When Shen Qiao wakes up, it’s to Yan Wushi’s possessive arm pulling him close and a devilish, handsome smile right above his face.
“Yes, Yan-zongzhu?” He says mildly, hand reaching out to tuck loose white hairs behind an ear.
“A-Qiao should call me shizun sometime,” comes the answering rumble, before Yan Wushi slides a hot palm down his side, thumbs digging into the bruises he’d left on Shen Qiao’s hips the night before. “Like you used to.”
Shen Qiao raises an eyebrow. “You mean when you and your disciple both lied to me to convince me I was from the Huanyue Sect, despite knowing full well I hailed from Mount Xuandu?”
“Fun times, no?” Yan Wushi grins, entirely unapologetic. “Wasn’t I convincing?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Pushing Yan Wushi back onto the bed, Shen Qiao sits up, the lapel of his sleeping robe slipping a little past his shoulders. When he makes to pull his robe up, Yan Wushi tugs it down just to be contrary, as is his wont. So Shen Qiao lets him. “It’s not like you really taught me anything during those few months, did you, shizun?”
Yan Wushi curls Shen Qiao’s loose hair around his fingers, yanking him down so his fingers are splayed on Yan Wushi’s chest.
“What a mouthy disciple I have,” Yan Wushi purrs, leaning into the space between them. “And how very ungrateful. After all this master has done for you, too, giving you such comprehensive, personal lessons after hours in my own chambers. Few disciples have earned such a privilege in the history of the Huanyue Sect, young Shen Qiao.”
Making a face, Shen Qiao rolls to the side so he can rest his head on Yan Wushi’s shoulder, feeling rather than hearing Yan Wushi laugh as a smirking, beloved mouth presses a kiss to his forehead.
“Preferential treatment?” Shen Qiao demurs, trailing the back of his knuckles over Yan Wushi’s collarbone, over the dips and hollows of his scarred torso, and lower still under the covers where he can feel the dark, dusty hairs on Yan Wushi’s stomach. “This disciple must implore shizun to be fair with his teachings and treatment of all those under his tutelage.”
Humming in pleasure, Yan Wushi lets out a throaty chuckle as he pulls Shen Qiao in, lips trailing up his neck and flushed cheeks, tongue teasing tantalisingly up the shell of his ear. Despite himself, Shen Qiao trembles, like he always does at every touch, every word.
“How very noble of my disciple,” Yan Wushi drawls, gripping Shen Qiao’s wrist to drag it even lower to the heat between those powerful legs. “How righteous. Then, let’s see if you’ve been paying attention to this master’s teachings, hmm?”
Shen Qiao smiles, eyes crinkling as Yan Wushi covers his mouth with his own.
“Well. This disciple shall not disappoint you,” Shen Qiao says softly, meeting Yan Wushi’s hungry, expectant gaze as he takes him in hand. “Shizun.”