Archive of Our Own ^beta

It starts out as a one-time thing.

It’s probably not Lan Zhan’s best thought-through decision, if he’s honest. It’s true that there’s an array of empty beer bottles on the coffee table at the time, but Lan Zhan himself has not been drinking, so he can’t blame it on that. He’s not sure where the idea comes from, really—maybe it’s been simmering under the surface for so long that it was bound to slip out one of these days, sensing a moment of weakness.

Or maybe that’s giving himself too much credit. Maybe he’s just a selfish man, deep down underneath.

In any case, Wei Ying has just broken up with Mianmian for the third and (allegedly) last time, and Lan Zhan has put aside his plans to finish his book and have an early night in favor of sitting up late with Wei Ying in the living room, mourning the inevitable over takeout and a rerun of Die Hard. Wei Ying is a little bit drunk and a little bit sad. Lan Zhan is tired of Die Hard and tired of Mianmian, tired of seeing Wei Ying put himself through the emotional wringer over things that are not his fault, and he’s spent the entire day reading field research reports from 1978, and he’s spent most of the last six months not getting laid, and somehow it just seems… appropriate. To offer.

Well. Maybe not appropriate, but acceptable. There is an air of plausible deniability in the idea that he just wants to cheer Wei Ying up. The fact that Lan Zhan has been wanting to find out what Wei Ying’s cock tastes like for the better part of ten years is really beside the point.

Wei Ying’s eyes go round and startled at the suggestion, and Lan Zhan braces himself for a wince of disgust, or a laugh, or any number of other probably totally reasonable reactions. But Wei Ying just sort of gives a slow blink at him, like he’s not sure he’s processing the words right, like he thinks he might have put them together in the wrong order. Like Lan Zhan can’t have just offered to blow him.

“I—” Wei Ying starts, but then he doesn’t seem to know how to continue.

Lan Zhan makes himself hold Wei Ying’s gaze, steadily, trying not to show the jitter of his pulse beneath his skin. If Wei Ying says no, maybe he won’t even remember it in the morning. If Wei Ying says yes, maybe he won’t remember it either. Maybe that’s the best-case scenario.

Wei Ying blinks again at the beer bottles, like he’s counting them up to see if maybe Lan Zhan had a few too when he wasn’t looking. “I… You sure?” he finally manages in a dazed mumble, looking like he can’t imagine someone wanting to suck his cock for nothing in return. Or possibly like he can’t imagine wanting to suck a cock at all. “I mean, without even… you sure?”

Lan Zhan is sure, even if his pulse is thundering beneath his skin. And Wei Ying looks like he wants it too, his knees already spreading to make room even, like his body is three steps ahead of his brain.

With a shiver down his spine, Lan Zhan lets his eyes go where they always want to, where he never lets them. There’s a gentle swell of dark denim at the front of Wei Ying’s jeans, and Lan Zhan can’t help wondering if Wei Ying is already starting to get hard at the thought of it. He wonders how many women have gotten down on their knees for him like that, taken him into their mouths. If Mianmian did that.

Then he stops wondering that. He doesn’t want to know. Not now, anyway.

Maybe later, when he comes back up for air and remembers what this is. What it isn’t

But, no, better not to give either of them too much time to think right now. Thinking is for later, he reminds himself as he moves off the couch and onto his knees, shifting over in front of Wei Ying. He watches Wei Ying take in an unsteady breath as Lan Zhan slides up to him and reaches for the button of his jeans. He can feel the tremble underneath Wei Ying’s skin when Lan Zhan’s fingertips brush against his stomach, but he keeps his eyes lowered as he drags down the zip, spreads open the flaps. If he doesn’t get careless, they can both have something they want out of this. Nobody needs to get hurt.

“Oh my god,” Wei Ying breathes when Lan Zhan reaches inside his underwear and draws him out, and Lan Zhan lets it roll over him like cool water from a mountain stream, strokes Wei Ying’s burgeoning hard-on a couple of times until it stands.

He wants this. This can work.

Wei Ying shudders again as Lan Zhan goes down, makes a strangled noise when Lan Zhan takes him as deep as he can and starts to suck. He’s still getting harder, but there isn’t much further to go now, and this is clearly working, it can work for Wei Ying. The knowledge of that burns down the back of his neck. Lan Zhan doesn’t make a habit of having sex with straight guys—not since he was a teenager anyway, when everybody still thought they were straight—so he wasn’t completely sure how this would go. But Wei Ying has never been particularly protective of his sexuality, as decided as it is, so Lan Zhan hoped that would mean there was some leeway here. A mouth is a mouth, and Lan Zhan is very good at sucking cock.

“Oh, fuck…” Wei Ying moans, his hand drifting into Lan Zhan’s hair and clenching a little bit. Lan Zhan doesn’t think Wei Ying even realizes he’s doing it, but Lan Zhan doesn’t mind, so he doesn’t stop him. He can tell Wei Ying is getting close, his hips twitching and shifting against Lan Zhan’s strokes, so Lan Zhan reaches down where Wei Ying can’t see and undoes his own jeans, slips his free hand inside and gets it around his own cock. The angle is a bit tricky, and he’s trying not to move his arm enough that Wei Ying will notice and find it distracting, but he mostly needs it around the head anyway. And the taste of Wei Ying, the pressure of him at the back of his throat when he takes him just a little deeper, is more than enough.

“Lan Zhan, I’m—do you need—oh fuck, I—” Wei Ying babbles, and then his whole body goes tight, and he comes in Lan Zhan’s mouth. Lan Zhan feels it shiver all the way down his spine as he swallows him down.

It’s easy, right? Uncomplicated, not like when he was younger. Not like it would have been if… well.

But that’s all… that didn’t happen, then. It didn’t happen, and it’s good that it didn’t, because it would have been… but, now. He can do this now.

He knows this feeling, enjoys the shrinking weight against his tongue as he slips off, licking his lips briefly to clean a bit of mess from the corner of his mouth. He still doesn’t look up, just keeps his eyes on Wei Ying’s shrinking cock, the cock he just got off with his mouth, as he finishes himself off.

Wei Ying might see the shudder, but Lan Zhan is pretty sure he keeps it low-key.

“Oh my god,” Wei Ying is still mumbling, half to himself, and Lan Zhan chances a glance up at him now to find him spent and sinking into the couch cushions, his eyes closed. “Lan Zhan—fuck—how are you so good at that…”

Lan Zhan figures he’s not actually supposed to answer that question.

He gets himself zipped up again, and the sound of it seems to wake Wei Ying up from his daze, make him realize his cock is still hanging out and start to sort himself. Lan Zhan gets to his feet and returns to the couch, reaching for his glass of ice water and taking a discreet sip. He can still feel the heat buzzing beneath his skin everywhere, still taste Wei Ying inside his mouth. He’s still at half-mast even after getting himself off, the stickiness a little uncomfortable inside his boxer briefs, and he’s going to be thinking about this in the shower for fucking months, but he doesn’t want to let Wei Ying become aware of any of that. The last thing he wants is to make Wei Ying uncomfortable.

“Feeling better?” he asks.

Wei Ying gives him a half smile as if that’s an absurd question—which, perhaps it is. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”

*      *      *

So that was that.

There’s about a twenty-four-hour period in which Wei Ying moves around the apartment somewhat awkwardly, darting glances at Lan Zhan out of the corner of his eye like he’s expecting him to transform into a tentacle monster at any moment, or maybe tackle him to the ground and demand some form of payment for services rendered. But when neither thing happens, and Lan Zhan just determinedly keeps acting normally, asking him if he’s put apples on the shopping list yet and reminding him that he meant to call home this weekend to wish Madam Yu a happy birthday, eventually Wei Ying seems to settle.

Good. That’s good.

It’s useful that Lan Zhan has so many years of experience at not letting his persistent and deeply inconvenient attraction to Wei Ying get in the way of their friendship. Even though his mind keeps playing back to him a slow-motion memory of what it felt like to have Wei Ying’s cock in his mouth, and he discreetly jerks himself off about it twice more in the shower and once in bed before the weekend is even over, he doesn’t let any of that show in front of Wei Ying. He wants Wei Ying to know that everything is the same as always, and that even if they crossed the line this once, for mutual benefit, Lan Zhan isn’t going to expect anything more from him.

The good news is, the whole thing seems to have done the job of getting Wei Ying’s mind off of Mianmian. As much as Lan Zhan would like to chalk this up entirely to the strength of his own sexual prowess, he suspects it helps that at this point Wei Ying and Mianmian have proven repeatedly that they are completely and fundamentally wrong for each other.

Who knows why they needed three attempts to figure that out. Lan Zhan just hopes they won’t need a fourth.

*      *      *

A few weeks later, on a Thursday evening when Lan Zhan’s brain is wrung out from teaching three sections of freshman anthropology in the morning and trying to organize his notes for the next section of his thesis draft in the afternoon, and Wei Ying is sprawled next to him on the couch with his arms around one of the couch pillows complaining about how they never leave him enough time to actually read all the briefs they want him to read before whatever meeting it was that went badly this afternoon, it just sort of… happens again.

They’re watching old reruns of Law & Order, which neither of them really like that much, but Wei Ying isn’t into baking shows and Lan Zhan doesn’t care for psychological thrillers, so it’s a happy medium that they both find somehow relaxing after a long day. Lan Zhan can tell that neither one of them is paying much attention, Wei Ying’s mind buzzing with work stress that tumbles out of him in little bursts, with no relation to the plot. During one of the commercial breaks, Lan Zhan puts the television on mute, and Wei Ying just keeps staring at it as if it were still talking to him.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he darts a glance down at Wei Ying’s lap, not quite covered by the pillow. His jeans are tightly fitted around his hips and along his thighs, with once-stylish, now-actual holes at the knees. He’s not hard—which makes sense, it would be weird if he got hard watching Jerry Orbach yell at a teenaged drug dealer about sentencing guidelines—but he’s got that tension in him, that little wrinkle between his brows like before, and Lan Zhan can’t help wondering if… maybe. If it could work again. For both of them.

Wei Ying hasn’t been drinking this time, and it’s not like they had a proper conversation about it after the last time, so who knows, this could turn out to be a colossal mistake. But, okay. What’s the worst possible outcome? He offers, Wei Ying says no. They finish watching the show they’re not watching, and they go to bed separately, and Lan Zhan stuffs down this regret with all the rest of them, and everything continues to be normal in the morning.

Anyway, Wei Ying did seem to like it. The last time.

“If you wanted,” Lan Zhan says, turning back to the silent television, his voice carefully casual. There are ice cream sundaes twirling across the screen at an angle, and then a brown-haired woman making orgasmic faces as she takes a bite of whatever diet dessert she’s selling. “I could blow you again.”

In his peripheral vision, he sees Wei Ying’s head jerk toward him, startled. But Lan Zhan doesn’t look back at him. It’ll be easier this way, whatever the answer is.

For a moment, Wei Ying’s face turns from Lan Zhan’s face to the television and back, as if he’s trying to make some sort of connection between what they’re watching and the offer. Lan Zhan just holds still, waits it out.

“You, uh…” Wei Ying says, sounding a bit lost. “Why?”

Lan Zhan lifts one shoulder in a mild shrug. Doesn’t look at him still. “You’re stressed. It’s been a long day. Seems like it could be… useful.”

Wei Ying stares at him for a moment longer—Lan Zhan can feel the weight of it against his profile. This is more difficult somehow with Wei Ying’s faculties sharply intact. He hopes the heat burning down the sides of his neck isn’t visible from there.

“Are you sure you, uh,” Wei Ying mumbles. Lan Zhan wonders if he’s getting hard now. If he’s thinking about what it felt like the last time. He shouldn’t look though, not until Wei Ying is decided. Lan Zhan will be fine with it, either way. “I mean, what do you… get out of that?”

Lan Zhan blinks at the TV, not sure how to answer. It’s thoughtful of him to ask, but Lan Zhan also suspects it’s better if Wei Ying doesn’t think too hard about what Lan Zhan gets out of this. It’s a delicate balance they’re striking here. “I get enough out of it,” he says. It comes out a bit raspy.

Another moment passes. A man being amazed by the strength of a vacuum cleaner moves around on the screen, silently.

“Okay,” Wei Ying says then. “Yeah. If you’re sure.”

Lan Zhan is very sure.

It’s stranger than the last time, somehow, getting down on his knees, watching Wei Ying put the pillow aside and shift up, seeing the bulge already growing underneath his jeans. There’s so much more focus in Wei Ying’s eyes, a shiver to his movements, like the last time was a dream that he’s convinced himself didn’t happen.

This time there’s no cover, no veiled excuse. This time it’s for real.

It sends a curl of trepidation into Lan Zhan’s stomach to feel the tension in Wei Ying’s knees on either side of him, the jumpy twitch of muscle underneath his hand when he settles it on Wei Ying’s thigh. It’s more real to him too somehow, knowing that Wei Ying is in his right mind. That Wei Ying knows what he’s asking for. What he’s getting.

He breathes in shakily, letting it out again slowly and trying to draw up his usual calm. This isn’t new. He knows how to do this. And Wei Ying said yes.

“Hang on, wait,” Wei Ying says a bit breathlessly as Lan Zhan reaches for the button of his jeans, and Lan Zhan pauses, his stomach sinking with nerves. Has Wei Ying realized? That it’s—this is—

Lan Zhan looks up at him, patiently still. But Wei Ying is just flailing around for the remote control sitting on the couch cushion next to him. Once he digs it up from under the pillow and presses the off button, he flings the control aside again, his eyes wide and slightly freaked out, his throat moving as he swallows. “Okay, go,” he says, with a fidgety gesture of his fingers that invites Lan Zhan to continue.

So he does.

He doesn’t linger much over the button or the fly, only teases a little as he strokes his knuckles over Wei Ying’s cock, through the boxer briefs underneath. Wei Ying gives a hard twitch at the contact, and it makes Lan Zhan long to do more this time, draw it out. Stroke his fingertips along the underside of him, and then around the head. Feel the fabric go damp against his hand.

But that isn’t what this is. It would be pushing a boundary somehow, trying to unravel Wei Ying like that. Better to keep things efficient and just give Wei Ying what he needs. Take what he can have.

“Oh fuck,” Wei Ying breathes when Lan Zhan reaches in and pulls him out, and the sight of him growing hard in Lan Zhan’s hand still hollows out Lan Zhan’s stomach. A little voice at the back of his head keeps trying to tell him this is a bad idea, but he doesn’t want to listen to it. He’s been good, he’s done all the right things and they’re here now, they’re fine. They’ve done this before, and nothing crumbled, nothing broke.

This can be good for both of them. A reward. It doesn’t have to become complicated. He is in complete control of that, and he doesn’t have to let it.

He takes Wei Ying into his mouth.

For the first few strokes he just focuses on sucking, on the weight of Wei Ying against his tongue and the fevered hitch of Wei Ying’s breath as he grows accustomed to the heat, the pressure. One of Wei Ying’s hands grips Lan Zhan’s shoulder and the other one pushes into his hair, and Lan Zhan closes his eyes and curls into the touch. He likes being held onto when he’s doing this, likes feeling the shivers and twitches against his scalp, mingled with cutoff moans from above and the swelling between his lips. He’s got his own hands on Wei Ying’s hips, keeping him steady in his seat, keeping the shallow thrusts under control, and if he lets them slip just a bit, up, under the hem of Wei Ying’s shirt to feel the strain and quiver in his flanks, Wei Ying doesn’t seem to mind.

A plaintive whine and a jerky push against the heels of Lan Zhan’s hands tells him Wei Ying is getting needy, and he knows he should stop dawdling. He shifts his left hand from Wei Ying’s hip to his shaft, extending the reach of his mouth with the stroke of his palm and letting Wei Ying push into him more, harder, without restraint. He can taste the mild tang of precome on his tongue, and he laps at it, wanting everything of Wei Ying he can get, feeling the quaking tension in Wei Ying’s legs against his shoulders, and he needs… if he’s going to, before Wei Ying comes, he needs…

He shifts his right arm from where it was still resting on top of Wei Ying’s thigh and gets it down where he needs it. The sweatpants make it easier than last time, just a little fumble, his fingers clumsy, but soon he’s got his own cock in his hand and Wei Ying’s cock in his mouth, and he’s stroking himself rapidly, gasping around the head and taking Wei Ying a little deeper. He feels so good. God, he feels so good…

“Are you jerking yourself?” Wei Ying asks, a bit dazed, and Lan Zhan’s eyes fly open, fixed on the dark hair below Wei Ying’s navel, where his shirt has ridden up. The caught feeling burns down the back of his neck, and he realizes his arm, Wei Ying’s leg, he… Wei Ying could feel what he was doing.

He lifts off just enough to speak, swallow, catch his breath. He tries to look up at Wei Ying, he really does, but he only makes it as far as the middle of his torso where the breath is still rising and falling rapidly. Lan Zhan hopes he hasn’t fucked this up.

“I can stop, if it bothers you,” he says, his voice low and raw.

“No, no,” Wei Ying says quickly, and Lan Zhan sees his stomach dip and roll with a stuttering breath.

Lan Zhan can’t help giving him another little stroke where he’s still holding onto Wei Ying’s cock, and he’s relieved by the shudder that echoes back, relieved to find that this doesn’t seem to have put him off.

He hears Wei Ying swallow, and, now he’s able to steal a look at him, see Wei Ying’s eyes fall closed and his head fall back briefly as Wei Ying pulls in a breath. “You can,” Wei Ying makes a clumsy go ahead gesture with his hand. “I don’t—I just… you can get off on this? Like, you get off on blowing me?”

Lan Zhan swallows, watching Wei Ying catch his breath. Watching his eyes blink open and look down at him, and it puts a deep roll of desire in his gut. Sitting here on his knees, his mouth inches away from Wei Ying’s cock and his hand on himself, and Wei Ying… looking at him, Wei Ying seeing…

He breathes away the thought. It’s an exchange. Wei Ying isn’t doing this for the visuals. Lan Zhan shouldn’t project himself onto it like that, that will only make things… ambiguous. Complicated.

“Don’t you get off on it when you go down on a woman?” he asks, half an answer, half a reminder to himself. It sends a hot prickle down the back of his neck, thinking of that, but he bears up under it. There’s no point in ignoring reality.

Wei Ying swallows, his eyes fixed on Lan Zhan’s mouth. “Sometimes,” he breathes. It feels squeezed out of him, and Lan Zhan decides abruptly that he doesn’t want to hear any more about how Wei Ying feels when he’s with a woman, how it’s better, what he likes to do for them. He goes down again, sucking harder and resuming the strokes over his own cock, letting Wei Ying’s strangled gasp and the clenching of his fingers in the shoulder of Lan Zhan’s t-shirt push the thought out of his head.

Wei Ying’s hips are pushing harder, more steadily now, and Lan Zhan is good with that. He keeps his hand on Wei Ying’s shaft for safety and a little more friction, keeps his mouth tight and wet around the head, and lets Wei Ying fuck into him while he strokes himself. He closes his eyes and listens to the little half mumbles, feels Wei Ying’s fingers go tight in Lan Zhan’s hair. Somewhere in there is a blurry “is this okay?” and he just nods and strokes himself faster, letting Wei Ying use him.

It doesn’t take long before he approaches the edge, spills over just a little bit faster than he expected, and he can tell he’s going to need to change after this, doesn’t quite catch it all in the palm of his hand. Wei Ying is still thrusting into his mouth as Lan Zhan draws in ragged breaths, his thighs twitching with the aftershocks. Soon Wei Ying’s hand fists tight in the shoulder of his t-shirt and he makes a long, desperate sound, his body arching up off the couch, and everything is full and warm, thick. Lan Zhan swallows it, swallows more, feeling the pulse of him on his tongue.

There’s a long moment after Lan Zhan lets Wei Ying’s cock slip from his mouth, when Wei Ying’s fingers are still holding onto him and they’re just sitting there, catching their breath. Lan Zhan chances a glance up the long line of Wei Ying’s body, taking in the sight of him all loose limbed and fucked out, and a faint, distant need stirs in him, a need to… what. Pull him close? Wrap his arms around him? Put his cock inside him? Kiss him?

None of that is possible. This is the limit, he knew that when he offered, and he… he can deal with that. This is more than nothing, and he’s satisfied himself with nothing for a long time now. There’s no point in wanting more.

Finally, Wei Ying opens his eyes and looks down at him. He seems to realize belatedly that he’s still holding onto Lan Zhan, keeping him between his legs, and he lets go quickly with an apologetic twitch of his mouth. Lan Zhan doesn’t let himself wish Wei Ying wouldn’t let go. That’s also on the list of things there’s no point wishing for.

“Wow,” Wei Ying says, with another steadying breath. His hands look clumsy as he tucks himself back inside his underwear. He doesn’t bother re-zipping his fly, and for a moment Lan Zhan wonders if he could get away with doing it for him, just one more moment of contact. But the fact that he wants to means he probably shouldn’t, and he keeps his hands to himself.

“That was,” Wei Ying starts, still beautifully lax and sinking into the couch. Lan Zhan can see a flush crawling up the sides of Wei Ying’s throat, and he doesn’t know whether it’s from orgasm or self-consciousness. “Wow.”

Lan Zhan should probably get up from his knees now. Never mind that the press of Wei Ying’s calf against his arm feels nice, intimate. Almost like a caress.

No, scratch that, he should get up now because of those things.

And he needs to change. And he needs to not linger over the patch of skin still visible at Wei Ying’s waistline, or the open spread of his jeans, or the way his messy, half-tied hair falls over his shoulder like that.

“We can do it again,” he finds himself saying, without the permission of his mind. Wei Ying looks startled, but it’s too late to take it back now, and in any case it’s true. “Sometime,” he clarifies. The words feel clumsy on his tongue. “Anytime. If you like.”

Wei Ying stares at him for a moment, still looking a little bewildered, and the way his lips part several seconds before he speaks does not help Lan Zhan’s resolve to limit the boundaries of his imagination. Then, there’s a little nod. “Okay,” Wei Ying says shakily. “Yeah, cool. Thanks.”

*      *      *

It happens a lot more times after that.

It’s pretty much always Lan Zhan who brings it up, either when he’s had a frustrating day or Wei Ying has, or when the sort of need that would usually send him sifting through Grindr creeps up on him and he can’t get the thought out of his head.

The truth is, it’s convenient. Even the most random hookups still require driving time and a clean shirt, not to mention some amount of preparation if there’s anything more on the menu than a handjob or a blowjob—but Wei Ying is right here in his apartment, and the nature of the exchange seems to naturally preclude any in-depth discussion of what they’re doing. It’s always this. Always simple. Just release, between friends. All Lan Zhan has to do is ask, sometimes not even with words, and he can be on his knees in thirty seconds, done in a minute or two. Back to whatever he was doing after that.

Mostly.

It’s gotten to the point where just sitting next to Wei Ying on the couch in the evenings tends to trigger a sort of Pavlovian response, sending his mind down that route without permission. Perhaps that should be concerning, but Lan Zhan prefers not to think of it that way. This seems to be working, for both of them. He never would have expected that, but he’s certainly not going to turn his nose up at it.

So, it goes on. The weather turns colder, and Lan Zhan learns how Wei Ying likes it best, knows his smell and his taste so well that he can call it to mind when he’s alone with himself, and that’s good. It works for him.

It’s enough.

*      *      *

The front door slams.

Lan Zhan looks up from the pot of soup he's monitoring on the stove, but he can't see the entryway from here. He can hear rustling, the jangle of keys and then a clunk and a hissed curse as something hits the floor. More rustling, the keys in the wooden bowl where Wei Ying keeps them, and then quiet.

He turns down the burner and taps off the spoon, setting it in the spoon rest as he hurries out of the kitchen. He finds Wei Ying standing at the edge of the living room, his shoes and coat on the floor behind him and his face in his hands. It makes Lan Zhan's blood run cold, and he wonders what the fuck Madam Yu has done to him now.

"Wei Ying?" he says. Wei Ying draws in a sharp breath and looks up quickly. He's not actually crying, but his eyes are red, as if he's been trying not to all the way home. "Are you all right?"

Wei Ying nods briskly, unconvincingly. "Yeah, totally. It's nothing." There's a small huff of breath. "Just the usual."

The usual. The words crawl underneath Lan Zhan's skin. Just an evening of barbed comments and guilt trips over Wei Ying’s decision to “throw away” the expensive law degree they’d paid for by choosing to represent the disadvantaged.

Lan Zhan has little patience for Madam Yu’s brand of generosity.

Wei Ying, on the other hand, tries not to let it get to him. He doesn't like that it gets to him, but it’s obvious that it does. Lan Zhan has tried to encourage him to stop going to these family dinners, but Wei Ying seems to feel that it’s a debt he owes them somehow, offering himself up for ridicule at regular intervals.

"Were you able to eat?" Lan Zhan asks. Because sometimes Wei Ying forgets, particularly on nights like this. "There's soup on the stove."

Wei Ying shakes his head. "No, I'm fine, we had— there was hotpot. I'm good."

Lan Zhan nods, trying to think of something else to offer. Tea, alcohol. What he really wants to do is go over to him and pull him close, but he's trained himself not to do that, not when Wei Ying hasn't asked. He could never be certain of reading the signs correctly. His own selfishness is too much of a risk. "Is there anything else I can do?"

Wei Ying stops, and Lan Zhan hears it a beat too late, what that sounds like between them now. He didn't even mean it that way—that feels terribly crass, offering him sexual favors when he's feeling vulnerable in this way, upset over his relationship with his foster parents. He opens his mouth to correct the misunderstanding, to take it back—but something in Wei Ying stops him.

Wei Ying's eyes flick over to meet his, raw and careful, almost afraid. It feels somehow more precarious than any of the times before. More perilous than the usual night on the couch.

There's a question there too, in the carefulness, in the little twitch of his eyebrows, like he's not sure he's allowed to ask. Lan Zhan feels it stirring low in his belly, a bit uncertain. But if it’s… if it’s what Wei Ying wants. Lan Zhan would never deny him.

"That..." Lan Zhan begins, his voice a bit dry and catching, and he swallows. "If you want, I could."

Wei Ying lets out a hard, quiet breath. He seems to hesitate a moment longer, his eyes flitting over Lan Zhan in a strange way, like he’s not sure where all the pieces go like this. It’s different like this.

But then he nods.

It feels a bit surreal, moving forward to stand in front of him, stand closer. Wei Ying's eyes flicker with surprise as he comprehends, seems to realize what he's asked for, what he's getting, but he doesn't stop Lan Zhan or keep him at a distance. He just turns slightly more to face him, backing up until his shoulders bump against the wall, and watches with hazy disbelief as Lan Zhan sinks to his knees on the carpet and reaches for Wei Ying's fly.

"Oh my god," Wei Ying whispers, as if watching them both from a distance. His hands find their way into Lan Zhan's hair almost immediately, gripping convulsively before Lan Zhan even has a hand on him.

Wei Ying isn't hard yet, but that isn't surprising. He hisses at the first touch, as Lan Zhan pulls him out and starts to stroke, and it's probably a relief to both of them when his cock starts to fill. If Lan Zhan does this, now, and it doesn't even work, that will become uncomfortable very quickly. But Wei Ying's breath is picking up with each stroke, and soon he’s hard enough for Lan Zhan to take him into his mouth.

Lan Zhan doesn’t touch himself this time. His insides are too jittery with the strangeness of it all, with the heat of Wei Ying’s shivers and the little moans that seep out of him as Lan Zhan sucks. It’s different with him standing too, with everything, with the soup still simmering on the stove and Wei Ying’s jacket on the floor. Wei Ying says his name, his hands groping, searching, even curling over Lan Zhan’s shoulders, and Lan Zhan can’t help reaching around behind, feeling the roundness of Wei Ying’s ass through his jeans.

Wei Ying gives a little whimper, and Lan Zhan can feel him getting closer, feel the needy twitch of his hips against Lan Zhan’s mouth. Wei Ying’s breathing gets faster, more erratic, and Lan Zhan has to concentrate to keep breathing as he lets Wei Ying fuck into his mouth a little harder, a little faster, a little deeper. He lets his mind go blank, nothing but sensation, because he doesn’t think he could handle it if he thinks too much about what they’re doing, what this is. Then the rhythm stutters, another desperate moan from above, and Wei Ying is coming, a hard wet heat inside Lan Zhan’s mouth.

Lan Zhan has barely managed to swallow it all when Wei Ying’s knees seem to give out underneath him. He sinks back heavy against the wall and slides down into a pile of knees and elbows in front of Lan Zhan, his fingers clutching at Lan Zhan’s sweater and his head bowed against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. For a long time they just stay like that, breathing into the tight, close space between them, and Lan Zhan strokes his thumbs along the bare strip of skin beneath the hem of Wei Ying’s shirt, letting him take whatever he needs.

Concern ripples through him when he hears a suspicious sniff from where Wei Ying’s face is hidden against his shoulder. He wants to hold on tighter, pull Wei Ying in the rest of the way. But Wei Ying’s fingers just clench in his sweater for another moment, and then he pushes himself up. His eyes are wet and his face is blotchy, but there’s a sort of sheepish smile there too. Lan Zhan can’t be sure whether it’s all just from the orgasm or if there’s something else, still.

“Thanks,” Wei Ying says, casting his eyes down. He draws his hands back then and scrubs them over his face, and Lan Zhan feels a bit bereft at the loss of warmth. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t— that was—”

“It’s all right,” Lan Zhan says, though he’s not sure exactly what Wei Ying means to apologize for. “Did it help?”

Wei Ying breathes a laugh and looks back at him, his eyes soft and a little dazed. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think— yeah. Thanks.”

He looks so beautiful. The sight of him like this pulls tight at the center of Lan Zhan’s chest, a graze slipped underneath his careful defenses. But it’s a familiar sort of ache. “Of course,” Lan Zhan says. “Any time.”

*      *      *

It’s a quiet evening, apart from that. Wei Ying opts to go to bed early, so Lan Zhan eats his dinner on his own as planned with a textbook open to the side, reviewing the chapter he’s meant to cover in seminar tomorrow morning. He does the dishes and tidies up the kitchen, sorts through the mail for anything time-sensitive that they need to be sure to pay attention to, and then he gets ready for bed himself.

As he lies awake in the darkness, his thoughts drift back to the earlier part of the evening. The look on Wei Ying’s face when he walked in the door. The way it felt to be on his knees with Wei Ying’s pressed up against the wall. The shift of Wei Ying’s hips as he pushed into Lan Zhan, his movements freer than they usually are on the couch. The way Wei Ying held onto him afterwards, breathing into the hollow of Lan Zhan’s neck. Like someone close. Like someone who wants to be closer.

No.

Lan Zhan squeezes his eyes shut tightly and pushes his fingers into his hair, rubbing at his forehead. This is exactly what he should not be doing. He should not be overinterpreting Wei Ying’s actions, especially not in the afterglow of orgasm, opening himself up to possibilities that he knows full well—has known for years—do not exist. He’s been down that road before, nearly drove himself to depression on it when they were younger, and it was all he could do to pull himself back. To salvage this friendship, which means more to him than anything.

This will not work if he starts doing that again. He’s going to lose all of this if he can’t keep his heart closed off from the rest of it.

Wei Ying is not interested in men. He is interested in blowjobs, because of course he is, and he’s clearly not put off by receiving them from a man, but that’s as far as it goes. Wei Ying can never want Lan Zhan the way Lan Zhan wants him. That’s not something Wei Ying can control, and there’s no point wishing for it to change.

Lan Zhan releases a short breath, almost a growl in the back of his throat, and reaches for his phone on the nightstand. He hasn’t even opened Grindr in months, he realizes, chagrined, and of course not, why would he? He’s been busy, and Wei Ying has been here, and that’s been enough.

Enough.

But maybe he should not be letting himself rely on their little arrangement quite so much. That will only pry open the door, inch by inch, and make him more vulnerable to slip-ups like this. Sure, hookups take more effort, and granted, sleeping with some stranger is not as appealing as having Wei Ying’s cock in his mouth—but that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it? It should be more appealing. It should be more appealing to sleep with someone who wants him than with someone who doesn’t. Who can’t.

He flicks through the usual array of photos, some he recognizes and others he doesn’t. There’s one guy who’s online who Lan Zhan recalls sleeping with about six months ago, not long before he first offered himself to Wei Ying. That was probably the last person he’s slept with besides Wei Ying, come to think of it.

Fuck. Six months.

It was all right—the sex was good, but the guy was particularly into humiliation play. Lan Zhan has experience with that, but he doesn’t care much for it in the context of one-off hookups. Still, once the guy had gotten all the trash talk out of his system, the actual fucking was very effective. They haven’t been in touch since, but they’d left things open-ended.

Lan Zhan lets his thumb hover over the message button.

No. No, it’s late. Not late by anyone else’s standards, admittedly, but he doesn’t want to get out of bed and get dressed at this hour. And he certainly doesn’t want to invite that guy over here, with Wei Ying sleeping in the other room.

But there are other ways. Other options.

He taps on the guy’s profile pic instead, scrolling through the array of semi-pornographic mirror selfies and other suggestive photos hosted there. Finding one without a face, where they guy is stretched out across the bed with his tank top rucked up and one hand slipped beneath the waist of his jeans, Lan Zhan reaches down into his pajama pants and starts to stroke.

He closes his eyes, thinks back to what it felt like that night, when he went over to the guy’s apartment. The firm mattress underneath his knees, and the way the man’s firm grip pinned his arms to the small of his back, forced him to balance. The tug against his wrists as he pushed into Lan Zhan. The way it forced him open and… full…

…his knees, against the carpet… his mouth open, Wei Ying’s hands in his hair… what if Wei Ying, what if he…

Oh fuck—

The orgasm shudders through him so quickly he doesn’t even have a chance to properly catch it, feels it spreading a sticky mess all over the inside of his pajama pants.

For a few moments he just lies there, breathing into the dark. The echoes of images flicker across his mind like a slideshow, bared skin and Wei Ying’s face, Wei Ying’s hands, Wei Ying’s…

He squeezes his eyes shut again and lets out a hard breath, trying to wipe them all away. That was not how this was meant to go.

When his arms feel like they can support him again, he drags his messy hand carefully out of his pants and props himself up on one elbow, digging around in the nightstand for the small packet of wet wipes he knows is in there. Once his hand is clean, he crumples up the wet wipe and throws it in the wastebasket, dropping back down onto his back and staring up at the dark ceiling.

How could he be so stupid? He needs to find some way to get ahold of himself.

He’s just starting in on another round of silent self-recriminations when there’s a soft knock on the door, and his pulse jolts.

Shit. Was he loud? Did Wei Ying— did he say anything? Out loud? Was he—?

“Lan Zhan? Are you still awake?” Wei Ying asks in a tentative voice through the door, and Lan Zhan tries to gather up his scattered thoughts, figure out how to make his voice work.

Wei Ying is asking if he’s awake. If he had heard, he probably wouldn’t be asking that. Right?

“Yes,” he says back. Then realizes he dropped his phone at some point while he was jerking off, and starts fumbling around in the covers trying to find it just in case… in case.

“Can I come in?” Wei Ying asks. “I can’t sleep.”

Oh. Lan Zhan lets out a sigh of relief. Of course, that’s not… no, of course he’d be having insomnia. He often does on nights like this. It’s not unusual.

Lan Zhan’s fingers brush against the hard edge of his phone tucked into the folds of the comforter, and he lifts it up, the guy’s softly lit torso staring down at him. He closes the app and sets the phone back on the nightstand. “Of course,” Lan Zhan says. “Come in.”

He hears the knob turn, sees a sliver of dim light from the living room as the shadow of Wei Ying slips inside, closing the bedroom door behind him. Then there’s the rustle and bounce of the mattress as Wei Ying crawls in beside him, though he leaves a chaste distance between them. Lan Wangji shifts aside to give him more room, and is suddenly reminded of the come still sticking to his skin inside his sleep pants. He winces at the sensation, but it feels like it might be somehow revealing if he escapes to the bathroom to change now. Perhaps he can wait until Wei Ying falls asleep.

“Sorry,” Wei Ying says. He seems to be lying on his side facing towards Lan Zhan, but it’s too dark to see more than the vague outline of him. “I was even able to drift off for a little while there, but then I woke up again, and I just… you know.”

Yes. Lan Zhan knows. Ever since they were young, Wei Ying has found it easier to sleep at night when he can hear another person breathing beside him. He suspects that was why Wei Ying rushed to move in with Wen Qing during senior year of undergrad, even though it was clear that that relationship was crumbling.

It’s probably why he agreed so quickly to move in with Lan Zhan when Lan Zhan started his PhD and needed help with the rent, come to think of it. Wei Ying has never been good at being alone.

“It’s all right,” Lan Zhan says. “I was awake.”

The quiet stretches around them again. Outside Lan Zhan can hear the rustle of the wind through the bare tree branches just outside his window.

“Hey, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying murmurs again, sounding a bit sleepier than before.

Lan Zhan hums back, to show he’s listening.

“I just… thanks again, for earlier. I wasn’t really… I don’t know. I think that helped, though, kind of. I hope I wasn’t too…”

Lan Zhan waits, but Wei Ying never seems to figure out how he intends to finish that sentence. So Lan Zhan lets him off the hook. “It was fine, Wei Ying,” he says, swallowing against a dry throat, his thoughts drifting back to just before, when he was caught up in a fantasy. “Go to sleep.”

Wei Ying breathes the sound of a smile into the pillow, and the mattress shakes a little as he shifts into a new position. “Right,” he says, his voice half-muffled. “Good night, Lan Zhan.”

“Good night, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan murmurs into the dark. Soon, he hears Wei Ying’s breath even out, and the quiet sound of the occasional snore.

*      *      *

“No, not like that,” Wei Ying says, scrambling down to the other end of the long wooden board spread out on the floor in their living room.

Lan Zhan stops trying to press the shorter board down onto the little wooden pegs and screw heads at the end and looks up at him, watching bemusedly as Wei Ying shoos his hands away and takes hold of the bit of wood himself, wrenching it back off the pegs.

“You’ve got these in the wrong holes, see?” Wei Ying says, pointing down at the matrix of holes drilled into the long board in a bewildering array. Wei Ying is indicating a series of holes a few centimeters further in from the end of the board than the ones Lan Zhan put the pegs into.

Lan Zhan is officially confused.

“I thought this was supposed to be the bottom,” he says, gesturing at the short board in Wei Ying’s hands. He glances around briefly for the instructions, but Wei Ying commandeered those as soon as they opened the flat pack. They’ve now been rifled through and spread out on the seat of the couch across the room.

“It is the bottom, but that’s why it’s this row, see?” Wei Ying says, pointing at the holes again. “There’s another short bit that goes here at the front to cover up the gap, like a little lip to keep the bottom of the wardrobe off the ground.”

“Why does the bottom of the wardrobe need to be off the ground?” Lan Zhan asks. There was a reason he coughed up for the service where the people actually build the furniture for you the last time he bought one of these things. This makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.

“So the door doesn’t scrape against the floor,” Wei Ying says, as if this ought to be obvious, which—all right. Fair enough.

“Maybe you should do this part,” Lan Zhan says, slightly unnecessarily, given that Wei Ying has already picked up the electric screwdriver and is unscrewing the misplaced screws. Lan Zhan gets to his feet and brushes the sawdust off his hands on the knees of his jeans, stepping carefully through the minefield of cardboard and plastic and wood pieces until he can snatch the instructions up off the couch.

Hmm. These do not seem to be terribly illuminating.

He sifts through the pages, glancing from the diagrams to the half-framed wardrobe on the floor until he’s pretty sure he’s able to identify which step they’re on. He can start on the second side—that should work. All that’s needed there is to put in all the little screws and pegs into the right holes so that it’s a mirror image of the other side. And then apparently they will be able to set this side on top of the two vertical top and bottom pieces sticking up from the first side, and everything should just… fit.

Hopefully.

Lan Zhan sets down the instructions again and picks up the bag of pegs and screws, and then kneels down at the far end of the second long flat piece, starting to put the pegs into the holes. “May I have the screwdriver please?” he asks, reaching a hand out towards Wei Ying.

The sound of Wei Ying pounding on the edge of the short board with his palm stops. “Uhh,” he says, and Lan Zhan looks up at him to find him watching what Lan Zhan is doing with trepidation, like he’s a toddler wandering too near the stove. “You know what Lan Zhan, why don’t I hang onto the screwdriver for now? You can be a big help by just sorting all those little bits into the different types, if you want. That would be awesome.”

Lan Zhan narrows his eyes at Wei Ying. He knows when he’s being patronized. “Wei Ying,” he says, “I would like. The screwdriver.”

Wei Ying gives him a shifty look and picks up the screwdriver himself. “Can’t, sorry! I need it.”

“For what.”

“For… the baseboard thing.”

Lan Zhan glares at him. “You said that part only needed pegs.”

“I was wrong!” Wei Ying says brightly. “It needs screws. It totally needs screws.”

Lan Zhan drops the little bag of pegs and screws and gets to his feet, tiptoeing gingerly through the field of detritus. “Wei Ying—”

“Oh shit,” Wei Ying laughs, scrambling and half-crab-walking backward on the carpet to try to keep himself out of range, the electric screwdriver still clutched in his hand—but Lan Zhan knows the way through this wreckage by now, and he stumbles to his knees once he gets past the worst of it, grabbing Wei Ying by the calf before he can squirm around and get his legs underneath him properly.

“Give me the screwdriver,” Lan Zhan demands, dragging Wei Ying closer by the leg and ducking underneath his kicking foot.

“No, Lan Zhan, I need it!” Wei Ying yelps with a giggle, the arm holding the screwdriver stretched far above his head as he smashes his free hand into Lan Zhan’s face to try to stop him from getting closer. Lan Zhan’s knee slips on a sheet of packing plastic and he nearly faceplants into Wei Ying’s stomach, but he manages to scramble up and find his balance again, crawling further on top of Wei Ying as he gropes for the screwdriver.

“Give it to me,” Lan Zhan growls, and Wei Ying laughs again, squirming and twisting underneath him, his knee coming dangerously close to Lan Zhan’s balls as he draws it up to try to push away further.

“Never!” Wei Ying shouts gleefully, and then shoves himself upwards to try to make a break for it just as Lan Zhan’s hand lands on another crumple of slippery packing material, and they both go tumbling sideways into a gasping heap.

The world feels like it’s turned over somehow, Lan Zhan’s back against the carpet. Wei Ying’s weight is heavy against Lan Zhan’s chest, his hair in Lan Zhan’s face and leg pressed close against the inside of Lan Zhan’s thigh. His breath seems much louder and closer all of a sudden, its warmth brushing against Lan Zhan’s chin. As Wei Ying lifts his head slightly and meets Lan Zhan’s eyes a thread of awareness seems to pull tight between them. Of how close they are. How entangled.

Lan Zhan still has one hand gripping Wei Ying’s upper arm, but the screwdriver is nowhere in sight—it must have been lost in the tumble. Wei Ying’s free hand is clenched around Lan Zhan’s wrist, pressing it into the carpet, and his hips are… his hips…

Wei Ying lets out a shaky breath, his shadowed eyes hazy, and for a moment Lan Zhan almost thinks he sees them. Drop. Down between their bodies.

Just a little closer. A little more, and they would…

Wei Ying swallows hard and lets out a harsh breath—some facsimile of a laugh, unconvincing. The pressure on Lan Zhan’s wrist is stronger for a moment as he pushes himself up straight, glancing around them in a bit of a daze, like the mess is a surprise. Like he’s not sure how he got there.

Lan Zhan feels the warmth seeping out of him as Wei Ying moves away and pushes himself to his feet—but he doesn’t reach out and try to stop him. He just holds still, lets Wei Ying take his space.

“Oh my god, you’re such a baby,” Wei Ying complains good-naturedly, his voice wobbling slightly. He seems to be making a valiant effort at normalcy as he crouches back down next to the board he’d been trying to place and waves a hand carelessly over his shoulder. “Fine, whatever, take the screwdriver, see how far you get.”

Lan Zhan swallows and pushes himself up to sit. His heart is racing in his chest, and his body is aching for a few moments ago. For what almost happened. Or at least what it felt like almost happened.

Did he give himself away? Was it just… could Wei Ying see?

It hasn’t been an issue for so long—not for years. He’s gotten so good at walling off that urge that it’s disconcerting to know how close he was to giving in to it. Wei Ying has never seemed uncomfortable with him in that way, never seemed to feel he was at risk of crossing a line in their friendship, creating expectations he wasn’t willing to live up to. But now they’ve twisted the line up, bent it in all sorts of strange directions, and he wonders if… if maybe they’ve lost something in the process. That easiness.

Wei Ying can’t feel easy touching him anymore. Can’t trust that he won’t take it as more than it is.

The thought puts a lump in his throat, and he swallows it down, closes his eyes. Takes a breath.

“Thanks,” he says, when he’s able. Wei Ying doesn’t turn around again, and Lan Zhan reaches over and plucks the forgotten screwdriver off the floor, returning to his spot across the room.

Was it worth it?

As he watches Wei Ying get deep into the building process, his instructions to Lan Zhan clipped and straight to the point from then on, Lan Zhan can no longer be sure.

*      *      *

That night, it’s Lan Zhan who can’t sleep.

For one sad, lonely, slightly spiteful moment he contemplates knocking on Wei Ying’s door and invading his bed to cure his insomnia, because it seems only fair after all this time. But given that Wei Ying is the reason he can’t sleep, that seems like it would only compound the problem.

They finished the wardrobe. It’s standing up in the front hall now, a much-improved location for jackets and outerwear than the series of insufficient hooks on the wall beside it. They were even able to tidy up the mess of shoes scattered over the floor (mostly Wei Ying’s) and put them on shelves below the hanging bar. It was by all accounts a success.

But the usual ease between the two of them never quite resettled itself over the course of the evening. And Lan Zhan isn’t sure exactly why.

He has a number of guesses, but none of them are very comforting. He’s hoping that whatever made Wei Ying so evidently uncomfortable will roll off him with a night’s sleep, and things will feel more normal in the morning. But he can’t shake the nagging feeling that it might not be as simple as that. That whatever this is, even if it goes away again in the morning, it will still be lurking somewhere. Beneath the surface.

When the clock turns past midnight and Lan Zhan is still having no luck sleeping, he finally slides out of bed and goes into the kitchen to fix himself a cup of tea, hoping it will help get his mind off of things. It’s a soothing, comforting scent, and for a few moments he just breathes it in as it steeps, absorbing the warmth through his hands.

There’s nothing he can do now. The line is twisted as it is.

The tea is half-drunk and beginning to cool by the time he takes it with him and moves back towards his bedroom. But just as he’s reaching for the handle of his door, he hears a strange sound coming from Wei Ying’s room—a little groan, almost painful sounding. He stops, takes a few steps further along and listens at the door, wondering if he should go in and see if Wei Ying is all right. He usually doesn’t hide away when he’s feeling ill, but perhaps after what happened this afternoon—

The sound comes again, low and smooth, and there’s a rustling underneath it. Something rhythmic and soft and— oh. Oh fuck.

Lan Zhan’s breath leaves him on a hard, silent breath.

He shouldn’t be here. He should not be listening to this. But it’s as if his feet are frozen to the floor, his legs too weak and too stiff to move, and he can hear it. Now that he’s listening he can hear the slick, rhythmic sound of Wei Ying stroking himself, the fidgeting creak of the bedsprings as he moves, twists. Lan Zhan wonders if Wei Ying is moving his hips the way he does when Lan Zhan’s mouth is on him, if he likes to fuck up into his own hand just like that. He can hear a familiar gasp, and it’s in his mind all of a sudden, what Wei Ying’s face looks like when he’s like that, when he’s riding the edge, everything coiling tight.

He presses his empty palm against the doorjamb, leaning into it and closing his eyes. He knows he should go. He knows he should not stay, but he can’t seem to move, and his mind is conjuring up images of this afternoon on the living room floor. What would have happened if Wei Ying had leaned in just a little bit further. If Lan Zhan had leaned up and taken his mouth for himself.

What it would feel like to have Wei Ying’s hands on him, bold and purposeful and wanting. What it would feel like to have Wei Ying inside him.

Has Wei Ying thought of it too?

They could pretend. Wei Ying could pretend, Lan Zhan wouldn’t mind, he could turn the other way. Wei Ying could take him from behind and not even have to see. Lan Zhan could pretend.

There’s a sharp, keening sigh from the other side of the door, and all the movement slows, stops, silence falling around Lan Zhan’s ears. He feels it pressing in on him, the edge of the wooden doorjamb digging into his palm, and it brings him back to his senses.

This is not okay.

He needs to not… he can’t be here right now, he can’t listen like this. He can’t think like this. It’s getting fucked up.

It’s probably been fucked up for a while now.

He turns away abruptly, keeps his feet quiet and careful on the floor as he slips into his room and shuts the door behind him. He sets the cold mug of tea down on the nightstand and drops to a seat at the edge of the bed, pressing his face into his hands, trying to get ahold of the panic rising up inside him.

This is going to drive him insane if he doesn’t do something to stop it. He can’t keep going like this, funneling all his desire into this one-sided exchange. It’s getting to him, messing with his mind, sending him reeling back to the way things were when they were younger. When he was still fooling himself into thinking there was a chance Wei Ying could want him that way. Could love him that way.

But he also doesn’t want to give it up.

A balance. Some sense of balance, that’s what he needs. Something else to tip the scales, to take the edge off his need. Something that isn’t Wei Ying.

He reaches for his phone and flicks open Grindr, scrolling past the usual array of faceless bodies until he finds the one he’s looking for. He lets his fingers move as if on their own, quick and easy.

Hey. Are you free sometime this week?

*      *      *

It helps, a bit.

The awkwardness of that afternoon fades within a couple of days, and that Saturday evening after Wei Ying comes home from a night out for drinks Wei Ying even asks for a blowjob, which Lan Zhan should probably not find such a relief. But at least things are easy again, and Lan Zhan meets up with the Grindr guy twice over the course of the next month, and it seems to help him keep the line where it belongs. A little bent, but not broken.

Maybe this is just the balance he’ll have to strike in order to get everything he needs. In order to have Wei Ying, and also his sanity. Such as it is.

“Such a tight hole,” the Grindr guy groans, more for himself than for Lan Zhan, but Lan Zhan has learned to tune it out by now. The tug of his hands in the small of his back has become familiar, bracing, a good metaphor for the usefulness of all this, the way it keeps him in check.

He lets his mind go blank and sinks into the feeling of being fucked, being taken by a virtual stranger, even as many times as they’ve done this. The guy offered him drinks, dinner, something more if he wanted it, but Lan Zhan politely declined. There’s nothing more he wants except this. Blind pleasure, raw feeling, something to wipe the slate clean and remind him that this is something separate.

Wei Ying could never want this.

Wei Ying will never want this.

There’s a sharp groan and a stutter in the rhythm, and Lan Zhan feels the guy slam into him once more, their balance on the edge of the mattress wavering as he comes.

The guy shivers and moans as he comes down from his orgasm, his hand clenching convulsively on Lan Zhan’s wrists. Lan Zhan feels full and used and blank inside, just like he wanted. Just like he needed. This is sex. He can get sex anywhere, from anyone, and he can keep Wei Ying close. He can be Wei Ying’s friend. Never ask too much, never need too much, as long as he spreads himself out like this for someone else once in a while. It’s a compromise that has worked so far.

Why shouldn’t it keep working like that?

Lan Zhan barely feels it as the guy pulls out, but he teeters on his knees when the guy lets go of him and steps away to remove the condom. Lan Zhan presses his face into the rumpled sheets and breathes, his cock full and his mind empty. Just a little bit more. Just a little bit further and he’ll be satisfied. He’ll have it out of his system. He can go home to Wei Ying.

He feels the Grindr guy come up behind him again then and reach over, grab him by the hair and pull him up to sit on his heels. His toes are hanging off the edge of the mattress, his knees splayed wide and his cock standing up between them. His hands are resting limply on his thighs, but he knows how this goes, he doesn’t need them. He keeps his eyes closed and feels the guy reach down between his legs and take him in hand, his fingers still tight in Lan Zhan’s hair as he roughly jerks him off. It’s not kind or loving, and he wants it that way, doesn’t want anything like that from this man, or any man. Anyone except—

No. No.

He tries to squash the thought beneath his heel, but it’s there now, worming its way inside him. What it would be like if this were Wei Ying. If it were Wei Ying’s voice whispering in his ear, not harsh nonsense but sweet teasing, his laugh gentle against the side of Lan Wangji’s throat, his mock surprise at how big Lan Zhan feels in his hand and how much Wei Ying wants him to come all over himself…

It rips through him like a fire through a library, every nerve in his body aflame as he comes, gasping, shaking. He tries not to feel Wei Ying’s arms around him, Wei Ying’s fingers in his hair, Wei Ying’s hand on his cock, sticky with come, but he can’t stop it. Wei Ying, he bites back, jaw firmly closed around the words. Wei Ying.

The guy is gracious enough to offer him a shower afterwards, and Lan Zhan gladly accepts. He spends a long time standing beneath the hot stream with his hands pressed against the wall, letting the water run down his face. Trying to breathe through it, make his mind blank again.

Once he’s dressed and back out on the street, shrugging down into his jacket against the autumn chill, he finds he can’t seem to get comfortable in his own skin again. It feels as if everyone he passes is staring at him, judging him, like they know what he’s done. He hasn’t felt like this after sex in nearly a decade, since he first started sleeping with men. It feels ridiculous, sends a hot prickle of shame down the back of his neck.

It's after nine by the time he lets himself into their apartment, but it’s no matter. He should still have time to dry his hair and change into clothes that don’t smell like sex before Wei Ying gets back. Not that Wei Ying has ever shown any discomfort at signs that Lan Wangji has been out on a hook-up in the past, but it feels somehow too revealing these days, in this strange new landscape.

When he steps out of the front hall area to catch the sound of someone rummaging around in the kitchen, he freezes in place.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying calls out, and Lan Zhan turns back to see him standing in the kitchen pouring Cinnamon Toast Crunch into a bowl. “I was wondering where you were. Have you been on campus until now?”

Lan Zhan opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t seem to find any words. It’s as if he’s watching the whole scene in slow-motion as Wei Ying blinks up at him again, his eyes catching on the damp ends of Lan Zhan’s hair, the rumpled jeans and t-shirt that are far more casual than what he normally wears for teaching. Something ripples through Wei Ying’s expression, and Lan Zhan has to sit on the impulse to call it disquiet. There’s no point in imposing any thoughts he might wish Wei Ying to have. That will not help.

“I thought you were out with your brother and sister,” Lan Zhan says, though immediately kicks himself for the roughness in his voice. Somehow it feels even more revealing than his damp hair.

Wei Ying stares at him for a moment. Lan Zhan wonders if he knows. How many other explanations could there be? Lan Zhan does not belong to a gym. It has not been raining. But then Wei Ying puts on a smile. “Canceled,” he says, turning around to retrieve the milk from the refrigerator. He watches carefully as he pours a measure of it into the bowl, seemingly focused on not letting it splash. “Jin Ling has a cold and Shijie didn’t want to pass it on to anyone else. I was just going to watch Law & Order. You up for it?”

The turn of phrase falls strangely in the air between them—Wei Ying must know—but Wei Ying doesn’t flinch at it, just turns away again to put the milk back in the fridge. “Sure,” Lan Zhan says as Wei Ying retrieves his cereal bowl and carries it through to the living room. Lan Zhan ruffles his damp hair with his fingers as he watches Wei Ying take up his customary seat on the couch, but Wei Ying ignores him as he picks up the remote and presses play on the latest recorded episode.

Lan Zhan circles around the other end of the couch and takes his own seat, listening to the crunch of Wei Ying’s cereal as the sound of sirens opens the episode’s first scene. He has seen this one before—so has Wei Ying—but still he can’t seem to concentrate on the dialogue enough to follow what’s happening.

The air feels strange, too thick and heavy, as if he’s been caught doing something he should not be doing and he doesn’t know how to make amends. But that is categorically false. What he’s been doing has been actively in the service of this… whatever this is. This arrangement. It is to the benefit of them both.

Maybe Wei Ying knows that as well.

They have arrived at the courtroom scene. Wei Ying has finished his bowl of cereal and is curled up at his end of the couch with a pillow in his lap, one elbow resting on the back of the sofa and propping up his head. He has not been particularly chatty during this entire evening, supplying only a halfhearted critique of the episode’s veracity here and there. Since he finished eating, the silence has felt increasingly heavy.

“Work kind of sucked today,” Wei Ying says eventually, apropos of nothing. Lan Zhan glances over at him and finds him staring hard down at the coffee table, his fingers fidgeting with a corner of the pillow on his lap. There’s something flat about it, like a lie.

Lan Zhan just hums in acknowledgement, not sure what he’s meant to say.

Wei Ying’s eyes twitch away, to the armchair, to the window, not to the TV. He bites his lip briefly, but then seems to realize he’s doing it and lets it go. “I was just thinking,” he says with a shrug of his shoulder, a failed attempt at casual with a leaden underbelly. “Would you maybe want to blow me?”

The words tingle underneath Lan Zhan’s skin. He can still feel the ache of having someone else inside him. His hair is dry now, but it’s like he can feel the fingerprints all over his skin, over his cock, and Wei Ying is. Wei Ying is asking.

Wei Ying darts a look over at him that is difficult to read, and then it’s gone. “I mean, you don’t have to. It was just a thought.”

Lan Zhan swallows. This feels like a bad idea for a reason he can’t seem to put his finger on. But the thought of saying no, when his skin aches for Wei Ying… when Wei Ying is asking…

He nods. “I can do that,” he says.

Wei Ying lets out a shaky breath, his eyes darting around again like he’s suddenly not sure anymore. But then he seems to decide himself, reaches over and grabs the remote to pause the playback, and throws the pillow aside, shifting himself to make space between his legs for Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan’s pulse is loud in his ears as he gets down off the couch, finds his place on his knees in front of Wei Ying. Wei Ying’s eyes are on his face then, something startled and uncertain in them as he puts his hands in Lan Zhan’s hair, lets Lan Zhan unzip his jeans and free his cock from his underwear. There’s a shaky breath that seems to come from both of them. Wei Ying isn’t hard yet, but he’s getting there quickly, and Lan Zhan feels Wei Ying’s hands clench in his hair as Lan Zhan starts to stroke him, coax him into arousal.

When Lan Zhan takes him into his mouth, Wei Ying breathes out on a shudder.

It’s different somehow, this time. Everything feels rawer, closer to the surface. Lan Zhan’s every nerve is alight with the memory of how he was just a few hours ago, his hands held behind his back, the feeling of a cock inside him, the imagined whisper of Wei Ying’s voice in his ear as he came. But it’s more than that, he thinks. Wei Ying’s hips are demanding, taking, and he holds on hard as Lan Zhan sucks him.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispers, a mindless babble that Lan Zhan knows well by now. Perhaps he should always have known that Wei Ying would be noisy in bed, but it’s different to know it for real, to hear it with his mouth on Wei Ying’s cock. “Lan Zhan, you want it, right? You like going down on me. You get off on it.”

Lan Zhan shudders into a breath. He’s not sure if this even demands a response—usually Wei Ying’s horny babbling is one-sided, though it isn’t usually quite this… specific. But it feels strange to ignore the question somehow, when they both know the truth.

He nods.

Wei Ying’s fingers seem to go tighter in his hair, and his hips give a slightly harder thrust, like he’s trying to go deeper, take more. Lan Zhan braces his hands against Wei Ying’s hips to restrain him, on impulse—but then a part of him is tempted to let go. Let him take.

“You like sucking cock,” Wei Ying continues, and his whole body is moving now, demanding Lan Zhan’s undivided attention. His knees are squeezing at Lan Zhan’s shoulders as he thrusts and pulls, pushing himself higher, taking more. “You like sucking my cock.”

Lan Zhan nods again, swallowing down a moan. His hold on Wei Ying’s hips is weakening, loosening, letting him push through a little too deep. He feels as if he’s drifting, losing touch with the ground, everything narrowed down to the clench of Wei Ying’s fingers in his hair and the stretch of Wei Ying’s cock inside his mouth. Another shiver rattles through Wei Ying’s frame, and Lan Zhan can feel how close he is, feel him speed up, more demanding and somehow also more helpless, like he’s riding a wave that’s bigger than he is, stronger than he knows how to fight.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying moans again, and then he comes, hard and fast and hot. It’s so much it almost makes Lan Zhan choke, he has to swallow carefully to keep his airways clear.

It keeps going in slow, rolling pulses, and Wei Ying holds onto him even after it stops, his loud breath shivering in the silence. When he finally lets go, Lan Zhan pulls off and chances a look up at Wei Ying’s face to find him with his eyes closed and his brow wrinkled. Lan Zhan can’t tell if it’s from pleasure or some sort of pain.

When Wei Ying finally opens his eyes, the first thing Lan Wangji sees is pain.

Pain, and then guilt, as Wei Ying takes in the state of Lan Zhan’s hair, his face, whatever else he’s seeing here, between them. Lan Zhan wants to tell him it’s all right, there’s nothing to feel guilty about, but the words catch in his throat. Everything feels off-balance, unsteady, and he doesn’t know anymore how he feels. Maybe this was a bad idea from the start.

“Shit,” Wei Ying says, staring around like he’s just woken up from a bad dream to find it was real after all. “Shit, I… sorry. I can’t—”

He fumbles himself back into his trousers and zips up, and Lan Zhan’s hands feel cold all of a sudden as he lets them slip from Wei Ying’s thighs. He doesn’t understand what’s going on—what just happened, why this is making things worse and not better. It should have made it better. “Wei Ying—” he starts, but Wei Ying is already squirming off the couch, grabbing his cereal bowl from the table and stumbling away, towards the kitchen.

Lan Zhan’s knees feel weak, his legs half asleep and his cock heavy, but somehow he’s not at all interested in doing anything about that. He climbs to his feet and follows Wei Ying into the kitchen. “Wei Ying,” he tries again, but Wei Ying turns on the sink immediately, rinsing out his bowl and not looking at Lan Zhan.

“Sorry,” Wei Ying says with an awkward flail of his hand. “I don’t mean to—whatever. But I’ve got an early meeting in the morning, I should probably get to bed.”

A jolt of alarm runs through Lan Zhan at that. He doesn’t understand. Why is Wei Ying so troubled by this now? After all these months. “Wei Ying, we should—”

“I can’t, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, meeting Lan Zhan’s eyes finally. There’s a strange mixture of fear and confusion in there that Lan Zhan doesn’t know what to do with. “Sorry, I just—I really need to sleep.”

There’s nothing more to say. Lan Zhan nods. “Okay,” he says. “See you in the morning.” He tries not to let it sound like a question.

Wei Ying nods back, but his eyes slip away again. “Sure,” he agrees. “See you in the morning.” And then he skirts past Lan Zhan and out of the kitchen, disappearing into his bedroom.

*      *      *

It goes sideways, after that.

The awkward silence continues for a few days, Wei Ying slipping out of rooms or finding reasons to be absent in the evenings when Lan Zhan happens to be home. The Grindr guy pings Lan Zhan again to see if he’s up for another round, but Lan Zhan ignores him. He can’t muster any interest, not with things so strange here. It feels like that evening has broken something, and he’s not sure why or how.

On one rare evening when they’re both at home, two weeks later, after they’ve shared an order of takeout from their favorite sushi place and they’re sitting on the couch watching a house-flipping show on HGTV, Lan Zhan gently places another offer on the table.

Wei Ying goes still in the wake of it, and almost immediately Lan Zhan understands it was a mistake. Whatever happened that night two weeks ago is still there, still lurking under the surface. He feels a hollow squeeze at the center of his chest, and wishes he could ask Wei Ying what it was, what he did to throw off their delicate balance, but that’s… that’s just it. They don’t talk about this, not like that. If he starts down that road, there’s no telling where it might lead.

“Sorry,” Lan Zhan says, before Wei Ying manages to come up with an answer. “It was just a thought.”

Wei Ying takes another careful breath, the nod a little too jerky to be easy. “Yeah, no, it’s fine, I just. I’m not really feeling it right now. That’s all.”

“Of course,” Lan Zhan says. But he knows it’s a lie. He can feel the distance between them like a palpable thing, a great big animal wedged into the middle of the couch, docile and silent.

So that’s how it is, for two weeks, then three. Lan Zhan doesn’t offer again outright, but he tries to make the option seem available for whenever Wei Ying is past this mood he’s found himself in. Wei Ying keeps staying out late, and Lan Zhan can’t bring himself to ask why. It feels like prying.

A little over a month after the incident, Lan Zhan comes home from campus to a voicemail on the landline. The only people who ever call the landline are the landlord and Lan Zhan’s uncle, so he doesn’t think much of clicking through, pressing the handset to his ear as he starts the water kettle for tea. But then the automatic message gives way to Mianmian’s voice.

“Oh, shit, I hit the wrong one, sorry— well, whatever. Wei Ying, I just wanted to let you know you left your necklace on my nightstand last night, in case you’re looking for it. I’ll try your cell next. See you on Friday.”

The breath leaves him as he hears the beep signaling the end of the message. He can’t take in the automated words, doesn’t bother selecting an option, just turns the phone off and lets it drop to his side.

Wei Ying is back with Mianmian again.

Of course he is, of course… that’s why. Somehow it never occurred to Lan Zhan that in all these months they’ve been doing whatever they’ve been doing, he’s never once heard Wei Ying mention going out on a date with anyone. Much less having sex with them. Wei Ying is generally very free with this type of information, which Lan Zhan sort of hates most of the time, but now it’s… it feels… notable. That there’s been nothing. And he didn’t even notice.

But now there’s not nothing anymore. And Wei Ying still hasn’t said anything.

It makes sense, of course, that Wei Ying wouldn’t want to keep doing what they’ve been doing if he’s seeing Mianmian again. He can get blowjobs from someone he’s actually attracted to now—why keep accepting the compromise version?

Besides, Mianmian isn’t exactly closed-minded, but what woman would be comfortable with their boyfriend getting platonic blowjobs from his gay roommate? Of course Wei Ying would break things off between them as soon as there was a woman in his life again. Even if it wasn’t Mianmian, it was inevitable that it would happen at some point. Lan Zhan should have seen that coming, should have thought it through. He was an idiot not to.

Just because Lan Zhan is willing to settle for half measures, that doesn’t mean Wei Ying would feel the same. Of course Wei Ying would want a whole partner, someone to want and be wanted by, if that’s an option for him.

Lan Zhan puts the phone back on the base unit and finishes making his tea, his mind a fog of self-recriminations. He eats, he takes a shower, he goes to bed. If Wei Ying does in fact come home, it must be sometime after Lan Zhan has fallen asleep.

*      *      *

Lan Zhan meets up with the Grindr guy twice more, and he thinks it helps a little. It takes his mind off things, in any case, and it’s simple enough. His research has been bogged down in difficulties lately, which makes him feel like he’s going around in circles, and things are still vaguely tense and quiet between him and Wei Ying. But the sex is simple, straightforward, and it helps somehow. Clears his head.

Wei Ying still hasn’t mentioned that he’s seeing Mianmian again, even though he must know by now that Lan Zhan knows, after that voicemail marked itself as read. Lan Zhan is caught between being grateful not to have to hear about how much better it is to get to have straight sex on the regular with an actual woman, and feeling somehow shut out. But any time he tries to open the door for Wei Ying to tell him where he’s been, just toss out casually that he has reconnected with Mianmian, Wei Ying finds some way to slip through his fingers.

Maybe it’s just the bitter, childish part of him talking, but even beyond the silence Lan Zhan finds Wei Ying’s behavior strange, for someone who’s just gotten back together with his long-time girlfriend. He stays out late, leaves the house early. He eats alone in his room most of the time when he’s home, claiming he has briefs to read. He puts his dishes in the dishwasher immediately, so Lan Zhan won’t have a reason to ask him to do it later. When they do cross paths, he seems constantly twitchy and unsettled, like he’s late to be somewhere even if that’s nowhere in particular.

They hardly ever end up on the couch together at all.

*      *      *

Lan Zhan hears the jangle of keys in the front door lock just as he’s pouring a lump of scrambled eggs from a frying pan onto his plate. There’s the sound of shoes being taken off in the hallway then, and the creak of Wei Ying’s leather jacket being placed on the hook. When Wei Ying comes around the corner, he freezes in mid-step, his smile sharp and stuttering. “Hey Lan Zhan,” he says, faltering in the kitchen doorway. “I, uh. I thought you’d be asleep already.”

It’s nearly eleven. Usually a safe bet. “I had to go uptown to the public library,” Lan Zhan says, scraping the last of the eggs out of the pan before placing it in the sink. “It took a while to get back.”

“Oh, right, cool,” Wei Ying says, sliding his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. His eyes are darting around the room like he’s looking for some reason to be there, or perhaps some reason to leave. “Yeah, that’s… yeah.”

The silence falls like a weighted blanket around them. How was your evening? Lan Zhan tries on in his mind. Did you have a nice time? How is Mianmian’s work getting on?

Is she as good with her mouth as I am?

Ridiculous. He can’t say that. He has no right to be an ass—he knew what he was walking into.

“Well, anyway,” Wei Ying says. “I’m pretty beat, I guess I’ll just… I should get to bed.”

Lan Zhan nods, something jittering under his skin as he wonders if maybe he should say it after all. Some of it, at least. The not-horrible parts, the ones that would get things out in the open. Maybe it would be better that way, at least. Whatever this is they’re doing now is certainly not good.

“Yes,” he says instead, like a coward. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Something strange crosses Wei Ying’s expression then, taking in Lan Zhan’s soft pajama pants and his white t-shirt, and he opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something more. But then he doesn’t. Instead, he presses his lips together in a tight smile and gives another nod. “Goodnight, Lan Zhan.”

“Goodnight, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and watches as he walks away.

An hour later, after Lan Zhan has finished his delayed dinner and put himself to bed, he lies awake in the darkness, trying not to think. It’s difficult to find stillness when Wei Ying keeps drifting to the front of his mind—the strangeness in his eyes when he found Lan Zhan standing in the kitchen. The moment when he almost spoke, but chose not to. Wei Ying never stops himself from speaking, not in front of Lan Zhan. He never used to, anyway.

Lan Zhan tries to distract himself by reciting the periodic table, which he has not learned nearly well enough. Then he moves on to 19^th century composers, and then figures of ancient Chinese literature, and soon he’s drifting on the edge of sleep.

There’s a soft knock.

Lan Zhan blinks his eyes open in the darkness. For a moment he’s not sure if he actually heard it, or if it was just the beginning of a dream.

“Are you awake?” Wei Ying asks softly.

Lan Zhan feels his chest go tight. For a moment he considers pretending he’s asleep, letting Wei Ying give up and go back to his own room. Then a thread of irritation twines around his heart, catching him off guard—Wei Ying has been ignoring him during waking hours for weeks, Wei Ying has a girlfriend now that he turns to for sex, but still Wei Ying expects Lan Zhan to pull back the covers and invite him in for company when he’s afraid of the dark. As if Lan Zhan has no needs of his own. As if Lan Zhan is only here to be a support for Wei Ying when he feels like shit.

But… that’s not really fair, and he knows that. These past few weeks notwithstanding, Wei Ying has been a support for him many times over the years while asking nothing in return. Lan Zhan offered Wei Ying sex with no strings—he can’t just tie the strings on after the fact because he’s feeling hurt.

There’s a creak of floorboards outside, Wei Ying’s weight shifting away.

“I am,” Lan Zhan says, before Wei Ying leaves. “You can come in.”

It’s a bad idea. It’s a terrible idea, but at this point Lan Zhan is coming to realize that the terribleness of an idea seems to have no impact on his decision-making process when it comes to Wei Ying.

The door opens softly, and there are footsteps, a shift of movement in the shadows as Wei Ying closes the door behind him. The mattress dips as Wei Ying climbs in underneath the covers, and Lan Zhan subtly inches further away, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. He thinks he can feel Wei Ying looking at him, but that might be his imagination. In any case, it is too dark to see much more than an outline of anything.

For uncounted minutes, it’s quiet. Lan Zhan can hear Wei Ying’s breathing, shivery, but quiet. There’s a rustle as Wei Ying nuzzles into the pillow, his body swaying closer to Lan Zhan’s side of the bed. Lan Zhan hopes he will sleep soon. He still can’t bring himself to look at him.

His body is responding to the heat from Wei Ying’s side of the bed, which feels slightly pathetic given everything that’s happened, everything they’re not. Lan Zhan is pathetic. Hopelessly in love with someone he can’t have even after ten years, drawing careful lines and tucking his feelings away into their orderly compartments, and this is where it’s landed him. Horny and alone, with his best friend lying next to him, seeking nothing but comfort.

Misery sinks deep into the pit of his stomach. He thought he could handle this, but he was wrong, all of this is wrong. All of this was a mistake.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers, and Lan Zhan nearly jumps in surprise. It feels like Wei Ying is closer than he thought.

Lan Zhan swallows, tries to make his voice sound normal. Sleepy. “What?”

Wei Ying breathes quietly for another moment. “Can I kiss you?”

The words twist through him like a rubber band snapped against soft skin, and for a moment he’s not sure he heard them right. “What?” he says. “Why?”

Wei Ying lets out a shaky breath. “I just… I want to check something,” he says. “I’ve never kissed a guy before.”

There’s a war going on somewhere in the middle of Lan Zhan’s chest—no, no, he should say no—but his head is not in control of his mouth anymore. Wei Ying is asking to kiss him. If this whole thing is going to end in a shambles, at least Lan Zhan will be left with the memory of what it feels like to kiss him.

“Yes,” he says.

Wei Ying takes in a small, tight breath. For a moment Lan Zhan thinks he’s going to ask if Lan Zhan is sure, and honestly Lan Zhan has no idea what answer he would give to that—but then the mattress sinks beside him, Wei Ying moving closer, a shadow looming over him, and suddenly Wei Ying’s mouth finds his in the darkness.

Lan Zhan takes in a long, hard breath, his chin tilting up of its own accord to kiss Wei Ying back. A few loose strands of Wei Ying’s hair are tickling his cheek, and Wei Ying’s hand is curled around his neck, and Wei Ying’s mouth is hot, burning, pressed firmly against Lan Zhan’s. It feels only natural to open up for him, and Wei Ying does the same, a small sound escaping him as they pull closer, kiss deeper. Wei Ying is half lying on top of him by now, and the way he’s squirming with his knee carelessly slid up between Lan Zhan’s thighs he’s bound to notice the hard-on eventually, but Lan Zhan can’t bring himself to pay attention to that. The question of whether or not he finds Wei Ying physically attractive has surely been settled by now.

Lan Zhan’s fingers are clenched in the sheets—he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch, how much Wei Ying actually wants out of this, what the hell they’re doing here—but when he untangles the fingers of his right hand and tentatively places it at Wei Ying’s waist, Wei Ying makes an encouraging noise and arches up into it. That seems like permission enough, so Lan Zhan plunges his other hand into Wei Ying’s messily tied-up hair and holds on, tilting his head for a better angle and kissing him harder.

Wei Ying gives a soft moan into the kiss, and Lan Zhan wonders with a tangled sort of trepidation if Wei Ying is also getting hard from this. Wei Ying has always enjoyed his mouth.

Wei Ying’s hands are running down his sides, his knee pulling up higher between Lan Zhan’s thighs. Lan Zhan can feel the moment he realizes, the shiver that runs through him when his thigh presses against the bulge between Lan Zhan’s legs. Wei Ying breaks the kiss and bows his head, strands of hair fluttering over Lan Zhan’s nose as Wei Ying seems to be looking futilely down at where Lan Zhan is hard. Lan Zhan feels shame burn over him, chased by a sort of stubbornness, because yes, Wei Ying should see what he’s doing to Lan Zhan. Wei Ying should know. Lan Zhan feels caught between Wei Ying’s braced arms, between his stare and the dark, between one breath and the next, and he can’t decide whether he wants to pull away and stop them both from letting this get any more complicated, or just throw it all out the window and take what he needs, whatever the consequences might be in the morning.

Wei Ying turns back to him then, kisses him hard, a hot, shaky breath between them. He hasn’t pulled away yet. “Let me blow you,” Wei Ying says in a rush.

Lan Zhan’s head is buzzing, the words reaching him like Wei Ying is speaking through cotton. He doesn’t know what to say. Is that—did he hear that right?

“Come on, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, and Lan Zhan twitches as Wei Ying’s hand moves lower, his thumb pressing against Lan Zhan’s hip bone, the heel of his hand brushing the head of Lan Zhan’s cock through his sleep pants. “You’ve done it for me so many times. Let me do it for you. I need to.”

Something in that twists painfully in the pit of Lan Zhan’s stomach, but he can’t… his head is too full and his cock is too hard, he can’t… he can’t think. Can’t think past the need to have Wei Ying’s mouth on him, a need Wei Ying is offering to fulfill.

“Yes,” he says, his voice rough, and he nods into the dark even though Wei Ying won’t see it.

Wei Ying breathes out shakily, and then his weight shifts off of Lan Zhan’s chest. His body is all limbs, shifting over Lan Zhan, crawling down between Lan Zhan’s legs and pulling at the waist of his sleep pants. He drags them down around Lan Zhan’s thighs, and then further, takes them all the way off, which seems unnecessary, but Lan Zhan isn’t in a mood to argue. Not when Wei Ying is settling himself down on his stomach between Lan Zhan’s legs and taking his aching cock in his hand. Lan Zhan can’t even bite back the moan that comes when Wei Ying takes the head into his mouth.

It's definitely not the most skilled blowjob he’s ever had—there’s more tongue than he’s used to, and less sucking—but Lan Zhan doesn’t even care, can’t do anything but rock into it, let Wei Ying taste him in any way he chooses. Wei Ying tries to take him in a little deeper, but it doesn’t go far. Still, the sounds Wei Ying is making are obscene, these little groans and whines as he jerks Lan Zhan’s shaft, the head of Lan Zhan’s cock pressing at the back of his throat. He’s moving around a lot too, squirming and shifting like he’s trying out all the angles, trying to find his way, and Lan Zhan is not going to last long at all.

Wei Ying hasn’t done this before, might not have signed up for… Lan Zhan reaches blindly for Wei Ying’s head and grips him by the hair, tugging gently. “I’m close,” he gasps as Wei Ying lets him pull him off. “If you don’t want… you shouldn’t…”

Wei Ying shakes his head against Lan Zhan’s hand. “Come in my mouth,” he says, without hesitation, like he’s declaring a plan of battle. “I came in your mouth like a thousand times, you can come in my mouth.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t know what to say to that, and Wei Ying takes advantage of his momentary daze to duck down and take him into his mouth again, sucking with renewed fervor.

It really won’t be long, Lan Zhan can feel the urge to release coiling deep inside him, his body rocketing towards the inevitable. He can see it in his mind, Wei Ying at the foot of the bed with his mouth stretched wide around Lan Zhan’s cock—he’s imagined it so many times, so many—and then there’s nothing else he can do, nothing to hold onto as his orgasm rattles through him, hips spasming as he comes. Wei Ying makes a muffled, strangled sound, but he doesn’t pull off even as Lan Zhan can feel his own come slipping out from the broken seal of Wei Ying’s lips.

Finally, Wei Ying pulls off, though he leans down again to lick up the sides of Lan Zhan’s cock in a way that makes Lan Zhan shudder violently, oversensitive. It’s like he’s cleaning him up. The surrealness of it all comes rolling back in like a wave, and Lan Zhan starts feeling the questions spill over themselves, caught in the riptide, but he can’t… his mind is too fragile, worn thin and wrung out.

“Wei Ying,” he says quietly, turning his head in the darkness and trying to figure out where Wei Ying has gone. He can’t keep his eyes open. Wei Ying isn’t between his legs anymore, but Lan Zhan feels a gentle touch at his ankle, and then he realizes Wei Ying is putting Lan Zhan’s pants back on him. “What… are you…?”

There are definitely a few full sentences worth of questions in his head, but they’re only coming out of his mouth in pieces.

Wei Ying’s hands pull the sleep pants back up around Lan Zhan’s waist, patting his hip gently. There’s a strong smell of sex as Wei Ying’s face bends down close to Lan Zhan’s again and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “Shh,” he says. “It’s okay. Just sleep.”

“But… you…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wei Ying says, though even Lan Zhan isn’t sure it’s clear what they’re talking about. “Sleep now.”

He moves away then, and somewhere off in the dark Lan Zhan hears a door open. And then close.

*      *      *

When Lan Zhan wakes up the next morning, it takes him a minute to remember what happened the night before. Even then, for a moment he’s not sure if it actually did happen or if it was just an extremely vivid dream—but the state of his sleep pants and the lingering feeling of release under his skin seems to corroborate his brain’s story.

But. Wei Ying isn’t here.

He remembers that part, he remembers Wei Ying leaving afterwards, but at the time he didn’t think… he didn’t have the presence of mind to wonder why. Wei Ying usually… it’s not sleeping next to each other that’s unusual. Why would Wei Ying crawl into his bed and take a spontaneous interest in his cock only to sneak out afterwards and sleep by himself? Why would Wei Ying, who’s been avoiding him for weeks, suddenly slip into his room in the middle of the night and offer to blow him? Right after coming home from what was clearly a date with his girlfriend?

The truth is, at this point Lan Zhan has no idea what the fuck is going on.

He scrubs his hands over his eyes and pushes himself up to sit. It’s later than he usually wakes up, but he still feels exhausted, his mind muddled with thoughts that don’t seem to lead anywhere. At least one thing is finally clear.

This needs to stop.

He gets to his feet and heads for the doorway. The apartment is silent around him, cool morning light spilling in through the open living room windows. Wei Ying’s door is standing open, but he is not in his room. When Lan Zhan makes his way to the kitchen, he finds a half-drunk mug of coffee sitting on the counter, but no signs of any breakfast. The mug is cold to the touch—Wei Ying has been gone a while.

It leaves a sinking feeling in the center of his chest. It’s not new at this point, Wei Ying being out of the house before Lan Zhan makes it to the kitchen, but some small part of him thought that maybe it would be different this morning. That what happened last night would have changed something somehow, even if not for the better. That it meant something. Anything at all.

He leaves the mug where it is and makes his way into the bathroom, avoiding his reflection in the mirror as he puts his sleep clothes in the hamper and turns the shower on hot. It helps, a bit. He can still feel the echo of Wei Ying against his skin, but if he scrubs hard enough, if he concentrates, maybe that will go away too.

As he’s running a towel over his hair, he hears the front door open and close. He stops moving then, his pulse picking up, letting the towel fall around his shoulders as he listens for Wei Ying’s movements. He feels ridiculous, lurking like this and trying to divine some sort of useful information from the rhythm of Wei Ying’s footsteps, but he doesn’t know what else to do. Wandering into the living room in nothing but a towel while Wei Ying is there is distinctly unappealing at the moment.

He hears the footsteps stop somewhere not far from the bathroom door, shifting slightly as if Wei Ying is trying to decide where to go, or maybe just fiddling with the podcast app on his phone. Then they change direction, heading off towards the kitchen.

Lan Zhan takes the opportunity to slip out of the bathroom and into the safety of his bedroom.

As soon as he’s closed the door behind him, he falls back against it, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

This is ridiculous. They both live here, for god’s sake. They are going to encounter each other sooner or later, and when that happens, they are going to need to have a conversation. This isn’t working anymore. It never really worked, clearly, but Lan Zhan was too desperate and too in love to look that in the eye.

He’s still desperate and in love, but at least now he’s not being a coward about it anymore.

He gets dressed and runs the towel over his hair again, finger-combing it into some semblance of order. Then he takes a breath, opens his door, and walks out into the apartment.

He follows the sound of Wei Ying moving around in the kitchen, and comes to a stop in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Wei Ying is there, facing away from Lan Zhan as he scans the open cupboard, his abandoned coffee mug refreshed and a plate sitting next to it on the counter. He’s wearing running pants and a t-shirt, and his hair is swept up off his neck, a little damp around the edges. Lan Zhan is suddenly nearly overcome with the desire to lean in and kiss him there, to put his arms around him and hold him close from behind. To hear Wei Ying laugh the way he does when Lan Zhan makes his favorite meal or when he remembers a joke from the day before, soft and light and happy. To feel him lean into Lan Zhan’s embrace and want him back.

He can’t have that. He can wish for it as hard as he likes, but he can’t have it. It’s time he actually accepted that.

“Wei Ying,” he says quietly.

Wei Ying jumps, twisting around with a look like a startled rabbit. Then he smiles, gives a small laugh as he relaxes his shoulders again. “Lan Zhan,” he says, clearly trying for easy, though Lan Zhan can see all the thoughts and memories running through his eyes as well. Wei Ying clears his throat and leans back against the counter awkwardly, first resting his hands beside him and then changing his mind, crossing them over his chest. “Sorry, you, um. Scared me.” He breathes another little laugh, but it falters quickly.

Lan Zhan swallows. This isn’t going to be easy. “I thought we should talk. About what’s been going on.”

Wei Ying’s eyes flicker with alarm, but that soon subsides as well, resignation setting in. Wei Ying nods. “Yeah,” he agrees. “That’s probably kind of overdue.”

That’s an understatement. Especially considering that Wei Ying is seeing someone now. Lan Zhan’s gaze catches on the collar of Wei Ying’s black t-shirt, where the gold chain of the lotus necklace peeks out, back where it belongs. “Yes,” Lan Zhan agrees.

Wei Ying nods, looking guilty. “Well… look, for what it’s worth, I just wanted to say, I’m sorry about last night. I know that was kind of out of left field and it probably crossed, like… a lot of lines. I hope that didn’t make you feel weird or anything.” It’s not a question per se, but his eyes make it one, a concerned little pinch between his brows.

It would be a lie to say it didn’t. But it would also be a lie to say that was Wei Ying’s fault. “I was surprised,” Lan Zhan says instead.

Wei Ying makes a small grimace, dropping his hands back down to his sides. “Yeah, I’ll bet,” he mutters, half to himself. Then he takes in a breath, looking like he’s drawing up courage. “Look, I just… there’s some stuff I’ve been keeping from you these last few weeks,” he says. “I know I’ve been acting weird, and I’m sorry for that, but I just didn’t… I didn’t know how to talk to you about it. I didn’t want to blow up everything that’s good between us, you know? Because you have to know, Lan Zhan, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” His eyes fix on Lan Zhan’s with a forceful earnestness, like he’s trying to convince Lan Zhan of this by sheer force of will. “Whatever happens between us with the other stuff, I don’t want to lose that. And I don’t know, maybe I’ve been such a shitty friend lately that you’re just done with me or whatever and none of this will matter, but—just, know that I never meant to make anything weird or bad for you, okay? I would never do that.”

Lan Zhan is not entirely following this train of thought—but that’s sometimes the case when Wei Ying has something he needs to get off his chest. Anyway, Lan Zhan wholeheartedly agrees with the desire to preserve whatever is left of their friendship after all this, so he nods.

“Good,” Wei Ying says, as if he understands somehow the words Lan Zhan hasn’t said. “Okay, so. Here’s the thing. I think I’m kind of… into you.”

Everything stutters to a halt. Lan Zhan wishes he could rewind the world for a moment, just three seconds, because. What? “What?” he says.

Wei Ying squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a harsh sigh. “I know. I know,” he says, hands flailing like he’s just admitted to having a secret collection of dog figurines. “I swear I didn’t know, okay, I haven’t just been like secretly perving on you all this time, it’s just—fuck, something happened. I don’t know when, maybe it was that day with the screwdriver or— no, I don’t know, but somewhere in there I must have. Yeah. And then there was that night like two months ago when you came home after… after whatever that was, when you had wet hair and it wasn’t raining and you looked all…” Something goes soft and helpless in his expression, his eyes dropping down to the floor, and Lan Zhan can hardly breathe. “And it felt like ants crawling all over me, you know? Thinking of you with someone else. That’s fucked up, right? It’s so fucked up, it’s not like you did anything wrong, I had no right to be—but I was, is the thing. I was just so fucking jealous.” He looks up at Lan Zhan again, imploringly, like he doesn’t know if Lan Zhan can even understand such a base emotion as jealousy.

Lan Zhan’s mind feels like it’s moving too fast and too slow all at once, and somehow the only thing he can think of to say is But you’re with Mianmian. Fortunately, he manages to stop himself from saying it.

“Anyway,” Wei Ying continues, waving a hand. “Last night, I just… I was thinking, and. Do you remember that time you asked if I get off on going down on a woman?”

Lan Zhan does, vividly. He nods, not sure what this has to do with any of the rest of it.

Wei Ying nods back, looking away sheepishly. “Well, the thing is… I never have. I mean, I’ve gone down on women, I’m not an asshole, and I like sleeping with women, I get off on the actual fucking and everything, but I don’t… I’ve never gotten off just on giving oral. With a woman. It doesn’t work like that for me.” He swallows, his hands fidgeting with a loose end of the drawstring at the waist of his running pants. “But I… I did. Last night. With you.”

Lan Zhan’s blood runs hot and cold. Suddenly he’s back there in the dark, remembering the sounds Wei Ying made when he had his mouth on Lan Zhan’s cock, the way he was holding onto him, writhing against the mattress. “What are you saying?” he says. His voice comes out raspy, like he hasn’t spoken in weeks.

Wei Ying straightens up a little, lifting his head to meet Lan Zhan’s eyes. “I’m saying I’m bi,” he says, with an apology in his eyes. “I’m saying I’m into you. And I know that totally fucks up this whole,” he gestures vaguely between the two of them, “casual stress-relief arrangement we have going here or whatever, but I think… I think we should stop.”

“What?” Lan Zhan says. Somewhere, distantly, he knows he’s sounding like a complete moron right now, but it genuinely feels like he’s been hit over the head.

“It’s just too hard, you know?” Wei Ying says. “I know I can shake this off and we can go back to being the way we were, I promise, but I can’t do that if we’re still… you know. Doing the blowjob thing.”

Doing the blowjob thing, Lan Zhan’s brain echoes back at him like a funhouse mirror. “But what about Mianmian?” he says without thinking, while his brain is off its game.

Wei Ying looks confused. “Mianmian?”

Lan Zhan swallows. Too late to take it back now. “I know you’re with her again,” he says. “She called here a few weeks ago, about your necklace.”

Understanding dawns on Wei Ying’s face, and he gives a small laugh. “Oh, that. We’re not actually together, we’re just—it’s just a friends-with-benefits thing. I was…” There’s a sheepish little twitch to his mouth. “I needed to figure some stuff out, and she was… helping me with that. But she’s not my girlfriend, I would have told you if we were back together like that. Sorry, I didn’t realize you even knew I was meeting up with her.”

I needed to figure some stuff out.

Wei Ying is sleeping with Mianmian casually, not back together. Wei Ying is bi, Wei Ying is… it’s all coming together like molasses, the pieces taking on a different shape from what he’d thought they represented, and it almost seems like… it almost…

“You’re not together,” Lan Zhan says, his breath rushing out of him.

Wei Ying shakes his head, a rueful confirmation.

“So you only want to stop doing what we’ve been doing,” the blowjob thing, his mind supplies, “because you have feelings for me. And you think they’re not returned.”

Wei Ying starts nodding, but then something catches in his expression. “I— think?”

Lan Zhan’s heart is beating in his throat. This is not at all where he expected this to go, if he’d realized he would have at least tried to think of the right words, but this is—it’s too important to let pass. “Wei Ying, I am in love with you,” he says in a rush. “I have absolutely been perving on you this entire time.”

Wei Ying stares at him, an unreadable tenor of surprise in his expression. “…What?”

“I am in love with you,” Lan Zhan declares, not wanting to leave anything to chance. “I love you. I don’t want to stop.”

“I…” Wei Ying starts, but cuts himself off with a disbelieving laugh. “Lan Zhan, what?”

This is ridiculous. Lan Zhan can’t do this with words anymore. He moves across the kitchen and crowds Wei Ying up against the counter, holding his face between his hands and kissing him deeply, fervently, hoping Wei Ying will understand. Wei Ying is dazed, slow to catch up, but soon his hands are fisting in the back of Lan Zhan’s t-shirt and he’s kissing back just as enthusiastically.

“Holy shit,” Wei Ying breathes into Lan Zhan’s mouth. “Holy shit…”

Lan Zhan feels like he’s floating, like he doesn’t want to let go, like he wants to be closer than is physically possible. It feels incredible to have Wei Ying’s arms around him and know that Wei Ying wants them there. That this isn’t simply obligation or guilt, or taking advantage what’s being offered. Wei Ying wants him.

He pulls Wei Ying closer, pressing their hips together, and it still somehow takes him by surprise to feel the evidence of Wei Ying’s arousal against his thigh. Wei Ying moans sweetly into the kiss and doesn’t pull away, twitches his hips forward just barely as if he’s not sure he’s allowed, and Lan Zhan wants more, so much more. He drags a hand down Wei Ying’s flank and grips his hip tightly, shifting his own hips against Wei Ying’s encouragingly, so Wei Ying will know for certain that he’s not the only one who wants.

When Lan Zhan draws his hand up underneath the hem of Wei Ying’s t-shirt and starts to pull at the waist of his running pants, seeking out the heat of him, Wei Ying draws a sharp breath and pulls back suddenly. “Wait,” he gasps. His eyes are blurry, not quite focused, and a cold shiver runs through Lan Zhan as he stills.

Was it… did he go too far somehow? Is this not…

“No, shit, I don’t mean,” Wei Ying babbles, petting the sides of Lan Zhan’s neck soothingly and looking at him like he’s just realized what that sounded like. “I don’t mean stop, I just mean— I just got back from a run, I’m all…” A flush crawls up the sides of his throat as he gestures vaguely at himself—the damp patches on his t-shirt, the strands of loose hair sticking to his temples.

At this moment, Lan Zhan honestly couldn’t care less what state Wei Ying is in, and he’s reluctant to let him out of his arms in case this all turns out to be a dream and he wakes up back in his bed alone—but that’s ridiculous. Even in his dreams Wei Ying has never looked back at him with hunger in his eyes like that.

“I just…” Wei Ying says, still sounding slightly out of breath. “I’ll just go grab a shower, okay? But I’ll be back. We can…” Words seem to fail him, and Lan Zhan nods quickly, filling in the blanks.

“Okay,” Lan Zhan says, and it takes all of his strength to pull back from the embrace, to step away far enough to give Wei Ying space. For a moment Wei Ying looks back at him like he wants to tackle him to the floor and have his way with him right here—which, if this does turn out to be a dream, is definitely a look that will haunt him for the rest of his days.

But then Wei Ying takes a deep breath and straightens up. “Okay,” he says, with a little nod. “Okay, I’ll just—give me five minutes. I’ll meet you in your bedroom.”

Lan Zhan swallows, every drop of moisture evaporating from his throat. He nods, but Wei Ying is already turning away, slipping out of the kitchen and heading for the bathroom. “Okay,” Lan Zhan says to the empty air, and he reaches out blindly to lean his palms against the edge of the counter, trying to breath through the waves of need still coursing through his body. “Okay.”

*      *      *

It feels much longer than five minutes.

Lan Zhan tries to find things to do to distract himself from thinking about what’s going to happen, because the last thing he needs is to embarrass himself before Wei Ying even makes it out of the shower. He starts by rinsing the teacups and putting a few dishes into the dishwasher, and then he goes into his bedroom and tidies up the few items of clothing that have been left out of place. He straightens the sheets. He wonders for a moment if he should actually change the sheets, after last night, out of politeness—but then he hears the shower turn off, and he knows he doesn’t have time for that.

He ends up pacing a small circle at the foot of his bed, dragging his hands through his hair and trying not to think about Wei Ying touching him, Wei Ying naked, Wei Ying wanting.

It still takes him by surprise somehow when he hears the soft click of the door handle, and turns to see Wei Ying step inside. He’s dressed as he always is, in close-cut jeans and a t-shirt, his wet hair a curling tumble over his shoulder. He looks almost shy as he closes the door behind him, taking in the room like he hasn’t been in here a million times before. Like he didn’t crawl beneath the covers just last night and take Lan Zhan’s cock into his mouth.

“Hi,” Wei Ying says, with an awkward little wave. “So, uh. Where were we?”

It sends a little jolt through Lan Zhan then, reminds him this is his room, and Wei Ying is the one who… Wei Ying is new at this. Lan Zhan should be the one to keep his head on his shoulders.

He crosses the room, trying not to be spooked by the way Wei Ying falters at his approach like he’s preparing to be tackled—but Lan Zhan merely reaches out and takes him by the hand, leading him over until they can seat themselves on the edge of the bed. Wei Ying gives it a little test bounce, like he’s trying out a new sofa.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Wei Ying says, glancing around again. His eyes fall on the nightstand and catch for a moment, his throat moving as he swallows. But then he tears them away and meets Lan Zhan’s eyes with a daring smile. “Does this baby come with shock absorbers?” he asks, patting the mattress beside him.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, ignoring Wei Ying’s self-conscious wisecracking, and leans in to curl his hand around Wei Ying’s cheek, feel his warmth. Wei Ying closes his eyes and leans into the touch, his body swaying towards Lan Zhan’s, and that’s when Lan Zhan knows it’s all right. Knows it’s still there, this spark between them.

He leans in and kisses Wei Ying softly, gently, trying to let Wei Ying feel everything he hasn’t been able to put into words all these years. Wei Ying shivers a little and presses closer, grabbing hold of the front of Lan Zhan’s t-shirt and pulling him nearer, as close as he can get with their knees in the way.

“What do you want, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying murmurs into his mouth. “Tell me what you want.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t even have to think about it. “I want to blow you,” he says, and Wei Ying shudders in his arms, his teeth catching on Lan Zhan’s lip probably a little harder than he meant them to.

Wei Ying shakes his head. “You don’t have to— we can do other things, I’m up for other things, we don’t have to just keep—”

“I want to,” Lan Zhan reiterates, kissing him deeply as if he can make him understand by placing the desire on his tongue. “You know what that does to me. I want it now, like this.”

I want you to feel me. I want you to know. I want your cock in my mouth when you want me too.

He can’t say those things. They catch in his throat, somehow still too vulnerable. He can’t burden Wei Ying with years of pent-up need all at once. What if Wei Ying feels overwhelmed? What if whatever this is passes, fades?

Wei Ying shudders out another breath. Then he nods into the kiss. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, whatever you want.”

Lan Zhan digs his fingers into Wei Ying’s damp hair and gives him another long, firm kiss. Then he pulls back and slides smoothly to his knees, feeling the slump in his blood when he takes up the familiar position between Wei Ying’s legs, reaching for his fly.

“Fuck, fuck Lan Zhan, you look so amazing like this,” Wei Ying breathes out as Lan Zhan tugs down the zipper and spreads open Wei Ying’s jeans. He can feel the growing hardness straining up against his knuckles through Wei Ying’s underwear. “Did I ever tell you that? You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I started getting boners every time you knelt down on the floor to pick something up or whatever, because it reminded me of this.”

Lan Zhan feels the heated words roll down his back in a shiver. He works Wei Ying’s cock out from beneath his underwear and strokes it, teases it a little, feeling a thrill at the way Wei Ying’s fingers clench in the duvet. Then he goes down.

Wei Ying lets out a long, keening moan as the heat of Lan Zhan’s mouth engulfs him. Lan Zhan begins to suck, savoring the taste of Wei Ying’s clean skin, the sharp tang of arousal on his tongue. Soon Wei Ying seems to remember himself, remember how this goes, what’s allowed, and his hand is flailing into Lan Zhan’s hair, holding tight and tugging a little, feeling the up and down of it as Lan Zhan sucks him.

Lan Zhan’s own cock is aching in his sweatpants, but he doesn’t want to start touching himself too soon. He wants this to last.

“How does it feel, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks nonsensically, because Lan Zhan’s mouth is clearly too full to give a proper answer. “Does it feel good? You have no idea how good it feels for me, you’re fucking—” He breaks off with a small gasp when Lan Zhan presses his tongue against the slit. “Fucking amazing,” Wei Ying breathes out fervently.

Lan Zhan can’t help himself then, he needs something, anything. He needs it. He slips his hand down inside his sweats and gets it around himself, stroking as slowly and lightly as he can stand, timing it to the movement of his head, as if Wei Ying were sucking his cock at the same time.

“You’re jerking yourself aren’t you,” Wei Ying says, his fingers tightening in Lan Zhan’s hair. “Fuck, I love it when you do that, you have no idea how that makes me feel, like I can’t even… I need to see it. I want to see your cock, Lan Zhan, show me.” He’s pulling at Lan Zhan’s hair now, easing him off impatiently, and Lan Zhan leans back. A flush burns over his shoulders as he leans back far enough to let Wei Ying see. See the way he’s got his hand down his pants, a patch of wetness blooming near his hip, his hand moving slowly, steadily over his cock.

Wei Ying lets out a shuddering breath. “Fuck, that is so hot,” he says, still holding onto Lan Zhan’s hair, holding him away. “Take it out. Show me for real.”

It’s strange how exposed it feels given that they’re both still nearly fully dressed, but it puts a hot shiver at the base of his spine as he pulls his cock out from beneath his waistband. He hesitates a little before continuing to stroke, feeling the flush in his cheeks, the ache of Wei Ying’s eyes on him. But Wei Ying stares shamelessly as Lan Zhan jerks himself, his own cock hard and utterly ignored in his lap. “You got like this for me every time?” Wei Ying asks, his eyes still on Lan Zhan’s lap. “You wanted me that bad, even just in your mouth?”

Lan Zhan takes an unsteady breath and swallows, still stroking. He lets his eyes fall closed and leans into the pull of Wei Ying’s fingers. “I wanted you everywhere. Always.”

“Shit, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying hisses, and it makes Lan Zhan’s cock jump in his hand, a bit of wetness slipping between his fingers. “Make yourself come,” Wei Ying says. “Show me.”

Lan Zhan can’t bring himself to do anything other than exactly as Wei Ying asks. It doesn’t take much to get him there, just a few more strokes in earnest, a little tighter, and he lets his eyes fall on Wei Ying’s waiting cock, on Wei Ying’s flushed face, on Wei Ying’s red mouth and his eyes and the way he’s drinking Lan Zhan in like he’s a man in the desert who’s just learned what water is.

It tears through him like a shockwave, his body tightening and releasing at full force, and the only thing that anchors him to the ground is Wei Ying’s hand still tightly clutched in his hair.

Wei Ying murmurs out a shuddering curse, and finally pulls Lan Zhan back in close enough to let him put his mouth on Wei Ying’s cock again. “You are so hot, that was so hot, how are you so hot,” Wei Ying babbles as Lan Zhan sucks for all he’s worth, his hand still sticky and his body still jittering with the aftershocks. Wei Ying starts pulsing his hips, fucking into Lan Zhan’s mouth at a shallow but increasingly rapid pace. Eventually he’s just holding Lan Zhan’s head still and thrusting into him, coming in a rush, a hot, sticky heat against Lan Zhan’s tongue. Lan Zhan keeps his eyes closed and focuses on swallowing, keeping his airway clear, keeping Wei Ying’s hands on him.

When Wei Ying’s fingers finally loosen to let Lan Zhan pull back, Lan Zhan barely has time for a full breath before Wei Ying is dragging him up, pulling their mouths together. It takes him by surprise, almost making him jerk back, because surely Wei Ying won’t want to taste himself, surely that will spook him, be a step too far. But it’s not. Wei Ying is making these soft, keening sounds as he kisses Lan Zhan deeply, finding every corner and crevice of his mouth.

When the kiss finally breaks apart, they just stay there for a moment, faces a breath away from each other, the heat in the air around them close and quiet. Now he gets shy, Lan Zhan thinks as the flush creeps over Wei Ying’s cheeks again, and somehow it makes him love him even more than he already did.

Wei Ying glances downward at Lan Zhan’s stained sweatpants and t-shirt, his sticky hand, Wei Ying’s own state of disarray. Then he gives Lan Zhan a crooked, worn-out smile. “I think we have way too many clothes on,” he says. It would sound bold if his eyes didn’t flutter away shyly like that.

Lan Zhan can’t manage words, just gives a hum of agreement.

With a silent question, Wei Ying starts pulling at Lan Zhan’s t-shirt. Lan Zhan shifts his arms accommodatingly, letting Wei Ying drag the t-shirt up his torso and off over his head. There’s a little flutter in his eyes as he takes in the sight of Lan Zhan half naked, his soft cock still on display. For a moment Lan Zhan feels rather self-conscious—but then Wei Ying smiles and reaches out to run his hands over Lan Zhan’s shoulders appreciatively, reaching down and fluttering the pads of his thumbs over Lan Zhan’s nipples. Lan Zhan has never been particularly sensitive there, but the feeling of Wei Ying touching him like that sends something electric ghosting underneath his skin nonetheless. He wonders what Wei Ying likes like this, where Wei Ying is most sensitive. He wonders if he’ll soon be allowed to find out.

Wei Ying sits back slowly and pulls his own t-shirt off over his head, meeting Lan Zhan’s eyes afterwards like he’s trying not to put a question there. Am I good enough? Am I what you expected? Am I still what you want? And Lan Zhan doesn’t know how to answer any of these with anything but yes, always yes. Wei Ying’s skin glows a soft gold in the lamplight, and Lan Zhan rises up on his knees to stroke over Wei Ying’s ribcage, feel the shiver underneath when he encounters a ticklish bit. Lan Zhan wants to touch him everywhere.

When Lan Zhan’s hands settle at Wei Ying’s hips, Wei Ying shifts back onto his elbows and starts shimmying out of his pants, giving Lan Zhan a pointed look that tells him to do the same. Lan Zhan’s legs feel like jelly underneath him as he gets to his feet, but he doesn’t hesitate to slide off his sweatpants and underwear and place them on the chair nearby. When he turns back to the bed, Wei Ying is fully naked and pulling back the duvet, squirming around until his head is on the pillows in the middle of the bed, the duvet draped across his waist demurely. His eyes take in the sight of Lan Zhan’s naked body from head to toe, his bottom lip catching between his teeth. “You’re like, really fucking hot, Lan Zhan,” he says, sneaking a look up at him from beneath his lashes. “Do you know that? Does all this,” he gestures at Lan Zhan’s general being, “rate as super incredibly hot on the gay apps, or whatever? Because it should. Just for your information.”

Lan Zhan glances away, pressing his lips together to suppress an embarrassed smile. But he can’t quite get enough of the feeling of Wei Ying looking at him like that, seeing him like that. Wanting him.

“Get over here,” Wei Ying says, scooting over a little further beneath the covers and making room for Lan Zhan to join him. Lan Zhan does, climbing onto the mattress and pulling the duvet over himself as well, sliding up close enough to Wei Ying that he can put his hands on him again. He strokes down Wei Ying’s side underneath the covers, letting his hand settle on the curve of Wei Ying’s hip.

“You are so beautiful,” Lan Zhan says, and it sends a tremble through him to say it out loud when it’s been on the tip of his tongue for so long. Wei Ying smiles wide and tries to protest, shoving at Lan Zhan’s shoulder like he thinks he’s being teased, but Lan Zhan just uses it to pull closer, press a kiss to Wei Ying’s forehead. “It’s true,” he insists. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to be like this with you.”

“Well then why didn’t you say something?” Wei Ying says indignantly, though something in his eyes seems to know the answer already.

“Because I didn’t want to complicate things between us,” Lan Zhan says. “I thought I’d made my peace with it a long time ago, but I guess… I was less successful than I’d hoped.” He gives an apologetic smile.

“Well, good,” Wei Ying says, thumping him on the shoulder. “Because you’ve gotten us into this whole mess now, so you have to take responsibility. If you have any plans to like, get over me or whatever now that you’ve finally gotten me all the way naked, tell me now.”

It’s a joke, ostensibly, but there’s something real underneath it. Something vulnerable. Lan Zhan pulls Wei Ying in and gives him a deep, slow kiss. To his relief, he can feel a bit of tension slip out of Wei Ying’s shoulders the longer they kiss. “I’m not planning on that, no,” he says, putting one last kiss on the tip of Wei Ying’s nose. “At this point, I don’t think getting over you would be physically possible. I have tried.”

“Good,” Wei Ying says, poking him in the chest for good measure, but the happiness glows through him. “Don’t try again though.”

“I won’t,” Lan Zhan promises.

Wei Ying wraps his arms around Lan Zhan’s shoulders and squirms up against him then, wrapping him up in another kiss. It goes deeper this time, a little more intense, and Lan Zhan loses himself in it. He catches Wei Ying’s lip between his teeth and sucks, tastes every part of him, until he has Wei Ying moaning softly into the embrace.

Wei Ying makes a plaintive noise as they come up for air, his eyes dazed and heavy-lidded. “You kiss harder than Mianmian,” he says. It sends a strange shiver over Lan Zhan’s shoulders, like he’s caught between worry and smugness, and possibly some lizard-brained twist of jealousy.

“Do I,” Lan Zhan says flatly.

Wei Ying blinks and suddenly snaps into focus. “Shit, I don’t mean,” he winces, stroking a hand over Lan Zhan’s cheek. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to like, compare you, I just…” He ducks in and presses an apologetic peck against Lan Zhan’s mouth. “I’ve never kissed another guy before. It’s… different. Sort of.”

Lan Zhan gives a small nod of understanding, letting him off the hook. Even so though, the reminder of Wei Ying’s sexual history and the complete absence of men in it leaves him a little unsettled.

Lan Zhan might not be physically capable of getting over Wei Ying, but for Wei Ying this is… must be, in some sense… an experiment.

“Oh shit,” Wei Ying says, cupping Lan Zhan’s face with both hands, and now he looks worried. “Shit, I’m sorry, I take it back, can we just rewind like two minutes and pretend I never said that? You kiss amazingly. You feel amazing, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan lets out a breath, a rueful smile pulling at his mouth. “Wei Ying, it’s all right,” he says, covering Wei Ying’s hand with his own and squeezing it gently. “I’m not upset. I’m just…” He doesn’t know what to say, how to put it into words without it sounding like he’s accusing Wei Ying of being reckless with his feelings, of taking something he has no right to. “My feelings for you are very strong.”

“Mine too,” Wei Ying says quickly, an imploring look in his eyes.

Lan Zhan presses his lips together and nods a little. “I know. I’m just worried they might be a bit. Temporary.”

“They’re not,” Wei Ying insists.

“You can’t know that.”

Wei Ying rolls his eyes impatiently. “Well, no, of course I can’t—nobody can. But I… this isn’t just some experiment for me or whatever, okay? Not now. Last night was the experiment—and I got my answer, hypothesis proven, beyond a shadow of a doubt. This, now, is… I’m in this, Lan Zhan. I want you. I want to give this a shot. You and me.”

Lan Zhan knows he still can’t be certain that nothing will change, that this desire won’t pass—but somehow Wei Ying’s conviction seems to soothe the uncertainty deep inside him, coax it back into its hiding place. This is worth the risk.

He moves in and kisses Wei Ying again. “Okay,” he says against Wei Ying’s mouth. “I want that too.” And he can feel Wei Ying’s bright smile against his mouth as Wei Ying wraps his arms around him and holds him tight, close, tangles their bodies up together underneath the covers and shares Lan Zhan’s warmth.

It goes on like that for a long time, long enough that Lan Zhan is starting to feel desire stirring between his legs again with each little sound Wei Ying makes into the kiss. When he pulses his hips experimentally against Wei Ying’s and feels Wei Ying’s half-hard cock pushing back, and the little gasp he draws in against Lan Zhan’s mouth, he knows he’s not the only one.

He feels Wei Ying’s hand trailing down his side, gripping at his hip possessively. “Tell me what I can do for you, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs into his mouth, just a little shiver underneath it. “I’m not… this isn’t some halfway thing for me, I’m up for whatever, I want to do whatever you need. You can fuck me if you want to.”

Lan Zhan’s breath catches in his throat, his muscles going weak at the thought. Wei Ying underneath him with his legs spread, taking Lan Zhan in. It’s not his preferred configuration when it comes to hookups, but with someone he cares about… with Wei Ying… “Have you done that before?” Lan Zhan breathes, catching Wei Ying’s eyes across the scant space.

Wei Ying winces. “Not… really, no. But I’m not scared, I know it will be great, we can try it if you want to.”

Lan Zhan feels warm all over from the inside. He leans in and kisses Wei Ying again, partly to make sure he knows the gesture is appreciated, and partly just because he wants to. “Maybe later,” Lan Zhan says gently. “We can work up to it.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying complains indignantly, but Lan Zhan silences any further protests with another kiss. Wei Ying still makes a complaining noise, but he kisses back thoroughly.

“What I’d really rather have,” Lan Zhan says into the space between them, “is you inside me. If you’re… if you’re interested. In that.”

Wei Ying looks back at him, a little stunned and confused, like he’s trying to figure out if this is some sort of lie to protect him from the trauma of bottoming, or if it’s actually how Lan Zhan feels. “Really?” Wei Ying asks.

Lan Zhan feels a flush crawling up the sides of his throat again—he hasn’t been in the position of having to argue for his preferences in some years now. The apps do simplify that, at least. “I’m not indulging you,” Lan Zhan says, stroking a hand through Wei Ying’s hair. “This is… it’s really what I prefer. Usually.”

He can see the moment it hits. Usually. Wei Ying’s eyes go wide and then a little narrow, and Lan Zhan knows he’s thinking of wet hair and no rain, of nights Lan Zhan was out late and casually failed to mention where. There’s something about the dark little flicker in there, the twitch in Wei Ying’s hands on him, that makes Lan Zhan feel more held than before. He wants Wei Ying like that. He wants Wei Ying to take him, completely.

Wei Ying swallows hard. “Cool,” he says, his eyes skimming over Lan Zhan’s face, his throat, his chest, with a new sort of anticipation. “That’s… yeah, cool, I am totally into that. But I should, um.” His eyes go uncertain, and he looks up at Lan Zhan’s face again. “I really haven’t done anything like that, just so you know. Like. Nothing with anal. I know there’s stuff you’re supposed to do, but I’m not, you know. Experienced.”

Lan Zhan nods his skin buzzing at the thought of having Wei Ying inside him, finally, soon. “It’s all right,” he says. “I am. I’ll show you.” Then he draws Wei Ying in again and kisses him, curls around him and lets him feel the effect it’s had on him just to think of this, just to ask for it. Slowly, carefully, the tension in Wei Ying’s shoulders eases.

“Okay,” Wei Ying says between kisses, rolling Lan Zhan over onto his back and leaning over him. “Okay, how do we do this? Can we do it face to face like this, or do we need to be… somewhere else?”

Lan Zhan nods and arches up against him, tangling his fingers in Wei Ying’s hair. “Face to face is good,” he says, his voice rough in his throat. He spreads his legs to let Wei Ying sink down between them, draws up one knee beside Wei Ying’s hip. “We need lube. It’s in the top drawer.”

Wei Ying swallows hard, nodding down at Lan Zhan with a dazed expression on his face. “Lube. Drawer. Check,” he says. “Do you want… do we use a condom?” he asks then, looking a little lost.

The question ripples through Lan Zhan’s body, through the heat of where they’re pressed together, and suddenly he’s imagining it, what it would feel like to have Wei Ying inside him like that. To let him come like that. Lan Zhan has never even been tempted to do something like that in the past, but right now some irrational part of him wants to say no, forget the condom, take me like this. But the rest of him is far too rational to give in to that impulse. It would be unnecessarily reckless.

Perhaps someday.

“We should,” he says instead, leaning up and pressing his lips against Wei Ying’s again, softly. “We’ve both been with others recently. It’s safest that way.”

Wei Ying nods quickly, and then he’s pushing himself up so he can reach over into the drawer, fumbling around inside it. “Cool. Yeah, absolutely cool.”

Soon he manages to surface both the bottle of lube and a small handful of purple foil packets, which he puts on top of the nightstand. He takes the bottle of lube first and sits up, staring down at Lan Zhan’s body where it’s spread out beneath him, suddenly on display. His eyes catch on Lan Zhan’s cock where it’s full and hard against his hip. Wei Ying’s is rigid and wanting as well, standing out between his thighs. “I…” Wei Ying starts, fiddling the lube bottle between his hands. “Do I…?”

Lan Zhan swallows. He’s never actually done this with someone watching him before. His first time like this was with someone much more experienced, and he showed Lan Zhan how to open himself up. In most of his encounters since then, either the other guy has done it, or Lan Zhan has prepared himself discreetly, out of sight. It has never been part of the show.

But Wei Ying is clearly nervous enough about doing something wrong here, and he has had no one to show him this. “Here,” Lan Zhan says, with a little shiver, holding out a hand for the bottle. Wei Ying looks sheepish and a little apologetic as he hands it over, but Lan Zhan tries to focus on the task at hand, uncapping the bottle and spreading a small amount of lube over his fingers. Then he shifts himself around, drawing up both knees and canting his hips upward, reaching down between his legs to find his entrance.

He hears Wei Ying draw in a small, quick breath, but doesn’t look. He closes his eyes, trying to forget he’s being watched even as Wei Ying’s gaze burns over his skin. His muscles are still too tight as he dips a finger inside, so he hooks a hand underneath one of his knees and pulls it up against his chest, opening himself up a little more and pressing in deeper, massaging himself from the inside.

Wei Ying’s breath is coming shallow, quiet, and Lan Zhan knows he’s watching, can feel his fingertips gently stroking Lan Zhan’s outer thighs. Lan Zhan slips in a second finger, his muscles relaxing further, and soon he’ll have Wei Ying inside him. Just the way he’s always wanted.

“Can I try?” Wei Ying asks breathlessly, and it sends a flutter of self-consciousness through Lan Zhan’s body as he opens his eyes and finds Wei Ying staring between his legs, at his hard cock and the space he’s making inside himself.

Lan Zhan swallows. “Of course,” he says hoarsely. And then Wei Ying is reaching for the lube bottle and spreading a little on his own fingers, tossing it aside carelessly as he reaches down below. When Lan Zhan feels Wei Ying’s fingers there, seeking entry, he pulls his own out to make space, taking in a deep gulp of air when Wei Ying slides his fingers inside.

Wei Ying’s touch is surprisingly deft once he’s breached the entrance, and Lan Zhan slides into the blissful feeling of it, the shadowy build of pleasure as Wei Ying’s fingertips slick him up from the inside. He wonders distantly if this feels familiar to him, if it’s like when he does this sort of thing with a woman, and the pleasure-pain shiver of that thought is strange, better than before. Wei Ying wants this. Wei Ying asked for it.

“It’s enough,” Lan Zhan says, finally, when he starts to feel the ache of needing more, needing to be full. Wei Ying’s hand slides out, and Lan Zhan watches him fumble for one of the condom packets, his fingers slipping as he tries to tear it open. This too must be familiar, because he rolls it on with ease, but when he starts to shift forward like he’s going to dive right in, Lan Zhan gently stops him with his unpinned knee. “More lube first,” he says, and Wei Ying blinks at him like he’s speaking a foreign language.

“Oh,” he says suddenly, like it’s clicked into place, and he grabs the bottle again and slicks up the condom, biting his lip a little as his fingers work over the head. Then he looks back up at Lan Zhan tentatively. “Now?”

Lan Zhan nods, bringing up his other knee to hold it against his chest, leave himself fully exposed to Wei Ying’s eyes, Wei Ying’s cock. “Yes,” he says with a shudder. “You can put it in now.”

Wei Ying’s eyes are a banked fire as he shifts closer, guiding himself until he’s pressed up against Lan Zhan’s rim. Then he shifts his weight forward, balancing with a hand on Lan Zhan’s knee as he carefully, slowly slides inside him.

Wei Ying gives a sharp gasp when the head of his cock slips through the tight ring, and his shoulders seem to sag for a moment. “Lan Zhan, are you all right?” he asks in a rush, as if it were Lan Zhan who had gasped and not him.

But Lan Zhan feels amazing, the familiar stretch inside him made a million times better by knowing it’s Wei Ying leaning over him, Wei Ying pushing deeper, Wei Ying gasping at the pressure around him. “I’m good,” Lan Zhan says, his breath coming short. “Keep going. I need you inside me.”

Wei Ying shudders out another breath, but keeps pushing, keeps sinking his weight deeper. He has both of his hands braced on the mattress near Lan Zhan’s shoulders now, Lan Zhan’s knees pinned between them. Lan Zhan wishes he could lean up to kiss him, but he’s too folded up to reach. All he can do is watch Wei Ying’s eyes flutter closed in pleasure only to snap open again, like he doesn’t want to miss seeing Lan Zhan too.

When he’s finally, finally all the way in, Wei Ying is gasping for breath like he’s just finished running a marathon. “Lan Zhan,” he says, hips thrusting once against Lan Zhan’s, like he’s checking to make sure he’s as deep as he can go. “Fuck, Lan Zhan, you feel amazing. Is it—are you—”

“You too,” Lan Zhan says, and he shifts around to free one of his hands, letting his leg fall open to the side and pulling Wei Ying down for a kiss. “I’ve wanted you inside me like this forever.”

Wei Ying drops his head down to rest against Lan Zhan’s forehead briefly, like he can’t hold up the weight. Then he fumbles around and shifts Lan Zhan’s still-held knee out of Lan Zhan’s grip and up onto Wei Ying’s shoulder. Lan Zhan lets his hands fall lax against the mattress as Wei Ying starts to move, and it feels… oh, it feels…

“Yes,” Wei Ying murmurs with a shiver as he finds his balance and his thrusting picks up speed. “Fuck, yeah, this I can do, this is… fuck, Lan Zhan…”

Lan Zhan feels trapped in the best way, unable to do much more than run his hands over Wei Ying’s back and through his hair, and tilt his hips up into the thrusts a little just to feed that ache deep inside him, that fire at the base of his cock. The gentle friction where it lies against his stomach isn’t anywhere near enough, but he doesn’t want to reach for himself just yet. He doesn’t want it to be over too soon.

“Touch yourself for me again, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says in a rush. “You look so hot like that, I want to see you come while I’m fucking you.”

Lan Zhan shivers all over, and he can’t turn down a command like that. He reaches down between them and fists the base of his cock, stroking and holding, letting the force of Wei Ying’s thrusts do half the work, just teasing himself with the occasional brush to the underside of the head. “Wei Ying,” he says, thrashing in Wei Ying’s hold as Wei Ying pushes inside him again and again. “Wei Ying.”

“I’m going to come, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying breathes out. “You’re so tight, you feel so amazing, I can’t… I have to, I won’t last…”

Lan Zhan gives himself two hard strokes, three, and then draws his hand all the way up and strokes over the head right where he needs it, lets it set off the explosion inside him, and then he’s coming, moaning and writhing underneath Wei Ying’s weight, the unbearable press of him inside driving him higher, stretching it out longer until it’s almost too much.

Wei Ying is cursing under his breath, a long helpless stream as his thrusts get careless and out of control, and then he slams in hard and goes rigid, a keening sound straining out between his teeth. Lan Zhan can feel Wei Ying’s cock pulsing deep inside him, and once again he imagines that there’s no condom between them, that Wei Ying’s seed will stay where he’s left it. Like a claim on him.

Wei Ying lets out a shuddering breath and sinks down heavy against Lan Zhan’s chest. For a few long moments they just lie there, breathing together, the world floating around them like twilight.

It’s a slightly uncomfortable slip when Wei Ying finally shifts up again, pulls out of Lan Zhan. But that’s nothing unusual, it’s always like this, the lube tacky on his skin and the rush of blood underneath rapidly cooling. He doesn’t like the feeling of emptiness as Wei Ying gets up on his shaky legs and strips off the condom, throwing it in the wastebasket, but there’s something intimate in seeing him do that. Knowing he’s done it so many times before, but never with Lan Zhan. It makes Lan Zhan’s mouth go dry.

It’s real. They really did this.

Wei Ying stumbles back over to the bed, and Lan Zhan pulls himself together enough to shift aside, make room for him. The warmth rushes in as Wei Ying pulls the duvet over them again and curls up against Lan Zhan’s side, burying his face in the side of Lan Zhan’s neck. Lan Zhan wraps his arms around Wei Ying and holds him tightly, pressing close. He tries not to ask himself if Wei Ying gets clingy like this after sex when he’s with a woman, because he knows it doesn’t matter.

Wei Ying is with him. Wei Ying wants him.

It will still take him a while to get used to the idea, he thinks.

“Was it okay?” Wei Ying asks, peering up at Lan Zhan from beneath Lan Zhan’s chin. “I didn’t… did I mess it up, or anything?”

Lan Zhan just feels totally and completely bowled over with love for him. Which shouldn’t be even possible at this point, but there it is. “It was perfect,” he says, pressing a kiss to Wei Ying’s forehead. “You were amazing.”

“Good,” Wei Ying says stubbornly, diving back into the space between Lan Zhan’s shoulder and the pillow. His fingertips are stroking at the edge of Lan Zhan’s hairline, almost light enough to make him shiver. “You were pretty amazing yourself,” he says, voice slightly muffled by the pillow, but clear enough to send a burst of warmth through Lan Zhan’s chest. Then he presses a kiss to the side of Lan Zhan’s throat. Something about it lingers a little, like a question he can’t give voice to.

Lan Zhan waits, stroking a hand up and down Wei Ying’s back, but the question never comes. “Wei Ying?” he asks eventually, prompting.

Wei Ying lets out a sigh. Then he lifts his head up again, meeting Lan Zhan’s eyes nervously. “Nothing, I just… this is probably stupid.”

Lan Zhan frowns when Wei Ying doesn’t continue. “What’s wrong?”

Wei Ying props himself up on an elbow and looks down at the pillow beside Lan Zhan’s head. “I just… so. The other guys thing.”

Other guys thing? Lan Zhan is not following the direction of this conversation. Is Wei Ying saying… does Wei Ying want to be allowed to… explore his sexuality further? With other guys?

The thought falls heavy in Lan Zhan’s chest. It had admittedly not occurred to him, though it probably should have.

“I know you… you’re on the apps, or whatever, and I don’t know what you’re used to in terms of variety or how these things work for you, but I… hm. Like. I don’t want to inflict my straight-people monogamy bullshit on you or whatever, but the way I feel about you is… not super compatible with an arrangement where you’re still going out and hooking up with other people.”

Lan Zhan stares at him, uncomprehending. The words rearrange themselves slowly in his head, until at last they make some semblance of sense. Absurdly. “What?”

Wei Ying wrinkles up his nose apologetically. “I know, okay? I know half the point of being into guys is that you get laid way more often, but if we’re going to actually try this— if we’re going to be, like, boyfriends or whatever—”

“Boyfriends,” Lan Zhan says, his heart in his throat. It’s ridiculous what the sound of that word in Wei Ying’s mouth does to him.

“Yeah,” Wei Ying says, looking uncertain again. “I mean, at least that’s what I… but if you don’t…”

“I do,” Lan Zhan says quickly, holding Wei Ying closer. “I want you to be my boyfriend.” Boyfriend!!! his mind screams. “I want to be your boyfriend. If you want that, I want that.”

Wei Ying nods, giving Lan Zhan a sweet little smile. “I do,” he says. “But—”

“I’m not interested in anyone else,” Lan Zhan says, before Wei Ying can tie himself up in knots again. “I have… I have been meeting up with someone recently, but there’s nothing like that between us. I was mostly trying to distract myself from any hope of being with you. Is the truth.”

“Really?” Wei Ying asks, looking half hopeful and half worried. “You’re cool with being exclusive? You don’t think you’ll get… bored, or whatever?”

Lan Zhan can’t quite contain the rush of feeling that sends through him. He wraps Wei Ying up tightly in his arms and rolls him onto his back, kissing him deeply. “I am absolutely,” he says, kissing Wei Ying again, “one-hundred percent sure that I will not get bored. You are everything I want.”

Wei Ying breathes out a relieved laugh. Then he surges up and kisses Lan Zhan again, giggling a little into the kiss. “Perfect,” he says, and kisses Lan Zhan again. “Cool, okay, excellent, because I am definitely going to be sucking your dick a lot in the next few weeks, so you probably wouldn’t be able to get it up for anyone else, anyway. Just a warning. I have a lot of catching up to do.”

It puts a shiver of want in the pit of Lan Zhan’s stomach, and his spent dick even gives a valiant stir. “Do you,” he says, pleased at the way it makes Wei Ying grin.

Wei Ying nods. “Totally,” he says. “Boyfriend privileges. Your dick is mine to do with as I want from now on. Sorry.”

Lan Zhan gives a mock-wistful sigh and leans down to kiss Wei Ying again. “It is, as you said, my responsibility for getting us into this. I suppose I can live with the consequences.”

Wei Ying laughs and arches up against him, hooking his leg around the back of Lan Zhan’s thigh and pulling them closer together. “You’d better,” he grins. “As I plan to hold you personally accountable for, like, ever.”

And as Lan Zhan kisses the breath from him, his own heart thumping tenderly, he decides this is an exceedingly fair trade.