Work Text:
It’s Wang Zhi’s first visit back to the capital in three years. It’s sobering how little has changed, yet he feels like a different person.
He visits the Palace first, after changing from his riding clothes into his governor’s uniform. He’s not imagining Noble Consort Wan’s subtle look of pleasure in seeing him, and allows himself to feel some relief that he hasn’t forgotten how to read her after so long. His visit to her is brief; much exchanged and very little said. Before leaving the Palace he arranges through the appropriate channels to meet with the Emperor the following day during his receiving hours.
It’s not appropriate for him to visit the Western Depot; it’s no longer his domain. So Wang Zhi strolls through the capital, leaving Jia Kui to see to his own errands, heading generally towards the Shuntian Prefecture. When he arrives, there doesn’t seem to be much happening—just the usual pair of inept-looking guards standing near the front gate.
Wang Zhi measures them up briefly, then picks up the mallet where it hangs, hefting it briefly in his hand before striking the drum four times.
A harried-looking clerk hurries out to him, frowning even harder when he sees Wang Zhi’s uniform. “Daren,” he bows. “Do you have business with the governor? Daren does not need to sound the gong.”
“I have a grievance,” Wang Zhi announces. “Take me to the magistrate.”
He’s led into the Prefecture, to the covered courtyard where they hear disputes. There is another clerk scurrying out to lay papers on the table, and as Wang Zhi strolls up to the unoccupied desk, Tang Fan appears, striding towards it with a disgruntled look on his face.
“Is that the expression you meet all your petitioners with?” Wang Zhi can’t help but ask—not the greeting he’d planned, but he still finds himself smiling smugly as Tang Fan glances up at his words then stops, doing a double take.
“Wang Zhi!” Tang Fan exclaims, not sounding as pleased as he should. “What are you doing, ringing my drum? You’re supposed to be in Hetao!”
“I have a grievance. My friend has not replied to my letters in months.”
Tang Fan throws down the books he was carrying onto the desk and strides around it angrily. “We did reply! It’s not my fault that the courier route in winter is so much slower. Besides—” he stops abruptly, his expression turning from outrage to suspicion. “Wang Zhi. Why are you here? In the capital, I mean—”
Wang Zhi tuts him quiet. “Tang-daren, I wouldn’t bore a fellow governor with the humble affairs of such a rural prefecture.” He tilts his head a little in deference.
Tang Fan scowls. “Well fine, you can tell me later then.” He pauses for a moment, as if thinking, then huffs out a long-suffering sigh. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s go.”
He takes Wang Zhi’s arm and walks him out of the courtyard, towards the gates of the Prefecture. Wang Zhi is too stunned for a moment to speak—he realises he can’t remember the last time he was touched. He clears his throat. “Tang-daren, are you usually this forward with other officials? I wouldn’t think Sui-daren would allow it.”
Tang Fan snorts, but lets go of Wang Zhi’s arm without offence. Wang Zhi relaxes a little, his control over his nervous system returning. “Wang-daren mistakes Sui Zhou for my husband,” he says in a low, private voice.
Wang Zhi feigns surprise. “Is he not?”
Tang Fan gives him an exasperated look, then turns away. “Come on. We’ll have to fetch more food for dinner.”
Wang Zhi hadn’t expected to spend the afternoon in the market, but he lets Tang Fan load up his arms with all manner of parcels and packages and bundles of greens nonetheless, and watches, bemused, as Tang Fan debates the merits of different varieties of white fish with one of the stallholders.
“Doesn’t Dong’er usually handle household matters?” Wang Zhi asks curiously as they finally make their way out of the market, both of them heavily laden.
“We share them, since she started her schooling,” Tang Fan explains, and Wang Zhi nods. He himself had suggested a private tutor for Dong’er, despairing at the thought of her maturing with only the world views of a besotted veteran and a petulant gourmand informing her education.
He’s helping Tang Fan unload all the food onto the kitchen work table when the gate creaks open again, and a moment later a young woman is peeking into the kitchen. “Wang-daren!” she shouts before flinging herself at him, and Wang Zhi blinks, startled, as he’s embraced.
“Dong’er?” She’s taller than him, it can’t be.
She withdraws enough for him to look at her face. “Wang-daren, I didn’t know you were coming!” she exclaims.
“No one did,” Tang Fan mutters. “Dong’er, can you and Sui Zhou make something of this?” He waves his hand over the masses of food. “If you get started, I’ll go fetch Guangchuan, and Lao Pei and Jie.”
Dong’er nods firmly. “Wang-daren can keep me company.” It’s the same girlish smile. Wang Zhi’s head is spinning.
Dong’er directs Wang Zhi to sit at a stool near the kitchen bench, and he watches as she starts to make order out of the chaos with swift, capable hands. She chatters easily as she starts to prepare the food, drawing him into conversation about the latest books her tutor has her reading, interspersed with some of the more quotidian aspects of her daily life that Wang Zhi finds himself relishing. No one tends to waste paper on them in letters, but it’s the day-to-day aspects of living in the capital that Wang Zhi realises he’s missed most.
She has him kneading dough for noodles, fish marinating in a dish to the side as she chops vegetables, when Sui Zhou joins them.
“Wang Zhi,” he says, smiling. He lays his hand briefly on Wang Zhi’s shoulder; another touch. Wang Zhi feels warm, and he stares furiously down at the dough while out of the corner of his eye Sui Zhou ties his sleeves back and wraps an apron around his waist.
Dong’er briefs Sui Zhou on the status of the meal, and Sui Zhou nods before getting to work, maintaining a comfortable silence while Dong’er and Wang Zhi return to their conversation. It’s not much later that Tang Fan sweeps into the kitchen again, having changed into a set of his voluminous white robes.
He dodges around Sui Zhou and Dong’er nimbly, reaching for a wine jar on a tall shelf, then grabs an armful of cups before scurrying back to Wang Zhi’s side. He grins, hands Wang Zhi the jar, then grabs his arm and pulls him out of the kitchen again. Wang Zhi allows himself to be pulled, wondering if this is how long it takes to get used to people touching him again. They pass Tang Yu on the way as she heads towards the kitchen; she gives Wang Zhi a friendly smile as Tang Fan chuffs, “Hurry up, hurry up! There is important catching up to do!”
Tang Fan deposits him in a seat around the large dining table, and Wang Zhi nods in greeting to Pei Huai and Wuyun, who are already seated, a lanky boy who must be Cheng’er between them. Tang Fan sets the cups out and pours for the adults. Wang Zhi hadn’t expected to be dragged into an enormous family dinner. Already a part of him is thinking about when he can leave; he’s always been more comfortable in smaller gatherings, when he can keep his eye on everyone at once. Still, he raises his cup when Tang Fan toasts, and the wine helps him to settle a little.
The food is excellent. Dong’er takes the seat next to him, and promptly loads up his plate with portions from every dish, her eyes pressing into pleased crescents when he compliments her on the flavours. The chatter continues throughout the meal, Tang Fan and Pei Huai exchanging jabs while Tang Yu reprimands or inserts her own rare witticisms; Sui Zhou and Wuyun mostly observing and only interjecting in their low, rumbling voices when invited to. Dong’er’s eyes dart around the table; she crosses arms with Sui Zhou putting food on other people’s plates, inserting herself confidently into the conversation when she hears something that needs correcting, or a pertinent question that needs asking. It doesn’t take Wang Zhi long to realise she’s drawing Wuyun and Sui Zhou into the conversation during lulls, even engaging Cheng’er now and again.
Her skills have only matured since Wang Zhi last saw her; he allows himself to feel a moment of regret that he’s no longer overseeing the Western Depot; surely Dong’er is old enough now that she might have even taken him up on the offer to come work for him.
“Wang Zhi, what is the food like in Hetao?” Tang Fan has turned his attention to Wang Zhi again, and Wang Zhi feels all the warmth of the rest of the table suddenly directed at him. “I tried to get Wuyun to teach Sui Zhou some Oirat dishes, but all he knew was how to roast meat!”
“It’s good meat,” Wuyun grumbles, not even looking up as he picks up another piece of pork with his chopsticks, pops it into his mouth.
“Guangchuan!” Tang Fan says, jabbing his chopsticks in Sui Zhou’s direction. “It’s not good enough, I need cuisine. Tell him!”
Sui Zhou shrugs. “It’s good meat.”
Wang Zhi feels a laugh flutter up in his chest. Surprised, he lets it out, then grins as Tang Fan smiles at him. “Only a true gourmet could appreciate the skill with which an Oirat chef roasts meat,” he says generously.
Tang Fan’s mouth twists in an attempt at a scowl. “Oh I see, Wang Zhi has been in town for hours, and yet he is already taking sides again!”
“Of course he is,” Dong’er says serenely, reaching to place more tofu onto Wang Zhi’s plate. “Wang-daren has always been good at choosing the winning side.”
Tang Fan howls in outrage as the rest of the table erupts in laughter around him. Wang Zhi’s own laughter bubbles out of his chest—one of the first genuine expressions of amusement he’s let show for perhaps months.
“We’ll see if I ever bring home new recipes for Sui Zhou ever again,” Tang Fan says around a pout as the laughter subsides. He points his chopsticks around the table threateningly. “It will be all of you who suffer!”
Sui Zhou stands with a sigh, picking up some of the empty dishes in one hand. The other hand he rests briefly on Tang Fan’s shoulder, then leans in to drop a quick kiss onto Tang Fan’s head before ambling back towards the kitchen.
Wang Zhi’s breath catches in his throat, a sudden flush of shock rushing through his body. Outwardly, he knows he remains calm and impervious, not pausing in picking food from his plate to savour, though he allows his eyes to scan around the table, seeking out other reactions. Pei Huai and Tang Yu are chatting with each other while their chopsticks clash as they both place more food on Cheng’er’s plate. Cheng’er seems unconcerned, instead giggling as he watches Wuyun make faces at him. Tang Fan is pouting but still eating, staring down at his plate, his posture vibrating with the need for everyone to pay attention to him. Finally, Wang Zhi’s gaze reaches Dong’er; she’s looking back at him curiously.
“It’s good to have you home, Wang-daren,” she says brightly. “We’ve missed you.”
Gradually, the plates are cleared away. Wang Zhi waves off the offer of sweet cakes, though he accepts tea, bidding a polite farewell when Tang Yu, Pei Huai and Cheng’er take their leave, Cheng’er almost falling asleep where he leans heavily against Pei Huai. The ease that had gradually soaked in as the meal went on has turned into preoccupation, a strange sense in Wang Zhi’s gut that isn’t quite unease but a feeling of being abruptly out of his depth.
It frustrates him that he can’t shake it off. He’s not so oblivious to not realise it started the moment he saw Sui Zhou kiss Tang Fan. That aspect of their relationship is not a revelation to him—he’d known it had begun not long after Sui Zhou had become Tang Fan’s landlord; his comment earlier to Tang Fan about them being married was seated in what Wang Zhi knows to be the truth of their relationship.
There had even been a time, before Wang Zhi had left, after the attempted coup… Well, Wang Zhi had let his guard down. Admitted to their faces he considered them friends. Spent a few meals with them, felt a strange warmth that he’d attributed to the fact that he was no longer their professional adversary any more, with his new assignment out of the Western Depot. Perhaps he had felt drawn closer to them, with Ding Rong no longer at his back, the wound of that betrayal still smarting.
But that was years ago, now. And Wang Zhi has seen far more explicit acts in his time serving the Emperor, none that have ever shocked him. But they have all been in private places, with Wang Zhi looking on without the subjects’ knowledge, collecting intelligence, weapons for his armoury. And that wasn’t even counting the hours upon hours he’s spent observing the mating habits of any man who could afford to patronise Huanyi Brothel.
Wang Zhi is far from a prude. But he can’t remember a time where physical affection was shared so openly, and so simply—not a show of possessiveness or expression of lust, but something that slots in perfectly well with the warmth, humour and care being shared around the table, in Tang Fan and Sui Zhou’s eclectic family.
The table has been emptied around him. Wang Zhi has been left to his own thoughts while Sui Zhou and Tang Fan move from kitchen to dining room, putting away dishes, serving tea, extinguishing some of the lanterns. There’s a cool breeze coming in through the open doors, stars glittering in the dark sky above. Wuyun and Dong’er are having a soft conversation in the courtyard, Dong’er tossing vegetable scraps to the goat that they still haven’t slaughtered and eaten.
“Another cup?” Wang Zhi turns his head away from watching the trio in the courtyard, finds Sui Zhou standing next to him at the table. He’s smiling faintly, his expression worlds away from the Imperial Guard Wang Zhi had first confronted in Dong-gu’s restaurant, though he’s wearing the same house robes, the same apron and sleeve ties. Sui Zhou had refused to back down from Wang Zhi then, and they’d butted heads—Sui Zhou winning by literally dragging Tang Fan out of the restaurant. What path had been set that day, to lead them here, to this room on this spring night?
Wang Zhi smiles. “Please.”
Sui Zhou pours carefully, and the hot tea warms the ceramic of the cup where it’s held between Wang Zhi’s fingertips. Sui Zhou pours a second cup and sits, leaving a seat between them. They sip in pleasant silence, and after a moment Tang Fan flounces back into the dining room, his long white sleeves and skirts fluttering with his excessive movement. He flops down onto the seat between them, making Wang Zhi lean back a little. Sui Zhou pours another cup of tea without comment, and Tang Fan lifts it to his lips with a pleased hum.
“Wuyun has left,” Tang Fan says after he’s drunk half the cup. “And Dong’er has gone to bed.”
Wang Zhi sighs lightly and sets his cup down. “I will say my goodbyes as well.”
He moves to stand, but is stopped by Tang Fan’s hand on his forearm; he looks at Tang Fan with surprise that he quickly pushes down, instead raising a quizzical eyebrow. “Does Tang-daren need me to settle my tab?”
Tang Fan smacks his arm lightly. “Don’t be silly, you’re staying here.”
“Tang-daren,” Wang Zhi moves his hand out from under Tang Fan’s touch and rises to his feet, standing neatly with his hands held in front of him. “Wang Zhi doesn’t own a share of Huanyi Brothel only to have nowhere to sleep while he’s visiting the capital.”
Tang Fan frowns, and Wang Zhi can see the catty words forming behind his teeth even before Tang Fan opens his mouth. Before he can speak, though, Sui Zhou stands up behind him, resting a calming hand lightly on his shoulder.
“Stay,” he says simply, meeting Wang Zhi’s eyes. His expression is warm, uncomplicated.
Wang Zhi stares at him, his heart skipping in his chest. He takes in one calm breath, lets it out. Takes in another. Bows his head a little in acquiescence. “If Sui Baihu insists, then I will not turn down his hospitality.”
“Guangchuan,” Sui Zhou says, in the same tone as before. This time Wang Zhi can’t suppress his surprise as he looks up again, and his gaze darts briefly to Tang Fan and back again.Tang Fan has the hint of a smile on his face as well now; he looks faintly smug.
“Guangchuan,” Wang Zhi repeats, hearing hesitance in his own tone. He can’t stop himself bowing his head a little again, but when he looks up Sui Zhou’s smile has grown.
“Sit down, Wang Zhi,” Tang Fan says. He’s filling Wang Zhi’s cup again. “You still haven’t told us why you’re back!”
They talk late into the night. There is little to say about why Wang Zhi is in the capital—he was summoned by the Emperor, and has an audience with him tomorrow—but Tang Fan is keen to pick at all the little conflicts and curiosities Wang Zhi has encountered during his time on the border, not to mention leaping on any mention of food that Wang Zhi drops into the conversation.
Sui Zhou refills the teapot twice before Tang Fan starts yawning; Wang Zhi’s own throat feels a little raw from all the talking, and the astringency of the tea. Tang Fan is staring down at his cup with a smile, spinning it between his fingers as they sit in comfortable silence. Wang Zhi stares at it for a while as well, then looks up to find Sui Zhou watching him. He will not be the first to break their gaze, out of habit if nothing else, and Wang Zhi finds himself with the odd sensation of being drawn into Sui Zhou’s warm eyes, though neither of them move or speak.
Sui Zhou breaks the moment at last, blinking and shifting his gaze to Tang Fan. “I think it’s time for bed,” he says, reaching to tuck a tress of Tang Fan’s hair over his shoulder. Wang Zhi’s heart stutters again to see it, and he clenches his teeth, trying to force it down.
Tang Fan leans back, smiles first at Sui Zhou then Wang Zhi. He stands up, gesturing with a tilt of his head. “Come on then, I will show you to your room.”
Tang Fan leads him to the back courtyard while behind them there is the clink of ceramic as Sui Zhou stacks the teacups back onto the tray. One of the doors off the courtyard is open, warm candle light shining out, and Tang Fan walks directly for it. He stands aside to let Wang Zhi step inside ahead of him, then, curiously, follows him in. Wang Zhi looks around. There are two chambers to the room, the one he’s in with a bed made up with a pink and green silk coverlet, the other to his left with a broad couch, silk wall hanging and an elegant plant. The bed chamber is strewn about with candles; perhaps Dong’er had lit them before she retired for the night.
Wang Zhi turns back to Tang Fan, only to find Sui Zhou leaning in the open doorway as well. He blinks, then bows. “Wang Zhi thanks you for your hospitality,” he says. “This is a beautiful room.”
“Yes, well,” Tang Fan says, looking down at his hands, then at the bed. Anywhere but Wang Zhi’s eyes. Wang Zhi holds himself still, keeping his polite smile in place. Tang Fan finally looks up to meet his gaze. “The bed in here is big enough for three. Unless… You want to sleep on your own.”
Wang Zhi can’t help the way his eyebrows shoot up, or his swift intake of breath. Tang Fan doesn't seem to have any problem meeting his eyes now, even as Wang Zhi observes a blush slowly stain his cheeks. Wang Zhi’s heart is pounding in his chest. For once in his life, he’s at a loss for words.
“What Runqing means is, only if you want to,” Sui Zhou says in his calm, low voice. He’s still in the doorway. Not stepping in without an invitation, Wang Zhi supposes, even though it’s his house. “There will be no hard feelings if you wish to sleep alone.”
Wang Zhi takes in a deep breath, nods. “I wouldn’t object to company,” he says at last, pleased that he’s able to maintain his usual even tone. He keeps his eyes on Sui Zhou, even though he can see Tang Fan biting his lip as he smiles in the corner of his eye. “Could you direct me to the bathroom, Guangchuan?”
Sui Zhou smiles, and steps back out of the doorway to let Wang Zhi through. “Front courtyard, on the right next to the gate.”
Wang Zhi nods, steps outside. The candles must have warmed the air up in the room; the breeze is cool on his face. He turns to look back at them, both watching him. “I will… see you soon,” he says awkwardly, but he wants to make sure… that he’s made his acceptance clear. Tang Fan nods swiftly, and Wang Zhi turns and walks away before allowing himself a genuine smile.
It’s a relief to be alone, for all that he had found himself enjoying the big family meal after all. Wang Zhi takes the opportunity to breathe deep and reflect on the invitation, drawing the humid air of the bath house into his lungs and slowly out again. Is it titillation that had them inviting him to their bed? While he can see Tang Fan wanting to experiment, either with a eunuch or simply a third (he’s read Tang Fan’s books, after all), Wang Zhi doubts that Sui Zhou would allow him to do something so callous without making his intentions clear from the outset.
Kindness, then. Or pity. He feels his lip curl at the thought alone, but makes himself think through it slowly, instead of giving into perceived insult so easily. What is the evidence?
An abundance of letters, keeping him up to date on the affairs of the capital, with the occasional fond turn of phrase or sign off that indicates he is missed. Wang Zhi has collected these in his memory, if he’s honest with himself. Their warmth towards him before he even left, the strange feeling of standing beside them on equal footing. The ache of regret he felt when leaving.
And today. Tang Fan taking his arm, Sui Zhou’s hand on his shoulder. (Sui Zhou’s hand on Tang Fan’s shoulder, dropping a kiss in his hair.) Sui Zhou’s steady, heated gaze. The flush crowning Tang Fan’s cheeks.
Wang Zhi isn’t sure what to expect, but he feels confident enough that they have no intention of harming or ridiculing him. He removes the outer robes of his uniform carefully and washes his face and hands with the warm water, using one of the folded cloths nearby to dry himself afterwards. He shrugs the uniform partly back on—he won’t walk across the courtyard in his underclothes, he has some dignity—and tucks his hat under his arm, making his way slowly back to the guest bedroom.
He keeps his steps quiet as he approaches the open door, expecting to hear them speaking as he approaches and keen to overhear as much as possible. Surprisingly, they’re silent, and they both turn to look at him as he steps back through the doorway. Tang Fan’s face breaks into a smile, and he bounds up from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Let me,” he says, holding his hand out, and, bemused, Wang Zhi hands over his hat. Observing Tang Fan’s unbuttoned outer robes, a moment later Wang Zhi shrugs off his blue silk uniform robe as well, passing it over.
“You should let Guangchuan comb out your hair,” Tang Fan throws over his shoulder as he hurries to lay out Wang Zhi’s uniform carefully in the other chamber. “He’s really very good at it!”
Wang Zhi shifts his gaze from Tang Fan’s back to meet Sui Zhou’s eyes. They’ve extinguished most of the candles, just a few still lit near the bed, and Sui Zhou is cast with shadowy warmth. His mouth is curled in faint amusement, and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed himself, his sleeve ties and apron finally removed. There’s a comb sitting on the bed next to him. Wang Zhi looks at it and raises an eyebrow, and Sui Zhou gestures to the bed in front of him, where Tang Fan had been sitting.
Wang Zhi takes up the invitation, sitting on the edge of the bed in front of him. If he sits a little stiffly, he won’t apologise for it; he has never liked presenting his back to anyone, and with good reason. If anyone can understand it, though, it’s Sui Zhou; and he makes no comment, just rests his hand on the back of Wang Zhi’s shoulder for a long moment. Wang Zhi lets himself absorb the warmth, feels his tension ease a fraction. As if he can feel it too, Sui Zhou lifts his hand again and starts carefully unravelling the braid at the back of Wang Zhi’s head.
Wang Zhi lets his eyes slip closed, feeling the warmth spread through him as Sui Zhou’s capable hands work through his hair, his fingers dragging down Wang Zhi’s back as he loosens the strands, then starts to carefully comb, starting at the bottom and working his way up. When he’s worked his way through the lower part of Wang Zhi’s hair, he lays his hand on Wang Zhi’s shoulder again, and says, “Runqing.”
Wang Zhi blinks his eyes open, surprised at how relaxed he feels. His mouth twitches into an involuntary smile when he finds that Tang Fan is in fact sitting on the floor, staring up at them both with dark eyes and pink cheeks. Sui Zhou is holding out the comb to him, and Tang Fan bounds to his feet, only to then sit neatly on the bed next to Wang Zhi, facing him.
Sui Zhou is warm and steady at his back, Tang Fan vibrating with suppressed energy in front of him. Tang Fan keeps his eyes cast down as he reaches out around Wang Zhi to take the comb. He fiddles with it for a moment, dragging the pad of his thumb over the points of the tines, then looks up at Wang Zhi from under his eyelashes like a coquettish maiden. Which is an accomplishment, as he’s at least a head taller than Wang Zhi. Wang Zhi quirks his lip up, questioning and amused.
“Ah, Wang Zhi,” Tang Fan says hesitantly. “Can I kiss you instead?”
Wang Zhi is no timid virgin. Does Tang Fan think he is, having taken this long to proposition Wang Zhi, after inviting him to share their bed? He reaches forward to cup Tang Fan’s jaw in his hand, pressing his thumb to Tang Fan’s hot cheek, then draws him in to kiss him. Tang Fan makes a small noise as though he’s surprised, and Wang Zhi takes pride in it, kissing him as thoroughly as he knows how. He has to reach up to hold Tang Fan’s head in both hands as Tang Fan turns soft and pliable, swooning in Wang Zhi’s grip. When Tang Fan’s hands find their way to Wang Zhi’s chest, Wang Zhi withdraws a little to let him breathe.
Tang Fan’s eyes are glazed, his mouth glossy. He blinks rapidly, licks his lips. “Guangchuan,” he says around his panting breaths, and Wang Zhi draws back a little further until he’s stopped by Tang Fan gripping his undershirt, his voice intent: “Now kiss Guangchuan.”
Wang Zhi raises an eyebrow. He’s abruptly aware of the heat of Sui Zhou’s body close behind him, Sui Zhou’s hand on his back still their only point of contact. Sui Zhou’s touch has twitched faintly against him at Tang Fan’s words, and Wang Zhi makes sure to keep his expression aloof. “Is Tang-daren giving me orders now?”
“Wang Zhi,” Tang Fan seizes Wang Zhi’s hands, and then, to Wang Zhi’s surprise, draws them to his mouth to kiss them. “It is Tang Fan’s fervent request.”
Sui Zhou’s breath stirs Wang Zhi’s hair as he huffs out a laugh, and Wang Zhi can’t help a genuine smile. “As Tang Fan has asked so politely…” He shifts on the bed, turning his upper body a little, looking at Sui Zhou half over his shoulder. Kissing Sui Zhou is something of a different prospect, but Wang Zhi can’t say he doesn’t relish the opportunity. Before he can reach out himself, however, Sui Zhou’s moving his hand to the side of Wang Zhi’s jaw, is holding his neck and throat at that deliciously taut angle as he swoops down to take Wang Zhi’s lips with his own.
Where Tang Fan was sweet and yielding, Sui Zhou is firm and rough—the scrape of his beard, the nip of his teeth. His tongue takes space in Wang Zhi’s mouth, and Wang Zhi strokes back, welcoming. He shivers suddenly as he feels Tang Fan’s hands on his chest, his neck; moving up to his head, freeing his topknot. Wang Zhi gasps into Sui Zhou’s mouth as his hair loosens and spills down his back, a sudden release of tension.
Sui Zhou draws back a little, separating their mouths, and it takes Wang Zhi several embarrassingly long moments to get his breath back. At length, Wang Zhi frees himself gently from Sui Zhou’s grasp, turning back around again and rolling his head on his neck, stretching out the ache.
“See, Wang Zhi?” Tang Fan says, hushed and gleeful. “Isn’t he good?”
Wang Zhi sighs in fond exasperation, then reaches out to Tang Fan, finishing unbuttoning his outer robe, pushing it off his shoulders. “Undress,” he orders Sui Zhou over his shoulder, not even looking. “You did say it was time for bed.” He hears genuine laughter from behind him, soft and brief as it is, and feels his chest swell with pride.
Tang Fan hurriedly shrugs off the rest of his robes until he’s standing in his white underclothes; next to him Sui Zhou has removed his house robes and is dressed similarly. They are both so alike—tall and lean—and yet so different. Whereas the lines of Tang Fan’s body are hastily drawn, slanted with excitement; Sui Zhou stands solid and upright, a perfectly crafted soldier’s stance. They don’t undress any further—not any more than Wang Zhi currently is. Pleased, Wang Zhi turns down the covers, then beckons them back to the bed with a tilt of his head.
Without consultation, Tang Fan crawls over to the far side of the bed and Sui Zhou sits on the edge. Wang Zhi takes note of how they’ve placed him between them, but doesn’t object, instead moves himself back to the centre of the bed and reaches for Tang Fan. Tang Fan comes easily into his arms, opening his mouth to Wang Zhi’s kisses, and he makes a surprised noise when Wang Zhi unpins his topknot, letting it spill down over his shoulders as Tang Fan had done to him. For all that Tang Fan is letting him control the kiss, he has the height advantage on Wang Zhi, and Wang Zhi finds himself being pressed back until he’s reclining against the pillows. He tightens his fist in Tang Fan’s hair and tugs him back and away—not unkindly, but letting Tang Fan know his wishes clearly.
Tang Fan withdraws far away enough to blink at him, his eyes as dark and pretty as a calf’s, with just as much intelligence behind them. Wang Zhi huffs in amusement, and looks over to find Sui Zhou watching them, still sitting on the edge, his hand braced on the bed.
“Guangchuan,” Wang Zhi drawls, and raises an eyebrow. With a rueful smile, Sui Zhou finally gets into bed, finally pulling the coverlet up over the three of them. His body is broad and warm where he lies on his side next to Wang Zhi, a small though respectful distance between them. On Wang Zhi’s other side Tang Fan is soft and clinging, pressed up against him. His breath smells like dinner when he yawns hugely, not even trying to smother it, and Wang Zhi and Sui Zhou make eye contact; Wang Zhi seeing his own suppressed smile reflected in the twitch of Sui Zhou’s lips.
It is late. Wang Zhi’s own body aches, still feeling the phantom movement of the carriage now he’s lying still. But… He doesn’t know if he’ll get another chance at this. How far will they let him in? Wang Zhi lifts his eyebrows at Sui Zhou, then nods towards Tang Fan, just a slight hitch of his chin. “Kiss him.”
Sui Zhou’s mouth twitches openly in amusement, but he leans in, propping himself up on his elbow. Tang Fan jostles Wang Zhi as he hurries to mirror the pose, then Sui Zhou is reaching across Wang Zhi easily to pull Tang Fan in towards him. Tang Fan gives an aborted giggle—as if now he’s feeling self-conscious—but it’s quickly extinguished by Sui Zhou’s mouth on his. Sui Zhou tucks Tang Fan’s hair out of the way, giving Wang Zhi a perfect view of the way Tang Fan’s eyes flutter closed, of the way Tang Fan’s soft lips yield to Sui Zhou’s firmer touch. It’s slow, tender; not just a hurried precursor, or show of primal lust. Not that there isn’t heat to it, but it’s the dark glow of banked coals rather than the superficial flames of a paper fire. There are hints of their tongues pressing and stroking as they tilt their heads, adjusting the angle, and Wang Zhi’s breath catches.
He’s imagined this. It feels a little unreal, being here; remembering when he’d first noticed the way they looked at each other, the way they cared for each other—recognising it for what it was perhaps before they’d even done so themselves. Seeing that connection deepen over the years the three of them spent working on cases together in the capital, and after Wang Zhi had left, being unsurprised to receive letters not solely from Tang Fan, but from their household. And then, this evening. The spark of their touches, and the shock of seeing Sui Zhou kiss Tang Fan’s hair, shared so openly. Now this, seeing how they kiss each other, clearly well-practiced. Their bodies radiating warmth, pressed to him on either side. Wang Zhi’s chest is tight with emotion, the constriction sending his blood racing. His body is confusing the rush of adrenaline as the need to get away, the intensity of it threatening to spill over into too much.
Tang Fan drops his hand from Sui Zhou’s face to land on Wang Zhi’s where it’s clenching the front of his shirt. Wang Zhi had barely noticed it was there. Tang Fan’s thumb runs over the ridges of Wang Zhi’s knuckles, and he breaks away from Sui Zhou’s mouth with a gasp.
“Wang Zhi,” he says breathlessly, then pauses to swallow, his lips dark, swollen. “Are you… Is this—?”
There have been few occasions when Wang Zhi has seen him at a loss for words; Tang Fan’s usual problem is that he has too many of them. Before he can reply, Sui Zhou is easing away on his other side. Not far; but enough that Wang Zhi’s breathing eases; he hates himself for showing such an obvious tell. Then Sui Zhou’s hand lands on his chest, palm spread out. It rests there without pressure, figurative or literal, like Sui Zhou’s touch on his back had been. Free of expectations. Just waiting.
Wang Zhi’s chest loosens a little again, the feeling of being overwhelmed starting to dilute with the reminder of the warmth they’d plied him with all evening. Tang Fan is still holding his hand, looking down at him anxiously. He’s an idiot, but Wang Zhi is extremely fond of him. He turns his hand to grasp Tang Fan’s, squeezing it with his best attempt at reassurance. The way Tang Fan’s eyes widen as if in awe makes satisfaction curve Wang Zhi’s lips; his own competence in any situation is the best guarantee of feeling in control.
“Wang Zhi has travelled a long way today,” Sui Zhou murmurs. He’s looking at Tang Fan, brows faintly creased.
“Wang Zhi can speak for himself,” Wang Zhi retorts, and Sui Zhou looks down at him, clearly embarrassed. Wang Zhi follows his instincts, letting them take control of him for a moment instead of waiting to be analysed first: he reaches up his free hand, pulls Sui Zhou down to him, and kisses him again, feeding an apology for his sharpness into Sui Zhou’s mouth, and gratitude for Sui Zhou’s care. Sui Zhou opens for him, accepting, yielding, even though he’s the one in the position of power, Wang Zhi on his back.
When Sui Zhou draws away again, Wang Zhi finds Sui Zhou’s hand has joined his and Tang Fan’s, clasping them both. The skin around Wang Zhi’s mouth smarts faintly from the scrape of Sui Zhou’s beard; it’s a curious sensation, new. Like a curl of smoke rising from a pinched candle, a part of him wonders what that sensation would feel like elsewhere on his body.
Tang Fan’s cheek is resting on Wang Zhi’s shoulder. His eyes are half-lidded, watching the two of them warmly. Sui Zhou frees his hand to carefully tuck some of Tang Fan’s hair away from his face, and Tang Fan’s eyes flutter closed. Wang Zhi lets the tenderness he feels at the gesture have space to expand this time, taking a deep breath to make room for it in his chest. He can feel sleep tugging at him too, his body feeling warm and weightless, more relaxed than he’s been since… since before he left the capital, probably.
Sui Zhou lies back down on his side, and Wang Zhi frees his hand from Tang Fan’s loose grip to reach for him; Sui Zhou meets him half way. His hand seems enormous in comparison to Wang Zhi’s, but his grasp is gentle, his calloused thumb scratching pleasantly as he rubs it over Wang Zhi’s knuckles, their hands resting high on Wang Zhi’s belly. The touches become slower, lighter; Sui Zhou’s breath deepening, his grasp finally going lax.
Wang Zhi should sleep as well. It’s stubborn to keep his eyes open, now, even as the small number of remaining candles gutter out and the moonlight instead tints the room a cool silver. His companions’ breathing is asynchronous; a beautiful, shifting rhythm. If he closes his eyes, will this still be here when he opens them again? Will the sunlight replace the human warmth of this night, bleaching it away into something uncertain again, clothed in respectful distance?
Tang Fan’s steady breathing is broken by a mumble, and he moves against Wang Zhi’s side, knee jabbing into Wang Zhi’s thigh as he shifts. His face presses into Wang Zhi’s upper arm, and his arm stretches out over Wang Zhi’s chest, hand flopping bonelessly against Sui Zhou’s chest. Sui Zhou draws in a startled breath, snorting in his throat, then both of them settle again.
Wang Zhi huffs out a voiceless laugh, the amusement uncoiling his knotted thoughts. He lets himself drift into sleep.