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English
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Prized Endealments
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Published:
2021-10-22
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735
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1/1
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115
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Servicing and Maintenance

Summary:

Nie Mingjue's interactions with Lan Xichen have taken two forms in the months since he started working for Gusu Robotics.

  1. Lan Xichen, smiling and self-possessed, nodding at the crew as he swept past them toward the stage and the waiting qin; and
  2. Lan Xichen powered down, an empty shell, with Nie Mingjue's hands in his innards, while Nie Huaisang and Luo Qingyang go over his chassis with a fine-toothed comb, fixing any wear-and-tear in his synthskin and the plating underneath.
    3. So he's not prepared for what it's like to have Lan Xichen awake on his workbench, his smile less than a foot away from Nie Mingjue's face, saying, “Would you mind taking a look at my hand again, Mingjue xiong? I don’t like how my fingers are moving today.”

Notes:

Bot, thank you for your prompts! I'm so delighted that I got you in the exchange :) This fic wrestled me but I'm so happy with how it turned out!

Thank you especially to WithBroomBefore for helping me brainstorm when I got stuck and setting the fic in a very different direction, and to
Glyph and greyskais for the beta.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Nie Mingjue's interactions with Lan Xichen have taken two forms in the months since he started working for Gusu Robotics.

  1. Lan Xichen, smiling and self-possessed, nodding at the crew as he swept past them toward the stage and the waiting qin; and
  2. Lan Xichen powered down, an empty shell, with Nie Mingjue's hands in his innards, while Nie Huaisang and Luo Qingyang go over his chassis with a fine-toothed comb, fixing any wear-and-tear in his synthskin and the plating underneath.

So he's not prepared for what it's like to have Lan Xichen awake on his workbench, his smile less than a foot away from Nie Mingjue's face, saying, “Would you mind taking a look at my hand again, Mingjue xiong? I don’t like how my fingers are moving today.”

“S-sure,” Nie Mingjue manages. He fights down his blush as he takes Lan Xichen’s hand. I’m not going to get flustered because a client asked me to look at his joints, for fuck’s sake, he thinks furiously.

He finds the seam at Lan Xichen’s wrist and starts easing the synthskin off his hand. Lan Xichen’s breath ruffles Nie Mingjue’s hair as he grunts.

“Pain?” Nie Mingjue asks, looking up from the hand with a frown. Lan Xichen’s eyes are a warm amber, and so close.

“No, just… strange,” he says. The smile is gone from his lips. “I’ve never gotten used to how that feels, the skin coming off.”

“Mn.” Nie Mingjue resolves to get this done quickly.

Nie Mingjue doesn’t deal with Lan Xichen’s chassis very often — his expertise lies somewhat deeper.

Once the skin is off, Nie Mingjue bends over Lan Xichen’s hand, holding his wrist loosely, to examine the plating on his fingers.

“Move them for me, one by one.”

Lan Xichen obeys. The jointed overlapping plates slide noiselessly against each other. Little finger, fourth finger, middle finger, index, thumb. Then back.

“Ah,” Nie Mingjue says.

“Hm?”

“Something caught in that third joint.” Nie Mingjue takes one of the smallest scrub brushes from his work tray and, bending Lan Xichen’s finger himself, works it between the plates.

“Ah—” Lan Xichen says, soft.

“Pain?” Nie Mingjue asks again, looking up.

“No.” Lan Xichen runs his tongue over his lower lip and— Lan Xichen has a tongue for the same reason he has breath, because among the instruments he plays are flutes both upright and transverse. Nie Mingjue has replaced the bellows he uses for lungs himself. But now Nie Mingjue tracks the path of that tongue across that lip and thinks of kissing, not repairs.

“Not pain,” Lan Xichen says, voice strained, “but the sensation without my skin… It’s…”

Something like pain, Nie Mingjue thinks. He slides his free hand up Lan Xichen’s forearm almost without thinking. His skin is so soft where it resumes, and flesh-warm with the heat from his CPU.

Lan Xichen’s eyes widen. Then, a smile plays across his lips.

“Focus on this,” Nie Mingjue offers gruffly, pressing his thumb into the divot of Lan Xichen’s elbow.

“Thank you, Mingjue xiong,” Lan Xichen murmurs.

Nie Mingjue flushes and returns his attention to working the crud out from Lan Xichen’s finger joints.

Lan Xichen keeps admirably still while he does. He doesn’t breathe, apart from an inhalation as Nie Mingjue pulls the scrub brush from his hand, along with the scrap of fabric that had been trapped between the plates.

Nie Mingjue picks up the synthskin from the workbench and returns it to Lan Xichen’s hand finger by finger, like putting on a glove. Lan Xichen holds still for this as well. Nie Mingjue doesn’t dare look away from the skin in case it tears, but he’s dying to know what expression is on Lan Xichen’s face.

“There.” Nie Mingjue smooths his thumbs over the seam at Lan Xichen’s wrist and watches as it disappears entirely, leaving behind unbroken, entirely realistic skin. “All done, Lan xiansheng.”

“Please,” Lan Xichen says, turning his hand in Nie Mingjue’s, and stroking gently along his pulse point. Nie Mingjue swallows. “Call me Xichen.”

“Xichen xiong.” Nie Mingjue raises his gaze to Lan Xichen’s. Lan Xichen nods and smiles, warm and pleased. Nie Mingjue wants that expression directed at him for the rest of his life.

Lan Xichen hops off the workbench. Nie Mingjue rises from his stool to come level with him. “Have a good performance.”

“Thanks to you,” Lan Xichen says, “it will be.”

Notes:

This fic has been converted for free using AOYeet!