Rating:

Explicit

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

MDZS/CQL

Relationship:

Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian

Tags:

dubcon, resentacles, tentacles, yuletide 2020

Stats:

Posted on:

2021-01-01

Words:

2,057

He is not asked why he is staying so long in Yiling, by Wei Wuxian or Wen Qing or anyone else. Wei Wuxian has offered his hospitality, but Lan Wangji has his doubts about staying around the resentful energy too long. He wishes he could take Wei Wuxian, Wen Yuan, everyone that Wei Wuxian wants to keep safe—give them a home in Gusu, give Wei Wuxian a home in Gusu. But he knows his uncle would never allow it. Knows that Wei Wuxian would not accept it.

Lan Wangji does what he can, but Wei Wuxian hangs around him like he thinks Lan Wangji will take this all away if he doesn’t. There’s a smile on Wei Wuxian’s face as he bugs Lan Wangji about being “better at farming than I’d thought you be”—still, strains of doubt cloud his eyes. Lan Wangji has watched Wei Wuxian long enough to recognize it.

He wants to tell Wei Wuxian that he is not here to do harm, to ruin the home of the people Wei Wuxian has rescued—that there are safer ways of cultivation, that he can hide him away in the Cloud Recesses. But Wei Wuxian is bright and free like a bird—even with the shadows under his eyes and dark robes marred darker by the dust of the Burial Mounds, he will not take what Lan Wangji wants to give to him. That it’s—perhaps selfishness on Lan Wangji’s part, but just the ache, the want to see Wei Wuxian safe. With him.

And so the Burial Mounds is all he has. Wei Wuxian using his questionable magic to help out with the vegetables on the farm, a new crude talisman per day. Lan Wangji says, “Wei Ying,” when he sees new and unfamiliar strokes on the talisman paper; but Wei Wuxian says, “Shush, Lan Zhan,” and hums to himself, dipping his brush in his ink.

But it’s never easy with Wei Wuxian, when later, during the evening when they’re alone, Lan Wangji hangs around outside of the Burial Mounds village to hunt for monsters and Wei Wuxian insists on coming with him. Lan Wangji knows this means Wei Wuxian will insist on controlling any monsters he comes across, instead of allowing Lan Wangji to destroy them; still, he cannot bring himself to say no as Wei Wuxian tags along, twirling his dizi.

They walk in comfortable silence for a bit; Lan Wangji cannot help but reminisce for when Wei Wuxian would try to fill the silence with his mindless rambling. This Wei Wuxian is more quiet, dangerous—and yet Lan Wangji still burns for him.

“Wei Ying,” he says, and Wei Wuxian pauses his humming to look at him. “Please. Come back to Gusu with me.”

It’s astonishing how quickly Wei Wuxian’s expressions can change—one moment he’s silent and content; the next, his eyes flash red with anger.

“Again,” Wei Wuxian says with a scoff. “Do you think I’ll just blindly follow you, Lan Wangji?” The user of his courtesy name stings. “All you Gusu Lan are the same—I will not go back for you just to show me a lesson, punish me.”

“Not to punish,” Lan Wangji says, and thinks of the jingshi. Of his mother, alone but safe. “For Wei Ying’s own sake.”

“Oh, for my own sake, of course.” Wei Wuxian’s voice is dripping with sarcasm.

Resentful energy is beginning to swirl around him, seep from his body, every pore of his being. Lan Wangji hears the stirring of corvids nearby, rustling—the demons are surely running away from them, from Wei Wuxian’s menacing aura.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes are wild, flashing between red and his soft, comfortable grey. Lan Wangji says, “Please, Wei Ying, you need—”

“Who are you to tell me what I need?” Wei Wuxian laughs. In the distance, birds screech, fluttering away from the dead trees. “Hanguang-jun, your devotion to righteousness is almost admirable.”

Like ink, like smoke, the resentful energy grows thicker. Darker, swarming around Wei Wuxian, reaching towards Lan Wangji like a hungry predator.

Lan Wangji does not move away. Wei Wuxian—if Wei Wuxian has to harm him to listen, to come to Gusu, then Lan Wangji will do what it takes. “Please,” he begs, hearing the desperation in his own voice. “Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian sneers. “That’s all you’re here in Yiling for, isn’t it? To take me away to your precious Cloud Recesses—you don’t care about anyone else here, about Wen Qing, a-Yuan, don’t you?”

Hurt fills Lan Wangji’s chest. He feels his eyes burn.

“No,” Wei Wuxian starts—but then he looks thoughtfully at the resentful energy swirling around them. Like sentient beings, waiting for Wei Wuxian’s command, ready to attack, to take him away. Lan Wangji’s heart is hammering—and still, more than anything, he wants to bring Wei Wuxian into his arms, hide him away from the world.

But Wei Wuxian is so far away, miles of resentful energy between them. And one tendril slithers out, and Lan Wangji watches as it makes its way towards himself, while Wei Wuxian’s eyes glint in the moonlight.

The darkness is nothing like Lan Wangji has ever seen before—he feels it, like smoke he can hold, slipping against his skin. Gentle strokes, almost, not quite there; his core burns at each almost touch, like careful kisses, licks. The energy swirls around him, his legs and hips and shoulders, until it runs up towards his face, slides against his cheek.

He shivers.

“Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian whispers. “Don’t tell me you’re enjoying this.” But there’s greed in his voice, a smile on his face as the resentful energy tickles along Lan Wangji’s body. He feels it slip under his robes at his collar and lets out another small noise.

“You do like this,” Wei Wuxian says, and Lan Wangji begs his body not to give any more of himself away—shameful, shameful. And yet, it’s Wei Wuxian. “Do you like seeing me like this? Lose control?” His eyes glow red then grey then red again. “Do you like it when I use my evil magic on you?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji struggles to get out.

Wei Wuxian laughs again, high, cruel in the darkness. “Imagine this, the noble Hanguang-jun, denouncing my cultivation practices and yet, somehow, gagging for it.” The smoke, the—the tentacles run across Lan Wangji’s chest, tugging at his nipples—he tries not to gasp, to moan. He doesn’t try to imagine what they must look like, pitch black on his pale skin, marking him, the contrast making him salivate, make that fire in his gut burn hotter.

And yet, he cannot bring himself to protest. It’s like Wei Wuxian climbed into the dark corners of his mind and brought out everything he’s tried to push down, didn’t even know was there. The resentful smoke plays with his nipples again, and this time he can’t stop the low cry that escapes from his mouth—the arousal between his legs grows numb.

“Interesting,” Wei Wuxian says, though his eyes have gone fully crimson now—now an animal, toying with his prey. “Hanguang-jun, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? My dark magic beneath your skin…”

And then from where the thick, unnatural smoke has gathered behind him, four more tendrils shoot out, each wrapping around Lan Wangji’s wrists and ankles. But he can’t bring himself to struggle as the one beneath his robes, like a mass of tresses creeping over his body, go lower—tease at his lower dantian, like they might curl around his golden core.

“You know, I think I understand what they say now,” Wei Wuxian says, as Lan Wangji is lifted into the air by his resentful energy—restrained, but not struggling. “That Hanguang-jun is so great, so majestic, so beautiful. You’re quite the sight like this, at my mercy.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, as the dark tendrils on his body begin to slip into his underwear. “Do not—”

“What?” Wei Wuxian says, the red in his eyes flaring up. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts, Lan Zhan.”

“Do not tease,” Lan Wangji manages out.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes flash grey again—and then, with the red back in, he throws his head back and laughs.

“Oh, Hanguang-jun,” he says, as one inky tentacle, warm and silky, possessed by Wei Wuxian, wraps around his cock. Lan Wangji gasps and arches his back; the softness around his wrists and ankles grow tighter. “You’re just as depraved as the rest of us mere cultivators. As my demonic cultivation.”

His tone grows hard—but the darkness, the tendril drags rough and slow on Lan Wangji’s cock. Lan Wangji can feel himself leaking, the front of his robes growing wet. Wei Wuxian watches with dark eyes, at every gasp Lan Wangji tries to push back, at Lan Wangji’s arms and thighs quivering under Wei Wuxian’s control.

The resentful energy around Wei Wuxian thrashes behind him, as if basking in their own pleasure, at the long tentacles they have holding Lan Wangji back, under his robes. More and more swirl beneath all six layers, and there’s a tug at his nipple again, a sweep under his bellybutton, touching at his upper and middle and lower dantian like they might crawl under his skin, into his body. There’s so much, Lan Wangji’s never touched another person so much, much less—whatever this is. He moans and a tendril snakes around his head, pushing between his lips, muffling his noises—and his senses are on overdrive, the heady strokes along his cock, scraping wetly against his chest, on his wrists and ankles, everywhere, everywhere—

And then, between his legs, behind his thighs, one tendril snakes down. Lower and lower, further and further, until—

A gentle nudging at his hole, where Lan Wangji has never touched himself before. Has never thought about touching himself there, except now one of Wei Wuxian’s dark hungry tentacles is stroking around his rim, like a tongue, what the inside of Wei Wuxian’s mouth might feel like, threatening to slip inside him, take him.

He comes with a small cry, feeling too many things at once—outside, where Wei Wuxian’s resentful energy touches him more intimately than he’s touched himself. Inside, because it’s not Wei Wuxian, nothing but this magic he’s turned to, raising the dead, flying high on the smoke. And yet his climax shakes him, spurting onto the greedy tentacle still wrapped around him, thick and white and sending tremors all over his body. He can’t move his limbs so his cock twitches helplessly, pushing out his cum, everything he’s feeling until it almost hurts, almost oversensitized.

He’s still breathing heavily as he recovers, comes down—the resentful energy is still holding him up in the air, Wei Wuxian watching from where he’s lifted up on the black smoke too, hovering above the ground. The resentful energy is stroking at his arms, calves, almost tender as his heartbeat settles, senses coming back to his body.

Lan Wangji is brought back down gently. The tentacles shrink away, go back into the black mass twisting around Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian’s expression is unreadable.

“I’m sorry, Hanguang-jun,” he says.

Lan Wangji starts. “Wei Ying.”

“This—You can’t.” Wei Wuxian turns away. “You can’t save me. Not when I’ve…” A low chuckle escapes his mouth. “But it’s not like it matters anymore, does it? You got what you wanted from me, by coming to the Burial Mounds. It’s why you want me to come back to Gusu with you. Didn’t you?”

No—”No,” Lan Wangji says. Everything is wrong.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, bowed low. “This was a mistake.”

Lan Wangji’s head spins, missing the feeling of the resentful energy, whatever part of Wei Wuxian he could get. So loving, uncontrollable.

“Wei Ying,” he says helplessly.

Wei Wuxian turns his back to him. “No,” he says, voice thick. “Go back to Gusu. Leave us alone.” And, quieter: “Leave me alone.”

Lan Wangji hesitates, but Wei Wuxian does not face him. Heart sinking in his chest, the damp spot the only memory of what Wei Wuxian did to him, he turns the other way, back to the village he was staying at—away from Wei Wuxian.

He leaves for Gusu in the morning.