They aren’t friends, he and Meng Yao. Wei Ying doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse, because he always comes out of this feeling grimier than he went in and that’s probably—it’s probably the only thing that lets him keep going, knowing they don’t like one another. If Meng Yao ever were to indicate he gave a single shit about Wei Ying as a person, he’s pretty sure they’ll have to stop. But that’s the great thing about Meng Yao: they could cross paths in the street and if Wei Ying was on fire, he wouldn’t bother to stop and put him out. It takes so much of the pressure off.
It’s unbelievable how great fucking someone who doesn’t give a fuck about you feels, so much better than not fucking the person you give way, way too many fucks about at all. So, so great.
“Do you think he’d do this to you—” Meng Yao’s voice does that dreamy thing Wei Ying hates, like hearing him through a soft, gauzy filter, as Wei Ying squirms beneath him, only half as close to orgasm as he wants to be and further away by the minute. He wraps his hand in the sheets and pulls until he’s snapped the fastener Meng Yao uses to keep his bedding in order and yanks the corner of it free. He’s not here to pretend he’s in bed with Lan Zhan, even though he’s pretty sure Meng Yao would get off on it if Wei Ying impersonated Lan Huan at least once, going quiet and kind, respectfully taking Meng Yao from behind so he could imagine it without worrying that Wei Ying’s features are slighter, his jaw less chiseled than the features and jaw belonging to the man he prefers.
Maybe he’d use his height to his advantage—Meng Yao does spend a lot of time admiring Wei Ying’s legs whenever he gets between them, sucking and biting at his thighs until Wei Ying’s half convinced Meng Yao’s actually into him, so thorough it hurts—and let Meng Yao believe just once that the man he loves loves him back.
“What? Give me a mediocre hand job?” Wei Ying shoots back instead, because they’re pathetic, but they’re not that pathetic and Wei Ying’s not gonna let them get to this place where they’re sadly feeding into one another’s delusions. He’ll put that mouth to better use before he lets them stoop that far. Shoving at Meng Yao’s forehead, he slips out from beneath him and rolls toward the edge of the bed. Meng Yao clearly can’t be trusted today. Something must have happened with Lan Huan. Wei Ying’s not gonna ask. “You’re supposed to be clever.”
Lan Zhan’s never done a mediocre thing in his life. His hand jobs would be second to none. Angels would cry over a hand job from Lan Zhan.
Anger flashes lightning quick across Meng Yao’s face before it smooths into a perfect mask again.
He’s never been bad looking as far as such things go, but Wei Ying’s always preferred Lan Zhan’s long, lithe frame to Meng Yao’s compact one. As he stretches, the differences are even clearer, and Wei Ying slaps him on the hip. “If you wanted to annoy me into fucking you, you could’ve saved us the trouble and asked.”
*
“Did you get hurt?” Lan Zhan asks, standing halfway across the living room in his pajamas and an oversized sweater, sleep-rumpled and somber. Before Wei Ying can ask for clarification, his eyes dart from his neck down to his forearm, answering Wei Ying’s question for him. When Wei Ying looks, there’s a thumb-shaped bruise on the inside of his wrist. A mouth-shaped mark might sit on his collarbone, exposed by his shirt; he can’t remember if Meng Yao bit him last night or not. He must have, if Lan Zhan’s noticing his neck now.
Let him notice. Wei Ying is too tired to be ashamed. It would’ve been hidden beneath a starched shirt at work, the only place where such a thing might reasonably matter. Just now he’s trying to enjoy a cup of coffee in peace in his own home before he has to go to work, feet tucked under him on the couch as he scrolls his phone, while he contemplates how soon is too soon to reach out to Meng Yao again. If Wei Ying’s gone too often while Lan Zhan’s here, he’ll start asking questions.
More questions, since he’s already at one for the day.
It’s too bad that Wei Ying only ever needs to get gone when Lan Zhan is here.
He’s beginning to regret ever offering Lan Zhan his spare room way back. Sure, at the time it had seemed like a good idea. Lan Zhan went back to Suzhou after graduation, but he still does a lot of business in Wuhan, more and more and more of it as time passes. Wuhan will always be Wei Ying’s stomping ground and he lucked into a good apartment in a convenient neighborhood after a few years spent dumping every ounce of energy he had into doing R&D at Lotus Pier. It made sense back then to welcome Lan Zhan with open arms and an open heart. What else was he supposed to do with so much space?
Now he’s fucking Meng Yao to keep from upsetting the delicate balance of this not-a-thing between him and Lan Zhan. Choices are definitely being made on the regular.
“No,” he admits. “You want coffee, too?” Having evoked an acceptable distraction, he allows himself to look at Lan Zhan properly. The skin under his eyes seems thin, fragile. There’s an exhaustion that clings to him in the defeated slant of his shoulders. Patting the couch cushion in invitation, he stands. Caffeine won’t help, but he’s not going to let Lan Zhan sit down empty handed when there’s still half a pot left. “Yeah, hang on. I’ll get you some.”
The reason this is such a bad idea is he’s learned through many, many days spent having breakfast together that Lan Zhan likes his coffee to taste like sugar water even though he prefers the most terrible dark roasts on the planet. To top it off, he categorically refuses to listen to Wei Ying when he says he should try a lighter roast, possibly cold brewed since he hates the bitter taste that much. It’s charming as fuck is what it is, this pointless stubborn streak he’s nurtured within himself, and Wei Ying wants to indulge it every chance he gets.
“So, bad morning?” Wei Ying asks, once Lan Zhan’s settled with a mug next to him.
“Not as such.”
“Ah, bad meetings yesterday, then?”
“No.”
“Then why the long face?”
Lan Zhan’s gaze lingers for an uncomfortable stretch of minutes during which Wei Ying refuses to fidget. “I think… I’ve taken too much advantage of your kindness.”
Laughing, Wei Ying shakes his head. “It’s a cup of coffee, Lan Zhan. You’re hardly putting me out.”
“That’s not what I mean.” After blowing delicately at the steam from the mug, Lan Zhan takes a sip. Uncontrollable avarice keeps Wei Ying’s gaze glued to Lan Zhan’s face as his eyes slip closed in pleasure. Wei Ying did good; it’s one of the safe things he’s allowed to do. He yearns, greedy, for these small moments of grace, these reminders that Wei Ying can offer this to Lan Zhan even if he can’t give him anything else. “It’s good. Thank you.” His eyes open again and hone in on Wei Ying’s neck again. “I’ve asked my uncle to purchase an apartment here. It’ll be cheaper in the long run than continuing to…”
Wei Ying swallows around the lump in his throat and his hand reaches up to press on the wound, cover it. “It would be cheaper still if you didn’t insist on paying a ‘fair portion’ of the mortgage whenever you stayed over.” His heart threatens to burst within his chest, at war with itself. Relief that perhaps he won’t have to torture himself with being so close and so far from Lan Zhan so much of the time tries to garotte the fear that he’ll never see Lan Zhan again if he leaves. “I never asked you to do that. My salary covers it.”
In fact, he’s refused to use it this whole time, since Lan Zhan wouldn’t let him refuse it outright. It just sits in a savings account, waiting for the day he can give it back. Maybe that day is today.
“What if you want to have guests over?”
Wei Ying almost laughs. What guests? Meng Yao? Yeah, right.
And then he thinks: Lan Zhan wants to have guests over and he’s just being polite about it. Of course he does. Why wouldn’t he? “Oh, uh. That’s… that’s not a problem, Lan Zhan.” He wants to tell Lan Zhan he can treat Wei Ying’s apartment like home, but he’s not sure what he’d do if he actually saw Lan Zhan bring someone else back. “But if it makes you more comfortable to have your own space, you should do what you want to do. You don’t have to stay.”
Lan Zhan turns the mug in his hand, carefully cups the bottom with his palm. “Mn.”
After a wholly polite five minutes, Wei Ying announces that he’s gonna get ready to head in to work. There’s a lot of shit to do, Lan Zhan, see you later.
By the time he returns home, he’s no calmer, no more ready to let Lan Zhan go nor able to ask him to stay.
He considers messaging Meng Yao, his instinctive reaction to uncomfortable feelings about Lan Zhan, but sneaking off seems like a fraught proposition, so he falls back on the oldest technique he has for dealing with them.
Biting his own forearm to stifle the noises, he takes himself with a dildo he’s ill-prepared himself for, choosing not to stretch himself as thoroughly as he should so he can savor the ache of it. It’s not so different from before except that it takes longer to come; he’s grown used to touching himself or being touched and that’s never been part of this particular game. He’s not allowed to get himself off with anything other than the dildo in this one, not even when he’s humping air—grinding down against the bed isn’t allowed either—and sweating and feeling like shit for not realizing that by trying to be nice to Lan Zhan he’s shackled him here.
By the time he orgasms, teeth sinking into flesh to keep the shout of hard-won pleasure locked away, he slumps to the bed, shaky and sensitive, too exhausted to clean himself up or remove the toy, already feeling too empty even with it stuffed inside of him.
He remains like that for a long time, wishing he had snuck out instead.
*
The day Lan Zhan leaves for Suzhou and after the final morning they’ll share breakfast together, Meng Yao’s out of town, which is incon-fucking-venient if Wei Ying does say so. Losing his best friend is one thing—he gets to experience that at least twice a month usually, though not with the knowledge that the next time he comes back, he’ll be staying in his own place—but he’s never had to contend with the fuckbuddy he doesn’t really want being unavailable at the same time.
When you get back, he types, vicious, you’re getting fucked until you can’t walk. He’s going to work every single one of his frustrations out on that ass and then maybe make himself feel better by poking Meng Yao in the metaphorical eye. It’s okay doing that because Meng Yao gives as good as he gets whenever he’s in a snit about Lan Huan, which happens way, way more often. As much as he doesn’t like the guy, he has to give credit where it’s due: he’s at least as big a fuck up in the romance department as Wei Ying. Maybe even moreso, since Wei Ying’s not actually thrown a shitfit until today.
Sweetheart, you talk a big game for a guy who cries every other time we get into bed together. You’d better mark your fucking words. There’s a pause and then a kissy-face emoji. And then a long, lingering, judgmental silence. Before Wei Ying can insist he doesn’t ever cry during sex at all, let alone a staggering fifty percent of the time, Meng Yao’s already sucker punching him in the kidney from almost eight-hundred kilometers away. What the hell happened anyway?
I’m not talking about this with you.
Who else are you going to talk about it with?
That is… a fair point. And that’s the reason why Meng Yao’s number gets blocked until the day Meng Yao comes back and comes knocking of his own accord. Danger and vulnerability glint in his eyes, but before Wei Ying can snap at him that they don’t do this here, what the fuck, Meng Yao’s shoving him back inside and putting him on his knees inside the door. He slips a condom from his pocket into Wei Ying’s waiting palm. The sting as he winds his hands in Wei Ying’s hair feels incredible and Wei Ying’s on board with this plan before he even knows why. For his troubles, Meng Yao urges him to make good on his promise from before.
And he does, because he’s always preferred putting up to shutting up.
He gets Meng Yao on his hands and knees in the middle of his bed, holds him on his dick for a while, before pulling him up and back, bracing him on his chest. One hand gouges marks into Meng Yao’s skin while the other invades his mouth. It’s worth the risk of Meng Yao biting him to hear Meng Yao moan around his fingers. Meng Yao comes twice more that way and Wei Ying only lets himself go when he sees a tear of frustration squeeze itself out from the corner of Meng Yao’s eye. Show him who’s boss just a little bit even though they both know neither of them is really in charge.
As Meng Yao catches his breath, Wei Ying goes to clean up. Wrapping the condom in some tissue, he wanders in search of the other, finding it abandoned on the carpet by the door. Wrinkling his nose, he bends to pick it up and takes both to the bathroom to dispose of, hoping he remembers to deep clean the spot later.
Meng Yao looks rough when Wei Ying returns to the bedroom, cracked open, a fucking oyster with its soft insides exposed. It’s ridiculous.
“Jesus Christ,” Wei Ying says, because he knows what that feels like and he sympathizes, but he doesn’t want to admit it. A matching ache splits him in two. Somehow, that translates to him wanting to be kind to Meng Yao. Because he’s not a complete monster, he sits on the edge of the bed and pats Meng Yao’s hand. Expecting him to pull away or slap him, he’s instead surprised when Meng Yao pulls him down next to him.
“Don’t ever speak about this,” Meng Yao says, quiet, into the back of Wei Ying’s neck.
“Uh, yeah. Trust me, I’m scrubbing this from my memory as soon as humanly possible,” Wei Ying replies. “What the fuck though.”
“Just—for five seconds can we pretend we’re human beings who actually have feelings that don’t revolve around unavailable men?”
No, no, they cannot, because if they do, this is all going to fall apart around them. This thing is built on a foundation of cardstock. It cannot hold this weight. If Meng Yao’s gonna lose his cool legitimately, Wei Ying needs to wriggle out of this arrangement as quickly as possible and find a new coping mechanism. No unrequited crush-that-is-probably-more-than-a-crush-at-this-point-not-that-Wei-Ying-is-gonna-cop-to-that is worth it. Damage control needs to be done here. He can do it. “Hey, ow! I dunno, man. I’m pretty attached to my coffee pot. That makes me a well-rounded individual in the eyes of humanity.”
“Fuck you.”
Swallowing, Wei Ying asks, mind racing to keep up with this sudden shift toward actual—again, what the fuck, people cannot spring this on him—emotional intimacy, “You do realize that we are also unavailable men, right? The whole reason we’re doing this is because we’re pretty shit at being available. I can’t think of many other idiots out there who’d decide to do what we’re doing because our crushes don’t like us back. Most people would move the fuck on, not find the only other person who understands just how infuriating being in love with Lans can be. Honestly.”
“Seriously, I’m trying to…” Meng Yao sighs in disgust, which: rude. Wei Ying’s gone through the trouble of giving him three whole orgasms tonight for the price of one and Meng Yao didn’t even have to do the work. “You’re impossible.”
“That’s by design, sugar. If you want openness, you should confess to Lan Huan. I thought you knew this about me.”
“I…” Meng Yao’s hold on him tightens before he rolls over and gets to his feet. “Never mind.”
Meng Yao’s gathering his shit, thank fuck, but Wei Ying’s still left feeling uneasy. “Hey,” he says, as Meng Yao puts on his shirt. “Just because I don’t like you…” Ugh. Being real is the worst. “Maybe it won’t be so terrible if you tell him. He’ll be nice about it at least.”
Meng Yao’s got the most suspicious pair of eyes Wei Ying’s ever seen. “What if you told Lan Zhan?”
“Oh, Lan Zhan’ll bounce quicker than…” Quicker than who knows what. Wei Ying snaps his fingers to demonstrate instead. “Well, he wouldn’t want to be burdened with my feelings. Lan Huan’s different though. I think you wouldn’t fuck things up too badly if you told him.”
He’s not sure why he’s advocating for his own obsolescence here, but they seem like the right words to say.
This isn’t sustainable anyway. Like, what really is the plan here? Keep working out his frustrations on a sympathetic body? Honestly, it’s childish. Instead of wasting his time here, he could actually try to find someone he does like.
Or he could tell Lan Zhan and then, when that fails, try to find someone he does like.
Yeah, that doesn’t sound like him either. Who else is even worth liking?
Okay, so he might be regretting telling Meng Yao to tell Lan Huan about his feelings. “Wait,” he says. “Hang on. I’m—” Apologies are for other people. Wei Ying’s never met a mistake he’s wanted to apologize to, except maybe Lan Zhan. Meng Yao and he… they’re definitely not the giving each other apologies sort. “I’m sorry.”
This thing with Meng Yao is easy and sort of fun because Meng Yao’s the kind of asshole who’ll let every petty complaint slide off him eventually. As long as Wei Ying refrains from stabbing him in the handful of soft spots he does have, he can pretty much get away with any shit he wants. He doesn’t have to worry about keeping his trap shut; he’s crossed a thin, little line here without noticing and there’s no way to backtrack.
“If you need to have a feeling with me,” he says, just barely keeping his mouth in check. It desperately wants to pull into an ugly grimace. The only person he wants to have a feeling with is Lan Zhan. “I’ll, you know, support that.”
“Too late,” Meng Yao replies, shrugging into his now wrinkled blazer. “Moment’s over.”
Slumping, elbows digging into his naked, sweaty thighs, Wei Ying speak, because he just can’t help it. His mouth just does shit even if the rest of him is thinking, what are you going to do now? “Thank fuck.”
“You’re right, I think.” Meng Yao’s watch flashes as he puts it back on, the surest sign Wei Ying has that he’s about to be spending the rest of his evening alone, regretting his choices. The only upside is Meng Yao’ll have to do a walk of shame back to his own place since he apparently can’t bring himself to stick around long enough to shower. “This has been going on for too long. It’s farce at this point.”
Farce. Wow. His voice is thready, a little weak, when he acknowledges Meng Yao’s words. “Uh huh.”
“Anyway. Good luck.”
“Sure.” Go get your happy ending, Meng Yao. That’s fine. Neat, even.
“You’ll be okay?”
Wei Ying’s not sure how they got from ‘can we pretend we have feelings’ to ‘this is a farce’ quite as quickly as they did, but now that they’re here, he supposes he has to be. “Yeah!”
Meng Yao gets as far as the doorway before he starts editorializing again. “Honestly, you should… I don’t know. You’re a dick, but a surprisingly thoughtful lover underneath all of that.”
“Thoughtful.”
“Mmhmm.”
“That’s great.”
Meng Yao rolls his eyes. “I’m trying to say you’re a good lay. Maybe it’s time to expand your search beyond men of Lan Zhan’s caliber—”
“There are no men of Lan Zhan’s caliber.”
Undeterred in the slightest, Meng Yao keeps not shutting up. It’s terrible. “Expand your search beyond men of Lan Zhan’s caliber and me. Your talents are wasted.”
Talents. Waste. Yeah, that sounds like Wei Ying all right. Real talented. Real, real wasteful.
The advice is good enough for what it is, but that’s not going to stop Wei Ying from doing the exact opposite of that.
*
To say he misses Meng Yao is a gross overstatement of the truth. What he misses is having another body here, someone against whom he can throw the worst of his thoughts without fear of reprisal, who threw it all back, reminding him that even if he was caught in a viciously entrenched rut, he wasn’t alone in it.
He is very alone in it now.
*
“You look good,” Lan Zhan says as Wei Ying lets him into his apartment, the first time he’s had to do so since… wow, it’s been years now actually, since Lan Zhan hasn’t taken advantage of the fact that he knows the code to get in. The knock had viciously sliced through the silence of the place and now Wei Ying’s all turned around. He doesn’t really get visitors except for Jiang Cheng and jiejie sometimes.
He hadn’t known Lan Zhan was coming. He always used to know. At least the place is clean. He… kind of spends a lot of his time cleaning now. There’s not a lot else to do. It’s been a month with only sporadic messages from Lan Zhan to comfort him. Each and every one of them makes him feel like he’s losing Lan Zhan all over again.
“Do I?” Wei Ying says, laughing. He feels like shit. His heart hurts. His sex drive seems to have withered away in Meng Yao and Lan Zhan’s absence. As he gestures toward the couch and then wanders to the kitchen to put on coffee like he used to, he considers the very real possibility that he’s being punished for his hubris.
“You seem tired,” Lan Zhan agrees, not unkindly, as he follows Wei Ying into the kitchen, “but that isn’t unusual.”
“And I look good anyway, huh?”
“Mn.”
He says it so plainly, but it makes Wei Ying’s heart skip a beat anyway. The kitchen suddenly feels very, very small and Lan Zhan seems very, very close. His head is tilted just so, like he’s searching for something in Wei Ying’s face that he’s not finding.
Where’s the fucking coffee he wants? The Yirgachiffe. He rifles through the cupboards. Even with everything labeled, he can’t find anything.
“I’m sorry to hear about Meng Yao,” he says finally, making Wei Ying choke on the saliva he’s somehow gathered while he’s been unable to do anything but stand here, try to make coffee, and listen to Lan Zhan tell him he looks tired like it matters.
“Excuse me?”
Lan Zhan’s brow twitches once; his mouth pulls. One hand curls into a loose fist before relaxing again. “My brother… he and Meng Yao are together now.”
Wei Ying might have guessed. He can pretend like he knew. “Yes? And?”
Lan Zhan’s throat bobs once. His lips thin just enough to show vague displeasure. That hand clenches and unclenches again. “Are you and he not…?”
“Are we not what? Lan Zhan, I don’t really want to talk about Meng Yao. Is your brother happy?”
“For reasons beyond my understanding, yes.”
Well, good. Great. Fantastic for them. Couldn’t happen for a nicer person. Meng Yao maybe doesn’t deserve it, but he doesn’t deserve it in the same way Wei Ying doesn’t really deserve it; he just managed to get it, which is more than Wei Ying can say for himself. “That’s the important thing, isn’t it?”
“What about your happiness?”
Okay. So, he’d been planning on just doing a pot of coffee, but clearly he needs to upgrade to something that requires focus so he can get through this conversation with his dignity intact. The espresso machine it is. Just, you know, gotta grind up some beans to dust. Ah, there’s the canister. Can’t hear Lan Zhan over the sound of the grinder, ha. Good thinking, Wei Ying.
That done, he viciously removes the basket from the machine and grabs the tamper from the color-coded drawer of utensils beneath his coffee equipment. That is… also a casualty of his inability to focus on anything. Who organizes their utensil drawers?
Far too quickly, he’s got a pair of espresso shots. Into the one for Lan Zhan, he drizzles condensed milk, and then hands it to Lan Zhan along with a swizzle stick to stir. It’s going to be disgustingly sweet, but Lan Zhan will love it anyway because he’s always loved it.
Lan Zhan’s hands cup the porcelain like it’s something precious to him. Honestly, Lan Zhan’s acting really weird. It’s just espresso. “Wei Ying, you didn’t answer my question.”
Sighing, Wei Ying contemplates downing his shot so he’s not forced to answer. Scalding his mouth and throat would be a good excuse for not talking, right? “I’m perfectly happy to know your brother is happy.”
“But Meng Yao was—”
“Lan Zhan, we fucked. It wasn’t some great romance for the ages. I’m not crying over Meng Yao finding someone.”
Lan Zhan’s mouth opened slightly and his eyes dragged across the floor. “I thought…”
“How did you even know anyway? We weren’t exactly broadcasting it.” God, he really hopes it hasn’t gotten around. That is the last thing he wants. The whole point was to bury it down where nobody else could see it. In fact, he’s not even sure how anyone these days might find out. Like, sure, if this was back at university, he and Lan Zhan and Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng, they all knew one another, but not a single one of them has ever seen Wei Ying and Meng Yao in company together since graduation.
“My brother found out,” he says, offhand. “You don’t like Meng Yao?”
“Uh…” Wei Ying’s laugh is slow, awkward, a little rude. “No. He’s fine, I guess, but… he’s a decent lay and we both knew it wasn’t going anywhere. It worked for us.”
This admission, small though it might seem, does nothing to assuage the unhappy look gracing Lan Zhan’s features. It doesn’t seem fair. Wei Ying opens himself up like this and Lan Zhan’s still not happy? What the hell.
“Lan Zhan, do you really want to talk about Meng Yao? My sex life is boring. Why don’t you tell me about your—” He’s trying to ask Lan Zhan about his apartment, but the truth is he doesn’t want to hear about it. “Why don’t we talk about something else? Like how great it is to see you.”
“It’s good to see you, Wei Ying, of course.”
“Are you planning on drinking that espresso? Did I not make it sweet enough? Or is it too sweet? I can pull another if you’d—”
Lan Zhan looks into the little cup again as though seeing it for the first time. “Why did you pick him?”
“What?”
“Meng Yao. Why did you pick him?”
How does one explain desperate loneliness and bad decision-making processes to the concept of perfection in human form? It’s impossible. “Come on, Lan Zhan. Why does anyone do anything? String-free sex is…”
Frankly, it’s disposable, but he can at least pretend for five seconds that it’s great. A lot of people love string-free sex and Wei Ying would never want to take it away from them, but that isn’t Wei Ying. He thinks he’d like to feel something more than vague disdain and uncomfortable sympathy for his partner.
He grimaces instead. “…convenient.”
“Convenient.”
“Are you just going to repeat what I say?” This time, he hopes the espresso has cooled enough to drink because he swallows it all and turns to make another just to give his hands something to do that isn’t grabbing Lan Zhan by his soft-looking sweater and yanking him into a kiss.
“No, I’m just wondering why you didn’t ask me.”
The tamper hits the counter with a deep, resonant thud. The basket, sadly, also falls from his hands. It scatters grounds across the surface. Wei Ying swipes them into a pile and reaches for a paper towel because he can’t—that’s not a question Lan Zhan is asking him right now. It’s impossible and Wei Ying’s not dumb. He’s pretty sure it’s an invitation.
String-free sex with Lan Zhan? There could be no greater hell on this earth.
“Would I not also be a convenient option?”
Wei Ying, who’s really just trying to sweep this mess of grounds into his palm, overshoots by a lot and winds up with them all on the floor. “God damn it. Lan Zhan!”
“We lived together,” he points out, like Wei Ying wasn’t there, too, and hadn’t been very keenly aware of that fact the whole while.
“I’m not just going to fuck you because you’re there. What do you take me for?” Exactly what you are, he doesn’t let himself think. Crouching down, he repeats the process of sweeping the mess into his hand before he remembers he’s got a broom for this sort of thing. Springing to his feet, he pushes past Lan Zhan to retrieve it. Unfortunately, that gives him time to see the look of hurt that crosses Lan Zhan’s face before it goes completely blank. “Do you want me to?”
Lan Zhan doesn’t answer.
Wei Ying scoffs. Unbelievable. What the hell has gotten into Lan Zhan? “You don’t want me to. Or you shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
He’s not exactly sure why he says what he says except that he’s really unhappy about how difficult it is to sweep up coffee grounds. Good coffee grounds at that. They were only just roasted a couple of days ago. Good coffee grounds that are being wasted because Wei Ying can’t be more chill. “I love you too much to fuck you, Lan Zhan. It’d be a goddamned mess if we did. I’d get really fucking weird about it and try to turn it into something else and then you’d have to deal with me never wanting to let you go. Do you even get why it was Meng Yao and not just some random asshole I could find in a bar or something? It’s because he knew what that felt like and we could just take it out on each other. So when I say I’m happy for your brother, what I really mean is I’m fucking jealous that Meng Yao got what he wanted while I’m stuck playing twenty questions with you over the casual sex I used to have and explaining why it’s a bad idea to hop on your dick now that I’m not having it anymore.”
Lan Zhan’s eyes, as expected, go wide.
“See!” Wei Ying wags his finger in his face. “I’m screwing it up already and all I’ve done is opened my mouth. Imagine the baggage you’d be stuck with if I did more?” Pulling his hand back, he crosses his arms and pulls himself inward, wrapping himself around the stupid broom. What the fuck, what the fuck. How do these words keep coming out of his mouth? “If you can’t pretend you never heard this, I’m going to need you to leave.”
Lan Zhan’s eyes, also as expected, turn flinty and cool. “No. I don’t think so.”
“No, you can’t pretend or no, I don’t need you to leave? Because, uh, yeah, I’m gonna. Maybe you’re not used to needing to privately lick your wounds in the peace and quiet of your own home, but some of us—some of us have to. We’re not—”
“Wei Ying.”
He strangles the broom between his hands, looks away, can’t look back. “Lan Zhan…”
“I would wake up and hear the shower running at midnight,” he replies, “and in the morning I would see someone else’s marks on your skin. I kept my mouth shut the whole time because I thought you and he were happy. And now you’re telling me I could have…” Lan Zhan’s never been particularly derisive or dismissive toward Wei Ying, but he sighs in disgust now. “I’m not leaving.”
Lan Zhan can’t be saying what it sounds like he’s saying.
One hand curls around Wei Ying’s shoulder anyway. The other takes hold of his chin. “What did you do together?”
“A lot of things.” Wei Ying has nowhere else to look except at Lan Zhan’s face, where hunger sits too easily on it. It must be a familiar companion, because Wei Ying recognizes something in it as he answers Lan Zhan’s question. He’s seen this look before. He just hadn’t known what it was.
“Tell me. Your last time. What did you do?”
Wei Ying swallows. “Ah ha, I…”
Lan Zhan’s fingers tighten, pinch at his jaw.
Wei Ying had always wondered if Lan Zhan would be bossy and he’s gratified now to find out that he is. “Lan Zhan, you don’t want to hear about Meng Yao.”
Lan Zhan’s gaze darkens at the mention of Meng Yao’s name. He purses his lips. “Tell me,” he says again.
“Lan Zhan, really. It was… not nice.” Which is to say, it felt amazing at the time, but whenever he imagines taking Lan Zhan to bed, it’s… nicer. Sweeter. Lan Zhan would be kinder to Wei Ying than Wei Ying knows how to be to himself and Wei Ying would definitely be kinder to Lan Zhan than he’s allowed himself to be with Meng Yao.
He also sort of imagines it’s Lan Zhan fucking him, not the other way around, but if getting fucked is something Lan Zhan’s into, he can be flexible. Regardless, he can’t imagine scratching and biting Lan Zhan the way he did to Meng Yao. Even so… even so, now that the image is lodged in his mind, Lan Zhan held on Wei Ying’s dick, his skin raked with marks put there by Wei Ying’s fingers, Lan Zhan crying…
Displeasure flattens Lan Zhan’s tone. “Not nice.”
Every part of Wei Ying’s body trembles and the only thing keeping him upright is Lan Zhan’s hand on his jaw. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”
Lan Zhan exhales through his nose, exasperated.
But no, no… this spell Lan Zhan’s weaving? Wei Ying can’t succumb to its call. It would lead nowhere good. “I didn’t mean anything to Meng Yao. I can’t—if it’s you, I can’t mean nothing. I can’t—” He is ruining his one chance of getting into bed with Lan Zhan, he can feel it, but it’s important… he can’t let himself get caught up in some fantasy that Lan Zhan’s going to suddenly declare serious intentions. Life just doesn’t work that way. There has to be a line drawn. Wei Ying will somehow draw it.
With thief-like cunning and callousness, Lan Zhan brings their mouths together, devours Wei Ying’s complaints with teeth and tongue as he backs Wei Ying into the counter. The broom falls with a sharp clatter to the floor. Lan Zhan! Is kissing! Him! Lanzhaniskissinghim.
Lan Zhan…
“There is no meaning in my life that isn’t enhanced by your presence in it.” Lan Zhan tattoos these words into his jaw, down the line of his throat. “How can you be nothing to me?”
Wei Ying wraps his fingers around the edge of the countertop, holds tight to it while his knees learn how to hold him upright again. They’re having a terrible time of it, what with the onslaught of Lan Zhan’s mouth and everything. It’s a… it’s a clever mouth. He makes up in action what he might never have thought to say with words. Even Wei Ying can’t misconstrue it.
This whole time, Wei Ying has been loved and he’s never seen it.
“I want everything you gave to Meng Yao,” Lan Zhan says, serious, somber. His mouth is pink, plush. His lower lip gleams, tantalizing. “And I want everything you didn’t.”
*
“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying is panting. He doesn’t think—he didn’t think this through before he said yes, before he agreed to—to show Lan Zhan. “How am I supposed to—?” He’s only just gotten Lan Zhan worked open enough that they might get somewhere soon, but it might be too late for him. Precome leaks down his shaft; he’s disgustingly hard; every sensation overwhelms. Just the sight of Lan Zhan’s bare shoulder—he’d thought that a safe enough spot to look, but apparently not—is nearly enough to send him skittering over the edge. There’s no way he’s going to manage. He’ll get halfway in and blow it. That’s what’s going to happen and it’s going to be so embarrassing and Wei Ying can’t wait. “You’re so hot. It’s unreal. You’re beautiful. I can’t even—come on. Let me blow you. I blew him for the first one. It’s only fair.”
Three. He owes Lan Zhan three orgasms and he needs at least one of them to be on Wei Ying’s tongue. Even if the only thing he tastes is the condom, he’s desperate for it.
“Later,” Lan Zhan says. He’s got his arms wrapped tight around Wei Ying’s pillow, face buried in it. “Like this.”
“Lan Zhan, babe—” Oh, god. Lan Zhan makes a noise and it’s so indecent Wei Ying’s thoughts reduce to static for a good three seconds. Three seconds is a long, long time when you’re knuckles deep in someone. He throws the endearment out again just as a test. He’s a scientist after all. Gotta replicate findings. For the care and diligence he takes in the name of good praxis, Lan Zhan whines. He actually whines and it’s the hottest thing Wei Ying’s ever heard. Shit. Shit, he’s gotta remember that. Gonna—gonna deploy that shit strategically now that he’s got Lan Zhan clocked. “I’m only human. Take pity.”
“No. Like this. I can—” Lan Zhan pulls in a breath. “I’m close.”
Fuck. “I haven’t even touched—”
“Wei Ying!”
“Okay, okay.” He can—he can finger Lan Zhan to orgasm, sure. That’s a thing he can do, yep. No problem. Lan Zhan’s gonna come untouched on his hand, yeah. Yeah. Wei Ying’s on board with that. Maybe if he watches Lan Zhan, the way he twitches when Wei Ying slides all the way in and sighs when Wei Ying pulls out, then it’ll be okay. As long as he doesn’t think too hard about it, he’ll be able to do this. It’s not like this is the only thing he’s ever wanted in all his life or anything. It’s not like he’s actually fucking Lan Zhan. Except for how he is. He is fucking Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan is being fucked by him. Three of Wei Ying’s fingers are inside of him to prove it. “Wow.”
Through gritted teeth, Lan Zhan says, “Wei Ying, if you don’t—” Before he can issue a threat, he shoves himself back, drives Wei Ying’s three fingers deeper into him. “Ah.”
And then, before Wei Ying’s ready, he’s clenching around Wei Ying’s fingers. Slumping forward, he groans deeply, draws in a hiccuping breath. The back of his neck is flushed.
Holy hell. “Woah.”
“Keep going.”
“What?”
“Again.”
“Again? You mean—” With Meng Yao, it took forever to get anywhere. “Already?” He’s sort of jealous. It’s been a long time since he’s had a good prostate orgasm that wasn’t courtesy of a piece of silicone. “Lan Zhan, you’re something else.” Wriggling his fingers slightly, a little more distant from his own desires now that Lan Zhan’s bossing him around a bit again, he finds what he’s looking for and presses gently, rocking a bit against his back, swaying them both. “Do you do this often?”
“Do you?”
“Not like this.” They both know what he means. Not with Meng Yao. Frankly, he likes it this way better maybe. “Are you sure you want me to—?”
“Tell me what you did.” He gasps as Wei Ying presses a little firmer, stretches his fingers slightly, presses again.
“I… Meng Yao was upset about something, I think. I gave him a blowjob in the doorway. He, uh… got me on my knees pretty quickly there.”
“Did you like it?”
How does he explain it without making it sound like he’d prefer to be doing anything other than this? Lan Zhan wants three orgasms; Wei Ying will give them to him. Fingers, dick, mouth. Whatever Lan Zhan wants. “Being put on my knees? Yeah, it’s good.”
“Would you prefer—”
“No.” He dares to kiss, gentle, the warm patch of skin across Lan Zhan’s neck. If it happens to shift the angle of his fingers, so be it. His hand clutches at the bedding just under Lan Zhan’s arm. “Maybe next time.”
Bless Lan Zhan, but he accepts this, choosing instead to arch into Wei Ying’s touch than argue that there won’t be a next time. “What else?”
“I got him on the bed and sat him on my lap and fucked him,” Wei Ying answers. “I was pissed and kind of lonely after…” Oh, in the midst of all this, he’d forgotten exactly what had driven him to do what he did. “Well, I…” He settles his weight back on his legs and drags his hand lightly down Lan Zhan’s chest, nails barely scraping his skin. “Like that.”
“More.” Lan Zhan shifts until he’s closer to Wei Ying, their thighs almost touching. Wei Ying almost whimpers. Lan Zhan is so close to him, so warm; he’s here and he’s asking the world of Wei Ying and Wei Ying would give it to him. “More, please.”
Wei Ying let his nails dig into Lan Zhan’s skin, not deep, not like he did to Meng Yao, but enough to draw a hiss from Lan Zhan.
“Do you like doing it?” Lan Zhan’s voice is a little ragged now, unsteady.
“I…” He frowns, considers. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I wasn’t coming from a place of joy when I was rough with him, Lan Zhan. I don’t know if I like doing that to another person.” Swallowing, he stares down at Lan Zhan’s beautiful spine, soothes himself with the rise and fall of Lan Zhan’s back, a gentle wave lapping at shore. He lets his touch match that pace, enjoys the impatient little noise Lan Zhan makes. “I like it when others are rough with me. I like it when they’re not.”
“Wei Ying, please. Please, I need—”
Wei Ying thinks he knows what Lan Zhan needs. “You like hard and fast, don’t you?”
“I… yes.”
“Only hard and fast?” Wei Ying will try, but he’s afraid this will be over very quickly if he does. The only thing holding him back now is his desire to make this as good for Lan Zhan as possible.
A shudder wracks Lan Zhan’s body. “Not if it’s you.”
Wei Ying’s never going to let this man go. Lan Zhan’s slick enough that a fourth finger breaches him easily. He can’t get as deep, but once Lan Zhan is loose enough, he goes back in with only two, works him over quickly, wraps the fingers of his other hand just under the head of Lan Zhan’s shaft.
Lan Zhan clutches more tightly at the pillow, huffs and moans and wriggles against Wei Ying’s fingers. Sweat glints in his hair, one drop trickling down behind his ear. Though he looks like he’s ready to shake apart, Wei Ying will hold him together.
He asks, curling close, kissing the spot behind Lan Zhan’s ear that he’d just traced with his eyes, unrelenting, “Come for me?”
Lan Zhan’s head drops forward as he stills, gasping.
“One more?” Wei Ying asks. He hasn’t ejaculated yet, but that sometimes means little. He might be done in. Wei Ying hopes not—he’d like to get three for three since Lan Zhan had talked a big game before—but he doesn’t want to push or accidentally hurt him when he doesn’t know Lan Zhan’s limits yet.
“I want you in me,” Lan Zhan manages. “I want your hand on… on me.”
“Fuck, Lan Zhan.” He’ll be lucky if he even gets that far. “You can’t just say whatever filth comes into your head. How am I supposed to give you a good time if I go off before we even get there?”
“Wei Ying. You haven’t heard me talk dirty yet.” He shifts on shaking arms, glares over his shoulder. His gaze softens after a moment. Wei Ying’s still stuck on the thought of Lan Zhan talking dirty to him. “You’re already giving me a good time. Fuck me already.”
“Uhh.” Wei Ying scrambles for the condom he’d thrown on the corner of the bed, fails to tear the packet open, swipes his hands on the duvet and tries again. It tears free and Wei Ying nearly fumbles it in surprise. “Lan Zhan, I think I liked it better when you weren’t saying nice things to me. Go back to that.”
Lan Zhan breathes out, ducks his head a little, but not quickly enough that Wei Ying can’t see the slight upturned smile that crosses his pretty lips.
“Ugh, look at you. You can still smile. You’re supposed to get wrecked. I made Meng Yao cry, you know.”
“I’m waiting for you to do that, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan replies, quiet.
Wei Ying rolls the condom down his shaft, careful, prays to every deity on the planet that he isn’t about to disappoint Lan Zhan with a bad showing. “I’m gonna have to get some of those condoms that are supposed to stop you from coming too quickly or, like, a cock ring or something, just to take the edge off. How are you so—god, Lan Zhan. Why are you here?”
It’s Wei Ying who’s suddenly overwhelmed. He doesn’t even mean to ask the question, but Lan Zhan turns over, pulls himself upright and on his knees, brackets Wei Ying’s thighs, grapples to pull him closer. “Wei Ying.”
“I know, I know, I know, but like—look at you.” And Wei Ying does. Every centimeter of Lan Zhan is precious to him; he would look his fill forever if he could. Even his cock is gorgeous somehow and Wei Ying’s never been one to sing odes about those beyond how good they can make him and others feel. “And your big dumb brain is, like, the best. I like you a lot.”
Before Wei Ying can continue embarrassing himself, Lan Zhan climbs into his lap, wraps his arms around Wei Ying’s neck to pull him even closer. “Wei Ying.”
“But, like, I’m just some dude? And—oh, you’re…”
Lan Zhan reaches behind him, unerringly seats himself on Wei Ying’s dick. Wei Ying’s pretty sure he’s never felt anything as good as this. And then Lan Zhan clenches around him, sighs happily, contented, rolls his hips in a way that ought to be outlawed in this room because he’s this close to coming already and it’s not fair that Lan Zhan can do this to him and that’s when he’s sure he’s never felt anything as good.
“You’re you.” Oh, god. It’s Wei Ying’s eyes that are prickling, warmth gathering in his cheeks. Blinking, he tucks his head against Lan Zhan’s neck, breathes him in, steadies himself because he’s not going to prove Meng Yao right after the fact. But Lan Zhan’s around him and within his heart and—
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says again, repeats in a chant until even he was reduced to nothing except pain-pleasure noises of need.
“Hand!” Wei Ying remembers. “My hand on you! Lan Zhan!” Holy shit, he gets to touch Lan Zhan’s dick! Again! He’ll never be over that! This is just really the greatest thing that could possibly happen to him. It’s for sure better than crying about the sex he’s having.
Lan Zhan jerks as he touches him, bites back a groan, might actually laugh a little bit in there as he rocks into Wei Ying’s touch. No offense to Meng Yao, but god damn. Nothing will ever meet or exceed this. “Wei Ying, are you close?”
“Close to—” Wei Ying was apparently just so excited about giving Lan Zhan a handjob that he’s entirely forgotten about, uh, anything else. As soon as Lan Zhan’s drawn his attention to it, it’s all Wei Ying can think about. Lan Zhan squeezes around him again and his world tilts a little sideways with the force of his pleasure. “Oh.”
Clutching at Lan Zhan’s arm, he speeds up his strokes and lets himself fall into this, safe knowing that Lan Zhan’s here with him.
Lan Zhan lifts up onto his knees, slams himself back down, and that’s all it takes, Wei Ying’s lost to his release. His hand tightens around Lan Zhan’s length and he thumbs at the head, back and forth. With one final cry, Lan Zhan comes, not so far behind Wei Ying that he has to be embarrassed. He spills across the back of Wei Ying’s hand as Wei Ying jerks him off through it, each stroke matched to an incandescently beautiful huff.
“Wei Ying…”
“That was three.” Though he reaches for smug, he lands somewhere in the vicinity of awed and grateful.
“Mn.”
“Was it good?”
Lan Zhan’s breath is warm against Wei Ying’s temple as he nuzzles at Wei Ying’s hair. “Mhmm.”
“And we can do it again?”
“Frequently.”
Wei Ying hides his smile in Lan Zhan’s shoulder, but he gets the feeling Lan Zhan knows it’s there anyway.
He doesn’t really mind Lan Zhan knowing. It’s easier to let himself be known by Lan Zhan than it has been in years.
*
“So,” Meng Yao says, sipping primly from a cup of overpriced and under-brewed tea from the coffee shop halfway between their apartments. They ran into one another just outside of it and decided maybe it would be okay to catch up, because sometimes it sucks to have boyfriends who live in Suzhou part of the time and somewhere between all the fucking they actually did sort of get to know one another. And anyway, they sort of have some business to settle since Lan Zhan won’t bring it up with Lan Huan directly.
Meng Yao’s eyes fall to the massive hickey on Wei Ying’s neck, the one Wei Ying refuses to cover up unless he’s actually at work because it makes Lan Zhan go a little feral around the eyes, which is awesome. “Are you two ever going to slow down?”
“Not if I have any say in it,” Wei Ying replies. “Jealous?” There are no corresponding marks on Meng Yao’s neck. Of course, given all the scarves and turtlenecks Lan Huan’s taken to wearing—per Lan Zhan’s skeptical reports, not that Lan Zhan would ever admit to gossiping about his brother—someone in that relationship is getting bitten. Good for Lan Huan. Good for Meng Yao. They seem happy. Reluctantly, he’s glad for them both. Maybe. Definitely Lan Huan anyway. And Lan Zhan’s perplexed joy for his brother is also pretty nice.
“Not in the slightest,” Meng Yao answers, tart.
They lapse into silence after that, having nothing much else to talk about that’s appropriate for public conversation. It’s okay, though, because Wei Ying does have one thing he’s been meaning to reach out to Meng Yao about.
“Lan Huan comes to dinner sometimes,” Wei Ying says, “when he’s in town. I’m sure you know. I’m not saying that we should be best friends or anything, but I think he’d like to be able to bring his boyfriend around his brother.”
Meng Yao goes pale and then flushes. “I’m not coming within ten meters of Lan Zhan, sorry. It’s weird.”
“No shit, but come on. Think it through. You can’t just avoid him forever.”
“He will skewer me. I can absolutely do exactly that. Lan Huan and I have already talked about it. Neither of us want to make him uncomfortable.”
“He’s a grown man,” Wei Ying insists. “Besides, we’ve talked about it, too. He’s not worried I’m gonna drop him for you or anything. He’s agreed to it already. You should surprise Lan Huan by coming along.”
“No way.”
“You think I wasn’t waiting for Lan Huan to dump my body in a river somewhere?” Wei Ying leans forward and pokes Meng Yao in the chest. “Listen, I feel bad, okay? We were kind of dumb. I’d like Lan Huan to have the same level of, like, full circle closure bullshit that we got. Sure, Lan Zhan’s gonna rail me into next week afterward, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take for the greater good.”
“How gracious of you.”
“I thought so.”
They’re not friends, but when Meng Yao accompanies Lan Huan to dinner finally, Lan Huan is all smiles as he quietly and frequently touches the man he loves, and that counts for something. Out of all of the trouble they caused for themselves and their favorite Lans, at least they can say they came to their senses eventually.
Lan Zhan glares at Meng Yao from across the table.
They’re not friends, but maybe…
Meng Yao dumps more food into Lan Huan’s bowl, saying with pointed sweetness, “You should eat more, gege.”
Maybe one day…
Before leaving, Lan Huan thanks Lan Zhan for being so accepting of Meng Yao’s presence, which eases some of the tension in his shoulders as they say their goodbyes. It gets easier each time, on those rare occasions Meng Yao can be cajoled by Lan Huan into joining them, until Lan Zhan can speak to him without venom pricking his every word.
Maybe one day, Wei Ying thinks, they’ll make okay brother-in-laws.