Chapter Text
Before Wen Ning even opens his eyes, he feels .
His mouth is dry. He thirsts. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, sticks to the back of his teeth.
Something feels like it’s digging into his back, like there’s a seam or a thick fold of cloth under him.
His heartbeat quickens.
His heartbeat quickens .
---
He’s not sulking.
He’s not.
“If you’re not sulking, why are you sitting here, jiujiu ?”
“Shut up.”
“I’ve seen jiujiu come home with bigger wounds than this,” and the brat has the actual gall to sound like a disapproving parent like Jiang Cheng never wiped his ass as a baby, “I can tell you’re not even trying to heal faster. You’re sulking.”
“I am not sulking. I am trying to get some peace and quiet ,” Jiang Cheng glares.
Jin Ling raises his eyebrow to stare down at Jiang Cheng and Jiang Cheng’s seeping leg wound and the sluggishly bleeding gash on Jiang Cheng’s forearm.
Jiang Cheng scowls harder, even though it doesn’t work anymore - especially now that Jin Ling is almost as tall as Jiang Cheng, looking every bit the young Sect Leader of LanlingJin.
Jiang Cheng claps his hand over his eyes to block out the sun and also the sight of his nephew judging him.
He feels so stupid.
“Wen-qianbei was looking for you, you know,” Jin Ling says. “When he woke up.”
“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng snaps, because he’d rather not feel stupid and guilty.
“You two quarrelled, didn’t you?”
“No,” which isn’t really a lie, because is it really a quarrel if only one of them is yelling and the other just stands there looking upset and disappointed?
I want to know what it feels like to kiss you. To feel your breath on my skin. To touch you and feel it.
It’s not that Jiang Cheng doesn’t want those things for Wen Ning. Of course he wants those things for Wen Ning. For himself.
His cheeks grow warm just thinking about all the times he desperately wanted Wen Ning to experience what he does because it’s not fair that Jiang Cheng is the only one who is reduced to an absolute mess in Wen Ning’s extremely capable hands.
But is it wrong that he doesn’t want Wen Ning to go through an untested, incredibly risky and highly questionable procedure on the tiny chance it might return Wen Ning to normal? Is it so wrong that he doesn’t trust Wei Wuxian’s revolutionary ideas when it backfired on his brother so badly in his previous life?
It sounds selfish, and horrible, for Jiang Cheng to try and deny Wen Ning the chance to regain human sensations.
But as much as Jiang Cheng wants Wen Ning to be able to experience the kind of pleasure Wen Ning gives him, he’d rather be celibate for Wen Ning than dangle Wen Ning before the whims of fate.
Because Jiang Cheng is horrible and selfish, he knows this about himself, but he can’t help being afraid.
What if - even if - the procedure works, and Wen Ning does return to a mortal state? Wen Ning has a terrible habit of defending people with his body, his life.
At least - at least if he stays in his fierce corpse state he can’t die again.
And deep down, in the darkest, most horrible and selfish parts of Jiang Cheng’s heart, he can’t help being afraid - that given the choice, with the whole world open to Wen Ning now that he can’t terrify strangers just by existing -
- Wen Ning might not choose him.
He’s no Wei Wuxian. He’s not even any kind of eligible bachelor of respectable enough social standing that people would not care they were cutsleeves. He’s Sect Leader Jiang, the son of Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan, and there are few things more unfilial and socially egregious than being openly, intimately involved with the direct blood kin of those who brutally murdered his parents and so many of his shidi-mei.
If he were a better man, he would let go, let Wen Ning find his own happiness, let him be free to find someone who could openly walk by his side and call him husband before others. Maybe even some nice, pretty girl who is gentle and knows the right things to say and is comforting and can give him children. Someone who can put Wen Ning first.
Jiang Cheng is none of those things. Can’t give Wen Ning any of those things.
But Jiang Cheng is selfish and not the better man, so he argues with Wen Ning, tries to make him reconsider, tells him it’s not worth the risk.
Wen Ning doesn’t waver, stubborn and immovable and determined to go along with Wei Wuxian’s schemes.
Jiang Cheng is terrible with words - he has enough self-awareness to know that he is capable of destructive words, the kind that he inherited from his mother and cultivated himself. It would have been so easy to use them, to lash out at Wen Ning and hurt him first.
He barely stops them in time, choking back the ugly things trying to crawl up his throat, and flees.
Jiang Cheng hasn’t been home in a week, instead trying to rid himself of all those horrible thoughts and feelings on creatures, hunting carelessly in his own stew of emotions instead of being at Wen Ning’s side.
And now he’s here, lying in the grass on a random mountain, nursing wounds he could have avoided, being scolded by his own nephew.
Jin Ling sighs somewhere above him. The wind shifts. “I told you he was sulking.”
“My little brother, running away from home - never thought I’d see the day,” floats Wei Wuxian’s annoying voice on the breeze.
Jiang Cheng drops his arm to sit up, ready to yell that Wei Wuxian of all people has no right to say anything about running away from home - but then he sees Wen Ning, alighting off of Suibian from behind Wei Wuxian.
The words die in his throat.
Wen Ning looks so young. Younger than Jin Ling. Like he hasn’t aged a day since - since -
- he cuts off that train of thought viciously.
“... Zongzhu,” Wen Ning says, soft, hesitant like he isn’t sure of his welcome, before his eyes catch the multiple open wounds on Jiang Cheng. “Zongzhu!”
---
The worst part of becoming mortal again, is slowly realising how useless he was. Is.
Limitations he didn’t really think about before begging Wei Wuxian to try the ritual anyway.
He tires. His cultivation is low. He needs sleep and food and clothing. He needs to relieve his bladder and bowels and it seems almost blasphemous, ungrateful, to think that being a fierce corpse was convenient.
Jiang Wanyin hadn’t been there when he woke up, which was probably just as well, even if Wen Ning’s heart ached at the time.
It was overwhelming, suddenly able to touch and smell and taste, to feel hot and cold again. He scalds himself with hot soup the first time he eats, not because he accidentally drinks it, but because the heat shocks his hands and he drops the whole bowl, creating a mess. He almost cuts himself when he tries to pick up the shards of the shattered lotus bowl, the front of his robes covered in soup.
Wei Wuxian is the only witness to his sudden and alarming outburst of frustrated tears, which he’s incredibly grateful for in hindsight. If Jiang Wanyin had seen him like this - how pathetic he’s become - has always been -
It takes him a few days to readjust, so he doesn’t flinch every time he brushes against something. For his skin to stop twitching at every slide of fabric, at the prickle of seams, at every gust of air. It takes a good part of a whole day before he stops feeling overstimulated just by being awake, or stepping outside.
Jiang Wanyin still doesn’t come home, and Wen Ning can’t do a thing about it until he’s adjusted enough that Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to worry about him falling from the sky at the slightest fluctuation of spiritual energy. He can’t fly on a sword by himself yet, and he can’t just go nonstop on foot anymore.
He feels foolish, anxious.
He had only thought about how much he wanted to touch Jiang Wanyin properly, consumed with the need to close the distance, to break the wall between them, but now those worries won’t stop. They taunt him, living in the edges of his thoughts and the thump of his pulse - what if Jiang Wanyin doesn’t want him anymore? What if he gets annoyed by the stammer? When he had to push the words out as a fierce corpse, it made him seem slow, but at least collected. Dignified, even, occasionally.
He’s gone from being a protector to being protected, and Wen Ning feels an old guilt resurface, an old shame that he forgot he carried since the days of living under the shelter of his sister’s wings.
Now, that he is subject to the whims of his bodily instincts - he also wants to take back every idiotic thought he ever had about wanting his stammer back. Sometimes he tenses with no rhyme or reason, the muscles in his mouth seizing at inopportune moments, and all that comes out is an incoherent, garbled mess of syllables. Everything feels so visceral now, instead of vague and distant; his heartbeat a constant fluttering rhythm under his skin because he’s always nervous.
When he sees Jiang Wanyin lying there on the grass, his arm and leg streaked with dirt and blood - his heart pounds, he feels hot and cold, his palms clammy with sweat.
He’s so useless.
He hopes, prays, that he hasn’t ruined everything.
---
Jiang Cheng almost flinches when Wen Ning reaches for his wrist, because he’s so used to cool fingers against his skin he instinctively wants to avoid the foreign warmth.
He doesn’t, because Wen Ning looks so upset.
Jiang Cheng has spent years trying to memorise all the minute details of Wen Ning’s facial expressions, learning how to interpret every little twitch of his mouth or flicker of his eyes. Jiang Cheng’s not good with words, and yet they were practically all that Wen Ning had left to express himself with.
To see so much naked emotion on Wen Ning’s face now - Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to react.
Wen Ning’s fingers feel softer than they have ever been, even though Jiang Cheng can still feel the bumps and raised skin of telltale sword and archery calluses from before . Wen Ning’s hands are warm, and a little damp, and there’s the slightest tremor against Jiang Cheng’s skin when three fingertips position themselves above his pulse point.
Jiang Cheng feels his heart beat a little faster, the way it always does around Wen Ning.
He quickly looks away, trying to stave off the blush threatening to form on his face, and catches Wei Wuxian’s eyes.
His brother’s fox eyes have become half-moons of pure smugness, and Jiang Cheng is readying himself to tell Wei Wuxian off for it, when Wei Wuxian grabs Jin Ling by the shoulder.
“It’s time to go, my favourite nephew,” Wei Wuxian almost sings, half dragging Jin Ling, and taking the wind out of Jiang Cheng’s sails away with him.
Jin Ling squawks indignantly as Wei Wuxian messes up the lines of his outer robes. “I’m your only nephew!”
“That’s right, no contest,” his brother’s voice fades cheerfully into the distance along with Jin Ling’s protests, until Jiang Cheng is left conspicuously alone with Wen Ning.
---
The silence feels heavy, for some reason.
Wen Ning doesn’t dare look up at Jiang Wanyin’s face. Instead, he takes Jiang Wanyin’s pulse, and then again, and again, just to remind himself how it’s meant to be done - but also so he can keep touching Jiang Wanyin.
He’s imagined so many times, what it would feel like to be able to feel Jiang Wanyin’s skin against his, when the memories of a stolen touch seemed to become hazier over time, when doubt about the integrity of his memory would plague him in the quiet hours of Jiang Wanyin sleeping in his arms.
Jiang Wanyin runs a bit warm, like Wen Ning imagined, maybe to match his hot temper.
Or maybe Wen Ning just runs cooler than others, because it’s not like he’s got a good frame of reference anymore. Not yet anyway.
“Zongzhu is...s-suppressing his spiritual energy?” Wen Ning manages to say without sounding like a complete imbecile. Yet.
Jiang Wanyin’s arm twitches, and Wen Ning is momentarily distracted by the shift of muscle, the minute change in tension under Jiang Wanyin’s skin.
He doesn’t let go, even though he should - they’re still fighting, technically - Jiang Wanyin probably doesn’t want Wen Ning to touch him but Wen Ning did all of this so he could finally reach him -
---
“Stop that,” Jiang Cheng blurts out without thinking and Wen Ning lets go of his wrist like it burns, his expression crumpling in shame and Jiang Cheng needs him to stop that.
“I meant, stop looking like -,” Jiang Cheng struggles to find the right words, “- everyone’s going to think I’m bullying you if you look like that.”
Wen Ning’s eyes dart up to Jiang Cheng’s in confusion, and he brings his hands up to his own face, fumbling and patting over his cheeks and nose blindly like that will help him understand what Jiang Cheng means.
It’s ridiculous. It’s horribly endearing.
“This is...this is j-just how I am,” Wen Ning stammers, cheeks already staining pink.
Is this...is this how Wen Ning was, before ? Has this flustered, stammering, anxious Wen Ning always been underneath the calm, silent (if slightly awkward) Ghost General?
He doesn’t know what to think, doesn’t know if he needs to re-interpret everything between them that he thought he already understood.
(It also doesn’t help that Wen Ning looks almost young enough to currently be Jin Ling’s little brother. He suddenly feels like a dirty old man - which is actually deeply unfair because most of their sex life was definitely mostly instigated by Wen Ning!)
Jiang Cheng covers his face and muffles a groan into his hands again because he’s not ready to face any of this.
He thinks about all the times he’s been held by Wen Ning, quietly suffocating from the storm of emotions inside him - the crushing guilt of being the closest to happiness he’s ever been, fear, and doubt.
Despite Wen Ning’s words, Jiang Cheng has never shaken off the tiny seeds of doubt inside whispering that Wen Ning only ever looked his way at all because Wei Wuxian is already married to someone else.
He thinks of his parents. He never believed the rumours that his father ever cheated on his mother, because his father’s moral compass would never allow it. The same moral compass that might compel him to take responsibility and stay loyal to a wife he didn’t truly love because he agreed to marry her for a greater good.
Wen Ning would stay, to take responsibility, commit to the very end, even if his heart might point elsewhere because that’s just who Wen Ning was.
If Jiang Cheng were a better man, he ought to say that he’d rather have Wen Ning leave him than have Wen Ning constantly looking past Jiang Cheng to someone else. But Jiang Cheng isn’t a better man.
What right does he have to demand Wen Ning’s full heart anyway? He can give Wen Ning nothing.
Wen Ning never demands anything from him, asks for nothing. He retreats quietly into the background when Jiang Cheng needs to be Sect Leader Jiang, never begrudging or unhappy about his place in Lotus Pier.
Even today, he wears the new robes Wei Wuxian gave him, while all of the pieces Jiang Cheng tried to give him continue to languish in Wen Ning’s closet.
Wen Ning makes a soft, worried noise and Jiang Cheng feels Wen Ning shift to examine his bleeding leg, fingers carefully tearing the rip in his trousers wider so he can see the edges of the wound.
Wen Ning is not even touching him anymore, but apparently his dick doesn’t care about time or place (or the fact that he’s having a gods-damned internal crisis) when it involves Wen Ning and the tearing of clothing, and Jiang Cheng has to will down the impending tent in his pants, mortified.
He watches Wen Ning take a tiny porcelain gourd medicine out from between his robes, remove the red stopper to shake out familiar clotting powder onto Jiang Cheng’s wound. Jiang Cheng hisses from the sting. If Wen Ning were not always the better person, he’d probably be judging Jiang Cheng for not just healing this trivial gash on his own, considering he’s not even poisoned or cursed or anything that might stop him from doing so.
...And Jiang Cheng will deny to his deathbed that he has ever purposely slowed his healing in order to have an excuse to spend more time with Wen Ning over the years. Ever.
Wen Ning rummages in his robes for a long moment and then chews his lip when he can’t find what he’s looking for. “S-sorry, I think I forgot to bring bandages,” he fidgets with the hem of his robes, clearly hesitating about tearing into it.
Jiang Cheng can’t stop the sudden, bitter, jealous thing that flares into his chest. “It’s fine, wouldn’t want to ruin Wei Wuxian’s gift, would we,” he snaps before he can stop himself.
Wen Ning flinches.
Jiang Cheng feels like the mud caked at the bottom of his shoe.
He reaches for Sandu, picking himself up off the grass while Wen Ning starts and fails to begin his next sentence. Jiang Cheng feels his wound weep a little from the movement before swiftly letting his spiritual energy take care of it.
"Z-zongzhu, zongzhu-”
Jiang Cheng starts hobbling as fast as he can in the direction Wei Wuxian and Jin Ling went so he can tell them to take Wen Ning home because Wen Ning hasn’t got his own sword to fly back on.
He doesn’t think he can heal fast enough to get away from this conversation, but he’s going to try anyway. Before he says anything else.
Until he lurches forward, tumbling back down in an undignified heap as Wen Ning crashes into him from behind.
“Did you just,” Jiang Cheng splutters in shock, half sprawled under Wen Ning, “did you just tackle me ?”
Wen Ning looks just as shocked, pale and horrified. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean - I forgot I -”
Wen Ning clenches his hands in the grass on either side of Jiang Cheng, frustration written all over his face. “I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry-,” and Jiang Cheng’s stomach drops like a stone to hear it, because it sounds like it precedes something he doesn’t ever want to hear. He’s had dreams (nightmares) of conversations that begin like this, except Wen Ning doesn’t stammer like this in them, and that’s why he knows he’s not in one.
“P-please, just- j-just-,” Wen Ning looks like he wants to cry, or scream, or both.
Jiang Cheng doesn’t want to hear Wen Ning apologise, but it’s the look on his face that stops Jiang Cheng from pushing Wen Ning off him.
Jiang Cheng swallows, because he doesn’t ever want Wen Ning to look like that. Not because of him.
Afraid, filled with self-loathing.
“I, I won’t run,” Jiang Cheng tries to say, as calm as he can manage, maybe to convince himself as well. “I won’t run.”
It takes several, long breaths for Wen Ning to stop shaking, to collect himself, to attempt what he wants to say again.
Jiang Cheng can feel himself mirroring those breaths, blades of grass crushed under his clenched fist, trying not to go back on his word even as his own heart thumps anxiously behind his ribs.
---
“Please - give me a chance,” Wen Ning exhales in a rush of air.
“I p-promise not to be a burden,” Wen Ning keeps going before his body can stop him from speaking again, “I’ll do better, I-”
The irony of saying he won’t be a burden while he’s literally on top of Jiang Wanyin doesn’t escape Wen Ning, but the words won’t come out like he wants them to.
Jiang Wanyin gapes up at him, beautiful and all edges, completely out of his league and always just out of reach, but Wen Ning doesn’t want to give this up.
---
“Zongzhu,” Wen Ning calls him the way he always does, familiar in the way Wen Ning’s warmth is not, but what isn’t familiar is the look on Wen Ning’s face as he calls him.
Oh.
It takes his breath away.
Or maybe that’s just Wen Ning’s mouth on his.
---
“Are we really going to just leave them there?”
“Your jiujiu is perfectly capable of giving Wen Ning a ride home,” Wei Wuxian hums cheerfully. “Even if he’s still mad, he won’t leave Wen Ning alone and defenseless on a mountain.”
Jin Ling wrinkles his nose. “I guess so,” he concedes reluctantly. “But I’m still worried.”
“They’ll figure it out,” Wei Wuxian tosses a fresh lotus seed into the air to catch it with his mouth. “Especially now that Wen Ning is even cuter, like a snow rabbit.”
“...What does that have to do with anything?”
“Your jiujiu is weak for cute things,” Wei Wuxian says with complete seriousness despite chewing. “When we were young, I saw him pet a rabbit with my own eyes.”
“...Wen-qianbei is not a rabbit,” Jin Ling says faintly, wondering why the conversation is taking such a nonsensical turn, “he’s a puppy.”
Wei Wuxian hisses, indignant. “Dogs aren’t cute and neither are puppies!”
Jin Ling rolls his eyes.
---
Jiang Cheng is suddenly extremely, intensely glad that Wei Wuxian and Jin Ling took off, as Wen Ning kisses him to within an inch of his life.
They’re not the kisses he normally gets from Wen Ning - chaste, featherlight, dragonfly-step kisses - the kisses he always wants to ask for more of, but can’t bring himself to ever since Jiang Cheng learned Wen Ning doesn’t really get anything out of them, because Jiang Cheng is selfish enough.
Now, Wen Ning kisses him like he’s wanted to do this his whole life, like he’s craved this for as long as Jiang Cheng has, and Jiang Cheng’s heart beats wildly against his ribcage like it’s trying to soar.
They pull away from each other just far enough to draw breath, and Wen Ning’s eyes are bright even as he leans in again for another kiss, and another.
---
Jiang Wanyin pushes at his chest and Wen Ning has about a second and half to feel dismayed as Jiang Wanyin sits up, panting, wide-eyed, lips a little swollen. Wen Ning can’t look away, Jiang Wanyin a vision always, even with grass sticking out of his braids. Wen Ning is only vaguely aware of Jiang Wanyin’s fingers curling into the front of his robes before he is yanked forward.
He doesn’t quite know who goes first, but he knows he’s licking into Jiang Wanyin’s mouth and Jiang Wanyin actually shivers a little against Wen Ning’s chest. Wen Ning feels hot all over, heart pounding, and he does his best to make Jiang Wanyin do it again.
---
Jiang Cheng gets hard, embarrassingly fast, and he’s definitely going to be very embarrassed about it later, if Wen Ning doesn’t manage to drive all the thoughts from his brain. The few remaining rational thoughts hanging on in his head frantically remind him other cultivators could pass through at any moment, and catching the Sect Leader of Yunmeng having sex in public is definitely something people might talk about for decades.
“Wen Ning, Wen Ning, wait,” Jiang Cheng pulls back, reluctantly, breathless. “Not here.”
He watches Wen Ning’s pupils dilate, and Jiang Cheng almost reconsiders on the spot because he can’t deny the want in Wen Ning’s eyes and it’s...it’s heady.
“There’s...there’s a cave not far from here,” Jiang Cheng says, and without warning, Wen Ning scoops Jiang Cheng clean off the grass.
He opens his mouth to protest - it’s not as if Wen Ning has never carried Jiang Cheng before, but Wen Ning is mortal now and -
Wen Ning doesn’t even break a sweat, doesn’t falter when he shifts Jiang Cheng’s weight to one arm so he can pick Sandu up off the grass, and Jiang Cheng has never been harder in his life.
---
The short walk to the cave feels like an eternity. It does, however, help take the edge off of Wen Ning’s feverish desire, and he recovers enough higher thought process to at least think about laying his coat down so it’s not cold and uncomfortable for Jiang Wanyin. At least the grass would have been soft.
Jiang Wanyin, however, apparently has no intention of giving Wen Ning time to lay down his coat or to protect his own knees, unceremoniously pushing Wen Ning onto the ground to straddle him once Wen Ning stops carrying him.
“Wen Ning, Wen Qionglin,” Jiang Wanyin calls his name in a low rush of breath, a name that no one else uses anymore. It feels like an accusation, it feels like an acknowledgement, it feels like a curse, it feels like a plea, it feels like anguish, it feels like yearning.
He didn’t realise it at the time, but now he hears the echo of Jiang Wanyin shouting his name the same way, the night he left in bright-eyed fury after their fight, leaving Wen Ning to wake up alone, after days in a room filled with burnt arrays.
“...I think I could love you,” Jiang Wanyin says, like it physically hurts him to say it, and Wen Ning feels like he’s having a fever-dream. “I didn’t want to watch you die.”
---
He doesn’t say again, he doesn’t say like everyone else I loved. It doesn’t even count as an apology.
Wen Ning looks at him like Jiang Cheng has handed him the keys to the heavens anyway, like he sees and hears through Jiang Cheng’s pathetic chickenshit non-confession, sees right through to the part of him that’s already completely gone for Wen Ning.
Wen Ning carefully intertwines his fingers in Jiang Cheng’s, and he watches the bump in Wen Ning’s throat bobbing as Wen Ning swallows a few times, trying to speak.
“I...I want...to live, for you,” Wen Ning repeats what he said the night they argued, halting and sincere and unchanged.
He squeezes Jiang Cheng’s fingers experimentally, once, twice, and Jiang Cheng is distracted enough that he doesn’t realise Wen Ning leaning in for another kiss until it happens. Wen Ning lingers, lips a little damp from their kisses before, and Jiang Cheng thinks faintly he could do this forever with Wen Ning and die happy.
“I’ve...I’ve wanted to do this, so many times, in my head,” Wen Ning whispers almost too softly for Jiang Cheng to hear, if they weren’t barely a breath apart.
I want to know what it feels like to kiss you. To feel your breath on my skin. To touch you and feel it.
Jiang Cheng feels something spreading through him, a warmth that sinks into his bones and the tips of his fingers, releasing the knots in his chest. He doesn’t think he’s been warm like this since he was a teenager. He remembers napping in a boat, soaking in the last rays of the sunset on a calm summer evening. Warm, carefree, content.
He hasn’t taken a vacation in over twenty years, but he thinks he could take Wen Ning boating on the lake, just the two of them.
---
Wen Ning can’t get enough of kissing Jiang Wanyin, and even when they have to part for breath, he can’t help trying to get a taste of Jiang Wanyin’s skin, mouthing at the sharp line of his jaw, lapping at the curve of his neck.
Jiang Wanyin shivers under him, and it’s always been a matter of personal pride for Wen Ning to be able to coax sweet noises from Jiang Wanyin’s own throat, even when he could not taste anything, when all he could bask in was the knowledge that Jiang Wanyin liked how Wen Ning touched him, and the sight of Jiang Wanyin softening his edges for Wen Ning.
He thinks he could get drunk on Jiang Wanyin’s warmth under his mouth, his tongue, his fingers.
“Zongzhu, ” he murmurs, lifting his mouth from the soft skin of Jiang Wanyin’s collarbone, “zongzhu - can I?”
Jiang Wanyin’s blush deepens as Wen Ning’s fingers trace the edges of his robes.
Jiang Wanyin has never rejected Wen Ning’s desire, not once, but Wen Ning asks anyway, even if he’s more sure of his welcome than the first time.
---
Even if he still can’t quite look Wen Ning in the eye while he does it, Jiang Cheng nods.
Sometimes, Jiang Cheng wishes Wen Ning would stop asking - is it not obvious that Jiang Cheng would let Wen Ning do anything he wants?
(There’s a box that sits in the very depths of Wen Ning’s closet, filled with... aids that Wen Ning uses on him, that turn Jiang Cheng into a shameful creature he doesn’t want to recognise in himself. Every item in that box came with a mortifying amount of talking and questions about preferences , and Jiang Cheng’s face burns every time he even thinks about it.)
Wen Ning has undressed Jiang Cheng thousands of times by now.
He never stops feeling hot under his skin, never stops burning under Wen Ning’s gaze. He still fights the urge to cover himself, the mortification of being bared and never quite believing Wen Ning actually finds him beautiful like this.
It’s different today, somehow.
It’s not the slow, excruciating removal of layer after layer Jiang Cheng is used to, because Wen Ning has always been nothing if not patient, thorough. Jiang Cheng could be dripping under him and Wen Ning would still take his time to stare.
It’s different, because instead of Wen Ning’s gaze, it’s Wen Ning’s breath - hot and wet and fluttery against the increasing spanse of skin being bared by Wen Ning’s hands.
Hands no longer streaked with black, but still broad.
Skin no longer a greyish hue, instead slightly tan against Jiang Cheng’s pale skin.
Hot, so hot, skin against skin and it’s kind of stifling but Jiang Cheng can’t bring himself to protest when Wen Ning’s hands feel like a brand, pinning him in place as Wen Ning comes up for another kiss, Jiang Cheng’s loosened pants hanging halfway off his hips, forgotten as Wen Ning licks his mouth open again.
It’s different because Wen Ning seems almost as impatient as Jiang Cheng feels - like Wen Ning is as affected by desire as Jiang Cheng is -
So distracted by his mind trying to reconcile the Wen Ning from then to the Wen Ning in front of him now, when something presses into the back of his thigh, Jiang Cheng doesn’t quite think. Instead he rocks back against it, and Wen Ning’s breath hitches, pulling back, eyes growing wide.
It shouldn’t take as long as it does for Jiang Cheng to realise that Wen Ning is alive in all senses of the word.
Wen Ning has had Jiang Cheng in all kinds of ways over the years (something inside Jiang Cheng squirms because Wen Ning has definitely worked out that Jiang Cheng prefers ridged over long ), but it’s not the same, the line of heat that Jiang Cheng can feel through the fabric of Wen Ning’s pants, nudging closer between his cheeks.
Jiang Cheng’s blood burns, because Wen Ning is hard, for him.
Something hot and possessive surges under his skin - Jiang Cheng thinks he might have torn Wen Ning’s overrobe in his haste to push it off Wen Ning’s shoulders, and finds he is not at all sorry about it, before removing his own bloodied, torn pants all the way. A jar of general salve tumbles onto the ground with the clotting powder gourd, cushioned by the growing heap of Jiang Cheng and Wen Ning’s clothes.
He tugs Wen Ning’s trousers down enough to free Wen Ning’s cock, ignoring the embarrassed squeak from Wen Ning’s mouth like Jiang Cheng hasn’t been guiltily fantasizing about this for years -
It’s been over a week since Jiang Cheng has had anything inside him, and Wen Ning has never tried to penetrate him with anything that hasn’t been generously covered with oils, but Jiang Cheng does not give a fuck right now, because he’ll never know who got to have Wen Ning’s first time, to teach Wen Ning how to please a partner, but this first time is Jiang Cheng’s.
He wants Wen Ning inside him, now, and he’ll claim Wen Ning the only way he can allow himself to.
He slicks up his palm with the salve he plucks from the pile of clothes, and Wen Ning lets out a strangled moan when Jiang Cheng takes Wen Ning’s cock snugly in hand, spreading the salve and the beading fluid at the head along the shaft with a firm glide of his palm and fingers.
Wen Ning looks so flustered, stunned, his hands tightening and shaking where they hover around Jiang Cheng’s waist, like he never expected Jiang Cheng to touch him in this way, like he has forgotten what he wants to do with his hands.
Jiang Cheng feels a frisson of satisfaction at the deepening blush on Wen Ning’s face, at being able to make Wen Ning buck into the grip Jiang Cheng’s hand when he tightens his fingers just so. Something petty and competitive in him wants to make Wen Ning come like this, tit-for-tat for all the times he’s turned Jiang Cheng into an incoherent mess behind closed doors, while Wen Ning can walk away looking like nothing happened.
---
Wen Ning is so desperately trying not to come immediately into Jiang Wanyin’s hand like a teenager that just had his first wet dream, that he doesn’t realise what Jiang Wanyin is trying to do until he’s pushed onto his back and Jiang Wanyin uses his spiritual energy to keep him there.
“Zongzhu - no , you’re not r-”
His hands frantically catch around Jiang Wanyin’s hips, but he is too slow to stop Jiang Wanyin from sinking onto Wen Ning in a single, shuddering hiss of breath.
---
Jiang Cheng barely has a moment to savour the ache when Wen Ning jerks under him with a horrified gasp, and something hot and wet spreads inside him.
...Oh. He isn’t sure if he should be flattered or disappointed that Wen Ning finished so soon.
Wen Ning stares up at him looking embarrassed and appalled in equal measures, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. Wen Ning manages to get himself up on his elbows, Jiang Cheng already releasing the energy hold on him.
The movement still jostles Wen Ning inside him, making Jiang Cheng bite his lip. He feels his face warm, because he already knows Wen Ning is going to fret. “I’m fine,” he mutters, looking away.
“Z-zongzhu c-could have hurt himself,” Wen Ning protests, predictably, and Jiang Cheng feels Wen Ning’s fingers curl ever so gently over the small of his back. “This-this one would never -”
Jiang Cheng leans his forehead into the hollow of Wen Ning’s shoulder, Wen Ning’s inner robe damp with sweat. Wen Ning still smells like herbs and earth, but there’s a musk there now too.
“I know, I just,” wanted to be your first , Jiang Cheng doesn’t think he could bring himself to say something so unbearably trite, “couldn’t wait.”
---
“...Z-zongzhu,” Wen Ning squeaks, face aflame, because he is only a man and he’s not strong enough to separate himself from the reality of Jiang Wanyin basically throwing himself on Wen Ning’s dick on purpose.
He should pull out, and make sure Jiang Wanyin is actually alright. But that would mean getting Jiang Wanyin to move, and it would take a stronger man than Wen Ning to refuse Jiang Wanyin like this in his arms.
That and he doesn’t think he could examine Jiang Wanyin down there right now and not completely embarrass himself.
---
It isn’t until Jiang Cheng shifts his weight slightly and feels Wen Ning twitch inside of him that he realises Wen Ning hasn’t quite gone soft at all.
He looks at Wen Ning and Wen Ning turns completely red.
“I’m-I’m sorry, z-zongzhu,” Wen Ning says frantically, “It’s just- th-this one has n-never -”
Jiang Cheng feels his heart beat a little faster, even though that’s impossible, surely -
“Th-this one has never been with anyone but zongzhu,” Wen Ning squeezes out in a single breath, muffled behind hands now covering his face instead of on Jiang Cheng where they belong.
Jiang Cheng tugs Wen Ning’s hands away, but Wen Ning looks at the ground instead like he’s willing it to swallow him.
“...Good,” Jiang Cheng says, feeling warm all over, trying not to sound too pleased about it, because really it’s such a foolish thing to be happy about. “That’s...good.”
Wen Ning’s eyes snap back up to meet Jiang Cheng’s.
It really shouldn’t, but it comes out easier than he ever expected it to. “...Me too,” Jiang Cheng says.
Wen Ning’s hands tremble in Jiang Cheng’s grip.
---
Jiang Cheng loses track of time, sticky and boneless as Wen Ning kisses his way up Jiang Cheng’s spine, and Jiang Cheng shivers around Wen Ning, the ache of being spread open too quickly long having given way to a different ache, one he is far more familiar with.
Something trickles down his thigh, forced out from lack of room, but Jiang Cheng can’t help clenching down anyway, because he wants to keep it, all of it -
“Zongzhu,” Wen Ning moans against the jut of his shoulder blade, rocking deeper inside Jiang Cheng, “zongzhu , that’s, that’s not fair-”
Indignance burns hot under Jiang Cheng’s skin, because Wen Ning of all people doesn’t get to complain about fair when Jiang Cheng is the one whose dignity is reduced to tatters almost on the daily!
Wen Ning’s next push inside him robs him of any scathing retort he tries to come up with, and Jiang Cheng can only try to muffle the cries that fall anew from his lips as Wen Ning presses into that spot over and over, a broad hand resting heavy and warm against Zidian.
---
Extra:
Wen Ning feels like a beast, when he realises how many bruises he left on Jiang Wanyin’s skin, how many marks he left behind, lost in his need for Jiang Wanyin.
Jiang Wanyin swats him away when Wen Ning tries to heal them, the master of Lotus Pier blushing furiously as he puts his clothes back on.
But Wen Ning is just as persistent as uncooperative patients, and he knows Jiang Wanyin never looks after himself properly.
It isn’t until Jiang Wanyin snaps and bites him in the arm hard enough to bruise, and blusters, colour high on his cheeks - “there, I left one on you, we’re even, stop coddling me” - that Wen Ning realises that Jiang Wanyin wants to be marked.
---
Extra #2:
Jiang Cheng’s mouth goes a little dry when Wen Ning comes to dinner and he’s wearing the lotus silk that Jiang Cheng gifted him so long ago. Not Yunmeng purple, because that seemed to go too far into karmic hell territory, but a deep, rich blue that tints purple in the right light, with lighter blue and silver accents accents.
Wen Ning blushes like he wasn’t the culprit behind Jiang Cheng’s hips still feeling like jelly, and Jiang Cheng does not remember any of the dishes on that table, questions burning in his stomach.
It isn’t until he unsubtly excuses the two of them immediately after dinner, to Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian’s visible amusement, that he finally gets some answers.
“Why, why are you wearing this now?” Jiang Cheng shuts the door behind them. “You wore the same clothes to rags , you would wear what Wei Wuxian gave you, but you wouldn’t -” wear mine , he doesn’t say.
Wen Ning fidgets with the robes, cheeks turning pink. “This-this one is g-grateful for zongzhu ’s gifts, truly-”
Wen Ning chews his lower lip. “It-it’s just, they are so intricate, this one, this one couldn’t, really wear them well then-”
When he had commissioned the robes for Wen Ning, he had wanted them to express what he couldn’t bear to say out loud, so he had spared no expense on artisans who had beautiful materials, embroidery, closures, layers to add to the design. Even if he couldn’t put Wen Ning in his colours, at least Wen Ning could know that he was more than just a bodyguard, just an apothecary assistant.
When Wen Ning had worn it for a single family occasion and then never again, Jiang Cheng had only thought that perhaps it hadn’t been to Wen Ning’s taste, and simply commissioned another style, but no less complicated.
The pieces finally come together for Jiang Cheng now.
Wen Ning had been too polite to tell him that the outfits were too difficult, too cumbersome, too elaborate for someone who couldn’t feel his own hands.
No wonder Wen Ning would rather wear his own clothes, crudely mended as they were. No wonder Wei Wuxian looked at Jiang Cheng with pity and bemusement the one time he had asked.
(He’s still going to kick Wei Wuxian in the shins the next time he sees him)
He’s so stupid.
“What about earlier?” Jiang Cheng asks, trying to ignore the hot prickle of shame climbing up his face.
Wen Ning droops a little, an embarrassed hunch to his shoulders. “Th-the arrays destroyed my usual ones, and zongzhu, zongzhu was so angry at this one that night, this one didn’t, didn’t want to presume.”
So incredibly stupid - how often had he stewed in his own jealousy about this?
He’s such an idiot.
“Together,” he bites out past the embarrassment threatening to choke him. “We’ll get new ones made. You’ll pick what you like.”
Wen Ning’s eyes widen. “Th-that’s not n-necessary, zongzhu,” Wen Ning says, “this one has e-enough, really!”
“You can pick something for me too,” Jiang Cheng says hotly, stopping Wen Ning’s protests in its tracks.
---
It isn’t until Jiang Wanyin wears the newly finished robe some weeks later for the first time that Wen Ning finally understands. Really understands.
It’s heady, thrilling to see Jiang Wanyin wear something Wen Ning chose painstakingly for him. To mark him in such a way that makes Jiang Wanyin Wen Ning’s, even a little, a secret shared but also openly displayed for the world to see, even if no one else knows what they’re seeing.
(Wen Ning makes sure to wear his gifts more often, just to see Jiang Wanyin’s eyes brighten in pleasure)
It makes it even more thrilling than usual to take them off of Jiang Wanyin at the end of the day, to reveal the claims that Wen Ning has laid onto Jiang Wanyin’s skin, that Jiang Wanyin has willingly kept.
I want to be yours, Jiang Wanyin never actually says with words, but Wen Ning doesn’t need him to.