Work Text:
The scent of drying incense and fresh, damp herbs always clung to the wooden floorboards of Puqi Shrine, a peaceful backdrop that usually soothed Xie Lian’s mind. Today, however, the small cottage was filled with a very specific, incredibly exhausting brand of spiritual melodrama.
On the woven mat before the altar lay E-Ming. The cursed scimitar’s single, ruby-red eye was squeezed entirely shut, its long silver hilt trembling with pathetic, rhythmic shudders that made a terrible clattering sound against the wood. It was throwing a tantrum. A massive, world-ending tantrum.
"E-Ming, please," Xie Lian sighed softly, kneeling beside the weapon. He dipped a corner of a soft white cloth into a small dish of specialized spiritual oil, leaning over the blade with the gentle, infinite patience of a mother tending to a sick child. "San Lang didn't mean it. You know how he is. He was just teasing you."
The moment the name San Lang left his lips, the crimson eye snapped open. It rolled wildly upward, its slit pupil darting toward the closed front door of the shrine, narrowing into a sharp glare that clearly communicated: He absolutely meant it, and I hate him.
Xie Lian let out a helpless, airy laugh, reaching down to stroke the flat of the metal blade as if it were the soft fur of a wounded puppy. "I know, I know. He shouldn't have said it. But you shouldn't refuse your routine oiling just because he called you a useless scrap of unpolished kitchen iron. He was just in a foul mood this morning."
The scimitar vibrated harder, a tiny, high-pitched whine emanating from the steel. It tilted itself, pressing its hilt into Xie Lian’s palm, begging for sympathy, practically weeping into the god's hand. Xie Lian’s heart melted, completely unable to withhold affection from anything that looked so utterly miserable. "There, there. You are a wonderful divine weapon. The best in the Ghost City. Let me just finish the left side of the hilt, and then—"
Before Xie Lian could finish the sentence, the air behind him shifted. The temperature didn't drop, but a sudden, overwhelming wave of familiar, heavy warmth enveloped him from behind.
Before he could even register the chime of silver bells, two strong, red-silk-clad arms wrapped securely around his waist. The grip was firm and unyielding, pinning Xie Lian’s elbows flat against his ribs and effectively cutting off his line of care to the weeping scimitar.
Curse you, you stupid hunk of metal, Hua Cheng thought with absolute, icy disdain, staring over Xie Lian’s shoulder at his own weapon. His single dark eye narrowed, sending a silent, terrifying aura of malice directly at the blade.
E-Ming immediately froze. The crimson eye widened in absolute horror, and the entire scimitar began to rattle violently against the floorboards in a mix of outrage and pure fear. But Hua Cheng completely ignored it. The terrifying Ghost King instantly melted, burying his face into the soft crook of Xie Lian’s neck with a low, theatrical whine that sounded entirely like a pouting, spoiled fox.
"Gege," Hua Cheng murmured, his voice a silky, low rumble that vibrated right against the sensitive skin of Xie Lian’s throat. "San Lang has been standing right outside, waiting for his beloved to look at him for a whole shichen. Why is Gege giving all his precious, beautiful gaze to a stupid hunk of metal?"
"S-San Lang," Xie Lian gasped slightly, his cheeks instantly flushing a delicate, burning pink. The sudden proximity always did this to him, making his breath catch in his throat. He tried to turn his head to look at his fiancé, but Hua Cheng’s grip was locked tight, anchoring Xie Lian’s back flush against his broad, solid chest.
Worse—or perhaps entirely too well—Hua Cheng’s hands didn't stay still.
With the agonizing, deliberate slowness of a sly fox cornering its absolute favorite prey, those large, pale hands began to move. His long, elegant fingers lightly traced the outer sides of Xie Lian’s thighs, dragging upward through the heavy layers of his white Daoist robes. The touch was feather-light but intensely distracting, a slow, torturous path that traced the curve of his hips, moving steadily up his ribcage, leaving a trail of intense goosebumps in their wake.
Xie Lian’s breath hitched completely, his hands trembling over the oil cloth. He was entirely whipped, completely helpless against the sensory onslaught of his standard-issue, devastatingly handsome ghost. It had been exactly two weeks since Hua Cheng had returned from the dead—two weeks since a breathless, tearful proposal had been exchanged beneath the stars—and Xie Lian still hadn't built up a single shred of immunity to Hua Cheng's touch.
"S-San Lang... please, stop wriggling," Xie Lian pleaded, his voice dropping to a breathless whisper. "E-Ming is right there... he can see you..."
"Let him look. Maybe he’ll finally learn his place," Hua Cheng whispered back. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of Xie Lian’s ear before he nipped playfully at the soft skin of his earlobe, making the martial god shudder from head to toe. "Gege is terribly, terribly cruel today. We have only been engaged for two short weeks, and already my soon-to-be husband is neglecting me for a sword. If Gege is already bored of my face, San Lang will simply have to wither away into dust from sheer loneliness."
The sheer, ridiculous drama of a Supreme Ghost King—the feared Crimson Rain Sought Flower, the terror of the Heavenly Realm—claiming he would "wither away" over a few minutes of missed attention would have made anyone else laugh. But Xie Lian wasn't anyone else. His heart simply turned into a puddle of pure, unadulterated affection. He knew exactly what Hua Cheng was doing. It was a flawless, manipulative, utterly cute routine. Hua Cheng knew his own power; he knew that playing the pitiful, lonely creature was the ultimate weapon against a god who lived to protect.
And Xie Lian fell for it every single time, with absolute joy.
"I am not neglecting you," Xie Lian pleaded softly, entirely giving up the fight. He let his spine turn to water, leaning back fully into the sturdy embrace, sighing happily as Hua Cheng’s hands finally stopped their teasing ascent, resting just beneath his chest to hold him tight. "I could never be bored of you, San Lang. You know that. I could look at you for ten thousand years and still want more."
"I don't know it," Hua Cheng countered shamelessly, his tone entirely like a pampered fox demanding treats, digging his chin softly into Xie Lian's shoulder. "Prove it to me, Gege. Put down the cloth. Choose me."
With a defeated, deeply adoring smile, Xie Lian dropped the polishing cloth back into the dish. He reached down, placing his smaller, warm hands over Hua Cheng’s pale ones, tracing the intricate silver butterflies engraved on his fiancé's vambraces.
"There," Xie Lian whispered, tilting his head back as far as it would go to meet Hua Cheng’s gaze.
The single eye that had just been glaring death and damnation at E-Ming a second ago instantly transformed. The moment it met Xie Lian's, it overflowed with an ocean of soft, rapturous, terrifyingly deep devotion. The sly fox had won his prize.
"The cloth is down," Xie Lian said softly, his voice thick with affection. "My hands are yours. My eyes are yours. Satisfied, my handsome San Lang?"
Hua Cheng’s lips curved into a triumphant, devastatingly charming smile, his white teeth flashing dark amusement. With a swift, casual flick of his heavy red boot, he kicked E-Ming right across the floorboards. The clattering, weeping scimitar went sliding entirely under the heavy wooden cot, completely hidden from sight. Before Xie Lian could even protest the abuse of the poor weapon, Hua Cheng scooped him entirely into his arms, lifting him effortlessly and settling the god right into his lap.
"Extremely satisfied," Hua Cheng purred, burying his face deep into Xie Lian’s soft hair, breathing in the scent of him. "Now, Gege owes me at least two hours of uninterrupted cuddles to make up for all this lost time."
Xie Lian wrapped his arms tightly around his fiancé’s neck, hiding his burning, happy face against the cool red silk, utterly content to let the rest of the three realms burn while he spoiled his favorite ghost.