Nie Huaisang flips his fan shut with a fluid pivot of his wrist and taps it to his own mouth, signalling for Jiang Cheng to lower his voice. “So you can see just how serious this is! If it’s found out, we’ll really be in some strife.” “We?” Jiang Cheng gapes at him, and does not lower his voice at all. “We?! There is no we in this! This is a problem of your own making, it can be a problem of your own solving!”

Jiang Cheng is a survivor--his strength has seen him through the death of his parents, the destruction and rebuilding of Lotus Pier, and the loss of both of his siblings. Nie Huaisang can't imagine the weight that still lingers--and he'll do everything he can to unload it, piece by piece. Even if he has to start with something as simple as teaching him that there's nothing wrong with being soft.

Dark eyes catch his from across the room and Nie Huaisang pauses as Jiang Cheng spreads an arm across the back of the couch he occupies alone, idly swirling his drink in his other hand. The lush fabric of the sofa looks almost magenta in this light and plays beautifully off the deep purple and sharp lines of Jiang Cheng’s suit, making him a splash of vibrancy in a room otherwise dominated by boring blacks and muted tones. The sofa is also the sole piece of furniture in the room, besides the bar and the high tables. The message is unmistakable: this is Jiang territory, and everyone else is a visitor. Receptions are good for seeing and being seen, and Nie Huaisang likes what he sees at this one.

His voice is soft, wistful for days gone by, and Jiang Cheng finds himself reaching out, his hand heavy on Nie Huaisang’s thin shoulder. Nie Huaisang looks at him, eyes wide in sincere surprise, which gives way to a smile so wide it crinkles the corners of his eyes, so real and beautiful. The way he had in Gusu, wet hair stuck to pale skin, eyes honey-gold under the summer sun; before his brother’s death, before Sect Leader Nie, when they were only Jiang-xiong and Huaisang-xiong, when it was all so simple – Jiang Cheng's requirements in a partner.

Jiang Cheng has gradually acquired several new, interesting markings - and new, interesting ways to use them.

By the time he’s done bathing, Huaisang is naked by the bed, setting his cock down on the table and picking up a jar. “Face down on the bed, A-Cheng,” he says absently, pouring oil into his hands and rubbing them together to warm them up. “You’re not gonna get strapped in?” He laughs lightly at Jiang Cheng’s confusion. “In a bit. I want to help you relax, not make you more tense.” His hands get oil all over Jiang Cheng’s arms as he drags him onto the bed, and he straddles his back once Jiang Cheng is in position. And then his fingers press hard into a knot Jiang Cheng didn’t even know he had in his shoulder, and Jiang Cheng melts into the sheets with a breathy moan.

Nie Huaisang has noticed something about the way Jiang Cheng takes compliments; Nie Huaisang has a theory, and he intends to test it out.

“Huaisang?” asks Jiang Cheng when he leans against him. “I’m tired,” Huaisang says into Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “Just tired.” Jiang Cheng hums and settles a hand on his shoulder, a minute touch, warm and steady. Then he winds an arm around Huaisang’s waist and picks him up effortlessly like he weighs nothing: like he is exactly as hollow as he feels right this moment, on this balcony, under these stars. “Come on,” says Jiang Cheng. “Let’s go to bed.” - In which Huaisang has a recurring nightmare, the Nie disciples demonstrate excellent capacity for problem-solving, and Jiang Cheng turns out to be more patient than it is generally expected of him.

Lurking behind covered windows after curfew, all three of them are well on their way to passably drunk when Nie Huaisang lays his current volume down on the table, scattering peanut shells, and sighs. “I wonder what it would be like,” he muses, and Jiang Cheng obligingly makes an inquisitive sound and looks over. The book is open to a woodcut image of a man with a woman bent over his lap, her mouth around him, both of them looking as if they’re enjoying themselves immensely.

In order to get married, Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang have to follow the traditions handed down by their respective ancestors. It's only that those traditions are so damn weird, is all.

Having a crush on your roommate is really embarrassing, except that's apparently the opposite of a problem. Jiang Cheng can't deny that's pretty convenient. Wei Ying holds it up, a series of straps and buckles and velcro and wow, really a lot of leather. It has absolutely no conceivable form beyond tangled. Nie Huaisang opens the door at exactly the moment that Wei Ying holds the thing up to Jiang Cheng’s chest, as if he’s trying to imagine how exactly it would fit onto a person, and it falls into a tangled pile between them while they stare at Huaisang in mild mortification.