It's so, so hot, and Lan Zhan isn't home. That's Wei Ying's only excuse. It's the second week of the heat wave, and Wei Ying is dying. She hates the heat; it makes her exhausted, and irritable, and unattractively sweaty, drops clinging to her upper lip and trickling into the crack of her ass.
Lan Zhan, on the other hand, seems untouchable. Her only concession to the heat is to wear a short sleeved blouse instead of a long sleeved one. This morning she had breezed by in her loose flowing layers and Wei Ying, sprawled on the cool kitchen tile in the tiniest shorts she owns, had only been able to groan miserably at her. Lan Zhan had crouched down and patted her sweaty head. "I'll get you some ice cream on the way home," she'd said, and Wei Ying had been too flustered to speak.
It's a problem, how attractive Lan Zhan is. It's always been a problem, but it's more of a problem now. Wei Ying isn't trying to seduce her roommate– she's seen that go south too many times. But part of her still twinges with wounded pride when Lan Zhan doesn't even look at her ass as she walks by. Her ass looks great in those shorts! Lan Zhan is attracted to women! Maybe not specifically to Wei Ying, but she's got eyes, hasn't she? Shouldn't she look just a little bit?
Anyway. Lan Zhan had left for lessons, and Wei Ying didn't have class today, so she'd taken a shower, hoping it would cool her off. It didn't really help. Mostly it had just made her damp. And because she usually jerks off in the shower, she's damp and horny, standing in the hallway outside the bathroom because the air conditioning is strongest here.
Lan Zhan isn't home. There's nothing stopping Wei Ying from being a little greedy, here in the hallway. And so she lets herself think of Lan Zhan in her cool silks. She imagines that morning with Lan Zhan in the kitchen, but differently. If Lan Zhan had kneeled over her instead of beside her. She would flip Wei Ying onto her front, her tits pressed against the cool tile. Lan Zhan would be a firm weight against her back. She'd spread Wei Ying's legs, make some comment about her slutty little shorts as she pulled them to the side and slipped her fingers in.
Wei Ying imagines Lan Zhan's fingers inside her, wet and wanting, and feels electric all over. The fabric of the oversized t-shirt she wears to sleep clings to her body where she hasn't bothered to dry off properly. The blast of the air conditioning against her breasts is so cold it almost hurts. Wei Ying imagines the indulgent drag of fingernails across her nipples, and moans.
She wonders if Lan Zhan would hurt her in other ways. She hopes so.
Through the material of the shirt, the drag of her own fingernail is dulled, blunted. She pinches her nipple and lets the fabric twist around it. "Lan Zhan," she moans, feeling daring. She twists her nipple harder, and slides the shirt up to touch herself. "Lan Zhan, please, Lan Zhan," and then, as if conjured, she hears the clink of keys in the dish by the door.
Wei Ying freezes, her leg hitched up awkwardly against the baseboard, her fingers still half into herself. Lan Zhan is standing in the entryway, looking at Wei Ying, her roommate of three years, who has been jerking off in the hallway outside the bathroom and saying her name. In a very uncharacteristic move, she has dropped her bags on the floor. Her mouth is open, red and round.
"I," says Wei Ying, intelligently. She pulls her fingers from herself with a wet squelch, and winces. "You're home early," she says.
"Lan Jingyi was sick," Lan Zhan says. Her voice sounds rougher than usual. "I texted."
"Ah," says Wei Ying, hoping her rational thought will come back online. Under the shitty little fluorescent bulb in the entryway, Lan Zhan's eyes look very dark. She's toeing off her shoes, but she doesn't break eye contact, just keeps looking down at Wei Ying's– oh God, Wei Ying's nipples, which are fully visible through her shirt. She crosses her arms, feeling the shirt hike up higher on her thighs.
Lan Zhan takes a step forward. "Do you make a habit of this?" she asks.
Wei Ying is committing so many roommate crimes she's not sure what "this" refers to. Wandering around pantsless? Jerking off in the hallway? Fantasizing about Lan Zhan? "I'm so sorry," Wei Ying says, instead of answering. "I didn't see your text, and I didn't–"
"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan interrupts. She's halfway to her, over by the couch now. Wei Ying hadn't seen her move, too busy staring at her feet. "It's fine."
Ah. Well then. Wei Ying feels almost disappointed. Lan Zhan should care, shouldn't she? That her roommate is jerking off about her? That she just found her roommate, in the hallway, in just a practically transparent t-shirt, with her fingers inside her and her name on her lips?
But Lan Zhan is standing right there, her silk pants almost brushing Wei Ying's bare toes, and Wei Ying has to swallow at her expression. She doesn't look like she doesn't care. Oh fuck, she looks angry. Or at least very intense.
"Did you mean it?" Lan Zhan asks. Her voice is so gravely. Wei Ying's pussy clenches in horny fear.
She nods without thinking, and then claps her hands over her mouth as if she could somehow take back the nod. "Lan Zhan, I really–"
But she doesn't get to finish the sentence. Lan Zhan has surged up against her and pulled her into a bruising kiss. Wei Ying feels her back hit the wall, and she scrabbles for purchase as Lan Zhan fists one hand in her wet hair and grabs her chin with the other.
She had thought so much about what Lan Zhan would be like in bed, had fantasized about Lan Zhan's hands on her and in her too many times, but she'd never let herself think about what kissing Lan Zhan would be like.
Lan Zhan's kisses are frantic, desperate, like she's afraid Wei Ying will disappear. Wei Ying had thought Lan Zhan would be controlled in bed, hot and bossy and a little mean, like she is when they go grocery shopping, or when she shuts Wei Ying's laptop when she comes out to find her still awake at 4:30 in the morning. But instead her kisses are an ache on Wei Ying's tongue. They make her chest hurt.
"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan says, pulling back to gasp for breath. Doesn't she know to breathe through her nose? Had she been so into kissing Wei Ying she forgot how to breathe while kissing? Wei Ying is delighted. She leans in to kiss Lan Zhan on her pink blushing ear.
Lan Zhan groans, dropping her head forward into Wei Ying's neck. "I have wanted you," she says, rich and dark, "for so long."
Wei Ying's brain short circuits. "How long," she says. "How long, Lan Zhaaaaan," but Lan Zhan is kissing her way down her throat, biting cruel circles into the flesh below her collarbone.
She pulls at the collar of the t-shirt, stretching it wide to expose Wei Ying's breast. Wei Ying shivers in the cool of the AC, goosebumps rising across her chest. "Lan Zhan," she complains. "So impatient, you're ruining my shirt."
Lan Zhan looks up at her flatly. They both know this is a five dollar t-shirt, bought in an XL so that Wei Ying can wear it alone with some pretense at decency. "Good," she says. "This shirt is a menace."
"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying pouts. "You're being so mean to me. What will I do if you ruin all my clothes?" She knows she's being bratty, but it's so easy to rile Lan Zhan up.
"I don't think it will make a difference," Lan Zhan says. "You walk around in your tiny shorts, and your t-shirt that barely covers your ass and is so old that I can see the entire outline of your tits through it." She kisses her way around Wei Ying's nipple, and bites a bruise on the underside of Wei Ying's breast, where she's sweaty and sensitive. Wei Ying moans and bangs her head on the wall trying to throw her head back.
So Lan Zhan had noticed her shorts.
"You're not even wearing underwear," Lan Zhan says, low and vicious, into the space between Wei Ying's tits. "Were you just going to go and sit on the couch with your pussy all wet and dripping for me, and assume I wouldn't notice?"
Wei Ying's tongue feels thick in her mouth. "Lan Zhan," she says, helplessly, all of the words drained out of her. She tugs Lan Zhan closer, wraps a leg around her thigh. Lan Zhan follows, pushing her up against the wall again and pressing her thigh between her legs.
The friction is a shock; Wei Ying has been steadily growing wetter, but she hasn't been touched since Lan Zhan had first come home. She thinks she must be dripping down her thighs, making a mess of Lan Zhan's nice pants. She means to apologize, in a hazy sort of way, but Lan Zhan is kissing her again, tongue wet and firm against her lips, and she can't get the words out.
"That's it, good girl," Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying realizes, flushing, that she's been riding Lan Zhan's thigh, and that there is indeed a wet spot all up Lan Zhan's pants.
"We should– bed," she says, weakly, in an effort to regain some control over the situation. Lan Zhan is still wearing all her clothes, and Wei Ying has one tit out and the t-shirt hiked up high enough that her bare ass is sliding against the cool plaster of the wall.
"You seemed too impatient to get to a bed earlier," Lan Zhan points out. "I thought I might as well just fuck you in the hallway." But she lets Wei Ying down, and ushers her on shaky legs down the hall to Lan Zhan's bedroom.
The room is dark and close, hotter than Wei Ying's even though the blinds are down to keep the sun out. Lan Zhan's room is on the south end of the apartment, and she doesn't bother with a window unit, just a box fan on hot nights. Wei Ying flops on the bed to see Lan Zhan disappearing out of the room. "Lan Zhan?" she calls, but it's only a few moments before Lan Zhan is back, holding a glass of ice in one hand.
"Had to put the ice cream away," Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying squeaks and falls back against the pillows with her hands over her face.
"You got me ice cream," she says, feeling hysterical. She had been thinking about Lan Zhan fingering her until she cried, and Lan Zhan had been picking out ice cream because it was hot and she knew Wei Ying hated the heat.
"Of course I got you ice cream." Lan Zhan's voice has lost some of its earlier edge.
"Did it melt?" Wei Ying asks, her voice very small. Something sharp-edged is lodged in her throat.
"No," Lan Zhan says. She kneels next to Wei Ying, brushing the hair back from her forehead where it's curled, damp, against her temple. "No, it's fine. We can have it later. Or now, if you want." Sweet kind cruel Lan Zhan, who had pushed her up against the wall and kissed her like she was dying for it, who had bought her ice cream and bitten her breast so hard it would certainly bruise, is giving her an out, if she wants it.
Wei Ying turns her face into Lan Zhan's thigh- the other one, the one she hadn't ridden until her pants were sodden. "Do you want to eat ice cream now?"
"No," Lan Zhan says. She trails her fingers down Wei Ying's throat. They're cold from the glass of ice she'd brought. "Not particularly." She breathes, softly. Wei Ying can see her belly rise and fall with the motion. Lan Zhan, with her musical training, always breathes with her core. "When I came home, I thought– but if you don't want to do anything else, then." She huffs at herself, a cute little frustrated sound that makes something unfurl in Wei Ying's stomach.
And Wei Ying understands what Lan Zhan had been saying. Lan Zhan will not choose this for her. She'd fantasized about a lover who knew what she needed without a word, about Lan Zhan just pushing her legs apart and taking her, right there on the kitchen floor. But Lan Zhan– real Lan Zhan, who always buys an extra bubble tea for Wei Ying when she's out with her brother, who saw Wei Ying curled silently into the couch after an awful meeting with her advisor and turned on "If You Are the One" reruns without a word– needs to hear Wei Ying speak it.
"You're too good to me, Lan Zhan." Wei Ying runs her hand up Lan Zhan's knee, up her outer thigh, back down. Begins, slowly, to trace her fingers up Lan Zhan's inner thigh, waiting for resistance, or even tension. "But I don't want ice cream right now either."
"Oh, thank fuck," Lan Zhan says, and flips over so she's straddling Wei Ying. Her hands are everywhere, all at once, on Wei Ying's tits and her thighs and the sensitive backs of her knees. Wei Ying feels her legs fall apart around Lan Zhan. She can smell her own wetness in the air, in a way she thinks she might be more embarrassed about if she weren't so incredibly turned on.
She tugs at the tails of Lan Zhan's shirt, which was still somehow buttoned and tucked into her pants, and slips her fingers underneath. Lan Zhan's skin is warm and soft, rises and dips where her stomach folds into itself where she's bent over Wei Ying. Lan Zhan is kissing her like she's trying to suck her soul out through her mouth, deep long kisses that nearly hurt.
Wei Ying nips at her lips and pulls back. "Lan Zhan, please help me get your shirt off." The collar buttons in the back, and Wei Ying does not trust her fingers not to shake too much to undo.
But Lan Zhan just turns around, and Wei Ying has to undo her buttons and watch the silk fall away from the graceful curve of her neck, the waves where her hair curls humid at the base of her skull. Her mouth feels dry. She presses a kiss to the hinge of Lan Zhan's jaw, and then to the side of her throat, and then Lan Zhan is turning to kiss her again, cradling Wei Ying's face in her hands. She breaks away again, and Wei Ying is about to protest when she strips her shirt off in one fluid motion.
Lan Zhan's bra is practical and plain, smooth and wireless, so it comes off over her head as well, but then Lan Zhan is shirtless over her, her breasts hanging heavy against her ribs. Wei Ying can just see damp sweat collecting in that dark secret crevice between Lan Zhan's tits and her side. What a human thing; it makes her mouth water. She reaches out to touch Lan Zhan, to heft their weight in her hands, but Lan Zhan takes her hands and pins them against the bed. "Stay."
Wei Ying stares at her for a moment, all her breath gone. "So demanding, Lan Zhan," she says, but she keeps her hands over her head. Lan Zhan smiles at her, just a quirk of her lips, and then she reaches for the melting cup of ice on the nightstand.
"What are you– ohh," Wei Ying moans, as Lan Zhan runs the ice cube up and down her body. She's hyper aware of every place it touches her, the brief shock of the cold and the slow trickle of cool water it leaves behind, traveling down her side and rolling down between her legs. Lan Zhan spends a lot of time on her nipples, which are still sensitive from where the wet t-shirt had chafed them. It hurts, a sharp stinging cold that goes straight to her pussy. Wei Ying realizes she's humping the air, little thrusts into Lan Zhan's solid weight above her, but Lan Zhan is just sitting on her lap and there's no way for her to get friction. She feels humiliatingly turned on, wet and raw and aching.
The ice melts fast, between the heat of Lan Zhan's bedroom and Wei Ying's body, and so Wei Ying is relieved to find that the ice cube has melted to nothing before Lan Zhan reaches her cunt. Even just the first trickle of ice water down into her pubic hair was almost too much; she doesn't know if she could handle more.
But then Lan Zhan reaches back into the glass, and Wei Ying realizes she relaxed too soon. Lan Zhan takes a fresh ice cube and presses it right between her outer lips, and Wei Ying shouts. The cold is shocking, painful in its intensity, and Lan Zhan has pressed the rough surface of the ice cube right against her clit. Cool water is trickling down between her folds, sliding into her ass crack. Wei Ying wants more.
She moans and bucks as Lan Zhan idly runs the ice up and down her cunt. It's stimulation, but it's not friction, and it makes her feel wild. Every so often she gets a brush of Lan Zhan's hot fingers right after the ice and the heat feels searing.
Then Lan Zhan bends down and licks her cunt in one long scorching stripe, and Wei Ying shouts again. Lan Zhan's tongue is pressing the little sliver of ice against her clit, lapping up the water as it melts. Wei Ying can't stop shaking, burning up and freezing cold at the same time. She feels unmade.
Distantly, she hears the clink of ice again, and then Lan Zhan– terrible brilliant cruel Lan Zhan– plunges two freezing fingers into her, no time to adjust to either the stretch or the sensation. She fucks her hard and deep and, after a few moments, adds a third finger.
"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, it's so much. You're so mean to me," Wei Ying says.
"Hmm?" Lan Zhan says, pulling off, and out, with a wet sound. Without her warm tongue Wei Ying's cunt just feels cold and exposed. "You can't take it?"
"I can, I can," Wei Ying babbles. She grabs for Lan Zhan, pulling at her hands. "Come back, please, I need you, I need you in me."
Lan Zhan grabs her wrists and presses them back against the bed. "Lie back. Or do I need to tie you up?"
Wei Ying feels her cunt pulse at the idea of Lan Zhan spreading her out, tying her to the bed frame so she can't even squirm away, just has to lie there and take whatever Lan Zhan gives her. But she doesn't want to wait while Lan Zhan fumbles with ropes or handcuffs. "I'll stay," she says, trying to look appealing and fuckable. "I'll be so good, Lan Zhan, come on, hurry up."
Lan Zhan looks up at her, frowns slightly, and pinches her thigh. Wei Ying yelps. "Lan Zhan! What was that for!"
"Stop doing– that," Lan Zhan says. "Whatever you're doing with your face."
Wei Ying lets the expression slide off her face. People she'd fucked before had liked it, when she'd made her eyes wide and her mouth small and open, and ducked her chin just a little. She was good in bed, usually, cheerful and bratty, but Lan Zhan made her feel precipitous, unmoored.
"Hey," Lan Zhan says. "You don't have to put something on because you think I want it." She runs a hand up, cool but no longer cold, and cups Wei Ying's cheek in her palm. "I just want Wei Ying. Whatever you do, whatever you feel. Just be honest with me."
Wei Ying turns and presses a kiss into Lan Zhan's palm to mask the hot prickle of tears at her eyelids. "Okay," she says, thick-voiced. "I'm still going to be a brat though."
"Good," Lan Zhan says. "That means I get to do my best to fuck it out of you."
"Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying yelps, as Lan Zhan bends back down, and bites her way back down to Wei Ying's cunt. Her fingers are cold again– she must have dipped them back into the ice, and Wei Ying can't help but buck into them, into the heat of her mouth and the rough pads of her fingers, calloused from years of guqin.
She feels distant from herself, an instrument Lan Zhan is playing. Wei Ying lets Lan Zhan draw these sounds Lan Zhan from her, arching as they crest over her: wet sounds, rough sounds, loud moans and wails and babbling. Lan Zhan, she realizes, is groaning herself, a low hum against her cunt. That realization that Lan Zhan is getting off on this too is enough to send her tipping over the edge, her thighs clamping around Lan Zhan's head and her whole body curling in on itself.
She falls back against Lan Zhan's pillow. Below her, Lan Zhan has her head pillowed on Wei Ying's thigh and is looking up with the widest smirk Wei Ying had ever seen from her. Her face is all wet from Wei Ying's cunt, and when Wei Ying reaches for her, grasping, her fingers are pruny.
"What the fuck, Lan Zhan, what the fuck," Wei Ying gasps, pulling Lan Zhan up to kiss her. She can feel Lan Zhan smiling against her lips. "What did you do to me! Look, my arms are all shaky!"
"That's too bad." Lan Zhan is looking down at her, all possessive and dark, and Wei Ying shivers with it.
"It is! How am I supposed to blow your mind if my patented pussy pounders are out of commission!"
"Your patented–" Lan Zhan sounds pained.
"Pussy pounders, yes, keep up."
"I have a better idea," Lan Zhan says. She's smiling despite herself, her eyes dark and hungry, and she looks so, so beautiful. "I sit on your face and you don't talk."
"Nngh," Wei Ying says, and lets Lan Zhan push her back against the pillows. She watches, mouth watering, as Lan Zhan undoes her pants, slipping out of them neatly, and lowers herself over Wei Ying.
"Tap my thigh if you need a break," Lan Zhan says, and then Wei Ying is surrounded, warm thighs and hot wet cunt and the sharp bittersweet taste of Lan Zhan on her tongue.
She does her best, and Lan Zhan doesn't give her room to get into her head about it. She fists her hand in Wei Ying's hair and grinds into her face and takes what she needs from her. Wei Ying digs her fingers into Lan Zhan's thighs and licks her long and firm and regular, following the rhythm Lan Zhan sets for her. God, she wants to live down here, in the warm dark cavern of Lan Zhan's legs. She's growing overheated again, but it's worth it, to get to hear Lan Zhan breathing rough and rapid above her, to feel her cunt pulse when Wei Ying does something she likes. And just when Wei Ying thinks maybe she will need to tap out after all, Lan Zhan sags above her and comes hot and pulsing against her tongue.
Lan Zhan climbs off of her and pulls Wei Ying to her. Wei Ying protests a little– it's so hot, after all, and they're both sweaty and sticky, but Lan Zhan just makes a grumbling noise and pulls Wei Ying more insistently to lay her head on Lan Zhan's breasts. And who is Wei Ying to refuse that kind of pillow?
"I'm so glad I was right," Wei Ying says. She cups Lan Zhan's other breast in her hand. She hadn't gotten to pay them much attention earlier. Next time, she thinks, and then the burbling joy of the realization that there will be a next time. They can have this, she thinks. Lan Zhan had said she'd wanted her for a long time. And she bought her ice cream– and Wei Ying was in love with her, so.
"Hmm?" Lan Zhan says. She sounds contended and a little sleepy, idly combing her fingers through Wei Ying's hair.
"I thought you'd be mean in bed," Wei Ying explains. "And I was right, so I win."
"I think we both win," Lan Zhan says, and she presses a kiss to the part of Wei Ying's hair, right where she's already getting sweaty again.
"Hmm." Wei Ying runs her hands down Lan Zhan's soft stomach, the little trail of hair there, then back up to her breast. Lan Zhan captures her wandering hand and links it with her own.
"Oh!" Wei Ying says. "Will you tie me up next time?"
Lan Zhan stiffens under her.
"Lan Zhan?" Wei Ying tries to pull away so she can see her face, but Lan Zhan tightens her arm around her. "Was that too much? I know sometimes people just say things during sex, we don't have to if you're not into it–"
"Next time," Lan Zhan says.
"Yeah." Wei Ying swallows. "You seemed pretty– and I'm, you know, very– what I mean is–"
"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan says. She takes a deep breath, first her stomach and then her chest rising under Wei Ying's head. "I am in love with you. Will that be a problem, if we continue to have sex?"
Wei Ying slips out from under her arm and cradles Lan Zhan's face in her hands. "No," she says, and she can feel the smile on her face wide enough to break. "No, dear sweet Lan Zhan, it won't be." She bends down to kiss her. "I love you too, you impossible– lovely– awful– perfect– woman– Lan Zhan!" She yelps as Lan Zhan surges up underneath her and kisses her so fiercely she can hardly breathe.
"Those fucking shorts," Lan Zhan growls.
"Now that I know you like them, I'll wear them more often." Wei Ying tweaks her nose.
"I'll never be able to get anything done," Lan Zhan says. "I'll have to move apartments."
"Noooo," Wei Ying shrieks, laughing, as Lan Zhan blows kisses into her neck. "Lan Zhan! You menace!"
It takes them a while to get around to eating the ice cream. But when they do, it's delicious.