Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first day of autumn starts the way most days start, now, with Lan Wangji waking up in a small inn. This particular inn is too small to have offered them more than one room, so Wei Ying is in the room with him, still asleep on a thin mat on the floor beside the bed. They argued about these arrangements, as they nearly always do; Wei Ying won this time, so Lan Wangji was made to take the bed.

They have been traveling together for some months. With the events at the Guanyin temple, the case that had kept the two of them tied to the greater cultivation world came to a close. Wei Ying expressed an inclination to wander, and, having no desire to return to a home where Wei Ying was not welcome, Lan Wangji went with him. They have followed no set itinerary, simply keeping their ears out for interesting night hunts and going wherever the need arises. This path has taken them a long way from Gusu, far to the south of the territories of the main clans.

Lan Wangji feels the distance, sometimes, and not only as a physical phenomenon. He continues to keep notes on their hunts, but he has not written a formal report, let alone sent one home, in a great while. It has been many weeks since he even sent a message to say where he was. Increasingly he feels that his activities are not anyone else’s business. And what will the clan elders do? Punish him? He’d like to see them try. Still, he sometimes catches himself assuming that he will go home and confess and be punished for his transgressions. He has no intention of doing so, and yet this image of his future continues to arise in his mind as though inevitable, as though it were out of his control.

His chief transgression, of course, is Wei Ying himself. Lan Wangji rolls onto his side and looks at him for a while. His face is soft with sleep, one elegant hand flung up on the pillow beside him. Wei Ying, in the flesh, returned from death. Returned to him, in a stroke of such incredible good fortune that he almost cannot trust it. It feels like a test, but a test of what, he is not sure. All he can do is stay with Wei Ying, protect Wei Ying, love Wei Ying, for as long as he is allowed to. Whether that constitutes passing the test or failing it, he does not know.

As he watches, some expression flits across Wei Ying’s sleeping face, and he lets out a half-formed word, then rolls onto his side with a deep sigh. A strand of hair lies across his cheek, and Lan Wangji indulges briefly in a fantasy of smoothing it back for him, of tracing his fingertip over Wei Ying’s cheek. It might wake Wei Ying up, and in this fantasy, Wei Ying would not be surprised to be touched like that. In this fantasy, Wei Ying would be in the bed with him, and that simple touch would lead to more, would lead to Wei Ying kissing him and climbing on top of him and—

He shakes himself out of it before he can spend too much time imagining the precise details. He knows how his body will react to that, and today is not the day to indulge it. He takes a few moments to will himself calmer, then rises, dresses, and goes to ask for breakfast.

He carries the tray back up to the room himself, over the proprietor’s objections. He lays out food and tea on the small table, setting out bowls, cups, and chopsticks with deliberate precision. Then he goes to wake Wei Ying, who has lately admonished Lan Wangji about letting him sleep too late when there’s night hunting to be done.

“Wei Ying.” He touches Wei Ying’s curled shoulder. Shakes it a little. The strand of hair is still there, but he manages to refrain from reaching for it.

“Hummmm, umm, hmm?” Wei Ying’s eyes flicker open, and he rolls slightly onto his back. When he sees Lan Wangji he smiles. Luckily Lan Wangji is prepared for that smile, after being ambushed by it every morning for so many weeks. Or almost prepared.

“Good morning, Lan Zhan.”

“There is breakfast. Don’t let it get cold.”

It would have been more efficient to wake Wei Ying first, giving him time to collect himself while Lan Wangji went down for breakfast. But if he had done that, he would not get to see this: Wei Ying, loose-haired, sitting up in just his dark red shirt, yawning and blearily scratching the back of his head. Not even bothering to stand, Wei Ying knee walks over to the table and settles down in a sprawl beside it. Lan Wangji loves to see him all soft like this, loves the way he shows no self-consciousness about being so casual even when Lan Wangji is properly dressed and groomed. That is why he always gets breakfast before waking him. He has decided to allow himself this, despite the whisper in his mind that names it an excessive indulgence.

“Shall I pour the tea?”

“Humm,” says Wei Ying, waving a generous hand. He yawns and pushes his hair back from his face.

Lan Wangji obeys, taking pleasure in doing it properly. He scoops rice into Wei Ying’s bowl before he can do it himself, adding a slab of sauced tofu and some stir-fried greens. He has already set out the stoppered bottle of chili oil that he keeps in his travel pouch, and passes it to Wei Ying along with the food.

Wei Ying’s eyes crinkle with happiness at the sight of the oil, but by now he no longer seems surprised by it, nor shows any inclination to thank him for providing it. Lan Wangji is waiting for the day when he no longer even smiles at it, but simply takes it for granted. He’ll rejoice on that day. He watches Wei Ying season his food and take the first bite before he serves himself.

“So,” Wei Ying says, between mouthfuls, “What do you think for today?”

Lan Wangji turns his mind forcibly to the matter of the hunt. “The brothel.” He has long since given up on meals without talking.

Wei Ying nods vigorously. “I agree. Let’s go see if it’s as haunted as the locals say.”

The brothel in question is no longer the haunt of sensual delights, but rather it is an abandoned, sealed-up building that used to be the lair of a lone cultivator who was locally famous, or, indeed, infamous. Some fifty years back, this person had taken over the building and offered to protect the local people, but only in exchange for certain services. The stories said he had conscripted the brothel residents to serve him, making them wait on him like an emperor. He also required that healthy men of the village be sent to him to use as guards and soldiers. He demanded their complete loyalty and obedience, and used them as fodder when battling ghosts and monsters. There were even tales of how he ordered his servants to their deaths. Eventually, of course, the local people decided his “protection” wasn’t worth the trouble, and mounted a resistance to get rid of him. His lair was sealed up, to avoid anyone misusing whatever might be left within.

All of this, Lan Wangji and Wei Ying heard from folk at the local tavern, as background to the current situation, namely: some robbers found a way to open the lair, releasing a horde of resentful spirits that have now been causing havoc.

Wei Ying finishes eating quickly, then stands and stretches and sets about dressing. Lan Wangji eats at a more proper pace, focusing on his food so that he will not give in to the temptation to watch.

***

Hordes of resentful spirits, naturally, pose very little difficulty when Wangji and Chenqing are present. The two of them have always worked well in concert, but these months together have honed their partnership to a fine point. They clear the building over the course of the afternoon, a mildly challenging project that leaves them both well-exercised and satisfied. They’re exploring the building, making sure they haven’t missed anything, when Wei Ying finds something unusual.

“Aha, what have we here?”

He presses on what looks like an ordinary wall panel, which swings open to reveal a hidden passageway beyond.

“Oh, wow, this is really sensational.” Wei Ying skips down the stone corridor with obvious delight. “Look, it’s so sinister!” He lights a flame talisman below his chin and pulls an evil face, looking at Lan Wangji for his reaction. When Lan Wangji only narrows his eyes in response, Wei Ying laughs and sends the talisman flying to light the torches that are placed in sconces along the walls, lighting the tunnel with their flickering glow. Lan Wangji can’t say that he is quite as thrilled as Wei Ying; there can’t be anything good in a place like this. But it is pleasant to see him enjoying himself.

The passage ends in a peculiar chamber, hewn from the natural stone. It contains only a highly decorated carpet laid before a throne-like chair on a raised dais. The robbers must not have found this room, for these things to still be here.

“Ha, Lan Zhan! This little tyrant really did have delusions of grandeur. Look at this!”

Wei Ying darts forward and seats himself on the carved wooden throne. He sprawls there in an attitude of superiority, the warm torchlight casting his grin into sinister shadows.

“This is the sort of thing people thought I was up to in the old days, isn’t it? Personally, I think my Demon Subduing Palace had more style, but this isn’t too bad. What do you say, Lan Zhan? Will the righteous Hanguang-Jun bow down to the Yiling Laozu?”

Lan Wangji steps forward to stand before the throne. Wei Ying’s smile grows wider. He taps Chenqing against his knee impatiently, waiting to receive Lan Wangji’s obeisance.

He intends to respond with a shallow bow, just to acknowledge that he shares Wei Ying’s playful mood. But the moment he raises his hands, a sudden flare of red-tinted power sends him crashing to his knees, and he finds himself in a deep kowtow, his forehead pressed to the floor.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying is up in a moment, kneeling by his side and lifting him back up to a sitting position. The room seems to spin. Wei Ying’s hands flutter over him, hot touches to his cheeks and forehead.

“Are you all right? Does it hurt?”

“I am all right,” he manages to say. Is he? He thinks so. Nothing hurts, at least. The brackish taste in the back of his mouth is familiar from the battlefield. “Was it a talisman attack?”

“An array,” says Wei Ying. “I saw it flash. Look at this.”

He pulls up the edge of the carpet, revealing brownish lines and sigils on the stone beneath. “It seems to be dead now. It must have stored up just enough power to activate for a second. Are you really okay? See if you can stand up.”

He probably doesn’t need Wei Ying’s help to stand, but he doesn’t mind the steadying hand beneath his elbow.

“I am all right,” he says again, this time with more conviction. Wei Ying peers at him closely.

“You sure?”

He nods. Wei Ying gives his arm one last squeeze before letting go.

“Okay, if you’re sure. Let’s take a look at this and see what it was supposed to do.”

Together, they roll the rug away from the center of the floor. When the pattern is revealed, Wei Ying spends several minutes examining it, pacing around and around with his finger pressed to his chin. Lan Wangji has nowhere near Wei Ying’s expertise when it comes to arrays, so he watches Wei Ying instead. His eyes flick here and there, showing the quickness of his mind.

“Some of this is familiar,” he muses. “I think it’s no coincidence it caught you when bowing. This guy was really a sicko.”

“What is it?” Lan Wangji asks.

“Well, these parts,” Wei Ying gestures to a set of characters, “have to do with coercion. Forced obedience. Not that different from that talisman I used on you once. That was just a prank, though. This would have been much stronger. I guess those stories of his captives being under his control were true.”

Disgust curls in Lan Wangji’s stomach. “We should destroy it.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Wei Ying pulls another flame talisman from his sleeve and hurls it into the center of the array. Fire blazes for a moment, dying away to leave a blank, charred spot and an acrid smell in the air.

“That should do it. Ugh, I’m tired of this place. Let’s seal it up again and get back to the inn.”

***

That night Lan Wangji lies down immediately on the floor mat so that Wei Ying will have to take the bed.

Wei Ying sighs. “Lan Zhan. Please.”

Lan Zhan feigns sleep.

Wei Ying stands silently for a moment, then huffs a laugh.

“You really are like a little kid sometimes. Fine, I’ll take the bed, but just for tonight.”

And so Lan Wangji sleeps satisfied.

***

He wakes earlier than usual, feeling strange. The moon, near to setting, sends blue light slicing through the slatted window shade. There’s an itch under his skin. The air on his face and chest is icy cold, as though he has been sweating. His back aches with an old pain, and his throat feels tight.

He sits up. The room is still. For a moment it feels like a different room, like the healer’s room where he lay in recovery more than thirteen years ago after his punishment. He often woke in the night, back then, and something about the way he feels now makes him remember it, how he lay for long hours trying and failing to clear his mind, awash in pain that was only slightly eased by the knowledge that it was the due and expected consequence of his defiance.

But this is not that room. It is the inn. Wei Ying is here.

Lan Wangji kneels up to look at him, his heart beating strangely. As his eyes on fall on Wei Ying’s sleeping face, a wave of something comes over him, a strange, heated feeling. He wishes intensely, irrationally, for Wei Ying to wake up and look at him. Lan Wangji himself won’t wake him—that wouldn’t be right, Wei Ying needs sleep—but oh, if only he would wake, if only Lan Wangji could hear his voice! It feels like a physical need, like he’ll strangle to death without it.

And that’s—strange. He forces himself to draw back from Wei Ying, and it’s hard, like sticky ropes are holding him in place. He spends a small burst of qi to make it easier, and the fact that it works makes him realize, suddenly, that he’s being affected by something outside of himself. Resisting with all his might the urge to go back to Wei Ying, he pulls open the front of his robe to examine his torso closely. There’s no curse mark that he can see, at least not in the dim moonlight, but that doesn’t mean very much. He settles into a lotus posture and directs his awareness inward, searching for anything that might be wrong—or tries to, but he cannot concentrate; his body feels all wrong like this. Not since childhood has he succumbed to the urge to squirm out of his meditation posture, but now it happens, he squirms, his legs unfold and he goes up on his knees. He rocks from side to side, impossibly restless. A sudden flare of pain lashes across his back, making him clench his fists, and his throat tightens again. He needs Wei Ying to wake up and tell him what to do, but he can’t wake him up. He’ll have to wait. He has to settle down, somehow, and wait. He tries lying down on his back, but has to sit back up again. He stands, thinking he might pace, but immediately he collapses to his knees. His vision is full of sparks. What is happening to him? He feels afraid. He squeezes shut his eyes and tries to feel what exactly it is that his body wants him to do, obeying its urges like a blind man navigating by scent. At last he finds a position that he can bear. He settles down, breathes deeply, and waits, and tries to think.

***

When a beam of morning sunlight tries to pry Wei Wuxian out of his dreams, he thinks about resisting. Wouldn’t it be so delicious to sleep for just a little longer? But he knows that Lan Zhan must be already awake and waiting to get started on the day, waiting patiently for him and not complaining, because Lan Zhan never complains. So he wakes up.

The room is quiet, no sign of Lan Zhan moving about, so he must be out getting breakfast, or taking a walk. He rolls over in the bed.

“Wei Ying.”

“What!” Wei Wuxian sits up quickly, all traces of sleepiness burned away by the clear distress in Lan Zhan’s voice. After glancing around frantically for a moment, he finally sees Lan Zhan beside the bed, kneeling in a deep bow, his forehead pressed to his hands on the floor. His hair is loose and his shirt is untied, the fabric rumpled around him. It’s so strange that Wei Wuxian doesn’t know whether to laugh or panic.

“Lan Zhan! What is this? What are you doing?”

Lan Zhan’s answer is weak and muffled. “I—something is. Wrong.”

Panic it is, then. He somehow gets his limbs in order to climb out of the bed and kneel on the floor beside Lan Zhan.

“Lan Zhan, what is it? Talk to me. Tell me how to help you.”

“Th—thank you,” he says, nonsensically. He takes a deep breath. “I believe I may be under a curse. I want—things.”

His voice is low and strained. He sounds miserable, and no wonder. Wei Wuxian has been under curses a couple of times, so he knows they can really mess you up. They’re usually not life-threatening, though, at least not right away. The problem is just that Lan Zhan will be compelled to do what the curse requires, or, if he resists, the curse will sap his energy until he can’t function.

“It was that array, wasn’t it? I knew that thing was trouble.”

“I want you—” says Lan Zhan, “I need you. To. Tell me what to do.”

“Okay, don’t worry, Lan Zhan, we’ll figure this out. Come on, sit up, let me take a look at you.”

Lan Zhan sits up.

“Thank you,” he says again.

Wei Wuxian sets the back of his hand against Lan Zhan’s cheek and finds it burning hot. His eyes look glassy and unfocused, and they are rimmed with dark circles from what must have been a long and distressing night. The sight sends a chill through him—nothing should be able to do this to Hanguang-Jun. The curse must be a strong one, which could mean that it will drain him more quickly if they don’t satisfy the conditions.

Lan Zhan’s shirt is already untied and hanging open, showing his bare chest. Most likely he has already searched himself for a curse mark. But—ah. He wouldn’t have seen it, even though it’s actually quite easy to see.

“There’s the mark,” says Wei Wuxian, his finger not quite touching the band of smoky red, like blood rising beneath the skin, that circles Lan Zhan’s slender neck above the collarbone. “Aish, it’s red. Any pain?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. His hand rises to touch, stroking across the red line, but he doesn’t give any reaction that Wei Wuxian can discern.

“I can try to take it off you,” he offers. “I’m not too bad with talisman magic. It’ll take me a while to come up with a counterspell, though. Or, a strong enough blast of spiritual energy would be able to cleanse it. It’d be no problem for you to do it, but since it’s on you, I’m guessing you can’t…”

“No.”

“Well, in that case, you’ll have to bear it for a little while. So, what is it doing to you? How can we keep it from hurting you?”

“Tell me what to do,” says Lan Zhan immediately.

“Well, I’m—I’m trying, Lan Zhan, but—”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan sits rigidly, eyes staring straight ahead as though he’s suppressing some big emotion, like—anger? “This is what the curse requires. The curse wants you to tell me what to do.”

“For example…?”

“For example, where—” his ears are turning pink, for some reason. “Where should I put my hands?”

“Uh. Just resting on your thighs is fine.”

A muscle flexes in Lan Zhan’s jaw. ”Tell me.”

Wei Wuxian thinks he understands, but the idea of it is almost too daunting. Lan Zhan isn’t someone he can just order around! Having him in Wei Wuxian’s life feels like a delicate balance, already, one he tries not to upset with any demands or other misbehavior. Even if it’s only to help with the curse, it goes against his instincts. But he can do it, if he has to. He looks at Lan Zhan’s hands, clenched in the fabric of his pants. He takes a steadying breath.

“Relax your fingers,” he says.

Right away, Lan Zhan’s grip slackens.

“Now just rest your hands on your thighs.”

He does it, but he’s still so tense it hurts to look at.

“Let your shoulders down,” he says without thinking. “Shake it out, come on now. Take a breath. Relax.”

Lan Zhan does everything he asked, settling into an alert but much softer posture.

“Thank you,” he sighs. Wei Wuxian doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Lan Zhan’s gaze sharpens a little, too, like he’s coming out of a dream.

“That’s helping, huh?”

“Mn.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, what is this? Is it just an obedience spell?”

“I’m…not certain.”

“Can you—I mean.” Orders help him, right? Wei Wuxian tries to phrase it more directly. “Say more. Um. If you can.”

“I—don’t feel compelled. To obey. It just feels good, when you…”

He trails off, his ears reddening even more.

“When I tell you what to do.”

“Mn.”

“Aiyah, my poor Lan Zhan! This must be rough on you. You hate being ordered around.”

Lan Zhan says nothing. He looks so terribly uncomfortable. Wei Wuxian needs more details about the curse, but what if he embarrasses Lan Zhan, or makes him say something he doesn’t want to say?

“So, you don’t think we have to worry that other people can…control you, or anything?”

Lan Zhan sits silent for a moment, considering the answer. “I don’t think so,” he says at last, and then, more quietly, “I think it is only Wei Ying.”

“Hmm,” says Wei Ying. “Hmm. Well, that makes sense considering the situation when the array was activated. I guess I’m the nasty tyrant and you’re my loyal servant.”

He means to make light of it, but suddenly it’s his turn to blush, as he remembers exactly what kind of things the tyrant probably made the former brothel workers do. The nature of it was clear from the illicit thrill in the villagers’ voices when telling the tales. But…it still wouldn’t have to be that kind of curse, right? Hopefully not, or this situation is about to get far too complicated.

“Mn,” says Lan Zhan.

“And…is it…like…I could tell you to do anything?” Damn it, he’s trying to get away from those kinds of thoughts! “I mean, spin around in a circle? Pinch your nose? Hop like a bunny?”

“I would do those things,” Lan Zhan answers slowly. “If Wei Ying really wanted them.”

That’s even worse, for some reason. What if it is that kind of curse? No way can he let Lan Zhan guess he’s even thinking it. For now, he’ll just have to keep things in innocent territory until they can solve the problem.

“Okay,” Wei Ying sighs, trying to be practical. “Okay, so, it has to be me, and it has to be sincere, but otherwise it could be anything. That’s fine, we can handle this. There are plenty of nice, simple things that I sincerely want you to do, okay? So, I’ll just turn them into instructions and we’ll keep the curse appeased until we can get rid of it. How does that sound?”

“Mn.”

“And how are you doing right now?” Wei Ying peers into Lan Zhan’s eyes, and Lan Zhan latches onto his gaze with a hint of desperation, something simmering just below the surface. Wei Ying lays his hand on Lan Zhan’s forehead and finds it rather warm, but not as bad as before.

“I may…need more.”

“Aiyah. Okay. Okay, Lan Zhan, close up your shirt. Tie it properly.”

Lan Zhan’s hands are steady as he obeys. When he’s finished, he goes back to his previous posture, hands resting on thighs.

“Good. You did well.”

Lan Zhan reacts slightly to the praise, his fingers twitching, mouth tightening ambiguously.

“Is that part of it?” Wei Ying asks. “The—the acknowledgment?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head once. “It doesn’t matter.”

“All right. Uh, let’s see. Who knows how long you were kneeling there, you’re probably a little sore. So, just check in with your body. Is there anything that would help you feel good? Tell me.”

“I need to stretch,” says Lan Zhan right away. “Relieve myself. Drink water.”

“Do you need more sleep? Tell me how long you’ve been awake.”

Lan Wangji blinks. “I—several hours. I don’t want to sleep.”

“But you’re tired, aren’t you? Tell me.”

Eyes downcast, Lan Wangji nods.

“Okay. Thanks for telling me. I know you said you don’t want to sleep, but I…I don’t want to see you tired. You’ll need all your energy to resist the curse. I think we should go back to that brothel and see if we can find any clues about how to break this curse, but I don’t think we should go there if you’re not feeling strong and well-rested. So, I guess, I think you should go back to sleep for a while. I—tell me if you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Okay. Then. Get up and do anything you need. Like you said before. And then lie down in bed and go to sleep. And we’ll do more after you’ve rested.”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan stands up. “Thank you, Wei Ying.”

***

Lan Wangji sleeps, and has odd dreams about Wei Ying telling him to do things: touch his nose, hop like a bunny, put his shirt on, take his shirt off. He does everything Wei Ying wants, and Wei Ying sits half-dressed on his throne and tells him he did well. When he wakes, the sun has moved above the window and he is so hard he can barely focus his eyes. He rolls sideways and almost moans out loud at the friction of cloth against his erection.

This is nothing new, except for the tingle of the mark around his neck. Even the dream had similarities to ones he’s had before, like the way Wei Ying said you did well. His reaction this time is especially intense, though. It’s not out of the question that the curse is affecting him physically.

That’s all the coherent thought he’s allowed to have before Wei Ying pops his head around the room divider.

“Lan Zhan? Are you awake? It’s past noon but you looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I am awake,” he manages to say.

“Are you all right?” Wei Ying comes to the bedside. “Your cheeks are flushed.”

“I am fine,” he says, flinching away from Wei Ying’s hand.

“Okay. That’s good. Um. Has anything changed?”

“No.”

“All right. Good. So.” Wei Ying closes his eyes for a second, and Lan Wangji knows that he is readying himself to tell him what to do. It’s clear that Wei Ying is prepared to do this for him even though it is so much against his nature. He swallows an illogical apology. Still, it will be a relief; the tingle of the mark is beginning to feel unpleasant, nipping at him in an unsettling counterpoint with his arousal.

“Get up when you feel ready,” Wei Ying says. “Do whatever you need to feel good. And get dressed.”

“What would Wei Ying like me to wear?” The question is out before he can think about it.

“Uh.” Wei Ying flushes slightly. “Uh. Change into fresh zongyi, the…the light blue ones. The white inner robe with the tight sleeves. The light blue outer robe with the shoulder ornaments. I like that one.”

The instructions wash over him like cool water, lessening the sting of the mark at once. It’s so good to know how Wei Ying wants him to look. But then Wei Ying asks, “Is that all right?”

“No need to ask,” he says, trying not to let it sound like a complaint.

“Ah,” says Wei Ying. “All right then. You heard me. Get up, take care of yourself, get dressed. Is there anything else you need? Tell me.”

Treat me like I’m yours, he almost says. That’s what he wants.

“I need some time alone,” he says.

Wei Ying nods. “That’s fine,” he says. “I’ll wait downstairs. Come and meet me when you’re ready.”

As soon as Wei Ying is gone, Lan Wangji throws off the bedclothes and opens his clothing. He is already hyper-sensitive and leaking. As he begins, he lets fantasies play in his head. He has a ready stock of them, after all these years, but the curse seems to give them extra vividness: how he would kneel and offer Wei Ying his mouth, how Wei Ying would treat him like a toy, how he would be everything Wei Ying wanted, how Wei Ying would want him and use him and call him good—

The pleasure burns through him like wildfire. He climaxes after barely a minute, drops of ejaculate landing high on his chest. Although the physical relief is immediate, the fantasy keeps playing in his mind. He wants Wei Ying to be with him now, to know what he’s done, to praise him or tease him or touch him. The ache of want pierces him more deeply than this brute physical solution can allay.

At least he doesn’t get hard again right away. He’s heard before of curses, or poisons, that demand endless sexual climax, until the victim dies of exhaustion, or that can only be appeased by intercourse with another person, impossible to cure with self-stimulation alone. He’d always assumed such stories were merely salacious legends, but his current situation has him in some doubt. They must find a solution soon.

Wei Ying said take care of yourself. He cleans himself carefully with a wet cloth. He puts on the clothing that Wei Ying asked for. He combs and pins his hair, makes sure his headband is straight. He goes downstairs.

As promised, Wei Ying is waiting for him, sitting down at one of the inn’s few tables with a hearty lunch laid out in front of him.

“Lan Zhan!” he greets. “Have a seat. Eat something.”

Lan Wangji sits. There are several dishes on the table, vegetables and tofu and meat and fish. Wei Ying has clearly decided that he needs to replenish his energy.

“What should I eat?”

Wei Ying raises his eyebrows. “Hm? Uh, whatever you like.”

“Wei Ying.” I need more, he wants to say. More, endlessly more.

Wei Ying’s eyes widen in understanding.

“All right. Ah. Is your stomach upset at all?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head.

“Okay, well, the fish has plenty of ginger, just in case. Have some of that, and a big helping of rice, and the greens. And, I know this one looks spicy, but you should have a taste, it’s their specialty here, and it’s not nearly as hot as it looks.”

Lan Wangji does everything he asks, heaping food into his bowl, even the spicy-looking tofu dish. Ordinarily he would have left that one alone, but he trusts Wei Ying, so he tries it. It’s very flavorful, and not too spicy at all. Wei Ying smiles at him.

“Tell me what you think.”

“It’s good,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Why do you say thank you?” Wei Ying asks suddenly. “You don’t always. Does it mean something?”

Lan Wangji has to consider this for a moment. It really feels like the words just come out of him, sometimes, so what is it that draws them out?

“It happens,” he says, slowly, “when you ask for something that I—wouldn’t naturally have done. Not just what you think I…want.”

“Huh,” Wei Ying looks troubled. “And is that—better? Is that why you say thank you?”

Eyes downcast, he nods. He knows Wei Ying will not find this easy, but if it’s just Wei Ying telling him to do what he thinks Lan Wangji already wants to do, then isn’t that like Lan Wangji is the one ordering Wei Ying around? It isn’t enough. The curse knows the difference.

“Okay,” says Wei Ying. “Okay, then. Um. Pour me some wine.”

Lan Wangji sets down his chopsticks and pours Wei Ying another cup of wine.

No thank you emerges. He would certainly have done it anyway.

“Huh. Um. Then, give me your tofu. It’s the last piece, I want it.”

Lan Wangji puts the tofu in his bowl. Still nothing.

Wei Ying gives a little frustrated sigh. “Well. Ignore me then. Don’t look at me. Keep your eyes on your food until I say.”

Lan Wangji looks down, the light of Wei Ying’s face forbidden to him. The cruelty of it, the disregard, is like a splash of cool water on the fire of the curse, turning to steam inside him.

“Thank you, Wei Ying,” he says.

***

Wei Wuxian watches Lan Zhan carefully as he finishes the meal. He scrupulously follows the rules, his eyes fixed on his food as he diligently eats everything Wei Ying gave him. His ears are pink. Of course, he really wants Lan Zhan to look at him, but there’s something kind of cute about this, too.

Yes, cute! Lan Zhan is cute. The fact of it hits him several times a day, and he’s long since given up on being surprised. He’s taken to hoarding up Lan Zhan’s moments of cuteness, a secret stash that he gloats over in private. Anyone can tell just by looking that Lan Zhan is handsome and virtuous and strong, but Wei Wuxian would wager that nobody else knows that he is also cute, shy, funny, and easy to tease. Wei Wuxian has never been so happy in his life, he thinks, as he is these days with Lan Zhan by his side. It’s just too bad that it won’t last forever, since Lan Zhan will soon want to get back to his sect, and then of course Wei Wuxian will have to figure out what else to do with his time.

Poor Lan Zhan, with this curse. Wei Wuxian’s heart really aches for him.

“Ah, Lan Zhan. Don’t worry. We’ll get through this.”

“Of course.” Lan Zhan continues to keep his eyes down when answering. Poor thing. Wei Wuxian feels a pang of guilt for finding it cute a moment ago.

“I don’t blame you for being upset. I’d feel sorry for anyone who has to take orders from me. Especially you!”

“Why me?”

Wei Wuxian is brought up short by the question. “Lan Zhan, do you remember that time years ago, when I put the talisman on you and made you drink?”

“Mn,” says Lan Zhan.

“You know, I did feel bad about it afterwards. I mean, later, when we weren’t talking. I was such a little shit back then, wasn’t I?”

“You were.”

“Aiyo. Anyway, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that to you. It was wrong of me.”

“No need,” says Lan Zhan, still not looking up.

For some reason, Wei Wuxian finds this easy forgiveness difficult to accept, and he feels compelled to push for more of a response. “Weren’t you angry? Didn’t your blood just boil? I could have gotten you into so much trouble. I did get you into so much trouble.”

Lan Zhan chews and swallows. “No talking while eating.”

“Pff, come on, we’re not at your stuffy old house. Tell the truth. How did you feel about it?”

Lan Zhan closes his eyes once, a little longer than a blink, which is all the warning Wei Wuxian gets.

“I was aroused by it,” he says, quietly, to his rice.

Wei Wuxian, for once, is speechless, but it seems the curse compels Lan Zhan to keep talking.

“To have someone else control my actions was…freeing. You could have made me do anything. I often thought about it. I still often think about it.”

“Lan Zhan! Stop talking.” Wei Wuxian feels his face turn red, then white. Lan Zhan goes back to calmly eating.

“Thank you,” he says, after a moment.

Wei Wuxian is too shaken to press the conversation any further. They finish the meal in silence, Lan Zhan’s words echoing in Wei Wuxian’s mind: “I was aroused by it.” Aroused! He was aroused by it. Is Lan Zhan someone who gets aroused? Well, of course he is, there’s no question of that! Wei Wuxian has just never really asked himself what would do that for him, and if he had asked himself he definitely would never have imagined that it would be connected to a scene in which Wei Wuxian was even remotely involved.

Lan Zhan needs him right now! He can’t get distracted. He orders Lan Zhan to give him his purse to pay for the meal, which doesn’t even earn him a “thank you,” and what the hell does that even mean?

Chapter Text

They walk to the brothel afterward, the conversation echoing in Wei Wuxian’s mind. Does that word, aroused, have some other meaning? I often thought about it. When did he think about it? Did Lan Zhan get…that way…when he thought about it? Is that why he thought about it? Why he still often thinks about it?

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan.

“Hm?”

“You are quiet.”

“Ah! Hm. S-sorry, Lan Zhan. How are you feeling?”

“I am well.”

“Completely well?”

His mouth tightens. “Well enough.”

Meaning he could be better. Wei Ying racks his brain for something to ask Lan Zhan to do, but the only things he can think of are either ludicrous or, all of a sudden, quite filthy. He settles on distraction as a tactic, instead.

“What do you think we should look for at the brothel? Where should we start?”

“There may be more hidden areas.”

“Mn, I think so, too. I mean, that’s our best hope, at least. Maybe the guy kept some sort of notes on his creations. I’m a little worried that it’s a long shot, though.”

“Mn.”

The abandoned brothel is on the other side of town from the inn. After breaking the seal on the doors, they find it just as they left it the day before: empty and quiet, the only sound the dry clatter of maple leaves scattered by an ordinary breeze in the courtyard. Still they go from room to room, searching.

Even though it was a villain’s lair, the history of the building is still obvious from the layout. As they enter the main hall, Wei Wuxian can picture the way it was before the villain took over. Here the madam would have greeted her customers, and directed her girls to serve them wine and delicacies. There might have been music, and dancing. There would have been flirtation, insinuation, flashes of bare skin, aromas of rich perfume.

There’s nothing, now. Whatever was left after the villain was defeated must have been pillaged by robbers, leaving not a single drapery or trinket behind. Even some of the woodwork has been prized away, leaving empty doorways and patches of broken plaster behind.

“Do you sense anything?” Wei Wuxian asks, as much to break the silence as anything.

“Nothing,” Lan Zhan replies.

A careful search of the ground floor reveals nothing new in the way of secret compartments or hidden rooms. They ascend the stairs to the upper floor. Where the action would have been, Wei Wuxian supposes.

“Have you ever been in a brothel before, Lan Zhan?”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian stumbles on the stairs. He doesn’t quite miss a step, but Lan Zhan puts out a hand to steady him anyway, a brief warm pressure on the small of his back, there and quickly gone again.

“Lan Zhan! When? Why? You have to tell me everything.”

“Brothels are often connected with restless ghosts and other issues. Most cultivators scorn to be involved, so situations tend to worsen.”

“Ah, so you were merely going where the chaos is.”

“Yes.”

“Were you ever tempted, though? I’m sure the girls would have loved to have you for a customer.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I was never tempted.”

Wei Wuxian chews on that one for a while. They reach the top of the stairs and look into the first of the small bedrooms. Just like downstairs, it is empty. There are some scratches on the floorboards, but nothing else to see.

“And Wei Ying?” says Lan Zhan.

“Ah? Wei Ying what?”

“Has Wei Ying been to such a place?”

“Me! When would I have had the time?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer.

They look into the next room. There are some shards of broken pottery on the floor, and a stain, maybe from spilled wine or hair oil.

“Actually,” Wei Wuxian says, compelled for some reason to be honest, “Jiang Cheng and I went to one in Yunmeng, not long before we went to Cloud Recesses.”

“And were you tempted?”

Wei Ying smiles crookedly at the memory. “There was no time to be tempted. The madam pegged us for dumb kids right away. She got this girl to serve us some expensive wine, this woman, she was old enough to be our mother, with an enormous, uh, bosom. She winked at us and said all kinds of things. We dropped some money for the wine and ran away. We were mortified.”

He looks at Lan Zhan to see his reaction, and thinks he catches the ghost of a smile.

“So,” he goes on, “that was really my only experience.”

The room they’re searching is the largest so far, but it’s just as empty as all the others. What would they need such a big room for, anyway? Did they entertain more than one person at a time? Is that a thing that people do?

Lan Zhan lets the conversation end there, to Wei Wuxian’s relief. But his mind keeps working over the subject matter. There are times when he remembers that Lan Zhan is, effectively, thirteen years his senior. Thirteen years when he had a whole life that Wei Wuxian does not know much about. Lan Zhan was never tempted by brothels, but maybe he didn’t need them. Maybe he had someone else to do those things with, someone he didn’t have to pay for, because who wouldn’t gladly go to bed with Hanguang-Jun? If there was such a person, where are they now? Will Lan Zhan go back to them, when it’s time for their ways to part?

The rest of the rooms are, as expected, empty, not so much as a loose floorboard to be found. They check the kitchen, the woodshed, the latrine. Nothing. They go back into the hidden chamber to search, but it doesn’t reveal any further secrets.

When they finish searching, Wei Wuxian looks at Lan Zhan and sees that his forehead is beaded with sweat. Damn, he should have noticed that the curse was affecting him. Would have noticed, if he hadn’t been so distracted with wondering about Lan Zhan’s past. He must not let it happen again.

“Lan Zhan.”

It seems to take an extra beat for Lan Zhan to focus on him.

“Let’s take a break. Come on.”

Lan Zhan unquestioningly follows him back into the brothel’s main room, which at least has a better atmosphere, even if it is bare of furnishings.

“Here, sit. Rest.”

Lan Zhan sits down cross-legged on the wood floor. His posture is straight, tense. His mouth looks tight, and there’s the faintest suggestion of a crease between his brows. Anyone else might think he was merely in a serious mood, but to Wei Wuxian’s eyes, he’s clearly suffering.

“Aiya, don’t make that face, you’ll get wrinkles.”

His expression twitches as though his face doesn’t know what to do.

“Come on, relax.” Wei Wuxian kneels on the floor behind him. When Jiang Cheng got too tense, Shijie used to massage his shoulders for him. He himself has never tried it, but surely it can’t be too hard. “Um. Tell me if this isn’t good.”

Hesitantly, he puts his hands on Lan Zhan’s upper back. He feels warm even through the layers of clothing. Too warm, maybe. Lan Zhan doesn’t object, so he kneads the muscles cautiously, guessing what would feel good by remembering his own aches and pains.

“Relax for me, hm? I know you can do it.”

With an obvious effort, Lan Zhan lets his shoulders drop. Wei Wuxian will count that as a victory, even though he is still very obviously filled with tension.

“I’m sorry, I forgot to take care of you for a while, there. You need something, huh?”

Remembering another of Shijie’s techniques, Wei Ying takes hold of his head and tilts it from side to side.

“Let go, Lan Zhan. Come on. I’ve got you. Hey.”

Lan Zhan sucks in a small breath. “Wei Ying,” he whispers, but he does what he’s supposed to, lets the weight of his head fall into Wei Wuxian’s hands. Wei Wuxian moves him around like a doll, stretching one side of his neck and then the other, then pressing his head down to stretch his back. When he peers at Lan Zhan’s face, he sees it slack and soft, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. He lets the weight of Lan Zhan’s forehead rest in his hands.

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan whispers.

“Shh, don’t talk. Relax. As much as you can." They stay like that for a time, just breathing. Eventually Lan Zhan relaxes so much that he leans back against Wei Wuxian, shoulders pressing into his chest. It takes a surprisingly long time for Wei Wuxian to realize that he’s touching Lan Zhan’s headband.

“Is this okay?” he asks, barely louder than breath.

“Yes,” says Lan Zhan, just as quiet.

He’s getting an idea of something he can ask for. It has to be something big, right? Something that will give Lan Zhan a lot of headway against the curse. Something Lan Zhan would never do on his own but that Wei Wuxian genuinely wants. Something he has thought about. Something that the thought of Lan Zhan being with other people always makes him think about.

“I have…I have something for you. A present. Do you want it? Tell me.”

The answer is immediate.

“Yes.”

“Good. Then.” He takes a breath to steady himself. This feels significant. It is significant, obviously, which is why it will help Lan Zhan. “Take your ribbon off.”

Lan Zhan’s head stays bowed when he releases him. He keeps his hands on Lan Zhan’s shoulders while Lan Zhan unties the white Lan ribbon, then pulls it softly out from under his hair. It lies across his hands, ends fluttering in the draft.

“Thank you,” he says.

“That was very well done,” says Wei Ying. He knows the curse doesn’t require it, but he finds he wants to say it, anyway. “And now this is for you.”

Swiftly, he unties the red ribbon from his own hair. He plucks the Lan ribbon from Lan Zhan’s hands and lays the red ribbon across his palms in its place.

“Put it on,” he says.

Lan Zhan’s hands shake slightly as he obeys, tying the red ribbon across his brow and threading it under his hair with practiced hands.

“Thank you,” he says. Then all at once he surges away from Wei Wuxian, turns around, and presses his forehead to his hands on the floor.

“Wei Ying. Thank you.”

Wei Wuxian’s tongue feels large in his mouth. “Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. Sit up. There’s no need for this.”

Lan Zhan sits up with obvious reluctance. The sight of the red ribbon makes something half-hysterical bubble up in Wei Wuxian’s chest. When he imagined this before, it was an act of crazed self-indulgence. He’d been hurt and angry at the time, frustrated with Lan Zhan’s unwillingness to think outside the strictures of his precious sect rules. “Come back to Gusu with me,” Lan Zhan had said, and later that night, Wei Wuxian had pictured ripping off his precious headband and replacing it with something of his own. Over the course of the dark years, that imagining had softened with use, had become something that he turned to when he ached for comfort. To see it now, in the flesh, in this situation, gives rise to a host of complicated emotions.

“Look at me, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze is…soft, relaxed. Wondering. But not unfocused. Not ill. Wei Wuxian realizes with a jolt that the red ribbon echoes the red mark across his throat.

“Is this good?” asks Wei Ying. “Is it helping? Tell me.”

“It’s very good,” says Lan Zhan.

Wei Wuxian lets out a breath. “All right. Um. This.” He still has Lan Zhan’s ribbon in his hands. “I don’t want to disrespect it. Tell me what to do with it.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze flicks down again, as though nervous.

“Your wrist,” he says.

“All right.” Wei Wuxian holds the ribbon out. “Tie it for me.”

Lan Zhan hesitates very slightly before obeying, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what it means. But he does take the ribbon, and sets the filigree over Wei Wuxian’s pulse point. He wraps the ribbon around and around, ties a careful knot, and tucks the ends under. He does it beautifully, with a slow care that almost feels like reverence. Then he bows his head to press a kiss to the filigree before letting his hand go.

“Lan Zhan! I didn’t ask for that.”

Lan Zhan makes no reply, his cheeks dusted pink, now.

“Why did you do it? Was it the curse?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer, and Wei Wuxian can’t quite bear to order him to tell.

“Well. It’s getting late. Let’s head back to the inn.”

***

Lan Wangji feels like everyone is looking. Even here, well south of the territory of the main cultivation clans, the Lan headband is known. The name of Hanguang-Jun is known. The innkeeper knows who he is, has no doubt told everyone that Hanguang-Jun is staying at the inn. The villagers who see him walking past will no doubt see the red ribbon in place of the Lan white and wonder what it means. They will see his own ribbon on Wei Ying’s wrist. There will be rumors.

He hopes there are rumors. The thought of rumors sustains him through the walk back to the inn. Back at the brothel, he hadn’t realized how badly the curse was draining him until he was hit by a sudden spell of dizziness. Wei Ying’s quick thinking saved him. Wearing Wei Ying’s ribbon in place of his own is good, but he’s going to need more, and soon. As they walk, he feels the curse mark tightening like a collar around his throat. The scars on his back throb threateningly. There’s something he’s supposed to be doing, and if he doesn’t do it, he’ll be punished. He’s supposed to be obeying Wei Ying all the time. He was too free for too long. If he goes without direction too much longer, something bad will happen.

Wei Ying, of course, notices. He stops to take a good look at Lan Wangji just inside the door of the inn, and his eyes widen in alarm. As if from a great distance away, Lan Wangji hears Wei Ying talking to the innkeeper, asking him to bring up dinner, tea, and a bath. When his attention returns it is as scorching as the sun.

“Lan Zhan, I’m going to try to find out if there’s another cultivator nearby who could help us remove the curse. You go upstairs, now. Wait for me in our room. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

It’s not enough. “Wei Ying—”

“Ah. You. You have to kneel. Kneel by the door. Rest your hands on your legs. Keep your shoulders down. Don’t move or do anything until I come. Go now. Don’t look back at me. Just go.”

“Thank you.”

Lan Wangji’s head snaps down. He doesn’t get to see whether Wei Ying watches him go. He goes straight up the room, opens the door, closes it behind him, and immediately turns and kneels. He gives attention to his posture: his feet together, his back straight, his shoulders down, his hands on his thighs. It feels good, at first. At first, it feels just right.

***

The innkeeper tells Wei Wuxian that there is no nearby cultivation clan, but there is a lone cultivator who sometimes stays in the next town, half a day’s ride away. It’s too dangerous for anyone to go there now, with night falling, but the innkeeper gets the stable hand to agree to go first thing in the morning. Wei Wuxian can only hope that’s quick enough, and that this person will be able to help them.

Then he rushes upstairs, narrowly overtaking the serving girl who is bringing their dinner. When he opens the door and sees Lan Zhan, he turns and takes the tray from her, doing his best to shield Lan Zhan from view.

“I’ll take it from here, thank you,” he says. “You can leave us.”

Sauce splashes out of the dishes as he more or less drops the food tray onto the table, and then he’s kneeling to check on Lan Zhan.

“Lan Zhan, what’s wrong? Talk to me. Look at me.”

Lan Zhan turns a tear streaked face toward him, and Wei Wuxian’s heart breaks. He doesn’t know what to do except pull Lan Zhan into an embrace.

“Come here. Oh, no, Lan Zhan, what’s happened? Why are you crying? Is it the curse? Was it not enough? Tell me.”

Lan Zhan collapses into him, clutching at Wei Wuxian’s lapel and pressing his face against his chest. He takes a deep, careful breath, and then another, and Wei Wuxian can feel him shaking.

“This…was hard for me,” he whispers. “Waiting.”

“Oh.” Wei Wuxian feels tears pricking his own eyes. Of course. He didn’t take the time to imagine Lan Zhan kneeling all alone, waiting by the door for someone who might never come. “I’m so sorry, Lan Zhan. I should have thought. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“No need,” says Lan Zhan, clinging to him.

“But there is. I hurt you. I never want to hurt you.”

Lan Zhan says nothing, just clings to him harder. How could Lan Zhan believe him, after all?

“I think I’ve hurt you before,” he says. “So many times. I don’t want to any more. Please believe me, Lan Zhan. I don’t want to ever hurt you.”

Lan Zhan lies still against his chest. Wei Wuxian holds him as tight as he can. After a long time, Lan Zhan shifts, and Wei Wuxian releases him so that he can sit up. Lan Zhan rubs his hands over his face and rubs his eyes. He lowers his hands, but still keeps his eyes downcast. His face is blotchy red from crying. There’s an unhappy twist to his mouth.

“I still,” he says, then gestures helplessly. “I still need—”

The curse. “Of course,” Wei Ying says. “Of course. Let me take care of you, Lan Zhan.”

He knows he has to get this right. He has to think carefully. He needs more information.

“You…you said the ribbon thing was good,” he says, as gently as he can. “That really seemed to work for you. Can you tell me what was good about it?”

“It was—” Lan Zhan grimaces, still looking down.

The thing is, Wei Wuxian wants to know. He doesn’t want Lan Zhan to feel ashamed, or worried, or whatever this is. What if there could be a world where Lan Zhan told him what he needed, and it was…nice? Joyful? Easy? The thought of it sends a pang of yearning through his heart.

He reaches out and takes Lan Zhan’s hands in his own. Lan Zhan looks up at him, surprised.

“It’s all right,” says Wei Wuxian. “Whatever it is, it’s really fine, Lan Zhan. You can tell me.”

Lan Zhan nods, but he still seems to have trouble meeting Wei Wuxian’s eyes.

“I liked the feeling that you…owned me,” he says. The words go right through Wei Wuxian’s skin and touch him in a strange place, but he keeps his expression steady, he thinks. Lan Zhan goes on. “I liked…the abnegation. Of my. Self. My…control.”

Wei Wuxian whistles softly, trying to lighten the impact of these words.

“Abnegation,” he says. “That’s a big one. Can you explain more?”

“It didn’t matter what I might want.” Lan Zhan’s fingers twine tightly with his. “You would do all my wanting for me. I would simply be a…an object. That belongs to you.”

Wei Wuxian lifts one hand to stroke Lan Zhan’s cheek. He leans into it softly.

“Thank you for telling me,” says Wei Wuxian. “Should we do more things like that?”

Lan Zhan nods. For some reason, Wei Wuxian’s heart is racing. With these clear words of Lan Zhan’s, he can easily picture what to do next.

“Is kneeling okay?” he asks. “It seems like it’s been good before.”

“It’s fine.”

“All right. Then come to the table with me. And kneel next to me.”

***

Lan Wangji kneels beside Wei Ying at the table. All sorts of emotions are swooping inside him. Wei Ying’s embrace cleared away the specters raised by waiting at the door, but the shocky aftermath of it is still in his chest and in his limbs. And then—the things he said. He can’t believe what came out of his mouth, things much older than this curse, things he never expected to be able to say. In truth, this goes back to that night with the talisman and the wine. But he was speaking honestly: this is what the curse demands of him—of Wei Ying—right now. The sick ache of it is with him, has been growing steadily deeper and sharper as he’s gone without what he needs for most of a day.

Kneeling, at least, is simple. He keeps himself still while Wei Ying settles down to sit in his usual careless posture. It feels good to be formal and proper while Wei Ying is unrestrained. Like a servant, or a courtesan.

“Pour for me,” says Wei Ying.

His tone isn’t unkind or harsh, nor is it too loud. He doesn’t use Lan Wangji’s name or any form of address at all. Lan Wangji likes that. With all of his elegant training, he holds back his sleeve to reach for the wine jar and a cup, and pours a measure for Wei Ying. Wei Ying picks up the cup and tosses it back quickly. He sets the cup down just out of Lan Wangji’s reach, not taking him into consideration at all, which is…very good.

“Another.” The quietness of Wei Ying’s voice makes it feel like the commands are especially for him. He doesn’t have to be loud because he knows he’ll be obeyed.

Lan Wangji brings the cup near again and pours another.

In all this time he hasn’t raised his eyes from the level of the table.

“Serve the food,” says Wei Ying.

There are a few different dishes on the tray.

“What would you like?” he asks.

“I did not say to talk,” says Wei Ying, gently reprimanding, still with that quiet authority, and Lan Wangji feels himself flush, hard. As the pain of the curse gradually subsides, he’s beginning to remember that it might also be a sex curse.

“You already know what I like,” says Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji knows. Again with elegance and care, he composes the food and sets it in front of Wei Ying. Wei Ying begins to eat, leaving him with nothing to do. For a few moments he experiences…nothingness. It’s not a bad sensation at all.

Wei Ying picks up his wine and drinks it. Lan Wangji’s focus lands on the cup. The cup fills his whole attention.

“Another,” says Wei Ying, between bites.

Lan Wangji pours.

“You will hold the wine jar,” Wei Ying says, still not bothering to cast a glance toward him. “When I need more, give me more.”

The weight of the jar in his hands has a settling effect. He holds it perfectly, elegantly, and attends to Wei Ying’s cup, and nothing else. As long as he is attending to this, he does not have to think about anything, or say anything, or do anything, or be anything.

Wei Ying only drinks two more cups of wine throughout the whole meal, which is, somehow, good. Lan Wangji is so inconsequential a thing that Wei Ying can waste him on a job like this.

When Wei Ying has drunk his last cup of wine, he sets it far away, and holds Lan Wangji back with a gesture of his hand. He takes the wine jar from him and sets it aside. Then he turns to face Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji raises his face to look at him, curious what he will see.

It’s just Wei Ying, Wei Ying watching him carefully, gently. Whatever he sees in Lan Wangji’s face seems to please him, his slightly furrowed brow giving way to an interesting little smile.

“Is this good?” Wei Ying asks.

“It is,” he admits. It’s better than good.

Wei Ying gives a small nod.

“Then where should your eyes be?” he says.

Lan Wangji looks down, his face heating again. Wei Ying’s tone is so…sweet. Like he might talk to a pet.

Oh. It is definitely a sex curse. Luckily the way he is kneeling will hide the evidence of his sudden, intense arousal. He tries to keep his breathing steady.

There are sounds from the table, and then Wei Ying is putting a bowl and a pair of chopsticks in his hands.

“Time to eat,” he says, again in that voice that is affectionate yet takes his obedience for granted.

He sits there, kneeling, holding the bowl in his hands. It is strange and awkward. Does Wei Ying mean for him to not use the table? Lan Wangji is almost sure that he does mean that, but, on an impulse, he moves toward the table anyway.

“Ah,” Wei Ying stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “You can just eat it there.”

It worked. He is lightheaded with pleasure.

“Thank you,” he says, and he eats, right there, not even deserving to sit at the table.

When the bowl is empty Wei Ying takes it away, and then gives him water to drink, and another cupful when the first is gone. When did this turn into Wei Ying looking after him? It still feels good, though, like Wei Ying is just taking care of his possessions. Wei Ying watches to make sure he drinks it all, then sets the cup aside.

“There,” he says. “Feels better, hm?”

Lan Wangji nods.

“You’ve been good,” says Wei Ying. “Next, I think we should—”

He’s interrupted by a knock on the door. It makes both of them jump.

“Ah. That must be the bath.” Wei Ying sounds annoyed. “I…um. Aiyo. Just a moment!” he calls toward the door. Then he whispers to Lan Wangji, “They’ll see you like this. Do you want to…move, or?”

See him like what? Kneeling to one side of the table? Wearing Wei Ying’s red ribbon?

“I do not mind,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“Oh. Okay then. But. If you need to move, you have permission, okay?”

He goes to let in the staff. Lan Wangji hears them set up the tub in the corner behind the privacy screen and pour in two large buckets of water. Wei Ying didn’t technically tell him not to look at them, but it feels best to look down at his own hands resting on his thighs, so he does that. The inn staff leave the room, and Wei Ying comes back to him.

Instead of kneeling down beside him, he stays standing. It’s the first time it’s been like this, Wei Ying’s booted feet on the floor in front of him, the height of him looming above. Lan Wangji raises his eyes to the level of Wei Ying’s knees. Then he feels a hand on his head, and closes his eyes. Time seems to stop.

“Hmm, I was afraid those guys ruined the mood, but it seems like you’re still in it, huh?”

“Mn.” It’s barely a sound, just a ghost of his voice.

Wei Ying pets his hair, traces a finger over the line of the red ribbon. Then his fingers press under Lan Wangji’s chin, tilting his face up. He opens his eyes. Wei Ying’s gaze is warm and thoughtful. The beauty of his face after waiting so long feels like a gift.

“Mm, Lan Zhan. You really do make me want. So many things.”

“Wei Ying,” he whispers. “Tell me.”

Wei Ying bites his lip, and sorrow pinches his brow.

“Tell me. Please.”

“Aiyo, what am I saying?” Wei Ying pats his cheek gently before taking his hand away, leaving Lan Wangji unmoored. “You’re not well. Let’s get some rest, Lan Zhan.”

He turns away.

“You take the first bath,” he says. “Make sure you do a good job. Put on clean sleep clothes afterward.”

Though Lan Wangji has been too dazed to wish for anything specific, he still feels a pang of disappointment that Wei Ying asked for this instead of something else. When he undresses for his bath, he takes off the red ribbon, folds it, and lays it carefully across his folded clothing.

***

While Lan Zhan bathes, Wei Wuxian quietly slaps his own face a couple of times. What is he doing? Lan Zhan needs his help, not his…whatever this is. Not for him to have these…these…physical reactions. Just because Lan Zhan said the word “aroused” to him, and kissed his wrist, and knelt so prettily in front of him with his mouth all soft, and wore his ribbon and said I liked the feeling that you owned me, does not mean that he is allowed to take anything, because it’s all the curse. Lan Zhan would never want these things otherwise. So Wei Wuxian will just have to keep his filthy self under control until help comes tomorrow and they can get this sorted out.

When Lan Zhan is finished bathing he comes out from behind the privacy screen looking soft in his sleep clothes, his hair damp and wavy. He holds something out: the red ribbon, neatly folded. Wei Wuxian takes it and sets it aside on a shelf, then stuffs his hands under his thighs where he’s sitting on the bed, resisting the urge to reach out to him. He touched Lan Zhan a lot earlier, but that was for the sake of helping him. He should try to be respectful. Have they done enough for tonight? Lan Zhan did seem to get some relief from what they did at the table.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Not bad.” Lan Zhan sounds pretty normal, and he’s acting normal enough, if slightly subdued. “Tired.”

“How is the curse mark? Let me see.”

Lan Zhan lifts his chin and pushes his collar open so Wei Wuxian can see. The mark is darker red than before, looking almost solid.

“It’s getting worse,” he says. “Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes,” says Lan Zhan.

“When? What makes it hurt?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Is it hurting now?”

After a pause, Lan Zhan shakes his head.

“All right. That’s good, then. I guess…I guess I’ll have my bath. Help me untie this? I don’t want to get it wet.”

Lan Zhan kneels beside the bed and takes Wei Wuxian’s wrist in his hands. Carefully, he unpicks the knot of the ribbon, his fingertips brushing Wei Wuxian’s skin. He unwraps the ends and lifts the ribbon away to lay it carefully beside the red one. He keeps Wei Wuxian’s wrist cradled in his other hand, and when the ribbon is put away he presses his forehead to the bare skin where the ornament had been resting.

“Wei Ying,” he says softly. “I…did not want to stop.”

“Aiya, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian can see the bare back of his neck where his hair is parted. His heart aches with tenderness. “That’s okay, we’ll go on, then. Do you still want…the same thing?” The feeling that you owned me. An object that belongs to you. If Lan Zhan knew what that does to him—

Lan Zhan nods against his wrist.

“Okay. Then.” He closes his eyes for a second where Lan Zhan can’t see, trying to pick out something he can ask for, rather than the several inappropriate ideas that come more easily to mind. “Then. Take off my boots.”

Lan Zan shifts his position and obeys, kneeling formally and picking up Wei Wuxian’s feet one by one to pull off the boots. He thought this would feel innocent, but it doesn’t, at all, with Lan Zhan’s hand touching behind his knee, and Lan Zhan somehow making the motions elegant, as though they’re dancing. Lan Zhan spending all this beauty on his dirty boots, his feet, as though Wei Wuxian’s most ordinary parts are worth more than Lan Zhan’s dignity. The upside-downness of it has a potency that Wei Wuxian can sense, even without being cursed.

“Socks, too.”

Lan Zhan pulls off the socks, and for a moment his hand cups Wei Wuxian’s bare heel, once on each side, before lowering his foot to the floor. He folds the socks together and lays them beside the boots, then looks up for his next instruction.

The next logical step toward the bath hangs between them. Would it be too much? Wei Wuxian thinks it would be too much. But maybe he can work with it anyway.

“Eyes down,” he says. “I can undress myself.” He puts a little chastisement in his tone, like it was presumptuous of Lan Zhan to think he could help with this part.

Lan Zhan looks down, and his ears go pink. “Thank you.”

He really seems to like being treated like a bad child. Or, not bad, but…errant. He likes to be corrected, doesn’t he? Is that caused by the curse? As a youth, Lan Zhan’s eyes would blaze with anger any time Wei Wuxian caught him failing to adhere to the letter of the law, so of course Wei Wuxian took every opportunity to point out his shortcomings. That had been fun, getting a rise out of him that way. Now it seems like the things Wei Wuxian once did to torment him are exactly the things that the curse makes him say thank you for.

And now he’s taking his clothes off behind Lan Zhan’s back, which is another thing that he’s tormented Lan Zhan with before, but this time he isn’t doing it to shock. Lan Zhan can’t even see him.

Not that he would want to see.

Naked, Wei Wuxian walks up beside Lan Zhan. Maybe Lan Zhan can see his bare feet and calves, if he cheats a little. He tosses his clothes in a rumpled pile on the bed in front of Lan Zhan. He sets his hand on Lan Zhan’s head, trying to convey…something. Care. Affection.

“Fold these while I bathe,” he says. “Then get yourself ready for bed. When I come out I’ll make sure you’ve done it well.”

Lan Zhan nods. Wei Wuxian waits a moment, observing the set of his shoulders, listening to his breath. All seems well, so he gives Lan Zhan’s head a pat, and leaves him. From behind the screen, he can hear the soft sounds of Lan Zhan moving, folding his clothes. For a moment he feels tempted to peek out and watch, to see if that looks like dancing, too.

The bath isn’t a very luxurious one, just a smallish tub to squat in and enough water to take care of the necessities. He doesn’t wash his hair. The inn has laundered the zongyi he arrived in, so he puts them on. He combs his hair and cleans his teeth. He feels better than he has since the curse began. Being clean always helps him feel more hopeful.

When he emerges, Lan Zhan is kneeling again, facing the privacy screen, eyes lowered. Wei Wuxian’s clothing has been transformed into a crisp rectangle lying in front of his knees. Wei Wuxian stands before him.

“Ah, Lan Zhan. Not waiting too long, I hope?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head fractionally.

“You can answer.”

“Not too long,” he says, steady. All right.

“Good. Let’s have a look, then.” He holds out his hands. After taking a second to process the instruction, Lan Zhan lifts the pile of clothing and places it in his hands.

“Ah, silly. Not that. But thank you.” He takes the pile and sets it to one side before holding out his hands again. “Your hands.”

Lan Zhan lifts his hands so that Wei Wuxian can take them. He inspects them carefully, turning them over and back again. Lan Zhan has obviously cleaned and trimmed his nails, but Wei Wuxian examines them anyway, feeling for any snags or sharp corners. Finding no fault, he lets them go.

“Good,” he says, casually. Then he does a slow walk around Lan Zhan. His posture is, of course, perfect, but Wei Wuxian nudges his ankle with his foot as though it was crooked. Lan Zhan shifts minutely, his toes flexing. Wei Wuxian continues his circuit. He tugs a corner of Lan Zhan’s shirt to smooth out a wrinkle. He straightens Lan Zhan’s head with a hand on each side. He moves a strand of hair from one side of his straight center part to the other. When he comes back to the start, he lifts Lan Zhan’s chin. Lan Zhan looks up at him.

“Eyes down,” he says, and Lan Zhan obeys. “Mouth open.”

Lan Zhan opens his mouth. His teeth and tongue are clean. His breath is sweet. Wei Wuxian closes his jaw with one finger.

“Well done,” he says lightly. “Since you’re all clean, you can sleep in the bed.”

Lan Zhan’s reaction is immediate, his eyes snapping up into a furious glare. “Wei Ying!”

“Ah ah ah, your manners!” He pushes Lan Zhan’s head back down for him, an instinctive response to Lan Zhan’s rebellion. Lan Zhan takes in a sharp breath. “You think I won’t sleep there, too? I was going to, but if you’re not good I’ll change my mind.” Wei Wuxian keeps his hand on his head, pushing. It feels good to touch him that way, and it seems to work for Lan Zhan, who takes another shaky inhale, then another, before his breathing slows again.

“So, will you be good? You can answer.”

“Yes,” says Lan Zhan, instantly.

“All right then. Up you go, and get in bed. I’ll be right behind you.”

Lan Zhan rises with all his usual dignity and gets straight into bed. He lies down on his back with perfect propriety, pulling the cover over himself, leaving enough room for Wei Wuxian to lie beside him. He stands for a moment, caught off guard by the site of that open space. He really had intended for Lan Zhan to sleep in the bed alone, and he’s not sure what made him promise otherwise. In truth, he’d expected Lan Zhan to object, but he’s left himself with no way out now, hasn’t he? He blows out the candles and lies down. There’s just enough blanket to cover him while still allowing a little space between their bodies.

“Now we’ll sleep,” says Wei Wuxian. “Good night, Lan Zhan.”

It’s just about hai shi, he thinks. But a long time goes by, and he can tell Lan Zhan is still awake. His breathing is uneven, and his body is tense. They must not have done enough, still, even though he’s been bossing Lan Zhan around for several hours, at this point. Is there something else that the curse demands? Something different? His thoughts turn back to the brothel, to the origin of the curse. He’s been trying not to ask for those wicked things that spring so easily to mind, but what if it really is that kind of curse? What if that’s the only way they can get enough breathing room to pursue a solution?

“Lan Zhan?” he whispers. “What’s wrong? Is it still the curse?”

“Mn.” Wei Wuxian hears him lick his lips in the dark. “I’m sorry, Wei Ying.”

“Shh, no, don’t be sorry.” On an impulse he reaches for Lan Zhan’s hand under the covers. Lan Zhan’s fingers squeeze tight around his own. “I’m the one who should be sorry. Don’t worry about me.”

“No,” says Lan Zhan. “Why should you be sorry?”

“I—hah, well. It seems like I can’t give you what you need.”

“You are doing well.” At first it seems he won’t say any more, but then his voice comes again in the dark. “I have not been completely honest.”

“How so?” He gives Lan Zhan’s hand an encouraging squeeze.

“I…have not revealed to you. Some of my symptoms. So. You could not have known how to help.”

Well. That fits. Lan Zhan is clearly struggling to talk about this, so maybe Wei Wuxian can make it easier on him.

“So,” he says, “I’ve been wondering about that, too. In some ways this curse seems similar to those…those tender flower poisons, or…I mean. It did come from the brothel. Is that what you mean?”

Lan Zhan’s voice is husky. “M—Mn.”

“If that’s—I mean. Would you like me to leave you alone for a while?”

Lan Zhan’s hand clenches. “Not alone.”

“Then—” Wei Wuxian can feel his breath coming quicker. Just taking care of himself won’t be enough, so Wei Wuxian will have to—he’s going to— “I’ll help you.”

“Wei Ying. You—”

“I don’t mind. I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”

He really doesn’t mind. Maybe he should mind.

A long moment stretches between them. Lan Zhan changes the grip of their hands, interlaces their fingers together.

“All right.” He’s shaking slightly. Wei Wuxian wants to climb on top of him and cover him like a roof, hold Lan Zhan inside of him like a house with four walls.

“Okay then.” He scoots a little closer, for some reason. Maybe so his words can’t fly anywhere but into Lan Zhan’s ear. He tries to find the voice he’s been using. It takes him a few words to settle into it. “I told you to get all ready for bed, remember? You were supposed to take care of yourself.” He can’t believe what he’s about to ask for. It feels like jumping off a high place, getting ready to splash into deep, strange waters. “I thought I checked everything. But there was something you forgot. Wasn’t there.”

Lan Zhan takes a small, sipping breath.

“You can answer.”

“Yes.” His voice is a tiny thing. It makes Wei Wuxian feel bigger.

“Tell me what you forgot to do.”

“I,” says Lan Zhan. “I—” He shifts in the bed, feet sliding.

Wei Wuxian could take pity on him. He has much more practice than Lan Zhan at saying shameless things.

“Come on and say it. You forgot…to…”

How will Lan Zhan phrase it? What elegant euphemism does he have up his sleeve? Or perhaps he’ll use distant, clinical words, like a doctor.

“M—” Lan Zhan starts.

“Hm?”

“M-make myself—”

“Go on.”

“Make myself come.” The last word is barely a whisper, but Wei Wuxian’s face goes red-hot hearing it, so crude in Lan Zhan’s perfect mouth.

“That’s right.” He lets warm approval color his voice. His lips are so close to Lan Zhan’s ear that they brush against it. Lan Wangji squeezes his hand tighter. “And did you really think you could sleep in the bed in that state? What if you had an accident? I don’t want to have to explain your mess to the innkeeper.”

“I’m sorry,” Lan Zhan whispers.

“Don’t talk.” Fuck. Never mind Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian himself is desperately turned on, too, just from talking. Well, that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Lan Zhan needs sex. Maybe his own arousal will actually make it easier, will help him know what to say and what to do.

“Take the covers off,” he says.

Lan Zhan does it, folding the quilt over onto Wei Wuxian’s side of the bed. He only uses one hand, the other still clutched tight in Wei Wuxian’s. Now that he’s uncovered, Wei Wuxian can clearly see the tent of his erection, even in the near-darkness. No wonder Lan Zhan got in bed so fast if he was trying to keep that situation hidden. It is no small matter.

“I suppose you want to touch it,” he says, summoning an airy indifference. “Go ahead.”

Lan Zhan’s free hand goes straight to the tent.

“Do it gently,” he chides. “Don’t be greedy.”

Lan Zhan obeys beautifully, flattening his hand so that he can tease his cock tip lightly up against it. Wei Wuxian throbs in sympathy.

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan whispers, almost too quiet to hear.

“Save that for later.” He really can’t take it if Lan Zhan says anything. “Just keep your hand like that. Maybe you can just finish like this. Go ahead, see if you can.”

Lan Zhan’s hand is tight, tight around his. He starts to roll his hips up and down and up again, grinding his covered tip against his palm, making little circles. Wei Wuxian’s tongue feels too big in his mouth. Lan Zhan’s breathing speeds up, and so do his motions, and suddenly Wei Wuxian thinks that maybe he really could finish like this. That would be too quick. He can’t allow it.

“All right, stop that. You’ll make a mess. Get it out of your pants, at least.”

Lan Zhan obeys, untying his pants and letting his cock free. It’s—really good looking, large and dark and so beautifully hard. What if this is the closest he ever gets to it? He shuts his eyes, turns his face toward the pillow as much as he can and still be able to talk.

“You might as well grab it properly.”

Lan Zhan wraps his hand around it. Wei Wuxian squints one eye open to make sure.

“I suppose you know what to do from here,” he says, which is a cop-out, but he can’t. He really can’t say those words out loud. “Don’t be slow. Go on.”

With a moan of relief, Lan Zhan...starts. Wei Wuxian feels his body move. If he watches, he’s going to explode. If he doesn’t watch, he’ll regret it for the rest of his life, which would be worse, so he watches through his one slitted eye. He can’t see everything, just Lan Zhan’s arm moving, and the dark, blurry sight of his cock tip popping in and out of the circle of his fingers. His ragged breath is right in Wei Wuxian’s ear, almost like he’s turned toward him. Wei Wuxian isn’t brave enough to look up and see if it’s true. Lan Zhan’s motions quickly become faster and more erratic, his hips jerking unevenly. Fuck, he’s going to come. He’s really going to do it.

But then—he doesn’t. Wei Wuxian sees him hold back from it, feels him quivering all over.

“Wei Ying.”

Asking him. Waiting. Wei Wuxian’s whole body flushes hot.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “You can finish.”

He licks his lips, right by Wei Wuxian’s ear. “My shirt.”

Oh, yeah, they have this whole thing going about cleanliness, don’t they? Wei Wuxian is the only one with a free hand. He fumbles over to lift Lan Zhan’s shirt as much as he can, and then…then, well, he cups his hand over the end of Lan Zhan’s cock. It’s slick and smooth and hot.

“Go ahead.”

Lan Zhan gives a choked-off sound and starts moving again, his hand striking up and up against Wei Wuxian’s palm. Wei Wuxian manages to keep his hand there, somehow, as he finally loses the battle against his own body’s will to move, and his own hips grind in agonized sympathy. His own cock slides against Lan Zhan’s hip, and that little bit of friction turns into a compulsion, and soon his mind whites out as he comes, as Lan Zhan comes, as Wei Wuxian catches every hot, slippery drop in his hand and keeps him nice and clean.

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan breathes, his forehead pressing into the side of Wei Wuxian’s head. “Thank you thank you thank you.”

“Ha, no problem.” Did he notice? Please, let him not have noticed. “Ah, I need to—um. Excuse me a moment.”

With an effort, he disentangles himself from Lan Zhan. He hurries over to the bath to wipe his hand on the cloth, and then, since he’s behind the privacy screen, he hitches down his pants and mops up the worst of his own mess. It’s not perfect, but if he changes clothes, Lan Zhan will notice and the jig will be up. He avails himself of the chamber pot, then rinses out the cloth with some fresh water and takes it back to Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan takes it mutely and cleans his hands and his lower belly. He has already refastened his pants.

He looks up and catches Wei Wuxian looking at him. Wei Wuxian has no idea what expression he was making, but it makes Lan Zhan pause and reach out to him, his brow wrinkling minutely.

“Wei Ying?”

He does his best to smile, and takes Lan Zhan’s hand to squeeze it reassuringly, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“I’m okay,” he says, and it’s sort of mostly true. “How are you? Will you be able to sleep?”

Lan Zhan looks at him searchingly, then nods.

“Mn. I think so.”

“Okay then.” Poor Lan Zhan, he looks tired. And…sad, maybe. And no wonder. He probably needs some space, after all that. “I’ll just—” He makes to get off the bed and lie down on the mat, but Lan Zhan pulls at his hand.

“Wei Ying. Stay.” When he doesn’t immediately agree, Lan Zhan frowns. “You said you would.”

Ah, that’s true, he did say he would sleep in the bed, didn’t he? If Lan Zhan was good. And there’s really no way he can even pretend that Lan Zhan hasn’t been good.

“All right, Lan Zhan. I’ll stay.”

Again Lan Zhan gives him that searching look, then nods once and releases his hand. Wei Wuxian lies down and gets under the covers.

Lan Zhan falls asleep almost immediately. Wei Wuxian is the one who lies awake.

Chapter Text

The first thing Lan Wangji feels in the morning is the curse mark cinching tight around his throat. The feeling is not on the skin but under it, like it’s digging in roots, seeking for his blood, his air. He puts his hand to it, but there’s still nothing to feel. Just his own skin.

“Hopefully we’ll get some help today,” Wei Ying says, right beside him. Lan Wangji startles. How did he forget that Wei Ying was in the bed with him? A sudden grief pulses through him, that the curse has robbed him of a moment he would have treasured, the moment of waking up with Wei Ying. And, worse, the memory of what they did last night, tainted by this evil necessity.

“You’re awake,” he says, trying to keep emotion out of his voice.

Wei Ying smiles ruefully. “I could hardly sleep for worrying about you. The mark looks darker. Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

“How much is a little?”

“A little is a little.”

“Tch. Lan Zhan. Using my words against me. You have to tell me how you’re feeling. We just have to keep the curse under control a little longer. Help should arrive soon, and I’ll start working on the counterspell, too. So just tell me what you need right now.”

I need you to kiss me. The words are at the base of his throat and the curse is trying to squeeze them out of him. He has to exert all of his control to keep from blurting them out. He manages to transmute them, somehow, into: “I need more of what we did yesterday.”

Wei Ying nods as if that was more or less what he expected.

“All right,” he says. “And, um. I’ve been thinking. Since last night. If you need more of…that stuff. Sex stuff.” His cheeks turn sweetly red when he says it, and he turns his face into the pillow a little. “We could work it in. We wouldn’t have to—I mean. Nothing that would be too much.”

I want everything. “That would be good.” The mark twinges hotly, on the edge of unbearable. On the edge of what he can keep from showing on his face.

“Okay. But if there’s anything you don’t want—not that you want any of this! But if there’s anything that’s really too much, will you be able to tell me?”

I want everything. “Yes.” The curse mark flares. EVERYTHING. “I do want it,” he blurts out, then clamps his teeth shut.

“Oh. Well. Of course you want it right now, I just mean, I know it’s not what you want normally, I know it’s not…I know. I get it. We’ll get you through this, Lan Zhan, don’t worry.”

Mn, he tries to say, but what comes out instead, low and pitiful, is: “I want it.”

They’re still both lying in bed, covered by the same blanket. He wonders if Wei Ying can feel the way their conversation is making heat flush over his whole body: shame, anticipation. Arousal, already, just from Wei Ying saying sex stuff. They’re so close that the smallest movement would bring them together. He remembers how Wei Ying held his hand last night, and he wants it again, desperately. The curse mark aches and aches.

“Ahah, Lan Zhan,” says Wei Ying, and he’s doing it, he’s using the voice, that sweetly condescending voice. “I just took care of you last night. Don’t you know it’s time to get up?”

Lan Wangji feels pinned in place with need. He can’t answer.

“I know you heard me.”

The words give him the will to slide out from the blanket and sit up. He’s on the side of the bed that’s by the wall, so he has to climb over Wei Ying to get out, which briefly brings them even closer together. He keeps his eyes down and tries not to be in the way.

When his feet hit the floor, he isn’t sure where to go next, but Wei Ying has a plan.

“Let me look at you,” says Wei Ying. “You can stand here.”

Lan Wangji stands by the bed where Wei Ying indicated, facing toward him. He is hard in his soft sleep pants. Wei Ying can definitely see it. Lan Wangji doesn’t dare look up to see if Wei Ying’s eyes catch on it, or where he might be looking. He keeps his posture neat and straight the way Wei Ying seems to like best.

“Relax your hands,” says Wei Ying softly, and he uncurls his fingers, realizing he’s been clenching them. “Put them behind your back, if that’s easier. Aiya, stretch your neck a little. You’re a mess. Relax. I’m just looking at you.”

Being looked at by Wei Ying is one of the most intense experiences of his life even when he’s fully dressed. Right now his whole skin is pricking up to Wei Ying’s gaze. With all his control he forces his shoulders down. He rolls his head from side to side. He clasps his forearm behind his back and even lets his stance widen a little, tries to feel stable and rooted. He takes a breath.

“That’s better,” says Wei Ying, his voice warm. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Good,” he says, automatically.

“More specific, please.”

He searches through his sensations, the sparking excitement, the warm coil of his arousal, the light prickle of the curse mark, quieter now that he has Wei Ying’s voice to focus on.

“I feel…ready,” he says.

“All right then.” There is the barest pause, as though Wei Ying is steeling himself for action. “Take off your shirt.”

He focuses on staying relaxed while he obeys, focuses on breathing normally. He feels goosebumps rise on his chest and shoulders, whether from the cool air or from the touch of Wei Ying’s gaze, it’s hard to say.

“Fold it nicely and put it with the rest.”

The task is easily done. When he turns away to lay the shirt on his small stack of folded clothes, he hears Wei Ying take in a sharp breath.

“Come back,” says Wei Ying. “Kneel here, with your back to me.”

It’s only after obeying that he realizes Wei Ying is looking at the scars of the discipline whip. He sometimes forgets they’re visible to others. Now he wonders what Wei Ying sees. They must be rather ugly, but there’s no reason Wei Ying shouldn’t see them. They belong to him, just like the rest of his body, the rest of his being.

Wei Ying looks for a long moment without touching him. Then he hears movement, Wei Ying reaching for something.

“Lift up your head.” And then Wei Ying’s hands are on him, smoothing something cool across his forehead. A ribbon. The red ribbon. He ties it carefully in back, and then his fingers tickle down Lan Wangji’s spine, smoothing the long ends to fall down the center of his back, crossing the scars.

“That’s better,” Wei Ying says quietly, as if to himself.

“Thank you.”

“Aiyo, enough of that. Now, turn around and sit nicely.”

He rises onto his knees and turns to face the bed. He keeps his eyes down, which means he sees that Wei Ying’s feet are on either side of his thighs. Lan Wangji is kneeling between his legs.

Wei Ying tsks. “Sit nicely, I said.”

Flushing at Wei Ying’s disapproval, he presses his knees and feet more evenly together, squares his shoulders, and checks that his hands are where Wei Ying prefers them, resting on his thighs.

“You can put your hands behind your back again,” says Wei Ying. “I like the way it makes your chest stand out.”

Lan Wangji’s mouth falls open as he obeys, an unstoppable reaction to the knowledge that Wei Ying is looking at his body. That he likes it.

“Mn, you are really nice to look at,” says Wei Ying, as though reading his mind and plucking out the thought that makes him feel the wildest. “The Second Jade of Lan, they call you. Isn’t that just a way of saying you’re a lovely ornament? Today is finally my chance to appreciate it fully.”

A touch comes on his cheek, feather-light at first, then firmer as Wei Ying turns his head to the side. There’s a long pause while Wei Ying just looks at him, and he feels hot and exposed.

“This morning,” Wei Ying starts, his voice low and steady, “I’m going to enjoy being attended by such a beauty.” The words fill him with something unnamable, something related to shame, but warmer. Sweeter. “I think you already know how to serve my every need. Isn’t that so? Answer.”

“Yes.” He does. He has studied everything about Wei Ying: his routines, his habits, his likes and dislikes. It’s pleasant to know that Wei Ying noticed, after all.

“Then you can serve me today. You’ll give me whatever I want—before I ask, if possible. And you will look beautiful doing it. Won’t you. Answer.”

“Yes,” he says again, his voice harsh with wanting it. If Wei Ying would allow him, he would thank him, he would worship him, for this.

“If you need to ask me something, you can address me as Wei-gege. Be polite. For now, you should get yourself ready for the day, so you’ll please me well. When you’re finished with that, you’ll attend to me. Now go ahead.” With a final stroke along his jaw, Wei Ying lets him go.

Getting himself ready means…what? It takes a moment for his mind to sort itself out into action. Dimly he knows that Wei Ying phrased it this way so that he can do anything he needs to make himself comfortable. It’s also the way a servant would be treated, the master not expecting to have to command every detail of his morning toilet. When he has a plan, he bows to Wei Ying before standing.

He won’t dress, obviously. Wei Ying has already made it clear what he should wear. He fetches a comb and combs his hair smooth, working around the red ribbon, sitting in the open where Wei Ying can watch if he wants to. He urinates, washes his hands and face, cleans his teeth. That’s really all there is to it. He wishes he could do more, ornament himself somehow. He wonders if Wei Ying would like him to wear jewelry or cosmetics of some sort. But for now, this will have to be all.

He returns to where Wei Ying is still lounging in the bed.

“Wei-gege,” he says, bowing. “This Wangji will go for breakfast.”

“Good,” says Wei Ying, indifferently. “You can wear one of my robes. Fold it nicely when you get back.”

Lan Wangji would certainly have gone out in only his sleep pants if Wei Ying wanted, but this is good. He picks up the outer robe Wei Ying wore yesterday, which still smells like the outdoors and like his body, and wraps it around himself. The fabric is a little rough on his bare skin. Nobody would ever take him for fully dressed, wearing just this. When he reaches the kitchen, he feels gratified at the curious look the cook gives him. The man offers to have a tray sent up, but Lan Wangji simply waits and carries it up himself. He looks toward Wei Ying without thinking as he reenters the room, and catches him waking from a half-doze. Before he hastily averts his eyes again, he catches Wei Ying’s small smile at the sight of him. Wei Ying doesn’t acknowledge him otherwise, though, which is as it should be.

He sets down the tray and then stands to remove the robe. He folds it and puts it away, then takes his place kneeling beside the table with his hands behind him, then simply waits. Wei Ying will get up when he is ready.

A little time goes by, during which he has only his own breath, his own heartbeat. It’s peaceful. This isn’t the bad kind of waiting, it’s only…expectant. He will move when movement is called for, and be still otherwise.

“Hmm,” comes Wei Ying’s sleepy voice. “Turn a little so I can see your front better.”

Movement. He shifts so that he’s more directly facing the bed.

“And turn your head to one side. Your profile is especially good.”

He obeys. The arousal that diminished somewhat when he was out of Wei Ying’s sight begins to stir again.

“Now,” says Wei Ying, and there’s a pause whose meaning Lan Wangji isn’t sure of, “tighten your chest.” He complies. Before now, he’s never thought of his body—his muscles—as something that anyone would want to look at, but only as the vessel and tool of his cultivation. He has definitely looked at other people’s bodies—other men’s bodies—and appreciated them, in some cases as sexual objects. Does Wei Ying look at his body…that way? He had thought the point of taking off his shirt was to make him feel vulnerable and to emphasize his subservience. Wei Ying had said he wanted to look at him, but suddenly it’s clear that Wei Ying means to look at him, that “beauty” means…suitability. As a sexual object. Does Wei Ying find him suitable? When Wei Ying looks at him this way, does he…like it?

“All right, you can stop,” says Wei Ying. “The…flexing. I want to stay in bed a while longer. You should eat first. I wonder if you can be pretty while eating.”

Lan Wangji has naturally been taught all of the appropriate etiquette for eating in formal situations. Of course he always has good manners, but now he calls forth every lesson in comportment, as though the most critical of gazes was upon him. He hardly tastes the food or the tea, so focused on moving the utensils elegantly, on not opening his mouth too wide, on picking things up and setting them down with grace and precision. He hasn’t worried so much over these things since he was a child. Doing it now doesn’t make him feel like a child, but it does make him feel…something. Like he’s settling into something. After eating exactly the polite amount of food, he moves his dishes to the empty tray and places it near the door, to be taken away later. Then he goes back to kneeling with his face turned to one side.

He doesn’t know if Wei Ying is asleep or awake. At last there comes the rustle of Wei Ying sitting up in bed, his feet landing lightly on the floor.

“Aiya, the room is chillier today,” he sighs.

Automatically, Lan Wangji stands and fetches him a robe, the same one he wore to get breakfast. Should he have noticed that the room was chilly? It’s quite unusual for Wei Ying to want to wear anything other than his sleep clothes for breakfast. Perhaps Wei Ying is testing him. Keeping his eyes lowered, he brings the robe to the bed and holds it up for Wei Ying to put on. Wei Ying pulls it on haphazardly, stands and wraps it around himself. Lan Wangji is ready with the belt, but Wei Ying waves it away, holding the robe closed with his hands as he makes his way to the table and flops down with a stretch and a yawn. Lan Zhan kneels beside him and pours tea, then adds all of Wei Ying’s favorite toppings to a bowl of congee and places it in front of him.

“You know, this table is really so-so,” he complains gustily. “I wish I could eat off of something prettier.” Lan Wangji doesn’t know what to say to that, so he waits. “Let’s see,” says Wei Ying. “Isn’t there something more elegant that I could use?”

Of course pretty and elegant refer to himself, today. But he still doesn’t understand.

“Lan Zhan,” says Wei Ying. “Look at me.”

Lan Wangji looks at him and has to breathe through the urge to say his name. He is so beautiful, and his eyes are sparking with mischief, his mouth tilted in a funny little smile.

“Aren’t you serving me today?” he says. “Solve my problem.” His eyes flick to the floor beside the table.

His heart jumps into his throat as he catches Wei Ying’s meaning. This is strange to him, but also…enticing. Focusing on smooth movement, he lowers his hands to the floor and stretches out into a bent-armed plank pose, resting on just his toes and palms with his back level and his neck straight. The end of the red ribbon, along with some of his hair, slithers forward over his shoulder and into his view.

The warm circle of a bowl lands on his waist, and he realizes with a jolt that Wei Ying is actually going to eat off of him. He stays still and steady as Wei Ying sets the tea pot near his shoulder blade, and the cup in the center of his spine. The scar tissue on his back does odd things to the sensations, numb in some places and extra sensitive in others. His perception of temperature is uncertain, but he can still feel how the pot is warm but not scalding, thanks to Wei Ying lying so long in bed. He would not mind if it hurt a little. Did Wei Ying let it cool down on purpose?

“Much better,” says Wei Ying, with casual approval, and resumes eating his breakfast. Off of Lan Wangji. Who is his table now.

The pose requires some focus, but it isn’t difficult, as Wei Ying would know, since Wei Ying has a good idea of his body’s limits and has seen him meditate in this exact position before. He focuses on keeping his back level, his legs extended, feeling his weight pressing solidly into his contact points with the floor. The constant, mild effort is grounding, soothing, and the knowledge that it’s for Wei Ying sends a warm current through him, like the energy of his body is one with the energy of his heart. Anyone seeing them would be shocked, would think him perverse for acquiescing to this, but it’s not for outsiders. It’s for him. It’s for them. He sinks into that feeling, and into the gentle motions of Wei Ying so close to him, the brush of his sleeve, the shifting of porcelain, and thinks of nothing.

There is the faintest quiver starting in his shoulders when Wei Ying sets down his teacup for the final time, stands, and stretches with a loud sigh and audible pops of joints.

“That was good,” he says, casually again, as if commenting on the food. Then he clears the dishes off of Lan Wangji’s back. Lan Wangji notices all of this, but no expectancy comes into his mind. If he is told to move, he will move.

“Hmm, I’d like to see this jade show off a little,” says Wei Ying, his bare feet caressing the floorboards near Lan Wangji. “Can you put one hand behind your back?”

Lan Wangji can. Tensing his abdominal muscles, he shifts his weight to one hand and sets the other behind his back. This, too, Wei Ying knows he is capable of, has seen before.

“Let’s see some push-ups.”

One-handed push-ups are part of his regular training routine.

“Hmm. Not bad.” Wei Ying’s feet pace from one side of him to the other. “You’re always so covered up, I never get to see your muscles really working. This one’s especially cute.” His toe nudges Lan Wangji’s tricep. “Can you switch sides without stopping?”

That’s a feat, a show-off trick. But he can do it. On the next push-up, he launches his torso upward with extra force and rapidly switches hand positions mid-air so that he comes down on the other arm. He is starting to feel the effects of exertion now, his muscles beginning to burn, sweat prickling along his spine. Wei Ying crouches on the floor beside him, watching. Lan Wangji has no idea what he’s thinking, but he is definitely watching, which is enough. Eventually, he allows his pace to slow down. He can go on, if he has to, but his instincts are warning him to conserve his strength.

“All right, you can stop,” says Wei Ying, at last. “Stretch it out, or whatever. I know you have a whole routine.”

He sinks down gratefully to the floor before pushing his shoulders up into a stretch for his abdominals. He catches Wei Ying’s eyes more or less by accident, and Wei Ying gives him, again, that funny little smile, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. He sees, also, Wei Ying’s posture, as relaxed as it could possibly be, with his cheek resting on his arm on his raised knee, the other leg lying akimbo on the floor, just enjoying Lan Wangji’s performance. With his robe hanging loose around his shoulders, all he would need is a fan to complete the image of decadent leisure.

“You might as well go on,” he says. “Your body’s nice, but it’s no good to me if you don’t take care of it.”

Oh. His body. Wei Ying has plans for his body.

He moves through a basic floor exercise routine, cognizant of Wei Ying’s eyes on him as always. He finds himself viewing his body as an outsider might, and suddenly his ordinary stretches take on a quality that he never considered before. When he goes to all fours and arches his spine up and down, Wei Ying hums admiringly. When he moves into a back bend, which he intends to hold for a while to balance out all that plank time, Wei Ying says “Hold it,” and comes close to him.

It’s a decently challenging pose to hold, with his hands and feet planted and belly pressed toward the sky.

“Such a pretty line,” says Wei Ying, and there comes a touch under his chin. His head is hanging downward, his neck stretched out and exposed, and Wei Ying traces the line of it, fingertips skimming the knot of his throat, then continuing down the center of his chest and onto the ticklish flat of his belly. They go right up to the edge of his pants, below his navel, and he feels his half-hard dick twitch to alertness. Can Wei Ying see it? Probably. He’s very exposed, like this. The fingers pause, right there, and for a long, liquid second he expects Wei Ying to touch it. Aches for him to touch it. But the fingers travel back the other way, petting the long line up again.

“Goosebumps,” Wei Ying chuckles. “Really cute.”

Instead of stopping at his chin, the fingertips trace up a little further. His mouth opens instinctively, and just for a breath, just a fraction of a moment, Wei Ying’s touch lingers on his lower lip. Then he takes the touch away.

“Ahhh, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighs. “It seems you’re pretty easy to wind up.”

Only for you, he wants to say. The curse-mark has been quiescent but it twinges now as he bites back hard on the words.

“Time for you to cool down,” says Wei Ying, and Lan Wangji is really not sure if he’s referring to his workout or his arousal. “I need to do some work.”

He exhales hard and kicks up and over to get out of the bend, which puts him standing on his feet. Wei Ying said to cool down, so he takes a moment, stretching up and then folding forward, letting his waist loosen as his hair slides forward. He feels—good. Better than he has since the curse hit him, his body warm and humming with the pleasure of exercise. His blood feels clean, his lungs are open, every breath is fresh and invigorating. He realizes with a pang that Wei Ying knew he needed this. When he lifts up to standing from his forward fold, his hands flow naturally into position for a bow, and he follows the motion down to a full kneeling bow.

“Thank you, Wei Ying,” he says.

“No need,” says Wei Ying, sounding a little amused. “Enough of that, now, we have things to do.”

***

Making Lan Zhan his table seems like a harmless enough plan: it should keep Lan Zhan occupied and meet his need to be subservient, and it will give him a chance to exercise a little, which Wei Wuxian knows he has been missing. And if Wei Wuxian also happens to find the idea interesting, that is between him and the robe he has cleverly found an excuse to wear, which will hide any unfortunate physical reactions on his part. Lan Zhan’s body is of course very nice, and from the previous night’s incident, it’s clear that Wei Wuxian will have to continue interacting with him physically, even if it means that Wei Wuxian himself might feel a little tempted to view the interaction as other than a cultivational necessity. He can definitely keep himself under control, though, going forward. Over the course of the morning he has come up with several ways to mollify that aspect of the curse without putting Lan Zhan into a position that he would regret, and he’s confident in his ability to carry them out with no more mishaps.

But then, Lan Zhan’s back was laid out before him. Lan Zhan’s back was a work of art, every muscle carved in stunning relief, incredibly beautiful to behold. On the other hand, it is criss-crossed by the pale marks of the discipline whip, the scarring deep and tangled in places as though the skin was flayed from Lan Zhan’s body. Of course he’s seen it before; only minutes ago he laid his ribbon over the scars, trying to strike them out, and it felt good to do that. But now the whole expanse is right in front of him, alive with heat and scent and texture. Wei Wuxian is filled with a wild, hungry feeling. He wants to worship Lan Zhan’s back. He wants to kill the ones who did this. He wants to lay himself, somehow, between those whips and this body. He wants to cover Lan Zhan and hold him down and order him to never let himself be harmed again.

But all he can do is get on with taking care of him.

Watching Lan Zhan exercise turns out to be much simpler, at least: he is simply lovely to look at. But there’s still enough of that wild, hungry feeling in him that he fails to resist the urge to touch him. He really didn’t count on Lan Zhan being—oh, help, he’ll die if he thinks it—aroused by what they were doing, but then he so obviously is that it almost feels like permission. It’s only at the very last second, on the brink of letting his fingers wander too far, that he remembers it’s only the curse.

And the curse wants sex stuff! So, the arousal part is good. Lan Zhan—or the curse via Lan Zhan—seems to have no complaints about that.

Lan Zhan rises from his bow into the upright kneeling position that is fast becoming their default: hands behind his back, shoulders consciously relaxed, gaze demurely lowered. His breathing is a little deeper than normal, his chest rising and falling with it. His chest, too, is scarred. Wei Wuxian has seen the Wen brand scar enough times that it doesn’t shock him anymore, it’s just part of Lan Zhan, but still, he wishes he could kiss it, touch it, soothe away the pain of it. Sometimes when he looks at Lan Zhan, he imagines that his eyes could touch him, that Lan Zhan would feel his gaze and be comforted, maybe without even knowing how or why. So, now, when he sees the brand displayed on Lan Zhan’s lovely chest, he stares at it fiercely, pictures it fading away to nothing, rubbed or scrubbed or dissolved by his gaze.

Perhaps Lan Zhan wonders at his quietness; he turns his head to the side, as if he thought Wei Ying wouldn’t speak until he did so.

“Very pretty,” he acknowledges, forcing his mind back to the matter at hand. “So, tell me how you’re doing. Did it feel good to exercise? Answer.”

“Yes,” says Lan Zhan, firmly.

“And do you have what you need for now, or do you need more?”

“M…more,” says Lan Zhan, shifting a little.

To tell the truth, Wei Wuxian has been avoiding looking at Lan Zhan’s erection for fear of bursting into flame, but he risks a quick glance now, and oh, yes, that’s definitely still an issue.

He keeps his tone light and conversational. “And what do you need, exactly, hmm?”

“I need…” He shifts again, that little rock from one side to the other, as though trying to relieve pressure. “Need…Wei Ying…Wei-gege…to…” He bites his lip, looking most un-Lan-like. It’s delightful. There’s a part of him that really wants to make Lan Zhan say come again, but he’s honestly not sure if he can handle hearing it.

“Ah, never mind, I see. I understand. You need that. Again.”

Lan Zhan exhales. His ears are so red that it’s spreading to his cheeks.

“If Wei-gege wishes,” he says.

Oh, no, why did Wei Wuxian think this Wei-gege business would be a good idea? Every time it comes out of Lan Zhan’s mouth he wants to grab him by his cute, pink ears and take a bite of him.

“Indeed I do wish it.” Somehow his voice comes out mostly steady. “I think that would be very nice. Eventually.”

Lan Zhan is too disciplined to sneak a look at him, but his eyes flick down to the side. He’s listening. Luckily Wei Wuxian does have an actual plan.

“Here is what will happen,” he says. “I’m going to make some notes and think about the counterspell. While I work on that, you’ll work on this problem of yours. You can do anything you like, but you must work diligently. And you may not finish until I do. Understand?”

Lan Zhan gives a shaky nod.

“You may do it anywhere you like, within the confines of this room, of course,” Wei Wuxian goes on. “Behind the screen, in the bed, wherever you are comfortable. I trust you to honor the agreement. I’ll let you know when it’s time to finish.”

Wei Wuxian is a bit proud of himself for coming up with this approach. This way Lan Zhan will get what he needs, and be under Wei Wuxian’s control, but he can still have privacy and set his own boundaries. And meanwhile, he might actually get some work done on reversing the curse, which is important as a backup plan in case they can’t get help from this lone cultivator.

Apparently taking the discussion as complete, Lan Zhan rises and disappears behind the privacy screen. Wei Wuxian assumes that he will stay there, but a moment later, he comes out again carrying his own writing supplies, which are much nicer than Wei Wuxian’s. He tries not to look surprised when Lan Zhan lays out fine paper and brushes and sets about grinding some ink. When the ink is ready he sits back on his heels beside the table.

Lan Zhan is so diligent! He still remembers that he’s supposed to be attending to Wei Wuxian’s every need. It’s so cute that Wei Wuxian wants to give him a million praises, and tease him and make him blush. He restrains himself to a nod of acknowledgment.

“All right,” he says. “Then we’ll get started.”

This is where he expected Lan Zhan would go off somewhere else for a little privacy. Maybe he’s waiting for Wei Wuxian to actually start? Wei Wuxian picks up a brush and dips it into the ink, hoping Lan Zhan will get the message. Instead, Lan Zhan unties his pants.

Oh. Well. Wei Wuxian did say he could do it anywhere. If he does it here, Wei Wuxian will just—he’ll just—well. He wraps the robe over his lap in case Lan Zhan should happen to glance in that direction.

Right. Working. The brush hovers over the paper. He has to start thinking about the counterspell. It takes enormous effort to drag his mind off of Lan Zhan’s presence, but it is important, and Lan Zhan does need help, so he manages it. He’ll start by jotting down what he remembers of the array.

As soon as brush hits paper, Lan Zhan’s hand slides into the front of his pants. All right. That’s good. That’s the plan. This is how Lan Zhan will get what he needs.

He tries not to look. Just a short glance, just enough to see that Lan Zhan’s knees are spread wider than his most proper kneeling posture. That’s to be expected. And his hand is moving a little bit, slow and contained. That’s also fine. That’s Lan Zhan for you, with his perfect self-control. He’s settling in for the long haul, anticipating that Wei Ying will make him wait. He’s very intelligent, Lan Zhan. Very smart, and so diligent, too.

It takes longer than it should, but he does call the basic structure of the array to mind, and jots it out in his abbreviated script, the one he uses for writing down dangerous things that others shouldn’t know about. Beyond the basic structure, he adds the more detailed inscriptions, and then the ligatures that would have to be in place. The ink flows freely, and his thoughts fall into order, even despite the complexity of the situation.

With Lan Zhan sitting right in his peripheral vision, it’s hard not to notice how his movements have become more deliberate. He’s still keeping it slow, but he must be—ah, yes, a quick look reveals Lan Zhan’s arm working, his hips twitching up into a long stroke. With his other hand he’s holding up the edge of the fabric to conceal the--details—but the general picture is still quite clear.

Wei Wuxian’s cheeks feel hot. He decides to explore the idea of a mirror-image array, and whether it would work to undo the curse. Luckily it’s a fairly mechanical process, so it goes well for a while, until a tiny sound escapes Lan Zhan’s lips, and he forgets what character he’s copying, and has to double check. When he comes to the end of the sequence, he spaces out for several seconds before he realizes that he needs to start a new page.

He sets down the brush and looks at the page for a moment before setting it aside. Has Lan Zhan—stopped? Yes, he stopped, he stopped because Wei Wuxian stopped writing. Since he stopped, maybe Wei Ying can actually look at him.

Oh, he’s—so lovely like this. His eyes aren’t closed, but they are heavy-lidded and focused on nothing, his attention clearly directed inward. His lips, too, are parted, and there’s a pink flush rising on his throat, the curse mark a deeper red cutting through it. His right arm is still, but tense, and his—okay—his cock is visible, just the tip of it, beyond the area that the pants can cover, dark red and leaking a little.

So, that’s all fine. It’s good. The plan is working. Wei Wuxian’s strategic robe is firmly in place.

He blows on his first page of notes to help the ink dry, then sets it aside. He takes another piece of paper. It’s empty. What was he going to do? Ah, right. He’ll check each aspect of the mirror image, and note whether it will work, and what might need to change. That will give him a list to work from.

He writes a “1” to start the list. Lan Zhan starts moving again. He checks the first pair of radicals and confirms that mirroring should unravel their effect. Okay. 2. Lan Zhan is—no, he can’t look. Does the second pair work? Close. He just has to switch the…switch…Fuck, how is he supposed to concentrate with this going on? He tries for a while, then gives up and just starts writing nonsense to give Lan Zhan enough time to finish. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s subconsciously started writing out the Lan precepts, but at least those are stuck well enough in his mind from all those hours in the Cloud Recesses library pavilion that they don’t take any conscious thought, and they keep him going for a while.

During this time, Lan Zhan’s motions get…faster. Stronger. He’s halfway through “righteousness” when Lan Zhan pauses suddenly, and Wei Wuxian can hear him breathing. Fuck, he almost finished, then, didn’t he? That’s the only reason he would stop, would be to hold off from his climax. He’s ready now, but he can’t stop until Wei Wuxian does.

So Wei Wuxian should stop, right? And let him. Or he could—well. He knows from experience that it’s fun to hold back for a bit. Does Lan Zhan know about that trick? He goes on writing. Lan Zhan resumes a few characters later, and then stops again, a little after that. Wei Wuxian peeks over and almost blots the page when he sees that Lan Zhan has given up on hiding and his whole cock is just out there, the left hand tucked below it and the right clutching hard at the base.

He draws. He draws some bamboo and a pair of pheasants. He draws five or six rabbits. Oh, Lan Zhan has stopped again, has been stopped for two entire rabbits. His cock is really swollen now, and very dark and wet, and he’s holding it so lightly, just grazing it with the circle of his fingers.

Wei Wuxian looks back at the brush and sees it drawing a long, wavy line.

“Ah,” he says. “Haha. I’m finished now. All done. Your turn.”

He sets down the brush.

He doesn’t have a plan for this part, so he makes a show of blowing the ink and stacking up the papers. Lan Zhan makes a noise—just the tiniest, most careful little noise—and then he just. Goes for it. Wei Wuxian doesn’t look but he also doesn’t not look, because how could he not look, really? It’s been established already that he’s weak, especially where Lan Zhan is concerned, and especially especially where Lan Zhan and sex stuff are concerned. So, yes, he sees Lan Zhan push up into his own fist a few firm, fast, desperate times, and yes, he hears what Lan Zhan’s breath does when he finally crests, and yes, unfortunately for his future sanity, he does see see him squirt thick, white come into the air and all over his hand and just everywhere.

Then Lan Zhan sits there shivering and panting and, oh no, Wei Wuxian really wants to touch him. He really wants to climb right into his messy lap and touch him and kiss him and tell him he’s perfect. He clasps his hands together tightly and squeezes them between his thighs.

“Well,” he says. “That was good. We got a lot done, there.”

Lan Zhan nods. He wipes his hands on his trousers and then stands up shakily. Wei Wuxian watches curiously as he re-ties his pants to keep them from falling down. He hasn’t asked Lan Zhan to do anything else, surely? But then Lan Zhan picks up the brush and ink stone and takes them behind the privacy screen, and Wei Wuxian hears the faint sounds of them being cleaned with water in preparation for being put away. So! Lan Zhan is still taking care of everything, just as Wei Wuxian asked him to.

“You can clean yourself up, too,” he calls. As for himself, he stands up, swings his arms a little, shakes out his hands. He’s full of restless energy. It’s very lucky that he took care of his own needs while Lan Zhan was getting breakfast, or he wouldn’t be anywhere close to clear-headed enough to go on.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, tucking his hands under his thighs to keep from fidgeting. It wouldn’t do for Lan Zhan to catch him pacing. When Lan Zhan finally comes out, he has changed into a different pair of pants, and for a weird moment Wei Ying wishes he had thought to tell him to keep the old ones on. It would be fun, wouldn’t it? To have Lan Zhan go around all day wearing pants that bore the mark of what Wei Wuxian had made him do. But ah, that’s just his dick talking, isn’t it? His poor, lonely dick that has been having a very hard time these last two days. If Lan Zhan were really taking care of all his needs, he’d—well. But no. Focus!

Lan Zhan paces up to him and kneels down, landing a bit more heavily than usual, Wei Wuxian thinks. Is he…all right? Tired, maybe? His posture isn’t quite that perfect, attentive kneel, but just his customary sitting position.

“Lan Zhan? Let’s talk for a while. How are you doing? Look at me, okay?”

Lan Zhan looks up and meets his eyes, and Wei Wuxian is lost, as always, in the beauty of him. His fingers twitch where he’s sitting on them.

“I am all right,” he says. His voice sounds low, like it does first thing in the morning.

“Was everything all right? Did it help with the curse?”

“Everything was good.”

“What else do you need right now?”

“I would like—” It’s only because Wei Wuxian is watching him closely that he sees Lan Zhan flinch, just the briefest twitch of the muscles of his neck, but definitely there, interrupting his sentence. “—touch.”

“Touch?”

“Contact.”

“Oh,” says Wei Wuxian. “You mean like—you want me to, to—?” He carefully frees one hand. What should he do? He reaches out, not quite touching, and Lan Zhan sways forward into it, ducking his head so that Wei Wuxian’s hand lands in his hair. Then, to Wei Wuxian’s surprise, he scoots closer and rests his chin on Wei Wuxian’s thigh.

“Lan Zhan!” He looks unbearably cute like that. It only gets worse a second later when he lays his cheek down, instead.

Wei Wuxian’s hand is still in his hair, so it only makes sense to stroke him a little. Lan Zhan closes his eyes. Wei Wuxian’s heart spasms at how soft he looks, how warm and heavy he feels.

“You worked hard,” says Wei Wuxian. Lan Zhan’s eyebrows twitch as though to deny it. “Just relax, okay?”

Lan Zhan’s head rests heavier against his thigh, and his posture softens. Wei Wuxian pets him lightly, sifting his fingers through Lan Zhan’s hair. The texture of it is mesmerizing. After a couple of minutes, Lan Zhan’s breathing slows down to the point where Wei Wuxian wonders if he might actually be asleep.

A lump of emotion forms in Wei Wuxian’s throat. How can he, of all people, be entrusted with something so precious? It seems the curse has really stripped down all of Lan Zhan’s defenses, if he’s willing to expose himself like this. Or…not willing, willing is the wrong word. The curse is forcing him to be this way, forcing him to kneel and serve and obey, and that’s what’s wearing him out to the point that he needs comfort. Wei Wuxian really shouldn’t enjoy it too much. Soon the curse will be lifted and they’ll go back to the way things were before. So he definitely should not think too much about how close they are, how willing Lan Zhan seems, how easy it would be to ask him for just a little tiny bit more, right now, while he’s pliant and sated. From sex. From coming at Wei Wuxian’s command.

Oh, no, he really wants it. Just like this, with Lan Zhan on his knees. The idea takes hold and he can’t stop his body’s response to it.

Maybe his breath does something. Maybe his hand pauses in stroking Lan Zhan’s hair.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan lifts his head as though to turn and look, which would be a disaster because Wei Wuxian’s erection would be about three inches from his face! Wei Wuxian stops him with that hand in his hair, gripping tight. Lan Zhan snatches in a quick breath and goes still, like maybe Wei Wuxian hurt him.

“No need to move,” says Wei Wuxian, and just like that, they’re playing the game again. “And what are you supposed to call me?”

“W—wei-gege,” Lan Zhan chokes out, maybe in pain or maybe—

“Huh.” He tightens his hand further, and watches Lan Zhan’s mouth fall open slightly. “Could it be that you like this? Or does it hurt?”

“I like it,” Lan Zhan says softly. “Hurts.”

“You like that it hurts?”

He doesn’t answer, so Wei Wuxian supposes it must be so. It makes some sense, given what they know about the curse, that it would cause a reaction like this. Just to see—just to find out—he digs his hand into an even firmer grip. If that were his own hair, it would hurt more than a little. Lan Zhan reacts with a hiss of pain, which is a very uncontrolled sound coming from him, and his hand comes up to clench the fabric below Wei Wuxian’s knee. It doesn’t feel like he’s pulling away, though. It’s more like the opposite.

Okay. What next?

Wei Wuxian licks his lips.

“Close your eyes,” he says, as steadily as he can. This is necessary to keep Lan Zhan from seeing too much when he does what he has to do next.

Trusting his obedience, he pulls Lan Zhan’s head up with a none-too-gentle yank of his hair, so that Wei Wuxian can see his face. A shocking noise comes out of him, a little grunt-groan-whine sound quite unlike anything Wei Wuxian has ever heard before. Lan Zhan’s eyes are squeezed tight shut, his lips twisted open to show clenched teeth. His breath is coming quick, in little gasps.

Lan Zhan can handle pain. Has handled, in Wei Wuxian’s presence as a witness, far more pain than this, with barely a twitch of his eyebrow. Wei Wuxian has never seen him like this before. Which means, logically—

—if Wei Wuxian can scrape any rational thought together—

—it means it’s not pain affecting him, but something else. Certain very stupid parts of his body have opinions about what it might be, but other, smarter parts, like his very smart logical brain, are able to tell that it’s not that, it’s that he’s weakened by the curse, the fucking curse, which would make it very wrong to ask him to touch any of those aforementioned very stupid parts, and even more wrong to pull his hair while doing it.

To keep himself from doing that, he lets go.

“Ah.” He pets Lan Zhan’s hair. “Okay. That’s enough, now.” He gives Lan Zhan’s head a silly little pat, and stands up, and pulls his robe closed. He doesn’t see how Lan Zhan topples forward with the sudden loss of support, but he hears him catch himself. He can imagine it.

“Wei Ying?”

“I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian says. There’s silence from Lan Zhan behind him. It’s a hurt kind of silence, like Lan Zhan still didn’t want him to stop, even when Wei Wuxian had gone too far. But Wei Wuxian needs to stop. They’ve been cooped up in this room for too long, just the two of them, and things are starting to seem normal that are definitely not acceptable.

“I just realized I’m hungry. I’m tired of the food here. Let’s go out.”

Again, silence. As soon as he has his own expression under control, Wei Wuxian turns to look at him.

He’s kneeling, looking down, hands resting on his knees.

“No need,” he says, very quietly.

And then he rises, and fetches Wei Ying’s boots.

***

Wei Ying does not really want Lan Wangji to fetch his boots.

As Wei Ying moves away from him, leaving his scalp smarting and his body cold, it is suddenly clear that Wei Ying did not really want Lan Wangji to kneel for him, or serve him, or…or any of it. Vivid memories of the past hour play in his mind, the intense pleasure he felt at performing to Wei Ying’s command, and he wants to be sick. He has allowed Wei Ying to go to such great lengths to help him, and how is Lan Zhan repaying him? He hasn’t even really tried to resist the curse. Wei Ying has been so accommodating, so generous about it, that the curse itself is hardly taking a toll on him at all. He can handle more, for Wei Ying’s sake.

He retrieves the boots and puts them down beside Wei Ying’s feet, and then he straightens and turns away. Moving under his own will, he feels clumsy, like his knees expect to bend again. But he stays standing.

“Lan Zhan?”

“You may do it yourself.” It isn’t even as difficult to say as he expected, the curse mark only tingling slightly in warning.

“But,” Wei Ying falters, “I thought you—”

“I will be all right.”

Wei Ying doesn’t answer. After a moment, he puts on his boots himself.

“Fine then,” he says. Lan Zhan can’t read his expression.

They dress themselves in silence. Lan Wangji clamps his lips shut against the impulse to ask Wei Ying what he should wear. Instead of offering to comb Wei Ying’s hair, he combs his own, pulling at it savagely, only to realize that he still has Wei Ying’s red ribbon around his forehead. He unties it and lays it across his knees, letting his eyes rest on it while he finishes with his hair. The absence of anything on his forehead gives him a strange, dizzy feeling, like there’s no one in control of him at all—not Wei Ying and not himself. His scars ache vacantly, and with that pain, as always, comes the squeeze of the mark around his throat. He ties the red ribbon back in place. If Wei Ying doesn’t like it, he can say so.

“Let’s go,” says Wei Ying, needlessly, when they’re both ready. “I—should I…do anything? For you?”

Lan Wangji negates it with a single shake of his head, and strides past Wei Ying out of the door. Wei Ying comes out behind him, trotting to keep up. The collar gives a warning squeeze, but he grits his teeth and ignores it.

“Aiyo, Lan Zhan. Please don’t be like this.” Catching up at last, he grabs Lan Wangji’s shoulder. The touch stops him as surely as any command. He regards Wei Ying with all the calm he can muster.

“I understand why you’re upset.” Wei Ying chews his lip, peering at him with obvious concern. Wei Ying is being generous with him, as always. “I know that didn’t work out, but can I please still take care of you?”

“No need,” Lan Wangji grits out. “I will be fine until help arrives.”

He resumes his fast walk, descending the stair to the inn’s main floor. Perhaps if he keeps moving forward, he can outrun his desire to give in.

”If help arrives,” says Wei Ying, trotting after him. “There’s no guarantee. This cultivator might not be home, or he might not be very strong. You need to pace yourself. The curse might—”

There are people sitting in the inn’s common area, and Wei Ying cuts off abruptly, then goes on in a quieter voice. “The curse might get more serious if you try to resist it.”

“I will be fine,” Lan Wangji repeats.

“Okay,” says Wei Ying. “Okay, if you want to try. But if it gets bad, will you please tell me? You shouldn’t have to suffer just because of my mistakes.”

It’s that, of all things, that flips his surging emotions back to grief. Suffering. He has suffered a great deal on account of Wei Ying. He doesn’t begrudge it. He would do it again in his next life, if things were the same. But for the briefest of moments, back there in that room, he thought he glimpsed a path toward something different.

He doesn’t answer, and Wei Ying doesn’t press him. His scars ache.

Outside, the day is clear and cool, by the standards of the region. Wei Ying said he wanted food, so Lan Wangji directs his steps toward the town’s small market square, where there are at least a few vendors selling the kind of greasy, spicy food that Wei Ying likes. Wei Ying is quiet at first, but after a few minutes he finds his voice again.

“It’s good to be walking again,” he says.

Lan Wangji, indulging his black mood, doesn’t answer.

“If this lone cultivator isn’t around, we should start heading back toward Gusu, don’t you think? I can keep working on the countercurse as we go.”

“Not Gusu.” The ache in his back comes from Gusu. It wants him to go back there, to submit to what is carved in stone. He can’t do that anymore.

“No?” says Wei Ying. “Well, Yunmeng wouldn’t be far out of the way, either. Plenty of strong cultivators there. Jiang Cheng could blast that curse off you with a snap of his fingers, probably.”

“Don’t talk about him.” There are times when he imagines he might some day be able to be civil to Jiang Wanyin, for Wei Ying’s sake. This is not such a time.

“Eh, he’d be a jerk about it anyway. I’m sure I can figure out the array. I worked a little on the mirror-image theory, earlier, but it’s really not straightforward. That little tyrant had a cunning mind! I think it’s going to take multiple steps to unwind each section before it can be flipped.”

And just like that, he’s off, thinking aloud through the complex puzzle of the array. Normally Lan Wangji would enjoy listening to the workings of Wei Ying’s mind, but today it brings him no pleasure. If Wei Ying really can undo the effects of the array, or if they can find a cultivator of sufficient power to cleanse it by brute force, then Wei Ying will not be obligated to care for him any more. At that time, perhaps they should part ways for a while, so that Wei Ying won’t be troubled by the sight of him.

They soon arrive at the market. Lan Wangji scans the stalls out of pure habit, and immediately identifies the one Wei Ying will be attracted to, with several people already waiting in line for something that involves a loudly sizzling wok and a plume of spicy smoke. Normally, he would head straight there and buy something for him, but now he stands back and lets Wei Ying lead the way. He heads right where Lan Wangji thought he would. The collar twinges as he follows.

Wei Ying orders his food, chatting flirtatiously with the stocky woman running the stall.

“And what will this handsome gongzi have?” she asks, turning to Lan Wangji.

“Oh, we’ll get him some bao next door, he can only eat white food, you know?”

“I will have the same,” Lan Wangji breaks in. It doesn’t matter what he eats, and he doesn’t feel like pretending that it does.

Wei Ying glances at him, wide-eyed. “Leave out the extra chillies, though.” Still looking out for him. It stings.

They sit down to eat at the simple table set up nearby, and Wei Ying falls silent. Lan Wangji finds himself unsure of where to rest his eyes. If he looks at Wei Ying, he might see him looking back, which would be unbearable, but if he avoids his eyes, it feels too much like the game they were playing before. The result is an awkward uncertainty, as though Wei Ying were a respected stranger that Lan Wangji is supposed to entertain.

He hardly registers the taste of the food, even though it burns his mouth. The pain becomes one with the pain in his back and the pain around his neck. His eyes water a little.

“Lan Zhan? Are you all right?”

“Mn,” he grunts in reply.

“Should we look around the market a little?” A timid suggestion.

“All right.”

The market is small, but lively. A young woman selling combs strikes up some banter with Wei Ying, and he plays along. He makes her laugh. It suddenly makes him jealous the way it hasn’t done in months, seeing Wei Ying shine his light around so freely. It feels the way it used to, long ago, when Wei Ying talked about impressing pretty girls.

But he has no right. He has no right. He steps back from the jealousy, observing it as a foreign thing. It’s just a feeling that exists. Not part of him.

Maybe no feelings need to be part of him.

He thinks about that as a villager rushes up and greets Wei Ying, recognizing him as the gongzi who wanted to know about the history of the area, and did the gonzi go to the abandoned house, and what did he find? Their conversation fades into background noise, as though Lan Wangji isn’t part of the scene at all. If the three thousand rules aren’t part of him, maybe his attachment to Wei Ying doesn’t need to be part of him. And the curse, and its pain, are not part of him either.

This is working. This is comfortable. He is standing off to one side of his pain. He feels lighter. He feels so, incredibly, light—

Chapter Text

“Lan Zhan!”

A voice, far away.

“Lan Zhan!”

Something hurts. The light is in his eyes.

A shake. A hard pebble under his shoulder blade. An awful sound, which is his throat as he sucks in air. He needs more air.

“Can’t breathe,” he croaks. Breathing could be part of him, maybe.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck,” says Wei Ying, which is very disrespectful toward these other people standing around.

Wei Ying’s face hovers in his vision. His grip on Lan Zhan’s arms is tight enough to hurt. “Lan Zhan! You were supposed to tell me.”

“Sorry,” he tries to say.

“Stop talking!” Wei Ying snaps. “Not another word. Stop talking and start breathing.”

Can it be as simple as that? It seems so. His next breath comes more easily. His fingertips tingle with returning sensation.

“I shouldn’t have let you try this,” Wei Ying says. “I should have realized.”

Lan Wangji would like to protest, but Wei Ying said not to talk, so he doesn’t. He’s working on breathing right now.

“Can you stand up? Come on, stand up. We’re going.”

With Wei Ying supporting him, he stands up shakily. He has to lean on Wei Ying for some distance, Wei Ying cursing quietly and maybe…maybe Wei Ying also can’t breathe well?

“Wei Ying?”

“I said stop talking! Save your breath.” Oh, he’s crying. That’s why he sounds like that. “Get your feet under you, come on. I can’t carry you the whole way there.”

It takes a few more staggering steps, but he manages, at last. Walking under his own power. It seems he’s really not doing well.

“That’s it,” says Wei Ying. “Come on. Can you hurry? Hurry, Lan Zhan. Keep breathing.”

His voice sounds stern, which is strange to hear. Oh, he’s trying to give orders, isn’t he. That’s why it’s working. Hurrying is hard but doing hard things for Wei Ying is good. He hurries and he breathes.

They reach the inn, and Wei Ying urges him up the stairs, following close behind as though afraid Lan Wangji might fall. In their room, Wei Ying locks the door, and then puts up a talisman to seal it. He turns to Lan Wangji, who is standing aimless in the center of the room.

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay. This is going to be weird for both of us, but we know it works, and we need that. So. Strip. Clothes off. Now.”

He’s obeying before he can question it.

“Give it here,” says Wei Ying, holding out his hand for Lan Zhan’s belt. Outer robe follows, inner robe, shirt, boots, trousers. Naked. It’s exhilarating, which in Lan Wangji’s current state makes the room spin. Wei Ying takes the lot and drops it in a heap on the table. Then he sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Take off my boots.”

Lan Wangji does, his pulse hammering in his ears. As soon as he finishes, Wei Ying directs him.

“Kneel down here, hands and knees. Face that way. Head to the floor. ”

He kneels as Wei Ying directed, side-on to the bed.

“We don’t have a fancy chair in here, so this will have to do.”

From his curled up position, Lan Wangji can’t really tell what’s going on, but Wei Ying shifts and then there’s weight on his back. Two points of it, not too heavy, but solid. Oh it’s…his feet. Wei Ying’s feet. Resting on his back.

“How is this?” asks Wei Ying. “Tell me.”

Lan Wangji has to swallow to wet his throat. “It’s good.”

“And the curse? Can you breathe?”

“I can,” says Lan Wangji.

“You’ll tell me if anything changes.”

Will he tell? Only minutes ago he had vowed not to tell.

“Lan Zhan.”

“I will tell you.”

“All right. Then we’ll stay like this for a while. I need to think.”

Then, all is still.

***

The thing is, Wei Wuxian really wants it to work. He wants it to be possible for Lan Zhan to walk around freely, at least for a while. That would mean that the curse is surmountable, things aren’t as bad as they seem, and Lan Zhan won’t have to keep on subjecting himself to Wei Wuxian on such a constant basis. If they can hang on just a little while longer, the messenger should return with news of the lone cultivator, and then perhaps everything will be all right.

Wei Wuxian watches Lan Zhan closely as they walk to the market. He’s obviously not happy, but that’s only natural, considering how Wei Wuxian has overstepped. Should he offer to take back the red ribbon? Lan Zhan is still wearing it, but he’s probably just forgotten it’s there. He has Lan Zhan’s own ribbon tied safe around his wrist. He could just offer to give it back to him. But the flash of red on Lan Zhan’s brow gives him some kind of silly hope that they can still be friends when this is over.

He’s been paying close attention to Lan Zhan, but it happens fast. One minute Lan Zhan is standing calmly off to one side while Wei Wuxian reassures the villagers, the next he’s falling. Wei Wuxian sees him in his peripheral vision starting to collapse, starts rushing toward him before he even hits the ground. The villagers’ cries of dismay fade into the background. All he can see is Lan Zhan falling, Lan Zhan lying in the dirt with his lips turning blue, an image out of his worst nightmares.

The next few minutes pass in a blur, but he somehow gets Lan Zhan breathing again, and gets him walking. As they lurch back toward the inn, he frantically thinks about what to do next. It has to be something big, something intense, something strong enough to make up for the time they’ve lost in beating back the curse’s effects. All this time he’s been trying to preserve Lan Zhan’s dignity, but even Lan Zhan would have to agree that his dignity is less important than his life. That’s why he strips Lan Zhan naked. Putting him on the floor is also an obvious move, in keeping with what they’ve done so far. Putting him under his feet is the first thing that comes to mind that will keep Lan Zhan occupied for a little time while Wei Wuxian thinks about what to do next, while they wait for the messenger to arrive.

***

Lan Wangji wasn’t lying when he said that it was good. The collar loosened completely as soon as he knelt, and just breathing feels so good that he could sing. And the rest of it: being naked, being an object, being used and disdained in such a shocking way. Somehow it cuts right through the knot of his emotions and everything seems simple again. All he has to do is be the thing that Wei Ying told him to be. Dimly, he knows that he has failed at something, but this feels too good for it to matter. It feels good to be curled up like this, his body comforting itself, rooted on the solid floor, his arms enclosing a little dark cave where he can breathe and feel and be.

There’s no telling how long he stays like that. Wei Ying’s feet shift a few times, but he stays there with Lan Wangji. His mind quiets. Outside, the sounds of daily life in a small town go on normally: footfalls and cart wheels, the occasional shout. Someone is chopping wood in the distance. A donkey brays. He can smell the floorboards, resinous and clean. Muffled conversation drifts up from the common room below.

“All right,” says Wei Ying, after a time. “Time to sit up. Sit with your back to me, here. Stretch your legs in front if that’s more comfortable.”

Lan Wangji was already comfortable, but this is fine, too. It does feel good to straighten his legs. It feels right to have his back to Wei Ying, easier, since things have been hard between them. Even so, his skin prickles with the awareness of being exposed.

A touch comes: a brush of fingers against his neck, as Wei Ying lifts the long fall of his hair. He parts it into three, letting a section fall in front of each of his shoulders. Then his fingers move to the knot of the red ribbon. Is he taking it off? He shouldn’t.

“Wei Ying.” The collar prickles warningly.

“Is that what you should call me?”

“Wei-gege,” he whispers, correcting himself, and the prickling subsides.

“Hn,” Wei Ying chuckles. “Right.” He picks the knot, and the ribbon falls away. “Don’t worry. I just want to comb your hair out. You were lying in the dirt earlier.” Lan Wangji can’t tell what he does with the ribbon. He suppresses the urge to ask to hold it.

Wei Ying produces a comb from somewhere and begins to comb his hair, starting with short strokes at the tips and moving gradually upward, gently untangling snarls so that the comb glides smoothly. The rhythmic tug and release is hypnotic.

“I like taking care of you, Lan Zhan,” says Wei Ying. “You never let me, usually.” There’s a pause. “Anyway. I think you should be in your best condition, don’t you? Otherwise how will I want to be seen with you, hm?”

That’s for the game, Lan Wangji knows. That’s for him, for the curse, for—whatever. He knows that isn’t what Wei Ying really feels. Wei Ying’s saying such a mean, barbed thing, dug up from Lan Wangji’s own worst thoughts, is a gift, actually. Because Wei Ying likes taking care of him. That much is true. Wei Ying likes taking care of him. Wei Ying doesn’t want Lan Wangji to serve him, but he does want Lan Wangji to allow his care, and allowing Lan Wangji to serve him is a way of giving care, and round and round. Giving is taking and taking is giving. A riddle with no answer.

Wei Ying keeps running the comb through even after the tangles are gone. At last he pulls the hair back into a single, smooth fall and gives a little sigh.

“That’s done. Now, why don’t you go get us some clean water and a cloth.”

Lan Wangji rises, feeling tall and lone as a pine as he goes to pour clean water into a basin.

“Face me now,” says Wei Ying, and Lan Wangji kneels.

“Look at me,” says Wei Ying. Lan Wangji turns his face up to him, and Wei Ying cleans it with the cool, coarse cloth. “Tch, you’re a mess.”

Wei Ying is also a mess, his face smudged and tear-tracked. The sight makes him itch, makes him yearn.

“Wei-gege.” It comes out plaintive.

“Hm? What is it?”

Lan Wangji holds out a hand, and Wei Ying gives him the cloth. He rinses it carefully, then kneels up between Wei Ying’s knees. Wei Ying looks blankly surprised.

“You,” says Lan Wangji. He takes Wei Ying’s chin in one hand and carefully cleans his face. Wei Ying doesn’t tell him to keep his eyes down, so he indulges himself in looking closely, seeing the fine skin above his cheekbone, the dark flutter of his lashes, the liquid blackness of his eyes looking back.

When the task is finished, all too quickly, he wets the cloth again and takes up Wei Ying’s right hand. There’s fine dust in the lines of his skin, probably from being on the ground earlier. He wipes it away, taking great care. Not rushing. When not a speck remains, he leans and reaches to one side for his pouch, and takes out his little traveling nail set: a pick, small scissors, and a leather-wrapped buffer strung together on a metal ring. He settles on his knees and begins with Wei Ying’s right little finger.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying protests, very softly, but lets him go on. Wei Ying often bites his nails, and cleans them with random objects. Lan Wangji would never before have dared formulate the thought that he could do this for him, instead, but now it feels natural, part of the caretaking that Wei Ying has ordered and allowed him to do. He tends each finger carefully, trimming the nails short the way Wei Ying likes to keep them, rubbing away snags with the leather. When the right hand is done, he takes up the left.

There’s nothing especially erotic about nail care, but somewhere along the way, he becomes aroused. It’s impossible not to, when he’s so close to Wei Ying, and naked, and on his knees. It would be impossible to hide it. Wei Ying will certainly see. The inevitability of it makes it easy to accept.

Next comes Wei Ying’s left hand. Rolling up the sleeve, he checks at the sight of his ribbon, the Lan ribbon, tied the same way as before, with the silver ornament over his pulse. Wei Ying must have tied it back on himself. Lan Wangji is startled to realize that he has not worried, all this time, about where his own ribbon was. He just knew that Wei Ying was keeping it safe.

Wei Ying notices his pause.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says softly.

He doesn’t mind. It feels good that Wei Ying has it. Wei Ying can’t possibly know the full significance of it, how the sight of it makes all sorts of words crowd behind his teeth. He can’t say any of those things, but the same impulse as before comes over him, and he gives in to it, kissing the ribbon to seal it in its place. Then he washes Wei Ying’s left hand and cleans his nails.

When it’s done, he isn’t sure what to do next, so he settles into a waiting posture, kneeling. Wei Ying sighs with a soft hum, and touches his face.

“That was nice. You did well.”

Lan Wangji bows his head. The touch and the words are comforting, like maybe Wei Ying doesn’t mind so much after all if Lan Wangji takes care of him a little. Wei Ying’s fingers find their way into his hair, cradling him firmly. The thumb strokes over his cheek.

A loud knock on the door makes both of them flinch, but right away Lan Wangji remembers the sealing talisman on the door, and so he doesn’t panic, just kneels there, waiting.

Wei Ying clears his throat.

“What is it?” he calls.

“Gongzi,” comes the muffled reply. “I’ve been to the cultivator’s house. He wasn’t there. The local people said he’d gone up to the mountain for a while.”

“All right,” says Wei Ying. “Thank you for trying.”

“Will the two gongzi be all right? Do you need anything?”

“We’ll be fine. You can go.”

The messenger takes his leave. Wei Ying’s hand has been steady on him all this time.

“Ahhh, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. I was afraid this would happen.” His thumb strokes Lan Wangji’s cheek fretfully. “It looks like you’ll be waiting a bit longer for help.”

“Wei Ying is helping.”

“I’m trying.”

Wei Ying’s hand slides deeper into his hair. That hand has his whole attention.

“If nobody is coming, that means we need to…take matters into our own hands. I think. That’s what I was thinking about. At the rate you were deteriorating, I don’t think we can pretend this curse isn’t…what it is. You know?”

Wei Ying is talking about sex. This is a sex curse. Sex will help more than anything else they could do.

“You don’t have to.” It hurts to say it.

“I kind of think I do have to. We need to give you enough of a reprieve that we can travel to get help. The way you were back there in town—I don’t think we can go on pretending that a little bit of kneeling is enough. Do you agree? I mean, if you have a better plan, I’m all ears.”

“I—do not have one.”

“Yeah.” Wei Ying’s hand fidgets in his hair. “But I really, really don’t want you to be uncomfortable. So tell me if there’s anything…you know. Anything.”

“Wei Ying. I trust you.”

“Okay.” Wei Ying licks his lips. “Okay then. I guess it’s time to really…get serious.”

The hand tugs a little, and Lan Wangji’s eyelids flutter. “Mn.”

“Mn,” Wei Ying mocks gently. “Is that all you have to say? I thought this beauty would be more eloquent.”

Oh, it’s starting. They’re going to do it. He swallows.

“I understand,” he says again. “Wei-gege.”

Wei Ying’s hand twitches tighter.

“Good. I’m glad you found your tongue. In fact,” and here Wei Ying seems to brace himself, his feet shifting a little on the floor, “In fact, why don’t you show me your tongue. This gege wants to see if it’s pretty jade, like the rest of you.”

Lan Wangji hesitates, processing the instruction. Should he literally just…?

“Just open your mouth,” says Wei Ying, “And let me see it.”

He’s using that tone again, the one that’s soft but takes obedience for granted. A melting heat settles in his loins as he obeys.

“Ah, it is pretty.” Wei Ying uses his grip to tilt his head back a little, and Lan Wangji knows he’s being looked at. He keeps his eyes down, like before. Then Wei Ying touches his tongue, a shocking sensation.

“Not jade, though.” Two fingers slide into his mouth, pressing down. Can Wei Ying see how hard he is? Is he looking? “Not much like jade at all. You’re soft and hot inside, just like I thought. You look a little undignified, though. Try closing your lips, instead.”

He closes his lips around Wei Ying’s fingers. Soft and hot. The hand in his hair holds him in place. The fingers move, drawing out and pushing in again. Soft and hot. He hears himself make a small sound.

“That’s better,” says Wei Ying. “I think you like this. I can tell. This cold beauty just has to be handled correctly, isn’t that so? Answer me.”

“Uhmm,” is the sound that comes out of him. Yes, he likes it. Yes, it’s so.

“Good,” Wei Ying croons. “If you like it, you can keep doing it for a while. Try sucking a little. Use your tongue.”

Soft and hot inside, just like I thought. The words keep echoing in his mind as he sucks. His mouth is soft and hot, Wei Ying’s fingers are in his mouth, his mouth that is soft and hot. His mouth that Wei Ying thought about. He moves his tongue and thinks about being soft and hot. Wei Ying draws his fingers a little way out again, and he tries to suck them back, tries to give Wei Ying the wet of his lips to drag against, to be soft and hot for him.

A little breath comes out of Wei Ying, and Lan Wangji can tell that he is not as composed as he pretends to be. Can tell that he likes it, too. He pushes in and out a few more times, not saying anything. Clearly, he likes it. He’s taking pleasure in it. He’s using Lan Wangji’s mouth for pleasure. He likes it, he—there have been moments when Lan Wangji hoped, but he wasn’t sure—

Then Wei Ying leans forward, and speaks close to Lan Wangji’s ear. He still has Lan Wangji’s head immobilized in both hands, one cradling, the other penetrating.

“This beauty has an eager mouth,” says Wei Ying. He pauses for a breath. Lan Wangji hears him lick his lips. “But such a slow learner.”

The words send a humiliated shock straight down his body. He’s never been called a slow learner in his life.

“Or maybe you’re just stubborn,” Wei Ying goes on. His hand tightens in Lan Wangji’s hair, smarting deliciously. “I’ve been trying to teach you how to please me, but you refuse to take the hint. Does this master really have to spell it out so crudely?”

How to please him. He is soft and hot and Wei Ying likes it, and it’s Lan Wangji’s job to understand what he wants. And of course he understands.

His hands are behind his back. He doesn’t remember putting them there. He unclasps them now and reaches for Wei Ying’s belt.

He has to unfasten it blindly, since Wei Ying doesn’t change the position of his hands at all. But he manages it, pulling the long end of the leather belt free at last. Then he has to lean forward to loosen his waist sash at the back. Wei Ying allows this, still without releasing him. When the sash falls loose, he pushes it aside with hands that shake only a little, and then pushes open the layers of Wei Ying’s outer and inner robes.

He tries to look down, to see, but Wei Ying’s grip does not permit it. His own breathing is loud in his ears as he sets his hands on Wei Ying’s thighs, a single layer of thin fabric bunching under his touch.

He pauses there, waiting, panting around Wei Ying’s fingers.

Wei Ying’s legs shift, feet flexing against the floor. He takes a long, slow breath.

“Don’t be shy,” he says, rather sweetly.

So Lan Wangji slides his hands up those lean thighs, knowing that this is the moment that will tell all, whether Wei Ying is only acting for his benefit, or does he actually—

His fingers find the hot curve of Wei Ying’s hardness, and he moans aloud, almost more in relief than pleasure. Wei Ying makes a sound, too, a little “mmh” through his nose, and he twitches under Lan Wangji’s touch.

“There you go,” Wei Ying murmurs. “I knew you would figure it out.”

The thin fabric does little to conceal his shape, and Lan Wangji explores it, the curve a little more pronounced than his own, the girth a bit less, the flare of the head enticing to his fingers. The fabric is slightly wet over the tip.

Wei Ying pulls his fingers out of Lan Wangji’s mouth.

“Go on,” he says.

Now Lan Wangji can look down and see, at last, the shape of Wei Ying’s arousal. With Wei Ying’s fingers gone his mouth feels empty, and he knows that Wei Ying did that so that his mouth will be free, so that he can use it for this. His fingers feel clumsy pulling open the tie of Wei Ying’s trousers, but he manages to get them open, and then he gets only a heartbeat to look, to see Wei Ying’s other hand wrapping around the base of his gorgeously dark-flushed cock before Wei Ying murmurs. “Open your mouth,” and pushes him inexorably down. “Like this.”

He stops short of actually pushing inside, leaving Lan Wangji leeway to close the last finger’s breadth. Lan Wangji pauses there, breathing, feeling. Wei Ying’s grip in his hair is like iron. His cock is so close that Lan Wangji can smell the moisture leaking from it, can feel the warmth radiating onto his lips. The floor is hard beneath his knees, the air cool on his naked skin. How must he look, held like this, naked between Wei Ying’s knees?

“Look at me,” Wei Ying whispers. Lan Zhan looks up, and sees Wei Ying looking back with the most incredible heat. He wants to be hot and soft for that look. He watches Wei Ying’s face as he puts out his tongue, and licks. The skin is smooth and warm, the taste salt-sour. Wei Ying’s breathing turns harsh, and his hand pulls forward just a little, just enough, and it’s a matter of instinct for Lan Wangji to close his lips around the tip of his cock.

He looks up into Wei Ying’s eyes, since Wei Ying asked him to. Hot and soft, he mouths at it at, licking and slurping. He is just what Wei Ying made him: beautiful, untouched, servile, devoted, untutored but eager to please. It’s all made up, but it’s all true, and Wei Ying will prove it true—Lan Wangji wants him to prove it true—by using him just like the passive, pretty object that they’ve agreed he is.

Wei Ying is just breathing, not moving, not making a sound.

“You—eyes down again,” he says at last. Lan Wangji obeys. He closes his eyes, and it feels good to be in the dark. Just his mouth and Wei Ying’s body in the soft, hot darkness.

“You look good doing this,” Wei Ying says, and it’s his special voice, but a little breathy, a little unsteady. “If I knew how pretty you would look I would have done it sooner.”

His hand moves Lan Wangji slightly, and again, suggesting a rhythm. Lan Wangji matches it, bobbing down and up, and Wei Ying uses his other hand to angle his cock outward, feeding it into his mouth more directly. He closes his lips below the flare of the head and lets the motion happen, lets his mouth be the space that Wei Ying’s cock fits into. He curls his tongue against it, and Wei Ying moans and pushes deeper. It’s an effort to keep his lips shut and his jaw open, an effort to control his reflexes when it hits the back of his throat. An effort that he will obviously offer up for Wei Ying’s pleasure.

“Oh—that’s good. Little more, can you—unh—”

Wei Ying pushes deeper, and Lan Wangji feels his breath cut off. It’s all right—it’s good—but his hands clench tight on Wei Ying’s thighs, his throat spasms, and Wei Ying pulls him back abruptly.

“Sorry,” Wei Ying pants.

“Wei…gege,” he manages to croak out. “Don’t stop.”

“Okay,” says Wei Ying. “Okay.” And he allows Lan Wangji back onto his cock.

This time, he goes in slowly. Lan Wangji can’t go deeper even though he wants to; Wei Ying has him under perfect control. He pushes in until his cock hits the back of Lan Wangji’s throat. Lan Wangji hums to show that he wants more, to show that he can still get air. Then Wei Ying pushes further, and Lan Wangji takes it, lets it happen, lets his breath stop against that incredible fullness.

“There,” breathes Wei Ying. “Mmm. So—this beauty can be trained, after all.”

They wait together for the space of several of Wei Ying’s breaths. His pulse beats in Lan Wangji’s throat. His throat wants to spasm, wants to gag, but he suppresses it. Trained. He’s been trained to control his body his whole life. Maybe that was all leading up to this. Imagine that! His whole life devoted to being perfect for Wei Ying.

When Wei Ying finally releases the pressure on the back of his head, he pulls back and breathes deeply, careful not to gasp or make any unseemly sounds. Wei Ying’s cock is dark red and glistening with wet, now, and it looks shockingly big for something that’s been in his mouth. He wants it there again. He wants to get the whole thing inside. If he leaned forward, Wei Ying might allow him, but no, he’ll wait, he’ll see if Wei Ying will—

Wei Ying does. This time Lan Wangji makes sure he gets even deeper, pulling forward against Wei Ying’s grip until Wei Ying lets him do it, lets him push his mouth down to the root. He can feel hair against his lips. He controls his body and just does it.

“Oh, fuck, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighs. He pulls out a little—pulls Lan Wangji’s hair, really—and then goes in again, hard. Lan Wangji would moan if he could. So this is how it feels to be used, finally. For Wei Ying to stop thinking and take what he wants. Wei Ying thrusts again, and more, building up a rhythm, and it’s all he can do to allow it. He has to control himself completely. He’s just on the edge of a panicky need to breathe when Wei Ying releases him again, and he feels so good, and he knows that Wei Ying will take care of him and he doesn’t have to worry about anything. The knowledge hits him deep, and something he’d been holding onto, some kite string of conscious thought, slips softly from his grasp. Wei Ying pushes in to use his throat again.

***

It’s good, at first. Wei Wuxian knows what he’s doing—well, at least a little bit. He’s an expert in curses. All he needs to do is give Lan Zhan enough intensity to hold off the bad effects for a while. The curse is like a dark cloud that slowly eats away at Lan Zhan’s light. The brighter they can get the light to glow, the longer it will take for the darkness to reach the center, the longer they’ll have for rational action before Lan Zhan needs Wei Wuxian to stoke him up again.

Wei Wuxian feels quite clever for coming up with this game, this little story of Lan Zhan being some kind of concubine or war prize, or maybe—and it’s a horrible thought but also titillating, the way the villagers were titillated telling it—maybe an innocent maiden—but not a maiden, in Lan Zhan’s case—sent to serve the tyrant in his lair. It provides a framework for what Wei Wuxian should say to him, should make him do. Yes, Wei Wuxian is a tyrant with unspeakable appetites, and Lan Zhan is the demure beauty he’s going to toy with and ultimately ravish. It’s not very sophisticated, but it will do, under the circumstances.

Having Lan Zhan suck his fingers worked out quite well. In fact, it felt a lot less crazy than using him for a footrest! Lan Zhan had said he liked to experience—and this was his word for it—self abnegation. He likes being made to do things he wouldn’t normally do. Wei Wuxian figures that sucking on some guy’s fingers definitely falls into that category.

His only miscalculation was in underestimating how much he would enjoy having Lan Zhan do that for him. All that stuff about Lan Zhan being a jade beauty was not exactly made up! And then he opened his mouth at Wei Wuxian’s command, allowed Wei Wuxian to breach that untouchable facade. As soon as his fingers were inside of Lan Zhan, he wished that he could keep them there forever, just have Lan Zhan go through life with Wei Wuxian’s fingers somehow always in his mouth, while writing and walking and attending formal banquets. Sleeping. Just—all the time. Would that be enough to keep the curse at bay? If they can’t defeat the curse, maybe they could just do that forever.

He had to shake himself out of that fantasy to move on with the plan. Step two of the plan was the oral sex. During his long thinking session, while resting his feet on Lan Zhan, he had of course considered what kind of sex act would be the most unobjectionable for Lan Zhan while still being effective. Hand stuff was probably out; Wei Wuxian knows enough about these types of curses to suspect that some kind of penetration would work the best, and probably even for one party to —ah—finish inside of the other. To balance the energies. Kind of thing. Obviously the mouth would be the easiest route for that, and since Lan Zhan is the one who needs his energies balanced, well. It had to be this.

Lan Wangji has gone along with it. He’s probably already figured out that this is what would work the best and has just been waiting for Wei Wuxian to figure it out, too.

The thing is. The thing is, Lan Zhan is simply the most beautiful and amazing and special person on earth. He’s all of that, and he’s letting Wei Wuxian put things in his mouth. Saying “don’t stop” in such a way that Wei Wuxian could almost believe it’s not the curse at all, in a way that makes him feel like the actual ruler of the universe, because this incredible person is willing to be like this for him.

So that’s why he loses control, a little. That’s why he forgets that it’s not actually about what he wants, even though they’re pretending that it is. He forgets, and he starts taking, and it’s only as he crests, as he realizes that there’s no way to stop himself from coming down Lan Zhan’s throat, that he remembers. Lan Zhan’s face is all red, his chin is wet, his eyes are watering. There have been some noises from his mouth that Wei Wuxian was enjoying but which Lan Zhan would definitely find disgusting and undignified. His hair is a mess from Wei Wuxian abusing it. In short, Lan Zhan will definitely hate him when this is over, which it is about to be, because unfortunately Wei Wuxian is defiling him with his orgasm at this very moment.

***

Lan Wangji feels Wei Ying’s orgasm as it begins, but he doesn’t have any thoughts about it, because he doesn’t need to. The part of him that might think something like “I must make it good for him” popped out of existence when Wei Ying took control. He’s not responsible for anything. He’s free. The pronounced thickening of Wei Ying’s cock, the rush of fluid down his throat, are a challenge to Lan Wangji’s control, a challenge which he meets and overcomes with pure, satisfying physicality, like meeting a blow from a powerful sparring partner.

When it ends, the need for breath reasserts itself, and he pulls back instinctively against no resistance. Wei Ying’s cock slips out of his mouth completely, and there’s no more direction from Wei Ying’s hand, so he rests, laying his cheek against Wei Ying’s thigh. He takes big breaths of air. His whole body is tingling, singing with exertion and accomplishment.

It takes him far too long to notice that Wei Ying has gone quiet. This is concerning. It takes another few moments for him to hook up his will to his body again, to look up at Wei Ying’s face.

Wei Ying, evidently, is in agony. He sweeps it away quickly, like a village wife tidying up for guests, and smiles. It’s his very worst smile. Lan Wangji has had nightmares about that smile. The sweet, singing buzz drains out of Lan Wangji’s flesh in an instant, leaving him chilled.

“Wei Ying,” he croaks. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Ah, no, what could be wrong? That was amazing. You did so well. Who—who have thought a beauty like this could—”

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying shuts his mouth. He backs up from Lan Wangji and pulls both of his legs up onto the bed to lie down. Lan Wangji sits frozen, aching to touch him but not knowing if he can.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying says, quietly. “I guess this is harder than I thought.”

Lan Wangji bows his head as the full, unbearable import of those words sinks in. “I have asked too much of you.” The worst part is that he wants to ask for so much more. Even now his body is aching to be held, to be kissed, to have its efforts rewarded.

“No! It isn’t that,” says Wei Ying. “It’s me, I—I haven’t told you the truth.” His eyes are squeezed closed. Lan Wangji can only wait for him to go on. If Wei Ying is still willing to talk to him, maybe all is not lost.

“The truth is, I—I like this. Ugh. It’s so horrible to say out loud. You—you’re being forced into all this by the curse, and I’m—I mean. What we just did. I—I liked it, okay?”

Lan Wangji is honestly confused. “I could tell you liked it.”

Wei Ying gives a hoarse laugh. “I mean, not just as—not just the—physical. I mean I liked the—the other stuff. Controlling you. P-pushing you. Treating you like…like a thing. Like I own you.”

Lan Wangji has to think hard about what to say next. Luckily, the curse is almost silent, satisfied for the moment with Wei Ying’s efforts, so the way forward is clearer than it might otherwise be. He climbs onto the bed beside Wei Ying, who eyes him warily.

“I have also not been honest,” he says. “I do not believe this is a sex curse.”

Wei Ying makes a questioning sound.

“It wants me to abase myself to you, yes,” he goes on. “It wants me to crave your domination at the cost of my own will. But the erotic part, being aroused by it—that, I believe, comes from within myself.”

Wei Ying gives a disbelieving huff. “No way.”

“I told you about the obedience talisman. I’ve long ago accepted this tendency in myself.”

Wei Ying puts his hands over his eyes. “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t mean that I should have—”

“There is more.”

“…more?”

“Back then, I was infatuated with you. Perhaps that is why the encounter had the impact that it did. But I feel differently now.”

“Inf—ah, yeah. I guess you do.” He still has his hands over his eyes. Lan Wangji gathers them up in his own and pulls them away from his face. Wei Ying keeps his eyes squeezed shut. His lashes are wet with tears.

“Wei Ying. I could not deny you anything.”

Wei Ying says nothing. Carefully, Lan Wangji draws near to him. He touches Wei Ying’s wet cheek. Wei Ying blinks his eyes open to peer back at him in confusion.

“Curse or no curse. All I want is for you to ask. To take. To—accept.”

Wei Ying sniffs loudly. “Lan Zhan, you—you can’t say that to me. I’ll take too much.”

“I want you to.”

“No, because I want—I want everything. Don’t you see?”

Wei Ying’s tear-stained face is so close. Lan Wangji would do anything to free him from this pain. He would walk over coals. He would cut his own flesh.

“If you want it,” he whispers, “then take it.”

Lan Wangji does not know how to kiss. He brushes his open lips across Wei Ying’s, and feels him take in a sharp little breath. Lan Wangji tries again, tries to be softer (soft and hot, he can be that), and this time Wei Ying meets him with a sweet little sound. He pulls Wei Ying close and offers himself, still naked, into his embrace. He doesn’t know if what he has, what he is, is remotely enough or even anything like the everything that Wei Ying wants, but it’s all he has, and it is all Wei Ying’s, anyway.

When Wei Ying’s hands clutch at him, when Wei Ying matches him kiss for kiss, breath for breath, he knows that he will never be able to let go.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. I can’t handle you. Can’t resist you. I like you so, so much. Come here. Come here and let me.”

They already can’t get any closer, but Wei Ying holds him tighter, wraps him in strong arms, covering him with the long sleeves of the robes still draped around his shoulders. He presses his mouth to Lan Wangji’s throat, kissing and sucking at his skin.

“I hate this mark,” he murmurs. “I want it gone. Want you back.”

“You have me.”

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying spiders his arms and legs around him, presses his face into his chest. “Lan Zhan. It’s not that simple.”

But it is simple, if Wei Ying wants him. As simple as looking in a mirror and seeing your own reflection. As simple as a compass pointing north.

“Give me your ribbon.”

“What?”

“The ribbon. Here.” Lan Wangji sits up enough to spot the ribbon hanging on the bed frame, where Wei Ying left it while combing his hair. He lifts it carefully, finds the center, and lays it across his throat, right where he can feel the curse mark prickling. Then he crosses the two ends in back and pulls them to the front on either side. He puts the ends into Wei Ying’s hand. Wei Ying takes them with wide eyes.

Wei Ying stares at him a moment longer, and then uses the ribbon to pull him down into a kiss. The tug tightens the ribbon around his throat, a comforting pressure. The kiss deepens and deepens, their bodies coming back together with a slow, tidal force. Lan Wangji is helplessly hard again, all the banked fire of his arousal welling up again now that the moment of panic is over. Lan Wangji knows from the roll of Wei Ying’s hips that he can feel it, that he approves of it. They separate slightly so that Wei Ying can shrug fully out of his robes and shirt, which he somehow manages without letting go of the ribbon, and then Lan Wangji gets to kiss Wei Ying with his skin all bare, and it’s the most decadent experience of his life, all that skin, all that touch. Even the sharp ache of desire fades in comparison to the intoxicating bliss of simply being touched.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers. “You worked hard. I want to make you feel good.”

He already feels so, so good. But when Wei Ying reaches down to palm him, he still moans in surprised pleasure. It feels better than he could have imagined, worlds better than the touch of his own hand. He ruts into the touch unconsciously, shivering with intensity of it.

“Hn.” Wei Ying laughs indulgently. “That’s good, hm?”

An answer doesn’t seem to be required.

“You already satisfied me so well,” Wei Ying muses. His voice is starting to drop into that low, sweetly condescending croon. Lan Wangji stills himself, listening. “With your mouth. I really did enjoy your mouth, Lan Zhan. Loved how you opened up for me. You worked hard. You did so well.”

The words dig in beneath his conscious mind, soothing a little ache he hadn’t known was still there. He was good. Wei Ying thought he was good. Wei Ying accepts what he gave him.

“In fact, you took such good care of me, I’m all worn out. Don’t really feel like doing any more work today.”

Lan Wangji isn’t totally sure where this is going, but he can tell it’s part of the game. Wei Ying takes his hand away from Lan Wangji’s cock and stretches out languidly on his back, all relaxed except for the hand that still holds the ribbon, pulling Lan Wangji close.

“Can’t I just take it easy?” Wei Ying pouts.

“You can,” says Lan Wangji slowly, still trying to figure it out.

“But you!” says Wei Ying. “I learned a lot about you today. Once you get going, I don’t suppose you can calm down again, can you?” A nod toward Lan Wangji’s lower half makes it quite clear what he’s referring to.

“I…cannot,” says Lan Wangji.

“I mean, with the size of that thing, no wonder you’re a slave to your baser instincts.”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say, but he can’t exactly argue with it. Then Wei Ying’s thigh brushes intentionally against his cock, and everything clicks into place. He pushes into that pressure, rubbing into Wei Ying’s skin.

“You’re right,” he says.

Wei Ying grins, a real smile, but he puts his indifferent face back on quickly.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d like to see you come. I’m just going to lie here and relax, though. You can do it on your own.”

The ribbon keeps him close, so there’s not really much he can do but rut against Wei Ying’s leg. He reaches out to pull Wei Ying a little closer, but Wei Ying jerks hard on the ribbon.

“No need to use your hands.”

Lan Wangji takes his hand off of Wei Ying and holds it behind his back. He still wants more pressure, so he scoots forward to get it, and Wei Ying obliges him at first, watching Lan Wangji’s efforts with a feral little grin lifting one side of his mouth. It feels good to be watched like that, while he writhes in this undignified way. A slave to his baser instincts. It doesn’t matter how silly he looks. He really couldn’t stop himself from doing this.

He just wants more. Of its own accord, his hand reaches out again.

“Ah!” The pull of the ribbon doesn’t really threaten to choke him—it’s too wide for that, and going with the pull keeps it from getting too tight—but it still reminds him to withdraw his hand.

“Is it really so hard to keep your hands to yourself?”

He doesn’t answer, at first.

“Lan Zhan. Is it too difficult? Answer honestly.”

“It…might be.”

Wei Ying tsks. “In that case, try something else. Here, get on top of me.”

“On top…?”

“Yes, just get on top. Put your hands on the bed on either side. Then you can grab the blanket if you really have to grab.”

He pulls the ribbon, and Lan Wangji gets on top of Wei Ying, straddling his hips, with a hand on either side of him on the bed, holding himself up. It’s almost too much to think about. He can feel Wei Ying’s skin on the insides of his thighs. Wei Ying’s smirking face is right in front of him. His whole body is right there under him, naked.

“Go ahead,” says Wei Ying.

As promised, Wei Ying doesn’t move a muscle to help. Lan Wangji looks down between their bodies as he lowers his hips. Wei Ying’s cock is beneath his own, lying crooked and half-soft across his stomach. His own looks needy by comparison, almost deranged, hard and dark and leaking. Slowly, he rubs them together, but Wei Ying’s slips off to the side, and his own presses into the soft skin of Wei Ying’s stomach. It still feels good. He rubs down into it, following sensation mindlessly. At least with Wei Ying under him like this, he can get all the pressure he wants without using his hands to grab.

“Hmm-mm, Lan Zhan, I think you better look up here at me.”

Lan Zhan lifts his head. There’s that feral little smile again.

“Keep looking at me while you work,” Wei Ying says. “How can I enjoy your good looks otherwise, hmm?”

So Lan Wangji has to look Wei Ying in the eye while he…works, while he rubs out his pleasure against Wei Ying’s skin, Wei Ying lying back with one arm tucked behind his head. His reflex when being watched is to control his expression, to lock his jaw and still his brow. To manage this, he also has to control his body, to ration out the sensations of Wei Ying’s body beneath him. He allows himself to find a rhythm of slow, careful thrusting.

“Wow, so serious,” Wei Ying mocks. “The perfect jade has returned.”

This comment has the effect of making him self-conscious, but he doesn’t know how to fix it.

“Lan Zhaaan. Come on. Who’s in charge of you right now?”

“Wei-gege,” he answers, the only and obviously correct answer.

“That’s right,” says Wei Ying. He firms up his grip on the ribbon, a reminder. The ribbon feels warm. “Only me. Right?”

“Yes.”

“And do you really think I want you to be so perfect all the time? Do you think that’s what I want from you?”

“N...no?” But he does think that. The idea of being anything else is terrifying.

“That’s right. I don’t. So why are you doing that, huh? That’s not what I want. So, why?”

“I—” It’s hard to think. It’s very cruel of Wei Ying to ask him to think right now. “I don’t know.”

Wei Ying pulls him down close by the ribbon around his neck, forcing him to go down onto his elbows. That puts more of his body in contact with Wei Ying’s warm skin, brings his mouth achingly near to kissing distance.

“So stop,” whispers Wei Ying. “Just let go, Lan Zhan. Just be a mess. That’s my favorite. Let me see you let go and make a big sloppy mess, huh?”

“Wei Ying,” he chokes out. Those words sound so obscene the way he says them. He shuts his eyes, and Wei Ying allows it. He wants to bury his face somewhere, but he can’t. The heat of Wei Ying’s skin is too much to bear, and he ruts faster against it. The ribbon is hot, too, a stinging heat, like medicine.

“Good,” Wei Ying purrs. “That’s it. So good, Lan Zhan. Do whatever feels good.”

Everything feels good. The soreness in his used throat, the give of Wei Ying’s body under him, the hot embrace of the ribbon around his neck. When he tries, it’s easy to sink into it, to let go again of that thread that holds him to words and thoughts and rules. A touch on the cheek opens his eyes, but this time he stays there in the deep, peaceful well of pure sensation. Wei Ying caresses his face, tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, pets him softly. He knows his heart is naked in his eyes, knows that Wei Ying will see all of him. Wei Ying’s gaze is full of something that Lan Wangji comprehends without naming. Lan Wangji wants to kiss him. He wants it, and he gets what he wants, Wei Ying pulling him down and opening to him.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispers, his breath sweet against Lan Wangji’s lips. “Lan Zhan, don’t be afraid. It doesn’t matter what you do, I want all of it. Want you. Love you.” Softer and softer whispers. “Can’t live without you.”

Wei Ying’s body is moving beneath him, no longer still but meeting him, moving with him, sweet and slow. Wei Ying’s hand is still on the ribbon collar, and the ribbon is burning, a heat that radiates down his spine and over the scarred skin of his back. He knows the heat comes from Wei Ying, from his hand, from his heart, and he feels melted by it, formless, losing awareness of his body even as his body drives toward completion.

“Oh,” whispers Wei Ying. “Yes. Like that. You’re mine, Lan Zhan.” It’s true. It’s endlessly, perfectly true. “Lan Zhan, you’re mine. You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.” The words are a promise, a wish, a spell, and Lan Wangji heeds them blindly. “Let go, let go for me.” He can’t do otherwise, the words pulling his orgasm into him and through him. He lets go, of everything: of self, of need, heat and pleasure rippling through his formless being and reshaping all that he is.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers, “Ah. Come here, come here.” Strong arms wrap around him, and long legs, too, and by their touch he knows his body’s shape. For a long time he lies there, safe and quiet. Cleansed. Perhaps he sleeps. When he next notices the external world, it’s to see the warm glow of sunset painting lines across the floor. His head is pillowed on Wei Ying’s bare chest, and Wei Ying is touching his cheek.

“Wei Ying,” he murmurs.

“Mmm.” Fingertips trace down his throat, tugging at the ribbon. “This isn’t too tight?”

“No.” He takes Wei Ying’s hand, stopping him. “Leave it.”

“Oh. All right.” His hand relaxes, and Lan Wangji holds onto it.

“Thank you.”

“Lan Zhan.” His tone is gently scolding, but he says nothing more.

“I love you.” He hadn’t known he was going to say it. “Want you. Can’t live without you.”

Wei Ying goes very still. “I did say those things,” he says, as though admitting to a crime.

“Did you not mean them?”

“Of course I meant them!” Wei Ying’s voice breaks a little. He squeezes Lan Wangji tighter. “Of course I meant them. But I shouldn’t have—not when you’re—”

“I also mean them.” He pushes up to look Wei Ying in the eye. Wei Ying looks up at him startled and teary. “Wei Ying. I’m yours.”

“I—I want that to be true. You have to know how much I want it. But the curse—” he tugs at the ribbon, as though showing the curse mark will prove his argument. Lan Wangji grabs his hand again to stop him from removing the ribbon, but Wei Ying is already frozen, his wet eyes wide with surprise.

“The curse! Wait, let me.” He reaches for the ribbon again, and Lan Wangji reluctantly allows him. “The curse mark! I think it’s—gone!”

Lan Wangji’s hand flies to his neck. Of course there’s nothing to feel with his fingers, but he can still tell that it’s true; the threatening tingle of it, which had faded into the background of his senses, is gone, burned away by the white heat of Wei Ying’s claim on him.

“How?” Wei Ying murmurs. “What happened to it?”

“Your power was stronger.” He replaces the ribbon carefully, tugging the ends to make it snug again.

“What power? I don’t have power like that.”

How can Wei Ying still doubt it? He clasps Wei Ying’s hand, holding it in front of his heart.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying protests, but he softens a little, and interlaces his fingers with Lan Wangji’s. “Don’t tell me this makes sense to you. That’s not how curses work.”

“It doesn’t.”

“But you’re not surprised.”

“No.” He kisses Wei Ying’s knuckles.

“Lan Zhan. You silly goose. Are you saying the power of love cured this curse?”

“Maybe.”

“Ah! You’re smiling!” And he squirms, ticklish, giggling, as Lan Zhan presses his face into his neck and kisses and kisses his skin. “You can’t just smile like that! You have to warn me!”

“I won’t.”

“Lan Zhan! The disobedience! How dare you!” He whacks Lan Wangji playfully on the shoulder, but he barely feels it as he takes Wei Ying in his arms, Wei Ying gleefully kicking and struggling as Lan Wangji bears him down to press more kisses everywhere he can reach. Eventually his lips find Wei Ying’s mouth again, and Wei Ying stills enough to kiss him back, and things turn soft and slow again. Eventually Wei Ying pulls back enough to speak.

“So,” he says.

Lan Wangji waits.

“So. The curse is over.”

That’s obviously not what Wei Ying really wants to say, so Lan Wangji says nothing.

“And, I guess, if the curse is over, that means that we don’t have to keep doing this.”

He feels remarkably calm about this line of thought, with Wei Ying’s words still echoing in his mind, You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine. He can give Wei Ying space to talk it through.

“I mean. Well. Sex. But I hope you’d still want to. Do you still want to?”

“Very much.”

“Oh.” Wei Ying curls up a little, tucking his face down as if to hide his blushing grin. “Good.”

Lan Wangji barely holds back from kissing him. How can they not be kissing right now? They should be kissing always.

“But then, the other thing,” Wei Ying says, very quietly. “You said you—ah. You liked it. Regardless of the curse, you enjoyed—all that. The…obedience. Stuff.”

“You’re right. We don’t have to.”

“But would you want to?” He curls up smaller. “I don’t know if I’m good at it. And not—I mean, not all the time, like we were. But I did like it. When I wasn’t thinking about you being cursed, I really. Haha.” He curls up smaller still, pressing his squeezed-shut eyes to Lan Wangji’s knuckles, and he whispers, “I liked it a lot.”

“Wei Ying.” He kisses Wei Ying’s hand, then pulls their hands down to kiss his cheeks. “You are good at it.”

“Mm.” Wei Ying smiles into his kisses, his cheeks hot against Lan Wangji’s lips. “You’d do it again?”

“All of it.”

“Oh. Good. You’re good at it, too. I mean! Lan Zhan.” He goes up on his elbows so he can look Lan Wangji in the eye. “The things you did for me! Can I—I want to—” He strokes Lan Wangji’s cheek, gazing at him in a way that he cannot quite fathom. Then Wei Ying’s finger skims across his lower lip, where it’s a little sore from…earlier. It must be a bit swollen. “I’m gonna order a fresh bath,” says Wei Ying. “A big one. Hot. And we’ll wash your hair, and wrap you up in nice clean clothes, and have a big dinner with lots of good, hot food. Maybe more of that good tofu, some soup. Does that sound good?”

“It does.”

“I’ll feed it to you. And I’ll give you a back rub. And I’ll—hmm. I don’t play qin, but I could read to you. Would that be nice? I think we have a book of poetry somewhere.”

“Wei Ying. You do not have to.”

“I want to.” Wei Ying’s eyes are so soft. “I always want to, Lan Zhan. You’re always so strong all the time. Won’t you let me treasure you a little?”

To be treasured by Wei Ying is more than he has earned in all his lifetimes. To indulge that way goes against his upbringing. But Wei Ying wants it. And Lan Wangji…yes. He wants it, too.

“All right.”

Wei Ying kisses him, and then kisses him more.

***

Much later, when they’re lying in bed together (naked, so that all their skin can touch, the Lan sect rule about proper sleep attire be damned), when Lan Wangji is clean and warm and full and happier than he ever thought possible, Wei Ying speaks again in that hesitant, serious way. Lying with his head pillowed on Wei Ying’s chest, Lan Wangji feels his voice as well as hears it.

“Lan Zhan, do you want to be on the road forever?”

The question is potent enough to sweep away the fog of sleep a little.

“I want to be with Wei Ying,” he answers. The only truth that matters.

“You don’t ever think of, maybe, going back to Gusu? Cloud Recesses is your home, you shouldn’t have to—I wouldn’t want you to give that up.” The unspoken for me hangs in the air.

Lan Wangji considers how to reply. To say that Cloud Recesses is no longer his home would not be true, for all that he no longer feels bound by its rules and strictures. But his tie to that place will be the same no matter where he goes.

“I don’t want to be on the road forever,” Wei Ying blurts, before he can formulate his answer.

“All right.”

“Are you surprised?”

“I thought the freedom suited you.”

“Tch. Freedom from what? Having my own bed? The sight of familiar faces?”

“The expectations of others. Family obligations. Trouble from your past.”

Wei Ying shakes his head vigorously in the dark. “That’s just running away. I can handle all that. I just. Lan Zhan. I just kept going because I thought that when the journey ended, we would part.”

Lan Wangji pulls him tighter in his arms, pulls with all his strength, trying to press himself into the marrow of Wei Ying’s bones.

“No parting.”

And Wei Ying doesn’t tease him for his directness. He doesn’t laugh and say don’t say that so easily, Lan Zhan. And he lets Lan Wangji hold him, lets himself be held.

“I suppose I could live there,” Wei Ying says, quietly. Cloud Recesses, he means.

“No.” Not impossible, maybe, but far from ideal. Of course Wei Ying can live with the constant disapproval of others, of course he could survive in the Lan sect’s world of curfews and prohibitions. But he should not have to. Lan Wangji will not make him. “We have other options. The Lan sect owns property outside Cloud Recesses, which I am entitled to use. And I have my own resources, as well.”

“Oh,” says Wei Ying. “Oh. Then. Maybe that’s all right. Maybe we could go back pretty soon. And settle down, at least for a while.”

And he doesn’t protest that he has nothing to contribute. And he doesn’t apologize for the trouble. He doesn’t even say thank you.

It’s perfect.