a home.

[shangba]

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.

Comments

[shangba]

Cold, perfunctory, unpractised. He is gentle with Wei Ying's flesh, if not amorous, the clinical approach to his venture sufficing, when he means to quiet his husband, sooner than stir his appetites again. His lips chase Wei Ying's forehead, as if these petty trinkets of affection might exorcise his starting hurts.

"I have no worries." Then, extracting his fingers, "More?"

And drowning their medical treatment again, he continues as he had never interrupted himself, as if they are discussing paltry matters together by the window sill, while rains descend.

"Recall he is a hermit of the mountains. Given to seclusion. Lacking in the..." Ability to withstand Wei Ying's chatter and infectious enthusiasm. "Graces of everyday men."

In short, perhaps do not overwhelm or enthrall him, do not shine as bright as living fire. A difficult task for one as enticing as Wei Ying.

[emperorssmile]

“No, it’s good,” he answers, letting Lan Zhan finish up the treatment. He’s pretty sure he has enough circulating qi to help with the healing, too. At least enough to prevent some sort of affliction that could prove troublesome or even fatal to a regular, non-cultivating person.

“Don’t worry, Lan Zhan. I’ll be gentle,” he says with a little laugh. He’ll try to stay respectful, at the very least. As long as he isn’t full of pomp and pride, anyway. “I just want to compare methods.”

Once Lan Zhan finishes medicating him, he lets his legs fall closed. He’ll get comfortable again once Lan Zhan washes the salve off of his hands. The sensation burns still, but it’s starting to pass into a comfortable sort of numbness. He wonders how close the composition of herbs are to the balm they use to help Lan Liang’s teething pains.

“Hey, Lan Zhan, do you think we should tell anyone about the immortality thing? Other than the kids, I mean.” Because the kids deserve to know how he’s doing it. Really, he’s mostly concerned about Jin Ling. And Sizhui if he were to lose him.

[shangba]

To both their dosplrasure, he must part with Wei Ying, slipping away to excuse himself to their bathing chamber and cleanse the last of the ointment off his fingertips. He returns, sparing a few heartbeats to check on Lan Liang's sleep before retrieving a cup of water he sets diligently on Wei Ying's bedside.

No words, only a nod: drink, to replenish hydration after their exertion. If the hour were not already drawn long, he might insist on Wei Ying revisiting a rice bowl.

"Perhaps best unmentioned until achieved," he whispers and crawls within their bed, obediently and respectfully watchful at Wei Ying's side. "It is no man's matter but our own. What is owed? First, let us settle with Xichen."

[emperorssmile]

He only sits up long enough to down the cup of water before laying on his side facing Lan Zhan again with his arms open wide, inviting his husband to cone close enough to cuddle again. He feels better after having a drink of water. Between drinking a jug and a half of Emperor’s Smile, sleeping with Lan Zhan, and having two hot baths, he’d been feeling quite parched.

“Right, right. I was just thinking that I’d like to share it. At least among our family, and maybe further. Once it’s perfected, anyway. What I’m doing for me could be dangerous for someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing. Your way, the traditional way, is… cleaner, but it can take a lifetime to achieve and even then, it’s not a guarantee.” He’s rambling, isn’t he?

“I guess I’m just tired of loss, too.” And they won’t know whether Lan Liang has the potential to form a core for a while. Even if he can, it might not be a powerful one. And he promised not to teach the kids demonic cultivation.

[shangba]

Cleaner, Wei Ying says, as if they don't both know the pristine, immaculate devices of cultivation orthodoxy have been repeatedly abused by offenders, prior. He says nothing, at first, only heeding — letting Wei Ying release the better part of his concerns, while Lan Wangji negotiates a position of greater ease beside him.

His chin mounts the top of Wei Ying's head thoughtfully, the rest of his body curling around his husband as if a shield to shelter him from an invisible, undocumented harm. Perhaps this is what Lan Liang's potential hurts inspire in them: a need to band together, brooding.

"He will be loved, come what may. Disciple of the sect, disciple of Wei Ying." And his mouth feels slack, convulsing under lichen. Burdened, as he murmurs. "If a core is yet to form, we may revisit his possibilities."

He cannot pardon another pursuer of demonic cultivation under his rooftop, surely. The sect would scatter, would curse him to the winds. And yet. The danger still is that Lan Liang might have aptitude but lack in the ability to sharpen it to excellence. He is no heir of a great sect — mediocrity would injure him perhaps even worse than biological failure.

[emperorssmile]

He nudges his nose against Lan Zhan’s chest, arms curling around his husband’s middle while allowing himself to be cradled close. The immediate need to feel close after their lovemaking has passed, but this feels nice. Comfortable and comforting. His worries feel a little more distant in his husband’s embrace.

“I don’t want him to be shunned,” he admits, “I want to keep him safe and give him the tools needed to protect himself, but not if that puts a target on his back.” Core formation and spiritual cultivation would be the best outcome for everyone. But what would the sect say if the second son and potential sect leader allows his treacherous husband to teach their son demonic cultivation? No, the only way they could do that would be to leave the safety of the Lan sect and become wandering cultivators.

He sighs, slipping a knee between Lan Zhan’s thighs. It’s not meant as a seductive gesture, but one to bring them that much closer together. “No point in dwelling over something that might not be necessary.” Even though he was the one to bring it up in the first place.

[shangba]

"He will not be shunned," he reassures emptily, knowing all too well that all the might of the Gusu Lan sect, all the power and nobility of Cloud Recesses, the impetuous standing of Hanguang-Jun will not suffice to discourage idle gossip, petty road-side chatter. That Wei Ying on the one hand pledges he is comfortable and at home in Cloud Recesses, but only references shunning, because it is what he has felt.

"He will be safe." While Lan Wangji's strength lasts, while his sword rises. But if he were to perish —

No. They must not speak of it. He calls Wei Ying to himself, absorbing the slight, frigid intrusion of his husband's knee between his own and even inching closer, until the flat of Wei Ying's whole leg has been consumed. This includes, he accepts with a quiet frown and fumble, the ice of Wei Ying's ankle.

"Both of you, my beloved. Not as before."

[emperorssmile]

He sighs against his husband’s skin, wishing he could somehow crawl inside him where he can feel safe and whole. Curling up together in a tangled mess of limbs is the closest he can get, so he treasures that. Once they’re settled, he closes his eyes and lets himself relax until he feels like molten wax.

“We’ll keep him safe. Teach him that he’ll always be able to rely on us to love him unconditionally and to fight for him with more vigor than we’d fight for ourselves.”

As soon as he feels the comforting warmth of his husband’s calves, he twists his ankles to gain as much surface area as possible. Lan Zhan is always so much warmer than he is, especially when the weather turns cold.

“I love you so much, Lan Zhan,” he says with a small smile. “I know I’m never going to have to face something like that again. And if for some reason, I do, I know I won’t be facing it alone.”

[shangba]

It feels strange to finish their day so entangled, Wei Ying's frozen toes raking Wangji's calves, his front curled up and sweet. In the end, the shift is inevitable: Lan Wangji pivots then plants himself on his back, welcoming Wei Ying, nudging him to blanket. His mouth hunts the top of Wei Ying's hair again in a rain of kisses.

He is loved, Wei Ying says. And this, the same mouth that eviscerated him earlier, asking, What is it Lan Wangji apologises for? Truly, they require more care with one another. Far more kindness.

Not today. No matter. They have combed each other for truths and hurts enough already.

"I love you, half of my soul. My one." Perfunctorily, Lan Wangji's hand drags through the dark silk of his husband's hair, chasing and unwinding tangles, strokes the shining length. "Sleep."

[emperorssmile]

He makes an irritable noise when Lan Zhan pulls away, hand reaching to catch Lan Zhan’s wrist. Once he realizes that his husband isn’t going anywhere, he climbs under the blanket and scoots close enough to use Lan Zhan’s chest and shoulder as a pillow.

“Comfortable?” He murmurs, resting one hand on Lan Zhan’s belly, thumb dancing back and forth in what he thinks is a soothing rhythm. His feet naturally gravitate towards the closest source of warmth which is almost always his husband’s legs. Maybe he should just start wearing socks to bed, but he thinks it’s funny to bother Lan Zhan.

It doesn’t take him long to start drifting off, still spent after everything that’s happened tonight.