The puppies have never seen snow before. They’re little lapdogs with curly coats, small enough even when fully grown to be picked up in the crook of an arm. When Nie Huaisang lets them loose in one of his courtyards they spring around, intrigued enough by the texture of this unfamiliar substance to brave the cold of it on their soft paws. Most of their lives thus far have been spent puttering around Nie Huaisang’s sitting rooms or napping on cushions; they haven’t had to develop much hardiness.

The Unclean Realms are predisposed to harsh winters. It snows every year, yet the first fall always takes Nie Huaisang by surprise, and this year the sky turned white almost immediately after Jiang Cheng arrived. Since waking this morning, all of the roofs and uncovered corridors have been covered in a thick layer of snow that muffles the coming and goings of Qinghe Nie. Nie Huaisang had dragged out his daily tasks as long as he could, but by midday he tired of wasting his own time and took pity on Jiang Cheng, who was, after all, promised some dogs.

When Nie Huaisang was a child, snowfall always seemed to cushion them inside the valley. It was a time for huddling under blankets and forgetting about the outside world until the sky cleared. As he got older, he realized the dead are impervious to cold, and resentful spirits are as happy to stir trouble for the living in a blizzard as on a sunny day. In a cultivation sect, the only ones for whom snow means leisure are children and the very spoiled, of which he was both.

There’s a group of five or six of the younger juniors tossing snowballs at one another on the other side of the courtyard, and when they notice the puppies yapping, they come over to investigate. They give Nie Huaisang nods and quickly murmured “Zongzhu”-s before bending to introduce themselves to the dogs snuffling through the snow.

“Your disciples are very familiar,” Jiang Cheng mutters loudly, and the children’s heads whip up. They clearly hadn’t noticed he was there, or at least not put together who he was, and they’re so stricken at the sight of him that Nie Huaisang wonders if one of them might faint. But no; they straighten, make proper reverences to Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng, and then beat hasty retreats.

“You have an intimidating face, Jiang-xiong. Watch where you point it. I think my juniors thought you were going to eat them.”

Snow still falls lazily, though the clouds have tired themselves out. Flakes catch in Jiang Cheng’s hair, and his cheeks are pink with cold. “Did you forget I raised a child myself?”

Nie Huaisang hums and pushes his hands further into his sleeves. “Do you find things too quiet at Lotus Pier, now that your nephew is all grown up?”

Jiang Cheng makes a noncommittal sound. “There’s always work to be done.”

“You don’t find it hard, doing it all on your own?”

“I’ve made it this far.”

Jiang Cheng is wrapped in a dark cloak against the white backdrop of the courtyard. The colours, his scowl—for a sweetly painful moment, they remind Nie Huaisang of da-ge. “Yes, you have, haven’t you?” The sentimentality leaks into Nie Huaisang’s voice, so he coughs, and adds, “I’ve wondered if you’re going to start looking for a Jiang-furen. I know you’ve had some trouble with matchmakers, ah, but there’s still hope, right?” Nie Huaisang lifts his hands to his face to rub feeling back into his cheeks. “I’ll think if I know any nice girls. What were your requirements, again? You had lofty standards. Naturally pretty, from a good family, not too talkative—there were definitely more than that, but it’s been so long—”

“What, so I should just take the first unmarried woman I see?” He looks disdainful, but the tips of Jiang Cheng’s ears are as pink as his cheeks. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Have you even spoken to matchmakers?”

“No, I can't say I have. Tell me, what kind of wife should I look for? I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Jiang Cheng furrows his brow, like he’s really giving this some thought, which makes Nie Huaisang laugh. “To tell you the truth, I think I just don’t like the idea of having someone in my house. What happens if you want a little peace and quiet?”

“The point of marriage isn’t to get whatever you want.”

“Then it sounds like I’m better off avoiding it for as long as I can.”

He’s sure that if Jiang Cheng had the necessary high-ground he would say something scathing about how Nie Huaisang is shirking his filial obligations, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t, on this score, so Jiang Cheng responds with a sour frown instead. The impact is tempered by the way he pulls off one of his gloves and kneels in the snow to let the dogs greet his fingers with their slobbery little mouths.

Nie Huaisang kneels beside him and picks up one of the puppies, which he deposits in his own lap. It turns around in circles, looking for the most comfortable way to tuck itself against his robes for warmth. “Do you really plan on doing this forever?”

“Doing what?”

He gestures around them at the courtyard, now empty but for the two of them. “All this. Sect leadership. Don’t you get tired?”

“There’s no one else to do it.”

“Well, it’s different for you. You always knew this would be your life.”

“Hasn’t twenty years been long enough for you to get used to it?”

“I’m afraid not. You know me, I try not to think further ahead than next week.” Nie Huaisang hums. “So, what do you think of my dogs?”

Jiang Cheng picks the nearest puppy up by the scruff and lifts it to eye-level, supporting its feet with his other hand. He checks its inner ears and the composition of its paws, and sticks his finger into its mouth to feel along its teeth and gums. The puppy doesn’t struggle much, besides a little perfunctory wiggling. Its tail thumps against the heel of Jiang Cheng’s hand.

“Toy breeds are a waste. Dogs are meant to be working animals.” He carefully lowers it to the ground, and it runs off his palm to rejoin its siblings.

Nie Huaisang has always been fond of animals, but the baying, sinewy hounds they keep for hunting used to frighten him as a child; he’d run by the kennels as not to get barked at, though he eventually figured out that sudden movements just made them bark more. Jiang Cheng shares a tendency with that kind: single-minded and tireless, sleek and dangerous. Easily startled and ready to snap at nothing.

“I bet they could catch some rats if they were hungry. It’s my fault for spoiling them.” The puppy in Nie Huaisang’s lap begins to gently gnaw at his finger. “But isn’t it enough just to look cute and be good company?”

Before long, the dogs start to shiver, and Nie Huaisang scoops them up and takes them inside to be passed off to their keeper. This leaves him with Jiang Cheng in tow and nowhere pressing that they’re needed to be, and Nie Huaisang takes them on one of the quieter routes back to the inner recesses of the Unclean Realms, following paths tamped into the snow by earlier travelers.

“What else would you do, then?”

“What?”

“If you were no longer the head of the sect.”

Nie Huaisang looks away from Jiang Cheng to the ground ahead of him to better watch his footing. He lifts his arms a little for balance, in case he slips on a patch of ice on the stone. He wonders whether Jiang Cheng would catch him. He should hope so; Jiang Cheng came all this way to visit him, and the least he can do is put his sword strength to use.

“Oh, you know. Sleep in until midday and paint all afternoon.”

“It seems as though you already have plenty of time for leisure.”

They’ve reached the parting of the ways, the fork in the corridor where the guest wing diverges from the hallway to the inner family’s chambers. Nie Huaisang could make all sorts of excuses, either genuine or false, about the things he unfortunately must attend to rather than spend more time with Jiang Cheng. Were their positions reversed, he can’t imagine Jiang Cheng would clear a day to do nothing but enjoy Nie Huaisang’s company. At least, he couldn’t have imagined it before this week. It seems to be exactly what has happened.

“Do I? It feels like I’m always so busy, but I’m sure you have it worse.”

Jiang Cheng meets his eyes; he studies Nie Huaisang with a curious expression. Disdain or suspicion, he would have expected, but this is something else, and Jiang Cheng doesn’t look away when caught.

His pulse skitters, and the pattering of Nie Huaisang’s feet quickens. “You work too hard. You always have. It’s good that you came to see me. I can teach you the secrets to living a lazy life. Come, Jiang-xiong, let’s go warm ourselves up a little.”

Nie Huaisang props his face in his palm. “You know, I’ve always wondered what you did to get blacklisted.”

Jiang Cheng huffs, but doesn’t turn around. When they made it back to Nie Huaisang’s room, he’d insisted on preparing the tea, for some reason. “Do you interrogate all your guests?”

“You invited yourself to my home, so I can be a little more casual, don’t you think?” Jiang Cheng’s hair is frizzy from the wind and his cheeks are rosy from the cold. He sets the teapot on the tabletop with a faint tap. Nie Huaisang continues. “I have theories, though.”

Jiang Cheng smiles mirthlessly, even as he busies himself with pouring. “If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.”

“I’ve given it a lot of thought over the years, if you can believe it. You’re wealthy, and handsome, and a war hero—not like me, I’ve never accomplished a thing in my life—so it must have been really something, and I’ve wondered—why? I’ve seen you do politics, you can be polite enough.”

Unlike in the winter air outside, within his bedroom Nie Huaisang can unfurl his fan without being hit by cold. The paper flutters back and forth, regular as a heartbeat, and he notes that Jiang Cheng’s eyes are on his wrist, where the skin peeks out from the sleeve.

“I didn’t realize you had such an interest in my private affairs. There’s so much we don’t know about you, isn’t there, Nie-zongzhu?”

Nie Huaisang hums. “I’m just nosy. But can I tell you my theory?”

“Why bother asking? You’re going to tell me anyway.”

“My theory is that you want to get scolded.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Jiang Cheng lets out a pissy little laugh. “I don’t know why anyone listens to a thing you say.”

“They don’t, really.” Nie Huaisang leans a little closer to him across the table. “But you know, I think if you told them upfront, there must be some ladies who would be willing to tell you off. It’s only rude to spring it on them unawares.”

“You are unbelievable.” Jiang Cheng has one hand laid flat on the table, and his fingers keep flexing and releasing. Nie Huaisang wonders whether he’s conscious of it.

Nie Huaisang doesn’t have alcohol to blame for his actions, this time, which is perhaps poor planning on his part, but he’s having fun, so he jabs the air with his fan, stopping short of Jiang Cheng’s chest. “It’s good for me to know these things, you know, if you came here looking for something in particular.”

Jiang Cheng goes still. Blank apprehension plays out on his face, and then he looks down into his cup of tea as though the leaves will offer him some guidance.

When Jiang Cheng seems in no hurry to respond, Nie Huaisang takes a few noisy sips of his own to fill the silence with something irritating, and it works as intended—Jiang Cheng’s head jerks back up, and he asks, in a rigid tone, “What are you offering?”

Nie Huaisang takes a leisurely sip, but he left his tea untouched too long; it’s lukewarm and bitter on the tongue. He sets it down and then shuffles, on his knees, around the table.

Jiang Cheng shrinks backwards, leaning on his elbows, seemingly shying away from Nie Huaisang’s approach but not, in fact, meaningfully removing himself from the situation at all—and what would a cultivator like Sandu Shengshou have to fear from a weakling like Nie Huaisang, in any case?

“Have you had your fill of gawking?”

Nie Huaisang blinks. “Is that what I’m doing?”

When Jiang Cheng first pulled his shirt off, Nie Huaisang had momentarily frowned, but it had been out of honest confusion. Soon after, he’d remembered the gist of the rumours about Jiang Cheng’s treatment at the hands of the punishment whip. They’re the only scars Nie Huaisang can see on Jiang Cheng’s body, which isn’t surprising. Jiang Cheng doesn’t strike him as the kind to have earned many beatings as a child.

“I know they’re ugly. You don’t need to spare my feelings.”

“I would never spare your feelings,” Nie Huaisang says, sincerely.

Funny, that Jiang Cheng should be ashamed of the way his body looks in current company; da-ge would’ve wept if Nie Huaisang ever managed to get half this toned. Some scars bravely acquired in wartime can’t negate that.

“Aren’t you going to undress?”

“No patience these days,” Nie Huaisang replies. He feels amiable. He’s not sure why he put this off; what was he afraid of? Jiang Cheng thinking less of him for being easy? Nie Huaisang hasn’t been afraid of anyone thinking that in ages, and as it turns out, angle Jiang Cheng the right way and he’ll roll over like a log in the river.

Jiang Cheng is fully naked while Nie Huaisang is clothed. It’s a luxurious feeling. Jiang Cheng hasn’t managed to put aside his self-consciousness; he watches Nie Huaisang like a puppy beseeching him for a pat. Nie Huaisang runs a hand down Jiang Cheng’s chest, feeling the scar tissue without lingering, and though Jiang Cheng shifts at the touch, he doesn’t bat his hand away. They’ve done this once—no, twice now, and each time, Nie Huaisang has been pleasantly surprised by the things Jiang Cheng will put up with without much more than token protest.

“Have you always been like this?”

With a lift of his chin, and in a tone as if each word physically pains him, Jiang Cheng replies, “I’m not like anything.”

Oh, good grief, Nie Huaisang wasn’t asking Jiang Cheng whether he thinks of himself as a cutsleeve. Nie Huaisang couldn’t care less, and he’s pretty sure he knows the answer—the fact Jiang Cheng is currently naked in another sect leader’s bedroom notwithstanding. He means the rest of it: the way he blushes and squirms like a man half his age. Jiang Cheng makes it impossible to tell between his shame and his arousal, since they appear to be the same thing.

“Of course, of course not. I guess what I should’ve asked is, what have you liked, with other people?”

He wonders what, exactly, Jiang Cheng told himself he was coming for when he left Yunmeng for Qinghe. When they’d fooled around years ago, they were in Nie Huaisang’s bedroom, like they are now; Nie Huaisang kept his old rooms even after becoming sect leader, and left da-ge’s empty. The blowjob itself had been graceless and breathless; Nie Huaisang had pretended more experience than he had, while Jiang Cheng was clearly out of his depth. It had been the least intimidating Nie Huaisang had ever seen Jiang Cheng since Wei Wuxian died, so he’d wondered, even at the time, if he was the first person to ever have Jiang Cheng at all. But there must have been something since; if Jiang-zongzhu had a reputation for noteworthy vice, Nie Huaisang would know, but there are varying levels of permissibility, and Jiang Cheng is a powerful man. He’s more than capable of keeping things discreet.

“What do you mean?”

Nie Huaisang laughs. “There have been others, haven’t there?”

Jiang Cheng looks at him balefully, his complexion growing more ashen by the moment, and Nie Huaisang’s breath catches.

Jiang Cheng is rich and handsome; one of the two is usually enough to bring a man as many dalliances as he would like, let alone both. If a bad personality was a suitable deterrent, the gentry would’ve gone extinct long ago. Nie Huaisang knows that his equipment is functional; there’s no impotence plaguing Yunmeng Jiang’s bloodline, only its sect leader’s apparent lack of interest in finding himself a wife—or perhaps only exacting tastes and insufficient knowledge to act on them, at least until recently?—Nie Huaisang had meant it as a joke, earlier—

“Oh, I didn’t realize—Am I really the only one?” Quickly, he adds, “Not that I’m not touched, but I wouldn’t have left you in such a long dry spell, if I’d known. You should’ve asked!”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Nie Huaisang doesn’t know what to say to that, so he moves on. A cursory look reveals Jiang Cheng is already half-hard. Nie Huaisang folds his hands in his own lap and watches Jiang Cheng’s gaze follow them in a way Nie Huaisang would describe as—hmm.

“Would you get on your hands and knees?”

He’s expecting it to be an effort in persuasion, but after a long moment, as if he’s expecting Nie Huaisang to laugh and say he was only joking, Jiang Cheng presses his eyes shut and does as he's told.

Nie Huaisang withdraws the fan tucked into his belt and runs the tip of it up the line of Jiang Cheng’s spine, tracing the curve of his back, before following it with the flat of his other hand. He touches him as dispassionately as he can manage. He thinks of Jiang Cheng evaluating Nie Huaisang’s dogs, and from there, of Nie Huaisang’s own memories of being a child and watching his father in the stockyard, talking to the butchers while running his hands over animals’ flanks.

When his hand reaches Jiang Cheng’s neck, Nie Huaisang grips a loose fistful of his hair just to watch him shudder before letting it go. When he takes his hand away, Jiang Cheng lifts his head, for a moment, to follow the touch.

Nie Huaisang tips Jiang Cheng’s chin up with the end of his fan and ignores his piteous eyes. Instead, Nie Huaisang raises his free hand and presses two fingertips against Jiang Cheng’s lips. After a moment’s prodding, Jiang Cheng parts his mouth, and Nie Huaisang slides his fingers over his tongue, his gums, his teeth, as if searching for defects. The longer that Jiang Cheng keeps his mouth open, the more saliva pools around his fingers. He can feel as much as hear the ragged quality of Jiang Cheng’s breath.

Nie Huaisang considers making an arch comment about Jiang Cheng’s good breeding, but he doesn’t know if he could say it without making himself laugh. He pulls his hand away and wipes his fingers dry on Jiang Cheng’s ribcage; Jiang Cheng shivers.

Jiang Cheng has so much skin on display that Nie Huaisang can’t decide where to look, let alone where to put his hands or his mouth. There’s a freckle on his stomach; unfair, to keep something so cute hidden away under his clothes when he didn’t even have anyone looking underneath. Even better, there’s one on the inner cleft of his ass. He might not even know it’s there, and if that’s the case, who does? Surely this is exclusive information held by childhood bathmates, his physician, and now Nie Huaisang.

“Do you remember what we talked about, last time?”

“Be more specific.”

“I mean, what it was I said when you came. I think we were talking about your ass. Does that help?”

Jiang Cheng makes a noise so affronted it’s as though he hadn’t come all this way for this very thing. As if Nie Huaisang hadn’t already teased him about this once, to bombastic effect.

“You seemed interested back then. I was just thinking out loud, I didn’t think it was going to be what made you—”

“Do you have a point?”

“I think I want to put my fingers in you. That’s all, nothing scary. Would you like that?”

Jiang Cheng is so taut. Every bit of him. He’ll need to relax a lot more than that, if they are, in fact going to do this, but he seems so unwilling to bend, unable to even answer so straightforward a question, that Nie Huaisang’s heart thaws, and he leans in close to Jiang Cheng’s ear. Maybe it’s easier for him if he doesn’t feel like he’s being watched.

“You can just nod or shake your head, if that’s better,” Nie Huaisang murmurs. The sound is muffled by their hair, so it comes out sounding softer than he intended.

Jiang Cheng gives a jerky nod that Nie Huaisang feels rather than sees.

“Have you ever done it to yourself?”

One shake: no.

“So it would be the first time anything’s been inside you?”

Yes.

Nie Huaisang lays one of his palms over one of Jiang Cheng’s fists. They’re sun-roughened and strong, with prominent knuckles. “I’ve done it lots, so you’d be in good hands. If you don’t like it, I won’t make fun. It’s just that I think you might.” After a moment’s consideration, he adds, “And I’d like to see it.”

One heartbeat, two, five, and Jiang Cheng mutters in a voice scorched with embarrassment, “Fine.”

Nie Huaisang smiles, and wonders whether Jiang Cheng can feel it against his face.

He strokes his thumb over the back of Jiang Cheng’s hand before straightening up.

Nie Huaisang doesn’t want to scare Jiang Cheng away; he doesn’t plan to make a habit of these encounters, but he likes to keep his options open, and Jiang Cheng’s virgin ass is a once-in-a-lifetime event! He should make the most of it. Nie Huaisang runs his palm over the length of Jiang Cheng’s spine to the small of his back, resting there for a moment, hoping the message comes across—stay where you are, I’ve got it all in hand—before getting up to scan the room for something suitable.

When he returns to Jiang Cheng’s side, Nie Huaisang settles in; he picks up his skirts enough to kneel without getting tangled whenever he rises again, and sets his fan on the floor next to him with a gentle, metallic clack.

He wouldn’t actually go at it with spit alone, like some kind of barbarian, but the temptation is too strong to avoid reaching out and turning Jiang Cheng’s face toward him once again in order to tap his cheek. “Open up.”

Jiang Cheng glares at him reproachfully, but does as he’s been bid, and Nie Huaisang slides his first two fingers across Jiang Cheng’s tongue once more. “Can you get them wet for me? You’ll be glad you did.”

Once he retracts his hand, he tucks his sleeves up out of the way of stray grease stains before pouring oil into his palm. “Jiang-xiong, your ass is so cute,” Nie Huaisang murmurs, and pushes a slick finger inside Jiang Cheng with gentle relentlessness.

It is cute. There’s not much of it to speak of, really, but his thighs are as muscular as would be expected, and Nie Huaisang finds himself delighted by the sight of Jiang Cheng’s flat little ass, so bony and pale and tentatively, hopefully quivering, as he once again fails to keep his reactions in check.

Nie Huaisang doesn’t usually take on the active role; he’s never liked vigorous exercise. Even so, he feels almost relaxed; he sits stationary, except for where his finger is pressing slowly deeper into Jiang Cheng. It would be easier, ergonomically, if he was kneeling behind Jiang Cheng instead of by his side, but then he wouldn’t be able to see his face, which is the best part. He’s not even really fucking him in the sense of putting much effort into it with his arm, but Jiang Cheng is clearly unused to the sensation and wholly unprepared.

“It’s weird the first time, right? That’s okay, everyone’s got to start somewhere. But you’re lucky my fingers are small. I’ve got some things stored away that would make anyone cry, I think—Oh, don’t look so afraid, I’m not going to get up.” He’s not sure where his words are coming from; they’re just tumbling out of him.

“You’re a pervert.” This accusation loses some of its ferocity when Jiang Cheng lets out a barely-suppressed ah immediately after speaking, and Nie Huaisang can see his arms tremble where he’s holding himself up on white-knuckled fists. He has the most hard-done-by look on his face, as though he can’t believe he’s found himself so cruelly used.

“Am I? I thought I was being very nice to you.”

Nie Huaisang starts nudging his entrance with the tip of his second finger, and he can’t miss the fluttering of Jiang Cheng’s eyelids as his eyes roll up in his head. It’s almost enough to make Nie Huaisang feel sorry for him, so he adds, “You’re doing great. You take it really well.”

It’s a matter of perspective; Jiang Cheng’s hole is so tight that they’d be here all evening if Nie Huaisang was going to fuck him with anything beside his hand, but he doesn’t plan on it, and there’s no rush; even if the snow has stopped coming down, it’s already getting dark out, and Jiang Cheng won’t be able to head back to Lotus Pier until the next day.

He can imagine what this feels like. The first few times he was getting fucked on someone else’s fingers, he’d been taken aback by how much more intense it was to not be able to predict the way they’d move. The longer he looks at Jiang Cheng on all fours, the more lurid the possibilities in his mind become. It’s flattering, the trust Jiang Cheng seems to have in Nie Huaisang to guide him through this; for all his grumbling, he hasn’t put up so much as a token resistance all evening. Jiang Cheng arches his back, pressing against Nie Huaisang’s hand. He supposes that Jiang Cheng has no way of knowing that Nie Huaisang’s hardly any more experienced than Jiang Cheng is, in terms of being the one to take charge. Nie Huaisang knows what he is, and he knows what he has going for him in bed: a cute face, an empty head, and a lack of shame. He couldn’t say what Jiang Cheng thinks of him in any other circumstance, though he can make some guesses, but he doubts that Nie Huaisang’s lack of shame is what Jiang Cheng is preoccupied with at the moment, as Jiang Cheng struggles and fails not to make a show of himself.

As Jiang Cheng gets better at letting him in, the movements of Nie Huaisang’s fingers are becoming less focused and more hurried. It doesn’t matter how brittle a person is; everyone is soft and giving in here. Jiang Cheng is so warm inside. Nie Huaisang leans back a little and tilts his head, looking underneath Jiang Cheng to where he’s still valiantly supporting himself on hands and knees, and sees that Jiang Cheng is fully hard. And to think that Nie Huaisang hasn’t touched his cock for him once since all this began! He’s really too vital.

“I think you could come on my fingers, but my hand is getting tired, so I might help you along.” He ghosts the fingertips of his free hand over Jiang Cheng’s side, across his stomach, and skims them down the length of Jiang Cheng’s length before taking it in his grip.

The fingers of his other hand, inside Jiang Cheng’s ass have slowed their movements. Nie Huaisang is absolutely not coordinated enough to manage both of these kinds of motions at the same time, but he makes sure to keep pushing them in and out whenever he has the presence of mind to think about anything but how slick Jiang Cheng’s cock is, would you believe he hardly needs lubricant at all, and Nie Huaisang is about to say something about it when he brushes his palm over the head of Jiang Cheng’s cock on one of the first gentle strokes. Jiang Cheng’s frame locks in a moment of tension that Nie Huaisang almost doesn’t recognize as an orgasm until he’s spending in pulses over Nie Huaisang’s hand.

He laughs out of shock. Jiang Cheng makes a low, anguished sound that seems to rumble through his bones, and then sags on his elbows. Nie Huaisang flexes his fingers inside Jiang Cheng’s ass once, to remind him how he got here, and then withdraws them. Both of Nie Huaisang’s hands are a mess of oil and come, and when he scoots back a little, Nie Huaisang sees that his beautiful floor is wet, too.

Nie Huaisang tuts his tongue. “Oh no. You’re not going to make any Jiang heirs like that.”

Jiang Cheng turns his head back enough to look Nie Huaisang in the eye. Nie Huaisang expects him to look stricken, and it's not that he doesn’t, but his mouth is slack and flushed. His hair is in disarray. Instead of anger or shame, the look on his face is closer to relief. It’s so easy to do this to him, it turns out; easier than Nie Huaisang would’ve dreamed possible. He wants to keep pushing until the tension peaks and snaps back on his hand. Until he manages to earn Jiang Cheng’s genuine disgust, Nie Huaisang doesn’t know how he’ll get his own curiosity to subside.

He sighs and draws his come-slick fingers, the ones that had been on Jiang Cheng’s cock, through the mess on the hardwood. “And look what you’ve done to my floor! I hope you plan on cleaning up after yourself.”

Nie Huaisang extends his hand to Jiang Cheng’s face and lifts his eyebrows. It’s a joke-suggestion, almost entirely. Jiang Cheng’s mouth is going to curl, he’s going to reel backward and put on a performance of his disdain, and everything will return to its usual rhythm until, maybe, the next time their paths cross at a conference when they have an evening to waste.

Jiang Cheng squeezes his eyes shut, steeling himself, and leans forward enough to part his lips for Nie Huaisang’s fingers. He licks them clean obediently, like a dog.

The floor of Nie Huaisang’s stomach falls through. Jiang Cheng’s eyelashes fan out like crow’s wings against his cheek. The curl of his tongue is hot and the slightest bit rough. Nie Huaisang is so turned on that he thinks he’d fall over if he stood up too quickly. Oh, Jiang-xiong, it’s so sad you went so long without this. You’re a natural talent.

When Nie Huaisang returns from washing his hands, Jiang Cheng is still kneeling on the floor, though he’s sitting up, better to target Nie Huaisang with wide, cowish eyes which make it obvious that Jiang Cheng wants to know what Nie Huaisang thought but can’t bring himself to ask.

Nie Huaisang feels quite fond of him at the moment, so he can indulge him by stretching a pleasant evening out a little longer. He whispers against the shell of Jiang Cheng’s ear, “There are nicer places in my room than the ground, you know.”

Jiang Cheng shudders, perhaps at the sensation of Nie Huaisang’s breath, but he nods. When Nie Huaisang extends his hand, Jiang Cheng takes it. His legs look satisfyingly quaky.

“Come on, then,” Nie Huaisang says, and he steers Jiang Cheng over to a settee. It’s a tight fit for two, but the only alternative is Nie Huaisang’s bed, which might give Jiang Cheng the wrong idea about what they’re doing here. Jiang Cheng goes loose and pliable when manhandled, which is not due to any reserves of Nie Huaisang’s own strength; Jiang Cheng is letting himself be arranged. Nie Huaisang doesn’t shove hard, but Jiang Cheng goes down on the couch, and before either of them can overthink things, Nie Huaisang follows him.

At first, Nie Huaisang sits upright with his legs tucked under himself while Jiang Cheng half-sprawls against the armrest, but it’s not very comfortable to be folded up like a dumpling, so Nie Huaisang shifts until they’re squished together, side-by-side, with, in practice, Jiang Cheng bearing most of his body weight. He’s tough. Nie Huaisang doesn’t have to feel bad about it. In order for them both to fit, their legs slot together, and one of Jiang Cheng's thighs ends up between Nie Huaisang’s. It demands his attention whenever either of them shifts around. He wants to press closer into it; he wants to shy away.

Nie Huaisang isn’t sure whether he ought to fold his hands primly together or embrace the circumstance by pawing at Jiang Cheng’s chest. They flutter before Nie Huaisang settles his grasp on Jiang Cheng’s shoulders.

Resting precariously across Jiang Cheng’s frame, Nie Huaisang is more aware than he’s been all evening of how much smaller his own body is, but the feeling dissipates when Jiang Cheng tilts his head back to look at him, eyes blown out, throat vulnerable and exposed. He wonders if Jiang Cheng is going to kiss him. Nie Huaisang likes to kiss, if it’s idle kissing for kissing’s sake; it’s fun. Leisurely. Nie Huaisang’s never met anyone less leisurely than Jiang Cheng, but right now Jiang Cheng feels good. He’s warm all over, pliant, damp with sweat.

Nie Huaisang leans closer, and his hair falls around their faces like a screen shielding them from consequences—and what consequences are those, anyway? Nothing sufficient to move him, compared to the persuasive counter-argument that is the way Jiang Cheng’s eyes look: attractively glassy. He looks like he’s barely holding himself back from nosing at Nie Huaisang’s cheek. Nie Huaisang hasn’t had anyone look at him with this much desire in a long time. He hasn’t had anyone look at him with this kind of desire maybe ever.

Jiang Cheng wouldn’t admit that he likes any of this, but the evidence is not in his favour. He let Nie Huaisang feed him his own come off of the floor. Now Nie Huaisang is considering letting said floor-come-tongue into his own mouth, and is not repelled by this prospect in the slightest.

Nie Huaisang hooks his arm around the back of Jiang Cheng’s neck and leans in the rest of the way.

Jiang Cheng is, predictably, a bad kisser, but it’s not hard to improve with a little instruction. He’s so tractable and tender that it’s easy for Nie Huaisang to mould him with a few tsk-ing comments and rearrangements of his limbs. He likes this inexperience, this freshness. It’s rare for Nie Huaisang to teach anyone anything, and his body is maintaining a steady hum of satisfaction. His hips are moving of their own volition in circles against Jiang Cheng’s thigh; he’d be more embarrassed by this if Jiang Cheng wasn’t letting out startled, pleased noises every time Nie Huaisang brushes their tongues together. If Nie Huaisang’s legs keep spreading wider, present company is in no position to hold it against him.

Whatever seal came loose earlier in the evening from Jiang Cheng’s determination never to enjoy himself has not yet come back into place. Jiang Cheng’s already gotten off, but he seems to genuinely just want to kiss. His topknot has become completely disheveled; Nie Huaisang has to lift his hand off of Jiang Cheng’s shoulder to pull Jiang Cheng’s stray hairs out of his own mouth. Jiang Cheng keeps shifting in place beneath him, rocking between Nie Huaisang’s thighs, and he moans into Nie Huaisang’s mouth when Nie Huaisang takes his bottom lip between his teeth. He doesn’t bite Jiang Cheng, simply holds the threat against him.

Gingerly, Jiang Cheng brings his hands up to touch Nie Huaisang in kind. He clutches at Nie Huaisang’s face, his neck, his shoulders, all with an unsteady hesitance. For heaven's sake, they’re thirty-nine! You’ve never before been at the bottom of the pack, Jiang Wanyin! You have catching-up to do!

Jiang Cheng lays back, docile and pretty, and takes it while Nie Huaisang—uses him. All the blood in Nie Huaisang’s head is draining elsewhere. He’s learned that a body can change quickly when you don’t spend much time paying attention to it; suddenly, it’s unfamiliar territory, governed by new laws. Half a year ago Nie Huaisang would’ve been hard for ages already, but these days he takes a little more coaxing. It doesn’t matter much, because he’s getting there from the way he’s inadvertently riding Jiang Cheng’s thigh, but he’d thought himself fully under control, and is only discovering now the high pitch to which his body has been tuned. He likes kissing, to be sure, but he’s never liked kissing this much, for this long. The sensation of hands pushing up his sleeves to caress his bare arms sends pulses of arousal from Nie Huaisang’s core to his fingertips.

Nie Huaisang is licking a stripe up the side of Jiang Cheng’s neck when Jiang Cheng’s hand pushes past his lapels to run across Nie Huaisang’s chest. Wanting and being wanted has put a lazy sheen over all his thoughts, so it’s not until it’s almost too late that Nie Huaisang remembers that it’s been months since anyone felt him up this way, or that he and Jiang Cheng were in the same room, and some things have changed—

Nie Huaisang pulls Jiang Cheng’s hand away from his chest by the wrist, and Jiang Cheng breaks the kiss to splutter, “Why won’t you let me touch you?”

Jiang Cheng sounds more disappointed than aggrieved, which is unlike him.

“You are touching me,” Nie Huaisang replies, and bites into the place he’d licked.

It must have been harder than intended, because Jiang Cheng gasps and arches under him. His voice is put-out, but breathy. “Then what's the problem?”

Nie Huaisang chooses distraction; he pulls Jiang Cheng’s hand between his own thighs.

“You can figure this out, can’t you?”

Jiang Cheng’s hand makes short work of Nie Huaisang’s clothes, pushing layers aside and pulling open ties, and then his long-fingered hand is holding him in its grasp, and Nie Huaisang curses against Jiang Cheng’s neck, helplessly.

Jiang Cheng never got him off either of the times they did this before. Nie Huaisang never asked. He’s content to take care of himself; he dislikes having to show people what he likes. He hadn’t, either of those times, felt so close to the brink as he does now; the ability to give consideration to future consequences is beyond him. There are too many sensations running through Nie Huaisang for him to focus on any one thing. The lingering feeling of Jiang Cheng’s sword callouses over his skin has him feeling warm despite the sickly dread that hasn’t fully died down in his gut. It won’t take much. He hardly thinks it’ll take anything.

He jerks Nie Huaisang off arrythmically with his right hand and grasps Nie Huaisang’s hip for balance with the left. The points of his fingers dig into Nie Huaisang’s ass.

Nie Huaisang kisses Jiang Cheng again, open-mouthed, and sucks on his tongue, prompting a spasm of Jiang Cheng’s fingers where he’s holding Nie Huaisang in a grip that Nie Huaisang once would’ve thought was amusingly hesitant but now feels right, like he’s a delicate thing that Jiang Cheng is being granted the privilege to hold. Nie Huaisang shuts his eyes against that thought but it clatters through his head anyway, and in vengeance he bites Jiang Cheng’s tongue. Jiang Cheng groans, heavy, and the sound passes through his body in a sudden flinch. The pulse of pressure in his grip tips Nie Huaisang over the edge so quickly that for a moment he feels afraid, like he’s going to lose something on the way down.

Enough time passes that Nie Huaisang begins to worry about falling asleep. Beside the uncomfortable angles at which he has to fold up his limbs to fit on Jiang Cheng’s lap, the position could be worse. It feels like pressing your hand to the side of a hot cup of tea, not because you really want to drink it, but to absorb the heat.

Nie Huaisang lays his head on Jiang Cheng’s chest, their faces a hand’s width apart, and watches Jiang Cheng’s breathing even out. He's gazing loosely at the ceiling. How long has it been since someone saw Jiang Cheng like this? If anyone knew how easy it was to draw this side out of him, Jiang Cheng would have no shortage of would-be lovers trying to snap him up. It’s strange for Nie Huaisang, of all people, to have received this dubious privilege. He isn’t sure that he wants it. He certainly never would have asked.

“Come on, Jiang Cheng, this isn’t as comfortable as it looks. I gave you my best guest rooms and everything.”

After cajoling and tugs at his arm, Jiang Cheng follows Nie Huaisang to his feet. Nie Huaisang is feeling gracious, so he collects Jiang Cheng’s scattered garments for him, and Jiang Cheng recovers enough self-possession to mulishly dress himself, including batting away Nie Huaisang’s hands when he tries to help.

He let Nie Huaisang do it in Gusu, so what’s the difference this time? They enjoyed each other, but now the sweat is cooling on their skin, and the longer Jiang Cheng lingers in Nie Huaisang’s rooms, the more deeply Nie Huaisang wishes for some solitude. Last time, Jiang Cheng wouldn’t stop staring at him in the aftermath; this time, he can’t seem to look at Nie Huaisang straight-on, which should be preferable but isn’t. He’s not being subtle about it, and it’s so clearly intentional that it makes Nie Huaisang feel embarrassed for him. His deep flush is visible across his neck even when he finishes pulling his robes back on.

Soon, Jiang Cheng is decent enough to be seen in the halls by passers-by, though his hair is less than orderly. Nie Huaisang finger-combs Jiang Cheng’s hair into something that makes it a little less obvious he’s just been fucking. Jiang Cheng lets him do this much, at least.

“I’ll walk you back,” he offers brightly, and the unease in his stomach coils further when Jiang Cheng finally meets his eyes and, after a momentary pause, gives him a gruff nod. Come on now; Nie Huaisang didn’t think Jiang Cheng was actually going to go for it! He just wanted to hurry him along, and now Nie Huaisang has to follow through! Who are you, Jiang Cheng—a nice young mistress with a chaperone, who can’t make a walk down the hall on her own?

The guest wing isn’t too far from Nie Huaisang’s rooms, certainly close enough to make the walk at a brisk but leisurely pace without the need for conversation to fill the time. When they arrive, Nie Huaisang ushers Jiang Cheng ahead of him, and follows him through the doorway to keep them from stalling too long in the hall, where anyone could see them, but he immediately regrets it.

Nie Huaisang sighs. “I feel so tired I could die. Let’s hope the skies are clear in the morning and you can be on your way, right?”

The walk has restored a little of Jiang Cheng’s composure; he’s lost his glassy look, and his jaw has recovered some of its rigid surliness. And, yet, his expression shudders, like an involuntary twitch of the spine in the cold. He hasn’t taken the opportunity to step back from Nie Huaisang into the room; they stand close enough to touch. His eyes flicker to Nie Huaisang’s mouth.

Nie Huaisang imagines how he must look, seen through another’s eyes. He put himself together well enough to look decent, and his household has seen him in dire conditions many times before, but he feels out of sorts, like a reflection smeared by grease on the glass. He needs to stop being the one to host; it puts him at a disadvantage. He wants the freedom to get up and leave when things come to their natural end.

He’s about to turn on his heel and walk away, but Jiang Cheng takes in a fortifying breath.

“Do you…” He peters out, and tries again. “I—that was—”

Nie Huaisang puts his palms on Jiang Cheng’s chest. It’s a reflexive action, as if he can hold Jiang Cheng’s words back like a rattling shutter closed against the wind, but as soon as he realizes what he’s doing he drops his hands.

“Sweet dreams,” he says, and gives Jiang Cheng an unnecessary half-bow before turning and leaving him to his own company.

It can’t last, of course, but an evening of peace was better than nothing.

“It looks like you have room at your table.”

Nie Huaisang blinks a few times. “Yes, I—I do, don’t I? I’m sorry I didn’t call for you. I thought you might want to catch up on your sleep.”

Jiang Cheng shakes his head curtly and takes a seat across from Nie Huaisang.

Nie Huaisang has his routines. This is his own home, isn’t it? He’s been sect leader for long enough that no one but the occasional visiting auntie can tell him what to do. He rises when he likes and takes breakfast alone in the little room with the fancy windows, where he distantly remembers napping against his mother’s side while she read. He doesn’t break this habit for anything less than an emergency. Usually, his disciples wouldn’t have even let anyone in, but he can’t blame them for giving way to the coiled malice of Jiang-zongzhu. Now that he’s sitting, the malice has given way to one of the twisted-up expressions Jiang Cheng gets when he’s trying to come off as controlled and failing, badly.

“Is there something you need? Are you still hungry?” Nie Huaisang holds out a steaming bowl of congee, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t take it. He’s giving Nie Huaisang a puppy-dog look again, but it’s less cute in the light of morning. He knows that Jiang Cheng has a low opinion of his work ethic, but he must realize that even Nie Huaisang can’t spend all of his time waiting on his houseguests.

“What we did yesterday. Do you... do that often?”

Nie Huaisang slept fitfully, and had a new variation of a recurring dream of being lost in the crypts below the sabre tombs. He was looking for a way out, but Jiang Cheng was there, too, making a nuisance of himself, tripping over stones and grumbling. When Nie Huaisang told him to be more careful so the ancestors wouldn’t get angry with him, Jiang Cheng insisted on holding onto Nie Huaisang’s sleeves and making Nie Huaisang lead him around. It wasn’t the Jiang Cheng of today, but a younger version of him, from back in Gusu days, and when Nie Huaisang scolded him he’d felt like he was bullying a child.

“How often is ‘often’?”

“Before me, there were others.”

Nie Huaisang begins to remember every gut feeling he spent the previous evening ignoring.

“I thought the cutsleeve rumours were already floating around? Anyway, I know you have a pretty high level of vigor, but I don’t usually have sex first thing in the morning.”

“That’s not—is this how you always are, afterwards?”

“I’m sorry if my hospitality is lacking, I don’t know how you do things at Lotus Pier—”

“I admire your ability to be so businesslike in your transactions.”

If Jiang Cheng is lonely and looking to pass the time, that’s one thing, but if he wants someone to take care of him, what is he hanging around Nie Huaisang for? Doesn’t he know Nie Huaisang well enough to understand what a ridiculous idea it is to turn to him for comfort?

“What are you talking about? Stop being silly.”

He’s sneering now, and Nie Huaisang welcomes it; it’s familiar. “I apologize if my performance was below your usual standard. Maybe you should go back to one of your others, I’m sure they’re much more able to satisfy you. It seems as though you have enough to choose from.”

“I really don’t know what it is you’re upset about, Jiang-xiong, but whatever it is, I swear I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Don’t play the fool with me.”

“I think you might have the wrong idea. We had fun, ah, but our lives are so complicated already. It’s best to just enjoy an evening and leave it at that, right?”

“We did—” A sickeningly plaintive burst of emotion shines through Jiang Cheng’s stormy expression before he’s able to cover it. “And you expect to go on like nothing’s changed?”

This is so tiring. Jiang Cheng really is a fool if he can’t realize that he’d regret it before long if Nie Huaisang let him treat this like something it isn’t. If Nie Huaisang knew that this was what he was getting into, he would’ve left Jiang Cheng unsatisfied at the Cloud Recesses. He wishes he could tell his past self, it’s not worth it, Jiang Cheng will look at you like a jilted bride if you don’t proclaim your devotion after getting him off, or pat him on the cheek and tell him he’s good, or whatever it is that he feels robbed of at the moment.

Maybe Nie Huaisang would feel differently if he hadn’t known Jiang Cheng as a young man, but he remembers the way Jiang Cheng coveted Wei Wuxian’s attention. They all did, back then, but Jiang Cheng is clingy. It doesn’t matter that he’s nearly forty and scary when his temper’s up, because Nie Huaisang sees through the bluster and feels vague distaste. He wishes that Jiang Cheng would just make it easier on both of them and go. His breakfast is getting cold.

“How else is there to be? You didn’t corrupt my virtue, so it’s alright, you don’t need to marry me to save face.”

How does Jiang Cheng go through life this way, practically asking someone to strike him in each of his painfully obvious weaknesses? Everyone’s like that when they’re young, but they’ve had more than enough time to grow up.

Jiang Cheng gives him a look that could wither a weaker person. This is how he earned the title of Sandu Shengshou. Other men get testaments to their strength, their brilliance; Jiang Cheng gets delusion, attachment, and hostility.

“Nie Huaisang.”

“Yes?” There’s a cold feeling filling out through his limbs. It’s somewhat invigorating. Does Jiang Cheng forget who raised him? Nie Huaisang can’t be shouted down so easily. Compared to da-ge, Jiang Cheng is a cheap imitation. Rage alone isn’t enough.

I didn’t lie to you. I didn’t even invite you here. Don’t look at me like I have anything to give you.

“The sky’s improved since last night, Jiang-zongzhu. Have you been able to take care of all of your concerns? I’m sure your disciples are missing your guidance. I’ve already taken up enough of your time.”

Jiang Cheng stays perfectly still, with his eyes open and face so far from serene that Nie Huaisang wonders whether he ought to brace himself for Zidian’s lash. He is spared that fate; Jiang Cheng gets to his feet and leaves Nie Huaisang in his little room with his congee, which is by now cold, congealed, and thoroughly forgotten.

Two weeks later, Nie Huaisang receives a stack of morning mail topped by a distressingly thick sheaf of papers bearing the Yunmeng Jiang official seal.

Nie-zongzhu,

I appreciate that you were willing to meet with a fellow sect leader, as I know you have a very busy schedule.

Since returning to Lotus Pier, I have reviewed the most recent fifty-year agreements pertaining to grain tariffs applicable to all shipments along Yunmeng waterways. As fifty-nine years have passed since signing and no new agreement has been made, the tariffs have increased by 15%, as stipulated, and Yunmeng Jiang is entitled to nine years of back payment. Please review the attached copies at your earliest convenience.

You may also be happy to hear that I’ve been looking out for your interests. I spoke with my grandmother in Meishan recently about my cousin’s marriage prospects and advised her not to send any delegations to Qinghe, as Nie-zongzhu has little time to spare for such things.