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Few people know of the significance of the Lan forehead ribbon. It isn’t a sect secret, exactly, but it has never quite been public knowledge either. People simply do not touch the ribbons adorning the Lan Sect disciples’ foreheads, and the disciples in turn do not remove them in front of others. That was just how it is, how it has always been.
Lan Wangji had wondered briefly why it was so, but as a child he never felt the need to question this tradition.
When he learned what they were meant to represent, he’d wondered if he would ever give his ribbon to someone else. There had been someone in his heart when he’d thought of it, and the pleased shock when that person took his ribbon had been electrifying.
The disappointment when he’d realised Wei Ying never knew what it meant has never really left him. But it doesn’t seem to deter his heart from racing every time he remembers.
The ribbon, after all, is just a strip of cloth. What it means is what he makes of it.
Right now, with Wanyin’s wrists bound by his forehead ribbon, skin flushed and dark robes slipping half off his shoulders, Lan Wangji still sees the appeal of such a taboo. The pale blue silk is wrapped tight around slightly tan skin in a strip of contrasting colour. Wangji trails slow, exploratory fingers up a flat, toned chest, and tugs the purple robes lower.
“Are you just going to stare all day?”
Jiang Wanyin’s voice is low and irritated. He’s glaring at a spot on the wall behind Wangji, as if he didn’t agree enthusiastically to this entire situation, as if Wangji is the one who suggested this in the first place. Not that Wangji isn’t touched by Wanyin’s sudden forwardness.
Wangji hums noncommittally and slides his palm down, over Wanyin’s belly, warm against the coolness of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect Leader’s body. The silence is discomforting to Wanyin, Wangji knows. Yet he can't seem to make his mouth form words, not when Wanyin is laid out like a present, skin heated and golden in the flickering candlelight. He could have used light talismans, but Wangji likes the way the flames cast light and shadow over the contours of Wanyin’s body.
The lithe body under him squirms; Wangji grips narrow hips tight with his free hand, a warning noise at the back of his throat.
He removes his hand from Wanyin’s side and cards it through his hair, watching the silky locks fall out of their neat crown. Wangji runs his fingers over the bumps of Wanyin’s braid, before shaking them loose.
Jiang Cheng’s hair is nothing like Wei Ying’s was - straight and prim and smooth where Wei Ying’s had been untameable, wavy in the middle curling at the ends, seemingly tangled no matter when Wangji saw him. The distinction is important, Wangji thinks as he pulls Wanyin in close, nosing at the crook of his neck and inhaling his scent.
There’s the faint smell of sweat and the dust from a day’s worth of work, and the familiar, underlying sweetness of fresh lotus flowers. It never seems to leave Wanyin’s skin, this almost-feminine fragrance. This is the body Lan Wangji knows.
There are similarities between Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying, but they are not the same person. They never were and never will be.
(Sometimes Wangji wonders if he’s looking for Wei Ying in Jiang Cheng, or if Jiang Cheng is looking for Wei Ying in him. He’s not sure which upsets him more.)
Muscles tense under his sudden touch, but relax almost instantly. Something inside Wangji’s chest loosens. He presses his lips against salty skin and sucks, dragging his teeth over the sensitive parts of Wanyin’s neck. The surprised gasp which Wanyin immediately cuts off makes Wangji feel unexplainably smug.
This is his - their little trysts, the concessions Wanyin gives to no one else, the way Wanyin tilts his head for him when Wangji kisses his neck, the flush on his cheeks and the shy way he asked Wangji to use his ribbon tonight, the pale wrists bound in his even paler forehead ribbon. It's all his. His. No one else can have it.
Wangji bites on a bare shoulder, just shy of vicious. Wanyin muffles a hiss of pain. He apologises with small licks and kisses, but he’s not sorry for the warm feeling that grows inside him when he pulls away to see an angry red mark on Wanyin’s skin.
“What the hell, Lan Wangji…” Wanyin mutters, a flush staining his cheeks and his eyes resolutely averted. “What are you trying to do?”
“Mine,” Wangji mumbles in response, not seeing the point in further explanation. He dips his head again to kiss and suck at the bitemark on Wanyin’s shoulder. Wanyin squirms and grunts.
“That- that hurts, you asshole!”
And yet, he isn’t asking Wangji to stop. He doesn’t refute Wangji’s quiet claim. Wangji’s face heats at his own shamelessness, but he continues, biting and kissing down Wanyin’s exposed chest, reveling in the quiet gasps and groans his touch elicits.
Arousal builds slowly in Wangji’s gut, and he rubs his hand over Wanyin’s chest, eager to feel the damp, warm skin, eager to coax out more of those delicious sounds. His fingers brush over Wanyin’s sensitive nipples. He feels the hitch in Wanyin’s breath before he hears it. Wanyin lets out a low groan as Wangji presses a kiss to one of the pink, hardened nubs.
“Seriously, hurry up…!” Wanyin is struggling weakly against the forehead ribbon binding his wrists. If he wanted to, he could slip out of it easily - his spiritual energy is more than enough to undo the simple knot Wangji had tied earlier.
Wangji takes his time.
Afterwards, in a sweaty tangle of limbs and roaming hands, Wangji trailing slow, wet kisses along Wanyin’s jaw, because he can now, because Wanyin is his :
“You need to show some restraint,” Wanyin mutters, but there’s no heat in it. His hand is in Wangji’s hair, blunt fingernails scratching at his scalp. It’s relaxing. Wangji sucks another mark into the skin above Wanyin’s collarbone.
“I’m serious!” A light swat to Wangji’s shoulder.
The hand in his hair is removed and Wanyin pushes at his shoulder; Wangji reluctantly draws away. He gazes down at his lover - his lover! - and hums appreciatively. Wanyin’s bare chest is marked with spots of red where Wangji had sucked too hard and for too long, and the mark on his shoulder is blossoming into a bruise. He’s sure it will stay for days. A bubbling feeling of pride and excitement wells up inside him, as if he is a child again, overwhelmed with emotion.
Jiang Cheng watches him with growing exasperation, a quiet fondness hidden in the upward slant of his lips.
It feels like a moment to cherish forever - the way Wanyin looks, visibly covered in Wangji’s touch, the way the light licks at the planes of his body, the warmth in Wanyin’s eyes. Wangji wants to cherish Wanyin, properly this time, without the waiting and the mistakes and the regret .
“I love you,” he blurts out, and tugs Wanyin into a hug before he can catch the expression on his partner’s face. He doesn’t miss the way Wanyin’s face goes slack in surprise, or the small gasp that leaves his lips.
Warm hands slide over the cooling skin on his naked back, pulling him in close. Wangji shuts his eyes and buries his face into Wanyin’s damp hair. It smells like sweat and sex and lotus flowers and Jiang Cheng .
“Don’t say that,” Jiang Cheng mumbles, muffled into his shoulder. He doesn’t sound angry, but he doesn’t sound happy either.
It stings.
Wangji’s forehead ribbon is still wrapped around Jiang Cheng’s left wrist, tied in a neat bow. He pulls Wanyin closer, falling silent. They don’t say anything else as they part, clean up, and get dressed for bed.
The night is cold, and long, and Wanyin falls asleep in Wangji’s bed like he’s been doing more and more frequently ever since that night in the forest.
Wangji watches him sleep, the faint moonlight making Wanyin look paler than he does in the day, his skin soft and milky. He thinks about Wei Ying’s laugh, and his smile, and the way he would flirt with anyone who caught his attention. He thinks about Wanyin, who can barely talk to girls, let alone flirt.
The distinction is important. They’re different people. They have always been.