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Mo Xuanyu knows that something is different because he can make sense of his surroundings for the first time in... quite a long time, to be honest. The past few days (or was it weeks? Not months, surely?) have been a blur of warmth and darkness, confusing sensations of softness, and an odd weakness of the limbs. Perhaps he’s been sick?

If he was, he doesn’t seem to be any more. Unfortunately, he still doesn’t know where he is or how he got here. The room he’s in is nicer than those of the Mo estate—cleaner and brighter, and the materials finer—but there is a simple, ascetic taste to the decoration that doesn’t match anything in Koi Tower. Turning in a slow circle, Mo Xuanyu finds nothing terribly illuminating. He seems to be in a study of some kind—there are some bookshelves, containing what appear to be mostly musical reference materials at a glance, and a guqin on a stand, and a desk with an ugly tortoise statuette and—for some reason—a box full of grass on it. There’s also a sliding door. Mo Xuanyu tries it.

There are two men kissing on the other side.

Mo Xuanyu freezes, but the sound of the door opening has already alerted them to his presence. Even through his rising panic, he notices that they’re both unfairly attractive, which almost makes it worse. One of them is vaguely familiar—wearing the white robes and forehead ribbon of Gusu Lan, his expression unreadable, his features beautiful in an impersonal, statuesque way. The other, in black and red, styled like a wandering cultivator of no sect in particular, is more approachably handsome, with laughing eyes and a warm, expressive face.

This second man breaks into a grin and says, “Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan! Is this another one of yours? You wanted both flavors at once? Or maybe—” and here, he lets go of the Lan cultivator—Lan Zhan—and reaches for Mo Xuanyu, who is still too frozen in shock to react— “maybe you wanted to watch, huh?”

Which is all the warning Mo Xuanyu gets before he’s being kissed, and quite boldly, too—the other man’s tongue insinuates its way into his mouth, and Mo Xuanyu makes a startled, needy sound at the intrusion.

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan, and Mo Xuanyu knows that name, has had plenty of reason to ruminate on it, for what else did the Jin sect have him researching for the years that he was with them, but this very man’s writings?

It’s that realization that helps him place the other name—the face too, for he looks a great deal like Zewu-jun, who visited Koi Tower not infrequently back then—and as the Yiling Patriarch—for that’s who it is—pulls back from the kiss, Mo Xuanyu gasps, “Hanguang-jun.”

“Lan-er-ge,” sing-songs the Yiling Patriarch, spinning Mo Xuanyu around to face his reputed arch-enemy. In a dreamy daze, Mo Xuanyu reaches obediently for him. Hanguang-jun’s kiss is, if anything, even more aggressive—wet and hot and punctuated with nips and bites, in startling contrast to his icy demeanor. Mo Xuanyu shudders, not sure he’d be able to remain standing if their hands, Hanguang-jun and the Yiling Patriarch both, weren’t half holding him up.

“Hmm, very pretty,” says Wei Wuxian, toying with the ends of Mo Xuanyu’s sash. “Ah, but I know what would be even prettier.” He starts pulling Mo Xuanyu backwards, back into the study, and Hanguang-jun makes a frustrated sound, which only makes Wei Wuxian laugh. “Patience, Lan-er-gege! I have a good idea. You like my ideas!” He strips Mo Xuanyu methodically as they stumble along, still facing Hanguang-jun, and Mo Xuanyu flushes at the intensity of his stare, the hungry way he looks at the revealed evidence of his arousal.

Wei Wuxian sprawls back onto the low desk, pulling Mo Xuanyu—now fully nude—onto his lap, and, without so much as a by-your-leave, wraps a hand around his erection. Mo Xuanyu keens helplessly. He’s certainly touched himself before, but it’s nothing compared to this, compared to the touch of another man, to the touch of this man in particular. Wei Wuxian’s hand is sword-calloused, larger than his own soft scholar’s hands, slightly cool against his heated skin—and he seems to know exactly how Mo Xuanyu likes to be touched, every motion perfect and devastating. All the while, Wei Wuxian keeps up a pattering litany—“Ah, Lan-er-ge, I can see why you like this body so much, it’s so pretty, so good to touch, I’m so lucky, aren’t we lucky? Hanguang-jun, Lan Zhan—” Mo Xuanyu can barely make sense of it.

Hanguang-jun’s gaze on them, too, is palpable, like another set of hands on his body. It’s almost too much. Mo Xuanyu is transfixed by those golden eyes, unable to look away. It seems like no time at all before he’s coming helplessly into Wei Wuxian’s nimble hands, under Hanguang-jun’s burning regard.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t give him the time to recover—before Mo Xuanyu has even caught his breath, he finds himself being manhandled so that he’s facing Wei Wuxian, straddling his lap, a kiss being pulled from his gasping mouth.

“Do you like it, Lan Zhan?” says Wei Wuxian against Mo Xuanyu’s lips, and dips in again for another kiss, brief and searing. “Do you like watching this? Shall we show you more?”—yet another kiss—“Ah, I know what Lan Zhan might like to see—” He gently pushes Mo Xuanyu back off the desk and down onto the floor, before unfastening his own robes, and—oh. Oh.

Mo Xuanyu’s mouth goes slack at the sight of the Yiling Patriarch’s cock, flushed and erect. He knows what’s expected of him here, has heard the crude jokes from the other Jin cultivators often enough, but he never expected how big it would look from so close.

Wei Wuxian cups Mo Xuanyu’s face in both hands. “Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan,” says Wei Wuxian, “do I always look so overcome when I’m about to suck your cock?” He pushes two fingers into Mo Xuanyu’s mouth, and Mo Xuanyu sucks on them almost reflexively, closing his eyes. “No wonder you like it so much, I want to do a lot of things to a face like that.”

Wei Wuxian withdraws his fingers, and Mo Xuanyu can’t help but make a small, wordless sound of protest, but then there's something bigger pressing against his lips—the warm, blunt tip of Wei Wuxian’s cock. He parts his lips to allow its entry, and it’s so big and so hot against his tongue—as it slides in slowly, Mo Xuanyu moans around it, muffled.

Wei Wuxian, for his part, still has not stopped talking. “Ah, ah, I was right,” he says, his hands moving restlessly, petting Mo Xuanyu’s cheeks and stroking his hair. “I was right, it’s so pretty, this face looks so pretty sucking cock. I don’t blame you, Lan Zhan, I understand completely!” His hips twitch slightly, and the head of his cock hits the back of Mo Xuanyu’s throat, making him choke. Mo Xuanyu pulls back a bit so that he can suck on just the tip, drawing a lewd moan from Wei Wuxian, before sliding back down again.

Mo Xuanyu is only just starting to get used to the feeling of having a cock in his mouth when he feels a pair of hands on his hips, pulling him up from his crouch on the floor until he’s braced on his hands and knees.

Wei Wuxian laughs, a little breathlessly. “I was wondering when Lan-er-ge would get tired of watching from all the way over there,” he says.

“Mn,” says Hanguang-jun. His hands—warm and dry and likewise large and calloused—stroke up Mo Xuanyu’s flanks and back down his back, and stop to knead at his asscheeks. The trailing ends of his sleeves brush against Mo Xuanyu’s bare skin.

They truly mean to share him, Mo Xuanyu realizes, and it strikes him, for the first time with any kind of clarity, how bizarre this situation is. He was too young to be a part of the Sunshot campaign, of course, wasn’t even a part of the cultivation world at all until it was over, but even he knows something of the history between these two—the bearer of light and the founder of the demonic path; two men as different as night and day in their methods, in their morals, in their temperaments, who famously quarreled over everything and nothing. Yet heroes both, who made their names barely out of boyhood, who were each instrumental in turning the tide against the Wen sect. And Mo Xuanyu does not even know how he came to be pinned between them.

But Hanguang-jun doesn’t do what Mo Xuanyu expects, not entirely. Those big hands part his asscheeks, and—the cool length of his hair brushes against Mo Xuanyu’s thighs—and he licks a wet stripe right up the middle. Mo Xuanyu makes a shocked, incoherent noise through the cock in his mouth.

“Oh,” says Wei Wuxian, “oh, how pretty, Lan Zhan, are you giving me something pretty to look at, too?”

Instead of replying, Lan Wangji pushes his tongue into Mo Xuanyu’s hole. It’s a shocking sensation, Mo Xuanyu has never felt anything like it before, and the thought that it’s the immaculate Second Jade of Lan who is doing such a thing to him is at once both absurd and arousing. Wei Wuxian is still—still!—talking, but Mo Xuanyu can’t make out the words over the rushing in his ears, the taste of cock in his mouth, the feeling of a mouth on his ass. He has surely lost his rhythm attending to Wei Wuxian’s cock, like this, but it doesn’t seem to matter, it doesn’t seem to matter at all, Wei Wuxian’s hands are still petting him appreciatively and his voice is still bubbling indistinctly above. Mo Xuanyu thinks that he could easily come again, untouched, just from this.

Before that can happen, however, Lan Wangji draws back and—and his bulk comes to hover over Mo Xuanyu’s back, the open flaps of his robes trailing like curtains around their bodies, and Mo Xuanyu thinks that he didn’t properly appreciate how big the man was before, it's so much more apparent now that he’s right here, pressed skin to skin, so close like this—and then, what has to be his cock, pressing insistently against Mo Xuanyu’s entrance. It’s much bigger than his tongue was. It doesn’t seem like it should fit.

But—slowly, inexorably, Lan Wangji pushes in—and then, once the full girth of him is accommodated, thrusts in sharply the rest of the way, pushing Mo Xuanyu forward, further onto Wei Wuxian’s cock. The pace Lan Wangji sets from there is heady and relentless, and Mo Xuanyu finds himself unable to do anything but lose himself to the push and pull of it. He becomes so consumed in the almost meditative movement of flesh against flesh that it’s a complete surprise when Wei Wuxian comes, and bitter jism comes overflowing out of Mo Xuanyu’s mouth. Mo Xuanyu coughs and gasps as Lan Wangji pulls them both upright—without pulling out—so that Mo Xuanyu is cradled in his lap.

“Ah, look at this,” says Wei Wuxian, pushing forwards off the table, “Such a pretty face, and I’ve made such a mess of it,” and he leans in to take Mo Xuanyu’s cock in his hand again, and to clean his own spend off of Mo Xuanyu’s skin with sucking, open-mouthed kisses.

Distantly, Mo Xuanyu realizes he’s making soft sounds under his breath, little gasping ah-ah-ahs in time with the rocking of his body. He was so close already that it doesn’t take much at all before he’s coming for the second time—with Wei Wuxian’s hands on him and Lan Wangji fucking him from behind, pinned between their bodies and enveloped in the swirl of their robes, black and white and blue and red. Lan Wangji follows not long after, with a stutter of his hips and a subdued grunt in Mo Xuanyu’s ear. Then it’s suddenly quiet, except for the soft, wet sounds of Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji kissing over Mo Xuanyu’s shoulder.

Wei Wuxian starts to pull back, but stops short, and Mo Xuanyu realizes that his fists are clenched in the back of the Yiling Patriarch’s robes, and probably have been for some time. It takes a moment before he remembers how to work his hands in the right way to let go.

“S-sorry,” he manages. “Patriarch…”

The other two both look at him with almost comical surprise. Mo Xuanyu, taken aback, glances back and forth between them uncertainly.

Finally, the Yiling Patriarch says, in an astonished tone, “Mo Xuanyu?”

That’s when the dream shatters around them.


Wei Wuxian bolts upright in bed.

“FUCK!” he says.