wuding | Snowed In

He leans on Lan Zhan while they walk, grinning not because he’s going to make the most of it and have some fun but because Lan Zhan is going to be having just as much fun at his side. “We can still make them into our family, right? They don’t have to be perfect or anything,” he says as he drops down to his knees and starts to hand-shovel snow closer to Lan Zhan’s work area.

He laughs at the idea of having a third husband of Gusu Lan. “He won’t be able to keep me warm,” he says while he starts to roll his own ball of snow they’ll be able to use as the middle piece. “That’s okay! Let’s make the whole family! We’ll start with Lan Zhan here and we’ll make me and the kids next. If we have time, we can add Zewu-Jun and Lan Shufu, too.” They have plenty of white robes they can dress their sculptures in.

The snow is still coming down hard and he knows their creations will probably be distorted by the addition of more snow, but art doesn’t have to be permanent for it to be special. Maybe they can make a path all the way to Sizhui’s rooms in the morning so he can come see their creation.

“Hey, Lan Zhan, are we going to put headbands on you and Sizhui? What can we make the faces with?” He grins and picks up the ball he’s just made and puts it on top of the ball Lan Zhan’s been working on. Only some of it sloughs off and it’s easy enough to repair with handfuls of more snow.

For a child of summer, Wei Ying catches on to the way of the frigid world at an excellent pace, drawing up a second snow ball and lifting it brazenly to sit on the base that Lan Wangji has perfected diligently. A fine fit, and he nods along with his husband's effort, patching up where a few slivers of snow rained off.

The face, Wei Ying asks, and Lan Wangji looks up with the intensity more often reserved for duel targets, as if at once assessing and eviscerating the snow creature before him. Then, carefully, as he kneels to prepare another mound, "Stones, dirt for eyes. Perhaps we carve the mouth."

They need not be perfectionists or artists in this. This is for their enjoyment, lone — and, after attaching the small third snow sphere, he pulls Wei Ying to him by a hand, dragging them both a few steps behind to examine their creation. What a handsome Hanguang-Jun stares rotund and amorphous back at them.

Then, dryly, toward Wei Ying: "You should have held off on marriage until this fine suitor arrived."

Truly, what more could Wei Ying possibly ask for?

He looks around the area Lan Zhan cleared earlier for stones. He has to kick the new snow out of the way, but he manages to find some smaller stones. He carries them over with a triumphant grin and gives their creation some eyes before he drops the rest of the stones he’d pilfered from the path. The result is somewhat comical because the stones aren’t uniform at all giving the snowman a crooked sort of expression. He adds a stone for the nose and uses a finger to draw a straight line for the mouth.

He follows Lan Zhan’s guidance and steps back to take in the third husband of Gusu Lan. And he cracks up, bending over himself at the ‘look’ on the sculpture’s face. It almost looks like it’s glaring because of the angle of the stone eyes. Maybe he should have made the mouth downturned instead of flat!

“You’re too much, Lan Zhan! Did I do a good job on the face? He doesn’t look too impressed by me! Maybe he’s jealous that I’m already married,” he suggests and bumps the side of his hip against his husband’s side. “Too bad, too. He’s so handsome!” Maybe he’d been thinking about young Lan Zhan instead of his refined Hanguang-Jun when he’d chosen the facial expression.

When he has his fill of laughter, he exaggerates his shiver and moves in close to Lan Zhan to borrow some of his warmth. “Let’s make him a husband so he doesn’t have to be so grumpy, okay?” And then they may need to take a break since he already feels like his nose and ears are made of ice.

A true Lan gaze, serious, forthright, all stone and unwavering. Lan Wangji, paralyzed before his sudden rival, feel almost compelled to offer him a duel, until Wei Ying's touch startles him out of his stupor, and he slips his arm over his husband's shoulders to warm him. Then, easing down, over his lower back.

Together, they gaze upon Wei Ying's masterful creation, accepting its abstract splendor before the snowfall quickens and thickens and urgency whips at them to move. A pair for the wayward lover, Wei Ying says — so be it.

"Perhaps he prefers a wife," he offers, but starts already on the work of rolling a smaller rotund base, proudly anchored beside the first snowman's base. The cold spreads and consumes even his fingertips in the dark, and he hesitates, turning in the midst of darkness to spear Wei Ying with a long searching gaze. Then, far too fond:

"A snowflake on the tip of Wei Ying's nose." Catch it at once.

He stands back and watches Lan Zhan start preparing a body for his snow double. Some time passes without his notice until Lan Zhan turns to look at him. He doesn’t think before reaching up to touch his nose, murdering the innocent snowflake in the process. “My nose is so cold it didn’t melt the snowflake,” he says with only a hint of whining. They’ll have to hurry inside after their creations are finished if he doesn’t want to get frostbite!

His fingers and toes, much like his nose and ears, feel stiff and clumsy. He rubs his hands together to warm them before he kneels down next to his husband to help form the middle ball. Too bad only a handful of people might get to see the evidence of their play because of the severity of the snow storm.

“You should make the face this time,” he suggests as he lifts the middle ball to move it to its new home on top of the ball Lan Zhan made. The ball threatens to split in half, but he catches the two sides before they fall and pushes them back together so Lan Zhan can help repair the damage.

“I don’t know about you, but I need a break from the cold after this one,” he says, moving back and making his hands into fists a few times to work against the damage to his dexterity. “We can add Sizhui and Lan Liang tomorrow.”

...ah, his poor beloved, half of his heart already shriveling under the indifferent chilled torture of their hellish snowstorm. He sighs with the foolishness of his own ignorance, hastening through the next steps of piecing the second snowman together — less artful, if infinitely more efficiently assembled than the first.

Then, the moment of Wei Ying had asked for: the face. He is no artist, lacking Wei Ying's flair and prowess and gathering himself and the last dregs of his creative skills to shakily sketch out a broken mouth line and two far-too strongly pierced eyes that seem closer to stab wounds.

...well then. He looks at Wei Ying with something between bashful resignation and misplaced frustration, daring his husband to criticize the valiant effort that the cruel Patriarch brought into being. Sizhui and Lan Liang to be sculpted tomorrow, yes — neither at Lan Wangji's hand.

"He is handsome in his heart," he mutters, grabbing his lover's hand and stalking them both off toward their home without a look behind them. Pah. Every wedded pair needs a beauty and a beast. He is, after all, the latter in their own alliance. The handsomer snowman may live with his fate.

He laughs again at the face Lan Zhan makes for his icy double. He doesn’t mean to hurt Lan Zhan’s pride with it, but he thinks he may have done just that when he gets a look at his husband’s face. “No, no, he’s just as handsome as his Lan Zhan.” He insists, but he’s already being pulled along towards the jingshi.

He looks over his shoulder at the pair of snowmen for another look at them before they’re blanketed in fresh snow. Chances are the details will be lost by morning with the heavy snow coming down so they may not get a chance to add the children. Well, as long as those two are together, neither will feel lonely.

He hurries along after Lan Zhan, laughing again and leaning his side against him. “Come on, Lan Zhan, you’re an artist! Snow Ying is just as happy to be at his husband’s side as I am to be by yours.”

It’s a good thing they’re going back home. He’s had about as much cold wind as he cares to. “Hey, Lan Zhan, let’s take a bath when we get back inside,” he suggests, despite rarely being the one to initiate their bathing. The water’s probably plenty warmed by their talismans by now and he wants to thaw his whole body in it.

"We may," he agrees on instinct, because any single one of Wei Ying's demands is a worthy concession, no matter its nature or cause.

...Snow Ying. Cute. Far too cute. Obscenely so, and it wilts the fledgling irritation at Lan Wangji's own failure, taming his pride. He steers them, hands less frosted between them and readily capable to turn the latch of their door, relax — then reset — their wards, and lead Wei Ying in.

After, they remain parents above all: Lan Liang commands a brief visit to ensure his safety, and Lan Wangji whiles by the child's side as he undresses until he rests in a mere two layers for inside comfort. Throughout, his son kicks the air once, rolls on his side, and drawls a coo in his sleep.

In the end, he returns to Wei Ying, careful to slip a finger in their bathing tub and stir it til ripples quake, and the warmth of the waves pleases him.

"Come into the water." They have only just made love twice earlier, and the musk of their spend still hangs on their bodies. It will do them good to cleanse. "You did well on your first day of winter."

As soon as they’re inside, he heads straight for the brazier before peeling his layers off one-by-one until he’s down to the last of them. “He slept through the whole thing, didn’t he?” He asks with a fond grin. Liang will probably wake up sometime after Lan Zhan falls asleep, but he does that most nights. Their staggered sleeping schedule works out well for child rearing.

He approaches the tub just before Lan Zhan does and he wraps an affectionate arm around his waist as he checks the water temperature. “I did, didn’t I? Do you think it’s going to be a bad winter this year? There’s already more snow than I’ve ever seen at once and it’s still coming down! Maybe we should plan a trip for Lotus Pier or something to escape the cold if it gets too bad.” Jiang Cheng might grumble about it, but he thinks it’ll be okay. Things between them are going well these days, all things considered. If only his husband and his brother could get along better.

He dips his hand in the tub and crinkles his nose as he draws it back because it stings. “I need to warm my fingers and toes a little before I put them in hot water,” he says and eyes Lan Zhan’s delicately covered middle. “You’ll help out, won’t you?” He asks, stepping closer and pressing his hands against Lan Zhan’s exposed neck. “How are you so warm already?”

Talking and talking and talking, that is his Wei Ying — and, after thirteen years silent, Lan Wangji would not trade his chatter for the world. He nods now and then, only to punctuate his attention, knowing intrinsically that Wei Ying does not require him to speak: only to be there, patient, thrilled of his presence.

Then, he is attacked by the gelid force of his husband's touch, and he flinches at the first envelopment of his nape, before silently conceding that he must feed this wretched beast his warmth if he is ever to win their war. So be it. With a sigh, he only opens his layers, shamelessly allowing an indecent sliver of his stomach to bare, before guiding his husband back to press him against the tub's rim and steering his hands toward Lan Wangji's stomach, where his core churns burning warmth.

Then, with a resigned sigh, "You may sit your toes on my ankles and calves, cruel thing."

As if they don't both know this pretty monkey, perched against the bathtub, has full mobility now to climb Lan Wangji's despairingly defenseless legs. Oh, the audacity.

His eyes drift down to Lan Zhan’s chest and stomach peeking though the opening of his robe. They’ve just finished two rounds together only a short while prior, but he’s only a man. He takes one, two steps back until Lan Zhan traps him against the tub. His fingers trace over his lover’s middle, gradually his palms flatten against his sides.

“You love me anyway,” he says with a grin. He knows he can get away with this and that the mild discomfort brings both of them joy. Lan Zhan gets to be of service and Wei Wuxian gets to warm himself on deliciously exposed skin. He toes at the arch of Lan Zhan’s foot before climbing it up to his ankle. “And I love you and your warmth.”

He lets go of Lan Zhan’s middle to lift himself up onto the edge of the tub, letting Lan Zhan help if he chooses to. Once he’s settled, both feet seek out Lan Zhan’s shins. He cycles between resting the fronts and backs of his feet against his poor husband’s skin.

“I still need to warm up,” he says glancing down at his lover’s mouth. The fact that they both smell strongly of sex isn’t lost on him. He doesn’t mind it too much, but he knows Lan Zhan’s delicate sensibilities are probably being pressed. “One kiss and then we can get in the water.”

For a heartbeat, Wei Ying's touch feels crackling electrocution, the cold seeping through him in sharp, cutting dissonance. He hisses, more out of surprise than discomfort, sighing into the stroke as he accepts his lot in a cruel, cruel life. All the same, he walks his hands over the back of Wei Ying's, sticking them to him, encouraging him to carry on and borrow as much of Lan Wangji's heat as he requires. All his. All his to claim and love and prosper off of.

"One kiss," he agrees and leans in to marry their mouths in silent affection, soft and closed and brisk. He cannot allow Wei Ying to dally, not when he risks the rest of his body catching chills. Their mouths part, then draw together; part, cross again.

He sighs out, a tender exhalation, one hand moving to steady Wei Ying's back and prevent him swooning back into the tub prematurely.

"For me, taste a month here." It is their season, what the Lan are cut for. "If you cannot bear it, we flee to Yunmeng. I wish only for Liang to also know winter."

It is his legacy, after all.

He has every intention of kissing Lan Zhan just the once, but he grins and follows his husband’s lead. Each new kiss a deepening of the previous one. His hands slip free and he drags them over to Lan Zhan’s waist so he can tug him closer by the already plunging folds of silk.

His eyes open slowly when the kisses come to an end. He’s pleasantly dazed for a moment, only catching Lan Zhan’s eye when he speaks. “A month, huh? I think I can handle that as long as you keep me warm.” He slips a finger behind the knot on Lan Zhan’s belt and loosens it until nothing stops the two layers of silk from parting.

He feels spoiled for touch tonight. Well, he does most nights, but tonight feels special. It’s not just because they still have one round to go, though that doesn’t hurt his assessment.

“Let’s get in the tub,” he suggests like Lan Zhan hadn’t already said as much. He steals a quick kiss on the edge of Lan Zhan’s mouth before extracting himself and slipping out of his own final layer of silk. Goodbye, precious reminder of their youth, you served them well.

And just so, Wei Ying's whites finally abandon him, and he is Lan Wangji's husband once more, more familiar in perfect and pristine nudity than he stood as a distant dream. On his lead, Lan Wangji follows, hungering enough to discard his own parting layers, enthralled, and only offering his hand for Wei Ying to climb the bathtub's rim and step in, after.

He follows once his lover's made his home in the waters, careful to situate himself opposite Wei Ying, this once, so that his husband might enjoy his time soaking before he is inevitably tempted to accelerate the sharing of their affection. Their bath might as well serve as a second bed, for how often Wei Ying has wanted tumbled here — or Lan Wangji has claimed him, indifferent to his lover's protestations.

The water, heated to the cusp of Wei Ying's preference sooner than his own, is pleasantly simmering, near boil. For once, he appreciates it, letting the warmth live inside his bones, liven his skin to a flush and, as he drapes both arms proprietarily on the tub's rim, drain him of any cold-led rigidity.

"You would not have believed this would be your fate, years prior."

He throws one leg over the rim of the tub, then the other. He settles on his side of the tub, bringing his knees up to give Lan Zhan room to sit across from him. Their baths almost always start with this alignment, though they don’t tend to end that way. His eyes travel over his husband’s lovely form, and he sighs as his view becomes obscured by water.

“No, I wouldn’t have, but you wouldn’t have believed it either,” he says while he finds a comfortable place for his feet on either side of Lan Zhan’s hips. “You’d be happy and I’d think it’s a joke.” That’s somewhat sad, isn’t it? He’d been so certain in his incorrect assumptions about Lan Zhan’s distaste for him that he likely wouldn’t have given the thought much attention.

“I’m happy things turned out this way,” he rubs his big toe across Lan Zhan’s hip affectionately. “I can follow the rules and weather the blizzards because this is where my family is.” Most of his family. “Are you happy too, Lan Zhan?” He already knows the answer.

Happy...? He thinks, at times, the word is too potent between them, sorcery Wei Ying casts profligately, shamelessly, without restriction. That he has no right to this (true, known). That he should not claim it (inevitable). That Wei Ying could choose any man on his road and be their beloved and most treasured partner (loathsome, tragic, and yet. )

He is happy, he supposes, the start of a flush gladdening his cheeks, pinkening them with the tragic fruition of warmth, pinching. "I dare not say it."

Those who flaunt their gladness so often find it ripped from their hands — the very two that gather to round soft fingers over Wei Ying's toe, as if it is a wounded thing in dire need of attendance — by jealous Heavens. He has done so, once already. Can again.

He tilts his head to one side, watching with hopeful interest to hear Lan Zhan say it out loud that he’s happy. It doesn’t happen. But he doesn’t want to offend his husband’s superstition, so he drops it. Happiness is ephemeral, contentedness is a better indicator of a good life.

“You don’t have to,” he says and wiggles his toe just a little bit. “You don’t mind if I say it, do you? Maybe I should put it a different way. How about… You satisfy me, body, mind, and heart.”

He runs his fingers over Lan Zhan’s shin, crawling it up to his knee and back down again just for the sake of sharing a little touch. “Hey, Lan Zhan, what do you think about me taking A-Liang out for ice fishing tomorrow? Promise I’ll go back inside as soon as I feel too cold.”

You satisfy me.

"Body, mind and heart," he echoes, neglecting the critical words that give the saying life. He curls both hands around his husband's foot, obediently massaging it and working loose the kinks, transitioning to the second foot, and only after upward to the calves. No impatience, no angered pace. Only two men who can weather an outright, waiting storm.

Then, Wei Ying makes his request — and he stills, mildly considering. "May I join you?"

No. He insults, asking so brazenly, implying distrust of his husband's capability to attend to their son's needs. Sighing, he waves a hand over Wei Ying's leg, his thigh. Reaches, greedily, with both arms for his lover's waist to invite him closer. They've barely been apart for heartbeats, and it is too long, too long by far. Staggeringly so

"The ice can be deceptive. Fickle. Prone to crumble." He fears not the cold but the uncertainty of their footing.

He stretches out his feet under Lan Zhan’s care. He tries to hold it in, but the way Lan Zhan rubs against the bottom of his feet has him twitching and giggling. Somehow, he manages not to kick at his husband in the face. He relaxes again when Lan Zhan moves to his calves.

“Sure, I didn’t think you’d be interested,” he answers with a smile. He doesn’t take it as a slight against his masculinity or his abilities. The only reason he hadn’t invited Lan Zhan is because he assumed Lan Zhan would mourn the loss of fish life.

He laughs again when Lan Zhan reaches for him. It takes a moment for him to untangle himself from his lover’s legs and crawls his way into his lap instead. He drapes his arms over Lan Zhan’s shoulders and kisses him on the cheek before pulling back to get a good look at Lan Zhan’s face.

“I’ll defer to your expertise. I don’t want to end up frozen solid because I step on a weak piece of ice. I’d probably be okay, but I was going to strap A-Liang against my chest to keep him warm.” He nudges his nose against Lan Zhan’s, stealing a quick kiss.

Ah, ticklish. He should have known, should have remembered. (Did know, did remember.) So often he is enthralled by Wei Ying's natural sensuality that he forgets his husband's true appetites lie with playfulness, with laughter. He suits ease and largesse and sprawling helplessly in Lan Wangji's arms, surrendering himself like a toy finally fitted for purpose. As if he were not whole or complete before Lan Wangji latched him onto his front.

The ice, then. For a heartbeat, his mouth sours, and he hesitates around truths he knows unpleasant, inconvenient, wayward. Wei Ying must have suspected the inauspicious elements of his new homeland, but he need not have had them confirmed so quickly. Still, with a heavy heart and a burning exhalation, he murmurs, "Gusu Lan is not a kind territory."

And its people were fashioned in its image. The grounds suited the ascetic needs of a monk seeking frank, honest redemption, a life free of comforts and open to learning.

"It is a cruel mountain, open to the winds. Our waters chilled. Our grains coarse." More often than not, even their rice imported. They have romanticized the mountains and Cloud Recesses, dressed them in silks and finery, and pretended throughout that the scarcity of their resources is a choice, sooner than a deprivation. "Our winters reveal our truths."

“You’ll be able to tell if it’s safe, right?” He tends to be flippant about putting himself into danger, but he takes it seriously when it’s someone he loves. He’s trying to be better about that. Lan Liang is just too precious to him to risk falling into the ice cold water.

“I’m not going to pretend that I’m thrilled about it being winter in Cloud Recesses. It’s too cold! Even inside, it’s still cold unless I wear layers or stay close to the brazier. But it makes cuddling with you feel nicer than usual, so it’s not all bad,” he says, tracing his finger across Lan Zhan’s chest. “We’re well-stocked for food and we get to spend the day together, so I guess the blizzard isn’t all bad, either.”

He lifts his hand so he can tap the tip of Lan Zhan’s nose, “And you make it home. Well, you and the kids, too.” It doesn’t matter to him where they live and being in Cloud Recesses is just the practical option given Lan Zhan’s obligations.

"Wei Ying is home," he whispers in the wake of his husband's jubilation, and perhaps there's a selfishness in it, a childish joy in admitting his children gladden his life but do not define it. Wei Ying is home, Wei Ying is beloved, Wei Ying is all that he urgently, steadfastly requires.

Their mouths meet, clumsy in the drawing humidity, touch scorching. He cradles Wei Ying toward him by his nape, holding them both still to avoid both cruel collision and... stirring friction, while his frail and snow-oppressed lover recovers.

His lips walk Wei Ying's temple, listless, if not indifferent.

"Shall I have more braziers brought?" Not today, when they must swim through snow to reach the common settlements. But at the next thawing, when the opportunity rises. "More layers commissioned? Shall my love spend his winter days attended abed?"

He hums into the kiss, following Lan Zhan’s lead. He could kiss Lan Zhan for the whole night straight and not feel bored of it. He tastes his husband’s bottom lip, nibbling on it gently until they’re both pulling back and Lan Zhan moves to kiss other things.

“I just want you to keep me warm,” he answers with a playful pout. “If I could just cling to you all day, every day, I’d be a lot warmer.” But he knows that can’t happen other than during days like this one when Lan Zhan doesn’t have to work. Though, imagining the looks on the faces of other politicians to see him lounging across Lan Zhan’s lap does sound amusing.

He noses at Lan Zhan’s jaw, sprinkling a few kisses there. “You’re sweet, Lan Zhan, but I have all the layers I could need and having more braziers would just make it too hot instead of too cold. Being attended in bed sounds good, though,” He jokes and nudges Lan Zhan’s side a little. He’d have to be in a particularly morose mood to stay in one place all day long and luckily he doesn’t have those sorts of days too often.

Cling to him all day and all night, as if another layer of skin, a separate limb. Indistinct from Lan Wangji, entirely absorbed. That has been his most selfish, most private want, to consume Wei Ying utterly. And perhaps one day he might, his jealousy and inability to peel himself away revealing the true monster within.

For now, he licks his lips in the wake of Wei Ying's kiss, tempted to give him chase and laughing sedately when his lover withholds himself. Cruel, despicable siren. Utter tyrant. For his crimes, Lan Wangji rewards him with teeth grazing on his shoulder, sinking in, if never quite striking blood.

Then, satisfied like a cat on cream, he pulls away. "We are excused from group obligations to attend our homes during the height of winter."

Perhaps one sole sliver of appeal to tide Wei Ying throughout the cruel, drawling winter days. But then, carefully, "We may go to Yunmeng, also. Give Liang only one winter."

He takes a hissing breath in at his punishment and he retaliates by poking at Lan Zhan’s side. It doesn’t hurt enough to discourage the behavior and he gets the idea that if it did hurt, Lan Zhan would stop without question. And he kinda likes it sometimes. During sex, especially, because he knows Lan Zhan lashes out with his teeth when he feels overwhelmed.

“Like today,” he says thoughtfully, “I could get used to this. Maybe winter in Cloud Recesses is better than I thought. I just assumed you’d all keep pushing yourselves to be good little Lans carrying on with your same duties on top of everything else.” And since last winter was on the mild side and he spent a good part of it traveling, he hadn’t had the chance to enjoy a heavy snow day until today.

“We can stay in Gusu,” he says with a smile. “I want to show the kids Yunmeng, but this is their home.” At least for the next two and a half years for Sizhui. “How about we take a short trip to Lotus Pier after a month for a break from the ice?”

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