"Gege, will you comb my hair?"
Meng Yao turns from his dressing table at the small voice. He hadn't heard Huaisang enter his quarters, but the child is standing uncertainly in the doorway, his face covered up to his eyes with his most recent fan. This one has come all the way from Yunmeng, spread with the soft watercolors of lotus flowers; white, pink, green.
Huaisang has a crush on Wei Wuxian, and Wei Wuxian had gifted him the fan on arrival two weeks ago. He hasn't let go of it since.
Not a child anymore, Meng Yao reminds himself, even as he smiles and gestures for Huaisang to come to him. He was Huaisang's age when he had come to the Unclean Realm, while Huaisang had been only nine and already motherless. It was difficult sometimes to see him now as nearly an adult, and other times difficult not to see how much time has passed.
He pulls out his comb and waits for Huaisang to replace him at the dressing table, thinking back to that afternoon when he and Lan Xichen herded the group of boys from the hot spring. Huaisang had been born a weak baby, but Meng Yao knew when he was feigning delicacy for attention. That's absolutely what he was doing when he tricked Wei Wuxian into carrying him piggyback the whole way to the dining hall.
It was precious seeing Huaisang become a flushed and giggling mess, but Meng Yao also worried that heartbreak was imminent. Wei Wuxian already had eyes for the Second Jade of Gusu Lan, and he was certain that wasn't going to change for the foreseeable future. No doubt the two were breaking curfew at the moment while poor Huaisang was locked in his rooms like a captured damsel. Meng Yao had half a mind to let him loose, just for tonight, but it would do neither of them any good.
Instead, he begins unpinning the net of braids atop Huaisang's head. "Have I told you the story of the captured prince who was saved by another prince from a distant land?"
Huaisang's fan falls still, his eyes snapping to Meng Yao in the mirror. "A two prince story?"
"Mm," Meng Yao says. He takes up the comb and begins working out all the kinks the braids left behind. "It's a story that my mother told me when she was combing my hair. My favorite one."
He was going to change it a bit to fit the circumstances of Huaisang and Wei Wuxian, but the original story had been about Lan Xichen and himself. Meng Shi had love telling him stories about the little prince born into poverty and the adventures he would get into. The little prince would go on to be recognized by his father and adored by all, including the most beautiful and kindhearted princess in all the lands.
When Meng Yao was age ten, he had been tripped by some merchants' children and his cultivation book had been snatched away. He had picked himself up slowly, determined to brush himself off and walk back up the street to the brothel without showing any fear or anger. But as he was rising, a gentle hand caught his arm and helped him stand.
At the time, he didn't know it was Lan Xichen in front of him, already sky high at age thirteen. Lan Wangji was clearly younger than Meng Yao but already nearly as tall, standing silently beside his brother with the stolen cultivation book in hand. What he did notice was the Lan Clan headbands, and he immediately bowed to them both. The two of them bowed back, making him feel even more confused.
"Are you okay?" Lan Xichen had asked him. "That was quite a fall."
Lan Wangji held out his book. "My brother got revenge for you."
Meng Yao had simply stared, not understanding why either of them would bother to help out someone like him, who clearly had no clan and no money. After a beat, Lan Xichen had taken the book and pressed it to Meng Yao's chest, forcing his reflexes into play to take it.
"I don't have anything to repay you," he had said.
Lan Xichen's warm smile grew warmer. "We don't need payment. I don't allow bullying in my presence. Or thieving. It goes against Lan sect rules."
"Number thirty-seven and number one-seventeen," Lan Wangji recited.
That night, as his mother combed his hair, Meng Yao said, "Can we have a different story tonight?"
"What kind of story?" She had asked. "You don't want to hear about the little prince anymore?"
"I do," Meng Yao had said. "But this time, can another prince save him instead of a princess?"
Meng Shi's rhythmic brushes stalled for a moment. "Another prince?"
"Mm," Meng Yao said. "A prince from the Gusu Lan sect."
Meng Shi had smiled as she went back to the combing, and without a hitch she told Meng Yao the most beautiful fairytale romance that he had ever heard.
He finishes reciting a similar one now, ending with the two princes (who are very much Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian) riding off together for their happily-ever-after in Lotus Pier.
Huaisang sighs dramatically and snaps his fan closed. "Ge-geeee, that's the most romantic story you've ever told me. How will I sleep tonight with all these images in my head?"
"You'll just have to try," Meng Yao says, tapping his head with the flat of the comb. "I'm done with your hair anyway. It looks like silk again."
There's a rapping on the door pane, and Ling Yu, one of the servants, says, "Pardon, but I have a note to deliver to you."
Meng Yao meets her at the door, and they bow to each other when the note is passed.
He hopes that Lan Xichen isn't cancelling the invitation to join him tonight. Earlier, they had been intercepted at the dining hall entrance, and Nie Mingjue had taken one look at Meng Yao's kiss swollen lips and raised his arm to backhand him. Still ever the shining prince, Lan Xichen had put himself between the two before Meng Yao could be struck. Nie Mingjue had been quickly deescalated with a few well-phrased words, and the two had gone off to speak privately.
During supper, Lan Xichen had smiled reassuringly at Meng Yao when he had come back inside and taken up his place in the row of guests. He had assumed that meant their plans to meet were still forthcoming, and he had taken extra care to comb and bathe and tap his wrists and neck with lavender oil.
When he opens the note, his heart sinks a little at the familiar scrawl of Nie Mingjue, requesting his presence in his private quarters.
From the dressing table, Huaisang is watching him silently. Meng Yao slips the note up his sleeve and feigns a smile. "Let's get you back to your own room so you can wash up."
Meng Yao takes a deep breath outside Nie Mingjue's chambers, trying to calm his nerves enough to hide how much he detests being summoned here tonight. His pleasant buzz from Lan Xichen's touch has fizzled out of him because of this, his good mood ruined. The irritation at this interruption makes him want Lan Xichen all the more, and he hopes he's able to channel that desire into his performance here and get it over with quickly.
Before entering, he slides off the jade bracelet once more and hides it up his sleeve. Nothing will put him in an inconsolable mood faster than getting hit again, and he's determined to make Lan Xichen cum for him tonight. He cannot allow anything to spoil this.
When he enters, Nie Mingjue is sitting on his throne-style chair near the bed. Meng Yao bows to him and waits for his instructions. He's certain that his face is a smooth mask of polite neutrality.
Nie Mingjue dismisses the two servants standing at the ready and waves him forward. They bow out gracefully and slide the door closed behind them. When Meng Yao approaches, Nie Mingjue reaches up and takes hold of Meng Yao's waist to pull him down onto his lap.
Meng Yao is too startled to react. He freezes in place, staring straight ahead at the door. This sort of thing hasn't happened in many, many years. Nie Mingjue has been satisfied with Meng Yao's favors until now, appeased enough to no longer attempt to lay hands on him. As long as he received pleasure, he hadn't a reason to be handsy.
What changed so suddenly?
"Meng Yao," Nie Mingjue says, in a voice like attempted gentility. He seems uncomfortable, and that makes Meng Yao uncomfortable. His hand comes around Meng Yao, clasping a slender bicep and caressing up and down. Meng Yao's stomach jumps in panic, and he's unable to fully contain his flinch.
"I won't hurt you." Nie Mingjue's whisper is warm and terrible against his ear. He breaks out in goosebumps and shudders. "I realize I've been neglecting you. You must have your own physical needs."
Meng Yao shakes his head as the hand slides up his arm to his neck and down again, brushing hair away from his shoulder.
"Chifeng-Zun." Meng Yao's voice may be a touch weaker than usual. "I assure you that I have never felt neglected."
Please, for the sake of all that's living on Earth, don't take away what remains of my chastity.
Nie Mingjue growls, something like a consideration and a gruff dismissal. "Of course, you have always been grateful. I don't expect you to admit it. You never ask for anything."
He's pulling at the neck of Meng Yao's robes, exposing a small span of skin that he nuzzles, all moist breath and scratchy whiskers.
Meng Yao closes his eyes and swallows back a hot wave of sickness. His lungs are turning to iron, unable to expand and contract comfortably. He's unsure if he's more afraid Nie Mingjue will mistake it for arousal or guess correctly that he's become nothing more than a shell-shocked rabbit.
He must choose his words carefully, toeing the line between making it clear he has no desire for this while protecting Nie Mingjue's fragile ego.
"I find that I am most content with our usual arrangements. I derive all that I require from serving you and have no greed for more."
Meng Yao feels the incessant mouthing on his shoulder curve into the shape of a smile. Nie Mingjue chuckles against his skin; skin that he prays isn't now marred by this ordeal.
"Lan Xichen has reminded me of your gentle and humble disposition. How you must crave a tender hand."
All of the soft and carefully threaded feelings for Lan Xichen stiffen and pull taught and painful against his heart, his lungs, his throat. Gege did this? His gege, his savior, his fucking prince set this up?!
Nie Mingjue goes on. "I admit I can be too callous at times. But I trust you realize my affections for you?"
This is the closest conversation they have had to emotional as they have ever had, and these waters are far too rocky for Meng Yao to navigate smoothly. Still, he tries to keep afloat.
"Yes, Chifeng-Zun, I'm aware. Of course I'm aware."
But it's terrifying to think he may be wrong about this. He was more than aware that Nie Mingjue found him useful, respected his work ethic, and found him sexually gratifying. Now, though, it sounded like those "affections" included something much more dangerous.
Nie Mingjue pulls him closer, hugging onto his back. The slight shift allows Meng Yao to feel his arousal press against him. But there isn't any resistance remaining inside of him. He realizes now, sitting so intimately upon another's lap, that he has been saving himself for Lan Xichen. At least, he was saving himself if he ever decided to give it away at all. But betrayal runs deeper than fantasy, and all Meng Yao can imagine now is Lan Xichen boasting about taking him and encouraging Nie Mingjue to do the same. Like he's a doll to be played with and shared with friends.
"I promise, my Meng Yao," Nie Mingjue says. "I will be more courtesy of your needs. For tonight, you should rest. There is much work for you in the morning if this meeting is to go well."
Meng Yao simply nods again, sliding off of Nie Mingjue's lap. He says a warm, plain "goodnight," tied up neatly with a bow that betrays none of his spiraling, storming emotions.
Meng Yao is in a trance walking back to his chambers, dread in his stomach and betrayal in his heart. His legs feel as unsteady as a newborn fawn, and he walks slower than usual to avoid stumbling along the intertwining paths. In a swirl of dazed thoughts, he almost misses the figure waiting for him in the near distance, dead center between the paths leading from his own chambers to Nie Mingjue's.
"A-Yao," Lan Xichen calls to him, and Meng Yao stops. He follows the lithe, angel-white figure from waist to eyes with night-adjusted vision. Lan Xichen offers a soft smile.
Pulse fluttering in his throat like a furious swallowtail, Meng Yao blinks once in return, then bows low, feeling the icy armor of defensiveness close around him like a vice. He then turns away and starts back along his path, ignoring the look of hurt confusion on Lan Xichen's face.
"A-Yao?" He calls out. But Meng Yao doesn't slow. "A-Yao!" He takes three steps more before Lan Xichen's voice changes tone from pleading to firm demand. "Meng Yao!"
He stops again, closing his eyes and taking a greedy pull of night air into his lungs, and turns. The frost of closure still chains him like icicle shackles, but he's afraid his mask has slipped, revealing the depths of the fire hidden beneath. Not the pleasant warmth and heady burn of desire usually evoked by Lan Xichen, but a dumpster fire of anger, distrust, and fear.
Lan Xichen studies him, not at all hiding his bewilderment. It makes Meng Yao's palms sweat with agitation, and he curls his fingers inward, clenching his fists to keep his roiling blood from seizing control of his good sense. He clenches his teeth together hard, forcing his tongue quiet. He has had quite a bit of practice swallowing back all the vicious, vile words desperate to break free when faced with something unbearably upsetting. And this was no different. He could not allow it to be any different.
Lan Xichen closes the space between them in a few graceful glides. Meng Yao nearly takes a step back, but keeps his footing steady, refusing to show any intimidation. He looks up into Lan Xichen's regrettably handsome face; Lan Xichen stares down at him, hands on his hips, emphasizing his cinched waist.
The silence bleeds mounting tension between them, and finally Meng Yao unclenches his teeth.
"Something I can do for you, Zewu-Jun?"
Lan Xichen looks like he's been slapped. He reels back at the formality, lips parting slightly.
"Zewu-Jun?" He repeats, shaking his head slowly. "What happened?"
"I don't take your meaning," Meng Yao snaps. He clenches his robe at the thigh and pulls it tight, not wanting any of the slack to brush against Lan Xichen's much more exquisite silks.
Finally, Lan Xichen's lips purse into an irritated line. He looks like he has to gather some kind of control before speaking.
"Don't play me for a fool."
Meng Yao laughs. It's a hateful, terrible sound. It's out of line. He's out of line. But, may the stars above help him, there's something about Lan Xichen that makes him lose himself; or rather, makes him drop the act. Once Nie Mingjue is made privy to his disgraceful behavior toward a superior (and he will be, considering Lan Xichen is a tell-all), he's sure to be flogged.
It will be worth it.
"Oh, not at all, Zewu-Jun. I am very clearly the fool here. You see, I just came from Chifeng-Zun's private quarters." He pulls his robes down, just enough to show off the bruising bite mark he knows is already visible on the side of his neck. He can feel it there, like a whore's brand. "Should I thank you for this? Forgive me for my terrible rudeness, but the whole affair has left me feeling a bit lightheaded. I must go and lie down. Please excuse me?"
Lan Xichen's breath is heavy in his chest. "Why would you thank me for that? Why would you think you need to do so mockingly? It has nothing to do with me."
Meng Yao feels his entire expression light up, a candle flickering to life like the kindling flash of a fierce corpse. "Oh! That's what this is about. You came to cash in on the invitation I so unwittingly extended to you this afternoon. I beg your pardon, but I'm afraid it's already been redeemed by your dear friend Nie Mingjue. You see… I may be born of a prostitute and a well-known sex fiend, but I assure you I am not a toy. I will not allow anyone to pass me around like a usable thing you can brag about over tea and Liubo. I serve Chifeng-Zun out of obligation, but I have no such obligations to you."
He pivots more gracefully than feels possible and stalks forward once more, half expecting to be snatched by the arm and whipped back around to face forward. That's how Nie Mingjue would handle it—he's done it to poor Huaisang enough times to pull his shoulder out of place.
Instead, Lan Xichen moves like a panther, so quick and silent that he seems to appear very suddenly in front of Meng Yao, not five paces away, down on both knees.
It's amazing that he's able to stop Meng Yao so completely without laying a finger on him.
"What are you doing?" Meng Yao asks when Lan Xichen folds his arms in front of himself and bows his head.
"I have upset you most egregiously," he says, voice strong and soft all at once. The anger from moments ago has vanished from every point of him. "Somehow my talk earlier with Chifeng-Zun has been badly misconstrued. I had meant only to temper the hand he raises to you. I had no intentions of persuading him to take greater advantage of you than he already does."
"Please stand up," Meng Yao says. He looks around, but they are completely alone out here in the moonless night. The only light reflecting comes from a few lanterns strung on the path nearby.
Lan Xichen doesn't move, doesn't so much as raise his eyes that have been lowered to the ground in absolute contrition.
"I cannot," he says. "I have done the one thing I swore never to do, and that is to harm you in any way. If you cannot forgive me, please understand this: the consequences of my actions have cut me deeply. There was once a time when I could not sleep for thoughts of your hands on me, and now I cannot sleep for thoughts of your hands on him. I will do whatever I must to undo this mistake. I will do whatever it takes to keep his hands from you again, in violence or in tenderness. Both drive me equally as mad."
Meng Yao realizes, slowly—the bewilderment of anyone bowing to him grinding his brain to a halt—that he's not facing just any superior. He's not facing the sinister, twisted guise of respect over mockery. He's facing Zewu-Jun. Lan Xichen. His Gege. And all at once he wonders how he could have ever doubted the honour of this man, the sincerity of their budding relationship.
Regret consumes him, licking out the last of the ice and melting him like a puddle of candlewax.
Meng Yao reaches out and touches Lan Xichen's cheek, waits for him to raise his honey-brown eyes.
"Come with me," Meng Yao says, holding out his hand.
Lan Xichen takes it.
~Ballet-Rose ;)