Work Text:
In the narrow half-darkness of the wooden shed, Lan Xichen sat in silence with his back propped against the wall and pondered his current situation.
It was already unpleasant enough to live hidden, on the run, still recovering from the wounds that had almost cost him his life after Gusu was burnt down.
And now Lan Xichen had managed to disrespect his savior, the one person, to whom he owed not only his life but also the safety of the Gusu Lan Clan’s precious scrolls and future.
He felt a stinging pang of self-disappointment.
Decades of cultivation and strict rules, yet it had taken him so little to lose his self-control.
He could blame his injuries, sure, and his exhaustion. He could blame their hideout’s narrow space and the continuous proximity he and his savior were forced to share. He could blame Meng Yao’s fingers, so delicate and yet so determined, which had undressed him to his waist to treat his injured shoulder and check on his chest wounds. He could indeed blame the half-darkness of the room, which had forced Meng Yao to bend closer, so that his breath could caress the skin on Xichen’s stomach, giving him goosebumps and …well, he could blame Meng Yao himself. When the man had started dressing his patient up again - perhaps a touch too hurriedly - he had reached for Xichen’s robe, still rolled around his hips, and in doing so, Meng Yao had touched - instead of the soft fabric - something that wasn’t soft at all.
To Meng Yao’s credit, his smile had not faltered, not even when Lan Xichen, at that incautious touch, had brusquely held his breath and shut his eyes.
“I trust that Zewu-Jun will soon regain his strength,” Meng Yao reassured him, carefully fixing the collar of the robe on his chest. “The wounds are healing nicely and his vigor appears to be returning.”
After that, Meng Yao went out to find food and medicines, leaving Lan Xichen alone with his embarrassment and an obstinate erection.
What would Meng Yao think of him?
The young man had saved Lan Xichen and sheltered him from the Wen, he had taken care of his wounds and needs. Every day he risked his life to find him food and keep him safe.
In return, Lan Xichen had disrespected and insulted him.
His improper behavior was all the more unjustifiable if he thought about his first encounter with Meng Yao and the whispered comments accompanying his apparition at Nie Huaisang’s side.
That day, Lan Xichen had thought he would do the right thing, receiving the Nie Clan’s gift in person and thus silencing the disciples’ gossip.
Today, however, he had proven himself inferior, letting Meng Yao’s thoughtful care and proximity arouse him, as if those kind gestures were lascivious provocations.
He resolved he would remedy his mistake, and he waited trepidantly for the day to pass and for Men Yao to return.
The morning turned into afternoon, the afternoon into evening.
Meng Yao had left a tray with some food next to his bedroll, but Xichen ignored it. His stomach was clenched in a tight knot and, as time passed without any sign of Meng Yao, that knot was due less to embarrassment, and more to his growing concern.
The sun was setting when Meng Yao eventually came back.
As usual, he announced himself in a soft voice before slowly opening the door. He greeted Xichen with a deep bow, hands stretched in front of him.
Lan Xichen had already asked him to drop such formalities, but the concept didn’t seem to get a hold of the other man.
His head still lowered, Meng Yao gave him a smile that was all dimples and shining dark eyes.
“Zewu-Jun, this one brought new ointments for your wounds and freshly made steamed buns.”
Indeed, their warm scent was already filling the small room.
Lan Xichen smiled back, thanking him with a nod. He was relieved to see him back, safe and sound. Meng Yao appeared as eager to take care of him as always. Perhaps, Lan Xichen was giving too much thought to that morning’s accident.
Meng Yao knelt by the wooden table, one of the few pieces of furniture in the room. He lit up the lamp and opened the bundle he had brought.
Lan Xichen was so busy thinking about the right words to use to introduce his apology, that he needed some time to notice a certain stiffness in Meng Yao’s movements. As he looked better, he noticed that Meng Yao’s robe was stained in the front. It was a dark stain, like…
“Meng Gongzi, you’re dirty with blood. Are you wounded?”
Meng Yao’s eyes widened and he peered down at his robe, but then he shook his head.
“Zewu-Jun, this is nothing you should concern yourself with. It is but an old wound that reopened. Instead, you should think about eating, because you have yet to touch food today.” He nodded toward the untouched tray next to Lan Xichen’s bedroll.
Lan Xichen, however, decided not to be swayed by those dimples.
“I will, but not before Meng Gongzi will have seen to his wounds.”
A frown bent Meng Yao’s dark brows, but Xichen insisted, although sweetly. “My safety depends on your generosity and your abilities. What will be of me, if you were gravely injured or fell sick?”
Meng Yao smiled again and bent his head, eventually agreeing with his reasoning.
“Zewu-Jun, you will have to pardon this one’s lack of decency, then,” he said softly. He turned and started struggling out of the upper part of his robes.
Of course, Meng Yao had nothing to ask forgiveness for, since the shed was tiny and did not provide any privacy. If anything, it was an invitation for Xichen to avert his eyes, but he ignored it and stared as the fabric of Meng Yao’s robe slipped beyond the curve of his shoulders, pooling around his belt and leaving the skin of his back exposed, barely covered by a curtain of black hair.
Moving carefully around to not worsen the state of his wounds, Lan Xichen knelt beside Meng Yao.
“Please, let me help you,” he offered, reaching for the water bucket to immerse a clean piece of fabric inside it. He bent down toward Meng Yao.
There was a cut on the side of his breastbone, its borders neat and already half healed, Lan Xichen noticed as he cleaned it from the dried blood. It had probably come open again while Meng Yao made some kind of effort, perhaps to escape from the Wen guards patrolling the neighborhood.
“It’s a blade wound,” Lan Xichen observed. “Who gave it to you?”
“It happened during the Wens’ attack on Qinghe.” Meng Yao frowned. “You already know that this one has been banished from Chifeng-Zun’s service.”
Lan Xichen nodded, applying a thin layer of ointment on he borders of the wound. Meng Yao had told him what had happened with Nie Mingjue. The stroke of the sword that had left the wound had been intended for Clan Leader Nie, then.
“You should not concern yourself with this scratch,” Meng Yao insisted. “This one was careless, the wound ought to be treated better.”
“You overlooked it because of me,” Lan Xichen stated, realizing now that he had never once seen the man tending to his own wounds. Lan Xichen half bowed in apology.
Meng Yao shook his head. “It is all right. This one is grateful for this wound,” he whispered eventually. “After all, because of it, this one was able to find Zewu-Jun before it was too late.”
Lan Xichen felt his face grow hot. He took some bandages and started to wrap Meng Yao’s chest, gently shifting his right arm to tie his work.
Meng Yao seconded him in a submissive silence, which surprised Lan Xichen, at least until he remembered what had happened earlier that morning. He feared, then, that his touch on Meng Yao’s body might not be welcome.
Lan Xichen folded his hands in his lap.
“Meng Gongzi, my behavior from this morning was unseemly. I did not intend to disrespect you.”
At that, Meng Yao suddenly lowered his head, covering his face with one hand. Lan Xichen held his breath, not knowing what reaction to expect, but when the young man turned toward him again, he was smiling and his eyes were sparkling. Lan Xichen realized that he was holding back a laugh.
“Zewu-Jun, this one does not know what you are referring to. Nothing you do could ever offend me.”
Meng Yao’s black eyes were two deep pools glistening in the warm candlelight. Lan Xichen allowed himself to be lost in them for a moment, until he felt Meng Yao’s hand touch his right arm.
“Truth to be told, this one is flattered that you…”, Meng Yao’s fingers trailed along Lan Xichen’s sleeve until they caressed his wrist, “hold me in such high consideration.”
Lan Xichen swallowed. He held Meng Yao’s hand with his own, and Meng Yao pressed both of them against his bare chest.
“From the first day I met you,” Lan Xichen confessed.
Against his fingers, he distinctly felt Meng Yao’s heartbeat accelerate.
“If I may dare, the same is true for me.” Under his long eyelashes, the young man’s eyes shone.
In them, Lan Xichen saw amusement and anticipation. He found himself smiling back.
“Meng Gonzi may dare,” he retorted, and their lips met halfway.
They kissed for a long time, slowly, almost prudently, tasting each other. Then, Meng Yao pressed himself against Lan Xichen’s chest and his fingers dove inside his hair to stroke the long, silky strands.
Lan Xichen shivered with arousal. His hands roamed on Meng Yao’s hips and back and then followed the line of his spine. He broke the kiss and his lips went down along Meng Yao’s neck, explored the curve of his shoulder, and then traced back up again to his throat where they rested, savoring his quivering skin.
The pungent scent of the ointments mingled with the sweeter, more delicate aroma of the steamed buns. A sudden appetite woke up in Lan Xichen’s stomach, and it had nothing to do with buns, or because he had not eaten yet that day.
Carefully, Lan Xichen took the soft skin of Meng Yao’s neck in his mouth and sucked, letting his hands roam again on the man’s hips and stomach until they reached his navel.
“Zewu-Jun,” Meng Yao breathed out against his forehead, “You should not exert yourself. Lie back down.”
With those words, Meng Yao pulled back and then, with a long kiss, he pushed Lan Xichen down toward his bedroll.
A brief moment of confusion followed as the two of them - their mouths stubbornly tied together - tried to change position without causing their wounds further harm.
In the end, Lan Xichen found himself lying on his back with Meng Yao on all fours above him, one knee placed between his legs and a cascade of black hair all around them.
“Meng Gongzi’s care has been so throughout that I have regained my strength,” he whispered against Meng Yao’s lips, even if it was too late now to resist.
“Oh, I would never doubt Zewu-Jun’s vigor,” Meng Yao reassured him sweetly, stroking his face, while his leg deliberately rubbed against his crotch.
Lan Xichen gasped and tried to kiss him again, but Meng Yao’s lips escaped him to reappear on his neck, on the hollow between his collarbones, and then down along his breastbone, as quick fingers opened the robe on his chest. Meng Yao’s mouth lingered a few moments more on his navel, while his hands took care of his belt and the lower half of his robes until they freed Lan Xichen of all those layers of fabric and their unbearable weight.
Meng Yao knelt up, his dark eyes wide as he took in the naked body under him.
Lan Xichen took the chance to bask in the profile of his arms and bare torso, the light of the lamp softening the silhouette of his lean muscles. A shiver of anticipation ran through his groin. He held his breath when Meng Yao bent over him, with a gesture so similar to his usual bow that Lan Xichen almost smiled.
His smile quickly turned into a suffocated moan, when he felt Meng Yao’s lips close around his erection. Meng Yao’s tongue traced it in all its length with deliberate slowness, from the base to the top, again and again, without leaving one single bit of skin unexplored.
Lan Xichen stretched his good arm toward Meng Yao, to touch that cascade of black hair tickling his hips.
“Meng Yao,” he whispered, stroking the back of his head.
As if he had been waiting for his signal or permission, Meng Yao’s mouth descended on him and took him in whole.
Lan Xichen’s fingers contracted in his hair. For one moment, he feared he might have hurt him, but before he could say anything, Meng Yao’s tongue and lips started to move again, turning any attempt to form words into broken sighs on Lan Xichen’s lips.
Meng Yao engulfed him even deeper and Lan Xichen arched his back in response, pushing inside his mouth. Meng Yao grabbed his behind and pulled him closer, seconding the rhythm of his thrusts. Lan Xichen’s sighs turned into moans, growing louder and louder.
Meng Yao worked on him zealously. It did not take long until the combined play of lips and tongue, pressure and touch overwhelmed Lan Xichen. He came with a throaty, ungraceful cry, his back still arched and his fingers clenched on Meng Yao’s head.
He fell back on his bedroll panting and freed the other from his grip.
Meng Yao straightened up and turned away, covering his face in misplaced modesty as he cleaned his lips and chin with a piece of fabric.
Lan Xichen ran one hand on his sweaty face, fighting against a feeling of embarrassment for having resisted for such a short time between Meng Yao’s lips. At that moment, he realized two things, the first of which was that a few long, black strands of hair were still entangled in his fingers.
“I hurt you, I am sorry.” He showed him his hand when Meng Yao turned back toward him, but the younger man shook his head.
He lay back on Lan Xichen’s side, their heads resting close together.
“Zewu-Jun could never,” he reassured him.
“I have also committed a grave mistake,” Lan Xichen added, his gaze suddenly serious.
He saw Meng Yao’s face go stiff and his big eyes fixed on him.
Lan Xichen slowly sat up, looking with sudden sweetness and a deep sense of guilt at the younger man lying beside him, with his hair disheveled and his face still flushed.
Despite all of Xichen’s good intentions from that morning, he had ended up insulting him again.
“I believe that you have studied our Clan’s rules, before accompanying young Nie Huaisang to the Cloud Recesses.”
Meng Yao nodded, kneeling and lowering his head as a sign of submission.
Most likely, he was now trying to decide which one of the hundreds of rules he had broken and how much he would have to pay for it.
“This one would have never dared to offend…”
Lan Xichen gently took his chin and lifted his head. Before Meng Yao’s widened eyes, he undid his ribbon and offered it to him.
“Then you know what this means, and that I should have taken it off …earlier,” he explained, feeling his cheeks grow hot again.
If possible, Meng Yao’s eyes became even wider.
Lan Xichen’s ribbon was there, between them, coiled on the palm of his hand. Meng Yao stared at it, frozen as if it were a poisonous snake ready to bite him. Several chaotic thoughts suddenly crowded his mind, which was still frantically searching among the Lan rules (and of course he had memorized them, while he was patiently trying to make Huaisang learn at least the most important ones).
His first reaction would have been refusal.
Not because he did not want it, but because he did not deserve it. It was not possible that Zewu-Jun, jewel of the Cloud Recesses, would offer that sign to him of all people.
But Zewu-Jun could have anyone he fancied , he wanted to protest, he should choose someone belonging to the great Clans, someone with a remarkable family name, and not a bastard like this one…
He raised his gaze to Lan Xichen, to that face so beautiful it stole his breath away, to that naked and straight forehead, to those limpid, patient eyes.
Not accepting the ribbon would have meant that he deemed Zewu-Jun thoughtless, that he believed Lan Xichen would offer him that sign on a whim or, worse even, as a joke. It would have meant to offend him because Lan Xichen would have never played with something so important.
And besides, Meng Yao longed for that ribbon.
He was just a bit scared.
He breathed in deeply and then, reverently, he took the ribbon in both his hands and bowed in thanks. He held the fabric for a while, debating over where to put it. It felt wrong to wear it, he was too dirty for that immaculate white. In the end, he folded it carefully and placed it on the table nearby.
When he turned to Lan Xichen, his hand was still outstretched toward him. Meng Yao took it in his own and kissed its palm first, then its long fingers, pausing to lick its fingertips, then his wrist, feeling a rush of satisfaction as he felt Lan Xichen’s pulse accelerating under his lips.
In a sense, that ribbon charged him with new responsibilities. Meng Yao liked working hard to comply with his duties, whatever they were. And if they involved Lan Xichen lying there, naked, looking at him, desire pouring from below his half-closed eyelids…
Meng Yao shifted closer and let the other man circle his waist. He took Lan Xichen’s face in his hands and kissed him for a long time.
Lan Xichen’s fingers stroke his back and slipped underneath the layers of fabric, following his spine down beneath his belt.
Meng Yao wanted to roll underneath him and out of those annoying clothes. He wanted to let Lan Xichen press him against the floor and squeeze the air out of his chest, to make him his however he wanted, for however long he wanted.
But Lan Xichen had an injured arm and even Meng Yao himself wasn’t in good shape. They had, as always, to be realistic.
He pulled away from the kiss, staring with longing at Xichen’s full lips, still parted and wet. Under Lan Xichen’s eyes, he unbuckled his belt and let his robes fall along his body. He pushed them messily aside together with his boots. There would be time later to tidy everything up.
With deliberate slowness, he turned once again toward the table, very aware of Lan Xichen’s gaze on him. He could picture it descending from his shoulders, following the trace of his spine down to his behind. He bit his lips to suppress the jolt of excitement his thoughts triggered in his groin, and he concentrated on choosing one of the small ointment jars, in a display of patience he did not feel.
Once he had selected a still unopened bottle, he turned back and - cautiously, as not to hurt the man’s still injured arm - he straddled Lan Xichen’s hips. In the half-darkness, Zewu-Jun’s big eyes glistened as they roamed over Meng Yao’s body. They paused on the object he was holding, then searched for Meng Yao’s eyes, lips parted in a silent question.
Meng Yao answered by carefully unscrewing the lid and pouring some oil on Lan Xichen’s fingers. He guided his wrist until he felt his warm palm press on his thigh. He put the jar down and bent to claim Xichen's lips.
Lan Xichen’s right hand climbed along his leg, lingered on his hip, and then squeezed his behind. Meng Yao smiled in their kiss, rubbing himself against that hot, enveloping hold, inviting it to be more daring. Lan Xichen’s hand slipped between his buttocks, and Meng Yao held his breath, feeling one exploring finger slide carefully inside of him. He allowed himself one mild moan of approval and felt Lan Xichen’s left hand land lightly on his hip.
“Zewu-Jun,” he whispered softly, “you shouldn't move your wounded arm…” but he was cut off as he felt a second finger follow the first.
Meng Yao leaned his forehead against the crook of Lan Xichen’s neck, closing his eyes to get accustomed to the sensation. Slowly, seconding his lover’s kind touches, he started rocking his hips. He was inebriated by those caresses, by the scent of Lan Xichen’s hair and skin, by the way their breathing made their chests rise and fall, pressing them close together.
He felt a third finger join the first two and he bit into a strand of long, black hair to stifle a cry.
Delighted at the feeling unraveling in his lower belly, he arched and kissed again the man lying underneath him - a long, hungry kiss - then he pulled back, his hand searching for the jar.
This time, he undid the lid in a hurry, pouring a generous amount of oil on the palm of his hand and again on Lan Xichen’s erection, then moved carefully, guiding Lan Xichen inside him with measured slowness. He held his breath as he looked at the man underneath him biting his lips, his eyes half-closed.
Lan Xichen's grip on his hips tightened, holding him in place.
When Meng Yao started to move, Lan Xichen threw his head back, eyes shut and mouth open in a silent plea. Meng Yao smiled, quickened his pace and the man’s voice broke.
He was so perfect, naked underneath him, the muscles on his torso underlined by a veil of sweat and his silky hair coiled on his chest and all around him, on that run-down bedroll they were making love on.
Meng Yao realized he was panting. Sweat rolled down his breastbone and further down, pooling in his navel. He shifted his hand to reach for his erection, but Xichen was faster and enveloped him with oily fingers.
Meng Yao covered his mouth with one hand and bit into it to silence the moan forming in his throat.
“Oh, A-Yao,” Xichen called for him, his voice broken. Meng Yao felt the grip tighten on his hip and tried to keep up with the rhythm.
He pushed against Lan Xichen’s hand until he came, his teeth sinking deep into the flesh of his hand. He fell on Xichen’s chest, hiding his face in the crook of his neck.
Lan Xichen pressed him against his hips with a few spasmodic movements and groaned again, then Meng Yao felt him relax suddenly, his heart still beating madly in his chest.
They lay still for a while, tangled together, as their breaths calmed and the sweat cooled down on Meng Yao’s back. Then, he realized Lan Xichen had fallen asleep.
Albeit unwillingly, Meng Yao gathered his strengths to roll away.
He reached for the water bucket and cleaned himself first, then took care of Lan Xichen. Carefully, he wiped his stomach and groin. Lan Xichen barely moved, his head lying abandoned on the bed roll.
Meng Yao was hit by a sudden apprehension: given all his recent misadventures, perhaps they had gone too far that night. He bent to check on his wounds, but the bandages were clean, without sign of bleeding. Slowly, he dressed the man and tied his belt, then covered him with a blanket, ever careful not to wake him up.
Instead of getting dressed himself, he remained at his side to stare at him, unseen. The corners of Lan Xichen’s perfect mouth had curled upward, in an exhausted yet satiated smile. Meng Yao felt a hint of pride, savoring the view for one moment more before bending down on him to caress his cheek.
“Zewu-Ju, how are you feeling?”
Lan Xichen’s eyelids fluttered, and he turned on Meng Yao with a sleepy stare.
“Better than how I have felt in a long, long time,” he murmured, still half asleep. He lazily flexed his back and shifted on the bed roll, making space.
“I would be better still, if Meng Gongzi would lay down here next to me, though,” he added, patting the space at his side.
Meng Yao smiled. Still naked, he slipped underneath the blanket, one leg between Lan Xichen’s, and rested his head on his shoulder.
“This Meng Yao hopes that Zeweu-Jun has not found him too daring.” He twisted his neck to look at Lan Xichen’s profile.
The other man turned toward him and kissed his hair, holding him close.
“Zewu-Jun values Meng Gongzi’s audacity,” he reassured him, “and his courage, dedication, and kindness…”
Meng Yao lifted his finger to Lan Xichen’s lips to shut him up. At those words, something suddenly started to hurt in his chest.
It hurt so much he felt he could explode.
“Zewu-Jun should rest now,” he suggested.
Lan Xichen nodded, his face hidden in his hair.
“If we rest together.”
Meng Yao shifted closer and wrapped one arm around his shoulders, as the other man held him. He inhaled deeply and laid still, chest filled with Lan Xichen’s scent and warmth, until he fell asleep, lulled by the rhythm of their combined breathing.