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Wei Wuxian is the single most vexing creature Lan Wangji has ever shared a runway with.
This is not news, as Wei Wuxian has been the single most vexing creature he knows, in general, for as long as Lan Wangji has been sharing runways, backstage space, and once, memorably, a supply closet-turned-changing room which locked automatically from the outside with him. (The less said about that incident, the better.) Thankfully, it has been years since either of them has worked the kind of shows that use such makeshift backstage spaces.
This show, for example, is the headline event at Beijing Fashion Week. It features the spring/summer line of a visionary designer who'd burst onto the international haute couture scene a few years ago with her dazzling and unmistakably Chinese designs, all made to suit both human and supernatural forms. It is Lan Wangji's favorite kind of thing to model, silhouettes that blur the lines between traditional and modern in suits of shimmering dip-dyed silk, hanfu in layers of diaphanous fabrics, gowns ornamented with gold and silver embroidery and glittering crystals, sumptuous satins, whisper-thin chiffons, leather and lace and luxurious velvet, all perfectly balanced and meticulously crafted into beautiful garments honoring a legacy of thousands of years of history, art, and culture. The collection this year is grouped into six series—one each for wood, fire, earth, metal, and water, concluding with a sixth "celestial" series—and represents, in Lan Wangji's judgment, the house's finest designs yet.
But despite all the beauty and splendor surrounding him, like so many times before, his eyes keep returning to one person.
The problem with Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji thinks as he is efficiently stripped out of the jacket and wide legged trousers in a layered silk that shines like moonlight on water and arrayed in a gauzy silk organza blue and white ombre gown, is that he is utterly, inescapably distracting. The way he moves with slinky, seductive grace, a barely-concealed power in every line of his lithe frame. The way he smiles and flirts with everyone—the audience, the support staff, the other models—both on and off the catwalk. The absolutely unbearable way his thighs look in the tiny shorts and knee-high suede boots he's currently changing out of right next to Lan Wangji.
"You always look so ethereal when they dress you in white, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, blissfully oblivious to both Lan Wangji's current leg-related crisis and the ongoing crisis of his personal name on Wei Wuxian's lips. Not even Lan Wangji's brother calls him Lan Zhan these days. The two of them had made a splash as "the Twin Jades" when they first began modeling as children, and they've been Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji almost as long as he remembers. Wei Wuxian, though, about an hour into their captivity in the Dusk Creek Community Center storage closet, had declared them bosom companions, much too close for professional artist's names, and insisted that they simply be Lan Zhan and Wei Ying to each other. Lan Wangji has not known peace since. He wants it to mean more than it does.
Wei Wuxian—in the privacy of his mind, Lan Wangji clings to the professional moniker with a white-knuckled grip—flirts with everyone and probably thinks nothing of it. Lan Wangji cannot let himself read more into the familiarity than Wei Wuxian means. Wei Wuxian, of course, is still talking, flattering Lan Wangji shamelessly. "...all majestic and dragon-y, like you came down from the heavens to walk in our little fashion show."
This is patently absurd, and it heats Lan Wangji's insides anyway. Impossible man. "You know I came from Suzhou," he replies, "and by definition, I always look 'dragon-y.'" Wei Wuxian laughs like this is the funniest joke he's ever heard, and oh, there's the other problem with Wei Wuxian: Lan Wangji wants to hear that laugh every day.
"People never believe me when I tell them you're funny," Wei Wuxian mutters, and Lan Wangji tries not to react to the revelation that Wei Wuxian talks to other people about him. "Of course, of course, Lan Zhan is a fearsome and elegant dragon in any outfit!" he says louder, nodding so enthusiastically that the woman changing his jewelry and restyling his hair resorts to jabbing him in the ribs and telling him to hold still. Where Lan Wangji's gown is all floating gossamer in blues and white, the jumpsuit Wei Wuxian has been poured into has a structured black corset bodice with a dramatically flared floor-length peplum over fitted trousers embroidered with constellations in silver thread down one thigh. Near his knees, the satin fades from inky black through rich purple to a vibrant blood red where the skirt skims over the floor, like the sun slipping below the horizon on a moonless night. Silver stars are nestled in the hollow of his throat on a thin band of black velvet, and a matching crown is placed atop his scraped-back hair. Lan Wangji would like to sink his fingers in that hair and pull until Wei Wuxian cries.
The assistants dressing him step back, and at a nod from the backstage manager, Wei Wuxian rolls out his shoulders and lets his wings shimmer into view. Lan Wangji has never seen them up close before. His feathers are a black as deep as the night sky seen from high in the mountains, rich and glossy, with a shimmer of jewel tones like an oil slick. His wings flutter into place in a graceful curve, the longest flight feathers trailing over the hem of his skirt. Lan Wangji is a professional model who spends his life surrounded by beautiful people in exquisite clothing, and Wei Wuxian right now is the single most gorgeous creature he has ever seen.
Wei Wuxian catches him staring and preens a little. "It's a perfect wings out look, don't you think, Lan Zhan? The people like to see how the high fashion looks on those of us who are more than just human." He pauses, and his mouth curves into a devastatingly wicked grin. "What about you, gonna flash a little horn for the final number?"
Lan Wangji is glad for a lifetime of training in maintaining his composure under any circumstance. He had not so much as blushed through his brother's over-enthusiastic explanation of safer sex practices for gay men after he got home from his first date in high school. He had not blinked when he was seventeen, all long limbs and walking a runway in heels for the first time, when he wiped out right in front of the editor of Vogue China. He has not, at any point in all the long years of his acquaintance with and secret, overwhelming, utterly vexing crush on Wei Wuxian, snapped and ruined a show just to debauch the man backstage, but he's closer tonight than he's ever been.
Wei Wuxian is a phoenix. He grew up with the Jiangs and has known the Lan family for years. He's intimately familiar with dragon customs, so there's no way—absolutely none—that Wei Wuxian does not know he's just asked whether Lan Wangji cares to sport a mating display during his final turns down the runway this evening.
Lan Wangji is saved from responding to this undeniable bit of flirting by his own hairstylist announcing, "You mess up my work, I'll have your hide—I don't care how tough dragonscale is!" as she places the last of the pins securing Lan Wangji's own star-studded headpiece.
"Ah, of course not, jiejie," Wei Wuxian chuckles. "A goody two-shoes like Lan Zhan wouldn't make trouble for you that way. He's far too much of a well-behaved gentleman to do anything so improper." Wei Wuxian catches his eye and winks, and Lan Wangji feels like one of those water features with the bucket that slowly fills then suddenly tips and pours out all at once.
"Mark your words," he say, low and dangerous, and enjoys the gratifying sight of Wei Wuxian's sparkling grey eyes going wide and dark.
Lan Wangji moves through the rest of the show on pure muscle memory. Walk this fast, hit these marks, turn, turn, smolder at the VIPs, be sure to let the sleeves flutter. Lan Wangji is a professional, and he completes his duties to perfection. All the while, his mind is racing, trying to fit a lifetime of wanting into the reality of ten more minutes, four more turns, one more trip down the runway before he can pick up the gauntlet Wei Wuxian threw down and take.
When the applause has finished, Wei Wuxian is uncharacteristically quiet as they're undressed once more, their glittering garments and accessories gently taken off and carefully returned to the racks, and his gaze keeps cutting over to Lan Wangji's direction. Lan Wangji feels as though he's still on the runway, every step measured and every movement planned. Change clothes. Grab Wei Wuxian's wrist. Walk deeper backstage, to a little room he'd spotted earlier whose intended purpose is utterly irrelevant to Lan Wangji's own. Close the door. Press Wei Ying up against the door and finally, finally taste that impossible mouth.
Wei Ying tastes of lipstick, and the cinnamon gum he likes to chew before a show, and some flavor that Lan Wangji could spend a lifetime teasing apart. Wei Ying melts into the kiss immediately, parting his lips for Lan Wangji's mouth and clutching tight at his waist. His hands feel hot against Lan Wangji's skin through the thin fabric of his blouse. Lan Wangji licks in and across his teeth, chasing the little whimpers and moans that escape his throat and biting at his lips. He pulls back and feels a hot curl of satisfaction in his gut at the crimson smear of Wei Ying's mouth and the wide neck of his slouchy sweater sliding off one shoulder. He looks messy. Lan Wangji made him look messy. He'd like to mess him up further, so he slides his hands into Wei Ying's hair and grabs a tight fistful of the painstakingly arranged hairdo. It's tacky with hairspray, and Lan Wangji imagines with pleasure just how sex-mussed it will look by the time he is through.
He holds Wei Ying there, between the hand at the base of his skull and the fist in his hair, and watches Wei Ying's face as he lets his horns emerge. Wei Ying's eyes dart upwards, and Lan Wangji is close enough to feel the little breath that's punched out of him. "Lan Zhan, shit…" he gasps.
"Is this not what Wei Ying wanted?" he asks. "To see 'a little horn'? You knew what you were asking for." He knows he is not mistaken, but he wants to hear Wei Ying admit it.
"I sure thought I did," he replies, "but I didn't think you'd really… Lan Zhan everyone's still here. Someone might need the room, or they could walk this way, and—Lan Zhan, what if they hear?"
"Wei Ying will have to be quiet, then," he says cooly, then gives Wei Ying's hair a yank to expose his neck and lowers his mouth to the smooth skin.
Wei Ying is not quiet. He yelps when Lan Wangji nips at his throat and babbles as he takes his skin between his teeth to bite a bruise where each star on the choker had sat. Lan Wangji feels Wei Ying's hands working their way up the line of buttons, fingertips electric against the exposed skin of his stomach and chest. The hands pause at his shoulders, thumbs brushing back and forth across his collarbones in question, and Lan Wangji murmurs, "Go ahead," into the hollow of Wei Ying's throat.
The first stroke is light, the barest whisper of Wei Ying's fingertips against Lan Wangji's horns, but it sends shivers all down the length of his spine and makes his tail curl. He spares half a thought to be glad he'd changed into a skirt instead of anything more restrictive before Wei Ying strokes along his horns again, more firmly this time, and the only thing he can think about is getting more of Wei Ying's skin against his own.
He pulls off with a little growl, and Wei Ying releases his horns, holding his hands up, palms out, as though protesting his innocence. The light dancing in his eyes proclaims him anything but. Lan Wangji's hands drop to the button of Wei Ying's skintight black jeans, and Wei Ying nods quickly and rips his sweater off over his head to throw it somewhere behind Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji tugs the waistband down his hips and raises an eyebrow at what he does not find.
"You try wearing pants this tight without showing lines, Lan Zhan; I know you know how this works," Wei Ying says unrepentantly. Lan Wangji thinks about all the times he's been distracted by Wei Ying's round ass in a tight pair of trousers and reels a little at the idea that he's been bare underneath every time. How much more distracting will he be now that Lan Wangji knows this? He shoves Wei Ying's jeans down to his knees in retaliation and shoves his own leg between his thighs. Wei Ying's hips jerk, dragging his cock against the material of Lan Wangji's skirt. "Not fair," Wei Ying whines, "you're still all dressed, and I'm—"
"—a wreck," Lan Wangji finishes for him. "Cute." He is, all flushed and messy, eyes wide and a little desperate as he squirms against Lan Wangji's hold. "Mine," he adds, and Wei Ying blushes beautifully. He could make him come like this, see how far that blush will spread if he tells Wei Ying to rut against Lan Wangji's thigh and get himself off. He'd do it, Lan Wangji thinks, and complain the whole time. But Lan Wangji has been wanting too long, and his own blood is too hot—metaphorically speaking; he is still a dragon—to be satisfied with just making a mess of Wei Ying. (Besides, this skirt is dry-clean only.) He reluctantly peels himself far enough off of Wei Ying to shrug off his shirt and step out of his skirt and underwear, then crowds him back against the door.
Wei Ying has only managed to kick off his boots and work one long leg out of his indecently tight pants when Lan Wangji scoops him up, and he yelps again and clamps those distracting thighs around Lan Wangji's hips. Lan Wangji wraps his tail around the dangling jeans and yanks them off, and Wei Ying laughs that gorgeous sunshine laugh again. "Lan Zhan, who knew you'd be like this?" he asks. "So forceful with me. What did I ever do to deserve this sort of treatment, mm? Was I finally too shameless, or was it just my devastating good looks? Or maybe you were overcome by the sight of these?" He leans into Lan Wangji a bit and brings his wings out again, curving them forward and around the both of them, wrapping them in a cocoon of midnight black. "Do you have a thing for feathers, Lan er gege?" he teases, stroking his wingtips down Lan Wangji's spine and along the frill of his tail.
"Ridiculous," Lan Wangji growls, pressing Wei Ying against the door again, squeezing two plush handfuls of his ass and nipping at the spot where his neck curves into his shoulder. Wei Ying shudders in his arms.
"Aiyah, so mean to your Wei Ying when you're horny," he complains, and then he freezes. "Wait. Wait wait wait—were you like this every time you were mean to me? Have all these years of 'shameless' and 'ridiculous' and all those icy glares been you trying not to jump me backstage?"
Lan Wangji pulls off of Wei Ying's neck and leans back to meet his eyes. He brings one hand up to cup his cheek and thrills at the way Wei Ying nuzzles into his palm. With as much sincerity as he can convey, he tells him, "Not just backstage." Wei Ying chokes on a laugh.
"Unbelievable," he says. "Literally, I cannot believe you; you're—gods, have you seen yourself? How can you look like that and say things like this and expect me to behave myself at all? Impossible, Lan Zhan, you are utterly and completely unbearable. It's terribly rude of you."
Lan Wangji's arms and heart are full of Wei Ying, and he cannot help but be amused at the echo of his own thoughts. "Wei Ying is also vexing," he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Too beautiful." The other corner. "Distracting." He captures Wei Ying's mouth again and muffles his indignant noise with his lips and tongue. Wei Ying begins rutting against him again, and Lan Wangji brings his tail around to help support Wei Ying's weight as he tilts his hips to slide his own cocks along the underside of Wei Ying's.
Wei Ying's hips stutter and he breaks the kiss to look down between their bodies. "Oh wow, there really are two of them," he says.
Lan Wangji blinks at him. "Surely you knew this?"
"Oh, I mean, I knew, I guess, I just—well, I've never exactly been up close and personal with a dragon before, y'know?" Wei Ying is blushing again, lips kiss-bitten and hair well on its way to fully tousled, and for the first time in his life, Lan Wangji's mouth runs ahead of his mind.
"You will have ample opportunity to become further acquainted."
Wei Ying's head jerks up, and he grins, bright and sunny and utterly delighted. "You better mean that, Lan Zhan, because I'll hold you to it. I expect an exhaustive course of study in dragon anatomy after this."
Lan Wangji is not certain that he's ever had reason to smirk before, but he thinks that must be what his mouth is doing now. "First, we'll have to see how easy Wei Ying is to exhaust," he says, then he squeezes his cocks on either side of Wei Ying's. Wei Ying makes a sound that contains no words in any language Lan Wangji knows and rolls his hips to thrust into the tight channel of Lan Wangji's hand and cocks. He's leaking after just a few strokes, precome making the slide even wetter and hotter, and Lan Wangji kisses along his neck again and moves his hips in counterpoint to Wei Ying's. Wei Ying is babbling again, meaningless sounds and please and a breathless Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan! that Lan Wangji drinks up greedily, tongue and teeth tracing patterns over Wei Ying's skin.
He mouths up one side of Wei Ying's neck as the motions of his hips grow more erratic, and inches the fingers of the hand holding Wei Ying up towards the cleft of his ass. He strokes the pads of two fingers lightly over his hole and asks, "Will you be able to take me here? All of me?" Wei Ying jerks against him with a desperate cry and comes in his hand. Lan Wangji moves his hand faster, a hot filthy slide as he works himself against Wei Ying through his orgasm. He comes just as Wei Ying is beginning to squirm from overstimulation, pressing their chests together and biting down hard just below his ear.
They stay pressed up against each other and the door for a moment, breathing hard and curled into one another in the dark shroud of Wei Ying's wings. Then Wei Ying gives a little shiver and shimmies his wings away again, blinking a bit as the light reveals the beautiful mess Lan Wangji has made of him. Lan Wangji wants to coil around him and keep him right where he is, reluctant to let this moment end.
Wei Ying starts to unwrap himself from Lan Wangji, though, so Lan Wangji sets him down. "So! Do they always come together," Wei Ying asks as they unwind from one another, "or can you do it sequentially? Do you have two in your human form too, or just when you're partially shifted? And are your horns as sensitive as I think they are? I'll need to investigate that fully too, of course, and…"
Wei Ying's chatter has never felt more soothing, and Lan Wangji lets himself float on the promise of many, many more hours of sexy exploration as he scans the room they've found themselves in for something to clean up with. He's in luck—there is a stack of towels on a small table nearby. Along with a few cases of bottled water and boxes of granola bars. And a shelf of cleaning supplies. And Wei Ying's sweater hanging from the crossbar of an empty garment rack in the corner, and—no. Oh no. Lan Wangji reaches past Wei Ying to try the handle of the door and confirm what the sinking of his heart has already told him.
They're locked in a supply closet. Again.
Wei Ying cuts off when Lan Wangji says his name and looks from his face to his hand on the door and back again, then throws his head back and bursts into a cackle. "Why do all our important moments happen in supply closets?" he muses. "I guess we'll have to hope someone hears us after all."
His eyes are sparkling, and his hair is a disaster, and Wei Ying is the most beautiful creature Lan Wangji has ever seen. His kiss-wrecked lips curl into that troublemaking grin once more. "What do you say, Lan Zhan," he asks, "wanna see how loud you can make me scream?"
