[ 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
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.
no subject
( 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. )
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]