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"I never would have come with you—" Jiang Cheng tries to dig his fingers into the skin beneath porcelain-hard scales, succeeding only in blunting his nails without budging the tail an inch. "—if I knew you'd be this fucking unreasonable, you overgrown lizard."
Lan Wangji, the unreasonable overgrown lizard that he is, constricts his tail around Jiang Cheng's ribcage, enough to leave him slightly winded and aware of his position. If he thinks he might stop Jiang Cheng from cursing him out, he's sorely mistaken.
"I have a clan to run. A conference to attend. I have responsibilities," Jiang Cheng hisses. There's probably no point in arguing with a demi-immortal who measures time in decades over mortal years, even compared to cultivators who've achieved a golden core and extended lifespan.
Jiang Cheng still has to try. The alternative is that his second-in-command comes looking for him — or, worse, actually finds him — in this pervert's den, and Jiang Cheng's pride won't allow it. "Release me or I'll cut it off; don't tempt me to violence."
Wangji's uncanny golden eyes catch the lantern light, flicking to the sheathed Sandu on its bed of Jiang Cheng's robes. Each layer is folded neatly and nested in the layer before it; the white robes Wangji laid over the bed mat, by contrast, may never wash clean.
Gold eyes return to Jiang Cheng, weighing and dismissing the threat in an instant, which pisses Jiang Cheng off beyond his ability to form words. "Your second has been informed. Next time," Wangji reminds him, deadpan, "Wanyin will not go so long between visits."
Jiang Cheng knocks his head back against the dragon's nest to glare up at the rafters of the jingshi, cursing this petty, terrible dragon (unfortunately his petty, terrible dragon) to various courts of hell and a suitably pathetic reincarnation. He would make a good frog. Maybe an insect. A mosquito—
Scale plates over powerful muscle slither across Jiang Cheng's bare skin. The tip wraps around Jiang Cheng's knee to tug his leg sideways, spreading him enough for Wangji to settle back between his thighs. The thick upper length of the tail keeps Jiang Cheng immobile, hips elevated, while the thin extremity positions him.
The thicker of the dragon's paired cocks sheathes back into his body, lighting up every nerve ending in pleasure-pain, meeting no resistance after — Jiang Cheng has lost track — however many rounds. Jiang Cheng clings to the last shreds of his focus by sheer stubborn will, and— and righteous upset, he has good reason to be mad, he came here to speak to Grandmaster Lan about upcoming lessons for his disciples, not to while away the entire conference in the jingshi—
Wangji rolls his hips, and Jiang Cheng takes him, can do nothing but take him, so deep that he has to gasp for breath.
"You are." Jiang Cheng's breath hiccups out. He scrabbles for something to grasp, something to anchor himself, arching his spine against scales warmed by his own body heat to tangle his fingers into the cool branches of Wangji's antlers. "Fucking impossible. A-Zhan—"
It's a long while later before Jiang Cheng can string together another coherent thought.
After, imprinted with scalloped red marks wherever Wangji's tail constricted his skin, Jiang Cheng strokes his fingers through the silk-soft tuft of fur at the end of Wangji's tail and mutters the words that seal his fate (in fairness, his brain feels as malleable and sore as the rest of him). "There's no reason you couldn't visit me. If you're so impatient."
Hot skin twitches against Jiang Cheng's thigh. What the fuck. Who has this much stamina? Who gets this pent-up after only a month apart? "If you touch me with that thing again, I'll toss you in the cold pond," Jiang Cheng threatens, pinching the tender skin of Lan Wangji's hip.
"—s good fortune to see a dragon," a senior disciple whispers to her shidi, who strains up on his tiptoes to catch a glimpse of their visitor through the gathered crowd.
Jiang Cheng doubles his pace. These disciples are lucky he has more important problems to deal with than juniors and their so-called instructors slacking off on their morning forms, but they'll make up for the lapse with an extra round of evening forms. Extra lessons for the next week at least!
Lan whites and blues stand out enough against the colour and bustle of Lotus Pier without any of the draconic traits of the main clan line. The ribbon-adorned antlers and serpentine tail are that much stranger to those who don't regularly see dragons, which unfortunately doesn't include Jiang Cheng.
Lan Wangji rarely smiles.
Jiang Cheng knows to look for other signs: the flick of his tail, the minute shift in posture as his shoulders relax. "Jiang Wanyin."
Every eye in the courtyard turns toward their Sect Leader.
Fuck.
"It has only been," Jiang Cheng says, rising in volume with each syllable, "two fucking days."
Jiang Cheng will give his loitering, gossiping disciples this much: they're trained to be light on their feet, and they know when to make themselves scarce.