Work Text:
It's a warmer than usual spring evening when Wen Ning goes looking for Wei Wuxian and discovers he's finally put the two paper men that have been languishing in his 'workshop' to use.
Wen Qing had been annoyed in the first place when Wei Wuxian had spent several unplanned for hours down the mountain and come back up sheepishly announcing that he'd gotten distracted helping some artisan clear a ghost out of her back room; she'd threatened to pitch him right back down the mountain when she'd asked if he'd even gotten money for it, and he dumped a couple of paper men out of a qiankun pouch.
"It's a good thing she gave you paper guardians," she'd yelled, clearly torn between anger and amusement as Wei Wuxian shuffled his feet, "because if you work without taking money for it again, I'm going to organize your funeral!"
Wen Ning had made himself scarce shortly after, to avoid taking a side, and all he knew of the aftermath was that Wei Wuxian kept the paper puppets in the corner of his cave and promised Wen Qing at least once a week that he'd do something useful with them.
And now, it seemed, he'd made good on the promise. Wei Wuxian stands on a small rise overlooking a bit of land near to the tangled brush and woods that they've been clearing, bit by painstaking bit, hands clasped behind his back. The piece of land lies cleaner than it had before, and there are a few neat piles along the side of it, that the strange white shapes of the puppets appear to be adding to; one of brush, as far as Wen Ning can see, one of pieces of bone, one of bits and pieces of old metal and stone. The puppets move with grace more animals than human, paper faces grinning placidly in the fading light as they lope from place to place.
Wen Ning moves to stand beside Wei Wuxian. "You found a way to animate them, Wei-gongzi?"
Wei Wuxian hums with satisfaction. "I did, and I had to test them out. I wasn't sure how well they'd do, but it's more than adequate. They've really worked hard." He whistles imperiously—Wen Ning hears the command in it, though it only brushes by him, like a warm breeze. The two puppets raise their heads, then spring up beside the two of them. Wen Ning stirs uneasily away. They feel like-and-unlike him, their energy prickling against his skin; and there's a stir of... something else, as well, as he watches Wei Wuxian pat the head of one and coo to the other about how well they've done.
Then Wei Wuxian plucks the knife from his belt and slices open the tips of two of his fingers, and with a casual gesture smears bright blood over the lips of one puppet.
Something jerks in Wen Ning's stomach, pulls deep and hard and hungry. The resentful energy churns within him, and a soft snarl bubbles in his throat. The blood is so red, against the puppet's faded-rose mouth, and the smell of it seems a hundred times sharper than other scents. Wen Ning had disliked the smell of blood when he'd been alive; found it abrasive, coppery and salty and raw. Now it smells—it smells like Wei Wuxian, smells like the life in his veins, the power in his touch.
Wei Wuxian, happily oblivious, smears blood across the other puppet's mouth. "Eat up, now," he murmurs, his tone saccharine, and the puppet slips a tongue out from its slit-mouth with a rustle to lick at the blood. "Good," Wei Wuxian croons, and Wen Ning nearly whimpers; his knees feel stiff, locked in place, his mouth filled with cotton, resentful energy fizzing wildly through his dead meridians. His cock aches faintly, like it's trying to remember how to.
Wei Wuxian turns, and stops, his brows drawing together, when he looks at Wen Ning. "Are you all right?"
Wen Ning can't take his eyes off Wei Wuxian's still-bleeding fingertips. Wildly, he thinks of falling to his knees; of taking them into his mouth and sucking, drinking in the rich red, and Wei Wuxian's hand on his head like he'd touched the puppet, Wei Wuxian's voice murmuring good, good boy, eat it—
"Ah," Wei Wuxian says, and sheepishly closes his fist around the bleeding fingertips. "It's just something they like, I found it out while I was first setting them to work... I don't know why. It's a part of me, and it's something alive when they're so not-alive... Hey, Wen Ning, you look sick! Don't tell me you have a problem with blood, I know you've seen plenty."
"It's not..." Wen Ning's voice comes out a croak. He makes a small helpless gesture. "You. It smells. I—"
"Ah, it's affecting you too!" Wei Wuxian lights up in interest. "I didn't think about that." He opens his hand, looks speculatively at it. "Does it make you hungry, or—what does it feel like?"
It feels like touching myself when I was sixteen and wanting your cock in my mouth, Wen Ning thinks; it feels like you calling me up from the grave and feeling your heartbeat in my chest. It's not as strong as either of those feelings, not quite, but it's—it's an echo of both, a strong echo.
"Hungry," he says, awkwardly. "Yes."
"Well, of course you can have some if you want it," Wei Wuxian says, and something clenches tight and miserable in Wen Ning's chest. Don't say that so casually. Say—say I can have it because I did something, or that I can have it if I do. "But, uh, it would be awkward to just paint it on your mouth like that... Hang on, let's go back to the cave."
Wen Ning follows, reluctant but curious.
Wei Wuxian throws a barrier talisman up behind them, muttering something about "A-Yuan or, heavens forbid, your sister," and then rushes ahead of Wen Ning to rummage about through the mess on the floor and low makeshift tables. After a minute he produces a small bowl, beginning to wipe it out. Wen Ning's stomach drops further.
Wei Wuxian's talking quickly still, something about the mechanics of bleeding and speculation on why blood held such appeal, but Wen Ning can't make himself listen. There's a great, fearful shame in speaking, in admitting to wanting—but the more he tries to persuade himself it doesn't matter, the greater his feeling of bleak disappointment grows. The idea of drinking fast-cooling blood from a bowl, as if it's something as innocuous as tea, when those paper puppets had received warm and living blood, tasted the salt of Wei Wuxian's skin beside it, felt his warmth—
His jaw is clenching, the resentful energy roiling hot and tight in his belly. He says, as Wei Wuxian reaches for the knife again, "Wei-gongzi. You don't—you don't have to."
Wei Wuxian frowns, knife hovering over his palm. "What, you don't want to try it?"
His lips pull back a little over his teeth, in frustration. "No, I..." He dips his head; it's easier to speak without looking at Wei Wuixan's questioning face. "I mean that you don't have to bother with a bowl," he mumbles. "You did it that other way, with them... I don't mind it."
Wei Wuxian clicks his tongue. "It's not any trouble. Why do you look so dejected?"
Wen Ning can't help but dart one more glance at his hand. The small cuts are already beginning to seal themselves, the scent fading, but they could be easily reopened.
"Oh," Wei Wuxian says, and eagerness and fear twist together in Wen Ning's stomach at the surprise in his voice; the realization. "Is it that you... want it that way, Wen Ning?"
Wen Ning keeps his head down. He says, "It's all right if you don't want to give it to me." His tone isn't very convincing, but he hopes that Wei Wuxian will at least appreciate the effort.
Wei Wuxian laughs, sounding a little unstable but not upset. "Of course—but why wouldn't I want to? There's nothing wrong with it, of course. After all, with the way you are—" He cuts himself off.
Say it, Wen Ning thinks. Say that I'm not really alive. That I'm your creature.
Wei Wuxian hesitates, then steps to the side, sinking down on the low cot. "It might be easier if I don't try and stand as well," he says. "Wen Ning, you can—"
Wen Ning has already crossed the room, is already kneeling down by his feet. Wei Wuxian makes a noise in his throat; Wen Ning looks up to catch an expression on his face both sheepish and—alight, somehow, as if startled into interest. "I was going to say you could sit on the bed," Wei Wuxian says, his tone strained but light, "But this is all right too, if you prefer it."
Wen Ning would swallow, if he had any need. He stays on his knees and says, "I prefer it."
Wei Wuxian swallows, his eyes bright and wide. "Of course." He doesn't move for a moment, then moves quickly, looking away from Wen Ning's face and bringing up the knife to his hand. "Ah, let's see—"
He veers away from his palm at the last minute, perhaps thinking of the difficulty of painting the blood on Wen Ning's lips; switches hands instead, and cuts the fingertips of his previously unmarked hand. Wen Ning tilts his face up expectantly, and Wei Wuxian pauses, eyes wide as they rest on his face, as if he's thought of something. It takes Wen Ning blinking, slow and unnecessary, to jolt him into motion again. He reaches out and quickly swipes a fingertip across Wen Ning's bottom lip, a bare second of hot pressure before it's gone.
Wen Ning stops himself from chasing after it. He licks his lips instead, slow and careful, and the taste of Wei Wuxian's blood explodes across his tongue. It tastes...
He hasn't tasted anything since he'd been choking on his own blood, his ribcage half caved in, months gone. This blood tastes different, but he can't articulate why; only that the difference is night and day. Before, it had been the taste of pain and quick-encroaching darkness, the taste of cruelty, mixed with the sour grit of dirt that had been ground against his mouth when he fell. Wei Wuxian's blood—it's clean, it's light, it's like wine and fire and like feeling Wei Wuxian's mouth against his own, in the strange deep surge of intimacy he feels. He closes his eyes and shakily exhales all the air he'd taken in, expecting to speak. He can't find words for this.
"Is it all right?" Wei Wuxian asks, sounding worried.
Wen Ning tries to find words, for him. He struggles his eyes open. "It... it's all right, Wei-gongzi." He licks his lips again. "It feels... It's making me feel something, but it's hard to describe."
Wei Wuxian says, hesitantly, "Well, we can try it again." It's not quite a question, but far from a command.
Wen Ning looks up and nods, hoping he doesn't seem too eager. "Mm. I think we should."
Wei Wuxian presses his fingers down on Wei Wuxian's bottom lip this time, hissing softly to himself as the cuts are opened wider by the pressure and more blood seeps out. Wen Ning can't help his tongue sliding out to lap up the blood before Wei Wuxian has withdrawn his fingers; he doesn't intend to lick at them, tongue pushing against the cuts. He only does it again because Wei Wuxian makes a soft, surprised sound in his throat and doesn't pull away immediately.
And when Wei Wuxian doesn't pull away even then, when he only breathes quick and hard and stares down at Wen Ning like he's seeing something he's never really seen before, when the taste of blood is sliding sweet and hot over Wen Ning's tongue and the warmth of it is sinking down through his body, stirring up pulses of sensation as it went—what else can Wen Ning do then, expect obey his impulse to open his mouth and take Wei Wuxian's fingers in? One thing seems to lead so logically to another.
"Wen Ning," Wei Wuxian says; he sounds breathless. "Ah, Wen Ning—you—"
Wen Ning opens his eyes just a little. Wei Wuxian is staring down at him with parted lips, cheeks flushed ruddy; his eyes fixed on where Wen Ning has taken his fingers into his mouth, almost up to the base. Wen Ning thinks, cautiously, that his expression didn't make him seem angry about it. He laves his tongue against the cuts on Wei Wuxian's fingers one last time, but there's only a sluggish seep, a tang of iron, and Wei Wuxian winces.
"Maybe..." He says slowly, eyes flicking over Wen Ning's face, "Maybe I should make a cut somewhere else. For a little more blood. It seems to... you're enjoying it, right? I think it's giving you some strength."
Wen Ning reluctantly lets Wei Wuxian's fingers retreat from his mouth, and after a moment's hesitation he nods. He wouldn't have a thick enough face to say it without stammering at some other time, but with his whole body still an aching dark void of need, with Wei Wuxian looking at him in that fashion... "It's good," he says, and licks the corner of his mouth to chase the last taste of it. "Please, gongzi."
Wei Wuxian swallows, eyes wide and dark, and shifts on the bed, gaze dropping. He makes a thin cut on his arm, and Wen Ning kneels up and presses against his legs to reach it, sucks at it slowly when Wei Wuxian—other hand moving in a seemingly unconscious gesture to pet at Wen Ning's hair—tells him to be gentle. When he raises his mouth from that wound, wary of taking more, Wei Wuxian lets out an awed breath, and his hand cups Wen Ning's cheek. Wen Ning freezes, like not being perfectly still might scare him away.
"You're flushed," he says, eyes wide with awe, pupils blown. "Wen Ning, you're really something special. I can't even imagine how... You're still mostly cool to the touch. Do you feel warm?"
He does, now that he's not focused single-mindedly on the leaking slit in Wei Wuxian's flesh beneath his tongue, the rich living taste of Wei Wuxian's blood in his mouth. "Yes, Wei-gongzi."
"Where do you feel it?" Wei Wuxian breathes, eyes searching his face; voice caught between baffled, delighted curiosity and... and, well, Wei Wuxian is flushed more than he, Wen Ning thinks, and as he shifts on the bed he opens his thighs a little wider, as if to make himself comfortable. "Can you tell, Wen Ning?"
Wen Ning nods, awkwardly, not wanting to move enough to lose Wei Wuxian's hand cupping his face. "In... In my face, gongzi, my cheeks feel warm; I can feel it in my neck, a bit, and. Down lower." He swallows; his throat is wet enough to do so. "M-my." This is foolish, making him feel like a child; but he'd never had cause to talk about such things before, and he fumbles for the words. "It, I feel warm down there. And it aches."
There's a flash of hunger in Wei Wuxian's eyes, so bright and welcome that it makes Wen Ning sway forward; then he wrenches his gaze away, biting at his own lip.
"Ah, Wen Ning—" he says, "don't you know about that kind of thing? It can happen without any cause, at all sorts of times—you can deal with it in private here, if you'll just give me a minute to bandage up—"
"Wei-gongzi," Wen Ning cuts in, and if his face was flushed before (with blood, with still-fresh nearly-living blood, with Wei Wuxian's blood in his veins—) he's certain it must be cherry red now. "I k-know about things like that, I just—it's hard to say. Please—please don't treat me as foolish because of it."
Wei Wuxian pats his cheek absent-mindedly, then seems to realize where he's touching and withdraws his hand. Wen Ning's chest tightens at the loss. "All right, I'm sorry. Still, if you're dealing with such a thing, don't you want some time alone to enjoy it? I can't imagine it usually happens, these days."
Wen Ning struggles for more words. He curls his hands into fists on his knees, and says just, "Wei-gongzi."
Wei Wuxian looks back down at him, and his mouth pulls with indecision. There's still want in his eyes; the thin wound on his arm has started to scab over, and Wei Wuxian's hand covers his arm just below it, as if he's contemplating thumbing it open again, making it bleed. Wen Ning watches the motion, looks back up into Wei Wuxian's face.
"You wanted this," Wei Wuxian says softly. "You really want this, Wen Ning?"
He could be talking about, Wen Ning thinks, either the blood or the ache in both of them, the flush in both their faces, the way that Wei Wuxian's thighs fall soft and open in invitation beneath the storm-grey skirts of his robe; he could be talking about Wen Ning kneeling at Wei Wuxian's feet. He could be talking about his own failing and incomplete body, which still brims with life that Wen Ning keeps the taste of like honey on his tongue.
Wen Ning nods once, firmly.
Wei Wuxian swears very quietly, then shifts on the bed, his hand trembling as he raises it to the lapel of his robe, pulls it away from his collarbone, the soft skin of his chest, the tempting line of his neck. He brings the knife up to his neck, makes a long thin scratch along the curve of his neck, then another one lower, almost on his shoulder. They begin to bead with blood, and Wen Ning leans forward, mouth opening instinctively. Wei Wuxian, breathing fast and shallow, cups a hand under his chin and draws him upward.
"You always work hard, after all," he murmurs, "It wouldn't be kind of me to deny you a reward."
Wen Ning nods frantically, barely keeping an eager moan behind his teeth.
Wei Wuxian squirms just a little under the touch of Wen Ning's tongue as he licks the scratches; By the time the beaded blood is gone from them, he's slid one hand up between their bodies to hold Wen Ning back, touch hot and commanding on his stomach, and with the other he cuts a small line in the spare curve of his chest, hissing between his teeth at the sensation. Wen Ning groans softly, unable to help it, as Wei Wuxian draws a fingertip along the cut, urging it to bleed. Wei Wuxian takes his hand away from Wen Ning's stomach, raises it to cup the back of his head instead, drawing him in as if for a kiss. Or, Wen Ning thinks, like a mother pulling a child to suckle at a breast. The positioning is more appropriate. And something deeper and hungrier stirs in him at the thought of... not that, exactly, but the thoughts it feathers out into, like the searching splitting tendrils of fine roots.
There is something very deep and very selfish and very desperate, in Wen Ning, something that only makes itself known in bits and pieces (except, perhaps, in the moments he loses himself totally to the swell and drone of resentful energy within him) something that is glad, fiercely glad, to have died. Or, well; not to have died, but to have been called back to life. There are the places in his life where it stymies or troubles him, regrets to be had, but here—here and now, with his mouth on the bare soft swell of Wei Wuxian's chest, one hand twisted thoughtlessly in his gaping-open outer robe, listening to the high soft sounds Wei Wuxian is beginning to make as Wen Ning is nourished by the life in his veins—here that deep selfish desperate thing rises up, and shows itself as clearly as it ever does.
How could he regret something that had bound him so intimately to Wei Wuxian, that had linked them through life and blood and dutiful bond as surely as if Wei Wuxian had given birth to him?
Wei Wuxian's knees have parted around him now, his thighs warm and firm against his sides. He draws a shaking breath, and after tugging lightly on Wen Ning's hair to pull him back from the wound (Wen Ning's mind sparks wildly, briefly, in mindless delight) he puts his free hand on the knot of his belt. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and looks at Wen Ning with his eyes wide and nearly black, his teeth grazing over the bruised-rose color of his bottom lip.
Wen Ning wants, with the wild clean desire of wanting to kneel before a god or fall from a cliff, to kiss the cracked seam of his mouth.
"There are important arteries in the thighs," Wei Wuxian says, soft and hoarse, an approximation of the teacher's tone he likes to put on sometimes edging the words. "I'd have to be careful not to nick any of them."
Wen Ning's heart is beating. It's a false beat, nothing but tiny rabbit-quick palpitations against the still heavy chambers of his chest, but it makes him shiver with strange delight. He files away the feeling of it, to relate to Wei Wuxian later; Wen Ning thinks, somehow, that right now he's not in a mood to take notes.
Wei Wuxian breathes ragged and slow again, and moves his hand away; but it's only to hold it, palm up, until Wen Ning understands and gives him his own hand. Wei Wuxian runs his thumb across the palm, brows quirking for a moment in baffled delight at the faint tinge of living color that has reached even this far; then he turns it, places Wen Ning's hand on the knot of his belt, and takes his own hand away.
"Wen Ning," he says, and his voice trembles a little; as if he has something to be scared of. "Do you want more?"
Wen Ning stares, for a moment, at just the shape of his hand on Wei Wuxian's belt, on the long narrow gap in Wei Wuxian's outer and inner robes that bares a slice of skin above; that promises more below. He wants it, wants this, in more than one way, but it almost feels wrong to take such initiative. He unties the knot quickly, then retreats both his hands to his thighs, sitting back respectfully.
Wei Wuxian frowns slightly, but Wen Ning's hungry stare must convince him that nothing's too wrong. He pulls his robes back himself, loosens the ties of his pants, and, with the red flush in his own cheeks deepening, pushes them down. They catch on his boots, and before he can kick them off Wen Ning edges forward. Keeping his head bent—it's easier to do what he wants, sometimes, if he can just avoid drawing Wei Wuxian's attention—he pulls his boots off carefully, and sets them to the side. Wei Wuxian almost freezes as he does it, and when Wen Ning reaches for the bunched fabric of his pants he lets out a shaky laugh.
"You're not my servant, Wen Ning."
Wen Ning keeps his eyes down, pulling his pants the rest of the way off and folding them once or twice before he sets them aside. "I know."
There's a brief pause, and Wei Wuxian sighs. "Ah, you don't need to sound like a kicked dog when you say that! I don't mean to be cruel to you. I only..." He moves forward, hand brushing the side of Wen Ning's face; Wen Ning looks up at him, and Wei Wuxian blinks as if the thought's been knocked right out of his head. His hand shifts, cupping Wen Ning's cheek.
"You feel... warm," he says, very quietly. "How..."
His thumb moves, scouting the curve of Wen Ning's lower lip, and Wen Ning doesn't know if it's a silent order but he wants it to be. He opens his mouth. Wei Wuxian makes a soft, almost pained noise, and pushes his thumb in to the first knuckle. Wen Ning's mouth is somewhat dampened with the copper tang of blood; Wei Wuxian's fingers don't feel shockingly hot against his skin anymore. Obeying some impulse pounding in the facsimile beat of his heart and the similar hot pulse in his cock, he closes his lips around the finger and softly sucks.
Wei Wuxian makes a raw little noise, brows drawn together. He looks devastated by desire. A moment later, and he leans back on the cot; fumbles the knife that he'd set down back into his hand. Wen Ning finally catches sight of his cock, rising from the disarrayed and open folds of his robes. It's near fully hard, from what he can tell, flushed with living color, and Wen Ning can almost feel the shape and weight and heat of it on his tongue, just looking; he has thought about it so many times, in guilty secret. He can only tear his eyes away when Wei Wuxian brushes a stray fold of cloth back from his thigh, hand shaking with impatience, and brings a slightly steadier hand to bear in making a careful cut in the soft, unmarked skin of his thighs.
Wei Wuxian can't heal things into invisibility anymore, Wen Ning thinks distantly. He'll carry the scar for a long time.
He nearly lunges forward, grace stolen by desire, to get his mouth on the wound as it begins to bleed.
Wei Wuxian gasps, dropping the knife to one side, one hand flying forward to fist in Wen Ning's hair; but he doesn't push him away, just holds him there as Wen Ning licks at the rough seam of the cut. His cock twitches, and Wen Ning sees Wei Wuxian wrap his other hand around it out of the corner of his eye; not stroking himself, just holding it, eyes furrowing shut, as if he's trying to hold back. Hunger kicks in the pit of Wen Ning's stomach and in his cock at the same time, and he mouths at the wound for a moment more, lapping up what he can get, before raising his head. Wei Wuxian's grip in his hair isn't hard enough to prevent it, and it slackens more as he moves.
"Wei-gongzi," Wen Ning says, struggling to get enough breath in his lungs to speak. "I—"
Wei Wuxian looks at him, wide-eyed and breathing rapidly, hand squeezed too-hard around his own cock. He looks vibrant, debauched, with his gray robes spilled around the warm flush of his skin; a living god of death.
Wen Ning swallows hard. All he can get out, his voice soft and pitiful, is, "Haven't I done well?"
There's a moment where Wei Wuxian doesn't comprehend; then Wen Ning sees it hit him, in the slow parting of his lips and the way his cock twitches within his grip. He nods slowly, and his hand tightens again in Wen Ning's hair, just firm enough to make him sigh with satisfaction. He pulls him in.
He says, his voice dark and sweet and shaking, "Have you? Take your reward, then."
He still pauses, makes Wen Ning lean forward and close those last few inches to get his mouth on Wei Wuxian's cock, but once it's in he shifts forward, feeding him more. The hand that was on the shaft releases it, and dips down to rub at Wen Ning's throat. "How deep can you take it?" he asks, voice soft and strained. "I don't want to—"
Wen Ning considered, then answered the question by putting his hands on Wei Wuxian's thighs to brace himself and leaning forward, taking the head of his cock down his throat. He'd never had much of a gag reflex, that he can recall, and in death it's merely a dim suggestion; the itch to choke easily overruled by focusing on the noise Wei Wuxian makes, the hungry roll of his hips as he pulls out a little and thrusts in again, even deeper. Wei Wuxian's head tips back, and his free hand goes out behind him to support himself as his hips work; Wen Ning tightens his grip on his thighs, keeping him just pinned enough that neither of them overbalance. He keeps his throat open and his lips tight as Wei Wuxian pushes again and again into the tightness of his throat, warmer than usual with borrowed blood.
He's never been so blissfully happy to not need to breathe.
When, after a minute, he figures out how to swallow so his throat works around the head, Wei Wuxian gasps and comes, hips jerking erratically as he spills into Wen Ning's mouth. The expression on his face is of nearly pained bliss, edged with exhaustion, and his own climax seems to take him by surprise; Wen Ning wonders how long it's been since he's had this kind of relief. He lets the come slide easily down his throat; it doesn't have the same vibrant pulse of life to it as the blood did, but there's still warmth in it, and a kind of animal pleasure simply in taking something of Wei Wuxian's into his body. He holds his cock warm in his mouth, licking it softly clean, until Wei Wuxian's soft moans turn to overstimulated whimpers.
"Enough, enough," he says, tugging weakly at Wen Ning's hair, and Wen Ning reluctantly backs up a little, letting his cock slip from his mouth. "Ah, you're going to drain me dry in every way if you keep that up."
Wen Ning considers that; keeping Wei Wuxian in his mouth until he hardens again, sucking him to completion over and over until he's coming dry. His own cock pulses, and he can't repress a soft groan.
Wei Wuxian's eyes widen, darting down Wen Ning's form. "Wen Ning, did you... are you..." He hesitates, then says, his tone a little firmer. "Stand up."
Wen Ning's legs obey and he catches up with them a moment later, finding himself standing over Wei Wuxian on the bed. He misses the hand in his hair, but the way Wei Wuxian is looking at him—appraising, considering—is almost better. He holds himself still because he has not been told to do anything else, even though when Wei Wuxian parts his robes just enough to reach in it grows difficult. Wei Wuxian cups the hard shape of Wen Ning's cock through his pants with an expression on his face that is, for a moment, solely wonder.
Wen Ning is not going to be able to stand it if he gets into an experimental, rambling mood now. "Wei-gongzi," he says pleadingly.
Wei Wuxian blinks at the sound, and seems to remember what exactly he's touching. His eyes go dark as they rise to Wen Ning's face. "You're so hard," he says, a teasingly sultry edge to his voice, a smile curving just the corner of his mouth. "Is this all for me?"
He squeezes lightly, and Wen Ning can't keep from pushing forward into the touch, words stumbling over his tongue. "It is, it's—Wei-gongzi, please—it's for you, everything is—"
And he's so afraid that he's said too much, that Wei Wuxian will pull back with one of those nervous laughs again, chasten him for being too subservient; but Wei Wuxian looks almost as far gone as Wen Ning feels, cheeks flushed dark and eyelids heavy, voice slow and hazy. "So big," he murmurs, a flash of teeth in his smile when Wen Ning whimpers at that. "Didn't know you were hiding something like this. Do you want to put it in me, Wen Ning?"
Wen Ning makes a noise that's mostly air and comes, hips jerking in helpless little grinds against Wei Wuxian's palm.
It's good, viciously good, stronger than what he could recall coaxing from himself in the past—he doesn't know if the difference is in death, is in the blood, is in Wei Wuxian, but the shuddering waves of pleasure hit so hard that the moment after it crests his knees give way, and he nearly crumples to the floor. Wei Wuxian's hands go to his arms and he manages to kneel, pressing his forehead against Wei Wuxian's thigh. He just shakes through the rest, lungs laboring in confused instinct.
On the other side of it, he blearily opens his eyes to find Wei Wuxian's hand petting his hair, and his concerned voice in Wen Ning's ears.
"Wen Ning, can you hear me yet?"
Wen Ning draws another labored breath. "Yes, gongzi."
Wei Wuxian heaves a sigh of relief. "Well, good. Don't worry me like that!" He flicks some crumb of earth off Wen Ning's hunched shoulder. "Although I suppose I can't blame you; I know that your condition means a lot of things are dulled, but that didn't seem..."
"Wasn't dulled." Words are a struggle. "I'm sorry, Wei-gongzi."
"Sorry? What for?"
Wen Ning's acutely grateful that his face is still pressed against his thigh. "For... I couldn't... it just happened."
Wei Wuxian makes a noise of understanding, then chuckles, petting at his hair again. "Ah, don't feel bad, I didn't hold out very long either. It's just been a while for both of us, right? But I still enjoyed myself." He's silent for a minute. "And who knows. If we experiment again... maybe we'll get around to trying some other things."
Wen Ning raises his head, startled, and Wei Wuxian quickly busies himself with closing his robes, knotting the belt messily.
"We could do this again?" Wen Ning says.
Wei Wuxian laughs a little, avoiding his gaze. "Well, there's a lot of unanswered questions about what just happened, right? And besides—Wen Ning is always so diligent. I can't imagine that you won't earn any more rewards, of any sort you want."
His tone is half-ashamed, joking, but Wen Ning's heart still leaps in hungry joy.
"I'd want that," he says, cautiously watching Wei Wuxian's face. "Gongzi..."
"What?"
Wen Ning licks his lips and ducks his head. "Could you not use those paper puppets again?"
Wei Wuxian frowns in confusion; then he nearly laughs, brows arching. "Wen Ning, don't tell me you're jealous?"
Wen Ning bends his head lower; for a moment he resents the blood still warming his body, for making his flush obvious.
"They're nothing like you, Wen Ning," Wei Wuxian says coaxingly. "How could a couple of barely animated creatures compare to the only, the unique and glorious, Ghost General?" He sighs, exaggerated, when Wen Ning doesn't respond. "All right, I'll put them away for now."
Wen Ning hides his smile in a fold of Wei Wuxian's robe. Wei Wuxian's hand returns to his head, caressing softly.
"Any other requests?" His tone is teasing, but only lightly.
Wen Ning can barely bring himself to ask for anything; he feels overwhelmed already, glutted. But Wei Wuxian's hand in his hair fills him with just enough strength to desire one more thing.
"Let me stay here for a while," he says softly, into the messy folds of Wei Wuxian's robe, into the musky scent of sex and blood that still surrounds him. "Please?"
For a moment he thinks he's asked for the one thing Wei Wuxian won't give; he grows so easily uncomfortable with Wen Ning on his knees. But after a moment's pause, the hand resumes petting in his hair, and Wei Wuxian says, "All right. Let's stay here a while."
He sounds like he might simply be too tired to bother moving, but Wen Ning doesn't really care. Whatever reason he gets to stay here—kneeling at Wei Wuxian's feet with his head on his thigh, with the warmth of Wei Wuxian's blood and spend still on his lips—is good enough. If he could only stay here forever, he thinks, he might be perfectly happy.
As it is, he finds comfort in the promise of again. Lets the possibilities spool out in his head, behind his closed eyes.
His facsimile heartbeat has died out again, but he can feel Wei Wuxian's heart beating steady and slow at the edge of his awareness, keeping them both going.