Wei Ying settled them into a modest inn nestled into the foothills of a town so small that Lan Wangji didn’t even know the name of it. It wasn’t the sort of place he’d have imagined Wei Ying bringing him to and was certain, when he’d told Wei Ying that he’d go where Wei Ying led him, that he’d bring them to one of the more vibrant city centers that were more welcoming to Wei Ying now that his name was—for the most part—cleared.
“Don’t worry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, patting him on the shoulder as he pushed him onto the low-sitting stool at one of the empty tables in the dining area. “I’ve got this.”
Lan Wangji made a thoughtful, noncommittal sound and looked up at him. There was a pouch, heavy with silver and gold, tied to his waist, a parting gift from his brother, which he’d intended to use for their travels. But before he could say anything, Wei Ying darted toward the other side of the room, where a doting proprietor waited with a patient smile on his mouth as Wei Ying raced through his greetings and requests before placing payment in the center of his palm. The proprietor shook his head, tried to give it back, but Wei Ying closed his hand around the proprietor’s, forming it into a fist, and shook it once.
Wei Ying returned just as the proprietor left to make whatever arrangements Wei Ying requested of him. “What?” he asked, plopping down on the stool next to Lan Wangji’s, inelegant and unrefined as always, but all the more endearing for it. “I can pay, too. I still owe you for dinner, yes?”
No, Lan Wangji didn’t say. You don’t owe me anything. Theirs wasn’t a relationship built on reciprocity; as such, Lan Wangji kept no ledger. Besides, were he to calculate it out, he feared it would be him who was indebted, not the other way around.
“You don’t believe me?” Wei Ying asked, quiet, a sly, if sad, smile on his mouth. “People have paid me for my skills and talents, you know. How else do you think I’ve survived so long on my own?”
Lan Wangji could tell that he wished it didn’t have to be this way, that he wanted it to be such that he could right wrongs where he saw them with no consideration for how he was going to pay his way, the sort of life he’d grown up expecting to have, carrying currency provided to him by his sect leader so he might do good throughout Yunmeng.
It was strange to see Wei Ying this way. Nobody could accuse him of somberness, but there was a sedate quality in him that Lan Wangji had never seen before, a new-found stillness since their last parting at Cloud Recesses. It was only after a moment’s consideration that he realized there was something repressed in Wei Ying’s mannerisms, something Lan Wangji had long thought irrepressible.
“I’m so glad you came with me, Lan Zhan. The title of chief cultivator never suited you, but you look very becoming tracking down night-hunts with me.”
Before Lan Wangji could confirm the truth of this, the proprietor bustled in. Lan Wangji already had a polite denial lined up, fully expecting a clay flagon of alcohol and a pair of bowls to match. But all he brought with him was the accouterments for tea before rushing away to retrieve a teapot full of steaming, aromatic liquid. Something must have shown on his face, because Wei Ying laughed before reaching across to pour a cup for him, returning the pot to the center of the table afterward. “Poor Lan Zhan,” he said. “Did you think I was intending to get you drunk?”
Lan Wangji fought a losing battle against the warmth that threatened to climb the back of his neck. Already the tips of his ears were probably turning pink, but Wei Ying was too busy fussing over his own cup to notice, fingers dancing across the wide rim as he stared down at the table. In truth, it might have made things easier if Lan Wangji was drunk. If nothing else, he wouldn’t have to remember the awkward pause during which Wei Ying finally lifted his eyes.
Were this before, Lan Wangji might have made a scathing comment. In fact, that was exactly what he intended to do, knowing full well that Wei Ying would see it for what it was and laugh at him. But something in Wei Ying’s gaze stopped him, something fragile and delicate. The words he intended to say wouldn’t come.
“I wouldn’t have minded,” he said instead, throwing yet another of his sect’s teachings out the window. But what was one more, when those teachings had allowed him to stand aside when Jin Guangshan slaughtered innocents and noncombatants alike? When they’d let him judge Wei Ying for making more moral decisions than Lan Wangji ever did in the immediate aftermath of the Sunshot Campaign? When they’d kept him from telling Wei Ying the truth all these years? When he’d let those rules separate them when he wanted nothing more than to remain always at Wei Ying’s side?
With a brittle laugh, Wei Ying blinked and focused on finally pouring his own cup. “You never fail to surprise me, Lan Zhan. I was expecting a scolding.”
Wei Ying spoke with such genuine affection always and now was no different. It suffused each warm syllable, curled like fragrant smoke around each word. Lan Wangji suspected that he would have spoken with equal sentiment even if his answer had been boring and staid. Ducking his head so Wei Ying wouldn’t see the way his mouth twitched, he answered, “Ridiculous.”
His heart was in it only to the degree to which Wei Ying’s smile broadened, buttressed as always by his inner strength and resilience. He might have dug up every scolding, scathing word in his vocabulary, become a parody of himself or maybe his uncle, if this was always the result.
Becoming a source of amusement for Wei Ying would not be so bad. Certainly better than the alternative. If it was all he could be to Wei Ying, that was fine.
Wei Ying brought his cup to his mouth, hand twisted carelessly around it so he might better lean across the table and drink from it at the same time. Which he did, sprawling halfway across the polished wood. “That’s very like what I deserve. Thank you.”
Wei Ying really was ridiculous, but only in the best possible way. Lan Wangji opened his mouth to say something to that effect when Wei Ying cut him off with a quick wave of his hand. “No, I know that look, Lan Zhan. Nothing good comes from it. No more words out of you.”
Lan Wangji blinked, brow furrowing. He didn’t know he was wearing any particular look.
Their meal arrived next, interrupting this strange conversation. It was quite modest: bland soup and a plate of plain, round buns that still managed to smell better than most of what he ate back home.
“You didn’t ask them to add every pepper in the province,” Lan Wangji said. A part of him would have liked to reach across and check Wei Ying for fever. The rest held back.
The rest was always holding Lan Wangji back. That was a good thing, for the most part. But sometimes…
Sometimes, his heart railed against its self-erected cage, cried out at the injustices it witnessed and perpetrated.
Wei Ying dipped the large serving spoon into the pot and proceeded to fill Lan Wangji’s bowl far fuller than truly necessary. “Should I have? Did you develop a taste for heat when I wasn’t looking?” He looked up at Lan Wangji through the thick, black fan of his eyelashes. Lan Wangji might have described the look as flirtatious if it didn’t make him ache to consider the possibility that it wasn’t. “Have you changed so much, Lan Zhan?”
He had changed. And quite a bit at that. But he would always prefer that Wei Ying get to enjoy something as simple as too spicy food if that was what he wanted. Still, Wei Ying didn’t appear displeased as he ate his own portion. If Lan Wangji didn’t already know Wei Ying’s tastes, he might have guessed that thin broth and vegetables were his favorite combination of foods in the world.
“What?” he asked, licking his spoon clean before tapping it against his teeth.
“Nothing.” It came out a little blunter than he intended and Wei Ying picked up on that, brow climbing his forehead.
He said nothing for a long moment and then shattered Lan Wangji’s heart into a thousand pieces as he shook his head and offered a shy smile: “I’m glad you’re here, Lan Zhan. Have I mentioned?”
Once or twice.
Clearing his throat, Lan Wangji stared down at the table, unsettled, his mind sharp, but unfocused. His thoughts cut like blades through him, indiscriminate in their target. There wasn’t anyone else in the world who’d be this unreservedly happy to see Lan Wangji again after everything that had happened. Probably only his brother, though there would definitely be reservations on that happiness, joy tempered by their upbringing, the sense of decorum they’d cultivated right along with their martial skills. “Why?”
As soon as he said it, he regretted it, not least of all because Wei Ying seemed to curl back into himself at the question. His spine stretched back before he carefully slid into perfect posture, hands pressed against the edge of the table. “Do I have to have a reason?” The words tripped off Wei Ying’s tongue, quick enough to fall into one hurried rush. His fingers grazed back and forth across the end of the table, thumb worrying across the smooth, worn surface. The smile remained, but it grew fixed, frozen and iced over. It was an alpine lake losing the war against winter.
Lan Wangji closed his mouth, opened it again. Said nothing. Couldn’t think of anything to say. There was so much that had been left unsaid that Lan Wangji was spoiled for choice, which made for no choice at all, paralyzing him as it did. “Wei Ying…”
“It’s fine. It’s fine.” Looking away, he bit his lower lip. The view of his profile gave Lan Wangji the opportunity to easily watch as his throat bobbed once, twice, a third time as he poured a bit more tea and swallowed it, too. Heavy tendrils of guilt crisscrossed Lan Wangji’s chest, constricting him. Wei Ying noticed none of this as he was still looking away. “I shouldn’t have said—”
“I’m glad, too,” Lan Wangji managed, awkward, encumbered.
Wei Ying’s eyes snapped back, gaze settling on Lan Wangji’s face, right where it ought to have been all along. There were things he should have said long ago, years ago, things he spent sixteen years thinking he’d never get a chance to say. And then he’d let more years pass, not quite promising himself that one day he’d grow the courage necessary to speak them. But that hadn’t happened yet. Though they’d occasionally crossed paths while Wei Ying swung back around to Gusu on his travels, Lan Wangji never shared any of the thoughts that now cluttered his mind. There was never enough time, not when his duties pulled him in twenty different directions, each of them perpendicular to the roads Wei Ying walked.
All Wei Ying ever got from Lan Wangji were goodbyes and he’d taken each of them in stride, even the last one, the one that Wei Ying had gamely said wasn’t final, though in retrospect Lan Wangji could sense the note of despair hidden in its depths, his expectation that it would be. In order to function, he’d had to ignore both that despair and his own desires.
He’d said goodbye, but within his own mind, he’d promised Wei Ying that next time, he wouldn’t say goodbye again. He’s made good on it.
Even one more minute of silent complacency seemed unfathomable, needlessly cruel.
There was a rule within the Lan Sect about needless cruelty.
Uncle would be furious to know his teachings were being twisted this way.
But Uncle wasn’t here.
Lan Wangji rose with as much dignity as he could muster and, looming, held out his hand for Wei Ying to take. “You barely ate,” Wei Ying complained. “You need to keep up your—”
Lan Wangji grabbed one of the buns and shoved it into his mouth. Doing this was easier than arguing with Wei Ying about his eating habits, undignified though it might have been.
Wei Ying’s eyes widened in disbelief and he laughed once in startled amusement. If he was going to say something, it was forgotten the moment Lan Wangji grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him toward the hallway which led to their room. At least Lan Wangji hoped it did. He didn’t actually know and hadn’t thought that far ahead when he’d started dragging Wei Ying this way. It was only Wei Ying knocking on the doorframe of one of the rooms that alerted him to the fact that he wasn’t entirely incorrect in choosing to come this way.
It was only at that point that Lan Wangji let him go.
But only for a moment, only long enough for Wei Ying to step inside, only until Lan Wangji could slide the door shut behind them both, the click of wood against wood far more satisfying than it had any right to be.
“Lan Zhan, you really are something else,” Wei Ying said, wondering, intrigued.
“Is that so?” He considered this. “What else am I?”
“You’ve grown vain since you came back to me,” was all Wei Ying said in response before throwing himself at the bed, the single bed, the bed Lan Wangji hadn’t considered before. His ears warmed again. This time his heart fluttered hard against his rib cage and he couldn’t look away as Wei Ying lounged, legs sprawling on the floor, upper body held up by his elbows. The line of his body stretched long and elegant, too elegant for such a frivolous man as he was. “Wanting me to share my compliments to you.” He stared up at Lan Wangji, those eyelashes sweeping across his cheeks only when he looked away again. Lan Wangji did not want him to look away. “It used to be you never wanted my opinion on anything.”
“No,” Lan Wangji answered, taking a step forward and then another until he found himself between Wei Ying’s legs, which spread to accommodate him in a most pleasing fashion. He might have enjoyed pushing them even further apart, but he stopped himself. Would pushing too far too fast break them both?
There was apprehension on Wei Ying’s face, though the pink flush of his cheeks indicated something else as well. Lan Wangji didn’t dare hope, but what else did he have at this point? He’d already tried living without it. It didn’t end well. “I always wanted your opinion.”
Wei Ying shifted slightly, but he didn’t move away. “You could’ve fooled me.” It was an admonishment and it wasn’t. Wei Ying’s features softened and he smiled gamely up at Lan Wangji, pushing himself fully upright, he reached for the tassel at Lan Wangji’s waist, played with the fringe. “You told me to shut up quite often.”
Of course, this was what Wei Ying remembered.
Lan Wangji wished maybe for the first time ever that he hadn’t grown up as a member of the Lan Sect, bound and shaped by rules that hadn’t always benefitted people. He’d thought denying himself everything he wanted would be for the best, because it hurt and he had learned that all good things required sacrifice. At the time, he hadn’t known that sacrifice could hurt good things, too.
What might have changed if his values had been shaped by someone like Jiang Fengmian instead? Would this be easier now? Or was it somehow inherent in him that he should so poorly comport himself around the one person in the world who mattered most to him?
Wei Ying leaned forward the way a skittish animal might have, fully prepared to bolt at the first sign that it would be abused for daring to try for some form of comfort with another creature, tipped his head up, considering.
Brushing back the long, sleek tendril of hair that framed Wei Ying’s face, he said, “You only saw what you wanted to see.”
“I only saw what you wanted me to see,” he replied, because even if he was a skittish animal, he still had teeth, and though he wouldn’t bite, would never bite, he could gnaw at old wounds a little bit. Looking up, he added, “It’s fortunate that I liked what I saw.”
Drawing in a deep breath, he let his thumb skim over Wei Ying’s cheek. His skin was soft, delicate, the bones beneath his touch beautifully refined. Wei Ying’s head tilted into it and his eyes fluttered closed. Lan Wangji answered finally, the words rusty on his tongue, “I’m sorry.”
This was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Wei Ying froze, immediately letting the tassel go as though it had burned him. Tucking his legs in, he shifted over and then bounded from the bed to stride toward the opposite side of the room. His arms crossed his chest as he turned away and his shoulders lifted and fell in a way that made Lan Wangji uncomfortable, reminded him of their early days at the Cloud Recesses, one of the first misunderstandings between them. That time, Wei Ying hadn’t been crying. Though he made no sound, Lan Wangji wasn’t sure the same could be said about this one.
There were no ants here that he could poke with a stick after all.
Restless energy rolled off Wei Ying’s shoulders in anxious waves; that much Lan Wangji could tell from looking at the slender, delicate lines of his back, broadened slightly by the cut of his robes. His head tipped back slightly, causing his hair to ripple and cascade in response. The urge to run his fingers through the dark strands was almost insurmountable. If Lan Wangji hadn’t spent years learning how to curb the fiercest of his desires, he might have done so.
It wasn’t entirely fair, what Wei Ying said, but it wasn’t actually inaccurate either. A lot of the time he was trying to keep Wei Ying at a distance, but from the way Wei Ying acted, always with a smile and a laugh, he’d thought Wei Ying hadn’t actually taken his actions or words to heart at all. That was one of the only things that had carried him through the years, knowing that Wei Ying had always seen through him. Even if he was only being polite in a very particular way of his, he always knew that Lan Wangji held some regard for him.
Apparently he’d been wrong. A lump rose in his throat, one which he had a hard time swallowing around. Though he wanted to approach, wanted to touch, his feet and hands were made of lead, too heavy to move.
Finally, it was Wei Ying who turned again and there was a fragile smile on his mouth, bright to the point of incandescence, and somehow Lan Wangji knew he could destroy it without even a word if he wanted to. He leaned against the wall, pressed so close that Lan Wangji worried he might disappear into it. “I’ve messed this up, haven’t I?”
Lan Wangji’s answering question stuck in his throat. What was there to mess up that Lan Wangji hadn’t already managed? ‘This’ could mean a lot of things and Lan Wangji had not a single clue what Wei Ying was referring to. There was only the two of them. If nothing that happened before could destroy their bonds, what could possibly have changed now?
“I didn’t think you would come back,” Wei Ying continued, like he’d sensed Lan Wangji’s confusion and wanted for once to make it easy on him. “I thought maybe I’d see you occasionally, sneak into the Cloud Recesses every so often or find you on a night-hunt somewhere. I’d buy you dinner to make up for…” His hand circled the air, careless. “…everything. And then you’d go back and I’d—” He tapped his foot and stared at the ceiling, taking a few breaths. That smile disappeared all on its own, no help needed from Lan Wangji. That seemed very, very wrong to him. “—I didn’t think we’d be sharing a single room again or, or travel together again or that you’d—”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said. He couldn’t listen to this anymore, these minuscule dreams Wei Ying seemed to harbor that he still considered wild, impossible fantasies. He was from the Jiang Sect. Nothing should have been impossible for him. Nothing that Lan Wangji could give was impossible.
Not that Lan Wangji’s words stopped Wei Ying from speaking. Of course they didn’t. He’d matured while Lan Wangji wasn’t looking, but he hadn’t been replaced with a ghost puppet either. He was still Wei Ying. “—I didn’t think you’d find me and—”
“Wei Ying!” His voice shook in a way he couldn’t control. “Stop.”
Wei Ying shrugged, unmoved by Lan Wangji’s imploring demand, his hands open, palms exposed. “I don’t know what to do with you now that you’re here.” And the way he said it, Lan Wangji knew he wasn’t teasing, knew he was hurting and that Lan Wangji had caused that hurt. “I’m so happy that you are, but—”
This time, Lan Wangji strode forward and curled his hand around the back of Wei Ying’s neck, thumb tracing over his jaw. Wei Ying’s muscles trembled and tensed beneath his touch. “Shh.”
His gaze tracked across Wei Ying’s face, taking in every fraught twitch of his mouth. “I’m not sure I—”
“Shh.” He wasn’t certain what he would do if Wei Ying couldn’t quit speaking. Each word worked between his ribs, dull knives that tore at his flesh. Wei Ying was willing to do a lot of things, but since he came back, hurting Lan Wangji wasn’t one of them, not like before, when his judgment became too clouded and resentments had piled up around him and Lan Wangji’s feelings couldn’t compare to the many griefs and betrayals that had gotten their claws into Wei Ying and never quite let go. Wei Ying wouldn’t want to hurt Lan Wangji now and so he had to stop speaking.
Wei Ying’s gaze fell, head tilting slightly, making it so that Lan Wangji could no longer see his eyes, the last thing in the world he wanted at the moment and so he tipped Wei Ying’s chin up, like he had the right. His thumb brushed across Wei Ying’s lower lip, an accidental touch that sent a thrill of fire through him, burning every nerve in his body. Biting the inside of his mouth to keep from gasping at the softness of Wei Ying’s skin beneath his hand, he swept his thumb more purposefully, catching the corner of Wei Ying’s mouth, pressing against it. The fact that this was the thing that silenced Wei Ying was startling, a little troubling. Lan Wangji fully expected Wei Ying to mock him, laugh, lean into it in ridiculous fashion, but any of those reactions were better than the earnest vulnerability each stroke peeled from Wei Ying’s body before him.
It shouldn’t have—this wasn’t…
Shit. And if the thought was frantic, only Lan Wangji had to know about it. As long as Wei Ying didn’t reach out, press his palm against Lan Wangji’s chest, he’d never know. None of it would show on his face.
Then Wei Ying’s hand wrapped around his wrist and Lan Wangji was entirely certain Wei Ying could feel the way his heart was racing anyway, that he was giving himself away entirely. Before Lan Wangji could complain or explain or, rules forbid it, equivocate, Wei Ying pushed his hand aside. “Lan Zhan, don’t. You don’t have to—”
“I have to.” The words fell from his lips before he even thought about them.
Wei Ying’s eyes widened in surprise, so expressive that Lan Wangji was taken aback by everything he saw there. Despair, agony, something that might have been hope, though Lan Wangji didn’t want to believe hope was what he saw, because if there was hope and he was only now recognizing it, he’d allowed Wei Ying to suffer for it.
Lan Wangji could regurgitate every word of every Lan Sect rule and recite poetry with ease if not desire, but he could not always speak well on his own behalf. Even a lifetime spent crafting the language to express what existed within his heart would not suffice to accurately convey the truth. But he could pull Wei Ying close, tangle his hands in Wei Ying’s hair, bring their mouths together, pour everything he felt into a kiss he’d wanted to give for over sixteen years. For how ever-present the impulse had been, sixteen years might as well have been an eternity. Every moment of his life since they met, Lan Wangji had wanted to kiss him. And now he was, damning them with a loud thud as he pushed Wei Ying against the wall. Sixteen years of restraint brought low by Wei Ying’s honesty, too late for both of them to have avoided getting singed.
In none of his fragile imaginings did he consider that Wei Ying’s lips might taste of salt. Wei Ying opened for him, tongue hot against Lan Wangji’s. This, the silken feel of Wei Ying’s mouth, he had considered from time to time.
As soon as he broke the kiss, he would know if he’d made a mistake and so he didn’t break the kiss. It was a selfish thing to do and the realization crouched, vicious, in his chest. Maybe all of those rules he was disregarding were a means to protect their hearts all along, his and Wei Ying’s both.
And then Wei Ying moaned brokenly and his fingers wrapped tight in the fabric of his robes and he dragged Lan Wangji impossibly close. When that wasn’t enough, he pressed his hands to Lan Wangji’s jaw, cupped his face between his fingers. With Wei Ying’s body pressed against his, the long, warm lines of him perfectly molded to Lan Wangji’s own, he would have risked more than the heavy weight of guilt that existed within him to have this.
He wasn’t unfamiliar with guilt. It had been his constant companion for over half his life at this point. There was nothing in the world he knew better than this sensation.
It was Wei Ying finally who pulled his mouth away, drawing in a deep breath before biting lightly at Lan Wangji’s chin, dragging his teeth against the sensitive skin behind Lan Wangji’s ear, down his neck. His slim, cool fingers pushed aside Lan Wangji’s robes so that he might suck lightly at Lan Wangji’s collarbone.
His fingers tightened against the back of Wei Ying’s neck, nails digging into his skin, not enough to pierce, but more than enough to leave a mark later. His other hand braced against the wall to stop him from doing something undignified, like collapse, knees weak, under the weight of his relief.
“Wei Ying, we—we should…”
Wei Ying’s voice ghosted up, quiet. “Good idea, Lan Zhan,” he said, pushing Lan Wangji toward the bed. Their feet tangled together, but neither of them was willing to part and despite the many things that seemed to be happening all at once—Wei Ying’s hands and mouth were everywhere and the bed seemed so, so far away—Lan Wangji still managed to keep hold of Wei Ying. Though Wei Ying’s eyes were still wet, only the stain of his tears lingered.
“Don’t mind me,” Wei Ying said, a watery laugh trailing his words as he brushed his fingers over his cheeks.
When Lan Wangji kissed him this time, all he tasted was Wei Ying himself, so human and lovely that Lan Wangji knew he was ruined forever. Nothing could compare.
Of course, he would have been ruined anyway even without this knowledge. He was done in the minute he first met Wei Ying all those years ago. But he might have been able to fool himself at least a little bit if not for this.
Lan Wangji’s calves finally touched the wooden frame and as he sat, he pulled Wei Ying down onto his lap, letting Wei Ying pin him into place with his thighs and calves, his balance kept with hands wrapped around shoulders. From this vantage, Lan Wangji had to look up to see Wei Ying’s eyes, but what he found there stole the breath from his lungs.
Wei Ying was still, staring up at the ceiling, throat bobbing.
He’d started crying again.
“Why?” he asked, wiping the tears from Wei Ying’s cheeks. With every swipe of his finger, though, more fell from his eyes. They were warm against Lan Wangji’s fingertips and slippery. Wei Ying made no noise and he was entirely still except for the way his hands wound in Lan Wangji’s robes.
Shifting, Lan Wangji suddenly felt it was inappropriate to sit this way, when Wei Ying’s weight was pressing against him in such a way that his thoughts were divided between pleasure and concern. One part of him wanted nothing more than to pull Wei Ying’s clothes from his body to discover everything the fabric hid from him; the other, to console Wei Ying through this—this whatever it was. The latter would have won outright always, but Wei Ying wouldn’t move and he didn’t speak, and his weight, warm and comfortable, stoked Lan Wangji’s arousal.
This was probably the longest Wei Ying had ever held his tongue willingly.
There were no rules within the Lan Sect for how to conduct oneself when your touch has made someone cry. If he ever found the correct answer, he could go back to Cloud Recesses and etch a new rule into the stone which commemorated this wisdom.
At the moment, it seemed like it would be a better lesson than the ones he spent his youth learning.
Wei Ying would laugh, he was sure. It would stop the tears, if nothing else, and at this point, that was all Lan Wangji wanted.
“Have I done something wrong?” Pinching Wei Ying’s chin between his fingertips, he tipped Wei Ying’s head down to get a clearer look in his eyes. He seemed a little steadier now, though his eyes continued to sparkle. How long had he held these in? At what points in their partnership had Lan Wangji missed that they wanted to fall?
Wei Ying dashed his hand across his eyes and shook his head. He smiled and drew in a deep breath. “No, you’re perfect. You’ve just surprised me. Again.”
Lan Wangji’s lips compressed and he closed his eyes briefly, thinking, thinking, thinking. Thinking that he’d ruined something here without even knowing it. Thinking he’d failed Wei Ying in more ways than even he’d known he needed to carry. Perhaps it was a good thing that he didn’t. He wasn’t certain his shoulders would be able to bear this weight as well.
When Lan Wangji opened his eyes, he could see as Wei Ying made a decision. With a decisive nod, his expression cleared. “Lan Zhan, I refuse to ruin the moment any longer,” he said, sounding more like himself than he’d managed since they arrived at the inn, pompous and grandiose and silly all at once. “And I’m going to kiss you again. I might also try to get into your pants, fair warning.”
As far as warnings went, it wasn’t particularly fair, because between one breath and the next, Wei Ying’s clever mouth was covering his and his hand was pushing aside Lan Wangji’s robes. Even with Wei Ying’s proclamation, he wasn’t prepared. As much as he might have pretended otherwise, he was still human and Wei Ying was here and Lan Wangji had wanted him for so long that he couldn’t actually imagine that this was happening, even with Wei Ying’s touch on his body, his words in Lan Wangji’s ears, all the proof he should have needed.
Then again, he’d lived through a world that no longer had Wei Ying in it and he hadn’t believed much in that either.
Lan Wangji wrapped a hand around Wei Ying’s wrist, poised above the hem of his trousers. “Wei Ying.”
“Ach,” Wei Ying replied, trilling the sound repetitiously, an impatient negation. “I’ve done it.” Leaning back slightly, he placed both of his hands on Lan Wangji’s cheeks and then brought their faces close together, noses almost touching. “You just gave me everything I wanted in one fell swoop and I wasn’t prepared. You can’t blame me for that, can you? It doesn’t mean I love you any less.”
Lan Wangji froze and his thoughts ground to a standstill, narrowed down to a single word, a single feeling. Pleasure bloomed within him, warm and tingling, drenching him fully with need. It wasn’t very gentlemanly, the way he stirred, particularly when Wei Ying could probably feel it, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to restrain himself again. “Love?”
“Keep up, Lan Zhan.” His voice thickened with the amount of affection he bestowed upon the words. Bringing their foreheads together, he nudged Lan Wangji with his nose. His breath was warm against Lan Wangji’s lips and he seemed now on solid ground, his eyes flashing mischievously, like he hadn’t spent the entire evening acting strange. “You’re supposed to be the smart one.”
Lan Wangji, very much counter to Wei Ying’s opinion of him, felt very, very stupid at the moment.
“Can we just forget I cried and get on with the part that I’ve waited forever for? It’s not like this is the first time you’ve seen me in tears, come on.”
A burst of liquid fire spilled down Lan Wangji’s spine. ”Forever?”
“Lan Zhan!” At this outburst, he bit lightly at Lan Wangji’s nose, a playful scrape of teeth, enough to get Lan Wangji’s attention back on the task at hand. “So maybe I didn’t know it at the time, but there was a reason I was always bothering you, okay? Even back when we first met.”
“Cloud Recesses? That far back?”
Wei Ying nodded, enthusiastic. Lan Wangji could still see some fragility in his gaze, but, ever resilient, he was pulling himself back together right before Lan Wangji’s eyes. It was a skill he’d always envied, something that ten-thousand Lan Sect rules couldn’t ever have instilled in him. Wei Ying said, “You were very beautiful and your sword work was exquisite and I—”
The way he said sword work was positively obscene and Lan Wangji reached the end of a very frayed rope because of it. Wrapping one arm around Wei Ying’s back and the other beneath his thigh, he stood and twisted around, dumping Wei Ying onto the bed. “Foolish,” he answered, but he wasn’t certain if he meant himself or Wei Ying. Truly, how much time had they wasted?
This was a rhetorical question, of course. Lan Wangji now knew exactly how long and it made his heart hurt for their past selves, for the pain they’d unwittingly caused one another in addition to the wounds they consciously sought to give one another. Each of them poked at the other’s weaknesses until they lost the ability to communicate entirely, could only meet one another for a polite meal where nothing of import was discussed. And then Wei Ying came back and they didn’t speak at all, not really, too focused on solving mysteries to discuss the state of their own relationship.
Sprawling, Wei Ying reached again for Lan Wangji’s robes, pulled Lan Wangji down on top of him. His plea was a whisper and it shouldn’t have affected Lan Wangji as deeply as it did. Though it was teasing, Lan Wangji suspected there was more to it than that, like what he was really asking for was a return to normalcy. “Say more mean things, Lan Zhan.”
“Impertinent,” he answered, pulling roughly at the sash that held Wei Ying’s robe in place. He’d give Wei Ying a whole dictionary of insults if that was what he wanted. At that, Wei Ying grinned up at him, a beaming smile on his mouth, bright enough to right the world again. With a wriggle, he managed to get himself out of his boots and pull off his outer robes and then reach for Lan Wangji’s. It was almost like the first time they fought all over again, the way Wei Ying anticipated his every move, matched him in every way. He’d heard later that Wei Ying dueled often, constantly. Everyone he met had a go at him if they could, hoping to test their own skills against him.
Of course, that was back when he could duel at all.
By the time Lan Wangji understood what exactly he was missing by being so stubborn, so distancing, so himself about his feelings toward Wei Ying, it was too late.
If this was the only way to recapture that sensation, Lan Wangji would grab the opportunity with both hands and never let it go again. It was the least he could do for himself and for Wei Ying.
They were mostly unclothed within a matter of moments, the only thing left between them the thin layer of their trousers, arms and chests and hearts exposed. Wei Ying’s mouth fell open, his tongue briefly swiping over the corner of his mouth as he pressed himself experimentally against Lan Wangji. The heat of close contact passed between them. Though Lan Wangji held himself up on his arms, each on either side of Wei Ying’s shoulders, close enough that his wrists brushed Wei Ying’s biceps, he worried he might fall forward, fall right into Wei Ying, disappear within this moment and never again recover, never again want to recover.
“Say something else,” Wei Ying urged, teasing, playful.
“Something else,” Lan Wangji answered, the first words that came to mind, spoken in such a stunned, distant way that it couldn’t be mistaken for a playful joke. Swallowing, he was going to try again, but his hair brushed past his shoulders and puddled on Wei Ying’s chest, ink black against the pale stretch of his skin. It was an invitation Wei Ying couldn’t ignore and he soon wrapped the locks around his hand, pulling Lan Wangji down, while all thoughts of speech were lost as Wei Ying kissed him again, fierce, possessive. One of his legs hooked around the back of Lan Wangji’s, pulling him closer, pulling him in, pulling, pulling until Lan Wangji couldn’t get any closer to him without crawling into his skin and even that didn’t quite feel close enough.
Lan Wangji realized, quite suddenly, that it would never be enough. And he was, he found with equal suddenness, okay with that, perfectly willing to chase the possibility for as long as possible despite knowing he’d never reach his goal. The pursuit alone was worthy.
Wei Ying was worthy.
“Wei Ying,” he said, earnest, voice graveled by need and desire and awe, repeating the words against Wei Ying’s lips until he finally looked up, nose brushing against nose. “Wei Ying.”
“What?”
Lan Wangji never got to finish what he intended to say as Wei Ying’s mouth pressed against his again before Lan Wangji could even speak, but this time, he didn’t have to doubt that Wei Ying knew exactly what he meant to say.