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There are times like this, where one of them gets an itch, a need, a want. In the evening, Lan Zhan rises above him, skin pale and flushed, hair unbound around his shoulders. Wei Wuxian watches the movement of muscle under skin, Lan Zhan’s body finely tuned, and itches to touch. He keeps his hands to himself. Lan Zhan told him to, and so they stay at his sides pulling at the sheet.

“Good,” Lan Zhan says. His hair sways as he bends to reach for the bottle of oil beside the bed. His eyes catch the light. Wei Wuxian shivers, cock hard and curving toward his stomach, Lan Zhan’s praise almost as good as a caress.

“See, Lan Zhan, I can follow orders.”

Knees on either side of his waist, Lan Zhan pauses and looks down at him. His mouth is red and used-looking. There is a purpling mark at his collarbone that Wei Wuxian placed with great care and attention and which he knows, from careful observation, will be just hidden by Lan Zhan’s robes. He licks his lips, and Lan Zhan’s eyes flicker and follow.

“Lan-er-gege,” he says, “are you just going to look?”

Not that he’s complaining, exactly; Wei Wuxian soaks in Lan Zhan’s attention. But he’s felt his hands and mouth now, his chest and thighs and cock, and what he wants is more than heated looks and held stares.

Lan Zhan tilts his head. His eyes traverse the length of Wei Wuxian’s torso to catch on his cock. The tips of his ears are red. They fill Wei Wuxian with fondness, those red ears while Lan Zhan kneels aroused and naked above him.

“No,” Lan Zhan says, “but you might.”

Wei Wuxian laughs. “I don’t know how this is going to work if I can only look.”

Lan Zhan unstoppers the bottle. Oil shines on his fingers. He raises an eyebrow, and Wei Wuxian regrets his words.

“Lan Zhan?”

His hand does not go to Wei Wuxian’s cock as Wei Wuxian had hoped. Lan Zhan’s fingers wrap instead around his own; Wei Wuxian watches him and swallows, mouth empty, cock aching. Lan Zhan’s mouth is soft and open, bottom lip full. He thumbs the head, eyes on Wei Wuxian, and smiles when he whines at the back of his throat.

“Do you see now?”

Wei Wuxian blinks at him, meets his gaze. Lan Zhan smirks and reapplies oil to his fingers, reaches behind himself. A shiver goes through him, and Wei Wuxian knows what he’s doing, knows where his fingers are, and--

Wei Ying.”

He is long lines, lean muscle, Hanguang-Jun carved of jade; Wei Wuxian’s skin tingles everywhere they don’t touch. Lan Zhan’s shoulder shifts, arm moving, and Wei Wuxian uncurls his fingers, raises his hand to touch. Finds his movement halted by the way Lan Zhan repeats his name--less invitation, more warning.

Pouting, Wei Wuxian lets his hand fall and relaxes into the sheets.


He swallows. “Lan Zhan, what--”

“Be good,” Lan Zhan says. He reaches for the oil again, applies more to his fingers. “Watch.”

As though Wei Wuxian could do anything else. His eyes linger on Lan Zhan’s hands, the capable turn of his wrists. He can’t look away as Lan Zhan touches himself, wrapping his slicked hand first around his cock to give it a slow pull, flushed head disappearing in his fist, reappearing wet at the tip. He shifts, and Wei Wuxian’s attention shifts with him as he reaches behind himself once again.

Wei Wuxian can’t see what Lan Zhan’s doing, but he knows. He’s felt those fingers himself, has felt Lan Zhan tight and hot around him. He licks his lips and twists his fingers and watches the muscles in Lan Zhan’s forearm move as he twists his own. Lan Zhan’s breath hitches, and Wei Wuxian’s eyes fly to his face, to the bob of his throat as he swallows. The pink of his tongue when he licks his lips is obscene.

“How--How long do I have to be good?”

Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow. Wei Wuxian can see the hint of his tongue behind his teeth, wants to feel it--both--everywhere.

“As long as you can.”

“Lan Zhan,” he whines, “is that fair? I’ve been so good already.”

The eyebrow remains raised. “What is fair?” Lan Zhan asks, and then his eyes slip shut as his mouth falls open, the tip of his tongue playing at the corner. Wei Wuxian groans.

He receives a smile, a soft thing more full of mischief than Wei Wuxian could ever have imagined. It delights him, makes his skin warm and his heart full. This is his soulmate, he thinks, his and no one else’s with his sly smiles and fleeting smirks, his love both gentle and fierce.

“You’re a tease.” He pouts, knowing exactly what Lan Zhan sees: his mouth red and ripe from use, bottom lip full. If Lan Zhan’s a tease, he can be shameless.

Lan Zhan doesn’t argue. He doesn’t say anything. Lan Zhan touches himself and does not touch Wei Wuxian, and Wei Wuxian tangles his fingers in the sheets and trembles and aches. His heart is loud in his ears. It mixes with the sound of slick fingers on skin, of Lan Zhan’s carefully measured breathing that catches on the top of each inhale just so.

More oil, and Lan Zhan’s shining skin, his strong thighs, Wei Wuxian doesn’t know where to look, only that he can’t stop. Lan Zhan’s cock is hard and flushed, wet at the tip where the foreskin is pulled back. Wei Wuxian’s mouth waters. Want feels tangible on his skin, a living thing curled between them.

There’s nothing between them but air and Wei Wuxian’s desire to be good.

His voice, this time, when he speaks is cracked and hungry. “Lan Zhan,” he says, “haven’t you waited long enough? Don’t you want me? Don’t you want to use me?”

He expects...He’s not sure what he expects, exactly, but it isn’t what he gets, which is Lan Zhan going still above him, face considering. As though Wei Wuxian could feel more bare. He feels himself blush, and opens his mouth to tease, to prod, to beg, to do anything to spur Lan Zhan into action when there’s a shift in Lan Zhan’s features.

Sitting back on his heels, Lan Zhan reaches for the bottle again. He’s hot against Wei Wuxian’s legs; Wei Wuxian feels him even where they don’t touch. Phantom hands span his thighs, thumb his hips, curve around his flank; Lan Zhan insatiable. Wei Wuxian does not squirm.

It’s a close thing, though. Instead, he closes his eyes, breathes deep through his nose, ribs expanding. He lets it out through his mouth, measured, and almost comes out of his skin when Lan Zhan’s fingers brush the crease of skin where Wei Wuxian’s thigh meets his hip.

“Wei Ying.”

His eyes fly open. There is precome smeared and cooling on his stomach, he’s so hard.



He does. Wei Wuxian watches as Lan Zhan strokes the skin at the base of his cock with his thumb. He watches as Lan Zhan unstoppers the bottle again, reslicking his fingers, his palm. Lan Zhan wraps his hand around Wei Wuxian’s cock, and Wei Wuxian watches, he cannot look away. Lan Zhan touches him, gentle, sure. He pulls Wei Wuxian’s foreskin back, presses his thumb to the head and licks his lips when Wei Wuxian hisses, eyes fluttering shut.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan repeats. “Watch.”

He swallows, mouth dry, and feels his heart pounding in his throat, in his cock, in Lan Zhan’s hand. Opening his eyes, he watches as Lan Zhan touches him, fingers spreading oil and precome, slicking his fingers Wei Wuxian has watched save lives.

Letting go of the sheet, Wei Wuxian raises his hand. He gets halfway to joining Lan Zhan when Lan Zhan says, “No.”

Hand hanging in the air between them, Wei Wuxian blinks. “No? I--”

“No touching.”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “But you’re--”

A nod, Lan Zhan’s fingers flexing around him, a ripple of movement. “Mn.”

“Ah! I--” He pouts, again, unable to stop himself.

Lan Zhan’s mouth flickers, and then he lets Wei Wuxian go. “I will touch.” He rises up on his knees, shuffling forward, moving until he’s straddling Wei Wuxian’s hips and not his legs. His knees press against Wei Wuxian’s sides, brush his hand against the sheet. “I will touch,” he repeats, reaching between his legs to take Wei Wuxian’s cock in hand. “Wei Ying will watch.”

It’s all he can do, heart in his throat, heart stopped, as Lan Zhan presses the head of his cock against himself, as he adjusts and tries again. And then the problem is where to look, what to watch. Lan Zhan’s lips are parted, teeth white. Sweat shines in the dip of his clavicle. His hair, loose, hides his nipples, but Wei Wuxian knows the shape and color of them intimately, has mapped them with both fingers and tongue. He’s tasted the salt on Lan Zhan’s skin as he’s kissed and nipped his way down the length of him, teasing at his ribs and navel, the dip and rise of his hips.

Lan Zhan’s cock is hard and curving and meant to be touched. Wei Wuxian wants to curl his fingers around the length of him, sink his fingers in his hair, anything -- anything -- to feel the living heat of him beneath his hands.

The tip of Lan Zhan’s tongue appears on his bottom lip. He is hot and tight and slick when he opens to Wei Wuxian. And there is the real test, maybe, to remain unmoving when all he wants is to push up, push in, to roll them both until Lan Zhan is beneath him and this hunger on his skin is sated.

Lan Zhan holds his eyes. Wei Wuxian holds himself still.

Again, that smile. Again, “Good.” And then Lan Zhan is sinking onto him until he is seated fully against Wei Wuxian’s hips. He looks pleased and focused and entirely too relaxed considering Wei Wuxian is burning from the inside out. Held in place by Lan Zhan’s weight, bracketed by his thighs and knees, Wei Wuxian presses sweaty palms flat to the mattress and stares as Lan Wangji lifts his hands to gather his hair behind himself. He tosses his head, and the curtain of it falls behind him.

Movement ripples through him, arms and chest and stomach. Lan Zhan is beautiful, body finely honed, and it is unfair, really, that all of him is there on display and Wei Wuxian can only look.

The muscles in Lan Zhan’s thighs tighten and he shifts, hands coming down to rest there, graceful. His chest expands and contracts as he takes a deep breath, and Wei Wuxian watches with disbelief as his shoulders relax, posture perfect, before he stills.

“Lan Zhan, what are you doing?”

Head tilted, Lan Zhan blinks at him, slow. “What does it look like?” he asks.

Wei Wuxian’s head is empty. All he can think about is how the back of his knees are damp, how their skin stuck and slid, how hot Lan Zhan feels around him. He digs his heel into the bed, digs his nails into the sheet. He swallows and says, “Nothing? Lan Zhan, I--”

Lan Zhan’s hand goes to his cock, wraps around it once again. He does not move otherwise, only looks at Wei Wuxian looking at him, holds Wei Wuxian there with his gaze and his thighs. He strokes his cock once. His hips move. “Is that so?”

His head is empty. What were they talking about? There is nothing but the clench of Lan Zhan around him, the heat of him, the knowing look on Lan Zhan’s face. He can only imagine what his own looks like. Lan Zhan’s hips move again, and, honestly, his eyes may cross for all Wei Wuxian feels in control.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan strokes himself from root to tip, slow, and back again. He reaches up with his free hand, touches the edge of the brand on his chest, finds a nipple. Where to look? Where to look? Wei Wuxian doesn’t know. And then Lan Zhan cants his hips as he moves and his eyes fall shut and his mouth falls open.

He is incredible. Wei Wuxian bites his lip, closes his eyes. He tries to breathe the center himself, hands held still at his sides.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan repeats, ”look. What do you see?”

“You,” he says, opening his eyes. “You, Lan Zhan, what else is there to see?”

The smile on Lan Zhan’s face makes Wei Wuxian’s heart catch in his chest, makes his throat feel tight. His eyes sting. “Lan Zhan,” he says, “please, I--”

“Good,” Lan Zhan says. He stops touching himself, and when his hands find Wei Ying’s chest, when they rest there above his rapidly beating heart, Wei Wuxian feels like he can breathe again. “Wei Ying is good.”

He swallows a cry at that, and then Lan Zhan rocks against him, and he gives in, lets the sound in his throat free as Lan Zhan sets the pace.

He does not touch, he does not touch until Lan Zhan’s hand slides up his chest to his neck, to slot against his jaw, fingers slipping into the damp hair behind his ear. “Wei Ying.” Voice low, mouth vivid, his hair falls around them. “Touch me,” he says, and it’s a trap sprung, Wei Wuxian’s hands everywhere he can reach.

Lan Zhan’s mouth is hot and wet, his breath damp. Their panting fills the space left between them, hardly anything, as Wei Wuxian’s fingers tangle in his hair, as they tug and trace and touch. Heels digging into the bed, sliding and catching against the sheet, he angles his hips and thrusts, meets Lan Zhan measure for measure easily, body primed.

“Wei Ying,” he hears, pressed against his skin. “Wei Ying,” to his lips. Lan Zhan covers him, envelops him, comes around him with a moan that rumbles through him and into Wei Wuxian where it settles at the center of him, shakes him apart.

Their breathing slows, and the earth stops trembling. Sweat cools on the back of Wei Wuxian’s thighs, on the curve of his shoulder, on all of the places Lan Zhan is not. He shivers, and Lan Zhan shifts to look at him, their faces close. He blinks, and Wei Wuxian cannot look away.