perfect

Cicadas sing a sharp song in the trees. The heat blisters the pavement. It’s a miserable summer afternoon for most people, which is why Wei Ying loves it. It’s nothing compared to sticky, swampy Yunmeng summers. In dry heat like this, the sun feels good and the trees are brilliant green and Wei Ying loves being alive.

He doesn’t love being in class, but at least everyone is miserable along with him in this heat. Lots of mopping brows, lots of unsatisfied murmurs. Is there any relief to be found in Gusu on such a day? Some have heard there’s a lake a bit further up in the mountains, big enough for swimming. But they’re not allowed to go up there; it’s off limits to everyone but Lan inner disciples. Only Wei Ying knows for a fact that it’s there; that’s because he’s been sneaking off up there every night since summer school started.

Lan Qiren enters and the room falls silent. The frantic wiping of sweat of brows continues, a current of activity in the quiet classroom. Lan Qiren surveys them silently and frowns. He’s sweating, too.

“Due to the excessive heat,” he says, coughing, “the upper grounds of Cloud Recesses will be opened to students for the duration of the day. That includes the lake. The back hills and the waterfall are still off limits.” Nobody picks up this last bit, because the minute Lan Qiren says “lake,” the room starts to buzz with whispers.

Not even Lan Qiren can quell them; there’s a torrent of nervous energy in this room, and it won’t survive an entire lesson. Sure enough, about twenty minutes before the end of the class students start gathering their things as though they’re ready to bolt. Wei Ying knows they’re only waiting for one of them to take the lead, and they’ll all start filing out with or without Lan Qiren’s say-so. Well, that’s a position he’s always happy to fill. He stretches out, grabs his backpack, and leaves the room without a word or a look back.

He heads up the stone stairs carved into the mountain, backpack slung loosely over one arm, whistling to himself. The other students will have some time catching up to him; he knows the way to the lake, and they don’t; besides, they have to go change, and Wei Ying always keeps his swimsuit in his backpack, just in case. So he climbs the stairs solo and pushes through the line of vegetation that lies between the path and the lake.

He’s about to emerge from the trees when a splash draws his attention. Quickly, he hides and peers over at the lake.

Someone’s already there and swimming. Wei Ying sees dark hair, pulled into a neat topknot, and the lines of what looks like a fairly strong body, blurred by the moving water. Some student has beat him to it. Which is a little surprising, because Wei Ying’s the only one with the chutzpah to sneak off in this direction when they’re supposed to be somewhere else. He watches in kind of dumb fascination as the swimmer moves to the near edge of the pond and surfaces.

Oh. Oh, that explains it.

It’s Lan Qiren’s annoyingly perfect nephew, Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, who is too good to attend classes with students his own age. Lan Zhan who, rather than making friends with such students, serves as a sort of disciplinarian, regularly snapping unruly students back into line with nothing more than a cold glance from his admittedly perfect face. Lan Zhan, who Wei Ying had to learn to avoid early in the summer, because he kept catching him trying to sneak out or tiptoe into forbidden places. That Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying steels himself to be utterly annoyed by whatever happens next.

Lan Zhan lingers for a time, head and shoulders above water. Then he approaches a large rock where his things sit in a neat white bundle. In one fluid movement, he lifts himself up with both hands on the rock and swings into a sitting position, his toes in the water.

It all happens like slow motion. Wei Ying’s brain sputters, then lurches, then goes completely on the fritz.

He’s—he’s—he’s actually perfect.

Wei Ying knew he was perfect, but that was an annoyance like everything. The beauty of his face was a mockery of everything Wei Ying stands for. He could find words to speak when faced with that stern face, but his words have dried up now, because Lan Zhan’s body is – Lan Zhan’s muscles are –

He has no idea Wei Ying is watching him. His face is serene, his body relaxed, and the sun beats on him like a spotlight, turning the edges of his skin to gold. Wei Ying is gobsmacked. How dare he. How dare he sit there with that expression, not knowing that he’s turning Wei Ying’s insides into molten lava just by being there … with thighs like that .. and a bare chest like a sculpted statue … and good god his arms, and his shoulders, and he already has an annoyingly perfect face, only now it’s matched up with that — thatbody, and Wei Ying has never wanted to close his mouth around a drop of water the way he does now, as water trickles down Lan Zhan’s chest.

Oh, and he’s wearing a fucking Speedo.

It’s common knowledge that a Speedo looks stupid on like 95 percent of guys, and yet Lan Zhan looks as though it was created solely to fit him. And nothing is left to the imagination. Holy fuck,that knowledge is going to burn though him until he’s cinders. He struggles to concentrate on something – anything but that.

It’s going to be a very different experience the next time Lan Zhan disciplines him.

Oh. Oh, now his mind is up and running again, but the direction it’s going is dangerous. Lan Zhan angry with him, Lan Zhan throwing him against a wall, Lan Zhan tossing him to the grass. Standing over him. Kneeling over him. Those powerful thighs and well-muscled arms. A hard hand on his wrists, unyielding no matter how much Wei Ying resists. Lan Zhan forcing Wei Ying to his knees. Lan Zhan between Wei Ying’s legs, edging forward, pinning him down as…

“Fuck,” he swears, suddenly and far too loudly. Lan Zhan looks up. Eyes suddenly sharp, he leaps to his feet and scans the tree line. Wei Ying has no choice. He just hopes Lan Zhan doesn’t glance between his legs when he shows himself.

He steps forward from the trees, waving a halfhearted hand. “Hi, Lan Zhan,” he says with a grin. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Lan Zhan’s brows knit. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Oh, but I am!” Wei Ying keeps moving forward, despite his best intentions. Lan Zhan’s body is like a gravity well, drawing him closer. “They lifted the restriction so we could all come up and swim today. It’s brutal out,” he says, squinting and raising against the sun although he’s actually perfectly comfortable.

“Oh.” Lan Zhan looks at him warily. “So others are coming?”

He says it evenly, but Wei Ying wonders if there isn’t some trepidation there. He’s perturbed enough that Wei Ying’s entered his space; what are twenty-some classmates going to do to him? “They’re changing,” he says. “They’ll be here in a few minutes.” He grins. “Just you and me for the time being.”

Hethinks the look in Lan Zhan’s eyes is anger, but he doesn’t know for sure. “How do you know this place?” he asks, sounding unsure and not at all like his usual gentlemanly self.

“Oh, your uncle explained how to get here when he gave us the notice this morning,” Wei Ying lies. “I just didn’t have to go back and change like the others, so I got here faster.” He taps his backpack. “Swimsuit’s in here.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widen. “You’re going to change … here?”

“Why not? Ain’t nobody here but us boys,” Wei Ying says, and winks. He’s suddenly terrified of showing Lan Zhan his naked skin, but he can’t afford to show it. He strips off his T-shirt.

Lan Zhan turns as though offended by the sight. Well, sure he would be, since no one else can measure up to him, Wei Ying thinks. “Hey Lan Zhan, is this what you do while the rest of us are suffering in class?” he asks breezily, stripping off his shorts and boxers. Lan Zhan’s back remains resolutely turned. “Just swimming out here like a fish all day long? I bet I could beat you in a race.”

“There’s not … room here to race,” Lan Zhan says. He still won’t look.

“We’ll go down to Biling Lake next time,” Wei Ying challenges. “You can look at me now. The swimsuit’s on. I won’t offend your sensibilities.”

“I’m not offend—” Lan Zhan turns, and then something clips the edge of his word. He stares at Wei Ying like he’s got three heads.

“Oh, well, glad to hear, then.” Wei Ying sits down on the rock where Lan Zhan had been. “So. Mind if I take a dip?”

The coolness returns to Lan Zhan’s voice. “Suit yourself.” But he’s still staring at Wei Ying.

For just one moment, Wei Ying remembers all those earlier fantasies. That’s exactly the look he imagined on Lan Zhan’s face in those moments. The look where he can’t quite keep his anger in check. The look that says Wei Ying’s getting to him. Wei Ying has no idea how he is gettingto Lan Zhan in this moment, just sitting on a rock. Unless…

Nah, couldn’t be.

The next moment, Lan Zhan’s diving into the water. His body is an arc of movement, a single curved line, and Wei Ying loses his breath again. Apparently he needed to be reminded that Lan Zhan’s body is a flawless machine. His brain is pinging madly and he wants with all his heart to just drop into the water and swim for Lan Zhan like a shark. That would probably be a bad idea. He knows he probably has an advantage in an underwater tussle, but somehow, he doesn’t really want to win anymore.

Lan Zhan has emerged, in a shallow portion of the lake, his head and half his chest visible above the water line. He has eyes on Wei Ying. “Well?” he asks, something curiously hesitant in his voice.

“Well, what?” Wei Ying feels like he should be holding his breath. He’s careful to keep his voice casual.

Lan Zhan looks down, then to the side, then to him again. It’s a very un-Lan-like action. After a short silence, he ventures in what is almost – not quite – a tentative voice, “Are you coming in?”

Wei Ying stares down at him. The silence that follows is pregnant with possibility.

“Wei-xiong!”

Nie Huaisang bursts first through the treeline, then, following him, the rest of the students in noisy gaggles. “Wei-xiong, how did you find this place so quickly? We all got turned around looking for it—”

Splashes sound here and there as the students find their way into the lake. Soon, the whole place is echoing with the sound of laughter and chatter. Wei Ying’s gaze finds Lan Zhan, through an increasingly dense thicket of people. Lan Zhan is looking at him with eyes that are almost sad. A moment later, he turns away.

It’s disappointing. Wei Ying had thought – perhaps imagined? – that there was something starting to happen there, something thawing in the relationship between them. He considers giving chase. But Lan Zhan is striding through the trees and disappearing before he can say a thing. So much for that.

Still, Wei Ying has an image he didn’t have before. Lan Zhan, dipped in gold, his body bare and his chin uplifted toward the sun. It’s printed in indelible ink on his mind now, along with a memory of Lan Zhan’s gaze, softer perhaps than Wei Ying has ever seen it. He closes his eyes and savors both the picture and the memory for a moment. Then, grinning, he rejoins his friends.

“Lan Zhan.” The name drips with honey, and Lan Wangji lifts his head upon hearing it.

He’s by his master’s side in an instant. Wei Ying is in the bathtub, and as Lan Wangji approaches, he gestures to the soap on the small table. “Wash my hair,” he orders, and Lan Wangji obediently picks up the soap and starts to work up a lather between his hands.

Wei Ying makes ecstatic noises as Lan Wangji runs his fingers through the long sheaf of his hair. “Scratch my head a little,” he half-moans, and Lan Wangji complies, raking his nails over Wei Ying’s scalp.

“Too hard?” he inquires, his voice low and modest. Servile.

“Just right, ah, Lan Zhan, I do love this game of ours. Rub my shoulders now, my slave.”

It’s Wei Ying’s game – he came up with it, as he usually does. Lan Wangji hadn’t known what to expect at first. He certainly didn’t expect to feel his mind go blissfully blank, his limbs feel light and his his cock to go full at the very idea of tending to Wei Ying’s every need. Now, he relishes the chance. Fingertips tingling, he lowers his hands to Wei Ying’s shoulders, kneading the corded muscle there. Wei Ying gives a blissful groan, and Lan Wangji stifles the answering moan that’s building in his throat.

“Now your mouth,” Wei Ying instructs. Lan Wangji lowers his hands to the joints of Wei Ying’s shoulders and presses his mouth to the side of Wei Ying’s throat. Wei Ying twitches. The scent of the bathwater and soap filters up through Lan Wangji’s nostrils. He inhales, licks the line of Wei Ying’s neck, breathes hot breath on his ear. Wei Ying’s skin is sweet and warm beneath his mouth, and Lan Wangji has the urge to pull him out of the tub now and take him to bed. But he knows he’ll get there in the end. It’s his reward for serving his master well.

As if hearing his thoughts, Wei Ying murmurs, “After this I think I’ll have you take me over to the bed. Massage my legs first and then we’ll see what happens.”

Lan Wangji’s hands tighten on Wei Ying’s shoulders at the thought of working his hands on those smooth thighs. His imagination stirs, and in his mind he can hear Wei Ying panting on the bed, carefully and breathlessly instructing Lan Wangji how to open him up and take him. Let go, he’ll breathe. Fuck me until you’re satisfied. Leave bruises on me, my beautiful slave. I want to hurt tomorrow.

But that will come in time. For now, he yields when Wei Ying turns in the bath to capture his lips in a kiss. “How do you feel about me?” Wei Ying asks, a grin draping across his face crookedly.

“I love you, master,” Lan Wangji says with fervor.

Wei Ying giggles. “Very good, my slave, I love you too. Now bring me my robe and take me to our bed.”

@hellokyochan​ requested:

The bed had at least been big, which was a consolation to Wei Wuxian when he realized there was only the one. Lan Zhan of course offered to sleep on the floor, but that was a waste of a perfectly good mattress. It’s only a couple of nights for a dumb professional conference, and when your company won’t pay for your hotel (seriously, screw Wen Enterprises), you make do with a roommate. And Lan Zhan’s an easy roommate: he’s neat, he doesn’t get drunk, he doesn’t hit on women and then drag them back to the hotel room and leave a condescending note on the door. He’s really the ideal partner for situations like this.

What Wei Wuxian hadn’t counted on, though he really thought he had exhausted every possibility, was the way Lan Zhan looks when he’s asleep.

It’s morning, rays of sunlight drifting over the bed, and Wei Wuxian is lying on his side, utterly fascinated. They’ve drifted closer in their sleep, Lan Zhan all of a sudden so near to him, and Wei Wuxian is marveling at the shape of his lips, the way his eyebrows have relaxed from their usual scowl. The soft noises he makes, half-asleep, a puff of breath and a murmur.

He’s gorgeous.

He’s handsome awake – anyone with working eyes can see that – but asleep, with his guard down, he’s the most beautiful thing Wei Wuxian has seen in years. His hair is a waterfall of shining black, illuminated with the sun’s rays, and his eyelashes are delicate splashes of the same dark water. His skin is pale with only a hint of rose. He’s like a painting. But he’s real, and he’s here and oh so defenseless. Wei Wuxian is overwhelmed by the desire to touch.

He lifts his hand and inches, slow, toward Lan Zhan’s chin. The heat radiates into his fingers. So close – two fingers just shy of the line of his jaw –

– and Lan Zhan stirs. Wei Wuxian snatches his hand back, clamps it tightly at his side. He should probably look away, too, but he can’t quite tear his eyes from Lan Zhan’s lips as they purse, then part – just barely part, as though dreaming of a kiss.

Bleary golden eyes open, then blink. His pupils grow, then shrink, trying to find focus.

“Wei… Ying?” he says. His brows narrow into a frown.

Damn, he’s been caught looking. Wei Wuxian gives his most innocent smile. “Hi.”

“Am I … dreaming?” Lan Zhan’s voice is hesitant and hoarse. It almost doesn’t sound like him. He still can’t quite focus on Wei Wuxian’s face. His confusion is almost pitiful-looking, and Wei Wuxian wants to laugh.

He almost says no, but a wicked idea flashes through him. “Yes,” he says, “this is a dream.”

He expects Lan Zhan to maybe say “oh,” and fall back asleep, or scowl and tell him he knows he’s awake, but that’s not what happens.

Instead, the corners of Lan Zhan’s mouth turn up, and he reaches out.

“Good dream,” he says, and pulls Wei Wuxian into his arms.

All of a sudden Wei Wuxian’s face is pressed into Lan Zhan’s shoulder and his heart is drumming wildly. He can’t even struggle. What is happening? Lan Zhan is … holding him?

Lan Zhan is holding him. In strong arms, warm arms, and Wei Wuxian’s brain is humming with so many possibilities all at once. Is Lan Zhan thinking he’s someone else? Does he just get hug-happy in his dreams? Does he think he’s having one of those weird dreams where you’re with someone you don’t like in real life?  Is he still really asleep?

Or does he really dream about Wei Wuxian?

“Lan Zhan,” he starts to say, but can Lan Zhan even hear him? His head is buried in Lan Zhan’s shoulder, and he’s being held too tightly to pull away. He really needs to struggle. He should struggle. He should find some damn willpower and pull himself out of Lan Zhan’s arms and pretend the whole thing was just a joke.

Then he feels the press of lips against his hair. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan murmurs. The low sound rumbles right into Wei Wuxian’s bones. God, even his bones are warm right now, all of him is warm and wanting, and his hands still itch to touch Lan Zhan’s skin.

“Lan Zhan,” he tries again, “Lan Zhan, wake up, this isn’t a dream…”

“My Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, a louder voice now, like he’s protecting Wei Wuxian against a horde of admirers, like he’s claiming his territory. His lips touch Wei Wuxian’s hairline. Now his temple. Now the patch of skin next to his ear. Lan Zhan’s hands are tight on his back, unyielding.

Lan Zhan whispers next to his ear. “Don’t wake me up.”

His breaths are glancing against Wei Wuxian’s face now, soft and warm, and Wei Wuxian has never in his life wanted to be kissed the way he wants Lan Zhan to kiss him now. His hands ball into fists, clutching the folds of Lan Zhan’s T-shirt, and he lifts his head, yearning.

“This is a dream?” Lan Zhan asks again, in a voice that says he’s coming to. He lowers his head so their foreheads touch, eyes only half-open. Wei Wuxian looks at him, looks at the inscrutable emotion in those half-lidded eyes, and all of his control melts into nothingness.

“Yes,” he whispers halfway to Lan Zhan’s lips, “you’re dreaming.”

Lan Zhan’s lips are achingly soft against his.

Lan Zhan is trembling, shoulders wracked with shudders, and Wei Wuxian can’t believe it. This is Lan Zhan? This is the man whose very existence is all about control? He’s shaking against Wei Wuxian’s hands, breathing short, and – and – and kissing him back, oh so slow and sweet, kisses like honey and champagne that make Wei Wuxian dizzy.

They kiss, and they stop and breathe, and they kiss again. Heat is curling in Wei Wuxian’s core, but it’s lazy heat, and he’s content to just feel it. One of Lan Zhan’s hands rises to touch his face, a gentle palm, and it’s grounding. The sureness of it. The steadiness of Lan Zhan that keeps them both in the dream.

And then, all at once, it’s over.

Lan Zhan pulls away, blinks twice. His eyes widen. He pulls backward on the bed, then bolts up to sit, one hand clapped over his mouth.

Wei Wuxian props himself up on one elbow. He’s still getting his bearings after being kissed half to death. “Ah, Lan Zhan,” he complains, wanting that warmth back.

Lan Zhan takes in the sight of him, lifts his eyes to where the sunlight is streaming in the window, looks away. He forces his hand down to his side. “I’m sorry,” he says, the words short and clipped.

“No, no, it was my fault,” Wei Wuxian says. “I told you you were dreaming.”

Lan Zhan is unmoving and unspeaking. There’s a rose tint at his ear, but his face is deathly pale.

Wei Wuxian sits up to meet him face-to-face. “Lan Zhan,” he says, suddenly gripped by shame for what he’s done, “please don’t worry about it. I was just having some fun. I won’t tell anyone.”

His answer is a shake of the head and a deeper flush on the shell of Lan Zhan’s ear. He’s really upset, and Wei Wuxian’s spitballing now, just trying to find the right words that will lift the anchor of awkwardness that’s holding them both down. “Look,” he says, “look, we’ll just pretend nothing happened. Like it never happened.”

More stony silence.

“Ummm…. help me out here, Lan Zhan, I’m running out of ideas.” Wei Wuxian throws up his hands. “Would it help if I said I liked it?”

Lan Zhan turns, abruptly, and stares at him with wide eyes.

A reaction, thank goodness! Wei Wuxian smiles, but it’s a shaky smile, and he can’t keep it steady. “You either like that idea or you really hate it. Lan Zhan, please say something, because I’m not sure if you’re going to kiss me again or challenge me to a duel.”

“You…” When Lan Zhan speaks, it’s always poetry – straightforward, unwavering, truth. But he’s tripping over his own words now, like his tongue’s made of lead. Seeing him like this makes Wei Wuxian’s heart flutter in his throat. “You liked it?”

“Well, of course,” Wei Wuxian says. He knows he sounds carefree and light, but he feels the weight of the words as they come out. “I’m bi as hell, and you’re hot as hell, in what universe would I not enjoy kissing you?”

Lan Zhan keeps looking at him with that incredulous stare that might equally be horror and excitement. “You’d enjoy…?”

“Okay, Lan Zhan, I get that you’re still groggy or whatever, but get with the program here,” Wei Wuxian chides him. “Number one: you’re hot. Number two: I liked kissing you. You get to tell me what number three is.”

They’re sitting up in bed side by side and Lan Zhan is staring at him and Wei Wuxian is grinning because that’s his go-to expression when he has no idea what’s going on (which is right now), and Wei Wuxian is a little afraid they’re going to be frozen like this for a solid half-hour before either of them can think of anything else coherent to say.

Frozen, and then without a single breath of warning Lan Zhan’s hands are on his face and Lan Zhan’s lips are on his again.

This time it’s hot, and it’s possessive, and Wei Wuxian’s gasping against Lan Zhan’s mouth, breathless and wrecked. How long has Lan Zhan felt this way about him? The question flickers in his mind, then sputters out and all he can do is hang on for dear life as Lan Zhan kisses him deep and rough, like he’s been dying for it. Lan Zhan’s tongue strokes his and it’s all Wei Wuxian can do not to go up in flames right there.

Lan Zhan tries to shift, to push him down onto the bed, but Wei Wuxian breaks free, laughing, and resists. “Please, Lan Zhan. Let’s at least go on a date first. Okay?”

Lan Zhan tries to slow his breathing. “Okay.”  

Wei Wuxian smiles and darts in to peck him on the lips. “Let’s start with breakfast?” he says.

“Breakfast,” Lan Zhan echoes. He seems to be slowly pulling himself together. “Yes.”

They dress and head down the hall side by side toward the elevators. As they descend to the lobby, Lan Zhan slips his hand into Wei Wuxian’s. When Wei Wuxian looks at him, he sees soft eyes and the barest hint of a smile. His heart stutters.

Maybehe’s the one who’s dreaming.

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.