( Excuses, excuses, and the gentle lift of Lan Wangji's brow works its miracle of conveying his lack of compassion as Wei Ying bemoans and pleads against his abuses. With a swift pat of Wei Ying's hip, then tush, Lan Wangji releases him — nudging him just the littlest bit farther so that he might turn Wei Ying toward him and they can share a heating glance. )
A good wife would produce it.
( A shy, dutiful spouse of Gusu Lan would never presume to share her husband's waters, attending on him, hand and foot. Perhaps their sect is not yet as progressive as circumstances would dictate — and the thought of such a thoroughly, helplessly domesticated Wei Ying rouses both his amusement and his uneasiness.
He corrects himself, gently. ) After. First, attend to my hair, beloved.
( This too is new between them, for all their love and readily shared intimacy: Lan Wangji has taken his time to accustom himself to inconveniencing his lover, voice hesitant even as he tests out these fine new privileges of fate. )
[He continues to pout even as he turns to face Lan Zhan, as was his original plan. They have to work around each other until Wei Wuxian straddles his husband’s lap with his hands resting on Lan Zhan’s shoulders. He knows Lan Zhan is only teasing him, but he still continues to pout until he’s asked to help with his husband’s hair.]
I’ll give you bitter tea next time.
[He cups some water in his hands and uses it to wet Lan Zhan’s hair near the scalp. He needs to repeat the process to dampen it to his liking, then he reaches for the supplied oils. He hadn’t bothered setting out the sandalwood oils because Lan Zhan hadn’t arrived yet and he had forgotten to do it today, too. He’s fond of the lotus scent, but he prefers the sandalwood because it reminds him of Lan Zhan.]
I displeased my husband by neglecting his comfort. How would he see me punished?
[His hands are in Lan Zhan’s tresses, working out all the travel dirt and making sure the hair doesn’t tangle in the process. He catches the look on Lan Zhan’s face and can’t help but grin and lean in.]
There are other wifely duties I can perform. [He brushes his lips over Lan Zhan’s, scooting along Lan Zhan’s thighs so they can sit closer, pressed together.]
( Obediently, he lets Wei Ying wet and tease and domesticate his hair, inviting his touch, tilting his head to allow him better access. Then, just when it seems as if he might let impatience rule him and take the matter into his own hands — Wei Ying douses him in sandalwood, and he sighs, appeased and indulged and known in all the ways of a beloved soulmate. )
The scent of home.
( Cleaner than the heady lotus, more reminiscent of exorcism rites. And he does not say 'thank you,' because these are the words that run prohibited between them, but he thinks them and nods, thinks them and gazes deep and dark, thinks them and absorbs the looks of Wei Ying so lovingly, freely, unfailingly at ease. )
Wei Ying is too generous.
( It must have been an additional precaution to bring the salts of Cloud Recesses, alongside all the preparations necessary to attend Lan Liang and the pacification rites. Wei Ying has gone out of his way.
To reward him, Lan Wangji draws out his hand, snagging in his husband's hair, pulling it gently back over both shoulders, before delivering cupped handfuls of water to rain down. A slow massage after, retaliatory. )
It is. I like the jingshi, but you’re my home, Lan Zhan. I could be in a palace or a straw hut, as long as it’s with you, then I’ll feel like I belong.
[It feels good to see Lan Zhan relax that little bit more as the scent of sandalwood rises up with the steam. All because he prefers the sandalwood smell and brings some of their salts and oils with him wherever they travel. It might not be one of the traditionally observed effects of sandalwood, but it might as well be an aphrodisiac for him.]
And what might those be?
[He drops his hands and wraps his arms loosely around Lan Zhan’s middle while he closes his eyes and smiles through the beginning moments of bliss. It’s only been days they’ve been apart, but he’s become accustomed to touching and being touched. He thrives on it. With a pleased moan, he surrenders to it.
He opens his eyes again, still smiling. He’s still exhausted and anxious about all of those meetings he’s going to be doing over the next several days, but he feels more like himself than he did before their bath.]
If I’ve done so many misdeeds, I’ll have to make it up to my husband, won’t I? [He leans in close to Lan Zhan’s face and licks his bottom lip.] How would he like to be pampered?
( There, nearly child-like, sweetly yielding: this is his husband, finally at ease with himself and his surroundings, eyes soft and mouth curved when he takes in the world again. On instinct, Lan Wangji's arms curl around him to support him on his lap, as if to protect him from threats that would not presume to materialize under the roofs of a foremost clan.
Think Lan Wangji what ill he would of Jiang Cheng, he is still Yunmeng, and they have recovered from their weaknesses and failings of the war. Even now, outside, he spies the shadows of disciples patroling and the crackle of wards sustained to keep the watch. They are safe here, in the familial quarters.
Safe, yet somehow more vulnerable than on the road. Kissing the snow-softness of Wei Ying's head crown, he settles to reward him with a hummed meditation: )
Show me the Lotus Pier of your youth.
( Every nook and cranny in which Wei Ying took his shelter, every lake that brought him joy. Let this one last place of secrecy and seclusion be shared between them, utterly. Much of the sect's grounds would have burned during the war, rebuilt in ways Wei Ying cannot claim to know intimately — but whatever remains can be introduced. )
[He tilts his head to one side and his smile softens when Lan Zhan makes his request. It’s less physical than he’d been thinking, but that’s not a bad thing. If anything, it means more because of it. Lan Zhan wants to know more about his childhood. Wants to see it for himself and imagine what could have been if Lan Zhan had come to visit him in Lotus Pier instead of Wang Lingjiao.
He nods his head and presses a kiss to his husband’s mouth.]
You got it! There are plenty of things I can show you. I can show you my favorite tree to climb - it’s not the one in showed you before - oh! And I can show you how to sneak into the kitchens for snacks. [Though it’s unlikely they’d be turned away if they went to the kitchens in the proper fashion.
He grabs for a wash towel and starts to work on his husband’s face and neck.] There. A face worthy of the title, Hanguang-Jun. [He moves onto the shoulders next.] Do you want to see where I used to hunt pheasants? They’d be delicious, but I won’t kill any in front of Lan Zhan.
And the archery grounds where Wei Ying learned his skill.
( Nearly on par with Wen Qiongling, masterfully performing before the cultivation world whole. So many forget Wei Ying's prowess extends past mere necromancy and sword cultivation and onto painting and the bow. Even gardening, for all Lan Wangji suspects that was more the work of the remaining Wen clan.
Submitting himself to Wei Ying's toweling and grateful for the drying that dispels his chills, he returns the favor with slow pats of his hands to warm his lover's arms. Up, down, beloved friction. )
Shall we visit the markets, also? Wei Ying must long for purple silks. ( For all Lan Wangji suspects only the main clan is permitted the vibrant shades of the color, Wei Ying can at least enjoy better variety than in Cloud Recesses. )
[He could always borrow one from the armory if they decide to practice archery while they’re here, though he doubts Lan Zhan brought his bow, either. Then again, Lan Zhan does have the knack for being prepared for anything.]
But we can swing by there. I bet the disciples’ training schedule is the same as it was when I was one, so we can go when it’s not too busy.
[He’s been in this body long enough that his intuition is calibrated to his new proportions while shooting. He may not be as impressive as he’d been on Phoenix Mountain, but he’s a good marksman these days. He wouldn’t mind if they put on a show for the Jiang youths. Jin Ling will be coming in another couple days and he hasn’t had a chance to compete with him yet.
He hums thoughtfully at thought of wearing purple robes. Before this trip to Lotus Pier, he would have been against it. But he’s been given family quarters, which means Jiang Cheng wouldn’t oppose him wearing purples. After tonight, he isn’t sure if he wants to.
But Lan Zhan brought it up, so he’s clearly interested. He grins, leaning in almost close enough to kiss.] Let’s rewrite history, Lan Zhan. I’ll get some purple robes and we can do all the things we would have done if you’d accepted my invitation to Lotus Pier.
( They will borrow bows, as they do meals and sleeping quarters, for surely Jiang Cheng's largesse won't meet an abrupt end over a request of such simple parameters. Better, and he starts to massage the oily sheen of bathing potions into his husband's arms and shoulders, that they depend on the courtesy that so often renders a host submissive to their guest. That they allow themselves some simple joy, alongside the hurts of this visit.
Best of all that they rewrite history, Wei Ying says, and Lan Wangji does not refute him, for all he thinks perhaps their toils were critical to delivering them where they are now. Inevitably, tightly bound. Their suffering was the key to endless happiness. How can Lan Wangji negate it? )
If I take you in a lake boat, will you capsize us, precious thing?
( At dusk, for the sake of modesty and reputation, in the most secluded of the sect's lakes. Surely there must be one that lends itself to purpose. The youth of Lotus Pier would have long found and, with chastity less a requirement of their cultivation, weaponized it. )
[They continue washing each other. For his part, he enjoys both the touching and being touched more than the act of cleansing. His hands linger, taking as much time as he can get away with. Eventually he runs out of skin above the waterline, so he simply keeps touching Lan Zhan under the water, too.
Laughing at the suggestion, he wraps his arms around Lan Zhan’s shoulders and nuzzles their noses together.] I can’t make any promises, but there’s one way we can find out. [Since they’re already so close, he takes advantage of the proximity to steal a couple quick kisses.]
I know the perfect spot to try it out. I used to go there when I wanted some time to think. No one’s ever bothered me while I was there. [He assumes his little place on the lake is still there and that no one else has discovered it in his absence. If they have, they might get a show.] I’ll take you there tomorrow if you remind me.
[Now that he’s not pretending to wash his husband for longer than necessary, he wants to kiss him some more. He starts out with little kisses that will graduate to deeper ones if Lan Zhan doesn’t insist on focusing on their bath.]
( He pledges and briefly concedes to be his husband's sweet and pliant victim, his maidenly target to corrupt, the tender subject of his attention. As Wei Ying turns, Lan Wangji's arms swivel to accommodate him, to reposition him on Wangji's thighs until they face one another, mouths crashing, the light tremble of the bath's waters sending an eruption of spumes to lick their spines.
They carry on, Wangji's interest and arousal unfairly quick to go from simmer to fast boil, to nearly crest as Wei Ying's flesh collides with his own, creating the unfair start of friction. They are not children. Lan Wangji, Hanguang-Jun, an acting sect leader, can surely not be so readily undone. And still, panting as he pulls away: )
Here? ( They both know what he asks and what danger their potential coupling poses to the bathtub. Back home, they've become proficient at lovemaking in water — but also fortified their tub. If they ruin the one here, the odds of the servants communicating the incident to Jiang Cheng... )
[He’d been half-aroused himself since the last time they’d spent precious moments kissing, so it doesn’t take long before his undivided focus becomes sleeping with Lan Zhan as soon as possible. He presses his fingers to Lan Zhan’s chest, dragging fingertips down across pert nipples.]
Ah… Maybe we should move to the bed.
[He says it like he’s not already grinding himself against his husband’s pelvis, trapping them both between them. The friction feels divine and it’s not like every time they sleep together has to be a game. Sometimes it can be carried by impatience and passion.
He reluctantly stops squirming against Lan Zhan, also panting and flushed. He doesn’t look his husband in the eye at first, focused instead on the way his husband’s lips are pink and glistening. He’s a mere man. How could he not immediately think of Lan Zhan in his knees with him in his mouth?]
Do you have any idea what you do to me, Lan Zhan? I feel like I’ll finish if you just touched me the wrong way.
( Artless, already crumbling, breaking in Lan Wangji's arms. Maybe they should move to the bed, but there is nothing in Wei Ying's dissolving composure to suggest he would survive the transfer in possession of his better senses. And would it be so challenging, if one of them retains his wits about him?
Surely, he could afford some mercy, hand dipping negligent and soft to wrap firmly around the swell of his husband's length, the base of it brazen. No dulcet coaxing, no play-pretend — only hard, mean strokes that run tighter than Lan Wangji's own preference, but that Wei Ying adores shamelessly. Water is a flimsy lubricant, but Wei Ying ever enjoys his lovemaking rough.
Throughout, he litters scant kisses down his lover's neck, licking away the salt of his sweat and the sheen of sandalwood that embraces him. )
[All at once, his whole world shrinks down to Lan Zhan’s hand around him. He whimpers his first moan, hips arching forward against his husband’s fist. It feels almost too good, leaving his nerves on fire that he leans into. It’s the only thing he can concentrate on and he’s greedy for it.]
Lan Zhan..! Ah, you’re always so good to me. But what about you? [He hasn’t been paying attention to his husband’s growing ardor until now. He scrapes his fingertips down Lan Zhan’s stomach, taking in the muscles flexing under his touch. If he takes care of Lan Zhan with his hand, they’ll be too tired to do anything else.
Would that be so bad? They’re both exhausted, so maybe this is enough. As much as he wants to be filled to the hilt with Lan Zhan’s love, he can leave things like that for the morning.
He wraps his hand around Lan Zhan’s length and gives it a couple rhythmic strokes that match the pace Lan Zhan’s set for him. He’s still distracted and sometimes misses a stroke, especially as Lan Zhan’s brings him closer, but he tries his best.]
Lan Zhan, I’m close! [It’s a fair warning. He feels the escalation, the hints of pleasure promising more. He wants Lan Zhan inside of him, but he also wants to catch his climax.]
( Just like that, Wei Ying yielding to him, taking his pleasure without curtailment or hesitation, pausing only to reward Lan Wangji with his own contentment in kind. He hisses with his lover's first few strokes, teased and at once sated, hips pushing up tremulously to meet Wei Ying's caresses halfway while bone wearying lethargy climbs up his spine. He could wait, unlike Wei Ying, could let it grow and grow and simmer, could encase himself in want —
But Wei Ying is a greedy, juvenile thing, possessed of minimal control, and it's not the work of his hand so much as the look of despair that crosses his face, the frustration Lan Wangji kisses off his bitten lips. Inevitably, impossibly, he wrestles Wei Ying's hand loose from around himself, and gives up his own hold on his lover's sweet length. It's a stroke of sheer frigid will that compels him, finally, to grasp Wei Ying's arm and reposition them, his husband no facing the tub's ends instead of Lan Wangji.
Water clicks and mutters as it settles warm around them, the heating talisman a rare blessing he will never take for granted. Grudgingly, he catches Wei Ying's wrists drawn behind his back in one hand, to prevent him from touching himself to completion. )
...Wei Ying. If I release you, your hands do not leave the bath's rim. Agreed?
[He feels it building, so close to cresting to completion when Lan Zhan lets go of him. Another whine escapes him as he thrusts against the air a couple times. If it weren’t for Lan Zhan’s control over his limbs, he’d move to take himself over the edge. For now, he’s left to struggle fruitlessly.
He’s panting, finally settling back into himself. He’d been so close and it takes him a moment to collect himself. It’s a good move to restrain him, because he’s not the patient sort. It’s exciting to leave his fate in Lan Zhan’s hands.]
What do you have planned for me, Lan Zhan? I promise I’ll be good for you. I don’t know how long I’ll last, but I’ll be good.
[He wets his lips, then nods his head affirmatively. He can’t move his hands until Lan Zhan lets them go, but as soon as he does, he raises them up to clutch the tub’s rim.]
( They both need a moment, Lan Wangji slow to wholly disengage even when Wei Ying droops, lax and somnolent in his grasp, entirely submissive. Instead, he lingers molten to hover over his lover's back, bracketing him in with careful movements to avoid too much water displacement.
On each side, his arms draw in Wei Ying. His legs encase his husband's, length pressed heavy and heated against the sweet cleft of his husband's ass. And softly, as he releases Wei Ying: )
I would like to be inside of you. ( Slow, careful. Breezy. As if they speak of the day's tofu soup, not of alleviating desire. At least Wei Ying is docile, yielding, already heeding. ) May I? Will you hold on for me throughout?
[He’s tempted to disobey and frustrate Lan Zhan enough to take out his pent up desire meanly, but he’s well past the need for foreplay. He spreads his knees while Lan Zhan encircles him. His breath has been under control after their rest, but not for much longer. He gasps, pressing himself back against the welcome visitor.]
Lan Zhan…
[He wants to touch Lan Zhan, too, but he’d have to turn around and then… oh, right, the tub probably wouldn’t stand up to the two of them pressing against the perimeter on two opposing sides. If they’re both braced against the same side, they’d be more likely to tip over than to break it.]
Yeah, you can take me right now. I won’t let go. [He makes a show of squeezing the wood tighter for a moment and then maintaining a more comfortable amount of pressure.] I haven’t felt whole since the last time we were one body. You don’t want to keep your poor wife waiting, do you?
( Bound together so closely that the vapors of their bath barely have their space to cling, that their breaths cannot even produce condensation before landing on precious, unmarred skin. Lan Wangji distracts himself with a litany of shallow kisses scattered on the round of Wei Ying's left shoulders, the knobs of his spine gliding down, until he's reached the halfway path across the steep dip of his lover's back.
He breathes him in, quietly, then peels away to search the rim of the bathtub for their salts and their oils, capturing a few precious, stringently scented vials and shedding their sheen on his fingertips, his palms. Only one, golden and sweet, serves for adequate lubrication, but the rest yet spill with wafts of pleasant home-calling nostalgia.
Just so, Lan Wangji's fingers dip between the plush of his lover's thighs, climbing up to the swell of his ass, in between to lave the heat of his well-loved hole. Inside, after, in careful thrusts of just one or two fingers in slow alternation, taking, seemingly, every care he is painfully aware neither Wei Ying nor he can afford to wait out. Still, they must. At the next thrust of his fingers, he rewards his husband with friction where a wealth of experience has taught him he bullies the knot of Wei Ying's pleasure. )
Could my wife come for me like this? ( Without a thicker penetration or frontal assistance? )
[He holds himself upright, looking over his shoulder when he hears his husband pawing through their supplies. They’ve tried sleeping together without lubrication before and it comes with several drawbacks, some leading to minor injury to one or both of them, so he welcomes whatever Lan Zhan deems worthy of the cause.
When Lan Zhan turns back towards him, Wei Wuxian looks forwards and waits to be touched. He doesn’t have enough time to start feeling impatient. He shudders and presses his ass against Lan Zhan’s fingers in a failed attempt at pleasuring himself. Even though it’s been a few days, his body accepts the invasion with minimal discomfort.]
Lan Zhan, I’m ready. You don’t need to… ah! [He moans, body trembling when Lan Zhan finds the appropriate bundle of nerves to expedite his pleasure. His head drops and he bumps his chin against the edge of the tub right between his two hands. He doesn’t react to the bump.]
I could. [He pushes against those fingers, moaning again when he does. It wouldn’t take much at all to tip him over the cusp.] I will, soon, if you keep it up.
[It’s not an exaggeration. He really does feel so overstimulated that he could finish in a few moments if his husband doesn’t retract his fingers. He shudders again, gripping the rim of the tub until his knuckles turn white.]
( He doesn't need to, yet Wei Ying gives way gladly, helplessly obedient when he is played as if the strings of the prettiest guqin. Soon, he warns and Lan Wangji can see the truth of it, the tremors of his body whole, how he summons the dregs of his composure to keep his word and hold on to the bath's rim.
Hushing him, Lan Wangji removes his hand, briefly turning his attention to the oils again, to wet his palm then his own length in a few perfunctory strokes. So often, Wei Ying asks why he does not chase his own pleasure in his solitude, when they're apart, and Lan Wangji struggles to explain this, this is why, this moment. Nothing compares to the anticipation of a few heartbeats between when Wei Ying lies before him, beautiful and prone, and Lan Wangji readies himself to take him.
It's base, after, a well-practised motion — one hand on Wei Ying's hip. The other on himself. He enters his husband without consideration for any ache, only the hunger of his own body, the pull of his hips, the hiss of his pleasure finally satisfied. One hard, mean thrust, and his arms rounding Wei Ying, his chin riding Wei Ying's shoulder.
He moans, and it's like a stabbing for the pain of Wei Ying tightening like a vice around him. He moans, and he's nearly undone. He is always, between them, the more easily overwhelmed emotionally, despite his stamina. )
[It always hurts just a little the moment they couple, his entrance stretching beyond its resting diameter. He pushes towards it, helping his husband fill him up. He starts to move one of his hands with the intention of dropping it down between his legs and remembers at the last moment he made a promise to keep them on the rim of the tub.]
Lan Zhan. You’re so amazing. You feel so good like this.
[He tilts his head back to rub his cheek against Lan Zhan’s, making a vague attempt at a kiss. The one thing he doesn’t love about this position is how difficult it is to kiss. He doesn’t try for long, but he leaves a wet trail across Lan Zhan’s cheek for all his efforts.]
My love, my treasure, my husband. I missed you. Am I being good for you? Don’t you like how hot your wife is? I want to touch you, Lan Zhan. And I want you to touch me anywhere. Everywhere.
( Ah, he'd forgotten the hard, harrowing inevitability that their position would exclude and possibility of easy affection, of trading kisses and murmuring sweet nothings in heated whispers long overdue. He strains, clumsily, neck tense to let Wei Ying's lips reach him, answering with a brush of his own mouth over his lover's cheek.
Half-heartedly, he positions his own arms over the bath's rim, fingers encircling Wei Ying's, pinning them down so they might both take their strength and their balance. A slow, studied thrust after. Another, punched, legs shaking with the disciplined effort of keeping himself from claiming this man as he should be.
His teeth come down to graze on Wei Ying's shoulder, close to seizing it. He laughs, both fond and feral. )
No where. ( Another thrust, trickling. Then, one brutal. ) You are good, so very good for me. Hot. Tight. But I am a cruel man.
( One pushing his husband forward, into the tub's rim, embracing its walls. Forced to take all that Lan Wangji has to give, rising water wafting heat around them. )
[He likes the way Lan Zhan comes closer and covers his entire back with his front. He feels enveloped and protected all at once. Their bodies slide together, skin slick from sweat and water. He moans appreciatively, using his hands as leverage to push his butt back, taking Lan Zhan in more roughly than if he settled still.
He hears the tub creak and whine from their weight and motions, but he doesn’t want to stop, so he doesn’t point it out. Come on, tub. Don’t embarrass Lotus Pier by breaking, he thinks, resting his chin on top of their joined hands.]
Don’t neglect your poor wife. [His words are breathless from exertion and pleasure. Lan Zhan fills him up so throughly that there’s no way he can miss hitting that special spot inside of him that drives him mad.]
Lan Zhan, please. I’ve been so good. If you won’t touch me all over, will you do me faster? I need it, Lan Zhan. Need you. Love you.
[It’s becoming more difficult to speak in full sentences. Every time Lan Zhan pushes into him, he feels like he’s going to tip over the edge. It’s frustrating. He wants more. Just a little bit more and he can tumble into pleasure.]
( Anything, he'll say anything like this, molten and pliant and sweet, as if he's not Wei Ying, Wei Wuxian, once a revenant king, the Yiling Patriarch — but a servant boy or a spoiled wife entirely at the mercy of vicious Hanguang-Jun.
And how cruel Lan Wangji feels, climbing his hand at last between Wei Ying's thighs, wet and shapely, insignificantly but reassuringly more voluptuous with time and the bearings of a good life at Cloud Recesses. He will never swell enough to be comfortably fat, but now and then Lan Wangji looks at him and thinks he has more passing odds to survive the onslaught of a determined breeze.
For now, it is Lan Wangji who assails him, who crawls his touch between Wei Ying's legs and entraps his length, first idly to merely seize it, then in greedy, vigorous strokes. Throughout, his hips pimp at a hard beat, never quite frantic but unforgiving. Around them, the bathtub creaks and groans under strains it was never crafted to bear. )
What will you tell your brother's servants if your bathtub collapses? How will you face them?
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no subject
A good wife would produce it.
( A shy, dutiful spouse of Gusu Lan would never presume to share her husband's waters, attending on him, hand and foot. Perhaps their sect is not yet as progressive as circumstances would dictate — and the thought of such a thoroughly, helplessly domesticated Wei Ying rouses both his amusement and his uneasiness.
He corrects himself, gently. ) After. First, attend to my hair, beloved.
( This too is new between them, for all their love and readily shared intimacy: Lan Wangji has taken his time to accustom himself to inconveniencing his lover, voice hesitant even as he tests out these fine new privileges of fate. )
no subject
I’ll give you bitter tea next time.
[He cups some water in his hands and uses it to wet Lan Zhan’s hair near the scalp. He needs to repeat the process to dampen it to his liking, then he reaches for the supplied oils. He hadn’t bothered setting out the sandalwood oils because Lan Zhan hadn’t arrived yet and he had forgotten to do it today, too. He’s fond of the lotus scent, but he prefers the sandalwood because it reminds him of Lan Zhan.]
I displeased my husband by neglecting his comfort. How would he see me punished?
[His hands are in Lan Zhan’s tresses, working out all the travel dirt and making sure the hair doesn’t tangle in the process. He catches the look on Lan Zhan’s face and can’t help but grin and lean in.]
There are other wifely duties I can perform. [He brushes his lips over Lan Zhan’s, scooting along Lan Zhan’s thighs so they can sit closer, pressed together.]
no subject
The scent of home.
( Cleaner than the heady lotus, more reminiscent of exorcism rites. And he does not say 'thank you,' because these are the words that run prohibited between them, but he thinks them and nods, thinks them and gazes deep and dark, thinks them and absorbs the looks of Wei Ying so lovingly, freely, unfailingly at ease. )
Wei Ying is too generous.
( It must have been an additional precaution to bring the salts of Cloud Recesses, alongside all the preparations necessary to attend Lan Liang and the pacification rites. Wei Ying has gone out of his way.
To reward him, Lan Wangji draws out his hand, snagging in his husband's hair, pulling it gently back over both shoulders, before delivering cupped handfuls of water to rain down. A slow massage after, retaliatory. )
Shall I not forgive my wife's other misdeeds?
no subject
[It feels good to see Lan Zhan relax that little bit more as the scent of sandalwood rises up with the steam. All because he prefers the sandalwood smell and brings some of their salts and oils with him wherever they travel. It might not be one of the traditionally observed effects of sandalwood, but it might as well be an aphrodisiac for him.]
And what might those be?
[He drops his hands and wraps his arms loosely around Lan Zhan’s middle while he closes his eyes and smiles through the beginning moments of bliss. It’s only been days they’ve been apart, but he’s become accustomed to touching and being touched. He thrives on it. With a pleased moan, he surrenders to it.
He opens his eyes again, still smiling. He’s still exhausted and anxious about all of those meetings he’s going to be doing over the next several days, but he feels more like himself than he did before their bath.]
If I’ve done so many misdeeds, I’ll have to make it up to my husband, won’t I? [He leans in close to Lan Zhan’s face and licks his bottom lip.] How would he like to be pampered?
no subject
Think Lan Wangji what ill he would of Jiang Cheng, he is still Yunmeng, and they have recovered from their weaknesses and failings of the war. Even now, outside, he spies the shadows of disciples patroling and the crackle of wards sustained to keep the watch. They are safe here, in the familial quarters.
Safe, yet somehow more vulnerable than on the road. Kissing the snow-softness of Wei Ying's head crown, he settles to reward him with a hummed meditation: )
Show me the Lotus Pier of your youth.
( Every nook and cranny in which Wei Ying took his shelter, every lake that brought him joy. Let this one last place of secrecy and seclusion be shared between them, utterly. Much of the sect's grounds would have burned during the war, rebuilt in ways Wei Ying cannot claim to know intimately — but whatever remains can be introduced. )
no subject
He nods his head and presses a kiss to his husband’s mouth.]
You got it! There are plenty of things I can show you. I can show you my favorite tree to climb - it’s not the one in showed you before - oh! And I can show you how to sneak into the kitchens for snacks. [Though it’s unlikely they’d be turned away if they went to the kitchens in the proper fashion.
He grabs for a wash towel and starts to work on his husband’s face and neck.] There. A face worthy of the title, Hanguang-Jun. [He moves onto the shoulders next.] Do you want to see where I used to hunt pheasants? They’d be delicious, but I won’t kill any in front of Lan Zhan.
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( Nearly on par with Wen Qiongling, masterfully performing before the cultivation world whole. So many forget Wei Ying's prowess extends past mere necromancy and sword cultivation and onto painting and the bow. Even gardening, for all Lan Wangji suspects that was more the work of the remaining Wen clan.
Submitting himself to Wei Ying's toweling and grateful for the drying that dispels his chills, he returns the favor with slow pats of his hands to warm his lover's arms. Up, down, beloved friction. )
Shall we visit the markets, also? Wei Ying must long for purple silks. ( For all Lan Wangji suspects only the main clan is permitted the vibrant shades of the color, Wei Ying can at least enjoy better variety than in Cloud Recesses. )
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[He could always borrow one from the armory if they decide to practice archery while they’re here, though he doubts Lan Zhan brought his bow, either. Then again, Lan Zhan does have the knack for being prepared for anything.]
But we can swing by there. I bet the disciples’ training schedule is the same as it was when I was one, so we can go when it’s not too busy.
[He’s been in this body long enough that his intuition is calibrated to his new proportions while shooting. He may not be as impressive as he’d been on Phoenix Mountain, but he’s a good marksman these days. He wouldn’t mind if they put on a show for the Jiang youths. Jin Ling will be coming in another couple days and he hasn’t had a chance to compete with him yet.
He hums thoughtfully at thought of wearing purple robes. Before this trip to Lotus Pier, he would have been against it. But he’s been given family quarters, which means Jiang Cheng wouldn’t oppose him wearing purples. After tonight, he isn’t sure if he wants to.
But Lan Zhan brought it up, so he’s clearly interested. He grins, leaning in almost close enough to kiss.] Let’s rewrite history, Lan Zhan. I’ll get some purple robes and we can do all the things we would have done if you’d accepted my invitation to Lotus Pier.
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Best of all that they rewrite history, Wei Ying says, and Lan Wangji does not refute him, for all he thinks perhaps their toils were critical to delivering them where they are now. Inevitably, tightly bound. Their suffering was the key to endless happiness. How can Lan Wangji negate it? )
If I take you in a lake boat, will you capsize us, precious thing?
( At dusk, for the sake of modesty and reputation, in the most secluded of the sect's lakes. Surely there must be one that lends itself to purpose. The youth of Lotus Pier would have long found and, with chastity less a requirement of their cultivation, weaponized it. )
Will I need to bind your hands?
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Laughing at the suggestion, he wraps his arms around Lan Zhan’s shoulders and nuzzles their noses together.] I can’t make any promises, but there’s one way we can find out. [Since they’re already so close, he takes advantage of the proximity to steal a couple quick kisses.]
I know the perfect spot to try it out. I used to go there when I wanted some time to think. No one’s ever bothered me while I was there. [He assumes his little place on the lake is still there and that no one else has discovered it in his absence. If they have, they might get a show.] I’ll take you there tomorrow if you remind me.
[Now that he’s not pretending to wash his husband for longer than necessary, he wants to kiss him some more. He starts out with little kisses that will graduate to deeper ones if Lan Zhan doesn’t insist on focusing on their bath.]
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( He pledges and briefly concedes to be his husband's sweet and pliant victim, his maidenly target to corrupt, the tender subject of his attention. As Wei Ying turns, Lan Wangji's arms swivel to accommodate him, to reposition him on Wangji's thighs until they face one another, mouths crashing, the light tremble of the bath's waters sending an eruption of spumes to lick their spines.
They carry on, Wangji's interest and arousal unfairly quick to go from simmer to fast boil, to nearly crest as Wei Ying's flesh collides with his own, creating the unfair start of friction. They are not children. Lan Wangji, Hanguang-Jun, an acting sect leader, can surely not be so readily undone. And still, panting as he pulls away: )
Here? ( They both know what he asks and what danger their potential coupling poses to the bathtub. Back home, they've become proficient at lovemaking in water — but also fortified their tub. If they ruin the one here, the odds of the servants communicating the incident to Jiang Cheng... )
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Ah… Maybe we should move to the bed.
[He says it like he’s not already grinding himself against his husband’s pelvis, trapping them both between them. The friction feels divine and it’s not like every time they sleep together has to be a game. Sometimes it can be carried by impatience and passion.
He reluctantly stops squirming against Lan Zhan, also panting and flushed. He doesn’t look his husband in the eye at first, focused instead on the way his husband’s lips are pink and glistening. He’s a mere man. How could he not immediately think of Lan Zhan in his knees with him in his mouth?]
Do you have any idea what you do to me, Lan Zhan? I feel like I’ll finish if you just touched me the wrong way.
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Surely, he could afford some mercy, hand dipping negligent and soft to wrap firmly around the swell of his husband's length, the base of it brazen. No dulcet coaxing, no play-pretend — only hard, mean strokes that run tighter than Lan Wangji's own preference, but that Wei Ying adores shamelessly. Water is a flimsy lubricant, but Wei Ying ever enjoys his lovemaking rough.
Throughout, he litters scant kisses down his lover's neck, licking away the salt of his sweat and the sheen of sandalwood that embraces him. )
Hush, then. Be good.
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Lan Zhan..! Ah, you’re always so good to me. But what about you? [He hasn’t been paying attention to his husband’s growing ardor until now. He scrapes his fingertips down Lan Zhan’s stomach, taking in the muscles flexing under his touch. If he takes care of Lan Zhan with his hand, they’ll be too tired to do anything else.
Would that be so bad? They’re both exhausted, so maybe this is enough. As much as he wants to be filled to the hilt with Lan Zhan’s love, he can leave things like that for the morning.
He wraps his hand around Lan Zhan’s length and gives it a couple rhythmic strokes that match the pace Lan Zhan’s set for him. He’s still distracted and sometimes misses a stroke, especially as Lan Zhan’s brings him closer, but he tries his best.]
Lan Zhan, I’m close! [It’s a fair warning. He feels the escalation, the hints of pleasure promising more. He wants Lan Zhan inside of him, but he also wants to catch his climax.]
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But Wei Ying is a greedy, juvenile thing, possessed of minimal control, and it's not the work of his hand so much as the look of despair that crosses his face, the frustration Lan Wangji kisses off his bitten lips. Inevitably, impossibly, he wrestles Wei Ying's hand loose from around himself, and gives up his own hold on his lover's sweet length. It's a stroke of sheer frigid will that compels him, finally, to grasp Wei Ying's arm and reposition them, his husband no facing the tub's ends instead of Lan Wangji.
Water clicks and mutters as it settles warm around them, the heating talisman a rare blessing he will never take for granted. Grudgingly, he catches Wei Ying's wrists drawn behind his back in one hand, to prevent him from touching himself to completion. )
...Wei Ying. If I release you, your hands do not leave the bath's rim. Agreed?
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He’s panting, finally settling back into himself. He’d been so close and it takes him a moment to collect himself. It’s a good move to restrain him, because he’s not the patient sort. It’s exciting to leave his fate in Lan Zhan’s hands.]
What do you have planned for me, Lan Zhan? I promise I’ll be good for you. I don’t know how long I’ll last, but I’ll be good.
[He wets his lips, then nods his head affirmatively. He can’t move his hands until Lan Zhan lets them go, but as soon as he does, he raises them up to clutch the tub’s rim.]
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On each side, his arms draw in Wei Ying. His legs encase his husband's, length pressed heavy and heated against the sweet cleft of his husband's ass. And softly, as he releases Wei Ying: )
I would like to be inside of you. ( Slow, careful. Breezy. As if they speak of the day's tofu soup, not of alleviating desire. At least Wei Ying is docile, yielding, already heeding. ) May I? Will you hold on for me throughout?
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Lan Zhan…
[He wants to touch Lan Zhan, too, but he’d have to turn around and then… oh, right, the tub probably wouldn’t stand up to the two of them pressing against the perimeter on two opposing sides. If they’re both braced against the same side, they’d be more likely to tip over than to break it.]
Yeah, you can take me right now. I won’t let go. [He makes a show of squeezing the wood tighter for a moment and then maintaining a more comfortable amount of pressure.] I haven’t felt whole since the last time we were one body. You don’t want to keep your poor wife waiting, do you?
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He breathes him in, quietly, then peels away to search the rim of the bathtub for their salts and their oils, capturing a few precious, stringently scented vials and shedding their sheen on his fingertips, his palms. Only one, golden and sweet, serves for adequate lubrication, but the rest yet spill with wafts of pleasant home-calling nostalgia.
Just so, Lan Wangji's fingers dip between the plush of his lover's thighs, climbing up to the swell of his ass, in between to lave the heat of his well-loved hole. Inside, after, in careful thrusts of just one or two fingers in slow alternation, taking, seemingly, every care he is painfully aware neither Wei Ying nor he can afford to wait out. Still, they must. At the next thrust of his fingers, he rewards his husband with friction where a wealth of experience has taught him he bullies the knot of Wei Ying's pleasure. )
Could my wife come for me like this? ( Without a thicker penetration or frontal assistance? )
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When Lan Zhan turns back towards him, Wei Wuxian looks forwards and waits to be touched. He doesn’t have enough time to start feeling impatient. He shudders and presses his ass against Lan Zhan’s fingers in a failed attempt at pleasuring himself. Even though it’s been a few days, his body accepts the invasion with minimal discomfort.]
Lan Zhan, I’m ready. You don’t need to… ah! [He moans, body trembling when Lan Zhan finds the appropriate bundle of nerves to expedite his pleasure. His head drops and he bumps his chin against the edge of the tub right between his two hands. He doesn’t react to the bump.]
I could. [He pushes against those fingers, moaning again when he does. It wouldn’t take much at all to tip him over the cusp.] I will, soon, if you keep it up.
[It’s not an exaggeration. He really does feel so overstimulated that he could finish in a few moments if his husband doesn’t retract his fingers. He shudders again, gripping the rim of the tub until his knuckles turn white.]
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Hushing him, Lan Wangji removes his hand, briefly turning his attention to the oils again, to wet his palm then his own length in a few perfunctory strokes. So often, Wei Ying asks why he does not chase his own pleasure in his solitude, when they're apart, and Lan Wangji struggles to explain this, this is why, this moment. Nothing compares to the anticipation of a few heartbeats between when Wei Ying lies before him, beautiful and prone, and Lan Wangji readies himself to take him.
It's base, after, a well-practised motion — one hand on Wei Ying's hip. The other on himself. He enters his husband without consideration for any ache, only the hunger of his own body, the pull of his hips, the hiss of his pleasure finally satisfied. One hard, mean thrust, and his arms rounding Wei Ying, his chin riding Wei Ying's shoulder.
He moans, and it's like a stabbing for the pain of Wei Ying tightening like a vice around him. He moans, and he's nearly undone. He is always, between them, the more easily overwhelmed emotionally, despite his stamina. )
Sweetheart.
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Lan Zhan. You’re so amazing. You feel so good like this.
[He tilts his head back to rub his cheek against Lan Zhan’s, making a vague attempt at a kiss. The one thing he doesn’t love about this position is how difficult it is to kiss. He doesn’t try for long, but he leaves a wet trail across Lan Zhan’s cheek for all his efforts.]
My love, my treasure, my husband. I missed you. Am I being good for you? Don’t you like how hot your wife is? I want to touch you, Lan Zhan. And I want you to touch me anywhere. Everywhere.
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Half-heartedly, he positions his own arms over the bath's rim, fingers encircling Wei Ying's, pinning them down so they might both take their strength and their balance. A slow, studied thrust after. Another, punched, legs shaking with the disciplined effort of keeping himself from claiming this man as he should be.
His teeth come down to graze on Wei Ying's shoulder, close to seizing it. He laughs, both fond and feral. )
No where. ( Another thrust, trickling. Then, one brutal. ) You are good, so very good for me. Hot. Tight. But I am a cruel man.
( One pushing his husband forward, into the tub's rim, embracing its walls. Forced to take all that Lan Wangji has to give, rising water wafting heat around them. )
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He hears the tub creak and whine from their weight and motions, but he doesn’t want to stop, so he doesn’t point it out. Come on, tub. Don’t embarrass Lotus Pier by breaking, he thinks, resting his chin on top of their joined hands.]
Don’t neglect your poor wife. [His words are breathless from exertion and pleasure. Lan Zhan fills him up so throughly that there’s no way he can miss hitting that special spot inside of him that drives him mad.]
Lan Zhan, please. I’ve been so good. If you won’t touch me all over, will you do me faster? I need it, Lan Zhan. Need you. Love you.
[It’s becoming more difficult to speak in full sentences. Every time Lan Zhan pushes into him, he feels like he’s going to tip over the edge. It’s frustrating. He wants more. Just a little bit more and he can tumble into pleasure.]
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And how cruel Lan Wangji feels, climbing his hand at last between Wei Ying's thighs, wet and shapely, insignificantly but reassuringly more voluptuous with time and the bearings of a good life at Cloud Recesses. He will never swell enough to be comfortably fat, but now and then Lan Wangji looks at him and thinks he has more passing odds to survive the onslaught of a determined breeze.
For now, it is Lan Wangji who assails him, who crawls his touch between Wei Ying's legs and entraps his length, first idly to merely seize it, then in greedy, vigorous strokes. Throughout, his hips pimp at a hard beat, never quite frantic but unforgiving. Around them, the bathtub creaks and groans under strains it was never crafted to bear. )
What will you tell your brother's servants if your bathtub collapses? How will you face them?
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