Lan Zhan’s fucked Wei Ying often enough in his life that he has a pretty good handle on what Lan Zhan likes. He will, for example, dominate the hell out of a person (read: Wei Ying) when he’s got half a mind to do so (which is most of the time, it comes naturally to him, Wei Ying doesn’t mind at all) and he will slowly wreck a man (read again: Wei Ying) to the dumb lofi sex playlist someone (definitely Wei Ying) made as a joke way back as an early birthday present to himself one year when he was bored and horny and wanted to push Lan Zhan’s buttons a bit. (It’s not a joke now. The playlist is great. Many good times have been had to it. It’s a good friend to Wei Ying and even Lan Zhan’s grown fond of it. Nobody laughs at the playlist.)
Sometimes, when Wei Ying is very lucky and Lan Zhan’s feeling particularly sentimental, he’ll make that sweet, slow love to Wei Ying that leaves him feeling all prickly and vulnerable and cherished.
He can also be lazy as fuck about it whenever he decides he doesn’t want to be in charge, which isn’t today—no, today, he’s definitely in charge and Wei Ying’s ass is gonna know all about it once Lan Zhan’s done pounding him into the mattress—but, you know, sometimes he’s that guy and Wei Ying’s delighted by him anyway.
The point is Wei Ying’s got Lan Zhan’s number, knows exactly what to do and how to do it, can rile Lan Zhan up in five seconds flat or put him on edge for three hours and anything in between. He takes pride in this. It’s a central pillar of his personality by this point: Wei Ying is an expert Lan Zhan fucker™ and if it wouldn’t be really coarse, he’d like it if everyone knew it, too. It’s a good life. Wei Ying has no complaints. He’s never bored and, oh fuck, Lan Zhan’s doing that thing where he decides spines belong to other people.
There—there it is: there’s his orgasm, right there, juuuust out of reach. With a little help from another friend (his right hand, of course, Wei Ying’s a personable guy, he’s got a lot of friends) he might just beat Lan Zhan out on this one.
“No,” Lan Zhan says, slapping it away. When Wei Ying tries again, he grabs hold of Wei Ying’s wrist and pins it to the bed. Because he’s an asshole who also knows Wei Ying too well, he makes sure Wei Ying can’t go off-script with his left, wrenching that arm back. Lan Zhan never stops hammering away at him, never even loses his momentum, the bastard, and he seems intent to keep on going at it like Wei Ying never even tried to be a sneak. He’s gotta be close, too, though! He never gets all huffy and impatient like this when he’s not! He just likes being a jerk about it. 😩
“Lan Zhan!”
“Like this or not at all.”
“Argh!” Wei Ying is, quite possibly, going to die on Lan Zhan’s dick and both of his friends are out of commission. It’s so unfair. When he tries to push back, Lan Zhan just rocks forward, unconcerned. “Lan Zhan. Come on, just—just be a good fucking boy for once and let me—”
Two things happen simultaneously. Well, three, but one of them isn’t all that important. (Lies, it is important: it’s probably the sexiest sound Wei Ying will ever have heard, a strangled, whining grunt of confused pleasure and it’s so very important. It just doesn’t register at this moment. It’ll haunt him, though, just you wait. He’s gonna chase that sound for years once he figures out just what the fuck’s happened.)
The first of the things he does notice: Lan Zhan goes statue-fucking-still behind him. The second is the fact that Lan Zhan comes in his ass without so much as a by your leave.
“Did you just—” Wei Ying wriggles around, still caught in Lan Zhan’s sticky web. Meanwhile, Lan Zhan’s stuck in some kind of post-orgasmic trance or something because he doesn’t loosen his hold on Wei Ying’s hands. When he twists his upper body to take a look, all he can really see is Lan Zhan’s bowed head, his heaving chest. The only thing he earns for his trouble is a—“Ow, ow, fucking ow. Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, let go, fuck!”—cramp in his neck.
Scrambling away, he massages his throat because—motherfuck—he really is going to die, but not of fun. He has so many regrets about this moment and mostly they involve Lan Zhan not giving him the railing of his life that he clearly deserves.
The sex playlist has let him down. His hands have let him down. The sheets are gonna feel like he’s letting them down because lube and Lan Zhan’s premature come are both leaking all over his ass and thighs and the fabric and that’s kind of sexy except for how he’s thinking he might have to go drink some pickle juice to kill the muscle ache in his neck if he can’t massage it away soon.
He doesn’t even know if pickle juice helps with muscle aches. He read it on the internet somewhere though. But digressions. Not important.
Lan Zhan could never in his life let him down, but he’s still a little perplexed about what’s just happened and why Lan Zhan won’t look at him until…
Understanding dawns and it is bright and terrible and glorious.
“Lan Zhan?”
No answer. Once he comes, he’s usually smug about it, smug and loose-limbed and beautiful. He’ll curl around Wei Ying and pepper kisses across his skin. This time, Lan Zhan’s shoulders are rigid and tense and there’s an unhappy set to his mouth that is unusual. He is not smug in the slightest and he’s very rudely not peppering anything, let alone Wei Ying.
This is clearly the face of a man who’s just experienced a terrible, terrible orgasm.
“Lan Zhan, did you just…” He laughs a little, which maybe isn’t the most sophisticated or kind response he could give, but hey, he hasn’t even had an orgasm yet. Besides, this is all just a little awkward. And his neck hurts. And it’s kind of hilarious. “Lan Zhan, did you just ruin your own orgasm?” While dicking me down, he doesn’t add, even inside his mind, not at all mournful of how neglected he’s been in all this. Screw yourself on your own time, buddy.
He stares down at his dick, sad and going soft in his lap. He tells himself that a little edging never hurt anyone. Like this, he thinks, bemused, or not at all. Good job, Lan Zhan.
“I wouldn’t—” Lan Zhan sighs, aggrieved. “I would tell you if I wanted a ruined orgasm.”
Fair enough. Lan Zhan’s usually vocal about what he wants to do. “Then what happened? You usually overperform, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Zhan is not a blusher. Sure, his ears might go a little pink, but even that isn’t necessarily noticeable. This time, his face fully flushes down to his neck. Those ears are bright fucking red. He will still not look Wei Ying in the eye for anything.
A new answer dawns on Wei Ying and it is even brighter and more glorious than the first. “Lan Zhan!” Though it’s a bad idea—his neck twinges in protest—Wei Ying crawls over and drapes himself across Lan Zhan’s thighs. His dick’s on alert again because perched on Lan Zhan’s thighs is its favorite place to be. Lan Zhan’s cheeks are on fire as Wei Ying cups them in his palms. “Lan Zhan, do you want to be a good boy for me?”
It’s impossible. There is no way, not a single chance in any hell that humanity’s ever come up with, that Lan Zhan wants to be a good boy. He spends too much of his life outside of his relationship with Wei Ying toeing lines, being good and behaving well. The whole point—well, one of the points—of their relationship is Lan Zhan can let go and just be who he is, which is a generous, doting, caring, sex fiend in the bedroom and across every surface of their apartment. Of the two of them, he’s the bad boy.
Lan Zhan, the truest love of Wei Ying’s life, the man he knows better than he knows himself, the guy who wouldn’t be caught dead wanting to be good, that guy? That guy whimpers. He whimpers and clutches at Wei Ying’s wrists and he doesn’t harden again yet, but Wei Ying knows this particular flex of Lan Zhan’s muscles: it’s only a matter of time.
Holy.
Shit.
“Lan Zhan?” He whispers this because he’s a coward who’s grown unused to uncharted territory and he doesn’t want to scare Lan Zhan or himself away. “Lan Zhan, I’m not laughing anymore.” In fact, this has gone from hilarious to mind-meltingly hot in the blink of an eye. Pillowing his cheek on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, he breathes into Lan Zhan’s collarbone. “Do you want to be a good boy and rail me into next week?”
Another twitch of Lan Zhan’s muscles. Another noise that Wei Ying’s never heard before.
He wonders if he’s somehow missed something fundamental about Lan Zhan in all of this, something a little sad that he doesn’t want to look at too closely, but should probably confront head on because the thought of not doing so is worse. The best part about being with Lan Zhan, though, is they’ve grown so much together that… it’s really not so bad. Being an adult with him doesn’t suck. He pulls away just enough that he can see Lan Zhan’s face again, touches his jaw to ensure Lan Zhan doesn’t look away. “Lan Zhan, is this—you know I think you’re amazing, right?”
Though Lan Zhan’s gaze slips to the side momentarily, a demure, endearing little gesture, he lifts it again and nods. “I know. You tell me all the time.”
Maybe he does know and maybe Wei Ying does flap his gums a lot about it, but Wei Ying’s making a mental note—he does that these days, mental notes, they help, sometimes physical notes, too, but he doesn’t think he needs a piece of paper to tell him he should spoil Lan Zhan more—to do something nice for Lan Zhan anyway. A lot of nice somethings. So many that Lan Zhan won’t know what to do with them all. “So it’s just… sudden onset praise kink?”
Wei Ying’s hand drifts down to cover Lan Zhan’s sternum where his heartbeat speeds up beneath his palm. Yeah, sudden onset praise kink. There are some things Wei Ying’s not interested in doing in the bedroom or anywhere else, but endlessly telling Lan Zhan he’s great isn’t one of them.
Skimming over Lan Zhan’s arm, he laces their fingers together, brings their joined hands to his lap, wraps them around his dick. He bites back a gasp, remembers that he’s got a plan in mind. The familiarity of the touch soothes something within him. “I love your hands,” he says, easing in. Praise. He can indulge in this. “I think about them all the time.”
Lan Zhan is biting his lip, attention entirely on their joined hands, a look of wonder on his face. “Let me?”
Who is this beautiful fucking pod person kneeling on this bed with him? Let him? As though Wei Ying would say no.
Extricating his hand, he gestures at himself. “By all means, Lan Zhan. My dick is your oyster.”
At least Lan Zhan knows what to do from here.
He stiffens further as Lan Zhan speeds up, thumbs at the head, drags the knuckle of his other hand along the underside on a down stroke. Wei Ying forgets how to breathe when Lan Zhan executes a little twist and then remembers he’s supposed to tell Lan Zhan all about what he’s thinking. “You make me feel really good.”
Possibly the grandest tragedy of Wei Ying’s life is he’s terrible at sex talk. Lan Zhan’s the guy to go to for that. Any filth will fall from his lips unprovoked. Wei Ying’s just—bashful. With words. When he’s trying to be sexy about it. He’ll earnestly tell Lan Zhan all day about how much he loves riding his dick, but the minute it’s meant to be genuinely provocative? All bets are off on Wei Ying feeling anything other than a deep wellspring of embarrassment at being so terrible at it.
It’s the worst.
Luckily, Lan Zhan loves him, flaws and all, and is still giving up all those really great noises whenever Wei Ying says something nice. He’s already hardening again against Wei Ying’s inner thigh and if Wei Ying grinds against him—not saying he does that, but maybe he does—he possibly tightens his grip on Wei Ying. Pleasure at the unexpected(, yeah no, totally expected) change plucks another gasp from Wei Ying’s mouth. Fuck, Lan Zhan’s the best. With almost no trouble at all, he’s right back to where he was when this all got derailed. Lan Zhan’s just that good.
“Fuck, Lan Zhan. Tell me you’re ready.”
Lan Zhan shudders and nods, pushes Wei Ying back onto the bed and kneels between his legs, guiding himself back inside as he hikes Wei Ying’s legs up. He thrusts deeply, holds Wei Ying’s face in his hands, stares down at him before bending himself in half to kiss him deeply. His hips roll in such a luxuriant way that it borders on indecent.
Pleasure licks across Wei Ying’s body with every expert stroke.
Wei Ying mumbles against his mouth. He’s supposed to be—how’s he supposed to tell Lan Zhan he’s good if Lan Zhan’s siphoning the air from his lungs? He’s so greedy and Wei Ying loves him for it, loves more than anything that he allows himself to be greedy with Wei Ying, but it’s inconvenient now.
“Lan Zhan, let me do this for you,” he says, when Lan Zhan finally allows him the use of his mouth again. “Let me, hmm, fuck. God, Lan Zhan, how do you want this?”
A furrow forms between Lan Zhan’s eyebrows. He stills, which is unfortunate, because Wei Ying was liking where all that motion was going. “I don’t know.”
Well, that’s disappointing.
Now that he’s drawn attention to it, it feels artificial and strange “Let’s uh…” Wei Ying’s got nothing, but he’s not gonna abandon this without a fight. “You had me pinned before. You were teasing me. You said, fuck, you told me I couldn’t come unless it was on your dick.”
Arousal blooms within him. Yeah, that was good. Lan Zhan’s so good. He should do the talking. Except that won’t work. This is on Wei Ying. “Hold me down.”
Lan Zhan’s hands tighten with band-like precision around his wrists and press down until Wei Ying sinks into the mattress a bit. He widens his legs a little to gain more balance. As Wei Ying’s weight shifts against him, Lan Zhan’s dick slides even deeper.
Wei Ying’s spine will melt if he’s not careful and the ache in his neck is entirely forgotten as a firework’s cascade of sparks spill within him, incandescent.
“Fuck me as hard as you fucked me before.”
“Wei Ying…”
“You’re going to fuck me as hard as before and I’m going to tell you how good you are at it. And you’re not going to come again before I do because—” He should’ve waited to tell Lan Zhan to pin him down. How much better would it be if he held Lan Zhan’s face as he said this? Maybe next time. His voice softens. “—because you’re good to me like that, right?”
“Wei Ying.”
“You’re good like that,” he repeats, knowing not a single fucking thing about what he’s doing except that he really, really wants to hear Lan Zhan repeat what he’s said. He thinks that might be sexy. “Right?”
“I’m good.”
If a man (say, Wei Ying) could white out a little bit—not, not much, definitely not a lot—from the sound of someone (perhaps Lan Zhan) saying he’s good, well. Nobody (absolutely not Lan Zhan later when he’s the little spoon and Wei Ying’s whining into the back of his neck about how feeble his body is and how Lan Zhan’s just so rough with him) can call him on it.
“So,” Wei Ying says, scraping together the ragged ends of his self-control, “be good to me, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Zhan’s hips jerk at the demand. He shudders and closes his eyes and his hands tighten; he’s going to bite his lip bloody if he’s not careful and Wei Ying’s not so very far from losing his whole cool himself as Lan Zhan tests the limits of what he’s capable of in this brave new world they’ve stepped into.
Finally, finally he really puts his back into it and risks ruining the paint on the wall, which is Wei Ying’s usual metric for A Good Time With Lan Zhan Between His Legs. He’s not been rode hard until there’s an obvious line where the headboard meets. They’ve talked about getting some of those pad things that are supposed to stop it from happening, but Wei Ying likes the indiscretion of it, even though he’s always the one forced to clean it up later. He already did his time in a shittier place where they had to be more careful. No more of that. Only wild abandon courtesy of soundproofing and home ownership. Whoever said being an adult was all work and no play? They were wrong. Very, very wrong.
Lan Zhan’s hair obscures his eyes when he bows his head, redoubling his efforts. Breathy pants fall from his mouth, barely audible. The muscles in his arms tremble with exertion. Wei Ying soaks these images up, tries not to get lost in the rough drag of Lan Zhan inside of him, the stretch of it. He wants to sear it into his memory, build an altar to Lan Zhan’s everything because there’s not another human on the planet like him. Nobody is as kind, dedicated, or surprising.
He’s trying so hard all because Wei Ying asked him to. All Wei Ying can do is return the favor, right?
“Tell me again,” Wei Ying says as he arcs his back and wraps his legs tighter around Lan Zhan. “Tell me how good you are.”
“I’m good. I want to be good.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Come here. Come down here.” Though he could break Lan Zhan’s hold if he wanted to, grab Lan Zhan by the back of the neck and make him, he wants Lan Zhan to follow his request instead, even though it changes the angle of his dick and suddenly there’s fresh hell skittering through him. “Lan Zhan, kiss me.”
Wei Ying doesn’t ask to have his mouth fucked by Lan Zhan’s tongue, but Lan Zhan’s always been an overachiever, steals Wei Ying’s breath from him and tears away whatever is left of Wei Ying’s composure with his teeth as he tugs at Wei Ying’s lower lip. This isn’t a battle to be won, but Lan Zhan’s fighting like this is his last chance to make a stand anyway.
There should be an award for the heroic way Wei Ying finally pulls back, but then Lan Zhan’s latching himself to Wei Ying’s neck and each and every one of his brain cells fails at the crucial moment while he’s still trying to catch his breath.
His orgasm takes him as swiftly and ruthlessly as Lan Zhan does. Warm strands of come splatter across his abdomen and chest. Moaning, Wei Ying squirms around, but Lan Zhan keeps at it like he could go all night.
Fuck a man who’s on his second orgasm already and is already renowned for his stamina.
Except… except when Wei Ying opens his eyes—when did he close them, he wonders—Lan Zhan’s looking down at him, expectant, a little pained, not in a bad way. It’s definitely a sexy way, like he’s waiting for something and not because he’s actually hurting.
Oh. Oh. Permission. He wants permission.
Wei Ying’s dick twitches maybe a little bit, tries to rouse itself, intrigued by this fresh development.
Lan Zhan really is a very good boy and now Wei Ying’s very aware that Lan Zhan wants to hear it, too, and now that he’s got off, he’s got an idea.
“Lan Zhaaaan,” he says. “How long can you keep it up?”
An uncertain huff and a faltering rhythm is his only answer. Fuck, even though he’s on the precipice of too sensitive, it still feels amazing.
“If you come, I’ll be an entire orgasm behind you,” Wei Ying says, pouting. The strength of character required to keep his voice even and controlled is monumental, but Lan Zhan deserves his best attempt. “That doesn’t seem fair or equitable, does it?” In fact, it’s perfectly fair—Lan Zhan deserves as many orgasms as he wants—but for the sake of argument, he’s going to pretend, especially since Lan Zhan’s eyes are going a little glazed with the effort he’s putting into this. “Can you hold out for me?”
Lan Zhan’s answer is less a word than an exhalation and a desperate, jerking nod, but his meaning is understood anyway. “Yes.”
“Lan Zhan, come back here.” Once he’s close enough that Wei Ying’s lips can brush Lan Zhan’s mouth, he says, “You’re beautiful like this, did you know?” He wriggles his wrists free of Lan Zhan’s hold and captures Lan Zhan’s face between his hands. He takes the opportunity to press a soft kiss to the tip of Lan Zhan’s nose. His thumb brushes over Lan Zhan’s cheek. “I love how you make me feel.”
He’s sure he’s said this before, but the context has shifted a bit and Lan Zhan’s reaction to it is new. There is anticipation in Wei Ying’s praises now, yearning. Lan Zhan is reaching for something, working so hard for it, and he seems to think it’s Wei Ying’s to give or withhold. “Wei Ying…”
If he’d known, he might have been able to prepare, make a whole list of all the shit Wei Ying loves best about him, but there are so many things and his brain’s half-offline and Lan Zhan keeps—keeps going. He’s a machine, built for Wei Ying’s pleasure, and all he wants in return are some nice words.
“You fuck me so well.” Ah, god. If Lan Zhan keeps thrusting like this, Wei Ying really will come again. Lan Zhan knows exactly what he likes and he’s using it against him now. Each stroke sweeps through him like an uncontained fire. He’s ready to be consumed in it. “You’re so good.”
He’d had something better lined up to say, he’s sure, but it’s gone as Lan Zhan fucks him in earnest, as though intending to prove the point or repay the praise double.
Wei Ying’s entire body is made of light and the only thing holding it all inside is Lan Zhan’s touch on him, in him.
“Lan Zhan, are you close?”
Lan Zhan hums, nods, uncoordinated all of a sudden, like all of his attention is on this one thing he’s doing to Wei Ying and Wei Ying’s question is one input too much. Oh, he must be if he can’t split his focus. Fuck, fuck, that’s really hot. It also brings him back from the edge, thank fuck, gives him time to think.
The light can wait a minute.
He doesn’t want to mess this up is the thing. If this is going to be a thing, he wants it to be special for Lan Zhan. “I love it when you touch me,” he says, hoping to get Lan Zhan where he wants to go. “Will you touch me again?”
Lan Zhan shudders, but he pulls himself together enough to slick his palm with the cooling mess on Wei Ying’s stomach.
Lan Zhan’s touch is swift, surer than the pace he’s set for himself, brutal, but somehow not at all punishing. He is quick and efficient and fucking amazing and Wei Ying tells him so repeatedly.
Jerking up into Lan Zhan’s touch, he comes again, weaker than before. If Lan Zhan’s disappointed, he’ll have to make it up to him later. It’s almost painful, deliciously so, and Wei Ying would be content to relax back and become one with the mattress except…
Except this is the moment, isn’t it? This is going to be the coolest shit ever. He’s tired and he aches and Lan Zhan’s still all caught up. “Lan Zhan? Look at me.”
Lan Zhan whimpers, bites his lip. His forehead is in danger of forming permanent wrinkles from how hard he’s struggling to hang on. He’s still holding on even though Wei Ying didn’t especially say he had to wait beyond making sure Wei Ying got off again.
Which: great job, Lan Zhan. Wow. (Like, wow.)
Smiling, he waits as patiently as he can for Lan Zhan to focus his attention on Wei Ying’s face.
He takes hold of Lan Zhan’s hand, brings it to his mouth, licks away his own come as Lan Zhan groans. He rolls his hips more slowly, only shallowly pumping away now. Each motion is punctuated by a whine. If Wei Ying were nicer—and sometimes he is—he wouldn’t delay just long enough to suck Lan Zhan’s fingers into his mouth and swirl his tongue around the pads. He half expects Lan Zhan to finally crack, do something pissy and delightful like scowl or scold Wei Ying, but he takes it seriously, lets this happen.
Wei Ying is going to file this away. He might actually write it down and then leave it where Lan Zhan can find it so he can ponder exactly what he’s given to Wei Ying here.
He releases Lan Zhan’s fingers, smacks his lips together and kisses his fingertips and then nibbles at the inside of his wrist because he’s established he’s not that nice.
“Lan Zhan, do you want to come?” He tests the weight of what he intends to say within his mind. Good boy. Good. Boy. Good boy.
Lan Zhan breathes, nods, breathes again: raspy, needy little huffs. Wei Ying pulls him down, curls his arms around Lan Zhan’s shoulders, runs his fingers through Lan Zhan’s sleek, soft hair. Lan Zhan’s barely moving now; he’s all sweaty and shivery.
What’s one more little push? Just a small one? “Can you tell me?”
Lan Zhan keens. Wei Ying thinks maybe he’s not going to be able to.
And then he proves how good he is all over again.
“I—I want to come.” If mumbled words could be so hot that they could brand a person’s skin, these would be them. Just—burned into Wei Ying’s neck. Right here and now. I want to come. “Please.”
Fuck.
Wei Ying strokes the back of Lan Zhan’s head, counts backwards from three and hopes his heart doesn’t burst right out of his chest. He whispers into Lan Zhan’s ear, “Good boy.”
Lan Zhan goes still and quiet, burying himself as deeply into Wei Ying as he can. His erection pulses within Wei Ying and begins to soften as he sobs against Wei Ying’s throat. Sighing, he sags against Wei Ying, hips still rocking against him, like half of him hasn’t gotten the memo yet. His voice is a shattered mess when he speaks. “Wei Ying…”
“You were so fucking hot, Lan Zhan. That was incredible.” Wei Ying, too stunned, babbles a little. He refuses to be embarrassed about it. “You were—Lan Zhan, I honestly can’t with you. How are you so amazing all the time?”
“You’re amazing,” Lan Zhan replies, murky, like he’s talking from beneath the weight of his own emotions. It’s nice to hear, but not quite as nice as he suspects it was for Lan Zhan to hear. The cuddling is really fucking sweet though.
That’s something else he can tell Lan Zhan. “I love it when you’re like this, too,” because why not? Why not if it makes Lan Zhan happy and therefore makes Wei Ying happy? He should clean them up before things get kind of gross and rank(er, honestly), but he’s too content to do anything about it. Lan Zhan will have to be the responsible party first anyway. How could Wei Ying move with all this weight splayed across his body? “You’re the best.”
“Hm,” is the reply he gets, which could mean anything from stop being ridiculous to you’re right, thank you for acknowledging the truth this way. Though he rubs his forehead against the underside of Wei Ying’s jaw, he doesn’t seem interested in explaining further.
They remain entwined for a long time until a question worms its way out of Wei Ying’s mind.
“Did you—” Maybe this is a gauche question, but they’ve been doing this long enough that Wei Ying has to ask. “Did you know you wanted that? Like… somewhere? It seemed to catch you by surprise, too, but…”
But what if Wei Ying’s missed something?
Lan Zhan catches Wei Ying’s hand and tucks it against his chest. “I didn’t know.”
“But you liked it.”
A pause. “Yes.”
“A lot?”
“Wei Ying.” Ah, there’s the Lan Zhan Wei Ying knows and loves. It wouldn’t be a good post-sex cuddle if Lan Zhan’s not fondly exasperated by him. “Do you need assurances or are you teasing me?”
“You came inside of me twice, Lan Zhan. I’m definitely giving you shit. Only a teeny bit though. But, uh, maybe some assurance would be nice, too.” He keeps petting Lan Zhan’s head because it’s nice and Lan Zhan doesn’t stop him. “You liked what I did?”
“Hm.” This is definitely Lan Zhan’s don’t be ridiculous hm. “I would like you to do that to me again at some point.”
“Wow.”
“I think I’d like to make you come three times,” Lan Zhan adds, because he’s Wei Ying’s own personal health hazard, “when we do.”
“Ahahah, three times?” Holy fuck. He tries, when he can, to avoid thinking in emojis, but he’s the living embodiment of a sweat-drop smile right now. That sounds so hot, but it also sounds like a lot of work. Good thing Lan Zhan can’t see his face as he stares up at the ceiling. He might mouth to himself, how will I keep up, but nobody except Wei Ying has to know that. “That’s so much, Lan Zhan. Too decadent for my humble self.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Hngh.” Has Wei Ying mentioned at any point that he’s in love with Lan Zhan’s confidence? Because he really, really is. His voice doesn’t crack under the strain of all that love. He’ll sue anyone in court who tries to say otherwise. “Okay.”
“Good. That’s settled.” And then, instead of getting up or doing any of the things Lan Zhan normally does by this point which usually includes puttering around with a wet washcloth before making tea—herbal at night, dealer’s choice the rest of the time—he bites lightly at Wei Ying’s clavicle and then closes his eyes. Like he’s perfectly happy to sleep in the mess he’s made of Wei Ying.
“Aiya,” Wei Ying says, so very wronged and weary and affectionate, as he pats Lan Zhan’s head one last time. So be it. If one or both of them wake up screaming because they’ve glued themselves together, that’s a problem for the future.
Just like that, just as Lan Zhan said, it’s settled. And later, he does make good on his promise and then some.
Wei Ying ensures he’s ready for it when it happens.