( ...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?
...precisely not. ( And does Wei Ying require an explanation? A demonstration? A humble collection of every available dot, as Lan Wangji gazes deeply, meaningfully, shamefully in his sharp eyes?
He should know, surely. He is a man, however more beautiful, more overwhelming than most. He should understand that affection brimming and brimming and brimming will surely, after some time —
Kiss, husband. [He tugs on Lan Zhan's sleeve again, insistent and shameless. What does a man have to do to get a scrap of affection from his husband around here.] Kiss me like you did earlier. Do you remember?
I told you.
[Then he moves, nose now pressing against Lan Zhan's cheek.]
Then we can negotiate about what to do tomorrow-- tomorrow.
( Kiss. And he drew Wei Ying here, at Lan Wangji's own invitation, and surely, surely he cannot pull back now. He would be a fool too. Is one still, overcome with faint yearning, slowly convincing himself that if only he heeds Wei Ying, no harm can be born of it.
They are grown men, after all. Men of discipline, of virtue. Kiss me like you did earlier.
And so, Lan Wangji does, careful in his downward sweep, hushing Wei Ying silent with an open-mouthed invitation, licking at his lower lip, teasing it open. Tongue to tongue, and breaths and moans exchanged, until Lan Wangji is flush and craving. )
[Wei Wuxian throws himself into the kiss in the way opposite of before, when he wasn't an active participant in their past encounters. He tries his best despite his lack of experience, his husband the only one he's ever kissed in his life. Then he moans as the kiss goes on, feeling his legs grow weak and he's succumbing to Lan Zhan's strength once more.
Then, he remembers. The particular weight of those lips, the feeling of that tongue in his mouth, the taste.
Panting as he looks at Lan Zhan through a haze, he thinks he understands.]
Lan Zhan-- at the Baifeng mountain hunt... [That damn hunt. His martial sister and the peacock, and that noisy Jin and all those rumors.] That was you?
[Not a maiden, but Lan Zhan? Lan Zhan is a shy maiden?]
( ...ah. Not, he thinks, what he had wanted Wei Ying to understand, but not an unfair conclusion. Some part of him thinks, he had anticipated the epiphany. The gradual erosion of memory and Wei Ying's own shock at the circumstances of his first kiss might have helped remove it from his general awareness —
But there is a scent, a likeness, a force only Lan Wangji may impose, and he has betrayed himself. So close, he can see the silvered glimmer of Wei Ying's gem-shining eyes, the dark umbrage of his lashes. Wants to kiss him again, to silence Lan Wangji's own heart, and Wei Ying's mouth.
He should learn to lie, urgently and feverishly. Can't. Takes a step back, then another, staring — back nearly stumbling into the privacy screen, gently rattling it. )
[Wei Wuxian's mouth hangs open as Lan Zhan does not deny it, or seem confused at the question, and immediately he knows what the answer is-- what Lan Zhan doesn't say. Lying is forbidden, after all.
He's so stunned that he doesn't know what to do when Lan Zhan moves away, except follow him like a lost puppy. Lan Zhan? Kissed him? Why? He's so reserved, and he doesn't like touching people. He doesn't like people, in general. So why would he do that? Then Wei Wuxian thinks back to their wedding day, their elopement and the discussion they had after. He can only imagine that Lan Zhan did it not only because Wei Wuxian wanted it, but so did he.
That's just...
Returning to Yuan's side, Wei Wuxian buries his face into Lan Zhan's shoulder.]
Don't push me away, or pull back. Just let me be here for a moment.
[He needs a little time to understand this, to adjust his entire worldview. Because things have changed now that he knows this one thing.
( Push him away, pull back. Where might he? There's hardly room between them for words, let alone effort. Wei Ying clings to him, pressure of his warmth a burning mark on Lan Wanghji's back.
He breathes with it. Shutters his eyes. Is, is, is. And startles himself apart and awake, stirring only to peel himself away from the proposition of falling asleep like this, too well comforted. Before him, Yuan has already jumped to that conclusion.
They sit, on the edge of the bed, in perfect, unadulterated stillness. Then, his hand fishes back to clutch Wei Ying's, clumsy. )
You catch cold easier than before. ( Wei Ying's golden core must be no match for the chills of Cloud Recesses. )
Would it be worth asking Lan Zhan how long he's held this torch? When it was lit?
No, perhaps not. Wei Wuxian would just be consumed by guilt and sadness because of all the time they lost, and the childhood they lost when they could have been more than just friends. They could have had more than three bows in their normal clothes. Then he might run out of the Jingshi and into the cold, and then he'd expire without his golden core to save him from the elements. Make Lan Zhan a widower a week after their marriage, and Yuan an orphan. Again.
That's one thing he has to come clean about, isn't it? He's not sure if he can do it right now, unless Lan Zhan pushes.]
Sunshot wasn't kind to me. [Sunshot, not his cultivation.]
( ...no. Sunshot wasn't. The world, after, treated him no kinder.
And yet here Wei Ying is, standing despite everything. A creature of loss and grief and unmistakable triumph, of beauty beyond compare. This hand that squeezes his own is cold, but Lan Wangji's core thrums strong, and his blood warms for two.
He catches his husband's wan, sickly hand, and brings it up between his two, carefully applying friction, and breathing hotly against the fingertips. Once. Again. Whatever their relationship, whatever the day's revelations, what little or much Wei Ying may want of him — friend, foe or lover, Lan Wangji can always offer this. )
It's only one hand. ( Murmured, far too quiet. Beside them, Yuan snores reedily. ) I have two.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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He should know, surely. He is a man, however more beautiful, more overwhelming than most. He should understand that affection brimming and brimming and brimming will surely, after some time —
...spill.
They cannot, with a child present. )
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I told you.
[Then he moves, nose now pressing against Lan Zhan's cheek.]
Then we can negotiate about what to do tomorrow-- tomorrow.
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They are grown men, after all. Men of discipline, of virtue. Kiss me like you did earlier.
And so, Lan Wangji does, careful in his downward sweep, hushing Wei Ying silent with an open-mouthed invitation, licking at his lower lip, teasing it open. Tongue to tongue, and breaths and moans exchanged, until Lan Wangji is flush and craving. )
Do you not understand?
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Then, he remembers. The particular weight of those lips, the feeling of that tongue in his mouth, the taste.
Panting as he looks at Lan Zhan through a haze, he thinks he understands.]
Lan Zhan-- at the Baifeng mountain hunt... [That damn hunt. His martial sister and the peacock, and that noisy Jin and all those rumors.] That was you?
[Not a maiden, but Lan Zhan? Lan Zhan is a shy maiden?]
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But there is a scent, a likeness, a force only Lan Wangji may impose, and he has betrayed himself. So close, he can see the silvered glimmer of Wei Ying's gem-shining eyes, the dark umbrage of his lashes. Wants to kiss him again, to silence Lan Wangji's own heart, and Wei Ying's mouth.
He should learn to lie, urgently and feverishly. Can't. Takes a step back, then another, staring — back nearly stumbling into the privacy screen, gently rattling it. )
Let us return to Yuan.
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He's so stunned that he doesn't know what to do when Lan Zhan moves away, except follow him like a lost puppy. Lan Zhan? Kissed him? Why? He's so reserved, and he doesn't like touching people. He doesn't like people, in general. So why would he do that? Then Wei Wuxian thinks back to their wedding day, their elopement and the discussion they had after. He can only imagine that Lan Zhan did it not only because Wei Wuxian wanted it, but so did he.
That's just...
Returning to Yuan's side, Wei Wuxian buries his face into Lan Zhan's shoulder.]
Don't push me away, or pull back. Just let me be here for a moment.
[He needs a little time to understand this, to adjust his entire worldview. Because things have changed now that he knows this one thing.
lan Zhan likes him. More than, in fact.]
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He breathes with it. Shutters his eyes. Is, is, is. And startles himself apart and awake, stirring only to peel himself away from the proposition of falling asleep like this, too well comforted. Before him, Yuan has already jumped to that conclusion.
They sit, on the edge of the bed, in perfect, unadulterated stillness. Then, his hand fishes back to clutch Wei Ying's, clumsy. )
You catch cold easier than before. ( Wei Ying's golden core must be no match for the chills of Cloud Recesses. )
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Would it be worth asking Lan Zhan how long he's held this torch? When it was lit?
No, perhaps not. Wei Wuxian would just be consumed by guilt and sadness because of all the time they lost, and the childhood they lost when they could have been more than just friends. They could have had more than three bows in their normal clothes. Then he might run out of the Jingshi and into the cold, and then he'd expire without his golden core to save him from the elements. Make Lan Zhan a widower a week after their marriage, and Yuan an orphan. Again.
That's one thing he has to come clean about, isn't it? He's not sure if he can do it right now, unless Lan Zhan pushes.]
Sunshot wasn't kind to me. [Sunshot, not his cultivation.]
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And yet here Wei Ying is, standing despite everything. A creature of loss and grief and unmistakable triumph, of beauty beyond compare. This hand that squeezes his own is cold, but Lan Wangji's core thrums strong, and his blood warms for two.
He catches his husband's wan, sickly hand, and brings it up between his two, carefully applying friction, and breathing hotly against the fingertips. Once. Again. Whatever their relationship, whatever the day's revelations, what little or much Wei Ying may want of him — friend, foe or lover, Lan Wangji can always offer this. )
It's only one hand. ( Murmured, far too quiet. Beside them, Yuan snores reedily. ) I have two.
( He can bear this burden for both. )
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