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Wei Wuxian is breathing hard. “Lan Zhan,” he gasps out. “Lan Zhan, keep going, I can’t keep up. I’ll meet you there or something. Wherever…” He slows. “There is.”
They’re in the far west of Qinghe, an exceptionally rural part of the province, in an expansive valley dotted with wildflowers of all colors. Above them, the spring sky roars blue. Mountains rise on the horizon and small lakes dot the opposite end of the valley. The fragrance from the hills is so strong it almost makes Wei Wuxian woozy. He flaps his hands in the general direction the spirit—spirit? Creature? —went. “Go,” he says, bending at the waist and putting both hands to his knees. “I’m just gonna—a while—” And he sinks to the ground, crushing a cluster of pretty purple flowers beneath him.
“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan rushes back toward him, hand gripping his bare wrist. It’s no different than any of the hundreds of times Lan Zhan has grabbed him before, but the sudden contact feels like a jolt of lightning. Wei Wuxian pulls away and Lan Zhan immediately retracts his hand, staring at his own palm with rapidly growing confusion. “Are you hurt?” he demands, refocusing on Wei Wuxian’s face.
“No, I—” Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “I don’t think so, anyway. I’m just—dizzy? Fragile? Maybe I have food poisoning.” Though the feeling in his stomach isn’t one he usually associates with food poisoning, he doesn’t have another explanation. “Do you think the dumplings we had in that last village were bad? I hope not. They were so good. I was eating some berries from the woods earlier, but I swear they were edible ones.”
Lan Zhan, though he doesn’t reinitiate contact, looks like he’s of half a mind to do so regardless of the consequences. “Wei Ying, your face…”
Wei Wuxian slaps a hand to his cheek. It’s practically on fire. “Do I have a fever? That’s the fastest onset fever I’ve ever had. Just moments ago I felt fine, I—Lan Zhan?” he squeaks when Lan Zhan thrusts a hand out and presses the back of it to Wei Wuxian’s forehead. Then, he drags his palm down to Wei Wuxian’s cheek. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says faintly, glassy-eyed. Lan Zhan’s hand drifts down to where his heart beats in his neck, trailing his fingertips along the way. His skin alights like a firecracker.
“Your skin is so warm, but not from fever.”
“Then from what?!” His ability to form words is rapidly deteriorating. Saliva fills his mouth. Is he hungry? He can’t be hungry if he has food poisoning. Can he?
Lan Zhan’s gaze, always intense, burns him hotter. “I don’t know.”
“Do you feel it, too?”
“Mn.” Lan Zhan is, indeed, a little pink across the cheeks.
Wei Wuxian puts a hand to his head, brain lost in fog. “Lan Zhan,” he pants. “Why are we here? Are we on a hunt?”
As Lan Zhan tries to remember, his brow furrows. He shakes his head slightly. “I don’t know.”
“This is bad,” Wei Wuxian says. When Lan Zhan cups his cheek again, sparks burst behind Wei Wuxian’s eyes. “Or maybe it’s not,” he says unthinkingly. Sighs, almost. Lan Zhan looks at his own arm like it's betrayed him. Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and presses his face into Lan Zhan’s palm. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he murmurs. “What’s happening to us?” He can’t seem to recall what they were doing before this. If there ever was a before this. When he opens his eyes again, Lan Zhan is looking at him with a gaze so dark and pupils so blown his mouth simply falls open in response.
Whatever semblance of an invitation is in the gesture, Lan Zhan accepts it. He surges forward, capturing Wei Wuxian’s mouth with his own. Wei Wuxian goes tumbling back, landing on his back amongst the flowers, Lan Zhan’s hands on either side of his head. For once stunned into silence, Wei Wuxian can only form enough presence of mind to slide his hand beneath the ridiculous expanse of Lan Zhan’s sleeve and wrap his fingers around Lan Zhan’s wrist. Lan Zhan’s chest is heaving. Wei Wuxian’s fingernails scratch along Lan Zhan’s wrist. With his other hand, Wei Wuxian traces his fingers through the strands of hair that have fallen over Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Lan Zhan,” he demands petulantly, tugging on his hair. “Come closer.”
Lan Zhan does. In his desperation he practically crushes their mouths together. Wei Wuxian’s fingers scrabble at the grass. When the dirt is too rucked up and he can’t gain any more purchase, he digs his fingers into Lan Zhan’s pretty white robes. Lan Zhan’s mouth on his is so warm, and inquisitive, and demanding. He’s trying to learn Wei Wuxian from the inside out.
More than acquiescing, Wei Wuxian opens his mouth, teasing at Lan Zhan’s tongue with his own. The contact, wet on wet, zings up his spine, pulls a noise out of his throat he never even knew he was capable of making. It must take Lan Zhan by surprise, too, because he pulls back, breathing hard, watching Wei Wuxian with wide eyes.
Wei Wuxian sits up too, first on his elbows and then on his ass. There are always words in his mouth, tripping out before he can ever stop them, vying to be first off his tongue, and yet all he can muster, in a pathetic, reedy whine, is, “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” as he crawls into his lap, crossing his legs behind the small of Lan Zhan’s back. He twines his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck, kissing him hard, trying to encourage his tongue to begin exploring inside him again.
Lan Zhan’s hands grip his waist, the sensation of being held like this so overwhelming he almost loses his balance despite the fact that he’s sitting down. They trade deep, fervent kisses, one of Wei Wuxian’s hands creeping to the back of Lan Zhan’s neck, tangling in his hair, though he doesn’t get as far as he’d like before getting stopped by Lan Zhan’s usual gaggle of hair ornaments. He tugs. “Off,” he begs, during the next moment they’re catching their breath. Immediately, Lan Zhan reaches up to elegantly untwist his hair. It falls across his shoulders, finally free for Wei Wuxian to run his fingers through as he likes. “You always smell so good, Lan Zhan,” he says, hiding his face in the crook of Lan Zhan’s neck and taking a deep breath. “Even after a day spent under the sun.”
Wei Wuxian’s hair is much easier to deal with. Lan Zhan simply pulls out his red ribbon, letting it flutter to the ground beside them. Wei Wuxian rocks forward once more, playfully biting Lan Zhan on the neck. When Lan Zhan meets his gaze, questioning, Wei Wuxian says, “You should do that to me.”
Lan Zhan’s eyes flash dark. He puts a hand to the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck, tugging snugly at the hair there, and sucks a gratuitous mark into his throat. Wei Wuxian gasps out, half-laughing at the sweet-sting on his skin, his already tender erection jumping beneath his clothes.
“Robes,” Lan Zhan says, reaching for Wei Wuxian’s belt before he’s even finished talking. It only takes Wei Wuxian a moment to divest himself of his reasonable amount of layers, but Lan Zhan takes so long—despite his careless disposal of each new layer— that Wei Wuxian feels half-crazy by the time he finally takes off his innermost robe, leaving both of them in only their silk pants, Wei Wuxian’s red and Lan Zhan’s white, standing in front of each other amongst the wildflower valley.
“Oh, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, staring at him. He’s so afraid he’s going to drool. He swallows, desperately.
Lan Zhan clutches his waist and pulls him forward, mouthing along his collarbone. Wei Wuxian melts into it, arm wrapped around Lan Zhan’s back to hold himself up. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says between the hot presses of his lips. “So many times I’ve imagined…” He returns to Wei Wuxian’s mouth, desperately seeking a place to land, and Wei Wuxian gives him one. He holds Wei Wuxian’s jaw steady in his hand, kissing him so thoroughly he’s left a trace in every conceivable crevice before finally pulling back, his lips pink and spit-slick and swollen.
“You’ve thought about this?” Wei Wuxian asks while Lan Zhan kisses his way down Wei Wuxian’s chest. He inhales, a quick hiss of the air through his teeth when Lan Zhan lightly grazes his nipple with his teeth.
“Mn,” Lan Zhan vocalizes, mouth still busy.
“A lot?” Wei Wuxian says, the question tapering off in a gasp when Lan Zhan tweaks his other nipple with his fingers. Wei Wuxian’s hand drags around Lan Zhan’s back and over mottled scar tissue until he’s holding onto his arm for dear life.
The only answer Lan Zhan gives him is a hard-jawed, molten-eyed look that makes Wei Wuxian so weak in the knees he tugs at Lan Zhan until he sinks with him back onto the ground. He kisses Lan Zhan’s graceful neck, dragging his fingertips along Lan Zhan’s torso, muscles jumping beneath his touch. “You’re so pretty, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian babbles. He wraps a strand of Lan Zhan’s hair around his finger. “Like one of those beautiful stone statues. Your face looks like it was carved by a master artisan, you know that?”
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan turns his head towards Wei Wuxian, putting a finger beneath his chin and tilting his head up until they can kiss again. He coaxes Wei Wuxian back into his lap, Wei Wuxian’s knees on either side of his hips, palms burning against his waist. Desperate now, as if he wasn’t, hasn’t been before, he takes one of Lan Zhan’s hands off his waist, raises it to his mouth, and wraps his lips around Lan Zhan’s second and third finger. Lan Zhan’s eyes go wide, and it’s so overwhelmingly heady that Wei Wuxian could lose it right there, untouched, in his lap.
Instead, he gags, rears back, and spits out a clod of dirt onto the grass. They both stare at it, pink-cheeked and hazy-eyed.
“My hands were in the dirt earlier,” Lan Zhan remembers.
“Yeah.” Wei Wuxian grabs Lan Zhan’s wrist and wipes his fingers off on his own pants. “But I guess they’re clean now?”
They pause long enough that the reality of the situation creeps back into Wei Wuxian’s mind, desperately holding its own against the onslaught of dense, sweetly perfumed arousal. “Uh… Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian says, trying not to look at him for fear that if he does, he’ll have chased the last ounce of good sense out of his head, something he never had a ton of in the first place. “What’s happening?”
Lan Zhan, with what looks like an enormous effort, drags some self-awareness back into his expression. Even with that, he’s mindlessly kneading Wei Wuxian’s thigh, and it doesn’t help Wei Wuxian’s persistent, throbbing erection that’s leaving a wet spot in his pants. “A spell,” Lan Zhan manages. His voice, always so steady and comforting, has gone low and deep and curls inside Wei Wuxian, luxuriating. “A curse. I—” All at once, he yanks his hand away from Wei Wuxian. “Wei Ying. Forgive me. This isn’t how—” He pauses, letting out a deep breath. “This isn’t how I had planned this.”
“Planned it?” Wei Wuxian says. “Planned this?!”
“No.” Without realizing it, Lan Zhan has reached out again, his palm fitting itself to the back of Wei Wuxian’s knee. Normally, such a touch would tickle, but under these circumstances, Wei Wuxian has to bite his lip to keep from moaning. Enough of a noise slips out that Lan Zhan pulls back again, frustrated. “Wei Ying. I’m sorry. Perhaps—perhaps we shouldn’t touch.”
More than ever before, that thought makes Wei Wuxian want to die. “You’re right,” he says, mustering up the tail end of a laugh. His insides are on fire. He can’t have always felt this. This curse, this spell, whatever it is has to be doing just as much emotional legwork as it is physical. This feeling inside Wei Wuxian is so big he feels like he’s going to burst with it. Maybe it is food poisoning.
“So what—what should we do?” Wei Wuxian asks, and makes the mistake of meeting Lan Zhan’s eye. He can’t help it. He’s always searching for Lan Zhan’s eye, his voice, his attention. His moth to Lan Zhan’s flame, in times of war and times of peace, it doesn’t seem to matter. “Ah, Lan Zhan,” he laments, throwing a palm over his eyes. “I can’t look at you any longer. You’re hurting my eyes and making me think impure thoughts.”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, close but not touching. His breath makes goosebumps break out on Wei Wuxian’s neck. “We will stand up, not look at each other, and walk in opposite directions until we regain our faculties. Then, we will meet back in the village to determine our next steps.”
It’s the most logical course of action, and the one most likely to end in success. It also makes Wei Wuxian feel like he’s going to shatter.
Blindly, he reaches out and grabs Lan Zhan’s shoulder, squeezing. The surprised huff of breath tells him Lan Zhan wasn’t expecting it. Face screwed up, eyes shut tight and lips pursed, he nods before retracting his hand. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, let’s do this. We need to grab our robes. Make sure we don’t look at each other.”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan agrees.
Once he’s fully sure he’s turned all the way around, Wei Wuxian opens his eyes and scoops his robes off the ground. Every slide of fabric against his skin makes him want to come apart, trembling in Lan Zhan’s arms. This kind of haze has only ever followed him into his dreams, so easily dismissed in the harsh light of morning. Now, his mouth thick with it, he doesn’t recall how he ever kept it at bay, when Lan Zhan is there, so close, so unclothed, so within his reach.
It was never—they were never—had never—and yet.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says quietly from behind him.
Wei Wuxian freezes, muscles locked tight, until the moment Lan Zhan touches him, palms flat against his biceps, mouth on his neck, and he melts. “Ah,” he says, gasping against Lan Zhan’s temple, “Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, you feel so good. Have you always felt this good? I think you might have.”
He turns around in Lan Zhan’s arms, capturing Lan Zhan’s face between his palms and pulling him into a kiss. “I keep thinking, what was I waiting for?” he says as Lan Zhan nips at his bottom lip. “But how can you know what you’re waiting for when you don’t even realize you’re waiting?”
“I couldn’t say,” Lan Zhan says, the tiniest bit begrudging.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian chides. He strokes Lan Zhan’s cheek with his thumb. “You have to tell me these things. I’m very stupid in matters of the heart.”
“I told you,” Lan Zhan says. He strokes Wei Wuxian’s hair, all the way down his torso, hand settling at his lower back. “Many times.”
“Aiyah,” Wei Wuxian says, waving him off. He kisses Lan Zhan’s chest, flicking his tongue over Lan Zhan’s peaked nipples, smiling when he gets a choked-off inhale in response. He tugs at Lan Zhan’s hand, but not before falling to his knees himself, which presents him with a very interesting opportunity indeed. “Actually, Lan Zhan,” he says, halting Lan Zhan’s descent. “Maybe stay up there for a minute, huh?”
If Lan Zhan has any questions about this new configuration, he doesn’t voice them. Instead, one palm rests on the top of Wei Wuxian’s head and the other tucks his hair behind his shoulder, lingering at the juncture between jaw and throat. Wei Wuxian kisses his fingers, giving them the same treatment as before, slicking them up against his tongue, before leaning forward and mouthing at Lan Zhan’s hip bone. He works his way to Lan Zhan’s center, right below his navel, kissing the entire way. When he looks up at Lan Zhan for permission—not that he needs it, precisely, considering the way Lan Zhan’s erection has been pressing a hot line through silk against the column of his throat since he fell to his knees—Lan Zhan visibly swallows before nodding and tightening his grip in Wei Wuxian’s hair.
Wei Wuxian hooks his fingers into the waistband of Lan Zhan’s pants and pulls them down, bunching them up and shoving them out of the way. What he’s left with when he returns from his busywork is Lan Zhan, hard and leaking and waiting for him. Wei Wuxian really does drool this time, and hastily wipes it away with the back of his hand. When he looks back up, Lan Zhan fits a palm to his face, a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. A true blush rises to Wei Wuxian’s cheeks. So, he saw. Not that there’s much face to save at this point in the proceedings, but Wei Wuxian does reclaim some of his lost dignity when he takes Lan Zhan in hand and cleans him up with his tongue, his name tumbling from Lan Zhan’s mouth like its been punched out of him. His jaw quickly begins to ache as he works Lan Zhan, the sensation unfamiliar but not entirely unpleasant, as it marks at least some measure of success on his part, if Lan Zhan’s constant leaking onto his tongue and ever-tightening grip in his hair mean anything. His own untouched cock, still tucked away, throbs in time to his ministrations.
It’s only when he’s finally gotten used to the weight and heat of Lan Zhan in his mouth that Lan Zhan grabs his shoulder and maneuvers him away, eyes squeezed shut tight. “Wei Ying,” he says firmly, though his voice is fraying at the edges. “You need to stop now.”
Wei Wuxian pouts. “You’re sure? I think I was just hitting my stride.”
Lan Zhan kneels down in front of him. “You were,” he informs him.
“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, and smiles. His blood is racing through his veins, the taste of Lan Zhan still in his mouth. “Lan Zhan, if you ever decide I’m talking too much, I think I’ve found a better solution than your muting spell.”
The look Lan Zhan gives him is equal parts vexed and piqued. It makes Wei Wuxian’s molars tingle. “Pants,” Lan Zhan demands, nodding at Wei Wuxian’s thoroughly ruined garments.
“How are we going to explain this back at the village,” Wei Wuxian wonders ruefully as he divests himself of his pants. “We’re going to look like we walked out of one of those books of cut-sleeve drawings they sell down the darkest street of every city's night market.”
“And you know this how?” Lan Zhan murmurs as he gathers Wei Wuxian back into his lap, kissing his shoulder, down the slight vee of his collarbones. When their cocks brush for the first time, Wei Wuxian sees stars and is beset by full-body shivers.
“Lan Zhan!” he exclaims. “What exactly are you implying?”
Lan Zhan pulls back, his dark gaze full of mirth despite his mouth remaining a perfectly straight line. “Nothing.”
“Eh, that’s what I thought! I’m a respecta—ah—respectable young cultivator! Wei-gongzi this and Wei-gongzi that! You would never do anything to besmirch my sparkly clean reputation, would you?”
Lan Zhan takes Wei Wuxian’s cock in his hand, brushing his fingertips across it so lightly Wei Wuxian almost comes, again, shuddering like it’s the dead of winter instead of a balmy spring day. “Of course not,” he says, the hint of a smirk in his voice twisting the heat in Wei Wuxian’s abdomen up another notch. Wei Wuxian hadn’t realized Lan Zhan came with that emotional capacity. It makes him feral, the concept that there are facets of Lan Zhan he has yet to unlock, facets that make him feel like he’s going to combust with want, and need, and whatever other, more complicated emotions are tied up with them.
“Lan Zhan,” he gasps out. “Lan Zhan, I think—” He swallows a desperate gulp of air, grabbing for Lan Zhan’s wrist to still his ministrations. He breathes out, relieved, when he manages to just barely keep himself from unravelling. “Lan Zhan,” he says, more deliberately. “In your qiankun bag, do you have—” He loses steam here, puffing out his cheeks but unable to couch words in them. “…you know,” he eventually settles on. “Do you?”
“What do you want, Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks. Wei Wuxian suspects he knows, and is just doing this to be mean.
“Lan Zhan,” he whines, nosing at the underside of Lan Zhan’s jaw. He purposely rubs his hip against Lan Zhan’s cock, and Lan Zhan’s fingers dig into the skin of his hip. “Lan Zhan,” he murmurs, running his hands through Lan Zhan’s waterfall of black hair, stoking the back of his neck, tracing the shell of his ear. “Lan Zhan,” he practically coos as he kisses his way down Lan Zhan’s jaw. “Lan Zhan,” he says, returning squarely to Lan Zhan’s lap, hands intertwined behind his neck, sticking out a perfectly wet bottom lip that Lan Zhan’s eyes immediately drop to. “Lan Zhan,” he says one more time, wriggling in Lan Zhan’s lap, and Lan Zhan has clearly had enough, because he bends at the waist, reaching for his discarded robes and dragging them toward him, feverishly shaking them out until his qiankun bag falls to the ground. He snatches it up, opening it and digging around inside until he produces a vial of oil.
“For my hair,” he explains. Then, after a moment: “And assorted uses.”
Wei Wuxian smiles sunnily. “Some can be for me. And some can be for my beautiful Lan Zhan’s luxurious, silky hair that always smells good and catches the light so enticingly.”
Lan Zhan uncorks the vial and dribbles some on his fingers. Wei Wuxian, transfixed, licks it all off.
“Wei Ying,” he chides. The admonishment’s sting is neutralized by the sound Lan Zhan makes deep in his throat as Wei Wuxian swallows his fingers down. “It’s not for consumption.”
“No more,” Wei Wuxian says, “Promise. No matter how good they taste.”
Lan Zhan shakes his head. “Ridiculous,” he says as he reapplies. His first, oiled touch to Wei Wuxian’s cock has him scrabbling at Lan Zhan’s back, a wordless cry ripped from his throat.
“Oh,” he pants. When Lan Zhan takes them both in one hand, rubbing them together, tears prick at the corners of Wei Wuxian’s eyes. “Ah, Lan Zhan,” he says breathlessly into Lan Zhan’s hair. “Lan Zhan, please, I really can’t wait much longer.”
“Like this,” Lan Zhan says, pushing forwards and forcing Wei Wuxian onto his back amongst the flowers. From this position, the sun highlights Lan Zhan’s stalwart, noble profile, as well as the flush that spreads across his jaw and cheeks. Wei Wuxian almost cries at the sight alone, his Lan Zhan, sun-dappled and scented with wildflowers.
Lan Zhan kisses him while he presses an oiled finger into Wei Wuxian, slowly, exploratorily, while Wei Wuxian squirms and hums and sighs and encourages, clutching at Lan Zhan’s solid presence, always grounding him, always reminding him that even in the darkest times, there is good, so much good in this world. When Lan Zhan inserts a second finger, Wei Wuxian hisses, and cries, and Lan Zhan uses his free hand to swipe away the tears.
“Wei Ying,” he says, a question.
Wei Wuxian shakes his head, the tears spilling into the grass. “Keep going, Lan Zhan, or I’ll die. I really will.”
Lan Zhan huffs a half-laugh. “Wei Ying,” he says warmly. “So dramatic. So demanding.”
Wei Wuxian’s face heats. “Coming from you, Lan Zhan, that sounds like a compliment.”
Lan Zhan kisses his mouth, and then he sits back again and kisses the inside of Wei Wuxian’s knee. Wei Wuxian bumps his heel against Lan Zhan’s back. “Lan Zhan,” he says. “More.”
“Demanding,” Lan Zhan chides again. He slips a third finger in, and it burns. Wei Wuxian breathes through it, while Lan Zhan deposits more kisses to his kneecap. When he passes over the crest of the hill from burning to pleasant, and then very quickly from pleasant to white-hot pleasure, Wei Wuxian has to bat Lan Zhan’s arm away and squirm off his fingers before he comes. Torso shuddering, he’s left feeling empty, and blissed out, and still out of his mind desperate for what comes next.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian ekes out, throwing his head back and into a cluster of blue flowers. His brain is floating in the soup of arousal that’s accumulated in his skull. “Lan Zhan,” he says again, breathless. “Will you fuck me? Please fuck me, Lan Zhan. I’m using my best manners. I don’t think I have any better manners than this.”
Lan Zhan kisses him again, heatedly. “Wei Ying,” he says, between the press of their lips. Wei Wuxian’s mouth is so oversensitized he can feel every nip from Lan Zhan reverberate down to his fingertips. Lan Zhan dumps the remaining oil into his palm, and then slicks himself up before lining up above Wei Wuxian, hovering over him, managing to emit an ethereal glow even in the middle of a bright, sunny day.
Wei Wuxian comes during the first thrust. His orgasm rips through him, unrelenting, caring not a whit about the dignity that flows out of him along with the tension that’s been holding him so tightly for so long he can already feel the muscle aches setting in. He chokes out a vivacious, tinkling laugh, covering his face with both hands. “Lan Zhan!” he cries. “How embarrassing! You can never tell anyone about this!”
Lan Zhan gently pries Wei Wuxian’s hands away from his face. “I will keep your secret,” he says gravely.
Wei Wuxian dramatically hides his face in the crook of his elbow. “Continue!” he demands. “Do what you must while I lie here and decompose into the ground to feed the flowers.”
Lan Zhan also gently pries Wei Wuxian’s arm away. “I’d like to see you, Wei Ying,” he says, thrusting again, and despite his claims to the contrary, Wei Wuxian does more than simply lie there. Without the heat flooding him, there’s a different—but no less overwhelming—feeling of warmth infusing him, providing something for Lan Zhan he’s been seeking for so long. He brushes errant strands of hair out of Lan Zhan’s eyes, tracing the shape of his face with his fingertips.
“Lan Zhan,” he murmurs, while Lan Zhan pants into the crook of his neck. He presses a palm to Lan Zhan’s hair, cradling his head. “Lan Zhan,” he says again. “Thank you for always taking such good care of me. I hope you’ll let me return the favor one day.”
Lan Zhan kisses him hard, one more time, and comes with a shudder. Wei Wuxian’s heart swells as he kisses Lan Zhan’s jaw, his cheek. “Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says. “You’ve really made a mess of me.”
Lan Zhan lifts his head, the planes of his face soft and pliable and young. He smiles, the closest to a full one Wei Wuxian’s ever seen from him. Wei Wuxian swoons, enveloping him in a hug. “Lan Zhan, you are so unbearably beautiful! What a waste, to spend it all on one as frightful as myself.”
“So dramatic,” Lan Zhan repeats. “And incorrect.” He crooks his index finger and traces it down the hollow of Wei Wuxian’s cheek. In return, Wei Wuxian plucks one of the blue flowers from near his head and holds it out to Lan Zhan.
“For your affections, Lan Zhan.”
But Lan Zhan has frozen, eyes wide at the sight of the flower in Wei Wuxian’s hand.
“Lan Zhan?”
Lan Zhan grabs the flower from him, examining it from every angle. “Wei Ying,” he manages, voice choked.
“What, Lan Zhan?”
“This flower,” he says quietly. He looks around with dismay. Wei Wuxian follows his gaze. Indeed, this part of the valley is full of large patches of them. “It’s a—” The corner of his mouth turns downward. “—it’s named for a joke regarding Lan chastity. What’s the closest you can ever get to a Lan?”
“What?”
“To smell their breath.”
“Oh.” Wei Wuxian wrinkles his nose. “That’s not a very good joke. Don’t worry, Lan Zhan, your breath smells fine.”
Lan Zhan holds the flower carefully in his palm. “Lan’s Breath,” he says slowly, “is known as an incredibly powerful aphrodisiac. To the point where it can muddle one’s short-term memory.”
“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, this time with actual understanding behind it.
Lan Zhan’s face has gone waxen, all traces of good humor gone. “Wei Ying,” he says, and if Wei Wuxian is reading his tone right, with increasing mortification. “We don’t have to—this was a mistake, a result of the flowers, I would never, in my right mind—I had a plan—”
“Whoa, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian sits up with a grimace. He is, indeed, going to be sore tomorrow. And today, probably. “Lan Zhan! Relax!” When he reaches out to put a hand on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, he flinches away, shame burning his expression like a bushfire. Wei Wuxian’s hand curls away, only to come up again to tap his nose in thought. He huffs. “So dramatic, Lan Zhan,” he says.
Lan Zhan, who has been retying his layers at dizzying speeds, cuts an iron-edged glare at him. Out of what little sense of decorum he has, Wei Wuxian shrugs on his red under robe, though he doesn’t join Lan Zhan in standing. “Lan Zhan,” he says again, tugging at his robe. “Lan Zhan, can you please just come back down here for two seconds.”
So stiffly he almost creaks, Lan Zhan crouches down onto one knee, though he refuses to meet Wei Wuxian’s eye. “Aiyah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian groans. “I cannot believe you’re making me be the one to do this emotional gunk. I have a heart of stone, you know.” And before Lan Zhan can protest, Wei Wuxian grabs his face between both hands and yanks him in for a kiss. It’s not a particularly deft or nuanced kiss, but it does what he needs it to do. He pulls away with an obnoxious smack. Lan Zhan stares at him. “Okay?!” Wei Wuxian says. “No bad-joke flowers here! Do you get my point?!”
Lan Zhan’s mouth tightens. He swallows. “Wei Ying—”
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian practically shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. “What do you want me to say?! That I love you?! That I feel like I’m going to explode every time you look at me!? That I want to spend the rest of my life with you?! That I’m literally saying these feelings out loud as I realize them in real time!?” He blinks rapidly. “’Cause I am! Shit! You’re my soulmate, Lan Zhan! Why am I only realizing these things now?!” He buries his face in his hands, redder than his robe, years of repressed attraction and purposely ignored longing flashing behind his eyelids. He knew, right? How could he know and not know for all this time? What makes him look stupider? That he knew, or that he didn’t? “Oh, Lan Zhan,” he says to his palms. “I’m woozy again. I’m being crushed under the weight of my own stupidity.” He swoons directly into a rather stunned Lan Zhan’s lap. After a moment, he cracks one eye open. “Please say something, Lan Zhan. I am bleeding down here.”
Lan Zhan reaches out, ever so slowly, to cup Wei Wuxian’s cheek. Like he’s made of the finest porcelain. “Wei Ying,” he says, and his voice shakes, just slightly. He gives the smallest, most Lan Zhan of smiles. There might even be a tear in his eye. “My Wei Ying,” he says, thumb stroking the thin skin beneath Wei Wuxian’s eye. “So dramatic.”
Wei Wuxian grabs Lan Zhan’s free hand, intertwining their fingers. He smiles, his eyes scrunching up so much he can barely see. “Hey, Lan Zhan?”
“Mn.”
“What was that plan you kept talking about?”
Another faint splash of pink colors Lan Zhan’s cheeks. While he gathers his thoughts (or is waiting for the sting of embarrassment to fade) he idly strokes Wei Wuxian’s hair. Finally, when Wei Wuxian is half asleep, he says, “I didn’t know where, yet. Maybe Caiyi Town. But I was going to purchase some Emperor’s Smile—not enough to get you inebriated, just comfortable—and the most sought after spiced dishes I could find, and bring you somewhere. To a lake, maybe. With lotuses. And…”A barely-there pause. “Make my intentions known.”
With every word, Wei Wuxian’s grin grows wider. “Lan Zhan!” He sits up, on his knees and facing Lan Zhan head on. “You were going to take me on a romantic picnic! To proposition me!” He kisses Lan Zhan again. He can’t help it. Death couldn’t stop him. “I still want to,” he says after he pulls back. “That sounds so good, Lan Zhan. Who taught you the art of romance? I should like to have a word with them.”
Lan Zhan presses the pad of his thumb to the center of Wei Wuxian’s chin. For a moment, he just searches Wei Wuxian’s face, gaze roving over every crevice and hidden-away hurt. “Wei Ying,” he finally says.
“Lan Zhan.”
“That pickpocket from the village stole your money pouch. We chased him here. I suspect he may have led us to this valley on purpose.”
Wei Wuxian’s mouth drops open as the memories come flooding back, finally free of the influence of the Lan’s Breath. There’s a moment of silence, and then—
He roars with laughter, falling back into the flowers. He laughs so hard tears flow freely from his eyes and he clutches his sides. He laughs so hard he exacerbates the ache Lan Zhan left inside of him. “Lan Zhan,” he wheezes. “Lan Zhan, help.”
Lan Zhan simply watches him, one eyebrow quirked.
“Aiyah,” Wei Wuxian says, voice hoarse, scrubbing his hands over his eyes. Another giggle bursts out of him. “Two powerful cultivators, Hanguang-jun and the Yiling Laozu, outsmarted by the village pickpocket. Oh, Lan Zhan, we’re fools.” He wipes his eyes one more time. “Ah, there were only a few coins and maybe some loose string in there. Let him keep it.”
“Perhaps he’s earned his pay, this time,” Lan Zhan allows.
“Should we track him down?” Wei Wuxian says. “I almost feel like we should thank him.”
Lan Zhan thoughtfully plucks another Lan’s Breath before meeting Wei Wuxian’s gaze. “There are other things we could do,” he says mildly.
“Lan Zhan! So scandalous!” Wei Wuxian grins, and launches himself through the flowers at Lan Zhan, tackling him to the ground and kissing him all over his beautiful face, something he plans to do every day for the rest of their lives.