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the risk i took was calculated

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Wei Ying is going to die.

Or maybe it's more accurate to say she's already dead--maybe she's dying right here and now? She's had an aneurysm, or a heart attack, or maybe she just spontaneously keeled over for some inexplicable reason that scientists and doctors will debate over for years to come. That'd be kind of cool.

The point, though, is that she is dying. She is dead. Deceased. Ex-living. The world's sexiest zombie.

And the reason--the reason for whatever reason triggered her death throes in the first place--only blinks at her, placid and calm and beautiful, as if something like that hadn't just come out of her pretty little mouth!

"Let me get this straight," Wei Ying says.

Lan Zhan nods.

"You, and your brother," she says.

Again, Lan Zhan nods.

"You two were, uh," and here Wei Ying's famous (and, let's be honest, infamous) shamelessness deserts her. She makes a ring with the thumb and index finger with one hand, then sticks the index finger of the other through it.

Lan Zhan's pretty nose wrinkles the tiniest bit. Of course it does; even when she has Wei Ying on her back, spread open and incoherent and taking four fingers, she's never crude about it. Her idea of dirty talk is still poetic and flowery, which--make no mistake, still gets Wei Ying hotter than it should, by any right, but isn't sexy. The day Lan Zhan says "fuck" is the day Wei Ying knows she has somehow tripped into a truly alternate universe.

Back to the point, though.

"You were," Wei Ying says, because this is important. This is vital. She has to know this before she keels over permanently. This is knowledge that she has to take with her into the next life. "For real?"

"I said so," Lan Zhan says, which is usually proof enough. Lan Zhan doesn't lie. It was one of approximately fifty billion (* slight exaggeration) rules that she'd grown up with, and one of the ones she'd stuck with, even after moving out of her uncle's home. Speaking of which--

"Oh god," Wei Ying says. "Your uncle doesn't know, does he?"

The look Lan Zhan gives her is withering, as disdainful as any she'd ever used when they'd been acquaintences, before friendship, before love. In another context, it would be incredibly sexy. It still kind of was, but listen, Wei Ying's brain is still trying to reboot properly with this new knowledge. She's a simple woman. She can only tackle five topics at once, and the concept that stupidly pretty Lan Zhan and her brother--smiling, gently, also stupidly pretty Lan Huan, who looked like Wei Ying had imagined Lan Zhan would, if she'd been born a man--had had sex, had had sex more than once, was at least ten different topics at once. She was at double capacity, and the ideas wouldn't stop coming.

"Of course not," Lan Zhan says, when she realizes that Wei Ying is still reeling in mental horror at the idea. "Our relationship did not... progress to that level, until after we'd both moved out of Uncle's home."

"Oh," Wei Ying says. She blinks. The room is spinning a little. After they'd both moved out--which means that Wei Ying had already met Lan Zhan by then, that they'd already progressed into being sort-of friends at that point. More vitally, it had happened after Wei Ying had begun nursing a crush the size of all of China on her (apparently, at the time) unobtainable new roommate. That meant--

"We'd only kissed, at that point," Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying has to bend over, put her head between her knees, and wheeze in an attempt to keep from actually hyperventilating on the spot. Lan Zhan shifted closer to her on the couch, one gentle hand settling on her back and stroking in long, soothing motions. Lan Zhan had such nice hands--she had such nice everything, really. Wei Ying whined and shifted enough to bump her head against Lan Zhan's knee instead, which got a brief scritch of Lan Zhan's nails against the nape of her neck. "We stopped when you and I exchanged our confessions."

"Oh my god," Wei Ying says finally. It might have been a full five minutes later. She shifts, ignoring the twinge in her back, and rubs her face more securely against Lan Zhan's thigh. "Okay. Okay. I'm okay."

"Are you?" Lan Zhan's hand cups the back of her neck, giving it a brief squeeze.

"I am," Wei Ying insists, and then squirms so that she's lying down on the couch instead, her head pillowed on Lan Zhan's thigh, then squirms to look up at Lan Zhan's pretty, pretty face. "Darling, sweetheart, Ms. Lan, you can't expect to tell me these things and not expect me to not have a little bit of a meltdown. My poor heart." She grabs for Lan Zhan's hand, now that it can no longer pet her back, and drags it to her chest instead. If it gets her a subtle boob grope more than any tender "feel my heartbeat" moment, neither of them are the sort to complain about that. "You can't just tell me that my fantasies were actually happening and not expect me to freak out."

Lan Zhan's eyes go wide--just fractionally, just for a second. She had to have been confident in Wei Ying's overall response being favorable, or she wouldn't have said anything--Lan Zhan never lies directly, not when she outright is using her words, but she will sometimes sidestep an issue entirely. A lie of omission is not the same thing, she had pointed out before, to Wei Ying's delight; after all, one wouldn't tell a friend about the intricacies of one's job, right? One wouldn't tell a coworker the details of a family emergency. Lan Zhan prefers to hedge her bets, to plan and arrange things so that they go the way she wants them to. She calls it planning ahead. Wei Ying calls it being a control freak.

Wei Ying loves her so, so much.

The point, though--the point is, Lan Zhan must have known Wei Ying would have been fine with the confession before making it, but she hadn't anticipated this part of the response. Wei Ying pouts, exaggerated, and bats her lashes. She pulls Lan Zhan's hand up now, to nuzzle her cheek against her palm instead.

"Lan-jiejie," she purrs, turning her head to mouth the words against Lan Zhan's skin, "what sort of woman do you take me for? I'm very simple. The only person in the whole wide world who's as beautiful as Lan Zhan is, of course, her brother." She parts her lips, catching the tip of Lan Zhan's index finger between her teeth. It's gentle, but the way Lan Zhan shivers, that's more than enough. "Have mercy on your poor girlfriend. You know how shameless she is. Forgive her for her naughty thoughts."

One delicate eyebrow lifts at that. It's as good as a question, because Lan Zhan likes her pretty words, but she likes it better when she can make Wei Ying talk without using them at all.

"You know," Wei Ying says coyly. She presses soft, fleeting kisses to the tips of Lan Zhan's fingers, one by one, in between the words. "There was this long, long period where I thought all I could do was pine. It was so difficult, you know, living next with someone so beautiful, who wouldn't even talk to me unless I threw myself in her path."

Some of the light dims in Lan Zhan's eyes. "Wei Ying--"

Wei Ying pauses long enough to kiss her wrist, over the pulsepoint, in silent soothing. "And you know what my mind is like, when I'm bored, or lonely--or both," she says. "I just start thinking up all sorts of things, Lan-jiejie. And I started thinking..." She pauses here to stretch, luxurious, exaggerated, and if the gesture just so happens to make her shirt ride up, so much the better, right? At least Lan Zhan no longer looks quietly, vaguely mournful. "Sometimes, I would think--mmm, what would it be like? If maybe, on some night when you were off having dinner with your brother--" her lip curls briefly, because she has to laugh at herself with the amount of innuendo she put into that word--"and you both came back here, for some reason? And I, being so alone and lonely, was, ah, taking care of things."

"Things." Lan Zhan's other hand pressed gently to cup the side of Wei Ying's face. Her eyes were fixed on the strip of skin exposed by Wei Ying's squirming.

"Things," Wei Ying agrees. It's a low, drawling purr. "You know. Things. And stuff." She slides her own free hand down her body, until she could press it between her legs, over her skirt. "Myself."

"And then?" Lan Zhan's thumb strokes across her cheek, the point pressing against the corner of Wei Ying's lips. The angle is bad for anything, but Wei Ying turns her head anyway to nip at it, light and playful.

"And then, because I am obviously the third most beautiful person in the world--" she isn't, really, but she knows that Lan Zhan would argue, and argue that she deserves to be higher and not, not on the list at all--"you would both be just so overcome, you'd fall upon me at once."

"Fall upon you." Lan Zhan's lips twitch. It's as good as a laugh.

"Fall upon me," Wei Ying sighs. It's not hard to pull that long-ago fantasy back to the forefront of her mind--easier now, in fact, because she knows what it looks like and feels like, when Lan Zhan wants her for real. "Just have your way with me. Take me apart. I--ah?!"

The room spins again, but this time, it's not from shock or a realigning worldview; it's because Lan Zhan has swept her up into those beautiful, beautiful strong arms of hers. Wei Ying laughs, breathless, and throws her arms around Lan Zhan's neck, nuzzling her cheek. "Lan Zhan, ah, Lan-jiejie, Ms. Lan, don't you want to hear the rest?"

"Yes," Lan Zhans says, as she kicks the bedroom door open. "In detail. Please be thorough."

To be fair, Wei Ying loses the plot about two minutes in, but she's pretty satisfied with the outcome regardless.


"I would like you to wear this," Lan Zhan says.

Wei Ying, hunched over her laptop and puffing hair from her eyes, doesn't even look up. "Yeah, sure, okay."

"For tonight," Lan Zhan says, patient as always. There's a rustle from somewhere behind Wei Ying before a hand curls behind her neck, squeezing and kneading away aches that she hadn't even realized were accumulating. Wei Ying has to pause for a moment, letting her head fall forward with a whine.

"Tonight," she mumbles. "Sure. Yeah. Uh-huh."

"For dinner with my brother," Lan Zhan says.

"Right," Wei Ying says. "Dinner with--"

Her head snaps up, which makes her wince as a lightning-bolt of pain goes down her spine. Ow. Someday, she has to remember she's no longer nineteen and capable of contorting her body into any number of weird positions for hours on end as she codes. Someday, but not today. "That's--shit, that's tonight?!"

"It is Friday." There is a thread of warm amusement in Lan Zhan's voice, the echo of laughter.

Wei Ying groans. It's Friday. Of course it is. They always have dinner with Lan Huan every other Friday--something something, "it's good to maintain a close relationship with your siblings, and to maintain family harmony" and it's not like they don't also see Wei Ying's own siblings often enough, but.


This will be the first time Wei Ying will be seeing Lan Huan since The Confession--the first time since Lan Zhan has pulled a frankly embarrassing number of fantasy confessions out of her--and she isn't sure she'll be able to look him in the face without exploding.

Then she turns her head to look at the outfit Lan Zhan is suggesting for her, and she amends that thought to something best transcribed as: kjlads;hlt?!

For one thing, it's short. Lan Zhan has about a handspan of height over Wei Ying, but normally, when she chooses clothes for Wei Ying, she goes for more conservative things--high-necked shirts, bell sleeves, skirts that, while they might fit snugly over her hips, reach to at least mid-thigh. She likes the process of unwrapping--she's never said as much, but the way she likes to linger over undressing Wei Ying, the slow reverent way she will peel back clothes to reveal skin, says more than enough. This dress, though--even just looking at it, Wei Ying isn't sure it will even cover her ass in its entirety. It's black, sleeveless, with spaghetti straps that are obviously meant to tie in a bow at the back of the neck. Slits are cut into the sides, criss-crossed with red ribbons. The hems are trimmed with lace.

"Uh," says Wei Ying.

"I think it would look good on you," Lan Zhan says calmly, as if she weren't suggesting that Wei Ying wear something that looks practically like lingerie to a family dinner with her brother, her brother that she'd had sex with, her brother that she loves more than anyone except Wei Ying herself. "I would like if you wore this."

Wei Ying swallows. "Oh," she says--squeaks, really. "Okay. Yeah. I can do. That."

She might have to revisit the theory that she is dying or dead and has tumbled into some strange afterlife, because Lan Zhan smiles at that--actually smiles! For real! With her mouth and everything!--and bends to kiss her cheek before laying the dress next to Wei Ying on the couch.

"Whenever you're ready," she murmurs, and pulls away. Presumably it's to get ready, herself, but it gives Wei Ying a moment to slam her laptop shut and throw the thing away, and then to bury her face in her hands and scream a little.

She! Is going! To die!

It takes about ten minutes of rolling around before she can peel herself off the couch and take the dress, slinking to a bathroom to change. It takes another fifteen to debate whether or not she should wear anything under the dress--she's not nearly as stacked as Lan Zhan, but it's not like she's tiny or anything. They're big enough for some decent give when Lan Zhan gets her hands on them, and that's the part that matters. The material is tight enough, though, that a bra would certainly distort the lines of the dress--to say nothing of...

"Who would have thought," she mutters to herself, as she tugs and smooths the dress as best as possible, "that it's you who's the shameless one, Young Ms. Lan."

She feels a little gratified, at least, at the way that Lan Zhan visibly stops at the sight of her in the dress--the way her eyes go wide and her lips part slightly. She looks at Wei Ying like she wants to throw her down on the spot, the dinner be damned, and okay, check that "little" gratified and make it a lot. Even after three years--longer, if you wanted to count the years where they hadn't been quite friends, hadn't quite been enemies, hadn't known what to make of each other except for how they couldn't stay apart--it still gave her a thrill to see beautiful, poised, perfect Lan Zhan respond to her.

"So?" she asks. She does a little spin, then tucks her hands under her chin, batting her lashes. "Am I cute?"

Lan Zhan's throat bobs visibly. Her voice is actually slightly scratchy when she answers. "Wei Ying is always cute."

Wei Ying can't help the pleased, embarrassed sound that bursts from her at that. She bounds over to throw her arms around Lan Wangji's neck--she's wearing one of those ridiculously soft sweaters of hers, high-necked and long-sleeved, with pulls tight over her breasts and biceps both. It's one of Wei Ying's favorite things. She's stolen them once or twice, which has always been fun--but for tonight, apparently they're going for some sort of classy/slutty paradigm. She's still not quite sure what it means that they're doing that when they're going to have dinner with Lan Huan--or, more accurately, she has some suspicions, some hopes, but nothing confirmed. She pouts, hoping for an answer, and only gets a soft, lingering kiss in response.

"Brother has reserved a room for us," she murmurs, when they part. "He will meet us there."

"Whatever you want," Wei Ying says happily, keeping an arm slung around Lan Zhan's waist as they move to the door.

At that, however, Lan Zhan pauses. She looks down at Wei Ying with solemn dark eyes, then lifts a hand to touch her cheek.

"Whatever Wei Ying wants, as well," she murmurs. "I hope that, if there is something Wei Ying doesn't want, she will say so, clearly."

"That's what safewords are for," Wei Ying says breezily. Her heart is pounding again. She can't be sure--she doesn't want to assume--but as they head out to the car, as they sit in relative silence in the drive to the restaurant, as they pull up for the valet to take the keys from Lan Zhan, she certainly hopes.

The restaurant is some fancy, fancy place--the sort of place that is always quiet and discreet, the kind of thing that a scion of the Lan family wouldn't think twice about visiting. It isn't as if Wei Ying's family isn't also loaded, though they'd never been the sort to go to lavish dinners or anything like that. Her adopted mother was a believer in hard work and effort; Wei Ying had never lacked anything important--but anything she wanted that was frivolous or extra, she was expected to work for, for herself. It was dizzying, sometimes, to be reminded of the sort of world that the truly rich lived in. She clung a little more tightly to Lan Zhan's arm than she wanted to admit as they walked in; despite the dimness of the interior, she couldn't help but feel like they were a thousand eyes on her. She barely heard the exchange between Lan Zhan and the hostess, but then they were walking again, down a long dark hallway, to a private room. The hostess bowed politely to them, and then she was gone, and Lan Huan was rising from his seat, smiling warmly as he crossed to greet them.

"A-Zhan," he said, his voice a low rumble, and Wei Ying refused the urge to squirm. She risked peeking at him and caught him looking at her, smiling as gently as always. "A-Ying."

"Hi," she managed. If it squeaked, at least everyone was polite enough to ignore it.

Somehow, they make it back to the table. The Lan siblings talk quietly between themselves--or, really, Lan Huan talks, discussing some business venture or other, relaying news about their uncle's health, relating stories--not gossip, but life updates--about the staff that the two of them had grown up with. Usually, Wei Ying eats these up with a desperate, curious hunger; it's fascinating, the world that her beloved Lan Zhan had grown up in, quiet and polite with all of its warmth blanketed under layers of courtesy. Wei Ying's own childhood had been loud, rambunctious, and she hopes that her stories are half as interesting. Normally, she would pipe up, interject herself into the conversation, but tonight, there's a faint buzzing in her ears, a sense of breathless anticipation that she can't shake, no matter how hard (ha! haha!) she tries.

They sit the way they always do, with Wei Ying at Lan Zhan's right and Lan Huan seated across from them. Lan Huan smiles at her, and nothing about the way he smiles or looks at her is any different from normal. She has to wonder, for a moment, if she's only imagining all of it.

"So, A-Ying," he says, "how's your new project going? A-Zhan mentioned it was a teaching thing?"

She takes a too-big gulp of water, forces herself to swallow it down, then nods. "Yeah. Uh, you know--I was thinking, most language-teaching software these days can be pretty hit or miss, right? You've got stuff that just jumps all over the place, even if it's supposed to be for beginners, so I was thinking--ah--"

A hand settles on her thigh, broad, warm, fingers brushing dangerously close up to between her legs. Wei Ying jerks, staring, but Lan Zhan is apparently focused on the menu, and Lan Huan is still smiling. She swallows.

"I was thinking, you know," she says. "It'd be nice if there was an easier way to teach kids--and, and interested adults, how to--to--"

Most of the time, she likes talking about her work. The concept of an app to help new learners with memorizing hanzi is something she's been tossing around for a while, to her friends, to her siblings, to Lan Zhan. This is the first time she's had the chance to tell Lan Huan about it, but Lan Zhan's hand has been creeping slowly, slowly up her thigh, and every scant centimeter higher she moves, the more Wei Ying's higher brain functions begin to shut down.

"I," she squeaks, both of her hands curling into fists on the tabletop. "I. Uh."

"Are you all right, A-Ying?" Lan Huan asks. His smile is ever-unchanging, but there's a certain new sharpness in his eyes. His voice has dropped half an octave. He's looking straight at her, and she feels completely exposed, pinned in place.

Oh. Okay. Okay! They're doing this!

"I'm, yeah," she squeaks. She shifts in her seat, her lashes fluttering as Lan Zhan's long, clever fingers finally find their way properly between her legs. The blood is roaring too loudly in her ears to hear much else, but she does hear the pleased little murmur Lan Zhan makes at finding her bare under the dress--though surely she had to have guessed, with no distorting lines--and she hears the soft, wet sound as those fingers slide through her folds, stroking against her wet heat. "I'm. I'm good."

"Good." He beams at her. For just a moment, again, Wei Ying wonders if she's going a little crazy, or dying, or both. He turns to his sister instead and says, "A-Zhan, I was hoping to get your opinion on something."

Lan Zhan murmurs an agreement, and Wei Ying has to close her eyes completely now. She bites into her lower lip, trying to keep her voice down even as she slumps in her seat, her legs spreading helplessly wider. The skirt has definitely ridden the full way up her ass. She's going to leave a mess on this fancy chair, but Lan Zhan strokes lazily over her clit, and she sees stars behind her closed eyes. The touch is too light to do more than tease, and she can't help but chase that touch, her body trembling. She needs--

The hand between her legs stops. She almost cries about it, but it gives her a few precious seconds to catch her breath a little. Her legs press shut again, trembling.

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan murmurs into her ear. "Your order?"

Fuck me already, she almost blurts, then blinks her eyes open, blearily. To her vague horror, a waiter is standing by their table. He's busy talking to Lan Huan at the moment, but soon--soon--

"You can," she manages, in a croak. "You order for me. You know what I like."

Lan Zhan smiles with her eyes. Her palm curves against Wei Ying's pussy for a moment, squeezing gently. "I do," she says.

Wei Ying closes her eyes and counts breaths, vaguely hearing the sound of the waiter's unfamiliar voice, and Lan Zhan's familiar one. She hears the sound of footsteps moving away, and a door opening and closing. She hears Lan Zhan say something to Lan Huan, and his rumble of answer, and those clever, clever fingers pinch gently at her clit. It's too wet for a good grip, but even the slip is amazing; Wei Ying makes a high-pitched, almost frantic noise through her nose. Her whole body is humming now, her fingers digging into the fine tablecloth. The dim awareness that anyone could walk in, at any time--that someone had walked in, though Lan Zhan had been polite enough to give her a few moments to compose herself--is a hot buzz that only sharpens her awareness of everything: the rough scratch of lace against the small of her back, the friction of her dress against her nipples, the hard angles of the chair under her, the agonizingly slow slide of Lan Zhan's fingers against her pussy, glancing around her clit, pressing shallowly into her, stroking away again.

Even as slow as it is, she can feel herself starting to slide into a climax, bright and sweet, and then Lan Zhan stops.

Wei Ying makes a horrible noise. It's becoming a running theme in her life for the past week, but she isn't entirely certain she's not dying, dead, et cetera.

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan murmurs into her ear. It's soft, a gentle hum that she can't help but respond to. Blindly, she turns her head towards the sound of Lan Zhan's voice and is rewarded with a kiss: slow, deep, and absolutely filthy. She finally finds use for her hands again, bringing them up to clutch at Lan Zhan's arms as she tries to give back with the kiss rather than simply passively accept it. She knows that Lan Zhan sometimes likes it when she pretends to be reluctant, when she turns her head and tries to refuse, but right now, she's too worked up, too aware of the audience they might have--and the audience they do have.

Then Lan Zhan pulls back. Her mouth is wet and red and swollen, and Wei Ying loves it. She loves her.

"Wei Ying," she says again, and there's an edge of roughness in her voice now. "Would you like--"

There's a gentle knock at the door. Wei Ying startles like a shocked cat, and Lan Zhan retreats to sit fully in her own seat. Other than her mouth, she looks perfectly composed. Wei Ying can only wonder how she looks. Debauched, probably, redfaced and panting, her hard nipples visible through the thin material of her dress. She looks down at the table as the door opens and the waitstaff brings in their food--if she looks at any of them directly, she will almost certainly explode. She presses her thighs together and forces herself to count her breaths again; she can't even muster a token polite thanks as her meal is set in front of her. It looks familiar. It's probably something she's had before, in all honesty, but in this precise moment, she can't recognize a single thing about it. She's not sure she remembers how to use chopsticks right now.

"You should eat," Lan Zhan says to her, and Wei Ying, not quite numb, fumbles to obey. It turns out using chopsticks is one of those things her body can do on autopilot, which is great, because she's pretty sure making a giant childish mess of herself is not in the least bit sexy.

The food is probably delicious. She doesn't actually remember how any of it tastes. There's a steady stream of people and plates in and out of their little room for a while. They must have ordered a tasting menu.

Wei Ying, somewhere in the fog that has taken over her mind, thinks that she'd rather be the one being tasted, but apparently she doesn't get any say in the matter.

It both helps and makes it worse that Lan Zhan does keep touching her--nothing quite so overt as a hand between her legs again, but a stroke across her back, tucking loose hair behind her ear, a brush against her arm that just happened to also, somehow, catch her nipple. Once, she presses a kiss to the corner of Wei Ying's mouth, though she pulls away when Wei Ying turns to her, refusing any more than that.

Throughout it all, Lan Huan keeps up a gentle stream of conversation, though his eyes are fixed on Wei Ying with a dark sort of intensity. It reminds her of Lan Zhan, and she knows in a different situation, she would be preening under it. She'd be eating it up. Right now, though, she's dazed and wanting, and every time she squirms in her chair, she feels the blunt pressure of a boot toe against her calf, stroking down.

Again: she's going to die. She's not going to survive this night.

But finally, desserts are brought out. Lan Huan speaks briefly to their waiter, who nods politely and then finally, blessedly leaves.

A beat later, Lan Zhan's hand is between her legs again. This time, Wei Ying lets herself make a noise, high and wanting; her legs fall open, and she slumps down in her seat again, now gripping at the edges of her chair. She ruts her hips desperately into that touch, each exhale a high whine. Lan Zhan leans closer to her, cupping one of her breasts in a free hand, thumbing roughly over the nipple.

And then Lan Zhan says--close to Wei Ying's ear, so she can hear it clearly, the words enough to pierce through her haze, "Do you like what you see, Brother?"

Lan Huan is leaning back slightly in his chair. He doesn't have alcohol--another one of those little rules that both Lans have always kept--but he does have a steaming cup of tea, his fingertips resting against it. He's watching with frank and open appreciation. "I do."

"Would you like to try?" Lan Zhan says, so politely, so calmly, like she's asking if he wants to sample a bite of her dinner. Wei Ying gulps for breath, her chest heaving, and Lan Zhan slides an arm around her shoulders, curls it so that she can reach and pinch a nipple, hard enough to sting, and her eyes snap shut again.

"I would," Lan Huan murmurs. There's a rustling noise, a shuffling, and Wei Ying feels the chair under her being pushed further out. She blinks her eyes open as something--someone--pushes between her legs, and looks down to see Lan Huan kneeling between them. He's smiling still.

"Hi," she says, because it's the first thing that pops into her head.

His smile grows wider. "Hello, A-Ying," he says. His hands, broad and wide, settle on her inner thighs, pushing them wider open. Lan Zhan's hand is still between her legs, those long fingers holding her open, exposed to view. "Is this all right?"

She gulps. Her gaze darts from his face to Lan Zhan's and back again. They're both looking at her the way she'd daydreamed about, those long years ago. It's a thousand times more overwhelming than she'd ever imagined it would be.

But she rallies herself, biting her lower lip as she hitches her hips a little further back in her chair, to brace herself better. She meets his gaze, and she nods. For once, she isn't sure if she can actually find the words for this.

His hands squeeze her legs again, gentle--soothing--and then he leans forward, his own eyes drifting shut. Wei Ying wants to look away and finds she can't, staring in dazed amazement as his mouth opens, and his tongue darts out, tracing through the folds of her pussy, up to her clit. Another high little noise tears from her, and her hips squirm--first involuntarily, and then with more enthusiasm as he takes that for the encouragement it is, settling closer and dragging his tongue against her, long teasing strokes.

Lan Zhan, meanwhile, bites at her ear, and then at her throat, her teeth sharp and scraping. She continues to roll Wei Ying's trapped nipple between cruel fingers, and no matter how Wei Ying moves, she's trapped. One of her hands comes up, blindly, to grab at Lan Huan's head; her fingers slide into his hair effortlessly--like Lan Zhan, his hair is silky smooth and straight; it offers neither tangles nor resistance for her touch. She tugs, hard, and he shifts to obey her silent request, fitting his lips around her clit and sucking before he presses a long, burning-hot finger into her. Her voice rises, high and shaking, and she's dimly, distantly amazed that she hasn't simply slid off the chair entirely.

"How lovely," she hears a voice murmur. It takes her a moment to realize that it's Lan Huan. "She's beautiful, A-Zhan."

Lan Zhan murmurs in smug agreement. Her mouth fastens at Wei Ying's pulsepoint for a moment, sucking a sting into her skin, then pulls back slowly. "She is."

"I would like to see her on a bed, sometime," he says. A second finger presses into Wei Ying, and she jerks, trying to bear down on those. Tears are starting to leak from the corners of her tightly-shut eyes. "I think she would be even more beautiful, spread out."

"She is," Lan Zhan says. It sounds like a promise. "She will be."

He sighs; the hot gust of his breath makes Wei Ying's whole body shake, and both of Lan Zhan's arms come around her, holding her securely in place. She's sobbing for breath now, her whole body one electric singing note of sensation, unable to do anything but accept the wet heat of Lan Huan's tongue between her legs, lashing over her clit--harder now, more deliberate, drawing her into a ever-tighter knot. Lan Zhan's mouth is also on her; she feels a hand on her face, turing her head, and Lan Zhan kisses her fiercely, biting, demanding, and there is nothing Wei Ying can do but surrender to that. Her whimpers are swallowed up, devoured, her hips thrashing as best she can as the fingers inside her quirk just so, and teeth graze lightly over her clit--

She screams, or tries to, and Lan Zhan drinks the whole thing down, almost brutal as she kisses Wei Ying, teeth and pressure and the faint taste of blood. There's a broad hand on her lower belly, pinning her in place, a tongue still working at her clit as those fingers inside her pump again, and she doesn't know if it's a whole second orgasm or just some near-painfully intense aftershocks. She can only take it, and take it, and take it, until she feels blackness edging at her awareness and her gasps have turned into full and proper sobs. Every little brush of contact hurts, stings, and it all leaves her craving more, even has her body flags.

Finally, finally, Lan Huan lifts his head. Through dimming, hazy vision, she can see that his face is wet and shining--but she can also see and feel the way Lan Zhan leans forward, and down, and kisses him. It's a slow, lingering thing, and Wei Ying thinks she can actually see their tongues in the open air, but also she's like three seconds from passing out, so she thinks it's pretty great that she can see this at all.

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan murmurs to her, and Wei Ying nuzzles into Lan Zhan's broad shoulder, still wrapped in that stupid soft sweater, and smiles.


Two days later, Lan Zhan says, as if it is some casual easy thing over breakfast, "I was thinking of inviting Brother to stay for the next weekend, if you are amenable."

Wei Ying, who had done the graceful and expedient thing of cramming an entire half-egg into her mouth just a second before, looks up at her sharply.

Lan Zhan smiles at her, with both her eyes and her mouth, one eyebrow just slightly raised.

Wei Ying swallows more of the egg whole than she thinks is entirely safe, then coughs and clears her throat. "The whole weekend?"

"Friday through Sunday," Lan Zhan says. "Are you amenable?"

She licks her lips.

"Yeah," she says. "Absolutely."

She's going to die.