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“You’re shitting me. Five? Who is responsible for them?”
“Xuanji Elder, zunzhu.”
Xue Meng groans. “Of course.” When the disciple before him doesn’t get moving, Xue Meng sighs. “The task is obvious enough: bring them to Tanlang Elder and let him know I’m headed down there to investigate.”
She salutes and departs without furthering his annoyance—clever girl.
“We’ll have to cut this short.” Not that it matters; he never really gets what Mei HanXue is here for, anyway. He just shows up at random intervals to give annoyingly accurate advice, or hang around in Xue Meng’s office like he belongs there, or to bring extravagant swords he knows Xue Meng won’t use, though he does like the way they look in his armory.
Mei HanXue shakes his head. “I’ll accompany you.”
“You will not.” No way in hell!
Mei HanXue folds his hands behind his back. Xue Meng is convinced he does that just to remind everyone in the room of the breadth of his shoulders. He might say Mei Hanxue is the show-off between the two of them, but at this point everyone knows he’s full of shit.
“Xue-zunzhu should be more careful with his person while he has no heir to replace him,” Mei HanXue points out, eyes almost frosty. Xue Meng wants to hit him.
“It’s just a damn fever!”
“Of unknown origin and strength, which laid out five of your disciples with no warning.”
“Xuanji Elder’s,” Xue Meng corrects in a dignified whisper.
“If you want to be heard, stop mumbling.”
“They’re technically Xuanji Elder’s disciples before mine,” Xue Meng enunciates, “and go fuck yourself.”
“I’ll go ahead of you,” Mei HanXue says. He gets this tone sometimes, like he’s no longer having a conversation. He just demands and expects to be answered. “If you cannot make the smart choice yourself—”
“Fine. Let’s get this over with.” Xue Meng spits the words through gritted teeth. There’s no way he can let Mei HanXue loose on the mountain—who knows what he’d do. He needs observation.
Not that Mei HanXue seems unhappy with the arrangement. No, he looks unbearably satisfied. Xue Meng almost wishes he never learned how to read his neutral expressions.
“As Xue-zunzhu commands.” The tiny nod Mei HanXue gives is worse than no nod at all.
It’s been well over a year since he last fought side to side with Mei HanXue—he takes that as a blessing, hoping never to see war so grim as long as he lives—but it’s been around the same time since anyone tended to this section of the mountain, too. Xue Meng has needed to prioritize what to rebuild in the wake of so much loss. It wasn’t high on his list.
This particular area is too close to the Ghost Zone to be tended to safely, especially when he has so few qualified cultivators on hand. When he passes a certain point, he swears under his breath. “Those brats better hurry up and get well enough to punish.”
Both of them slow their footsteps as they close in on an area that feels drenched in untamed spiritual power. It makes Xue Meng’s nose itch.
“Teenagers pushing boundaries is a sign of a healthy sect,” Mei HanXue replies, so adjacent to a compliment that Xue Meng gives him a sidelong glance. “The necessity of punishment is another.”
“Did it have to be the boundary that had them whining to Tanlang Elder?” Xue Meng has never been fond of the man. Anyone who bothered his shizun isn’t considered worth half of shizun in the first place. Tanlang Elder is the best healer they have, though, with Shi Mei gone and Mother—
Xue Meng pushes past Mei HanXue, aggravated by the world. He’s too busy for this. He has a thousand things on his plate, but five disciples just run off and do as they please, and now he’s caught in the middle.
Ridiculous. Surely Xue Meng was never so bad as that.
“Xue-zunzhu,” Mei HanXue calls. There’s urgency to it, but Xue Meng is in no mood to heed him. What can Mei HanXue see that he can’t, anyway? He’s such an overprotective asshole, acting like Xue Meng can’t take care of himself all the time. “Xue Ziming!”
“What!” he snaps, turning on his heel. The act kicks up a little dirt; he notices it isn’t the right color at the same time Mei HanXue nods down at it.
“That.”
Now that they’re looking for it, the soil all around them is more golden than it should be. Mei HanXue touches a nearby tree and his hand comes away sticky with pollen.
“Is this natural?”
“If it was,” Xue Meng snipes, “would I be stopping to stare? I know this mountain better than I know my own face. This isn’t supposed to be here.”
It’s not necessarily surprising for things like this to crop up in the Ghost Zone, but it’s still disconcerting. The familiarity of the training fields has always been a comfort to Xue Meng. If even that is taken from him, what would be left?
“Are unnatural growths common in this area?”
“Somewhat.” Xue Meng’s tone is uneasy. How long have they been walking in this pollen stuff? If it’s what caused the fever in his disciples, they could be affected themselves. “Demonic energy comes through and contaminates things. Usually not this far out, though.” There is a reason they keep the Ghost Zone off limits, but they’re not quite there, only hovering at the edges of such dangerous ground.
If his father were still Sect Leader, he would never have let things get this bad.
“Exorcise at the source?”
“Of course.” Xue Meng tries to step with caution as they move further into the trees. “I wonder if our cultivation is too high for this thing to affect us. If it’s the pollen, that is. Do you feel hot?”
“Not particularly.”
Though his cheeks are a little warm, Xue Meng chalks that up to his embarrassment at the failure this plant represents. He should be taking better care of this land. He definitely needs to take better care of his disciples.
Self-recrimination leads him all the way to a clearing. They both stop at the edge, clearly wary of just how gilded everything looks. The grass has no hint of green to it any longer, so thoroughly covered in pollen as to seem dead, but it still moves with the eerie hint of a breeze.
At the center blooms a massive flower. While the pollen is gold, the flower itself is a lively red—it reminds Xue Meng of wedding robes, though he can’t see why. It’s just a flower!
“Should we just… stab it?”
Mei HanXue shrugs.
“I’m going to stab it.”
“Stay here, I can—”
“I’m not some wilting maiden!”
They both step into the clearing at the same time, causing a massive plume of pollen to rise into the air. Xue Meng waves it away with a minimal amount of coughing. He can tell he’s a bit flushed at this point, but his theory about core strength must be accurate—the disciples were apparently delirious with fever by the time they were found, unable to string two sentences together and writhing on the ground in strange agonies. Xue Meng’s mild discomfort is nothing by comparison.
“You’re red.” Mei HanXue is staring way too hard at his face for comfort.
“Shut up and stab already,” Xue Meng demands.
Shoufeng is currently in his younger brother’s hands, but the sword with Mei HanXue now still exudes a formidable aura. He holds up one long finger, then two. When he holds the third, Xue Meng strikes with him, obliterating the flower in one fell swoop.
It explodes into an unnatural starburst of pollen. This time, Mei HanXue also coughs, both of them inhaling an overwhelming amount of sticky golden dust. The flavor is sweet on his tongue, lighter than honey but just as pleasant.
Xue Meng is overwhelmingly warm at this point. “That sucked,” he pants, coughing a few more times just to be sure he got as much out as possible. “Fuck.” He knows it’s improper, but the heat is so overwhelming that he drops his sword and starts to take off his outer robe. “If you speak a word of this,” he hisses, glaring at Mei HanXue, “I’ll hunt you down and gut you.”
Not that it matters much. They’re both men interested in women—at least, if Mei HanXue has ever participated in the exploits of his younger brother’s reputation—so there’s nothing improper in it, really. It’s just unbecoming of his status as Sect Leader. If Mei HanXue starts undermining him in public, he’ll have a problem on his hands very quickly.
Mei HanXue has no response, which isn’t unusual for him. Xue Meng throws the robe over his shoulder, but even that feels too hot—ultimately he abandons it to the ground and resolves to come back from it after he’s visited Tanlang Elder himself, no matter how embarrassing that’s going to be.
When he looks up, he almost jumps. Mei HanXue is far closer than Xue Meng thought he was. It seems he had the same idea, but unlike Xue Meng, he only wears two layers when so far from the snowy peaks he calls home. The white inner robe he wears now is silky and light. If any of Xue Meng’s disciples see him like this, they’ll be scandalized.
“At least bring that back with you.” Even standing so close to Mei HanXue is making him hotter. “Throw it on when you see a swooning maiden or something.”
Mei HanXue doesn’t move. His eyes are darting around Xue Meng’s person almost too quickly to be followed. He drags at the collar of his remaining two robes, feeling dizzy. “What? Do I have it all over me still?”
It’s so hot. Xue Meng has never felt heat like this before, rolling through him in awful throbs rather than a constant state of discomfort. His blood is rushing too fast in his body. He must be dehydrated, but rather than his mouth going dry, Xue Meng swallows hard as his mouth waters incomprehensibly. Is the pollen supposed to make him hungry? The gnawing empty feeling in the pit of his stomach suggests yes, but there’s something off about it…
“Ziming.” Xue Meng focuses on Mei HanXue just in time for one hand to tilt up his chin. Their skin burns against one another’s; it should be unpleasant, but it feels more like a balm, which doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this plant makes sense. “Your eyes,” Mei HanXue says. When he does, Xue Meng realizes the color of Mei HanXue’s eyes have changed, as though they, too, are gilded by pollen.
Then he realizes they’re way too close, but by then Mei HanXue is close enough to press their lips together. That feverish touch also acts as cool relief.
The flower was definitely weird.
He opens his mouth to say so, but Mei HanXue sees it as an invitation, invading Xue Meng’s space and his mouth without so much as a question. The sensation is so shocking—is that the pollen?—that he makes a vague noise of surprise. Mei HanXue’s answering groan seems to have more purpose.
The next thing he feels is the trunk of a tree at his back. Mei HanXue is relentless in his pursuit, tongue sliding over the roof of Xue Meng’s mouth just to force him to make embarrassing sounds. He’s gone absolutely mad. Xue Meng should be pushing him away and heading back to seek an antidote, but when he paws at Mei HanXue’s shoulders it’s only to get beneath that last inner robe. Skin on skin contact somewhat alleviates the desperate hunger, but not enough, it’s not enough. Xue Meng bites Mei HanXue’s lip bloody until he gives enough room for them to speak.
“This can’t be an antidote,” Xue Meng argues during a brief struggle with the ties of Mei HanXue’s robe. “That’s insane, and it’s the pollen, so we’re just—”
“Doing what it wants,” Mei HanXue agrees, shrugging out of his inner robe altogether. There’s so much skin. Xue Meng feels faint.
“I…” His thoughts trail off as he touches Mei HanXue’s bare chest. He’s seen people naked before, whether at the springs or simply treating injuries, so there’s nothing to get hung up on. There shouldn’t be. Xue Meng’s mouth shouldn’t water at the mere sight of a man’s chest.
Were they kissing, just now?
“Ziming.” Mei HanXue’s voice cannot have been this deep all the time. Xue Meng has always loathed that his own voice didn’t drop as hard as Mo Ran’s, but this is too much. Mei HanXue steps closer. Xue Meng squirms against the tree, still unbearably hot in two robes and jealous of Mei HanXue wearing none at all. “Ziming, you’re beautiful.”
“Huh?”
Mei HanXue kisses him again, pressing him back against the tree and pinning him with a thigh between his legs. Xue Meng means to ask him why—it’s not like they’re Mo Ran and shizun—but it feels good and it takes the edge from the heat and the hunger until Xue Meng can do nothing but cling desperately to Mei HanXue’s shoulders. He undoes Xue Meng’s next robe with far more efficiency than when their roles were reversed. Xue Meng wants to punch him.
He does not punch him. He claws a little at his back when Mei HanXue breaks their kiss to bite his way down Xue Meng’s throat, but it feels too good to push him away. “What sort of plant,” he gasps into the open air, “makes you… makes you… when it dies?”
“No idea.” Mei HanXue successfully divests him of his inner robe and grips at his bare waist like he’s going to toss Xue Meng over his shoulder or something. He actually lifts before pausing and letting go entirely.
“What are you doing?” Xue Meng asks, embarrassed that he has to, that he’s so shameless in his desire for Mei HanXue to continue touching him. This pollen has addled his mind. “That’s a bad idea.” He doesn’t care what Mei HanXue is doing, because Mei HanXue isn’t touching him.
He’s gathering their discarded robes and flinging them out over the pollen-strewn grass. Who cares? Xue Meng now knows what “strange agonies” the disciple described. He wants to writhe, wants to move and push against another person so badly he can taste it. The scratch of the bark at his back pales in comparison to how it felt to be pressed against Mei HanXue chest to chest.
“Not for your knees,” Mei HanXue answers when he’s spread their robes to his satisfaction.
“What?” He returns to his former position, big hands wrapping around Xue Meng’s waist and lifting him from the ground. “Get off me!” He says it but he doesn’t put his weight behind his kicking, not really. Mei HanXue’s hands on his skin are still the most amazing thing he’s ever felt.
Mei HanXue tosses him to the ground. Face-forward, like some—like some—and then he goes and lays his full weight over Xue Meng before he can scramble up. He’s using the touch of his skin against Xue Meng, an addictive balm he knows will not be refused. “Don’t get any ideas,” he says. Really, if Mei HanXue simply laid down on him like this, pressed together as much as possible, until the fever ended… it wouldn’t be so bad.
He feels a kiss at the nape of his neck and sighs. When another follows, then another, trailing down his spine, he can’t really think past the steady pleasure of it to predict what happens next. He shifts and is glad for Mei HanXue’s forethought; the robes feel better against his cheek as he turns his head than the pollen-stained grass would have.
Mei HanXue kisses the small of his back, his other hand sliding slowly up to hold his neck. Suddenly the pressure increases. Mei HanXue traps him, holding him down while his other hand dips beneath the hem of Xue Meng’s trousers.
“Let me go, you brute!” He should’ve known there was some trap involved, though this seems far more like the behavior of Mei Hanxue the younger. Absolutely shameless!
He tries to fight his way out of Mei HanXue’s grip, but he really was lulled by the soft touches from earlier—only now does he realize they were a trap designed to place him in such a vulnerable position. “Has this pollen driven you mad?”
Mei HanXue parts his thighs and kneels between them, ignoring Xue Meng’s awkward kicking as he slides Xue Meng’s trousers down to his thighs.
“Only as mad as you,” Mei HanXue replies. Before Xue Meng can ask him what the fuck that means, he presses his thumb over Xue Meng’s hole, at which point the question is no longer necessary.
Surely they have both lost their minds. That is the only possible explanation for the stuttering cry torn from his mouth, for the way he rocks forward and realizes he’s hard, that maybe he’s been hard this whole time. The pleasure is overwhelming, the sensitivity of his skin heightened to a nigh unbearable degree. He doesn’t know why that area would be of interest to Mei HanXue—did the pollen affect them differently? Is this what soothes the ache beneath his skin?—but it’s not so bad. His thumb is slick and wet, which—
“Just what is that on your hand? Don’t tell me it’s f-flower sap, or, what are you, hey!!”
Mei HanXue does not pause and wait for him to finish. As he speaks, Xue Meng feels a pressure that doesn’t belong, an invasion he doesn’t understand. Mei HanXue’s fingertip is warm and wet as it slides inside him, and Xue Meng, to his instant mortification, wants it. His hips rock back at the perversion. Xue Meng opens his mouth to ask Mei HanXue what sick games he’s playing and moans instead, far too loud in his own ears.
The empty, hollow feeling has begun to dissipate, leaving behind only fire in its wake. Xue Meng wants more, but asking for it would leave him with no face at all, so he pushes back, hoping Mei HanXue will get the clue.
All he does is change his grip, pressing down between Xue Meng’s shoulder blades until he can breathe only so long as he remains still. “Don’t move,” he demands, pushy as ever.
“You try not moving when I shove my fingers up your—”
Mei HanXue slides another finger inside, causing Xue Meng to yelp. “You won’t do that.” Mei HanXue’s voice is utterly confident. “You like this too much.”
“Because some stupid flower exploded on me!”
He curls his fingers inside Xue Meng, brushing by something that forces a whimper from his throat. “Ah, ah!”
“Because you like it,” Mei HanXue repeats. He removes his fingers altogether; Xue Meng muffles a bereft noise by biting his own forearm, but he has a feeling Mei HanXue caught it anyway.
Two hands raise him up at the hips. Xue Meng tries to get up onto his hands and knees, but Mei HanXue pushes him roughly down, his neck twisted at an odd angle he struggles to correct. “I’ll kill you for this,” Xue Meng snaps.
“No you won’t.” Xue Meng would argue if tears weren’t welling in his eyes as Mei HanXue pushes inside him. “Be good, Ziming.”
“Fuck—” Xue Meng means to tell Mei HanXue to fuck off, but he loses track of that at the sudden fullness, a slow glide accelerating with far too much force. His cock spurts wet over his belly and all he says is “fuck, fuck, I thought that book put you third—”
“Put my didi third,” Mei HanXue snarls. “Focus on me.”
“Hard, ow, hard to think of anything else, fuck, again, come on, are you slow?”
Xue Meng rocks back onto Mei HanXue’s cock, forcing himself to adjust. If he demands more it doesn’t feel like asking. If he makes it a command it isn’t groveling, if he takes it for himself it will belong to him as much as that stupid flower.
Mei HanXue smacks his ass. Hard. Xue Meng rethinks it: he’s definitely going to kill him now.
Even so, the cry he muffles into his robes is one he can’t resist. Any touch feels good, even touch that’s painful, circling back into pleasure again between one heartbeat and the next. He moans at the sting and hates how needy he sounds, fingers twisting into the fabric of his inner robe strewn out beneath him.
At least it costs Mei HanXue to stop, judging by the desperate groan he makes as he fucks Xue Meng harder. “Don’t,” he gasps, punctuated by a sloppy thrust, “tell me,” another, brushing that spot inside Xue Meng that makes him shove two fingers into his mouth just to keep what little face he has, “how to care for you.”
Mei HanXue fucks him faster before Xue Meng even needs to ask, clumsier than he probably would be otherwise. He sinks his teeth into Xue Meng’s shoulder when he comes the first time—deep, wet pulses that force a whine from Xue Meng’s throat. It feels like he’ll never get enough, like this is what he was waiting for and Mei HanXue has been denying him all this time.
From what Xue Meng knows of his own body, Mei HanXue should be going soft by now, but he still feels hard and wet inside him, like Xue Meng could slide back and pick up where they left off. He pants against Xue Meng’s skin, but does nothing to stop him when Xue Meng begins rolling his hips backward, first awkwardly and then with more rhythm.
“Is that all?” Xue Meng asks, unable to help himself. Mei Hanxue has such a reputation and Mei HanXue can’t even last a fraction of an incense stick?
Mei HanXue fists his hand in Xue Meng’s ponytail and yanks him back, until his back arches and he claws at Mei HanXue’s forearm. “More?” he asks.
“Yes,” Xue Meng gasps, unable to think past it anymore. He wants to be full, he wants to bruise, he wants that burning pain turning into sweet pleasure again and again. “Yes.”
Mei HanXue pulls out until just the head of his cock is inside. Xue Meng feels his other hand shake where it rests at his hip; his control must be hanging by a thread, with how powerful the pollen’s urgings are.
“Beg.”
The word causes a violent negative reaction in Xue Meng, who feels blood running down Mei HanXue’s forearm with the way he’s clawing. “Fuck you.”
“No.” Mei HanXue holds Xue Meng only by the hair, now; Xue Meng can feel him fisting his cock where it rests outside his body, probably trying to stave off the desperate heat. “Tell me what you want.” He tugs Xue Meng back further, relying on the flexibility of his form.
“Fuck. You.”
“Other way around,” Mei HanXue murmurs in his ear. “Ziming. Didn’t I fill you?” He kisses the hollow behind Xue Meng’s ear. Just that additional touch is enough to make him whine behind his teeth. “Wasn’t it good?”
“I hate you,” Xue Meng repeats.
“No you don’t.” Mei HanXue pauses touching himself to spank Xue Meng again. He can feel his hole tighten around the head of Mei HanXue’s cock, but he still won’t fuck inside. Selfish, cruel, abominable man.
The pain at his scalp keeps cycling, good-bad-good-bad-good again. He wants to claw his way out of his body. Maybe he wants Mei HanXue to claw his way inside.
“Fuck me,” he breathes, eyes squeezed tightly shut.
“What was that?”
“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, ah, ah, ah, shit—”
The moment he breaks, Mei HanXue snaps his hips forward, letting Xue Meng crash back to the ground with a sound of naked, inhuman hunger. The time he spent holding back pays off for them both as he fucks Xue Meng as fast and as harshly as he needs. They’re too far gone for anything else at this point, but he doesn’t really care—Xue Meng is getting exactly what he needs.
When he comes it nearly takes him by surprise. The sea of pleasure cresting inside him feels endless, even as he feels himself spurt wet across his chest and stomach, crying out as Mei HanXue fucks him through it and past it, until he’s a shaking mess by the time Mei HanXue fills him up again.
And still, it isn’t enough. Not for more than a brief reprieve.
Mei HanXue falls onto his back at Xue Meng’s side, gathering him in his arms and pulling Xue Meng across his chest. Xue Meng is stiff for a moment, but gradually relaxes into the hold. He can admit it feels nice. Without the pollen overriding his brain.
“How many times do you think we’ll have to do that?”
Mei HanXue blinks down at him. “If you calculate how many days are in a year, and estimate our lifespans—”
“Mei HanXue,” he snaps, pinching his shoulder. “I meant today.”
He only realizes he didn’t say anything about the future when Mei HanXue gives a light smile. “A few times more,” he answers, “if Xue-zunzhu is able.”
“Fuck off.” Xue Meng rolls over, straddling Mei HanXue’s stomach. “I can go longer than you can any day and any time.”
Just a few moments later, Xue Meng sets out to prove it.
“Shouldn’t we send someone? Zunzhu’s safety is paramount—”
Tanlang Elder observes the disciples as they take his hurried antidote. It was a close call, but he managed to separate them from each other before they devolved into anything truly base, so he’ll call it a win.
“He’s plenty safe,” Tanlang Elder assures, struggling not to laugh. “We’ll just let them take their time, I think.”
Sect Leader Xue can thank him on the morrow.