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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Relaxed and at peace, he simply smiles when Lan Zhan touches him. He likes to touch and be touched whether or not it ends in sleeping together. He’s always been a tactile person, but it’s different when it’s Lan Zhan. It feels like home. He steals a brief kiss when Lan Zhan hovers over him, lifting his head when he realizes his husband wants to pay attention to his neck.

“I want you too,” he says. He means it generally, though it never takes much for him to become aroused when it comes to his lover. He lifts his arms up to encircle Lan Zhan’s upper back. And then he listens, stroking his husband’s skin in what he hopes is a comforting and encouraging gesture.

“I was wrong,” he says with a shallow shake of his head. “I’m really stupid sometimes.” He’s mentioned before how he didn’t know Lan Zhan loved him, but he doesn’t bring it up now. It would only sound like an excuse if he keeps on saying the same things. He wishes he could remember more from the days leading up to his death. All he has are fleeting images here and there and what Lan Xichen had told him in the Guanyin Temple. He… hadn’t been in a good place back then. Between grief, defeat, despair, and the build up of resentment energy, most of what he remembers is the ghosts weighing heavily on his shoulders.

He lets Lan Zhan speak, rubbing small circles on his back as he listens. Only when he’s sure Lan Zhan’s done speaking does he answer. “I don’t want anyone else. I never wanted anyone before Lan Zhan and I wouldn’t want someone else. My soul was split in two and it’s only whole when I’m with you. It’s a good thing I never consider anyone else then.”

He still doesn’t realize the reasons Lan Zhan had bitten him hard earlier even though he has all the pieces at his disposal.

"It is not enough," he whispers, but leans into Wei Ying to offer him the brunt of reassurance, a physical, gentle persuasion. The bath is unequipped to handle them in such repose, creaking furiously before conceding to Lan Wangji's entreaties and bearing them on.

"Words do not suffice. I dishonour you and forget them." He gives in to doubt, to anger, to the animal territoriality that manifests now as reddened marks on Wei Ying's throat. He nuzzles them indiscreetly.

"Better we do not speak of another in bedplay. Or only do so, knowing." If Wei Ying... enjoys the bestial aspects of his husband, let him at least know what he invites.

So Lan Zhan is still jealous and insecure even though there’s no way Wei Wuxian would ever fall for someone else. He wraps both arms around him now and holds onto him, hoping that there’s some reassurance in the gesture. “I’ll promise you over and over again until my words stick,” he offers, kissing the side of Lan Zhan’s head. He’d kiss his mouth if they were in a better position for it.

Oh! Lan Zhan had been jealous during their bed play. That clarifies things for him and he starts to laugh. “I didn’t know you’d be jealous of someone who doesn’t exist,” he admits. So that’s what Lan Zhan’s doing rooting around against his throat. “I’ll try to remember, okay? Sorry for pissing you off while we were sleeping together tonight.”

He tries to shift under his husband’s weight, but it’s too cramped. “Maybe we should just be ourselves in bed,” he suggests, “Since I’d never cheat on you or look at another person that way, I wouldn’t have to rely on remembering.”

"Do not apologise. In this, you bear no fault."

In the end, they must part, no matter Lan Wangji's formidable appetite to become one with his husband. This, too, he understands, is a residual part of his readiness to belong, to absorb, to never again relinquish.

But the heat of their bath begins to waft claustrophobically, Wei Ying's skin looks on the cusp of pruning. Even Lan Wangji, lover of cleansing, begins to feel burdened by the weight of stifling waters. For now, he retreats, finally drawing to his feet with a seismic shift of rippling in the bathtub. He holds out his hand to take Wei Ying up, also.

"Wei Ying only asks to be relieved of his duties for a few moments in bedplay." Of the responsibilities, the memories that come with his identity. His need understood and known. "We cannot deny him, only for my failings. Will signal him to stop, when jealousy strikes."

“Right, right,” he says, but he still feels the need to apologize regardless. He’d made Lan Zhan upset with his game and he really should know his husband’s heart better. Still, Lan Zhan would only feel worse if he tries to take some of the blame, so he lets it go.

He’s just about to suggest that they move back to the bed to continue cuddling when Lan Zhan takes the initiative. He takes his husband’s hand and uses his support to stand up. Instead of reaching for something to dry off with, he wraps his arms around Lan Zhan’s middle and rests his cheek against his chest. “I love you so much,” he sighs and squeezes him. He somehow refrains from telling him that he thinks it’s cute when he gets jealous.

“Does Lan Zhan like it when I play as other people in bed? That way he can have all sorts of different flavors of his husband,” he looks up at him and grins. “I really don’t mind being me. I have the best husband a guy could ask for and I know you wouldn’t really take advantage of some backwater maiden.” And it’s not like his memories go anywhere when he’s pretending to be a virgin.

Ah. A leech. Who knew they attacked so far from the seas? A broken, half-muffled exhalation betrays his amusement as Wei Ying clings to him, and he delves them in the dangerous ploy of navigating an exit from the bathtub and migrating towards their bed, thieving a linen cloth along the way. Undaunted, he passes it over Wei Ying's shoulders and back, absorbing the worst of his wet, before attending to Lan Wangji's own.

"I am untroubled by Wei Ying's theatrics." In truth, at times they stimulate him, far too endeared with Wei Ying's enthusiasm for whatever latest part he has concocted for himself. "He appears to find them freeing. An accessory to bed play."

An interesting, relatively modest way of acknowledging Wei Ying seems stimulated and infinitely more earnest when he pretends to be a different person, particularly when his day has overcome him. Whilst speaking, he begins to collect their discarded silks, setting them aside for later laundering when disciples drop by to collect the buckets that carried bathing water, treys and defiled goods, come morning. Instead, he selects two layers of silk for his person, and a dark single one for Wei Ying, offering them out.

"If you wish my preferences: I enjoy to kiss you." No matter how rough or aloof their play, he cannot skip that part of his lovemaking.

It’s awkward to walk while he’s holding onto Lan Zhan like this, but he doesn’t want to let go. Lan Zhan seems to be amused by his antics, so he continues to playfully hinder their progress towards their bed. He’d slept so well the night before being both sated and back to their familiar bed. The mattress here has their combined scent clinging to it and he finds it comforting. The bedding in Jinlintai always smelled strongly floral every morning with fresh sheets. Lan laundering has minimal scent associated with it, so it just tends to smell of sandalwood from Lan Zhan’s incense by the time they rest their heads.

“As long as Lan Zhan doesn’t mind, we can keep playing around like usual,” he agrees. Sometimes he just wants to be taken advantage of and other times he just wants to forget the stresses of the day without opening himself to conversing about them. He’s relieved that Lan Zhan doesn’t seem to mind.

He only lets Lan Zhan go when they need to don their night robes. He does so but only after another squeeze. It’s getting close to Lan Zhan’s bedtime, but he wants to lie down with him and talk or cuddle for a little while until Lan Zhan is ready to fall asleep. He doesn’t have any plans for the rest of his evening before his own eventual sleeping, but that’s nothing new. Sometimes he just sits in the room with Lan Zhan to watch him sleep and other times he works on improving some of his own inventions or talismans.

“I like kissing, too,” he admits while he pulls his robe over his shoulders. “It doesn’t really make sense for a night time intruder, but we don’t have to worry about believability all the time. Since we both want to kiss, then I say we should just do it.”

Strange, if somehow fitting that Wei Ying drags himself through the steps of donning a single layer of silks as rapidly as Lan Wangji masters two. He eases in, belt fettering in conservatively, before turning around to attend to his husband like a doting servant, domesticating the starting wrinkles and folds of his robes, teasing them smooth.

Then, carefully, he relinquishes Wei Ying, coaxing him back toward their bed, carefully wiped for any lingering signs of their previous lovemaking. Fleetingly, he considers wilting within and calling Wei Ying into his arms; instead, he sits unexpectedly, back to the wall and legs a rigid line — waving his lover down, so that his head might drift into Lan Wangji's lap.

It has been some time since anyone stroked Wei Ying's hair. Their young, perpetually spoiled infant has certainly created an appetite in everyone.

"Wei Ying." This, softer, testing the lines of their mutual trust. He will not enjoy the answer, yet knows, if he does not ask, it will haunt him. "If... our play on this night pleased you. Why suspend it before you reached completion?"

He’s used to Lan Zhan helping him into and out of his robes, so he lifts his arms so Lan Zhan can tie the sash around him. It had felt weird at first to be doted on like this. Despite growing up in the head family’s household, he never had his own servants and preferred to do things like dressing on his own. With Lan Zhan, it’s different. They’re equals in their relationship. If he had the patience to work with the layers upon layers of silk needed to clothe the second son of Gusu Lan, he’d do it in a heartbeat. As it is, his attempts would just waste time.

He stops in front of the bed, slightly perplexed. Well, if Lan Zhan doesn’t want to lay down yet, he’s not going to complain. He crawls into the bed next to him and lays perpendicularly to him with his head on his husband’s thighs. He smiles to himself, shivering once when Lan Zhan first touches him and then relaxing immediately after.

“Hmm?” He touches the silk over his husband’s knees, smoothening the wrinkles that sitting caused. There. Pristine and perfect just like the man wearing the garment. “Oh that? I really wanted to kiss you,” he says with grin. “And I guess… since we had that argument earlier, it felt a little off. Was that bad?”

Kittenish and sweet, Wei Ying softens and melts across his legs, finally accepting his due: the brunt and unequivocal weight of Lan Wangji's affection. He starts with slow, tender strokes, sweeping the hair off Wei Ying's forehead, whispering it away behind his ear with tepid caresses.

Sweetheart. His soaring, boundless love.

"Also wanted to kiss Wei Ying." A different way of accepting his lover's interjection. It was not bad, could never be bad. There is between them a private, growing gentle understanding that indulgence is a thing they may permit themselves. That they live and breathe only for the next moment when they might come together again. How, then, could they begrudge kisses?

"As long as it was not —" A pause that snags, drags. "Disappointment." Over Lan Wangji's performance, his roughness, his numerous failures.

There’s something nice about giving and receiving affection from Lan Zhan with no assumptions for where it will lead. He’ll have to remember to do this for Lan Zhan, too. His eyes drift closed, relaxed but not on the verge of falling asleep. He’s feeling more alert after their second bath.

“I like kissing Lan Zhan. I’m glad we’re going to start kissing while we’re playing around with consent in bed,” he admits. It really is the one thing he misses most when they’re doing a story like that. Now that he’s thinking about kissing, he wants to kiss Lan Zhan! But he wants to enjoy this affection, too. It’s tough being so thoroughly in love.

“Not disappointment. Were you worried about that?” He takes one of Lan Zhan’s hands and pulls it down to kiss. “You’re so adorable, Lan Zhan. I love you too much for something like that to get in the way of things. I just wanted to love you and feel loved by you with nothing between us for a little while.” He kisses the hand again before loosening his hold and giving his husband the choice of what he wants to do with his hands again. “Tonight was fun. Did you think so, too?”

And was tonight fun? In truth, in retrospect, their limbs slack and appetites eased, he feels somehow as if he could go again. Take Wei Ying and take Wei Ying and take Wei Ying. As if his husband is no more than a mountain to climb, a sea to navigate, a demon's hold to conquer. As if Wei Ying can be reduced to a base, desirable trophy.

His hand stills over Wei Ying's hair, faintly remembering to revisit his husband's forehead with his mouth.

"I enjoyed it." Inevitable, primal. His body feels alive only in the wake of Wei Ying's generosity of sharing his body. "Yet I do not feel sated. Through no fault of Wei Ying's. There are times when one turn does not suffice. Or a second. A third."

It at once shames him to say and feeds his pride to know that he is so responsive to his husband's presence, so greedily desirous. That a quiet, low simmer lives in him, even after he achieved completion.

He rolls onto his back so he can look up at Lan Zhan and receive that kiss on his forehead. He stretches his arms upwards, in front of Lan Zhan at first and then he cups his husband’s cheeks and squishes them together to pucker out his lips for a moment. He’s feeling pleasantly playful and altogether in love.

“Oh?” He asks, grin turning a bit mischievous. “We should do something about that,” he suggests, pushing Lan Zhan’s hair behind his ear, resting his other hand on his own belly. “You’re so pretty, Lan Zhan. With your hair down and blushing like a new bride. Did you know your ears are always the first part of you that goes red? I wonder if it was like that when we were kids, too. Back when I was just your annoying crush. I probably just thought you were going red in anger.”

It feels good to know Lan Zhan wants him after they’ve already slept together once tonight. He doesn’t think Lan Zhan will get bored of him, but the reassurance is welcomed.

The angle isn’t great, but he touches the edge of one of Lan Zhan’s ears. The same one he’d just exposed. “How do you want me, husband?”

His face, squished and turned and contorted, feels hardly his own in Wei Ying's grasp, but he fights to conform — to allow his husband full command of him, diligently following Wei Ying's direction. To please him, he even holds the pose as he was last positioned for a few heartbeats, before inevitably melting back into respite.

Beneath Wei Ying's touch, he feels his ears begin to flush and fill already. He shakes his head, more to intercede than to shrug him off.

"Unnecessary, now." He has already availed himself indiscreetly of his husband's body, and Wei Ying will not sate him through sacrifice. "It is not... a hunger of the flesh."

That part of him is still tenderly quiescent, as quick to stir in answer to Wei Ying's passion as ever, but not presently starved for attention. His body is tense with the sort of crackling restlessness that grows silent, but not extinct.

"The need rises without reason. Fades likewise."

“But you said you’re not sated,” he points out. “If you don’t want another go, then how can I help make sure you go to sleep feeling satisfied?” He’s confused more so when Lan Zhan mentions that this longing isn’t of the flesh. He knows how to help out with those sorts of desires, but he has no idea how to help with whatever Lan Zhan needs tonight.

Maybe it’s lingering grief? After thirteen years of loss and mourning, it just makes sense for it to come creeping back in. Especially after a fight. His heart aches for his husband, so he takes his hand again and brings it to his cheek and holds it there, pressing his face against it.

“What about… if I’ll hold you and kiss you until you feel whole again?” And if it leads somewhere deeper, they can decide what to do about it then. “Or I can just keep talking to you until you have to put a pillow over your head so you can fall asleep. We could stay like this, too. Anything you want is what I want too!”

"...Wei Ying." Sweet Wei Ying, wonderful Wei Ying. So belligerently, tirelessly helpful that he wishes to exhaust himself even in the face of Lan Wangji's accepting contentment. He suffers, nobly, through the next spell of his lover's affection, drifting down to bring their mouths together at a clumsy, back-straining angle that finally convinces him to waive Wei Ying off his lap and slip down beside him.

The easy tolerance of Lan Wangji's peculiarities feels new, unearned. Entirely at odds with the learnings of Cloud Recesses, and it pains Lan Wangji to understand that habit has acclimated him to deprivation.

"It is... like eating short of being full. To stay alert, nimble." Wanting. "You are aware of need, but it does not ache."

He does not ask or require for a solution. Wanting his husband is a beastly, greedy, jealous and consuming thing — yet beautiful in its devotion. He appreciates knowing that, come what may, a part of him will always be dedicated to the study and worship of Wei Ying.

He understands the wordless communication about their arrangement and he kisses Lan Zhan’s hand one more time before pushing himself back up to a sitting position. He crawls up to the head of the bed so he can slip under the covers and wait for Lan Zhan to lay himself down next to him before closing the space between them. As nice as laying his head on Lan Zhan’s lap had been, the full body cuddles are his favorite.

“Does this help?” He asks, meaning the new cuddling position. Under the blanket, their legs are already tangled together. His cold toes finding comfort in the warmth his husband’s ankles and calves provides. Only now he thinks about it after being teased, but it doesn’t make him move his feet away.

“Want to kiss some more?” He brings his face closer to Lan Zhan’s and brushes their lips together. “I’m here for you no matter what you need, okay?” His arms are bent between them. He leaves one arm like that and touches Lan Zhan’s cheek with the other.

He can’t shake the feeling that he’d left his husband lacking even though Lan Zhan said it isn’t anything he’d done or not done. No, he shouldn’t take the blame for something like this. It would only make Lan Zhan feel like hiding this sort of thing from him.

Reconfigured, they hang onto each other like sweet children, learning the first steps of courtship. At times, their mouths meet, brazen. At others, Lan Wangji teases, playfully nosing. Then, Wei Ying orbits him once more, and he yields, impossibly fond.

"Forgive me." Tender words, trickled. "Misspeaking, I troubled Wei Ying."

Agitated him, gave him clear pause and reason to reconsider. He does not persist, only chasing his husband's lips to reassure him. This is the marriage game: to confide enough to share, but not to alarm. To know when one's mind is better offered out or divided.

He has cast, on this day, too deep a shadow on Wei Ying to be readily forgiven. Will learn, adjust, discipline himself.

His cheek presses into Wei Ying's hand, no better than a kept creature recognising his master. "How may I reassure my love?"

He doesn’t think to hide the pout upon those words. He’d been too eager to please and now Lan Zhan will hide from him this sort of thing in the future. When had he become so insecure? Probably around the same time he left the Jiang clan, come to think of it. Or maybe it was before that. He’d lost a lot - though not nearly as much as Jiang Cheng and his shijie - when Lotus Pier had been under siege.

It’s hard to keep sulking when he has his lovely husband kissing him. He gradually relaxes, kissing back and chasing when Lan Zhan teases his lips. A smile slowly spreads across his face as they take turns leading and following.

“No need,” he answers, resting his head and taking the time to just look at Lan Zhan. “I’m a problem solver. It’s only natural that I’d want to do something to help you, but if there’s nothing I can do, then I won’t worry about it. You shouldn’t either.” He leans forward and presses his forehead against Lan Zhan’s.

Just this. Just like this. He breathes, and it feels almost as if the world breathes him, mouth wet still with the shadow of Wei Ying's kisses, raw from the friction of their touch. An arm climbs over Wei Ying's shoulders, bridging their span. He keeps Wei Ying beside him, too terribly, wonderfully close, blanketing the negative space above Lan Wangji's form.

"You were prepared to sleep with me once more, despite the strain of your body." Even now, gently set above Lan Wangji, Wei Ying yet houses obvious discomfort after their coupling. Uninvited, but butterfly-soft, Lan Wangji's hand treads down to his husband's rump to give it an appreciative tap, signaling the hurt they both know blooms there.

"Do not do so again." A pause, then tenderly. "But thank you."

It is a strange gift he worries he will dishonour, to receive so much of Wei Ying's affection that his husband is prepared to put aside his own welfare, only to satisfy him. He is unworthy of this, horrified of ever unwittingly taking advantage — yet grateful, all the same.

He smiles at his husband, nudging his nose closer and sparing him a few more kisses before he speaks. “We wouldn’t have to do it the normal way. I have hands and a mouth,” he points out and kisses him again to punctuate it. “But you’re right. I would have invited you inside me again if it’s what you were craving.”

Telling the truth isn’t so bad, even if there’s a part of him that wanted to deny there’s any discomfort for the sake of pleasing Lan Zhan physically. This way… it feels more intimate, despite the lack of sexual intimacy. Maybe he’s finally growing up some.

“I just love you so damn much, Lan Zhan. You feel the same about me, too. I’d be upset if you were doing something that hurt you just to make me happy, so… I’ll try not to put either of us in that position anymore. I guess I almost broke that vow I made on our wedding night. Thanks for setting me on the right path again.”

He traces Lan Zhan’s cheek and jaw, then his throat and collarbone. “If you change your mind and want my mouth again, just let me know. I’m always up for some more fun.”

Hands and a mouth, and of course Lan Wangji is but a man, still, impossibly tempted to search Wei Ying's limbs and face with a long, smoldering gaze. Yes, and how pretty they are, how well Lan Wangji has acquainted them. Few things compare to the bliss of possessing the whole of Wei Ying's body, but his grip and the attention of his lips rank high.

They kiss, dragging, drawn out. With no obstacles or destination. Lan Wangji derails only long enough to reassert their intimacy, the lack of concern. Then, it strikes him, half whim, half experiment:

"Wake early enough tomorrow and spirited," without hurts and ache, "and you may take me instead." And before Wei Ying might groan, moan and counteroffer to derail them later into the evening, "At night, we cultivate."

If Wei Ying struggled to do so simply when they attempted it by way of Lan Wangji giving him pleasure, the exercise of retaining his qi and drawing Wangji's in when he penetrates may prove — ...daunting.

Who knew kissing could be both stimulating and relaxing? He feels like his whole body is ready to melt under the attention. Of course, he’s still a younger man than Lan Zhan and his interest in deepening the affection between them into something more sexual is only natural. And the way Lan Zhan looks at him now makes him wonder if Lan Zhan is still up for another round tonight.

His hand wanders over Lan Zhan’s chest, just enjoying the act of touching his husband and being touched too. He pouts for just a moment at the idea of getting up early, but he does like the idea of giving Lan Zhan that sort of intensely pleasurable experience again. He knows that the real reason is that Lan Zhan wants to give his ass a chance to rest before dual cultivation while still fulfilling a need for both of them. “How early?” He’s going to end up falling asleep in the middle of the afternoon if it’s too early.

But it’s worth it.

“Deal,” he says, regardless of Lan Zhan’s answer. He usually wakes up half hard anyway, so it wouldn’t take too much to get him in the mood come morning.

“You just want to keep me in bed with you tonight.” It’s a playful accusation. He likes the idea of sleeping next to Lan Zhan all night long, but he’s just not built to lead a Lan schedule. When he tries to go to bed early, he ends up spending hours in bed staring at the ceiling or at Lan Zhan depending on how full the moon is or if they have braziers burning. Regardless of how successful his attempts are, he just wakes up feeling like he’s a walking corpse.

"Start of si shi," he offers, well past the time of a dutiful rise, but after Lan Wangji's own sword training — an elegant solution, should Wei Ying's enthusiasm sabotage his form. Last they loved in this way, Wei Ying took him gently, hesitantly, with academic curiosity. Now he has tasted the performance, he is likely to want to perfect it, within the limits of sparing his husband. It thrills some part of him that anticipates, unlike Wei Ying, not so much the act of surrender, as much as the one of giving.

Now, he has not embraced yield. He turns suddenly, until Wei Ying is flattened beneath him, his clever hand crushed beneath Lan Wangji's chest, and Wangji's arms barely remembering to come beside his husband and brace himself barely lightly up. Their gazes meet, feverishly.

"As if you could refuse me." The difference in their physical power and qi, if not their cultivation, is strong enough to favor him. Perhaps there is a resemblance between him and a naked brute who defiles virgins, after all.

"Take a sword, in two days' time. After we cultivate. Face me."

Lan Zhan acting so intimidating may scare a lesser man, but he just laughs and squirms under him until he finds a comfortable little nook for his arms. Gods how he loves this man. “As if I could resist you,” he corrects, nudging a cheek with his nose. Once they’re settled again, he meets Lan Zhan’s gaze, eyes traveling to his husband’s lips as he speaks.

“Two days,” he says thoughtfully, then his smile turns impish. Shortly after cultivation, he might be able to hold his own against Lan Zhan for a short while like when they first met. If it’s an endurance battle, he’d have no chance whatsoever. But a quick bout where he doesn’t need to conserve his qi? Well, maybe he can remind Lan Zhan why he fell in love with him in the first place. “I won’t go easy on you.”

He closes the gap between them with a kiss, gentle at first but prying. They still haven’t faced off with the bow yet. He’s only tried archery a few times in this new body and he’s been frustrated by it. But they’ll have an archery yard at their new house. He knows Lan Zhan won’t judge him for his short comings and he doesn’t like leaving the jingshi while Lan Zhan sleeps any more… “And maybe tomorrow we can find somewhere private for some target practice.”

a home.

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