Wei WuXian really, really liked hands. Not just any random pair, no, he really, really liked Lan WangJi's hands alone. He loved watching them, those long fingers strumming against the strings of his guqin, the way they flexed when he gripped his sword (and when he gripped his "sword"), the slight tremble that was always visible when he reached out to touch Wei WuXian, as if he were afraid he were only dreaming.
He loved every bit of them. The way they were long and slender, fingers stretching almost to eternity, when he lay his hands out flat, the way they became wide and firm and white as jade when he clenched his fists in anger, the way they passed over his warmth and affection and love with every light brush of finger to skin.
He just loved them.
And so he found himself staring at them, almost constantly, so much so that Lan WangJi seemed to notice, because he shyly concealed his hands within his sleeves or behind his back whenever they went out somewhere and, in the privacy of their rooms, he took up Wei WuXian's hand as often as possible so he could press their fingers together and run his thumb along that calloused palm and the expanse of that wrist that looked so deceptively thin.
And, of course, being Wei WuXian, he also started to fantasize just a bit.
He knew, of course he knew, that Lan WangJi loved to touch him, loved to hold his hand, loved to cup his chin in his palm, loved to circle his wrists, loved to stroke him from head to toe, loved to rest his hand on his nape or his waist or maybe even both at once. He knew Lan WangJi was secretly the most tactile person he knew, wanting to wrap Wei WuXian up in his arms and grip him firm at all times, wanting to be in constant contact to reassure himself that Wei WuXian was here, was alive, was present and willing and happy and satisfied and never, ever, ever going to leave again.
He knew that's what he wanted, but of course that wasn't always possible.
So here he was, loving Lan WangJi's hands as Lan WangJi loved using those hands, so, as could be expected, he became inspired.
And he just really really really wanted it for himself anyway. He wasn't being entirely selfless here.
The next time Lan WangJi was two fingers deep, flicking hard with his wrist to shove his fingers deeper and wider, Wei WuXian gripped his wrist and said, "Give me another."
Lan WangJi's eyes flicked up from where they had been focused, darting all over his face in the blink of an eye, and then he nodded slightly as he wedged a third finger in.
Long, thick, firm.
Wei WuXian loved it.
He clenched down hard, muscles almost forcing those fingers back out, and Lan WangJi huffed out the softest of grunts before pushing forward firmly and forcing his fingers deeper inside.
Wei WuXian could feel them all, moving together, moving separately, each knuckle, each callous, even the carefully blunted off rounds of his nails, pressing into him, pressing up against him, filling him with oh-so-much warmth and sensation.
Lan WangJi's pinky brushed against his thigh, just barely, so lightly that he almost didn't register the touch, and he came instantly, hard and long, splattering fluid up his own chest almost to his chin.
Coming to the image of that fourth finger tucked up inside him as well.
After a few times, Lan WangJi seemed to pick up on his intentions. Of course he did, of course. One time he shoved Wei WuXian down face first into the bed, rucked his hips up, and dug into him with three fingers as if he were trying to scrape out his insides. Wei WuXian nearly screamed from the sensation, each rake of those fingers darting across his prostate, sending sparks up his spine, knuckles stretching his hole so wide it burned with each and every shift. He could feel the ligaments under Lan WangJi's skin, oh so strong, oh so small, flexing and bunching and pressing against the stretched-tight flesh of his entrance rhythmically.
His thumb and pinky were spread wide, essentially bracing his hand against the delicate stretch of skin where Wei WuXian's thighs met his ass, and he couldn't keep himself from moaning as he imagined the bruises that were forming there at this very moment, the ones that would mirror those left inside, unseen but surely going to be felt for days.
Lan WangJi panted behind him as his fingers flicked one more time, honing in right on his prostate and pressing down until Wei WuXian was crying from the unending orgasm.
He found out slowly just how nimble Lan WangJi's fingers were. No surprise really, considering how fast some of the songs he could play were, how his fingers darted across the strings, stretching and flexing and darting in a eye-catching dance. Those same fingers played within him as well, especially quick whenever he was filled with release, darting in and out so much faster than usual and spreading the fluid with wet squelches that accompanied Wei WuXian's gasps and moans. He loved the way Lan WangJi's fingers would press in, twist, wiggle, and flex, scoop out the essence, press it back in, paint it across his flushed red hole, and stir it up until it frothed like too hot water poured on tea leaves. Not a single place inside him was left untouched, not by those clever fingers, that could go anywhere, at any time, completely under Lan WangJi's precise, careful control.
Lan WangJi had him crying once, fingers flying within him, pushing his own release deeper and deeper and then digging it back out and making Wei WuXian clench his hole desperately as he tried to keep it all inside, because once it leaked out, the game would be over and those fingers would leave him, empty and aching and tingling painfully from the sudden absence of sensation.
And then one time, Lan WangJi squeezed the fourth finger in. Just carefully, silently, and oh-so-calmly, right when Wei WuXian was exhaling a shoulder-shaking sob, right when his muscles were at their loosest. And it was miraculous, the way those fingers gathered, pinky tucking up under the rest, so it was almost unnoticeable, but Wei WuXian knew it was there, as sensitized as he was now to every single twitch and shift and touch. His fingers were heavy within him, almost too heavy, dragging down on his entrance as they shifted, stretching it asymmetrically so the bottom edge gaped slightly around the sides of his smallest finger, letting cool air waft in and out with every single thrust. Lan WangJi spread his fingers wide, when they were at their deepest point, and Wei WuXian clawed at the bed and tugged at his hair and screamed at the sensation, of each individual finger pressing firmly, deeply, twitching and bending, reshaping him inside so he would never forget what it was to know Lan WangJi, for Lan WangJi to know him more than anyone ever had or ever would.
And then Lan WangJi's thumb stroked, almost absentmindedly, along the tight, tight flesh of his entrance, and Wei WuXian shuddered as if he had been electrocuted.
And then, eventually, after oh so many days and nights and days, he put his whole hand, from slender fingertip to thick, thick wrist inside and they were more connected than they had ever been. Lan WangJi was inside him, so wide and so firm, a steady rock right within his gut, making Wei WuXian yield to his presence as he clenched his fingers into a fist. Wei WuXian was so aware of him, of his every twitch and shift, of the heat of his body, of the strength of his limbs - at this very moment, if Lan WangJi moved his incredibly, ridiculously strong arm in just the wrong way, releasing all that firmly controlled power, he would be able to destroy Wei WuXian, right there at his core.
Wei WuXian whined, just imagining it, all that tightly coiled strength held back by all that composure and restraint, and started to pant roughly against the bed, the heat of his own breath wafting back up against his flushed cheeks.
His muscles clenched, involuntarily, and he was suddenly aware of Lan WangJi's pulse, right there, where his wrist was forcing Wei WuXian's entrance open painfully wide. Each thump of his heart had the vein in his wrist throbbing, pressing against Wei WuXian's stretched-thin flesh and he could feel that Lan WangJi's heart was racing, fast, faster, oh so fast, as if it were about to burst.
Lan WangJi's hand twitched, just slightly, and then, as Wei WuXian moaned, started to push forward.
Wei WuXian's eyes rolled back in his head and he saw nothing but flashes of light before his eyes as that thick, unyielding presence moved within him, crushing his prostate against that internal wall, stretching his hole even wider around the expanse of his forearm.
A whine filled the room, high and thready, and it took Wei WuXian several gasping moments to realize it was coming from his own throat.
"I can feel you," Lan WangJi murmured softly, "your pulse, here," his fist twisted minutely, "the way you are trembling," it flexed cautiously, "how hot you are inside," his free hand pressed lightly against Wei WuXian's stomach. "Can you feel me too?"
His eyes felt like they would bulge from their sockets as he sucked in a deep breath. The skin of his stomach stretched, flexed, as the air filled his lunged, pressing more firmly against Lan WangJi's hand, and Wei WuXian could feel it.
Lan WangJi was pressing towards his own hand inside.
He nodded his head frantically, the tears in his eyes shaken loose by the motion and spilling helplessly down his cheeks as he heaved for breath and mouthed wordlessly at the air.
Lips pressed gently against his back, slipping slightly in the slick layer of sweat, and Wei WuXian sobbed at the tender touch.
His entire body was a lightning rod of sensation, trembling powerlessly around that grounding point, that immovable mass within him.
Every nerve in his body sang, pleasure mixed with a strange agony racing up and down his spine, as Lan WangJi pulled his hand back, slowly, carefully, achingly slowly, painfully carefully, and caught up right against that poor, tortured ring of muscle. The fingers on his belly twitched, just once, like the fluttering of the wings of a butterfly, and Wei WuXian's vision went dark as the crest of his orgasm broke over him like a wave.
They would never be separated now.
Wei WuXian woke to those hands, those beautiful, amazing, wonderful, strong, gentle hands, moving over his body. The sweat was wiped from his skin, the drool and snot and tears from his face. His hair was gently but thoroughly washed, until it was soft and clean and free from sweat. His body was soaked in warm water, supported and cradled like the most precious of treasures. His legs and arms were massaged, his ears were soothed with soft hums, and his lips were brushed with soft kisses.
He opened his eyes, vision slowly coming into focus, and captured that oh-so-familiar hand. With his lips turned up in a smile mirroring the softest, most gentle one currently visible in the center of his gaze, he pressed those fingertips to his lips and sighed.