dumbshow | highly new, slightly improved open post

[Ah, and the simple delight of just being close enough to touch continues as Jiang Cheng tugs him along to sit on his bed. There are implications, of course, to sitting like this on somebody's bed— they can get to those. For now Huaisang appreciates Jiang Cheng's hand in his, and the way his lips can almost still feel that kiss...

But there's no point getting ahead of himself. He laughs, a little chuckle hastily stifled behind his free hand. This man. Please.]

I'm good at not getting caught!

[That's his whole thing! He's a professional! This was all a very good idea and he won't hear any complaints, Jiang Cheng. Huaisang leans toward him, not to catch him in another kiss but to brush an errant strand of hair back from his face and linger there, palm settling against his cheek. Hey, what's up.]

No one will catch me if I stay.

[Like, he'll even stay just to chastely bump knees, he's in deep enough.]

Then stay.

[How easily he phrases that, without any implication or demand woven within the words. He really is good at that-- far better than Jiang Cheng ever would have suspected, which just goes to show.

But ah, his hand is . . . oh, and he goes so impossibly still, basking in each point of contact, his heart thudding dully in his chest. It's almost too good, as absurd as that sounds; his own hand covers Huaisang's, and there's a moment where he almost pulls his hand off.

But no, that would be stupid. Instead: he turns his head into it, the tips of his fingers tracing against the back of Huaisang's hand. There's a lot he wants to say, a lot of emotions twisting around in his mind and soul, nearly choking him for how much he feels them, and he doesn't know how to articulate a single one of them.

So, instead:]

Comfortable enough, or are you going to complain again?

[They held hands under a table earlier and Huaisang felt giddy, as ridiculous as that is; this is a dozen times that, spreading a warmth out from his chest that, honestly? He wasn't sure he could still feel. It's momentarily overwhelming to be reminded that he can, to have Jiang Cheng wake up some part of him that he pushed down for so very long.

And Jiang Cheng's skin is warm, his hand just bigger than Huaisang's enough to be noticeable, and he can't help but want to run his hands all over, down his chest, across his back— you know, he's not picky. But not yet— this is something different. Softer.

Even if they're going to snip at each other like children, as is tradition.]

A sect leader should be a more gracious host than you are.

[Rude, rude man... Huaisang smooths his thumb over his cheekbone, shifting to bump knees and move not quite into Jiang Cheng's lap so he can rest his head against his shoulder. It's time to talk, like grownups, but consider: hold him??]

I'm comfortable.

And so long as you are, nothing else matters.

[Drawled out, and he shifts them both, so he can at least lean his weight against the wall while Huaisang leans against him. Which is a very comfortable state of being, honestly, and there's a sort of thrill to that unto itself: gently adjusting what Huaisang had begun, and realizing that he won't pull away immediately when Jiang Cheng does.

His arm curls around him, and, somewhat tentatively, he pushes his fingers through his hair. He very much wants to kiss him again, but that can wait, presumably, until they talk like grown-ups.]

Don't lecture me on manners. I won't kiss you again if you keep complaining.

[Oh, that's very comfortable, good thinking. Huaisang doesn't protest at all; if anything he settles in even more comfortably once they've moved, sliding his arm around Jiang Cheng's waist and humming, low and appreciative of the hand in his hair. Yes, that's excellent, keep doing that.]

If you kiss me, I can't complain.

[galaxy brain]

What is it that you want from this?

[From this, from him... It's time to Talk, and the question is piercing but his voice is soft, more curious than demanding. Hopeful? He'll think about it.]

Ah . . .

[He's had two weeks to think of an answer, but still the question paralyzes him. What does he want? What doesn't he want? Sex is the easiest answer, but honestly, sex is the least of it. He can live without sex. Intimacy, though, that's . . .

He desperately wants intimacy. He wants this: Huaisang beneath his arm, the heat of his body flush against Jiang Cheng's own, soft whispers exchanged in the darkness and the whole world blocked out for a precious few hours.

But it's impossible to ask for that. How on earth can he do it without sounding pathetic? Oh, A-Sang, I'm so lonely, come keep me company, because you definitely want a partner who's broken on the best of days! No. No, he won't.

So what does he say?]

I--

[Fuck. Fuck, it's so hard to talk when he's not snarling and snapping. His heart pounds hard in his chest, his body suddenly gone stiff as his fingers still in his hair.]

Not just . . . I don't want to just kiss you.

[It's something, anyway. God, what an emotionally constipated man.]

You . . . I've missed seeing you.

[The thing about being sprawled like this is, when Jiang Cheng's heart beats near out of his chest, Huaisang can practically feel it like his own. Curled up close and with that beat for music, something to listen to while Jiang Cheng finds his words.

Well, those are words. Nebulous, uncertain... Huaisang didn't expect something different from him and can't help being amused.

So.]

Two weeks.

[Ah— two weeks he'll stay, two weeks to come together to put whatever this is in more certain terms. Huaisang has left his whimsy behind him in their teen years; today, while he would like more than anything else to have this for as long as he's able, well.

Two weeks, to say with certainty that this is more than lust, or plain settling. Plus, it'll be fun. He tilts his head back despite Jiang Cheng's hand, to look at his face. He can't just say two weeks and be done with it after the man tried so hard to say he's missed him, so—]

I want to be close to you, A-Cheng. What do you say?

[Two weeks, and there's something a little wonderful about that relief. For two weeks, he doesn't have to put this into words. That swell of hope and the terror that comes with it, the obligation and expectation that comes with words . . . all of that he can put off until later.

He glances down at him for a long few seconds. What do you say, well, he's never been good at words. But he is good at action. He's good at being decisive, at striking while the iron is hot. And he's very good at being blunt and sharp.

This isn't a time for bluntness. It's not a time for lashing out. And so it's with almost extraordinary delicacy that he leans down, kissing him so terribly gently. Not rushed, not the way he had before, all frentic energy and desperation not to think, but sweetly, taking his time to savor just how soft Huaisang's mouth really is.]

[Well, another bumbling attempt at words might have been sweet, but Huaisang more than appreciates being kissed like this. He lets his eyes slip closed and leans up into it, arm curling more snugly around Jiang Cheng's waist. The kiss at the door was excellent, no doubt about that, and this one seems just as likely to melt his heart on the spot.

So that's nice. He can notice the details this time, the faint taste of the liquor from the banquet on Jiang Cheng's lips, the fingers curling in his hair as he leans down. Two weeks, Huaisang realizes dimly, might just kill him.

He'll go out on a high note, then, kiss Jiang Cheng soft like this and then again, affection welling up in him and threatening to spill over, everywhere—

Who knew that he could still feel vulnerable, after all this time? Who knew that he would enjoy it? Huh! But he's not the open book here, so—]

A-Cheng, you're pulling my hair.

[Just for that, he tugs a little bit more, as much a rebuke as a tease.]

You don't want me to pull your hair?

[God, that's the smoothest thing he's ever said in his life, and it's only because he's used to being sarcastic with Huaisang.]</small

[Jiang Cheng, good god, what happened to the endearing bumbling? Huaisang doesn't not want him to pull his hair, but ah... right this second? He leans away from Jiang Cheng's hand, which is just toward his chest, and look? Does this pull his hair that much more? Maybe so, do not @ him.]

I don't know— [he do tho] I didn't say that.

[But babe, do you know what you're doing? Hmm.]

[Hit him with those #intimacyfeels and he'll go back to bumbling in a hot second. Actually, keep pushing just a tiny bit and he'll go back to not knowing what he's doing, because seriously: that was about all the game he had.]

Then stop complaining.

[He's really very deft in how he ignores the hypocrisy. Slumping down, he tips his head back, moving so they can both sort of lie together: Huaisang with his head against his chest, and Jiang Cheng staying very still.

It's not that he isn't enjoying it. He very much is, because there's something remarkable about this moment. All of it, every piece. The steady warmth of Huaisang's body, curled in to fit against his own, the weight of him a comfortable burden against his chest. There's a hint of frost in the air, a chill that Jiang Cheng normally despises, but here and now, it makes for a lovely contrast: just enough cold to make him really appreciate Huaisang's body, his arm wrapped around him and Huaisang's hand against his hip, the two of them enjoying the silence together. Almost experimentally, he presses his lips together, savoring the pleasant ache that earns.

There's nothing to do, nowhere to be . . . no one to be, save for themselves. The nights are always worst, night terrors leaving him dreading sleep, but for once, Jiang Cheng thinks he could grow to enjoy them.

When was the last time he had a peaceful moment like this? He can't remember. It's perfect, honestly: like a song, each individual factor adding up to something greater than the whole. Or it would be perfect, anyway, if it weren't for the discordant note screeching in the back of his mind.

Because things like this don't happen to him. They don't-- he doesn't-- this isn't the sort of thing that he does, or receives, or wants (or maybe he just convinced himself that he didn't want it, because it was easier than longing for it and never getting it). Yanli had gotten it, because she was kind and soft and perfect, and Wei Wuxian had, because there is nothing that Wei Wuxian does not beat him to, but he--

It's not romance. He isn't thinking of that. Not sex, either. This-- this, right here, this moment, this fragile perfection where his mind isn't racing and his soul isn't screaming, where the person pressed against him wants nothing more than to linger, stay, spend an entire fortnight with him, just because they want to. Because they look at him and they think yes, him, he's the one, he's the best, I want no one other than him.

Because he looks at him like that.]

A--

[A-Cheng, he calls him, and yet despite how his heart thumps each time he hears it, he can't return the favor. Not yet. Except he just made a noise, so, er--]

Nothing.

[To Huaisang's credit: he stops complaining. He lets out a little huff, more amused than anything, and settles into this new position Jiang Cheng puts them in without a single protest. There's nothing to complain about, anyway, and that's—

There's nothing to complain about. There's just them, the warmth and the quiet, companionable and pleasant when Huaisang can hardly remember the last time he spent in silence with anyone that wasn't tense, at best. Uncomfortable. Dangerous, even. But Jiang Cheng is a silent presence beneath him and somehow, he's brought with him a comfort and ease Huaisang can't say they've shared before.

Oh, yes, they were friends when they were young— and not poor ones, either, but it's a wonder what being chewed up and pieced poorly back together by adulthood can do to a person. This comfort between them is nostalgic and novel at once, and Huaisang could just about let him carry him through until morning.

There's nothing to complain about! The sheer marvel of it! Absently he curls his fingers against Jiang Cheng's hip, not flirtatious, just— to do it. Because it's comforting to hold and be held. And he's thinking about that and how it would be just fine to fall asleep like this when Jiang Cheng goes and fumbles his way through one and a half words, and ah, right. This place he's laid his affections is still, impossibly, a bit of a loser.]

Hmm?

[A-Chennnng, say something sweet to him. He'll wait two weeks if he must.]

It's never 'nothing' with you.

[Does he say it now? Impossibly, the prompting helps, but then again, it's always easier to be pushed off a cliff than take that final step yourself (ah, perhaps that's a bad metaphor to use). But then again: shouldn't such a thing be noteworthy? Momentous? Doesn't it cheapen it if he just blurts it out?

On the other hand, Huaisang had just gone ahead and done it, so it's possible he's overthinking this. Or-- no, wait, he definitely is.]

I was going to tell A-Sang not to fall asleep, because I don't want to put up with his snoring.

[There, that's the best of neither world, a Jiang Cheng specialty: sentiment crouched in gruffness.]

Edited (tmw u gotta keep track via icons of two distinct and different canons that definitely aren't the same thing at all) 2020-03-26 02:06 (UTC)

[Ah. It isn't earth-shattering, and with the grouchiness it's hardly close to sweet, but being called A-Sang is... warm? Pleasant in that same comfortable way, and dimly Huaisang realizes no one has called him A-Sang before. Mingjue was not that kind of person, and he's pointedly kept people at arm's length ever since...

But this is nice. Hearing it from Jiang Cheng is something he decides he likes, so: wow, babe. Huaisang hums, shifting to lie on his stomach and fold his arms across Jiang Cheng's chest, resting his chin on them. Hey.]

I don't snore! A-Cheng is so cruel to tell me to stay and not let me sleep...

[Ah, woe is him... How will he go on...]

Yes you do.

[He says it with all the confidence of someone who's slept in the same room. Sucks to date your childhood buddy sometimes?? Except he's reaching up to cup Huaisang's face, the movement equal parts tentative and uncertain.]

You're not exactly a stranger, A-Sang.

[If he says it often enough, it won't always make his heart pound out of his chest, right?]

[Wow... Huaisang sighs and leans his cheek into Jiang Cheng's hand, shifting again to cover that hand with his own. Yes, do this. He accepts this.]

Well, you still asked me to stay. You've made your own bed, A-Cheng.

[This is becoming just an excuse to call each other sweet names over and over, isn't it-- It's fine. They should get it out of their systems now, before Jiang Cheng says A-Sang in front of Jin Ling, or something. Disastrous!]

Are you going to kick me in your sleep? Will I wake up on the floor?

I might.

[Honestly, he has literally never slept in the same bed with anyone, so it's going to be an adventure whenever the manage to fall asleep. If they manage to fall asleep, which seems an enormously tall order.]

Are you?

[His other hand goes to Huaisang's hair, absently tugging at the ends of his braids, undoing them.]

I don't kick.

[He'll cop to snoring. Maybe. But kicking is just too much.]

Ah, but you won't let me sleep anyway... How am I supposed to keep you busy?

[You know, so Jiang Cheng doesn't fall asleep and leave him all alone here.]

[Oh, okay, and his expression does a fun thing for a few seconds before he can safely hide behind a scowl again.]

You can't pretend to be stupid or useless anymore, you know. Come up with your own answer.

[It would be perhaps the easiest thing in the world right now to seduce Jiang Cheng, here in the man's own bed, after how tightly they've been curled together and for how long, and don't get him wrong— he earnestly thinks about it.

But he also sat at that stupid banquet for hours on end and he's exhausted, so maybe not tonight. That doesn't stop him from sliding up to kiss him, warm and affectionate.]

It could be that I only want to be by your side tonight, and you'll just have to put up with it if I snore.

[The real, honest truth is that there will never be a time when it isn't ridiculously easy for Huaisang to seduce Jiang Cheng. So there's no real urgency in it happening tonight, which is just as well, because those kisses and nothing more are well worth it.]

Okay.

[It's soft. Surprisingly, maybe alarmingly so. But there's something kind of wonderful about that kind of directness. Not an order, exactly, but at the same time . . . he settles a little, his fingers stroking through Huaisang's hair.]

Okay . . .

[Okay, so maybe he'll just lean up to kiss him again, quietly delighted that he's starting to know the patterns already. Huaisang likes to tip his head like that, and he pushes just softly enough that Jiang Cheng always wants to chase after him, making it firmer-- and so he does, not so much lustful as hungry for affection. He likes the way Huaisang feels; he likes the way he tastes, the soft, slightly shaky exhales he gives when Jiang Cheng falls back, panting softly. The flush on his cheeks, the way his expression is soft but not uncertain, not anymore, not now that it's all over and done with.

Two weeks. It's as much a reminder to himself as anything: no matter how frightened he grows of losing this, he at least has two weeks to have it.

Are they going to make out for the rest of the night? Probably. That doesn't seem like such a bad plan, though.]

[It's a fantastic plan, incidentally, and it makes for a good night after a day of stress and, well— a lifetime of stress before. It's not perfect because they aren't, but they hinge together in just enough places to make something work.

And so. Two weeks.

Two weeks means fluttering his fan and making some excuses to dismiss half of his entourage, keeping only a handful of disciples here to mingle with the Jiang disciples and teach them a thing or two, something he quips just once and watches the fireworks from for days afterwards. It means, somehow, still doing work and even more than usual, as the fact that two Sect Leaders are still in the same place makes them a beacon for the needy and downtrodden lower sects. Two weeks is exhausting.

But two weeks is something else entirely, the electric feeling Huaisang gets when Jiang Cheng runs his fingers from the back of his neck all the way to the base of his spine; the thrill of cornering him in a hallway somewhere and pulling him down to kiss, listening to him protest every time and, every time, sigh against his lips and melt into it. Two weeks is nostalgia, good and bad, laughing over wine after meals and waking in a cold sweat in the dead of night only to find Jiang Cheng's arm wrapped tight around him in unspoken understanding. It's the almost cautious exploration of the limits of intimacy, a touch here and a soft word spoken there, to try on the shape of the thing before committing to it properly.

It feels like longer than two weeks. A day or so before the "end" of all this they're on a walk at dusk, and when Huaisang slips his arm through Jiang Cheng's and rests his head on his shoulder, he can't imagine anyone else he would rather be with. So. That answers the hanging question, he supposes.

On the afternoon of the day itself, he realizes he's been wasting time. They've both been doing it, he's sure, which is why they've hardly seen each other since the early morning. He's sitting on the floor at a low table in the same main hall they'd held Jin Ling's banquet in, not reading the report in front of him at all and watching Jiang Cheng pace around the other end of the room. Sooner or later Qinghe will need him back, at least for a little while, and either he packs his things and leaves at dawn with nothing but the cold to look forward to, or—

Hmm. He sighs, because first things first,]

A-Cheng, you're making me dizzy, going back and forth like that.

Then don't watch.

[He can't stop pacing. If he stops pacing, he'll have to sit, and he can't sit, because he's far too restless for that. Pacing is the best he can do. He'd already tried to get rid of it this morning, going through training exercise after training exercise until his body screamed in protest, and still it hadn't helped.

But at least he stops short for a few seconds, staring sharply at Huaisang.]

What else would you have me do?

Anything else in the world if you'll stop doing that, [he says with a gesture at Jiang Cheng's everything, and it sounds like a joke but he really means it. Please relax.

Or, well, please approximate relaxation as much as possible. He knows it's hard. He knows they're going to keep quipping at each other like the end of their little arrangement isn't on the horizon because the alternative is also hard. As if it isn't a situation of their own making... whatever!!]

Come read these reports for me if you're going to pace.

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hey did you want a novel about jc's issues

yes and always

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