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Wei Ying feels uncharacteristically sluggish as he hauls himself and Lil' Apple up the last of the cloud recesses steps. Really, who thought of that particular design aspect? He's going to resurrect them and they're going to have words. Firm ones. Lan Qiren would definitely forgive him for the slight if he'd had to drag himself up a million stairs after two weeks of night hunting away from his husband. It's practically torture!
His feet hurt, his head's heavy, and he misses Lan Zhan's cooking. It's just not the same without someone reminding him not to talk, and pampering him with kisses between dishes. Wei Ying thinks Lan Zhan will have to be extra kissy today, in order to make up for this oversight.
As he continues his arduous pilgrimage, Wei Ying's stomach starts gurgling. It sounds like Jiang Cheng when he has a cold. grumble grumble gruuuuumble.
There's at least one (probably slightly stale) roll left in his pack, but he's so close to the top now, and he'd rather eat in the jingshi than on step #284928. It's barely lunchtime, but Wei Ying's pretty sure he could wheedle an early meal out of his husband. No doubt Lan Zhan is sitting in some meeting right now, moping through some letters and missing him. It's only right. Wei Ying is an exceptionally good husband, and he knows for a fact that he's very good at being moped over. Many a great man has defined themselves simply by their feelings for Wei Ying — sure, a lot of them erred more on the side of visceral hatred, but still! It's a point of pride! Either way, Lan Zhan will cook for him!
Lil' Apple gives a sudden honking bray, breaking Wei Ying from his thoughts, and clops ahead at a trot. Wei Ying lets himself be pulled forward by the reins wrapped loosely around his wrist. The only time she ever moves that quickly is when—
"Wei Ying."
He looks up at the imposing form of his husband a few steps ahead, waiting by the jade entrance. In one hand is a shiny green apple.
Wei Ying dashes up the last few steps with almost as much fervour as the donkey. His feet hurt — he’s allowed to be slow!
"Lan Zhan! You didn't have to come and meet little old me!"
Lan Zhan's golden eyes twinkle, mouth softening into a smile. He really is so very, very handsome. "I will always make the time to welcome my husband home."
Thu-thump. Ah, there goes his heart skipping a beat. It should really be illegal to talk like that! Wei Ying is glad that he and Lan Zhan are married now, because if others were privy to that smile, Wei Ying would have to fend them off with a stick.
He flings himself forward — Lan Zhan catches him, of course. Big hands hold him tight around the waist as Wei Ying breathes a soft giggle into the crook of his neck.
"Ahh, Lan Zhan you smell so good!"
He inhales deeply. There's nothing quite like coming back home.
Lan Zhan lets him back to the ground gently. Wei Ying means to say something about having a meal, really he does, but he feels himself land wrong and—
Lan Zhan catches him before he can completely lose his footing and go tumbling back down the ten billion stairs. His golden eyes narrow with lightning speed. "Wei Ying."
Wei Ying regains his balance with a sheepish laugh, one hand reaching to rub at the back of his neck. "It was a long walk, huh. I'm sure even Lil' Apple has sore hooves!"
Lan Zhan's hands, still clamped around his waist, tighten slightly.
"You'll tell me if you have been injured, Wei Ying?"
That is… It's a rule they had instated not long after the mess at Guanyin temple. No thank you or sorry between them was one thing, but Lan Zhan carried — still carries — a bad habit of hiding his pains. Wei Ying doesn't blame him, of course. After the war in their youth and then too many years spent alone… They had needed a system after one too many evening sessions was put out by injuries that had gone unmentioned and unattended.
Wei Ying clears his throat with a small cough, eyes cutting up to look at Lan Zhan with his best expression of innocence. "I'm not injured. I just… hurt my feet a little. It wasn't even during the night hunt—" He's abruptly cut off by the ground swinging out from under him.
"Ah! Lan Zhan stop, you don't have to carry me!!"
Lan Zhan scowls, really properly scowls, and the words shrivel up in Wei Ying's mouth. Lan Zhan never makes that face at him — only at paperwork and other sect leaders. Is he… really angry? Really really? It's not fun. Today was supposed to be fun, with kisses and snacks.
"I will not allow you to injure yourself further. Be still."
Wei Ying goes still. Still as a statue, see, Lan Zhan! Please don't be angry!
The world swoops out from under him some more, and suddenly he's sideways. Or, more accurately, he's being held. Oh god, he's being princess carried.
"Lan Zhaaaaaan! Nooo! This is so embarrassing! Put me on your back at least!"
Lan Zhan just gives a small huff, and hitches Wei Ying slightly higher as though he weighs nothing at all. His husband is so strong… and so shameless! Lan Zhan is going to carry him like some maiden!
"Lan Zhan it's no big deal! I get splinters all the time. Besides, I grew up in lotus pier!"
Lan Zhan gives him a flat look. It's probably not an invitation to explain, but Wei Ying is nothing if not open and forthcoming.
"In summer it got so hot, we'd sneak down to the piers and dip our feet in during training breaks, and then we'd all sprint back before Yu-furen could catch us. That meant splinters every day unless you were really careful. And the stones got so hot that we'd burn our feet every summer running around barefoot as kids." He kicks his feet up for emphasis. "I'm pretty much indestructible!"
Lan Zhan doesn't respond but his expression, if it was even possible, flattens even more. He doesn't seem as convinced by this argument as Wei Ying had hoped.
"You walked to the Cloud Recesses."
This is … not exactly what Wei Ying was expecting him to say. "Well yeah, of course?" How else would he have gotten here?
"You did not summon me."
Ohhh.
Wei Ying nudges at Lan Zhan's arm where it wraps around his upper body. "It really isn't bad, Lan Zhan. I promise. It stings a little, but it's barely a graze."
Lan Zhan gives a soundless huff, but some of the tension in his expression eases. Wei Ying feels a small smile creep onto his face.
"I suppose you can carry me. If it would make you feel better."
Lan Zhan's hold on him also relaxes incrementally. "Mn. It would."
Wei Ying laughs and relaxes into his husband's grip. "Okay then, let's go home."
"Healer first."
"Ah, Lan Zhan, no!"
***
The trip to the healer's building is fine — Wei Ying is accustomed to being carried, and the residents of the cloud recesses have grown accustomed to seeing his and Lan Zhan’s antics. Or at least, the elders have mostly stopped looking apoplectic whenever they cross paths. Jingyi comes to take Lil' Apple to the back field with minimal side-eyeing, which Wei Ying appreciates, though he’s sure Sizhui will be hearing all about this. They don’t manage to run into anyone else, which is a small blessing. Wei Ying doesn’t actually want to try his luck with Lan Qiren.
Fang-yisheng, the most gifted healer in Gusu — and perhaps in the whole cultivation world — takes a long look at Wei Ying's feet once Lan Zhan's plopped him down on her examination table.
"And how did you manage this?"
Brusque as ever. He knows that somewhere deep down she likes him. Wei Ying sighs and recounts the events of that morning. It wasn't even a big deal. He was washing up in a shallow stream near the Gusu border ("shoeless, you know, as one often is in water") when he heard someone scream nearby, and he ran off to check it out without thinking to put his boots back on.
The villager had been startled by a simple wandering fox — albeit a pretty big one — so Wei Ying had scared it off and calmed her.
"It was maybe a quarter li from the water, but there must have been some cracked fallen branches or sharp pebbles."
It really hadn't hurt that badly, but maybe he should have been more mindful once he'd set off. Indeed, with his boots off, Wei Ying can see that his ascent to the Cloud Recesses had not improved the state of things. The soles of his feet are reddened and raw looking, tiny splinters embedded deep in the skin. They're not actively bleeding, but...
Fang-yisheng and Lan Zhan level him with twin expressions of deep judgement and disappointment. Seriously, do the cloud recesses offer lessons on honing that look? Their eyebrows furrow at exactly the same angle.
Wei Ying attempts diplomacy.
"It… looks worse than it is?"
Silence from the two opposite. Lan Zhan's mouth has developed a definite downward curve. Ah.
A quarter shí later Wei Ying has been plucked and poulticed and is generally feeling more like a braised duck than a historically renowned cultivator. Fang-yisheng, who is still frowning but maybe with a small amount of satisfaction now, hands Lan Zhan a small pot of strong-smelling oils.
"Remove the poultice and massage half a palmful of these in. They'll ensure everything seals properly so nothing gets infected when he starts walking again."
Wei Ying throws his arms up in the air. "I can walk fine now!"
She shoots him a quelling glare before turning back to Lan Zhan.
"No shoes until tomorrow. No wandering outside either — matters of the feet are not to be underestimated. Treat them with care."
Wei Ying grumbles that his feet have been just fine with the amount of care he's shown them thus far, but the Lans ignore him. They may be wonderful medics, but their bedside manner could really use some improvement.
Lan Zhan, of course, insists upon carrying him back to the Jingshi. Wei Ying pouts very loudly the whole way, boots dangling from one hand. It's all so unnecessary! He's a venerable cultivator — the Grandmaster of demonic cultivation! He's the husband of Hanguang-jun! Esteemed by even the elders of the Gusu Lan! He's faced death and won! Sort of! He will not be bundled up and carried like a wet kitten!
And yet. Lan Zhan places him on their bed like some sort of invalid, frustratingly careful.
"Lan Zhan, I'm fine! It doesn't even hurt!"
"That is the poultice's numbing effect."
Wei Ying kicks at him, but Lan Zhan doesn't even flinch. He just catches Wei Ying's outstretched foot and begins gently removing the poultice with a warm, damp towel — and where did that even come from? His husband really is too efficient. It's scary.
Admittedly, his feet do feel better than when he first got in, but he'd been walking all morning! It's not surprising that after some rest he would feel improved.
And also admittedly, the oils feel really nice when Lan Zhan begins to work the mix into the sore spots. Warmed between his hands, it almost feels like some luxury beauty treatment. He's sure Shijie used scented oils before, when she and some other female disciples would go for special rest day trips into town. This medicinal blend is probably a different type, but it still feels nice.
As Lan Zhan continues working; slow, sure motions that he's sure will be drawn out for a while, Wei Ying twiddles his thumbs and tries to think of a way to keep busy. Meditation is off the table, because he might actually explode if he has to clear his mind right now. He's read all of Lan Zhan's personal books, and the only Gusu library texts here currently are super basic ones for the very junior-est disciples. Lan Zhan's been copying them out, since an influx of new learners had them running short last spring. In short, reading is out as well. Plus, he doesn't want to interrupt Lan Zhan to ask for a book anyway.
Instead, Wei Ying's mind wanders to one of his latest projects. He's been trying to come up with a way to create small, portable spirit nets to use on night hunts. In the case of small Yao or possessed limbs, having something easy to deploy would be more useful than the larger nets generally employed by wealthy sects. He's too early in the design process to draft talismans for it, but maybe now is the moment to refine his ideas a little. Closing his eyes, he can picture a blank talisman form and the base shapes he'd need to use. It's not the same as his usual tactile drafting method, but it will do.
For what feels like the next whole shí, Wei Ying muddles around with character forms and radicals as Lan Zhan's hands keep a steady hum of energy running to the soles of his feet. It's a peaceful way to spend the afternoon, and Wei Ying finds himself sinking into the blankets. This whole 'sit still and let your body rest' thing may have some merit to it — not that Wei Ying will admit that to Lan Zhan. He has a little pride, after all, and he doesn't want to be guilted into bedrest every time he gets a splinter.
After a few more minutes, the warm, slow flow of healing energy begins to taper off, and Wei Ying hums vaguely at the sensation. His whole body feels like those vats of hot sugar snacks at festival stalls, all gooey and melty. He stretches his legs further into Lan Zhan's lap with a drawn out sigh. "Ahhh Lan Zhan, did you get bored?"
Lan Zhan gives a quiet hum in the negative. "I have finished."
Wei Ying's eyebrows rise a little, and he glances down at his feet. They're a little shiny with ointment still, but he can see pinkish new skin has come in over his soles. He gives his toes an experimental waggle.
"Wah! Lan Zhan, they look good as new!"
With an inquisitive sound, Wei Ying leans over into Lan Zhan's space and prods at the new skin. It's tender and baby-soft, but there's no pulling, no pain. He'll have to remember to thank Fang-yisheng when he next sees her.
"Do you feel better?" Lan Zhan's voice comes from above him. Wei Ying smiles up at his husband. "Better than ever, baobei. You're so good to me." He leans up and pecks a kiss at Lan Zhan's jaw. Ahh, his husband is so handsome and kind and clever — he always knows how to make Wei Ying feel good.
"We can move now. Surely you've had enough of my feet for one day." He makes to swing his legs onto the empty space on the bed next to Lan Zhan, but large hands stop the motion.
"I am comfortable."
Well, alright. It's no skin off Wei Ying's back. He's cozy too, and Lan Zhan's lap is the best place to be in the entire world. He settles down into the soft covers and tries to pick up the thread of his mental talisman design.
He's halfway through figuring out potential placement of the horizontal radicals when he feels warmth on his feet again. Not at his soles like earlier though — now Lan Zhan is running his fingers along the prominent bones of Wei Ying's ankle. Up and down and around. It feels nice — sort of fluttery, like an almost-tickle. Wei Ying looks at Lan Zhan's face, but his husband's gaze is set on the movement of his hands. Up and down and around. Ah well, he's got nice feet, probably. If Lan Zhan wants to play with them, who is Wei Ying to deny him?
As Wei Ying tries once again to decide about his radicals, however, Lan Zhan's hands move down to the arch of his foot, fingers pressing down with more intent now.
Lan Zhan is—
…
Lan Zhan is giving him a foot rub. Rubbing slow circles into the arch of his foot, pressing into muscles that Wei Ying didn't even know existed until now — now they're suddenly loose and elastic again.
Ahh there's no going back to his design ideas now. The sensation is too encompassing for him to make any real mechanical headway.
Instead, he rests his hands on his belly and watches Lan Zhan.
His hands are so big and gentle and Wei Ying might just be falling in love with him all over again. He wants to watch Lan Zhan do this for hours — and that's the thing, isn't it? Because Lan Zhan would do this for hours, if Wei Ying asked it of him. He would sit at the end of their bed just like this — hair down, robes loose but tidy — and he would take his time.
A sudden warmth flashes in Wei Ying's chest. Not the hot growl of arousal that he's so accustomed to in this room, with these hands, but…
Lan Zhan moves up to caress the delicate bones at the base of his toes. He's moving slowly, deliberately, like he's noting the exact amount of pressure he applies to every muscle.
The warmth expands and rises as Wei Ying dazedly watches his husband's hands, the look of focused intent on his face. He feels it burning at the tip of his nose, rising in his cheekbones and at the corners of his eyes. Suddenly, it feels harder to breathe. Wei Ying inhales, a little unsteady.
Lan Zhan looks up. His eyes widen slightly, hands loosening. It feels like losing his gravity.
"Wei Ying, did I hurt you?"
"No. No, it's good Lan Zhan." He tries to give Lan Zhan a flirty smile, but it feels like it comes out wonky. He feels a little off-balance all over. This is ridiculous. He needs to rally himself before Lan Zhan gives him up as a lost cause and puts him to bed. He gives his toes a feeble wiggle where they sit at Lan Zhan's fingertips. "Why did you stop?"
Lan Zhan gives him… it's a gentle look, one that he hasn't seen in a while.
"Wei Ying is crying."
Oh. Wei Ying reaches a hand to feel at his face. His fingers come away damp.
Oh.
"I'm- sorry. I didn't—" It's getting harder to breathe. Wei Ying can feel himself hiccuping a little every time he goes to inhale. "It feels good. Really good!"
Now that he’s noticed them, the stupid tears refuse to stop streaming down his cheeks. Helplessly, he rubs at his eyes. "Please don't stop."
Slowly, Lan Zhan moves his hands, resuming his motions.
Wei Ying takes a shuddery breath in, tries to make words happen. It takes two tries before he can manage, "I don't know why I'm being weird about this."
"It's not a touch you are used to."
"But we touch all the time! We h-have sex and we cuddle and..." he trails off.
Lan Zhan nods silently. His hands move across the delicate skin between Wei Yings toes, pressing gently. It feels — it feels like a fucking amazing massage, which is what this is. It's just hands and pressure on pressure points; hell, he's done this to himself before. Why is he being so— so—. Wei ying feels his hands curl into the bed linen. He's being stupid. He's been sitting down for too long or something. His body is over-rested and all his energy is being redirected into whatever this is.
He tries to take a steadying breath, to settle the hot jittering feeling in his chest. It comes out as a shuddery, stuttering heave.
Lan Zhan stops again.
"Wei Ying."
Wei Ying wants to curl up into a ball and die again. "What."
Lan Zhan looks him right in the eyes. Wei Ying wishes he wouldn't. "It is okay to enjoy this. To…" he quiets for a moment, seeking the right words. "To take pleasure from this."
"That's not. I'm not— this isn't a sex thing."
He tries to avert his eyes, but Lan Zhan's gaze is so fond — heavy and intent but soft around the edges of his eyes — it's hard to look away.
"I did not think it was," He intones quietly. "But just as we don't need to be making love for me to touch you, you don't need to be having sex to feel pleasure. Sometimes, touch is just touch; what feels good is good."
Wei Ying takes a long moment to process this. He and Lan Zhan do touch each other, like all the time. They embrace and hold hands and Wei Ying spends more time in Lan Zhan's lap than out of it. Hell, they hold each other in sleep. Wei Ying has nearly a year's worth of married life to attest to the fact that they do indeed touch a lot. When Lan Zhan sprained his wrist on a night hunt Wei Ying had hand-fed him for a week, and when Wei Ying had suffered a bad fall last winter, Lan Zhan had read novels to him in hushed tones until his concussion cleared up. They care for one another, but… this feels different, somehow. The closest feeling Wei Ying can compare to this is when he or Lan Zhan have nightmares. They've spent long, quiet nights calming one another with soft touches and hummed reassurances. That time spent just being in each other's company is something Wei Ying treasures, the nightmares themselves aside.
This isn't that, though. Wei Ying wasn't even really injured. Not to any extent that required this much time and attention. This isn't a concussion, a break or even a sprain. It was an inconvenience, maybe, but nothing that warranted the pampering he's receiving. Soft, spoiled maidens might need this; Wei Wuxian does not.
He means to articulate this to Lan Zhan. He needs him to understand— well Wei Ying isn't sure, but he needs to say something or he'll explode.
Lan Zhan beats him to it.
"I love you."
A small, hot shiver runs down Wei Ying's spine. "I love you too," he echoes reflexively.
Then Lan Zhan takes a breath. He's full of words today, it seems. "You are my husband and my heart. I wish to care for you. To be here, and take time to look after your body."
He rubs gently across the whole of Wei Ying's foot, lingering over the pinkish, newly-healed areas. The touch, though feather light, rings through every nerve in Wei Ying's body. "This time is… a gift, to me. I cherish every moment of it."
A sob shakes its way up Wei Ying's throat, bubbling out before he can cut it off.
Everything feels off kilter. He was meant to come home and get kissed and ignore the sore feet. Maybe sit down for a while to rest. At most, he was going to visit the cold springs and seduce Lan Zhan while he was there.
Not this. Not… all of this.
It's too much.
He rubs roughly at his face again. Tries to make words come out — any words that aren't this nonsensical blubbering, come on Wei Ying.
He feels Lan Zhan reach one hand up to run over his thigh, his knee. "Do you wish to take a break?" He asks, devastatingly kind as ever.
Wordlessly, Wei Ying shakes his head. He likes this. He likes this so, so much. That's the problem. He doesn't know why his body is being so contrary, sending his thoughts spinning everywhere, but he feels instinctively that if Lan Zhan takes his hands off Wei Ying's body, Wei Ying might just crumble away into nothingness.
A hand reaches to catch at his own, and Wei Ying clasps onto it like it's the only thing tethering him to the earth. Maybe it is.
"I…" Lan Zhan hesitates, and Wei Ying stops scrubbing at his face to look at him.
His husband is sitting at the edge of their bed, Wei Ying's legs curled in his lap, looking down at their joined hands with an expression Wei Ying can't quite decipher. "I wish I could have been there for you. Before."
Wei Ying is. He’s not sure where any of this is coming from. Lan Wangji is an ardent man, with feelings that run far deeper than most people can conceive. Sometimes even Wei Ying, who knows him very, very well, gets caught off guard by their intensity. "You were there for me, when it mattered."
A frown darkens Lan Zhan's face, and he clicks his tongue. "I should have been there even when it didn't matter." He meets Wei Ying's gaze again, and Wei Ying wants to shrink away from the intensity of it. "You deserve to have your hurts tended to, no matter how small. You deserve to feel seen and heard, even if nothing is the matter. You deserve to be wanted and loved simply for the fact of your existence, Wei Ying."
He squeezes Wei Ying's hand. "Whether you believe it or not."
And that. That's —
That's not —
Wei Ying fumbles around for a rebuttal, some denial of the ridiculous things Lan Zhan is spouting, but no words are forthcoming. Wei Ying stammers soundlessly, mouth opening and closing like a jinlintai carp.
Without warning, before Wei Ying has a chance to wrap his head around that, Lan Zhan pushes himself up into his space, leaning close against his chest, catching his jaw with one strong hand. His face is tilted up to meet Lan Zhan's piercing gaze.
"I will take time to treasure your body inside and out, Wei Ying, even when you don't think it is 'necessary'. Because it is nothing less than you deserve."
His voice is level and resolute, deeper than the sea. It sends shockwaves through Wei Ying's chest.
"I—"
A small, choked sound croaks up from somewhere in the back of Wei Ying's throat. He is suddenly very grateful that Lan Zhan had never attempted to verbalise this in his past life. A younger Wei Ying may have turned to a pile of embarrassed goo on the spot. Even the great Yiling Laozu would probably have seen it as an actionable threat.
As it is now, Wei Ying sinks forward and buries his nose into the crook of his husband's neck. He smells of warm sandalwood and liniment. Like the Jingshi. Like home.
Wei Ying takes a long moment. Composing himself requires more presence of mind than he thinks he possesses right at the minute.
"Ah, Lan Zhan." It comes out weaker than he'd like, more whisper than word. "You really, really can't be saying things like that."
Wei Ying can feel the rumble of words in Lan Zhan's throat. "Oh? And why may I not say these things to my own husband?"
Because it's embarrassing, Wei Ying does not say. Because if you say them...
Wei Ying presses a soft kiss into Lan Zhan's skin. "You have to— to warn me. Three days' notice in writing."
"Mn."
Wei Ying takes another deep inhale and tries to calm his mind. Tries to quiet the questions spinning around his head; Why are you saying all this? Why now? Can't we leave this unspoken? That's easier, isn't it?
A hand comes to rest gently on Wei Ying's waist. "Would you care for me, if our roles were reversed?"
Wei Ying furrows his brow. That's a silly question. Would he carry Lan Zhan to the healer? Scold him for not telling him earlier? Lay Lan Zhan down on the bed and tend to his hurts?
Wei Ying makes a small, wordless sound. Of course he would. It sounds like a wonderful way to spend an afternoon. If Wei Ying were in charge, he'd make Lan Zhan take a healing nap ("meditation", Lan Zhan would correct, but Wei Ying knows that when Lan Zhan lies down for long enough, he has a habit of nodding off). He'd bring a tray of snacks for them to share and maybe even carry Lan Zhan down to the cold springs after.
Wei Ying huffs another creaky sound into Lan Zhan's shoulder. Lan Zhan rubs small circles into the curve of his hip.
He doesn't feel better, exactly, but maybe more settled. Clearer. Still, he's not one to give up a chance for Lan Zhan's arms around him. He snuggles in closer, and Lan Zhan opens for him.
They sit entwined like that for several long minutes. Their breathing syncs up; one of Wei Ying's favourite things about hugging Lan Zhan. The rise and fall of their chests creates a rhythm just like when they play music together. It's like a special sort of composition. The warmth of the bedsheets and their bodies and breaths creates a quiet space as the Jingshi, for once, lives up to its name.
Finally, when the sloshy, uncertain heat in his chest has calmed to a quiet glow, Wei Ying breaks the silence.
"Lan Zhan?"
"Mn."
"Thanks."
"There is no need—"
Wei Ying brings his arms around the wide, warm plane of Lan Zhan's back. Squeezes him tight.
Lan Zhan exhales slowly. Squeezes back.
In a few minutes, Lan Zhan will go fetch them some late lunch. Wei Ying will wait for his return with only a little complaining, and they'll eat together before taking a trip to the cold springs. Lan Zhan will, of course, carry him there and back. Maybe he'll let Wei Ying fool around with his talisman before dinner, and with any luck after dinner Wei Ying will be able to convince him that yes he is healed enough for sex.
The warm feeling gives a tiny flare. Wei Ying presses a hidden smile into his husband's shoulder.