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Jiang Cheng pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales sharply. He opens his mouth to speak, but the whole thing is so fucking … weird … and he needs another minute. Nie Huaisang is, of course, wholly unbothered by it. He sits on the fallen, moss-covered log as though he were comfortably lounging on their sofa at home, one leg crossed over the other, the picture of ease. Jiang Cheng, on the other hand, paces, dead leaves crunching underfoot.
Jiang Cheng rubs his face. “Why do we have to switch clothes, though?”
Huaisang clasps his hands over his knee. “I’m sure we could come up with another solution if we had time, but given that we are out of talismans and spirit nets, and that da-ge and Xichen-ge are in Qinghe, and Wangji and Wuxian are watching the sprouts, this is the most expedient method. The demon tracks its prey by smell, like a bloodhound. And it’s fixated on you, my love, because someone had to go in without backup — again — and let the thing imprint on him. So, unless you’d like to go roll around in that dirty pond, which I do not recommend because I see that you’ve managed to scrape up your arm and I don’t want it to get infected, this is what we have to work with.”
Jiang Cheng sighs. “Do we have to swap underpants?”
Huaisang’s jaw drops. “Jiang Wanyin, not six hours ago, you literally had your tongue in my—“
“Alright, alright, you don’t have to be so loud!”
“We are alone, A-Cheng! Just us and a monster! What has gotten into you?”
Jiang Cheng gestures at Huaisang. “You are beautiful, and I love you, and you’re amazing, and I—“ He gestures to his own body.
Huaisang springs up and pulls Jiang Cheng to him. “Is that what this is about?” He raises up on tiptoe to kiss Jiang Cheng’s forehead. “I want to talk about this, as soon as we get home, alright?” He kisses Jiang Cheng’s cheeks and eyelids. “But we do need to get home safely, okay?”
Jiang Cheng wraps his arms around Huaisang and rubs his cheek against the crook of Huaisang’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his beloved. “Okay,” he mutters.
“Okay.” Huaisang squeezes him tightly once more. “And no, we don’t have to swap underpants. Shirt and trousers should be fine.” He laughs. “I am so glad I changed out of those harem pants, although you would look so cute in them.” He pinches Jiang Cheng’s cheek. “Okay, quick now, take off your sweater and jeans. Keep your clown shoes.”
The temperature has dropped a good fifteen degrees as the sun set behind the mountain, so they make quick work of the swap. Jiang Cheng’s charcoal gray knit sweater and roughened jeans, roomy on Jiang Cheng, hang off Huaisang’s frame. Thankfully, Jiang Cheng needed a belt with these jeans, so Huaisang cinches it tight. The sweater slips down Huaisang’s shoulder, exposing a tantalizing expanse of collarbone. Huaisang smirks when he catches Jiang Cheng’s hungry gaze.
“Later,” he says.
“Yeah, right, okay.”
Jiang Cheng is thankful that Huaisang has chosen one of his more sedate outfits to wear into the field. He doesn’t miss Huaisang’s own lingering stare as he pulls the black crop top over his head. It stretches across Jiang Cheng’s pecs and exposes about a mile of bare skin of his torso. Jiang Cheng gives the top a hard tug and winces when he hears stitches pop. “I’m going to have to buy you a new shirt,” he says, his face hot.
“Worth it,” Huaisang replies.
The pine green dungarees fit close, skimming Jiang Cheng’s ass and hugging his hips and thighs. There is enough room that he isn’t worried his movements will be restricted if he has to stop and fight, but they are much tighter than is comfortable. Huaisang wears them with the legs cuffed to show off his scuffed black Docs. On Jiang Cheng, they look like the trousers he wore the summer before he turned fourteen and grew seven inches. When he extends the straps as far as they can go, he is able to fasten the bib of the dungarees and not feel like he is strapped into a harness.
Huaisang tugs the straps until Jiang Cheng bends forward for a kiss.
“We just have to get to the Jeep, and then we can go home, okay? As soon as we’re in the car, I’ll call Zixuan. He can get one of his siblings and a few Jin juniors to take care of things here. We don’t even have to stay and wait for them.”
“I love you,” Jiang Cheng says.
“I love you, too.” He kisses Jiang Cheng once more. “So, you break right, skirt the lake. If this doesn’t work, you get into that water. Try and keep your arm dry. I’ll go left, toward the service road.”
“I don’t like this. I don’t like splitting up.”
“I know, A-Cheng, I know. But that thing can only chase one of us. If you get to the Jeep before me, you wait twenty minutes, thirty tops, before you go for help. I’ll do the same.”
Jiang Cheng slips Zidian from his finger and slides it onto Huaisang’s index finger. There’s a frisson of electricity as Zidian adjusts to Huaisang’s core, but she settles almost immediately, recognizing Huaisang as a trusted carrier. Jiang Cheng kisses the ring.
“A-Cheng—“
“No arguing on this,” Jiang Cheng interrupts. “If there is even a chance that thing will come after you, since you’ve got my scent, I need to know you’ll have as much backup as I can give you.” He retrieves Sandu, which leans against the fallen tree. “I’ve got this. I’ll be good.”
Huaisang draws a sharp breath. “You better be, or I will kick your ass.”
Jiang Cheng is about to steal another kiss, but something rustles in the brush behind them, and a branch snaps like a gunshot.
“Understood.” He adjusts his grip on his sword. “On the count of three?”
“On the count of three.”