Chapter Text
The first thing Xie Lian sees when he opens his eyes is red. Coral red on the aerial silk curtains shivering under the gentle breeze, cherry red on the altar covered with an indecent mountain of ripe fruits and blooming flowers, blood-red on the large umbrella spread open by the statue's foot. Vermillion red on the godly figure, a mischievous point on the forehead, a loving belt hugging the waist, a curving line on the lips of the smiling face.
Maple red on the tunic of the lone figure standing in front of the divine statue, their back bent in half, their hands joined together, and their head bowed in respect. It's a young man, barely out of his teenage years, tall and slender like an overgrown weed. Ink black hair flows freely on his bony shoulders and down his spine, restrained only by one side braid. A sharp contrast to the alabaster colour of his skin, glowing like the moon in the deep dark night. At the end of the braid, a single coral pearl bead shakes gently. The shade is familiar, Xie Lian thinks distantly, confused by the situation he found himself into.
Xie Lian is standing to the side, lurking in the shadows, unnoticed by the young man. To be fair, he wouldn't be seen even if he was right in front of the mortal's eyes. Xie Lian takes a hesitant step forward then waits for a reaction. The man in red doesn't so much as flinch, still lost in his silent prayers.
Amused, Xie Lian casts a more thoughtful glance around the room. There is something eerie in the way the silk curtains dance, in the intoxicating smell of flowers infused in the air. Something otherworldly, a divine atmosphere most humans try and fail to convey. This is a very impressive temple, albeit small. Whoever built it cared very much about the god they intended to honor.
The leisurely pace of the train in his thoughts comes to a halt when he looks at the statue more closely. The crafting is beyond exquisite, the colors vivid, the lines delicate and robust at the same time. The figure depicts a young man in princely robes, adorned in precious jewels and bright flowers. He's holding a sword in his right hand, and white wildflower in his left. A benevolent smile graces his noble expression as his delicately painted eyes look down at the praying young man.
Himself. The statue is meant to be him, and they're both inside a dream, Xie Lian realizes after an embarrassingly long time of latency. He's in a dream. Somehow, he stumbled on accident into one of his devotees' fantasies. The young man's faith in him is so powerful Xie Lian was dragged in without warning.
Ah. Well. Awkward. Clearly neither of them intended for such a thing to happen so Xie Lian should probably leave. Most gods consider it their prerogative to enter their devotees' dreams, but Xie Lian has always disliked the process. It feels intrusive. Aggressive, even.
He freezes as the young man straightens up and raises his head to stare at the statue. His one black eye glistens with emotion, the other covered under a leather eyepatch. "Your Highness," he whispers, his voice deep and rich, throbbing with a feeling Xie Lian cannot begin to decipher. He almost sounds... drunk? "Your Highness, I can't... I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
'Sorry about what', Xie Lian wonders bemusedly. Without warning, the man in red falls on his knees, his back arching gracefully, and his legs spread apart on the hard floor. Xie Lian has an out of body experience when the man's right-hand slips under his tunic and into his pants, with an intent so obvious even the fervently chaste Xie Lian cannot misunderstand. If he had any doubts left, the sinful moan that escapes his devotee's mouth would have swept those away completely.
Crimson blossoms on those snow-white cheeks, a haze of desire shimmering over his exposed eye and Xie Lian forgets how to breathe. Lust. That expression is pure, raw lust. For Xie Lian, the least sexy person on the planet.
"Your Highness," the man in red confirms his suspicions not a second later. The way he says Xie Lian's title makes it seem absolutely filthy coming out of those red, red lips. "Your Highness, please."
'Please what,' his heart screams as it flutters erratically in his ribcage. There is no point asking for anything of him in that instant. Xie Lian can't do anything, and he has lost all control he had over his own body or his powers. His spiritual energy is roaming wildly across his meridians, ignoring his call, so he can't smite the young man for daring to do such debauched things in front of the representation of his divine persona. His mouth is gaping dumbly, words refusing to come out of his throat, so he can't demand him to... to stop touching himself where Xie Lian can see. He seems to have lost all his motor control, his fingers twitching uselessly by his side, and therefore cannot pull out his sword to punish the young man for his lack of shame and restraint.
He can't evenleave and recite sutras until he forgets this embarrassing accident ever happened. His legs refuse to obey his frantic commands, so he just... stands there, paralyzed with horrified disbelief.
Worst of the worst, Xie Lian can't find the will to look away. Him. He can't look away. This is unbelievable. Xie Lian is nothing short of an expert at avoiding anything sex-related. As a mortal, he sabotaged no less than three marriage proposals and one harem project, plus that one awkward time his father tried to drag him to a brothel to 'make a man out of him'. Xie Lian never wanted to 'be a man', whatever that meant. He aimed to become a god, and he succeeded.
He perfected his Innocent and Dumb Act even further in the following ten years he spent as a god, letting innuendos pass right over his head as if he couldn't even see them until whoever was trying to get into the pants of Heaven's hottest new commodity gave up. He hasn't touched himself since he was twelve years old, and frankly never missed the mess sex created before.
Yet, trapped in the perverted fantasy of his worshiper, he can't avert his eyes. He takes in every single quick stroke, every buck of those slender hips, every gasp and moan, and unwillingly imprints the spectacle into his memory forever. At that instant, he knows with absolute certainty no matter how hard he tries, he'll never be able to forget the depraved sounds the man in red makes when he caresses himself fantasizing about Xie Lian. Not in a million years, not ever. For a given value of the word caress, that's it. The young man is almost aggressive in his ministrations, movements harsh and hasty, merciless toward his own flesh and pleasure. Like he's trying to punish himself, Xie Lian hysterically notices between two panicked thoughts.
"Ahhh, Your Highness," his devotee cries out, his neck arching up so he can stare at the figure's kindly smiling face.
He's getting close to...to climax, Xie Lian knows despite not having indulged himself in more than a decade. Whatever remnants of an organized rhythm the young man had in the beginning, have crumbled into erratic thrusting. He's pounding furiously into his own hand without bothering to look down, his hips rolling on and on hypnotically. Still, Xie Lian is unable to avert his eyes, enthralled by a dance millennia older than he is.
If Xie Lian still needed breathing, he would have suffocated right and there when he caught the sight of his devotee's face, his beautiful hair in disarray, his eye wide open and his mouth twisted in pure adoration and despair. He has never seen anyone looking so blissfully destroyed before. As if he's seeking more than mere, base pleasure, but for the life of him, Xie Lian has no idea what.
Now, Xie Lian thinks dazedly, as he unconsciously stumbles forward. Now is the moment. Xie Lian is almost expecting another sinful 'Your Highness' again, or a wrecked moan likely to shake him to the core, but the man in red comes with his free hand covering his mouth, in utter silence, quiet as a whisper.
His heart throbs angrily in his throat when his devotee folds upon himself and prostrate on the ground, a human-shaped mountain crumbling into a shattered mess. His forehead is touching the ground, his arms struggling to support his weight in the aftershock of his orgasm. He looks more in pain than pleased by his own release.
It's over. Yet under Xie Lian's immortal skin, a wave of heat he does not understand trembles and tugs and screams. He circles his chest with his two arms and tries to ignore it. It doesn't work.
A muffled sob snaps Xie Lian out of his self-recriminating trance. The mortal, still kneeling on his legs and hands, is staring at the figure's feet, his eye wide with dread. Xie Lian can't stop himself from following his line of sight curiously and freezes. Somehow, the man managed to come far enough to speckle the feet of the statue with his cum.
Oh. Oh no.
The crazily sobbing part of him wants to yell that it's okay, no need to worry about it, easy enough to clean, no big deal. As if Xie Lian has any experience on the fine art of destroying post-ejaculation accident evidence.
In front of Xie Lian's half horrified half fascinated eyes, the man in red crawls on the ground without any shame whatsoever, bend over the statue's dirty feet and lick it clean with his tongue. The sight is enough to finally break Xie Lian out of his stupor, and he bursts out of the dream with a hysterical cry.
He opens his eyes to the ceiling of his room in Xian Le palace and springs out his bed. What. What just happened?