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Wei Wuxian relaxed into his hard-earned bath, sore from sex and exertion in the way he thankfully only experienced toward the end of Lan Zhan’s rut. Scalding water sank into every ache and pain, leaving him floating, drifting on the rise and fall of his lovers’ voices from the next room without absorbing their words.
It was relaxing, almost meditative, until Jiang Cheng switched to the snide tone that meant he was picking a fight on purpose, and Lan Zhan responded by telling him to mind his tongue, voice low and rumbling with warning. Wei Wuxian snapped to attention.
Telling Jiang Cheng to mind himself was guaranteed to have the opposite effect. No surprise that there was no more talking after that, as words changed to grunts and the sound of a struggle, two stubborn alphas — his two stubborn alphas — butting heads and refusing to yield.
Ah, well. No need to rush. It always took the two of them a while to get through their version of foreplay and onto the main event.
Wei Wuxian scrubbed off a day’s worth of bodily fluids, oil, and sweat, and wrung the excess water from his hair before combing out every tangle. Eventually he followed the promising sound of skin on skin to the bedroom, where Lan Zhan had pinned Jiang Cheng down on the low couch.
Lan Zhan’s upper body strength could rival a martial god’s, and he’d put it to good use to fold Jiang Cheng in half, thighs pressed and held to his chest by broad hands on the backs of his knees, ankles hooked over Lan Zhan’s shoulders. Wei Wuxian let them know he approved with a low whistle.
Wei Wuxian joined them, slipping over the arm of the couch to settle by Jiang Cheng’s head.
“Better?” Jiang Cheng arched his neck, letting Wei Wuxian wiggle close enough to use his lap as a pillow.
Wei Wuxian hummed, teasing his fingers through the side of Jiang Cheng’s hair that had come completely out of its braid. Lan Zhan had really messed him up in the struggle: hair pulled out of its tight bun, outer robes ripped at the seams, breaths rattling out with each forceful thrust while he looked up at Wei Wuxian and tried to focus.
Ah, Lan Zhan. His husband was many things, and possessive was near the top of that list, made worse by the single-minded state that characterized his rut. The extensive damage to Jiang Cheng’s purple outer robes, and the crown tossed to the opposite side of the bedroom, were clear punishments for daring to leave the room for a few shi before Lan Zhan’s rut ended.
Lan Zhan dug his fingers into Jiang Cheng’s jaw and forced his face back to center, held it there without slowing his thrusts so Jiang Cheng couldn’t look away.
Jiang Cheng frowned, rolled his eyes, but Lan Zhan’s golden eyes had moved to his exposed throat, a hard-won show of submission.
“Won’t be able to fuck you like this when you’re round with our child,” Lan Zhan said, determined to force Jiang Cheng further onto the couch with his punishing pace.
It was nothing he hadn’t said before in the heat of passion. In fact, he’d said something similar to Wei Wuxian a few rounds ago.
This time, the words— the implication— the position— hit Wei Wuxian like a spark. Oh.
“What, do you only know one position? Think I’m safe anyway,” Jiang Cheng said, breathless in the way Wei Wuxian liked best, like he couldn’t help but talk back even when he could barely force the words out. “You’d have to shut up and fuck me properly before anyone has to worry about getting pregnant.”
Wei Wuxian’s entire body was sore and bruised — Lan Zhan had relentless stamina, even with two of them to divide his attention — but he was only a man. How could a sentence like that not go straight to his dick?
“Are you serious,” Jiang Cheng muttered, when his cheek brushed against Wei Wuxian’s renewed interest. “You’re unbelievable. How can you even get hard at this point?”
It wasn’t a thing, though.
Maybe it was sort of a thing.
Wei Wuxian wasn’t concerned. Sometimes a fixation would take him in its grip, for a few days or weeks at a time, something he needed to get out of his system and move on from. And if he rolled that obsession around in his thoughts every time his mind wandered, well, that wasn’t unusual, and it would eventually pass.
Jiang Cheng, wet and wanting and stuffed full, blissed out and sated on a knot. Twinned mating bites on every scent gland, so that the base essence of his scent would change to reflect the alphas he’d deemed worthy and allowed close.
The thought of his changed scent appealed to Wei Wuxian on an animalistic level. It was a claim that couldn’t be made between alphas, and not for lack of trying; Lan Zhan would have had them both permanently marked on every bare inch of skin after their first shared rut, if it could be done.
Jiang Cheng, heavy with child, taken from various angles that accounted for his round stomach, while the bitchy way he’d said do you only know one position played and replayed through Wei Wuxian’s daydreams like a challenge.
Then the thoughts became less sexy and more sentimental, burrowing in Wei Wuxian’s mind like a seed taking root.
Jiang Cheng, round and cared for and wanting for nothing, who would never need to go somewhere else, never let anyone else touch him.
Jiang Cheng, curled up in their nest with their child, a beloved little one whose face changed every time Wei Wuxian tried to imagine them: a perfect mix of the three of them, or a miniature of one of his beloved mates, sometimes even a foggy memory of how cute A-Yuan had been as a toddler.
So it was probably a thing, at this point.
What if—
“Get off me.” Jiang Cheng pushed Wei Wuxian away from his bared neck — Wei Wuxian couldn’t remember pulling down his collar, though he must have — and splattered ink across his half-finished letter and outer robes in the process. “You have eyes. Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Wei Wuxian used the element of surprise to slip his hands around to the sash of Jiang Cheng’s outermost belt, dragging his teeth over the scent gland on his nape while he worked to open the knot.
Jiang Cheng heaved a sigh, wiggling to shrug him off, until he scented the air and went still in Wei Wuxian’s arms. “You’re not due for a rut for another three months. Wangji won’t be back from Gusu for another week. You couldn’t wait?”
“Ah, these things happen. I’m not worried. Cheng-didi will take good care of A-Xian,” Wei Wuxian cooed in his ear, shaking with quiet laughter when Jiang Cheng scoffed.
“One of us has responsibilities,” he said, enunciating like Wei Wuxian might be unfamiliar with the word. He nonetheless scrawled a note for his Chief of Affairs at the bottom of the ruined letter and went to make arrangements.
(Cheng-didi took very good care of A-Xian, and humoured Wei Wuxian’s endless rambling about putting a baby in him, which did absolutely nothing to curb the direction of Wei Wuxian’s thoughts.
So. Definitely a thing.)
For Wei Wuxian, obsession and invention went hand in hand.
It was possible, according to hearsay and corroborated by the handful of medical texts he managed to scrounge up from the Cloud Recesses library, to force an alpha cultivator to become an omega, and vice versa.
The process for alpha to omega entailed being put in place, to become an omega in every stereotypical sense: forced submission, emasculation, changes to make the body smaller and less imposing, more welcoming to a potential mate. Complete — often forced — reformation, and being fucked through the change, regardless of insecurity or pain. It would also take multiple rut-slash-heat cycles to accomplish, averaging around a year for the full transformation.
(The head between his legs and the head on his shoulders had conflicting thoughts about that.)
All of it was fascinating to read, but the more Wei Wuxian read, the more he wondered if it would be possible to streamline the process and make it less… hm.
The thing about their relationship was that it thrived on their current power dynamic.
With Lan Zhan it was simple: Jiang Cheng could submit to a stronger alpha, so long as he made a pretense of fighting, and Lan Zhan enjoyed putting a mouthy Jiang Cheng in his place (under him) almost as much as he enjoyed the sex that followed. Wei Wuxian liked to pretend to fight, squirming and wailing and saying words he didn’t mean while his body language showed clear interest; Jiang Cheng would throw fists before he would back down, metaphorically or literally, no matter how badly he wanted it.
Things between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng had never been that simple, but they made it work, in spite of their history.
Unfortunately, the whole process seemed designed to set off Jiang Cheng’s insecurities. And it wasn’t really what Wei Wuxian wanted, either. His mates were perfect. He didn’t picture a faceless omega in his daydreams; he pictured Jiang Cheng, only slightly changed.
Would it be possible to tweak the process and change only a few aspects of anatomy? Shorten the period of transformation?
Wei Wuxian reached the single-minded stage of absorption in his latest project in record time, fixated to the point that there were notes on every free surface of his work room, talismans stuck on the underside of the notes, under tables, balled up or folded in the pockets of his robes.
He was lucky that Lan Zhan discovered him before Jiang Cheng, the latter too preoccupied with updating the terms of a trade agreement with Meishan Yu to worry about Wei Wuxian’s latest project. At least until he reached the point where he could summarize his findings without sounding unhinged.
Lan Zhan studied a talisman for a long moment, then picked up another, and another, until he held a stack in his hand.
“Wei Ying,” he said, expression revealing nothing.
“Ahhh, er-gege, I’m working on something new! It’s nothing really. A little something that’s been on my mind. I was curious to know if such a thing could be done. In theory, of course.”
Lan Zhan took up one of the medical texts, considered the first page and the stack of talismans for another endlessly long moment, before he read Wei Wuxian for filth. “Is this related to your early rut?”
“Lan-er-gege!” Wei Wuxian wiggled across the floor on his knees to latch onto Lan Zhan’s robes. “To accuse this husband with no evidence! My poor heart can’t bear this slander…”
Lan Zhan, who knew Wei Wuxian better than almost anyone, let the silence stretch until Wei Wuxian couldn’t bear to let it go on.
“Fine. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since your rut. Aiya, Lan Zhan, you know how my mind works. I’ll finish this research, write down my conclusions, and that will be the end of it, yeah?”
Lan Zhan ran long fingers through Wei Wuxian’s hair, looking down at him with equal parts exasperation and fondness (his expression didn’t change; it was all in the eyes). “Speak to Wanyin,” he said, “before he sees any of this.”
There were countless rumours about the absence of a Jiang-furen. True to the nature of rumours, some were based in truth, and others were bald-faced fabrications. The truth was complicated.
That didn’t stop Jiang Cheng’s advisors from regularly bringing up the lack of a direct heir to Yunmeng Jiang, but none of them had the authority to force the issue, as few were older than Jiang Cheng himself. Unfortunately for them, Jiang Cheng was content to only address the issue when someone else brought it up, and his stubbornness was only rivaled by his temper.
Jiang Cheng never dwelled on the question of an heir for long, but in the back of Wei Wuxian’s mind, the non-zero possibility of Jiang Cheng deciding to pursue his duty to the clan and take a mate — a mate who wasn’t either himself or Lan Zhan — and have children who weren’t theirs by blood, even if they were theirs in every other way that mattered—
Well, there was no detached, logical way to say the thought of you giving away even a small part of yourself to someone else makes me so uncomfortable I could die, so Wei Wuxian tried not to frame it that way, even in the privacy of his own thoughts.
It wasn’t his first guess when Jiang Cheng stormed into the study. His first thought was that the trade talks must have hit a setback; having cousins in Meishan Yu didn't always mean the negotiations went smoothly. That, or maybe third shidi was rattling on again about expanding this year’s mid-autumn festival, and Jiang Cheng was annoyed to have to explain (again) that they would discuss it closer to the festival.
“Looks like your meeting went well!”
Jiang Cheng wrenched the lotus crown from his braids with unnecessary force. “Nie Huaisang just announced the birth of a son. My advisors have concerns about falling behind the head-shaker, of all possible sect leaders.”
Huh. Well. That was— good, for Nie Huaisang. Good that he’d managed to move forward with his life, after everything. So Wei Wuxian felt a tiny bit guilty for thinking what a bastard Nie Huaisang was for springing this conversation on him before he’d put together a proper argument, leaving him no choice but to wing it.
“Forget it. I’ll name a successor from among the senior disciples, if it will get them to stop nagging.”
“If the Jiang clan needs an heir,” Wei Wuxian said at the same time, while his entire body lit up with nerves, adrenaline, something, “who else can bear those heirs aside from the last remaining Jiang by blood?”
Jiang Cheng turned to look at him, searching, and Wei Wuxian felt his stomach drop. Shit. Jiang Cheng’s voice, when he spoke, was the measured but mocking tone meant to hide that he might actually be upset. “You’re saying you think I should…”
Wei Wuxian rushed to fill the silence before Jiang Cheng assumed the worst. “What? No. No other mates. That’s not—”
Jiang Cheng gave him a look that weighed his mental stability and found it lacking. “Then how do you propose I do that, Wei Wuxian? Without taking another mate. Take your time, I can tell you’re struggling.”
“What if I told you that it’s possible?”
This was dangerous ground, treading over wounds that had taken two of Wei Wuxian’s lifetimes to heal. Mo Xuanyu’s body might not carry the matching surgery scars, but the truth of that sacrifice — and the sacrifice that had made it seem necessary — would exist between them, for the rest of this life.
Nothing between them had ever been simple.
This time, Wei Wuxian dragged out weeks worth of notes, enough evidence to cover the surface of the study table, plus the source documents, with full intentions of proceeding with honesty and transparency. This wasn’t a decision made in a moment of grief or desperation. And if Jiang Cheng said no, that would be the end of it, another experiment to shelve.
Jiang Cheng looked at him like he’d sprouted a second head, which was familiar enough to settle Wei Wuxian’s restless energy.
Emotions were the riskiest way to appeal to Jiang Cheng. He might be swayed, but he was equally likely to double down, and if that happened there would be no changing his stubborn mind. Wei Wuxian had learned that lesson the hard way a few too many times, so he’d tailored his arguments to appeal to Jiang Cheng’s logical side, without wounding his pride.
“So,” Wei Wuxian launched eagerly into his theory, “usually this is accomplished through, well, don’t worry about that, you wouldn’t like it. This is the alternative I’ve worked out. The ritual will form what it needs from your qi and these talismans. Most of your body will remain the same, though your scent will change to signal that you’re, ah, fertile. No one will notice but us.” Technically anyone Jiang Cheng was intimate with, which Wei Wuxian refused to consider beyond himself and Lan Zhan.
Well, and also anyone blessed to see Jiang Cheng covered in mating claims, round and pregnant with their children, from a safe appreciative distance! But that was putting the cart before the horse.
Jiang Cheng heard him out, shared a suspicious glare with Lan Zhan, then turned back to Wei Wuxian. “Why do you always jump to the most ridiculous possible solution to any given issue?”
“I’m a creative thinker and a problem-solver at heart, A-Cheng. Especially when it’s a problem close to my own heart.”
“Wasn’t a compliment,” Jiang Cheng muttered. His eyes shifted to the side, considering, and then fixed on Wei Wuxian with the full intensity of knowing. “When did you start looking into this?”
Shit, was it that obvious? “Haha, does it matter!”
“Is that why you were so insistent on—” Jiang Cheng flushed and went quiet, too shy or mortified to talk about Wei Wuxian’s rut and insistence on breeding him. “Let me see,” he said, taking the less embarrassing route of reading about it rather than talking.
Burying his face in a scroll didn’t hide that he was flushed red to the tips of his ears.
Ever the diligent student, Jiang Cheng read through every last piece of research, reviewed every talisman and note. It wasn’t a yes, it wasn’t technically an answer, but it meant a lot that he would humour Wei Wuxian at all.
Jiang Cheng didn’t bring it up until late in the night, several weeks later, after Lan Zhan’s breathing evened out into deep sleep between them.
“What is this really about,” Jiang Cheng began. Stalled. Licked his lips and lowered his gaze to watch the steady rise and fall of Lan Zhan’s chest, loose sleep braid tumbling over his shoulder.
Wei Wuxian squirmed, but he stayed on his side of the mat through sheer willpower. Commendable, when every fiber of his being urged him to crawl across Lan Zhan’s prone body and nuzzle between his mates, until Jiang Cheng was too distracted to continue what was bound to be an awkward conversation.
“Listen. I probably came on too strong. It’s not that I think anything needs to change. It doesn’t have to be you, either, if we did decide to.” He managed to sound nonchalant, though his heart was beating uncomfortably hard in his chest. “Well, I can’t speak for Lan Zhan, but I would be more than willing.”
Jiang Cheng shook his head, as if clearing an unwanted thought.
“You can still declare a sect heir from among the disciples, yeah? I’m not saying this is the only choice. It’s just another option.” Wei Wuxian, who had fully intended to be level-headed and removed about this, all feelings aside, took a leap of faith and gave voice to his more possessive thoughts. “But if you want a family… if you want an heir… You’re our mate. No one else gets to have you. We can give you everything you need.”
The painful heart of the matter was that Wei Wuxian was certain of Lan Zhan, who had picked him, time and again, over rules and duty. Jiang Cheng, though, had picked duty before, and the possibility of that happening again lingered in the back of his mind, an old wound that ached.
Jiang Cheng pulled a face, forever uncomfortable with feelings and declarations, even in the dead of night with an audience of one. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
Of course. It had taken two decades, two lives, and mortal wounds to get this back. The naive boy who would have trusted any word out of Wei Wuxian’s mouth was a thing of the past, much like Wei Wuxian’s first life: irretrievable except in memories.
But this older Jiang Cheng, who mirrored Wei Wuxian’s possessive, desperate affection, who looked at him and assumed good intentions even in his most harebrained schemes, despite having good reason not to trust him again — well, Wei Wuxian wasn’t going to let go of him willingly.
Things were good between them. Amazing. Wei Wuxian was the happiest he’d ever been.
But it could slip through his fingers.
Lotus Pier didn’t need Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng’s deputies and disciples were well-trained and capable. His Second-in-Command was reliable and hard-working, a rock to lean on, while Wei Wuxian had always been a swift-moving current even in his days as head disciple.
It wasn’t that Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan were unwelcome in Lotus Pier, obviously; it was more that they weren’t obligated to Yunmeng Jiang, by Jiang Cheng’s own design. Wei Wuxian sometimes led the junior disciples in sword practice, both to retrain his muscle memory to his new body and because the Jiang sword forms were second nature, drilled into him from childhood. Lan Zhan assisted with boring things like clan affairs and negotiations. They spent more and more time in Yunmeng these days, the unspoken but acknowledged partners of Sect Leader Jiang.
So. Things were good. Better than! But it was hard to shake the feeling that all of this was transient, and eventually Wei Wuxian would end up holding onto nothing, like trying to hold water in his cupped palms.
They’d sworn themselves mates in a private ceremony. It had seemed huge at the time, when Wei Wuxian hadn’t been sure that Jiang Cheng would ever take him at his word again, when Jiang Cheng was still cautious and uncertain that this would mean anything long-term.
Now, though, part of him wanted everyone to know; from Jiang Cheng’s scent, from the signs of their claim on his body, in tangible, undeniable ways.
Whatever Jiang Cheng saw in his expression, it seemed to settle his resolve.
“How would we start?”
The ritual had many steps, but the process was straightforward: out with his own yang energy, in with Wei Wuxian or Lan Zhan’s yang energy at the critical moment, with yin energy provided by talismans applied to Jiang Cheng’s skin.
Dual cultivation happened the fun way for the first few days, before any visible changes, and then it was less sexy but no less intimate: sharing life essence, pressed palm to palm or palm to abdomen, drawing and pressing energy over Jiang Cheng’s lower dantian.
Jiang Cheng wouldn’t let anyone see the changes happening to his body. He hid away any evidence of discomfort or pain behind a stoic front, but Wei Wuxian had learned (mostly the hard way) when to push and when to back off. This was definitely the time for boundaries, patience, trust.
Wei Wuxian buried his nerves and doubts by hovering, massaging where he assumed the worst aches and pains would be, smothering him with care while Jiang Cheng meditated to guide his changing energy into the necessary forms. He stayed close, steadfast, even when Jiang Cheng (rude, ungrateful) called him a river leech and slapped away his wandering hands.
Routine came easily. Lan Zhan helped the Jiang Second-in-Command delegate the Sect Leader’s duties and handle petitioners each morning, and switched places with Wei Wuxian in the late afternoon. Presumably he and Jiang Cheng talked about clan affairs and dealt with correspondence while Wei Wuxian walked the starry-eyed junior disciples through late afternoon sword forms. They took dinner together in the privacy of the Sect Leader’s chambers, and then Wei Wuxian refined his talismans at the study table, or accompanied the disciples on night hunts, while Lan Zhan curled protectively around A-Cheng in their bed.
Jiang Cheng’s scent began to change after the first week, the first undeniable sign of progress.
His scent was so good already, the petrichor and ozone of soil after a storm, but now his pheromones had a sweeter undertone, softened to the loam of wet, fertile earth, with a floral note that promised that anything planted in this garden would bear fruit.
Two weeks into the process, Wei Wuxian woke to a muffled groan.
Jiang Cheng’s robes and hair clung to him like a second skin, damp with sweat. His sleep was restless, broken by small movements and expressions, though he never fully woke. An angry red flush bloomed high on his cheeks and forehead.
Cultivators of their caliber didn’t get sick the way they might have as young children, before the formation of their golden cores, which meant something had gone wrong. Was Jiang Cheng’s body fighting the talismans? Too much yin energy? Not enough? Had Wei Wuxian done him irreversible harm? Half-awake and panicked, he didn’t realize Lan Zhan had left the room until he returned through the doorway, carrying a shallow bowl.
Lan Zhan, bless his ability to stay calm and collected in a crisis, had lit the lantern by which Wei Wuxian had been able to see that Jiang Cheng was unwell. He hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly.
Lan Zhan wrung out a cloth over the basin of cold water. The cool press of silk to his overheated face was enough to stir Jiang Cheng awake.
“Wangji,” he said, grasping at Lan Zhan’s wrist.
Lan Zhan hummed, a low acknowledgment that he was here.
“Why did I let you talk me into this,” Jiang Cheng grumbled under his breath, startling a laugh from Wei Wuxian that was mostly relief.
“Aiya, there you are. You gave us a scare, Jiang Cheng. Now you sound more like yourself. I’m starting to think you’ll be okay.”
“You’re not going to be okay when I’m done with you,” Jiang Cheng promised, grasping Wei Wuxian’s hand with an iron grip, dragging his fingers to the gap in his outer robes and down, across the burning sweat-slick skin of his chest and abdomen to—
Wei Wuxian’s fingertips slid through a different wet heat. He drew in a shuddering breath. “What do you need?”
Jiang Cheng’s temper couldn’t be dampened by fever or pain or— or heat. Because it had worked. “How should I know?”
Wei Wuxian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of this moment: three grown alphas who’d never been with an omega, and out of the three, he and Jiang Cheng were probably better off to understand where to start fumbling around, though Lan Zhan had surprised him before. He gave a silent prayer of thanks for Nie Huaisang’s spring books and long-ago lessons on mating, and crooked two fingers into the slick heat of Jiang Cheng’s cunt.
The thrill of a successful experiment was a distant second to the noise Jiang Cheng made, pure relief, helpless to hold back.
Wei Wuxian babbled, feeling like he was having an out-of-body experience and might also come on the spot if he didn’t distract himself. “Jiang Cheng. Chengcheng. Shit. Cheng-didi, you’re so tight. I don’t know if you can take me. You definitely can’t take Lan Zhan yet.”
Jiang Cheng groaned and slapped Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “Shut up! Do you even hear yourself? How can you say things like that out loud and not feel embarrassed!”
Wei Wuxian pressed smacking kisses across his face, begging forgiveness, while Jiang Cheng tried in vain to push him away. “No, no, don’t listen to me, I don’t know what I’m saying. You can take it. You can take me first. Don’t worry, we’ll make you feel better, I’ll get you ready for Lan Zhan—”
He stumbled out of bed, on trembling legs, to fetch oil in case it was needed (probably not; he’d felt the undeniable wetness of slick between Jiang Cheng’s thighs, but better safe than sorry) and throw his sleep robes to the floor. On second thought, he doubled back to retrieve the robes, recalling vague lessons about instincts and nesting and Lan Zhan’s insistence on tidiness.
Wei Wuxian had to stop and catch his breath when he turned back to the bed. Lan Zhan had wasted no time untying Jiang Cheng’s sleep robes, and everything was tugged aside just enough to work three fingers into his slick hole. Jiang Cheng’s hands kneaded restlessly at the sheets, hips working against Lan Zhan’s palm, his gasps growing more ragged with each deliberate inward stroke.
Wei Wuxian made it back to the bed in a haze, helpless to tear his eyes away from Lan Zhan’s fingers, brief impressions of soft and pink and wet hidden by Lan Zhan’s broad palm.
“What’s taking so long? Did you lose your way?”
“So mean, Jiang Cheng. Is that any way to welcome your mate back from his long, cold journey across the room?” Gods, he was going to give A-Cheng everything he wanted, starting with his cock, but before that he needed to–
Jiang Cheng made a grumpy noise, but he let Wei Wuxian manhandle him onto his front, let Lan Zhan slip his hand from between his thighs with a wet squelch.
I love you, Wei Wuxian thought, mouthing at the swollen scent gland on Jiang Cheng’s nape. A mating claim might not take yet, but the only way to find out would be to try. I love you more than anything. It makes me feel inspired and insane. No one else can have you. Mine; Ours.
Jiang Cheng groaned when teeth broke through his sensitive skin, and he clung onto the sheets like a lifeline, just as desperate for it, wanting it too much to wait or bother with ceremony.
Wei Wuxian fumbled to line up his cock without pulling away, and slid in with one slow thrust that nearly undid him. “Xian-gege didn’t want to hurt you, but look, you’re taking me so well. Were you thinking about me while you meditated, while your body changed? It’s like you were made to take me.”
Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, face flushed with (hopefully) pleasure but more likely embarrassment. “Will you stop fucking stalling.”
“Hey, now I’m not just talking shit in the heat of the moment,” Wei Wuxian babbled, his self-control fraying at the edges. He couldn’t calm down, couldn’t find a rhythm with his thrusts, rutting into that warm, slick heat. “I’m never leaving this bed again. Lan Zhan and I aren’t letting you out of this room without at least one heir inside you.”
That line earned him a blind slap to the flank, but Jiang Cheng’s cunt tightened around his cock, and it was a while after that before Wei Wuxian had another coherent thought.
He was close, he could tell Jiang Cheng was getting there too, when Lan Zhan pressed Wei Wuxian up by his shoulder. Lan Zhan, who’d been content to watch and touch until now, bullied Jiang Cheng upright. “In Wei Ying’s lap, facing each other,” he commanded in a low voice, and then Jiang Cheng was straddling him, frantic to have him back inside, and they fit back together like they’d never parted, Wei Wuxian grinding in with shallow thrusts.
Lan Zhan fit easily along the length of Jiang Cheng’s back. He pressed a kiss to Wei Wuxian’s slack mouth, and traced a path back up Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, to add his own mating bite.
Jiang Cheng keened, rocking his hips to take Wei Wuxian down to the root while his body tightened through his climax. The rest followed so quickly that Wei Wuxian was dizzy with it: the sudden tight squeeze around his cock rushed blood to his knot so fast that his vision blurred, and for a long while Wei Wuxian was lost to anything but where they fit together, Jiang Cheng whimpering and riding out aftershocks while held safely between them, one mate pulsing inside while the other licked over their first paired mating claim.
Wei Wuxian came back to his senses with his chin hooked over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, sharing Lan Zhan’s air, with their foreheads resting together.
Jiang Cheng dozed between them, with most of his weight slumped back onto Lan Zhan’s broad chest. He looked better at a glance: less flushed, but still uncomfortable.
“Love it when an experiment goes right.” Wei Wuxian sounded as wrecked as he felt. “A full year on average down to two weeks!”
“Mn.” Lan Zhan shifted, smoothing his palm down Jiang Cheng’s abdomen, to press his fingers where his mates were still joined.
Wei Wuxian pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. “So impatient, er-gege!” His knot had gone down enough to slide out, and Jiang Cheng groaned the moment he did, instantly awake.
“A-Xian,” he murmured, sweet in the way he could only stand to be when he was fucked-out and overstimulated. “Xian-gege. Stay.”
“Xian-gege isn’t going far,” Wei Wuxian promised. Jiang Cheng’s sweet post-climax face pinched into a scowl. “Be good, baby, Lan Zhan’s been so patient.”
Lan Zhan wasted no time pulling Jiang Cheng into his lap, effortless as if he weighed nothing. He stroked his cock through Jiang Cheng’s wet folds a few times — a fantastic visual, Wei Wuxian thought, as the blunt cockhead pushed out, glistening with slick, and then retreated — before lining up to push inside.
Wei Wuxian could finally get a good look, with the edge of lust and urgency dulled. Jiang Cheng’s cock was noticeably smaller, but now it was nested at the apex of the slick folds of a vulva, stretched open around Lan Zhan’s impressive length and girth.
Different from what Wei Wuxian had seen of the sex of an omega from birth (many thanks again to Nie Huaisang and his yellow books for filling in the gaps in his sex education) but perfect. His. Theirs. Something they’d made together.
In theory Jiang Cheng had cultivated everything by this point in the process, though it would be difficult to check for internal changes. Not a problem! They would just have to keep trying until it took, and now it seemed like they could go back to the fun method of dual cultivating.
Lan Zhan set a forceful pace, rocking Jiang Cheng’s upper body forward into Wei Wuxian’s arms with his thrusts, mouth pressed against their mating claims and eyes closed with absolute focus.
Jiang Cheng panted, pushed up onto his knees over Lan Zhan’s lap. “Hah— Can’t.”
“You can,” Lan Zhan promised, moving with precision, like he was counting notes in a musical score and keeping time with each wet slap of skin. Wei Wuxian held Jiang Cheng by the hips so he couldn’t wiggle away, forcing him to take it to the hilt with each thrust. “You’ll take everything I give you.”
“Guess I’ve— ah— taken your knot in less forgiving holes,” Jiang Cheng managed. Far too rude for Lan Zhan’s standards; his scandalized Jiang Wanyin was almost drowned out by Wei Wuxian’s delighted cackle.
Jiang Cheng mumbled what might have been er-ge or might have been bite me, which set Wei Wuxian off giggling in earnest. They hadn’t wasted time on that! When he finally reined himself in, Jiang Cheng’s eyes were wide and soft and pinned on Wei Wuxian’s smiling face, starting to glaze over with pleasure.
His thighs were also glazed— slick dripped down his legs to the bedding, some of it clear, some of it cloudy where it had mixed with Wei Wuxian’s come. Wei Wuxian swept his fingers through it and sucked it off his own fingers.
Jiang Cheng’s eyes followed the motion, going heavy-lidded.
“Lan-er-gege is so big. You’re taking him so well, and on your first try, too.” Wei Wuxian cupped Jiang Cheng’s face in his palms. “Say, when er-ge’s knot goes down, should I clean you up? Xian-gege is going to eat you out until you can’t think of anything but my mouth. Does that sound good?”
Jiang Cheng made a punched-out noise, but even half-delirious and bouncing on Lan Zhan’s cock, he couldn’t help but be himself. “Think you can stop talking for that long?”
Lan Zhan tried to hide his breath of a laugh against Jiang Cheng’s nape.
“You’re both so mean to me! I see how it is.” Wei Wuxian pinched one of Jiang Cheng’s nipples in retaliation, and the full-body twitch and hitched moan led his thoughts — and his mouth — to Jiang Cheng’s chest.
Jiang Cheng’s mind had floated off somewhere, eyes glassy and unfocused, voice wrecked when he spoke. “Do you think the first one will be Xian-ge’s or Zhan-ge’s? Which one of you will manage to breed me first?”
That was all it took to push Lan Zhan to the edge, bucking up a few more times before his knot locked them together.
Wei Wuxian moved between them with soft, loose-mouthed kisses.
The afterglow lasted for a few blissful minutes, until Jiang Cheng pulled back with a grunt and tried to push Lan Zhan’s head away from his neck. “Quit gnawing on me.”
Lan Zhan seized the offending arm and bit down hard on the scent gland on Jiang Cheng’s wrist.
“Some Jade of Lan you are. Raised by wolves in the mountains of Gusu,” Jiang Cheng muttered darkly, already working his hips against the girth of Lan Zhan’s knot, testing its give.
There was no better place in this world, Wei Wuxian thought, as the early light of dawn revealed the details of the bedroom.
Lan Zhan was already awake, hair and clothes pristine like he hadn’t spent half the night fucking their husband– their bonded mate– to overstimulated tears, going until the fever broke and Jiang Cheng could finally sleep. No matter how many times Wei Wuxian woke up to the sight of Lan Zhan meditating, washed by the dawn, he was still struck by that perfection.
Not Wei Wuxian. If his hair looked half as wild as it felt, he probably looked like some sort of ghoul that had crawled out of the lotus lake, straight into the Sect Leader’s bed.
Jiang Cheng had pulled Wei Wuxian’s discarded inner robes from the floor at some point in the night, burying his nose deep into the fabric. He was adorable, with his face soft with sleep and loose hair curled with dried sweat, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t even tell him so if he wanted to live long enough to update his research notes.
Jiang Cheng’s scent had already begun to change: a claimed scent, a mixture of alpha and omega pheromones that produced a satisfying combination. Not the milky scent of a pregnant omega — that probably wouldn’t happen until their cycles aligned — but an undeniable claim.
Wei Wuxian had catching up to do; it was impressive how Lan Zhan had managed to mark so many scent glands by dim lantern light.
Lan Zhan’s ribbon was tangled in the sheets and discarded robes. Good luck getting that back, Wei Wuxian thought, feeling so fond his entire chest ached with it.
He would have to get up, in a minute, and beg someone from the domestic staff to bring fresh bathwater. Rouse Jiang Cheng from their bed and drag him, grouchy and sore, to clean up, before checking his meridians and figuring out next steps.
In a few minutes. Until then, he let their bonded scent settle something loose in his chest, and curled around Jiang Cheng to wait for Lan Zhan to come back to bed.