Work Text:
The demons had come out of nowhere, sweeping through Cang Qiong in endless waves of destruction. It had taken days to fight them off, as disciples dropped like flies and the few Peak Lords left tried desperately to hold out, hoping for backup to arrive.
And backup did arrive, in the form of Liu Qingge and the rest of the Peak Lords, back from an ill-timed conference, just in time to see Shen Qingqiu suffer an unfortunate (and hellishly predictable) relapse of the Without-A-Cure poison, and subsequently get run through by a lowly cannon fodder demon he should have had no trouble dealing with.
It was… embarrassing, to say the least, but on the upside, Liu-shidi had turned the rest of the invading demon army into so many colourful smears on the mountainside almost before he had hit the ground.
All that was left now was the aftermath, and the copious amounts of wounded disciples (and one particularly unlucky Peak Lord). Which was where everyone else’s work ended, and Mu Qingfang’s began - the poor man, alongside what was left of his disciples, had been tending ceaselessly to the wounded for days.
The rest of the Sect’s disciples - those that weren’t scattered around Qian Cao on makeshift beds - were put to work as assistants, when they weren’t helping to clear and rebuild their own peaks, but even that wasn’t enough. Cultivators, strictly speaking, didn’t need a lot of sleep, but they still needed to rest every once in a while - and Mu Qingfang seemed to be rapidly approaching that limit.
Shen Qingqiu watched him from the small bed he was crammed onto in Mu Qingfang’s office area. It had been a week already, and despite how things had slowed down some since the initial attack, Mu Qingfang still sported heavy eyebags and a perpetual air of stress.
“...Perhaps Mu-shidi should have a nap,” Shen Qingqiu said, after watching Mu Qingfang come precariously close to nodding off for what was maybe the seventh time in the space of an hour.
“Unnecessary,” Mu Qingfang said, smothering a yawn. “Cultivators can go without sleep for up to a week with no ill effects.”
“It’s already been a week, Mu-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu said, flatly. “Sleep.”
Mu Qingfang brushed him off with a dismissive flick of his fingers. “We are almost in the clear, Shen-shixiong. In a day or so, perhaps I will find a nice patch of grass somewhere and nap, but right now, there are still disciples who need monitoring.”
“I’m sure your disciples can function on their own for a few hours,” Shen Qingqiu said, and then: “What do you mean, ‘a nice patch of grass’?”
Mu Qingfang pulled another scroll off the pile that towered over his desk, threatening to collapse it.
“Well, the beds are all taken,” he said, squinting at it blearily.
Shen Qingqiu stared at him. “Mu-shidi,” he said. “...Is this your bed?”
Why on earth was it in his office, and being used as a patient bed on top of that? Had no-one ever told him about work-life balance?
...And why was it so small?
Shen Qingqiu struggled upright, sending blankets spilling onto the floor, and Mu Qingfang’s head snapped up so fast Shen Qingqiu worried for his spine.
“Back in bed, please,” he said. “A stab wound to the gut is no laughing matter; please do not aggravate the injury.”
Shen Qingqiu huffed. “Mu-shidi would have me take his bed, when he is so clearly in need of rest? No. There is plenty of space back on Qing Jing. I will recuperate there.”
Mu Qingfang tsked. “Shen-shixiong,” he said. “You were skewered. Lie back down before you open the wound.”
Shen Qingqiu scowled at him. Really! Why were all the Peak Lords so stubborn? Mu Qingfang could barely focus on him, he was so tired! He couldn’t even look at Shen Qingqiu! His head was probably too heavy to look anywhere but down at his paperwork!
“Fine,” he snapped. “But Mu-shidi will have to join me.”
That was… probably a bad idea, Shen Qingqiu could admit, especially given how small the bed was - was it a single? It was tiny! And Mu-shidi wasn’t a small man, either! What kind of racket was Airplane running! - but if it got Mu Qingfang to take some much-needed rest (and, coincidentally, prevented him from making the kind of life-threatening medical mistakes he’d heard horror stories about in the news, before he’d died), then Shen Qingqiu would gladly squeeze himself and his painful new asshole into the corner of a tiny, shitty cot with Dr. Dreamy.
Which - the Dr. Dreamy thing was a joke, of course, just a little inside joke with himself within the privacy of his own mind because he wasn’t blind and even a rock could probably tell that Mu Qingfang was hot. But it was just a silly little jokey nickname. Ha ha.
This was not going to backfire on him at all, ever, because, hot doctor jokes aside, he was as straight as a ruler.
Mu Qingfang cleared his throat awkwardly - a little more than awkwardly, actually: in fact, he sounded a little like he was choking on his own spit - and said, “That- that won’t be necessary. But thank you for offering.”
Shen Qingqiu met his eyes and said, with as much snappiness as he could muster up (which was a lot, given that he’d been in a cramped hospital bed with a gut wound for a week): “If Mu-shidi wants me to stay in bed and recuperate, then he will have to join me.”
And then he winced inwardly, because that sounded like the start to a really bad porno.
Mu Qingfang made an odd, wheezing noise - which was probably a stifled laugh, because honestly, Shen Qingqiu would have laughed at that, too - and said, “Er, well, if Shen-shixiong insists.”
“He does,” Shen Qingqiu said, and stared Mu Qingfang down until he put his scrolls away and joined him on the bed, both of them shifting around to make room on the tiny cot.
Shen Qingqiu, almost entirely motivated by spite - almost, because although he would never admit it, the part of his brain who insisted on referring to Mu Qingfang as Dr. Dreamy had a little more control over his actions than he liked to think - turned on his side and slung an arm over Mu Qingfang’s shoulders, clinging to him like an octopus in case the stupid, stubborn man tried to slip out and return to his work once Shen Qingqiu drifted off to sleep.
He ignored Mu Qingfang’s sudden, sharp intake of breath, and closed his eyes, slipping back into sleep almost immediately.
Really, if the man was so upset over sharing a bed with him, he should have just let Shen Qingqiu go and recuperate back on Qing Jing, instead of continuing to hog his bed.
The last thing Shen Qingqiu registered before he fell asleep was a careful hand carding through his hair, and the gentle pressure of lips against his forehead.
(The first thing he registered when he woke up several hours later was that Mu Qingfang was still in the bed.
The second thing he registered was that he was harder than diamonds.
The third thing he registered was that he was going to die of embarrassment far, far earlier than the original plot of Proud Immortal Demon Way dictated, because Mu Qingfang was awake and had definitely noticed it.)