wuding | Snowed In

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?”

"Survival is our foremost duty during winter," he prescribes as if Wei Ying is too innocent still to clock the devastating realities of his new pasture. As if, perhaps, Lan Wangji has thieved him, set him down into the rich infertile grounds of the frozen Gusu Lan territories.

Poked, he frowns down at the departing finger, mulling retaliation for tender moments before finally conceding that his husband has perhaps earned brief sweet reprieve. His arms bind around the slim pale stretch of Wei Ying's waist, and he nudges his husband to pivot in his hold and sit, back to Lan Wangji's chest — like a toy, as he belongs.

"Write to Jiang Wanyin." A pause, his soul all but expunged from his mortal coil. "Doubtlessly, he will have thoughts."

That Lan Wangji looks forward to refuting.

Survival. Is winter really that bad? He supposes that they’ll have to rely on imports for their dietary needs, but he’s scraped by on starvation rations before. Living off dried and pickled goods isn’t exactly luxurious. Still, he thinks it’ll be more comfortable living through a typical Lan winter than the Burial Mounds.

He follows Lan Zhan’s lead and finds a comfortable spot with his back cozied up to his husband’s front. Letting out a pleased sigh, he tilts his head back to try and look at Lan Zhan but the angle is too off. “We’ll be fine, Lan Zhan. You’ve made it through loads of winters, so I’ll just follow your lead.” He picks up one Lan Zhan’s hands and brings it up to his mouth to kiss.

“I’ll write him later,” he agrees, already thinking about what he’ll say. They’re getting along better with the wedding looming in their future, but he’s getting the feeling they’ll never return to what they were when they were kids. That’s fine. People change. Relationships change with them.

He fidgets with Lan Zhan’s hand, singling out every finger in turn. “You’re coming with me this time, aren’t you? I know he gets weird when you’re involved, but he can get over it.”

As the de facto leader of sect Gusu Lan while Zewu-Jun negotiates his peace, he cannot ignore Jiang Wanyin. As his brother-in-law, he cannot strike him down. As the father of his two nephews, he cannot consider him ill fortune. But he wishes it done, oh, how he wishes it.

With a forlorn sigh, fingertips catching and webbing and toying with the threads of Wei Ying's wet-tipped hair, he only murmurs, "I would not shame my husband, to send him alone."

It would only injure Wei Ying's good name and pride, if Lan Wangji were to insult his dignity and consign him to attend his brother's home alone. It is known that couples that spend weeks apart are surviving rare turbulence in their married life. And the sects only ever wait, breath bated, for any signs of the Yiling Patriarch's disgrace. They would lap this up wholly.

"Shall even select a gift." How magnanimous and pointedly civil.

He tries to look over his shoulder at Lan Zhan’s again, but he ends up giving up and hugging Lan Zhan’s arm briefly instead. “I’m glad you’re going with me,” he says against his husband’s knuckles. He doesn’t care as much about his reputation as he might have when he was younger, but he tries to keep it in good standing since malice could bleed onto the rest of his family if he doesn’t.

With a sigh, he kisses along Lan Zhan’s fingers for a moment before finally relaxing and letting Lan Zhan have his hand back. “Seeing A-Liang’s chubby little face isn’t good enough as a gift? Okay, we can get him something nice, then. Maybe if we get him some calligraphy supplies, he’ll write to me first for a change.” No, they’ll probably need to bring something nice but not too nice. He really should know what to get his brother, but he’s at a loss. If only he could find a woman willing to marry someone with Jiang Cheng’s temperament.

“Maybe we can bring him some Emperor’s Smile with his gift,” he suggests, adjusting his position to take some pressure off his tail bone. “It’s been a long time since we were students here, but it really is the best wine in Gusu. Maybe the best in general.”

A-Liang, the best wine of Cloud Recesses, calligraphy brushes. Truly, a feast for the eyes of the unworthy, and Jiang Wanyin is undeserving, he is, he is, and he never will gain an inkling of understanding of Wei Ying's hardships. His devotion.

Inevitably, Lan Wangji wants to bite again. To graze, to gnaw. To hold close and absorb into himself, to fend harm off Wei Ying, come what may. His skin feels hardened, stone. His eyes shutter, valiantly, decisively opposed to the world. The water balms him through fits of fury, through its convalescence.

"If you wish him treated fairly, it will be done." He speaks it as he might make the chief cultivator's pronouncements, with slow, careful, tidy deliberation. Balanced. Beyond the pale. "But he must receive you, if not as a brother, then as my husband. Respect due."

He’s spared from seeing the look on his husband’s face because of their positioning, so he assumes that everything is fine. That maybe Lan Zhan’s usual bitterness about Jiang Cheng is tempered by the comfort of warmth and each other.

That is until Lan Zhan uses his politician’s voice.

“He will,” he answers, though he can’t know that for certain. If he remembers, he’ll add the stipulation to his letter. He wonders what will happen if he forgets and Jiang Cheng doesn’t give him enough respect for Lan Zhan’s tastes.

Maybe he let go of Lan Zhan’s hand too soon. He picks it up again and brings it to rest on his cheek. He turns his face to sprinkle comforting kisses on Lan Zhan’s palm. “If he doesn’t treat me with respect, I won’t stop you from dueling him.”

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