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Tonight, it is Lan Wangji who happens to return home later.
Most often, it is Wei Ying. Wei Ying, who frequently takes the junior disciples out on night hunts and returns only at the curfew. Wei Ying, whose brilliant mind might keep him occupied until long into the night, who might lose himself so thoroughly in creating that he fails to keep track of the passing of time. Wei Ying, who always returns to Lan Wangji, sometimes covered in ink stains, sometimes in dirt and dust and sweat, sometimes bearing a present or two, always smiling at Lan Wangji like he is the best thing in the world— a look Lan Wangji recognizes well, for it is how he himself looks upon his husband.
Rarely, it is Lan Wangji, occupied by some duty that keeps him away from home until later than usual.
Lan Wangji has spent many, many years of his life returning to an empty house. Ever since he had moved into a home of his own rather than one that was shared when he was young, he had returned to an empty home every night. It was merely a fact of his existence, nothing he had ever lamented or thought too much about. Lan Wangji was not lonely— he prefered, mostly, to be left to his own devices. His solitude had been a choice, and it had become part of him, of who he was. He had found comfort in that solitude, away from prying eyes and curiosity. There were times when he was even grateful for it.
There had been many times when Lan Wangji had firmly believed that he would always return to an empty home, most recently, the years after Wei Ying had died. He had known, for thirteen years, for longer, that he would never love anyone the way he had loved Wei Ying. Lan Wangji knew his feelings would not change even though Wei Ying was gone. Wei Ying would always remain in Lan Wangji’s heart, even as the grief lessened and the fond memories began to grow hazier, as time blurred the curve of Wei Ying’s smile and the melody of his laughter. Nobody would replace Wei Ying. There could never be anyone else.
(I don’t want anyone but you, Wei Ying had said to him in the temple, and he had repeated it, because he too felt the same. It can’t be anyone but you.)
Lan Wangji had found contentment in the life he had. He had found satisfaction in raising Sizhui, in teaching the disciples of the Lan sect, in travelling to help those who required his assistance. He had known he would never find love again, but that did not mean he had lived an unfulfilling life.
Then, Wei Ying had returned. Beyond all reason, all expectation, Wei Ying had returned. Then, once the events that had brought him back were unraveled, once the truth had been revealed, Wei Ying had chosen to come home with Lan Wangji, to make a home with him.
Lan Wangji has been fortunate indeed, for now, he will never return to an empty home again.
Even on the days when he returns to the Jingshi before Wei Ying does, the home he returns to is not empty. Even when Wei Ying goes on a night hunt without Lan Wangji, when Wei Ying does not return for the night at all, the home Lan Wangji returns to is not empty. It could never be. Wei Ying is in every corner, in every crevice, in the very air of their home. He has made his place here just as he has made his place in Lan Wangji’s heart— a place he can never be ousted from. His clothes mingle with Lan Wangji’s, the sword stand now accommodates two swords, there is a place for Chenqing, and for Wei Ying’s chili oil. From the little trinkets and tools he had purchased— or rather, that he had let Lan Wangji purchase for him— to the bright red ribbons he favours, to the jars of Emperor’s Smile no longer hidden away under the floorboards, the Jingshi is so full of Wei Ying’s presence that Lan Wangji could never be alone there again. It is a feeling he relishes with every fibre of his being.
Tonight, Wei Ying is here before him.
Most days, Wei Ying catches sight of Lan Wangji as soon as he enters, bounding towards him eagerly with a lovely smile on his face, delightedly calling Lan Wangji’s name and leaping into his arms, plying him with sweet kisses until they are both breathless and clinging to one another. Sometimes, Wei Ying sneaks up on him, hugging him from behind, or covering his eyes with gentle hands and asking him to ‘Guess who it is!’ in a teasing voice— as though anyone else would do such a thing. Today, however, Wei Ying is so engrossed in his work that he does not seem to hear the sound of the door opening and closing, or the sound of Lan Wangji’s footsteps, or even the sound of him setting Bichen on the sword stand beside Suibian. Rather than call to him, Lan Wangji chooses instead, to take a moment to just watch Wei Ying, to drink in the sight of his beloved.
Wei Ying, as always, is the loveliest sight he has ever seen. He practically sprawls at his desk, clever hands tinkering with a talisman that he mentioned had been giving him trouble yesterday. He is muttering to himself under his breath— Lan Wangji has come to learn that sometimes, Wei Ying does not speak with the expectation of a reply, but merely says things out loud so he can think through them better. It is an utterly endearing habit, one that Lan Wangji would be content to observe for the rest of his life. There is the hint of a frown on Wei Ying’s brow, and Lan Wangji longs to kiss it, to smooth it out with his fingers, to coax laughter from his Wei Ying.
It is not yet winter, but the cold is beginning to set in, so it concerns Lan Wangji the slightest bit that Wei Ying has shed his cloud-patterned outer robe, leaving it folded by his side, and is only wearing his deep red under robe. Wei Ying has begun incorporating the Lan colours into his wardrobe now— a blue here, a white there, silks that are patterned with the clouds that are characteristic of the Lan clan’s clothes. It makes Lan Wangji doubly happy— to think that Wei Ying feels like he belongs to the Lan sect enough to choose to drape himself in their colours, and to see Wei Ying declare that fact to anyone who cares to glance at him. As Wei Ying leans further forward, his hair spills onto the page like ink, his hair ribbon nowhere to be seen. Absently, Wei Ying tucks his hair back behind his ear, and Lan Wangji’s fingers twitch with the urge to do it himself. Not yet, he tells himself. For now, he is content to simply watch.
In the soft light of the Jingshi, Wei Ying glows. He is ethereal, alluring, stunning, utterly enchanting, and Lan Wangji delights in his very existence. He is utterly, devastatingly beautiful, and Lan Wangji is helpless at the sight of him. Everything Wei Ying does— tilting his head, biting his lip, twirling the brush in his hands absently— captivates Lan Wangji. He may not be the only one to notice Wei Ying’s beauty— Lan Wangji is certainly not ignorant to the considering, admiring, sometimes covetous looks Wei Ying receives so often from other cultivators they encounter, from townspeople, even from members of their own sect— but he also knows that it is he who is his husband’s most ardent admirer. He would be content to spend an entire night like this, entire days even, simply extolling Wei Ying’s virtues in his own mind.
When Wei Ying finally lifts his head up and catches sight of Lan Wangji, his eyes sparkle with mirth. Setting down his brush carefully, he smiles coyly and tilts his head, resting his cheek on his palm. “What has caught the esteemed Hanguang-jun’s attention, I wonder,” he teases. “I can feel the weight of his gaze from over here!”
(Once, Wei Ying had called him Hanguang-jun to draw a line between them, to say we are not close, to say do not concern yourself with me, do not involve yourself in my affairs. Hanguang-jun, he had said in a cold voice, and it had sounded like outsider, interloper, and Lan Wangji had bitterly regretted the times when he himself had said that they were not close. He had hated it then, the sound of his title in Wei Ying’s mouth. Now, Wei Ying calls him Hanguang-jun and it is suffused with such warmth, such affection, such love, that Lan Wangji would rather hear the title from Wei Ying than from anyone else in the world.)
Lan Wangji feels his own lips curling upwards. He loves, loves, loves Wei Ying so much, so much that he sometimes wonders how his heart contains it. “May I not admire my husband?” he asks.
Wei Ying’s grin widens slowly, wickedly. “By all means, admire away,” he says, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You could even admire me with your hands, or your lips…” he trails off suggestively and winks.
Lan Wangji merely hums. He will, eventually, but for now, he is content to merely watch his lovely husband, taking in the laughter in his face, the passion in his eyes, the liveliness of his entire being. Lan Wangji has lived so long with nothing but a memory of that laughter, a vague remembrance of the way Wei Ying threw his head back and the corners of his eyes crinkled, but now, he will never go a day without it.
Wei Ying sighs deeply, dramatically, and pouts, fluttering his eyelashes sweetly up at Lan Wangji. “Ah, I’m so cold, er-gege,” Wei Ying says, giving him a mournful look.
Lan Wangji does not reply to that aloud, merely rakes his eyes pointedly over Wei Ying’s under robe, before glancing at the outer robe on the floor. Wei Ying, as always, immediately understands what Lan Wangji means to convey, and he laughs brightly. Lan Wangji’s heart warms. It always brings him immense joy that Wei Ying knows him so well, can read him so well, just as he knows Wei Ying in turn.
Now, Wei Ying puts on an affronted look, though his eyes twinkle with amusement. “How dare you tease me, Hanguang-jun?” he demands, as though Lan Wangji does not know how much he enjoys being teased. “After you kept me waiting so long tonight! Come, come, won’t you warm your poor Wei Ying up before I tragically freeze to death?”
He frowns for an instant— he does not enjoy it when Wei Ying jokes about dying— but he walks over to his husband anyway and pulls Wei Ying into his arms. Wei Ying smiles sweetly at him before sinking into his embrace, sighing contentedly and burrowing his face into Lan Wangji’s chest. He fits his head right under Lan Wangji’s chin and rubs his cheek against the silk of Lan Wangji’s robe, wrapping his arms tightly around Lan Wangji’s shoulders.
The sheer affection Lan Wangji feels in that moment threatens to choke him. He loves Wei Ying so much, so much that he aches with it, and all he can do is hold his husband close, burrow his own face into the top of Wei Ying’s head. Wei Ying smells like sandalwood, the same scent that clings to Lan Wangji, and there is a part of him that thrills in it, that his Wei Ying smells like him. It has been so long since Wei Ying came back into his life, so long since they have been married, and yet, some days, Lan Wangji can hardly believe that he gets to have such joy everyday.
Eventually, Wei Ying pulls away the slightest bit to beam at Lan Wangji once again, and his smile is so brilliant, so beautiful, that Lan Wangji can only smile back helplessly. He cannot look away, does not want to look away, because Wei Ying is so radiant that his presence eclipses their surroundings. Nothing around them could hope to capture Lan Wangji’s attention, his affection, the way Wei Ying does.
“Your juniors gave me so much trouble today, er-gege,” Wei Ying complains, though the mirth does not disappear from his eyes, nor the fondness from his voice. He shuffles the slightest bit, making himself comfortable in Lan Wangji’s lap even as he continues speaking. “One of them lit his own robes on fire! Aiya, I had to spend so much time running around making sure they weren’t making trouble! Really,” Wei Ying shakes his head ruefully, “Where are they learning such misbehaviour from?”
Lan Wangji laughs softly— it is a sound Wei Ying is one of very few people who will recognize as a laugh— wrapping his arm around Wei Ying’s waist as he finally settles in place. Wei Ying loves teaching the juniors, and for all his complaints tonight, it is always evident that he is proud of them. The juniors too love being taught by Wei Ying— he has seen them boasting to each other about earning his praise, has seen the way they trail after him with eager smiles and sincere calls of ‘Wei-qianbei’, has seen how they flourish under his tutelage. They adore him for good reason, it is undeniable that Wei Ying is an exceptional teacher and the Lan sect is lucky to have him. It settles something in Lan Wangji’s heart to know that Wei Ying has found a place to call home, that he is eagerly accepted here, that he is liked and respected as he deserves to be.
“Tell me,” Wei Ying asks with a grin, “Was Sizhui ever such a troublemaker?”
There are times when a question like this makes Lan Wangji’s heart ache, when he remembers that there is a part of Sizhui’s life that Wei Ying has not been here for. Wei Ying had been the reason Wen Yuan had survived long enough for Lan Wangji to find him and raise him, and yet, Wei Ying had not been able to see him grow up. It is an injustice that cannot be righted. For their part, Wei Ying and Sizhui do not dwell too much on it, seeking instead to renew their relationship. Now, they once again fit into each other’s lives seamlessly, like there never had been a gap, but there had been one, and sometimes the unfairness of it pricks at Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji knows his husband, knows Wei Ying does not dwell in the past, but the fact that Wei Ying could not watch Sizhui grow up, that Sizhui had to lose his entire family for thirteen years, is an injustice of the highest order.
Today, however, he merely thinks back to Sizhui’s childhood with affection. If his hand around Wei Ying's waist tightens, his husband does not call attention to it, simply giving him a soft smile and rubbing a gentle hand across his back. Wei Ying knows him so well, enough to know what he is thinking and to know how to comfort him.
“He was well-behaved,” Lan Wangji tells his husband, watching the proud, affectionate smile spread across his face. “Diligent. Intelligent. Empathetic.”
“Of course, of course, our A-Yuan must have been such a good child! Just like his father!” Wei Ying winks at him.
“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees. “Like you,” he clarifies, for he knows Wei Ying was speaking of him.
Wei Ying throws back his head and laughs. It is the loveliest sound Lan Wangji has ever heard, second only to the sound of his name on Wei Ying’s lips. “Hanguang-jun, I know you’re biased because you love me very much, but don’t you remember how many rules I broke when I came to Gusu?”
Wei Ying may have broken many rules when he had first come here at fifteen, but he abides by the core principles of Gusu Lan better than anyone Lan Wangji knows. Be righteous is the sect motto, and there is no one Lan Wangji can think of who is more righteous than Wei Ying. Yet, it is the other qualities that Lan Wangji had been speaking about. He knows Wei Ying knows this as well, so he merely gives him a look that says as much. Wei Ying chuckles in return, conceding.
“He reminded me of you often,” Lan Wangji murmurs. “Even as a child, he was kind, compassionate. Always willing to take responsibility. Open to different perspectives. A good leader.”
Wei Ying smiles softly, and his arms get tighter around Lan Wangji. In turn, Lan Wangji holds him closer as well, running his hand gently down Wei Ying’s back.
“Was it fire talismans today?” Lan Wangji asks, his fingers coming up to card through Wei Ying’s hair as he speaks.
“Mn.” Wei Ying leans into his touch, smiling up at him. “The juniors are very capable, but they need a lot more practice.” Wei Ying pouts, taking on a tone of complaint once again. “One of them even set my ribbon on fire, Hanguang-jun!” He sighs theatrically. “And after you combed my hair with such care this morning too!”
Lan Wangji cannot help the huff of amusement that escapes him at Wei Ying’s petulant tone. It is just as well that he had purchased Wei Ying a new comb a few days ago— Wei Ying had not needed one immediately, but his current one had been getting quite old and Lan Wangji had noticed Wei Ying’s eye wandering in the direction of this one when they had been in the marketplace— and had been carrying it around in his sleeve, so that his husband would not find it before Lan Wangji actually managed to gift it to him. Now seems like as good a time as ever, so he produces it and hands it over for Wei Ying’s thrilled inspection.
He is, indeed, well aware that their own combs are only a little distance away, that he could easily fetch Wei Ying’s usual comb, but that would require him to either move Wei Ying from his lap— an unpleasant prospect— or carry Wei Ying with him and risk jostling him after he has gotten comfortable. In any case, there was already a comb that he could use without moving, so why shouldn’t he? Holding his husband was hardly an indulgence that could be frowned upon.
“Lan Zhan, you’re spoiling me!” Wei Ying exclaims in delight as he smiles at the comb.
“Mn,” is the only reply Lan Wangji gives. He enjoys spoiling Wei Ying. For so long, Wei Ying has had to keep careful track of everything he believed he owed— not taking too much, never taking too much. All his first life, Wei Ying has been bound by ties of debt and gratitude, has been labelled ungrateful by people who were unworthy of his sacrifices. He had spent his childhood first struggling for survival on the streets and later surrounded by people who only saw his worth in what he could do for them. As for the Wens in the Burial Mounds, they had barely been able to afford necessities, much less indulgences. Wei Ying will never have to live like that anymore. He deserves these little indulgences from someone who will never ask for anything in return, and it is Lan Wangji’s privilege to be that person. After all, Wei Ying deserves to be showered in comforts, to want for nothing.
Once Wei Ying is finished admiring the comb, he hands it back to Lan Wangji, who begins running it gently through his husband’s hair as soon as Wei Ying shifts around in his lap to make it possible. As he works, Wei Ying tells him about how it only took Lan Rong two tries to perfect the talisman he had taught, how Lin Fang had managed to produce a flame that shot straight up and nearly scorched the ceiling before Wei Ying could prevent that from happening. Wei Ying has a way of telling stories that make them come to life, and Lan Wangji loves hearing him speak, especially when he speaks about things he is passionate about. He adores his students as they adore him, and it is evident from the way his eyes light up as he speaks of them.
“And what about you, Lan Zhan?” he asks, when he finishes telling Lan Wangji about his very last class. “Did you do something exciting?”
Lan Wangji does not have the penchant for storytelling that Wei Ying does, but he knows that it is not a colourful tale that Wei Ying wants— Wei Ying simply wants to know about his day, wants to share their experiences, good or bad, and talk about it— so he tells Wei Ying of the happenings of his day. Wei Ying has never been displeased or dissatisfied that Lan Wangji is not the storyteller he is, nor will he ever be. Indeed, Lan Wangji knows that there is nothing about him that will disappoint Wei Ying— his husband loves and appreciates everything about him, because it is who Lan Wangji is. Even now, Wei Ying simply tilts his head further into Lan Wangji’s touch and pays attention to every word Lan Wangji says like it is the most riveting thing he has ever heard.
“There are reports of a number of fierce corpses in a village close to Moling,” he says, once he has finished recounting the class he had taught that morning.
Wei Ying hums. “If we head out tomorrow, we’ll be back in time for the discussion conference,” he says.
“Mn.” They have to return for the discussion conference, of course, Wei Ying had promised Jin Rulan that he would be there. The young sect leader is no longer the prickly teenager he once was, and his good heart and earnest dedication to doing the right thing have made him a good leader. He does still look to Wei Ying— and Lan Wangji, though less frequently than he does his shishu— for advice, especially considering that Wei Ying is one of the few people he knows will not covet his power, will not lead him astray.
“We should take Sizhui along,” Wei Ying suggests. “It’s been a while since the three of us went on a night hunt together, we can see how much he’s learnt since last time! It’ll be fun!”
“Mn.” Lan Wangji sets the comb down and kisses Wei Ying’s shoulder before gathering his hair to put it back up into its ponytail.
Wei Ying’s head jerks up suddenly. “Ah, Lan Zhan, I should have gotten a ribbon!” he exclaims. He makes to get up, but Lan Wangji stops him with a quick press to his shoulder, and Wei Ying obediently falls back, relaxing once again into Lan Wangji’s hold.
“No need,” Lan Wangji murmurs, freeing his own forehead ribbon and using it to secure Wei Ying’s hair. He is partially motivated by the fact that he wants to keep Wei Ying in his lap, but it is also true that just as he enjoys the sight of Wei Ying in his clothes, or in the colours of Gusu Lan, there is a part of him that takes deep satisfaction in seeing Wei Ying wearing his forehead ribbon.
As soon as he finishes, Wei Ying turns back to him once again with a teasing smile, this time straddling Lan Wangji’s hips. “Er-gege, I know you like putting your claim on me, but I can’t just steal your ribbon!” he says, fluttering his eyes up at Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji kisses the top of his head. “I will buy you another one,” he promises. Wei Ying may have many more ribbons, but Lan Wangji knows that the one that has been destroyed was special to him— Lan Wangji himself had been the one to pick it out.
Wei Ying gasps, his eyes alight with mischief. “So generous of Hanguang-jun,” he teases. “If you keep buying me things, you’ll spoil me!”
Lan Wangji merely raises an eyebrow. “Have I not already?”
Wei Ying laughs at that, delighted and glorious. He is so, so, so achingly beautiful and Lan Wangji wishes to capture this sight and keep it deep within his heart. Wei Ying, when he smiles, is as incandescent as the sun, and Lan Wangji is but a flower that helplessly turns towards him.
As Wei Ying’s laughter begins to fade away, his eyes widen. “Oh I almost forgot!” he exclaims, before gesturing towards the desk. “Are you hungry, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji follows Wei Ying’s gesture, and he notices a bowl holding peeled loquats and the one next to it holding removed seeds. They had bought the fruits when they had gone down to Caiyi Town the previous day. Lan Wangji had glanced at them, thinking back to days when they were younger, and Wei Ying had noticed his gaze— Wei Ying has always been sharply observant and even the smallest of things about Lan Wangji do not escape his notice— and had smiled up at him, lovelier than the sunset they had planned to watch, and said, Hanguang-jun, let’s buy some. Lan Wangji has always been unable to deny his beloved, so they had bought the loquats, and Wei Ying had begun peeling them— seemingly carelessly— and feeding them to Lan Wangji, letting himself be fed occasionally.
Lan Wangji had often wished he had taken up Wei Ying’s offer when they were children, that they had shared a basket of loquats together. The previous day was one of many times since their marriage that he had gotten to do so.
Wei Ying seeks out Lan Wangji’s affection constantly— it is a privilege Lan Wangji will never take for granted— but he freely offers his own affection just as often, though he never calls any attention to it. Wei Ying is fond of extolling Lan Wangji’s many virtues, of lavishing him with praise and declaring that he is the world’s best husband, that Lan Wangji takes such good care of him. Yet, he never mentions the things he does for Lan Wangji, to ensure Lan Wangji’s comfort and happiness. He never speaks of how he takes such good care of Lan Wangji in turn.
Wei Ying talks and laughs often, open with his affection and unashamed of displaying it, but there are many times when he is quiet in the way he shows his love. In showing his care for Lan Wangji, Wei Ying silently allows his actions to speak for themselves.
As he had yesterday, when he had asked to buy the loquats simply because he had seen Lan Wangji look at them. He had fed Lan Wangji nearly half the bucket of loquats, only eating a few himself, and now, there are perhaps half a dozen in one bowl and a small collection of seeds in the other. Wei Ying must have been eating them as he worked, Lan Wangji realizes.
“I was waiting to have dinner with my dear husband, but I got too hungry!” Wei Ying pouts sweetly. Then, he pushes himself off of Lan Wangji’s lap— even as Lan Wangji’s fingers twitch with the urge to pull him back, to keep Wei Ying pressed against himself— and reaches over into the bowl, picking a peeled loquat up and offering it to Lan Wangji, an inviting smile on his face. “Would Hanguang-jun like a taste?”
Lan Wangji wraps his fingers around Wei Ying’s wrist— squeezing just enough that Wei Ying will be able to feel the weight of his grip— and Wei Ying watches him, his eyes warm with affection. He does not allow Wei Ying to bring the fruit any closer, leaning forward instead, watching as Wei Ying’s delight grows.
“I would,” Lan Wangji says, tipping Wei Ying’s chin upwards and leaning in to kiss him. Wei Ying’s lips part easily for him, allowing him to taste the sweet fruit right from his husband’s mouth. He will never tire of kissing Wei Ying, of burying his hand in silk-soft hair and tugging his husband closer to him, of the eager way Wei Ying responds to him, of the softness of Wei Ying’s lips and the way he melts into Lan Wangji.
One kiss turns into three, into five, into ten, until Wei Ying is back in Lan Wangji’s lap, Lan Wangji’s hand still snug around the wrist that holds the fruit while his free hand is nestled at the base of Wei Ying’s head. Wei Ying’s lips are swollen and shiny, red and oh so inviting, that Lan Wangji feels the mounting urge to bite— and he does, leaning further in and trapping the plush lower lip between his teeth, tugging, quickly swallowing the pleasured gasp that attempts to escape Wei Ying’s mouth.
“Delicious,” Lan Wangji murmurs when they finally part, his hand still firmly at the back of Wei Ying’s head, and the heat in his tone brings a hint of colour to Wei Ying’s cheeks. It is not easy to fluster Wei Ying anymore— lamentably— but sometimes, just sometimes, it works, much to Lan Wangji’s pleasure. He cups Wei Ying’s cheek, traces the pretty blush with his thumb, which only makes his husband blush even more.
“Shameless!” Wei Ying exclaims, and his voice is breathless, his eyes are dark with desire. “Lan-er-gongzi, how could you take advantage of my kind offer in such a way?”
Lan Wangji hums, unaffected. They both enjoy this game, Wei Ying goading and taunting Lan Wangji, teasing him until he breaks, then pretending to be innocent and scandalized by Lan Wangji’s behaviour. It amuses Lan Wangji greatly as well, how Wei Ying baits him into acting, only to pretend like he has done no such thing.
“To think that the noble, righteous Hanguang-jun would take such liberties with this poor, innocent man!” Wei Ying continues, his free hand playfully tugging at Lan Wangji’s outer robes. “I am appalled at your behaviour!”
Wei Ying hardly seems invested in pulling away and making Lan Wangji chase him today. He seems content to tease with his words alone, settled comfortably in Lan Wangji’s lap and showing no sign that he wants to move.
“Appalled,” Lan Wangji repeats, certain that his husband can hear the amusement in his voice.
“Appalled!” Wei Ying confirms, pouting slightly. “Shocked! Outraged! Scandalized!”
Lan Wangji cannot stop the huff of laughter that escapes him at that. Wei Ying’s face softens at the sound, and for a moment, all that Lan Wangji can see in his face is adoration, before he schools his expression again, and pushes the loquat into Lan Wangji’s mouth.
The fruit is ripe and its sweet juice explodes in his mouth as soon as he bites down— clearly, Wei Ying has even gone to the effort of removing the seed— but all of Lan Wangji’s focus is on his husband, his beautiful, mischievous, tempting husband, who continues to play the part of someone who has been thoroughly wronged, even if his eyes give away his true intentions.
“I’ve never been treated that way by anyone, Hanguang-jun!” Wei Ying continues to complain. “No one has ever been so discourteous, so—”
“Yet you remain,” Lan Wangji interrupts. “In my lap.”
Wei Ying laughs merrily, dropping the act for another moment. “Here I am, in your lap,” he agrees, and his eyes brighten with mischief. “What do you plan to do with me now?”
Lan Wangji strokes his thumb idly over Wei Ying’s cheek, before burying his hand once more in Wei Ying’s soft, silky hair. “Whatever I want.”
Wei Ying gasps in faux shock, even though the amusement in his eyes gives him away. “Whatever you want?” he repeats. “Hanguang-jun, just who do you think you are?”
Lan Wangji merely curls his fingers tightly into Wei Ying’s hair, mouth curling upwards in satisfaction when Wei Ying makes a pleased noise. “Your husband.”
Wei Ying’s faux outrage does not fade. “And that gives you the right to do anything you want to me?”
“Mn.”
Wei Ying merely sighs theatrically. “If that is Hanguang-jun’s wish, well…” he shrugs playfully. “It’s not like I could stop you,” Wei Ying says, his warm hands trailing over the muscles of Lan Wangji’s back, his shoulders and arms, before coming to rest on his chest. Lan Wangji’s hands tighten on his waist, but it does not stop Wei Ying’s exploration. In fact, it seems to encourage him. His hands linger more, his fingers dancing across Lan Wangji’s chest, coming up to scratch Lan Wangji’s chin.
“Wei Ying…” Lan Wangji warns, but he knows very well that it would only encourage Wei Ying to tease even more.
“Hanguang-jun is so powerful, so strong and I am so frail and delicate.” Wei Ying flutters his eyelashes prettily up at Lan Wangji. “Even if you were to push me to the ground and ravish me, I wouldn’t be able to resist!”
Lan Wangji’s fingers tighten as heat steadily courses through his veins at the suggestion— it makes Wei Ying squirm, and that only makes Lan Wangji tighten his hold even further. Wei Ying always does this, always says and does things to rile Lan Wangji up, knowing very well what it does to his husband. Frail and delicate, he calls himself, like he hadn’t easily defeated Lan Wangji at a spar just this morning. Like he couldn’t bring an army to its knees with a snap of his fingers.
“Mark your words,” he says through gritted teeth. His voice sounds hoarse to his own ears, and from Wei Ying’s sly grin, he knows very well just what state he has reduced Lan Wangji to.
Wei Ying squirms in Lan Wangji’s lap, and this, Lan Wangji knows, is no accident. Wei Ying is utterly deliberate in the way his hips move, in the way he grinds down with purpose, meeting Lan Wangji’s eyes as he does.
Wei Ying knows exactly what he’s asking for. Lan Wangji decides to give it to him.
After all, Lan Wangji can only be expected to have so much restraint.
“Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighs happily later, when they are curled up close in bed, their arms once again wrapped around each other. “You’re so good to me. I am the luckiest man in the world.”
Lan Wangji kisses the top of his head and smiles. His Wei Ying is so sweet. He is the slightest bit sleepy, and it is utterly adorable. “You are not.”
Wei Ying looks up at Lan Wangji, tilting his head slightly in that utterly charming way of his that makes Lan Wangji want to kiss him breathless. “I’m not?” he repeats.
Lan Wangji shakes his head, cupping Wei Ying’s cheek. “I am.”
He watches with satisfaction as colour rises in Wei Ying’s cheeks, as Wei Ying splutters. He understands much better nowadays, why Wei Ying finds it so amusing to tease people— though Lan Wangji himself does not care for such a reaction from anyone other than Wei Ying.
“Hanguang-jun!” Wei Ying exclaims, hiding his blushing face in Lan Wangji’s chest. “I’ve told you before to warn me before you say such things!”
Lan Wangji lets his lips curl upwards. “Mn. Next time,” he says.
“Don’t forget,” Wei Ying mumbles, his voice still muffled.
“Mn.”
Wei Ying finally looks up at Lan Wangji again, the pretty blush fading from his cheeks but before he can speak, he is interrupted by a yawn, and Lan Wangji’s heart twists at how cute it is. This is the glorious sight he gets to go to bed to every night and not a day goes by when he does not appreciate it.
“Er-gege, you’ve tired me out so thoroughly,” Wei Ying teases. “Look, I’m sleepy already!” He yawns once again, in the middle of his sentence. "Fine, I'm going to sleep now, but Lan Zhan, wake me up early tomorrow, okay? You've combed my hair twice today, I'll do— do your hair tomorrow morning, hmm?" Wei Ying yawns yet again, his words running into each other as he gets closer to sleeping.
"Mn." Lan Wangji knows, deep down, that if Wei Ying is sleeping peacefully, he will not have the heart to wake his husband.
"If I don't wake up, just kiss me awake, okay?" Wei Ying says as his eyes flutter shut.
"Mn." That is how he manages to wake Wei Ying quite often.
"Remember, you've promised. Lying is forbidden in Cloud Recesses," Wei Ying's words are mumbled and practically slurred at this point.
Lan Wangji huffs in amusement. "Mn."
With a smile, with his eyes still closed, Wei Ying kisses Lan Wangji on the chest— where he can reach without having to move— the corner of his lips gently brushing the brand on Lan Wangji’s chest. “Lan Zhan, see you tomorrow.”
He settles in Lan Wangji’s arms, his breaths evening out slowly as he drifts into sleep. This is Lan Wangji’s favourite way to go to sleep, holding Wei Ying who is warm and alive in his arms, who curls up towards him and holds him close all through the night. He will wake like this tomorrow, with Wei Ying in his arms, and Lan Wangji knows it will be a wonderful day, because it is another day of being with Wei Ying.
There is not a part of Wei Ying’s face he has not already kissed tonight, but when Lan Wangji extinguishes the light and pulls his husband closer, he kisses Wei Ying’s forehead once again. “Wei Ying,” he murmurs to his sleeping husband, “See you tomorrow.”