wuding | yiling.

yiling.

( He had anticipated silence, nightmarish husking, a slaughter of dust and dreams. A vast, unending emptiness of possibility.

Instead, Yiling surprised him: in the wake of the war that toppled the Yiling Patriarch and his restitution thirteen years after, the village has thrived, a convenient settlement at crossed roads. The markets lack exotic produce or sophisticated offerings, but excel in popularity. Those who must eat will have their fill. The roads accept visitors, bandits still banished by the specter of the Patriarch that is said to still manifest against wrongdoers on his grounds. Yunmeng's commerce is, if not wholly restored, then tentatively rejuvenating.

They arrive on lukewarm morning, Yiling clinging to its suffocating humidity even at the turn of seasons. Begging leave of his retinue, the acting sect leader has entrusted Sizhui and Uncle Qiren to watch over the clan — and now only carries their wares, dragging Little Apple by a soft lead. The donkey trots obediently, sparing unconvinced glances each way as if to transmit that it is an animal debased by these surroundings and prefers a hey of higher quality.

They enter the village, well ahead of Wei Ying's distant cave settlement, on foot &dmash; to vocal offers of carrot, winter melon and... of course he buys a bundle of turnips, paying twice the local going rate, and still not half of what might be charged in Jinlintai. Appeased, the old lady that descended on him withdraws, patting her belly, then her thinning basket of goods, because, ah, what a day.

Lan Wangji, trailing after his husband, is still a little aghast and confused after his ambush. )

I believe they like me here. ( Certainly, they like his silver. )

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I believe in our odds.

( Arrogantly spoken, but Wei Ying has successfully loosened his limbs, eradicating the last of his tension until Lan Wangji sprawls, drumming his fingertips over his lover's shin and hip.

In truth, Wei Ying makes a diplomatic proposition: they should have approached Jiang Cheng and served him notice of their arrival and intentions to act on their lands. If nothing else, then because Lan Wangji currently serves as the acting leader of a sect, and to die on Jiang Cheng's territory would leave the head of Yunmeng in the tenuous position of fending accusation of malice, sabotage or neglect.

Still, he bristles when he hears the words spoken, shooting Wei Ying a sharpened glance, before accepting his husband close. )

Shall avoid the blood pool, if necessary.

[He doesn’t wither in the wake of that look Lan Zhan gives him. He expects that sort of thing whenever he has the audacity to speak of Jiang Cheng. Instead, he kisses that grumpy little nose and lures him back to rest by caressing his cheek.]

It’s okay, Lan Zhan. If you want to look into the blood pool, I won’t stop you. [Who is he to police the center of their work? Besides, he’s feeling a lot better about the whole thing after the resolution to their fight.] I was jealous before, but I trust you’re strong enough to not touch it no matter what it shows you.

[After the fact, he feels pretty embarrassed about getting jealous of the specter of himself. It’s just that seeing Lan Zhan looking so soft and loving towards something besides him had gotten under his skin.]

I know it showed you me from back then. Do you want to talk about it? What was I doing?

( Does he wish to speak of it? For a moment, he is tempted to deny Wei Ying the knowledge, to grasp it with both hands and draw it to his chest, and to keep it as it is and was, his and his alone. His truth, his memories.

But then, this is the man whose face he saw, the half of his heart who bares himself. He is owed, in between slow kisses, more than Lan Wangji's silence. )

Only gazing back. ( Insufficient, as explanations go, when Lan Wangji's adoring fixation was clearly palpable — at least, enough so that Wei Ying felt compelled to remark on it. )

More than thirteen years have passed. The recollection of a face... erodes with time. To see it again, in all its glory — only wished to consign it to memory. To hold it close.

( To have this Wei Ying, now so very lost, beside him for a moment longer. )

[He’d just been looking back at Lan Zhan and it was still enough for his husband to worship that image. He smiles a little this time having become content with the idea of Lan Zhan’s love for his old face. The kissing is a good reminder that Lan Zhan still loves him just as much regardless of which body he’s in.]

I wonder if it would show me the same image if I looked into it. [He probably wouldn’t be so lucky, but he thinks he could sketch his old face if he could only see it again. It would be a bittersweet gift for Lan Zhan.] Even if it doesn’t, you can look at it as much as you need to.

[He thinks for a few moments, stilling his wandering hand.] You’ll be able to help cleanse the blood pool even if it means you’ll lose the ability to see the old me? [It would be more of a sacrifice than he had initially thought. He doesn’t know if he would be strong enough to give up his only way to see Lan Zhan if their roles were reversed.]

( Of course Wei Ying, perennially attuned to his needs, will also rush to decipher the latest possibility for discomfort. They both know the truth of it: that Lan Wangji has already completed his mourning, that he has no claim to the flesh of a man who would not accept it, at the time when he bore it.

Still, gaze soft and diffusing, he aches to think of renouncing that last vestige of Wei Ying, also. Perhaps, if a painter could be commissioned —

But then, how might he justify himself? How can he ever ask his husband to forgive such an inevitable betrayal? How would he even procure the services of a man of the arts open and willing to expose himself to the hateful claws of the Burial Mounds' waiting ghosts? And for what? So that Lan Wangji might satisfy his most shameful whims? Enough of his madness.

He nods, at first hesitantly, then gaining strength. ) I have no right to that man.

[He wonders what’s going on in Lan Zhan’s mind as he chews on the question. It must be difficult to face this old grief.

When he first invited Lan Zhan to purify the blood pool with him, he had no idea that it would fight back in this particular way. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have invited Lan Zhan in the first place. Not for jealousy, but for the opening of old wounds.]

You have a right to all of me, Lan Zhan. I give myself to you freely; past, present, and future.

[He strokes Lan Zhan’s cheek gently, kissing his lips a few indulgent times.] If you say you’ll be able to finish this work we’ve started, then that’s all I need to know.

[And if Lan Zhan couldn’t finish the work? Well, he could always try to do it himself, but it’s more likely that he’d walk away from it now and readdress the issue once he has a breakthrough in his methods. He’d been ill-prepared for the cave’s influence today, but he won’t let that happen again.]

( They appear, for the first time in their evening, well in step and helplessly infatuated, turning into each other and their respective caresses. Lan Wangji's mouth trails over the column of his husband's neck, barely kissing, so much as scent marking. Wei Ying. His Wei Ying, won fairly, wrenched from himself.

Will he able to complete his work? His arms draw tight and steeling around Wei Ying, and he knows all too readily that he cannot fail his husband. Cannot allow him to fight these demons lone and bare. )

Who would I be, if I allowed you to suffer alone? ( If Wei Ying were committed to hardship, while Lan Wangji only sits idly by to watch? That has never been his appetite, his inclination. )

Together. After your sleep, together.

[It feels like they’re both boneless, joining together fluidly in their mutual affection and exhaustion. He still has work he wants to do before he sleeps and inevitably forgets, but he doesn’t want to pry himself out of his husband’s arms. Not that he could once Lan Zhan squeezes him close.]

Good point. If there’s anything I can count on, it’s your love. I don’t like you suffering, though. [But there’s no getting out of that now that they’ve seen their prey’s response to threat.]

Together. [As it should always be when it’s the two of them. He’d let that slip earlier today and look what happened. They’d been divided and rendered ineffectual. They’re lucky the spirits in the cave wanted them to stay instead of wanting to hurt them.]

If I sleep in too much, you can always wake me with your hands or your mouth. [It’s the only way to get him out of bed in a good mood.]

Did pledge to take what is mine how I find it. ( He murmurs wistfully, taken with the look of Wei Ying molten in his arms, slowly relinquishing the last of the tension that upheld him. He kisses the edge of his husband's temple, the bridge of his nose, the swell of his cheek. Then, good-natured: )

Perhaps, if Wei Ying emerges victorious, I shall satisfy him for his reward. ( As if they don't both know every day means every day, and twice on a holiday. As if anything, anyone could hold Lan Wangji back — barring Wei Ying himself, in his rare fits of stubborn pride after conjugal quarrel. )

My husband must earn his revelry. ( Presumably, by breathing. By being. No man has more readily and simply won his privileges than Wei Wuxian, batting his lashes. )

Yeah, that’s right. I don’t usually look forward to waking up in the morning, but you’ve convinced me.

[He stifles his yawn by pressing his face against Lan Zhan. The longer he stays in his husband’s arms, the more he wants to just stay in bed. He’s sure Lan Zhan would be happy if he stays, too. How could he be so cruel to leave his beautiful husband in bed all alone for over a shi before he joins him?]

If I have to earn it, it has to be special. What will you do with me after I succeed? [Because he will succeed. Maybe not tomorrow or the next day, but he’ll chip away at it until the blood pool is cleansed. At the very least, he’ll release the spirits of the Wen remnants who had been dumped into it after their murder.

He kisses the closest patch of Lan Zhan’s skin, then nudges his nose against it.] You smell good, Lan Zhan. [Like sandalwood and their joined sweat.]

I smell of you.

( He corrects, half laughing, because Wei Ying's natural partisanship shows its true colours when he basks in the brilliance of his own scent, shed and immersing Lan Wangji's limbs. Gently, his hand cards through his lover's hair, grateful for the incremental loosening of its knots, the return of its natural softness. )

After you succeed... ( And he lets it linger between them, the quiet and weighted certainty of Wei Ying's triumph before all who oppose him, and especially the dead who should kiss his feet. ) Perhaps I shall allow the Patriarch to ravish a virtuous creature, as is his renowned habit.

( Was this not the Patriarch's reputation, after all? That he abducted virgins and made of their dignity and virtue and innocence what he would? Surely, Lan Wangji can, if not play the part for his absurd lack of pretense, then at least summon back his flushing bashfulness long enough to appeal. )

Like us. [He giggles too, taking another deep inhalation of their musk and the residual scent of their bathing oils. It’s strange that even though he’s in a body he wasn’t born in, he’s become so accustomed to this one’s natural smell that he takes comfort in it.]

My very own virgin to do with as I please. [They’ve only done it with him on top a handful of times and it’s been a little while, so Lan Zhan’s body should respond perfectly for his role.] I’ll take good care of you, Lan Zhan. You’ll be so pleased you’ll beg to stay in the Patriarch’s domain.

[He pries himself away just enough to nudge at Lan Zhan’s face until he can kiss him again and again. Over his cheeks and forehead and mouth.] You’ll steal this Patriarch’s heart and then you’ll never be able to get rid of him. [Something that couldn’t happen back then because they were following different paths. As much as he likes the idea of them coming together when he still had his own body, he wouldn’t have wanted Lan Zhan to throw his life away just to be with him. Chances are, they would have both been dead by the end of it if that had happened.]

Have I not already? ( He offers with a drawling sigh, arms catching around Wei Ying's waist all of a sudden to entrap him after his husband has littered strange, breezy kisses over his cheeks.

Unbidden, he rolls them over, Wei Ying entrapped beneath his form again, their mouths colliding in a soft, trickling litany. He does not mean to excite his husband, as much as merely submerge them in the seas of Lan Wangji's own and their combined scent, their limbs entangled.

He drifts back only long enough to press his nose to Wei Ying's cheek, then the crook of his neck, unhelpfully agitating them both with reminders of what they had only just completed, the stirrings of his body sharpened. There is a beauty in Wei Ying, a constancy to his allure, a savage call. He inhales him. )

How have I failed to? ( And softer: ) Wei Ying. Teach me. I must take this seriously. Must seduce the Patriarch wholly. Tell me how to please him.

No, no, you have. [He says it softly, but doesn’t think much of it once he’s on his back. He sighs through his nose, letting himself be lured back into kissing his beautiful husband. His hands wander up Lan Zhan’s sides, fingertips pressing into the uneven expanse of skin.

His body’s still young and even though neither is trying to excite, he can’t help but react to the quiet passion. He tilts his head back and enjoys the feeling of his husband’s lips on his skin.]

Lan Zhan, you haven’t failed in anything. [He lifts his hips up once, just to make it evident that he’s already in the process of being seduced even though they’ve only just recovered from earlier loving.] But if you’re my virgin Hanguang-Jun, then I’ll be the one to seduce you. I could bind you and do all sorts of things to your body until all you know is want and pleasure. Would you like that, Lan Zhan?

( Ah. There are times when he forgets himself, neglecting Wei Ying's quandary of being perpetually entrapped in a young, luscious body that cannot contain the stirrings of its arousal. He sighs, inevitably apologetic, pressing down on Wei Ying's need in recognition of its rising heat, before bracketing his husband's head to kiss him again thoroughly and devastate him.

Hello, beautiful creature. Beloved. ) How may I make myself pleasing for the Patriarch's abduction?

( And softer, measured, struggling to fall into the part of the innocent of Gusu Lan, but slowly dipping into its requirements: ) We are sheltered in Cloud Recesses.

( Do not lie. But then, he speaks no falsehood, does not exaggerate. Cloud Recesses is renowned for discipline, sooner than defilement. He presents only the predictable picture of a worthy scion. )

I may fail to excite him.

[A quiet moan catches in his throat as his hips rise a second time to savor the sweet friction. His mild want easily transforms into fully formed desire under Lan Zhan’s expert kissing. By now, they both know what the other likes in a kiss. Nipping, teasing, tongues battling for dominance - and who is he kidding, Lan Zhan always ‘wins’ in that last category.

He should be considerate and warn Lan Zhan that he should stop now if he doesn’t mean to go the whole way with him a second time this evening.]

Kiss me. Tell me how you feel about me. Tell me why you want me to go with you to Gusu. Or show me. Get in my face and refuse to back down until one of us breaks and kisses the other. Hug me when you’re hard. Touch me. You can do anything you want, Lan Zhan. I love you, so I’ll want to tarnish your purity no matter what you do.

[He kisses Lan Zhan again, keeping it relatively brief this time.] Since you succeeded in taking me to Gusu with you, will you have me stay in the jingshi? We have a cold river nearby. I can catch the beautiful Hanguang-Jun having a bath or meditating.

I want to know how feel about me so I can tease you about it while I tease your body. How does that sound, Lan Zhan?

( Obediently, he lets his desire simmer, falling back and lightly away from Wei Ying, barring the few tender meetings of their mouths that his husband invites in the wake of their first few entanglements.

If they proceed now, Wei Ying will be left wanting — and time has taught Lan Wangji that where he can silently suffer through the ardors of sexual frustration, Wei Ying is... sullen when deprived. One of their deepest quarrels, he remembers, had its roots in Wei Ying's unmet wants. Shameless man.

After a moment, easing on his side, he watches his lover and does them both the courtesy of truly considering his words, of giving them his full and undeterred attention. And silently: )

Like something I might have dreamed of, once. ( Will it depress him to finally give life to that fantasy, or will it fulfill his deepest desire? Even he cannot say. )

Wei Ying. My love. Shall I tell you how I feel about you now?

( Too early by far to fit into the narrative of their 'first' consummation as the vicious, if subdued Yiling Patriarch and his despoiled victim — but there is a fondness in Lan Wangji, a sense of yearning that requires him to offer out his love. )

[A significant part of him doesn’t want to stop even as Lan Zhan distances himself. He could throw himself at Lan Zhan and bully his way into being bedded, but it wouldn’t feel as good to know it’s not what Lan Zhan wants. So he lets his husband pull back, but not far because he wraps his arms around his middle and stays close, yet obediently chaste if not for his half-engorged sex.]

I like when you look at me like this. [One more kiss on the cheek before he relaxes and gazes back at Lan Zhan. He could just lay here and study his husband’s face for a whole shi and not feel tired of it.]

I know how you feel about me. [They’ve been married for quite some time now, so why is it so easy to turn him into a blushing maiden? And it’s not even anything sexy doing it!] But… I suppose a reminder would be welcomed if you’re feeling inspired.

And when you’re done being romantic, you can tell me about some of your favorite dreams you’ve had about me. Maybe one of them will be the inspiration we want.

( Shameless, this man who now feels so impossibly confident in Lan Wangji's affections, after questioning the depth of his commitment mere hours prior. Lan Wangji could not love his arrogance more. Let him be like this: secure that his worship and marriage are both certitudes.

Lan Wangji's hands drip over Wei Ying's cheek, clasp his chin, draw him closer. Their mouths meet again, and it's a sweet and clumsy and honeyed thing, purposefully yang. Then, ever the polite gentleman — no less than the manners expected of Hanguang-Jun — he slips his touch to round on Wei Ying's length in a few tentative, comforting strokes. )

I like you. ( There, gravelly and soft, profound in its certainty. Enough. He could speak more words, whisper half truths and poetry, and little would change. This one sentence, all-encompassing.

Infatuation is a fleeting, distant thing, without cause or consequence. Soft, immature and half-considered. But Lan Wangji does not merely love — he likes, exceeding the overbearing heat of passing whim. )

I dream, at times, of taking you chained, unresisting. Then, of allowing your other husband of Lan — ( The very jade pillar so often underused because of Lan Wangji's jealousies. ) — the privilege, until you have wept your frustrations.

[He watches Lan Zhan’s eyes, his own fluttering closed only when they start to kiss again. It’s not hungry like before, but it somehow feels more intimate for it. He relaxes, living in the moment where his whole body and soul feel loved under his husband’s undivided attention. It’s just the two of them sharing a small world together. As much as they miss their kids, it’s freeing to have this time with just his husband.

His length grows more rigid in Lan Zhan’s grasp. He moans into Lan Zhan’s mouth, hips moving at a lazy tempo to match Lan Zhan’s gentle motion. He nips at his husband’s bottom lip when the kiss comes to a comfortable end.]

I like you too, Lan Zhan. You’re my best friend. [Whether it’s the hand around him or the verbal affection, his cheeks are rosy and his smile genuine. Love and like might appear to be along the same spectrum, but they’re different. When they fight, their love for each other never falters but there are moments when they just don’t like each other very much. So hearing that Lan Zhan likes him right now in this moment (and so many other times when they aren’t in the midst of their petty conflicts), he feels happy.]

I like spending time with you and the kids. [It feels strange to mention the kids when he has Lan Zhan’s hand around him, but the sentiment is there. There’s a reason he usually sends messages at all hours of the day and night when they’re separated by distance.

He licks his lips when Lan Zhan starts speaking again. He can imagine the scenario Lan Zhan creates for him and his flush kisses his neck and cheeks.] You can to do anything you want with me. Chained and tethered and unable to do anything besides endure maddening pleasure and teasing, huh? [He starts to move his hips again, slow and syrupy. A promise of pleasure rather than the hectic scramble of chasing it.]

We could mess around like that for hours. Do you want your dream to become real, Lan Zhan? I trust you to control me like that.

( Throughout this, Wei Ying's silent moans, their equally placid reunion, his hand strokes delicately, base to tip and turning — never hastening, never forcible. Only enjoying the moment between heating exhalations, deepening as if Lan Wangji's own pleasure is stirred and defined by Wei Ying's enjoyment.

He speaks, somehow, despite himself, nudging the sun-kissed column of his husband's throat with his nose, teething down the valleys and swells of his jutting collarbones. Growing himself far too excited, arousal sliding against Wei Ying's thigh. )

That. ( He agrees, as much weaver and victim of his own tale, irresistibly drawn to the fantasy of a Wei Ying wholly surrendered to him, beautiful collapsed, fresh and flush-faced. ) And more.

( He should stop, he know. Should make less of a nuisance of his cravings, as if he is no better than an adolescent who cannot contain himself. They were never allowed this, after all. )

To kiss you bruised during festivals in Caiyi. To take you as my bride, many times over. To kneel you in the sect leader's reception halls and enjoy your mouth between meetings.

[Lan Zhan heavy against his thigh is all the permission he needs to let himself fall into this little trap set out for him. He lets himself relax and enjoy being handled this way, feeling hopeful, if not certain, that he won’t be left wanting. That Lan Zhan won’t be left wanting, either, even though he knows Lan Zhan is accustomed to torturing himself by meditating his body into submission.

He angles himself so that when he moves into blissful friction, he shares some with Lan Zhan, too. They’ve only been kissing and he hasn’t even let his hands explore Lan Zhan’s sweet spots, yet his husband is hard for him. Because of him.]

More? [He coaxes, arching his back and reaching between them so he can take his husband in hand. He pinches the tip and uses the moisture beading there to soften his touch.]

All of it. I give freely. You’re too good at holding yourself back and denying yourself what you want. [Not that Lan Zhan holds himself back when it’s just the two of them. At least, he doesn’t think he does.] If you want me to suck on you in the reception hall, then I’ll get on my knees and do it. I’ll drink every last drop of evidence.

I want to reenact your dream in the library pavilion. Just you and me with the books bearing witness.

( There, together, edge of his moan harsh-ragged and tearing when Wei Ying claims him in hand, and a punctured exhalation marks the inevitable, instinctive thrust of his hips.

He yields to it, impossibly starting to resuscitate his interest, for all they've only recently reached their completion. Wei Ying, he reminds himself, breathes in the body of a young man susceptible to a quick nascence and escalation of passions; Lan Wangji is merely shameless.

His hand briefly staggers before he remembers himself, capturing Wei Ying's pretty length again in soft tugs. )

How will we safeguard the library from intrusion? ( It is too densely and enthusiastically populated by the disciples, visitors and elders of Cloud Recesses to claim without risk of disruption, while they enjoy themselves.

But he does not refuse Wei Ying. In truth, never learned how. )

Perhaps during the evening meal. <small<( Taken either in the canteens of the clan by juniors or in the seclusion of private residences by senior members. Surely, that will buy them their time. )

[It feels decadent to enjoy each other’s body for a second round in such a short amount of time. They haven’t had the freedom to explore each other like this since they adopted their second son, mostly hurrying to make sure they’re satisfied so they can remain on standby in case the little master’s whims pull one or both of them back into service.

They can take their time now and enjoy the build up to more. His hand grips his husband more firmly, but he keeps the strokes slow enough to avoid urgency at this point in their play. He loves how Lan Zhan moves against his palm reminiscent of their union.]

We could use the forbidden section for secrecy. [It’s a suggestion, but he likes Lan Zhan’s idea better.] Or we can go when the sect sleeps. But meal time sounds good, too. As long as it’s with you, we can do it any time and anywhere. I want to be claimed in all the places that are important to us.

[He spreads his legs a little more, curling one around Lan Zhan’s thighs. The lazy speed they’re moving is just on the side of torturously slow more to stoke interest than to race to the finish. For now, he’s able to restrain himself from rolling Lan Zhan onto his back and ride him.]

We should find that cave where we fought the Xuanwu of Slaughter. We could do what we should have done when we were trapped in there. [As if either of them had been in any condition to do so with their wounds and inedia.] The rabbit clearing. A boat in the lakes of Yunmeng. Everywhere.

( All the places that are important to them, now and forever: the library, haunt of their nascent attraction. The rooftops, where their joy first sparked. The cave, where despair fettered them together. The rabbit clearing, embracing peace. Nightless City, for victory and freedom. The lakes of Yunmeng, their reckoning. The pastures of the temple of Guanyin, perhaps.

All at once, his lungs feel too full, his chest close to breakage. He pushes into Wei Ying to claim his mouth, a childish and effusive aggression. Their breaths mingle, touch interwoven. )

...you remember. ( It should not make him so foolishly, so irrevocably fond. He should not be so simply appeased. And yet. ) Our encounters. Our feats. Death has not so crippled your memory.

( At times, faced with Wei Ying's sparse recollection, no doubt crippled also by resentful energy, he worries on this count. Worries that he forever yearn after something impossibly lost. That Wei Ying and he will never share true, definitive connection. )

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