Chapter Text
This is a secluded pavilion in the Marquis’s estate. Rain lashes against the bamboo screens. The air is thick with the scent of cold plum blossoms and the metallic tang of Yan Wushi’s overwhelming qi.
Yan Wushi: (Circling Shen Qiao like a wolf, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, familiar glint) You have that look again, A-Qiao. That soft, wounded gaze. Are you remembering the cliff? Or perhaps the time I handed you over to Sang Jingxing?
Shen Qiao: (His grip tightening on the hilt of Shanhe Tongbei, his knuckles white) Why bring this up now? The past is settled. We are… here. Together.
Yan Wushi: (Stopping directly behind him, his breath ghosting over Shen Qiao’s ear) Is it settled? Or are you just waiting for the next strike? You trust me, yet you keep your sword within reach. You love me, yet you expect the blade in the dark. (He reaches out, his fingers tracing the line of Shen Qiao’s throat.) Tell me, Shen-lang… does the fear make your blood sing?
Shen Qiao: (A shudder ripples through him, not of fear, but of a rising, volatile heat) Stop it, Yan Wushi.
Yan Wushi: (Applying just enough pressure to the pulse point in Shen Qiao’s neck) I can feel it. Your heart is racing. Not with the peace of a Daoist, but with the desperation of a man pushed to the edge. You want to strike me. You want to pin me down and ensure I can never turn my back on you again. You want to possess what you cannot trust.
Shen Qiao: (Turning sharply, his eyes finally losing their calm clarity, replaced by a dark, shimmering intensity) You speak of betrayal as if it is a game. You think my kindness is a bottomless well?
Yan Wushi: (A dark, triumphant smile spreads across his face) I think your kindness is a mask for a soul that could burn the world down if provoked. (He grabs Shen Qiao’s hand and presses it against his own chest, right over his heart.) So, provoke it. Stop being a saint for one night. Take what you want. Show me how you intend to brand your wife.
Shen Qiao: (His voice drops to a low, dangerous growl, his qi flaring up and extinguishing the nearby candles) You truly are a madman. You court destruction just to see if I’ll deliver it.
Yan Wushi: (Pulling Shen Qiao flush against him, their foreheads touching) Then deliver it, A-Qiao. Let the "betrayal" be that you finally stopped being merciful.
Shen Qiao: (The last of his restraint snaps. He lunges forward, his hands tangling in Yan Wushi’s hair with a force that is far from gentle, his kiss desperate and punishing.) Fine. If you want a demon, Sect Leader Yan… I shall give you one.
Yan Wushi: (Muffled against Shen Qiao’s lips, laughing with pure, dark delight) There he is.