Chapter Text
The ride home is quiet.
It is a different kind of quiet than Lan Wangji is used to, than what he grew up with. Not unpleasantly so. That quiet was cold: empty rooms that should not have been, dinner tables with two seats conspicuously absent, stillness that left him numb with its indifference. One desperate to be filled with music.
This quiet is soft at the edges. It is Wei Ying’s fingers intertwined in his own between their seats; the way the passing streetlights illuminate his face as he stares out the window, contentment in his eyes; the memory of stolen kisses less than thirty minutes prior, still tingling on their lips.
Wei Ying hums lightly to himself as they go, occasionally commenting on the world flashing by them, but otherwise calm. Lan Wangji listens to the register of his voice and lets the contentment settle in his bones.
He had expected to be more nervous, doing this. He is not.
It just feels right.
When they pull into Lan Wangji’s driveway, the dashboard clock blinking 9:37PM, the humming peters out.
“This neighborhood is nice,” Wei Ying says, pressing his face and free hand against the window so he can look out at the street. “Your house is so normal-looking! I kind of expected a mansion.”
“It is just A-Yuan and I. Excessive displays of wealth were unnecessary.”
Wei Ying chuckles, mirroring Lan Wangji when he unbuckles his seatbelt. “Well when you say it like that!”
The entryway is dark when they walk in (Lan Wangji hadn’t expected to arrive after the timer turned the lights off, hadn’t dared hope it) and it takes him a few tries to flick on the switch with Wei Ying’s hand in his own.
“Oh wow,” Wei Ying says as soon as the lights come on, casting his shadow onto the hardwood floors. He drops Lan Wangji’s hand in what feels like shock. “Never mind, I take back what I said about normal-looking! Lan Zhan, this place is beautiful.”
Lan Wangji pauses. To him, this place looks like it always does: the house that he brought A-Yuan back to after signing the adoption papers. He remembers their feet padding across the floor, A-Yuan wearing his softest blanket like a cape and clutching Lan Wangji’s hand in a grip too desperate for such a young child.
Things have changed since then, of course: what was once a blank slate of muted whites and blues now has pops of color from A-Yuan’s toys. His art projects are spread across several surfaces, some framed next the photos that Lan Wangji has taken of him as he’s grown. The furniture has changed, too, courtesy of accidental juice spills and errant markers. Even Lan Wangji’s high standards can’t keep the general messiness of a five-year-old contained to just his room.
But when he looks around, he still sees the foundations of it, of home. Try as he might, he can’t imagine what it looks like to someone who hasn’t spent the last two years making it that way.
“I really like it,” Wei Ying continues, having abandoned his side to look at a photo on the nearest wall. “Are these your bunnies?”
“Mn.”
Lan Wangji steps up next to him, looking at the framed photo in question hung above the entryway table. In it are A-Yuan, Heituzi, and Baituzi, all tangled together in the grass in their backyard. A-Yuan is looking up at the camera, smiling, his torso nearly imperceptible beneath their fluffy coats.
Lan Wangji remembers the moment well.
“That was the first time he laughed,” he says, the words tumbling out of him without them meaning to. Wei Ying looks up at him. “A real one. Without hesitance.”
“Hmm.” Wei Ying’s eyes go back to the photo. “Well, no wonder he has such a soft spot for them, then.”
Lan Wangji hums in agreement. “I need to pick him up from the neighbors. You may get comfortable, if you would like.”
“Oh!” Wei Ying starts to straighten up. “Of course! Do you want me to do anything? I can come with you, if you want.”
“There is no need.”
“Well, yeah, but,” Wei Ying makes a face. “Hey, A-Yuan will be ok with me staying over, right?”
That is the understatement of the century. A-Yuan is going to absolutely lose his mind when he finds out Wei Ying is staying over.
“He will not mind,” Lan Wangji reassures him.
Something in Wei Ying’s shoulders relaxes.
“Ok well, I’m going to go wild if I just sit here, so.” He grabs the bouquet from Lan Wangji. Their hands brush as he takes them, and even after everything tonight, Lan Wangji’s stomach still flips. “Here, I’ll find a vase for these or something. There’s only like, fifty billion cabinets that I can see, I’m sure it’ll be easy.”
A smile tugs at Lan Wangji’s lips. “Lower right—”
“No, no, no!” Wei Ying cries. He presses a finger to Lan Wangji’s mouth. “No hints! Really, Lan Zhan, I’m a teacher, you think I can stand by and let you help me cheat?”
Lan Wangji makes a noncommittal noise. Most of his energy is being channeled into not licking Wei Ying’s finger, still resting on his lips. It is not the only time tonight he has made himself hold back: from the moment they walked in, Lan Wangji has wanted to kiss him again.
But he doesn’t know where the line is, yet—when he can or can’t initiate, how much of Wei Ying he can possibly be allowed to indulge in any given moment. It feels impossible that he can have this. If he blinks or reaches out to touch him too much, surely Wei Ying will scatter into dust.
Something must show on his face, because Wei Ying steps closer.
“Hey,” he murmurs, soft. Lan Wangji has just enough time to flush at the proximity before Wei Ying leans forward and kisses him.
It is just as good as it was in the gallery, if not better. Wei Ying is more relaxed this time, fingers resting lightly on his chest. There are a few pleasant moments where Lan Wangji doesn’t have to think about anything but the warmth of his mouth, the soft sigh he lets out when Lan Wangji wraps an arm around his waist to bring him closer, how is his tongue keeps darting out to sweep lazily against Lan Wangji’s lower lip.
They stand there in the entryway, Lan Wangji’s legs steadily turning to jelly, and lose track of several minutes. When Wei Ying eventually pulls back, Lan Wangji chases his lips.
“Alright, alright,” Wei Ying laughs, gently shoves at his chest. The bouquet rustles in his arms, wrinkled from how tightly Lan Wangji had pressed them together. “I just wanted to get that in before you grabbed A-Yuan! You haven’t kissed me since we left the gallery, I was starting to worry you forgot we could do that now.”
Lan Wangji’s entire body is hot.
“Never,” he promises, lips still tingling pleasantly.
That makes Wei Ying laugh again, eyes turning crescent with joy. “Good,” he says, and gives him an absolutely salacious grin. “I’m very needy, Lan Zhan, I should have warned you. It’s going to be very hard to get rid of me now that I know what a good kisser you are.”
At the word needy, a plethora of vivid images flash through Lan Wangji’s mind.
He goes to get A-Yuan before he can be any more distracted.
Mianmian answers the door in slippers and a fluffy bathrobe, smile on her face as soon as she sees it’s him. She waves away his fumbling apology –he had texted her when he was returning home, but given how she is dressed he has clearly delayed her routine with his carelessness—and beckons him inside.
“How did it go?” she asks, leading him down the hallway to the kitchen.
Lan Wangji doesn’t have the words to accurately describe how his night has been so far.
“Well.”
She pauses and gives him a look, some sort of pleased surprise. He feels, abruptly, like he has somehow said more than he meant to.
“Well, then! No wonder you’re so late, if it went well.”
The emphasis on the last word leaves no room for imagination. Lan Wangji is incredibly grateful that Wei Ying is not here—he would never live down the way his ears turn a bright, burning red at the implication.
In a move that reveals exactly why Lan Wangji is so fond of her, Mianmian takes pity on him and switches topics quickly.
“The kids wore themselves out sometime around eight,” she tells him as they curve towards the kitchen. She lowers her voice as they pass the stairs. “We were able to get A-Mian to go to bed, but I think A-Yuan was a bit anxious about going to sleep somewhere new, like you said he would be.”
A small twist of worry works its way into Lan Wangji’s chest.
“I am sorry for the trouble. Is he alright?”
“No trouble at all! Thanks to the things you brought over he calmed down pretty quick. We’ve been making macaroni art! I hope you don’t mind that his clothes got some glue on them. Also, I have no freaking clue what shape he’s making, so good luck guessing.”
Lan Wangji can’t help but smile at that. It is strange how a motion that once felt so out of place on his face now springs so easily to his lips. He thinks of Wei Ying, sitting on the couch back home waiting for them, and smiles more.
The kitchen is half-shaded when they get to it, just a single light illuminating the linoleum floor, but Lan Wangji could locate A-Yuan in pitch blackness if he had to.
“A-Yuan, look who’s back!”
A-Yuan looks up from where he’s seated at Mianmian’s kitchen table, a box of macaroni and a bottle of glue spread out before him. When he sees Lan Wangji, his entire face lights up.
“Baba!”
The sound of his voice is steadying, a pillar of normalcy that Lan Wangji hadn’t realized he needed until this moment. He crouches down as A-Yuan scrambles off the chair and throws himself at him, hugging him tight around the waist.
“Mn. Hello.”
“Baba,” A-Yuan repeats, and it sounds like I love you and I missed you. Lan Wangji smooths back his hair before hoisting him up in his arms.
A-Yuan is jittery in his grasp, like he’s somehow soldiered past the point of sleepiness based on pure willpower, maybe a touch of adrenaline. He immediately starts showing Lan Wangji the piece of paper with bits of dried noodle stuck to it, talking a mile a minute. This is the latest he’s ever been up, but he certainly isn’t showing it.
“I am happy to see you,” Lan Wangji tells him, once A-Yuan has petered off. Then, because all the parenting books say that it is important to be mindful and specific when giving praise, he adds, “Thank you for waiting so patiently for me to return. We can go home now.”
A-Yuan glows at the words. “Yes, please!”
He sounds unbearably eager to leave. Mianmian laughs, waving away the apologetic look Lan Wangji sends her. “No offense taken, don’t worry. I’m sure he’s worn out. A-Yuan, don’t forget your artwork, ok?”
After thanking her profusely a few more times (Really, Lan Wangji, anytime) they manage to make it out the door and into the night air.
It’s an almost instant switch: A-Yuan practically slumps in his arms five steps away from her door, like seeing Lan Wangji under the moonlight made the time of night catch up to him all at once. He yawns and tucks his face against Lan Wangji’s neck as they walk along the sidewalk, holding his stuffed animal bunny close.
“Did you have fun?” Lan Wangji asks him softly. A-Yuan hums, thoughtful.
“Yes. My bunny played with the cat, and then we got to eat rocks.”
Lan Wangji tries to make sense out of that last part. Fails. At some point he’ll ask Mianmian about it, but right now, he has something else he needs to deal with.
“I am glad. I would like to hear more later.” He stops at the door to their house and looks down at A-Yuan, who looks back with curious eyes. He deeply, deeply regrets that what he is about to say is going to disrupt A-Yuan’s sleep further.
“Are we going inside?” A-Yuan still sounds curious, but it’s tinged with hesitance at the deviation from a routine entrance.
“Mn.” Lan Wangji hoists him so he’s a bit closer. “First, I must explain something to you. We have a guest who will be spending the night. Is that alright?”
A-Yuan’s expression immediately turns cautious. “Who?”
Lan Wangji smiles slightly. He opens the door.
It takes approximately one millisecond for A-Yuan’s exhaustion to evaporate.
“Wei-gege!” he shrieks, loud enough that Lan Wangji knows he made the right choice having Wei Ying wait here instead of causing a scene at Mianmian’s. Wei Ying startles from where he was standing in the kitchen, staring at something on their fridge, and turns to them.
His smile is sunshine.
“Little bun!” he cries, and sets down the empty vase he was holding so he can crouch down, arms open. A-Yuan practically vibrates in Lan Wangji’s arms as Lan Wangji closes the door before carefully setting him down. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he’s barreling towards Wei Ying.
“Wei-gege!” A-Yuan sounds as happy to see Wei Ying as he was to see Lan Wangji. From the oof sound Wei Ying lets out when A-Yuan crashes into him, his hug is just as strong, too. “Wei-gege! You’re in our house?”
He says it with an air of disbelief and unmistakable delight. Wei Ying laughs before reaching out to ruffle his hair, letting A-Yuan give him a proper hug.
“Hi there, little bun! Surprise!” He pulls back from the hug and winks at Lan Wangji. “Your Baba and I had such a nice time, I just couldn’t leave him at the end! He was nice enough to offer that I could stick around for the night. Is that ok?”
“Yes!” A-Yuan gushes, and turns to Lan Wangji. “Baba, he’s really staying?”
“He is our guest for tonight,” Lan Wangji says, and savors the way A-Yuan’s cheeks turn pink with happiness.
A-Yuan turns back to Wei Ying. “Wei-gege, I made maconi art!”
Wei Ying’s mouth twitches like he’s trying not to laugh. “Did you now?”
“Yes! I can show you! Have you seen our bunnies?”
“I saw a photo! They’re very cute, A-Yuan, you drew them just right.”
“Do you want to visit them?”
“Baituzi and Heituzi are asleep,” Lan Wangji interjects, because they have to stick to some semblance of a schedule tonight. “He can see them in the morning.”
A-Yuan looks disappointed for about four seconds before he rallies again. “That’s ok! You’ll be here in the morning?”
“Yep!” Wei Ying pops the p sound as he speaks, pinching A-Yuan on the cheek to get some giggles started. “We can have a sleepover!” He winks at Lan Wangji again; Lan Wangji fights back his blush and largely fails.
“Speaking of sleep,” he says. Both A-Yuan and Wei Ying look at him with something akin to betrayal. Lan Wangji inclines his head upstairs. “It is past your bedtime, A-Yuan.”
“But—” A-Yuan starts, lower lip wobbling slightly. “But Baba, Wei-gege—”
“Wei-gege wants you to have a good night’s sleep,” Wei Ying cuts in, not unkindly. Lan Wangji tries to communicate with his eyes just how much he loves him in that moment. From the tiny smile that crosses Wei Ying’s lips, he understands.
A-Yuan looks between the both of them, frowning. “But…”
He pauses, hands still curled in Wei Ying’s sleeves. They wait as A-Yuan seems to think something through. It’s endearing, the way his entire face furrows with concentration, looking for any possible loophole to the inevitable.
“But,” A-Yuan starts again, slower this time. “I haven’t had my glass of milk yet!”
Wei Ying snorts before clapping his hand over his mouth. Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow.
“A-Yuan…”
“Please?” A-Yuan begs, and Lan Wangji once thought himself an immovable man, but that was before he knew what that tiny voice could do to his heart.
A-Yuan is technically right. All of the books say that it is essential to provide consistency and reliability in order to facilitate a safe space. It would be unfair of Lan Wangji to break their bedtime routine further.
He sighs.
“I will heat up one glass of milk,” he says, and A-Yuan beams. He can feel Wei Ying’s gaze on him, soft. “And then it is time for bed.”
“Alright!” A-Yuan agrees immediately.
As Lan Wangji makes his way over to the kitchen, A-Yuan pulls Wei Ying over to the couch, talking excitedly about the adventures of his stuffed animal rabbit as he goes. They settle on the cushions together, A-Yuan immediately climbing onto Wei Ying’s lap and snuggling close.
“Is this your macaroni art?” Wei Ying asks him, reaching toward the piece of paper on the table.
“Maconi,” A-Yuan corrects politely, quiet, like he’s letting Wei Ying in on a secret.
“Ah, of course, of course, maconi! Thank you, A-Yuan. Does it have a story?”
It does, of course.
Lan Wangji turns his back to them and faces the sink, feeling like he’ll combust if he looks at them any longer. He does not know what to do with so much happiness inside him. He’s convinced that if he opens his mouth it will all bubble out of him, unending in its expanse.
The bouquet of flowers is sitting next to the empty vase on the kitchen counter, apparently forgotten; Wei Ying must have gotten distracted by something when he was in here. Lan Wangji carefully fills it up and arranges the flowers, putting on a pot of tea in case Wei Ying wants anything to drink, too. He goes to grab the milk.
A-Yuan and Wei Ying are still talking, a pleasant melody.
“Can we put it in the box?” A-Yuan’s voice asks, as Lan Wangji pours the milk into a saucepan and waits for it to warm. Then Wei Ying’s lilting tone, curious: “What box?”
Lan Wangji closes his eyes and smiles, so unbearably content that he might die from it.
By the time the milk has finished heating and Lan Wangji emerges with three matching insect mugs (courtesy of when A-Yuan had a mild obsession with moths), A-Yuan and Wei Ying’s voices have quieted down. It readily becomes apparent why: A-Yuan has transitioned from showing Wei Ying his artwork to dozing off on his lap, little head nodding off no matter how hard he’s trying to stay awake. Wei Ying is rocking him back and forth, looking at the dozen or so art projects spread out on the table in front of them, a spun sugar smile on his face.
Lan Wangji just stands there for a moment, staring. Soaking it in.
Before Wei Ying, Lan Wangji’s world was tilted five degrees sideways. He doesn’t know when it started—it could have been when his mother died, or his father left, or the quiet stretch of years after. For most of his life, he didn’t have the capacity to care. Because five degrees never felt like much. Enough to know that something was wrong, certainly, but too small to focus on in the rush of his everyday life. It did not matter that he was askew.
But then he met Wei Ying.
Wei Ying opened his eyes, forced him to confront the uncomfortable slope beneath his feet. He showed Lan Wangji just how much five degrees could change the way the world looked. More than that—he gave him a glimpse of a different place to stand, one where his feet could find purchase.
Where they could stand steady, together.
Hovering there, watching the two of them curled together on the couch, Lan Wangji finally feels like he has found level ground.
Neither Wei Ying nor A-Yuan notice his prolonged gaze. It’s only when he crosses the room and sets down the mugs with a soft clink that Wei Ying blinks and looks up at him.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, and Lan Wangji nods. Wei Ying inclines his head to A-Yuan with a small smile. “Kids, am I right? Can’t predict them.”
“Mn.”
There is no point delaying bedtime anymore. A-Yuan barely manages to open his eyes as he’s transferred from Wei Ying’s lap and into Lan Wangji arms, blinking blearily at them as he goes.
“Baba?” he mumbles. Lan Wangji hums under his breath to soothe him. He’s getting so heavy, although Lan Wangji knows from experience that a tired child is always heavy.
“It is time for bed, A-Yuan.”
“Mmm.” A-Yuan can’t seem to decide if the noise should be one of protest or gratitude. The milk sits on the table, long forgotten. “Baba… Wei-gege is coming?”
Lan Wangji looks expectantly at Wei Ying, who has spent the last several seconds seeming torn between standing up to go with them or staying put. At A-Yuan’s words, he jumps up.
“Of course, little bun,” Wei Ying tells him, glancing up at Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji nods, struck by the tender way Wei Ying reaches out to sweep some of A-Yuan’s hair away from his face. He savors the easy closeness of it and thinks: this must be a dream.
They make their way upstairs together, their one squeaky stair whining in protest when Wei Ying unknowingly disturbs the wood. Bedtime is a simple routine, but it’s made novel by Wei Ying’s presence. Lan Wangji helps A-Yuan brush his teeth and wash his face as Wei Ying stands in the doorway to the bathroom, watching them. His grey eyes go that much softer when A-Yuan’s changes into his pajamas, a pale blue onesie with little rabbits hopping across it.
There is a delicacy to each moment that feels like it could break. Wei Ying must feel it too: he hovers at the entrance to A-Yuan’s room when Lan Wangji tucks him into bed, sanctioned off behind some invisible line that he seems hesitant to cross.
It takes more effort than usual to focus on the lullaby that he sings every night, the final part of their routine. Wei Ying’s gaze burns hot against his neck, leaving the notes unsteady.
“Wei-gege,” A-Yuan prompts, after the lullaby is over and Lan Wangji has made sure all his stuffed animals are properly arranged. Unknowing of the strange fragility in the air, he repeats, “Wei-gege, you’ll say goodnight too?”
Wei Ying hesitates in the doorway. He sends a single, searching look to Lan Wangji.
Silently, Lan Wangji stands and motions to the place where he was sitting.
Wei Ying crosses the room with tentative footsteps, settling down carefully on the edge of A-Yuan’s bed. The deep red of his shirt contrasts against A-Yuan’s cloud-patterned comforter. Somehow, it still looks right, like he was always meant to be there. A missing puzzle piece, another splash of color bringing the home to life.
“I don’t have any song to sing you.” Wei Ying’s voice is just above a whisper. He reaches out and smooths down A-Yuan’s hair again. A-Yuan sighs quietly at the touch, eyes fluttering closed. “But goodnight, A-Yuan.”
“Baba can give you one,” A-Yuan says, sleep-slurred and nonsensical. Lan Wangji’s heart beats double-speed anyways, thoughts flashing to the guqin sitting on his desk.
Wei Ying just hums in response, keeps smoothing back his hair. A-Yuan slips into dreams within moments.
They tip-toe out of the room, Lan Wangji closing the door behind them and leaving nothing but the soft glow of A-Yuan’s nightlight illuminating the hallway.
They stand there for a moment, the shadows blanketing the quiet between them. A held breath.
“Want to finish your tea?” Wei Ying whispers, and relief sweeps down Lan Wangji’s spine. He had not wanted to say goodnight just yet.
“Mn.”
The tea has already cooled by the time they settle back down on the couch. Neither of them mention it. Lan Wangji sits at the very end cushion and watches, fond, as Wei Ying sprawls himself across the rest of them like a washed-up starfish.
“I can only handle so much cuteness at once!” he groans, throwing an arm over his eyes. Now that A-Yuan’s sleeping form isn’t separated by a single door, he’s back to nearly full volume. “Really, Lan Zhan, you should have warned me that spending the night would involve so many sleepy little blinks! And his itty-bitty hands! His toes!”
He wriggles his fingers, as if doing so will prove just how cute A-Yuan is. Lan Wangji’s mouth twitches up against his will.
“Thank you for helping put him to bed.”
“Are you kidding?” Wei Ying peeks out from behind his arm and grins at him. His shirt shifts as he does, exposing a thin line of skin above his waistline. Lan Wangji feels like someone just punched him in the chest. “Thank you for letting me stay! You really didn’t have to, Lan Zhan, you’re seriously the best.”
“I wanted to,” Lan Wangji reminds him, ears burning now.
“Well, yeah, but,” Wei Ying pouts. He stretches out his socked foot and gently nudges Lan Wangji’s knee with it. “Hey, I like that song you hummed for A-Yuan. Never heard it before.”
“I would be surprised if you had. I have never recorded it.”
“Oooh, a Lan Zhan exclusive?”
He nudges Lan Wangji again, teasing. In retaliation, Lan Wangji reaches out and captures his foot before he can jerk it away. Wei Ying yelps, startled—then lets out a soft noise when Lan Wangji starts to rub his thumb along the tense muscles there.
“Oh,” he sighs, relaxing in Lan Wangji’s grip. He grins. “Lan Zhan! You never told me you’re a masseuse! Full of surprises, aren’t you?”
Lan Wangji makes a noncommittal noise in his throat. He has never been accused of being anything but boring before, but for Wei Ying, he is willing to try.
“What other undoubtedly sexy skills are you hiding from me?” Wei Ying asks, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Candlemaking? Blindfolding? You didn’t happen to take a ropes course when you were younger, did you? I feel like your family would be the kind that owns a yacht.”
“Wei Ying.”
“I’m just saying! It’s not just boats that need to be tied up, you know.”
Shameless. Lan Wangji ducks his head and focuses on the task at hand, rubbing slow circles up and down the arch of Wei Ying’s foot. Even feeling too hot all over, it is nice to touch Wei Ying like this—intimate, but oddly comforting. The thought that he could not do so until two hours ago is baffling. The fact that he is able to now is somehow more so.
“When did you start singing him to sleep?” Wei Ying continues, back on his prior train of thought. His mind is like a butterfly, Lan Wangji thinks privately.
“Very early on. Sleeping did not come easy to him. But he has always responded well to music.”
Wei Ying watches him with dark eyes. “It was beautiful. The song, but your voice, too.”
“Hn.” A pleasant fluttering has taken root in Lan Wangji’s stomach, joining his already flustered pulse. “I prefer playing over singing. Uncle had us take lessons in both.”
“You and your brother?”
“Mn.”
Wei Ying sits up on the cushions so that his arms are resting on his knees, bringing his face closer to Lan Wangji’s. “Do you ever play it on the guqin then? His lullaby?”
Lan Wangji nods.
“No fair,” Wei Ying whines, falling back onto the couch cushions with a thump. “A-Yuan is so lucky. I want a Lan Zhan exclusive!”
Lan Wangji pauses, thumb hovering over Wei Ying’s heel. He is kidding, of course—Lan Wangji can hear it in his voice. But the fact of the matter is that Wei Ying does have a song, one that Lan Wangji composed just for him.
Feeling like he is stepping into dangerous waters, he offers, “I could play you something.”
Wei Ying sits back up so fast that it makes Lan Wangji dizzy just watching him.
“Are you serious? Really?” he gushes. The hopeful expression on his face makes Lan Wangji’s stomach twist, a mix of nervous and excited and embarrassed all at once. “That won’t wake A-Yuan, will it?”
Lan Wangji shakes his head. “I often play at night. He is used to hearing such a thing.”
“Ah, Lan Zhan, I would love that! If it’s not any trouble.”
It no longer matters if it’s any trouble. Wei Ying would love that, and that’s all the incentive he needs to rise from the couch and go fetch his guqin.
Wei Ying has shifted positions when he returns to the living room a few moments later, guqin wrapped carefully in its cloth covering. He’s sitting fully upright with his legs crossed, one ankle over the other; when Lan Wangji sits down and places the guqin on the table in front of them, Wei Ying’s knee brushes against his side.
“Whoa,” he says, when Lan Wangji removes the cloth and reveals the polished dark wood.
Lan Wangji’s lips twitch up, warmed by the reaction. Very few can appreciate a well-crafted guqin. He is glad that Wei Ying is among them.
He takes some time to run his fingers over the strings, checking for any needed adjustments. There is no true purpose to it—he already tuned it this morning, as he does every morning. But he needs to give his shaking hands time to settle.
Wei Ying does not need to know that, though, so Lan Wangji invests himself fully in the act of it.
“What are you going to play?” Wei Ying asks, watching with curious eyes as Lan Wangji pointlessly fiddles with the seventh string. “You know I’m a sucker for Jingshi! Ah, but I bet everyone asks you to play that for them, it must get old, you’re probably leaning more towards Phoenix Mountain or one of your early ones, right?”
Lan Wangji’s heart sings, touched at being seen so completely. His fingers tremble, terrified at the very same thing.
“Something else,” he corrects and, feeling outside himself, begins to play.
The notes drift through the air; hesitant at first, but growing in confidence as Lan Wangji lets himself sink in and get lost in the melody. It is as much of a flow as Wei Ying described, staring at the painting of their park as strangers crowded around them. He lets his focus narrow down on the feeling of it, closing his eyes. Each note has always been a declaration, but never so much as tonight.
I love you, sings the guqin. It echoes the honeysuckle and apple blossom sitting in the kitchen: devoted affection. I prefer you before all others.
At his side Wei Ying listens, silent. He has never been a quiet person for as long as Lan Wangji has known him, but he is now. The sound of his breathing and the heat of his body are the only proof that he is still there at all. Lan Wangji clings to them all the same, uses them to guide him forward. He presses as much emotion as he can into every pluck of taught string, feelings that come to parchment so easily but get tangled on his lips.
They could be there for a single second or an eternity. Lan Wangji does not know. All he knows is that when his fingers next come to rest on the strings the song is somehow over, and Wei Ying is still sitting next to him.
Carefully, he places the cloth back over the guqin.
Waits.
“That was beautiful,” Wei Ying murmurs. Lan Wangji looks up to see his eyes are shining with unshed tears. Horrified, Lan Wangji reaches out to him, cups his face with his palm.
“Wei Ying. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he breathes, and when he blinks a single drop of saltwater rolls down his cheek and onto Lan Wangji’s thumb. “Nothing. It was just… it made me so sad and so happy, all at once.”
“I did not mean to make you sad.”
“I’m not! Not really. It’s—you know that feeling in your chest when you’re looking for something, but you can’t really remember when you last saw it? So you’re searching and searching, and you feel like it’s taking forever and it’s too hard and you’ll never get there. You start to think you might as well give up.”
Lan Wangji wipes away another stray tear, frowning. “That sounds sad to me.”
“No,” Wei Ying shakes his head again. The loose strands of his hair fall across Lan Wangji’s fingers, silk soft. “No, it’s not. Because when you finally do find it, it’s exactly like you imagined. Better. You stand there and you look at it and you think wow, how could I have lost track of this? All that time and effort and pain was worth it because now you have it, and you can’t fathom ever being without it again.”
Lan Wangji draws in an unsteady breath.
“Oh,” he murmurs, and Wei Ying nods against his palm.
There is nothing else he can say. He does not know how Wei Ying can see so deep, peer fearlessly into the parts of him he has tucked away since he was a child. He shines a flashlight on the neglected places Lan Wangji is afraid to look at and, instead of declaring them ugly, paints them too bright to be threatened by shadows.
Five degrees. Five degrees, and you can see what you were searching for.
“Anyways!” Wei Ying says, obvious to Lan Wangji’s spinning thoughts, and lets out a huff of air. “That’s how it made me feel! Sorry, I told you I’m the crybaby of the family, right?”
“Mn.”
“Well, now you’ve seen it in action! Sometimes when I was a kid I would look at a beautiful thing and just burst out crying, like my body just couldn’t contain how pretty it was. It took Jiang Cheng forever to figure out what was happening, he had this huge list of things he was convinced I was afraid of. Butterflies and lilies and sunsets, it was so funny, like how can you be afraid of a sunset?”
A smile tugs at Lan Wangji’s lips. “There is no shame in crying over beautiful things.”
Wei Ying smiles at him, the kind that reaches his eyes. “You’re just saying that because you’re the one who made me cry! I know your tricks, Lan Zhan, you can’t fool me. You’re lucky I’m not a kid anymore, too, I probably would have seen you and burst into tears on the spot!”
Lan Wangji has never rolled his eyes before, but he comes close.
“Shameless.”
Wei Ying laughs, shifting so he can tilt against Lan Wangji’s side. “I mean it! And thanks for playing for me, really, even though I cried a bit. That was a new song, right?”
“Yes.”
“What’s it for?”
Lan Wangji takes a deep breath. He knew this question was coming. Since the moment his fingers touched the strings he has been hoping for and dreading it in equal measure, but that does not stop the way his heart stops and then beats double-time when it’s asked in Wei Ying’s curious tone.
Blood rushes in his ears. He has to swallow a few times before he’s able to respond.
“It is for you,” he tells Wei Ying, heart in his throat.
Wei Ying blinks at him. “Well, yeah, I mean, you’re playing it for me now, but what’s it actually for?”
So smart, and somehow—
“Wei Ying. No. I wrote it for you.”
There’s a long, heart-wrenching pause. Then:
“What?!” Wei Ying sits up straight and scrambles to face him, eyes huge. “You—what?!”
Lan Wangji looks down at his hands. He has thought often of what he would say if Wei Ying found out, but tonight has thrown it all off-script.
“You have your best work. This is mine.”
“I know it’s your best work!” Wei Ying says, a bit high-pitched. “I just heard it! I love it, it’s probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard! I cried! But that—it can’t be for me! It’s too good, when would you have even—”
“The second time,” Lan Wangji interrupts, afraid to look at whatever expression might be on Wei Ying’s face.
Wei Ying pauses. “The second time? The second time what?”
“The second time we met. I went home and wrote it that evening.”
There’s another beat of silence. Lan Wangji looks up to find Wei Ying gaping at him.
“You… Lan Zhan. That was months ago.”
Viciously embarrassed, wondering why on earth he thought this was a good idea, Lan Wangji looks away from him again. Swallowing around the lump in his throat is much harder this time. But he cannot lie.
“I know.”
Wei Ying’s voice is full of wonder. “You liked me that long ago?”
Lan Wangji nods again. Quietly, because if he doesn’t tell Wei Ying now, he will never have the courage, he says, “I was searching but did not know. Then you walked into my life, and all my days were sunny ones.”
At his side, Wei Ying has gone dead silent. Lan Wangji chances a glance at him and sees him staring unseeingly at the art projects still spread out on the table, pops of color against the wood.
“Fuck,” he whispers. Lan Wangji lowers his head.
Then: “Please tell me I don’t have to sleep in the guestroom after that.”
Lan Wangji looks up at Wei Ying, startled.
“Like, if you actually aren’t comfortable with doing any of that, that’s fine,” Wei Ying continues, body trembling like he’s having to physically hold himself still. His eyes are blown dark, pupils huge. “But if you were doing it to be polite or something then fuck that, because I want to kiss you so fucking bad and if I start I don’t think I’m going to be able to stop until your dick is in my mouth.”
It’s Lan Wangji’s turn to gape.
“I—” he starts. “What?”
“I’m fucking in love with you, and if I have to sleep in the guest room instead of with you I might actually, physically die from how turned on I am!”
The world is tilting at ninety degrees, the rush of words almost impossible to believe. From the moment he saw Wei Ying in the gallery Lan Wangji has wanted him, but this most recent addition to the night is turning his brain to mush.
Wei Ying is looking at him, urgent eyes and darting tongue. Waiting.
“Lan Zhan,” he whispers, and he’s fidgeting, “say something, if you don’t want to we don’t have to—”
“Yes,” Lan Wangji breathes. “Wei Ying. I want to.”
A relieved groan. Then Wei Ying is on his lap and pressing him back against the cushions before he can do so much as blink.
Their kisses up to now have been exploratory, lingering, tame if the spectators on the first one are set aside.
This one is not.
This kiss is desperate and wild and hungry. Wei Ying’s mouth is relentless from the moment it is on his: nipping, sucking, tongue insistently tracing Lan Wangji’s bottom lip. Lan Wangji makes a breathless, needy noise, hands flying up to grab his waist and steady him as Wei Ying’s knees come to bracket either side of his legs.
The heat of his body is overwhelming and intensely present, so close and somehow not close enough at all. Wei Ying’s hands are everywhere, his hipbones a solid point of contact under Lan Wangji’s fingers. Lan Wangji grips them hard, startled at the pleased noise Wei Ying lets out from the additional pressure. He opens his mouth to draw in a breath, and then Wei Ying’s tongue is there and oh.
Oh, that’s so good. Lan Wangji tilts his head, searching for a deeper angle, is rewarded with a punched-out groan that Wei Ying breathes right into his mouth.
Lan Wangji makes it his personal mission to get more of those before the night is over.
“I can’t fucking believe you,” Wei Ying gasps between kisses, hot puffs of air across Lan Wangji’s face. “Can’t fucking believe you. You have no idea what you do to me, do you—”
Lan Wangji makes another helpless, longing noise, dizzy as his blood rushes downward. It’s so good he trembles, opens his mouth wider when Wei Ying’s tongue next finds his: yes, yes. He didn’t think it was possible to not care about breathing, but he doesn’t.
Wei Ying pulls back from it much too soon, leaving him panting.
“You’re incredible. Lan Zhan, I like you so much.”
Lan Wangji can’t think.
“Wei Ying—”
Wei Ying pins him there, fisting his hands in his shirt and physically pushing him back against the cushions. Lan Wangji grabs his leg in retaliation, jerking him forward so their hips are pressed together. They gasp at the same time, the sensation too hot and making everything in Lan Wangji go tight. He takes advantage of Wei Ying’s open lips to press his tongue inside, greedy now that he knows what it feels like.
“Holy shit,” Wei Ying mumbles, as Lan Wangji tries to reciprocate whatever Wei Ying was doing in his mouth earlier. His hands curl into Lan Wangji’s hair, tight. It feels unbelievably good. “Holy shit, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji kisses him harder, empowered by the reaction. He has spent months with desire pent-up in his veins, bubbling dangerously under the surface. Now that it has boiled over, he can’t control it.
“Ah!” Wei Ying gasps, hips jerking forward when Lan Wangji moves his mouth to his neck. “Ah, don’t stop, keep doing that.”
Lan Wangji keeps sucking at the spot right under Wei Ying’s jaw, enjoying the microscopic twitches of Wei Ying’s hands, the press of their bodies together as he laps at the tender skin. Wei Ying tilts his head back to give him more room to work and Lan Wangji dives in, trying to commit the taste of him to memory.
Another experimental rock of Wei Ying’s hips. Lan Wangji’s brain shorts out entirely.
He bites down.
The noise that leaves Wei Ying’s mouth is nothing short of a whimper. Lan Wangji draws back and looks at him in alarm.
“Did I—”
“No, no, that was good,” Wei Ying pants. His dazed eyes are all pupils now, his mouth a shiny red; when he tugs Lan Wangji back to his neck, Lan Wangji can feel the flush gathering there. “That felt—really good. Do it again?”
Lan Wangji does it again. Wei Ying whines and, because he is the most contradictory, wonderful man on the planet, yanks Lan Wangji away from his neck and back up to his lips, kissing him deep before pulling away.
“Never mind. If you keep doing that, I’m not making it to the bed,” he gasps, a crooked smile on his flushed face, and oh. Oh. Lan Wangji might actually want that: Wei Ying trembling apart in his arms against the white upholstery, brought past the brink by Lan Wangji’s mouth.
Some other time, he thinks wildly.
“Do you want to make it to bed?” he checks, trying to bring himself back to the moment, and Wei Ying laughs, leans in to kiss him. His hands loosen in Lan Wangji’s hair and slide down to cup his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.
“Yes, I really, really do. Do you?”
Lan Wangji doesn’t bother trying to reply with words. He hooks his arms under Wei Ying’s thighs and, after leaning in to capture his lips once more, stands up.
Wei Ying yelps at the sudden shift in altitude, the sound caught in Lan Wangji’s mouth. For a few unsteady seconds his hands scramble, arms coming to wrap around Lan Wangji’s neck like he’s afraid he’ll be dropped. It sends them both tilting sideways; Lan Wangji almost trips over the table, barely manages to rebalance them in time.
Then they’re upright, and Wei Ying is pulling away from Lan Wangji’s lips and laughing, windchime-bright, shoving his face in Lan Wangji’s neck to try and muffle it.
“You’re ridiculous,” he breathes, legs wrapping around Lan Wangji’s waist. “Who does that? Who actually does that?!”
Lan Wangji kisses him so he doesn’t have to reply, carries him across the room and up the stairs. Wei Ying laughs again when he bangs an elbow on the doorframe getting into their room (his fault still, for flailing around so much), once again when Lan Wangji shoves the door closed with his foot and presses him against the wall to kiss him.
His last laugh turns to a groan when Lan Wangji presses their bodies flush together, eager and greedy and happy in a way he didn’t know he could be.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, hands curling in his hair again as Lan Wangji works a bruise into his collarbone, “you’re going to be the death of me. I love you so much. I fancy you, I whatever you—fuck, bed, please, I want to climb on your lap again—”
They stumble over to the bed together, limbs tangled and nearly tripping in their haste. It would be easier if they let go of each other, but they can’t seem to. Wei Ying is giggling wildly as they go, cheeks flushed with happiness, and Lan Wangji keeps pulling him close so he can swallow the sound in his mouth. It’s the most addictive feeling in the world, Wei Ying’s laughter.
Wei Ying eventually pushes him forward as they kiss, guiding him until the back of his legs hit the mattress. Then Lan Wangji is flat on his back against soft pillows, world spinning, Wei Ying grinning down at him from above.
“Is this ok?” he asks, settling on Lan Wangji’s lap and rocking slightly against him. Lan Wangji shudders. It is more than ok: Wei Ying’s hard length is a single, dizzying point of contact against his own. He might faint.
“Yes.”
With a grin, Wei Ying leans forward and kisses him. Grinds his hips down.
Lan Wangji gasps into his mouth, his own hips jerking up to chase the jolt of heat that bursts through him. He feels Wei Ying grin wider, repeat the motion.
“Oh,” he manages, and grabs Wei Ying by the waist to keep the pressure there. They both shudder at the next slow grind, a drawn-out, delicious spread of heat.
“Fuck.” Wei Ying breaks away from his mouth so he can place his hands on Lan Wangji’s chest and start rocking in earnest. He moans and throws his head back, so salacious that Lan Wangji’s cock jumps in his pants. “Oh fuck, Lan Zhan, does that feel good?”
Lan Wangji nods, helpless. “Wei Ying.”
“What do you want? Tell me what you want.”
“You,” he replies, raw and too caught up in it to be embarrassed. He has no practical experience. Outside of his imagination, this is all new. He trusts Wei Ying with it.
Wei Ying kisses him again, teeth and tongue.
“You have me,” he breathes, rocks harder. Lan Wangji tries not to moan and lets out a breathy noise instead. “Here, can I take your clothes off? I want to see you—”
Lan Wangji nods, every nerve strung tight and on fire. He meets Wei Ying halfway when he leans forward and kisses him, holding himself up with his core and letting Wei Ying’s clever fingers start to work the buttons on his shirt.
“Why are there always so many buttons,” Wei Ying laments between kisses, as they both struggle to get the other out of their clothes. In this moment, Lan Wangji fully agrees: whoever invented buttons was a criminal.
Wei Ying makes a victorious noise when he wins against whatever stubborn button prompted the outburst. He pushes Lan Wangji’s shirt off his shoulders and tosses it to the side.
Then his hands are on Lan Wangji’s bare skin, and Lan Wangji can’t think.
He has to pause what he was doing and sit back, Wei Ying’s shirt only half unbuttoned as goosebumps scatter up his entire body. Wei Ying runs his hands over the planes of his torso, urgent, the slight scrape of nails against skin. Lan Wangji is left helpless with his own want.
“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying’s eyes are hungry, his voice full of wonder. His fingers trace his ribs and Lan Wangi shivers violently, barely resists bucking up into him. “Oh! You’re sensitive there?”
He is sensitive everywhere. Wei Ying’s hands are flames licking up his sides, so pleasurable that his first instinct is to draw away. Too much, too good, but he wants it.
“No one has touched me like this,” he confesses, pulse pounding in his ears. Then, in case Wei Ying misinterprets: “Please do not stop.”
A determined look passes over Wei Ying’s face.
“I won’t,” he promises, and kisses him. This one is all tongue, so filthy that Lan Wangji has to suck in shuddering breaths afterwards so the room doesn’t spin. Wei Ying moves down and kisses him again, this time on his neck, long and lingering. Pinpricks of pleasure follow his mouth as he works his way down towards Lan Wangji’s collarbones, sucking and biting as he goes.
When his mouth finds Lan Wangji’s nipple and sucks, Lan Wangji’s entire body jolts.
He makes a choked noise of surprise and bucks up. Wei Ying presses all his body weight into him to keep him down, lavishing attention on him as his body goes stiff and shaky with pleasure. It’s too much, almost painful—Lan Wangji doesn’t even realize he’s saying Wei Ying’s name until Wei Ying is back at his mouth and kissing him, murmuring reassurances against his lips.
“Too fast?”
“No. I’m,” he whispers, as Wei Ying gently slides their mouths together. “Wei Ying. Too good.”
Wei Ying lets out a soft laugh.
“Ah,” he breathes. Lan Wangji relaxes slightly as Wei Ying rubs his hands up and down his sides, tender and slow this time. “Let me make you feel a different kind of good, then. Can I do that? Do you want that?”
Shaky, Lan Wangji nods.
Wei Ying returns to mapping Lan Wangji’s chest with his tongue. Each bite and lick make Lan Wangji jerk, flushed with shock at his own body’s lack of control. He’s so hard that it hurts, his cock aching to be let free. He can see Wei Ying is hard, too, the long line of him pressing against the fabric of his jeans, and his mouth goes dry with how badly he wants.
It goes dryer when Wei Wuxian seems to notice and, with a wicked grin, noses over the bulge in his pants.
“Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying ignores him, burying his face in Lan Wangji’s stomach. He can feel Wei Ying’s breath ghosting across his belt, fanning hot air over his skin. Lan Wangji is going to lose his mind.
“Wei Ying.”
“Yes, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji opens his mouth, closes it. He knows exactly what he wants and has no idea how to ask for it. Wei Ying’s eyes sparkle up at him, knowing.
“What you just did,” he tries. Wei Ying nods, mischievous smile still in place. Lan Wangji’s abs tighten when he noses down again, mouth wet and pressing against the outside of his pants. He draws in a shuddering breath, clenching his hands in the sheets so he doesn’t grab Wei Ying’s hair.
“What about it, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji glares at him, ears burning viciously. Wei Ying smiles and sits up, tapping at the button on Lan Wangji’s pants.
“Want this off?”
He does. He wants Wei Ying’s shirt off, too, he discovers, and lunges forward to make it happen. It’s his turn to press Wei Ying against the mattress, his turn to fumble with buttons as Wei Ying gasps yes, yes, Lan Zhan, into his mouth. Wei Ying’s hands claw at his back and Lan Wangji grabs them with one hand, forces them down so he can get Wei Ying’s shirt off him quicker.
Wei Ying laughs, presses up against Lan Wangi. “Ah, Lan Zhan, who knew you’d be so rough when you got impatient! My Lan-er-gege –oh—”
He cuts himself off with a gasp as Lan Wangji moves his knee between his thighs, an offering.
“Oh,” he repeats, and starts to rock against Lan Wangji’s leg, chasing sweet friction and making it that much more difficult to concentrate. Lan Wangji watches his eyes flutter closed, so much desire inside him that he doesn’t know what to do with it. The shirt gets tossed unceremoniously to the side (Lan Zhan, aren’t you supposed to be the tidy one?) and then there’s Wei Ying, all the curves of his ribs and contours of his chest, laid out before him.
He just stares for a moment, overwhelmed. This part of Wei Ying is just as beautiful as the rest of him. Lan Wangji is so lucky.
“Like what you see?” Wei Ying asks. Lan Wangji is sure it is meant to sound teasing, but Wei Ying is squirming under the attention, face pink. When Lan Wangji doesn’t reply right away, he blushes deeper. “Ah, stop staring like that, you’re a literal Adonis, there’s no way this is anything new for you!”
Another misconception. Lan Wangji leans down and kisses him, trying to force even the idea of it away.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs into his mouth.
Wei Ying shivers, full-body, and kisses him back with an edge of desperation. His skin is soft when Lan Wangji gathers the courage to reach out, muscles jumping under his fingers. Hot to the touch, too, then hotter when Wei Ying grabs his hand and breathes, “Help me get these off,” guiding their intertwined fingers to the waistline of his jeans.
Lan Wangji scrambles to comply.
There’s another flurry of motion, somehow more heated than the last. Their fingers keep fumbling together and getting in the way, but neither of them want to break apart for long enough to look at what they need to do. Wei Ying’s pants look amazing on him, hugging every curve and perfectly tight against his skin, but they’re impossible to get off.
“Here, here,” Wei Ying laughs, after what feels like a decade of effort, and wriggles away from Lan Wangji’s insistent touch so they can focus. “Pants and buttons, I’m done with them, they’re never allowed again, Lan Zhan!”
They end up undoing their own pants and shimmying out of them, which they should have done in the first place. It’s silly and wonderful and a little bit awkward, and not at all what Lan Wangji imagined sex could be like. Wei Ying keeps breaking out into giggles. They fill Lan Wangji’s chest like bubbles, making everything seem lighter.
Then Wei Ying’s hands and mouth are on him again, and the flame roars back to life.
“You’re the hottest person I’ve ever seen,” Wei Ying murmurs in disbelief against his mouth, sucking his lower lip and working it between his teeth. Lan Wangji blushes, attention torn between the way Wei Ying is talking and how his hands are wandering over his ribs, lower, lower.
He lets his own hands run up and down the well-defined muscles of Wei Ying’s arms, the curve of his shoulders, the dip in his lower back. The last one elicits a pleased noise, their bodies shifting and pressing together close.
All too soon Wei Ying is pulling back from the kiss. He makes up for it by using those same lovely hands to guide Lan Wangji back against the soft sheets. Lan Wangji goes willingly, lets Wei Ying sit back and look, both of them springs coiled too tight from their eagerness.
It is strange, to let himself be looked at like this. He knows that his underwear is doing very little to hide the pulsing heat between his legs; from this new angle, he can see Wei Ying is in much of the same state.
There is a moment where Wei Ying just stares at him, and he stares back.
Then Wei Ying laughs—not unkindly, but with some sort of wonder.
“Holy shit, Lan Zhan.”
His fingers run down the planes of Lan Wangji’s stomach, tracing the elastic of his briefs. Lan Wangji’s cock strains against its confines at the hint of closeness, a small wet circle already soaking through the fabric from his arousal. He tries to hold still, can’t help but twitch anyways with each press of skin on skin.
“You’re really—” Wei Ying’s tone is disbelieving, delighted. His fingers keep running over the cloth of Lan Wangji’s inner thighs, touching everywhere except where Lan Wangji clearly needs it. “Fuck. How are you so big?”
A rhetorical question, Lan Wangji knows—but it does not stop the flood of heat and embarrassment that send his ears aflame. His cock jumps like it knows it’s being discussed.
“Wei Ying,” he says, half-protest, half-beg. The touches have turned teasing, Wei Ying’s hands roaming over the sensitive place where skin meets cloth, but Lan Wangji cannot stand to be teased right now.
His tone must convey it well enough: Wei Ying’s pupils go large and dark. He licks his lips.
“Lan Zhan, I want to suck you off until you come.”
All the remaining blood in Lan Wangji’s body goes south at the words.
He nods, unable to speak, and touches one of Wei Ying’s hands. Guides it down, past the edge of the elastic. Please. Yes.
“Fuck,” Wei Ying whispers.
Then he’s shoving Lan Wangji’s underwear down and out of the way, eyes hungry, teasing abandoned. Lan Wangji has just enough time to shudder at the fabric dragging against the sensitive skin before it’s free, and then Wei Ying’s fingers are curling around him.
All the air leaves his lungs.
“Fuck,” Wei Ying repeats, running his thumb over the wet slit and sending sparks down to Lan Wangji’s toes. The sight itself is almost too much for Lan Wangji to bear: his own length, flushed and leaking, Wei Ying’s fingers tracing over the skin with a strange kind of reverence. Lan Wangji has to close his eyes and look away, panting.
Wei Ying’s fingers are different than his own: calloused where he holds his paintbrushes, slender and delicate. When he gives an experimental pull from the base to the tip, it takes every ounce of Lan Wangji’s effort not to jerk up into the touch, another ounce not to come right on the spot.
He does it again, and Lan Wangji makes a noise that edges between desperate and warning.
When he dares to look back down, Wei Ying is licking his lips.
“Can I?” he asks.
Lan Wangji can’t swallow around the lump in his throat. He nods again.
Part of him expects Wei Ying to dive in immediately, like he seems to do everything else. He tenses for it, anticipatory, not wanting to come the moment Wei Ying’s mouth is on him.
Instead, Wei Ying surprises him by leaning forward, shifting his weight so that he give him a sweet, lingering kiss. It’s open-mouthed but unhurried, a slower ache than the insistent weight between his legs. It’s I’m here and it’s ok. He finds himself relaxing into it, getting lost.
After six beats of his heart, Wei Ying pulls back, a small trail of saliva connecting their lips as they part.
Then he goes back between Lan Wangji’s legs and, without further warning, takes him in his mouth.
Warm, wet heat surrounds him, so tight and sudden that it seems impossible. Lan Wangji draws in a sharp inhale through his nose, pushing himself up on his elbows to watch as Wei Ying sucks the head into his mouth. It’s slow, exploratory: Wei Ying runs his tongue over the slit, then down and under, holding him in his mouth without moving.
He stays there for a moment, adjusting, before taking him deeper with the first bob of his head.
The heat pooling in Lan Wangji’s body intensifies and he gasps, hips jerking up without him meaning to. Wei Ying makes a noise, and it sounds pleased, like he liked it. His eyes are determined but not urgent when they look up at Lan Wangji.
He bobs his head again, pointed. This time, he swallows as he goes, and static flashes in Lan Wangji’s vision.
“Wei Ying.”
His voice trembles when he reaches out to touch him, a hand settling in his hair. Wei Ying hums, and even that feels impossibly good, the vibrations shooting straight to where he’s tight and wanting.
He closes his eyes and tries to weather the storm.
Wei Ying keeps up his pace, sinking deeper and deeper as Lan Wangji twitches and gasps and tries to keep breathing. The heat builds and builds, wet and slick and lewd. Wei Ying swallows him deep and rises back up, over and over, occasionally pausing to lavish attention on the head and suck.
The sounds are vulgar and perfect and not enough. Lan Wangji forces himself to look back down, and as soon as he does, he can’t look away. Wei Ying’s mouth is red, slick with spit and precome, face almost lax with pleasure. He looks so content sucking Lan Wangji off, hand moving lazily up and down with his mouth.
He tilts further towards the edge at the sight. Against his will his hips thrust up once, aborted and almost pitiful, greedily seeking his own release. Wei Ying chokes; mortified, Lan Wangji forces himself go still. He tries to slow his own breathing, regain control—but then Wei Ying digs a thumb into his hip, and he jerks up again on instinct with a gasp.
Wei Ying moans.
The noise is garbled but unmistakably enthusiastic. Wei Ying pulls off him just long enough to look up at him and rasp, “Lan Zhan, I like it, do that again,” before going back to his work.
Even the thought is indecent. Lan Wangji’s ears burn with the shamelessness of it.
But he wants it.
His first thrust up is slow, hesitant—then progressively faster when Wei Ying encourages him with another moan. His jerking hips quickly find a rhythm and Wei Ying doesn’t stop him, instead doubles down, mouth open and willing. Deep, down to the base, back of his throat, over and over.
Something like a groan escapes him and he and allows his head to fall back, surrendering to the desire, to Wei Ying. He chases the heat of his throat with his twitching cock, listens to the pleased, choked noises Wei Ying makes as he does—and knows he is not going to last.
“Wei Ying,” he tries to warn, as white builds behind his eyes. Wei Ying urges on his pace, starts his own frantic bobbing to compensate for Lan Wangji’s faltering rhythm. “Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying hums in acknowledgement, reaches up to where Lan Wangji’s hand is still resting lightly on his hair. He intertwines their fingers.
That is what pushes Lan Wangji over the edge, out of everything else: Wei Ying holding his hand. An unsteady noise falls from his lips, and when Wei Ying next tongues at him and brings the head into the back of his throat with an obscene sucking sound, he comes.
He comes hard and long—so long that Wei Ying can’t swallow down all of it and pulls off, panting, watching with huge eyes as Lan Wangji spills all over his chest. It’s the kind of orgasm that leaves him helpless to do anything but shake, toes curling in the sheets as the room around him turns to static. The world gets washed out white, a blank page in his composition notebook, leaving every one of his limbs trembling. Distantly, he can feel Wei Ying stroking him through the aftershocks, fingers slick from his release. Only when it gets to be too much does he manage a “Hn,” of protest.
Then everything is quiet, and awareness slowly trickles back to him.
He forces his eyes to open, blinking in the dark for Wei Ying’s face. Wei Ying is busy sucking a bruise into his hipbone, a small, secret smile on his face as he goes.
They’re still holding hands. Lan Wangji gives Wei Ying’s fingers a squeeze and starts to sit up.
“Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying hums against his skin. It doesn’t look like he plans to stop anytime soon. Lan Wangji curls his clean hand into his hair, tugging.
Wei Ying groans and lets his head be tilted up, sending one last glance to his work and looking unbearably pleased about it. He gazes up at Lan Wangji through dark lashes.
“Lan Zhan.” His voice is smug, teasing.
“Your turn,” Lan Wangji says, all other words lost in the foggy afterglow. Wei Ying laughs and lets himself be pulled to his knees, hands shooting out to Lan Wangji’s shoulders to steady himself as Lan Wangji tucks him close. The front of his underwear is stained dark, a combination of precome and Lan Wangji’s own release that adds to the shivery feeling in his bones.
Wei Ying tilts his head at him, impish smile on his face.
“What are you going to do with me now, Er-gege?”
Even after what they just did, Lan Wangji’s ears tint pink at the name. In retaliation, he pulls Wei Ying in by the back of his neck and kisses him hard. It’s his teeth, working at Wei Ying’s lips; his tongue, tracing the inside of his mouth; his hands, curving down Wei Ying’s sides and drifting between his thighs.
That last one elicits a gasp, a jerk of the hips. Wei Ying curls his hands in Lan Wangji’s hair and lets his mouth be worked open, whimpers. When Lan Wangji realizes the salty taste on Wei Ying’s tongue is from him he flushes deeper, kisses him harder, presses their bodies together until Wei Ying is shivering as well.
“Ah,” Wei Ying whines, shaky little noises escaping his mouth as Lan Wangji touches him through the cloth. “Lan Zhan, aa, have mercy, you can’t tease me after –mm—all that!”
Lan Wangji nips at his neck, lets Wei Ying rock against his hand. It is not enough, for either of them—Wei Ying pulls back with a groan and wriggles out of his boxers, cock immediately curving straight up against his chest. It’s flushed and leaking, so hard it looks painful.
Lan Wangji reaches out before his brain even catches up.
“Oh!” Wei Ying gasps, as Lan Wangji runs his thumb along the foreskin, gathering a bead of precome as he does. Lan Wangji has never done this to another person before, but he knows the general idea. From the way Wei Ying’s cock twitches in his hand as he tightens his grip and spreads the wetness down his length, he thinks he’s on the right track.
Still, he murmurs, “Good?”
“Oh, yeah, god, are you kidding? Yes, yes, keep—doing that. Fuck, can you go faster?”
Lan Wangji goes faster, curving his palm around Wei Ying’s shaft and twisting in the way he likes to do for himself. Wei Ying stutters out a breath and grips his shoulders harder, thighs trembling violently. He is a tornado, barely contained. Lan Wangji kisses him again, swallows his moans as he lets Wei Ying rock into his fist.
“Fuck—fuck—”
Wei Ying’s entire body is taught, a string pulled too tight. Lan Wangji can see his legs shaking. It must be uncomfortable, trying to hold all his weight like that.
“Here,” Lan Wangji murmurs, and turns Wei Ying so they are tucked together, Wei Ying sitting on Lan Wangji’s lap with his back against Lan Wangji’s chest. The motion elicits a gasp, then another when Lan Wangji uses his legs to push Wei Ying’s knees open and keep them spread, giving him access to the long, hard length of him.
This is better, he decides immediately: like this he can feel the shift in Wei Ying’s hips as he chases the slick heat of his hand, can hear the choked-off noises he makes when Lan Wangji lowers his head and bites his shoulder. Wei Ying’s legs are trembling, but no longer from the effort of staying up.
Wei Ying seems to like it more too. He moans and throws his head back, panting at the next slide of Lan Wangji’s hand. “Oh my god—”
Now that his mouth is unoccupied, Wei Ying is far from quiet. Lan Wangji lets him talk, focuses on the motion of his hand and the skin under his teeth. The marks Lan Wangji made earlier are finally bruising, dark red splotches against Wei Ying’s neck. He bites down on them again for good measure, savors the way Wei Ying whines and digs his hands into his arms.
His own canvas, he thinks dizzily when he pulls back to look. Paint smears with his mouth.
“Touch me, more, more,” Wei Ying is saying, over and over again. So Lan Wangji does. It’s a pretty picture: Wei Ying on his lap, legs spread wide and unable to close, Lan Wangji’s hand pumping his cock. Not that Wei Ying seems to want his legs to close, anyways: he’s thrusting up into Lan Wangji’s fingers like his life depends on it. But it feels important, that Wei Ying is trusting him like this.
“Lan Zhan, you’re going to kill me—aa, please—”
His voice rises on the last word, body twitching frantically as Lan Wangji twists his hand on the upstrokes. His muscles clench and unclench, head thrown back against Lan Wangji’s shoulder as he babbles and gasps. Lan Wangji captures his mouth and steals the whimper that falls from his lips.
“Shh,” he reminds him. Wei Ying clutches his forearms so hard that Lan Wangji is convinced it will leave bruises. “We need to be quiet.”
“Fuck, oh god—Lan Zhan—don’t stop, don’t stop—”
“I will not.”
To prove his point, he rubs his thumb over the head, dragging another smear of precome from the slit. Wei Ying groans, cock twitching in his hand—and comes.
It is a whole-body experience, feeling Wei Ying come in his arms. He is less messy than Lan Wangji, although not by much. Lan Wangji watches, captivated, as Wei Ying spills over his hand and between his thighs with a cry. He’s so much louder; Lan Wangji has to kiss him hard to muffle his breathy moans, his entire body shaking as he falls apart.
Lan Wangji strokes him through it, gentles his kisses so Wei Ying can suck in lungfuls of air. Wei Ying whines when Lan Wangji strokes him past oversensitivity, toes curling in the sheets.
“Lan Zhan—please—”
Lan Wangji pulls his hand away and they fall back into the sheets together, chests heaving. Wei Ying has gone boneless, his face pressed into Lan Wangji’s collarbone. Lan Wangji’s arm is trapped under him but he doesn’t care, can’t care past the pleasant heaviness of his limbs and the warmth of Wei Ying curled against his side. He double-checks that Wei Ying isn’t in any wet spots and then lets himself go limp, soaking in the afterglow.
The seconds tick by, unhurried.
“Holy fuck,” Wei Ying breathes eventually, as the sweat starts to cool on their skin and their heartbeats slow. “Fuck. Why didn’t we do that two months ago?”
Lan Wangji laughs, startled. Wei Ying looks up at him with sparkling eyes.
“No, really, Lan Zhan! I could have been walking around with hickies for two months, and no one told me?”
Lan Wangji shakes his head, moving his arm so he can curl it around Wei Ying’s waist. He wants to tell Wei Ying that he is not the only one who walked away with marks: he can feel the lines on his skin from where Wei Ying clung to him, scratches across his back and wrists. It’s a pleasant ache.
“I thought it was obvious,” he admits after a moment, ears burning. Wei Ying makes an inquisitive noise. “That I wanted you.”
“Oh!” Wei Ying tucks his chin against Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “I thought I was obvious. I was convinced you were just putting up with me, and then I thought you just really wanted A-Yuan to get some extra art projects. And then, well…”
“And then?”
“Well,” Wei Ying says, playful grin back on his lips. “Then you made out with me in an art gallery.”
“Ah.”
“I love that you did that,” Wei Ying murmurs, voice suddenly soft. “I love that you cared about my art, and that you kept all of A-Yuan’s in that box. And I—I love that you kept the bunnies, too, I had convinced myself you just threw it away when you got home.”
It takes a moment for Lan Wangji to understand what he’s talking about.
The forgotten vase in the kitchen suddenly makes a lot more sense.
“I love that you gave it to me,” Lan Wangji says, trying to echo Wei Ying’s words back at him. He is embarrassed to be found out, but Wei Ying looks delighted about the whole thing. “Even if it was for A-Yuan.”
Wei Ying laughs, face flushing. “Oh, it definitely wasn’t just for A-Yuan. I wanted to draw you, you know. I couldn’t stop thinking about the hot dad that walked into my classroom and let his kid smear paint on his expensive dress shirt. But I thought handing you a drawing of yourself might be a little too on point.”
Lan Wangji turns that over in his head, marveling at the possibility of it. He doesn’t know what he would have done if Wei Ying had given him such a thing.
“I would have treasured it,” he decides, feels a smile tug at his lips when Wei Ying cries “Noo!” and buries his face in his chest.
“You would have thought I was so weird!”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees. Wei Ying smacks him on the shoulder. He can feel the hidden grin against his skin. “But I would have treasured it nonetheless.”
Wei Ying kisses him at that, soft and gentle. It is a kiss made tender by the dimness in the room, by the way their fingers fit together, by the way Wei Ying whines when he eventually extricates himself to go get them a washcloth. It is made more tender later, when Wei Ying curls against him under the spare set of sheets he keeps under the bed; and then by his even, deep breaths as he crosses the line into sleep.
It is a good kiss, better than anything Lan Wangji could have imagined. He falls asleep with Wei Ying body tucked against his chest and, for the first time in his life, hopes that morning does not come too quickly.
It is 9AM when Wei Ying comes stumbling down the stairs.
Lan Wangji hears him before he sees him, the squeaky stair that he and A-Yuan have learned to avoid once again protesting under Wei Ying’s unknowing feet.
He turns from the stove and looks expectantly at the bottom of the stairs. A-Yuan gasps and copies the motion from where he’s seated at the kitchen table with his glass of milk. They’ve both been up for several hours, four in Lan Wangji’s case, and Lan Wangji has had to stop A-Yuan from barging into the room to wake Wei Ying up several times now.
So when Wei Ying appears in front of them, sleep-tussled and wearing a pair of Lan Wangji’s pajamas, it is naturally A-Yuan who finds his words first.
“Wei-gege!” he cries, and a heavy-eyed, luminous smile breaks across Wei Ying’s face.
“Morning, little bun,” he says, striding up to the table and tugging A-Yuan’s ear. “Morning, Lan Zhan! Do I smell coffee?”
Lan Wangji tries to breathe around the constriction in his chest, which has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that Wei Ying is wearing his pajamas. The pants are a bit too long on him, the hem cutting past his ankles and under his heel. Lan Wangji finds that he likes it anyways.
“Mn,” he manages. He motions to the pot of coffee sitting on the stove. He had gone out and purchased it this morning from one of the local shops, just to see the exact smile that graces Wei Ying’s face in this moment.
“Ah, Lan Zhan! You didn’t have to!”
“I wanted to.”
Wei Ying bounces over to where he’s standing, hesitating only for a second before giving him a kiss on the cheek. Lan Wangji’s ears flame, mostly because A-Yuan sees it and says, “Ooooh!” He doesn’t know where A-Yuan learned to do such a thing, but he has his suspicions.
“Good morning,” Wei Ying whispers again in his ear, his lips a gentle curve in the morning light.
“Good morning,” Lan Wangji replies, tongue cooperating this time, and wraps an arm around Wei Ying’s waist to keep him there. They lean against each other, warm and steady. “Are you hungry?”
Wei Ying eyes the pile of steamed buns on the counter, one of the products of Lan Wangji’s busy morning. Waking up with Wei Ying in his arms had been enough to keep Lan Wangji in bed for an extra hour, but the longer he lay there, the more things he wanted to prepare for when he eventually opened his eyes.
Besides, he thinks, as Wei Ying starts to hum their song and pile the buns onto three plates: it was worth it. Wei Ying needed the extra sleep anyways.
“Wei-gege,” A-Yuan says, when Wei Ying brings over their plates and sits down at the table with him. “Baba and I were waiting forever!”
“Were you now?” Wei Ying places his elbows on the table and leans forward, the ever-captive audience. “Well, I’m here now! Tell me what you and your Baba were up to.”
Contentment curls in Lan Wangji’s chest, standing there in the kitchen, A-Yuan’s excited voice filling the air like music. Sun shines through the window and paints the table golden. He passes by Wei Ying as he goes to sit down next to A-Yuan, smiles at the way Wei Ying curls around his cup of coffee and breathes in deep. Between them, A-Yuan chatters away, telling them a story that he doesn’t seem to know the end of yet.
It is the makings of a beautiful day. Later, he and A-Yuan will take Wei Ying upstairs to see the bunnies in their hutch. Later, they will go to grab his keys, and Wen Ning will greet them with a sheepish smile until he sees the way their hands are linked together. And much, much, later, years from now, Lan Wangji will get down on one knee in 104B and ask Wei Ying to marry him.
But for now, Lan Wangji sits quietly at the table, listens to A-Yuan’s story—and feels Wei Ying watching him.
It is the smallest tickle on his skin, Wei Ying’s gaze. When Lan Wangji raises his eyes from his tea to look at him, Wei Ying is already waiting for it, grey eyes soft around the edges. His legs find Lan Wangji’s under the table and settle there, a cornerstone of socked feet.
He is smiling.
“What is it?” Lan Wangji asks, as A-Yuan pauses in his story about the happy bunny family eating breakfast together to chew.
Wei Ying makes a small noise in the back of his throat. His warm gaze lingers on where Lan Wangji and A-Yuan sit tucked together. Lan Wangji can see him categorizing the details, an artist gazing upon a blank canvas. The time stretches in heartbeats—not fraught, like the first few seconds after waking up from a nightmare and not knowing where you are; but suspended, the moment before a performer walks on stage.
Hushed, waiting for the inevitable.
“Nothing,” Wei Ying says eventually, and reaches out to wipe some milk from A-Yuan’s chin. Lan Wangji feels a love so deep that it aches. “Just thinking about my next best work.”