About the confusion of time

The first time they did it — he was terrible. Of course, Tang Bo wouldn't have told him this (it wasn't until years later that he realized the brat had been in love with him for years), but Cheong Myeong knows he was clumsy, impatient, and talentless back then. In retrospect, it's almost shameful for that, that he knew absolutely nothing about how a man and a woman pleasured each other, let alone two men. But he wanted it; he wanted to try it, if that was what Tang Bo wanted. Because he'd loved him; long ago, longer than he'd been willing to admit at the time, which was why he'd been stupid and stubborn. Because he realized it all; everything, everything, everything; only when Tang Bo's body was cold in his arms. (He wanted to lie next to him; he wanted to stay until his last breath, even if the other's body rotted away and he kept breathing; he wanted no one to ever find him, but.... He has a duty. He has a sect, a sahyung, a saje who will worry about him. He has the promise he made to Tang Bo, old at the beginning of the war and new in blood. So Cheong Myeong gets up, even if he didn't want to at that moment.) That was a lifetime ago, and he lost even more two years later when he thought he couldn't lose something so meaningful again. He was wrong. He's always wrong. "Hyung?" says Tang Bo beside him, gasping as he pushes him against the wall, even though there are hundreds of things he has to do, thousands of little things to take care of, and he only leans toward Tang Bo, younger than he remembers, with the same smell of herbs and poisons, with less black fingers than he used to know, but Tang Bo answers him, just as he did a decade (century) ago. Tang Bo stumbles through this, and it's so endearing that it makes him smile, because Tang Bo taught him that. He shouldn't have interfered with the timing. There's a lot of things he shouldn't have done, really. He pulls away from Tang Bo with an effort that is heavier than all the responsibilities he carries; Tang Bo is beautiful, all out of breath, flushed, disheveled, with his clothes slightly revealing his skin to the world (Cheong Myeong hadn't even noticed that his hands had taken on a life of their own, but now, listening to himself, he catches the residual feel of skin on his fingertips; it's not cold) and so uncomprehending that it makes him laugh just a little, just a little. Cheong Myeong didn't know he could miss her more, seeing him alive and young (how old is he now? thirty?). "Just pretend like it never happened, okay?" he asks, laughing at Tang Bo's frankly-cute indignation, forcing himself to get out of this place, or else he'll just snap, or else he'll just try to directly attack this younger version of Tang Bo when he's out of time and the other him, the true master of the body, shows up here. That would hinder him and create a major headache that he absolutely does not want to deal with. But this is Tang Bo. It's Tang Bo, Tang Bo, Tang Bo, Tang Bo, Tang Bo, Tang Bo, Tang Bo, Tang Bo, Tang Bo, Tang Bo— and he can't even bring himself to regret this moment, even if he needs to be somewhere else, doing other things, being sensible rather than desperate to feel someone else's heartbeat. Tang Bo, beautiful-beautiful-beautiful, still looks at him like he's insane, and well, that's not far from the truth either.

***

(His sahyung — is another matter. He would like to say that he endured it, that he didn't make anyone suspect him of anything, that he was able to hold back the tears he would find an excuse for without fear of opening his mouth lest he drop a real sob. That's a lie.)

***

This Tang Bo is young too, older than what he's met before but younger than the one who took the first step toward what they had. Cheong Myeong challenging him to a duel is familiar territory, enough so that he can clear his head and not do something more stupid. But he does. Just as sparring was the beginning for everything in their relationship, he also started some of their particularly sassy and inappropriate antics, clearly inappropriate for people their age (not to mention his current one; he even has his chick-descendants). The blushing Tang Bo beneath him — is still one of the most magnificent sights he's ever seen; just after the Hua Mountains bloom and before the sunrise of each new day. Some might argue that he is biased, though; and he'll let people think that, because Tang Bo can't be looked at by everyone who wants to (he notices it better now than he did then; he sees the hungry looks of others when they drink in the teahouse, because people know and realize that Tang Bo is beautiful, and unlike him, Tang Bo's weapons aren't so overtly open to scare off the uppers like his sword). Tang Bo spreads his legs around him, for him — it's a familiar place, even if the stranger's knees have trembled once or twice when he thinks he's not paying attention. He knows that Tang Bo loves when he's rough with him, when he's not ceremonious with him either, as in their clashing of blades, as it was before they went into an endless series of battles with magio, where every night could be the last (it was), even if Cheong Myeong isn't sure about it then, being too naive (he thinks Tang Bo knew; and he'll probably never know the truth himself). It was then that Cheong Myeong learned more about love than passion. Tang Bo's body has fewer scars than he knew (he's so glad he remembers that), missing seven of them: the ugliest, the clearest, the closest to taking Tang Bo even earlier than what happened. Cheong Myeong touched those places over and over again, unable to stop; afraid to find traces there of something that hadn't happened yet. He loved him. His body is as perfect as he remembers, as he hasn't forgotten after a lifetime, supple in his hands and hot when the sun makes Tang Bo even brighter than he is. He loved him. Tang Bo is still the same brat, even more so than he realizes, which is why he's impatient and prefers to bite back more than he remembered (Cheong Myeong misses it, he wants to remember everything, he doesn't want his unreliable memory to forget it). He loved him. Even if he shouldn't have done it, it's possible that another him belonging to that time would notice something, or worse, say or do something unforgivable to Tang Bo (like break his heart, as he himself had done several times without realizing it). "Hyung", Tang Bo calls out to him, and he has to snap out of his thoughts again, endless and full of regret, "you think too much", Tang Bo, always the considerate asshole, is right of course; not that he would have let him know it by uncorking the water bottle; this is not a time either of them would have carried oil. And yet, he stops, this Tang Bo in his eyes still younger than the one who kissed him tenderly on the forehead one night and bled in his hands the next. "You want that...?" he doesn't know why he sounds so unsure; he feels lost, caught between time, dream and reality; it's always been unbearably easy and infinitely difficult with Tang Bo. He loves him. Tang Bo certainly looks indignantly annoyed, which is understandable, given how worked up he's left him by asking such a stupid question; but he can't help but ask, he can't help feeling like he's stealing something (maybe from time; maybe from himself); and he'd hate to be so careless about it. Then Tang Bo grabs him by the white cloths, which are so unfamiliar to notice with the corner of his eye after seven years in black, he is pulled down, it's a familiar gesture, full of sour anger when he fools around too much in Tang Bo's opinion; Cheong Myeong thinks he misses even that; the way the green eyes burn in a mixture of displeasure, excitement and adoration; he still doesn't know why Tang Bo loved him. "Hyung", and it's dangerous notes in his voice, like needle tips; he misses them as well, "I don't know what's wrong with you, but if you leave me with a boner in the middle of the forest, I swear to the gods I'll never speak to you again in my life", and it's a lie; he knows it's a lie because he's done worse things and Tang Bo stayed; he hurt Tang Bo even more without realizing it and he went back to him. For some inexplicable reason, this makes him laugh (better laughter than tears, he says to himself in Cho Sam's unaccustomed voice when he first woke up in his second life), and he bumps into the cheek of Tang Bo, who continues to grumble that he claims to be completely serious. His cheek is warm and light and soft. Cheong Myeong doesn't know how he's gone years without it and hasn't fallen apart. But the problem is that he did, right? "Alright", he replies, and Tang Bo's voice goes quiet (he doesn't want it to; he'd rather hear it for days on end), "alright", he repeats, sliding his rough fingers over the familiar body to the stranger's thighs again, pulling down his pants without pulling away from Tang Bo's cheek; warm, warm and warm; "alright", and he could spend eternity like this. As he inserts one finger into him, Tang Bo moans beneath him, not for the first time in the last few minutes, but so close to his ear that it flashes through his overly heavy mind, which becomes lighter; he smiles at it, but doesn't lift his head to look at it; it still feels like a dream. "Hyung", Tang Bo replies gruffly as he adds a second finger, and finds a place with experience that has always made Tang Bo sound even more graceful than he was (though it would seem like how could it be possible). Cheong Myeong is partly proud of himself for knowing all of this; for liking Tang Bo all of this. He loved it. Cheong Myeong says something to him, but can't keep track of his words when something inside him breaks and connects, something close to his heart that makes it hard for him to breathe, when Tang Bo is so hot, so loud, so alive, unlike his nightmares; and he's lost in it, more than he was willing to admit. His own arousal felt strange, too distant from his thoughts, too instinctive, too natural when it came to Tang Bo, beautiful and ready for him; he loved him. Being inside Tang Bo — is familiarly delightful; it's sweet, and it hurts; he misses him; always, even now. Tang Bo is panting under him, scratching his back and shoulders and still talking (mostly calling him: hyung, over and over) because before the war there was no point in being quiet, because Tang Bo is so excellent at everything he takes on that Cheong Myeong can't take his eyes off him. He doesn't think he remembered him being so liberated, but he likes it. He's glad that he can learn something new about Tang Bo, especially about something he missed because of his stupidity. Tang Bo cum first and drags him down after him, clenching around him. Cheong Myeong loves him.

***

(His saje is easier than seeing sahyung, but at the same time harder for a completely different reason. It's not something that brings him to tears with the same force when his control isn't enough to hold back, but it's very close. Of course, Cheong Jin, the epitome of observant, notices this. He's young, young enough that Cheong Myeong thought he was a child when he wasn't; but perhaps this is a time when they were just becoming elders. Cheong Jin asks him why he's here, with obvious suspicion and underlying worry, when he clearly sees the stranger's face surrounded only by candles, still working despite the night, and he remembers the old bones in the lonely cave. "May I keep you company?" asks Cheong Myeong, and his voice nearly fails him, but he doesn't falter in doing so. Cheong Jin looks at him apprehensively, a dignified man who doubts his sanity; however, he is allowed to stay if he decides to help (perhaps Cheong Jin thought paperwork would scare him away); and he agrees, ignoring the other's surprise).

***

On this tease, Tang Bo is closer to the age when it all began, when even to his impenetrable forehead something as obvious as another's affection has reached him, when he is close again and so far away from it. Cheong Myeong hasn't seen him in years, bouncing around different time points, correcting and fixing his mistakes, more of them than he can count, more than stars in the sky than grains of sand in the desert. "I miss you so much", he says, hiding in the curve of someone else's neck, still herbs and steel and poisons, nothing of the plums he loves, but no less a wonderful combination; it seems to him that each such encounter destroys something in him just as much as it reassembles it. Tang Bo wants to ask him questions, but he doesn't want to answer; he can't answer, so he kisses him, hungry and greedy; he doesn't know how many more tries he'll be given. He loved him. He can't say he loved Tang Bo from the first time they met, but time has helped him. He loves him. "What's going on, hyung?" Tang Bo still asks him, his beautiful eyes concerned like anyone he spends a lot of time with, unable to hide the battered and tired part of himself when pretending to be his other self; he misses all of them. Cheong Myeong closes his eye, leaning against someone else's forehead; he doesn't have much time; this world he's building because of his whim to play with fate — is not his own; and he'll have to leave it all behind. "Does it matter?" And he wants Tang Bo to say 'no', otherwise he's afraid he'll tell the truth about what happened, about what will happen, and then none of this will make sense. "Not now", Tang Bo doesn't disappoint him, always helping him in some way, drawing him back to himself, which only makes him smile; not as broken as he feels.

***

(This is all before Tang Bo dies, before the war starts, but once he does, he leaves Huashan. This is the longest time he has, what he can use, and what he has to do without dying in the process. Cheong Myeong, Plum Blossom Sword Saint, starts and ends the war alone).