wuding | a home.

a home.

They fall together, like fresh snow off the mountaintop: first, in measured, patient, cultivating reunion after an extended dinner at their inn. Then, with passion. Then, syrupy and slow, with morning. In a rare, turn, after bathing, Lan Wangji denies himself the rigors and discipline of morning and coaxes them back abed, to hold his lover throughout his rest near sunrise, until halfway to midday.

He stirs them, inevitably, when the blinding bright white of the day overwhelms, and they must set for the road to make good pace to Cloud Recesses while still enjoying their stroll. They arrive, meandering, in the depths of a trickling, golden afternoon, when much of the clan is distracted with the latest lecture of a visiting hermit — they say, an aspiring immortal — and neither Uncle nor Sizhui can be politely parted from his wisdom. First, a brief stop with Liang. Secondly, for Lan Wangji, yet slowed by his fading wounds and bruises, to test the recovery of his disciples.

Lastly, facing the dregs of an afternoon together with no duties, no assignments, no occupation — curiosity wins over. With the packed necessities of a quick meal in his qiankun pouch, he steers Wei Ying to walk the winding, if peaceful path toward the peripheral territories, past the liminal, isolated quietude of the jingshi and into the periphery of Lan Wangji's inherited grounds.

A short walk, yet they may have breached the threshold of a brave new world. He had chosen the space for its proximity to river water, cunning, lively spikes of rice stabbing the field, alongside feral flowers. Already, the builders and architects have marked a path to make a road, but they have yet to set down wood or stone for steps. These, he knows, are still young days for their home, Wei Ying's house, rising on strong, sprawling bones that stretch out over a considerable territory: a number of rooms, some superfluous, including an isolated study for Wei Ying's pleasure and a music chamber. A large kitchen, for all much of the house yet misses its roof. A segment for the archery post Lan Wangji had bidden. The house, designed to host an inner garden, even boasts the allocated space for a pond men had been digging until mere hours prior, when their toil ended.

"To grow lotus," he murmurs, nodding ahead where the pond is yet to glisten and crest, where its waters are short of rising. And he does not ask, Do you like it, what it can be? But his gaze flickers between Wei Ying's face and the home in desperate, hungry study.

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When it’s just the two of them like this, he feels like he can relax completely. There’s no little one to demand their attention and if someone or something decides to attack, he can count on Lan Zhan’s reaction speed. Not that he’s been attacked by anyone or anything in Cloud Recesses since calling it his home. It’s almost surprising that none of the Lan cultivators have tried to retaliate against him considering he’d been responsible for the deaths - and undeaths- of several in Nightless City.

“I’m not that bad,” he answers around his laughter. He nudges Lan Zhan’s side again, this time with his hand on his husband’s middle. “You make me sound like a brat.” And is it incorrect to do so? Nope! It’s all true and he doesn’t pretend otherwise.

“Next time you bind me, you could always put a gag in my mouth, then I’d have no choice but to submit to Lan Zhan,” he suggests, thinking back to the request he’d made recently regarding binding him in bed.

"Not that bad," he hums agreeably, leaning into Wei Ying's side when his waist is entrapped, freely orbiting the sun of his husband's good humour. Then, Wei Ying exacerbates their minor... conflict, dares and prods and pokes at him, and suddenly they are within reach of the periphery of Cloud Recesses —

And Lan Wangji, illustrious second son of a dignified sect, should know better than to suddenly drag his lover behind the nearest, seemingly empty home, Wei Ying's back to thick wooden planks, stench of moss crisp in their nostrils. He watches his husband, shackling both of Wei Ying's wrists in one hold, no better than the thug Wei Ying wishes him to be for the purposes of their nightly pleasure.

Nearly night, skies deep blue and darkening, and the roads emptied while most cultivators attend either the conference of the visiting monk, or dining preparations. No one will see them. Anyone could.

Lan Wangji wets his lower lip with the tip of a greedy tongue. "Must I gag you here? Now?"

He’s swept up in the motion, his steps dancing backwards as Lan Zhan pins him against the wall of a house they just happened to be walking by. The lights are out, but that doesn’t mean the house is empty. Not that he really cares whether it is or not. He’s far too busy grinning up at his husband.

“Is Hanguang-Jun worried I’m going to call for help?” He teases, nibbling at his lower lip and looking at Lan Zhan’s mouth. “You’ll have to find some way to keep me quiet.”

His heart thuds in his chest while he waits for Lan Zhan to have some mercy and just kiss him. He moves his feet apart just enough to put some space between his legs. A shameless invitation. If this were any other town, he’d anticipate Lan Zhan’s roaming hand and a hectic scramble to seek each other’s pleasure before getting caught. But this is Cloud Recesses. Surely, Lan Zhan wouldn’t risk such a thing here, as much as Wei Wuxian would be thrilled by it.

For a moment, they are as children — as the countless smiling faces Lan Wangji glimpsed during his youth, never so enslaved to the principles as he, never as entrenched or harmfully fettered. There is an edge of play and silent laughter, when he injects a leg between Wei Ying's — whorishly, wantonly, seductively open, purposefully placed. A single point of friction, half offering relief, half daring: they both know Wei Ying will only regret if he teases himself near completion, then must walk back home with the proof of his ardor serving him discomfort.

"Shut up," he bites out, then dips in with clumsy lack of coordination, until finally, in the settling dark, the configuration of their mouths and noses fits just so, pure and whole. They kiss slowly, heatedly, Lan Wangji's teeth tracking over his husband's lower lip, where he had bitten it earlier, then chasing his tongue. Wet heat, a hard instinct for passion, and his hand pinning Wei Ying's wrists hard against the wall, to he point of a petty thud.

The other drips down, chasing the curve of his husband's nape to cushion him from injury, when they push a kiss too heady, too long. "Suffer obediently, as in Phoenix Mountain."

Despite anticipating Lan Wangji to slip a knee between his thighs, it still makes him shudder with the simple pleasure of it. His hips buck forward out of instinct, grinding himself against Lan Zhan’s leg like they’re innocents making out for the first time. He suspects they won’t be out here until they’re both satisfied, but Lan Zhan’s surprised him before.

“Make me,” he challenges when Lan Zhan tells him to be quiet. He knows exactly where it will lead and he’s not disappointed when his mouth is covered. He can’t help but to moan softly into his husband’s mouth. He follows Lan Zhan’s lead, chasing his mouth when he pulls away to speak.

His gaze is molten as he looks up at Lan Wangji. He’s always been the adventurous type and he’s thrilled that his husband seems to be, too. At least when it comes to sharing affection. “An esteemed cultivator taking advantage of a poor, young maiden. How scandalous.”

"This maiden has tarnished more beds than a prized courtesan," he counters, because the truth of highly valued ladies of pleasure is that they so often grace the company of a handful of lords, who retain them in favour. Wei Ying, meanwhile, has been dragged through a swathe of resting places, courtesy of their migrant conditions.

To prove his point of his husband's debauchery, Lan Wangji kisses him again and again and again, wet and far too long, unseemly, both hands now wrestling in Wei Ying's hair, pushing his bead back to bare his neck in a sweet, inviting curve. He stops only to bite and chase the pulse that rocks Wei Ying's jugular, leg inching in to hold fast and offer a point of solidity and friction. Oh, sweet thing.

"Break free, if you are so affronted." Only, he suspects Wei Ying would sooner do battle to draw close, rather than loose. No matter his disavowals, Wei Ying has never lacked enthusiasm.

Guilty as charged and surprised to boot, Wei Wuxian barks a little laugh against Lan Wangji’s mouth. He may only have experience with one particular gentleman, but it’s true they’ve probably claimed nearly a hundred different beds and other surfaces in their ardor. In the beginning, he could claim innocence and virtue during their bed play, but he’s far too eager and willing to play a passable maiden.

With his hands free, he lowers them briefly to get the tingling sensation out of his hands before pressing his palms against his husband’s front. Too many layers of silk. As much as he wants to tug Lan Zhan free of the restraints his robes impose, he is worried that if he strips him too much, it will only make Lan Zhan come to his senses and stop this. He doesn’t want to stop. So he curls his fingers and drags his fingertips over Lan Zhan’s chest, stomach, and a little lower, too.

He shudders again when Lan Zhan’s teeth find his skin. “You just like bullying me,” he concedes, looking up at the moon while giving Lan Zhan as much access to his throat as he could want. “If I tried to get away, would you let me go?” He presses himself against Lan Zhan’s thigh again, biting back the moan that slips out.

"Will you?" This, between barely muffled spells of laughter, as he pushes his mouth onto Wei Ying's shoulder and bites in like the vicious dog his husband would paralyze to hear named. Against his leg, Wei Ying is hard and cunning and an inviting warmth, begging relief that Lan Wangji withholds, villainously drawing his leg back before his lover might be satisfied.

With the moon as their lone witness, Wei Ying is not alone affected. Lan Wangji's shudders come in quick, violent spasms, in long beats. He presses his mouth to his husband's again to claim him, pushes him into the wall with a crackling thud, and then —

Movement inside the house, a brazier lighting. Moaning and footsteps. Elder Fengliu muttering about whether the cat's rummaging through the gardens again.

Lan Wangji, paralyzed, watches Wei Ying with bright, wide eyes, wishing him silent.

“Maybe,” he teases, but he really has no desire at all to get away from Lan Wangji at the moment. He can’t help but to giggle along with Lan Zhan, feeling every bit in love with the man as the first night they’d slept together. Almost enough to forgive him for taking away the warm thigh that he’d been using for his own gratification.

He starts to say something, but Lan Zhan has other ideas for his mouth. He loses himself in the kissing, cupping his husband’s length through his robes and working him with slow, firm strokes.

They both freeze at the interruption and Wei Wuxian has to clamp his mouth shut lest he dissolve into hysterics. It’s either that or give into frustration, and he’s not in the mood to feel annoyed by anything right now. He reaches up with his free hand and presses a finger to his lips to let Lan Zhan know they should be quiet. From their position, there’s no risk of being seen by looking out the window, so as long as the elder goes back to bed without coming outside, their presence need not be discovered.

There is a moment where, despite the cover of dark and Lan Wangji's own initiation, he feels impossibly, unfairly furious at his husband who tempted him, wooed him alone, prompted this.

And then Wei Ying has the audacity to sit his finger on his lips and nudge Lan Wangji into good behaviour. He says nothing, aware of the danger of discovery, but glares endlessly at this insufferable creature, coming on the brink of biting his shoulder again. His mouth hovers, as he casts Wei Ying an ugly glance, then his teeth clutch, softly.

And he waits out the old man, who mutters, mumbles, nearly curses out the cat — the audacity — but does not drift outside.

He raises both eyebrows at Lan Zhan’s surly looks, letting his hand fall from his mouth and letting go of his husband’s private area. As tempted as he is to fondle him some more, he’s certain it would lead to more painful biting. His poor, overstimulated Lan Zhan deserves a little break.

It’s still hard for him not to dissolve into giggles. This whole situation is preposterous! Once Lan Zhan’s finished with his last nibble, Wei Wuxian cups his cheek and turns his face towards his for a few relatively chaste, good-natured kisses. “You’re too adorable when you’re angry,” he whispers and kisses him one more time for good measure before leaning his head back against the wall again, this time in relief that the old man isn’t going to come check the outside.

“Want to head home or would you rather take a dip into the cold springs instead?” He’s still remembering to whisper. For now. If they stay out here too long, he’ll likely start talking with his natural voice instead.

In the end, fool of a man, he grudgingly surrenders, nuzzling at his lover's throat and apologetically mouthing and licking at the inflamed bite mark. It will hardly bruise, let alonr scar, with all the qi they have generously circulated through Wei Ying's flesh. And still.

Wei Ying draws him into a kiss, then another, and all the residual tension drains away from him, until he finds himself inevitably dissolving in laughter. An elder of the sect sleeps once more close to them, and they are as children. Very well.

Unbidden, his hand chases Wei Ying's as he pulls back. "The river, if you may bear it."

It gives Wei Ying no satisfaction to endure the chills of the waters, and he has only just pledged not to plunge in his bride, but perhaps...

He nudges at Wei Ying's cheek with his nose. "Will feed you warm congee after. Wine. You will bask beneath blankets."

He nibbles at his bottom lip again, thinking over his options. If he were to walk home, it would probably be noticeable that they’d been making out a little and it would be uncomfortable to walk in the state he’s in. But it’s not exactly summer and the river is frigid! He could let Lan Zhan face the cold on his own… no, Lan Zhan would just walk home with him if he declines the invitation. He won’t send his husband out to shamefully try to hide his excitement.

“The river,” he repeats with a brave face. “And then I’ll get spoiled after? Sounds like a good deal to me,” he decides. He leans forward to kiss Lan Zhan’s mouth one more time before prying himself away from the wall. He can’t help but wonder if they would have pushed each other to completion if they hadn’t been interrupted. It’s hard to tell sometimes what Lan Zhan’s limits are when it comes to exhibition.

He lets Lan Zhan take the lead. They’re not far from the river and the lighting is still fairly dim in the area, but he suspects Lan Zhan won’t want to finish what they started anyway lest they’re interrupted for a second time.

The river, then, and he brings Wei Ying's hand up to pass his mouth over his lover's knuckles in tender and lingering gratitude. He knows all too well his husband is disenchanted with the gelid waters, but he is open and willing to explore this fate for Lan Wangji's welfare alone. Beholden to his appreciation, he nods and draws Wei Ying with him to waters cold enough to gleam under the pensive moon, while waves beneath crash furious and dark.

For a change, he releases Wei Ying and prioritizes shedding his own robes first, silk pooling in slipped waves at his feet — while his jaw locks, and he acclimates to waiting in the cold, as he begins to remove Wei Ying's own layers. So deep in the heart of Cloud Recesses, no man would presume to steal their clothes and few beasts make their lair. He bundles the clothes and sits them by the river's side, before whisking his lover within.

A scant few steps, one and two and three and timid. He holds his breath in a sharp inhalation, then turns around to glance at Wei Ying and take him in, once they have both submerged in the shallow depths. Already, his hand finds Wei Ying's wrist to transfer an excess of qi that will coax his husband's body from the cold.

"Tolerable?"

With his fate sealed, he follows Lan Zhan through the footpath the ladies in the area would use to go to the water’s edge for laundering their families’ robes. This time of evening, there shouldn’t be anyone using the river for chores or diversion. Who in their right mind would want to splash around in cold water when there’s already a sharp chill in the air?

At least Lan Zhan’s giving him a nice show before stripping him of the warmth his robes provide. His eyes linger on the scars reaching around his arms and shoulders, but he quickly diverts his attention when Lan Zhan turns towards him. It reminds him of the beginning of his second life when Lan Zhan had taken him back to Cloud Recesses. If he’d suspected that Lan Zhan recognized him at the time, he would have panicked more and cried less. How could he have thought this beautiful, loving man would wish him harm or imprisonment?

He comes back to the present when Lan Zhan comes to help him out of his robes. He grins up at him as his main layer drops. He never wears as many layers as Lan Zhan or the rest of Cloud Recesses. Even when he’s cold, he relies more on the thickness of his winter robes than layers to keep him warm. In the summer, he’s hard pressed to wear more than one robe over his underclothes.

“You’re beautiful,” he says and steals another quick kiss before stepping out of his last layer. He folds his arms over his middle while they approach the water. Even putting his feet in is making his teeth chatter.

He walks close to Lan Zhan, trying to absorb as much warmth as he can. “It’s so cold,” he complains, but it doesn’t stop him from taking every step Lan Zhan leads. “It’s doing its job, though!” If anything, he feels like certain external parts of his body want to crawl back inside him to avoid the cold.

Hardly beautiful, but he senses where Wei Ying's gaze snatches and lingers even without looking down, despite the shroud of a descending night. On instinct, his hands climb to shackle his arms, where skin stiffens and his scars peer, only releasing himself when Wei Ying steers towards the river.

The pleasant first dip of his toes is familiar, kind, incredible. He all but moans with it, grateful for the chance to become aware of his body through its minor agonies. The cold passes around and through him: he bears it, suffers the submersion, admiring Wei Ying when he begins to walk in. More qi, transferred. More soothing, kindly hums.

The comfort of the waters begins to soothe away their ardor.

"Is it?" Playful, nearly teasing. His arms capture Wei Ying, cocooning him and at once drawing him farther into the water, until they are both to their midriffs in the depths. "Do you feel strengthened by it? Emboldened?"

His breath catches in his throat when his torso joins in the fun of submersion. It’s so hard to just breathe in water like this when Lan Zhan seems to thrive in it. He’s impressed. He moves closer to Lan Zhan, bodies pressing close together even as their physical need for release is tempered.

“I feel like I’ll never be warm again,” he admits, wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan’s middle and holding him tight. “You’re amazing, Lan Zhan. You look so comfortable and collected!”

Despite his complaining and his avoidance of discomfort, Lan Zhan has a point. The cold water has his blood pumping like he’s in the middle of a workout! It’s as exhilarating as much as it’s awful. “Remember the first time we bathed together?” Back after they’d both been beaten with Lan rules for leaving Cloud Recesses during curfew. “You’re so much nicer to me now. You wouldn’t help me stay warm at all back then.”

"You would not have wished me to." Despite his constant whining and complaints that Lan Wangji ignored him, Wei Ying has conceded countless times already that he would not have welcomed overtures, that he would have needed coercion through duress to accede. That whatever would have been born between them at that time would have been wrongly done.

He does not wish that, now, for all he once upon a time had desired to turn the years back and intercede, and steal Wei Ying back to Gusu against his own wishes. Not anymore. Not ever again. They have stumbled upon each other organically, after Nie Huaisang and the Heavens allowed them a second try.

Now, he welcomes Wei Ying in his embrace and starts to inflict the friction of rapid caresses over his upper back, his arms. "Focus on your body. Become aware of it. At peace and balance with it. Welcome its hurts, the strain it allows, only to house and protect you within it."

A strange mantra, but so often the difference between acknowledging and indulging in pain. The sect does not cultivate through masochism, but true discipline, born of respect and gratitude.

“I would have! Maybe not like this, but I would have welcomed the warmth of you being next to me. We were both suffering after the beating we got,” he says, but there’s no real way to test that theory now that he’s biased towards romance. “It might have been embarrassing, though. And I would have probably teased you about coming onto me after.”

He welcomes Lan Zhan’s attempts at warming him, even if there’s not a lot of warmth being generated. Lan Zhan’s hands are almost as cold as the water! He sighs and gives his husband a playfully sulky pout. “You just want to trick me into meditating,” he accuses, but if meditating will help him feel less frozen, he’s willing to try it.

He lowers his head and presses his forehead to Lan Zhan’s chest, then he closes his eyes and lets his husband guide him through it. Nope, not working. “I’m trying, but focusing on my body just means focusing on how cold it is right now. Is this really supposed to help?”

Still shivering, still ill at ease. Some part of him despairs that he might be inducing harm and affliction, that Wei Ying forces himself to withstand this moment at the cost of his own flesh. He hastens, now dragging water in cupped hands and rapidly passing it over Wei Ying's shoulders and back, to at least accelerate the cleansing.

"You focus on your body's hurts, not your body. Not the strength within it. Concentrate on your energies. Your core." A beautiful, fledgling thing that burns bright and brighter with each moment. "Thank it for supporting you. Thank yourself for your ability."

And then, fleetingly weak, he brings his arms around his husband's shoulders, calling him into his chest where Wei Ying has already wilted, holding him close. "You are a remarkable being. Stronger than this moment. The strongest person I know."

His breath hitches when Lan Zhan drips water onto him, surprised by the additional coldness, but he finds that it doesn’t prolong his discomfort for long. It should be easy enough to convince Lan Zhan to take a bath when they get home. A nice, hot one where he can regain some of his warmth.

“My hurts… and my core,” he repeats, then steadies his breath to give it a try. And what are his body’s hurts? Pain doesn’t usually bother him much because he doesn’t focus on it. But his feet were a little sore after all the walking he’s been doing. His shoulder throbs a little where Lan Zhan bit him. He’d taken quite the pounding the night before, but that’s more discomfort than pain. He has a few minor cuts, bruises, and scrapes, but they barely register at all. He goes through them, one by one. Linking his core to each and also to the cold water.

He relaxes a little either from the attempt to meditate the cold to a tolerable level or because Lan Wangji’s put his arms around him. “You’re stronger,” he admits readily, grounding himself to his husband’s body and voice. “I might have been an equal in my last life, but I’m still catching up in this one. You’re my inspiration, Lan Zhan. I want to become stronger so I can protect you and our family.”

"Qi is not strength," he contradicts gently, tongue slack and mouth failing him, when he looks over Wei Ying like this, surrendering himself to his meditation and to ample awareness of his body, whole. He nods, feeling out the quiet tremors that still rock Wei Ying's body, listening to the rhythm of his exhalations. "Only an instrument."

That which he was blessedly born with in larger quantities than most, a product of his bloodline and his breeding. Nature is to thank for Lan Wangji's excellence. His discipline and control merely polished an advantage already presented to him. In this way, he takes little credit.

"Wei Ying is strong for his will, his justice, his losses. His determination. His pride." All that which first raised, then conspired to compromise him. But he supposes they need not speak of such things now, with a lifetime of amends and rewards before them. "Do you wish to leave?"

Already, Wei Ying has exceeded his expectations by suffering through the river water at all. If he wants to put an end to their detour, it is his right.

“Not just qi,” he answers, though he’s still trying to focus on the exercise. It leaves him feeling more calm than anything else. And his voice might sound a bit more neutral than usual. “You’re physically stronger, too. With no spiritual or demonic qi, I could have held my own against you before.” He knows that Lan Wangji means a different kind of strength and that he’s just being pedantic. The truth is that he admires the strength of Lan Zhan’s spirit as much as the strength of his body.

He can feel the heat spreading across his face and neck at hearing Lan Zhan praise him. It makes him laugh briefly to himself. “That’s one way to warm me up,” he mutters, burying his face more thoroughly against Lan Zhan’s chest. He wonders if Lan Zhan can feel how warm his face has become.

He’s just still not used to having someone compliment him in a straight-forward way. His gut reaction is to deny it or compliment Lan Zhan even more, but he lets it linger in his heart this time.

“Have you finished what you wanted to do here?” He asks instead of giving a direct answer. “I don’t want to stay too much longer, but I think I’m okay now. But that doesn’t mean I won’t hold you to your end of the deal.” Sometimes it’s nice to let himself be pampered and it seems like Lan Zhan enjoys doing the pampering.

"A moment," he pleads after Wei Ying's question, distancing himself a few wading steps back before submerging himself completely, head sunken beneath waters alongside the rest of his body. An initial chill arrests him, breathing cut off to a point where he considers panic — before accepting, as he had urged Wei Ying, that the pain of his body is transient. That he exists separate and untouched by his hurts.

He brings up his hands to pass them through his hair, working out the tangles and shedding off any filth or dust collected throughout the day. Unlike Wei Ying, he enjoys the rite of ablutions, these few moments to reacquaint himself with his body, for all the cold breaches his scars and strains old hurts.

He re-emerging, water beading off his cheeks and chest, nodding to suggest what was meant to be achieved has now finished. "Now, finished."

Everywhere that had been warmed by Lan Zhan’s presence feels cold anew when his lover moves away. He folds his arms over his chest again, rubbing his upper arms to work up some more heat. He wonders if he should follow Lan Zhan’s example and dip his whole body into the water. The places Lan Zhan had dripped water on him feel colder than his lower half because of the light breeze.

Lan Zhan isn’t submerged for very long, and he looks great as he breaches the surface. Oh to be one of those drops of water clinging to his lover’s pale skin.

“Might as well,” he says to himself and takes a deep breath before lowering himself into the water. The cold hits him almost hard enough to knock the air right out of his lungs, but he only lets a few small bubbles out of his nose. He struggles to concentrate on his body and his core, but he does try to.

Only a few moments pass before he lets out his breath and emerges. Instead of looking majestic like Lan Zhan, he probably looks more like a drowned rat with his hair plastering his face. “Lan Zhan, share some more of your warmth,” he demands and wades his way over.

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