It took Huaisang about three months after the resolution of his revenge to realize that he needed a project.
At first, he reveled in the freedom. Without having to think every day about his goal and the practicalities of bringing it into being, he had plenty of time to paint and compose poetry, to attend theatrical performances and music, and to manage the affairs of his sect. He'd long since set up his sect under the management of bureaucrats and supervisors he trusted, and it needed very little intervention from him. Everything was peaceful, and he could spend whole days painting without a thought in his head.
He was surprised to find that he missed having thoughts in his head.
It took more time and a visit to Wei Wuxian in the Cloud Recesses, but Huaisang finally got his idea for a delightful new project. Jiang Cheng was infamous for being blacklisted from the matchmakers because of his difficult personality and extensive list of qualifications for any potential spouse. Huaisang's own bachelor state was another source of gossip, it was true, but that joke was low-hanging fruit. It was hard to stir up much gossip about how Sect Leader Nie might be a cut-sleeve when he did relatively little to hide it and his reputation was already in the mud.
So, plan in mind, Huaisang went to visit his friend, announcing intention to stay for a week.
"Jiang-xiong," he started, once the pleasantries and diplomacy had been done and they were sitting out by the edge of the lake under a pagoda roof, drinking and watching the sun set. "I could not help but hear some word of your... courtship difficulties."
After Meng Yao's downfall, things settled into a quiet routine. Being Sect Leader kept him busy though he still had time to train and enjoy quiet moments when he could. But it was the quiet moments that often his thoughts turned to those who he had lost. Visiting the shrine to his parents and Yanli was a hollow comfort.
Finding a spouse was the other project which only frustrated him. He didn't think his requirements for a potential wife were unreasonable, to say the least, and it wasn't his fault that the matchmakers failed to produce any candidates. After months of getting banned from matchmaker after matchmaker, he decided that it was a project he would put aside for now.
He hadn't had the chance to see Huaisang in a while so a visit was welcome though he was surprised by Huaisang's intention to stay the week when he had his own sect. He frowned slightly when Huaisang mentioned his difficulties with finding a wife, setting his cup down as he clenched one hand.
"The matchmakers have failed to present me with any suitable candidates in the last few months," he remarked, not denying it since it wasn't exactly a secret.
"Leave that to me," Huaisang assured him, with absolute confidence, as though he already had a line of suitable candidates ready to be plucked. He could think of at least one candidate who matched the list of attributes that Jiang Cheng claimed to want in a mate. Except, perhaps, for "thrifty". How unreasonable. But surely Jiang Cheng would be willing to compromise on that one point once Huaisang convinced him on all the others.
"There are still plenty of beautiful cultivators from good families in the world. I'm not concerned about that at all. And you are extremely qualified yourself: handsome, the leader of a prominent clan, honorable, a very powerful cultivator, highly respected. Really, Jiang-xiong, you're one of the most eligible bachelors in the cultivation world." Smiling cheerfully as he flattered his friend, Huaisang rested his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand. "But even if you are qualified and your partner is qualified, none of that matters at all unless you have the necessary skill in courtship to prove your worthiness as a romantic partner. See, this is something of a well-known secret, but no matchmaker would consider a man who didn't have any skill at courting. I suspect that's the source of your trouble."
He nodded very seriously, with just a hint of a pout to communicate his great sympathy on this topic.
"Do you have someone in mind?" He decided that he didn't want to know just where Huaisang had found a suitable candidate when the matchmakers had failed. He had been so frustrated that he was willing to accept help on this matter wherever he could find it.
He wasn't moved by the flattery since he knew his own qualifications. He was confident that any woman from a good background would be lucky to be married to him in his view. He peered at Huaisang, brows furrowed as he considered his words carefully. It was true he didn't have a lot of experience with courtship. Any attempts had been shortlived and he had just given up since his efforts were often in vain.
"Well, you need practice, of course. And a good teacher. So that was the idea I had. You can court me. It'll be a fun game, and good practice for you. Then, when I'm sure you're ready, you can move on to other suitable candidates." Of course, depending on how much Huaisang enjoys the courtship, it's possible he will never deem Jiang Cheng ready to move on.
Whipping open his fan, he fluttered it elegantly. Lifting his chin, he regarded Jiang Cheng loftily over the edge of the fan, as though he was a very high-born young mistress considering Jiang Cheng as a suitor. "Well, Sect Leader Jiang? State your intentions."
Oh, look at that, [Huaisang teases, admiringly lifting Jiang Cheng's cock with a gentle fingertip.] No underwear, Wanyin?
Hmmmm. [He inspects the 'patient' with an appraising eye, trying to tell if there's any bruising.] I see. I'm afraid you're in very critical condition, Young Master Jiang. Amputation may be required if we don't start a rigorous course of treatment immediately.
[And yet here he is continuing to nod seriously rather than starting on that 'treatment'.]
[ Oh fuck. Nie Huaisang's teasingly tender touch and his observant eyes are sending all the blood right to his groin and yet at the same time, his theatrics are making giddy laughter bubble up in him. He is, in fact, still a little bit sensitive from the stubbing but not enough to lessen the sparks of delight even the tiniest touch sends through him. It's all confusing and embarrassing and all he can do is do his best to muster a glower. ]
Then you should get to it, shouldn't you? [ He does manage a fairly effective arch look. He reaches down, running his thumb over Nie Huaisang's oh so tempting lips. ] Do you always talk this much when there is an emergency?
Mhm. [Huaisang kisses that thumb, then licks it sweetly and sucks it into his mouth for just a moment, taking it to the hilt and hollowing his cheeks around it to drive Jiang Cheng even more crazy.
Then he pulls back suddenly, getting up and heading to the cupboard. Fetching a small bowl, he fills it with a few pieces of ice and comes back to kneel.
Grinning up at his lover, he holds Jiang Cheng's eyes as he pops a piece of ice into his mouth and shifts it into his cheek. Only then does he take Jiang Cheng's cock into his mouth, letting him feel warm tongue, warm lips, warm mouth contrasting against the slick shock of ice pressed along one side of his cock.]
[ He is already breathless with anticipation before Huaisang even takes him back into his mouth and yet when he feels the shock of hot and cold, he still gives a startled full-body jerk, followed by a moan that he would have called downright pathetic for how needy it is.
He curses in a blue stream under his breath and then, with Huaisang's tongue playing him so skillfully, the oh so fearsome curses turn into a stream of babble. His fingers dig into Nie Huaisang's hair, not controlling his pace or moving his head, no, simply because he needs to hold on to him. His other hand is curled into a tight fist at his side. ]
[Huaisang always likes neediness, since he receives it as validation. Delighted at the reaction he gets, he slides his mouth down as far as he can comfortably go, bobbing his head. Deepthroating is a struggle for him on a good day, and with the piece of ice in his cheek he doesn't even try. Wrapping a warm hand hand around the base of Jiang Cheng's cock to compensate, he bobs his head smoothly, having to lift up every so often to move the ice into his other cheek. After a minute, both his cheeks are stinging from the ice, so he spits it into the bowl, giving Jiang Cheng a moment of reprieve as he sucks him off without ice.]
There was very little torture in the Nie Sect dungeons, and no neglect. Prisoners were given a blanket and a bit of straw to lay on, two bland meals a day, and--once a week--a bucket and a grimy cake of soap. The dungeons were dry and mostly free of pests, and though the temperature was not comfortable, it was insulated enough by the rock walls so that it was merely chilly year round.
Three weeks ago, Wang Lingjiao had been left in Nie Sect custody. Two weeks ago, the sun had been shot down. Since then, the remainders of the sect had been gathered up and the sect leaders had been busying themselves with courtesy and politics, while Nie Huaisang went on quietly maintaining the bureaucratic affairs of Qinghe in his brother's absence.
No one had come to ask for Wang Lingjiao. Nie Huaisang suspected that she'd been completely forgotten. The other members of the Wen Sect had been killed or conscripted into labor, from what Huaisang understood of the situation, and it would be reasonable enough for him to turn her over, but... to what authority, really? Jin Guangshan kept making power plays, but there was no real reason why the Jin Sect alone should be the arbiters of justice. Wang Lingjiao was in the custody of a major sect and could reasonably be subject to their justice. She'd wronged the Jiang Sect most, and it was possible that Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian would find some solace in her harsh execution, but they were busy with grief and reconstruction. Huaisang saw little benefit in reopening that particular wound. And yet, if the Nie Sect kept her and did not kill her, Huaisang had no idea at all what he would do with her.
He had no plan, and yet he loathed the principle of leaving people to languish indefinitely in a dungeon. If no purpose could be found for her, then he'd bring her existence back to the attention of his brother, and she could be executed or maimed and exiled as he saw fit.
It was early for Wang Lingjiao's weekly bucket and soap, and those were usually brought at mealtime. Today, however, the hatch in her door was opened and a Nie Sect retainer pushed through a bucket, soap, and ... then a clean bundle of clothing. There was not a word of explanation provided, no matter how she might ask. Discipline was unyielding in the Nie Sect. Wang Lingjiao would have found no guards at all able to be swayed by pleas, promises, threats, melodramatics, or even performances of weakness or injury.
The clothing was plain, gray, drab clothing, the apparel of the lowest of Nie Sect servants. Once an hour after the initial delivery, the hatch would open again. Whenever she was found to be wearing the new clothing--whether at once or after a matter of hours--the door would open, and she would be escorted up into the sunlit halls of Qinghe. There was still no explanation, no fanfare, only the escort of unyielding guards. If she chose to fight and quarrel, she would be dragged back to her cell, and the whole procedure would begin again after another week of silence.
Only once Wang Lingjiao would walk in relative cooperation between her guards would she be brought to a quiet reception hall. There was no pageantry on the halls, no court or ministers in attendance. It was an empty room whose entire purpose was to be purposeless. Matters conducted here had none of the authority of the great hall, the Sect Leader's study, the bureaucratic offices. It was an anonymous parlor, just a little dusty. At the far end, easy to overlook, was a young man curled up in a chair, looking all the younger for the way that he lounged with one leg up over the arm of the chair and the other tucked beneath him. He had a book open in his lap, and looked for all the world like an underclerk sneaking away from duties or studies in order to hide in a room where he would be unlikely to be noticed. The only thing to tell the lie of this was the way that the guards stopped at the entrance to the room, leaving her to choose her own course of approach to the young man with his book. He didn't even seem to have noticed that anyone had entered.
Ever since she first came to the Nightless City, Wang Lingjiao’s life had been one of success after success. Making maid of Wen Chao’s wife had been a great success for a girl of her standing and becoming his mistress had been the greatest height she could dream of, lifting her high above all other servants. Her family had been allowed to form their own sect thanks to her connections and if that wasn’t far more than all these other people who sneered at her for being a mistress could say for themselves and their pathetic little selves and their pathetic little lives.
Deep down, she had always known that Wen Chao would eventually tire of her as he had tired of all his previous mistresses and she had been vicious in her fight to keep the status she had fought so hard for, but even in her glummest moments, she had never thought it would end like this. It was such a letdown after everything her life had been. She didn’t even get a noteworthy death, nothing to ensure her name would be remembered, and she certainly didn’t get to walk away with wealth and privileges as you might if you were clever during your time as mistress.
She still remembered the day she had been taken prisoner; she had expected to be killed on the spot but inside she had been carted off to Qinghe to die of boredom in the most uninteresting cell she had ever seen. It figured the Qishan Nie would be too terribly boring even to make interesting jailers. She had spent days upon days yelling until her throat was hoarse, shouting obscenities and offering bribes, making empty promises and at one point, begging to be tortured simply because she didn’t think it could hurt more than the utter indifference with which she was treated.
On the day Wang Lingjiao first moved to Nightless City, she had promised herself she would become someone who mattered and now, as she slowly rotted away in her pathetic cell, she found herself right back where she had started out.
She cried. There were angry tears and sad tears, and a whole lot of self-pitying tears.
For a while, she remained convinced Qishan Wen would win the war; she spent some very fine days ranting and raving at her jailers about all the gruesome things she would see done to them once she was free and they locked away. They still didn’t react and eventually, she had to admit to herself that there was only one explanation why the Unclean Realm never fell, and didn’t even seem embattled at all.
When the clothes first appeared, it only took her a few hours of furious complaints until she gave in and changed. It took her three more weeks to actually make it to the parlor. The first week she tried to escape, the second week she threw a tantrum when her demand for explanations weren’t heeded and the third… well, the first was some of column A and some of column B, really.
On the day she finally made it to the parlor, she stopped barely having crossed the threshold, utterly outraged by the sight of the nothing for which she had been forced through so much trouble. The man curled up in the chair barely held her attention at all, his surroundings and his own demeanor all spoke of him being someone unimportant and thus, he was clearly beneath her notice. A terrible imposition on her valuable time, really.
“That’s it?!” she demanded, her voice shrill and demanding with outrage even by her standards. “You force me into these ugly rags your Sect calls clothes and then I’m sent to talk to a servant?” It had to be a servant, she figured, nobody respectable would hold court in such a drab room that didn’t even speak of his importance.
She stepped further into the room, head held high with the same arrogance she had been known for among the Qishan Wen. They could force her into ugly servant’s clothes and throw her away in the deepest cell but she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of acting the part. You had to constantly remind people you were important, it was the only way to be treated as important.
“You, boy!” she said, snapping her fingers. “I’m talking to you!”
Huaisang lifted his head in innocent confusion as Wang Lingjiao spoke to him as though she was still a high-ranking mistress. That month and a half in the dungeon clearly hadn't made much of an impact on her attitude. He shut his book, slipping it into his sleeve and replacing it with his fan, which he opened between them as a courteous defensive wall. "Me?"
It was no surprise that she didn't recognize him. They'd been in the same location more than once, but they'd never had a reason to interact.
He sat up straight, eyes wide and scared under the force of her temper, hiding behind his fan. "Ah, Wang Lingjiao..." he started, gentle and pacifying, lowering his fan just enough to give her a pleading, placating look.
In all fairness, she should have recognized him - but Wang Lingjiao had never been in the habit of paying attention she thought beneath her notice, not when she sneered at the hapless heirs while gloating at Wen Chao's side, and certainly not now that she believed herself to be talking to a servant. The thought that anyone of importance could be content to receive guests as important as her in such humble surroundings was preposterous anyway.
She sniffed and straightened, taking heart from how frightened he appeared. As he should. "Well, at least one of you brutes knows when he's in the company of his betters!" she exclaimed and shot the guards a withering look. Then she forced herself to gather her thoughts, she did have something more important to do here than complain, this being her first opportunity to speak to anyone at all.
"I demand an audience with Sect Leader Nie." Her chin rose, fake as her courage may have been. "I expect to discuss the terms of my release."
Huaisang continued hiding behind his fan, wide-eyed, as she fumed and made her demands.
"But he's not here," Huaisang said, all blinking innocence, as though her demand might have been something to consider if Nie Mingjue were here, as if the reason for her confusion is a total mystery to him. "He's in Jinlin Tai, at a conference."
Cowering in his chair, Huaisang shyly shut his fan and lowered it most of the way toward his lap. "What terms did you have in mind?"
He gazed up at her, earnest, as though she possessed all the information and explanations to be had in this situation and he only existed to accommodate.
The resentful energy went wild, doing as it pleased with the bloody corpse of one Xue Yang. Black tendrils of poison spread across his limbs, up his throat and onto his face. The color pools in his eyes and he gasps, dragging air into his lungs. Consciousness returns slowly and it takes him half an hour to lift himself off of the dirt. After noticing that he feels unbalanced, he realizes that he is missing his arm.
Oh. It's there.
Well it won't do him any good now. Clutching the still open wound, he walks slowly through the sea of coffins. Jiangzai is sheathed at his hip and he doesn't know what awaits him.
Or who awaits him.
"I told you I sensed something! Tie him up, Wen Ning."
That is Wei Wuxian's voice. Xue Yang turns only to feel chains wrapped around him, tighter than any embrace.
"Huaisang isn't going to like it, but that's the best place to put him."
The Unclean Realm. He remembers it. For the journey, he is dragged by a chain, treated like a dog. He doesn't feel tired like he would usually and he presumes that has something to do with his current state. But why bother fighting anything?
Days later, he looks up from his feet to see Wuxian speaking directly to Nie Huaisang, who looks...uncertain. Maybe fearful? He feels Jiangzai removed from his person and his brow furrows.
"He needs to be locked up for good. Can you manage it, Huaisang?"
Huaisang toys with his fan and pouts when the situation is explained. "Really, Wei-xiong, it's almost my birthday, this is what you arrive with as a gift? And where's the rest of him?"
The situation isn't anything Huaisang wants, but he can deal with it. He tells his guards to take Xue Yang deep into the dungeons, to a cell fit for holding especially powerful fierce corpses, until he can be moved to a permanent location. When he has a chance later, he sends some of his more capable and skilled cultivators who are good at handling affairs quietly to go track down the arm and bring it back. He knows what the arm of a fierce corpse can do if left unattended, and that piece is important for what Huaisang has in mind.
Days pass while Huaisang entertains his friend, enjoying the time spent with Wei Wuxian and the festivities of his birthday. Only once his guests are gone does Huaisang finally descend into the dungeons to where his new responsibility has been put. It's quiet in the cell, but Huaisang still keeps a safe distance away from the bars. "Xue Yang?"
Darkness encloses his mind - he doesn't need to eat, sleep or drink - and time seems to pass oddly. The days tick by without him really noticing or caring. He is alive for the most part, though a part of him remains in the dirt of Yi City, and he barely struggles against the chains binding him. Yet a small, flickering light returns to him when he hears that voice.
Why would he come himself?
"I'm here." he shifts and the chains clank against one another, cold and hard, "What do you want, Huaisang?"
His brow furrows with remembered pain and he forces himself onto his feet, walking heavily to the bars.
Huaisang's eyes widen when Xue Yang responds, standing and addressing him with calm familiarity. He'd been told that Xue Yang was completely non-responsive, ignoring or not hearing any attempts to communicate with him. Having a fierce corpse responding in full sentences is the last thing that Huaisang expected to encounter here. He thought that they'd be dealing with a mute, hollow thing, mostly unresponsive but with a risk of lashing out.
Whirling out his fan and fluttering it lightly between them, Huaisang half hides behind it while he re-considers the situation. "You... talk? You know me?" He's seen Xue Yang before, long ago, but the two of them have never talked before, so he's especially surprised to be addressed as Huaisang.
He had chosen not to answer, finding the effort disagreeable. He is tired in a way nothing can touch and his heart aches despite it not beating. But, yes, he remembers the cute young Nie. The one he had peeked at and studied whenever he was close enough to see him properly.
"You're hard to forget." his lips quirk and he stretches his neck, the black lines retreating from the skin, "I don't feel like using titles anymore. I'm dead."
As if Dirk would actually need a reason to regularly visit his Dominant, he heads to Huaisang's right on time. Though, he does have to admit that there is something extra fun about having a sort of "date" scheduled despite the fact that they see each other all the time. It makes him feel a little bit special, maybe.
He doesn't want to be late (bothering to pay attention to the time is still a novel activity for him) so he travels on four legs instead of two. He can get through the city more easily this way--both because his canine form is faster and because he's less likely to be flirted with and sidetracked when he looks like this.
...Also, he doesn't want to pass up a chance to spook any housemates or guests who might still be hanging around the place.
Once he arrives, the hound immediately begins hunting down Huaisang's scent as soon as he lets himself in.
Waiting for his puppy to show up, Huaisang is in his side parlor, working on an ink painting and wearing a lovely dark gown that shows plenty of skin. At the sight of Dirk, Huaisang grins and drops his paintbrush, getting up to reach for his puppy and press kisses to his nose and brow. "Hey, handsome. Who's a good puppy?"
With a happy, growly rumble, the hound takes a good few moments to nuzzle Huaisang back with his entire face, before he finally steps back a pace or two to shift shapes.
There is the familiar flare of hellflame, but Dirk hardly waits to be a solid entity again before he's slinking close to Huaisang. He doesn't even pretend to hide the appreciative and hungry up-and-down glance he gives his keeper and the grin that goes with it.
"--So, do you purposefully decide to wear gowns that I will specifically want to rip off of you? Because it's working if you do."
Huaisang's careful to let go when Dirk transforms. He knows the danger of that hellfire, and he's not going to risk a touch during the transformation. But the moment Dirk's safe, Huaisang slides into his arms, grinning happily up at him. "I do. I am careful not to pick anything I wouldn't want you to rip off me."
Pulling back enough to do a spin within the loop of Dirk's arms, Huaisang lingers with his back turned to show off all that bare skin, then glances back with a wicked smile over his shoulder. "Carry me upstairs, puppy. I've got a game for us."
"I'm glad, because one strategic little tug here and it would be all over," he teases as he plucks where the straps of Huaisang's gown meet in the back like a guitar string.
Then Huaisang makes his request and Dirk matches that wicked smile, briefly reaching forward to hug Huaisang's hips to himself from behind, before he finally sweeps him off his feet as instructed.
Carrying his keeper like a princess, Dirk heads upstairs. "Ooo... is it the kind of game you can win, and what is the prize if you do?"
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Fake Courtship; for angrygrape
At first, he reveled in the freedom. Without having to think every day about his goal and the practicalities of bringing it into being, he had plenty of time to paint and compose poetry, to attend theatrical performances and music, and to manage the affairs of his sect. He'd long since set up his sect under the management of bureaucrats and supervisors he trusted, and it needed very little intervention from him. Everything was peaceful, and he could spend whole days painting without a thought in his head.
He was surprised to find that he missed having thoughts in his head.
It took more time and a visit to Wei Wuxian in the Cloud Recesses, but Huaisang finally got his idea for a delightful new project. Jiang Cheng was infamous for being blacklisted from the matchmakers because of his difficult personality and extensive list of qualifications for any potential spouse. Huaisang's own bachelor state was another source of gossip, it was true, but that joke was low-hanging fruit. It was hard to stir up much gossip about how Sect Leader Nie might be a cut-sleeve when he did relatively little to hide it and his reputation was already in the mud.
So, plan in mind, Huaisang went to visit his friend, announcing intention to stay for a week.
"Jiang-xiong," he started, once the pleasantries and diplomacy had been done and they were sitting out by the edge of the lake under a pagoda roof, drinking and watching the sun set. "I could not help but hear some word of your... courtship difficulties."
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Finding a spouse was the other project which only frustrated him. He didn't think his requirements for a potential wife were unreasonable, to say the least, and it wasn't his fault that the matchmakers failed to produce any candidates. After months of getting banned from matchmaker after matchmaker, he decided that it was a project he would put aside for now.
He hadn't had the chance to see Huaisang in a while so a visit was welcome though he was surprised by Huaisang's intention to stay the week when he had his own sect. He frowned slightly when Huaisang mentioned his difficulties with finding a wife, setting his cup down as he clenched one hand.
"The matchmakers have failed to present me with any suitable candidates in the last few months," he remarked, not denying it since it wasn't exactly a secret.
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"There are still plenty of beautiful cultivators from good families in the world. I'm not concerned about that at all. And you are extremely qualified yourself: handsome, the leader of a prominent clan, honorable, a very powerful cultivator, highly respected. Really, Jiang-xiong, you're one of the most eligible bachelors in the cultivation world." Smiling cheerfully as he flattered his friend, Huaisang rested his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand. "But even if you are qualified and your partner is qualified, none of that matters at all unless you have the necessary skill in courtship to prove your worthiness as a romantic partner. See, this is something of a well-known secret, but no matchmaker would consider a man who didn't have any skill at courting. I suspect that's the source of your trouble."
He nodded very seriously, with just a hint of a pout to communicate his great sympathy on this topic.
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He wasn't moved by the flattery since he knew his own qualifications. He was confident that any woman from a good background would be lucky to be married to him in his view. He peered at Huaisang, brows furrowed as he considered his words carefully. It was true he didn't have a lot of experience with courtship. Any attempts had been shortlived and he had just given up since his efforts were often in vain.
"What do you suggest that I do?" he asked slowly.
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Whipping open his fan, he fluttered it elegantly. Lifting his chin, he regarded Jiang Cheng loftily over the edge of the fan, as though he was a very high-born young mistress considering Jiang Cheng as a suitor. "Well, Sect Leader Jiang? State your intentions."
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TFLN cont; stub your boner, legbreakings
Oh, look at that, [Huaisang teases, admiringly lifting Jiang Cheng's cock with a gentle fingertip.] No underwear, Wanyin?
Hmmmm. [He inspects the 'patient' with an appraising eye, trying to tell if there's any bruising.] I see. I'm afraid you're in very critical condition, Young Master Jiang. Amputation may be required if we don't start a rigorous course of treatment immediately.
[And yet here he is continuing to nod seriously rather than starting on that 'treatment'.]
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Then you should get to it, shouldn't you? [ He does manage a fairly effective arch look. He reaches down, running his thumb over Nie Huaisang's oh so tempting lips. ] Do you always talk this much when there is an emergency?
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Then he pulls back suddenly, getting up and heading to the cupboard. Fetching a small bowl, he fills it with a few pieces of ice and comes back to kneel.
Grinning up at his lover, he holds Jiang Cheng's eyes as he pops a piece of ice into his mouth and shifts it into his cheek. Only then does he take Jiang Cheng's cock into his mouth, letting him feel warm tongue, warm lips, warm mouth contrasting against the slick shock of ice pressed along one side of his cock.]
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He curses in a blue stream under his breath and then, with Huaisang's tongue playing him so skillfully, the oh so fearsome curses turn into a stream of babble. His fingers dig into Nie Huaisang's hair, not controlling his pace or moving his head, no, simply because he needs to hold on to him. His other hand is curled into a tight fist at his side. ]
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Usefulness; for dis_arming
Three weeks ago, Wang Lingjiao had been left in Nie Sect custody. Two weeks ago, the sun had been shot down. Since then, the remainders of the sect had been gathered up and the sect leaders had been busying themselves with courtesy and politics, while Nie Huaisang went on quietly maintaining the bureaucratic affairs of Qinghe in his brother's absence.
No one had come to ask for Wang Lingjiao. Nie Huaisang suspected that she'd been completely forgotten. The other members of the Wen Sect had been killed or conscripted into labor, from what Huaisang understood of the situation, and it would be reasonable enough for him to turn her over, but... to what authority, really? Jin Guangshan kept making power plays, but there was no real reason why the Jin Sect alone should be the arbiters of justice. Wang Lingjiao was in the custody of a major sect and could reasonably be subject to their justice. She'd wronged the Jiang Sect most, and it was possible that Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian would find some solace in her harsh execution, but they were busy with grief and reconstruction. Huaisang saw little benefit in reopening that particular wound. And yet, if the Nie Sect kept her and did not kill her, Huaisang had no idea at all what he would do with her.
He had no plan, and yet he loathed the principle of leaving people to languish indefinitely in a dungeon. If no purpose could be found for her, then he'd bring her existence back to the attention of his brother, and she could be executed or maimed and exiled as he saw fit.
It was early for Wang Lingjiao's weekly bucket and soap, and those were usually brought at mealtime. Today, however, the hatch in her door was opened and a Nie Sect retainer pushed through a bucket, soap, and ... then a clean bundle of clothing. There was not a word of explanation provided, no matter how she might ask. Discipline was unyielding in the Nie Sect. Wang Lingjiao would have found no guards at all able to be swayed by pleas, promises, threats, melodramatics, or even performances of weakness or injury.
The clothing was plain, gray, drab clothing, the apparel of the lowest of Nie Sect servants. Once an hour after the initial delivery, the hatch would open again. Whenever she was found to be wearing the new clothing--whether at once or after a matter of hours--the door would open, and she would be escorted up into the sunlit halls of Qinghe. There was still no explanation, no fanfare, only the escort of unyielding guards. If she chose to fight and quarrel, she would be dragged back to her cell, and the whole procedure would begin again after another week of silence.
Only once Wang Lingjiao would walk in relative cooperation between her guards would she be brought to a quiet reception hall. There was no pageantry on the halls, no court or ministers in attendance. It was an empty room whose entire purpose was to be purposeless. Matters conducted here had none of the authority of the great hall, the Sect Leader's study, the bureaucratic offices. It was an anonymous parlor, just a little dusty. At the far end, easy to overlook, was a young man curled up in a chair, looking all the younger for the way that he lounged with one leg up over the arm of the chair and the other tucked beneath him. He had a book open in his lap, and looked for all the world like an underclerk sneaking away from duties or studies in order to hide in a room where he would be unlikely to be noticed. The only thing to tell the lie of this was the way that the guards stopped at the entrance to the room, leaving her to choose her own course of approach to the young man with his book. He didn't even seem to have noticed that anyone had entered.
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Deep down, she had always known that Wen Chao would eventually tire of her as he had tired of all his previous mistresses and she had been vicious in her fight to keep the status she had fought so hard for, but even in her glummest moments, she had never thought it would end like this. It was such a letdown after everything her life had been. She didn’t even get a noteworthy death, nothing to ensure her name would be remembered, and she certainly didn’t get to walk away with wealth and privileges as you might if you were clever during your time as mistress.
She still remembered the day she had been taken prisoner; she had expected to be killed on the spot but inside she had been carted off to Qinghe to die of boredom in the most uninteresting cell she had ever seen. It figured the Qishan Nie would be too terribly boring even to make interesting jailers. She had spent days upon days yelling until her throat was hoarse, shouting obscenities and offering bribes, making empty promises and at one point, begging to be tortured simply because she didn’t think it could hurt more than the utter indifference with which she was treated.
On the day Wang Lingjiao first moved to Nightless City, she had promised herself she would become someone who mattered and now, as she slowly rotted away in her pathetic cell, she found herself right back where she had started out.
She cried. There were angry tears and sad tears, and a whole lot of self-pitying tears.
For a while, she remained convinced Qishan Wen would win the war; she spent some very fine days ranting and raving at her jailers about all the gruesome things she would see done to them once she was free and they locked away. They still didn’t react and eventually, she had to admit to herself that there was only one explanation why the Unclean Realm never fell, and didn’t even seem embattled at all.
When the clothes first appeared, it only took her a few hours of furious complaints until she gave in and changed. It took her three more weeks to actually make it to the parlor. The first week she tried to escape, the second week she threw a tantrum when her demand for explanations weren’t heeded and the third… well, the first was some of column A and some of column B, really.
On the day she finally made it to the parlor, she stopped barely having crossed the threshold, utterly outraged by the sight of the nothing for which she had been forced through so much trouble. The man curled up in the chair barely held her attention at all, his surroundings and his own demeanor all spoke of him being someone unimportant and thus, he was clearly beneath her notice. A terrible imposition on her valuable time, really.
“That’s it?!” she demanded, her voice shrill and demanding with outrage even by her standards. “You force me into these ugly rags your Sect calls clothes and then I’m sent to talk to a servant?” It had to be a servant, she figured, nobody respectable would hold court in such a drab room that didn’t even speak of his importance.
She stepped further into the room, head held high with the same arrogance she had been known for among the Qishan Wen. They could force her into ugly servant’s clothes and throw her away in the deepest cell but she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of acting the part. You had to constantly remind people you were important, it was the only way to be treated as important.
“You, boy!” she said, snapping her fingers. “I’m talking to you!”
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It was no surprise that she didn't recognize him. They'd been in the same location more than once, but they'd never had a reason to interact.
He sat up straight, eyes wide and scared under the force of her temper, hiding behind his fan. "Ah, Wang Lingjiao..." he started, gentle and pacifying, lowering his fan just enough to give her a pleading, placating look.
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She sniffed and straightened, taking heart from how frightened he appeared. As he should. "Well, at least one of you brutes knows when he's in the company of his betters!" she exclaimed and shot the guards a withering look. Then she forced herself to gather her thoughts, she did have something more important to do here than complain, this being her first opportunity to speak to anyone at all.
"I demand an audience with Sect Leader Nie." Her chin rose, fake as her courage may have been. "I expect to discuss the terms of my release."
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"But he's not here," Huaisang said, all blinking innocence, as though her demand might have been something to consider if Nie Mingjue were here, as if the reason for her confusion is a total mystery to him. "He's in Jinlin Tai, at a conference."
Cowering in his chair, Huaisang shyly shut his fan and lowered it most of the way toward his lap. "What terms did you have in mind?"
He gazed up at her, earnest, as though she possessed all the information and explanations to be had in this situation and he only existed to accommodate.
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ahahahaha I love him
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Fiercely
Oh. It's there.
Well it won't do him any good now. Clutching the still open wound, he walks slowly through the sea of coffins. Jiangzai is sheathed at his hip and he doesn't know what awaits him.
Or who awaits him.
"I told you I sensed something! Tie him up, Wen Ning."
That is Wei Wuxian's voice. Xue Yang turns only to feel chains wrapped around him, tighter than any embrace.
"Huaisang isn't going to like it, but that's the best place to put him."
The Unclean Realm. He remembers it. For the journey, he is dragged by a chain, treated like a dog. He doesn't feel tired like he would usually and he presumes that has something to do with his current state. But why bother fighting anything?
Days later, he looks up from his feet to see Wuxian speaking directly to Nie Huaisang, who looks...uncertain. Maybe fearful? He feels Jiangzai removed from his person and his brow furrows.
"He needs to be locked up for good. Can you manage it, Huaisang?"
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The situation isn't anything Huaisang wants, but he can deal with it. He tells his guards to take Xue Yang deep into the dungeons, to a cell fit for holding especially powerful fierce corpses, until he can be moved to a permanent location. When he has a chance later, he sends some of his more capable and skilled cultivators who are good at handling affairs quietly to go track down the arm and bring it back. He knows what the arm of a fierce corpse can do if left unattended, and that piece is important for what Huaisang has in mind.
Days pass while Huaisang entertains his friend, enjoying the time spent with Wei Wuxian and the festivities of his birthday. Only once his guests are gone does Huaisang finally descend into the dungeons to where his new responsibility has been put. It's quiet in the cell, but Huaisang still keeps a safe distance away from the bars. "Xue Yang?"
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Why would he come himself?
"I'm here." he shifts and the chains clank against one another, cold and hard, "What do you want, Huaisang?"
His brow furrows with remembered pain and he forces himself onto his feet, walking heavily to the bars.
"Is this where I'll stay?"
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Whirling out his fan and fluttering it lightly between them, Huaisang half hides behind it while he re-considers the situation. "You... talk? You know me?" He's seen Xue Yang before, long ago, but the two of them have never talked before, so he's especially surprised to be addressed as Huaisang.
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"You're hard to forget." his lips quirk and he stretches his neck, the black lines retreating from the skin, "I don't feel like using titles anymore. I'm dead."
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Playtime with leashes
He doesn't want to be late (bothering to pay attention to the time is still a novel activity for him) so he travels on four legs instead of two. He can get through the city more easily this way--both because his canine form is faster and because he's less likely to be flirted with and sidetracked when he looks like this.
...Also, he doesn't want to pass up a chance to spook any housemates or guests who might still be hanging around the place.
Once he arrives, the hound immediately begins hunting down Huaisang's scent as soon as he lets himself in.
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There is the familiar flare of hellflame, but Dirk hardly waits to be a solid entity again before he's slinking close to Huaisang. He doesn't even pretend to hide the appreciative and hungry up-and-down glance he gives his keeper and the grin that goes with it.
"--So, do you purposefully decide to wear gowns that I will specifically want to rip off of you? Because it's working if you do."
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Pulling back enough to do a spin within the loop of Dirk's arms, Huaisang lingers with his back turned to show off all that bare skin, then glances back with a wicked smile over his shoulder. "Carry me upstairs, puppy. I've got a game for us."
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Then Huaisang makes his request and Dirk matches that wicked smile, briefly reaching forward to hug Huaisang's hips to himself from behind, before he finally sweeps him off his feet as instructed.
Carrying his keeper like a princess, Dirk heads upstairs. "Ooo... is it the kind of game you can win, and what is the prize if you do?"
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