Chapter Text
Breath like fire, hair as silk, these liminal foxes at the threshold between worlds yearn to have a home to call their own, a place to return to, somewhere to belong. To that end, they will take what they can through force, and against those more powerful they will thieve under cover of night, one small breath at a time.
i.
Sunlight filters through gossamer blinds, crimson and shimmering at the edges of their marital bed. The sun is warm this morning, and the smell of fresh dew after a night of gentle rain drifts through their mountain abode, blithe and sweet, lifting the spirits. There is birdsong in the distance, cheerful if faraway, drowned out by the rushing of a nearby river, the tinkling of bronze chimes, the rhythmic pulse of two hearts beating as one.
Morax is first to wake. He turns ever so slightly against the warmth embracing him, his dark hair tangled between his husband's long fingers, mindful of the horns curling from his temples as he buries his face against the hollow of his pillow's neck. He takes a deep breath, sighing contently, then lifts a hand to trace along pearl white skin, dancing over lithe muscles decorated in a latticework of silvery scars.
A claw circles a sharp puncture wound, a bright pointed star nestled between two ribs, then skips across the wide expanse of his husband's chest to where two jagged gashes, healed poorly without consideration for appearances, link together over his heart.
Morax flattens his hand over the ruined skin, feels the blood pulse beneath his palm, and wonders, not for the first time, how he had ever allowed a huxian, a nine-tailed fox no less, to get this close to him, to open himself to the risk of heartache in loving someone who drank his power like a man dying of thirst at the foot of a well. They don't talk about it—not when they share a meal of meat by day, certainly not when they lie in each others arms by night—but Morax knows what is happening each time Ajax presses into him, and Ajax is far too intelligent to believe Morax doesn't notice that the ache in his limbs, the bone-deep weariness, the weakness in his quivering soul in the light of each morning is not solely due to rounds of their intensely pleasurable coupling.
Morax does not mind though. What is his power if not to share, this seemingly limitless bounty of the earth that replenishes each passing moon, enough to sustain two immortals even if one is an insatiable fox.
"A-Li, I can hear you thinking in my sleep. Is there something you wish to share?" Ajax curls his fingers into the soft hairs at the nape of Morax's neck, gives them a playful tug, relishing in the way his god gasps and arches against him, throat bared. He takes one breath to flip them over, soft sheets rustling and sliding off broad shoulders, pressing his fangs against tender flesh where Morax's heart flutters. "If you don't speak, I'll have to ply the words from that pretty mouth, one syllable at a time. Do you think you can last, after last night?"
Morax can hear the smile in Ajax's voice, like the clinking of glass beads or the sparkle of ocean waters at dawn. He laughs demurely, turning his head to the side to give the fox some more room. When the mouth at his throat grows insistent, sharp teeth testing the stretch of his skin, hot tongue lapping at pinpricks of blood, Morax raises both hands to rest them along the ring of scar tissue frozen around Ajax's neck.
The huxian stills at once, swallowing past Morax's thumbs. These wounds are old, older than most others on his body, but to this day the phantom pain lingers, hooked deep in his flesh, skeletal fingers chill and biting, forever haunting him with the thought of what he would be without Morax.
Ajax lifts himself onto arms that bracket Morax's beautifully flushed face, gazing down at the god that gave him life and purpose. He thinks he must have exhausted all the karma of his previous lives just to have met the Lord of Geo like this.
Morax traces the darkened lines, so different from the pale scars everywhere else, and murmurs soft blessings to counter each curse carved into the huxian's skin. Ajax shudders above him, squeezing his eyes shut. If it hurts, Ajax tries not to show it, dipping his head low so his auburn hair conceals his expression. The ears at the top of his head flicker, restless, white fur tickling Morax's nose.
Eventually Morax completes his lathing of prayers upon the fox, and Ajax collapses gracelessly against his chest. They stay like that—with Ajax thumbing the curve of a hipbone, mindlessly possessive, and Morax brushing the hair behind his ears to soothe him—until the sun rises high enough in the sky to cut through the blinds, warming their skin, reminding them that a bath is in order if they wanted to meet any guests today.
Before either can get up though, Ajax's soft voice dances through the room. "Do you remember the day that we met?"
Morax presses a kiss to his brow, whispering back, "How could I forget?" The words could be sensual, had he that intention, but instead Morax sticks out his tongue, longer than a human's, its tapered edge slashed through by a wicked pink scar.
Ajax laughs, bright and unapologetic, kissing the tip of his tongue. "In fairness, you were not particularly forthcoming with your intentions. You could have told me what you were there for, instead of snatching me up like some prize."
To this Morax smiles coyly, mouthing into a fluffy ear, "Who is to say you are not my prize, my huxian, my beloved fox?"
In retrospect, it was probably irresponsible to provoke a hungry animal with the suggestion of a heavenly meal.
N.
700 hundred years ago
Lightning splits the sky, thunderous rain pouring, a torrent unseen by a hundred years, flooding the blood-soaked fields of Tianqiu Valley. The earth churns with each strike, roiling beneath feet, the clash of steel against golden spear shaking the mountains nearby.
Yanwang Dijun lunges forward, and a thousand lances of jade and glittering stone chase after him, screeching through the sky, piercing through flesh and bone. His enemy, another pretender to his throne, lays battered against a cliffside, stripped of his armour, gasping for breath still despite being torn to distinct pieces.
He walks the distance between them, rainbow-splitting spear in hand, gazes through imperiously glowing eyes to ask the question, "Your pet, the red fox of misfortune, where is he?"
The broken god before him laughs, dark blood frothing between cracked lips.
"The fox?! After all this and you ask about that damnable fox? I should have buried him beneath a mountain the moment I caught him—did you know they're meant to be auspicious? Does this look like good luck to you?!"
Yanwang Dijun lifts the tip of his spear, presses it into a gaping wound, twists until he finds a shred of remorse. The other god howls through grating cackles, caught somewhere between agony and madness.
"Hahaha!! He was so good to me too, killing all my enemies—say Morax, with how many lives he has taken, all the gods he has absorbed into his essence, I wager he could kill even you one day. What a shame he couldn't behave himself like a good pet—can you believe I left him behind because he bit me? And now I'll die without him to fight for me. Hahahaha!"
Yanwang Dijun's face is a blank slate, though he spares one moment to whisper a prayer before plunging his spear through the god's festering heart. The body explodes in a shower of dark mist, and he lifts a hand to cover his mouth and nose from the stench of rotting flesh.
He claps his hands together, summoning a wave of geo energy, dispelling the miasma as best he can in a short time before picking a direction towards the cluster of mountains to the southeast.
In truth, he should have guessed the pretender would hide his treasures amongst stone, thinking that Morax would check these places within the earth last, that he had become arrogant enough after ascending to Archon to forget the small creatures beneath him. He doesn't have the desire to dwell on this though—what is dead is dead—and especially not as he picks up a trembling heartbeat several li beneath the great peak overlooking Liyue's natural harbour.
He draws his hand back, and the earth sings for him, cleaving a path deep into the heart of the mountain where he finds a shivering beast the size of a horse, lucent white fur catching the light from his weapon, nine long tails like silver streams lashing the air in irate defiance. Around its neck digs a collar of black metal, tight enough to bite into flesh, and when it attempts to lift its head from the ground thick iron chains rattle to life, coiling like snakes to pin it flush against stone.
The huxian whimpers through its bound muzzle, blue eyes pleading for mercy.
Yanwang Dijun, despairing to see such a magnificent creature put through such suffering, goes to work quickly to release the bindings. The array beneath the fox is easy enough to destroy—with a wave of his hand and a couple pillars of jade, the iron chains fall away, crumbling to ash. The collar though proves far more troublesome as it hisses and burns each time he reaches for it, secreting an inky substance that seeps into flesh, staining white fur black, wringing out spasms from the huxian who desperately tries to crawl away.
Frustration growing, Yanwang Dijun throws a leg over the beast, mounting it to keep it steady as he steels himself, turning his hands to basalt, then presses both palms against the black metal. Regardless of whatever magic is laced into the collar, metal is still born of the earth, and he has dominion over all geo.
The collar rattles and creaks between his fingers, gushing acid at each twitch and tremor. He squeezes his thighs together in an attempt at staying seated, growling from the strain of having to wrestle the thrashing fox whilst also concentrating his power into something of a finesse blade rather than the sweeping force of a landslide he is more accustomed to.
Eventually, after the longest breath, muscles straining in ways Morax never felt before, the collar shatters into shards of iron dust, smoke-like entities screeching from within the metal, careening off into the shadows of the cave. Below him the mass of white fur quakes, twisting and churning until it shapes itself into a beautiful man clothed in a sheer silver robe, long sleeves trailing, a stream amidst a forest. Two fluffy ears quiver atop his head, coy, kittenish, and he looks up at Morax with tearful, simpering eyes, pink blush across his pearly cheeks, glistening lips parted and trembling—
Before planting a foot into Morax's chest.
The force of the kick sends Morax hurtling through the cavern, though he catches himself easily in midair, summoning his spear to hand. When he lands, the huxian has sprung to his feet, two long fangs of boiling water glowing cerulean in his palms. He flicks them at Morax, testing, and a razor-sharp torrent cuts through the air, splitting the rock behind Morax in two.
The huxian sneers, white teeth glinting, "And what does Morax want with me, huh? Did you think I wouldn't recognise you, oh Tyrant of Geo? Come to add me to your hoard of treasures?"
He throws another blade of water in warning, carving a channel into the stone before Morax's feet. Morax, in turn, glares back, golden eyes scorching in the darkness.
"Is this any way to thank your saviour? Were it not for my interference you would still be trapped in this cave, left to rot for an eternity," when he speaks the whole mountain shakes, small pebbles raining down from the ceiling. He takes one easy step over the narrow channel, pointing the tip of his spear at the heart of this beast. "I killed your master. That makes you rightfully mine."
A flicker of darkness, like the still waters before a storm, sink into the depths of the huxian's crystal blue eyes. He draws his twin swords together, forming them into a seething polearm with two wicked ends.
"How presumptuous. And this is why I hate you gods, pestilence of this land, taking and claiming without thought for the rest of us. Are we so small to be beneath your mention?" The huxian swings his blades, arc like a cresting wave, silver sleeves a shoal of fish in shallows. "It doesn't matter to me. I've devoured dozens of your kind, and when I devour you I'll turn this whole order upside down. I will have the heavens under my heel, then the gods will beg me for mercy."
They say when a wave meets the cliffside, it is the water that yields to stone. No matter the fury of the storm, without the weapon of time, the tide recedes eventually and what is left is the land unmoved.
The huxian's fangs may cut with precision, but Morax's spear weathers all. Wave after wave of blistering cascades crash upon his immaculate shield, screaming through the cavern, but the jade never breaks, not even crack or a scratch upon its surface.
"Oh Morax, you vile, despicable dragon. Why don't you drop that shield and fight me properly?!"
Perhaps it is pity, a moment of weakness, but Morax does truly feel sorry for the animal railing against the world, howling until his voice turns to gravel, the cursed burns at his neck weeping thick tears of blood. He must be so tired now—Morax can see it in the way the huxian pants, nine tails dragging through silt, old wounds from previous battles splitting, blooming vermilion across his white robes.
Maybe it is pity that makes him dispel his own shield, but it is something else yet unnamed, fragile and fluttering in the void around his gnosis, that urges him to dismiss his spear, opening his arms wide as if to embrace the fox that comes barreling his way.
They crash to the ground in a heap of heaving limbs, liquid blades splashing harmlessly against stone. The huxian scrabbles for balance, swiping wildly with claws, fangs gnashing. Morax wraps one hand around his neck, digs his fingers into oozing black burns, and the fox falls to pieces before him, soft sounds of agony gurgling low in his throat.
Tears spring unbidden to the huxian's eyes, sparkling gems rolling down blood-stained cheeks. He looks so young like this, almost human, and Morax relents, easing his grip by a fraction.
At once the huxian spits in his face, grinning through bloodied teeth. "Moraaax! Who knew the rumours would hold such truth. You really are disgusting. Enjoying my pain? Does my suffering cause you pleasure, Morax the Oppressor? Scourge of the earth. Torturer. Tyrant of Geo."
Whatever pity Morax felt before evaporates into thin air. His second hand comes to join the first, grip tightening, sharp nails sinking into tender flesh. The huxian writhes against him, gossamer robes falling open, exposing an expanse of pearly white skin painted with slashes of crimson. He hates that the huxian is even infinitesimally right—as he drinks in the sight of the beautiful creature pinned to stone by his hand, gasping and crying through strings of curses, the exquisite arch of his back as he futilely twists to get away, blood splashing, vermilion, white, and gold—but right now, Morax thinks nothing could be prettier than this fox.
With a flash of light, Morax says without any real heat, "You will address me by my proper title, wretch."
His fingers loosen yet again, and the huxian swallows wheezing gulps of air, ravenous. When he responds, it is with dark humour, vicious to the bone.
"And if I don't? What is Morax going to do to me, hmm? Lock me up, hide me in a cave, kill me? How would any of that be worse than my current situation? Besides, I already know your precious Guizhong would be woefully disappointed in you should you dare harm an innocent fox like me. Morax. Morax. Morax."
Morax wants to tell him that there are things still worse than what he listed, things worse than death, but instead he sighs, deep and mournful, leaning down to seal his lips against the fox's own.
There is a moment of stunned silence. The huxian parts his mouth on reflex, and the long edge of a tongue slips between his teeth, licking into that hot wetness like it was searching for treasure. At his neck something simmers, burning but not wholly unpleasant, and he slides his hands from where they had been gripping Morax's wrists to fist his claws into Morax's collar, pulling them closer together.
A golden light blooms from the centre of the huxian's chest, bathing the cavern in scintillating colour. Morax breaks the kiss first, drawing back to observe his handiwork. At the hollow of the fox's throat shimmers his diamond seal, and he traces a finger down to where another diamond, brighter than the first, pulses over his heartbeat.
"It is Yanwang Dijun to you, fox. I think I will name you Zhuhong."
He kisses the fox again, this time with more fervour, palming at the mark over his chest. He groans at the feeling of their tongues sliding together, sharp claws skimming across skin, red welts rising to join the lattice of cuts and scars across the huxian's chest. Zhuhong returns the favour, long fingers slithering to the back of Morax's neck, curling into soft hair. He brings a knee up between Morax's thighs, pressing into his sex, devouring the sweet little moans as they come tumbling out of the god, smiling softly, innocently, pleasantly—
Then snaps his jaw shut, sharp fangs shearing through Morax's tongue. A spray of blood splatters against their faces as they pull apart, and the huxian licks the drops from his lips, pupils dilated, eyes darkened by hunger.
"My name is Ajax, you fucking piece of shit. I hope you are prepared to take responsibility for this."
Morax gawks at him, stupefied.
Later, when recalling this story to one insufferable fox, he will say it was the sudden pain that had him drop his guard, that he allowed the huxian to ravish him in that cave out of a moment of weakness, of pity for his broken and bleeding body that needed nourishment from pure energy.
But his fox is far more intelligent than this. The words unsaid linger light in the air, effervescent and joyous, sun sparks across surging waves.
You are beautiful.
A streak of silver, whispering through the night.
Stay with me.