Work Text:
Feng Xin has never been good at being quiet, even when he needs to be.
Immediately upon entering the bathroom, he bangs his bruised knee hard into the cabinet underneath the sink in the bathroom, which results in several things within the cabinet to clatter together.
He freezes at the loud noise, grasping at the rattling cabinet door to stop it from moving. In the process he scrapes his knuckles, the recently formed scabs there breaking open. He hisses in pain as fresh blood rises to his skin and swears under his breath when said blood drips past his fingers and splatters to the tile.
That’s how Mu Qing finds him moments later, crouched on the ground as he furiously dabs at the crimson drops with a damp towel.
“You’re staining our towel,” says Mu Qing.
Feng Xin, who hadn’t heard him approach, jumps in surprise and hits his head on the counter. He cusses again and jumps to his feet to look at his boyfriend.
Mu Qing leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed. It appears like he’d just woken up—which makes sense, considering the late hour in which Feng Xin had come home—dressed in an oversized t-shirt of Feng Xin’s and a worn pair of sweats. He looks extremely inviting like this, in cozy sleepwear with his long hair spilling out of a messy bun. Yet the hint of concerned anger in his sharp eyes combats the domesticity of the rest of his appearance, causing Feng Xin to stay rooted to the spot rather than move forward to pull him into an embrace like he wants.
“Ah, sorry,” says Feng Xin. He twists the towel in his fists nervously, biting back a groan when the action sends a bolt of electric pain through his still bleeding knuckles.
Mu Qing must see the pain in his face, however, because he sighs and steps forward to grab the towel out of Feng Xin’s hands. He bends down, wipes the rest of the blood off the floor, and tosses the towel into the sink.
“Take your clothes off,” he says then as he roots through the cabinet under the sink.
Feng Xin complies immediately, too tired and hurt to argue. He winces as he pulls off his t-shirt, pain exploding in his right shoulderblade. As he continues to remove his clothes, the pain in his back becomes the most prevalent, like a knife twisting underneath the surface of his skin. By the time he’s sitting on the toilet in just his boxers, he’s out of breath and dizzy.
Mu Qing moves over to him, mouth set in a rigid line as he kneels in between Feng Xin’s spread legs. He grabs Feng Xin’s wrist and yanks his hand over to him, but his grip becomes gentler when Feng Xin lets out a quiet wince.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” says Feng Xin to break the silence as Mu Qing dabs at the lines of blood on the back of his hand with the same towel from before. The white fabric quickly turns pink, rendering the towel unsalvageable for future use.
Wouldn’t be the first towel ruined by Feng Xin’s blood.
Mu Qing snorts. “You were making so much noise, how am I supposed to sleep through that?”
Feng Xin opens his mouth to apologize, then closes it just as quickly. Apologies won’t help. After so many nights just like this one, with Mu Qing taking care of Feng Xin’s wounds in their little bathroom just hours before sunrise, apologies don’t matter.
Instead, he says, “You look pretty tonight.”
And he does. He always looks pretty. Even when he’s just awoken from sleep, silver hair mussed and eyes slightly bloodshot from lack of sleep. Feng Xin could look at him forever like this, in the harsh fluorescent lights of the bathroom as he crouches between his legs.
Between his legs . Feng Xin is aware that now is not the right time for him to let the thought of Mu Qing being face level with his stomach get to his head, but it’s familiar enough of a sight in different scenarios that he can’t help the way his stomach dips.
Mu Qing flashes him a glare, as if he knows what Feng Xin is thinking. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“I know,” responds Feng Xin easily. He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind Mu Qing’s ear, to test the waters, and breathes a sigh of relief when Mu Qing briefly nuzzles into his hand like a kitten in response.
“You need to stop coming home like this,” says Mu Qing then, shattering the little bubble of warmth Feng Xin had been busy coaxing into expansion ever since Mu Qing had come into the bathroom. Just like that, the bathroom goes back to being cold and small, Mu Qing’s permeating gaze sharp and annoyed.
And also concerned. He’s concerned.
Feng Xin tries to focus on that.
“I’m sorry,” Feng Xin says despite himself, “I was going to deal with it on my own—”
“You shouldn’t be dealing with anything on your own,” Mu Qing interrupts. He yanks a roll of bandages out from their first aid kit, unrolls a good length of it, and tears it off with his teeth before getting to work wrapping it around Feng Xin’s damaged knuckles.
“You should be coming home from a normal job at a reasonable hour to have dinner with your boyfriend,” continues Mu Qing. He drops Feng Xin’s bandaged hand and picks up the other one. “And your boyfriend should not be staying up late in the night worrying about whether or not…”
He trails off, but Feng Xin knows the words he would’ve said next. Would’ve been something along the lines of: worrying about whether or not you will have fought someone you couldn’t handle and gotten really hurt this time . It’s a conversation they’ve had many times before, familiar enough for Feng Xin to know what the crease in Mu Qing’s eyebrows mean without him having to tell him.
Suddenly, Mu Qing pulls Feng Xin’s hand up and places a stinging kiss over one of his bloody knuckles.
Sucking in a sharp breath, Feng Xin fists the back of Mu Qing’s t-shirt with his other hand, electric pain shooting up his arm as Mu Qing’s places another kiss to his torn skin. It’s a good kind of pain though. How could it not be good? Every touch Mu Qing delivers to him, whether it be harsh or gentle, makes Feng Xin’s skin sing.
“What was that for?” Feng Xin asks, slightly breathless.
There’s a dot of blood on Mu Qing’s upper lip as he looks up at him. “Shut up,” he says, and Feng Xin smiles as he reaches out to wipe that little stain on his mouth away.
Once Mu Qing is done bandaging Feng Xin’s other hand, he smoothly rises to his feet, tugging Feng Xin up with him. He maneuvers Feng Xin around so he’s facing away from him, and Feng Xin can hear the way he sharply inhales when he gets a good look at his back.
“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” Feng Xin says in an effort to placate his boyfriend.
“Shut up,” Mu Qing snaps. “Take off your boxers.”
Feng Xin knows Mu Qing isn’t telling him to do this because he wants to have sex, but it doesn’t stop Feng Xin from enthusiastically throwing off his last item of clothing. It makes Mu Qing roll his eyes, that angry wrinkle in between his brows smoothing out just enough for Feng Xin to feel more at ease.
“Will you join me?” asks Feng Xin as Mu Qing starts the shower for him.
“I’ll have to, won’t I?” Mu Qing throws Feng Xin a dirty look and tugs off his t-shirt, dropping it to the floor, soon followed by the rest of his clothes. “You can’t wash yourself with your hands.”
Feng Xin, despite the harsh tone of Mu Qing’s voice, can’t help but smile as he climbs into the shower after him.
“I’m angry with you. I don’t know why you’re smiling,” says Mu Qing, even as he begins to drag a damp, soapy cloth over Feng Xin’s chest to rinse away the blood and sweat. “I’m sick of doing this.”
In his anger, he presses down a little too rough on one of the bruises over Feng Xin’s ribcage. That, combined with Mu Qing declaring how he’s sick of taking care of him like this, sparks to life something akin to irritation in Feng Xin himself. His brow furrows as he mutters a bitter, “ Careful , Mu Qing.”
Mu Qing shakes his head, laughs humorlessly. “I wouldn’t have to be careful if you didn’t—”
Feng Xin sighs loudly, all of a sudden too tired for this conversation. He can tell Mu Qing is getting riled up, becoming more annoyed as time goes on, and he knows it’ll just result in a fight if it continues.
And after literally fighting all night, Feng Xin doesn’t have it in him to do this too.
“I’m sorry,” says Feng Xin. He grabs onto Mu Qing's wrists to stop his movements because, frankly, he’d gotten a little bolder in pressing angrily against Feng Xin’s bruises and the slight pain is making Feng Xin dizzier than he already was. “I really am sorry, but I can’t have this talk right now. I don’t want to fight you tonight.”
For a moment it looks as if Mu Qing will snap at him, will respond with another jab painful enough that it could rival all of the combined real punches Feng Xin has endured earlier tonight, but instead he just says, “Your bandages are getting wet.”
Feng Xin lets go of Mu Qing’s damp wrists and smiles softly at him. “Thank you.”
Mu Qing mutters something under his breath, but continues scrubbing, gently this time, at Feng Xin’s chest and arms. He nudges at Feng Xin to get under the spray of warm water to rinse the suds off when he’s done, instructing him to keep his hands up and away from the water so the bandages stay dry.
He uses his hands to touch Mu Qing instead, sweeping strands of hair out of his face, dropping his fingers down to cradle either side of his neck. Mu Qing allows it for a moment, focused on angling Feng Xin back just a little further under the water, but then slaps at his biceps when Feng Xin’s hands fall to his lower belly, fingertips skimming the damp skin there.
“Stop that,” Mu Qing says, trying to be stern, yet Feng Xin can see how his cheeks glow pink, the flush spreading down to his chest.
Feng Xin wants to kiss him.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, taking a small step forward. “Just one kiss?”
Mu Qing glares at him, but says nothing as Feng Xin backs him up against the wall of the shower. He continues with the glaring even when Feng Xin leans in, presses his chest to his. The pressure against his injuries causes a dull ache to flare up underneath his skin, but he can barely feel it once he’s got his lips on Mu Qing’s mouth.
It does not take long for Mu Qing to melt. It never does, and it’s something that Feng Xin will always find endlessly arousing—how he’ll sag into Feng Xin’s arms, twine eager fingers into his hair at the back of his head. He makes noises easily too, like he is now, Feng Xin’s tongue coaxing pleased hums out of his mouth.
Mu Qing tilts his head back as Feng Xin’s mouth meets his jaw. “I thought you said one kiss.”
Feng Xin nips at the skin of Mu Qing’s throat, eliciting a high gasp from him. “This is one kiss. I’m not done with it yet.”
He technically kisses him several more times after that, but since his mouth never actually leaves Mu Qing’s skin, he supposes it can still count as one. And Mu Qing does not complain, allowing Feng Xin to kiss him until they’re both breathless, until the water starts to grow cold.
Once out of the shower, Mu Qing towels them both down and gets to work rubbing healing ointment into Feng Xin’s bruises. Suddenly drowsy, Feng Xin droops as Mu Qing presses his fingers into his back, nearly falling forward when Mu Qing moves to his front to tend to the bruises there. Feng Xin watches his hands as he rubs them in gentle circles along his pectorals, down to his abdomen. His fingers glisten with the healing ointment under the harsh bathroom lights, and Feng Xin can smell something herbal in the air between them. It all only serves to make him even more tired, and by the time Mu Qing is done, he’s sagging against the wall.
“C’mon, stupid,” Mu Qing says fondly, taking one of Feng Xin’s bandaged hands in his own to tug him out of the bathroom and into their bedroom.
With a relieved sigh, Feng Xin collapses onto the bed, wiggling up till he reaches the headboard. The sheets are ruffled and they smell like Mu Qing. Feng Xin buries his face into one of the pillows and inhales, the scent of Mu Qing’s conditioner tumbling into his lungs. He goes a little lightheaded from it.
Mu Qing climbs into bed after turning off the lights, and under the cover of darkness presses his naked body against Feng Xin’s. He traces patterns on the skin of Feng Xin’s back with one hand as the other takes hold of one of Feng Xin’s hands. He sighs as he runs the pad of his thumb over Feng Xin’s bandaged knuckles.
“Be more careful,” says Mu Qing silently. “Please.”
“I will,” responds Feng Xin. He buries his nose into Mu Qing’s neck, mouths sleepily at the skin there. “I promise.”
Mu Qing tugs him closer, slides his fingers into his hair. “You better.”
As Feng Xin falls asleep, he realizes that his body, held together with Mu Qing’s hands on him, no longer aches.