Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It takes a year for Wei Ying to figure out he’s being a massive idiot, and to top it off – he doesn’t even come to the conclusion on his own.

“It’s a big world that we live in. I will wander with my fine wine and a ride, and make it my home.”

The world is vast indeed, the fields broad, and there are many inns along the road whose liquor is just begging to be grasped by these new hands. Mo Xuanyu’s body has tiny hands, and it takes Wei Ying about three months to wrap his head around that fact. He actually needs to adjust his usual grip around the bulbous shape of the bottle in order to hold it securely, and that feels mind-boggling to him, somehow world changing. It’s just some wine – how can it make his heart stop every time the clay bottle almost slips out of his fingers on its way to his hungry mouth? Not to mention Mo Xuanyu’s apparent lack of a tolerance, resulting in several achy mornings that Wei Ying spends with the blanket dragged tightly over his head.

Then there’s the difference in height, which sometimes makes him miss a step, and the changes on his skin: Familiar scars and blemishes missing, new ones in their place that he has no memory of. Memorials of a journey he never walked himself. It makes him feel unmoored, like an unwelcome visitor in this body, and it takes a while until he learns to look at it while washing himself.

Until he doesn’t unconsciously hover his hand in front of his lower dantian as though to protect the sparking embers of a flame he had long since given up upon.

Wei Wuxian stumbles through a world that has moved on without him, where random low-level cultivators may carelessly pull out one of his inventions from their pockets at any time and the normal folks talk casually about whatever deed Jiang Cheng or Nie Huaisang or even Jin Guangyao had done during their reigns, some five years ago. Apart from the former, none of these had even been leaders of a sect the last time Wei Wuxian had been alive.

And then, of course, there are the times when Wei Ying’s heart gives a painful thump inside his chest.

“Weren’t the laws regarding fire talismans brought into place by the Chief Cultivator?”

“Jin Guangyao? I don’t think – ”

“Not him, you bag of fleas. Hanguang-Jun, Lan Wangji. The Second Jade of Lan. You think that bastard Jin would – ”

Lan-Er-Gege.

Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan.

What is that clenching feeling in his heart, that sharp stitch that makes his breath halt for a moment? Is that also a gift of his body’s predecessor, maybe? Some innate heart disease, or maybe its previous occupant grasping from the grave to pull Wei Ying down with him…? Wei Wuxian clutches at his chest and leans against the side of a dumpling stall.

Okay, fact check.

Did Wei Ying need time to grow accustomed to the entirely new body he found himself living in? …absolutely.

Was it necessary to do this away from Lan Zhan? …arguably.

Did a small, subconscious part of him fear that Wei Ying’s reputation as fearsome Yiling Laozu of nightmares past would drag down the new Chief Cultivator, still unsteady in his new position? That Wei Ying, had he stayed, would have gorged himself on Lan Zhan’s ever-flowing generosity and grasped for more than was his due with his greedy little hands?

– we are not talking about this.

Lastly, did Wei Ying fucking miss Lan Zhan after all this time, so badly it felt like a vital part of him had been ripped out and chucked into the sea? Did he sometimes imagine Lan Zhan’s voice calling for him, spin around in a crowded marketplace with hope bubbling in his chest only to come up empty?

You bet.

But it’s not until Wei Ying is sitting in the back corner of a shabby inn south of Xiangfan, eating mediocre jiaozi and drinking even more mediocre wine and the innkeeper approaches him with a letter bearing the elegant seal of the Lan clan, that Wei Ying really understands.

It’s time to come home.

And that’s a lovely thought to end on, isn’t it? Come home, fade to black, the storyteller bows to the audience before wetting his parched throat with a cup of tea. Everyone knows the story’s main love interests will live happily ever after, so there’s no need to go into detail; let everyone use their own imagination, right?

Except that doesn’t help Wei Ying at all where he’s standing in the tall grasses on the hills west of Gusu, donkey in tow and letter a heavy imagined weight inside his qiankun pouch, waiting, waiting. Playing Chenqing as though his flute could lure out the one his heart yearns for. The plains open wide beneath him, a sea of green swaying gently in the wind that is much harsher up here, on the heights.

Wei Ying is using his own imagination, and the angry swarm of butterflies inside his stomach doesn’t know which way to pull it.

“Lan Zhan, I will get going. As long as the sea is bound to wash up on the sand, and stars are above you, we will meet again.”

A strong gust of wind blows Wei Ying’s hair into his face and he has to smother a snort at the image he must be presenting. At least his only audience is Little Apple. If Lan Zhan were here, surely his hair would stay put out of sheer Lan-ish discipline and good behavior at a side eye of Hanguang-Jun. Wei Ying would tease him about it, and his ears would blush with embarrassment, such a delicate shade of red that Wei Ying would like nothing more than to come closer and lick it, and –

If Lan Zhan were here.

Will he be here? Wei Ying did write him a letter, detailing his return to the Cloud Recesses and that he would stop here on his way back, three days past his missive. An open invitation between the lines to come greet him on the way, but surely Hanguang-Jun is a busy man and cannot simply jump to every single one of Wei Ying’s whistles.

…would he even want to see Wei Ying at all? Lan Zhan hadn’t replied to his last letter, and Wei Ying knows the roads are treacherous and messengers’ feet don’t always take the quickest path; but it’s been so long – does he hate Wei Ying for leaving? Will Lan Zhan be mad at him? Will he be cold towards Wei Ying? He doesn’t think he could stomach it. What a coward.

A few letters detailing his adventures, a few drawings and pressed flowers sent along with them are hardly enough to make up for his absence. If only Wei Ying had been better, if only he’d had the guts to stay and –

“Wei Ying.”

Smooth, deep tenor, so reassuringly solid that it cannot be a figment of his imagination.

What was he ever worried about?

Wei Ying lowers Chenqing, takes a deep breath, and turns around.

“Lan Zhan.”

***

The thing is this: Wei Ying and Lan Zhan were already going to get married.

Honestly, anyone who knew Wei Wuxian would not be surprised to hear that he somehow managed to become engaged to a gorgeous hunk of a man without so much as stealing a kiss from his intended, despite that intended being the love of his life that he had pined after for well over a decade. Not because Wei Wuxian wasn’t shameless like that – not at all, no. But rather because something so mind-bogglingly ridiculous wouldn’t be terribly out of place for him.

As it were, the engagement had come about via a simple slip of the tongue before he’d even left on his little finding-of-self-journey. Wei Ying had been bullied by Lan Zhan into staying in the Jingshi with him during his brief visit to the Cloud Recesses before taking off, and when Wei Ying had complained about his Zhiji’s shamelessness and that he would need to take responsibility if Wei Ying were to take him up on the offer, his Lan Zhan had merely nodded his pretty head and agreed with a stubborn ‘Mn.’

“Wait, what?”

“Mn. Will take responsibility.”

“Ahaha, Lan Zhan ah Lan Zhan. Be careful, it almost sounds as though you were planning on making an honest man out of me!”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying’s unseemly screech could surely be excused, right?

“Lan Zhan,” he had whispered, peeking out between the fingers he had thrown against his face to hide the blush on his cheeks. “You mean it?”

“Yes. Will marry Wei Ying.” Then, after a moment’s consideration, he added, “If he would like to.”

The ensuing chaos inside Wei Ying’s chest was too large to be described in mere words, and so he didn’t even try. Suffice to say, it took him a long while to calm down from the shock his Lan Zhan had unleashed upon his poor, unsuspecting heart, entirely without warning. The scoundrel!

Even more surprising it might perhaps be that absolutely nothing else had happened that night, apart from lying close to each other in Lan Zhan’s bed, Wei Ying’s head on his chest rising and falling with measured breaths and listening to his husband-to-be’s elevated heartbeat. All throughout the evening, Wei Ying had kept a close eye on his intended, waiting for that one moment when Lan Zhan might lean over, place his careful hands around his face and –

But nothing.

He doesn’t think either of them had gotten much sleep that night before Wei Ying had packed his meager belongings the next morning, but Wei Ying at least had felt rested regardless, in a way that was hard to put into words.

With Lan Zhan’s heavy, besotted stare on him over the breakfast table, maybe the only option that had been left to Wei Ying had been to flee into the wilderness and give his heart the much needed space to sort itself out and calm down again, despite the fact that another part of him wanted nothing more than to crawl into Lan Zhan’s lap forever, make a home for himself there, and never leave.

Many months later, he finds himself back at this very table, himself staring besottedly at his gorgeous still-a-fiancé (???) pouring Wei Ying a generous cup of Emperor’s Smile. Lan Zhan’s long hair shines in the light of candles around the Jingshi that is penetrating the dusky gloom of late evening, and his movements are precise and familiar, almost homely, as he serves the two of them. How could Wei Ying ever walk away from this man?

“Lan Zhan,” he says, if only to feel those treasured syllables rolling over his tongue. “Lan Zhan. I’m here,” he says, nonsensically.

Lan Zhan understands him regardless. “Mn.”

“Lan Zhan. Are you happy?”

“Mn. Now I am.”

“Now?”

“Now, Wei Ying is back.”

Wei Ying swallows and lowers his chin against the hand propping it up, overcome. Is this the part where he – they sit so far apart, an entire table between them. Impossible. Perhaps Wei Ying should just casually move next to Lan Zhan, suavely lift his chin with a flirty finger, look deep into those amber eyes and…?

Earlier, Lan Zhan had greeted him at a respectable distance, and then they had walked back at a respectable distance (which Wei Ying had casually destroyed by throwing himself at Lan Zhan’s shoulder in as friendly a manner as he could feint, almost vibrating out of his own skin), and the entire time Lan Zhan had made absolutely zero attempts to inflict himself upon Wei Ying’s person and unequivocally move their relationship from a platonic one to that of a – well, decidedly less platonic nature. To smother him in kisses, or ravish Wei Ying up against a tree as he had (secretly, shamefully) imagined while lying in piles of hay at night. Maybe Wei Ying is reading this wrong, after all? Maybe this is what being Zhiji means to Lan Zhan – walking beside each other, platonically, for the rest of their lives?

The thought makes a lump tighten in his throat. If this is all he wants, Wei Ying will take it gladly, enthusiastically. Anything to be next to his Lan Zhan again, to gratefully bear witness to all that is him, unapologetically. And yet, he can’t deny that his chest is bursting at the seams with butterflies, with bottomless affection that he would like to smother Lan Zhan’s face in and –

Lan Zhan is being quiet. It’s a different quiet than his usual one.

Wei Ying looks up from his cup of liquor, at the man across from him, and – oh. Oh no.

Over the years, Wei Ying has learned to read Lan Zhan’s various little expressions, from the soft widening of his eyes to the smallest of frowns, and this frown in particular is the one that says something’s bothering him – something big, yet small enough that Lan Zhan doesn’t want to inconvenience those around him by expressing that worry aloud.

He doesn’t even realize he’s crawled around the table and touched his thumb to the little furrow between Lan Zhan’s eyebrows until he’s face to face with a very perplex Hanguang-Jun, mouth slightly opened in surprise.

“Lan Zhan,” love of my life, “what’s wrong?”

Lan Zhan seems momentarily taken aback by his concern, blinking slowly.

“Tell me everything.” Wei Ying takes his hand, feeling its warmth and tracing guqin callouses, and Lan Zhan looks down at their tangled fingers, expression softening.

It takes him a while to speak. “Xiongzhang is… struggling.”

Drawing small circles on Lan Zhan’s hand with his thumb, Wei Ying otherwise grows still and listens to Lan Zhan as he haltingly explains about how he has fared the past year, taking over both Chief Cultivator duties as well as those pertaining to leading the clan as Zewu-Jun has yet to leave his seclusion.

“He stopped circling his qi. He stopped… eating. His mind is far away.” The words come haltingly. “The last week has been better, but I – worry, for him.” Lan Zhan doesn’t meet his eyes, as though ashamed by his own words.

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying says, and the other finally looks up at him, “I hope you’re okay with being hugged, because I’m going to hug you now.”

And then Wei Ying takes him into his arms. Lan Zhan freezes in surprise at first, but quicker than Wei Ying had expected he relaxes into the embrace, chin coming to rest on Wei Ying’s shoulder. He only wishes there was more Wei Ying could do. He cannot lift this burden for Lan Zhan, but at least he can comfort him, if only a little.

It’s a good hug, nice, warm and encompassing, exactly the right amount of time and pressure, and then Lan Zhan takes a deep breath and draws back a little and kisses Wei Ying on the mouth. Wei Ying squeals.

“Lan. Zhan!”

He flails his hands before slapping them on his own face to hide his crimson cheeks. The audacity!

“You can’t just. I. Lan Zhan!” The man in question cocks his head. A flood of sounds rushes from Wei Ying’s mouth which might resemble words if you were very generous, though not very coherent ones, mind you. “No warning! How dare! I wasn’t.” He points a menacing finger in Lan Zhan’s face. “You need to give me time to prepare before just stealing my first kiss like that!”

“Apologies. Please advise on a more favorable procedure.”

Wei Ying simply can not with this man.

He feels the blush climbing up his face, ears burning. “I need an advance notice. In writing,” he adds, and for good measure, because his heart hasn’t stopped pounding yet, “with a detailed specification of time and date.”

Lan Zhan nods, serious. Then he carefully bends around Wei Ying, who – now that he’s paying attention – is still half sitting on his lap, and drags a piece of parchment and ink closer.

“Lan Zhan, what are you doing?”

“Mh.”

A short while later, which Wei Ying definitely doesn’t use to stare at the concentrated frown on Lan Zhan’s ridiculously pretty face, Wei Ying is holding a piece of flawless penmanship in his hand.

‘Addressed to Wei Ying, curtesy Wuxian:
This lowly one, Lan Zhan, curtesy Wangji, Hanguang-Jun, would like to humbly inform the aforementioned that this one intends to thoroughly kiss his betrothed and, if welcome, visit several other attentions upon his body while possibly remarking on his betrothed’s numerous positive qualities. This will take place no later than an incense stick post the addressee’s lecture of this missive, within the confines of this one’s Jingshi, at the table and inside this one’s sleeping quarters, with potential other locations inside this one’s humble abode not explicitly excluded.
Yours faithfully,
Lan Wangji’

Wei Ying curls into a ball against Lan Zhan’s chest, unsure if he ought to be laughing or crying or climbing his (apparently still) husband-to-be like a tree.

He ends up doing a little bit of all three.

“Hanguang-Jun, say, did you really have to be an overachiever in all aspects of life?” Wei Ying shakes his head in reproach. “Was it not enough to simply be above all us mortals in swordsmanship, guqin-play and general goodness-of-heart? Now you need to be unproportionally well-endowed on top of it?”

Sex with Lan Zhan is exhilarating and terrifying, and a little bit awkward, as all first-time sex likely is. But it also feels so very right.

They cannot keep their hands off each other’s bodies. Their lips keep meeting, clumsily, taking in the shape of each other and searching for the right angles to slot together. Wei Ying moans when the tip of a tongue slides into his mouth, when Lan Zhan’s hands slide beneath his robes, when he himself traces the first bits of bare, warm skin with his fingers after shoving aside Lan Zhan’s ridiculously plentiful number of layers.

Through it all Lan Zhan keeps subtly directing him, first nudging him away from the table with a solid hand to the waist and then laying him spread-out on his bedsheets, almost like he knows what he is doing; or at the very least, like he very much knows what he wants. Wei Ying is mildly jealous for a moment about whoever he must have practiced on, but at least it helps when Wei Ying first catches sight of Lan Zhan’s massive monster cock and wonders how the hell to fit all of that inside him. And Lan Zhan is… nervous, when Wei Ying looks more closely, at the slight tremble of his hands, at the eyes averted from Wei Ying’s hungry stare upon his body.

Lan Zhan’s ears are so red, and again Wei Ying has to fight the urge to just lick them. His fiancé looks one step away from apologizing for the size of his manhood, and that’s just no good. Wei Ying decides to lick something else instead.

“Wei Ying.”

Oh, Lan Zhan’s voice sounds so deliciously strained, and all Wei Ying did was lavish a little attention on little Hanguang-Jun down there. It’s a bit weird, and new – he’s never touched someone’s cock with his tongue, and he curiously catalogues the taste and the feel of it. He thinks he could get used to it, especially if Lan Zhan shows himself so reactive to the whole procedure.

In the next moment however, Wei Ying is airborne, and then his back lands on the pillows with a hungry Lan Zhan descending on his own cock.

Oh.

Oh gods.

It’s so – Lan Zhan’s mouth is so tight and wet and warm, and hungry. Lan Zhan sucks cock like a man on a mission, and it’s all Wei Ying can do not to come immediately. He stares at the ceiling, wondering if his soul has already left his body.

His betrothed finally resurfaces, though only long enough to fish for a pot of salve under the bed and prompt with a questioning ‘Wei Ying?’. This man will be the death of him. After a short nod, Wei Ying lets himself fall back into the pillows, feeling nervous but also excited and spreading his legs a little when he feels Lan Zhan’s gentle fingers probing beneath his balls.

He distracts himself by prompting Lan Zhan about those remarks on his numerous positive qualities, which Lan Zhan more than delivers. It makes him feel like a ripe tomato close to bursting, but at least Lan Zhan lets Wei Ying hide his face against a pillow while he does it, so that’s almost okay. In between licks and kisses, Wei Ying drags out of him how long he has wanted to do this (which happens to be since they were teenagers, and gods, the wasted potential there!), how much he’d missed Wei Ying since they parted ways (a lot), and what kinds of things he would like to do to Wei Ying (which embarrassingly makes Wei Ying come down Lan Zhan’s throat, while the other’s fingers keep devilishly pumping in and out of his stretched hole).

They certainly don’t get a lot of sleep that night. Lan Zhan seems intent on tiring Wei Ying out so much that his thoroughly prepared asshole has no other choice but to relax around Lan Zhan’s girth when he finally puts that thick cock inside of him. It still pushes out all the air in Wei Ying’s lungs in a very sexy wheeze.

“Lan Zhan, I’m afraid your betrothed shall never walk again,” he quips, trying to veil the slight tremble in his voice at feeling Lan Zhan so close to him, inside him. He’s never been this close to anyone, never let anyone see him like this.

He’s kneeling above the other, at Lan Zhan’s suggestion, so that he may control the pace. His heart had pounded in his chest when arranging himself in this way, hands on Lan Zhan’s shoulders and feeling Lan Zhan place the tip of his cock against Wei Ying’s slick entrance so that he could lower himself down on it. It felt like there wasn’t enough air in the room, Wei Ying’s cheeks burning crimson. And then he’d sunk down a bit and felt the pressure increasing more and more until Lan Zhan finally breached him and – oh. This was happening.

Between the slight burning down below, the novel feeling of something so large in so intimate a place, and having to process the openly vulnerable look on Lan Zhan’s face, it had taken Wei Ying a moment to return to jokes to smother his insecurity. And even though first-time sex is awkward, Wei Ying can’t get over how caring Lan Zhan is. How his hands keep checking if Wei Ying is doing ok, how his eyes keep seeking out Wei Ying’s expression to notice any kind of discomfort and nip it in the bud, how intense he gets over his quest to give Wei Ying pleasure.

Riding someone apparently uses muscle groups that Wei Ying has been sorely neglecting as of late, and soon Wei Ying’s thighs run out of steam and his legs turn into wet, trembly noodles. So Lan Zhan takes over and simply lifts him up and down on his cock like he weighs nothing, dear gods.

Lan Zhan’s hands are hot brands on Wei Ying’s ribs, and his amber eyes bore deep inside his soul, and Wei Ying knows he is home.

Late into the night, they lie awake, listening to each other’s breaths. Wei Ying’s head is pillowed on Lan Zhan’s plushy biceps as he traces swirls and patterns on Lan Zhan’s bare chest, lost in thought.

To think they had wasted so much time, time they could have spent together.

Did Lan Zhan think about him during the past year, the way Wei Ying did of him? Did he imagine them like this? And what about before, when Wei Ying was gone those long years? Did he keep Wei Ying in his heart always, or were there other people he sought pleasure with, to comfort himself?

Wei Ying is not sure what to think of it. He cannot stand the thought of Lan Zhan lonely, hurting. His fingers glide up to the tips of a scar peeking over Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

“When did you know? That you liked men,” Wei Ying asks, half to distract himself and half out of genuine curiosity.

“The library.”

Wei Ying frowns. “Library?”

“Your book.”

His eyes widen. “Me?” He mulls over the information for a moment, a slow grin taking shape. “…is that why you were always so angry, back then? Because you’d just had your gay little awakening and didn’t know where to go with all those feelings?”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying can’t help but laugh at Lan Zhan’s unrepentant tone.

“For me, it was one of the sword instructors of Yunmeng Jiang. All those summers I had to watch him flaunt his shirtless self while going through sword drills. All those rippling muscles drenched in sweat…” Wei Ying hides his mischievous grin against Lan Zhan’s arm.

“Mn.”

Astounding, how disapproving a hum can sound.

Wei Ying laughs and trails his fingers down Lan Zhan’s sternum.

“Lan Zhan ah, Lan Zhan. Are you jealous? Did you never have dirty thoughts of other people? Don’t tell me – you only ever had eyes for me, is that it?”

Again, that brief flash of envy zings through Wei Ying’s chest, to be smothered ruthlessly. It’s not fair to expect that of Lan Zhan, after Wei Ying already mentioned his own past interest in other men. Lan Zhan, however, grows quiet. Wei Ying looks up at him, at the strange look on his face.

At first he wonders if it’s because Lan Zhan worries that Wei Ying will be angry at him for fancying other people (and beats himself for being upset about it to begin with), but then he notices it’s the same kind of troubled quiet Lan Zhan had gotten earlier, when thinking about his brother. The same small frown, the same lowered eyes, the same subtle tension in the lines around his mouth.

The same guilt.

What does Lan Xichen have to do with Lan Zhan feeling rueful for lusting over other men? Had he punished Lan Zhan for it in some way? But no, Wei Ying cannot imagine that of the gentle First Jade, who loves his brother more than life itself – …ah.

Epiphany! Slow realization! Wei Ying’s eyes widen.

Thoughts rearrange themselves inside his head, facts and memories being put into new perspective to reflect this possible development. He's not sure how to approach this, but knows he has to do something, if only to make sure.

“Lan Zhan, you know… you know I would never judge you, right?” Lan Zhan’s eyes alight on him as though surprised. “No matter who it was, no matter how… unconventional it might be, yes?”

He hopes this is enough of a hint, because he’s unsure how else to ask. With the way Lan Zhan stares at him before slowly, slowly relaxing the tense line of his body against Wei Ying’s, his suspicion might just have a grain of truth to it.

Wei Ying reaches out a careful hand to stroke Lan Zhan’s cheek while holding his gaze. “…was it your Da-Ge?” Lan Zhan doesn’t meet his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me, it’s fine. Just remember, there won’t be any judgement from me, I promise.”

Finally, Lan Zhan gives a tiny nod, so small you’d miss it if you blinked. Wei Ying kisses him in reply.

He takes a deep breath. “Honestly? Me too. A bit. And about half the visiting disciples during the lectures,” he laughs slightly, trying to make light of the topic without making Lan Zhan feel ridiculed. “He’s very…. Mn.”

Wei Ying smacks his lips, sliding a hand down Lan Zhan’s front.

“All that chest going on, right? And those biceps, like he could just pick you up, on the spot. I bet he gives the best hugs, too.”

Something grows a little sad in Lan Zhan’s eyes, at that. Wei Ying tries to move on quickly.

“You two look very similar, so of course he’s gorgeous, but back then there was the added benefit of how… put-together he was, right? Like we were all just bumbling teenagers with egos too big for our mouths,” he sees Lan Zhan’s slight pout, as though to say ‘your ego, maybe’, and quickly goes on, “but then there was Zewu-Jun, barely any older yet strong and mature enough to already be leading an entire sect. He didn’t really raise his voice, but he was so in control all the time, like you just wanted to ask him to give you an order, bow down to him, something. Just so he’d see how good you were being for him.”

Lan Zhan stares at him with his eyes a little glazed over before suddenly burying his reddening face in Wei Ying’s neck. Wei Ying laughs.

“Oh no, Lan Zhan. Seems I’ve hit the nail on the head, hm? Don’t worry, I getcha.”

He pets the back of Lan Zhan’s head, giving him all the time he needs.

“Lan Zhan…” he finally starts, very carefully. “I know it’s not really my place to ask, and I was gone a long time. Very long time. With anyone, did you ever…”

Lan Zhan shakes his head against him. It does make Wei Ying wonder for a moment how in the world Lan Zhan managed to be so put-together during their very first romp. But knowing him, Lan Zhan would probably tell him something like ‘I researched extensively in the library’, like the lovable nerd he is, so Wei Ying puts the question out of his mind.

“And your… your feelings for your brother?” Wei Ying asks, stepping as cautiously as he is able.

Lan Zhan draws back a bit, eyes hooded. “Xiongzhang is… not well.” Which both is and isn’t an answer. Wei Ying understands. Lan Zhan looks at him as though searching for something in Wei Ying’s face. He can guess at what.

“It’s alright, Lan Zhan.” He cradles his lover’s face in his hands and gives him a forehead kiss. “It’s alright.”

“You don’t… mind?”

Wei Ying thinks of the way Lan Xichen has looked out for his little brother all his life, of the thirteen years he was there for Lan Zhan when Wei Ying couldn’t be, and not a single shred of resentment darkens his heart at the thought of what those two may be to each other. Without Zewu-Jun, would Lan Zhan even still be here? Would he have made it through those dark years after Wei Ying’s death?

So all he says is, “Lan Zhan, how could I?”

Zewu-Jun looks like a ghost in grey, the first time Wei Ying sees him.

It’s a jarring contrast to the Zewu-Jun in his memories – tall, strong, put together; majestic in any of his elaborate garments. The man who greets him at the door for a strained cup of tea instead wears his hair loose and unadorned, seeming smaller than usual as he shrinks into those grey, unmarked robes of his, into fabric that seems almost white. It’s not hard to imagine him grieving, but hard for Wei Ying to decide how he feels about who he must be grieving for.

He puts up a front for his future brother-in-law, that much is obvious. Zewu-Jun’s every motion is tightly controlled, from the way he pours the tea to the deliberate rest of his hands against his thighs. His fingers look painfully thin, his cheeks sunken in, despite the fact that Lan Zhan told him his brother had finally started eating again. Wei Ying does not want to imagine what Zewu-Jun must have looked like before.

Zewu-Jun’s words are polite and to the point, yet something feels off; there’s something cagey in the way his expression shutters behind his usual jade mask, a coldness and despondency behind his usually so genuine and welcoming smile.

But who is Wei Ying to judge? He hasn’t been here in so long, and it feels like he barely knew the sect leader back then. He knows this new version of Lan Xichen even less.

He’s unsure how to help Lan Xichen, and it gnaws at him. All Wei Ying knows is that he needs to help him; not only because of Lan Zhan, but also because – despite everything, Wei Ying does have fond memories of the older man from his time at the lectures and beyond, and he genuinely wants to help him get past all that grief and misplaced guilt in the wake of what happened at Guanyin Temple. But he will need some kind of long-term plan for that, which he is still working on. Perhaps A-Yuan’s return will help matters, who wrote Lan Zhan a letter just a few days ago that he plans to be back before the new moon. Wei Ying is swooning in excitement at the thought.

Meanwhile, Lan Qiren is less than pleased with Wei Ying’s return, as he never hesitates to make known, and Lan Zhan is busy much more often than Wei Ying had (foolishly) expected. It’s clear that he tries to free as much of his time for Wei Ying as possible, but there are natural bounds to that objective. In the absence of his Little Radish (who Wei Ying misses something fierce), he ends up bothering Jingyi instead, who is torturing – that is, teaching, the little ones. Wei Ying decides to watch their classes as often as he can, despite the stink eye Lan Qiren is giving him for it.

Being in the Cloud Recesses and conforming to the thousands of rules isn’t always easy, but what is easy is the intimacy, the physicality between him and Lan Zhan. Whenever they come together it is usually explosive in some way, and very enjoyable for both of them. They both already know Wei Ying likes to be a brat, but what is more surprising is how much Wei Ying likes being put into his place by Lan Zhan.

And then there are other times – when Wei Ying finds himself feeling particularly greedy for Lan Zhan’s love and attention, but scolds himself for his neediness. Rather than agree, Lan Zhan showers him in praise and comfort, sometimes even agreeing to Wei Ying’s playful suggestion of tying him to the bed so that he can’t flee the scene. That excessive praise fills a painful hole in his chest and often ends up making him cry, but it’s ok, because it’s a good kind of cry, and Lan Zhan lets him hide his face against his chest and pets his hair and feeds him loquats afterwards.

When Wei Ying figures out he’s not the only one in need of having a cock in his ass he’s surprised at first, and then wants to slap himself for simply assuming. If it feels this good for Wei Ying, why in the world would Lan Zhan not want to join in on the fun? Simply because he has a monster-sized dick and looks tall and imposing?

Wei Ying, you idiot.

It starts with a lazy morning, Wei Ying uncharacteristically waking before the rise of dawn because his morning wood is particularly interested that day and has been enjoying itself, nestled into the cleft of Lan Zhan’s shapely behind.

More interesting than that, however, is the fact that Lan Zhan keeps pressing back against him, obviously not at all put out by the fact that another man’s cock is getting this familiar with his most private areas.

“Mmh… would you like to?” Wei Ying mumbles sleepily, and feels Lan Zhan freeze against him.

Perhaps he hadn’t expected Wei Ying to be awake so early, and Wei Ying scolds himself for somehow giving his partner the feeling he had to hide something like that from him.

And so, he tries deliberately not to make a big deal out of it, stretching luxuriously against Lan Zhan’s back and tightening his arms around him, drawing him against his chest. He can hear Lan Zhan’s breath hitch. “Can I make you feel good?” he asks against the shell of Lan Zhan’s ear. “I think you’ll really like it. Pretty please, Lan Zhan?”

The other is tentative, wary, and Wei Ying can feel that this is no trifle to Lan Zhan. He resolves to use his extensive knowledge of being on the receiving end to give his husband-to-be the best first experience bottoming that he could possibly ask for.

He doesn’t regret it, and it’s an absolute treat to see the fearsome Hanguang-Jun go quiet and pliant beneath him, trusting Wei Ying to instill pleasure upon his body. They have never felt closer.

Then Lan Xichen tries to kill himself, and not much else matters for a long time.

It’s almost too late when he is found by Wei Ying and Wen Ning. Lan Xichen is drenched in sweat and rain and bent over his guqin, fingertips bloodied from the strings.

They run up to him and rip him away from his instrument. That’s when he starts coughing up blood, shivers growing worse. His eyes are weeping red.

“Fetch Hanguang-Jun, he needs spiritual energy to stabilize him!” Wen Ning tells Wei Ying after a quick diagnostic, who runs off like a bolt of lightning towards where his fiancé is still slumbering blissfully. That peace is destroyed when the doors to the Jingshi slam open.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying yells. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan – you must come – Zewu-Jun, he… please!”

Wangji doesn’t even bother searching for his boots, just runs after Wei Ying barefooted and in his nightgown, into the rain.

“I left him with Wen Ning, he tried to – he – ”

Wei Ying can’t bring himself to say it, but he doesn’t need to.

If he’d thought earlier that Lan Xichen looked like a ghost, it’s nothing compared to Lan Zhan in the rain, thin white underrobe quickly soaking through and dark mass of hair clinging to him above bare feet, with an expression like his soul has left his body.

In the Hanshi, Wen Ning explains what needs to happen next and Wei Ying thinks, Oh.

Okay, then.

And then he spends the next few agonizing minutes getting his traumatized fiancé to respond to him.

How could he? Wei Ying wants to ask. How dare he?

But he knows he has no leg to stand on.

All he can do is be there for Lan Zhan the way Lan Xichen was, long ago. All he can do is lead Lan Zhan from the Hanshi and its heavy conversations home through the rain, help him bath, and dress, and prepare. But before he can do any of those things, after stepping over the Jingshi’s threshold, they come to a halt, and Lan Zhan looks at him.

He seems so lost, wet hair curling around his ears and reminding Wei Ying of a much younger man.

Wei Ying takes him into his arms. “Lan Zhan, ah Lan Zhan. I know. Shh… I know. I’m here.” He kisses Lan Zhan’s temple. “I will always be here, no matter what. You’re not getting rid of me.”

Lan Zhan lets his weight sag inside his arms, before starting to tremble. It has likely just hit him that his brother almost died, that he might still die. Bringing that in conjunction with the sect leader who had always seemed larger than life to Wei Ying is baffling, indeed.

What would have happened if Wen Ning and his nephew hadn’t just returned from their long travels that night? If Wei Ying hadn’t been unable to sleep, and decided to take an evening stroll with Wen Ning despite the terrible weather? It doesn’t bear thinking about. He hugs his fiancé tighter to himself.

“…you’re very brave.”

Lan Sizhui is a sight for sore eyes after the kind of night he’s had.

All throughout the early hours of the morning, Wei Ying had paced through the forbidden library, researching alternative cures for if their efforts should prove fruitless, worrying about his fiancé, worrying about his fiancé’s brother, and searching himself for the stab of resentment he should feel at knowing his lover is bedding another man at this moment and coming up curiously emptyhanded.

Now, after checking in on those two and making sure they had everything they needed, all Wei Ying really yearns for is a nice long nap, but first he must give his so- his Little Radish a humongous hug.

“Xian-Gege!”

A-Yuan still fits inside his arms as though he were always meant to be there.

“I- I mean, Wei-Qianbei!”

“A-Yuan!” Wei Ying leans back enough to give Lan Sizhui a mock frown. “I didn’t plant you in the earth and water you every day for a year for you to Wei-Qianbei me now!”

“Apologies, Xian-Gege!” Sizhui says, like the absolute best boy he is. Then he looks down, smiling sheepishly. “I was very excited when A-Die wrote to me that you were home.” Wei Ying’s heart decidedly does not clench at that last word. “I haven’t seen you in so long! I have so many stories to tell!”

Wei Ying chuckles, and finally releases the boy from his grasp after another tight squeeze. He can look at him better, this way – witness the tan of his face, the growth of his hair and the bulge of his muscles where they are straining against robes grown too small.

“And I cannot wait to hear them,” he says. “Though I’m afraid that will have to wait until tomorrow. This one is in sore need of a nap.” A yawn erupts from his chest at just the right moment to underline his words.

“Are you alright, Xian-Gege?” Sizhui asks worriedly.

For just a moment, Wei Ying freezes. Oh. Of course, Lan Sizhui knows nothing of the happenings of last night. And if Wei Ying has anything to say about it, he never will. That boy worries enough already to get grey hair prematurely. “Ah, it’s nothing,” Wei Ying deflects, waving his hand. “You know how it is, spent too long working on a project. Don’t take up this old man’s habits, you are so much better than that!”

No need to mention that said project was called ‘keeping your uncle alive’.

The concerned frown doesn’t leave Sizhui’s face, eyeing up Wei Ying closely, but he doesn’t press it like the good little Lan he is. “Where is A-Die?” he asks instead, which – isn’t that much better of a question, actually. “He wasn’t at his office this morning, and I have not seen him yet.”

Wei Ying tips his head to the side and crosses his arms, thinking how best to approach this. “He’s with your uncle,” he finally decides on.

Sizhui nods in understanding. “A-Die wrote that Bofu hasn’t left seclusion yet. Do you think… I could visit him?”

“…I don’t think that would be such a great idea right now, kid.”

In the slight tightening around his eyes and the way he’s leaning forward, Wei Ying can see the protest building in Sizhui, only held back by years of conditioning and discipline.

“Just give it time,” he sighs, and pats Sizhui’s shoulder. “Give him some time.”

Of course, saving Zewu-Jun from dying was the easy part.

Wei Ying becomes painfully aware of that as he watches his husband-to-be destroying practice dummies after Lan Xichen’s flippant words about stabbing himself on his flute. Wei Ying is torn between genuine sympathy for Lan Xichen’s state of mind and righteous fury over his partner’s hurt.

Lan Zhan is quiet that night, when they are lying next to each other in bed. Wei Ying waits for him to speak.

“I fear I have been dishonoring you.”

That is not what he had been expecting. “Is this about Zewu-Jun?” Wei Ying asks.

“You told me what is between my brother and I is of no consequence to this,” Lan Zhan says and gestures between the two of them, referring to the time when Wen Ning had informed them that dual cultivation would be the only chance to save Lan Xichen’s life and Wei Ying had reassured him. “I am unsure if you were referring to the ritual only.”

Oh.

“Lan Zhan, look at me. This is what you’ve been worrying about? That I’m angry?” Lan Zhan hesitates to meet his gaze, and Wei Ying strokes his cheek caringly. “…I can’t exactly say I’d willingly share you with just anyone, Lan Zhan. But I’ve always known that there’s a part of you which does not belong to me. Which belongs to your family, your home. Whichever way you decide to express that love has no bearing on me at all, and it doesn’t make me love you any less.”

Lan Zhan turns his head to kiss his palm. “Wei Ying is too good.”

“Am not! Shush, Lan Zhan.”

There’s a deeply pleased crinkle to Lan Zhan’s eyes, like no one could possibly convince him of his betrothed’s lack of goodness. Honestly, that man.

Then his gaze turns inward, expression thoughtful, and Lan Zhan takes a deep breath. “I love him very much,” Lan Zhan confesses quietly, as though there were not two lives and an entire ocean of churning emotions behind those simple words.

Whatever happened after that second bout of almost-qi-deviating, Lan Zhan and his brother seem to have talked it out, and Wei Ying is glad. He’d almost felt like back when he was a teenager, gossiping with Huaisang about a girl Jiang Cheng fancied and wanted to ask out, and despite his outward teasing being genuinely anxious and eager as he’d watched his then-brother approach the object of his affections. Just as he had then with Jiang Cheng, Wei Ying couldn’t have borne to see Lan Zhan be rejected.

His worries turn out to be unfounded.

Duties keep Lan Zhan firmly occupied, so Wei Ying reassures him that he will look after Lan Xichen as much as he can. He barely manages to make Lan Zhan leave to meet his uncle that first day, even if it is a necessity in order to keep Lan Xiansheng in the dark about Lan Xichen’s actions. To act as though nothing has happened.

“Xiongzhang needs to eat,” Lan Zhan stresses, lingering in the doorway. The line of his shoulders is tense, the pout on his lips stubborn.

“And he will, Lan Zhan. Trust me, I’m really good at getting people to eat.”

Jiang Cheng, stubble on his cheeks, scarfing down a cup of rice.

“If we don’t replenish your strength, how can we take back your golden core?”

Wen Qing, stuffing her face with bread, eyes damp and close to overflowing.

He pushes the images from his mind. “Just go, I’ve got this.”

It’s obvious how much Lan Xichen means to his brother, so of course Wei Ying will take care of him. But soon it becomes more than that.

The first day that Wei Ying enters the Hanshi on his own – Xichen looks exhausted. Fragile, like a baby bird. Ridiculously, it makes Wei Ying want to cradle him and feed him soup.

Maybe it’s that deep-set need in Wei Ying to take care of those around him, the memory of Wen Popo’s sunken cheeks and A-Yuan’s grubby fingers reaching for a leftover, dried-out bun. Maybe it’s how despite his struggles, Lan Xichen’s warm and caring side still shines through. How he looks worriedly after Lan Zhan when he leaves for another stressful meeting, affection for his brother clear in his lingering gaze.

Whatever it is, what starts out as something like pity soon blooms into unexpected friendship and a genuine want for companionship. Even when he is feeling at his lowest, Lan Xichen makes Wei Ying feel welcome and offers an open ear to him, distracts him from whatever nonsense Lan Qiren has accused him of this time. Zewu-Jun turns into Xichen-Ge, and Wei Ying starts looking forward to this part of the day.

As such, it is all the harder to see Lan Xichen struggle. To witness the dark circles under his eyes, how he pushes food back and forth in his bowl, how his gaze wanders off into the distance, miles away.

Lan Sizhui accosts him frequently to ask for news of his uncle, and every single time Wei Ying has to brush him off with some new variation of “Your Bobo will be fine, A-Yuan! Don’t you worry so much!” But worry he does, especially after having witnessed firsthand how much his uncle’s state had deteriorated. Sizhui hides his concern under a polite façade of a gentle smile, hands clasped behind his back, and it hits Wei Ying in the chest when he realizes he must have learned that from his uncle.

Lan Zhan had been in seclusion for three years when A-Yuan was a child, of course Lan Xichen must have had a hand in raising him – but it has never quite crossed Wei Ying’s mind, until now.

The list of what he owes Lan Xichen keeps growing longer and longer.

“Maybe I should have told you.”

“Told me what?” Lan Zhan asks, giving Wei Ying his full attention across the table. The days have grown cold, and a brazier is crackling merrily in the corner. Wei Ying is not feeling merry.

Rather than reply, Wei Ying stands up and heads over to where he has messily stashed his things (and props to Lan Zhan for not complaining even a little bit!), grabs something from within the depth of his sachet, and returns to the table.

He hands over the letter bearing the Lan crest to Lan Zhan, who eyes him for a moment, before looking down to read it when no explanation is forthcoming. His brow furrows slightly, the only outward sign of what is going on inside his head.

Wei Ying wonders if it is strange to him, to see proof of his brother meddling with his relationship behind his back.

“…it’s because of him that I came back,” Wei Ying finally confesses after watching Lan Zhan bent over the letter in silence for too long.

Lan Zhan looks at him, face carefully blank.

“Which is not to say I wouldn’t have come back on my own eventually! You know this is where I want to be. It’s just – I can’t help but think… I mean, did we miss any signs? I know I told you not to blame yourself, I’m being mighty hypocritical, but maybe if – I just don’t know. I think… he wanted to make sure you were taken care of before he – left.”

The heartbreak in Lan Zhan’s eyes is impossible to bear.

“It was not Wei Ying’s fault,” Lan Zhan finally says measuredly after taking a moment to get his bearings.

Wei Ying sighs, and stares at his not-yet-a-husband. He hopes his gaze expresses what he wants to say quite clearly: Oh, but it’s okay for you to blame yourself?

And blame himself, Lan Zhan does.

It’s hard to witness, the constant worried frowns, the tension in his shoulders whenever Lan Xichen refuses to eat, but most of all – the nightmares, being woken by Lan Zhan’s movements and trying to wake him from the panic his mind has shrouded itself in.

Wei Ying wonders what he sees in his dreams, but it’s not hard to guess. Lan Xichen had been a garish sight to see, with the blood leaking from his eyes and mouth. Maybe Lan Zhan sees his brother ill or dying in a dozen different ways, the way Wei Ying saw – keeps seeing – his own Shijie.

All he can do is take a panting Lan Zhan into his arms as he clings tightly, giving him the space to talk if he needs to. Lan Zhan never does.

“You know,” Wei Ying says, stroking his partner’s hair gently, “I wouldn’t mind if you spent the night with him. It’s alright.”

It’s obvious Lan Zhan wants to go to his brother and reassure himself, but instead he shakes his head and buries deeper against Wei Ying’s neck. Perhaps he isn’t sure of his welcome.

Between his responsibilities to his clan and the cultivation world and worrying over his brother, the weight bearing down on Lan Zhan is obvious. It’s hard to watch this side of him, the anxious, tense one. Wei Ying does his best to lift him up where he can. He brings bunnies to the Jingshi, gives them silly names. He’s not sure how much it helps, but Lan Zhan’s expression does soften when he comes home to a ball of fluff trying to chew through the carpet or binkying across the room.

It's nice when Wen Ning comes to visit.

Between Wei Ying, Lan Zhan, and to a smaller degree Lan Sizhui, there are not that many people who are in the know about Zewu-Jun’s condition, and it’s starting to make Wei Ying feel very helpless. Even if Wen Ning doesn’t have the answers to all their questions, he always comes with new remedies to try, new teas to brew. Or even just news of the outside world, which Wei Ying gobbles up greedily.

“Let me walk you back,” Wei Ying tells him one night after Wen Ning has brought some new herbs to try that he read about in a book from his homeland. After saying goodbye to the others, they take a meandering path down the mountain towards Caiyi. “How was Qishan?”

“Not much changed from the last time A-Yuan and I visited, Master,” Wen Ning replies. Wei Ying swallows down his scolding at the unwelcome title in favor of bumping their shoulders together playfully.

“Come on, Wen Ning. There must be something interesting you’ve seen or heard!”

Wen Ning smiles. “Hm… I did visit a mansion that belonged to a southern branch of our clan, to see what leftover belongings survived the pillaging. They specialized in protective spells rather than offensive ones, so it may not have been seen as worthy of looting as other places.”

“Protective spells?”

“Well, apart from the normal fire-proofing they also knew how to strengthen fortifications or set up wards, similar to those in the Cloud Re-”

“Wait, wait. Wait.” Wei Ying comes to a stop. “Can we go back to the fire-proofing part? You know, the one I’ve never heard of being possible before?” And not for lack of trying. During the war, Wei Ying had spent many a night mulling over potential defensive talismans to protect their troops against the fire spells of the Wen, but had eventually given up. There was something about the unpredictable, destructive nature of fire that was hard to account for.

Wen Ning has come to a stop next to him, looking at him with wide eyes. “Master, fire-proofing is one of the first spells any advancing Wen cultivator learns. How else would we be able to protect our hands when casting a fireball?”

Aghast, Wei Ying looks at his companion. Has the answer always been so simple, right in front of him? Did so much knowledge get lost simply because of the rift between one clan and the rest of the gentry?

On his earlier travels, Wei Ying had occasionally heard discontent among the common folk and smaller clans regarding the greater sects, and while he is glad about the current peace and stability, he is not foolish enough to trust it in the long term. If there was a way to protect the Cloud Recesses from burning again, to strengthen the wards of his new home, Wei Ying would certainly rest easier.

A grin starts forming on his face. He claps Wen Ning’s shoulder. “Wen Ning, my friend, we have a long night ahead of us.”

“We should give them to Xiongzhang,” Lan Zhan says one evening, glancing at the bunny on his lap thoughtfully.

Wei Ying kneels down next to him, reaching out to pet Master Chomp-a-Lot. Calmed down by sitting on Hanguang-Jun’s lap (who wouldn’t like that?), the bunny almost doesn’t fidget at his presence. Lan Zhan has always been so much better with them.

“Do you think he could handle them?”

The slight side-eye Lan Zhan sends him is almost offended. Right, of course the First Jade of Lan would be just as much of a wizard with bunnies as the Second.

Another small fluff ball bumbles up to them and bumps against Lan Zhan’s thigh, asking for attention. Once again, his brow softens as he reaches down to pet it. That particular one has always been his favorite, even if Hanguang-Jun plays at not giving any preferential treatment.

“…won’t you miss them?” Wei Ying asks. After all, he had brought the bunnies to cheer up his fiancé, and they had done their very best at the job. He can see the tiny frown between Lan Zhan’s eyes, like he wants to agree but wants to help his brother more, and isn’t he just so ridiculous. “You can keep Betelgeuse,” Wei Ying suggests good-naturedly.

Emotions war across Lan Zhan’s face as he strokes his hands through downy fur. He picks up Betelgeuse and holds him in front of his face for closer observation. “He would become lonely,” he finally decides and shakes his head.

Wei Ying hums. “How about… we give Xichen-Ge Flopper and Spot, but keep these two?” Lan Zhan looks as though he were about to protest breaking up the fluffle, so Wei Ying nods down at where Master Chomp-a-Lot has started chewing on the tassel of Lan Zhan’s jade pendant. Perhaps not the best starter bunny for a mentally fragile individual. “We already fought your uncle over these, it would be such a waste to give them all up now!”

Wei Ying bumps his shoulder against Lan Zhan’s, and he knows he has won when a small smile twitches around his fiancé’s mouth.

Regardless of Lan Xichen’s new companions, he keeps growing worse and worse, gets lost inside his head, tries hurting himself again. It makes them feel powerless.

“What did you dream of?” Wei Ying asks softly.

Lan Zhan moves against the sheets, eyes trained to the side. For a moment, Wei Ying thinks he isn’t going to answer.

“The Hanshi’s doors,” he finally says, “closed forever.”

When Wei Ying looks at Xichen, he wonders how dark the other’s thoughts must have turned to see taking his life as the only option. It’s not like he can’t relate.

To be at that point where the bad outweighs the good by leagues, where you feel like there is nothing left for you, and the guilt lies on you as such a heavy burden that it simply forces your hand…

“I was so scared.”

How harshly the Lans must have been conditioned, that their innate discipline would force them to punish themselves like that. It’s hard to see a drunk Lan Xichen sobbing on the floor, held together only by the strong arms of his brother, but at least it’s a breaking point. At least finally, Lan Xichen is taking a stand for himself, and against their clan’s restrictive teachings.

“I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to have to kill myself.”

Wei Ying can only imagine what hearing those words does to Lan Zhan.

“As future clan leader, Xiongzhang has always had more pressure on his shoulders than I did,” he explains sometime later. His voice is quiet, hushed. Ashamed. “I did not see. He made it seem so effortless.”

At the very least, things start looking up after that.

Like a muddy river washed clean by the flood, leaving behind devastation but also the chance for a fresh start.

Lan Xichen truly blooms into touch. Into his brother’s gentle hand against his cheek, against Wei Ying’s shoulder when they sit close together, thigh against thigh. At first it surprises him, but Wei Ying nurses the sneaking suspicion that both Twin Jades have grown up quite touch starved. Things at the Jiang household might not have been perfect by any means, but at least Wei Ying got to tumble around with Jiang Cheng, give him side-hugs, was allowed to lay his head on Shijie’s lap when he felt sad.

The Jades had received no such comfort.

From what he knows of their upbringing, Wei Ying is very glad they have gotten over it and grown familiar with being close to each other again. Despite still having plenty of bad days, Wei Ying sees a smile on Lan Xichen’s lips much more often than he used to.

And when Jin Ling’s letter arrives close to the Spring Festival, Wei Ying realizes he was right – Xichen-Ge does give the best hugs.

Lan Zhan is of course the epitome of a wet dream, so watching him is always one of Wei Ying’s favorite pastimes. But it’s undeniable that there is an inherent beauty to the First Jade as well. He did once get crowned number one bachelor, after all. And now that his sharp cheekbones have softened out again and the dark circles slowly started vanishing from underneath his eyes, complexion brightening with the coming spring, it’s – well. Wei Ying is just a man. Have mercy on him.

Seeing the Twin Jades entangled within each other, luscious dark hair entwining and soft, rosy lips pressed together in gentle kisses while their hands stroke over each other’s backs and arms… Calling out how hot that is should be entirely warranted and is no reason for Lan Zhan to throw a chiding ‘Wei Ying’ his way!

He’s not happy that, when coming back from his visit to Lanling, he finds Lan Zhan in a snappish, closed-off mood and needs to accost Xichen-Ge to rip him a new one over not communicating his anxiety in a more productive way, but at least he finally gets to see the two of them rub off against each other.

And the night brings another astounding realization for Wei Ying.

He’s come to recognize these moods Lan Zhan sometimes gets, where he wants to be held down and fucked lovingly, but it’s not until Wei Ying has him lying on his back next to his brother and sees that naked desire on his face when Xichen-Ge asks him to come for them that Wei Ying realizes something Lan Zhan has been missing in his life. That maybe a part of his past has been left buried for too long.

Wei Ying is a man of action, and as soon as the hustle and bustle of their wedding has died down, he starts planning.

His husband (Wei Ying has a husband now!) is very busy due to his plans to abolish the position of Xiandu, and Wei Ying thinks he needs a bit of fun time. So when Lan Zhan comes home late one evening after Wei Ying and Xichen had already had dinner and parted ways again, Wei Ying accosts his partner in front of their house.

“Lan Zhan. Wanna play with me?” he asks with an impish smile. It’s not the first time they have played together like this, and Wei Ying had sent his husband a missive earlier in the day to warn him, so he would have time to decide.

Lan Zhan’s face goes soft when he looks at Wei Ying, the way it so often does. It makes Wei Ying’s heart do a summersault.

“Mn.”

Excited, Wei Ying drags him inside the house and doesn’t give him much time to think. “As a teenager, you wanted Lan Xichen to fuck you. Right or wrong?” he asks, as soon as the silencing talisman has come to life over the door.

Lan Zhan startles, but after a moment nods his head with a soft ‘Mn’.

He touches Lan Zhan’s chin, fingers tightening a little. “You will use your words.” This is part of their game. Wei Ying knows Lan Zhan often has trouble verbalizing, just as he also knows how badly Lan Zhan wants to be good for him.

His husband’s eyes loose some of their focus.

“Yes,” he breathes.

“You liked the idea of him as a clan leader being in power and giving you orders. Right or wrong?”

Lan Zhan swallows, licks his dry lips. “Yes.”

“You will tell me three fantasies you had about your brother, and I will make you come after each of them. Right or wrong.”

Wei Ying can see his pupils blown wide, before he says, voice faint, “Please.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. Wei Ying looks at Lan Zhan, tries to imagine how to start. “Sit down.” Lan Zhan goes to sit at the tea table without complaint. “Good. You have been so very diligent. Studying all day. Your wrists must be sore from writing. Zewu-Jun must be proud of you.”

He can see Lan Zhan correcting his posture, sitting up straight and breathing very carefully. “Good.” Wei Ying steps up behind him and lightly touches Lan Zhan’s shoulder blades beneath his hair. “Very good. What does your Zewu-Jun do next? Tell me.” He makes sure to ask direct questions, leaving no room for misunderstandings or silence.

Lan Zhan’s mouth opens and closes a few times, as though there’s something on the tip of his tongue that he’s too scared to say.

“Wangji.”

Lan Zhan flinches as though he were hit, breath catching.

“Xiongzhang.” He swallows again, as though his throat is dry. “Xiongzhang has had… a very long day as well. Xiongzhang will want to unwind.”

“And how will he do that?” Wei Ying asks and slips a hand under Lan Zhan’s hair until he can touch his bare neck with cold fingertips. Lan Zhan suppresses a shudder. His breath is going quick, chest rising up and down.

“Using. By… using me.”

“How exactly does he use you? Which of your two pretty holes does he use?” Wei Ying’s fingers trail over Lan Zhan’s jaw, up over his plump lower lip quivering with his shaky breaths.

“Whichever one Xiongzhang prefers,” Lan Zhan finally replies and lets his eyes slip closed. Oh, but how precious he is. Wei Ying has to gather himself for a moment.

“Well, turn around then. Keep your eyes closed.” He moves his hand to the back of Lan Zhan’s head to drag him closer with a quiet implication. “Show me how you would relax your Xiongzhang.”

Lan Zhan takes to the order like a duck to water, leaning forward immediately to bury his nose in Wei Ying’s crotch through his robes. His mouth is warm, lips starting to suck at the forming bulge through the fabric. Wei Ying decides to help him before his clothes get stained, frees himself with his spare hand.

Sucking cock has always been one of Lan Zhan’s favorite things. Wei Ying wasn’t lying when he told Xichen about how orally fixated his brother was. He lavishes Wei Ying’s shaft in attention, from little licks and kisses to the smooth hollowing of his mouth, a steady up and down motion that seems to almost put Lan Zhan in a trance.

Wei Ying, who has been looking forward to this all day, has to pull himself together not to come too quickly.

Shifting his weight to one leg, Wei Ying moves the other forward to nudge Lan Zhan’s knees apart. When Lan Zhan follows willingly, Wei Ying presses the tip of his boot against the straining bulge in his pants. Lan Zhan moans around the cock in his mouth.

“You can rub against it,” Wei Ying says, and smirks when Lan Zhan immediately follows suite with another wanton noise. “But don’t come until I say you can.”

The next sound from Lan Zhan’s throat has a decidedly pitiful quality to it, which Wei Ying ignores. He knows Lan Zhan flourishes in this, in being able to follow orders to the best of his ability.

When he can feel his own patience fraying thin, Wei Ying grabs the back of Lan Zhan’s head more tightly and pulls him down until he can slip into the tightness of his throat. Practiced as Lan Zhan is, it doesn’t take more than a few swallows for Wei Ying to come like this, into the tight channel engulfing his cock.

“Now,” he sighs a moment later and presses his boot more firmly into Lan Zhan’s crotch, who shudders through his own release as soon as he is given the command.

Wei Ying draws himself back enough for his limp member to fall from Lan Zhan’s lips, who leans against Wei Ying’s thigh heavily. He seems to need a moment to come back to himself, and Wei Ying pets his hair gently. He can feel how far under Lan Zhan is.

“Another one,” he says, eventually.

It’s only after a long moment that Lan Zhan regains the capability of speech, and another to parse the question and find an answer. “Sitting in his lap while he works,” he finally murmurs against the cloth of Wei Ying’s pants, “warming his cock.”

Wei Ying closes his eyes for a second as his cock makes a valiant effort of twitching to attention again. “Stand up,” he orders, and turns Lan Zhan to face away from him when he does. He slings his arms around his husband’s waist from behind to get at his sash. “You’re wearing a little too much to properly serve your brother, don’t you think? All those layers, hiding what a treat you are.”

Wei Ying leisurely lets his fingers slip in between the loosened folds of Lan Zhan’s robes to stroke over the delicious valleys and peaks of his chest, down to his stomach. He feels Lan Zhan press into the touch.

He takes off most of Lan Zhan’s layers apart from a thin underrobe and the soiled pants and throws the rest over the nearby paper screen, knowing it would rattle Lan Zhan from his subspace if he saw the expensive robes crumpled on the floor. Then, he steps in close again until he can press his body against Lan Zhan’s back, his slowly hardening cock slipping into the valley of Lan Zhan’s cheeks and causing his husband to gasp.

“See? Much better like this. It’s almost a shame the underrobes of Gusu Lan are so plain and chaste. Imagine wearing silky courtesan robes instead.” He feels Lan Zhan’s breathing halt for the shortest of moments. “Oh – would you like that? Being the clan leader’s whore?”

“Ngh.”

Wei Ying continues trailing the tips of his fingers over the thin fabric covering Lan Zhan’s chest, feels his nipples pebble beneath them. His lips brush over the shell of Lan Zhan’s ear. “Words.”

“Yes!” The plea erupts like something held back for much too long.

“Did you prepare yourself?” Lan Zhan answers in the affirmative. “Show me. On the table.”

He has Lan Zhan bend down over the tea table, the contents of which Wei Ying had stacked to the side earlier in wise foresight; waits until Lan Zhan shakily slips down his pants and rucks up his skirts to expose his firm buttocks. Wei Ying can see the tips of his ears blooming crimson at being so exposed, but he doesn’t protest or use his safe word.

Lan Zhan indeed is already prepared, wet and open, because Wei Ying had sent him a paperman earlier telling him to, if he wanted to. He examines his hole anyway, kneeling on the floor behind him and sliding just the tip of his finger inside to hear Lan Zhan’s quiet gasp. He still gets surprised at how tight Lan Zhan always is, due to how tightly he keeps clinging to his control in everyday life, but it is obvious that he’s used plenty of oil and fingers to prepare himself for this so that it shouldn’t hurt.

“Is this how you always wait for your brother? Open and ready for Zewu-Jun to relax and enjoy himself whenever he feels like it?” He can see Lan Zhan’s shoulders drawing together, breathing picking up. “Maybe it would be an open secret in the sect, that you are little more than the clan leader’s beloved fucktoy, his concubine, his little brother born to be his willing hole to fuck whenever Zewu-Jun needs it.”

Lan Zhan whimpers – it’s not the verbal response Wei Ying demanded, but he lets it slide for now.

Instead, he spreads Lan Zhan’s cheeks open wide with his thumbs and uses the grip to finally pull him down onto his cock.

Gods – Lan Zhan really is tight. And hot. And trembling in his arms, starting to squirm after the long slide inside and the first moment of adjustment. Rather than starting to thrust, however, Wei Ying slings an arm around him to keep Lan Zhan still in his lap.

“Did you know? A representative of the Huang clan arrived this week. Their fields were devastated by fierce corpses, and their harvest will be weak.” He can feel the tension coiled tightly in the man on Wei Ying’s lap, and he pets his stomach gently, never quite moving his hand low enough to brush the erection newly tenting Lan Zhan’s underrobe. “They have been asking for extra rations to share, though I wonder if we shouldn’t demand for some of their disciples to come visit during the winter instead.”

Wei Ying keeps talking about politics, lesson schedules, whatever boring subject comes to mind, chastising Lan Zhan whenever he starts to fidget. It’s impossible for his own erection to go down with the way Lan Zhan keeps clenching tightly around him, but slowly he feels his husband settle more of his weight against Wei Ying’s chest, breathing calming. Lan Zhan lets his head fall back onto Wei Ying’s shoulder and his eyes fall closed as he reaches a story regarding the crop rotation of the lower mountain levels.

“There you go, love,” Wei Ying croons quietly and kisses Lan Zhan’s cheek. “Such a good Didi. Staying still for your Gege so he feels good while he works. Are you feeling good?”

Lan Zhan hums in the back of his throat, eyes still closed.

“You’re the only one your Gege could share something like this with, the one who is closest to him. None other will ever have his trust and love like that.”

How strange it is, rejoicing in his own husband having such deep feelings for another man, for his husband’s own brother. But as always, the resentment stays far away. He cannot explain it, and he will not try. Lan Zhan is as much Lan Huan’s as he is Wei Ying’s.

Reaching up, Wei Ying touches the white ribbon still tied around Lan Zhan’s forehead.

“You don’t need that here, do you? No need to hold onto your restraint with me.”

Leaning Lan Zhan forward a little, he removes the ribbon and uses it to tie Lan Zhan’s hands behind his back. Then he puts a sitting pillow on the table in front of them and pushes Lan Zhan forward to bend him over the desk again, this time fucking him in earnest.

Lan Zhan gasps.

“Come on, Lan Zhan. I want to hear you moan. Is that really all your Gege can coax out of you when he fucks you?”

“Ngh!”

Wei Ying loves how reactive Lan Zhan gets when he allows himself to truly let go. No headspace left to worry about decorum, he lets Wei Ying’s thrusts push him against the table again and again, the air filled with slapping noises and Lan Zhan’s whimpers.

“Does your brother tie you up often, Lan Zhan? Tell me.” Again, a command for verbalization; and with how far gone he is, his husband complies easily.

“Mn. Presenting myself on the floor while bound,” he gasps, cheek pressed against the pillow.

“So you would just be in here, naked ass in the air, waiting for him to come home and use you?”

“Yes. He could bend me over the table or take me against the wall. Anytime he pleased.”

Wei Ying shifts his grip on Lan Zhan’s hips, searching for the angle that will make his husband wail. “How naughty. What do the other disciples have to say about that?”

“They would whisper about me. That I was spreading my legs for the sect leader every night, like a – like a wanton whore.”

Even Wei Ying has to close his eyes for a moment at those words and try not to come. “What else? Tell me.”

“Keeping his cock in my mouth while he works, his hand in my hair. Sitting naked in his lap while – ” It seems Wei Ying has found the right angle, with the way Lan Zhan breaks off to scream.

“Go on.”

“ – while he is in his full robes in front of the c-council of elders.” This is all he manages before pleasure finally takes over his capability for speech as Wei Ying keeps nailing his prostate with precision.

“You can come untouched, can you not?” Wei Ying bends over his back to speak closer to his ear. “I want you to.”

And of course, Lan Zhan follows the order after another few well-aimed thrusts. Meanwhile, Wei Ying holds himself back because he knows he won’t be able to come a third time, but since he’s taken the edge off earlier it’s easier.

Once Lan Zhan’s come has finished spattering against the floor, Wei Ying undoes his ribbon and pulls Lan Zhan back into this lap to let him catch his breath. He kisses his cheek lovingly while rubbing Lan Zhan’s hands to pull him back to the surface a little. He lifts a cup of cold tea to Lan Zhan’s lips.

“One more, love.”

Lan Zhan replies after having taken a few grateful sips. “Slipping into my brother’s bed at night.” His voice is rough and far away.

“Mh, good.” Wei Ying kisses Lan Zhan’s temple, then grabs the trailing end of his husband’s sash from the privacy screen and pulls it over to wind it around Lan Zhan’s eyes. “It’s dark, the middle of the night.” He takes Lan Zhan’s hand and squeezes once, waits until his husband squeezes back before continuing.

He gently lifts Lan Zhan off his lap while standing up, helping Lan Zhan to untangle himself from his ruined pants. Then he moves them across the room to the bed, getting rid of his own black robe on the way until he is down to his red underrobe. He leaves Lan Zhan standing a few steps away while slipping under the sheets, keeping a careful eye on him to make sure the sudden lack of touch won’t prove to be too much.

He calms his breathing and gentles his voice. “A-Zhan, what is it? Did you have a bad dream?”

Lan Zhan makes a small noise in the back of his throat.

“Come here then.”

With small, unsteady steps, Lan Zhan follows his voice until he bumps against the edge of the bed and slides in next to Wei Ying, who lifts the covers for him. Wei Ying regards him silently, propped up on one arm, as Lan Zhan lies on his back.

“Not a bad dream,” Lan Zhan whispers after a moment.

“Oh? Was it a good one, then?”

Lan Zhan is quiet. Suddenly, Wei Ying feels his naked foot sliding against his own leg, drawing softly back and forth as though hesitant of its welcome, then pulling back again shyly. Lan Zhan’s blindfold-clad head stays aimed toward the ceiling.

“Oh,” Wei Ying murmurs, and reaches out towards Lan Zhan’s legs, trailing carefully as though only now realizing the other’s state of undress. “Was it… that kind of dream, A-Zhan?”

“Mn.”

“I see. What would you like to do about it?”

Lan Zhan’s hand twitches towards his crotch before aborting the movement. Wei Ying observes it through the shape of the moving bedsheets. “It’s okay, A-Zhan. You can touch yourself, if it feels good.”

Breath hitching, Lan Zhan finally takes himself in hand. Wei Ying keeps his own hand where it has come to rest on Lan Zhan’s naked thigh, not doing anything more, just watching. He can see Lan Zhan’s brow furrow in frustration above the edge of the sash, teeth coming down to bite his lip. He whimpers.

“What is it, A-Zhan?”

The other makes another frustrated noise before coming to a stop. Wei Ying thinks about how sore and overstimulated Lan Zhan’s cock must feel, wonders if there is enough spend left to smooth the motion or if it has dried by now.

“Ah. Is your hand not enough?” he asks instead, a little cheekily. “Is that why you came to me? Do you want me to help you?” He trails his fingers up a little higher, moves them to the inside of Lan Zhan’s thigh without touching any of the important bits. “Come here.”

It’s only after Lan Zhan has nodded his enthusiastic agreement that Wei Ying turns him over and presses a soft kiss to his lips, praising him for seeking out his big brother when he needed help. With a jolt, he realizes this is the first time they have kissed the entire evening, and Lan Zhan melts into his touch, like he knows he’s safe inside these arms, that he will be taken care of and doesn’t need to worry about a thing. His lips relax against Wei Ying’s tongue probing inside his mouth.

“Are you sore?” Wei Ying coos after finally sliding his fist up and down Lan Zhan’s reddened cock a few times underneath the covers of the blanket. There’s barely any slip, and though it twitches, the cock still struggles to stand at attention again. “There’s another way to make you feel good, Didi. Would you like to try it?”

After receiving another nod, Wei Ying grabs the bottle of oil from where he stashed it under the pillows, pulls Lan Zhan’s leg over his own hip and reaches around with moistened fingers, under his robes. Lan Zhan makes a noise in the back of his throat when he feels the touch against his private place. “Shh, I promise it won’t hurt. Just relax,” Wei Ying murmurs. “That’s it.”

He talks Lan Zhan through the motions, enjoying the way his husband presses against him when the first finger slips inside, and then another, and another. When he finally starts massaging that one special spot inside, Lan Zhan starts to sob. His cock has started to harden once again, poking Wei Ying in the stomach.

Lan Zhan presses against him more firmly, simultaneously straining backwards against the fingers buried inside him. “Please.”

“More? Are you sure?” Wei Ying might be enjoying this more than he should. “I might be too big for you, A-Zhan.” He can barely keep the mirth out of his voice, torn between imagining Lan Zhan’s stubborn pout if anyone told him he couldn’t do something (even be that taking a too large cock), and thinking about the two brothers in this position in their younger years, of Lan Xichen taking care of his Didi in that gentle way of his.

“Ngh.”

In the end, the way his husband trembles against him pulls Wei Ying more firmly into the fantasy they have built, and he turns Lan Zhan around, pushes down his own pants, and slips his cock back inside his ass with a groan. Lan Zhan grows still inside his arms.

It feels more like a massage, like a hug, than anything; soothing motions, grinding into Lan Zhan’s prostate. Lan Zhan’s cock fills out valiantly at that, even though he must be so sore. Wei Ying is very gentle with him. They spoon together, curled into each other like a question mark, intimately joined. Wei Ying can feel Lan Zhan shaking in his arms. It won’t take much to make him break, now.

“I think he would have liked to see his Didi’s face, no?”

He slips out of him and turns Lan Zhan around, onto his back. He folds him in half like it’s nothing, slides Lan Zhan’s legs over his arms until his knees bend over his shoulders, then fucks back into him. Lan Zhan gasps like a drowning man.

They rock against the bed, while Wei Ying feels his own orgasm drawing closer. Lan Zhan is so far gone. Wei Ying sees tears darkening the fabric of the makeshift blindfold with overwhelm and overstimulation. He touches Lan Zhan’s cock, slick once again with pre-come, then leans over him to whisper into his ear one last time, “Come for me, Didi.”

Lan Zhan comes with a wail, squeezing around Wei Ying’s cock and wringing a powerful orgasm out of him that makes his cock twitch and jerk inside Lan Zhan’s tight channel. After he comes back to the living, he realizes how shaky Lan Zhan’s breathing is, that he’s sobbing underneath Wei Ying’s chest. He slips out of his lover and wraps him in his arms, staying on top of Lan Zhan to comfort him with his weight. Lan Zhan can take it.

They fall asleep that way, not really talking about it, with only Wei Ying cleaning him up and making sure he’s cared for and slowly coming back to himself at a safe pace.

The next morning when Lan Zhan slips out of bed early, Wei Ying mumbles that they will talk that evening. They have dinner, all three of them together, and after Xichen leaves close to curfew, Lan Zhan and Wei Ying go to take a walk in the backwoods.

They don’t talk about anything important at first; Wei Ying chatters about how nice it is to take a midnight stroll together and Lan Zhan only says ‘Mn,’ rather than pointing out that it’s not midnight yet, because he’s nice like that.

Eventually, when they are very far from the grounds, they sit down at the stony edge of a pond and Wei Ying casually draws up a privacy talisman, just to be sure. He looks at Lan Zhan and squeezes his hand, smiling.

“Thank you for trusting me with that.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes soften, and in his next ‘Mn,’ Wei Ying can read gratefulness – for providing this, for understanding, for not judging him.

Looking down at their entangled hands, Wei Ying chooses his words carefully. “I am not sure if your brother might ever be ready to do these things with you, himself.”

He gives Lan Zhan the time he needs to gather his thoughts.

“At times, I fear pushing him away with the strength of my affections. Or that I will push too far on something he does not truly want but feels he needs to give me, all the same; if only for the sake of giving it to me.”

Wei Ying nods. “Your brother is still fragile, even if he doesn’t always show it. One too strong gust of wind, and he will break. We need to be very gentle with him.”

Lan Zhan looks at him with affection.

“Yes. And now, I am not alone.”