— devotum / wangxian one-shot au 🔞
rating: E / w/c: 3.9k
top!wwx/bottom!lwj 🥰
ao3: archiveofourown.org/works/51203923
easy read thread below (please be aware that this is p much just smut hhhh) ⬇️
Resentful energy is a fickle, fickle thing.
Wei Wuxian has it controlled, or so he says, down to a tee, and Lan Wangji— all he can do is trust. To love unconditionally, the way he always has, and offer up everything he has to give. To take on the burden, however he can.
Sometimes, that means giving Wei Wuxian a place to rest, behind a glacial wall of yang, diligently written to protect him with his life. Lan Wangji has adapted to this routine well enough; learned to stifle a lifetime's worth of orthodoxy and order. He's learned that the wicked ways are not necessarily wicked in intent.
'Come back to Gusu with me,' Lan Wangji had said, a few weeks ago now. A few weeks in shared solitude that have flown by. 'Resentful energy will harm you.' And he'd had to compromise, as long as he could keep Wei Wuxian safe, away from the sharp blades of the land's greatest clans.
But Wei Wuxian has killed people, cultivators, in their thousands, in the heart of the darkness of his own making. And yet, here he is, tucked far away in hiding, rattled awake by the mercilessness of his darkest nightmares. Lan Wangji has needed to adjust to this, too, because standing by Wei Wuxian's side makes him an accomplice by proxy. And that much is fine. It is fine. But he is not immortal.
Neither is Wei Wuxian. He carries himself like a trailblazer, granted — staunch, upright, indignant. Only here, for their eyes only, does the fear begin to trickle through the cracks.
Sometimes, Wei Wuxian craves. He craves validation and closeness. He asks to be soothed; to be spoken to, just like old times. Lan Wangji will not revert back to old times; he won't arbitrate Wei Wuxian's choices.
He won't back away. Not again.
Sometimes, Wei Wuxian refuses to curl up come night time, alone and cold against the rocks. He'd refused Lan Wangji's offer to take the hard ground, because of course he had. He is good. So good. There, he'd always wake up wrapped up in Lan Wangji's robes, still smattered with blood, red on white. And he'd always come up with some excuse—something about how he must have gotten cold and grabbed the closest thing.
Lan Wangji was always the one tucking him in, trying to keep him warm from the cruel cold of the world.
Most nights these days, he winds up curled up in the blankets, atop the bale of hay Lan Wangji had bartered for in a nearby village with the few coins left to his name, under the disguise of a dark grey cloak and a red rope belt. Not at all subtle; knowingly rumoured as a 'disciple of the feared Yiling Laozu'. In bed under their shared blanket, Wei Wuxian always ends up trembling next to him, clutching tight and begging for the voices to stop. It is unwavering, unrelenting with each passing rise and fall of the moon. His eyes have long grown dark, his hair disorderly, and his blood red ribbon askew where it hangs against his back.
Lan Wangji's mind is a mere shell of what it once was, his heart taking precedence here. And his heart is sombre; his resolve, diminished.
Sometimes, Wei Wuxian shakes, red raw with an itch for something more; all that resentful energy, and nowhere to put it. Spiritual yang pointed directly into the meridians does wonders for soothing that itch, much like an aloe balm, but even Lan Wangji grows tired sometimes. He has enough spiritual energy for the both of them, but the price he pays for that is doubled. And the yin will always come flooding back. Such is the natural order of things.
That is how they had wound up toppling into bed together, a tangle of limbs and a desperate mess of reassuring kisses, that first time. Lan Wangji can put up a good fight, can school himself into something almost as unremitting as he once was, equally stubborn as he is devoted, but for this— he's weak for this. His devotion to Wei Wuxian is unbreakable, it might as well be written in stone.
"The righteous, perfect Hanguang Jun. Hanguang Jun, the most peerless man in all of these lands," Wei Wuxian says, courtesy dripping like sweet poison from his tongue. Somewhere beneath the darkness of his red-rimmed eyes is that same arrogance, that same integrity he'd thrived with when they were teens. "Lan Wangji, you do things to me. Terrible, amazing things. Do you even know? Do you know?"
Lan Wangji knows. He knows well. And he takes it, obliged and without complaint, because he feels it, too. He feels cruel for it, stealing like this, but resentful energy is a fickle, fickle thing, and Lan Wangji is not selfless. Not at all.
He's sprawled out, his robes drawn open and splayed out around his sides. The hay bale is scratchy against his back, and his thighs are trembling, muscles pulling taut, following the path of Wei Wuxian's deft fingers. He's hard, his cock straining on end against his stomach. There's a thick plume of black hanging in the air around them, there are whispers of the undead, telling Lan Wangji to take and take and take and take.
'Selfish', 'dishonourable', 'greedy Lan Wangji'.
Wei Wuxian is kneeling against the folded edge of Lan Wangji's outer robe, chaos against order. His eyes are wild, his face frantic. He claws at Lan Wangji like he can't possibly touch him enough — kisses him like he can't believe he's there. And yet.
"I," Lan Wangji breathes, cupping the back of Wei Wuxian's hand, pressing it to the hot curve of his pelvis. Wei Wuxian allows it. He always does. "I wish for you to show me. Wei Ying."
Somewhere along the way, they'd gotten hooked. Somewhere before that, Wei Wuxian had begun to look at him a certain way. He'd allowed Lan Wangji to kiss him back to sleep, to pick out the knots in his hair. He never retreated whenever Lan Wangji had allowed himself the audacity to lay bare like this.
"You're too good," says Wei Wuxian, right as he gropes over the thick line of Lan Wangji’s cock. His fingers are gentle, but purposeful. Ghosting, but diligent. Ever full of contradictions.
Lan Wangji doesn't think he's particularly very good. He knows what he's doing here, what he's allowing in Wei Wuxian's moment of need. But he makes a low sound in the back of his throat, thighs spread wide. When he catches himself in the reflection of Wei Wuxian's eyes, he looks devilish there.
"I can see it in your face, Lan Zhan. You don't see yourself the way I do. You gonna be good for me? You gonna let me do all these terrible things to you again?" He lowers his voice, free hand reaching up, a testing finger dipping beneath Lan Wangji's forehead ribbon. "You always let me. You must really fear me, hm?"
No, Lan Wangji wants to say. It's a test, and they both know it – they've endured too much together for this to mean nothing to either of them, surely. But instead, he holds Wei Wuxian's hand flush against his groin, and allows himself the opportunity to grind his hips, painstakingly slow against the palm of a cold hand.
Wei Wuxian has been edging him on and off for the better part of the afternoon, his itch for it utterly unbearable. It had begun careless and casual, right up until that black fog began to swarm. Lan Wangji, out of sheer habit, had voluntarily laid himself across the makeshift bed and had opened himself up, three fingers deep and completely devoid of shame, in Wei Wuxian's line of sight.
"I want you," he says instead. He says that a lot recently, because it quells his own urge to say something far less inconspicuous. Wei Wuxian allows his hand to be coaxed downwards, where the slick of remedial salve is still warm between his thighs, precisely where he's open and eager. "You know that. Wei Ying."
"You wanna come, hm? You wanna come that bad? You did all the hard work for me, you could've finished yourself off, you know. I couldn't have stopped you. I couldn't even stop my Hanguang Jun from following me into the dark."
"You first," Lan Wangji says stiffly, pausing their hands there. Wei Wuxian is hard beneath his inner robe—Lan Wangji can see the outline of his cock twitching helplessly through delicate silk, the smear of precome, dark against red. It's stark, but overshadowed by a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Wei Ying first. As many times as he needs."
Distantly, in the depth of this barren cave, he can feel the pang of turmoil of his own. The hush whispers of the undead reminding him that the two of them could raise hell together, like this. That they could lose control together, if they so wanted. That if he keeps this up, they both just might. It would be an honourable death, Lan Wangji pacifies himself: to die for the man he loves.
"See? Too good." Absent-mindedly, Wei Wuxian strokes the tips of his fingers over Lan Wangji's hole, allowing his forefinger and middle finger to slip inside, testing. Teasing. Lan Wangji's eyes flutter shut. "What would your clan think, Lan Zhan. That I've ruined you, too? You know I have a hard time resisting you. You know that, don't you?"
"Mn," Lan Zhan says, because he does know. He knows. He knows that the moment he cracks, Wei Wuxian will be ruthless, wound-up and unable to stop. He'll break it up with soft kisses, warm enough to shatter the coldest hearts, and Lan Zhan will, in fact, be left truly ruined.
He'll also find himself host to any stray remnants of that resentful energy. Whatever Wei Wuxian gives. It'll weave itself around his qi, rattling him to his core, and the weight on Wei Wuxian's shoulder will be - unbeknownst to him - a little easier to bear for a while.
"And if you ever decide to leave me," he continues, slipping his hand into his inner robe and allowing it to part free. Lan Wangji blinks up at the sound of fabric pooling upon the ground, and those nefarious whispers grow loud again. He's wanted this for so long. He has it now - once in a blue moon. He knows the taste of Wei Wuxian's mouth, his cock— the way it curves, and the way it fits just right. "At least I can exist, knowing I've seen you like this. I can be happy, knowing that the crooked Yiling Laozu was good enough to have had Hanguang Jun for at least a little while. That in spite of your few words, I've heard you, like— this."
Before Lan Wangji has the opportunity to get a word in edgeways, to foolishly give away the deepest corners of his heart, Wei Wuxian fucks into him in one swift thrust. Lan Wangji growls, the air stolen from his lungs.
It doesn't take much to work up into a rhythm, brutal as it is. They know each other well enough by now. It goes like this: Lan Wangji knocking his head back, gritting his teeth through the pleasure, thrumming with the pain. He can ignore the resentful energy a little bit better like this, even while Wei Wuxian is desperately grinding it back into him.
Lan Wangji's core is strong enough to take it. It will have to be.
"Gods, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian babbles—he always does. And Lan Wangji hangs onto his every word. "You feel so fucking good. Fuck. You're good for me, hm? Just for me?"
Lan Wangji will always lose himself to it, giving in to sensation. The dark energy has him by the throat, but Wei Wuxian looks at him with such wonder, light behind those tired eyes. "Yes—just. Ah, just for Wei Ying."
"Tell me," Wei Wuxian says, punctuating it with a particularly hard thrust that jostles him. It scatters the hay underneath them, the weight of them sinking into it. The ground is cold beneath, but Lan Wangji is coated in a warm sheen of sweat, and if he's scraped or grazed— well, he will not notice. "Tell me, who you are, who I am."
Lan Wangji recognises this, too. He's come to expect it — the unrestrained, unrelenting descent into all that dark energy. It's routine by now, and who is Lan Wangji if he isn't living to please and serve? "I am— your Hanguang Jun," he says, throwing a leg around Wei Wuxian's waist. He's practically delirious with it. "I belong only to you, Yiling Laozu."
"Fuck, Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, you do. Turn, turn over— Actually, no wait, I want to look at you."
Lan Wangji is delirious with this too. It's simple for them to fall in and out of these meticulously crafted characters they've accepted for themselves. Every time, however, the Wei Wuxian he's always known will sneak back in, and Lan Wangji has to ignore the twinge of guilt that he's taking advantage of his vulnerability here.
So he flips them, strong like steel, if a little shaky, and kisses Wei Wuxian down to the floor, deep and feverish. These stolen kisses each have little messages. This one means 'I am ever devoted to you'. Maybe also 'I will never leave your side', if he's feeling bold enough. Lan Wangji's hand acts as a cushion between Wei Wuxian's head and the ground, his hips working into a shameless grind, a frantic back and forth.
"Wei Ying." He bites, a secret swell of pride for leaving behind his mark - a claim in the form of lips bitten red. "Yiling Laozu, use me."
This is the part where Wei Wuxian will grasp onto his hips, and have his merry way, but he's staring up at Lan Wangji, something fierce. His gaze is scattered, skirting over the lines of Lan Wangji's body, the way his cock bounces so brazenly between them, untouched and throbbing with desire.
Lan Wangji won't come untouched. Not unless Wei Wuxian does first.
"Yes," Wei Wuxian's voice is low, dark. Lan Wangji knows when he's inching closer. He knows that face so well now, after all these years. He knows when he's happy, when he's frantic. And now, he can add pleasure to that list. "Yes, Hanguang Jun. I won't—I won't let you go," he says, between sharp inhales. "I'll—I'll keep you here. Everyone else— they can say that I've got - fuck - a pretty little plaything."
Well, that one goes straight to Lan Wangji's cock. His hips falter, stuttering on a harsh thrust up. Wei Wuxian knows—he always knows how to do him well.
"Little do they know," he continues, mouth pressed against Lan Wangji's shoulder. His breath is hot, his body wracked over with uncontrollable trembles. "Little do they know, you ask for it. My pretty little plaything likes this too—a-ah, Lan Zhan, I'm— fuck. I'm gonna—"
"Fill me." Lan Wangji is slack, and the Yiling Laozu takes him; grabs at his hips, his feet planted firmly against the ground, and fucks him. "Wei Ying, do it—"
When Wei Wuxian comes, Lan Wangji feels everything. Everything, all at once, like a thunderclap echoing in the silent sky. And Lan Wangji sinks his weight into it, working them through it until Wei Wuxian is writhing and breathless.
He does not move after, sated and filled to the brim, his hips bleeding red with the scratches.
And when Wei Wuxian sinks back, slack against the ground, writhing with it— when Lan Wangji sways forward to kiss him, there's nothing but sheer care there. Lan Wangji kisses, and kisses, in spite of the throbbing ache between his thighs, his hips moving idly - disjointed back and forths. He can feel all that resentful energy swirling around inside him, and he takes it all without complaint.
His eyes must darken with it, because Wei Wuxian is staring at him, scrutinising him closely, as though he's searching for something.
If he notices anything this time, he isn't given the opportunity to voice it. He's always insatiable like this, Lan Wangji knows it well enough. And so he moves, batting Wei Wuxian's hand away where it's crawling up towards his neglected cock.
"No," he says, and he doesn't miss the wild fervour in Wei Wuxian's face. "As many times as Wei Ying needs. However he needs it."
"Aiyo, Lan Zhan." There are hands clutching at Lan Wangji's waist, grounding him from the swell of devious voices threatening to break him down. Lan Wangji vaguely wonders if Wei Wuxian knows what he's doing here, the scope of the consequences. "You can't say things like that. I'm greedy enough already."
"Be greedy."
It all becomes a messily orchestrated scramble. Lan Wangji moves, unfortunately, just to rearrange himself. His knees pressed flush against unforgiving rock, his hands firmly rooted in place; his spine curved and his ass presented shamelessly.
Wei Wuxian is impervious to do anything but take.
And take, he does.
The second time is all heat, fiery passion. Filthy, in the way the slick of passion-fueled spend is fucked right back into him. Wei Wuxian's cock fills out again without much effort on his part, and Lan Wangji greedily takes the brunt of it. That thick plume of black is orbiting his hands where they're planted firmly against the ground, tearing away the inner resolve Lan Wangji has meticulously built for himself over the years. Years of meditation, fruitless, broken down by fleeting moments like these.
"Do not treat me like glass," he hisses, when he feels Wei Wuxian's hips falter. "I will not break."
"You won't break," Wei Wuxian repeats, one hand holding on to Lan Wangji's hip, the other curled into his hair, their parted lips lingering, phantom touches in midair. "Lan er gege, who knew, hm? Fuck—you feel so good. Who knew you'd be like this."
I am utterly devoted to you, Lan Wangji could say, but doesn't. Instead, he's a vessel for all of those resentful whispers, muffled out by the obscene sound of heavy breathing and skin against skin. "You know." He says instead, his abdomen pulled taut in effort to keep himself upright. "You know this. Only you will know."
"Don't worry." Wei Wuxian bites down on Lan Wangji’s bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth, and Lan Wangji nearly collapses right there. "I— I'm not sharing this. Not while I have it."
Lan Wangji, despite himself, meets Wei Wuxian's thrusts. He must look shameless right now, spread open, his knees scuffed and bruising. He's selfish, he realises. He voices it, his self-control a guqin string pulled too taut, snapping easily with a low ping. "Yours," he grits. "Yours. Steal me. Use me. Wei Ying."
"Yeah," Wei Wuxian agrees, voice more breath than sound. He leans down and sinks his teeth into Lan Wangji's shoulder, piercing skin, muffling his grunts of effort. "Yeah, mine."
When Wei Wuxian comes again, it's with a half-stifled shout, red light shooting into the tunnel of the cave before fading dark. His body is wracked over with uncontrollable shakes, and Lan Wangji is deaf to anything but the two of them, the resentful spirits acting as witness.
You'd kill anyone for him, wouldn't you? You'd murder them in cold blood. You are powerful, you could wipe out entire sects.
Lan Wangji breathes out, shuddering with it. Wei Wuxian is whimpering, mouthing wetly against Lan Wangji's shoulder, their bodies flush, every inch attached.
"Please," he says. He doesn't even know what he's pleading for, really. His body is spent, his mind fogged over. "Wei Ying, please."
"I've got you," Wei Wuxian soothes, presses it into the crook of Lan Wangji’s neck. Lan Wangji twists to meet his lips, messy and not at all lacking in saliva, and even that is a plea. "I've got you, my dearest."
The way Wei Wuxian handles him is too careful — too, too kind. He treats him as though Lan Wangji is something precious, and there's something unspoken there. He lowers Lan Wangji down, back against the ground, against the smatterings of hay. Lan Wangji is vaguely aware that they're sleeping on the ground tonight; distantly reminds himself that he will need to return to the village tomorrow. But that will be tomorrow's problem.
Wei Wuxian manoeuvres Lan Wangji's legs, kisses a stripe along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. He rests his cheek there, then, gaze full of wonder as he curls his fingers around the girth of Lan Wangji's cock.
"Next time," he says, lazily stroking. Lan Wangji's balls are pulled taut, and he's so, so sensitive. Wei Wuxian smiles, and this time, his eyes scrunch up into delighted little crescents with it. "I want you to do me, like I do you. You're such a mess, Lan Zhan. You're so beautiful. I want to know what it feels like."
All Lan Wangji can do, really, is groan in response. His autonomy - his well trained control over his body - is completely shattered. He twitches, and reaches out, fingers slipping into Wei Wuxian's free hand, his heart thumping away frantically in his chest.
He would—he would kill anybody for him. He would do it all. Wei Wuxian could ask him to tear out his heart and present it to him on a golden platter; he could ask Lan Wangji to set the world ablaze, to give them a space to tangle up together, perched upon a bloody throne. He would.
The rise before the fall is beautiful. It doesn't take much for him, not with those fingers playing him like an instrument, drawing music from him, before Lan Wangji is swearing out into the open, desensitised to the swirls of black engulfing the air around them. He falls with a husky gasp, Wei Ying's name hanging heavy in the air, thick ropes of come spread across his stomach, coating Wei Wuxian's hand.
"Fuck," says Wei Wuxian, kissing the jut of Lan Wangji's hipbone, his ribs, the divet of his chest. "I can't get over it, you like this. You always gave me the cold shoulder, and now you're hiding me away, turning yourself into something that could actually be mine if—." The unspoken 'if I was truly good enough' is deafening. He's said it before. The war had left him a wanted man, told of his crimes from every which direction. So undoubtedly, he'll say it again.
Lan Wangji is buzzing. He'll tell him someday. Correct him. Tell him about everything, perhaps, if his resolve should crumble further. Maybe he will set the world on fire for him. He wonders absently if that would be enough.
"Lan Zhan." Wei Wuxian is crawling upwards now, ready to collapse sloppily across Lan Wangji's chest. They never did the whole cuddling after sex thing until just recently. Whether it was too real for them, too much back then, the two of them seem to be toeing a dangerous line now; stolen glances that last too long, and mouths finding one another in the night.
His eyes seem to find something in Lan Wangji, seem to recognise something there, and he manages to squeeze in a soft kiss before his body gives out. "You're good, you are so good. I— thank you. Are you okay? Want me to talk you through the comedown?"
And Lan Wangji can't really do much else other than huff out a soft laugh, because he is okay. They talk about normal things, fingers idly explorative, and he is good. Utterly devoted to the chaos that has made its bed, nestling itself neatly beside the order in him.
