Work Text:
Historians will call them anything but.
Mo Ran let himself bare and naked in his stare to Chu Wanning, head resting on his hand with radiant smile blooming on his face. “Shizun,” he whispered, catching the other man’s attention, “care to join me?” His hands indicated to the tray in front of him, two cups stacked neatly next to a pot of tea and plate of sweets. He could see the slightest wavering of emotion on Chu Wanning’s face, silently laughing to himself of euphoria, and he watched as the elder made his way to sit next to him. “Of course.”
The sweets melted in his mouth after the slightest touch, sugar sprawling in his senses. Chu Wanning did not take his eyes off the sight of his young lover savouring the bursts of sweetness, and he instinctively poured themselves tea without looking at the glasses nor pot. With a slight push, he let the cup glide over to where Mo Ran sat, and he saw the bright smile overlapping in his wake. “Thank you!” he cheered, mouth still digesting the soluble pieces of nutrition, and he grabbed the cup, chugging the contents down with a carefree attitude.
Morning was warm and sunny, the clouds far away from view, and the temperature was filled of a cool breeze and shade and slight heat that was not too hot. The day was going well, afternoon soaking in laughter and good food, evening near the corner.
Chu Wanning let his eyes wander away from the younger, focusing instead on the sunset of the background. “Look,” he said, words short and brief, and he could see from the corner of his eye that Mo Ran had stopped, focusing instead on the horizon far away. “Beautiful, is it not?”
A smile formed in Mo Ran’s eyes, gaze flickering from the sky – painted blue, orange, crimson and purple – to the pale and peaceful expression of Chu Wanning’s features, and he shuffled closer to him, fingers slightly grazing across his. “Very,” he said, breath against the other’s ear, catching Chu Wanning’s attention again, “very.”
Slow yet not the slowest, Mo Ran leaned towards him, mouth slightly open as his eyes met the stare of Chu Wanning’s, and carefully his lips pressed against the latter’s, soft and calm. Their eyes closed, heads tilting to the sides to capture, Mo Ran pulling Chu Wanning closer to him. The hems of their robes were clutched by the other, a gentle hand together, and the two intertwined their fingers. Lips still pressed, Mo Ran gingerly moved their two heads together as he pushed Chu Wanning to lean against the wall. “Very beautiful,” whispered Mo Ran, his mouth mumbling against the other’s.
Blue, orange, crimson, purple; but none of that could beat the white pale surface clothed in silver and blue – none of that could beat him.
But history hates lovers.