wangxian modern au where wei ying has long hair and lan zhan is into it.
like, really into it. like has dreamed about this hair, playing with it, stroking it... pulling it. the anticipation of touching it is enough to choke him.
and they finally get together and lan zhan loses his nerve.
they sleep together and all his plans fall apart while wei ying falls apart beneath him. all he has to do is reach out and let it slide between his fingers, but every time he tries, he can't bear to do it. the thought is too much for him to bear.
even just thinking about doing it makes his ears go red. he can't even look at wei ying even though he still sees it out of the corner of his eyes, dark strands standing out against the very white sheets.
it's good, of course it's good, it's enough anyway, even with awkward first time jitters and afterward, wei ying rolls out of bed and asks to use his shower, all that hair trailing behind him. the words, can i join, sit on lan zhan's tongue. he doesn't give voice to them.
wei ying shoots him a weird look and disappears into the bathroom. he's gone for a very long time. and then he pokes his head into the bedroom and asks lan zhan if he has a hair dryer.
he does, for reasons he doesn't want to contemplate too closely. it's still in the box and everything.
he tells wei ying where it is. wei ying thanks him and disappears again. he's gone for another -- lan zhan refuses to check the clock too frequently -- thirty minutes while the sound of the dryer reaches through two doors and a hallway.
it's a tragedy that lan zhan isn't in there with him. sure, the bathroom is tiny even for one grown man, but who cares about that?
the dryer turns off and wei ying returns, hair far fluffier than lan zhan's ever seen it before. wei ying pats it fondly and says it's always so out of control.
wei ying sits on the edge of the bed, ready to crawl in, and lan zhan is sure this will be his chance. surely once wei ying crowds against him, he'll be able to touch it. there's no way he won't get right under lan zhan's chin and snuggle and then --
wei ying finds a scrunchie in his pajamas.
why he's wearing pajamas is a question for another day because frankly wei ying doesn't seem like the pajama wearing sort, but he certainly doesn't seem like he'd wear ones with pockets in which one might put a scrunchie.
he puts his hair up into what is, admittedly, a very cute bun.
when wei ying settles next to him, it's great. they fit perfectly. with wei ying's head on his shoulder, he could very easily skim his fingers over wei ying's neck. his very bare neck. a lovely, beautiful, wonderful neck with only the finest baby hairs to stroke.
the bun is disappointing and it's kind of tickling at lan zhan's nose, sitting high on wei ying's head.
lan zhan doesn't actually intend to tug. it just sort of happens. the baby hairs are very fine.
wei ying hisses maybe. a little bit.
that was good, wasn't it, lan zhan, wei ying asks.
wei ying, it would be better with your hair down, lan zhan doesn't reply. instead, he says, i didn't mean to pull.
that's -- that's okay, lan zhan. totally okay. there's a lot of it, i know.
lan zhan's restraint is admirable.
more of wei ying's stuff migrates to lan zhan's apartment. hair treatments, serums, sprays, things lan zhan is intrigued by, but never gets to participate in. wei ying says it's boring.
it always takes forever. nothing takes longer than the hair drying. but it wouldn't be boring if lan zhan could see.
i should just cut it off, wei ying says, still damp as he returns to the bedroom one night. this is ridiculous, right? it's one thing when i'm hanging out in my apartment and there's nothing better to do, but you're here. i could be doing you instead.
this is not happening, not on lan zhan's watch.
lan zhan marches wei ying into the tiny, tiny bathroom and crowds him against the tiny, tiny sink. he perches wei ying on the edge of it and picks up the hair dryer and turns it on and doesn't know even a little bit what he's actually doing with it.
wei ying smirks at him. drags his thigh up lan zhan's leg. it's a distraction, but not one lan zhan's gonna fall for, not when wei ying's hair is at stake.
what are you doing, er gege?
multitasking, another thing lan zhan doesn't say. he's not going to fuck wei ying while blow drying his hair.
he wishes he'd done some research. and then he realizes wei ying's staring at him, expectant, and now he's supposed to touch his hair, unprepared, all while not... multitasking.
possibly, he should have communicated sooner. or at all.
don't cut your hair, he says.
don't tell me you have a thing for clogged drains, lan zhan.
there's no telling what he'll develop "a thing for" as a result of wei ying's influence. a clogged drain fetish is probably not at the very bottom of the list.
he -- too gently! very respectably! -- caresses a few strands.
a risk i'm willing to take, he admits. where's your brush?
wei ying hands it over. it goes smoothly for all of five seconds, almost soothing, even with how loud the dryer is. then he hits a snag. literally. resulting in a lovely little ouch, lan zhan. be gentler.
lan zhan could pretend he doesn't hear, but he apologizes instead and works more carefully through the damp tangle. wei ying watches him as he works. a curious expression crosses his face, complete with a strange smile.
it isn't boring to do this for wei ying.
too soon, wei ying's hair is dry.
wei ying hops down from the sink, right into lan zhan's space, their bodies brushing. though he takes the dryer and brush from him, he doesn't seem to notice yet what he's done to lan zhan.
lan zhan spoils me, wei ying says, trying to slip past him. i should put these away.
lan zhan gives him thirty seconds to organize them before he's pushing wei ying into the door and fishing around in his pajamas. finding that damned scrunchie, he puts wei ying's hair up, removing enough temptation to keep him from yanking on it while he makes use of all that foreplay.
wei ying flops onto the bed, complaining about the state of my shapely behind, lan zhan, it's gonna be so sore, this is your fault. a tendril of hair falls from the bun, right into wei ying's face. though he brushes it aside, it pays him no mind, doing as it sees fit, meaning: it tortures lan zhan.
it's just there. in wei ying's face. which means in short order it's in lan zhan's face because as soon as lan zhan takes his side of the bed, wei ying's diving in for a kiss. a hairy kiss. because wei ying's hair is suddenly pressed against his mouth. right along with wei ying's lips.
wei ying tries to get there first, but lan zhan is quick and determined. he maybe pulls it. purely to allow them a better quality kiss. nobody wants hair in their mouths. lan zhan definitely doesn't.
wei ying nudges lan zhan's hand aside. yeesh, lan zhan. you were so nice a few minutes ago.
he wasn't nice back then. he was there. he remembers. a few minutes ago, he wanted to do worse. now, he wants to...
he strokes the tendril and tucks it behind wei ying's ear. there. totally aboveboard. it'll be safer there.
he misses it already.
why do you wear it up, he asks.
uh. nobody wants hair in their mouth, lan zhan, obviously. also, i'll shed.
oh. right. who wants to share a bed with someone who sheds? (lan zhan) who's going to admit it? (not lan zhan)
we should rest, he says, because saying it would be worth it is weird.
at some point in the night, the bun's structural integrity fails. lan zhan's scrunchie technique is deficient. lan zhan wakes up at 5AM and discovers he's nuzzling a mass of hair. how terrible. just awful.
people who aren't willing to brave suffocation for this are weak, he thinks.
he gets out of bed before he does something truly embarrassing and goes to make breakfast, waiting for signs of life from the bedroom, hoping maybe he can work up the nerve to make his argument, which is that he likes wei ying's hair and doesn't mind facing the consequences for it.
he rehearses all the things he could say. a few of them don't sound entirely unhinged. he'll go with one of those.
then wei ying is plastering himself to lan zhan's back as lan zhan's brewing tea and a few strands make their way over lan zhan's shoulder as wei ying rubs his face against lan zhan's neck.
lan zhan, where's your lint roller, i know you have one.
lan zhan spins so fast he knocks his elbow into the counter, agony coursing up his arm. it barely deters him as he grabs a handful of wei ying's hair and says, i don't care about the shedding.
he's not pulling hard, not yet, not until he's sure wei ying's on the same page as he is, just enough for his actions to speak more loudly than his words.
wear your hair down, he says, please.
wei ying stares, breathes, oh thank fuck. lan zhan, you're a fucking tease. i can't believe you. i thought i was losing it. make good on what you've started.
lan zhan tugs once, sharp, enough to jerk wei ying's head back.
wei ying pouts. gege, it hurts.
the couch is sufficient for his purpose, as he takes wei ying over the armrest, one hand wrapped in wei ying's hair, pulling until his neck is taut. wei ying moans, encouraging, and comes first somehow even though lan zhan's the one who feels entirely undone.
when they're done and lan zhan has regrettably let go, already feeling bereft without anything to hold onto, wei ying laughs and rights himself, scrubbing his hand over his scalp, his hair falling in a wild cascade around his shoulders.
lan zhan, so naughty, keeping that from me for so long.
how long have you wanted to do that, lan zhan. did you always know? were you testing me on purpose? drying my hair like we were in some kind of romantic drama only so brazenly have your way with me, i should've guessed. i thought you were a gentleman. tsk tsk.
i... have always enjoyed it, lan zhan admits.
wait until you find me crying over a disassembled vacuum cleaner. it won't be so enjoyable then. i hate fighting with the brushes.
that sounds unpleasant, but lan zhan will sleep in the bed he's made. he'll handle it if and when it comes up.
he thinks that's the end of it until they get ready for bed and wei ying's brought the scrunchie out and is preparing to put his hair up again.
what are you doing, he asks.
it really is inconvenient, wei ying says. this is better.
it's definitely not. there has to be something else.
well, lan zhan, unless you want to braid it for me, i don't know what to tell you.
he could do that? he says, i can do that?
wei ying blinks, hands over his head, hair half up. i guess? he narrows his eyes. or is this just another way you're going to bully me?
no. yes. maybe a little.
i will braid your hair, lan zhan says before wei ying takes the offer back. he doesn't know anything about this either, but he grabs his phone from the bed stand and searches for any video he can find that will tell him what he needs to know.
there are a lot of videos, some of which are doing things that he's not sure are physically possible despite seeing the evidence for himself. they are all beautiful. he thinks wei ying would look lovely. he wishes he knew how to do this.
wei ying is still staring at him when he looks up.
it's a painfully earnest, painfully fond expression. it flays something open within lan zhan just to witness it, but he can't look away either, no matter how much his chest aches.
lan zhan, you're amazing, did you know that?
he sniffs. there's nothing amazing about incompetence, wei ying.
lan zhan!!! you're really cute.
he sits in the middle of the bed and turns his back to lan zhan. it's too much temptation.
wei ying says, i have some smaller hairbands in the bathroom.
lan zhan, a man in over his head, takes the opportunity to retreat and regroup and watch another video or three.
he thinks he's ready. then he returns to the bedroom and wei ying's looking over his shoulder at him and he knows he'll never be ready.
if this goes wrong, he says, i want another chance.
oh, lan zhan, if you think i'm ever taking care of this again, you're very mistaken. it's all yours.
wei ying settles with a final wriggle toward the edge of the bed. definitely your responsibility now, he insists.
lan zhan is slow at it at first. it's a little lopsided. he says as much, apologizes, starts over while wei ying huffs at him in amusement.
taking shameless advantage, eh, lan zhan?
even aside from the physical enjoyment lan zhan derives from doing this, he just... likes it. it's nice. being with wei ying like this is nice. nice in a different way from how they usually are together.
wei ying yawns while lan zhan starts over for the third time. feels nice, he murmurs.
he doesn't think he's ever seen wei ying look so relaxed, not even when they're readying to sleep, wei ying curled around him. for that reason alone, he'd consider this a success even if the end result is not so aesthetically pleasing.
he'll get better at it though.
he does get better at it because wei ying is a tyrant and wei ying stops going back to his apartment entirely and maybe they just move in together, so wei ying is there every night demanding braids and pulls and other things, in whichever order best pleases them.
it stands to reason that playing with wei ying's hair at night isn't enough.
lan zhan, fix my hair for me, he starts saying in the mornings. 'fix my hair' means a lot of things in a lot of different contexts, but usually, he just wants an intricate little braid or two for his ponytail.
he likes knowing wei ying's going about his day with a piece of his work on display for the world to see, a private-public display of the intimacies they share. no one has to know lan zhan tugs too hard or that wei ying likes it, but they see the result of it regardless.
remember when you said this was boring, lan zhan asks, as he's rinsing the shampoo from wei ying's hair for him, the pair of them sharing the cramped corner of the bathroom where the shower was.
it was boring, wei ying says.
lan zhan yanks a handful. playfully, he says, admit you were wrong.
or what, wei ying demands, you'll make me pay? i want you to.
lan zhan begins applying conditioner, ignoring wei ying's provocation. he'll do exactly that later. in the meantime...
have you ever thought about growing yours out, lan zhan?