Title: shadow and need
Fandom: Guardian
Rating: Teen
Length: ~1000 words
Notes: Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan. Pre-relationship, set after the identity reveal, clothing kink, yearning, angst. Inspired by this kink_bingo Ramp-Up Essay: Erotic Focus by thingswithwings. Much thanks to trobadora and mergatrude for beta. No Warnings.
Summary: Zhao Yunlan doesn’t know which way is up, can’t tell night from day, he just knows he needs Shen Wei’s hands on him.


It’s like a switch has been thrown in his brain. Before—before he knew, back when Shen Wei was only Professor Shen, harmless, earnest, secretive, kind, filling Zhao Yunlan’s head with casually lustful possibilities and fond, protective thoughts until those thoughts carved out a place in Zhao Yunlan’s blackened heart like a river cutting through limestone—and back when the Envoy was only the Black-Cloaked Envoy, stern, aloof and unsmiling. Back then, Zhao Yunlan hadn’t given much thought to the Envoy’s physique under those flowing robes—nor the robes themselves, neither. The trappings. He’d been a political problem to navigate with care—at times an ally, at other times an obstacle. Nothing sexual about him at all.

But now—now when the Envoy appears, Zhao Yunlan is keenly aware of the body beneath the office, the eyes behind the mask. He can’t help it. And then, minutes or hours later, he finds himself staring at the top of Professor Shen’s middle finger, around which the cord of the Envoy’s sleeve would loop if he were wearing his Dixing garments instead of pale blue shirtsleeves and garters and glasses.

Shen Wei’s hands. Hands which can summon the Envoy’s blade, can gather dark energy out of nowhere. There’s terrifying power there, grace and danger and allure, and Zhao Yunlan doesn’t know which way is up, can’t tell night from day, he just knows he needs those hands on him. He wants to run his tongue around that middle finger with its ghost of a black loop, wants to close his lips where the cord pulls tight, to place his palms on Shen Wei’s cheeks where the mask sometimes sits. He wants so much, and it’s disturbing. It’s wrong. It’s a fucking disaster.

Shen Wei is his friend. They’ve agreed they’re friends. But the Envoy is hardly a man at all—he’s a symbol, an enforcer, a legend. Two weeks ago, if someone had said he was incorporeal, Zhao Yunlan might have believed it. How can a portal tear a hole in the sky and take away anything solid? But Shen Wei is real, and Shen Wei is the Envoy, and there’s no escaping it now.

The Envoy, with his dramatic robes, his embroidered hood, his belt, those finger loops to tether his sleeves—the Envoy is Shen Wei, and beneath the Envoy’s robes is the lean strength of Shen Wei’s body, muscle and sinew, all perfect, all calling to Zhao Yunlan, inexorably tugging him closer.

He can’t get the contradiction out of his mind, not when they’re together, not even now when he’s driving them to interview a witness. And not when he’s alone. Twice, Da Qing’s found him hunched on the couch in the dark, lost in an eddy of contemplation. “What are you doing?” “What? Nothing?” Embarrassed. Ashamed. What would the cat even say if Zhao Yunlan told the truth? It’s one thing to have his eye on Professor Shen, who wouldn’t, but the Envoy? It’s impossible.

So impossible he has to laugh.

“What is it?” Shen Wei looks across the car. His hands lie loose in his lap.

“Nothing.” Zhao Yunlan grips the steering wheel tighter, imagines saying what he needs: your fingers in my mouth. He laughs again to stop the tension building low in his gut, fizzing and sparking. Sees a red light too late. Brakes too suddenly. Swears.

Shen Wei casts him a glance, more concerned than alarmed.

“It’s nothing,” repeats Zhao Yunlan, and takes out a lollipop, but it’s a poor substitute, too sweet, too easy. He wants—he wants.

He’s vaguely disgusted with himself. Here’s Shen Wei, alone aboveground for who knows how long, searching for the Hallows, sworn to maintain peace in two worlds and protect Dragon City, all while working at his day job. Dignified, respectable, self-contained. And here is Zhao Yunlan, objectifying him like a sleazebag, staring at his fingers, at the clean, sharp curve of his neck and the line of his jaw. Picturing him in his robes, picturing him out of them. Sweat prickles the small of Zhao Yunlan’s back as the mental images sear his brain. He can tell himself they’re harmless fantasies, no one’s business but his own. He can pretend he’s acting normally, that Shen Wei will never know. He can lie to himself, but—

But he keeps pushing closer, keeps teasing, keeps meeting Shen Wei’s gaze, getting right up in his face. Show me, he wants to say. Put on your robes and let me study you all over, learn every stitch and tie and belt and loop. Let me—

With every irreverent joke Zhao Yunlan makes, Shen Wei is stiffer and more withdrawn. If Zhao Yunlan were to cross the line, make an unambiguous move, Shen Wei would glare, exasperated and disappointed, and walk away. He would. He’s done it before—and then scraped Zhao Yunlan out of the gutter, taken him home and cleaned his flat. Zhao Yunlan’s self-respect can’t take another round of that, but he can’t stop wanting to try again. He tries telling himself it would be for Shen Wei’s sake—the man’s too alone. He needs to be known, needs to let someone in, needs to be touched. And who is there to touch him but Zhao Yunlan? It has to be him, doesn’t it? It has to be.

But it should be respectful, not this messy gnawing ache, not this obscene obsession. If it happens, Zhao Yunlan should do it right. Sure, Shen Wei could benefit from letting loose a little like at the SID team dinner, some street food, some disreputable company. Take off his tie and roll up his sleeves. But when it comes to getting up close and personal, he deserves more than skewers and beer. He’s Shen Wei, he’s the Envoy. He deserves everything—

And Zhao Yunlan has nothing to give. Nothing that’s worth a damn.



END