To Wei Ying’s sadistic glee, it’s Jiang Cheng who checks time every seven minutes or so, being nowhere near subtle about his itching need to flee the hell out of here. Wei Ying greets everyone they meet before his brother does, earning smiles, money, ties and promises. He jokes while Jiang Cheng shakes hands with people, and Wei Ying thinks it’s a reasonable division of responsibilities between the two of them for tonight.
“I’ll go get us something sparkling like your eyes,” Wei Ying cackles when they’re done with civilities around the entire banquet hall. Jiang Cheng catches him by the fabric on his elbow as soon as Wei Ying shoves a fluted glass into his hand and reaches to check on the annoying buzzing of his phone.
Wei Ying snaps his head up and grins. Lan Huan is standing sideways to them, talking to Meng Yao (as always) and holding him by the elbow (as always). The relief in Jiang Cheng’s voice is palpable.
“I thought they wouldn’t come.”
Wei Ying looks down at the screen and sees a bunch of messages from Nie Huaisang that are probably his own selfies and the view of Wei Ying's butt Nie Huaisang likes to take photos of at the events as such and then shit on Wei Ying’s choice of evening attire. Wei Ying sends him a peach emoji and a middle finger.
“He wanted to come with his brother, but Lan Zhan’s flight was delayed for like two hours, so Lan Huan arrived as soon as his baby brother was ready to go.”
Wei Ying hums, vaguely interested. “How do you know that?”
Jiang Cheng slaps his forearm and Wei Ying pockets his phone just in time before Lan Huan notices them and then sidesteps a little and – that’s undeniably Lan Huan’s brother, but Wei Ying bets his entire lovely ass that Lan Zhan is the most beautiful person that has ever walked their wretched Earth.
“Oh, fuck me,” Wei Ying exhales, and Jiang Cheng slaps him again.
Lan Huan’s brother, as far as Wei Ying knows, is the darling of the heavens and eight or so years younger than Wei Ying. A baby that everyone is low-key afraid of because of his temperament of a human-sized glacier but approaches dutifully from time to time because it’s common knowledge that Lan Huan’s heart is won by those who Lan Zhan approves of. People are still wondering what Meng Yao offered to Lan Zhan to be able to do what he does in and with the Lan family.
Wei Ying is grinning dumbly at the most beautiful boy this Universe ever did witness as Lan Huan and Lan Zhan approach them, and Wei Ying notices that Lan Zhan is half a head shorter than him. Lan Zhan is watching him, too, and Wei Ying wants to coo and sort of touch his magnificently emotionless face.
“Huan-ge,” Jiang Cheng says because Wei Ying can’t stop looking at the unfriendly version of their main business partner. Lan Zhan doesn’t even blink, studying him, which, fair, Wei Ying is doing exactly the same.
“Cheng-di,” Wei Ying hears a smile in Lan Huan’s voice, “sorry we’re late.”
“You missed the boring part,” Jiang Cheng laughs quietly so that no one glares at him. “We’re about to eat away this mess of a business gala.”
Wei Ying tilts his head and offers his hand to Lan Zhan. “I’m Wei Ying.”
“I know,” Lan Zhan says, checking him out up and down, and Wei Ying kind of balks from the deepness of his voice. Lan Zhan doesn’t take the hand.
“Yeah, well, everyone knows me, I guess,” Wei Ying laughs, flexing his fingers. “My fault. Wanna be friends?”
Lan Zhan quirks an eyebrow. “No.”
Wei Ying bites the inside of his cheek. He is so cute.
“A-Zhan,” Lan Huan says, his tone is that of an embarrassed but endlessly fond older sibling. “Be kind. Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying are our partners.”
“Yours,” Lan Zhan says, and then he does reach out and shakes Wei Ying’s hand. It’s – big, and it feels like Lan Zhan cradles his palm a little. It feels very wrong and wickedly nice.
Lan Zhan shakes Jiang Cheng’s hand absolutely business-like and with a curt nod of acknowledgement, but then he looks back at Wei Ying. “We are going to be late to the table.”
“Yeah,” Wei Ying says, turning to Jiang Cheng. “You lead the way.”
“What the fuck was that,” Jiang Cheng whispers aggressively into his ear while they speed walk into the banquet hall.
Wei Ying flaps him away. “You’re the youngest sibling, you tell me.”
“I wasn’t eyefucking our business partner’s younger brother,” Jiang Cheng hisses.
“I wasn’t eyefucking him?” Wei Ying says louder than he’d thought he would, but that’s just a given. “It was more like the opposite?”
Jiang Cheng elbows him savagely. “Stop that shit. He’s twenty-two.”
Wei Ying knows that. He also knows that Lan Zhan is currently the only Lan that is not involved in the family business and probably never will be, that he is about to graduate and then live a perfectly civil life of his own. Wei Ying can only guess how much it cost Lan Huan to withdraw his brother from the vortex of the family business.
At the table, Jiang Cheng is sat across from him and Nie Huaisang is three people away, chattering about the Chinchorro mummies with absolutely fascinated Mo Xuanyu. Not the best topic for the table, but infinitely better than anything Jin Guangshan will be saying for the next three hours or so.
Wei Ying downs his liquor fairly indiscriminately, watching Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan is five people across from him, and he is silent. As expected and, perhaps, needed. Lan Zhan only drinks water and Wei Ying can’t stop looking at his working throat. Then Lan Zhan catches his gaze and swipes a thumb over his lower lip. Wei Ying kicks one leg out at the sight, jabbing Jiang Cheng in the calf with the point of his dress shoe. Jiang Cheng makes some noise about it and jabs Wei Ying in response.
“I need to breathe,” Wei Ying announces, standing up. His throat is dry and his stomach is doing a sinful thing. “I’ll be – nevermind. I’ll come back for dessert.”
The bathroom is empty and smells of something sickly floral. Wei Ying splashes cold water on his face and ponders jerking off in the booth before he slaps his cheeks and breathes in and out once, twice. His reflection in the mirror is flushed, but it has nothing to do with the alcohol.
“Come the fuck on,” Wei Ying groans, “he’s a baby. A literal Lan baby.”
He leaves the bathroom before his simmering boner takes a hold of his brain. Instead, Wei Ying goes to the furthest balcony on the floor, hands in the pockets lest he grab more liquor on the way.
Wei Ying breathes in the smog and someone’s rich perfume, and it hits his senses in an uncomfortable way, but it’s distracting. He rubs his palms together because of the early chill and then grabs the steel railing. Spots an airplane’s red lights in the sky, concentrates on the constant beeping of the cars on the streets below.
Lan Zhan. Wei Ying would like to address why his body reacted as it did, but he can’t because he doesn’t know why. Lan Zhan is not his type. Lan Zhan is younger and, well, Wei Ying might have mild separation and abandonment issues, hence his partners being older people with fewer chances of dumping him and not calling back. But apart from that, there’s nothing that they are even relatively similar at, starting with the background and ending with – with age. Eight years is not much, to some, but it impacts every aspect of a relationship, even friendship. Wei Ying’s youngest friend Wen Ning is twenty-five and even with him Wei Ying sometimes doesn’t know what to talk about.
The door to the balcony slides open and shut, soft. Wei Ying doesn’t look away from the window in the building across where a man is kicking a vending machine to get his change.
“Are you sick?”
Wei Ying hah’s and bends down, forehead touching the cool metal. Of course. Of fucking course.
“No. Just enjoying the view.”
“You didn’t enjoy it at the table?” Lan Zhan asks.
Bastard. Wei Ying likes him so much.
“I very much did.”
Lan Zhan’s cufflinks clank on the railing. “Are you uncomfortable?”
Wei Ying is. Wei Ying is certainly not. The way he is being treated by this boy is definitely nothing he’s ever experienced, and he’d like to be this utterly disregarded and then eyefucked some more.
Wei Ying lifts his head and turns to Lan Zhan, grinning. “How could I, in the presence of such beauty?”
“This is not an answer,” Lan Zhan says, even and perhaps genuinely concerned. But this is just a game, although Wei Ying is understandably invested.
“I’m not,” Wei Ying says. “Maybe you are? I get that you’re used to the company of elder people, but that doesn’t mean you are comfortable in it. Hell, even I am tired of this,” Wei Ying waves his hand in the direction of the banquet hall, “and I am old. Can’t imagine how boring it is for you, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Zhan inclines his head. “You are not old.”
“I am, though?”
“You are not,” Lan Zhan says, and then he reaches out to touch Wei Ying’s jaw. Wei Ying inhales so much dirty air his throat burns with it. “You are beautiful, too.”
Wei Ying grabs his wrist and digs his fingers in, preventing whatever Lan Zhan is going to do next. Lan Zhan’s face is just as expressionless, but the tips of his ears are unmistakably red. “Don’t.”
“Because you don’t want me to or because you are scared of me?”
Lan Zhan makes a ‘mn’ sound and places his index finger on Wei Ying’s lower lip. Wei Ying’s throat bobs from the need to lick it.
“This is not Wei Ying I have heard of,” Lan Zhan says, and oh, Wei Ying’s gut flares with spite. “I’ve heard he is scared of no one.”
“What else have you heard?” Wei Ying asks, and Lan Zhan’s finger bumps against his upper teeth. “That I run my mouth at any given moment and most of the conversations end up with people shouting at me to shut up?”
Lan Zhan’s gaze doesn’t waver, but he moves closer, turning to Wei Ying with his whole body and tapping his lip. Wei Ying’s stomach dips, and then he can barely hear anything but his heart.
Wei Ying opens his mouth instantly, taking three of Lan Zhan’s salty fingers, and then Lan Zhan presses down on his tongue. Wei Ying rolls his eyes and closes them, shuddering so hard his knees feel like a soft-serve jelly. Lan Zhan holds him up by the waist and presses close, and Wei Ying zones out almost completely and immediately, everything in his body dialled to the top and then switched off. He pants through his nose from the burning stretch of his lips until his breath evens out, Lan Zhan rubbing small circles on his middle all the while. It’s the quietest his mind has been in a very long time – there is only the weight of fingers and Lan Zhan’s heat, both immensely grounding.
Lan Zhan’s voice is gentle, as is his thumb caressing Wei Ying’s jaw. The smallest gesture of affection. Wei Ying whimpers quietly, reaching blindly for Lan Zhan’s wrist with his other hand to keep him there.
He doesn’t know how much time passes, only that Lan Zhan is easing his fingers out Wei Ying’s mouth, still holding him up by the waist, more possessive than supporting. Wei Ying likes being someone’s. He wants to be Lan Zhan’s.
“They are serving dessert,” Lan Zhan says, so soft Wei Ying believes for a split second that there is a different person pressed against him. “Your brother will worry.”
Wei Ying opens his eyes with great difficulty, blinking slowly. He is still holding Lan Zhan’s wrist somehow, and then he lifts Lan Zhan’s hand and presses a kiss to the underside of his wrist. Lan Zhan’s inhale is small. Wei Ying enjoys the sound.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls, cupping his face, “how are you?”
“Good,” Wei Ying says, a little raspy. “Lightweight, kinda.”
Lan Zhan gently pulls Wei Ying down and kisses the corner of his mouth. Wei Ying thinks it’s the quickest he has ever fallen in love with someone.
“I will go first. Text me when you get home.”
“I don’t have your number?” Wei Ying says, not questioning a single sentence.
“Nie Huaisang gave me yours. I have already messaged you.”
Wei Ying stands on the empty balcony until he can’t feel his toes, considering his options with Lan Zhan. There are many. Wei Ying texts Jiang Cheng that he won’t be returning because of a stomachache. There is a message from an unknown number that says Where are you?
Back home, Wei Ying messages Nie Huaisang before everyone else.
Me: what do you know ab him
Omniscient Bitch: ?
Me: does he have like
Me: a boyfriend or smth
Omniscient Bitch: nah
Omniscient Bitch: you volunteer?
Wei Ying locks his phone and takes the longest shower of his life, three fingers in his mouth, too small after Lan Zhan’s, and a shower-gelled fist he fucks into before coming with a moan muffled by the running water and his fingers.
He texts Lan Zhan and then switches off his phone completely, doing exactly what he’s scared of other people doing to him – runs away.
Wei Ying rubs at his eyes, then his temples. He loves his job, he loves Jiang Cheng, but sometimes both want too much from him, and Wei Ying can never say no to either. He stands up from his desk and drinks water, for once, hoping it’d go straight to his eyeballs that feel like dusted with sand and glass powder. There’s a knock on the door of his office.
Wei Ying’s eyes widen when Lan Huan peeks his head through the door and smiles, spotting Wei Ying.
“Never,” Wei Ying smiles broadly. “Please come in, Huan-ge, do you want tea?”
“No, thank you,” Lan Huan says, walking into Wei Ying’s office. “I was hoping to sort some paper work out with Cheng-di, but – ”
“He’s at dinner with our parents,” Wei Ying says, gesturing to Lan Huan to have a seat. “You shouldn’t have come, just say the word and I’m at your door.”
Lan Huan chuckles softly. “No need. But I see that, ah, you’re too busy right now.”
“Never for you,” Wei Ying says, and it’s the truth. He respects and likes Lan Huan as their business partner and as a person, honest and patient. Wei Ying thinks he and Jiang Cheng are beyond lucky to have him. “How can I help you?”
“You can join me for dinner, actually,” Lan Huan says, tapping idly on the top of Wei Ying’s desk. Wei Ying wonders if it’s a Lan family trait. “Since your brother is out and you have to be rescued out of your working place.”
“Oh,” Wei Ying says, and then a vile mixture of shame and fear rises up his throat. Maybe Lan Huan knows about what Lan Zhan – what he did to Lan Zhan and –
“I promised A-Zhan I will be back for dinner,” Lan Huan continues. “He doesn’t like people being late for dinner because the food gets cold.”
“You can reheat food,” Wei Ying says, but it sounds stupid in the presence of people like Lan Huan.
Lan Huan smiles affectionately. “Not when A-Zhan cooks. He likes it when people get the best.”
“Lan Zhan cooks?” Wei Ying asks, stunned by a simple fact of basic human skill. “Wow, I’d never – sorry.”
“He does a lot of things people don’t expect from him,” Lan Huan says, and he sounds rightfully proud. “So, are you coming?”
Wei Ying bites his lip. The one and only message Lan Zhan sent him that night was Goodnight, Wei Ying and then nothing from either of them for over two weeks. Wei Ying is terrified and eager.
“He was asking to see you,” Lan Huan says, hands loose on the steering wheel. “But it has nothing to do with dinner.”
Wei Ying barks out a bitter laugh. “Do you always give him what he asks for?”
Wei Ying turns back to the window. Perhaps Lan Huan does know what they did back at the banquet, but he is not going to murder him just yet. Wei Ying would have already throttled Jiang Cheng if he did something like that to someone this young. Or maybe he wouldn’t, knowing that Jiang Cheng is happy and whoever he chooses is happy with it, too. Lan Zhan is not a kid, after all.
“He rarely asks for things,” Lan Huan says, changing the lane in the hell of the evening traffic. “Rabbits and a degree he chooses. You, now.”
Wei Ying’s face heats up momentarily. “What degree?”
“Developmental psychology. A-Zhan wants to work with children, help them, later. He is doing more good in this world than all of us combined.”
Wei Ying says nothing for the rest of the way, thinking of saying something like, I’m not a molester and I will not even look at Lan Zhan if Lan Zhan wishes so. But every word dies on his tongue after Lan Huan’s words: You, now.
The Lan mansion is brightly lit and smells of food that catches Wei Ying off guard as soon as steps inside, despite Lan Huan’s words about Lan Zhan cooking. Wei Ying smells fish and some roasted vegetables. It smells of home that you return to and someone is waiting for you there. It cuts through Wei Ying with acrid jealousy – something he barely experiences in life.
“A-Zhan, I brought us company,” Lan Huan says loudly, cheerful.
Wei Ying realises belatedly that he brought nothing to the table and nothing for Lan Zhan. Does he like sweets? Does he like something exotic that Wei Ying would get for him if only Lan Zhan asked?
“Ge,” Wei Ying hears, and whirls around to see Lan Zhan coming down the stairs. Lan Zhan stops in his tracks when he sees Wei Ying, lips parted. He is in all white, clothes loose; barefoot. He looks vastly different from when they first met. Wei Ying wants to kiss him then and there.
“Hi,” Wei Ying says, and it comes out treacherously tender. Wei Ying missed him. Wei Ying missed him. “I heard you cook.”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, resuming his descend. He nods to Lan Huan, who has seen everything. “You came.”
He did. So much for falling for a human-sized glacier of a person.
“I’m afraid I’m empty-handed,” Wei Ying smiles sheepishly, “and probably not the best company because of being brain-fried.”
“No such thing,” Lan Huan says behind them, making Wei Ying turn around and actually blush. “The bathroom is down the corridor, the last door to the left.”
Wei Ying scrubs his hands and face for a small eternity, washing away the day’s grime and his desperate need to touch Lan Zhan while his brother is right there, effectively pushing Wei Ying into Lan Zhan’s arms. Wei Ying appreciates the honesty, but everything feels extremely awkward nonetheless.
Lan Zhan is in the kitchen and mixing something that smells, apart from the soy sauce, ginger and toasted sesame oil, of some spices Wei Ying can’t name because he never cooks.
“Can I help?”
Lan Zhan turns around, a dripping teaspoon in his hand. Wei Ying’s chest hurts at the sight.
“Wei Ying, come here.”
It’s almost painfully easy – crossing the kitchen and then kissing Lan Zhan, hearing the spoon clatter and stain the worktop; feeling Lan Zhan’s hands in his hair and on his neck, shoulders. Lan Zhan pushes him backwards until Wei Ying’s back hits the island, Wei Ying’s hands roaming over Lan Zhan’s back and waist, pinky skimming over a sliver of bare skin. Lan Zhan smells of food and something pine-y. He kisses Wei Ying like a lover one had been yearning for for twenty years – hard, unrelenting, tilting Wei Ying’s head to his liking and will. He sucks on Wei Ying’s tongue and lips, then stops kissing and starts biting, pressing Wei Ying to the island with his whole body. Wei Ying knows they are being obscene and loud.
Unsurprisingly, it’s Wei Ying who begins to grind against Lan Zhan’s own undisguised hardness and the one who pulls back, earning a small sound of discontent from Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, who keeps kissing him on the lips and cheeks and jaw, little pecks that make Wei Ying want to cry from desperation. They don’t know each other, but everything between them feels like the simplest and most correct thing to ever happen. Lan Zhan travels his hand down Wei Ying’s chest stops at his cock, unsubtle. Wei Ying doesn’t even try to be ashamed of it.
“Your brother,” Wei Ying pants into Lan Zhan’s mouth because they can’t stop kissing. “Lan Zhan, dinner.”
Lan Zhan licks across his lips and presses his palm over Wei Ying’s dick. Wei Ying hisses and bucks into the touch, helpless.
“You are staying,” Lan Zhan says, eyes hooded. He is as out of breath just like Wei Ying. They are both trembling with it.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying all but begs. No, he is begging. Begging for nothing specific and everything at once. “Please.”
Lan Zhan lets him go and nods jerkily. His mouth is bright red and swollen. Lan Huan is going to run Wei Ying over with his very expensive car.
Wei Ying wipes down the worktop from the spilled sauce and then helps Lan Zhan set the table, fingers brushing. Wei Ying thinks he hasn’t been so blindly in love since he was sixteen, and even that feels dulled down compared to this. He is getting old and sentimental.
“He said Meng Yao called and had something urgent to tell him,” Lan Zhan says, shrugging a little. He is chopping two spring onions, knife easy and quick in his hand. Wei Ying watches, fascinated. “It can take time. It usually does.”
“Can I ask you something?” Wei Ying says, poking at the corner of the cutting board. He wants to hug Lan Zhan from the back, but – not now.
“Do you know what others say about your role in choosing people to stay by your brother’s side?”
“Yes. They are not wrong.”
Wei Ying makes a surprised sound. “And the criterion is?..”
“They love my brother,” Lan Zhan says simply. “Everyone who is near him knows him and what he has been through, and many have been with him when he was going through it.”
Wei Ying understands. Besides his and Jiang Cheng’s sister and her moron of a husband, recognised by Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng as partially worthy in the end, there are not many people that have stayed with them. Wei Ying kisses Lan Zhan’s shoulder.
They eat alone, ankles bumping under the table, and Wei Ying can’t stop talking about how delicious everything is. Lan Zhan’s ears are positively red. Wei Ying snickers into his plate.
Lan Huan enters the kitchen with a mildly distraught expression, and both Wei Ying and Zhan rise from their seats.
“What is it?” Lan Zhan asks.
“I have to go help Yao-di,” Lan Huan says, smiling apologetically and bending over the chair to fork some cooled off fish into his mouth. “He is having some problems with his father’s lawyers. I need to go.”
“Yes, A-Zhan, sorry,” Lan Huan says, and reaches out to pat Lan Zhan’s shoulder. The worry on Lan Zhan’s face is devastating. “Wei Ying, if you’d like to go, A-Zhan’s driver will take you wherever you need. I’m sorry for promising you a proper dinner and then – ”
“Please don’t worry, Wei Ying says, trying very hard not to zero in on if you’d like to go like him staying was obvious from the very beginning. “Lan Zhan has been the perfect company and the best cook. Please don’t tell my sister I said that.”
Lan Huan laughs and then just looks at him and Lan Zhan. Wei Ying blushes beetroot red as a match to Lan Zhan’s ears. Lan Huan sees whatever he sees – their mouths, telling, their moods and – oh, hair, that Wei Ying didn’t even try to smooth out because he is so tired and gone. Lan Huan leaves.
Wei Ying loads the dishwasher while Lan Zhan puts the leftovers into the tupperware. With Lan Huan gone and nobody in the house except Lan Zhan’s driver, possibly, Wei Ying lets himself go and hugs Lan Zhan from the back, pressing open-mouthed kisses into the back of Lan Zhan’s neck. Lan Zhan diligently spoons every last bit of food into the containers and pays Wei Ying no mind, but Wei Ying feels his goosebumps with his lips and tongue. Every part of Lan Zhan feels celestial.
Lan Zhan’s bedroom is spacious and smelling of that something pine-y.
“What’s this scent?” Wei Ying asks, looking at anything but Lan Zhan, who has put his hands in the back pockets of Wei Ying’s jeans and squeezes lightly.
“Yes, little one?”
Lan Zhan bites down on his shoulder so hard Wei Ying yelps and hisses in pain, but Lan Zhan only sinks his teeth deeper through Wei Ying’s shirt and then slaps Wei Ying on the ass with one hand. It’s humiliating and it goes straight into his dick.
“Lan Zhan! What the fuck are you – fuck!” Wei Ying yells as Lan Zhan moves up and bites down on the juncture of his shoulder and neck, making Wei Ying’s eyes water. He can and will enjoy the pain, but no one’s ever slapped him.
“I’m not little,” Lan Zhan mumbles into his skin, licking over the bite. Wei Ying feels the bruise forming and that, too, goes straight into his fucking dick.
Wei Ying laughs breathlessly. “You are little, Lan Zhan. Zhanzhan, you are. The way you look up at me when you want to kiss me and then stand on your tiptoes to actually kiss me – ”
Lan Zhan shoves him on his knees with such force Wei Ying feels a little lightheaded with it, gratefully so. Lan Zhan does a lot of things people don’t expect from him, and Wei Ying didn’t expect him to be able to actually push him around.
Lan Zhan’s trousers are tenting in front of Wei Ying’s eyes, and he swallows, dry.
“Wei Ying is not taller, now,” Lan Zhan says, and grabs him by the hair, vicious, tilting his head back. Wei Ying cries out and reaches up to ease the sting, but Lan Zhan pulls harder and says, “Hands down.”
Wei Ying laughs, a strangled sound. Lan Zhan, this boy, so strong and so sure, mean and gorgeous. Wei Ying is happy to be murdered after tonight, after he gets this – Lan Zhan pulling him to his groin and rubbing himself against Wei Ying’s face while Wei Ying licks and sucks him through the fabric, making it wet and rough and uncomfortable on Lan Zhan’s cock. Wei Ying traces the shape and length of it his tongue and bitten-off moans, hands clenched into fists on his sides. Lan Zhan is big and thick, blood-hot and smelling of everything Wei Ying wants in his mouth right now and for the rest of his life.
“Little,” Lan Zhan says above him, pushing Wei Ying’s face closer still. “Wei-gege is so worked up his eyes deceive him.”
Wei Ying keens from the name so loudly he thinks Lan Zhan’s driver might call for the police, but then Lan Zhan pulls his trousers and underwear down and Wei Ying almost unhinges his jaw from opening it so wide to take him in. Lan Zhan huffs out what sounds like a laugh but it’s pure mockery, just like Lan Zhan tracing Wei Ying’s lips with the leaking cockhead and not letting him suck on it because Lan Zhan keeps pulling him away from himself by the hair. Wei Ying whines, high and disgustingly needy.
“Had I known you are so desperate for it, I would’ve made you suck me off back and the banquet,” Lan Zhan says, the fucker. Wei Ying sticks his tongue out and Lan Zhan taps it thoughtfully with his cock. Wei Ying swirls his tongue around the head, making Lan Zhan grunt and finally push into his mouth. Wei Ying might be old, but he has his tricks of making one snap.
Lan Zhan gives him no respite and makes him gag almost immediately, fucking in deep and hard. Wei Ying is swallowing around him with blissful determination, spit and precome running down his chin and onto his lap. Lan Zhan stops supporting himself by the hand and grabs Wei Ying’s head instead, stilling him, reducing him to nothing but a hole to be filled. Wei Ying’s eyes sting from the assault as Lan Zhan snaps his hips, clutching his head, he gags from every other trust, and it makes Lan Zhan grunt and growl. But even with the thrusts and Wei Ying’s thoroughly hurting jaw, he can’t take Lan Zhan all the way to the root, and the frustration of it forces Wei Ying to lean in and try harder. He can’t, and his throat constricts severely around Lan Zhan because of that. Lan Zhan curses so quietly and honestly it makes Wei Ying whine pathetically. Lan Zhan pushes further four more times, each deeper and more erratic than the previous one, and comes down Wei Ying’s throat with a guttural sound. Wei Ying cough and gags, which forces Lan Zhan’s come out of his mouth and all over him and the floor, but Lan Zhan holds him in place until he stops coming and convulsing. When he finally pulls out, he drops to his knees and rubs Wei Ying’s back while he coughs and swallows what is left in his mouth. He won’t be able to speak tomorrow.
“Wei Ying did very well,” Lan Zhan murmurs into Wei Ying’s temple damn with sweat. “But he needs to work on taking me fully.”
Wei Ying nods frantically because he will. Because he wants to take Lan Zhan to the root and grin proudly at him from beneath. Wei Ying will, in time.
Lan Zhan helps him to his feet and then pushes him onto the bed, taking off Wei Ying’s jeans and boxers, socks and his watch. Wei Ying is painfully hard, and he bucks his hips off the bed when Lan Zhan leans in and suckles at the tip for no more than a couple of seconds.
“You will come when I allow you.”
Wei Ying can do nothing but writhe on the comforter while Lan Zhan jerks him off with a loose fist and hand wet only from Wei Ying’s precome.
“Mean,” Wei Ying whispers, because he can’t muster any voice. “So fucking mean, little one.”
Lan Zhan flips him onto his stomach so fast it leaves Wei Ying reeling, and then Lan Zhan slaps him again, the sound of it loud and mortifying.
“I am not little,” Lan Zhan grits out. He is so easy to rile up. “You can’t even take my cock to the base.”
“Little Zhanzhan,” Wei Ying rasps, which earns him a hard slap and a bite on his asscheek, and he shouts from it, throat burning. He could do it all day, even the slapping that makes him feel so horribly aroused from being bullied.
Lan Zhan flips him over again and then stands up, heaving. His white t-shirt is rumbled and his trousers are long gone. He looks at Wei Ying and smiles with the corners of his lips. Wei Ying sees that and screams into his palms from being so undone by a shade of a smug smile.
Lan Zhan fingers him open, biting and sucking bruises into Wei Ying’s skin everywhere he can reach – chest, stomach, navel, the inside of Wei Ying’s thighs and the thigh creases. Wei Ying jerks through it all, ruining Lan Zhan’s comforter with his drool and escaping tears. He has never felt so debauched. When Lan Zhan rubs a fourth finger over the rim, not questioning, simply stating, Wei Ying starts crying in honest. He hasn’t been fucked so thoroughly in – ever, maybe.
Lan Zhan shushes him with kisses as he manhandles Wei Ying into his lap, rubbing himself over Wei Ying’s already gaping hole. Wei Ying shakes with it, hands clasped on Lan Zhan’s shoulders, and moans, long and throaty, when Lan Zhan starts pushing him down onto himself, one arm braced around Wei Ying’s waist. Lan Zhan fucks upwards and fucks Wei Ying downwards like a ragdoll, the sound of wet skin echoing around the mostly empty room and the entire house, maybe. Wei Ying throws his head back and breathes through his mouth, sobbing through the unbelievable stretch and Lan Zhan mauling his throat with bruises. He feels Lan Zhan’s hot cock in his gut and throat, spearing him open and in half with each push and pull, hitting the prostate dead-on. The balance of pain and pleasure tips so abruptly he can’t even ask for Lan Zhan’s permission, coming all over their chests and stomachs, heady with it. Wei Ying can’t hear anything over the white noise in his ears and head, but he feels the vibration of Lan Zhan’s growl when he comes inside Wei Ying but doesn’t stop until he starts growing soft and Wei Ying whimpers pitifully because of oversensitivity.
Wei Ying’s mind clears up a bit after some time because Lan Zhan is calling his name repeatedly and kissing Wei Ying’s wet lashes.
“’mkay,” Wei Ying manages, and then he zones out again, flowing and taken care of.
He comes to, warm and comfortable, aching everywhere. It’s dark and he is being held, his hair stroked. Wei Ying doesn’t want to move, but Lan Zhan notices that he is awake anyway.
They are both naked, but they are under the comforter and Wei Ying doesn’t feel sticky with any of what has been on and in him. Lan Zhan must have cleaned him while he was out of it. Lan Zhan, ah.
Wei Ying makes what he hopes is a sound of gratefulness, but it comes out disgruntled because Lan Zhan is helping him up and making him drink water, a whole huge glass. Lan Zhan kisses his cheek for that and asks how Wei Ying feels, if he needs anything, but Wei Ying shakes his head slowly as if drunk and tugs Lan Zhan into his shaking arms. Lan Zhan lets out a small sound, kissing Wei Ying’s pulse point.
The morning is late and tastes of sour kisses Lan Zhan wakes him up with, then of Lan Zhan’s lemon toothpaste and the bathroom tiles Lan Zhan fucks him against in the shower. Wei Ying checks his watch on Lan Zhan’s bedside table. He is not going to be fired, but Jiang Cheng will eat his brain out with a teaspoon if he doesn’t show up in the office in the next hour.
Lan Zhan makes him eat a proper breakfast and watches Wei Ying smile idiotically at the tupperware with yesterday’s leftovers that Wei Ying is taking to work as the first proper homemade lunch. His heart is bursting and skips every third beat, making it hard to breathe.
Lan Zhan kisses him goodbye and hours later, kisses him again, after work, smelling of dinner and Wei Ying.