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He gets out of the banquet hall as soon as the wine assigned for the Yunmeng Jiang delegation is out – courtesy of mostly Wei Wuxian and his vicious desire not to remember anything after a certain jug, hoping that the next one would just click his brain off and then he would wake up in his quarters, still in boots and a useless piece of metal on his waist.
None succeeded.
The banquet hall is long and adorned with flowy sigils of every sect participating. Gold, a lot of that. Grey, blue. Very little of purple here. The entire hall that hosts the people and their proud little flags is blood-red and will always be.
The grand stairs had been scrubbed clean of blood and memories of several generations of cultivators that called this place home. Wei Wuxian doesn’t stumble when he goes down, doesn’t flinch when a random laugh bursts out from the open doors of the banquet hall, making him look back because it sounded like his brother’s, and he sees the statue that bore his weight a couple days ago, becoming his pedestal and an executioner’s spot.
He feels sick, empty and too cold, in the city where the sun had never gone down. Until yesterday.
Wei Wuxian thinks he moves mindlessly until he enters the tent camp on the outskirts of Nightless City where decent people stay. The Jins and the Nies have decided that the city is theirs, so they will spend the last night here, in the palace and the neighbouring quarters. Looting while at it, most likely.
There are not many tents, as both Gusu and Yunmeng’s delegations are small in numbers, the former having already sent most of their disciples back home to tend to the wounded and the latter sparse for a reason that had made Wei Wuxian cold and empty inside in the first place.
He sees Lan Zhan’s tent – he knows it’s his because only Lan Zhan could be sitting after curfew at his qin and thinking of more elaborate ways to purify Wei Wuxian – and smiles. Wei Wuxian wants to fight. Fighting Lan Zhan is nice. Venting at Lan Zhan is great because Lan Zhan is not afraid of him. Yet, at least. For him, yes, which is unsolicited and annoys and scares Wei Wuxian more than he could ever expect, but that’s what is good about arguing with Lan Zhan – Wei Wuxian can prove him wrong again and again. He is fine. He is in control.
Lan Zhan’s tent is the farthest of all and the only one that has the light on. There is no sound coming from it, which is only polite when playing music at this hour among the Lans. Wei Wuxian sees Lan Zhan’s shadow like when he did back in the Unclean Realm and watched this very figure for a good minute before striding past the quarters, heart lurching with something he still cannot pinpoint and hands twitching to find a body and not a shadow. Wei Wuxian knows more shadows than living people, now. Has seen, fought against, and eventually controlled enough to share between several lifetimes. This time, he doesn’t walk past – beelines straight for it.
“Lan Zhan!” he yells, knowing full well that the people in the tents he is bypassing are already asleep. He doesn’t give a shit. “Lan Zhan, breaking rules again to save a stained me?”
Stained, cold, empty me. Ah, Lan Zhan. Have you been late even once in your life? What would you do if I said that you are, terribly?
Wei Wuxian sees how Lan Zhan steels inside, perhaps already outraged at the level of his voice and the sheer audacity. He doesn’t even know what Wei Wuxian is going to say next. Wei Wuxian stops in front of the tent and waves his hand. “I’m coming in, no need to dress up! I’ve seen you half-naked in the cave and in the pond. I’ve seen you without the ribbon. I took it off!”
He blasts his hand on the fabric of the tent, but it doesn’t move. His palm stings a bit, and he startles, but barely.
“Lan Zhan ah,” he whines, pathetic and even more annoyed. This is not a good start. He wanted to fight in Lan Zhan’s tent and not stand outside of it like a cranky child. He can’t be ignored, not now. He will blast Lan Zhan’s tent off if it comes to that. “I only wanted to talk, no need to abuse me like that!”
Wei Wuxian braces himself for Bichen pointed at his throat, or even touching it, to make him shut up for the night, but –
Further rudeness dies on his tongue when Lan Zhan folds the flap away and stands completely still in front of him. Wei Wuxian’s hand is still hovering mid-air, still tingling. “Hi,” he says, very stupidly. Almost hoarsely.
Lan Zhan looks, to Wei Wuxian’s predictably unaccustomed vision, soft. He is not wearing his guan, only a blue ribbon gathering his hair in a low half-ponytail. Doesn’t have three hundred layers of robes on him, only – three. Two?
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, even. He is not outraged, not seething with discontent. Wei Wuxian is so lost he wants to apologise and bolt.
“Hi,” Wei Wuxian repeats, clearing his throat. His grin is absolutely insolent, if a little lopsided. “Saw the light was on. Thought you needed company.”
Lan Zhan makes his ‘mn’ sound and Wei Wuxian’s knees answer it before his fucking brain does. He shifts his weight, careful. He needs to vent, not swoon.
“Thought I needed company, anyway. Were you practising music for my wretched path? Do you need someone to practice it on?”
Lan Zhan merely steps back to let him in. His lack of response riles Wei Wuxian up like all those years ago. “I was having tea.”
Ah, that’s why there was no sound. Lan Zhan wasn’t hurting his fingers in pursue of a cure never to be provided.
“Cute,” Wei Wuxian says, and steps inside the tent. It is not big, no bigger than of an ordinary disciple’s. Two tables – one for Lan Zhan’s qin and one for writing, where a cup of still steaming tea is on. Bed, untouched. Bichen, resting on its side.
“Boring,” he says, whirling around and facing Lan Zhan, and sees silencing talismans on the front part of the tent. Turns around and sees them on all four sides and the ceiling. “So you were practising for me? Lan Zhan, I’m so touched. Or, wait, I’m not.” Wei Wuxian is finding his ground again, here, one on one with Lan Zhan, who just watches him and allows everything, currently. Why. He snaps at Wei Wuxian for things far less warranting.
“Would you like tea?” Lan Zhan asks like he doesn’t know the answer. Like Wei Wuxian drinks tea at all.
“No,” Wei Wuxian says. He is watching Lan Zhan, too. Here, in the tent, with a richer light, he sees how Lan Zhan’s hair is still damp a little from the bath, ends visibly wet, dripping on the back of his robes. Two, Wei Wuxian notices, and his stomach tightens. He’s never seen Lan Zhan so underdressed. So – young. “I’ve had a thought, though.”
Lan Zhan moves, graceful as ever. The ends of his forehead ribbon are caught between his wet strands, and Wei Wuxian wants to reach out and smooth them. Instead, he grabs Chenqing and twirls it to busy his hand. Lan Zhan is about to sit down and finish his tea, but Wei Wuxian beats him to it and occupies his place first, pointing at Lan Zhan with the flute.
“What are we celebrating today?”
Lan Zhan looms over him, face impassive. Wei Wuxian can feel how warm he is from the bath. The heat rolls off of Lan Zhan, steady and inviting. Foreign.
“Victory,” Lan Zhan says.
“Whose?”
“Yours.”
Wei Wuxian laughs. “If you said that in the great hall, no one would agree with you.”
“They are scared to admit that,” Lan Zhan says. He takes a step back to sit down on the opposite side of the table, but Wei Wuxian grabs him by the end of the sleeve, which makes Lan Zhan look down at him. Wei Wuxian grins.
“Are you?”
“I have seen you,” Lan Zhan says.
“Do you think I’m powerful, then?” Wei Wuxian asks, tugging on the thin lace of Lan Zhan’s outer robe. Lan Zhan is in lace.
“Yes.”
“Do you think that I, the winner, deserve something?”
That makes Lan Zhan move away more decisively. The lace slips out from between Wei Wuxian’s fingers, but he is still holding his hand out, reaching, searching for delicateness and warmth. Lan Zhan’s shadow is warm. If Wei Wuxian said that in the great hall, no one would believe him, either.
Wei Wuxian taps Chenqing on his lips, humming, then taps his lap, watching Lan Zhan’s reaction. It is immediate: Lan Zhan’s lips part, he snaps “Wei Ying!” bitter in its sound like old tea, and turns away to leave the tent all to Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian shouts at him, trying not to be hurt by his own stupidity.
“What, you can slaughter hundreds and sit in ash and mud but can’t sit on my lap? Am I right and you consider me that disgusting?”
Lan Zhan stops in his tracks, surprisingly. Wei Wuxian was kinda hoping to insult him for a little longer, but maybe Lan Zhan is tired of his bullshit more than Wei Wuxian is himself. This, however, is unexpected. Lan Zhan turns around. He looks odd. He looks hurt.
“You are not disgusting,” Lan Zhan says, still steady, still honest.
Wei Wuxian wants him to snap further and maybe slap him for being so gross. “Then why don’t you?”
“Is this what you want?”
“Well, yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, feeling the back of his neck prickling. He licks his lips in anticipation. “You think I’m too bony to hold you? Not strong enough? Or too drunk?”
“You are not drunk,” Lan Zhan says. “When you are drunk, you are happy. You are not happy.”
“No shit. You can tell?”
And then Lan Zhan does what Wei Wuxian never expects him to do – he rises to the teasing and shoves himself between the table and Wei Wuxian, effectively straddling him. Wei Wuxian’s grip on Chenqing loosens completely and he reaches out to steady Lan Zhan instead, who is breathing heavily into his face. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan is on his lap, Lan Zhan’s thighs are on Wei Wuxian’s, his entire body is wedged between the low table and Wei Wuxian’s form. He is so fucking warm.
Lan Zhan’s eyes are almost all black. It is the closest Wei Wuxian has seen – touched – him since they fell out of the frozen cave. His ears are the same bright red as the last time. “I can.”
Wei Wuxian’s resolve to fuck with him dissolves quicker than shadows in the sun.
He knows he kisses Lan Zhan first because it is Lan Zhan who tilts backwards and not Wei Wuxian. Then, Lan Zhan’s hands are in his hair and on his face, calloused and warm, always warm.
Wei Wuxian presses him to his front with all the force he can muster, hands shaking and lips trembling. His fingers are digging into Lan Zhan’s waist and back, keeping him trapped and hurt. He is kissing Lan Zhan and Lan Zhan is kissing and biting him back. Lan Zhan licks into his mouth, deep, insistent, and Wei Wuxian moans, long and desperate. He feels lightheaded. He wants to cry.
He wants to concentrate on Lan Zhan’s mouth, soft and wet from both their spit, the sounds that escape it, so tiny and higher in pitch than Lan Zhan’s normal timbre Wei Wuxian moves his hand and squeezes the back of Lan Zhan’s neck to press him closer still and have all these sounds to himself. Swallow Lan Zhan’s every breath and noise, rare and devastating.
Wei Wuxian wants to concentrate on Lan Zhan’s hands, roaming over his face, shoulders, tangling his hair. Lan Zhan’s hands are so big they span over half of Wei Wuxian’s back, and the thought of them on his naked skin is so dizzying he bites Lan Zhan’s lips, hard. Lan Zhan groans and pulls back.
They are both heaving. Wei Wuxian’s eyes are hot from the assaulting tenderness and need to touch Lan Zhan all over and keep him near despite Lan Zhan’s constant attempts at salvaging his body and heart. Wei Wuxian is sick of himself, of his pathetic need to have Lan Zhan at all.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan rasps, the kindest. He is cupping Wei Wuxian’s face, searching, allowing this horror of an attitude. “Wei Ying, what do you need?”
Wei Wuxian catches his wrists. If he finally dies, here, tonight, because his heart is in his throat and he cannot breathe, then be it. Lan Zhan’s immense patience is as deadly as the shadows Wei Wuxian commands. “You.”
You, accepting me, keeping me warm, keeping me amongst the living.
Lan Zhan’s exhale is rough and broken like the bones Wei Wuxian had been thrown onto. He ducks his head and hides his face in Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.
“Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian doesn’t let him finish this train of thought, is not ready to. Whatever Lan Zhan is going to say, Wei Wuxian is incapable of hearing right now. Lan Zhan is hard against his stomach, blood-hot and big, heavy. Wei Wuxian reaches down and cups Lan Zhan’s ass like Lan Zhan holds his face, and grinds against him. Lan Zhan gasps into his neck. He is honest here, too.
Wei Wuxian wants to scream his throat raw and demand why Lan Zhan is allowing this, his words, clumsy kissing and blunt humping, but almost swallows his tongue at the sensation, too good and not nearly close enough. Wei Wuxian shudders, his own cock under three layers and just as strained and heavy. His entire being is now zeroed in on Lan Zhan’s heat – on Wei Wuxian’s neck, chest and stomach, in his palms and on his thighs. He feels unhinged. He doesn’t want to fight, Wei Wuxian realises very, very belatedly. He wants to fuck.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls, raising his head, the ribbon crooked from being pressed into Wei Wuxian’s throat. Another brand on his skin; the only one he welcomes. “I – ”
“No?” Wei Wuxian says immediately. He will stand up and go away if Lan Zhan asks. He will leave the tent and never bother Lan Zhan ever again if that’s what Lan Zhan wants.
Lan Zhan’s breath stutters, he stills. Hot and honest, he stills. And Wei Wuxian – he knows his cues with Lan Zhan.
“Sorry,” he chokes out with a laugh, and tries to stand up with Lan Zhan still on him, not at all succeeding. His cheeks are burning from the humiliation he’s brought onto both of them, the need to belong threading Wei Wuxian’s soul and body far more threatening than the darkness he holds inside, tucked into his belt and in his sleeve. “Sorry, Lan Zhan, I’ll go away, I’ll – I’ll go.”
Lan Zhan, half on top of him, makes a frustrated sound and pushes him back onto the floor, and kisses him again. Wei Wuxian hits his head as he is toppled onto his back, but neither pays it any mind because Lan Zhan grinds down against him, hard and long. Wei Wuxian moans into his mouth and grabs at Lan Zhan’s hips to hold him there, hold him down.
Lan Zhan pulls away again, hands braced on both sides of Wei Wuxian’s head. “Wei Ying. I want you inside.”
Wei Wuxian throws his head back and wails, his voice not at all human. Greedy shadows, greedy Wei Wuxian, greedy void inside of him, ready to swallow Lan Zhan whole.
Lan Zhan’s clothes come off first because Wei Wuxian tugs his trousers down so hard Lan Zhan’s cock bounces as the silk slips down his legs. He is barefoot. Wei Wuxian’s jaw tightens so much he feels it in his cheekbones. Lan Zhan is obscenely beautiful. Wei Wuxian grabs him by the ankles and forces him to turn around and then drop down, making Lan Zhan crouch beside his head, still in his shirt and lace.
“My face,” Wei Wuxian commands, and the horror in Lan Zhan’s loud intake of air is so vivid Wei Wuxian almost laughs. How is the only word Lan Zhan utters before Wei Wuxian hauls him by the waist onto his face and presses his tongue to the hole.
Lan Zhan lets out the same startled sound he made when Wei Wuxian threw him off the wall, and then he sinks lower. Wei Wuxian swipes his tongue along the hole and groans, hunger jolting through him like the deadliest poison.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan gasps, the loudest Wei Wuxian has ever heard him yet. “You can’t – ”
Wei Wuxian can and does, flinging Lan Zhan’s left leg over his chest and grasping his thighs. His teeth clatter from how much he wants this, wants Lan Zhan like this, wants Lan Zhan in any and every way. The boy who glared at him when Wei Wuxian merely smiled in his direction and then sang for him in the cave, the man who held his listless body on the stairs of the Nightless City palace and then played for him for three days, piecing Wei Wuxian together.
Wei Wuxian is not gentle and not shy, not here, not now, when Lan Zhan’s legs are trembling so much Wei Wuxian strains his neck to get deeper and licks into him, raw and needy. His whole jaw is aching from the effort, but Wei Wuxian laves his tongue over the hole, growling at how it softens under his ministrations. Lan Zhan is panting above him, his spine curved and not at all Lan-like, his hands roaming over Wei Wuxian’s abdomen and pawing at his robes. Wei Wuxian sucks at the rim and Lan Zhan moans, the hottest sound Wei Wuxian’s ever heard and ever will, perhaps.
He collects all the saliva he can and coats his middle finger, and then pushes inside. Lan Zhan jolts and then sags immediately, fucking himself on the single digit. Wei Wuxian licks around the finger and then pushes his tongue along with it.
“Touch yourself,” Wei Wuxian says, voice gravelly. His own cock is so hard and so wet he will have to throw away this underrobe. “Touch yourself, Lan Zhan, please, I know you want to. Move.”
Lan Zhan, the purest of people, obeys and pushes himself onto the finger and the tongue. Wei Wuxian crosses his legs to get more friction and bucks his hips up against the robes. Wei Wuxian thinks of himself back in the Cloud Recesses, where he bit his arm and fucked his fist, lying on the side and holding his breath so that Jiang Cheng wouldn’t hear him. How he thought of Lan Zhan is the library, grim and unbent, then in the pond, wet and uncomfortable. Wei Wuxian chased those thoughts away like rats half-dead from the heat at Lotus Pier, but the image of Lan Zhan, snapping and getting on top of him, silencing Wei Wuxian with his mouth, his fingers, his cock, sent him over the edge so fast he could not stop it no matter how he fought.
Wei Wuxian pushes his index finger and licks between it and his middle, stretching Lan Zhan, getting him loose and sloppy. Filthy, like Wei Wuxian. As soon as he crooks his fingers, Lan Zhan comes. It is quiet and strained, but powerful nonetheless. He tightens around the fingers so much they cramp, but Wei Wuxian keeps licking him through it and pressing onto his spot. He knows where it is. He’s studied well. He has dreamed about this and tried it on himself enough times to know where to push.
Lan Zhan slumps heavily onto his stomach, breathless with it. Wei Wuxian has made him come. Wei Wuxian has made Lan Zhan come while Lan Zhan was fucking himself onto his face and fingers.
“Good boy,” Wei Wuxian says. “Wait for me.”
He stretches Lan Zhan until three fingers move easily within him and Wei Wuxian’s jaw can no longer move. Lan Zhan, his sweet, oversensitive Lan Zhan, is trying to help, pushing back, but Wei Wuxian rests his hand on Lan Zhan’s calf, the one that was broken and probably hasn’t healed all the way because of all the straining. Wei Wuxian treats himself for a minute longer and sucks on Lan Zhan’s balls. If he could, he would fall asleep just like that, exhausted and silenced.
“How do you want me,” Lan Zhan asks when Wei Wuxian pushes himself upwards. Lan Zhan is sweaty, his neck blotchy with red. Wei Wuxian works his jaw back to life with his hand.
“Back.”
Lan Zhan undresses him, and Wei Wuxian notices that his robe is covered in Lan Zhan’s come. He will never wash it. He wants to lick it off. He will when Lan Zhan is distracted enough.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan breathes out when the red trousers fall down, utterly destroyed. If Wei Wuxian didn’t know him, he’d say Lan Zhan is impressed. “Come here.”
Wei Wuxian whimpers when Lan Zhan wraps his hand around his cock and pumps him slightly, just to feel it, what he does to Wei Wuxian and his body that is making do only thanks to the darkness Lan Zhan wants to chase away from him. Wei Wuxian drops his head on his now bare shoulder and kisses it, small. He wants to trace Lan Zhan’s entire body with his kisses. He will, if he is allowed.
Lan Zhan holds his thighs spread open for him, and inhales loudly when Wei Wuxian starts pushing in. Wei Wuxian shushes him with his mouth and drives further because he can’t not. Lan Zhan, whom Wei Wuxian once thought to be the coldest and most rigid, is now bent almost in half underneath him, his heat scorching and body pliant. He is so, so good to Wei Wuxian.
“I have stretched you,” Wei Wuxian whispers into his ear. He moves slowly, savouring it, biting his lips to a bloody mess because he will come from this unfairly soon. The drag of skin along the muscle makes everything inside him thrum and burn. “What are you so tight for? It’s like no one’s ever fucked you before, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Zhan can’t strangle him right now, but he bites down on his shoulder, vicious. That’s how he expresses himself when Wei Wuxian annoys him so much but he can’t escape. Wei Wuxian fucks into him for that, hard, loud.
Lan Zhan says something that sounds like Wei Wuxian’s name, but it’s uttered into his shoulder and is very muffled by his own moan. He rakes his jagged nails, broken from grave-digging and with corpse blood that he can never get rid of completely underneath them, along Lan Zhan’s sides, his thighs and ass. “Tell me.”
“No one,” Lan Zhan says, considerably strained. He sounds beautiful; he looks destroyed, trembling, baby hairs sticking to his forehead and neck. Wei Wuxian snaps his hips and ducks down to lick along Lan Zhan’s working throat.
“Say that again.”
“No one,” Lan Zhan repeats, quiet and panting, Wei Wuxian’s own breathing and the slapping of their skin loud in his ears. “No one, only Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian fucks him fast and not nearly as brutal as he wants to. Had intended to. When Lan Zhan starts tightening around him, the bottom of Wei Wuxian’s stomach drops and he comes, force of it deafening.
He is no longer cold.
Lan Zhan’s hands are on his face now, wiping at the corners of his eyes. He is crying, Wei Wuxian realises, feeling little. He is crying because –
“You survived,” Wei Wuxian chokes out, pressing his face to Lan Zhan’s heaving chest. He is sobbing so hard he is hiccupping. “You survived. I was so scared.”
Lan Zhan repeats his name and strokes his hair until Wei Wuxian starts breathing evenly again. Most candles have already burnt out. He is heavy on Lan Zhan. He has dirtied the two of them, now.
Lan Zhan kisses his forehead and covers them with Wei Wuxian’s outermost robe. It’s dirty, too.
“No woman is going to marry you,” Lan Zhan says when Wei Wuxian is almost asleep on him. Even on the floor, Lan Zhan is keeping him warm.
Wei Wuxian snorts. “Is that a foreshadowing?”
“A promise.”