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The miasma that roiled over the Burial Mounds was visible from as far away as the Yunmeng border, dark clouds spreading to cover Yiling far more rapidly than any natural storm, accompanied not by thunder and lightning but the howling of hungry ghosts.
Lan Wangji was too late.
That knowledge only spurred him to fly faster, for as long as the resentment continued to build, and did not collapse inward to devour itself, there was a chance Wei Ying yet lived.
The sparse covering of trees let him glimpse Wei Ying in flashes before he reached him. Wei Ying, and his attackers.
Wei Ying stood his ground in the flat, open area on which the Wen Remnants farmed and lived out their days, facing down volley after volley of arrows shot by archers spread amongst the trees. Enveloped in resentment that flowed from his orifices like a poison gas, Wen Ning deflected them one by one. His appearance was as fearsome as it had been before Lan Wangji and Wei Ying together helped him return to his shy, withdrawn self.
Lan Wangji did not dare to land on the field, afraid any distraction might prevent Wen Ning from catching an arrow. He floated aways off to the side, out of view, searching for a chance to intervene.
It seemed like every sect was represented, save the Jiang. There were robes of gold and gray and black and pink, even the blue of the Lan. Not a single hint of purple among them, for the Jiang disciples still loved their da-shixiong. But the Lan disciples should not have been there without the permission of his brother, or an elder. Xiongzhang or Shufu might have lent disciples to Jin Guangshan if he asked, but they would not have granted their aid to one such as Jin Zixun under any circumstances.
If their disciples had gone rogue, Lan Wangji would personally ensure that they were cast out.
The Wen Remnants themselves were nowhere to be seen, other than Wen Ning. Skeletons with clumps of rotten flesh that still clung to the bone in patches fought at his side. The skeletons were not the threat of the Sunshot Campaign’s fierce corpses, but they were enough to guard the entryway to the cave Wei Ying had made his own. The others must have taken shelter there.
Since before Lan Wangji arrived, Jin Zixun had been delivering a monologue, droning on and on while saying very little. Now that Lan Wangji had surveyed the scene, he elected to pay attention, hoping it would offer a clue as to how to deescalate the situation.
“The Yiling Laozu is so disrespectful, not even bothering to attend the one-month ceremony of his shijie’s first-born son.” Jin Zixun sneered. “After she called you her didi in front of the world. But then, a man who brings back the dead must have no use for social graces.”
Wei Ying responded with appropriate incredulity. “You would attack me in my home because I didn’t attend a party I wasn’t invited to? Can’t we talk this out?”
What Jin Zixun said was utter nonsense, and yet it explained much.
Lan Wangji had been confused earlier that day when, just after the one-month ceremony for Jin Ling came to an end, he overheard Jin Guangyao telling Jin Zixuan where their cousin had gone. Of course, he had immediately volunteered to follow after, in Jin Zixuan’s stead.
But now it all made sense. The attack on Wei Ying was his fault.
“A party? You pretend ignorance? You say you don’t know why?” Jin Zixun ripped open his shirt. “Lift the curse you placed on me!”
Lan Wangji could not see the curse mark from his position, but from the reaction of those who could, Jin Zixun’s gutless cronies included, he assumed it was grotesque. And fatal.
Wei Ying’s jaw dropped, shock quickly replaced by disgust. “I don’t even know who you are!”
The situation devolved so quickly from there, with Jin Zixun refusing to consider an alternative for even a moment, that Lan Wangji lost sight of Wei Ying in the rush of cultivators.
And then —
Wen Ning threw two cultivators back so they slammed hard against tree trunks, and fell to the ground unmoving.
And Wei Ying began to play, the darkness above reaching down to twine around him, first like a lover, then twirling faster and faster like a whirlpool.
Wen Ning roared as Wei Ying’s shadows joined the fight, and the skeletons lumbered forward. A disciple of the Yao sect met his end with his sword caught between a skeleton’s ribs.
Chenqing’s song was a spike driven into his skull, tilting the world on its axis.
In the space between blinks, Lan Wangji was thrown back to the last time he saw Wei Ying fight like this, in the midst of pitched battle, beautiful and deadly with no one at his back and the dead dancing at his will.
This time, though, Wen Ning was there to defend him, and Lan Wangji had no purpose other than to ensure Wei Ying lived.
Lan Wangji regained his bearings just in time to see Wen Ning’s hand striking for Jin Zixun’s heart.
Bichen flew from his hand, its hilt barreling into Wen Ning’s forehead hard enough to knock him aside, if not out. As Wen Ning regained his balance, Lan Wangji slid between Jin Zixun and the man he had come to kill.
“Stand down,” he said. And when the fighting continued, one of his own sect’s outer disciples cutting down a skeleton, shouted. “All of you, stand down!”
Everyone froze, including the skeletons. Everyone, except Wei Ying.
Wei Ying was so startled to see him that he nearly dropped Chenqing. And for a moment, Lan Wangji hoped he might settle this with no more than words. Talk Wei Ying down and pry the long list of people Jin Zixun had offended who actually bothered to hold grudges over matters short of murder out of him. A list Lan Wangji should be on, and likely wasn’t. And Wei Ying should not be, but apparently was.
But then Wei Ying’s expression clouded, and he misunderstood, and Lan Wangji had never been good with words where feelings were involved, rather than logic.
“Lan Zhan, you’re protecting him?” Wei Ying’s voice cracked, and with it, Lan Wangji’s heart.
“Wei Ying, stop,” he pleaded.
It was the wrong thing to say.
Devastated, angry, and out of balance, Wei Ying shook his head. “I can’t stop. He’s here to kill me. To kill all of the Wen, even A-Yuan!”
“If you kill him, there will be no turning back. The sects will not forgive this slight.” Lan Wangji warned, thinking, please Wei Ying, remember what really matters. Those you love and have sworn to protect, if not yourself.
“He attacks me in my own home, and it’s my slight against them if I kill him?” Wei Ying laughed, a cold force behind it that did not belong to him alone. “Oh, yes. I see. You’re in league with him, aren’t you? All this time, I thought you were — but no, the great Hanguang-jun would never befriend a demonic cultivator. That would be unorthodox.”
His own words, meant only to protect and dissuade, turned against him. “Wei Ying, no, I—”
Wei Ying cocked his head. “Step aside, and maybe I’ll believe you.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling sharply. “I can’t do that.”
But how he wished he could.
It was only for Wei Ying’s sake that he did not.
Shaking his head, Wei Ying began to play once more. The skeletons surrounded them, and still, Jin Zixun did not understand his situation.
“Thank you, Hanguang-jun, for your defe—”
Lan Wangji spun around and grabbed Jin Zixun by the front of his throat, squeezing for a count of five as Jin Zixun clawed fruitlessly at his hand. Until he went limp, and Lan Wangji let him fall to the ground. Alive, but no longer able to slander Wei Ying, or drive him into damning himself.
“I surrender.” He declared, holding Bichen out sheathed toward Wei Ying. “As do these disciples who have shamed Gusu Lan in attempting to slaughter innocents.”
The disciples of other sects dropped to their knees, shouting over each other in their haste to surrender.
“You surrender? Lan Wangji, Hanguang-jun, you surrender? I know your talent with a sword. Bichen could be back in your hand or in my back in an instant.” Wei Ying tapped Chenqing against his palm, each slap of dizi against skin a harsher punctuation. “And apparently, I never really knew you. Maybe you’re hiding a dagger under all those pretty little robes.”
Wei Ying dragged his eyes up Lan Wangji’s body, from the hem of his ceremonial robes, pale blue under an open white layer cut to emphasize his shoulders. “Oh look, you’re stained, Lan Wangji. Not so pure anymore after all.”
Lan Wangji looked down. A spattering of blood crossed his waistband, and the hem of his robe was dipped in the ichor that dripped from the skeletons.
Wei Ying had not been so cruel since the day he and Jiang Wanyin found him again. Stalking and torturing Wen Chao, and so, so changed, yet still alive. Still Wei Ying.
No, not even then had he been cruel enough to insinuate that Lan Wangji had broken their promise. That he had discarded justice and sought to harm the innocent. Then, he had only claimed they were nothing to each other.
Pushed him away in a moment of anger, because Wei Ying thought Lan Wangji judged him, and rejected him before Lan Wangji had a chance to contradict him. Because the effects of his cultivation path had convinced him that he was no longer worthy of love. Not from friends, nor family, nor even the one he called his zhiji.
But then there had been a night on a rooftop, battles side-by-side, conversations at the edge of a cliff and secluded among the trees.
Lan Wangji would take the most expedient path to bring Wei Ying back to him, no matter what it demanded of him.
He thrust Bichen into Wen Ning’s hands and quickly pressed the points that sealed off his own spiritual energy, never looking away from Wei Ying. Wei Ying, still, however the dark powers of the amulet had influenced him. A bone-crushing weakness crept over him, but he ignored it, pulling at the knot of his belt with suddenly clumsy fingers.
“What are you doing?” Wei Ying demanded, eyes widening, and all Lan Wangji could think was at least this was a different reaction.
Finally, the knot came loose, his outer robe falling open. The rest of his layers came undone more easily, until he could toss them all off his shoulders at once with a shrug, letting them fall into the dirt.
Wen Ning squeaked and brought up Bichen to cover his eyes like a blindfold.
Wei Ying gaped, speechless. He followed every movement with his eyes, tracing the lines of his collarbones, his bare arms and chest, settling just above his waistband, where the dark hair that trailed down the center of his torso began to thicken.
It was the intensity of his expression, a hint of something that might be hunger buried beneath that senseless fury, that drove Lan Wangji to continue. He kicked off his shoes and pushed down his pants. Stripped bare, save for his forehead ribbon and guan, he glared at Wei Ying.
And fought to ignore the stares of everyone else. Though they did not speak aloud, too frightened of the Yiling Laozu without their useless, loud ringleader, Lan Wangji thought he could hear their thoughts.
Hanguang-jun intends to sell himself to the Yiling Laozu, look at him, begging to be one of his conquests.
Everyone knows Hanguang-jun is a prude, bet he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for.
Fueled by panic and the hurt that burned hot in his chest, that Wei Ying thought him capable of turning against him, and worse, he did not move to cover himself.
Wei Ying stood frozen for a long moment, his gaze decidedly south, until it flicked up to meet Lan Wangji’s. Only then did his ears begin to heat with a shame that still felt strangely distant.
“What do you think you’re looking at?” Wei Ying snapped. Resentment began to rise from his skin once again. “The likes of you aren’t worthy of laying eyes on Hanguang-jun. Kiss the dirt. Now.”
Those who did not press their faces to the ground quickly enough were made to, whips of resentment pressing them down.
Lan Wangji did not understand. Was Wei Ying not angry with him?
Wei Ying returned his attention to Lan Wangji, where he would keep it, always, if he could. And the answer was yes, he was angry. His eyes burned with fury beyond reason as he stormed over to Lan Wangji. Grabbing him by the shoulder, he spun him around roughly, without a thought to the force of his hold. Wei Ying forced his hands behind his back, and his one-handed grip ground the bones of Lan Wangji’s wrists together.
“Bring me rope.” He snapped at Wen Ning and gestured dismissively at the attackers still pinned to the ground. “And do something with all of those.”
Wen Ning rushed off to the skeleton-guarded cave, only lowering Bichen once Lan Wangji was behind him.
Wordless, Wei Ying pushed Lan Wangji’s hands into the small of his back to shove him forward. The second cave Wei Yin led him into was empty, and once, long ago, it had been a palace. Guardian lions bracketed the doors, the floor was paved with cracked stone, and pieces of stone carvings remained on the walls, fallen away in places to reveal drape-like limestone formations. This was where the Wen had prepared the celebration in Wei Ying’s honor, for which Lan Wangji had declined A-Yuan’s invitation.
At the back of the room, opposite the doors, sat a throne. It was before this throne that Wei Ying pushed him to his knees.
And stood there, saying nothing.
Wei Ying, silent.
Disconcerting as the first time Lan Wangji had seen this serious, vengeful side of him. And worse. He wanted Wei Ying to talk, even if it was nothing but insults.
He said nothing, and Lan Wangji did not dare to break the silence, fearing the wrong word would send Wei Ying spiraling further. Lan Wangji’s awareness narrowed to the ache in his wrists, and the shadow of Wei Ying looming over him, time dilating and stretching out with the rapid beat of his heart. The passage of what was likely a quarter of an incense stick felt much longer, and like no time at all.
The sound of Wen Ning’s shoes scraping against stone made him jump, and Wei Ying’s hold tighten painfully. “You sure took your time.”
“Sorry, Wei-gongzi! A-Jie stuck our attackers with needles, so they won’t be waking up anytime soon, and sent a message to Jiang-zongzhu and Zewu-jun.” Wen Ning came into view, a board in one hand, and the other firmly covering his eyes.
“I didn’t ask for this.” Wei Ying pointed at a teapot, with a heating talisman stuck to it, and a pair of stoppered ceramic vials on the board along with the — rope. A coil of scarlet that meant soon, Wei Ying would be binding him with his own hands. Lan Wangji’s breath grew shallow at the thought.
“A-Jie said that when you’re done trying to convince yourself Hanguang-jun betrayed you, you should use the cream on his muscles.” Wen Ning spoke to an empty corner of the room, unwilling to risk a glimpse of him. “We have tea now, Hanguang-jun! It’s ginger. I grew it myself.”
Lan Wangji was touched by the Wen siblings’ faith in him, hopeful their faith that Wei Ying would soon see the truth of his intentions would prove correct.
“Set it by the throne if you must, I’ll only need this.” Wei Ying picked up the rope, dropping one coil so it slapped against the ground, making Lan Wangji and Wen Ning both jump. Wen Ning rushed to set his remaining burden down and flee, stumbling only once on the way out.
Without letting go of his wrists, Wei Ying uncoiled the rope, leaving it folded in two with Wei Ying holding the rounded bight. “Still certain you want to surrender, Hanguang-jun? There’s still time to admit your guilt. I’ll even let you strike the first blow, for old times’ sake.”
“I am certain,” He was proud that his voice did not shake. “Do what you will and interrogate me.”
Wei Ying wrapped the rope around his wrists, and a moment later the knot cinched together, resting snug against the knobby bone just above his wrists. “You could figure a way out of this, I bet, if you tried.”
He took the second length of rope, and crossed it over Lan Wangji’s chest, pulling the loose ends through the loop at the center of his back beneath his arms so they scored rough against his skin. Wei Ying wrapped it around again, hitching it around the first line to pull it away from his throat to form a cross across Lan Wangji’s shoulders. “You did say to do what I please, Lan Wangji.”
He'd meant it.
Securing the rope in back, pulling so Lan Wangji felt the tension in his shoulders and in his spine, Wei Ying returned to the front. Making a looped knot above his nipple, he crossed the rope over his chest and around, until it formed a diamond in the center of his chest, with matching knots everywhere the ropes met. “Have you figured it out yet?”
Lan Wangji breathed in, and the ropes pulled tight against his chest. He exhaled, breathless, lungs ceasing their function like he had been punched in the solar plexus.
Oh.
Oh no.
A new fear took root in his mind. Not of Wei Ying, never of Wei Ying, but of the consequences of his own reactions. In binding him, Wei Ying risked revealing his innermost secrets. Lan Wangji craved it as much as he feared it. But it could not be now, not when he needed Wei Ying to believe him.
“I think you have.” Wei Ying repeated the same knots another time, forming a second diamond, his fingers now brushing against more sensitive skin. His lower breast, his waist, every drag of the rope forcing him to suppress a shudder.
“I want to put you on display. Not for anyone else. No, you’re too good for them.” Too good for them, Wei Ying said, though he believed Lan Wangji had turned against him. What would he have to do for Wei Ying to believe him flawed?
Or perhaps, that was the rational part of Wei Ying, who knew Lan Wangji as well as himself, beginning to rise back to the surface.
And then — Wei Ying nudged his legs apart, feeding the rope through his legs and around his left thigh, securing it over his hip. Careful to avoid his cock, lying soft between his legs.
Soft, thankfully, still soft.
But not for long.
A familiar heat began to gather in his groin, and panic rose in his throat. He could not get hard, not now, where Wei Ying could see. He closed his eyes, trying to control his breath, calm himself with the slow, meditative in and out. But in darkness, sensation was heightened. The rasp of the rope as Wei Ying fed it through to wrap around his other thigh. Finishing it off with knots over his belly, the bottom of his left pec, and finally around back, pulling the design closed.
“Dressed up so prettily in my colors,” Wei Ying breathed over his shoulder, as he picked up the ropes dangling from Lan Wangji’s wrists. He tied knots spaced apart on the length that bumped against his spine when Wei Ying split the tails to secure them along the lines of the topmost bindings of the harness, wrapping the ends under his arms. “For my enjoyment, and mine alone.”
How he wanted that, craved it to the bottom of the fathomless depths of his soul.
He was flayed open and exposed under Wei Ying’s touch. The contrast of gentle-rough-gentle was everything Lan Wangji had not known he was missing. He shifted his thighs together, an attempt to prevent himself from letting his head loll back in the hope that Wei Ying would grant it a place to rest.
A mistake, he realized, as the ropes along the crease of his thighs rubbed teasingly against his balls.
Finishing a second line of knots below the first, Wei Ying began to weave the ropes though the openings between knots in front, around his arms, and through the same openings in back. Securing them so Lan Wangji could not so much as bend his elbows.
The design formed, “diamonds to decorate a precious jade,” as Wei Ying explained.
As if given permission by Wei Ying’s focus on his arms, his body gave up the fight against his building arousal. His cock stiffened with every breath, the slightest helpless shift, the skilled work of Wei Ying’s hands on his skin. His breath came faster and faster, the constriction that came with each inhale only driving him onward.
Wei Ying mistook the source of his loss of composure.
“Having regrets?” He wove the ends between the loops of the armbinder and back of the harness, anchoring his arms against his back. His shoulders burned from the strain, but Lan Wangji did not make a sound. “Even Hanguang-jun won’t be getting out of that.” Wei Ying declared, with satisfaction.
He stood and — walked around to face Lan Wangji, leaving nowhere for him to hide. His ears caught fire preemptively, but he forced himself to look up at Wei Ying, catching the precise moment his eyes darkened.
“What’s this?” Wei Ying slid Chenqing under his chin and forced his head up to meet his gaze. “Do you like being restrained? Made to obey? Punished, maybe?”
Icy heat washed over him, not only shame, but something liquid that pooled in his belly and made the ropes burn against his skin.
“Hanguang-jun is always so in control, a paragon of virtue. Perfect, untouchable jade,” He sneered. “Doesn’t it get heavy, the weight of all those expectations? Part of you must always want to let down your hair and scream. But you can’t let yourself lose control, can you? You need someone to make you.”
Lan Wangji bit his tongue but whimpered anyway.
“How long have you been waiting for me to put you on your knees, Hanguang-jun?” Wei Ying demanded. “Did you come to Yiling last time in those alluring blue robes hoping the rumors were true, that I’d throw aside all those rumored beauties and keep you tied to my bed, spoiled and waiting for me? Maybe you lay awake during the Sunshot Campaign, hoping I would sneak into your tent, hold you down and take what I wanted, leave you pretending you didn’t want it too? Well too bad, Lan Wangji, you wouldn’t have been able to pretend you don’t want me any more than you can now.”
His thoughts had not been so detailed, flickers of imagined scenarios that slipped past the wall behind which stowed all thoughts of what it would be like to have Wei Ying, to be his and to share a life with him. But he had thought of this. On his knees, Wei Ying standing over him, knowing what his Lan Zhan needed without the words needing to be spoken aloud.
Wei Ying had been wearing significantly fewer clothes, in his imaginings.
But he was wrong about one thing. Lan Wangji would never pretend he did not want him, if there was a chance to have him in the smallest of ways.
Wei Ying pushed up on his dizi, tilting his head so far back his muscles threatened to give out, and send him toppling over.
“Ah,” The sound was pulled out through his teeth, involuntary, as his cock began to weep.
Wei Ying reduced the pressure slightly, a flicker of panic in his expression. Choosing that moment to miss how much Lan Wangji was enjoying himself.
“I think it’s time you explain. Why are you here, Lan Wangji?” His voice broke, sounding more like himself than he had all day. “Was it all an act, every time you wanted to help me? Buying A-Yuan toys? Making me fall in — tell me, Lan Zhan. Tell me it wasn’t. Tell me you didn’t let me go at Qiongqi Path only to make it hurt more when you stabbed me in the back and twisted the knife.”
“No, Wei Ying, no. Never.” He shook his head. “I did not come to kill you, but it is my fault.”
A ragged sound punched out of Wei Ying’s throat, and Chenqing dropped from his throat, hanging loose in Wei Ying’s hand. “What — how do you mean?”
He struggled to pull the necessary words out of the haze shrouding his mind, now that Wei Ying was finally willing to listen. Part of him wanted to just — sit there and find out how much more Wei Ying might do to him, provoked by his silence.
“I came to warn you, but I was too late.” Tears welled up in his eyes, and a single one fell, worry and sadness warring with the persistent ache of his erection. “I didn’t know — I didn’t know until —”
Wei Ying dropped to his knees, putting their eyes at an equal level. It should have been easier, with Wei Ying no longer looming over him, but his gaze up close, becoming more himself with every blink without losing a single spark of intensity,
“Start at the beginning. Tell me why and how you’re here.”
It was not a very long story. He did his best to focus on the telling, and not the constriction, the pressing need to squirm against his bonds, the way his blood flowed not to power his thoughts, but to fill his cock.
Lan Wangji had known how important it would be to Wei Ying to be at the one-month ceremony. It had not been his place to suggest such a thing, but Lan Wangji felt he had to try. The look on Wei Ying’s face, when he learned of his shijie’s upcoming nuptials…
He should not have to miss any more momentous events due to misplaced fear and injustice.
When Xiongzhang received his invitation, Lan Wangji had gone to Lanling in person to request that Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan invite Wei Ying. But Lan Wangji cared little for politics and made his case in the banquet hall at Jinlintai, with Jin Guangshan watching over from the Peacock Throne, where anyone might have overheard.
Jiang Yanli glanced nervously at her father-in-law and said, “I want A-Xian to meet my son, but perhaps a private invitation a few weeks later would be more prudent. I know you care for him, but I do not think such a big event is the best place to begin reintroducing him to society.”
Jin Zixuan shifted awkwardly as his wife lowered her voice and added, “We have to be careful. The situation here is more unstable than we yet understand. If you could find a way to bring A-Xian to Gusu, perhaps that would be the best way.”
But Lan Wangji had tried that before. Wei Ying had not been receptive.
Jin Zixun, he now remembered, had been in the room.
Lan Wangji returned to Jinlintai days later for Jin Ling’s one month ceremony and sat through hours of slander against Wei Ying’s name. Suppressing the urge to draw Bichen and challenge each and every offender to a duel to the death. He lost count of the number of times Jiang Yanli gently reminded the person presenting her son with a gift that this was a celebration in honor of the firstborn son of the next generation of the Jin. Not, she said with a tight-lipped smile, a war council against her didi.
He desperately envied the way Jiang Yanli dared to claim Wei Ying before everyone, though it was a privilege granted only by her marriage to the son of Wei Ying’s worst enemy, taken as the foolish sentiments of a young woman. Her brother did not have the same privilege and seemed hellbent on distracting himself by stealing the baby from the arms of anyone else who managed to get a hold of him.
Lan Wangji did not have the privilege, if he hoped to visit Wei Ying again soon, and avoid another confinement to the Cloud Recesses.
When the ceremony gave way to feasting, Lan Wangji had escaped for a walk to clear his head. It was chance that he returned in time to hear Jin Zixuan’s conversation with his half-brother, and volunteer to come to the Burial Mounds himself.
If Wei Ying had reacted this poorly to Lan Wangji’s presence, he felt certain they had dodged a storm of flaming arrows when he came in Jin Zixuan’s place. That thought, he did not share.
“Oh, Shijie,” Wei Ying said several times as he spoke, and with each repetition he was a little more himself. And once, almost inaudible. “A-Cheng never could resist a baby.”
And finally, “Lan Zhan,” with a clarity Lan Wangji had begun to think he would never hear again.
By the time he finished his explanation, Wei Ying’s eyes were clear, his mouth twisted in worry. “What have I done to you? I — of course you would never, what was I thinking. Lan Zhan, you’re too good, the best, I — ”
He scrambled around Lan Wangji, his hands fluttering over the ropes at his wrists. “Oh, your wrists. They’re bruised. Lan Zhan, I’m so — I’m so sorry. I’ll get you out of this, as fast as I can.”
“Don’t.” Lan Wangji said without thinking, his restraint lost somewhere in the tangle of his bonds though his forehead ribbon still ringed his forehead.
“I have to touch you to get you out of this, and then I promise, I’ll never touch you again —”
“No!” That was the last thing he wanted. To have this little taste of everything he had never known he wanted, only to have it snatched away. Leaving him hard and aching and heartbroken.
If Lan Wangji had been less tightly wound into a bundle of nerves set alight, he would have let Wei Ying untie him. Let him assume Lan Wangji’s feelings out of fear they would not be requited. But he was nothing more than the need Wei Ying had released within him.
Wei Ying jerked back. “I’ll find a knife —”
“No. Don’t untie me. Please. Don’t stop touching me. Please, please, Wei Ying.” He sobbed out his name.
“You want — you want me to touch you.” His hands hovered close enough for Lan Wangji to sense through the hairs on his arms, which only made his need to be touched more urgent.
Lan Wangji nodded shakily, hurriedly, desperate for Wei Ying’s hands to be back on his skin.
“Like this?” He stroked along the path of the diamond on Lan Wangji’s waist, light and teasing and wonderful, but not nearly enough. “Or maybe like this.”
Sudden and sharp, Wei Ying pinched the sensitive skin just above his hip, and the spike of pain turned to pleasure on the way to his cock. Lan Wangji cried out, slumping back into his arms. Wei Ying cradled him close against his chest, even as his hands roamed, intent on wringing out a painful sort of pleasure.
“I was right earlier, wasn’t I? You enjoy being at my mercy.” He pinched him again, lower on his ass, and followed it up with a smack that zinged through his veins. “Answer me, Lan Zhan.”
“Yes, yes, please.” Lan Wangji begged, and he would have agreed to anything if it meant Wei Ying would keep touching him like that, pinching his ass, twisting his nipples, even as he pressed open mouthed kisses to Lan Wangji’s neck. His hands never strayed to his cock.
Eventually, he slowed, and stopped, setting Lan Wangji back on his knees. Wei Ying did not give him time to protest.
“Anything tingling? Numb?” He asked, running his hands along the bare patches of skin on his arm between ropes, stopping with two fingers in the cup of Lan Wangji’s palms. “Squeeze.”
Compelled, his hands closed around Wei Ying’s fingers.
“Good boy. I think you deserve a reward.” Wei Ying crooned in his ear, only to withdraw from him completely.
How was this a reward?
Wei Ying strode past him to sprawl across the throne, twirling Chenqing lazily as he looked down at Lan Wangji with a now-affected coldness, his legs open as if in invitation. And now, Lan Wangji thought he understood. But he wanted to be good, to have Wei Ying praise him for his patience, even as he craved all the filthy things Wei Ying had described. “Come here.”
As quickly as he could on his knees, Lan Wangji began to move forward.
“Take your time. Don’t hurt yourself.” An order delivered tenderly, that only stoked his desire to be exactly what Wei Ying needed.
It was slow, tedious work, lifting one knee up and forward at a time, trying not scrape against the worn, gravel-studded stone. Each movement made him think he would overbalance, helpless to break his fall. But for all Wei Ying pretended disinterest, his eyes tracked Lan Wangji’s progress hungrily. He felt certain Wei Ying would catch him, now, if he needed it.
When Lan Wangji reached him, he stopped between Wei Ying’s spread legs, head tilted up as he awaited further instruction.
Wei Ying cupped his jaw one-handed, stroking over his cheek with his thumb. Lan Wangji pushed his chin into his palm, melting into the gentle touch that felt like a reward all on its own. How often had he passed a similar gesture on the street and thought he would never experience even that much affection? Once experienced, he did not know that he could give this up and survive.
He would, if that was what Wei Ying wanted.
“Let’s get this out of your hair, hmm?” Wei Ying’s hands were gentle as they removed his guan and set it carefully off to the side. “Much better.”
His hands hovered over Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon, asking permission for this, above all. The one thing that truly mattered. Lan Wangji had given his ribbon and all it entailed to Wei Ying long ago, and now it was time for him to know.
Reverently, Wei Ying pulled Lan Wangji’s heart free, holding it loose across his hands, uncertain.
“It’s yours.” Lan Wangji whispered. He was just close enough to hear Wei Ying’s sharp intake of breath, and so he did not think himself belittled when Wei Ying winked as he wrapped it around his wrist.
“I suppose it’s only fair for you to bind me in a way.” Wei Ying reached down to trace Lan Wangji’s lips with the thumb of his ribbon-wrapped hand, pushing between to push on the side of his cheek. Instinctively, he sucked on the digit, eyelids fluttering closed as he tried to suck it deeper.
Abruptly, Wei Ying pulled away.
“Wei Ying,” he protested, frustrated now by the denial, and even more so by the way he enjoyed it.
“Patience, Lan Zhan.” He patted Lan Wangji on the cheek, leaving a streak of his own saliva. “I’m just getting your reward ready.”
Wei Ying undid his robes, letting them fall open to frame his chest. His pants, he did not remove, instead shoving them down just far enough to free his cock. His mouth watered as he stared at the length, hard and ready for him, curved upwards so Lan Wangji could admire the vein on its underside.
His. Wei Ying was this affected by him. The sight of Lan Wangji and the sound of his responses had done this to Wei Ying, and he would be the one to bring Wei Ying pleasure. A sense of power flooded through him.
Wei Ying ran his fingers through Lan Wangji’s hair once, before they settled at the top of his head, and pulled. “Open your mouth for me. Suck my cock, Hanguang-jun.”
Lan Wangji strained forward against the grip of Wei Ying’s fingers, granted just enough leeway to take the tip in his mouth. As Lan Wangji flicked his tongue around the head, exploring, Wei Ying groaned. He was permitted a short time further to savor the salty taste of Wei Ying, before Wei Ying yanked him off. “You’re doing so well, my Lan Zhan. Do you think you can take more?”
He nodded, urgently, against the grip in his hair, the sensation going straight to his cock. Wei Ying loosened his grip, keeping him on a short leash so he could bob his head up and down, hollowing his cheeks to wring out a strangled moan. But Wei Ying never let him drop deep enough to fill the aching cavern within him. Lan Wangji whined around him, and Wei Ying jolted forward, almost driving far enough, only for his grasp on Lan Wangji’s hair to tighten, yanking him off.
“Can you handle all of me?” Wei Ying demanded, a warning that only sounded like a prize.
Lan Wangji licked his lips, struggling to make his voice work enough to gasp out a ragged, “Please.”
Wei Ying forced him down over his cock, until its tip hit the back of Lan Wangji’s throat. His hips jerked forward, finding nothing but air in their desperate search for friction.
He had not imagined it would feel so good, to have Wei Ying in his mouth, had thought the pleasure would be in the noises Wei Ying made, the praise as Wei Ying urged him on. And the litany of, “so good Lan Zhan, just like that, you can relax for me, all you have to do is take it,” was wonderful, everything he’d hoped for.
But the pressure on the back of his throat, the pull on his scalp, the feeling of fullness as Wei Ying did exactly as he’d promised and made him forget everything but Wei Ying, Wei Ying, and the bliss building between them. Made him let go of the hold he had kept on himself, even still. He was entirely at Wei Ying’s mercy. Something within him gave way at the knowledge, leaving him spinning free from himself, from all the expectations that weighed on him.
Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, a physical response and a relief. Wei Ying thrust forward, groaning as he neared the edge, and everything building in Lan Wangji spilled over. He moaned as his body shook, coming hard, drawn out by the way Wei Ying yanked him off his cock to come all over his face, and the way he groaned his name. Cum landed on his tongue, his cheeks, dripping down his chin onto his chest.
Lan Wangji swallowed. Bitter. His tongue darted out to taste the cum on his face.
He thought he liked it.
Never before had he felt so loose, relaxed, no urgent need for anything but to look at Wei Ying, and Wei Ying to look back at him. Dizzy colors sparked in the corners of his eyes, for he had forgotten to breathe towards the end. Lan Wangji was covered in Wei Ying, restrained and unable to clean himself. He felt like he could fly without his sword.
He loved it.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispered, and pulled him up by the knot over his collarbone into a kiss. Soft, a gentle exploration of the slide of their tongues together, despite the mess he had made of him.
Wei Ying licked a stripe of cum off his cheek, cleaning him with his tongue and returning to kiss him. Repeating until his face was damp and chilled by the air, but clean, and they had shared it all between them.
A strange feeling bubbled up in his throat, and only once it emerged in a short huff did Lan Wangji realize it was a laugh.
“Lan Zhan? Are you okay?” Wei Ying settled him back on his knees so he could pat at his face in concern.
His lips tilted slightly to one side and Wei Ying froze, staring like his poor approximation of a smile was his favorite wine. “That was our first kiss.”
“Oh. Oh, fuck.” Wei Ying laughed then too, that bright, unfettered sound Lan Wangji had first fallen in love with. He treasured it all the more now for its rarity. “And after I’ve thoroughly defiled you. Your uncle is going to kill me. Well, if he makes it here first. There’s a long line of people who want to kill me.”
Wei Ying did not seem bothered by the idea, but Lan Wangji could not let it stand. “None of them are allowed.”
“Ah, Lan Zhan. How did I think you were anything but my sweet Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying’s smile dimmed with guilt. “The amulet has always known how to use you to get to me. From the very beginning, it called to me with your voice most of all.”
Lan Wangji pushed up on his knees, smashing his lips back against Wei Ying’s. Wei Ying kissed back, plundering his swollen mouth with renewed urgency, pulling him close so Lan Wangji’s thighs collided with his knees, his cock trapped against his stomach in the space between them. His hips snapped forward, seeking friction, and only then did he realize he was hard again, or still.
He had come, the evidence all over the stone of the throne, Wei Ying’s robes, his own abdomen. And yet.
“You want more? So greedy, Hanguang-jun.” Wei Ying teased, delighted, reaching down to stroke the length of Lan Wangji’s cock. Just twice, enough to torment but not to satisfy. “I know just what to do with you.”
Tucking himself away, Wei Ying quickly switched their places, so Wei Ying knelt behind him, and Lan Wangji was pushed face down onto the seat of the throne. The side of his face pressed into the stone, held in place more by desire than the immobility of his arms. His cock hung against warmed stone, his ass up and exposed to Wei Ying.
“You bruise so prettily; all I did was pinch you a little and your ass is all purple. But you heal so quickly too, this one is already fading.” He pushed his finger into a spot on the curve of his butt cheek. “I want you to leave you with evidence you’ll remember for days.”
Before Lan Wangji could say that he would remember this forever, Wei Ying replaced his finger with his mouth, nipping at the sensitive skin. Lan Wangji yelped, and Wei Ying covered the spot with his lips, sucking like he intended to make his mark on Lan Wangji permanent. He lost all desire to complain. There was nothing he could want more.
“Beautiful, perfect, and today, you’re mine.” Wei Ying pulled back to admire his work, tracing spiral patterns inward until his fingers crept dangerously, tantalizingly close to Lan Wangji’s asshole.
“Yes? No?” Wei Ying asked, as though Lan Wangji did not want Wei Ying to tell him what he should want, as if he would be repelled by something as simple as fingers in his ass after all they had done together. Wei Ying stroked his thumb directly over his puckered hole, and Lan Wangji pushed back against him with a breathy sigh.
“I think that means yes.” Wei Ying said, “which means we need… I have a suspicion about that cream Wen Qing gave me. I hope I’m right.”
There was an annoyed grunt as Wei Ying stretched to reach the vials. He picked up one, sniffed it, switched it for the other, and let out a cry of triumph. “Oil! I thought so. She has too much faith in me.”
It sounded like she had the correct amount of faith in him. But Lan Wangji was also still waiting. “Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying went from lighthearted joking back to Yiling Laozu at the sound of his name. “If you can’t be patient, I’ll just go slower.”
Lan Wangji sealed his lips, determined not to make another sound before Wei Ying pulled one out of him. Patience had once been his greatest virtue, but a single glance from Wei Ying never failed to melt the static, lonely ice sheets within him into a roiling sea.
An audible pop of the cork was all the warning he received before Wei Ying poured a small amount of oil into the crack of his ass, the cool liquid making him jump. Wei Ying scooped the oil up onto his fingers, and at a pace chosen expressly to drive Lan Wangji spare, sunk a single digit in past the first knuckle. He found Lan Wangji’s prostate without issue, stroking it with just enough pressure to tease.
He broke his promise to himself only moments after making it.
If Lan Wangji had let himself imagine sex with Wei Ying, he would have assumed Wei Ying would be the impatient one. But it was all too easy for Wei Ying to make him whine his name in frustration, over and over again.
As he teased Lan Wangji mercilessly, Wei Ying sucked more love bites into his ass, holding him firm against the throne so he could not rut against it or change Wei Ying’s infuriating pace.
His only recourse was to beg, exactly as Wei Ying wanted. “Wei Ying, I need, I need, Wei Ying —”
“What do you need?” Wei Ying asked, innocently cruel.
“More. Please, Wei Ying, I need more.” If Wei Ying had asked him for further description, Lan Wangji would not have been capable of giving it. Thankfully, that was enough to satisfy him.
“Since you asked so nicely.” Wei Ying slipped a second finger into Lan Wangji’s ass, increasing the pressure on his prostate only slightly. Lan Wangji felt as though he would tip over the edge in an instant, if Wei Ying just — just —
“Wei Ying.” He whined, no more effectively than his previous attempts.
“I’m not done with you. You’ll come when I let you.” He shoved two fingers on his free hand into Lan Wangji’s mouth. “Get my fingers wet for you.”
The angle made him drool onto the stone as he swirled his tongue around, coating them as best he could without question.
When he was satisfied with Lan Wangji’s work, Wei Ying withdrew his spit slick fingers to wrap them around Lan Wangji’s cock, and began to stroke, languid, still taking his time, until Lan Wangji was nothing more than squirming, wordless sensation in his hands.
“That’s it, there you go. You’re going to come like this, you’re almost there, I can feel it.” Wei Ying leaned over his back, the angle changing, dragging him slowly, inexorably over the precipice. “Feel how easy my hand is moving? That’s all you, your precum dripping all over my hand. How do you hold so much cum, Lan Zhan, were you saving it all up for me? I bet you were. We’ve belonged to each other for so long, and you’ve always known it. You knew you would fall apart for me and no one else. So do it, give me everything you have. Come for me, Lan Zhan.”
He shivered violently, clamping down around Wei Ying’s fingers, as his body did as Wei Ying commanded and gave him everything. “Good, so good for me,” Wei Ying praised as he worked him through his orgasm, and Lan Wangji floated on a cloud made of bliss.
But eventually, Wei Ying pulled back, his hands flying back into motion. “You’ll let me get you out of these bindings now, right? I think we’re done this time.”
He sighed heavily, in satisfaction, and then realized that though Wei Ying had already begun separating the armbinder from the harness, he still expected an answer. “I can hardly stop you.”
“So cheeky, you’re going to wear this old man out, you insatiable monster.” Wei Ying smacked his ass lightly as punctuation. Lan Wangji was so happy to see this version of Wei Ying — the man he had become merged with the playfulness Lan Wangji had so missed — he was barely even annoyed.
“We’re the same age,” he mumbled, and Wei Ying laughed.
As Wei Ying unwrapped the ropes around his elbows, Lan Wangji thought he would never move under his own power again. Wei Ying would have to take responsibility for his limbs, as Lan Wangji would take responsibility for Wei Ying’s heart, and marry him.
If that was what Wei Ying wanted. He realized with a sudden crashing horror that he didn’t know if what they had done was all Wei Ying wanted, if now he would finally allow Lan Wangji to — not to save him but give him a way to save himself.
He kept his face turned into the stone so Wei Ying would not see, until Wei Ying tugged him back to slide the ropes connecting the armbinder to his collarbone away. Wei Ying pulled the knot loose from around his wrists, and just like that, his arms were free.
“Come on, let's get you up.” Wei Ying pulled him upwards like he was fragile porcelain and — he cared, at least. Lan Wangji clung to that knowledge.
Lan Wangji’s legs did not cooperate, so Wei Ying had to help him stand, maneuvering him to sit between his legs on the throne, with the tray of tea balanced on its arm. Lan Wangji flexed his fingers and elbows as Wei Ying worked to undo the rest of the harness, surprised by how easily they moved. Stiff, but not numb, though his spiritual power remained sealed. His muscles were already growing sore and would remain pleasantly so for days. Wei Ying had tied him well.
“Here,” Wei Ying placed a cup of tea carefully in his hands, and Lan Wangji stared down at it, the warmth of the cup slowly spreading through his fingers.
“How did you learn that?” He asked.
“The bondage?” Wei Ying pulled the last knot free from around his shoulders, and picked up the remaining vial, containing the muscle cream, “Oh, um. You learn a lot of knots, growing up around boats. We may have had competitions at Lotus Pier where we tied each other to chairs and tried to get out, but we could never tie the same design twice. I almost always won, once I got the hang of it, unless I got a little too creative. And, well, spring books.”
Perhaps Lan Wangji had underestimated the merits of pornography. And perhaps Wei Ying might want to revisit some of those designs with him? And then spend some time sitting on his lap. He took a sip and swallowed quickly. Surprised by the strength of the flavor, he coughed.
“Oh, shit. Wen Ning makes that tea really strong. Is it too spicy for you?” Wei Ying patted him on the back to ease him through it, despite the cream on his hands.
“This is acceptable, when sweetened.” Lan Wangji frowned, wondering how the Wens had gotten ahold of honey when their stores were so limited, the woods around the Burial Mounds still so sparse. “This is sweet.”
Wei Ying relaxed, beginning to work the cream into his shoulders. His hands felt wonderful like this, releasing tension accumulated from far more than just recent activities. His head lolled back against Wei Ying’s shoulder, a pleasant sort of exhaustion washing over him. Like he cherished, a foreign, wonderful feeling.
“Wen Ning found a beehive in the woods last week. It’s a good thing he can’t feel pain anymore, let me tell you. He let himself get stung so many times trying to bring us honey. Wen Qing scolded him, but — A-Yuan was so happy, and I think the Burial Mounds are really starting to heal.” Wei Ying explained excitedly.
“And you’re sharing it with me.” Lan Wangji was honored.
“Technically Wen Ning decided to share it with you.” Wei Ying pointed out, which was perhaps a greater honor. Lan Wangji had seen how protective of Wei Ying the Wen siblings could be. “But, Lan Zhan, I’d give you my last sip of water if we were stranded in a desert.”
Lan Wangji shook his head against Wei Ying’s neck, grabbing hold of his fingers so they joined across the red indentations the rope had left on his shoulder. “I am the one you do not have to protect.”
“Except from myself.” Wei Ying said, like it was a fact.
It most certainly was not.
“Especially not from yourself.” Lan Wangji snapped, genuinely annoyed. He raised his head so he could look Wei Ying in the eye, though it was an awkward angle. “I enjoyed all of it, could you not tell?”
“The things I said to you —”
“I did want you to make me lose control. To — to make a mess of me.” He stumbled over the words, still, but they came easier now. “I don’t think I knew how much until you said it.”
Wei Ying shook his head, stricken. “But I just — took what I wanted, and you say I gave you something? I can’t wrap my head around it.”
With that, Lan Wangji understood. Wei Ying was so used to believing he was selfish, while performing the most selfless of actions, that he could not believe his pleasure and Lan Wangji’s were one and the same.
“You gave me something of immeasurable value.” Lan Wangji did not think he could explain just how freeing the experience had been, but he willed Wei Ying to feel it in the way he melted into him, the way he must be glowing.
Wei Ying did not reply, but he slid his fingers forward to lock together with Lan Wangji’s, granting him the courage to ask the question that sat heavy in his lungs. “Does that mean you are unwilling to repeat this? Do you not wish to be intimate with me again?”
Forget the sex, Lan Wangji did not think he could handle being without this, the feeling of Wei Ying’s skin against his, now that he knew what he had been missing.
Wei Ying startled, jostling Lan Wangji’s neck so he had to raise his head. “Aren’t you — aren’t you going back to Gusu?”
“Only if you come with me.”
Lan Wangji would love to have Wei Ying in the Jingshi, the Wens making their home nearby where Wei Ying could see them often. But Lan Wangji would happily stay here and help Wei Ying complete the reconstruction of the Burial Mounds or follow him back to Lotus Pier.
“Only if —” Wei Ying laughed in disbelief. “Let me just confirm, you don’t want to punish me for demonic cultivation?”
Lan Wangji did not dignify that with an answer.
“Right.” He sniffed loudly, and a drop of water fell on Lan Wangji’s chest. “Oh. I think I’m—”
Panic rushed through him. What had he done wrong? “Wei Ying, why are you crying?”
He sniffed a few more times, wiping at his eyes with the hand Lan Wangji had not captured, which he did not seem to wish to retrieve, before he managed to reply, choked and on the verge of sobbing. “I didn’t think you could love me like I love you.”
Lan Wangji did not realize he had started crying too until Wei Ying wiped away a tear with his thumb. Though part of him had begun to hope, when Wei Ying said they belonged to each other, he had not dared to believe it. Lan Wangji twisted, seeking his lips blindly, and Wei Ying met him halfway.
“I love you,” He murmured against Wei Ying’s lips, and found he could not stop saying it until Wei Ying shut him up with his tongue, only to pull away so he could say it back, laughing even as tears continued to trace their way down his cheeks. Lan Wangji sobbed, and smiled, and dragged Wei Ying back in by the collar of his robes.
He turned sideways, throwing his legs over the arm of the throne so he could kiss Wei Ying more easily, cradled in his arms with his own twined around Wei Ying’s neck. It was a heady, giddy thing that made Lan Wangji see the future opening up before them.
They slowed, eventually, chasing each other to exchange lingering, closed mouthed kisses. Finally, they settled with foreheads pressed together, sharing the same air.
Until Wei Ying tried, one last time, to convince Lan Wangji not to bind his life to Wei Ying’s, as though he had not done so long ago.
“Before your spiritual power comes back, there’s something you should know, about why I turned to demonic cultivation.” Wei Ying spoke through gritted teeth, sounding about as comfortable as if he were attempting to pop his own shoulder back into its socket. “If you’re planning to stick around, you’ll figure it out anyway —”
It was Lan Wangji’s turn to cut him off with a kiss. Part of him must have long suspected the truth, since Wei Ying returned so different. But it was only now that he had Wei Ying here, entwined with him rather than trying to avoid him, that Lan Wangji let those suspicions begin to rise toward the surface. “When you are ready to tell me, I will be ready to listen.”
He did not need to know, until Wei Ying wanted to tell him. Lan Wangji trusted his reasons were good. They would ensure the safety of the Wen Remnants, and perhaps then Wei Ying would feel this was no longer a burden he must bear alone, and they could destroy the amulet together.
Wei Ying’s tears returned in full force, but he tried to keep kissing him anyway. Their teeth clacked together, and Wei Ying laughed against his lips. It was messy, perfect, theirs, and no one would take this from Lan Wangji now.
A loud banging on the door interrupted them. It creaked open just far enough for Wen Qing to shout, “Get dressed and pull yourselves together! Zewu-jun is here to negotiate!”
Wei Ying was mussed, but acceptably so for the self-sufficient farmer he was, and would wish to present himself as. If he tied his robes. Lan Wangji’s state would prove more problematic. His hair knotted from Wei Ying’s pulling, marks crisscrossing his skin from the ropes and Wei Ying’s attentions. Thankfully, Wei Ying had spared his neck, and the marks could be covered, especially if he borrowed Wei Ying’s armbands to hold his sleeves closed.
His sleeves.
Lan Wangji’s eyes widened. “Wei Ying. I do not have any clothes.”