Work Text:
Meng Yao feels lips press to his cheek, followed by gentle fingertips, as he groggily awakens. The fingertips slide down to press at a love bite on his collarbone, which reminds him of exactly why he feels so exhausted.
When he fully focuses his eyes, he sees Lan Xichen smiling at him. Seated on the edge of the bed, he’s already dressed in his simple underclothes and robe. The older man takes a moment to press a kiss against his lips and then another against his shoulder and then grasps his hand to place a final kiss against his fingertips.
In the barely-there early morning light, Lan Xichen’s messy hair and unguarded face take his breath away. A thousand mornings wouldn’t be enough to get used to how truly beautiful he is. “Good morning, love,” Lan Xichen rumbles, leaning forwards to kiss him again, and it’s so, so soft.
“Good morning, husband,” Meng Yao says, as he presses in for several more lingering, sleepy kisses.
Lan Xichen finally pulls away and places a hairbrush and his hair piece in the other’s hands. Meng Yao laughs softly and sits up, still tangled in the sheets. “It’s so early for you to be so demanding.”
“I let you sleep as late as I could today,” Lan Xichen says. He turns and places himself in front of Meng Yao’s crossed legs. “I knew you’d be mad if I got ready without you.”
Meng Yao lets out a thoughtful hum as he begins to brush through Lan Xichen’s long hair.
The time passes in comfortable silence. He alternates using the brush and his fingers to rid his husband’s long hair of any tangles. He luxuriates in its soft texture against his hands; briefly he thinks about the way it brushed against his skin last night as Lan Xichen pressed him into the bed.
At one point, Meng Yao nearly falls back asleep, and he bumps his nose into the nape of Lan Xichen’s neck whose shoulders begin to shake in silent laugher.
“Stay still or your hair piece will be crooked,” Meng Yao says, and he thinks of one of a hundred times that his mother straightened his hat as a child. Lan Xichen manages to still himself long enough for Meng Yao to weave his hairpiece in with practiced ease.
Lan Xichen’s face could be described as nothing less than incredibly fond as he turns to face Meng Yao, who has his forehead ribbon laid gently across open palms. His stomach flutters as though it’s the first time he’s been allowed to touch it.
After tying it, Meng Yao smoothes his husband’s hair back over the ribbon and checks to make sure it’s straight across his forehead with precise fingers.
Lan Xichen, after allowing Meng Yao to fuss over him a few more moments, catches his hands and holds them within his own. “I’m sure it looks perfect. After all, you are the one who did it.”
“I love you.” Meng Yao whispers into a kiss.
“And I love you, always.”