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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( He likes this, ever has: the look of his husband, glorious in his supremacy, fitting the part of a gracious lord gazing down on his unworthy prey. Lessening himself to accept Lan Wangji in his body, as if his length is no better — indeed, serves far worse — than the jade pillar Wei Ying coaxes inside of himself. A thing to bring him pleasure.

Belatedly, he hisses with the angry twist of his nipple, instinctively tempted to reach out and retaliate, before obediently drawing his hands back and above his head, where Wei Ying has positioned them. He asks discipline of his husband so often in their bed play that it would shame him now to fail this lone request.

Instead, he thinks: what is it Wei Ying expects of him? What part does he wish played? Not the one of Lan Wangji as he was during the twilight hours of Wei Ying's first life, desperate and desolate, willing to concede whatever it took to satisfy the Patriarch's anger. No. He wishes the Lan Wangji that a maddened Wei Ying envisioned, haughty and callous and uncaringly cold. So be it, his voice gravelly and thick: )

Do what you wish. You will have no pleasure of me, Patriarch. I shall be as the precepts. As stone.

[The shift in Lan Zhan’s attitude surprises him but only for a moment. Of course, Lan Zhan from back then wouldn’t be the doting husband he is today. But hadn’t he already fallen for him by then? No, this is a fantasy based around his memory of how things had been. So that’s what Lan Zhan is playing at.]

You say that, but your body betrays you. The only thing that’s stone is what’s between your legs.

[And what a wonderful thing it is to feel inside him. He grips Lan Zhan’s wrists with one hand, the other one clutching Lan Zhan’s cheek meanly to force his gaze at him.] You belong to me now, for as long as I want. Don’t worry, Lan Zhan, I’m generous. I’ll make sure your lust is satisfied, too.

[He starts to lift himself only to stop halfway to lower himself again. He assumes he’ll be the one doing most of the work with his prey acting so stoic. It makes him feel good knowing he’ll be bringing Lan Zhan to completion while his husband gets to lay back and enjoy it. Usually, it’s Lan Zhan who takes on the role of lead in these things.]

( His lust, impossibly roused whenever Wei Ying is near and dear and true, so close, so very close and willing. Lan Wangji coaxes him with simple, slowed thrusts, appreciative when Wei Ying takes control of the pace he can no longer command, when his husband forces his hands down.

Even so, the simmering pleasure in his veins threatens to come to a bloom, only at a tired, lackadaisical pace. He all but growls, shooting his husband a hard look intended to convey, if not his actual displeasure, then certainly his frustration.

Throughout this, between punched moans and the heave of his chest, he licks his lower lip, inviting the start of a kiss, the promise of one. He is owed. They are owed. )

You... ( Him. So beautiful, so cunning. His Wei Ying. ) You presume. Come close to my bite, if you think me so helpless.

( No kinder way to ask Wei Ying to come near his mouth than this without breaking the character he already struggles to inhabit. )

[He grins when Lan Zhan gives him that grumpy look. He assumes it’s part of the character, but he allows himself to be moved by it. One hand holds his lover still, but he loosens his grip on Lan Zhan’s face, stroking the cheek apologetically. He dips his face down, nudging their noses together and breathing in his husband’s breath.]

Am I really so hateful?

[He tastes Lan Zhan’s bottom lip, tongue dragging too slowly across the expanse before he closes the distance between them with a slow kiss. All the while, his hips keep up a lazy pace. He moans between them, starting to think pinning Lan Zhan’s hands like this wasn’t his best plan. He liked the way it felt around him.

He breaks the kiss but doesn’t move back, letting their lips brush together while he speaks.]

Touch me. [He releases the hands he’s been pinning into place.] If you satisfy me, I might keep you around.

( No, he mouths mutely at Wei Ying's question, role be damned. No, his husband will never be hateful or hated, never be detested by Lan Wangji, of all men. He is for love and for love-making, for gentle nurture and sweet appreciation.

Then, Wei Ying makes his demand, and even in this place of squalor — an inn so impoverished, so derelict — he is a king enthroned, a commander who must be instantly obeyed. As if snapped free of invisible restraints, Lan Wangji's hands shift to trail down his husband's flank, warm and covetous, then his hips, then the swells of his ass, briefly pinning him while Wangji delivers a few selfish, stabbing thrusts.

After, he remembers: he exists for Wei Ying's pleasure, enslaved. He catches his husband's sweet length in a weighing, appreciative hand, before strokes it in time with Wei Ying's descent.

All along, their mouths meet, breathlessly and easy, as all exchanges are between them. Love making is for completion, for satiety. Kissing, for intimacy, for bridging their intimacy. )

Am I to become another of your puppets? I shall — ( And here, a bitten gasp, where Wei Ying's next calculated bounce drags his cock in just so, and the tightness of his lover's body consumes him.) I shall bring you down with me.

You already are.

[He likes the way Lan Zhan struggles to stick to his role in this. Whether it’s the possessiveness he grasps him or forgetting himself for some nice thrusts, it makes him feel good that he has this effect on him.

He's loathe to break from their kissing, but Lan Zhan’s throat and shoulder need to be marked by him. He drags his teeth along the skin until he finds a choice spot to nip and suck. All the while, he holds himself up with one hand and travels Lan Zhan’s body with the other. Down his side, pausing at his hip only to move back up his lover’s body.

He can’t stand the slow pace anymore. Between Lan Zhan inside him and his hand around his length, the wisps of promised pleasure have him speeding up.]

You’ll be at my side. If not in life, then I’ll take that from you, too. [It’s something he would never have done, but it fits the roles they’re playing.] I’d prefer to keep your blood pumping. You could be a lot funner that way. [He grinds his butt down against Lan Zhan’s hips for emphasis.

Oh, that’s the right angle. A moan slips from his mouth and he keeps pressing hard against his husband’s cock to tickle the right place inside of himself.]

( There, Wei Ying's dainty mouth affixed to his throat, nipping and nibbling and rousing, until Lan Wangji nearly breaks and pushes him away — only to remember his supposed captivity and resume a fierce, tireless and cruel pace with the stroke of his hand. As if too much pleasure, inflicted without pause, can be punishing.

It appears Wei Ying entertains the same idea, speeding along their love-making to a better clip. He helps with minor thrusts up, with squeezes of his freed hand on Wei Ying's hip to position him — until their configurations somehow strike the angle that pleases them both, and he moans, tremulously. )

Wei Ying. Wei Ying. ( The game nearly surrendered, but he tries, strains, and suddenly attempts to roll them over, careful to stop if Wei Ying poses any resistance. )

Very well, Patriarch. Let me satisfy you and win my freedom.

[There’s no resistance at all when Lan Zhan repositions them. He trusts his husband completely with his body and his soul. Once on his back, he bends his knees at either side of Lan Zhan and uses them to stabilize his thrusts, toes curling into the linen sheets.]

That’s right, Lan Zhan. You’re doing well despite your protestations.

[He wraps his arms around Lan Zhan’s shoulders and pulls him down. He knows Lan Zhan will have to release his cock to make it comfortable, but he wants to feel Lan Zhan’s skin against his from his head to his toes.]

You’re so good, Lan Zhan. [He noses against Lan Zhan’s neck again, this time to breathe in his scent and to kiss.] I want to keep you around, so I can feel like this whenever I want. [Are they still playing their game now that Lan Zhan’s taken over? Sure, why not? It hasn’t failed them yet.]

( You would not have praised me as the Patriarch. In truth, Wei Wuxian of that time would not have welcomed Lan Wangji in his bed, no matter their configuration. But they are here now, wrestling and racing toward completion, their mouths meeting clumsily to manifest a kiss that ends up far too abrupt and reedy, between Lan Wangji's rushed exhalations.

He plunges into Wei Ying tirelessly, claiming and at once worshipping his body, hand slipping free of the pretty, perky length that eases between them. Sweat rolls off him in beads, the musk of their twined body warm, the perpetual symphony of touch cocooning him. He is silent longer than he should be, forgetting he is supposed to be the captive of the Patriarch, his dutiful slave.

His mouth latches onto Wei Ying's collarbone, and he pumps in once, and again, before murmuring scratchily: ) Keep me, then. Whole or ripped apart. Have what you have won.

( He remembers, at least, to return his hand to Wei Ying's arousal, stroking it enthusiastically. ) Show me your pleasure. See that I serve it.

[He feels his climax inching closer, just out of his grasp. The salty, vaguely smokey taste of Lan Zhan’s skin is pleasant and he gnaws at his neck for several moments while they reposition around each other. They’re so close now that they may as well be one and the same.]

All mine. You’ll never know another touch besides mine. You’ll serve me every day like this and I’ll reward you with your own share of the pleasure. Every time — [His words cut short when Lan Zhan grasps him again, blending into a deep moan.] — You’re too good at this. I forgot what I was going to say.

[He lays his head back and looks up at Lan Zhan’s face, smiling even as he pants. His heart feels full to bursting to see his husband chasing both their pleasure.] Hello.

[He lifts and drops his hips, matching Lan Zhan’s thrusts. Speed picking up as he feels like he might be getting close to climax again. He doesn’t know if it’s possible to love anyone as much as he loves Lan Zhan in this moment.]

( Every day, set to mean every day, even in this make-believe world of fresh servitude and switched configurations. He nods, emptily and obediently, because to refuse Wei Ying in anything is to refuse himself in all things, and he applies himself to the task at literal hand: stroking, nuzzling his lover's collarbone, driving himself in, in, inside his husband.

Every now and then, their fictive enmity forgotten, he slips faint kisses over Wei Ying's bruised lips, less to deliver affection than to apologize he is too silent and overcome by feeling to play his part —

Until Wei Ying slips back, theatrics crumbled, and they look into each other's eyes well and true. )

...hello, Wei Ying.

( His heart could break in this moment. He could die, happily. He would be content. And all at once, he feels the same crippling emotion that Wei Ying so often accuses during their love-making, pistoning his hips to drive into his lover's sweet, warmed, pliant body in between syrupy gasps and slowed strokes of his hand — and he lets himself reach his peak. )

[His smile widens at the greeting. He slips his arms around Lan Zhan, hands gripping at his shoulders to pull him closer. There’s a change between them that’s more than just dropping their character. It’s monumental, somehow. Two hearts and souls merging as they clutch each other close.]

That’s it, Lan Zhan. [He coaxes as soon as he can tell Lan Zhan’s on the cusp of euphoria. He feels so close to his own, and he wants to milk every last drop from his husband.] Love you, Lan Zhan. So much.

[He shudders, breaths picking up. Between the pulsing movements of Lan Zhan inside him and his fist around his length, he tips over the edge just in time to share the first half of his climax with the last part of Lan Zhan’s. It takes him in waves, just as intensely as the first orgasm they shared tonight but somehow more in a way that’s hard to quantify.

He sighs after he’s sure he’s finished, squeezing Lan Zhan closer before letting himself relax. Unlike before, he’s feeling quite lethargic after this round.]

Marry me, Lan Zhan. We can celebrate our anniversary every day of the year. You’re amazing. I feel like I can ascend right now.

( They finish in increments, the last of Lan Wangji's reflexive, soul-shattering tremors subsiding just as Wei Ying hits the stride of his climax. Throughout, Lan Wangji brackets his cheeks with warm palms, littering butterfly kisses on the feverish stain that is his lover's bloomed mouth, the soft stretches of his cheeks.

His hands travel down to caress Wei Ying's arms, then his bony flank, finally landing on the hard angles of his hips, keeping Wei Ying pinned close. Their breaths seem entirely aligned for a few heartbeats, feeding off and sustaining each other. The world all but explodes within and around them.

Then, quietly, they return to themselves — and Lan Wangji selfishly still lingers inside the sheath of his lover's body, irreverently uncaring of Wei Ying's likely natural discomfort. Let him bear it. Their connection for these few moments is worth more than this. )

No ascension. No death. ( But softened: ) Shall wed you, but not in the cave. Ill omen.

[By the time he finishes, his body’s trembling from head to toe. Sometimes the aftermath leaves him overstimulated like this, but it always passes without doing anything in particular to speed it along. He all but collapses under Lan Zhan, arms splayed out at his sides while he catches his breath.]

Okay, no dying. [He smiles and studies Lan Zhan’s face for a long moment, just admiring his features while he settles in. He usually tries not to allude to his demise around Lan Zhan, so he’s relieved that it’s taken in stride.]

No, not in the cave. [Even though it and the Burial Mounds are a significant part of his own life, it’s not like he shared much of it with Lan Zhan there anyway. There’s no need to tempt fate by marrying in the place he’d originally died.] Let’s finish exorcising that cave so we can have a few days of seclusion after we get married again.

We will do this again, in our seclusion?

( A natural occupation, given the purpose of nuptial seclusion: to gravitate together, to learn one another, to secure the lineage. Perhaps too hard of an ask of Wei Ying, but he has made a purpose of prevailing against the impossible.

Drifting loose of his husband's body, he shifts to the side, more an ungainly bundle of limbs and fond glances than the studied scholarly dignity of Hanguang-Jun. His disciples would struggle to believe he is the one and same. A blessing that only Wei Ying must glimpse him so, molten between his ruined sheets and tussled pillows.

Still chasing affection, easing out of the previous high, he nuzzles at his lover's collarbone, sweet short licks giving way to predictable nibbling. A dog, after all. )

I've worn you down. ( A sheepish acknowledgement he does not build into an apology, too unrepentant. )

We can do this again and more if you want.

[He rolls onto his side to face Lan Zhan, smiling and resting his head on one folded arm. He likes the way Lan Zhan looks right now. His hair’s a mess and he looks sated and loving. He recognizes the intimacy in the moment, taking in his lover at his most vulnerable. He can just look at Lan Zhan looking at him like this and enjoy it for a little while. He feels good. Relaxed and entirely too in love with the man before him.

He welcomes Lan Zhan close, arm laying lazily around his husband’s middle. He even tilts his head to allow for the affection despite knowing Lan Zhan well enough to expect a pinching bite. It makes him laugh and squirm.]

You’ve done more than that. I’m too exhausted to get out of bed. Guess that means I’ll have to nap with you. [It’ll either mean he’ll get up later to busy himself or he might sleep the whole night through depending on if his lethargy persists.]

I’m not the only one worn out. [He tugs Lan Zhan as close as he can get.] You should sleep in tomorrow. We need all the strength we can muster for our work.

( Their strength, already sabotaged for one evening, cannot hope to truly recover by morning — but Lan Wangji all the same anticipates their early rise, the chance to reset himself. He knows already how it must begin, with fresh lotions and ablutions, and Wei Ying carried somnolent in his arms and delivered into his bathtub. It cannot be that they proceed with their day without cleansing — Lan Wangji's dignity will not permit it.

Then, they will break their fast, for all Wei Ying might begrudge him and try to negotiate a swift nap instead. Exercise, perfunctorily. Perhaps even enjoy their view. They must, in short, fleetingly become human once more, if they are to share the slightest chance of acting as weapons after.

Nodding, he brings one arm under his lover's head, slightly mirroring Wei Ying's own conquest of Lan Wangji's midriff. The closer they are entangled, the harder they will be to bring apart. )

If my husband commands, how am I to refuse him? ( Softer then, squeezing the embrace: )

[It’s been a long time since they’ve been able to enjoy sleeping together more than once in one evening. Not since the beginnings of their union when they rushed to make up for all the time they’d lost. Other than for special occasions like subsequent marriage ceremonies, anyway.

He inches closer, using Lan Zhan’s arm as a pillow. He molds himself around his husband’s body and fills in all the negative space between them.]

Exactly. You can’t refuse my wisdom.

[He stifles a yawn against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, then sighs contentedly as he makes himself comfortable. He’s not sure how he’d let ghosts poison his mind with jealousy earlier in the day, but he won’t let it happen again. He’s won his husband’s affection so thoroughly that it would be nearly impossible to lose him as long as he stays true to himself.

He thinks to apologize, only to remember that apologies and thanks aren’t exactly a welcome topic. Instead, he turns his head to kiss Lan Zhan’s upper arm briefly before settling again.]

I love you, Lan Zhan. My husband.

[He feels too lazy to get up as clean himself off and he hopes Lan Zhan feels the same if only to avoid losing precious moments of their prolonged affection. He never minds going straight to sleep after sex with Lan Zhan.]

My heart is filled with you.

( He retaliates, as if their love is not a given, perpetually and stubbornly confessed, shamelessly upheld. They can pronounce and prove it every day of their wedded bliss, and he suspects it will not suffice to calm their doubts and uncertainty. No matter. They have years before them, decades and time.

His mouth chases Wei Ying's temple for a moment, free hand sliding to card through his husband's hair and ease it away from his temple, sweeping it behind a delicate ear. Sweetheart, precious thing. )

Sleep. ( Easier said than done when Wei Ying's insomnia assaults unfailingly, but he must try. They must both try. The rest Wei Ying proposed is recommended for Lan Wangji, whose golden core can compensate for the failings of his flesh — but critical for Wei Ying, who benefits from no additional assistance. )

[His eyes flutter closed as he enjoys the petting, just letting himself absorb the love like he would warm sunlight. He feels completely relaxed, mind turning over his love for his husband instead of something that might keep him from sleep.]

I think I might. You’ll sleep, too?

[He kisses whatever part of Lan Zhan is closest, nestling himself close. He could stay up and talk some more, but it would likely end up with him staying up long enough for his somnolence to fade. Because they’re going to be busy tomorrow, he’s leaning towards taking advantage of his sleepy mood even if he’ll wake up again in a short while.]

You make me so happy, Lan Zhan.

( As do you. But he cannot say the words. Cannot bleed his heart further when it feels already on the cusp of collapse from the vast, overwhelming affection it carries.

Instead, he calls Wei Ying to him with the hold of his arm, steers him in and presses his mouth against his husband's forehead and temple, and he simply allows them both to enjoy the luxury of being together — alive on a stage remembered only for its death. And, privately, shamefully enthusiastic recipients of a break from their children, able to reconvene only as themselves. )

So happy that even Worm Ying is beholden to me?

[He doesn’t need to hear it. He can see it in the way Lan Zhan looks at him. By that smile that’s only meant for him and the kids to see. And he smiles, too, just thinking about how lucky he is that after everything, he gets to spend his entire second life with his soulmate.]

Mmhmm. Worm Ying would wrap himself around you just to hold you close and never let go.

[He drapes himself over Lan Zhan, squirming around just long enough to make himself comfortable in their new orientation. He presses a kiss to Lan Zhan’s chest, nudging his nose under his husband’s chin.]

No matter what form I take, I’ll be with you. Whether I’m a worm or a dragon or anything else, I still expect you to sleep with me every day.

( They are speaking in hypotheticals now, loitering and drawing out their evening — another privilege of their circumstances, when the brevity of how little time they're allowed, complicit, means they only ever discuss the practical and the unavoidable when they're together.

Worms and dragons and their love-making if they were different, stranger men — or creatures. They can afford to explore that, Lan Wangji's mouth slack and slow as he explores the thought, letting it run its course. Humming, he concludes: )

Dragons are holy creatures. ( Like phoenixes and all other fabrications of myth. ) Could not soil them with touch.

( Unlike the poor, average Wei Ying, hereby deemed suitable for an older man — this Lan Wangji of no morals — to exploit for his pleasure. ) Wei Ying must linger among mortals.

[That has him opening his eyes again. He shakes his head and chuckles quietly. You won’t get out of it that easily. If you were the dragon, you wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to lure me into your lair for lots of touching.

[He leans up to kiss Lan Zhan squarely on the lips. It’s not a long kiss, but he does linger for a moment.]

You’re more of a dragon than I am, anyway. The great, untouchable Hanguang-Jun. Pure and righteous. [He lays his head down again and smiles, taking the time to study his husband’s face.] And handsome, too.

I stand by what I said. No matter what form I take, you can’t resist my charm.

( He would not hesitate for a moment, a breath, a heartbeat. Finds himself nearly tempted to illustrate exactly how indisposed he is to abstinence, after merely a year of enjoying his husband's convenient proximity —

But he remembers himself, dutifully staying put and disciplined and only touching Wei Ying to chase the wisps of his hair away from his forehead, or rub heat back into his arms through slow, careful rubs. In the end, he draws up their sheets around them, helpfully cocooning them to weather the evening's chills. )

Why would I wish to? ( This, sensibly, in the voice of every man who assesses his property before him and finds it entirely too irresistible. ) How will I keep my wife satisfied, if I hold back?

yiling.

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