wang ji / without ulterior motives - nc17 - sun quan / zhuge liang
忘机 without ulterior motives
sun quan / zhuge liang
implied sun ce / zhou yu
qinspired fic as per my usual fare
and oh! nc17 2nd pov
(also i am sorry if this fic has lots of grammar/spelling mistakes. am running through it now. aha.)
set two years after zhou yu's death.
fair assumption that this continues from the whole arc of three fics i've written earlier.
No, no, no, no and no - and absolute no. Frowning, you tap your foot impatiently, hands coming to rest at your hips, a resolute stare adorning your face. You rummage your closet, irritated at the sight of everything you see. Gold and silver and the smoothest black as if it has been ripped off from the night sky, yards of finest silk, snow white and blood red cords, emerald green threads and - you pause in agitation, in extreme agitation, at how impossible it seem to fulfil the simplest of your needs at this given moment.
Why, why is it so hard to find something modest to clothe yourself in?
Lu Su is fidgeting - you almost turn to snap at him, but instead you hold yourself, knowing that this display of nerves will not help. You give him a pointed look, knowing that he is refraining from speaking this thoughts out loud - you do not take this lightly for you have cultivated an open environment in your court, and you will want to know what he's trying to hold back - he laughs nervously, and tries to conceal it as a cough. "Don't you want to reconsider your decision, my lord?"
"No." You flip through your closet again in frustration. "I need this vacation."
"But there's many other places for-"
"Enough, we've had this conversation before." You pull out a modest, sand-coloured silk robe. Silk, of the finest materials indeed, but at least it looks less extravagant compared to most of your other garb. Tossing it onto a nearby chair, Lu Su stares at it, and shakes his head. "I still don't get why you have to meet Mr Zhuge out there in the wild. And by yourself. Refusing any form of company from our men. Why would you risk your security-"
"It's not the wild." You raise an eyebrow as you fetch another similar outfit, this time in deep blue - it accompanies the earlier robe, awaiting to be packed away. "And even before Kongming was enlisted to help Liu Bei, that man made three trips there. Those were in much tumultous times, and yet he did so. What makes you think this is any more dangerous?"
Sensing that you will not be persuaded, he bows politely before exiting. "I shall see to it that the matters of the state are looked after. Do take care, my lord. I wish you a pleasant journey."
Being left alone, you let out a sigh that you are not aware of holding. Quietly you dress yourself in simplicity, running through your plans in your mind. After years of running your kingdom and attending to wars and civil matters, you are undoubtedly burned out. Tired, and weary, one day you find yourself staring at a letter sent by Zhuge Liang. In his simple, fluid prose, he invites you to his farm - safe enough for a king to seek not shelter but a moment in time to uplift his soul. Even the strategist himself decides to go back for a while.
You have learned over time that wise words are not meant to be ignored. A quiet sense of melancholia fills your heart. You have only kept in touch with him via scantly written letters and two official visits from him - that, too, were all done in haste, and there were barely time for any honest exchanges on the wellbeing of each other.
Tugging at your own sleeves and adjusting your collar, you smile wanly to yourself. This will not be much of a vacation - his presence will perhaps play heavily on your mind, but at least it will make a difference to pining for the impossible from afar.
* * *
The journey to the outskirts of the kingdom of Shu, where you are headed to, is made less arduous by the pleasant weather and the high spirits you are in. And despite Lu Su's concern, it is relatively safe. You arrive by dusk, the colour of the skies a magnificent shade of peach and blue, with hints of the flaring sun setting in the horizon.
He stands by the foyer, clad in his simple Taoist robes, one hand clutching his fan - and upon noticing you, he walks up to you. You bring your horse to a slow trot towards the man you have been waiting to see again for the longest of time.
He greets you with a short laugh and the most cheerful of smiles you have ever seen, the last of sunlight reflecting in his eyes - and for a moment, you almost forget to dismount from your horse, not until he offers a hand. Embarrassed, you get down.
"Your Highness."
You stare at him for a split second, unsure of what is appropriate in greeting. Clutching of hands are too warrior-like, and standing with a respectable distance between the both of you seems like the best course of action, but something flares inside you for a physical touch - something, just to feel that this is true, and you are indeed here.
He saves you from this by offering to take the reins to your horse. "You have traveled far. Come, I have prepared dinner for us." You manage to fumble with a thank you, and decide to trail along. He points to where he dwells - his humble abode lives up to his reputation - simple, clean, Taoist and minimalist to a fault. It faces a garden - also kept to a bare minimum, with the water feature outside the only defining point of his little world. Behind his house you can see fences, and what that seem to span acres of farming land - you smile to yourself, making it a point to ask him about it later.
He fusses with your horse and has her taken care of by a young lad - his servant, he says simply, to keep this place in order as he is away most of the time - before directing you to the main hall. Still keeping true to his penchant for all things minimal, there are nothing more than a table, sitting mats, lamps on the side, and a beautifully written calligraphy hung on the wall.
Appearing with a few dishes, he places them gently on the table, and you find yourself hungrily eyeing the food. He must have noticed this, for he laughs cheerfuly and offers you a bowl of warm steamed rice. "I apologise for having nothing more extravagant than fishes and vegetable, Your Highness. I am not an excellent cook, and my first occupation is one of a subsistence farmer. But I can assure you these are fresh - the fishes are caught from the nearby stream that runs into the heart of my farms, and the vegetables are from my garden."
"It doesn't matter. I am grateful for your hospitality and for having me here." You bite into a piece of fish meat, and immediately you frown. "Surely you are kidding when you say you cannot cook. This is very well done."
"...why, thank you." He smiles to himself while helping himself to the dishes. The both of you dine in companionable silence, but the constant smile that plays on his lips and the occasional fleeting glances he directs at you piques your curiosity.
"You are smiling a lot, Kongming."
"Are you begrudging me of my happiness?"
"Absolutely not. It's just..." You pause, and decide not to continue. After all, you do not know how and where he stands in terms of this strange relationship between yourselves. It has been years - confusing years, at best - and with someone as mysterious as Zhuge Liang, sometimes it feels like you are walking on quicksand, not knowing if your next step will prove to be fatalistic.
He is a beautiful man, first appearing in your courts in robes of white cloaked in dust, like a harbinger of woe to your ministers he implored you to pick up your sword for battle. And while you may not like how an outsider confidently strode into your land to propose such an extreme, you do recall his eyes telling you something else. For once, someone sees you as capable - seeing you beyond the child that has much growing-up to do, but a commander-in-chief of your subjects with the power to deploy trusted men to end this war. Your first memory of him is one that is as enigmatic as his appearance - the scent of earth, and innocent pleading in those eyes, accompanied by a confident smile.
For all your fallacies in engaging battles and finer arts, you can read people very well, and this serves you in assembling men of wisdom and loyalty to govern your lands fairly and peacefuly. And you know you can trust this man.
Despite his quirkiness, your men and those from the kingdom he represents unite under a common banner, to much victory.
You do not share much with this man - but for every moment that you do, it speaks more than the years you spend with most of the people around you. With him, you are vigilant, but not fiercely guarded, and perhaps he reads more into the nonverbal responses you give to him.
Zhuge Liang always says that he knows a little. Of everything. What he underestimates is his aptitute in piecing together these little pieces into a complete picture - a talent that most people do not have, and this is perhaps what that makes him most perceptive of the person you truly are, beneath all the layers of responsibility and masks that you put on.
You divert his attention - and he noticed it, but he pretends not to, out of politeness, perhaps - to other topics, and soon the both of you begin to catch up over the sequence of events that took place during the times that the both of you are apart. He listens to you sympathetically, and confers a few valuable insights of his own. In return, he mentions of the civil dilemma in the kingdom of Shu, to which you thoughtfully ponder upon and offer him a perspective of how rulers come to view such problems.
And for every single time that you manage to coax a genuine smile from him, you congratulate yourself and vow to do it again, and again - and that is when you realise that despite the years, you still do harbour feelings for him. It pains you to feel it emanating from him - there is a sense of reciprocity over the years, and even now - yet you dare not to do anything about it.
He ventures to pick up the emptied bowls and plates to bring them to the kitchen, and you try to help - your fingers brush against his when you reach for one of it, to which you hastily pull away. "...it's all right, Your Highness. You're my guest, allow me to do my duties as a host." His voice is slightly tight - you nod quietly.
You stare out of the open window - the moon is bright, and the skies are clear. The air smells of a delightful blend of all things green and moist, you muse, a simple pleasure of living so far out where everything is natural and alive.
You can hear the sounds of him preparing tea in the kitchen, so you take a walk into his study adjacent to the main hall. There, his guqin lies against its rightful place on the wall, the tassels a rich colour of earth standing bright against the lighter background of woven straws. You smile sadly - remembering Zhou Yu, and inevitably, your brother - before stepping forth to touch the strings of the guqin. No dust - Zhuge Liang must have played it in the few days that he has been here.
"Would you like me to play for you?"
You turn around, startled - your fingers strike against the strings as you do so, causing them to screech - and before you can respond, he smiles at you. "I don't usually play for an audience. After all, the qin is an instrument of self-cultivation. And I only know a little. But here, allow me." You step back, and watch him take the qin down. He places it lovingly on the qin table nearby, and seats himself on the mat. You take your place opposite him - a grin from him, and he starts with a series of scales, occasionally tightening strings to tune it proper until he is satisfied.
He pauses for a moment, as if pondering out loud, before striking a note.
His movements are poetry in action, and even if you do not fully comprehend the semantics of qin-playing, you are quickly absorbed by the display of his skills. It is just like an extension of the person that he is - altruistic, cleverly played, full but not overflowing, vibrant but not arrogant. His gaze falls on the qin, adoring, trusting, and you feel a pang of jealousy, wishing it is you he pays such attention on.
Hitting the final note, he looks up at you. You clap slowly in applause. His face is flushed, and the smile he gifts you is pleasant.
"You play beautifully. I am touched."
"Thank you." You can tell he is pleased by your compliments.
"I've never had the opportunity to learn." You move to sit beside him, and gently run your fingers across the strings. He allows you to do so, and with your inexperienced fingers you attempt a stroke or two, delighting in the pale sounds made by his qin at your feeble try. Turning to him, you gesture to the qin. "I had to lead my lands in my youth, with no time to learn how to play such an exquisite instrument. My brother, however, still found time to learn, although I knew he was doing it all for his Viceroy."
He smiles - he often does so, and you wonder when will he ever stop feeling amused at everything he hears or sees? - before returning his attention to his fingers, now idly stroking the wood. "It is more essential to be a good listener, than a good player."
"Why so?"
"Seldom does one understands what the player is trying to convey." Another cryptic smile.
"Try me." You laugh, but it is stopped short by his solemn expression.
"Here. Listen, and let me know what you think."
He starts to play again, and you try to be attentive - however, this is not easy, and soon you begin to move a little in your seat. He plays intensely, brows furrowed, and the force he exerts on the strings is more than you personally deem necessary. You are used to listening to Sun Ce's mediocre playing as he tries to follow Zhou Yu's eloquent style, so you will not think of Zhuge Liang being anything near incompetent - but this is abstract madness.
This is not music, but more of a confession that wails from a supposedly inanimate object.
He stops the buzzing of the strings, calmly placing his palm to mute them as he looks at you, expecting. You pause, trying to read him, but once again he proves to be impossible to read. "There's a sense of disquieted calm. However, the calm is most apparent, like staring into a clear lake." You hazard a guess, blindly groping for your intuition to help you out of this.
"Go on."
"You have nothing to hide."
For the first time since you are reunited with him on this faraway farm, he looks away from you with an expression that you can only define as one that has given up on hope. It does not settle well on his face, for this emotion is so foreign to his otherwise calm and confident personality. You wonder if you have gotten it right, or if it is so wide off the mark, that he is disappointed in you. That thought scares you - after all, he is one of the few person who does not seem to mind you for who you are. In a faith-seeking gesture, you touch his cheek tentatively, biting your lip as you do so, and he closes his eyes as he leaned into your caress.
His whispered response is your undoing. "If there is nothing to hide, and if this is apparent, then what are you waiting for, Your Highness. Time to take action."
You pull him close and tilt your head to catch his lips in a slow kiss. For a man renowned for his calm demeanour, he seems to have lost it all when he kisses you back, ardently although messily, and over a fleeting thought you ponder of his exclusivity - who else, apart from yourself, has done this to Zhuge Liang. The honesty in this kiss, even if it is not most skillfully delivered, tugs at your heartstrings, and you wonder if he has felt this way for as long as you have had, too.
Pulling back for air, he stares at you, almost fearful as he runs his fingers reverently over your chest as if he is waiting for you to push him away. "What is it about you, my beautiful lord, that intrigues me so, even after all these years."
Silencing him with another kiss, this time deep and passionate, as you seek entrance to his mouth, his tongue submissively responding to yours as you coax out a moan from him. "What is it about you, Kongming, to accept a man of zero achievements from the onset, and to see him for who he is."
Tenderly you begin disrobe him, sliding layer by layer of his robes to his shoulders, noticing the light tan of his skin from the years of hardship in the fields and in warzones as you rain kisses on the smooth expanse of his chest. What perfection, what perfection, you keep those thoughts to yourself as you let his robes hang at his waist, your hands reveling in the warmth of his skin and your ears in the stiffled moans he makes at the back of his throat.
You suck gently at the slope of his neck, marking him and wishing that it is as permanent as your imperial seal, for you will treasure him dearly with all your heart, if he is ever yours to keep. As blood begin to clot there, you lap at the skin quietly, easing the pressure you applied on it earlier. If only he is truly yours - you pause at this painful, longing desire, and stare at a blank spot above you, and whisper. "What is it, Kongming, that you see in someone like me, who clearly does not deserve you."
You can feel him tensing, and in response he pulls you close, arms around your neck and forehead pressed against yours. "Who is the undeserving one, Your Highness - perhaps it is myself. You are truly a remarkable individual, the only person I can never figure out - nothing in the philosophical works of Confucius or the sagely words of Lao Tzu, and definitely not in the strategies of the most esteemed Sun Tzu can help me - nothing." He smiles almost sadly before continuing.
"Would it be too bold for me to suggest that we continue this in my private quarters?"
You stare at him, and at such a close distance, he seems even more vulnerable, the way his eyes shine with honesty. He is pursuing the riskiest strategy, offering you something more than a mere alliance or a simple friendship - he is putting his heart on a modest platter and allowing you this chance to say no, potentially wounding it for a lifetime.
Your lips touch his quietly. "I am most honoured." And you wish you can tell him that, at this very moment, you are sure that you do love him, but that confession never made its way out of your mouth, so you resign yourself to kissing his forehead. He seems to be content enough with this - you will not be surprised if he has manage to figure the rest out by himself, anyway. His fingers tug at your sleeves, and soon you find yourself led to his room.
There he makes you sit on one of the wooden chair while he divests himself of his clothes, and your breath hitches as you take in his naked form, and almost lose yourself when he straddles you, his skin's movement against your silk robes causing him to elicit a quiet hum of pleasure. He is semi-erect, and the feeling of his arousal pressed against your stomach, separated only by your clothing, is making your head spin.
"Will you untie my hair for me, Your Highness?"
You oblige willingly, tossing the piece of cloth carelessly aside as you run your fingers through his mane, massaging his scalp as he kisses you langurously. Slowly he slides a little in your lap, his fingers working at your sash, discarding it aside as he continues to undress you. You help him with this, and soon everything is scattered around you - haphazardly, in the most un-Zhuge Liang-like fashion, but he is probably too preoccupied to bother about keeping things orderly for once.
His fingers are now stroking you in gentle motions as he kneels before you, staring at it intently as if contemplating - and before you voice your question, he dives forward and takes it in his mouth.
It takes a lot of self control to not just ravage him there and thrust yourself into the warmth of his mouth - you try to hold yourself together and let him pleasure you the way he is willing to. You buckle under his touch, and the feeling of his tongue swirling around the tip of your erection, and the sensation of having your balls caressed simultaneously. His name comes out haltingly from you - you want to warn him to stop, because you are on the verge of releasing and it may be impolite to do so in his mouth.
Taking cue, he stops his ministrations and look up at you, eyes half-lidded but looking most beautiful as sweat glistened on his body. "Will you grant me the pleasure of having you inside me?" You think you can come at the very instant he said those words, and with a shuddering breath you answer him, your voice cracking. "The greatest pleasure."
He crawls to a nearby drawer, and takes out a small jar containing balm. He clutches it in his hand, and hesitantly he smiles again. "Do you want me to prepare myself, or do you-" Still so proper despite this moment of debauchery, remembering his place as a commoner and yourself as royalty, and your heart tightens.
"Let me do it. Please."
He obliges, and fall back onto the mattress on the floor as you take some of the salve, coating your fingers and warming it up slightly. You stroke his stomach, and crawl forth to kiss him tenderly. You feel him trembling, but he spreads his legs wide in anticipation. Slowly, you slip one finger in, and his eyes shut at the intrustion, gasping slightly. You do not force your way in, but take time in allowing him to get used to the feeling. Soon your finger is in all the way, coaxing and stroking, and it is not long soon that a second finger joins in. He is writhing beneath you, and with your other spare arm you pull yourself closer to him. You make love to him with your fingers alone, changing the angle to rub the prostate and send bolts of pleasure skittering through his body.
He is bucking against you when you tease him further with three fingers. "Please, please."
You gently withdraw your fingers, and he quietly whimpers at the loss of them inside him, but nonetheless he reaches across you to take some of the balm in his hand, and apply it generously on your straining arousal. You watch him do so, moaning at the exquisite feel of his fingers slick around your erection, gliding easily from the lubrication. You kiss him on the forehead. "I think it should be enough. Get on all fours - it should be less painful that way. I don't want to hurt you."
"No. I..." He kisses you quietly. "I want to see your face."
Closing your eyes, you exhale. In the most intimate of act he can still trust you completely, despite everything that cannot be between the both of you. Overwhelmed, you want to tell him of how you feel. "I..."
"It's alright to not say it. I know."
Biting your lip, you press the head of your arousal against his tight opening. You push yourself forward, gently, only if he expresses the desire for more, and soon you find yourself deep inside him, the sensation of him all over you more daunting than anything you have ever felt. He wraps his legs around you, and you bend forward to capture his lips in a searing kiss.
He thrusts himself against you, and you can feel his arousal in between the both of you. In a slow, steady rocking rhythm, you thrust yourself into him, one of your hand reaching in between to stroke his erection. It is not long until you come in a blinding, satisfying orgasm as you bury your face against his neck, crying his name out loud - and your mind registers belatedly that he came almost soon after, semen making a mess on your skin and his.
You hold him tight with the remnants of energy you have, and mouthed the words you long wish you can say aloud to him, brushing them against his ear. He must have heard them, for his grip on your arm tightens, and you imagine hearing him stiffling a sob beneath you.
Immediately you reposition yourself to be on his side, wanting to see if he is alright, but if it is not a figment of your tired mind's imagination, he has schooled his features behind his usual smile. So much for understanding Zhuge Liang, sometimes. He presses his face against the crook of your neck, snuggling contently and strokes lazy patterns across your chest, eyes closed. You watch him quietly, your arms still possessively draped around him, still not quite believing everything that has transpired.
It has taken you so long to give into the temptation of loving him the way you often wish you can indulge in, despite the years, the wars, and the distance, something stays constant, and with the calming rhythm of his tender caresses, you fall asleep to the scent of him surrounding you, not wanting to think of what tomorrow may bring.
Note: Oulu Wangji, or 'Sea birds trust those without ulterior motives' is the main theme of this fic - the song Zhuge Liang uses to challenge Sun Quan's doubts on being a good listener. It is downloadable here. Accordingly, it is a rather minimalistic track - the aim is to sound as if one is sitting down forgetting all intentions (hence, without ulterior motives), like the fisherman when he didn't pay much heed to the presence of the seagulls around him. (I admit it is not an easy track to listen to. It's probably one of the most abstract qin piece I've listened to so far. My eyes water at the prospect of trying to comprehend this piece.)
The first song Zhuge Liang plays, in my mind's eye/ears, I think should be Wu Ye Ti, or 'the Raven's evening call' (download here). While crows/ravens are often considered unlucky, it is said that if one hears the call of a raven in early evening while thinking of someone far away, it symbolises loyalty (and the freedom to travel - how contradictory?). A late evening call, however, symbolises death. I think it fits well into the theme of this story - how Sun Quan travels far to find Zhuge Liang, arriving at the onset of dusk, and how they are still thinking of each other despite the years. A far easier listening compared to 'Oulu Wangji', it makes a better performance piece than the former would - hence Zhuge Liang opting to play this.
sun quan / zhuge liang
implied sun ce / zhou yu
qinspired fic as per my usual fare
and oh! nc17 2nd pov
(also i am sorry if this fic has lots of grammar/spelling mistakes. am running through it now. aha.)
set two years after zhou yu's death.
fair assumption that this continues from the whole arc of three fics i've written earlier.
No, no, no, no and no - and absolute no. Frowning, you tap your foot impatiently, hands coming to rest at your hips, a resolute stare adorning your face. You rummage your closet, irritated at the sight of everything you see. Gold and silver and the smoothest black as if it has been ripped off from the night sky, yards of finest silk, snow white and blood red cords, emerald green threads and - you pause in agitation, in extreme agitation, at how impossible it seem to fulfil the simplest of your needs at this given moment.
Why, why is it so hard to find something modest to clothe yourself in?
Lu Su is fidgeting - you almost turn to snap at him, but instead you hold yourself, knowing that this display of nerves will not help. You give him a pointed look, knowing that he is refraining from speaking this thoughts out loud - you do not take this lightly for you have cultivated an open environment in your court, and you will want to know what he's trying to hold back - he laughs nervously, and tries to conceal it as a cough. "Don't you want to reconsider your decision, my lord?"
"No." You flip through your closet again in frustration. "I need this vacation."
"But there's many other places for-"
"Enough, we've had this conversation before." You pull out a modest, sand-coloured silk robe. Silk, of the finest materials indeed, but at least it looks less extravagant compared to most of your other garb. Tossing it onto a nearby chair, Lu Su stares at it, and shakes his head. "I still don't get why you have to meet Mr Zhuge out there in the wild. And by yourself. Refusing any form of company from our men. Why would you risk your security-"
"It's not the wild." You raise an eyebrow as you fetch another similar outfit, this time in deep blue - it accompanies the earlier robe, awaiting to be packed away. "And even before Kongming was enlisted to help Liu Bei, that man made three trips there. Those were in much tumultous times, and yet he did so. What makes you think this is any more dangerous?"
Sensing that you will not be persuaded, he bows politely before exiting. "I shall see to it that the matters of the state are looked after. Do take care, my lord. I wish you a pleasant journey."
Being left alone, you let out a sigh that you are not aware of holding. Quietly you dress yourself in simplicity, running through your plans in your mind. After years of running your kingdom and attending to wars and civil matters, you are undoubtedly burned out. Tired, and weary, one day you find yourself staring at a letter sent by Zhuge Liang. In his simple, fluid prose, he invites you to his farm - safe enough for a king to seek not shelter but a moment in time to uplift his soul. Even the strategist himself decides to go back for a while.
You have learned over time that wise words are not meant to be ignored. A quiet sense of melancholia fills your heart. You have only kept in touch with him via scantly written letters and two official visits from him - that, too, were all done in haste, and there were barely time for any honest exchanges on the wellbeing of each other.
Tugging at your own sleeves and adjusting your collar, you smile wanly to yourself. This will not be much of a vacation - his presence will perhaps play heavily on your mind, but at least it will make a difference to pining for the impossible from afar.
* * *
The journey to the outskirts of the kingdom of Shu, where you are headed to, is made less arduous by the pleasant weather and the high spirits you are in. And despite Lu Su's concern, it is relatively safe. You arrive by dusk, the colour of the skies a magnificent shade of peach and blue, with hints of the flaring sun setting in the horizon.
He stands by the foyer, clad in his simple Taoist robes, one hand clutching his fan - and upon noticing you, he walks up to you. You bring your horse to a slow trot towards the man you have been waiting to see again for the longest of time.
He greets you with a short laugh and the most cheerful of smiles you have ever seen, the last of sunlight reflecting in his eyes - and for a moment, you almost forget to dismount from your horse, not until he offers a hand. Embarrassed, you get down.
"Your Highness."
You stare at him for a split second, unsure of what is appropriate in greeting. Clutching of hands are too warrior-like, and standing with a respectable distance between the both of you seems like the best course of action, but something flares inside you for a physical touch - something, just to feel that this is true, and you are indeed here.
He saves you from this by offering to take the reins to your horse. "You have traveled far. Come, I have prepared dinner for us." You manage to fumble with a thank you, and decide to trail along. He points to where he dwells - his humble abode lives up to his reputation - simple, clean, Taoist and minimalist to a fault. It faces a garden - also kept to a bare minimum, with the water feature outside the only defining point of his little world. Behind his house you can see fences, and what that seem to span acres of farming land - you smile to yourself, making it a point to ask him about it later.
He fusses with your horse and has her taken care of by a young lad - his servant, he says simply, to keep this place in order as he is away most of the time - before directing you to the main hall. Still keeping true to his penchant for all things minimal, there are nothing more than a table, sitting mats, lamps on the side, and a beautifully written calligraphy hung on the wall.
Appearing with a few dishes, he places them gently on the table, and you find yourself hungrily eyeing the food. He must have noticed this, for he laughs cheerfuly and offers you a bowl of warm steamed rice. "I apologise for having nothing more extravagant than fishes and vegetable, Your Highness. I am not an excellent cook, and my first occupation is one of a subsistence farmer. But I can assure you these are fresh - the fishes are caught from the nearby stream that runs into the heart of my farms, and the vegetables are from my garden."
"It doesn't matter. I am grateful for your hospitality and for having me here." You bite into a piece of fish meat, and immediately you frown. "Surely you are kidding when you say you cannot cook. This is very well done."
"...why, thank you." He smiles to himself while helping himself to the dishes. The both of you dine in companionable silence, but the constant smile that plays on his lips and the occasional fleeting glances he directs at you piques your curiosity.
"You are smiling a lot, Kongming."
"Are you begrudging me of my happiness?"
"Absolutely not. It's just..." You pause, and decide not to continue. After all, you do not know how and where he stands in terms of this strange relationship between yourselves. It has been years - confusing years, at best - and with someone as mysterious as Zhuge Liang, sometimes it feels like you are walking on quicksand, not knowing if your next step will prove to be fatalistic.
He is a beautiful man, first appearing in your courts in robes of white cloaked in dust, like a harbinger of woe to your ministers he implored you to pick up your sword for battle. And while you may not like how an outsider confidently strode into your land to propose such an extreme, you do recall his eyes telling you something else. For once, someone sees you as capable - seeing you beyond the child that has much growing-up to do, but a commander-in-chief of your subjects with the power to deploy trusted men to end this war. Your first memory of him is one that is as enigmatic as his appearance - the scent of earth, and innocent pleading in those eyes, accompanied by a confident smile.
For all your fallacies in engaging battles and finer arts, you can read people very well, and this serves you in assembling men of wisdom and loyalty to govern your lands fairly and peacefuly. And you know you can trust this man.
Despite his quirkiness, your men and those from the kingdom he represents unite under a common banner, to much victory.
You do not share much with this man - but for every moment that you do, it speaks more than the years you spend with most of the people around you. With him, you are vigilant, but not fiercely guarded, and perhaps he reads more into the nonverbal responses you give to him.
Zhuge Liang always says that he knows a little. Of everything. What he underestimates is his aptitute in piecing together these little pieces into a complete picture - a talent that most people do not have, and this is perhaps what that makes him most perceptive of the person you truly are, beneath all the layers of responsibility and masks that you put on.
You divert his attention - and he noticed it, but he pretends not to, out of politeness, perhaps - to other topics, and soon the both of you begin to catch up over the sequence of events that took place during the times that the both of you are apart. He listens to you sympathetically, and confers a few valuable insights of his own. In return, he mentions of the civil dilemma in the kingdom of Shu, to which you thoughtfully ponder upon and offer him a perspective of how rulers come to view such problems.
And for every single time that you manage to coax a genuine smile from him, you congratulate yourself and vow to do it again, and again - and that is when you realise that despite the years, you still do harbour feelings for him. It pains you to feel it emanating from him - there is a sense of reciprocity over the years, and even now - yet you dare not to do anything about it.
He ventures to pick up the emptied bowls and plates to bring them to the kitchen, and you try to help - your fingers brush against his when you reach for one of it, to which you hastily pull away. "...it's all right, Your Highness. You're my guest, allow me to do my duties as a host." His voice is slightly tight - you nod quietly.
You stare out of the open window - the moon is bright, and the skies are clear. The air smells of a delightful blend of all things green and moist, you muse, a simple pleasure of living so far out where everything is natural and alive.
You can hear the sounds of him preparing tea in the kitchen, so you take a walk into his study adjacent to the main hall. There, his guqin lies against its rightful place on the wall, the tassels a rich colour of earth standing bright against the lighter background of woven straws. You smile sadly - remembering Zhou Yu, and inevitably, your brother - before stepping forth to touch the strings of the guqin. No dust - Zhuge Liang must have played it in the few days that he has been here.
"Would you like me to play for you?"
You turn around, startled - your fingers strike against the strings as you do so, causing them to screech - and before you can respond, he smiles at you. "I don't usually play for an audience. After all, the qin is an instrument of self-cultivation. And I only know a little. But here, allow me." You step back, and watch him take the qin down. He places it lovingly on the qin table nearby, and seats himself on the mat. You take your place opposite him - a grin from him, and he starts with a series of scales, occasionally tightening strings to tune it proper until he is satisfied.
He pauses for a moment, as if pondering out loud, before striking a note.
His movements are poetry in action, and even if you do not fully comprehend the semantics of qin-playing, you are quickly absorbed by the display of his skills. It is just like an extension of the person that he is - altruistic, cleverly played, full but not overflowing, vibrant but not arrogant. His gaze falls on the qin, adoring, trusting, and you feel a pang of jealousy, wishing it is you he pays such attention on.
Hitting the final note, he looks up at you. You clap slowly in applause. His face is flushed, and the smile he gifts you is pleasant.
"You play beautifully. I am touched."
"Thank you." You can tell he is pleased by your compliments.
"I've never had the opportunity to learn." You move to sit beside him, and gently run your fingers across the strings. He allows you to do so, and with your inexperienced fingers you attempt a stroke or two, delighting in the pale sounds made by his qin at your feeble try. Turning to him, you gesture to the qin. "I had to lead my lands in my youth, with no time to learn how to play such an exquisite instrument. My brother, however, still found time to learn, although I knew he was doing it all for his Viceroy."
He smiles - he often does so, and you wonder when will he ever stop feeling amused at everything he hears or sees? - before returning his attention to his fingers, now idly stroking the wood. "It is more essential to be a good listener, than a good player."
"Why so?"
"Seldom does one understands what the player is trying to convey." Another cryptic smile.
"Try me." You laugh, but it is stopped short by his solemn expression.
"Here. Listen, and let me know what you think."
He starts to play again, and you try to be attentive - however, this is not easy, and soon you begin to move a little in your seat. He plays intensely, brows furrowed, and the force he exerts on the strings is more than you personally deem necessary. You are used to listening to Sun Ce's mediocre playing as he tries to follow Zhou Yu's eloquent style, so you will not think of Zhuge Liang being anything near incompetent - but this is abstract madness.
This is not music, but more of a confession that wails from a supposedly inanimate object.
He stops the buzzing of the strings, calmly placing his palm to mute them as he looks at you, expecting. You pause, trying to read him, but once again he proves to be impossible to read. "There's a sense of disquieted calm. However, the calm is most apparent, like staring into a clear lake." You hazard a guess, blindly groping for your intuition to help you out of this.
"Go on."
"You have nothing to hide."
For the first time since you are reunited with him on this faraway farm, he looks away from you with an expression that you can only define as one that has given up on hope. It does not settle well on his face, for this emotion is so foreign to his otherwise calm and confident personality. You wonder if you have gotten it right, or if it is so wide off the mark, that he is disappointed in you. That thought scares you - after all, he is one of the few person who does not seem to mind you for who you are. In a faith-seeking gesture, you touch his cheek tentatively, biting your lip as you do so, and he closes his eyes as he leaned into your caress.
His whispered response is your undoing. "If there is nothing to hide, and if this is apparent, then what are you waiting for, Your Highness. Time to take action."
You pull him close and tilt your head to catch his lips in a slow kiss. For a man renowned for his calm demeanour, he seems to have lost it all when he kisses you back, ardently although messily, and over a fleeting thought you ponder of his exclusivity - who else, apart from yourself, has done this to Zhuge Liang. The honesty in this kiss, even if it is not most skillfully delivered, tugs at your heartstrings, and you wonder if he has felt this way for as long as you have had, too.
Pulling back for air, he stares at you, almost fearful as he runs his fingers reverently over your chest as if he is waiting for you to push him away. "What is it about you, my beautiful lord, that intrigues me so, even after all these years."
Silencing him with another kiss, this time deep and passionate, as you seek entrance to his mouth, his tongue submissively responding to yours as you coax out a moan from him. "What is it about you, Kongming, to accept a man of zero achievements from the onset, and to see him for who he is."
Tenderly you begin disrobe him, sliding layer by layer of his robes to his shoulders, noticing the light tan of his skin from the years of hardship in the fields and in warzones as you rain kisses on the smooth expanse of his chest. What perfection, what perfection, you keep those thoughts to yourself as you let his robes hang at his waist, your hands reveling in the warmth of his skin and your ears in the stiffled moans he makes at the back of his throat.
You suck gently at the slope of his neck, marking him and wishing that it is as permanent as your imperial seal, for you will treasure him dearly with all your heart, if he is ever yours to keep. As blood begin to clot there, you lap at the skin quietly, easing the pressure you applied on it earlier. If only he is truly yours - you pause at this painful, longing desire, and stare at a blank spot above you, and whisper. "What is it, Kongming, that you see in someone like me, who clearly does not deserve you."
You can feel him tensing, and in response he pulls you close, arms around your neck and forehead pressed against yours. "Who is the undeserving one, Your Highness - perhaps it is myself. You are truly a remarkable individual, the only person I can never figure out - nothing in the philosophical works of Confucius or the sagely words of Lao Tzu, and definitely not in the strategies of the most esteemed Sun Tzu can help me - nothing." He smiles almost sadly before continuing.
"Would it be too bold for me to suggest that we continue this in my private quarters?"
You stare at him, and at such a close distance, he seems even more vulnerable, the way his eyes shine with honesty. He is pursuing the riskiest strategy, offering you something more than a mere alliance or a simple friendship - he is putting his heart on a modest platter and allowing you this chance to say no, potentially wounding it for a lifetime.
Your lips touch his quietly. "I am most honoured." And you wish you can tell him that, at this very moment, you are sure that you do love him, but that confession never made its way out of your mouth, so you resign yourself to kissing his forehead. He seems to be content enough with this - you will not be surprised if he has manage to figure the rest out by himself, anyway. His fingers tug at your sleeves, and soon you find yourself led to his room.
There he makes you sit on one of the wooden chair while he divests himself of his clothes, and your breath hitches as you take in his naked form, and almost lose yourself when he straddles you, his skin's movement against your silk robes causing him to elicit a quiet hum of pleasure. He is semi-erect, and the feeling of his arousal pressed against your stomach, separated only by your clothing, is making your head spin.
"Will you untie my hair for me, Your Highness?"
You oblige willingly, tossing the piece of cloth carelessly aside as you run your fingers through his mane, massaging his scalp as he kisses you langurously. Slowly he slides a little in your lap, his fingers working at your sash, discarding it aside as he continues to undress you. You help him with this, and soon everything is scattered around you - haphazardly, in the most un-Zhuge Liang-like fashion, but he is probably too preoccupied to bother about keeping things orderly for once.
His fingers are now stroking you in gentle motions as he kneels before you, staring at it intently as if contemplating - and before you voice your question, he dives forward and takes it in his mouth.
It takes a lot of self control to not just ravage him there and thrust yourself into the warmth of his mouth - you try to hold yourself together and let him pleasure you the way he is willing to. You buckle under his touch, and the feeling of his tongue swirling around the tip of your erection, and the sensation of having your balls caressed simultaneously. His name comes out haltingly from you - you want to warn him to stop, because you are on the verge of releasing and it may be impolite to do so in his mouth.
Taking cue, he stops his ministrations and look up at you, eyes half-lidded but looking most beautiful as sweat glistened on his body. "Will you grant me the pleasure of having you inside me?" You think you can come at the very instant he said those words, and with a shuddering breath you answer him, your voice cracking. "The greatest pleasure."
He crawls to a nearby drawer, and takes out a small jar containing balm. He clutches it in his hand, and hesitantly he smiles again. "Do you want me to prepare myself, or do you-" Still so proper despite this moment of debauchery, remembering his place as a commoner and yourself as royalty, and your heart tightens.
"Let me do it. Please."
He obliges, and fall back onto the mattress on the floor as you take some of the salve, coating your fingers and warming it up slightly. You stroke his stomach, and crawl forth to kiss him tenderly. You feel him trembling, but he spreads his legs wide in anticipation. Slowly, you slip one finger in, and his eyes shut at the intrustion, gasping slightly. You do not force your way in, but take time in allowing him to get used to the feeling. Soon your finger is in all the way, coaxing and stroking, and it is not long soon that a second finger joins in. He is writhing beneath you, and with your other spare arm you pull yourself closer to him. You make love to him with your fingers alone, changing the angle to rub the prostate and send bolts of pleasure skittering through his body.
He is bucking against you when you tease him further with three fingers. "Please, please."
You gently withdraw your fingers, and he quietly whimpers at the loss of them inside him, but nonetheless he reaches across you to take some of the balm in his hand, and apply it generously on your straining arousal. You watch him do so, moaning at the exquisite feel of his fingers slick around your erection, gliding easily from the lubrication. You kiss him on the forehead. "I think it should be enough. Get on all fours - it should be less painful that way. I don't want to hurt you."
"No. I..." He kisses you quietly. "I want to see your face."
Closing your eyes, you exhale. In the most intimate of act he can still trust you completely, despite everything that cannot be between the both of you. Overwhelmed, you want to tell him of how you feel. "I..."
"It's alright to not say it. I know."
Biting your lip, you press the head of your arousal against his tight opening. You push yourself forward, gently, only if he expresses the desire for more, and soon you find yourself deep inside him, the sensation of him all over you more daunting than anything you have ever felt. He wraps his legs around you, and you bend forward to capture his lips in a searing kiss.
He thrusts himself against you, and you can feel his arousal in between the both of you. In a slow, steady rocking rhythm, you thrust yourself into him, one of your hand reaching in between to stroke his erection. It is not long until you come in a blinding, satisfying orgasm as you bury your face against his neck, crying his name out loud - and your mind registers belatedly that he came almost soon after, semen making a mess on your skin and his.
You hold him tight with the remnants of energy you have, and mouthed the words you long wish you can say aloud to him, brushing them against his ear. He must have heard them, for his grip on your arm tightens, and you imagine hearing him stiffling a sob beneath you.
Immediately you reposition yourself to be on his side, wanting to see if he is alright, but if it is not a figment of your tired mind's imagination, he has schooled his features behind his usual smile. So much for understanding Zhuge Liang, sometimes. He presses his face against the crook of your neck, snuggling contently and strokes lazy patterns across your chest, eyes closed. You watch him quietly, your arms still possessively draped around him, still not quite believing everything that has transpired.
It has taken you so long to give into the temptation of loving him the way you often wish you can indulge in, despite the years, the wars, and the distance, something stays constant, and with the calming rhythm of his tender caresses, you fall asleep to the scent of him surrounding you, not wanting to think of what tomorrow may bring.
Note: Oulu Wangji, or 'Sea birds trust those without ulterior motives' is the main theme of this fic - the song Zhuge Liang uses to challenge Sun Quan's doubts on being a good listener. It is downloadable here. Accordingly, it is a rather minimalistic track - the aim is to sound as if one is sitting down forgetting all intentions (hence, without ulterior motives), like the fisherman when he didn't pay much heed to the presence of the seagulls around him. (I admit it is not an easy track to listen to. It's probably one of the most abstract qin piece I've listened to so far. My eyes water at the prospect of trying to comprehend this piece.)
The first song Zhuge Liang plays, in my mind's eye/ears, I think should be Wu Ye Ti, or 'the Raven's evening call' (download here). While crows/ravens are often considered unlucky, it is said that if one hears the call of a raven in early evening while thinking of someone far away, it symbolises loyalty (and the freedom to travel - how contradictory?). A late evening call, however, symbolises death. I think it fits well into the theme of this story - how Sun Quan travels far to find Zhuge Liang, arriving at the onset of dusk, and how they are still thinking of each other despite the years. A far easier listening compared to 'Oulu Wangji', it makes a better performance piece than the former would - hence Zhuge Liang opting to play this.