Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

The next night Lan Zhan, the dutiful husband, makes good on his promise. Wei Wuxian scarcely has time to set down his half-dried brush before he finds himself cradled in Lan Zhan’s arms and subsequently lobbed at the bed. Yes, excellent, he thinks, smiling wide, as he allows himself to go boneless. “Lan Zhan, so forward!” he whimpers, back in his element. “What are you--”

“Be still.”

“But, ah--you threw me down on the bed-- If you’re not careful, I’ll start to get ideas...” 

Rather than repeating his command, Lan Zhan wordlessly pins Wei Wuxian down and binds his wrists together behind his head. Ah, such marvellous economy of words! The metal cloud charm in the center of Lan Zhan’s forehead ribbon--because of course that’s what’s binding his hands; it’s what binds him together most nights--presses into the underside of his right wrist, tight enough to leave a mark. Gusu Clouds stamped on the Yiling Patriarch. Ha! He opens his mouth to taunt his husband for being so possessive, but finds his mouth immediately stuffed with two of Lan Zhan’s fingers. 

“Suck.”

Wei Wuxian complies, and here are the waves. Here is the weight of the whole blue-white sky pressing against his chest, the pressure that will grow diamonds in him. He is taken. He is owned. He is enough , because Lan Zhan is so much more … The fingers trace possessive circles through his mouth, for once made silent and biddable. He surrenders to them, pretending all the while to struggle. He even summons some tears. Nothing like the ones from last night; these are purely for show, for his husband to enjoy and Wei Wuxian to command.

Without warning, Wei Wuxian feels a sunburst of pain as Lan Zhan’s other hand works him open. He whimpers, begging sloppily around Lan Zhan’s fingers at both ends, at the everything of it all. His cock jumps, aching for some sort of stimulation, neglected for the moment as Lan Zhan replaces his fingers with his own swollen member. The world goes blue-white again, and Wei Wuxian pants, mouth open around Lan Zhan’s fingers. Lan Zhan fucks him hard, fucks him like he used to fight him, back in the days before the Sunshot Campaign when they dueled every other night for practice. They were perfectly matched; why seek another?

Lan Zhan’s hand leaves his mouth and moves to his hip, the bruising pressure of it unbearably hot. And then he’s leaning close to Wei Wuxian’s ear, barely breathless even as he fucks Wei Wuxian hard and relentless. And he’s sighing, “ Perfect, Wei Ying.”

“You’re one to talk,” Wei Wuxian beams, intent on making the most of his newly-freed mouth. 

“Ridiculous.” Wei Wuxian laughs at the fond expression on his husband’s face coupled with his first unconscious flirtation, imagining the scowling teenage Lan Zhan and the thick-faced bane of his existence.

“Remember--ah! How angry I used to make you? I was… Ah! It’s a wonder you didn’t have me against the wall of rules… fuck yes right there … Teach me some discipline…. Ha!”

“You taught me righteousness,” Lan Zhan replies, and that knocks the breath out of him before Lan Zhan’s next deep thrust gets a chance. “You are good.” Thrust. “Precious.” 

The blue-white sky trembles and cracks. “Lan Zhan! Stop! You can’t say those.... aaah.... kinds of things to me! I’ll die!”

“You will not.” Lan Zhan doesn’t pause, doesn’t slow, doesn’t let Wei Wuxian breathe, as if he means to prove the fineness of his control, his overwhelming mastery. The constancy of his own cold-forged self to trust in and obey.

“Is that a... aaaaaa threat?”

“Yes. You deserve immortality.” 

Immortality? I barely deserve to be alive! Wei Wuxian summons a smile from the dust. “Lan Zhan, please… You said you’d fuck me hard….”

Lan Zhan’s next thrust drives his hips so hard against the bed he can feel them bruising. 

“Point--ah! taken… But maybe… go easy on the nice things?”

“I will not.”

Wei Wuxian recognizes the look on his husband’s face. It’s the look that makes you remember Lan Wangji strangled the fake-Xuanwu for six hours while nursing a broken leg with no idea how much of his family he had left. Defying that look is staring down a stormswell and hoping that the ocean flinches first. His chest siezes. He’s never been good at receiving praise. That was the nice thing about being known to be arrogant--he could pretend he already believed those worthy things about himself and laugh them off before the guilt could land and burn. After all, back then, every good thing about him was a slight against his brother.

Lan Zhan continues, fierce and unyielding. “You are righteous . Your heart is kind. Joy follows you. Others delight in you.”

Wei Wuxian thrashes, trying to protest, to tease, anything, but Lan Zhan presses against his prostate and the ache, and the shimmer--and the words evaporate. 

He comes with a desperate laugh, and Lan Zhan holds him like some vanquished prey that might yet turn and flee. 

Lan Zhan doesn’t press the next night or the night after, for which Wei Wuxian is grateful. He really meant it when he said he couldn’t take much of this; Lan Zhan’s softness flays him open, makes him feel like one of Wen Qing’s medical diagrams with all his potential maladies labeled and marked and known. 

His (indefatigable! loyal! reliable!) husband just fucks him hard, lets him pretend to struggle and cry, holds him down and takes him. It’s blissful. It’s uncomplicated, and Wei Wuxian lets himself believe that maybe, Lan Zhan has forgotten about all this gentleness business.

He is wrong.  

Lan Zhan has never forgotten about anything, probably. 

It starts, like so many delightful things, with Wei Wuxian misbehaving. This is part of their game: Wei Wuxian acts like a brat, like his younger self, and Lan Zhan “punishes” him for his insolence. Never with blows--not since that one disastrous incident--but as Master of Discipline to the Lan Clan of Gusu. Lan Zhan sets the best punishments, Wei Wuxian thinks. Often it’s Lan Zhan’s cock down his throat, breathless and insistent and so much better than the Silencing Spell. Sometimes Wei Wuxian has to stave off his orgasm while Lan Zhan sucks sweet red bruises across his tender skin. His favorite by far is when Lan Zhan pretends to take him against his will and he shrieks and sobs and begs, and all the while goads his husband on with all the shamelessness he’s cultivated like a core over his years of being a placeless intruder on someone else’s happiness. 

“Copying RULES? Lan Zhan , that’s not sexy at all! Boring, ” he says, puffing out his cheeks and scowling. His resistance isn’t for show, this time, but he plays it up, anyway. Maybe this way he can prod Lan Zhan into some other demand. Like, for example--

He sinks to his knees, peering at Lan Zhan through Mo Xuanyu’s thick lashes. “Lan-er-gege needs to loosen up. Maybe this one can be of help?”

“Unnecessary,” Lan Zhan replies, unfazed. “You will copy.”

Wei Wuxian sighs and pouts again, but he shuffles over to the writing desk. It’s littered with remnants of Wei Wuxian’s experimental poetry, array diagrams, a whole sheet of paper covered in miniature paintings of seashells he and Huaisang had collected on their trip to the ocean, and... Wei Wuxian leans forward, squinting.

“Read it,” Lan Zhan encourages, warmth in his voice. He lights on the ground next to Wei Wuxian, a heron folding its legs beneath its body.

Wei Wuxian opens the embroidered cover to find a list written in Lan Zhan’s own smooth calligraphy. He inhales. “These aren’t Lan Sect rules. Unless they’re the new ones, but some of these… no, all of these conflict directly with… hmm, at least thirty-eight rules, most notably 3,440--”

“Your punishment, Wei Ying.” And. Lan Zhan isn’t giving any ground, this time. Wei Wuxian feels some sort of emotion, which he promptly buries with a theatrical sigh. 

“Yes, Lan-er-gongzi.” No gege for Lan Zhan, if he’s not going to give his poor husband his cock. Or at least some fingers or something. But maybe this is something Lan Zhan likes? Maybe it gets him hot and bothered to see Wei Wuxian playing a Good Little Lan, copying rules and following the precepts and walking with one curled hand behind a ramrod spine. Maybe he likes to pretend Wei Wuxian is a little easier to handle, sometimes. Well. It’s not like Wei Wuxian doesn’t wish the same thing. 

He takes another glance at the first principle, inked with an unmistakable earnestness. It reddens Wei Wuxian’s face all over again. His face! The thickest face in the cultivation world! What is he coming to! He shuffles, crossing and re-crossing his legs. His robes are suddenly itchy and way too hot.

“Wei Ying. Sit properly.”

“Yes, Hanguang-jun,” he says, as meek as he can. He glances at Lan Zhan’s crotch to try to gauge his performance, but he can’t tell how his husband’s body is responding. Stupid five layers of Lan robes! This won’t do. He throws himself into Lan Zhan’s lap, then folds his legs up in lotus position and leans back. Ah, good. Lan Zhan is half-hard, at least. 

“....Properly.”

“But Lan-er-gege, your lap is so much more--” he grinds down, giving a faint moan “-- comfortable .”

“Very well. Then you will recite.” Despite his arousal, Lan Zhan’s voice brooks no argument. Wei Wuxian knows he’s lost--the thought of saying these things out loud, even to Lan Zhan, fills him with something that might be horror. He slides off his husband’s lap.

“Okay! I’m sitting properly! Look, I’m holding a brush!”

“I can see that,” Lan Zhan replies, indulgent. Ah, but what a beautiful man this is! A beautiful man with beautiful handwriting and a beautiful lap to fall into. If he wants this from Wei Wuxian… well, he’s certainly endured worse for less.

He copies the ten principles twenty-five times before Lan Zhan stops him. He’s not quite smiling, but he looks the way he looks when Sizhui plays a difficult guqin piece with no mistakes. Something in it makes Wei Wuxian unspool a bit. He’s done well , is what that look says. And now, presumably, he’ll be rewarded. 

“Very good, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, giving a single nod and beckoning for him to stand. 

“Lan-er-gongzi is pleased with this disciple?” he asks, leaning into the fiction.

“Always,” Lan Zhan says, and. He’ll never get used to this, he doesn’t think. The way Lan Zhan will just. Say nice, sweet, wholesome things about him like they’re self-evidently true, like it’s not even part of the game and he’d be saying them anyway. 

Maybe, a traitorous, deep-coiled part of Wei Wuxian thinks, this is the only time he knows you’ll listen. 

Wei Wuxian bows, perfect and deferential and not nearly as sarcastic as he’d planned to be. “Then, if this disciple may be… released…” 

“No,” Lan Zhan says. “Your discipline is not complete.”

Wei Wuxian widens his eyes, just enough to signal his openness without transgressing the bounds of decorum. “Oh.... What else does Hanguang-jun require?” He lets his eyes trace over Lan Zhan before obediently dropping them again. This is kind of fun, actually! And it’s not like he’s not good at deference, when he wants to be. Madame Yu made sure of that. 

“ You, ” Lan Zhan growls, and Wei Wuxian lets a brilliant smile bleed onto his face as he’s grabbed by the wrist and lead inexorably, irrevocably, irresistibly into Lan Zhan’s arms and the bed they share. 

Lan Zhan ruins him with kisses, rubs Wei Wuxian’s erection between his smooth thighs until he’s panting and whimpering into his husband’s chest, digs his fingers into the flesh of his ass and pulls-

"Wei Ying. Recite." Even through the arousal, Wei Wuxian realizes immediately what Lan Zhan means. 

"But Lan-er-gege!" He whines, jerking his hips upward to grind against Lan Zhan’s abs. “Feels. So.”

"Recite the principles." Lan Zhan’s hand disappears behind him, and Wei Wuxian realizes he’s opening himself up . For Wei Wuxian. He gasps, a punched-out sound, as he realizes, too--this is Lan Zhan’s promise. His lovely, considerate husband knows him well enough to intuit that he’ll need a reward in sight if he’s going to… oh, fuck, he’ll have to… He takes a steadying breath. Lan Zhan caresses his chest and belly and thighs, comforting strokes of his fingers. 

Wei Wuxian begins, doing his best to speak evenly, and recites the principles the righteous Lan Wangji wrote for his edification and discipline. "Wei Ying is righteous... "

"First person. Do not cower behind language."

"Ruthless! Lan Zhan, truly ruthless! How can- hnnnnnng." Lan Zhan guides Wei Wuxian’s cock further back to slide against his perineum, rocking steady and mild. For once, Wei Wuxian is grateful for his restraint--any more stimulation, and he certainly wouldn’t succeed. Lan Zhan always wants him to succeed. 

"Recite." 

"Wei... No, I am... Lan Zhan, my memory is so bad, I can't do it!"

"I will help you. You will not fail." Hasn’t he already? Hasn’t he, just by forgetting so easily the most important things he’s ever known? But. No, Lan Zhan doesn’t see it that way. He probably never has. He made Wei Wuxian copy the rules so many times so he’d be able to do this --so he could be good for his husband, and receive his reward.

"I am righteous. My... heart is... kind. Aaaah, Lan Zhan yes ! That feels...  No don’t stop!"

"You stopped. I followed." 

Wei Wuxian breathes in, the blue-white expanse swallowing him, the bed a gentle second spine. "Others... delight in my presence.” Lan Zhan wants me, he adds to himself, and the thought has never stopped feeling giddy and impossible. 

“I pursue justice in all things.” He is being held, somehow, and something feels good, and he’s chased justice to rot and resentment and died with it there, and how does he deserve to be here, now, with that nameless goodness thrumming along his bones-- 

He can’t stop, or Lan Zhan will stop, too, and that is unthinkable. “I strive constantly for the good of others. I am... Lan Zhan... Please..." He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but he knows Lan Zhan will give it to him. From the time he asked for a lullaby and received a love song, it’s been this way. Lan Zhan’s gifts are meant to be taken and cherished and sung .

"You are precious," Lan Zhan prompts, knowing Wei Wuxian has not forgotten. 

"I am... precious. I care for all children as my own. I accept correction when it is given with love and respect. I am... Lan Zhan, please don't make me say it! It’s too much!"

"Then you will not come tonight."

"I can handle that..."

"And neither will I."

" Fuck! Aaah. Hanguang-jun! You. Ahh. I am...imperfect, because I am good . I am worthy... I am worthy of love." He doesn’t believe it, not really. But he believes it long enough to say it, here, to the one who stood beside him when everyone else had nothing but blame.

"Very good, beloved," Lan Wangji praises, he sinks down onto Wei Wuxian’s cock like a declaration.

“You really believe all those things, Lan Zhan?”

His husband gives him a flat stare.

“Hah, right. You don’t ever say things you don’t mean. What’s that like?”

Lan Zhan considers the question, because he is sincere and thorough and excellent and Wei Wuxian wants to hold him forever and make him happy and annoy the living shit out of him until he regrets immortality, and then kiss him until he forgets like Wei Wuxian and smiles again. “...Difficult,” Lan Zhan says, at last.

“Hah, I bet. Hey, is that why you don’t say much? Because you have to be sure you mean it?” Lan Zhan nods, and Wei Wuxian’s heart swells the way it does every time he understands something about his cultivation partner. “Ah… you know I say a lot of things I don’t… actually, really, all the way mean, right?”

“This is obvious.” Wei Wuxian punches him playfully on the arm, which probably doesn’t even register through all that Lan muscle.

“Mean! But. Really. I’m… learning the difference, I think.”

“Good.” Lan Zhan squeezes his hand, then draws it to his lips and presses a kiss between two knuckles.

Wei Wuxian bravely charges forward beneath this onslaught. “And. There are things I want to mean, too.” He gathers all the shamelessness he can press into service. This is Lan Zhan, after all. Nobody knows him better. Nobody’s safer to be known to. “Like. For instance. Some of those rules of yours. I want to see myself the way my Hanguang-jun sees me.”

“I will help.” Another kiss, between two whole separate knuckles. Lan Zhan is going to spoil him to death, imparting this many kisses. He’ll just have to face his demise with dignity. There are worse ways to go. He can say this with authority.

Wei Wuxian smiles, fond and delighted and, for once, living in a happiness all his own.