When Jiang Cheng finally turns on him, the trembling clutch of his hands winding around Wei Wuxian’s throat, all Wei Wuxian can feel is relief spilling through him, sprawling out, like blood seeping through silk. The throb of his cheek where the echo of Jiang Cheng’s fist still rattles through the bone; the fire that rips through his chest in the space left by his snatched breath; the sting of the tears welling up against the banks of his eyes; every cruel word that follows the violent arc of Jiang Cheng’s thunderous grief— all of it is water made to slide from Wei Wuxian’s back. All of it is already forgiven, price taken for a debt long owed.

If Jiang Cheng kills him here — so long as he sits with Wei Wuxian’s body in this field until he grows cold, and he does not return to Lotus Pier — his life will have been worth its cost.

Wei Wuxian cups his hands over Jiang Cheng’s, palms clammy, stuttering against his straining knuckles as he holds the rope of his grip down on his neck. He feels Jiang Cheng’s thumbs bear down on his windpipe, dig in, as if he means to break the skin with the blades of his blunted fingernails. He feels his tongue loll and whip, thick, in his mouth, hears his own jaw creak with the strain of falling too-wide to greet the air that isn’t coming, and all he can think to be is grateful. Jiang Cheng’s weight in his lap is unforgiving, as unyielding as grave dirt heaped over a coffin. He’s glad for it. He’s so, so glad for it.

Jiang Cheng throws him back against the grass, the vice of his fingers unhinging, and Wei Wuxian sucks in a deep, sputtering breath, instinctual, in the seconds in-between of stillness, Jiang Cheng’s fingers resting on the collar of his robe, his features frozen.

The moment breaks. Jiang Cheng’s mourning is as furious and windswept as the rest of him; his face contorts, ugly, skin mottled red and tear-streaked, and his sob is wretched, hiccuping, a subdued scream cut off at the neck. His weight slips away, the flame holding his frame upright snuffed out, and Wei Wuxian forces himself to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth. Wei Wuxian draws himself and his tears and his unmaking inward, ever inward, as Jiang Cheng’s undoing roars out alongside him.

After, when there is nothing but the dark and the quiet, fractured by Jiang Cheng’s smothered, hitching whimpers, Wei Wuxian digs deep, unearths the unspeakable thing he’s buried in the pit of him for the sake of the promises he’s been tasked to keep, and uses it to spur himself onto his knees. His body feels half-detached from him, laden, misshapen, but he moves it, makes it crawl until he can get his knees to bracket Jiang Cheng’s hips, can get his hands to curve behind his shoulders, fingers nudging roughly against his nape.

“Jiang Cheng,” he whispers, voice scraping out, raw, “you have to get up.”

Jiang Cheng lowers his gaze from the sky, but his eyes, when they settle on Wei Wuxian’s own, are unseeing. “I don’t have to do anything for you.”

“Not for me,” Wei Wuxian pleads. Small. Soft. Anything he can give, or do, or be. “For Shijie.”

There’s still life left in Jiang Cheng, and it comes surging back, rippling through his body as he struggles, viciously, beneath Wei Wuxian, resisting him, red-hemmed eyes blown wide. “Shut up—” he groans, gripping Wei Wuxian’s robes, fisting the fabric so tightly that he draws the collar over his neck, like a fresh noose, to join the laddered bruises left by the clamp of his fingers. Wei Wuxian lets himself go slack, sinks into the flow of Jiang Cheng’s deluge, bares himself to be hit, or insulted, or anything—

Jiang Cheng bucks his hips, once, as if to unseat him, and then goes dangerously still, his gasp wet, clotted, where it hisses out from between the grit of his teeth. The seconds yawn out between them into an age, a lifetime. Wei Wuxian feels like Jiang Cheng’s hands are back on his neck with how heavy the sudden silence hangs, his breath held in his chest.

And then, Jiang Cheng laughs. It’s a miserable, wrecked, hysterical sound, his teeth baring as if he’s in agony. “You really are—” he starts, and stops, shaking his head. Wei Wuxian feels dread well up in the fount of his stomach as he looks down between them, eyes following the numb drop of Jiang Cheng’s hand as it drags down the flat of his chest, his hip, before his wrist swivels, bone clicking, palm turning upward as he pushes between the flush press of their bodies. The snub of his fingers against the underside of Wei Wuxian’s cock, trapped beneath the pleated layers of his robes, shocks a startled whine out of his mouth. All at once it floods back to him, into him; the churning, insistent need that had first bloomed in him from the latch of his brother’s hands around his throat. The inconsolable, irredeemable desire stoked by fear and touch and morbid consolation.

He had tried to temper it within the cage of his skin, stow it away in the far recesses of somewhere, anywhere else. Had hoped it would collapse in on itself and pass on, pass away, leave him in peace, leave him to his purpose of getting Jiang Cheng out of this field, of finding their sister, of running away—

Jiang Cheng squeezes him, harsh, forcing out a grunt. Disgust twists the curl of his thinned lips, turns the line of them hard. “It makes you that happy? You’re enjoying it this much?”

No, Wei Wuxian thinks, but that’s not what he says, because when he opens his mouth to deny it, Jiang Cheng grinds the heel of his palm down, hard, kneading his tip, and he moans instead, every thought flying out of his head.

“Fuck you,” Jiang Cheng seethes, grappling, clumsy, for the hill of his hip, fingers hooking into his belt. Wei Wuxian tries to catch him by the wrist, but Jiang Cheng jerks out of reach only to lunge back, knocking his arm away. His grip around Wei Wuxian’s cock tightens savagely, and Wei Wuxian’s head swims, eyes blurring as pain sparks up the small of his back. He lets his hand settle in a trembling furl against the fan of Jiang Cheng’s ribs instead, the other still tangled around his nape, and Jiang Cheng’s grip eases, just enough to tempt the agony back towards a duller ache. “Fuck you, Wei Wuxian.”

Jiang Cheng yanks his belt loose and throws his robes open in the splay of his lap, hands shaking so much Wei Wuxian can feel it against his cock, with how Jiang Cheng’s fingers scrape and stumble, struggling to hook in the waistband of his pants, and Wei Wuxian mirrors his choking exhale when he at last manages to pull him free, the cold air a shock against his sensitive skin, bearing down like a slap. He feels the flinch coiling down Jiang Cheng’s arm when the pad of his thumb brushes against his tip, shying away, and Wei Wuxian seizes upon his momentary weakness to reorient, pushing down on Jiang Cheng’s ribs with both hands, trying to gentle him and ground him in turns.

“Jiang Cheng—” he starts, and Jiang Cheng’s lips pull back in a snarl as he fists his cock, palm too dry and grip too tight, cutting him off.

“Shut up,” he heaves out, ragged, “shut up,” and so Wei Wuxian does, biting down on his bottom lip until he feels the skin give way beneath his teeth. His other hand flits against Wei Wuxian’s hip before it pushes in, fettering him, wrist jerking as he sloppily strokes Wei Wuxian’s cock between the fraught bridge of their bodies. As if Wei Wuxian would run from him, as if he’d ever leave him like this, as if he wasn’t here to do nothing but give to Jiang Cheng’s take.

There’s no flow to it, no forbearance, but Jiang Cheng is persistent, obstinate; Wei Wuxian pants out, fraying, skin burning, drawing tight, and he has to clamp his eyes shut at the sensation of his cock twitching against his brother’s hand, the grind of his thumb on the flare of his tip, the calloused pad of it circling up to catch on his slit, smearing the precome beading there.

“Open your eyes,” Jiang Cheng demands, breathless, voice splintering, “how dare you, how could—” Wei Wuxian opens his eyes for him, and Jiang Cheng slams his head back against the ground frantically, features fracturing into a wince, a whimper wrenching out of his mouth. Wei Wuxian feels his hand stutter around him, feels Jiang Cheng’s own cock twitch where it’s flush against his thigh and the flutter of his ribs as he begins to sob helplessly. That, too, must be swallowed down, like so much else, and so Wei Wuxian steels himself to it, slips himself into the newest role in his ever-shifting repertoire that he now needs to play.

He tells himself he doesn’t curve in on himself half as much to push his cock harder into his brother’s hand as he does to better reach for his brother’s face, fingers smoothing his hair back from his sweat-damp forehead, tugging the strands out from his teeth. Wei Wuxian shapes his mouth into a tender smile, ignoring the tang of blood welling up on his abraded bottom lip, and it almost feels like it sits right, fitting his jaw and his need. “You’re okay,” Wei Wuxian assures him, soft and saccharine and sickening. “I’ve got you.”

Jiang Cheng sniffs, swallowing thickly, and his fingers go slack, though the furl of them is still enough for Wei Wuxian to roll his hips into, his rhythm idle, detached. “Haven’t I always got you?” Wei Wuxian pauses to suck in a breath, laving at his lips, toes curling as Jiang Cheng’s fingers judder, bringing his nails down to scrape along his shaft. Beneath him, he feels Jiang Cheng’s hips twitch and squirm, discomforted.

He nods shakily, and Wei Wuxian pets his face, sweeping away the dirt that has smattered along the dried tracks of his tears. When fresh ones spill over, Wei Wuxian tends to them, too, tongue curling around some insensate sound, equal parts praise and pity. “Don’t we always take care of one another?” Jiang Cheng nods again, spluttering, nostrils flaring around a damp exhale, and Wei Wuxian gently dabs the spittle that’s pooled in the creases of his lips, leaning closer, until the arc of his spine is drawn taut, as if he’s bowing for his forgiveness. An impulse stirs in him, the only sensation with any rightness to it, held against a circumstance and a captivity that is so inherently wrong, and so Wei Wuxian satisfies it, pressing his lips to Jiang Cheng’s brow in a chaste kiss.

“Do you think there’s anything you could ever do to push me away?” he mouths against Jiang Cheng’s skin, the words stuttering out, catching on themselves, as Jiang Cheng begins to stroke him again, treacherously firm and terrifyingly deliberate. If he stops, for even a moment, he can hear the slick sound of Jiang Cheng’s hand rubbing him, root to tip, the glide made easy by sweat and precome, and so he doesn’t stop. Wei Wuxian dips his chin instead, grunting behind the gag of his clenched teeth as he feels a heady heat swell and crest within his chest. His blood feels too thick, risen too close to the shallows of his skin, the back of his skull prickling from the threat of his pleasure.

“Look at me,” Wei Wuxian begs, and Jiang Cheng obeys, eyes misted over, bereaved, when they blink open, still tipped back towards the sky before they slink down to meet him. “It really was my fault, wasn’t it?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng protests, coarse, jolting when Wei Wuxian hushes him. He steadies and guides Jiang Cheng with the flare of his gaze as he reaches down between them, cupping his palm over the backs of Jiang Cheng’s knuckles, subtly correcting the strength in his grip, the tempo of his strokes.

“It’s okay,” Wei Wuxian says, “I know. You can chastise me.” He hitches his hips back, pools his weight into his thighs, and rocks forward, rutting against Jiang Cheng’s swollen cock, gasping out when he feels it pulse, scalding him down to the bone. “Discipline me. Anything you need.”

Jiang Cheng groans, threadbare, eyes rolling back for a breath before they refocus, and Wei Wuxian shudders, wrecked, as the backs of his knuckles ghost his bruised throat, the only warning he gets before Jiang Cheng snags the jut of his jaw and pulls, hips bucking up in counterpoint. Their teeth clack together, loud, grunts mingling, and Wei Wuxian tries to remedy the angle, but Jiang Cheng must take it for a retreat for how roughly he collars the back of his neck with his hand and holds him down.

“I’m here,” Wei Wuxian promises against his brother’s mouth, “I’m here. Where do you think I’d go, hmm?” He sighs out, shivering, as Jiang Cheng’s nails scrape down his nape; leaves his mouth open, breath gusting against Jiang Cheng’s lips, Jiang Cheng’s shaky little exhales wisping against his teeth. But the comfort he wants to keep giving won’t put itself to words, so Wei Wuxian discards it, lets his body speak its turn instead, his head tilting to draw their mouths together properly as he takes Jiang Cheng’s lips between his own. He takes in Jiang Cheng’s shattered whine, lacing their fingers together where they’re tangled around his cock, pushing back on Jiang Cheng’s hips as they writhe underneath him, legs kicking out.

It’s only when he feels a cooling wetness spreading against his legs that he even realises Jiang Cheng has come, and that’s— Wei Wuxian grips himself in Jiang Cheng’s quaking hand violently as he pries Jiang Cheng’s teeth apart with his tongue, licks into his mouth and spills onto their fingers with a miserable groan when Jiang Cheng hesitantly nips at his top lip, dazed.

Jiang Cheng’s eyes are closed again when Wei Wuxian drags their mouths apart, tongue flicking out reflexively to snap the wire of saliva still tying them together, and he twists his face away weakly, cheek pillowing against the grass. Wei Wuxian lets him lie, his frame rigidly still save for the flutter of his ribs and the bob of his throat around his wracked swallows, and hefts himself up onto his knees. He touches Jiang Cheng only as much as he needs, wiping their hands clean with the skirt of his robe, patting it against Jiang Cheng’s pants to mop up the come that hasn’t already begun to dry and set in the cotton.

When he is at last done, Wei Wuxian rolls over onto his back, breathes out, once, twice, and falls under with a sob leashed in his throat.

It’s light, when Wei Wuxian surfaces, and Jiang Cheng is already up.

Wei Wuxian goes to his knees, and then to his feet, subduing himself where the vestiges of his sleep are not already making him small. Jiang Cheng does not look at him; Jiang Cheng does not seem to look at anything at all. When Wei Wuxian takes him by the hand, he goes limp in his gentle grip, slipping free the moment Wei Wuxian allows him any give.

For a moment, for a grave and horrifying moment, Wei Wuxian believes in his heart that his brother won’t rise. Even the mention of their sister seems to glance off him, or pass through him, he can’t quite tell which, or if either of them are any better than the other.

Jiang Cheng does stand, slow and inevitable, like a man moving himself towards his executioner. Wei Wuxian tries not to break apart from the sorrow of watching Jiang Cheng’s eyes settle on his neck, his chin, before they stall. When Jiang Cheng finally meets his gaze, it’s for a second; a second too long, a second too much, and Wei Wuxian feels the burden of his hollowness crush him as Jiang Cheng looks away and drifts past him without a word.

All won’t be forgotten, Wei Wuxian knows this, but it will be forgiven, if granted the time. It always is. And so, he turns, and he follows.