Rating:

Mature

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

MDZS/CQL

Relationship:

Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian

Tags:

dragon lwj, dragonfucking, fox wwx, monsterfucking, shotgunning, smoking, weed

Stats:

Posted on:

2021-04-07

Words:

1,911

“Your horns are pretty,” Wei Ying says.

Lan Zhan slides his gaze over to him. Heavy-lidded, his eyes are golden in the firelight, horns so white they look silver. The hemp paper dangles from his fingertips.

Wei Ying can feel the smile on his face. “Lan-er gege is pretty.”

“Wei Ying is pretty,” Lan Zhan retorts, voice deep. Wei Ying loves him like this, sleepy and slow, warm against the cool grass, skin pale and glowing in the night. The moon shifts through the trees, but any glimpse of his husband makes Wei Ying feel like the luckiest man in the world, reminds him that he is.

He raises his hand to tuck Lan Zhan’s long hair behind his neck. Lan Zhan turns his head, presses a kiss to Wei Ying’s wrist. Wei Ying laughs at him, cuddling closer to him beneath the blanket. Lan Zhan’s long naked body is a reminder of what he has now, him and the scales unknowingly reforming along his forehead, the smoke seeping out of Lan Zhan’s mouth. Wei Ying kisses Lan Zhan back on the cheek, and a low rumble escapes from Lan Zhan’s chest.

“Love you, husband,” Wei Ying says as his hand slips into Lan Zhan’s own. With a small smirk he pries the rolled hemp from Lan Zhan’s fingers; Lan Zhan doesn’t respond as Wei Ying rolls back, starward, brings the blunt to his lips. Wei Ying’s long learned how that sometimes Lan Zhan just likes looking at him, even though he’s not sure what’s there to look at. But maybe it’s the same way Wei Ying likes to say Lan Zhan’s name, watch him while he reads, while he sleeps, a perfect reminder of this is what he has, no matter how much Wei Ying doesn’t think he deserves it.

But Lan Zhan is here, and Wei Ying is happy. Lan Zhan hovers over him, and as soon as he exhales a small burst of flame onto the blunt, Wei Ying inhales. The smoke and cannabis feels his lungs; already heavy and light, the sight of Lan Zhan above him, breathing the fire for him makes another ridiculous smile spread across his face.

Lan Zhan smiles back at him. This is no longer rare either, a strange familiarity that never fails to set Wei Ying’s heart aflutter. “Love you, too,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying, still with the smoke in his mouth, drags Lan Zhan down for a kiss.

Lan Zhan eases into it, heavier than Wei Ying feels, like his naked body can press Wei Ying into the grass, the soil, into the earth. Wei Ying likes to think that sometimes, whenever he and Lan Zhan are joined together, that they can cultivate beyond immortality, that they can be one with nature, the universe. Or maybe it’s just when he’s high. Either way, Lan Zhan kisses back, hot and slow, and Wei Ying parts his lips, breathing into Lan Zhan’s body.

Lan Zhan inhales. His tongue is thick, undemanding, and he sucks the smoke out of Wei Ying’s throat, sucks it in himself. Wei Ying gasps and is a little turned on but patient with it, Lan Zhan’s palm on his naked shoulder as Lan Zhan kisses the cannabis smoke out of him. Wei Ying wants to give it all to him, everything to him, warm under the intensity of Lan Zhan’s mouth. The smoke rushes out of him like when Lan Zhan’s spend seeps out of him, leaving him empty and bereft—but then Lan Zhan swallows it down, eyes still dark, and leans down to kiss him again.

“Wei Ying,” he says. One of his elbows is on the ground, hand stroking behind Wei Ying’s fox ears. Wei Ying keens, licks Lan Zhan’s wrist this time.

Lan Zhan groans. “Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says lovingly.

His husband’s eyes are out of focus; Wei Ying presses the space between his brows, watches with amusement as Lan Zhan’s nose crinkles in confusion. As many times as they smoke together, naked under the night, Lan Zhan always gets affected more than he does, scales shimmering back and stoned. There’s a hint of it now again, no longer on his forehead but down the side of his neck, a surge of silver along his forearm. Wei Ying loves it when his husband loses control, too, when he knows that he can reduce him to a bundle of instincts and feelings that wants nothing but to take Wei Ying apart. Or when the cannabis does that too. Wei Ying’s not picky.

He brings the blunt up, hand between their faces. “Wanna smoke?”

Lan Zhan tilts his head, but takes it. It’s burnt out now, so Lan Zhan hesitates for a moment before rolling off Wei Ying, sitting up and adjusting the blunt more appropriately in his mouth. Wei Ying still doesn’t know how he does it, how Lan Zhan can smoke just like this with the fire in his throat, but he supposes that comes with having a dragon for a husband. Lan Zhan’s nostrils flare, and Wei Ying can see the cherry light up from here as Lan Zhan takes a drag and inhales.

Time isn’t real, not here, not now. “My husband is silly,” Wei Ying says, because the hair Wei Ying had tucked back earlier has fallen by Lan Zhan’s face again, and because he is.

Lan Zhan takes the hemp paper out of his mouth but doesn’t exhale. That’s the other thing about dragons. “Wei Ying is silly,” he says back, without looking at Wei Ying or breathing.

Wei Ying rolls onto his stomach, propping his elbows up. “Hey, Lan Zhan, are you just gonna give all my compliments for you back to me?”

Lan Zhan offers the blunt back to him. A bit of smoke escapes his nostrils; Wei Ying takes it. “Mn,” he says, hazy.

“That’s not a response, gege,” Wei Ying says.

“Wei Ying is not a response.”

Wei Ying laughs, collapsing onto the blanket. “How am I so lucky to have such a funny man for a husband?”

Another puff of smoke escapes Lan Zhan’s lips. He hiccups. Wei Ying pushes his face into Lan Zhan’s thigh and smiles.

Lan Zhan starts, “How am I so lucky—”

The other thing about having a dragon for a husband, a dragon who has cannabis running through his veins, is that sometimes it’s hard for Lan Zhan to keep his form. His human form, when he’s so stoned and relaxed that Wei Ying can practically see his grip on his golden core slipping. One moment Lan Zhan’s sitting up on the blanket placed along the grass, all human and rocking back like he’s not quite conscious of it—the next, and Lan Zhan’s big serpentine body is winding silver, glowing brighter than his skin.

Lan Zhan himself seems disoriented by the change, cut off in the middle of his sentence, head swaying to reassess his surroundings. A disgruntled sound comes from his throat, whiskers twitching unhappily. On the bright side, Wei Ying can still feel the two points of hardness gentle along the expanse of his back, damp—but as high as he is, not particularly distracting. Then again, Wei Ying’s the one who lets himself be ravaged at the end of the night, open and wet, letting Lan Zhan take all he wants.

Wei Ying pets Lan Zhan’s scales, and Lan Zhan’s head jerks in surprise at the touch. “Hey, it’s just me,” Wei Ying says, stroking along Lan Zhan’s body. “You really are funny, baobei. What am I going to do with you?”

Lan Zhan lets out a higher pitched sound, almost like a whine. He nudges his snout against Wei Ying’s black, furry ears. Wei Ying laughs as his ears get lightly pinched between the hard scales of Lan Zhan’s mouth. His long body winds itself automatically around Wei Ying’s body, keeping him close and safe within the warm tender parts of Lan Zhan’s underbelly. Wei Ying snuggles back, tails flicking against Lan Zhan’s scales. Lan Zhan licks his face.

“You’re so big now,” Wei Ying says, patting him. Lan Zhan squeezes him a bit tighter. “Remember when you used to be so much smaller? I could hide you in my robe.”

Lan Zhan purrs, vibrations going up Wei Ying’s belly.

“Imagine if I tried to hide you in my robe now,” Wei Ying says, and laughs again. If they weren’t naked now, he might think about it, except Lan Zhan’s large diamond body against his skin is a stark reminder that they, well, can’t. But Wei Ying loves them like this, too, full of weed and smoke and love, sprawled on the forest grounds outside the Cloud Recesses, just small enough under the starry sky.

Lan Zhan noses at his cheek. “Want a kiss?” Wei Ying teases, and the light prod he gets back is unmistakably a please. Cupping his husband’s scales, Wei Ying presses a kiss to his snout, fingers grazing his whiskers. Lan Zhan huffs and ducks his head down, inevitably seeking a proper kiss.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, but it’s not a protest when Lan Zhan opens his large mouth against Wei Ying’s small, soft pink one, long tongue prying Wei Ying’s lips open. And a huff of breath—and then the smoke in Lan Zhan’s mouth, the smoke he hadn’t quite swallowed down yet pours into Wei Ying’s throat, heavy and hot and stinging.

Lan Zhan is damp and unrelenting; greedy, Wei Ying seals his lips and sucks the smoke into his lungs and ribs and chest, every inch of his body down to his fingertips and toes. There’s a small grunt of surprise along the wet insides of Wei Ying’s mouth, like Lan Zhan had forgotten he hadn’t swallowed the smoke down, too. Wei Ying runs his palm up Lan Zhan’s face, up to his horns, tugs gently. Lan Zhan loves it when he does it, either as human or dragon; Wei Ying feels Lan Zhan’s jaw widen as he lets Wei Ying take all he wants. Wei Ying feels drunk on Lan Zhan’s mouth, smoke, taste, sometimes thinks what it would be like for Lan Zhan to breathe fire into his mouth, light him up from the inside. Once his golden core is stronger, as strong as it had been before, he might ask for it. But right now he breathes in the cannabis smoke from his husband’s mouth, kisses him until Lan Zhan tastes only of saliva and something tangy, a lingering hint of the marijuana under his tongue.

His head is light, dizzy as he pulls back. Lan Zhan’s better than the hemp, lying forgotten on the blankets. “My husband is so good,” Wei Ying slurs, petting Lan Zhan’s horns. The two lines of hard marble behind his thighs grind lazily around where he’s wet, teasing, unhurried. Wei Ying gazes into Lan Zhan’s eyes, two pools of solid gold; his heart is so full that he thinks he could stay here forever. “Lan Zhan is the best.”

Lan Zhan leans in to kiss him again, scales fluttering as Wei Ying wraps his arms around his neck, getting lost in Lan Zhan everywhere around him. Wei Ying is the best, he can practically hear Lan Zhan say, and there’s no better high than this, Lan Zhan’s love filling Wei Ying inside and out.