I
t’ll be fine, they said. You don’t even have to drink that much, they said.
Lan Xichen could blame nobody but himself for his current predicament, but that didn’t make it any less awkward. Flanked by Nie Mingjue on his left and Meng Yao on his right, he could not escape their fascinated gazes as their eyes flicked between his face and the cup of wine before him.
He was sure, deathly sure, that they were both well aware of what would happen if he drank. It wasn’t exactly a secret that one cup was enough to inebriate even the most stoic of Lan cultivators.
“Xichen, we have nothing to do the day after our discussion and it’s high time we all loosened up a little,” Nie Mingjue had suggested, gruff tone oddly mischievous in a rare show of playfulness.
“Sect Leader Nie is right. Surely this much stress cannot be good for the body, and besides, I have no doubt in the competence of the other cultivators and ourselves should an emergency occur,” Meng Yao had followed swiftly, that silver tongue born from blood of gold wheedling its way past Lan Xichen’s doubts.
“Meng Yao. I told you to drop the formalities here.”
In a rare display of…vulnerability? being carefree? Nie Mingjue insisted that titles and hierarchy were tossed out the window. Meng Yao had become an invaluable asset as of late, and the distinction between aide and friend was plenty blurred.
One instance of letting loose certainly wouldn’t hurt things, right?
Nie Mingjue was already three cups in, with Meng Yao nursing his second. Lan Xichen had yet to even take a single sip, but there was only so much stalling he could do, especially when Meng Yao gently nudged his untouched cup closer to him.
He knew that if he expressed discomfort about imbibing alcohol the other two would immediately drop the matter; they were as protective of him as he was of them, even in situations he deemed unnecessary.
But, ah. He promised, and he really didn’t want to ruin the mood, not when the constant frown lines on their foreheads and brows had finally eased.
“Sect Leader Lan?” Did you hear me?” Meng Yao asked again, voice slightly louder. Lan Xichen started, eyes widening in surprise for the briefest moment as he was jolted out of his internal monologuing.
“Ah. For the last time, A-Yao, calling me Xichen is perfectly acceptable,” he quickly recovered, lips quirking up in a smile out of habit. “Forgive me; I seem to be spacing a bit tonight. Would you mind repeating what you said?”
“It doesn’t matter. He talks plenty, Xichen,” Nie Mingjue snorted, but no actual malice laced his words. He mirrored Meng Yao’s earlier actions and pushed the cup closer yet again, the clear alcohol sloshing a little within its confines with a few drops landing on the table. “Have another drink.”
Lan Xichen eyed the cup warily but obediently downed it anyway, to the satisfaction of Nie Mingjue and the bright-eyed interest of Meng Yao.
Meng Yao’s smile was much too innocent for the occasion; there was no way in hell he wasn’t aware of what might happen. And yet, Lan Xichen couldn’t bring himself to be upset in the slightest. Barring his brother, these two were the only people he could truly call close, and their happiness made his own heart sing.
Even if it was at his expense.
With a resigned sigh, the elder Jade picked up the cup and brought it to his lips. The stringent sting of strong alcohol mixed with delicate flowery notes hit his nose, but it wasn’t unpleasant. A pink tongue darted out, flicking at the liquid to taste it.
Meng Yao’s wide eyes seemed trained on his every move, but that could very well just be his own nervousness. Lan Xichen mentally shrugged away the last of his restraint before downing the cup in one go.
“How was it?” Nie Mingjue asked, noticing the distinct lack of liquid in his cup. With a surprisingly gentle touch for such a large, foreboding man, he took the cup from Xichen’s hands (the calluses from those fingertips, earned from countless hours training and on the battlefield, brushing over his knuckles and causing his pulse to jump).
Lan Xichen blamed his low tolerance for the way his heartbeat skipped, thrumming in his throat, despite the fact that there was no way the alcohol would’ve made it past his stomach into his bloodstream yet. Goodness, what an inopportune time, he thought to himself. Granted, there was never an ‘opportune’ time to freely let himself feel the static shocks of attraction to his best friend.
Best friends, really. Meng Yao’s dulcet voice washing over his senses, telling him that there were snacks to help ease the alcohol in his stomach only brought the pleasant prickles to his attention more. Thin fingers, with calluses of their own from different manual labor, pressed a peanut against Xichen’s lips and elicited a soft laugh.
The peanut fell into his mouth and he chewed with a small pout, even if nothing but pure joy showed in his eyes.
“A-Yao, I wasn’t even talking and you wanted to shut me up that badly?” he teased, tongue darting out to swipe away a few stray grains of salt on his lips from the snack. The moment the smaller man tried to deny it, Lan Xichen sent a peanut in return.
Sometimes, even they forgot that underneath the colossal weight of their titles, they were still young men who craved companionship. It was little moments like this that helped thaw the ice they wore as armor, revealing tenderness coupled with an aching longing for affection.
Nie Mingjue regarded the two with a snort, refilling his and Lan Xichen’s cup absently. While he was never one for more mischievous silliness, he couldn’t help but feel fond of the two idiots currently engaged in the Peanutshot Campaign. It seemed Meng Yao emerged victorious, as Lan Xichen raised his hands in surrender to chew the sudden influx of peanuts.
“What are you both, five?,” Nie Mingjue teased with a smirk. “Here, Xichen. Have another drink so you don’t choke on those nuts.”
The little bit of alcohol he’d already had shattered quite a bit of his inhibition already. With a pointed look, he took the proffered cup and downed swiftly.
“What, so I can choke on your nuts instead?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. Nie Mingjue was the one who choked instead, small droplets of alcohol flying onto the table from his sputtering mid-sip.
“L-Lan Xichen!” came the scandalized shout-whisper. The man in question blinked innocently, the action completely at odds with what he’d said a moment ago. All three in the room sat in stunned silence for a bit before resuming as if nothing had happened.
The temperature began feeling like the worst of sweltering summers in Yunmeng to Lan Xichen. He tugged on his collar, frowning, as perspiration beaded on his forehead. Nie Mingjue noticed that fleeting grimace and sighed.
“Xichen, you can take your outer robe off and loosen your collar. It’s just us. There’s no need to be so put together.”
Lan Xichen looked conflicted for a bit, but indeed, profuse sweating wasn’t exactly flattering either. He muttered a quick forgive me before making quickly sliding out of the outermost white garment and tugging on his inner robes more to open the neckline up. Smooth collarbones peeked out from the tantalizing sliver of chest that was revealed.
For someone whose sect was commonly called prudish, Lan Xichen wasn’t nearly as bothered about showing more skin as people might expect. Alcohol might have made him touch more carefree than usual, but he decided that this was nice too. He trusted Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao; if they could fight for their lives on the battlefield together why couldn’t they lounge around comfortably, even if that comfort involved partial stripping? With that thought in mind, he raised a hand to his neck, rubbing the back of it and trailing his fingers down the column to ghost over newly-exposed collarbone and sternum.
Nie Mingjue could suddenly feel his throat go dry as he watched.
Meng Yao had shrunken back in his own seat, eyes wide as half his face was covered by his own cup. To a passerby he would have appeared the very picture of innocence, but of course, he was just taking in the antics of the other two and filing it away for potential future use. Even if he knew he would never be their equals, sometimes, it was nice to pretend.
He was happy on the sidelines watching from below, figuratively and literally. Or at least, he insisted to himself.
He tried to wash the sudden bitterness in his mouth away by clearing his cup once more, but in engrossing himself in his internal monologue, he did not notice two white-clad arms sneaking up from behind him.
“Gotcha, A-Yao!!! Tickle tickle!!!” came the exuberant yell from behind him. Meng Yao yelped, stiffening in shock.
Well. That’s certainly one way to startle someone out of their reverie.
Nie Mingjue had a similar gobsmacked expression on his face with his jaw hanging wide open, a perfect invitation for flies to come in.
They locked eyes, countenances equal measures panic, disbelief and amusement. The Lan curse of ridiculously low alcohol tolerance was real, it seemed, and they were in the thick of it.
They only had a few moments to mull over what just happened when Lan Xichen puffed his cheeks in irritation from getting no reaction. He renewed his tickling efforts, his brow set in a determined furrow as he pulled Meng Yao away from the table and flush against his own chest.
Meng Yao, to his credit, stifled most of the undignified squeaks from being attacked. Most.
Nie Mingjue snickered softly to himself, more than willing to let his aide be the victim in this situation. Meng Yao tried so hard to keep a composed and flawless front, almost too hard; it was good to see him let his guard down a little bit, even if it was because said guard was being smashed apart by an equally smashed Lan.
“Meng Yao, tickle tickle huh,” he teased, the tension in his shoulders melting away as his form shook from barely-suppressed laughter. “You can’t fight that arm strength. Even I’d probably lose if I tried to arm wrestle him.”
Indeed, Meng Yao was locked in place, laughing and writhing as tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. For a man who was supposedly as merciful as the Guanyin herself, Lan Xichen was truly ruthless in this case.
“P-Please, Sect Leader Lan, m-mercy,” he wheezed, hands feebly smacking at those inhumanly tenacious arms. “Ahaha, I, I can’t breathe-”
With a solemn face completely at odds with his exuberant voice, Lan Xichen laid down an ultimatum.
“Call me Xichen-gege and I will let you go!!!”
Meng Yao, whose face was beginning to take on an odd mauve hue, drew in a shaky breath; social standards be damned, his life was on the line here!
“Xichen-gege, p-please, ahaha, have m-mercy,” he managed to rasp out, fully expecting to see his life start flashing before his eyes yet again. When the tickling finally ceased, he slumped over, gasping for breath and wiping at his eyes.
“A-Yao is always so good and obedient!!! I love A-Yao with all my heart!!!” Lan Xichen declared; instead of letting go with his arms, he enveloped Meng Yao closer in a dangerously tight hug. A few cracks were subsequently heard, and even Nie Mingjue grimaced a little.
Well. That was one way to get one’s bones realigned.
The smallest of the three, whose face had gone from mauve to ashen, patted the muscled arms around him weakly in both an attempt to reciprocate a bit and to perhaps remind Lan Xichen to let go, any day now. One arm tried its best to wiggle out of the grip of doom, but the stronger cultivator immediately pulled on his sleeve to stifle it. A loud rip was heard as the fabric tore apart at the shoulder.
The sound seemed to remind Lan Xichen that his strength was a bit off, and with a sigh he loosened his embrace. When the vice of death released after what seemed like a century, Meng Yao let himself slump to the ground, heart hammering from the near-death experience.
But of course, the lean mean bone hurting machine (not to be confused with his young brother the blue forget machine) wasn't inactive for long. With an eerie glint to his eye, he turned, facing the one who'd been happily sitting off in the sidelines.
He slid over to the taller man with a fluid grace completely at odds with how inebriated he looked. An iron grip latched onto Nie Mingjue’s outermost robe, while his other hand abruptly raised and rested on the bewildered sect leader’s cheek.
Pap pap pap pap.
“You used to be so cute!!! What happened, Mingjue-xiong?!!! You were like a dumpling but now you’re just beef!!! I don’t even eat meat!!!” he lamented as he continued to vigorously pap on Nie Mingjue’s cheek.
Any choking that the other two miraculously avoided all landed on Nie Mingjue, with interest to boot. He frantically looked around, hands resting over Lan Xichen’s to try and pry his fingers open and off his clothes. No luck.
“Lan Xichen, let go! You’re being a bit rid-” he began to protest, but was summarily shut up when both of Lan Xichen’s hands came to rest on his face and smooshed.
“Mingjue-xiong, I love you with all my heart too!!! But you’re always so angry, and for what?!!! You’re an idiot sandwich!!!” came the accusation.
“Xichen-gege, please, calm down,” Meng Yao managed, having picked the pieces of himself back up from the floor. “You’re a little drunk right now, so you should try and be more careful, okay?”
Lan Xichen paused momentarily, as if taking stock of himself. His hands slowly retracted until they hung limply at his sides. It seemed as if all his energy had evaporated in a split second; even the light in his eyes seemed dimmer.
“…I see. Mingjue-xiong doesn’t like me anymore,” he muttered despondently, the quietest he’d been in the past few minutes. The exuberant air in the room suddenly became much frostier, leaving Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue worried that they’d genuinely hurt Lan Xichen somehow.
“Xichen, no, it’s not like that,” the Nie sect leader began, putting an awkward hand on Lan Xichen’s slumped shoulder. “We just, uh. Didn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
Comforting people like this was nowhere near his forte, but he had a sneaking suspicion any criticism would cause the Jade to burst into tears and perhaps cause an even bigger scene. All bets were off.
Lan Xichen turned to him with large, doleful eyes that would put any puppy to shame.
“M-Mingjue-xiong,” he said with a pathetic snuffle, “why don’t you like me anymore? Was it because I said I didn’t eat beef? I’ll eat your meat, I promise!!!”
Meng Yao would swear up and down later that he saw Nie Mingjue’s soul begin ascending.
As it stood, however, it seemed like this situation would never resolve itself. He slid behind his sect leader, tapping his shoulder gently and whispered into his ear. Nie Mingjue grimaced, but it was the best shot they had.
“Xichen, look at me. I don’t not like you. At all. You don’t have to eat any meat or do anything differently. Just take a few deep breaths and don’t drink any more, okay?” he asked, the words stilted and awkward but nonetheless spoken.
“Yes yes, but do you like me?” Lan Xichen immediately pressed, rounding on Nie Mingjue with wide, hopeful eyes. “Mingjue-xiong, if you like me tell me you like me!!!”
The grinding of teeth could almost be audible, but Nie Mingjue caved, patting Lan Xichen’s shoulder once more.
“Yes, I like you. Now stop looking so sad.”
It was as if the sun suddenly came out from behind storm clouds. Lan Xichen’s entire face lit up with pure, unadulterated joy, and he quickly resumed his koala-cling onto those broad shoulders.
“Mingjue-xiong likes me!!! That’s perfect, because I like Mingjue-xiong a lot too!!!” he cheered, squeezing for one last hug before suddenly falling limp.
The other two both rushed to catch him and prevent him from falling onto the ground; Meng Yao checked his pulse and condition quickly, trying to see if anything was amiss.
“It seems…Sect Leader Lan just fell asleep,” he finally concluded, trying to stifle laughter to only a moderate degree of success. After making sure that the unconscious man was breathing normally with a regular heartbeat, he shrugged and stepped back, occasionally letting spill a small pfft.
Nie Mingjue sighed, scooping the (unnecessarily tall) human ragdoll into a princess carry. Despite how lithe and delicate Lan sect members looked, they were all dense, lean muscle underneath those flowing robes. The heft of the man was rather comforting; when he’d seen Lan Xichen again for the first time after the Cloud Recesses burned down, the young man looked gaunt and ashen.
“I’ll take him to his guest quarters. Meng Yao, start cleanup,” he commanded, wrapping up their conclave with efficiency. With the Lan sect leader secured, he strode out under the cover of night, still careful to make sure nobody else saw them. It wouldn’t do to tarnish the Lan sect’s reputation like that, especially with their sect leader.
Lan Xichen would probably be ill come morning and wake up feeling like his head had been punted around like a ball, but Nie Mingjue knew that the other man was well aware of this before he agreed. There was an implicit trust that he would be safe regardless of what happened.
Holding the sleeping form a bit closer, Nie Mingjue sighed. This would probably be the last instance that the three could take time off from their duties in such a manner. The war will only continue to escalate, but just for a bit, it seemed like no dangers or issues could enter their little room.
He had to win this war. To avenge the wronged, and to make sure that they could all laugh together again.
Name: Nan
Twitter: Yeasting_Laozu
Name: Frances Twitter: Starcicles
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