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The rain starts late the same night they stop at the inn, and by morning it is a steady downpour that shows no indication of slowing down. If Lan Wangji were alone, he would have continued on his way regardless, doing his best to ignore the wet clothes clinging to his legs and the flimsy parasol threatening to break with every gust of wind. If Wei Ying were alone, he would have gone out into the rain too, and that is precisely why Lan Wangji insists that they wait it out. He very rarely insists on anything, and that might be why Wei Ying yields so easily.
It’s still early by Wei Ying's standards, which means he is a little less talkative than normal, a little softer. His hair is in disarray, inner robe tied haphazardly around the waist, and he keeps hiding yawns behind a palm as they sit down to breakfast.
“Lan Zhan, all this rain is making me sleepy.” He sounds so dejected that, for a moment, Lan Wangji wishes desperately he had the power to make it stop pouring.
“Sleep then,” he says instead. “We have nowhere to be.” It is true: there is no urgent matter to take care of, no threats or suspicious activities to investigate. They have been simply travelling aimlessly from small town to small town, exploring and learning and trying the best food locals have to offer.
“Nah,” Wei Ying shakes his head. “Wouldn't want you to get bored stuck here all on your own. You want me awake and pestering you, don’t you?”
To anyone else, the idea of Lan Wangji getting bored without company would sound ridiculous. It is ridiculous, for the most part: he does find comfort in solitude, has always been this way. Most days, however, he finds bigger comfort in the sound of Wei Ying’s voice, in his presence, warm and all-encompassing and pulsing with bright life.
He tilts his head slightly as he admits, “I do”, and Wei Ying smiles like the sun. Wei Ying knocks their bent knees together and smiles again when Lan Wangji doesn't attempt to shift away.
There is a damp chill seeping into the room from the outside, but warmth is spreading throughout his entire body from this small point of contact. He drinks his tea in silence and listens to Wei Ying contemplating the differences between the ways eggs taste in different towns (there are no differences to him), and wishes for the rain to never stop pouring.
As if in answer to his prayers, it does not. The sound of raindrops against the roof is almost melodic: it makes him want to run his fingers over the strings of his guqin, finding a tune to accompany the rain. He might have attempted it, if it was not for the people who may be still asleep in the neighboring rooms.
Wei Ying sprawls out on the bed he claimed last night, hair spilling like ink over the sheets, robe fallen carelessly open. This sight should not be alluring, but everything about Wei Ying is alluring to him: messy clothes and skinny legs and bare vulnerable feet, and there are moments when Lan Wangji thinks Wei Ying would be horrified if he knew, and then there are moments when he thinks Wei Ying already knows. The essence of it, if not the force of it.
Lan Wangji has long since given up pretending his eyes do not follow Wei Ying every moment that they are together. There is very little he has not seen. Yet it still does not feel appropriate to watch him now. He makes himself look away, staring at nothing. His pulse is beating in his throat, as fast as the rain outside and just as uncontrollable.
“Lan Zhan, what’s so fascinating about the wall? Do you like the paintings?”
It is only now that he notices that there are indeed paintings on the wall: of women dressed in billowing clothes, lips stained crimson red. They do not look… scandalous, exactly, but they are not something that can be found in places Lan Wangji frequents. Certainly not in the Cloud Recesses. He imagines his uncle’s reaction and almost smiles at the thought.
“I could paint you one of these,” Wei Ying says. Without turning, Lan Wangji hears him get up from the bed, pad closer on bare feet until they are standing shoulder to shoulder. “Which one do you prefer? The one with her hair down or the one holding the flowers?”
“Neither.”
Wei Ying huffs out a laugh. “You’re no fun. I could paint you anything you like, I’m good at it.”
“Very modest, too.”
Allowing him this little deflection, Wei Ying shrugs and leans a shoulder against the wall, right below the paintings. His eyes are watching Lan Wangji, the steady look suspiciously at odds with the careless tone of his voice.
“What sort of women do you like then, Hanguang-Jun?”
“Wei Ying,“ he says: not quite a warning, not quite an answer. “I –“
There is a flash of lightning right outside the window, startling them both. The clap of thunder that follows it is almost deafening: the inn nearly shakes with it. Somewhere close, a dog starts yapping hysterically, and Wei Ying yelps and grabs his hand before letting go with a self-conscious laugh.
“It is all right,” Lan Wangji says quietly. “It is only scared.”
Wei Ying gives him an odd little smile before stepping away. For a second, Lan Wangji wants to follow: to catch his hand again, tell him what he was about to say and hope Wei Ying does not attempt to flee into the rain when Lan Wangji has no right to go chasing him. But the moment is lost, he is frozen in place, and Wei Ying is already half across the room.
And then he yelps and stumbles, and that is what makes Lan Wangji un-freeze.
It is pure instinct to dart over, reaching out to steady him just as Wei Ying attempts to balance on one foot and examine the sole of the other one.
“What happened?”
“It’s okay, all good,” Wei Ying tries to wave him away even as he winces in pain. “Just stepped on something. Ow, ow.”
Despite his half-hearted protests, Lan Wangji helps him hop over to the bed, then kneels down to examine the injury. It is only a splinter, albeit a large one, and a droplet of blood shows up as soon as he carefully pulls it out. Lan Wangji frowns at it. It is nothing that will not heal on its own, but still—
“Sit here.”
He goes to fetch his bag. There is a small chest with medicinal herbs and potions that he now carries around for precisely this reason: because Wei Ying has a penchant for injuring himself. Nine times out of ten he will attempt to hide or downplay the damage, but today must be different, because he is not trying to laugh it off. Surprisingly, he keeps quiet as Lan Wangji carefully spreads a bit of healing salve over the cut.
It only needs to take a moment but he lingers, using the chance to run his fingers over the warm skin once more, all the way up to the toes and back. Wei Ying gasps, and his toes curl for a moment.
“Lan Zhan, it tickles.” But he does not pull away, so Lan Wangji does it again.
In his current position, he is staring at Wei Ying’s bare knees from up close. Something in him is reeling from the impropriety of it all while something else, much more primal, is reveling in it. There is a part of him that wants to bend his head and press his lips to the ankle he is holding, and he is afraid it will take over his entire being if he lets it. He wants it to take over his entire being, to wash over him like the rain and carry away all of his self-control until there is nothing left but the most basic essence of him.
There is another rumble of thunder, this time further away.
“I do not,” he says quietly, without looking up, fingers still stroking the sole of Wei Ying’s foot. “What you asked me earlier. There is no sort of woman I like.”
A hand tangles in his hair and gently tugs, until Lan Wangji is forced to raise his head. Wei Ying is staring at him, cheeks pink and eyes wide, but there is no disgust on his face.
“Lan Zhan,” he breathes out, and then it is like floodgates break open, and words come pouring out. “Tell me you mean what I think you mean, please, I don’t think I can take it if you touch me this way and tell me these things and don’t mean it, I–“
His heart is beating faster in his chest with each word falling from Wei Ying’s lips. His heart is swelling, growing hotter, pushing against his lungs to cut off all of his breath. Lan Wangji could not speak now if he wanted to, so he bends his head and presses a kiss to Wei Ying’s knee: silent answer and question all at the same time.
The hand in his hair tightens for a moment, then gently strokes.
“Come here,” and then Wei Ying is urging him up, up, tugging at him until Lan Wangji stumbles inelegantly and has to catch himself with both hands on his shoulders, half-straddling his lap. That startles a laugh out of Wei Ying: a bright, giddy thing that makes his heart swell even more. They look at each other for a breath, before Lan Wangji leans forward and kisses that bright smile from his lips.
They slot together easily, as if this is not the first time he is kissing another human being, as if he has not spent his entire life shying away from touch. This is Wei Ying, after all – the exception to every rule, the missing piece that fits into him like they have been made for each other. There is nothing awkward or unpleasant about touching his mouth to the soft lips, feeling them slide against his own, tugging at the full lower lip with his teeth and pressing in even closer to swallow his surprised laugh.
Wei Ying’s fingers tangle in his robes, tugging insistently until Lan Wangji gets the hint and lets him tip them both over onto the bed, ending up on top of him. With bodies pressed together that way, what they are doing feels infinitely more indecent even if it is just close-mouthed kisses and hands tangling in each other’s hair. Wei Ying looks up at him, breathing hard, lips red and puffy and half-open, and desire shoots through him like a strike of lightning. Somewhere outside, thunder rolls. Lan Wangji buries his head in Wei Ying’s neck as he tries to catch his breath.
“It’s good, so good, Lan Zhan, I never thought it felt like this…” He barely has the time to comprehend the exact meaning of these words before Wei Ying is talking again: “Kiss me?” And Lan Wangji hasn’t been able to resist him for a long time.
Pressing his lips to the thread of pulse (wild, just like his own), he kisses down the column of Wei Ying’s neck, to the hollow between the collarbones. The urge to suck the skin in, leave marks, almost takes him by surprise, except it does not really. Mine, he thinks as he pushes Wei Ying’s robe off one shoulder, mine, as he bites down lightly and squeezes his eyes shut against a rush of heat that goes through him at the startled moan.
“Again!”
So he does it again, and again, and again, until the pale skin is peppered with red marks all the way down the chest. He hesitates when he reaches the belt that is still holding Wei Ying’s robe together, but his unspoken question is answered when Wei Ying’s fingers tangle with his own. They both tug at the belt, and the robe comes undone, spilling around him like a sea of red. They stare at each other.
“Aren’t you going to undress too, Hanguang-Jun? Or would you rather I stayed the only one naked?”
Lan Wangji feels his ears flush even as his hands go to the fastenings of his own robes. Wei Ying laughs and sits up to watch him disrobe, eyes bright and following his every movement. Wei Ying draws him back into his arms and kisses the scar on his chest, and traces the edges of his forehead ribbon with careful fingers. Wei Ying pulls him down and rolls their hips together and whispers things in his ear that make Lan Wangji flush all over and kiss him harder. Wei Ying yields to him so easily, like it is the most natural thing in the world.
Wei Ying hooks one leg over his shoulder and arches his back as Lan Wangji pushes inside. He thrashes around, grasps at the sheets, and begs him not to stop even as his voice breaks. Lan Wangji kisses the tears from his lids, kisses the tips of his fingers, the side of his ankle, everywhere he can reach. They move together as bolts of lightning illuminate the room, and Lan Wangji feels like he’s been struck by one, like his entire body is on fire and out of control. It’s glorious.
The bed slams against the wall, and he barely notices. Somewhere, there are fellow travelers who might be resting, and the innkeeper who might be concerned about the state of his property, but none of that matters right now. None of that matters at all.
“Wei Ying,” he breathes out as another flash of lightning goes through him and shakes him to the core, and Wei Ying shudders with him and yells something that could be his name or a curse, so loud that the dog in the next room starts barking again.
It is only when they are lying side by side, fingers intertwined and breathing still evening out, that it starts dawning on him. The neighbors. The bed that might possibly be broken. The innkeeper they are going to have to look in the eye. He blinks at the ceiling, more than a little bit horrified.
Next to him, Wei Ying starts laughing.
“Lan Zhan, who knew you were so forceful? I think you broke me. I’m never going to recover, Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan!”
Lan Wangji turns his head to give him a concerned look, and finds Wei Ying leaning up on one elbow, looking at him with a twinkle in his eyes. “Or maybe you could kiss everything better, since you seemed to enjoy that part?”
Something in him blooms like a bright flower in spring, free and wild.
“I could try,” he says, absolutely meaning it. Wei Ying beams at him.
Outside, the rain is slowly starting to die down.