He wakes in the morning with Wei Ying in his arms. He’s dreamt of it like this before; it’s not a surprise. He wakes, and Wei Ying is in his arms, and then he is not.
Except this morning, Lan Wangji wakes to a sun already risen, the body in his arms warm and shifting and real. There is not the taste of ash or blood in his mouth, nor the lingering smell of it in the air; instead, there is only this: the smell of Wei Ying’s hair, and the stale taste in Lan Wangji’s mouth a reminder he is human.
Lan Wangji breathes deep.
Against him, Wei Ying shifts. His breathing hitches, and he turns his face into Lan Wangji’s chest. Lan Wangji holds still, holds him, as Wei Ying comes awake. One breath, another, they come and go, and Lan Wangji could say he is aware of time passing, but it would be a lie. In truth, it is the curve of Wei Ying’s hip beneath his hand that has his attention, the careful stretch of Wei Ying’s fingers on Lan Wangji’s own chest, the press of toes against shin. Their breathing rocks them against each other gently, two boats caught against the shore.
“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying’s voice is soft. It curls cat-like between them. He lifts his head, face beloved if not yet familiar, and smiles in the brightening light. “You slept in.”
He presses a hand to Wei Ying’s cheek and smiles himself when Wei Ying leans into his palm. “Wei Ying was here.”
Wei Ying laughs, and the experience of that joy along the length of him is almost more than Lan Wangji can bear.
“Lan Zhan, ah, you’re such a charmer.” He turns and kisses the center of his hand. “Everyone thinks you’re so cold, but I know.”
“You know,” he agrees, and rolls them. Wei Ying blinks at him from the bolster. There is a mark on his neck from the night before. Lan Wangji wonders if he can fit his mouth to it perfectly, and leans in to test just that. Wei Ying shivers beneath him, a full-bodied thing that goes straight to Lan Wangji’s head. He is hard already. So is Wei Ying.
Hands on his shoulders, in his hair, Wei Ying twines around him. Legs splayed, thighs spread, he hooks an ankle around Lan Wangji’s calf. Wei Ying encourages him closer, and Lan Wangji goes. There is no holding back now.
The length of Wei Ying’s neck is bared to him. Lan Wangji follows it, distracted from his goal even as he achieves it: Wei Ying squirms. His fingers tighten in Lan Wangji’s hair, and Lan Wangji pulls away to kiss his gasping mouth. It is a good morning.
“Touch me,” Wei Ying breathes, and Lan Wangji thinks I am and Where and Show me how.
Aloud, he says Wei Ying’s name, kisses it into his mouth. He moves and, reaching between them, wraps his hand around Wei Ying. In his ear, Wei Ying keens. The sound carries, sets something within Lan Wangji ringing. It brings a landside down within him; he holds Wei Ying’s cock in his hand and tries to catch his breath.
It is difficult. Wei Ying pink-cheeked and red-lipped beneath him, hair across the bolster. Bruises and bites bloom across his skin, and Lan Wangji put them there. It was his mouth, his teeth and lips and tongue that teased color to the surface. Lying against the bed, Wei Ying is the picture of desire, his own and Lan Wangji’s.
“Wei Ying,” he repeats, and drags his hand down the length of his cock. There’s a tremble in Wei Ying’s body, tension gathered and gathering. He drags his hand back up, palming the head where it’s wet. He looks between them, and then he cannot look away.
The tip of Wei Ying is flushed and shining. Seeing him in hand like this brings tenderness to the surface the same way his mouth brought each love bite to Wei Ying’s skin. Below the curl of his fist, the muscles of Wei Ying’s stomach are tense.
Lan Wangji rubs at the head with his thumb, and hears Wei Ying’s breath catch. He looks up, through his lashes, and takes the space between Wei Ying’s parted lips for his own. Oh, he could live there. Let Wei Ying swallow him down; he is home.
They leave each other breathless. Wei Ying allows him to move far enough to mouth at his clavicle, to kiss the line of his sternum, to bite the place that would have been marked, once, in another life. He lets Lan Wangji trail his way down chest and stomach to hips, to cock. Lan Wangji presses his mouth there, to the crown of him, and Wei Ying’s fingers tighten in his hair.
The moment stretches–Wei Ying’s cock in his mouth, Wei Ying’s fingers in his hair–warm as the sun slipping through the window. Lan Wangji savors it, anticipates the mornings and days and nights spread out before them. Embraces the opportunity presented them.
A soft, wet sound, and Wei Ying’s cock is free. His fingers shift and pull. Hips restless, Lan Wangji turns his attention to them and the hungry way they move. He steadies them with his hand, and Wei Ying trembles, he vibrates, the notes his body plays singing in the air. Holding him still, Lan Wangji bends his head to nip at the rise of his hip. He follows the line of bone down to the sweet-soft skin where Wei Ying’s thigh curves down, down.
Above him, Wei Ying makes a strangled sound as Lan Wangji nuzzles at the base of his cock, his testicles.
“Lan Zhan,” he breathes, and widens his legs.
What to do, where to start; Lan Wangji hardly knows. This is new, they are new. He presses his mouth to Wei Ying’s thigh, feels it shake. His own heart thunders in his chest as he drags his mouth to Wei Ying’s knee. There he bites at the knob of bone and listens as Wei Ying hisses and swears.
“What’re you–Lan Zhan–”
Kneeling, he kisses Wei Ying’s knee, down his calf. He bends Wei Ying’s leg, and Wei Ying lets him–Wei Ying lets him–as Lan Wangji kisses the tender instep of his foot.
Wei Ying laughs, toes curling. He released Lan Wangji’s hair at some point, his hands now loose and empty. His fingers play restlessly against his stomach, near his cock but not touching. The bend of his leg is easy, and Lan Wangji takes the weight of him and presses forward until Wei Ying’s laugh turns to a groan.
“Ah,” Wei Ying sighs. His eyelashes flutter. Lan Wangji can hear him swallow from where he hovers above him. “Lan Zhan, you’ve thought about this. You have, haven’t you?” His cock is hard against his stomach, precome shining against his skin. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t know why I left, Lan Zhan, why did I leave when I could have been here with you like this?”
Lan Wangji nips at his ankle, kisses the smooth skin just before the hair starts. Rubs it against the grain with his cheek. He turns his head to find Wei Ying staring, eyes big. “You returned.”
Wei Ying’s mouth is red and round and gives Lan Wangji ideas.
He shakes his leg in Lan Wangji’s grip. “That’s not—“
Lan Wangji covers him. He kneels between Wei Ying’s thighs, presses Wei Ying’s leg forward. His hair covers them, and Wei Ying looks up, breathless and silenced.
“Oh,” he says.
Perhaps not silenced.
Lan Wangji kisses him. “You returned.” Sitting back, he takes Wei Ying in hand to stroke him slowly from root to tip. He watches Wei Ying swallow, watches him relax back against the sheets, the muscles of his stomach twitching. In his hand, he holds Wei Ying. There is a specific weight to him, a heat that makes Lan Wangji’s blood rise, his mouth water.
“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying’s chest is flushed. His nipples are hard. Last night, Lan Wangji put his mouth to them, kissed Wei Ying there with Wei Ying’s hands in his hair. He wonders if there as sensitive now, or more so. If Wei Ying would buck against him and cry his name, or—“I want you to fuck me, this time. Lan Zhan, please, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Once it was in my head—Why didn’t we—“ His hand covers Lan Wangji’s on his cock, stilling his movement. His mouth quirks. “You want to, don’t you? Lan Zhan? Hanguang-Jun? Er-gege. Tell me.”
Easier to show, easiest to do. Releasing him, Lan Wangji presses him back against the sheets. He kisses Wei Ying, kisses him senseless, then rises from the bed to retrieve oil kept aside. He returns to Wei Ying’s hungry eyes, his lazy hands. Fingers curl around his cock but do not move as he waits for Lan Wangji. When he sees the bottle in Lan Wangji’s hands, he lets out a delighted shout.
“You have! You’ve thought about this! Have you done this before—No, I don’t want to know,” Wei Ying says. He shifts on the bed as though he has done this before, and Lan Wangji eyes him. “I haven’t.” He reaches down to fondle himself, fingers playing at the join of hips. “But I have a very good imagination.”
Lan Wangji hums acknowledgement, slipping back between Wei Ying’s thighs to settle on his knees there. He has not, himself, though not for lack of consideration. The want of Wei Ying at the back of his head had overshadowed momentary need. But he has eyes to read and hands to touch and privacy aplenty. And time, more than enough of that.
“Wei Ying has always been creative,” he says, hand settling on Wei Ying’s bent knee. He squeezes. “There has been no one.”
Wei Ying’s face goes soft and warm. He reaches for Lan Wangji, fingers curling in his hair, settling against his cheeks to meet him halfway as he pulls Lan Wangji to him. “Ah Lan Zhan, you don’t know what you do to me,” he says, words pushed into the space between their mouths. His tongue follows, and Lan Wangji opens for him, lets himself be kissed, consumed. When Wei Ying releases him, Lan Wangji’s thighs shake. “Now fuck me.”
The jar is fumbled, and Wei Ying laughs, and it is easy to leave everything but this behind. Lan Wangji slicks his fingers and presses them to Wei Ying’s skin. He is hot, and shudders beneath Lan Wangji, and though the angle is different, the application is familiar.
Until, that is, he presses inward, and Wei Ying opens around him. He is flushed and well-kissed, disheveled in a way Lan Wangji would like to always remember, and Lan Wangji is inside him. Barely, yes, and yet…It is hard to focus. For all his discipline, there is so much he wants.
He takes his time. Wei Ying sighs and moans, meets his eyes and tosses his head. Hair sticks to his cheek, and Lan Wangji reaches out to brush it away with his free hand only to have Wei Ying nip at the heel of it. Sharp teeth, plush mouth, Wei Ying tight around his fingers; Lan Wangji swallows hard and reaches for the oil. He leaves Wei Ying empty, and his hands are shaking, but Wei Ying’s voice is steady, a stream of encouragement that flows around him.
“Like this, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. “I know, I think it would be easier if—But I want to see you, this time. I want to look at you, Lan Zhan, please.”
Who is he to refuse? To suggest anything else? He wants to watch Wei Ying—his Wei Ying—and learn what he likes, how they love.
They have always moved well together. There is a moment where they don’t, a misjudged angle, unanticipated difference. One thing, to do this to oneself, fingers working, another entirely to press into Wei Ying (to feel Wei Ying press into him, eventually). He focuses, and opens Wei Ying, watches the round O of his mouth as Lan Wangji quirks his fingers, the hitch of his chest when Lan Wangji adds another. A flush covers Wei Ying, from his hair line down, down to his stomach and the dark head of is cock.
Lan Wangji swallows, and reaches for him. Bypasses his cock to spread his hand over that flushed chest. Beneath his palm, Wei Ying’s heart beats rapidly, a bird in flight. Wei Ying presses up into him, meets his eyes and licks his lips. This mouth shines in the morning light, and Lan Wangji spreads his fingers, slides his had upward as Wei Ying arches into him, a counterpoint against Lan Wangji’s fingers. He follows his breastbone to Wei Ying’s neck, does not think about red bisecting, the thin line between life and death. No, he feels Wei Ying swallow beneath him and moves upward to cup his check, to press his thumb between those two kiss-red lips.
Wei Ying’s tongue is against him immediately, hot and wet. It curves over the pad of his thumb, and then Wei Ying sucks and Lan Wangji feels it down to the soles of his feet, whole body at attention. He shivers, movement of his fingers interrupted, and Wei Ying pulls off his thumb with a slick sound.
“Come up here, Lan Zhan,” he says, voice low. “Come up here and I’ll suck you. Fuck me later, I’ll suck you now.”
Shameless, Lan Wangji thinks, and loves him. He presses his thumb against the sweet curve of Wei Ying’s bottom lip and imagines his cock there instead. Presses forward and watches as Wei Ying’s eyes flutter closed, as his lips close around him. He swallows and says, “Later,” before sliding both hands away.
Wei Ying pouts, but does not protest. His hair rustles on the bolster as he tilts his head to the side, eyebrow quirking as his gaze travels the length of Lan Wangji’s chest to his hips. “Promise?”
“Mm.” Reaching for the oil again, he is aware of Wei Ying watching.
“Good,” he says. “I keep thinking about it, Lan Zhan. I didn’t know my mouth—“ He reaches for his cock. With a hand on his wrist, Lan Wangji brings him to a stop. Wei Ying blinks at him, eyes shifting to Lan Wangji’s grip. A smile blooms. “Later,” he says, eyebrow raised when Lan Wangji holds him still. “For that, too.”
Later, Lan Wangji thinks. Later and now and again, again, again. There is time to pick and choose and try, to learn. He flexes his fingers around Wei Ying’s wrist and watches Wei Ying’s eyelashes flutter. Behind his teeth, a flicker of tongue.
He releases Wei Ying and picks up the oil. He is generous with it, and Wei Ying’s eyes burn hot where they land as Lan Wangji touches himself.
“Lan Zhan,” he says, voice thick. “Er-gege. Are you going to fuck me now? Has it been long enough? Don’t make me wait longer.”
He doesn’t want to stop him talking. There was a time that mouth would run and Lan Wangji would wish it silent. Now, there is nothing he loves more than the sound of Wei Ying’s voice, and as he pushes the head of his cock against him, into him, Wei Ying’s gasp sings through him.
To have read, to have imagined…He pushes into Wei Ying and he cannot look away, doesn’t know where to look to begin with. His heart thunders in his chest, and he feels the echo of it in his cock, the palms of his hands, the soles of his feet. It thrums through him, his heart a plucked string Wei Ying plays with precision.
He takes his time. He moves slowly. He cannot tear his eyes away from where he ends and Wei Ying begins, but does at the sound Wei Ying makes. Wei Ying’s eyes are heavy-lidded, focused at the same point. Lan Wangji watches as they flutter shut, as Wei Ying swallows, head tipping against the pillow. His mouth is red, bottom lip bitten. Purple bruises in the shape of Lan Wangji’s mouth shade the landscape of his skin, and Lan Wangji cannot believe his luck that this is where he gets to wander.
And so he does. Hands travel paths made new, forging ahead as hips settle against hips. Taking Wei Ying’s cock in hand, he strokes him once, twice, before Wei Ying’s own hands find his forearm, his shoulder. Wei Ying tugs and pulls until Lan Wangji is bent over him, bodies shifting together, gasping in the morning light.
“Ah!” Wei Ying’s breath is hot against his ear. His mouth finds Lan Wangji’s jaw, and he kisses along it, messy, distracted. “Lan Zhan.” His arms are around Lan Wangji’s shoulders, his body around Lan Wangji’s cock. Wei Ying holds him, tightly, angles his hips. Momentum catches up. Wei Ying repeats his name again, again. They move together, they breathe. Lan Wangji presses his face to the juncture of neck and shoulder. Bites there and tastes sweat and skin, Wei Ying alive and thrumming against him.
He leaves a bruise. Wei Ying left scars. They are the other’s.
Wei Ying’s head goes back against the bolster, line of his throat bared. Lan Wangji follows it until he finds Wei Ying’s mouth, and then they’re kissing, moving together as bodies do. Wei Ying’s cock is hard between them, Wei Ying’s fingers hard on Lan Wangji’s shoulders, his back. There will be bruises there later, scratches among the scars; he welcomes them. Let Wei Ying mark him, new over old; this is who they are now.
They gasp together, breathing hard. There is hair everywhere, and Lan Wangji thinks about next time, about red and white ribbons and hair held back. Of other things bound. Wei Ying’s hand scrambles at his shoulder, and Lan Wangji’s fingers find his wrist, push it back against the sheets.
“Lan Zhan.” He whines; Lan Wangji indulges him. He pulls back to look at Wei Ying, at his flushed face and open mouth, dark hair sticking to his temples and forehead. His fingers flex around Wei Ying’s wrist, and Wei Ying swallows, throat bobbing. There’s a mark there he won’t be able to hide, and something in Lan Wangji preens at that, proud to show Wei Ying off.
Loosening his grip, Lan Wangji slides his hand up. He tangles his fingers with Wei Ying’s, and then he shifts his weight, pushing up and changing his angle, and there is Wei Ying below him, bright and beautiful. A better image of Wei Ying to hold in his heart.
He pulls his hips back, presses in slow. Wei Ying’s cock in the bottom of his vision is flushed, wetness spread against his belly. (Lick it, a voice in his head says. Your mouth goes there.)
Wei Ying shifts beneath him, heel finding muscle uncomfortably. Lan Wangji releases Wei Ying’s hand, blindly finds his knee. There is a moment of awkwardness, Wei Ying’s laugh breathless and tumbling in the morning, and then his knee is hooked over Lan Wangji’s shoulder and the difference makes them both silent. Cranes call above, there is the sound of morning without, inside the thudding beat of his own heart, awake, awake. And then Wei Ying says his name and the moment breaks. Wei Ying is here and now, alive and with him, and when Lan Wangji comes it’s with Wei Ying on his tongue, Wei Ying clinging around him.
He is aware of Wei Ying’s voice in his ear, his name, mostly, repeated again and again, a breathless gasp of air. A moan as he gets his hand around Wei Ying, palm against the head. Wei Ying comes, muscles tight, face pressed hard against the side of Lan Wangji’s.
Movement is not wanted. He has never—Lan Wangji forces himself up, and catches the flicker of disappointment on Wei Ying’s face when he pulls out. Wonders briefly at the possibility of becoming aroused again while still inside. There is time.
“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying’s voice is soft and used, just for them. “Where are you going?”
“Here,” Lan Wangji says, moving to lay beside him. A moment later, Wei Ying is in his arms, chin digging into his chest. They should bathe. They should rise. Lan Wangji strokes Wei Ying’s hair back from his face, and Wei Ying pushes into it like a cat. It makes Lan Wangji smile.
Light passes across Wei Ying’s face, his own smile blooming there, tired and happy. “I could get used to this.”
“Mm,” Lan Wangji says. So could he.