Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sunlight filtering through the blinds was warm and pleasant, casting soft, golden beams across the room. It reminded Feng Xin of a lazy morning where time seemed to slow down, the world outside forgotten for a while. Just like the warmth of the sunlight, the man in his arms exuded a kind of calm that made everything feel right in that moment. He tightened his hold on Mu Qing’s waist, pressing his chest gently against the pale expanse of his back, savoring the steady rise and fall of his breath.

Mu Qing looked peaceful as he slept, his usually cold and distant expression softened into something tender and vulnerable. In sleep, he looked different, almost ethereal, as if the harsh lines of the waking world could not touch him here. His face was relaxed and unguarded. He looked so beautiful, his features illuminated by the warm glow of the morning light, his hair tousled and falling in gentle waves across his forehead.

Feng Xin couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of contentment. He placed his chin against Mu Qing’s shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment to bask in the feeling of having him so close. His fingers, though calloused from years of archery practice, traced soft patterns along the curve of Mu Qing’s side. Here, in their quiet moments together, they were simply two men with no responsibilities outside of each other.

Slowly, Feng Xin began to press gentle kisses along the slope of Mu Qing’s neck, the curve of his shoulder. He kissed him with the kind of reverence reserved for something too pure to touch, each kiss a silent promise to love him forever, a quiet declaration that this moment, this closeness, was something he would never take for granted. The soft skin beneath his lips was warm, and it made his heart tighten with an emotion he couldn't quite put into words.

Mu Qing shifted slightly, a soft murmur escaping his lips, but he didn’t wake. Feng Xin smiled softly, feeling a sense of peace he had never known before. There was something so calming about holding him like this. They didn’t have to hide behind walls or faces of strength. They could just be.

Mu Qing was a god, and Feng Xin his most devoted worshipper. He traced his lips along the sacred altar of his lover’s skin, pressing kisses against the warm expanse of his shoulder, his neck, the delicate curve where his jaw met his ear. He inhaled deeply, letting the scent of peaches fill his lungs, a fragrance that clung to Mu Qing no matter the hour, no matter how much he sweat or how the day wore on him. It was intoxicating, addicting in a way that nothing else had ever been. Feng Xin had long since resigned himself to the fact that he would never get enough.

His hands wandered, lazy yet possessive, tracing the familiar dips and ridges of Mu Qing’s body, memorizing him all over again in the golden glow of morning. With a little more force, he pressed his hips forward, fitting himself against the heat of his lover’s body. They were still bare from the night before, tangled together in sheets that neither had bothered to pull over themselves. What was the point? There was no need for modesty when every inch of each other had already been explored, worshipped, loved.

Mu Qing stirred, his body shifting under the attention. A soft, sleep-drenched noise left his lips, something caught between a sigh and a quiet protest. His lashes fluttered before his eyes cracked open, hazy with sleep and the remnants of dreams. But Feng Xin didn’t stop. He continued his slow movements, pressing deeper, letting his kisses trail lower, each one a declaration of devotion.

"You’re insatiable," Mu Qing muttered, his voice rough from sleep. But despite the exasperation in his tone, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted slightly, parting his legs just enough to make it easier for Feng Xin to fit against him. It was an invitation, one that set a fire alight in Feng Xin’s chest.

"Can’t help it." His voice was soft. "The most beautiful person in the world is sleeping next to me."

The only response he got was a sharp elbow to his ribs, followed by a quiet snort. Feng Xin winced but only laughed, burying his grin against Mu Qing’s shoulder. His beloved had never been good at taking compliments, had never known how to accept love without deflecting it with sarcasm or irritation. But Feng Xin knew better. He knew that Mu Qing’s body, pliant and warm against his own, spoke a language far truer than words ever could.

Nothing could ruin this moment. Not Mu Qing’s sharp tongue, not the teasing pain in his ribs, not even the inevitable complaints that would come once they finally dragged themselves out of bed. Right now, in the quiet hush of the morning, with sunlight painting their skin and warmth seeping into every inch of their tangled limbs, everything was perfect.

Feng Xin exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on Mu Qing’s waist as he sank into him, savoring the way his body welcomed him so effortlessly. The heat, the way Mu Qing tensed for just a moment before relaxing around him, sent a shudder through his spine. He stroked his lover’s length in slow, teasing motions, watching the way Mu Qing’s body responded, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly.

“Hurry up and move,” came the complaint, edged with impatience and neediness .

Feng Xin let out a quiet chuckle, pressing a kiss to the nape of Mu Qing’s neck. “So demanding,” he murmured against his skin, but he obeyed without hesitation. He rocked his hips forward, slow and deep, dragging out the sensation.

Mu Qing sighed, a sound caught between frustration and pleasure. His fingers curled against the sheets, his body pressing back to meet each thrust. The golden light spilling through the blinds painted his skin in warm hues, highlighting the elegant lines of his back, the curve of his waist, the faint sheen of sweat forming along his spine. Feng Xin couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He moved with more purpose now, guided by the soft, breathy sounds slipping from Mu Qing’s lips, the way his body trembled with each careful roll of his hips. There was something intoxicating about this—about Mu Qing giving himself over so completely, about the way he never had to say what he wanted because Feng Xin already knew.

Feng Xin had never been good with words. They were clumsy things in his mouth, never quite coming out the way he intended. More often than not, they got him into trouble. He and Mu Qing had spent years arguing over things he had said without thinking—careless remarks that sparked fights neither of them truly wanted. He hated that about himself, hated that he could never express what he actually felt without it turning into a mess.

And when it came to compliments, he was even worse. Everything he thought to say felt too plain, too overused, never enough to capture what he truly meant. He could call Mu Qing beautiful, but that word felt too small, too shallow. He could tell him he was perfect, but Mu Qing would scoff, roll his eyes, and brush it off like it was nothing. But Feng Xin wished, more than anything, that Mu Qing could see himself the way he did.

He wished Mu Qing could see the way the morning light turned his skin golden, how the faint crease between his brows only made him look more captivating. He wished he could understand how the sharpness of his tongue and the cool precision in his gaze never dulled the warmth he carried underneath. Feng Xin saw it in the way he always remembered the things he liked, in the way he made his coffee exactly the way he wanted without needing to ask, in the way his hands—so steady, so capable—lingered just a second longer whenever they brushed against his.

Mu Qing was breathtaking. Not just in the way he looked, but in the way he existed. In the quiet strength he carried, in the way he loved—hesitant, guarded, but so, so deep. Feng Xin had never been good with words, but if he could, he would find the perfect ones to tell Mu Qing all of this. Until then, he could only hope that the way he held him, the way he touched him, the way he looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world—he could only hope it was enough.

Their release came swiftly, leaving them both breathless and spent. Feng Xin remained draped over Mu Qing’s back for a moment, his forehead resting against his lover’s shoulder as he caught his breath. Eventually, he pressed a lingering kiss to the nape of Mu Qing’s neck before murmuring, “I’ll be right back.”

True to his word, he returned moments later with a warm, damp cloth, gently parting Mu Qing’s legs to clean the mess he had left behind. Mu Qing barely moved, utterly boneless against the sheets, his eyes half-lidded with the remnants of sleep and satisfaction. He looked like a spoiled cat basking in the warmth of the morning sun, content to let Feng Xin take care of him.

The sight brought an unshakable warmth to Feng Xin’s chest. He took his time, pressing soft kisses along Mu Qing’s spine as he worked, smoothing his hands over the familiar curves and angles of his body. There was something precious in the way Mu Qing let himself be tended to without protest.

Once Mu Qing was clean and comfortable again, Feng Xin pressed one last lingering kiss to his shoulder before rolling out of bed. The warmth of the sheets clung to his skin, and he was reluctant to leave, but the thought of doing something for Mu Qing—something simple, something thoughtful—kept him moving.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmured, brushing a hand through Mu Qing’s tousled hair. His lover only hummed in response, barely cracking an eye open, too drowsy and content to care where he was going.

Feng Xin tugged on a pair of sweatpants and padded barefoot to the kitchen. The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the floorboards under his weight. He liked mornings like this—soft, slow, untouched by the demands of the outside world. For now, it was just them, wrapped in the warmth of a love neither of them had ever been good at expressing with words but had always known how to show in actions.

He set to work, rummaging through the cabinets to find something simple yet satisfying. Mu Qing wasn’t the type to eat heavy breakfasts, but Feng Xin knew exactly what he liked. He put a pot of water on the stove to boil for tea, then cracked a few eggs into a pan, letting the gentle sizzle fill the air. He toasted some bread, slicing up fresh fruit while he waited. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but it was warm, it was thoughtful—it was his way of showing love.

As he worked, he thought back to the way Mu Qing had looked just moments ago. Relaxed, sated, a rare softness in his features. Feng Xin knew better than anyone how tightly wound Mu Qing could be, how hard he was on himself. Seeing him like that, unguarded and at ease, filled him with a quiet sort of pride. He was the reason for that. He was the reason Mu Qing had a space where he could let go, even if only for a little while.

Balancing the tray carefully, he made his way back to the bedroom. Mu Qing had shifted onto his side, one arm tucked under the pillow, his other resting loosely against the sheets. His hair was a mess, strands sticking up in odd directions, and his lips were slightly parted as he lingered in that space between sleep and wakefulness. Feng Xin had never seen anything more endearing.

Setting the tray down on the nightstand, he leaned over, pressing a kiss to Mu Qing’s temple. “Breakfast,” he murmured, running a hand over his back.

Mu Qing groaned, burying his face deeper into the pillow. “Too early.”

Feng Xin laughed. “It’s almost ten.”

“That’s too early.”

Shaking his head, Feng Xin reached for Mu Qing’s wrist, gently coaxing him to sit up. “Come on. I made your favorite.”

Mu Qing peeked an eye open, gaze flickering to the tray. He hesitated for a second before sighing, pushing himself upright. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it.

Feng Xin only grinned, passing him a cup of tea. “And you love me for it.”

Mu Qing didn’t dignify that with a response, but as he took the cup, fingers brushing briefly against Feng Xin’s, a smile lingered on his face. And that was all Feng Xin needed.