( the only thing that has helped xiao xingchen keep it together for the past many years has been routine. it's something he learned young and managed to apply in his everyday since — focus, dedication, and a wayward lifestyle is all one needs to set the soul at peace.
of course, his routine has shifted somewhat significantly in the last few months. for quite a time, it was just himself and a-qing making do and getting by, xingchen not allowing his blindness to effect in him in any real negative away, except for the constant ostracizing, and for isolating himself from who was, at a certain and significant part of his life, his only friend. this was easy, of course. it's imaginable that a blind man's course is always dark and frightening, but xingchen was pleased to walk it, happy to offer his eyesight for what he believed was a greater power. so — it's not a bad life for awhile, though it is empty, with hollow corners and quite nights, the rustle of leaves easily mistakable by a-qing's plucky fingers unwrapping hard candies.
then xue yang appeared, and the routine changed again. a mysterious stranger, a broken leg, and a pathway to recovery. the guise didn't last long — for a few nights it was pleasant, and then at the reveal of who xue yang was, it was. tense, and coarse, and. shockingly to none more so than xingchen himself, not unpleasant. xue yang is a being capable of terrible, soul shattering and life ruining things, but. he also says things to get xingchen to laugh, and he carries his basket to the market sometimes, and fills a void in xingchen named loneliness. in the moonlight there are things that only xingchen can see in him, like a profound sorrow that cakes the soul in tar, or a boldness impassioned only by fear of the ordinary.
his kisses are also sweeter than hard candies, and twice as sharp.
and now, the latest and last addition to xingchen's routine — song lan himself. at the start of all things, xingchen had to beg him not to kill xue yang, the foolishness of the request not escaping his ears as the words left his lips. of course xue yang deserves to die, but. his presence in xiao xingchen's life has become ... necessary. now they live like this, for the past week or so — xue yang and xiao xingchen on one side of the fire, song lan on the other, a stagnation in progress.
it's after a dinner xingchen had prepared for them that they're back in their usual spots, a normal tense, deadly silence spilt between them. he can feel song lan's eyes like daggers into him but stays sitting upright, a silent meditation keeping him calm. his two partners must be having some invisible conversation with their eyes that xiao xingchen can't hear — because in a moment, xue yang's head is in his lap, and xingchen sets his hands in his hair and at his neck, instinctively soothing him. )
Zichen, ( xiao xingchen huffs out after a moment, eyebrows knitted. his head gives a slight nod, inclining towards them. ) come sit with us. Won't you?
[ song lan appears to be having trouble adjusting to life here. that's the thought that's been on xue yang's mind the last few days, idly, in between all the usual thoughts of how to keep entertained, ways to bully a-qing so she didn't get too comfortable around here, how to make xiao xingchen laugh, what to have for dinner. it's not a surprise that song lan is struggling, with how rigid he is, unyielding and inflexible. he bends for xiao xingchen alone, and even then with great difficulty and reluctance.
that's fine.
if he won't bend, he'll just have to break. like a poorly healed bone, it'll be better for him in the long run.
he just needs a push. down a steep, metaphorical hill. and if that doesn't work, xue yang will give serious consideration to a literal one.
for now, he starts with reminding song lan how things are different now, how xiao xingchen is different now. 'you did this,' xue yang's eyes speak as they glitter in the night, reflecting the crackling flames of their campfire, 'you lost him, left him to this, left him with no one to turn to but me, nothing to hold close but this.'
he drops himself into xiao xingchen's lap, sprawling against him like a spoiled cat, nuzzling into the hands that come to rest against him to flaunt the automatic response to song lan's gaze, to show the man exactly how close and comfortable they've grown in this time. he trails a hand up xiao xingchen's inner thigh. lightly, casually. surely an accident, xiao xingchen, you know how careless xue yang can be with his hands.
and then, pointedly, he licks his lips before speaking in a casual tone, completely mismatched to the mischief in his gaze. ]
Yeah, Song-daozhang. Come sit with us. You'll get cold that far from the fire. You don't want to make Xiao Xingchen worry, do you...?
[ The last week for Song Lan felt like an endless punishment, the pain he had been due for three years without paying it. Or, well, his heart paid it daily, seeping blood a slow trickle, a wound that never healed but never killed him.
Until now.
Now, his soulmate and his dog tore that wound freshly open daily. Now he hemorrhaged every waking moment, the solace of revenge forbidden from his grasp. He waits, moment by moment, for Xue Yang to pull his sword and slit Xiao Xingchen's throat. For him to take the last Song Lan has been left to love, and sacrifice it on the alter of his mistakes.
He sits murderous, terrified, and hopeless - convinced he's being forced to watch a prolonged execution. He tells himself he'll stop Xue Yang. He tells himself that at the moment Xue Yang shows his true colours, he will break one more vow to Xiao Xingchen and leave Xue Yang's corpse at his feet.
He's broken every other.
But it doesn't come. Song Lan barely sleeps for vigilance, eyes like a hawk save when Xiao Xingchen is safe away from Xue Yang. He catches his sleep in fits and starts, an hour here, two there, and he berates himself for his negligence when he wakes to Xiao Xingchen's laughter. It breaks his heart, every time, to see the way the smile pulls up Xingchen's lips, to hear him break into helpless titters. He waits for Xue Yang's sword and yet all he witnesses is the man's caress.
It's enough to drive him mad.
He sits across the fire and glowers at Xue Yang - his daggers only ever meant for him. Xiao Xingchen... blessed, naive, warm, perfect Xingchen... he could never fault him for the hard candy that cuts his lips.
It's his fault alone that has led to this.
He sits with his sword resting against his chest, one hand loose around the scabbard. But as he watches Xue Yang slide into Xingchen's lap his grip tightens, his knuckles turning white, his breath catching fast in his chest. He's glad Xingchen can't see him, glad the man doesn't have to witness what regret and guilt and jealousy have turned him into. Because it's jealousy he's feeling now, watching Xue Yang stretch in Xingchen's lap like a cat claiming its territory. Watching that hand brush up Xingchen's thigh like he owned it. Jealousy and a deep, terrible desire that feels almost more jagged. It's that which will destroy him, he thinks.
It's that which he has to protect Xingchen from the most. ]
I am not cold. [ His voice is tight, but he tries to moderate it. He always does, near Xiao Xingchen. When him and Xue Yang are alone he doesn't bother to cut the scowl out of his voice or pull the sneer from his lips. But Xiao Xingchen's heart is too broad and to pure.
Song Lan has wounded it far too many times before to want to do so now. ]
I am comfortable where I am. [ He looked straight at Xue Yang. ] I've no desire to be burned, now.
( a gentle frown sets the lines of xingchen's mouth — it's about what he expected, but nevertheless he remains hopeful that one day things will become better. it feels like song lan's disappointment in him is tangible through the air, piercing and sharp and evident, more so by the sudden touching xue yang has going on than otherwise. or maybe it's just in his mind, creating an issue where there is none, dreaming he might be affected. song lan, after all, doesn't sound too bothered.
even if that's what has put a wedge so deep between them it might never unhinge itself, even if song lan left long before xue yang was ever a factor in xingchen's life. the fact remains — xue yang was here at a time when song lan was not. all three of them have to live with that ever present reality. )
Yes. ( he nods, trying at small talk. ) It's ... a warm night.
( or maybe it's just made warm by the kitten sprawled in his lap, xingchen's hand resting softly over his throat, feeling the rise and fall of his swallowed words whenever they leave him. the closeness is nice — something that was missing, a void xue yang had seen filled. maybe it's selfish, to want for more than what life has given him. he has two hands, after all, and song lan is just a heartbeat a way. )
Would you like to listen to a story?
( it is, admittedly, a little awkwardly put, but. xiao xingchen is still trying to get them all to get along, together. he offers a small, sheepish smile. )
On occasion, Xue Yang reads to me. Perhaps ... ( i can rub the lack of my sight in your face some more? what were you thinking, xingchen, honestly. ) Ah. Nevermind.
[ god he has to do all the fucking work around here. listening to these two talk in circles, getting absolutely nowhere, both pining so badly that xue yang feels like he's about to choke on it hanging in the air between them is more than his zero impulse control self can take.
they're seriously sitting across from each other, talking about the relative warmness of the night, song lan visibly seething but unwilling to tip his hand to his blind friend, xiao xingchen trying to maintain a peace he doesn't begin to grasp the full picture of. it's been a long time since xue yang was so frustrated and pent up he wanted to cut something open just to watch it die, but they're pushing him to his limit and the only person here he's both willing and able to kill is his own damn self so.
next option. ]
I think we can offer Song-daozhang better entertainment than that.
[ pulling himself back up, he first locks his gaze with song lan's own, then starts with a slow kiss to xiao xingchen's lips. he doesn't glance away as he trails his hands down xiao xingchen's torso, down to his waist, making short work of his sash to peel his robes apart. since, you know.
it's such a warm night.
smiling to himself, he settles between xiao xingchen's legs, kissing up one creamy thigh, still looking over at song lan between every kiss, every playful swipe of tongue. he nuzzles shamelessly at xiao xingchen's crotch, through his thin layer of underwear that remains. ]
I'll tell you both a different kind of story with my lips.
[ He’d known - of course he’d known - exactly how the two of them found entertainment. He’d tortured himself every night this week, listening to them in the dark when they thought he was sleeping. Every time Xingchen giggled and whispered to be quiet, every time his gentle laughter turned to moans.
He hated it. Or, more accurately, it made him hate himself with an intensity as hot as the inner furnace of the sun.
He had told himself he could bear it. That Xingchen’s happiness was worth his own broken heart 800 times over, that he deserved this for what happened between them.
That he deserved this for never having found the courage to touch Xingchen himself.
Hearing it had been torture.
Watching it was a special, unique brand of hell.
He was up before he even realised he was moving, actually jumping over the fire and landing light as a nightingale right in front of them. He moved sharply and pointedly but silently as he could, only a swish of fabric audible.
That way Xingchen wouldn’t know that Song Lan had grabbed the back of Xue Yang’s neck, fingers digging hard into his throat. Not cutting off air, but a good enough grip that he could slowly pull Xue Yang’s head back away from Xingchen’s crotch. ]
Fine.
[ The fact that he was shaking made his voice waver with unwanted emotion, made his grip on Xue Yang quiver in time. He felt like a cafed animal was trying to rip itself out of his chest, painful and hot all at once.
But worst was the way his blood had pooled in his groin - the way his jealousy had barely twisted his need, and only fueled his arousal.
He couldn’t think about it. He refused.
He couldn’t afford to hate himself any more than he already did. ]
( he makes with a start. kissing is one thing, but stripping naked is another — he's still tried to protect song lan from this particular faucet of their relationship over time, but somethings are just a little too much to do in front of other people, regardless of how likely they are to kill you or not. he isn't particularly ashamed, although he thinks song lan in turn will shame him — and maybe this is how xue yang means to get rid of him, to shatter this bit of odd peace that has settled in their trio.
but. he can't deny it. when song lan leaves there are parts of xiao xingchen he takes with him — parts of him that will never be whole, unless they're all together.
strangely enough, song lan doesn't turn tail and leave. in fact, he comes closer, which is all xingchen wanted in the first place — connection if not understanding, togetherness if not acceptance. the severity of his anger alludes xingchen, but what doesn't go unnoticed is xue yang's mouth from his skin, song lan's sudden presence in front of him.
trying to protect him? or — )
Zichen. ( his expression is just a little stern. gracefully, and somewhat seductively, he stands and he tucks the robe from his shoulders, letting the fabric pool down at his feet. suddenly this warm night is very, very cold, but xingchen has a masterful amount of ideas in how to heat himself. ) Tell us, then. If you have stories, I want to hear them. You — ( he hesitates, before reaching a blind hand out to his arm, he other sliding up to pad around his face, until he finds the heights of his lips. xingchen sighs, and tries to remember what he looks like. ) You don't have to be so alone. Not here, with us.
We're family. Zichen.
( and a pause, before he leans in forehead to forehead, and then mouth to mouth, once his fingers move out of the way. that hand falls down and reaches blindly out to the side, making grabby hands for xue yang's hand, or his hair, or whatever finds itself closest to him. to pull him up, maybe, and get in on this particular action. )
[ oh, is this the game we're playing? the fingers digging into his neck do little but temporarily delay him, song lan's grip not even hard enough to act as a deterrent. it thrills more than anything, sparking some perverse pleasure in him that only makes him want to turn on song lan instead, take advantage of the situation in his reasonable confidence that song lan won't cause him real injury so long as xiao xingchen continues to forbid such a thing. even if he's wrong, what's the worst that can really happen?
nothing he's not willing to risk.
but then xiao xingchen moves before he gets the chance to, surprising everyone involved save for xiao xingchen himself. xue yang has to bite into his own knuckles to stifle the startled laugh that will surely only make song lan rage more than he already does. as funny as that would be, it'll have to be another time.
this game is too fun not to chase after.
as xiao xingchen reaches out for him, xue yang does make a noise of acknowledgement for the blind man's benefit, bumping into that searching hand to nuzzle into xiao xingchen's palm briefly. but he doesn't get up, merely leans his shoulder against xiao xingchen's leg so the man knows where he is. because, well.
there's plenty to do from here.
settling his weight on his knees, he reaches for song lan's sash instead, counting on xiao xingchen to keep the man too occupied to protest. deftly, he parts the fabric of song lan's robes until he's beneath them, sliding a hand relentlessly up song lan's inner thigh. ]
[ Many things happen very quickly, and suddenly Song Lan feels like a glacier in a hurricane. Frozen, unmoving, while the world crashes and breaks around him faster than it ever should.
His heart stops, when Xingchen's robes flutter down to a pile at the man's feet. How long did they wander together, and yet this is a sight left completely unseen? He doesn't even have the heart to look away - or, perhaps, he doesn't have the presence of mind to - though his grip slips from Xue Yang's neck, fingers gliding through his hair, instead. He remembers himself just in time to grip tightly, to pull a handful of hair taut in his fist, his own breath coming out in a shuddered release far too late. ]
Xingchen--
[ The word sounds like a plea, though it's impossible to tell if it's a plea to continue, or a plea to stop, and Song Lan at least is convinced it's the latter. But it falls on deaf ears, and a second later the world ceases to turn as he feels Xingchen's forehead against his - the man's face too close now to make out, though the white band takes up most of his vision anyway. His breath catches just a second early, his body anticipating even when his brain couldn't bear to, and then Xingchen's lips are on his.
It is difficult to describe how it feels to kiss someone you've longed for nearly your entire life, even more difficult to describe when you've been punishing yourself for your yearning nearly as long. He felt it like a tingle - a shudder - at first, spreading from his lips down to his finger tips, making his heart quiver in its wake. Then like fire spreading under his skin, making his fingers twitch and twist in Xue Yang's hair, accidentally tugging him closer almost against his will. He hasn't forgotten the other man is there - couldn't possibly forget - the image of him in Xingchen's lap would be burned into his mind forever. But for that brief moment, his existence was one Song Lan could tolerate, if not entirely enjoy.
Purely because the entire world was suddenly so much more tolerable.
The fantasy broke two heart beats later when Song Lan's brain finally managed to catch up to him. When he realised he could feel a breeze under his robes, his sash gone, and--
He grunted softly against Xingchen's mouth as he felt his arousal suddenly and deftly consumed with a wet, tight heat. He didn't need to see what was happening to know it - to know how Xue Yang had quickly discovered the lie behind his protest - the fact that his cock had laid closely protected under cloth to hide the shame that was his own arousal. His moment of blissful unawareness had given the man an easy opening to put his words to the lie, to display and mock his shame.
And it felt so good that it hurt.
His lips parted, sucking in a breath that tasted of nothing but Xingchen, everything very quickly far, far too overwhelming.
He needed to stop. He needed to push them both off. Family. This wasn't family, this was something perverted, something twisted, something dark that Xue Yang had managed to grow in Xingchen's heart and now was corrupting them both. He needed to stop this, he needed to save him, and yet--
And yet, all he could do was tighten his grip, groan at the back of his throat, and part his lips. ]
( he tries to find the places where he ends and song lan begins, but it's to no avail — sensation runs like lightning in the marrow of his bones, every molecule of his body reaching forward to kiss him, too. he's been blind long enough that he can't remember the exact curves of song lan's face, the bend of his cupid's bow like an archery mark saying here, here, here. sight goes but the feelings stay in place, old as any tree in a valley — song lan's goodness always stays stationary, his kindness, his infallible resilience.
and xiao xingchen is supposed to be perfect? he's muddied, stained with tar from the fact of his sins. fruit flies trail him where rotten morals have settled in the compost of his long deceased heart. song lan will always be better than him — braver, stronger.
he thinks maybe song lan has come to the same conclusion, gasping as he does against his mouth. xingchen truly couldn't blame him if he shoved off and chose, for the second time, never to see him again. pulling barely back, blind fingertips touch the height of his cheekbone, trailing the soft skin just beneath his eye. )
My Zichen. ( soft. a little scared. his brows are knit together, a frown set on his mouth. ) Have I offended you? I meant —
( he takes a step forward to envelop him, but jumps a little as his hip knocks the back of xue yang's head. what is he doing kneeling there? xingchen means to find out, soft fingers again sliding against the handsome curve of xue yang's throat, cupping up under his chin as he finds where his mouth connects. long, hard — hot — xingchen releases his own gasp as revelation sets into him, painting his cheeks in a fluster. )
Ah.
( swallowing thickly, he takes a hold of song lan at the root, about as gingerly as anyone has ever handled a cock — with worshipful intent, with a care found in handling flower petals and little else, and gently feeds it further into xue yang's mouth, stroking a thumb carefully over his lips. he ducks his head into song lan's shoulder, nuzzling his layers to the side so he can kiss his skin, inhaling his scent. )
You don't have to do anything. We'll take care of it. ( a shaky breath ) Hate me tomorrow, if you like. But — let me have just tonight, and be content.
[ even now, perhaps especially now, the daozhang are worlds apart from him. they have the luxury to consider things such as morals, perceived fall from grace in xingchen's case or not. xue yang's heart has always been a mass grave, an unspeakable tragedy for it to exist at all. if there is rot in xiao xingchen now, it is only because the decay in xue yang has taken hold, in that much he and song lan are in agreement.
and perhaps this is perverse, perhaps it is some wretched, twisted thing. xue yang would agree with that as well, because he has never known anything truly good. if he enjoys it, if he desires it, if he is able to have it, there must be something wrong. he could never have had xiao xingchen without the loss of the man's eyes, of his only love. he could have no part of song lan either without the death xue yang caused with his own two hands.
to have a single taste of this sweetness, xue yang had to drench all three of them in blood.
and still, he continues to drag them each under, with the relentlessness of someone who knows he cannot be saved, but does not want to go into the dark alone.
when xiao xingchen discovers his little act of rebellion, he lets out a muffled laugh, a low rumble where his lips are wrapped prettily around his prize. then he takes song lan's cock in deeper, down to the base, swallowing as it hits the back of his throat with practiced ease. he pulls back slow, then bobs his head down again— there's a tease in his mind, playful words he would otherwise speak, but.
he knows he's not welcome here, not truly. better to be a means to an end, to give xiao xingchen some small gift in return for all he's taken away. ]
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no subject
of course, his routine has shifted somewhat significantly in the last few months. for quite a time, it was just himself and a-qing making do and getting by, xingchen not allowing his blindness to effect in him in any real negative away, except for the constant ostracizing, and for isolating himself from who was, at a certain and significant part of his life, his only friend. this was easy, of course. it's imaginable that a blind man's course is always dark and frightening, but xingchen was pleased to walk it, happy to offer his eyesight for what he believed was a greater power. so — it's not a bad life for awhile, though it is empty, with hollow corners and quite nights, the rustle of leaves easily mistakable by a-qing's plucky fingers unwrapping hard candies.
then xue yang appeared, and the routine changed again. a mysterious stranger, a broken leg, and a pathway to recovery. the guise didn't last long — for a few nights it was pleasant, and then at the reveal of who xue yang was, it was. tense, and coarse, and. shockingly to none more so than xingchen himself, not unpleasant. xue yang is a being capable of terrible, soul shattering and life ruining things, but. he also says things to get xingchen to laugh, and he carries his basket to the market sometimes, and fills a void in xingchen named loneliness. in the moonlight there are things that only xingchen can see in him, like a profound sorrow that cakes the soul in tar, or a boldness impassioned only by fear of the ordinary.
his kisses are also sweeter than hard candies, and twice as sharp.
and now, the latest and last addition to xingchen's routine — song lan himself. at the start of all things, xingchen had to beg him not to kill xue yang, the foolishness of the request not escaping his ears as the words left his lips. of course xue yang deserves to die, but. his presence in xiao xingchen's life has become ... necessary. now they live like this, for the past week or so — xue yang and xiao xingchen on one side of the fire, song lan on the other, a stagnation in progress.
it's after a dinner xingchen had prepared for them that they're back in their usual spots, a normal tense, deadly silence spilt between them. he can feel song lan's eyes like daggers into him but stays sitting upright, a silent meditation keeping him calm. his two partners must be having some invisible conversation with their eyes that xiao xingchen can't hear — because in a moment, xue yang's head is in his lap, and xingchen sets his hands in his hair and at his neck, instinctively soothing him. )
Zichen, ( xiao xingchen huffs out after a moment, eyebrows knitted. his head gives a slight nod, inclining towards them. ) come sit with us. Won't you?
no subject
that's fine.
if he won't bend, he'll just have to break. like a poorly healed bone, it'll be better for him in the long run.
he just needs a push. down a steep, metaphorical hill. and if that doesn't work, xue yang will give serious consideration to a literal one.
for now, he starts with reminding song lan how things are different now, how xiao xingchen is different now. 'you did this,' xue yang's eyes speak as they glitter in the night, reflecting the crackling flames of their campfire, 'you lost him, left him to this, left him with no one to turn to but me, nothing to hold close but this.'
he drops himself into xiao xingchen's lap, sprawling against him like a spoiled cat, nuzzling into the hands that come to rest against him to flaunt the automatic response to song lan's gaze, to show the man exactly how close and comfortable they've grown in this time. he trails a hand up xiao xingchen's inner thigh. lightly, casually. surely an accident, xiao xingchen, you know how careless xue yang can be with his hands.
and then, pointedly, he licks his lips before speaking in a casual tone, completely mismatched to the mischief in his gaze. ]
Yeah, Song-daozhang. Come sit with us. You'll get cold that far from the fire. You don't want to make Xiao Xingchen worry, do you...?
no subject
Until now.
Now, his soulmate and his dog tore that wound freshly open daily. Now he hemorrhaged every waking moment, the solace of revenge forbidden from his grasp. He waits, moment by moment, for Xue Yang to pull his sword and slit Xiao Xingchen's throat. For him to take the last Song Lan has been left to love, and sacrifice it on the alter of his mistakes.
He sits murderous, terrified, and hopeless - convinced he's being forced to watch a prolonged execution. He tells himself he'll stop Xue Yang. He tells himself that at the moment Xue Yang shows his true colours, he will break one more vow to Xiao Xingchen and leave Xue Yang's corpse at his feet.
He's broken every other.
But it doesn't come. Song Lan barely sleeps for vigilance, eyes like a hawk save when Xiao Xingchen is safe away from Xue Yang. He catches his sleep in fits and starts, an hour here, two there, and he berates himself for his negligence when he wakes to Xiao Xingchen's laughter. It breaks his heart, every time, to see the way the smile pulls up Xingchen's lips, to hear him break into helpless titters. He waits for Xue Yang's sword and yet all he witnesses is the man's caress.
It's enough to drive him mad.
He sits across the fire and glowers at Xue Yang - his daggers only ever meant for him. Xiao Xingchen... blessed, naive, warm, perfect Xingchen... he could never fault him for the hard candy that cuts his lips.
It's his fault alone that has led to this.
He sits with his sword resting against his chest, one hand loose around the scabbard. But as he watches Xue Yang slide into Xingchen's lap his grip tightens, his knuckles turning white, his breath catching fast in his chest. He's glad Xingchen can't see him, glad the man doesn't have to witness what regret and guilt and jealousy have turned him into. Because it's jealousy he's feeling now, watching Xue Yang stretch in Xingchen's lap like a cat claiming its territory. Watching that hand brush up Xingchen's thigh like he owned it. Jealousy and a deep, terrible desire that feels almost more jagged. It's that which will destroy him, he thinks.
It's that which he has to protect Xingchen from the most. ]
I am not cold. [ His voice is tight, but he tries to moderate it. He always does, near Xiao Xingchen. When him and Xue Yang are alone he doesn't bother to cut the scowl out of his voice or pull the sneer from his lips. But Xiao Xingchen's heart is too broad and to pure.
Song Lan has wounded it far too many times before to want to do so now. ]
I am comfortable where I am. [ He looked straight at Xue Yang. ] I've no desire to be burned, now.
no subject
even if that's what has put a wedge so deep between them it might never unhinge itself, even if song lan left long before xue yang was ever a factor in xingchen's life. the fact remains — xue yang was here at a time when song lan was not. all three of them have to live with that ever present reality. )
Yes. ( he nods, trying at small talk. ) It's ... a warm night.
( or maybe it's just made warm by the kitten sprawled in his lap, xingchen's hand resting softly over his throat, feeling the rise and fall of his swallowed words whenever they leave him. the closeness is nice — something that was missing, a void xue yang had seen filled. maybe it's selfish, to want for more than what life has given him. he has two hands, after all, and song lan is just a heartbeat a way. )
Would you like to listen to a story?
( it is, admittedly, a little awkwardly put, but. xiao xingchen is still trying to get them all to get along, together. he offers a small, sheepish smile. )
On occasion, Xue Yang reads to me. Perhaps ... ( i can rub the lack of my sight in your face some more? what were you thinking, xingchen, honestly. ) Ah. Nevermind.
no subject
they're seriously sitting across from each other, talking about the relative warmness of the night, song lan visibly seething but unwilling to tip his hand to his blind friend, xiao xingchen trying to maintain a peace he doesn't begin to grasp the full picture of. it's been a long time since xue yang was so frustrated and pent up he wanted to cut something open just to watch it die, but they're pushing him to his limit and the only person here he's both willing and able to kill is his own damn self so.
next option. ]
I think we can offer Song-daozhang better entertainment than that.
[ pulling himself back up, he first locks his gaze with song lan's own, then starts with a slow kiss to xiao xingchen's lips. he doesn't glance away as he trails his hands down xiao xingchen's torso, down to his waist, making short work of his sash to peel his robes apart. since, you know.
it's such a warm night.
smiling to himself, he settles between xiao xingchen's legs, kissing up one creamy thigh, still looking over at song lan between every kiss, every playful swipe of tongue. he nuzzles shamelessly at xiao xingchen's crotch, through his thin layer of underwear that remains. ]
I'll tell you both a different kind of story with my lips.
no subject
He hated it. Or, more accurately, it made him hate himself with an intensity as hot as the inner furnace of the sun.
He had told himself he could bear it. That Xingchen’s happiness was worth his own broken heart 800 times over, that he deserved this for what happened between them.
That he deserved this for never having found the courage to touch Xingchen himself.
Hearing it had been torture.
Watching it was a special, unique brand of hell.
He was up before he even realised he was moving, actually jumping over the fire and landing light as a nightingale right in front of them. He moved sharply and pointedly but silently as he could, only a swish of fabric audible.
That way Xingchen wouldn’t know that Song Lan had grabbed the back of Xue Yang’s neck, fingers digging hard into his throat. Not cutting off air, but a good enough grip that he could slowly pull Xue Yang’s head back away from Xingchen’s crotch. ]
Fine.
[ The fact that he was shaking made his voice waver with unwanted emotion, made his grip on Xue Yang quiver in time. He felt like a cafed animal was trying to rip itself out of his chest, painful and hot all at once.
But worst was the way his blood had pooled in his groin - the way his jealousy had barely twisted his need, and only fueled his arousal.
He couldn’t think about it. He refused.
He couldn’t afford to hate himself any more than he already did. ]
I’ll tell you a story.
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( he makes with a start. kissing is one thing, but stripping naked is another — he's still tried to protect song lan from this particular faucet of their relationship over time, but somethings are just a little too much to do in front of other people, regardless of how likely they are to kill you or not. he isn't particularly ashamed, although he thinks song lan in turn will shame him — and maybe this is how xue yang means to get rid of him, to shatter this bit of odd peace that has settled in their trio.
but. he can't deny it. when song lan leaves there are parts of xiao xingchen he takes with him — parts of him that will never be whole, unless they're all together.
strangely enough, song lan doesn't turn tail and leave. in fact, he comes closer, which is all xingchen wanted in the first place — connection if not understanding, togetherness if not acceptance. the severity of his anger alludes xingchen, but what doesn't go unnoticed is xue yang's mouth from his skin, song lan's sudden presence in front of him.
trying to protect him? or — )
Zichen. ( his expression is just a little stern. gracefully, and somewhat seductively, he stands and he tucks the robe from his shoulders, letting the fabric pool down at his feet. suddenly this warm night is very, very cold, but xingchen has a masterful amount of ideas in how to heat himself. ) Tell us, then. If you have stories, I want to hear them. You — ( he hesitates, before reaching a blind hand out to his arm, he other sliding up to pad around his face, until he finds the heights of his lips. xingchen sighs, and tries to remember what he looks like. ) You don't have to be so alone. Not here, with us.
We're family. Zichen.
( and a pause, before he leans in forehead to forehead, and then mouth to mouth, once his fingers move out of the way. that hand falls down and reaches blindly out to the side, making grabby hands for xue yang's hand, or his hair, or whatever finds itself closest to him. to pull him up, maybe, and get in on this particular action. )
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nothing he's not willing to risk.
but then xiao xingchen moves before he gets the chance to, surprising everyone involved save for xiao xingchen himself. xue yang has to bite into his own knuckles to stifle the startled laugh that will surely only make song lan rage more than he already does. as funny as that would be, it'll have to be another time.
this game is too fun not to chase after.
as xiao xingchen reaches out for him, xue yang does make a noise of acknowledgement for the blind man's benefit, bumping into that searching hand to nuzzle into xiao xingchen's palm briefly. but he doesn't get up, merely leans his shoulder against xiao xingchen's leg so the man knows where he is. because, well.
there's plenty to do from here.
settling his weight on his knees, he reaches for song lan's sash instead, counting on xiao xingchen to keep the man too occupied to protest. deftly, he parts the fabric of song lan's robes until he's beneath them, sliding a hand relentlessly up song lan's inner thigh. ]
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His heart stops, when Xingchen's robes flutter down to a pile at the man's feet. How long did they wander together, and yet this is a sight left completely unseen? He doesn't even have the heart to look away - or, perhaps, he doesn't have the presence of mind to - though his grip slips from Xue Yang's neck, fingers gliding through his hair, instead. He remembers himself just in time to grip tightly, to pull a handful of hair taut in his fist, his own breath coming out in a shuddered release far too late. ]
Xingchen--
[ The word sounds like a plea, though it's impossible to tell if it's a plea to continue, or a plea to stop, and Song Lan at least is convinced it's the latter. But it falls on deaf ears, and a second later the world ceases to turn as he feels Xingchen's forehead against his - the man's face too close now to make out, though the white band takes up most of his vision anyway. His breath catches just a second early, his body anticipating even when his brain couldn't bear to, and then Xingchen's lips are on his.
It is difficult to describe how it feels to kiss someone you've longed for nearly your entire life, even more difficult to describe when you've been punishing yourself for your yearning nearly as long. He felt it like a tingle - a shudder - at first, spreading from his lips down to his finger tips, making his heart quiver in its wake. Then like fire spreading under his skin, making his fingers twitch and twist in Xue Yang's hair, accidentally tugging him closer almost against his will. He hasn't forgotten the other man is there - couldn't possibly forget - the image of him in Xingchen's lap would be burned into his mind forever. But for that brief moment, his existence was one Song Lan could tolerate, if not entirely enjoy.
Purely because the entire world was suddenly so much more tolerable.
The fantasy broke two heart beats later when Song Lan's brain finally managed to catch up to him. When he realised he could feel a breeze under his robes, his sash gone, and--
He grunted softly against Xingchen's mouth as he felt his arousal suddenly and deftly consumed with a wet, tight heat. He didn't need to see what was happening to know it - to know how Xue Yang had quickly discovered the lie behind his protest - the fact that his cock had laid closely protected under cloth to hide the shame that was his own arousal. His moment of blissful unawareness had given the man an easy opening to put his words to the lie, to display and mock his shame.
And it felt so good that it hurt.
His lips parted, sucking in a breath that tasted of nothing but Xingchen, everything very quickly far, far too overwhelming.
He needed to stop. He needed to push them both off. Family. This wasn't family, this was something perverted, something twisted, something dark that Xue Yang had managed to grow in Xingchen's heart and now was corrupting them both. He needed to stop this, he needed to save him, and yet--
And yet, all he could do was tighten his grip, groan at the back of his throat, and part his lips. ]
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and xiao xingchen is supposed to be perfect? he's muddied, stained with tar from the fact of his sins. fruit flies trail him where rotten morals have settled in the compost of his long deceased heart. song lan will always be better than him — braver, stronger.
he thinks maybe song lan has come to the same conclusion, gasping as he does against his mouth. xingchen truly couldn't blame him if he shoved off and chose, for the second time, never to see him again. pulling barely back, blind fingertips touch the height of his cheekbone, trailing the soft skin just beneath his eye. )
My Zichen. ( soft. a little scared. his brows are knit together, a frown set on his mouth. ) Have I offended you? I meant —
( he takes a step forward to envelop him, but jumps a little as his hip knocks the back of xue yang's head. what is he doing kneeling there? xingchen means to find out, soft fingers again sliding against the handsome curve of xue yang's throat, cupping up under his chin as he finds where his mouth connects. long, hard — hot — xingchen releases his own gasp as revelation sets into him, painting his cheeks in a fluster. )
Ah.
( swallowing thickly, he takes a hold of song lan at the root, about as gingerly as anyone has ever handled a cock — with worshipful intent, with a care found in handling flower petals and little else, and gently feeds it further into xue yang's mouth, stroking a thumb carefully over his lips. he ducks his head into song lan's shoulder, nuzzling his layers to the side so he can kiss his skin, inhaling his scent. )
You don't have to do anything. We'll take care of it. ( a shaky breath ) Hate me tomorrow, if you like. But — let me have just tonight, and be content.
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and perhaps this is perverse, perhaps it is some wretched, twisted thing. xue yang would agree with that as well, because he has never known anything truly good. if he enjoys it, if he desires it, if he is able to have it, there must be something wrong. he could never have had xiao xingchen without the loss of the man's eyes, of his only love. he could have no part of song lan either without the death xue yang caused with his own two hands.
to have a single taste of this sweetness, xue yang had to drench all three of them in blood.
and still, he continues to drag them each under, with the relentlessness of someone who knows he cannot be saved, but does not want to go into the dark alone.
when xiao xingchen discovers his little act of rebellion, he lets out a muffled laugh, a low rumble where his lips are wrapped prettily around his prize. then he takes song lan's cock in deeper, down to the base, swallowing as it hits the back of his throat with practiced ease. he pulls back slow, then bobs his head down again— there's a tease in his mind, playful words he would otherwise speak, but.
he knows he's not welcome here, not truly. better to be a means to an end, to give xiao xingchen some small gift in return for all he's taken away. ]