Chapter Text
“You’re sure?” Wei Ying asks, for about the fifteenth time.
“I’m sure,” Lan Zhan says, yet again. He tips his head out of the way as Wei Ying leans over his shoulder to adjust the camera hooked into Lan Zhan’s white iridescent harness. Lan Zhan can’t see the screen without craning his neck horribly, and Wei Ying’s the director, here, so it’s up to him to find the framing he likes.
“Because it’s fine if you change your mind,” Wei Ying says, again, making a few minute changes. “I can just shoot something else today.” He climbs off the ottoman and goes to fiddle with a light, flipping through a few color options.
“I know,” Lan Zhan says. “I will not change my mind.” They have had this conversation multiple times over the last week, and Lan Zhan will have it as many times as is necessary for Wei Ying to believe it.
“As long as you stay there your face will be out of frame,” Wei Ying assures him, turning the light back to its original blue and then passing the remote from hand to hand. “You’re like… A stunt torso. A sexy prop. A beautiful addition to my work from the nipples down.”
“I know,” Lan Zhan says, again. He catches Wei Ying by the arm as he walks over to adjust one of the other cameras, Lan Zhan has seen himt adjust three times already. “My love,” he says, softly, squeezing Wei Ying’s forearm, just above the leather cuff he’s already wearing for efficiency’s sake, “I know what I’m doing. I want to do this with you. I trust you.”
Wei Ying takes a deep breath and blows it out through his nose. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I know. It’s just.” He gestures at his temple. “New.”
Lan Zhan politely doesn’t point out that his various limbs and, (on one occasion) half of a butt cheek have been featured in Wei Ying’s OnlyFans selfies for the last two months. He does not point out the growing collection of pornographic photos Wei Ying has taken of Lan Zhan since they started dating, though he knows there are a lot. (He looks through them, sometimes, and then saves them to the thirst traps folder on his phone to send to Wei Ying on appropriate occasions.) He does not point out how frequently Wei Ying talks about them making porn together, or the times Lan Zhan has taken cell phone videos of them fucking specifically for Wei Ying’s personal enjoyment. (It’s also for Lan Zhan’s personal enjoyment. His boyfriend is hot and Lan Zhan has come to understand his own hotness and it’s hot to watch video of them fucking, even if sometimes he fumbles the camera out of his sex-loosened grip and drops it directly onto Wei Ying’s ass or abs or--once--his face.) Instead of pointing out any of that, he tugs until Wei Ying straddles his lap and kisses him gently, on the cheek, so as not to mess up his black lipstick. (Messing up the lipstick is for later.)
“This is nothing we haven’t done before,” Lan Zhan reminds him. “There are simply additional cameras.” And more of a script than they usually stick to, and specific marks to hit in terms of timing and location, so they don’t mess up the framing of the shots, and it’s with the specific intention of Lan Zhan’s dick going on the internet later, where it has not yet gone. Other than that it’s nothing they haven’t done before. Lan Zhan is really impressively calm about the whole thing.
“Okay,” Wei Ying says again, wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck and dropping his head to his shoulder. “But if you change your mind, or feel weird, or have any hesitations--even after it’s posted--promise you’ll tell me?”
“I promise,” Lan Zhan says, easily, and pets down Wei Ying’s bare spine, hand trailing over skin and the metal and vinyl of the black harness he’s wearing. “Wei Ying is also allowed to change his mind,” Lan Zhan points out.
“I knoooooow,” Wei Ying whines. “Ugh, my brain will just not shut up about it.” He slumps against Lan Zhan, arms tightening, and then climbs back to his feet with a determined expression. “Okay,” he says, jaw set. “Let’s make the damn porn.”
In spite of the drama of this pronouncement, there are a few other things that need to happen first--lube to find, a plug to insert, a remote for Lan Zhan to hold, a few last-minute adjustments to various things as Wei Ying finishes the setup. “Your ankles and knees will be okay?” Lan Zhan asks as Wei Ying turns around to give him access to the cuffs.
“Yep.” Wei Ying waggles a foot, balancing on one leg in his heeled thigh-high black pleather boots. “These are for strippers, so they have great arch and ankle support, and I have the dance kneepads on under here.” He settles back on both feet as Lan Zhan clips the cuffs to the o-rings on the opposite sides of the harness, and then carefully sinks to his knees, crawling around to face Lan Zhan again. “Cameras are already rolling,” he says, unnecessarily, but Lan Zhan knows he processes out loud and doesn’t fault him for it. “You ready?”
“Mn.” Lan Zhan reaches out and strokes a hand over Wei Ying’s hair, letting his fingers trail along his jaw. “You?”
Wei Ying nods, and then frowns. “I am ready, except for how I let you strap me into this before I could clap to give myself a sync point.” He slumps back and pouts up at Lan Zhan. “Please clap once, very loudly, dianxia, as a favor for your poor foolish boyfriend.”
Lan Zhan smiles fondly at him, schools his face back into something more serious and dom-appropriate (even though his face won’t be on camera, he wants to stay in character) and does as asked. They both hold their positions in silence for about ten seconds (“For the fade-in, Lan Zhan. Learned that one the hard way.”) before Wei Ying lifts his head and smiles up at him, heated and anticipatory.
“I got dressed just like you said, sir,” Wei Ying says, his voice low, a little more enunciated than usual. “Do you like it? Did I do good?” (They’ve decided, on extensive negotiation, on “sir” for this. Dianxia, they both agreed, was for them.)
Lan Zhan looks him over, which is unnecessary for answering the question but very appealing in its own right, as Wei Ying is wearing the boots, the harness, and a pair of lace briefs. It’s a great look, and Lan Zhan doesn’t have to do any method acting for his dick to be into the proceedings. “You look beautiful, pet,” he says. “Are you wearing everything I asked for?”
Wei Ying squirms a little, the muscles of his thighs clenching and relaxing. “I am, sir.” He presses his lips together and smiles again. “Would you like to check?”
Lan Zhan deliberately lifts the remote and switches the plug on. Wei Ying jumps, shivering, and lets out a breathy, “Ah!” He squirms again, settles back over his heels, and tips his head to expose the bare, glorious line of his neck. “Thank you, sir,” he says, rocking his hips a little bit. “Mmm, it feels so good, thank you.”
“Is that how you show gratitude?” Lan Zhan asks, setting the remote aside. “Pathetic.” His voice is cold and bored, and even knowing how much they’ve planned this out doesn’t stop him from smirking in satisfaction when Wei Ying immediately pouts, eyes lighting up with challenge.
“How should I thank you, sir?” Wei Ying asks, letting his gaze drift over Lan Zhan from his face down to the bulge in his white stretch jeans. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
Lan Zhan examines his nails, which this time are actually painted a metallic silver. “Figure it out,” he says, just as bored. “I’ll let you know when you get it right.”
“Yes, sir,” Wei Ying says, eyes gleaming. “Do you want to see me? Is that what you want?” He spreads his knees, rolling his hips forward to display his cock, barely concealed under black lace. “Do you want to see the plug I’m wearing for you?” Wei Ying moves with a fluid grace that is breathtaking, even on his knees, in ridiculous heels, and with his arms strapped behind his back. He turns around and shifts, pressing his chest and cheek into the ground, arching his back, the bejeweled base of the plug fully visible through the sheer fabric. “I love having it in me,” he says, clenching around it. “I love knowing you wanted it in me, sir, oh god, it’s so good.”
“This is all very nice, pet,” Lan Zhan says, in warning, “but none of it sounds like gratitude.”
“Sorry, sir,” Wei Ying says, rising back up to his knees and turning to face Lan Zhan again. He crawls closer, dragging his legs along the floor in elegant sweeps. “Do you not want words?” he asks, coming to stop just beyond Lan Zhan’s knees. He smiles up, eyes plaintive and playful. “Should I show you how grateful I am? Is that what you want?”
Lan Zhan says nothing but he spreads his legs, creating a space for Wei Ying, and his boyfriend wastes no time in crawling in to settle between them. “Thank you, sir,” he says, tipping his head back to meet Lan Zhan’s gaze, arching his back in the process so the camera catches the line of his collarbones. “You’re so good to me, I’m so glad I’m your pet.”
“You talk too much,” Lan Zhan says, and without further preamble he grabs Wei Ying’s ponytail and drags his face against his torso. Wei Ying moans into his skin, muffled, and kisses along Lan Zhan’s ribs and abs, leaving smears of black lipstick behind. Lan Zhan releases him and lets him work, lips and wet tongue teasing at the trail of hair under his bellybutton until he hits the waistband of Lan Zhan’s white jeans. Before he can quite get his lips on the fabric, Lan Zhan grabs his hair again and tips his head back. “Did you want something?”
“I wanted to thank you,” Wei Ying says, struggling just a little bit against the punishing grip on his hair, mostly for the visual of it. “Can I thank you, sir?”
Lan Zhan cradles his face in his free hand, thumb swiping over Wei Ying’s cheekbone. “How did you plan to thank me?” he asks, as though anyone involved in this situation and the future viewer can’t tell exactly where this is going, with Wei Ying kneeling between Lan Zhan’s legs.
“With my mouth,” Wei Ying says, panting a little, the mouth in question falling open to display a hint of a pink tongue behind the black lipstick. “I was going to use my mouth on you, sir. Is that what you wanted?”
Lan Zhan presses his thumb under Wei Ying’s lower lip, not smearing the lipstick, but pushing it into more of a pout. “That’s better, pet,” he says. “Do you remember how I like it?”
“Yes, sir,” Wei Ying says, tipping further back into the pull on his hair, eyes half-shut. “I’ll be good, I’ll make it good for you. Please, sir, let me thank you.”
Lan Zhan pats him on the cheek, the movement condescending. “Just because you asked nicely, pet.” The grip on Wei Ying’s ponytail loosens and his boyfriend sways a little bit before finding his balance, then watches with an avid glow as Lan Zhan slowly undoes his fly and pushes his white jeans and briefs down far enough to get out his dick. “This is what you wanted, right?” he asks, stroking himself, hot and hard against his palm. (Wei Ying was very, very specific about how he should display himself for this part. “Babe, I cannot stress enough how your dick was absolutely made for porn,” he’d said, his cheek pressed to it as he’d mouthed at the base. “Frankly we should be sent to horny jail for not putting it on camera sooner, except for how if the horny cops showed up I’d tell them to come back with a warrant.”)
“Yes, sir,” Wei Ying says, practically drooling, eyes locked between Lan Zhan’s legs. “Please, sir, I have so much to thank you for.” He drags his gaze back up to Lan Zhan’s face, biting his lower lip in one of those pouts calculated not to mess up his lipstick. “May I thank you, sir?”
“Go ahead,” Lan Zhan says, dropping his hands. “Do it well,” he reminds Wei Ying before he can actually lean in and fit mouth to cock, and Wei Ying shivers.
“I will, sir,” he says, eyes flicking back up. He keeps his gaze like that, steady on Lan Zhan’s face, as he drags his open mouth along Lan Zhan’s from the base to the tip, leaving smears of lipstick in his wake. He laps at the underside of the head and at the slit, tonguing up precome, before he pulls it carefully into his mouth with a twist of his head and a greedy movement of his lips. Lan Zhan does nothing to help, watching Wei Ying accomplish his goal with hands-free determination. He’s basically done, here--Lan Zhan just gets to receive what will be a very good blowjob, occasionally pulling Wei Ying’s hair or offering some feedback, and he settles in to enjoy the view.
Wei Ying starts slow, lazy bobs of his head as he warms up that Lan Zhan knows are carefully calculated to keep as much of his dick on display as possible. It’s always so hot and wet inside Wei Ying’s mouth, his tongue skilled and clever, and Lan Zhan is, as ever, torn between wanting it to last forever and wanting to fuck into that heat until he comes down Wei Ying’s throat. He stays still, because he knows what his role is in this scenario, and it doesn’t yet involve facefucking. Wei Ying drops down lower, hollowing his cheeks, and Lan Zhan pets his hair. “You’re doing so well, pet,” he says, voice low. Wei Ying shivers and moans around his dick, and Lan Zhan knows it’s at least a little played up for the video but also that this is just how Wei Ying reacts to praise. “You’ve earned a little reward.” Lan Zhan lifts up the remote and bumps the vibe up a setting, and Wei Ying moans, louder this time, through his nose.
“Thank you,” he says, a little slurred as he pulls off, lipstick and spit smeared across his face. “Oh, thank you, sir, it feels so good.”
Lan Zhan grabs his hair and shakes him a little bit. “Did I ask you to thank me with words?” Wei Ying shakes his head no, breath catching in the back of his throat, and when Lan Zhan pushes his dick back into his mouth Wei Ying practically dives onto it, fighting the pull in his hair. Neither of them stop until Wei Ying swallows around him. “That’s good,” Lan Zhan says, petting his hair now, a heavy weight on Wei Ying’s head, reminder and not restraint. “How does it feel?” he asks, letting his other hand drift down to cup Wei Ying’s jaw, fingers resting lightly against his throat. “Do you like having my fat cock in your mouth?”
Wei Ying pulls off to gasp, “I love it, I love it,” the head of Lan Zhan’s dick still resting against his lower lip, and then sucks it back down. Lan Zhan can’t help hitching his hips up a little, rocking into Wei Ying’s waiting mouth. It’s messy and wet, spit running down his dick to drip into his briefs and jeans, and Wei Ying uses that wetness to ease the way as he relaxes his throat and works Lan Zhan deeper and deeper until his black lipstick smears across white fabric. When Wei Ying pulls back to breathe Lan Zhan can’t stop staring at the stains, stark like the most erotic abstract ink painting in existence.
“Good boy,” he says, tangling one hand in Wei Ying’s hair, fumbling for the remote with the other. “Take it,” he orders, pushing Wei Ying onto his waiting, aching cock. “Swallow it down for me, pet.” Another bump in the power level of the plug, and Wei Ying chokes a moan around Lan Zhan’s dick, one that cuts off along with his air supply as he deepthroats him again. Lan Zhan’s shaking, thighs tense, balls tight, energy building up under his bellybutton. Now it’s time for the facefucking, and he holds on with both hands, Wei Ying going limp, willing to simply be used. He keeps moaning, little desperate, hitching sounds through his nose as Lan Zhan pulls him down to meet the movements of his hips, still sucking and trying to use his tongue whenever he can, glazed around the eyes. Lan Zhan’s breathing hard, his dick twitching with every stroke, and Wei Ying looks up and makes direct eye contact as he takes him into the back of his throat to swallow one more time.
Lan Zhan comes, almost violently, and barely has the presence of mind to keep to the script and pull out of Wei Ying’s throat so they get it on camera. (Wei Ying had been insistent on this point.) Wei Ying opens his mouth, breathing in ragged moans, and he keeps his tongue moving under the head of Lan Zhan’s dick to draw it out as Lan Zhan ejaculates absolutely everywhere. There’s come on his lips and chin and cheek, dripping down to land on his chest in a glorious mess. Wei Ying smiles up at Lan Zhan around the still-hard dick in his mouth, sucks it back in by a few inches, and swallows theatrically. Lan Zhan shudders, a little oversensitive, but not enough to stop him from lightly thrusting a few more times while he catches his breath.
“Good boy,” he says, when he has the air to speak again. Lan Zhan tugs Wei Ying off him, gently, and tucks his dick back away into his somewhat ruined underwear. Wei Ying watches him do it, chest heaving, and then looks back up at his face, his eyes gleaming with praise and want.
“Was it good?” he asks, breathlessly, squirming over his heels. “Was it a good enough thank you?” His face is still a disaster, lips swollen, lipstick smeared. Lan Zhan did that, he realizes in a surge of something base and primal. Lan Zhan did that to Wei Ying, and people are going to watch it happen and know he did it. He snaps, grabs Wei Ying by the harness, and drags him upright to kiss him as filthy and hard as he possibly can. Wei Ying moans into his mouth, his toes still pressed to the floor but otherwise hanging from Lan Zhan’s grip, and in the next moment Lan Zhan yanks him into his lap in a wild straddle.
“Oh god,” Wei Ying pants, trying to catch his balance and his breath, “oh, fuck, sir, did I earn a reward?”
“Yes,” Lan Zhan hisses, and he gets his hands behind Wei Ying’s knees and, in a feat of his strength and Wei Ying’s flexibility, lifts Wei Ying fully off his lap so he can wrap his legs around Lan Zhan’s waist. “Hold on,” Lan Zhan warns him, and then tips him backward until Wei Ying’s head hangs toward the ground, his spine the arch above a moon gate, helpless and suspended, ankles locked together behind Lan Zhan’s back to keep from falling.
“Fuck,” Wei Ying says, upside down. He squirms against his restraints and then, as Lan Zhan roughly gets his dick out from the lace, says, “Fuck,” again, rougher. Lan Zhan leans over, scrubs his palm over Wei Ying’s cheek and chin, and then wraps it around his cock, smearing Wei Ying’s spit and precome and Lan Zhan’s actual come along him in a slippery mess. “Oh god,” he whimpers, abs twitching, “thank you, sir.”
“You were good,” Lan Zhan says, hand tight, already moving quickly. “You deserve a reward.” He sets his other hand on the crease of Wei Ying’s thigh, working his thumb between his legs until he finds the base of the plug by feel. He settles there, pushing it to match the tempo of his hand, rocking the plug into Wei Ying’s ass in a mockery of fucking. Wei Ying jerks, his dick twitching against Lan Zhan’s palm.
“Oh,” he says, squirming again, helpless, absolutely unable to do anything but to hang there and take it. “Oh, sir, fuck.” Wei Ying whines wordlessly, head tipped back, the knot of his throat bobbing as he swallows.
“Are you going to be good?” Lan Zhan asks, his voice a low rumble. He tightens his hand on the upstroke and Wei Ying whines again.
“Yes,” he says, trying desperately to rock his hips into Lan Zhan’s hands, abs clenching as he does. “I’ll be good, sir, just tell me what I should do.”
Lan Zhan smirks, driving the plug into Wei Ying hard, twisting his hand sharply. “Come,” he orders.
Wei Ying chokes on his next inhale, makes a broken, stuttering sound, and he does, dick pulsing in Lan Zhan’s hand as he comes over the arched bow of his body, all the way down his abs and chest. His ankles slip apart, and Lan Zhan has to abandon his motions with the plug to snatch the harness before Wei Ying can fall and crack his head against the floor. He doesn’t seem to notice, hanging fully from Lan Zhan’s grip as he shudders and pants. Lan Zhan keeps his hand moving, slower and gentler, letting Wei Ying come down from the orgasm by degrees. When he finally whines and attempts to twitch away, Lan Zhan releases his cock, gives it one more affectionate pat, and sets about getting Wei Ying into a less precarious situation.
“Clean,” Lan Zhan orders, once Wei Ying is settled back on his knees between Lan Zhan’s spread legs, the plug turned off. He presents his hand, now sticky with their combined mess, and Wei Ying smiles hazily up at him, blinking slowly once, twice, before obediently sticking out his tongue and setting to work. Wei Ying licks his palm, sucks off each finger, curls his wet, pink tongue into the spaces between them, and hums happily the whole time. When he’s done Lan Zhan guides his head to settle on one thigh, cheek pillowed against his white jeans, and pets his hair and undercut and jawline.
“Was I good?” Wei Ying asks, half-asleep. “Was it what you wanted, sir?”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, his voice warm. “The best.” He skates his fingernails over Wei Ying’s scalp and cradles the back of his skull, warm against his palm. “You were a very good boy, pet. Thank you.”
“Mmm,” Wei Ying says, eyes slipping closed. He breathes there for a bit, and Lan Zhan keeps petting him. He ends up with just enough time to wonder if Wei Ying is actually asleep when his boyfriend shakes himself, blinks a few times, and sits back over his heels, mostly alert. “Well,” he says, businesslike, “I think that’s going to cut up extremely hot.” Wei Ying pushes up to kiss Lan Zhan, who belatedly realizes that his own face is still a mess from the earlier kiss, and elects to ignore that in favor of more kissing. “Love you, babe,” Wei Ying says against his mouth, and then squirms around to present his restraints. Lan Zhan unclips his wrists and then rubs Wei Ying’s shoulders while he stretches his arms with a groan.
“Wow, this is so much easier with a second person,” Wei Ying says, not for the first time. He tips onto one hip to peel out of his boots, puts his dick away into his lace briefs, and climbs somewhat unsteadily to his feet to stop the recording on the camera on Lan Zhan’s harness. Sans boots he’s now padding around the room in slim-fit dancer kneepads and hilariously unsexy tall athletic socks as he turns off the other cameras, and Lan Zhan loves him so much it’s like a living thing inside his chest.
“Do you need anything?” he asks, finding some actual tissues and wiping off his hands and face before carefully removing his harness. He has some snacks ready to go in the fridge for aftercare, but Wei Ying seems remarkably coherent, even if his voice sounds like sandpaper.
“Hm?” Wei Ying asks, shutting off the lights. He turns around and reads Lan Zhan’s expression like a book, smiling through his wrecked makeup. “Oh, not really.” He turns off another camera and slips back into Lan Zhan’s embrace, smearing come all over him in the process. (Neither of them care.) “I didn’t really go deep today,” he explains, carding his fingers through Lan Zhan’s unbound hair. “I am, as it turns out, excellent at acting.”
“Mn.” Lan Zhan kisses his temple and runs his hands over Wei Ying’s warm, naked back. “Then do you not want to get into a bath with me where I feed you a charcuterie board?”
“Whoa now,” Wei Ying says immediately, “I sure fucking never said that.”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan says again, smugly. “I thought so.” He runs one hand down Wei Ying’s back, over the curve of his ass, to settle his fingertips against the plug. “Do you want to take this out, first?”
Wei Ying bites his lip against the smirk that spreads slowly across his face. “Well, I mean,” he says, hands sliding from Lan Zhan’s shoulders down his chest so he can trace both thumbs in circles around Lan Zhan’s nipples, “it’s waterproof, gege.”
Lan Zhan leans in and bites Wei Ying’s ear. “Good,” he growls, and then hauls Wei Ying off the ground and into his arms to carry him, squealing, to their bathroom.
---
Over the next week Lan Zhan declines, repeatedly, to review any of the videos before Wei Ying finishes and posts the completed thing. About this he is genuinely not worried--he trusts that Wei Ying will make sure to edit out anything that would confirm Lan Zhan’s identity, and that it will be extremely hot porn. Anything else is immaterial. Lan Zhan knows nothing about video editing, why would his opinion be helpful? He tells Wei Ying so, among other reassurances, every time Wei Ying asks, and when Wei Ying keeps asking he kisses him. As a distraction technique it proves effective, though Lan Zhan does worry that he’s accidentally training Wei Ying via positive reinforcement.
It’s Saturday morning when Lan Zhan checks OnlyFans again, Wei Ying in his studio catching up on admin as has become their routine. As a supportive boyfriend with a free subscription, Lan Zhan makes sure to click through, like, and comment on each new photoset, even though he’s seen most of the pictures already (and in a couple of cases, took them). When he’s done with that extremely pleasant chore, he scrolls back up to the top post, captioned “POV of me sucking off my hot dom’s hot cock! 🤪🍆💦💦💦” Lan Zhan’s ears heat, ridiculously--he was there for this, he knows he was the dom, and Wei Ying makes his opinion about Lan Zhan’s cock extremely clear, frequently, and at length. It’s different to read it on the internet, though, and Lan Zhan allows himself to feel that difference as he tracks down his earbuds and settles in to watch.
The video fades in on one of the wider shots, the one from the side, Wei Ying waiting obediently on his knees, Lan Zhan a faceless torso in white jeans, picked out against the black drapes in planes of colored light. The shot is beautiful, the lighting stunning, and there’s a swell of Wei Ying’s electronica in the background in a pulsing hint of what’s to come. Lan Zhan watches avidly as the whole thing plays out, only momentarily distracted by how his voice sounds on the recording. (It’s higher-pitched and very strange to listen to. His voice is much deeper in his own head, but Wei Ying sounds right, so Lan Zhan forcibly refocuses on the actual video and pretends it’s not really supposed to be him on camera, which makes it easier.) He was there for it, and it was hot in person, and it’s equally and differently hot to watch on a screen, with editing and music and camera angles that aren’t what he could see with his actual human eyes. The Lan Zhan on screen gets his dick out of his pants in the POV shot and the Lan Zhan watching takes a moment to be impressed with his own anatomy. He knows, intimately, what his dick looks like, but the angle of the camera and the contrast against Wei Ying on his knees and the lighting really makes him see it with new eyes. It looks especially good when Wei Ying takes it into his mouth, and he understands Wei Ying’s directorial choices now that he sees the result. It’s a good video, all of it, and Lan Zhan watches it twice through, occasionally pausing it to admire an especially nice camera angle, like the one from directly in front of Lan Zhan when he has Wei Ying tipped over backward, ponytail trailing on the floor. Wei Ying’s face is twisted up in an exquisite moment of agony, upside-down and flushed and smeared with lipstick. Lan Zhan hadn’t been able to see it in the moment, and he’s grateful to Wei Ying’s overachievements in video editing and his dedication to a multi-camera setup. The POV shot fades out at the end with Wei Ying’s head resting on Lan Zhan’s thigh, eyes shut, and Lan Zhan is overcome, again, with a fierce ache of gratitude, that this is his life now, and he’s not stealing these moments through a miserable lie.
Lan Zhan’s hands hover over the keyboard as he considers several options. With a decisive nod, he types:
i enjoyed this!!! ty for sharing it <3
And then he sends a hundred dollar tip, puts his laptop away, and gets out his latest knitting project while he waits for the inevitable reaction.
Two rows of colorwork on the yoke of the sweater later, an indignant shout of “Lan Zhan!” comes from the second bedroom. Smothering a smile, Lan Zhan gets the sweater back into the project bag and set aside just as Wei Ying skids into the living room on socked feet. “How dare you!” he accuses, trying for stern and fighting a grin. “I told you I don’t need your money!”
“The video was very good,” Lan Zhan says, innocent. “I thought it was appropriate to show my appreciation by financially compensating you for your hard work.”
“You smug fucker,” Wei Ying says, climbing over the back of the couch to crawl onto Lan Zhan’s waiting lap. “I have to pay taxes on that now you know.”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, sliding his hands under Wei Ying’s t-shirt to splay across his lower back. “How much do I need to send you to compensate you for the taxes?”
“More money is not the solution here,” Wei Ying says, taking Lan Zhan’s hair out of his bun and working his fingers into it. “You’ll have to make it up to me some other way.”
Lan Zhan kisses him, intent and focused. “I will,” he says against Wei Ying’s mouth, and then drops kisses along his jaw.
“Ah,” Wei Ying says, tipping his head to offer better access, “I’m pretty upset, sweetheart. You might have to make it up to me two or three times.”
“Mn.” Lan Zhan bites just below Wei Ying’s ear. “Whatever my love wishes.” Wei Ying apparently wishes for more kissing, since he uses Lan Zhan’s hair to drag him back and fit their mouths together again.
Lan Zhan kisses his boyfriend and he thinks about how lucky he is to get to do this every day. He thinks about the real estate searches he checks once a week, looking for a condo or small house with outside space for the rabbits and more room for friends. He thinks about the velvet box with the platinum ring waiting in the back of his sock drawer, and their reservation at Au Nuage d’Or next week for their six-month anniversary, and the speech he has written in the notes app on his phone that he practices in the bathroom mirror while Wei Ying is still asleep in the morning. He thinks about the word fiance. He thinks about the word husband. He thinks about the words “for the rest of my life,” and he feels like he glows with it.
“Gege,” Wei Ying says, mouth on Lan Zhan’s throat. “Lan Zhan, sweetheart, gege. Take me to bed.”
Lan Zhan does. He carries Wei Ying to the bedroom and tumbles him down onto their duvet, and all he thinks about, all he ever thinks about, all he is ever going to think about, is Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying.