Work Text:
Maomao knew her husband needed replenishment… from her.
That had been the case for exactly three days. And he still had done nothing about it.
On that day, she realized it was still ongoing, starting from the morning when she tried to wake him up to get ready for work and eat his breakfast. She saw it in the way he pouted like a sulky child, sensed it from his grumbling about how heavy the workload had been lately, and the muttered words about not wanting to leave so early in the morning.
She noticed it in his restlessness while preparing to bathe, and even afterward, as he was dressing in his formal attire. And needless to say, it became most obvious during breakfast.
Normally, when something like this happened, Jinshi would sometimes resort to getting what he wanted in his own ways—ways she didn’t always approve of. Other times, he would simply state his desire outright and act on it to get his replenishment himself.
Maomao would then either allow it passively, without resistance, or after a mild protest and reluctant fuss. The truth was, she didn’t completely hate it—especially when the way he sought it was reasonable. Like kissing her, embracing her, or indulging in that particular act he was so fond of and often focused on... Not when he simply patted her head or cheek, or held her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers. Maomao preferred tangible, meaningful gestures over those silly ones.
That clingy side of Jinshi was a reality she had to accept—no, even embrace. She made an effort to grant him what he needed, in the way he desired it, by simply allowing him to. That had always been her approach.
But that time was entirely different from anything that had ever happened over the course of their years together. She suspected his withdrawal wasn’t unintentional, or innocent, or even spontaneous. Something in the way he looked at her, the complaints he muttered, and the peculiar way he avoided touching her all pointed to a hidden intention behind his behavior.
It wasn’t as though Maomao was upset or bothered by what was happening; on the contrary, she was relieved not to have to deal with or bear the consequences of his needs for once. But she didn’t want her mind to be preoccupied with such things as a result. Surely there were more important things to occupy her mind than this pointless distraction.
What vexed Maomao more and more was the feeling that he was waiting for her to react, expecting something from her… perhaps for her to take the initiative this time and give him the replenishment he needed of her own accord. She wouldn’t have really minded, in truth—but the whole thing would’ve been much easier if he’d just stepped forward and done everything himself, the way he liked, without dragging her into the decision or the execution.
Still, Maomao felt the challenge in his behavior. And in return, she accepted it—because of course, she could match him in any game he played. Just to see how things would unfold in the end. When he’d give up and surrender. When he’d stop provoking her. And how—by what means—he would finally claim his replenishment after having denied himself and kept his distance all this while.
What particularly got on her nerves and fueled her resistance was the memory that returned to her—of the last time Jinshi had gotten the replenishment he wanted against her will.
Warmth surged to her cheeks all of a sudden—well, perhaps she should check the room’s heating later.
Embarrassment and disbelief still reigned every time that incident crossed her mind by accident.
One afternoon the previous week, Maomao had gone to Jinshi’s office to deliver a light meal Suiren had prepared for him. Normally, a servant would’ve been tasked with that—but that simply wasn’t possible with someone like him. So, as usual, she had to do it herself.
It also happened that she had just finished preparing a tonic to boost his appetite—which both she and Suiren had noticed waning recently—so she took the chance to bring it along.
When she arrived, she found he was already in the middle of one of his rare breaks. The place was empty save for him—and the guard outside the door. She only intended to hand him the meal, make sure he took the tonic in front of her, then quickly return to finish some of her own tasks.
But Jinshi, who seemed a bit tired, insisted that she stay with him just a few more minutes.
Resigned, Maomao sighed and obliged.
She sat on the couch, a few centimeters away from him—a distance he quickly closed the moment he noticed it. For several minutes, he did nothing as he ate. But in one swift moment, just as she reached out for a glass of water, she felt his hand sneak over and take hold of her other hand.
She immediately gave up on the water glass, prioritizing getting his hand off hers, struggling to suppress the heat blooming across her skin from the sheer panic of someone walking in at any second. He ignored her completely when she tried to remind him of that very fact.
Maomao eventually surrendered on trying to free her hand from his grip—his large, warm hand; those long, gnarled fingers of his that covered her palm and wrapped all the way to the back of it—and he continued to hold onto it as he finished his meal, paying no attention to her constant sighs meant to express her impatience to be released.
Then he did something completely unnecessary—utterly inappropriate even, should anyone walk in: he pressed the gentlest, most delicate kiss on her hand. Slow, lingering, his lips staying there longer than needed. And at that, Maomao felt that warmth from earlier creeping to the tips of her ears. Her breath caught. Embarrassment, laced with a strange, unfamiliar sense of closeness, clung to her.
Even putting all else aside—Jinshi had been greedy to do something like that when they had already slept together the night before, and even that very morning!
Wasn’t that sufficient and suitable enough replenishment already?
Apparently not. And that stunned her more than anything. He was far too demanding for her tastes.
And just as she feared, the worst happened: a court official walked in on them at that exact scene.
The rest—she had no idea how she managed to make it back to the palace, or what expression she wore on the way back…
Maomao returned from her memories, trying to focus on her meal and ignore Jinshi’s constant sighing.
Even after he finished and stood up to wash his hands, she didn’t immediately follow to escort him out—delaying her movement as much as possible in a last-ditch effort to avoid the unwanted.
In the end, she realized that wouldn’t be good—it would count as cowardice and surrender in their push-and-pull game.
And beyond that, she couldn’t bring herself to let him leave his home for his demanding work, for long hours, without seeing him off. She wouldn’t neglect what she considered her duty—yes, just a duty—because of this silly game.
Maomao rose from the table, joined him, and did as he did, then accompanied him to the door. There, she wished him a good day and best of luck. He returned the sentiment politely, despite whatever was likely stirring inside him—frustration and need.
Eventually, with a look of disappointment, he turned his back to her and began slowly walking away to work.
And that was fine by her…
Until she saw him pause, turn, and hurry back to her.
He stood dangerously close—leaning in further into her space, and whispered low, but with urgency and plea:
“Maomao, I need a hug… before I leave… and go be crushed under the weight and burden of endless work. Please.”
At first, she wanted to wriggle out of it, to outright refuse. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it—not while he was looking at her with those sad, vulnerable eyes. He looked almost like an abandoned puppy. A pang of guilt, sympathy, and an inexplicable urge to protect overtook her. She really hated that work of his!
Well, at the very least, he had been the one to give in, to ask and plead in the end. She hadn’t been the one to initiate it. That made him a good boy. And so he deserved his reward, which he’d clearly been hoping for all along.
The corners of Maomao’s mouth curved upward. She stepped closer, rose up onto her toes, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Jinshi immediately relaxed at her touch, encircling her back with his arms—in a strength and gentleness so contradictory that it confused her, stirring something deep in her belly.
He held her like that, patting her back from time to time, his face nestled closely beside hers.
They stayed like that for a while, until an odd impulse welled up in her, a desire to give him something more… simply in return for his obedience and the delight he took in being allowed to hold her. A different kind of reward.
Maomao pulled back and looked up at him for a long moment, letting her gaze hold his—long enough to let anticipation flood his being, just as she was certain it was. She could tell by the look on his face. Then she rose a little higher on her tiptoes, hands still secured around his neck, and leaned closer, torturously slowly.
She pressed two featherlight kisses to each of his cheeks. When she drew back for a moment, she struggled to contain the fluttering sensation that bloomed in her chest upon meeting his gaze—so tender, so clinging.
Maomao had planned to stop there. But, against her better judgment, she changed her mind.
She leaned in again, planting more small, delicate kisses along his jawline before pausing in front of his lips. She let her lips hover just above his for a heartbeat, testing his restraint—then finally, closed the gap between them.
Her touch was confident, yet hesitant at once. Almost immediately, she felt his lips begin to move against hers, and she allowed herself to be swept up in the moment, growing bolder as the kiss deepened—though she couldn’t quite say what had possessed her to give it… or rather, to take it from him.
And so Maomao decided to do what she knew her husband liked—what she had learned he did in return when he wanted to please her: to lightly nibble on his lower lip. The instant she heard the low, delicious sound he made in response, she traced her tongue along his lip, coaxing.
And when he eagerly parted his lips for her, she slipped inside, teasing and caressing every corner of his mouth in the way that made him melt in her hands, that drew out those soft mewls—the way that made him cling tighter, pull her closer, pressing her body flush against his.
In turn, she tightened her arms around his neck, her fingers instinctively threading into his hair.
They lost all sense of time, absorbed in the kiss, in their shared immersion…
When they pulled apart to catch their breath, Jinshi looked giddy with boyish delight, refreshed, a cute shade of blush tinting his cheeks. A silly grin tugged at his mouth. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and his lips were flushed—not just from the kiss, but also from a faint smudge of her lipstick.
All her doing!
A thought crossed Maomao’s mind then. A desire… a choice. That next time, she’d handle things differently. She would be the one to initiate. After all, he had wanted her to do it once. So doing it for him next time felt like the right decision. It was only fair that way.
A steady resolve, a sense of anticipation, and longing settled deep inside her—into her very bones. And somehow, Maomao felt satisfaction carve its place into her chest. A small, indulgent—perhaps even fond—smile, who could say for sure, found its way onto her face.
The prince headed off to work, radiant and gleaming, with a dazzling aura surrounding him—and that same grin still playing on his lips. Lips now bearing a hint of his wife’s lipstick—a detail he hadn’t noticed at all.
But she had.
Of course she had.
His ever-observant wife had seen it; and had chosen to say nothing.
Letting him leave like that without wiping it off.
For reasons he had yet to confirm... though he was beginning to suspect what they might be.