The sky is that deep blue just before full darkness. The air smells like wet stone and ripe fruit and distant water. Sun Wukong and Six-Eared Macaque are on their platform, half reclined against each other, quiet. Six-Ears' fingers are carding slowly through Wukong's fur behind his ear — that precise spot that makes him melt into something embarrassingly pliant.
Wukong is boneless, eyes half-lidded, tail lazily hooked around his mate's ankle.
Six-Ears hums, amused. "Aren't you smug."
Wukong, apparently hypnotized, tilts his head back further, baring his throat without even realizing he's doing it. Six-Ears does though, and his hand slides from ear to jaw, thumb brushing slow across the line of his mouth. Wukong inhales, breath catching, until—
A tiny voice from below the platform: "Dà Shèng?"
Both freeze. Maybe if they remain still, they will go away.
"King?" Small hands grip the edge of the platfrom. A little face pops up between the slats, followed by another, and another. Wukong does not move his head.
"...No." he responds flatly.
One of them blinks. "No what?"
"I'm not here."
Six-Ears, infuriatingly composed, withdraws his hand from Wukong's jaw and sits up straighter. "Whats the matter?" he asks gently.
The smallest one scrambles up without waiting for invitation or permission. "We can't find Elder Peach."
There is a long pause. Wukong closes his eyes. "You interrupted me over fruit?"
"The wrinkly one," another clarifies urgently. "He fell asleep and rolled away."
Six-Ears bites back a smile as Wukong finally opens an eye. "...you lost a senior citizen."
The third little monkey stares. "Were you fighting?"
As Six-Ears says "no," Wukong replies with "yes." They glance at each other, and Wukong attempts again: "...we're in a very important strategic discussion."
The smallest monkey tilts her head. "Why is your tail wrapped around General's leg?"
Utterly silent, Wukong slowly looks down. He retracts his tail with exaggerated dignity as Six-Ears coughs into his hand to hide a laugh. The children huddle and whisper loudly.
"I think they were grooming." "They groom a lot." "Maybe kings need extra grooming."
Wukong rubs his face. "I am regretting fathering this kingdom."
Six's ears flick. The children all snap their eyes toward him.
"Fathering?"
Upon Wukong's visible realization of what he said, one of the cubs gasp.
"ARE YOU HAVING A BABY?"
The Monkey King, ever distinguished, chokes out, "NO."
"THEY'RE HAVING A BABY." The children are vibrating now.
"We are not—"
"Can we teach it to climb?" "Will it have six ears?" "Will it set things on fire?"
The quietest baby monkey, who frequently crawls onto Six-Ears lap after playtime with the other cubs, makes her appearance and does just that. Used to her prescence, he adjusts without thinking, steadying her. Wukong's eyes follow the movement, and a specific look crosses his face.
She squints at him. "...You like it, Dà Shèng."
"...what?"
"When General holds babies."
Wukong opens, then closes his mouth, speechless.
Sensing the need for rescue, Six-Ears leans slightly into the king's shoulder, casual and unbothered. "We will help you find Elder Peach."
The children cheer.
It's late afternoon, in the warm light that makes fur glow just the right way. They think they're alone. Or rather, Wukong believes they are, but Six-Ears knows better.
He hears the patter of little paws long before they're close. He hears the whispering, the suppressed giggles, the unmistakable rhythm of a group of children trying their best to be sneaky.
He says nothing.
Wukong has him backed lightly against the flat stone of a mountain face, hands braced on either side of him. He apparently thinks they won't get interrupted here, away from their platform.
"You were smirking at me in council," Wukong accuses. "Very disrespectful."
"It's deserved."
Wukong leans in, one elbow bending. Six-Ears' tail flicks — not from nerves, but from the aura of approaching chaos. The king's voice drops, "is that so?"
Wukong's tail curls slowly around the other macaque's upper thigh as his now free hand slides over to cup his jaw. This is getting dangerous — Six-Ears could warn him still.
He does not. Instead, he tips his chin just slightly. An invitation.
Wukong makes a victorious growl in his throat, and he kisses him.
It's full and warm, and a little less chaste than the usual brief shows of affection they give each other throughout the day. Six can't resist kissing back, sliding his hand into Wukong's fur at the nape of his neck.
But as expected, they're interrupted by a very loud gasp, and Wukong freezes mid-kiss, his eyes snapping open. Six-Ears does not break contact immediately. He finishes the kiss, calm and unhurried, pulling back just enough to glance over his mate's shoulder.
There are six small monkeys standing several feet away along the cliff. One drops the fruit they were holding. Wukong does not turn around, still braced against the wall and gripping Six-Ears' jaw.
"...General," he finally says.
"Yes, my King."
"Why are there witnesses."
Six-Ears' mouth twitches. "I assumed you knew."
Sour, Wukong turns slowly. The children are staring at him wide-eyed like they just witnessed the sun eating the moon. Six-Ears adjusts his body to fold his arms behind his back, amused. Utterly serene, he address the children. "What did you need?"
One remembers. "Oh. We were going to ask if we could use the east cliff to practice jumping but... we can come back later."
"Yes," Wukong says immediately. "Come back in ten years."