Rating:

Explicit

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

MDZS/CQL

Relationship:

Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian

Tags:

crack treated seriously, mythology au, sex toys, temporary character death, universe alteration

Stats:

Posted on:

2021-02-07

Words:

5,476

The mouth of the cave is wide, like a yawning fever in the darkness of the night. Lan Wangji is careful not to tread on the sharp stones littering the ground beneath his feet like glass, the bones and skeletal hands sticking out from the dirt. The threat of the cave is nothing; finding Wen Ruohan, finding his mother, takes priority.

He sweeps his bright robe tighter around himself, a candle in the night. The lake of Yiling is supposedly bottomless, dangerous to anyone who dares venture into its waters. But there must be some way to get to Wen Ruohan, Lan Wangji knows. There is a demon who guards the lake, who lurks in the cave to protect it from trespassers—or so the rumors say—and to get himself across, Lan Wangji will either have to persuade it, wager with it, or suppress it.

Lan Wangji has no wish to weaponize his words. Suppress the demon it is, then.

As he approaches, the surface of the lake darkens, shimmers red, eerie under the starry glow of Lan Wangji’s robes. It looks like a thick pool of blood, perhaps the blood of those the Yiling demon has slain. No matter—Lan Wangji is an immortal among immortals, the strongest golden core known to cultivator-kind for a long time. He will not fear this demon, or whatever it has to offer.

And yet, as he looks over the blood lake, he cannot find a way across. There are no boats, nor bridges; the center of the lake sinks deep into the pitch black of the cave, not visible from the shore. Lan Wangji stares across, wondering—perhaps he should attempt to swim through—

“Hello,” says a voice.

Lan Wangji does not startle, but the voice coming out of nowhere makes his golden core tremble.

At his side is a beauty of a man—or perhaps not a man, with the way his eyes glint mercury in the darkness. He is, however, very mortal; Lan Wangji detects his lack of golden core immediately.

Yet the man has a smirk on his face, head tilted like Lan Wangji is a curious piece of food for him to eat. “Was there something you wanted from me?” the man asks. “Or do you simply enjoy wandering into other’s homes?”

Lan Wangji casts his gaze aside, flickering across the rubble and the shadows. “This is your home?”

“Of course it’s my home,” the man says. “What else would it be? Haven’t you heard of me? I am the demon this place subdues, the inventor of dark cultivation, the Yiling Laozu—”

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji finishes.

Wei Wuxian’s grin glints off the light of Lan Wangji’s robe. “So you do know who I am,” he says with delight. “Well good. And I believe I know who you are—” and the way he looks Lan Wangji up and down is filth incarnate “—Hanguang-jun. You truly do come bearing light, it seems. So how may I assist you?”

“I did not say I needed your assistance,” Lan Wangji says.

“Ah, of course you didn’t, pardon me.” But Wei Wuxian’s grin is still wide. Lan Wangji bristles. “But what else would you be here for? You clearly didn’t know I would be here, so it’s not something you need from me. And they say that Hanguang-jun never speaks more than necessary, never moves more than necessary, the ideal cultivator of a lifetime. So surely Hanguang-jun is not here without purpose, either.”

Everything Wei Wuxian has said is true. Yet Lan Wangji had not planned to negotiate—this is a mortal who knows how to talk his way around immortal cultivators. Who has had visitors here, before. There were stories once of Wei Wuxian being a promising cultivator, back when Lan Wangji was still developing his golden core. But then he had vanished, and in place came those whispers, mutterings of the Yiling Laozu, the blood lake that he guards, his dark cultivation.

Lan Wangji does not know what Wei Wuxian might want. But his mother is in Wen Ruohan’s hands, beyond this lake, and he has no other choice.

“I wish to cross this lake,” he says, looking across the red sheen in the darkness. “My mother is being held captive at Qishan, and I must rescue her.”

“There now, was that so hard?” Wei Wuxian says. “And you asked so nicely too, Hanguang-jun! I’m impressed. But now I have to think about it. Hm…”

He crosses his arms and taps his chin, in a clear exaggerated show of thinking. Lan Wangji waits, even though impatience is thrumming beneath his skin.

Wei Wuxian says, “Aha!” He meets Lan Wangji’s eyes; despite his lack of golden core, there is darkness around him, the strength of an energy that makes Lan Wangji’s spine tingle. And the hungry look in his eyes makes him all the more fearsome, accompanied by the long cloak of his black hair, menacing and magnetic and powerful.

Wei Wuxian says, “I have an idea. Are you a virgin, Hanguang-jun?”

Lan Wangji blinks. “Why?” he asks.

Smirking, Wei Wuxian taps the side of his nose. “Are you in a position to be asking such questions? Nevertheless, I promise that you shall find out soon. Now, are you a virgin, oh venerated and gracious Hanguang-jun?”

Lan Wangji knows that the longer he draws this out, the longer he hesitates, the more he is placing his dignity over his mother’s life. “Yes,” he bites out, and explains no further.

Wei Wuxian beams and claps his hands. “Great! Then I have a proposal for you,” he says. “I’ll take you across the lake, if you allow me to take your virginity. To make love to you.”

Even though it’s surely not visible in the shrouded cave, Lan Wangji’s ears burn pink. The utter shamelessness of this mortal, of Wei Wuxian to ask for such a thing. And yet, Lan Wangji cannot help track the movement of Wei Wuxian’s throat, the sharp curve of his lips, the promise in his gleaming eyes.

He thinks of the virginities Wei Wuxian must have taken in the past, and the back of his tongue stings.

But it is foolish to have such carnal, primitive desires. Lan Wangji is beyond that. And his virginity has had no bearing on his trawls through the mortal world, so it certainly won’t start now.

He nods and says, “I accept.”

Wei Wuxian’s grin is wolfish, all teeth. “Of course you accept, Hanguang-jun. I promise to you that I will be an excellent lover, when I take your virginity.”

Lan Wangji is glad for the shadows as well as the dark curtain of hair covering his burning ears. Wei Wuxian leers at him like he is pure sex; he may as well be. It makes Lan Wangji feel like he is being violated, that perhaps he should step away—but surely, that might offend Wei Wuxian. And another part of him simply does not want to.

Lan Wangji purses his lips and ignores the dryness in his throat. “Is there anything else you require of me, or will you take me across now?”

Wei Wuxian laughs. “Ah, Hanguang-jun, you’re so funny!” he says, and has the gall to slap Lan Wangji on the shoulder in jest. Lan Wangji does startle, at this. “Of course, of course, I shall take you across. Let me get my boat—I bet you’ve never been on a boat built to carry across resentful energy, have you?”

Lan Wangji had not known that such things existed; he doubts anyone knows. He does not answer, however, merely fixes Wei Wuxian with a stare until Wei Wuxian says, “Ah, fine, I’ll go get my boat. So stone-faced, Lan Zhan!” He reaches up and pats Lan Wangji’s cheek.

Lan Wangji flinches away, blush flaring down his neck; he can feel it. “I did not give you permission to use that name,” he says.

“Well, I’m going to make love to you, so I deserve it, don’t I?” Wei Wuxian says with a cheeky little wink. “It’s okay, though, you can call me Wei Ying!”

He skips off into the darkness. Though he disappears from sight, Lan Wangji can hear the telltale scrape of his boots, a faint merry humming that feels like an added punch to whatever Wei Ying—this mere mortal—is. He unclenches his fists at his sides, mind and heart swimming from the encounter. Wei Wuxian, Wei Ying, wants to take his virginity. Promised to be a good lover, if not an excellent one. Touches Lan Wangji without permission. Smells like musk and smoke and a little bit of the lakewater, drifting over the riverbank.

Lan Wangji does not know what he has just gotten himself into.

*

The boat is small and wooden and Lan Wangji does not know what makes it special in comparison to other boats that may tread across the water. Yet when he climbs in after Wei Wuxian, a waft of resentful energy hits him, and the wood under his feet feels much more solid than mere plywood.

Wei Wuxian is grinning at him, but he refuses to ask, tightening his lips as he sits in the boat. They detach from the land, Wei Wuxian seeming to row with less force than the boat requires, sending them across the water with considerable speed.

Wei Wuxian says, “So! Such a beauty like yourself Hanguang-jun must have a reason for choosing celibacy for so long. I certainly would have requested to warm your bed even if you had not been a virgin.” He laughs.

Lan Wangji shoots him a look—but Wei Wuxian hums to himself and continues to row. It doesn’t matter now, Lan Wangji realizes, as they are already cruising through the water. Wei Wuxian is keeping his end of the promise, regardless of his taunts. Lan Wangji will have no choice but to hold up his end eventually, as well.

“I promise you that I am a decent lover, Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian says. “Oh, I’ve taken many cultivators to bed. But I think making love to you will be especially memorable. Perhaps because you’re a virgin.” He puts his finger on his chin thoughtfully. “But I think also perhaps just that you’re Hanguang-jun! Who wouldn’t want to sleep with Hanguang-jun?”

His talk is excessive and shameless, yet envy burns in Lan Wangji’s throat at the thought of all the other cultivators. He is certain Wei Wuxian is a beauty in bed, the fluid movements of his body simply rowing the boat easily translating to his ability to sexually satisfy. If this is the only payment the Yiling Laozu has ever required, then certainly many others would be eager to traverse into this cave and cross the lake.

Wei Wuxian goes on, “Ever since I was confined to mortality, I decided that I will indulge in the pleasures in life. How lucky I am for Hanguang-jun to enter my lair and agree to assist me in such a quest! I will ensure that the lovemaking is as pleasurable for you as it is for me, Hanguang-jun.” And the way he nods at Lan Wangji would surely be condescending if not the dark promise in his eyes.

The swishing under the boat rings loud between them as Lan Wangji is guided farther into the lake. Though Lan Wangji cannot see the path, nor the end, he trusts that Wei Wuxian will take him to where he needs to be, if only, perhaps, to bed him. That would be satisfactory, Lan Wangji thinks.

(He does not think about the pale expanse of Wei Wuxian’s neck. How he would like to bite it, mark it so that any other cultivators who cross Wei Wuxian’s path know that he has been claimed.)

Wei Wuxian makes more meaningless, idle talk that Lan Wangji pretends he does not care for. By the time they reach the center of the lake, Lan Wangji knows that Wei Wuxian indulges equally in alcohol as he does sex, that he delights in the taste of the spiciest foods, and that his birthday falls at the end of the tenth month. Nothing of importance, Lan Wangji notes, but they are facts about Wei Wuxian nonetheless. Which means that it will be very, very hard for Lan Wangji to forget them.

As their short journey comes to an end, Lan Wangji begins disembarking from the boat onto a small piece of land in the center of the lake, to the resentful portal leading to Qishan, Wei Wuxian had explained. He gathers his shimmering robes so they do not drag along the water, bunched white in his fists before he lets them drift back to his sides.

“Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian says, and Lan Wangji turns around. Wei Wuxian’s smiling, silver eyes glittering—on their own, without the need of Lan Wangji’s robes. “Lan Zhan. Don’t forget your promise to me. I’m really looking forward to taking your virginity, you know.”

Lan Wangji scowls, because it’s the only thing he knows to do with the surge of desire that pools into his gut. “Do not think so dishonorably of me.”

“Oh, I would never.” Wei Wuxian slouches against his oar and laughs. “But I would hate for you to return to the cultivation world and forget about a promise you made to a mere mortal like me. Promise me you won’t forget, okay?”

Lan Wangji has never broken a promise, and does not intend to begin now. But Wei Wuxian’s insolence makes Lan Wangji want to shove him down and show him how much he does want it, how much he wants to take him and touch him and ride him, wet and taking him in until Wei Wuxian is gasping and praising him for how hot, how tight he is—

No, Lan Wangji does not think he will forget at all.

“I will not forget,” he says, and turns back to the portal. After a moment’s worth of consideration, adds, “Wei Ying.”

The last thing he hears before stepping into the portal is a small, shocked sound, followed by breathless laughter.

*

The rescue of his mother coincides with the Sect Leaders’ siege of Nightless City, clearing the pathways back to mortal land when the Sunshot Campaign tides over. Lan Wangji is just relieved to have his mother back, and together they return to the Jingshi inside the Cloud Recesses. His mother strokes his face and asks him about his journey to her rescue, what challenges he may have endured—but Lan Wangji has not forgotten Wei Wuxian at all, and responds that he has bargains to keep.

His brother, of course, gently scolds him for going to rescue their mother himself, but is happy enough with all of them safe and together again. Yet as they begin to rebuild the Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji requests a momentary reprieve, to return to the lake of Yiling.

“I understand that was the path you took to get to Qishan,” Lan Xichen says to him. “What unfinished business do you have there?”

“I made a promise,” Lan Wangji replies. And because lying is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, and because this is his brother, he adds, “A bargain.”

“Ah.” Bargains are not forbidden, of course, but certainly looked down upon. But his brother must understand, because he smiles gently. “Surely your bargainer must have understood your situation, and will allow you more time to recuperate? After all, the war’s only just ended.”

“Xiongzhang, it is alright,” Lan Wangji says, gathering his travel items. “I must see this through as soon as possible.”

And so he departs the Cloud Recesses, heading for Yiling once more. Unwittingly he steps into the midst of various cultivators’ nighthunts, but does not hesitate to lend his assistance when he might need. But his focus is on Wei Ying, and getting his virginity taken. As others praise the way he follows the chaos, Lan Wangji counts each step he takes towards his deflowering.

When he arrives at the small village in Yiling, though, just a few li from the cave, there’s some sort of commotion—the townspeople are weeping, it seems. There is a small child holding the hands of a somber-faced young woman, while a young man stands beside her, watching over what looks to be a tomb. Lan Wangji peers over the heads of the crowds.

Wei Wuxian’s peaceful face rests in a small smile, in the open casket. His dark robes are more visible now in the daylight, but he is no less beautiful in death. A long red ribbon slinks down his hair like the trickle of a stream, a perfect blend against the red edged accents of his robes.

Lan Wangji’s heart is in his throat. But his promise…

He watches the proceedings, stays in the village as it mourns for him—Wei Wuxian was their protector, it seems, as much as he gave the appearance of residing only in his cave. He stays for the entire proceedings, the cremation and the sendoff, for the three days after until the tomb is brought back to the mouth of Wei Wuxian’s cave, decorated with gifts and treasures for his afterlife.

The whispers around the village had spoken of Wei Wuxian’s fragile body having collapsed with the overwhelming amount of resentful energy, and the lack of his golden core. Lan Wangji touches the tombstone, now alone, and wishes that he had gotten here sooner. That perhaps he could have stayed the first time around, and allowed his brother to rescue his mother instead. But Wei Wuxian is gone, and Lan Wangji had made a promise.

And, he thinks, he could still possibly fulfill that promise even with Wei Wuxian into the afterlife.

The village and cave are surrounded by a small litter of wood; it takes little effort for Lan Wangji to locate the sturdy trunk of a banyan tree, shadowing a small, clear pond. Several branches have dropped to the ground, beside the dead leaves and sprouting wildflowers. Lan Wangji finds one, nice and thick, and breaks it cleanly into approximately three-quarters of his arm’s length, solid and several centimeters wide in diameter.

He spends the next several days polishing the wood, drawing sap from another nearby tree into a thick heavy coat to spread on the stick, cleaning and smoothing the wood with a variety of talismans and the gentle stroke of heat. It is not something he has seen done before, but from the erotic magazines Nie Huaisang had shown him when they were young, Lan Wangji does recall the enticing phallus shapes that women would put inside themselves. That men would put inside themselves, too.

Lan Wangji applies a black coat to the phallus along with two thin stripes of red paint, and a delicate design along the spherical end. He applies more finish to that, too.

Even with Wei Wuxian’s ashes in the tomb beside him, Lan Wangji casts his gaze over and recalls their last—their only conversation. Wei Wuxian wished to take his virginity. He wished for Lan Wangji not to forget their promise. And no, Lan Wangji thinks, turning the finished product over in his long fingers, he has not forgotten that promise, and he will follow it through, exactly as he had intended.

*

The days at work on the phallus have worn him out, so it is not until the next day, when he has gotten a good night’s rest under the cloak of the forest, when he begins.

He wakes at maoshi, as usual; the sun is still asleep beneath the horizon, along with the memory of Wei Wuxian. Wei Ying. But it is no matter to Lan Wangji—he has a purpose to serve, a promise to fulfill. He strips off his robes and bathes in the pond, the moonlight casting even brighter against his pale jade skin. Gleaming with the water still dripping off his skin, he pins his hair back, but leaves his folded robes discarded where they are. He makes his way to Wei Ying’s tomb.

In one hand, he carries a small stack of joss paper. In the other, he clutches the thick polished wooden cock. He had thought about it a lot while working on it—might it be the same width as Wei Ying? The same length? Or perhaps Wei Ying is larger; Lan Wangji can certainly imagine so. As he places himself on top of Wei Ying’s tomb, he gently pricks his finger, writes the spell for a talisman, and sticks it to his thigh. It activates; his hole quivers, leaks out wet. Lan Wangji would feel embarrassed, but what he is about to do is far more shameless—as his rim becomes damp, pushing out small rivers of slick, Lan Wangji turns on his stomach, on the tomb, and brings the curved edge of the phallus to his hole.

It is wide; Lan Wangji had underestimated his own tightness, as well as the thickness of the phallus. Yet the burn, the stinging pain makes something fizzle through his veins, like the pain is on the edge of pleasure enough to keep him going. It’s too much when it’s barely inside him, and Lan Wangji pants, chin scraping against the granite tombstone. The characters of Wei Wuxian’s name press against his skin. Lan Wangji pushes the cock in further.

Against his walls it’s smooth and heavy and, even through the rush of wetness leaking out of Lan Wangji’s hole, still so thick, as Lan Wangji has never put anything inside of him like this before. Not his fingers, and certainly not a foreign object designed for sexual pleasures. But he imagines that Wei Ying would treat him gently, just as slow, as merciless. Teasing and whispering in Lan Wangji’s ear that he can take it, that he’s good. It’s all Lan Wangji wants, all he wishes to happen—even in death, even with their singular meeting, Lan Wangji has no doubt of Wei Ying’s talents. He moans against the granite, against Wei Wuxian’s name, and allows the phallus to sink in deeper. It’s overwhelming and he gasps and wants more.

What would Wei Wuxian say? “You’re taking it so well,” Lan Wangji imagines—the short period of Wei Wuxian taking him across the lake and chattering endlessly has embedded the sound of his voice into Lan Wangji’s brain. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, you want more, don’t you? You want me to fill you up, make you feel like you’re mine? As much as I’m yours, the beautiful Hanguang-jun…  and as much as your virginity is mine.”

Lan Wangji’s hand fumbles—he shoves the phallus far enough in that it hits something deep within him, makes him see stars. The thick base that he had modified with talismans is as wide as his palm, firm in his grip as he tries to catch his breath, arching forward on the tombstone, now on his knees. His cock is hard and leaking against his thigh, but right now his point of pleasure is this—the hard length deep inside him, pressing against that sensitive spot, making him squirm and grind for more. He tugs it back out a little, teases himself, runs his free hand over his cock—then drives the phallus in again, in approximately the same angle.

It’s good, it’s too good. “Oh, Lan Zhan,” he imagines Wei Ying say, perhaps gripping his hips, digging his fingers into his flesh. Into his thighs, his ass. “You’re so tight, look at you. Sucking me in, swallowing me up. Are you sure you’re a virgin, Hanguang-jun?” He’d laugh, fuck in a little deeper—and that’s what Lan Zhan does with the phallus, letting out a little gasp and an ah! “But of course you are, you’re too tight and hot around me. How does it feel, giving your virginity to me, Lan Zhan? Is it everything you expected? Everything you wanted? Better than you could’ve ever imagined?”

Yes, Lan Wangji wants to say. Yes, it’s good, too good—his hair crumples out of his hairpin as he drives the phallus deeper within him, the pattern of Wei Wuxian’s colors, on Wei Wuxian’s tombstone, in memory of him. It’s good, it’s all Lan Wangji has thought of since they made that promise. He slides the fingers of his free hand into his mouth, collapses onto the concrete, letting the stone scrape against his skin as he sucks on his fingers, imagining they’re Wei Wuxian’s, wanting to fill him from both ends as he fucks through Lan Wangji’s wetness and heat tirelessly. So hot, so thick, and—

Lan Wangji takes his fingers out of his mouth, strokes his cock, and comes, with the phallus lodged deep into him. He comes all over the tombstone, spilling all over the etchings of Wei Wuxian’s birth and death, seeping into the cracks.

He pants, cock hanging limp between his thighs. A bit of semen smears on his skin; he allows for a moment for him to gather himself, but keeps the phallus inside of him.

(He wonders if Wei Wuxian would do this, stay inside, keep fucking him once Lan Wangji had finished, oversensitive and raw, still thrusting into him and using him as nothing but a hole until he came. Lan Wangji wishes he could feel it, feel the hot rush of Wei Wuxian marking him from the inside, turning him inside out with the girth of his cock until Lan Wangji couldn’t remember his own name. Lan Wangji wishes Wei Wuxian would ease himself out, a bit of the burn and the pain, lick between his cheeks, as hungry and desperate as Wei Wuxian has made him.)

Perhaps he should take it out. But he does not; instead, he turns his body, pushes himself upright, onto his knees. The phallus pushes deeper inside of him and he twitches; but he cannot protest at the thrill that jolts through his body. He drags it out a bit by one hand at the base, and grabs another sheet of joss paper. Inscribing another talisman, he brings it to the base of the phallus and places it down; it sticks to the tombstone, unmovable and unbreakable.

The sun is beginning to rise over the sea of treetops. Birds are fluttering and the village is surely waking up; but after days by himself, Lan Wangji knows that no one comes out here anymore. Placing his palms on the stone, he gets to his knees and lifts himself up from the phallus.

Then he pushes himself back down.

The depth is exquisite; the width causes his mind to white out for just a moment. It’s lovely, he thinks; this is how he would like to take Wei Ying, too. Wei Ying clutching the firm flesh of his ass cheeks as Lan Wangji rode him, took him and fucked himself onto Wei Ying’s cock. In his daze, Lan Wangji is sure it’s all he wants to know.

Heaving himself back onto the phallus, he gets to work.

*

After the first day, nothing happens. Lan Wangji gathers his robes and covers himself before falling asleep on the tombstone at haishi. When it is maoshi again, he resumes his objective, sinking back down on the phallus, or fucking himself with it, or letting it push his mouth open wide, like he might take Wei Wuxian’s cock. He continues, intent with seeing his end of the deal through.

After the second day, nothing happens.

After the third day, nothing happens.

*

After the thirteenth day, nothing—

*

There’s a rattling beneath him.

From where he’s firmly plugged with the phallus, Lan Wangji tips onto his stomach. He had been on his side, at first, sliding the toy slow and dirty into him. His hole is swollen now, dribbling as usual, wetness slipping down the polish of the toy. The black and red paint he had applied are in place as they were on the first day, patterns inside him, along his skin and walls like the veins of Wei Wuxian’s cock might be.

But now, the tombstone beneath his body is trembling, and Lan Wangji is torn between terror and the pleasure of the intrusion still within his body. He attempts to stumble up, but that causes the phallus to angle and nudge sharply against his prostate. A small noise escapes from his throat as he manages himself upright, forces himself off the tomb—

The lid shivers and shifts, then gets slid off, dropping to the grass with a soft thunk. A shadow rises—or rather, sits up, long black hair flowing as the figure itself stretches up its arms. Yawns, Lan Wangji hears.

“Ah, I feel like I’ve been asleep for at least a week,” says a familiar voice. “Hm? Where am I? What’s happened?”

With the phallus still inside of him, Lan Wangji stares. He can’t believe it.

“Wei Ying,” he breathes.

Wei Ying turns around. Like before, his eyes are bright and gray—full of life, even though Lan Wangji had watched his body burn to ashes days before. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says with delight. “What are you doing, you’re—”

His own face blushes red when he realizes Lan Wangji’s state of undress. His bare chest, naked in the morning air, large cock still hard and flushed against his stomach. How Lan Wangji is turned slightly, holding the base of the phallus inside of him. And with Wei Ying’s scrutiny, Lan Wangji’s hand can’t help shifting; the tip of it grazes his prostate, and he moans.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “What are you doing? What am I doing in here?” He looks around in his tomb. “Did someone try to kill me? I swear, if it was that Jin Zixun—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says again, and surges forward. Even with the toy inside of him, he doesn’t care—clumsily, he grabs Wei Ying by the back of the neck and drags him in for a kiss.

Wei Ying makes a startled noise of surprise. Then Lan Wangji feels him smile against his lips, adjust their faces together, kisses Lan Wangji better, deeper, properly. Like someone with experience, but at the same time, someone who wants to kiss Lan Wangji. More than anyone else, Lan Wangji hopes. Wei Ying’s hand strokes over Lan Wangji’s shoulder as he licks into his mouth, and Lan Wangji bites at his bottom lip, goes down to his jaw, his neck.

“You were dead,” Lan Wangji murmurs. “You were dead, and I was—I had to keep my promise—”

“What promise?” Wei Ying asks. But when Lan Wangji pulls back, Wei Ying’s clever eyes rake over him, to his hand, and he turns Lan Wangji’s body around to see the phallus still pushed deep into his hole. Wei Ying huffs a small chuckle.

“Lan Zhan, oh, you’re too much,” he says, skimming his hands over Lan Wangji’s cheeks, the base of the phallus. Lan Wangji squirms, but does not fight it or try to move away. Wei Ying’s fingers grip the edge of the base, tug it out a bit. Lan Wangji tries to loosen, but after days and days of having this toy inside of him, his muscles instinctively squeeze around it.

Wei Wuxian laughs lowly. “Greedy,” he says, and it’s better than anything Lan Wangji could have fantasized about. “Ah, Lan Zhan, you really are so dedicated, aren’t you? Promising yourself for me? Fucking yourself so you could summon me again?”

“I did not know what this would do,” Lan Wangji says, and gasps again as Wei Wuxian drags another centimeter of the phallus out. “Only that it—felt right. I had to see Wei Ying. Keep my end of the promise.”

“And you did so well,” Wei Ying croons. Lan Wangji tips towards him, like a tide toward the moon. “Come here, Lan Zhan, let me reward you.” He slips the phallus out a bit more, and Lan Wangji aches, wants more. But when Wei Ying takes the whole thing out, Lan Wangji turns around to see Wei Ying climbing off the tombstone, grinning, beginning to undo his robes. There’s a bulge of his promise underneath his trousers, and Lan Wangji’s mouth waters. His hole clenches around empty air.

Wei Ying smirks when he sees Lan Wangji looking. Discarding one pair of robes after another, until he’s naked, until they’re both naked, until he presses himself against Lan Wangji’s body again, bridging the gap between their mouths, three fingers grazing into Lan Wangji’s wet insides with the hard intent of a very thorough deflowering, Wei Ying murmurs, “I have to keep my end of our promise, too.”