Work Text:
Around this time of year, when the snow in the Human Realm melted to reveal the earth beneath and the trees regained their green and began to bloom anew, a banquet was thrown in the name of Luo Binge’s Emperor Consort, Shen Qingqiu.
Blah, blah, blah, same story, different year, Shang Qinghua groused internally as he raised his arms at the tailor’s instructions. He was in the middle of having his measurements retaken since over the years his weight had fluctuated during times of extreme stress—hey, when you survive on mostly melon seeds and pure spite for a few weeks, it really takes a toll on you, immortal or not.
This tended to happen every few years due to Cang Qiong Sect’s seemingly constant inability to do jack shit without him around sometimes.
Case in point: His own wedding had to be pushed out by a few weeks, which Mobei-jun had been reasonably furious about. All because of an infestation of Spider Heads that had managed to burrow beneath some of the mountains, bypassing the barriers somehow, and just causing absolute chaos amongst the younger disciples. It took nearly three weeks to flush them out and collapse their tunnels to prevent their re-entry. And who was the one that had to organize the order of explosive talismans and strategize with the other Peak Lords and older disciples on how to best carry out their extermination?
Who’s got two thumbs and permanent sleep deprivation: this guy.
He’d been nauseous near the entire time of their honeymoon, bedridden for more than half of it because he’d collapsed after completing the three bows. He’d barely been able to make it through dinner afterward, leaning against his new husband and not even being able to enjoy the festivities held specifically for them.
Shang Qinghua wasn’t feeling salty about any of this, no, not at all.
He was getting free booze out of it, though, the good stuff that wasn’t easy to come by in the North since ice demons had a…palate that differed from his. If he didn’t get drunk that night, then so help him, he might just set something on fire, decorum be damned.
Now the tailor was holding up swatches of fabric in different shades of blue to figure out which would better compliment him this time around—living in a territory that was in semi-permanent winter all year, it was difficult for Qinghua to keep any sort of tan that prevented him from looking near-sick before summer came back around. Luckily for him, he’d been able to supplement the human body’s necessity for that cancerous yellow ball of fire in the sky with some Foxglove of a Thousand Sparks. Just crush a few flowers, mix it with hot water and some honey, then boom, you’ve got a starter for some potent vitamin D-infused tea.
Just don’t overdo it, or run the risk of potential heart failure. This was Qinghua, though, who flew by the seat of his pants a lot recently. So at this point, he was yolo-ing more often than he’d like to admit.
But nobody needed to know that.
By the time the tailor had coordinated everything from fabric color to material, Qinghua was already done with this whole banquet nonsense and the damn thing hadn’t even happened yet.
You're doing it for your bro, he kept telling himself as he stepped down from the small platform he’d been stuck standing on for what felt like hours, but had probably only been thirty minutes. The tailor, who was actually quite a nice Lion Spider demoness, informed him that his new robes would be ready within the week. She bowed as he thanked her, gathering her things and the platform before retreating out the door.
Well, that was one thing out of the way. Sighing, he steadied himself as he stretched out his sore back. While his feet did kind of hurt from being still for so long, he definitely had failed to keep his posture correct after the first ten minutes.
“Okay,” he said to himself, shucking off his top inner robe and making his way to their bathing chamber. “Bath first, thinking later.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Much to Shang Qinghua’s chagrin, the world did not end before the next week, and before he knew it the morning of the banquet had arrived.
Now came the part that Qinghua really disliked.
From the time before it was even truly dawn, the Peak Lord had to be half dragged out of bed by his husband. The warmth amongst the furs that lined their bed beckoned for him to come back—he wasn’t a morning person, just let him sleep for a few more hours!! But nay, the living icicle that was his husband managed to carry him across the room to meet their attendants so they could start getting ready. It was nothing unusual to see their human consort being carried under the arm of their king, bundled up in one of the furs he’d managed to snag from the bed like a fuzzy potato sack.
How romantic, they always whispered among themselves.
As soon as Mobei-jun handed him off to the servants, he was off to get ready himself, while Qinghua was carted off to be scrubbed clean.
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“This is one step from torture.”
The maidservant that was affixing one of the many braids in his hair with his Northern crown raised one smooth brow. “My Lord, this one believes our definition of torture have two different meanings.”
Qinghua snorted, letting her finish tying and tucking everything into place. “Perhaps. I don’t mind a party every now and again, but Junshang’s are not far and few in between.”
Quite the opposite, they both knew. It was no secret that Luo Binghe was willing to throw a banquet for his husband at any time if he could. The man was so smitten with Shen Qingqiu that Qinghua did sometimes understand why Cucumber-bro gagged dramatically at him from behind his fan whenever he and Mobei-jun got too handsy in public.
Sue him, why don’t you. It took nearly forty years of service before he was finally able to call Mobei-jun his, he was not wasting any chance he had to show him off.
Anyways.
After hours of preparation—hair, makeup, clothes, the whole damn nine yards—Qinghua was finally ready. Ready to go back to bed, that is.
But his husband managed to corral him into the shadows—not of course without some grumbling from the human man—and off they went.
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The Underground Palace, while usually teeming with demon underlings who served Luo Binghe on hand and foot, had disciples from Huan Hua Palace running around in place of said demons when Qinghua and Mobei-jun walked through the palace entrance.
They were working everything from coat check to announcing attendees as they arrived.
At times, as their Sect Leader—gag—Binghe sometimes allowed the older ones willing to volunteer in doing certain tasks for these parties. Perhaps it was a veiled threat to their demon guests that their Emperor would have even more eyes and ears amongst his guests than usual. But the sight of the yellow uniforms flitting before them left a question at the back of Qinghua’s mind: Did he make some sort of promise of good standing within the sect? Or was it just easier to abuse the labor of the too-trusting disciples?
You know what, not his circus, not his monkeys.
The tensing of his husband’s arm under his hand was enough for Qinghua to try to grit and bear it. Even after near half a century, Mobei-jun still felt a sense of unease and bitterness whenever they were around anything or anyone regarding Huan Hua—he rarely ever stepped foot on Sect grounds unless he was given explicit orders from Luo Binghe, and even then he didn’t go willingly.
Sliding his other hand up Mobei-jun’s arm in what he hoped was a soothing gesture, Qinghua murmured little snippets of some abandoned plans he’d had for Huan Hua as he moved up the proverbial ladder of his Peak. They ranged anywhere from compromising the structural integrity of their largest buildings to just good ole plain arson. Whatever he could do that would risk the livelihood of the Sect that had dared to be cohorts with his husband’s traitorous uncle. It didn’t matter that it had been before they’d met that day and before he’d subsequently pledged to follow him for the rest of his life—what mattered was the now, and right now Qinghua wouldn’t mind burning the place to the ground.
Qinghua kept this up until he knew they would be within earshot of Luo Binghe, but by then Mobei-jun had relaxed enough to allow a low, rumbly chuckle. The fact that it took Qinghua so long to figure out that that sound was his husband purring still baffled him. In his defense, the first couple decades he’d focused mostly on survival. Between being a spy for the Demon Realm and working his way up to Peak Lord, he’d been very stressed very often. But now he gets to bask in the fact that his husband was purring because of him.
As they were approaching the foot of the dais where the royal couple were seated, Mobei-jun reached down and gently grasped the hand Qinghua had since rested on his bicep, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss against his knuckles. Qinghua beamed at him, basking in the warmth (ha) of his husband’s attention.
But then, of course, Cucumber-bro had to ruin it by lightly clearing his throat, bringing their attention back forward. Qinghua raised a subtle brow at him as he glanced up while he and Mobei-jun gave their greetings.
The ornaments in Qinghua’s hair jingled softly as some shifted forward with his bow.
“The Northern King and his consort greet Junshang and the Emporer Consort, and give thanks for the invitation to celebrate this auspicious occasion.”
I swear to God if I have to keep doing this I’m going to lose my mind. Cucumber-bro, you better appreciate everything I do for you!!
There was a hum of acknowledgement from Luo Binghe, while Qingqiu gave a more verbal response. “Indeed, we’re grateful the two of you were able to make the journey to attend.” Translation: I’m surprised you actually left your palace for once.
“You flatter us, we wouldn’t miss it for the world, Empress.” Translation: Shove it.
Once the Peak Lords had traded their verbal blows, Mobei-jun led them off to the side so Qinghua could breathe without the possibility of things escalating in public. The Peak Lords got along for the most part, but it seemed it was only something that happened behind closed doors. Beyond them, within earshot of their courts and councils, they kept things closer to chaotic neutral than just regular neutral. If that was even possible.
It didn’t take long for Qinghua to perk back up once they were out of sight of the royal couple, especially since he’d locked on to the refreshments set up on the other side of the room. He tugged at his husband’s hand to follow him, which the demon allowed with an amused chuckle.
The Peak Lord had decided it was time for him to get drunk.
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Why did he get drunk in public, Qinghua would later lament, he should never get drunk in public.
He knew it would be a Bad Idea but he just Didn’t Care. Hey, at least he remembered to eat something before getting drunk, okay? He’d been to enough college parties (read: one) to know that you need food in your stomach before surpassing regular drunk territory into shitfaced drunk territory. Unfortunately, the only one who really suffered because of this was Qinghua himself, whose hangover was always such a bitch to deal with in the mornings.
But at that moment he hadn’t yet reached shitfaced, but he was definitely getting there.
Of course this was going to be a bad idea. Every time Qinghua went beyond the level of being tipsy and surpassed shitfaced, he became a little more of a handful to deal with. Luckily, his husband had a few years of experience under his belt by this point.
After the two glasses he’d managed to snag before taking their seats, he was sipping on a few cups of wine at dinner at their appointed table when Qinghua’s eyes went almost as wide as saucers. A servant had just pulled out a bottle that he knew was the good stuff from Qingqiu’s personal stash. Glancing up he saw his fellow Peak Lord giving him a conspiratorial smirk behind his folding fan, which he was using to softly fan himself. Biting his lip so he didn’t grin like an idiot, Qinghua gave Qingqiu a discreet thumbs up from under their table. Forget anything I’ve ever said about you, I love you, bro!!
Which was how they reached this little predicament.
When one An Ding Peak Lord surpassed a certain level of intoxication, his brain-to-mouth filter tended to … malfunction. This could range anywhere from being a little more vocal with his thoughts, all the way to nearly getting to his feet to tell off a demon noble from who knew which territory for daring to try and snub the two humans seated before him and his mate, who was looking fairly embarrassed at his behavior. She also looked like she’d accepted that she may become a widow before the end of the night since he was insulting royalty, even if it was by marriage.
A near three decades of Shen Qingqiu being their Emperor Consort and some still had the audacity to put their pride before their lives. Pity.
For them, at least.
As it turns out, Qinghua didn’t need to say anything.
The sound of a snap caught all of their attention. Looking to the head of the room, Qinghua missed the ice spear that hurtled toward the demon, stabbing straight through his robes and pinning him where he stood. Though Qinghua was sure it was more of the spear going through the demon’s leg more so than his robes that kept him put.
Of course, there was screaming, howls of pain as the demon begged for his life and Junshang’s forgiveness. Since Junshang was the one who’d given the order to his general for the ice spear in the first place, though, his chances weren’t looking that great.
But before Luo Binghe could call for any other forms of body horror to commence before an entire banquet hall of demons and humans alike—like seriously, time and place, Junshang—a hand at his elbow made him pause.
Shen Qingqiu, the thin-faced bastard, told him that was enough. “I’m sure you don’t want to tarnish the rest of our night because of a mere lack of manners, right, husband?”
With the added effect of his alcohol-flushed face and eyes already glassy and bright as he looked up at his spouse, it didn’t take much convincing to talk Binghe down. Said Emperor huffed in half-veiled disappointment before sitting back down and waving for Mobei-jun to release the lucky bastard.
Doing as ordered, Mobei-jun flicked his wrist and the spear broke in half. Unfortunately for the demon noble, it wasn’t the part that was still embedded in his leg, so his wife had to help him hobble away. Mobei-jun hadn’t even stopped sipping at his wine during the entire ordeal.
My King, so cool!!
Feeling extra warm from both the alcohol and the fuzzy feeling he got every time he looked at his husband, Qinghua chugged the last of his wine like he was shotgunning a beer at a frat party. To his left Qingqiu glanced over, snorting when he saw Qinghua’s hand held out palm up, then exchanged a low five before turning back to their respective husbands.
Not long after this little episode, Mobei-jun and Qinghua decided to retire for the night. Or, well, Mobei-jun did.
Qinghua was starting to get a little too…handsy for their current environment, and so his husband made the right decision of cutting him off before the Qing Jing Peak Lord could throw his fan at Qinghua’s head like he was wont to do whenever his martial brother got a little too raucous for his liking.
So to avoid this, the demon king coaxed Qinghua up and away from the table, making sure to give their farewells before Qinghua could just toddle off to the guest wing. He didn’t know the Underground Palace as well as their own home, but even in his drunken state he was able to at least comprehend directions to get there.
Okay, so not so much comprehend as to be guided by his husband so he wouldn’t walk into any walls or guards that they met along the way. By the time he’d taken the third wrong turn, Mobei-jun huffed and unclasped his cloak to wrap Qinghua in it so he couldn’t just run off, then hoisted his husband into his arms and shadow stepped the rest of the way there.
Qinghua giggled the entire time, burying his face against Mobei-jun’s sternum and completely ruining whatever makeup the maidservants had applied that morning. At some point between the few steps it had taken to reach their rooms, Qinghua had managed to slip his arms from beneath the cloak and bury them in Mobei-jun’s robes, wrapping them around his husband’s torso. “Mm, my King,” he mumbled, warm cheek pressed to cold skin.
The sight of his little human using him as a walking ice pack made Mobei-jun snort a soft laugh as he kicked off his boots and strode to the attached bathing chamber. It hadn’t been long into their relationship before Mobei-jun had realized that this was the cultivator’s search for comfort. Qinghua’s body usually ran warm from the amount of running around he had to do within their palace and his peak, so at night he sought his husband in a full-bodied fashion of some sort. This usually culminated in him either clinging to his icy husband with every inch of bare skin that he could as they lay in bed together, or certain other activities of the carnal variety that only Mobei-jun could provide. Either way, most every night ended with Qinghua somehow latching onto Mobei-jun.
And if not? Well, it never hurts to get explorative.
The bathing room was filled with steam as they stepped over the threshold. He grimaced at the heat, unconsciously strengthening his icy aura and lowering the temperature of the room until he realized and immediately stopped. Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the heat, albeit with a grimace.
They both needed a wash, especially Qinghua after he’d smeared the painted clan mark on his forehead that showed he belonged to the Northern Desert royal family, human or not. Mobei-jun began undressing first, removing all of the jewelry and the ornate robe set that he’d been dressed in for a majority of the day. When the tailor had the audacity to suggest more than one layer he’d almost snarled at her—he was keeping to one robe, thank you.
He folded the silver chains and the like into the robe as he threw it over the changing screen that was off to the side, leaving him half-dressed for the moment, then turned to Qinghua. The drunken man had slid down the wall by the doorway, Mobei-jun’s cloak in a pile around him with both hands on his face in what was a pathetic attempt to cover his eyes—Mobei-jun noted the way he was peeking through his fingers, amber eyes quickly darting to side as if he’d been caught being a peeping tom as he watched his husband undress.
They’d been married for nearly two decades at this point, had seen every inch of each other’s bodies—what was there to be embarrassed about by this point?
Even so, it still brought a smirk to Mobei-jun’s lips, hands moving slowly down his abdomen till he'd loosened the tie at the waist. He kept the trousers from falling any further than his hips, hooking his thumbs under the waistband to hold them in place. The sharp lines of his pelvis were nearly on full display just for Qinghua’s eyes, and his hands were only trailing lower.
With an uptilt of his chin and an ever-widening grin, Mobei-jun all but purred, “Does husband like what he sees?”
More skin, angular hip bones, a trail of dark hair that led to the treasure below whoa mama—
A visible shiver ran through Qinghua, hands clenching and unclenching by his face which was flushed so red, watching his husband tease him further by going even lower till he could almost see…
Forcing his lust-addled brain to do a soft reboot, Qinghua blinked a few times and took a shaky breath, then glanced up and gave a tentative nod.
With this confirmation, Mobei-jun released the waistband, letting the luxurious fabric fall to the floor. Holding out both arms, he beckoned to Qinghua. “Then come here, beloved.”
Yes sir!!
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~*~EXTRA~*~
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“Mobei … What are your thoughts about children?”
Cocking his head to the side in thought, Mobei-jun considered the question. “Loud,” he finally said.
Qinghua sputtered a laugh where he lay in his husband’s arms. “I mean, yes, you're not wrong.” He folded his arms over Mobei-jun’s chest, resting his chin on the back of his hands. “I meant like … children of our own.”
The other man raised an eyebrow in question. “Would they look like Qinghua?”
Biting at the inside of his cheek, Qinghua said, “Maybe. It depends.” Shook his head to clear his mind. “I can’t fully explain how to make it happen, but if husband wanted to try at some point—”
“If they would be children with Qinghua, then this king is not opposed to the idea.” Raising a hand to cup the Peak Lord’s cheek, Mobei-jun continued, “If it would make Qinghua happy, then this king is happy.”
He paused, as if reconsidering his answer. “I want to be happy with Qinghua. And a child with Qinghua would make this one happy.” He held Qinghua’s face gently with both hands, running a thumb to catch a stray tear. “I want nothing more than to spend the rest of our immortal lives with each other and the family we’d make together.”
Placing his hands over Mobei-jun’s, Qinghua gently squeezed them as he gave his husband a watery smile. “I would love to, my King.”