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He’s woken up by a rough treatment of his limbs. Wrangled from his side onto his belly, his body – dewy and slack from the night’s heat – is too weak to resist. There’s not enough tension in his muscles for him to use them, although something fluttery and anxious inside him wants to struggle. Confused by both the haziness of sleep and the tight restriction to his arms, it takes him a couple of seconds to figure out that it is Lan Zhan who is efficiently wrapping rope around his wrists. In that short time span, in-between being violently torn from his dream and realizing the love of his life is tying him up, his imagination runs wild: He has been kidnapped, he has been ambushed in his own home, he is going to get bound and used by a stranger. Blood rushes into his abdomen.
“Hhhhuhh, ‘s happening?” He hears himself slur, sucks saliva into his dry mouth and tries to talk again. His teeth feel rough, his cheek is smushed against the pillow and there’s a wet spot of his own drool right below his lips. He blinks to clear his vision but his mind refuses to part from the tempting bliss of fuzziness. The light is grey, shily filtering through the curtains and making it difficult to discern shadows from edges.
“You were having a nice dream, baby.” Two fingers wiggle between the loops around his wrists, rope tightening right after.
He was? He doesn’t remember any of it, just remembers being too hot and exposed to the damp summer air, shedding layer after layer. “Then why-“ he yawns. “Why did you wake me, ge, don’t you want your Wei Ying to get a uhnnnnnice sleep?” It takes effort to get out the whole sentence, his tongue too heavy to curve properly, but he knows he got his point across when a thumb caresses his bottom lip.
“Of course I do, a-Ying. Go back to sleep, I will take care of you.”
Take care of him. That’s nice. So very nice. “That’s so nice of you, Lan Zhan,” his lids close, such a satisfying little motion. His wrists are immovable now, his shoulder blades protrude. “You really are the sweetest husband.”
Right before he is lost to unconsciousness, he hears Lan Zhan’s sharp inhale, still so affected by the word despite Wei Ying’s daily teasing. In his dream they really are already married, have done their bows, a red string tied around their arms, around his thighs, tightening, safe, oh he can’t move and it’s so wonderful, he’s kneeling, his legs bend uncomfortably by capable hands but it doesn’t matter because he isn’t alone and he is being taken care of by the one person he trusts completely.
They float above blooming fields and bustling towns together, through a market place, ruffled and bumped by strangers but uncaring because their arms are interlinked, they find a hotel and inside it’s their home, familiar walls and comforting scents, and here they prepare for a calm day, reading side by side, at peace. Oh, he hasn’t had such a lovely dream in ages, hasn’t felt this relaxed in a while. Oh. He is dreaming, that is what this is, right, and as he realizes, their books dissolve and the walls curve in and Lan Zhan looks at him and his eyes are too bright, his skin is too white, oh, this is wrong, this is –
He awakes again, and finds himself not just tied by the wrists but by his legs too, calves forced to his thighs, his feet raised above his exposed ass. A distressed sound escapes his chest as the shame of the situation sinks in, he’s on display like this, accessible. While he was sleeping, while he was defenseless and malleable, he was put in this vulnerable position, and now he can neither flee nor fight, he’s simply presented like a neatly wrapped gift.
“I – I,” he’s struck by genuine fear – he can only see the pillow, their pillow, but maybe whoever took him took it with them, to lull him in some kind of sick sense of security, what if he’s all alone and about to be – about to get fucked.
Suddenly the bed dips and there’s a finger on his hole, a pressure he can’t escape even though he wiggles and twitches. “Wet just from this.”
He’s not, he’s not wet, he’s scared. “S-stop.”
Only a deep hum in answer. That finger pushes into his hole – his dry hole – ever so slightly, and a bolt shoots up his spine, a bold of panic, but then the touch travels down, raising the hairs all over his body, his skin feels way too alert for his sleepy mind to process. The air seems completely still but there must be a breeze coming from somewhere because he shivers and his lower body kind of cramps, kind of clenches but his captor is uncaring, continuous to outline the shape of his balls, the crease over his thighs, and then his cock, down the length of it, to the tip.
“No, no, don’t do that –“, he protests again, finally finds his mouth able to form proper sentences, adrenaline now rushing through his veins. “I don’t want this, you have to stop! Untie me, I won’t even be mad, you can just leave and we’ll never talk about this again, I promise, I will be good!”
“I have no interest in your morality.” The voice seems as distant as it is close, dispassionate and yet hovering all around him.
He tries to protest again, ready to bargain and negotiate, maybe even use his charm, but there’s a shocking pull at the ropes around his legs and they’re spread apart even further, his hip smarting from the stretch. He gasps. The hemp digs into his skin, it scratches, pulls at his muscles and shapes them to his captor’s will. He tries to swat at the brutal treatment, but his wrists are still constricted at the small of his back, all he manages is a fleeting brush to something strong and unforgiving. “I will suck you off,” he blurts, panicked. “You can fuck my mouth, just unbind me, I will serve you, and then you can let me go, alright? Don’t you want my mouth?”
There’s no reply, he doesn’t get through at all, he must sound pathetic and desperate, unworthy of as much as a mocking denial yet alone an understanding of his needs. No, quite the contrary; the possessive touch swivels back to his ass, two big hands now squeezing him, thumbs circling his hole, pulling it apart. Then a horribly vulgar sound as he is spat on, warm liquid sliding into him, truly making him wet. He squeaks, makes an embarrassing attempt at scooting up the bed, but he’s kept in place by the hooked thumbs forcing themselves deeper inside him. “What are you doing, what are you going to – no no no!!”
His neck is beginning to ache, tense from holding his head up so he has to scream his outcry into the pillow, the smell of their detergent, their hair, their bodies overwhelming him. Lately there has been no opportunities to cool off from the scorching temperature, even in the shower he remains hot, air con only doing a bare minimum, and he blames that on the sweat breaking out under his pits, between the rope and his tied legs, his waist. He must be glistening under the morning sun.
Another trickle of spit into his hole and then both thumbs have breached him past the knuckle, still pulling him apart, efficiently opening up for – for something. He jerks with it and pain radiates up into his shoulders and down his arms, he tries to lash out again but the weak wiggling of his hands is fruitless. All his writhing is causing his chest and stomach to drag against the soft sheets and it bears a confusing kind of comfort, so he keeps moving, his hips almost hitching at their own.
“What a slut,” he hears and it is terrible because this is the first time that there’s the infliction of emotion in it and it is fondness, a pleased smile audible in the insult. “Are you sure this should affect you so much?”
One of the thumbs leaves him and he sighs in relief just to whine as his cock is tugged from under his abdomen, stroked tight and fast for a dizzying minute. “It’s not, I’m not, don’t make me do this!” A wet quality has begun to sneak into his voice and he feels so humiliated, made to plead like this, he can’t possibly start crying, he won’t!
“You asked for this, little slut.”
“I wouldn’t!!”
His hole throbs, objecting the intrusion of another finger, he’s too warm, too slick, and there’s more spit, dribbling all over him, it creates the worst sounds, he is made soppy and loose. His cock is leaking, too, he realizes with a wheezing breath, so sensitive to the harsh contact. Something sharp digs into his slit and when he recovers from the white pain, there’s two fingers prying his teeth apart, coated in his own pre-come. “Does this taste like unwillingness to you, a-Ying?”
He bites down.
A soft grunt and then fingernails pierce the slick space under his tongue, loosening his jaw, and with cold fear Wei Ying realizes what a huge mistake he just made. All touch recedes. Never has his own taste felt this wrong.
He is moved by the ropes around his calves. His knees are hanging off the bed now, weighing him down, and he has to tense up in order not to fall which in turn strains against the ties and knots, the fibers undoubtedly leaving deep marks. He refuses to think about what this means, about what is coming. Then, one hand pushes his wrists higher up his back, his elbows pointing outwards, his shoulder curling. His clavicles ache.
“Beg me for forgiveness, Wei Ying.”
He swallows. Shakes his head. His arms are pushed higher and he whines desperately, keeps shaking his head. “No no no no.”
His hair is plastered to his forehead, tickling the shell of his ears and his neck, it’s what he focuses on, not his wet and open hole, not his pulsing cock, not the anxiety trembling through him.
“Very well.”
And then Lan Zhan starts hitting him.
Wei Ying’s eyes well up with tears that are immediately soaked up by the pillow. Slap after slap right between his struggling legs, his wiggling feet, onto his ass, not even alternating the spot, just right on the swell over his hole. The pace is so fast it feels like one constant pain, there’s no soothing motions over his cheeks or a second to catch his breath, he can’t twitch away fast enough. When he tries to roll over or down onto the floor, his wrists are clinched firmer, the skin rubbing against the rope, his bones grinding, and he’s brought back into his place. With the next couple of slaps, he’s basically pushed up the bed.
Lan Zhan knows this is his limit, teetering on the edge of it. “Do you want it to stop, a-Ying?”
He sobs, nods, nods so quickly his head becomes giddy. “Please, please, please,” he succumbs to begging, letting his desperation be heard.
It doesn’t do it, if anything it makes Lan Zhan hit him harder and change the angle slighting, the side of his hand grazing Wei Ying’s balls when it comes down next. He screams. “Please, stop!! Please, anything, anything Lan Zhan –“
“Tell me you want this,” Lan Zhan says cruelly. “Tell me you are my little cockslut, so grateful for my touch.”
Air gets stuck in his throat, he can’t even gasp with the next impact, petrified. Salt stings his lips. He couldn’t possibly – he can’t say that, it’s not true, it’s not – “L-lan zhan, no, please, you can’t make me-"
“Did you not say ‘anything’?” Lan Zhan asks, a mocking curiosity in his voice. He squeezes Wei Ying’s ass, right where his last hit landed, so crude it zaps up his spine. It’s a warning, a threat of the strength he has been holding back. He palms Wei Ying’s balls, grips them tight., Flatly, he asks: “Would you like me to hit you here?”
“N-no! No –“ The contact is lost and instantly brought back again and it hurts like nothing has ever hurt before. He almost passes out from it, can only hold himself back from falling into the pit of unconsciousness because he fears what would be done to him if he couldn’t show any struggle at all. He is sobbing loudly by now, sniffling and smearing his snot into the sheet. “Please, please no no not again, gege, ge, I, I, I-"
“You?” The same tone, malicious in its apathy. “You what, a-Ying?”
He thumbs over the heat of Wei Ying’s balls, and then he lifts his hand again and Wei Ying panics, his mind wipes out with fear. “Please please, gege, I’m your s-slut, forgive me, I’m your cockslut, I’m your bitch, please don’t hit me, please, I need you, I love you, love your touch.”
A gentle finger draws patterns over his sensitive skin, collects wetness from his tip. “Thank me.”
Wei Ying swallows a mix of tears and drool. “Thank you,” he whispers.
“What was that?”
He repeats himself with a cry as his balls are hit again, less forceful this time but still harsh enough to shortcut his brain.
“Mn,” Lan Zhan eases up on his wrists, allows the flow of blood to come back into his hands. “You are very welcome, baby.”
His breathing rasps with relief, he’s still hurting, tears still sliding down his cheeks, but he’s so grateful for the praise that he smiles. Maybe he’ll be let go now. Maybe this was it and they can cuddle and kiss a little and he can look into the warmth of Lan Zhan’s eyes.
He is jostled up properly onto the bed again, raised by the hips with a vicious grip, then his thighs are shoved under his belly, taking his calves with them. Forced to kneel with his face in the mattress and his arms behind his back. He can’t even squirm anymore, entirely too depleted, almost tipping to one side and giving up.
There’s the wet sound of pursed lips, and in reaction his hole flutters, even before the added spit sinks onto it. Its thick texture makes his heart race. He thought they were done, was hoping he’d get a gentle massage, maybe a tender orgasm as a reward, but in the next instant, Lan Zhan’s huge cock rubs over his ass. It’s hot and heavy, he knows it will hurt, and all of a sudden he feels like he got no preparation at all, will be tight like a virgin.
“Uhm, uhh, Lan Zhan, w-will you – are you sure you can…?”
A sigh. “Are you sure this is the time to question me.”
“N-no, I just – I want it to be good for you, don’t you want it to be good, tight and, and wet?”
He’s not surprised by the lack of an answer, but it still unsettles him. His tears have dried by now but he could be easily pushed over the edge again and he doesn’t know if he could endure a second breakdown like this, doesn’t know if he can remain from crumbling fully. His mind is cloudy, quickly overtaken be the single worry of loosing himself again. He gets no time to plead.
The thick head of Lan Zhan’s cock presses against his hole, slipping in just a bit before it slides out again. Another try and it still doesn’t work. Wei Ying is holding his breath, cramps his eyes shut. Tells himself it will be fine. Accepts the two thumbs twisting him open without as much as a whimper. “Gege,” he says weakly. “Gege, you can – you can just, j-just –”
“Mn, I know.”
Lan Zhan’s cock breaches him again and this time it stays, pushing into him slowly until the tip pops in. He feels stretched already and it will only get worse, it will tear him open, hurt as much as the burn where he has been hit and where Lan Zhan is kneading and stroking him now. His hands brush Wei Ying’s fingertips and allow him to anchor himself. It is right in time before Lan Zhan apparently decides to stop being careful and just starts to move. He never pulls out entirely, just fucks in deeper and deeper, filling him up roughly and unrelentingly, even when Wei Ying has found his voice again and is trying to make himself heard. “Slower, slower, husband, just for a bit, just to let me get used to –“ His breath his punched out of him as Lan Zhan bears down onto his neck, hand wrapping almost entirely around, clamping shut.
He’s filled violently. Lan Zhan’s skin slaps against his, inside fully but immediately sliding back until his tip is the only pressure left, then he repeats the motion, again and again. Wei Ying feels it in his ribs, unbelieving even though he has experienced this before, this pure length and thickness of Lan Zhan’s cock can’t possibly be real, he must still be dreaming, this must be a nightmare. It aches.
“Lan Zhan,” he wails, “Lan Zhan –“
“Thank me again,” Lan Zhan demands, pulling his head up by the hair. Three other fingers tenderly rub his balls, reminding him of their cruelty.
He fucks in whenever Wei Ying tries to move his lips. “Th-haaah, than-k you, hnngh.” He finds himself utterly convinced by the gratefulness, is so happy about the pain and the pleasure alike that he begins to cry again.
He loves this. He loves it so much, loves being ambushed in their home and made weak, loves taking cock when it hurts, loves his boyfriend so much, he loves being a mindless slut. He’s so wet, dick squeezed between his thighs, heat rolling through him. “Close,” he gasps. “Close, please, can I?”
Lan Zhan slows his thrusts, still as forceful but reducing the quick friction he knows Wei Ying’s needs and he’s so so mean, so vicious. “No.” He pats Wei Ying’s cock and circles his palm up to his waist, yanks his hair and pushes the side of his head into the pillow. He will have bruises. Marks from the ropes and from the dent of Lan Zhan’s hold, his ownership. Everyone will see and know. They will wonder why Wei Ying has let this happen, why he loves being shoved around so much, why he loves being denied.
For a horrifying second he fears he is going to come anyway, can already imagine the punishing slaps to his ass again but he manages to distract himself by biting down on his bottom lip until he tastes blood. It muffles his moans, turns them even more pitiful.
Lan Zhan’s finger slides to his mouth but doesn’t push in, opens it by the corner. “You would love a gag, wouldn’t you? Just loves to get his mouth stuffed.”
Wei Ying whines in affirmation.
“But I enjoy the clear sound of your pleas.” It makes Wei Ying’s cheeks flush. “So cute when you pretend you don’t want it.”
How can Lan Zhan call him cute like this, when he’s twisted and torn, when he has sobbed and screamed, when sweat is darkening the sheet under him, when he arches his back in hope of more. Wei Ying is a mess. “Please, please, I do want it, I want it so much, want you to – fuck me.” Oh, how he hates to say it out loud. How he shrivels up inside with the mere suggestion, with the word.
He is pulled up by the rope between his wrists and then an arm across his chest. For the first time all morning, Lan Zhan’s mouth is on his skin, skittering behind his ear as he grinds in unhurriedly. His teeth follow immediately, biting down on his rabbiting pulse, eliciting moan after moan. Like this, Wei Ying is balanced on the top of his knees and his arms are twisted between their bodies, the change in position alerting him to the discomfort in his muscles and confronting him of his utter helplessness.
Lan Zhan nudges his head until he’s looking down and forced to stare at his own dick, pink and glistening, twitching when Lan Zhan’s palm glides down his chest and towards it. But instead of a tight grip, he gets only the hint of a touch. Two fingers trace his veins, form a loose ring that the power of Lan Zhan’s thrusts is pushing him into. Wetness clings to them.
“Would you like to see what happens when I hurt you?” Lan Zhan asks softly.
Wei Ying’s chest constricts. “No,” he chokes. “No, please.”
Lan Zhan hums. He stops his movements, cock still and big inside him. Wei Ying’s heartbeat is drumming in his brain. Frozen completely he watches Lan Zhan uncurl his fingers, watches as he gently prods under his foreskin, draws a circle over his slit and down, then tilts his finger so his nail is threatening to pierce his delicate skin.
“No, no – “ he’s cut off by his own cry, the nail drilling into his cock, dragging down the length of it, leaving a welt in its path. Tears sting in his eyes, his mouth is opened in a silent plea, he’s trembling in spite of the summer heat.
“Look,” Lan Zhan says and there’s something harsh in his tone, something impatient. “Look, Wei Ying.”
It got him wetter. There’s a bead welling up from his slit, clear and thick, and they watch it droop onto the sheet.
“Shall I do it again?”
Wei Ying can’t talk. Can’t shake his head in yes or no, is unable to tear his gaze away from the darkened spot on the bed, much bigger than a single drop because he has been leaking like a whore. He feels faint.
Lan Zhan kisses his neck and hurts him again, scratches him at the underside of his cock, and then feeds him his own pre-come. When he has made Wei Ying thank him again, he lets him fall back onto his front and fucks in again, picking up his earlier pace, seemingly rushed by satisfaction. It feels like his cock got harder or maybe Wei Ying has just melted and everything seems much rougher: The rhythm, the ropes, even the air is heavier, enclosing him. He is still moaning, but it’s quieter, higher, and verging on a constant whine.
It’s not just his dick that is wet. An awful squelch come from his hole and his face twists in quiet distress, he’s so easy, he’s so quick to give in to a cock inside him, could probably get fucked at all times because he’s always ready for it, always needing it. He tries to focus on any other sound, on the slap of their skin, on the rustling of the sheet as he’s tossed across it, the rushing of his own blood, the measured pants behind him, but it’s simply impossible. Lan Zhan is silent for all but the occasional sharp inhale through teeth and it makes Wei Ying wonder what he thinks, what he sees, if he really does see what he calls cute, if he was mocking him, if he’s actually pathetic and ugly in his true form.
He is completely slack by now, only held together by the ropes, his eyelids are drooping, his mouth slack, even his heart has slowed down. It’s a contrast to the way Lan Zhan keeps shoving into him, no pattern to it anymore, just all-consuming, possessive claims to his hole. He’s holding him by the hips, thumbs pressing into his ass, smacking it once. “Tighten your pussy.”
It startles him so much it brings a little energy back into his limbs. “W-what?”
“You are so loose, it’s pathetic.”
Wei Ying weeps with the embarrassment, so ashamed his whole body trashes and without even meaning to he does as told, hot tears trickling into his lashes. Tightening his hole makes the friction unbearable again, he feels sore, bruised almost, and wonders if his – his pussy is swollen and pink from the abuse. If it will be gaping when Lan Zhan pulls out.
Lan Zhan makes a sound and maybe it’s a sigh, a disappointed little noise that he didn’t even bother to hide because Wei Ying is simply not good enough, too useless to do as much as lie there and get fucked. “I, I’m-“ he exhales the next word. “Sorry.”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan lets him hear. “Show me. Don’t stop.”
So he keeps his pussy clenched, puts all his effort into being small and pleasing, hopes he’s just wet enough to ease the fuck. His own need isn’t important, his cock might be throbbing, but this isn’t about him, this is about giving Lan Zhan anything he wants.
“Such a competent slut, so eager.” Lan Zhan groans and seems to have lost even the last thread of control. His inconsiderate pace turns violent, and he pulls Wei Ying up by his bound wrists again.
“H-hit me,” Wei Ying begs, completely out of his mind. “Gege, please, hurt me.”
Lan Zhan does. His hand crashes down and Wei Ying flinches from both the definite sound and the endless pain, his weak sobs are back, his nose is wet. “Th-thank you, gege, thank you –“
He feels Lan Zhan’s cock jerk inside him, feels his pussy getting slicker, feels some of Lan Zhan’s come slip out with his angry shoves, adding to his mess. There’s one last hit to his ass, on his right side, helping him keep himself tight, and he’s so proud of the moan he hears, he starts drooling. Or maybe he has been drooling for a while now, only that now he’s suspended in the air by his arms, his spit can’t dry into the sheet. He wants something in his mouth.
Lan Zhan pulls out and a few spurts of his come land on Wei Ying’s sore ass, stinging the bruised skin. “Mine to mark,” Lan Zhan murmurs, and his hands rub all over him, smearing his come and sweat around. A short pressure around his wrists and then a rapid loosening of the ropes tells him that Lan Zhan has started to untie him, skilled and quick, freeing his arms in no time. Wei Ying’s shoulders have not yet realized they can move again, the back of his own hands slides along his sides.
His thighs and calves are next. The whole tie vibrates as one knot is loosened and he twitches as the rope rasps across his skin, too out of it to do much more than whine weakly as Lan Zhan leads the tail ends over his open pussy, pushes it into him slightly. The hemp hurts his raw rim, but it doesn’t last long, just a tease and he’s empty, and able to stretch his legs. He feels solid and floaty at once, like the ropes had compressed his body just enough to keep him from falling but now that they are gone and his body was used like it is meant to be used, it is almost inevitable that he is lost.
Almost. “I’m here,” Lan Zhan says sweetly, turns him onto his back and kisses his knees, the inside of his thighs, his belly, and finally his mouth. Such a warm and soft mouth, demanding as ever, even after he has broken him. He licks the drool from his chin and feeds it back to him, tongue strong and rough. His teeth are just as prodding, sinking into his cupid’s bow and the insides of his lips. There’s a bitter taste, a leftover from when We Ying had bitten himself to stay quiet.
Right now, he’s made silent by the glow of his satisfaction, even his kisses are muted, their breath easing out. Only his heart beats loudly in his ears, steady and unsatisfied, unwilling to let him forget his pulsing cock. But he doesn’t have to wait long.
Lan Zhan strokes his tip again, then prods right under it, softly moving his finger up in down. He sucks on the lobe of Wei Ying’s ear, moves further on top of him, one thigh weighing him down, a thumb pressing into his jaw, tilting him upwards. The sun is high behind the window, brutally penetrating the glass, dust dancing in its rays. Lan Zhan’s beautiful face is bathed in golden light. “What do you say when you want to come, a-Ying?”
He blinks up into Lan Zhan’s eyes. “Please.”
“Alright, baby. I will make it hurt.”
Trying to keep looking at Lan Zhan proves difficult, his lashes are in the way and sticky from tears, but he clings to the blurry vision of his beauty, his plush mouth, his wide nose, his shiny hair. He does make it hurt again. With two of his nails, he slowly drags up and down Wei Ying’s cock, he pinches his balls, swallows his whines in a kiss, and finally squeezes tight, too tight, painfully so. “You’ve been such a good bitch.”
As he comes, his pussy clenches, and he feels wetness oozing out of it, out of him, he’s slicking up his inner thighs and his belly and even a little of his chest, opens his mouth before Lan Zhan has even raised his hand to give him his come and kiss it down his throat.
“Look,” Lan Zhan says in a repetition of earlier and makes him not only look at his spent cock but at the marks of the ropes, pretty patterns around his thighs, near his ankles, on his wrists, the texture of the hemp etched into his skin. “Cute.”
Wei Ying’s blush deepens, he’s still overheated, longs for the aircon or a shower, but can’t stop drawing Lan Zhan’s warm body closer, damp skin against damp skin. “Please.”
Without hesitation, Lan Zhan gathers him into his arms, rolls them around so he’s lying between his thighs and on his chest, and drives three fingers back into him. His pulse is faster than Wei Ying’s, palpable under his ribs, speeding up when he shakes and shakes and shakes and comes again within just a few minutes, almost dry. After, his lips are just as sore as his hole, kissed and bitten raw, but Lan Zhan’s mouth turns tender as soon as he whimpers, his kisses gathering his tears and pressing a quiet baby into his temple.
He caresses Wei Ying’s ass, a slight tickle, roams his back and then moves to massage his forearms, carefully rotating his wrists. He lingers nearly imperceptibly.
“You’re so good, gege,” Wei Ying murmurs, feels sleep tugging at him yet again. He enjoys the rush of another heartbeat under his ear. “So good to me.”
Lan Zhan’s hum has just a slight edge to it. When he looks up, craning his neck, Wei Ying’s catches him suppress a tilt to his mouth. “Husband. You are. You are so good.”
He is more exhausted than he has been in a long while, but he scoots up and clutches Lan Zhan’s cheeks. “I love it when you hurt me, Lan Zhan.”
There’s a slight nod. His jaw is still clenched. “You are so good for wanting to hurt me. Want you to make me beg for it all the time. I – Lan Zhan! I love you so much! And I love you for many reasons, really, you know that, but maybe this is one of the biggest ones. I love it when you are mean to me, really mean, and when you – “ he’s blushing so hard “– when you make me thank you and make me feel ashamed and when you do what you want with me, because it’s exactly what I like – not just what I need, but what I like, do you hear me, Lan Zhan? Beloved, do you believe me?”
He taps Lan Zhan’s lips. “There is nothing that could ever scare me. Or, well, scare me truly. I love being scared of what you do. But! I’m not ever scared of you! Yes? Will you answer me, Lan Zhan, I need you to tell me that you understand me. You need to tell me. Or I will spank you.”
He wiggles his hand and grins at Lan Zhan’s expression, the slight brow as he doesn’t move and silently dares Wei Ying to go through with it. The most he manages is a quick squeeze to the side of Lan Zhan’s ass, then he succumbs to laughter that he presses into Lan Zhan’s neck. “I’m really so very sore, Lan Zhan, you hurt me so well I can’t move. And – and my, my -… you could probably take me again just like this.”
Suddenly, Lan Zhan’s arms press the air out of his lungs, encompassing him tightly, caging his ribs and crushing him. He presses a forceful kiss to Wei Ying’s forehead, licks the sweat from it, and there’s the curve of his smile against his skin, a sweet little gift. “Beg me for it.”