“Can't sleep?” Linguang-jun drapes an arm across Zhuzhi-lang’s bare stomach, clawed fingers curling possessively at his hip. There’s a scar, thin and raised slightly, that Linguang-jun can feel under his palm. Zhuzhi-lang has many old scars. A fascinating body for one of his lineage. Rubbing a slow circle with his thumb, Linguang-jun tilts his head up to cock an eyebrow at his new husband. “Don’t tell me you’re cold.”
He knows the temperature can’t be what is keeping Zhuzhi-lang awake. One of the first things he did during the preparations for their lavish wedding ceremony was cast a little spell that ensures low temperatures will no longer bother his serpentine spouse. Their joining may not have been born out of love but Linguang-jun will not mistreat him.
Tianlang-jun has made it very clear that he won’t hesitate to kill Linguang-jun if any harm comes to his nephew. The political ramifications be damned.
“This humble one is merely thinking,” Zhuzhi-lang says quietly. A candle is still lit—though neither of them need light to see each other in the darkness—and the gentle glow illuminates the slight downturn of his lips, the feathery quality of his long eyelashes, the sharpness of his cheekbones.
“Oh?” Linguang-jun tries to keep his tone casual. This is not the first time he has been in bed with a spouse who lies awake at night thinking. His previous wife’s thoughts became actions which, in turn, led to her running off to be with his wretched brother. “Spend a lot of nights thinking when you should be sleeping, do you?”