu mentally shrieked, dropping other’s wrist as if it was set on fire. He cautiously glanced at the shocked Luo Binghe, cheeks set ablaze, and leaned away, pressing a palm to his lips - in case anything else embarrassing decided to fall out of his mouth.
It was alcohol’s fault. It was all alcohol’s fault! He was never drinking again!
“Shizun,” called Luo Binghe from the side. There was a tug on his sleeve, and Shen Qingqiu squeezed his eyes shut. He knew where this was going. “Shizun?”
Stepping on the same rake - whining tearful voice full of plea - he grumbled in the sign that he was listening.
“I didn’t quite hear it,” Luo Binghe said. His fingers slipped under the sleeve of the night robe, curling around the forearm in a feather-light touch. “Can you repeat it again?”
Shen Qingqiu side-eyed him with a frown. Luo Binghe blinked in an innocent fashion, metaphorical ears pressed to the top of his head. The governor felt his brows twitch.
‘You heard it perfectly well!’
“No,” he declined, leaning further away with no care for his balance. Before he could sprawl on the floor, an arm sneaked under his waist, bringing with it tones of mint and honey.
“Please, once more.”
“No way.”
“Shizun, please.”
“Stop.”
“Shizun.”
Shen Qingqiu jerked, looking up at the sound of real sorrow tinging low voice. Luo Binghe’s expression was sour, eyes swirling with dim glow, as he stared down at him shrouded in shadow. The collar of his robe slipped low, revealing a rectangular patch of mangled skin and embedded steel knobs on his heck. A splitting image of raw despair, clothed in imitated human skin. There were tears hanging on his lashes.
Shen Qingqiu lifted himself up and, holding a stable hand to the back of his head, let him press into his shoulder. “What are you crying for?”
“... I don’t want to leave your side ever again,” he said. His shoulders tensed, holding the shiver in. “I missed you. Very, very much. Did Shizun… Did you miss me too?”
Shen Qingqiu carefully combed through his damp hair and pressed his lips to the hot temple. What a crybaby.
“Yeah.”