Work Text:
The humid breath of a Sichuan summer night clung to everything. Even at this late hour, long after the moon had climbed to its peak, the heat refused to dissipate, pressing down on the poor souls trying to rest. Tang Bo stood framed by the open doorway of his chambers, his silhouette dark against the deeper gloom of the estate yard.
A plume of smoke curled from the ivory-tipped pipe clutched between his fingers, the acrid scent a welcome distraction from the thoughts that tried to invade his senses.
His gaze was fixed on the empty courtyard,the silent expanse of polished stone and meticulously raked gravel, now bathed in the silver-blue glow of the moon. Not a single soul stirred, not even the rustle of a night guard.
Wasted time. The thought simmered in his mind. Hours spent listening to the Elders drone on about lineage, about tradition, about the family’s influence- all culminating in a decision that was as predictable as it was useless. He’d rather be anywhere else, anywhere but here, breathing the same stale air as those glorified relics.
A soft, almost imperceptible sigh drifted from behind him, cutting through the heavy silence of the room.
He didn’t need to turn to know its source. The Plum Blossom Sword Saint, that infuriatingly graceful, effortlessly powerful swordsman, lay sprawled across Tang Bo’s own bed. The silken sheets were a rumpled mess around him, pushed aside by restless limbs. His outer robe was thrown open, revealing a expanse of pale, muscled chest rising and falling with the even rhythm of sleep.
The heat had clearly gotten to him too; a fine sheen of sweat glistened on his skin, catching the moonlight that spilled through the open door.
Tang Bo took another slow drag from his pipe, the ember glowing in the darkness. The sight of the Sword Saint, so utterly at ease in his personal space was something he had gotten used to- he was the one who pushed boundaries at first afterall.
Sometimes he thinks of his brothers, those simpering fools who clung to the Elders' robes like they were Buddha...oh, the Elders. They saw him as a disruption, an anomaly in their meticulously woven tapestry of tradition and hierarchy.
Tang Bo thought they were a bit like flies sometimes, too insignificant to truly sting, too foolish to know their place.
But what could they do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing... besides talk and talk like the old fools they were.
He let out another annoyed exhale and glanced back into the room, his gaze settling once more on the figure on his bed.
A soft, almost tender smile, softened Tang Bo’s hardened features. The Sword Saint looked like he was at home here, in Tang Bo's chambers, on his bed. He breathed deeply, without a hint of tension.
It was a trust Tang Bo enjoyed. To sleep so soundly, so exposed, in the domain of the Tang Family's Dark Saint.... He simply slept. As if the very notion of Tang Bo harming him, poisoning him in his sleep, was an absurdity.
And Tang Bo, for all his dark thoughts and lethal reputation, found he rather liked that.
He liked that Chung Myung saw past the past his name and title. He liked that his Hyung believed in him enough to surrender completely, to offer up his vulnerability without a second thought. He wasn't some dangerous assassin to be wary of, he was just a leech in his Hyung's eyes.
In this room with Chung Myung's peaceful presence, the air felt a little less suffocating.
"Bo-yah.."
Tang Bo's head snapped around, his pipe still clutched in his hand, the ember momentarily forgotten. His eyes narrowed on the figure on the bed. "Hm?" He hadn't expected the Sword Saint to wake, not with how deeply he'd been sleeping.
But Chung Myung didn't stir. His chest continued its slow, steady rise and fall, the moonlight still painting his sweat-slicked skin with silver.
Tang Bo blinked, then a slow, almost imperceptible smile stretched across his lips. Sleep-talking then?
The Plum Blossom Sword Saint, the man who could carve a path through a hundred enemies without breaking a sweat, was muttering his name in his sleep.
"Bo-yah.." Chung Myung murmured again, a little louder this time, his brow furrowing slightly. Then, a sound escaped his lips- a soft, almost choked gasp, followed by a low hum.
He tapped the ivory pipe against the frame of the doorway, extinguishing the ember with a faint hiss. The acrid scent of the burning herbs quickly dissipated into the humid air. With a quiet click, he closed the heavy wooden door, plunging the room into a darkness broken only by the silver spill of moonlight through the window.
Tang Bo's footsteps made no sound on the polished floorboards. He reached the side of the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, the slight dip in the soft bedding causing Chung Myung to shift subtly.
His gaze lingered on the older man’s face, tracing the curve of his brow, the slight frown that now creased it. "What troubles your dreams, Hyung?" Tang Bo’s voice was a low murmur, "Are you fighting me even in your dreams? Or is it the taste of your beloved alcohol just out of reach?"
As if in response, Chung Myung shuffled, his restless limbs pushing more of the silk sheets away. A pale hand, scarred and calloused from countless battles, rose instinctively, pressing against the expanse of his bare flushed chest.
Tang Bo watched the subtle tremor in his Hyung's hand, a smile playing on his lips. "Or perhaps," he continued, his voice dropping another notch, a playful, dangerous edge creeping into it, "... are we sharing a jug of wine as we feast on the spiciest delights this land has to offer?"
Chung Myung’s breathing hitched, quickening perceptibly. A flush, faint at first, then deepening to a vivid crimson, spread across his sweat-slicked cheeks, catching the moonlight like a fever. His brow furrowed further, and his lips parted, a desperate, almost pleading sound escaping them. "Bo-yah..." he whimpered.
The sight of Chung Myung's upper garment, twisted and rucked up around his waist exposing his stomach, made Tang Bo huff a breathy, almost soundless laugh. "Honestly, Hyung," he murmured, "if you were going to be so restless, you might as well have discarded the top entirely. It would have saved us both the trouble."
He slipped off his own outer robe, throwing it on a chair near the bed and then he eased himself onto the bed beside Chung Myung as a subtle tremor passed through the sleeping Sword Saint. Tang Bo settled onto his side, propping his head on one hand, his elbow sinking into the plush bedding.
Tang Bo’s gaze drifted to the exposed patch of skin on Chung Myung's stomach, then higher, to the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Without a thought his own hand reached out. It settled feather-light over the frantic beat of Chung Myung's heart, directly on the warm skin of his chest.
"Tell me, Hyung," Tang Bo purred, his voice a low, seductive hum that barely disturbed the quiet, "are you perhaps having another type of dream about me?"
His fingers traced the curve of Chung Myung's ribs, before sliding underneath the rumpled cotton of his top.
The cool tips of Tang Bo's fingers brushed against the sensitive peak of Chung Myung's nipple and a gasp tore from Chung Myung’s throat, louder this time, his body arching subtly into the unexpected chill. His eyes remained stubbornly shut, but a deep, shuddering breath hitched in his chest, and his hips shifted restlessly, seeking... something.
His fingers continued moving over the warm skin of Chung Myung’s abdomen, feeling his abs and the scars that littered it- Tang Bo knew almost all of them, he was the one who tended to him afterall. He traced the faint path of an old sword wound just beneath the ribs.
He remembered Chung Myung’s exasperated, half-joking question from months ago, after Tang Bo had perhaps been a little too hands-on after a particularly intense sparring session.
"You leech, were you not breastfed as a child? Why do you always cling to my chest like a hungry babe? Huh?" Tang Bo, caught off guard, had felt a blush creep up his neck, hot and undeniable, and had simply ignored the older man, pretending to be preoccupied with adjusting his robes. Even now, the memory brought a faint flush to his cheeks.
"Unbelievable, Hyung," Tang Bo whispered. His fingers resting on that nipple, flexed almost imperceptibly. "Even in your dreams, you give me no rest."
He watched the subtle shivers that coursed through Chung Myung's body, the way his breath hitched, the soft, needy sounds that escaped his lips- all without ever opening his eyes.
Should I keep going? The thought for a moment. Chung Myung hadn't woken yet. He was lost in some fevered landscape of his own making, and Tang Bo was just indulging himself. Of course, I should.
With a gentle but firm hand, Tang Bo nudged Chung Myung, coaxing him onto his side. The Plum Blossom Sword Saint, surprisingly pliant in his asleep state, shifted, his back now pressed intimately against Tang Bo's front.
Tang Bo’s arm snaked around Chung Myung’s waist, pulling him closer until their bodies were against eachother, the warmth of Chung Myung's skin seeping into his own. He buried his face in the soft, damp hair at the nape of Chung Myung’s neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of sweat and plum blossoms.
His free hand drifted lower, finding the waistband of the older man’s loose sleeping pants. Tang Bo began to ease the fabric down. The cotton glided over Chung Myung’s hips, revealing the pale, scarred skin of his lower back, then the firm curve of his ass. Tang Bo pushed them further, past the knees, until the pants were a crumpled heap around Chung Myung's ankles, leaving him completely bare on the silk sheets.
Which was honestly not so bad, considering the fact that the weather sure calls for as little possible articles of clothing as possible.
Tang Bo felt a familiar, insistent throb between his own legs. He took off his own pants, letting them fall to the floor. His erection sprang free at last, hot and heavy. His fingers closed down around the thick cockhead, ah, he still felt like a virgin who couldn't wait to finally get his dick wet.
He released his own straining cock, letting it spring free, hot and heavy, before reaching for the small, ornate bottle of fragrant oil that was left on the bedside table.
He poured a generous amount onto his palm then he began to slick his throbbing cock.
Once satisfied, he discarded the bottle and returned to Chung Myung, wrapping his arms around him once more, pulling their bodies together. He nestled his slick, eager cock between Chung Myung’s thick thighs, feeling the soft give of flesh against his hardness.
He buried his face in the soft, damp hair at the nape of Chung Myung’s neck. He pressed a soft kiss to the sensitive skin there, and a whimper escaped Chung Myung’s lips.
Without another word, Tang Bo began to thrust. His cock sliding against the warm, soft skin of Chung Myung’s inner thighs. To say that if felt amazing would be a lie, it felt exquisite, but maybe that was just Tang Bo's biased opinion.
"Bo-yah," Chung Myung muttered again, the sound thick with sleep. His words were slurred, almost unintelligible, "Stop..hot.."
Tang Bo paused, his cock still pressing between those thick thighs. "What was that, Hyung?" he asked "What did you say?"
As if in answer, or perhaps in a desperate attempt to deepen the sensation, Chung Myung’s thighs pressed hard against each other, squeezing, trapping Tang Bo’s cock between them almost violently
The sudden pressure made Tang Bo gasp as his hips instinctively pushed forward.
Then, a strong and calloused hand pressed firmly against Tang Bo’s cheek, pushing him back, just enough to break contact between his nape and Tang Bo's lips, though their bodies remained locked.
"Too hot," Chung Myung grumbled again, his voice clearer now. "It's too damn hot for this, leech."
Tang Bo blinked, his eyes widening in genuine surprise. "Hyung? you're awake?" The question was a breathless whisper, laced with a flicker of disbelief, and perhaps, a hint of playfulness. His hips, however, had not stopped their rhythmic press against Chung Myung’s thighs, an insistent grinding that only wanted more.
Chung Myung finally opened his eyes, though they were still half-lidded.. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his lips, "Awake?" he scoffed, the sound a low, husky chuckle that sent shivers down Tang Bo’s spine. "You think I could sleep through all that pawing and purring?? I've been awake since you first laid down, you idiot. Who do uou think I am?"
Tang Bo’s surprise quickly melted into a wicked grin. "Oh, really now, Hyung?" he purred, leaning in closer, ignoring the hand still pressed to his face. "And yet, you didn't stop me." He emphasized the last word with a deliberate thrust of his hips, his slick cock sliding further against the warm flesh of Chung Myung's inner thighs, eliciting a soft, involuntary moan that escaped the older man's lips.
"Tch," Chung Myung grumbled, though the sound lacked any real threat. Instead of pushing Tang Bo away, his legs squeezed tighter together. A small 'oh' slipped past his lips as Tang Bo's hand, freed from its previous resting place, drifted lower. It bypassed Chung Myung’s waist, sliding over a scar on his hip, before finding its target: Chung Myung’s own neglected cock, already semi-hard and aching for attention.
Tang Bo’s careful fingers closed around it which made Chung Myung let out a small noise, his back arching slightly, his hips pushing back into Tang Bo's insistent rhythm.
"Agh, bastard.. Bo-yah.." Chung Myung's voice was a ragged whisper now, his eyes fluttering shut once more.
"I can stop, you know, Hyung," Tang Bo murmured. His hips, however, did not cease their rhythmic movement.
Chung Myung’s eyes snapped open again, blazing with a mixture of annoyance and undeniable desire. "Stop?" he scoffed, the word a ragged exhale. "Don't you dare stop, you damned leech. Finish what you starter.. still doesnt change the fact that it's hot in here." Tang Bo generally runs cold, but Chung Myung ready runs hot, and the weather isn'thelping him.
Tang Bo chuckled "I guess it's better in the mountains at home," he teased, "But you're the one who insisted coming with me."
"Hmm..You could've picked any other position, you know. One that doesn't involve me being trapped like a bun." He grumbled, a familiar repetition of complaints, even as his hips subtly arched into Tang Bo’s rhythm.
Tang Bo leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the damp skin behind Chung Myung’s ear. "Because it's more comfortable this way, Hyung," he whispered, his voice laced with a playful possessiveness. He shifted his hips, pushing his cock just a fraction deeper between Chung Myung’s thighs, eliciting another breathless gasp. "And besides," he added, "I like feeling all of you pressed against me.."
Chung Myung's breath hitched, a desperate sound caught in his throat as Tang Bo's thumb brushed the sensitive tip, sending a wave of pleasure through him.
"Damn you, Bo-yah," Chung Myung gasped and his hips bucked, an involuntary arch that met Tang Bo's grinding rhythm with a desperate urgency.
With a final deep thrust between those thick thighs, he came, painting Chung Myung's strong inner thighs with thick hot cum.
Chung Myung let out a low moan as his own climax surged forward. His free hand flew to his mouth, muffling the soft cry that tore through him, his back arching once more.
Tang Bo couldn't help but laugh. He didn't stop, his hand still wrapped around Chung Myung's cock, now slick with his own pre-cum and Chung Myung's release, gently rubbing the sensitive head. The sight of Chung Myung's flushed face and the hand pressed against his mouth were enough to get him going again.
"Let go, you damned leech," Chung Myung gritted out, his voice still ragged but laced with a dangerous edge. "Unless you want your dick to be intact, you'd better let go. Now."
Tang Bo froze, his laughter dying in his throat. He felt the tightening of Chung Myung's thighs around his cock. A shiver, not entirely of pleasure, ran down Tang Bo's spine. He wisely, and with a lingering smirk, released Chung Myung's cock.
He then brought his cum-slicked fingers to his lips. His tongue stuck out out to lick at the liquid "hmm so sweet, Hyung. Just as I imagined."
Chung Myung ignored the provocative comment entirely, instead letting out a long sigh. "Do you feel better now?" he grumbled, his voice still a little rough around the edges, but regaining some of its usual bite. Without waiting for an answer, he turned over to finally face Tang Bo, to glare at his stupid face properly.
Tang Bo leaned in, pressing his forehead against Chung Myung’s shoulder as the older man shifted. "Always, Hyung," he murmured, his breath warm against Chung Myung’s skin. "I always feel better when I'm with you. You shouldn't worry about it."
"Worry?" he scoffed, "I'm not worrying. I'm just.. Ugh. Get me a cloth, you idiot. It's all over my thighs." He gestured vaguely at the sticky mess that coated his inner thighs, a faint blush creeping up his neck.
Tang Bo's gaze was however already there. He didn't move to get a cloth. Instead, his hand, still warm from Chung Myung's release went fown. His fingers brushed against Chung Myung’s sensitive inner thighs, tracing the slick, warm trail of cum and then he smeared it- smudging the thick white liquid around the taut muscle, his smirk widening as Chung Myung let out a sharp sigh.
"Are you going to lick it off, then, you insufferable brat?"
Tang Bo’s gaze, dark and knowing, lifted from Chung Myung’s thighs to meet his eyes "Do you want me to do that?" he said flatly, his voice thick with unsaid promises, his fingers still idly smearing the slickness.
That was it. Chung Myung let out a frustrated sound, a cross between a growl and a huff of exasperation. With a sudden burst of strength, he shoved Tang Bo, pushing him back until he was no longer pressed so intimately against him.
Tang Bo chuckled, a soft, indulgent sound that Chung Myung chose to ignore. He knew better than to push Chung Myung when he reached this stage of post-coital grumpiness.
He pulled his pants back up and went to get a small cloth from a small basin of water in the room.Returning to the bed, he gently nudged Chung Myung’s leg. "Alright, Hyung. Relax. I'll take care of it."
Chung Myung grumbled but didn't resist as Tang Bo carefully, began to wipe away the cum from his inner thighs. The touch was surprisingly gentle, the cool, damp cloth a welcome relief against his still-sensitive and hot skin. Tang Bo made sure that every trace was gone.
When he was finished, he tossed the cloth aside. Then, with a soft sigh that was almost a caress, he leaned down. His lips, warm and soft, pressed against the now-clean skin of Chung Myung’s inner thigh, right where the thickest of the cum had been.
"There," Tang Bo whispered, "All clean. You can go back to sleep now, Hyung. I won't try anything else funny..."
Chung Myung let out a long, shuddering breath, the tension slowly bleeding out of him. He didn't respond, but the subtle relaxation of his shoulders was all the answer Tang Bo needed. He knew his Hyung wasn't truly angry, just.. Chung Myung. And that was more than enough.