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The stray appears on their doorstep on a foggy autumn morning. It is Mo Ran who finds it, damp and shivering, when he heads out to draw some water from the well. Chu Wanning is still in bed, leeching the last of the warmth that Mo Ran has left behind, relishing the trace of his scent. Even with him sleeping next to Chu Wanning every night, the reminder of his presence is always a welcome thing.
This routine is by now as familiar to them as breathing. They wake up and tangle in the sheets, sighing and gasping as their bodies move together, chasing their pleasure, then Mo Ran goes to draw water from the well and start on breakfast while Chu Wanning remains in bed and reads. This morning, though, instead of quickly closing the door behind him lest he invite the autumn chill inside, Mo Ran stands in the doorway, perplexed. Then, from the vicinity of his feet, sounds a quiet, miserable meow.
“Wanning,” Mo Ran calls over his shoulder, then bends to scoop the poor creature up into his arms. “There was a kitten there when I opened the door.”
With a sigh, Chu Wanning, pushes the covers aside and steps into his house slippers, gooseflesh rising all over his arms and legs, all the way down to his feet.
“Well?” he says, sharper than he’s intended. It is the chill that makes him mean. “What are you waiting for? Carry it inside.”
The kitten is a small, pitiful thing. It fits inside Mo Ran’s palm and does not even attempt to wiggle out of his grasp, shaking from cold and hunger. One of its eyes is crusted over, and the tip of its left ear is missing. The white and black fur is matted and muddy.
“Where did you come from, little one?” Mo Ran asks in a voice gentler than Chu Wanning has ever heard him use. “Why did you come to us? Did you know you would be safe here?”
It is no particular secret that Mo Ran has a lot of fondness for strays, having been one himself for such a long period of time. Whenever they venture into town, he always hands out a few silver taels to the children begging in the streets, or presses a whole pouch into a street vendor’s hand, asking him to feed them a warm meal.
Mo Ran-gege! Mo Ran-gege! The children call with no regard for Mo Ran’s standing in the world, and he laughs, then tells them to keep out of trouble.
“It must have fleas,” Chu Wanning remarks, watching as Mo Ran turns to the stove to boil water. The kitten sits in the middle of the kitchen table, wrapped in Mo Ran’s cloak and still trembling. “I will stop by the apothecary later today.”
By the time Chu Wanning returns from his solitary excursion into town, where the beggar children kept trailing after him even after they had received their usual money, asking about their Mo Ran-gege, the inside of the house is a furnace.
“She wouldn’t stop shaking,” Mo Ran says at Chu Wanning’s raised brow. “I had to warm her up. Oh, right, and she’s a girl.”
The kitten rests nestled in the crook of Mo Ran’s arm. She must have been bathed while Chu Wanning was gone, because her fur, while still matted in places, bears no traces of the mud from earlier, and is still damp. The eye is in bad condition, but Mo Ran is dabbing at the crusted fluids with a piece of cloth soaked in warm water, infinitely gentle.
She is such a small, tiny thing, Chu Wanning thinks. So fragile, so breakable. But here, in Mo Ran’s arms, she looks safe.
There are moments when Chu Wanning wonders if Mo Ran has ever desired children—children that Chu Wanning can never give him. Mo Ran wants so desperately to care for someone, the instinct singing deep in his blood, and at times, Chu Wanning cannot help but question whether he himself is enough. He knows he is not an easy person to care for—aloof and independent, unable more often than not to admit he needs help.
There were those moments, too, in their previous lives, when Mo Ran would bury himself deep inside Chu Wanning and whisper filthy words into his ear, telling him that he would fuck him so well and thoroughly, push so deep inside him that he would put a baby inside Chu Wanning, an heir to inherit his empire of ruin and dust. But Chu Wanning has always been barren soil, and there are some things that cannot be.
Still, watching Mo Ran cradle the cat in his arms like a newborn, speaking to her in gentle tones and cleaning her with the softest touch, a stone lodges itself in his throat, difficult to swallow around.
Chu Wanning is not—he is not—jealous of a cat.
That would be ridiculous. Chu Wanning is a grown man, and Mo Ran should be able to extend kindness to others without concerning himself with Chu Wanning’s hurt feelings. There are no feelings to hurt to begin with, he tells himself, because Chu Wanning is a person, and the cat is a cat, and the two of them do not have the same standing in this house. Once, Chu Wanning endured being a concubine to a married man. It would be beyond laughable to feel jealousy while looking at a helpless kitten.
Chu Wanning helps Mo Ran with the concoction the apothecary recommended for getting rid of fleas, then warms up some milk and watches as Mo Ran feeds her by dipping a piece of clean cloth in the milk, then gently putting it in her open mouth for her to suck.
“She’s still too tiny for meat,” he tells Chu Wanning, who has little experience with animals and even less of it with taking care of them. Then Mo Ran extends the cloth in Chu Wanning’s direction and pushes the cup of milk towards him. “Here, Wanning. Do you want to try feeding her?”
Chu Wanning’s first instinct is to say no. The kitten looks so feeble, so easily hurt, and Chu Wanning has little skill in being gentle with young, fragile things. He thinks back to Mo Ran’s first years as his disciple—to the various ways in which Chu Wanning failed to be kind, and shakes his head.
“No,” he says, lacing his fingers together in his lap. “You do it. I’m no good at this sort of thing.”
In the evening, it becomes apparent that the kitten is sick. She cannot keep her food down, and begins meowing mournfully every time Mo Ran sets her down even for a moment. Chu Wanning attempts to soothe her only once, coming away with a scratch across the back of his hand and little more. He understands that she must be scared and unwell, having latched onto Mo Ran as her only safe haven, but the rejection stings more than the scratch. Still, he would be a hypocrite to begrudge her some hissing at well-intentioned people.
It is long past their bedtime and Chu Wanning has climbed between the sheets nearly half a shichen ago, waiting for Mo Ran to join him, but the oil lamp in the kitchen is still burning, Mo Ran’s quiet voice carrying as a shapeless murmur into their bedroom.
A few times, Chu Wanning almost calls out to him, then thinks better of it. Eventually, he extinguishes the candle with a more pronounced huff of air than it warrants and turns with his back towards the entrance, feigning sleep.
He is being unreasonable, he keeps telling himself, expecting Mo Ran to uphold all of their nightly rituals when their circumstances have changed. But Chu Wanning is not a nice man—deep down, there is a part of him that is rotten, even though Mo Ran always tells him otherwise. So he just curls up with the sour taste of vinegar at the back of his throat and closes his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep.
Eventually, the bed dips slightly behind Chu Wanning under Mo Ran’s weight, shaking him from the shallow slumber.
“Wanning,” Mo Ran whispers into the curve of Chu Wanning’s neck, and it takes all of Chu Wanning’s strength not to shiver. “Baobei, are you awake?”
Chu Wanning’s body strains to lean into Mo Ran, but his stubbornness wins out this once over the burning need to touch Mo Ran that has not once abated ever since their first night together. There are moments when Chu Wanning wonders if it will ever lessen—that naked want, that need that demands to be satisfied.
Not tonight, though. It is enough that Chu Wanning is fully aware of the extent of his foolish behavior. He does not need his husband to bear witness to it as well.
“She’s finally fallen asleep,” Mo Ran whispers in the dark, completely disregarding the utter lack of response. “I think we should call her Xiao Ming.”
Chu Wanning swallows thickly around the tightness in his throat. Of course, he thinks, this could not last.
It should be an insignificant thing. It is a cat, for Heavens’ sake. A mangy stray brought in from the rain. But sometimes, when Mo Ran is asleep and Chu Wanning’s sleep will not come, he still wonders if there will ever come a day when Mo Ran will wake up and realize that what they have is not enough. It is not a rational thought, and Chu Wanning knows that their love is of the kind that moves the Heavens and earth, transcending times and realities, but it is difficult to undo years of loneliness and doubt.
Still, Chu Wanning might be a selfish, selfish man, but he knows that Mo Ran wants to care for someone or something the way no one cared for him for a long time, if only to prove to himself that his hands can keep something alive, and Chu Wanning cannot begrudge him this. Tomorrow, he will swallow his pride and let go of these childish notions. Tonight, he allows himself to nurse the hurt.
When Chu Wanning wakes up the following morning, the other side of the bed is cold and empty. The fire under the kang has been stoked, but Mo Ran himself is nowhere to be seen.
Braving the morning chill, Chu Wanning wraps a cloak around himself and ventures a few steps outside to see if Mo Ran is by the well, but the world outside welcomes him with more drizzle and no Mo Ran in sight. From the inside, a weak meow reminds Chu Wanning that the house has not been completely deserted.
When he heads into the kitchen, he finds the kitten burrowed in Mo Ran’s outer robe, looking weak and frail but still fighting. The kitten meows again, and again, as soon as she spots Chu Wanning.
She must be hungry, he concludes, already rushing to heat a cup of milk on the stove. Then, with infinite care, Chu Wanning settles her on the table, still wrapped in Mo Ran’s robes to preserve his scent, and dips a clean piece of cloth in the lukewarm milk. At first, nothing happens—the kitten squeaks and tries to scramble away, but the hunger must win out in the end, because she comes, nosing around, on weak legs and accepts the milk-soaked cloth to suck on. It is a long, tedious process, and Chu Wanning is not equipped to give that level of care to something so small and so fragile, but he perseveres. With time, the kitten grows less fidgety, more accustomed to Chu Wanning’s presence.
“Mo Ran is a good man,” Chu Wanning tells her, already chiding himself for the foolishness. She is a cat; she does not understand what Chu Wanning is saying. And yet. “He will take care of you. You will be loved here.”
Eventually, she falls asleep, leaving Chu Wanning with the choice of returning to bed or starting on the breakfast. Mo Ran is still the better cook between the two of them, but Chu Wanning can manage on his own well enough now.
It is unlike Mo Ran to slip out of bed without a goodbye. Whenever something calls him away early in the morning, he wakes Chu Wanning up with kisses pressed to his neck and the underside of his jaw, telling him that he will be back soon, but there was nothing this morning that Chu Wanning can remember.
Left alone with his thoughts, he finds himself slipping back into the sullen mood of the day before as he stirs the congee and chops the chives to put on top. If Mo Ran does not return soon, the food will be either ruined or cold—yet another reminder of Chu Wanning’s inadequacies. Day after day, he tries to be good to Mo Ran, but there is only so much his efforts can achieve. One cannot command the river to flow from the sea to the headwaters, and it is the same with Chu Wanning. He might attempt to reverse the current of his lacking nature, but at the end of the day, he will always find himself carried with it instead.
By the time Mo Ran returns at last, the rice in the congee has turned into complete mush and grown too cold to be appetizing. Unaware of Chu Wanning’s already foul mood, Mo Ran strides in, bringing with himself the unmistakable scent of the autumn air. His cheeks are pink, his hair wind-swept, and it is not difficult to guess that he must have gone somewhere by sword.
“Wanning?” he calls from the door, and it must be the scent of food that lures him into the kitchen. “Baobei, are you up already? Oh, and you made breakfast?”
Chu Wanning scoffs, turning away to face the stove. He stirs the cold, overly mushy congee like his touch alone can will it back into an edible state. “Do you have any idea what time it is already, Mo Weiyu?” he snaps. “And where are you going off to first thing in the morning without leaving so much as a note?”
Behind him, there is the sound of something being set on the table, then strong arms wrap themselves around Chu Wanning, Mo Ran’s scent invading his nostrils. Irritated, Chu Wanning shrugs him off, ignoring the sharp inhale of hurt surprise.
“The food is cold,” Chu Wanning announces, ladling some of the congee into a bowl nonetheless. “Eat it or don’t, I don’t care, but that’s all there is.”
He makes a move to leave, intent on brushing past Mo Ran, but he is stopped by Mo Ran’s hand around his forearm. He could shake off the touch easily—Mo Ran is not really holding him in place—but still he stays.
“Wanning, did something happen?” Mo Ran asks, once again wrapping his arms around Chu Wanning’s torso, and this time, Chu Wanning lets him. Lets himself lean into Mo Ran’s incredible warmth.
“Nonsense,” he says, refusing to be further lured by the promise that Mo Ran’s body holds. “What on earth could possibly happen? It was just me and the cat here.”
“I went to fetch some medicine for her from the town,” Mo Ran murmurs into the crook of Chu Wanning’s neck. “But it seems like she’s feeling better.”
Chu Wanning exhales loudly. “I fed her. She wouldn’t stop meowing. Now you can go back to coddling her while I go and do some chores that need to be done.”
He attempts to extricate himself from Mo Ran’s grasp, but Mo Ran only holds on tighter. “Oh?” he whispers into Chu Wanning’s ear, his voice playful. “Is my Wanning jealous of a tiny kitten?”
He laughs, low and warm, and Chu Wanning elbows him in the ribs, finally shaking off Mo Ran’s embrace.
“Who’s jealous?” he hisses. His shoulders draw upwards, his back tense. At last, he turns around to face Mo Ran, mouth pressed into a tight line. “What nonsense do you keep spouting, Mo Weiyu? What would I have to be jealous of?”
He can see the moment Mo Ran realizes Chu Wanning is not playing at anger. The smile disappears, and Mo Ran reaches out to take Chu Wanning’s hand.
“I love my Wanning,” he says, taking a step forward to wrap an arm around Chu Wanning’s waist, “more than anything in this world. You do know that, right?” Chu Wanning nods. “Then what brought this on?”
Embarrassed, Chu Wanning looks to the side.
“No, no, no—none of that, Wanning.” Mo Ran gently takes him by the chin, coaxing Chu Wanning to look him in the face. “Don’t run away from me. Tell me what the problem is.”
“It’s nothing!” Chu Wanning says. “It’s just me behaving like a child. Was that what you wanted to hear?”
Mo Ran closes his eyes, then opens them again. “I wanted to hear the truth. Why are you upset? Do you really hate the cat that much?”
Chu Wanning sighs, his shoulders sagging. “No,” he says. “I don’t hate the cat.”
“What, then?” Mo Ran prompts. “What’s got you so upset?”
“You…care about other people. Other things,” Chu Wanning manages to spit out at last. “You’re so good, Mo Ran. You want to take care of someone, and I’m not…I know I’m not easy to take care of. It’s easier with cats. Or children. And I can’t—I can’t give you what you want.”
It is heartbreaking to see the way Mo Ran’s face falls. “Baobei,” he says. He cradles Chu Wanning’s face in his hands and strokes the sharp slopes of Chu Wanning’s cheekbones with his thumbs—soft, soothing, like he is placating a spooked animal. “My Wanning gives me everything I want. Everything I need. There’s nothing else, I promise. Whatever you think—for me, you are enough.”
Chu Wanning closes his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. He lets himself be kissed by Mo Ran, who leans down to press his mouth to Chu Wanning’s trembling lips, and lets himself be wrapped in his embrace as they stand together, unmoving, for a little while.
“Come to bed,” Mo Ran says then. “I believe I owe my Wanning something.”
It is very easy to fall apart under Mo Ran. It is so much harder for Chu Wanning to allow himself to do it, some days.
Chu Wanning’s back arches when Mo Ran buries his face between his legs, taking the length of Chu Wanning’s half-hard cock into his mouth, coaxing him to full hardness in a matter of moments. Mo Ran is a skillful lover, generous with gentle touches that border on too tender at times. Like he is afraid that Chu Wanning will break. Like he thinks Chu Wanning cannot take it.
The nights that leave Chu Wanning with a dull ache in his body and a dry, used throat allow him to sleep better, and how depraved he must be, deep down, that this is where Chu Wanning finds the most release. But he knows that Mo Ran makes his touch gentle with the singular purpose of never hurting Chu Wanning again, even by accident. Sometimes, Chu Wanning wishes Mo Ran’s fingers would leave faint bruises all over his body, the ones that barely hurt when touched, but are a reminder all the same.
“My Wanning gives me everything I could ever want,” Mo Ran whispers into the soft skin of Chu Wanning’s abdomen, having released his cock without letting him come. “But what does my Wanning want in return?”
A low whine escapes Chu Wanning’s mouth and he buries his head in the bedding, a flush spreading over his face, down his neck and across his chest. He used to hate how red he gets, how obvious about his desire, but Mo Ran seems to enjoy it, even if he teases Chu Wanning about it endlessly.
“Does he want to get filled with my seed so well it will have no choice but to take?” he whispers into Chu Wanning’s ear, having nudged him to lie half on his stomach, half on his side. Chu Wanning shudders at the thought. “Does my Wanning want to bear my children, too, like the good little wife he is?”
Chu Wanning takes a shaky breath, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, but the tight knot in his chest unspools at Mo Ran’s words, like the acknowledgment is an absolution at the same time.
“I’ll have to pamper him endlessly then,” Mo Ran continues, slowly easing two fingers into Chu Wanning all at once.
The slight burn of the stretch makes his mind float, hands grasping the sheets as Chu Wanning swims at the border between pleasure and pain. Mo Ran is careful but quick today. There are nights where he will tease Chu Wanning for hours, letting him come twice, thrice on nothing but Mo Ran’s fingers inside him and his mouth wrapped loosely around the head of Chu Wanning’s cock, as if teasing him for needing so little at all to come apart. This morning, though, Mo Ran stretches him out just enough to allow Chu Wanning’s body to relax, then slicks himself up and sinks into him in increments, until his entire cock is sheathed inside Chu Wanning.
Mo Ran is broad enough that when they lie like this, his body covers Chu Wanning entirely, engulfing him in Mo Ran’s warmth and scent.
“What do you want?” Mo Ran asks, burying his face in the crook of Chu Wanning’s neck. “What does my Wanning want? I will give you anything.”
This is more than enough, Chu Wanning wants to tell him. His voice fails him, though, when he opens his mouth, and what spills out instead is a broken moan.
His body is a hard, unyielding instrument, but under Mo Ran’s hands, it learns how to sing. Over and over, Chu Wanning allows himself to sink into the depths of pleasure, relishing the way Mo Ran fills him completely—the way Chu Wanning’s body needs to give to make space for him. It feels more even an exchange—the push and pull, the give and take. Chu Wanning pushes back against Mo Ran’s hips, letting his body guide where his mind falters.
It is enough that it feels good, Chu Wanning has learned over time.
“Mo Ran, please,” Chu Wanning gasps, voice hoarse like he has just let Mo Ran fuck his throat.
He should, perhaps, allow him to do it tonight again, let Mo Ran coax Chu Wanning’s mouth open and feed his cock inside, not stopping when its tip hits the soft palate and Chu Wanning begins to choke. He cannot imagine that he makes a pretty sight like that—glassy-eyed, with his mouth stretched obscenely around Mo Ran’s girth, spit running down his chin and the wet, clicking sounds his throat makes when Mo Ran begins to move—but Mo Ran seems to always enjoy it. He always moans, deep in his throat, and tells Chu Wanning how good he is being for him, then pulls back just enough to spill all over Chu Wanning’s tongue, the inside of his mouth.
So good, he says, then leans down to taste himself on Chu Wanning’s tongue.
The truth is, Chu Wanning likes to be useful, and maybe—when he allows himself to think about it at all—he can admit that he likes being used as well, from time to time. It should put him at odds with craving Mo Ran’s tenderness as well, and yet. Here, in their bed, those two needs seem not so disparate after all.
“Please,” he says again, rutting against the mattress. His cock leaves damp, slick trails in the linens, shamelessly betraying Chu Wanning’s pleasure and desperation alike.
“Do you need more, baobei?” Mo Ran asks sweetly, then scoops Chu Wanning up by the waist as the same time as he falls back to kneel on his heels, legs spread wide to accommodate Chu Wanning’s pliant body.
Chu Wanning feels so exposed by this, able to see parts of his reflection in the brass mirror that stands to the side.
“Look how beautiful you are,” Mo Ran whispers, pressing his lips into the sensitive spot just behind Chu Wanning’s ear. He shifts a little, so that more of Chu Wanning is reflected in the mirror, the wanton lines of his body on full display. “All mine, and so good to me. How could I want anything more when I have my Wanning?”
With that, his hand reaches to wrap itself around Chu Wanning’s cock, spreading the leaking slick all over his length to ease the way.
“Look at yourself,” Mo Ran says, and for once, Chu Wanning can do nothing else, his gaze arrested on his reflection, watching the mesmerizing movement of their bodies.
It takes no time at all for Chu Wanning to spill into Mo Ran’s hand after that. He makes a sound, a half-sob, half-moan, and hides his face in the crook of Mo Ran’s neck as he comes, sensing Mo Ran follow just a moment later.
“Beautiful,” Mo Ran says as he eases out of Chu Wanning, still holding him to his chest as their breathing returns to normal.
Almost immediately, Chu Wanning can feel Mo Ran’s seed dripping out of him obscenely, mixing with the oil and running down his thigh. He wants to hide, move away to conceal his mortification, but Mo Ran only runs his hands through it and says, “We’ll have to try harder to keep it in next time.”
Chu Wanning’s face burns, but his cock still gives a faint twitch.
Later, once they have bathed and dressed, and Mo Ran has started on a less tragic attempt at a very late breakfast, Chu Wanning enters the kitchen to find Xiao Ming still sleeping, curled up in the middle of Chu Wanning’s carelessly discarded cloak. A tender feeling tugs at his heart, the ache in his ribs a living, breathing thing. Chu Wanning has never been good with strays, never quite knowing how to best take care of them, how to show them that they are wanted and loved, willing to extend all the help but none of the warmth they needed.
But it is, perhaps, not too late to learn. Even old trees can bend to new winds, and Chu Wanning is no different. The only thing to do, he supposes, is try.