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.
[One hand for himself, and the other for...? Yuan, he imagines. He hopes that, when the time comes, he saves their child first.]
Such a strong, caring husband and father. [He kisses Lan Zhan's temple.]
But Lan Zhan, I can take care of myself too. [Even without a golden core, and even if he sets the demonic cultivation that his husband hates so much, he can do something.] No one can beat me when it comes to talismans.
Don't shoulder everything yourself, or you will make your husband cry.
( Purposeful, proud. Perhaps, in its own way, mean. He speaks ill of Wei Ying, of his motives, because was it not mere days ago that this same vaunted Patriarch refused Lan Wangji the pleasure of his company? That he rejected orthodoxy and every step along the righteous path?
It has not been Lan Wangji who has sought distance, but Wei Ying who has proudly, unerringly requested it. Who has softened now, but retains his glacial manner, to call upon at a whim.
Still, Lan Wangji does not relinquish his hand, brings it up to his mouth again. Gives it its rightful worship. )
Sleep. I shall take the floor. ( Better, after the latest revelation, to bide Wei Ying some privacy for himself and his thoughts. )
No. [A swift, immediate answer, punctuated with another squeeze of Lan Zhan's hand.]
You will be in bed with me. We spoke about this before.
[Wei Wuxian uses a tone that brooks no argument. He wants his husband sleeping beside him, in his bed where he should be, rather than on the floor. Wei Wuxian is many things, but not so boorish as to demand a host sleep on the floor while his guest takes the bed.]
Before. ( He agrees, and need say no further: before Wei Ying had his revelation regarding Phoenix Mountain, before he took oils and salves and made himself — pretty, before Lan Wangji foolishly betrayed himself.
Before an innocent visit, barely tarnished by scant kisses, became a marriage in both formality and expectations. Now, strangely, with their bonds known — they should be more distant. Now, they should take their precautions, lest they wound their hearts. )
Will have a second bed brought tomorrow. ( Only, in truth, one evening's discomfort. Cloud Recesses is not so impoverished that they cannot afford such accommodations, no matter the toll of war. )
[There he goes again. Insisting on distance, on keeping himself away when he was the one to invite Wei Wuxian here, to incite many of the things happening. Wei Wuxian is, frankly, starting to get tired of this.]
No, we will sleep on one bed, together. [He stands, clenching his fists, shaking but trying to hold in his grief.]
If you insist keeping your distance for the entirety of my stay, then I might as well return to Yiling right now-- there is no point in putting up with this for a week. Who would ever want their husband to stay away from them for no reason after being asked to come?
( He should compromise, walk back his pronouncement. Engage in some manner of negotiation. But a war's only thieved them of their loved ones, not granted them wholesale maturity. Even Lan Wangji, face marred by a far-deep frown, can be unfairly stubborn.
And so, he snatches his abandoned hand away, staring up where Wei Ying is already looming, without fear or falter. )
Is my company worth nothing?
( That it should be so readily relinquished, if it does not come adorned in kisses and commitments. )
[Oh Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian is so mad, he wants to let it all out, but he can't because there's a child right at their feet. All he can do is hiss out admonishments, his eyes turning red from resentment.]
It's worth everything! I come here willingly for you, at your invitation, and I indulge all of your requests-- and now suddenly you don't want to share space with me? You don't want to touch me?
You make me want your company and then strip it away? You treat me like I'm filthy and unwanted now that I know how you feel?
It hurts. [His breath comes out as a wheeze from the effort of keeping himself contained, the rant unpleasant in his chest and throat. The cold in the Cloud Recesses is difficult enough to handle, but he's also still quite tired from the trip from the Burial Mounds.]
( Filthy. Unwanted. Has anyone said so? Would anyone have presumed? Wei Ying rants and hisses and acts as if he is the perpetual victim of Lan Wangji's wavering loyalties — but was he not the same man who avoided him, previously, at every step?
Between them, Yuan curls up abed, showing faint signs of stirring that only the immediate brush of Lan Wangji's warm hand calms. Soothing, gently easing, sinking back to sleep.
His glance turns away to Wei Ying once more, gilded but gelid. )
Will you be satisfied, having wrenched this from my hands?
You didn't let me think too deeply about it, so how would I know? I know nothing anymore. You're just making decisions without me, even though we're married.
[His words are spiteful and angry-- and a lie. He was already thinking deeply about it, and coming to terms. And thinking back to the time that he imagined it would be all right that he married Lan Zhan, that he could come to love that man the way a proper spouse should. He has all these words, and yet doesn't speak them.
He starts to stride towards his clothes, left near the privacy screen, folded messily but out of the way. Still a bit wet from his escapades in helping Yuan bathe, and the drying not helped by the way they were handled. The overcoat itself is drenched and unfit for keeping anyone warm.
He'll still attempt to tug them on though, hands shaking and fingers uncoordinated from emotion, face flushed with much the same. Maybe more.]
( Barely a marriage, this. Barely the conceit of it. Two arrogant children playing pretend with rites they are too immature to entertain. He knows his fault in this, knows the risks of the conversation they're not having.
And of continuing to avoid it.
Already, Wei Ying is planning his violent retreat, dragging his clothes on, exuding irritation that Lan Wangji can neither quantify, nor calm. He thinks to move, to lay a hand on him, to stop him. Stays beside Yuan, as if he draws strength from this child, this beautiful beacon of innocence, hanging.
And then finally, emptily, he says: )
I am not... as expedient as you. I require time. To think. Breathe. ( Be. ) I only ask that.
["Expedient". Ah, yes, once again this is about Wei Wuxian's lack of morals. Is Lan Zhan incapable of coming to terms with loving someone as evil as him?]
And then what? I don't know what you want, Lan Zhan. I don't know anymore.
What do you actually want from me? How must I give you that space?
[A demand as he whirls around, overcoat on his shoulders but no other layers added to his outfit. A demand punctuated by a cough because the wet clothes are definitely not helping with his health. He's stressed, tired, and intending to go out into the night and spend it under the stars like this. And he doesn't give a damn.]
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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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Such a strong, caring husband and father. [He kisses Lan Zhan's temple.]
But Lan Zhan, I can take care of myself too. [Even without a golden core, and even if he sets the demonic cultivation that his husband hates so much, he can do something.] No one can beat me when it comes to talismans.
Don't shoulder everything yourself, or you will make your husband cry.
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( Purposeful, proud. Perhaps, in its own way, mean. He speaks ill of Wei Ying, of his motives, because was it not mere days ago that this same vaunted Patriarch refused Lan Wangji the pleasure of his company? That he rejected orthodoxy and every step along the righteous path?
It has not been Lan Wangji who has sought distance, but Wei Ying who has proudly, unerringly requested it. Who has softened now, but retains his glacial manner, to call upon at a whim.
Still, Lan Wangji does not relinquish his hand, brings it up to his mouth again. Gives it its rightful worship. )
Sleep. I shall take the floor. ( Better, after the latest revelation, to bide Wei Ying some privacy for himself and his thoughts. )
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You will be in bed with me. We spoke about this before.
[Wei Wuxian uses a tone that brooks no argument. He wants his husband sleeping beside him, in his bed where he should be, rather than on the floor. Wei Wuxian is many things, but not so boorish as to demand a host sleep on the floor while his guest takes the bed.]
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Before an innocent visit, barely tarnished by scant kisses, became a marriage in both formality and expectations. Now, strangely, with their bonds known — they should be more distant. Now, they should take their precautions, lest they wound their hearts. )
Will have a second bed brought tomorrow. ( Only, in truth, one evening's discomfort. Cloud Recesses is not so impoverished that they cannot afford such accommodations, no matter the toll of war. )
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No, we will sleep on one bed, together. [He stands, clenching his fists, shaking but trying to hold in his grief.]
If you insist keeping your distance for the entirety of my stay, then I might as well return to Yiling right now-- there is no point in putting up with this for a week. Who would ever want their husband to stay away from them for no reason after being asked to come?
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And so, he snatches his abandoned hand away, staring up where Wei Ying is already looming, without fear or falter. )
Is my company worth nothing?
( That it should be so readily relinquished, if it does not come adorned in kisses and commitments. )
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It's worth everything! I come here willingly for you, at your invitation, and I indulge all of your requests-- and now suddenly you don't want to share space with me? You don't want to touch me?
You make me want your company and then strip it away? You treat me like I'm filthy and unwanted now that I know how you feel?
It hurts. [His breath comes out as a wheeze from the effort of keeping himself contained, the rant unpleasant in his chest and throat. The cold in the Cloud Recesses is difficult enough to handle, but he's also still quite tired from the trip from the Burial Mounds.]
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Between them, Yuan curls up abed, showing faint signs of stirring that only the immediate brush of Lan Wangji's warm hand calms. Soothing, gently easing, sinking back to sleep.
His glance turns away to Wei Ying once more, gilded but gelid. )
Will you be satisfied, having wrenched this from my hands?
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[His words are spiteful and angry-- and a lie. He was already thinking deeply about it, and coming to terms. And thinking back to the time that he imagined it would be all right that he married Lan Zhan, that he could come to love that man the way a proper spouse should. He has all these words, and yet doesn't speak them.
He starts to stride towards his clothes, left near the privacy screen, folded messily but out of the way. Still a bit wet from his escapades in helping Yuan bathe, and the drying not helped by the way they were handled. The overcoat itself is drenched and unfit for keeping anyone warm.
He'll still attempt to tug them on though, hands shaking and fingers uncoordinated from emotion, face flushed with much the same. Maybe more.]
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And of continuing to avoid it.
Already, Wei Ying is planning his violent retreat, dragging his clothes on, exuding irritation that Lan Wangji can neither quantify, nor calm. He thinks to move, to lay a hand on him, to stop him. Stays beside Yuan, as if he draws strength from this child, this beautiful beacon of innocence, hanging.
And then finally, emptily, he says: )
I am not... as expedient as you. I require time. To think. Breathe. ( Be. ) I only ask that.
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And then what? I don't know what you want, Lan Zhan. I don't know anymore.
What do you actually want from me? How must I give you that space?
[A demand as he whirls around, overcoat on his shoulders but no other layers added to his outfit. A demand punctuated by a cough because the wet clothes are definitely not helping with his health. He's stressed, tired, and intending to go out into the night and spend it under the stars like this. And he doesn't give a damn.]
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