Chapter Text
This was all Stelle’s fault.
Well, not really, but Dan Heng had taken to pinning all sorts of blame onto his fellow amnesiacs because often, he was right. In this particular case though…
A tenuous rapport had formed between the Astral Express and the Stellaron Hunters. Somewhere between gaming requests, texts from unknown numbers and Blade deciding that he didn’t need Dan Heng dead just yet, Stelle had managed to wrangle everyone together. Them joining forces on Stelle’s explorations was only a matter of time.
This in and of itself was not an issue. The issue was Blade.
It wasnt so much that he was homicidal and blood thirsty. It was just that he was all those things, bit somehow, Dan Heng found it incredibly hot.
What.
Blade fought like an animal. He was blood and sweat and bared teeth. Feral laughter and grunts of rage would escape him every so often as he lost himself in his fights. His swordsmanship was delicate, but his blows were powerful. When he swung he destroyed everything in his path. IF something stood in his way, then he’d keep pushing until something gave. Even if that something was himself.
Armed with an undying body, Blade had become one of the most reckless fighters Dan Heng had ever seen. He didn’t think twice about sacrificing his arm, leg, whatever, so long as it granted him his desired opening.
For what seemed like the nth time, he allowed a void ranger to tear through his flesh only to hold it still for silver wolf to shoot it in the back. As the monster disappeared, Blade pressed a hand to the wound to stop his organs from spilling out.
“Thanks, bro.” Silver wolf said flippantly. Having been long desensitised, she gives her comrade a pat on the elbow and skips off, uncaring of the blood smeared on her palm. The Astral Express members, though more empathetic than the Hunters, too have begun to get used to the gory sight. They give him a nod and a concerned look. Nothing like the panicked offerings of first aid when they first started working together.
Somehow it all got into Dan Heng’s nerves.
Regardless of his healing abilities, Blade could still die. It wasn’t permanent, but it wasn’t without consequence either. Dan Heng had already known all this beforehand. Yet now when they were fighting on the same side, it became much more obvious.
Under a caked layer of blood, where his flesh sewed itself together, a thin pinkish scar would form. Blade would be whole, but he wouldn’t be without pain. He learned how to hide it well. The only sound he would make would be some slightly laboured breathing. His fingers would twitch slightly over his wound.
No one paid it any attention. No one but Dan Heng.
He clenched his fist.
Blade had died in this mission. He had long since recovered and was pointedly ignoring Silverwolf’s quips. Still, the two of them led the charge, insisting that they (Blade) could tank any enemy that jumped out at them.
Dan Heng followed a step behind, eyes trained on Blade’s back. This time, he had been completely run though, a hole pierced straight through his heart. His shirt was torn to pieces, it barely hung onto his shoulders. Dan Heng had a clear view of the lacerations that ran down his back and the way his shoulder blades clenched when he drew shaky breaths.
Does he not care for himself at all? Dan Heng thinks to himself. He will never, ever, voice this out. It clearly hurts so why does he still do it? Do the other Stellaron Hunters not care? Aren’t they supposed to be a team? If it were me-
“You’re staring.” Says March, rudely interrupting his staring. Not that it stops him, he just has to deal with her weight on his shoulder as he does.
“What’s he staring at?” Scratch that. Two weights on each shoulder.
“Is it blade? There’s something on his back isn’t there? Does he have a mole?!”
“No, stupid! He bled out just now! Dan Heng’s worried is all!”
“Worried? Hasn’t he done worse to Blade before? Hey, Dan Heng, you’ve killed him before right?”
“Please. Please, shut the fuck up.” Dan Heng grits out. Dan Heng has, in fact, killed Blade before. Multiple times at that. He never really thought about it until now. Until, they were ‘allies’. Until their ‘reunion’.
Damn Jing Liu. Now, none of his thoughts made any sense and he was stuck dragging the weight of his guilt around and he barely remembers what he did.
It’s a shame that his closest companions seem to have no qualms of disregarding him. They continue their pointless speculation, albeit in hushed whispers. The whispering does nothing when their talking with him between them.
The joint missions continue and so does the staring. Dan Heng can’t help it, unbidden the thoughts flood him. It feels like his caught in a tsunami with water pulling him every which way, forcing its way into him.
Dan heng remembers all of their fights. He remembers his spear, the edge sharper than dragon scales slicing through his flesh. He can remember Blade’s gasps as blood filled up his lungs, the burning hatred in his eyes. ‘This isn’t over.’ He rasped, ‘You will pay.’ A sharp inhale as Dan Heng presses the spear deeper.
It feels wrong.
This time, Blade’s body was speckled by little cuts of sharp wind. Not deep enough to scar as badly as most of his wounds, but enough to hurt. If one listens closely they’d hear him suck air through his teeth as his skin, pink and raw, brushed against his clothes.
And, well, Dan Heng had the ears of a Vidyadhara, he can’t exactly turn his sensitive hearing off.
Whenever he killed Blade, it was always a singular decisive blow to the throat or heart. The occasional injury couldn’t be avoided, breaking his legs was a good way to get him to stay still. But, it wasn’t as if he was trying to cause him more pain. He just wanted it to end as quickly as he could make it. Then again, you can’t exactly kill someone without pain. At the same time, he was justified, he thinks. An intergalactic criminal was chasing him down, what was he meant to do?
There go his thoughts again, talking himself into a corner, spiralling, making him sick.
Thank the Aeons he had friends that cared little about frivolities like personal space. They often barge into his, grounding him.
“I’ve connected the dots.” Said Stelle, to which March replies, “You haven’t connected shit.”
Though Dan Heng gives them a lot of flak for their thoughtlessness, spending time with them takes the weight off of his chest. Makes him feel… unburdened. He settles himself comfortably into their conversation. The two squabbling about something or the other, Stelle insisting that she’s uncovered some huge mystery. They turn to him and oh- Oh no.
The mystery is him isn’t it?
Dan Heng is powerless to stop the offending words for their mouths.
“Dan Heng, do think Blade is hot?”
Dan Heng’s dreams were often scarily vivid. It wasn’t until recently that he had realised (accepted) that they were not dreams at all, but Dan Feng’s memories.
He didn’t want them, at first. They muddled up his perceptions of people, his own thoughts clashing against’ s Dan Feng’s. Now, he was somewhat grateful for them. Blade and him were not on good terms, even after their reunion, but there was a shift in their relationship.
Understanding connected them. And through these dreams, Dan Feng felt like that uncertain thread between them grew a little bit stronger.
Today, too, he could hear the gentle whirring of the cycranes’ gears and the whistle of wind through the wooden windows. He was in another of Dan Feng’s memories. His claws on display and his hair let loose down his back.
This memory was of him doing paperwork in his own residence. A suspiciously mundane memory if not for the weight on his lap.
“A-Feng, It’s been three hours, aren’t you satisfied yet?” Blade- no, Ying Xing is caught in Dan Feng’s arms soft and warm and apparently he’d been stuck there for three hours.
Dan Heng thought about how uncomfortable it must be to sit still for that long. Dan Feng thought it was appropriate to pull the man tighter against himself.
“Mm? From your tone it seems the esteemed Furnace Master has not learned his lesson.” Grumbles Dan Feng as he continues to work.
“Do not treat me like a child, Dan Feng.” Bla- Ying Xing bites out, annoyance clear in his tone.
“You’re barely 40.”
“I’m 48, dickhead.”
“And yet, you still don’t know how to take care of yourself.” Dan Heng feels it as Dan Feng’s irritation grows. At the same time, Ying Xing sighs against his chest.
“I lost track of time, A-Feng. You know how it gets.” He grits out. The Furnace Master was pernicious habit of skipping food, drink and sleep was well known. These feverish work hazes of his have produced great wonders, but have also thrown his health far off balance. Clearly, his lover had grown tired of it. “You do it too.”
“I have all the time to spare, you do not.” Dan Feng growls. His tail squirming restlessly had taken to winding its way around Ying Xing’s torso. “So if you cannot take care of yourself I will. Now sleep.”
Somehow, he can feel Ying Xing’s eyes roll. “Can’t sleep in this position.”
“You can and you will.”
“My back hurts.”
Dan Feng may have been a stubborn, petulant asshole (Not that Ying Xing was any better), but at the very least he could take his lover’s word seriously.
“Fine then, we will relocate to the bedchambers.” Dan Feng announces. In one decisive move he makes to stand. Ying Xing, still in his lap, splutters.
“H-hey, wait-!” He exclaims uselessly. Arms flailing against Dan Feng’s as the man shifts. For one moment he thinks that he’s about to be pushed off onto the low desk. Then, a slithering limb coils around him and he is hoisted into the air. He gasps, face pink with shock. Then, his senses return and so does his snarl.
“Do I even weigh anything to you?” He grumbles, much to Dan Feng’s amusement. Dan Heng feels his own mood lift as Dan Feng’s does.
“No.” He hums, tone light and jovial, watching his beloved struggle fruitlessly at his bonds, “As light my writing brush. Maybe even more so.”
“Have you been skipping meals, Ying Xing?” Dan Feng teases, to which he receives a growl. How cute. “Since you’re this light, maybe I’ll bring you everywhere like this.”
“Fuck you. I am not light. It’s your stupid high elder powers again.” Ying Xing barks, much like a Diting does when it gets excited.
Ying Xing isn't wrong or defensive per say. As the Furnace Master, Ying Xing is well practiced in the ways of the forge. His body was a mass of corded muscle. He was tall and broad and a very fine specimen of a man. Most people would not be able to pick him up as easily.
The thought sends Dan Heng awry.
“Ack!” Another indignant sound is torn from Ying Xing’s lips as the tail moves him this way and that. Dan Heng observes him carefully. The feel of his warmth, his pretty flush as the pink spread over his body. The feel of his weight, steady and reassuring as he always was.
“D-Dan Feng, you should put me down.” The man stutters. There is a delicious lilt to his voice, uncertainly where he was usually so steadfast. Dan Heng does not hear him, focused more on the man himself.
They back up onto a wall and Dan Heng’s hands curl over Ying Xing’s hips. “Not my powers.” The whisper tumbles out, he’s unaware that he even spoke. Eyes trained on the way the craftsmen’s body shifts as the tail untangles and he is pressed wholly onto the wall by Dan Heng and him alone.
Dan Heng’s chest is flush against Ying Xing’s hips. His body was always terribly warm. Dan Heng wants more of it.
He presses closer… closer… closer…
Dan Heng wakes up with a stuttering gasp. He’s warm and flushed, sweat trickles down his neck. Soft pants and skin to skin warmth. He shakes the unwelcome memories from his head.
No, no, no, no-
He checks under his blanket.
… fuck.