Chapter Text
[Side A: LQG]
Courting Luo Binghe—or, being courted by him?—is a surprisingly vague affair.
Liu Qingge thought the difference between before and after would be a lot more clear-cut, but while certain aspects of their personalities make themselves known more often now, they're still fundamentally them.
Either way... It's nice. Binghe's smiles are softer and more frequent these days, hands reaching out for his own when they're in private. The kisses—
Yes. It's nice.
But those gentler moments aren't things others are privy to.
Instead, hushed conversations pass amongst cultivators and common folk, trying to bridge the gaps in their knowledge with assumptions about what goes on behind the palace's closed doors. It spreads in teahouses and taverns, between food stalls and repair shops. Liu Qingge lost count of the times he heard his own name in passing.
It's awfully reminiscent of the way Huan Hua used to be. How ironic, that their cultivators are now the only ones not engrossed in any gossip.
Luo Binghe might have something to do with that, though.
The time Liu Qingge handed Binghe the fangs from a Silver Spider-Fox he slayed during a hunt, a few visiting officials walking nearby shook their heads none too subtle—what an unfortunate gift, they murmured. Nevermind their medicinal properties, or their usefulness. Its presentation was simply barbaric, they said.
The rest of those officials' stay had been short, from what Liu Qingge heard.
Later, when the change in Luo Binghe and his relationship status becomes somewhat of an open secret, the criticism grows more frequent. Very coincidentally, so do the cases of Huan Hua's servants spilling ink over oh-so-important reports presented to their master and dropping serving trays in the middle of hallways as particularly loud-mouthed dignitaries pass by.
Liu Qingge always sees those servants get back to their jobs very cheerfully after being scolded. At this point he's convinced Luo Binghe just sits down with them for tea.
Honestly, Liu Qingge isn't sure how he keeps stumbling across these snippets of conversation, considering that most of the criticism doesn't take place openly. Luo Binghe wouldn't stand for that, and none desire to face off with Liu Qingge directly regarding the matter either. Even so—
"It's no wonder he ended up courting a demon," a cultivator from Yian Yi laughs within earshot once, "Any normal person would run away with such awful courting gifts."
That remark in particular drifts in his mind for quite a while.
Liu Qingge never thought of them as courting gifts, really. Whenever something reminds him of Binghe, or he thinks the other might like an item, he brings it along. That's all.
So what if some of those are a bit lurid?
When Binghe mentioned running out of Two-Headed Xiegou claws used for strengthening armor, Liu Qingge acquired more; Liu Qingge figured Luo Binghe might have a use for Qingniao feathers, and brought a few of the smoky black items back; if he spots a monster he isn't familiar with, he gets Binghe a sample to study.
Those whispers never mention the way Luo Binghe's face lights up when he spots Liu Qingge draw near with a package in hand, they never speak about the animated hour-long discussions that follow about a certain beast's properties. No matter what Liu Qingge brings, it seems to make Luo Binghe happy.
Liu Qingge finds it hard to care about anything aside from that.
Mingyan proves to be a godsend when it comes to quelling the most rampant misinformation anyway. At this point Liu Qingge is almost afraid to ask just how she manages to convince people that her brother is not being forced into this, nor has he lost his mind.
She has her ways, is all she's willing to say, and then changes the topic without fail.
Liu Qingge counts himself lucky she's on their side.
He counts himself less lucky that she often conspires with Binghe to embarrass her own flesh and blood.
He has had to deal with no less than three long-winded love letters, courtesy of one Luo Binghe, the past month alone. Not to mention the new pieces of armor and other trinkets that keep appearing between his personal belongings.
The knowing looks Mingyan throws him any time he actually wears one of the simpler hairpins gifted to him, indicate whom a fair share of these ideas are coming from. Really, the nerve—!
She would know best, after all—that Liu Qingge has no use for elaborate jewels or poetry; that he is more likely to safeguard letters for weeks spent apart; that running the pads of his fingers over his new leather bracelets smoothes down the painful edge of longing in his chest.
At the same time, it's impossible to miss the joy radiating off of Luo Binghe when Liu Qingge decides to wear one of the aforementioned hairpins, or a sash whose patterns match Binghe's robes. It's clear that some gifts were always meant to appease Binghe's heart more so than his own.
Finding out that Luo Binghe's possessive streak somewhat extends to him, doesn't come as a surprise to Liu Qingge.
He doesn't mind. If anything, it makes it infinitely easier to reassure Binghe.
When the two of them have to attend a feast with other sects or demon aristocracy, Liu Qingge never foregoes his Bai Zhan style robes—his loyalty to Cang Qiong hasn't faltered—but his usual inner clothing is replaced by smooth obsidian black, vambraces fastened around his forearms bearing the same markings as Luo Binghe's.
Only a blind man would be able to miss whom Liu Qingge is attending those events with.
That alone keeps Binghe in a pleasant mood for the hours their presence is required, sneaking glances in Liu Qingge's direction. It's just an added bonus that any time their arms brush together or Liu Qingge leans into the hand at his back, Luo Binghe beams, unnerving those that aren't familiar with them.
Liu Qingge will never admit out loud that he finds those reactions hilarious, but he does.
Just as he will never admit that his favorite part of days like that comes at their end, when Binghe has had enough of the social niceties and whisks them away to their rooms or the courtyards, anywhere where it's only them.
Those times are when Luo Binghe stares wistfully at Zhao Hua's extensive library, knowing his demonic heritage means he won't be allowed inside without permission, or when Liu Qingge gets distracted by the southeastern demon tribes' more advanced training fields and drags Binghe closer despite their exhaustion.
It's when Luo Binghe grows more demure and bold in turn precisely because they're alone. When he dares to remove the ornaments from Liu Qingge's hair with deft fingers, kiss the nape of his neck and embrace him despite Liu Qingge's tendency to freeze up.
Liu Qingge likes the affection, he does, but he's woefully bad at receiving this much at once.
He tries to do better though.
He wants to do better.
He learns to relax back against Binghe's arms quicker, becomes used to sighing at his own hesitance before opening his lips.
Luo Binghe's patience truly is a marvel, Liu Qingge thinks, with the glacial pace they progress, only to make a wrong turn and argue, then retrace back until they get it right.
His patience is truly a curse, he thinks, when Binghe finds out how to take him apart slowly.
It's another process of trial and error, but once Luo Binghe sets his mind to finding out what makes Liu Qingge's breath hitch, he scopes out his weak points one after another.
Butterfly kisses pressed right under his ear, teeth running down his spine, dragging and biting in turn. Liu Qingge is forced to hold on to the nearest surface available and gasp for breath each time.
Luo Binghe's fingers dig into his thighs and Liu Qingge is unable to suppress the tremble it creates in the muscle underneath. There's no way Binghe hasn't noticed yet because he keeps doing it, until purple blooms fan out like the brightest paint, as quick to heal as they would be to wash off.
Liu Qingge really wishes he had the willpower to punch Luo Binghe in his smug, annoyingly handsome face sometimes.
Alas, he doesn't.
So he gets thrown off balance again and again, startled by the way Luo Binghe's tongue feels against his fingers—among other things—and the weight pinning him down, intoxicated by the emotion in the half-lidded eyes affixed to his.
He expects to break first, as is so often the case when it concerns Luo Binghe.
The universe loves to prove him wrong.
The way Luo Binghe first says "I love you," is a broken, miserable sound, like the confession got ripped out of him in the heat of the moment. It reminds Liu Qingge of shattering glass and the delicate frost against their window.
Luo Binghe looks lost beyond recovery in the aftermath.
It leaves Liu Qingge helpless to do anything but pull him closer, drink the desperation off Luo Binghe's lips until his smile returns, and hope he's able to say it back soon.
He will.
His heart still proves to be well ahead of his words.
✧
[Side B: LBH]
Safe spaces can be a number of things, Luo Binghe discovered throughout the years.
It used to be a hidden piece of shadow in a bamboo cove, a training field, any cold rock at his back to sleep against in the Abyss.
Recently, it's the kitchen tucked into a corner of his private wing at Huan Hua Palace.
Its location means it's barely used: it's remote, for one, and all meals that are taken in the dining hall are prepared in the main building's kitchens, far more extensive and fancy than these ones are.
The only person that ever uses this kitchen is Luo Binghe himself.
It was a conscious choice to claim this wing for personal use. Back when the Old Palace Master still lived, it was the furthest removed from his offices, a place he wouldn't frequent, while still being ornate enough that the pretentious fool wouldn't object to Binghe's choice.
Isolated yet equipped with all the necessities, that's why Binghe picked it.
The servants' kitchen on the lowest floor was an addition he didn't pay much mind to at the time. It was only later, caught up in a memory of his late mother preparing soup for him after a nightmare, that he wondered if there was any merit in using it.
He tried it.
Then again.
And kept using it from then on.
As far as Luo Binghe knows, the other Huan Hua residents aren't aware their live-in Demon Lord spent hour after hour in that modest kitchen whenever sleep eluded him.
It started as a way to keep himself sane, he realizes now. Cooking is something his mother taught him with the meager ingredients she scraped up from her job as a washerwoman, a time of the day they could spend together at last.
Cooking was something he wasn't ever permitted to do at Qing Jing, because Shen Qingqiu proclaimed dogs unfit for the kitchen.
It felt cathartic, to reconnect with part of his childhood his shizun tried to take away.
He started with his mother's soup and congee, then her simple stir-fry and dumplings. Eventually, he ventured out into ingredients they were always too poor to get, tried his hand at dishes fit to be served at Huan Hua's head table.
He never made them for anyone but himself though. What a sight it'd make, to have a lord of the palace cook!
Even when Liu Qingge moved in, and at times the thought intruded what if—, he refused to change his mind.
Now, though...
When he walks through the markets of Jinlan City one day, he spots shortbread-like cookies that look nearly identical to those he was once gifted. The taste is off, unfortunately. It might be his memory playing tricks, or it might be because this vendor simply uses a different recipe. He can't be sure.
And so he wonders if Liu Qingge remembers the taste. If he tried one before giving them to Luo Binghe, or if the option of doing so didn't cross his mind.
Did Liu Qingge even like sweets? Or did he prefer more tangy snacks? Fruit perhaps? Luo Binghe never paid attention to his shishu's eating habits aside from a few off-handed comments over the dinners they shared.
He wants to find out if Liu Qingge likes his cooking. What dishes he goes to for comfort, what he has as a special treat.
Above all else, Luo Binghe wants to be the one he shares those things with.
So the next time Liu Qingge comes over to Huan Hua Palace and settles down with a backlog of paperwork he brought with him from Cang Qiong, Luo Binghe chooses to excuse himself—only instead of heading to the training fields as he usually would, he makes a turn for the kitchen.
Something simple would be best to start with, he decides. Flavorful but neither too spicy nor too sweet. He grabs rice, first of all, then vegetables...
The clanging of pots and sounds of sizzling that grow around him lull him into a soft, dreamy haze. As long as he's busy, he doesn't have to second-guess himself, or worry about Liu Qingge's reaction.
The man has been poisoned on these grounds before, after all, he might not even accept—
Binghe shakes his head and snaps out of that train of thought. Those days are over. There is no longer anyone at Huan Hua that wishes Liu Qingge harm, and if there would be they'd be quickly taken care of. Besides, even when there had been, Liu Qingge never refused Luo Binghe's requests.
That should have been a clue of Liu Qingge's loyalty, had Binghe not been too blind to acknowledge it at the time.
Luo Binghe knows better than to give in to insecurities of the past, but, with or without Xin Mo's influence, his mind remains a treacherous place.
That is why he takes a deep breath before opening the door to Liu Qingge's quarters once more. That is why his heart skips a beat in unbridled relief when it takes Liu Qingge only a single look at Binghe's face to put his work aside.
In between Binghe's stammered explanations that he made dinner and Liu Qingge's expression turning from bemusement to pleasure as soon as the first bite hits his tongue, Luo Binghe stumbles once again into the sticky tar-trap he calls feelings for his shishu.
He shouldn't be capable of loving someone this much, he's sure. Not with the type of person he is.
But here they are.
They finish the meal, and Luo Binghe is already contemplating what to make next.
With each dish he grows more experimental and daring, until he finds which flavors make Liu Qingge scrunch his nose and which ones procure noises of surprise.
Once, he makes an off-hand offer to feed the other man and Liu Qingge promptly snaps his chopsticks in half. It's so sudden that Luo Binghe can't help but laugh through his apologies, until Liu Qingge calms down enough for Binghe to kiss his cheek and turn Liu Qingge's ears red anew.
He never imagined teasing his shishu could be this much fun.
He never imagined that he'd be allowed to.
Reality is much better than anything his imagination provided. No part of his mind would be able to get the motion of Liu Qingge's eyes exactly right as he looks away in embarrassment, nor the way they fix onto Binghe's own after each kiss.
There is no competition next to the very real sensation of supple skin under his fingers, shivering, and the sound of those moans Liu Qingge was too slow to muffle. Luo Binghe grounds himself in each piece of fabric giving way under his hands, in every mark on Liu Qingge's body that he traces with his tongue and peppers with kisses. Hands grip Binghe's hair, his shoulders, anywhere they can find purchase.
Even when passion and urgency abate, he marvels at how they fit together, limbs slotted against one another. It's not always comfortable, but it's theirs.
Nothing else.
There is no need for pretense in the night or the slow mornings after. It isn't the fearsome Demon Lord that wakes up heaving for air from nightmares, nor is it Huan Hua's ward clinging onto the sheets until they tear.
It's not the illustrious War God that blinks up at Luo Binghe sleepily from his side, lifting himself up with a grunt to put his inner robes back on. It's not the Bai Zhan Peak Lord that crawls back under the blankets with him, dozing until the daylight reaches far enough to hit his face.
Liu Qingge has always been too unpredictable to recreate in dreams.
So when Liu Qingge straddles his hips on one such morning, hair falling loose around his shoulders, and breathes out a barely audible "I love you," Luo Binghe knows he isn't dreaming it.
He can feel the truth of those words in the erratic pulse meeting his, in the burning heat at Liu Qingge's neck when Binghe pulls the two of them back down and echoes the sentiment himself a thousand times over.
Miraculously enough, Luo Binghe believes him.
He isn't sure whether he has grown to trust Liu Qingge, or if it's merely his desire to do so clouding his judgment.
In the end Luo Binghe always reaches the same conclusion: he wants to trust Liu Qingge, so that must mean he does. How else is he supposed to measure something so intangible but by the way it makes him feel?
Trusting Liu Qingge, as a concept, sets him ablaze with fear and hope in turn, keeps him up at night yet calms the gnawing unease of being on his own. The idea of trusting Liu Qingge feels a lot like loving him does, and Luo Binghe knows without a doubt he never wants to let that feeling go.
Nobody else has experienced Luo Binghe's nightmares the same way, nor listened to his murmurs in the dark about events best forgotten. There is nobody else he wants to share more memories with, past and future, until he can share no more. Years and stories and favorite foods, pain and battle and grief.
He hopes most of it is good though. He hopes laughter can outweigh the tears from now on.
Luo Binghe hopes, and dreams.
It feels good, to be able to do so again.
To think of the day Liu Qingge agrees to visit his home in the Demon Realm, and know it will happen.
To plan which gift he'll buy for his shishu's birthday, because he's sure they'll spend it together.
To imagine, in the darkest hours of the night, how breathtaking Liu Qingge would look in gold and vermillion robes, and hide the resulting smile in his lover's hair.
Someday, maybe, he'll get to see it.
Hopefully soon.