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Qingming steps through the portal and has only a moment to look around before a blade is at his throat.
“Oh my,” he says. “What a welcome.”
“Qingming?” Boya gasps, short sword dropping from between them. His hand stays fixed on the wall behind Qingming, blocking him in. Qingming wonders at it for a moment before he takes in the way that Boya is lightly trembling. The hand isn’t simply there to intimidate Boya’s would-be attacker; it’s supporting his weight. Boya is not well.
“Boya,” Qingming says quietly, resting a hand on his side in a cautious attempt to lend his support. Boya inhales sharply and steps back; stumbles. Qingming moves forward to catch him around the waist, and Boya shoves him off himself, sitting down hard on the bare ground. His face, now that Qingming is looking closely, is unhealthily pale. “What’s happened?”
“It’s nothing,” Boya grits out. Qingming raises an eyebrow tartly. If it was nothing, Boya wouldn’t have activated the talisman that Qingming left with him; but he refrains from pointing the fact out. Boya is shivering.
Qingming strides to the bed and lifts the quilt, carrying it over to drape across Boya’s shoulders. Boya draws it around himself, raising his knees to his chest. “I’ll heat some water. When did you last eat?” Qingming asks mildly, peering around the little cabin. They’re obviously not in Boya’s monastery; has he been here all by himself? Qingming goes to the small window and peeks outside; nothing but wilderness. Where is this place, so far from anyone to caretake an obviously sick Boya?
“Yesterday,” Boya manages. His voice sounds rough. “Perhaps the day before.”
That simply won’t do. Qingming isn’t much of a culinary genius, so he doesn’t fuss with the kitchen supplies; simply draws out one of the prepared meals that he carries in his qiankun pouch, breaking the stasis spell as he removes it. Steam escapes from the container when he places it in front of Boya. He moves to the long-cold fire and gathers the kindling together, lighting it with a quick spell; props larger logs around the circumference to dry and fills the kettle. When he looks back Boya is watching him, unmoving, hands still tucked into the blanket.
“I suppose I wouldn’t care to eat on the floor either,” Qingming sighs, moving to help him up.
Boya allows it this time, but unexpectedly, he can hardly bear his own weight; Qingming has barely guided him a half step toward the table when he’s collapsing on a sharp inhale of what sounds like pain. Qingming changes their direction towards the bed. “Perhaps you’d best lie down,” he corrects himself.
Boya doesn’t bother to argue- concerning. Qingming settles him in the bed, propped up on the few pillows and a rolled up spare blanket, and retrieves the food and the now-warm water, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. He looks at Boya, whose eyes are closed as if in effort, a tight line between them.
“Can you eat by yourself?” Qingming asks mildly. No response. He lifts the cup to Boya’s lips, and Boya’s eyes shoot open; he attempts to take the cup with a glare, but his hands are shaking badly enough that he spills some of the water on himself. Clucking, Qingming takes the cup back, wiping his sleeve across Boya’s chest, and raises it to his lips once more.
“Come now, master Boya, it’s just me,” he says, letting a smile spread across his lips. “Let’s get some food and water in you, and then see how you’re feeling.”
Boya eventually defers to Qingming’s great wisdom; he lets Qingming feed him a few bites of rice and meat, the portion split between the two of them. He doesn’t eat much, but that’s probably best, in the end, after so long without. Qingming will feed him more later; he rather enjoyed the experience of getting to watch Boya’s lips part around his chopsticks.
“How do you feel?” Qingming asks, taking one of Boya’s hands to study the trembling. Boya tries to jerk it out of his grip, but he’s too weak to. Qingming presses their palms together, holding onto him firmly. “Come now, tell the truth.”
“Poisoned,” Boya manages after a long bout of silence. “...My fault.”
Qingming’s mouth goes tight. He couldn’t have mentioned this earlier? “And is master Boya familiar with the type of poison?” he asks, cool and displeased.
“Yes,” Boya says briefly. He doesn’t say anything else.
“...Is master Boya inclined to share with me his insight?” Qingming asks, raising an eyebrow. Boya’s wan face slowly reddens. His mouth opens, then closes.
“It is in the category of… intimate poisons,” he finally says, as if the words are being forced out of him at knife point. Qingming suddenly understands.
“Oh Boya,” he sighs. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, if certain… assignations have turned out to have had ill effects.”
“I didn’t contract it through-!” Boya gets out, face reddening further. “I mean that it’s the sort to be… cured through intimacy.”
Qingming’s eyebrows rise. “Ah,” he says. He looks Boya up and down. The flushing; the hesitance towards touch. He studies him for a few moments longer, realization dawning.
“And you summoned me here,” he says delicately, “for…”
“Oh, don’t make me say it,” Boya says, handsome face twisting in a scowl. “If you aren’t willing, I thought you might send me somewhere else. But I can’t bear to be teased.”
Prickling interest settles throughout Qingming’s body. He gently sets the dishes aside on the bedside table. “What sort of assistance were you thinking I might provide?” he asks, leaning in slightly, mouth quirking in a smile. Boya’s lips part; he looks at Qingming’s face, eyes half-lidded, for a long few moments. Swallows.
“I asked you not to tease me,” he says.
“So you did,” Qingming murmurs, and bends his head down. The first brush of their lips is electric; sends a fluttering sensation of warmth streaming down into the core of him. Boya inhales sharply against his mouth; presses into Qingming firmly. He kisses like he’s familiar with the process. Perhaps he is- perhaps he’s taken lovers before. Qingming finds himself suddenly curious; but now is hardly the time for an interrogation.
“Have you any particular preferences about what we’re to do?” Qingming asks, pulling away to lick at his lips. Boya’s dark eyes watch his mouth; he’s leaning forward slightly, after Qingming.
“I’m not very…” he says, displeased, indicating the way his hands still shake on the bed. Qingming hums in thought, running his hand slowly down Boya’s arm until it rests on his bare wrist. He can see, now, the way that Boya’s chest stills at the touch; as if suppressing his own reactions.
“Why don’t you let me do the work, then,” Qingming offers, curious to see whether Boya will accept it. Boya closes his eyes; after a long moment, he nods.
Qingming leans forward and gently kisses him again. Boya makes a quiet noise against his mouth and kisses back; lets Qingming rearrange him so that he’s lying down flat in the bed, Qingming leaning over him with his hair politely pushed off one shoulder so as not to tickle against him. Boya looks up at him, eyes dark and breath coming a little faster.
“May I?” Qingming asks, setting his hands gently at Boya’s belt. At his nod, he begins to disrobe him- not savoring it too obviously, but he can’t help but admire the picture it makes as the layers of black slowly peel away, revealing smooth skin that catches the flickering warm firelight. Boya’s abs flinch with the drag of fabric, twitching into definition. Qingming catches his eyes and runs his hand slowly along the length of his stomach, enjoying the warmth. Boya’s throat works as he watches Qingming’s face. There is an obvious hardness between his legs, now that the obscuring layers of robes have been pushed away.
“Oh,” he murmurs, as Qingming’s hand dips toward the waist of his pants. The tight line of his throat bobs; there’s a flush visible on his face even in the dim light of the fire. “Will you…”
“Does master Boya have something in mind?” Qingming asks, licking his lower lip. Boya’s gaze falls to his mouth; the flush deepens.
“Yes,” he says. Qingming’s mouth quirks, and he pulls at the ties of Boya’s pants, pushing them down.
A lovely cock awaits him, mostly hard and flushed even darker than Boya’s face. Qingming traces a finger gently along its length and it jumps; Boya is sensitive. Of course- he’s poisoned. Qingming’s mouth waters.
“May I?” he asks, and Boya makes a quiet noise of impatience. Qingming ducks his head and draws his tongue up the length of it, holding it in place with his hand. It’s warm and the skin is soft against his tongue; Qingming laps, and laps, and laps, warmth building in him. He slicks his tongue over the head and it twitches again, making him swallow back a noise. He flicks his eyes up at Boya, whose head has pressed back into the pillow; a tight exhale escapes him. Qingming has a sudden idle thought about what other noises he might be able to draw from those pretty lips. He draws the head into his mouth, sucking slowly.
Boya’s back arches, obscuring his face. Qingming’s body tingles with pleasure; he’s so responsive like this. He lays one hand politely on the strong line of Boya’s hip, rubbing idly at the hardness of his hip bone and feeling the play of muscle where it connects to his thigh. Boya’s hips are starting to rock minutely into his touch; his cock, now fully hard, is leaking precome into Qingming’s mouth.
How delicious.
“Is this to your satisfaction?” he pulls off to say, lips quirking in a smile; Boya groans and hastily puts a hand on Qingming’s head, petting along the hair and making Qingming’s scalp tingle. His face is creased in pleasure, handsome eyes closed. His lashes fan out across his cheeks.
“Don’t stop,” Boya murmurs, voice husky- and Qingming can’t help the satisfied little noise that escapes him. Boya sounds good like this.
He drops his head back to his work.
He bobs up and down, slow and even; licks and sucks, listening to Boya’s small noises gradually getting less and less controlled. The hand hasn’t left his hair; it’s slowly tightening on the back of his head, in time with the shallow trembling of Boya’s thighs. He must be close.
“Would you like to finish in my mouth?” Qingming pulls off to say, and Boya gasps. His fingers twist in Qingming’s hair; his cock visibly twitches. His eyes open to meet Qingming’s, dark and intent, and he takes himself in hand, feeding his cock back into Qingming’s mouth with a tight groan.
Qingming can’t smile around the way his lips are stretched, but pleased warmth flutters in his stomach. He wraps his hand around the base and moves faster, sucks harder; presses his tongue right under the head until Boya is shivering and leaking in his mouth. In only a few more moments, he receives his reward: Boya moans quietly and liquid floods his mouth, coating his tongue in pulses.
Qingming groans in return, running both hands heavily up the length of Boya’s handsome body to savor the way his muscles flex and go loose. His abs shudder; his chest heaves with deep breaths as he finishes nicely right into Qingming’s mouth, just as discussed. His smooth skin is warm and damp with sweat, easy and enticing to the touch.
Qingming doesn’t pull off for a few long moments; keeps a light pressure on Boya’s cock, sucking fondly at it until Boya’s hand releases his hair, pushing gently at his face. He draws off with a slow pop, and Boya shudders all along his body, going limp and loose against the bed.
“To your satisfaction, I take it?” Qingming says, not even attempting to keep the smugness from his voice.
There’s a few beats of silence as Boya catches his breath. Qingming takes his wrist to feel the pulse; his hands aren’t trembling anymore. “That was… effective,” Boya says, sounding winded. “The impacts of the poison are gone.”
“That’s all you have to say?” Qingming asks, raising a wry eyebrow and moving up Boya’s body to look over him from above. Boya gazes up at him, face unfamiliarly relaxed. He’s handsome like this, all post-coital and satisfied. His hand comes up to Qingming’s face; he draws him down to kiss.
Ah.
“I wasn’t sure you would want to, after,” Qingming murmurs when he pulls back. Boya makes a little scoffing sound; his thumb is rubbing absently at Qingming’s jaw. Qingming can’t look away from his beautiful face.
“And,” Boya says, a hint of formality returning to him, “thank you for the talisman.” Qingming studies him; feels a slow smile climb its way onto his face. He suddenly feels very light inside. He leans in and kisses Boya again.
“Boya daren,” he says, grinning against his lips as Boya kisses back, muffling his words. “It was my pleasure.”