Work Text:
Jiang Cheng fidgeted in front of the medical ward’s door for the nth time. The tray holding the bowl of soup he had prepared with his own hands was growing heavy, and the lack of rising steam clearly indicated he’d already hesitated too long. If he wasted any more time, someone might come down the hallway and question his dailiness. So with one last sigh, he straightened his spine and knocked on the wood with his wing before pushing the door open.
Liu Qingge, as on most days Jiang Cheng found him, was looking out the window. He turned when he heard Jiang Cheng enter and gave a hint of a smile, which Jiang Cheng did his best to return, but it was clear that Liu Qingge missed the outdoors and being free—as was his firebird nature.
“Soon,” Jiang Cheng reassured him as he set the tray down on the bedside table, then stepped back to maintain a respectful distance. He still had to play the role of a sect leader, after all. “The healers said your core should return to normal soon.”
“Mm.” Liu Qingge picked up the spoon and tasted a bit of the soup. “It’s a bit cold.”
Jiang Cheng pretended not to hear that and continued, “Your wings are already fully dry. That’s a good sign since it means that the Lake of Everlasting Clear’s effects have been diminished and you should be able to regain your flames.”
Liu Qingge frowned. “I know.”
So why haven’t they?
Both of them knew the unspoken question. Yet, there was still a piece of information that only Jiang Cheng was privy to. The healers had implored him to suggest this option, but looking at Liu Qingge now, who was back to staring so forlornly at the outdoors, how could Jiang Cheng give him false hope?
Nevertheless, it wouldn’t be fair to Liu Qingge to withhold any information that could help him. He had to try. Clearing his throat and tucking his hands behind his back, he broached the subject.
“Have you tried… letting someone groom your wings?”
Liu Qingge froze, then started turning red.
Jiang Cheng mentally slapped himself. Stupid… of course, Liu Qingge didn’t want anyone touching his wings! There was a reason why he was so insistent on staying in the empty ward instead of one of the disciple nests to recuperate. Even when Jiang Cheng had invited him to his sect leader quarters, thinking Liu Qingge must have thought it was beneath his station to roost with the juniors, Liu Qingge had still vehemently refused, shaking his head so hard Jiang Cheng thought he was going to have a concussion.
As a siren, Jiang Cheng tried not to feel offended, reasoning with himself that Liu Qingge must be a very private person. Even Jiang Cheng was reserved to a certain extent—although that had more to do with his position as the leader of the Jiang sect. But he, at least, was comfortable sharing his nest with his lieutenants and subordinates, especially when medicinal flock bonding was needed.
“Sorry—” he blurted out.
“—It’s fine,” Liu Qingge cut him off.
Jiang Cheng paused, waiting for Liu Qingge to rescind his permission. He clearly hadn’t sounded so sure when he said that, and Jiang Cheng knew when to give someone an out. But when Liu Qingge didn’t say anything more, only avoiding eye contact and pretending to take another sip of the empty soup bowl, Jiang Cheng bit the bullet.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Liu Qingge got out in the same stiff tone, this time turning away from Jiang Cheng on the bed and spreading his wings as a clear invitation.
Alright. At least Liu Qingge wasn’t one of those cultivators that insisted on propriety above all else; he still understood the importance of social grooming.
Jiang Cheng settled behind Liu Qingge on the mattress, one leg hanging off the edge. He started by setting a steady hand on the space between Liu Qingge’s wings on his back, the piece of fabric connecting the wing openings on Liu Qingge’s robe warm to his touch. He didn’t draw attention to the way the firebird shuddered and seemed to want to lean away, deciding it was best if he skipped the usual pre-grooming rituals. (He didn’t know how firebirds groomed each other, but he didn’t think Liu Qingge would react well if Jiang Cheng suddenly took down his hair and began combing it the way his species did.)
“I’ll start with the left one,” he murmured, running his fingers through the base of Liu Qingge’s wings only after the other nodded in assent.
The soft down that sprouted between contour feathers had to be coaxed out from the opening of Liu Qingge’s robes, and Jiang Cheng took the chance to marvel at their fluffiness along with the shoulder blades that could be glimpsed. The feathers were white now, but Jiang Cheng knew it wasn’t their true colour. Fiery scarlet had been the flames that streaked across the sky the day when Liu Qingge arced through the clouds and plunged into the lake. His fall had brought about a wave of gasps across the docks, the surface bubbling and roiling with the intensity of his heat before they petered out and true panic burst into the air.
Jiang Cheng hadn’t wasted any time. The surge of shock from his office’s open window propelled him to take flight before the ink on his paper had even dried, and in two powerful wingbeats, he too was diving beneath the ripples to find the sinking firebird, a mere man after his light had been snuffed out.
Liu Qingge’s back muscles flexed as Jiang Cheng picked out loose feathers from the bunches and cracked open pin feathers to give help to emerging ones. Realigning semi-plumes took some time to do, especially since Liu Qingge seemed to favour sleeping curled up as a ball on his left side, but once Jiang Cheng was able to run his nails smoothly down the rows of plumage, Liu Qingge dropped the tenseness and visibly leaned back into Jiang Cheng’s space.
Jiang Cheng assumed Liu Qingge had been able to preen and upkeep his wing feathers so far—the large, sleek tips were neat and orderly; in line with Liu Qingge’s personality—but Jiang Cheng still stroked his fingers through them and tidied them up, neatening the ends. He quirked a small smile at Liu Qingge’s shiver.
“Feels good, huh?”
Liu Qingge gave a jerky nod, and Jiang Cheng resumed his work. He always enjoyed it when his siblings took care of him to that extent as well. Distantly, he wondered if Liu Qingge had any family to tend to him like this too.
After Liu Qingge was fished from the lake, his troubles didn’t end there. The Bai Zhan Peak Lord—as Jiang Cheng had come to learn—had still been unconscious and unwilling to wake even after Jiang Cheng performed CPR and got the water out of his lungs. As he barked orders and batted the villagers from crowding too close with his glistening outstretched wings, Jiang Cheng had continued to monitor Liu Qingge’s breaths closely, dripping lake water all over the man and irrationally hoping that the unconscious man would find that annoying enough to wake up.
By the time the healers rushed to them, Liu Qingge’s cheeks had lost colour, and he was on the verge of succumbing to hypothermia. The diagnosis was a mental issue, Jiang Cheng’s best physician had told him, her worried expression only setting him on edge. Liu Qingge didn’t want to wake; he must be suffering a blow so great that his mind was refusing to come back to reality. Not to mention that the Lake of Everlasting Clear’s magical properties must be further trapping his mind in a revelation that was too honest, inhibiting his ability to snap out of his mental prison.
So, as a last resort, Jiang Cheng had performed a—his siren song to coax the man into a state of semi-consciousness, imbuing his voice with a call of longing that he didn’t dare make eye contact with anyone, fearful that their expressions would distract him and make him feel self-conscious. He sang, on his knees, by Liu Qingge’s side, blushing as he held Liu Qingge’s hand to deepen the connection and continued until he finished the song, the last note accompanied by a tight reciprocal squeeze to his palms. Liu Qingge already had his eyes open a few choruses ago, but Jiang Cheng didn’t want to risk a stunted treatment.
The reverent look in Liu Qingge’s eyes was enough for Jiang Cheng to disengage his hand slowly, though—he didn’t want to deliver another shock to the weakened man!—but to this day, Wei Wuxian had still not let Jiang Cheng live that gentle gesture down.
Still, Jiang Cheng tried to avoid the topic with Liu Qingge. He didn’t want to cross a line, and he didn’t know how much of his magic had affected Liu Qingge. What did he see? The siren song was known to show a person’s deepest desire, and he didn’t want to presume that the vision Liu Qingge had seen was in any way related to the way Liu Qingge acted friendlier (in his own way) to him in comparison to other people. Perhaps Liu Qingge had even forgotten what he’d seen. That’d probably be best, although judging by how Liu Qingge was currently letting him groom his wings, Jiang Cheng was pretty sure there was more to it than his superb hospitality.
Jiang Cheng began to preen the feathers on Liu Qingge’s right wing. This side seemed to be more sensitive, and Jiang Cheng had to pause sometimes to let Liu Qingge unwind and relax, amused by how whenever he pushed a little deeper to adjust the stems, Liu Qingge’s wing would twitch out of his grasp.
“Relax,” he laughed, smirking as the tips of Liu Qingge’s ears turned red. But he did make an effort to follow Jiang Cheng’s direction.
Eventually, Jiang Cheng was able to finish grooming both sides. Although the session hadn’t ended with Liu Qingge’s wings reignited yet, they did feel much glossier and sleeker, oils coming in and turning Liu Qingge’s a vibrant white that Jiang Cheng suspected would help with combustion—different than the type that coated Jiang Cheng’s, which were suited to help him glide through the water.
“Does that feel better?” He asked, still stroking the length of Liu Qingge’s wingspan with his fingertips; he couldn’t help it, it was so soft now.
He almost missed Liu Qingge’s response, but even with Liu Qingge’s quick nod, his wings couldn’t lie to Jiang Cheng, stretching out tentatively to their full width and displaying their full magnificent plumage. Jiang Cheng let out a low “wow” subconsciously.
“Thank you.” Liu Qingge’s voice was soft, the shiest Jiang Cheng had ever heard from him, and he rubbed a shiny wing feather, smiling.
“You’re welcome.”
Liu Qingge chirped, then shifted to face him. His gaze was so bashful that Jiang Cheng was momentarily speechless, forgetting about propriety as he drank up the slight pout and furrowed brows and pink cheeks.
“Are you ok—”
Plush lips suddenly pressed against Jiang Cheng’s as Liu Qingge closed the distance between them. The room darkened, and for a split second Jiang Cheng thought all the lanterns must’ve been snuffed out until he realized that the shadow covering him was coming from Liu Qingge’s wings, hiding them from view of everything even though there was no one else.
“Huh—”
Liu Qingge disconnected from him before Jiang Cheng could comprehend what had just happened. But then Liu Qingge was pushing and pivoting him to turn around, two warm hands landing on his waist and shutting up all thoughts in Jiang Cheng’s head.
Liu Qingge—
Jiang Cheng’s wings were stretched open before fingers ran through his feathers in the same manner he had treated Liu Qingge’s, and dimly he registered that the firebird was reciprocating a grooming session, although his hands seemed to hold a tenderness in them that Jiang Cheng didn’t normally receive from his sect members. It didn’t really click in his head, anyway. Not when Jiang Cheng’s mind was still preoccupied by the kiss, hand still touching his lips.
Perhaps if Jiang Cheng had done more research on firebirds, he would’ve known that, as solitary birds, firebirds usually viewed private grooming sessions as a part of the courtship between mates, and that unlike sirens, they held more erogenous zones in the wings as a reason. In the meantime, however, Jiang Cheng could only wonder if he should be giving Liu Qingge a kiss of his own as well after his turn was over.