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“How much farther,” Wei Wuxian huffed, pulling his robe tighter around himself as the snow began to fall more heavily.
“Not far,” Lan Zhan said.
“That’s what you said the last two times.” Wei Wuxian clenched his jaw as he spoke, cutting off the chatter of his teeth before it began again.
Lan Zhan didn’t look back, just kept moving up the mountain path with the same long, tireless strides. His robes cut through the snow like a heated knife, and Wei Wuxian wondered if maybe he had some kind of heating talisman beneath them. If such a thing didn’t already exist, he thought, it would be a very useful invention. His mind slipped into the well-worn groove of creation easily, just as he finally gave in and moved behind Lan Zhan, hopping along in the deep path Lan Zhan was making instead of toiling through the snow on his own. If Lan Zhan really did have a warming talisman, it was only fair.
The snow kept falling, and they kept climbing higher. Wei Wuxian no longer thought about the corpse of the water demon lying in the grove below, larger and more dangerous than the villagers had reported; about the people waiting for them back at Cloud Recesses, Yanli’s gentle concern and the scowl that would be covering Jiang Cheng’s real worry; or even about the painful cold in his fingers and toes that was turning into frightening numbness. He only thought about taking one step after another, moving deeper into the mountains and the blanket of white, and about the dream of shelter that was surely around the next bend. Or the next. Or the next.
At last, after one final torturous hairpin turn, the mountain top came into view.
Wei Wuxian gasped, icy breath sharp in his chest. The sheeting storm of snow blew sideways for a moment, driven by a stronger gust now they were in the open air of the summit, and he was able to see the darkened windows of the tiny building, its wood weathered and unpainted, the steps leading to the door almost buried in drifts of snow. There was a spring outside, frozen over now, and characters above the lintel naming it Cloud’s Rest Lookout. Primitive, utterly unwelcoming, and the most beautiful thing Wei Wuxian had ever seen in his life.
Lan Zhan was still standing still on the path, so that Wei Wuxian had to crane around him to see. Despite the arduous climb Lan Zhan was scarcely even breathing hard, so he couldn’t need a rest more than Wei Wuxian did, and much as Wei Wuxian longed to throw himself to the ground he’d rather do it inside than out here. He reached up and gave Lan Zhan a gentle shove, at the small of his back.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Wei Wuxian asked, and coughed, his voice weak.
“The lookout,” Lan Zhan said, and stopped. “It seems very…exposed.”
Wei Wuxian laughed, coughing harder than before. “And this mountain path in the middle of a blizzard isn’t? Come on, let’s get inside.”
Lan Zhan still didn’t move. “There is nowhere else to go, once we’re inside.”
“Why would we want to?” Wei Wuxian asked. “As long as there’s a fire.”
Lan Zhan turned to look down over his shoulder. “If something unfortunate should happen. I do not wish to be responsible for that. For you.”
This time Wei Wuxian was too out of breath to do more than shake his head, lifting one hand. “All right already, I’m sorry for talking my way into this hunt. If I end up freezing to death in there while they’re looking for us, I’ll write a message in my dying blood that it was my fault. Happy?”
Lan Zhan gave him a disdainful frown, slight but unamused. “Why would I be made happy by your death?”
Honestly, just a few weeks ago Wei Wuxian had been pretty sure Lan Zhan wished for nothing more, but they’d reached a tentative peace since the Cold Pond cavern. He hitched up his robes and stepped into the deep snow at the summit, standing shoulder to shoulder with Lan Zhan.
“I’ll try my best to stay alive then, just to keep it off your conscience,” he said. “Now, can we go inside?”
At the building’s threshold, Lan Zhan still insisted on going in first, and cautiously, sending a flare of spirit light ahead of him. “Many beings take shelter during a storm,” he said, briefly, and Wei Wuxian didn’t argue. He’d seen what kinds of demons lived in these mountains, now. At any rate, the little blue flame came back from its trip around the single room unscathed, which meant Lan Zhan finally let him leave the doorstep and come inside.
It wasn’t much warmer. Frost clung to the roof beams, and the window screens were flimsy and old, the weave cracked in places to let in the cold. Wei Wuxian stamped his feet, knocking snow off his boots, and wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing the feeling back into his arms. His breath still showed in cloudy plumes with each huff.
“Well,” he said. “It’s better than outside, I guess. Even if the decor leaves a lot to be desired.”
Lan Zhan didn’t even bother with a reply, just crossed the room to open a painted wardrobe on the far side, its rich lacquer incongruous in the rustic setting. Inside there was a charcoal brazier, a reassuring sight. Wei Wuxian left off clearing snow from his robes and went eagerly to help him lift it into the middle of the room.
Their hands brushed as he reached for a cast iron handle, and Lan Zhan recoiled instantly, whipping his own hand away and taking a step back. Wei Wuxian was too focused on getting the brazier in place to do more than roll his eyes. After all they’d been through together in the last weeks, really, Lan Zhan was too concerned with propriety! Wei Wuxian’s hand was still too cold to feel much, but Lan Zhan’s hand had been perfectly warm. He really needed to ask about that heating talisman he suspected Lan Zhan of concealing.
There was a store of charcoal in the wardrobe as well, and without being asked, Wei Wuxian brought over a handful of sooty lumps, smearing the black film on his own hands in the process. He stacked them quickly in the brazier, then wiped his palms on his thighs, unthinking.
Lan Zhan made no move to light the brazier, just stared up at him. Wei Wuxian gave him a puzzled frown, caught off guard. Lan Zhan’s eyes were so dark, much more than usual. Was it the gloom of this place, or something else? He stared back, wondering what strange thing was happening now, after the absurd struggles they’d had this morning with the multiplying water demons in the town well, the possessed villagers, and the way Lan Zhan had scooped Wei Wuxian up in his arms to save him from a charging bull, and then held onto him entirely too long afterwards. This freak snowstorm was surely the result of whatever resentful cultivation had been at work, but was it affecting even the pure and perfect Lan Zhan as well?
Then Lan Zhan’s stare intensified before he dropped it significantly downwards, and Wei Wuxian looked at his white student’s robes to see them covered in inky charcoal grease. He opened his mouth in a wincing smile, embarrassed.
“Ah. Should I fetch snow to melt for water?” he asked.
Within short order, their shelter was made as comfortable as it could be. Lan Zhan had the brazier burning, a small copper pot of snow sitting on top, and Wei Wuxian went around and repaired and adjusted the fraying window screens to the best of his abilities. There was plenty of charcoal in the wardrobe, along with a couple of woolen blankets and even a feather-stuffed linen pillow, but no other furniture aside from a low table, rough by Lan standards and simple by anyone else’s. Most importantly, there was no food.
“This is a meditation retreat,” Lan Zhan said, his expression stoic as always. “It is customary to practice inedia.”
A few months ago, Wei Wuxian would have complained instantly and loudly. Now, he just pressed his lips together and a hand to his empty belly, thinking wryly that he never imagined himself sorry to be missing a Cloud Recesses meal.
“Ah, well!” he said, more cheerfully than he felt. “Tomorrow the snow should let up enough for us to fly home, right?”
Lan Zhan was quiet, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the brazier. Wei Wuxian, sprawled out on a blanket across from him, watched a shadow of thought flicker across his face. He was getting a lot better at reading Lan Zhan.
“I have never seen snow like this, at this time of year,” Lan Zhan said, finally. “I cannot say what will happen tomorrow.”
For the first time all day, Wei Wuxian felt the touch of real fear. The water demons were easy to dispatch, if numerous, and the possessed villagers were almost funny, just because the rogue cultivator puppeting them had been so terrible at making them seem like their usual selves. The charging bull…well. That was over so quickly he didn’t even have time to think of being afraid before he was being lifted in Lan Zhan’s arms. The snowstorm had been so sudden, he was more engaged in getting out of it than thinking about it, but now, resting in this little building, so remote from anything he knew, it was beginning to seem like they were in just as much trouble as they’d started in.
“Well,” Wei Wuxian said. “I guess we should get some sleep tonight and see what happens tomorrow.”
Lan Zhan just stared steadily down at him. The brazier’s glow was restoring some of the customary gold to his eyes, but there was still a darkness to his gaze that unsettled Wei Wuxian. “You sleep. I will keep watch.”
“Watch!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed. “What more can happen? Surely nothing can brave that snow any better than we could.”
“It is customary, on a night hunt,” Lan Zhan said.
Wei Wuxian turned over on his back, putting his hands under his head. “We’ll both keep watch. If I get sleepy, I’ll let you know.”
There was a sudden howl outside, a gust against the door that made it rock in its frame. The light was fading fast, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but think of all the things that might be in these mountains, supernatural or not.
“Ah what I wouldn’t give for a jar of wine,” he said, speaking over his fear, tamping it down. “Even just ordinary village wine. How will we while away the evening by the fire? I don’t suppose you know any interesting stories.”
“No,” Lan Zhan said, shortly.
“Or campfire songs,” Wei Wuxian mused. “I know you have your guqin, but it isn’t the same. Well, it’ll have to be a game of questions, then.”
He glanced up and over at Lan Zhan, hoping to catch a grimace of dismay. Lan Zhan did not disappoint. Maybe other people wouldn’t have read that slight contraction of Lan Zhan’s perfect features the same way, but Wei Wuxian wasn’t other people. He laughed.
“First question,” he said. “What’s it like being an alpha?”
Of course Lan Zhan didn’t answer, but he might be thinking about it instead of just ignoring the question. Things had changed between them, a little. Wei Wuxian kept watching his face, and to his delight, after a while Lan Zhan opened his mouth to reply.
“What’s it like being an omega?” Lan Zhan asked.
Wei Wuxian clapped his hands together. “Question for question! Lan Zhan, you really surprise me. I never thought you’d play a children’s game.” He paused, frowning. “Only, I really do want to know the answer to my question. What’s it like?”
“Don’t you know any alphas?” Lan Zhan asked.
Wei Wuxian laughed softly. “I don’t know if we’re playing a game or having a conversation. But, well, of course I do. Jiang Fengmian and Madam Yu are both alphas, to their everlasting sorrow.”
“Sorrow?” Lan Zhan asked.
“No repeated words,” Wei Wuxian said, absent-mindedly, and then answered. “They were betrothed from a very young age. Women in her family had always presented omega for centuries back. When she presented alpha, there were too many political reasons for the marriage to break the alliance. I guess everyone hoped it would still work out. And, well. The political side did.”
He shrugged, not wanting to give the private details. Lan Zhan could imagine it for himself.
“Anyway, don’t you know any omegas?” Wei Wuxian asked.
Lan Zhan was silent for a few moments, and Wei Wuxian wondered if they were still playing the game or if Lan Zhan was searching for a real answer.
“There are some amongst the Lan clan,” Lan Zhan said, at last. “But I am only close to my brother and my uncle.”
Another alpha, and a beta. Wei Wuxian could relate. “It’s good, at least, having a sibling the same presentation as you? Yanli understands me so well. I always think being a beta is part of why Jiang Cheng is so…Jiang Cheng.”
It was very faint, but he heard Lan Zhan snort.
“My brother is very good,” Lan Zhan said. “We have both been raised by the Lan clan’s precepts on the ideal behavior for alphas and omegas. Unfortunately—”
Unexpectedly, he closed his mouth shut, pressing his full lips tight. Wei Wuxian, watching him so closely, thought he caught a hint of redness in his ears, in the dancing light.
“What? What ideal behavior? What are you talking about?”
“No repeated questions,” Lan Zhan said.
Wei Wuxian pushed himself up to one elbow. “Do Lans have special rules for alphas and omegas? They’re not on your wall.”
Lan Zhan looked down for a long moment, obviously composing himself. When he looked up his eyes were still bright, an unusual animation in his face, and his voice sounded like he was making an effort to speak calmly.
“Among the Lan clan, seclusion is practiced,” he said, carefully. “Children are—conceived—at other times, as with betas. It is considered unseemly to do otherwise. Undisciplined.”
Wei Wuxian squinted at him. “You mean you stay apart during heats and ruts, even if you have a partner?”
Lan Zhan nodded.
“Huh,” Wei Wuxian said. He thought about it. “You have contraception herbs, right?”
“Of course.”
“So it’s not that, it’s just…discipline?”
Lan Zhan nodded again.
Wei Wuxian laid back down again, slowly. “You know I’m always the first to say you Lans take things too far, but actually, that sounds like the right way to me. Maybe not secluding every time, but I always think people who say that heat or rut is so irresistible must be making excuses, you know? And if they’re cultivators, it just seems weak-minded.”
Lan Zhan was silent.
“I’ve gone through heat,” Wei Wuxian added, hastily. “I know it’s not easy! But it seems like if you have a cultivator’s strength of mind, you shouldn’t give in. We aren’t going to eat again until who knows when, and I can put up with that, right?”
With perfect timing, his stomach growled. Wei Wuxian couldn’t help laughing.
“Well, maybe my stomach doesn’t think so, but I know I can. It has to be the same with this.”
“Do you mean that a person should be able to go through their regular daily activities?” Lan Zhan asked. “Suppressing heat or rut on their own?”
“Well, no,” Wei Wuxian admitted. “I just mean—whenever some couple says it just came upon them, oh no, there was nothing they could do, I think they’re talking it up too much! Cultivators especially should be able to, I don’t know, meditate through it. Do something else. Anything but give in, if they really didn’t want to do it.”
“Hm,” Lan Zhan said, and then, unexpectedly, “I agree.”
“You do?”
“Perhaps not for common people. But if both partners are of sufficient cultivation, it should be an achievable task, if a difficult one. We seclude simply because there is no need to waste energy resisting it around others. And also,” he paused, his gaze flicking away for a moment. “It is not seemly.”
“Well, no,” Wei Wuxian said, and laughed. “I wouldn’t want to go through a day in public heat! But I’d like to think I could manage if I had to.”
“Yes,” Lan Zhan said. “Well.”
It seemed like he was about to say more, but he didn’t, just cleared his throat and settled himself into his meditation stance, hands palm up on his knees. His gaze went dim, as if he were focusing inwards, but Wei Wuxian could see that his ears still looked faintly flushed, his jaw working every so often as he swallowed.
Wei Wuxian thought about asking more questions, learning if there were other private things the Lan clan did differently since Lan Zhan was in such an unusually talkative mood, but he was finding himself feeling lazy and sleepy, now that their ordeal was over and he was warm and lying comfortably. He sighed, stretching again, planting his feet on the floor to lift his hips and then twisting until his back cracked. It felt good when he did, and he let out a grunt of satisfaction, arching his back more.
Lan Zhan—moaned.
Immediately Wei Wuxian dropped back to the floor, looking over in alarm. “Lan Zhan? Are you all right?”
Lan Zhan’s eyes were closed. His voice was rough when he spoke, graveled. “Yes.”
“You—uh—made a weird sound.” Wei Wuxian tried to push back the rising anxiety he felt. Sometimes people did weird things when they were lost in mediation. (Lan Zhan never did anything weird.)
“You should go to sleep,” Lan Zhan said. His voice was soft, hard to hear. “Get some rest, Wei Ying.”
“Well, all right,” Wei Wuxian said. There was no reason to be reluctant about it, especially when he could feel a great warm wave of oblivion about to crash right over him. If something happened, Lan Zhan could always wake him up. Wei Wuxian closed his eyes and rolled over to sleep.
Despite his exhaustion, and the warmth of the fire next to him, full sleep seemed to elude him, like a deer on a hunt always dancing away through the trees, just out of reach. The floorboards were hard and his stomach was empty, but even once Wei Wuxian had cleared his mind of all that with practiced ease, it felt like he could do no more than doze, his consciousness still buffeted by the nagging concern of something being wrong, out of place. He swam through a murky river, parting the green weeds before him, and then the cool water turned warm and soft, almost suffocating in its embrace. He grew hot, then hotter, and he knew that he was turning and twisting on the hard ground, seeking comfort where none was to be found. It felt like it went on forever. All he wanted to do was to sink deeper into sleep, finding rest and oblivion, but there was an aching need that was too sharp to ignore, a desire for something he didn’t have, something—
He woke up, burning hot, drenched in sweat, lying on his belly. His face was pressed into his pillow, arms clutching it between them, and his knees were half-drawn up beneath him. He found he was making little hitches in the air with his hips, circling, like taking part in some half-forgotten dance. He inhaled, long and slow, smelling the dust of the pillow, the smoke of the brazier, and beneath that a deep, rich, unfamiliar scent, filling the room like a physical presence. It made his head spin, his heart beating faster, and alert excitement raced through him until his toes tingled. He’d never smelled anything like it before.
Still groggy, Wei Wuxian finally lifted his head, turning to look through the flickering flames. As if by unerring instinct he met Lan Zhan’s golden eyes, fixed on him.
They looked at each other for a long time. Lan Zhan’s gaze was strangely shadowed, hooded, though his eyes were bright, and it felt like he was saying something that Wei Wuxian could almost hear, something he ought to understand. He took another few breaths through his nose and it was like drinking wine, heady and delicious, going straight to his head again. He groped through the miasma, trying to think.
“Lan Zhan?”
“I am sorry,” Lan Zhan said.
That wasn’t right. Wei Wuxian suddenly felt awkward in his position, the way his rear end was lifted into the air, and he pulled himself up to kneel instead. His hair was a tangled mess, falling over his shoulders, and he had to shake his head back to get it out of his eyes. He was so hot, so dizzy and hungry and full of desire for—
He jerked his head around to look at Lan Zhan again, strands of hair catching across his mouth. His back arched, involuntarily, and he knew what he looked like, knew what was happening, knew what this was.
“You’re in rut,” he said.
Lan Zhan swallowed, visibly. A drop of sweat ran down his smooth forehead, beneath the ribbon. “I am sorry.”
Wei Wuxian covered his face with his hands. “Damn,” he said, into the self-made dark. It smothered Lan Zhan’s scent a little, and he tried to get control of his racing heart, his wandering mind. He felt like he was water-logged, heavy and dragging. Lan Zhan smelled like cedar and sandalwood, with something tangy and sweet cutting through the rich aromatics. Loquats, he thought.
“Was it the rogue cultivator?” he asked. “Whatever he did that caused this storm?”
“I am not certain,” Lan Zhan said. He sounded strained, even slower than Wei Wuxian felt. “I…don’t think it really matters.”
“No,” Wei Wuxian said.
However it had started, Lan Zhan’s rut was upon him, and it had started Wei Wuxian’s heat along with it. The feeling was unmistakable, the feverish warmth and huge, formless longing, the fog that descended every time he tried to think clearly. He’d only been through it a few times before, and never in the presence of an alpha, let alone one in rut, but he knew how it felt. Already there was that dull pounding in his ears, the dryness in his mouth; the low-down ache, the slickness, the desire to just throw himself on the ground and let someone have their way with him. Submitting, surrendering.
Everything he didn’t want to do. Not now, maybe not ever.
Wei Wuxian uncovered his face. Lan Zhan hadn’t moved a muscle. He was still sitting in meditation pose, jaw clenched so hard Wei Wuxian could see the bulging tension in his muscles, pouring sweat down his temples and neck and giving off the most alluring scent Wei Wuxian had ever encountered. He didn’t look like he wanted to be overmastered by his body any more than Wei Wuxian did.
“We can resist this,” Wei Wuxian said.
“Yes,” Lan Zhan said, with a faint, determined nod.
Wei Wuxian took in a long, deep breath, and exhaled forcefully. “All right. We’re doing this. Or—I guess we’re not doing this.”
To his surprise, Lan Zhan let out a bark of a laugh at the weak joke. A strand of hair escaped its arrangement and fell over his forehead, and Lan Zhan shook his head quickly, trying to put it back in place. It reassured Wei Wuxian somehow, like proof that Lan Zhan was still in there, trying to be stuffy and proper even in the midst of this primitive, absurd thing that was happening to them.
“Let’s…separate,” Wei Wuxian said, glancing over his shoulder. “As best as we can.”
Lan Zhan just nodded, not moving.
It was too cold to go outside, Wei Wuxian thought ruefully, even if Lan Zhan did have a secret heating talisman. He stood up, getting dizzy as he did so, and dragged his blankets to the far corner of the room. It was definitely colder here, away from the brazier, but the way his internal temperature was rising, Wei Wuxian didn’t think he’d miss it. He sat down in the corner, back braced reassuringly against the walls, and drew up his knees, folding his arms across them. The position felt good, defensive and safe, and for a moment he entertained the idea of pulling the blanket over himself as well. Then he realized that was his body talking, trying to put him in some kind of breeding den. He certainly wasn’t doing that.
Wei Wuxian sat up straighter instead, trying to keep his thoughts on clearer paths. It was hours until morning, and who knew when anyone would be able to come looking for them, but he didn’t want to be found—
“Imagine it, Lan Zhan,” he said, with a laugh. “Your uncle and our brothers, finding us here in a compromising position. Imagine Su She’s face.”
“I have been imagining it,” Lan Zhan said, through gritted teeth.
“You’ve been thinking about Su She? That’s one way to sober yourself up.”
“About the shame,” Lan Zhan said. “I would rather anything than that.”
“Shame’s not so bad,” Wei Wuxian said. He could hear how light and flippant his voice sounded, as if he weren’t affected at all. He was used to that, keeping a thick face in the midst of trouble, and he hoped it would serve him well tonight.
Lan Zhan lifted his head a little, staring steadily across the room. “I do not want to bring shame to you.”
“Further shame, you mean,” Wei Wuxian murmured, but something in him clenched tight at the way Lan Zhan said it. As if it mattered, as if Lan Zhan really cared.
He wanted to say something more, smooth over the moment with a teasing joke, but he caught another breath of that earthy-sweet musk and it was hard to think of anything at all. It felt like his eyesight flared bright, a heavy glow around the objects in the room, with Lan Zhan’s still figure right in the middle of it. A singing, breathless desire pulsed through his whole body, pressing outwards, like a spirit he could barely contain. He’d gone through heat before, but it had never felt like this.
“Lan Zhan,” he whispered, when he could speak again. “Can we really do this? Hold out all night?”
“We can,” Lan Zhan said. “Do you want to?”
“I want,” Wei Wuxian said, and stopped. “I want the first time to be because I chose it.”
“Yes,” Lan Zhan said.
“I don’t want to lose control of myself. I don’t want to do anything I’d regret.”
“No,” Lan Zhan said, fiercely.
“I don’t want anybody making excuses for me. I’d rather exceed expectations than be…like everybody else. Just another omega.”
Lan Zhan didn’t answer. Wei Wuxian could hear him breathing across the room, slow and steady, and without thinking he matched his own breath to it, the powerful controlled rhythm of it. He felt himself falling further into heat, the longing ache growing sharper, hotter, but at the same time like he was more the master of it, almost like it gave him strength. It wasn’t something outside his body, but a tidal force within, and only by surrendering to it instead of struggling against it could he hope to overcome it in the end.
It went on for a long time. The brazier flickered and burned, and Lan Zhan stared at him and breathed, and Wei Wuxian burned and breathed with them both. He realized, after a while, that he was making a low, keening sound, and that his feet had slipped further apart on the floor, widening his legs until his robes stretched tight. His whole body was tense, back arched against the wall, and he felt damp with sweat everywhere, from beneath his hair to the undersides of his knees. One great curved bow of desire, a dammed river he was holding back by will alone, by breath after breath after forceful breath.
“My parents were both omegas,” he said, suddenly. “I don’t remember, but Madam Yu said so. Whenever she gets really mad at Jiang Fengmian, she reminds him of it.”
“What?” Lan Zhan said, blankly.
“She’d say, ‘I’m sure you wish you’d married your little omega love, then your life would be perfect.’ I was never sure which one of them she meant.”
Lan Zhan took two or three more steady breaths. “My father was an alpha and my mother was an omega. My brother was conceived in heat, before their marriage. It was considered very shameful.”
“And you?”
“No one knows. They were away from Cloud Recesses at the time.”
“What do you hope it was?”
“It was not love, either way,” Lan Zhan said. “So it doesn’t really matter.”
It felt like they were in another world, another time, speaking to each other like this. Wei Wuxian was conscious of the strangeness of asking Lan Zhan such questions, of Lan Zhan giving such intimate answers. He hoped, fiercely, that Lan Zhan wouldn’t regret it when this was all over.
“Would it be better if they’d been in love?” he asked. “Or just as shameful?”
Lan Zhan closed his eyes, and when he spoke it was hardly above a whisper. “Still as shameful to the Lan clan. But not to me.”
“So, love…” Wei Wuxian began, and broke off.
Lan Zhan was looking at him again, eyes burning gold. Now his voice was hoarse, as if his throat had been scorched by the flames between them. “Nothing done for love is shameful.”
It took a moment for Wei Wuxian to realize that he had moved forward, shifting onto his hands and knees, half-crawling across the floor. Lan Zhan’s words felt like an irresistible command drawing him in, calling to him through the shimmering air. His mouth hung half-open, foolishly, and he wanted to press it to Lan Zhan’s neck, climb into his lap, inhale his scent. Tear his robes away, rub their bare bodies together, tumble Lan Zhan to the floor. He wanted to surrender completely, to let Lan Zhan do anything he liked, hold him and have him and take whatever he wanted. Give up the struggle, let Lan Zhan win. Let the universe win.
He froze where he was, crouched on the floor, very near to Lan Zhan now. He stared down at the floorboards, panting like an animal, suffocating in sensation. To his left the brazier was still burning, dangerously hot, but the fire inside him was even brighter. He’d never held so much longing before, not even in his darkest memories, when food and comfort and love had all been taken away. His body knew what it wanted—somebody, anybody—but his heart knew what it wanted as well.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, very softly.
It took a terrible effort to look up. Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure what he’d see, or what his body would do. It was hard, so very hard, to keep resisting, but he wanted to be good. For Lan Zhan, for the honor of both their clans, and most of all for himself.
Lan Zhan looked as miserable as Wei Wuxian felt, strained and sweaty and breathing hard. That alone would have been enough to make Wei Wuxian desire him on any given day, because he understood now what he’d been feeling all summer long, how they’d been stacking timber into this roaring blaze with every fight and conversation. He felt like a fool for ever not knowing. But now, like this, his control frayed into so fine a thread that it might snap at any time, Lan Zhan with his own perfect order in disarray, the human showing beneath the perfect porcelain, was almost too much to resist. Almost.
Because Lan Zhan was looking at Wei Wuxian like he wanted to eat him, and like he’d rather do anything than hurt him, and they were doing this together.
“I want to kiss you,” Wei Wuxian said, a shameful whimper in it.
“If you do, I’ll never stop,” Lan Zhan gasped. “Do you want that?”
“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said. “No. Oh—damn.”
“Go back to the corner,” Lan Zhan said, gesturing with his chin. Another piece of hair had fallen across his forehead, lifting with the movement.
“Do you want me to? Really?”
“Yes,” Lan Zhan said. “No.”
“I’ll go,” said Wei Wuxian, and didn’t.
The brazier crackled. He stayed where he was, on his hands and knees, swaying slightly. The world was blurry around him. Sometimes he looked at Lan Zhan’s knee and sometimes he looked at his face. Lan Zhan was breathing heavy and loud.
“They’ll believe us, right?” Wei Wuxian said. “When they find us tomorrow, after the storm. They’ll take our word that nothing happened?”
“Unlikely,” Lan Zhan said, faintly. “Would you?”
“Then what’s the point,” Wei Wuxian fumed, his fingers curling, nails scratching against the wooden floor. “They’ll assume we compromised ourselves at the first chance. Word will go everywhere. We’ll have to—Lan Zhan, will they force us to marry?”
“Likely,” Lan Zhan said.
“You knew,” Wei Wuxian said, realizing. “You knew you were going into rut, when we were climbing the mountain. You knew what would happen if we took shelter here. That’s why you tried—but you couldn’t really think I would have let you spend the night outside in the storm?”
“I did not try very hard,” Lan Zhan admitted.
“You bastard,” Wei Wuxian said, looking up, but a grin was stretching across his face and the harsh word was lost in laughter. The situation was absurd, but what could he do but laugh? Even Lan Zhan was almost smiling.
“I’m going to have to marry you,” Wei Wuxian said. “The Lan clan will hate me forever for stealing you. The Jiangs probably won’t even give me much of a dowry. And it’ll be a rush-job wedding. With all that, why should we deny ourselves tonight? Why make things harder than they have to be?”
“For us,” Lan Zhan said, fire in his eyes and his voice. “So we know that we did it. To show that our cultivation and our will is stronger than the forces against us. So that—” He spoke lower. “So that whenever we do share a bed, we know that it’s real.”
Wei Wuxian found himself upright, kneeling by Lan Zhan’s side, hands reaching out. “I’m going to kiss you.”
Lan Zhan gave him a sidelong, searching look, gaze traveling all over his body. “When I finally kiss you,” he said, breathless. “I’m never going to stop. So choose your time wisely.”
The heat between them was like something palpable, a desire made solid, and Wei Wuxian almost, almost gave in.
“I’m going to kiss you first,” he said, and crawled back across the room to the corner.
It grew colder all night, even with more charcoal for the brazier every hour or so. Wei Wuxian was the one to tend the fire, because despite the terrible ache of longing it was clear Lan Zhan, folded resolutely into the same position all night, felt it even more strongly. Wei Wuxian passed the rest of the time singing to himself in the corner, children’s games and drinking songs, and by weaving a bit of loose thread from his robe sleeve between his fingers. None of it slowed the feral, smothering heat of lust that howled inside him, growing stronger all the time, but it stopped him from getting up and going across the room. He smiled at Lan Zhan every once in a while instead, looking at him like a wrapped gift or unbaked bread, something wonderful for later.
The wind dropped as it grew lighter outside. The silence made Wei Wuxian’s ears ring. His hearing sharpened then, listening for sounds outside, both fearing and dreading them. Who would it be? His mind went through the possibilities in turn, trying to imagine their faces. Poor Jiang Cheng. Poor Lan Qiren, even.
He curled up on the floor on his side, his back to the wall and his eyes still on Lan Zhan. The thought moved through his frenzied, heated mind, solid and steady: Lan Zhan wanted him. Lan Zhan…cared about him? Enough to ensure that their first time was something they chose, enough that he didn’t even seem to mind marrying him.
Wei Wuxian smiled. “Lan Zhan,” he whispered. Across the room, Lan Zhan didn’t stir, locked still into his fierce and guarded pose. “Lan Zhan, if we can only get through this. I’m going to make you tell me when you stopped hating me.”
The room was still growing lighter, and with it Wei Wuxian finally felt some of the tension leaving him. The urgent need to sleep swept into its place, heavy lassitude in his body, a fizzy darkness blotting out his sight. He sighed gratefully, stretching his aching limbs and settling into it, and never knew it if he dreamt the last words he heard. “I never hated you.”
The next words he heard were decidedly not a dream, and neither was the prodding foot in his side.
“Of all the ridiculous luck, yours has to be the luckiest.”
Wei Wuxian scrunched up his face, throwing an arm over his eyes. It was so bright, and so loud around him. “Jiang Cheng?”
“No, Su She.”
He sat up so fast his head spun. “Su She isn’t here, is he?”
Jiang Cheng crouched next to him, scowling. He was wearing winter wraps, dusted with snow, and his hair looked windswept, like he’d been flying. “What do you think? Of course not. He’s back in class, doing lessons as usual. Can you imagine him in a search party?”
Wei Wuxian slumped back against the wall. “I bet he wanted to be. If only to win favor with Lan Zhan.”
Jiang Cheng’s scowl softened, almost a smile, though it wouldn’t be for anyone else. “Well. He wasn’t the only one. But it looks like you’re the one who won Lan Zhan’s favor.” He punched Wei Wuxian’s upper arm, not too gently.
“I didn’t,” Wei Wuxian said, immediately. “We didn’t. You believe me, right?”
“That’s what he said, too,” Jiang Cheng said. “Lan Qiren said it didn’t matter.”
For the first time, Wei Wuxian realized they were alone in the building, though he could see tracked-in dirt and snow all over the floor, as if several people had been here. “They’re gone? Lan Zhan was well enough to fly?”
“He was well enough to leave,” Jiang Cheng said, wryly. “I think his uncle just wanted him back home, away from you. Though that’s not going to last very long. They’ve already sent a messenger to Lotus Pier, so my father should be here soon. Maybe my mother too, if she decides she can’t miss out on a gentry wedding, no matter who it’s for.”
“A wedding,” Wei Wuxian said, blankly. “That’s not—we don’t have to—”
“You have to,” Jiang Cheng said. “Even Lan Xichen agreed. Not after what you did last night.”
“But we didn’t!”
Jiang Cheng shrugged. “Who’d believe that?”
No one believed that, it turned out. It was a beautiful wedding, even at short notice, and Wei Wuxian went through it in a haze of giddy, surreal joy, heightened whenever he caught the dour faces of Lan Qiren and Su She, among others. Alone that night, they both moved so fast that they never knew who kissed who first, though each claimed the honors forever after.
And six months later, Wei Wuxian awoke drenched in sweat, clutching his pillow, to see Lan Zhan’s eyes burning gold and feel a heavy hand on his hip.
After, they both agreed, it was much, much better not to resist if you didn’t have to. “And after all,” Wei Wuxian pointed out. “Nobody even believes you if you do.”
“Mm,” Lan Zhan said, nuzzling at Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, over the flushed marks he’d left there over the last day or so. He left another two or three, for good measure. “It’s nobody’s business but ours.”
“Nobody’s business but ours,” Wei Wuxian agreed, happily, and rolled over to capture his husband’s mouth with his own.