yiling laozu fic where wwx negotiates for lwj to be sent to him For Marriage but then once he gets there is like "look for reasons I cannot disclose I need you to be my bodyguard bc I can't use a sword anymore and while I'm very powerful, sharp metal still hurts"

~married in public, deadly serious in private... the yearning

wwx being SO shameless and touchy with lwj when there are other people around and then all apologetic and hands-off when it's just the two of them and lwj is like *going insane*

especially bc like. it doesn't? seem like wwx actually needs him for that much bodyguarding? like he's more than capable of holding his own and he's so constantly Aware of his surroundings that it's very unlikely anyone will ever close with him enough for lwj to be necessary

but sometimes after a battle he'll sway a bit & lwj will catch him & help him move to safety & if that was his only purpose in the world he would be happy to do it forever, for the way wwx leans on him, for the way he says "lan zhan" in a voice threaded with both darkness & awe

one particularly bad time wwx mumbles "i can't believe you're still here" against his jaw & that. doesn't make any sense, ofc he's still here, that was the deal they made, but he doesn't say that. he pushes a strand of sweaty hair from wwx's forehead. "where else would I go?"

wwx huffs a laugh, & lwj feels his heart stagger even as he remains steady, a pillar of support. "anywhere," says wwx. "anywhere is better than here."

lwj shakes his head. "there is nowhere else for me," he says. "i am where i should be. i will not leave."

wwx opens his eyes.

sometimes, when he has been using resentful energy, the color of his iris is entirely obscured by blood-red light, making him seem far away, lost to voices lwj cannot hear. but today something has forced the resentment to retreat, leaving him tired, grey-eyed, human.

"lan zhan," he says, & then stops.

lwj's heart races. it's nothing close to what he wants to say, to the vast ocean of feeling in his chest, but it's the most he's ever voiced.

wwx stares a moment longer, & then his mouth twists. "so good, hanguang-jun." his eyes close.

things—shift, after that. wwx is—not touchier, but more relaxed with him, in private, laughing more, more likely to let lwj see him angry, or hurt. it's staggering, this trust; lwj feels like he's been handed something precious and fragile every time wwx catches his eye & smiles.

selfishly, though, he wants more. he drinks in every glimpse of wwx as he was, of wei ying, and every glimpse makes him more parched. guiltily, he starts initiating touch, when they're pretending to be married—a hand at the small of wwx's back, a brush of fingers over his jaw.

wwx is shocked, at first, & then seems to take it as a challenge—to touch back, & to tempt lwj to touch him. he flirts even more, calling lwj handsome, beautiful, his. he wears his robes looser, more open, so lwj can watch the path of droplets of wine down his throat as he drinks

after one excruciating dinner where wwx spends the entire meal with one hand curled against lwj's thigh beneath the table, lwj drags him into a semi-secluded garden, just close enough to the stream of people leaving the banquet hall that they could, ostensibly, still be seen

wwx is tipsy, laughing, only half clinging to his outrageous but dangerous-eyed yiling laozu persona, and he lets out a breath as lwj's hands come up to cup his jaw, then takes a sharp breath in through his nose when lwj kisses him, hard.

he's expecting—he doesn't know, wwx to indulge him for a moment & then pull away, back into the crowd, loudly boasting about how easily he breaks his husband's perfect control, but wwx's hands fist in his robes to keep him close and he kisses back, desperate, open-mouthed.

lwj's hands drop from his jaw to his hips and wwx makes a little sound, and then lwj shoves him back against the wall, crowding close, and it turns into a full moan, vibrating against lwj's lips as he fastens his mouth under his jaw, sucking the wine from his skin.

"lan zhan," wwx gasps, his hands roving over lwj's shoulders, his arms, his jaw. "lan zhan. husband."

lwj isn't proud of the sound he makes—it's less sexy & more sad, a choked sort of sob, entirely wrong for this if this is performance—but wwx swallows it up anyway, slow & deep.

the crowd has moved on, the plausible deniability of having an audience fading, but lwj can't—can't—doesn't want to step back, to break this illusion. he couldn't handle it if wwx were to laugh this off, or worse, apologize, like lwj were not the one hideously overstepping.

wwx is pulling away, though, and lwj lets him. he doesn't go far. "lan zhan," he says, breath ghosting over his mouth. "I—"

there's a rustle, in the bushes near them, and a flash of steel. lwj moves before his brain has processed either to their logical conclusion.

it's a bad angle, no room to maneuver where lwj has wwx backed against a wall, but he manages to get his body between wwx and the assailant, taking the blow meant for wwx's throat in the shoulder of his sword arm, not quite fast enough for a block.

the wound is not terrible—his core will heal it soon enough—but the pain of it is enough to make him stumble, breath hissing through his teeth.

hands move him gently aside. he feels—cold, sudden & swirling, emanating from just behind him. preternatural; the cold of the grave.

"you shouldn't have done that," says wwx, conversationally, and for a split second lwj thinks he's talking to him until he sees the would-be assassin's eyes widen in terror. his sword drops from his shaking hands, and he turns to run.

wwx doesn't even need to whistle. the ground beneath the assassin's feet trembles and breaks open, skeletal hands curling around his ankles. he starts to fall, but instead hangs, suspended, as black smoke coils around his chest, constricting. his eyes bulge, grotesque.

wwx doesn't leave lwj's side, his hand sliding around lwj's waist to steady him, a mirror of their habitual post-battle stance. he's warm, despite the unnatural cold of the air. the smoke around the assassin's chest pools in front of him, taking the shape of a young woman.

"you hurt me, it's one thing," wwx continues, still in that conversational tone. "i might even have let you go, to serve as a warning for others, a testament to my powers." his voice goes dark. "but you hurt my husband."

the female ghost reaches out & snaps the assassin's neck.

in the instant of his death wwx shudders against lwj's side. the skeleton hands retreat into the earth; the woman disappears into smoke and is gone. the corpse drops to the earth, ungraceful, unmoving.

lwj—doesn't understand. they'd had no audience but a dead man.

what was the point of wwx claiming him as husband? of this revenge on his behalf?

wwx looks sideways at him, pale and wan. "lan zhan," he says. "your shoulder—"

lwj shakes his head. "it is healing already," he says, truthfully.

wwx grimaces. "still. you didn't have to—"

"I did," lwj insists. "wei ying—"

wwx smiles, tight and humorless. "I know," he says. "it's what you should do. as my bodyguard, or whatever."

"no," says lwj firmly. "sparing you pain is what I should do, and what I wish to do." he holds wwx's eyes. "as your husband."

wwx stares at him, & then, to lwj's horror, his eyes fill with tears. "lan zhan," he says. "you really—for real? you just watched me use a vengeful ghost to kill someone, and you want—"

"i want," lwj interrupts gently, "everything that you are."

wwx's hand spasms at his waist.

"lan zhan," he croaks, crying freely, now. "you—you can't say things like that, I'm too fragile."

lwj doesn't look at the corpse behind him, at the mounds of disturbed earth where the dead rose to his beloved's call. he lifts his uninjured arm to cup wwx's cheek in his palm.

"i mean it," he says. "if you will have me."

wwx eyes go wide, disbelieving. "if i'll—lan zhan! i've been making up excuses to have you in whatever way i could for months, for years, I thought—i thought you were fulfilling an obligation, being here, I thought—"

lwj kisses him.

wwx is still crying, and lwj can taste tears in his mouth as he kisses him slow, soft, exploratory, none of the performative, desperate rush of earlier. "husband," wwx breathes between kisses, "husband," and this time the sound lwj makes is all need.

wwx pushes at his uninjured shoulder. "why on earth are we still standing around in a garden with a dead man?" he demands. "take me home, hanguang-jun."

he reaches up, watching lwj's face as if daring him to object, to tangle his fingers in the ends of lwj's forehead ribbon.

when lwj doesn't pull away, just stares at him, certain his entire heart must be obvious on his face, wwx smiles, wide and perfect and joyful. "I think we're much overdue for a wedding night," he says. "don't you?"

"mn," lwj agrees, and flies them home.

[thanks, all, for reading! ]