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
- Wen Chao unpleasantness including non-consensual groping
- alcohol and drug abuse by unnamed background characters
- implied abuse
- impact play induced altered state of consciousness
Seven Years Ago, Nightless City
“A-Ying!”
Wen Chao’s shout startles the submissives arrayed around the room from their self-induced stupors. Alcohol, illegally purloined medical interventions, they all flow freely in this hall—prison, maybe, despite the excess—that Wen Chao has set aside for this purpose, numbing those who, for one reason or another, have fallen out of Wen Chao’s favor. Instead of sending them home or finding another Dominant for them to service, he brings them here to rot. That’s how they seem to feel anyway, as they try to fuck satisfying orgasms from one another, resentment building within them.
Hungry eyes turn to their master and their master’s dog. If at any point in the past they disdained him, that time has long passed. Wei Wuxian can’t help but wonder if this eagerness is meant to be his fate. He can’t imagine it, so he doesn’t fear it.
To Wei Wuxian, it’s nice enough, though louder than he prefers, and with far more nudity. Though it’s bare to the point of dull asceticism, it’s comfortable. When the others don’t beg him to boss them around because they think he’s hiding a shred of Dominance simply because he wants nothing to do with them, it’s great, the perfect symbol of his victory. Wen Chao spent years trying to end him, but he only succeeded in frustrating himself to the point that he preferred exiling Wei Wuxian to actively tormenting him.
Maybe because he’s never truly tasted what it means to submit, he doesn’t miss it, doesn’t need it as much, isn’t gagging pathetically on whatever he can grasp just to get it. This fact ensures he is not, shall he say, popular among the other submissives here, particularly when he does turn them down. He’s not sure if it’s because they loathe him for his indifference or envy him for it, but they’ve mostly learned to leave him alone, especially since he doesn’t purloin the liquor they hoard, nor does he spare a glance for the pills they palm off one another, guaranteed to put you under in no time at all.
“Zhao Zhuliu, cuff him,” Wen Chao says.
Zhao Zhuliu picks his way through the litter of human life and hauls Wei Wuxian up by the elbow. Before Wei Wuxian can do more than open his mouth to argue, Zhao Zhuliu has him caught with his arms behind his back. That’s the one bad thing about being here, he supposes. He’s lost his touch, gone soft. Even when he tries to fight, he’s made weak by the press of Wen Chao’s order for him to behave.
Wen Chao smirks, so pleased with himself, more pleased than he ought to be.
What’s his game, Wei Wuxian thinks.
“And we’ll give him a bite guard. Wouldn’t want him to show his teeth with company,” Wen Chao says, feigning concern. “How disappointing it would be to introduce him into society only to show them how feral he’s turned.”
Wei Wuxian’s stomach drops. Why does Wen Chao want to drag him back into the world he’d managed to escape?
Wang Lingjiao, somehow still favored, chooses a skirt for him to wear. Unfortunately for him, the shape of his dick can still be seen through the sheer fabric. He ignores the way it makes him feel more exposed than mere nudity would have.
Zhao Zhuliu fits him with a collar that hooks to the cuffs and one of the old throat training gags he used to wear. The silicone touches the back of his throat, shoved without finesse into his mouth, making him cough and sputter. As always, Zhao Zhuliu cold fishes his way through it.
The worst part is the rise it gets out of him, and that fact can’t be hidden beneath the scanty scrap of cloth he’s wearing. Wen Chao, laughing, wastes no time in fondling him to full hardness.
The only other thing Wen Chao brings is a thin, flexible cane, a threat and a promise both.
The Wen residence is huge, the various buildings taking up several blocks in total, and Wei Wuxian hasn’t seen more than the inside of Wen Chao’s portion since he arrived. Being lead through unfamiliar hallways and across an opaque, ominously black skybridge—how long has it been since he’s felt fresh, proper air on his face or heard the sounds of unfiltered city life, all that noise and movement—toward Wen Ruohan’s dwelling, it’s overwhelming.
“Inferno Palace,” Wen Chao says to the attendant kneeling inside the onyx-shaded marble interior of the elevator waiting for them at the end of the skybridge. The attendant is also cuffed with his hands behind his back, but he holds a small rod between his teeth and deftly stands, using the rod to choose the button for the top floor. At one point today, he’d been appropriately dressed, but someone—or multiple someones—has sliced his robes open, leaving behind scratches on the attendant’s neck and chest.
Wei Wuxian looks away, and pretends the man is being treated as he wants to be treated, that his inclinations foster enjoyment of these circumstances he finds himself in.
It’s not outside of the realm of possibilities, he supposes. For someone he loved, Wei Wuxian thinks he might like to bleed.
*
Once Wei Wuxian has changed into proper clothing, he follows Lan Zhan to the playroom.
“Are you certain about this?” Nervous energy radiates off Lan Zhan in thick, noxious waves, so out of character that Wei Wuxian wonders what it means and how it will blow up in his face. Anyone would think from his hesitance that he’s the submissive here and not the other way around. He hates that he’s done this to Lan Zhan, and all because of a kiss.
They brush shoulders in the doorway, too close, but distant still compared to what they’ll soon do, far, far more distant.
The space is clean, airy, not exactly what one would expect from such a space, but elegant. A few toys hang on the wall, antiques and artistic pieces not meant for use. Several wooden crosses and poles stand in corners. A table fills the center of the room, clearly a custom model, wood worked beautifully and tastefully. Various pieces seem as though they can be moved or adjusted, fitted together like puzzle pieces, but capable of being broken apart into something new. It looks like it’s set at a height that would allow Mo Xuanyu to be bent across it. “This isn’t working, what we’re doing.”
“Perhaps not,” Lan Zhan agrees, “but are you sure this will?”
“Of course not,” Wei Wuxian answers, not evasive, not quite that, “but I broke our agreement, and I…” It’s harder to acknowledge what he’s done than he expects. “…impinged on your relationship with Mo Xuanyu. By rights, I should be punished, don’t you think?”
“Wei Ying—” Lan Zhan steps inside and expertly begins to adjust the table. Wei Wuxian follows him inside, but he can’t watch the lines between himself and Mo Xuanyu blur as Lan Zhan imposes Wei Wuxian’s presence on the room. He stares at the ceiling instead, counting the hooks so firmly secured in it. “I don’t know that this is wise.”
“You think I should go under, right?” Wei Wuxian’s chest aches at the thought of being made to go under here of all places, but he won’t fuss further. “You’re probably not wrong. I’ve been all over the fucking place since I came here.”
Lan Zhan snaps his head up sharply, so sudden that it startles Wei Wuxian from his examination of the room. “You’re lucky you’re not hospitalized or worse. Do you think I—” He draws in a breath, releases it. “I cannot imagine being denied my role for so long, or being made to take another role instead. I want you to be safe, happy, and comfortable. That is all I want. For that reason alone, I do believe you should be brought to surrender.”
“Lan Zhan…”
“But not like this. You want me to condemn you for these wrongs you think you’ve done,” Lan Zhan says. “I will not. If you think I will allow you to use me as the instrument through which you punish yourself for these imagined transgressions, I won’t do that either.” Before Wei Wuxian can reply, Lan Zhan raises his hand. “I am not finished.” Wei Wuxian snaps his mouth shut, almost as if commanded. “If you can honestly tell me you believe this will help you, I will assist in whatever way I can whether you’re ‘all over the fucking place’ or not.”
That’s fair. “How can I prove it? Are you going to order me to tell you the truth or…”
Exasperated, Lan Zhan says, “I just want your word, Wei Ying.”
It would be easy to assuage Lan Zhan’s naïve request with a lie, but he won’t do that to Lan Zhan, not when he’s imposed so much already. “It won’t hurt me.” He amends: “It won’t hurt me beyond the physical pain of it.”
“Wei Ying.”
“I can’t guarantee anything else. I think it will help. I have reasons to believe it will help, but I can’t…” He tries to see this from Lan Zhan’s point of view. Wei Wuxian, yeah, he’s going to keep thinking he should be punished. He’s done a punishable thing. But he can see Lan Zhan’s need for certainty and security. He doesn’t want to be a tool. Wei Ying empathizes with that. “I can’t say whether it will. I just don’t know.”
Lan Zhan says nothing, choosing instead to scrutinize Wei Wuxian so closely that Wei Wuxian feels like Lan Zhan is seeing into his innermost heart and picking it apart.
“Lan Zhan, I don’t know what else to tell you.”
Lan Zhan continues to stare at him.
“Lan Zhan, just say no if you’re going to say no. I’d rather not continue to stand here like an idiot hoping you’ll hit me. I won’t hold it against you that you’re not interested.”
“I am.”
This time, Wei Wuxian is the one caught speechless.
“I am interested, Wei Ying. I wouldn’t have this room if I wasn’t interested. My interest isn’t the problem.”
“Then… what? You want me to tell you this isn’t a punishment for me? Fine, it’s not a punishment. You’re doing me a favor, like always. I love being struck. Does that feel better to you?”
The muscles in Lan Zhan’s face jump with the strain he puts on his jaw. Before Wei Wuxian can provoke him further, he snaps. “Choose three items in this room. I’ll consider what I will do from your decision.” He takes a step into the hallway, his voice perfectly controlled. “Acclimate yourself. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“But—”
“Ten minutes, Wei Ying.”
*
Feeling more awkward than he’s ever felt in his life, Wei Wuxian pokes through the drawers, touches the table. There are a dizzying array of some objects and a scant few others. Without seeing, hearing, or talking to Lan Zhan about his and Mo Xuanyu’s proclivities, he can guess the shape of what they do together. It doesn’t seem to Wei Wuxian that Mo Xuanyu enjoys being hit very much, if at all. Despite a wide variety of toys meant to immobilize, there are few instruments meant to torment in that particular way.
He stares into the one drawer housing a pair of floggers, a whip, a handful of paddles. There’s a ferule he must have purloined from Cloud Recesses, a beautiful wooden piece. That one is a no-brainer and he immediately pulls it free, placing it in the center of the table. He likes it anyway, but even better, it’s neutral territory for them, or covered ground anyway. For all he knows, this is the implement with which Lan Zhan used to correct his behavior when they were young.
Or maybe that’s just sentimentality on his part.
The other two options are more difficult to decide. The whip might be asking too much of Lan Zhan, so he discards that one. He’s not partial to paddles. Floggers are fine, he supposes. He picks one of those and a cane so Lan Zhan doesn’t think he’s goofing around.
With the handful of minutes that remain to him, he hops onto the table and holds his arms above his head, imagines them cuffed to a chain hanging from the ceiling.
Surprisingly, the table is set to the perfect height for this, like Lan Zhan knew this is what Wei Wuxian would want the most.
*
Lan Zhan returns, expression placid as he takes in the room. Wei Wuxian has already pulled himself down from the table and arranged his choices. “You didn’t have enough of the ferule when you were younger?”
Wei Wuxian smiles, relieved.
“Put the others away,” Lan Zhan says.
Whatever Lan Zhan has done with these ten minutes, he’s every inch the consummate professional now that he’s returned. Holding the ferule between his hands, he runs his fingers over it, studies it, decides it is worthy of the work it must do today. Wei Wuxian watches him out of the corner of his eyes as he plucks a pair of cuffs and a chain from one of the other drawers. They clatter against the table. The chain curves, tantalizingly sinuous, across it.
“Climb onto the table and attach the chain,” Lan Zhan tells him. “You can stay there when you’re done.” As Wei Wuxian complies, Lan Zhan holds onto his legs to steady him. “Do you need me to issue proper orders while we do this?”
Wei Wuxian attaches the chain, tugs on it to assure himself it’s secure. It clangs lightly as he pulls. It’ll sound nice when he starts to fight it. “I doubt it,” he replies. “Looks good up here.”
Lan Zhan holds out his hand for him, helps him down into a sitting position. Like this, Wei Wuxian could bracket Lan Zhan’s hips with his legs, pull him in, and rub against him to completion. They’re so close that Wei Wuxian could easily make the mistake of kissing him again. Though Lan Zhan has regained his composure, his eyes dart nervously to Wei Wuxian’s lips and back up again. “Do you want me to?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Wei Wuxian says, “unless it’s something you need or want to do.” In truth, he knows little about how Lan Zhan views his own Dominance. “I’d like you to…” What? Enjoy it, too? That’s asking for a lot, isn’t it, when he’s essentially strong armed Lan Zhan into this, the need for punishment a pretext? “I don’t want it to be a hardship to you.”
Lan Zhan snorts delicately, catching Wei Wuxian off-guard with the sound. It’s nothing he’s ever done before in Wei Wuxian’s presence. “I can assure you that won’t be a problem.” He takes Wei Wuxian’s wrists in his hands, sweeping his thumbs across the inside. This is the last gentle touch Wei Wuxian will get from him, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t need to. “Strip out of your shirt.”
He strips out of his shirt, of course.
Back exposed, he shivers and tells himself not to enjoy the way Lan Zhan so competently wraps the cuffs around his wrists and tells him to raise his arms above his head. When he attaches the cuffs to the chain, the length nearly perfect, Lan Zhan asks, “Did you climb up here while I was out of the room?”
“Maybe,” Wei Wuxian answers, keeping the flirtatiousness out of his answer. What kind of submissive would he be if he couldn’t accurately gauge what his Dominant will need from him? He might not be what anyone would want in a submissive, but he can do at least that much.
Lan Zhan makes a small noise of acknowledgment, touching Wei Wuxian’s hip, his calf through the fabric of his lounge pants. He fusses with the underside of the table, freeing a strap from one side, then the other. To them, he attaches a pair of cuffs that fit nicely around his ankle. They stretch the muscles in Wei Wuxian’s legs and back deliciously. A thrum of pleasure plucks itself within him and resonates all the way down to his fingertips.
Lan Zhan’s touch skims over Wei Wuxian’s hip a second time, skims a little lower. He stops, presses hard into the thick tangle of scar tissue over his flank. Caught by surprise, Wei Wuxian hisses and twists away from the touch even though there’s nowhere for him to go. It doesn’t hurt exactly, but it pulls when he moves this way.
Lan Zhan pulls his hand back as though he’s the one who had been burned. And why wouldn’t he be surprised? He hadn’t touched Wei Wuxian anywhere near there when he was bathing Wei Wuxian, and it was hidden besides. “Wei Ying.”
“It’s okay,” Wei Wuxian answers breathlessly. If this is what stops them, he’ll shout. Worse, he might cry. “It’s okay, Lan Zhan, really. It was so long ago.” The true extent of his injuries haven’t even written themselves on his body anyway. A simple touch isn’t enough to break him. It would be so much easier if it could. “You already knew, right? I told you. It’s fine. I promise.”
Lan Zhan scrutinizes every centimeter of his face for signs of a lie he won’t find. Because it’s not a lie. Wei Wuxian refuses to let it ruin this.
“May I see it?” Lan Zhan asks.
Wei Wuxian nods.
Lan Zhan is very careful to avoid exposing Wei Wuxian fully as he pulls down the waistband. He simply looks at it and asks Wei Wuxian if it hurts. Just as carefully, he rearranges it so Wei Wuxian is covered again. “I will avoid striking you across the thighs.”
“Lan Zhan!”
“Wei Ying,” he replies. “I will not argue with you.”
Though Wei Wuxian hates the thought of Lan Zhan limiting himself because of something that doesn’t matter, he understands, too. At least, he’s not going to fight it, even if he does like the thought of Lan Zhan bruising his thighs now that he can’t have it.
“Are you ready?” Lan Zhan asks.
*
The first few strikes from the ferule barely count, too gentle to do more than make Wei Wuxian want, want more, want everything. The skin of his back warms with Lan Zhan’s efforts, and so does the rest of him.
The name of each number as Lan Zhan counts them out makes him shiver.
The fourth draws a whimper, chain clattering as he jerks on the cuffs, hands tightening around the metal links as lightning flashes down his spine, hot and sharp and electrifying. Pleasure cracks open the hard, ugly knot inside of him he hasn’t realized was there. The ferule is too blunt to offer the sharp, destabilizing pain he might have thought he needed before, but it’s enough. It’s enough. To feel anything other than the oppressive weight of his life is a relief too great to endure easily or well. It is enough and he is discomposed by it, undone.
The fifth and six are better still.
He doesn’t remember the seventh.
*
“Breathe.”
Wei Wuxian breathes.
“Exhale.”
Wei Wuxian exhales.
“Good.”
This is all he wants to be, a body inflamed, nerves singing.
“You’ve done so well.”
Relief fells him. To imagine he could do well for Lan Zhan like this, its beyond the scope of what he can properly imagine.
“Wei Ying, you are beautiful like this.”
*
On ten, pain blazes across Wei Wuxian’s back, his shattered-glass awareness returning to him. The edges of his consciousness mind threaten to cut him to ribbons. Warm hands on his skin protect him from the worst of it, and a soothing, gentle voice calls him through its mirrored labyrinth. Slowly, he feels the table beneath his hands and knees and forehead as he curls against it, free of the restraints that held him upright. His body has never hurt in this way. The experience is blissful and terrifying at the same time. It’s only ever hurt in ways he hasn’t wanted.
A tear drips off the bridge of his nose, then another, then, a deluge of tears fall onto the wood, pooling there between his.
He no longer hears the soothing, gentle voice, not once convulsive sobs begin to wrack his body.
Strong arms pull him toward the end of the table and wrap themselves around his shoulders. Wei Wuxian’s are so weak in comparison. They can hold nothing any longer. Knowing he might be mocked, teased, thrown to the wolves, and denied such comfort entirely, he clings to the body that’s so willing to embrace him in this manner. Nothing good has ever come from the hands willing to inflict the pain he craves. There’s no reason these ones should be any different.
Fingers push back his hair again and again, and the repetitive sweep of a thumb against his nape lulls him. A soft voice shushes him. Finally, he can hear it again.
He mourns and mourns and mourns for what should have been his, for who he should have been, whom he should have been with. In his mourning, the truth falls from his mouth. He cannot bear it any longer. It belongs in the custody of another, and who better than this kind person who has cared so well for him? He whispers his biggest secret, bigger than the most shamefully bleak of the secrets he still carries in his heart. Those secrets don’t matter. They cannot hurt him any longer. This one can, has, does. He whispers, “I want to be with him.”
“Who?” that soft, sweet voice asks.
Against his will—what will, he might think later, for he is nothing now but a blessedly empty vessel now, able only to obey—he says, “Lan Zhan.”