“Lan Zhan!” Because Lan Zhan’s not in his living room or kitchen or anywhere that Wei Ying can see from the doorway after kinda sorta abusing his knowledge of Lan Zhan’s entry code, he calls out again. “Lan Zhan, I’m swearing off all men.”
That ought to get his attention.
Lan Zhan pokes his head around the corner of the short hallway that leads to his bedroom, the bathroom, and his tiny, blessed washing machine that Wei Ying never abuses because his own is a demon-spawned contraption from hell. “Congratulations.” Brow furrowed, he searches Wei Ying’s face for something he doesn’t seem to find as he steps into the living room. His forearms glisten with sweat and his hair is sticking to the back of his neck. The towel he’s carrying twists again and again between his hands before he swipes it over all that skin on display. “Or… perhaps not?”
Ah, coming here really was the right decision. Already his spirits buoy themselves up, bobbing happily on the surface of an overwrought, hyperbolic pain that goes as deep as the Marianas Trench. Lan Zhan’s the very best there is at making Wei Ying feel better. “Commiserate with me, Lan Zhan. Congratulations are not in order.”
“I see,” Lan Zhan says. “No champagne then.”
Gorgeous, spandex-clad legs cross the floor right in front of Wei Ying’s eyes. The thin, oversized shirt he wears clings to his back, outlining each and every beautiful muscle in his shoulders. If he hadn’t long ago shoved Lan Zhan into the look respectfully, but don’t touch at all, especially not disrespectfully, oh, god, what would he even do if he got his disrespectful hands all over Lan Zhan’s body box, he might have revised his statement to: Lan Zhan, I’m swearing off all men except for you, you’re my one exception, please be my exception, I’ll be good, I promise.
This is a bad idea. He should have thought about that before opening his trap. Damn his buoyed spirits, because they sink yet again. This is the worst idea. Lan Zhan’s too good at making Wei Ying feel better.
“How about tea?”
Oh. Lan Zhan was—he’d asked a question. “What?”
How can one man’s eyes be so warm? Why does one millimeter of upward tilt of his lips give him a smile that would outshine stars? “Would you like tea?”
“Oh, um… sure.”
Lan Zhan studies him for a moment longer. “Make yourself at home. I’ll bring it to you.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Wei Ying mutters, low enough that Lan Zhan doesn’t hear him as he goes to wash his hands. As he waits, he ponders the sad, sorry state of his life and wonders for the thousandth time how he got lucky enough to even have Lan Zhan in his life at all. He’s still stuck on that thought when Lan Zhan approaches, two cups in hand: a proper mug and a small, delicate shot glass.
Lan Zhan hands over the shot glass first, waits patiently for Wei Ying to—
“Emperor’s Smile?” He’d know it by its fragile, floral aroma alone. “Ah, Lan Zhan, you do care.”
“I didn’t realize that was in contention.” Lan Zhan takes the glass from Wei Ying’s hand before replacing it with the mug. “Drink this while I take a shower. It won’t be long.”
Wei Ying bites his lip and nods and resolutely doesn’t think about Lan Zhan in the shower as he glares at the amber liquid in his mug. Maybe he should have jerked off before coming over since nobody else is doing him the courtesy of giving him a decent orgasm to take the metaphorical edge off.
Seriously, fuck all men. Except don’t, because they’re universally terrible at it. Or maybe Wei Ying’s just that unlucky. Anyway, he’s disappointed and now he’s thinking about decent orgasms and what in the world that might even feel like and coming here is possibly the dumbest thing he’s ever done because what’s Lan Zhan going to do about Wei Ying’s problem? Give him one? Ha.
He should accept that he’s cursed instead of crying about it. Really, what’s the point?
By the time Lan Zhan returns, he’s only half-convinced himself it’s time to skulk home and pout on his own couch like the whole adult he is and gets caught in the middle of standing up.
“Where are you going?”
“Uh… nowhere? I’m just—stretching.” And then he remembers there’s a hot mug of tea in his hands and he grimaces. “Just basic stretches. Nothing, uh, drastic. I wasn’t going to, like, run away or anything.”
“Hm,” Lan Zhan offers, skeptical, which: fair! He totally looks like he’s five seconds from booking it. He’s a shady character after all. “Sit.”
“Yes, sir,” Wei Ying answers. It doesn’t do anything funny to his insides at all, definitely not in his chest or… anywhere else. This time when Wei Ying watches him walk into the kitchen, there’s a gauzy pair of pants clinging to his ass and thighs—his brain’s trying to decide if it’s better or worse than the spandex—but the shirt’s tighter to compensate. Wei Ying’s not feeling any more confident once Lan Zhan’s sitting on the couch next to him, too far to crowd, but somehow still close enough that the warm scent of his body wash drifts over, tantalizing.
Lan Zhan can’t possibly relate. He’s probably never had sex that’s anything less than soul-shattering in his life. Some people just give off that aura, you know? And Lan Zhan’s aura is has only had the best possible sex imaginable. He’s too calm all the time to have experienced anything less than the highest of quality fucks.
“So.” Lan Zhan, ever prim, sips from his own mug before pulling his legs up, leaving his slippers behind on the floor and exposing the elegant arch of his feet to Wei Ying’s greedy eyes. Lan Zhan wears so much so often that any glimpse of skin—Wei Ying’s fortunate today to have wandered by mid-or-immediately-post-exercise routine—is to be treasured.
“So,” Wei Ying agrees, cheerful.
“You wanted to commiserate?”
“I did.”
“You’re hesitating now because…?”
“Because I should have quietly sworn off men from the privacy of my own home instead of bothering you with my pathetic complaints? Come on, Lan Zhan. You’re always telling me to chill.”
“I’ve never once said that.”
“Your face often conveys the sentiment, then. It’s semantics anyway, Lan Zhan. The point is you’re right. I should chill.”
Lan Zhan’s lips pull in a dubious sneer that smooths itself out a moment later. He seems to be searching his cup for answers, but if he finds any, he’s not sharing them. “Depending on the context, I’m not sure you should.”
Laughing, Wei Ying swallows a mouthful of tea and considers. “Listen, it really is ridiculous. You’re gonna shoo me out of your apartment when I tell you. I’m just being dramatic.”
“Perhaps you are, but I still wouldn’t send you away.”
That’s true. Lan Zhan hasn’t done that in years.
“Ugh, okay.” He drains the mug and draws in a deep breath. Hiking his leg up, he turns to face Lan Zhan. “So what do you do if all the sex you’re having sucks. Just. Every time. Doesn’t matter who it is? Well, men. Honestly, I’ve had great sex with everyone else. That’s irrelevant to your situation, I know, but—anyway. Bad sex with guys. What do you do?”
Lan Zhan goes so still that Wei Ying worries he’s maybe broken him with the question. The righteous glow of being right will surely keep Wei Ying warm through the frigid winter that his sex life has become.
“Ah, Lan Zhan. I knew it. What do you know about bad sex?” He shoves playfully at Lan Zhan’s shoulder, still warm from the shower or the exertion or both. “Anyway. I’m swearing off—”
“Have you considered you just don’t like it? With men?”
Wei Ying tilts his head, squints, leans into the question a bit. There’s a tension behind it that Wei Ying can’t untangle. It feels like something he should take seriously. “I’m pretty sure I would,” he decides, “if it didn’t result in a groin pull, premature ejaculation—” He ticks off his various travails on his fingers. They are legion. “—one time, a guy called me his ex’s name. Oh, and I got pushed off the bed once.”
“Why?”
“I… don’t actually remember? I think that was the guy with the cat who thought I was, I don’t know, an intruder or something. There was a lot of confusion and howling and, uh, claws. For a minute, I really thought I’d broken my tailbone on that one.”
Lan Zhan hums, judgmental.
“It really hurt. I was winded.”
“I see.”
“I don’t think you do. I think you have elegant, raunchy sex that always goes well and everyone involved gets at least one orgasm out of it, maybe two, maybe even three because I bet you’re generous like that and all that care you take with your body has to be good for something, right?”
They should stick Lan Zhan in a hospital, because his vision is x-ray sharp, sees right the fuck through Wei Ying to pierce something inside of him that shouldn’t be exposed to daylight. Or, uh, x-rays in this bad metaphor. “Have you thought a lot about my sex life, Wei Ying?”
He could break down and admit to the truth. Or he could deflect with humor. “Only an entirely platonic and appropriate amount, Lan Zhan, I swear. I don’t objectify.”
“That’s too bad.”
Wei Ying doesn’t generally do shit like choke on his own spit—that’s more Mark, the American expat’s expertise, today’s failed exercise in getting off—but he makes a good go of it now. “Lan Zhan!”
“If you did,” Lan Zhan replies, devastating, a true blow to Wei Ying’s entire worldview, “I would say we could test your hypothesis.”
Is it really a hypothesis, Wei Ying thought, a little unhinged, or just my fevered imaginings? “Ahaha, Lan Zhan. I didn’t know you were such an advocate for the scientific method.”
“I’m not especially,” Lan Zhan answers, calm, cool, refined. He stands smoothly and holds out his hand. “But I find the thought of gathering anecdotal evidence with you appealing.”
Ah, fuck. “Ah, fuck.”
“If you’re interested.”
“…” Is he serious? He can’t be serious, can he?
“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan’s hand remains a solid presence in his field of vision. When Wei Ying looks up, the rest of him is equally, startlingly solid. He’s always been solid.
“Just—give me a minute, Lan Zhan. Gotta adjust my worldview here. I’m going through the modern equivalent of learning heliocentrism is real. It’s a lot.”
“Mn.” There is no hint of impatience in his voice, only affection and grace and all the things Wei Ying’s come to cherish about his friendship with Lan Zhan, hard won across years of them antagonizing one another throughout school and afterward. “Take your time.”
“You really—?”
“I do.”
“Huh. How long?”
If Wei Ying wasn’t already looking up at him, couldn’t really look away to be honest, he might not have seen the tiny fissure in Lan Zhan’s expression, an exposure of something deeper that quickly smooths itself over. But he is and he does and it makes something twist in Wei Ying’s chest, an ache of regret. “A while.”
Wei Ying, squinting, slips his hand into Lan Zhan’s, allows himself to be pulled up, wants to fix that fissure in whatever way he can. “Seriously?”
“I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“No, that’s not—I just mean… wow. Okay. Yeah, yes. Let’s—let’s test my feverish imaginings.” Why the fuck not? Can’t be any worse than the time he discovered a new and exciting sensitivity to latex when he went down on a guy through a dental dam.
“Your hypothesis,” Lan Zhan insists, teasing, because he’s—he’s into teasing Wei Ying, too, of course he is, because he’s so good and wonderful and perfect and the best ever.
He takes the fact that he doesn’t somehow trip and concuss himself on the walk to Lan Zhan’s bedroom as a good sign. It would be so like him to wind up with retrograde amnesia just as he’s about to get everything he’s never let himself even hope to have.
*
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says as he closes the door behind them and presses Wei Ying against it. “Wei Ying, what did you think about?”
“I…” But now that the question’s on the table, now that the reality is possible, Wei Ying—he laughs. Because, fuck, there’s a lot of shit rattling around in his brain related to Lan Zhan. Maybe he did trip on nothing and this is all just a dream his brain cooked up due to swelling. “There’s so much. I don’t think I can choose.”
“There’s…” Lan Zhan sighs and takes Wei Ying’s face between gentle hands, brushes his thumbs over Wei Ying’s temples. “You don’t have to choose. We could… we could do all of it.”
“Right now?” Wei Ying really will end up in the hospital if he tries. Might actually be worth it though.
“Not right now.” Lan Zhan’s fingers skim down Wei Ying’s neck and his palm settles against his sternum. Probably he can feel Wei Ying’s heart rabbit-kicking against his rib cage through his t-shirt. “Maybe we could do this again if you’re able to make an exception for me.”
“Lan Zhan, if you’re offering… I’m pretty sure you could knee me in the balls while we’re making out and I’d just ask for more.”
“Has that happened to you before?”
“Uh, yeah! Like twice. It fucking hurts. Instant mood killer.”
“Not to cast aspersions on your taste in men, especially right now,” Lan Zhan replies, careful. While he talks—and why is he talking so much, Wei Ying’s supposed to be the talkative one here—he teases at the collar of Wei Ying’s shirt, slips his hand beneath. He trails off as he drags his nails over Wei Ying’s clavicle. Wei Ying whimpers. It’s not the most attractive he’s ever been probably. “Not to do that, but…”
“But?”
“But how did this happen?”
“I like to think it’s because I’m so good at kissing and they can’t help themselves.” Which they could be doing now if Lan Zhan would get with the program. “But I think I’m just unlucky or drawn to clumsy people. I really can’t tell you.”
“I’m not clumsy.”
“No, you’re in a whole different league I shouldn’t be playing in. You hardly count. You’re a gimme. Everyone’s taste should include you.”
Lan Zhan snorts. “Foolish.”
“Rational. Smart. Reasonable.” But he smiles because Lan Zhan thinks he’s foolish and that feels kind of nice in this context. Sliding his leg up Lan Zhan’s, he hooks his ankle around the back of Lan Zhan’s, rides his thigh a little. The friction is out of this world. “Did you have anything you want to do?”
Lan Zhan nods, slow.
“Does it involve kneeing me in the balls?”
Lan Zhan shakes his head with equal slowness.
“Can we make out a little bit while we do it?”
“As much as you want.”
“On your bed?”
“Mn.”
“Naked?”
“Preferably.”
“Well, then. Knee me in the balls, Lan Zhan. Metaphorically. Literally. Whatever needs to happen.”
*
So, okay. Wei Ying had been joking. That’s Wei Ying’s problem. He’s always joking until it comes back and bites him in the ass.
Except not really. He’s never joked about this, not with Lan Zhan. It’s too important. And that’s the joke, because he’s getting what he wanted because he whined about something entirely different and somehow now it’s… it’s so much. He’s sprawled. On Lan Zhan’s bed. An ocean of soft sheets to roll around in. And Lan Zhan’s here, crouched over him, knees bracketing his hips, and—
And…
And that whole instinct to put up is too ingrained in him and he really should just maybe sometimes shut up because he’s not prepared for this. “Lan Zhan, what are you doing?”
Lan Zhan goes still as he reaches behind his head to grab his shirt by the back of the collar. His fist hikes the fabric up and even only from the front, Wei Ying can now see little slivers of his hips and side, smooth, muscled expanses of skin that make Wei Ying’s heart ache with the need to touch and taste. “I… should think that would be obvious.”
“It’s too much.” Wei Ying covers his face, spreads his fingers to peek before ducking his head again. An embarrassingly high-pitched noise makes itself heard. It’s not a squeak. Definitely not that. His cheeks are not going all hot on him because he squeaked.
“Wei Ying, you’ve seen me shirtless before.”
“Yeah! But that was, like, before. You know? Before. This is After.” His entire life will be split along this demarcation, a cataclysmic shift that scientists will one day excavate and say: ah, you see, this is the moment everything changed. They’ll find evidence from the tattoo left behind by Wei Ying’s beating heart as it batters his ribs and Know. They won’t be able to write this off as bros being pals. Or something. Maybe he’s mixing scientific disciplines here. Forgive him, his brain is scrambled. “My hubris will be the death of me.”
Lan Zhan’s expression does that thing where it goes all soft and that’s even worse.
“Lan Zhaaaaan.”
“Hm,” Lan Zhan says, gaze sharpening back up, thoughtful, “this won’t do.” Oh, god. Problem solver mode. Wei Ying’s going to die. Wei Ying’s the problem to be solved here. This really is a metaphorical knee to the balls, but Lan Zhan’s still trying. “Did any of your fantasies involve dry humping?”
Twisting around a bit, Wei Ying pulls the pillow from beneath his head and places it over his face, mumbling, “You can’t say those words, Lan Zhan. It’s too dirty.” When Lan Zhan plucks it aside and replaces it, cool hand gently cupping Wei Ying’s overheated neck, Wei Ying moans piteously. “They did.”
They really did, too. A good five of them involve coming in various articles of clothing. Trousers, underwear only, the odd skirt…
“Okay, then let’s—”
“Friction burns are a real and present danger, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying replies, dark. “I’m not letting you rub your dick raw against my jeans.”
“Sounds okay to me,” Lan Zhan might say under his breath. It’s not entirely clear. A little louder: “What if I keep my shirt on? If you look only at my face, you won’t have to see the rest of me naked.”
Biting back a whimper, Wei Ying thinks about this. In technicolor, vivid detail. It might be his favorite fantasy now that he’s thinking about it; there’s nothing he loves more than to look at Lan Zhan’s face.
“I have an idea,” Lan Zhan says. Before Wei Ying can embarrass himself further, he asks, “Will you fuck me?”
“You think I’ll be able to—?” Wei Ying laughs, inappropriate under the circumstances, but the idea is astounding to him. Right now, his ability to coordinate his limbs is in question and Lan Zhan wants to get fucked? He’ll make a hash of it.
…but Lan Zhan doesn’t ask for anything ever, not from Wei Ying, though Wei Ying would give him everything if only he asked for it. Having a goal to focus on might help. He’ll… he’ll do it. Maybe he can do it. For Lan Zhan. And he won’t succumb to this sex curse that’s been cast on him somewhere along the way. “Ah, Lan Zhan. I would love nothing more.”
He tries to push himself upright, but Lan Zhan’s hand plants itself on his chest. “Perhaps I should rephrase,” he says. “I would like to fuck myself on your dick. With my shirt on. While you look only at my face.”
“O-oh?”
“I’ll only pull your jeans down to your knees. You’ll be trapped beneath me. You won’t have to worry about anything except how it feels. Does that sound good?”
Strangled by the flash of heat that coils around him, Wei Ying can only nod.
“Okay.” That soft expression again. And Wei Ying’s supposed to keep looking at his face when he’s doing that? “I’m going to undress now. Eyes on my face, Wei Ying.” As he elegantly swings his leg over, abandoning Wei Ying’s lap, he stands. His attention never strays from Wei Ying, not even as he stoops suggestively, not even when he rifles around in his bed stand for—Wei Ying’s eyes dip once—for lube and a condom.
“This is actually happening,” Wei Ying whispers. He pinches himself once on the inside of his wrist. “I’m being neurotic as fuck about it and it’s still—you’re—wait. Condoms.” Wei Ying groans. “Latex?”
Wei Ying didn’t come prepared. He didn’t think he’d be coming at all. He should be forgiven.
Lan Zhan returns to the bed, kneels, returns to his favored spot on Wei Ying’s lap. The lube and condom wait next to him while his hands reach for Wei Ying’s fly. He presses a kiss to Wei Ying’s forehead. “No latex.”
Phew.
Lan Zhan’s half-naked! And Wei Ying’s about to be half as naked as that! And! There’s no latex anywhere nearby!
“Eyes, Wei Ying.”
“But—” But he wants to see Lan Zhan’s dick. He takes it back. He’ll be good. He’ll be the most shameless. Who’s shy here? Who has his entire heart riding on this not ending in tear-filled bad sex? Not Wei Ying, nope. He’s totally cool. This is fine. He’s capable of looking at Lan Zhan without embarrassing himself!
“I promise you will see me as often as you like,” Lan Zhan replies. “Let me do this now. Don’t worry about anything else except looking at me.” His expression is clear and encouraging. “That’s what I want right now.”
“Lan Zhan.”
Gently, Lan Zhan pushes Wei Ying’s jeans down. The sudden shock of cool air against his thighs makes him shiver. His dick, already starting to harden despite the myriad fears scrolling across his mental livestream of this moment, presses against the soft fabric of his underwear. He shivers again at Lan Zhan’s expression as he looks down. His hands, a blur in Wei Ying’s peripheral vision, hover over his lap. Lan Zhan’s eyes are half obscured by his lowered lashes. “May I?”
“Anything.”
Lan Zhan folds himself up as he leans forward to mouth along Wei Ying’s length through his underwear. All Wei Ying can see is the top of Lan Zhan’s head. His hair is still wet from the shower he’d taken. Where he’d been fully naked. And now he’s—with his whole mouth. He’s just—!
Wei Ying’s hands fist in the duvet. “Lan Zhan, can I touch you?” Lan Zhan hadn’t explicitly said he couldn’t, but…
Lan Zhan lifts his head. His chin brushes the wet patch he’s sucked into the fabric. “If I say no?”
“Nngh.”
“Hang on for a few more minutes,” Lan Zhan says. “Then I’ll touch you.”
“But—”
“If you don’t like it, I’ll let you, okay?”
“Okay.” He can’t imagine not liking everything and anything Lan Zhan might do, but he’ll listen to Lan Zhan. For now at least. “Fine. Make a man suffer, why don’t you?”
“Never.” Then Lan Zhan offers him a devastatingly smug smile. “Only if he wants me to.”
“Ugh.” I want to suffer, too.
“I’m only holding you to a few minutes.”
Wei Ying’s once again reminded of the whole premature ejaculation experience. That time, it hadn’t been him coming too soon to be useful, but it’s a suddenly very real fear right now knowing it’s his dick that’s meant to make Lan Zhan feel good. You, he thinks very loudly at said appendage, had better behave nicely for Lan Zhan.
It doesn’t answer. Which is a good thing. Because a talking dick isn’t something he wants to deal with right now.
Before Wei Ying’s entirely prepared himself—as though he can be prepared when Lan Zhan’s, like, about to fuck him, there’s no preparation in the world good enough for that—Lan Zhan pushes his underwear down his legs, too.
Lan Zhan’s hand wraps loosely around him. It’s such a shock that Wei Ying’s shoving up into the touch, moaning already, hardening spectacularly even before Lan Zhan starts working him earnestly. Pleasure rips through him, ravages his senses. It’s just Lan Zhan’s hand, but because it’s Lan Zhan’s hand…
Fuck. Fuck, Lan Zhan’s perfect. Even just his hand is far and away the best hand on the planet, big and—and smooth and…
“Lan Zhan, please.”
“Shh. Just enjoy it.”
“What if I—”
Lan Zhan’s hand doesn’t flag once. “Then you will and I’ll be glad for it.”
“But—”
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan’s voice is too soothing. “I want you to enjoy it.”
Heaving a sigh, Wei Ying wriggles around, back arching off the bed as Lan Zhan strokes him again and again. “Okay. I’ll… okay, yeah. Yeah, fine. I’m—I’m enjoying it. I like you so much. I’m… yeah. Of course I’m enjoying it.”
Lan Zhan’s touch slows and falls away for a moment. The condom packet crinkles as Lan Zhan opens it and then his hand is back, rolling it on Wei Ying’s fully hard dick. Oh, god. He’s wearing a condom. For Lan Zhan. Because Lan Zhan put it on him. And Lan Zhan’s going to. He’s going to. Oh, he’s going to…
You’d better stay hard, he reminds himself. No performance anxiety for you.
“Lan Zhan?” Helpless, trying not to look away, Wei Ying can only hear Lan Zhan flick the lube’s cap open. Lan Zhan’s eyebrows draw together in concentration as he reaches behind himself. Though he’s been quiet mostly except for when he’s encouraging or calming Wei Ying down, he huffs and stills as he—as he…
Wei Ying’s been told he has to keep his eyes on Lan Zhan’s face, but he’s doing a perfectly good job of imagining Lan Zhan fingering himself open. For Wei Ying. Because of Wei Ying. “Lan Zhan, how does it feel?”
“Good.” Lan Zhan’s teeth capture his lower lip before his mouth falls fully open and then he rocks back. “It’s good, Wei Ying. You’re…”
“What if…? Can I help? Lan Zhan, let me… you can guide my hand. I’ll keep looking only at you, but… I want to touch. Please.”
Lan Zhan draws in a shuddering breath. Stretching, he grapples for Wei Ying’s hand, draws it toward him. Wei Ying’s own breath hitches, even just as Lan Zhan laces their fingers together. Crawling forward, Lan Zhan’s thighs brush Wei Ying’s flanks. Each touch thrills through Wei Ying.
Lan Zhan’s going to be the death of him.
He’s eventually close enough that Wei Ying can reach and Lan Zhan is good enough to coat his fingers, too. Then he does exactly as Wei Ying asks.
At the first touch of his fingers to Lan Zhan’s entrance, Wei Ying’s the one gasping. His body’s hot beneath Wei Ying’s hand, already slick and loosened by his own touch.
“Wei Ying…”
Lan Zhan wraps his hand around Wei Ying’s wrist, squeezes lightly as Wei Ying presses in with two fingers, moans lightly as he moves slowly in and out as deep as he can manage from this angle.
Now it’s Lan Zhan watching him, Lan Zhan watching Wei Ying watching him and Wei Ying can’t look away even if he wants to.
Lan Zhan’s eyes are warm, heavy lidded.
“Wei Ying, another,” Lan Zhan says.
As though Wei Ying could ever say no to him. Lan Zhan’s breath catches and he bites out a groan and Wei Ying’s body tightens in anticipation. He wants—he wants so much. Everything. “Lan Zhan, are you ready?”
“I’m ready. Wei Ying, I…”
“Please.” Wei Ying’s hips twitch, almost of their own accord, searching, wanting. “Lan Zhan, please. You said you’d—fuck me, please.”
“Okay.” Lan Zhan’s voice goes husky, soft, strained. He whimpers as Wei Ying’s fingers slip free. “Okay, okay.” His hand finds Wei Ying’s length, coats him in lube. “Wei Ying.”
Only the slightest resistance meets him as Lan Zhan guides himself onto Wei Ying’s length and then he is fully sheathed inside of Lan Zhan’s heat. He memorizes the line of concentration between Lan Zhan’s eyes, the slackening of his features as Wei Ying enters him. He bites his plush, pink lip on a groan. That, too, Wei Ying memorizes.
Lan Zhan had said they’d do this again, but he wants to remember everything anyway, wants it to be as good as possible when they do. It’s hard when pleasure skates up and down his body each time Lan Zhan rolls his hips, his body dipping and plunging and lifting against Wei Ying, a tide, unrepentant, as he throws his head back, exposes the long, elegant line of his throat.
He grapples for Wei Ying’s hand, sticky, finds it and presses their joined hands against Wei Ying’s chest, uses him for leverage as he pushes up and then back down.
“Lan Zhan, you’re—” He wants to look, wants to see what Lan Zhan’s cock looks like, flushed and hard, he wants to yank Lan Zhan’s stupid shirt over his head. The urge to drag Lan Zhan down into a bruising kiss almost overwhelms him. He is afraid, a little bit, to indulge the whim. It’s one thing to joke about all the accidental injuries and shattered egos that permeate his past experiences, it’s another thing to court disaster when he’s got Lan Zhan perched on his lap looking as blissed out as Wei Ying’s ever seen him. There’s no way in hell he’s going to jeopardize that. Once they’re done and Lan Zhan’s sated, then he’ll think about going wild and kissing the gorgeous man above him.
He covers their joined hands with his remaining free one instead. That seems safe enough. Lan Zhan’s attention snaps back to him, eyes wide and a little surprised. Fondness flutters within Wei Ying’s chest, forces itself out through his mouth in a wide smile.
“Oh,” he says. Before Wei Ying realizes what’s happened, Lan Zhan goes still, clenches tight around him, moans. “Wei Ying, I—”
Warmth splatters across the stretch of Wei Ying’s stomach where his shirt’s hiked itself up. Warmth from—oh, oh, he’s made Lan Zhan come. Or Lan Zhan made himself come. But Wei Ying’s a part of it and that’s—it’s…
This… this is possibly the hottest thing that’s ever happened to Wei Ying. Lan Zhan came all over his stomach and shirt. He can smell it, the light salt tang of it, a perfect counterpoint to the sweet, bright citrus of his body wash, still lingering.
Lan Zhan’s expression is a little dazed. His hair falls into his eyes. His mouth is caught open in surprise.
He expects Lan Zhan to pull off, too sensitive to keep going, but he grinds down experimentally, shifts a little, hitching little motions that drive Wei Ying up the wall. Though so far he’s kept his weight on both of his hands, this time, he leans all of it on the one trapped between Wei Ying’s on his chest.
His other… the other swipes itself across Wei Ying’s stomach, smearing his own come across his palm and he wraps it around himself maybe. Has to, because he whines, high pitched as he screws his eyes shut.
Wei Ying’s going to—okay, he’s a little overwhelmed to be honest, Lan Zhan’s too hot to be real and his brain’s not running on any other cylinders except holy shit, Lan Zhan came, he’s orgasmed on my dick, I’m not a complete fuck up, this is awesome, and he’s still. Fucking. Going. How long is he going to go for? Can he go forever? I hope so. I don’t want to be anywhere else. I hope I can last. I hope I can give him everything he wants and so on and so forth endlessly.
He wants, more than anything, for Lan Zhan to be happy. With him.
His hand tightens around the back of Lan Zhan’s. His fingers, laced between Wei Ying’s, squeeze in answer, nails digging into Wei Ying’s palm. His knuckles dig into Wei Ying’s sternum, painful, but in a good way, an aching gouge. He hopes it bruises, a reminder of this moment, as Lan Zhan rides him.
“Wei Ying, I—”
“Lan Zhan, what do you need?”
“Keep looking at me,” Lan Zhan says. “Keep—” But then he lowers his gaze, attention flicking to Wei Ying’s mouth. His demands swerve as quickly as his eyes. “Wei Ying, kiss me.”
The back of his hand brushes Wei Ying’s abdomen as he jerks himself off, vicious, striping strokes as though he’s chasing something.
Thank goodness he does the bare minimum number of crunches to keep Lan Zhan from fussing at him about his health, because he’s able to get himself upright and Lan Zhan, smart fucking man, lets go of himself and grapples for Wei Ying’s shoulder, wraps his arm around his back, so Wei Ying doesn’t have to let go of Lan Zhan’s hand. It’s probably stupid, but he likes it, likes having it pressed there, almost as much as he likes the keening hitch in Lan Zhan’s breathing when Wei Ying shifts inside of him.
Fire licks across Wei Ying’s spine. Lightning strikes within him, splits him open. His body is a storm set to unleash and Lan Zhan would control it, can control it, wrangles him in place with a kiss.
Lan Zhan’s tongue slips between Wei Ying’s teeth; he bites at Wei Ying’s lower lip. He seems set to devour Wei Ying and Wei Ying would let him gladly if it were possible. Though he tries to pull back so he can ask if Lan Zhan’s close—because he’s so, so close, barely hanging by ragged fingernails to his control and he wants this to be good for Lan Zhan—Lan Zhan doesn’t give him room to speak.
Every breath is devoted to allowing them this intimacy and Lan Zhan seems incorrigible, irascible on that front. He will take everything from Wei Ying if he can and Wei Ying wants him to.
Lan Zhan, he thinks, because he can’t speak, Lan Zhan, it’s yours. I’m yours.
Lan Zhan groans against his mouth, goes still. His body shakes and shakes and he clenches, rocking back and forth until Wei Ying can’t hold out any longer. Hips jerking up, he comes, too.
“Lan Zhan, I, ah—”
But Lan Zhan just pulls him closer, keeps moving, pulling more and more sensation from him, dragging his orgasm out until Wei Ying feels a little lightheaded from the sensation. “Wei Ying,” he says into Wei Ying’s sweaty temple. “Wei Ying.”
He finally lets go of Lan Zhan’s hand, collapses forward, and wraps his arms around Lan Zhan’s waist. “Lan Zhan, you’re…” His hamstrings twinge from the way he’s sitting, but not enough to pull a muscle. Still inside of Lan Zhan, he pulls his legs up—it’s awkward as fuck with his underwear and jeans a tight, strangling tangle around his thighs—and yanks another drunken groan from him as he sways a bit on Wei Ying’s lap. “You…”
“Mn. You, too.” Carefully, he rises onto his knees, guides Wei Ying back onto the sheets while he’s still half lost in the haze of afterglow. Slow, reluctant, Lan Zhan frees himself. More quickly, he cleans both of them up while Wei Ying marvels up at him, unable to move, scarcely able to breathe.
“Is that what it’s always like for you?”
Lan Zhan goes still and then tugs at the hem of Wei Ying’s shirt, scrubbing at it with a clean corner of the damp cloth in his hand. “No.”
“Oh.”
“It was better.”
“Oh.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered to me even if it wasn’t.” He looks at Wei Ying, so earnest it hurts. “It could have been the worst—”
“Say that the next time you’re sitting in a hospital waiting room because you—”
“I will,” Lan Zhan assures him, fierce to a ridiculous degree, as he tries to pull Wei Ying’s jeans up for him. “I’ll say it every time.”
But Wei Ying’s done being shy about nudity because now he’s feeling shy about Lan Zhan saying these things instead. Carefully—so carefully, well aware that he’s just experienced a miracle and doesn’t want to kick it in the face—Wei Ying shimmies out of them, pushes them off the bed with his heel. “We should match, right?”
It is a deflection, but it’s in service of the greater good of getting Lan Zhan down here in his arms, where Wei Ying might be able to stand Lan Zhan saying such nice things.
Lan Zhan’s gaze roves over his body and back up to his face. “We should.”
“Maybe I can lose the shirt, too? If you do?”
“Mn. It’s plausible.” He sounds too serious to be truly serious and Wei Ying loves him for it.
Biting back a laugh, he suggests, “We could… canoodle?” Taking Lan Zhan’s shirt in hand, he bites his lip and pulls it over Lan Zhan’s head. When he emerges, his hair is mussed in the back. Wei Ying smooths it down, scratches lightly at Lan Zhan’s scalp. He is stunning and it’s probably a good thing Lan Zhan’s such a quick thinker. He’d never have lasted, not with that much naked, glorious skin on display.
“Mn.”
“And then maybe we can replicate our findings?”
“It would be the responsible thing to do.”
He will never love another person the way he loves Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan should know. “There is one variable I’d like to change.”
“Dangerous if we want to ensure accurate results.”
“Might be worth it.” Giving himself a moment to gather his thoughts, he pulls his own shirt off, certain he’s far less impressive than Lan Zhan, but willing to give as good as he gets. Lan Zhan doesn’t seem to mind, not as he explores Wei Ying’s chest with soft, gentle hands. “If you’re okay with it.”
Lan Zhan still seems more interested in touching Wei Ying than this conversation. That’s okay. Wei Ying likes his eagerness to touch and it might be fun, surprising Lan Zhan. “Mn. The variable?”
He waits until Lan Zhan’s looking at him to answer. They’ve gotten this far because Wei Ying’s just blurted any sort of nonsense out. There’s no reason why it can’t work again. He just… needs to look Lan Zhan in the eye when he does it. “I think I’m a little bit in love with you.”
Lan Zhan’s ears are the first thing to react, going redder by the second. “Wei Ying…”
“You don’t have to—” Feel the same.
“I feel the same.”
“Oh.”
“Is that okay?”
“Yes! Yeah, that’s!” Wei Ying’s brain is a little bit unable to function, but he pulls Lan Zhan down, wraps his arms around his neck. It’s great, perfect, wonderful, stupendous, fantastic, did he mention perfect for another whole entire second. It’s all of these things and more until Wei Ying pulls just a little too hard, tips Lan Zhan’s balance just a little too much. “Ouwbh, fubh.”
Lan Zhan’s chin is hard as fucking rock as it connects solidly with Wei Ying’s nose. Pain bursts across his face and his eyes start watering immediately. Quicker on the uptake, Lan Zhan scrambles off of him and yanks him upright. “Wei Ying! Don’t—”
“I know.” He has a lot of experience with bloody noses after all. You don’t tilt your head back when you have one. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to drip all over Lan Zhan’s sheets. Still, there’s a solution to that, gross and unsexy as it is. Cupping his hand beneath his nostrils, he waits for the pain to subside enough that he can see again. Some of the blood trickles down his throat even though he’s hunched forward and he fights the grimace and stops himself from sniffing despite the very real urge.
As patiently as he can, he waits for Lan Zhan to return with a clean, wet cloth and a dry cloth. He’s even more stunned when Lan Zhan diligently wipes the blood away, heedless of the mess, and wishes it wouldn’t be disgusting as hell to lean in for a kiss. “Lan Zhan…”
“I have an ice pack for when it stops,” he says, taking a moment to scrub the blood from Wei Ying’s palm. “Lean forward more. Pinch if it doesn’t hurt too much.”
“I know.” But he does as Lan Zhan says, morosely pinching the soft bit just above his nostrils, elbows perched on his knees. Lan Zhan sits next to him, squeezing Wei Ying’s thigh soothingly. It’s nice. Comforting. “You didn’t hurt your chin, did you? Bite off your tongue? Chip a tooth?”
“No.”
Wei Ying breathes out—mouth only, of course, safety first—and says, “Good.” He eyes Lan Zhan through the veil of tears currently obscuring his vision and gestures at himself. “You sure you want to hitch yourself to this mess?”
“I keep a fully stocked first-aid kit in the bathroom,” Lan Zhan replies, serene. “It’ll be fine. Unless you’re still determined to swear off men. That might lead to some difficulties.”
“Okay, so,” Wei Ying says, “one, if we’re doing this, I’m definitely swearing off everyone except you. Two, nobody got injured during the actual sex, so: an improvement for me. You’re my lucky charm, Lan Zhan. Might be a downgrade for you though.” He doesn’t think too hard about that fact. He’s already given a blood sacrifice today. He doesn’t need to offer an emotional one, too. It’s Lan Zhan’s decision if he wants to be here with him. “Three, totally worth it anyway. Four… I don't actually have a fourth point, but I’m in this if you are.”
Lan Zhan can’t quite hide his smile, no matter how low he ducks his head. “I am,” he says, pleased, “in this with you.”
“Did I ruin my chances at getting to canoodle with you?”
Lan Zhan shakes his head. “Never.”
Wei Ying nods sagely. With every moment he spends with Lan Zhan like this, the pain and embarrassment recedes a little more. “Then I’ll try not to injure you when we do.”
“I’ll survive even if it happens.”
Leaning close, Lan Zhan pulls the cloth away from Wei Ying’s nose. If this is the sort of treatment he’ll get, it might not be so bad to suffer for the sex he’s had and intends to have with Lan Zhan in the future.
So much. All of it.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, adopting a somber tone, “I think it may be safe to canoodle.”
As it turns out, Wei Ying doesn’t injure him while canoodling, nor will he injure Lan Zhan at any other point, a fact for which Wei Ying will be infinitely grateful.
Even better, most of that sex they have will be as elegantly raunchy as Wei Ying always imagined it would be, barring an incident or two along the way to keep things interesting, of course.