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Tang Lian had long since settled himself to wait by the time Xiao Se found him. The afternoon was cool, sky overcast, but the sun was warm on his face when it appeared from behind the clouds. He had imagined for himself a long afternoon of doing very little at all.
At the gates, Xiao Se tied his horse and dismounted with an ease and agility that was unfamiliar to Tang Lian. When he turned to face him Xiao Se’s expression was as stern as Tang Lian had ever seen it. He looked over the shed, and the pavilion, and the rows and rows of jugs, then turned his attention to the book in Tang Lian’s hands. Of course that was what he noticed first.
Tang Lian put the book down on the table.
“Drink?” he offered. “I have a new batch I’ve been wanting to try.” One he made with Xiao Se in mind; refined; subtle; stronger than you imagine.
Narrowing his eyes, Xiao Se folded his arms. “I’ll drink,” he agreed. It sounded like a challenge. Tang Lian smiled and shook his head. He’d missed this.
“Will you sit? Or shall I pour you a cup where you stand?”
There was no point in waiting for an answer - Xiao Se would do as he pleased - so Tang Lian got up from his seat and went to the shed and fetched the jugs he had carefully bottled, unlabelled, but neatly bound in twine where he thought he’d need to carry them back to the city.
When he returned Xiao Se was seated. He was looking down at the book again.
“You can read it,” Tang Lian offered, “If you’re interested.”
“I’m not,” Xiao Se said.
Tang Lian nodded agreeably. The bottles clinked together as he placed them on the table. The cup he put before Xiao Se was roughly made and well worn. Tang Lian poured and Xiao Se watched him.
“This isn’t a contest,” Tang Lian told him. “I have work to do tomorrow.”
“I would win, anyway.” Xiao Se picked up his cup and waited.
“You wouldn’t.” Tang Lian filled his own cup. The colour of the liquid was good - clear - reflecting the sky; clouds drifted lazily across the sky. A good day for drinking outside. The smell was delicate but complex; no astringency.
They touched cups in silence. Xiao Se closed his eyes as he tasted the liquor.
“Exquisite,” he said, but he was frowning.
Tang Lian had long since stopped trying to guess at what Xiao Se was thinking, so he said, “You don’t seem certain.”
“I am,” Xiao Se replied. “It’s everything I like.”
“I do listen,” Tang Lian laughed. From Xiao Se, that was high praise indeed.
“Hmm,” Xiao Se agreed, and took another drink, draining the cup. He placed his empty cup down on the table. Obligingly, Tang Lian poured him another.
One jar in and Xiao Se said, “You could have brewed at Xueyue City,” and Tang Lian smiled and said, “I heard some of your great deeds.”
“From Lei Wujie?” Xiao Se tutted. “He exaggerates. Mostly I sat at home to save myself from being murdered.”
The liar. That hadn’t changed then. Tang Lian thought of where he grew up; the rigidity and the severity, and the kindness and the security. He wondered if it was the same for Xiao Se. “At home?”
“My Snowfall Mountain Villa.” Xiao Se tipped his cup back, neck bared carelessly. Tang Lian straightened his back, angled himself closer to make Xiao Se a more difficult target before he even realised what he’d done. It was instinct, for all the little good he might be able to do now.
“Your villa,” Tang Lian considered. “I hope it’s more grand than your inn.”
“Senior brother, are you insulting my hospitality?”
Tang Lian did not flinch at the address. Instead, he refilled their cups. “I remember the windows were broken.”
“I brought you a brazier. And my best duvets.”
He had, it was true; long into that first night back with his friends and Tang Lian lay alone in a strange room turning over every possible future. He hadn’t really stopped since.
“The windows were still broken,” Tang Lian pointed out.
“Then,” Xiao Se said, more fiercely than windows deserved, “I shall have them fixed.”
Two jars in and Tang Lian had learned that Xiao Se preferred spring, and clear soup, and the evening light. On the long journey to the sea, as Xiao Se grew slower, and paler, and more stubborn with every passing day, he had told them all these things.
“I like to drink,” Tang Lian gave in return, “And I dislike gambling.”
“Yes, alright,” Xiao Se allowed. He thought, and he drank.
“Is it really so hard,” Tang Lian asked, “to tell me a truth?”
Above them the sky had grown darker and Tang Lian watched heavy grey clouds move slowly across the sky, promising rain. Xiao Se tapped his fingers against the tabletop.
“I liked to ride,” he said eventually, and rubbed his forehead, “with my father.”
Tang Lian hadn’t known that. He couldn’t think of anything to offer in return.
Three jars in and Xiao Se said, “Lei Wujie misses you.” Tracing the lip of his cup he added, “He thinks you aren’t coming back.”
Tang Lian scoffed, “I don’t believe you.” Because Lei Wujie was nothing if not the world’s greatest optimist.
“This month,” Xiao Se amended. “He’s worried you’ll miss the festival.”
“I won’t,” Tang Lian promised. “You said you were going to travel, after.”
“Travel, yes. I’m not doing any more accounts.” Xiao Se refilled his own cup, refilled Tang Lian’s. As he reached forward, his sleeves drew back enough that Tang Lian could see the bare skin of his arm. There were scars there that Tang Lian didn’t remember ever seeing before. Then again, it was a rare thing to see anything more of Xiao Se than his hands, the rest of him carefully hidden away. His face, expression studiously blank. “Is that why you’re here?” Xiao Se asked.
There was no point arguing, because they’d run through this argument every which way before. There was no point in denying it, because Xiao Se knew.
“If I’m to join you,” Tang Lian started, and raised his hand when Xiao Se opened his mouth. “If I am to join you,” and Xiao Se closed his mouth, “Then I must at least try.”
“There are other ways,” Xiao Se said. “Time. Better circulation.” He paused. “Regular exercise.”
“This is not the same,” Tang Lian pointed out.
“No,” Xiao Se agreed. He scowled down at his cup, and at the jars lining the table, empty to his left, full to his right. “This is your own recipe.”
“It is.”
Xiao Se lifted his chin to the jars in the courtyard. “And the others?”
Tang Lian looked down at the book, still on the table lying next to his elbow.
“I see,” Xiao Se said tightly.
“I know my limits,” Tang Lian assured him. Hard learned, but he knew the very sharp edges of them now. Of all people, Xiao Se should understand.
“Oh yes,” Xiao Se scoffed, tipping his cup accusingly. “Your limit. The point at which you die.”
“You’ve done the same,” Tang Lian reminded him. “I won’t die,” he insisted.
“And I won’t bury you again.” Xiao Se shook his head, drained his drink, put his cup down with more force than was necessary. He took a breath. “There are other ways,” he repeated, and picked up his sword. “Spar with me.”
There was a joke there, that this was not the way to go about keeping him from dying, but Tang Lian didn’t think Xiao Se would appreciate the humour. He trusted Xiao Se with every inch of himself.
Tang Lian agreed.
On the first strike Tang Lian remembered: they’d never done this before.
Back when they were first together - the five of them - learning themselves as much as each other, Tang Lian had often sparred with Lei Wujie.
“You have the advantage on me,” Tang Lian said, sidestepping Xiao Se’s blade. His movements were sloppy; playing up the liquor.
“How is that?” Xiao Se drew his sword back into a perfect stance.
“You used to watch me fight.” And Tang Lian used the split second of distraction to his advantage, pushing forward towards Xiao Se’s left side, palm flat. Xiao Se dodged, but Tang Lian got close enough that he felt the cold, smooth fabric of Xiao Se’s sleeve slide across his fingertips. “In Xueyue City. Before.”
“I don’t recall,” Xiao Se lied, and went for Tang Lian’s legs, a great arc like he meant to lay him flat on his back. This one was harder to avoid.
As he twisted away, Tang Lian took up his cup. Half he drank down and half he shaped to points and aimed at Xiao Se. Xiao Se easily slashed the wine away.
“And if I had,” Xiao Se said, angling his blade in such a way that Tang Lian knew it would never touch him, “I would have seen your hidden weapons. Not this.”
This: his master’s fists and forms that Tang Lian long practiced and barely used. Xiao Se attacked and Tang Lian met him.
“You’re aggressive,” Tang Lian observed, and tried to twist the sword from Xiao Se’s grip.
“Not really,” Xiao Se said, and twisted back so that Tang Lian had to shift his footing, then shift again, stepping closer so that Xiao Se had no room to maneuver. “And you’re.” Xiao Se stopped. Tried again. “This is undisciplined. It’s unlike you.”
“You were always telling me,” Tang Lian laughed, “to loosen up.”
Xiao Se’s mouth turned up into something like a smile, lifting his chin. “And you listened.”
Like this, grappling for some advantage Tang Lian knew he was never going to gain but tried anyway, they were close enough that Tang Lian could feel Xiao Se’s breath on his face. Tang Lian had already lost enough of his time. He wouldn’t be the one to pull away. Xiao Se watched him, calculating, and Tang Lian couldn't imagine what he was thinking. Then there was a knee aimed upwards and Tang Lian gave way.
“Ungentlemanly,” Tang Lian tisked.
Xiao Se shrugged and rushed forward and there was no more thinking, just reacting. As Xiao Se’s movements became more rapid, Tang Lian matched him, and as Xiao Se’s blade became more lethal, so too did Tang Lian’s fists until he knew he wouldn't be able to push himself much further. But there were ways around that, and maybe this was the point Xiao Se was trying to make.
There was a wine, strong and heady, sharper than Xiao Se would care for, and there were jars of it lined up against the wall. Tang Lian reached for it and was met with what felt like the full force of Xiao Se’s strength, pushing him back. Tang Lian was just pleased he managed to keep his feet under him. If he stopped to catch his breath he’d lose momentum, so he moved sideways, as fast as he could, and almost reached the jar before Xiao Se was there, slashing with precision down towards his hand, and Tang Lian had to withdraw.
He took a different approach. The wine he made for Xiao Se still sat on the table. It didn’t have the raw power he needed, but it might be enough. It was no distance at all and he grabbed it, drank half the bottle before Xiao Se was bearing down on him.
The warmth of the wine was familiar, like those long summer nights they would all sit in the pavilion and talk and poke fun at Lei Wujie. There was strength in that too, and Tang Lian took it and shaped it into a preemptive strike that had Xiao Se drawing up his sword, on the defensive. His sleeves fell back, and there were those scars again.
There was anger, running through his veins like fire, seeking release, making his muscles ache with it; that he hadn’t been there to protect Xiao Se. That Tang Lian hadn’t been strong enough then, and wasn’t strong enough now. He pressed forward with it, bore down on Xiao Se until his back was against the brewhouse wall.
Here, Tang Lian could smell the bitterness of fermentation, the sweetness of boiling rice. There were jars close enough at hand that Tang Lian might have drawn from them, but instead he reached out and took hold of Xiao Se’s left wrist.
Confused, Xiao Se blinked, and Tang Lian might have called that more of a victory than anything else. He let Tang Lian pull at his arm, exposing the underside. Carefully, Tang Lian traced the thin pale lines with his fingertips. Defensive wounds.
He ignored the coolness of Xiao Se’s skin. The intimacy of the gesture. The wine had made him bold.
“From the battlefield,” Tang Lian guessed. In some ways it was difficult to reconcile the Xiao Se he had known in Xueyue City with the general he must have become.
The reaction was immediate: Xiao Se’s expression twisted, complicated, half-way to indignant, and he pulled his arm out of Tang Lian’s grip. He had always been prideful. The heavy fabric of his sleeve fell over his arm, hiding the skin away again.
“It’s nothing,” he said.
Tang Lian nodded. He had scars like that too, now.
“I heard you went alone,” Tang Lian said, and Xiao Se gave a short humourless laugh. “You seem to have heard a lot.”
“I had little else to do but listen,” Tang Lian shrugged, “Lying on my back.”
Xiao Se let out a long breath. “I went alone.”
“I wouldn’t have let you,” Tang Lian told him.
“Then don’t now,” Xiao Se challenged, meeting Tang Lian’s eyes, and Tang Lian thought of all the excuses he might give; that this was not war; that everything was different; that Xiao Se was better off without him. But then, Xiao Se had never liked others taking decisions for him. Contrary. Willful.
Unusually hesitant, just for a moment, Xiao Se took hold of Tang Lian’s shoulder and pulled him closer. His grip was loose enough that Tang Lian could easily pull away. There was something in the way Xiao Se looked at him that might once have terrified Tang Lian into indecision. He was still terrified, but he reached back anyway, letting his hand come to Xiao Se’s neck. His skin there too was cold. Tang Lian could feel the thrumming of Xiao Se’s pulse; quick and strong.
“Then don’t,” Xiao Se repeated, and they moved together, unexpected, meeting each other; a press of lips and Xiao Se’s hands finding their way to Tang Lian’s back, and Tang Lian’s hands at the base of Xiao Se’s skull, pulling him in more tightly. He’d never dared imagine this, not even in his lowest moments when he’d been certain he would never see his friends again and he would die, after all, without seeing for himself how far they’d come.
Perhaps this was another kind of sparring: Tang Lian hadn’t known it could feel like this. He had no idea what to do next. Xiao Se’s lips were too dry so he kissed them. The back of Xiao Se’s neck was too cold, so he rubbed at the exposed skin with his thumbs and felt Xiao Se arch into him, heard his sword fall to the ground. For all he’d talked about wealth and money, before, Xiao Se had always been careless with things. But Xiao Se held Tang Lian with such careful fierceness that Tang Lian doubted.
“Is this,” he said, and kissed Xiao Se, and couldn’t think of any way to ask - is this the wine, or, is this all a part of some plan of yours, or, is this what you want - without it sounding like Tang Lian didn’t want to take everything Xiao Se would give him, and give him everything he had in return.
“Is this what?” Xiao Se was pressing kisses to Tang Lian’s jaw and his fingers to Tang Lian’s ribs. No, for all Xiao Se’s lies he would never be so cruel, and Xiao Se’s face was hot where Tang Lian touched his cheek, and his breathing came as fast as Tang Lian’s.
“You’re a prince,” Tang Lian reminded him.
“You’re my senior brother,” Xiao Se argued, as though that made any sense, and Tang Lian tipped his head back so that Xiao Se could put his mouth to his neck.
Looking up, the sky was a pool of heavy grey; as dull as it had been the evening they’d boarded a boat to Penglai Island, ill-prepared and inexperienced. Tang Lian had never seen so much water in his life, above them and below them and battering at his face. Now, he felt the first drops of rain on his face and did not much care because Xiao Se was doing things.
The rain fell harder as Tang Lian turned his full attention to pushing aside the layers of his clothes and kissing Xiao Se’s collarbones, and harder still as his hands found Xiao Se’s sleeves and his wrists and his elbows.
“I assume,” Xiao Se’s breath hitched as Tang Lian’s teeth dragged along his skin, “there is an indoors.” He pulled his arms away from Tang Lian’s grip, trying to shield himself from the sudden downpour.
“Yes,” Tang Lian said before he could think, because yes, there was an inside, but there was the workroom, and there was the kitchen, and there was the storeroom, and then there was the room in which Tang Lian had made himself a bed.
“Today, Tang Lian,” Xiao Se said, so Tang Lian took hold of Xiao Se’s sleeve and did not let himself agonise over it and pulled him to the nearest door and out of the rain.
Tang Lian watched from the doorway as the cups, abandoned on the table, filled with rain water. He should go out and rescue the remaining jars of wine, but behind him Xiao Se was shaking out his wet clothes and all Tang Lian could think of was how, now, he knew the taste of Xiao Se’s skin.
“It’s cold,” Xiao Se complained, and Tang Lian turned to him, closing the door, cutting out half the light. There was only one other small window letting in light. Even with the shutters open wide it was barely enough to see by. The room more storeroom than a room for living in and Xiao Se was frowning at the empty jars stacked by the door, and the makeshift table and stools, and the ancient tea kettle, and the duvets Tang Lian had stacked neatly that morning on the bed.
It had been easy, outside, but there was something more intimate about being together in the gloom of Tang Lian’s living space, with his notes laid carefully out on the table beside a line of empty jars - experiments - and Tang Lian was uncertain. He could offer to find a brazier but that would mean leaving Xiao Se alone. He could offer wine, but that might seem like avoidance. He could offer his duvets, or dry clothes, but that might seem too forward.
“I wasn't expecting guests,” Tang Lian decided on, and busied himself lighting lamps. Xiao Se watched him move around the room. Soft orange light filled the room from the lamps, warm colours spilling across Xiao Se’s face.
“I didn't come here,” he said, “expecting-” Xiao Se shook his head.
“No,” Tang Lian agreed. The wine sat warm in his stomach and Xiao Se stood in front of him, hair plastered to his face and arms hanging at his sides. There were no more lamps left to light.
Tang Lian thought of all those nights he had watched Xiao Se wrap his arms around himself and close his eyes tightly and draw in on himself as they traveled to the sea. He remembered all the nights alone, unable to help his friends, and all the nights Xiao Se spent away from anyone who really knew him when he went to war. Tang Lian reached out, his hand curving around Xiao Se’s elbow. “I’ll go with you,” he said. “Whether we-” He shook his head. “I'll go with you.” How could he not?
Xiao Se huffed a laugh and reached back. “I'm not so cheap.” And he pulled at Tang Lian’s sleeve until they were together again, chest to chest and mouth to mouth.
“The wine was good,” Xiao Se said, and touched Tang Lian’s cheek and Tang Lian had never been kissed like this - had never kissed like this. Had never done anything like this. The tentative way Xiao Se trailed his fingers down Tang Lian’s neck, across his shoulders, down his back, gave Tang Lian the impression that maybe Xiao Se hadn’t either.
“And,” Xiao Se breathed against his lips, “The company isn’t so bad.”
Tang Lian smoothed his hands over the fine material at Xiao Se’s hips, damp but still smooth under his fingers. He smiled as he kissed Xiao Se, felt Xiao Se smile in return.
“The surroundings though,” he said, and leaned back, looking to the duvets doubtfully.
“We could stop,” Tang Lian found himself suggesting, then wished he hadn't when Xiao Se looked like he might actually be considering it. So Tang Lian pulled him close, found his hands to tangle their fingers together, found his mouth to taste the wine he’d made on Xiao Se’s tongue.
Encouraged by the way Xiao Se held onto him, by the way his breath seemed to catch in his throat, Tang Lian backed him towards the bed. Xiao Se went easily, let himself be pushed down, laid out; watched Tang Lian with half-closed eyes as he pushed aside the heavy layers of his clothes between kisses; pulled Tang Lian down on top of him.
And beneath him, Xiao Se’s dark hair was splayed out, come loose, and Tang Lian didn't think he'd even seem him so undone.
“What do you want,” Tang Lian asked, and leaned down to press their foreheads together. “Tell me what to do.”
Xiao Se wrapped his hand around the back of Tang Lian’s neck. “I don't know,” he laughed, then made a lie of it by demanding, “Loosen your belt. Lay down beside me.”
Tang Lian complied. The bed was cold and hard under his shoulder and he felt clumsy and stupid as he hurried to undo buckles. He watched Xiao Se’s hands, somehow steady and sure, do the same.
The air between them was warm as they met again, pressed together, and this close Tang Lian could feel the shape of Xiao Se against him, and he pushed forward, and Xiao Se pushed back. He didn’t know where to touch, just wanting skin but there were too many layers still between them; grasped at Xiao Se’s shoulders and his back and ran his hands through his hair.
Heat was building, filling him. Xiao Se said, “I think-” and his eyes were dark and whatever else he was going to say was lost between one breath and the next where Tang Lian found the right pressure and the right angle and Xiao Se inhaled sharply.
His arm ached. Xiao Se’s fingers dug almost painfully hard into his shoulders. There was sweat on his back, chafing where there was friction and it was so good. Beside him, Xiao Se’s breaths came quickly, face flushed, and it was the most magnificent thing Tang Lian had ever seen. He wasn’t going to last.
“Like this?” Tang Lian had to be certain; wanted this to be right.
“Yes,” Xiao Se said, testily. “Of course. Yes,” and pressed himself up against Tang Lian.
Half-desperate, Tang Lian’s apprehension was forgotten in the feel of Xiao Se under his hands and his body and in pursuit of purpose. He couldn’t think; the smell of liquor lingered; Xiao Se’s lips were somehow still dry; Tang Lian slid his hands up Xiao Se’s sleeves and his arms were slender but Tang Lian could feel the musculature under skin; scars over skin. Tang Lian surrendered to it, let himself feel all of it and hear all of it and taste all of it. This was Xiao Se who he’d already given himself over to, and now Xiao Se was giving himself to Tang Lian. His eyes were enrapturing, their limbs were tangled impossibly together, and something that Tang Lian imagined must be desire was written on Xiao Se’s face where usually there would only be his carefully curated expression of, mostly, disinterest.
“Tang Lian,” he said, and Tang Lian tipped over the edge, pushing his hips, chasing the elation of it. Gripping tightly, Xiao Se met him, eyes wide, and met him again, then stilled, sighing heavily, wetly, into Tang Lian’s neck.
They lay there for a time, breathing, rainfall still a loud hiss outside the window, quiet thunder against the roof above them. The lamps made strange shadows of the room and everything in it. Still lying down beside him, Xiao Se shivered so Tang Lian sat up and pulled the duvets over them. Turning his head, Xiao Se smiled.
“Thoughtful,” he said, then looked up towards the ceiling, grimacing. “Now if only you could do something about my clothes.”
Tang Lian shifted uncomfortably; he could sympathise.
Made brave by the intimacy, by the way Xiao Se had relaxed against him, made no move to leave, Tang Lian said, “Stay.” Then when Xiao Se frowned added, “Until I've finished brewing.”
Tang Lian imagined Xiao Se wearing his borrowed clothes, imagined Xiao Se complaining about the food he’d cook for him; imagined touching Xiao Se again.
“There’s still wine,” he offered, and Xiao Se turned fully towards him and brushed Tang Lian’s cheek lightly with his thumb.
“I’ll stay,” he agreed. “But not just for the wine,” and leaned in for another kiss.
There were jars to fill, and batches to taste, but nothing could taste as sweet as this. There was training to perfect and strength to rebuild, but no incentive quite like remaining at Xiao Se’s side for as long as he would have him.
END