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“Gege is like a cat,” Hua Cheng mused while playing with Xie Lian’s hair. “Always seeking warmth.”
If it weren’t for how exhausted Xie Lian felt, he might want to complain—or shake his head—or deny such a thing in some way. If he had enough energy—not the spiritual kind—he would redirect the claim onto his husband, and shower attention and praise. My sweet, kind husband, he could say, so willing to spoil this one, so willing to lounge in bed without any ceremony. He would, later, once he felt better. But this very moment was spent solely trying to climb closer.
His elbows were wobbly, and it felt like he had bent his back out of shape from last night’s activities.
Hua Cheng made a noise, contemplative at the seemingly obvious struggle of his god—and his free hand went for Xie Lian’s back, warm against the god’s bare skin. “Gege,” he said, like he could worry the title between his teeth.
He likely could.
Xie Lian gave up on his conquest to drag himself any closer. Instead, he melted back into the sheets and covers, arms too weak to support himself, and laid his head down onto Hua Cheng’s abdomen. He barely creeped closer and pressed his cheek into Hua Cheng’s stomach, breathing once through his nose.
“Is it warm?” Hua Cheng murmured, almost teasingly. “Maybe gege would prefer the sunlight instead of a dimly lit room and a ghost king in his bed, hm?”
No, not really. Who needed sunlight if you had Hua Cheng?
But what came out of his mouth was an exhausted but humored: “I’m the one in your bed.”
Hua Cheng laughed, easily, and Xie Lian closed his eyes. A few places along his neck and collarbones throbbed. He should tend to them at some point, clear the bruising or at the very least minimize the ache before he started poking at them like a curious but stupid man. Hua Cheng would smile, half-lidded, if he did—cup his hands and whisper into his ears and—
Xie Lian’s face would burn, if he had energy, if he would focus on such a day dream—but he couldn’t focus, couldn’t think, just—sluggishly blinking, his eyelashes fluttered against Hua Cheng’s abdomen.
He sighed.
“Whose bed does it matter?” Hua Cheng asked, though it likely didn’t need a response. He played with Xie Lian’s hair a bit more before gentling his voice, no less amused, “Either way, there are other techniques that could be employed if gege is looking for a more embracive warmth.” His other hand trailed up and down Xie Lian’s back.
It was a suggestive line. It was an offer.
“San Lang,” Xie Lian sighed, but didn’t do anything else.
Hua Cheng’s hand went all the way up, finding its way back into Xie Lian’s hair. Hua Cheng’s fingernails scratched his scalp gently. He was quiet for a while, letting Xie Lian stay draped over him in the bed, combing his god’s hair softly.
The sleepless ghost king let Xie Lian steep in silence for a while, drifting between sleep and bleary awareness. His husband hummed an old lullaby, something Xie Lian recalled from a few nights ago. Whenever Hua Chang lost his pace or spot in the lullaby, he trailed off, and started again. The sound went hand-in-hand with the way he scratched along Xie Lian’s shoulders, carefully and completely. It was terribly sweet. It was so domestic, so nice, and if Xie Lian hadn’t been rather used to it, he would surely cry at the tenderness. For a while, that’s all that happened. The humming, the easiness of it all, and then, once Xie Lian blinked back awake to the sight of his beloved, he felt tension drift between Hua Cheng’s hands and arms.
And then: “Has gege been hiding anything?”
“No, San Lang,” Xie Lian murmured into Hua Cheng’s stomach. Then, to make his point, he pressed a kiss there along the unmarred skin.
His husband’s belly curled when he laughed, just a small chuckle. He smoothed his hand down, cupping the back of Xie Lian’s head. Holding his nape. Protecting him. Cradling him. It was nice, Xie Lian thought. It was really nice.
It had been a very long time, excluding all of Hua Cheng’s affections, since anyone had held him—cradled him, acted as if he were truly precious. Once Hua Cheng entered his life, donning a fake skin and a name to match, affections became more common. And, ah, they were married now—they were very, ah, involved with one another! In many really nice ways! And that was what it was, to Xie Lian, nice ways, because everything was truly so good when Hua Cheng involved.
But, just being like this?
Laying in bed and not having to do anything?
There were many times in his eight hundred years of living where he hadn’t been able to do this. Well, more often than many. Every night was a fight for something, either sick or hungry or tired—grateful or saddened—and yet he prevailed. And somehow ascended a third time, much to everyone’s prior chagrin. Now, of course, he knew better than being nervously endowed to others. The Heavenly Emperor was no longer in the heavens, and Xie Lian didn’t have to go up there at all if he didn’t want to—everyone could just handle it on their own, for goodness’ sake!
Compared to the palace-lined streets of heavens, Xie Lian would much rather be here, in a warm bed with the ghost king who had given him so much. A smaller but just as prominent reason, of course, was that he doubted Hua Cheng would allow him to slip away to go deal with a bunch of paperwork.
Anyway, it was much preferable to stay plastered against his husband.
There were many benefits to sleeping in, he had found!
For one, he didn’t deal with nearly as many messages in his communication array! For another, Hua Cheng would hum a lullaby unprompted! And another, Xie Lian felt like a puddle of mush in the best way possible! He felt so sleepy, so muggy, ah, it was truly a blessing in ways that no one could compare.
(Hua Cheng often hummed lullabies and often curled close when they slept in the same bed. It didn’t always happen after an extraneous night—not that those weren’t fun—but it was guaranteed to occur after they played. Like this, he had once whispered into Xie Lian’s ear, he was certain they wouldn’t ever part from one another. It’s selfish, he had said, But being so close is the only remedy I’ll ever need. If lounging in bed like this was what soothed Hua Cheng’s many worries, then Xie Lian would just have to do so more often until all of his husband’s worries melted away!)
Hua Cheng traced his shoulders, and then swiped his hair away from where it had been hiding more of Xie Lian’s back. His husband hummed, waiting, and Xie Lian just wanted to melt into the affection.
He stayed where he was. “Not hiding,” he mumbled, insistently. “San Lang.”
“He would tell me if he was?” Hua Cheng asked, just to make sure.
The colors in the room were blurry—deep reds and greys, sweet whites, gold and silver in splotches, a grey-pallor of skin that had red sheen along the shoulders, a strong body to wrap around in front of him—halfway underneath him, too.
His husband was being a very sweet man, if not a sweet pillow.
Ah, he felt selfish. It had been so long since he laid and did nothing except allow himself to be lavished by gentle hands—not even in—the—the other way, just like this, being held, being cradled. He felt selfish. But he was tired, and his neck throbbed a little, and he was pleasantly warm and very, very, very loved. It would be the greatest gift, if not for the gift of Hua Cheng coming home after a year of absence.
“I would,” Xie Lian said, sleepily. He screwed his eyes shut as tight as he could, releasing another sharp breath. “I’m just tired, San Lang.”
“Hm,” Hua Cheng scratched lightly along his shoulder, considering the statement. “Then, gege should surely sleep as much as he likes.”
Xie Lian shivered.
“San Lang?” He mumbled, into the space of skin.
“Yes, gege?” His husband hummed.
Scratched his back again, then rubbed circles into the space between both shoulder blades. Then tugged a tangle out of the god’s hair with his nails, so careful, and so perfect, and so attentive.
Xie Lian considered a few things. The ache in his head—between his eyes, settling in familiarly even though such a pain should have been long gone by now—months into this marriage—the throbbing of his neck, the shivering of his body, the chill between every joint he had, and the weird tension at the back of his throat. It had been so long since he could just be tired. Without worry, or interruption, of an uneven road to trip over—
“I’m really tired, San Lang,” Xie Lian confessed, barely even a whisper. It felt very loud in the room. Louder in his head.
A small pause.
His heart kept beating. Once, twice, thrice, again.
(More, even when tired, just a bit more.)
But Hua Cheng simply smoothed his hands out in both places at Xie Lian’s shoulder blades, and then curled downwards. It must be such an awkward angle, and Xie Lian could feel the way Hua Cheng’s stomach rolled to accompany the bend. “Gege,” Hua Cheng whispered against the crown of his head, “If you’re tired, then let’s sleep more. The sunlight can wait for us.” He was so warm. He pressed a kiss there, unbothered by the angle. “Let’s sleep.”
Xie Lian made a noise, as he often did, and tried to get a little closer. He was pretty sure he stayed mostly in the same spot, but his efforts were rewarded with a gentle laugh and a hand trailing up and down his spine, coming to settle at his neck. He was warm. He was warm because he put forth effort to make himself warm, for Xie Lian’s sake. (I wanted to make sure my hand was warm, he had once confessed. When I reached for you, I wanted to make sure I was not cold like everyone else.) He hummed into Hua Cheng’s skin, kept his eyes closed, and curled his hands against Hua Cheng’s ribs. Like this, he truly was sprawled out like a lazy feline. Maybe Hua Cheng’s comparison wasn’t so far off.
“Tired gege,” Hua Cheng murmured, very quietly. “Sleepy gege.”
He didn’t let go of Xie Lian’s neck, continuing to comb through his hair with one hand and to lightly trace patterns along his god’s skin with his other.
“Happy gege,” Xie Lian murmured in reply, into Hua Cheng’s skin. He pressed a kiss there again, shyly, tiredly. “Spoiled gege.”
His husband laughed, then, surely smiling wide. Hua Cheng cradled him, smoothing his hair out again. Over and over, like he would rather do nothing else—if Xie Lian asked, then Hua Cheng would do this for eternity. He would just stay in this bed, holding Xie Lian, petting his hair and shoulders and ensuring he could sleep every morning away.
It was as if the day did not exist until Xie Lian said it did.
“Of course, gege must be the happiest in all the Three Realms,” Hua Cheng whispered, to him, sounding quite pleased. “Though, this doesn’t seem so spoiling, does it?” Ah, there it was—the sultry side that Hua Cheng did not hide, now that they were married. Xie Lian’s face burned, just a little, and he sighed a bit pathetically into skin again. Hua Cheng’s smile was evident in his voice, even as he spoke so gingerly, “Maybe, when His Highness isn’t so sleepy, this humble servant could show him what spoiling actually is.”
Xie Lian curled his hands, peeled his eyes open, and hummed. “Maybe,” he rasped, “Or we could—”
His husband’s smile shined, right there, and it was so soft. It was so soft and it was so good and it was something Xie Lian wanted to see all the time, the warmth that fluttered so gently like a wraith butterfly’s wings.
“Sleep a little longer, gege?” Hua Cheng asked, rather knowingly. His teasing was like the tide, back and forth, there one moment and then perfectly sincere the next.
Xie Lian smiled sleepily. “Haha,” he breathed. Gods, Xie Lian liked him so much. He pushed his face down, hiding now. He was still tired. If they did anything right now, he was sure to be absolutely no help. “Ah, I like you so much,” the god confessed, warmly, shyly—and Hua Cheng’s hand came up through his hair, barely tugging at a sleep-mussed knot.
“Ah? What was that, gege?” The ghost king teased, happily. Always so pleased—flustered too. “Did this one hear that right?”
(If Xie Lian looked up, even though Hua Cheng had no mortal blood flow to indicate any embarrassment, the ghost king’s face would surely be red!)
“You know you did,” Xie Lian laughed, voice wobbling and eyes watering.
Being here made him so happy. All the little things and the big things and the things they shared and the sweet moments, the nice words, ah, the home, the building, the city, the world, the time—he was so tired, and he didn’t know why, and sometimes it happened at random. The exhaustion that wrapped him up. The fact that only a handful of years ago, he would have been sleeping alone in the middle of nowhere! Hua Cheng re-entered his life with such flourish and companionship, and to be face to face with it all the time made Xie Lian’s heart flutter. It currently thundered in his chest, even now, so early into any antics.
Hua Cheng’s laughter diminished, evaporating. “Gege?” Concern washed over his features and voice. His hand stopped curling through his hair, and the other went firm on Xie Lian’s shoulder. He was very quiet, but so attuned to Xie Lian’s state of being. Ah. It made his heart feel mushy. “Has something happened?” Hua Cheng asked, quick, “Did I—what is it, gege?”
“I’m happy, San Lang,” Xie Lian assured him, voice like wet paper. When he dried, he would certainly be rumpled. He blinked fast, trying to dislodge any tears that might’ve formed. “And sleepy—but, ah, really. I’m so happy.”
Hua Cheng moved, and Xie Lian nearly winced as he was adjusted alongside his husband. Instead of laying on top of Hua Cheng, face squished against his stomach and firm plain of muscles, he was now draped over Hua Cheng more firmly, face to face, with his chin digging into Hua Cheng’s sternum. He blinked a few times, the exhaustion warping his head into something that bobbed along to an invisible stream of water.
Then he smiled, quickly sliding his gaze away towards the pillows and pillowing red sheets. “Ah,” he mumbled, and Hua Cheng’s hands settled at his back. Xie Lian looked at him again. “San Lang.”
The sweep of his hair, the sharpness of his face, the soft eye that was staring at him. Hua Cheng had his reservations about his true form, but it was the most stunning skin he possessed.
It was Xie Lian’s favorite.
He bit his lip, and kept these sleep-muddled thoughts to himself. If he said such things this moment, who knew how Hua Cheng would react!
“Gege,” Hua Cheng said, and the concern on his face was still there—but had softened, turned into something far less urgent. It simmered. “Gege, gege, gege,” he said a few more times, before he dragged both his hands up Xie Lian’s back and smiled gingerly. Xie Lian shivered, just once, hands useless from where they unceremoniously grasped at the blanket under both of them. “He must be so tired,” Hua Cheng murmured, “To be so confused in the morning. Gege really should sleep longer and feel better; that way he isn’t overthinking things so early.”
Xie Lian sniffed, as if he was trying not to cry—which he wasn’t, totally wasn’t—and Hua Cheng just looked at him softly. Swept his hair away from his face, stared with his eye to see both of Xie Lian’s.
He felt like holding his breath. He didn’t think it would help much, but, ah, maybe. “San Lang,” the god mumbled. “Aren’t you being silly?”
“Gege,” His husband smiled. “No sillier than you, I’m afraid.”
The god smiled, too, sleepy. He shifted his head to rest his cheek along Hua Cheng’s sternum instead, huffing. He wrapped his arms around his husband as best he could. Moving sounded unbearable. Instead, he stayed as close as he could manage. The ghost king in his bed was still smiling, rubbing one circle into his back before mostly going still, swiping his thumb back and forth every now and then. He was humming again—that foreign melody, the one that neither of them knew or could name. He asked; Hua Cheng said he didn’t know. That was how it was. He didn’t mind. It was one of those things that his husband kept buried in his chest, maybe, something soft but all too tender to retrieve and give a name—unidentifiable, only bound by nostalgic memory.
“It’s nice,” Xie Lian whispered, into warm skin. “To just be tired with you.”
Maybe cold to anyone else, as a ghost, but Hua Cheng was as warm as Xie Lian could ever hope for. Ever want. It was nice.
“Sleeping in a cruel, merciless ghost king’s bed?” Hua Cheng joked, and tucked himself closer. The pillows sank around them, but the room remained mostly quiet. Reds and blacks and dark colors bending together. The only thing that came into focus was the gleam of Hua Cheng: laying under him, letting Xie Lian use him as a pillow. As close as comfort would allow.
(Very close, for everyone’s information. There really should be manuals on this kind of thing.)
He huffed again, snorting at the joke. He brushed his lips over Hua Cheng’s sternum, and then kissed over the scar that waited with its barely raised lines. “Merciless, maybe—with how you—you know,” he mumbled, cheeks finally going a little red at the reminder, “But certainly not cruel.”
His husband’s breath faltered, for just a moment, before he laughed again. “Really, gege?”
“Yes,” Xie Lian sighed wistfully. “This gege says so.”
“Then it must be true, if it’s God that says so,” Hua Cheng murmured, so softly. His humor was there, and he brought his hand back up to Xie Lian’s head to brush through his hair once more. He mused out loud, if only to fill the silence before his god fell asleep again, “Crimson Rain Sought Flower, supposedly merciless but not cruel, as explained by Taizi Dianxia.”
“Very much so,” The Taizi Dianxia said again, in insistence. He forced away the exhaustion, just enough to smile and press his lips down again. He laughed, gentle. “Firstly, he gives me pleasure beyond compare. Secondly, he doesn’t take no for an answer. Thirdly—the proof of not being cruel—he lets me sleep in his bed and allows me to use him as a pillow.” Xie Lian’s face burned. His eyes fluttered. He didn’t mind, so much, even if he felt as if there were a million butterflies in his stomach. “If this is a bad example, then San Lang will just have to prove otherwise…” before his husband could get any ideas, he continued quickly, “Some other time, though!” He snapped his eyes open, seeing Hua Cheng’s mischievous eye looking back at him. Xie Lian’s face burned once more. “As in, well, once this old god has rested—”
“Yes,” Hua Cheng agreed, smiling. “Perhaps this one will have to, hm?” The mischief in his eye twinkled, and then was replaced by what could only be considered either great greed or great longing—both, as known by Xie Lian—came with the devotion that this believer of his possessed. “Gege,” he said. “I’ll be anything but cruel.”
Xie Lian narrowed his eyes, “Uhuh.”
“I won’t even be merciless,” Hua Cheng continued, as if he could be believed after the many things that happened last night in this very bed. But, a well, so insistent and so warm and so soft. Hua Cheng sounded precious when he spoke like this, even if he was terribly cocky about it. If anything, it was rather endearing. “I’ll be the most merciful ghost king in all Three Realms, it’ll put every mortal’s generosity to shame.”
Xie Lian raised a brow, eyes twitching, but his suspicion—not real in the first place—did not last long at all. “Well,” he murmured faintly, “Then this god will just look forward to it, hm, San Lang?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Hua Cheng laughed warmly, clearly delighted, and bent himself enough to press a kiss to the crown of Xie Lian’s head. The god felt fluttery, and shifted a little closer so he could try and tuck his head under Hua Cheng’s chin. “Seeking warmth,” the ghost cajoled. “Ah, gege, sleep some more. This believer will see you when you wake.”
Xie Lian hummed contentedly, and heard Hua Cheng begin his song again.