aberrance

The village was one of the prettier ones Wei Wuxian had ever been to, even he would admit it. Nestled as it was in the mountains, it reminded him of Gusu and simpler times. Even better, it lacked the rules that so plagued him whenever he returned with Lan Zhan to the Cloud Recesses and there was no Lan Qiren here to belligerently enforce them while Lan Zhan’s sainted brother got caught in the middle, not willing to condemn Wei Wuxian for his irrepressible antics, while simultaneously trying to maintain what peace could be bought from Wei Wuxian on behalf of his and his brother’s uncle while he was there.

He tried. He really did. Once everyone realized that this thing between him and Lan Zhan was permanent—and Wei Wuxian might have been the last to figure it out—they all decided independently that every effort would be expended to ensure the Cloud Recesses didn’t implode. So far, it had worked, mostly because he and Lan Zhan stayed far, far away most of the year. No matter how often Wei Wuxian tried to feel guilty about that fact—it was, after all, Lan Zhan’s home—Lan Zhan only scoffed at him in that gentlemanly manner of his and told him that he preferred to go where he was needed and Wei Wuxian shouldn’t worry about it.

And now that Lan Xichen was as recovered as he was likely ever to be, Lan Zhan was no longer needed at the Cloud Recesses, at least according to his own sensibilities. Wei Wuxian wasn’t so certain, but he didn’t dare say anything because he wasn’t quite sure what would happen if he convinced Lan Zhan that he was. Wei Wuxian could not remain there permanently, but there was equally no way for him to part ways with Lan Zhan again, not now that they’ve… that he knew how Lan Zhan felt about him, how he felt for Lan Zhan in return.

Arrogance and an individualist spirit made him who he was, but he’d tried, since his resurrection, to temper the worst parts of himself into something that was worthy of Lan Zhan’s devotion to him.

It didn’t always work.

It often didn’t work.

Like now, when he’d just snuck off to the herbalist with a mouthful of excuses and a promise to return shortly.

“May I help you with anything, master cultivator?” the old proprietess said as he perused the baskets of herbs she sold. They were of surprisingly high quality for how far this place was from a major trading center, for which he was surprised and grateful. Running low on his usual stores, he felt pinned between a rock and a hard place, and he wanted maybe to do something nice for Lan Zhan.

It was obvious that Lan Zhan was growing restless to return home from the way he lingered over tea in the inn, the way his eyes scanned the tree lines when they went outside, the way he listened so intently for signs that the locals were in need of assistance, like he was looking for a distraction instead of a fresh chance to put himself to use in the world.

They were not in need of aid here, at least as far as Wei Wuxian could tell so far, but that didn’t stop him from smiling now at the woman as he patted himself down, disappointed only that he couldn’t do more for Lan Zhan, like tell him to pack up, that they’d return to Gusu immediately. But that was the one thing he couldn’t do, not for another couple of weeks at least, not unless he sent Lan Zhan back alone.

“Now how could you possibly know I’m a cultivator?” he asked, pleasant and charming. As long as she never got to know who he was, she might always simply think of him as the nice young man who wandered into her store one day. She need never know she was speaking with the formidable Yiling Patriarch. “I don’t even have a sword on me.”

She smiled back at him, long-suffering, and replied, “I’ve been alive long enough to know what a cultivator looks like, young man. It doesn’t take a sword to figure it out.”

Wei Wuxian laughed in delight, fingers wrapping briefly around his flute before settling on his belt. “Please tell that to the other cultivators of my acquaintance. I would love to see their faces when you say that!” He would definitely do his best to repay the woman’s compliment in short order. It would be with Lan Zhan’s money, of course, but she needn’t know that either. “Thank you for the joy you have brought into my day, madam.” For a moment, he went back to perusing her goods, pulling his lower lip between his teeth as he tried to make his decision. A beggar couldn’t be a chooser and he actually had more options here than he had expected. That was a double-edged sword, however. Giving him room to choose always led to spending unnecessary time making a decision. As he mulled each choice over, he said, casual, “Tell me, have you heard of any strange occurrences in the area lately? Ghosts, ghouls, corpses, that sort of thing?”

The woman’s features, which had been warm before, cooled considerably, her smile turning to a frown before Wei Wuxian’s eyes while her gaze took on a suspicious cast. Despite the sudden turn, Wei Wuxian found himself excited. Maybe his earlier estimation was incorrect. Perhaps there was something here. And if there was, he’d be able to bring back to Lan Zhan.

Admittedly, it was a little strange that the woman was so reticent to speak of their town’s ill fortunes. Most townsfolk outside the purview of one sect or another were generally grateful anyone bothered to show interest in ridding them of their problems at all and would speak at length about it.

“There is nothing,” she said. “If you’re looking for trouble, you would best be served going elsewhere. I’ve heard there are some walking corpses in the south.”

Mmm, yes. He knew of those, too. Too bad he and Lan Zhan had already dealt with them on their way up here. The news apparently hadn’t traveled this way yet. He leaned against the counter behind which she stood and smiled even more brilliantly. “Madam, please. You clearly know that I have some skill. Why not let me help? There’s clearly something you’re not telling me. If I die, it will be on my own head.” He lifted his hand in a pledge. “I promise I will not come back as a fierce corpse to torment the living of this fine village.”

For a moment, he didn’t think he’d convinced her, especially when her scowl deepened and she merely glared more fully at him. Then she sighed the sigh of the long suffering and Wei Wuxian knew he’d won. He heard such a sound so often by now that he was fluent in it. “It’s a ways out,” she warned. “Three days to the northwest, deep in the forests up the mountain.” Her eyes narrowed. “Three days by sword, young man. Longer on foot. Nothing anyone considers worth bothering with.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile widened gamely. That was, admittedly, a little more out of the way than he was entirely comfortable with going at the moment, but it was clear also that her belligerence had been borne of resentment toward cultivators who wouldn’t bother to help them in the past when they heard. As such, Wei Wuxian would not just stand by. Besides, Lan Zhan would never forgive him if he found out Wei Wuxian knew and did nothing.

Wei Wuxian would not forgive himself.

“Three days means little to me,” he assured her, cavalier almost to the point of irresponsibility. “I would like to think I’d do what is right even if it took me three years.”

A dubious glance from her cut across his vision, but he sensed a thawing in her as well. Gruffly, she said, “There’s a creature up there. Nobody is sure what it is, but it ranges down this way to hunt once every few months and stalks other towns as well.”

“Has anyone been hurt?”

“Not here,” she said defensively, unnecessarily so. Wei Wuxian knew inconvenient situations could turn deadly at a moment’s notice. One day, the creature would not be content to just stalk around the outskirts of these places. “But we have been unable to venture up there to replenish stores of various herbs and plants and there’s less game than there used to be. Our own hunters keep trying to take care of it, but so far they’ve been unsuccessful. Other villages have been more unlucky.”

“Madam, my partner and I will investigate this issue thoroughly. Rest assured.”

She was still a little bit skeptical, but she nodded and waved her hand as though to indicate it was out of her hands now. “I’m sure you didn’t just come here for local gossip. How can I actually help you?”

While they were speaking, his subconscious had made up his mind for him. This time, when he perused the baskets, it took him no time at all.

Walking quickly around the shop, he gathered the ingredients he needed—more than he’d intended to purchase, both as a thank you and because he wasn’t certain now how long they would be traipsing about the mountains chasing a creature.

His nerves twisted inside of him as he approached the counter for a second time.

Her eyebrow climbed her forehead as she took stock of his choices. “Young man, have you considered…?” She made another vague gesture with her hand, one that came across looking incredibly crude under the circumstances. It probably would have been considered rude by anyone else, but Wei Wuxian instead found himself with his heart lodged in his throat by the sheer degree of concern she exhibited, the bluntness of her words cut by empathy. There was no room to be offended when he felt stung by this stranger’s concern.

“Thank you for your care,” Wei Wuxian said, offering her a bow. Sniffing, he looked at a gnarled knot in the wood-planked wall behind her head. Whatever she thought of him, it was no doubt a better credit to him than the truth. “As long as I have these, I manage just fine.”

Her lips thinned and she looked on the verge of arguing with him, but instead she quoted him a price that couldn’t be accurate, far too low for the amount he’d picked up as well as the rarity of some of the ingredients.

He could count on one hand the number of kind gestures he’d experienced in the last year of his brand new life that weren’t a result of Lan Zhan or one of the juniors and even this one didn’t pitch him to a second hand on that score.

In return for it, he placed a rather tidy sum of money onto the counter before gathering up his purchase into a netted bag that he then placed in a slightly larger satchel that he slung over his shoulder, affecting a pure disinterest he didn’t truly feel.

He did not turn back to look at her from the door, but he offered well wishes from the door before stepping onto the packed dirt road, his feet bringing him quickly and easily back to the inn he and Lan Zhan had agreed to take for the night.

“Lan Zhan!” he called, sliding aside the door to their room. He poked his head in and then slipped through, never settling for entering a room with anything approaching calmness or dignity. Just saying his name out loud was enough to make joy bubble up inside of him, the best medicine he could find in all the world against what ailed him. He came up behind Lan Zhan, who stood before the stand upon which he’d soon hang his robes, and wrapped his arms around his midsection, pillowing his cheek against Lan Zhan’s shoulder blade and inhaling deeply. “You’re gonna love me in a minute!”

“Mn?” he said in return. Is that so, he didn’t specifically ask, but Wei Wuxian could sense the hint of teasing behind the sound. By now, he was fluent in Lan Zhan, rarely mistaking his meaning when in the past it was the only thing he could do with any degree of accuracy.

“Mn!” Wei Wuxian agreed, walking his fingers up Lan Zhan’s chest while standing at his full height so he could peek over Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “There’s a creature in the mountains! Big and scary! The herbalist told me so. Wanna go?”

Wei Wuxian expected immediate agreement.

He did not expect the way Lan Zhan stilled against him, muscles locking up, so tense he could have been a statue, every inch of him genuinely hewn from jade. His heart thudded against his chest so violently that he worried Lan Zhan could feel it against his spine.

It wasn’t that he lived his life expecting Lan Zhan to one day regain his senses, but he’d had dreams that started this way and ended with Lan Zhan spurning him, finally understanding that Wei Wuxian was not worth his time. Even Lan Zhan’s stubbornness had to have its limits, didn’t it?

Before Wei Wuxian could say anything else, Lan Zhan relaxed and grabbed Wei Wuxian’s hand, facing their fingers together and lifting them to his mouth to press a kiss against Wei Wuxian’s knuckles. “Wei Ying,” he said and then he turned and there was enough warmth in his gaze to keep Wei Wuxian’s fears at bay for another night.

Another sort of fear gripped him as Lan Zhan’s brows drew together when he inspected Wei Ying’s satchel.

It was guilt that fueled the sudden beating of his heart this time, not fear. He could not explain, even to himself, which one was worse.

“Everything was freshly dried,” he explained, complete bullshit, of course. “It just needs to be powdered. That’s why it looks like so much.” He hiked the bag up and then dropped it on the floor, muttering, “You don’t have to look so suspicious.”

Lan Zhan’s features softened slightly as he bent down to rifle through Wei Wuxian’s pack so he could begin the process of being a better partner than Wei Wuxian deserved. Wei Wuxian hated preparing herbs and that was reason enough for Lan Zhan to take on the responsibility of doing it for him. Walking to the small table in the middle of the room, he sat with poise and dignity, lining up each ingredient and a mortar and pestle before him. “I’m not. Tell me about the creature.”

It was easier to recite the woman’s words than watch Lan Zhan work. As he spoke and theorized, he shook his hair free of its ribbon and abandoned his outer robe atop the privacy screen neither of them bothered with these days. He decided out loud that he hoped it was a reanimated animal corpse haunting the countryside, maybe a bear. They hadn’t dealt with any bears yet. And, “Wouldn’t it be cute, Lan Zhan? Little tufts of fur missing from graying skin. So creepy! And how easy would it be to deal with?”

He lowered his voice and drew out each word dramatically, the voice he used when he was trying to scare the juniors.

“Morbid,” was Lan Zhan’s assessment as he busied himself with grinding each herb. Not one of his most colorful judgments, admittedly, but delightful all the same. Then, mildly concerned: “There are no bears on these mountains.”

“Oh, come on, Lan Zhan! Already destroying my dreams!” With a huff, he crossed his arms and sat heavily on the floor near to Lan Zhan, close enough to lean his head against Lan Zhan’s arm. Only because Lan Zhan was the biggest, gentlest man on the planet, Lan Zhan slid closer and allowed Wei Wuxian to get even more comfortable, though his attention never strayed from his objective.

“Why did you buy this much?” he asked. Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have been able to call the tone suspicious since Lan Zhan already said he wasn’t, but there was concern in it and he realized he shouldn’t have underestimated Lan Zhan’s ability to worry about him. It was, after all, one of his chief pursuits in life, never stifling, because for all that he had people who loved him, so few had chosen to so privilege Wei Wuxian’s well being and Wei Wuxian wasn’t so selfish as to not appreciate that the person he held most precious was the one who did this. But it could be inconvenient, especially when it hurt so much to keep the truth from Lan Zhan. The game was almost up when Lan Zhan lifted his eyes and looked at Wei Wuxian openly. “Wei Ying, is everything all right?”

His gaze turned considering, a little frantic, if that was the word that could be applied, like even speaking such a thing made it real.

Forcing a laugh, Wei Wuxian shoved at Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Aiyah, what if we get stuck up on that mountain, huh? I want to be prepared, that’s all. I haven’t worked much with some of these herbs. It would be inconvenient if…”

“Would it?” Lan Zhan asked, not quite snappish, but so very close to it.

Wei Wuxian’s stomach dropped and he was no longer laughing, couldn’t force it even if he wanted to. Nausea roiled inside of him and when he spoke, his tone was a little overwrought, twisted too high to be entirely at ease. “What? You want to deal with me going into heat on a night hunt? How is that not inconvenient? You don’t even like me touching you when we’re working.”

It was perhaps a bit of a cruel blow, but not wholly inaccurate. Or rather: Lan Zhan liked it too much when Wei Wuxian touched him while they worked, found it far too distracting, had, on more than one occasion, told Wei Wuxian to quit it for just that reason. That was fine; Wei Wuxian did not begrudge Lan Zhan’s desire to draw a line or two, but if he had to play a little dirty and use his own professional decorum against him, so be it. If it protected Lan Zhan, he could play the mean-spirited villain once more.

If it was possible, he would ask Lan Zhan to forget all about this hunt, having never expected Lan Zhan to question him so rigorously. But to specifically ask now would alarm Lan Zhan even further and that was something he would not do. It was just good practice and care at work, buying so many potent herbs. Even Lan Zhan would have admitted it was good sense under different circumstances.

“Lan Zhan, let me be cautious for once, hmm?”

“But why?”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Wei Wuxian couldn’t in good conscience explain. If Lan Zhan were a less giving person, he might have been willing, but Wei Wuxian already feared Lan Zhan would trade away his own life for Wei Wuxian one day. He would see nothing wrong with giving anything to Wei Wuxian, even if it hurt him, even if it did worse. For that reason alone, Wei Wuxian would never ask it of him, not even if the need for it clawed forever at his own insides, tormenting him with things he couldn’t allow himself to have and shouldn’t have wanted anyway. “I don’t like heats,” he said through gritted teeth. “You know that already.”

It was as close as he’d ever admitted to the truth. Before, it had always been enough for Lan Zhan. Anything that Wei Wuxian didn’t like didn’t get brought up again. At least until now.

Why couldn’t it have been anything else that Lan Zhan got caught in his craw?

Lan Zhan watched him for a long moment, swallowing around whatever complicated emotion was going on behind that mostly blank gaze of his. He was searching for something in Wei Wuxian’s features and Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure whether he would find it. All he could do was hope because he couldn’t explain further. Where Lan Zhan was selfless, Wei Wuxian was selfish. He could not risk Lan Zhan turning away from him for good. He did not know what he would do if he could no longer rely on Lan Zhan to be there.

And he would want to go. Nobody with Lan Zhan’s temperament would want to stay. No other first would want a third like Wei Wuxian, not even Lan Zhan, and Wei Wuxian wouldn’t even be able to blame him. What was there to blame when Wei Wuxian was the abhorrent one? He made himself sick if he thought too long and hard about himself.

“Please, Lan Zhan,” he said.

Lan Zhan said nothing. Didn’t move. Didn’t do anything except turn his stare down to the herbs in his hands. Wei Wuxian wasn’t one to beg, but he begged now, grabbing hold of Lan Zhan’s arm, nails digging into the thick fabric of his robes. “Please.” Where was that shameless quality for which Lan Zhan liked to berate him? He could find none of it in evidence now, felt so much shame that it threatened to swallow him up, drown him under an ocean’s worth of regret. “It’s nothing worse than that. I don’t want it. I don’t want to think about it, that’s all.”

Half of that was a lie. He did want it.

He was not relieved when Lan Zhan nodded, seemingly coming out of a trance as he continued preparing the herbs for Wei Wuxian, saying nothing until finally, finally: “Okay,” spoken in his usual tone of voice.

The bright, dappled sunlight of Yunmeng warmed Wei Wuxian’s skin as he lazed on the sandy beach of the tiny spit of land that sat in the heart of Lotus Pier’s most famed lake. He was alone on this little island and he was content to hum to himself as the hours passed, naked skin caressed by light breezes. Perfect in every way.

The slow thrum of arousal pulsed inside of him, gentle and meandering, like the sun-warmed water lapping at the shore.

There wasn’t a sect that did seclusion during heat cycles better than Yunmeng Jiang, that was for sure. He was endlessly lucky to have been retrieved in his childhood from the streets by Jiang Fengmian for this reason alone. How much worse would it be if he was forced to stand beneath a freezing waterfall as they did in Gusu Lan? Or prick himself with burning needles as Qishan Wen did? And the less said about the saber fights of Qinghe Nie, the better.

This was the life, he decided. Who even needed a partner when he could have a few days to himself to do nothing more than enjoy himself in whichever way he wished to with no one to complain to him about it? No, this was clearly the most civilized way to go about it.

Some, even in liberal Lotus Pier, were embarrassed by these needs that overtook them once every three months or so, but Wei Wuxian was not one of them and never would be. Many considered the honing of suppressive techniques to be the highest form of cultivation and denied themselves these chances by practicing with other sects for part of the year or petitioning Jiang Fengmian to change his stance, which was you all are smart enough to figure out what you want for yourselves.

They, in Wei Wuxian’s opinion, were prudes of the highest order and would remove the best parts of themselves for no good reason. And all because they found it unseemly. Rather, they bought into the fact that everyone else considered it unseemly and allowed that to guide their lives instead of doing what they would. How sad they were.

Wei Wuxian laughed as he considered it and palmed himself lazily and—

And woke up, skin cold and clammy despite the robes wrapped around his shoulders and the quilt pulled up to his neck. Even Lan Zhan’s chest beneath his cheek did nothing to warm him. His pulse was strong, steady. Each deep inhalation and exhalation served in awful contrast to Wei Wuxian’s ragged gasps, his racing heart.

He shivered and drew closer and blinked pained tears from his eyes. Longing tugged so strongly in him that he felt he might be ripped in two from the force of it. Though he did not wish to disturb Lan Zhan, he was relieved when Lan Zhan’s eyes opened of their own accord and he pulled Wei Wuxian half on top of him, pressed his chin against the crown of Wei Wuxian’s head.

“Wei Ying,” he said and in those two words were so many of the things he didn’t say. That was always the way of things with Lan Zhan. So little contained so much.

He didn’t deserve Lan Zhan and Lan Zhan deserved the truth, which was not the warm, lazy days in Yunmeng of his youth.

Though Lan Zhan deserved the truth, he could not have it. Wei Wuxian guarded Lan Zhan’s love for him too selfishly to burden him with it.

“It’s nothing.” His fingers crept up Lan Zhan’s side and settled over his sternum, slipping beneath his robe, touch barely skimming the twisted ridge of skin that Wei Wuxian hated so deeply, knowing the pain that had driven Lan Zhan to doing that to himself. That scar was Wei Wuxian’s personal failings made manifest on Lan Zhan’s body. Nothing he could do would ever remove it. “Just a bad dream. I’m sorry I woke you.”

Shifting slightly, Lan Zhan swallowed, throat clicking audibly. “You didn’t.” It wasn’t accusatory, but it also sounded like maybe he saw through Wei Wuxian anyway. It was a sad assertion, so distant and lonely that Wei Wuxian had to do something to fill the aching void in his heart at the sound of it.

Tilting his head up, he pressed a kiss to the underside of Lan Zhan’s jaw, twisted until he was able to straddle Lan Zhan’s hips. Lan Zhan braced his hands against Wei Wuxian’s waist, fingers digging into his muscles, pulling him down to grind against Lan Zhan’s lap.

Arousal, real and intense, flashed white-hot through him, threatening to burn him from the inside out. It was nothing like in the dream he would have shared with Lan Zhan if he could.

“Lan Zhan, you’re so good,” he murmured, slipping his hand between their half-clothed bodies to wrap his hand around both of them, rocking in counterpoint and reveling in the feel of Lan Zhan against him, the small, unobtrusive sounds of pleasure Lan Zhan made whenever he touched him just the way he liked best, something he’d had to learn through trial and error because Lan Zhan always said that he liked everything Wei Wuxian did to him even though that couldn’t possibly be true.

It wasn’t everything they could have had with one another, but as Lan Zhan spilled into his hand, himself following after, it was more than Wei Wuxian could have ever expected for himself after…

No time to think on that when he needed to clean them both up, right?

“Thank you,” he whispered into Lan Zhan’s hair when he was certain Lan Zhan had gone back to sleep. If he stayed where he was, chest to chest with Lan Zhan, arms pillowed across Lan Zhan’s collarbone, the hours passing in a molasses-slow trickle as Wei Wuxian watched Lan Zhan sleep, that was just fine. Lan Zhan didn’t wake up anyway and he didn’t complain beyond staring, aggrieved, when Wei Wuxian rolled aside immediately when he woke up, right on time at five in the heavens-cursed morning, and curled against his own pillow to feign a further need for rest while Lan Zhan worked diligently through his morning ablutions. There was no fooling Lan Zhan, he supposed, no matter how firmly or theatrically he closed his eyes, only to open them again when Lan Zhan wasn’t looking.

At least he didn’t notice the way Wei Wuxian watched him through the wayward strands of his hair that fell across his forehead and he made sure his eyes were shut again when Lan Zhan passed close and delicately brushed his fingers over Wei Wuxian’s cheeks and lips.

Pretending to groan sleepily, he turned his face into his pillow and swallowed back the lump in his throat.

Lan Zhan was going to kill him with such tender touches. He really, really was.

“Have you tried it yet?” a young man was saying at a table next to theirs as they ate breakfast, body half stretched toward the other young man he was speaking with. His voice was scandalously low, but Wei Wuxian overheard him anyway and from the twitch of Lan Zhan’s brow—no doubt a result of witnessing the man speaking with his mouth full—Lan Zhan was hearing it, too.

They couldn’t be more than seventeen, Wei Wuxian thought with a pang of nostalgia.

“No!” the other one said, sharp, “and don’t talk like that. It’s gross. Chew first.”

Wei Wuxian broke into a delighted grin. He liked this one. Reminded him of Lan Zhan if Lan Zhan were more vocal.

“I tried it,” the first said, proud, stretching even further to stab the second in the shoulder, shoving him backward and nearly tumbling him in his enthusiasm. “It feels incredible! You know that girl from the wine shop?” He made a noise that would be best classified as obscene. His voice went dreamy and distant as though he was reliving a particularly exciting assignation. “It was her.”

The second coughed and whacked the first with his chopsticks, eliciting a yowl of pain as he rubbed the back of his hand. “It won’t happen again if you don’t develop manners. She could break you in half if she wanted to and now you’re talking about her to me?”

“You’ll understand when you find a good first to take you,” he answered sagely, now patting the second on the arm, at which point Wei Wuxian choked and then felt the equivalent of cold, icy water spill down his back as he realized what they were actually talking about and how much he suddenly didn’t want to overhear the particulars. Oh, no. This was not a run of the mill experience the young man was recounting. His heart slammed against his chest. How bold this new generation had gotten. If Wei Wuxian had said anything at all about his first first—not that he’d had anyone other than Lan Zhan and not like that—he would have been switched from here to hell and back. He didn’t dare look at Lan Zhan, though even the fleeting glimpse he got of Lan Zhan’s frozen features was enough.

But Lan Zhan wasn’t embarrassed by the chatter the way Wei Wuxian was, no. Devastation ravaged his features to such a degree that he was almost unrecognizable. By the time Wei Wuxian worked up the courage to look at him again, though, he’d regained his composure, cool and mirror-calm as a glacial lake on a windless day. If Wei Wuxian wanted to, he could pretend he didn’t see his face the first time, could pretend he didn’t know that something about that conversation had hurt Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian was too good at poking at things, though, to not push.

“Lan Zhan?” he asked, far more discreetly than the young man who was still speaking far too much for such a public venue. When he leaned toward his companion, he ensured he could not be overheard. “What’s wrong?”

As far as he knew, Lan Zhan was not interested in heats, in performing as a first would for a third or having a third to the same for him, as any good Lan disciple would not wish to. It was the one area in which he’d never broken a rule and never even hinted that he might want to. He was one of those stuffy cultivators Wei Wuxian used to mock, practicing meditation to rid himself of the needs nature had instilled in him, transcending his basest desires in order to better perfect his martial skills. These days, he barely needed the suppressive teas upon which Wei Wuxian was forced entirely to rely, his own life and Lan Zhan’s in the hands of a handful of bitter herbs steeped in too hot water four times a year for weeks at a time to ensure not a single moment did he tip over into…

Into something he would not be able to control.

“No,” Lan Zhan said, eyes flashing, hand tightening around the small porcelain cup in his hand. When he let go, it nearly tipped over. A small amount of tea splashed across the table and Lan Zhan, for once in his life, either did not notice or didn’t care. Uncomfortable with the sight of it, Wei Wuxian wiped it up with his sleeve quickly, a little more at ease once it was gone.

“No? No what?” Wei Wuxian scooted around the side of the table and sat very near to Lan Zhan, leaning into his space. He didn’t push Wei Wuxian away at least. “No, nothing’s wrong? No—”

“No,” he repeated. When he pushed himself to his feet, he almost kneed Wei Wuxian in the face, but he was too graceful for that, too aware of his surroundings to do more than get very near to it. Wei Wuxian moved to follow him, except he noticed Lan Zhan didn’t stop to pay and so he was forced to rummage around in his own pouch for settle their bill. By the time he’d squared it, Lan Zhan was long gone, no sign of him anywhere on the dusty street outside.

Stubborn man, Wei Wuxian thought, angry at himself and those young men as worry ate away at the hard-earned good mood he’d nurtured through breakfast. A part of him wanted to go back and berate those children for their carelessness and the rest of him envied how easy they had it, how lucky they were that they could just find a first with the snap of their fingers and not ever concern themselves about the consequences.

Wei Wuxian wondered if maybe Lan Zhan regretted this situation as much as Wei Wuxian did. He’d known ever since he’d realized what he felt for Lan Zhan was love that he would forever be forced to mourn this one thing. He’d never stopped to consider the possibility that Lan Zhan would, too.

In truth, the only thing that got him through mostly unscathed was knowing Lan Zhan didn’t care, that Wei Wuxian was safe from one disappointment because what use did Lan Zhan have for a third and all the baggage such a partnership entailed? But what if he was wrong? What if Lan Zhan did want a third? He’d put aside so many other aspects of gentlemanly cultivation practices in his time—for such an upstanding member of the community, he had a wider roguish streak than Wei Wuxian, who cared far too much even when he walked his own lonely roads—perhaps he also cared more for this than Wei Wuxian had ever known.

“Lan Zhan,” he said to no one in particular, receiving no response either, frowning down both paths Lan Zhan could have taken. It was entirely likely that he hadn’t gone back to the inn, but Wei Wuxian didn’t have any better ideas about where he might have gone instead. Neither of them were terribly familiar with the area. Better to wait. Lan Zhan wouldn’t actually abandon him here no matter that his heart spilled poison in his chest which said otherwise.

The closer he got to their lodgings, the more despondence he felt.

If that was what Lan Zhan wanted, Wei Wuxian could not give it to him, not like that.

If that was what he wanted, Wei Wuxian would have to stand aside and allow him to have it even if it meant having it with another person. That happened sometimes, when lovers were that incompatible. Some attempted seclusion with one another to find a better balance, but that wasn’t a solution for Wei Wuxian. There could be no balance with him.

He wasn’t surprised when he didn’t find Lan Zhan in their room, but he was disappointed, so much so that the deep, strangled breath as he stepped inside almost twisted itself into a wail, barely controlled except at the last moment when it turned into a shuddering gasp and then nothing at all.

He busied himself with preparing their things for the trip they’d be taking into the mountains. Lan Zhan’s was already mostly handled. It was only Wei Wuxian’s own gear, the nearly endless supply of blank talismans he required, the repair kit for his flute, his spare robes which he hadn’t yet scrubbed clean of their last round of road dirt that needed to be dealt with.

And, of course, the herbs he hadn’t yet mixed or tested in a bit of water for efficacy.

Sighing, resentful—and all the more unhappy for it because how could he change any of this, really, what good did his resentment do now—he sat heavily in the center of the room, materials gathered around him. He’d learned enough over the years to tell when he’d gotten what he was looking for and when he didn’t. Whenever he consumed a correctly made tea, he could feel it in his chest, both welcome and terrifying, like he was smothering the most important part of himself, not so different from dying really, something he sadly had more than enough experience with that, too, and could genuinely compare the experiences.

Dipping his finger in each herb in turn, he felt the way they worked, marveled at the quality anew. As much as he hated it, he was at least relieved to realize he’d be safe taking these, perhaps more than safe. He’d never seen a few of them in the flesh before, sacred marrowroot in particular, and now he wondered how he’d ever gotten along without it and how he’d secure it going forward.

The numbing quality was instantaneous even though he was barely on the fringes of his upcoming heat. Even with the added stress of their hunt in these mountains, he was certain he wouldn’t have any problems at all.

Incredible. Perhaps there was one good thing to come out of this and it was Wei Wuxian’s discovery of an even better brew than the one he’d taken before. This would be precious and he would guard it with his life if it was every bit as good steeped at full strength as he thought it would be.

He was busy brewing a small cup when Lan Zhan came back, perfectly pristine and looking not at all like he’d done the equivalent of storming out on Wei Wuxian over a conversation happening at another table. His eyes were clear and Wei Wuxian thought he saw a hint of repentance in them, repentance that was neither wanted nor expected because Wei Wuxian was the one at fault here. Lan Zhan made as though to approach, taking one step forward, before he stopped again.

“Wei Ying,” he said, serious and somber, taking Wei Wuxian’s attention away from what he was doing. Though Lan Zhan didn’t say it, Wei Wuxian knew he needed to tread carefully and so he said nothing, understanding all to well how he might inadvertently hurt Lan Zhan with careless words. If he did that when Lan Zhan was already so on edge, who knew what would happen?

Wei Wuxian might have to chase him down in the streets. The indignity would be too much for the both of them to stand.

Whatever Lan Zhan asked him, he would answer. Whatever Lan Zhan said, he would accept it. That was the silent vow he made to the both of them in this moment. Except for the one thing, he would give Lan Zhan any answer he wished.

Wei Wuxian, in turn, would not question him for his unexpected disappearance from the tea house. He would allow Lan Zhan this privacy to do with as he wished, take it on faith that Lan Zhan would speak if he needed to.

“How long have you suppressed?” was what Lan Zhan finally asked, eyes honed on him, turning him into little more than prey for Lan Zhan to stalk. It wasn’t the question Wei Wuxian was expecting, though it was too near to the truth to be a relief. Whatever Lan Zhan had thought about while he was alone, it had circled around this one thing.

He’d promised himself he would give Lan Zhan an answer, but the words wouldn’t come. Even as he licked his lips and formed them in his mind, they did not sit easily on his tongue. He knew the answer down to the day. It would not be revealing too much to tell him, though the timing was damning, so very damning. That was one of the running themes of Wei Wuxian’s life, though. Everything he did looked far more suspicious than it was.

“Wei Ying, please,” Lan Zhan said and it was an ultimatum as much as it was a plea. If Wei Wuxian did not answer, something here would be fundamentally broken. “I don’t ask you for much.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes closed and he released a pained, rasping breath. Even if he suspected something especially amiss based on the answer, he would not know it for certain.

Staring down at his hands, Wei Wuxian nodded. It was true. Lan Zhan didn’t ask him for much, not in return for the loyalty he’d shown ever since Wei Wuxian’s return, as though he intended to make up for the way he’d seemed to be against him in the past. It wasn’t anything Wei Wuxian had asked him for, that loyalty, not in so many words, and Lan Zhan had paid so dearly for it that Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but mourn the placid life Lan Zhan might have had instead if Wei Wuxian was not the Yiling Patriarch, reputation forever tarnished no matter how much good he did, hoping perhaps not to tarnish Lan Zhan, too.

“After Lotus Pier,” Wei Wuxian admitted. He didn’t have to say it was after he lost his golden core. That was self-evident. But here was where it was certain he’d get himself into trouble. This was the difficult admission. “Well before we met in Yiling.”

To Lan Zhan, that was at least twenty years now, but to Wei Wuxian, it was only five maybe. He couldn’t even begin to theorize what dying might have done to his heat cycles, but even all the way back when he first lost his golden core, he knew there was something different about it. His death might have exasperated the problem, but it would have been a problem regardless. Which was why he’d put a stop to them then, didn’t hesitate after that first disastrous experience a month or so after he fought his way out of the Burial Mounds.

Lan Zhan reacted accordingly, putting his hand out to brace himself against the entryway. It was a subtle gesture, mostly hidden by the folds of his robe, but it told Wei Wuxian everything he needed to know about how much the answer surprised him. Artificially suppressing heats was never meant to be a long-term solution. He wouldn’t have had reason to know that Wei Wuxian suppressed back then and they weren’t together for long enough after he resurrected for the question to come up. Then Lan Zhan had spent over a year in the Cloud Recesses while Wei Wuxian occasionally swung his way back to visit, always when it was safest, in the hopes that this would be the time Lan Zhan would finally be able to come with him again.

So at most, he might have guessed half that time from observation, which was still not the ideal for those who weren’t specifically training, but not so unusual for roving cultivators such as himself. But five years. Five was a lot. Five was too much according to Lan Zhan if the severity of his expression was any good measure.

Five would seem impossible to someone who hadn’t lived it, to someone who could suppress using spiritual energy or actually allow themselves to enjoy the experience if they wanted to.

“Lan Zhan, it’s not a big deal,” he continued, awkward. He couldn’t explain that not suppressing it was worse. Not suppressing hurt so terribly. Compared to the alternative, it was easy. Especially now.

In fact, the sheer horror in Lan Zhan’s eyes might have been worse than the emptiness he felt when taking the teas.

“How long has it been since you began suppressing, huh?” Wei Wuxian asked. “I know you haven’t snuck away while we’ve been together.” You haven’t been out of my sight long enough. “You don’t see me looking at you like that!”

Lan Zhan blinked, face going blank as though he hadn’t realized what he looked like. “That’s different.” And sure, it was different, but not that different and Wei Wuxian didn’t want Lan Zhan’s pity regardless. This was reaping what you sowed at its purest, the longest lasting consequence of his past bad decisions. “Wei Ying. Don’t you…”

“No.” Wei Wuxian tipped his chin up, firmed his lips, stared at Lan Zhan, daring him to argue. “I don’t want another heat ever. You already know that. What else can I do but this in that case?”

Finally regaining his composure, Lan Zhan stepped into the room. “Wei Ying, why?”

Lan Zhan wasn’t a physician, so he wouldn’t know any particulars, though even physicians didn’t bother investigating heats all that much. The chances of Lan Zhan realizing just how intertwined cultivation and heats could be were slim, but he was smart and would put two and two together if Wei Wuxian explained too much. Wei Wuxian shouldn’t have opened his big mouth in the first place. “I just don’t and I can’t just learn how to suppress it the way you can. This is fine, all right? Worse things have happened to me.”

Lan Zhan opened his mouth as though to say something else and then firmly closed it again, features going pinched and unhappy. It was clear that he wanted to argue further, but it was equally clear, much to Wei Wuxian’s relief, that he didn’t intend to actually do so. For once, Wei Wuxian had won one of their arguments, it seemed, at least for the time being, since Lan Zhan simply turned away began dressing for bed, pulling off his clothes with a bit more ferocity than normal, but otherwise not pestering Wei Wuxian about suppression.

“We’ll be ready to head out in the morning if you want,” Wei Wuxian said, hoping that a change in subject might cut some of the tension Lan Zhan’s silence was leaving behind. “Unless you have other business in town that you’d like to pursue.”

Lan Zhan’s voice was muffled while he hung his robes over the privacy screen. “I don’t. We can go.”

Nodding, Wei Wuxian stared down at the cup and tipped it into his mouth. Though it was hot, steaming even now, it burned cold going down and settled like a stone behind his breastbone just the way it was supposed to, letting him know it was working. Lan Zhan turned toward him just in time to see him rub his own chest in reaction to it. His mouth twitched and his eyes grew even sadder. For a moment, Wei Wuxian wished he could go back to the days when he couldn’t read Lan Zhan’s features as easily as he could now. It was nearly unbearable to know what his expressions meant.

“Perhaps we should wait,” Lan Zhan said, dubious, turning again finally to look at Wei Wuxian. “If you have concerns.”

He was not angry. He wasn’t. Not at Lan Zhan. Just at having backed himself into this corner so stupidly. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “It’s over a week away anyway and this is stronger than I’m used to.” He scrubbed his hand across his arm and looked away. It made him nervous that Lan Zhan was asking him about this, like he should suddenly second guess himself. “And I’ve been drinking it over the last few weeks as well. With a fresh supply, I’m as safe from it as I need to be.” He nodded, grim and decisive. “I’ll be okay. I want to help these people. It won’t be an issue.”

It was sheer recalcitrance driving him now, but he was beyond caring.

“Fine.”

Frowning, Wei Wuxian stood and prepared for bed as well. ‘Fine’ wasn’t the reaction he was hoping for, but it was better than he should have expected and he wasn’t about to instigate for more.

There was one difference in this concoction. It made him sleepy. For the first time in a long while, Wei Wuxian beat Lan Zhan to turning in for the night.

I’m sorry, Lan Zhan, he thought as he slipped beneath the quilt and slid over so that Lan Zhan had enough room to lie down, too. The weave that stretched across the solid frame was hard and unyielding beneath his back, only eased by Lan Zhan’s body next to his when he finally turned in, too, not long after.

Though he remained stiff next to Wei Wuxian, he didn’t stop Wei Wuxian from curling close, didn’t shift away from him when he clutched at the thin fabric of Lan Zhan’s shirt.

He did not sleep easily or well, but he slept and could only assume that Lan Zhan did as well.

Lan Zhan woke him at seven, more generous than he could have been, but less so than Wei Wuxian ever truly liked. Groaning, he pushed himself upright and scrubbed his hand across his eyes as though that would wipe the lingering sense memory of his dreams from his mind. The iron tang of blood filled his mouth and it took him a startled moment to realize he’d bitten his tongue while he slept.

Dressed and yawning, Wei Wuxian trailed after Lan Zhan out of the inn, then toward the outskirts of town where he wrapped Wei Wuxian in his extra outer robes, not quite enough to stave off the chill, but nothing ever was.

After a few hours, Lan Zhan brought them down again. Even having tested Wei Wuxian’s endurance, they didn’t yet manage to make it to the next village.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, staring at him unhappily, his hands pressed to Wei Wuxian’s face, his shoulders. His fingers skimmed over Wei Wuxian’s lips. Each piece was part of his usual ritual after flying.

“I’m okay, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian answered, strafing his arms and jumping several times to increase his circulation. Heavens, heavens but he hated how inconvenient this all could be without a golden core.

Lan Zhan took over for him, rubbing his arms vigorously, then his neck, even tweaking his ears before ending with his hands, blowing on with gentle, warm-damp puffs. A sieve would have caught more water than Wei Ying benefitted from the spiritual energy Lan Zhan poured into him while he did this, but no amount of arguing stopped him from wasting it anyway. He firmed his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering; he would keep whatever was left of his dignity.

Swooning dramatically, he wrapped his arms around Lan Zhan’s waist. “I’ll be warmer once we settle down for the night if Lan-er-gege starts a fire and lets me burrow into his robes while he’s still wearing them.”

It was a testament to Lan Zhan’s concern that he didn’t tell Wei Ying to do it himself since that was one of the few things left to him that he could do unassisted. Even without talismans, he could light a fire. It let him feel useful when there weren’t fierce corpses around to manipulate.

But no. Once twilight arrived and Lan Zhan found a patch of land that met his standards, he did all the work.

As soon as the fire was going, Wei Ying crouched in front of it and plucked herbs and his teapot from within his bag. The fire roared with an almost jaunty alacrity and Wei Ying found himself jealous of its freedom to crackle and burn away, most things too smart to get close to it.

Not like Lan Zhan, stupid man, who disappeared to retrieve water from the nearby stream because he knew Wei Ying was going to ask for it next, but came right back moments later and knelt within a hair’s breadth of Wei Wuxian’s body.

Not like Wei Wuxian, selfish man, who knew better and still reached out to touch one that shouldn’t have been his at all.

He brewed the strongest pot of tea yet and downed it all in scalding bursts until it was all gone and his tongue throbbed from being so cruelly scorched and it felt safe to grab hold of Lan Zhan in the orange-tinged dark, bullying him until he lifted Wei Wuxian’s robes and plastered himself to Wei Wuxian’s back and it was almost like he was a normal person again, the numbness hardly noticeable this time.

The knife’s edge Lan Zhan danced him on was pleasant rather than painful.

Without innkeepers and fellow guests to worry about, Wei Ying could yell as much as he wanted to, demand from Lan Zhan as much as he wanted to, without fear of reprisals or risking blows to the great Hanguang-jun’s reputation and he took advantage of that, as shameless as he knew how to be.

When Lan Zhan pinned him to the ground, he sighed and gave himself over to Lan Zhan’s ministrations until his touch was close to what Wei Wuxian wanted. This was easy to give in to.

“Harder.” He frowned and pushed back, punishing, against Lan Zhan’s cock, demanding, indignant, undignified. Lan Zhan’s hands, so warm compared to his own, wrapped around his wrists and held them tight against the scant bedding rolled out beneath him. His own hands fisted in the thin quilted fabric, straining the careful, elegant stitches, and he keened as Lan Zhan thrust deeper into him. With every motion, fresh sparks licked up his spine and threatened to set him on fire, just what he wanted. If only so he could be warm. “Lan Zhan, I need—”

Lan Zhan leaned forward, changing the angle of each stroke within him as his sweat-soaked chest aligned with Wei Wuxian’s back, and did the opposite, rolling his hips when Wei Wuxian wanted him to—to strike at him, make him burn, make him bleed, anything other than the slow, meandering pace Lan Zhan suddenly set for him, like he had nothing better to do than make Wei Wuxian suffer, but not in a way that hurt physically, no. It was so much worse simply because Lan Zhan wouldn’t let himself go.

Who ever heard of one such as him taking his time like this?

Those sparks Wei Wuxian had felt before fizzled. Without Lan Zhan there to drive every thought from his head, those self-same thoughts struggled free from within the chained confines of his mind, heedless of what he and Lan Zhan were doing, the care Lan Zhan showed to him. This is wrong. You’re wrong. You’re holding him back. Let him go. Don’t drag him down with you. Don’t.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, sharp, as his nails dug into the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrists. It wouldn’t draw blood, but at that moment Wei Wuxian wasn’t above wishing it would. “Stop.”

I’m not doing anything, Wei Wuxian didn’t say. Couldn’t say, because Lan Zhan removed one of his hands and wrapped it around Wei Wuxian’s softening cock, stealing the words from his mouth. At the touch, Wei Wuxian buried his face in the pillow because if Lan Zhan was going to be the odd first who made love with slow deliberation, then Wei Wuxian could only be the even more tragic third who couldn’t come without assistance while being taken in this way. A certain class of romance story would call him a failure, would consider this a sure sign that the relationship in question deserved to fall apart. Only those who were not suited couldn’t reach a natural climax with one another.

Wei Wuxian did not cry to think of this, for all that tears of frustrated need prickled at the corner of his eyes. Stories were only stories and this wasn’t the first time Lan Zhan had touched him like this. It wasn’t even the third or fifth or tenth. It happened so often that Wei Wuxian had long ago memorized the shape of Lan Zhan’s hand around him and he loved the feel of it, loved everything they did. It wasn’t wrong for them to do this and Wei Wuxian knew it wasn’t wrong, but shame gnawed at him anyway. What would it be like to just once get it right?

Lan Zhan’s grip was gentle in the same way hypothermia could be gentle. As long as you were willing to succumb, it was easy to let go. There were worse ways to die.

Writhing, Wei Wuxian groaned, no closer to climax no matter how diligently Lan Zhan applied himself. There was no way for him to pretend his way to completion, but he couldn’t—not if Lan Zhan didn’t—

“Please,” he begged. His voice was pitched high, a hysterical edge turning it into something unrecognizable, inhuman. “Please, Lan Zhan, I—”

“No.” He moved like he could do this for however long he saw fit. Someone could find them like this days from now and Wei Wuxian will perish from the disgrace and Lan Zhan might still be working away at him, waiting for something that could not happen. “Like this.”

“I can’t.” His body trembled to no avail, but he might as well have been talking to a brick wall. Nobody was more stubborn than Lan Zhan when he got an idea in his head. “I can’t, Lan Zhan.” If he wanted this to stop, he’d have to say so, would have to tell him, but the word wouldn’t form on his tongue, couldn’t be spit out from between his teeth. He couldn’t do this and yet he couldn’t do anything else either. He was here until Lan Zhan let him go free or he rejected Lan Zhan’s touch entirely and the latter just wasn’t possible. He would not take this from Lan Zhan, too. There was already too much distance between them. “You have to—”

“I do not.”

Perhaps this was the punishment he deserved.

“I’m not going to—it won’t…” An unnatural whine stole the rest of his plea. It hurt. This hurt. And not in the way Wei Wuxian wanted it to, not in any way that would help. This only succeeded in cracking his heart open to spill his despondence across their bedding. The tears he promised would not fall did exactly that, soaking the pillow as he took a handful of hitching breaths, yet another way that he was betraying himself. Pressure built inside of him, but the cage made up of his flesh and muscle and bone would not allow for its release and all through it Lan Zhan slid in and in and in, over and over, like he was a machine and that machine’s only job was keeping Wei Wuxian pinned here until he gave himself up. Even Lan Zhan’s hand moved with mechanical precision, touched him in just the ways he normally liked and couldn’t now stand.

All the while his mind drummed away at the knowledge that it shouldn’t be this way, that this should feel good, that he should be happy like this, the way he always used to be. It was Lan Zhan who was with him and that was the only thing that mattered. He should be grateful, because Lan Zhan deserved better, but still chose him in the end, still wanted this with him even though Wei Wuxian was half the partner he should have been.

If the world was a just place, Lan Zhan would have remained Chief Cultivator and been supremely satisfied with the position, guiding those around him to be more principled than they were. Maybe he would find a mate who didn’t come to him already broken and they could fulfill one another’s desires easily, safe in the knowledge that neither of them had cultivated a crooked path and then found themselves continuing to pay for it every time they touched. Or maybe Lan Zhan wouldn’t have been happy to remain Chief Cultivator. Maybe Zewu-jun would have still taken over once he’d healed enough in his grief to reclaim his place and Lan Zhan would have wandered wherever he pleased, finding companionship by a stroke of luck somewhere, the rest of the story the same. A lovely jewel of a story, gleaming and strong and reflecting pure, bright light for the world. Just what Lan Zhan deserved after the hell Wei Wuxian put him through all those years ago and even now, even still.

This couldn’t be making him happy.

“Stop,” Lan Zhan was saying again, the tone cracking against Wei Wuxian’s back. A verbal whipping, though, would not be enough. Even if Lan Zhan committed more words to the cause, it wouldn’t be enough.

His tongue grew fat and numb in his mouth as he bit it bloody, an iron-salt tang flooding his mouth. His lips will be bruised and swollen by the time they’re done here, a sign he would be unable to hide. This was already an embarrassment to him. Nerves were never meant to be exposed, yet here he was, a brutally open wound. What would Lan Zhan read in the viscera, he wondered?

Falling silent, he breathed deeply until the tears dried and his thoughts were reduced to stop, stop, stop, a relief compared to the twists and turns of his thoughts before. Stop. Stop. Stop.

He would try for Lan Zhan.

He went limp, bracing all of his weight on his elbows, stopped thinking about everything except Lan Zhan’s hand on him.

It twisted in just the way Wei Wuxian loved best when he was in a better frame of mind, certain and indulgent, perfectly timed to match his last thrust, his deepest since they started. A thin thread of pleasure wound through the gesture and pulled at his heart. This wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be enough. His every thought and purpose narrowed down to—

Half out of his mind, he turned his head into Lan Zhan’s arm, the one still holding him in place and kissed at the gently arcing curve of his bicep, kissed until he sucked a mark into his skin, bit until Lan Zhan inhaled sharply, bit again until teeth tore skin.

Orgasm caught Wei Wuxian so deeply by surprise that he gasped and spilled weakly into Lan Zhan’s hand, his body unsure what to do either.

Spent in so offhand a manner, he couldn’t manage much more than a huff of air as he pressed his face into the quilt, the taste of Lan Zhan’s blood on his tongue no matter how many times he spat into the dirt or scrubbed his hand across his mouth after yanking his hands free from Lan Zhan’s startled grip.

Wei Wuxian scrambled out from under Lan Zhan, still hard, and twisted around to grab at him, inspect the ragged wound with what little light the moon and stars and the fire which had burned to a mere smolder provided. Outlined in dark red blood was the shape of his teeth, marring the perfect stretch of skin around it.

Lan Zhan’s touch was delicate as he lifted his hand to brush his fingers through Wei Wuxian’s hair. His erection wilted, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but notice, bitterly, but he seemed neither perturbed nor particularly put out by his lack of release. His gaze was too intently focused on Wei Wuxian to allow for any other considerations.

Expectation weighed heavily within the look, shading maybe toward disappointment.

Could Wei Wuxian blame him when he was disappointed in himself?

Something had to change here. Wei Wuxian had helped pioneer an entire cultivation path when he lost his golden core, picking up the pieces left behind by resentful old souls and the knowledge gleaned about other cultivators who’d started down such a path. If anyone could find a solution, it was him, but the thought of doing so without alerting Lan Zhan was so daunting that he immediately discarded the idea.

“Let me,” Wei Wuxian said, reaching for Lan Zhan.

“No.” Lan Zhan grabbed Wei Wuxian’s hand and held it close. “It’s okay. I don’t need it.”

He heard himself telling Lan Zhan not so very long ago that he didn’t want it and felt these words now as a slap across the face. Even the sweetness of Lan Zhan’s touch on his skin couldn’t assuage the sting of it. This was what Wei Wuxian had done to them; this was what he’d wrought.

It was almost enough to break the dam that kept Wei Wuxian’s admission behind his teeth. What was the worst thing that could happen if he confessed? Lan Zhan wasn’t likely to spurn him for something like this, not if he hadn’t spurned Wei Wuxian for the worst of what he did before. But the thought of watching Lan Zhan strive to find an answer for him was untenable. Watching Lan Zhan offer himself up as a sacrifice when Wei Wuxian explained was equally impossible.

He said nothing about the bite mark, nor how quickly Wei Wuxian came after doing it, but he was too smart not to have seen the two dots for what they were, perhaps connecting them together. What might he conclude from that?

The truth, possibly, a piece of it anyway.

If only he could rip his desires from his body the way Wen Qing ripped his golden core from it, that would have been the best solution.

The scar tissue where she lived in his heart and memory pulled uncomfortably, tore and bled in his chest. He could use her extensive medical library now, her skills, both long gone, to help him now. She might talk sense into him. The only one who could was she and even that was only on occasion.

She will haunt his dreams tonight. That was a foregone conclusion.

Lan Zhan brushed back a tendril of Wei Wuxian’s sweat-lank bangs and then rose to grab a dampened linen and their under robes, returning quickly and efficiently cleaning them both while the fight drained entirely from Wei Wuxian. “Lan Zhan, you should treat that—”

“It will be fine until morning,” Lan Zhan replied, pulling Wei Wuxian down next to him.

“Fine.” Breathing through his mouth to avoid the lingering scent of blood, probably only psychological at this point, as the mark was no longer bleeding and the first thing Lan Zhan did was wipe away what was there, Wei Wuxian curled into his side, ear pressed against Lan Zhan’s chest. The strong, even rhythm of his heartbeat was soothing, as good as when Lan Zhan played the guqin for him.

When they awoke the next morning, bright and early, Wei Ying only faltered a little bit, yawning and tripping over his feet as he rambled and ranged around Lan Zhan as they walked the handful of hours it would take them to reach the next town. It wasn’t so bad, really, bad dreams barely clinging to him, though his thoughts remained tinged in red.

The tales here were a little more gruesome, more detailed, north and north and north the tales carried more woe, more pain, more strife as they moved on. The herbalist he’d spoken with first didn’t know even half of it, her news so out of date.

It was like this with every new village they found, splitting their time between walking and flying. Though they couldn’t fly as long as a normal cultivator or pair of cultivators would, they made up the time on foot.

When they reached a town so ravaged by death that Wei Wuxian didn’t think a single person in the tiny village had escaped the consequences of such a beast, he figured they had to be close.

He swallowed, nerves prickling as he exchanged a look with Lan Zhan.

Three days by sword, almost down to the hour.

“You’re exhausted,” Lan Zhan was saying as they approached the ramshackle tea house toward the center of town. It was clearly unused to visitors, with a proprietor who was ill-prepared for them. It served also as an inn according to the sign, but it wouldn’t be a surprise to Wei Wuxian if they soon discovered they would be unable to stay. Anyone else who came had family probably or friends, people they’d grown close to over the course of years spent canvassing the mountains for herbs and game and other important resources.

Or so Wei Wuxian assumed. What did he really know? He spent his early childhood scraping by on city streets and then lived within one of the liveliest areas within the entire cultivation world. In Yunmeng, they were not as those in Lanling, but that did not mean they were deprived by any stretch. Even Caiyi Town in sedate Gusu was a thriving city center compared to this.

Wide-eyed gazes followed them as they stepped inside and whispers caught on the cool breeze that trailed them in, more attention approaching on quick steps as onlookers hovered in the doorway. Are they cultivators? Did cultivators finally come? What do we do? Should we—?

“I’m fine,” Wei Wuxian answered, ignoring the attention from Lan Zhan and the locals, but his body betrayed him with a yawn, and when he looked at his hand after covering his mouth, it was paler than he was used to, almost gaunt, except for the skin stretched thin and fragile across his knuckles, which were chapped red by the cold. Compared to him, Lan Zhan was summer incarnate. A healthy flush rode hide on his cheeks, but he looked perfectly comfortable. “Let’s just… find out what the locals know, huh?”

“Wei Ying, arrange accommodations for the night, order a bath. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Wei Wuxian searched Lan Zhan’s features for signs of strife or anger, anything to suggest Wei Wuxian’s actions of several nights ago had made a single dent other than the fading mark of his teeth in his skin. Nothing. It was like it didn’t happen or that he didn’t mind that it had.

If that was the case, he would just have to trust Lan Zhan, since he didn’t give Wei Wuxian anything else to go on. So what if he never went off on his own this way? It was just coincidental timing.

And Wei Wuxian realized he didn’t have it in him to argue anymore. Maybe it was better this way. Lan Zhan could have a few hours to himself in order to… Wei Wuxian didn’t even know, but he could offer him that much with a degree of the grace Lan Zhan usually exerted on his behalf. And he was tired, it was true. “Fine, fine. Accommodations. Bath. Back soon. Got it. You find out what the locals know then.”

It was lucky that the proprietor could take care of their needs, even the bath, though he’d suggested it might take some time since he was the only one able to procure it. That, too, was fine with Wei Wuxian.

True to his word, Lan Zhan returned shortly, so quickly that he and the owner hadn’t even had time to fully haul the necessary hot water back to the single tiny room. The smallest downward slant of his mouth told Wei Wuxian that the news was bad, but when he tried to get clarification, Lan Zhan stubbornly refused and merely took the last of the buckets from both his hand and the proprietor’s before returning them both to the latter after the contents were dumped in the basin.

“Let me wash your hair for you,” he said instead, once the proprietor was gone, deflecting with an act that he so rarely indulged in that Wei Wuxian couldn’t say no despite sensing the manipulation for what it was. They almost never had time for this sort of thing on the road. And they were always on the road except for when they returned to the Cloud Recesses for a short visit and even then the days were filled with duties and responsibilities and maybe, maybe ensuring the juniors had a little bit of fun somewhere between their studies and boring meals and even stuffier rules.

“Fine,” Wei Wuxian said, resigned. The ache of his fatigue was more mental than physical in this case. The thought of even trying to argue with Lan Zhan again nearly pulled him under. “If that is what the great Hanguang-jun wants, who is this lowly one to disallow it?”

It was when Lan Zhan relaxed minutely that Wei Wuxian should have known he was truly in trouble. Lan Zhan normally wore his stubbornness like a badge of honor or an indefatigable, indestructible shield.

If he was a little sharper, he might have guessed that Lan Zhan’s reaction was something more.

It was, he’d later guess, relief.

By the time Wei Wuxian asked him again what he’d found out, he was only half listening to Lan Zhan’s words. Spoken in such a soothing tone while Lan Zhan touched him so gently? Who would blame him for letting it all wash over him than pay attention to more than the most basic details. A forest. Night-time attacks. Claws. Nothing so unusual for them.

“A bear, surely,” he mumbled as Lan Zhan rubbed warm circles into his temples.

This time, Lan Zhan didn’t contradict him with the full, terrible truth.

It sometimes surprised Wei Wuxian how often he and Lan Zhan were able to avoid getting into trouble given how historically bad both of them were at avoiding trouble to begin with. Considering, too, how often they went out of their way to find it, the fact that they came through their various hunts and skirmishes unscathed was a testament to how well they worked together now. It was like all that good fortune they never had in the past had given them a surplus of it now, allowing each of them to enjoy easier days than they should have expected. Wei Wuxian’s current issue aside, things had been good for them.

Maybe it was a little bit also that Lianfang-zun was no longer around to interfere in the entire cultivation world’s affairs and Nie Huaisang no longer felt the need to play puppet master to enact his revenge, hypothetically anyway, since no one could pin a damned thing on him and Wei Wuxian only had his suspicions to guide him as far from the Unclean Realm has he could get.

Ghouls, corpses, and demons were nothing compared to the destruction Wei Wuxian was certain only those two could have wrought. People always had been the worst beings in the world when it came to hurting others.

It was a good thing Sect Leader Nie’s grandest ambition encompassed painting the most beautiful fans in existence and otherwise leaving others to conduct martial exercises and training, otherwise the Nie Sect might’ve ended up as some kind of unholy union of the worst of the Wen Sect’s ruthlessness with the best of Jin Sect’s wiles.

The point was simply this: they rarely ran into true problems on night hunts, no matter how much Wei Wuxian might worry about his own issues. And that was great! Perfect! Wonderful!

It was all of those things up until the moment Wei Wuxian woke in the middle of the night to find Lan Zhan gone, Bichen gone, his bag gone, everything that mattered to Wei Wuxian: gone.

And, worse, the mat was cold, leeched long ago of whatever heat Lan Zhan’s body might have imbued into it while he was there.

To say Wei Wuxian was frustrated would be an understatement, especially when his nerves were already prickling with irritation as a matter of course. No matter how much he suppressed, there was only so much that could be done about the snappish monster that wrapped itself around his throat, not real anywhere except in Wei Wuxian’s mind, the image he conjured for himself when he thought about his heats and tried to manage the emotional side-effects. There wasn’t a tea in the world that could put him in a good mood. That was more Lan Zhan’s thing. Now, Emperor’s Smile, that might have been a different matter if he was willing to mix the two.

Back again to the point. Points were important. Going tromping after Lan Zhan in these conditions was… less than optimal.

Really fucking stupid if he was being entirely honest. If Lan Zhan had said something, at least he wouldn’t have to be this peevish about it.

But Lan Zhan never snuck away in the night.

Something was wrong or Lan Zhan was lying and Lan Zhan did not lie.

So something could only be desperately wrong and who else but Wei Wuxian could help? They’d traveled to such a remote region that few with the skills they needed would come here. The chances of Lan Zhan finding assistance that didn’t come attached to Wei Wuxian were slim, nearly zero. So improbable that Wei Wuxian barely considered the consequences as he tripped his way across the dark room to grab Chenqing and pull his outer robes haphazardly around his frame before sprinting from said room. He patted his hip to ensure his kit was with him and was satisfied to find it attached firmly to his belt.

There was no one to ask once he stepped into the cold, inky night, but the only likely place for him to have gone was the nearby tree line—where else did monsters hide? And Lan Zhan did mention the forest earlier.

Catching himself on roots that seemed intent to snare him, nearly running into bushes and shrubs that appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Generally forests, even ones that were steeped in resentful energy, didn’t particularly want to eat anybody, but Wei Wuxian was having his doubts about this one.

Lan Zhan.

Everyone in the entire cultivation world knew for a fact that Lan Zhan was the most composed, mature cultivator in all the land except maybe for his older brother. Only Wei Wuxian was privileged enough to know the truth: Lan Zhan was intractably stubborn and got plenty of his own bad ideas and was willing to see them through to the end, come what would. Why else would he have remained so faithful to Wei Wuxian’s memory once Wei Wuxian died with no guarantee of a return? Who else would have risked ostracism and faced punishments and fucking branded himself because of Wei Wuxian, even when Wei Wuxian wasn’t there to appreciate those stupid acts of loyalty? Even at his worst, he would not have wanted Lan Zhan to do such foolish things.

Though he didn’t know why Lan Zhan came on his own, it wasn’t as out of character as Wei Wuxian would have wanted it to be.

If he was dead, Wei Wuxian was going to resurrect him and then kill him again. If he was hurt, Wei Wuxian was entirely certain he’d make sure Lan Zhan healed and then go through the trouble of hurting him all over again.

What if something truly awful had happened to Lan Zhan out here and what if it was something Wei Wuxian couldn’t help with? There were some evils in the world he couldn’t bend to his will and in those situations what good would his dizi be?

In truth, what good would he be?

“Lan Zhan,” he called to the trunks of a thousand shadowed trees. Though the canopy was thick, deepening the darkness almost beyond what his eyes could handle, at least there was no fog to further obscure his vision. His voice echoed back to him. As he picked his way carefully across the fallen branches and spongy moss, he heard answering creaks coming from all around him, like the creatures he couldn’t see were at least as afraid of him as he was of what he might find ahead of him.

None of those creaks sounded like the footfalls of his beloved.

It eased his mind a bit to know there were creatures here small enough that Wei Wuxian couldn’t see or sense them easily beyond the tiny, scrabbling sounds they made as they scurried about. Creatures were a better omen than finding nothing on these grounds at all.

“I’m going to find a pretty young thing and run away with them!” he yelled, because he didn’t know what else to say or how to convey what he really meant. “I’ll have their children and you’ll just be stuck here all by yourself!” In truth, he had no idea if he was capable of any such thing. Some like him could, ones Wei Wuxian considered lucky on his best days, but some could not and none of them had ever gone through the sort of things Wei Wuxian had, so chances were against him. It wouldn’t surprise him to find out he couldn’t, but that was one regret he didn’t need to cling to, not when he already had Lan Sizhui growing into a fine, young man back in the Cloud Recesses. Sometimes, though… “It’ll be very sad for you! I know how much you prefer open skies and meadows full of rabbits to creepy forests!”

More branches cracked underfoot, loud as claps of thunder in the night.

The more he walked, the colder it seemed to get, until a shiver forced its way down his spine and his skin prickled. These were the heaviest robes he had and still the air cut through them like so many vicious knives.

“Lan Zhan, if you don’t answer—”

A thud sounded from somewhere to his left, but when his head snapped that way, he saw nothing approaching, heard nothing else except quiet rustling. Straining to hear more, he counted out a handful of seconds. Nothing. The darkness was more than equal to keeping its own secrets.

He brought out a talisman and lit it. The light seared his eyes until he was used to it, bathing his surroundings in warm, orange light that flickered and cast ominous shadows across every surface. But it wasn’t enough, dying quickly in Wei Wuxian’s palm, the darkness winning out against this modest source of illumination. Pulling more talismans from within his bag, he cursed mentally and hurried toward the noise, only lighting another one when he couldn’t recall the landscape ahead of him as he ran. There was another thud and he was close enough to better tell where it was coming from and adjust his trajectory.

Thin, flexible branches struck him across the face and neck. His cheeks throbbed with dull, warm pain, ignored in the same way every one of his misgivings were ignored.

Another thud and a crash this time, like a tree snapping and falling. Wei Wuxian lit another talisman. Still nothing, still. But he had to be close. It had to be huge whatever it was.

A howl cut through the air and froze Wei Wuxian mid-step. It echoed so badly that Wei Wuxian couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Spinning frantically, he lit three talismans at once, searched in every direction. They already knew it was a creature and Lan Zhan’s reconnaissance here merely confirmed the probable location.

But nobody bothered mentioning what form the beast took. It was big and it was brutal, that was what they said and that was what Wei Wuxian thought they’d likely told Lan Zhan as well. Its jaws shattered bone. Its teeth tore through skin like paper. It lapped up blood as though it was water. The usual things beasts did.

It was, in fact, a beast. No doubt about it. And some flavor of canine. Making noise like that? It had to be. Couldn’t anyone have said that though?

Why didn’t anyone say that?

Maybe someone here did say it.

Every instinct in Wei Wuxian screamed at him to run, run far and fast. The beast couldn’t possibly have found him already. There was still a chance. He could pretend he didn’t know what Lan Zhan was hunting. Lan Zhan could handle a dog. If he was late, so what? Dogs were nothing to a cultivator as skilled as Lan Zhan. That howl came from a set of lungs that were far bigger than a normal dog, reminded Wei Wuxian of nothing so much as that hellish creature Wen Chao had owned once upon a time. Bigger, maybe, and growing by the second in Wei Wuxian’s imagination.

Lan Zhan could still handle it.

Was this the forest from which Wen Chao had managed to catch that abomination? It had to come from somewhere.

Wei Wuxian’s head swam suddenly.

Even as terror poured icy, scummy water down his spine, he was disgusted with himself for his thoughts. Lan Zhan would have dealt with this already if he could. There was something out of the ordinary about this beast or this beast had gotten lucky somehow. Either way, Lan Zhan needed his help. “Lan Zhan.” He was shivering as he spoke and his voice was thready with fear, unrecognizable even to himself. Unless Lan Zhan was very close, he wouldn’t even be able to hear it. What are you doing, Wei Wuxian? Stop it. It’s going to find you even faster if you keep talking. “You’re going to owe me so big. I’ll make you do that thing you think is so undignified. Twice.”

Twice was good. Twice was worth taking on a giant, evil dog. Twice was fair recompense for Wei Wuxian scaring himself shitless in the name of his most cherished loved one. “I’m going to tell this story forever to anyone who’ll listen about the time a dog beat you up. I’m going to bully you so badly.”

With shaking hands, he pulled Chenqing from his belt and nearly fumbled it in his haste to bring it to his mouth. His mind blanked of every melody he knew and every thought of how to succeed fled as he remembered that it was a dog that was out there prowling in the night. The only note he could sound was a weak, discordant one. Fuck, not a dog. He couldn’t keep reminding himself that it was a dog.

The Wei Wuxian of earlier, who was so comforted by the sound of tiny creatures scurrying around, was an idiot. What reason did small forest animals have to fear gargantuan dogs? They were beneath such a predator’s notice. Which probably explained why to some degree why the thing was willing to range so far for its prey. How could it subsist on mice or whatever crawled around out here?

If Wen Chao could stand against one of these things—if that was what it was—then so can you. It would be a stain on his heart forever if Wen Chao bested him at this so long after he’d died. Wei Wuxian could do it. He would do it, because anything else would be embarrassing and Lan Zhan would never kiss or embrace such an embarrassment.

But of course he did and of course he would, because Lan Zhan was stupid, but he couldn’t think of it that way. He really had to pretend that Lan Zhan’s love for him was on the line here.

At least Wei Wuxian would be an excellent distraction before death freed him from the terror of this experience. Lan Zhan would be able to get away. That was something.

The potency of the threat as well as his hopes for Lan Zhan’s escape carried him forward through ten or so steps and the length of one lit talisman. That last step didn’t really count, though, because it was interrupted halfway through by a growl that came attached to foul, hot breath that gusted in Wei Wuxian’s face and stole the startled shout from his mouth. On that step, he stumbled backward and fell on his ass, only saving Chenqing from destruction by sacrificing his elbow to the hard packed dirt instead. Pain burst up his arm so acute he forgot about the dog for a handful of blissful seconds before numbness radiated from shoulder to wrist.

He didn’t need a talisman to see the scant moonlight that reflected in the thing’s eyes. Having fought through the dense foliage of the canopy, that moonlight just had to choose this moment to utilize itself so effectively. They would have been beautiful, those liquid gold eyes sparkling in the dark, if not for everything else about this moment that was not beautiful.

The talisman did give him an excellent view of the long, sharp teeth capped in frothing saliva, though.

Ah, his voice. There it was. Now that it was returned to him, there was only one thing left to do and he did it until he tasted blood in the back of his throat.

He screamed.

Scrambling, Wei Wuxian’s back hit something solid and prickly, a tree, maybe, the surface scratching skin that shouldn’t have been exposed, shouldn’t have—shouldn’t—

“Wei Ying!” And just the sound of those syllables made him flinch. What did it mean? Who was Wei Ying? What was—his heels dug into the dirt as he pushed himself backbackback, but he couldn’t get any higher, not unless he turned and climbed, but he couldn’t turn his back on it, could he? Something bad would happen if he turned, but something bad would happen if he stayed here. He couldn’t stay here. There were—

There was a dog! If he turned, it would—he couldn’t outrun it. He couldn’t climb out of its range. He couldn’t—

“Wei Ying.”

A hand—hand, not a paw, not claws, not teeth—fell on his shoulder, five warm points of contact across his muscles, a thumb and four fingers, not a paw, not a paw, not a paw, and shook lightly. It didn’t hurt, not like he’d been hurting, still and always, always hurt. “Wei Ying, open your eyes.”

Another hand caressed his face. It’s not a dog.

But if he opened his eyes, all he’d see was the creature that had been chasing him. It was there. Somewhere. This was just a trick of some sort, a delaying tactic. A way to ensure his complacency. If he didn’t look, it couldn’t get him. It couldn’t see him if he couldn’t see it. Or at least he could pretend he would be fine until it ripped him to pieces. He wouldn’t have to know he was—that it would—

“Wei Ying, please.” There was a plaintive note now in that voice that cut for one brief moment through everything else, a reprieve from the fear that threatened to drown him. The hand on his shoulder disappeared for a moment, pulled at something, and suddenly he was a little warmer than before. “You killed it. It’s over. You’re safe.”

Safe? When in his life had he ever been safe? Shuddering, he shook his head. “No. I’m not. It’s not…”

That voice cracked. “It is. Wei Ying, I promise.”

He trusted that voice even if he didn’t trust himself. The hands that belonged to it were soft and gentle and a fresh ache pressed into his body at hearing the pain in it. So he did as it said, chose to believe it, because what choice did he have? If he hadn’t killed it, he’d be dead soon anyway.

Besides, he was so tired. So, so tired. Exhaustion pulled at him, battling the rush of adrenaline that had been keeping him going. Bile climbed his throat and before he could do as the voice asked, he had to turn away, spitting acid and blood and saliva on the leaves piled next to him. Before he could wipe his hand across his mouth, the voice’s hand was there instead, pressing fabric against his lips.

After a steadying breath, he finally opened his eyes. Weak illumination broke through the canopy, the bright light of day, and a worried gaze pinned him in place, searched his face for something he wasn’t sure he could give.

“Wei Ying.”

That was his name, wasn’t it?

Slumping backward, Wei Wuxian dragged cold air into his lungs until his chest was fit to burst. “Lan Zhan.”

Tears spilled down his cheeks, but he didn’t have the energy to wipe them away, but that was all right. Lan Zhan was there to pick up his slack like always. The respite was almost more painful than the terror that couldn’t quite release its hold on him, no matter that Lan Zhan’s broad hands chased their way up and down his neck and chest, thumb tracing his jaw, cool and comforting, no matter that Lan Zhan hummed for him, no matter that Lan Zhan wasn’t dead.

It came back to him in bits and pieces, the creature he fought, the creature that chased and chased and chased him through the night, long after he was certain he would not be able to run any longer. He heard the shrill, dissonant sound of Chenqing, useless against the thing. No song would soothe it and no corpses would come to Wei Wuxian’s aid because there were none here to exploit. Any body on this mountain would’ve already been consumed by the thing. He could not even anger it into turning on itself, his last, valiant effort to stave off death and dismemberment. “I found you.”

Lan Zhan sniffed and Wei Wuxian didn’t have the heart to call it undignified to Lan Zhan’s face. “You did.”

He remembered accidentally stumbling across Lan Zhan’s unconscious body; he remembered taking up Bichen. With a flash of clarity, he remembered using the scant scraps of spiritual energy he had within him to lodge the sword through the beast’s cheek and into its brain, the only lucky break he’d had in more days than he cared to count. Hot blood spilled across his body, soaked his clothing and skin. The rancid, iron tang of it lingered and there was only a moment’s notice that allowed him to twist away again to vomit again. Lan Zhan’s hand brushed his hair aside, dry with the creature’s blood.

He spit one last time and winced. “Sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

No, Wei Wuxian thought with an edge of hysteria bubbling up within his thoughts. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. You were—you’re the one who was injured.” Looking at Lan Zhan properly, he could read the pain in his gaze and it wasn’t just emotional pain. He was hurting and his leg was held stiffly, the one which had troubled him since Wen Xu had his leg broken so long ago. There was a gash in his robe and some blood, reminding Wei Wuxian so much of the past that he had to swallow around a lump in his throat. Why did the worst events in his life keep repeating themselves?

And why did he still wish that things could be as simple as they were when the Wens were the biggest enemy they could possibly face? He would accept a Lan Zhan who threw up blood at the thought of Wei Wuxian disrobing a hundred times over if he could undo so many of the other mistakes he’d made in his life.

“I’m okay,” Lan Zhan answered, stoic as always, and Wei Wuxian threw himself into Lan Zhan’s arms, careful to avoid jostling Lan Zhan’s leg only at the last possible second. Despite the blood, Lan Zhan didn’t hesitate to embrace him, gripped him hard within the circle of his arms, remained perfectly still as Wei Wuxian threatened to shake apart in his embrace. “Wei Ying.”

“Can you make it back?”

“I can.”

A tremulous smile crossed Wei Wuxian’s mouth. “Why don’t I carry you?”

He wasn’t surprised when Lan Zhan turned down his offer, and he wasn’t sure he had enough strength to do so if Lan Zhan had said yes, but it was worth it anyway for the slight smile he got in return and the way Lan Zhan actually allowed himself to lean against Wei Wuxian as they trudged back instead of relying only on himself.

It was enough like normal that it was only once they were nearly at the inn’s door that Wei Ying said, shocked all over again, “That really was a dog, wasn’t it?”

“Mn.” He leaned a little more heavily on Wei Ying’s arm. Lan Zhan so rarely failed at anything. It was painful to see him struggle with that now. How many cultivators would have wanted to crow for beating Lan Zhan in any particular? “Wei Ying—”

“I might drink myself blackout drunk to forget this ever happened, but—but you’re safe and that’s the important thing.” He was so wholly focused on Lan Zhan that for a moment, the world was as it used to be, back before he had to worry about… any of the rest of his life. He laughed until he choked. “And I didn’t get eaten by a dog. All in all, I’ve had worse nights probably.”

“I’m going to wake the owner and order another bath,” Lan Zhan said suddenly, and though it clearly pained him to give voice to such an unusually impolite request at such an impolite hour, there would be no arguing with him now that those words filled the space between them.

So Wei Wuxian didn’t. There was a perfectly serviceable river nearby, but he wasn’t going to be the one to bring that fact up. The proprietor was going to kill him, but maybe if he hauled the water up on his own, it would be okay. He needed to do something, anything, to get his mind off of what happened anyway. Though he buzzed with restless energy, his body intent on burning through what little reserves remained, he knew if he stopped that he wouldn’t be getting back up again any time soon.

“A bath sounds nice. We can get your wound dressed and…” He bit back a yawn. “And then sleep until sunset tomorrow, but I’ll order it. Let’s get you into our room first, get the weight off of that leg of yours.”

The fact that Lan Zhan didn’t so much as argue with this plan spoke volumes and as long as Wei Wuxian focused on Lan Zhan, he didn’t have to focus on anything else.

Nobody was awake to see them stumble in, nearly tripping over their feet in the dark.

Only once they were safely ensconced inside could Wei Wuxian take stock. Lighting several candles and a lamp, he hummed. “Lan Zhan, I think your robes are trashed.” That was an understatement. The blood and ichor from the beast and Lan Zhan’s own body was already set, brown and crusting, in the wrinkled white fabric. Wei Wuxian’s fared far worse, but they hid their secrets more thoroughly. Anybody with a functioning nose would know the truth immediately though.

Lan Zhan frowned deeply as Wei Wuxian lowered him to the edge of the bed and tried to push him backward.

Owner’s definitely gonna kill us, he thought.

“We should get you cleaned up,” Wei Wuxian insisted.

“I will survive a few more moments like this. I want to make sure—”

“I’m fine. You should clean up.”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan clenched and unclenched his fists. More blood flaked onto his lap. “I’ll manage.”

Sometimes the best way to fight someone was to ignore them entirely; he learned that from Lan Zhan. Scanning the room, he saw a large basin that still carried some water left over from earlier. After inspecting his inner robes, he found the cleanest part and tore it free, dipping half into the water. “For your hands at least.” He gestured at Lan Zhan’s neck. “And, uh, there.”

Lan Zhan bowed his head, but accepted the fabric without complaint. It was only then that Wei Wuxian noticed he’d lost the silver hair ornament he favored. He looked so young without it. As he scrubbed at his hands, he murmured an apology so quiet that Wei Wuxian missed most of it until Lan Zhan repeated himself. “I’m sorry.”

The beast tried to emerge from his memory, turn him into a huddling, terrified mess all over again. He couldn’t let that happen now. It was dead; it couldn’t hurt him or Lan Zhan. It wouldn’t give chase except in his nightmares and he was perfectly capable of handling those at this point, wasn’t he? They were his constant companions through life, even more loyal to him than Lan Zhan. “You knew what it was, didn’t you? That was why you went off on your own?”

“I didn’t think it would be an issue.” Lan Zhan’s voice remained quiet, abashed. At least, Wei Wuxian supposed, he felt bad about it. That was enough to assuage what resentment lingered in his heart. If only it could do the same to banish Wei Wuxian’s suspicions that he was, ultimately, a drag on Lan Zhan’s life. If he weren’t so fearful, so flawed, Lan Zhan wouldn’t have had to try protecting him in this manner.

This whole thing really shouldn’t have been an issue at all, like Lan Zhan said. Lan Zhan just got unlucky. It happened sometimes and that was why it was always good to have a partner on night hunts. As angry as Wei Wuxian wanted to be at him for doing this, he could see why. The logic was sound. Wei Wuxian really would have been useless if he’d known what it was, if he’d gone. He would have been useless even if Lan Zhan told him and insisted he come. The only thing that had pushed Wei Wuxian past his own fears was knowing Lan Zhan was hurt and needed his help. Wei Wuxian just wasn’t given time to work himself into utter helplessness. Quirking his lips, he distracted himself with a smile and a waggling of his eyebrows. “Think of all the girls and boys who will be ever so grateful the great Hanguang-jun saved the countryside from evil yet again. He is truly a credit to his name.”

Lan Zhan scoffed, as Wei Wuxian knew he would. It didn’t matter that Wei Wuxian was the one to slay the creature. Lan Zhan’s countenance was the one people turned to when good fortune came their way. Stately and perfect, he truly embodied the most romantic notions of what a cultivator was meant to be. Lan Zhan would receive the lion’s share of credit for it and Wei Wuxian was fine with that as long as his reputation remained untarnished.

Even as he said it, he felt sick, the joke not a joke at all, twisting into something else entirely. White hot rage burned in his mind at the very thought of other people admiring Lan Zhan and fought in concert with jealousy—needless, baseless jealousy—to spoil the mood. It was a good thing that others still saw Lan Zhan as the perfect immortal embodiment of cultivation on this earth; the longer they did that, the less chance they’d think very hard about who he passed the time with. But the better they thought of Lan Zhan, the more interested in him they would be.

Hu-uhhh.

This wasn’t like him. His anger just didn’t manifest this way, didn’t draw back its bow to strike at hypotheticals, at daydreams, at gentle teases. He was a selfish hoarder of the worst of his emotions and saved them only for himself. Everyone else got the superficial charm offensive except for Lan Zhan, who got whatever good was left in him. He didn’t worry about other people stealing Lan Zhan away. That was just stupidity. Wei Wuxian’s problems would be almost entirely solved if Lan Zhan ever developed common sense and a desire for self-preservation.

“Let’s apply some medicine to those gashes, huh?” he suggested, shoving every thought into the cavern in the back of his mind that he never went into, and reached for the pouch he carried at his waist. “Then I’ll go make the owner curse my name.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened and he patted himself down, nearly falling backward in his haste.

“Wei Ying?” When Lan Zhan tried to move, wincing, Wei Wuxian waved him off.

“No, no, no. It’s fine, Lan Zhan. Stay put.” He closed his eyes and hopped to his feet, spinning once. His mind whirred in perfect counterpoint and wouldn’t settle on anything concrete. He couldn’t have had his pouch on him when he followed Lan Zhan, could he have? He wouldn’t have been that stupid. But it was habit, natural as breathing, to keep it on him just in case of emergency. Despite the circumstances, despite how much more sense it would have made to leave it behind, he couldn’t remember if he did or not.

All he knew for certain right now was that if he did take it with him into the forest, it was gone now. Even if he scoured the forest floor, he’d never find it.

Hoping against hope that he hadn’t made this mistake, he rifled through his things. Turning over each and every one of his scant belongings, he could. Not. Find. It.

He even pushed up the thin mat that covered the wooden bed despite Lan Zhan’s presence on it.

Nothing.

It wasn’t here.

In all the years he’d been alive, in all the ways he’d been unreliable, his memory little better than moth-eaten linen, he had never misplaced the suppressive teas. Not even at his worst. That was the one thing he’d never done.

Even if he woke the owner, woke whatever passed for a healer in these parts, it would do no good. They were too far north, too far from a settlement large enough to justify the kind of specialized herbs he needed.

Groaning, he tugged at his hair and tossed his belongings one more time, growing more angry by the second. Just in case. He’d been incredibly good about drinking the tea, so he shouldn’t have been this disturbed by his heat already, but it was like watching an accident occurring in slow motion and already his mind and body rebelled, knowing this was its chance to pay him back for all the ways he had denied himself before. It was like knowing he was vulnerable made him vulnerable. Right the fuck now. Even when he should—

Crouched in front of his things, he curled his arms around his legs and fought the shakes that suddenly wracked his body. He couldn’t imagine the image he presented to Lan Zhan at the moment. Clad in bloody rags and shivering, back exposed through the gashes in his robes, he must have made for a pathetic tableau.

A water clock dripped time within the back of his mind, counting down to an inevitability that he could not stop.

There was a rustling sound as Lan Zhan fussed and shifted behind him, a hiss, a hand falling on his shoulder, scalding hot and unwelcome, unwanted. “Wei Ying?”

He did not want the voice either, the pitying, worried tone of it.

Anger curled at the base of his neck and twined up around his jaw and chin, pulled at his lips and teeth and tongue, urged him to give voice to careless words. Truly, it was Lan Zhan’s fault that this happened, wasn’t it? If he hadn’t played heroic cultivator in the dark while Wei Wuxian was sleeping, Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have searched so frantically for him. If he hadn’t thought Wei Wuxian so weak, Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have had to—wouldn’t have…

There were rules about rational, reasoned behavior in Lan Zhan’s sect and Lan Zhan had broken every one of them and for what? So that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have to suffer?

What was this, if not suffering?

“Get back!” he snapped, shoving blindly at Lan Zhan, promising all manner of danger for him if he didn’t listen. Just this once, Lan Zhan would listen, because Wei Wuxian could not deal with the alternative. There was shame, a heavy, gray wash of it going through him as silence fell and Lan Zhan did exactly as he asked.

It reminded him too much of another impossible order he’d given to Lan Zhan, but he hadn’t listened then.

Let go. Let me go.

Teeth gritted, he searched more meticulously through his gear for things he knew were there: healing, pain-relieving balms and bandages, a small jar of disinfecting lotion, not the medicines he usually carried, not the best of the best, but better than nothing. As long as he was careful, his hands didn’t shake, and when he returned to Lan Zhan’s side, he moved with only the slowest, most deliberate action.

There wasn’t a single impulsive touch as he cleaned and dressed the wound, his focus sharpened to one point as he worked around the mangled skin of Lan Zhan’s calf.

Lan Zhan wouldn’t meet his gaze or Wei Wuxian wouldn’t meet Lan Zhan’s and the silence stretched thin between them, poised to snap. Occasionally, Wei Wuxian’s touch was too rough and Lan Zhan jerked in his grip, but he didn’t breathe a single sound in protest. By the time he was done, he was satisfied that Lan Zhan wouldn’t die from an infected wound at least. His grand finish included presenting Lan Zhan with a small piece of medicinal bark to chew for the pain. An old trick from back when he couldn’t afford to pay for better medicines.

He was always pulling bits and pieces off of useful flora and stowing it away.

Lan Zhan did not take it, so he shoved it back into the bag like a pouting child, his actions exaggerated. Fine. Who cared? Lan Zhan could do what he wanted. He always did.

He wondered if Lan Zhan sometimes wished he’d stayed at Cloud Recesses and never got involved with Wei Wuxian. If he was home, he’d get proper medicine and treatment, a real bed and the chance at a partner who wasn’t an anchor threatening to drag him to his death.

“Stay here,” he said, resigned. The Cloud Recesses were far from here and Lan Zhan had long ago begun to think of anywhere they were together as home to Wei Wuxian’s infinite good fortune and infinite despair. His stomach churned up fresh bile and acid prickled in the back of his throat. He was not looking forward to what was coming, but Lan Zhan would be safe enough if he’d stay put, if he’d listen Just this once. “Lan Zhan, I have to go for a few days.”

Lan Zhan looked at him as though he’d grown a second head. “Absolutely not.”

“This isn’t an argument, Lan Zhan.” When Lan Zhan opened his mouth to do just that, he added, “And it’s not a negotiation.”

“It is. I’m not leaving you.”

Wei Wuxian cupped Lan Zhan’s face between his palms. His cheeks were warm against Wei Wuxian’s skin, but they gave no hint of color away; it was all in the eyes, though, if one knew where to look. He was furious and disgusted and so very angry, as angry as Wei Wuxian was and Wei Wuxian didn’t care because right now, because Wei Wuxian got to be the scary one for once. “You will not. You’re going to rest and I’m going to deal with this and then we’ll go back and…”

“No.”

If only Wen Qing were here, I could use her dirty tricks on Lan Zhan. “How often do I ask anything of you?”

A stubborn frown settled on Lan Zhan’s lips. Wei Wuxian wanted to kiss it away, wanted to pretend this was one of those sorts of conversations, the ones resolved with affection and touch and taste. It was not. “Always.”

He gritted his teeth instead. This was no time for a joke. When did Lan Zhan develop a sense of humor? Infuriating. “In earnest.”

Lan Zhan had nothing to say in response to that, merely wrapped his hand around Wei Wuxian’s wrist as he attempted to stand.

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan.” Each point of contact burned into Wei Wuxian’s skin. “You don’t—”

“You don’t need it, the suppressants. I know that’s what you’re worried about,” Lan Zhan said, stubborn, unhappy, so very, very pissed off. For a man who didn’t have to worry about how and when he got off, he had a lot of opinions, didn’t he? “We can…”

Wei Wuxian tried to wrench his hand from Lan Zhan’s grip, but Lan Zhan was still stronger than him. Even injured, he was able to yank Wei Wuxian forward, wrapping his other hand around the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck to pull him into a bruising kiss that did nothing for him, not the way it should have and would have before. He was lucky that Lan Zhan took the wrong tack here.

Maybe if Wei Wuxian was the one robbing Lan Zhan of his ability to breathe, was the one biting through his lip, his tongue, tearing the supple flesh free from his cheeks and jaw.

He needed to get out of this before it went too far.

Wen Qing was not here, but he had a few tricks of his own.

Kissing Lan Zhan back, partially to distract him and partially because he worried that this might be the last time, he closed his eyes, pulled at Lan Zhan’s mouth, sharp enough to draw a harsh, rasping gasp from Lan Zhan.

It sounded so good to Wei Wuxian’s ears that—

Before he even knew what he’d done, he had Lan Zhan pinned to the bed, nails digging into the skin of Lan Zhan’s wrists. Lan Zhan’s eyes were wide and the scent of his arousal was potent, drugging, enough to make Wei Wuxian sway against him. Yes, yes. This was right. This was what—

Fuck, this was wrong. This was wrong. Wrong.

Wei Wuxian scrambled backward and righted his robes, for what little good it did him, stinking and sticky and ruined as they were. “After—after we’ve had a chance to bathe, okay?” And something about this moment must have left Lan Zhan stunned, because he merely nodded, losing the recalcitrance from earlier as he pushed himself upright again. He didn’t even seem to notice how shifty he sounded. “I’m going to wake the owner now.”

What reason did he have to believe that Wei Wuxian was lying? Especially not ten or so minutes later when he returned with a tray of tea in his hands and pretty words in his mouth. “The owner said it’ll just be another few minutes and he’ll start hauling water up, okay? He said, ‘Anything for our local heroes.’ Imagine that.”

Lan Zhan nodded and reached for the fabric looped carelessly around Wei Wuxian’s waist, barely keeping his modesty intact.

“I brought some tea in the meantime.” Placing the tray on the stand next to the bed, he poured Lan Zhan a cup and handed it to him. “It’s not bad. Have some.”

For a moment, Wei Wuxian was certain that Lan Zhan was aware of what he’d done as he stared into the contents of the cup, but then he swallowed down the whole thing and reached again for Wei Wuxian, as though he couldn’t wait any longer to touch him, as though what he just consumed was exactly what Wei Wuxian told him it was.

Why wouldn’t it be?

It was only then that his eyes widened in betrayed recognition of what Wei Wuxian had done. His fingers barely skimmed Wei Wuxian’s robes before he was falling forward into Wei Wuxian’s arms, asleep.

It wasn’t so difficult to purloin a jar of alcohol and some tea in the middle of the night when everybody was asleep. Even a man without a golden core could succeed in doing that much.

Cradling the back of Lan Zhan’s head, Wei Wuxian guided him down onto the bed. He tore more strips of his robe free. Folding Lan Zhan’s arms behind his head, he wrapped the fabric around both of his wrists and then around the winding carved loops of the bedframe, he looked almost like he was merely sleeping. Once Wei Wuxian placed the long, cylindrical pillow beneath his head, he appeared no different than any other man might while resting. If anyone happened to stumble in here, they wouldn’t notice anything immediately amiss.

It wouldn’t keep him for long, but Wei Wuxian only needed a head start.

He pressed a kiss to Lan Zhan’s forehead, above the mess of his ribbon. His heart ached to see it look so dirty, but it was not right for him to fix it now, like this. “Lan Zhan, I’m sorry.”

His hands shook as he smoothed back the lank strands of Lan Zhan’s hair.

If he didn’t leave now, he wouldn’t leave at all.

His awareness of himself changed with every step he took, with each pulse of blood through his body, shifting and shattering like light reflected on water, crisp and cutting. By the time he reached his destination—chosen less by rational sense than because it involved a difficult trudge down a steep embankment and would be perilously difficult to climb when trying to make his way back—his skin felt tight and dry, too small for his frame. There was something inside of him, bigger than him, threatening to slice itself free.

The space was buttressed on one side by the river, across which stood another thick tangle of trees and what looked to be a wicked drop-off if the sudden cascading rush of water was any indication. On this side, the forest from before curved around the vast majority of the flat, rocky stretch he found. When he was ready to go back, however, he’d have to climb back up the inexorable incline he’d picked and slipped his way down. It would take forever. He’d probably fall a lot.

The rocks were slick with river mist and some were jagged on top of that.

Once he was fully cognizant again, it shouldn’t be impossible, but while incapacitated, even if he wanted to find Lan Zhan, he’d be in no condition to do so. Which was entirely the point. It wasn’t as safely isolated as he might have liked, but it was as close as he was going to get at such short notice when his mind was already a maze made of thorns and brambles with only one prize at the center of it.

His heats used to remind him of lapping water and calm days and it wasn’t so different as he focused on surveying his surroundings except the push and pull was so much larger than normal and the calm was of the variety that preceded a storm, artificial and frightening. Though he had never seen one himself, he’d heard accounts of massive waves crashing against the shore, destroying everything in their paths, water flooding coastal towns and even further inland. The only warning had been the way the water seemed to drain out to sea just before. This was like that. He might not wreck the forest around him and overflow the river; there were no homes to level, nor people to drown.

There was only himself and Lan Zhan not far enough away for comfort.

That felt, to him, equally destructive.

If that was your greatest concern, he thought, vicious, turning on himself because there was no one else to turn on here and a knife was always safest for others when twisted backward, you would never have been so eager to have him back. You would have encouraged him to remain in Gusu. You wouldn’t have been so selfish, tying yourself so deeply to him. What would he have done if you hadn’t smiled at him so prettily up on that ridge when he gave you everything you never actually deserved, your name shaped so intimately on his lips? What would he have done if you’d told him to let the fuck go?

These words and more tumbled within his mind as rational thought frayed, recriminations and bargains and pleas as he worked to make this pathetically small space inhabitable, a cage for all that it was open to the sky. The water was even colder here than he expected and frothed riotously in protest against its path in the world. He dipped his hands into it carefully as he washed his robes and hands, scrubbing as much grime free as he could.

Then he got to work ensuring he’d have enough water and firewood to see him through. Food was a lesser concern, his appetite completely gone, so he ignored that.

If he gets through this, he will be less selfish. He’ll devote all of his time to studying how to rid himself of this curse. He wouldn’t rely on a few bitter herbs to keep Lan Zhan safe any longer. That was a stupid plan all along and it was always bound for something like this.

The rising morning sun beat down, an awkward counterpoint to the cold water, but at least he wouldn’t freeze while his clothing dried, though that wouldn’t be a problem much longer. The tight dryness of his skin was giving way to a feverish flush, the pleasant buzz and trill of need pulsing just beneath his breastbone, warming him up.

For a time, he ignored the cries for blood that screeched in the back of his mind and, for a time, it wasn’t so bad.

He’d only agreed with himself that he would stop being so selfish after, wasn’t that so? If he had his way, this would be the last time he experienced the sparkling incandescence of these early moments, maybe his favorite part of the whole thing, full to bursting with memories from back at Lotus Pier, lazing naked in the sun as he carelessly tapped at his own rib cage while he waited, the only time in all his life he ever felt patience, his mind at ease and fully in tune with the rest of his body.

Let it never be said that Wei Wuxian wasn’t a weak man when left to his own devices.

He used the clouds to mark the passage of time, not so much to keep proper time, just to remind himself that time was passing, running out, running away from him. The sun might have been a more accurate measure, but already the anger was building back up inside of him, pressure forcing itself like thousands of fingers beneath his skin all pushing outward, and he didn’t want the reminder of that first stretch of the worst months of his life, condensed so neatly into a poetic little box. Like this, Wei Wuxian might actually try to shoot the sun, traitorous act though that may have been once upon a time.

He laughed a humorless, hysteria-tinged laugh at the thought of it. Fuck Wen Ruohan, seriously. Even now. Fuck his sons, fuck everything. Fuck Wen Zhuliu especially.

How much nicer might it have been if he hadn’t been dumped into the Burial Mounds while the world fell apart without him? If he’d stood by Lan Zhan’s side from the start, would he have grown so bitter so fast? Might he have found a third path, one somewhere between the righteous and demonic paths? Could he have more graciously accepted Lan Zhan’s help in controlling it even if he’d still chosen this way had Wen Chao not left him to die in hell?

It was a pointless exercise in torture, spooling these scenarios out, but it was preferable to the alternative. Better to imagine ripping the throat out of Wen Chao with his bare hands than consider how much he wanted to do the same to Lan Zhan with his teeth while riding him, drawing all that blood of his to the surface, feasting on it, reveling in it, bearing down on Lan Zhan while he—while Wei Wuxian—while they…

No. Not now. Not yet.

Sprawled as he was across the rocks, it would have been easy to touch himself, put this downward spiral into motion and hope he came out of it with everything intact. He always went a little crazy at this point, but it used to be the fun kind.

Groping for the sharpest rock he could find, he dragged it across his forearm, scraping his skin raw beneath the uneven edge of the rock. The burst of pain clarified his thoughts, brought him back to the present. A few more tries gave him his breath back and he could focus his attention on the clouds again. The sky grew darker, blue shading to pink and purple and orange, and he knew every moment was a reprieve that wouldn’t last. As aware of that fact as he was, he couldn’t do anything except weather it, knowing he was only delaying the inevitable.

Every so often, he added another scratch to his collection, each one deeper than the last.

It was full dark before the pain was no longer enough to deny the warmth unfurling inside of him.

Always before he thought evil to be all darkness and rot, cold and inflexible as rigor mortis, but now he knew it ran hot, smoldered deep. Evil seared his arteries and veins, scalding like steam and threatening to blister him.

Everything was sensitive now, too close, too much, too present. The light from the fire hurt his eyes. Each prod of stone into his back left him in agonizing ecstasy, neither fully pain nor fully pleasure. Even the caress of the occasional whips of cold wind sliced through him like so many knives.

He continued to stare at the sky, this time counting the diamond-chip splashes of stars he found there. Losing track at a hundred and three, he started again, and each time he tried, he lost his focus more quickly.

His breaths were so loud in his ears and his chest hurt and if he didn’t already know what it felt like to drown thanks to an accident in his youth, common enough for the children of Lotus Pier, much to their parents’ consternation, he might have confused this for that.

His eyes squeezed shut and his fingers clawed for purchase in the rocks and he needed to move, to run, to burn whatever was left of him because this wasn’t how it should have been and he hated it. Hated it and loved it and hated it all the more for that fact.

He couldn’t even acknowledge that he was relieved he wasn’t yet imagining Lan Zhan because the minute he did was the minute he cracked and he would put that off as long as possible. It was the least of what Lan Zhan deserved from him.

It was…

It wasn’t sleep he fell into exactly, but when he was next aware of himself, he was covered in dozens more scratches than he remembered. They laced across his chest in rows of four, spread perfectly to match the width of his hands when stretched. Dried blood flaked from beneath his nails and palms, crusted in wide blotches across his knuckles.

His abdomen and chest were coated in streaks of white. Sickly sweet and unrecognizable as belonging to him, mixing unfortunately with the iron-salt tinge of blood, it made his skin crawl.

From overhead, the sun scorched his skin. He did not want to see any of it and so he closed his eyes again. His conscious mind faded away, exhaustion doing him this singular kindness. There he lingered for who knew how long, dazed and unhappy and so lonely it felt like an awl was stabbing him in the heart with every pulse of blood through his body as his need grew again, pushed at him, demanded more of it.

What had he done. What would he do?

How long until his heart gave out?

He wished it was soon, that it had happened already, that this was over.

Fingers carded through his unbound hair, slow and soothing., fingers that he loved, fingers that he knew intimately, fingers that should not have been there accompanied by a voice that shouldn’t have been humming above him. He squeezed his already closed eyes even more tightly shut. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, no. How did you even find me? The stubborn bastard was pouring spiritual energy into him, as though he wasn’t a wasted vessel for it. All that power would just leak from the wounds in his body and spirit that would never, ever fully heal. When he tried to move, Lan Zhan’s other hand pressed against his shoulder. “No,” he murmured. “Stay.”

Shuddering, he did as Lan Zhan asked. Not because he wanted to, but because something in him could not deny the command in Lan Zhan’s voice.

He wasn’t suppressing any longer either.

The bastard.

There was no making Lan Zhan leave now and he was in no longer in a position to force the issue. He did turn slightly, cheek pressed against Lan Zhan’s uninjured leg, and clung to Lan Zhan’s robes. Throat parched and voice unrecognizable, he said, “Do you know what you’ve done?”

He didn’t have the energy to feel more than the smallest hint of betrayal, hardly even worth the trickle of anger that tried to work its way through him. He was too full up with despair.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed, as though it concerned him not at all.

Wei Wuxian choked on a laugh. “You don’t even care, do you?”

“You are correct.”

“I’ll hurt you if you stay.”

Lan Zhan made a noise utterly lacking in commitment one way or the other, neither an agreement nor disagreement. Perhaps it was his economically elegant way of saying so what or if you say so. His fingers stilled for a moment and the pointless wash of spiritual energy faded momentarily. And then he sighed and resumed his gentle ministrations, renewed in purpose and zeal. “Wei Ying, you have already hurt me. When has it ever mattered?”

This time, it was not laughter he choked on. Shame, tears, fear, yes, but not laughter. Wei Wuxian wasn’t yet so far gone that he didn’t know Lan Zhan wasn’t talking about the distant past. No, this was not history. It was now, right this moment. It was the night before last and every night before that and it will be tonight and every night in the future. All he did in all their time together and apart was hurt Lan Zhan. “I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t intending to be cruel, Wei Wuxian understood that, but he’d grown over the years more willing to play dirty when he thought Wei Wuxian’s safety was on the line. They’d both made their mistakes and Lan Zhan always believed his lay in how circumspect he could be about his feelings. It allowed him to make foolish declarations even when he refused to speak. Like now.

“I don’t mean to hurt you,” Wei Wuxian said.

“Tell me why.”

He was exhausted, beyond it even. And Lan Zhan was here, warm and alive, cold sandalwood twined within the welcoming musk of his own heat. This was fire he played with, but Wei Wuxian was sick at heart and sick of hiding and Lan Zhan was a grown man and had always been stronger than Wei Wuxian and the tone of his voice could not be argued with and if it took giving up this one secret to push Lan Zhan away for good, save him for good, then fine. Fine. If he wanted to take Wei Wuxian’s chance to fix this, then great. He could do that.

“Promise me something,” he said, quiet.

Wei Wuxian was wily, but Lan Zhan was calculating. Lan Zhan knew the cost of dealing with demons already, didn’t he? “What promise?”

“Promise first, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan stilled and said nothing for a long, painful moment. It was a struggle for him to get the words out, that much was clear. Wei Wuxian didn’t even have to hear him to know he was mentally running every scenario that he could think of to figure out what angle Wei Wuxian would attack from. Lovers didn’t do that, did they? They shouldn’t. “I promise.”

“Keep yourself safe,” Wei Wuxian said, “from me, if you must.”

“No ne—” At least he was taking Wei Wuxian seriously now, since he stopped himself from finishing his denial. “Explain.”

With a shudder, Wei Wuxian pushed himself upright. If he was going to do this, he needed distance from Lan Zhan. Perversely, he needed to see Lan Zhan’s face, too, as much as he wanted to avoid whatever disgust he would see there, whatever disappointment. The past welled inside of him: he could not remember everything or even a lot of things, but he could never forget the way Lan Zhan had scolded him during the Sunshot Campaign, those early months when he’d been so fragile, so new to the reality of his lost golden core, and barely holding it together.

That was the Lan Zhan he needed if he was going to confess.

Lan Zhan’s fingers tightened on his shoulders as he tried to get up and, oh, he didn’t want to fight Lan Zhan’s touch, not when what he had to say was so unfortunate, but he needed to suffer this cost for Lan Zhan’s sake. So he rose and curled his fingers around Lan Zhan’s wrists, half-focused on the beat of his heart as it pulsed down his arms and made itself known to Wei Wuxian’s touch.

He’d never in his life exerted so much self-control, when all he wanted was to shamelessly throw himself into Lan Zhan’s lap and take what was his. But whatever he’d done to himself last night to make himself ache so deeply, even in the places he couldn’t reach himself, it stayed the worst of his impulses. He didn’t know for how long.

Swallowing, he said, “After…” He could not say the words, but he did not have to. There was only one after in Wei Wuxian’s life that mattered. Two, if you counted dying, which Lan Zhan might, but in this case, Wei Wuxian was certain he wasn’t misunderstood. “My heats changed.” He explained the sunshine sweet way they used to be and watched as sympathy replaced fear, anger, and frustration. Longing, too, but if Wei Wuxian allowed himself to linger on that, he would never get through this. The guilt would choke him.

He would give those halcyon days to Lan Zhan if he could. They could have been so sweet together.

“Who thinks to study this?” Wei Wuxian asked, offhand, in explanation. Going into the weeds made it safer, gave him focus. “Cultivators are much too—” Stuffy, he thought, but did not say. They pretended they were above it all. Beyond the most basic medical information, few cared, and none would think to pursue such a coarse interest. Even Wei Wuxian, whom anyone could accuse of being unorthodox even now, would not have touched the topic. He refused to consider how much more motivated he might have been if someone he’d cared about suffered such a blow instead, that only now that Lan Zhan was being directly affected would he think to take action, too late. “—dignified and what scholar wants to think of such things anyway? Even if they did, if they aren’t cultivators, what good is it to us?”

Everyone knew the formation of a golden core threw all the known rules about heats out the window. To many, that was the entire appeal. Cultivation could enhance or dampen the effects. Normal people thought it scandalous and others, convenient.

Cultivators just… didn’t think about it. Or they pretended not to.

Lan Zhan’s gaze cut away momentarily. A full five-hundred of the Lan Clan’s rules were dedicated to denying heats. Throughout much of his life, he would have considered it a virtue; he may not, even now, have considered the possibility that such denials of basic human nature could lead to anything as unseemly as ignorance.

“I tried, at first. When I had the time.” Time, back then, was a scarce commodity. If he wasn’t fighting Wen forces, he was hearing about all the ways he was a disrespectful, crooked cultivator, and if he wasn’t facing scrutiny from everyone who cared to look, he was inventing the talismans and toys other cultivators still used to this day, the things that kept him alive until too much of the world stood against him. “But I quickly realized there was no point. Nobody else in the world would ever suffer such a series of events as I have.” The precise circumstances were impossible now anyway. Who would lose their golden core, find themselves making the same mistakes Wei Wuxian did when he started walking that narrow path of his, manage to get a hold of yin metal, die and then find themselves resurrected? These things wouldn’t happen to anyone except Wei Wuxian and he wasn’t thinking that with arrogance in his heart. It was just strange circumstances, coincidences which could not be repeated.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, clearly growing impatient. His pulse throbbed against Wei Wuxian’s thumbs. Lan Zhan was never so short-tempered. “You don’t have to justify this. Just tell me.”

Was that what he was doing? And here he thought he was giving context. Maybe Lan Zhan was right. “When I’m close, if I’ve delayed too long in taking the suppressive teas or…” He gestured at himself, tried to ignore the state he was in. Now that the time to admit had come, it all felt so petty, so small. Was there a way to explain to Lan Zhan just about how deeply Wei Wuxian wished to make bruises bloom across his chest, bring him to tears, make him beg and cry for release from Wei Wuxian’s torments, do more, do worse, do everything? How did he properly encapsulate the terror he felt when he woke from dreams of mounting Lan Zhan’s corpse-gray body and had to pretend the resulting erection was normal? Or the nauseating shame he felt at the thought of making Lan Zhan bleed until he cried out in pain, until he died, until those beautiful eyes of his filmed over and—and...

Wei Wuxian explained in fits and starts until the words fell fully apart in his mouth, broken and twisted and drowned in the tears that tracked down his cheeks. But he gave each and every one of them to Lan Zhan, no matter how terrible.

“I want you to be afraid of me,” he finished. For all that he could do such bad things when driven to it, he wasn’t naturally given to cruelty. The violence that lived in his heart was too big for him to bear. “In the dreams, I want…”

Lan Zhan shook off Wei Wuxian’s touch and placed his hand over Wei Wuxian’s chest. His fingers brushed the wounds on Wei Wuxian’s skin. Though they were superficial, they would not heal quickly. Lan Zhan’s leg might be fully recovered before the scratches faded if they didn’t scar. “You wish to do these things to me?” The thick fan of ink-dark lashes obscured his reaction and even the sound of his voice was carefully neutral. “When we’re together? This was what stopped you?”

“Do I need another reason?!” Wei Wuxian asked, incredulous. I can’t help what I want now. I would change it all, cut it from inside of me, if I could.

“You will not kill me and I will never be afraid of you,” he said with unshaking certainty. “But I am not opposed to the rest.”

Very much against Wei Wuxian’s will, arousal coursed through him, a punch of pleasure so deep Wei Wuxian wasn’t certain he would ever recover. “Lan Zhan,” he said, shaky. “You can’t just say things like that.” You don’t know what you’re telling me, he insisted to himself. Or worse, you do and you just don’t care. The latter was far more likely. Lan Zhan’s willingness to throw his own feelings over for Wei Wuxian only grew with the years. It would be unfair of Wei Wuxian to take advantage of that fact now. That was the whole point of Wei Wuxian coming here rather than force Lan Zhan to make that choice. “You should be afraid of what I want.”

“But I am not.”

Even in this, Lan Zhan would allow himself to be dragged down. It wasn’t enough that he left the Cloud Recesses to wander with Wei Wuxian, wasn’t enough that he strained the relationship with his uncle that he’d cherished once upon a time, that he gave up the chance to make the entire cultivation world a better place because being with Wei Wuxian, letting him be better, was more important.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” A lie, a damned lie. The worst sort of lie as heat licked up his spine. It had been years since he’d felt so good and Lan Zhan was here, warm, beneath him, and he was saying such sweet, sweet things. “Lan Zhan, I don’t want to know what that feels like. I don’t want to like it.”

What if he did like it in this world and not just that distorted one inside his mind? He was not his heats in the same way he was not the cultivation techniques he utilized, but what if…

What if that was no longer the truth?

Lan Zhan offered a shrug in response, small, almost imperceptible. “I want this with you,” he said. “It cannot hurt any worse than not having it at all.”

Bowing his head, Wei Wuxian sucked in a breath. This was unfair. Lan Zhan was the one now taking advantage. It had to be. He couldn’t just talk like this while Wei Wuxian was—was… Sweat prickled in Wei Wuxian’s hairline despite the coolness of the morning and his body reacted, traitor that it was, even to Lan Zhan’s simple words. He could only thank his lucky stars that he wasn’t in the midst of the deepest pull of his heat yet. If this were last night or perhaps later in the day, he wouldn’t have the sense to pause.

He could search Lan Zhan’s gaze and see nothing but the pure clarity of Lan Zhan’s intentions. Bless him, but he truly didn’t seem to be afraid except of the fact that Wei Wuxian might say no to him.

It was what he should have done. Anybody who was more responsible than him would have managed somehow.

“I trust you,” Lan Zhan added, sealing this coffin for good.

Just this once, but never again. It was the only promise he could make to himself that would allow him to go forward. If he couldn’t guarantee that, he could not… he wouldn’t…

It wasn’t the truth; he wasn’t sure there was anything except Lan Zhan left to stop him and Lan Zhan wouldn’t, would he?

With shaking hands, Wei Wuxian grabbed for Lan Zhan and pulled himself into Lan Zhan’s lap. He buried his face in the crook of Lan Zhan’s neck and breathed deeply. Maybe he could control himself through it; maybe he was worried for nothing. Maybe the miraculously clean scent of Lan Zhan’s body wouldn’t drive him mad.

“You fight dirty,” he said wetly, tears prickling again at the corners of his eyes. Lan Zhan was like the heat of sun-soaked sand comfortably embracing him. In that moment, anyone who called Lan Zhan cold would have known how wrong they were. He was glad no one else was here to know the truth, that it belonged to Wei Wuxian alone, for however much longer he would have it. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Lan Zhan’s hands pressed against Wei Wuxian’s spine. His skin was so sensitive, he was certain he could make out the whorls of each print burning itself into his flesh.

Wei Wuxian’s throat clicked as he swallowed around the dryness there. “You’ll stop me, if…”

“I’ll stop you.”

Wei Wuxian had no confidence in Lan Zhan’s assertion, because the circumstances under which Lan Zhan would stop him were probably not the same ones Wei Wuxian would want him to. Because he’d never allowed him to consider this possibility before, he didn’t know what he would truly be capable of. He could only accept that the violence in his heart ran deep, had twisted something inside of him beyond repair. But Wei Wuxian had no strength left to deny himself this, not when Lan Zhan was taking a stance against the part of him that could still think unselfishly.

Fire burned through him, set his every nerve alight. The comfort of Lan Zhan’s touch sliced through the last of his defenses and arousal cut through him as though it wielded the sharpest knife. Though he wanted to tear Lan Zhan’s clothing from his body, he stilled his hands, pulled as gently as he could at each piece until Lan Zhan’s torso was exposed to him, the long stretch of his flank, the delicate arcs and dips of his ankles. The wound on his calf looked okay enough that his gaze skated over it, focusing on the whole of him instead, which was beautiful and good.

His skin was pink, flushed as though he’d spent time in a hot bath. He shivered as Wei Wuxian raked his nails across his chest, raising weals that would quickly fade except for how Wei Wuxian did it again and again, testing, trying to find the boundary between acceptable and not, all while holding himself back, holding himself steady.

Wei Wuxian searched his face for signs of discomfort. There were none as yet, but this wasn’t so different from some of their most desperate joinings either, when Lan Zhan took him a little more roughly than normal—not that Wei Wuxian didn’t love it—and maybe Wei Wuxian returned that roughness as he grappled for purchase in whichever way he could, which sometimes meant clawing at Lan Zhan’s back.

It felt different now, though, for all that these parts were still familiar. Those times, he didn’t have to worry about controlling himself. There was nothing to control. But the whole point of this, right now, what Lan Zhan had so cavalierly volunteered for, was the loss of that control. Nobody really knew why things were this way for people, what purpose it served beyond the symmetry it shared with other creatures in the world. It made sense even if nobody cared to speculate why, but it did nothing to ensure their safety either. They were, in many ways, the worst of humanity on display and the best. Who hadn’t heard their fair share of horror stories and romances both? How could this be anything other than the former?

“Lan Zhan?”

“It’s good,” he answered, quick, breathless. His gaze found Wei Wuxian’s; it was dark, simmering with something, something Wei Wuxian wanted to take for himself, something dangerous and lovely and beautiful. “Keep… keep going.”

It was strange to see Lan Zhan give up even this degree of control to him. Usually, he preferred to be in charge, reached for Wei Wuxian instead of being reached for. His touch guided their lovemaking, not Wei Wuxian’s. Usually, Wei Wuxian preferred it this way, too, joking that he was too lazy and Lan Zhan too much of a perfect visionary to deny. He liked, in the safe confines of their room, to cede all responsibility for their couplings to Lan Zhan, if only because nowhere else could he give up so much with no ill effect.

Lan Zhan made a noise that Wei Wuxian had never heard before, something close to a keen, mournful. Each scrape of Wei Wuxian’s hands down Lan Zhan’s torso brought a different variant to heel, so reliable that Wei Wuxian might have played Lan Zhan’s body as an instrument. His skin reddened and flushed further under Wei Wuxian’s less than tender ministrations, but he genuinely didn’t seem to mind. He merely hardened more obviously against the inside of Wei Wuxian’s thigh, a physiological reaction to stimulus and nothing more, but a better sign than Wei Wuxian was expecting.

His hands trembled as they held to Wei Wuxian’s sides.

Surely he felt Wei Wuxian’s warmth spreading across the fabric stretched across his lap, a slick they’d always had to simulate before with oils, but he didn’t complain about that either.

Wei Wuxian nudged closer, heedless of the rocks cutting up his knees. The pain only gave him focus.

Scratching Lan Zhan’s skin wasn’t enough. Bending forward, he bit at Lan Zhan’s neck, sucked a bruise into his collarbone as Lan Zhan gasped and clung to him. The wicked point of Wei Wuxian’s incisor caught on smooth, salt-slick skin, drawing forth the heady tang of iron-rich blood as he stroked his tongue over the wound.

Pleasure jolted through him and a need for more, more closeness, more warmth, more.

There were creatures which would break a person’s jaw in a bid to fit themselves down that unlucky individual’s throat to turn the body into their new home.

Wei Wuxian kind of felt that way now.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan choked out, his own touch bruising, the pressure on Wei Wuxian’s hips excruciating and exquisite. It cost him so much to keep still, Wei Wuxian knew, but Wei Wuxian wanted—he needed…

If Lan Zhan moved, it would be like prey making a sudden escape attempt. There would be no mercy. What little self-preservation instinct Lan Zhan retained kept him still as Wei Wuxian manipulated his body. The fact that Wei Wuxian didn’t have to tell him this spoke volumes about what he was walking into with eyes wide open.

Pushing Lan Zhan back against the rocks, he scrambled off Lan Zhan’s lap long enough to rip his own robes free, pull his boots from his feet.

From this vantage, standing while Lan Zhan remained supine, Lan Zhan was put to best display. Except for the brand on his chest and the already fading scrapes of Wei Wuxian’s nails, his skin was beautifully unmarked, a blank canvas across which Wei Wuxian might draw anything. And all the while, Lan Zhan’s cock remained red and full, heavy against his abdomen as he drew in deep, gulping breaths, gaze hungry and searching for Wei Wuxian alone. He leaked fluid against his stomach, pungent and almost too much for Wei Wuxian to bear. It was everything he imagined and more.

He might have done anything in that moment and Lan Zhan would have accepted it.

It was too much power to hold and not enough and though Lan Zhan winced as Wei Wuxian fell to his knees again and grabbed him roughly, he did not flinch away or yelp. If it felt unnatural or bad for him to remain so passive, he did not show it.

If anyone else knew, he would lose what remained of his reputation.

He positioned himself above Lan Zhan, guided Lan Zhan inside of him, easy as it had ever been, as it would have been had Lan Zhan spent infinite hours opening him up on those rare occasions when they had all the time in the world to play one another’s bodies. There wasn’t even the slightest sting, though Lan Zhan felt somehow bigger, hotter, harder than Wei Wuxian had ever experienced before. Even when he bucked against Wei Wuxian, startling him with the unexpected sharpness of the motion, it didn’t hurt.

A dam broke inside of Wei Wuxian, every bit of self-restraint gone as pleasure ripped up his spine. It was everything his rational mind feared as he clawed at Lan Zhan’s perfect body. Every stroke of his hands across Lan Zhan’s skin left streaks of blood behind and there were pained tears in Lan Zhan’s eyes that would haunt Wei Wuxian’s dreams until the end of time, witnessed before Lan Zhan could turn his head away, encased in amber within his memories as a perfect replica of this moment, the moment Wei Wuxian came against Lan Zhan’s chest, unexpected, the sensation lost amidst everything else he felt, guilt, shame, arousal even now, the empty void in his chest that wasn’t satisfied and would never be, not until…

Rocking back, he drew a fair few choking gasps from Lan Zhan, who had closed his eyes, brow furrowed. His palms pressed hard against Wei Wuxian’s thighs, failing to hold him in place as he jerked and twisted and rode Lan Zhan as brutally as he could, legs clamped tight against Lan Zhan’s sides. He pinched Lan Zhan’s skin and pressed his thumbs under Lan Zhan’s jaw when he tugged at Lan Zhan’s lower lip with his teeth, cutting off Lan Zhan’s ability to breathe until his pulse fluttered weakly and Wei Wuxian let go again, managing only at the last moment to remember that he didn’t want…

Didn’t—

He lost track of how many orgasms he pulled from both of their bodies, even after Lan Zhan whimpered nonsensical pleas against Wei Wuxian’s mouth. He remained as hard as Wei Wuxian needed him to be, as though his body knew itself better than his mind. He didn’t actually ask Wei Wuxian to stop, though, didn’t tell Wei Wuxian no, and Wei Wuxian would be left wondering forever what he would have been capable of ignoring under different circumstances.

When the sun rose again, dappling their skin with warmth through thick cloud cover, Wei Wuxian’s memory didn’t grant him even the small kindness of a blurred recollection.

He burned each bruise and cut into that memory as Lan Zhan remained, perhaps blissfully, unconscious, and climbed unsteadily off Lan Zhan’s pale, fragile body, soft cock sliding free from Wei Wuxian, still wet. He didn’t stir even as Wei Wuxian cursed, shrugging into the tatters of his robes, and fumbled toward the water with a large, shredded piece of said robe clutched in his hands.

Regret swam within the currents of guilt that coursed through him. Lan Zhan looked wretched, stretched across the ground like that. His back would be a mess, painful from being pressed into the rocks by Wei Wuxian’s weight while Wei Wuxian laid against him. Returning, he wished there was a way he could warm the water and vowed that, if he didn’t wake Lan Zhan now while he cleaned his wounds, he’d build the fire that had died down yesterday.

One of Lan Zhan’s arms was twisted unnaturally from where Wei Wuxian had wrenched it above his head at one point, shoving it aside again when he was no longer pleased with the position. Despite how much it must have hurt, Lan Zhan hadn’t uttered a sound at the time. He wretched and gagged as he popped the shoulder joint back into place, wretched a second time when Lan Zhan didn’t so much as flinch in his sleep as he did it.

With more care and focus than he offered most things in his life, Wei Wuxian set about removing every sign of their… activities from Lan Zhan’s body. Though he couldn’t remove the myriad marks, he could scrub the dried blood from Lan Zhan’s skin, the flaking streaks of their release. He could rub healing balms into the countless bruises and endless gouges, scrapes and scratches, the astringent scent of them clarifying to Wei Wuxian’s thoughts. At least Lan Zhan had enough common sense to bring these along.

It was meditative to tend to Lan Zhan in his way. Even as his guilt clung to him, he was more at ease in one way: the tension that remained within him wasn’t a result of his heat. That, at least, was exorcised.

He thought, maybe, the worst was over. Historically, the second day always was. If he could brew Lan Zhan’s preferred blends of tea at a strength more in keeping with his own needs, he might be able to declare himself safe to return with Lan Zhan.

He would be afforded at least three months of freedom in which he could figure out a more permanent solution to this problem. Such time felt like a luxury for which he was wholly indebted.

I’m sorry, he said without ever once saying the words. It shouldn’t have cost this much.

Sliding closer, he half rolled Lan Zhan’s body onto his thighs, so he could reach Lan Zhan’s back. The jagged shape of each rock imprinted itself into his skin. More than a few drew blood and one hadn’t yet scabbed over. After cleaning them, he applied more balm and awkwardly reached for Lan Zhan’s robes so he could at least pull them around Lan Zhan’s shoulders before releasing him again.

As soon as he tried, Lan Zhan made a small, huffing noise and curled closer, arms wrapping around Wei Wuxian’s waist. If it was possible, he would have spared Lan Zhan every bit of spiritual energy he had to soothe him. Instead, he could only whistle softly and hope it was enough.

This might be the last time Lan Zhan turned to him in this way.

And so they remained until Wei Wuxian’s legs went entirely numb, until the sun was high in the sky and it was well past the latest Lan Zhan had ever slept. But Wei Wuxian didn’t dare move, not until Lan Zhan did; it was the very least of what he owed to the man who’d so foolishly followed him here, who foolishly followed him everywhere through life.

When Lan Zhan finally woke, Wei Wuxian gathered him close and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “We won’t do that again, okay?”

Lan Zhan agreed with a distracted, exhausted hum.

It was as close to an admission as Wei Wuxian was ever going to get out of him. And all the more reason Wei Wuxian needed to find an answer sooner rather than later. If he asked again, he worried that Lan Zhan might downplay his discomfort and that just wouldn’t do.

In truth, Lan Zhan was lucky and so was Wei Wuxian and Wei Wuxian would not forget that fact. Not ever. Not even if Lan Zhan decided that he wasn’t worth it anymore.

If he was a better man, he wouldn’t touch Lan Zhan now that he knew for sure, but he was not a better man and so he did not stop.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian was saying as they packed their gear and did the best they could to put the room back into some semblance of order before leaving. For all that the guilt clung to him as he watched Lan Zhan pick his way carefully around the room, as though he were uncomfortable and aching, he couldn’t deny that physically, he felt as good as he had in a long time.

In fact, he was free of most of the physical tension that plagued him most days and there was no ache in his chest, two things he hadn’t even realized were bothering him until he felt their absence for the first time in… years probably.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said again, snapping his fingers to draw Lan Zhan’s attention away from a few torn strips of fabric he drew repeatedly across his palms, thoughtful, retrieved for reasons beyond Wei Wuxian’s comprehension. They were red, so they must have been Wei Wuxian’s, hauled back here from the rocks, worthy, in Lan Zhan’s mind apparently, of being brought back.

“Lan Zhan, do we…?” He swallowed and took a step toward Lan Zhan, then stepped back again. Having already asserted a right to Lan Zhan’s space that he didn’t deserve, he wouldn’t allow himself to repeat the sin now that he could help it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He’d already said his piece while in the worst throws of it and Lan Zhan hadn’t turned away from him. If Lan Zhan was fearful of him, if he harbored doubts still…

He wasn’t sure how he would handle that, but he would listen to Lan Zhan regardless.

“We’ve already talked,” Lan Zhan replied, stiff, but he glanced Wei Wuxian’s way, held his gaze, didn’t appear disgusted or afraid. It was just that Wei Wuxian couldn’t tell what he was feeling instead. “Is there anything else you wish to say?”

There was one thing, a thought that had germinated in his mind on the long, embarrassing trudge back to civilization.

“I think I know what to do now.”

Lan Zhan seemed disinterested and distracted as he turned his attention back to clearing up their mess, shoving the red scraps of fabric into his belt and only after the fact seemed to realize Wei Wuxian had actually said something. “Mn?”

“Let’s go to Qinghe,” he answered, because Nie Huaisang collected esoterica like other people collected pretty rocks or scrolls of beautiful calligraphy. If the start of an answer was to be found anywhere, it would be there. He didn’t expect to find anything more than a kernel of an idea, but he was fresh out of those all on his own. It might jog something loose in his mind, reading someone else’s thoughts.

I need medical books, he thought, his life becoming one of repetition.

“Qinghe,” Lan Zhan repeated. “Why?”

Don’t make me say it, Lan Zhan, he thought. It would be cruel when they both knew what Lan Zhan had told him on those rocks. Did he really have to lay it out in words? “It’s been so long since we’ve seen the Unclean Realms.”

“I didn’t know you were so fond of it.”

“I’m—” Wei Wuxian sighed. He wasn’t, of course. The last thing he wanted in the world was to go to Qinghe, like stepping into a sleeping dragon’s lair, but. But.

Before Wei Wuxian’s resolve crumbled entirely, Lan Zhan answered, saving him, “We can go to Qinghe if you wish.”

Wei Wuxian breathed out in relief. “Thank you, Lan Zhan.”

He answered, a little snappish even for him, “Don’t thank me for this.”

“You honor us far too much, Sect Leader Nie,” Wei Wuxian said, failing to hide his surprise when it was Nie Huaisang himself who greeted them as they arrived. He looked almost the same as he ever did, perhaps a little statelier, a little sadder, curious definitely, but not maliciously so. If he still carried grudges, they weren’t toward Wei Wuxian or Lan Zhan.

At least as far as Wei Wuxian could tell. Once upon a time, he would have believed Nie Huaisang too timid to destroy the lives of other men, too.

“I would be remiss if I did not, Wei-xiong,” he answered, holding his fan between both hands as he bowed to each of them. “I would come for any friend of mine. You needn’t be so formal if you don’t wish to be.”

Wei Wuxian considered this. The last time they saw one another was at the Cloud Recesses and he’d been… Wei Wuxian wasn’t certain he could explain. Dangerous. Slippery. Too knowing. Now he just seemed… established. More like his old self, if matured. “Nie-xiong,” he said, testing the word on his tongue, watching Nie Huaisang for his reaction. “Thank you for hosting us.”

Nie Huaisang pointed the way with his fan, guiding them through the grounds, hardly stopping to give a formal tour despite how different so much of it now was. It wasn’t until they arrived at the mansion that he began pointing things out, silk paintings he’d commissioned, vases he’d purchased, the things that still held his interest even after all of these years.

Lan Zhan followed behind, a shadow, a ghost, so quiet he might as well not have been there. Perhaps he did not wish to be.

“You’ve settled in well,” Wei Wuxian said. Then, probing, “I haven’t even heard anyone call you ‘head shaker’ in a while even.”

Nie Huaisang threw a dry smile and a raised eyebrow his way. “Ah, Wei-xiong. I believe you’re trying to get me into trouble.”

I’m trying to pin you down, yes, Wei Wuxian thought, but I’m not certain I’ll succeed. It hardly mattered anyway. As interested as Wei Wuxian might have been at teasing the truth from Nie Huaisang, he did truly have a purpose in coming, and Nie Huaisang sensed it, not bothering to wait for Wei Wuxian to reply before adding, “I’m sure you haven’t come to visit just to do so.”

“I was hoping to make use of your library,” Wei Wuxian admitted. “Excepting the Cloud Recesses, your Unclean Realms holds the finest collection in the entire country.”

Nie Huaisang glanced back at Lan Zhan, impish. “I would say in some respects mine is superior, begging your pardon, Hanguang-jun, but just what is it you’re looking for anyway that can’t be found elsewhere?”

His words were laden with mischief, so recognizably the words of a Nie Huaisang some twenty years in the past that Wei Wuxian almost felt fifteen and stupid again, carefree, only interested in giving Lan Zhan a hard time.

“Not in the halls,” Wei Wuxian answered, pretending an ease he did not feel. It would pique Nie Huaisang’s interest anyway, being mysterious, which meant he would focus—hopefully—and help narrow down the field some for Wei Wuxian.

“Well, then, let’s get you both settled in,” he said, gracious. “I’ve set aside a room for you. Why don’t you rest and I’ll show you the library in the morning? I can’t deny having you around will make the next few days livelier, I’m quite sure.”

Only one room, of course. There was no fooling Nie Huaisang.

As befitted Nie Huaisang’s sensibilities, the room he brought them to was resplendently appointed. He informed them that he’d have a meal sent up for them if they wished it, which Wei Wuxian did, not terribly interested in interacting with any of the Nie Sect’s disciples if he could help it. Who knew what they would tell their leader.

Wei Wuxian could not rightly call it elegant when he had the jingshi to compare it to, but it was beautiful and lacked the ostentation one might have found while staying in Lanling, for example, and therefore Wei Wuxian could not complain.

Without saying anything, Lan Zhan prepared for the evening, still quiet, while Wei Wuxian poked and prodded at the room.

“What are you doing?” Lan Zhan finally asked.

“Searching for peep holes,” he answered, only half joking as he peered behind a thin tapestry. “Or a trap door. I don’t know. It’s Nie Huaisang. Who knows what’s going on in that mind of his?”

Lan Zhan huffed, surprisingly indelicate. “I believe you may give him more credit than he deserves.”

“He’s not just a head shaker, Lan Zhan.”

“I am aware,” Lan Zhan replied. “I did have to work with him as Chief Cultivator.”

Wei Wuxian scowled at the floor as he knelt down, tapping at the interlocking panels. “So you’re saying I’m being paranoid.”

“I am not.”

Tiring of being vigilant, he pushed himself upright and searched Lan Zhan’s face and body for any indication of what he might be thinking or feeling, but he sensed nothing, could intuit little. It was like the early days of their knowing one another all over again, Lan Zhan suddenly an unintelligible wall when not more than a week ago he’d been an open book.

Wei Wuxian had done this to him.

“How’s your leg?” he asked, flicking his gaze down to Lan Zhan’s knee. Not that he could tell what was going on with Lan Zhan’s calf through the layers of his robes. Presumably it was fine. He wasn’t limping anyway. But he wanted to hear it from Lan Zhan’s mouth.

“Well enough.”

Coolly challenging, “And your shoulder?”

Lan Zhan leveled a blankly challenging look at Wei Wuxian in return, which was impressive because Wei Wuxian didn’t know that was even possible. “In excellent condition,” he said, bland.

“Do you have any complaints at all?”

“None.”

Wei Wuxian sat on the end of the bed and planted his elbows on his knees, bracing his chin on his hands as he watched Lan Zhan watching him. “Come here?”

Lan Zhan did as asked, like it was an obligation and allowed himself to be touched only because Wei Wuxian wanted to touch him. When his hands grasped for Lan Zhan’s waist, he allowed that, too, though he didn’t lean into it, didn’t unbend the way he usually did, didn’t show any sign of liking it or disliking it.

Somehow, this was worse than if Lan Zhan were to flinch from his hands. He hadn’t thought it was possible, but at least that way he would know for certain where he stood. Though Lan Zhan’s words should have been more than adequate to assuage the worst of his concerns, he couldn’t help feeling as though he was making Lan Zhan unhappy no matter what he did. Touch or not, speak or not, be in the fucking room with him or not.

“Wei Ying?”

He dropped his hands and pushed himself fully onto the bed, crab walking himself back to the far side of the bed. It didn’t matter to him that he was still fully dressed, boots still on his feet. He shoved his palms under the back of his head and stared up at the ceiling.

It was going to be a long night, the way each night had been long since they began traveling to Qinghe, and Wei Wuxian didn’t relish it.

When the promised meal arrived, Lan Zhan ate mechanically and Wei Wuxian did not eat at all.

At nine o’clock exactly, Lan Zhan climbed into bed and fell asleep in the manner that all good Lans did, as though not a single worry could trouble him.

Wei Wuxian did not sleep, not even when his eyes filled with grit and his vision went bleary.

“This will… probably sound rather coarse,” Wei Wuxian cautioned as Nie Huaisang led both him and Lan Zhan into the library. “My apologies in advance if this is untoward.”

Nie Huaisang snorted, a strange smile creeping across his face. “I was certainly hoping for interesting, Wei-xiong, and here you’re already delivering it. Such gracious words you’re speaking. So polite. How scandalous do you intend to be exactly?”

If Nie Huaisang was going to make him suffer this much from his teasing, better to plunge right into it. “Do you have any writings here concerning qi deviation and…” And then he faltered again. This was more difficult than he thought it would be. He’d spent all week trying to think of a reasonable angle from which to start his search and this was the best he’d come up with. Qi deviation was an imbalance in the spirit, right? That was Wei Wuxian’s permanent situation. It seemed like a reasonable enough place to begin. Just—getting the words out. Impossible.

“Qi deviation and…?”

“Mating cycles,” Lan Zhan said, precise, a little impatient.

Nie Huaisang’s eyes widened and Wei Wuxian’s cheeks flamed, heat flooding his face and neck as Nie Huaisang’s eyes flicked between him and Lan Zhan and then back again.

“Look more like a dead fish, Nie-xiong, please,” Wei Wuxian said, certain he was going to die of embarrassment. This was the worst.

“Are you—” Nie Huaisang’s gaze raked up and down Wei Wuxian’s body. “You don’t look like you’re going into qi deviation.”

“How can I?”

“Are you having troubles? I’m not sure… have you consulted a physician?”

“No,” Lan Zhan said, again precise, feigning disinterest. The hand he held behind his back was probably clenched in a fist.

Wei Wuxian’s heart was going to give out, he was certain of it. This was a bad idea. He wanted to take back every promise he ever made to Lan Zhan that he would fix this if only Nie Huaisang wouldn’t look at him with such mingled horror, pity, and fascination.

Wei Wuxian could not do this in front of Lan Zhan. It was too undignified. So he grabbed Nie Huaisang by the arm and began dragging him away, but not before Nie Huaisang dug his heels in. “Hanguang-jun!” he called. “You may wander the library freely of course, though I would suggest staying away from the alcove in the southernmost corner.”

“Why?” Lan Zhan asked.

“Wei-xiong told me what happened the last time you saw a volume from my collection. I would rather not find out what happened if you were exposed to whole shelves of them.”

Lan Zhan’s ears turned the brightest shade of red that Wei Wuxian had ever seen and he did not reply. Wei Wuxian sent up a prayer that Lan Zhan’s palm survived the trauma of his fingernails gouging into it.

Now Wei Wuxian had a new reason to drag Nie Huaisang away: to keep Lan Zhan from murdering them both on the spot. He whispered, harsh, “You keep pornography in your library?”

“I keep works of high artistic caliber in my library in whatever form they might take.” Nie Huaisang sniffed. “What safer place is there for it? Only senior disciples and elders are allowed in here unattended. Anywhere else and the children would be purloining it left and right.”

“Like you did.”

“Obviously.” Nie Huaisang slapped his folded fan against Wei Wuxian’s shoulders. “The seniors are all such prudish bores anyway and too scared to even look in that direction. I wish one of them would—” Laughing, he shook his head. “Wei Wuxian, you’re good at distractions, but not good enough. What’s this about mating cycles?”

Wei Wuxian sneered, but without Lan Zhan nearby, it was a little easier to breathe, a little easier to talk. But only a little. Who could have guessed his shamelessness would fail him now? “Your sect practices saber techniques to suppress heat cycles, right?”

“Ugh, unfortunately,” Nie Huaisang answered.

“How does it work?”

Nie Huaisang reared back as though burned, nose twitching in disgust. “How would I know?”

“Don’t you—”

“Heavens, no. I’m not going to use martial techniques to rid myself of parts of myself. Are you out of your mind? I’ve been doing everything I can to discourage my disciples from choosing that route.”

“So what do you—”

“A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

Fuck, this was not where Wei Wuxian thought his day was going to go and he wanted to take everything back so he could return to a time when this conversation hadn’t happened yet. “Ah, ah, ah. Fine, I get it. I get it. I get it. Just. Entirely hypothetically then. Since we’ve confirmed that you don’t suppress that way. And you don’t wield a saber. So this has no direct bearing on your life at all.”

“Yes, okay.” Nie Huaisang nodded. “Good. This has nothing to do with me. I am always very glad when things have nothing to do with me. Please continue.”

Wei Wuxian leaned in close. “Are there any problems for members of your sect when…?”

“When…?”

Wei Wuxian blew out a breath and punched Nie Huaisang on the arm. “You’re not this stupid, Nie-xiong!”

“That’s very flattering, but pretend for one minute that I am.”

He almost called Lan Zhan back to act as his mouthpiece again. “Argh. What happens to a person when they are nearing qi deviation and go into heat? Is there any change in how it presents? That’s why I wanted to see your library. To research.”

Nie Huaisang’s features blanched and he shook his head. “This is so inappropriate. You can’t just—”

“Please, it’s important.”

“My brother is going to kill me in the next life, I’m sure of it.” Nie Huaisang brushed his hand across his mouth and he surveyed Wei Wuxian very, very closely. “You’re really not going into qi deviation?”

He must have understood what he saw in Wei Wuxian from his careful scrutiny, because he grabbed Wei Wuxian by the elbow and pulled him toward the back of the library, not so very far from that now infamous southernmost alcove. “You have to promise me you won’t ever tell anyone, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And you’re going to tell me why you want to know. Leverage, of course. I’m sure you understand.”

Jin Guangyao really had found his match in this bastard. Well. There was nothing for it. Nie Huaisang knew something and Wei Wuxian needed to know what. It was worth the price of embarrassing himself.

“Cultivating a crooked path made heats incredibly inconvenient for me and medicinal suppressants no longer work well enough for my purposes. Some of us like to night hunt, you know?” There. That was true…ish and kept Lan Zhan’s privacy intact. “I can’t go back in time and ask Xue Chonghai about any of this, so I figured your sect might be the next best thing.”

Honestly, Xue Chonghai probably didn’t care anyway and Xue Yang certainly wouldn’t have if he’d survived long enough to get anywhere with it. Wei Wuxian was probably the only demonic cultivator in the entire history of cultivation practice who needed to give a damn about this.

Nie Huaisang’s mouth fell open and then he glared at Wei Wuxian.

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian said, shrugging, more uncomfortable than he’d ever been in his life. “I’m not trying to imply you’re a bunch of demonic cultivators or anything.”

Frowning, Nie Huaisang flicked his fan open and then closed again, tapping it against his open hand. “There… have been rare occasions when qi deviations and mating cycles have coincided,” Nie Huaisang admitted, reluctant. “It… isn’t pleasant for any of the parties involved.”

Wei Wuxian suppressed the urge to shudder, but a chill still managed to snake up his spine anyway. Sadly, he didn’t have to imagine what Nie Huaisang meant.

“You say medicinal suppressants don’t work well. Are they not powerful enough or…?”

“It’s too inconvenient.”

Nie Huaisang nodded and bit his lip. “It’s not my library you need then,” he said. “It’s my apothecary, but Wei-xiong, it’s not worth it unless you have no other choice. Being able to night hunt more regularly is—” He laughed bitterly, a hint of shame in it. “—trust me when I say thats a bad reason to do this.”

Apothecary. Apothecary. That meant there was a cure, which was even better than a starting point. That was something very, very near to the endpoint.

He hadn’t even begun to hope that Nie Huaisang might already have a solution to his problem. The fact that he did was… his shoulders hadn’t felt this light in a long time. All that shit he’d told Lan Zhan about nobody figuring it out. How arrogant he’d been. “It’s worth it to me. If there’s any chance…”

There was a flash of white behind one of the bookshelves nearby and then the slamming of something against a nearby table.

By the time Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang reached the table, the figure—obviously Lan Zhan—was already gone. A stack of at least eight volumes stood on the table in his absence, looking very innocent except for how Nie Huaisang’s cheeks were going pink as he flicked open the cover of the one on top.

“What’s that?” Wei Wuxian asked, peering over Nie Huaisang’s shoulder. He was flipping the pages too quickly to read, but then he reached a page that needed no explanation.

“Hanguang-jun found the southernmost alcove,” Nie Huaisang managed, nearly squeaking as he spoke the words. He checked the next one and the next. “But I’m not sure why he picked these specifically or why he didn’t shred them.”

“What are they?”

“Um… I’ll let you figure that out. I’m going to speak with the apothecary and let them know you’re coming. If you decide to pursue this path… please just think it through. Don’t just do that thing you do and damn the consequences. The apothecary will be able to explain it better than I can. I find the whole thing rather repulsive.”

Wei Wuxian waved him off. Who cared if it was repulsive? Wei Wuxian’s thoughts were repulsive. Anything else would be a reprieve. What could be more unpleasant than what I’m already dealing with? Not a moment later, he’d relegated Nie Huaisang’s concerns to the back of his mind where they would be instantly forgotten.

He skimmed page after page of the book, seeing nothing especially out of the ordinary in the images depicted, scenes of people being tied up, held down, taken forcefully, the sort of pornography a person could find anywhere. Bruises spread themselves across bare backs. Scratches scraped down chests and stomachs and thighs. Hair was pulled. Mouths were stretched. Other places were… well. It was nothing especially out of the ordinary, nothing uniquely filthy.

What was Lan Zhan doing with this? And why had he left it so pointedly for Wei Wuxian to find?

Only when he began reading did he realize what was actually being depicted, who was being taken and who was doing the taking. A sharp pang thrummed deep in his chest as it all clicked into place.

It wasn’t the thirds in these scenarios who were being struck and fucked and made to beg for it.

It was the firsts.

He read through each and every one of them, the next more daring and brazen than the last. Hours had to have passed by the time he lifted his head again, hard, aching, mind full of fantasies that were not his own, but could have been.

But there was only one question that Wei Wuxian really wanted answered: how did Lan Zhan feel when he was reading these?

Wei Wuxian was in a daze as he returned to their room, mind still full of the images from Nie Huaisang’s books, the words, the thought that—

Lan Zhan did not make empty gestures. There was meaning in every action Lan Zhan took, even when Wei Wuxian couldn’t parse it, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t even picture the steps Lan Zhan would have taken. He could mentally put Lan Zhan before the stacks and lost the thread of it again when he remembered it was stacks of pornography.

How many volumes did he have to look through to find so many examples of such a niche interest? Or did Nie Huaisang already have it neatly cataloged and he merely pulled them down off the shelves and hauled them around until he found where Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang were conversing? He couldn’t have explained why he was so hung up on it, but he was.

It was this thought that occupied him as he returned to their room.

As such, he wasn’t entirely at his most cognizant when he stepped through the door, focus still back on those books.

That was the only reason Lan Zhan was able to catch him so deeply by surprise, already pushing him back into the door before Wei Wuxian could so much as offer a greeting, wrenching Wei Wuxian’s arms up and pinning them to the wood while he kissed and bit at Wei Wuxian’s lower lip and kicked his legs apart.

“Fuck,” he said as Lan Zhan’s mouth wandered down his jaw and over his neck, his tongue a little quicker on the uptake than the rest of him. “Fuck, fuck, fu—”

“Language,” Lan Zhan replied, sharp as the rap of a switch across his knuckles, before grabbing Wei Wuxian’s shoulders and spinning him around.

Huffing, shaky all over and barely able to draw breath, Wei Wuxian regardless made a valiant effort to answer. “Fu-ornicate just doesn’t have the same ring to it, Lan Zhan. Let a man express himself.” As Lan Zhan hiked up the truly prohibitive amount of fabric between them and pushed down his, frankly, restrictive trousers, he pressed his forearm across the breadth of Wei Wuxian’s shoulders, pinning him in place. Though Lan Zhan kept his nails trimmed and blunted, he still dragged them up Wei Wuxian’s flank with enough force to leave marks and trail throbbing warmth behind. Unable to entirely control himself, Wei Wuxian swore again. Not fuck this time, but other words that made Lan Zhan hiss unhappily at him.

Or maybe happily. The line got blurred sometimes. Not that Wei Wuxian minded when he got to feel like this as a result.

“Lan Zhan, you’re very—”

“Shh.” A whip-like sound. How long will it be until he uses a silencing spell on him?

“—energetic,” he finished because he couldn’t help himself, because this felt good, safe, more like the normal Wei Wuxian was striving for. If Lan Zhan wanted finally to reassert himself, so be it. The fact that he hadn’t dumped Wei Wuxian in a field somewhere to fend for himself while he went back to Cloud Recesses only meant that Wei Wuxian would count his lucky stars instead. But if Lan Zhan was going to return this to him, too, well then.

He’d have to count all those stars when his mind wasn’t filled with the dazzle of touch and scent and sound and—and the thought of Lan Zhan finding pornography all on his own and prissily presenting it to Wei Wuxian.

Lan Zhan palmed him roughly and wrapped calloused fingers around him, tugging furiously until Wei Wuxian was fully erect and his stomach swooped the way it used to when he could still fly his sword, moving too quickly, too recklessly through the sky on it, too glorious and fearless to concern himself with proper protocol and technique. And then he let go of him, fingers wandering across his hip to settle against his abdomen.

Wei Wuxian barely cut off another strained curse that sat on his tongue. Only for Lan Zhan would he be so restrained. And instead of praising him, Lan Zhan was quieting him! Lan Zhan could be so rude when he wanted to be. But he hadn’t yet used a silencing spell—more’s the pity—and Wei Wuxian couldn’t quite bring himself to force the issue by being purposefully obnoxious. He knew, despite Lan Zhan’s assertions to the contrary, that Lan Zhan liked to hear him. “Lan er-gege,” he said, piteous, simpering, grinding back against Lan Zhan, who was like stone against him, utterly unmovable. “Take pity on this poor maiden.”

If he spoke the words in such a way that they sounded a whole lot more like take this poor maiden, whose fault was that? Not Wei Wuxian’s. Not when Lan Zhan’s hands were that clever. This was entirely his fault.

Lan Zhan scoffed and tugged Wei Wuxian’s ribbon free, discarding it… somewhere, so it wasn’t difficult for him to grab the hair at the nape of Wei Wuxian’s neck and pull until Wei Wuxian’s neck was taut, tilted at the perfect angle for Lan Zhan to suck at the sensitive stretch of muscles that climbed his throat. There would be bruises and Wei Wuxian found he didn’t mind in the slightest. Preferred it this way. He loved it when Lan Zhan was shameless with him and this was shameless indeed.

Maybe Lan Zhan just really liked weird pornography.

This was how it should have been. Perfect, really. This was what it could always be once they were done here, when Wei Wuxian had finally set this right.

Wei Wuxian rather enjoyed the thought of that.

Heat coiled in Wei Wuxian’s chest and sprung free, unfurling throughout his body to match the relief and affection he felt. Lan Zhan was playing him the way Wei Wuxian might have played his dizi, fingers and tongue and teeth wicked against Wei Wuxian’s body.

“Lan Zhan,” he whined. He tried to turn in Lan Zhan’s grasp, hoping maybe if he could get purchase, wrap his legs around Lan Zhan’s waist, they might get somewhere with this. Pushed into the door like this, he didn’t have many options other than to take what Lan Zhan gave him, but good as it was, it wasn’t enough, and even so, Lan Zhan just teased more without getting him anywhere. “Hanguang-jun.”

“Enough!”

Before Wei Wuxian could complain, Lan Zhan wrapped his hand around Wei Wuxian again, stroked him roughly, thumb swiping across the head just the way he liked it best, smearing his fluids down the shaft. Bucking against Lan Zhan’s hand, he moaned, dancing already on the edge of release even before Lan Zhan had breached his body. Sometimes he did that, too, made Wei Wuxian orgasm just so he could force another orgasm from him once he began fucking Wei Wuxian in earnest.

Just the thought of that possibility was enough to push Wei Wuxian over the edge, spilling into Lan Zhan’s hand with less dignity than Lan Zhan probably deserved and one last curse that Lan Zhan didn’t scold him for.

Going by the choked off sound he made before dragging his hand down Wei Wuxian’s flank, over his cheek, and down his neck, he didn’t mind. The scent of his own release filled his nostrils, not nearly as enchanting to him as it was to Lan Zhan, who nuzzled at his hairline while adjusting Wei Wuxian’s robes.

His breath was shaky and erratic against Wei Wuxian’s cheek and his fingers just a little bit less coordinated than usual.

That was flattering.

And then Wei Wuxian realized that Lan Zhan wasn’t just adjusting his clothes, but righting them. He was making Wei Wuxian presentable again, as though that was necessary here and now where nobody could see or hear them or, in Wei Wuxian’s case, smell him. “Lan Zhan?”

“Hm?” Gone was the sharpness Wei Wuxian so enjoyed when they got like this, replaced instead with a brittleness that made Wei Wuxian suspicious. His weight remained a comforting presence against his back, at least, but it made him realize suddenly that—

Lan Zhan wasn’t planning on fucking him.

When he turned this time, Lan Zhan couldn’t stop him, wouldn’t have been able to if he tried.

Startled, he twisted out of Wei Wuxian’s grip, but only succeeded in getting maybe one step from Wei Wuxian before Wei Wuxian managed to grab hold of him again. “What’s wrong?” he asked. Dread unfurled inside of him, smoky vines that threatened to choke him. Had he done something wrong again somehow? “Why don’t you want to touch me?”

Lan Zhan froze. “I touched you.”

“Semantics, Lan Zhan! You know what I mean. Don’t do that thing where you just don’t talk to me.” What was going on in that head of his? Wei Wuxian just couldn’t keep up. “Why won’t you touch me? Tell me or I’ll…”

What could Wei Wuxian do, really? Nothing. He didn’t have the best track record with talking either. What a hypocrite.

And then, because Lan Zhan was always the better of the two of them: “I don’t want you to—to have to touch me.”

“Why wouldn’t I—?” He took Lan Zhan’s face between his hands and forced Lan Zhan to look him in the eye when he asked the question. “Why wouldn’t I want to touch you?”

It was obvious, looking at Lan Zhan’s face now. Even though he was never going to be the most emotive being in the world, it was impossible for Wei Wuxian to miss the way Lan Zhan wouldn’t meet his eyes even when forced, the fractionally too quick denial when Wei Wuxian first asked.

Where did he get the idea that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t want to touch him? If anything, it should have been the other way around.

Lan Zhan kept his mouth stubbornly closed.

He wasn’t going to win this one. Lan Zhan just wasn’t going to say.

He looked over Lan Zhan’s shoulder and saw a small open box containing two large pills, dark brown in color.

“What are those?” Wei Wuxian asked, because that was the easier question.

“You haven’t spoken with the apothecary yet,” Lan Zhan answered, sharp, immediate. “I have.”

“Oh.” Wei Wuxian breathed in relief, relief and mingled sadness, because Lan Zhan must be so impatient if he went and sought this out on Wei Wuxian’s behalf. “You overheard?”

“Mn. I was there when Sect Leader Nie showed up. He told the apothecary to tell me everything.” He stepped away from Wei Wuxian, approaching the table. “Why haven’t you gone?”

“I wanted to tell you the good news first.”

In his more delirious moments on those punch drunk nights when he couldn’t sleep and couldn’t stay awake either, trapped in a hellish middle ground where no rest could be taken, he imagined taking his golden core back from Jiang Cheng and going into seclusion until he could choke the life out of this desire for good.

He hadn’t thought that all it would take was a pill to solve this problem instead. Amazing.

“Good news?” Lan Zhan repeated. The words were choked off, cold.

“Yeah. It’s great, isn’t it? No more worrying about… any of this!” he insisted, laughing lightly as he pushed through the awkwardness of Lan Zhan’s response. When he reached for Lan Zhan’s wrist, Lan Zhan jerked his arm away, broke any attempt Wei Wuxian made to hold onto him, wouldn’t even let Wei Wuxian see his face as he twisted away.

“Don’t.”

Wei Wuxian blinked, certain for a moment that he’d heard wrong. It had been years since Lan Zhan had said anything so intractable to him, so inflexible, so fearful.

Was Lan Zhan afraid of him and he’d managed to hide it until now?

But of course he would be. Who wouldn’t? Even another third would be terrified to be used so brutally.

Wei Wuxian’s mouth watered as bile flooded the back of his throat. He was going—he needed to get out of here, get this done. He made to grab for the pills and—

And then Lan Zhan was turning back around, grabbing him by his robes while also pushing the box further across the table, well out of Wei Wuxian’s reach.

Lan Zhan’s throat bobbed, tongue swiping over his lower lip, such an uncertain gesture for him. It spoke more eloquently than any number of words would have done for anyone else. Then, before Wei Wuxian could take more than one backward step toward the door: “You can’t do it this way.”

Mouth falling open, he tried to gather his words into something that could be described as sensible. Can’t do what, he thought, because he couldn’t fathom not fixing this and couldn’t imagine Lan Zhan wanting anything other than the same as well. Lan Zhan had to be mistaken or otherwise didn’t understand what Wei Wuxian meant. “Lan Zhan?”

Making an impatient, unhappy sound, Lan Zhan turned away again, hunching in on himself. Wei Wuxian couldn’t tell who he was more upset with, himself or Wei Wuxian. It could have been either, but he hoped Lan Zhan wasn’t upset with himself.

Wei Wuxian circled around carefully, as though approaching a spooked animal. “Lan Zhan?”

“There are limits to what I’ll allow you to do for me,” Lan Zhan finally said, before Wei Wuxian really had to start prying.

Sucking in a breath, Wei Wuxian tried to still the sudden hammering of his heart. Lan Zhan wouldn’t allow him to catch his eye, even when Wei Wuxian reached out to him. A mercy, probably. Wei Wuxian wasn’t entirely certain what he would do if he could see the same despair in Lan Zhan’s eyes that he heard in his voice. It was inordinately nice to hear the words, misguided though they might have been, unexpected though they were. “Lan Zhan,” he said, warm, fond, frightened for Lan Zhan. “How I feel is…” Not right, not good, not what you deserve. “It wouldn’t be good for you.”

Lan Zhan’s head snapped up and his eyes narrowed, flashing. The frown on his mouth deepened and his chin tipped up in challenge. Each word was spat from behind that unhappy scowl. “Do you think I’m broken?”

“Of course not. You’re—”

“You must if what you believe about yourself is true.”

“What—what are you saying?”

“I liked what you did to me. Is that not abominable to you? Unfathomable? If how you feel is so bad, what does that make how I feel?”

The words dropped between them like a string of lit firecrackers that hadn’t managed to spark and might catch alight at any moment, nobody certain yet if they were duds or not. If you approached too soon, you’d risk getting singed or worse. I liked what you did to me, Lan Zhan had said. He’d liked it.

And Lan Zhan never lied. He’d learned to obfuscate a little, omitted frequently, but when he saw fit to actually open his mouth, the words that came out of it were always true.

I liked it would blow up in Wei Wuxian’s face, but the deepest parts of him ached for it to be true all the same, clamored to be allowed to remain, as inextricably a part of him now as that painful, crooked path he’d long ago cultivated. There was as little chance of removing that history from his body as there was of removing this and a small, very small piece of him was relieved at the thought of no longer having to fight it.

But, but Wei Wuxian remembered, he remembered the state Lan Zhan had been in and the answer was right here on the table next to them. Two pills. That was all it would take to go back to normal. Why wouldn’t Lan Zhan want that when it was so easy?

Lan Zhan struggled with more words as Wei Wuxian didn’t respond, a vast array of expressions flickering across his face as he waited, uncertain, for Wei Wuxian to say something, anything.

Wei Wuxian could say nothing. What was there to say?

“I’m not afraid of it,” Lan Zhan added, finding more words than Wei Wuxian ever would have expected for this occasion. “You’re not even the only one.”

Ah. The pornography. Of course. That was one mystery solved. Because tying a first up for fun in a book and doing what Wei Wuxian wanted to do and did in reality were the same things. Why couldn’t Lan Zhan see the distinction? Hell, if Lan Zhan wanted to do that, he’d happily comply.

But there was nobody like Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian almost laughed again and at almost the worst possible time. Lan Zhan would never forgive him if he laughed now. “I hurt you.” I’ve done enough of that for two lifetimes, for ten, for an eternity. “You agreed with me that I shouldn’t do it again.”

His voice had gone shrill. Not a good sign.

“Because I will not obligate you to do something you’re set against.” There was anger in his eyes now, which took on a frenzied edge, a heated edge, an edge Wei Wuxian recognized easily enough for it matched the turmoil that sometimes threatened his own heart. Arousal. Desire. Need. Lan Zhan liked it. He wanted to do it again. And the only thing he could see here was Wei Wuxian trying to take yet another thing away from him, like Wei Wuxian wasn’t doing his best to protect Lan Zhan from suffering instead. “Did you dislike it?”

“I—”

“Other than worrying about me, did you dislike it?” There was a wildness in Lan Zhan’s eyes that Wei Wuxian had never seen before. His fingers were tight where he suddenly gripped Wei Wuxian’s biceps.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t. And even still… It was hard to speak around the lump in his throat, but he managed. “It was incredible, Lan Zhan. You were so…” Words couldn’t actually describe what it was like. Sifting through the memories, he divorced himself from the guilt of his actions and focused only on the acts themselves, on Lan Zhan’s body, on how he’d felt, and not even a little bit on what he thought. “You were perfect.”

“Have you had any bad dreams since?”

He shook his head. His mind had been settled the whole week while they traveled, even despite the tumult of emotions he felt about the whole thing while awake. A week wasn’t long enough to know anything for certain.

“Have you considered that your dreams are not an accurate reflection of reality?”

“It seemed pretty accurate while I was doing it, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan was an excellent swordsman; he knew how and when to attack from a different angle, merciless. “Did Sect Leader Nie tell you what the pills do?”

“He told me to speak to the apothecary about it.”

“The apothecary will tell you that this pill will strip you of your desires entirely, all of them. You would not be able to…” His ears went pink and he looked away. “…perform or derive pleasure from such activities. What I just did to you would have no effect on you. You would not care.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t think that was possible, but Lan Zhan certainly believed it.

“Perform?” Blinking, he considered. “At all? But you’d still be able to…” He gestured at himself. “Right? If you wanted to?”

Who cared if Wei Wuxian got hard or got off? As far as deals went, it seemed like a reasonable enough trade. A steep price, maybe, but cheaper than the alternative.

And oh, those words made Lan Zhan furious. He nearly shook with it. “The second one is not for you if you pursue this path.”

Wei Wuxian’s blood ran cold. “Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan merely glared at him, daring Wei Wuxian to contradict him. This was not an empty threat. His body seemed to vibrate with his certainty. They would go down together if they went down at all.

He swallowed and reached for Lan Zhan’s hands and knew that if Lan Zhan flinched away, he would have his answer regardless.

Lan Zhan did not flinch this time.

“You fight so dirty!” Wei Wuxian said, blinking down at their joined hands.

“I don’t expect you to…” Lan Zhan’s throat bobbed again as he swallowed. “You don’t have to—”

“But you want me to? Even knowing—?”

Lan Zhan’s breath was rasping, choked, barely a word at all and yet the most important word of all, a crack in the dam of his heart, spilling water that would one day collapse the whole thing. “Yes.”

Oh.

Well.

Wei Wuxian tried to open his mouth, but no words came out. The naked, honest vulnerability in that one syllable demanded everything from Wei Wuxian. Courage, selflessness, a letting go of fear.

And Wei Wuxian wasn’t certain he could do any of those things until he brushed away the tear that dripped down Lan Zhan’s cheek.

“Must I beg you?” Lan Zhan asked him, tilting his head into Wei Wuxian’s hand.

He could always—if it got to be too much, he could go back to figuring out how to stop himself and knowing that there was an option to solve this problem for good, that was worth something. It eased the terror in his heart that he was unstoppable, grotesque, that he’d never be right again if he gave in even the slightest bit.

“I would stop cultivating the ability to suppress if I thought for even a moment you’d have me.” His tongue poked out to wet his lower lip. “If you wanted me.”

Oh, Lan Zhan.

How could he say no now?

“Not every time,” he cautioned; he wasn’t sure he had the heart and the stomach for it, even having done this once overwhelmed him. But maybe sometimes he could be flexible. For Lan Zhan. He could set up a protective array of some kind possibly? A talisman? Or he could merely adjust the suppressive teas until they were less effective when it was close? No night hunts in the weeks leading up to it definitely. “But… maybe we can try it under better controlled conditions?”

He waited for the moment of regret as he denied himself the freedom he was so close to receiving. That moment came and went and the only thing he felt was a weak thread of relief.

The tension Lan Zhan was carrying melted away with the shuddering exhale he released, telling Wei Wuxian he’d made, if not the right decision—he couldn’t call it that yet, not until he was sure, he still worried, he might always worry—then it was at least a decision he could live with for the time being.

Lan Zhan looked at him with wonder, kissed him deeply, fiercely, murmuring pleas and thank yous into his skin, words Wei Wuxian never wanted or needed to hear. Too reverent. Too much.

“Okay, okay,” he said, cradling the back of Lan Zhan’s head, laughing as that thin tendril of relief bloomed inside of him. Lan Zhan was too good. He would still have to reconcile himself to this, ease into it, but his heart cradled a hope now that hadn’t existed before and it was a powerful, heady feeling. “You’re sure?”

Lan Zhan kissed him again, so deeply that Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure he’d ever break the surface again, not at all the worst way to go, knowing he was so loved. “Mn.”

It wasn’t anything like this was supposed to be, nothing like the romance stories he used to read, nothing like what the proper order demanded of them, but he and Lan Zhan weren’t the cultivators they were supposed to be either and life was never going to be a perfect romance.

But maybe, for them, it was just right.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, giddy with possibility, happy that for once that he could ease the burden in Lan Zhan’s heart instead of adding to it. “You’ll still, you know?” He jerked his head toward the door. “Sometimes?”

Lan Zhan’s reply was a huff of laughter. Laughter, how long had it been since he’d heard Lan Zhan laugh for him? It was beautiful. “As much as you want.”

Okay. Okay, that was good then. Great, even. He did so like it when Lan Zhan…

But this wasn’t about him.

“Hey, Lan Zhan, hey,” he said, breathing the words against Lan Zhan’s ear, throwing one final look at the pill he wouldn’t be taking, though there was something else he was thinking about taking from Nie Huaisang instead, “how do you feel about a bit of petty thievery?”

Wei Wuxian thought he was prepared for the consequences of his actions. Hell, just about every step he’d ever taken in his life resulted in some form of punishment or other, so he should have been used to it by now. But should have and were might as well exist on different continents entirely because…

“Ugh, Lan Zhan, you’re the worst,” he said, groaning, rubbing his face against Lan Zhan’s arm, nose nudging at his shoulder. “Have mercy on me, please. It’s too early for this.”

“For what?” And was that a hint of smugness in Lan Zhan’s tone? It was too early for that, too.

“You know what.” Wei Wuxian couldn’t help it. Turning his face into Lan Zhan’s bicep, he bit lightly at the muscle, tonguing the fabric that covered it, because if Lan Zhan was going to be this… him about it, then Wei Wuxian was going to be equally obnoxious in turn. “I haven’t even had tea yet. This is a patent abuse of—”

“It’s late,” Lan Zhan answered, “and you told me to.”

“You shouldn’t listen to the things I tell you when I’m…” And okay. That was. Well, he definitely needed to stop thinking about that right now or else they’d be in a lot of trouble really quickly. “Anyway, I thought it would be—”

His hands tightened in Lan Zhan’s under robes and he hauled himself upright, both hands planted on Lan Zhan’s chest. He was disproportionately pleased with the saliva-stained patch of cloth covering Lan Zhan’s arm. It didn’t even matter that Lan Zhan didn’t seem to give a single damn about it.

“You said you wanted me to be ready to have my mind blown.”

Hearing his own words spill from Lan Zhan’s mouth in his exact intonation was certainly an experience. Uncanny, definitely weird. Lan Zhan was doing this on purpose. “Yes, but…”

But his nerves twanged and to be honest he’d been speaking from a well of confidence that had run dry somewhere between his second orgasm last night and this moment right now when all he had was the inexorable tug of need somewhere in the vicinity of his navel. It put him on edge, feeling his own impending heat and Lan Zhan’s, too, overwhelming and too good. His mind was full of Lan Zhan and it was better than being drunk on the finest batch of Emperor’s Smile he could ever hope to drink, but even so.

He’d told Lan Zhan he was ready, supremely comfortable with the idea while pinned beneath Lan Zhan on this very bed, thoroughly fucked and certain that his frame of mind was such that he could—that it wouldn’t be a desperate repeat of last time.

No time like the present, he’d thought. Ha.

“You’re so disgustingly polite,” Wei Wuxian complained. Even his heats obeyed him. “And yet you’d do this to me, your very own…” What did he even call himself at this point? They weren’t bonded, not yet, but they were more than what they’d been before. “…partner.”

“Partner,” Lan Zhan repeated and, really, he could stop being this way at any point, like he was the one so versed in teasing. That was Wei Wuxian’s job. Being on the receiving end of it was not his forte. Lan Zhan was much better at it.

Whining, Wei Wuxian collapsed against Lan Zhan’s chest. “We’re still a whole day away from where I wanted to take you. How am I supposed to—” He nosed at Lan Zhan’s neck, licked and scraped his teeth over the tendons there. “—behave when you smell this good.”

It was difficult for him to joke in this manner, even now, when every instinct still told him to hold it close. To play any of it off felt strange to him even after every small step they’d taken.

“You needn’t if you don’t wish to.” Though his voice remained even, the sharp, quick inhalations and the way his hands tightened on Wei Wuxian’s waist were a dead giveaway.

“And scandalize the neighbors, Hanguang-jun? What would they think?”

“I’ve never cared.”

It was, of course, only Wei Wuxian who’d ever cared about anyone else’s opinion about anything; Lan Zhan’s motivations for abiding by their world’s codes and morals had only ever been driven by his inherent belief in them at the time. It never mattered what other people believed in turn.

Wei Wuxian groaned. How good it would be to let go here and now at six in the morning on a random, sunny day, finally, finally give them both what they so desperately wanted. Lan Zhan had been patient throughout the months it had taken Wei Wuxian to accustom himself to the idea, had whispered into Wei Wuxian’s skin all the things he wanted Wei Wuxian to do to him, things which Wei Wuxian had kept in his heart the whole time, memorizing even while Lan Zhan seemed certain that he would forget, that he was the one who would have to keep track. But Wei Wuxian had plans and they wouldn’t be disrupted.

Suddenly, Wei Wuxian yanked on the loose trousers Lan Zhan slept in and slapped his flank hard enough to sting Wei Wuxian’s palm and leave a pinkish mark. It left Lan Zhan wide-eyed and wild, just as Wei Wuxian had hoped it would. If Lan Zhan was going to stop suppressing, he could damned well feel as harried about it as Wei Wuxian did. “Come on, let’s go,” he said, pushing himself toward the end of the bed to get ready for the day, throwing Lan Zhan’s robes back at him. “We’ve got places to be. If we’re quick, maybe we can make it before sunset.”

It wasn’t the tiny island in the lake outside Lotus Pier that Wei Wuxian so loved, but it was as close to it as he would ever get without prostrating himself before Jiang Cheng. The day he did that would not be the same day he wanted to fuck Lan Zhan’s brains out on the sand, but perhaps one day. Until then, this would suffice. It would do better than, because it was exquisitely private and the sun was warm and lovely and Lan Zhan was looking around him like he’d never seen anything quite as beautiful.

And then he turned toward Wei Wuxian and that expression redoubled and Wei Wuxian was certain he could never recover because it wasn’t Wei Wuxian who was the most beautiful thing here, but try telling Lan Zhan that.

“Aiyah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, shoving at Lan Zhan’s arm. Nervous energy crackled up Wei Wuxian’s spine and shyness twisted his body away to buy himself time to regain his dignity while he dug through his pack. It was like being young and dumb and in love and not knowing it all over again, not a single hint of darkness between them. “Don’t be a sap.”

“I’m not.”

That was the biggest lie Lan Zhan had ever told in his life and Wei Wuxian couldn’t do anything else except spin around and tackle him to the ground, pulling the ornament from his hair and tossing it out of the way, abandoning what he was doing. He’d had a plan and that plan included laying out a quilt, but this would do for now, especially when Lan Zhan’s cheeks—his cheeks, not even just his ears, but his actual cheeks—stained themselves a delightful shade of red.

He pinned Lan Zhan’s wrists to the sand, fingernails digging into the soft skin on the inside, pushing at the ligaments there until he felt bone, until Lan Zhan’s breathing quickened. “What do you want me to do,” he asked, lips within kissing distance of Lan Zhan’s, brushing against the corner of his mouth, “or shall I decide?”

“You—you decide.”

Wei Wuxian smirked. How could he ever have thought this was wrong? It couldn’t be, not when Lan Zhan was radiating heat beneath him, his scent a tantalizing perfume, his hardness, well…

Who was Wei Wuxian to argue with the intractable Lan Wangji?

“Boots,” he said, and Lan Zhan immediately complied, kicking both off so that Wei Wuxian could pull his trousers off.

One-handed, because he had excellent, excellent coordination and a lot of luck, he pulled the tube of lubrication they’d brought with them and pushed himself upright. Letting the tube fall onto the sand, he grabbed Lan Zhan’s arm and turned him onto his stomach, pulling him up onto his knees.

Lan Zhan whined, low, actually whined. Already. Amazing.

He pulled his outer robes off and half-assedly placed them on the sand beneath Lan Zhan’s torso, save him from any unintentional discomfort.

As much as he would have liked to see Lan Zhan’s face, he didn’t actually trust all that pornography that made it seem easy for ones like Lan Zhan to do this. It was like all that pornography that pretended people like Wei Wuxian were ready at all hours of the day, unrealistic and potentially, though not always, unpleasant. So he wanted to do this the easy way first, test it out.

Already he was more turned on than he’d been in—a long, long, very long time. Even the handful of worries that tried to rear their ugly heads couldn’t gain purchase. Lan Zhan wasn’t even fully undressed and Wei Wuxian was close to—

He hiked up Lan Zhan’s robes and pinched at the inside of his already shaking thigh. “Wider.” The fabric of his own robes and trousers were stretched tight across his lap as he knelt. Stupid, why didn’t he undress, too? So much for the plan.

This was… it was going to be over really, really soon if Wei Wuxian wasn’t careful.

Lan Zhan’s head was bowed forward and his back rose and fell quickly, spine curved elegantly around each rasping and choked exhalation.

He pinched Lan Zhan’s thigh again, making him jump, making him moan.

Finally flipping Lan Zhan’s robes all the way up, he nearly gasped himself. Everyone talked about how great Lans looked, how sleek and svelte and elegant, but that didn’t begin to cover the truly beautiful tone and definition on display here. Lan Zhan was truly a credit to his name. He could very well have been carved from jade.

The only mark on his legs at all was the slight purpling of his skin where Wei Wuxian had pinched him.

He decided the best course of action was to trace that bruise with his tongue, bite at it, suck until the mark bloomed red and carried the shape of Wei Wuxian’s teeth. Lan Zhan jerked, his arms giving out for one moment before he steadied himself again.

He was hard, flushed, fluid gathering at the head of his cock.

So the pornography wasn’t wrong in every particular. A part of him had been sure it was all complete bullshit, that there was no way a first would be able to get off like this. But here was proof. Damn.

“Lan Zhan, you’re…” But he didn’t have the right words, so he trailed off, trailing kisses up Lan Zhan’s buttock, settling on the base of his spine as he fumbled for the lubricant. He spread it across his fingers, already runny with the warmth of his own body heat, and dragged them down the cleft.

Lan Zhan groaned again and pushed back against Wei Wuxian’s hand.

Wei Wuxian’s cock throbbed at the sound. It was so indecent. Lan Zhan was so great. He drew a deep breath and reminded himself that they had time. This wasn’t a one and done, but tell that to the only part of him that seemed to have an opinion right now, hard to the point of pain against his trousers, wetness spreading…

But he wanted to make it good for Lan Zhan, make it even better than he’d imagined in the dark when he’d thought Wei Wuxian didn’t, wouldn’t…

His first finger slid into him easily, more easily than he—

“Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan’s only answer was a nonsense syllable and a further lowering of his head between shaking shoulders. He must have… he’d tried this on himself, had to have, maybe even this morning before they’d—before Wei Wuxian had woken up, somehow managing to…

Wei Wuxian bit the inside of his cheek bloody to keep from crying out, to keep from coming right this second because just imagining—

“How did it feel?” he asked, wishing he knew exactly how firsts kept themselves so stoic all the time when this is what they were in charge of? He pushed deeper into Lan Zhan, almost able to feel it himself as he imagined it from Lan Zhan’s perspective, the tightness of him closing around the digit. “When you touched yourself?”

Lan Zhan’s body spasmed, his cock jerking, and he didn’t—or couldn’t—answer.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, sharp.

“F-fine,” he said, as though the word itself pained him. “Not like this.”

Wei Wuxian’s mind raced for something to say. Lan Zhan had mentioned Wei Wuxian’s inability to shut up, hadn’t he? He’d wanted Wei Wuxian to talk to him? But what could he say other than fuck, Lan Zhan, you’re going to be the death of me? Okay, okay. He could—

This was a lot of work. Lan Zhan deserved even more credit than Wei Wuxian had ever given to him.

“Did you think about slicking yourself up for me?” Oh, god. Why did he say that? Now he was imagining it. Lubricant dripping from Lan Zhan’s thighs, soaking into his trousers, no one the wiser because none of it would give itself away on Lan Zhan’s face. He was going to—this was ridiculous. He wasn’t a horny teenager anymore. It shouldn’t have been this easy. If he came first, he was going to be so disappointed in himself, but looking at Lan Zhan…

He pressed a second finger into Lan Zhan’s body and dragged his thumb over the stretched, sensitive ridge of his opening. “Did you consider what I could have done to you if you had? I might have taken you anywhere at any time. You wouldn’t have been able to stop thinking about it, not with it slipping between your legs.” This he knew from personal experience. Even now, he could feel his own entrance helping itself along. Maybe in the midst of all this, he’d be able to convince Lan Zhan to take the reins back, just once, because he was selfish and as eager as Lan Zhan. “It would have been all you could think about.”

“It was,” Lan Zhan managed through a sigh. “It was already the only think I could think about.”

“Do you want me to do that now?”

Lan Zhan nodded, his well of words depleted.

“Even though you’re not…?” He’d intended to take his time, make Lan Zhan’s first experience with this sweet and slow, even though every word Lan Zhan had uttered on the topic involved, well, nothing sweet or slow. There would have been time for everything else.

“Yes.”

Apparently not.

It was easy to solve the problem of wearing trousers when he was willing to just yank them open, tearing the seams as he shoved them down his legs. “You can’t laugh at me if this doesn’t last,” he warned, hands shaking as he grabbed Lan Zhan’s hips.

Lan Zhan huffed at him, but said nothing, not even as Wei Wuxian lined himself up and pushed past the resistant ring of muscle. Fingers were one thing, this was—

Lan Zhan cried out so loudly it startled Wei Wuxian and collapsed forward on his hands and clenched around Wei Wuxian. Lan Zhan’s scent filled the air as he sobbed, forehead pillowed by the sand.

Fuck. Fuck, he was going to—

“Don’t come,” Lan Zhan said in that voice of his, the one that Wei Wuxian couldn’t disobey and how the hell did that still work even though Lan Zhan was pinned beneath him like this?

Wei Wuxian gasped, counted backwards from three, and did not move, not a millimeter.

“I thought I was in charge here,” he said, hysterical. The edge of pain as he knelt, still, between Lan Zhan’s legs, knowing he’d made Lan Zhan do that already, and being unable to do anything about it, was just cruel at this point. “Lan Zhan, that’s not fair.”

“Fuck me.” How Lan Zhan managed to snarl and keen at the same time was a question Wei Wuxian would have to ponder at another time.

He’d thought he was ready. He’d honestly believed he was prepared, but arrogance made a joke out of every man and Wei Wuxian was no exception. “I don’t know if—”

“Wei Ying!”

Wei Wuxian moved just enough to realize that it was impossible. Lan Zhan wanted something now that Wei Wuxian just couldn’t give him. He was going to come. It didn’t matter what Lan Zhan wanted, this was just the way it would be. He couldn’t even see through the haze of pleasure he was feeling. How was he supposed to handle this?

No, no. He could do this. He had to do this. For Lan Zhan. For himself, because he had to prove that this wasn’t—

Lan Zhan was going to pay dearly.

Wei Wuxian just hoped he liked it.

He might have whited out as he slammed into Lan Zhan’s body and hoped for the best, everything turning into a blur of touch and taste and smell. His only touchstone in the world was Lan Zhan, the press of their bodies together, the way he pushed and pulled Lan Zhan in the directions he wanted him to go.

So Lan Zhan didn’t want him to come. So he wanted Wei Wuxian to fuck him. He could do that.

He could do better than that. He could make Lan Zhan take it.

Don’t come. With that kind of challenge, Wei Wuxian could do anything.

When he came back to himself, he was staring down at Lan Zhan, who was looking up at him with wide, wondrous eyes again, slightly dazed, reddened mouth parted. Though Wei Wuxian was soft, he was still inside of Lan Zhan, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to move yet. His arms were hooked under Lan Zhan’s knees, thumbs brushing back and forth over the muscles of his thighs.

Lan Zhan’s robes were in tatters around him.

He laughed, giddy, as he let go of Lan Zhan’s leg to brush his hand over Lan Zhan’s chin, thumb coming away covered in Lan Zhan’s release. Though Lan Zhan stretched to claim Wei Wuxian’s hand, Wei Wuxian pulled away and swiped his tongue over the pad, taking Lan Zhan’s come for his own before leaning down to kiss him. “Ah, no,” he said. “That’s mine.”

Ignoring the collection of scratches that marred Lan Zhan’s skin, ignoring the aching gouges in his own skin, satisfying in their way, he asked, “How was it?”

Lan Zhan swallowed thickly and nodded. Anyone else might have been disappointed by the reaction, but Wei Wuxian wasn’t anyone else. He could see the smoldering desire in Lan Zhan’s gaze, heady and tantalizing. Even now, it would be a little while before Wei Wuxian was ready to go again, but Lan Zhan was hardening merely at Wei Wuxian’s words.

“Greedy,” he said, adjusting himself so that he could take care of it for Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian might not have been ready—unlike Lan Zhan, he’d kept taking a bit of the suppressive teas, just to make himself comfortable, just until they knew for sure.

“No, stay,” was the hoarsely spoken answer.

“Come on, Lan Zhan, I’ll…” He poked his tongue in his cheek and grinned, but even then Lan Zhan just shook his head, though his eyes darkened with need.

Lan Zhan hauled himself up onto his elbows and looked Wei Wuxian in the eyes, placing one hand against the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck. Wei Wuxian could see the way Lan Zhan stitched the edges of his self-control back together just so he could speak. “No,” he repeated, authoritative, challenging again. Wei Wuxian would have to do something about that. “Stay. Until you’re ready.”

“Such a gentleman.” Wei Wuxian wasn’t going to choke up, not because they’d done this and Lan Zhan was still looking at him like this and it was good, so good, left him feeling light enough that he could have floated away if Lan Zhan wasn’t hanging onto him.

“Mn,” he answered, pulling Wei Wuxian down on top of him, his chin resting on the top of Wei Wuxian’s head while Wei Wuxian traced whorls onto Lan Zhan’s skin in nonsense patterns.

He was going to have to work on bossing Lan Zhan around the way he wanted to, maybe, couldn’t let Lan Zhan get away with telling him not to come every time, but he’d get there. He was certain of it now.

“Thank you, Lan Zhan,” he said after a time, the words easier to speak when he could focus on the rich orange light dappling the water gently lapping at the shore. “For everything.”

“I did nothing,” he answered. Then, after a moment, he added, “I should thank you.”

“No, you don’t under—I dreamed of something like this when I was young.” He laughed again. “Well, maybe not this, and not on this particular lake, but—but us, even if I didn’t know it at the time. Thank you for helping me even when I didn’t know I needed it. Thank you for being you.”

Lan Zhan hummed, dismissing Wei Wuxian’s gratitude in the kindest way possible, because these days, he already knew. Somehow he always knew, sometimes even before Wei Wuxian did. Not like before.

“Did you enjoy it?” Lan Zhan asked and Wei Wuxian heard what he didn’t ask: will we be doing this again?

As often as possible. “I did.”

And this time when he said it, there were no equivocations in it, no hesitation in the admission. Just the truth in its entirety.