Chapter Text
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighs dramatically as he leaps away from an incoming attack. “Night hunts are usually more fun than this.”
Lan Wangji considers night hunting with Wei Ying a privilege that is almost always enjoyable. Wei Ying’s mind is adaptable and sharp, his methodology unique yet precise, and it is a pleasure to watch him at work.
And yet, Wei Ying is correct. This night hunt has not been enjoyable, through no fault of Wei Ying’s. Even calling it a night hunt is generous, as the perpetrator is not a beast or a resentful spirit or anything of the sort. He is only a man.
A man three times Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s combined ages and practiced in advanced cultivation, which he has been using for years to overpower and rape women out after dark in their small villages. These villages are unprotected by the large cultivation sects, and lesser sects have never been able to do anything beyond running him out of town when they identify the culprit. Because the sects were embarrassed by their inability to take care of him permanently, and the villages were embarrassed by their inability to protect their women, no word was ever sent to neighboring lands, either in warning or requesting aid. It wasn’t until one of his victims, having since married an affable, doting man from Caiyi, trekked up the mountain to Gusu Lan that they learned her story.
Lan Wangji and Wei Ying left the next morning to investigate. What proceeded was a weeks-long hunt, taking them from tavern to tavern, village to village, province to province. The story was always the same. The story was always sad. Lan Wangji is not unkind or unable to extract vital information for most nighthunts, but they would not have even gotten close to the man without Wei Ying’s ability to speak to the victims, bright and cheerful and serious and solemn as the situation and person called for it. After so many conversations, and so many of them the same kind of horrible, Wei Ying began to drag. He hid it well, but his steps lagged and his forced laughter was a shade too sharp. He always drinks, but even considering his high tolerance, he was overindulging. It made him sloppy. It made him melancholy. It made him clingy.
Lan Wangji, already having no great time during this nighthunt, struggled with Wei Ying’s intensely physical, yet ultimately meaningless advances. During the day, he offered brusque assurances over meals and poured Wei Ying tea. During the night, Wei Ying sat beside Lan Wangji on his bed, leaning his head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, hair brushing Lan Wangji’s neck in a soft tickle, and Lan Wangji murmured scant words of comfort. Wei Ying does not respond well to bald reassurances or what he perceives to be overzealous flattery.
Lan Wangji does not like this nighthunt, the number of victims it has produced, or the way it weighs on Wei Ying. It is with intense relief that they finally track the rapist down, further north than either of them has ever been, tucked away in a cabin in the woods full of trees as tall as mountains, the threat of winter looming closer with every breath.
Lan Wangji strikes his qin. It catches an incoming talisman from the rapist. Wei Ying sends a talisman in response. His aim is off. It goes wide.
Wei Ying had too much to drink during lunch and then some, pulling jars from his qiankun pouch while Lan Wangji held him from behind as they flew over a forest on Bichen. When he finished with them, he simply dropped them, watching them fall to the earth with a vacant expression. At one point he said, “Haha, Lan Zhan, wouldn’t it be funny if one of these jars hit our man on the head and killed him? It would certainly make our lives easier.”
“No more,” Lan Wangji said. He only barely resisted the urge to toss Wei Ying’s entire pouch away. He is loath to betray Wei Ying’s autonomy. He is loath to watch Wei Ying lose himself in drink.
It made him sloppy. They found the rapist too quickly.
All things considered, for as drunk as he is, Wei Ying fights well.
It is not enough. As Lan Wangji is about to deliver the final blow with his qin, the rapist, cornered and spitting angry, launches a concentrated spell the color of swamp water in their direction. Wei Ying stumbles. The fight is almost over and his senses are dulled. When normally they would each deflect such an attack with their instruments, Lan Wangji uses the scant moments before the spell hits to step in front of Wei Ying and absorb the blow.
Lan Wangji recovers nigh immediately. Whatever effect the spell has, it has not yet taken hold. And yet, he does not recover fast enough to assist when Wei Ying bodily tackles the man in an animal-rage, years of cultivation training forgotten, as he stabs him in the chest, over and over, with a sharp rock he plucked from the ground.
The rapist laughs wildly as he dies, blood spurting, eyes roving like a rabid horse, and wishes Lan Wangji well.
In the aftermath, Wei Ying buzzes around Lan Wangji like a mosquito. He flutters in his periphery, chewing incessantly on one knuckle, then the next. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, and he keeps asking how Lan Wangji feels. Lan Wangji says, over and over as they dispose of the rapist’s corpse and resentful spirit, “I am fine.”
When they are finished, Wei Ying stands in front of Lan Wangji, breath fogging the air, frozen grass hissing beneath his feet, bows, and says, “Hanguang-jun, this one begs your forgiveness.” Were his tone not one of utter sincerity, Lan Wangji would have believed it a joke. Wei Ying straightens up, meeting Lan Wangji’s gaze head on. “Lan Zhan, I was really careless back there. If I was on a night hunt with a cultivator who acted like that, I would beat him up and leave him by the side of the road.”
Lan Wangji wipes a smear of blood off Wei Ying’s chin with his thumb. He doesn’t mean to dig in quite so forcefully. “This night hunt has been difficult for you.” With some effort, he releases Wei Ying.
Wei Ying’s lips part. They’re tinted blue. Lan Wangji glances at the cabin and says, “We will spend the night inside.”
Wei Ying smiles wide. “An excellent plan, Lan Zhan! You are a perfect partner. Has anyone else ever told you that? I hope not, or I’d have to kill them.” He salutes Lan Wangji. “I’ll build a fire and you can check out that bastard’s place. If he has anything awful, we’ll burn it. If he kept any trophies, we’ll try to return them. What do you think?” A nervous energy surrounds him. A need to set their shared world right.
Lan Wangji nods, and the tension in Wei Ying’s shoulders eases. “An excellent plan.”
Lan Wangji is woken in the middle of the night with a hunger in his gut so strong it almost makes him vomit. It is the deepest time of day, the world outside pitch black and full of moon shadows. A fire, roaring when they slept, now simmering, glows in the rudimentary hearth.
They shared the bed because Wei Ying was cold and there was only one. They fell asleep on their own sides, but in the night they moved toward each other, Wei Ying draped over Lan Wangji’s torso and drooling onto his neck. Lan Wangji’s hands encircle Wei Ying’s svelte waist, and it is with a pang of horror he realizes he is unbearably, unspeakably hard.
He breathes out slowly. One by one, he unsticks his fingers from Wei Ying. It does not help when Wei Ying grumbles incoherently in his sleep and nuzzles his cheek against Lan Wangji’s clavicle. For a moment, Lan Wangji is overcome with the urge to yank Wei Ying fully on top of him, tearing his robes apart and burning them in the fire. Wei Ying in sleep is soft and supple and pliant. Easily taken advantage of. He feels guilty for drinking during a nighthunt. It would be so easy for Lan Wangji to take him. When Wei Ying is at his strongest and Lan Wangji is at his weakest, he could take Wei Ying with ease. This thought has haunted him since Wei Ying came back, a new ghost to replace the alive and same-yet-different Wei Ying who returned. Wei Ying is nothing but filament in his hold. Lan Wangji could fuck him so hard he shattered into pieces, then put him back together, fuck him, and shatter him again.
Nothing and no one but himself can stop him from raping Wei Ying.
Wei Ying stirs against him. Lan Wangji’s hands are balled into fists by his sides. His nails are not long, but they dig into his palms so sharply they become slick with blood.
“Lan Zhan?” he mumbles blearily. Judging by the careless way his lips move against Lan Wangji’s skin, he is still half asleep. “Okay?”
Lan Wangji nods once, tight. “Mn.” He stares at the ceiling.
“Like sleeping on a rock,” Wei Ying complains mushily. He wets his lips, which Lan Wangji knows only because he feels the accidental swipe of Wei Ying’s tongue on his chest. “So tense, gege, relax. You have a nightmare?” He curls tighter around Lan Wangji’s torso, akimbo limbs sprawled in every direction. One fingertip brushes the shell of Lan Wangji’s ear.
“No,” Lan Wangji says, not without strain. In a desperate bid for meditative silence, he cups the back of Wei Ying’s head and presses it to his chest. He will have to explain the blood in the morning, but he has many agonizing hours ahead of him to come up with an excuse. “Sleep.”
Wei Ying makes a muffled noise of protest. “Hold me tighter.” Even barely conscious, he makes petulant, silly demands. Lan Wangji holds him so tightly it can’t possibly be comfortable. Regardless, Wei Ying sighs contentedly and drops back off to sleep, wet mouth pressed to the hollow of Lan Wangji’s throat.
Lan Wangji keeps his gaze on the ceiling. If he so much as glances at Wei Ying, he is afraid of what he’ll do.
He takes a deep breath, and waits for the slow creep of dawn.
In the morning, Wei Ying eases into consciousness by moaning stickily, wriggling, and shoving his face against Lan Wangji’s neck, huffing hot little breaths into the crook of it.
Lan Wangji grits out, “Wei Ying.” There were times during the night when Lan Wangji thought he would die, though he has investigated the intruder in his meridians and knows this is not a death curse.
Wei Ying yawns, stretches, then goes stiff. He sits up abruptly, eyes wide. “Sorry! Sorry! How shameless of me. You’re too warm, Lan Zhan. Certainly I can’t be blamed for seeking heat in the night?” He tucks his hair behind his ear, dancing off the bed and adjusting his askew robes. “Don’t mind me. I’m like a little woodland creature, burrowing for warmth.” He re-ties his robes, seemingly tighter than normal. His waist looks very, very small. When Wei Ying catches Lan Wangji staring, he grins so wide his eyes crinkle at the edges. “Shall we begin the journey back?”
Lan Wangji often doesn’t respond to Wei Ying’s questions, but the longer this silence persists, the more Wei Ying’s cheerful expression fades. He takes a step closer to the bed. Lan Wangji is still horizontal. “Lan Zhan? Are you okay?”
Lan Wangji closes his eyes briefly, then sits up. “Mn. We will go.”
When they are together on Bichen, Lan Wangji has no choice but to hold Wei Ying close, Wei Ying’s back to his chest. His grip on Wei Ying’s waist flexes rhythmically for some time before sliding down to Wei Ying’s hips and Wei Ying, in the middle of charting the best route back to Gusu, stutters only briefly, voice shooting an octave higher, before continuing on his breathless ramble. While he speaks, Lan Wangji stares at the strip of smooth skin between the collar of his robe and his hairline.
Later, Lan Wangji yanks Wei Ying tight against him. This time, Wei Ying yelps, overbalances, and Lan Wangji steadies him, pressing even closer. Wei Ying says, “What was that?!” His voice is raw from speaking and Lan Wangji can just catch the pink of one cheek in the cold.
“Readjusting,” Lan Wangji mumbles, shame crawling hot up his neck. He puts as much distance between the lower halves of their bodies as is safe while riding a sword. The corners of his vision tremble. It is not uncommon for Wei Ying’s mere presence to trigger something hot and liquid and animal in Lan Wangji, but his inability to tamp down on it is.
“So naughty, Lan Zhan, aiya,” Wei Ying says. He turns his head to speak, so close that his cheek almost bumps Lan Wangji’s nose. “Taking me all the way out here, isolated and so high where I can’t even fight you off. I’ll assign you a punishment of copying all Lan precepts one hundred times if you keep this behavior up!”
Lan Wangji snaps, “Be quiet,” and Wei Ying laughs, shoulders shaking against him. He does, thankfully, lapse into silence.
When they touch down outside their first village, Wei Ying starts pulling at his hair. He constantly complains that Lan Wangji’s hair is always perfect after dismounting Bichen, but his looks like a bird nested in it. As his fingers get increasingly tangled, he looks pleadingly at Lan Wangji. “Hanguang-jun,” he whines. “Help me.”
Lan Wangji strides over and knocks Wei Ying to his knees in front of him. Wei Ying keens in surprise, which dies in his throat with a garbled choke when Lan Wangji fishes a comb out of his pouch, leans forward, and starts fixing Wei Ying’s hair. “L— Lan Zhan—” He laughs, face going from pink with cold to red with embarrassment.
Lan Wangji’s only response is to pull Wei Ying’s hair and pretend it’s an accident. Wei Ying whimpers softly. Lan Wangji continues to tug at the knots with clipped, ruthless abandon.
Wei Ying, though he puts up a fight at first, falls quiet as Lan Wangji works. When he adds a little bit of oil to his fingers to assist with detangling, his slick index finger brushes the side of Wei Ying’s neck and Wei Ying inhales sharply. He keeps his eyes closed, though his mouth is open in a sweet little circle. It is hypnotic, the way he sways back and forth with the movement of the comb. Toward Lan Wangji’s pelvis, back, forward, back, forward.
Eventually, Lan Wangji steps away. “Done.” It has taken a not-insubstantial amount of redirected qi to keep his erection under control.
Wei Ying opens his eyes stickily, looking up at Lan Wangji from under his lashes like he’s beneath the surface of a rippling pond. His lips part with a tacky sound, he swallows, and from his knees he says, leisurely obnoxious, “Lan Zhaaaan, you’re being so rough with me today.” He blinks coquettishly. “Why are you doing this? Is it for revenge? Did I sleep on you funny? Was my elbow digging into your stomach all night?”
Wei Ying is not the only one underwater. Lan Wangji grabs Wei Ying above the elbow and yanks him upright. Genuine confusion flashes through Wei Ying’s expression before he laughs and says, “Really, exceptionally brutish of you!” He rubs where Lan Wangji grabbed him. “That’s going to bruise!”
“It is as you asked.” Before Wei Ying can protest, Lan Wangji starts walking. They have a money pouch to return to the victim who lives in this village. Wei Ying slowly gets back into the rhythm of talking, though he walks more than an arm’s length away from Lan Wangji under the guise of skipping and fluttering around. Even with Lan Wangji keeping his eyes forward, the trailing end of Wei Ying’s red hair ribbon is maddening.
Inside the victim’s home, she serves them tea while Wei Ying relays what has happened since they last spoke. Lan Wangji cannot remember her name. Lan Wangji cannot drink tea. Lan Wangji cannot bear to sit. He stands off to the side, staring out the window at the bare trees in the distance. The curse’s claws rake their way down his insides.
Wei Ying blindly holds out his hand toward Lan Wangji behind him and says to her, “And this is yours, right?” There is a silence where nobody moves. Wei Ying turns around. “Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji hands Wei Ying the money pouch and excuses himself.
Wei Ying finds him on the outskirts of the village not long after, night having fallen. He looks so small inside the bulky black travel cloak Lan Wangji procured for him before they left on this extended nighthunt, wrapped tightly around himself. When Wei Ying recognizes him, he breathes a sigh of relief and comes to a stop. “I know it wasn’t up to Gusu Lan standards, but was the tea that bad?” he jokes weakly. “Lan Zhan, hey.” He steps closer, peering up at Lan Wangji’s face in resignation. “Your air tastes like his.”
Lan Wangji closes his eyes. “It will not kill me.” He opens them again. Wei Ying’s gaze is wide and shiny in the night.
“Ah…” Wei Ying says. “It had occurred to me, but I thought— but obviously you were trying to suppress it.” He puts a hand to his forehead. “Aiya. Dirty business. That’s fine. We’ll figure it out together.” He paces in a little circle in front of Lan Wangji, rubbing his hands together and occasionally blowing warm air into them. It isn’t long before he perks up and says, “Why don’t we just pay someone? We’ll go to the nearest city and find someone. You’ll give me all of your money— for this, it really should be as much as you have, maybe more— and I’ll discuss details and payment with her.”
Lan Wangji shakes his head. “If there is payment involved, I will be aware that terms were negotiated.”
Wei Ying deflates. He resumes his circles, and it only makes Lan Wangji more agitated. He grabs Wei Ying’s wrist on his next pass, and does nothing more than exert just a little too much pressure.
“Lan Wangji!” Wei Ying says. “I’m trying to help you!”
Lan Wangji releases Wei Ying. His hand trembles minutely as he pulls it away. “My apologies.”
Wei Ying waves him off. “Don’t worry about it! It’s all starting to make sense. It’s not your fault. Sure, you’ve always been a bit bossy, a bit of a bully, but that was all in good fun. Now I understand why you were throwing me around earlier.” He casts a slanted glance at Lan Wangji. “An animal wouldn’t work… would it?” At Lan Wangji’s expression, Wei Ying laughs, high pitched and nervous. “Sorry, really. I didn’t really mean it.” He puts a finger on his chin. “A hole in the ground?”
“No,” Lan Wangji snaps. He exhales hard. “As I said, it’s not a death curse. I will be fine.”
Wei Ying’s eyes pop open. “Your solution is to live with this forever?!”
Lan Wangji tightens his fist where it is tucked up against his back. “I will research potential solutions when we return to Cloud Recesses.”
“You—” Wei Ying says. He twists his hands against each other, around and around. “You can’t. This curse was meant for me. It should be me. I’ll figure out a way to transf—”
“No.”
Wei Ying’s mouth clicks shut, then immediately opens again. For once, Lan Wangji beats him to the punch. “Without a golden core to temper it, it would be overwhelming. It may not kill you, but you will wish you were dead.”
Wei Ying crosses his arms petulantly. “You seem pretty overwhelmed yourself, Hanguang-jun.”
“You have proven my point.”
Wei Ying jabs a finger in his face. “So you are overwhelmed!” He clasps his hands together. “Okay, okay, okay. Okay.” He glances at Lan Wangji. “Does it have to be a woman?” The moonlight reflects harsh and wolfish off his white teeth. When Lan Wangji does not deign to answer, Wei Ying continues, heedless. “No problem.” He shrugs his travel cloak back over his shoulders and wraps a hand around the fold of his robes, tugging until a sliver of bare skin is exposed. Then, he trails two fingertips down his torso. “Lan Zhan,” he says deliberately. “I don’t like men.”
Lan Wangji is too taken aback to say anything other than, “I know.” Even in his altered state, the bald admission tastes bitter on his tongue.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says with a little more force. “I don’t want you to rape me.”
Lan Wangji inhales sharply. “Wei Ying.” He could be sixteen and in the library pavilion of Cloud Recesses. He could be eighteen and waking up multiple days in a row, sleep robes sticky, guilt-ridden and miserable over the dreams he couldn’t control.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says yet again, hands on his hips. “You will not find a more available yet unwilling victim.”
Lan Wangji takes a deep breath, and holds it. Then, he slowly lets it out. His palms are sweating. His heart is racing. “Be sure.”
Wei Ying smiles. “Don’t worry,” he chirps. “I’m not!”
With that, he turns on his heel and sprints into the night, red ribbon trailing behind him. With no other choice, magic decades older than he is pumping through him, Lan Wangji gives chase.
Lan Wangji stalks his prey through the nearby woods. Because hunting within the bounds of Cloud Recesses is forbidden, Lan Wangji’s skills in this area are not as honed as Wei Ying’s. However, his cultivation is high and Wei Ying is excitable, two things he can work to his advantage.
He strolls through evergreen trees without hurry. Wei Ying’s eyes are on him almost all the time, always up in the trees somewhere, never from the same angle. Wei Ying’s impatience and restlessness permeate the air. It tempers Lan Wangji’s own turmoil. Like the first feral mouthfuls of bread after days of starvation.
“I’m really scared,” Wei Ying assures him from somewhere above his head and to the right. “You’re really scary, Lan Zhan! I mean it.”
Wei Ying keeps trying to peck at him. Drive him to action. His obvious nerves and clear desire to provoke Lan Wangji send pleasant prickles up and down Lan Wangji’s spine. It is a good trick, Wei Ying obnoxiously claiming how scared he is in order to hide the genuine trepidation that radiates off him like morning mist.
He does not once give Wei Ying the privilege of a reply. Wei Ying gets increasingly agitated. The branches he hides behind shutter and shake more obviously. Still, Lan Wangji keeps his eyes ahead, as if he really is just on a meditative stroll through the woods.
“Come on!” Wei Ying’s disembodied voice eventually groans. “Just do it! Lan Zhan, if this whole thing is a joke, I have to say, it’s a pretty terrible joke…”
Anticipation curls in Lan Zhan’s stomach. As he walks, he readies one of Wei Ying’s old talismans, the blue rope. He focuses the majority of his attention on his hearing. Wei Ying is light on his feet, but not above stomping them in frustration like an unruly child. The needles on the evergreens sway and click. When Lan Wangji is sure, he snaps the blue rope outwards and upwards. There is a startled yelp, and then Wei Ying is a heap on the ground in front of him.
“Showoff!” he wails, plucking a piece of bark out of his hair. Lan Wangji watches as he struggles to his feet. “Don’t think I didn’t recognize that talisman,” Wei Ying chides as he brushes dirt off his sleeves. “You’re so sentimental.”
When Lan Wangji takes a step forward, Wei Ying squeaks. “Aren’t we just chatting!” he cries. “Don’t sully the moment!”
Lan Wangji takes another step. Wei Ying’s gaze flickers down to his feet. He puts out his hands placatingly, in surrender. “Come now, Lan Zhan. Be nice! How about instead of you hunting me like a beast, I get down on my knees and—”
Lan Wangji takes another step. Wei Ying abandons his sentence and tears off in the opposite direction. Lan Wangji lets the blue rope slither away before giving sedate chase.
This time, he is the one who stalks Wei Ying from the treetops. Wei Ying moves quickly and purposefully, but it is apparent he is frustrated with his inability to pinpoint Lan Wangji’s location. He stops, puts his hands on his hips, and calls out, “How are you so quiet! It’s no fair. I grew up in Lotus Pier. It’s never quiet there.” From his vantage point in the trees, Lan Wangji watches the delicate jut of bone move under the thin skin of Wei Ying’s wrists.
Lan Wangji deliberately jostles a nearby branch. Wei Ying’s head whips around to stare. He swallows, going still like a frightened doe.
This time, when Wei Ying runs, Lan Wangji matches him step for step. He flies over branches with ease and clears gaps between trees with no trouble. His patience is beginning to wane in direct correlation to the heat flooding him.
He has been patient in regards to Wei Ying for a very long time.
Wei Ying’s gait has changed. He no longer glides across the forest floor as easily as he would swim through a lotus lake. He has accepted his status as prey. His movements are not those of one trying to remain undetected, but of one trying to escape. Brush crashes beneath him. His breathing is heavy, frantic, grasping.
Lan Wangji follows.
Wei Ying’s red hair ribbon is intoxicating. It catches and whips through the air— Wei Ying has always been a fast runner. He is slower since his return, but even a slow Wei Ying is fast compared to most.
Lan Wangji is faster. More athletic. Stronger.
Wei Ying’s endurance and perseverance are admirable. Lan Wangji has always thought so. He continues to think so, even as he leaps from above and tackles Wei Ying from behind, pinning him against the cold hard ground.
“I really hope that’s you, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying wheezes, face pressed into the moss and unable to look back at him.
“You do not.”
Wei Ying laughs, breath whistling through him. Lan Wangji is very familiar with how Wei Ying uses laughter like others use facial expressions and tones of voice to convey meaning.
The hitch in his breath means he’s scared. He’s scared, he’s scared.
Lan Wangji is filled with a roaring flame. He feels drunk. He can hardly focus. Wei Ying’s futile escape attempts register as nothing more than an emphasis of just how caught he really is.
“Lan Zhan,” he appeals. He tries to make his voice sweet and sticky, forcing Lan Wangji to take pity on him. Instead, it has the opposite effect. “Lan Zhan, I’m not sure— is this really a good idea—”
Wei Ying stops speaking when Lan Wangji sweeps the curtain of hair off the back of his neck and latches on with his teeth. A high whine escapes his throat. Lan Wangji feels it in his cock just the same as if Wei Ying had wrapped a hand around it.
“L— Lan—” he chokes out as Lan Wangji gnaws on him like a dog. His hands roam freely, up and down Wei Ying’s sides, the infuriating swoop of his waist, the generous curve of his ass. Lan Wangji is hot, is burning up, and the contrast when he touches Wei Ying’s autumn-chilled skin is incendiary.
Wei Ying chokes on the two fingers Lan Wangji shoves into his mouth. He bites down on them, but not hard enough to cause damage. He can barely get his teeth around them with Lan Wangji thrusting in and out like he is.
Wei Ying is so slight under him. His voice scrapes raw as he protests. When Lan Wangji tears open the back of his robe, every layer, Wei Wuxian yelps and tries to scurry away, but Lan Wangji holds him easy. “You want this,” he says, tangling his hand in Wei Ying’s hair. “You asked for it.”
Wei Ying vehemently shakes his head. “I don’t! I didn’t! Lan Zhan, please!”
Lan Wangji bites his way down Wei Ying’s spine, leaving dents in every divot between his vertebrae. The muscles in Wei Ying’s back contract and pull as he fights. He tries to kick out at Lan Wangji, but it’s the easiest thing in the world to either block the blows or let them hit and ignore them altogether.
Though Wei Ying’s robes ripped all the way open at the back, his arms are still slotted through the front sleeves. Lan Wangji yanks them out, but leaves them discarded beneath Wei Ying. Now, it is only his red silk trousers and boots. Lan Wangji disposes of those easily enough, then hooks his fingers under Wei Ying’s waistband. There are gentle indents in his skin where it’s dug in. Lan Wangji leaves new marks over them. He bites the tiny roll of fat at Wei Ying’s hip until Wei Ying squeaks. Lan Wangji wraps both hands around Wei Ying’s waist and swears under his breath. Were Wei Ying less busy, he would probably find it hilarious.
When Lan Wangji ruts against the back of Wei Ying’s thigh, Wei Ying’s fingers try to dig into the dirt for any kind of purchase. However, the ground is frozen solid, and he only manages to scrape a few little rocks out of their spots. “That’s not your—” he rasps. “Lan Zhan, you have a secret third leg, right?”
Lan Wangji repositions himself and grinds against Wei Ying’s ass. Wei Ying whimpers. “Kind of um— hah— Lan Zhan— you’re moving with a lot of purpose— ah—” He tries to wriggle. Lan Wangji doesn’t allow it. Wei Ying swallows hard, gasps for breath, and continues, “Like you’ve thought about it a lot?!”
Lan Wangji digs a brusque forearm under Wei Ying’s abdomen and yanks him into a crouched position, face still pressed against the ground, ass in the air. He pulls Wei Ying’s pants down over his ass, pleased with how they catch on the tops of his thighs, and kneads the fat there. He keeps his other hand on the back of Wei Ying’s neck, immobile.
He bites Wei Ying’s ass so hard he’ll have a bruise for weeks, then, while Wei Ying is still chewing him out for it, pinches his rim between his thumb and second finger. Wei Ying’s voice disappears like he just did up a button over it, and it doesn’t seem to be returning any time soon as Lan Wangji continues his ministrations, fascinated by the fight, less and less as time goes on, that Wei Ying’s body puts up. His fingers are still damp from being in Wei Ying’s mouth, but not damp enough. He spits into his palm and Wei Ying manages a hazy “Wh—?” before Lan Wangji sinks a finger into him, just the tip. Wei Ying cries out, and when Lan Wangji moves his finger, swiping it back and forth, Wei Ying wails.
Lan Wangji watches his own finger fuck Wei Ying with fascination. No matter how cold Wei Ying is on the surface, he still burns hot inside. He still takes Lan Wangji, first one finger, then, with a truly pathetic whimper, two. Then three. He really cries and begs for mercy when Lan Wangji removes his fingers and replaces them with his tongue. Wei Ying’s protests have become increasingly garbled, but the first touch of Lan Wangji’s mouth to his rim makes Wei Ying jerk under him like a spooked horse. Lan Wangji smacks him on the outside of his thigh before continuing his work. The more he bites and massages Wei Ying’s skin between his teeth, the pinker and softer it becomes.
By the time Lan Wangji pulls away, Wei Ying makes no noise at all save a low, animal moan deep in his throat. His body is covered in a sheen of sweat, though the cold air keeps evaporating it, only for Wei Ying to sweat it out all over again. He trembles all over.
Lan Wangji fits one hand around Wei Ying’s waist and the other his own cock. He touches just the tip to Wei Ying’s skin, smearing precome over his ass. Then, he lines up properly, puts his second hand at Wei Ying’s waist, holds him tight, and pushes inside.
Wei Ying, surprisingly, is silent. He’s still breathing hard, and the tendons in his arms are tight and prominent, and his face is wet and dirty and pressed to the ground, but he takes Lan Wangji without complaint. Eventually, he even relaxes the balls his fists had curled into, digging his fingers rhythmically into the discarded robes beneath him instead. When Lan Wangji bottoms out, Wei Ying so tight and hot around him he almost feels dizzy with it, Wei Ying only says a very quiet, “ah,” and sniffles. He rucks up the robe close enough that he can bury his face in it. He may even be biting down on it as Lan Wangji starts fucking him in earnest, snapping his hips forward without letting Wei Ying move at all. A few times, he pulls Wei Ying’s hips backwards as he thrusts forward. There are tear tracks on the cheek Lan Wangji can see, but no actual tears. He leans over, still inside Wei Ying, and licks them up. Before fully sitting back, he bites the shell of Wei Ying’s ear and works it between his teeth until Wei Ying’s voice warbles in his throat.
Wei Ying’s knees have started to shake, to the point he won’t be able to hold himself up much longer. Lan Wangji pinches the back of Wei Ying’s right thigh and he buckles over, held up only by Lan Wangji on that side.
“Lan Zhan,” he finally whispers, voice ragged. “I’m— I’m—” Lan Wangji doesn’t let him finish. He thrusts so hard Wei Ying forgets what he’s saying.
Lan Wangji is close. Has been teetering on the edge for what feels like forever. He’s dreamt this so many times. The reality could not be better.
He comes buried deep in Wei Ying, hips gyrating, hitting every sensitive place inside him. He comes so long it starts to leak out around him.
The curse dissipates along with his orgasm, leaving in its wake a weight so heavy on Lan Wangji’s chest he may crack in two. Finally, gently, apologetically, he pulls out of Wei Ying. Even just the sight of the aftermath of this action is enough to make Lan Wangji’s soft cock twitch. Acidic, residual arousal slops through him.
Wei Ying jerks backward at Lan Wangji’s exit, and then immediately curls up on the ground, looking exceptionally beat up, shins under him and knees tight to his chest.
Lan Wangji doesn’t know what to say. Wei Ying seems incapable of speech.
Lan Wangji is searching through his pouch for a clean set of robes for Wei Ying when Wei Ying shakes his head blearily and says, light and airy, “Give me one of your layers. Preferably two.” The slightest hint of his previous daze remains.
Lan Wangji strips off his two outer layers and wraps Wei Ying in them. It’s difficult because of how he lies, but Lan Wangji carefully manoeuvres until he is fully covered once more.
He keeps one hand hovering a finger’s breadth away from the center of Wei Ying’s back, unsure.
Wei Ying looks up at him. He looks normal. He looks like he’s planning mischief. He sits on his knees and looks up at Lan Wangji. “I think you should kiss me, Hanguang-jun.”
“…”
Wei Ying crosses one leg and rests his chin on his bent knee. It puffs out his cheeks. He says, “You just took my virginity. I think it’s only fair you take responsibility for my first kiss as well.”
“Your first—?” Lan Wangji can barely speak. “Your virginity?”
Wei Ying flutters his hands. “Well, it's not mine anymore! It’s yours now. Congratulations. Are you going to kiss me or not?”
“… But you don’t like…?”
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying throws his hands up in the air. “You know what I like? Common decency! Unlike you, apparently. Honestly! The nerve of some men. Use you up and not even a kiss for the ro— mmf!!”
Lan Wangji holds Wei Ying’s face between his palms while he kisses him, bending Wei Ying back so far he’s almost horizontal, tongue slipping between his lips and exploring the heat of Wei Ying’s mouth. Wei Ying wraps his arms around Lan Wangji’s shoulders, linking them behind his back so he doesn’t fall flat on the ground. He doesn’t do much of the work himself, simply leaving his mouth open for Lan Wangji to do with as he pleases.
When he finally pulls away, Wei Ying’s mouth is bitten red and he looks dazed again, like he’s not quite all there. He absently touches his puffy bottom lip, laughs or hiccups, and says, “Um… yeah.” He blinks, and awareness floods his features. “Lan Zhan!” he cries. “Are you better? Did it work?”
Lan Wangji nods stiffly. He feels like he’s been vigorously laundered. Wei Ying looks the same. His eyes are unnaturally bright.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
Wei Ying grins at him, wide enough it almost looks uncomfortable. “Don’t say such horrible things to me! I was doing the world a service, really. It needs Hanguang-jun in tiptop shape so he can continue helping aunties reach high shelves and little kids get the ball they lost over a fence. Besides, you couldn’t help yourself.” His voice flutters. Something is wrong with it. Too insubstantial. “You would never treat your wife like that, Lan Zhan. You’re not like that. Hanguang-jun isn’t like that. It was just the curse. Just a one time thing. Not you at all.” He pats Lan Wangji’s stony cheek. “Don’t worry about it, Lan Zhan. I know whichever woman you marry, you’ll treat her right. You couldn’t do it any other way.”
Lan Wangji glances at Wei Ying’s wrist. He wants to latch his teeth around it and shake until Wei Ying cries.
“I couldn’t help myself,” Lan Wangji repeats in a monotone. “I couldn’t do it any other way.”
“That’s the spirit!” Wei Ying chirps. “Now, I’d like to go back to the inn and have a very hot bath.” He flutters his lashes at Lan Wangji. “Will you prepare it for me?”
“Yes.”
Wei Ying claps his hands together. “Perfect! Even if for some reason I hadn’t forgiven you all the way before, I certainly would now.” He sighs. “You really are the best, Lan Zhan.”