#kissy fic

Prompts 40 and 42 from this list! I’m still taking prompts, from this list or otherwise!

it’d be so easy to write this with the roles reversed, but I wanted to show an affectionate Lan Wangji, so here you have it.

Lan Wangji goes to bed at nine o'clock. He always has, and he thought for a long time he always would. He didn’t figure on a husband who stays up until all hours and laughs at the concept of routine. Not that Lan Wangji would have it any other way.

But tonight it’s late, very late, and Wei Ying has just lit another candle to keep him company as he works on his manuscripts. Lan Wangji is sleepy, his eyes a little bleary. He watches from the far side of the room as Wei Ying throws several pages to the side, pulls out another blank page, and begins writing earnestly on it.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji starts.

Wei Ying holds up one finger – wait one minute – and keeps writing.

Lan Wangji waits, but that one minute comes and goes. Wei Ying doesn’t look up. For another minute, Lan Wangji just watches. The candlelight flickers, casting Wei Ying’s face into bright planes and deep shadows. His profile, the soft bow of his lips, all golden on the edges, like burning paper. Lan Wangji is struck – again, for the thousandth time – by the fact that this beauty, this elusive creature of laughter and magic, lives in his room and sleeps in his bed. There are days he’s scared to touch Wei Ying for fear he’ll dissolve into thin air and disappear. Other days, Wei Ying seems like a bird who yearns for the sky; those days, Lan Wangji wants only to hold him close and keep him tethered to the ground lest he fly away. Tonight, he only wants that intense gaze to turn and see him waiting there.

He crosses the room. “Wei Ying. You should come to bed.”

“You’re in my light,” Wei Ying complains, though the candle burns on the desk below him.

Lan Wangji sits down behind him, then shifts just so, curling around him like  smoke. His hands alight on Wei Ying’s waist. “Come to bed,” he says, soft against Wei Ying’s ear.

“You’re being annoying,” Wei Ying murmurs, but he lets himself lean backward into Lan Wangji’s embrace, shoulders relaxing, head tipping back. He takes a breath. “I’ll come to bed when I’m ready.”

Lan Wangji presses his mouth to Wei Ying’s ear, nips the skin of his neck just below. “Come now.”

“Until the candle burns out,” Wei Ying protests, “give me that much time, just until the candle burns out.” But he isn’t looking back down at his pages; instead, he’s tilting his head, exposing the full line of his neck and the top of his shoulder. In the candlelight, his skin is dipped in gold.

Lan Wangji lifts a hand from Wei Ying’s waist and places it on his arm, stroking gently. He doesn’t say a thing. Wei Ying makes an effort to lean over the desk again, but Lan Wangji leans with him, breathing on his bare shoulder, feeling Wei Ying’s goosebumps ripple up under his fingers. He lowers his mouth to that shoulder and kisses it, flicking his tongue over Wei Ying’s skin to taste him.

Wei Ying takes in a sharp breath, lets it out in a shudder. “Lan Zhan,” he says, voice low in the quiet room. He cocks his head to the side, as though turning to face him. Lan Wangji kisses along the curve of his jaw. Wei Ying turns further. His mouth is just close enough, and Lan Wangji darts in to place a soft kiss on those gold-rose lips.

“You’re hopeless,” Wei Ying says, shaking his head, and turns fully into Lan Wangji’s embrace.

Wei Ying kisses him gently, one hand on his face, and Lan Wangji fully intends to keep it gentle. He clasps Wei Ying by the arms, a loose grip, but something about the hour and the light and the person is seeping into his senses and eroding his control. His hands tighten despite his best intentions, and he holds Wei Ying in place as he kisses him – decisively, hotly, a kiss that demands: be mine. Belong to me.

“Greedy,” Wei Ying grins against his mouth. He drops his pen – he’d still been clutching it – and wraps his hand around the nape of Lan Wangji’s neck. Ink is probably spilling from the pen onto the floorboards. The desk rattles as Wei Ying climbs into Lan Wangji’s lap. The candle flickers dangerously. But all Lan Wangji knows in that moment is Wei Ying – his heat, his scent, the shape of his body. The jingshi could be burning down and he wouldn’t care. Here in his arms is everything he wants.

He licks at Wei Ying’s lips, parts them. Wei Ying’s tongue meets his, eager. So thrilling, this sensation, every time, and Lan Wangji is vibrating with want, pulling Wei Ying closer with greedy hands. He can’t get enough. Wei Ying’s skin. His breath. His sweet, yielding lips.

Wei Ying tips his head back. Lan Wangji kisses his neck, wet presses of mouth to skin. Wei Ying shudders. A yes flies from his mouth, the word incandescent in the dim room, echoing in Lan Wangji’s ears. He kisses the hollow of Wei Ying’s throat, chasing more yeses. Wei Ying obliges, fingernails biting into Lan Wangji’s skin, drawing a groan from him.

“Come to bed,” he insists one more time, and stands, pulling Wei Ying up with him.

“All right,” Wei Ying whispers against his mouth. “You win.” He lets Lan Wangji lead him across the room and onto the bed.

Sometime in the middle of what comes next, the candle burns down and sputters out. Neither of them notices.