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“You do not have to.”
Wei Wuxian, whose attention is split between Lan Wangji and the innumerous stars and galaxies they fly by, says, “I don’t have to what?”
Lan Wangji frowns. It’s unlike Wei Wuxian for his memory to be this shortsighted. “You stated only a moment ago that you ‘don’t want to die a virgin’,” he reminds him, “and I am telling you that you do not have to.”
This is enough to shake Wei Wuxian out of his contemplative reverie. “Um, okay? What?” He turns to Lan Wangji with a wrinkle on his nose that suggests confusion.
Lan Wangji pauses to upload the image of Wei Wuxian’s nose wrinkle into his memory bank. In the deep throes of space and rush of near intergalactic war, he reasons, it’s uncommon to run into a scene so innocuously cute, thus calling for detailed recordkeeping.
“I am programmed with a wide array of techniques for providing physical pleasure, from kissing to various positions for sexual intercourse with partners of either sex,” he informs him after a successful upload. “Although I have never done any of them before, I could, in theory, perform them skillfully.”
It’s a stray thought at first, but the more Lan Wangji thinks about it, the more the idea becomes unexpectedly brilliant. “The chances of us successfully coming out of this mission alive is less than favorable. You have expressed a desire for sexual intimacy before death.” He leans back against his seat, ignorant of the flustered horror draining the color from Wei Wuxian’s face. “I have the information necessary to be an excellent partner. We have an abundance of privacy and spare time. Conditions for intercourse are optimal.”
Lan Wangji turns back to Wei Wuxian, only to take in the other man’s pale pallor and deer-in-the-headlights eyes.
And Lan Wangji — well, Lan Wangji just wants to help. Wei Wuxian is his friend, the first friend he’s made. He’s allowed to do that now. To help. To want.
“Um,” Wei Wuxian says. He doesn’t explain himself further.
“The captain's quarters,” Lan Wangji ponders aloud, “has the most spacious bed. Or do you have a preference as to which room we will proceed in?”
An aspect of Wei Wuxian Lan Wangji has come to admire is his quick wit and sharp tongue, always present and always frustratingly endearing. He wonders where this intellect has gone, for Wei Wuxian spends the next minute in silence, his paleness flushing to a deep pink.
Asphyxiation, Lan Wangji’s internal diagnostics registry supplies. Heat stroke. Heightened anxiety.
Embarrassment? Plausible, but unlikely. Wei Wuxian was a shameless man. Nothing could get under his skin enough to render him flustered.
“I,” Wei Wuxian deigned to say. Jaw tight, eyebrows twitching, hands curiously curled to fists from where they rested on his thighs. “I didn’t take you for the joking type, Lan Zhan.”
“I was not programmed as such in my initial manufacturing,” Lan Wangji corrects him. “Perhaps I can practice internalizing a humorous attitude after we have sex.”
Wei Wuxian coughs. Coughs again. His coughing fit ends just as Lan Wangji is about to offer him some water. Curious; he hadn’t shown signs of sickness before this conversation.
“I — appreciate the offer,” Wei Wuxian says. “But I couldn’t. We shouldn’t.”
Lan Wangji frowns as a churning turns over his synthetic gut. “Why not?”
“Other than the fact that we’re currently on a suicide mission to prevent both our planets from destroying each other?” Wei Wuxian strokes his chin. His expression sobers.
Lan Wangji takes an educated guess. “Is it because I am an android? We came to the conclusion only yesterday that I have a soul and can no longer be singularly considered as such.”
“It’s not that,” Wei Wuxian sighs. “You’re not just an android. And I don’t — you’re not just an android, Lan Zhan.”
“...I see,” Lan Wangji says, which is not true. But the thrilling giddiness at the revelation that he could lie at all overrides the guilt that could’ve come with the deception.
Seeing right through him, Wei Wuxian shrugs and explains, “Sure, you apparently have a fucking sex manual downloaded in your brain; do what you will with that. But I don’t want you to think that just because you were made in a lab, you have to, to cater to me or anything. To satisfy me because you have to. You and I are the same. Well — not the same the same. But you get what I mean.”
Lan Wangji wonders if he should point out that if he had been born an organic human, he still would have given Wei Wuxian the same proposition. If Wei Wuxian is in want of something — android or human, if it is something Lan Wangji is capable of offering, he will give it.
But he deigns not to say it. It has become resoundingly clear that if Lan Wangji had been born an organic human, Wei Wuxian’s response to his proposition would be the same.
The gut churning returns. It takes him a moment to realize that it is disappointment. He both rejoices and cowers at its unfamiliarity.
“And besides,” Wei Wuxian adds. A hint of color returns to his cheeks. “What I said was a figure of speech that people say when they’re about to die. I was joking. ” He laughed, but it didn't sound like a happy one. “I’ve had sex before. Obviously.”
Lan Wangji cannot recall any figure of speech adjacent to Wei Wuxian’s claim, nor is he aware of anything that could point to the fact that Wei Wuxian has had sex before. Does his handsome face count as a sufficient moniker to his status of “non-virgin”? His charming personality? His endless capacity to be selfless, brave, and, above all else, kind?
Having a soul is much more complicated than Lan Wangji could have ever anticipated.
“I understand,” Lan Wangji tells him, because he does now. Despite the sting of rejection, Lan Wangji can still appreciate Wei Wuxian’s acceptance of his autonomy. His humanity. This has never happened before. If it was necessary for Lan Wangji to breathe, he would be breathless at Wei Wuxain’s knack for always taking him by surprise.
“Good. Good talk. Thank god.” Wei Wuxian stands, arms stretched over his head, and Lan Wangji is hit with another unknown emotion. Not an unwelcome churning this time. Something much more pleasant. It knocks him off balance yet grounds him, and he is hit with a strong urge to follow. What, he doesn’t know. Or maybe he does.
Wei Wuxian says, “I’m exhausted, and now I’m getting a headache. How much longer till we reach our destination?”
“Twelve hours.” The conversation seems to be over. Lan Wangji gets to his feet. “Rejoin me after you get a sufficient amount of sleep.”
“How about you? You need to rest, too.”
Lan Wangji shakes his head. “I have returned to normal operations. Rejoin me after you have, too.”
Wei Wuxian snorts goodnaturedly. “Look at you, ordering me around. You sure are getting the whole having a soul thing down.” He’s teasing. He turns away to return to his quarters. Alone. But just as he heads out the door he looks over his shoulder and says, “Good night.”
“Good night,” Lan Wangji echoes.
He is then once again left to his own devices. Lan Wangji turns back to the cockpit and stares out the window. He is aware that he is unhappy with the outcome of their conversation, but is still unsure as to where this dissatisfaction stems from.
Was Wei Wuxian right? Was Lan Wangji’s well-intentioned proposition an effect of his embedded instinct to serve? It is plausible, he supposes; the directive to obey the orders of the nearest human commander is an integral part of his programming. He has proved that his programming no longer dictates his actions, but the impulse to heed it will always nag at his every choice.
But even now, long after he has left the vicinity, Lan Wangji continues to replay his memory of asking Wei Wuxian to have sex with him. Analyzing each of his decisions and Wei Wuxian’s reactions. Combing through the multitudes of alternate scenarios and outcomes, what he could have said or done to get Wei Wuxian to say yes.
Lan Wangji stares ahead, seeing but not seeing. The deep expanse of space stares back.
For the eight hours Wei Wuxian is asleep, Lan Wangji allows himself to revel in his newfound disappointment.