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difeisheng · 14 days

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Fang Duobing wakes up with the dawn on the five thousandth morning since his life fractured, then restarted, and there is silver in Di Feisheng's hair.

"Go back to sleep," he feels Di Feisheng rumble, where Fang Duobing's chest is pressed to his back. His hand doesn't pause, continuing to feel through the long river of Di Feisheng's hair. He can't help it, that it's still striking even after these years since the first hint of grey appeared. Early light glows through the window, glinting off the streak woven in through the dark strands. Vein of precious metal set in stone.

Di Feisheng has survived four decades of defiant existence in this world, and now he wears something proud to show for it.

"You're getting old," Fang Duobing says, and smiles into the back of Di Feisheng's neck. "What happened to rising with the sun to train every morning?"

"You and your sleeping in happened, you spoiled brat." The words are softened by the fact that Di Feisheng doesn't counter the hand Fang Duobing moves from his hair to his waist, only letting out a deep sigh. "And now you won't even let me do that."

"It's called having variation. Keeps you sharp."

"Keeps me tired."

"You'll start getting slow next if you settle into your ways like this, lao-lang."

"If you insist on calling me old, then you should have some respect for your elders," Di Feisheng declares, and now Fang Duobing can hear the glare in his voice. "Be quiet."

Fang Duobing has cheerfully never listened to this particular request, and isn't about to start now. "I show my respect for you nearly every day. Maybe you'd even call it appreciation." He lets his hand on Di Feisheng's waist drift lower, under the blanket thrown over both of them. "I could demonstrate again though, if you'd like?"

This time Di Feisheng catches him, gently dragging his hand away before Fang Duobing can reach for his trousers. "Later," he says, and the words are low enough to be a growl. "Go. Back. To. Sleep."

"Fine." Fang Duobing replaces his hand, arm reaching over Di Feisheng's torso instead. Di Feisheng's own hand stays curled overtop his, stilling as Fang Duobing settles down again behind him, sword calluses rough against his knuckles. "But I'll hold you to it."

It's impulse that causes Fang Duobing to brush at Di Feisheng's hair one last time, sweeping the silver aside to touch his lips to his neck.

Di Feisheng is, seemingly, by the fall of his breath and the curve of his body into Fang Duobing's, already asleep once more.

#yes i do mean the nickname as in 老狼 #also hi. the prompt i gave myself for this was just 'write difang happy'#and get myself out of my usual angst/bittersweet territory #so here we are #mysterious lotus casebook #difang #di feisheng #fang duobing #ashton writes fic #fic

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