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Yue Qingyuan was not searching for Shen Qingqiu.

There would be no point, after all; there was only one place Shen Qingqiu could be. His brothel visits were the worst-kept secret within the sect, and had only increased in frequency since the Qing generation’s recent ascension as peak lords a mere few months ago. Stress, most likely. Yue Qingyuan had long since given up on trying to stop him, ever since that one disastrous incident when they were still disciples. He did, however, often find himself in the town near the sect on days like this, when he knew Shen Qingqiu would be within a particular brothel.

Not searching. Just strolling.

It was a qianyuan instinct, this need to hover nearby—one that he rarely let himself consciously acknowledge even as he folded to it. Yue Qingyuan had held an innate need to protect Shen Qingqiu ever since they were Qi-ge and Xiao-Jiu, and that need never dissipated. Not even now, as peak lords, with Shen Qingqiu fully capable of protecting himself. It was an instinct that would be scorned should Shen Qingqiu learn of it, but that didn’t make it any easier to push down.

Shen Qingqiu had never been gone for this long before, though. Usually, it would be an overnight stay, with him returning to the mountain in the same robes from the previous day and red staining his lips, looking not at all repentant. But it had been two full days this time; Yue Qingyuan felt near to crawling out of his skin.

Yue Qingyuan had his self-imposed constraints, of course. He would not seek out Shen Qingqiu to interact with him; it would only go disastrously. He would not even properly enter the pleasure district; he might be spotted. Instead, he would skirt through the shadows of the back alleys in a way that was entirely unbecoming of the leader of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, but which always brought forth memories of racing through winding streets with a dirty hand clutched tight in his own.

This was where Yue Qingyuan found himself now, in the dirty alleys behind the pleasure district, uncaring of the grime that caught on the hems of his robes. He was not searching for Shen Qingqiu. He should not search for Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu could protect himself, could handle himself. He didn’t need Yue Qingyuan to come looking for him, and he wouldn’t want Yue Qingyuan to come looking for him only to interrupt what was likely an extended brothel stay. Even if he really was in trouble, Yue Qingyuan had already failed to help him before, and Shen Qingqiu had instead rescued himself, so surely this time—

It was a testament to Yue Qingyuan’s scattered thoughts that a group of mortals managed to sneak up on him. Between one moment and the next, he was surrounded, a length of rope already winding around his torso to pin his arms to his sides while a second one wrapped around his wrists.

“Don’t make a single move,” one woman whispered in his ear.

“We know who you are,” said another.

A third plucked at the ropes. “And you know what these are, right?” She coyly looked up at him through her lashes. “Immortal-binding cables. So don’t even think about trying anything, mmkay?”

…Ah. Yue Qingyuan looked down at the perfectly ordinary, red-dyed rope that was binding him, and a bit of pity pricked his heart. Immortal-binding cables were both very difficult to come by and very expensive—especially for mortals. How much had these women paid the swindler that scammed them? How desperate must they be, to go through so much effort?

“Oh dear,” he sighed, allowing his shoulders to slump a little. “I fear I’ve been outmatched.”

The women perked up at this, exchanging triumphant looks with each other. The one who had plucked at the ropes now grabbed the ones securing his wrists, tugging him along as she started to walk. “Since we have you trapped, you have no choice but to come with us.”

“It would appear so.”

He went along willingly as they ushered him through the alleys. Excitement buzzed around the group now that they had succeeded in their endeavor. They tittered amongst themselves in hushed tones, reveling in their victory. 

It wasn’t difficult to guess just what sort of women these were, with their clothing and makeup and overall proximity to the pleasure district. Not to mention the soft kunze scents wafting off of most of them, in the habit of freely releasing pheromones in order to appeal to customers. Just what sort of dilemma did a group of prostitutes have, that they needed to scheme to capture him? Surely most instances of a ghost or demon or other creature could be solved by any cultivator, and not specifically Cang Qiong’s sect leader.

Whatever it was, Yue Qingyuan hoped it would serve as a welcome distraction from his not-search for Shen Qingqiu.

Thankfully, the women didn’t parade him openly through the streets of the pleasure district, instead sticking to the back alleys like he tended to do. Because of this, they entered their destination through its back door, so Yue Qingyuan would normally have no idea exactly which building it was.

However, he happened to know this particular building quite well. 

The exterior, that is. Yue Qingyuan had only been inside the Warm Red Pavilion the one time, and had hardly been in the mood to commit much to memory. But he had hovered around outside any number of times, pacing the side alleys and near the rear entrance like he was setting some odd facsimile of a qianyuan’s territory perimeter. He never scented anything, of course—too wary that Shen Qingqiu might catch a whiff of it—but the simple act of pacing had soothed the need to stake some sort of protection on the person inside.

Shen Qingqiu would hate him even more if he ever learned of it.

Yue Qingyuan’s stomach dropped upon entering the building, and he briefly considered giving up the ruse and fleeing. If Shen Qingqiu found out he was here…

He couldn’t bring himself to let these women down, though, so Yue Qingyuan continued along with them. As they passed by the kitchens, his captors cheerily greeted the kitchen workers, who didn’t blink twice at the sight of an immortal cultivator bound in red ropes being dragged through the building. The main area of the brothel, when they reached it, was as lush as Yue Qingyuan’s vague memories could recall. Tables laden with snacks and drinks and customers, waitstaff sauntering through the area with trays delicately balanced in their hands. A woman was playing the pipa onstage while another accompanied it with a rather promiscuous dance. Yue Qingyuan turned his eyes away.

Their conspicuous group went largely unnoticed as they skirted the perimeter of the room to a set of stairs. With each step, the heavy weight in his stomach increased, unable to keep from thinking about how Shen Qingqiu was in one of the rooms at the top. He tried not to wonder which one it was as they turned a corner past the guest rooms and came upon a door tucked away in the very back of the building. One of the women pressed an ear to the door before opening it.

Multiple pairs of hands immediately shoved Yue Qingyuan inside, and he found himself truly unable to put up a fight—or do much of anything, really—as he was struck by the smell that emanated from within. It was a kunze’s heat-scent, but it was—wrong. Acrid and sour and slightly burnt. Yue Qingyuan couldn’t even tell what the natural scent was meant to be under the clear signs of a kunze in a terrible state.

The door slammed shut as he stumbled into the room, and it took Yue Qingyuan a good few moments to fully process everything with that scent filling his nose. This truly wasn’t one of the proper rooms that guests were brought to—in fact, he would daresay it was meant to be a closet. It was tiny and cramped, barely big enough to fit two people, stuffed with materials comprising a nest that took up the whole space. The nest itself was messy and chaotic, as though whoever had built it kept deconstructing and tearing at it. If Yue Qingyuan were in a more coherent state of mind, he would have noticed that a few of his own robes were among the swaths of fabric.

But that scent really was too distracting. Yue Qingyuan had only ever smelled such a thing on rare occasions, back when he was still a child. It signified a kunze entering a heat while under terrible physical or emotional stress. That acerbic burnt-sugar smell pulled at his qianyuan instincts, demanding that he soothe and coddle whichever kunze had found themself in such an unfortunate state, that he cradle them close and take care of them—

And then the fabrics moved, and Yue Qingyuan caught sight of exactly who was putting out that scent.

Shen Qingqiu stared up at him with tangled hair and overpale skin, pupils shrunken into pinpricks as he registered this invader to his nest. For a few moments, they could both only stare in joint shock. Yue Qingyuan barely had the chance to take in the sight of Shen Qingqiu dressed down to a mere inner robe and pants before the latter moved in a flash, suddenly up and pinning Yue Qingyuan to the wall with one hand around his throat and the other gripping his arm, nails digging in hard enough to draw blood even through the fabric of his sleeves. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” he snarled.

The distressed kunze scent was so close now, nearly choking Yue Qingyuan and rendering him unable to think. He wasn’t sure what he was doing here, either—he hadn’t imagined he would be brought straight to Shen Qingqiu, and was actively reeling from the sudden revelation that he was a kunze. His scent had always been hidden, and his heats must have been suppressed; Yue Qingyuan had always assumed he was a zhongyong. Just what did those women think he could achieve here? He was only making things worse, could smell how Shen Qingqiu’s scent grew increasingly sour, how he was only becoming more and more distressed by Yue Qingyuan’s presence—

“Answer me!” Shen Qingqiu shook him, increasing the pressure on his neck. “Did you follow me? You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?”

“I’m—sorry,” Yue Qingyuan choked out. “I didn’t— I can leave—”

Shen Qingqiu tightened his grip, cutting him off. “Is that what I asked? Do you think I can just let you go now? Let you run back to the sect to tell everyone that a filthy kunze has infiltrated the peak lord ranks?”

Yue Qingyuan could still breathe in halted gasps, but each one only pulled more of that stench into his mouth and lungs, drowning him in it. “I wouldn’t,” he tried, but Shen Qingqiu dug his thumb further into the side of his neck. Belatedly, he realized that Shen Qingqiu was pressing against the gland there, forcing out the scent that Yue Qingyuan normally kept a lid on.

“Answer me.”

Yue Qingyuan swallowed, feeling the slight increase of pressure from the hand around his throat as it bobbed. Moving slowly, he raised his bound wrists as much as he could in the space between them, drawing Shen Qingqiu’s attention. “I was kidnapped.”

Shen Qingqiu blinked slowly at the red rope, momentarily speechless. Then, he hooked a finger under it to investigate closer. “This is regular rope.”

“…Yes.”

“You let yourself be kidnapped?”

“Well—”

In the next second, Yue Qingyuan was being thrown into the nest, landing face-first among the fabrics with no chance to catch himself due to his restraints. He tried to push himself up—or at least roll over—but then there was a knee in his back and a hand digging tight into his hair, forcefully yanking his head up. 

“Idiot,” Shen Qingqiu hissed in his ear. “What sort of disgrace of a sect leader lets himself be kidnapped by a group of ill-equipped mortals?”

“I—”

The bony, sharp knee dug further into his back. “Shut up! You wish to be kidnapped and made a fool of so bad? Fine. This humble shidi will provide.”

Yue Qingyuan blinked a couple times. “Qingqiu-shidi—”

“I said shut up,” Shen Qingqiu snapped, then leaned in close to murmur in his ear, “Captives only speak when spoken to.”

Yue Qingyuan’s mouth snapped shut.

Neither of them moved for a few moments, the air filled with the harsh sounds of Shen Qingqiu’s rapid breathing. Then, Yue Qingyuan failed to stifle a hiss as Shen Qingqiu all but ripped the guan out of his hair, evidently tossing it somewhere when a soft thunk sounded. Shen Qingqiu tugged at his collar next, baring Yue Qingyuan’s neck before leaning in to press his nose to his scent gland.

Yue Qingyuan bit down on his lip to prevent from making any noise, eyes squeezing shut. His own breath hitched as Shen Qingqiu drank down his scent, and he cautiously, carefully started pushing out more, adding soothing undertones to it.

The hand in his hair twisted, increasing the sting. Shen Qingqiu pulled away from his gland and Yue Qingyuan mourned the loss, but then he felt the gentle, threatening press of teeth. He went very still.

“I should do it,” Shen Qingqiu murmured, lips brushing the sensitive skin of his neck. “The mighty Xuan Su Sword, brought to heel by a bite from an unknown kunze—one he so impotently failed to mark in return. What would everyone think? You’d lose their respect as both a sect leader and a qianyuan.”

Yue Qingyuan swallowed down the instinctive please that rose in his throat. He couldn’t care about paltry things like his reputation at the moment, not with Shen Qingqiu’s teeth so close to where he’d always wanted them to break his skin. Even when they were both young, before either of them had presented, completely unaware of what they might even present as, Yue Qi had wanted that permanent tie to Xiao-Jiu. And right now, with his mind off-kilter from Shen Qingqiu’s scent, he was willing to beg for it.

But he had not been bid to speak.

“…Are you not even going to fight me?” Shen Qingqiu quietly asked after a few moments.

Yue Qingyuan hesitated to answer until the hand in his hair tightened. “I’m—a captive.”

Silence. Then, “That’s right. You’re here against your will; I have you entirely under my control.”

There was a strange note to his voice, one that Yue Qingyuan didn’t know what to make of. Not with Shen Qingqiu behind him, expression unreadable. Not in this wholly exceptional situation that neither of them had navigated before.

Then, sharp teeth sank into him—not on his gland, but his shoulder, through his robes. Yue Qingyuan jolted at the sudden burst of pain, then held himself still. Shen Qingqiu stayed latched to his shoulder for what felt like ages yet nowhere near long enough, then pulled away.

They were both breathing harshly now. Yue Qingyuan wanted to turn his head and look, to see if blood had somehow managed to seep through his dark robes, but Shen Qingqiu still had him by the hair. The mild sting of it was gratifying in its reminder of his place here. 

Shen Qingqiu shifted, pushing Yue Qingyuan’s face down into the nest—though he did allow him to turn a bit so he could breathe. He laid himself partially on top of Yue Qingyuan, the sharp points of his elbows and knees digging into him in a way that felt purposeful. Then, face pressed into Yue Qingyuan’s neck, the tight lines of his body relaxed ever-so-slightly.

“I hate your scent,” Shen Qingqiu said, then kept breathing it in.

Yue Qingyuan squeezed his eyes shut against a wave of emotion. He kept his breathing carefully even, excruciatingly aware of Shen Qingqiu pressed against him, of the way he relaxed in slow, minuscule increments. Aware, with no small amount of glee, of how the astringency in Shen Qingqiu’s scent was ebbing just a bit.

This was…

Well, it was unheard of. Shen Qingqiu had shoved him down and bit him, had held him in place and draped himself over his back in what some would consider a mockery of a qianyuan’s pin. It was the height of offense for a kunze to act this way, and any other qianyuan in Yue Qingyuan’s place would have long since forced Shen Qingqiu off of themself and pinned him down in a display of dominance.

Yue Qingyuan, however, was exactly where he’d always yearned to be.

He awoke to his hair being yanked again.

He failed to hold back a noise of surprise, eyes blinking open disorientedly as he tried to get his bearings. He was still in the brothel, still in Shen Qingqiu’s nest, his hands pinned uncomfortably under himself. With no window in this room, there was no telling how much time had passed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Shen Qingqiu snarled. “You fell asleep? Like that? Are you just a failure of a qianyuan, then? Are you truly impotent?”

Yue Qingyuan’s lips pressed together at the last question.

“Or is that your play here? You think that if you pretend to give in, I’ll let you mount me.” Shen Qingqiu’s weight suddenly disappeared and Yue Qingyuan was being pushed, rolling onto his back. Those normally-sharp eyes were wide and wild as they frantically searched Yue Qingyuan’s face. His lip curled. “Lull the defenseless kunze into a false sense of security, then make your move. Well, it won’t work. You’ll have to find someone else to stick your stupid qianyuan dick—”

They both froze. As he spoke, Shen Qingqiu’s hand had snaked down to the front of Yue Qingyuan’s pants and grasped at him, only to find him fully soft. An embarrassed heat suffused Yue Qingyuan’s face while Shen Qingqiu slowly leaned back to glance down. A second squeeze elicited a twitch, but nothing else.

“Qingqiu-shidi…”

Shen Qingqiu yanked his hand away as though it had been burned, face twisting with disgust as he wiped it off on a random blanket nearby. “So it’s like that, then?” he sneered. “Of course. Pristine Zhangmen-shixiong could never bring himself so low as to lust over someone he has deemed worthless—not even in the middle of a heat-nest. Truly, your self-control should be lauded.”

Yue Qingyuan faltered, unsure where to even begin countering the startling number of misconceptions. His…personal inability aside, this was certainly not the sort of heat that demanded sexual gratification to ease. Quite the opposite, in fact; anything of the sort would likely only worsen Shen Qingqiu’s condition.

Hands gripped his shoulders, the lingering imprint of Shen Qingqiu’s teeth smarting as nails dug into it. “You think so little of me? I’m not even worthy of wetting your dick?”

“I,” Yue Qingyuan said. His mind stuttered and stopped a number of times, and what ended up coming out was, “Is that…what you want?”

Shen Qingqiu stared at him. Then, after a beat, he flinched back. “Of course not!” he snapped, scrambling as far as he could from Yue Qingyuan in the tiny space. His face spasmed into a strange expression and then, in an instant, he disappeared under a pile of fabric.

Left alone and about as bewildered as he’d been ever since setting foot into this room, Yue Qingyuan laid back and stared at the ceiling for a few moments to gather himself. Despite his seeming coherency, Shen Qingqiu was clearly not in his right mind. Paranoia and fear were written across his face during that entire exchange in a way that Yue Qingyuan had never seen—not since they were young, at least. Shen Qingqiu had gotten quite good at disguising away such emotions over the years.

Something like this, though, would certainly throw that out the window. How many heats had Shen Qingqiu even undergone before now? He would have been suppressing them since at least his entrance to the sect in order to hide his designation, possibly even longer. Consistently taking suppressants like that for years, without the recommended health breaks…it was no wonder they would eventually fail.

Still, it normally wouldn’t mean entering this sort of heat. A dry heat, Yue Qingyuan’s mind supplied. Only immense amounts of stress or physical harm would trigger this, and Shen Qingqiu seemed fine physically. Was it the strain of being a newly-minted peak lord, or something else Yue Qingyuan wasn’t even aware of? Or, possibly, some combination?

Guilt stabbed at him, familiar in its dull ache. For all that he wanted to protect Shen Qingqiu, Yue Qingyuan had entirely failed to see this coming. Even if he hadn’t known that Shen Qingqiu was a kunze, even if he had been busy acclimating to his own duties, he still should have noticed the signs of distress, the presage of an oncoming storm. Once again, Yue Qingyuan had failed to prevent Shen Qingqiu from coming to harm.

But this situation was also different from the past. Yue Qingyuan was here, now, and able to help. This opportunity couldn’t be wasted. With that resolve, he sat up. His wrists and arms flexed in their bindings as he took stock of the room, freezing when his gaze caught on certain parts of the nest.

We know who you are, those women had said, but they never called him by name. They never acknowledged him as a sect leader; he was the one who assumed things. No, Yue Qingyuan was realizing now, as he stared out at the spots of black littering Shen Qingqiu’s nest, that they must have identified him by his robes.

There was no preventing the pleased flush that came over him. He had no earthly idea when or how Shen Qingqiu had taken his robes, but that hardly mattered because Shen Qingqiu had taken his robes. He had stolen them for his nest, had lined it with them, had somehow deemed Yue Qingyuan worthy of such an honor despite everything between them. And instead of kicking Yue Qingyuan out earlier, he had shoved him into the nest and all but demanded that Yue Qingyuan stay and help, with this captive and captor playacting.

Yue Qingyuan didn’t deserve it. And yet, an unfamiliar giddiness filled him all the same; he had to take a moment to compose himself. It was then that he noticed the tray of food and water by the door—had that been here since he first entered, or was it delivered while he slept?

Either way, he was grateful for it, and carefully moved to reach it. He kept one eye on the unmoving pile of blankets that hid Shen Qingqiu as he struggled against his restraints to grab the tray and pull it close. It was remarkably inconvenient, but he didn’t dare free himself.

Somehow, he managed to pour a cup of water and take it in his bound hands, twisting around to face the pile of blankets. “Qingqiu-shidi.”

The blankets twitched, but Shen Qingqiu gave no response.

“Qingqiu-shidi,” he tried again, leaning to tap somewhere around his shoulder with the cup. “Please drink some water.”

It was only thanks to Yue Qingyuan’s trained reflexes that he managed to pull back without spilling as Shen Qingqiu suddenly bolted upright. His face was flushed from the warmth of being under the blankets that were now pooled around his hips he directed a narrow-eyed look at Yue Qingyuan. “What.”

Yue Qingyuan awkwardly held out out the cup. “Water?” It came out sounding more like he was unsure what was in the cup than offering it.

Shen Qingqiu glanced between him and the cup, then snatched it from him. Instead of drinking, he held it up to inspect it, then sniffed at the liquid. “Is it poisoned?”

“No.”

“Laced with aphrodisiacs, then.”

“No.”

“You’ve done something with it.”

“Yes, I poured it in the cup.”

He received an unimpressed look for that. Shen Qingqiu looked at the water again, then shuffled forward on his knees and shoved the cup in Yue Qingyuan’s face. “You drink.”

Yue Qingyuan leaned back. “Shidi, I didn’t—”

“If you want me to believe you, then prove it.” Shen Qingqiu straddled one of his legs to trap him in place. “Drink it.”

At a loss and flushing under his attention, Yue Qingyuan lowered his head to sip from the cup. The water was cool and refreshing, and he ended up draining half of it before remembering that Shen Qingqiu was the one who needed to drink. He pulled back to swallow, then looked up at Shen Qingqiu. “Will Qingqiu-shidi drink now?”

Shen Qingqiu lifted his gaze from his throat, then scoffed and drank down the rest of the cup. His head tilted back and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. His scent gland, swollen and red with irritation, drew Yue Qingyuan’s gaze.

Shen Qingqiu shoved the cup back in his hands and demanded, “More.” 

Yue Qingyuan moved to oblige, repeating his awkward twist-and-reach method, but then there was a huff and a tug at the knot securing the rope binding his upper arms to his sides. The rope loosened and fell away. Yue Qingyuan looked at him.

“What?” Shen Qingqiu arched a brow. “If you think I’ll untie your hands as well, you’re out of luck.”

Yue Qingyuan only smiled and continued his task, hyper-aware of the fragile trust being placed in him. Even if the ropes as a whole were ineffective in actually trapping him, their existence very clearly brought some comfort to Shen Qingqiu. Some assurance that Yue Qingyuan couldn’t harm him in his vulnerable state or, more likely, the knowledge that Yue Qingyuan was willingly letting himself be restrained like this. Having one of those restraints removed must have meant he was doing well, right?

Pouring water was still a challenge with his wrists bound, but it was made much easier now that he could fully extend his arms. He offered the cup to Shen Qingqiu, who once again forced him to drink some before draining the rest of it. They repeated this again with a third cup.

Yue Qingyuan noted the plate of cakes and meat buns as he set the cup down. “Is Qingqiu-shidi willing to eat?”

Warily, Shen Qingqiu regarded both him and the food, and Yue Qingyuan knew what he was going to demand before he voiced it. “You first.”

Yue Qingyuan nodded and reached for a bun, taking a small bite and waiting until he swallowed before offering it up. Instead of taking it, Shen Qingqiu harshly grabbed his jaw and wrenched it open, ensuring that he had swallowed while Yue Qingyuan blushed and tried not to squirm. Once satisfied, Shen Qingqiu pulled back and reached as though to take the bun, then paused. He eyed Yue Qingyuan. “Feed me.”

Yue Qingyuan’s heart raced. He very carefully didn’t allow himself to react outside of a nod before lifting the bun to Shen Qingqiu’s mouth. Watching Yue Qingyuan like he expected him to launch some sort of attack, Shen Qingqiu leaned in to take a bite. His lips brushed Yue Qingyuan’s fingers.

He had always wanted to take care of Shen Qingqiu in this way. He couldn’t even say for sure that it was a qianyuan instinct, having always been ingrained in him since they were young and starving. To be able to sit like this, with Shen Qingqiu perched in his lap and eating from his hand…not even the skepticism in Shen Qingqiu’s eyes could curb the illicit happiness that filled his chest.

It was in this manner that they slowly worked through the entire plate of food. Shen Qingqiu demanded that Yue Qingyuan take the first bite of everything, and at a certain point Yue Qingyuan started to question how much he truly suspected poison. Once everything was eaten and the plate was empty, Shen Qingqiu’s eyelids drooped. He sagged forward, body slumping against Yue Qingyuan’s, face ending up in the crook of his neck. He once again pressed his nose into Yue Qingyuan’s scent gland, breathing deeply.

If only Yue Qingyuan’s hands weren’t bound and pinned between them, so he could take him in his arms. In this position, Shen Qingqiu’s gland was right near his nose, and Yue Qingyuan failed to resist breathing him in as well. It was at this point that he noticed how much less acrid Shen Qingqiu’s scent was, compared to when he first entered the room. It must have ebbed so gradually that he hadn’t even realized. There was a mild sweetness to it now, one that made Yue Qingyuan’s head fuzzy.

Shen Qingqiu stiffened as Yue Qingyuan’s nose inadvertently brushed his skin. His voice came out muffled against his shoulder: “Are you going to do it now?”

“Do what?” he asked, hazy brain struggling to work through the question.

Shen Qingqiu shifted as though to push away, but only ended up slumping against him again. “Your plan worked. You have me at your mercy.”

It took a few moments for Yue Qingyuan to understand what he was alluding to, and then ice shot down his spine. “Qingqiu-shidi, I’m not— I would never—”

“Never,” Shen Qingqiu repeated, all previous languor gone from his voice and replaced with venom. He gave a bitter laugh. “Right. I forgot. Why would I be worthy of your eminent sect leader dick?”

He winced. “Shidi—”

“How could I expect anything else? You ascended far above the filth of our past, not caring to remember my existence until I appeared before you like muck that can’t be scraped from your shoes. I’m just the wretched reminder of everything you hoped to forget after rising above it all. Even now, you’re only pretending to care because of your guilt—”

Yue Qingyuan bit him.

He didn’t think, his movements urged on by some combination of instinct and a need for Shen Qingqiu to stop talking about himself in such a way. Even so, he didn’t bite his scent gland. Yue Qingyuan could never take such liberties even acting on instinct. Rather, he bit his shoulder in a mirror of how Shen Qingqiu had done earlier, gently latching his teeth around the thin fabric and delicate skin without piercing either.

Shen Qingqiu went still. “What,” he said, shifting in his seat on Yue Qingyuan’s thigh. His hands came up to twist in Yue Qingyuan’s robes. “What are you doing?”

His question went unanswered; Yue Qingyuan was too afraid to pull away so he could speak. With his hands bound, this was the only way for him to hold onto Shen Qingqiu, and he couldn’t bring himself to let go.

“Do you think I’d submit to you like this?” Shen Qingqiu’s voice was breathless. “That isn’t even a proper bite, or are you too stupid to realize? Do you think you can just—come in here and treat me like this? You come into my heat-nest, you trick me with your—your soppy gentleness, yet you can’t even grant me the dignity of a claim?”

Yue Qingyuan shuddered, finally releasing Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder to press his burning eyes into the fabric there. “Is that—what you want?”

“What do you think?”

He had no idea what to think. Here he was, in Shen Qingqiu’s heat-nest lined with his robes, drunk off of his scent, with the only man he’d ever wanted perched in his lap, and yet Yue Qingyuan still couldn’t imagine that this was what Shen Qingqiu also wanted. It was too incongruous. It was something he could never deserve.

“I,” he said, then swallowed thickly. “I think that Qingqiu-shidi should only ever be treated with gentleness. I think that…it’s an honor to be allowed in your nest, and that…you should only ever be claimed if it was something you truly want. I could never just…just…”

Shen Qingqiu jolted as moisture seeped into the shoulder of his robes. He wrenched Yue Qingyuan away by his hair, giving him a bewildered look. “Are you crying?”

“If,” he said, unheeding of his tears or the pain in his scalp. “If you allowed it, I would crack open my own body to place you inside, to ensure that you never come to harm again. I keep—keep failing you in that, no matter how much I resolve to do better. I just— I’ve always— I don’t deserve—”

The sharp bite made him gasp and jolt, vision receding at the edges as his blood surged to reform itself, mapping new pathways in the shape of a claim. When Yue Qingyuan came back to himself, Shen Qingqiu was held tight in his arms—one wrapped around his waist and the other hand cupping the back of his head to keep him where he was, latched to Yue Qingyuan’s scent gland. He must have accidentally severed his binds amidst the torrent of the claim. With great effort, he loosened his hold. It was still a few moments before Shen Qingqiu pulled back.

“There,” he said, licking blood from his lips. “I’ve marked you first. Now you’re mine, no matter what you do.”

Yue Qingyuan’s eyes were wide in shock and disbelief and a host of other emotions as he raised a hand to his scent gland, pressing down to feel the soreness of a fresh bite. It really happened. He’d dreamed about it since he was a child and thought it impossible for so long, yet it just—happened. 

Shen Qingqiu had claimed him.

Shen Qingqiu was saying something—calling him impotent again, most likely—but Yue Qingyuan couldn’t manage to pay attention as happiness and affection surged through him. He had been bitten by Shen Qingqiu, and he still couldn’t quite understand why, but in the moment he felt nothing but blazing, blistering joy.

“—and if you insist on saying ridiculous sentiments like that, then you…” Shen Qingqiu’s words petered out, and he eyed Yue Qingyuan warily. “What are you smiling about?”

“Xiao-Jiu,” Yue Qingyuan said.

He stiffened. “Don’t— What did I say about calling me that?”

Yue Qingyuan’s arms were still around him, so he pulled him closer. Shen Qingqiu didn’t resist. “I really can’t?”

“You really can’t.”

Sadness pricked at him, but Yue Qingyuan was still too happy for it to ruin his mood. He tried again, “Qingqiu-shidi, do you want me to mark you in return?”

“Why do you keep asking me that?” Shen Qingqiu bared his teeth. A bit of Yue Qingyuan’s blood still stained them. “Aren’t you one of the mightiest qianyuan in the world, Sect Leader Yue? A qianyuan is meant to take what he wants, isn’t he? Yet here you are, staring at me with sad, wet cow eyes instead of doing what you’re meant to do.”

“But do you want me to?”

The look that Shen Qingqiu gave him could almost be described as helpless. After a moment, he drew himself up in some facsimile of his peak lord façade, though it was undercut by his state of dress and the fact that he was still straddling Yue Qingyuan’s thigh. “Do you think, as second-ranked peak lord, that I could allow our sect leader to walk around carrying such an indignity? Do you think I could allow the loss of face for Cang Qiong Mountain so soon after the generation ascension?”

“But,” Yue Qingyuan said, “do you want me to?”

Shen Qingqiu stared at him. Then, he grabbed his shoulders harshly and shook him. “Are you an imbecile? Must I spell everything out for you? Do you treat political negotiations with this insipid amount of solicitude as well?”

“No,” he said. “Only Qingqiu-shidi.”

Shen Qingqiu faltered. Then, with a frustrated noise, he grabbed the back of Yue Qingyuan’s head and yanked him forward, pulling him into the crook of his neck. “Do it.”

“Shidi—”

“If you don’t bite me right now, I’ll kill you.”

Yue Qingyuan fell silent. He still didn’t immediately bite him, instead nosing at his gland and drawing more of that mild sweetness into his lungs. The sourness of a dry heat was still there, but the underlying scent was still notably different from that of a typical kunze. Whether that was because of Shen Qingqiu’s years of suppressants or whether that was simply his scent, Yue Qingyuan couldn’t tell. He breathed it in all the same, tongue darting out to taste.

Shen Qingqiu shivered, trying and failing to stifle it. His grip on Yue Qingyuan’s hair tightened. “Why are you doing that?”

“I like Qingqiu-shidi’s scent.”

“I smell awful,” Shen Qingqiu grumbled. There was something naked and self-conscious about the statement.

Yue Qingyuan nuzzled him, the base of his spine tingling when Shen Qingqiu automatically bared his throat more. “No,” he said. “You smell wonderful.”

A scoff. “Didn’t I say to bite me? Do you want to die?”

“No, Shidi,” Yue Qingyuan smiled against his skin. “Not if you’re here.”

He bit down before Shen Qingqiu could respond.

Shen Qingqiu jolted, nearly ripping out his hair with the force of it, but Yue Qingyuan held fast. He closed his eyes against the crash of feeling as the mating bond was cemented in place, an unseverable connection forging itself between them. The sudden feedback loop of emotions was dizzying; Yue Qingyuan could feel Shen Qingqiu’s stress, paranoia, anger—and beneath it all, a small yet intense kernel of affection and hope. Being two cultivators, he could also sense Shen Qingqiu’s qi like this, could feel the chaos of his meridians. It was abruptly apparent, in the still-fading disarray, just how close Shen Qingqiu must have been to a qi deviation before Yue Qingyuan was shoved into this closet.

Shen Qingqiu’s hand tightened in his hair. “Stop,” he gasped, and Yue Qingyuan immediately pulled away from his gland. But he said, “Stop,” again, shuddering and curling in on himself, his forehead pressing into Yue Qingyuan’s chest. “Why do you— Why does it feel like this? Where’s your—your disgust? Your condescension, your guilt, why can’t I… Why do you…?”

Yue Qingyuan pulled Shen Qingqiu close, stroking a soothing hand down his back. They were all taught as disciples how mating bonds were especially intense for the first few days after creation, and would gradually settle into something less overwhelming. Shen Qingqiu’s current state must have made it especially difficult to weather. “I could never be disgusted by you,” he murmured.

Shen Qingqiu’s hands were now fisted tight in Yue Qingyuan’s robes, his whole body still shaking. “I don’t understand…”

Yue Qingyuan only hummed and cradled him close, nuzzling his cheek against the top of his head to scent him. Only time would help Shen Qingqiu settle into the bond, so the most he could really do was try to soothe him through it.

Eventually, Shen Qingqiu’s trembling ebbed, and he adjusted his position so that he could tuck his head into the crook of his neck. Yue Qingyuan could feel his exhaustion as if it were his own and shifted to lie down on his back, pulling Shen Qingqiu with him. They sprawled, tangled together and buried in each other’s scent glands. Just before sleep could claim him, Yue Qingyuan was startled back into awareness by a mild rumbling against his chest. It took a few moments to recognize what it was, rasping and stuttering with disuse.

Shen Qingqiu was purring.

Shutting his eyes against a fresh wave of tears, Yue Qingyuan kissed his temple and let exhaustion pull him under.

The morning—or what Yue Qingyuan assumed was morning, given how long they must have slept—brought the image of Shen Qingqiu still lying on top of him, chin propped on his chest and staring at him through narrowed eyes.

Yue Qingyuan smiled. “Good morning.”

Shen Qingqiu grunted, still studying him. Through their bond, Yue Qingyuan could feel suspicion and confusion, the sensation of a mind puzzling through something particularly troubling. 

“Zhangmen-shixiong.” Shen Qingqiu enunciated every syllable, “What the fuck is wrong with your cultivation?”

Yue Qingyuan stiffened.