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Mu Qing's personality is, to say the least, unpleasant. His pedantic and stubborn attitude, his lack of patience, his lack of ability to recognize his mistakes immediately, as well as the sharp tongue that blurts out comments full of sarcasm and derision every now and then—
If Feng Xin, General Nan Yang, was the exemplar of chivalry among the ranks of Heaven; then General Xuan Zhen was the stereotypical God who went over the top.
Mu Qing would help absolutely no one unless strictly necessary-and even then, he might grumble from time to time about having to do so. Proud and haughty, the god's relations with other fellow celestials boiled down to diplomacy, to "respect" for one another-although, admittedly, this relationship was of a more one-way nature.
"Can you be still?"
A second later, and without getting up from his seat, Feng Xin turned around, raising his head slightly: he was met with an expression of annoyance, tense lips and a frown. Immediately after, he felt a tug on his hair. "What are you doing!"
At his reply, a smile marked General Xuan Zhen's thin lips. The man spoke wryly, "Whoever behaves like a child, should be treated like a child." And then, for no reason, the man tugged at the other god's scalp once more. "I can't believe you're making so much trouble over this..."
Feng Xin snorted. "If it irritates you so much, you can leave."
"And let you go with such a pitiful appearance?" Not waiting for an answer, Mu Qing continued. "To my misfortune, your name always comes up when they talk about me; I don't want them to think that the Southwest Martial God is having a hard time just because the Southeast idiot doesn't know how to groom himself."
Nan Yang held back his fervent rage, ceding a small victory to Xuan Zhen. In the absence of a retort, Mu Qing's attitude changed: his hands, which had so violently tugged at his tresses, now held each of them with precision and care. Being a little longer than shoulder-blade height, the Martial God began to run a small golden bristle comb from below.
"Why not from above?"
Although it sounded like a tease, Feng Xin really wanted to know. If it were up to him, he would start from there, being faster and more efficient.
What did he get for an answer, "Ouch!" A sharp pain at the root of his hair, much greater than the previous tugging, irritated him.
Then a gentle stroke, that of the brush against his head, snapped him out of his daze. He heard a sigh. "This is what happens if you start from the top." He replied with obviousness. "Now, be quiet and don't distract me."
"Are you that easily distracted, General Xuan Zhen?"
"Just shut up."
And, to his own surprise, he did. Even with his unpleasant personality, so in keeping with "he might spit in someone's cup, but he would never use poison to hurt them", Feng Xin understood this guy much more than he would like to admit. After all, they had known each other since their mortal lives in service to His Highness Xie Lian. Not that they haven't had their run-ins, with their respective disagreements and contrary opinions; but Nan Yang knows, knows this man well enough to believe that his attitude, his actions at this moment, were motivated solely by selfishness.
In the end, how could it be considered selfish for Mu Qing, one of the most powerful martial gods with eight hundred years of history, to brush and comb his hair? It's not just that he has multiple servants who could help him with this, but the mere action of helping with another's personal grooming being a Celestial Official would be - for many - humiliating.
Especially for Mu Qing.
Feng Xin could say anything, comment on how it would seem that the tasks of his mortality were ingrained in his soul and he is, unconsciously, fulfilling them. That no matter how many centuries pass, Mu Qing will always be Xie Lian's "servant". That even though they are both martial gods, the one who really acts as such in the eyes of the Heavens is not him.
The mere thought that someone could comment such stupidities about Mu Qing makes his blood boil, his hands tremble and his expression fill with anger. All he has done is to ponder why Xuan Zhen would do this, beyond the - clearly false - justification he has given him.
Not that it bothers him, on the contrary, it feels strangely comforting. However, with the constant tension between the two, both in their competitiveness and because of the history that binds them, at times Mu Qing's attitudes towards him are confusing and inconsistent. Contradictory, even.
"Why do you do it?"
Unlike the previous times, no pain is produced upon his body: no hair-pulling and strokes with the golden brush. The movements, hitherto fluid, of slowed down a little. Still, the Southwest General's fingers continued to trace and run through the Southeast General's chestnut locks. Cool and slender, with slightly long, curved nails - somewhat feminine, one might say - calloused at the tip of each and slightly rough to the touch.
Carefully, the knots unraveled giving way to long brown strands, like thread from the finest sewing. Occasionally, shivers went up Feng Xin's sword: it felt too good.
At last, Mu Qing spoke again. "It doesn't matter why I do it. If you benefit from it, you shouldn't question it." He says, though not very convinced of his own answer.
They are not sharing glances, not even facing each other, but the exchange seemed to be revealing more than they ever imagined. Feng Xin raised his head, just a little, admiring the fine, elegant construction. "I never thought we'd get this far."
Xuan Zhen raised an eyebrow. "'We'd get there'? Everyone worked on their own, I don't want you to associate my achievements with anyone else." Sharp, uneducated and defensive, Mu Qing's retorts would scare anyone away.
Feng Xin is not just anyone.
"I didn't mean that, it's just.... I don't know, eight hundred years isn't just anything, you know?" The touch on his hair stopped, and he could feel hos hands tighten a little. He wanted to move his head a little more, to find out what the other god was thinking. However, he didn't: pressing Mu Qing would only provoke dislike and dislike for his person-not that he hadn't been before, but now, somehow, it felt different.
So, he opted to remain silent.
If he kept quiet, he would at least give Xuan Zhen room to reflect on whatever it was that stopped him a moment ago. If he waited, perhaps he might get one of the few honest interactions with which he thinks he can understand Mu Qing. Because yes, even after all the events with Jun Wu and the reconciliation - could it be called that - there was always something that held them back. Especially Xuan Zhen.
"Eight hundred years..." He repeated in a whisper. The Martial God bit his lips, annoyed at something even he wasn't sure he understood. Feng Xin waited in complete stillness for him to continue, his thoughts flowing like water without fear.
Mu Qing was always cautious and wary, even in this room, he seemed hesitant about it. Nan Yang sighed. "Are you done?" He said, trying to lighten the mood. Despite not looking at him face to face, he felt Xuan Zhen's body let go of some of the tension.
"I'm doing you a favor and you're rushing me?" the Martial God's attitude returned to normal, Feng Xin couldn't help but smile.
"Why are you laughing?"
"I'm not." He denied, though his expression betrayed otherwise.
"Yes you do." He countered forcefully. "All that effort and work and all you do is mock—"
"Thank you."
Sometimes, Mu Qing surprises Feng Xin: when he thinks he knows how he will act, what he will respond, or simply what expression he will make, Xuan Zhen becomes unpredictable like never before. His actions that do not match his words, the apparent apathy towards everything and everyone but himself along with his proud and stubborn temperament. Mu Qing is a strange person.
Stranger, however, is to be taken by surprise by someone already strange. Like now, with Mu Qing being instantly silenced by hearing a couple of words. Thank you. General Nan Yang, Martial God of the Southeast, Feng Xin, has just thanked him.
And yes, Feng Xin is recognized throughout the Heavenly Realm as being quite polite and gentlemanly, but— "Are you an idiot, perhaps?" Are you such an idiot that you don't realize who you are thanking?
He might have expected anger in response, he really wanted that. If so, then his posture and sharp tongue would be justified, ill-treatment towards the rest could not be questioned and Mu Qing could stay within his rigid boundaries.
Feng Xin catches him off guard once again, smiling with relief imbued in his expression, no trace of annoyance or anything the least bit negative. He stood there, admiring Mu Qing, joyful for whatever Xuan Zhen could not discern. "Thank you, Mu Qing."
His mind expected many things, but not this.
And, to his misfortune, his heart was also unprepared, beating with such force that it could easily slip out of his chest. Warm blood flowed through his veins and up to his head. The skin, already white and smooth as jade, quickly became tinged with brighter colors, a faint pink that soon turned to red.
He looks pretty good. He thought boldly, enjoying the sights of a blushing Mu Qing. "In case you're done, I'll take my leave." He said, as he performed a small bow. Not out of respect, but out of gratitude.
However, before he could exit through the large dark wooden door, a hand reached out to him and grasped his own. Nan Yang, taken by surprise, waited. Xuan Zhen did nothing, his body remained motionless, but firm in the grip he had on the other. The skins of both created a beautiful contrast: wheat against jade, the one loved by the Sun and the other loved by the Moon. All, except for Mu Qing's face, whose pink tones still did not disappear from his cheeks.
"I... I'm not finished." With a faint hesitation, the words were heard only by the duo of Martial Gods.
Even though they were both the same height, Feng Xin, with his thick boots, managed to tower a couple of centimeters taller than Mu Qing. The difference in height, coupled with Xuan Zhen's desperate posture to prevent - or, at least, delay - Nan Yang's departure, provoked an uncanny similarity to a young girl in love hoping that her beloved would not leave.
Yes, a somewhat ridiculous comparison when they are two of the most powerful and recognized Celestial Officers in the Heavens, but a comparison nonetheless.
"Do you need anything else?" Feng Xin asked, not making an effort to break away from the intruding hand.
The other's obsidian gaze lowered, unwilling to meet that pair of hazel eyes. His nose wrinkled before he spoke. "The comb."
"Hmn...?"
"It's..." A lump remained inside his throat, preventing him from speaking properly. "You still have it. In your head."
Feng Xin blinked a couple of times before snapping out of his trance. It wasn't what he expected, but he couldn't complain about it either.
Nevertheless, and without his own head analyzing that he was acting in the right way, Nan Yang leaned forward slightly, ducking his head and leaving his headdress in full view of Xuan Zhen. The problem? In addiction to the closeness resulting from the grip between hands and the difference in stature, Feng Xin's movement culminated in a direct brush between their noses. Their breaths collided and obsidian met hazel instantly.
The dark eyes widened in surprise, mouth slightly open and the pink, which had been receding until that moment, intensified with such force that the red was now crimson.
Hazel orbs glowed, the intensity of his gaze in response to Xuan Zhen's embarrassed expression along with the undeniable increasingly boisterous throbbing in his chest—
Feng Xin closed the short distance between them, resting his lips against Mu Qing's. His remaining hand, larger by nature than the jet-haired man's, in a bold move, squeezed Mu Qing's waist tightly, eliciting a gasp that was drowned out in the exchange of sounds and saliva.
Surprised, but not disgusted, the Southwest General's expression hid his eyes, letting the eyelids droop as he allowed it to be Feng Xin, the polite and chivalrous Martial God of the Southeast, who took the reins of whatever this was.
Noticing how control was completely ceded to him, Feng Xin pressed hard on the smaller body - a product of the difference between the two's robes, with one in robes and the other in armor. The door served as a support for Mu Qing's back, who arched after feeling the grip of his hands separate to give way to the two wheat-colored hands lifting his legs so that they encircled Nan Yang's waist, as he squeezed his fleshy thighs tightly.
The intimate touch made Mu Qing pull back, who rested his hands against Feng Xin's chest. The kiss - could such a fierce exchange be called a kiss - was broken and both Martial Gods stared at each other: one completely hungry, the other hesitant but longing for something.
Then, something caught the attention of the god being held by his legs. He needed to take a couple of breaths before he could catch his breath. "You..."
Fearful of the impending rejection, shyness covered Feng Xin's face. An amusing contrast, considering he was the one pressing his body against the other god's. "Yes?"
A hand was raised between the two and Nan Yang was convinced that pain would be the next thing he would feel.
The reality was different, with Mu Qing's fingers sliding to the back area of his head, where a slight pressure was released. When the hand returned, a golden comb came with it. "You look worse than when you arrived."
His hairstyle, the one Mu Qing had put so much effort into, came undone with loose strands lying around, the ribbons half-loosened and, all in all, a look more in keeping with that of someone who had returned from an arduous struggle. Could what they had just— "I guess I'll have to start over, happy?"
Nan Yang blinked a couple of times, confused. "Mu Qing, about this..."
Xuan Zhen's nose wrinkled, brow furrowed as well as his lips. And although he was trying to look annoyed, the truth was that the red in his face as well as the gleam in his eyes gave him away. "I can't believe you had to wait for me to finish my work to go and destroy it, what are you, an animal?"
Despite being used to this side of Mu Qing, General Nan Yang could not help but feel embarrassed due to the circumstances. Crestfallen, he limited himself to a couple of words. "I'm sorry..."
"I do not accept your apology." He blurted out. "Now, finish."
If he was confused before, he was now at a complete loss. With some doubt in his chest, Feng Xin had to ask. "'Finish'? With what?"
Mu Qing rolled his eyes. "You're holding me in your arms and you're just going to stand there still? I know you don't have any experience with women, but please, you must at least know something about relationships."
Is he really saying what I think he's saying? "But.... What about your cultivation path, aren't you supposed to—?"
"I'll figure it out." He answered bluntly. "I know how to think before I act, unlike others." The last word was uttered with greater emphasis.
However, even though the confirmation was there, Nan Yang couldn't help but want to make sure for good. After all, having been thinking about his celestial companion, doubting and reaffirming what he knew and what he didn't about him; jumping into his body just by letting himself go, what if he was wrong? What if he was misunderstanding everything? "Are you sure? Changing your path could hurt you and I—" I do not want that.
At the sudden doubt that plagued Feng Xin, Mu Qing couldn't help but feel the same way. This was too sudden, the consequences of such an abrupt change could be devastating, and the fragile stability on which their relationship was based could disappear if, for some reason or another, one of them backed out of it.
If I thought about it logically and analyzed it carefully, there are not enough justifications for Mu Qing to decide to move on. His attitude, his mentality of always following his mind and not his heart has allowed him to get there. Hurting people he cherished in the process. He reminded himself with contempt, knowing the mistakes he had made in the past.
If he decided to act on logic, would he end up hurting Feng Xin as well? Xie Lian's case had been one in a million, a kind soul who was willing to forgive him even after centuries of tensions. Would it be like that with Feng Xin, could he forgive him for his cowardice?
Perhaps. No, he definitely would.
But Mu Qing would never forgive himself. The guilt and longing would not disappear even in the greatest of glories. "All right."
Hazel reflected slight fear. "Sure, you really want to do this?"
By all the gods, how did I fall for this guy? He wondered, with a strange relief inside. Feng Xin was always a guy to believe more in actions than words.
If he wasn't going to listen, then he was going to show him.
A short, quick, gentle contact between lips ensued. Nothing romantic or wild like the first exchange, but it was a gesture that, in itself, meant a lot to Mu Qing. Embarrassed, but emboldened by a thirst for touch, Xuan Zhen slid his pale fingers over Feng Xin's face.
And, for the first time in a very long time, he smiled. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."
Their foreheads pressed together. "Trust me, Feng Xin."
The man nodded, and an embrace brought them together.