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Wen Kexing wakes up with two things: a pounding headache, and a stomach full of guilt. The headache – the result of his rather excessive drinking the previous night – is fairly easy to solve. The guilt, however, will be more difficult. He feels it like a weight on his chest, and it only worsens when he opens his eyes and sees A-Xu lying next to him, holding tightly onto Wen Kexing’s arm in his sleep. Like Wen Kexing might float away. Or die, again.
He looks at A-Xu’s face, and feels a little like he’s looking at the full moon on a clear night. It shouldn’t be real, he shouldn’t be allowed to examine A-Xu so closely. The soft plumpness of his lips, the delicate cheekbones. Wen Kexing wants to touch, always wants to touch. But he doesn’t. There’s a line in place that he will not cross, not when A-Xu is asleep. It would not be right to drink in A-Xu’s warmth and beauty with the touch of his fingers without him knowing. Wen Kexing worries his dirty hands will stain A-Xu’s radiant beauty.
So, he looks instead. Looking is allowed. Touching is often allowed, too, but he doesn’t push his luck. He crosses that tentative boundary only when A-Xu seems most receptive. He puts up with Wen Kexing’s teasing and flirting good-naturedly, but he doesn’t often reciprocate. A-Xu isn’t like that. He is a man of action rather than words.
And Wen Kexing can still feel the sensation of A-Xu’s hand on his head, cradling him close to his chest, from last night. It feels like he’s been blessed, and it’s such a crying shame that he’d been so out of it that he can’t remember it clearly. Just the feeling, the light pressure like a shadow left behind. He doesn’t quite remember all he’d said in his drunken ramblings; only that he spoke honestly, and that A-Xu held him afterwards. Of course, it is only when Wen Kexing is drunk that he’s quite so forward. He loses his inhibitions, and once he’s had a few shots of liquor he can’t keep his love for A-Xu contained in his chest anymore.
Not that he’s very good at that when sober either.
He thinks he might need to cry. Because A-Xu looks well. Really well, actually. All things considered. There’s colour in his cheeks and a shine to his hair that Wen Kexing hasn’t seen in months. The day before, he’d looked pale and shaken – and angry. This morning, even asleep, he looks so vital and alive.
It doesn’t make Wen Kexing feel any better.
Actually, it makes him feel a little worse. Remembering the hollowness in A-Xu’s eyes he had seen the day before. Then, later, the disbelief, the despair. The anger. Betrayal.
He extracts himself from A-Xu’s grip and slides out of their narrow bed. Suddenly, he feels cold. Without A-Xu’s heat against his skin he feels like he’s naked in a winter storm. But he cannot bear it. He cannot bear to be so close any longer, not when the guilt feels like knives in his stomach.
Stupid, he admonishes himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
It had all gone extraordinarily well, his little scheme. But he did not feel any pride in it anymore. There is nobody here to praise his cleverness and admire his wits, with all the rest of his co-conspirators sleeping soundly somewhere else in Jing Beiyuan’s mansion.
He doesn’t know what he had expected. He knows what he’d hoped for, of course. That A-Xu would be impressed at his cunning. That A-Xu would be relieved and gleeful to see him again after those long few days. He had thought, perhaps foolishly, that A-Xu might react as A-Xiang had. She’d bounced up to him as soon as they were out of the Heroes Conference and punched him in the arm before grabbing onto it and bouncing like a child. She’d scolded him, of course, for making her cry – and he did feel bad for that, he hadn’t wanted to hurt her – and he had apologised and pinched her cheeks, and all was well once more.
But A-Xu is not Gu Xiang. A-Xiang is young and adaptable, and she was raised in the Ghost Valley, just like Wen Kexing. She’s familiar with such schemes and plots, and has seen him perform enough atrocities that nothing he can do will surprise her. She has seen her fair share of death, but she takes each moment as it comes and thrives within it. He’s seen A-Xiang bounce back from a number of horrors with a smile on her face.
A-Xu is different. Wen Kexing had known A-Xu would be saddened by his supposed death – that much was a given. But what he had not expected was that his death could cause quite that much pain, and that such pain could not be easily forgiven.
Not telling A-Xu had made sense at the time, what with Da Wu’s repeated reminders that A-Xu needed rest and freedom from stress. Foresight has never been Wen Kexing’s strong point, he always misses something. His reasons for keeping his soulmate in the dark had made sense at the time, as he plotted and schemed, but now those same reasons seem weak and fragile. They had evaporated into thin air the moment he saw A-Xu’s face again. The moment he understood just what he had done to him.
He feels stupid. Foolish. Why wouldn’t A-Xu be distraught? And how could he possibly forgive Wen Kexing for putting him through that? How would Wen Kexing have felt if their situations were reversed? He would have burned cities to the ground in his grief.
These are all things he wishes he’d considered a week ago. But he’s a selfish man. He was too caught up in his maniacal little games to consider anything other than A-Xu isn’t well and A-Xu will not approve.
Obviously. Obviously, A-Xu was not well. And obviously his scheme would do nothing to help that. Wen Kexing’s death would do nothing to help that.
As for A-Xu not approving, well, that seemed like a weak argument in hindsight. He could disapprove all he liked, but he would not have stopped Wen Kexing. Would not have seized from him the chance to avenge his family.
He had not given A-Xu enough credit. He had hurt him gravely – cruelly. He had broken A-Xu’s trust by leaving him out of the intricacies of his plot, so eager was he for A-Xu’s praise at the end of it. He had not gotten it. He is a fool for ever thinking he could.
Last night he was relieved, relieved to see A-Xu smile as he handed him the jar of liquor, relieved to think for a moment that he might be so easily forgiven.
But he’s not a complete idiot. He knows it is not that easy. It is never that easy, and the guilt that throbs like a loud drumbeat in his chest reminds him that he does not deserve for it to be that easy.
He appreciates the gesture. A-Xu allowed him to save face in front of their guests. Having them witness his punishment would be shameful. Most of them had been party to his plan. But it is Wen Kexing that is guiltiest. It is he who caused A-Xu pain. And it is he who must pay for it.
For A-Xu to forgive him, wholly and completely, he will do anything.
So, he sets about making himself presentable. He combs and reties his hair, washes his face, and straightens his clothes. He lights some incense.
When he is ready, he kneels in the centre of the room. And waits.
While he waits, he thinks. It hurts. The more he lingers on the memories of A-Xu’s face, the hollower his victory becomes. Yes, he’s avenged his parents. And it has cost him. He does not know that he would do anything differently in that regard – he would still do anything it took for his revenge. But, perhaps, he could’ve been smarter. Less selfish. He hopes he’ll get the chance to make it right. Properly.
The thoughts spin around in his head. All the mistakes, all the moments he should’ve considered A-Xu’s feelings.
A-Xu’s grief. A-Xu seeing Wen Kexing’s body burn. How could he not have considered that A-Xu would try to retrieve his body? Such a stupid oversight. And then making A-Xu watch as Chengling killed him. Especially frustrating because Chengling had questioned him. Are you sure we shouldn’t tell shifu? And Wen Kexing had dismissed his concerns. That little brat is smarter than Wen Kexing has ever given him credit for, and that’s why he makes such a good disciple.
A better one than Wen Kexing has ever been, at least.
He’s not ashamed to admit he has plenty to learn from Chengling. He’s barely more than a child, yet his sensitive temperament means he sees the world in a way that Wen Kexing’s calculating mind cannot easily comprehend. And A-Xu is proud of him, it’s easy to see. Wen Kexing wants A-Xu to be proud of him, too.
Abruptly, he hears A-Xu move. Freezes. He holds himself as still as he can, barely breathing, back ramrod straight, as A-Xu yawns. He keeps his eyes on the ground, not daring to look. He’s familiar with the sleepy haze that often clouds A-Xu’s eyes in the morning, the alluring disarray of his hair and the flush of his cheeks. He cannot look at those things right now. He will lose whatever willpower he is clinging onto if he does. “Lao Wen?”
Wen Kexing doesn’t respond. Much to his surprise, he feels his eyes begin to grow wet. He rapidly blinks the moisture away. Perhaps it’s the concern in A-Xu’s voice, more prominent even than his confusion. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that his reckoning is approaching more quickly now that A-Xu is awake.
A-Xu is silent for a moment. He’s as still as the dawn at the first snow. Then, he sighs. “Lao Wen,” he says gently. As if Wen Kexing is a timid animal who might scamper away at any moment. He is not. There is nothing that could send him from this spot. Even if the sky fell and the ground erupted, he would remain here on his knees. “What are you doing?”
Wen Kexing’s throat suddenly feels dry. “Shixiong.” He flinches at himself. It sounds so insincere to his ears, and he dreads the thought that A-Xu might think he is teasing. He does not look up, even when A-Xu stands and walks towards him. He does not move. It takes concentration to keep himself still. He is so used to ebbing like the tides, always in motion, especially around A-Xu, where he does not have to pretend to be apathetic. A part of him feels raw, like his chest has been ripped open and his heart and lungs are laid out on the floor between them. He hopes A-Xu will be gentle with them. He knows he would not deserve it. “Please allow me to earn your forgiveness. I will accept whatever punishment you deem necessary.”
Silence, again. Wen Kexing can almost hear the cogs turning in A-Xu’s mind. He desperately wants to glance up at A-Xu’s face, but he does not. He keeps his eyes firmly trained on the hem of A-Xu’s robe. He wants so badly to know what A-Xu is thinking, what he will do. But that is not how this works. He cannot demand things now – that is the whole point. He is offering the most secret part of himself, all his guilt and shame and painful indignity, and hoping that A-Xu will fix it.
“Stand up,” A-Xu says eventually. His tone is commanding but not unkind, it brokers no possibility of disobedience but is nonetheless still laced with affection. When Wen Kexing begins to get to his feet, A-Xu grabs him by the elbows to guide him upwards. As if he needs the help. As if he’ll fall without A-Xu holding onto him. Wen Kexing isn’t sure – perhaps he will. Perhaps A-Xu can see how fragile he feels. “Look at me.”
One hand under Wen Kexing’s chin, coaxing his head upwards. He would have obeyed, if given the chance, but he is grateful for A-Xu’s touch. The touch that reminds him that he is safe. A-Xu will not let him fall.
He meets A-Xu’s eyes. He doesn’t make any attempt to control his features. He does not hide the guilt he feels, nor the desperation. He has never been a man who needs forgiveness. He has torn people to pieces and done so gladly, little care for the consequences. Little care for who he has hurt. But hurting A-Xu is different. The knowledge that he has hurt his zhiji, his soulmate, it is more than his body can bear. It is only fair that he hurts in turn.
So, no, he does not hide his misery from A-Xu. There is no need for shame with him. Wen Kexing can lay his rotted soul bare without fear. A-Xu has already seen every ugly part of him and decided, for some strange reason, to keep him. Even after yesterday, even despite his anger and pain.
Wen Kexing is grateful for that. He wants to make it up to him. To make it even.
With A-Xu looking at him, examining him, it is easy to get lost. Staring into warm, honey brown eyes Wen Kexing feels a bubbling in his chest that he thinks might turn into a sob if he lets it. He sees, in A-Xu’s eyes, safety, consistency. Love. And how is that fair? How is it possible that A-Xu loves him? How can it be that A-Xu no longer seems angry, and only looks at him with the desire to protect and heal?
But he sees something else, too. He sees that A-Xu is searching. He is looking at Wen Kexing with care, his fingers gentle where they hold his chin, but his eyes are nonetheless firm and analytical. Like he is trying to understand something he sees. Wen Kexing does not know what he is looking for, if he finds it, or what it means, but he lets A-Xu look anyway.
“Alright,” A-Xu says. He places his hands on either side of Wen Kexing’s face and tugs him closer, presses their foreheads together. Wen Kexing feels dizzy, like he’s floating around untethered. Only A-Xu. He’s the only thing that can keep him grounded. “Just give me a minute. Will you be alright on your own for a little while?”
He wants to scoff and throw a teasing remark that he is perfectly capable of looking after himself, but he does not. It would not be honest, and he has made a vow to himself that for today, at least, he will be perfectly true in all he says. The fact that A-Xu even asks means that it is clearly evident on his face that there is a possibility he might not be alright.
So, he takes the question seriously. He thinks for a moment, and then nods. Mainly, because he cannot bear to walk through the mansion feeling as distraught and pitiful as he does, by A-Xu’s side while the other man retrieves an object to hit him with.
He would much rather stay here. Even if he knows he’ll feel a little unmoored.
A-Xu pats his face gently and gives him a small, warm smile. It makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. Wen Kexing wants to fall into those little chasms and live there. Perhaps if he thinks about those faint lines, he can forget what is to come.
A-Xu lets go slowly, tentatively. He offers Wen Kexing one more reassuring look before he shuts the door and leaves the room.
And, as he expected, Wen Kexing suddenly feels like a piece of rotting driftwood in a large, merciless ocean. He’s standing, alone, in the middle of their bedroom. And A-Xu hadn’t said where he was going, nor how long he would be. Wen Kexing has a good idea, of course, given what he’s got coming to him. But he has no idea what to expect when A-Xu returns. The thought does not panic him, although it does concern him slightly. But he knows that A-Xu is careful. A-Xu will only be fair.
It’s almost a surprise to him – although it shouldn’t be – how eager he is to follow where A-Xu guides him. How eager he is to please and impress him. How eager he is to be forgiven. Alone in their bedroom, the morning sunlight streaming softly through the windows, he finds that he does not know what to do. He has been a ruthless leader for so long and has never felt comfortable beneath somebody else’s rules and control. But the urge to obey is almost overwhelming. He tells himself that from now on, after A-Xu has disciplined him, he will be the most virtuous and obedient shidi the martial arts world has ever seen. He will not give A-Xu cause to do this again.
And A-Xu didn’t tell him he could move. So, he does not.
He knows that A-Xu is not needlessly cruel. He knows this likes he knows the scent of his skin and the cadence of his voice. But he cannot help but linger on the dark, worrisome thoughts. This is the merciless leader of Tian Chuang, after all. A-Xu has told Wen Kexing himself a number of the things he has done in the past, told him about torturing enemies for information and lodging the Nails of Seven Apertures into his own men while they screamed.
If A-Xu does not believe Wen Kexing is remorseful enough, he will ensure that he becomes so quickly. He knows he will cry, and perhaps he will scream as well, and he also knows that A-Xu will not begrudge him these things – he is not the old Valley Chief, after all – but Wen Kexing swears to himself that no matter what, he will not beg or plead for mercy.
Whatever A-Xu gives him, he will take. No matter how much it hurts.
It is barely five minutes before A-Xu returns. The first thing Wen Kexing notices is that his hands are empty. He carries no whip and the only notable difference in his demeanour is that he seems a little more composed. Wen Kexing is not sure whether he should be relieved by this, or more concerned.
“Sit,” A-Xu says. So, Wen Kexing sits on the bed without hesitation, and A-Xu does, too. He’s grateful when A-Xu throws an arm around him and starts rubbing his back. He leans into the touch; it feels like A-Xu is massaging his meridians from the inside out. It also feels like A-Xu is waiting for something, but Wen Kexing can’t tell what. Once again, he finds he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do. Then, A-Xu speaks. “Tell me what you need.”
He stays silent. Because the way A-Xu frames it confuses him for a moment. He hadn’t thought of what he needs much at all, but rather what he’d felt he deserves. But he supposes those things are interchangeable in a context like this, and when he thinks of the heaviness pooling in his stomach, he thinks that A-Xu knows him better than he knows himself. He does need this. He needs it like water. He needs the forgiveness, and he needs the pain that precedes it.
“I need you to say it,” A-Xu says. His voice is low and soft, and Wen Kexing’s eyes sting. The care and tenderness A-Xu offers him is like nothing he’s ever known before. He wants to drown in it. He wants to push it away until he can be clean enough to be worthy of it.
“A-Xu.” It comes out almost as a plea. With anybody else, he’d be ashamed of how pitiful and weak he sounds. But this is A-Xu. So, he is not. He thinks of the things he needs, and the things he must endure to earn them. “Punish me. Please,” he whispers.
He sees A-Xu nod from the corner of his eye. “Alright,” A-Xu says. He tenderly wraps his hand around Wen Kexing’s wrist and guides him down over his knee. He does not need to pull, Wen Kexing goes willingly. And he abruptly realises he has misread A-Xu’s intentions entirely, so caught up was he in his own expectations and his own previous experiences. He catches on quickly to what this position means. It may not be what he had expected, and it seems he will leave his punishment able to walk on his own and likely not bruised and bleeding. Which he’s grateful for. But this position lends itself to a whole different kind of pain.
Finding himself over A-Xu’s lap like this should embarrass him. But it does not. His cheeks are warm, but he thinks that has more to do with the way A-Xu is touching him, one hand rubbing circles on his back, the other petting his hair. It makes him feel precious. Soft touches of the kind he has never received in this way. A promise that he is safe under A-Xu’s care.
He does not protest when A-Xu lifts his robes up and lowers his trousers to his knees. If his blush deepens a little, he pretends it is the heat of the room.
When A-Xu places a hand on his bare thigh, Wen Kexing shudders. How long he has wished for A-Xu’s hands on his naked skin, how often he has imagined the touch of those fingers in his most delicate places. Much to his chagrin, he feels his heat begin to grow deep in his core.
“You will tell me if you want me to stop.” It is an order, but Wen Kexing nods anyway. He doesn’t think he could form words if he tried, but he wants to show A-Xu he is listening.
The first smack knocks the breath out of him. He barely has time to catch it before another one lands, lower. Sharper. Another three in quick succession and he’s panting. A-Xu’s hand is large and unexpectedly strong. And it hurts. It leaves a shallow sting that Wen Kexing knows will build to a deep burn if he continues at this pace.
A sixth smack has him gasping and gripping the bedsheets as he tries his best to stay still. The quickly growing fire in his backside makes him want to writhe, but he does not. He has taken far worse punishments as a much younger man with complete stoicism. Even if those hadn’t unleashed an aching in his throat, and he had never truly been particularly repentant, surely he can make it through a spanking with his dignity intact.
Yes, Wen Kexing has taken his fair share of beatings in his life, but this does not feel like one of them. It feels so remarkably different. Perhaps it is that he has never been in this particular position before. The old Valley Chief only ever hit his face or his back, and prior to that he’d been a good child. There had never been any need for his parents to discipline him. He is grateful for that. Perhaps a little perversely, he thinks. That this – whatever this is – is just for he and A-Xu. It feels sacred. Is it possible for something that hurts so much to feel this heavenly?
When the next smack hits him and tears come to his eyes, he knows that it is.
Despite the pain, he knows that this is not senseless violence. No matter how deserved his punishment may be, it is not cruel. A-Xu is careful and measured in the way he hits Wen Kexing. It hurts, and with each smack he feels more desolate than the last. More apologies waiting on his tongue for him to let them out. But he is biting down on his lower lip to keep himself from crying out, and to keep the litany of sorrowful words where they belong inside his chest.
No doubt A-Xu will coax them out eventually. A part of him wants him to. He wants A-Xu to reduce him to his basest parts and build him back up again. To mark his skin and heal it after. Because he knows that’s how it will go.
He knows that afterwards, A-Xu will forgive him.
He can feel it in the way A-Xu is gripping his hip, holding him firmly in place but stroking Wen Kexing’s skin delicately with his thumb. He can feel it in the way A-Xu stops after every ten or so smacks to examine his handiwork and massage Wen Kexing’s tender flesh.
Every time A-Xu pauses to caress his skin, he cannot contain the quivers that jolt through him. It’s confusing – the pleasant sensations all mingled together with the painful – and he thinks, under different circumstances, were he not so consumed by guilt and pain, he could potentially enjoy this. He is sensitive beneath A-Xu’s touch, and he feels that his whole body is vibrating with the heat of his skin.
And then A-Xu begins again, another flurry of quick smacks, sharp and loud, and he forgets his train of thought entirely.
All Wen Kexing can hear is his own pulse against his eardrums. A-Xu doesn’t say a word. He does not acknowledge Wen Kexing’s rapid breathing, his grunts and gasps of pain. He continues at a steady pace, meticulous and calculated. And in control. It makes Wen Kexing feel so secure. Safe, in a strange way. Even though it hurts, even though he feels wrung out and pitiful, he could not imagine a safer place than under A-Xu’s hands.
Suddenly, just when Wen Kexing thinks he might fall to pieces, A-Xu stops. “Lao Wen, why are we here?”
He breathes slowly, trying to gain control over his wet, shaky breathes. When A-Xu pinches his ass, prompting an undignified squeak from Wen Kexing that he will deny later, that he realises he is not being given the luxury of composing himself.
He resists the urge to say the first thoughts that come to his mind. Because I am stupid. And cruel. Because I am not worth the dust on your shoes. Those are not the words that A-Xu wants to hear, he knows. A-Xu does not want to be the cause of Wen Kexing’s misery.
“Because…because.” His voice sounds thick with unshed tears, and he can barely see through the mist of them. His muscles ache with the effort of keeping them inside. He wants to let them go. He needs to let them go. “I was wrong,” he says. “And I hurt you.” The reality of that fact comes crashing down around him even more severely that it had earlier this very morning. He feels like he has damaged something, broken some blessed oath that cannot be easily repaired. He has lost A-Xu’s trust, lost his respect. He is resoundingly grateful that it seems he has not yet lost his love. He wants to keep that forever. He will not make the same mistakes again.
He cannot contain his sorrow any longer and, without his consent, his tears overflow onto his cheeks and the sob he has been holding onto escapes at last. He cries loudly and unashamedly, like he never has in front of another person before. It feels sickeningly freeing to let his grief spill over knowing that A-Xu will not let him fall.
For a few quiet moments, A-Xu rests his cool hand on the crest of his ass and rubs gently. Wen Kexing cannot tell if the pressure worsens the pain or alleviates it. Either way, he does not want A-Xu to stop.
“Good,” A-Xu says. Gods, how he wants to hear A-Xu’s words of praise again. “Just a few more.”
Wen Kexing cannot tell how many more times A-Xu hits him, the sensation just one blossoming mass of pain. But the final blows tear down the last of his resolve, the last of his pride. They come quickly and sharply, pushing more tears from his eyes. He tries to catch the words on his tongue, but he cannot find them. His throat is too thick with all the tears he has left to cry. So, he stops trying. He lets them flow.
When A-Xu is done, Wen Kexing barely notices. The stinging smacks are replaced with soft caresses on his ass, his thighs, his back. He somehow feels both hollow and full at the same time, so overwrought with his own emotions that he’s not sure he can tell the difference anymore.
A-Xu rights Wen Kexing’s clothes, for which he is grateful because he is certain that he is not capable of doing so himself at the moment, and Wen Kexing slides off of his lap to the floor. He kneels on the ground beside A-Xu and buries his face into A-Xu’s thigh. He twines his fingers into the layers of fabric and grips tightly, holding onto A-Xu with as much force as he can manage. If A-Xu leaves him alone now, he will break. He will stay broken.
But, of course, A-Xu does not leave. A-Xu folds himself over him and runs his fingers through Wen Kexing’s hair, lays a rough hand over one of his taut ones, and murmurs soft words of comfort. Wen Kexing cannot quite make out the words, they are so quiet and easily drowned out by the volume of his own sobs, but he feels their meaning in his chest. He feels the love, the forgiveness. And he feels slightly more whole with each new word.
“I’m s-sorry,” he stammers, suddenly aware that he hasn’t yet said it in so many words. But now that he has said it, he finds he cannot stop. “I’m sorry A-Xu, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, I promise I will do better. I’m sorry. Please do not leave me.”
“Lao Wen,” A-Xu says. There’s enough of a commanding tone in his gentle voice to make Wen Kexing abruptly shut his mouth. “Listen to me carefully. Are you listening?” Wen Kexing nods, knots his fingers more deeply into A-Xu’s clothes and obeys. Tears still flow from his eyes, but silently now, only accompanied by the occasional hiccup.
“Yes, A-Xu.”
“You are forgiven. I forgive you, for everything I am able. I will never leave you. You are precious to me, and I do not want to see you hurting like this. But I need you to talk to me, and I need you to trust me. No more grand schemes, alright? Or you will end up right back over my knee.”
Wen Kexing nods his head quickly. “I will not hurt you again.”
“I believe you.” Wen Kexing blushes as A-Xu places a kiss to the crown of his head.
He doesn’t want to pull his face out of A-Xu’s clothes. The scent of his beloved all around him, he has never felt more content, even in spite of his current circumstances. “Thank you,” he says. Because he feels grateful. And he means it. “For correcting me.”
A-Xu chuckles softly and rests his cheek against Wen Kexing’s head. It cannot be a comfortable position for him, but Wen Kexing is too content to question it. He likes being encased in A-Xu’s warmth like this, only that aroma of sandalwood and love occupying each of his senses.
“Anytime,” he quips.
Wen Kexing nuzzles into A-Xu as close as he can. He has no room left in his soul for inhibitions and pride, and he wants to be as close to A-Xu as possible. He might as well make the most of it while he can. Before he has to reapply his shiny exterior and face the world again.
“Where’d you go?” he sniffles. The question has been bothering him. If A-Xu had intended to whip him more severely and then changed his mind, Wen Kexing wants to know why. A-Xu must hear his assumption in his voice, because he laughs lowly again.
“I needed some air,” he says simply. “And you promised Chengling you’d help him with his footwork at sunrise. I went to make sure he wasn’t expecting you.”
Wen Kexing snorts. It is often the case that he makes bold promises when drunk, he becomes proud and boastful. No doubt A-Xu is leaving out a fair bit of Wen Kexing’s posturing and dramatics for the sake of his dignity. “Was he?”
“No,” A-Xu says. Wen Kexing practically purrs as A-Xu runs a hand delicately down his spine. “He’ll be dead to the world for a few more hours.”
“Good,” Wen Kexing says. He breathes deeply and lets out a sigh. He feels, a little to his own surprise, good. He feels healed, no dark thoughts or worries lodged in his brain like maggots anymore. He seeks out A-Xu’s hand and holds it tightly. He is a selfish man, he will take all he can from A-Xu, as long as he is willing to freely give it.
“Are you ready to get up?”
Wen Kexing shakes his head. He presses every part of his body that he can into A-Xu’s touch. He wants to keep this a little while longer, this light moment between them. This moment where he feels free, and forgiven, and comforted. Where he feels like he is precious to someone other than himself.
And when he is ready to get back up, he knows A-Xu will keep him steady.