Lan Wangji understands that power is a mutable, flexible thing, a curse mostly or an object to be taken or offered, refused or demanded. Power has flayed his body and has, in turn, lifted his will above all others. He has seen his most cherished one suffer more at its hands—in both the weaponization of it against him and the wielding of it by him—than any one person should be forced to bear. Power is a many-faceted gem. As such, it is prized, but Lan Wangji would have nothing to do with it if he could. Instead, he would roam the world with Wei Ying and exercise as little of it as possible, cast it entirely aside. He has learned that he can only do the next best thing and place what power he carries in Wei Ying’s hands.
Wei Ying will realize what Lan Wangji wants him to have soon enough.
Wei Ying walks now by his side through the busy streets of Caiyi, frowning all the while, his heels all but sticking to the stone paths. His gaze fails to lift from the tranquil waterways as they meander. His affect is muted when he speaks and he is subdued otherwise, neither darting away to inspect each stall they pass nor pestering Lan Wangji for Emperor’s Smile as Lan Wangji might have expected. Perhaps he senses it, too.
It’s the first time they’re returning to Cloud Recesses since Lan Wangji turned the role of Chief Cultivator over to Nie Huaisang, as fitting a punishment as Lan Wangji could ever hope to give to the man who has taken from and returned to him so much, and he hesitates over their return as well. The months they have traveled, righting small wrongs in the world for people who might not in their lifetimes cross paths with another cultivator, have been the most personally fulfilling and freeing of Lan Wangji’s life. Watching Wei Ying bloom in those same circumstances has brought more contentment to him than he could ever have hoped to feel since those early days of their acquaintance, when Lan Wangji was too stubborn to know what exactly it was he held in his hands.
Lans do not care well for the people who are most precious to them. Of all the traditions and rules he’s broken, this is the one he most ardently wishes to annihilate in its entirety.
“Wei Ying,” he says, raising his arm to stop Wei Ying’s slow, interminable progress toward the path that can only lead to a home that is no longer his true home. “We should rest here tonight.”
Taking hold of Lan Wangji’s hand, he turns toward him, steps close, tilts his head. His gaze casts itself down only slightly, just low enough to assure Lan Wangji that the quick dart of his tongue over his lower lip will not go unnoticed. The bob of his throat as he swallows? It will be understood. Lan Wangji would luxuriate in the heat of Wei Ying’s body one more night before reality asserts itself. That, too, Wei Ying will be capable of reading in the tightening of Lan Wangji’s fist beneath his palm when he turns and walks them toward the nearest inn.
In the Cloud Recesses, they will not be left to their own devices. He will carve as much time for Wei Ying from the myriad duties that await them as he can muster, but it will be an adjustment all the same.
“Lan Zhan? Don’t you want to go home?”
Yes. No. He wants an ideal world where everything can be his all at once, but for now he will settle for taking each in turn. Perhaps by the end of this visit, he’ll know how to better stitch the whole of his life back together: his life as an heir to the Lan Sect married to his life as the Yiling Patriarch’s lover married to his life as a vagabond cultivator disinterested in the politics and power struggles constantly taking place around him. The shape of it remains obscure to him, but it is that which he longs for: harmony.
“Cloud Recesses will still be there tomorrow. Shufu will not be unduly concerned by this delay. Even I cannot account for the weather that kept us from traveling more efficiently before our arrival in Gusu.” He keeps a straight face through this all. It’s true that a drizzle earlier this week did give them a reasonable excuse to find shelter earlier in the day than they might otherwise have indulged, but they both know what this is and what Lan Wangji is truly saying.
“Lan er-gege.” His unhappy demeanor instantly transforms itself, like a mask has been lifted from his face. The full, bright moon of his smile reveals itself from behind the obscuring fog of his frown. This is the right decision to make. “What exactly do you intend to do with this respite you’re proposing?”
Hand over my heart, he thinks. Give power over to you.
They have learned from their early fumblings that everything they do together is exquisite and that Lan Wangji will do anything within the means available to make Wei Ying feel as good as possible. At first, they’d both thought that meant Lan Wangji would touch and taste and wring precious orgasms from Wei Ying’s body, as though he was an instrument and Lan Wangji, its player.
The truth is more complicated. They enjoy giving pleasure to and receiving it from one another. Sometimes they are gentle. Sometimes they are its opposite. As often as not, Wei Ying feels good when he is able to scratch control from his surroundings and Lan Wangji enjoys placing that control into Wei Ying’s care because he is certain, even when Wei Ying isn’t, that their surroundings—their selves included—are safe in Wei Ying’s hands. The perfection of body and mind he has cultivated wants to be given over to Wei Ying’s whims. Everything he is belongs to Wei Ying. So should this.
Without Lan Wangji having to say it, Wei Ying knows what he wants tonight.
Behind the closed door of their accommodations, Wei Ying is careful with him. Each piece of cloth he pulls from Lan Wangji’s body is appropriately folded and put aside. The few decorations that adorn his belt are placed neatly next to them. After guiding Lan Wangji to the bed and urging him to sit, his fingers deftly remove the ornaments from his hair and undoes the bun atop his head. He still hesitates sometimes when his touch skims over the ribbon. Before, Lan Wangji would have had to urge him with words, but they are both growing in their comfort with one another and so, after only the barest delay, he tugs it free, too, and reverently bestows a kiss to the pendant at its center before curling it into his palm and setting it atop the neat pile of his clothes.
It’s taken time to grow easy in Wei Ying’s presence this way, stripped bare while Wei Ying combs through his hair with his fingers, humming barely audible songs of nonsense as it falls from the thin strip of leather holding it back. If Lan Wangji wants to see his face, he has to tilt his head back and he does so now, warmed by the quiet, solid affection in Wei Ying’s gaze when he looks down in return. He’s never failed to do so, not in all the time since Lan Wangji returned to him.
“You’re so good to me, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. “Kneel on the bed?”
Lan Wangji can only obey, positioning himself in the center, his weight balanced on his heels, upper body erect.
Wei Ying often peppers him with praise and yet it never fails to have an effect. Heat burns within him, pools in his stomach, fills him with arousal. He wants to be good for Wei Ying. It is the only thing he wants. Since he’s been given a second—or third, if he truly thinks about it, and the way he’d chosen duty one last time before coming to his senses—chance, it’s become his guiding principle.
He folds his hand behind his back, wraps his fingers around the opposite wrist to keep from doing anything counter to Wei Ying’s desires. If it’s within Lan Wangji’s power to give, he will offer it and more.
Though it’s not particularly cold, he shivers as Wei Ying’s gaze rakes over his body. His lower lip catches itself between his teeth, compelling enough in its own right to make Lan Wangji’s breath hitch in his chest. Though he ducks his head and lowers his own eyes to stave off the urge to take charge, he can still see Wei Ying pulling roughly at his own robes in his peripheral vision, yanking them free and discarding them like they’re nothing to him.
Before Lan Wangji is prepared for it, he is exposed to Wei Ying’s bare legs near the edge of the bed. Dark hairs stand out against his skin, pale from lack of exposure to sunlight. He wonders if it would be different under other circumstances. If he were capable of returning to Lotus Pier the way Lan Wangji knows he still wishes to, maybe swim away the summer months like he used to talk about, how much of his body would remain untouched by the sun’s kisses?
Lan Wangji tries not to dwell on the past, but he doesn’t always succeed. What might it have been like if he’d gone back with Wei Ying all those years ago? What would he have seen?
Wei Ying contorts himself, bending in half as he waves a hand in Lan Wangji’s face. It should be ridiculous, Wei Ying naked, hair hanging in his face, a silly smile on his mouth. It is not. “Eyes up, Lan Zhan. I want to see you.”
Lan Wangji obeys. Of course he does.
“Beautiful,” Wei Ying says, stretching upward and onto his toes, unrepentant in his display, like a bird intent on showing himself off. Sighing, he studies Lan Wangji again. “One last hurrah before we have to behave ourselves, hmm?”
This is not how Lan Wangji wishes to think of their return to Cloud Recesses, but until he’s there, he cannot fathom how he might skirt around the fact that everything he wants to do and be with Wei Ying would break some rule of decorum or other.
Wei Ying steps close, tips Lan Wangji’s chin up. Lan Wangji thinks Wei Ying intends to kiss him on the mouth, but he instead presses one into his forehead. “Don’t move unless I say so. Don’t come until I say so. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes,” he replies. Though Wei Ying doesn’t make a habit of tricking him, he takes care not to nod instead.
“Lie down, please,” he says, so sweet, as he wanders over to their stash of gear. It should be ridiculous, Wei Ying just walking around like this in the dim light of their room. It, too, is not.
“What are you doing?” he asks, because Wei Ying hasn’t told him not to speak.
He’s now rifling through Lan Wangji’s qiankun bag and retrieves a sheet of paper. Tearing it into strips, he says, “You’ll see,” and begins to loosely tie the strips together like he’s playing a children’s game. “Nervous?”
With Wei Ying, he can no longer feel such a thing. Excitement, yes. Twinges of curiosity, yes. But Wei Ying is by now an expert at putting Lan Zhan at ease. This isn’t exactly what he’s doing, but it’s close enough to it: he feels safe. “Hardly.”
Wei Ying returns. “I want your arms over your head, wrists crossed.”
There’s not enough room for him to fully stretch them, but Wei Ying takes no issue with his elbows bent, wrists crossed just above the crown of his head.
He loops the fragile paper around them. It crinkles as he ties it. Though it’s loose, there’s not much give. If he even breathes wrong, it might fall apart.
Lan Wangji understands even before Wei Ying speaks, but when he does speak, Lan Wangji listens.
“Don’t rip up my hard work, Lan Zhan. Protect it for me, hmm?”
His words draw Lan Wangji’s attention to the band of paper, sends a thrum through him like the taut string of a qin suddenly plucked. The knots scratch his skin. He is, in this safe, little bubble Wei Ying has created for them over these last months, a little fearful now. Not in any way that hurts and he is not truly afraid, he doesn’t think. He just doesn’t want to disappoint Wei Ying. He only ever wants to be everything Wei Ying could hope for or dream of.
With the paper wrapped around his wrists, so fragile, he is exquisitely aware that he cannot move without the risk of disobeying and he worries that perhaps this is something he will not be able to fulfill for Wei Ying. Already it feels like a burden.
He likes it perhaps, as a sign of his devotion. It’s a toy; it’s play. But he wants to be good for Wei Ying before he doesn’t have the chance to do so. He cannot get this wrong. It is a toy. It is play. It is not just either of those things.
Wei Ying’s hair brushes his chest as he leans over him, inspecting his work and then Lan Wangji’s reaction to it. Lan Wangji wonders what Wei Ying sees on his face.
“Not into it?” Wei Ying asks. His hand splays over Lan Wangji’s heart, presses firm against his chest. His heartbeat gives him away every time. He is searching for the answer there.
If Wei Ying were to look lower, he’d have his answer. That he’s ambivalent doesn’t mean he’s opposed.
“I am.”
“Well, if you get to where you’re not…”
“I know.”
“You’re so great,” Wei Ying says. Lan Wangji shivers again, wishes he could lean into Wei Ying’s palm as it cups his cheek. It’s a test. “I want to make you feel so good, okay? Don’t worry about anything else.”
He reminds himself that this isn’t just for him, that Wei Ying derives as much pleasure from making Lan Wangji feel good as Lan Wangji does when he’s in Wei Ying’s position.
“Mn.”
“Stay still,” Wei Ying replies, as though Lan Wangji’s not aware already. “You don’t have to be quiet.”
He draws in a deep breath through his nose as Wei Ying drags his hand down Lan Wangji’s abdomen. He releases it while Wei Ying settles beside him, uses Lan Wangji’s bicep as a pillow. Wei Ying’s erection blazes hot against Lan Wangji’s hip, presses even more insistently against him when Wei Ying wraps his leg around Lan Wangji’s.
Lan Wangji’s hands tighten into fists. The paper rustles in warning. Wei Ying’s huff of amusement fills his ears, warms his cheek as it brushes his skin, intimate in a way that beats even the nonsensical, intentionally surprising strokes of Wei Ying’s fingers over his stomach.
Sometimes Lan Wangji wonders if he was so angry as a youth because this was what he’d missed this whole time without knowing it. He could soak up Wei Ying’s touch all day and never get enough of it, thinks a part of him knew that even then and resented that it was not his.
“Lan Zhan, you’re perfect,” Wei Ying says, keeping a running commentary of all the nothing Lan Wangji is doing here. “Are you paying attention to how hard I am? It’s all because of you.” Rocking against Lan Wangji, he sighs, contented. Lan Wangji bites back a moan as fluid leaks against Lan Wangji’s flank. He tucks his face into Lan Wangji’s neck, inhales, draws his hand back up and presses his palm over Lan Wangji’s mouth, slips his fingers between Lan Wangji’s lips. This time, Lan Wangji’s moan is broken, cracked, split around Wei Ying’s fingers as they work inside, stretching his mouth until they’re wet with saliva and Lan Wangji’s tongue feels dry. Even once he removes his fingers—and Lan Wangji doesn’t chase them, he isn’t supposed to move after all and he wants to be as good as Wei Ying proclaims him to be—he places his palm again over Lan Wangji’s mouth. It would not take a genius to know what he is after.
Lan Wangji does his best, licks stripes up Wei Ying’s palm until Wei Ying hums in satisfaction.
The first touch of Wei Ying’s hand on him comes close to ruining everything. It burns through him, a light stroke at best, too much after the subtle tease of his touch everywhere but around his cock. It’s for that and that alone, Lan Wangji thinks, that he groans as loudly as he does, trailing off to a hissing whine that churns up embarrassment within him for how desperate it sounds.
“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, nuzzling at his throat, nosing up, biting then at his earlobe and up the shell, until Lan Wangji shudders. Each scrape of Wei Ying’s teeth against his ear matches itself to a fresh wave of pleasure that only heightens the sensations Wei Ying pulls from him with his hand.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, hoarse already. He turns his face a little toward Wei Ying and then stops. No moving. He can—he can do that. But he’s able to talk. Wei Ying wants him to talk. “Wei Ying, I need—”
“What do you need?” Wei Ying’s voice is a whisper, a delicate facsimile of itself, gentle and teasingly small.
“Nngh, please.” His body trembles and Lan Wangji can only hope this doesn’t fall afoul of Wei Ying’s request.
It shouldn’t be this difficult.
“Please what?”
He doesn’t realize he’s clenching his hands into fists until he feels again the knots formed in the paper. “Please,” is all he can say, though he’s desperate to roll them, pin Wei Ying down, touch himself while he swallows Wei Ying down until it’s Wei Ying crying out. “Wei Ying…”
Wei Ying thumb drags back and forth over his slit, smears precome over the head, keeps—keeps up the maddening pace he’s set, enough to arouse, not enough for him to reach climax, the perfect middle ground instead. Wei Ying has to know, because he laughs lightly. “You’re all wound up still. What kind of partner would I be if I made it this easy on you?”
Wei Ying makes a lot of things easy is the thing. He goes out of his way to ensure Lan Wangji is content. Except when he feels deeply about something, he’ll allow Lan Wangji to take the lead, do what most makes him comfortable, which might be anything: something as silly as endlessly pouring Wei Ying’s drinks for him despite his insistence that he’s a perfectly capable adult or letting Lan Wangji choose which path they take on their travels. When he tries to argue that they don’t have to find an inn for the night, he lets Lan Wangji have his way. When Lan Wangji desires to dote, he lets it happen even when he thinks it’s too extravagant. When Lan Wangji insists they be serious, he’s serious.
And it’s not enough. Lan Wangji wants more. The least he can do is give this back.
Lan Wangji huffs in frustration, strangles himself on the pleasure of Wei Ying’s hand on his body, his mouth on his neck, his hips rolling against Lan Wangji’s body as he brings himself closer and closer to release.
And then he lets go of Lan Wangji, pulls away entirely. His absence from Lan Wangji’s side leaves him cold.
It’s only after he’s turned toward Wei Ying that he realizes what he’s done. The paper remains intact, but just barely. With a gasp, he shifts back. His heart hammers in his chest at having disobeyed.
“Tsk, Lan Zhan.” His long, precious legs straddle Lan Wangji’s thighs.
When Lan Wangji dares look up, he finds Wei Ying is smiling at him and his hand, glinting still with Lan Wangji’s saliva, his precome, is rubbing up and down his own length. He’s touching himself the way Lan Wangji likes to be touched, not the way he himself likes it.
That doesn’t appear to be stopping him in the slightest: he’s leaking all over himself, flushed, panting. The muscles in his thighs bunch. Another betrayal of Wei Ying’s simple request that he not move, but Lan Wangji wants to reach for him so badly, wishes desperately to be the one giving this pleasure to Wei Ying.
“Lan Zhan, you’re so naughty,” he says, light, like it doesn’t matter that he broke Wei Ying’s rule. “How should you be punished, I wonder?”
Twin desires war within him, a punishment already. He needs to get his hands on Wei Ying as quickly as possible, push Wei Ying’s out of the way and do this right for him, the way Lan Wangji knows he likes it. He needs Wei Ying’s hands on him, too. He can have neither of them.
His attention, no matter how much he might want it to, if only to give him room to breath, does not fall away from what Wei Ying is doing to himself.
He’s so close and he isn’t close enough.
He can’t keep looking and he can’t not look.
“Wei Ying, please.”
Wei Ying knee walks himself a little closer, not quite close enough to touch Lan Wangji’s length, but nearly there. “Er-gege, you’re looking a little flushed.”
He’s sure he is. His body is all heat and fever and want. Wei Ying is taking his time with himself, slow and methodical, knowing stoking that fire for Lan Wangji. His strokes speed up incrementally, and he bites his lower lip to keep from moaning, like he knows that Lan Wangji craves that, too, wants to hear him on top of everything else. Precome smears his stomach when his length bobs toward his abdomen, another sensation that nearly drives him out of his mind. Wei Ying has stranded him on the cusp of release. “Please.”
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, eyes screwing shut. Lan Wangji knows before it happens that he’s going to come, knows Wei Ying’s body as intimately now as he knows his own. His body clenches in sympathetic anticipation and he has to remind himself that he’s tied up, that he can’t let himself break those bonds. He’s promised he won’t. But Wei Ying sighs and spills into his hand and leans back, cock jerking into his palm, makes little ah sounds as he continues to stroke himself. His head tilts back the way it always does when it’s especially good; his chest heaves. Sweat sheens his skin.
Lan Wangji’s body threatens to shake itself apart at how beautiful Wei Ying is in this moment. He’s not sure he’s ever been this aroused or frustrated. A sharp pain registers where he’s bitten his lip. His heels dig into the bed as he arcs up, body searching for the stimulation it needs and cannot get. One rule broken irrevocably. For one wild moment, Lan Wangji no longer cares and Wei Ying doesn’t seem to mind.
Wei Ying considers the mess in his palm, mouth twisting thoughtfully.
He swipes his thumb through his come, swirls it around. His gaze falls across Lan Wangji’s body, casting an invisible, but no less potent, shadow. It creeps up and up until his attention is on Lan Wangji’s face. Shifting closer, he looks down at him. His cheeks are pink and his lips are red from where he’s bitten them.
Wei Ying is not close enough to kiss and he is not supposed to move. Though he’s already crossed Wei Ying’s line in the sand, he refrains at least from claiming Wei Ying’s mouth.
Wei Ying leans in finally, holds himself up on one hand, and it is still not enough, but then he touches Lan Wangji, just his thumb to Lan Wangji’s lip. Lan Wangji cannot chase the bitter, salted flavor of Wei Ying’s release, cannot grab hold of Wei Ying’s hand and lap it away. He can only take what is fed to him as Wei Ying pushes his thumb into his mouth again and again until his hand is clean or mostly so.
He wipes what remains off on Lan Wangji’s sternum. The act is so unexpected, his hand so warm and wet with Lan Zhan’s saliva, that Lan Wangji has no time to muffle his groan.
“Oh, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, patting his chest affectionately before drifting down, pressing against his abdomen, holding him in place. “You’re doing so well for me. Can you keep going?”
He nods, then shakes his head, groans, and nods again. He can. He has to. He won’t disappoint Wei Ying again, especially when this will likely be the last time they can do anything as involved as this for some time. Wei Ying’s hand, wicked and quick, crosses the thatched patch of hair between his legs to stroke lightly down Lan Wangji’s length. “Stay still, Lan Zhan, and don’t come.”
“Mn.”
“So confident, my er-gege is.” One finger curls around the underside, drags up and over the head and back down.
Lan Wangji releases a shuddering breath and wills himself to still, ignore what’s happening so he can give Wei Ying what he wants. It is almost a meditation.
“Oh, Lan Zhan, that’s cheating.” He tsks and shakes his head. “You can’t just think your way out of this.”
His jaw tenses so tightly that his molars grind together. “I wasn’t,” he says, even though he absolutely was probably well on his way to doing just that if Wei Ying had left him alone.
Because Wei Ying is a frustrating man, he starts tapping lightly along Lan Wangji’s length. Each playful touch, oddly pleasant or pleasantly odd, only serves to frustrate Lan Wangji further. “You were just breathing really slowly and deliberately because you can?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a good thing Lan Zhan never tells fibs,” Wei Ying replies, sly. He is delighted with Lan Wangji and that feels better than whatever it is Wei Ying’s doing instead of stroking him properly. “Hanguang-jun is so principled. He wouldn’t be wicked about anything, especially not while behaving for his partner.”
“He wouldn’t.”
And really, it’s true. He’s not trying to be difficult; he would do anything to ensure Wei Ying gets what he wants out of this. Though he’s no longer hard, having taken care of himself fully, Lan Zhan still wants to do what he can for him.
“I’m going to hold him to that,” Wei Ying promises. This time, he wraps his hand fully, properly around Lan Wangji. “I want to see him squirm now. Maybe he will beg, but he’ll be good to me. He won’t come, isn’t that right?”
With permission given to squirm, he pushes himself shamelessly into Wei Ying’s touch and nods again, says, “Yes.”
He strokes Lan Wangji from root to tip and back down, tightening and loosening his grip in maddening, unpredictable ways. The pleasure crests and crumbles within him, building slowly toward a climax he would hold off for Wei Ying. Even if he leaks all over Wei Ying’s hand, which he is, slicking Wei Ying’s way, he’ll do what Wei Ying needs him to do. “I love you like this, er-gege. Nobody else gets to see you this way. You’re never more beautiful than at this moment and I’m the only one lucky enough to get to witness it. You really are too generous a lover.”
Lan Wangji’s hips snap up into the circle of Wei Ying’s hand. The paper around his wrists crinkles again as he almost, almost rips it yet again. “Wei Ying… Wei Ying, please.”
“I want to,” Wei Ying replies. “I really want you to, Lan Zhan.”
Biting back a moan, he pushes himself again into Wei Ying’s touch until his thighs burn, until—
Wei Ying’s hand falls away.
Without it, Lan Wangji’s dick bobs and twitches.
“I really do want to,” Wei Ying says, mournful, “but I have to keep up my end of the bargain here. It has to be worth it, doesn’t it?” He sighs, dramatic, and shrugs his shoulders. “My good Lan er-gege has to work for it, doesn’t he? Take some time and really indulge?”
“Wei Ying!”
“No, but think about it. When we’re back at Cloud Recesses, you’ll have to pull me into the back hills and have your way with me there. We could get caught. Lan Zhan, what will your uncle think? You’ll have to use the silencing spell on me.” His attention drifts for a moment. “Huh, that’s… actually not a bad idea.” Then he shakes his head, pushes at the strands of hair that fall into his face. His fingers begin to trace lines into Lan Zhan’s thighs, edging up and up toward Lan Zhan’s length again. “How would you like to do that to me? Or would you rather silence me yourself?”
There are a lot of things Lan Wangji wants to do to Wei Ying.
“Tell me, Lan Zhan.”
“Anything,” he answers, truthful. The thought of either is very compelling. “Everything.”
As a reward maybe, he again touches Lan Zhan, pulling lightly. Without more lubrication, the drag of his hand is a little dry, but it feels so good that Lan Zhan can’t complain. The friction only wrings more sensations from his body. He stiffens further, flushes more. He will be reduced to ash before the end of this.
Wei Ying lets go again and Lan Wangji cannot stifle his cry.
“You'd rather put your palm over my mouth, I bet,” Wei Ying muses. Then he shakes his head. “But that's for later, isn't it? Why talk about tomorrow when it'll be here so soon?” Shifting, Wei Ying leans closer. His hair brushes over Lan Wangji's over-sensitized body. His breath is warm over Lan Wangji's abdomen. There is only one moment's warning—Wei Ying pinning him down by the hips—before Wei Ying licks a stripe up the underside of Lan Wangji's length, before he curls his tongue over the head. Without conscious thought, Lan Wangji tries to buck into Wei Ying's mouth. The flashfire of his body threatens to consume him. He is undone.
Wei Ying pulls off again, lips spit-slick and shining. There is a burning grin on his mouth. Wei Ying speaks some variety of filth, but Lan Wangji cannot hear it over the rush of blood in his head.
His rib cage stretches to accommodate each panting gasp he takes, but there is not enough air to fill his lungs; he cannot catch his breath. His hands clench and unclench above his head. Gasping weakly, he turns his head into his arm. His lower body arcs upward and his knees try to draw in.
“Lan Zhan, are you close?”
His body and his mind exist, disconnected from one another. It's difficult to piece himself back together enough to answer. Lan Wangji nods, shaky and uncoordinated.
The tip of Wei Ying's finger slips over the head of his cock and back again.
It shouldn't—that shouldn't be enough, not when—not when Wei Ying's barely touching him. And yet. And yet. And yet that one little hint of pressure unravels him entirely. Half a shout falls from his lips before he can bite it back. That single loss of control spells the end of all control. He has nothing else.
His orgasm shreds through him. Pulse after damning pulse of come splatters his chest and stomach as his body knifes upward as though needing to make itself as small as possible, and still he isn’t done. Shivers of pleasure rack and rack his body, torturous, until he fears he is nothing but the tidal pull of his release, no longer human, no longer Lan Wangji, the man who can do anything for Wei Ying.
A moment later, maybe more, and he is finally free.
He falls back, exhausted, enervated. Aftershocks spark through him, taunting. Even the lightest disruption of air caresses his overly sensitive skin. He pulls in gulp after gulp of air. Perspiration plasters his hair to his scalp.
He's come and Wei Ying hasn't given him permission.
He'd never—
“Wow,” Wei Ying says, climbing off, kneeling next to him instead. Lan Wangji wants to tell him to come back, but Lan Wangji’s… Lan Wangji couldn’t do this one thing for Wei Ying. Why should he come back?
He blinks. His eyes are prickling. His hands are still—he yanks them apart, tearing the paper. What's the point of it now?
Wei Ying's hand shoots out and grabs for the nearest wrist. “Hey, hey. What's—”
“Let me go.” Lan Wangji pushes himself upright and shifts toward the end of the bed. They are too close to one another now. Though just a moment ago, Lan Wangji wanted nothing more than Wei Ying to be as near to him as humanly possible, now it's… he's never done anything like this before, has always, always done as Wei Ying wishes. The sex they have is perfect, incredible. It is always exactly what Wei Ying hopes it would be. That is what Lan Wangji takes the most pride in.
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying tilts his head and tries to catch Lan Wangji's eye. He will not let it. He looks away.
“Please just let me go.” Though he would like nothing more than to wrench himself free and clean up this mess, this evidence, he doesn’t tear himself from Wei Ying’s touch.
“Lan Zhan?”
The problem is Wei Ying’s touch lingers and he can’t—he can’t deal with how gentle it is when this feeling of foolishness is dredging itself up within him. It swamps everything else. He still can’t extricate himself from the sucking quicksand of it. Wei Ying’s touch lingers and then it spreads. His hand crosses Lan Wangji’s chest as he plasters himself against Lan Wangji’s back.
“Lan Zhan, you’re scaring me a little bit here.” Wei Ying hooks his chin over Lan Wangji’s shoulder. His kiss is feather light against Lan Wangji’s jaw. It will undo him all over again if he doesn’t pull himself together. “Normally you like this sort of thing. If I did something wrong—”
“No.” That is the last thing he wants Wei Ying to think. The one place he can do no wrong is here with Lan Wangji; it is a respite for them both. “I didn’t…” He reaches up to take hold of Wei Ying’s hand where it’s braced on his shoulder. Wei Ying immediately laces their fingers together. Because it’s there, Lan Wangji supposes, Wei Ying kisses the back of his hand, too. “I didn’t obey.”
The silence between them drags along like a river’s undercurrent, pulling them with it. Wei Ying isn’t talking. Lan Wangji will have to do it.
“This is the last night we’ll be able to indulge,” he continues, the words razor sharp as they cut his throat on their way out of his mouth. “I wasn’t able to indulge you.” He wants to have indulged Wei Ying. The happiest he’s ever gotten to be is when he’s doing so and he made a promise to himself that now that he has the chance, he will always do so.
Until now.
Wei Ying goes still and then he’s gone from Lan Wangji’s back. A chill works down his spine at the loss, but before he can mourn for too long, Wei Ying’s in front of him and climbing onto his lap, pushing Lan Wangji further onto the bed. “Lan Zhan, you always indulge me. Even when you’re just sitting there doing nothing, it is an indulgence to me.” He looks down and smiles. His hands go everywhere, touch every bit of Lan Wangji that he can reach. “How can you think this wasn’t one, too?”
Does he really have to explain? It should be obvious, shouldn’t it? Leveling a glare at Wei Ying, he says, “I didn’t wait for you.”
“Yeah, and? You were stunning anyway? We’ll get it next time? Lan Zhan, you’re amazing. You were so good doing that for me. It wasn’t about—did you feel good?”
How can I when I’ve disappointed you?
“Lan Zhan, if you didn’t like it, I won’t do that again.” He bites his lip and looks down past Lan Wangji’s face to where he’s caressing Lan Wangji’s collarbone. “I thought you liked it.”
They’d done this before and he had liked it, Wei Ying giving orders this way. He’d also been able to do as Wei Ying said all those times he’d liked it. That makes a difference. It’s important to him that he’s able to do as Wei Ying says.
But this time…
“I wanted to give you what you wanted,” Lan Wangji says, intractable. “It… it was good. Physically. It felt—very good.”
“Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.” His fingers skimmed through Lan Zhan’s hair, loose around his face. “That’s what matters to me, not whether you actually do what I say. You were incandescently beautiful and I thought I was going to lose it myself again there soon, because you are truly the most wonderful person there is and you were so good, but—you’re always incandescently beautiful.” He kissed Lan Wangji’s forehead, lingers there for a long moment, then pressed twin kisses to Lan Wangji’s cheeks. “Lan Zhan, you’re always good, okay? As long as we’re together, I have everything I want, right?”
Lan Wangji says nothing.
“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying jostles his shoulder. “Right?”
“Yes.” Of course that’s true. He knows it, but even still… He stood by Wei Ying’s side even after everything he did and has been through. It shouldn’t be hard to trust him about this, too. That doesn’t stop it from being difficult, but… it’s good to hear. It’s good to know that Wei Ying thinks he’s good. “Yes.”
He pulls Wei Ying close, revels in the warmth of his body, shudders as Wei Ying pets his hair and strokes up and down his spine. He doesn’t want Wei Ying to stop; he knows eventually they will have to. Not tonight maybe; perhaps he can ask Wei Ying to keep a tight hold on him, but tomorrow…
Tomorrow, they will be returning to Cloud Recesses for a time, balancing between Lan Wangji’s duties to his sect and family and his duties to the world at large. Once they were distinct, but now they bend and fold and meld in various ways. Wei Ying’s being brought into them, too, integrating himself so fully into Lan Wangji’s life that there will be no extracting him even should he want to.
He will not want to, of course. This is the life he’s always desired. Everything he’s ever done for Wei Ying is being returned to him threefold, fivefold, tenfold now. Infinitely, lovingly returned. Every day, he is humbled by the affection Wei Ying offers him. It is stringless, though Lan Wangji wants to be strung up in it, caught and bound until he can’t ever escape it.
“Come on, Lan Zhan, I’ll get us cleaned up and then we can lie down.”
“Mn.”
Wei Ying is languid as he moves around the room, gathering a small cloth and a small bowl of water. He is diligent as he swipes Lan Wangji’s skin clean, but he scrubs impatiently at his own skin until it is red. When he lies down alongside Lan Wangji, he presses his ear to Lan Wangji’s chest.
“Ah, that’s the best sound,” he says, wriggling closer. Normally, Lan Wangji would have by now at least put trousers on again. He will not do so tonight, wanting to be as close to Wei Ying as he is allowed. “I like your heart beat so much.”
It’s the kind of ridiculous compliment that Lan Wangji should scold him for, but instead, he is grateful that Wei Ying would feel that way, grateful that Wei Ying feels any sort of way at all for him when the fact remains that for over half of their acquaintance still, Wei Ying believed that Lan Wangji considered him an enemy or at least an annoyance.
He looks forward to the day Wei Ying will have known he is loved for longer than he believed he was hated.
“Maybe while we’re home—” Wei Ying’s breath tickles his skin, warm and delicate. “—I’ll see how long I can keep you wanting me throughout the day without any relief at all until late at night. We’ll make it fun. It’ll be nice, though I hope you won’t worry about disappointing me again.”
“I will try not to.” It does sound nice. “Home?”
“Wherever you are is home to me, Lan Zhan, even if I can’t be as lascivious with you as I might wish to be.”
There is nothing really that he can say to that, so he doesn’t, kissing the top of Wei Ying’s head instead. “We’ll make do,” he promises, but he feels hope unfurl within his chest, heedless of reality.
They will, he thinks, manage far more than that.