Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You can’t leave now!” Wei Wuxian exclaims, indignant and needy, the whininess of his voice paired perfectly with the translucent glow of tears brimming in his eyes. He looks pitiful, so desperate and pink from the forehead down to his chest, where he’s so red and his nipples are bitten until they’ve swollen. 

Lan Wangji, in his cool demeanour, doesn’t react with anything other than a raised eyebrow as he looks almost condescendingly down at where his hand is wrapped around the base of Wei Wuxian’s cock, his fingers just having refused him of the orgasm that had been steadily building within his body. Wei Wuxian wants to thrash against their shared bed, wants to beg and cry and pump his hips up into Lan Wangji’s fist until he comes all over his husband’s hand, permission be damned. 

“You have been asleep,” Lan Wangji says, his eyebrow not quite back in its normal position. It’s such a micro-expression that Wei Wuxian knows he’s the only one that recognises it, perhaps aside from Lan Wangji’s uncle and brother.

Lan Wangji’s non-verbal communication tells him that he’s not allowed to get himself off today, want as he might. He doesn’t dissent as Lan Wangji leaves their shared bed to ready himself for his day.

It’s barely past breakfast (meaning, reaching midday in the Lan schedule) when Wei Wuxian is accosted by Lan Wangji by the sparring grounds.

He’d been practicing with some older disciples — far more proficient than them, but still working on the strength of his core to be able to truly overcome all obstacles. Hanguang-jun doesn’t require announcement, the grandeur of his presence more than enough, and doesn’t have to justify grabbing his husband from his training. For all that the disciples know, Wei Wuxian might merit some sort of punishment. 

He’s pulled into a store room that he’s never been in before, filled with training dummies and targets, the kinds that he recognises for young disciples too unpredictable to reliably spar against anyone else. 

Lan Wangji kisses along his jawline, bites his neck, and suckles little marks into the skin exposed by his loosened robes. His hand plays with Wei Wuxian’s full and tender testicles that still remember the betrayal of the morning. 

Lan Wangji leaves him once again when he’s right on the edge of finishing, desperate to come but unable without express permission. He knows he’ll have to wait patiently, even as he takes his time calmly breathing. 

Wei Wuxian can barely stand to make eye contact with anyone as they all eat lunch together in the dining hall.

It’s rare that Wei Wuxian eats with the members of his husband’s clan, too used to chattering away during their meals to manage to stay silent. On a day like today, though, when he’s been ignored and teased to the heavens, he’s barely able to concentrate on the bland vegetables and medicinal soup. Even with the spicy oil that Lan Wangji conjures, Wei Wuxian isn’t able to get over the low thrum of arousal coursing through his veins. 

It does not help, of course, that he and Lan Wangji are seated at a table with his husband’s brother and uncle, with Sizhui and Jingyi seated only a few bu away. Lan Wangji’s notably impolite non-dominant hand dipping under the table just often enough to keep his cock at the ready but that does nothing for his arousal does not escape Wei Wuxian’s notice. It equally does not escape the silent notice of Lan Xichen (politely looking away) and Lan Qiren (face reddening and likely to purple with his desire to yell and punish).

Wei Wuxian eats his lunch in silent and difficult agony.

“You’ve been patient for it, today,” Lan Wangji says. It’s right after the gong has sounded to announce the end of classes for the day.

Though Lan Wangji sits docilely at his writing desk on the raised dais, his eyes are nothing less than a challenge. Wei Wuxian had had nothing to do in the afternoon, and the nearing end of classes had called to him to wait right outside. 

The disciples Lan Wangji has been instructing today are younger, thirteen at the oldest, and it only makes Wei Wuxian think about how much more torture he might have been put through had he and Lan Wangji acted on their attraction as teenagers. 

When he sits on Lan Wangji’s lap, his husband knows exactly what he wants. “Wei Ying has been patient today,” he says, immediately bringing his hand to cup Wei Wuxian’s hardening erection. Even through all their clothes it feels amazing. 

“Er-gege,” Wei Wuxian whines, pushing his hips up into Lan Wangji’s hand. “Did you know I’ve been patiently waiting for you to make me come all day?” 

“I never said you cannot,” Lan Wangji says, fingers wrapping around the base, a whisper of a memory of their morning.

“You didn’t let me!” Wei Wuxian protests. 

“I never said no.”

“But you never said yes,” Wei Wuxian groans into Lan Wangji’s neck. He thrusts a little incompetently, desperate and needing, “Can I come now, please?” 

“Wei Ying, you can come for me,” Lan Wangji says, his voice right next to his ear. The hand that he has on Wei Wuxian’s cock speeds up a bit, twists on the head, pushes his foreskin down to expose the head and then up to slick it all up with moisture. It feels perfect, the exact touch that Wei Wuxian has been waiting for all day, horny and needing more since he’d been rudely awakened in the morning. 

He comes with a shudder, like his body isn’t sure what it wants to do. It’s too much pleasure, and he’s been waiting too long to pass it off as a regular orgasm. He can’t believe the pleasure coursing through him as he makes a mess of Lan Wangji’s hand, his seed spilling over the fist cupping the head of his cock.

“Good?” Lan Wangji asks, smug and righteous.

“Next time I’m going to tease you all day,” Wei Wuxian grumbles.

Chapter Text

“It was more of a challenge than I was anticipating,” Wei Wuxian says, sitting comfortably on the floor, a cushion tucked under him. 

He’s sitting at the small table that serves as his husband’s desk, in the main room of the Jingshi, nestled spaciously between their shelves and the paper room dividers sectioning off other spaces. Lan Wangji sits across from him, looking the picture of a poised gentleman, somehow not a hair out of place despite the valiant physical effort that he’d just made. He only looks at Wei Wuxian, not saying a thing as Wei Ying takes notes on a sheath of paper.

“It’s not fair, either, er-gege,” Wei Wuxian whines, draping dramatically over the table and looking up at Lan Wangji through his dark eyelashes. He still feels sweaty from today’s everyday, and he’s only wearing his trousers and innermost robe. He hasn’t even bothered with putting socks back on yet, knowing that Lan Wangji will reach over to hold his feet and keep them warm soon enough. “Hanguang-jun, you’re already fully dressed, and you put in all of the effort, but you don’t even have a hair out of place.” 

“Do you wish that I was more dishevelled?” 

“Of course I do,” Wei Wuxian smiles. “Who is going to believe me now if I tell them that you screwed me upside-down if you don’t look like you’ve even undressed?” 

“They would be unlikely to believe you regardless of my appearance.” 

“Yeah, it’s a little ridiculous, isn’t it?” Wei Wuxian teases. 

“Not ridiculous,” Lan Wangji counters. “They have yet to observe me be as shameless as you, hence their reticence.” 

Wei Wuxiam humphs and says nothing. He dips his brush on the wet inkstone and continues writing in the book, uncaring of the fact that Lan Wangji is clearly reading the calligraphy, upside down and backwards and all. 

“A yi grade,” Lan Wangji says, eyes roving over the report Wei Wuxian is writing.

“Er-gege, are you reading my report from across the table, not even letting me finish writing my thoughts? Isn’t that against the precepts of the venerable Lans of Gusu?” Lan wangji doesn’t grace Wei Wuxian with a response to that, sitting silently as if the question will disappear if he waits long enough. “Fine,” Wei Wuxian capitulates after a moment. “It was fun, though I’m not convinced it’s worth the effort to keep balance on my hands while you fuck me.” 

“Hm. Yi requires a rewrite; could it be that you would like to try again?” 

“Shameless, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian exclaims, immediately throwing his head back and laughing. “I can’t believe no one else knows just how…” Wei Wuxian gesticulates wildly with his hands at Lan Wangji’s entire form.

“We will try again,” Lan Wangji says, finality in his voice. He says it with the same kind of determination that he takes on all of his tasks, from grading the Night Hunt reports from the juniors to the promises he makes to Wei Wuxian when he’s asked to give kisses to each of the little bunnies in the back mountain. It makes Wei Wuxian’s stomach clench, and he’s so pleased, so content in the blissful life he’s made with Lan Wangji in marriage.

Wei Wuxian leaves his brush to the wayside, a little haphazard and with much less care than Lan Wangji always takes with  his belongings. He doesn’t give it much thought, his thoughts entirely absorbed with crawling into Lan Wangji’s lap to press kisses to his mouth.

“Lan Zhan, are you trying to seduce me?” Wei Wuxian asks, his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck as he continues to press kisses all over him, his legs spread on either side of his waist as he settles in.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji says, his hands coming to rest low on Wei Wuxian’s waist. He holds him tightly, the span of his hands easily encompassing Wei Wuxian’s waist. 

“Shameless,” Wei Wuxian laughs, but he doesn’t move Lan Wangji’s hands, doesn’t stop him from the obvious and clear way that his hands migrate down his body to cup his ass, giving a squeeze. 

It takes very little effort for Wei Wuxian to shuck off his trousers and for Lan Wangji to do the same. Even here, on the floor of the Jingshi, it’s perfect when Wei Wuxian straddles his husband and slides onto him, taking his cock as deep inside of him as he can.

“This is why I couldn’t give the handstand a jia grade,” Wei Wuxian says as he slides up and down once, his knees pressing harshly into the wood of the floor.

“Mn?”

“Couldn’t get you deep enough in that position,” Wei Wuxian sighs, settling his ass fully over Lan Wangji’s hips, circling his own hips with the motions that he knows drives Lan Wangji crazy from the tightness. He knows, if he keeps it up, that it won’t be long until he’s forcibly toppled over onto his back and made to take the full power of Lan Wangji’s thrusts. He admits, finally, after a few more swirls of his hips and a bounce of his whole body to take Lan Wangji from tip to root again, “I couldn’t get you deep enough in a handstand — it’s why I couldn’t give us a jia grade.”

Lan Wangji can do little more than hold Wei Wuxian by the hips, guide him as he bounces, and meet every drop down on his cock with a thrust upward. Wei Wuxian can’t help the smile that spreads across his face, adoring every movement inside of him that makes his body sing with pleasure.

After one round already, it doesn’t take long for either of them to reach their climaxes. Wei Wuxian finishes, a watery little spurt of seed, on Lan Wangji’s stomach, and Lan Wangji deep inside of him, somehow still just as thick and full as his first spend of the night.

Before Wei Wuxian can even dismount, he hears Lan Wangji whisper in his ear quietly, “Good enough for a jia grade?” 

He simply cannot believe his husband’s shamelessness.

Chapter Text

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian pants, his breathing already heavy and nearly frantic, like he can’t get enough air into his lungs. He closes his eyes as if it will help, but it only makes him more aware of the fact that he’s been kept on the edge, desperate for Lan Wangji to give him what he needs. 

It’s not like he’s been waiting that long — not nearly as long as some of the sessions that he and Lan Wangji have engaged in in the past — but he’s not used to waiting so long to come without having taken the edge off at least once. Usually, when Lan Wangji wants to play for a long time, when his sect duties allow him a morning of indulgence, he makes sure that Wei Wuxian is taken care of first before fuckign him for hours at a time. It’s rare that Wei Wuxian is kept from coming, made to wait.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan answers, moments later, and it breaks Wei Wuxian out of his thoughts. He opens his eyes just in time to see Lan Wangji’s appreciative gaze rove over the entirety of his naked body. The gaze moves from his hard cock, straining against his belly, and the taut muscles of his abdomen all the way up his body — his puffy nipples, sensitive from being played with, and his pecs covered with bite marks both fresh and old. Finally, Lan Wangji lands his eyes on Wei Wuxian’s bound wrists, held aloft and tied with Lan Wangji’s precious forehead ribbon. 

Lan Wangji looks in his eyes finally, and Wei Wuxian is almost tempted to force his eyes to water up, wanting Lan Wangji to take pity on him and give him what he needs without having to ask for it. He doesn’t want to have to beg — not that he’s opposed to it, but he wants Lan Wangji to just give it to him, wants to be fucked hard with a hand around his cock until he doesn’t feel so tightly strung. He wants Lan Wangji to take him the way he needs it.

Lan Wangji seems to have other ideas, though. He doesn’t untie Wei Wuxian’s hands, doesn’t adjust the angle of his deep thrusts to press against the sweet spot inside of Wei Wuxian that makes him go crazy, doesn’t take Wei Wuxian in hand to stroke him. He continues, instead, with his steady pace, and flicks his eyes down to watch the way that his cock smoothly exits and enters Wei Wuxian’s tender hole, stretched around his thick girth.

“Lan er-gege,” Wei Wuxian moans pitifully, finally frustrated enough to ask for what he needs. “Give this lowly one what he needs. I need you to be merciful, Hanguang-jun, need you to make me come.” 

“I am not stopping you,” Lan Wangji tells him, his hips thrusting harshly once, twice, just to punctuate his point. He doesn’t angle himself to give Wei Wuxian the relief he wants. Lan wangji continues, “You can make due with what I am giving you.” 

Wei Wuxian is at a standstill, unsure how to proceed. He knows that he can come without any direct stimulation to his cock — he’s done it many times before, and always relishes the feeling — but it takes Lan Wangji making the effort to fuck into his sweet spot at the very least to get there. 

“Er-gege, I need you to fuck me properly,” he very nearly begs. “I need you to finish, make me finish with you. I can’t keep up with you, er-gege; you married a feeble man.”

“No,” Lan Wangji disagrees. “You can do it; you can come for me anytime.” 

Wei Wuxian groans. He is loud, unrepentant in his frustration, as if he is genuinely irritated by the lack of stimulation. In a way he is — his desires are overcoming him. He wants the same as always — his ass clenching on Lan Wangji’s thick cock, his own spurting seed across his own stomach or the bedsheets underneath him. He doesn’t actively think about the fact that the Jingshi’s laundry orders have easily gone up by at least double, but it is nonetheless true. 

Wei Wuxian flexes with all that he has.

His hands, always tied up with Lan Wangji’s ribbon, can’t do much, but that doesn’t stop him. He clenches and unclenches the muscles of his ass rhythmically enough and often enough that Lan Wangji loses his rhythm. He moves his hips in little circles, trying to get pressure on his sweet spot, until he finally does. It feels perfect, like he’s been waiting on the precipice of satisfaction for as long as he can remember.

“Er-gege,” he gasps. “Are you going to let me come?” 

Lan Wangji thrusts harshly, pressing nowhere special. One of his hands comes to caress Wei Wuxian’s waist, caressing over the dip of skin. “I am not impeding you,” he says, thrusting over and over again, wanting to make Wei Wuxian come. Once he angles himself properly, well —

Wei Wuxian finishes.

His cock spurts with rope after rope of come, thick and heavy against his stomach. All the while, Lan Wangji fucks him through the feeling, fucks him through the sensations he’s been desperate for since they’d started that morning. 

“Lan er-gege,” Wei Wuxian begs. “Come on; I need it,” he says.

It’s another few moments of Lan Wangji thrusting silently, watching Wei Wuxian’s face, before he speaks. “Come, then,” he says. “Come for your er-gege.”

Wei Wuxian does, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and his cock throbbing with the feeling of coming untouched, so needy and wanting that just the thought of Lan wangji’s cock is enough.

“You’ve ruined me, er-gege,” Wei Wuxian gasps out. He’s still so out of it from the sensations wracking his body that he’s surprised he can even speak.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji says, moving to untie the knots keeping Wei Wuxian in place.

“I bet I can go again,” he says, though, making Lan Wangji hesitate, tilting his head to the side and an eyebrow raise inquiringly.

He doesn't, then, remove the ties. He recommences with his thrusts, and says nothing at Wei Wuxian’s protests.

Chapter Text

 Sect Leader Yao isn’t one to shirk his duties.

He is dutiful, as he always is, to show at any of the cultivation conferences held by one of the greater sects. He doesn’t let the fact that his sect is still at the mid tier deter him from working towards greater things — he frankly remembers when the Jiangs had been hard pressed to keep their status during the Sunshot Campaign, and remembers the rise of the Moling Su Clan (tainted though their legacy may be).

He travels and goes to every conference he can. He had gone, not long ago, to one of the Jiang events (poorly organised, with too many things going on at once, in his opinion). Before that, it had been a Nie event, somehow very organised, with enough speakers and presentations that he was wont to question the quality of Nie Huaisang as a leader — he’d never admit, of course, that Nie Huaisang seemed to embody the character of his deceased brother, alongside the ability to carry on, but it seemed to be irrefutable fact. 

The Jins, with their loss of Jin Guangyao and his wife, and with only a mere teenager to lead them, had gracefully passed the torch of annual meetings to the Lans, and so Sect Leader Yao finds himself in the Cloud Recesses. 

He doesn’t particularly like the Cloud Recesses. 

Sure, it’s beautiful and serene, with the good feng shui of the mountains around all the neatly organised buildings. Sure, the timber is stained a dark brown, contrasting pleasantly to the white and blue adornments that decorate every building facade. He admits — internally, of course, because he doesn’t need his voice to carry in the relative silence of the Cloud Recesses — that Zewu-jun still has good tastes, in accordance with Lan Qiren who is undoubtedly still running the sect in his absence. 

The food leaves something to be desired, and he doesn’t even have the pleasure of Gusu’s famed alcohol to chase away the bitter aftertaste of medicinal soup. He thinks it’s ironic that a sect known for their asceticism is located in a place known for the complete opposite, but he doesn’t question it. Rumours have sown over the many years, and he’s heard that the Lans are a secretly passionate group, though he’s yet to see any proof of it.

The first meeting of the conference is held in a hall that Sect Leader Yao hasn’t bothered to learn the name of.

Zewu-jun had graced them with his presence for a scant few minutes, welcoming them all and thanking them for their presence, before passing off the rest of the ceremony to Lan Qiren.

Lan Qiren, of course, is a good speaker. Adept at navigating the questions of those who ask what’s next, what will be done to ensure the safety and peace of their lands; adept at redirecting the conversation into one that loops in the strengths of the Lans’ own allies; adept at keeping the focus of the conversation on important topics. He doesn’t let the discussion steer into the realm of gossip and chattering (Sect Leader Yao has to admit to himself that the Jin Conspiracy has been a great source of material, even though it’s been many moons since the truth had been unveiled).

Lan Qiren is not adept, though, at keeping Sect Leader Yao’s attention away from Hanguang-jun.

Ever since the return of Wei Wuxian, Hanguang-jun has been a man changed. He still chases the thrill of going where there is chaos, that hasn’t evolved. He still dresses like a man in mourning, still speaks with utmost clarity when called upon, is still the respectable second heir to his sect. The difference is barely noticeable for those who haven’t watched Lan Wangji grow up.

He’s more relaxed now, his posture still straight but no longer stiff as he holds an arm around Wei Wuxian’s waist. His eyes, once so focused on whoever is speaking, now focus more so on his so-called husband. His hands, once held respectfully in his own lap, trace figures on Wei Wuxian’s body. 

Sect Leader Yao thinks it is something indecent. 

There is no good reason for Hanguang-jun to be running his fingers up and down Wei Wuxian’s thigh. He’s above the resurrected Yiling-laozu’s robes, though Sect Leader Yao isn’t sure that’s any better. He has the distinct feeling that he shouldn’t be seeing this, shouldn’t be seeing the redness of Hanguang-jun’s ears, the fluttering eyelashes as Wei Wuxian enjoys the pleasure of his husband’s hand. A heat creeps up his own neck as he continues watching — one of Hanguang-jun’s hands creeping under Wei Wuxian’s robes, the other still tracing random patterns on his thigh.

He can’t miss the way that Wei Wuxian’s breath hitches. Surely, Sect Leader Yao thinks, someone else must notice. But all of the Lan disciples seated behind Hanguang-jun are politely watching Lan Qiren, and the other sects invited to the conference are all watching with rapt attention at the talismans being demonstrated. 

Wei Wuxian rests his head on Hanguang-jun’s shoulder, his bottom lip bitten between his teeth like he’s holding back his noises. Sect Leader Yao has read spring books before — and cutsleeve ones at that — so he can imagine.

He supposes it makes sense that Wei Wuxian is the receiver. Hanguang-jun surely doesn’t have the disposition to be the one to spread his legs, and Wei Wuxian was a known whore before his first death. It’s still a little jarring to be the only one noticing how Wei Wuxian is wriggling on Hanguang-jun’s fingers, and it’s even more jarring to realise that Lan Wangji is just as dirty and base as other men are. It ruins the image a bit, he thinks, though he knows his opinion will never be asked for. 

It takes too long — enough for Sect Leader Yao to feel his own blood pressure rise and his manhood rise in interest — for Wei Wuxian to finish. He can see it clearly, eyes fluttering and head throwing back against his husband. 

Sect Leader Yao politely looks away. At the head of the conference hall, Lan Qiren is showing off a talisman, designed by Wei Wuxian himself, that he can see himself deploying in his sect’s nighthunts. He’ll have to ask for the details of its construction later.

He flicks his gaze over, and hates that he notices the smug look on Hanguang-jun’s face.

Chapter Text

The first time that Wei Wuxian had witnessed Lan Wangji crying had been something of a disaster. He remembers it well from his first life, trapped and suffering in the cave of the Xuanwu of Slaughter, uncomfortable from his state of undress, the wetness of his remaining robes, the pain of his new brand and the stab wound in his arm. 

Lan Wangji, fresh from the loss of his whole life, really, had broken down into silent tears. Wei Wuxian hadn’t known how to react.

The second time he’d seen Lan Wangji in tears had been in a much different state.

The stakes were just as high as they had been in the cave, only this time it had been because of Jin Guangyao’s manipulations. He’d confessed, perhaps unromantically and a touch too frantically, in front of way too many people. He hadn’t meant to tell everyone present that he and Lan Wangji had engaged in premarital sex, and he’s sure that Lan Xichen and Jin Ling would rather die than ever mention what they’d heard. It was worth it, though, because Lan Wangji had been reduced to tears, exchanging confessions of love and desire with each other. 

Wei Wuxian won’t lie and say it was a perfect moment in the eyes of any of their bystanders, up to and including the bald monks attempting to dig up an old corpse, but it had been perfect to him.

He’d also realised, at that time, that he maybe likes it a bit when Lan Wangji cries. 

Not in a bad way, of course. He’d never want to cause his husband undue pain, would never want to watch his darling husband suffer through the pain of heartache. It’s difficult enough to watch as he gets misty eyed whenever Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi prepare for a nighthunt with Wen Ning, the sentimentality of Lan Wangji watching his ward leave alongside his best friend, so adult and ready for the real world. Wei Wuxian knows, whenever it happens, that he needs to rub Lan Wangji’s shoulder, comforting pats being delivered to his back. If anyone else were to see them, Wei Wuxian might think to have a little more humility for his husband’s sake, but he doesn’t much care when it’s just a few bunnies in the field watching them.

His favourite way to watch Lan Wangji cry, though, is one that he’d discovered by chance one day, after a long nighthunt he’d been away for. 

Lan Wangji had been hungry for it, unrepentant in his need for Wei Wuxian’s body. It had been a fun night — one in which Wei Wuxian had used Lan Wangji’s ribbon against him, had tied him to their shared bed and made Lan Wangji wait for it, made him beg to get inside while Wei Wuxian had played with his hole.

Lan Wangji had cried once Wei Wuxian had taken his cock. 

He’d had tears gathering in his eyes already, his ears red and his whole body flexing while wringing his hands above his head as if to escape his bonds. Wei Wuxian had realised, with a stunning clarity, that he loved it. He loved watching Lan Wangji desperate to be inside of him, loved watching as tears freely flowed from his Lan er-gege’s eyes over his cheeks and into his hair, making a mess of himself. He loved knowing that however outwardly composed Lan Wangji may be that he’s actually needy, so full of wanting in the exact same way that Wei Wuxian himself is. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, his voice cracking and breaking on the syllables as they spill from his lips. He can’t say much more, his hands still restrained, his hips flexing and twisting as his cock is envelopped inside of Wei Wuxian’s body. It’s clear that he wants more, wants to fuck up into Wei Wuxian’s hole until he can’t reach any further. 

“You want it?” Wei Wuxian asks. He flexes the muscles inside of him, clenching tightly on Lan Wangji’s cock just because he knows that Lan Wangji will wait until the last possible moment to ask for it. He knows that Lan Wangji isn’t one to say anything, and will suffer in silence as Wei Wuxian gyrates on his massive cock until he can’t take it anymore, until his cock is red, purpling at the tip, and his balls are so drawn up and tight that even gentle coaxing will not relieve him of the pressure. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says. His hands clench and his jaw works itself tough. He has the look of someone with nothing to lose on his face, and his eyes are already wet, his eyelashes darkened with the way he’s been blinking away the tears gathering there in his eyes. 

“Hanguang-jun surely isn’t going to cry for his husband?” Wei Ying asks, taunting and cruel in exactly the way that he knows is just a touch too much for his husband to handle. He bounces once more, just to be a little cruel, and feels the way that Lan Wangji’s cock twitches harshly inside of him.

“Wei Ying, please,” Lan Wangji says. This time he doesn’t blink away the tears, doesn’t let the evidence of his desperation get washed away. He lets himself get misty eyed, lets himself feel the pleasure and pain of chasing an orgasm that Wei Wuxian isn’t yet ready to give him. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says. “I want you to come for me, want it so deep inside that you make sure that it takes.” 

Lan Wangji says nothing, but his hips fuck up with the untamed desire inside of him. Tears begin to flow from his eyes freely, needy and wanting more, wanting everything.

“Come inside me, er-gege,” Wei Wuxian says, and Lan Wangji does. It’s on a broken little sob, face messy with the salty tracks of his tears and his hands clenching so tightly that he’ll be surprised if he can still feel his hands once they’re done.

Wei Wuxian smiles down at him, rides his spent cock until it goes soft, and only comes when lan Wangji is crying from the overstimulation.

It’s perfect. Wei Wuxian smiles at Lan Wangji’s tears.

Chapter Text

“Shut up,” Wei Wuxian hears grunted directly into his ear, the words punctuated with another harsh thrust inside of him. 

He can’t even see his captor. 

He’d known, before leaving the safety of the Cloud Recesses to come to Gusu to drink that there was a danger. There was always some sort of danger, even under the safe and watchful eyes of the Lan Clan residing in the nearby mountains. Pretty maidens like himself always have to watch out for men that look to take advantage. 

He hasn’t even had that much to drink tonight, but upon leaving the tavern his guard has been down. He hadn’t noticed the tall man shadowing him until much too late, until he’d already been pushed into the narrow alley behind a row of businesses, restaurants and taverns and a brothel that feels out of place in such a quiet city. 

He lets out a whine, the bones of his wrists grinding together harshly, grasped in his captor’s big hand. The other hand is wrapped around his neck, as if to scare him, warn him that his life is in someone else’s hands. He feels his eyes burn with unshed tears as his captor fucks into him hard, and his cock is shamefully hard between his legs. 

“Let me go, please,” he begs, moaning pitifully when a harsh strike to his sensitive spot makes his hole clench in pleasure. “Please, gongzi, there’s a brothel, you can get your fill of the pretty girls there.”

“Don’t want them,” his captor says, his fingers tightening around Wei Wuxian’s throat. “I only want you,” he says. 

“Have you been watching me all night?”

“Mn.”

“Have you been watching since before tonight?” Wei Wuxian asks, his whole being leaning into the pleasure in his body. Even with his robes hiked up around his hips and his trousers unceremoniously shoved down his thighs, he can’t help but feel good. His cock bobs in the cold air of the night, and he doesn’t have to be able to see to feel the copious amounts of precome spilling from his tip. 

“I always watch you,” the man says, and his teeth sink into the soft skin of Wei Wuxian’s neck. 

“Please let me leave with my life, gongzi,” Wei Wuxian whines, loudly whining out from the pleasure. “You’ve already taken my virginity, gongzi, taken my innocent and vulnerable hole for yourself. You’ve ruined this maiden for his future husband,” Wei Wuxian continues, throwing his hips back against the man to feel his cock deeper. He knows he’ll be able to come like this, if only with a little bit more. 

“Fuck me harder,” Wei Wuxian commands finally, throwing his head back and moaning into the open air, little puffs of his hot and heavy breaths visible in the cool night air.

“You want it harder, or you want me to let you go?” 

“Please, Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian begs, dropping the pretence entirely. He’s too hot, cock too hard and desperate for attention, to pretend like he doesn’t know exactly who’s fucking him so well. 

“Shut up, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, his fingers tight enough that Wei Wuxian has trouble getting deep enough breaths. He is positively unable to hold in the loud, keening whine that escapes through his teeth when Lan Wangji pulls out until only the fat head of his cock holds Wei Wuxian’s body open, then thrusts with a passion so intense Wei Wuxian thanks that he’s being held in place. 

He doesn’t heed Lan Wangji’s advice and continues to vocalise all the noises he can’t contain — whimpers, and keening moans that steadily rise in volume until he knows it’s too excessive. 

He’s proven right when, on one particularly good thrust, he moans so loud that a local resident finally loses his patience. 

“Keep your whoring to inside the brothel,” a man yells from a widow, not so distant, with the widow shutters thrown open. He speaks standardly, but his continued rambling devolves quickly into the Gusu dialect that Wei Wuxian is yet to understand but still thinks it’s too pretty to have many harsh words. 

“What’s he saying, er-gege?” he asks, panting the words as Hanguang-jun’s thrusts become more and more harsh, losing their steady rhythm in favour of grinding his buried cock inside, barely moving. 

“He’s calling you loud,” Lan Wangji says. His grip is too tight, and Wei Wuxian can’t stop, can’t help but gasp loudly. 

“What else, Hanguang-jun?” 

“He’s saying that you’re good,” Lan Wangji translates into his ear. “Says that you act well, that you’re so loud for the man taking you.”

“Am I good, Hanguang-jun?” Wei Wuxian asks, his walls tightening on Lan Wangji’s cock. “Am I tight enough for you? Do you like knowing that someone can hear you taking me so well, making me yours?”

Lan Wangji moves with purpose, like he’s reached the limit of his patience. “Shut up,” he whispers again, right into Wei Wuxian’s ear before biting down on the cartilage. It makes Wei Wuxian let out another loud noise, just the right volume for him to be able to hear the violent shuttering of the open window as he reaches his peak.

He comes with a full-body shudder, the splatter of his seed shooting against the wall of the alleyway they’re occupying. He hopes that by the morning some rainfall might come, might clean off the evidence of his transgressions.

The tightening of his hole spurs Lan Wangji into his own orgasm, his grip still tight as he buries himself to the hilt. He comes with a low groan, and the sound alone makes Wei Wuxian’s cock twitch weakly, his desire intense even if he can’t manage to quite get hard again.

Lan Wangji unsheathes himself quickly, doesn’t linger inside the way that Wei Wuxian enjoys most when they’re alone in the Jingshi. It makes Wei Wuxian whimper a little, his hole tender and surely puffy and red from the harsh abuse.

They clean up quickly, and though it’s challenging, they manage to make it out of Gusu town without being noticed. 

“Do you think there will be rumours about your assault? Anyone could have seen us,” Wei Wuxian teases.

Lan Wangji doesn’t respond, but Wei Wuxian sees the worried twitch of his eyebrows and immediately laughs boisterously as they make their way back to the Cloud Recesses.

Chapter Text

‘It’s not a punishment’ had been Lan Xichen’s uninspiring words when he’d smiled mostly uncomfortably at Lan Wangji after the last time he’d walked in on Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian trying to get into each others’ clothes, the smell of their combined pheromones signaling their intentions to anyone within a li of wherever it is they’d hidden themselves. 

It had been equally embarrassing for both of the Twin Jades — Lan Xichen not exactly wanting to broach the subject of his didi’s sex life to him directly, and Lan Wangji for the same reason, on top of the fact that his famous self-control has become non-existent. 

He’d only agreed to it because it was the only way he’d still be allowed to see Wei Wuxian. 

He’d been presented with the option when it was clear that he simply did not have the required self control not to knot his omega before they could even get married. It was either to request Wei Wuxian be sent back to Yunmeng before their marriage, no contact until they’ve completed their bows and the wedding ceremony, or he could wear the cage. 

The worst was that he hadn’t been allowed to put the cage on himself.

Once he’d agreed to it, he’d been given the option of either Lan Xichen or Lan Qiren to put the cage on — not even one of the medical staff in the Cloud Recesses was seen as trustworthy enough not to capitulate to Lan Wangji’s authority in the sect. And so, he’d had to look at his brother as he’d disrobed, and hadn’t been able to make eye contact at all as Lan Xichen had slid the metal cage around his soft cock. The lock had clicked into place around the base of his cock, and he’d let out the breath he’d been holding, not even realising the fear he’d held in his heart up until that moment.

It wouldn’t be impossible to feel arousal, the medical cultivators had told him, but he’d be entirely unable to knot, his erection would be unable to lengthen. It made it almost worse, this knowing that he would still want it but would be left to suffer. Lan Xichen had backed away and let him tie his robes back up before smiling slightly pitifully at his didi.

“It’s only going to be a short while,” Lan Xichen had promised. “Your wedding to young master Wei is imminent, you needn’t be in pain for too long.” 

Lan Wangji had wanted to bite back that Lan Xichen had no idea the humiliation of being caged like a feral animal. He’d bitten his tongue — he’d known that there was no way to get the cage removed until his wedding (before or after, he had no idea, but the idea of Lan Xichen escorting him to his marital chambers is equally humiliating as putting the cage on had been). There would be no use in using harsh words for no reason.

He was lucky that the cage helped to deter his desire to inflict a mating bite too early. He knew Wei Wuxian wanted to have a romantic, traditional marriage. He wanted to wait, and so they did.

The problem was, that with the cage binding his cock, they’d been deemed to no longer need a chaperone as frequently. Theoretically it would be phenomenal to not have anyone around, except that with the knowledge that he couldn’t do anything was torture. 

Even now, with Wei Wuxian on top of him, both of their sets of robes strewn about on the floor of the Jingshi and Wei Wuxian’s hard cock rutting against the hard lines of his stomach, he can do nothing. He can only lay on his back, his hands grabbing tightly to Wei Wuxian’s hips as his intended chases an orgasm that Lan Wangji simply cannot share in.

His cock throbs, the way he wants to knot inside of Wei Wuxian overwhelming his thought processes. He can feel Wei Wuxian’s slick dripping over the cage, the wetness of it so tempting, so perfect and warm against the hardness of his cock, the pressure of the cage around him almost too much, as much as it’s not enough. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian moans, his head thrown back while he bounces ineffectively over Lan Wangji’s cock. “Lan Zhan, I want it so bad, can’t wait to feel it inside of me. You’re going to get me pregnant on the first night.” 

Lan Wangji closes his eyes, turns his head to the side to try to calm down. Wei Wuxian giggles and pinches his ear, calling him cute. He can feel the way his cock throbs painfully, drops of his own precome spilling out of his tip uselessly. He can’t wait until the day that he’ll finally be able to bury his cock inside of Wei Wuxian’s slick, desperate hole. He can’t wait to be able to knot his omega, make him take it over and over again until Wei Wuxian won’t be able to walk anymore from being so stretched out on his knot. 

For now though, he has to wait. He knows he can come wearing the cage — Wei Wuxian has managed it already, though it has only left him more desperate and yearning. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, finally opening his eyes again to look at Wei Wuxian. He’s panting, moaning, leaking everywhere with his balls drawn up close like he’s on the edge. He just needs the push. “Come for me,” he asks, so gently and quietly that he’s surprised Wei Wuxian hears it over the noises he’s making. 

Wei Wuxian convulses as he comes across Lan Wangji’s stomach, a thin, omega trail of come signalling his orgasm. Lan Wangji knows from previously having brought Wei Wuxian to orgasm that his hole is surely clenching and leaking even more slick out, needy for something inside. 

He doesn’t have to wait much longer, he knows. He doesn’t want to wait at all, but he knows it’s worth it.

Once the cage comes off, he’ll keep Wei Wuxian in bed for at least a week. He’s just got to make it to the wedding.

Chapter Text

“I miss you, though,” Wei Ying says, speaking into the receiver of his phone. He’s already pouting, and he’s sure that Lan Zhan can hear it in his voice. It’s not his fault, though! Wei Ying wanted to be able to accompany Lan Zhan on his work trip, but with deadlines for projects and final exams coming the exact same week, he’d been unable to.

“I will be home in three days,” Lan Zhan says back. Wei Ying can hear the weariness in his voice, and he knows that his boyfriend is already so over the conference that he’s had to travel for. He’s a fan of his routines, Wei Ying knows intimately now, and it’s unpleasant for him to have to change some of them.

“I miss you now, though,” Wei Ying whines again. “I need you to come hold me.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, “switch to a video call.”

“Er-gege, you want to see your Wei Ying?” 

“Mn,” he hums, and Wei Ying can hear the little ring in his ear that signals that Lan Zhan is trying to switch over to video. He accepts happily, opening the camera with a smile. He’s lucky that he’s alone in his flat, doesn’t have to worry about the loudspeaker annoying anyone.

“Lan Zhan!” he shouts, as if he hadn’t just been speaking to his boyfriend, as if he hadn’t received a selfie via text message only a few hours earlier. He’d been heated ever since getting the message — the image showing Lan Zhan’s bespoke suit, fitted perfectly over his broad shoulders.

Wei Ying hadn’t been able to answer any more than a quick, ‘daddy <3’. He’s sure that Lan Zhan knows what he’s been wanting since, even if he can’t exactly give it to him.

“You’re wearing the lingerie I bought you,” Lan Zhan observes. Wei Ying smiles and backs up his phone even further to be able to show off more of the babydoll he’s wearing. He hears Lan Zhan hum appreciatively. 

“You like it?” 

“Of course,” Lan Zhan says. “My baby is so pretty.”

“Daddy,” Wei Ying says. He doesn’t always feel in the type of mood for playing like this, but something about seeing Lan Zhan in a suit always makes him hot for it. “Daddy, I miss you, and you’re not even here to take care of me.” 

“You need to be taken care of?” 

“Yes, of course. I need you so badly that it hurts.” 

“Hm?”

Wei Ying brings a hand to his chest and props his phone up on a throw pillow so that Lan Zhan can see what he’s doing. He makes sure that Lan Zhan’s watching with rapt attention as he thumbs across his own nipple until it hardens, visible through the sheer fabric of the lingerie. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan warns, his voice deep.

“You’re not here to play with me, I have to take care of myself.” Wei Ying doesn’t wait for an answer before he brings his hand to his other nipple, playing with it until it perks up, too. He can feel his cock filling out in the little thong he has on under his babydoll dress, and he feels so naughty and pretty for his Lan Zhan that it makes him whine with need.

He doesn’t wait for Lan Zhan to say anything else, just goes ahead and continues with the touches to his nipples, clenching his thighs to relieve some of the pressure he feels building in his cock. It’s so good already, and he wants it so desperately. One of his hands lowers between his legs, pushing aside the string of his thong to rub over his hole. He’s still stretched and wet from the morning, when he’d ridden his favourite dildo to completion as he’d missed Lan Zhan so dearly. The tips of two fingers slip in with no resistance. 

“Already so needy for it?” Lan Zhan asks. His voice is husky, deep and dark the way he gets when Wei Ying is being a tease, when he’s being naughty.

“Always needy for it, daddy,” Wei Ying says, breathy and teasing. He knows how Lan Zhan gets, too, is intimately familiar with the way that his boyfriend is so horny for him all the time, and even more so when he’s begging for it. “Always want to be a good boy for you, want to ride your cock for you,” he says.

“Mn?” 

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian breathes out. “I want you to sit me on your lap and keep you warm while you’re in one of your boring board meetings. All your employees would be so jealous. Would you like that, daddy? Want everyone to see how good your baby is?” 

“Come for me, baby,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying can hear the schick schick of Lan Zhan’s hand stroking his big cock, and he’s half tempted to ask to see, but he realises he prefers seeing Lan Zhan’s face right now, seeing the pleasure in the twitch of his brow and the way his lips part enough to breathe heavily. 

Wei Ying doesn’t take long. The two fingers inside of him aren’t enough — not as deep as Lan Zhan can get, not as rough as he usually likes it, not as thick and full. He whines like a brat, desperate for more, for the cock that he wants inside and is so far away. It takes him stroking his cock, the head peaking out from his thong, to come over his stomach. He hears the little groan that Lan Zhan lets out when he comes, too, and opens the eyes he hadn’t realised he’d closed.

“I miss you daddy,” he says. “My Lan Zhan.” 

“I’ll be home soon,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying can see the way that he’s shuffling around a little bit, cleaning himself up of the mess he’d made. 

“Only three more days.” 

“Exactly,” Lan Zhan says. He settles back on a comfy looking chair, and Wei Ying smiles at the domesticity of it. “Tell me about your exams?” 

Wei Ying smiles, and he does.

Chapter Text

Planet 231-G is cold, much colder than Wei Ying is used to.

He’s used to the muggy, humid heat of his home planet, Universal Code 301-Y, colloquially known as Yunmeng in this galaxy. He’s used to his office, with the slatted windows blown open, back at Lotus Pier, where he could smell the honey-thick sweetness of blooming lotus flowers and the well-used oil used to fry youtiao in the mornings. 

Wei Ying is decidedly not used to the crisp air of 231-G (or, as his tablet reads, Gusu). He sees more pine trees than he’s ever seen in his life, even though it should be summer here, too, if the solar alignment is anything to go off of. The summer heat is even different, none of the stickiness under his arms, in the crooks of his elbows and behind his knees that screams ‘home’ to him. It’s still hot, with the sun beating on his brow and the breeze carrying only warmth, even though Wei Ying knows that the mountains should have a cool breeze coming from their peaks.

Wei Ying sits on the edge of a dock, with his feet in the water. 

He’s stripped of his robes, left only to his soft under-trousers that are rolled up to his knees as he swings his legs, splashing all by his lonesome. He eats the lunch ration that his shijie had lovingly packed for him before his trip — still real, fresh food that isn’t any of that dehydrated nonsense. He’s glad 231-G is only a few days' travel from Yunmeng, if only for the fact that he’s able to enjoy actual food. 

“Splashing is banned in the Cloud Recesses,” a voice says behind him, deep and baritone, and he nearly drops his small container of rice and beef stir fry directly into the lake he’s cooling by.

He whips his head around and sees the most beautiful man — alien? But he doesn’t look much different from Wei Ying himself except for the flowing robes so long his entire lower body is obscured — speaking at him. Not to him. He doesn’t even look at Wei Ying.

“I beg your pardon?” Wei Ying asks, shocked out of moving his legs, stock still and waiting.  

“Unnecessary noise, disturbing the wildlife, flippancy toward established peace, eating outside of permitted spaces,” the man lists off, finally lowering his gaze to where Wei Ying is still sitting. “Public indecency,” he adds, his gaze roving over Wei Ying’s nude shoulders. 

“These are the rules of your planet? That’s way too much!” Wei Ying protests. “How is a foreigner supposed to know any of that? It’s insanity. I’m bamboozled, good sir, positively flabbergasted at your frank and ruthless xenophobia, expecting all of us to just knooooow —”

“Unnecessary noise,” the man adds, almost contemptuously. Wei Ying is just glad that this man also speaks Galactic Basic, because he can’t imagine being berated in an alien language by the universe’s most beautiful hard-ass. And wow, what a beauty this man is. He continues, “The laws of the Cloud Recesses would have been sent to your tablet as you approached our lands.”

Wei Ying decides not to mention that he’d left his tablet with his ship, easily a kilometre or two away, on the landing pad he’d been guided to by space traffic control. Instead, he says, “I’m Wei Ying. At least introduce yourself if you’re going to lecture me, gege.”

“This one is Lan Zhan. Do not call me so familiarly.” 

“Ahh, Lan-gege, but why shouldn’t I call you familiarly? You’re already so ready to lecture me about following the rules, you must think that I’m familiar enough to do so?” 

Lan Zhan doesn’t roll his eyes, but he gives the vibe that he wants to. It makes Wei Ying let out a mean cackle. He says, “I’ll let you punish me for my transgressions if you can catch me!”

He immediately drops his lunch to the wayside (sorry, shijie!) and jumps into the water, swimming with powerful breaststrokes until he’s in the middle of the lake. He turns back to look at the dock, expecting to see Lan Zhan still standing there, but instead, he comes face-to-face with the exact man he’d swum away from. 

“H-how did you — ?”

His question is cut short by the feeling of something — tentacles, his mind supplies, like he’s daft and slow — grabbing him around the waist. The tentacles are slim, strong and free of the suction cups that he’s seen on the octopus that live on Yunmeng. They feel more like snakes than anything else, except smooth of any scales or imperfections. 

Lan Zhan still wears his robes, and doesn’t seem to be reacting any differently than he had been on the dock. The flow of the fabric obscures from Wei Ying’s eyes the creature that might have a grip on him, and though he’s an exceptionally strong swimmer, he still feels the panic beginning to rise in him.

“Lan Zhan —” he gasps out, a little freaked by the look on Lan Zhan’s face. He’s not serene, not stern, but a secret, third thing that Wei Ying can’t pinpoint or figure out. “Something has my legs. I don’t think this lake is —”

The tentacles that are wrapped around his thighs move up, dip below the waistband of his trousers, and wriggle along the seam where his ass meets his thigh, playing between the cheeks of his ass.

“The Jingshi,” Lan Zhan says, nodding his chin toward a stately building on the other shores of the lake, far off enough that it would take a while to swim it. “My home. This is my lake.” 

“Is this your idea of a joke, then, to set your tentacle pet on me?” Wei Ying asks harshly. He tries to kick out, but it gets him a whole lot of nowhere. 

“Not a pet.” Lan Zhan gets even closer, somehow, as if the tentacles are pushing them together and — oh, one of them touches against the rim of his hole and his breath hitches. “My tentacles,” Lan Zhan says, shameless. “You disturbed my peace. You will face punishment.” 

Wei Ying doesn’t need to ask to understand the type of punishment he’ll face.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian thinks it’s positively unfair that, this far into his life, his beloved Hanguang-jun is still forced to do any punishments for his clan.

It’s of his opinion (and his opinion is objectively right, thank you very much to anyone who may ask) that Lan Wangji has done more than enough to be allowed to break as many rules, commit as many transgressions as he could possibly desire for the rest of his life, perhaps even into his reincarnation in the future. 

Wei Wuxian has seen the scars that Lan Wangji bears.

He is intimately familiar with the criss-crossing of scars across Lan Wangji’s back, the remnants of the discipline whip’s harsh sting. It’s a miracle to Wei Wuxian how Lan Wangji not only bore his punishment and lived, but raised little Lan Sizhui alongside all the physical and emotional torment of the time.

He also knows about the Wen brand, self-inflicted by Lan Wangji himself in a drunken daze so many moons ago. The brand is dark, sits on Lan Wangji’s breast like a beacon. It had easily drawn Wei Wuxian’s gaze the first time he’d seen it — darkened skin, slightly sunken in spots and raised in others. He knows firsthand the pain of receiving such a mark, play it off as he is wont to do, and had done upon acquiring such a mark.

He knows deeply the emotional scars, the fears that Lan Wangji has. Another set of self-inflicted punishments he’s carried with himself for far too long, night terrors and restlessness about the what-ifs and should-have-dones from back when Wei Wuxian had lived his first life. He knows that Lan Wangji’s own mind punishes him with the reminders of their past, of the horrors that no man, woman, nor child should ever have to bear. 

He thinks that Lan Wangji has done enough. Hanguang-jun has done enough. His dearest husband doesn’t deserve even the simplest of punitive gazes cast upon him, which is why —

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian near yells, rolling his eyes and stomping his foot. His husband, always the most dramatic of the two of them despite his adamant disagreement with that fact, is in a handstand, right on the inner porch of the Jingshi where no one else might see them.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says back calmly, not out of breath in the slightest even though he’s holding his entire body weight one one thick, strong wrist whilst the other makes use of his brush to copy down precepts. 

From the angle they’re at, Wei Wuxian can see that Lan Wangji is copying down rules, a section of the thousands, about not being covetous, that envy and jealousy are forbidden. It makes him roll his eyes even harder.

“You don’t have to copy anything,” Wei Wuxian says. “You’re allowed to be jealous that another looked at me and I took advantage of his lust during our hunt. I shouldn’t have flashed him my cleavage.” 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji hums, voice as deep and steady as always, just the right tone to make Wei Wuxian weak in the knees. “I was uncourteous and disrespectful to the man who helped us because of his covetous gaze.”

“Okay, and?” Wei Wuxian asks. He sees the way that Lan Wangji’s brush stills, almost dripping ink onto the sheath of paper before he moves it away to lay on its rest. Lan Wangji steadies himself on two hands, making eye contact with his husband upside down. “You should only punish yourself if you weren’t a little jealous,” Wei Wuxian continues. “It’s normal to be irritated when someone else lusts after your wife.” 

Lan Wangji hums and closes his eyes, as if he’s truly contemplating the nonsense words that Wei Wuxian is saying. It’s not that he doesn’t believe his own words — the opposite, really, because he’d be rightly offended if his Lan Zhan didn’t get a little jealous at someone else giving him attention — but he’s more focused on the fact that he doesn’t want his husband to ever be punished again, especially not for his sake.

“He deserved the condescension, even,” Wei Wuxian continues. “He didn’t recognise the mighty Yiling Laozu and honourable Hanguang-jun, and tried to put advances on your feeble, weak wife. He would have fought you if someone else hadn’t recognised you. If anything, I should be punished for using my beauty to manipulate that man!”

Lan Wangji opens his eyes, looks Wei Wuxian dead in the face, and contemplates the words spoken to him. Wei Wuxian wants to smile at the look of concentration — Lan Wangji is just so good, so well-spoken, always one to think through whatever is in his mind instead of just saying something like everything is inconsequential.

He doesn’t say anything as he dismounts from his handstand, his form perfect as he lowers his feet back to the ground and rights himself up, posture perfect. There isn’t a flush to his skin, even his ears are still pale — not a single sign that he’d been exerting himself. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says. He stalks forward, his robes still in slight disarray from the handstand he’d been in. His usual robes don’t lend themselves to the activity as much as junior disciple robes tend to. He asks, then, “You believe that you should be punished for your transgressions?” 

“Ahaha, Lan Zhan, Zhan-er, you know how I run my mouth,” Wei Wuxian says, smiling like a prey animal face-to-face with the leopard chasing it. “I meant it all hypothetically, of course. I don’t need punishment at all, right, er-gege?” 

Lan Wangji doesn’t answer. His gaze fixes on Wei Wuxian as he slowly backs his way into the open doors of the jingshi, sequestering them in the privacy of their home. It doesn’t take long for Lan Wangji to reach up and undo the knot holding his forehead ribbon in place, letting it fall in flutters into his waiting hands. 

“Wei Ying must be punished for his transgressions, should he not?” he asks, and Wei Wuxian knows the look in his eyes. He knows he’s in for a night of fun.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian wakes in the middle of the night (or, more accurately, in the wee hours of the morning) to the feeling of Lan Wangji curled around him, the same way he always finds himself after getting into bed. 

It’s nothing out of the ordinary — in fact, Wei Wuxian would call it exceedingly ordinary, something that he has gotten so used to during the bliss of married life that he doesn’t even notice anything at first. Of course, it is a bit odd for him to wake before Lan Wangji, but it has happened before. 

Tonight, though, or this morning, really, he takes a moment to enjoy the feeling. He likes the feeling of being safe, snuggled in Lan Wangji’s arms, wrapped up and kept away from the biting cold of the winds that soar through the mountains of the Cloud Recesses. He loves the feeling of Lan Wangji’s light breaths on the back of his neck, the steady rise and fall of Lan Wangji’s chest against him that reminds him of how alive they both are, and how lucky he is to be so.

It takes a few minutes, ones in which he is nearly drifting off, to realise what it is exactly that had awoken him. 

There’s the natural, quiet noises of nature outside their window, of course, but Wei Wuxian has always been a deep sleeper and has never been disturbed by those noises before. There’s the barely-there ache in his hips and lower back from how thoroughly Lan Wangji had fucked him, only a few hours ago, right here on their marital bed. 

And there is, somehow unnoticed, the way that Lan Wangji’s hips are moving, slow little jerks and thrusts in his sleep, right against the swell of Wei Wuxian’s ass.

His cock, thick and insatiable, is already hard. Wei Wuxian thinks it is a bit flattering, really, that even now, in unconsciousness, his husband wants him. He also thinks it’s a little funny, because who would ever imagine that even the mighty and honourable Hanguang-jun would have erotic dreams like this, lowered to his body’s most base desires when he’s most vulnerable. 

Wei Wuxian has half a mind to wake Lan Wangji up just to tease him about it, to poke fun at his youthful virility, but he hesitates. He’s tired, frankly, and it’s not like he won’t have the chance in a few hours when he’s properly awake and fully coherent to make his teasing jabs. He settles, then, for going back to sleep, wriggling his ass back against Lan Wangji to at least make sure that he’s kept cosy and warm.

Warm, he thinks.

The idea pops into his head and he knows exactly what he wants to do.

Turning in Lan Zhan’s arms to face him is easy, and so is rolling on top of him. It’s not unusual for them to sleep like this, with Lan Wangji using Wei Wuxian as a human blanket. What is unusual is the way that Wei Wuxian angles his body just right as he lies on top of his husband, right at the perfect angle for his still-loose hole to catch on the head of Lan Wangji’s cock.

Lan Wangji, something of a light sleeper, wakes up from the movement. He cracks an eye open, mumbling out a quick, “Wei Ying?”

Wei Wuxian sinks down, taking his husband’s whole cock inside of himself before stilling. He whispers quietly, “Shh, Lan Zhan, go back to sleep. You can fuck me when you wake up, okay?” 

It’s a miracle that it works, frankly. Wei Wuxian mostly expected Lan Wangji to want to take him now, sleep be damned, but it seems as though they’re both tired tonight. He wriggles in place once more, just to ride Lan Wangji’s still-hard cock, the thickness of it so satisfying, before he closes his eyes.

Lan Wangji’s arms come around his waist, holding him in place while he buries his face in his husband’s neck, and he falls asleep quickly, still full.

Waking up is different than it usually is. 

He can feel that he’s on top of Lan Wangji — not an uncommon occurrence — but he also feels the pressure of being slowly fucked. Lan Wangji’s movements are languid, slow and indulgent, like he doesn’t even want to get off, and just wants to enjoy the squeeze around his cock.

It takes Wei Wuxian a minute to remember taking Lan Wangji inside him in the middle of the night when sleep had evaded him. He thinks at some point Lan Wangji must have already come if the way that he feels leaking from his hole is any indication, and is curious to ask if Lan Wangji had even been conscious when he’d spilled his seed. 

He doesn’t want to ruin the moment more, though, and settles on just breathing heavily, little moans of pleasure escaping him and into the crook of Lan Wangji’s neck. He can feel his cock hardening against Lan Wangji’s stomach and jerks his own hips a bit, wanting a little more pressure.

It feels overwhelmingly good already, just the little motions of Lan Wangji inside of him. They rarely take things so slow, so gently, and the newness of it is exciting. Like this, the head of Lan Wangji’s cock slowly grazes over his most sensitive spot instead of jabbing into it with precise strikes. It makes his cock leak with slickness all over Lan Wangji’s stomach.

He comes with a cry, sudden and muffled against Lan Wangji’s skin. He hadn’t even expected it, his orgasm catching him entirely by surprise. By the way that Lan Wangji reacts, he hadn’t expected it either. He speeds his hips up a little bit, his breathing still so heavy, and his hands come to rest on Wei Wuxian’s ass, pulling the cheeks apart as if to push his cock in deeper. 

He comes with a groan, low and quiet, but in the silence of the morning, it rings clear as day. Wei Wuxian loves it.

“Good morning, Lan Zhan,” he mumbles, mouthing over the column of Lan Wangji’s neck to pepper him with kisses. 

“Good morning, Wei Ying.”

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian doesn’t look up when he hears the tell-tale swish of Lan robes barely-there dusting the ground the hems float above. 

It’s colder now in the Cloud Recesses, the chill of autumn overtaking the heat that had characterised the summer. The footsteps, gentle and quiet though they may be, are not so perfect as to not disturb the dry leaves along the wooden pathways. He can hear the way the rustle of the crunchy leaves as they swirl against each other, but he doesn’t move his gaze. He has absolutely no desire to be berated by Lan Qiren today, thank you very much.

He keeps his head lowered even as he hears the steps come down from the elevated wooden paths to crunch along the gravel of the stone garden. It serves as a small reminder to Wei Wuxian that he should be grateful he’s at least been made to kneel in the dirt, alongside where the leaves are falling and the coldness of the ground seeps through his skin and burrows itself bone deep in his knees. 

He keeps his eyes on the dirt, still, even as the Lan behind him settles in, watching him like a sentinel. Now, so late in the season, there are no ants to poke at with a loose stick, nothing to keep his wavering attention so that he can avoid the temptation to pick up his head and look at whoever is in front of him.

He wonders if it’s a bit of an intimidation tactic — another way to remind him that one more toe out of line and he’ll be sent straight home. He won’t let it get to him, he never has, and today is no different. 

“Wei Ying,” he hears, and immediately his head snaps up. There’s only one person in the Cloud Recesses who calls him by his given name, and only one person that has that timbre, that deepness, in his voice. It shocks Wei Ying a bit when he looks up and sees Lan Wangji looking down at him, an unreadable look in his eyes. Surely it is not because of Wei Wuxian’s punishment — Lan Wangji is more than familiar with the way that he gets into trouble — but it is intriguing nonetheless. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian answers. It’s a bit difficult to look up at Lan Wangji with the sun shining behind him, so he doesn't. Wei Wuxian closes his eyes, smiling languidly as Lan Wangji surely continues to look down at him with borderline undisguised condescension. “What ever brings the esteemed Second Young Master Lan to this humble disciple’s punishment?”

He doesn’t answer. It’s not a shock. Wei Wuxian assumes he’s come to watch over the punishment he’d been assigned, and makes nothing of the little shuffling noise coming from where Lan Wangji still stands over him.

He feels the littlest breeze brush past his cheek, and before he can open his eyes and make sense of what’s going on around him, he feels Lan Wangji’s hand fisting his hair. The hand around his ponytail jerks and forces his head to tip back, and he manages to open his eyes just in time to gasp and feel his mouth be forced open around the head of Lan Wangji’s cock.

The shock is immediate and renders him incapable of reacting. Surely this is not Lan Wangji, but an evil spirit who has possessed him?

He only regains control of his hands when Lan Wangji thrusts shallowly, shoving the head of his impressive cock against the soft palate enough to make Wei Wuxian gag and tear up. He pushes his hands against Lan Wangji’s thighs, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t manage it. Lan Wangji trains too hard, is simply too strong, for Wei Wuxian to be able to do anything.

He makes little dissenting noises, trying to vocalise how much he doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to be used like this by Lan Wangji, but it falls on deaf ears. Lan Wangji, when he opens his eyes, is looking down at him, something dark and almost scary in his eyes that Wei Wuxian can’t pinpoint. 

“Lan Zhan,” he gasps out the second that he’s able to, when Lan Wangji pulls out and gives him a few moments to breathe. “Lan Zhan, what —?” 

“Punishment,” Lan Wangji says simply before he shoves his cock back in.

Realistically Wei Wuxian knows that he can bite down and put an end to this whole thing, but there’s something in him that makes him unwilling to do so. Despite it all he doesn’t want to actually hurt Lan Wangji, even though he probably should. He doesn’t want to acknowledge what it says about himself that he can feel his own cock stirring in the seat of his trousers. He doesn’t know what it means that his throat is softening, letting Lan Wangji fuck into his mouth with more efficiency.

He thinks that surely there must be someone else — an elder or a disciple, perhaps even Lan Qiren or Lan Xichen — who will walk by and see them. It’s impossible that no one sees — unless Lan Wangji has already told them not to come by because he will oversee? 

It makes a panic rise in Wei Wuxian that’s just as intense as the simmering arousal that he’s beginning to feel. 

Lan Wangji says nothing and is quiet as he comes into Wei Wuxian’s mouth. Wei Wuxian thinks he must not have had much practice with his stamina, or he simply wants to make sure that he’s not caught. It comes as a shock either way, the salty and musky tang of Lan Wangji’s seed taking him entirely by surprise. 

He doesn’t move as Lan Wangji shuffles back a few steps, putting his spent cock back into his trousers before shifting his robes back into place. Lan Wangji takes one look at him before telling him, “Come to the Jingshi after your punishment,” he says. “You will finish your punishment there.” 

Wei Wuxian is still stuck catching his breath as Lan Wangji walks away.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian only learns after accidentally going into heat that the punishment for doing so is nowhere near the punishments he’s seen in Lotus Pier.

Back home, he hadn’t been a stranger to the sudden and all-consuming heat of an omega. Even though he’d yet to present, he’d seen many times the sudden absence of one of his shidi and shimei when they’d presented. No one had made a big deal of it in Lotus Pier — everyone had just treated it like a natural thing, like the sun rising in the sky and the ebb and flow of the tides. He didn’t think anything of it.

He shouldn’t be surprised that in Gusu everything is different. What isn’t the complete opposite of what he’s seen in his life thus far is a better question, if he’s being honest with himself. He’d been surprised when he’d arrived, knowing just how conservatives the Lans of the Cloud Recesses are, that alphas and omegas of the same sex aren’t segregated, and he frankly hasn’t bothered to remember the explanation in the rules that had been given for why alphas and omegas have been allowed to comingle in common areas. 

Presenting as an omega hadn’t been within his expectations, but he doesn’t hate his presentation. He knows that there are different strengths and opportunities that come from each presentation, and he doesn’t subscribe to the out-dated idea that omegas are somehow weaker because they can carry children. He’s not sure how he feels just yet about the idea of swelling with a child, and had previously imagined himself taking a less passive role, of finding a beautiful maiden and having tons of little kids to run around the outskirts of Lotus Pier.

He doesn’t exactly get the chance to think about what this means for himself, either, because the second he presents and his pheromones permeate the classroom enough that even Lan Qiren’s stoic persona is thrown off, he’s carted off. 

First to one of Gusu’s healers, who confirms to him with straightforward congratulations, that he is an omega. She claps him on the shoulder and advises him to prepare himself. For what he doesn’t know, because he still has ages before he has to choose a mate and settle down, and he’s not worried about that yet, not when he still has so much cultivation to do and so many night hunts to go on.

Then, immediately, he’s taken to a square — one right in the centre of the Cloud Recesses, along the boundary of where male and female disciples are separated. He doesn’t know what it means — surely he’s not already being introduced to suitors, he thinks — and he doesn’t realise what’s happening until he’s being pushed towards a wooden contraption, forced onto his back, and with his legs secured open and his hands restrained next to his head. He’s still in shock when his robes are cut open, exposing him to everyone in the square. 

“Hello?” he asks, looking around as much as he can from his poor vantage point. For a sect that claims to not condone gossiping nor eavesdropping, he sure does see a lot of onlookers.

“You are to be claimed by the most viable alpha,” the healer says, still guiding him and speaking perfunctorily as if this isn’t entirely insane, like this isn’t the exact kind of behaviour that hasn’t been accepted in years.

“You can’t do this,” he argues, the panic rising in him. He can feel a bit of moisture gathering between his cheeks and flushes deeply, mortified that there are servant girls only a short way away giggling behind their hands at him.

“It is tradition,” the healer says.

“Not my traditions, though! I’m from Yunmeng, I’m a Jiang disciple, you can’t treat me like this — Jiang shushu won’t allow this.”

“Jiang Fengmian is not here to stop it,” she says. The words are cold and unkind and Wei Wuxian feels a horror go through him when he sees the number of people now gathered around, watching, touching themselves over their robes. He wants to fight back, wants to whimper from the fear, but he doesn’t allow himself to.

Even as two older men, surely seniors of the clan, step up toward him, bending as if to get a better look at the small amount of slick he’s leaking. A third person, a young-ish woman holding laundry, steps up and flicks at his exposed nipple. He hears too many people chuckle, and an offhand comment that he’ll swell nicely with milk, and had to contain the tears he wants to let out.

“Wei Ying,” he hears and he knows that voice. He’d never expect Lan Wangji to participate in this kind of humiliating ritual, and he feels a perhaps misplaced sense of hope.

“Lan Zhan! You have to help me, you can’t let these old men touch me. Surely you have the keys to unrestrain me?”

“I have the key, yes,” Lan Wangji says, something dark about the quality of his voice. 

“Okay, okay, perfect, you need to help me,” Wei Wuxian says, the horror subsiding. 

“Mn,” Lan Wangji hums. Wei Wuxian doesn’t get what he’s expected — the restraints holding his arms in place and keeping his legs open don’t come undone, and Lan Wangji doesn’t wrap him up in a spare robe to protect his long-gone modesty. 

He feels the head of Lan Wangji’s cock touch against the moisture that has gathered between his legs, feels the up-and-down drag as Lan Wangji uses his slick to moisten up his cock.

“Lan Zhan — you can’t —”

“I can,” he says, deeper than usual and huskier than he’s ever heard before. “The others will not touch you once I claim you as my own.” 

“Lan Zhan —”

“Mn,” he hums, pushing his head past the rim of  Wei Wuxian’s hole, stretching him a way he’s never had before. “My Wei Ying, my omega.” 

Wei Wuxian, when he comes to his senses hours later when he’s been transported to Lan Wangji’s living quarters asks many questions. He decidedly does not ask how many people watched him get fucked on the breeding bench, and absolutely does not ask if Jiang Cheng had been one of the observers in the crowd.

Chapter Text

Lan Xichen spends a lot of his time in isolation outside.

It might come as a shock to the other members of his sect, and even more so for those who only hear rumours of the Cloud Recesses, especially since he is rarely seen nowadays. There is something about the melancholy of heartbreak that has made him something of a night owl, prone to bouts of sleeplessness long into the hours past curfew recently, though.

He spends his time walking, because his body craves something more than the stillness of meditation and reflection, even if his heart wants so badly to stay in bed, to turn into stone from his stillness. He likes to hear the noises of nature — the crickets chirping their songs, the flow of ravines from the tall mountaintops, the splash of fish in the water, the gags from Lan Wangji’s bunny field —

The gags from Lan Wangji’s bunny field?

Lan Xichen moves with a quiet swiftness, ready to descend on whatever it is that he might see. The rabbits being eaten by a fox, perhaps, or some of the juniors unable to hold their drink after sneaking alcohol past curfew. It wouldn’t be the first time, unfortunately.

He makes a dead stop, hidden behind some trees, when the culprits are finally within his line of sight.

Wei Wuxian is on his knees, hands on Lan Wangji’s thighs, his hair being pulled in a way that seems like it must be painful. Above him, Lan Wangji has a look on his face that Lan Xichen wishes he’d never seen — a dominant arousal that speaks volumes about how their sex life must play out.

It’s not like Lan Xichen doesn’t know that his little brother must be having sex — he’s married, after all, and he remembers when Lan Wangji had asked him so many years ago if the Room of Forbidden Books had any literature about cutsleeves. He’d been embarrassed then, and had refused to think of any of the reasons why his innocent brother would want to know such things. He doesn’t particularly like the fact that he is now faced with the proof that his readings had likely paid off. 

He’s not sure why he doesn’t move. Perhaps it’s a fear of being caught. He thinks that it is more likely a morbid curiosity, something inside of him that wants to see how his brother and Wei Wuxian interact now, so different from the reverential and gentle way he’s seen his brother in the past. 

He wonders if this is how all married couples are or if it’s just something that cutsleeves do, both being men. The harshness, the relentless way that Lan Wangji pushes into Wei Wuxian’s open mouth, not stopping even when he gags and gasps out heavy, wet breaths — it is so different to how Lan Xichen has imagined sex might be between loving partners. He’s aware that taking someone into the mouth is popular enough (he’s not that naive, and he has seen brothels at work) but he’s never seen this.

He can barely see it, but the moonlight is bright enough tonight to reflect in Wei Wuxian’s tears. Surely that can’t be enjoyable, he thinks. Surely Lan Wangji knows that he is being too harsh on his husband? 

When Lan Wangji pulls out, Lan Xichen flushes a bit. He’s no stranger to the fact that he himself is also well endowed, but it is nonetheless embarrassing to see the proof as clear as day in front of him. It just makes him worry a little more, because Wei Wuxian looks so small in comparison, like he shouldn’t be able to take Lan Wangji very deep into his mouth. If he hadn’t seen firsthand the way that he’d pressed his nose in Lan Wangji’s pelvis, gagging around the girth of it, he’d be hard pressed to believe it’s even possible. 

“Er-gege,” Wei Wuxian says. It’s quiet enough, but the noise carries on the cold air of the night. Lan Xichen notes a distinct scratchiness to his voice, and wonders if it would be suspicious to send tea and honey in the morning. He could justify it as just offering something warm to help with the coming cold front, he supposes. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says and oh, his voice is even more affected, somehow. Deep and dark and so obviously lustful that Lan Xichen feels a cold sweat break out on his brow. “Have you had enough?” he asks. The questions sounds rhetorical, like whether Wei Wuxian says either yes or no he’ll just continue to take what he wants as he had been doing just moments earlier. 

“Er-gege, please,” Wei Wuxian says, and Lan Xichen can do nothing but watch as his brother pushes his cock into his husband’s mouth again, not taking his time as he shoves into him.

Wei Wuxian gags again, the same intense, wet sound that had lured Lan Xichen to the bunny field in the first place. He’d be lying to himself if he said that he’s not interested in what’s happening, if he’s not imagining what it might feel like to have someone do the same to him — not Wei Wuxian, he’s not a homewrecker, though he is unsure that anyone else would be able to do something similar without much practice.

He loses himself in the thought, curious how long it has taken Wei Wuxian to be able to do such a thing, and doesn’t realise when the end arrives. Lan Wangji throws his head back, fingers clenched tightly into fists in Wei Wuxian’s hair, and doesn’t pull out of his throat as he reaches his climax. He hears Wei Wuxian choke on the release, somehow managing to swallow it all down as he pulls off Lan Wangji’s manhood.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, voice wrecked. “So good, Hanguang-jun.”

“You did well,” Lan Wangji says.

“Bring me back to the Jingshi,” Lan Xichen hears, and finally his legs start to work again as he backs away so as to not get caught. He hastens when he hears Wei Wuxian continue, “You need to do me so hard that I’m as sore down there as my throat will be tomorrow.”

Lan Xichen thinks that maybe he needs to stay inside during his seclusion.

Chapter Text

The first time that it happened it was because Wei Ying let Nie Huaisang do his makeup.

He’d already been in the middle of filming some silly video when Lan Zhan walked into the frame, and he didn't notice anything off until well after posting the video and getting a bunch of comments about his ‘boyfriend looking like he wants to eat him’.

When he looked at the video, he saw the way that Lan Zhan’s eyes had swept over his form, taking their sweet time roving over his legs and ass before looking at his face. Lan Zhan’s nostrils had flared just the slightest bit, like he was feeling some kind of way that Wei Ying wasn’t familiar with, before complimenting his makeup look. Wei Ying in the video had smiled as wide as he always did when Lan Zhan would say nice things.

Wei Ying could understand why people were commenting that his best friend was his boyfriend, even if it wasn’t true.

The second time it happened, it was once again at the fault of Nie Huaisang. 

Classes had been let out for a few days for mid-summer festival, and they had the time to hit some clubs to go dancing. Wei Ying got dressed in an outfit that was so daring, so cheeky, that even Nie Huaisang hadn’t been able to stop himself from smacking him on the ass. 

He once again only noticed something off after posting the video and getting comments. He could excuse himself — they’d already been pregaming, and he’d been quite tipsy, thank you very much! Except the comments didn’t seem to find that a compelling excuse, and mentioned his boyfriend (read: best friend) glaring at his clubbing friend with a distinct disdain.

Upon rewatch, he did notice that Lan Zhan had given Nie Huaisang an absolutely awful glare right after he’d smacked Wei Ying on the ass. He didn’t remember it, but realised upon watching that Lan Zhan had adjusted his jacket and told him to be safe. There was something in himself that really liked that. 

The third time he’d noticed Lan Zhan being possessive on video, at least he had an excuse — finally, he’d realised his feelings and had confessed. Lan Zhan, luckily, felt the same, and had reciprocated.

He’d recently started to do lives, and while most of the live chat was super friendly and exciting to chat with — especially when he’d get into spirited debates about the theory of cultivation with his chatters — there was one guy that was a nuisance, an absolute knob of a man leaving all sorts of comments on all of his social medias.

It had taken Lan Zhan just the one sit-in on his live, with Wei Ying nestled in his lap, to tell the guy off and not to come back.

“Wei Ying hasn’t banned you,” he’d said quietly, not usually one to speak to Wei Ying’s camera, but willing to do it this time. “Your comments are ridiculous and asinine. Cease attempting to converse with my boyfriend.” 

The other chatters had gone wild — confirmation, finally, that the two of them were an item.

Nie Huaisang is the one who bought him the yoga pants. Wei Ying should have started to assume ulterior motives at that point, but he’d been too caught up in the prank idea, of getting to tease Lan Zhan with the sight of his ass in the clingy trousers. 

He’d seen women do it already — the trend was already big enough, and the yoga pants were easy enough to squeeze into. He did have to admit that the trousers were flattering, cupping his ass in a way that made him look even juicier than usual.

He’d hidden the camera to capture the moment when Lan Zhan walked in after his day of classes, carrying a grocery bag with fresh vegetables from the market only a few blocks from their flat. When he reviewed the footage, Wei Ying noticed the way Lan Zhan had been stopped in his steps, his jaw slackened, his eyes positively glued to Wei Ying’s glutes. It was gratifying to see just how much his boyfriend was into him

He’d had to ultimately cut the footage down before posting, because the way that Lan Zhan had grabbed him and thrown him around was nothing short of pornographic.

The fifth and last time that it happened was after Nie Huaisang had convinced Wei Ying to wear a mini skirt for Valentine’s Day. Lan Zhan had immediately stopped everything when he’d walked into their flat and seen Wei Ying, bent over the counter and chatting with his followers.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan whispered, just quiet enough for the camera not to be able to hear it. He’d gotten used to Wei Ying filming and doing his live chat in their flat, and had learned to be even quieter for it. He continued, “turn off the camera.” 

“Ah, what are you going to do, er-gege?” Wei Ying teased, winking at the chat scrolling across his phone. He saw too many thirsty messages going across the screen, and couldn’t help himself by teasing even more, pressing his butt in the short skirt back against Lan Zhan. 

He gasped, not realising Lan Zhan’s relative state of undress, feeling the heft of his boyfriend’s cock already pressing inside of him. He barely managed to get the camera off of them before shutting off the stream.

A day later when he went back to check his account, he saw that he was banned. 

He had to admit — totally worth it for Lan Zhan’s dick.

Chapter Text

“You’re sure that you want to do this?” Lan Zhan asks one last time before they leave their flat. He wears a look of absolute concentration on his face, one that speaks volumes not only about the desire that he has, but also of the care and concern that he legitimately has for Wei Ying.

“Mhm,” Wei Ying hums enthusiastically, smiling wide. He hooks an arm around Lan Zhan’s neck, bringing their bodies close together so that he can press himself all over his boyfriend. “Don’t you want to play with me like this?” he asks, trying his best to sound sultry and desirable. It’s not a difficult task, not with the way that he’s already so turned on just from the idea, just from feeling the weight of the vibrator inside of him.

It’s not big — smaller than an egg, slipped inside of him and pressed snug to his prostate. The pressure alone is good, just the feeling of it move along with his movements every so often inside of him, touching him so tenderly. It makes him flush from the roots of his hair down the low neckline of his half-unbuttoned shirt. He sees Lan Zhan look down the gaping front of his shirt, eyes catching on his hard nipples and the glint of his navel piercing. He bites his lip, breathing against Lan Zhan’s jaw. 

“Don’t you want to make me lose control where anyone can see me? Only you’ll be able to know why I'm panting and shaking. Only you’ll know how desperate I am for you while I dance.”

Lan Zhan takes in a sharp breath. The visual that Wei Ying paints with his words is one that they’ve discussed at length before, often while Lan Zhan’s been buried to the hilt inside of him. They’ve wanted, for ages, and finally Wei Ying had taken the plunge with Lan Zhan’s credit card and bought the remote controlled vibrator. He wants to let loose as much as Lan Zhan wants to watch him let loose. 

Lan Zhan nods once, leans down and takes his lips into a heated kiss, and then backs away. His hands linger on Wei Ying’s waist, his hold gentle and tender, and it’s already so good. Wei Ying is more than half-hard and they haven’t even done anything yet. He’s going to go crazy.

They make it to the club right at the perfect time — there’s enough people that they manage to blend in with the crowd, not standing out too much miraculously. 

They both get drinks — more accurately: Lan Zhan buys him a bottle, expensive enough to secure them a booth, and Lan Zhan sticks to seltzers and water. The way he sits on the bench with his legs spread wide and a cocky look on his impassive face makes Wei Ying want to drop to his knees, the possibility of being kicked out of the club be damned. 

He takes three shots of the liquor in quick succession, chased down his throat by first a mango nectar, and then Lan Zhan’s tongue. It’s mid-kiss that the vibrations start. Wei Ying nearly shrieks, the sensation so sudden and so intense he believes at first that he must already be at the highest setting until Lan Zhan turns it up.

“Fuck, fuck, er-gege,” he pants. He wants to crawl into Lan Zhan’s lap and rut against his stomach until he comes all over himself. It’s not part of the game, though, and this time he wants to follow the rules. 

“Are you going to go dance?” Lan Zhan asks after another few kisses that aren’t subtle enough to keep people’s eyes off of them. There’s a few lustfully looking men, sour-faced and jealous that he’s not available, and a few equally lusty women, thirsting over the show. It makes him feel undeniably sexy. He wonders how much more enticed everyone watching would be if they knew. 

“Going to go grind up on someone pretty,” Wei Ying says. He presses a kiss to Lan Zhan’s cheek and adds, “Never as pretty as you, though.” 

Lan Zhan can’t resist a light smack to his ass as he walks away, and even though he gives a scandalised look over his shoulder, Lan Zhan still turns up the dial on the vibrator’s controller. 

Wei Ying finds another boy to dance with — a little shorter, and with the same dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. He stutters a bit when Wei Ying approaches him to dance, but he gets over the nerves quickly, and the two of them waste no time getting down to dancing on each other.

Wei Ying points out Lan Zhan sitting at their booth, explains it’s his boyfriend. The boy doesn’t look deterred, especially not when Wei Ying says he wants to put on a show, for fun. 

Every time the dial turns up, he worries that the boy might feel the vibrations through his skin like osmosis, like he might know what’s going on. He definitely knows about Wei Ying’s erection — his eyes had gone wide when he felt it the first time Wei Ying rutted against him mindlessly. He’d understood a bit then, though, and had gone along, his own thrusts getting a little sloppy, a little dirty. Wei Ying could feel the way he’s just as aroused, cock just as hard, and he loves it. He likes using this boy, taking all that he can get just to make sure that Lan Zhan will fuck him into the matress later. Maybe he’ll use the vibrator on Wei Ying’s cock while he does, and the thought alone makes him moan loudly into the boy’s ear and the vibrator speeds up, like Lan Zhan knows.

When Wei Ying looks over — eyes burning with the need to cry, his ass clenching hard on the non-stop vibrations of the toy, and his cock so hard he thinks he might actually explode — he sees that Lan Zhan isn’t alone in the booth he’d taken. There’s a man with him, and Wei Ying is delirious enough to think it might be someone they know, but he’s too mindless to pay it any attention. So what if Lan Zhan is multitasking, taking Wei Ying apart with the vibrations while simultaneously holding a conversation with someone else? He himself is also multitasking, managing to dance with a cute twink while getting vibrated into mindlessness. 

He isn’t jealous. It makes him even hotter to know that Lan Zhan might have told this man to watch. He hopes that the man will go home with this boy, that Wei Ying won’t be the only one getting gratified at the end of the night.

He spots Lan Zhan run a hand over the crotch of his trousers, over where his massive erection is hidden, and that’s it for him. He comes with a shudder, a lilting noise escaping him, even as the boy holds him steady through it.

He sees the understanding in the boy’s wide eyes at what just happened — at the fact that Wei Ying is coming down from the high of an orgasm. The two of them see Lan Zhan wink at them, and Wei Ying decides he can’t stand anymore. 

“Come to our booth,” Wei Ying manages to slur out. “I think my boyfriend might have someone you should meet that could help with that,” he brushes his hand against the erection he still feels pressed against his hip, and leads away.