魏无羡 (Wei Wuxian) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
emperorssmile) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
wuding2024-12-21 03:43 pm
emperorssmile) wrote in wuding2024-12-21 03:43 pm
Snowed In
It’s late-morning by the time Wei Wuxian comes to. He hears Lan Liang cooing from the other room leaving him feeling somewhat puzzled. By now, the nursemaid would have taken the boy from Lan Zhan for the morning. So why is he still here in the jingshi?
He pulls himself out of bed languidly, adjusting his single layered robe to a reasonably modest alignment. Usually, he’d primp himself up before leaving the sleeping chamber, but concern for his son keeps him from doing much more than run his fingers through his hair a couple of times while he walks.
It isn’t long before he notices A-Liang isn’t left to his own devices after all. To his pleasant surprise, Lan Zhan is keeping Lan Liang company.
“I thought you had political meetings all morning,” he inquires brightly with more of a pep in his step as he approaches the adorable scene before him. He ruffles Liang’s hair and sidles up next to his husband.
He pulls himself out of bed languidly, adjusting his single layered robe to a reasonably modest alignment. Usually, he’d primp himself up before leaving the sleeping chamber, but concern for his son keeps him from doing much more than run his fingers through his hair a couple of times while he walks.
It isn’t long before he notices A-Liang isn’t left to his own devices after all. To his pleasant surprise, Lan Zhan is keeping Lan Liang company.
“I thought you had political meetings all morning,” he inquires brightly with more of a pep in his step as he approaches the adorable scene before him. He ruffles Liang’s hair and sidles up next to his husband.
no subject
But he is blessed in the opportunity to take and take and take voraciously, to tear the meat off the bones of Wei Ying's affection. He has no measure, no moderation. Only a startling hunger.
For now, yet restrained, he completes the toweling, finally leaving the bathtub and offering his hand for Wei Ying to exit beside him, so that they might retreat in their sleeping quarters. When their house is complete, this trek will be both more private, as their children will have their own domains — and more readily spied, for the size of the new location. He yearns for that, for giving Wei Ying a home.
"I would like my husband to attend his beauty by the mirror." As if he were a truly spoiled wife, tenderly upkept to satisfy the vain wants of a tyrannical spouse.
no subject
“I can do that,” he accepts, staying close enough for touching to Lan Zhan for a few lingering moments. He lists himself up onto his toes and kisses Lan Zhan’s cheek where it meets his lips. “Don’t take too long. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Reluctant, he pulls away and moves to the area of the jingshi set aside for vanity. He fixes his towel across his waist and reaches for their jade, wide-toothed comb. It had originally just been Lan Zhan’s, but he’s been using it too for the most part. He starts with the left side and carefully combs out his hair starting at the ends and working his way towards the roots.
no subject
Wei Ying looks at once a natural before the polished silver piece as he does jarring, and Lan Wangji lingers behind him, one hand coming to the roundness of his shoulder, the other grasping the comb from his beautiful lover's grip. He starts the work of laying out and slowly, slowly passing the comb through the waterfall of Wei Ying's hair, straddling the line between care and seduction, while their gazes meet in the reflective surface.
Then, carefully, "Has my wife waited patiently all these hours for my return from duties?"
A heady fantasy unlikely to stir Lan Wangji's ill placed jealousy against the fictional roles he sometimes occupies.
no subject
“I’ve missed you every moment, beloved,” he says sweetly, stepping back just enough to feel Lan Zhan’s front against him. “You’ll allow this loyal wife to relieve your body of the day’s stresses, won’t you?”
As far as their roles go, this feels closer to their truths than most of the other ones they’ve played. Sure, he likes to be handled roughly most of the time, but loving gentleness is good, too. Loving Lan Zhan in any way is good.
He turns around to face Lan Zhan, tilting his head up for a kissing greeting. “I made sure I’m clean just for you,” he adds, smiling and pressing himself against his husband. “Beloved, you’re so handsome. You’ve made me the luckiest wife in Gusu.”
no subject
His other hand travels down, rounding on Wei Ying's shoulder, slipping down his back. Perhaps all the better that he didn't opt for silks, in the end. A much faster unraveling, as Lan Wangji, mouth raw and warm, pulls back to gaze down sullenly at his husband and pronounce, all at once: "Turn around, sit on your vanity. Let me see my beautiful wife."
Before said wife sets about to relieve his body of the day's stresses and other such metaphors that dress their affection in romance.
no subject
He knows this body isn’t anything special with its lingering complications from long term starvation. He’s put on some weight with his training and constant battle with eating enough, but he still feels too skinny. Lan Zhan’s disappointed by it, but he tries not to let it bother him as he gracefully takes his seat at the vanity.
He combs through his hair with his fingers, pulling the whole mass over one of his shoulders where he can continue to work through the tangles that will probably just tie themselves up when they finish their bedplay. “My love, you must be exhausted. How would you like me?”
no subject
Later. Much later, when Lan Wangji isn't prowling closer to his husband, when he isn't settling his arms to lift his lover up and anchor him steadily on the vanity's spread. When his hands don't linger steadfastly by Wei Ying after, when he is not breathing in the clever wholeness of his scent. Musk and clean, somehow combined, so quickly after a breath.
Politely, as if he merely a gentleman inspecting wares at the marketplace, he sits his palm on Wei Ying's waist, then cleverly dips it to hold his cock, a few choice strokes testing the elasticity of his husband's ardor. Has he recovered his appetite, or is he only feeding what he assumes is Lan Wangji's desire?
"At ease," he murmurs, leaning in to spill the entirety of his secrets into Wei Ying's ear. "Soft and willing."
no subject
He hadn’t realized he’d been holding tension until Lan Zhan pointed it out. He had missed his daily ‘meditation’ (nap) this afternoon because he’d slept in so much this morning. Regardless of where the tension is from, he’ll figure it out later. Right now, he’s more interested in some mutual touch.
“I want you,” he whispers, “Whatever you want to give me. As long as it’s my beloved husband.” Soft, he can do. Willing is an understatement. He’s curious about what sort of romantic entanglement they’re working towards. Maybe some gentleness would be good for him if they involve Lan Zhan taking him. He isn’t terribly sore, but he might become sore if they abuse that part of him too much in one day.
no subject
His mouth travels Wei Ying's, their mutual appreciation ironclad, and he dips in again to nudge his lover's legs open and situate himself between his thighs, the press of his strokes ongoing. And he whispers in kind, "Bare your husband to take you."
He wears the one layer still, less for modesty — though it facilitates one of them attending Lan Liang at a moment's notice, should the need strike — than to prevent the inconvenience of his scars entering the line of sight. He takes Wei Ying's hand in his own, drifts his touch lower, to where Lan Wangji is swelling fat and full and thickening already beneath translucent silks.
"You are not too tired for me, wife?"
no subject
“You’re so hard already, just for me,” he whispers, pressing his fingers down against the crown. He can feel the moisture beading at the tip through the thin layer of silk and he moans again, feeling so wanted and loved. He pulls his hand back just enough to finish loosening the sash, then he pushes the two sides of the robe out of the way to expose Lan Zhan’s sex completely.
He looks back up and meets Lan Zhan’s eyes. Smiling, he closes his hand around his husband and starts out with a few slow strokes. “I’m not tired,” he claims, glancing between lips and eyes. “You feel good in my hand. You would be equally enjoyable in other places, my treasured husband. My mouth or between my legs.”
no subject
"Both of your mouths are irresistible," he pronounces, arousal exacerbated by the memory of his lover's attention earlier in the bathtub, the warmth and agony of his suckling. Then, coming back in the orbit of Wei Ying's arms, setting his hands onto his waist, "I want to be inside of you."
To claim his husband wholly and irrevocably, to shatter his barriers. He does not wait long, catching his own wet length in hand, tip already dripping and trickling it over the cleft of Wei Ying's ass, between his legs, to the pretty nub of his hole. He sinks in between punched heartbeats, one hand holding onto Wei Ying's thigh as an anchor, biting his lower lip to allow himself to feel the moment without letting go.
"...too much?" Never, for the first round of their evening trysts, but he knows he has exhausted even Wei Ying's patience, pushed his limitations.
no subject
“I want you,” he answers, spreading his legs a little wider, but letting Lan Zhan do most of the work. He pulls himself closer, holding onto Lan Zhan’s neck and shoulders as he’s filled up. It’s uncomfortable at first, reminding him that he’s already been loved thoroughly once today, but it’s not enough to affect his desire or ability to seek pleasure along side Lan Zhan.
“Almost,” he answers, raising his hips a little before pushing down and taking his husband deeper. “I’m okay, I’m okay. Does it feel nice, Lan Zhan?” He wraps his legs around Lan Zhan’s hips and hooks his ankles to trap him close.
no subject
But he does not. Cannot. Wei Ying welcomes him, and his hips push perfunctorily, then, with the inevitable reward of pleasure and a delighted moan, his thrusts proceed at a lazy pace. He is slow, purposefully: irritatingly holding himself at bay, suspending their satisfaction so that they can instead absorb the trickles of it that bleed at the edges of their awareness.
He breathes in, out. Sets a punched, deep, if quiet rhythm, hand on Wei Ying's hip preventing the deluge. And he speaks only pretty things into Wei Ying's ear, free hand wrapping into his hair. "Sweetheart, you are everything. My everything. I love you. You feel like mine, like burning. Do you feel me?"
no subject
“Lan Zhan,” he moans the name, matching the too-slow pace as pleasantly torturous as it is. “I feel you, Lan Zhan. I love you so much. I’m yours and yours alone Lan Zhan. You’re so good to me.“ he murmurs his love against his husband’s skin.
He sits up again so he can look at Lan Zhan’s face. “Hello,” he says with a little smile. “I feel whole like this with you. Do you feel it too, Lan Zhan? Kiss me again, Lan Zhan. I love you.”
no subject
He groans, briefly distracted, before his hand flies southbound and he remembers to relieve Wei Ying with a few strokes, also, root to the pretty roundness of his crown, thumb rolling. Inevitably, he latches on — biting into his husband's neckline while administrating minor pressure. Never to bruise or bleed, always to keep close.
"Feel as one, united." At home, at ease, finally complete. His mouth drags up, and it's the kiss Wei Ying wanted, the one he would have gotten irrespective of their circumstances. His thrusts grow maddened, frenzied, curl of his hand tightening on the vanity's rim, holding the surface steady to avoid collision with the wall and the risk of awakening Lan Liang. "Wondered if true, that in Jinlintai concubines were taken so in banquet halls."
That disgusting wretch, Jin Guangshan would not have afforded his lovers their dignity. "Would Wei Ying wish to be claimed so?"
As if Lan Wangji's innate possessiveness would ever allow it.
no subject
“In front of the guests?” He asks, an amused chuckle following it. He’d heard the rumors too, back in his first life. He hadn’t thought much about its veracity or the women’s willingness to be used in such ways back then, but he knows better these days. Jin Guangshan was a sexual deviant and a monster in his own right.
He shakes off the thought of the former Jin sect leader. Right now, he only has room for Lan Zhan.
“We could start a new Lan tradition. On the next anniversary of our first marriage, we can host our own banquet,” he teases, nudging his nose against Lan Zhan’s and keeping their mouths close enough to brush lips as he speaks. “You can show everyone who I belong to.”
He kisses his husband again and again, suckling his bottom lip and his tongue at times. In the back of his mind, he reminds himself that he needs to breathe. Panting into Lan Zhan’s mouth counts as breathing, doesn’t it?
no subject
"You'll be pregnant by then," he murmurs, half threat and half pledge and all the evidence of Lan Wangji's interest, the press of his hips a torrent nearing violence. By contrast, his hand strokes patiently, painlessly, nearly sweetly. "You will birth so many of my heirs."
They promised, after all, long before Lan Wangji entered his wife, moaning his name between burning breaths, losing himself in fresh kisses. His hand drifts up to capture Wei Ying's hair, to knot it, to hold him. He pushes in again, steel strong.
"How many... how many children will you give me?" They should not speak of this now, in the wooing of lovemaking. This should be for a time of peace, of consideration, of cool-headed thought.
no subject
He lets Lan Zhan do most of the work, but he still matches each thrust with his own. He giggles a little and kisses Lan Zhan’s neck and jaw before answering. “Ten! No, more than that. We’ll have a home filled with little voices.”
He doesn’t think Lan Zhan’s being too serious having this talk when they’re in this state. Considering their goal of shared immortality, ten wouldn’t be very many children over the course of a century or a millennium. He pulls back a little so he can see his husband’s face again. “Or maybe one every year we spend together. We’ll have enough kids to have a sect on our own.”
As if he could actually bear a child.
no subject
"Perhaps ten too many," he offers out tentatively, because the thought of this horde of Lan children that his spouse cannot bear all the same is — daunting, eliciting small and short blinks, his head tipping to the side. He nods once, pushing his hips once more to deepen his thrust into Wei Ying.
"My wife has a delicate constitution." Yes, yes. Look at him, a specter of fragility. How could Lan Wangji ever dare impose in such a way?
no subject
“Not too many. We’ve got forever, so we can take our time,” he points out, moving back and dipping his head so he can look at his husband’s face. He noses at his face, letting the pace of their love making cool while they’re talking. He doesn’t have as much difficulty with talking while they’re busy as Lan Zhan does. “We don’t have to rush things. I want a big family for our big house, but I’m selfish and want to spend more time with you, too.”
They still come together, limbs entwined and slippery from their sweat. He keeps moving his hips, following his lover’s pace and meeting each thrust with one of his own.
no subject
In the end, he settles simply on escorting their bodies to pleasure, on returning his hand to Wei Ying's shaft at a tender pace, up and choking on downturn. He whispers his praise, his compliments, for his husband is unsettlingly beautiful and unmatched in his arts and proud, and he must be worshipped, must be held and honored and beloved.
The finale is predictable, perhaps almost disappointing in its perfect synchrony: with a gutting groan, he releases inside his husband, one hand strangling Wei Ying's thigh, the other forcing his spillage. He wants to laugh, suffocated, overly heated, but only manages to drift his mouth clumsily over his lover's shoulder and latch on in a half bite.
"Forgive me," he mutters somewhat apologetic, for Wei Ying's distaste of being mauled is not a new discovery — yet he cannot help himself.
no subject
He hangs onto Lan Zhan’s neck, muttering all sorts of encouragements in escalating tempo. Everything between reassuring him that this feels amazing to how he thrives on Lan Zhan’s love. It’s almost like he’s competing with all the pretty words Lan Zhan floods him with.
Inevitably, they hold each other as their efforts come to fruition. With a long moan, he’s thrown into orgasm. He’s not sure who starts first, but it doesn’t matter. The bruising pain on his shoulder adds to the experience and he whimpers through the last moments of intensity until he catches every last sliver of bliss.
He laughs a few syllables and squeezes Lan Zhan tightly. He’d thought he’d recovered enough from the last climax with their break for play and bathing, but his energy levels are nearly lethargic as he lets Lan Zhan hold his entire weight.
“Lan Zhan,” he says after a moment of recovery. “We did it. Three times, just like you said we would.” And now he feels like he could fall asleep right this moment, but he stubbornly keeps himself awake.
no subject
He licks the aggravated skin under his mouth, without nipping. Licks and laves and attends like a rabid dog gone finally silent, a beast sated. He cannot ask for more than what Wei Ying has given. It would not do. He would not do.
"We are perhaps too old for this." Surely, surely. Even Wei Ying must tire (has tired). "Once a day is surely enough."
And laughing, crystalline, "I must bathe you again."
no subject
He whines when Lan Zhan mentions another bath. “I can’t make it, Lan Zhan. Too tired to walk to the bath tub,” he says but he knows Lan Zhan will get him to the tub one way or another. “Once a day is plenty. Twice for celebrations,” he suggests, dragging himself upright again where he can see his husband’s face.
Lan Zhan looks as spent as he feels and he almost feels bad for planning to let him carry him to the bath. Almost. “I must be pregnant now after that,” he jokes, kissing Lan Zhan’s cheek and trailing those kisses to lips.
“Let’s allow our kids to come to us. Like A-Liang and A-Yuan came to us,” he says, stifling a big yawn against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “We don’t have to rush anything.”
no subject
And so, he is entitled when he negotiates the easy fall of Wei Ying's limbs around him, pushing his husband's weight against Lan Wangji's front and ferrying him s if no more than the most precious of dolls, to sit prettily on the bathtub's rim. Secured, Lan Wangji relinquishes him briefly back in the water, one arm linked beneath Wei Ying's to keep him sat. The other rushes below to bring in flows in a whirl, fingers teasing the precious hole to tease out Lan Wangji's spend.
An easy, quick work, only delayed when Lan Wangji passes a bathing cloth in the contents of a fresh bucket to cleanse his own groin, then pass it quickly about his limbs. Wei Ying likewise attended, he removes his husband again, this time settling his arms beneath the bend of Wei Ying's knees and his back — to carry him to their bed.
On the way there, he finally addresses his husband's call. "Words in the heat of bedplay are as nothing."
But there is a wisp of longing there, a slight hesitation.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)