Work Text:
It really wasn’t uncommon that, during the course of lounging casually and chatting about nothing together, Hua Cheng became fixated on touching or kissing some part of Xie Lian in some rhythmic, devoted way.
With the same sort of ease with which you’d indulge a cat curling up on your lap, Xie Lian had merely sunk into the bed a bit more when he’d felt Hua Cheng’s artist fingers trace down his spine during a conversation about the merits of different planting techniques.
Xie Lian closed his eyes as they rambled in their long established back and forth, content to be shirtless but warm in bed hearing which unique fertilizers Hua Cheng had heard of and explaining which Xie Lian had actually seen used while the tracing of his spine became more of a strumming.
The motion of hands on him as though he was an instrument being lovingly tuned made Xie Lian’s thoughts turn to music and strings and so conversation lazily turned to the best materials for strings to use for what effects and the easiest instruments to carry or teach and there was really nothing of substance to their talk that they had not exchanged at some point in their years of marriage.
But it was not really about learning new things so much as having an excuse to hear the glorious sound of each other’s voices, a precious and favorite rhythm to them both.
Artist fingers, Xie Lian often considered them, but perhaps musician fingers too. Slender and elegant as they danced over the ridges of his spine, plucking for the simple joy of the shared vibrations. Plucking because instruments were cared for through touch and Hua Cheng was so good at being the vessel through which Xie Lian could sing.
Xie Lian found himself in a flow of their conversation where Hua Cheng had been talking less and, after so long attuned to his husband’s forms of worship he could guess what it meant. So he rambled on a bit more, willing to sacrifice a bit of the joy of hearing Hua Cheng’s voice in their call and response to feel the set of his mouth upon Xie Lian’s back, just as he had expected.
Still focused on his spine rather than his entire back, he supposed. His San Lang really could be so funny about the things he fixated on. Xie Lian’s amusement came out in the content sighs of his ambling words as Hua Cheng tongued up his spine at a snail’s pace. Like he was trying to memorize each dip between bone under skin through his tongue alone. His nose brushed ahead of his tongue like the announcement of a priest coming. His hands trailed Xie Lian’s sides with the kind of care of someone who could not help but leak love and tenderness no matter how incidental the brush of skin between them.
It felt odd. Ticklish almost?
Mostly it just felt like home though. Hua Cheng felt like home.
His tempting voice. His strong hands. His savoring tongue. Xie Lian loved it all. Loved him.
And he felt and appreciated beyond what he could express the way Hua Cheng worshipped every bit of him with such unwavering commitment.
He had never heard of a god who was worshipped like this, but there was no other explanation in his heart for these lazy pockets of time where Hua Cheng’s overwhelming devotion was given space to express itself honestly besides worship.
It hummed between them like a tangible energy.
It wasn’t the sparkling warmth of exchanged spiritual energy. It wasn’t the ink expanding in water of their essences painting each other. It wasn’t even the organic bloom of love crawling through their insides.
No, moments like this had every point of contact between them turn to the liquid of incense smoke floating to the heavens, gravity reoriented to place Xie Lian as the sky no matter their positioning.
Hua Cheng’s tongue wiggled over another notch of bone and the incense thickened between them, Xie Lian’s rambling turning to a comfortable quiet as he basked in the sensation.
Prayers from most believers went to the heavens and Xie Lian still received them. Still got merits and could hear what believers asked of him.
But prayers from his husband rarely asked for anything besides Xie Lian’s joy and relaxation and always they came straight to him.
There was no middle distance to dull the effect of worship shared in their home, only the thick and grounding blanket of devotion that Xie Lian let himself enjoy as no other prayer or earned merit could be felt.
His body was more his own than ever before in these moments. It was like Hua Cheng’s worship illuminated the most inconsequential of spaces and reminded Xie Lian of the fullness of this body he called his own.
He’d never thought about his spine as much as Hua Cheng clearly was in the moment. It was a bone. A fact of construction. Sometimes it hurt.
But under Hua Cheng’s attentions it was as though it was declared divine for simply being part of Xie Lian.
And though it wasn’t spoken aloud and they were not on a proper altar for prayer it was as though Xie Lian could hear the gratitude prayer Hua Cheng whispered from the very core of him.
This was the spine that let Xie Lian bend and stretch when he danced with a sword or tilled farms or cooked for them.
This was the spine that let Xie Lian sit upright when he meditated or rode in a cart or even just sat in bed idle.
This was the spine that, even if it had never done anything at all, was part of Xie Lian. And so it was divine.
Because Xie Lian was divine.
To his husband, he was the very definition of the word after all.
So Xie Lian basked in the heady devotion given so freely to him. Accepted it as an offering more precious than any other.
And when his San Lang’s pilgrim tongue reached his neck, Xie Lian turned over to pull him close, spine alight with devotion that was seeping through his entire body and heart singing with joy that radiated through him as their arms wrapped around each other.
Truly, his husband was the best offering of all.