Fluffy WangXian Oneshots Book Two

Holding Hands

Lan Zhan sits by the round window in the Jingshi and looks outside. He watches the snow falling in beautiful flurry fat flakes, mystical and breathtaking, a mesmerising sight on any day he's lucky enough to be able to see it. He's waiting for his husband to come back from a secret errand, one Wei Ying insisted on doing now, otherwise he'd be here, languishing in Lan Zhan's lap and providing a quiet but enthusiastic commentary on what they could see.

Soft and glittering, as if a careless fairy had dropped a bubble full of diamond dust to make the ground shimmer. Everything is white, bright and vivid but missing the sunshine of his zhiji.

The boughs of pines and evergreens laden with last night's snowfall, melting into tricky icicles frozen by the chill wind. When Wei Ying comes back, Lan Zhan will take his hands first, warming them in his own ones before his husband will lose what little patience he has and will throw his cold body into Lan Zhan's arms. Lan Zhan, who naturally runs warmer than Wei Ying, in spite of his powerful golden core, he barely uses it for heat unless he's healing or meditating in the Cold Pond. His warmth has another purpose now, and he's glad of this, yet another thing he can share with Wei Ying.

Wei Ying is carefully working on growing his own golden core now, slowly and diligently nurturing it from a flickering shadowy presence into a strong, golden powerhouse. But the process is long and grueling. It will be worth it in the end, though.

Lan Zhan looks at his own hands, so much bigger now than when he first learned how important they were. His hands used to be soft and chubby and his mother loved to bite his knuckles, round with dimples, and make him laugh. She used to be good at that, knowing how to make him feel better. About everything.

In those days, his hands wore none of these calluses, were not hardened by gripping Bichen with practice, the pads of his fingers and thumbs, the fleshy part of his palms still biteably soft. Handstands made them even tougher.

One time, Lan Zhan must have nodded off and had a bad dream. To stop him crying, and to distract him, his mother asked him what made him feel safe, and he knew the answer straight away: holding mother's hand. She held both of his tiny, pudgy hands in hers then, and brought them to her lips, brushing the back of them with the gentlest lips.

"Then let's hold hands whenever we meet," she said, her comforting words binding like a promise around their soft hearts.

"What about...when Xiongzhang is sleeping and you are here?" Lan Zhan remembers asking her, his child's logic, looking for ways to shore up the holes. They were only allowed to visit her once a month, and what if he had a bad dream in between? What then? He remembers looking into her warm brown eyes, a shade deeper than his brother's honey-coloured eyes. His own eyes were the lightest of the three, like yellow glass catching the rays of the sun.

She laughed, back then. "Oh, A-Zhan...Zhan-er, that's easy. Look!" She held up both of his hands. "You can hold your own hands, and I promise, it will feel just as good. Here, let me give you a gift." She turned his palms up and planted a gentle kiss in each centre of his hands and then clasped them both together. Closing her eyes, he saw she was murmuring something, and then she brightened, smiling back at him as if only they two would keep this secret. "Now I've made your hands even stronger than mine. Whenever you hold your own hands, you will shine brighter than the stars above. You will chase away anything bad that dares to come near you, because of the blessing under your skin. Remember, A-Zhan. I love you."

Lan Zhan carefully clasps his hands together, admiring them objectively, not because they belonged to him but because even from an outside perspective, they looked nice. There were many ways to hold hands, he had discovered later on.

In the night, when he was expected to lie on his back and close his eyes, letting his hands rest upon his chest, he would let one hand cover the back of the other. There was a familiar comfort in relearning the grooves of his knuckles, the spaces in between, the dips that would hold on to the grime of the road and taint of blood, so hard to wash off. The smoothness of his skin, softened by oils through the worship of his sword, taking care of it throughout the years...and taking care of Wei Ying and himself, in this second life. The calluses remained, earned from playing WangJi, from using Bichen to defend and attack.

Then, there's his favourite hand-holding, of letting his palms meet and wrapping his fingers over the backs of his hands, his left thumb resting in the dip between his two first fingers on his right hand, while his right thumb formed a semicircle at the base of his left one. This one feels full of peace, no conflict, hardly any stimulation and the firmness, a reminder of his own strength is present, sitting in the warmth. This is the shape of his mother's love, the protection she left him with even in her absence.

This is how he holds hands with his husband, a golden sun-kissed hand, beautiful soft and warm fingers curled around his paler hand, a Yin and Yang of colours that looked lovely together, bound forever. Sometimes, Wei Ying will bring their hands to his lips and quietly kiss the back of Lan Zhan's hand, that mischievous smile staying upon his beautiful soft lips as he looks back at Lan Zhan's face, long afterwards. So joyful, so sure of their love together, for each other.

Sometimes, Wei Ying likes to clasp their fingers together, especially when he's sitting in Lan Zhan's lap, playing with his hands. He makes their hands look like the ancient roofs of old, clay tiles laid on sloping beams, elegant and refined like the tops of the temples in the distance. Sometimes, Wei Ying likes to kiss his fingers, one by one. He talks to each one, telling them how grateful he is that they play so well, that they've mastered what it is they were born to do.

There's a sudden draft, the warmth immediately replaced by the cold, sweeping breeze of the door opening and closing, and then Wei Ying, a warmer weight on Lan Zhan's back, cool lips resting against his cheek and that beautiful laugh. A sound that leaves from his soul to mark his happiness. Lan Zhan knows, because his soul has done the same.

Lan Zhan rests his hands for a moment on Wei Ying's forearms which are draped on Lan Zhan's shoulders. He breathes in the scent of lotus flowers and wine, and revels in this consistency. He gets to have this now, everyday. Wei Ying lets him, nuzzling into his neck. He gets to have this, too.

Then Lan Zhan twists on the spot, taking Wei Ying by his slim waist and bringing him to sit on Lan Zhan's lap, supporting his back with Lan Zhan's arm still holding it.

"Sweetheart...what were you thinking about?" Wei Ying whispers gently, giving him another warm kiss on his jaw.

"This." Lan Zhan takes his hand and joins it with his own hand.

He kisses the side of Wei Ying's head and tells him about his mother, and how she taught him to feel better, to feel safe. That he still does it, now and again. And that he hasn't had to, in a long time.

Wei Ying smiles back at him when he's done, covering their joined hands with his free one.

"Mn?"

"Oh," he says airily, "I'm adding another blessing to your mother's. So we can keep each other safe. Even safer. And ZhanZhan...we're really lucky, you know." At Lan Zhan's raised brow, he continues, "We can hold hands whenever you want to."

"Mn."

There's a gleam in his golden eyes and that's the only warning Wei Ying gets. Suddenly, he's bouncing on their bed, on his back and Lan Zhan follows him down. His big hands hold both of Wei Ying's wrists down and their chests meet. Both are breathing heavily and with the other free hand, Lan Zhan swipes down Wei Ying's body, baring it to him. As he grinds down, making his husband's eyes roll back in pleasure, a sinfully deep sound tearing through his open lips, Lan Zhan finds a new way to hold his Wei Ying's hands, pressing them down onto their bed and leaving him free to pounce.

Yes, there are many ways to hold hands, and this is their forever.

THE END

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A/N

Dear Beautiful Readers,

Still on a break and couldn't stop thinking about this, so consider it a Christmas gift. (I'm halfway through book 2 MDZS - not the comic but I wanna read that just for Wei Ying slapping Nie MingJue's corpse's abs, saying, "would you look at the muscles on this guy!" 🤣🤣🤣

Happy Holidays to all!

🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫

Charlie