Chapter Text
When Zhou Zishu opens his eyes, part of him expects it to be to blackness, to whatever hell he’d earned throughout his sordid life. He opens his eyes to hell, but not the one he’d imagined. He sees Wen Kexing, his once warm dark hair now shocking white, face slack, peaceful even as he slumps forward, tear tracks sparkling on his face, and the first thing Zhou Zishu feels is cool fingers slipping lifeless from his own.
This time he catches Wen Kexing’s hands, this time when it might not matter. This is hell, he thinks, as he calls out Wen Kexing’s name and drags his limp form into his arms. This is the hell Zhou Zishu has earned, cold and alone with the person he’d chosen to live for lifeless in his arms.
Wen Kexing is warm still, warm and solid. Just as he always has been. Zhou Zishu feels a jab of something too sharp to be hope.
“Lao Wen!”
Wen Kexing’s pulse is weak, a faint thrum against his fingers. His now pale eyelashes flutter, eyes rolling to flashes of the whites beneath. His lips part, slack, from Zhou Zishu’s jostling him. He doesn’t rouse, not even when Zhou Zishu tries to push some of the swelling roiling qi bombarding his meridians back into Wen Kexing’s ravaged ones.
Distantly, Zhou Zishu hears something like thunder, rumbling just under the pounding of his own pulse. It means nothing to him, not now. The whole mountain could come down around him and he’d welcome it.
“Lao Wen!” he calls again. “Wen Kexing! You bastard. You can’t do this to me.” His voice comes out a ragged breath, a sob.
The jagged knife of hope tears a hole in his chest that makes the agony of the Nails pale in comparison. Wen Kexing’s breath stutters and labors on. Zhou Zishu pulls him closer, holds him as close as he can, as if pressing their bodies together is enough to keep him there.
“Lao Wen,” he whispers. “What do I do? Tell me what I need to do…”
“Not sit there wailing while he dies in your arms is a start.”
Zhou Zishu whips to the sound of the voice, watches Ye Baiyi walk up the platform, snow melting on his black hair and dampening his white robes. There’s an increasingly large streak of white in his dark hair and he looks tired. That might have concerned Zhou Zishu if he could see past the white hot rage that fills him knowing Ye Baiyi had been the one to send Wen Kexing here, had aided him in this foolish suicidal bid to save Zhou Zishu’s life.
“You,” Zhou Zishu hisses, his panic too wrapped up in that fury, sapping him of sense. “You did this.”
Ye Baiyi gives him a flat look. “I gave him what he needed to save you. The fact that he’s still alive at all means he didn’t manage to botch it completely. Now would you like to fight or would you like to save the idiot brat from his own stupidity?”
That knocks the rage right out of Zhou Zishu. He feels shaky and winded. “You can save him?”
Ye Baiyi frowns. “The Yin Yang book. You have it?”
Zhou Zishu carefully lays Wen Kexing down and fumbles for it, clumsy in his haste. His hands shake and his meridians throb, but he pushes it all aside. His own discomfort means nothing, not now, not with Wen Kexing fading next to him.
Ye Baiyi’s frown only deepens as he scans the pages of the healer’s manual. “ We can,” he replies. “But you’re not going to like it. And neither is he.”
“What is it?” Zhou Zishu says.
Ye Baiyi wordlessly hands the manual to him. Zhou Zishu scans the passages, then reads them again, more thoroughly. They have to repair Wen Kexing’s meridians, and they have to do that the way they were damaged, by channeling large amounts of energy through him to supplement what he’s lost, to keep the channels open in order to allow them to start healing themselves. And there is one safe way to do this sharing of energies when he’s weakened as he is. Sex. And a lot of it, if this is to be believed.
“I won’t,” Zhou Zishu says before he can think about it. “Not when he can’t…I won’t make that decision for him.”
They haven’t… Zhou Zishu has thought about it. He can admit he’s thought a lot about touching Wen Kexing like that, of pulling him close, feeling his solid warmth against him. Thought about what sounds he’d make when he did it. What he’d feel like against him, around him. His slow, lingering death had stopped him. How was he supposed to hold Wen Kexing knowing he’d have to lose him? How could he do that to himself? How could he do that to his Lao Wen? And then he’d lost most of his senses, and he couldn’t bear to only give part of himself to Wen Kexing.
He’d thought many times about what this would feel like. But not like this. Not when Wen Kexing can’t say if he wants it, can’t tell him what he wants.
Ye Baiyi scowls. “It’s not my idea of a good time either, idiot, but we don’t have any other option. Not if you want him to live.”
Zhou Zishu looks down at Wen Kexing, propped limp against him, eyes fluttering, breathing weak and labored. He’s slipping.
“Make a decision, Qin Huaizhang’s useless disciple.”
He will apologize to Wen Kexing later. And hope he can forgive him. He steels himself against the guilt and grief and does what needs to be done.
“I don’t know if I can be delicate enough,” Zhou Zishu says raggedly. “The qi from the Six Harmonies. It’s so much…”
“Good,” Ye Baiyi says, “We’ll need it later.” He reaches out and snags Zhou Zishu’s wrist, his dark eyes narrowing, and Zhou Zishu feels him prod at his qi. “You’re right. If you don’t get that under control you’ll burn him out. Again.”
He sighs heavily and unstraps his sword. “I’ll start. Help cycle the qi through him until he can do it himself.”
Zhou Zishu nods, and carefully lays Wen Kexing down again. The icy light filtering from above them catches in his pale hair and makes it shimmer, turning his skin jade-like. His ample mouth is washed of color, absent its usual lush pink. How many times has Zhou Zishu looked at Wen Kexing’s soft, smirking mouth and thought about kissing him until he moaned? Now, he touches him there, just to feel the softness of his lips, the faint flutter of his breath against his fingertips. He steels himself and slowly starts to open Wen Kexing’s robes, loosening the heavy silk to bare flashes of his soft skin. He doesn’t allow himself to hesitate when he reaches the ties of Wen Kexing’s trousers, easing them down his long legs. He leaves most of his clothing loosened but still in place. He doesn’t want him to be cold on top of everything else.
Something that Zhou Zishu wishes were shame stirs in his gut at the sight of Wen Kexing like that. He’s beautiful. His cock is big, even at rest, nestled in a thatch of hair the same starlight pale as on his head. His hips are slim and his thighs are long and leanly muscled. Zhou Zishu hates himself a little for the desire that stirs in him, even as Wen Kexing lays there, vulnerable, unaware of what they are doing to him.
Ye Baiyi had been quiet up to this point. Now he nudges Zhou Zishu’s shoulder and hands him a jar. Zhou Zishu pushes down the self-loathing and scoops some of the slick substance onto his fingers. He kneels by Wen Kexing’s hip, drapes one of Wen Kexing’s knees over his elbow, and strokes his slick fingers against the furled flesh of his entrance, being as careful as he can be.
Wen Kexing lets out a shaky breath, eyes shifting beneath his closed lids, but he doesn’t wake. Zhou Zishu almost hopes he won’t, not until this is over. He meets very little resistance when he pushes a finger into Wen Kexing’s body. He’s so hot inside, his body flexing around him, reacting to the stimulus even as he stays unaware of everything happening around him.
“You’ll have to be quicker than that,” Ye Baiyi says, blandly disapproving.
“I won’t hurt him,” Zhou Zishu says, lifting defiant eyes to stare Ye Baiyi down. “Not like this. Not any more than this already will.”
Ye Baiyi scoffs. “Don’t act like he’s some untouched maiden. Shameless thing like him, with a mouth like that. I’m sure he knows his way around a cock well.”
Zhou Zishu narrows his eyes, feeling something cool in his chest. “Ye-qianbei. With respect, if you breathe another rude word about my zhiji, I will remove your tongue.”
Ye Baiyi meets his icy stare for a long moment, and then something like amusement flickers across his implacable face. “And here I’d thought the brat was the only one with an ounce of fight in him. It’s not as interesting when he can’t bite back, anyway.”
Zhou Zishu breathes out some of the roiling anger and continues gently working Wen Kexing’s body open. It’s foolish to do this with the intent to give pleasure, but he finds himself still doing it. He strokes gently against the silken heat of him, curling his fingers, pressing his thumb to the soft skin behind his balls. The touch would be teasing, if Wen Kexing were aware. Zhou Zishu thinks about what he might say, if they’d been able to do this some other way. He’d complain, Zhou Zishu knows that with a fondness that tightens in his chest. He can almost hear him whine ‘ Ah Xu .’ He’d smile though, Zhou Zishu thinks, and his eyes would sparkle playfully.
Zhou Zishu would do literally anything to hear Wen Kexing whine that silly name, his name, in that playful sweet tone.
Wen Kexing’s cock thickens, reacting to Zhou Zishu’s preparations, and his lashes continue to flutter. Zhou Zishu works his fingers into the hot clutch of Wen Kexing’s body until he can press three fingers easily into him and the slick oil glistens on his thighs.
“The longer you stall, the harder this will be,” Ye Baiyi says, and if Zhou Zishu isn’t losing his mind, there’s a bit of urgency there in his bland tones.
Whatever Ye Baiyi feels about them, he followed Wen Kexing here for a reason, and Zhou Zishu knows that. He has to trust it. He has to trust him. He moves his hand away and wipes the excess oil on his own robes.
Ye Baiyi moves closer, leans over Wen Kexing and the words claw up Zhou Zishu’s chest before he can stop them.
“Not like that.”
He doesn’t want Wen Kexing to wake up pinned down like that, can’t stomach what it might do to him. Ye Baiyi sighs, grumbles something about sensitive brats under his breath but he lays back, weight on his elbow. His cock is already out and slick and hard, and Zhou Zishu has no idea when he’d done that.
“Bring him here, then,” he says impatiently.
Zhou Zishu lifts Wen Kexing, turns him so his back is pressed to Zhou Zishu’s chest, amazed for a moment at how effortless it is, how weightless Wen Kexing feels in his arms. He pulls him over Ye Baiyi’s hips, straddles Ye Baiyi’s thighs himself, one hand hooked under Wen Kexing’s thigh and the other around his chest to hold him close.
Ye Baiyi holds onto Wen Kexing’s other thigh and positions his cock, but it’s Zhou Zishu who has to press him down. Wen Kexing’s body flexes when Ye Baiyi’s not unimpressive length breaches him, his breathing stuttering. Zhou Zishu holds him steady, tries to go slow, and Ye Baiyi helps bear the slack weight of him.
“There, wait,” Ye Baiyi says, his voice tight. “I’m going to start cycling my qi into him. You need to direct it through his meridians. But be careful. Too much and it’ll burn him out all over again, too fast and they might shatter completely.”
Zhou Zishu nods. He wishes it were easier to do this, thinking of it as a treatment to save Wen Kexing’s life. Maybe if he could, his stomach would turn less as he lifts and lowers his love’s unconscious body on another man’s cock, maybe he would feel less like a monster as his body still heats with desire at every soft breath Wen Kexing gives, at how his cock has risen to full hardness, flushed and curving prettily.
He lets Wen Kexing’s head lull back against his shoulder and tries to delicately direct the qi Ye Baiyi pushes into Wen Kexing’s body with every thrust of his hips. At first, it does nothing, slips past Wen Kexing’s ravaged meridians like sand. Zhou Zishu presses his lips to Wen Kexing’s jaw.
“Come on, Lao Wen,” he whispers, unsure if Wen Kexing can even hear him. “ Please. You are not allowed to leave me.”
He firms his hold and pushes Wen Kexing down with more force. Ye Baiyi makes a choked sound. The energy filtering through the air around him, cycling through them, thrums. It catches and flows through Wen Kexing’s meridians now. Zhou Zishu tries desperately to control the tide of it.
“That’s it, Lao Wen,” he breathes. “That’s it.”
Below them, Ye Baiyi makes another harsh sound, his movements less controlled than before. Wen Kexing chooses that moment to slowly come to awareness. His eyes blink open, his breath gasping out of him. He stares blankly at the stone ceiling for a moment, his body rippling with tension in Zhou Zishu’s arms. Then Ye Baiyi bucks against him and he cries out, body arching.
He seems to realize what’s happening and then the worst possible thing happens: he tries to fight them.
His back arches away from Zhou Zishu’s chest, his hands coming up to grip and push at his arms. He breathes out something that isn’t quite words, just a vaguely coherent sound of denial.
Zhou Zishu shoves down the sick guilt and catches Wen Kexing’s flailing hands in his own, pinning them to his chest. Wen Kexing struggles, but he is weakened where Zhou Zishu is full of their combined strength and it’s nothing to keep him immobile.
“Lao Wen,” Zhou Zishu says, trying to make his voice gentle. “It’s alright. Don’t fight.”
“What-?” Wen Kexing gasps, trembling in Zhou Zishu’s arms, arching against his hold. “Ah Xu?”
“Yes,” Zhou Zishu breathes. “It’s Ah Xu. It’s your Ah Xu. Don’t fight it. We’re trying to help you.”
Wen Kexing tips his head, striving to see Zhou Zishu and Zhou Zishu leans forward pushing his nose against Wen Kexing’s cheek.
“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing breathes again.
It’s a confirmation this time, and Wen Kexing goes pliant against him, little shaky breaths pushing out of him with every thrust of Ye Baiyi’s hips. Zhou Zishu keeps his hold on him, working his body as Wen Kexing is still too weak to do it himself.
Another wave of qi crashes through them, vibrating the air around them. Wen Kexing makes a wild sound, shuddering hard. It’s harder to tell now, where one of them ends and the other begins, the energy flowing from Ye Baiyi, roiling and powerful, caught by Zhou Zishu, shuddering through his meridians and channeled down into Wen Kexing, a gentle stream that was once a raging river.
Wen Kexing writhes between them. “It’s too much,” he gasps suddenly. “I can’t- I can’t. Oh, Ah Xu…It’s so much.”
“I know,” Zhou Zishu says against his hair. “I know. It’s the only way.”
It builds gradually, rising higher and higher with every pulse and wave of qi that cycles between them. Wen Kexing’s body convulses in Zhou Zishu’s arms, trapped against him, caught, too weak to do anything but squirm and writhe, little breaths sobbing out of him. Zhou Zishu hasn’t been touched, but he’s hard in his robes, and he swears he can feel that slow build right along with them. He can tell they’re close, Wen Kexing shakes almost uncontrollably in his arms, and Ye Baiyi’s thrusts, the pulses of his qi, are more erratic.
Just as it rises to a fever pitch, Ye Baiyi yanks Wen Kexing’s hips down onto him, holding him immobile, and his fingers wrap around the base of Wen Kexing’s cock to stave off the peak of his release. Wen Kexing makes a feral sound, arching so hard his head knocks into Zhou Zishu’s shoulder and Zhou Zishu has to hold him more tightly to keep him in place. His eyes are wide, sightless and pleasure blown.
“Ye-qianbei,” Zhou Zishu snaps, unable to help the protective anger that rises in him.
“Oh, shut it,” Ye Baiyi says, sitting up so he can ease Wen Kexing up off his softening cock. “I’m not doing it to be cruel. Are you stupid? Or just too dick blind to realize? It’s not enough. He can’t vent what we’ve given him already or this will be for nothing.”
Wen Kexing is loose-limbed as they maneuver him around, still too weak and shaky to support his own weight. Ye Baiyi handles him with a shocking gentleness, turning him so he’s laid back against his chest, long legs splayed out. Wen Kexing’s cock is still hard, an angry red that looks almost painful. Ye Baiyi’s spend trickles out of him. He’s flushed pink and panting and absolutely gorgeous, his white hair come loose and tumbling over his shoulders, his dark eyes so blown they look black in the light. Zhou Zishu feels caught just by the sight of him.
“Oh good god,” Ye Baiyi grouses. “Dealing with the two of you must be my penance. You can act as smitten as you like once he’s healed. Fuck the energy back into him already. You’re not doing him any favors drawing it out.”
Zhou Zishu knows that, but he still tries to be gentle when he shifts forward. He pulls Wen Kexing’s legs up so his body is held in a loose v shape between them, holds him steady by the thighs. Ye Baiyi lays one hand low on Wen Kexing’s belly, the other on his chest, shifts to hold more of his weight.
Wen Kexing tips his head and blinks at him, pink lips parting. He says, “Ah Xu…” His voice is shaky and plaintive.
And that’s all Zhou Zishu needs. He pushes into him, filling him up in one long thrust. Wen Kexing whimpers, arching as much as he can held like this between them. He’s already loose and slick and wet, and Zhou Zishu starts fucking into him immediately. Wen Kexing moans, his voice ragged and high, his body shuddering.
It’s visceral, this sharing of qi on this side of it. He feels too full of it, too immense, and he pushes it into Wen Kexing, even as he thrusts into him. Then Ye Baiyi takes it, unspools it like golden thread, and cycles it back in a current along Wen Kexing’s meridians, filling them up, making them whole. Over and over, again and again, give, refine, take, and they climb, together. Wen Kexing cries out with every thrust, mouth open, eyes wet and unseeing and pleasure hazed. Zhou Zishu swears he can feel it too, Wen Kexing’s pleasure, his desperation, the agonized sensation so close to bliss.
This time, when it peaks, Ye Baiyi doesn’t stop them. Zhou Zishu knows, he can feel it, the swelling need that is his and Wen Kexing’s all at once, tangled, inescapable. Wen Kexing thrashes violently as it sweeps through him, his scream echoing off stone walls, his cock pulsing and spilling wet between them.
There is a distant boom like thunder in Zhou Zishu’s ears, his vision whites out. He loses all sense of time and place, becomes nothing but an outpouring of that all-encompassing energy.
Wen Kexing is a boneless sprawl of limbs when Zhou Zishu comes back to himself. His chest heaves, but his eyes are closed, his face wet, lips parted. Zhou Zishu fumbles for his wrist, feels for the flow of his qi. It’s better, stronger than it was, but his meridians still feel like a cracked vase, mended but not yet set.
“He’s fine,” Ye Baiyi grunts. “Just unconscious.”
He helps Zhou Zishu lift and maneuver Wen Kexing back onto the ground, with Zhou Zishu’s outer robe as a meager protection from the chilly stone. Zhou Zishu settles Wen Kexing’s robes back into place as much as possible. Ye Baiyi scoffs quietly and drapes his own outer robe over Wen Kexing’s body.
Zhou Zishu watches him. He almost asks. Instead, he says, “This isn’t over, is it?”
Ye Baiyi’s expression is unreadable. “No. But let him rest for now.”
--
Ye Baiyi sits by while Zhou Zishu fusses over the unconscious brat, watches him restlessly smooth his hair, settle and resettle the robes over him. Zhou Zishu’s expression is purposefully opaque.
“I can’t leave him like this. He’ll freeze.” Zhou Zishu stands abruptly. “I think I saw some old furniture when we were walking through.”
“Leave him,” Ye Baiyi says, “I’ll watch him.”
Zhou Zishu hesitates, and Ye Baiyi is sure it’s only the ingrained respect for him as his elder that keeps him from saying what he thinks about leaving Wen Kexing in Ye Baiyi’s dubious care.
“I’m not hauling anything around,” Ye Baiyi continues, folding his arms over his chest. “Leave him with me, or leave him there. It makes no difference to me.”
That seems to make Zhou Zishu’s decision for him, but his back is stiff as he walks away. Ye Baiyi watches him go. They’ll be dealing with that soon, he’s sure. He settles next to Wen Kexing, close enough to maybe share some of his warmth, but not touching him.
Wen Kexing is curled on his side, all but burrowed beneath his robes. His white hair spills out across the stone floor. Ye Baiyi pointedly does not think about how it had looked, slipping around his shoulders, how it had felt, spilling out over his own chest. He reaches out, lifting a lock of it, running his fingers through it. Wen Kexing’s face is slack with deep unconsciousness. He looks so painfully young, curled there.
“This is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into, brat,” Ye Baiyi says lowly, sighing.
He hears Zhou Zishu before he sees him, and drops the lock of Wen Kexing’s hair he was holding before the other brat can get his hackles up about that too.
When Zhou Zishu speaks, his voice is low and purposefully even. “I found something.”
Zhou Zishu comes over, lifts Wen Kexing up, wrapped still in the dark blue of Zhou Zishu’s robes, the white of Ye Baiyi’s. Wen Kexing doesn’t so much as twitch. At least Wen Kexing didn’t screw up there, it’s a testament to how well the technique worked that lifting Wen Kexing’s limp body into his arms doesn’t seem to cause Zhou Zishu even a moment of strain. Ye Baiyi stands and follows him.
What Zhou Zishu found was a room that had at one point had actual living people in it. There are beds, a few braziers, worn but usable bedding. It’s close to the entrance, but when the braziers are lit, it's quite warm. Zhou Zishu tucks Wen Kexing into a mound of said bedding, his expression stormy, though he tries to keep his face tipped away from Ye Baiyi.
Ye Baiyi decides right there, he cannot watch this anymore. “Qin Huaizhang’s useless disciple. Let’s go.”
Zhou Zishu looks up at him, his frown deep enough to edge into a scowl. “What?”
“Outside, now. Or I’ll drag you out by your scruff like the stubborn pup you are.”
Zhou Zishu doesn’t rise to his goading like Wen Kexing does, but he makes how he feels about that all too clear from his expression. Ye Baiyi ignores him and walks out.
He’d used brute force to get into the Armory, a single tunnel through snow as deep as three men were tall. He draws his sword and uses the force of his qi to widen the opening. Any bodies would have been swept away in the avalanche, so all he forces aside is more snow and ice until he gets to the stone beneath. He makes an area that should be wide enough and turns, just as Zhou Zishu joins him.
Ye Baiyi leaves his sword unsheathed. “Draw your sword.”
Zhou Zishu blinks, his body sliding smoothly into readiness. “Ye-qianbei…”
“You heard me, pup. Draw. Your. Sword.”
Zhou Zishu’s eyes narrow, and perhaps he can be goaded too, with a bit more prodding. He draws Baiyi from the sheath at his waist. Ye Baiyi feels the same pang of nostalgia he’d felt the first time he’d seen him do it. Zhou Zishu might be useless most of the time, but that sword fits in his hand like it was made for him. He is a worthy heir to it. At least Qin Huaizhang had managed that, foolish man he was.
Ye Baiyi takes the advance. Zhou Zishu slides to the side of his blows with the same economy of movement he’d shown the last time they’d fought. He’s faster now, though, no longer hampered by his withering body. Baiyi’s blade drags sparks off Dragon’s Back as they separate.
“Well,” Ye Baiyi grits out. “Out with it.”
He should be more winded, expending his qi to clear the area should have sapped him of a fair amount of it. He should be feeling the exertion of moving with Zhou Zishu’s lightning quick movements as their blades clash again in a ring of metal on metal that echoes around them. Instead he feels almost refreshed. He chooses not to dwell too much on why that would be.
Zhou Zishu narrows his eyes. Baiyi slides harmlessly past Ye Baiyi’s throat. “You did this. You sent him after me.”
“He would have gone anyway,” Ye Baiyi counters with his words, and his blade. “You’re foolish to think he wouldn’t.”
Zhou Zishu’s eyes flash, though whether it’s at his words, or the locking of their swords, it’s hard to tell. “I left him where he would be safe. I left him alive.”
“You left him to die a slow death waiting for you,” Ye Baiyi says.
Zhou Zishu makes a low, rage filled sound and attacks with a viciousness Ye Baiyi has a little trouble countering. His rage burns cool though, and surprisingly quickly. He leaves a few openings in Ye Baiyi’s defenses untouched where he could have caused injury.
Ye Baiyi knocks him around a little, but he doesn’t actually want to wound him. That’s not the point of this, and they both know it.
“I gave him what he needed to have a chance at saving you,” Ye Baiyi continues, knocking Zhou Zishu’s blade away and sending him staggering. “And he did.”
“That’s not why you followed,” Zhou Zishu replies. He is breathless, but there’s no accusation in his words. His tone is one of realization.
Ye Baiyi puts him through a few more paces before he can finish the thought, silencing his words with the clash of their swords.
Maybe he followed because he knew Wen Kexing was a self-sacrificing idiot and he knew he’d do too much to save Zhou Zishu’s life. Maybe he followed because he cared more about Wen Kexing than the passing amusement of a man fearless enough to match him in verbal sparring as well as with blows. Maybe he followed because Wen Kexing’s brash arrogance reminded him of someone he’d known once, long ago. Maybe he’d followed because the brat’s savage dignity was more alluring than just his pretty face and sinful mouth could make him and Ye Baiyi was just a man when it came down to it.
Maybe he followed because he cared. And someone damn well should. He says none of that though.
He knocks Zhou Zishu’s sword out of his grip and sends him sprawling, his own sword poised at his throat. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. No one is dying before me.” He sheathes Dragon’s Back with a decisive motion and holds out his hand.
Zhou Zishu stares up at him with unreadable dark eyes. Then he seems to come to some decision and inclines his head. He takes Ye Baiyi’s hand and allows him to help him to his feet.
They go back inside the Armory. Ye Baiyi steals Zhou Zishu’s flask of wine. There’s a table there, and they both sit at it. Zhou Zishu spends some time more thoroughly looking through the Yin Yang book. Nothing else is said.
Ye Baiyi had never been a man to comfort. He never had the skill or the inclination to soothe others. But as he watches Zhou Zishu brood, he considers for a moment what he would say if he were so inclined. What hollow comfort would it provide, pointing out that Wen Kexing had obviously wanted Zhou Zishu anyway so what difference did it make? Even Ye Baiyi knows how little that would mean in the wake of what they’d been forced to do. Honestly, he’d thought Zhou Zishu must have already had Wen Kexing, the way the brat practically threw himself at him. Zhou Zishu is a stronger man than most, apparently.
He could point out that Wen Kexing was pragmatic enough to understand, when his survival was on the line. But who was he to say what a person would understand when it came to what they’d had to do?
He opts for silence instead.
Wen Kexing gets restless, his body shifting beneath his blankets, brow furrowing, and breathing picking up. Zhou Zishu stands, but before he can do more, Wen Kexing wakes, shoving blankets aside as he scoots up into a seated position. His loosened robes fall off his shoulders, little shivers running through his body, and he pulls his legs up toward his chest, curling in on himself.
“Lao Wen.” Zhou Zishu speaks lowly, but Wen Kexing’s head whips toward him, wild-eyed for a moment.
“Ah Xu,” he breathes.
Zhou Zishu moves toward him like his name on Wen Kexing’s lips is a tether pulled taut. Wen Kexing grabs at him the moment he’s close enough, clumsy, shaking fingers curling in his robes. He uses the grip to pull himself upright, long bare legs shaky as a newborn colt. Zhou Zishu curls arms around Wen Kexing’s waist and holds him up. Their heads tilt toward each other, foreheads touching.
“Ah Xu-”
“Lao Wen-”
They speak and fall silent at the same time. The air is heavy with the weight of their combined silence. Ye Baiyi rolls his eyes heavenward. He does not want to witness this.
“Can you two leave your marital problems for when I am not present?” he asks blandly. “We have bigger issues at the moment.”
Wen Kexing looks toward him and his eyes flash. “Old monster, what did you do?”
“Me?” Ye Baiyi asks, incredulous. “This mess is all yours, brat. Congratulations. There isn’t a single thing you can’t manage to cock up given enough time.”
Wen Kexing’s eyes flare with defiance and his cheeks flush more than they already are. “I didn’t…” His eyes get big and lost for a moment while he looks between Zhou Zishu and Ye Baiyi before he rallies. “You told me I had to sacrifice myself.”
“No, I said you had to be willing,” Ye Baiyi replies, exasperated. “There is not a single rational thought in that pretty head of yours is there?”
Wen Kexing bares his teeth at him, vicious thing he is. The energy that links them still, the one Ye Baiyi had made a valiant attempt at ignoring, pulses, and Wen Kexing’s expression falters, his body curving over itself. Zhou Zishu moves to take more of his weight.
“What…” Wen Kexing gasps out a trembling sound. “What is that? Why is it so hot in here?”
Zhou Zishu’s dark gaze catches Ye Baiyi’s. Ye Baiyi frowns and waves a hand. Explanations are better left to him. The energy they shared with Wen Kexing has run its course. The process is only partially complete.
Wen Kexing’s face darkens with Zhou Zishu’s explanation, and he stumbles his way to the table. He reads through the technique with the same stormy expression Zhou Zishu had.
“Until the shared qi is settled,” he reads. “What does that mean?”
Ye Baiyi lifts one shoulder. “How should I know? I assume we’ll know when it’s enough.”
Wen Kexing gives a strained laugh. “This is a pretty elaborate way to get between my legs, old monster,” he says with a sneer. “You could have just asked.”
Ye Baiyi scoffs. “Yes, because fucking your scrawny ass back to life is how I wanted to spend my remaining time in this life.”
Wen Kexing draws up in offense, just like he knew he would. “There is nothing wrong with my ass, you old toad. You should be so lucky.”
Another pulse of energy knocks Wen Kexing into the table and he moans, stooping there, trembling. Thankfully before Ye Baiyi has to come up with an adequately scathing answer. Zhou Zishu moves to Wen Kexing’s side, hands curling at his waist. He leans in like he can’t stop himself, hands firm on Wen Kexing to tug him up against him.
Ye Baiyi can feel it too, that draw. Wen Kexing is the nexus of this connection, they feel compelled to him the same way he feels to them. Wen Kexing paws at Zhou Zishu, pressing in close, his eyes going vacant for a moment.
“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing breathes. He’s flushed prettily all the way to his chest, a strand of his white hair sticking to his sweat-damp neck. “Ah Xu. I can’t… I feel like I’m dying… You have to…”
Zhou Zishu’s expression clears and he cups Wen Kexing’s jaw as he squirms in closer still, draping himself over Zhou Zishu like he’s trying to climb him. “I know,” Zhou Zishu says, pressing a kiss to his mouth.
The gesture itself seems instinctual, but Wen Kexing’s reaction isn’t. Wen Kexing whines against Zhou Zishu’s mouth and clutches him closer, his eyes fluttering closed. His lashes, a shade or two darker now than his white hair, create ashen smudges on his cheeks. Zhou Zishu tightens his hold on Wen Kexing’s waist.
It occurs to Ye Baiyi that he probably just witnessed their first kiss and he wonders briefly what awful thing he’d done in a past life to warrant this one. He clears his throat sharply.
“As touching as that is,” he says, tone bone dry. “I’d like to move this along. I no longer have eternity to wait on you two.”
Wen Kexing looks at him, his eyes already blown black with desire. “Are you that impatient to have me again, old monster?” he asks, a smirk curving his lips that doesn’t match the shaky quality of his voice or the way his hands tense and relax on Zhou Zishu’s clothes. “I know I’m irresistible, but you can at least wait your turn.”
“Ye-qianbei,” Zhou Zishu says.
Ye Baiyi can hear the question in his tone, but he’s too busy watching Wen Kexing wrap himself in flirty bluster to hide the flickers of unease in his eyes. He answers Zhou Zishu first.
“Yes, I can be the bad guy,” he says, exasperated. “But first, give him here.”
Zhou Zishu studies him, but he’s always been the smart one, so he gets it after only a moment or two. He keeps his hands on Wen Kexing’s waist, steers him gently into Ye Baiyi’s space, and gives him a little push.
“It’s alright,” he says, voice low. “Lao Wen.”
Wen Kexing hesitates, looking lost and so painfully young, but then he leans into Ye Baiyi’s space and lets him put his hands on his hips, tug him down until he’s straddling his lap.
“And you,” Ye Baiyi says, his tone stern enough that Wen Kexing’s eyes get that little defiant flare they usually get when he talks to him, “I’ve never taken a man who didn’t want it, and I don’t plan to start now.”
“There’s no choice,” Wen Kexing says, a little bitterly.
“Yes, there is. All that,” he waves a hand toward the Yin Yang book, “requires is an exchange of energy. If you can’t deal with the discomfort, we’ll find another way.” Ye Baiyi lets out a slow breath. “At the very least, he can fuck you, and I can give him the energy he needs to keep doing it.”
“There’s no exchange,” Wen Kexing says with a stubborn tilt to his mouth. “You’ll burn out that way.”
“I know.”
“You’ll die,” Wen Kexing says then. “You’d rather die than fuck me?”
Ye Baiyi cuffs him on the ear, lighter than he intended to. “I’m dying anyway, brat. I’d rather die sooner than take you against your will.”
Ye Baiyi has never considered himself a good man, and not a particularly honest one, but he’d like to think he’s principled. He won’t admit, even in his own head, how much he would very much like to fuck Wen Kexing again, when he’s aware enough to enjoy it, but he can admit he won’t do it unless he would in fact enjoy it.
Wen Kexing studies him for a moment or two, a sharpened, watchful sort of study that would probably make lesser men cower. Ye Baiyi looks back at him, letting him work through whatever he needs to for this to work.
Then Wen Kexing slides both hands up to curve around Ye Baiyi’s jaw and he kisses him. He should have expected it. He hadn’t. He takes an involuntary breath and Wen Kexing presses his advantage, sliding his tongue past Ye Baiyi’s parted lips. His mouth is hot and his lips are sinfully soft and his tongue is wicked. It turns out Wen Kexing’s mouth is good for much more than spouting disrespect. Ye Baiyi probably should have expected that too.
He slides a firm hand around Wen Kexing’s waist and pulls him in, so he rests against his chest, and slips his other hand down the crease of his ass. He’s still a little slick, mostly sticky from their spend, and loose enough that Ye Baiyi can work the tip of a finger into him easily.
Wen Kexing moans into his mouth, leans back with a cheeky little nip to Ye Baiyi’s lower lip that makes his cock twitch. “I’m not some blushing virgin, old man, get your cock out so you can fuck me properly.”
Ye Baiyi tisks at his pushiness and grabs him by the nape, squeezing lightly. It’s an absent gesture, mostly to hold him in place, but Wen Kexing’s eyes flutter shut for a moment and his lips part on a soft breath, his body going lax on Ye Baiyi’s chest. It’s like Ye Baiyi just scruffed a kitten, and it has no right being as endearing as it is. He wonders if Zhou Zishu has happened upon that little quirk. He wonders if he should tell him. He glances up to where Zhou Zishu stands nearby and sees the interest there. Well if he didn’t know before, he knows now.
“Qin Huaizhang’s disciple,” he says. “Make yourself useful.”
There’s a flicker of amusement in Zhou Zishu’s dark eyes and he inclines his head, rounding the table to retrieve the jar of slick they’d used before. Ye Baiyi dips his fingers in it and uses his hold on the back of Wen Kexing’s neck to drag him up, tilting the angle he’s sitting at so he can rock two fingers into him.
Wen Kexing gives a breathless little growl. “I told you I don’t need this.”
“We’ll probably have to do this again,” Ye Baiyi replies, twisting his fingers into him and getting a little moan for it. “Would you rather be sore on top of that?”
Wen Kexing grumbles but relents, leaning his weight more fully on Ye Baiyi’s chest. He makes pretty little gasping sounds when Ye Baiyi strokes inside him, his hips rocking with it. It pushes his hard cock up against Ye Baiyi, hot even through the layers of his robes.
“How much of the first time do you remember?” Ye Baiyi asks.
A ripple of tension runs through Wen Kexing’s body, but Ye Baiyi tightens his grip on his nape and he relaxes again. “Not much. It’s all sort of…blurry. I remember waking up with your cock in me. I remember Ah Xu telling me it was necessary.” His expression turns dismayed. He pushes up away from Ye Baiyi’s chest and Ye Baiyi lets his fingers slip out of him. “No…I thought you were just being a bastard…”
Ye Baiyi swats him on the thigh. “Brat.”
Zhou Zishu steps up behind Wen Kexing, sliding his hand along his jaw to tip him back. “Stop complaining. No one’s saying you can’t come at all. You just have to hold out a little longer.”
Wen Kexing whines and Zhou Zishu leans down to kiss him. It has a similar effect to Ye Baiyi grabbing his neck before. Wen Kexing relents with another little grumble. It’s an illusion of choice. Ye Baiyi won’t take it from him.
Ye Baiyi nudges Wen Kexing's hips back so he can open his robes. His cock is already hard, he slicks it quickly, hissing at the contact. Wen Kexing shrugs himself out of his half undone robes with Zhou Zishu’s help and then he rocks forward so their cocks slide together.
Ye Baiyi can’t help his shudder or the hitch of his breath, and Wen Kexing grins, rocking forward again.
“You can admit it, old monster,” he says, teasing. “This was a little about getting between my thighs.”
Ye Baiyi yanks him forward, pulling him up so he can get his cock in position, and uses firm hands on his waist to push him back down. Wen Kexing arches, a whiny little cry leaving him, his hands bracing on Ye Baiyi’s shoulders.
“Pretty brat,” Ye Baiyi says darkly. “I’d have had you that first night if you’d talked a little less.”
Wen Kexing laughs, a breathless pretty sound, and rolls his body in a sinuous downward thrust. “You wish, old man.”
As it turns out, Ye Baiyi had been correct about Wen Kexing knowing his way around a cock. He knows exactly how to move to get the most pleasure from this, little rocks and grinds that push Ye Baiyi’s cock exactly where he needs it, more of those soft, sweet moans leaving him whenever he gets that right angle. He knows how to give that pleasure too, twisting and tightening his body around him. The pleasure coils in Ye Baiyi’s gut, faster than he’s used to. He has never thought of himself as a quick shot, but this is going to be over far too quickly if he doesn’t get it under control.
He hooks Wen Kexing’s thighs over his forearms and locks his hands around Wen Kexing’s hips, lifting and lowering him in slow, controlled thrusts. Wen Kexing whines high in the back of his throat but doesn’t stop him, his hard cock bobbing up against his belly with every push.
Zhou Zishu slides his hands around Wen Kexing’s torso, hands splayed on his ribs, the rise of his chest just below his collarbone. Wen Kexing leans back trustingly into him, letting his weight be held up between them, his feet off the floor completely now. His eyes close and his mouth opens when it changes the angle, letting Ye Baiyi grind up into him, right against his spot. Liquid beads at the tip of his flushed cock.
The energy between them pulses, steadily rising. They know what to do now. It rages, a stinging heat, along the channels of Ye Baiyi’s meridians. He feels Zhou Zishu collect it, turn it smoother, slower, and feels Wen Kexing receive it, his body trembling, the channels of his qi opening up like a riverbed at the first signs of rain. It becomes harder to tell, where one of them ends and the next begins, the rising, swirling pulses of energy charging the very air around them.
Wen Kexing shudders between them, caught in it, his arms up to grip at Zhou Zishu’s shoulders, body practically bowing with the force of it.
“I can’t,” he gasps suddenly, wild-eyed, shaking hard. “It’s too much…I can’t stop… Fuck …”
Stopping won’t help them not now, not so close to the apex of it. It’s Zhou Zishu who reacts in time, hand darting down between them, lightning quick, to grasp at Wen Kexing’s balls to halt him before he reaches that peak. Wen Kexing makes a vicious, wounded sound, his body thrashing, eyes squeezed shut, and Ye Baiyi lets the tightening of Wen Kexing’s body and the swell of their combined qi carry him over.
Wen Kexing goes lax and shuddery, his cock leaking still, flushed dark. His eyes are still squeezed shut and his lashes are dark and clumped together. He makes a soft whining sound when Ye Baiyi lifts him off his softening cock. Zhou Zishu wraps his arms around Wen Kexing’s chest and pulls him up. Wen Kexing is weak from the half transfer and shaky, but between Zhou Zishu and Ye Baiyi, they get his long, lanky body laid out on the table, legs spread and hooked over Zhou Zishu’s elbows.
“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing says in a low, half whimper.
Zhou Zishu leans over him, and pets his hands along his thighs. “Lao Wen. I have you. It’s alright.” Then in an infinitely softer, darker tone, he says, “Shidi.”
Wen Kexing blinks up at him, hands moving up to grip at his shoulder, tangle in his ink dark hair. His lips curve, drawing into a dramatic pout. He says, “Shixiong.”
If anything, Zhou Zishu’s gaze gets sharper and he leans down, bending Wen Kexing’s body nearly in half in order to press their mouths together.
Ye Baiyi lets them have their moment for a while and then he scoffs. “Just when I thought you two couldn’t get any worse.”
Zhou Zishu has the audacity to shoot Ye Baiyi an amused look as he leans back.
Wen Kexing huffs a little breath of laughter, “What was that? Ye-qianbei .”
Ye Baiyi scoffs again, and flicks Wen Kexing’s temple, pausing to smooth a stand of his hair that’s caught at the corner of his mouth. “Brat.” He directs a narrow look at Zhou Zishu and chides, “Disrespectful brat, aren’t you supposed to be doing something?”
“Of course, Ye-qianbei,” Zhou Zishu says with a demure lowering of his lashes, and he slides into Wen Kexing’s body in a thrust that makes Wen Kexing arch up from the table with a wail.
“Shixiong,” Wen Kexing says in a distinctly pouty tone, the second he gets his breath back. “I wasn’t ready. That was mean.”
“I was simply following the instruction of our esteemed senior,” Zhou Zishu says in a surprisingly reasonable tone, considering he’s balls deep in Wen Kexing and the energy has started to rise between them again. “Something you should learn from, shidi.”
Ye Baiyi ruthlessly shoves down any amusement that rises in him at their antics and narrows his eyes at Zhou Zishu. “I despise you both.”
Zhou Zishu’s lips quirk but he doesn’t say anything to that. He shifts to brace his hands flat on the table on either side of Wen Kexing’s waist, hips working lazily into him, letting the build be slower this time. Wen Kexing shudders, his arms falling down by his head, a low, shuddering moan slipping from between his parted lips. Ye Baiyi shifts where he sits, putting one hand on Wen Kexing’s forearm and the other on his belly.
It takes longer this time, the rise as they complete this exchange of energies. It’s stronger too, rises like a wave that crashes through them. Wen Kexing’s meridians are stronger, they take in more than seeps through now. It’s not complete, but it’s closer.
Zhou Zishu’s thrusts get harder, more erratic. Wen Kexing gasps soft, shaky cries, his body flexing against the table. It rises steadily, longer and longer, sweeping all three of them into it, give, refine, take, and then it crests. Wen Kexing thrashes, his desperate cries reaching a crescendo just as the energy tips them over with it. The air trembles around them, there’s another distant boom, and the table shakes.
Wen Kexing is a boneless sprawl again, his eyes staring sightless at the ceiling, mouth open as he gulps in air. Zhou Zishu carefully eases away from him, but only enough to fix his own robes before he’s swept him back up into his arms. Wen Kexing gives a distant whimper.
“It’s alright, shidi,” Zhou Zishu murmurs against his hair. “I’ve got you.”
He takes him back over to the bed and covers him again, sitting down by his head to rest a hand in his hair. His eyes are dark and watchful when he lifts his gaze to Ye Baiyi.
“That time felt different,” Zhou Zishu observes in a mild tone.
Ye Baiyi nods. He felt it too.
“Your energies felt different too,” Zhou Zishu says then in that same non-combative voice.
Ye Baiyi narrows his eyes. This one is too observant for his own good sometimes. “Let it go, pup,” he says harshly.
Zhou Zishu’s expression changes very little, but he nods and drops the topic. Ye Baiyi is here for one thing, to make sure Wen Kexing survives this latest exploit of his own foolishness, and there’s no reason to complicate that.
--
Wen Kexing has slept for a while, he can tell when he wakes and the stone room they are in is lit only by the flicker of the braziers and the stubs of candles one of them has managed to find. He’s hot again, so hot, it feels like the fire is flickering in his veins too. He shoves aside blankets with shaky hands. It’s odd this feeling of almost weakness, even as his qi courses through the channels of his body. He feels strong, light, even as his hands shake and his body trembles.
He feels slick and loose between his legs, an odd sensation that’s not altogether unpleasant. The heady swell of need that has been his constant companion since he woke here the first time swells up in his gut again. He’s never felt anything like this before, it’s not completely unpleasant either.
Slowly he becomes more aware of his surroundings. There's a shift of weight beside him, a hand on his hair. He looks up, and sees Zhou Zishu there, looking down at him with a softness that makes his chest feel too small for the swell of affection that surges through him. He would do anything, be anything, for Zhou Zishu to keep looking at him like that.
All he can manage though is a breathy murmur of, “Ah Xu.”
Zhou Zishu reaches for him, but Wen Kexing is too desperate for that, too needy for any kind of contact with him and he yanks him down, presses him flat with probably too much force. Zhou Zishu lets him with a little amused quirk to his mouth. Wen Kexing yanks Zhou Zishu’s robes open, and he lets him do that too. Zhou Zishu is still too thin and the scars are still there, but that’s all they are now. Scars.
Wen Kexing hasn’t truly let himself realize the nails are gone. Zhou Zishu is whole and alive and safe and looking at him with that soft indulgence. Wen Kexing traces his fingers over one of those scars, right below Zhou Zishu’s collarbone. His hand still shakes. Zhou Zishu’s gaze shifts, turns sharper, more playful and he surges up, hands locking around Wen Kexing’s wrists and pinning them behind his back. It arches Wen Kexing toward him, but doesn’t stop him from getting at Zhou Zishu’s mouth. He nips at his lip and Zhou Zishu kisses him hard enough his lips feel pink and tender when he pulls back.
Wen Kexing tries to free his hands, finds he can’t no matter how he pulls and squirms, and realizes with a shudder Zhou Zishu is stronger than him right now. Heat that has nothing to do with the technique from the Yin Yang manual courses through him and he whines before he can swallow it back.
Zhou Zishu’s expression turns smug then, a little glimmer in his eyes that makes Wen Kexing want to devour him whole. “Was there something you needed, shidi?”
Oh, so that’s how he wants it. Wen Kexing can play that game too. “Shixiong.” He draws the word out over a whine, and though it’s a game now, there’s something satisfying about it. It feels like it’s his, something he’s taken back. Something he should have had. He is no longer Zhen Yan. But he is still Zhou Zishu’s shidi.
It works too, by the sudden open want on Zhou Zishu’s face, more than Zhou Zishu himself even expected it to. Zhou Zishu releases his wrists only to grasp him by the back of the neck instead. That sudden firm pressure is so good. It feels warm, it feels safe, he feels held . He sinks against Zhou Zishu's chest, and grinds against the friction of his cock pressed to Zhou Zishu’s middle.
It’s overwhelming, the sheer visceral want that hooks into his gut at just having Zhou Zishu close to him. He aches with the need to be filled, be completed. He’d beg, but he doesn’t need to, because Zhou Zishu is already shifting his weight back, pulling Wen Kexing up so he can shove his already mostly undone robes out of the way and sink his cock into him. It’s so easy at this point, Wen Kexing doesn’t have to do much but let gravity do most of the work.
It’s still not enough, he can feel that. The ache doesn’t leave him, this pulsing awareness of what he needs in these moments, and he thinks distantly the guilt he feels should matter more, even as he feels another set of hands on him, the addition of Ye Baiyi’s immense roiling qi joining Zhou Zishu’s to shake and flood through his meridians.
There’s guilt yes, because even though Wen Kexing could acknowledge that Ye Baiyi, for as infuriating as he is, is a handsome man, and over the course of their tumultuous acquaintance he’d looked at him and thought, regrettably yes, I would let him fuck me , he’d never thought it’d actually happen. But here they are.
Wen Kexing gets swept away with it, shaking, his breath heaving out in ragged cries. He lets them hold him back from the brink of orgasm when Zhou Zishu spends inside him, lets himself be tipped forward so Ye Baiyi can take his place. He’s so wet, he can feel Zhou Zishu’s come leaking down his thighs. He feels used in a way that makes him shaky and lightheaded. He loses himself in the sensations, the energy shuddering through him, the ecstasy lighting up his nerves.
When it’s over, he pitches forward onto Zhou Zishu’s chest, face buried against his throat, muffling shaky, almost sobs there, and that’s where he stays.
He feels Ye Baiyi move away from them with the awareness he can’t fully explain, but he knows it has to do with this technique they’re using to heal him. “Old monster. Where are you going?” he croaks out. His throat feels raw.
Ye Baiyi, predictably, ignores him and exits the room as if he hadn’t spoken at all.
When he looks up, Zhou Zishu is looking at the door as well, his expression unreadable. But when his gaze catches Wen Kexing’s, it softens slightly.
“How is it?” he asks.
Wen Kexing sighs and takes stock of himself. He feels stronger still, but the qi flooding through him doesn’t quite feel like his own just yet, he can’t control the tide of it, as it ebbs and flows through his meridians. “Better,” he says.
Zhou Zishu grasps his wrist, and Wen Kexing feels him prod at his qi. He lets him, sighs with the contentment he feels at even that small contact.
“Ah Xu,” he complains lightly. “I’m alright. I think it’s almost over.”
Zhou Zishu hums. He curls his hand around Wen Kexing’s wrist, frowning. “Lao Wen, I…”
“I won’t apologize,” Wen Kexing says suddenly. “And I won’t take any apology from you either.”
Zhou Zishu pauses, his expression going through several complicated changes before settling on annoyance. He reaches up and pinches Wen Kexing’s cheek, and Wen Kexing sucks in a breath at the sting.
“Ah Xu,” he whines, pushing at his hand.
“What did I tell you before, Lao Wen,” Zhou Zishu says, eyes sharp. “If you made another decision on your own, I’d slap you.”
“I know, Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing says, shifting up so he’s kneeling over him again, looking at him through his lashes. “I know. You can slap me if you want, I won’t stop you.”
Zhou Zishu scoffs, grabs him by the arms, and rolls them so Wen Kexing is pinned beneath him. “I would if I thought it’d do anything to stop you from being foolish.” He kisses Wen Kexing instead and Wen Kexing sighs against his lips, cupping his hand along his jaw. “If you ever do anything like this again…” Zhou Zishu continues when they part.
“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing says, voice gently. “I won’t. I promise I won’t.”
“I believe you,” Zhou Zishu grumbles, settling his arms around Wen Kexing. “And that’s the part that worries me.”
Wen Kexing curls against him, letting himself sink into the warmth of Zhou Zishu’s chest. “This isn’t how I imagined this would be,” he admits softly. “When we finally…”
Zhou Zishu hums. “You were so sure it would happen?” he asks, a playful lilt to his tone.
“Of course,” Wen Kexing replies, pushing at his shoulder. “It was only a matter of time. I am irresistible.”
“You’re a menace, is what you are.” Zhou Zishu, despite the harshness of his tone, tilts Wen Kexing’s face up and kisses him, soft and sweet. He lets out a slow breath. “It’s not how I imagined it either.”
Wen Kexing pushes up on his arms so he can see Zhou Zishu’s face and grins, kisses him again because he can’t help himself. “Ah Xu, you can’t say that and not tell me. Did you imagine giving in to my careful seduction and finally falling into my arms so I could ravage you?”
Zhou Zishu snorts and shoves him flat onto his back with a force that makes warmth curl low in Wen Kexing’s belly. “How do you know you weren’t the one being ravaged?”
Wen Kexing’s mind goes entirely blank for one long moment at the very idea that Zhou Zishu had wanted that, wanted him like that, enough to think about it, to admit it to him now. He smiles, his chest tightens. “Oh Ah Xu,” he breathes. “You have my full permission to ravage me any time you choose.”
Zhou Zishu’s face colors, but he presses him down and kisses him once, hard on the mouth. “Mark your words.”
A shaky, needy little sound leaves Wen Kexing’s throat. As much as he’d like to say it’s all Zhou Zishu and the hold he has on him, he can feel that rising pull again, swelling up.
Zhou Zishu leans back. “It’s starting again.”
Wen Kexing swallows and nods. Less and less time is passing between these pulses of energy. He can only hope that’s a good thing. He sits up, dragging blankets over his bare shoulders. Zhou Zishu curves an arm around his waist and lets him lean into his side.
Ye Baiyi returns with the same lack of fanfare he’d left with, his expression implacable as ever. He carries an earthen bowl in one hand that gets shoved unceremoniously at Wen Kexing. It’s water, cool clean water, and Wen Kexing downs it greedily with a little moan. He hadn’t realized how parched he was until right then.
“How long was that?” Ye Baiyi asks Zhou Zishu. “Barely one ke?” He takes Wen Kexing’s wrist, and once again Wen Kexing feels the prodding at his qi.
He shivers at the contact. “It’s too soon,” he says softly, trying not to whine. “I’ve barely had a chance to recover. I can’t do that again. I’ll die .”
“You’ll die if you don’t, brat,” Ye Baiyi says harshly. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Wen Kexing hisses. “You don’t have to be edged out of your mind while you’re barely coherent.”
“Lao Wen,” Zhou Zishu says, not unkindly. “There’s no other way.”
“There may be,” Ye Baiyi says, frowning.
“No,” Wen Kexing replies immediately before he can think about his words. “I already told you, you’re not burning yourself out.”
Something like surprise flickers over Ye Baiyi’s impassive face and then it darkens. “That’s not what I meant, brat. We need to transfer the energy into you and cycle it. You’re strong enough now to take more. If we passed qi to you at the same time, you could handle it.”
Wen Kexing frowns, “As tempting as it sounds to have a cock shoved down my throat when I can barely focus enough to breathe properly as it is,” he says, tone flat, “especially considering where your cock has been , that doesn’t sound like a more pleasant alternative.”
Ye Baiyi reaches out and cuffs him but more gently than Wen Kexing expected. “That’s not what I meant, either.”
“Then what—?” Wen Kexing really thinks about it. “You can’t be serious. That’s not…” he looks helplessly at Zhou Zishu, who can only shrug, he might look a little amused too, but Wen Kexing will address that later. “You are not doing that to me. There’s not enough room.”
Ye Baiyi definitely looks amused. “What happened to all your experience? I never thought you of all people would be squeamish.”
“Well excuse me if I’m a little dubious about the practicalities of taking two cocks up my ass at once, old monster,” Wen Kexing snarls in reply.
“If you’re scared, brat, you can just say so,” Ye Baiyi says with a small shrug. “We can continue the way we have been.”
Wen Kexing can feel himself draw up, even as he tries not to let the old bastard get to him.
“There’s a chance that might be enough to settle the qi completely,” Zhou Zishu says reasonably. “It’s something we haven’t tried.”
That just seems like wishful thinking, but Wen Kexing can’t really argue it.
Wen Kexing lets out a slow breath. “Alright. We’ll try it.”
Zhou Zishu cups the back of his neck and tugs him in until his forehead rests against his temple. “Neither of us wants to hurt you, Lao Wen. If it doesn’t work, we’ll stop.”
Wen Kexing unwinds under Zhou Zishu’s touch and leans into him. He believes that. He’s trusted them this far. Trusting Zhou Zishu costs him nothing, he’s trusted him for so long already. What startles him is how easy it is to trust Ye Baiyi too, how little thought he’d given it so far.
What really was the point then, of thinking about it now?
Zhou Zishu lays Wen Kexing out, back to his chest and spreads his thighs. He works fingers into him with so much of the oil they’d been using he feels like he’s dripping with it. His body quakes with the pleasure of it, singing through his veins. He feels so full every time Zhou Zishu’s fingers sink into him.
A short yelp leaves him, his body flexing when Zhou Zishu’s fingers press right against his spot.
“Lao Wen?” Zhou Zishu murmurs, almost a question.
“I’m…Ah… I’m alright,” Wen Kexing gasps, his hands gripping at Zhou Zishu’s shoulders. “It feels like your whole hand is in me.”
Ye Baiyi sits by their feet. He glances over, a short amused huff leaving him. “Just about.”
Wen Kexing shifts up Zhou Zishu’s chest, a ripple of tension running through him. “W-what?”
Zhou Zishu shushes him, his lips pressing to Wen Kexing’s jaw and sending shivers through him. “Relax. Lao Wen.” He loops an arm around Wen Kexing’s waist to hold him still. “Shidi. Does it hurt?”
“No,” Wen Kexing breathes, shaking now, the stretch when Zhou Zishu’s fingers press in somehow feeling even more intense when he knows. “Oh… Ah Xu it’s…”
It’s so much. He wishes he could see it. He wishes he could see Zhou Zishu opening him up so thoroughly, pressing so deep into him. He whines, caught up in it, in the rising pulses of their qi, in the sensation.
“Is it good, Lao Wen?” Zhou Zishu whispers against his throat.
Wen Kexing lets out a ragged moan, the only answer he’s capable of.
“You’re taking it well,” Ye Baiyi says, shifting so he’s kneeling between their legs. “Worry about that.”
“Easy for you to say,” Wen Kexing hisses, shuddering when Zhou Zishu’s fingers slide from him, only to be replaced by his cock. That’s easy, he sinks right in, all the way, and Wen Kexing moans, rocking into it.
Ye Baiyi grips Wen Kexing’s thigh and holds his leg spread as wide as it can go. He does something Wen Kexing can’t see and then his finger presses in along with Zhou Zishu’s cock.
Wen Kexing yelps, overwhelmed, his body flexing like he can’t decide whether he wants away or not. Maybe he does. He’s not sure. Everything feels so overwhelming. He can’t think. “Wait—You bastard. Wait!”
Ye Baiyi stills his finger but leaves it there. “Settle, brat. You’re fine.”
“How about I shove two cocks up your ass and see how fine you are?” Wen Kexing snarls.
Ye Baiyi shoots him an amused smirk and twists his finger. Wen Kexing moans, all his ire vanishing as his body seems to unwind. He hisses a curse at him anyway. Another finger presses into him, his rim stretching to accommodate, not quite uncomfortable, just so much his head swims with it.
Zhou Zishu curls a hand around his cock, and touches him with slow, careful fingers, enough to be teasing. Wen Kexing shudders, arching against Zhou Zishu’s chest, the pleasure shivering through him. They hadn’t touched his cock much before, at least mindful of how cruel it would be. Now Zhou Zishu’s fingers curl around him, holding him, his thumb pressing right under the head. Wen Kexing chokes on a whine.
Then Ye Baiyi shifts forward, pins Wen Kexing between them and his fingers move. Zhou Zishu makes a low, shaky sound against Wen Kexing’s shoulder, his hand tightening around his cock, and that distracts him enough that the head of Ye Baiyi’s cock presses past his rim before he can consider how that would feel.
He feels pulled open, soft and raw, overwhelmed. He yelps again, shaking, but they hold him still between them so he can’t move. For a long moment, they just hang there, together, motionless. He’s never felt anything so all-encompassing as this.
“Lao Wen,” Zhou Zishu breathes against his skin.
“Yes,” Wen Kexing pants, squirming. They ease their grip on him and he moves, rocking against the almost too much stretch. Their cocks press against him in ways that make him shake with the pleasure that rocks through him.
Slowly, it builds. As Wen Kexing rocks on them, and they start to move. Opposite at first, Zhou Zishu pressing in while Ye Baiyi slides back. Their energy rises too, floods through Wen Kexing, fills him up as surely as they fill him below. Their energy feels different too. Ye Baiyi’s crashes over his meridians like waves on rocks. Zhou Zishu’s flows through his channels like a wide, steady river. And Wen Kexing takes it, feels it slide through him and settle there and this time, it feels like it’s his.
He feels so full, filled to bursting. Wen Kexing sobs with it. There is nothing, nothing but their movement and energy, and his own, steadily rising, higher and higher with each breath.
He feels like he’s dying. It shouldn’t be possible to feel so alive and so close to death all at once. He feels like he’ll break apart in this energy and burn up, leaving nothing but ashes. High keening sounds he realizes are coming from him echo through the stone chamber. He’s lost, he’s nothing, he’s everything. He’s a being of pleasure and sensation.
It rises, crests, and breaks. Wen Kexing screams, and there is only blackness.
For a long time, it feels like he’s drifting. He’s aware that there is movement, voices around him, but everything feels wrapped in soft linen. He can’t move, he can’t speak, and he doesn’t want to. This soft liminal space holds him fast while he pieces himself back together.
When awareness returns to him in truth, he aches deeply in the area of his hips. He groans, gingerly trying to sit up.
“Lao Wen.”
Zhou Zishu sits down beside him. He has another bowl of water. Wen Kexing lets him help him sit up and takes the water gratefully when Zhou Zishu tips the bowl against his mouth. Zhou Zishu is cleaned up, his dark robes smoothed and belted closed again. He’s absent his dark outer robe. Wen Kexing realizes it’s because that’s been wrapped around him, against his skin. Over that is a thick white layer. He knows where it comes from. He’s been cleaned up too, put back into his trousers and socks. He’s warm, but it’s not the unnatural heat that has plagued him for so long. He feels light and strong and clear-headed.
“How long?” Wen Kexing asks, clearing his throat when his voice croaks.
“A while,” Zhou Zishu says, pressing more water on him. “It’s almost dawn.”
Wen Kexing sighs, his shoulders sinking. “It’s over.”
Zhou Zishu hums, slowly smooths Wen Kexing’s hair back. “Yes. How do you feel?”
“Sore,” Wen Kexing says with a pout. “You’re awful, the both of you. Treating me like that. I’m delicate, you know?”
Zhou Zishu huffs a laugh through his nose and pinches his arm, “If you have the energy to complain, you’re fine.”
Wen Kexing chuckles and nudges Zhou Zishu’s shoulder. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, and realizes then that they are alone. “Where’s the old monster?” Even though it means little to Wen Kexing, it’d have been nice for Ye Baiyi to at least pretend he cared if Wen Kexing was alright before fucking off to who knows where.
“Ye-qianbei is outside,” Zhou Zishu says. “He plans to leave, but I think he didn’t want to before you woke.”
“Presumptuous brat,” Ye Baiyi says gruffly, coming to stand in the doorway. “The storm hasn’t lifted yet.”
Amusement flickers over Zhou Zishu’s face, but he nods mildly. “Of course, qianbei.”
Wen Kexing rises slowly from the bed, expecting to feel the same trembling weakness he was used to. Instead he feels sure-footed and light. The soreness is ebbing as well, faster than anything he’d ever felt, even at the prime of his ability. He realizes he’s being watched rather closely.
“I feel fine,” he says with a sigh. “Better than fine, actually.” He holds out an arm to the room in general, pulling his sleeve back from his wrist. “Would you like to check?”
Ye Baiyi scoffs and turns out of the room.
Wen Kexing shoves his feet back into his shoes and follows after him. He gets to the door before Zhou Zishu calls out.
“Lao Wen. I’m going to sleep. Don’t wake me up.”
Wen Kexing pauses with a small laugh. “Of course,” he replies sweetly. “You shouldn’t miss out on your beauty rest.” He flutters his eyelashes at him and ducks out of the room before Zhou Zishu can find something to throw at him.
He catches a flash of white and follows it, through the stone corridors, back toward the great cavern at the opening. The air is cold and sharp in his lungs, the closer he gets, but the chill barely touches him.
“Old monster,” he calls out, striding forward to catch up to Ye Baiyi’s quick steps.
He is predictably ignored.
“Ye-qianbei,” he sing-songs.
It earns him an annoyed scoff. He can hear the wind howling outside now. But Ye Baiyi still moves purposefully toward the exit.
“Ye Baiyi!” he snaps then, his voice echoing off stone and ice, and this time, Ye Baiyi pauses in the mouth of darkness cast by the partially opened entrance, his clothes shifting, bright white against it.
He looks back with a narrowed glance. “What is it, brat? Don’t you have someone to pester?”
“Ah Xu is getting some well-deserved rest,” Wen Kexing says tartly.
“And that is my problem because…”
Wen Kexing comes up to settle at his side. He folds his arms into his sleeves against the chill and sighs. “I never thanked you,” he starts, only to be cut off by a rude sound from Ye Baiyi.
“Oh don’t ,” Ye Baiyi says, frowning. “Watching you kneel to ask for my help was bad enough. Disrespect sits better on you, brat. It always has.”
Wen Kexing sends him a sly glance, “Was that a compliment, old monster?”
“Only you would think so,” Ye Baiyi replies tiredly.
Wen Kexing huffs a small laugh. He should let him go and be done with it, but some small part of him can’t ignore the things Ye Baiyi has done for him. And for Ah Xu. He may be the most irritating man Wen Kexing has ever known, but he’s a good man. Better, probably, than he thinks he is.
“Where will you go?” he asks, trying to sound casual about it.
“I’m taking my disciple back to be buried with his parents,” Ye Baiyi says, a distant note to his tone that Wen Kexing hasn’t heard from him in a while.
He says, “I’m sorry.” And is a little shocked he means it.
Ye Baiyi eyes him with a tiny downturn to his mouth. “Don’t be. Hate him if you want to. I won’t take that from you. He was a fool. And I can only hope he’ll make better choices in his next life.”
Wen Kexing says nothing to that. There’s nothing for him to say. Ye Baiyi’s grief is his own. Wen Kexing doesn’t want to take that from him either.
“Well regardless, you helped me save Ah Xu’s life. You came here and helped save mine,” Wen Kexing sighs, “I suppose I owe you something for that. Find us some time, and I’ll cook you a meal. And I promise I’ll only spit in it a little bit.”
Ye Baiyi gives a sharp laugh and shakes his head. “Brat.”
He walks through the dark mouth of the doorway. Wen Kexing stays there, watching until the bright white of his clothes is swallowed up by predawn shadow and drifting snow.
--
Ye Baiyi has had his fill of trekking up mountains. When he returned to Cheng Ming, one last time, to lay his disciple to rest with Changqing and his wife, he’d thought that would be his last trip. He thought he’d die there. Maybe he should have died there.
But this too-long life isn’t ready to let him go just yet.
The peak looms above him, the ice and snow glinting in the sunlight of early spring. Ye Baiyi looks up toward it, and narrowly avoids the white fan that whips past his nose.
He glares, calling up. “Finally decided you want that beating, brat?”
Wen Kexing leaps down, his white hair catching the midday sun and glittering like the snow around them. He catches his fan, spins it nimbly in his hand, and lets it settle partially closed. His lips quirk up in amusement.
“I think you’ll find it won’t be such an easy task, old monster,” he calls back.
Zhou Zishu follows, his expression caught somewhere between disapproval and indulgent fondness. Wonderful, he’s grown just as useless and disrespectful as his worse half.
“Ye-qianbei,” Zhou Zishu says, differential to the point of overdone, perhaps a bit teasing. “Perhaps you would give us the honor of a rematch.”
Ye Baiyi huffs out a sigh, shoving down his own amusement. “Alright. I have time to put you two disrespectful pups in your place.”
“Both of us together, was it?” Wen Kexing says with a delighted laugh that rings through the crisp air around them.
“With energy to spare,” Ye Baiyi replies easily.