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Shuanghua slices an arc across the forest floor, beautiful and deadly. It cuts through flesh like butter. Silver glints leave a trail of frost behind, the sword truly lives up to its name. Xue Yang only watches. But he isn’t watching the sword, despite its impressive movements, and he’s not watching the enemies as they fall one by one. No, Xue Yang is watching the center of the carnage. He is watching Xiao Xingchen himself, with his white robes billowing around him, the edges stained with droplets of blood.
He is beautiful. He is deadly. Xue Yang thinks that if there truly were gods in this world even they would pale in comparison to his Daozhang. He thinks, as he steps up to the man, that no god could be worth looking at as long as Xiao Xingchen stood there, gore staining the soles of his shoes, a droplet of sweat dripping down his brow. Xue Yang catches it as it slips down his cheek, licking up the flushed cheeks that only grow redder at the shameless display. His Daozhang's mouth opens, likely to scold him, but Xue Yang is not in the mood for scolding. He is hungry. His lips crash against Xingchen’s before he can get any words out. He didn’t need words.
Xiao Xingchen gasped into his mouth, and then melted, as he always did. They barely made it back to the coffin house before belts were being tugged off with desperate, impatient hands. He smelled of blood and sweat and the snow outside. A frozen night was closed off with a slam of the door, with the bright moon that he is named after left behind to the outside, inside it is only warm, a bright blazing sun in the middle of winter. Warm skin and hot breaths panting against mouths.
Xue Yang pushes him back, and his Daozhang goes without an ounce of resistance, his lips tilted up into a breathless smile, deceptively sweet. His hands dig into his hips, they’ll leave bruising fingerprints. Xue Yang can’t wait to feel them tomorrow.
The last of their robes fall, naked and wanting and desperate. His breaths come out in little pants, his body trembles, it’s thrilling, exhilarating, the high of the kill could never compare to this. The slight strain to his thighs as they push him up and down, the sounds he barely muffles against a sweaty shoulder, the feeling of being utterly, impossibly full. But no, he’s felt that before, he’s felt the fullness and the sweat and the strain, that’s not what brings him this high. The high is Xiao Xingchen, it’s his smile and the way he pushes up into him and the way he tugs and gropes and squeezes and bites at his skin. It’s knowing that his noble, gentle Daozhang’s teeth are the ones marking his skin, it’s knowing that he is the one that’s forcing noises out of him that no other could wish to. It’s seeing him under him, over him, around him.
It’s in these moments that Xue Yang wishes he could have this forever. He thinks would be happy with this forever, as long as Xingchen stays inside of him and holds him as if he will never let go.
“A-Mei,” it comes out as a groan, breathless and deep and dark in a way he never thought his Doazhang could be before they started their little arrangement. It makes his whole body shudder, his hips pausing their movements. “A-Mei,” the name that isn’t his feels like a prayer against his skin, it sounds dark, it sounds perfect. A hand tugs his hair back, a bite to his neck, he answers it with a moan. “Always so loud my A-Mei,” he bites, Xue Yang gives up on hiding his noises. Xiao Xingchen smirks. It’s everything. He tugs once more, forcing his head back, digs blunt nails into the meat of his thigh, and Xue Yang is gone. He shakes apart, eyes rolled back, mouth parted in a moan that feels almost like a scream, Xingchen silences him with a kiss.
Xue Yang collapses forward with a shaky breath, his eyes falling closed in the afterglow. He’s empty now, something trickles down his legs. He shudders at the feeling and Xingchen gently brushes a hand through his hair as if to soothe him. It works, it always works. It stops a bit too soon, he's too tired to think about that.
He nuzzles against the crook of his neck where he'd landed, pressing a hidden smile against pale skin. Xingchen is cold, but he’s too tired to think about that either.
“Daozhang wore me out, he will have to take responsibility for this poor A-Mei,” he whined, a familiar song and dance. Xingchen would laugh, he would scoop him up and clean him up, pressing gentle kisses to the bitemarks and bruises that littered his skin. He’d wrap him up in a clean robe and tuck him against his chest and Xue Yang would fall asleep, more content than he’d ever been.
None of that happened.
Xingchen didn’t laugh, he didn’t move, he didn’t answer his tease or clean him up. He was cold. Suddenly Xue Yang was more than awake enough to think about the cold.
His lips twisted into a frown, confusion furrowing his brows together. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. And then he feels something warm pooling beneath his cheek. Something warm, and wet. When his eyes snap open all he can see is red.
Xue Yang lifts himself up, slowly, slowly. Red, red, red.
“Daozhang…?” His voice comes out quieter than he’d ever heard it before. It’s warm and wet. It’s blood. There’s blood. It covers his Daozhang, it’s all he can see. He can feel it against his cheek, against his hands when they settle shakily against Xiao Xingchen’s chest. He can feel it between his naked thighs and across his bare stomach.
“Xingchen?” A little louder, as if the reason for the lack of response was simply that he hadn’t been heard before. “Xingchen…? Xiao Xingchen?” He reaches down, pressing against his neck, he can see the cut now, long and nasty, right where he’d been nuzzling against just moments ago.
He screams.
. . .
Xue Yang wakes up with the scream he was sure had deafened him caught in his throat. Silent. He’s still warm, his body shakes, he can feel something wet between his thighs, he wants to throw up.
“A-Yang? Are you awake, love?” The voice rumbles against him, he can feel the vibrations against his head. It’s teasing, vaguely amused. It is A-Yang, not A-Mei, he is A-Yang now, his entire body goes limp. He is A-Yang.
He sobs.
“A-Yang?! What’s wrong sweetheart?” The voice, his Daozhang’s voice, loses the gentle amusement in seconds, twisting into concern. The hold around him tightens and he’s pressed against the crook of his neck. It’s warm, not cold, and it’s dry, not wet. He can hear his pulse, the steady thudding, it only makes him cry harder.
“Xue Yang? Wha’s happenin’?” A second voice, heavy with sleep. A different hand lands on his side, gently rubbing against his skin. Clothed skin, not bare. He feels naked still, his thighs are wet, sticky, pressed up against Xiao Xingchen's. He cries.
A hand gently runs through his messy hair, lips pressed against the top of his head, whispering soothing words. “It’s okay, it’s alright love, you want to tell me what’s wrong?” No, no he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to tell him why he’s crying or why he’s fucking soiled his boxers or why he still feels like he wants to puke a bit. He shakes his head. “Okay… okay, you don’t have to,” his Daozhang is too good. He doesn’t deserve it one bit.
Eventually his tears dry, he nuzzles into the warmth of his boyfriend, and he slowly returns to reality. He’s in bed, with Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan. Xingchen is holding him, he’s practically on top of him, Song Lan’s hand is reaching over the former Daozhang to rub soothing shapes against his shoulder. It’s the middle of the night. He had a wet dream? No… he had a nightmare.
“There we go, feeling better?” Xingchen’s voice is as soothing as ever, he buries himself further into him, pressing his face into his neck. He doesn’t smell of blood, just a bit of sweat, his lavender body wash and Xue Yang’s own flowery conditioner. He breathes it in. “Should we get you cleaned up love?” He bites at the soft skin in retaliation. He feels more than hears the laugh that his boyfriend breathes out.
“You’re going to get cleaned up soon, whether you want to or not,” Song Lan’s voice comes, he wishes he could bite him too, he’d do it harder too, he’d deserve it. Nevermind that he is uncomfortable and very much needs a shower, his need to keep Xingchen close is much greater.
“How about I shower with you A-Yang? How does that sound?” Damn him knowing him so fucking well. He bites him again, it’s much gentler, and it’s followed by a nod.
The bed shifts, and Xue Yang can’t help but cling, the hand that had been draped across Xingchen’s chest, limp and exhausted, suddenly coming to life, digging into the shirt his boyfriend had worn to bed like he was afraid he’d disappear if he let go. Xingchen, the fucker, simply brushes a hand over his hair and continues to move, pulling Xue Yang up with him into a sitting position that only makes him feel more fucking uncomfortable. He feels wrung out, like an old wash cloth that had been squeezed a few too many times. Exhaustion clings to him but refuses to bring him down into any form of peace that sleep might give him. There’s something still buzzing under his skin, something jittery and scared, something that feels like blood on his hands and endless nights staring at a too pale body. Warm hands against him, warm blood. Cold nights, even colder skin.
He lets Xingchen move him as he wishes, as long as his hands are allowed to continue clinging he doesn’t care where they go. So he lets himself be lifted onto his lap, despite the way it rubs against his sensitive body in ways that aren’t entirely pleasant, and simply readjusts his grip when Xiao Xingchen finally stands up with him in his arms.
“I’ll make some hot chocolate,” Song Lan’s voice drifted by before his footsteps disappeared down the hall, apparently to go to the kitchen to make hot chocolate. Xue Yang liked hot chocolate, but he wasn’t sure why Song Lan wanted to make some right now. Did he like hot chocolate too? He’d honestly forgotten. He didn’t have enough brain power to think about Song Lan’s beverages choices anyways, fuck that.
A gentle kiss was pressed against the top of his head, a light clicked on, the dim one they kept in the bathroom for nighttime. It still felt too bright, he buried his face further into the safety of the bitten neck he refused to leave.
“Alright sweetheart, I’m just going to set you down to get you out of these clothes, okay? We’ll take a real quick shower and then go to the living room,” Xingchen explained, ever so gently, as he settled Xue Yang down on the sink counter.
And then he tried to pull away.
Xue Yang bit down hard. No. No, no, no, no.
Xingchen flinched, he was pretty sure he was supposed to care about that. He didn’t though, he really didn’t. If he tried to leave, he’d sink his teeth in further, he wouldn’t care about the blood that would pool under his tongue, he’d tear a chunk off before Xingchen could truly step away from him.
A hand cradled the back of his neck before moving up to his jaw. It was gentle, but firm, digging fingers into his cheeks, tugging at his mouth, more and more, until he was forced to let go. Saliva left a trail between him and the angry red bitemark he was pulled away from. Xue Yang, pathetically, felt his eyes water.
“Oh A-Yang… it’s okay, I’m still here,” the hand that had forced him off moved down to gently stroke across his jaw, soothing passes across his skin. A second hand came up to wipe away his tears, it only made more fall, a broken little sound leaving his lips. “Come on, the sooner we’re clean the sooner you can go back to eating me alive, hm?” He smiled, his smile was everything.
He watched —refusing to let Xingchen leave his sight now that he couldn’t feel his heartbeat against his lips— as his clothes were removed, one hand always staying against his skin, assuring him that he was there. Xingchen’s clothes came off next, and then he was being led into their shower and Xingchen was turning on the warm water, still keeping one hand in his.
Xue Yang barely helped, allowing Xingchen to move around the shower with memory alone. He was so smart, so good, he cleaned Xue Yang up and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. He didn’t deserve him at all, he wanted to scream, no sound left his lips.
It was only five minutes before he was being pulled out of the shower and led to where they kept the towels, allowing him to reach out and grab Xingchen’s, handing it to him before grabbing his own. He got a smile in return, and a thank you. He didn’t deserve either of them.
He dried himself off, pulled on some boxers and one of Song Lan’s stupidly big shirts and passed Xingchen a pair of his weird silk pajamas. He never let go of his hand, even while shirts were pulled on, one hand was always available. Fuck he didn’t deserve it.
“A-Yang? Do you want me to carry you again?” Yes. Always. He shook his head no against a warm shoulder, so he was led by the hand instead. It should have been funny, the blind man leading him, but Xue Yang could find no humor at the moment.
The scent of hot chocolate reached him the moment he stepped into the living room, a glance over at the coffee table showing two steaming mugs of the stuff already sitting there. One was simple, one had two giant fucking marshmellows in it. Song Lan rested back against the couch, his own hot chocolate tucked against him. He looked up when they entered, giving a light grunt of acknowledgment, or perhaps greeting, he still hadn’t fully managed to interpret Song Lan’s grunts like Xingchen could. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to.
Xingchen brought him over, and Song Lan pulled him down to sit next to him, leaving him sandwiched between the two. A mug of steaming hot chocolate, with those two ridiculously large marshmallows, just how he liked it, was placed in his hand. It was delicious, he almost didn’t care when more tears slipped down his cheeks, salt went well with chocolate anyways.
Song Lan had made him hot chocolate, he’d put the exact amount of marshmallows he liked. Xingchen had cleaned him up, he’d held him and let him use him as a chew toy. They’d calmed him down and taken care of him and…
“What the fuck is wrong with you…?” His voice was broken, quiet and cracking at the edges.
“Huh?” Xingchen always looked so cute when he was confused. He turned away from him, he couldn’t look at him. His gaze landed on Song Lan instead. It was no better, he looked just as fucking confused. Why did he also look fucking cute when he was confused?
“You too… what the fuck is wrong with you?” A bit louder, a familiar anger beginning to bubble up to the surface.
“What in the gods’ name are you talking about Xue Yang?” Song Lan sounded… annoyed, but not in the way that would get him a punch to the face. It was annoyed in the way that a parent would scold a disobedient child, or perhaps an owner after their dog pissed on the carpet. Exasperated perhaps would’ve been a better word he supposed. It only made him angrier. His grip on the mug tightened, knuckles losing that rosy pink of blood with the force of his grip.
What was he talking about, he asked, as if he didn’t fucking know. He knew. Xue Yang knew that he knew. What was he talking about, huh?
“I killed you,” the silence in the room was deafening. “I fucking killed you, I broke you and I laughed,” the words were harsh, snarling, like an animal, he didn’t feel like himself, he didn’t even feel human. Was he a human? “I killed you and everything and everyone you loved, I tore out your eyes and your tongues and watched you bleed,” the mug in his hands felt like it was burning.
“A-Yang… that was… that was before, it’s different this time, we’re not the people we were then,” Xingchen’s hand — kind, sweet hand — reached for him. He couldn’t help himself from flinching away, curling his body further into itself, around the mug in his hands. The burning hot fucking mug.
“Xue Yang, stop it. Xingchen forgave you, you have to respect that,” his voice was so stern, always so stern. “And… well… I can see you’ve changed. You haven’t drawn a drop of blood from us that we didn’t want,” Song Lan… Song Lan was fucking defending him. If it didn’t piss him off so much he might’ve laughed at just how stupid it was.
His hands clutched the mug, burning, burning. The liquid sloshed inside, the two halfway melted marshmallows rocking with the force of his shaking body, like little boats lost at sea. It was stupid. It was so very stupid. He shook his head, more and more. No, no, no. He hadn’t fucking changed, he was Xue Yang and he was a killer. Just because he hadn’t killed them in this life didn’t mean he wouldn’t. He could. He could stab them right then and there, he could break Xingchen’s pretty little neck and slam Song Lan through the coffee table and… and…
The mug shattered in his grip.
Someone gasped. There were shards of ceramic in his skin, digging into the flesh of his palms. Someone cursed.
A hand reached out for him, pale and rushed. He didn’t want the hand.
“Don’t fucking TOUCH ME!” He slapped the hand away, stumbling to his feet and right into the coffee table, almost tripping over it. “Don’t…” his breathing felt weird, his chest was rising and falling but it was too fast, his vision was blurry, his hands fucking hurt. Everything was wrong.
“A-Yang… love, you’re bleeding,” he was, it fucking hurt. “Please, just…” Xingchen’s words trailed off, like he truly didn’t know what to say. He probably didn’t. That was fair, Xue Yang didn’t blame him. He didn’t know what to do himself. He wanted to run, he wanted to scream, he wanted to claw and bite and tear and…
“I don’t want to hurt you,” it came out so small, so pathetic, “don’t touch me… I don’t want to hurt you,” so fucking pathetic.
He wondered what the Xue Yang of the past would say if he saw him now, half fallen over a coffee table, clutching his hands as they bled onto the carpet. If he could see how scared he surely looked, how he was shaking, how stupid it all was, with the shards of ceramic digging into his palms and the tears slipping down his cheeks. He probably would have laughed. He would’ve laughed and mocked him. That Xue Yang had killed without remorse, he’d been strong, he’d been brave, he didn’t care what happened to him, or to anyone else. He didn’t care if he hurt a Daozhang or two. He didn’t care… until he did.
Xue Yang had cared. He’d cared so much. From the moment Xingchen had fallen, the moment he realized that he wasn’t coming back, Xue Yang had cared so fucking much. Suddenly, after not caring for so long, after no remorse, no weakness… suddenly he wasn’t strong anymore. From that moment on he’d lived in weakness, and in weakness he’d died. In weakness he had been reborn. From the moment that Xingchen’s body had hit the floor and Shuanghua had clattered next to him, covered in far too much blood, the strong Xue Yang had died with him, his strength bleeding onto the floor with his tears.
He didn’t want to hurt his Daozhang. He wasn’t the strong Xue Yang that had slaughtered sects and laughed. He was the weak Xue Yang, the one that had been born with the blood of Xiao XIngchen. The one that had died clutching a piece of candy and had been revived with a cry only to find that candy once more.
He had changed. But not because of this lifetime, not because he had been reborn, not because he was given a second chance at life. He had changed because he’d been given a second chance at love. He was given a second chance at Xiao Xingchen. And then somehow with Song Lan. They had changed him, with both their deaths and their lives. And now all he could think of was of biting their fucking heads off, it was disgusting, it scared him so fucking much.
Arms wrapped around him, strong and binding, pulling him harshly forward to thud into a sturdy chest. Song Lan’s arms. He struggled. He fought. Wiggling and kicking and scratching and… and… he went limp. Fuck.
“You won’t hurt us,” what a fucking lie, of course he would.
“I won’t let you,” oh… that was right. Song Lan wouldn’t let him.
For the second time that night Xue Yang sobbed.
His hands dug into Song Lan’s shirt, twisting the fabric in his bloodied fists, his face buried against his chest, soaking him with his tears. He felt so fucking wrong, he was pretty sure he was being held together by a fucking thread. He still didn’t feel human. But Song Lan held him anyway. He was breaking apart and Song Lan was holding him and a hand was being placed atop his head, gently brushing his hair back and he just knew it was Xingchens and fuck… he really was breaking, cracking apart like the mug embedded in his hands.
He cried until his eyes hurt and he could barely think straight. He cried while Song Lan dragged him onto his lap on the couch and as Xingchen gently cleaned up his hands. He cried and cried and cried even as a second pair of arms came around him and kisses were pressed to his broken parts. He cried until he ran out of tears and then some more.
If he’d been exhausted before, now he couldn’t even find a word to find just how tired he was. His eyes fell closed, slumped back against that sturdy chest.
“There we go. Are you back with us sweetheart?” He hummed, hoping it was enough of an answer, he wasn’t sure if he could form words at the moment.
“Good, that’s good, can you open your mouth A-Yang?” Xue Yang didn’t even think before he did as he was told, his mouth dropping open immediately. It should’ve been embarrassing, and it was, but the smile Xingchen gave him for complying made it worth it.
His chin was gently grabbed, guiding his face slightly upwards until it hit the rim of a cup of some sort. Liquid soon poured into his mouth, ever so slowly, allowing him to swallow before giving him even just a bit more. Little by little he drank what he could only assume was water, if the taste was anything to go by.
“Good boy,” gods, the things Xingchen did to him should’ve been illegal.
“Usually I do somethin’ tha’ actually makes y’ feel good to get this sorta treatmen’,” his voice slurred, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth, but the water had helped. It was worth the effort too, because Xingchen laughed, a soft, quiet sound, and Song Lan’s chest rumbled ever so slightly beneath him, as if he too were amused by his words. It would always be worth it to hear them laugh… when had he become so fucking sappy? It was probably just the dehydration.
“A-Yang,” he spoke so softly, he loved his Daozhang’s voice so much. “I love you,” he said, and that just wasn’t fair, was it? He’d just stopped crying, he didn’t have any more tears to shed for this.
“I know you think it’s stupid, and it might be, but I love you, and I trust you,” it was stupid, it was extremely stupid. “I’m going to keep touching you, and holding you, because I don’t think you’ll hurt me… I don’t think you wanted to hurt me in the first place,” how wrong he was, how stupid he was.
And then he was kissing him.
Xue Yang reacted by pure instinct, dragging Xiao Xingchen closer, his hand easily finding his neck as his own waist was grabbed, tugging him half off of Song Lan's lap to land onto Xingchen’s own thighs. He was being pieced together, every lick and nibble and squeeze of hands was tugging his broken pieces back. A second pair of hands kept him steady, holding him together, big and sturdy like the chest that pressed him down into Xingchen’s lips.
“I love you,” he whispered against those perfect lips, and he did, he loved him so fucking much. And as their breaths mingled together, he remembered icy nights and warm cabins and little candies left on pillows. But now… now it was different, now there was a second set of hands and kisses against the top of his head and the cold was so, so much further away, held back by two sets of lips and hands and love.
“I love you,” he repeated, squeezing the hand wrapped around his waist from behind as Xingchen kissed him breathless. Suddenly, things weren’t wrong at all.
“I love you.”