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“Can't sleep?” Linguang-jun drapes an arm across Zhuzhi-lang’s bare stomach, clawed fingers curling possessively at his hip. There’s a scar, thin and raised slightly, that Linguang-jun can feel under his palm. Zhuzhi-lang has many old scars. A fascinating body for one of his lineage. Rubbing a slow circle with his thumb, Linguang-jun tilts his head up to cock an eyebrow at his new husband. “Don’t tell me you’re cold.”
He knows the temperature can’t be what is keeping Zhuzhi-lang awake. One of the first things he did during the preparations for their lavish wedding ceremony was cast a little spell that ensures low temperatures will no longer bother his serpentine spouse. Their joining may not have been born out of love but Linguang-jun will not mistreat him.
Tianlang-jun has made it very clear that he won’t hesitate to kill Linguang-jun if any harm comes to his nephew. The political ramifications be damned.
“This humble one is merely thinking,” Zhuzhi-lang says quietly. A candle is still lit—though neither of them need light to see each other in the darkness—and the gentle glow illuminates the slight downturn of his lips, the feathery quality of his long eyelashes, the sharpness of his cheekbones.
“Oh?” Linguang-jun tries to keep his tone casual. This is not the first time he has been in bed with a spouse who lies awake at night thinking. His previous wife’s thoughts became actions which, in turn, led to her running off to be with his wretched brother. “Spend a lot of nights thinking when you should be sleeping, do you?”
“Yes.” It’s simple how Zhuzhi-lang says it. He has such a genuine way about him; it nearly disperses Linguang-jun’s sour feelings. With a movement that verges on abrupt, he turns to lie facing Linguang-jun. Instinctively, Linguang-jun pulls back only for Zhuzhi-lang to promptly take his wrist and return his hand to where it rested before. “This humble one can feign sleep if it bothers you.”
It doesn’t bother him. Not that much. Not when Zhuzhi-lang’s big, dark eyes are looking right at him. It would be effortless, he thinks with no small amount of scorn, to fall in love with such eyes.
Dangerous, yes. Unwise, absolutely.
But effortless.
“Tell me what keeps you awake,” is not what Linguang-jun means to say—conversations devoid of artifice do not come naturally to him—but it slips out with bizarre ease in the dead of night, with Zhuzhi-lang's soft skin beneath his palm. He should be more careful. No good can come of this sort of intimacy. He’s been burned before.
Zhuzhi-lang doesn’t hesitate exactly but he pauses for just long enough to have Linguang-jun second guess.
“Or don’t tell me.” Linguang-jun sniffs. “I don’t care.”
Zhuzhi-lang’s thin eyebrows pull together. When he speaks, it is slow and measured. “The human tongue is not my first language. Though this humble one is fluent, there are many chances to misstep; nuances that are not instinctual.”
Linguang-jun can’t tell whether this is an explanation for the extended periods of silence or the insomnia. He decides to take a page out of Zhuzhi-lang’s book and not say anything at all just yet.
“We are married now,” Zhuzhi-lang says. “We have”—his cheeks flush—“consummated.”
Linguang-jun pinches his hip. “Getting shy now, are we?”
His blush spreads. “Please don’t tease me.”
“No promises.” Linguang-jun slides his hand up Zhuzhi-lang’s waist, stopping just under his ribs. Though countless scars decorate his body, it seems Zhuzhi-lang’s Heavenly Demon blood is enough to have already healed all of the pretty marks Linguang-jun left earlier this evening. A pity. But not something that can’t be rectified. “Especially if you’re about to say our joining was terrible enough to keep you awake all night.”
“Of course not!” Zhuzhi-lang jolts in panicked embarrassment. He’s remarkably easy to read, yet Linguang-jun has such difficulty understanding him. “No, I, this one—it’s just that…” He trails off, then begins again. “This humble one does not know how to address you. There are formalities that should be observed.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“Yes.”
“Then, however you please,” Linguang-jun answers breezily. “Husband, lover, baobei. And you can drop the formal speech. I’m only a second son.” There’s an inherent bitterness to admitting it. “Hardly someone a Heavenly Demon should lower himself to.”
Zhuzhi-lang makes a face. “My lineage is humble. Please do not consider me above you.”
“Yes, yes.” Linguang-jun’s hand continues to travel. “I know you prefer to be below.”
Zhuzhi-lang truly is too easy to tease. His expression becomes a fascinating combination of exasperated and embarrassed. “That is not what I meant.”
Adorable, Linguang-jun thinks. And the sudden fondness that slides through him, heedless of how unwelcome a sensation it is, does not turn his stomach as it once might have.
“And I truly have no preference,” Zhuzhi-lang adds. Despite the dark flush staining his cheeks, such talk seems to have put him at ease. He releases a breath; tension leaving his shoulders. “It’s just that I have never been married before. I have been concerned that I might overstep my boundaries and displease you. Or say the wrong thing.”
“Such as?” Perhaps if Linguang-jun can goad him into speaking his mind then all of these undesirable feelings will float away, as insignificant as the first downy flecks of snow. “Go on. What sort of thing do you believe I might find displeasing?”
“Um. I can’t think of anything specific at the moment.”
“Really? Nothing at all?”
Zhuzhi-lang purses his lips. Then, as if it’s a secret, he whispers, “I brought many snakes with me to the Northern Border.”
“What.”
“Most of them are under our bed. I’m keeping them warm with a talisman.”
Linguang-jun gives him a flat look. “Why would that bother me?”
“There are a lot.”
“That’s not—” Linguang-jun sighs. Fine. He will have to be more direct. “Something displeasing would be more like if you, for example, found my brother to be handsome.”
“Oh.”
“Well, do you?”
Zhuzhi-lang blinks. He is matter-of-fact when he says, “Not particularly.”
And those eyes, honest and inquisitive, make Linguang-jun’s next attempt at provoking Zhuzhi-lang shrivel back down his throat before it can slip past his lips. He does not dare to think further about what this sudden indulgence implies.
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” Linguang-jun sits up slightly to blow a cool breath towards the candle, dousing the light. He shifts onto his other side so that his back presses against Zhuzhi-lang’s chest, then grabs Zhuzhi-lang’s arm and purposefully maneuvers it over his waist. He sleeps better with another person holding him. Always has. “Good night, baobei.”
“Mn. Good night.” Zhuzhi-lang presses closer. His lips brush the soft hairs at the back of Linguang-jun’s neck. “Husband.”