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A cultivator of Lan Wangji’s caliber doesn’t need light to guide him through the dim halls of the Hanshi. And yet, he is thankful all the same for the moon’s companionship on this quiet night and for the way its silver light casts the halls of the sect leader’s home in an otherworldly glow.
His brother sleeps as all good Lan are taught; he lies on his back, arms folded neatly across his chest. As he draws closer, Lan Wangji catches sight of Lan Xichen’s forehead ribbon on the bedside table.
Even here, in the privacy of his own home, his brother is an exemplar of all Lan values.
Lan Wangji hovers by the side of the bed for a moment as his eyes trace the contours of his brother’s face. Awash with moonlight, he glows like an ethereal immortal.
He eases himself onto the bed’s edge, pauses to see if the bed dipping under his weight rouses the sleeping man. But Lan Xichen doesn’t stir, his breaths remain deep and slow with sleep.
After a moment of silence, hardly daring to breathe, Lan Wangji grows bold again. He lifts his hand and caresses Lan Xichen’s cheek.
Lan Wangji knows these features as well as his own. Were he struck blind, he could map the sharp angles of his brother’s face and be content to know of nothing else.
And yet, here, as he sleeps, Lan Wangji has never seen his brother so at peace, in a way he never truly is when awake despite his easy smiles.
He traces his thumb along the seams of Lan Xichen’s lips, parted with every puff of air he exhales.
He watches his brother’s eyes flicker aimlessly in sleep, wondering what he could be dreaming of. Wonders of who. Lan Wangji hopes Lan Xichen dreams of him, that he longs to see his brother beyond waking hours.
Or, he wonders, if he dreams of the sworn brothers he had flown all over the jianghu for, only returning to the Cloud Recesses late into the evening. He had missed both dinner and a promised meditation session with his own younger brother. Lan Xichen had retired soon after his return with a weary smile and brief apology to his didi, but with no promise to make up for their missed time together any time soon.
So rarely does Lan Wangji get to spend time with his brother anymore now that he’s taken up the mantle of sect leader. Any time he can get is precious, something he holds close to his chest. Something to fill the gaping wound of losing Wei Wuxian.
And yet, Lan Xichen was so dismissive. So content to spend his time with his sworn brothers.
How dare he?
Grace all but forgotten, Lan Wangji clambers up onto the bed. It jostles but still Lan Xichen doesn’t stir. Drained from the flight from Cloud Recesses, to Lanling and Qinghe, and back home again, he sleeps like the dead.
His powerful thighs bracket Lan Xichen’s wide torso, but he doesn’t lower his weight down, keeps himself hovering over the sleeping man. Rage and possessiveness blaze like hot coals behind his core, each vying and snapping in equal measure as his hungry graze sweeps over Lan Xichen’s prone form.
Lan Wangji fishes out his hardening cock from the many layers of his robes, hissing at the sting of running a dry hand over himself. As he fists the tip, smearing beads of precome into his palm, his eyes flicker to his brother’s soft pink lips. He thinks about pressing the tip into that warm heat, letting his mouth ease the discomfort.
It’s his fault, after all, that he must do this.
The thought is there and gone in a flash, but the after image lingers in his mind’s eye, draws an airy groan from his lips.
He lifts his free hand to grip the headboard as he fucks into his fist. He is rough with himself as he chases his climax, jealousy spurring his hips on in violent snaps.
It sends a spark of pleasure down his spine as he watches the strength of his frantic thrusting jostle the sleeping body beneath him, to have his brother so completely at his mercy like this. That he could wake at any moment and find Lan Wangji towering over him, his weight trapping him.
It riles up something possessive in him. Lan Xichen is his to do as he pleases.
His brother.
With a low throated growl, Lan Wangji strips the length of his cock once, twice, before he comes, thick white ropes of spend spraying all over his sleeping brother. The last few spurts of it dribble down his fingers, onto the bedding, and onto Lan Xichen’s hands that are still folded neatly across his chest.
Lan Wangji sinks back onto his laurels, chest heaving with his panting breaths. Regaining his composure, he tucks his soft cock back into his robes and carefully moves to sit along the edge of the bed.
He looks over to take in the mess he left behind and feels his ears burn at the sight of it.
Lan Xichen’s face is littered with his seed. It splatters across his high cheekbones, clings to his eyelashes and brows. It sticks to his hair, his jaw, splashes along the bridge of his nose. It glistens obscenely in the pale moonlight.
Lan Wangji brushes his thumb over Lan Xichen’s cum stained lips. He gathers enough of his own cooling spend to gently bully his way into his brother’s pliant mouth. He wants, more than anything, to claim every inch of Lan Xichen. Until there is no piece of him left unadorned by his mark, until even the taste of him is seared onto his palette.
He doesn’t get far in his explorations. His brother sucks in a sharp breath and stirs. He pulls his thumb from the cavernous heat of the man’s mouth and wipes it along the soiled blankets before making a hasty retreat to the doorway.
Lan Wangji counts his own frantic heartbeats, waits in tense silence for Lan Xichen to rise. But he doesn’t. He shifts, lulls his head to the side, chest rising with a deep breath before all goes quiet again.
He lingers by the doorway, watching, waiting. The tension bleeds from him as he unclenches his jaw. The danger has passed but Lan Wangji doesn’t dare to move from where he stands, one foot still hovering in his brother’s room, the other poised to bolt like a frightened rabbit.
In the end, he decides to end his night here. Lan Wangji turns and stalks down the quiet halls of the Hanshi. He squares his shoulders, holds his head high and not once does he glance back over his shoulder.
There is a brief moment of hesitation as he steps out into the cool night air, that he should turn right back around and clean the mess he left behind.
He shakes the thought away, rallies his conviction as he makes the trek back to the Jingshi, where no one waits for him. No, better to leave it there, marking him, so Lan Xichen may finally remember Lan Wangji when he rises in the morning.
Let him remember who he truly belongs to.