Chapter Text
i.
“Cloud Recesses has been burned.”
Lan Wangji has finally done it, said aloud the words he has been holding back in the face of Wei Ying’s endless pestering. Days spent ignoring the litany of Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. Days of deflecting demanding questions about what happened. Days of concern and care he doesn’t need. Shouldn’t need.
My leg is fine.
I am fine.
Everything is fine.
Leave me alone.
(Don’t.)
(Don’t go.)
(Don’t leave me alone.)
As Lan Wangji finally gives in, speaks the fate of the Cloud Recesses, he remembers why it was so important to resist in the first place. The moment the words are through his lips, said to Wei Ying of all people, everything threatens to crumble, a great reverberating fault line widening in his chest.
He switches from irritation and anger to sadness so quickly that he feels unmoored, like the flames of the fire in front of them in the dark cave—dancing wildly, ready to consume and destroy from within.
It is not as if Wei Ying didn’t already know about the Cloud Recesses, as if Wen Chao had not crowed about it as he dragged Wei Ying off to a dungeon that spit him back out covered in blood and a fatigue that no smile could completely cover. Though Wei Ying tried, of course. He always did.
So flippant and unregulated. So aggravatingly frivolous about everything, not only others’ hearts, but his own safety.
“Are your people safe?” Wei Ying asks now, voice soft and delicate as if he can tell Lan Wangji is reeling even as he keeps himself still. So very still. “Your uncle? Your brother?”
Lan Wangji does not allow himself to look away from the flames, to move so much as a muscle in reaction. Does not look at the face he knows will be earnest and beautiful, not when he is stuck as he is in this cave where there is nowhere to hide from it. “My uncle was badly wounded. My brother is missing.”
These are the facts. Cold. Hard. Unchangeable.
“Zewu-Jun is missing?” Wei Ying asks, tone voicing the pain in his own heart. His shoulder presses closer against Lan Wangji’s side.
Because Wei Ying is reckless and foolish and irritating and inescapable, and worst of all he is endlessly, violently kind.
Lan Wangji’s eyes flood with wetness.
Shameful. Where is his control? Emotional displays do not change facts. They never have.
He closes his eyes tightly, both to escape the tears he has almost let fall and because he can feel the drag of exhaustion in his bones that tell him it is time to sleep. But also to shield against the painful beauty of Wei Ying’s face in the flickering firelight. His teasing smiles and laughter that are not Lan Wangji’s and are not meant for him and never will be. So easily spread to many with no true intent. Even worse, the way Wei Ying’s provoking laughter has fallen quiet now, leaving something even more maddening. No jokes at his expense, just an understanding that makes it impossible to keep his control perfect and undented the way it must always be. In front of Wei Ying more than anywhere else.
He will not be weak enough to cry. To give something for Wei Ying to make a mockery of. Or perhaps worse, to be seen. Understood. That somehow seems even more treacherous.
Wei Ying continues to speak softly, and Lan Wangji lets the chatter flow over him like a lullaby, like a comfort that it has no right to be. Lets it push away all thoughts of the Cloud Recesses and his brother and embarrassment and yearning. The endless confusing tangle Wei Ying sows in him. How he hates it and longs for it.
He just needs to rest. To reestablish his equilibrium. Then everything will stop tilting to the side, his foundations will solidify.
Only then, unexpectedly, soft cloth settles across his body. Warm hands settle on his shoulders. Ignore it, he orders himself. Sleep. Escape.
Against his will, his eyes flutter open. So undisciplined, so out of control.
Wei Ying is leaning over him, so, so near as he settles his outer robe over Lan Wangji, a soft look of something like fondness in his expression.
“Oh,” Wei Ying says, face close enough that Lan Wangji can see the faint blush rise on his cheeks. So close that his breath stirs the air against his face, soothing and provoking all at once. Just as Wei Ying himself has always been.
Wei Ying’s thumbs rub absently across the curve of Lan Wangji’s shoulders, giving him a sheepish smile. “I thought you were asleep.”
Maybe he is asleep. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe he is just broken and tired and unable to resist. The fleeting, thoughtless caress of Wei Ying’s hands against his shoulders spilling everything over. Because somehow Lan Wangji forgets that this means nothing. Means nothing to Wei Ying. Only thinks how much he wants it to mean something.
His hand lifts, fingers touching softly against the warmth of Wei Ying’s cheek, chasing the burn of color there, like seeking proof. When his choice is between doing this and crying, this feels only marginally safer.
“Uh, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says, not moving, but eyes widening. “Is there something on my—”
He stops talking as Lan Wangji’s thumb presses into the corner of that devastating, infuriating, teasing grin.
Lan Wangji briefly wonders if this is what being drunk feels like. If this is why it is forbidden, if such a state makes people just do as they please without fear of consequence. If it makes bodies incapable of being still and doing nothing which is the choice he should have made. Usually makes.
Wei Ying has not pulled away, just blinks back at Lan Wangji for long moments before swaying even closer. His mouth opens on a gentle exhalation and Lan Wangji curls his fingers into the soft skin of Wei Ying’s neck just behind the sharp jut of his jaw. Presses in.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, wonderingly, his voice sliding down Lan Wangji’s spine, flaring heat low in his belly.
“Wei Ying,” he says, their same endless call and response. His voice sounds wrong though. He’s giving too much away, is too ragged to hide it. Too worn to brace for the inevitable pain and embarrassment that will follow, this thing he has fought against for so long. To lose Wei Ying at last to hatred and disgust.
Maybe Lan Wangji really is nothing without his ribbon lashing him together.
It’s a horrible, shameful thought, but he has no time to linger on it because Wei Ying’s face is dipping even closer, his lips brushing against his.
It’s almost a question, the gentle not-quite-there touch, Wei Ying’s eyes still open as he watches Lan Wangji’s face, nose softly bumping against his cheek. Nudging. Testing his boundaries. As always.
It takes everything in Lan Wangji not to surge into the touch, to not just take what he has wanted for so long even as he fought against it. He is still half-braced for the laughter, for the punch line, for Wei Ying to dance back out of reach the second he tries. Did you honestly think I could want you? Want a pillar of ice?
He does not want to believe Wei Ying could ever be that cruel. Even unknowingly.
“Do not joke,” Lan Wangji somehow manages to say, wanting to sound harsh and unbending, wanting to shove and retreat, but knowing instead how broken and pleading his words are. Wanting. His hand is not pushing away, but curling tight into the silken strands of Wei Ying’s hair.
Wei Ying studies his face, something painfully sincere there. “I won’t. I wouldn’t.”
But rather than pulling back, than ending this horrible torment that Lan Wangji only has himself to blame for, Wei Ying presses closer, lips firm and warm against his.
Lan Wangji’s entire body threatens to shudder under the sensation, emotions rioting and fighting to escape his control. He sucks in a breath through his nose and closes his eyes in a panicked attempt to find equilibrium. It has the effect of focusing all his senses down on the feel of Wei Ying’s lips, the heat of his nearness, the relentless thud of his own heart. None of this centers him. Not when the simple press of dry lips is already almost too much. Nowhere near enough.
He has to stop himself from starting at the sensation of fingers against his cheek, Wei Ying moving closer, pressure increasing. Lan Wangji’s lips give way to him as a soft round sound tries to break free of his throat.
He lets Wei Ying kiss him like this, remaining still and open under him. Too afraid to give anything back despite the heat blooming in his chest. Too afraid that the moment he tries to reach for more it will be snatched away. But, oh, how much he also wants, wants, wants, and so he can’t resist the cautious flick of his tongue against Wei Ying’s lower lip where it presses between his, wanting to taste him. Wei Ying jerks, only to meet him immediately, mouth open and eager, welcoming, somehow seeming to know what it is Lan Wangji wants when he barely knows himself.
Wei Ying presses even closer, a whiney sound at the back of his throat that seems to reverberate in Lan Wangji’s own flesh like an answering note. Deep. Abiding. Inescapable. He is drowning. He is coming up for a first true gasp of air.
Everything retreats unexpectedly as Wei Ying jostles Lan Wangji’s leg—sharp, unforgiving pain shooting through his entire body, enough to cut through the heavy haze of desire.
Lan Wangji hisses, feeling sweat break out on his brow, black spots in his vision. He is reeling and lost, bouncing between opposing sensations.
Wei Ying pulls out of reach. “I’m so sorry! I can’t believe—I wasn’t thinking. Is your leg okay? Of course, it’s not okay. Let me see. Did I ruin it? Does it hurt a lot?” His hand lands on Lan Wangji’s thigh as he twists to look at it, but Lan Wangji couldn’t care less about his leg in the moment. He should. That would be the proper thing.
None of this is proper.
The pain recedes as he concentrates on the lurid heat of Wei Ying’s palm on his thigh, the flush of Wei Ying’s face, his lips shiny and full and well-kissed. By Lan Wangji. That was done by him. The satisfaction unfurling in his chest is a solid, dangerous thing.
Wei Ying still babbles and apologizes, the words echoing and building against the stone walls. Lan Wangji briefly shuts his eyes against it, centering himself, even as he wants to know what, exactly, Wei Ying is apologizing for. But also afraid to know.
Do not be of two minds, he thinks automatically, and tries to let it calm him, contain him. But it is hollow, as he has always been of two minds when it comes to Wei Ying.
“Are you sorry?” he finds himself asking.
Wei Ying looks at him, eyes wide. “Of course, I am! Your leg—”
Lan Wangji shakes his head. “Not my leg.”
Wei Ying stills, and only because they are still so close, because Lan Wangji is staring at him so brazenly, unable to look away, does he see the moment of raw feeling—something like worry and pain, and more vulnerable than he would ever think to see from Wei Ying—before his expression slips carefree and teasing again.
His body is all fluttering movement in an instant, and Lan Wangji considers that can be as much a cover as stillness. It’s a startling thought, one he files away carefully to think on more when he has the chance.
Wei Ying rubs at the back of his head, smiling widely. “Oh, uh. Yes. I can apologize for that too if you like. I thought…but I probably thought wrong! And now I’ve horribly offended you. Yet again. So maybe you can just please forget I did that and we can pretend, even though, honestly, I think I’d much rather do that again, every day if you would let me, and, boy, is that something I was not expecting, but I know that you barely tolerate me and I’d rather you didn’t hate me, so we can just chalk it up to—”
Lan Wangji grabs Wei Ying’s shoulder and cuts him off by dragging his mouth back to his. Like Lan Wangji is possessed, wild. And maybe he is because this time he does not sit passive under Wei Ying’s kisses, finally giving way to what he wants, mouth taking and demanding because Lan Wangji is always listening carefully when Wei Ying speaks and Wei Ying said he wants to do this again. Every day if he would let him.
Wei Ying makes the most ridiculously wanton sound against his mouth and Lan Wangji wants to swallow it down and let it live inside of him forever.
Wei Ying slides his hands into Lan Wangji’s hair, fingers pressing into the curve of his skull, each pad of his finger a bright spot of energy shooting straight down his spine. Lan Wangji lets out a gasp, pulling his mouth away just long enough to suck in a deep breath and Wei Ying immediately protests, shuffling forward on his knees, nearly falling over in his eagerness.
Lan Wangji presses his hand to the flat of Wei Ying’s back to steady him. He guides him closer out of range of his leg that no longer hurts in the slightest and maybe that should be worrying but the thought flitters away, because Wei Ying is closer now, at last, knee pressing up against the outside of his thigh right before he crushes his mouth back to Lan Wangji’s.
Everything is heat and pressure and the slide of Wei Ying’s tongue against his, Lan Wangji feeling as if he’s swallowed an entire wildfire, not the steady power and warmth of his core, but something writhing and sparking.
With Wei Ying nearly in his lap now, there is no part of him that is not easily within reach, and Lan Wangji’s hands are greedy, like this might be something snatched away at any moment. He methodically discovers the planes of his sides, his back. Wei Ying’s sinfully red robe is so thin under Lan Wangji’s palm, hiding none of the heat or shifting muscles of his back as he reaches and writhes and never stops moving because he is Wei Ying, even while doing this, so much Wei Ying. Lan Wangji wants his mouth on every inch of Wei Ying’s body with an intensity that winds him. He can no longer feel shame for it. Just wants, sharp and liquid.
He is dizzy with the continued assault of Wei Ying’s mouth and lips and tongue and it is somehow too much and not enough, too far and too near.
Lan Wangji twists his hand in the front of Wei Ying’s robe, needing him closer, needing him to still, just needing something to hold onto and Wei Ying lets out a sharp yelp of pain. Lan Wangji jerks back, releasing his grip, Wei Ying’s mouth pulling free from his with a wet sound that is going to haunt him forever.
“Ow, ow, ow,” Wei Ying says between bouts of shaky laughter. “We have perhaps not chosen the best moment for this.”
“I apologize,” Lan Wangji says, horrified to have so thoughtlessly caused him pain.
Wei Ying shakes his head, pressing a hand to the still-seeping brand on his chest. “No, no. A little pain is worth it. Believe me.”
Lan Wangji can’t help but feel the flair of annoyance in his chest, everything inside him writhing and upside down and not in its proper place. “Worth having her remember you always?”
Wei Ying’s eyes widen, another laugh spilling from his lips. “Heavens. I read that so wrong didn’t I? I mean, you were jealous. But not of Mianmian. I can’t believe that. Am I dreaming right now?”
Wei Ying looks delighted, and Lan Wangji has to look away, feeling his ears burn, not sure if being so transparent is mortifying or if he’s simply relieved for Wei Ying to finally see him, if that is better than Wei Ying’s misguided teasing and blindness.
But Wei Ying doesn’t relent long enough for Lan Wangji to clarify his own thoughts. “I actually meant a little pain was worth kissing you, by the way. This entire fucking disaster is worth getting to kiss you. Isn’t that insane to even say? But it’s how I feel right now. Even if you come to your senses the moment we get rescued. Or you actually get some sleep.” There is something bittersweet under his smile, and Lan Wangji realizes he has let himself be far too dazzled by those grins to see what might be hiding underneath. Or maybe too scared to look long enough to be able to notice.
He will set himself to the task of learning better to see it. To know each and every inflection. He’s never looking away again.
“I am always sensible,” Lan Wangji says.
Wei Ying laughs again, patting absently at his shoulder. “Yes, yes. I certainly didn’t mean to offend. No one could speak against Lan-er-gongzi’s levelheadedness.”
Lan Wangji feels Wei Ying is deliberately misunderstanding him for some reason, but he has no shame left, having already broken himself open so effectively, having now felt what it is to have Wei Ying in his arms. Willingly. Enthusiastically. There is no lying to himself. And there is no lying to Wei Ying.
Lan Wangji reaches for the back of Wei Ying’s neck, pulling him near.
Wei Ying’s hands flap a bit in surprise, but he comes willingly, everything in him seeming to go still, almost hanging from his grip, and this is another reaction Lan Wangji wants to learn more about. Some time when he is less exhausted.
Only once Wei Ying’s face is nearly touching his own, their eyes looking directly into each other, does Lan Wangji speak again. “I am always sensible,” he repeats. He has not lost his sense. He has only taken what he has always wanted. What he will always want. There will be no recanting. To think he would is offensive to him.
“Oh,” Wei Ying says, his eyes blown wide. “Oh.”
Lan Wangji hums in agreement, attention caught by the sight of Wei Ying’s lips even as he feels exhaustion tugging relentlessly, his eyes heavy.
“So this isn’t just like, I don’t know, temporary insanity?”
Lan Wangji gives him a flat, unimpressed stare before leaning back against the cave wall behind him. “Long term insanity.” There can be no other way to describe the confliction he has been plagued with for so long.
Wei Ying lets out a startled laugh, and this one feels real and earned by Lan Wangji and it’s the most lovely sound he’s ever heard. “Lan Zhan!” he says, delighted and scandalized.
He feels his eyes sliding shut, his exhaustion a solid thing dragging him down. “Since I first met Wei Ying.”
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says again, this time soft and a bit thick. “I like you so much.”
Lan Wangji struggles to stay awake, to open his eyes, to think of something to say in response, something right, but he can only squeeze Wei Ying’s arm where he is still holding it. Never wants to let go of.
“It’s okay, Lan Zhan. Go to sleep.” There’s the soft press of what must be Wei Ying’s lips against his forehead, right where his ribbon should be, seductive warmth spreading out through his entire body from the simple touch. “Sleep now.”
“Wei Ying,” he mumbles one last time, and then drifts off.