Work Text:
Wei Ying shines so, so bright in the snow’s reflected glow. They are days from their destination, a cliffside shrine deep in the mountains, and Lan Wangji should be paying attention to their surroundings. These mountains are old and dangerous, and the things that live in them older and more dangerous still. But he can’t tear his eyes from the light skimming over the line of Wei Ying’s throat, the flutter of his hands as he exclaims over another beautiful vista. Lan Wangji is grateful for the cold. Keeping his spiritual energy circulating is a welcome distraction.
The snow is thick beneath his boots, and he focuses on matching his breathing to his steps, each inhale a knife of pure and cleansing cold. It is beautiful up here; the mountains are wilder than even the more remote areas of Cloud Recesses, all tumbling rock and pines twisted into extravagant shapes by the wind.
Wei Ying spins back to him again, his face sun-bright, laughing. His arms spread wide, as if to embrace the world. “Do you see this, Lan Zhan?” he says. His voice is swelling with joy and disbelief. And Lan Wangji can only nod. Of course he sees. He hasn’t stopped looking since Dafan Mountain.
Small creatures have begun to rustle in the trees again, venturing out after the night’s heavy snowfall. Lan Wangji peers into the deeper parts of the woods, but all he sees are a few birds, their feathers fluffed against the cold. He can’t shake the feeling that something is watching them, that somewhere in the depths of these mountains some cruel fate is lurking, waiting to take Wei Ying away from him again.
That creeping sensation hasn’t left him since Dafan Mountain, either. It’s not logical, after all the real threats to Wei Ying have either withdrawn or been killed. The world is settling, finally, into a shape that can hold Wei Ying. And Wei Ying is a formidable cultivator in his own right; he can take care of himself. Still, Lan Wangji keeps his hand on Wei Ying’s back as they climb over a particularly tricky stretch of rocks, where the snow has compacted into slick black ice. Below his palm, the planes of Wei Ying’s shoulders flex and bunch. The wind gusts, blowing Wei Ying’s hair to the side; Lan Wangji can see the curved nape of his neck. He pulls his hand away too quickly.
The sun sets rapidly in the mountains; already the light is beginning to wane, although it is only late afternoon. Lan Wangji watches their shadows stretch with a slight frown. They will have to find somewhere to shelter for the night, and he worries that the tent in his qiankun bag won’t hold up to the snow falling off the branches with heavy wet thumps. He eyes the rocky cliffs near them, assessing. This kind of landscape is often pocked with caves, although finding one that’s uninhabited might be more difficult.
“Will you sing something for me?” Wei Ying asks. At first Lan Wangji thinks he’s teasing, but the only note in his voice is sincerity. He’s not joking around, pretending to demand entertainment to mask some other desire. Here in the mountains he is stripped of all pretense; he simply wants to hear Lan Wangji sing.
So Lan Wangji does. Softly, because the snow is still heavy and they are in the mountains, he sings the song he wrote years ago in a cave when Wei Ying was sick with fever and he was sick with longing. It’s overlaid now with other things, of course– the song he played every night in a dumb grieving stupor, the song that brought them together again.
His throat is thick, by the time he reaches the end. The last few notes waver as they slip into the silent air. Wei Ying doesn’t comment on it. He doesn’t even pester Lan Wangji for the name of the tune, as he usually does. He only tips his head up to the sky and inhales deeply, the soft rush of his breath barely audible over the sounds of wind and sky and snow.
To have Wei Ying at his side, to hear the sweet sound his lungs make when they fill with air and prove that he’s still alive. Lan Wangji thinks back to all those cold empty nights at the guqin, playing Inquiry for an echoing emptiness. Hold on, he tells his past self. This is not forever. You will see him again.
They pause again to watch the sunset at a place where the trees fall away, the side of the mountain plunging into a steep cliff. The whole of the mountains are open to them, washed in color. The light falls precipitously over the craggy mountainsides and disappears from the valleys like vanished snow, leaving only purple shadows in its wake.
Lan Wangji supposes it is very lovely; Wei Ying seems to think so, pointing out every piece of beauty in the landscape like a boy presented with a spread of ripe fruits. He can’t look away from Wei Ying, though. The light caresses his face, picks out the swell of his cheek and the bow of his lips, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He knows he’s staring too much, but every time Wei Ying looks back at him and catches his gaze, he only smiles. If Wei Ying doesn’t mind it, Lan Wangji will look his fill.
And then Wei Ying shivers. It’s such a small thing, but his teeth are chattering even through his clenched jaw. His hands, when Lan Wangji grabs them, feel like a dead man’s. Lan Wangji’s mind flinches away from that thought. He’d forgotten. Wei Ying doesn’t have a core anymore; he can’t circulate spiritual energy to keep himself warm. And Lan Wangji had been too busy gazing at him to notice that he was freezing. He’d been worried about monsters, but he hadn’t thought. Not everything dangerous on a mountain is alive.
Wei Ying doesn’t even protest when Lan Wangji scoops him into his arms. His body is still warm, at least. His head fits neatly under Lan Wangji’s chin, as if it were meant to be there. Lan Wangji doesn’t want to let him go.
The cave isn’t far. Wei Ying uncurls enough to draw talismans to place around the entrance while Lan Wangji goes to make sure nothing else is living here. He doesn’t see anything obvious– no bones or skulls litter the floor, but Wei Ying calls his name before he can examine the corners closely. Lan Wangji rushes over and finds him huddled miserably on the stone floor, shaking.
Wei Ying’s lips are pale. Lan Wangji tries to take comfort in the knowledge that Wei Ying had asked for him, when he needed help. He understands why Wei Ying hides his hurts like an injured animal. When, after all, has sharing his pain brought him relief? But it doesn’t make it any easier to bear the discovery, hours or days later, that Wei Ying has been hurt and not said anything.
He takes Wei Ying’s hands and circulates spiritual energy through them, seeking out the coldest parts of Wei Ying’s body. You’re not alone anymore, he tries to say, with the press of his fingers. Wei Ying drops his gaze and inhales. Lan Wangji hopes that means he understands.
Then, of course, he protests that Lan Wangji shouldn’t use too much energy on him. As if Lan Wangji’s qi could be depleted by a single session of keeping Wei Ying warm!
“It is not too much,” Lan Wangji says, and squeezes Wei Ying’s hands before letting go. He’s still too cold; he won’t be able to sleep like this. He goes to lay down blankets, pulling Wei Ying down with him.
Wei Ying pressed up against him is almost overwhelming. The long wild heat of him everywhere is unbearably intimate. He can feel Wei Ying breathing, warm against his neck. His cold feet twine with Lan Wangji’s ankles, and Lan Wangji tries to tuck the robe around them more securely.
He breathes through it. Gradually his own breathing synchronizes with Wei Ying’s. They could almost be one creature, wrapped around each other this way. Wei Ying shifts, and makes a small noise of contentment, and Lan Wangji wants to draw other small noises out of him so badly it makes his fingers ache. Oh, the things he wants to do with Wei Ying.
“Better?” he asks, instead.
Wei Ying takes a moment to answer. “Very good,” he says. “Now only my face is cold! I think my lips might’ve really turned blue earlier, Lan Zhan, did you see?”
Lan Wangji had seen. It had made fear climb into his throat. He hums and pulls Wei Ying closer. All at once he’s tired of himself. He has Wei Ying back, miraculously, after a decade and a half of mourning. The man he loves is here in his arms. What does he have left to be afraid of?
He trails his fingers up Wei Ying’s neck. Wei Ying makes a soft, questioning noise, and Lan Wangji kisses it from him. He finds, once he’s started, that he can’t stop; he kisses Wei Ying again and again, luxuriating in the feeling of him. Wei Ying is a responsive kisser, as full of little whimpers and moans as Lan Wangji had hoped. His lips are still a little cold, and Lan Wangji does his best to remedy that until he realizes that Wei Ying is trembling under him.
He pulls back. It is so, so difficult to break away. Wei Ying stares up at him, eyes black and surprised. His lips are red and slick. Lan Wangji wants to put his fingers between them.
The silence grows between them like a soap bubble, shimmering and impossible. Wei Ying, of course, is first to break it.
“If you stop,” he says, “I might get cold again. We shouldn’t risk it, right?” His words are light, but there’s no laugh in his eyes. He’s looking at Lan Wangji carefully, like he’s assessing how much he can take.
Lan Wangji squeezes his eyes shut. He knows that if he stops now, Wei Ying will let him. He could roll away, and sleep next to Wei Ying all night long, and this thing between them would continue to hang there, weighty and expectant as overripe fruit on the tree. They would not speak of it again.
Wei Ying’s hands are in his hair, gentle. He had always idly thought that when things came to a head, it would be at Wei Ying’s urging. He is the one who dances right up to precipices, after all, always laughing, always teasing. Lan Wangji didn’t expect to be the one to have to take the leap.
But then Wei Ying never asks for the things he really wants.
He opens his eyes, and Wei Ying is still gazing up at him. He looks like a spring painting even with all of his clothes still on. There is not a particle of him that Lan Wangji does not love. He dives down to kiss Wei Ying again, hot and wet and too much, but he can’t hold himself back anymore. He feels like something devouring and strange. He wants to give Wei Ying everything he has ever gone without.
Every evidence of Wei Ying alive and safe is so, so sweet to him. Wei Ying’s pulse beats strong and fast in his neck, when he sucks a bruise above it. Wei Ying moves eagerly under his hands, his own hot breath mixing with Lan Wangji’s when he turns his head back to kiss him. He makes sweet little encouraging noises, his hands clutching at Lan Wangji’s shoulders. Lan Wangji can feel Wei Ying’s nails blunted by the thin undershirt he is still wearing.
He had been mostly ignoring his own arousal in favor of kissing as many parts of Wei Ying as he could reach, but when Wei Ying grinds his hip against Lan Wangji’s cock, he can’t help moaning.
“Lan Zhan, look,” Wei Ying gasps, pulling free of his arms and pointing. Behind a pile of rocks at the back of the cave, a darting flash of movement. “Something’s back there.”
Lan Wangji stiffens, reaching for his sword, when a creature pops up from the rocks and chitters at them in warning. It’s the size of a small monkey, its long silky fur braided and festooned with gemstones and other small ornaments. Its small long-fingered paws scrabble at the rocks as it puffs itself up.
“What is that?” Wei Ying says, and the creature bristles indignantly, its chittering taking on a harried, indignant tone.
“I think it’s a huahuai,” Lan Wangji says. “I’ve never seen one before, though. I didn’t think the cave was occupied, but I must have missed its nest.”
“My hands were a little shaky when I was putting up the talismans. It might have crept in after us,” Wei Ying says. “Are they territorial? Would it understand me, if I spoke to it?” He’s shrugging his robe back on, and Lan Wangji feels a little ludicrous at mourning the disappearance of the smooth curve of his shoulders.
“Not that I know of, and probably. They’re considered intelligent.”
Wei Ying smiles, then bows deeply to the creature. “Distinguished host, we’re terribly sorry to disturb your slumber, but could we beg your hospitality for the night? It’s very cold outside, and we don’t have the benefit of your beautiful fur.”
The huahuai draws its head back and rocks side to side, considering. It narrows its eyes as Wei Ying fumbles in the pockets of his outer robes, evidently looking for something. “Ha!” he cries, pulling out a silver comb. “Could I offer you this, as a token of our appreciation?” He walks slowly forward, bent low, and places the comb on the ground close to the rocks.
The huahuai waits for him to withdraw, then reaches its hand out achingly slowly to take the comb. It holds it up to the firelight, inspecting, then nods its head exaggeratedly and blinks twice. It has two sets of eyelids, which Lan Wangji finds incredibly unsettling. Then it turns and disappears into a little opening in the back of the cave.
Wei Ying falls back onto the blankets, arms spread. “Whew!” he says. “I thought we were going to be turned out into the cold. They hibernate, don’t they?”
“They do,” Lan Wangji says. “They generally don’t wake until there’s unrest in the land. Wars, famines, oppression.”
Wei Ying sits up with a start, his face falling almost comically. “Lan Zhan,” he hisses. “Are you telling me that we could have caused a calamity by fucking in the wrong cave?”
Lan Wangji feels something bubble up in him, warm and irrepressible. He lets the smile break across his face.
“You’re laughing at me! Lan Zhan, this is serious!”
“I think it wasn’t fully asleep yet,” Lan Wangji says. “If it was really hibernating, it would take more than just us to wake it.”
“It must have been awake a long time.” Wei Ying is right; it probably hasn’t slept since Wen Ruohan began to amass the Yin Iron. 20 years, maybe 30. It’s been a long time since there was peace.
Lan Wangji takes his hand and kisses it. “And now it can rest,” he says. “As should we.”
Wei Ying lets himself be drawn back down on the blankets. “I’m sorry, Lan Zhan,” he says. “That comb was going to be for you.”
Lan Wangji kisses the top of his head, unspeakably fond. “I don’t need combs.”
Wei Ying continues unchecked. “It was so nice, too. It had gentians on it. They had one with rabbits, but I thought the gentians would be nicer. Would you rather have had rabbits, though, Lan Zhan?”
“I would like anything Wei Ying got me,” Lan Wangji says, honestly. “But I don’t need combs. Just Wei Ying.”
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying protests, trying to pull back in his arms to look at him. Lan Wangji takes the opportunity to silence the rest of his protest by bending down to kiss him.
“I love you too, you know,” Wei Ying says breathlessly, some time later. “I know it’s not necessarily— to say it in the middle of—” He’s blushing, his hair spread out in a wild tangle against the blankets. His eyes are so, so soft. “But I do mean it.”
Lan Wangji feels that irrepressible bubbling feeling again. Who needs a core? He could keep Wei Ying warm just with this heat in his chest. “Love you,” he says hoarsely, kissing Wei Ying everywhere he can reach. His face, his neck, his shoulder. “Love you. Need you.”
“You can have me,” Wei Ying says, his voice a little thick. Lan Wangji kisses the tears from the corners of his eyes. “All yours.”
Lan Wangji crushes Wei Ying to him. Here he is, so beloved, all the tangled-up pieces of him bright and beating and alive. Here in Lan Wangji’s arms, where he need never be cold again. He’s kissing his way up Lan Wangji’s neck with his own fierce determination. They have all the time in the world just to be like this, touching and being touched, until the morning, and then they can do it again.
“Lan Zhan— ah— shh, shh. We’ll wake the huahuai!”