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Shang Qinghua yawns, covering his mouth as he makes his way out of the throne room, carrying a handful of important documents to his office. He can admit that today had not been his best. In fact, it may as well be considered a disaster. And it isn’t even over yet!! Shang Qinghua sighs heavily, a small part of his soul escaping past his lips along with the warm air leaving his lungs, turning it into a foggy haze once hit with the chilly air around him.
The palace halls are delightfully silent for a change! Only the click-clacking of Shang Qinghua’s boots along the polished floors echo around him. Shang Qinghua massages from the bridge of his nose to his temple with one hand, barely managing to carry the rest of the scrolls in the other.
Today was supposed to be easy for him! Just a simple, boring-as-fuck counsel meeting where all Shang Qinghua had to do was take notes and whisper advice into his king’s ear. After which he would fill out some paperwork and respond to some neglected letters in his office, ending the day with some writing on a new story he has been working on.
Of course, nothing ever goes his way.
This shitty day started off with not one, but TWO assassination attempts. One on his king and one on Shang Qinghua himself of all people. He knew Linguang-Jun had to be behind this, he just needed to scrape up the proof to present to his king. Shang Qinghua sighs. He’s just so tired. And now there is even more work on his plate for him to deal with. “No writing today, it seems…” Shang Qinghua can already feel his pounding headache worsen as he scurries through the door leading to his office.
There might still be time to write by the end of the day if he just works fast enough. But first! Shang Qinghua tosses the scrolls onto his desk and shuffles over to a modest-looking clay pot filled with specially arranged tea from Mu Qingfang, meant to help ease his constant headaches. In his past life, Shang Qinghua would have never considered himself a tea person, but after all these years he’s come to enjoy that warm, comforting tea Mu Qingfang has him drink. And it truly does work fantastically to keep his headaches at bay!
Shang Qinghua pops open the lid of the pot, expecting to breathe in that familiar soothing scent, only to be hit with a strong, floral odor that overpowers everything!
“Shit!” That was a whole month’s supply of tea! All contaminated! Dried flowers have been mixed in, their offending, vibrant blue petals standing out amongst the browns and pale yellows of Shang Qinghua’s tea. He scrunches his nose, closes the lid, and takes a few steps back. You just never know when it comes to Proud Immortal Demon Way!
Better to be safe than sorry and inflicted with a powerful aphrodisiac. Or poison. Either possibility is not ideal.
“Who the fuck… who is tampering with my shit?!” Shang Qinghua wails. He runs a hand through his messy hair, nearly knocking it out of his haphazardly put-together bun. Another pang of pain courses through his head, forcing Shang Qinghua to at least try and consider relaxing. He takes a deep breath and sighs, grumbling as he plops himself into the wooden chair behind his desk and gets ready to work, brush in hand.
He writes his first sentence with a practiced ease and elegance that would even have Qing Jing disciples jealous.
Then his mind grows hazy.
Shang Qinghua jerks his head up from his hunched-over position. When had he dozed off?! He notices the ink pooling from his brush, ruining the paper and getting onto his sleeve. “Fuuuuck,” he hisses, taking out his frustration on the sullied sheet by crumpling it between his fingers. Shang Qinghua dries up his hands and tries again with a fresh, new sheet.
His brush strokes are rushed and impatient, but they’re legible! Who gives a fuck anyway? Nobody appreciates him for the effort, so why should he waste his energy?! The pounding in Shang Qinghua’s head worsens in tandem with his increasing frustrations. He groans, holding his head with his free hand.
There’s so much to do. Too much. Ugh. Just need to work faster!
Shang Qinghua’s eyelids grow increasingly heavy to the point where it feels like he’s straining them. Yet he continues writing.
Time feels like it slows to a crawl. Without realizing it, Shang Qinghua begins to slow as well. In his mind, every brush stroke is still perfectly legible, with two lifetime’s worth of effort put into each word.
To our loyal allies of the Eastern Tundra,
I am reaching out to you on behalf of our king, Mobei-Jun………………
THUMP!
“Augh!!” Shang Qinghua jolts up, cradling his nose with his hand and recoiling away from his desk. “Ouch, ouch, fuck.” Shang Qinghua leans too far back, causing the chair to tip backwards. “Ah! Ahh!!” He flails his arms wildly in a desperate attempt to regain his balance, and thankfully, manages to do so. Shang Qinghua lets out a wheeze, eyes watering at both the pain in his nose
and the newfound stabbing pain in his head. “Phew.” Shang Qinghua consciously evens out his breathing in an effort to slow his racing heart. “That could have gone worse— MY KING?!”
The sun has already set, allowing the only light source in the room to be the night pearls in Shang Qinghua’s office, and Mobei-Jun’s glowing, icy-blue eyes.
Mobei-Jun looms over Shang Qinghua’s desk, a stormy expression twisting his beautiful features into a terrifying scowl. His gaze wanders up and down Shang Qinghua’s unkempt appearance, then curiously drifts to the unfinished letter.
Shang Qinghua spots all the ink splotches and illegible squiggles littering the page and gawks. It can hardly be considered a letter!
“You’re late,” Mobei-Jun growls.
Shang Qinghua fumbles to hide his poor hand writing, but Mobei-Jun manages to snatch the unfinished letter first. “My king, wait!” Then it finally processes what Mobei-Jun has said to him. “Late? Late for what?”
Mobei-Jun shakes his head and frowns, but this time he looks less like a murderous tiger and more like a grumpy, sulky kitten that has been ignored by its owner for too long. He turns away from Shang Qinghua, fixing his gaze on the letter he holds in his clawed hands. Mobei-Jun furrows his brows at the illegible text, even squints his eyes as if he could decipher his advisor’s chicken scratch if he just tried hard enough.
“Ah, my king?” Shang Qinghua tries again to get his attention, gazing up tentatively at the towering demon. “What was this servant late for?”
That stormy expression from before returns in an instant. “Dinner,” Mobei-Jun grinds through his teeth.
“Ah.” Shang Qinghua stares blankly at Mobei-Jun. They rarely ever eat at the same time. Shang Qinghua wracks his brain for any useful information but he really, truly, does not remember agreeing to eat with Mobei-Jun!
“You said you would join me.”
“I did?” Shang Qinghua forces a tight smile on his face. “T-this servant apologizes for his forgetfulness.” It’s not like it was intentional! There was a lot of work to be done today and somebody had to do it!
Mobei-Jun’s gaze shifts to the window, glaring at the pitch-black sky meaningfully. He actually looks quite nice today.
Mobei-Jun puffs out his chest, the plunging neckline of his robes accentuating his marvelous pecks as he does so. “Will Qinghua still join this king for dinner tonight?”
The thought of food doesn’t sound too bad. The only problem is that Shang Qinghua hasn’t even made a dent in the pile of work accumulating on his desk! He chews on his lip anxiously and casts his gaze off to the side.
Mobei-Jun crosses his arms, drawing his advisor’s attention to himself. “You’re not interested.”
“HUH?!” Shang Qinghua winces at the volume of his own voice and promptly turns it down. “No, it’s just that… argh!” Shang Qinghua massages his temples. “There is a lot left to be done today, my king. Perhaps—”
“You aren’t feeling well.”
“Yes, that’s true, but—” Shang Qinghua yelps as he is lifted up and thrown over Mobei-Jun’s shoulder, hissing at the pain the jostling causes him. If not for the fact that he hadn’t eaten all day, he might have thrown up if his sudden queasiness has anything to say about it. Shang Qinghua wheezes, tears welling up in his eyes. “My king, please! It hurts! It hurts!” he wails, clutching at his throbbing head.
Mobei-Jun amends his mistake, instead holding Shang Qinghua close to his chest like a delicate, precious bride in need of protection. “Where does it hurt?”
Shang Qinghua groans, cradling his head in his hands. “My king? I-isn’t this a bit— Oh…” Slight relief washes over Shang Qinghua. He leans even more into Mobei-Jun’s delightfully chilly form. Just like magic, the dreadful headache plaguing Shang Qinghua’s head is dulled. “Fuck, that feels really good.” Shang Qinghua nuzzles his face into his king’s chest. “Absolutely divine. So perfect. This is why you’re my favorite,” he mumbles, mouthing each word into that pain-relieving cool skin. “My king should do this more often.”
Mobei-Jun’s whole body shudders, unprepared for Shang Qinghua’s sudden forwardness.
For the first time in a long while, Shang Qinghua relaxes, body going fully slack in Mobei-Jun’s arms. He is vaguely aware of his abhorrent behavior, but is in too much bliss to give a fuck.
Mobei-Jun takes this rare opportunity to stand there and admire Shang Qinghua for a little while longer, until a loud yawn disrupts Shang Qinghua’s happy nuzzling.
Tired. So tired…
As soon as Shang Qinghua’s eyes fall shut he feels Mobei-Jun start carrying him away. He cracks an eye open just in time to catch Mobei-Jun stepping through a portal, his king’s bedroom on the other side. “Um— My king?!”
The room is dark. Only the soft glow of a fireplace lights up the room with its dancing flames.
Mobei-Jun sets Shang Qinghua down atop the silky blankets and soft pelts splayed along the massive king-sized bed.
“Oh that’s… that feels really nice, actually.”
Mobei-Jun takes a step back to admire Shang Qinghua and hums with satisfaction. “Stay,” he commands, before stepping through the shadows and disappearing from Shang Qinghua’s sight.
Fighting the urge to sleep, Shang Qinghua slowly and carefully sits up and scoots over to the edge of the bed, dangling his feet off it. It feels like he’s breaking some sort of rule by invading his king’s bed! Especially when he still has his shoes on! Shang Qinghua fidgets anxiously with a curly lock of hair. He waits a moment, making sure Mobei-Jun isn’t coming right away, then hops off the bed and speedwalks over to the door to leave his shoes there.
On his way back, Shang Qinghua notices the telling chill in the air signalling Mobei-Jun’s return. He shrieks and scrambles back onto the bed.
Mobei-Jun huffs a quiet little laugh that wouldn't even register as a laugh to anyone who doesn’t speak Mobei-Jun. Luckily for him, his advisor is pretty much fluent at this point.
Shang Qinghua flops onto the bed and lays down in the exact same spot Mobei-Jun had left him at. He watches as his king walks tentatively towards the bed with a steaming cup of something in his hands.
“This king brought you your tea.” Mobei-Jun sits on the edge of the bed and tries to hand over the steaming cup of tea, but the cultivator shrinks back, holding his nose and waving his other arm in rejection.
“My tea?” There is a sinking feeling in Shang Qinghua’s chest.
“En.” Mobei-Jun nods his head in affirmation. “From your office.”
Shang Qinghua props himself up on his elbow. “No! My king, that tea is no good!” Shang Qinghua sits up, catching a glimpse of the dubious, floral liquid inside the cup. “…Why is it so blue?!”
Mobei-Jun frowns, his brows furrowing with concern as he pulls the cup away. “It’s normal tea.”
In all his years of living in Proud Immortal Demon Way, Shang Qinghua has never seen a tea that spontaneously spawns random, blue, dried flowers like that! It’s so obviously not normal
tea! Not anymore, at least! What kind of idiot assassin puts blue shit into a golden-brown colored tea anyway?!
Shang Qinghua groans. “No, my king. This tea isn’t supposed to be blue like that. There is a lot to explain, but I believe your uncle is behind this. You don’t know this but this morning I discovered unknown demons disguised as servants just as we were about to enter court. They were going to attempt to take your life. Which is frankly stupid because none of these low-level demons could possibly dream of getting close enough to leave a scratch on my king!”
Mobei-Jun nods silently. He stands a little straighter, his stature tall. Truly a proud and mighty demon lord. Perfect at every angle. The very definition of his ideal man! If only he could—
Shang Qinghua snaps himself out of his distracted daze. “A-anyway! Soon after that, this servant was walking through the gardens alone, where I was ambushed—"
Outraged, Mobei-Jun bares his fangs. “By who?!” The demon looks ready to charge out of the room and attack the first unfortunate soul he comes across.
Shang Qinghua grabs onto Mobei-Jun’s sleeve. “No, no, my king! It’s fine! This servant has already dealt with those traitors! Please rest assured they won’t bother us again. Allow this servant to…”
A low growl emanating from Mobei-Jun’s throat sends a tingle down Shang Qinghua’s spine, effectively silencing him.
Shang Qinghua retracts his hand from Mobei-Jun’s sleeve as if it had burned him.
“From now on you will no longer refer to yourself as my servant in private,” his king commands.
“Ah, yes, apologies my king. This servant— ah! I mean! Uhm…” Shang Qinghua’s mind short-circuits. How does one speak words again? Help!! “How should this one refer to himself when speaking in private to his king…?”
“Anything but servant.”
Mobei-Jun’s terrifying scowling face has Shang Qinghua feeling a little hot and bothered. “…This lowly one—”
“Enough!” Mobei-Jun stands up, looking about ready to abandon the conversation, and leave the room in a dramatic flair as he usually does. Yet bizarrely, he changes his mind and sits back down, a slight pink flush standing out on his pale skin. “Continue your report.”Shang Qinghua swallows nervously. “This one recently discovered that the tea leaves he keeps in his office had been tampered with. Clearly this is another assassination attempt, but a very poorly executed one.” Shang Qinghua huffs a laugh. “This servant— ah, I mean, this lowly one— bah! My brain is too fucked for this shit today.” Shang Qinghua lays on his back and rests his arm atop his eyes to block out the softly-glowing light emanating from the fireplace across the room. “…Basically, that tea isn’t supposed to be blue and whoever put that blue poisonous shit in there is either an idiot or an asshole. Maybe even both,” he grumbles.
Mobei-Jun makes an almost choking sound. “A what?”
“I said—” Shang Qinghua lifts his arm enough to get a peek at Mobei-Jun’s face, and notices that his ears have turned visibly pink. “My king? What’s wrong?”
Mobei-Jun sulks. “They’re not poisonous. The blue flowers enhance the effects of the tea,” he says defensively. Mobei-Jun clenches tightly onto the now lukewarm cup in his hand, no doubt enraged by Shang Qinghua’s insults. “This king hand picked them himself.” He tries once again to get Shang Qinghua to take the damn tea.
Shang Qinghua pales. “My king… you… added those blue flowers…”
Mobei-Jun is going to MURDER me!!
“I—” Shang Qinghua swallows dryly. “Um!” He tries and fails over and over again to think of something to say, but manages only to repeatedly open and close his mouth like a gasping fish.
Mobei-Jun growls and forcefully shoves the drink into his advisor’s sweaty palms.
Shang Qinghua smiles sheepishly. He bites his tongue, stopping himself from questioning if the petals are actually safe for consumption. “T-Thank you, my king. You have done more to help me than anyone else has today.” He takes a hesitant sip of the lukewarm tea, paying close attention to his body for any changes caused due to a poison, or aphrodisiac. “Huh. It’s so bad,” he mumbles under his breath. Shang Qinghua shrugs, taking another sip before simply gulping down the rest of it.
“It would have been better if you drank it while it was hot,” Mobei-Jun grumbles, lips pursed with irritation. His king steals the empty cup away from Shang Qinghua and disappears through the shadows. This time he is only gone for a few seconds before he reappears, standing beside the bed empty handed. “Does Qinghua feel better yet?”
Shang Qinghua tries his best to ignore the pain and cranes his neck to look up at his king. “No? Not really.”
Mobei-Jun frowns.
“Uhm! I mean! Y-yes…?”
Mobei-Jun’s frown deepens, his brows furrowing with displeasure. “Where does it hurt?”
Unsure of what to do or say to make Mobei-Jun stop glaring at him, Shang Qinghua gives up trying, simply gesturing to his aching head and tired eyes. “It hurts most here, but if I’m being honest it kind of hurts everywhere…”
Shang Qinghua must have said something right for once because Mobei-Jun’s expression finally returns to its natural state. Resting bitch face! Shang Qinghua sure does love to see it during hard times such as these.
After a firm nod and a resolute ‘hmph’, Mobei-Jun reaches for the sash wrapped around his waist and begins to untie it.
“My king…?”
The loose robes start slipping off Mobei-Jun’s shoulder before the sash is even fully undone. “This king will make you feel better,” he says, shrugging off the now fully untied robes and pulling the crystals out of his hair.
HOW IS THIS HELPING??!?!
Heat flares around Shang Qinghua’s face. He jerks up into a sitting position wanting to say something, but is too baffled with the situation to come up with anything comprehensible. Considering the circumstances of his current predicament— sitting in his king’s bed and watching him undress —Shang Qinghua thinks he may even feel a bit lightheaded.
The bed dips as Mobei-Jun sits down. It has Shang Qinghua swaying towards him, like a moth drawn to a flame; except he’s fully aware of the danger and continues onward towards his doom.
Mobei Jun cups Shang Qinghua’s cheek with a refreshingly cold hand, automatically sending a pleasant shiver down Shang Qinghua’s spine at how gentle Mobei-Jun is. “Gentle” and “Mobei-Jun” should not go together in the same sentence! They just don't mesh well together in the melted puddle that is Shang Qinghua’s brain!
That cold hand holds Shang Qinghua steadily, thumb idly stroking back and forth along Shang Qinghua’s very heated skin. On the bright side, it feels… really good.
Shang Qinghua relaxes, letting his eyes fall shut. Just for a little bit. It couldn't hurt. The bed creaks, Mobei-Jun shifts, and suddenly Shang Qinghua is keenly aware of Mobei-Jun’s cool breath fanning across his face.
Did he just move closer? How close is he? What if I lean forward and accidentally press our lips together?
Shang Qinghua goes rigid when Mobei-Jun suddenly starts sliding his hand towards the back of his neck. If this were to go where Shang Qinghua’s filthy mind thinks it is going, he doesn't think he’ll be able to get through this interaction without screeching like a tea kettle. Shang Qinghua blurts out an unsteady “w-wait!!”
Mobei-Jun freezes.
Shang Qinghua squints his eyes open and looks up at his king; Mobei-Jun isn’t quite as close as he thought. Shang Qinghua feels almost disappointed. ”Uhm.” He laughs nervously. “Apologies. This one forgot what he was going to say! But my king is truly doing too much for this ser— for me.” Shang Qinghua shuts his eyes and cuts off his oncoming endless blather. “If my king wishes, h-he may continue now…”
At that, Mobei-Jun slowly— and way too gently —slides his hand to the back of Shang Qinghua’s neck. It feels good. Too good. Shang Qinghua almost lets out a moan but bites his tongue to keep his unruly mouth from making any weird noises.
The cooling sensation works wonders for Shang Qinghua’s poor aching body. If only he could experience the pleasures of having his king’s hands on him more often! Shang Qinghua’s head sways. He tries his best to keep himself from tipping over, to stay awake, but his body feels too heavy of a burden to hold up for much longer.
Mobei-Jun’s hand slides up his neck, through the loose curls of Shang Qinghua’s hair, and cradles the back of his head. He even scrapes his claws against his scalp in the most uncharacteristically gentle and soothing way.
This can’t be real! Did I fall asleep at my desk again?
Shang Qinghua feels his body being pulled towards Mobei-Jun’s chest. The hold his king has on him is pretty loose. He could muster up the strength to break free, freak out, and find an excuse to run away like he normally would, but the problem is that he straight up doesn’t want to. Shang Qinghua absolutely needs his emotional support royal tits right now!
He opens his eyes just a sliver and catches the sight of Mobei-Jun’s chest, just before his head is gently pressed into the soft, cooling skin. Shang Qinghua’s eyes flit shut. He is only vaguely aware of his king’s heart beat in the midst of such euphoric relief from his troubling headache. It's a little bit fast, but steady enough to lull him to sleep. Possibly right now, even. Shang Qinghua tries to suppress a yawn, but he is too weak to stop it as it forces his jaw open and causes his tired eyes to water.
The hand in Shang Qinghua’s hair proceeds to massage his scalp while the other one slides up and down his spine. “Feels good?” Mobei-Jun’s gruff, low voice vibrates in his chest.
Shang Qinghua barely manages a “mhmm…” in his drowsy state.
“Good.” Mobei-Jun massages at Shang Qinghua’s lower back, eliciting a satisfied groan from the cultivator. “Sleep,” he commands.
Shang Qinghua is a simple man. When his king commands him to do something in that specific tone that leaves no room for argument and has him nearly melt into a puddle on sight, he is helpless to obey. Finally, he lets go, and allows his mind to slip into dark, blissful nothingness.
This lasts only for a moment.
Shang Qinghua stirs when he notices his clothes being tugged off. “My king…?” Shang Qinghua says, mouthing the words against Mobei-Jun’s skin.
Mobei-Jun chastises him with a hush, managing to remove Shang Qinghua’s outer robes in the next instant; leaving the cultivator only in his inner robes.
Shang Qinghua leans his head back and cracks one eye open. “Wait! Don't throw my clothes—”
Shang Qinghua speaks up too late. Mobei-Jun had already thrown his outer robe across the room by the time he’d opened his mouth. He sighs, closing his eyes and resting his head against Mobei-Jun’s chest once again. Instantly, Shang Qinghua’s filthy mind goes straight into the gutter. Is this about to play out like how it does in his dreams? Is he about to be ravished?!
Ugh, I’ve been reading too much. Stay in reality, Qinghua!
Mobei-Jun pushes Shang Qinghua gently onto his back, then proceeds to loom over him, his hair cascading past his shoulders and creating a dark, shadowy curtain that blocks out the dim firelight. He presses a hand to Shang Qinghua’s forehead and stares at him intensely with those sharp eyes and unfairly kissable lips. Stares for much longer than necessary, or appropriate for this situation.
Uhm! Reality? Where are you?!
For a brief moment of insanity, Shang Qinghua genuinely considers reaching up to grab Mobei-Jun’s head and pulling him down for a kiss.
Instead, Mobei-Jun pulls away and sits himself at the edge of the bed.
Shang Qinghua’s heart sinks. “Wait! Wait!” He props himself up on his elbows. Desperate to keep Mobei-Jun’s magical healing hands close, and not at all because he harbors inappropriate feelings for his boss, he asks, “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. Lay back down.” Mobei-Jun pulls his boots off and sets them aside. He crawls back into bed, laying down right beside Shang Qinghua, and pulling the sleepy cultivator to lay on top of him, acting as his body pillow. Mobei-Jun squishes Shang Qinghua’s face into his chest with one hand and rests the other at his lower back.
“Wh-wha— ah? Do— do you, uhm! M-my king! I can’t… I shouldn’t…” Shang Qinghua squirms half-heartedly away, and belatedly notices Mobei-Jun’s hands holding him in place. “I-is…” He tucks his face into his king’s chest to hide it from view, whispering, “Is this really okay?”
An affirmative grunt resonates through Mobei-Jun’s chest. “Always.” He lightly pats Shang Qinghua’s head and idly drags a clawed finger up and down along the cultivator’s spine.
“My king?” Shang Qinghua’s eyes flit shut. “Thank y…”
There is a short-lived silence before Shang Qinghua’s soft snoring fills the room.
Mobei-Jun hugs Shang Qinghua a little tighter, taking care not to squeeze his beloved cultivator too hard, and drifts off into a deep sleep of his own.