Yes, some rules; a good idea, if he can think of any. It’s a good way to remind Jiang Cheng that, though Nie Huaisang is going along with this, he shouldn’t presume too much. Jiang Cheng looks wary but expectant, and Nie Huaisang casts around for potential infractions.

“You have to ask before touching me.” Jiang Cheng nods, and Nie Huaisang adds, “With your hands,” in the interest of clarity.

This would be easier if he had a plan in mind. He’s usually alright at thinking on his feet, but he feels uncharacteristically daunted. Nie Huaisang wets his bottom lip, and Jiang Cheng’s gaze flickers to his tongue before returning to his eyes.

“You’ll tell me when you’re getting close.” Jiang Cheng nods again—a little too readily—and Nie Huaisang appends, “And you have to tell me if you don’t like something. That’s one of the rules.”

There are too many things he wants and not enough time. Jiang Cheng has a plaintive look in his eye; he really always gets like this, doesn’t he? Nie Huaisang can’t stall forever, so he brushes a thumb over Jiang Cheng’s lips to see him tremble.

At once, Jiang Cheng goes soft and easy. Nie Huaisang guides Jiang Cheng’s hands down by the wrists to rest on the bedspread before closing his own eyes and replacing his thumb with his mouth.

It’s shallow, at first. Cautious pressure, as though they’re both trying to remember how to do this. Nie Huaisang leans closer, clasping Jiang Cheng’s biceps for balance, and feels Jiang Cheng’s arms flex from the strain.

A slight brush of their chests presses Nie Huaisang’s tits against Jiang Cheng’s front, and it sends a hot flush through Nie Huaisang’s whole being. His mouth parts around a low, surprised moan. This part of his body is perpetually tender lately, and he’s almost angry at the intensity of sensation, as though his body has run off on its own and left his thinking mind behind.

Nie Huaisang slides back until he’s no longer in Jiang Cheng’s lap, but makes up for it by touching him with renewed urgency. He grips Jiang Cheng by the jaw by one hand and kisses him like he could pull his heart out through his mouth. Nie Huaisang’s other hand goes roaming. The thin fabric of Jiang Cheng’s undershirt hardly obfuscates the contours of his chest, and Nie Huaisang feels him up the whole way down to the inseam of his slightly parted thighs.

Nie Huaisang leans out of the kiss and trails the back of his hand over Jiang Cheng’s erection through his pants. He laughs into Jiang Cheng’s ear. “You’re always so happy to see me!”

Jiang Cheng squirms. “Fuck off.”

Now that they’re at the good part, Nie Huaisang should probably make Jiang Cheng earn it somehow, but Nie Huaisang doesn’t currently have the patience to do anything but reach out and touch him. He likes touching him. It’s both simple and relentlessly satisfying. Nie Huaisang fumbles with the ties of Jiang Cheng’s trousers just enough to get his cock in his palm. He puts his forehead against Jiang Cheng’s shoulder to brace himself as he watches what he’s doing; it's slightly curved, and in daylight he can notice that the head flushes very dark, just like Jiang Cheng’s face.

He thinks, in a cascade of thought fueled by base instinct, a series of things: first, that he likes Jiang Cheng’s dick far too much for what it is, which is an ordinary organ of a kind Nie Huaisang has seen many times before, albeit a handsome example that does credit to the whole genre; second, that he wants it in his mouth again, but ought to restrain himself, lest Jiang Cheng get spoiled; third, that Jiang Cheng won’t get the chance to be spoiled if this is the last time, so in fact there’s no good reason for Nie Huaisang to deny himself. Nie Huaisang scuttles down the bed, props himself up on his elbows, and makes short work of the rest of Jiang Cheng’s laces, while Jiang Cheng sucks in a hissing lungful of air.

It's not necessary to show off in front of Jiang Cheng, who has no basis for comparison, but if it’s his last chance, maybe Nie Huaisang wants to anyway! He has a flexible tongue, as tongues go. Nie Huaisang’s other hand rests on Jiang Cheng’s thigh, and the muscles shiver under his palm. When he closes his lips and sucks properly, instead of teasing, Jiang Cheng’s cock jerks in his mouth. Energetic as ever. This is why having sex with Jiang Cheng is, to Nie Huaisang’s misfortune, very fun; he rewards every bit of effort paid to him.

When Nie Huaisang starts to lose breath, he pulls off and bites his lip. His mouth is sticky, and not just with spit. He wants to take a good look at the scene in front of him, for memory’s sake. Jiang Cheng’s face is tipped down, but his eyes dart around Nie Huaisang, as if afraid to make direct eye contact. He’s all pink, and very pretty. It’s a shame that no one knows Jiang Cheng can look like this but Nie Huaisang; he means it with all the honesty in the world. Has anyone ever seen Jiang Cheng and thought, That one is mine, I’m going to have him, and keep him, and there’s no one better?

Nie Huaisang takes this nonsensical wistfulness and channels it into practical matters. He keeps his eyes open while sucking Jiang Cheng’s cock, though it’s not his habit. Jiang Cheng meets Nie Huaisang’s stare.

“Can I touch you?” He sounds like he’s asking whether he’s allowed to ask.

Nie Huaisang blinks, and lets Jiang Cheng’s dick slip from between his lips. “Where?”

“Your shoulders.”

“Hmm. Yes, I think so.”

Jiang Cheng takes hold of him gingerly, but once his hands are in place he clings to Nie Huaisang like Jiang Cheng needs him to stay afloat. Nie Huaisang closes his eyes, swallows, and tries to take as much of Jiang Cheng into his mouth as he can; may as well give him something to hold on for.

The longer Nie Huaisang is at it, the more enterprising he becomes. He told Jiang Cheng that he was going to set the rules, but Nie Huaisang has hardly bossed him around at all yet. He wonders what Jiang Cheng would be willing to do if Nie Huaisang allowed himself to be fucked afterwards. It’s been a while. He thinks it would be good—Jiang Cheng is strapping enough, right? He could probably get the hang of it, given the chance.

Nie Huaisang is so caught up in the pleasantly overwhelming state of having his mouth full and Jiang Cheng’s thighs blocking out sound around his ears that he fails to pick up on the warning signs. It was already sloppy, so the amount of fluid leaking out of Jiang Cheng’s cock onto Nie Huaisang’s tongue doesn’t stand out to him. Jiang Cheng is always reactive and flustered whenever sex is involved, so his moans and desperately clenching fingers are no reliable metric. Besides, Nie Huaisang really hasn’t been at it long.

He’s just starting to consider whether or not it would be worth it to have Jiang Cheng inside him for real when Nie Huaisang closes his lips around the head and hums only for Jiang Cheng to freeze up, hands suddenly pushing at Nie Huaisang’s shoulders, and gasp something that Nie Huaisang doesn’t catch before he’s coughing on a mouthful of come.

When his coughing subsides, Nie Huaisang pulls back and blinks, getting his bearings, and then gives the softening length in his hand a gentle, tidying swipe of his thumb before letting it go. He looks up. Jiang Cheng is propped up on his wrists, face blanched and dismayed.

Truthfully, Nie Huaisang’s subsequent thought process is not elaborate. Falling over himself to reassure Jiang Cheng will be rightly taken as an act of pity, while doing something disgusting will move Jiang Cheng’s mind off of his self-proclaimed unsuitability for sex—or whatever silly thing he’s about to brood on—and onto the indignities that Nie Huaisang puts him through, regardless of how Nie Huaisang wouldn’t be so bold as to do what he is about to do with anyone else. Nie Huaisang is only going here because Jiang Cheng has proven himself perfectly happy to let Nie Huaisang put things in his mouth, when in a certain state of mind.

Nie Huaisang walks forward on his knees until he’s almost back in Jiang Cheng’s lap, but this time he threads a hand in Jiang Cheng’s hair and tugs his head back, forcing him to blink upward. He’s got his lips closed to hold onto the load Jiang Cheng left in his mouth. With his free hand, Nie Huaisang taps Jiang Cheng’s cheek three times. Let me in. He tries to make it as obvious as possible what he wants, to give Jiang Cheng an out, but Jiang Cheng seems to understand. His brow is still bunched in distress, but he squeezes his eyes shut and lets his mouth fall open. Nie Huaisang leans close, just shy of a kiss, and gives it back to him.

When he’s finished, Nie Huaisang gently pushes Jiang Cheng’s mouth closed with a fingertip under the chin. “Now swallow,” he says, and hopes it sounds less raspy to Jiang Cheng’s ears than it does to his own. The knot of Jiang Cheng’s throat bobs. His expression is of beatific anguish. Nie Huaisang wipes a few stray drops of come and sweat off of Jiang Cheng’s lip with his thumb, and then pets over Jiang Cheng’s face with his fingertips, stroking his smooth cheeks, his strong jawline, the arch of his nose. “There you go,” Nie Huaisang adds quietly.

When Jiang Cheng opens his eyes, he and Nie Huaisang watch one another, each looking for a sign. Jiang Cheng rallies himself, aiming for indignation but not quite making it: “I tried to warn you.”

“Oh, shush.” Nie Huaisang presses against his side and lets the hand that had pulled Jiang Cheng’s hair drift down Jiang Cheng’s neck until Nie Huaisang is once more exploring the firm surface of his chest. He flicks one of Jiang Cheng’s nipples through the cloth with a fingernail, and gets a small wince. This is for both their sakes; he doesn’t want Jiang Cheng to twist himself into knots over not being able to last, but Nie Huaisang also wants to hold onto this fragile moment for as long as he can.

“You like my mouth that much, huh?”

His hand starts to migrate down Jiang Cheng’s ribs and across his navel to where his cock rests, slippery and soft, in the curve between his leg and his hip. Nie Huaisang brushes his length with the backs of his knuckles, then comes back to caress the head with his fingertips.

“It’s not going to get hard again for a while,” Jiang Cheng mutters through clenched teeth.

“I know,” Nie Huaisang replies, peaceably, and wraps his hand around Jiang Cheng’s cock once again. Jiang Cheng shudders. “If you don’t like it, tell me, and I’ll stop.”

What he’s doing couldn’t even be called stroking; Jiang Cheng is still too limp for that. Fondling is probably a better word. When Nie Huaisang gives him a faint squeeze, the muscles in Jiang Cheng’s upper thighs jump, and he lets go much too late for Jiang Cheng to think he didn’t notice. It’s delicate business, hurting someone on purpose. Nie Huaisang wonders how long it’s been since anyone touched any part of Jiang Cheng’s body like it was weak instead of strong.

Jiang Cheng’s clothes are all askew, so while he’s at it, Nie Huaisang grazes the exposed part of Jiang Cheng’s clavicle with his teeth and sucks over the imprint. The mark will be covered when Jiang Cheng gets properly dressed again, but he likes the idea of Jiang Cheng being startled later that evening by a token that Nie Huaisang gave him to remember their morning by.

Nie Huaisang murmurs, close to Jiang Cheng’s ear, “It probably hurts a bit, right? I mean, so soon after you came.”

Jiang Cheng nods. Nie Huaisang doesn’t acknowledge his response except to release Jiang Cheng’s cock and reach behind to grasp his balls in a light but present grip.

“Is it too much?”

Jiang Cheng bites his lip and shakes his head. Desperation rises off his skin like steam. Nie Huaisang begins to rake his nails over Jiang Cheng’s soft cock, from the base up to the head, into which he begins to dig spirals. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng gets out. It certainly sounds pained. “I can take it.”

Nie Huaisang kisses his cheek, once, and then does it again when it makes Jiang Cheng’s dick twitch against his fingers. They’re chaste little pecks, dusted across his cheek, chin, and jaw. The longer Nie Huaisang is at it, the redder in the face Jiang Cheng becomes, and Nie Huaisang thinks the kisses might be affecting Jiang Cheng almost as deeply as the work of Nie Huaisang’s hand; Jiang Cheng is probably more practiced in bearing pain than displays of affection.

Helpless noises keep welling up from deep in Jiang Cheng’s chest, and though it pains him, Nie Huaisang puts his free hand over Jiang Cheng’s mouth. On the other side of the wall, his disciples are probably starting to wake up.

He looks down at his hand: “Wow, Jiang Cheng, look at you. So impressive.”

Nie Huaisang tightens his fist around Jiang Cheng’s stiffening shaft. Jiang Cheng shakes Nie Huaisang’s hand loose to tuck his face on Nie Huaisang’s shoulder, stifling his sounds against his robes, and the motion rubs wetness into the cloth.

When he’s warming himself against the low-burning flame of Nie Huaisang’s cruelty, Jiang Cheng’s whole being takes on a captivating wooziness. His body is so stubbornly resilient that Nie Huaisang can’t imagine where its outer limits lie for pleasure. In any case, Nie Huaisang doesn’t think this is the right moment to test them, and he’s already so affected by Jiang Cheng shaking against him and soaking Nie Huaisang’s skin with his tears that it’s making him dizzy. If he were to stand up too fast, he thinks he’d sway on his feet.

“I’m going to keep going until you come again.”

Jiang Cheng’s words are muffled and addressed to Nie Huaisang’s collarbone: “I can’t.”

“When you came so easily before? I think you could go again if you really try.” Nie Huaisang’s mind is all fondness and fevered certainty, and he feels as if, as long as they’re in this bed, he has the power to make everything in the world work out exactly how he wants.

He presses another kiss against the top of Jiang Cheng’s head. “No one even knows how greedy for this you are, do they? They’d probably say such awful things.” Jiang Cheng’s hands are obediently planted against the mattress, and his knuckles strain white. “That’s really sad, Jiang-xiong, I’m sorry. It’s okay. You work really hard, and all you want is to come home and let your wife be master of Lotus Pier for as long as she’s touching your dick, right?”

Nie Huaisang doesn’t have to be careful with his words when he’s being this kind of nasty. The chatter doesn’t really mean anything. He’s got enough of his wits about him to avoid saying anything he’d regret.

When Nie Huaisang was imagining having Jiang Cheng inside him, he’d thought of parting his legs, pulling Jiang Cheng closer with a hand gripping Jiang Cheng’s shirt, and saying, Come here, by which Nie Huaisang would mean, Just this once you can hide yourself away, I’ll hold you, I’ll hold everything you have.

Jiang Cheng’s legs keep jumping slightly, and Nie Huaisang has tucked himself against Jiang Cheng’s side to make sure he doesn’t get kicked. Jiang Cheng’s body is struggling—why wouldn’t it be? It’s the most basic impulse, self-protection. Nie Huaisang is putting the most vulnerable part of him in peril, yet Jiang Cheng is trying as best he can not to get away. He can be so good. Nie Huaisang doesn’t want to let on just how good, or else what’s there left for Jiang Cheng to work for?

At one point, he feels Jiang Cheng’s lips move against his clavicle, and he turns Jiang Cheng’s face up with his free hand. “What’s that?”

Jiang Cheng can’t meet his eyes, but Nie Huaisang will forgive him for that. Just barely audible, Jiang Cheng mutters, “I think I’m close.”

Nie Huaisang interlaces his fingers with one of Jiang Cheng’s hands. “That’s good. See, I know what I’m talking about sometimes. You’re going to make such a mess of yourself.”

Nie Huaisang murmurs incoherent praise, and Jiang Cheng clings to his hand. They’re so close together that he ought to be able to feel Jiang Cheng’s pulse beating under his own skin. Nie Huaisang feels out of his own body, but not in a bad way. Jiang Cheng’s breath comes rougher, and Nie Huaisang leaves off kissing him to just watch Jiang Cheng’s face, noses brushing, sharing each other’s air.

He finally starts jerking Jiang Cheng off in earnest. Fast, at odds with his sense of tranquil purpose.

There’s some fear in Jiang Cheng’s eyes. It’s not uncommon for Nie Huaisang to make people nervous these days, if they know certain things, or think they know; he still hasn’t gotten used to it. Jiang Cheng could knock Nie Huaisang aside, but he stays where he is, sitting with his fear, and Nie Huaisang glimpses, as if through Jiang Cheng’s eyes, the picture Nie Huaisang himself must make—mussed hair and two layers of oversized robes; unkempt, petty, and merciless. It must show on his own face how much he likes this, too. He can tell that he’s flushed, with a swollen mouth. Jiang Cheng watches him like a petitioner to a goddess of judgement: punish or spare him, Nie Huaisang, according to your will.

A prickling on the back of Nie Huaisang’s neck causes him to tighten his grip on an upstroke, and then there’s an expression he’s gotten to know. Jiang Cheng looks so sweet when he’s about to come.

A guttural sound wrenches free of Jiang Cheng’s lungs. His hips writhe. Nie Huaisang’s hand in Jiang Cheng’s lap is wet. Nie Huaisang laughs, a little startled, and following a few moments’ delay, there’s a raspy echo; Jiang Cheng tips his head against the wall, and it’s only by the slight upturn of his mouth that Nie Huaisang can tell he’s laughing, too. It might just be a reflexive result of exhaustion, but it’s so charming that Nie Huaisang is preemptively bereft of ever hearing it again.

Nie Huaisang wipes his hand on Jiang Cheng’s thigh before reaching for Jiang Cheng’s nape. He guides his face back down to Nie Huaisang’s shoulder, and the soft, slowing snuffle of Jiang Cheng's breath puffs against the crook of Nie Huaisang’s neck. He drapes his arms loosely around Jiang Cheng’s back and paints curlicues around his spine with his fingers. Jiang Cheng’s not so heavy that Nie Huaisang can’t hold him a little while. He feels warm and alive; the sunlight streaming in through the cracks in the window shutters has entered him, too, and every part of him has turned to soak up its warmth.

As requested, breakfast is delivered to their door. Before its arrival, Nie Huaisang consumes a sizable dollop of their morning by doing nothing but stroking Jiang Cheng’s hair while holding Jiang Cheng against his chest. After a time, Nie Huaisang coaxes Jiang Cheng to lay with his head on Nie Huaisang’s thigh, and when Nie Huaisang gets up to fetch their food, Jiang Cheng grumbles about being put back down on the pillows.

By the time Nie Huaisang returns with the serving tray, Jiang Cheng is sitting up and has pulled himself together a little, though he still has an air of uncharacteristic equanimity. As Nie Huaisang nears, Jiang Cheng makes a halfhearted attempt to get out of bed, but Nie Huaisang tells him to stay where he is. Jiang Cheng seems content with this until Nie Huaisang puts the tray down on the bed-sheet, which sparks a burst of outrage.

“Eating in bed? You’re disgusting.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you didn’t want me to get up?”

Sure enough, when Nie Huaisang takes back his place next to Jiang Cheng in bed and starts helping himself to food, Jiang Cheng stops complaining, at least until Nie Huaisang tries to stick a piece of youtiao in Jiang Cheng’s mouth and Jiang Cheng slaps his wrist with a bout of cursing.

Eventually he begins to dart glances at Nie Huaisang. “Do you actually like doing that with your mouth?”

At the moment, Nie Huaisang has a piece of youtiao halfway to his mouth, so it takes him a moment to realize what Jiang Cheng is actually referring to. He chews contemplatively, and then asks, “Is that so hard to believe?”

“I thought it was only pleasurable for one person.” Jiang Cheng wisely doesn’t mention anything about it being degrading, either because this is now the third time Nie Huaisang has blown him (if you count his maladroit attempt back in their youth), or because he’s aware he doesn’t have a leg to stand on in this regard himself.

“Some people only like it one way or the other, or not at all. But that’s how it is with everything.” Nie Huaisang chews contemplatively. “I lost my virginity that way. We took turns.”

“Who was it?”

“Some no-name cultivator who stopped at Qinghe during the war.” He shrugs. “Probably long dead now.”

“So you like it both ways, then?”

Perhaps Jiang Cheng feels obliged to offer because Nie Huaisang didn’t come, but the curiousity in his tone sounds genuine.

It’s not as though he never enjoys it. He doesn’t want anyone to make it into an athletic event—which might be hypocritical, but there it is. When he imagines it with Jiang Cheng, he thinks of the wet warmth of his mouth and of how patient he can be, when given a manageable goal. All good things. More than good. It’s just… a complicated matter, especially lately. He wants to say, Maybe someday, but they’ve established that this is all the somedays they’re ever going to get.

“Mm. If we’re asking questions, I am curious, and don’t take this the wrong way. Do you always go off that fast, or is it just with me?”

“Haven’t you had enough fun at my expense already?”

“I liked it! I told you yesterday, didn’t I? You’ll leave me with no face if you keep making me say it.”

“You’ll have no face? After—”

“Shh, shh. I really don’t think it’s a bad thing. But does it bother you?”

“How long is it supposed to take, then?”

It had really thrown Nie Huaisang for a loop when he’d found out that Jiang Cheng hadn’t been with anyone else, but it turned out to have its advantages; Jiang Cheng doesn’t have bad habits to unlearn, and he takes direction well. Nie Huaisang remembers how Jiang Cheng touched him, the last time, so hesitantly, like Nie Huaisang was something to be treated with reverence and care. He’s never been so torn up by gentleness before; he didn’t think he had the capacity. Maybe in a different period of his life, he would’ve laughed over Jiang Cheng’s lack of stamina, but even that has its enticing potential, as he’s learning.

For his own part, Nie Huaisang has never been like this with anyone else, either.

“It depends. You’re on the early side, but it’s not worth worrying about.” He can sense that this reply is less than suitably reassuring, so he adds, “Some people like that, even.”

There is some deep injustice to the fact that, whoever they are, the next person Jiang Cheng sleeps with will owe Nie Huaisang a deep debt. They won’t even know the work he put in, let alone be properly grateful.

“You know, we talked about why you’re not married, but you’ve never told me why you haven’t had any lovers.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Well, yes. But it’s been quite a long time.”

“I’m not the sort of man who gets distracted by—dancers, or…” Nie Huaisang nods, trying to keep his expression free of amusement, but Jiang Cheng still glowers at him for asking. “I’ve been able to do without.”

Nie Huaisang can’t really laugh at him for this, for all that it is funny. It’s easy enough, when you can’t make sense of what you want, to think you don’t want anything at all.

He doesn’t feel overjoyed at the prospect of Jiang Cheng finding someone else, but he’s the one who’s leaving, and he doesn’t need Jiang Cheng pining after him for the rest of his life. They’ll both move on, in time, and Jiang Cheng has his good qualities. What he needs is someone who can see him for what he is and not give way to his fits of emotion. It’s not a comfort to Nie Huaisang to think of Jiang Cheng going back to his dry and dusty bachelorhood once Nie Huaisang is gone, is all. Maybe after the two of them go their separate ways Jiang Cheng will have gained the necessary confidence to go looking for what he wants socially, but he doubts it. He’s not overwhelmed with friends among their peers, anyway—why else would he be here?—and he’s too sentimental for paying for it to be anything but a disaster.

“You know, it’s been long enough that I’m sure you could have some luck if you tried to find a wife again. Now that you know a bit more about what you like, maybe it would go a little better.”

A wife with an adventurous spirit is probably Jiang Cheng’s best bet. Those women the matchmakers must have brought didn’t know what to do with Jiang Cheng—how could they? They didn’t know that Jiang Cheng has been this way since he was young, and it’s nothing personal. It’s simply his nature. They hadn’t known him long enough to see the charm in it, either. It’s his difficult qualities that make him so eager: he’s desperate to belong to someone as a prize, not a consolation.

Nie Huaisang hasn’t been to Lotus Pier in some time, but he’s liked it on previous visits; it’s warm and open, the air slightly sticky with sweat but sweet-smelling from the lushness of fresh water and growing things. He’s never visited Jiang-zongzhu’s personal apartments, though he knows they’re tucked away near the back of the sprawling complexes. He imagines a private pier looking out at the surface of the lake, drinks on a table, and winding, inconsequential conversation. A big dog with its head in his lap, closing its eyes under his idly petting fingers. Evening breeze drifting over the back of his bare neck, and when he gets tired, saying he wants to be carried to bed, and being indulged in this, even if it’s with requisite grumbling. It’s hardly the worst fate he can imagine.

“Not likely.”

He gives Jiang Cheng a once-over. “Are you only interested in men? That wasn’t my impression, but I could be wrong.”

“I’m not interested—” Jiang Cheng begins, and then ends, perhaps realizing the absurdity of arguing over technicalities at a time like this. “No, that’s—of course I like women.”

Nie Huaisang has wondered what exactly has been going on in Jiang Cheng’s mind on this score; he takes a little pity. “The world isn’t divided into cutsleeves and people who aren’t, you know.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Men and women aren’t so different. Some people just like one more than the other.”

“Of course they’re different.”

“Ah, I used to think so, too, but these days, I don’t know. Maybe less different than you think.” He keeps his tone light, teasing, and fidgets with a bit of blanket.

“Is this about whatever’s going on with you?”

“What?”

Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes, and coldness sweeps through Nie Huaisang’s abdomen. He’s giving Jiang Cheng too much credit if Nie Huaisang thinks he’s going to have picked up on anything regarding—

“There’s something—happening. To your body. Did you think I wasn’t going to notice? Of course I’m going to look at you when we—” Jiang Cheng bites off the rest of his words, as if verbally acknowledging the fact they’ve been fucking is the risky part of what he’s just said, rather than everything else.

Nie Huaisang has been playing with fire. He knows it. When you’re trying to outrun something that you also want to catch up to, either way you’ll eventually lose. He just hadn’t thought it would happen this way. He hadn’t been able to think of a way it could happen and not be terrible, so he hasn’t thought about it.

And he’s earned this, after poking and prodding at Jiang Cheng so relentlessly: his body, his sexual history, everything. It was a matter of time until Jiang Cheng figured he could do the same.

Nie Huaisang’s face has been covered in faint surprise since Jiang Cheng spoke, and he laughs absently before his mouth curls into a crooked, vague smile. The thinking part of his brain has taken flight, and it’s up to whatever’s left to salvage this situation, if it can be done. “Oh, fine. I wasn’t totally truthful when I told you why I’m leaving.”

Jiang Cheng’s brows fold. He’s still watching Nie Huaisang with an excessive amount of focus. “What?”

Nie Huaisang tuts his tongue and makes a face. Gropes along in the dark. “It’s hard to explain to someone who doesn’t cultivate with the sabre. I mean… you know most of the previous Nie sect leaders eventually died of qi deviation.”

“How could you be qi deviating? You barely cultivate.”

“It can have effects even if you’ve only done it a bit. Especially in my family!” Nie Huaisang casts around for some plausible bullshit and hopes that only a reasonable amount of panic makes it onto his face. “It’s like… well… it’s this pretty rare thing. It’s only happened a few times, and it was a big secret, so the other clans wouldn’t have heard about it, you understand?”

“Just spit it out.”

“I’m getting to it!” He flaps his hands and then takes a breath. “Here’s the thing. You have to promise not to laugh, okay? Sometimes if the inner family members don’t cultivate enough with the sabre, other things can happen. It starts affecting your body instead of your spirit.”

Jiang Cheng frowns, but it doesn't look angry; instead, genuinely confused. “I've never heard of anything like that.”

Nie Huaisang waves his hand. “Sabre cultivation has a lot of oddities. You wouldn’t have heard of most of them.”

He’s gambling that Jiang Cheng has never read any of the horrifically boring didactic epics of the Qinghe Nie progenitors, which describe the intricacies of the sect’s unusual cultivation style through various allegorical sequences that nonetheless never imply anything along the lines of what Nie Huaisang is cobbling together now. Though, if pressed, Nie Huaisang could probably improvise some exegesis which would deter a more amateurish scholar from calling his bluff. He’s certainly spent enough time with Whispers of the Five Peaks while researching the sabre spirits to pull up some quotations at will.

“What does that even mean?”

This conversation feels unreal, and the walls Nie Huaisang put up long ago in his heart are as porous as they’ve ever been. Jiang Cheng has no one to tell, and if he did, it would sound unbelievable. The stakes won’t get much lower. Nie Huaisang affects a front of blasé sheepishness. “Well, you know. All kinds of things can happen. In my case—oh, it’s going to sound so silly, but I don’t know how much longer I’m going to look like a man.” He waves a nonchalant hand as he says it, like this is an everyday problem. “This is pretty embarrassing, so I want to leave before other people start to notice. I’ve dishonoured my family enough already, haven’t I!”

The rest may all have been nonsense, but that part is true; the admission thuds through his body, bone-deep. Nie Huaisang has deadened himself to humiliation, even practiced tuning out physical pain, but some limits remain.

He sits still and lets Jiang Cheng’s gaze strip him bare. Nie Huaisang himself barely understands why this is the form his self-ruination has taken, but there’s something particularly laughable about trying to explain himself to someone who’s known him for long enough that he’ll never look at Nie Huaisang without seeing the aggregate of years of extended boyhood.

He waits for Jiang Cheng to get up and leave. If this won’t scare him off, what can?

“But how are you going to—” Jiang Cheng keeps blinking and turning his head between Nie Huaisang and the room, as if the furniture holds answers for him. “How are you so calm about this?”

“If it’s just the way things are going to be, I don’t see the point in fighting it.”

Trying to paint a picture of his future that Jiang Cheng can grasp is excruciating, not least because Nie Huaisang hasn’t managed to do so for himself, either. It’s not like he wants to give up all his freedoms for needlework. There are lots of things about his life that he likes, and in many ways he’s been very lucky. He just can’t remember ever feeling at ease with himself, and he’s so sick of it, and there’s little enough left to lose for him to hold back any longer from admitting defeat at the business of being the son his mother had hoped for.

“So now you know why I’m leaving. Don’t accuse me of keeping secrets.”

Jiang Cheng looks at him for a long while.

Nie Huaisang spent so much time early in his life running away from duty, but he’s learned that duty tells you who you’re supposed to be. Without it, the expanse of choice is overwhelming. Jiang Cheng knows this; it’s the principle by which he’s lived his whole life. But Nie Huaisang is going to be a shirker, true to form, and he will eat his shame and move forward. This is the principle he’s gotten by with until now, whether or not Jiang Cheng could ever understand it.

At last, Jiang Cheng speaks. “You said there was nothing stopping me, but I have a-Ling. I couldn’t—he still doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

There’s nothing glib to be said to that. Nie Huaisang envies Jiang Cheng for having someone. At the same time, Nie Huaisang wouldn’t be able to leave if he did, and anyway Nie Huaisang can only imagine he’d have done a worse job if da-ge had left him a child to raise. He didn’t have any love in him to give.

Nie Huaisang folds his legs up in front of his chest and puts his chin on his knee. “He needs to stand on his own, you know. People won’t respect his authority if it looks like you’re making his decisions for him.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs. “He should be grateful those are the sorts of problems he needs to worry about. He doesn’t know how good he has it.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

A complicated look twitches across Jiang Cheng’s face.

“I’m already too soft on him. I’ve never even hit him.” It sounds like an attempt to convince himself of something.

“People do stupid things when they’re young. He’s probably glad he can fight with you, since you’ll still be there in the end.”

If it were all a lost cause, Jin Ling would just hate Jiang Cheng in private and take the path of least resistance to his face.

“I would’ve given anything to have had family looking out for me. Some of us didn’t have enough of a sect left over to let our disciples take care of everything.” It’s not that Jiang Cheng’s expression is without anger, but it’s a different type than Nie Huaisang expected; it’s smouldering, and he’s not sure of its target. “Why are you so concerned about a-Ling now, anyway? You almost got him killed once. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

What does Jiang Cheng have left that matters? A sect, but Nie Huaisang knows how heavy a burden that can be. His nephew has his own responsibilities, and has probably gotten tired of being scolded like a child. Jiang Cheng may no longer be trying to kill Wei Wuxian, but some things are difficult to come back from. There’s a time when you must admit, at least to yourself, that you’ve made your choices, and no one is obliged to understand or forgive. But it’s not all just over, either.

“When I saw him yesterday, it looked like he missed you.”

It’s hard to imagine Jiang Cheng has ever told anyone he’s missed them in so many words, but a flicker of relief passes over his eyes. It really is one of the things he likes most about Jiang Cheng that, with him, Nie Huaisang rarely has to guess.

Nie Huaisang adds, blithely, “Who knows, maybe you’ll qi deviate, too, some day. You could stand to be more serene. Would you like to die with him thinking he’s disappointed you?”

Don’t be so selfish, Jiang Cheng. Jin Ling’s a good boy. He doesn’t deserve that kind of guilt.

He’s almost angry that Jiang Cheng hasn’t taken this conversation more poorly. Nie Huaisang had prepared himself for humiliation, and he doesn’t know how to respond to whatever this is instead. Jiang Cheng is still looking at him cautiously, assessingly, like he’s trying to solve a riddle, but it’s not so far off of how he looked at dinner, or when Nie Huaisang had his cock in his hand, so it doesn’t make it easier to understand the terms on which they’re engaging. Keep on trying to make the pieces fit together, Jiang-xiong, for all the good it will do you.

In retrospect, he supposes he could’ve just denied everything. Jiang Cheng would’ve sounded ridiculous if he had dug his heels in about so outlandish a claim, and eventually might have dropped it. But Nie Huaisang thinks he understands, a little better than he did before, why Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji go about calling each other husband regardless of if a wedding has ever been possible. It’s not for other people’s sakes, but their own.

Nie Huaisang yawns exaggeratedly, and then pats his own cheek a few times, as if to wake himself up. “I do have to go home sometime. I’m sorry, it’s a longer trip for me than for you.”

Once again, Nie Huaisang helps Jiang Cheng get presentable. Jiang Cheng’s hair is a little thicker and coarser than Nie Huaisang is used to, and it feels heavy in his hands. He does a tolerable job of putting it up in an approximation of the way Jiang Cheng usually wears it. While Nie Huaisang draws Jiang Cheng’s hair through his guan, Jiang Cheng folds his lapels smooth, ties his sashes, and puts on his belt. The question of how he fastens it, when he wears it with the clasp in the back, is answered: Jiang Cheng does the belt up in the front and then slides it around, which causes the fabric underneath to bunch, and requires additional fidgeting. The whole thing is so fussy Nie Huaisang can’t stand it, and it tugs a brief smile out of him.

“You came on Sandu?” Nie Huaisang still feels vaguely guilty about the thought of sending Jiang Cheng back down the stairs.

“I did.”

“Why don’t you leave through the window? I don’t want the gossips to lay into you on my account.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t take much further convincing. Nie Huaisang opens the window shutters and stands to the side, resting an impatient hand on his hip, as Jiang Cheng climbs out of the window. Once Jiang Cheng has got his balance on the flat of the blade, he floats down so that their eyelines are roughly even.

After a moment of uncertain mutual silence, Jiang Cheng clears his throat. “I’m going to write to you. For reports on your... health.”

Nie Huaisang laughs. “There’s really no need for that.”

“I’ll expect replies.”

Nie Huaisang’s spine is tense. He wants to argue. He says, “Okay. Alright.”

Jiang Cheng squares his jaw. It’s unlike the pouty little argumentative shows he often puts on. He hadn’t looked this hardened even when they were in the thick of their argument, when Nie Huaisang was braced for things to be difficult. Couldn’t he have done this when Nie Huaisang was ready for it? Why did he have to wait?

Jiang Cheng takes Nie Huaisang’s face between his palms. Nie Huaisang clutches the windowsill for balance, and then he is being kissed.

Nie Huaisang gasps against Jiang Cheng’s mouth, and he feels a small gust of breath from Jiang Cheng’s nose against his cheek. The edge of a tooth drags against his bottom lip. Jiang Cheng’s hands are firm—he must have held Nie Huaisang in place to ensure he would do it right the first time, and not miss—and when he pushes his fingers back through Nie Huaisang’s hair, a desperate, full sound escapes Nie Huaisang's throat.

When Jiang Cheng pulls back, Nie Huaisang is leaning halfway out the window. Jiang Cheng coughs, having the decency to look abashed. “I’ll see you.”

Nie Huaisang is too dazed to do anything but nod.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t dally. Nie Huaisang draws the window closed, turns around, and sinks to the floor. The onset of spring is more noticeable in the south, and as he sits amidst his own disarray like a flower with half its petals molted, he can hear the clarion trill of birdsong through the shutters.