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The night is deep and dark; the sort of night you hear about in stories, the sort of night you see in dreams. Overhead, the moon is bright and full — though perhaps not quite as full as the plump, juicy peach rolling back and forth between Lan Jingyi’s hands — and the night is made all the sweeter for it: for the small imperfection that marks it as a real thing, a true thing, something not of dreams but of physicality. The sort of moon that ought to be savored
Lan Jingyi hasn’t had a sip of wine all evening, but he feels drunk on it — on the heady flush of Jiang Wanyin’s presence beside him, on the frogsong and the night-breeze, on a village chief’s gratitude, bouncing between his left and right palm. Something about a night like this, a hazy, dreamlike thing that floods his veins more potently than any liquid courage, makes Lan Jingyi feel brave — brave enough to do things even a shameless fool like him dares not to.
“If you keep that up, it’s going to bruise,” Jiang Wanyin gruffs, leaning into Lan Jingyi’s space to pluck the poor, abused peach right out of his hands. “Give it here. I’ll cut it up for you.”
He smells good — like sharp ozone and that incense-y lotus hair oil he uses and a clean heat sweat. As Jiang Wanyin draws close, Lan Jingyi tries not to take it in, tries not to scent it the way a wolf scents blood, tries not to feed the starving thing pacing low in his gut. It’s just him and Jiang Wanyin out here, and Lan Jingyi must be on his best behavior, if he wants this to happen again.
“Aww, Shizun, you don’t have to,” Lan Jingyi murmurs, even as he obediently lets it go. Their fingertips brush as Jiang Wanyin takes the fruit, and the feeling buzzes all the way up to Lan Jingyi’s shoulders. With a grin shaky with the sort of hyper-consciousness that comes with simply being awash in someone else’s tide, Lan Jingyi mumbles, “I just wanted something to fiddle with.”
“I’ve told you — don’t call me shizun anymore,” Jiang Wanyin scowls, though his eyes are warm with fondness. “I’ve long run out of things to teach you, and you’re a teacher in your own right, now, aren’t you?”
“You’ll always be my shizun,” Lan Jingyi retorts, and as he’s carried away by the soft, silt-river pull of Jiang Wanyin’s presence, he almost feels brave enough to say, the only way you’d get me to call you something else is if you married me.
For all that Lan Jingyi feels wild and bright, untamed with the sheer what-ifness of the night, he knows, for a fact, that this is something he must nurture in his chest a little longer. Forever, if need be, even as its childish impatience ebbs and flows like the floodplains through the seasons, wondering, when, when, when.
It’s enough, that he can be like this, sitting and laughing by Jiang Wanyin’s side. It’s enough, that he’s allowed to watch, as Jiang Wanyin flicks out his little knife — the one Lan Jingyi had given him, the one with the no-nonsense lacquered walnut handle that gleamed, rich and dark, like the sucking mud he’d nearly lost his shoes to on his first day on the Piers — and sets it to the peach. It’s enough, to watch Jiang Wanyin’s clever hands with his greedy eyes and tell himself, a little longer, a little longer.
The flesh of the fat little peach gives with hardly any effort, dribbling juice onto Jiang Wanyin’s thumb. He doesn’t even hesitate to bring his hand up and suck the juice off, unselfconscious and unaware of the sheer hunger that lives and grows within Lan Jingyi. All of a sudden, the humid Yunmeng air feels a whole lot thicker with — with tension, with potential, and Lan Jingyi can hardly allow himself to breathe when even the smallest little thing might give him away.
Lan Jingyi swallows hard as he accepts the first slice, gleaming and wet with juice.
“This definitely would’ve bruised,” Jiang Wanyin huffs, as he shucks off another slice, popping it into his mouth. It leaves a shimmery little stain against his bottom lip, Lan Jingyi has to glance away, for fear that he might be compelled to do something about that.
“Good thing we’re eating it now, then,” Lan Jingyi laughs, feeling a little off-kilter. Not in a bad way, though. Never in a bad way, with Jiang Wanyin.
He offers another slice to Lan Jingyi, his fingers sticky, before turning to take a sip of his wine. He swallows it down with a grimace, nose wrinkling at how the heavy, bitter taste mingles with the sweet fruit.
There’s something about Jiang Wanyin’s expression — the scrunch of his eyes, or the down-turned corners of his mouth, or the wet, displeased smack of his lips — that has Lan Jingyi reaching out before he knows it, swiping up Jiang Wanyin’s little wine cup and emptying what hadn’t sloshed out into his gullet.
“Lan Jingyi--!!” Jiang Wanyin hisses, both affronted and amused as he lunges after Lan Jingyi.
“Ick! Ugh!” Lan Jingyi gags, clearly dying from the imbibement of so evil a poison. But, of course, given the fact that he’s a fresh young thing at the beautiful age of 24, he can easily duck out of Jiang Wanyin’s arms, dying of awful, nasty wine or not. “How do you even drink this stuff?”
“You did that to yourself!” Jiang Wanyin huffs, chasing after Lan Jingyi as he dances out of Jiang Wanyin’s grasp time and time again. It’s not an especially large boat, and their goofing off has it bobbing and rocking precariously, but that only lends to the fun of their little game. “If you can’t drink, why would you even try?”
“Shouldn’t you be grateful? I was saving you from having to drink it again,” Lan Jingyi giggles, breathlessly ducking away to run back to the other side of the boat.
It’s as he tries to escape that Jiang Wanyin grabs him by the back of his belt, yanking him into the ring of Jiang Wanyin’s arms, and for a moment, there, Lan Jingyi is stunned into complete stillness. Jiang Wanyin is able to pluck the cup right out of his loose grip.
“You’re a few years too early, if you think you can beat me,” Jiang Wanyin laughs, his breath warm against Lan Jingyi’s ear.
Maybe Jiang Wanyin, too, is a bit taken with the night. Drunk on a little more than just his few sips of wine. After all, he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away, not even when Lan Jingyi relaxes half a fraction against Jiang Wanyin’s broad, warm shoulder.
Maybe it’s the syrupy slowness of the evening mood, or maybe Lan Jingyi’s brain is still struggling to catch up to the shock of being pressed up against the only man he’s ever wanted, but time almost seems to dilate a little, as Lan Jingyi settles against Jiang Wanyin. That’s the only reason he can come up with as to why Jiang Wanyin would allow this, why he would tolerate Lan Jingyi’s weight against him in so intimate a pose.
It’s the kind of thing Lan Jingyi dreams of, the kind of thing that makes the hungry little want in Lan Jingyi’s chest flare, demanding, now, now, now.
Lan Jingyi somehow manages to ignore it, if only just. Not that the closeness of Jiang Wanyin’s mouth, nor the warmth of his body bleeding through his robes, nor the spiced-sweet scent of him does anything to help. Lan Jingyi’s mouth is dry, his heart thrashing in its little cage, begging to be let free. Instead of listening to his foolish, stupid heart, as he is often wont to do, Lan Jingyi displays an incredible amount of restraint and tugs away.
“Oh no you don’t,” Jiang Wanyin laughs, hands swooping a little lower around Lan Jingyi’s stomach, and oh no, oh no —
Lan Jingyi shrieks with laughter, squirming in Jiang Wanyin’s tight hold. “No, no, I’m ticklish, I’m — Mercy, Shizun, please!” he hiccups, bucking and thrashing against Jiang Wanyin.
While the rational, diplomatic part of him silenced by Jiang Wanyin’s clever fingers, that hungry, animal thing inside him marvels at how strong he is, how easily he could hold Lan Jingyi down, how easily he could, if so inclined, just take.
Completely unaware of Lan Jingyi’s current predicament, Jiang Wanyin laughs and says, “Thieves receive punishment!” in prelude to the deadly assault of his fingers.
He’s so handsome in his joy, the white of his teeth flashing in the night as his hands systematically take Lan Jingyi apart.
Despite his strength, Jiang Wanyin has about 160 pounds of yelping, ungainly muscle fighting to break out of his hold, and they’re both so caught up with one another and the night and the wine, that before they know it, they’re right up at the covered wall of the boat.
At that, Jiang Wanyin pauses, almost surprised at having nearly bonked both their heads against the wooden frame, but as for Lan Jingyi, it’s —
In the novels, this would be the time when Jiang Wanyin would hem him in between both arms, when Lan Jingyi would arch up against him, when their lips would meet, and Jiang Wanyin would —
Lan Jingyi only just manages to break out of Jiang Wanyin’s grasp, breathless with both adrenaline and laughter as he slaps Jiang Wanyin’s hands away and darts off. Jiang Wanyin bounds after him, the way he sometimes bounds after Lan Jingyi’s group of disciples in a game of play-tag — playful, unguarded, hardly caring, for once, as to how he might look.
Their artless slapfighting soon devolves into body-memory, which soon devolves into playful sparring, and before it can devolve further into wrestling on the flat bottom of the boat (and maybe something beyond that, Lan Jingyi’s traitorous body had hoped), Lan Jingyi, like a fool, forgets himself and the fact that they are not, in fact, on an especially wobbly training grounds, but rather, a very, very small boat. One that has, y’know, ledges and walls short enough to trip over.
It’s not one of his proudest moments, he must say.
He drops into the water with a great, cacophonous splash, probably scattering the lovely night orchestra that’d been keeping them company along the river. Lan Jingyi feels bad about scaring them off, even if he’s got a few more pressing concerns at the moment.
Underneath the surface, everything is thick and muffled — calming in its own, alien way. It doesn’t take long for the effervescent delight bubbling in his gut to stabilize and settle, like the sudden silence after a blanket is thrown over a birdcage. It’s strange how things feel… almost clearer underwater, the cool weight of the water stripping away everything that doesn’t matter until it’s just him and his thoughts and the weightlessness of his body.
He might not be Yunmeng-born, but the water’s in his blood all the same, and he gives into it with preternatural ease.
For a while, he lets himself lurk in the shadow of their boat, staying under the lazy lull of the river until his lungs start to prickle. Above him, he can hear Jiang Wanyin calling for him, his voice fuzzed out beyond comprehension under the layers of water overhead.
He can hold out a little longer, he’s sure. The strange little compulsion that’s taken over him, the spirit of mischief that’s turned him all kinds of brave and silly and stupid tonight, wants to see what Jiang Wanyin might do, if Lan Jingyi stays under. Just a little bit longer.
It isn’t much of a wait; between one heartbeat and the next, Lan Jingyi’s lungs start to burn, tugging him towards the surface. But before he can make it there, though something else bursts under to join him.
Jiang Wanyin.
Lan Jingyi would know the sound of him anywhere, because no one dives quite like him — beautiful, silent, clean. He’s the reason why Lan Jingyi took to swimming in the first place. He’s the reason why Lan Jingyi does half the things he does.
Before Lan Jingyi’s river-slow mind thinks to kick away, to start a midnight game of chase and extend that shimmery, moonlight feeling that’s taken over them, Jiang Wanyin has him around the middle, dragging him up to the surface in only a few, powerful kicks.
It’s a terrible, stupid idea, really. Lan Jingyi doesn’t know why he thinks of it, but the moment they breach the surface, Lan Jingyi closes his eyes and goes limp against Jiang Wanyin. For a few, easy seconds, it’s nice — held tight against Jiang Wanyin like this, he can feel every harsh gasp of breath in his lungs, can hear the steady thmp-thmp-thmp of his heartbeat as clearly as if it were beating in his own chest.
The river is silent, save for the sound of Jiang Wanyin’s harsh breathing. And then, with a heaving grunt, and quite possibly the most impressive display of strength and coordination Lan Jingyi’s ever seen, Jiang Wanyin hefts Lan Jingyi over the edge of their boat — heavy, water-laden robes and all.
Jiang Wanyin is after him in a heartbeat, his own robes slapping onto the boat with a wet plap as he drops to his knees, pressing his ear to Lan Jingyi’s chest. Lan Jingyi’s breath stutters, catching in his chest the moment Jiang Wanyin holds him close. For all that Lan Jingyi shamelessly hangs on his shizun like a limpet, the same is hardly ever afforded back. Knowing this, Lan Jingyi had long given up the thought that his feelings might be reciprocated, but here, like this, on a dreamy, moonlit night, Lan Jingyi lets himself pretend a moment longer.
“Jingyi,” Jiang Wanyin says, his voice soft, almost desperate. The sort of forlorn ruin of a voice one would expect from a mourning lover.
Lan Jingyi should open his eyes. Should call off this farce. But he can scarcely bring himself to breathe, with the sudden, overwhelming surge of feeling in his chest.
“Jingyi, please,” he says, gently patting Lan Jingyi’s cheek, dragging away the sodden mess of his bangs. When Lan Jingyi doesn’t, can’t, respond, Jiang Wanyin swallows, hard enough that Lan Jingyi can hear it in the tentative silence of the night.
The spell finally breaks, when Lan Jingyi feels the tickle of Jiang Wanyin’s bangs against his cheek, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s craning his neck upwards, gentling his lips against Jiang Wanyin’s.
It’s not much of a kiss, really. It’s kind of terrible, actually, when Jiang Wanyin’s mouth is open specifically to deliver air into Lan Jingyi’s theoretically blocked lungs. Mostly what Lan Jingyi gets is an awkward corner of his mouth, the hard glint of his teeth, and that’s it.
Well. So much for a first kiss.
He kind of deserved that.
The moment breaks, and Jiang Wanyin startles back, his face flushed dark in the easy light of their imperfect moon, and when Lan Jingyi offers a sheepish grin, Jiang Wanyin’s soft, open expression twists into a scowl. “Lan Jingyi,” he growls with such menace that Lan Jingyi instinctively shrinks back.
“Sorry! I’m sorry!” Lan Jingyi immediately cries out, throwing his arms over his head, as if Jiang Wanyin’s ever attempted to hit him outside of sparring. “I couldn’t help it, I — it was all just goofing off, really, but then you went and grabbed me, and it felt so nice, and I didn’t know what to do, and you thought I was dead, and I couldn’t say anything, and then you were — “
Jiang Wanyin is speechless in the face of Lan Jingyi’s verbal flailing, and with a huff of breath, he sits back in Lan Jingyi’s lap.
“Oh no, oh no, don’t do that,” Lan Jingyi groans, fingers scrabbling weakly at Jiang Wanyin’s knees, a pithy attempt at pushing Jiang Wanyin off. “Look, I’m trying to be good; I know you don’t feel that way about me, so really, it’d spare us both a lot of embarrassment if you didn’t — “
Jiang Wanyin blinks, perking up as he stares quizzically down at Lan Jingyi. “How exactly do I feel about you, Jingyi?” Jiang Wanyin asks, his voice a low rasp. His eyes are wide, luminous in the dark of the night, almost like it’s a surprise to him that Lan Jingyi might have feelings about him.
“I — what?” Lan Jingyi asks, his brain blanking at Jiang Wanyin’s tone of voice — something caught between curious and amused and maybe a little hopeful.
“Um,” Lan Jingyi gulps, staring up at Jiang Wanyin.
He’s beautiful, haloed in moonlight, the sharpness of his cheekbones, his jaw, softened by the evening glow. The apples of his cheeks are still shadowed with a blush, and his mouth is softer now than it ever is in the daylight. Lan Jingyi would kiss him again if he could.
“You — I mean, I’m just your dumb disciple, aren’t I?” Lan Jingyi mumbles, glancing away, because if he has to see those pretty eyelashes flutter again, he really might just kiss him. “You don’t like me, the way I want you to like me.”
Jiang Wanyin shifts a little closer; his hand, which had been resting on his own thighs, comes up to guide Lan Jingyi’s face back to where it had been before, which is, quite frankly, very bad for Lan Jingyi’s dignity, and he asks, “How do you want me to like you?”
His voice is soft, like bedroom soft, and his eyes are all pretty and half-lidded as he stares down at Lan Jingyi, and Lan Jingyi could shrivel up and die here, probably, with Jiang Wanyin’s thumb rubbing idly against the divot just below his bottom lip.
“Shizun, I,” Lan Jingyi manages, shivering under Jiang Wanyin’s gaze. “I — I’ve always liked you, you know,” he says, pathetically.
“I know,” Jiang Wanyin says, a wry smile crinkling the edges of his eyes. “You tend to like a lot of people, Jingyi.”
“It’s not exactly, y’know, an innocent kind of liking, Shizun. I love you. I love you now just as much as I loved you at 16, when you smiled at me for — for getting kicked out of the Cloud Recesses because I punched Jin Ling’s shitty cousin,” Lan Jingyi admits, his voice small and fragile as he tries and fails not to look. “You were — so handsome, you know, and you really can’t expect me not to fall for you like that, and I know everyone else was half in love with you, too, but this was different. It just never stopped, and I tried to make it stop, but you just — I mean, I won’t say you were nice, but you saw me. You wanted me when no one wanted me, and you were always kind and good to me, and you always looked out for me, and what do you expect me to do, Shizun, when you smile like that and when you laugh like that, and, and — “
Lan Jingyi doesn’t know what else to do, doesn’t know what else to say to capture the sheer enormity of his feelings. He’s been in love with Jiang Wanyin for the good part of 8 years now, and sure, the way he feels now is a little different from when he was 16, but at its core it’s the same.
“I don’t — you don’t have to return my feelings, or anything. I know I’m loud and annoying most of the time, and I’m sorry that I pulled all this on you. I didn’t mean to, really. It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Lan Jingyi says, and oh, wow, shit, his eyes are burning a little, and his voice is thick and his hands are shaking at Jiang Wanyin’s knees.
“What was it supposed to be like, Jingyi?” Jiang Wanyin asks, finally, finally pulling his thumb away, so he can gently run his knuckles down Lan Jingyi’s cheek. For once in his life, Lan Jingyi feels a little ashamed of how easily he leans into it, how greedily he laps up Jiang Wanyin’s touch.
Lan Jingyi swallows hard, turning away, because how is he supposed to look at Jiang Wanyin when he’s laying here, soaking wet and cracking his ribcage open for a man who probably doesn’t see him as anything other than the kid he picked off the streets a decade ago. “Shizun, please don’t be cruel,” he croaks out, face hot, bottom lip trembling.
“I want to know. What would you have done, if you’d told me the way you wanted to?” Jiang Wanyin demands, gruff, but gentle in the only way he knows how.
Lan Jingyi swallows, blinks back the sharp heat behind his eyes, as he tries to make sense of what, exactly, Jiang Wanyin might be asking for. He doesn’t look like he’s teasing, doesn’t look like he’s trying to put Lan Jingyi on the spot out of cruelty or curiosity.
“I — that’s — “ he starts, but he’s not quite sure to go, not quite sure what to do. The only person he knows to look to is the one asking, and Lan Jingyi just — he doesn’t want to screw this up.
“You’ve already told me you’ve got feelings for me, Jingyi,” Jiang Wanyin says, his laughter soft. Amused, but not unkind. “You might as well tell me — the way you actually wanted to tell me.”
“Uh. Well,” Lan Jingyi croaks, his cheeks hot with embarrassment. “We’d… be on a boat.”
“Uh-huh,” Jiang Wanyin nods, eyes bright, crinkled up just the slightest bit in a smile.
“And, um. Maybe we’d be… looking out at the moon,” Lan Jingyi says, feeling a little foolish, when Jiang Wanyin leans back a little, glancing pointedly up at the near-full moon.
“Shut up,” Lan Jingyi groans, slapping Jiang Wanyin’s knee. Jiang Wanyin laughs, full-bellied and easy, but he doesn’t move from where he’s siting precariously on Lan Jingyi’s lap.
“I didn’t say anything. Go on. Please,” Jiang Wanyin says, his face screwing up as he tries to hold down his smile.
“I’d, I’d say something that makes you laugh,” Lan Jingyi says, staring up, half-awed at the mirth still on Jiang Wanyin’s face. “And I’d — er. You know what, honestly, I’d probably be so overcome just looking at you that it’d slip out.”
“Oh?” Jiang Wanyin asks, huffing a laugh as he stares down at Lan Jingyi. “Well. We’re still on a boat. And the moon’s still out. Do you need to make me laugh again? I’ll try very hard this time to make you overcome.”
His tone is light, but it still stirs up something big and ungainly in Lan Jingyi’s gut, something that sounds a whole lot like hope. He’s — he’s very close to being overcome as it is, the promise of, of maybe getting what he wants too heady a thought.
“Shizun,” he says, faintly. “Shizun, if you don’t tell me off now, I’m going to think things that you don’t mean for me to think.”
“And what’s that?” Jiang Wanyin asks, grinning that absolutely unfair grin of his, the one that makes him look young and gentle and handsome, something that could almost be within Lan Jingyi’s reach.
“That you like me,” Lan Jingyi whispers, breathing out a shuddery breath.
“I do like you,” Jiang Wanyin laughs, all soft and sweet and good.
“In the sort of way that — that involves, um, k-kissing me,” Lan Jingyi says, as the hope inside his chest grows and grows and grows, threatening to swallow him whole.
That gets an amused snort from Jiang Wanyin, who leans back a little, putting direct pressure on Lan Jingyi’s — “Just kissing?” Jiang Wanyin asks, teasing.
“I — I — Shizun!” Lan Jingyi cries out, scandalized, but grinning, his heart threatening to burst right out of his chest. “I’m serious, you know! I really want to kiss you! Like, all the time. Properly! Not like — not like what I did before.”
“Then kiss me,” Jiang Wanyin laughs, as he leans in to meet Lan Jingyi halfway. “Do it properly, this time.”