Work Text:
Wen Ning had thought he was done with blushing. Both his current (not-exactly-living) constitution and the fact he is far from virginal after years of sometimes raunchy, often creative, dedicated companionship with Cheng-er should support this notion.
Yet here he is, staring down that same companion in their own shared bed, feeling unmistakably, fiercely warm in the face with anxiety and something that he knows could condense into excitement if treated correctly but certainly is not at the moment. It’s a good thing that borrowed yang energy or resentful energy or whatever-the-hell makes this flushed-feeling possible doesn't color him the same way blood would, or he’d look like a cooked crab. Sexy.
Jiang Cheng wrestles with the blanket, repositioning from where he’s laying with an arm loosely draped over Wen Ning to hold him more tightly. His arms are solid and soothing as intended. “Look, it was just a suggestion; we can just spend the day in bed or find a new tea and nice bath oils or something.”
Wen Ning shakes his head, “You have the whole day without leader-y things; we can spend the rest of our anniversary looking for tea. I wanted to do something for you, and that’s what you want.”
Cheng-er huffs into his hair. “I like tea, too.”
“And I like getting you off.”
The other man shifts his weight guiltily. “Yeah, about that...I don’t think I will be.”
If anything, that makes Wen Ning’s face feel hotter. He tries breathing through the mortification, focusing on matching the timing to his lover’s. It helps. “Okay...so, if it’s not a sex thing then why?”
Jiang Cheng’s nervous chuckle rumbles through the place their ribs meet. “It is absolutely a sex thing, or an intimacy thing. Just, when you...when I...fuck, now I’m getting all weird about it! I’m normally very distracted when you come and I don’t want to be this one time, okay? I want to see you.”
Sure. Okay. That makes sense. “I— I...yeah. Th— th— that could be. Intimate.” Actually, when Jiang Cheng puts it that way, it is kind of exciting; that nervous heat transforms into something sharper, more urgent, as it centers in Wen Ning’s cock.
“Your stutter’s back,” Jiang Cheng observes; the smile in his voice is loud and obvious.
Wen Ning collects himself by yanking his man down for a sweet, unhurried kiss. “And who’s fault is that?”
Jiang Cheng’s eyes darken. “All mine,” he growls, moving to bite along Wen Ning’s jaw, leaving a trail of sparking arousal in his wake.
A sound somewhere between laughter and a hum of approval works its way out of Wen Ning’s throat. “Okay, okay! Happy first kiss day, now grab me the lube and get off the bed, you deviant.” He can’t help but punctuate the last part with a small smile and a slap on Wanyin’s shapely buttocks.
Jumping the tiniest bit, Jiang Cheng obligingly hands him the little jar from his bedside table, then busies himself stacking the cushions they had exiled from bed last night into a reasonable height for viewing. For viewing the bed. For watching Wen Ning get himself off.
“You mean first fuck day,” Jiang Cheng corrects with a smirk, sliding on a pair of trousers.
This traditional annual debate is just what Wen Ning’s nerves need—he jumps in with enthusiasm. “Same day... and what happened to ‘making love’? I’m pretty sure you said we were ‘making love’ at the time,” he teases, as he kicks aside the blanket and works at unknotting the ties of his soft sleep shirt. Meanwhile, Jiang Cheng hunts for his under-robe before shrugging, giving up, and returning to his seat. Good: Wen Ning doesn't want to feel underdressed.
“It was descriptive!” Jiang Cheng settles onto his pillow stack, just outside of arm’s reach, “All fucking is fucking; that fucking was...ugh, special. Fucking plus feelings. Which dignified people call lovemaking.” Wen Ning’s favorite grimace pulls at Jiang Cheng’s features: his ‘this is sappy but also an emotion I have so deal with it’ grimace. Wen Ning wants to kiss it off of his face; to nibble and stroke until his features rearrange into a warm little smile, then panting desperation, until the sounds accompanying those expressions are unintelligible, wordless, moans of need.
“Mhmm.” Part of Wen Ning’s mind relaxes around the contours of the familiar playful dispute, the certainty he is loved, while the rest focuses on the excitement fizzing just under his skin, as he contemplates all of the ways he wants the man watching him. He holds Jiang Cheng’s gaze as he finishes removing his trousers.
“Fuck. Qionglin-ge.” Jiang Cheng’s soft invocation and single, shuddering breath fills their bedroom, and, oh, Wen Ning has to close his eyes just for a moment, because even after years together, the way Cheng-er is looking at him now is overwhelming. Like he is a gift. Like he means something. Like he’s something priceless and beautiful and rare. Wen Ning no longer thinks of himself as an arrangement of useless dead parts, or even gangly, awkward parts, but he’s pretty sure that look would be a lot for anyone.
Which is...why? Why is Jiang Cheng looking at him as if he contained every wonderful thing in the universe now? He’s seen Wen Ning’s unnaturally unchanging body naked a thousand times, and, even considering Wen Ning’s perennial obstacles to the condition, Jiang Cheng has watched his cock fill out often enough.
Wen Ning refocuses. He can’t just pretend his lover isn’t there; even with his eyes closed there’s something extremely tangible about his presence. The soothing warmth bleeding off of his body is a gentle pull at his awareness, the weight of his attentive gaze is a frisson down his spine, the echo of how his name fell from Wanyin’s reverent lips a caress against his cheek. Wen Ning sighs indulgently and melts further into the mattress. He runs his fingers through his own loose hair, fanning it out behind him, making sure nothing is caught under his shoulders, moving slowly to enjoy the touch.
That’s nice. Cheng-er almost always takes his hair down before bed these days. Wen Ning has never really thought of it before, certainly not while touching himself, but he likes that feeling. Nobody else plays with his hair; it feels intimate. Between that and the prickling awareness of Jiang Cheng’s attention teasing him a thousand little ways, Wen Ning’s cock continues to come alive, half hard already.
Wen Ning has to open his eyes to locate the pot of lubricant he had distractedly put down somewhere on the bed. And, yep: Cheng-er’s still looking, freckles standing out against the start of a flush on his face and chest. The attention makes Wen Ning dizzy; it’s scary, but nice, like what you feel diving off the end of a pier before you hit the water. He’s falling, but he’ll land safe, which is what fun feels like, right? In any case, the way Jiang Cheng’s tongue darts out to moisten his lips once Wen Ning finds the lube is, uh, helpful. Just the right kind of distracting. He loves the shape of that mouth, loves Jiang Cheng’s full lips, hot, delicate tongue, and sharp teeth; he can recall exactly how that mouth feels pressed against every part of him.
The memories are enough. By the time Wen Ning brings his slicked hand to his cock, he barely needs to stroke to full hardness, arching into the touch, eyes locked on Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng’s flush has grown deeper and spread down his chest, his breathing coming almost imperceptibly quicker, the line of his dick just beginning to sharpen against his trousers.
Wen Ning strokes achingly slowly, savoring the slide of his loosely fisted hand along his cock, as he takes in the beautiful man just out of his reach. He watches how Cheng-er is obviously aroused, yet, true to his word, is keeping his hands clenched at his sides, not even moving to adjust himself, never once looking away; he notices how the pulse in his throat is fluttering at the exact same frantic speed it was when Wen Ning kissed it last night, how he still smells of their sex, probably tastes of the same. He can almost feel where his hands were on him, gripping Wen Ning’s hips so hard short fingernails bit into his skin. On anyone else that would have left marks, but Cheng-er didn’t want anyone else.
He wants him. The most beautiful man Wen Ning has ever met wanted him last night and countless times before, and wants him again, and will want him after today. Jiang Wanyin wants to see him, right now, wants to watch him take himself apart just for him. The sheer pleasure of those thoughts, the texture of his partner’s desire, punches a groan from deep within him. Wen Ning’s hips twitch up into his steadily working hand, he moves it faster.
Any thoughts of performance abandoned entirely in a haze of gratification, Wen Ning pulls his knees up, spreading himself open to Jiang Cheng’s unwavering gaze. He circles one finger of his free hand around his hole, a gentle reminder—this is where his lover enters him, where he pushes into his flesh and they can occupy the same space, the same body, just for a little while. He has felt so full there, feeling Cheng-er’s heartbeat pounding against his chest and their orgasms rushing through him, one after the other, indistinguishable in which belonged to who.
If Wen Ning were truly a collection of broken parts, he wouldn’t have had that; it would just be any other hole, no different from an eye or ear or nail wound, only distinguishable in the use others make of it—but he’s not. Wen Ning can feel joy, and have sex, and fall in love. Some holes are damage, and need to be repaired, and some are for taking in the beauty of the world, and a few are spaces Wen Ning makes in himself for the people he loves.
He loves Jiang Cheng. He loves him and wants him as close as possible: inside him, on top of him, pressed against him, touching him everywhere. Wen Ning needs him: to cover himself in Cheng-er’s scent and lick the sweat from his neck and feel the sounds he makes reverberate through where Wen Ning is gripping his back and waist, to be absolutely surrounded by Jiang Cheng, covered in the tickling slide of his hair, his bites, kisses, spit and spend. He needs his low voice, hot in his ear gasping praise, encouragement, reflecting animal need right back at him, to wash over him and take him entirely outside of himself.
Wen Ning’s body pulls him back more firmly into itself; his hips are bucking completely off the bed, one hand gripping the sheets, the other clenched almost painfully tight as it works over his rigid cock. Jiang Cheng’s face is all he sees, expression relaxed into something like awe, mouth parted and panting the exact way Wen Ning is not. Fuck, that’s beautiful. Wen Ning thrusts hard, back arching, cock twitching and jerking with his release, the dampness of it falling evident on his belly.
He wasn’t prepared for the relief of it, the drunken, giddy way his body succumbs to relaxation afterwards. The stillness of the room is bow-string taut, the silence a heavy thing, yet Wen Ning cannot bring himself to care even a little. He’s not sure if this is just how his not-exactly-living body feels when he touches himself now, his surroundings still and tense, his insides alive and relaxed, or if it’s a product of the occasion: because it’s their anniversary, because someone is watching, or maybe because it’s the first time he’s brought himself to orgasm in this unlife. He hadn’t even remembered to be nervous he wouldn’t be able to finish: maybe he’s experiencing that concern forming and dispelling all at once.
“Fuck,” Cheng-er breaks the silence with his usual efficiency. He uses that word a lot; the inflection on this ‘fuck’ sounds like wonder.
“Mmm, good then?” Wen Ning stretches away the languid feeling in his limbs and sits up just in time to see Jiang Cheng cast off his ill-thought-out pants. He laughingly pushes Wen Ning back onto the bed, following him down to the mattress.
Jiang Cheng scoffs.“The sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed? Yeah. ‘Good,’ ‘good’ is a word we can use for that.” He buries his face in Wen Ning’s neck and presses against him, his leaking cock hot against Wen Ning’s thigh. “I changed my mind,” Jiang Cheng murmurs while kissing a path down his throat, “you can get me off now.”
Wen Ning dissolves into snorting-laughter, which derails absolutely none of the other enjoyable things happening in their bed. They proceed to have a very nice first-time-lovefuckin’ day.