Wei Wuxian blinks once, twice to get the tears out of his eyes so he doesn't cry in front of Lan Zhan. Look at him! He's gotten so pathetic in the past months, worn down from poverty and desperation (and the resentment he plays with so much. but he will never admit that). Just... the care in which Lan Zhan is giving him, the insistence that he must have the same privileges as his own husband despite being a wanted criminal...
He shouldn't stick around, because even if his social standing is much stronger now, Lan Zhan's is sure to fall anyway. The lesser spouse gets elevated thanks to the marriage, but he doubts the same will be true of theirs when the Yiling Patriarch is involved. Not with the jianghu out for his blood.
But he can't leave. Lan Zhan is here, and he is everything.
Wei Wuxian stands, and offers him Yuan, a symbol of the response he can't give out loud, and all the things he can't say-- yet.]
( Too good to him, when the world is too cruel. Perhaps he offsets some of that malice, and there is balance to be struck, a final equilibrium.
The child is proffered onto him, a beautiful gift he cannot refuse, arms ready. He takes him, slow and far too careful, but learning as Wei Ying entrusts him. In the end, no man is born knowing how to handle children, and many father them. He, too, can decipher this.
On his chest, Yuan is a friendly weight, finding his own peace, cooing criticism that Lan Wangji's silks are too slippery and soft, while his small fists fail to gain purchase. Yes, yes. The world is unkind to young Yuan, personally. )
[Reward, he says, when Wei Wuxian is a man with nothing and is able to give nothing because he's wrung dry, and whatever remains is fed to Yuan in the hopes that he would grow up better than him and the other Wens, in a better place.
And here Lan Zhan is, only asking for him to just enjoy time in this small space he's dug out for them, away from the politics and the death, the swords that want him and his dependents dead. This is all he wants. Even for everything else he'd demanded from Wei Wuxian previously, he can't help but take his husband at face value right now.
Oh, Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian cups his cheek, strokes it with a thumb. He loves this man as a friend, a soulmate and his perfect match, but Wei Wuxian knows he could come to see him the way a wife sees a husband, if given time in this relationship.
He wants to say all of it, but perhaps that would come out too sappy, and he refrains.]
I'll start now. Mind our son while I bathe? [The water has lessened and surely cooled down by now, but he'll accept even something freezing cold as long as it's clean.]
( Mind... the child, who has seldom glimpsed him, who knows little of Lan Wangji past his touch, his warmth, his scent. Young Yuan has scant reason to trust him, less to melt in his arms — yet he does, with that strange proclivity of children, the ease for and fascination with trust.
They fit together, Lan Wangji half holding, half cradling him. Sharing his warmth, taking in his scent. Strange, how time gallops as he walks the child, as moments blink and trail together.
How he waits, gently, until Lan Yuan's breathing calms, and finally Wei Ying appears on the horizon. )
He sleeps. ( He sounds incredulous, to his own ear. )
[A bath, even a quick one in tepid water, never fails to rejuvenate him-- it must be the Yunmeng boy in him. Bathing feels good, and he scrubs until his skin is flushed, coloring in a way it hasn't been since he was first thrown into the Burial Mounds and was forced to live in a cave.
He steps out already dressed in his sleepclothes, hair unbound and curling slightly at the ends. At the sight of Lan Zhan holding A-Yuan, bewilderment all over his face, he has to smile, and leans against his husband's side.]
As with his proclivity for hugging legs, he is quite comfortable with people he likes.
( Comfortable, yes. Exceedingly so. Even Lan Wangji, unlikely beneficiary of a-Yuan's attentions, knows better than to bring up how undeserving he is of the feat. Still, he eases in, whispering kisses on the boy's forehead, casting glances each side after each, as if petrified that the world might see him at his work. That it might stop him.
Then, Wei Ying is close, too close, and Lan Wangji takes a step back, then another, having found the clear contender for a-Yuan's attentions — and unwilling to surrender his charge. Let Wei Ying fight nobly for this rarely shared privilege. Lan Wangji will not surrender it of his own accord. )
You may oil your hair and balm your skin. ( In other words, Wei Ying may distract himself, while Lan Wangji shamelessly takes advantage of Yuan's warmth. )
[When Lan Zhan steps back, Wei Wuxian is left holding out a hand to him, bereft. Why is Lan Zhan pulling away from him?
Why is he not fine with physical contact now? Has he finally woken up and realized that he doesn't actually like Wei Wuxian? Did he get what he wanted from Wei Wuxian, a child, and now he was preparing to throw him away?
No, wait.
Breathe.
It's fine, they're fine, this is not a rejection of him.
Perhaps he just doesn't appreciate feeling damp hair on his shoulder through his clothes. Or perhaps he doesn't want all that hair dripping on Yuan and waking him. See? A perfectly mundane reason that has nothing to do with his feelings about Wei Wuxian. He drops his hand and tucks it behind his back with the other.]
Does my husband want me pretty for him? I'm so out of practice, but for you? I'll try remembering how to do it.
( He can't help himself, briefly blinking away incredulity, staring Wei Ying down — )
...already pretty.
( And he murmurs sweet nonsense against the child's ear, until it's Yuan who turns around, who points Wei Ying's way and proclaims, yes. 'Pretty!' And Lan Wangji can only hum along and still, ultimately nod the way of his small vanity, where a scant selection of oils and his jade comb sleep.
Perhaps unseemly, to assume that Wei Ying will not be offended by sharing, but there is nothing else available. He must learn, as they all did, to compromise at Cloud Recesses. Earthly possessions are but a summer dream. )
There, if you wish. ( What is Lan Wangji's is apparently also his new husband's. ) Oils, scents. Have your fill.
[Wei Wuxian is once again left gaping, but for an entirely different reason.]
Ah?
Wait, wait, wait! [He flaps his hands, inadvertently making Yuan giggle softly in Lan Zhan's arms. He drifts closer once more, then looks at the vanity. Then back to Lan Zhan's face, staring at him in wonder.]
Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan... did you just call me pretty?
( ...is it unseemly, perhaps? When bows have been made, when a life is sworn, has he crossed the limits of decency? An unfair demand, if so. Look at Wei Ying, raven hair and pale as jade's own white, and devastatingly handsome? Is Lan Wangji to blame?
He searches the answer in Yuan's face, finds the boy flushed and burrowing his head in Wangji's own shoulder. Ah, they are useless, even together. Lan Wangji stands alone. )
[That "perhaps" speaks louder than anything else, because it means yes, as far as Lan Zhan is concerned.
Wei Wuxian is pretty?
If either of them had been anyone else, the word could have been considered an insult instead, because men are not pretty. There would have been fists flying, loud arguments that would make the child cry. But they are Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, they are a newlywed cutsleeve couple made of two of the most famous young masters of their generation. Wei Wuxian has called himself mother and wife in secret, even if he demanded the word "husband" from Lan Zhan.
Suddenly it seems as if there's less space in Wei Wuxian's chest, his heart feels so large and he is too aware of it by half.]
Lan Zhan... Tomorrow. I will make myself pretty for you tomorrow. For tonight... I just want to look at you.
I'm dumbstruck! [Even if he continues to talk.] I have no words! This compliment from my husband, how can I think to do anything else but watch him?
...boring. ( But in that same breath: ) You've bathed. Test the hair oils.
( He mutters and casts his gaze aside, because Wei Ying is Wei Ying is Wei Ying, and his teasing is boundless, and Yuan, already sneakily trying to snooze, shouldn't be exposed to it. With a sigh, Lan Wangji trots them the way of the bed's side, casting his fool of a husband a questioning glance. )
Is it his rest hour? ( Certainly, children should be permitted sleep when they seek it, unless the Wen have insisted on a different style of education than Lan Wangji might intuitively recommend. They are, after all, better suited to direct the child's needs than a visitor in his day-to-day life. )
[Boring? Boring? Wei Wuxian puts his hands on his hips-- Lan Zhan should know that this is a challenge to him!
... That might have been his plan all along. Damn it. Fine, Wei Wuxian will allow himself to be provoked. Challenged.]
Any time he feels tired after dinner is his sleeping hour, so if he feels tired now, he should sleep now. [Wei Wuxian gives a nod towards the bedding the boy used earlier.] Give him a few rocks until he's completely out, then a few pats when you set him down.
And in the meantime, I'll show you proper pretty.
[Then he sits at the vanity, taking up the comb and the arduous task of taming his hair.]
( There is a moment when he thinks to ask for succor. The task of minding a child is simple, but new, and Yuan entrusts himself too carelessly. Lan Wangji, at once content and overwhelmed to keep him, does as bidden: rocks a few time, hushes him when he seems to stir, then finally, woefully relinquishes his prize into the sheets.
He lingers, after, to simply watch him at his work of sleep, of falling in, of dozing tenderly. He suspects this is not a child who begrudges his elders, who thinks the lesser of them for their faults of care.
Already, he has accepted Lan Wangji's inadequacies with enviable resistance. )
He is developing a core. ( Sensed, earlier, when he gripped the child's wrist. ) Will you teach him the sword?
[Asking him such a heavy question immediately? Wei Wuxian falls silent for a minute as he works out the tangles in his hair with his fingers.]
I want to, but that will set him down a dangerous path.
If he wants to become a cultivator, I won't stop him, but he will need to abandon the Wen name. [He's not sure if he wants to demand that of Yuan. The sect's reputation may be completely unsalvageable, but he still has family that loves him. Wei Wuxian is willing to give him his name, but... Yuan has family.
( Easy, candid, unrepentant. Any child of the Wen would have to consider defection, even if they had no formal allegiance with the main branch, to start. Impractical, to bear the inheritance of hatred and indignation that Ruohan and his sons roused. Obscene. Even Cloud Recesses would be slow to welcome him. )
Yet cultivation guarantees a longer life, better work. ( Cultivators suffer better fates than the peasant and villager classes, no matter their poverty. Kinder health, longer lives. Lan Wangji need not speak a truth so readily apparent.
Instead, he busies himself, after dropping Yuan into his nook of sheets, with covering and enshrouding him. )
[Wei Wuxian sighs as he finishes untangling his hair and takes up the hair oils, and starts massaging them in, a few drops at a time.]
I know. There's... just a lot to think about.
[Especially expenses. Any second-rate weapon won't do, he needs a proper sword forged to accept qi, but only select few blacksmiths can do so and they don't come cheap.
He could, perhaps, give the boy Suibian, but he doesn't even know where it is. It might be buried somewhere in his cave, or it might be back at Lotus Pier.]
He will need to want it first, as well. I don't want to teach an unwilling student. [All of them were willing because they were born into it. It was expected.
But Yuan? He's the scion of a dying sect, he has other choices, even if being a cultivator is objectively the best one.]
( An unwilling student. Certainly. There is that possibility, if not the probability. There is more to qi than longevity and power. Practitioners so often thirst for it, born of their curiosity, their inability to peel away from the pull of the unknown.
Lan Wangji himself, a servant of discipline, still steered toward this particular temptation. The child they have now amid them is surely no different. But Wei Ying seems strangely distant from the notion, perhaps alienated by his own misadventures in the cultivation world.
There is no point, no virtue in pushing him. Lan Wangji busies himself with carding Yuan's hair off his forehead, sweeping it aside, whispering on over: )
There is time. ( For Yuan to grow, for Wei Ying to reconsider. )
There is. [Time for Wei Wuxian to find ways of teaching Yuan the conventional spells despite his own inability to perform them nowadays, that sort of thing. Worse comes to worst, he can find someone to tutor the boy and keep them silent.
But... why should it be Wei Wuxian to teach him? All he has now is his wicked tricks, and he can't brand the boy with the same. For all of his defensiveness over his own practices, there's no reason to turn to demonic cultivation when a proper core is still available. Yuan has what Wei Wuxian does not, there's no reason to stunt his growth. He can still teach him the Jiang sword forms, he likes those better than the Lan ones, but everything else? Perhaps the other father should handle those.
He'll ask Lan Zhan later what he thinks about teaching Yuan himself.
He finishes up with his hair, gathering it up in a loose braid that he'll sleep in later.]
But right now, it's time for you to pay attention to your husband, Lan Zhan. [With a grunt, he stands up again, and tugs on Lan Zhan's sleeve.] Give me a compliment.
Should it not be that you cast your eyes down demurely and await assessment?
( Really, isn't this more like having his compliment smuggled out of his hands at the market? Lan Wangji is a miserly flatterer, compelled to crisp, cautious silence by the sect's wan learnings. There is no beginning, no end to his reticence.
And now, Wei Ying begs him to transgress against delicacy with impunity. His mouth curls in a faint, studied grimace, tugging his own sleeve back — then eases, inevitably, once he takes in the look of Wei Ying, the soft, negligent warmth of his aspect.
He has not adorned himself to greet the world, only one man. For the first time, he glimpses Wei Ying at his most comfortable. A strange thought. )
You know better than to think I'm demure, Lan Zhan.
[He sits down before his husband, careful not to touch Yuan's bed or cause any vibration that might wake him. He refuses to be deterred by the way Lan Zhan pulls away, leaning in, placing his hand on his husband's arm instead.
He's learning how to push and pull when it comes to Lan Zhan's reticence, when he needs to retreat or else he won't get what he want, and when he needs to push the objective. His husband is shy, after all, like a fish that senses disturbance in the water.]
Now, if you think I'm pretty, give me a kiss. Our son is asleep, our duties are over, this time is for us.
( He knows better, far better, they both do. Is this, after all, not shy and maidenly Wei Ying, inching close and closer to Lan Wangji, stealing his warmth, his breath, his attention?
He is so very pretty, far more than mere words can reproduce. Lan Wangji's tongue slackens, his gaze sharpens. A predator, finally presented with prey worthy of his hunt. His hand reaches out, soft but carefully firm, to cup Wei Ying's jaw, drawing him inward until their lips cross, tenderly. Also prettily. Close-mouthed.
They have their child below, after all, and all that Lan Wangji may allow himself is a slow, gentle rippling of emotion, a quiet betrayal as he presses their lips together again and again. Then, he schools himself. )
[He's almost tempted to decline and insist on continuing here, but this is one of those times where he bows to Lan Zhan's wants instead of his own.
He pushes himself up to his feet, and holds his hand out for Lan Zhan.]
The screen. [A quick, easy answer because Wei Wuxian knows where he wants to kiss his husband, and it's somewhere that's easier to get to than the bathing area.]
( Like children, like fools, like ghosts. He takes Wei Ying's hand and half follows, half steers him, inevitably greedy, no better than his — husband at delaying their gratification.
He must, however, even once they've crawled behind the privacy screen, whose silks can only sketch a token gesture of protecting them. Truly, a child — no less, an infant — will never be put off chasing after them, by something so fragile. )
Zewu-Jun begs Yuan's company tomorrow. ( Nearly the day whole. At the very least, a sizeable number of hours. ) We could wisely wait.
[Wei Wuxian huffs as he wraps his arms around Lan Zhan's shoulders, silently demanding kisses again. He's pressed his nose at Lan Zhan's temple, breathing him in.]
You want me to wait to kiss my husband until tomorrow? [He raises an eyebrow.] Tomorrow, when we're going to Caiyi, with errands to run? Surrounded by people?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Wei Wuxian blinks once, twice to get the tears out of his eyes so he doesn't cry in front of Lan Zhan. Look at him! He's gotten so pathetic in the past months, worn down from poverty and desperation (and the resentment he plays with so much. but he will never admit that). Just... the care in which Lan Zhan is giving him, the insistence that he must have the same privileges as his own husband despite being a wanted criminal...
He shouldn't stick around, because even if his social standing is much stronger now, Lan Zhan's is sure to fall anyway. The lesser spouse gets elevated thanks to the marriage, but he doubts the same will be true of theirs when the Yiling Patriarch is involved. Not with the jianghu out for his blood.
But he can't leave. Lan Zhan is here, and he is everything.
Wei Wuxian stands, and offers him Yuan, a symbol of the response he can't give out loud, and all the things he can't say-- yet.]
Dear, darling husband, you're too good to me.
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The child is proffered onto him, a beautiful gift he cannot refuse, arms ready. He takes him, slow and far too careful, but learning as Wei Ying entrusts him. In the end, no man is born knowing how to handle children, and many father them. He, too, can decipher this.
On his chest, Yuan is a friendly weight, finding his own peace, cooing criticism that Lan Wangji's silks are too slippery and soft, while his small fists fail to gain purchase. Yes, yes. The world is unkind to young Yuan, personally. )
Then reward me. Enjoy your time here.
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And here Lan Zhan is, only asking for him to just enjoy time in this small space he's dug out for them, away from the politics and the death, the swords that want him and his dependents dead. This is all he wants. Even for everything else he'd demanded from Wei Wuxian previously, he can't help but take his husband at face value right now.
Oh, Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian cups his cheek, strokes it with a thumb. He loves this man as a friend, a soulmate and his perfect match, but Wei Wuxian knows he could come to see him the way a wife sees a husband, if given time in this relationship.
He wants to say all of it, but perhaps that would come out too sappy, and he refrains.]
I'll start now. Mind our son while I bathe? [The water has lessened and surely cooled down by now, but he'll accept even something freezing cold as long as it's clean.]
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They fit together, Lan Wangji half holding, half cradling him. Sharing his warmth, taking in his scent. Strange, how time gallops as he walks the child, as moments blink and trail together.
How he waits, gently, until Lan Yuan's breathing calms, and finally Wei Ying appears on the horizon. )
He sleeps. ( He sounds incredulous, to his own ear. )
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He steps out already dressed in his sleepclothes, hair unbound and curling slightly at the ends. At the sight of Lan Zhan holding A-Yuan, bewilderment all over his face, he has to smile, and leans against his husband's side.]
As with his proclivity for hugging legs, he is quite comfortable with people he likes.
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Then, Wei Ying is close, too close, and Lan Wangji takes a step back, then another, having found the clear contender for a-Yuan's attentions — and unwilling to surrender his charge. Let Wei Ying fight nobly for this rarely shared privilege. Lan Wangji will not surrender it of his own accord. )
You may oil your hair and balm your skin. ( In other words, Wei Ying may distract himself, while Lan Wangji shamelessly takes advantage of Yuan's warmth. )
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Why is he not fine with physical contact now? Has he finally woken up and realized that he doesn't actually like Wei Wuxian? Did he get what he wanted from Wei Wuxian, a child, and now he was preparing to throw him away?
No, wait.
Breathe.
It's fine, they're fine, this is not a rejection of him.
Perhaps he just doesn't appreciate feeling damp hair on his shoulder through his clothes. Or perhaps he doesn't want all that hair dripping on Yuan and waking him. See? A perfectly mundane reason that has nothing to do with his feelings about Wei Wuxian. He drops his hand and tucks it behind his back with the other.]
Does my husband want me pretty for him? I'm so out of practice, but for you? I'll try remembering how to do it.
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...already pretty.
( And he murmurs sweet nonsense against the child's ear, until it's Yuan who turns around, who points Wei Ying's way and proclaims, yes. 'Pretty!' And Lan Wangji can only hum along and still, ultimately nod the way of his small vanity, where a scant selection of oils and his jade comb sleep.
Perhaps unseemly, to assume that Wei Ying will not be offended by sharing, but there is nothing else available. He must learn, as they all did, to compromise at Cloud Recesses. Earthly possessions are but a summer dream. )
There, if you wish. ( What is Lan Wangji's is apparently also his new husband's. ) Oils, scents. Have your fill.
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Ah?
Wait, wait, wait! [He flaps his hands, inadvertently making Yuan giggle softly in Lan Zhan's arms. He drifts closer once more, then looks at the vanity. Then back to Lan Zhan's face, staring at him in wonder.]
Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan... did you just call me pretty?
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He searches the answer in Yuan's face, finds the boy flushed and burrowing his head in Wangji's own shoulder. Ah, they are useless, even together. Lan Wangji stands alone. )
...perhaps.
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Wei Wuxian is pretty?
If either of them had been anyone else, the word could have been considered an insult instead, because men are not pretty. There would have been fists flying, loud arguments that would make the child cry. But they are Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, they are a newlywed cutsleeve couple made of two of the most famous young masters of their generation. Wei Wuxian has called himself mother and wife in secret, even if he demanded the word "husband" from Lan Zhan.
Suddenly it seems as if there's less space in Wei Wuxian's chest, his heart feels so large and he is too aware of it by half.]
Lan Zhan... Tomorrow. I will make myself pretty for you tomorrow. For tonight... I just want to look at you.
I'm dumbstruck! [Even if he continues to talk.] I have no words! This compliment from my husband, how can I think to do anything else but watch him?
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( He mutters and casts his gaze aside, because Wei Ying is Wei Ying is Wei Ying, and his teasing is boundless, and Yuan, already sneakily trying to snooze, shouldn't be exposed to it. With a sigh, Lan Wangji trots them the way of the bed's side, casting his fool of a husband a questioning glance. )
Is it his rest hour? ( Certainly, children should be permitted sleep when they seek it, unless the Wen have insisted on a different style of education than Lan Wangji might intuitively recommend. They are, after all, better suited to direct the child's needs than a visitor in his day-to-day life. )
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... That might have been his plan all along. Damn it. Fine, Wei Wuxian will allow himself to be provoked. Challenged.]
Any time he feels tired after dinner is his sleeping hour, so if he feels tired now, he should sleep now. [Wei Wuxian gives a nod towards the bedding the boy used earlier.] Give him a few rocks until he's completely out, then a few pats when you set him down.
And in the meantime, I'll show you proper pretty.
[Then he sits at the vanity, taking up the comb and the arduous task of taming his hair.]
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He lingers, after, to simply watch him at his work of sleep, of falling in, of dozing tenderly. He suspects this is not a child who begrudges his elders, who thinks the lesser of them for their faults of care.
Already, he has accepted Lan Wangji's inadequacies with enviable resistance. )
He is developing a core. ( Sensed, earlier, when he gripped the child's wrist. ) Will you teach him the sword?
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I want to, but that will set him down a dangerous path.
If he wants to become a cultivator, I won't stop him, but he will need to abandon the Wen name. [He's not sure if he wants to demand that of Yuan. The sect's reputation may be completely unsalvageable, but he still has family that loves him. Wei Wuxian is willing to give him his name, but... Yuan has family.
That's the important part.]
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( Easy, candid, unrepentant. Any child of the Wen would have to consider defection, even if they had no formal allegiance with the main branch, to start. Impractical, to bear the inheritance of hatred and indignation that Ruohan and his sons roused. Obscene. Even Cloud Recesses would be slow to welcome him. )
Yet cultivation guarantees a longer life, better work. ( Cultivators suffer better fates than the peasant and villager classes, no matter their poverty. Kinder health, longer lives. Lan Wangji need not speak a truth so readily apparent.
Instead, he busies himself, after dropping Yuan into his nook of sheets, with covering and enshrouding him. )
He would benefit.
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I know. There's... just a lot to think about.
[Especially expenses. Any second-rate weapon won't do, he needs a proper sword forged to accept qi, but only select few blacksmiths can do so and they don't come cheap.
He could, perhaps, give the boy Suibian, but he doesn't even know where it is. It might be buried somewhere in his cave, or it might be back at Lotus Pier.]
He will need to want it first, as well. I don't want to teach an unwilling student. [All of them were willing because they were born into it. It was expected.
But Yuan? He's the scion of a dying sect, he has other choices, even if being a cultivator is objectively the best one.]
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Lan Wangji himself, a servant of discipline, still steered toward this particular temptation. The child they have now amid them is surely no different. But Wei Ying seems strangely distant from the notion, perhaps alienated by his own misadventures in the cultivation world.
There is no point, no virtue in pushing him. Lan Wangji busies himself with carding Yuan's hair off his forehead, sweeping it aside, whispering on over: )
There is time. ( For Yuan to grow, for Wei Ying to reconsider. )
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But... why should it be Wei Wuxian to teach him? All he has now is his wicked tricks, and he can't brand the boy with the same. For all of his defensiveness over his own practices, there's no reason to turn to demonic cultivation when a proper core is still available. Yuan has what Wei Wuxian does not, there's no reason to stunt his growth. He can still teach him the Jiang sword forms, he likes those better than the Lan ones, but everything else? Perhaps the other father should handle those.
He'll ask Lan Zhan later what he thinks about teaching Yuan himself.
He finishes up with his hair, gathering it up in a loose braid that he'll sleep in later.]
But right now, it's time for you to pay attention to your husband, Lan Zhan. [With a grunt, he stands up again, and tugs on Lan Zhan's sleeve.] Give me a compliment.
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( Really, isn't this more like having his compliment smuggled out of his hands at the market? Lan Wangji is a miserly flatterer, compelled to crisp, cautious silence by the sect's wan learnings. There is no beginning, no end to his reticence.
And now, Wei Ying begs him to transgress against delicacy with impunity. His mouth curls in a faint, studied grimace, tugging his own sleeve back — then eases, inevitably, once he takes in the look of Wei Ying, the soft, negligent warmth of his aspect.
He has not adorned himself to greet the world, only one man. For the first time, he glimpses Wei Ying at his most comfortable. A strange thought. )
...Wei Ying is pretty.
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[He sits down before his husband, careful not to touch Yuan's bed or cause any vibration that might wake him. He refuses to be deterred by the way Lan Zhan pulls away, leaning in, placing his hand on his husband's arm instead.
He's learning how to push and pull when it comes to Lan Zhan's reticence, when he needs to retreat or else he won't get what he want, and when he needs to push the objective. His husband is shy, after all, like a fish that senses disturbance in the water.]
Now, if you think I'm pretty, give me a kiss. Our son is asleep, our duties are over, this time is for us.
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He is so very pretty, far more than mere words can reproduce. Lan Wangji's tongue slackens, his gaze sharpens. A predator, finally presented with prey worthy of his hunt. His hand reaches out, soft but carefully firm, to cup Wei Ying's jaw, drawing him inward until their lips cross, tenderly. Also prettily. Close-mouthed.
They have their child below, after all, and all that Lan Wangji may allow himself is a slow, gentle rippling of emotion, a quiet betrayal as he presses their lips together again and again. Then, he schools himself. )
The bathing room, or the privacy screen.
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He pushes himself up to his feet, and holds his hand out for Lan Zhan.]
The screen. [A quick, easy answer because Wei Wuxian knows where he wants to kiss his husband, and it's somewhere that's easier to get to than the bathing area.]
Let's kiss until hai shi, all right?
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He must, however, even once they've crawled behind the privacy screen, whose silks can only sketch a token gesture of protecting them. Truly, a child — no less, an infant — will never be put off chasing after them, by something so fragile. )
Zewu-Jun begs Yuan's company tomorrow. ( Nearly the day whole. At the very least, a sizeable number of hours. ) We could wisely wait.
( But then, they are and will remain fools. )
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You want me to wait to kiss my husband until tomorrow? [He raises an eyebrow.] Tomorrow, when we're going to Caiyi, with errands to run? Surrounded by people?
[And when has Wei Wuxian ever been wise?]
Does your affection have a limit?
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