It is not that Wei Ying does not love the Jiangs enough to do this for them. It is that he loves the Jiangs too much. And, in particular, his brother—the last of his family that he has to cling on to.
“If we give him a bride,” his brother says solemnly, placing two hands on his shoulders. “They give us an army.”
The bride they seek is of the blood of a fox. It can only be him—if they have to curse anyone for it, they can only curse the divine Heavens for the unfortunate legacy they have bestowed upon foxes—that because foxes are seen as an omen of death and the foretelling of war and disaster, others either seek to destroy them, or worship them; that they hold power these lands cannot contain; that marrying a fox spirit is rumoured to bring about the inversion of this curse and ensure the success of war and victory of a clan; that foxes bring with them healing, and fertility, and finally, ensure the purification of a sacred bloodline.
Wei Ying is a carrier, all fox spirits are, and dragons are notoriously conceited and particular about outsiders sullying their blood lineage. Wei Ying will pose no threat to that. Besides, because Jiang Cheng is a male Phoenix, he does not have a womb to carry their next heir.
Wei Ying is the last of his kind. There is no other like him, not that anyone else knows of—all other fox spirits have been hunted into extinction, from the last Great Sect War. His poor mother left him on the doorstep of her childhood friend, with her last dying breath. The Jiangs took him in, despite all the repercussions of doing so. Of course, there is much to gain with a fox spirit in your household, but unfortunately in the case of the Jiangs it seems like the Heavens chose the path of death. (Jiang Fengmian, Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Yanli, all gone, in the throes of war.)
The dragons are arrogant enough to believe it the opposite for them.
“It has to be me,” Wei Ying says aloud, in a muted whisper. Jiang Cheng nods, though he has a grim look on his face.
“I wish it were me,” Jiang Cheng murmurs, regretfully.
“Don’t,” Wei Ying places a hand over his. “You have a legacy to carry on.”
“I’ve heard that the dragons aren’t that bad,” Jiang Cheng’s lips are pursed tight. It’s obvious he doesn’t think too highly of them, but he respects that they’re the only ones in their camp right now. “They may be excessively pious, and overly ruthless in war—but they aren’t savages. They’ve agreed to help us, and that’s worth something.”
Wei Ying gazes to the floor. “I am not afraid of mere dragons.” Still, his grip on Jiang Cheng’s hand is tight.
Even if he is afraid, he will not let it show.
“If they hurt you…” Jiang Cheng begins, hesitantly.
“No,” Wei Ying says, putting up a happy face. “I’ll be fine. I just have to get through the wedding night.” And the next, and the next, and the next.
There is not much to be known about the dragons, they hardly come down from the clouds. But if the rumours about them are to be trusted, then Wei Ying has a ton to fear about—in bed.
Jiang Cheng sees right through his forced smile. “Put on these robes,” he says with a long sigh, squeezing the violet silk within his hands. “We only have an hour before they arrive.”
“Alright,” Wei Ying says, swallowing hard.
The dragons descend from the clouds—like a mirage. The Lans themselves come to them like kings and princes, seated majestically on dragons in their humanoid forms, as if they are not one themselves with the dark antlers on their heads. They ride elegantly and with much precision, landing swiftly onto the ground without so much as a sound. Wisps of smoke and clouds follow them from above. When the air is finally clear, they stand before the pair of brothers, proud and tall.
It’s the first time Wei Ying has seen a dragon up-close. They are magnificent, and grotesquely huge. The one closest to him has bright golden pupils, observing him curiously like he is a mere ant. Wei Ying has never felt so small.
Like clockwork, all eyes are drawn to Wei Ying, standing at the centre of it all.
He cannot breathe. All around them, everyone else is keeping silent. The one before him—the prince—he sits high atop his dragon, his bare, chiseled chest jutting out proudly, his pointed jaw tipping low. His light golden eyes narrow into coarse slits, as he looks, and observes. The way he looks at Wei Ying actually causes the latter to feel shy. His pupils—the exact same shade as the dragon he rides.
He is extraordinarily handsome. Regal, is the word that comes to mind. And overly imposing in posture, as one can expect from a dragon. His skin is naturally light in tone and colour, matching the whiteness of his scales when he is in full dragon form; but his slight tan indicates he does his fair share out on the battlefield. Their clan’s finest warrior, as Jiang Cheng had explained to him earlier.
Wei Ying cannot read the expression on his face. The prince gazes down upon him, and tilts his head once or twice. His long hair—pleated behind him into one thick, neat braid. When he parts his mouth to utter a word, of which Wei Ying cannot hear, Wei Ying swears he sees steam leaving his nostrils.
“Is that him,” Wei Ying asks, holding his breath.
“Yes,” Jiang Cheng says. He has a hand on Wei Ying’s shoulder, in solidarity. The winds are strong out here, even more so now that the Lans have brought the clouds with them, and Wei Ying is clothed in mere silk. The front portion is thin, translucent even, allowing glimpses of the fair, rosy skin that lies underneath. His long hair, let loose in waves down around his shoulders. Jiang Cheng had helped untangle most of it.
Wei Ying is dressed like a war prize—and maybe, in some ways, he is. Because isn’t he collateral damage in a war, allowing himself to be held captive in a marriage he does not want just so Jiang Cheng can have the army he wants? All just so they may hopefully rise up against the Wens, and take back everything once stolen from them?
Only I can do this, Wei Ying thinks to myself. They want only me. Maybe he should learn to take this as the highest honour, that of all things the dragons can covet—it is him they want.
“His name?” Wei Ying exhales, remaining still. So still. The coldness of the breeze is chilling him to the bone, and he can feel his nipples hardening, and proudly standing to attention. They show pointedly, right through the thin silk. Wei Ying feels utterly exposed, in front of his betrothed.
“Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng says. “The second prince of the Lans.”
The minute he announces his name, the prince is glaring down towards him. Evidently, he does not enjoy the sight of the phoenix.
To Wei Ying, however—his gaze remains… curious. Curiously fond.
“See that long braid he wears?” Jiang Cheng whispers, disgruntled. “I’ve been told it means he’s never lost a fight. Dragons only cut it in defeat, so the world may see their shame.”
“Oh,” Wei Ying says. That makes him a bit more nervous about the prince, somehow.
A light breeze suddenly rustles Wei Ying’s clothing, lifting the hems slightly up, sending them flying around him. He lets out an unintentional yelp, desperately yanking at his robes and pushing them back down. The fox ears he’d been so desperately trying to suppress all these while finally come out of hiding as a result of his nervousness, unveiling themselves from beneath his hair.
Lan Wangji’s antlers jolt to attention, and he lifts his head immediately, his nose tipping into the air. He is scenting something.
Oh, and it’s particularly good.
From the back of his throat, he emits a low, primal growl.
He turns his head, and rests his fingers atop the dragon’s head. He drums his fingers twice, signalling he is ready to go. They quickly take their leave—his men going along with him.
“Wait, why are they leaving? He hasn’t said anything,” Wei Ying asks hurriedly, panicking. “Did he like me at all? Is our agreement still on? Will he really take me as his bride?”
Jiang Cheng’s mood has taken a turn for the worse. “I think he liked you,” he glares towards the dragons, now with their back against them as they ascend back up into the air. “A little bit too much.”
The dragons come back for them, two days later.
No one is allowed at the gates of Cloud Recesses without prior, explicit permission, but no one’s ever been able to make it that far into the clouds without the aid of a dragon to transport them up, anyway. Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying are each hoisted up a dragon of their own, seated right behind a section chief that commands the very dragon. These men utter very little and only speak in low, firm tones, and in their dragon tongue. It’s the first Wei Ying has ever heard of it—in their voice, it sounds overly unkind.
They are flanked on both sides, by other soldiers on their respective dragons. They travel in a convoy, for protection, like honoured guests. In a way, they are. Wei Ying is to marry in; he is to be one of theirs.
When they arrive at the Lan kingdom, a group of guards and handmaidens are already standing there at the entrance, waiting for them. The golden gates have already been decorated in light of the wedding festivity; red lanterns are hung all over, with exquisite dragon and fox motifs painted on them.
When Wei Ying is helped down the dragon by a handmaiden standing below, he takes his first step into the indiscernible clouds and finds the foggy white smoke dissipate the minute his feet touches the floor. Every step he takes—the clouds clear up, and unveils each tile he steps on to be gold, pure hard gold. Wei Ying has no doubt they’re real. So ostentatious, he thinks. And so befitting of dragons.
What little he knows of the dragons is that: true to the legends, they do enjoy hoarding treasure. Gold to them symbolises prosperity, and endless gold means just that—prosperous days, until the end of time. Wei Ying silently thinks it is a bit conceited, and a big roundabout way to excuse their flashiness and innate greediness, but he is not about to vocalise any of that on their grounds.
“So the rumours are true,” the handmaiden standing next to him, holding his hand in hers, suddenly speaks; in a beautifully accented voice. When Wei Ying glances to her, he realises it’s really a him. Dressed in pale blue robes, he looks ethereal—as do all the Lans do—enough that Wei Ying had mistaken his gender. “Fox spirits are beautiful.”
Oh. Wei Ying hadn’t expected that. Yes, there are malicious rumours to be had with his kind, despite their association with death and loss: they say fox spirits are experts at deception and seduction, and often take on forms that are very easy on the eyes. It is the only reason shrewd women are called hu li jing, named right after them. Perhaps it is part of what makes them so appealing to most—perhaps the dragons, too, covet their beauty.
“The wedding will commence immediately,” the male handmaiden says. “We don’t have time to waste. Follow me.”
Wei Ying turns his head, and sees Jiang Cheng being led away by servants of his own, into a separate direction. It seems his brother is being made to prepare himself for the wedding as well. Wei Ying tries not to think about how unprepared he is, for all this; tries not to think about how he’d rather be anywhere but here, being held hostage by a war he does not want.
While the dragons have indeed been in a hurry to get this wedding in order, and to solidify their union as quickly as possible, they have definitely spared no expense. Wei Ying’s long hair is heavily brushed, over and over again by the girls, before being braided up into a bun that is held together by a million gold hairpins and floral ornaments that feel too heavy on his one, small head. His wedding frock, comparatively, weighs a lot less.
They dress him in—after a long, intense bath where they scrub all dead skin and possibly any hair follicle out of him—a long, sweeping red traditional qipao, tight around his shoulders and waist, overlaid with a translucent, illuminating gold outer covering, sewn with embroidered dragon patterns. Wei Ying looks into the mirror, and thinks he very well looks like an empress in his own right. He could be an empress. Lips tainted with red rouge, skin loosely powdered with white. His wrists, covered in endless bangles and jewelry. A small golden crown of sorts, carved like a dragon, sits at the top of his head.
They cover his head with a red veil, and then lead him to where he has to go.
The male handmaiden from before must sense his nervousness, because he tells Wei Ying, “do not be nervous, fox bride, our young master is very kind, we have been eagerly waiting for your addition into our family”, and gently pushes at him from behind.
He walks down the aisle of the main hall, and takes his place next to his husband, already seated there waiting for him.
Dragons are a very showy lot. Wei Ying is barely half a day into Cloud Recesses, and he already realises this. The way the dragons do their wedding procession focuses less on the main couple—and more on the celebration of it all. Wei Ying and his husband prostrate thrice first, offer tea to their elders, then offer nuptial wine to each other, and that is it. He can hardly make out the faces of the rest of the Lan family through his thick veil. He only knows there is an elder brother, and an uncle, and they speak in low, frantic (excited?) tones to Lan Wangji in their dragon tongue, and to him, a simple: “Welcome to the family, fox bride.”
Everyone around here has referred to Wei Ying by what he is; not who he is. I have a name too, he wants to scream. I know I am akin to a war prize, but at least pretend to acknowledge me in name, and not my body. For, yes, he possesses the rare body and soul of a fox spirit; but isn’t he anything more than that? He is beautiful, too, as Wei Ying.
What is worse is the fact that Lan Wangji—his supposed husband—has not spoken a single word to him throughout their wedding procession; their marriage ceremony. He simply treats Wei Ying as just… there. Wei Ying feels like air. Is this already foreboding how the rest of my marriage will look like, he thinks. How the rest of my life will look like? A family that cannot see me for who I am, and a husband that pretends I am not here? Wei Ying wonders if this marriage had been as forced upon Lan Wangji, as much as it had been forced upon him.
Wei Ying can only take solace in the fact that Jiang Cheng is still here with him, standing by him, his hand squeezing his in comfort.
When it is time for them to take their places on the golden throne, one chair carved out with a dragon silhouette and the other carved out like a fox, they sit side by side up high, overlooking the rest of the clan. Wei Ying sits still with his veil, and watches as groups of people walk up to them and present them exorbitant gifts. None of them are of interest—most are exquisite war weapons that are meant more for Lan Wangji and not for him, while the few meant for Wei Ying are expensive silk and more showy hair ornaments. Wei Ying does feel sick, just a little bit. He knows how he is viewed by everyone here—nothing more than a trophy fox wife.
Jiang Cheng gifts them both a set of wedding jewelry, though this gift really is for Wei Ying.
“From jiejie,” he says, brokenly, speaking of their late sister. “It was meant to be hers, but I know she’d have loved for it to be passed down to you.”
He presses the box into Wei Ying’s hands, and from Wei Ying’s eyes slips out a lonesome tear. He misses their older sister so much, and wishes he could have been the one to take her place instead. The Wens—they had been so cruel; and the Jins—they had stood by, and done nothing…
After Jiang Cheng steps to the side, his new brother-in-law ascends the steps and takes his place, holding a golden plaque in his hands.
Wei Ying tries to remember his name, Jiang Cheng had mentioned it to him in passing… Lan Xichen?
“Honoured fox spirit,” Lan Xichen begins, this time speaking in the common tongue (very fluently, he may add) for Wei Ying’s benefit. Clearly, his gift is for Wei Ying and Wei Ying alone. “Once again, we are delighted you have joined our family.”
Wei Ying’s throat is dry. “The pleasure is mine,” he says. He never had a choice. There is only Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng left, and they have nowhere else to go, nothing left to prop them up.
“I gift you this plaque,” he says. “Written on it, is your prophecy.”
Wei Ying stills.
“Prophecy?” he asks softly, because this is the first he’s ever heard of it. He receives the plaque into his hands, god it’s heavy, it must be pure gold like everything else is around here. Indecipherable dragon runes have been inscribed onto the surface of the plaque that shines so brightly—Wei Ying can see his very reflection in it.
He strokes past it, saying, “It’s beautiful. But I cannot read this.”
“Forget envy,” Lan Xichen narrates, rather poetically. “The prince that emerges from the union of a dragon and a fox will finally lead to unity in the world. The fox in him rains bloodshed on those deserving, the dragon in him ensures success and power. Enemies will cower before him, and their wives will weep tears of blood. Forget your envy, relinquish all desire. For this prince will set this world on fire.”
Wei Ying’s stomach churns. One hand immediately leaves the plaque, and moves to caress down at his empty womb.
“I am wanted,” he whispers, with wide eyes. “For a child.”
This explains a lot. It is not only his presence alone that they need—they want his baby.
“I have not heard about this prophecy,” Wei Ying breathes out, painfully. The knowledge that he is but a pawn in their game of playing with fate and destiny only makes him that much more sick.
“It is a hundred old prophecy,” Lan Xichen says. Through his veil, Wei Ying can only make out a wide smile on his face. He wonders if he looks as handsome as Lan Wangji. He has to be—he’s the crown prince. “A well-guarded secret of the Lans. We have searched long and hard, and have finally found you. The last fox. The harbinger of death.”
Wei Ying’s eyes burn. He wills himself not to show any sign of weakness, or hurt. “I see. Thank you for this gift and knowledge.” Not a trophy wife, he thinks; his worth is that to be a mother.
“You and Wangji will make me proud,” Lan Xichen says, smiling further. He takes a step back, and walks away.
Next to him, his husband breathes not even a single word.
The rest of the wedding feels like a circus. War generals launch into their dragon forms heartily, dancing and entwining around each other in their lengthy forms, breathing blue and red fire all over the place. When something inadvertently bursts into flames, everyone applauds and claps. It is merry. It is joyous. The manic, fast-paced playing of the guqin in the background is matched by the wildly playing flute. Wei Ying has heard plenty of the way the dragons manipulate music to their favour during war, often using slow, sinister songs to confuse and throw off their enemy. It seems they take the opposite approach for weddings.
Towards the end of the celebration, right as the sun begins to set, Lan Wangji suddenly gets up from his seat, and raises a hand, beckoning something forward. He turns to Wei Ying and extends a hand to him, waiting for Wei Ying to take it.
Wei Ying casts a look to his side, where Jiang Cheng is still standing. He gives him a slow but sure nod, instructing Wei Ying to go on.
Wei Ying takes his husband’s hand for the first time, and feels up the scarred, large palm of his. Oh, he thinks. This man has been through battle, alright.
Lan Wangji’s grip on him is firm but gentle, like he’s afraid of breaking Wei Ying otherwise. He leads Wei Ying down the steps of the throne, and waits as the man lifts the hems of his sweeping qipao to follow after him.
Lan Wangji raises his other hand to beckon again, much more urgently this time.
A pure white dragon soon descends into view. It slithers through the crowd, and stops right before Lan Wangji’s raised hand. He pats the head of the dragon in what seems like an order, and then guides Wei Ying’s delicate hand, such that Wei Ying is caressing the side of the dragon’s head himself.
The dragon opens its eyelids fully, exposing its large, cerulean blue orbs. It stares right at Wei Ying, rather docilely.
Wei Ying is intimidated, to say the least. He looks back up to his husband through his veil, and wonders why he is showing him a dragon.
All around them, the crowd has gone quiet in anticipation.
It then occurs to Wei Ying that this is his gift. This is Lan Wangji’s marital gift to him.
“Mine?” Wei Ying asks, in disbelief.
He sees the outline of Lan Wangji’s head nodding, and Wei Ying shudders. He’s never been gifted anything quite so… extravagant.
No one is allowed a dragon—only members of the Lan clan themselves. While dragons are aplenty in Cloud Recesses, not every one of them harbour spiritual power enough to cultivate into having a human form. Those that remain as dragons because of their low spiritual power are given the choice to be assigned to generals and soldiers for battle; or to stay in Cloud Recesses and help with domestic duties or training and lessons. Wei Ying rubs at the head of his assigned dragon, and wonders if this is meant to be his bodyguard, to safekeep him.
“I love him,” Wei Ying whispers, in awe. The dragon purrs lightly underneath his touches, enjoying the attention his new master is bestowing unto him. “He’s gorgeous. Thank you.”
Lan Wangji doesn’t respond. He lets Wei Ying pet the dragon a bit more, then reaches for his bride’s hand again.
Wei Ying knows this is the signal to finally retire to their chambers.
Their wedding night is about to commence.
Wei Ying squeezes his eyes shut, and resigns himself to his fate. He wraps his hand back around Lan Wangji’s, and lets his husband lead him to where he must go.
Wei Ying is so nervous about the events to come, he can’t even focus on the luxuriousness of the bedchamber he’s been led into.
Lan Wangji sets him down onto the bed, and Wei Ying sits obediently, because he doesn’t know anything else. The man slowly lifts the hems of his veil—finally—and pulls it over him, revealing Wei Ying’s beautifully made-up face in its entirety, looking just as he remembered the last time he saw him.
He pauses, when he sees that Wei Ying’s cheeks are wet with tears.
Somewhere on the way to their chambers, Wei Ying had begun crying.
Perhaps he will have a heart, Wei Ying thinks. Perhaps he will see me distraught over this, and understand I have not asked for this. I have not wanted a marriage. I am frightened and scared—and he still will not say a single word to me. Does he loathe me, why will he not speak to me? What have I done to deserve his silence?
“Don’t,” Lan Wangji finally says, softly, as he thumbs at his cheeks. His strong gaze weakens at the sight of Wei Ying’s tears. His tone, low, controlled.
Wei Ying gasps out, “Don’t?”
“Don’t,” Lan Wangji says.
“Do you,” Wei Ying gazes up into his dragon eyes, and tries to convince himself that this could be worse. On his face, Wei Ying can make out the faint outline of his dragon scales. And yet Lan Wangji still remains extraordinarily handsome; like the royal prince that he is. “Do you speak the common tongue, like your brother?”
Lan Wangji does not reply; he only takes a seat next to Wei Ying on the bed, and slowly takes Wei Ying’s wrists into his, pulling off his many gold bangles. He is… beginning to disrobe him. Wei Ying stares at him, growing frustrated.
“So we do not share a language,” Wei Ying whispers out, terrified.
“Don’t,” he says again. Wei Ying wonders if he knows what that means.
“Is that the only word that you know,” Wei Ying asks, in defeat.
Lan Wangji unbuttons Wei Ying’s qipao from the back, and slides it down his fair shoulders.
“Mm,” he mumbles out in response, kissing up his neck. Wei Ying is gasping again, shaking in his hold. His husband wraps his arms around him, from the back, in a possessive stance, his mouth unable to leave Wei Ying’s skin for even a second. He’s biting, nipping, teething over and over again. Nosing up his neck like he’s scenting him, breathing in every of his pheromones and rubbing his own ones off Wei Ying.
It’s very apparent that Lan Wangji has already taken a liking to the pretty little fox he has in his grasp. Who wouldn’t; when dragons love rare treasure so much and Wei Ying is the last of his kind. Pretty, cherished, rare little fox. He will bear him children so well; so fertile, so beautiful, so powerful in nature.
Wei Ying whines uncontrollably—like the fox that he is, so embarrassingly animalistic—at all of the marking and scenting, and his ears protrude from his hair again, rising up just before his braided hair bun. He can’t help it; he gives into his true nature too easily in front of the other man, just by being in his presence alone Wei Ying always finds himself being subdued so easily into submission…
He hears Lan Wangji emit the loudest growl from his throat, when he sees this.
Oh, he will drive the dragon so crazy.
Lan Wangji eagerly pulls the silk qipao on him down lower, unveiling his bare chest and rosy red nipples to the cold air. His large hands then roam up Wei Ying’s thighs through the slit of his qipao, feeling up bare flesh that now belongs rightfully to him. His one hand slips in between his thighs, and reaches down to feel for an opening.
He finds it easily, his finger catching Wei Ying’s hole, and finds it already heavily wet with slick.
“Hm,” Lan Wangji makes a low, guttural sound of approval. “Wei Ying.”
It’s the first time he’s ever said Wei Ying’s name in full—in heavily accented speech. It’s so sexy, Wei Ying is shuddering once more in his arms.
Wei Ying feels deep shame flooding him for this. Despite his crying, it’s obvious his body is reacting extremely well to the dragon in the vicinity. It’s giving in. It recognises him as the alpha animal. His womb begs to be bred, innately.
“No,” Wei Ying hiccups, trying to rationalise this. “No, no, no, I don’t want—no,” he whispers, shifting away from Lan Wangji’s hands. He fights and pushes and against his hold, and tears his neck away from Lan Wangji’s open mouth, where sharp canines extend. “I don’t—”
“Don’t,” Lan Wangji hisses, when he realises what Wei Ying is trying to do. He grabs Wei Ying by the arms, and pins them down behind his back, frustrated with all of this unnecessary pushing and prodding. Then, as if mimicking Wei Ying’s cries from before, he commands, “No.”
Great, Wei Ying thinks. The second word his husband knows of the common tongue, and it’s learned from his bride protesting him in bed.
“Please, this is my first time,” Wei Ying whimpers, as he’s pushed head first, into the bed sheets. Lan Wangji’s mouth is back on his neck, biting at his tender skin, scenting him until he’s driving Wei Ying mad. “You’re my husband, please be kinder, I don’t—I don’t want this—”
“Baby,” Lan Wangji suddenly says, and it stirs up such a visceral reaction within Wei Ying.
“I know I have to give you a baby,” Wei Ying’s tears run down his face at the reminder. At the humiliation, of what he has been reduced to. “I know, I know, Lan Wangji.”
“Mm, baby,” Lan Wangji repeats, again, as if the mere idea of that is turning him on. He presses the front of his pants right against Wei Ying’s ass, nudging it in between his cheeks, and Wei Ying’s thighs tremble at the very—large—feeling of his husband’s clothed erect cock. He’s long heard about how well-endowed dragons are in bed.
“No,” is all Wei Ying can say, as he hears Lan Wangji disrobe himself from behind. He knows logically he has to do this, he has to make Lan Wangji happy, he has to be a good fox bride, he has to give the dragons an heir, he has to make sure Jiang Cheng gets his army—but Wei Ying is suddenly finding he never had a say in this, he knew it was the right thing to do, but now he’s left alone in the quarters with a husband who cannot understand him, and only knows to fuck him because it’s his duty and because the fox looks so pretty.
“No, I’m scared, please,” Wei Ying begs, again, when he feels two hands on his rear, pushing the rest of the red qipao up onto his waist so all the cloth is gathered there. His naked ass—bared full to Lan Wangji completely. His husband props him up into a kneeling position, spreading his legs just slightly apart, so Wei Ying’s hole is parted open for him, dripping non-stop, from the natural wetness of it all.
It’s a very lewd sight. The dragon prince is licking his lips, as he watches.
“Lan Wangji, Lan Wangji, please,” Wei Ying cries out with real tears, as the man shifts himself into position behind him. He palms the two fat cheeks, then forcefully pushes them apart so the hole can be seen tight, taut, slightly gaping.
“Mm,” Lan Wangji hums. He likes what he sees.
He grips his own cock by the base, and guides it to Wei Ying’s entrance. For a few moments he simply teases, and doesn’t enter just yet; he simply rubs the head of his cock against the hole, slides it in between the cheeks, and grazes against it over and over again so it’s stained with pre-cum, and evidence of him. Wei Ying’s gasping and hiding his red face into the sheets, wondering how long Lan Wangji plans to extend his shame and misery.
Wet slick gushes down the back of his thighs—so incredibly telling of his body’s eager need to be fucked, already.
Lan Wangji obeys such a direct and obvious plea from his wife. He finally pushes the tip of his cock in, already so big it stretches Wei Ying’s hole whole.
“No,” Wei Ying whimpers, shaking and burying his head into the sheets. His hole is dripping wet, and so is his lovely face, with sweat. “No no no no, please, I can’t, you’ll break me, you’ll hurt me, I’m scared—”
Lan Wangji simply ignores him (or cannot understand him; perhaps this is to his benefit). He coaxes the rest of his cock in, panting slightly as he feels Wei Ying’s muscles fighting him—so resistant. His calloused palms hold Wei Ying’s ass cheeks in position, making sure the fox does not get to move an inch and is made to take every single inch of him. Wei Ying is very tight, and his virginal muscles, so stubborn. It makes for a very fulfilling first fuck.
He finally groans, when he manages to fit all of him in. It feels good, just being inside of the fox. It feels good—dominating him.
“Lan Wangji,” Wei Ying moans out, his mouth gasping wide open, as he cries into the sheets. He can feel the cock inside of him, the large appendage jutting out just slightly from the surface of his belly. Wei Ying is so so full, he is filled to the brim. His body was not made for a dragon’s cock—but he has been made to take it. “Lan Wangji, you’re so—big—I can’t, I really can’t—”
Lan Wangji growls out then, low and deep into his ear, explicitly in dragon tongue for the first time, “You can, and you will.”
Wei Ying is slightly dizzy from it all. He cannot understand what his husband says, but somehow, in his gut, he already knows what it means.
Lan Wangji slaps Wei Ying’s ass so crudely, then begins fucking him. He thrusts in and out like a machine, like he was always meant to fuck Wei Ying. Every hit sends Wei Ying moaning feverishly—he cannot contain his noises, he is reduced to nothing but a doll meant to be bred. Lan Wangji doesn’t slow down one bit, only going faster and faster, Wei Ying’s cries encouraging him the most of all.
Every thrust, every glide, stretches Wei Ying’s hole and turns it increasingly red, like a blushing chrysanthemum. It’s a very pretty sight. Lan Wangji approves.
He slams himself back in, then wraps his arms around Wei Ying’s waist so he can maneuver the fox quickly into a different position, seating him right back down onto Lan Wangji’s heavy thighs. Wei Ying lies down against him, with his back pressed right against Lan Wangji’s sticky chest; the man’s large hands enclosing around Wei Ying’s thin waist so he can lift his fox bride and bounce him up and down onto his cock, manhandling him like it is nothing.
“I can’t, I can’t, I really can’t, you’re breaking me,” Wei Ying screams right then, as Lan Wangji’s cock grazes past his prostate. Oh fuck, he thinks, unable to contain the loudest moan of pleasure. It is Wei Ying’s first time, and yet his husband is as rough as he looks, sparing Wei Ying no mercy.
Does he fight as viciously as he fucks, Wei Ying thinks, because if so, he understands why he is the Lan clan’s greatest warrior.
“Then I will break you until you can,” Lan Wangji growls into his ear, in a voice usually reserved only for war commands. Wei Ying feels like all muscle in his body immediately goes slack. He listens. He has to submit. This is his alpha, this is the man of his household. His eventual family—once he bears him children, as is his duty. He is his. He is Lan Wangji’s.
Dragon tongue; so foreign, and so foul-sounding in that tone. Wei Ying does not know if it’s for better or for worse that he does not understand what his husband is saying.
Lan Wangji, he sounds like he wants to break him.
And yet, his husband is so attractive—so crazily attractive, so menacing, so dangerous, so beastly and carnal and when he picks Wei Ying up by the waist it feels like Wei Ying weighs nothing—that Wei Ying’s own cock is straining up against his qipao, overflowing with pre-cum of his own. He does like and find his husband arousing, in the same way that two animals who find themselves compatible may come together to mate; perhaps in the wild, Wei Ying would think him a good fit to make a family with, because Lan Wangji has the resources, the status to protect him, and even his pure, raw strength… it’s enough, it’s so so telling.
Skin slapping against skin, Wei Ying moans noisily, all red-faced, as he allows his tight hole to be opened and bruised by Lan Wangji’s thick and fat cock over and over again—fucking up into him like he’s desperate to impregnate Wei Ying tonight. In this position, Wei Ying’s belly bulge is even more obvious. Lan Wangji’s dragon cock causes a thick bulge to form each time he slides back inside of Wei Ying. His fox claws extend from his red nails in his deranged ecstasy, and he’s grabbing onto Lan Wangji’s dark antlers on his head for support, afraid Lan Wangji will fuck him out of his mind, for real.
“Does it feel good, my beautiful fox bride,” the dragon groans into Wei Ying’s ear, as he feels those small dainty hands prod and pull at his sensitive antlers. He’s so cute. Wei Ying’s so cute. “You flush so prettily in bed, just as I expected. Just like they say all foxes would. I will make sure to breed you every night as is your right, alright?”
“No,” Wei Ying sobs out. He doesn’t have to understand dragon tongue to know his husband is making evil threats.
“No?” Lan Wangji hums, halting in his thrusting. He slides out of Wei Ying, leaving his thick, erect cock standing in the air.
Wei Ying suddenly feels so empty. This is more punishment for him, than for Lan Wangji.
“No, I don’t want it,” Wei Ying whines out, still, stubbornly. “Whatever you’re planning, I don’t want it, I’m so tired—” His body betrays his words; his ass shifts right back against his husband’s lap, desperately rubbing against the man’s hard cock to regain the friction it had from before.
“Filthy, foxy slut,” Lan Wangji grunts, when he witnesses such a sight. “Tell me what you really want.”
Wei Ying gasps, when he feels the heavy dragon breath on his face. “Lan Wangji, please…”
His hole is gaping open, and desperate to be filled again. Is this his fate as a fox, he wonders dazedly. Is it written in the stars to be this debauched, to enjoy the roughness of a man in ways he cannot understand why.
“Please please please,” he begs. He didn’t want to have to beg, but the way his husband was currently ignoring him left him no choice. “I’m sorry, I was wrong. Baby, please.”
“Baby,” Lan Wangji’s golden eyes narrow into dragon-like slits. Wei Ying knows the exact right things to say, to persuade him.
“Yes, a baby,” Wei Ying whispers, slowly going delirious. Holy fuck, he thinks. Lan Wangji has fucked me out of my mind. “You have to breed me, give me a baby. I’ll be so good, I’ll let you put as many babies as you want into me, okay, husband? Please, fuck me like you did before…”
“Baby,” Lan Wangji repeats again, this time appeased.
He hoists Wei Ying up by the waist again, and then drops him back down onto his cock, without so much as a thought.
“Baby, baby, baby,” Lan Wangji chants, possessively, fixatedly. It seems there is a bestial need in him to impregnate his bride. He bites at the tip of Wei Ying’s furry ears as he returns to fucking back up into him, making sure to lick the ears clean afterwards. Wei Ying moans so wantonly in response; it feels so good to be touched there as he’s fucked; it heightens all of his animalistic senses. “You will make such a pretty mother, you will give me all the children I want. I will make sure your belly is never empty without being filled, little fox.”
He cums violently inside of Wei Ying at that very thought, groaning and grunting and with his eyes fastening shut, and with steam leaving his nostrils. When he does, he keeps Wei Ying’s thighs locked to his lap, his hands holding Wei Ying down and refusing to let him go. He waits until his throbbing cock has spilled every ounce of cum into him, before he opens his bright dragon eyes back up again to gaze upon his sweet, sweet fox bride.
“Wei Ying,” he croons. His erection is going away, but his cock is big enough that Wei Ying’s belly bulge still stays. In between his thighs also lies that evidence Wei Ying had come all over himself—untouched—the very minute he had felt his husband reach his climax inside of him. It’d been too much, the thought of his husband fucking him raw, fucking him so senseless; with only the very goal of breeding him.
Wei Ying’s lithe body is not made to withstand such harsh fucking from a dragon.
Of course there are tears still trickling out of his eyes, sliding down his cherry red cheeks. Of course the little fox in his arms is still nervous and crying like a newborn kit, like a bride that’s been defiled for the very first time. Lan Wangji licks his tears and scents away his fear, like the good husband that he is.
Lan Wangji is not at all worried about the fear and shame he sees in Wei Ying’s silver eyes, nor the tears that gather around them.
“Baby,” Lan Wangji purrs lovingly, as his hands move up to caress past Wei Ying’s lower stomach. There lies his womb, soon ready to be filled. He holds him in his lap, so tenderly and kindly, unlike the way he’d fucked before, and whispers sweet, incomprehensible nothings to Wei Ying. “Do not worry, I will take good care of you, I will love you and make you happy, I have already fallen in love with you. Do you understand?”
He speaks such loving things, but one hand of his drifts down to Wei Ying’s sore hole—still full of Lan Wangji’s cock, still oozing endless dragon cum—and pushes back against every trickle of cum that slides out, nudging it back in. The royal prince is adamant on making sure Wei Ying will be bred. He will see to it.
Wei Ying’s red-rimmed eyes finally flutter to a close, and he collapses promptly in Lan Wangji’s arms, completely fucked out.