changheng/dongfang qingcang
❛ you look like you were jealous. ❜
"You looked like you were jealous."
Dongfang Qingcang almost scoffs, but he keeps his tone aimed toward placating as Xiao Lanhua plops down beside him on their bed and snuggles up to his side, right where she belongs.
"Don't be ridiculous."
He keeps his voice low to match the peaceful stillness of the room, reaching over to brush a lock of her hair back from her cheek. It's true that his touch is possessive but that's certainly not outside the realm of the expected. "We've long settled this--centuries ago," he says. "Why should I be so insecure I can't see my wife kiss her lover goodbye, when I know she's coming back to my arms?"
As if to prove it, Dongfang Qingcang wraps one of those said arms around her shoulders and gives her a reassuring squeeze, relishing the way her body relaxes against him.
In truth, he had even been busy enough this time with the skirmishes in the north that he had barely the time and presence of mind each night to miss Xiao Lanhua. Where would he obtain the energy to be jealous over her too?
As he watches, the corners of her lips turn up. Her face looks particularly round and impish in the moonlight streaming from the balcony; her eyes laughing and serious at the same time as they turn up to meet his, so bright and clear and full of love. The vision she makes strikes him like lightning and Dongfang Qingcang wants nothing more than to gather her to him, warm and soft, and ease the pleasant ache burning hotter in his core with every minute she's back in his bed.
"No," Xiao Lanhua says, lips widening into something a little too knowing for comfort. "You looked like you were jealous of me."
Dongfang Qingcang freezes and Xiao Lanhua takes the opportunity to pull out of his grasp.
He sees the memory as if it's playing out before him once again--Changheng's hands on Xiao Lanhua's face, on her neck, cradling her close with sweet emotion. It was gentle and then it wasn't, Xiao Lanhua reaching up to bury one hand in Changheng's hair, the hint of his startled moan as she deepened the kiss.
Dongfang Qingcang had felt...something. Something like swallowing ice, the way it burns cold all the way down. And then he had carefully looked away from the feeling, breathing steadily as though nothing had disrupted it to begin with.
How many thousands of years will they be together before his wife stops finding vulnerabilities of his to expose? When will she finally run out of ways to dig into the heart of him and disrupt something new, a gardener determined to make use of every inch of fertile land?
He can't look away now; Xiao Lanhua crawls into his lap and presses cool hands against his cheeks to keep his eyes only on hers. Adrenaline lights up Dongfang Qingcang's veins--a moment of uncertainty, anticipation.
"I...I--"
There is only the heavy thud of his pulse and the sensation of being pinned, seen. Words fail.
If he's lucky, he knows, the answer is never.
"Just think about it," Xiao Lanhua says, and kisses him.
It is the fullness of her clemency, a cool rain against flushed-warm cheeks, and Dongfang Qingcang falls gladly into it with a sigh. But it is not truly freedom, nor is it shelter from his own desire.
Just think about it, as if he can do anything else now, the memory of hands and lips tangling with the reality of skin on skin as Xiao Lanhua pushes him back onto the bed.
Just think about it, more a curse than an offer, as he searches her mouth for the lingering taste of another.
Just think about it, and as Dongfang Qingcang lays sated in the rumpled aftermath of their reunion, he does.
Perhaps...perhaps he is overdue for a visit to the mortal realm, and a drink with his would-be zhiji.
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