FIC: Writer's Block
Title: Writer’s Block
Pairings: Tenpou/Goujun
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Snark warning: A Tenpou in a foul mood is a Tenpou to be feared.
Summary: It’s the eternal question: when courting another man, What Would Confucius Do?
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer thingee. Not mine, hers.
Notes:
Hoping it would help me get over some writer’s block of my own, here is a small wayward crack bunny belonging to macavitykitsune that she repeatedly put in my lap, refusing to leave me alone until I promised I’d turn it into something. Well, here is… something. (My message to her: Be careful of what you wish for!) Her original concept was the aftermath of a huge crack/angst 10Gou fight over Goujun’s insistence that as king and commander, he had to be the top in bed, and Tenpou’s overreaction to it. A “crangst fic,” I think we called it.
Well, more fluff now than crangst- but I promised to get it out before Christmas, so here it is. A bit of total fluff with a cracked crust, out of the oven just in time for the holidays. Have a Happy Christmas, everyone!
Writer’s Block
“Come on in.”
As usual Tenpou had barely bothered to look up after the knock; though in the end it was rather a good thing he had, as he was technically on duty for at least another hour and some recognition of rank was probably considered necessary. He carefully schooled his face into a Business Mode Neutral before formally nodding his respects to Goujun.
“Ah, yes- you will have to excuse my rudeness, Commander, but my lap is filled with a rather large stack of books and papers at the moment. What can I do for you this afternoon?”
He chose to ignore the rather large bottle of sake tucked underneath the dragon’s arm. The last time Goujun had shown up with a similar bottle, the night had not gone well. Not well, indeed. Amend that; the night had actually gone quite swimmingly until its abrupt and rather nasty ending, when he had booted his half-naked commander out the door, then slammed and bolted said door behind him in case his point had not been sufficiently made. One could only pray that this bottle’s appearance wasn’t some sort of alcoholic omen, warning of a repeat performance of that particular debacle. Goujun hesitated just outside of the threshold, shifting his weight from side to side as if he were making a decision of momentous import (all in all, Tenpou was too charitable to call it waffling as of yet, but give it time), before he gathered sufficient courage to step in across the room’s invisible safety barrier, which apparently only dragons could sense. Tenpou continued to watch without verbal comment as the man slowly picked his way around the various piles of debris towards the guest chair- although it seemed the look in his eyes was comment enough for Goujun, who, if looks did not deceive, was near to jumping out of his skin under the scrutiny. Finally arriving at his destination the dragon carefully set the sake down on a comparatively open spot next to the ashtray. As he busied himself in cleaning the books off of his seat Tenpou’s gaze slid over to the stormy petrel in a bottle, looming ominously on the corner of his desk. The edges of his mouth followed his eyes in their general downward trend as he read what little he could of the label, skewed as it was in Goujun’s direction; it looked to be of a brand even more expensive than the last had been. Beads of moisture welling up on its surface suggested it had been recently chilled, meant for immediate consumption. The decorative ribbon tied around the neck made it look suspiciously like a peace offering.
“Tenpou-san. May I?”
Tenpou slowly turned the scowl from the bottle back to the dragon. His head moved a fraction of an inch in response to the request, letting the man decide for himself whether it was an affirmation or not. Warily eyeing the scowl Goujun sat on the edge of the chair, flight response at ready- so it seemed that his animal instincts were still working, even if the rest of his sense of self-preservation was not. Tenpou’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits as he studied the pale bundle of nerves, trying his best not to make any sudden movements or to otherwise show fear. Interesting… while the sake might have been déjà vu all over again, the notebook tucked under the commander’s arm was something entirely new. As the dragon king was not in the habit of carrying about his own papers (after all, that was what a personal secretary was for), it made one rather curious as to its intended function. Obviously not as fashion accessory… well, assuming the sake sibyl was telling the truth, it could very well be that an eloquent and compelling speech had been prepared for the impending joy of Dragon’s Night Out, Take Two. A sufficient amount of time had passed since his first attempt that Goujun might have had the foresight to actually lay out an argument in advance this time around, at least one with a better proposition than the previous because I outrank you, so there. Perhaps he even went as far as to pen a clever rebuttal or two for a few of the more obvious objections that would likely be raised over the dragon’s Blindingly Obtuse Logic. Indeed, if Goujun was truly about to reattempt the bedding of his subordinate, he would definitely need to do something to prepare himself, because when faced with a miffed and snippy Tenpou, one needed a bit more defense than a bottle of pricey sake and one’s ability to quote verbatim from The Rules and Regulations Regarding Conduct in the Heavenly Military, 105th Edition. At the very least he should have taken the time to reacquaint himself with The Art of War, because the bugger was definitely going to need it once some of the more explosive epithets started flying.
After an uncomfortable silence in which the dragon opened his mouth not once but three times without significant issue other than hot air, Goujun finally managed to clear his throat to speak.
“I… I had thought that we might talk, Tenpou-san. About our previous discuss-”
Tenpou’s scowl deepened, effectively disemboweling the end of the dragon’s speech. Alas, it seemed there was to be no bombastic, yet entertaining speech for this evening’s playbill; it was to be an emotional and understanding ‘talk’ instead. Not nearly as fun, and on the whole much more painful to deal with. Not to mention more difficult to ridicule without seeming a cruel and insensitive prick. All in all, he’d have to give the commander kudos for a fairly solid opening gambit. Still, said ‘Previous Discussion’ was on the very bottom of an immensely long list of things Tenpou had no interest in ‘talking’ about with anyone, ever, let alone with Goujun, now. His eyes flicked over to the sake bottle in order to make that very point, before sliding their accusatory way back over to the nervous dragon. Goujun shifted in his seat, a picture of complete (though still managing to appear quite regal) misery. Tenpou tried not to be affected by the pitiable sight, tried, but alas, sad dragon eyes were as potent a weapon as those of a lost puppy. Heart infinitesimally softened Tenpou sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, dreading what was to come next; for as attractive as a potential stonewalling was, redirection would only postpone the inevitable, not eliminate it. And despite the potential entertainment value to be found in mentally torturing a dragon, this meeting was otherwise likely to be as painful for him as for Goujun. With that in mind, there really was no reason to drag out his own suffering for any longer than was absolutely necessary, was there? No, there certainly was not. Deep, cleansing breath, then. Time to get it over with. He pushed his glasses up his nose to catch the light.
“And what exactly did you wish to discuss, Commander? I do believe you’ve already made your position with me- or should I say on me- quite clear.”
It was obvious that if the dragon’s cheeks could color, they would. Instead, Goujun seemed to be working on regaining his recently deflated courage by staring holes into his lap, as if the cover of the notebook had an illustration of his own personal cheerleading squad, urging him onward and upward to bigger and better things. Gambatte, Goujun-san! Go, Jun, Go! Tell that upstart where to go! …hm, well. Needed tweaking, but then, he’d never actually written a cheer before. Having found a new shiny to play with Tenpou’s brain wandered away for a bit, searching his inner dictionary for a few relevant rhyme sets to work with. Good hard fuck/ out of luck; he’s the king/ so take his thing; he bought the sake/ so now he’s your jockey… ooh, that last one was rather clever, if he did say so himself. Left to his own devices Tenpou could have spent an immensely entertaining afternoon dreaming up the perfect rhyme (with accompanying dance and tumble, of course), but it seemed the pep team on the notebook had finally finished their routine, as Goujun was opening his mouth to speak again. Oh, well… boo. And the deafening silence had been going so very well between them.
“Yes, well. I have thought long and hard about our earlier… misunderstanding, Tenpou-san. I realize that my words could have been quite easily misconstrued into something with a negative connotation. But please, rest assured it was not my intention to belittle you in any way; it was simply a fault of my upbringing. My therapist tells me that class differences are often the source of unintentional tensions during times of intimacy, and in many cases-”
“Wait, wait, wait- stop. Hold it right there. Therapist? You actually went to see the regimental shrink about this?”
“Oh, no, no. I have my own psychotherapist. Dr. Po.”
Goujun nodded sagely, as if by simply speaking the man’s name everything was suddenly made clear as crystal. The thought of Goujun having a personal therapist at all was enough to make Tenpou’s head swim, let alone the mental image of the Dragon King of the Western Seas, Commander of the Army of the Western Heavens laying on his back on a couch in some office somewhere babbling away about his love life. Assuming the shrink wasn’t spending his fifty-minute hour listening to monologues about troop strengths and the difficulties in importing quality caviar for the royal canapés, this Dr. Po was getting an earful about what, exactly? About Goujun not having had an affair with another man?
“And you told him what happened that night?”
Goujun blinked at him as if he were immensely stupid, or four years old, or both.
“It is called ‘The Talking Cure,’ Tenpou-san. In order to gain benefit from it, some amount of verbal confession is necessary.”
“You told him about us?”
“Well, yes… but you needn’t worry about a scandal. He is quite aware of the penalty should he break the patient confidentiality rule. After all, one must keep one’s head to be a ‘head shrinker,’ as they are so colorfully described.”
That image certainly killed the conversation. Tenpou sat in silence with the specter of Po’s disembodied head staring up at him as it lay bleeding all over the papers in his lap. Goujun waited more or less patiently, eyes intently studying a point just to the right of Tenpou’s head, as if he were divining his I Ching reading from the pattern of the sakura petals as they slowly fell past the window. At regular intervals the dragon’s eyes flicked over to peek at Tenpou’s face; each time, he looked embarrassed at having been caught doing so. Tenpou kept his peripheral vision on alert for the next round of Dragon Peek-a-boo as he tried to imagine what a conversation with Dr. Po might sound like, though each subsequent attempt became more bizarre as the silence dragged on. ‘I say a word; you tell me the first thing that comes into your head. Head?’ ‘Chopping block.’ ‘Alright... Mother?’ ‘Lady Snowblood.’ Did Goujun take off his cape during his sessions, or just lay on top of it? Maybe he used it as a security blanket, as he seemed to be doing now… just as Figment of Imagination Goujun was about to execute the Rorschach test scribes for their clumsiness with ink wells, Flesh and Blood Goujun cleared his throat again, and the whole scene snapped shut in Tenpou’s mind like a book. Ink spattered the insides of his skull, creating a rather attractive butterfly pattern. Though to be honest, ink blots always seemed to look like butterflies to him- which probably indicated some sort of personality disorder, though he never bothered to ask about it because he didn’t really care what anyone (let alone the regimental shrink) thought about his perception of ink blots. He did his best to quickly clean up the mental mess while the dragon spoke slowly and purposefully to the cherry blossoms.
“I admit, my choice of words was extremely poor that night. As Dr. Po pointed out, ‘subordinate in status does not mean subordinate in all circumstances. One should never assume such, much less demand it.’ I fully agree with his assessment.”
“Quite interesting change of heart, Commander- for if I do recall correctly, what you said that night was quite the opposite. I believe it was something more along the lines of ‘Pants down and legs up, kiss the ground and praise the heavens for the gift of royal dick of which you are about to receive.’”
It came out slightly crasser than intended- not to mention bitter. Tenpou frowned at his misstep; an overly emotional response this early on in the verbal spar was a tactical mistake he was sure to regret, as it all but proved how deeply he had been wounded. Goujun had treated him like a dime-a-dozen scullery maid that night, and no matter how much he tried to pretend it didn’t matter, it cut deeply- and here he was, admitting it to the dragon before he even admitted it to himself. Still, Goujun hadn’t seemed to have noticed the gaffe- or perhaps he simply chose to be the gentleman and ignore it, and continued to act as if it were he who was still on the defensive, answering the accusation with an indignant glare, clearly offended by Tenpou’s peevishness.
“I am trying my best, Tenpou-san. But there is hardly a template for me to work from in these circumstances. Nothing in the Analects addresses the proper rituals surrounding intimacy with one’s male subordinate. I am bound to make a few errors of judgment in courtship techniques until the proper course is found.”
“It’s not rocket science, Commander. Sex is sex. You don’t follow Confucian ritual when with your wives, now do…”
Tenpou trailed off, stunned; the look on Goujun’s face spoke volumes. There obviously was some sort of prescribed li for the royal bedroom, in all likelihood followed quite religiously by His Majesty and the Royal Bedmate du Soir. Something akin to a ‘knit one, purl two” how-to sequence that would be about as sexually stimulating as the knitting itself. Not a particular problem if you were into that sort of thing, but he seriously doubted Goujun was; the very fact that the man was aggressively courting a male subordinate pointed to a probable lack of interest in the normal activities of the royal bedchamber. It made Tenpou wonder if sex had ever had an emotional element for Goujun, or if it was something that was simply done, part of the job description. If that were the case, following the official li probably helped in such circumstances, but would hardly work in cases outside the dutiful production of royal heirs.
Of course, the saddest piece of that whole domino chain of sad assumptions was that it strongly implied that Goujun had committed an act of singular bravery that night when he had brought that original bottle of sake to Tenpou’s office, and things had taken their natural course, for it seemed possible that ‘natural’ was something new that Goujun had never dared to try before. The thought certainly answered a whole slew of questions that had been plaguing Tenpou ever since. Goujun had seemed so different that night, so… happy. Nothing at all like the staid, impersonal military man he had always known and respected, if not particularly liked. But all sorts of interesting things had come to light that evening over their shared bottle- a previously hidden wealth of wit, charm, and genuine warmth that seemed to bloom right in front of Tenpou’s eyes. At some point smile met smile, then lips met lips, and things had simply just… happened. At the time Tenpou had assumed it was the liquor working its magic, especially considering the rather messy aftermath. But now...
Had it truly been Goujun’s first bona fide date? And to have it blow up in his face like that. This must be quite a conundrum for the Poor Little Rich Boy; he knew he had done something wrong that night- he just wasn’t quite sure what it was. Tenpou had to assume that Goujun was absolutely correct in that there was no template for him to follow; he imagined the dragon had been scouring the heavenly libraries ever since, searching for that ever illusive copy of The Neo-Confucian Guide to Inter-Species, Inter-Rank, Inter-Social Status Dragon Yang Relations, because when boiled down to his essentials Goujun couldn’t move his little finger without knowing whether or not its new placement was up to the standards of proper court etiquette. He so wanted to do what was Right; the problem was, Right wasn’t something Goujun had ever had to decide for himself before. The king wasn’t used to not knowing how to behave, because, to be brutally honest, before that night his entire life had followed a predetermined script.
“Goujun-sama, why are you here?”
This whole line of thinking was making Tenpou increasingly uncomfortable. He really didn’t want to understand Goujun’s point of view, not yet; he wanted to look down his nose at his boorish, would-be suitor from what was becoming an increasingly imperiled moral high ground. Time to fast-forward to the spot where Goujun could painstakingly explain why Tenpou as a Lesser Being should feel honored to lay on his back and Think of Tenkai for his commander, to which Tenpou would counter (in a much less painstaking fashion) with his sincere hope that his commander’s penis was as long as his tongue, as the only hole it would be getting anywhere near anytime soon was his own. Then they could both throw a few things about the room, shout a bit in righteous indignation, Goujun could storm out in disgust, and Tenpou could sigh in a melodramatic manner, shake his head in resignation, and finally return to his reading. Heaven would reset to its dull, normal monotony, and all would be right with the world again, if not particularly emotionally fulfilling. The real pity in the whole rotten mess was that Tenpou wouldn’t even mind being the bottom, at least not on occasion; in fact, he had been planning on doing that very thing before Goujun had to go and open his mouth to ruin the moment. It was the idiotic assumption that as a social inferior he had to be the bottom that had so gotten his hackles up; in fact, he still couldn’t believe Goujun had the damned gall to pull the rank card in the middle of a sex scene. Well, an almost sex scene. A very nearly, but never-quite-got-there sex scene. Instead of a sex scene, one of them had ended up in the street, the other ended up with an extra pair of epaulettes, and they had both ended up with a case of blue balls and a dandy of a hangover. Of all the things they had gotten that night, he was as sure as hell a sex scene wasn’t one of them. No matter what Dr. Po might have been told to the contrary.
Goujun was back to looking at his lap. He turned the notebook over in his hands.
“As I said, I am here as I had hoped we might talk. And… and because I have homework… to do.”
“You have what?” Tenpou’s heart sank; hopefully this wasn’t some painful apology scheme that the doctor had cooked up. A begrudging, insincere apology was worse than none at all.
“A ‘homework assignment,’ Dr. Po called it. I am to write an etiquette book on the art of courtship with a male subordinate.”
Goujun sheepishly sat staring at his notebook, declining further clarification. Tenpou blinked at him a few times, processing. Well, that was certainly an unexpected answer.
“Why not simply ask Confucius to write it? Isn’t he staying at the Palace of the Jasper Pool nowadays?”
Goujun snorted, as close as a dragon ever got to sarcasm. “That is Not the Point, Tenpou-san. The exercise is meant to be therapeutic, not to generate an expansion of the Five Classics. Confucius has no real-life experiences from which to draw; therefore, he has no way of understanding the special intricacies that arise in such tender situations. No, I am to create it with my own hand, and therefore gain a deeper understanding of myself through the course of the exercise.”
It all came out so quickly and so perfectly that the whole thing sounded suspiciously like a quote; in fact, Tenpou swore that if he listened carefully he could hear both the quotation marks and which words had been capitalized for emphasis. So, if those weren’t Goujun’s words, they were likely those of Dr. Po again, whom Tenpou was starting to like despite himself. A small, gratified grin graced Tenpou’s lips; if the good doctor had already been lecturing the dragon about such things, he’d bet good money that Goujun had asked Confucius, or at least seriously considered doing so before the whole idea had been shot down in the name of psychotherapy. Tenpou sighed and shook his head; well, it may seem as if they were stuck in a bizarre parallel universe, but at least some of the dragon’s actions could still be accurately predicted, which meant this likely wasn’t a dream, after all. And if that was the case, he probably shouldn’t beat his head against the desk to wake himself up. The repeated concussions would likely do little more than to knock the bottle of sake onto the floor.
“I see. And as interesting as that bit of information is, I ask you once again; Goujun-sama, why are you here?”
“I was hoping that you might help with its production.”
Tenpou’s grin wilted. Of course, why hadn’t he thought of that himself? It seemed so obvious, now that it was out and in the open; if Confucius wouldn’t write the thing for him, turn to the other class geek. “So, you want me to write it for you instead.”
“No, no, Tenpou-san. I do not shirk my responsibilities once given. I was hoping for it to be a collaborative effort between us, as I readily admit that I cannot see the matter beyond my own viewpoint- which, if I am not mistaken, is what brought on our difficulties to begin with. To write this correctly, it will need your input as well.”
“Is that what the doctor suggested?”
”No- but I do not think he will mind, as long as the resulting work is in my hand. I do not believe it will be considered cheating in any way.”
“No, I don’t believe it will.”
“No. And it seemed to my thinking… well, as I say, it seemed to me that a collaboration would be a logical expansion to the homework as assigned. For as I pondered on the complexities of writing such a book, it occurred to me that a courtship might be defined as a collaborative effort of sorts. And if it is such, then one would assume the voices of both parties should be heard in somewhat equal measures within its pages for such a guide to be at all useful to the reader. Though I admit Dr. Po might disagree with my assessment. He often raises questions with my manner of thinking.”
Tenpou grinned. “Oh, in this case, I don’t think he will. Have you written any of it yet?”
Goujun shifted uncomfortably again. This wasn’t easy for him, that was obvious; but then, Tenpou didn’t want it to be easy. Apparently neither did Dr. Po. Vindictive, therapeutic, who cared? Motivations might be a tad different, but the outcome was exactly the same; a rather entertainingly squirmy little dragon king. He was beginning to think Dr. Po was a bona fide genius.
“Well, I have only a few notes- some chapter headings, and ideas for subject matters to address. And I have written about the previous… incident. The possible faux pas to be found within my actions, and proposed corrections.”
“Read a bit to me. Please.”
Goujun blinked at him in utter embarrassment; Tenpou grinned even wider as the dragon shook his head and muttered to himself, perusing the pages for a suitable passage.
“Well, as I said, this is only a beginning, and therefore very raw… here; ‘In a case where both parties are of the same gender, a conflict occurs in defining the proper course of intimacy, as there are no clearly delineated roles for the participants to follow. Though one might assume that when gender cannot dictate assignment social status would take precedence, but in truth such thinking is in error. For as a female of superior status might without transgression play yang to a male of lower status while in the bed chamber, social status has but a limited role in deciding the proper course in intimacy. The Heavenly Mandates regarding status and gender render each other void in such situations; therefore, the roles to be taken will be dependant upon the communal wishes of the parties involved. Either participant may be the one to bite the bitter peel without error. This is in full accordance with the proper li of the situation.’”
Goujun looked up at Tenpou ever so hopefully. Tenpou smiled warmly back at him, trying his best not to snicker; trust Goujun to be so uncomfortable with the subject matter that he’d turn the thing into an army training manual. Goujun’s mouth turned up in echo of his own, happy that he had made Tenpou happy. Well, Goujun might not believe half of what he’d written, but he was trying to believe it; he was trying harder than Tenpou had seen anyone try anything. All rather flattering, considering his reasons- and quite sweet. But to be honest, if anyone was in error with the li of the situation, it was certainly not the dragon. While Goujun had done the emotional grunt work, trying to right whatever wrong had been committed, he’d spent his own time in a self-righteous snit instead of trying to be remotely understanding. Behavior he wasn’t particularly proud of in the current light, but what was done was done. It was best to forgive, forget, and move forward- and it seemed that Goujun had already left him in the dust on all three. Tenpou had a fair amount of catching up to do.
“That’s a very lovely start, Goujun-sama. Though I do suggest switching to a more informal tone, as it might make the work more… accessible… to your readership. But we can work on revising the tone of the manuscript later. To answer your question, I’d be quite happy to help you in such an important endeavor. I think we’ll both enjoy the research a great deal, don’t you?”
Goujun beamed, as ecstatic as Tenpou had ever seen him- though trying so very hard not to show it. Tenpou hoped he’d be changing that soon enough; he had to imagine there were all sorts of interesting expressions that dragons made at different times, and the lot of them would need to be explored and cataloged in great detail. Not to mention a chapter devoted to touch; which parts of a dragon elicited moans, which parts giggles, and just how often a dragon could bite the bitter peel in a single evening before passing out from the effort. All for the sake of both posterity and propriety, of course; guide books were important things, and ought to be done right or not at all. It certainly looked as if they had their work cut out for them, though for some reason, Tenpou didn’t mind that thought one little bit. It didn’t look as if Goujun minded it very much, either.
“Yes, yes… I do believe so as well. It should prove quite… rewarding. And as Dr. Po suggested, informative.”
All in all, the afternoon hadn’t been nearly as painful as it had originally promised to be. He had to commend Dr. Po for coming up with this baby-step in self-determination for a dragon king obsessed with the proper rules; if Goujun needed an official mandate that badly, then have him quite literally write the thing himself. If Goujun wasn’t going to mention the supreme lunacy of the situation, well then, he certainly wouldn’t be the one to point it out. Mischievous lavender eyes slid back to the bottle at the corner of the desk.
“So, you brought more sake with you?”
“Oh- yes! Consider it a… royalty payment, Tenpou-san. A literary advance, to help in furthering our research.”
“Then, shall I open it?”
“Please do. It should still be at a decent temperature. Would you say then, that sake is considered a proper gift in male courtship?”
“Quite definitely yes. You can write that in the book. Price commensurate with income and all of that. I’ll get the cups.”
Tenpou began to remove the pile of books from his lap while Goujun scribbled away in the notebook. Oh, this little game was going to be loads of fun; he could already sense the endless possibilities their ‘writing collaboration’ promised. Oh, if he had any say in this at all- and he was quite certain now that he did- this was going to be one of the most thoroughly researched books in history.
Pairings: Tenpou/Goujun
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Snark warning: A Tenpou in a foul mood is a Tenpou to be feared.
Summary: It’s the eternal question: when courting another man, What Would Confucius Do?
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer thingee. Not mine, hers.
Notes:
Hoping it would help me get over some writer’s block of my own, here is a small wayward crack bunny belonging to macavitykitsune that she repeatedly put in my lap, refusing to leave me alone until I promised I’d turn it into something. Well, here is… something. (My message to her: Be careful of what you wish for!) Her original concept was the aftermath of a huge crack/angst 10Gou fight over Goujun’s insistence that as king and commander, he had to be the top in bed, and Tenpou’s overreaction to it. A “crangst fic,” I think we called it.
Well, more fluff now than crangst- but I promised to get it out before Christmas, so here it is. A bit of total fluff with a cracked crust, out of the oven just in time for the holidays. Have a Happy Christmas, everyone!
Writer’s Block
“Come on in.”
As usual Tenpou had barely bothered to look up after the knock; though in the end it was rather a good thing he had, as he was technically on duty for at least another hour and some recognition of rank was probably considered necessary. He carefully schooled his face into a Business Mode Neutral before formally nodding his respects to Goujun.
“Ah, yes- you will have to excuse my rudeness, Commander, but my lap is filled with a rather large stack of books and papers at the moment. What can I do for you this afternoon?”
He chose to ignore the rather large bottle of sake tucked underneath the dragon’s arm. The last time Goujun had shown up with a similar bottle, the night had not gone well. Not well, indeed. Amend that; the night had actually gone quite swimmingly until its abrupt and rather nasty ending, when he had booted his half-naked commander out the door, then slammed and bolted said door behind him in case his point had not been sufficiently made. One could only pray that this bottle’s appearance wasn’t some sort of alcoholic omen, warning of a repeat performance of that particular debacle. Goujun hesitated just outside of the threshold, shifting his weight from side to side as if he were making a decision of momentous import (all in all, Tenpou was too charitable to call it waffling as of yet, but give it time), before he gathered sufficient courage to step in across the room’s invisible safety barrier, which apparently only dragons could sense. Tenpou continued to watch without verbal comment as the man slowly picked his way around the various piles of debris towards the guest chair- although it seemed the look in his eyes was comment enough for Goujun, who, if looks did not deceive, was near to jumping out of his skin under the scrutiny. Finally arriving at his destination the dragon carefully set the sake down on a comparatively open spot next to the ashtray. As he busied himself in cleaning the books off of his seat Tenpou’s gaze slid over to the stormy petrel in a bottle, looming ominously on the corner of his desk. The edges of his mouth followed his eyes in their general downward trend as he read what little he could of the label, skewed as it was in Goujun’s direction; it looked to be of a brand even more expensive than the last had been. Beads of moisture welling up on its surface suggested it had been recently chilled, meant for immediate consumption. The decorative ribbon tied around the neck made it look suspiciously like a peace offering.
“Tenpou-san. May I?”
Tenpou slowly turned the scowl from the bottle back to the dragon. His head moved a fraction of an inch in response to the request, letting the man decide for himself whether it was an affirmation or not. Warily eyeing the scowl Goujun sat on the edge of the chair, flight response at ready- so it seemed that his animal instincts were still working, even if the rest of his sense of self-preservation was not. Tenpou’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits as he studied the pale bundle of nerves, trying his best not to make any sudden movements or to otherwise show fear. Interesting… while the sake might have been déjà vu all over again, the notebook tucked under the commander’s arm was something entirely new. As the dragon king was not in the habit of carrying about his own papers (after all, that was what a personal secretary was for), it made one rather curious as to its intended function. Obviously not as fashion accessory… well, assuming the sake sibyl was telling the truth, it could very well be that an eloquent and compelling speech had been prepared for the impending joy of Dragon’s Night Out, Take Two. A sufficient amount of time had passed since his first attempt that Goujun might have had the foresight to actually lay out an argument in advance this time around, at least one with a better proposition than the previous because I outrank you, so there. Perhaps he even went as far as to pen a clever rebuttal or two for a few of the more obvious objections that would likely be raised over the dragon’s Blindingly Obtuse Logic. Indeed, if Goujun was truly about to reattempt the bedding of his subordinate, he would definitely need to do something to prepare himself, because when faced with a miffed and snippy Tenpou, one needed a bit more defense than a bottle of pricey sake and one’s ability to quote verbatim from The Rules and Regulations Regarding Conduct in the Heavenly Military, 105th Edition. At the very least he should have taken the time to reacquaint himself with The Art of War, because the bugger was definitely going to need it once some of the more explosive epithets started flying.
After an uncomfortable silence in which the dragon opened his mouth not once but three times without significant issue other than hot air, Goujun finally managed to clear his throat to speak.
“I… I had thought that we might talk, Tenpou-san. About our previous discuss-”
Tenpou’s scowl deepened, effectively disemboweling the end of the dragon’s speech. Alas, it seemed there was to be no bombastic, yet entertaining speech for this evening’s playbill; it was to be an emotional and understanding ‘talk’ instead. Not nearly as fun, and on the whole much more painful to deal with. Not to mention more difficult to ridicule without seeming a cruel and insensitive prick. All in all, he’d have to give the commander kudos for a fairly solid opening gambit. Still, said ‘Previous Discussion’ was on the very bottom of an immensely long list of things Tenpou had no interest in ‘talking’ about with anyone, ever, let alone with Goujun, now. His eyes flicked over to the sake bottle in order to make that very point, before sliding their accusatory way back over to the nervous dragon. Goujun shifted in his seat, a picture of complete (though still managing to appear quite regal) misery. Tenpou tried not to be affected by the pitiable sight, tried, but alas, sad dragon eyes were as potent a weapon as those of a lost puppy. Heart infinitesimally softened Tenpou sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, dreading what was to come next; for as attractive as a potential stonewalling was, redirection would only postpone the inevitable, not eliminate it. And despite the potential entertainment value to be found in mentally torturing a dragon, this meeting was otherwise likely to be as painful for him as for Goujun. With that in mind, there really was no reason to drag out his own suffering for any longer than was absolutely necessary, was there? No, there certainly was not. Deep, cleansing breath, then. Time to get it over with. He pushed his glasses up his nose to catch the light.
“And what exactly did you wish to discuss, Commander? I do believe you’ve already made your position with me- or should I say on me- quite clear.”
It was obvious that if the dragon’s cheeks could color, they would. Instead, Goujun seemed to be working on regaining his recently deflated courage by staring holes into his lap, as if the cover of the notebook had an illustration of his own personal cheerleading squad, urging him onward and upward to bigger and better things. Gambatte, Goujun-san! Go, Jun, Go! Tell that upstart where to go! …hm, well. Needed tweaking, but then, he’d never actually written a cheer before. Having found a new shiny to play with Tenpou’s brain wandered away for a bit, searching his inner dictionary for a few relevant rhyme sets to work with. Good hard fuck/ out of luck; he’s the king/ so take his thing; he bought the sake/ so now he’s your jockey… ooh, that last one was rather clever, if he did say so himself. Left to his own devices Tenpou could have spent an immensely entertaining afternoon dreaming up the perfect rhyme (with accompanying dance and tumble, of course), but it seemed the pep team on the notebook had finally finished their routine, as Goujun was opening his mouth to speak again. Oh, well… boo. And the deafening silence had been going so very well between them.
“Yes, well. I have thought long and hard about our earlier… misunderstanding, Tenpou-san. I realize that my words could have been quite easily misconstrued into something with a negative connotation. But please, rest assured it was not my intention to belittle you in any way; it was simply a fault of my upbringing. My therapist tells me that class differences are often the source of unintentional tensions during times of intimacy, and in many cases-”
“Wait, wait, wait- stop. Hold it right there. Therapist? You actually went to see the regimental shrink about this?”
“Oh, no, no. I have my own psychotherapist. Dr. Po.”
Goujun nodded sagely, as if by simply speaking the man’s name everything was suddenly made clear as crystal. The thought of Goujun having a personal therapist at all was enough to make Tenpou’s head swim, let alone the mental image of the Dragon King of the Western Seas, Commander of the Army of the Western Heavens laying on his back on a couch in some office somewhere babbling away about his love life. Assuming the shrink wasn’t spending his fifty-minute hour listening to monologues about troop strengths and the difficulties in importing quality caviar for the royal canapés, this Dr. Po was getting an earful about what, exactly? About Goujun not having had an affair with another man?
“And you told him what happened that night?”
Goujun blinked at him as if he were immensely stupid, or four years old, or both.
“It is called ‘The Talking Cure,’ Tenpou-san. In order to gain benefit from it, some amount of verbal confession is necessary.”
“You told him about us?”
“Well, yes… but you needn’t worry about a scandal. He is quite aware of the penalty should he break the patient confidentiality rule. After all, one must keep one’s head to be a ‘head shrinker,’ as they are so colorfully described.”
That image certainly killed the conversation. Tenpou sat in silence with the specter of Po’s disembodied head staring up at him as it lay bleeding all over the papers in his lap. Goujun waited more or less patiently, eyes intently studying a point just to the right of Tenpou’s head, as if he were divining his I Ching reading from the pattern of the sakura petals as they slowly fell past the window. At regular intervals the dragon’s eyes flicked over to peek at Tenpou’s face; each time, he looked embarrassed at having been caught doing so. Tenpou kept his peripheral vision on alert for the next round of Dragon Peek-a-boo as he tried to imagine what a conversation with Dr. Po might sound like, though each subsequent attempt became more bizarre as the silence dragged on. ‘I say a word; you tell me the first thing that comes into your head. Head?’ ‘Chopping block.’ ‘Alright... Mother?’ ‘Lady Snowblood.’ Did Goujun take off his cape during his sessions, or just lay on top of it? Maybe he used it as a security blanket, as he seemed to be doing now… just as Figment of Imagination Goujun was about to execute the Rorschach test scribes for their clumsiness with ink wells, Flesh and Blood Goujun cleared his throat again, and the whole scene snapped shut in Tenpou’s mind like a book. Ink spattered the insides of his skull, creating a rather attractive butterfly pattern. Though to be honest, ink blots always seemed to look like butterflies to him- which probably indicated some sort of personality disorder, though he never bothered to ask about it because he didn’t really care what anyone (let alone the regimental shrink) thought about his perception of ink blots. He did his best to quickly clean up the mental mess while the dragon spoke slowly and purposefully to the cherry blossoms.
“I admit, my choice of words was extremely poor that night. As Dr. Po pointed out, ‘subordinate in status does not mean subordinate in all circumstances. One should never assume such, much less demand it.’ I fully agree with his assessment.”
“Quite interesting change of heart, Commander- for if I do recall correctly, what you said that night was quite the opposite. I believe it was something more along the lines of ‘Pants down and legs up, kiss the ground and praise the heavens for the gift of royal dick of which you are about to receive.’”
It came out slightly crasser than intended- not to mention bitter. Tenpou frowned at his misstep; an overly emotional response this early on in the verbal spar was a tactical mistake he was sure to regret, as it all but proved how deeply he had been wounded. Goujun had treated him like a dime-a-dozen scullery maid that night, and no matter how much he tried to pretend it didn’t matter, it cut deeply- and here he was, admitting it to the dragon before he even admitted it to himself. Still, Goujun hadn’t seemed to have noticed the gaffe- or perhaps he simply chose to be the gentleman and ignore it, and continued to act as if it were he who was still on the defensive, answering the accusation with an indignant glare, clearly offended by Tenpou’s peevishness.
“I am trying my best, Tenpou-san. But there is hardly a template for me to work from in these circumstances. Nothing in the Analects addresses the proper rituals surrounding intimacy with one’s male subordinate. I am bound to make a few errors of judgment in courtship techniques until the proper course is found.”
“It’s not rocket science, Commander. Sex is sex. You don’t follow Confucian ritual when with your wives, now do…”
Tenpou trailed off, stunned; the look on Goujun’s face spoke volumes. There obviously was some sort of prescribed li for the royal bedroom, in all likelihood followed quite religiously by His Majesty and the Royal Bedmate du Soir. Something akin to a ‘knit one, purl two” how-to sequence that would be about as sexually stimulating as the knitting itself. Not a particular problem if you were into that sort of thing, but he seriously doubted Goujun was; the very fact that the man was aggressively courting a male subordinate pointed to a probable lack of interest in the normal activities of the royal bedchamber. It made Tenpou wonder if sex had ever had an emotional element for Goujun, or if it was something that was simply done, part of the job description. If that were the case, following the official li probably helped in such circumstances, but would hardly work in cases outside the dutiful production of royal heirs.
Of course, the saddest piece of that whole domino chain of sad assumptions was that it strongly implied that Goujun had committed an act of singular bravery that night when he had brought that original bottle of sake to Tenpou’s office, and things had taken their natural course, for it seemed possible that ‘natural’ was something new that Goujun had never dared to try before. The thought certainly answered a whole slew of questions that had been plaguing Tenpou ever since. Goujun had seemed so different that night, so… happy. Nothing at all like the staid, impersonal military man he had always known and respected, if not particularly liked. But all sorts of interesting things had come to light that evening over their shared bottle- a previously hidden wealth of wit, charm, and genuine warmth that seemed to bloom right in front of Tenpou’s eyes. At some point smile met smile, then lips met lips, and things had simply just… happened. At the time Tenpou had assumed it was the liquor working its magic, especially considering the rather messy aftermath. But now...
Had it truly been Goujun’s first bona fide date? And to have it blow up in his face like that. This must be quite a conundrum for the Poor Little Rich Boy; he knew he had done something wrong that night- he just wasn’t quite sure what it was. Tenpou had to assume that Goujun was absolutely correct in that there was no template for him to follow; he imagined the dragon had been scouring the heavenly libraries ever since, searching for that ever illusive copy of The Neo-Confucian Guide to Inter-Species, Inter-Rank, Inter-Social Status Dragon Yang Relations, because when boiled down to his essentials Goujun couldn’t move his little finger without knowing whether or not its new placement was up to the standards of proper court etiquette. He so wanted to do what was Right; the problem was, Right wasn’t something Goujun had ever had to decide for himself before. The king wasn’t used to not knowing how to behave, because, to be brutally honest, before that night his entire life had followed a predetermined script.
“Goujun-sama, why are you here?”
This whole line of thinking was making Tenpou increasingly uncomfortable. He really didn’t want to understand Goujun’s point of view, not yet; he wanted to look down his nose at his boorish, would-be suitor from what was becoming an increasingly imperiled moral high ground. Time to fast-forward to the spot where Goujun could painstakingly explain why Tenpou as a Lesser Being should feel honored to lay on his back and Think of Tenkai for his commander, to which Tenpou would counter (in a much less painstaking fashion) with his sincere hope that his commander’s penis was as long as his tongue, as the only hole it would be getting anywhere near anytime soon was his own. Then they could both throw a few things about the room, shout a bit in righteous indignation, Goujun could storm out in disgust, and Tenpou could sigh in a melodramatic manner, shake his head in resignation, and finally return to his reading. Heaven would reset to its dull, normal monotony, and all would be right with the world again, if not particularly emotionally fulfilling. The real pity in the whole rotten mess was that Tenpou wouldn’t even mind being the bottom, at least not on occasion; in fact, he had been planning on doing that very thing before Goujun had to go and open his mouth to ruin the moment. It was the idiotic assumption that as a social inferior he had to be the bottom that had so gotten his hackles up; in fact, he still couldn’t believe Goujun had the damned gall to pull the rank card in the middle of a sex scene. Well, an almost sex scene. A very nearly, but never-quite-got-there sex scene. Instead of a sex scene, one of them had ended up in the street, the other ended up with an extra pair of epaulettes, and they had both ended up with a case of blue balls and a dandy of a hangover. Of all the things they had gotten that night, he was as sure as hell a sex scene wasn’t one of them. No matter what Dr. Po might have been told to the contrary.
Goujun was back to looking at his lap. He turned the notebook over in his hands.
“As I said, I am here as I had hoped we might talk. And… and because I have homework… to do.”
“You have what?” Tenpou’s heart sank; hopefully this wasn’t some painful apology scheme that the doctor had cooked up. A begrudging, insincere apology was worse than none at all.
“A ‘homework assignment,’ Dr. Po called it. I am to write an etiquette book on the art of courtship with a male subordinate.”
Goujun sheepishly sat staring at his notebook, declining further clarification. Tenpou blinked at him a few times, processing. Well, that was certainly an unexpected answer.
“Why not simply ask Confucius to write it? Isn’t he staying at the Palace of the Jasper Pool nowadays?”
Goujun snorted, as close as a dragon ever got to sarcasm. “That is Not the Point, Tenpou-san. The exercise is meant to be therapeutic, not to generate an expansion of the Five Classics. Confucius has no real-life experiences from which to draw; therefore, he has no way of understanding the special intricacies that arise in such tender situations. No, I am to create it with my own hand, and therefore gain a deeper understanding of myself through the course of the exercise.”
It all came out so quickly and so perfectly that the whole thing sounded suspiciously like a quote; in fact, Tenpou swore that if he listened carefully he could hear both the quotation marks and which words had been capitalized for emphasis. So, if those weren’t Goujun’s words, they were likely those of Dr. Po again, whom Tenpou was starting to like despite himself. A small, gratified grin graced Tenpou’s lips; if the good doctor had already been lecturing the dragon about such things, he’d bet good money that Goujun had asked Confucius, or at least seriously considered doing so before the whole idea had been shot down in the name of psychotherapy. Tenpou sighed and shook his head; well, it may seem as if they were stuck in a bizarre parallel universe, but at least some of the dragon’s actions could still be accurately predicted, which meant this likely wasn’t a dream, after all. And if that was the case, he probably shouldn’t beat his head against the desk to wake himself up. The repeated concussions would likely do little more than to knock the bottle of sake onto the floor.
“I see. And as interesting as that bit of information is, I ask you once again; Goujun-sama, why are you here?”
“I was hoping that you might help with its production.”
Tenpou’s grin wilted. Of course, why hadn’t he thought of that himself? It seemed so obvious, now that it was out and in the open; if Confucius wouldn’t write the thing for him, turn to the other class geek. “So, you want me to write it for you instead.”
“No, no, Tenpou-san. I do not shirk my responsibilities once given. I was hoping for it to be a collaborative effort between us, as I readily admit that I cannot see the matter beyond my own viewpoint- which, if I am not mistaken, is what brought on our difficulties to begin with. To write this correctly, it will need your input as well.”
“Is that what the doctor suggested?”
”No- but I do not think he will mind, as long as the resulting work is in my hand. I do not believe it will be considered cheating in any way.”
“No, I don’t believe it will.”
“No. And it seemed to my thinking… well, as I say, it seemed to me that a collaboration would be a logical expansion to the homework as assigned. For as I pondered on the complexities of writing such a book, it occurred to me that a courtship might be defined as a collaborative effort of sorts. And if it is such, then one would assume the voices of both parties should be heard in somewhat equal measures within its pages for such a guide to be at all useful to the reader. Though I admit Dr. Po might disagree with my assessment. He often raises questions with my manner of thinking.”
Tenpou grinned. “Oh, in this case, I don’t think he will. Have you written any of it yet?”
Goujun shifted uncomfortably again. This wasn’t easy for him, that was obvious; but then, Tenpou didn’t want it to be easy. Apparently neither did Dr. Po. Vindictive, therapeutic, who cared? Motivations might be a tad different, but the outcome was exactly the same; a rather entertainingly squirmy little dragon king. He was beginning to think Dr. Po was a bona fide genius.
“Well, I have only a few notes- some chapter headings, and ideas for subject matters to address. And I have written about the previous… incident. The possible faux pas to be found within my actions, and proposed corrections.”
“Read a bit to me. Please.”
Goujun blinked at him in utter embarrassment; Tenpou grinned even wider as the dragon shook his head and muttered to himself, perusing the pages for a suitable passage.
“Well, as I said, this is only a beginning, and therefore very raw… here; ‘In a case where both parties are of the same gender, a conflict occurs in defining the proper course of intimacy, as there are no clearly delineated roles for the participants to follow. Though one might assume that when gender cannot dictate assignment social status would take precedence, but in truth such thinking is in error. For as a female of superior status might without transgression play yang to a male of lower status while in the bed chamber, social status has but a limited role in deciding the proper course in intimacy. The Heavenly Mandates regarding status and gender render each other void in such situations; therefore, the roles to be taken will be dependant upon the communal wishes of the parties involved. Either participant may be the one to bite the bitter peel without error. This is in full accordance with the proper li of the situation.’”
Goujun looked up at Tenpou ever so hopefully. Tenpou smiled warmly back at him, trying his best not to snicker; trust Goujun to be so uncomfortable with the subject matter that he’d turn the thing into an army training manual. Goujun’s mouth turned up in echo of his own, happy that he had made Tenpou happy. Well, Goujun might not believe half of what he’d written, but he was trying to believe it; he was trying harder than Tenpou had seen anyone try anything. All rather flattering, considering his reasons- and quite sweet. But to be honest, if anyone was in error with the li of the situation, it was certainly not the dragon. While Goujun had done the emotional grunt work, trying to right whatever wrong had been committed, he’d spent his own time in a self-righteous snit instead of trying to be remotely understanding. Behavior he wasn’t particularly proud of in the current light, but what was done was done. It was best to forgive, forget, and move forward- and it seemed that Goujun had already left him in the dust on all three. Tenpou had a fair amount of catching up to do.
“That’s a very lovely start, Goujun-sama. Though I do suggest switching to a more informal tone, as it might make the work more… accessible… to your readership. But we can work on revising the tone of the manuscript later. To answer your question, I’d be quite happy to help you in such an important endeavor. I think we’ll both enjoy the research a great deal, don’t you?”
Goujun beamed, as ecstatic as Tenpou had ever seen him- though trying so very hard not to show it. Tenpou hoped he’d be changing that soon enough; he had to imagine there were all sorts of interesting expressions that dragons made at different times, and the lot of them would need to be explored and cataloged in great detail. Not to mention a chapter devoted to touch; which parts of a dragon elicited moans, which parts giggles, and just how often a dragon could bite the bitter peel in a single evening before passing out from the effort. All for the sake of both posterity and propriety, of course; guide books were important things, and ought to be done right or not at all. It certainly looked as if they had their work cut out for them, though for some reason, Tenpou didn’t mind that thought one little bit. It didn’t look as if Goujun minded it very much, either.
“Yes, yes… I do believe so as well. It should prove quite… rewarding. And as Dr. Po suggested, informative.”
All in all, the afternoon hadn’t been nearly as painful as it had originally promised to be. He had to commend Dr. Po for coming up with this baby-step in self-determination for a dragon king obsessed with the proper rules; if Goujun needed an official mandate that badly, then have him quite literally write the thing himself. If Goujun wasn’t going to mention the supreme lunacy of the situation, well then, he certainly wouldn’t be the one to point it out. Mischievous lavender eyes slid back to the bottle at the corner of the desk.
“So, you brought more sake with you?”
“Oh- yes! Consider it a… royalty payment, Tenpou-san. A literary advance, to help in furthering our research.”
“Then, shall I open it?”
“Please do. It should still be at a decent temperature. Would you say then, that sake is considered a proper gift in male courtship?”
“Quite definitely yes. You can write that in the book. Price commensurate with income and all of that. I’ll get the cups.”
Tenpou began to remove the pile of books from his lap while Goujun scribbled away in the notebook. Oh, this little game was going to be loads of fun; he could already sense the endless possibilities their ‘writing collaboration’ promised. Oh, if he had any say in this at all- and he was quite certain now that he did- this was going to be one of the most thoroughly researched books in history.