Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Biologically Determined Dom/sub Roles, BDSM, Bad BDSM etiquette, Sadism, Masochism, Past Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Self-Harm, BDSM as a Form of Self-Harm, Minor Character Death(s), Arson, Shades of Black Widow Wei Wuxian, Extremely Dubious Consent, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Normalized Homosexuality and Bisexuality, Normalized Polyamory, Nonsexual BDSM, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Pining Wei Wuxian, Jealous Wei Wuxian, Touch-Starved Wei Wuxian, Professional Dominant Wei Wuxian, Sex Worker Wei Wuxian, Gentle Dom Lan Wangji, Mean Dom Lan Wangji, Oblivious Lan Wangji, Past Wen Chao/Wei Wuxian, Minor Jin Guangyao/Wei Wuxian, Mentioned Wei Wuxian/Others, Emotional Infidelity, Angst with a Happy Ending, Endgame Wangxian, Mo Xuanyu Also Gets a Happy Ending, the tags are scary but i promise there's some lightheartedness too, wangxian love one another so much, wei wuxian is healed by the power of nonsexual bdsm and friendship, and then gets bdsm'd quite sexually and happily by the love of his life, Additional Warnings In Author's Note
- another Wen Chao flashback, cuts away before anything happens, but still unpleasant
- mocking references to physical/sexual abuse Wei Wuxian has undergone in the past
Special thank you to Aubs (bsky | ao3) for giving this a quick look before I posted. All mistakes are my own.
Muffled laughter rouses Wei Wuxian from a dreamless doze. Bleary from sleep, he cracks open his eyelids. A slash of late morning sunlight streams in through the window, blinding him. In his disorientation, he imagines the laughter is mocking, cruel, a portend for future humiliations. He closes his eyes again and tells himself to relax.
After a handful of breaths, the scent of sandalwood reminds him that he’s not in Nightless City, and the laughter isn’t directed at him. He is in Lan Zhan’s home.
On Lan Zhan’s couch.
“I’ll awaken him shortly,” Lan Zhan says quietly. “We should be quiet until then.”
“Then I’ll leave lunch to you,” Mo Xuanyu replies, equally quiet. “You’re the only person I know who doesn’t clatter around in the kitchen when he cooks. Mingjue went for a hike with Qingyang-jie and her husband. I’ll go track them down.”
“You had a good time?”
“Mingjue took good care of me,” Mo Xuanyu replies. “And I learned a lot from Qingyang-jie.” He draws in an audible breath, tinged with longing. “It’s nice how they all have one another.”
Wei Wuxian shouldn’t eavesdrop, but he’s desperately curious to understand Mo Xuanyu’s way of thinking, and not only because understanding Mo Xuanyu will help him understand Lan Zhan.
“If you miss having more opportunities for play, I can take you back to the city,” Lan Zhan says. “I haven’t thought to ask Wei Ying what he would like to do. Perhaps he’d want to go, too.”
He’s listened in long enough. The last thing he wants is to play or go back to the city.
Pushing back the blanket Lan Zhan must have retrieved for him, he rubs his palms over his eyes and pushes himself upright. More for their benefit than his own, he clears his throat.
“Ah, he’s awake,” Mo Xuanyu says. The soles of his slippers shush quickly across the floor. Then, his cheerful face appears right in front of Wei Wuxian’s eyes. His weight presses into the arm rest as Wei Wuxian sits up fully. Stuffing himself into the sliver of vacated space Wei Wuxian leaves behind, he grins right in Wei Wuxian’s face. This close, Wei Wuxian cannot miss his radiance. “You slept in.”
The sun cannot begin to compare. Last night must have been very good to him.
Though the evening was better for Wei Wuxian than it had any right to be, he wishes he could say the same about himself.
“Lunch will be ready soon,” Mo Xuanyu says. “Want to get ready?”
Nightless City, Less Than Ten Years Ago
“What are you doing?” Wen Chao snaps, lazily fondling one of the women he’s collared as they wait for the servants to finish putting plates on the dining table. She’s perched on his knee and riding his thigh, moaning ecstatically. Wei Wuxian, too embarrassed to look, yet viciously glad it’s not him sitting on Wen Chao’s lap, stares at the wall, pretending he’s not thinking about how unsanitary this is. She must be a new acquisition, this woman, because he doesn’t recognize her. He wonders what respectable family she came from and why they’d seen fit to toss her to a wolf.
Or maybe she’s one of the ones who enjoys it, who wants to be here and made it her goal to snag a Wen scion without ever knowing what that all entails. It happens sometimes, when bodily desires and ambitions match well. On the surface, in fact, Wen Chao isn’t a terrible option. His manners lack, sure. His appearance is middling, yes. But money and power paper over many sins, and he’s skilled enough at what he likes to pull a moan out of Wei Wuxian’s notoriously frigid throat when he’s feeling especially sadistic about it, something Wei Wuxian had fought and fought until his pride gave out.
Second mother was right, in her way. His body has betrayed him. What it wants, it’ll take from anyone, even Wen Chao.
For someone who walks into this place eyes wide open, it could probably be pleasant. There’s still a part of him that hopes that’s the case for her, even though they’re the ones who tend to be the cruelest toward the rest of them in the long run.
A resounding thud shakes the table and all the dinnerware and plates sitting upon it. None of the other submissives flinch the way he does. “I asked you a question, A-Xian.”
Wei Wuxian picks up the thread of his thoughts back to the moment his mind began to wander, finds the tether in Wen Chao’s voice. What are you doing?
He should have answered immediately. Heart climbing his throat, he prepares himself for whatever will serve as punishment.
“Nothing.” Wei Wuxian continues to stare at the wall, fearing what Wen Chao will see if he looks him in the eye. Defiance, probably. He always finds it when he looks at Wei Wuxian. “I’m not doing anything.”
Wen Chao scoffs, nuzzling the woman’s ear. When he bites down, she cries out. “Don’t ever take him as your model,” he tells her, voice grown cold with anger. His hand slips over her bare chest and across her naked abdomen, slides further down. “A-Xian is my resident ice cube. He’s cold with everyone, and he pretends he’s above all of you. I’d beat it out of him, but he likes that too much.”
A flush of the shame Lan Zhan always accused him of not having flares within him, meteor hot. Wen Chao has ensured he’s above nothing.
Nevertheless, his body reacts to the taunt. Regulating his breathing, he ignores it. Eventually it will go away.
“It’s been too long since I’ve indulged you, pet. Maybe that’s why you’re being so snotty today,” Wen Chao says, as though he’s genuinely repentant. His smug, icy undertone turns Wei Wuxian’s stomach even more than the diminutive. “If I use a flogger, I bet I can make you come in less than five minutes. Would you like that?”
There’s only one acceptable answer to such a question. “Yes, xiansheng.”
With a laugh, Wen Chao snaps his fingers at one of the maids. She steps forward and endures his touch on her thigh, his fingertips brushing the hem of her skirt. “Bring my kit,” he tells her, “and have a corner of the table cleared. Our dear A-Xian is offering himself up as an appetizer.”
*
Mo Xuanyu’s lively chatter is already filtering through the closed door of Lan Zhan’s residence when Wei Wuxian returns, clean and freshly garbed in the pale blue tunic he’s grown accustomed to. Wei Wuxian lingers on the porch for a time, hoping to familiarize himself with Mo Xuanyu’s guests. He can’t delay too long, but he finds it difficult to put himself in this situation without any foreknowledge. It’s been a long time since he’s shared a meal with so many people outside the safety provided by his false identity as a dominant.
Most of the chatter belongs to Mo Xuanyu, not helpful in this case.
Finally, a voice he doesn’t recognize, gruff, cuts through the noise. It’s the sort of voice that cannot help carrying a trace of Dominance in it even when it’s not offering up orders. Worse, there’s care in it beneath the prickly quality of it.
It would be intoxicating if he let it be.
Wei Wuxian presses his forehead to the door frame as he gathers the shreds of his dignity together. If he can survive sitting at a table with Lan Zhan, he can survive this.
The line of sight between the kitchen and dining area is nearly perfect, but as he slides open the door, only Mingjue and Mo Xuanyu turn to look at him. Though Mingjue is seated, Mo Xuanyu has his arms draped over the back of the chairs next to Mingjue. Two submissives kneel at Mingjue’s feet, a woman with rope tied around her arms and thighs and knotted in her hair and a man with cuffs around his wrists. They seem happy with this arrangement, if Wei Wuxian is gauging the lack of frightened tension in their shoulders correctly.
They are dressed, thankfully.
“Nie Mingjue,” Mo Xuanyu says, “Wei Wuxian.”
Nie? Surely not…?
“You attended Cloud Recesses with my brother,” Nie Mingjue says. He’s dressed for a day of light hiking, flannels, t-shirt, jeans. His hair, sleek, is pulled into a bun that exposes an undercut. Though he looks casual, cool even, he exudes a compelling vibe of traditional Dominance.
Wei Wuxian feels called to step closer and shies from that instinct at the same time. Still, he can offer a greeting that befits the situation. As he approaches, careful to avoid opening himself up too much for this Dominant he doesn’t know, he notices the thin leather collars around Nie Mingjue’s submissives’ necks, nothing serious, nothing suggests that this is a forever affair for them. If anything, it indicates a respect for the ephemeral nature of the relationship. Despite that lack of security, they share secretive smiles with one another.
The same glow he saw in Mo Xuanyu is present in them.
Though Wei Wuxian wouldn’t want this, he aches for the same kind of satisfaction. He might understand Mo Xuanyu’s enjoyment a little better. For all that what they have is temporary and time-bound, it must mean something important to all of them.
“Your siblings are Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng?” Nie Mingjue asks when he’s close enough to offer a reasonable facsimile of a respectful greeting.
Wei Wuxian’s throat seizes. Around the lump forming in it, he fails to give voice to a proper answer. He can only nod.
“I was sorry to hear about what happened to your second parents,” Nie Mingjue says, perfunctory without being unkind. “It’s unfortunate that we were unable to build a solid enough case against the Wen before—”
“I’m sorry.” A cold sweat breaks out across the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck. “You were what?” A case?
“Mingjue works with the National Supervisory Commission,” Mo Xuanyu says.
“Back then, jurisdiction fell under the Procuratorate,” Nie Mingjue clarifies, as though these granular details matter to Wei Wuxian. “I worked in the Anti-Corruption Bureau. I was looking forward to taking down Wen Ruohan myself.” A sneer pulls at the corner of his mouth. “It’s my luck a fire managed to take him before I could. It was better than he deserved.”
As Wei Wuxian absorbs these words, there’s nothing he can do except stand here and listen to these empty words being spoken to him. Who could know better than Wei Wuxian about what Wen Ruohan or anyone in his family deserved?
“Mingjue-ge,” Lan Zhan says, approaching the table with a tray filled with steaming plates and bowls. Mo Xuanyu immediately hops into action, placing them on the table. His concerned glances dart between Wei Wuxian and Nie Mingjue and back again. “Perhaps we needn’t discuss this now?”
There’s no doubt in Wei Wuxian’s mind that Lan Zhan will break etiquette if necessary should Nie Mingjue pursue this conversational bomb further. Wei Wuxian would be grateful except for how it’s too late to do anything except see it through. The detonator is set. The fuse, lit. Even Wei Wuxian isn’t sure what will happen, how he’ll react.
Mo Xuanyu takes the seat next to Mingjue’s and immediately begins filling a bowl with rice. Lan Zhan takes the chair on the opposite side of Mo Xuanyu’s, the only possible seat he could choose. That leaves Wei Wuxian to sit between Nie Mingjue and Lan Zhan. At least his submissives are clustered on the opposite side of his chair, next to Mo Xuanyu, where he doesn’t have to think about them too deeply on top of everything else.
“Do you really think you could have gotten the Wens on corruption charges?” Wei Wuxian blurts out, tone dismissive, more than a little venomous. To Nie Mingjue, the question might be provocative, but otherwise innocent. Unfortunately, Lan Zhan knows him too well. His scrutiny is absolute and all the more unbearable for it. It’s still not enough to stop his tongue. “Such a noble pursuit.”
“I think many people had a great many reasons to hate the Wens. Someone was bound to do something.”
“Yes,” Wei Wuxian says, “someone did.” Someone needed to do something long before Wen Ruohan decided he wanted Lotus Pier for his own, long before his sadistic son began collecting submissives in the name of traditional values. Someone needed to do something before his siblings were orphaned, before he became the seal on a contract between his family and Wen Chao’s. “I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky an act of heaven interceded or else nothing might have been done. What was it that finally forced the Anti-Corruption Bureau’s hand anyway? Did they finally piss off the wrong—”
“I believe we’ve discussed the Wen family enough,” Lan Zhan says sharply. Though the rebuke could be aimed at Wei Wuxian, who knows somewhere in the back of his mind that he’s pointlessly instigating Lan Zhan’s guest, it’s very clearly being addressed to Nie Mingjue instead. “If we can move on?”
Nie Mingjue studies Wei Wuxian’s face.
“Eat,” Lan Zhan says, voice gentler, “please.”
“Here,” Mo Xuanyu says, handing the overfull bowl to Nie Mingjue rather than Lan Zhan, “you have to try this.” He tries to hand over a pair of chopsticks, but Nie Mingjue isn’t paying attention to Mo Xuanyu. He’s still focused on Wei Wuxian.
“Was it an act of heaven?” Nie Mingjue asks. “The investigation was inconclusive.”
Mo Xuanyu’s gaze again ping pongs flicks between Wei Wuxian and Nie Mingjue, uncertainty and concern marring his features. Lan Zhan must not have told Mo Xuanyu that Wei Wuxian was present when the Wens died. In truth, Wei Wuxian would like to keep that detail to himself, would like nobody on this planet to know anything about what happened back then, but he finds himself opening his mouth to speak, too angry at Nie Mingjue’s innuendo to do anything other than want to defend himself.
“Then what good is—”
“Wei Ying, quiet,” Lan Zhan says, asserting himself before pulling Wei Wuxian to his feet and dragging him down the hallway. “Move.”
Wei Wuxian struggles to get around Lan Zhan, his body blocking Wei Wuxian’s in the hallway.
“Wei—”
No.
Lan Zhan catches Wei Wuxian’s wrist, his hand mere centimeters from delivering an open-palmed slap to Lan Zhan’s entirely innocent cheek.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
The fight drains from him, replaced with a soul-incinerating horror so deep he can’t hold himself up any longer. Though his knees buckle, Lan Zhan’s grip is strong and swift. He grasps Wei Wuxian around the waist and brings him inside one of the rooms that line the hallway.
“Sit,” Lan Zhan says, pushing him onto a chair, a bed, whatever surface can be sat on, he’s put there, pinned in place by Lan Zhan’s hands.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t realize he’s crying until Lan Zhan tips his chin up and brushes the tears away, thumbs cool and gentle as they arc under his eyes.
“Lan Zhan, I—” He grabs Lan Zhan’s shirt and holds it tight between his hands, pulling his body as close as it can get without Wei Wuxian taking up residence inside of it. “Lan Zhan.”
“Shh,” Lan Zhan says. “Shh, Wei Ying. It will be okay.”
“But—” It won’t be okay. It can’t. If things had been a little different… if Wen Ruohan had been found corrupt in a court of law…
A corruption charge could have dissolved his contract. All those years, he could have pursued his own life if they’d survived a little longer.
“I will get you a glass of water.”
It requires more strength than he has in him to relax his grip on Lan Zhan’s shirt, but the part of him that is horrified by his reaction tells him he has to let go, that he cannot bind Lan Zhan to himself in this way, that Lan Zhan will guess if he cannot get himself together. He hears the wisdom in it, knows what he has to do, and can’t do it. Worse, of their own volition, Wei Wuxian’s arms wrap around Lan Zhan’s waist. Though slim, it’s strong and lovely. Anyone would feel safer in such an embrace.
One of his hands settles in Wei Wuxian’s hair, carding the strands gently. “Wei Ying, I am concerned for you.”
“Give me an order,” he whispers, so low that he hopes Lan Zhan doesn’t hear, and hopes even more that he will.
Lan Zhan presses his hand to the top of Wei Wuxian’s head, palm curving warmly over his scalp. Wei Wuxian feels his hesitation through touch alone.
“Please, Lan Zhan. Anything, just—” The fabric of Lan Zhan’s shirt muffles the embarrassing sound Wei Wuxian makes. If Lan Zhan gives him an order, he’d have something else to focus on, something better than the thought that what he’s done was useless all along.
Lan Zhan’s fingernails scratch lightly over Wei Wuxian’s scalp. “I need you to tell me if doing so will make things worse. Don’t lie to me.”
Wei Wuxian shudders, wishes he’d been more careful in his request. Allowing Lan Zhan to ask for his honesty risks too much. Though his voice cracks under the weight of the truth Lan Zhan is requiring from him, he says, “It won’t,” because sometimes, even he knows his own limits.
Lan Zhan draws in a sharp, shuddering breath, fingers tightening in Wei Wuxian’s hair as he tugs him up. “Then kneel.”
He doesn’t embarrass Wei Wuxian with the order. It’s properly given, though overwhelming in its intensity, like he wants to give Wei Wuxian dignity by pretending he needs a strongly given order. Cool, blessed relief flows through his veins as he complies, knees striking the floor hard. Though he instinctively adopts the position taught to him at Cloud Recesses, feet positioned correctly beneath him, thighs pressed to calves, hands loosely positioned over his lap, Lan Zhan kicks his knees apart and positions his hands behind his back. “Hold this position,” he tells Wei Wuxian. “Hands against your lower back.”
There is anger in his tone of voice, impatience, though whom it’s directed toward is nebulous.
The position he’s asking Wei Wuxian to take is intimate, exposing. If he reacts, Lan Zhan will see; he’ll know. He wants to say no. He can’t. He thinks he doesn’t really want to say no.
“Remain like this until I return,” Lan Zhan says. “Don’t fuss.”
Wei Wuxian barely has time to relax into this posture before Lan Zhan returns.
One of his palms cups Wei Wuxian’s chin as he presses the glass to Wei Wuxian’s lips with the other. The water is too warm to be refreshing, but manages to be comforting all the same. He’s so methodical in his approach that by the time the glass is empty—who knows how long it takes, the only sign of time’s passage is the changing slant of the sun through the small window—not a single drop has spilled.
Lan Zhan, who hasn’t spoken at all since he’d first put Wei Wuxian on the floor, says, “Good, Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian’s heart struggles with the praise, throbbing thickly in protest.
And then Lan Zhan is kneeling, too, knees touching the inside of Wei Wuxian’s, too close and not close enough at the same time. He seems to realize it, too, shuffling back before lowering his hands to the floor and bowing over them, an act of deep contrition for a Dominant. He doesn’t fold himself all the way to the floor, but even the slightest bend in his elbows is offensive to Wei Wuxian’s eyes. If he is to be on his knees, he should maintain the dignified posture he’s known for. His spine should never curve forward like this, not when Wei Wuxian cannot lower himself further to make up the balance.
“Lan Zhan…” Moving his hands burns through every bit of stamina remaining to him, but someone has to pull Lan Zhan up if he won’t pull himself up, and Wei Wuxian is the only one here.
“Do not move and don’t speak,” Lan Zhan murmurs, words threaded again with Dominance. His body trembles as badly as his voice does. “I must apologize. You knew what you needed the whole time, didn’t you? Tell me the truth.”
The compulsion to not move or speak eases just enough that Wei Wuxian can shake his head, say roughly, “Lan Zhan, I’m not your responsibility.” That is the truth, though Lan Zhan scoffs. Yes, yes. The contract makes Wei Wuxian his responsibility technically. They both know that, but in Wei Wuxian’s mind, Lan Zhan isn’t responsible for him.
“Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian fights Lan Zhan’s Dominance, but he isn’t strong enough, probably was never strong enough. Lan Zhan is like Wen Xu was, if Wen Xu were kind. There are some people against whom one cannot win. In a better world, Wei Wuxian would gladly fight Lan Zhan to a joyful draw every time. “Yes,” Wei Wuxian whispers, the word torn from deep within him and spit onto the floor between them, bloody with imagined viscera. “I knew.”
Finally, Lan Zhan sits properly, easing Wei Wuxian’s heart on this if on nothing else. He is himself, even when he has debased himself. “You ought to be my responsibility,” he replies with fierce certainty, and then adds, “You are.”
“I’m n—”
“For six months, you are my responsibility. I paid for that right.” He pauses, as though trying to find more words to damn Wei Wuxian with, and touches Wei Wuxian’s face. “You will be honest with me again. Why didn’t you say anything?”
I’m afraid, I’m afraid, I’m afraid. I want too much from you.
“I thought I would be fine.” Wei Wuxian’s voice is a ruin as he conjures a tortured loophole of an answer. Lan Zhan could bring every bit of his Dominance to bear and Wei Wuxian would still fight the need to speak with the bald-faced clarity of an honest answer to this question.
“You will stay here,” Lan Zhan says. “We’ll move your things into the main residence and get this sorted.”
“It’s not that bad,” Wei Wuxian blurts, and oh. That hurts. Lies hurt when he’s been told not to lie. If he focuses on the hurt, bears down on it, leans so far into it that he breaks through, it’s easy. He feels more himself. Something unhinges within his chest, releasing him, giving him room to breathe. “It’s not that bad, Lan Zhan. Honest.”
Lan Zhan is graceful as he unfolds himself, body lifting as though he is lighter than air, or as though something invisible is guiding him, gentling him as he stands. “You cannot possibly think I believe you.”
There’s pity in his eyes, crystal-edged with revulsion. He’s no doubt imagining a thousand different tortures he thinks Wei Wuxian went through to reach such a pathetic stage as this. This is exactly why he never wanted Lan Zhan to know.
Wei Wuxian struggles upright, intending to leave, to—
“I didn’t give you permission to stand,” Lan Zhan says, the threat of command in his tone.
—Wei Wuxian looks up at him.
This is Wei Wuxian’s chance to tap out. Lan Zhan will pull it back if he really pushes. They’ll laugh it off. Or, no. No, they won’t do that. Lan Zhan was never the type, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t think he can laugh anymore. Wei Wuxian will walk on eggshells for six months, skulking around in the residence set aside for him, and then he will leave without even Lan Zhan’s friendship to warm him. Lan Zhan might force a physician on him, someone who can provide the anesthetizing relief of medically-induced submission, clinical and private and abhorrent to Wei Wuxian’s romantic notions about what submission should be, but Lan Zhan will pull back otherwise.
He doesn’t know what the consequences of allowing this to happen will be, surely devastating.
In his time at the club, he’s learned a little of the vulnerability of Dominance. One has to hold each and every moment in the palm of their hands, knowing it balances on the knife’s edge of their control. Too much or too little and they risk disappointing those they care for or worse. Even he’s gotten nervous a time or two—with clients he likes, rare though they are—about such things. He imagines himself in Lan Zhan’s position, seeing Wei Wuxian skitter out of his control for good and never knowing why, never being able to help the way he has wanted to.
Lan Zhan could compel Wei Wuxian into an early grave, but he will never enjoy the certainty of knowing whether it’s wanted, what he does.
Wei Wuxian cannot sue for a better contract in a court of law. He cannot demand precise treatments and know with perfect certainty that they’ll be obeyed. He cannot trust that his heart won’t break when Lan Zhan gives everything he can and it’s not enough for Wei Wuxian’s greedy heart. He cannot ask that Lan Zhan not cross a line Wei Wuxian can’t articulate. He cannot do so many things.
But he also cannot stand when Lan Zhan has told him to kneel. Even knowing it would be better for the both of him if he rose, he can’t.
His eyes close, eyelids as weighed down as the rest of him, and sways forward. “Alright, then.”
Lan Zhan is quick enough to catch him, maneuvering him until he’s able to rest his forehead against Lan Zhan’s thigh. “When you’re ready,” he says gently, hand curving around the back of Wei Wuxian’s head, “we’ll head back.”