Work Text:
"Wen Qionglin, I think I want to kiss you," Lan Xichen said.
It was not the first time he'd thought it. The first time was three towns ago, watching Wen Qionglin carefully tying a bandage around a small child's invisible injury and solemnly blowing on it 'to make it feel better.' He'd turned the thought over in his mind ever since, examining it from multiple angles the way he might a puzzle box, trying to work out the secret mechanism to reveal what was inside. The thought held fast as he imagined it — kissing Wen Qionglin, Wen Qionglin kissing him. It was a warm, comfortable sort of feeling, the way sharing an inn with him had become, or playing folk songs on the xiao while Wen Qionglin listened, rapt and unblinking, transported by his enjoyment of the music beyond remembering to act like a live person.
Wen Qionglin was unblinking now, Lan Xichen realized, but not in an easy way. "We don't have to," he hastened to assure him. "Not if you don't want to, of course."
Wen Qionglin shook his head. "No, it's not that, it's — I've never."
"Never kissed someone?" Lan Xichen asked.
"Well, no, that either," Wen Qionglin replied, "but I meant never wanted to. Even when I was alive — not that I had many offers, what with everything..." Lan Xichen gave him a look at that, and Wen Qionglin waved it off. "Don't look like that. Did you find much time for romance in the war?"
Lan Xichen recalled months fighting alongside Nie Mingjue, falling asleep back to back, exhausted and heart-weary, finding comfort in the press of his oldest friend's broad shoulders against his.
(They never kissed. Lan Xichen hadn't realized he might have liked to until later.)
"Not as such," he admitted. "I don't —" he paused; he had not often needed to explain this. "I don't seem to want, the way some people do. Please don't think it's you," he added, not wanting Wen Qionglin to misunderstand. "You're lovely, and handsome, and very dear to me."
Wen Qionglin ducked behind his hair at the compliment. (An old habit that was less effective in hiding him these days, now that he let Lan Xichen comb it out at night and put it up for him in the morning.) "So dear you want to kiss me?" he asked. "Even though I'm like this?" He was still shy at times about the ways his body was different.
Lan Xichen extended a hand between them, palm up, and Wen Qionglin did not hesitate to clasp it with his own. It was cool, as always, the skin soft in a way that still surprised him. "So dear I want to travel with you, for as long as we wish to do so," he said softly. "So dear I want to hold your hand and comb your hair and sleep beside you while you do whatever it is you do all night. The way you are is just you, to me."
Wen Qionglin squeezed his hand and laughed his quiet little huff of a laugh. "I watch you. In case you start to have a nightmare. I thought you knew." He said it with no embarrassment, and it was so matter-of-fact, a little odd and so kind, so essentially Wen Qionglin that Lan Xichen couldn't help but laugh. So many times in their travels, Lan Xichen had startled awake to find Wen Qionglin already there, firm hands gently soothing him and soft voice helping ground him in the present, steadfast as a pine. Of course he'd been watching. Lan Xichen felt that hearthfire warmth again.
"You said you'd never wanted to kiss someone," Lan Xichen said carefully. "I am more than content to continue on as we have been, of course."
"I still don't think I do," Wen Qionglin said, a small grin playing about his lips. "But I might like to try being kissed."
So now they travel together, carrying home with them. Lan Xichen combs Wen Qionglin's hair, and Wen Qionglin wakes Lan Xichen from nightmares, and sometimes, when the mood feels right, they exchange soft, sweet kisses, just because they can.