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The morning dew on the grass glittered silvern under the first light of dawn as Lan Wangji carefully, and without lighting a candle, slid his robes on. The cold of the night lingered in the Jingshi and the clean smell of fresh morning air did nothing to ease the slight shiver he felt until the last layer of warm clothing finally enveloped his shoulders. Even though his golden core usually kept him warm, on mornings like these it almost helped with the lingering tiredness slowing him down.
It was early, even for a Lan, and the Cloud Recesses were still silent as Yin Shi hadn’t come to an end just yet.
Lan Wangji was careful to keep the rustling of clothes to a minimum as he continued to dress, taking Bichen off the sword stand and tying the scabbard around his sash. A small noise came from behind the screen separating the sleeping area from the rest of the room and Lan Wangji held his breath to listen. Nothing else followed so his husband seemed to continue sleeping but Wangji couldn’t resist a careful peek around the screen.
Wei Ying was wrapped in several thick blankets, face buried in more pillows than the rules against overindulgence and “Do not wallow in luxury” probably allowed. Lan Wangji did not find it in him to care. His husband was not of Gusu. Having grown up at Lotus Pier, with its mild and humid climate, he’d had a hard time adjusting to the cold of the mountains. The first few months Wei Ying had spent here he had been sick quite a lot. It never failed to worry Wangji who could not stop seeing his mother withering away in front of him, her lungs collapsing with heavy coughs and her entire body thinning out until there was nothing left but pale skin and bones.
Lan Wangji stepped forward when he saw that his husband still shivered a bit under all the blankets. Now, with Lan Wangji’s body heat gone, his bare skin was probably covered in goosebumps under the covers, and Wangji sighed softly and grabbed another blanket to drape it over the bed, all the way up to Wei Ying’s shoulders. Lan Wangji felt a soft smile sneak onto his face and he couldn’t resist brushing his fingers against his beloved’s face. Wei Wuxian reacted subconsciously and his face moved deeper into the touch.
He realized he would have to pull himself away from the sleeping form of his husband, as beautiful as it was, or he would never leave.
After dropping a kiss on Wei Ying’s temple, Lan Wangji quickly stepped back around the screen.
Even in the dim light of the lingering dawn he could see his own reflection in the mirror quite clearly, the dark black of his hair a stark contrast against the pristine color of his ceremonial robe. It was still falling freely against his chest and back, not yet done in his usual updo, so Lan Wangji grabbed the fine jade comb — it had once belonged to his mother — and made quick work of it. The hair piece he used was smaller than the usual one he had worn to ceremonial affairs before, and it had been chosen by his beloved after Lan Wangji had admitted to him that the large crown tended to irritate him after a short while whenever he wore it.
Wei Ying had dragged him to the market that very afternoon and refused to go home until they had found the perfect replacement.
Everything around him was proof of his husband’s affection; Even the Zan he pushed into his neatly formed bun now had been a gift for their wedding day. Wei Ying, having almost no money of his own to his name, had spent several days selling talismans down in Caiyi Town just to be able to afford the intricate and beautifully carved Jade hairpin. “I know you have others,” Wei Ying had laughed a bit sheepishly and not as brightly as Lan Wangji was used to from him, “and I know it’s not the most valuable or beautiful or rare-”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji had stopped him, ignoring the rule prohibiting interruption. “It is perfect.”
His beloved had smiled brightly at the praise and thrown his arms around his neck to pull Lan Wangji down into a bruising kiss.
He still remembered Wei Ying’s laughter against his lips.
The hairpin, along with the plain white one he had inherited from his mother, had quickly become a favorite of his. While he reserved both for special occasions, Wei Ying’s went tremendously well with the ceremonial garbs he wore for his Chief Cultivator duties and so it had become a staple in his attire whenever he went out for political meetings.
The final touch were the two charms he tied to his sash - one white and one a soft bluish lilac, a subtle hint to his husband’s heritage. He fastened his silver vambraces, the fine metal engraved with the clouds of his clan keeping the thin white fabric of his inner sleeves close to his arms, before letting his wide outer sleeves fall over them and hiding them from view. Glancing into the mirror to confirm he looked presentable, he grabbed his qiankun pouch and guqin and walked towards the door of the Jingshi.
He yearned to say goodbye to his husband properly but he knew the second he woke Wei Ying up he would not be able to tear himself away from him. A stubborn, childish part of him wanted to scoff at the men waiting for him over in Lanling, demanding his presence for yet another tedious ceremony followed by an even more tedious meeting that would ultimately lead nowhere. What were they compared to the love of his life? They meant nothing to Wangji, not when the man he had loved and waited for for two decades was finally within reach.
Wei Ying, back in his life, and now in his arms too, and his bed.
Some days Wangji still couldn’t believe it. It was hard to convince himself he wasn’t dreaming.
He sighed under his breath as he pulled the door open, careful not to allow the low creak to shatter the serene silence in the Jingshi. Wei Ying worked so hard and deserved to rest. Even if it meant Lan Wangji would have to face the world of sect politics alone.
He hated being Chief Cultivator. Truly, from the bottom of his heart, hated it. He was doing it out of love for his brother and would be willing to stand in for Xichen for the rest of his life if he needed to, but that didn’t make it any less exhausting.
Lan Wangji was not the type of person to hate easily yet he hated the meetings and the discussions and the paperwork and the people. Or maybe not the people but rather what they stood for, the system they represented.
Lan Wangji wanted change. Real, lasting change. So did his husband.
Wei Ying usually accompanied him to his responsibilities as Chief Cultivator whenever he could, mindful of his duty as Lan Wangji’s spouse and a member of Gusu Lan. He sat next to his husband with a perfectly straight posture completely unusual for him, back rigid with a neutral but friendly expression on his face. In the beautiful ceremonial Lan robes Lan Wangji’s family had gifted him he looked every bit the strong, powerful cultivator he was — all while still managing to fade into the background, careful not to impose himself and rather shadow his husband as a silent, watchful supporter.
Lan Wangji felt the corners of his lips drop.
At least, that was what Wei Ying tried. In reality, even with perfectly acceptable, polite and graceful behavior, it was never enough.
Wei Ying pretended not to hear the sneers and whispers behind his back, ignored the nervous glances people sent his way, and didn’t mind that despite his social status and his name having been cleared, he was still treated like an outcast by many. He took it all with a grace and humility Lan Wangji could only marvel at. And every time his husband squeezed his hand under the table or threw him a gentle, calming smile Wangji’s heart ached with how much he loved him.
He loved him, Lan Wangji mused in the serenity of the blue morning light. It was ridiculous, how much the realization hit him all of a sudden. He loved him. He loved him so much it consumed his entire being, so much it washed over him like a mighty wave. Heavens, how he loved that man. And heavens, how lucky he had gotten. Sometimes he still couldn't believe it.
The dew on the grass shimmered faintly as Wangji adjusted his robes and readied Bichen. His heart tightened painfully. He missed Wei Ying already. Yet another reason why he hated being Chief Cultivator: he could not bear being constantly separated from the man he loved.
There were a few occasions when Wei Ying simply couldn't — or wouldn’t — accompany him. He couldn't blame him for that. If the choice were his, he would stay in bed too. But he had a duty to his clan, and to his brother.
‘Besides, there is no one better suited for this position than my noble Hanguang-jun,’ Wei Ying liked to remind him. ‘If you don't do it, someone else will take it on — and likely use the power for their own ends, just like every other Chief Cultivator we've ever had.’
Wei Ying would grow sad whenever he said that. ‘And where would that leave us? I'm sorry, xingan, my heart and liver, but this position corrupts. No one but you can do it. It has to be you.’
The rest of the cultivation world was lucky that his husband had him wrapped around his finger. The trust he placed in him soothed his sourness toward the role somewhat.
He was almost out the door, ready to pull it shut behind him and mount his sword, when a rustle of fabric caught his attention.
“Not even five years of marriage and my dear husband is already sneaking out in the dead of night,” Wei Ying’s tired but mischievous voice came from the other side of the folding screen.
Lan Wangji hummed and turned. “Forgive me, my love. I did not mean to wake you.”
“Hm, you didn’t wake me,” Wei Ying answered with a yawn and stepped around the screen so Lan Wangji could finally see him. “I woke up because I was cold.”
He was gorgeous, Lan Zhan thought breathlessly. He always was, of course, and even from a purely physical standpoint Mo Xuanyu did not lack any beauty, but there was something special about moments like these in which Wei Ying's hair was all disheveled and his face partially hidden by the shadows of the dying night. He looked… almost like his old body. Lan Zhan would always love him, for as long as he lived and after that too, in every body and every state of his, but there was a certain intimacy that came with a beauty like this that nothing could compare to.
Wei Wuxian leaned against the wall to his left now, the light robe around his shoulder slipping down and revealing the pale strip of skin right over his collarbone. He yawned again but kept his eyes on Lan Zhan, never losing the amused smile playing around his lips.
“Is there a reason my spouse is leaving me behind all cold and lonely without as much as a kiss to keep me company in the days to come?”
‘Because if I were to start kissing you, I could not stop.’ “You need your sleep,” Lan Wangji said.
Waving his hand dismissively, Wei Ying pushed himself off the wall and crept closer, the white robe spilling around him like liquid moonlight. He looked like the moon himself, Earth's eternal companion, come to life.
‘I must have wed a god and not a man,’ Lan Zhan thought reverently.
“And now you're sneaking out to see other men,” Wei Ying joked. “Never,” Lan Zhan replied immediately. It had been a joke, of course, but even then he couldn't just let the statement go.
“Oh?” Wei Ying asked with feigned innocence. “Are you not off to Lanling?”
Lan Wangji sighed with fond exasperation. “My love…”
Wei Ying's grin was bright even in the darkness. “Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, I am only teasing.”
“I know.”
Holding his arms open, Lan Wangji wordlessly beckoned his husband closer, not only for the selfish reason of pulling him close but also to drape the robe Wei Wuxian had thrown over his shoulders higher. “It is cold out in the mountains. You will catch a cold,” he worried gently.
“Nonsense, Lan Zhan!” his husband insisted. “Besides, I am well protected, see?” He gestured towards the cloth he had wrapped himself in and Lan Wangji recognized it was one of his own outer robes, embroidered with the inner family’s cloud pattern, beautifully intricate as the man wearing it. Wei Ying must’ve found it neatly folded next to the bed and decided that it would serve better to keep him warm than any blanket or his own, much thicker robes. Despite the cold outside Lan Wangji felt warmth creep up in him at the thought.
“Still,” he insisted gently, dropping a kiss on the raven black hair on the crown of his husband’s head. “I would not wish to see Wei Ying fall ill. Be careful.”
“Ay, ay, I will,” he answered, interrupting himself with a long yawn.
“Go back to bed. It is still early. You can sleep a few hours longer.”
His husband pouted. “And miss Hanguang-jun’s departure? I would sooner die again!”
“Do not jest about that.”
Wei Ying's face fell and he reached up to cup Lan Zhan’s face, eyes dark and serious. “You will be careful too, right?”
“Of course. It is only a ceremony.”
Wei Ying’s grip tightened and he pulled their faces closer together, staring at him intently. “No, you don't understand. You will be careful, right?”
Wangji tilted his head. “Yes, my love.”
A deep breath. “Good.”
“Is there a particular reason you are worried?” he asked, but Wei Ying only shook his head. “I always worry when I’m not with you.”
Lan Wangji hummed but did not answer otherwise.
“Do you ever miss me when we're apart?” Wei Ying asked out of nowhere, clearly attempting to make it sound like a joke, but Lan Zhan could see the more than sincere tenderness shimmering in his eyes. “Do you yearn for me?” His eyes fell and he hid behind his unruly bangs.
Of course he did, and Wei Ying knew it. But perhaps he needed to hear it again.
Lan Zhan cupped his jaw with his hand and tilted his chin up so their eyes met. “The way the migratory bird yearns for the South.”
He reveled in the way his beloved seemed to melt at that. His eyes shimmered where he was looking up at him, as if he was hearing it for the first time, as if Lan Zhan didn't tell him every single day, as if he hadn't written him a dozen songs, and worshiped his body every night.
“Tell me you love me,” Wei Ying whispered suddenly, effectively cutting Wangji’s musings short. He looked down at his husband in silent question. “Tell me you love me and that you will return to me,” Wei Ying said again, sounding almost breathless this time and suddenly Lan Wangji realized what was off about him — he was terrified.
"Did you have a bad dream?" he asked cautiously, but Wei Ying did not answer him. "Promise me, Lan Zhan!"
His beloved would occasionally fall into moods like this, less frequently as the years went by, yet still almost as frequently as the seasons changed. There were days when Wei Ying was enveloped in a sad melancholy akin to a dark cloud, and it seemed as though nothing in the world could make him happy again. Lan Wangji had learned that, even though he usually didn't ask for it directly and acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary, his husband needed reassurance and love more than ever on days like these.
The Chief Cultivator hated those days more than anything; when he couldn't coax a smile onto his usually oh-so-happy face no matter what he did. He could kiss, embrace, and hold him; he could play a thousand songs, cook the finest delicacies, have treats brought in from Yunmeng, and offer the most expensive alcohol or tea, yet nothing would offer his beloved any solace. All that helped was time and patience, waiting for the melancholy tormenting his husband to pass on its own.
It seemed the mood was back. And it must have shaken him to the core today, if he asked so outright. Lan Wangji cursed his title and the work that came with it. If not for the ceremony in Lanling, he could stay home with him and spoil him all day, make sure Wei Ying never forgot his place in his heart. But no, the world was unfair and cruel, and so all that was left for him to do was lean forward and kiss him, deep and earnestly and with everything he had. He let every ounce of love pour into his touches and pulled him closer, even if that seemed nearly impossible with their bodies already pressed so closely together one could think they were trying to become one.
“I swear it to you,” he answered when they finally pulled apart. It seemed to ease Wei Ying's nerves a little as he let out an audible breath and forced a smile. "Good."
“Tell me what brought this on.” “You should really leave,” his husband replied, jest back in his voice. “You don’t want to keep them waiting.”
“They can wait,” Lan Wangji insisted. “Tell me.”
Finally Wei Ying exhaled and put his hands on Lan Wangji’s chest in defeat, leaning heavily against him so his ear could rest just over where the heart was beating in his chest. “Like you said, just a bad dream.”
Lan Wangji hummed again. “Perhaps I could find a way-”
“Oh, hush, it’s not that bad. Just tell me again.”
“Nothing will happen to me.”
A kiss was dropped on the heavy ceremonial robes draped over his chest. “Again.”
“Nothing will happen to me.”
A giggle followed this time and Wangji felt himself smile faintly as well. “Again?”
“Indulge me.”
“Always.” He kissed his temple. “Nothing will happen to me,” he said with conviction.
“I know. You’re strong.” A breathless laughter. “But sometimes…” he trailed off and didn’t say more.
“Sometimes what?”
Wei Ying swallowed and buried himself deeper in Wangji’s chest. “You’re all I have,” he mumbled. “I know it’s selfish after the thirteen years you had to endure, but sometimes I imagine-”
He broke off, but Lan Wangji could figure out the rest.
“Wei Ying,” he said seriously, gently pushing him off him just far enough he could look him in the eyes. “Nothing will happen to me or either of us. I will not let us be ripped apart again.”
Besides, he thought quietly to himself, with you alive, they cannot hurt me in any way that matters. If they were to cut out pieces of my flesh, it would not be blood spilling over their fingers but the sound of your name. I was made whole by you. You are all the life in me is made of now.
“I am sorry I have to leave you,” he said. “Especially on a day like this. But I swear to you, when I return I will make it up to you. Limb over limb, skin on skin, lip between lip,” Lan Zhan said as he leaned forward to kiss him again, “until I all but forget where I end and you begin.”
“You are wasted as a musician,” Wei Ying sighed against his lips. “My husband should have been a poet instead.”
“No. My words are only for you.”
“So I am your muse.”
“Always. But just like with the music I compose for you, my love confessions are meant only for your ears.”
Wei Ying threw his head back and laughed, a sound bright and sweet as a bell, cutting through the serenity of the early morning like sunshine through clouds. “We are terrible. Look at us. Sentimental, soppy old men. When did that happen?”
Lan Wangji smiled, dropped a kiss on his husband’s temple and finally, with all the strength and discipline ever instilled in him as a Lan, managed to pull himself away from him.
He stepped out of the Jingshi, looking back at his husband as he straightened his robes again and stepped onto his sword. “Three days,” he said. “Then I will be back.” “Three days,” Wei Ying nodded.
They looked at each other for a long moment, then his husband lifted one hand to wave him goodbye from where he was still standing in the doorway of the Jingshi, Lan Zhan’s robe draped around him, so large on his thin frame it seemed to drown him. Seeing him like this — wrapped in his warmth and protection, completely at home in the Cloud Recesses as if he had always belonged there — sent a thrill through Lan Wangji. He was like an image straight from a dream. Something stirred in the pit of his stomach, creeping upwards and pulling at his heart until it felt raw with tenderness.
How was it possible to love someone so deeply? How could the two of them have gotten so fortunate, to have something this rare — being loved by someone this much and loving just as much in return?
Wei Wuxian let his hand drop again, evidently confused why he wasn’t flying off. The movement caused his robe’s sleeve to slide down once more, this time revealing his entire shoulder, the upper part of his arm, and half of his chest. Lan Zhan couldn't help himself; his eyes drifted down to the exposed part of his husband’s torso, to the skin, white as porcelain in the cold moonlight.
His eyes darted back up and met his husband’s, on whose face a mischievous, conspiratorial grin had spread. Lan Wangji swallowed as he realized he had been caught.
Stepping forward into the cool morning air, Wei Ying glided down the steps until his bare feet reached the stepping stones that broke through the grass. The robe fell over the dew-cold ground, once again obscuring his legs, but slipping further down his torso, now exposing his other shoulder as well. He stopped a few steps away from Lan Wangji, the white fabric spilling around his waist, and grinned up at him. “See something you like?” he teased and oh, he knew what he was doing now.
With one swift motion Lan Zhan dropped down from his sword and closed the distance between them again so he could wrap his arms around him and hug him tightly, pulling him into a kiss. His husband laughed into it and he could feel his hands coming up to frame his face.
They parted briefly and Lan Wangji pulled the robe over his shoulders again. “You will catch a cold,” he warned for the second time that morning, pulling the sash taut around his waist to secure it for good. Wei Wuxian didn’t answer, only kissed him again.
Lan Wangji could have stood there for hours, his hands clasping his husband’s waist, lips pressed against his, chest against chest so that he could feel his breath and every beat of his heart echoing through his own body.
He had been right: kissing him was dangerous. He could feel himself melt into him and the rest of the world disappear, all thoughts of duty lost. All that mattered was the man in his arms — arms that now moved from his cheeks to the back of his neck where they hugged him tightly.
Perhaps he was, somehow, even more beautiful like this, with his back arched and his dark hair spilling over his shoulders between them like the currents of Yunmeng’s lakes. He was as untamable as the water he had grown up in; just as wild and free, just as insatiable as he pulled Lan Wangji in.
Wei Ying was a waterborne abyss and Lan Wangji was the sailor pulled under to drown. ‘The sweetest death to die,’ he thought as he turned his head to deepen the kiss.
He even tasted like moonlight, somehow.
Only when their tongues met did he finally come to his senses. “My love,” he said, pulling away despite the ache the action left in his heart. “I must leave.”
“I know,” Wei Ying replied, but despite the understanding words something dangerous flashed in his eyes. Lan Wangji had to clench his hands into fists and use some spiritual energy to calm himself.
His husband took a step back and paused mid-motion. A second later, Lan Wangji understood why: the robe, tied only at the waist, fell open around his slightly bent leg and revealed the delicate, pale skin beneath.
In the silver morning light Wei Ying now appeared like the image of a jade statue — beautiful, eternal, and erotic as if he had stood in the dew-kissed grass for a thousand years, driving men to madness. He briefly wondered if this was how those who fell victim to huli jing felt. Were they ever as enchanted as he was now, as enamored, just as devoid of any rational thought?
"How terrible that I must share my husband," Wei Ying sighed with exaggerated sadness and shifted his weight onto his back foot so the curve of his naked, outstretched leg was accentuated even further. "And to think I once was foolish enough to believe that, with our third bow, he would be mine and mine alone."
Lan Wangji was no fool. He knew his lover all too well and understood that he was merely trying to tease him. Five years of blissful, loving marriage and he would never tire of this. Wei Ying still aimed to rile him up and provoke a reaction like he had when they were boys, only now had he long learned of the effect his body had on Lan Zhan and was not afraid to use it to his advantage.
But Lan Wangji was no longer the boy who had chased another across the rooftops that fateful night two lifetimes ago. He was no longer fifteen. His beloved’s beauty and sexual appeal was certainly a weakness of his, but not one he aimed to hide anymore. He was not the junior kissing another man blindfolded; today he was a husband, and honest in his affection.
Forty years of age, and he had spent thirteen of those, a third of his lifetime, grieving Wei Ying. He would never again make the mistakes of his youth, he had decided long ago, and so without another word he did what he had wanted to do the second his husband had appeared before him tonight looking like a drowned god in moonlight:
He dropped to his knees in front of him.
“Lan-” a startled voice came from above when he tenderly wrapped his fingers around Wei Ying’s calf, the touch feather light, and guided the leg up so he could drop a kiss on the soft skin.
With his lips he trailed up the shin to his knees, leaving a trail of kisses wherever his mouth touched, before lowering himself to Wei Ying’s ankle and kissing the bone there. His husband’s breath hitched but other than that he stayed quiet. Perhaps, Lan Zhan thought tenderly as he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against his beloved’s leg, he had finally stunned him into silence.
“Every part of me is yours to keep,” he mumbled against the moon-warmed skin. “If I could, I would have you lock me away in the chambers of your heart, cage me in the place beneath your ribs.” He dropped another kiss on Wei Ying’s shin, taking a deep breath before tilting his head up to look him in the eyes. “I would live under your pulse if I could.”
“Lan Zhan, I… you-”
It took a lot to make Wei Ying speechless, and even more to get him to blush like was now, eyes flicking back and forth between Wangji’s face and the darkness still lingering over their garden. “You can’t… you shouldn’t…”
“What?” Lan Zhan asked reverently, closing his eyes and dropping his face against his lover’s knee again.
His skin still smelled of their soap and the scent of sandalwood clinging to everything in the Jingshi, and underneath was the sweetest note of Wei Ying himself, with his intoxicating scent, which never failed to numb Wangji’s senses against all else in the world.
“Get up!” Wei Ying all but whined.
“No.” The hand that wasn't cradling his calf moved up to caress along the inside of his leg instead. He heard Wei Ying’s breath hitch and his eyes fluttered shut. "Lan Zhan..."
Lifting his leg higher, Lan Wangji brought the ankle to his mouth and kissed it once more, hand brushing over the sole of Wei Ying’s foot before lowering the limb slightly as he began kissing his way up, much slower now than before, taking his sweet time to explore every inch of the silken skin with his lips.
How many times had he lain with Wei Ying now? Hundreds of times? Thousands? Lan Zhan had lost count, and what a privilege that was, but no matter how many times, he would never get tired of this: of the the way his love’s breath got caught in his throat when he exhaled shakily, how his eyes fluttered beneath the underside of closed lids, and his head lolled back. Lan Wangji watched from his place on his knees how Wei Ying took to his carnal affections like a flower to the sun. He was beautiful. Erotic.
‘His body sings in response to me,’ he thought happily as mouthed against the side of his husband’s knee.’Like we were made to fit together.’
Moving his mouth further up his leg, he finally arrived at his thigh, wandering higher and higher, further and further in, until he was leaving feather light kisses just below the point were the robe fell open, on the softest, most sensitive part of Wei Ying’s inner thigh.
He needed Wei Ying even closer, he thought. He drew the outstretched leg nearer, pressed his lips even more firmly against the skin, and parted his lips to taste him. The scent of Wei Ying’s sleep-warm skin had not been lost in the cool of dawn, quite the opposite. He still tasted sweet, clouding Lan Zhan’s senses, yet now he could also smell the morning air on him, and taste the mist that hung over the mountains as it beaded upon his skin.
His beloved husband was a miracle come to life and he wanted nothing more than to make love to him.
He couldn't. Duty called.
So lost in his caresses, the hand suddenly closing around the back of his head took him by surprise. He looked up to catch his husband in silent anticipation of an ecstasy he knew he couldn't give him right now. Nonetheless he was pretty to look at with his back arched and mouth open.
Lan Wangji suddenly realized he had moved higher, so high that he would have needed to untie Wei Ying’s sash to reach the sweet regions of his manhood.
When the hand in his hair grew impatient and curled into a fist, Lan Wangji finally came to his senses. He had to leave, urgently, and he wasn’t exactly making the farewell any easier for either of them. He took one last deep breath, drinking it all in, and tenderly kissed the patch of skin he had just tormented before standing up. Wei Ying’s lower legs still looked as white as snow, albeit shaking a bit, but nevertheless flawless. However, even in the moonlight Wangji could see darker marks already beginning to show on Wei Ying's inner thigh. He couldn't help but feel pleased with himself — the love bites would keep Wei Ying company until he returned.
Pulling the robe closed, he cupped Wei Ying's face once more, who still looked a bit shaken and out of it. “Lan Zhan,” he breathed softly.
“Yes, my love?”
No answer, and so he kissed him again, trying to stamp out the fire that was beginning to glow in his own nether regions. He needed to focus on flying.
‘One last kiss,’ he thought to himself. 'Just one more and then I will leave.’ And so he did.
It was a sweet kiss, full of love and familiarity, and he could feel his husband melt and sigh into the embrace. He broke it and bent forward to whisper into Wei Ying's ear, his lips brushing the shell ever so slightly and sending another shiver down his husband's spine.
“I will be back shortly. Do not touch yourself until I return,” he ordered sweetly.
Wei Ying's eyes grew wide. “Wha-” Then he collapsed forward, straight into Lan Wangji's arms who caught him with practiced ease. “But you're leaving me here like this all cold and abandoned,” he whined, and Wangji smiled. “Three days,” he kissed his husband's temple, then his cheek. It took the strength of a god to pull him away from his beloved. “When I return I will make it up to you.”
And with that he finally mounted Bichen and took off to the skies.