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
content warnings:
- Wei Wuxian fantasizes about a noncon scenario between himself and Lan Wangji, but he feels ambivalent about it.
- implied past sexual abuse
- nonconsensual non-sexual touching while Wei Wuxian is asleep, no harm is meant by it, but it causes Wei Wuxian to feel uncomfortable when he wakes up
Thank you to everyone who's been reading so far. It's really meant a lot to me to have as much support for this as I've gotten.
Yawning, Wei Wuxian stretches his way to wakefulness, finding the room bright and empty as he pushes himself upright. Though he’s fully dressed, he’s now dressed in a soft pair of pajamas that he definitely didn’t put on himself. The rest of his clothing, carefully folded, is draped over the table where he and Lan Zhan sat last night. The tea service and bottle of Tianzixiao have been put away, the room set to perfect rights. No one would know he entertained—or should have entertained—someone last night.
When he looks at himself in the bathroom mirror, his skin looks clean and clear, radiant almost, and it’s suspiciously soft to the touch. As he pisses, he finds this room, too, is neater than he left it. Too neat. Suspiciously neat. Everything on his counter is organized with far more care than he takes with them. The only sign that anything has been used is the cut open packet of a sheet mask sitting in the trashcan next to the toilet, the damp mask folded and tucked neatly inside.
No wonder his skin looks as nice as it does.
His mind conjures the image of Lan Zhan leaning over him, his features beautiful and stoic as he works serums into Wei Wuxian’s skin. It should comfort him, the care Lan Zhan took with him, but he is discomfited. Of course Lan Zhan means well, but even without the vulnerability of his own biology to Lan Zhan’s, Lan Zhan disarms him. No one else could have rendered him so pliant without the harshest of orders and Wei Wuxian would never have slept through another man’s touch like this.
What else could have been done to him, when his mind and his body trusts Lan Zhan so well? Lan Zhan could have pushed into him, used his body as a toy, left him naked and wet with semen and sweat, disoriented by the soreness of his body and unsure about what happened as he awoke to an empty, silent room.
He could have done worse, done more, and Wei Wuxian might have awoken, arms tangled in ropes from which he can’t free himself, somehow arousing despite that fact, maybe more arousing, humiliating certainly, and—
As he breaks himself of that line of thinking, unsettled and nauseated, he realizes he’s hard. And not just hard, but truly desperate, the front of his trousers tented, a stain already spreading across the crotch. Worse, it’s the sort of aroused he hasn’t experienced in years, the kind that shakes him and leaves him feeling vulnerable, reminding him of what’s never rightfully been his, even though he used to try to steal it, brazen and far too bold.
Swearing, he touches himself furtively, right there at the counter, unable to look at himself in the mirror as his mind pushes filth up from his subconscious, Lan Zhan taking things that don’t belong to him, parts of Wei Wuxian that Wei Wuxian would never have given him willingly. He sees himself in tears, sees himself laughed at, prodded, poked, needled for what his body can be made to do. Disgusted, yet unable to stop himself, he comes all over the counter, and it’s the most satisfying orgasm he’s had since before he left Lotus Pier.
After scrubbing the whole counter, the sink, the drawers, even the mirrors just to be safe, he showers in cold water until he feels normal again.
Lan Zhan is too good. He’d never do anything like that to him.
And Wei Wuxian shouldn’t want him to. Nobody in their right mind would.
*
Through each subsequent evening, Lan Zhan sits across from him and serves him tea and makes him meditate until he believes Wei Wuxian is relaxed. Wei Wuxian doesn’t allow himself to be put to bed again, charmingly insisting he’d rather chat until Lan Zhan himself is too tired to continue. If Lan Zhan notices anything amiss or connects the reason for his caginess to the catalyst, unfair though it is, he doesn’t say anything, much to Wei Wuxian’s relief.
By the time the contract transfer is complete and only one evening separates him from leaving this life behind, he feels normal, more or less.
Lotus Pier, More Than Ten Years Ago
“This is extortion, dearest,” Wei Wuxian’s second father says, voice pitched low. Unfortunately, it carries through the open door of the Jiang residence and down the steps Wei Wuxian has been climbing. He stops immediately, backing into Jiang Cheng, who squawks as Wei Wuxian tramples his foot.
Wei Wuxian claps his hand over Jiang Cheng’s mouth. Pushing him down the steps, he forces him around the side of the house. They’ve hidden themselves away just as second father and mother step outside, continuing their current conversation. Second mother, never one for discretion, says, “It doesn’t matter. They’ll have what they want whether we agree or not. If we do, we’ll at least get something out of it.”
“And who is we, in this case?” second father asks, though it would be obvious from outer space what she means. Even Wei Wuxian’s first mother and father, both dead for years now, would know who she means. Though he won’t stand against second mother, he always forces her to confront what she’s doing. It’s never worked, of course, because she’s never seen a reason not to boldly proclaim the truth as she sees it, but Wei Wuxian has always tried to appreciate second father for it.
“Our own child will be safe. That isn’t enough for you, husband?”
Jiang Cheng fights against the hold Wei Wuxian has on him, but he can’t break it. He—and second mother—have always hated that he can’t. No matter what she tries to dress him up as, he’ll always be what he is, too, but not in a way that can be molded easily into strength of the kind she needs from him.
“A-Ying is our son, too.”
“A secondary relation.”
“Ziyuan!” Even Wei Wuxian flinches at how loudly he calls her name, something he rarely does. They’re lucky no one else is around to hear. It’s bad enough to feel the way Jiang Cheng naturally trembles at the sound, but having anyone else play witness would make Jiang Cheng feel worse. He obviously needs a break from pretending, but he won’t let himself have it even though Wei Wuxian is here to shield him. If his first mother sees, she’ll punish him for sure, and today, that punishment will no doubt be brutal. It’s for that reason alone, Wei Wuxian doesn’t encourage him to give in.
“Jiang Fengmian!” she shouts, each syllable a nail she uses to pin him down. The Dominance in her voice threatens even to put Wei Wuxian on his knees, but he remains standing if only to hold Jiang Cheng up. No doubt second father is kneeling for her now. “I did not condescend to collaring you just for you to ruin everything out of misplaced sympathy for that boy. I’ve shamefully allowed my children to take your name out of respect to your family and any feelings I might once have had for you. You will not take them from me. What I’ve always done and will continue to do, I do for Lotus Pier and for them.”
Jiang Cheng’s eyes glitter with an impotent fury that only makes Wei Wuxian feel guilty.
“As soon as Wen Ruohan showed interest in our business holdings, you knew this would come up,” she says. “It was the only outcome. There’s no one else who can fulfill the role required.”
For a long time, second father is quiet. Though Wei Wuxian would like to believe it’s only out of deference to second mother, Wei Wuxian knows the truth: he’s capitulating. He’s not even wrong to capitulate. He has to capitulate, or he can be made to capitulate. And anyway, there is nothing untoward in what second mother intends to do, and a filial son like Wei Wuxian would be happy to serve this purpose. He can’t be happy about any arrangement between himself and the Wen, but like second mother, he wants no harm to come to Jiang Cheng.
“Ge,” Jiang Cheng says, muffled against Wei Wuxian’s palm.
It’s his duty as Jiang Cheng’s older brother—secondary relation or no—to protect him. He would do it even if it were not required of him and wouldn’t be demanded of him.
“Wen Ruohan wishes to contract a well-bred submissive companion for his second son. If we expect to come out of any negotiations with our lives and our fortunes intact, we will have to provide one. A-Li is already spoken for and A-Cheng will take my place as master of Lotus Pier.”
“Ziyuan, he is not suited—”
“He will learn,” second mother says, “and Wei Ying will do his duty to this family as the only eligible submissive able to fulfill such a contract. He will be treated well at Nightless City. I can secure that much for him.”
Wei Wuxian looks around the corner of the residence. Second father is glaring up at her, still kneeling. In his whole life, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen second father look so angry or uncomfortable. The decorative pathways hurt even when Wei Wuxian is sent outside for punishment. Second father has had trouble with his knees of late, age catching up with him, he always jokes. They must ache. “How are we supposed to face them? Ziyuan…”
“I can’t be concerned about that now,” she snaps. “Get up.”
As he struggles, palms pressed to the ground, he says, “Ziyuan, they’ll hate us.”
“If they cared so much about that, they shouldn’t have gone off and gotten themselves killed.”
Still he continues speaking. “She’ll never forgive you.”
“Good,” second mother replies, after a long, terrifying delay.
Wei Wuxian’s hand falls away from Jiang Cheng’s mouth. The only thing that stops him from confronting her is Jiang Cheng’s arm wrapping around his chest, him using his whole weight to yank Wei Wuxian back. He knows where he stands with second mother; he’s an ugly reminder to her of people she’d rather forget. That doesn’t mean she can say things like that about them. They were her spouses, too. They were Wei Wuxian’s first parents.
But he can’t say anything. Even second father falls silent, struggling to his feet with the order she’s given him. He follows after her, distress furrowing his brow. They’re both dressed in beige, though a thin band sits low around second father’s neck, barely visible.
When they’ve passed, Jiang Cheng says, “Ge, I—”
Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to hear it, and what he doesn’t want to hear, he ignores. For the sake of his family, the people his parents cared for, he won’t push. Pasting a smile on his face, he says, “Let’s find jiejie, huh? I bet she’s wondering why we haven’t met her for lunch yet.”
Thankfully, Jiang Cheng is tapped out. He can’t keep pushing. All he can do is nod.
A contract, at the very least, isn’t a marriage. He won’t have to stay forever. In a bid to impress Wen Ruohan, second mother could have done much worse to him.
*
Wei Wuxian doesn’t often cook, but he does what he can with what he remembers of the flavor profiles Cloud Recesses staked their culinary reputation on. Mostly, he remembers everything tasting bitter and medicinal, so that’s what he goes with. One of the chef’s on staff assists, creating a menu that fulfills his requirements. If he weren’t on his way out of her employ already, Madam Yang would flay him for the waste of resources. He almost wishes she would; there is an itch beneath the surface of his skin that begs for battle as he waits for Lan Zhan’s scheduled arrival time.
Perhaps it’s nerves. Probably, it’s nerves.
“Catch a special one tonight?” the chef asks. When Wei Wuxian merely glares, the guy lifts his hands. He’s a null, and not a particularly observant one at that. Wei Wuxian doesn’t bother wondering if it’s purposeful, strategic ignorance, genuine disinterest, or what, but he doesn’t understand what it’s like and doesn’t seem interested in finding out. “Alright, alright. I’ll have one of the trainees deliver it up in a bit.”
“Twenty minutes.” Wei Wuxian glances at the clock near the entryway. Lan Zhan will be here soon, too soon.
“Okay. Twenty minutes.”
Having secured the chef’s promise, Wei Wuxian steps out of the humid, stinking, loud kitchen and returns to his suite, changing his clothes and studying his reflection for imperfections. As always, Lan Zhan arrives punctually. The meal arrives ten minutes after he does, precisely when Wei Wuxian hoped it would.
Before Lan Zhan can argue with him that none of this trouble was necessary, Wei Wuxian pushes him toward the table and magnanimously ignores the way Lan Zhan stiffens under his touch. “Sit,” Wei Wuxian says. He keeps his register formal despite the familiar way he’s dragging Lan Zhan around. “Allow me to serve you.”
Though his muscles recall the proper order of things, he cannot shake the memory of the many meals he oversaw at Nightless City and how someone always found fault with them. That memory layers itself over the shadows that remain of the etiquette lessons he took in Cloud Recesses—and how Lan Zhan always found fault with him.
Lan Zhan barely touches the meal.
“Is it not to your liking?”
“Have I upset you? You’ve behaved strangely all week. This is—”
And here he thought he’d done so well. You washed my face, he thinks. You cared for me. I don’t know what you want. That bothers me. Is Wei Wuxian upset? No. Is he frustrated?
He might be frustrated.
“How could Lan Zhan ever upset me? I fear only I’ll disappoint him.” The words melt on his tongue, flirtatious. “If I’m meant to go with him tomorrow, he should know what he’s purchased, shouldn’t he? I’m afraid I’m not very practiced. After Madam Yang got a hold of me, these things weren’t a priority. I can’t even play guqin well any longer. I have to prove myself competent somehow.”
If he expects Lan Zhan to react hostilely to such coquettish humility, he’s disappointed immediately.
“I know what I purchased,” Lan Zhan says, mouth tight. “You are not deficient.”
“What did you purchase?”
“A piece of paper,” Lan Zhan replies carefully, “and a notation with the registration office documenting its validity. Nothing more.”
“And is your… spouse aware that you’ve purchased documentation?”
Lan Zhan’s throat bobs, his Adam’s apple a target for Wei Wuxian’s attentions. “We are unmarried, but to answer your question, Mo Xuanyu is not opposed. He is, in fact, pleased by the development.”
“Pleased?”
“Is that so strange?”
When Wei Wuxian considers how he would react were he in Mo Xuanyu’s position, his stomach sours. There’s very little—socially, legally, or biologically—for a submissive to oppose in a case where a Dominant wishes to form a second partnership. The best submissives want fully formed relationships. Wei Wuxian is not the best submissive; he isn’t even a particularly good one, especially if he can’t impress Lan Zhan with rote etiquette. It never used to matter, when he could be what he was, but now it rankles. Now it’s an exposed nerve. “What would you have done if he was?”
“He wouldn’t,” Lan Zhan says. “The point is moot.”
“Not to me.”
“You don’t belong in a place like this. Whether he was or was not opposed, I would have done this.”
“That’s not fair to him, though, is it? You’re all but asking to turn him into a laughingstock if it gets out that Lan Wangji bought out a dominant’s contract, let alone spent your time with one in a—”
“Your comfort is worth more than our reputation.”
Wei Wuxian snorts. When has his comfort ever mattered? When has he ever wanted his comfort to matter? Maybe one summer out of the many summers he’s lived through? He could have lazed at Lan Zhan’s side that entire season, but Lan Zhan certainly never cared back then. Nor should he now.
Lan Zhan’s attention sharpens on him. Like a scalpel, it threatens to part Wei Wuxian’s skin and expose the secret heart within him. “His needs are met and he will not be humiliated. Do you find it so distasteful that I’m here when he is at home?”
Yes, a little, he cannot say. What he can do is tease Lan Zhan and hope it winds Lan Zhan up so he stops looking at Wei Wuxian like he knows something. “Who wouldn’t want their handsome Dominant at home with them? Lan Zhan, it’s cruel.”
Lan Zhan’s lip twitches, too quick for Wei Wuxian to parse whether it was a twitch of displeasure or one of pride or something else altogether. “Perhaps he likes it,” he says blandly.
And perhaps Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. Imagining Lan Zhan’s significant other waiting for him at home and liking that fact, well. Wei Wuxian can read between the lines, guess a little at what Lan Zhan does to him that makes it enjoyable. It’s easy to see himself in the same kind of predicament: chained and leashed, bound, contorted, hard with no way to alleviate the arousal he feels, Lan Zhan relentless in his ability to ignore him, Wei Ying not wanting to be ignored at all until Lan Zhan finally cracks and—
“Wei Ying?”
“Yes?” Wei Ying snaps, yanked viscerally from the inappropriate images flashing through his mind. “What is it, Lan Zhan?”
“Mo Xuanyu understands,” he replies, unaffected by Wei Wuxian’s tone. “He is aware that you’re a friend of mine. There has been no disharmony between us over this development. He is looking forward to meeting you properly. I promise you that.”
If he knew what Wei Wuxian is thinking, what he wants, he would definitely think otherwise. “He must be good.”
“He has learned how to be.” Lan Zhan finally begins eating, which means the conversation is over until he’s done. For the duration, Wei Wuxian can take some measure of pleasure from watching Lan Zhan eat.
When Lan Zhan puts down his bowl for the last time, he looks at Wei Wuxian with a perfectly stoic expression on his face. “Are you truly prepared to leave with me in the morning?”
“You said it yourself, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian replies. “I don’t have a choice.” He doesn’t know why he frames it that way when the answer is yes. In fact, the first thing he did in the morning after Lan Zhan left yesterday was prepare his meager belongings: the few clothes that belong to him, the handful of toiletries he favors, and the toy he’s been working on, along with the supplies he’s ordered for its completion. The latter items he’d waffled over—it’s not like he’s bringing any of the others, or any toys at all—but he wants to see it through.
“If you are truly feeling—” Lan Zhan cuts himself off, breathes in, breathes out. It’s so rare for him not to have already worked out exactly what he wants to say before he says it, measured in speech and action both, but everything about this situation screams of a lack of consideration on Lan Zhan’s part. Why not his language, too? “Do you feel coerced in this?”
Lan Zhan can’t be this naïve. “What you’re doing for me is a kindness,” he says, more honest than he’d like to be, “but you have to know it wouldn’t be my first choice.” At this point, he’s not even sure what his first choice is, but playing house with Lan Zhan while Lan Zhan’s collared submissive hangs around isn’t one of them.
It’s rare for a Dominant to be unable to meet another’s eye. “You will be free to pursue that choice in six months,” he says quietly. “I would provide you with that option sooner if I could.”
Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. This is what he deserves, the smothering miasma of Lan Zhan’s guilt, for working out his fit of pique on him. “It’s not your fault, Lan Zhan. That contract was written by Wen Ruohan’s lawyers. It was always going to be ironclad.”
“Even so.”
“Lan Zhan, you’re not the problem here. I shouldn’t have said that.” A true apology sticks in his throat. Lan-laoxiansheng once accused him of being too prideful; he feels that criticism now. Deeply. “I appreciate what you have done for me. Let’s just forget it, okay? If you’re finished with the food, I’ll pour you some tea, hmm?”
*
Unlike the other nights Lan Zhan has come, he stays the entirety of this one, sleeping in Wei Wuxian’s bed in the back because Wei Wuxian can’t stomach the thought of him sleeping where so many others have been taken or whipped, made to cry and ride Wei Wuxian’s lap as he struggled to keep his erection from flagging. Instead, Wei Wuxian is the one to flop onto it one last time, stares at the ceiling until morning, and pretends his trousers don’t stick to his skin as the images in his mind flicker and mutate, taking on the shape of what he used to dream about before his life went sideways.
After so many years of forcing arousal—sheer stubbornness, medical intervention, whatever it took to get the hard-on that was expected of him—it feels like losing another piece of his carefully cultivated self-control, to be unable to will unwanted desire away. If he doesn’t shape up, how much worse will it be once he’s sequestered in Lan Zhan’s home? It doesn’t bear thinking about, and yet it’s the only thing he can think about until Lan Zhan rises at five and catches him in a half doze.
Wei Wuxian jerks upright and, red-faced, pulls his hand from where it rests just beneath the waistband of his trousers. “Lan Zhan, hi! Good morning.”
He is amazed that he manages to keep his composure long enough to say such words. Though he’s already been caught, he crosses his legs.
As Lan Zhan stops near the bed, arms occupied with a robe, he frowns, but he doesn’t look lower than Wei Wuxian’s throat. He says, “You may finish if you wish,” while Wei Wuxian threatens to expire from the humiliation of being caught in such a position. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“It’s fine. I’m—I’m the one who’s sorry.”
If this were like back in the day, Lan Zhan would have hauled him out of bed, sniffed out the accupressure mat Wei Wuxian keeps around for punishments, and then made him kneel for the eternity it would have taken for Wei Wuxian’s erection to wilt.
“You didn’t sleep well, did you?”
Wei Wuxian chokes back a laugh. Of all the possible things Lan Zhan could ask, that’s what he goes with?
“You haven’t been sleeping well again,” he pushes.
Lan Zhan is not accusing him of anything that isn’t true, but it still stings, makes Wei Wuxian’s hackles rise, does everything to make Wei Wuxian want to snarl and shout because Lan Zhan’s the one who’s putting a cage around the kind of help he’s willing to offer, not Wei Wuxian. He won’t fuck Wei Wuxian. He won’t order Wei Wuxian around. On the other hand, Wei Wuxian has suffered through the most brain-breakingly tedious bouts of meditation he’s experienced in years and keeps imagining things he has no right to think about. “Maybe if you slathered me in moisturizer while I was awake I’d look a little prettier for you.”
The rebuke lands, sharpening the pink of Lan Zhan’s already pink ears to a deeper flush. “I overstepped,” he says gently. “I should not have done it.”
“Then why did you?”
“It seemed to me that nobody has taken care of you for a long time.” His hold on his robe tightens and then relaxes again. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
He’s not uncomfortable. Not… not really. Not with Lan Zhan. He’s just embarrassed from being found in such a compromised state. That’s not Lan Zhan’s fault. “It’s fine. It’s fine, Lan Zhan. I’m not mad.” He’s stirred up, unhappy, displeased with himself and the state of his existence. A properly… if Wei Wuxian were in his right mind, it wouldn’t have happened. “Just—you don’t have to do that. Buying my contract is already more trouble than you needed to go through.”
“Wei Ying—”
“Let me order up breakfast. By the time you’re done with a shower, it’ll be here. Perfect timing, right?” The chef from last night will still be on shift for a few more hours. Wei Wuxian can impress upon him to make something up that will be to Lan Zhan’s tastes. “We don’t need to talk about this. It’s over and done with.”
“I won’t impose myself—”
Exasperated, he says, “I’m painfully aware of that fact, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Zhan opens his mouth and closes it again, nodding in acknowledgment.
As he waits for their meal to arrive, Wei Wuxian tries to find some way to apologize for his outburst, but the best thing, better even than apology, would be cutting Lan Zhan loose. When Lan Zhan finishes with the bathroom, he’s ready, all but pouncing on him while he’s dripping water into the collar of his robe. “I’m sure Madam Yang will buy back my contract. You might lose out on some of your investment, but she would be open to it. It’s only six months. I’ll manage.”
“You do not have to,” Lan Zhan says, smoothly enough that Wei Wuxian wonders if Lan Zhan knew Wei Wuxian might try this, “and I don’t see this as an investment.”
“Then what is it?”
“I have no regrets in this respect,” Lan Zhan says, hedging.
“You shouldn’t have regrets in any respect.”
“That isn’t what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“My regrets have nothing to do with buying your contract.”
No matter how much he tries, he can’t compel Lan Zhan to explain himself further, not through breakfast, not once Wei Wuxian has dressed, not even when they’re standing outside the club, a ridiculous parody of the last time they met on this sidewalk and Wei Wuxian finds himself too overwhelmed to try.
In his heart, he’d felt as though this day would never come, but now that it’s here, he can’t quite believe it. If not for Lan Zhan’s steady presence at his side, he might think this was an elaborate dream. The fact that Lan Zhan is present proves here it’s not. After all, he hadn’t dreamed of Lan Zhan in years, not since the early days of his contract at the latest.
Back then, Lan Zhan still felt like a plausible object about which he could fantasize, but eventually, Wei Wuxian didn’t fantasize about anything at all.