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Sha Hualing and her delegation have finally left. Mobei-jun is neither pleased nor displeased about this, officially, but there is something about Sha Hualing’s voice that she doesn’t miss. It has a grating quality. And she has an annoyingly superior manner for a demon who isn’t even queen of a realm, which was intensifying in her last hours in Mobei-jun’s court.
No matter. She’s gone. Things are peaceful, or as peaceful as they ever are in a kingdom where slavering demons regularly gouge out each other’s eyes and other things of that nature.
However, Shang Qinghua wasn’t at the leaving ceremony, which is … unacceptable. She’s Mobei-jun’s closest advisor, and in the absence of a consort, she’s … well. She stands in for a consort. To Mobei-jun, anyway. And a consort should be at all diplomatic functions.
This can be dealt with the next day. Perhaps Shang Qinghua will have some sort of explanation — she was busy with paperwork (she is always busy with paperwork) or something like that.
Mobei-jun opens the door to her chamber, and finds that Shang Qinghua is actually on the other side of it; specifically, she’s sitting on the pile of furs that make up Mobei-jun’s bed. She makes a little surprised gasp when Mobei-jun enters, but Mobei-jun stares in absolute silence, without moving a muscle.
Because Shang Qinghua isn’t wearing the plain, simple An Ding robes she normally has on, the ones that make her look like a harmless little human who can fade into the background. Instead, she has on a number of very transparent pieces of light blue silk that look like something Sha Hualing would be traipsing around in, running over her shoulders and down her breasts, crossing here and there; some more seem like they would be hanging loosely down in front and back, although at the moment they’re pooled behind her and between her thighs. A few delicate, beaded chains connect those in front and back across her hips. There are bangles like silver cuffs on her wrists, and her hair’s wound into an elaborate style with pearls and jewels running through it.
Demons often wear very little. (It’s a cultural thing.) So Mobei-jun is used to seeing bare flesh, usually in conjunction with rippling muscles and/or heaving bosoms. It doesn’t register with her as sexual: it’s just bodies, just skin, a casing that can be ripped open to bring out the blood, entrails, etc. as necessary. She hasn’t even really thought about what Shang Qinghua’s skin might be like, hidden under the robes that cover her from neck to ankle, because that simply isn’t the appeal Qinghua holds for her.
Or, well. It wasn’t the appeal Qinghua held for her. Now that Mobei-jun is faced with all of the extremely soft expanse of her, she is re-evaluating some assumptions.
“I knew it!” Shang Qinghua wails, throwing her head back so that the chain running across her forehead flips over. “This was so stupid! Stupid as hell!”
Mobei-jun gives herself a little shake. She’s been staring for too long without saying anything.
“That Sha Hualing … I should have known better than to take her advice. What was I thinking, dressing myself up like this? She was probably trying to sabotage me!”
Shang Qinghua keeps ranting, and Mobei-jun keeps watching her. The silk is so sheer that Qinghua might as well not be wearing anything at all — Mobei-jun can see every inch of her — and as she talks and clenches her hands into fists and trembles, her soft flesh shifts and shivers entrancingly. She doesn’t have the lean form of a demon, narrow waist and huge breasts balanced by perfectly curved hips: she has a human’s body, and not a heroic one. Her breasts respond to gravity and her waist is a crease between torso and hip. Her thighs are spread perhaps unintentionally wide on the furs as she balances herself, and Mobei-jun’s eyes keep traveling down to the place between them that the silk is doing nothing to hide. She’d like to explore it with her fingers — Shang Qinghua is such a small human, it would be interesting to see how many fingers Mobei-jun could even fit inside her — and her tongue.
“Ah, my queen,” Shang Qinghua goes on, her tone changing slightly. “I am so sorry for the imposition! If you can just give me, um, a few minutes, I’ll get out of your hair —”
It’s not a phrase Mobei-jun is familiar with, but she can tell where her advisor is going with this: she’s going. That would be extremely unacceptable. To stop her, she strides forward and seizes Shang Qinghua’s wrists, pushing her down onto her back on the furs; her own knee lands between Qinghua’s thighs, ensuring that she won’t be closing her legs anytime soon.
“My queen!” Qinghua squeaks. Her eyes are wide, but not entirely with fear, and her breathing does such interesting things with her chest at this angle. She pulls a little against Mobei-jun’s hands, but her queen’s arms are like tree trunks and don’t respond at all.
“Qinghua,” Mobei-jun purrs, and bends down to bite at Shang Qinghua’s short, soft little neck. Of course, it’s not a real bite like one demon might give another: she only presses hard enough to bruise, not break the skin. Qinghua struggles a little against her again at the touch of her teeth, but when her thighs come together to clamp down on Mobei-jun’s knee, Mobei-jun is satisfied that this was the correct decision.
Shang Qinghua makes so many different noises when startled. Mobei-jun is looking forward to seeing if she can elicit some new ones, and to hearing how loud Qinghua will call out to her queen.