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Hunting with Jiang Cheng is a rare pleasure for Nie Mingjue to indulge in. Days spent together, away from the tense niceties of sect politics, away from Xichen’s softly worried gaze and Jin Guangyao’s hollow feeling replica of said concern. Mingjue’s been feeling suffocated, cloistered and cornered, and he’s not helped by the way his qi crackles and bites in his veins with every swing of Baxia. Qi deviation has always been supposed to be the realm of older sect members. His father had been twice this age and he’d succumbed to injury before he could deviate, so Mingjue doesn’t know why it’s gone like this. He was supposed to have more time. Every moment he spends with his sect reminds him that he’s running out. Jiang Cheng doesn’t know though. Jiang Cheng still lets out barks of rough laughter and offers him sweet smelling Yunmeng wine and rare smiles free of worry or expectation. With Jiang Cheng, it feels normal. Feels almost like he’s as young as he is. As they are. Oh the other man has his own worries, a toddler that he worries after and spoils and looks at sometimes with the saddest gaze, when he thinks Mingjue isn’t paying attention. But Mingjue likes to think that he helps the other man to be as young as he is as well. Drags him out to hunt prey too strong for the disciples who would go otherwise, and to get them both away.
The thing is, Nie Mingjue isn’t always careful. He’s powerful, a force of nature, and with Jiang Cheng at his back, he feels invincible. The beasts they were hunting this time though, were stronger than expected, and Mingjue is more unfocused than expected, so much that he scarcely registers the claws that dig into his midsection, goring and tearing, and he brings Baxia down on it’s skull before collapsing to his knees. Jiang Cheng kills it, he registers, the purple crackle of Zidian and sing of his elegant swordwork making the air around Mingjue crackle and blow. He tries to circulate his Qi but- but it hasn’t been working like he wanted to, these past months. Has been more prone to destroy him than heal, and he can’t close the wounds. It’s left to Jiang Cheng, to pull him to his feet, to ask terse questions and support his weight, drag him onto Sandu and shoot off towards a healer, leaving his blood mingling with the gore of felled beasts in their wake. It’s quiet between them, as it often is, although there’s a certain terseness that isn’t normally there, until his wounds are patched up and padded with thick cotton, and Cheng deposits Mingjue back in his bed, in the sect leaders chambers.
“What,” Jiang Cheng begins, kneeling on his bed next to Mingjue, a snarl in his voice, “Was that?” His face reads anger, and he plants one hand on Mingjue’s shoulder to glare at him, but it’s gentle enough to see the worry and care there, and in that moment Nie Mingjue can’t stand it. He doesn’t want this from Jiang Cheng. He does not need yet another person he loves looking at him as if he’s already dead.
“That was reckless. That was stupid. And why the hell aren’t you healing right?” Jiang Cheng continues, tone rising in ire. It hurts, this worry, this being treated like he’s something delicate.
“I’m fine,” Nie Mingjue snarls back, because he’s angry. Because lately he’s been so, so angry, angry at the worry, at his own traitorous sword and qi, at the simple fact that there are so many things he cannot change. Jiang Cheng reels back at the tone, at the returned aggression, and his gaze sparks with hot, real anger.
“You are not,” Jiang Cheng says, shoving Mingjue for emphasis. “You are bleeding on my sheets, you are angry, your Qi is a mess. Now tell me why the fuck you’re being so… wrong before I kick you out of my damn sect,” Jiang Cheng replies. His voice cracks, real devastation creeping into his voice with a crack, and the rage leaves Mingjue as fast as it’d come. Because this is Jiang Cheng, who speaks in the language of snark and anger to hide his hurt. Who lost family member after family member, the last at his own hands. Mingjue reaches up, covers Jiang Cheng’s hand with his own, and watches his shoulders sag instantly. Sees Jiang Cheng wilt forward, until their bodies almost touch, but he’s all too careful not to put any pressure on Mingjue’s battered frame.
“I’ve… been stressed, of late,” he begins. “It’s been affecting my cultivation, but it’ll pass.” He speaks almost delicately, and he wonders if Jiang Cheng will press. Will realize he’s leaving a lot out. It’s uncommon for him, to lie, to exclude, to use trickery, especially on someone he loves. But he’d done the same to Huaisang, for as long as he could, until he couldn’t ignore it anymore. But Jiang Cheng doesn’t need to know yet. Not tonight. Jiang Cheng hesitates, but accepts it, because why wouldn’t he? Because Mingjue feels dirty and cruel for the lie, because Mingjue doesn’t lie to Jiang Cheng.
“Dumbass,” Jiang Cheng sighs in defeat, and he presses closer still, enough that he can rest his forehead on Mingjue’s shoulder, and Mingjue can feel the warm line of the other’s lean body against his. “Why did you want to go hunting then?” Jiang Cheng asks. Mingjue snorts, and covers the exposed nape of Jiang Cheng’s neck with his hand. His hair is still tied up, and the skin is slightly cool from the night air.
“You help me to relax,” he says truthfully, thumb mapping the distance between Jiang Cheng’s collar and jaw, as he shifts, so that Mingjue can feel breath on his neck.
“You could have suggested a relaxation method that didn’t risk your midsection being torn open,” Jiang Cheng says wryly, sitting back up to glare at Mingjue halfheartedly. It’s such a familiar look, no real heat behind it, more out of habit than anything. Jiang Cheng feels a lot of the same restlessness that he does, the same feeling of burning energy under their skin, a need to be able to act, to change things and improve things in a way that the confines of politics don’t truly allow.
“And what methods can you think of?” Mingjue asks, with a hint of a wolfish grin that suggests, that in other situations can make Jiang Cheng fluster and pink. In this case, he stares incredulously, and flushes just slightly, smacking Mingjue on the chest.
“If you wanted that you shouldn’t have gone and had your midsection torn open,” huffs Jiang cheng, brows crinkling in indignance. The pain and near constant discomfort Mingjue feels is briefly interrupted by a rush of affection at the sheer familiarity. The normalcy of this harmless, feigned irritation. So he presses forward, and kisses Jiang Cheng, ignoring the flare of pain in his aching body.
“Stop that,” mumbles Jiang Cheng, but he pushes Mingjue down gently, and presses forward to kiss him again anyways. Even with everything happening, and even with the pain, this trip was certainly worth it.