Work Text:
Historians will call them anything but.
“Lu Yao,” said a voice, melody sweet and warm, “wake up.”
He refused, in mind and state, but his heart was beating fast tat the feeling of the other person tugging by his shoulder, other arm cradling him by his waist. “Do I have to?” he instead asked, and he regretted sharing the rough morning parts of his voice, insecure of how it sounded weak to the rich endeavours of Chusheng’s.
He could not tell if Chusheng had fallen back to sleep or was just quiet, arms still and his breathing even against his neck. It was calming, under the waves of air that massaged him better than any thought of money or wealth, his eyes closing and mind drifting away. “Santu,” repeated the voice, same as before – deep and soft, gentle yet dominating the gears of Lu Yao’s mind -, “just wake up.”
The arm that was wrapped loose around his waist had begun to cling tighter, snaking even more around Lu Yao, and he could feel Chusheng shuffling closer to him as he pulled Lu Yao’s body towards his. The hand that was tugging by his shoulder was now letting itself press small circles along the muscle, soft kisses trailing down his nape with an airy touch of love. Lu Yao had his cheeks glittered with pink dust, red like blooming blossoms of Sakura, and his eyes opened wide, teeth biting on his bottom lip. “Chusheng, what are you doing?” he said, trying his best to keep the flustered feeling to himself and hidden from his voice, and he attempted his best as he turned around in the slightest to face the other male. His lips trailed in the subtlest form along Chusheng’s, an accident bound to have occurred under the weight of their closeness and the fluttering palette of brushes. Eyes widening, Lu Yao readied to apologise, yet the apology never made it for his tongue to pronounce.
Chusheng let his hand stop massaging Lu Yao’s shoulder, letting his fingers trail down to hold Lu Yao by the hip. He pulled Lu Yao even closer to him, pressing his own body against his, legs hooking with the other’s own in a mutual seek for touch. “Chusheng.”
Their lips met halfway along the path of finding the other, features merging in a soft bliss of euphoria. Chusheng pressed his lips against Lu Yao’s with a passion he did not have for anything else, tension resolving from his sleepy state, wide awake in ecstasy. Their eyes were closed, muscle memory tracing their movements. Chusheng let his hand roam under the warmth of Lu Yao’s shirt, pinning the area like a map. Senseless, his lips let go of Lu Yao’s to capture the vast ocean of his neck, light licks that made his tastebuds experience the exposure of sweet morning scent on the person he loves with the most.
“Lu Yao,” he whispered against his skin, teeth grazing along the sensitive region of nerves, the other shivering in response. “Can I do this?”
“You can.”
There was no hesitating in his answer, the response quick.
“Then we wake up?”
Lu Yao softly chuckled, hands snaking around Chusheng’s nape to pull him closer to him. “Yes, yes.”
But history hates lovers.