Chapter Text
Sex, to Wei Wuxian, means being thrown headfirst into the ocean and held above waves with one hand. It means being swallowed whole, drawn up into a column of fire, blown to his knees by the inexorable wind that is Lan Wangji. Sex is being taken, forced. Taunting and crying and walking the wire between the cheerful insouciance that lets his husband know all is well and surrendering wholly to the sensation of being used. And he loves it, loves it so much that going without feels as much like privation as hunger, or thirst, or suffocation. Lan Zhan loves it too; he knows this because Lan Zhan breaks his habitual silence, the silence he knows is his husband’s floodwall against pouring out all the passion that’s stoppered behind that immaculate forehead ribbon, to growl into Wei Ying’s ear: ‘I love to feel you surrender.’
Ah, Lan Zhan! So perfect for him! Wei Wuxian cannot actually imagine a better lover. Not that he tries, not that he has reason to try. His Lan Zhan keeps him happy and sated and well-fucked, because he has the stamina of a cultivator and enough passion for three men, and he only, only, only wants Wei Wuxian.
Wei Wuxian has exactly zero complaints about his love life, and he’s willing to bet Lan Zhan feels the same. Which is why tonight feels so surprising.
After several hours of careful wheedling, teasing, and cajoling, Lan Zhan has finally abandoned his desk with a growl and seized Wei Wuxian by the collar.
But he isn’t throwing Wei Wuxian to the bed? Or shoving him against a wall? Or lowering him to his knees? And… why is his forehead ribbon still on?
“Husband,” he pouts, as pitifully as he can, which is extremely pitiful, “why aren’t you taking me? Do I not please my husband? Shall I atone? Teach me to please you?” Wei Ying winces. He… may have been a bit too sincere with that discomfort. It’s not that he doesn’t think his husband wants him but. But. Lan Zhan just stares at him, thoughtful.
Oh. Oh no. Lan Zhan is not supposed to have the capacity for careful rationality right now. He’s supposed to be biting into Wei Wuxian’s flesh, seizing his…
“You doubt your sufficiency.” Wei Wuxian would overturn the world to remove that frown from Lan Zhan’s face.
“Sufficiency! Of course I suffice! I’ll be so good, you can do anything you want to me, Lan Zhan!”
That damn frown deepens. Wei Wuxian feels his gut twist. Now he’s done it. He’s such a mess that even Lan Zhan won’t fuck him. What is he doing wrong? He’ll fix it!”
“Anything I want,” Lan Zhan echoes, a strange fire burning in his eyes. It’s almost like the one that means Wei Wuxian is going to have to feign illness to avoid sitting down the next day, but… different. Less hot, and brighter. It’s the look Lan Zhan gets before he says the things that make Wei Wuxian stammer and blush and lose his mind, the soft things and the fragile things. Soft and fragile are not words that pertain to sex. They can’t be, or--
“Yes, anything!” Wei Ying almost sobs, trying and failing to sound sexy. He just sounds… desperate, and sad, and needy. Wei Ying only likes to fake sounding needy. This is a disaster. He might as well just hide under the bed until Lan Zhan is asleep and then find a quiet place to--
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan almost barks, but his face is soft with acceptance. “Your thoughts are too loud.” His husband knows him, right down to the pulpy mess at his core. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. It’s fucking awful.
What had happened today? Usually when he breaks apart like this, Wei Wuxian can trace the pain back to some sort of inciting incident. He can’t remember, can he? He probably doesn’t remember. “Lan Zhan I’m sor--”
“No apologies.”
“Ah!” He forces a laugh. “But I’m such a tease, to lead you on and then--”
“You are allowed to feel pain.”
And, fuck, the tears won’t stop, this time, no matter how Wei Wuxian contorts his face. His husband is still holding his collar, but it’s a gentle, enveloping gesture. “But I don’t want to,” he says, petulant. “I want to feel your cock in me. Not…” he sniffles, wiping his tears with a touch of vehemence. “...all of this,” he finishes lamely, gesturing at his whole self.
Lan Zhan looks thoughtful again, and Wei Wuxian prays he’s contemplating how to take his husband and put this whole thing behind them.
No such luck. Wei Wuxian really has the worst luck in the whole world. Because Lan Zhan looks worried , and no, no, no! He’s not supposed to worry any more! He’s alive again, and they’re together, and nobody can separate them, and Lan Zhan will be happy forever and never have to give up anything for Wei Wuxian ever again--
“Okay,” says Lan Zhan, and Wei Wuxian startles at the intensity.
“Okay what,” he replies, frantically replaying their conversation to figure out what Lan Zhan is referring to.
Lan Zhan beats him there. “You wanted me inside you. I will give that to you.”
“Oh!” Oh. The night is not ruined! He can get fucked and make his perfect husband come and they’ll forget about this whole thing!
“If,” Lan Zhan begins, and Wei Wuxian’s heart sinks again. The poor thing. Is this what cardiac arrest feels like? Is he going to die a second time from a single “if”? “--you believe you deserve it.”
Wei Wuxian chokes down the tears that are trying to force their way out of his body like so many souls from a torn spirit-trapping pouch. “Lan Zhan, such a cruel husband!” he chokes in what he realizes is not a particularly convincing imitation of teasing. “You ask so much of such a feeble man. Won’t you just take me? Please, Lan Zhan? Please, I need you so bad--” He didn’t mean to beg, but now he can’t stop. And, oh, there are the tears again. Fuck, maybe Lan Xichen has the right idea, never letting anyone witness his brokenness. “Don’t talk about deserving, okay? Just…” He doesn’t know what he wants anymore. If Lan Zhan fucks him like usual he might actually just disintegrate, and that wouldn't be fair to Mo Xuanyu’s body…
He’s being lifted, he realizes, and being held close to Lan Zhan’s chest. The familiarity of the gesture calms him somewhat, as does being deposited on their bed. He stares up at Lan Zhan, pleading, close to shattering, and Lan Zhan returns his gaze with the bedrock-steadiness of someone who can lie fallow in arid mourning for over a decade and spring back to flower again at the first rain. So many people call his Lan Zhan stone-faced, a thing of jade and metal, and they don’t realize how precious that constancy is to someone like Wei Wuxian, who is made of wind and water and fire. He calms yet more. Lan Zhan wipes his tears like he’s stroking a lotus petal, like he’s smoothing the fur of a newborn rabbit, like he’s made of lantern paper and not of resurrected earth. “Lan Zhan,” he chokes out, not sure what he wants to say but unable to hold his tongue. “Lan Zhan, I--”
“I will care for you,” Lan Zhan pronounces, like the words are etched in stone in the heart of his homeland, like an edict that will stand for a thousand years. “There is nothing to fear.”
“Will you still take me?” Wei Wuxian says, and, recovering some of his poise, adds, “Lan-er-gege?”
“I will,” Lan Zhan promises, and Wei Wuxian lets himself collapse like a fierce corpse robbed of his resentment.
“Then hold nothing back,” Wei Wuxian taunts, “or I’ll cry.”
“You will cry,” Lan Zhan promises, a more familiar heat returning to his visage. He kneels on the bed, hovering above Wei Wuxian like a deathbed apparition, and runs his elegant fingers over Wei Wuxian’s throat. His breath hitches at the touch; Lan Zhan feels the shudder and smiles. Oh, that smile…. Tiny and restrained and perfect. A god among smiles. Soon the pressure will come--
But Lan Zhan doesn’t press down, doesn’t tie his hands (even though Wei Ying has obligingly crossed them above his head!), doesn’t open him with strong insistent fingers.
“Er… Hanguang-jun… is something wrong? What…”
Lan Zhan strokes a thumb across his lip, soothing. Wei Wuxian takes the finger into his mouth, sucking hard. But Lan Zhan doesn’t press more fingers inside, doesn’t fuck his mouth--just teases his lips, the other hand slowly unknotting his clothes and pushing the robes to the sides. And it’s too slow, and Wei Wuxian is still a little too upset to be truly aroused, but fuck he's needed this. He lets his husband’s hands calm him, make his wild heartbeat gentle, tame his trembling limbs. He doesn’t press, doesn’t tease--none of this is anything like usual, but somehow Wei Wuxian isn’t afraid anymore. How could he be, with Lan Wangji’s full golden attention surrounding him like a torrent of spiritual energy?
Gradually, arousal creeps back into Wei Wuxian’s body, radiating from his husband’s fingers as they tease his nipples, stroke his lips, graze across his neck. There is no pain, no bite… His thoughts are melting into each other. His robes are open, but his pants still shroud his cock.
“Lan Zhan,” he moans, thrusting his hips weakly in the hope that his husband gets the message. This rarely works, but Wei Wuxian always tries it anyway on the grounds that it usually leads to Lan Zhan doing something that feels good to some other part of his body. But this time, Lan Zhan just smiles (again!) and helps him wiggle out of his pants, immediately stroking the heel of his hand over his erection. He moans, torn between surprise and that warm pleasure of being tended to by his husband. Lan Zhan has such an indulgent look on his face... Wei Wuxian is suddenly strictly giddy with the knowledge that Lan Zhan is prepared to give him whatever he asks for without even the pretense of a struggle. He hears himself sighing, “Your mouth, please?”, feels those lips immediately drop to his shoulder and press into him. There is no pain, not a hint of teeth. He shivers, too overcome to place the feeling as anything beyond a feeling. Why isn’t there any pain? Why is he on a boat, rocking along with the wake-ripples of distant vessels? Why does he feel like he’s dreaming, and Lan Zhan is every even breath?
“It’s… Lan Zhan, it’s too much,” Wei Wuxian chokes out, meaning it more than he ever does. Shouldn’t this be too little? Shouldn’t he feel cold? But every place Lan Zhan touches him ripples like hot air, shudders like a rolling boil.
“I know, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, rubbing at Wei Wuxian’s now-full cock like he means to be at it all night, running his lips over the thinnest parts of Wei Wuxian’s legendarily thick skin, holding him like he does afterward, when Wei Wuxian is sore and stiff and drowsy.
“Lan Zhan, please--”
“Please what?”
“Lan Zhaaan….”
“Do you remember what upset you?”
What? “How am I supposed to remember with… ah- you touching me like this…”
“If you have forgotten I will tell you.”
“Lan Zhan I really can’t… Why are you…”
Suddenly, Wei Wuxian is naked, and Lan Zhan is clad only in a loose underrobe. It drapes over their bodies like a blanket, and Wei Wuxian feels so warm . “Because you do not think you deserve it.”
“That’s what…” Lan Zhan’s hand returns to his cock and resumes its gentle stroking. He takes a moment to gasp, frantically re-gathering his thoughts. “That’s what this is about? But you… I… when you fuck me--”
“That is perfect. This--” he presses a kiss to Wei Wuxian’s chest, a lingering thing that trembles in Wei Wuxian’s belly-- “is also perfect.”
“You can’t say things like that! You know how arrogant I am, it’ll just go to my head…”
“You are not arrogant,” Lan Zhan states.
“Am too! I think so highly of myself, anyone will agree…”
“They are wrong. So are you.” Lan Zhan shifts his leg to let Wei Wuxian rut against it. And Wei Wuxian finds he misses the teasing gentleness of those musician’s fingers but… oh, it feels nice this way, too. “Think more highly of yourself.”
Suddenly, Wei Wuxian remembers what had happened. He tenses, the guilt threatening to overwhelm his pleasure, but Lan Zhan keeps holding him, kissing him, adoring him. He doesn’t break.
It was a comment he’d heard hundreds of variations on, over the years. Usually, he brushed them off, forgot them, laughed. But this time…
‘What kind of person is worth thirty-three strikes from a discipline whip? That Wei Wuxian sure must think highly of himself, hanging on Hanguang-Jun like that. Like he thinks nothing of it.’
A mean, thoughtless piece of gossip. One that just so happened to resonate with any number of Wei Wuxian’s oven thoughts, the kind he plasters over with alcohol and dogged forgetfulness and half-feigned half-true taunts.
Of course he’d forgotten. Why does he always forget?
Lan Zhan knows that he’s remembered, and cups Wei Wuxian’s face in his hands, pleasure paused but not abandoned. “Think more highly of yourself,” Lan Zhan repeats, an apology for the cruelty of the world and blanket forgiveness for being the consequence of pain on top of pain.
“As highly as you think of me?” Wei Wuxian prods. Shijie, do you love me the best in the whole wide world?
I love XianXian and A-Cheng more than the whole wide world.
“Impossible,” Lan Zhan replies. “But make the attempt.”
And Wei Ying is smiling, smiling somehow even though his heart feels like an inkstone, wet and heavy and meaning uncounted things at once. “Okay, Lan-Er-Gege,” Wei Wuxian says, giddy laughter indistinguishable from sobbing, from the tremors of being taken for all he’s worth. All the unmeasured height of Lan Zhan’s regard for him-- more than thirty-three whips scars and a sun-brand and the years’ repentance. Those were the effects. And the cause--
Wei Wuxian lets himself relax again, lets Lan Zhan cover him and delight in him. He knows his husband wants to protect him from the whole world--sometimes the most difficult part of that is shielding him from himself. Wei Wuxian knows that, now. Good thing he met his match, and married him. “Take me?” he tries again, no longer desperate but content to let Lan Zhan fuss over him.
Lan Zhan nods once, kisses him with open adoration, and swallows his cock.
Wei Wuxian has barely processed the feeling, gasping, when he feels Lan Zhan’s fingers massaging gently at his entrance, slick with oil. There’s no pain, barely even any pressure, and Lan Zhan’s mouth works inexorably around his cock, already returned to full hardness. He moans, trying to drive Lan Zhan’s fingers deeper into him--his husband never makes him wait this long to be filled! But Lan Zhan is implacable, and Wei Wuxian whimpers with desire while he’s fingered open. He can already tell it’s not going to burn at all… And, damn, Wei Wuxian loves that burn but. This feels like being worshipped , and he may be certain he doesn’t deserve it but he’s equally certain he’ll shatter if it stops, so he lets his husband kiss and stroke and tease until he’s completely limp and pliant on the bed, eyes hooded and cock damp with precum.
He’s so relaxed that he doesn’t realize at first when Lan Zhan presses his cock against him, sliding easily inside. There’s no pain, not even a twinge--especially compared to the quicksilver ache Wei Wuxian is used to feeling, to needing, on his husband’s cock. There’s no pain, but Lan Zhan is as big as ever, and the stretch sends tremors through his body. He collects his faculties just enough to sigh, “Perfect, sweetheart, you feel--” before the words melt into gold with Lan Zhan’s next careful thrust.
“I will make you feel good,” Lan Zhan says--not a promise, but a statement of fact. “Because you are worth more than pain.”
Wei Wuxian knows he doesn’t mean pain has no place between them. They both love it, after all--and they can’t deny each other anything for long. Why should they? But this--being held, rocked, loved to orgasm…
Wei Wuxian feels closer to breaking apart than he ever has tied up and bruised and claimed. It’s too much, it’s really too much. He’s crying, he knows, but he makes no effort to hide it, and Lan Zhan never falters in his thrusts. He just gathers Wei Wuxian into his arms and kisses him soft and reaches down between them to rub at his cock and murmurs, worth it, into Wei Wuxian’s ear.
Two strokes and a thrust deep inside him and he’s coming, the impossibility of Lan Zhan’s regard echoing like a firework in his skull.
He comes back to awareness wrapped in both Lan Zhan and his inner robe, draped to accommodate both of them. His thighs feel tacky--Lan Zhan must have come inside him. Good.
The first sight of Lan Zhan’s contented smile loosens something inside him, and Wei Wuxian finds himself crying yet again, the weight of every caress crowding against the place in his mind that says you don’t deserve any of this and, for once, winning out.
Still, he can’t resist. “Sorry, Lan Zhan. I’m getting you all wet.”
“Righteous men may cry,” Lan Zhan tells him. “It is no hardship.” He holds Wei Wuxian steady, those unfair Lan arms encircling his secondhand (sacrificial) body like an array. There is no place for resentment and guilt in the compass of these arms. There never will be. Lan Zhan won’t judge him for his feelings, but he won’t let them fester, either.
So Wei Wuxian gives in and lets himself collapse, and be caught.
Some hours later, the tightness in Wei Wuxian’s chest has eased somewhat. The tackiness between his legs is now a more pressing concern.
“Lan Zhan, I can’t believe you let me use you as a pillow for so long! I’m impressed! My husband is a talented man.”
“As is mine.”
Wei Wuxian throws a hand across his eyes. “HUSBAND! I’m too delicate to hear such things. Especially in such a state! My poor, abused body…” This is the least battered he has ever looked after sex, but there are Ways. Lan Zhan knows this means ‘bathe me and feed me and then we’ll talk’, and his (observant! reliable! doting!) husband obliges.
As Wei Wuxian relaxes into the water, Lan Zhan combing out his hair, he reflects on his swollen eyes and the strange lump that still resides in his throat.. “Lan Zhan! That was excellent and I loved it and I came so hard but I really don't think I can handle that every day. If you’re too nice I’ll fall apart! Can we go back to trying me up and being rough with me? At least for now?”
“Of course, Wei Ying,” his (noble! considerate! accommodating!) husband replies, and Wei Wuxian sighs and closes his eyes and lets himself feel treasured.