(busts through the wall) DID SOMEBODY ASK FOR DMBJ PROMPTS??
i want something sunrise but i want it to be dumb/silly. i know it's a serious au but it's about three fools so it should still be possible.
okay you said something silly. and i THINK "xiaoge who literally purrs" counts, but. i couldn't help but get feelings in it </3 wu xie's pov because i realised i'd done xiaoge AND pangzi's pov for sunrise but not wu xie's yet. (also this got LONG i am so sorry..........)
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The first thing they do after they get Xiaoge back from that fucking rift in Changbaishan is fall into a tangle of limbs and sleep for ten hours straight.
Well, no. The first thing they do is bundle Xiaoge, who has somehow in the last decade lost the thick, fur-lined coat he’d been in when he and Wu Xie had come up here that last time, into a thick, heavy, coat that smells faintly of smoke, which had been shoved into one of the saddlebags to make it take up as little space as possible. The second thing they do is herd Xiaoge, who looks less and less distant and dazed as the moments pass, in front of a fire and ply him with the best food they can offer, here, so far from any city and proper kitchen amenities. The falling into a pile and sleeping for what feels like glorious, golden days is closer to the fifth or sixth thing that they do, but Wu Xie sort of loses track somewhere along the way, because Xiaoge’s presence, an absence rent into the very core of his being, of the world, for so, so long, is intoxicating, and Wu Xie keeps losing track of his thoughts.
“Tianzhen,” Pangzi says, knee knocking against his, warmer than the crackling fire between them, and doesn’t say anything more; just tilts his head towards Xiaoge, who’s half-buried in the voluminous folds of the coat they’d foisted on him. It makes Wu Xie’s throat lock, tight and painful, the way that, even now, after so long spent keeping him at arms length, Pangzi is still the man he loves; still one of two people who understand him in a way no other does, in a way that renders spoken communication unnecessary. With a shuddering sigh, Wu Xie lets his eyes slip closed. The threads between them—ones that Wu Xie had feared, for the past few years, would snap and break; leave Xiaoge stranded to a world Wu Xie couldn’t even imagine, to die with a mind slowly bending, breaking, shattering; leave Pangzi, one day, to snap to the horrifying awareness of it, of that break, of the bond between them, carefully nurtured, built on an aching, all-pervasive trust, not only fraying, but rent apart because of Wu Xie’s carelessness, because Wu Xie hadn’t been careful enough to keep it alive—flicker at the back of his mind. Glow, nearly, with an indescribable incandescence, a pulsing sense of warmth, of home.
He spent long enough unable to see a way past the end of things, of a life beyond the plan; now, it’s time for him to try and make things right. He opens his eyes and smiles at Pangzi; lets his hand settle on his knee, and, for a moment, squeezes, just to let him know he’s there. And then, raising his voice, he says, “Ah, Xiaoge, come here. You’re going to freeze like that.”
Xiaoge blinks, slow. As if he hadn’t even realised he’d been sitting so far away. Then, gangly figure uncurling, he crosses the too-large distance—small as it is in reality—, and Wu Xie shifts to leave space between himself and Pangzi for Xiaoge to slot into. He does—easily, as if he’d never forgotten how; as if he’s coming home. The glance Wu Xie gets out of the side of his vision shows him Pangzi’s eyes are just as misty as his.
So, no; sleeping together isn’t the first thing they do, technically. But it’s important enough that it feels like it.
The bedrolls they’d brought along are the type that can be combined together; Wu Xie does so while Pangzi tells Xiaoge about the terrible snowstorm they’d had to brave through on the way there, replete with taking care of a snow-blind Wu Xie in the cave they’d taken shelter in. “Our Tianzhen,” he says, with a smile and a shake of his head. “Terrible luck.” It makes Xiaoge smile, small and barely-there, and the image makes Wu Xie’s lungs burn with something he hasn’t felt in years.
Actually clambering into their makeshift bed is fairly anticlimactic; all of them are too tired to be prickly about space, or limbs, or anything besides curling close to each other. Wu Xie winds up on one side, Pangzi in the middle, and Xiaoge on the other. If this were a real bed, Pangzi would lovingly and dramatically bully Xiaoge into the middle, but a real bed is also safe in a way that being up in the mountains isn’t, and they’re both well-aware of Xiaoge’s vigilance, undulled by time. Well, no—if Wu Xie’s theories about the Hiveside are right, then he might be even more vigilant than he once was. And Wu Xie—he tries not to think too much about why Pangzi let him be on the outside.
The horses, settled down on the other side of the fire, whicker at each other, the sound a subtle hum in the night. Wu Xie lets out a breath, and settles; pillows his head on Pangzi’s chest, slings his arm across to brush fingers across Xiaoge’s side. Under him, Pangzi lets out a muffled laugh, but doesn’t comment. Xiaoge doesn’t sigh, but Wu Xie can feel the tension that bleeds out of him at the combined contact, and he curls inwards, so he’s facing them.
It’s not hard to fall asleep like that; ten years of vigilance are nothing in the face of the warmth and safety trickling down the slowly-widening bond between them. Once, Wu Xie had stood in the boiler room of a great, snaking black train. At the time, he’d been too busy thinking about other things, but right now, all he can remember is the warmth—and the heat of it pales in comparison to this, tenfold.
Some time later, he slowly swims to consciousness in the dawn light, pale, the world around them tinted a dilute blue. Under his head, Pangzi’s chest rises and falls, a slight wheezing snore drifting from his open mouth. Wu Xie’s own lips are wet with the beginnings of drool, and he reaches a clumsy hand to wipe the traces of it away. There’s a low, steady rumble that permeates the air, and his eyes snap open, his body already moving as his mind hurtles, full-speed, across a plan to get them all out of here, away from the impending avalanche—and then he catches sight of Xiaoge, long limbs pulled up and curled against Pangzi’s side, only one, slitted eye visible through the fringe of his hair, and he realises the sound is coming from him.
Pangzi, disturbed by the sudden scramble, cracks his eyes open and lets out a grumbling complaint. “Aiya, Tianzhen, you’re letting the cold in. Get back here, will you? You’re going to freeze our poor Xiaoge.”
Wu Xie blinks a couple times. “Right,” he says, hasty and belated, and gets back under the covers, only for Pangzi to drag him closer so he’s practically laying on top of him. “Hey!”
“Maybe that’ll teach you to move less,” Pangzi says, softly vindictive, and then yawns, eyes scrunching up. “...Xiaoge, is that you?” He drags Xiaoge closer, and the rumbling increases, both in intensity and pitch. The sound goes a little hitching as Xiaoge’s head lands on Pangzi’s chest, a mere hairsbreadth away from Wu Xie’s own. His eyes, no longer narrow, flash in the low-light. The rumbling is loud enough Wu Xie can feel it in his bones.
“Mn,” Xiaoge says, the sound overlaid over the rumbling.
It takes a moment for Wu Xie to sift through his still sleep-addled thoughts to process it. “Are you...purring?” he manages, eventually, and reaches out a clumsy hand to press against Xiaoge’s chest. It rises and falls beneath his touch, rattling. “Since when can you do that?”
Xiaoge blinks at him. “Always,” he says, as if it should be obvious. Pangzi, beneath them, chokes on a laugh.
“Oh.” Wu Xie processes the words, blinking a few times. “Then why did you never...”
Xiaoge shrugs. “Forgot,” he says, the words quiet, and Wu Xie’s throat tightens. Under them, Pangzi stills, a quiet sigh slipping out. His hand comes up to card through Xiaoge’s hair, and Xiaoge’s eyes slip closed.
“Like a cat,” Pangzi says, fond and amused, after a long moment. Xiaoge doesn’t open his eyes, apparently content with the designation. Wu Xie’s lips twitch. “Who knew our Xiaoge’r was so cute.”
Xiaoge, clearly unbothered by the comment, keeps purring. Wu Xie’s mind is far too sleeplogged to figure out how the fuck that even works—is it a mechanical process that just sounds like purring? Is he tapping into the tech that lines his body? Is it instinctual? On purpose?
“Your thoughts are too loud,” comes Xiaoge’s quiet voice. “Go to sleep.”
Wu Xie, for once obedient, surrenders. Surrounded by the warmth of the men he loves, he slips back into sleep.
