Work Text:
The birds sang loudly as Shen Qiao stepped outside, his bare feet touching the wooden floor. A refreshing breeze hit his lungs with the first breath, pleasant frostiness filling up his body.
It was still quiet — too early for any disciple to be training outside, most, like not all of them, still deep asleep.
Shen Qiao took another step and closed his eyes, letting himself dive into the peacefulness, breathing in the morning air, his cheeks slightly peachy from the cold kiss.
The light robes he adorned were carefully hiding his body even after just waking up, showing just a bit of pale skin on his neck — a small, purple-ish treasure from his lover peeking out from his collarbone. His long, dark hair was now in harmonic disarray, some strands falling from his shoulders like a tranquil waterfall.
Rays of the sun reflected on the green leaves, heavy on the branches, bending them over the balcony — the green hue decorating the still sleeping face of Mount Xuandu's daozhang.
Shen Qiao was always an early bird, he adored the mornings and their peacefulness, the calm waves of chilly wind, waking up your body and mind better than any specific. One could even say that Shen–daozhang was like the morning himself; bringing hope and power for the next step, warm and cold at the same time — making you cherish and respect him at any cost.
After so many hardships, not only one could say that he was like the never-fading Sun.
And as for the Sun, its best companion would always be the Moon.
A pair of strong arms are searching for his waist, the fingers are tracing over the delicate material of his robes, hovering just so-so over his body; the naked skin. They're bringing warmth from the inside, from their shared sheets. They're searching and searching until Shen Qiao is wrapped protectively by them until the person embracing him can tangle his fingers on his stomach.
Shen Qiao basks in the sudden change in temperatures. The warmth of the still sleeping body covering him from behind brought a soft smile upon his pale lips.
“Good morning, Ah-Qiao,” whispered the person from behind, his voice deep and scratched by sleep. Soon, Shen Qiao felt a kiss on his nearly exposed neck – so delicate as it was placed there by a butterfly.
“Good morning, Yan-zongzhu,” he answered, still looking behind his shoulder with a smile. “Did you sleep well?”
Yan Wushi nodded, the arms around Shen Qiao's waist tightened and lips pecked his skin again. The almighty Huanyue Sect leader was now basking in the morning sun, his hair dishevelled, lips leaving the softest kisses on his beloved.
Shen Qiao also knew that it probably wasn't the most peaceful night for his husband, as somewhere in the middle he felt him changing this position rapidly, the sheets rustling.
When he opened his eyes in this half-conscious state, he could catch the deep frown on his husband's face and hear the tired sighing.
Yan Wushi was having a nightmare that night.
Shen Qiao already knew that face, that frown, that small shaking of his shoulders. The only thing he needed to do was to gently place his hand on Yan Wushi's cheek and kiss his forehead. Then, after a couple of comforting whispers, not disturbing his sleep, he heard Yan Wushi taking a deep breath and his face relaxed again.
He didn't know if Yan Wushi even remembered it. On the other side, it would be better to forget about the nightmares. There wasn't any need to discuss the dream, it was only important that it disappeared.
The man sighed and closed his eyes when the warmth overcame the morning chill and dove into the embrace. The body of his husband is soft yet still strong. Arms that are now lovingly holding his posture could defend him from anything and anyone.
And Shen Qiao now felt secure.
The beating of his heart slowed down, learning the rhythm coming from his beloved's chest. A small kiss dropped on his cheek, like a teardrop of spring rain landing on a leaf.
“And Ah-Qiao was watching over me.”
No matter how many springs would pass, he would always watch over.
“Mhm,” Shen Qiao murmured and smiled almost unnoticeable when a trace of kisses followed down his neck. “You could kick me off the bed.”
Yan Wushi smirked and gently bit the skin on Shen Qiao's neck in revenge. “Like it really was your only reason.”
“Don't bite.”
“Shen-lang wasn't complaining last night.”
“Yan-zongzhu.”
The older man laughed when he grasped the deadly look from his lovely husband. The thread in those deep, beautiful brown eyes was so stunning, that Yan Wushi wished he could admire it more often. Like he wasn't doing it already almost all the time.
Shen Qiao still couldn't believe that he fell in love with this laugh.
His eyes became gentle soon after and secretly admired the sun shining on Yan Wushi's face. The bright-golden light gleamed on the half of his face and one side of his hair, directly pointing out new white streaks in the dark pool of black mess. Shen Qiao observed them with a careful look, also noticing another small wrinkle rolling under Yan Wushi's phoenix eye.
The time was kind to his beloved. Ageing like the wine he was often indulging in.
The hand came from him unexpectedly, tracing the skin with such kindness no one else could replicate. Touch from a hand that carried the sword with such steadiness and power; the fingertips now discovering the shape of the other's jaw – it wasn't important how well he already knew it.
Shen Qiao couldn't stop the time. No matter how much he would try, he would be helpless. The clock would move its hands inexorably.
Sometimes fear was trying to shake his heart. The thought of losing, disappearing, fading away.
He wasn't showing it very often, but sometimes, on some gloomy, autumn days, his hand would hold one of his husbands more firmly, not far from anxiously.
“Ah-Qiao looks worried,” Yan Wushi's whisper pulled him out of his thoughts.
Shen Qiao gently shook his head. “The sun is too bright.” So the other man placed his hand above his eyes, sheltering them from the light.
“Is it alright now? Can you see your dear husband well?” The sweet wickedness of his voice pulled another wave of warmth onto his body. It was definitely too early for a headache, so Shen Qiao brushed it off, just enjoying the nice shade his husband brought.
“Maybe even too well.” He bit back, also noticing that the time spent with the other man taught him to do it a lot more often. Not like anyone was complaining, especially not the person the small bites were directed at.
His laugh only confirmed this fact.
Shen Qiao took a second, or maybe two or three, to observe and again, gently stroke the skin now warm from the sun. Slightly more tanned than his, soft but still rough, somewhere down on his cheek feeling the harsh edge of a scar, left there a long time ago.
The hands that covered his eyes now felt his face on both sides; tips of his fingers already digging into Shen Qiao's hair.
The air was warmer now, the space closing. No need to cover your eyes with hands, when the taller man sheltered him with his own body.
Eyelids falling, like from the whisper of deep sleep luring you. Soon, the cold lips of the Sun meet with the warm Moon's. Brushing, at first. Then, when he feels the thumb on his chin, he lets the chilly morning disappear under the heavy shade.
The time runs unapologetically, but on times like this, it also doesn't stop, but you forget about it.
Shen Qiao's kisses are still a bit restrained, especially in the morning. Yan Wushi knows that to bring the stiffness down, it must be his time – when silver shines on darkness, or when orange clouds mix with the yellow skies. Either way, he doesn't mind that. He knows that every kiss is honest. More honest than he ever was in his life, except for one person.
The person that he was now embracing so lovingly.
Yet, no matter how delicious it was to forget about the world and time, Shen Qiao was still a lot more cautious – and being somehow caught by some of his disciples (even though it happened before) brought both shame and embarrassment, he couldn't let that happen, of course.
He broke the kiss with a small, wet sound between their lips. Eyes opening again, meet with his beloved.
The gentle look in the Demonic Sovereign's eyes was meant only for him. Sometimes, Shen Qiao was still drowning in disbelief how this person could hold so much warmth in his body. And sometimes it made him laugh, or smile.
“Ah-Qiao,” Yan Wushi whispered to him, a weird melancholy seeping into his voice, “I need to leave you today, you remember?”
Of course he remembered. Going on work trips was something more common than going out somewhere together. Shen Qiao was used to leaving and being left by his husband for a week or two. It wasn't easy, but would complaining change anything?
“I do,” he only said. The morning was too nice to get the claws of sadness already preying at his heart.
“So, can this venerable one have one request?”
“If this venerable one really needs to make one.”
Yan Wushi chuckled and held the face of Shen Qiao in his hands, thumbs already caressing the skin. “Please, let me kiss you longer today.”
And it was like a small earthquake in Shen Qiao's poor heart.
Before he said anything, he looked at his husband with love, probably close to pouring out of his eyes. The silver strands of hair that came closer to his face, knowing that when he'd come back from his trip, there'll be another one. The slightly red lips from the kiss eyes were sharp, but still remembered the peacefulness of sleep.
Shen Qiao was stupid, falling in love with him.
And he still loved every second of it.
“The venerable one can fulfil his request.” He said, corners of his lips curling up in a smile.
Very soon, there wasn't any space for more words. Shen Qiao lets himself be kissed by Yan Wushi all the way he wants. Shen Qiao holds his husband close because soon he'll be missing the scent of wine and flowers. So he lets the stiffness down.
There's no more floor under his feet when Yan Wushi raised him and held him dearly in his arms. Soon, there's only the gentleness of sheets underneath the body, the whisper of the deep voice, and the echo of hearts beating in one rhythm.
Shen Qiao hopes that the upcoming days will be good for them. The years were gentle for the rough hands and silver hair.
He hopes, that this mischievous heart of his dear husband will beat as long as the wind blows.