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Hua Cheng had so many outfits. So many accessories. He had shifting forms and hairstyles that ranged from simple to breathtakingly elaborate. And even though his outfits were so much more thought out than Xie Lian’s simple wardrobe of identical and practical cultivator’s robes, he always dressed in a moment, using his spiritual energy to speed through any hassle the layers might otherwise give him.
Xie Lian watched from the bed as his husband went through outfit after outfit, undoubtedly just showing off at this point.
“How’s this one, gege?” Hua Cheng gave a turn so he could get the full effect.
Expression soft, Xie Lian nodded. “San Lang is always so handsome.”
“Gege’s the handsome one.”
“I think San Lang is a bit biased.”
“Oh, and gege isn’t?”
“Not at all. Everyone knows San Lang is the most handsome man in all the realms,” he teased.
“That’s gege.”
“Impossible,” Xie Lian grinned as his husband came over to nuzzle noses with him.
“I’m afraid it’s true.”
“I see no proof of that,” he cupped his husband’s face, joy bursting in his chest as he felt Hua Cheng lean into him.
“Oh? And gege has proof for his claims?”
“En. I’m holding my proof.”
“Is that right?”
“En. Its indisputable I think.”
“Ah but doesn’t gege remember? This one is a master of debate.”
Xie Lian felt like he could never smile enough. “Is the infamous Crimson Rain going to debate me?”
Hua Cheng nodded, clearly very serious. “For my first argument,” he dipped down to kiss Xie Lian’s neck, which, evidently, was his first argument.
Tilting back his head, Xie Lian closed his eyes and basked in the reassuring presence of his husband. Some days Hua Cheng seemed especially fixated on his neck, as if the cursed shackles would return if preventative kisses weren’t left over the spot.
Xie Lian had never given much thought to the area before. Truthfully he hadn’t given much thought to most intimacy before Hua Cheng, but now he eased into it. His body had become less of a tool to help others and more like something to call his own. More like a way to receive joy and seek out his own desires. For now, his desires were simple and easily fulfilled as he let a gentle hand rub circles into his husband’s back, letting himself feel each and every kiss.
There was no spiritual energy behind them. No biting, not today at least. Just gentle kisses. Just chilled fingertips drifting along an invisible line where the shackle had once been.
Hua Cheng was reverent in all his touches, even his most teasing of gestures were done with a certain weight to them.
Perhaps from someone else, Xie Lian would’ve found such reverence heavy or awkward. Misplaced even.
But Hua Cheng wore it so well, slipping it seamlessly into his every action.
Praying to Xie Lian was a sacred act with certain expected mannerisms and decorum to be shown. Everyone was reverent when they prayed. But Xie Lian knew no one else who was reverent when they teased their god into a blushing mess. Knew no one else who was reverent when they playfully complained about having to practice calligraphy. Knew no one else who was reverent when they stole kisses and laughed freely and loved so so much.
So when Hua Cheng kissed his neck, there was nothing difficult to accept about the reverence there. There was a weight to it, yes, but not a pressure. Hua Cheng did not expect anything of him. He just had to be. Just had to exist.
All Hua Cheng ever wanted was for him to do as he pleased. He thought that was perhaps why his husband favored his neck so much. Why he liked to remember there was no more shackle containing Xie Lian now, all because Hua Cheng had freed him.
Xie Lian liked it for a different reason, though they weren't entirely unrelated.
“The marks are fading, will San Lang make me new ones?”
Hua Cheng paused, lips still pressed chastely for a moment before he nodded, parting his lips to suck.
Letting out a content sigh, Xie Lian let himself focus on the feeling. Let himself be grounded by his believer. The only worshipper he knew of who wanted to give more than he wanted to take. He knew Hua Cheng would disagree with that. Would say Xie Lian already gave more than he could ever possibly give back. He was always silly like that.
“How many does gege want?” Hua Cheng asked as he moved to start the next mark. A new shackle Xie Lian chose not as penance, but as its own form of freedom. A reminder he was no longer alone.
“San Lang knows the answer to that.”
Hua Cheng’s lips curved into a smile as he kissed the second mark before starting a third. “Yes gege.”
How did he make even that casual familiarity sound reverent? How did he make every touch— even the rougher ones Xie Lian had coaxed out of him in their time together— feel like it’s own reminder of how precious he found Xie Lian?
And he knew Hua Cheng had been fishing for certain words when he asked, and he knew he’d been accused of spoiling his husband rotten many times before, but how could he not? How could Xie Lian lay here, filled with spiritual energy his husband had freely given him, feeling the gentle press of careful hands on his neck, the devoted mouth doing its best to decorate his throat the way he liked, and not wish to give Hua Cheng everything he could ever desire?
Hua Cheng worshipped so well. Served so lovingly. Always deferential and yet somehow he made it into a natural fact rather than a distancing divide.
So although Xie Lian knew Hua Cheng knew how many marks he wanted from the many times they’d been in this position before, he also knew what answer his cheeky husband had been hoping to hear.
“Mark me until everyone knows I’m yours,” Xie Lian’s hand had come up from Hua Cheng’s back to rest on his head at some point, a gentle, controlled pat to let his husband know he was enjoying himself.
He could feel the uneven little breath Hua Cheng let out against his throat before going back to his mission. It was something Xie Lian had said once on accident and had overwhelmed his poor husband into a fit of kisses the first time. Now it was a reminder of all the permissions his god allowed him.
Xie Lian’s smile widened as he felt Hua Cheng’s hand rest over his own ashes on Xie Lian’s chest. Though Xie Lian would hide the marks away when they went out in public, he wouldn’t hide the ashes. He wouldn’t hide the way he and his husband gravitated towards each other.
The marks were really just for Xie Lian truthfully. There were few who did not know of the devotion of Crimson Rain Sought Flower. There were few who did not know the Ghost King belonged to his god, body—or perhaps ashes— and soul.
And Xie Lian liked being his too. His god. His husband. Half of heaven would faint if they saw how heavily Xie Lian liked to be marked up. But for so many years he’d carried around physical reminders of his past. For so many years he’d worn his own regrets on his skin.
He thought it was time he wore happier reminders.
Not the permanent weight of his mistakes and grief, but the temporary bursts of joy that decorated him. Reminders that had to be cared for. That needed to be chosen and given again and again.
Luckily his believer was up for the task.