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It starts in the way that many things do: with a series of small, seemingly-insignificant incidents that gradually roll into one big problem.
Lan Wangji has always thought himself reliable. Even in the moments when he’d been riddled with doubt, when he’d been consumed with self-loathing for biting his tongue, when he wanted nothing more than to defend Wei Wuxian at the cost of his own reputation, and, eventually, wellbeing, he considered himself steady.
That’s why he doesn’t notice, at first, that the distance between them has changed.
A sense of relief has settled upon the cultivation world at long last. Between the Sunshot Campaign and Jin Guangyao’s misdeeds being aired out to the general public, it’s no surprise to hear that Lan Wangji is going to be officially instated as the new Chief Cultivator.
The people yearned for stability—surely, no one was more trustworthy than Hanguang-jun, stoic war hero? He was as consistent as the four seasons, as predictable as the sunrise.
Lan Wangji dutifully goes to meetings when he’s summoned. He attends lengthy discussions, listening with half an ear. They deserve his full attention, but it’s awfully hard to give it to them when they keep beating the same conversation to death over and over again.
Wei Wuxian visits Lan Wangji once a month, like clockwork, pulling himself away from his travels to keep his old friend company. When he comes, he brings gifts and stories, each one more vibrant than the last.
It becomes a balm for the monotony, Wei Wuxian’s vivid lifestyle. Wei Wuxian’s earliest admirers in this lifetime, once-junior members of the Lan sect, can’t resist listening to him either. Wei Wuxian’s good humor is infectious, a much-needed break from the unflinching inflexibility of the Lan clan’s practitioners.
Wei Wuxian remains closest to Lan Wangji, persistently breaching his personal space. He’d always been gregarious, prone to gesturing wildly while he spoke, but as of late, Lan Wangji can’t help noticing that his limbs don’t fly out quite so far, as though Wei Wuxian is taking care not to hit him. As if Wei Wuxian is prioritizing their physical closeness over his desire to express himself.
Maybe, Lan Wangji thinks to himself, he’s simply paying more attention to Wei Wuxian now that he doesn’t feel as threatened by the onslaught of embarrassment, loneliness, and the misunderstanding of his own desires, of his own sexuality. Maybe, Wei Wuxian had always attempted to touch him so casually. Let his fingers brush against the tips of Lan Wangji’s hair.
He prattles on and on about whatever it is that’s caught his fancy, all whilst resting his hands on Lan Wangji’s shoulders, or legs.
Wei Wuxian is never inappropriate. He never acts as anything other than a consummate companion. Whenever he leaves the Cloud Recesses, he recedes into the horizon with a wave and a grin.
He gets odd gleams in his eyes, sometimes. Lan Wangji wonders what on earth Wei Wuxian could be thinking about, but he refuses to press for answers. It’s best to let Wei Wuxian determine the right level of closeness between them, he thinks. Wei Wuxian had rebelled viciously against boundaries and rules in his previous life, after all.
Four months pass in the blink of an eye. Then, five. Before long, only the upper echelon talks about the resurrection of the Yiling Patriarch. The rest of society has moved onto debates about the future of cultivation society as a whole, and, more specifically, the distribution of wealth within Koi Tower.
Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian do everything in their power to support Jin Ling, but playing politics is a cruel, long-winded game. He’s still a sheltered, orphaned boy at heart.
Following a particularly stressful social engagement, Wei Wuxian arrives at the entrance of the Cloud Recesses with Jin Ling in tow. He couldn’t exactly make public appearances and alleviate the pressure for his nephew. Instead, he worked tirelessly behind the scenes. The exhaustion shows in his face, in his posture.
Without a core, he’s aging. At a rather normal rate, but aging nonetheless. It destroys Lan Wangji, thinking about living without Wei Wuxian again, but thankfully, his new body—Mo Xuanyu’s body—is young. Fate willing, they have plenty of time left.
“Are Sizhui and Jingyi around?”
Lan Wangji nods.
“Good, good. Let’s get this one off to their quarters.”
Jin Ling doesn’t fuss, which is a testament to his fatigue. He’s dead on his feet, mumbling nonsense to himself. Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi catch him and keep him from collapsing, tucking him into bed without complaint.
Well. Without much complaint. Lan Jingyi always has something to say about Jin Ling, but he means well. Everyone knows his feigned annoyance stems from a place of endearment.
After they’ve ensured that Jin Ling has been tucked in, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian retreat to the jingshi. They enjoy a bout of comfortable, companionable silence before Wei Wuxian pulls a jar of wine out from under the floorboards, nonchalantly starting a conversation whilst leaning against Lan Wangji’s back.
He meanders. Wei Wuxian’s words lift and fall at a steady clip, making it all the more difficult for Lan Wangji to focus on what he’s saying.
He once prided himself on staying alert on the battlefield on one to two hours of sleep, but that was a long time ago. He’s become accustomed to a certain schedule.
However, he would never be so rude as to dismiss Wei Wuxian, and he wouldn’t dream of saying something that would pull them apart, so he remains still, nodding and humming along in the appropriate paces, letting Wei Wuxian’s warmth seep into his skin.
At some point, his head lolls. Wei Wuxian laughs. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was that late already. I’m sure you’re tired.”
Stubbornly, Lan Wangji shakes his head. Wei Wuxian sees through his façade immediately.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” Valiantly, Lan Wangji does not protest or pout. He stamps down the tiny, silly part of him that wants to say, that’s not true. “I’ll come back in the morning.”
He doesn’t reach for Wei Wuxian’s wrist, though he deeply longs to.
For a fraction of a second, he thinks that Wei Wuxian intends to do the same. He blinks, and the moment has passed, leaving Lan Wangji alone in his quarters with his thoughts. He sheds his outer garments before falling into a restless, dreamless sleep.
The next time Lan Wangji sees Wei Wuxian, he’s supervising a night hunt.
Lan Sizhui is leading his usual band of juniors, though he's barely older than them. He’s got a knack for teaching, what with his temperate nature and boundless patience, though the fledgling practitioners whispered behind his back that his gentle smile concealed terrible secrets.
Lan Wangji is not required to chaperone them by any means, but the events of the previous year made it evident that being on-call in remote areas did more good than harm. He could keep the number of injuries to a minimum, alleviate tensions between varying sects with his mere presence.
That’s why he heads into town, glancing at the numerous stands lining the streets. He has every intention of making a beeline for an inn, but a glass bauble catches his eye.
Sizhui is long past the age of enjoying such trinkets. Wei Wuxian is even older, but Lan Wangji thinks he would be impressed by the artistry of it, that his eyes would light up upon finding it in Lan Wangji’s possession, always so amused by the incongruity of such a stoic man buying children’s toys.
Before he can open his coin-purse and inquire as to how much it would cost, the man himself emerges from the shadows, long, loose hair fluttering around his shoulders.
They crash into each other. On the ground, Wei Wuxian is crouched over Lan Wangji, breathless from running. “I’m so sorry, I just—Lan Zhan?”
Before he can explain himself, his reason for running appears from the shadows. A man touting a poker brandishes it at Wei Wuxian, fully intent on lashing into him before he locks eyes with Lan Wangji, the venerated Hanguang-jun, sputtering out a half-formed apology.
Wei Wuxian stands up, dusting off his robes before he opens his mouth. The man turns on his heel, snorting at Wei Wuxian rudely before he walks away, refusing to give Wei Wuxian time to speak.
Lan Wangji stares at Wei Wuxian. His change in expression is minute, a mere raise of one eyebrow by an insignificant amount, but Wei Wuxian laughs as though Lan Wangji had brazenly said what was that all about aloud.
“I thought the air in this town felt strange, so I came to check it out. Wound up breaking some lady’s door down while I was chasing down a ghost, and everything was fine. I gave her money for the repairs, but she insisted that she wouldn’t let me go without expressing her gratitude. Then, her father showed up, berated me for trying to defile his daughter, who’s already engaged, and the rest was history.”
Lan Wangji frowns at the stranger’s leap in logic. Wei Wuxian grins, slinging an arm around Lan Wangji’s shoulder. He pokes him the cheek, bemused.
“She tried to talk her dad down, but it was hard for her to explain why the front door was missing. Doesn’t help that I don’t carry a sword or bear a mark of a distinguished sect.”
“I could give you a talisman,” Lan Wangji replies, watching Wei Wuxian stretch, “and you really should carry your sword, even if you can’t use it.”
Wei Wuxian freeze in place. After a beat, he offers Lan Wangji a wobbly smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I think I speak for the cultivation world at large when I say that it’s best Jiang Cheng holds onto it. Chenqing suits me better, anyhow.”
Lan Wangji does not miss Wei Wuxian’s unsubtle attempt to change the subject. Rather than press the issue, insisting that Wei Wuxian could also use a talisman to enter and exit the Cloud Recesses as he pleased, he invites Wei Wuxian to share a room with him at the inn. The two of them make their way across the threshold. Wei Wuxian brightly orders drinks and snacks from a steward, asking if they’ll bring them up to the room.
Blissfully, the rest of the evening is uneventful. Lan Sizhui and his entourage return relatively safely, with only a couple of sprained ankles and broken fingers noted in the injury column.
Lan Wangji smooths out his bedsheets, realizing that Wei Wuxian has been quiet for some time. He opens his mouth to speak, to say anything—to comfort Wei Wuxian, to offer him company, to reassure him—but in the end, he settles beneath the blankets, hating himself a little bit.
He doesn’t hear or see Wei Wuxian follow suit, but then, it’s quite early by his standards. It’s entirely possible that he’s going to go to town and drink until the sun comes out, sneaking out to flirt with strangers dar away from Lan Wangji’s watchful eyes.
The idea makes Lan Wangji’s stomach churn, but he forces himself to relax, allowing his body to go soft and pliant, breathing even.
Astonishingly, before he drifts off, he feels Wei Wuxian’s head knock against the bed-frame. He’s so close, his fingertips inches away from Lan Wangji’s nape. Lan Wangji can’t help but think if he were to open his eyes, the spell would be broken, so he doesn’t—he stays still, and eventually, he dreams.
Dreaming, without being asleep, is a congregation of images and ideas flickering behind his eyelids rapid-fire. Thoughts and wishes unspoken haunt him, memories of times he’d rather forget, but wouldn’t trade for anything, if only because Wei Wuxian is the star of those visions.
There’s no need for ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ between us, Lan Wangji once said.
Yet, in the dead of night, with moonlight silhouetting Wei Wuxian’s tall frame, he swears he hears the words fall from his old friend’s lips. Perhaps, it’s the only thing he can think of to say.
Perhaps he believes he owes Lan Wangji something, that he can only express gratitude or be granted pardon when Lan Wangji is asleep.
He pretends to roll over, letting their fingers brushing together, ignoring Wei Wuxian’s startled inhalation. You already paid for your sins with your life, Lan Wangji thinks. Please don’t ask me to forgive you.
Another season passes.
Lan Wangji wonders if it is typical for people to wander further into each other’s physical orbit after becoming more comfortable with one another, or if Wei Wuxian, as he is so often, is the exception rather than the rule.
“It’s so cold in the mountains,” Wei Wuxian remarks, shivering in his boots. “See? Even the rabbits are huddling together for warmth.”
Lan Wangji hasn’t seen the rabbits in quite some time, presuming that they were conserving their energy in preparation for the truly frigid winter months. He opens his mouth to share said observation, but before he can say anything, he realizes that Wei Wuxian has wrapped his arms around his waist.
The light, barely-there pressure is all-encompassing, filling his brain with white noise. The world narrows down to the two of them in the garden.
All too soon, Wei Wuxian pulls away, holding his hands up like he’d been caught doing something criminal. “Ah,” he says, “You don’t like people touching you, right? Geez. When will I learn?”
He mumbles to himself, words muttered so lowly that even Lan Wangji’s keen ears can’t catch what he’s saying. Before Lan Wangji can repeat his mantra to himself, warning himself to be careful, to maintain the status quo, he shakes his head.
Wei Wuxian’s head whips around like it’s on a swivel, his drone of self-admonishing statements cut off in a hurry. “Really?”
His eyes are so bright that Lan Wangji almost turns away reflexively. He stays focused, though—he can’t bear to look away from Wei Wuxian for long, especially not when his expression is so open, so delighted that Lan Wangji feels abstractly guilty.
“Well, great. You’re warm,” Wei Wuxian says, wrapping his arms around Lan Wangji’s waist again. He leans into the touch, tamping down the odd urge to hum as Wei Wuxian rests his chin on Lan Wangji’s shoulder.
Lan Wangji doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so they rest uselessly at his sides. It is through sheer force of will that Lan Wangji does not tremble, watching as the cool air turns their exhalations into white tufts.
When Wei Wuxian pulls away the second time, Lan Wangji swears that there’s a sense of hesitance to the motion, like Wei Wuxian had wanted to embrace for a bit longer, but he’d been cowed by the elements. Lan Wangji understands; he feels the same way.
He still feels Wei Wuxian’s pulse, slightly elevated, thrumming against his back.
“Tea?” Wei Wuxian asks, tone stilted, an odd-half smile on his face. Lan Wangji nods, mostly because he needs to do something with his hands, certain that the tips of his ears have turned pink in embarrassment.
The first person to point out the shift in their orbit isn’t his uncle or his brother, but his son.
This is not surprising. Lan Xichen is a changed man, no less benevolent or kind, but far less trusting. Weariness looms over him like a spectre. It burdens Lan Wangji to know that in setting his friend free from the shackles of the past, he’d locked his sibling in the cuffs, but time, unfortunately, only marched forward.
His father, himself, then his brother—the men in their family had a history of devoting themselves to people who were not necessarily evil, but certainly passionate, burdened with skewed senses of morality. Two of them had been punished in the name of defending their loved ones, whilst Lan Xichen had been forced to punish himself, given that he hadn’t done anything against sect policy.
Lan Wangji still wonders why the elders overlooked his transgressions, wholeheartedly endorsing his placement as Chief Cultivator, but he refuses to give them a reason to complain about his behavior. His close relationship with Wei Wuxian had once been reason enough. He is not so naive as to think them quick to forgive and forget.
Lan Sizhui comes to visit him the day after Wei Wuxian’s departure, helping him reorganize the shelf where he keeps his knick-knacks. Sometimes, Wei Wuxian comes bearing satchels of dried flowers and parfums; others, he comes with ceramic figurines, wooden block puzzles, hand-painted ink illustrations, and wind chimes. Lan Wangji couldn’t, in good form, put all of them up around his house, so he built a shelf to show off the trinkets.
As Wei Wuxian has been traveling for the better part of a year, the shelf has become crowded. Lan Wangji wouldn’t trade a single item for the world. It falls on his shoulders to keep the space tidy, putting the smaller items in boxes for safekeeping.
“Hanguang-jun,” Sizhui teases, “I didn’t know you were fond of holding hands with Wei-qianbei in public.”
Lan Wangji remains silent, mentally conjuring up a number of blatant excuses. “He had something to show me,” he replies, hoping his voice doesn’t give out too noticeably. The best part is that this is true—Wei Wuxian had spotted something on the other side of the complex, inciting the mad dash across the plaza to inspect it up close.
Of course, he snatched Lan Wangji’s wrist in his haste to take a closer look, dragging Lan Wangji along. After a time, Wei Wuxian realized what he’d done, breezily asking if his grip had probably been too tight. When Lan Wangji shook his head, Wei Wuxian beamed in response, intertwining their fingers.
“This is better, isn’t it?” Wei Wuxian hummed whilst bumping their shoulders together, a sly glint in his eyes.
“I thought it was rather sweet,” Lan Sizhui comments, granting his guardian a reprieve. “Nothing wrong with open displays of affection.”
There’s a rule on the entrance to the Cloud Recesses that states otherwise, but Lan Wangji raised Sizhui to think for himself, and thus doesn’t find the point worth arguing.
He doesn’t know how to tell Sizhui that he’s confused. That he doesn’t know whether Wei Wuxian’s physical expressions are indicative of romantic interest in him or not.
He has a lot of questions he wants to ask, but he holds his tongue.
After all, asking them would make his fears tangible. Lan Wangji doesn’t mind basking in the dream, walking on the precipice of will-we-won’t-we a while longer.
Wei Wuxian enjoys his company, enjoys bumping elbows with him, touching his hair, brushing against his shoulders, and holding Lan Wangji’s hand.
He’s not greedy enough to ask for more.
The frost is beginning to thaw ever-so-slightly. Graciously, the rotation for sect meetings has brought the head of each clan to the Cloud Recesses—for once, Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji don’t have to rush across the country.
The hustle and bustle of hosting guests is exhausting. Before the affair begins in earnest, Lan Wangji sneaks away from the throng of the crowd.
When a pair of hands covers his eyes, he has half a mind to draw Bichen and cut off his assailant’s arms, but he quickly realizes there are few people with the courage and skill to sneak up on him like that.
“Sorry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, decidedly unrepentant. “You look like you’ve sucked on a lemon. When I heard the conference was being held here this season, I couldn’t resist sneaking a peek.”
“I’m always glad to see you, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji replies. “You’re more than welcome to attend.”
The invitation is more for his sake than Wei Wuxian’s—it would alleviate Lan Wangji’s boredom, watching Wei Wuxian pace around the room until he snapped, commanding the room’s attention with a single snort. Once, they had all been terrified to ally themselves with a practitioner of the dark arts.
Now, they hold Wei Wuxian’s inventions up as the golden standard. They eye him warily, but with gratitude. Slowly but surely, thanks in part to Jin Ling and Jiang Wanyin’s efforts, Wei Wuxian has become less monster than man to them, an odd rogue cultivator who saved a great number of people on his travels.
Wei Wuxian wrinkles his nose. “You want me to sit around and listen to a bunch of old geezers gripe at each other for days on end? Pass.”
“Your brother will be there.”
“All the more reason I need to get going,” Wei Wuxian huffs.
Lan Wangji does not roll his eyes, but it’s a near thing. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin’s on-again, off-again relationship confuses him. They’re currently on the outs. Wei Wuxian is pouty and skittish, avoiding his brother at all costs.
A breeze blows between them. It’s warm enough that Wei Wuxian isn’t shivering, even in his light, tattered robes. Impulsively, Lan Wangji reaches for Wei Wuxian’s wrist, startling Wei Wuxian so badly that he nearly trips. “Would you like to take a bath?”
He’s dragging the exchange out and he knows it. He can’t help the paranoid fear that creeps up on him sometimes, can’t erase the images he sees in his nightmares, of Wei Wuxian’s corpse splayed out in front of him on the ground, broken from a ruinous fall off a cliff.
Wei Wuxian blinks at him, lips quirking up into a sly smile. “What, like, together? Is the venerated Hanguang-jun going to shirk his duties as Chief Cultivator to wash my back?”
“Yes,” Lan Wangji declares. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen incredulously.
He gapes for a moment before absolutely howling with laughter. Amused, he clasps Lan Wangji’s hand, running into a copse of trees. They make their way to the entrance of the Cloud Recesses, avoiding the crowds. Wei Wuxian’s comfort with the route speaks to his keen, though selective, memory—obviously, he’d used this path many times as a student to escape punishment after he snuck into the city to buy liquor.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t speak until they’re safely tucked away in a village Lan Wangji’s loyal retainers wouldn’t dare look for him in. It’s small and quaint, with a rustic charm to it. There’s only one inn and he banks on the fact that everyone will be too frantic to search for them thoroughly.
He refuses to make this weird. They’ve bathed together before, multiple times. There’s no reason to fidget like a maiden on her wedding day. Never mind the fact that Lan Wangji had not once gotten undressed with him willingly. They’re friends again, well and truly now; Wei Wuxian likes to think they have a rapport.
Wei Wuxian refuses to examine the odd fluttering in his gut, the cause for his elevated pulse. He hangs up his outer layers carefully, staring at the wall to give Lan Wangji a sense of privacy. Not that it matters. They’ll both be naked soon.
The aroma of the dried flower petals and oils the innkeeper put in the bath is deeply fragrant and warm, adding a dreamlike layer of soothing, sweet-smelling fog to the room.
Wei Wuxian slips in first, breaking the surface tension, long locks held in place with an old comb and a pin. He sighs as he gets settled, eyes glued to Lan Wangji’s pale, pale skin.
Pale except for the scars across his back, creeping onto portions of his thighs and arms. They’d laid into him brutally, ensuring that he would feel the pain of his misconduct for weeks. Months, even.
He healed a long time ago, but Wei Wuxian aches for him like Lan Wangji received the lashes yesterday. Misinterpreting the wince Wei Wuxian lets out as disgust, Lan Wangji leans down, intending to pull his robes back on.
“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian blurts, sloshing the water around in his haste to apologize. “It’s okay, Lan Zhan, they don’t bother me.” They do, but not because they detract from Lan Wangji’s beauty, or because his skin is mangled and torn. Rather, they bother him because he feels responsible for marring Lan Wangji’s jade-like skin. He is responsible. “Just…get in, please?”
Lan Wangji nods. He dips his toes in, skin turning rosy within seconds.
As promised, Lan Wangji washes his back. His every movement is deliberate, carefully carried out. His fingers are tiny brands, stroking Wei Wuxian with reverence, like he really deserves this. Like he’s delicate and cherished.
It’s enough to make him tear up, almost. He holds back, letting his eyes gloss over as Lan Wangji caresses his shoulders, damn-near clinging to him.
Wei Wuxian tries and fails to focus on something else. Anything else. It’s so peaceful and comfortable that he wants to turn around, to bundle Lan Wangji in his arms. Fervently, he longs to touch him. To kiss him.
Valiantly, he refrains. He’s already taken so much. Too much. He can’t afford to be selfish right now.
“This is nice,” he hums, ignoring the way Lan Wangji’s hand lingers on his waist. Mentally, Wei Wuxian urges him not to wander any further south, lest he brush against anything incriminating.
“Mm,” Lan Wangji agrees.
It continues like this for several minutes before Wei Wuxian fumbles out a reason for disentangling himself, covering his half-hard dick as he shuffles out of the tub. Lan Wangji stares, as though he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.
Wei Wuxian fumbles over his words. He can’t even apologize—after all, what, exactly, would he be apologizing for?
When the silence drags on, Lan Wangji’s gaze roams upwards. The two of them lock eyes for a moment, flushed and flustered.
Finally, Wei Wuxian laughs nervously. “It’s just a natural reaction.” They’re both men. He can play this off. If he has a violent outburst, the likelihood of Lan Wangji seeing through him increases, wherein he could somehow realize Wei Wuxian’s intentions.
It would be helpful, Wei Wuxian thinks, if he knew what he himself wanted so they could draw a line and stop creeping towards whatever this was that didn’t quite feel like friendship.
“Right,” Lan Wangji says, averting his gaze. Wei Wuxian’s penchant for putting his foot in his mouth rears its ugly head, eyes gravitating to Lan Wangji’s groin automatically.
“You can,” he rasps, voice giving out on him, tongue heavy in his mouth. “Take care of it, if you need to.”
Lan Wangji shakes his head.
Right. Bathing together is one thing, but jerking off in the same room is another. It wasn’t like he expected Lan Wangji, paragon of virtue, to do so anyways. He was practically a monk. He’d probably never masturbated a day in his life.
A wave of pity washes over him, wondering how miserable Lan Wangji’s teenage years had been. His own hormones had been rampant, set off by the slightest provocation.
Stupidly, he opens his mouth again. “I’ll help.”
Lan Wangji turns to him so quickly that Wei Wuxian is terrified he’s given himself whiplash. “What,” he deadpans, water dripping down his perfect, pretty chin.
“With your—with that,” Wei Wuxian clarifies unnecessarily, watching Lan Wangji’s face turn splotchy red in reply. “Because…”
Because what, Wei Wuxian? An annoying voice at the back of his head says, clicking its tongue at him impatiently. You don’t want him to be in pain? You want him to feel good?
Lan Wangji had bailed out on his very important duties as Chief Cultivator to keep him company just because he’d asked. Wei Wuxian feels like it’s his civic duty to make the trip worth Lan Wangji’s while.
Before Wei Wuxian can come up with something to clever to say, Lan Wangji looks away. Beyond his face being rosy, his ears are burning. His body language is oddly contradictory, shy yet bold. Wei Wuxian swallows heavily. This is it.
Once they cross this line, there’s no going back. He has to live with the consequences of his own actions until the day he dies (again.)
It’s worth it, though, he thinks, lurching forward to plunge his hand into the water, sparing a moment to stare at Lan Wangji’s length, hard and lurid. The only reason he hadn’t felt it against his back is because they’d preserved a tentative space between each other.
Now is not the time for deep dives into his own psyche, for contemplative self-loathing. Lan Wangji is waiting for him to do something, so he does, grasping Lan Wangji’s shaft firmly. Wei Wuxian uses less pressure than he would on himself, gauging Lan Wangji’s pleasure, observing as his face scrunches up, his toes reflexively curling.
He wants, more than anything, to kiss Lan Wangji. But that’s another line, and he’s already crossed one too many. Wei Wuxian can keep this purely physical. He’s good at compartmentalizing his feelings. He’s even better at suffocating them, pushing them down until they’re practically nonexistent, until they’re so muddled and messy that he can’t make heads or tails of them.
Lan Wangji bites his lip as Wei Wuxian thumbs his slit. Wei Wuxian tugs at the foreskin lightly, massaging Lan Wangji’s balls, toying with him until precome pearls. His cock is as lovely as the rest of him, not unwieldy but a fair size, thicker than it is long and proudly ruddy.
Wei Wuxian aches to taste him. He focuses intently on helping Lan Wangji come, biting his tongue to keep from moaning in tandem, his own cock insistent against the basin.
When Lan Wangji comes, he latches onto Wei Wuxian’s arms, panting like he’d run a marathon.
The water has been soiled, and goodness knows Lan Wangji’s been soaking long enough. It takes heroic effort for Wei Wuxian to lift the dense cultivator out of the tub, boneless as he is, helping him get swaddled in towels and sleeping garments. He’s so busy ensuring Lan Wangji is okay that his erection flags.
He wipes his brow before he makes for the other side of the room. His gait is interrupted, however, by a bruising grip on his wrist, Lan Wangji’s notoriously uninhibited strength threatening to break bones. “Thank you,” he says, continuing to look at Wei Wuxian with trust. Like Wei Wuxian had offered him a noble service.
Wei Wuxian swallows down his guilt, his fear, his impending sense of doom that if he blinks too hard, he’ll cry and the illusion will shatter. He grins. “Of course, Lan Zhan. What are friends for?”
Things get worse before they get better.
Lan Wangji, who’d believed they were on a rail course to expressing more than strictly-platonic feelings for each other, feels like he’s been slapped in the fact by Wei Wuxian’s sad smiles and reintroduced sense of careful distance between them.
He’d been scolded beyond belief by his uncle for disappearing without notice,. Several sect leaders scrambled to find him, suspecting the worst of each other. Jiang Wanyin and Lan Xichen calmed everyone else down, familiar with Lan Wangji’s odd whims, ensuring the council that he was strong enough to take down anyone who might threaten his life.
The two of them shared a knowing look, finding it a bit too convenient that, when interviewing passersby, someone in town mentioned seeing a dark-robed rogue cultivator roaming around a few days ago, silently putting two and two together.
Lan Wangji wonders if he’d done something wrong, if somehow allowing Wei Wuxian to help him had been a strike against him rather than one in his favor. He hadn’t seemed particularly appalled in the moment—no, he’d been handsome and reverent.
The feeling of Wei Wuxian’s fingers on his sensitive skin had lingered for hours afterwards, phantom sensations causing Lan Wangji to toss and turn in the sheets. Lan Wangji had barely been able to keep his eyes open, he’d been so exhausted, but all the same, he wanted more, so much more, and hated that he’d been too concerned about propriety to say so.
He feels like a hapless teenager all over again, letting Wei Wuxian slip through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. He’s busy staring into the horizon, waiting for a visitor who might not come, that when Lan Jingyi happens upon him, offering his senior a polite bow, Lan Wangji struggles to remember his manners.
Lan Wangji quickly holds up a hand, indicating that there’s no need for formalities. The young man’s shoulders loosen. A mischievous glint flashes in his eyes as he speaks. A gentle breeze ruffles through their hair.
“It’s weird, isn’t it? Being the one who’s waiting. Well, you’re so mature, Hanguang-jun, you’re probably used to it, but I hate it. His highness and the rest are busy. I’m stuck holding down the fort.”
Presumably, he’s referring to Jin Ling, Lan Sizhui, and Ouyang Zizhen. Lan Wangji knew the four of them were close, but the way Lan Jingyi speaks of them, so fondly, oddly and uncharacteristically forlorn, he wonders if there’s not something else going on there. He’s all too familiar with pining. He doesn’t pretend to understand how it might present itself with three strong-willed teenagers as objects of affection.
“But it’s fine, right? Take your revenge by pouncing on Wei-qianbei when he gets back. Wish I could be around to see the stupid look on his face.”
Lan Wangji looks at him. His look is not disapproving, but Lan Jingyi blurts out an apology, intimidated by Lan Wangji’s stolid façade. Internally, however, Lan Wangji is anything but upset, contemplatively mulling over the comment.
Jingyi has misunderstood his relationship with Wei Wuxian, but he makes a good point. One that Lan Wangji thought he had taken to heart already, but clearly, he needed a refresher.
Waiting for Wei Wuxian to make the first move is foolish. Lan Wangji isn’t interested in losing another minute of their precious time together. Even if it means they’ll never touch again, he needs to clear the air, communicate his feelings to Wei Wuxian clearly.
Maybe then, he’ll feel like he can have his friend back.
No more tricks. No more lies.
They’re different men than they were a lifetime ago.
Wei Wuxian has heard it said that Lan Wangji goes where the chaos is. Despite being inundated with teaching, sect duties, and his responsibilities as Chief Cultivator, he tracks Wei Wuxian down through sheer force of will, following the trail of rumors and serendipitous deeds to Wei Wuxian’s inn.
His visiting schedule has been broken for some time now. No matter how many people praise Lan Wangji for his peerless beauty and impeccable manners, he’s fully capable of becoming unkempt and belligerent. He’s impatient and panicked, hoping against all hope that their friendship will hold water once he’s offloaded the burden on his chest.
It physically pains him, being this selfish. His father had been a selfish man; by contrast, his brother had been so selfless that he’d been blind to the faults of those around him.
There had to be a happy medium, surely. Surely, the universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to take and take without giving the lonely little Lans something.
Wei Wuxian jumps out of his skin when a hand claps on his shoulder, food flying out of his mouth when he realizes who’s behind him. “What the—Lan Zhan?” He breathes out his name in a rush, clutching a hand to his chest. “Is everything alright?”
Sweat beads at Lan Wangji’s temple. He’s not out of breath in the least, but his pulse is thunderous, panic making his palms tacky. Without saying a word, he drags Wei Wuxian into an abandoned alleyway, glaring daggers at him.
He doesn’t mean to; it’s a reflex. Luckily, he hasn’t broken things between them beyond repair. Wei Wuxian pokes him in the temple, grinning at the deep furrow in Lan Wangji’s brow. “I won’t understand if you don’t use your words, you know.”
Every thought in his head feels inadequate. I like you. I miss you. I want you. Please don’t leave.
“You stopped coming to visit,” Lan Wangji says, words tumbling from his lips in a rush, eyes glossy. His body language is stricken, like he’d been really, truly worried something had happened to Wei Wuxian.
Maybe, Wei Wuxian thinks slowly, emerging from a fog, he had been. “I’m—” he swallows back the word sorry. “I didn’t want to do anything we’d both regret. I know how much you hate being touched, but I went ahead and. Well. You know.” He blushes, embarrassed.
“I didn’t.”
Wei Wuxian lifts an eyebrow. “Regret it?”
“No.” After a beat, he asks, “Did you?”
“Not even a little bit.”
The two of them devolve into a series of giggles, expressions going soft and fond as they sag with relief.
“You’re wrong,” Lan Wangji murmurs, reaching up to brush a stray hair out of Wei Wuxian’s face.
Wei Wuxian, who’s entirely too busy snaking his arms around Lan Wangji’s tiny waist to pay complete attention to what his friend is saying. “Hm?”
“I never had a problem. With you touching me.”
Every word comes out stilted. Wei Wuxian gapes at him in awe, enraptured by Lan Wangji’s gently-wobbling lower lip. It’s taking all of Lan Wangji’s effort to stay standing with Wei Wuxian gingerly, absently caressing him.
“Okay, now I know that’s a lie. You hated it when we were kids, I know you did. If looks could kill, you would’ve murdered me a dozen times over.” He continues, testing a hypothesis aloud with a sly smirk. “Well, in hindsight, you were always irrationally pissed at me. You looked like you couldn’t wait to slam me into the nearest surface, make a mess out of me. I thought it was just anger, but you must’ve liked it on some level. Or, you really liked me.”
The last revelation escapes his lips breathlessly. Wei Wuxian can hardly believe what he’s saying.
The look on Lan Wangji’s face says it all. He’s spot on.
Sometimes, his own intuition scares him. It’s a shame it’s two decades overdue.
“We should,” Wei Wuxian licks his lips, cupping Lan Wangji’s jaw, “find someplace to stay for the night, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Lan Wangji agrees, gaze smoldering.
Lan Wangji pays the innkeeper an exorbitant amount of money for a private room, requesting that they aren’t disturbed. From within his qiankun pouch, he retrieves a jar of unguent.
Wei Wuxian can’t help laughing as fussy, formal Lan Wangji puts it down in front of him, kneeling on the floor with his spine ramrod straight. “You certainly came prepared.”
A long silence sprawls out between them as Wei Wuxian moves about the room, walking the nervous energy out of his system. He refuses to undress before Lan Wangji, which leaves them at an impasse, both of them wanting more but unsure how they should communicate their desires.
“I thought,” Lan Wangji says at last, “that I might lose you. Admittedly, this was a gamble.”
Wei Wuxian purses his lips. “So, what, you thought you’d ask me to have sex with you before cutting all ties?”
“…It was a possibility.”
“Considering that I might like you back wasn’t?”
Lan Wangji clutches the front of his robes tenderly. He can hardly believe his own luck. “If you no longer wished to associate with me and I could not sway you, I wouldn’t force the issue.”
Wei Wuxian runs a hand through his hair before he scoots forward, holding his arms out. Lan Wangji is confused, obviously, but before he can ask a clarifying question, Wei Wuxian pulls him into a long, tight hug. The hug is so tight, in fact, that the two of them wind up flopping on the floor, lying together, basking in each other’s warmth for several quiet minutes.
“I like you, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian whispers, drinking in Lan Wangji’s resulting shiver like fine wine. “You don’t have to barter with me for this kind of thing. You don’t have to do that for anyone, no matter how important to you they are.”
“You did,” Lan Wangji replies. It’s not meant to be a cutting remark, just an observation, but Wei Wuxian can’t deny the reality of the situation. The truth of the matter is that he too has a habit of letting things go, of suffering in silence, believing himself unworthy of unconditional love.
“What a mess the two of us make,” he says, kneeling over Lan Wangji, watching his chest heave in anticipation.
Wei Wuxian leans down ever-so-slowly, breath ghosting over Lan Wangji’s lips. Their first kiss is a mere press of skin against skin, pleasant but hardly anything, a mere taste of things to come. Their second is less tentative, what with Lan Wangji balling his fingers into fists in Wei Wuxian’s hair, nails digging into Wei Wuxian’s shoulder blades as he pulls them chest-to-chest.
The third, fourth, and fifth fade together, a chorus of tongues and teeth, nipping and dragging, burning yearning exploding from their captive hearts.
They grind on each other, hesitant to pull away for even the barest of moments. It’s a hassle to untie their robes, to do anything other than grope and explore. The differences in each other’s textures—hair, skin, temperature, fabric. It grows infuriatingly warm in a matter of minutes, their lips puffy and spit-slick.
“How do you want this to go?” Wei Wuxian hums.
Lan Wangji is a gorgeously-disheveled mess beneath him, long hair splayed out on the floor. He’s glossy-eyed, half-hard, and more than a little unfocused. “I don’t know.”
Right, Wei Wuxian thinks. He’s practically a monk, he’s such a steadfast and loyal Lan.
“Did you ever think about me?” Stubbornly, Lan Wangji averts his gaze. It’s as good as a yes. Wei Wuxian grins. “Which one was I, in your fantasies?”
“Both.”
Flattered, Wei Wuxian laughs. “Greedy.” When Lan Wangji bites his lip, he shushes the other man, brushing a thumb over one cheek. “It’s not a bad thing to be greedy. Not with me. I want you to be. But I don’t think I have the stamina to try it both ways today.”
He figures the specifics will be different, but the mechanics can’t be too far removed from pleasuring a woman. He’d overheard whispers about cut-sleeves, about how it could be more painful, and certainly less sanitary, but he can’t find the wherewithal to care. This is Lan Zhan. Brilliant, wonderful Lan Zhan.
He can’t be another one night stand to Wei Wuxian, a temporary bandage slapped over a festering wound. He has to do this right. He wants everything to feel good for him.
Wei Wuxian screws his courage to the sticking place. No time like the present. He hadn’t become the fearsome Yiling Patriarch by dismissing things as impossible or out of his reach.
The unguent is cool to the touch, a surprise on such a balmy evening. Lan Wangji stares at him like there’s no place he’d rather be and it bolsters his confidence, allowing Wei Wuxian to focus on marking Lan Wangji’s pale skin, sucking bruises into it while Lan Wangji lets out unfettered groans.
He asks for permission to breach Lan Wangji before slowly inserting a finger. Lan Wangji squirms, but does not react very visibly. He’s tense all over, though, so Wei Wuxian kisses him until he calms down. Then, he begins to move.
It’s a steady motion, a one-two, one-two beat, in and out. Once Lan Wangji is ready, he inserts a second digit, inhaling sharply as Lan Wangji’s legs skitter up and down. His fingers clench and unclench on Wei Wuxian’s back. When he spreads them, Lan Wangji gasps.
The sound slaps Wei Wuxian in the face. He grows still, watching Lan Wangji struggle to open his watery eyes, helping him adjust his position until he feels comfortable again. “More,” Lan Wangji gasps, desperate and whiny.
Wei Wuxian scissors and slides, adding a third finger, settling into a rhythm that keeps Lan Wangji captivated and clingy. He’s delirious with lust, eager to help Lan Wangji come. So eager, in fact, that he freezes when he unwittingly humps Lan Wangji, forgetting his purpose.
“Together,” Lan Wangji says, resting a hand on the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck.
Wei Wuxian offers him a huffy smile in return. “Alright.”
He covers his shaft in unguent, pressing it against Lan Wangji’s hole. Lan Wangji’s own cock is flushed and heavy, a testament to his pleasure.
He moves at a snail’s pace, hyperaware of Lan Wangji’s tight, tight walls encompassing him. Wei Wuxian babbles his name, crescendoing Lan Zhan over and over again, sliding in until he’s three-quarters sheathed.
“Fuck,” Wei Wuxian whines, pulling back. The noise Lan Wangji lets out is so guttural that he needs a moment to regather his thoughts. His brain is leaking out of his ears. Or his dick. Or both.
He rocks his hips, increasing the tempo with each thrust. Lan Wangji holds fast to him, echoing his name back in kind. His quietly enunciated Wei Ying feels like coming home.
It’s been a long, long time since he had a place, or a person, he could call home.
Wei Wuxian’s vision goes blurry as blood rushes out of his brain. Coming is a glorious experience with Lan Wangji’s legs wrapped around him. When he pulls out, seeing his spend trickling from Lan Wangji’s cleft is enough to make him woozy, heady with pride.
If he’s exhausted, Lan Wangji is absolutely ruined. They’ll both be sore in the morning, surely, but right now, all Wei Wuxian feels is sleepy and satisfied, giddy with affection.
They’re sticky and tacky and they need a bath something terrible, but he pulls Lan Wangji into his arms and breathes in his scent anyways, Wei Wuxian’s heart full to bursting.
Wei Wuxian rests a hand on Lan Wangji’s chest. “I’m glad you found me.”
I’m glad you wanted to be found, Lan Wangji thinks, drifting off to sleep with a smile on his face.
EPILOGUE
“Is it possible to go bald at age sixteen?” Jin Ling asks, deadpan. It’s less of a question than a statement, given that the only two people close enough to hear him are his two uncles.
“If you keep sighing at everything, who cares about your hair—you’re going to be pitiful and cranky for the rest of your life, just like Jiang Cheng.”
“Piss off,” Jiang Wanyin says, but he doesn’t say it with much vitriol. Beneath all the bluster, he really is impossibly fond of Wei Wuxian, though of course he’ll never forgive the death of his sister at Wei Wuxian’s hands. Though they’d unearthed the truth that he hadn’t really be responsible for it, grudges were hard to let go of when they’d lasted longer than some people’s lifetimes.
“Nobody asked for your opinion,” Jin Ling snaps, sounding every bit like Jiang Wanyin. Jiang Wanyin shoots Wei Wuxian a smug, triumphant look. Wei Wuxian stops his very productive maneuver of sticking his tongue out when they hear a door slide open, signaling the entrance of the illustrious Hanguang-jun.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian chirps, making a beeline for the Chief Cultivator. Lan Wangji’s entourage scatters at his urging, leaving the two of them alone together with the leader of Yunmeng Jiang and Lanling Jin. The gossips would have a field day if they caught wind of them keeping company with no set agenda, but thankfully, Lan Wangji knew how to find personnel that could hold their tongues.
Out of respect for Lan Wangji’s reputation, Wei Wuxian doesn’t draw Lan Wangji into a hug and kiss him shamelessly. He settles, instead, for holding hands, nodding along with Lan Wangji’s very important business as though he understands a word of what’s being said.
Jin Ling takes notes on what he needs to address amongst his own people, taking stock of the allocations of wealth. He’s used to a certain way of life, but he understands what had been sacrificed to maintain it; he’s much happier working with the established leaders of the cultivation world to earn his keep in Koi Tower.
If you’re going to do something, do it in a way that leaves the world a better place has become his mantra, a creed reinforced by his silly uncle and his stern uncle, both of whom are happy to see that Jin Ling is in better spirits.
Once business has been taken care of, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin tiptoe around asking to visit Lotus Pier and inviting themselves to Lotus Pier to pay respects to their parents respectively. They’ve become quite frankly annoying with the whole song and dance, but Jin Ling refuses to meddle in their business, rolling his eyes before getting back to work.
Lan Wangji, however, has become…odd.
He’s softer at the edges, certainly. But, he’s gained a bold streak whilst talking to Jiang Wanyin, ardently sticking up for Wei Wuxian. The two of them had been always weirdly close, but something has obviously changed.
Suddenly, Jin Ling stands up, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. “You two got together?”
Wei Wuxian blinks at him. Lan Wangji nods. Jiang Wanyin groans like he’d actively rather be buried alive, but this can of worms can’t be resealed.
“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian answers, gratified by Lan Wangji’s easy admittance of their status. “What’s that indignant tone about, like we don’t know anything about you, your Lan boys, and Ouyang Zizhen! Nobody makes a fuss over it, do they?”
Jin Ling sputters. Now he, too, would like nothing more than to melt into the floor and disappear, spouting out a long string of excuses.
However, Jiang Wanyin is unwilling to let this tidbit of information slide. He cottoned on to Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s relationship months ago, mostly because they weren’t going to any lengths to hide it. His nephew is a different story.
He doesn’t mind so much as he’s pissed at Jin Ling for keeping his relationship a secret. Jiang Wanyin is the one who has to handle situations when PR for the Jin clan gets messy. His ire is understandable. Jin Ling gulps.
“You’ll pay for this,” Jin Ling promises, grabbing his sword as Zidian crackles behind him. Jiang Wanyin’s growls fill the room, snarls trailing down the hall as he demands an explanation.
Left to their own devices, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji lean against each other, clasped hands resting on their knees.
It’s a peaceful afternoon, all in all; another wonderful day.