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Lan Wangji thanks the bartender as they slide him the squat tumbler over the bar. Ice cubes clink against glass, a sprig of mint floating on a tiny ice floe.
The Lotus Pier hums with low conversation and throbs with bass like a cavernous, beating heart. It’s Friday night, and about as busy, filling up with people who know exactly what they want at the end of a long week.
Lan Wangji certainly does.
He sits at the counter to avoid the hustle and bustle of the open floor. A slightly nicer shirt — light blue, not regulation white — marks the transition from work to play. And, right now, Lan Wangji is playing his favourite game.
The bar is fairly central, which means there are new faces every time. He’s familiar with some, but not so much so that he feels like he’s retreading old ground. Which he might’ve been, somewhere else, because he may as well be a ghost at this regular haunt. He likes it this way – picking people up in person, rather than on hookup apps.
If Lan Wangji were to be asked — although he never is — he'd say he has discerning taste. Lan Xichen might less charitably say that he likes to window shop.
He’s already on his second drink of the night. He nurses his glass, noting those who come and go – but particularly those who come. He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. It is downright wanton, but Lan Huan has told him that it makes him look less stiff, more approachable.
The bar is much busier now than when he arrived. Across the room, a flash of red and a loud caw of laughter catch his attention. They draw his eye to a young man seated in a booth, one arm slung over the back of the long seat and one ankle balanced on his opposite knee. High cheekbones, long hair, and a sparkling grin have Lan Wangji intrigued; the tight black shirt under his leather jacket and the way he fills out his slim-cut jeans have him something more than intrigued.
Lan Wangji pegs him at a boyish twenty-five, maybe twenty-six. Young enough to feel naïve, but old enough not to be. His mouth moves, but Lan Wangji can't parse what comes out. Their eyes meet for a second – or maybe they don't, maybe they just miss each other, he cannot be sure – and then the throng of people breaks his line of sight. When it parts again, the man is gone.
The crowds are becoming heavier, the music louder; the atmosphere is beginning to err on the side of discomfort. Lan Wangji takes a long swig of his drink. He'll go looking for that young man. Find his target, whisk him home, fuck him senseless. Be awake in time to collect Lan Sizhui from his uncle.
Before he can finish, a warm body slides into the seat next to him. Tight jeans, black leather, a red ribbon that Lan Wangji wants to wind around his fist while he feeds his cock into a lovely mouth that says –
"Drinking all by yourself, handsome?"
The man must have headed directly for him. He looks back at where they’d caught eyes before and sees that the table is empty. "As were you, it seems."
The man tosses half a glance over his shoulder. "Not me. I was here with a friend." He leans on one elbow against the bar. "Don't worry about him. Looks like you need my company more. He's very understanding."
Lan Wangji doesn't care. He nods anyway, because he should act like he does. What he cares about is the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the way the coloured lights bounce off the apples of his high cheekbones. The narrow pinch of his waist and the subtle flare of his hips, lovingly encased in black denim and silver chains.
"May I buy you a drink?" Lan Wangji asks.
Wei Ying smirks. He nibbles his bottom lip. "I like the look of what you're having, ah…?"
“My name is Lan Wangji,” Lan Wangji offers. Then, because it’s polite, because he’s probably going to be splitting him in half within a few hours, he adds: “You may also call me Lan Zhan.”
“Wei Ying,” chirps Wei Ying.
Lan Wangji raises a hand to hail the bartender, but before he can open his mouth soft fingers brush against his own. He nearly drops his glass in surprise when he turns back and finds Wei Ying so close — close enough for him to feel the gusts of his warm breath tickle his cheeks and to see his black eyes flash with mischief. A deft hand relieves him of his glass.
“Thanks, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, his voice low, husky, intimate. Lan Wangji watches, transfixed, as Wei Ying lifts the glass to his lips and takes a long, slow sip. Not once does he break eye contact. It makes Lan Wangji feel raw, exposed, threatened. It makes him feel like a teenager again, giddy and stupid and losing all good sense in the face of a pretty boy with a pretty mouth.
That pretty mouth scrunches up suddenly. Wei Ying's nose crinkles. He squints down into the glass suspiciously. "Is this a mocktail?”
"Mn," Lan Wangji says, "I do not drink."
Wei Ying blinks at him. Then his eyebrows shoot up and he shakes with laughter. He grins from ear to ear, and Lan Wangji finds himself firmly transfixed by that beam, by the way that he smiles with his eyes. His fingers itch to take his glass back; his mouth goes dry with the desire to see Wei Ying's lips curve around its rim again.
"Do you come here often?" Lan Wangji asks, even though he already knows. This is his favourite spot, and he has never seen Wei Ying before.
Wei Ying blinks at him through long lashes, scanning Lan Wangji's face like he's looking for a shred of irony. Which, of course, he does not find. Lan Wangji is nothing if not sincere.
Wei Ying cocks an eyebrow. A little laugh trips past his teeth, making his shoulders jump. "Wow, did you really just…? I didn't know people used that line in real life."
Lan Wangji nods. "I do."
Wei Ying stares. His eyes interrogate Lan Wangji for just a second too long every time before he looks away. Lan Wangji wonders whether he could make those dark, relentless eyes cry.
The corners of Wei Ying's mouth twitch into a smirk. "Yeah. Sure. I come here all the time." He takes a sip and glances down at the bar. Lan Wangji watches the way his throat bobs when he swallows.
"I have never seen you before."
"Are you calling me a liar?”
Wei Ying’s tone teeters on a playful knife’s edge. It’s a strange way to flirt. The script is a little off. Lan Wangji feels his ears burning. Wei Ying grins and leans a little closer; their knees brush, and even this small touch drives Lan Wangji to distraction. He stares right through Wei Ying as he battles his demons – demons that look like him forcing Wei Ying, bent at the waist, over the bar. Forcing his legs and his mouth open, making use of the leverage on that ponytail. Ignoring pleas for mercy, because Lan Wangji doesn’t have any.
"Maybe we’re here for the same reason," Wei Ying says, pulling him back to attention.
"What would that be?"
"Oh, you know," Wei Ying says between kicking back Lan Wangji’s drink. "Running away."
Lan Wangji is not running away. He is running to — to the arms of boys who smile with their teeth and speak in riddles.
“You are not missing curfew?” Lan Wangji teases dryly.
Wei Ying scowls at that. "I'm twenty- three."
Oh. Younger than Lan Wangji had thought, then. He appraises the other man again. He’s lithe and lean, every inch of him buzzing with unspent energy like a live wire. Now that he really looks, he can see the fresh-faced young man Wei Ying ought to be, hidden there under the slightly sunken cheeks and the dark circles and the relentless confidence that make him seem older. Lan Wangji is fully aware of the perils and pleasures of fucking younger men, and very familiar with that look. It’s hopeful, coy, cast adrift and looking for a port in a storm, one who’s thirty-something and reminds them of their fathers.
He must stare for too long, because Wei Ying’s expression suddenly hardens.
“Is that a problem?” he snaps.
“No,” Lan Wangji says firmly.
Wei Ying nods. The set of his shoulders relaxes a little, but it takes a second, and some of the tension lingers, encased in leather. His big dark eyes gaze up with a plea that he probably doesn’t even know is there, little bunny teeth nibbling his bottom lip for the last taste of the drink he just downed. Lan Wangji clenches his fist against his leg. He thinks of sliding his hand slowly into Wei Ying’s soft black tresses and twisting around a fistful of hair, of pulling his head back until those bright wide eyes become unfocused and glassy.
Wei Ying licks the rim of the empty glass and leans forward, his upper body crowding Lan Wangji’s space. He goes to rest a hand on Lan Wangji’s broad thigh, unable to stop the little gasp that escapes between his teeth when a strong hand grabs his wrist just in time. If Wei Ying does what his mischievous eyes threaten to do — if he rests that hand just shy of Lan Wangji’s inner thigh, lets it creep over his trousers until it teases the bulge in his pants, presses his chest shamelessly into Lan Wangji’s arm — then Lan Wangji can’t be held responsible for what he’ll do.
“We should leave,” he murmurs. Wei Ying is so close that Lan Wangji can taste his warm breath. Alcoholic, even though Lan Wangji’s drink wasn’t.
“Yeah,” Wei Ying breathes. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Lan Wangji settles the tab while Wei Ying bounces on his heels by the doorway. Outside, the night is mild, but the wind is bitter. It drops the temperature severely and burrows between their layers every time it blows. Lan Wangji is halfway to the car before he realises that Wei Ying is not with him. When he turns, the young man lingers on the edge of the curb like his feet are glued to it, the club to his right and the yawning darkness of its narrow alley at his back.
“Where are you going?” Wei Ying asks.
“To the car,” Lan Wangji replies. “We are going to my home.”
Wei Ying hesitates. Stood solitary in his black ensemble, the poorly-lit backdrop of the bar’s dank alleyway threatens to engulf him.
"Did you have somewhere else in mind?" Lan Wangji asks lightly.
Wei Ying shrugs him off. “I dunno. Forget it. You said your place, so let’s go,” he says, hands stiffly shoved in his pockets.
Lan Wangji holds the door for him and Wei Ying slides into the car. The brief moment outside smothers the atmosphere in a blanket of awkwardness that prompts Lan Wangji to keep his hands to himself, white knuckles on the steering wheel. Compared to before, Wei Ying is so stiff and sober that he could be made of cardboard.
They don't speak, and the longer they don't speak, the more Lan Wangji has time to think about it. The more he thinks about it, the less he likes it.
They roll smoothly through the private gate to Lan Wangji's apartment complex. He and the valet exchange places smoothly. His car disappears into the residents' garage, while the two of them disappear into the penthouse's private elevator. Lan Wangji doesn’t fail to miss how, unlike many of his hookups, Wei Ying doesn’t seem phased by the private gate, or the private garage, or the private valet, or the private elevator — as if he’s familiar enough with this level of wealth not to notice.
The elevator spits them out into his sprawling apartment. Lan Wangji leads through the reception hall and past the kitchen. They haven't touched since back at the bar. He’s hyper aware of it.
They pass through the living room, A-Yuan's toys still scattered all around. A mix of plastic horses, stuffed animals, and one singular Barbie face off against what looks like a horde of old toilet roll tubes. He is supposed to clean them up before visiting his great-uncle – but a very important arc is in progress, and Lan Wangji has enough respect for the art of storytelling to make an exception. The toys stay where they are, and ‘where they are’ is right in the path of Wei Ying as the two of them head to the bedroom to rekindle what they started.
Wei Ying stops. He eyes the toys strewn across the floor suspiciously. "Kids?"
"Kid," Lan Wangji corrects. "I have a son."
Wei Ying lingers reluctantly. His eyes flick to Lan Wangji's left hand. "You're not married, are you? Because I'm no homewrecker. I don't want to get caught up in some—"
"I am not married," Lan Wangji calmly but firmly interrupts. "A-Yuan is adopted. There is no one else." He reaches up slowly, like petting a skittish animal, to brush Wei Ying's hair behind his ear, giving him a full view of his very plain ring finger. No ring. No tan lines.
No ‘soon-to-be-divorced’ spouse.
Wei Ying licks his lips. "Okay," he says with a terse nod. “Okay.”
It's the first contact they've made since the bar. Wei Ying leans into it barely a fraction, his body language closed. His hands anchor in his pockets, shoulders pinched together. Lan Wangji will have to change that.
His fingers purl around the shell of Wei Wuxian's ear, tucking a stray lock and following it down the harsh architecture of his throat. He feels the slight tremor beneath the skin when Wei Ying swallows. He reaches around to cup the back of his neck and pulls him in for a kiss.
It’s supposed to be tender — perhaps too much so, for a man he’s probably only going to fuck once — but after a moment’s hesitation Wei Ying starts pawing at his shirt, and Lan Wangji’s good intentions crumble into dust.
A fist twists in his shirt, an arm hooks around his neck; warm lips yield, not like surrender, but like a challenge. Like city gates left wide open.
Lan Wangji has his hands on bare skin before he even knows it's happening. It's truly alarming how quickly his desire kindles into a conflagration, all-encompassing and almighty. Wei Ying’s skin burns wherever he touches like he’s running a fever. The way Lan Wangji feels, he just might be. He extracts his hands from under Wei Ying's shirt and jacket and they both pull away panting, like there had never been any awkwardness at all. Lan Wangji all but drags him up to the mezzanine and into his bedroom.
Wei Ying topples back onto the king bed and props himself up on his elbows, legs askew and shamelessly spread. The leather jacket is gone. Wei Ying must shed it somewhere along the way. The low, mood lighting complements him, making a relief out of his strong bone structure.
Lan Wangji comes to stand between his legs. He towers over him, and Wei Ying has to crane his neck to see his face.
The magnetism he had felt before is starting to resurge now that Wei Ying is in his home – in his room – on his bed. There is no audience, no music; there is only Wei Ying, and he's even more beautiful a man in the warm, understated light of Lan Wangji's bedroom where he can see him clearly.
"Mnf," Wei Ying grunts in surprise as Lan Wangji's lips crash into his. He kisses back with enthusiasm, moaning a little when Lan Wangji slides his tongue into his mouth. His lips yield to Lan Wangji beautifully, his tongue replete with the acrid sting of alcohol. Wei Ying's hands grasp at Lan Wangji's shirt again; he guides them to his belt with one hand, the other cradling Wei Ying's cheek and holding him still.
"Oh," Wei Ying murmurs between heated kisses when he finally manages to undo Lan Wangji's belt and fly, "oh, Lan Zhan..."
Lan Wangji presses his thumb against Wei Ying’s wet lower lip. “Is that how you address me?”
“...Daddy,” Wei Ying says slowly, rolling the word carefully in his mouth. He wets his lips and the pink tip touches Lan Wangji’s thumb. “Daddy.”
The pit of his stomach goes weak. He had been expecting sir, maybe master, if Wei Ying is into that. Daddy throws him off course for a moment in a surge of pure, vicious arousal. He arches towards him, his cock straining against his underwear that's dark and damp with excitement.
"I do not have any diseases," Lan Wangji says hoarsely, "I do not have my most recent test results to hand, but we can use protection if you–"
"Nope," Wei Ying says immediately. His teeth stop worrying his kiss-reddened lower lip the second Lan Wangji reacts with enthusiasm. He pulls Lan Wangji with a hand on each hip and leans in to nuzzle the prominent bulge in Lan Wangji's boxers before taking a deep inhale.
Then he mouths his cock through the fabric and all thoughts of test results and best practice and anything else that isn't this promptly evacuate Lan Wangji's head. He groans with pain and relief at the first touch and ruts gently against Wei Ying’s mouth, pleasure igniting like a match strike everywhere he touches. Wei Ying reaches behind Lan Wangji's back and pulls the waistband of his jeans and boxers down past his glutes, still enthusiastically making out with his erection, pausing only to let his cock spring free and bounce heavily against his stomach.
Lan Wangji finally gets his fantasy. He delves his hand into Wei Ying's hair and wraps his ponytail and ribbon around his clenched fist, dragging him back just in time to prevent Wei Ying from putting his mouth on him. Wei Ying makes a frustrated noise, and doesn't relent until Lan Wangji pulls his head back and their eyes meet.
"Do," he says slowly and clearly, "as you are told."
Wei Ying inhales sharply and nods – as best as he can, with Lan Wangji's iron grip pulling on his scalp – and his dark, dark eyes glaze over slightly with desire, just like Lan Wangji had hoped they would.
Lan Wangji gives a short, sharp tug. "What do you say when I speak to you?"
Wei Ying scrunches his eyes shut in something like pain, something like pleasure. "I get it, Lan Zhan, you don't have to…"
Lan Wangji tugs again, harder this time, hard enough that he knows Wei Ying's scalp must be prickling, his neck aching. He enunciates each word like a slap. "What do you say?"
"Yes, daddy," Wei Ying says, strained, like the words have to be forced out. "But, please don't make me say it again…"
So bold before, and yet Wei Ying is struggling now. Lan Wangji wonders whether he’s actually called another man 'daddy' before. The bravado is gone, leaving only the raw, trembling nerve.
This time, Lan Wangji doesn't bother to speak. He pulls Wei Ying's hair with one hand and slowly strokes his cock with the other, his foreskin sliding back and forth over the glans. Wei Ying shudders all the way down to his shoulders. His eyes follow Lan Wangji's hand keenly, his lips slightly parted.
"Yes, daddy," Wei Ying says, the two words so thick with arousal that it drips from his tongue like honey. Lan Wangji's heart soars and he eases the pressure, stroking Wei Ying's hair to show his approval. To show how satisfied he is that Wei Ying takes his non-verbal cues like this isn't the first time, like they didn't meet a scant hour ago.
He can't wait any longer. He needs to know what Wei Ying's mouth feels like. Lan Wangji cups his chin with the hand that was just stroking his cock and presses his thumb down on his tongue – or, he tries to, because Wei Ying immediately closes his lips around it and sucks, swirling his tongue around the tip and bobbing up and down as best he can. His tongue is heavenly soft already around the pad of Lan Wangji's thumb – his cock jumps and weeps in anticipation for how it will feel suckling at the head.
"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji hisses. The desire to wrench his head back and shove his cockhead between his lips until it hits the back of his throat is all-encompassing.
Wei Ying hums and pulls off with a wet pop. Lan Wangji immediately replaces his thumb with his cock, pressing insistently between Wei Ying's moistened lips. He is not polite about it — inches disappear into Wei Ying’s mouth in seconds, and Lan Wangji’s core shakes at the sudden, scorching heat that engulfs his sensitive flesh. Wei Ying doesn’t break eye contact until Lan Wangji's cock reaches the back of his throat, then his eyelids flutter shut with a moan. It must be a little too much, too fast, because Wei Ying gags, the walls of his throat squeezing around the glans.
But he doesn't make any move to complain, not even when Lan Wangji grips his ponytail hard and begins to briskly fuck his mouth. Tears bead at the corners of his eyes, darkening his lashes, and his breath comes heavy through his nose as Lan Wangji abuses his throat, fucking his mouth like he's fucking his cunt. Lan Wangji thrusts deeply until Wei Ying's lips close around the base of his shaft and holds him there by the back of his head, the gulping contractions of his throat as he tries to swallow precum and saliva and chokes on it instead dragging his orgasm from him with deep contractions like Wei Ying is milking him for it.
Lan Wangji pulls Wei Ying off his cock all of a sudden. Teary-eyed, spit-soaked, and dazed with arousal, Lan Wangji's pretty young thing heaves for air, drool hanging off his chin in strings.
"You're cruel, far too cruel… you should be gentle with me, Daddy, I'm just a tender virgin… I approached you because you looked so dependable, how could I have known that you were secretly a brute obsessed with despoiling unsuspecting young men?" Wei Ying sniffles wetly.
Lan Wangji groans and takes himself in hand. There is absolutely no way that Wei Ying is a virgin, not with how easily he just had his throat fucked, nor the way his dewy eyes linger hungrily on Lan Wangji's hand and follow his movements as he fucks a tight fist.
But perhaps Wei Ying isn't wrong. Lan Wangji does like debauching young men, and he likes to do it hard. That is what is coming next, and they both know it.
The first spatter of cum lands on Wei Ying's cheek, quickly followed by another thick rope that stripes across his cheeks and lips. Lan Wangji's cum lazily slides down his face, mingling with tears and saliva. A flash of pink tongue darts from between Wei Ying's lips to taste the mess. Another spurt covers his forehead and forces him to close one eye.
Lan Wangji gasps through gritted teeth, his strokes becoming slower as he coaxes the last of his release. Wei Ying leans forward to catch it on his tongue. He presses his lips together and licks them clean.
Lan Wangji licks them too, seizing Wei Ying by the nape of his neck and sliding his tongue into his mouth. Wei Ying's lips and tongue taste salty, slightly bitter; they taste like Lan Wangji.
The kiss is messy, cum still streaking Wei Ying's face. When Lan Wangji pulls back, his nose and cheeks are sticky. He strips off his shirt and gives his face a cursory wipe, then cleans the worst off his partner. His mouth tastes bitter.
"Da–"
"Hands and knees," Lan Wangji orders simply, because it's about all his brain can manage right now. Simple things, like how if Wei Ying doesn't present his ass on all fours immediately, Lan Wangji is going to put him there.
Wei Ying goes mute, wide-eyed, for one horny second too long. He leaps to his feet at the same time that Lan Wangji lunges for him, throwing him over so he's kissing the bedsheets. A firm hand tucked under each hip and Wei Ying is ass in the air, his backside indelicately positioned exactly where Lan Wangji wants it.
He strips him of his jeans and underwear urgently, and briefly considers just ripping the thin cotton fabric before he manages to whisk them both from Wei Ying's legs in one go. Wei Ying makes a strangled noise and scrambles to divest himself of his shirt as well, squirming with his chest to the bed before tossing it to the side somewhere with the rest of their clothes that are strewn across the floor.
Lan Wangji gives the swell of Wei Ying’s firm cheek a gentle bite. Lightly, lightly, not enough to leave marks — not as hard as he wants to — just enough to graze his teeth over the golden skin there and raise goosebumps and a shiver. He cradles Wei Ying's ass in his palms and spreads his labia with his thumbs until he exposes the pink of his hole beneath the dark hair.
His pussy is musky — and soaked. Slick fluid smears over his pussy and his puckered hole and sticks to his inner thighs in strings. The smell of Wei Ying – aroused, sweaty, leaking – rolls over him in a thick cloud that makes his mouth water and his prick ache with renewed vigour.
He flattens his tongue and licks a wet stripe along the length of Wei Ying's pussy, the sharp flavour blooming on his tongue along with the salt of his sweat. Wei Ying's glutes flex under his palms and he muffles something against the mattress that's just on the edge of being human. He replaces his tongue with two fingers, fucking in to the third knuckle and tasting the point where Wei Ying’s cunt swallows them down. He drops messy, open-mouthed kisses all over, sticky lips pressed to sticky lips. Wei Ying wriggles, his moans far away, when Lan Wangji teases the very tip of his chubby cock with a flick of his tongue.
A warning pinch keeps him where he is.
"Daddy," Wei Ying wheezes desperately.
Another pinch, and he settles down. At least, enough that Lan Wangji is not wrestling to hold him still. His knees tremble with the effort of it, though.
Lan Wangji spreads Wei Ying wide and replaces his fingers with his tongue. He catches an impertinent hand sneaking between Wei Ying's legs and smacks it away, which earns him some very vocal frustration.
Wei Ying cries when Lan Wangji finally touches his dick. Lan Wangji feels it – the full-bodied tremor that races through him from head to toe and makes his cunt flutter, ever so delicately, around his tongue. He pets the soft, wrinkled hood of Wei Ying's t-dick until the tremors turn into shockwaves, intensifying with logarithmic scale. Wei Ying must start biting the bedsheets at some point, because every moan comes through clenched teeth.
Wei Ying finally comes around his tongue — and the sound proofing on his apartment is good but, for a moment, even Lan Wangji wonders. Every moan, gasp, and filthy curse is delivered at the top of his lungs as he orgasms, his dick quivering under Lan Wangji's fingers with the intensity.
Lan Wangji is back to being painfully hard again.
A desperate hand clutches blindly at his face and hair, trying to hold him fast. Lan Wangji pulls free, the taste of cunt coating his back teeth. The scent of Wei Ying is all around. It’s in the air, on his hands, smeared across his lips.
He needs to fuck him now. He gives one firm cheek a gentle smack — a quick reminder to stay put — and fishes in the pocket of his discarded jeans for a condom.
Wei Ying rests on his elbows and peers suspiciously over his shoulder. "We don't need that. I'm on birth control."
The lie is transparent. Lan Wangji tucks the foil packet back into his pocket.
"Lan Zha– Daddy, you'll be gentle this time, right? If you fuck me like before, I really don't think I can handle it," Wei Ying whines, throwing a glance over his shoulder. His words drip with innocence, but his eyes give him away; they roam Lan Wangji up and down, and when Lan Wangji slides between Wei Ying's thighs until the heads of their cocks bump, one big and one small, his pussy is wetter than ever.
"Tiny," Lan Wangji murmurs to himself. His dick, his holes – all are so small, so sweet. Lan Wangji can feel the hard nub of Wei Ying's t-dick kissing his own with every thrust as he lubes himself up with Wei Ying's fluids.
"Yes, tiny, I'm so tiny, you have to go easy on me or I might break," Wei Ying cries, even though one hand clutches at Lan Wangji's thigh while their dicks glide against each other.
The more Wei Ying babbles, the more Lan Wangji gets into the fantasy. He lines the furiously scarlet head of his cock up with Wei Ying's hole, teasing him with the barest tip. Wei Ying moans something about being gentle again. Lan Wangji has no intention to be anything of the sort, and it sets his blood on fire.
He grips both hips firmly and sheathes himself in cunt in one brutal, needy stroke. Wei Ying arches with a shout. Lan Wangji takes a moment to revel in it, the searing heat that gouges his very core. For a glorious fraction of a second, the pleasure of being inside Wei Ying is enough to make his brain eclipse. Then Wei Ying is moaning and squirming, canting his hips and trying to shallowly fuck himself on Lan Wangji's cock, and the air that had been punched out returns to his lungs.
Wei Ying moans when Lan Wangji starts to move. Once he starts, he doesn't stop. A firm hand on each hip, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise, and Lan Wangji has Wei Ying bouncing back and forth his cock and begging for reprieve. The room echoes with the falsetto wheeze of the bedsprings and the thudding bass of the headboard slamming against the wall.
"Slow down, I need – ah – I need a break… seriously, you're too rough..." gasps Wei Ying.
Lan Wangji does not slow down. His glutes burn with the effort of each rolling thrust, their skin slapping together with a wet clap every time. He suspects that Wei Ying enjoys this more than his cries for mercy would suggest, because his cunt hugs Lan Wangji's cock tight.
“Unh! Daddy! D-Daddy!” Wei Ying wails, his plaintive cries muffled as his head is pressed into the bed. Lan Wangji groans, the feeling of Wei Ying’s plush, tight heat around him, the smell of his sex in the air, the sight of the long line of his back arched up to meet him with his shoulders flush against the bed all driving him insane. Every vicious thrust makes Wei Ying’s plump ass shake, round globes bouncing back and forth while Lan Wangji holds his hips in place.
“Daddy… m-more…” Wei Ying sobs wetly against the mattress, drooling shamelessly. Lan Wangji longs to breed Wei Ying until cum soaks his cunt and drips from his hole. He lets go of the other man’s neck to reach over and fondle his chest, tenderly massaging his soft flesh and pert nipples. Lan Wangji’s thighs tremble. Wei Ying keeps his head exactly where Lan Wangji left it. Lan Wangji mouths and bites the firm muscle at his neck, tasting the salt of his sweat.
“Is that how you speak to me?” he cautions, nipping his earlobe.
“Please,” Wei Ying wheezes. “Please, Daddy, more Daddy please please…”
“Better,” he growls into his ear, gritting his teeth at the way Wei Ying trembles around him.
“Hnnnn,” Wei Ying moans, long and low and loud. Lan Wangji licks a hot path up the exposed back of Wei Ying’s neck before sinking his teeth in just below his ear, holding him in place. He braces himself on his forearms while his hips hammer Wei Ying’s cunt until both their thighs are soaked.
Lan Wangji feels Wei Ying coming before his partner can even gasp it out. His cunt doesn't just hug him, it grips him, fighting him for every stroke like it wants to keep him inside – like it wants him to cum in Wei Ying as deeply as possible.
"A-ah, Daddy, Da– Daddy, ah, 'm coming, coming coming ah–" Wei Ying sobs hoarsely.
Lan Wangji fucks him through a twitching, trembling orgasm and then beyond. He fucks him until Wei Ying comes, and then he fucks him to overstimulation, until his lover is sobbing weakly, until he finally can't take any more and spills in him raw. Lan Wangji will remember the filthy, fucked-out moan that Wei Ying makes when he comes inside for the rest of his life. The pure eroticism of it is almost enough to get him going again.
But he can't. His heart is running like a prize racehorse, a thin sheen of sweat moistening his bare skin. Wei Ying is the same, his skin tacky under Lan Wangji's fingers. His breath is laboured with the effort of his orgasm.
Lan Wangji pulls out and watches the cum ooze from Wei Ying’s pussy in fat pearls. The dark hair between his thighs is even darker when it's wet, and his pussy is fat and flushed. Lan Wangji presses his thumb against Wei Ying's entrance and earns a fussy whimper and a fresh trickle of cum that meanders between his legs and drops heavily onto the large wet spot on the sheets.
Wei Ying bats him away and finally collapses. He rolls onto his back and runs a hand through his hair, pulling out his ribbon and hair tie that still cling to the end of his ponytail.
Lan Wangji settles down on the other side of the bed, away from the evidence of their coupling. Wei Ying sidles over so that they're both confined to one side of the mattress. Lan Wangji should change the sheets so they can sleep comfortably – but his whole body feels heavy with exhaustion, and even as he thinks about it, he knows it will not be happening tonight. Wei Ying's naked back slots against his front. Lan Wangji counts the freckles on his shoulders.
There are towels set out in the ensuite for Wei Ying to shower and leave if he wants to. Lan Wangji hooks up with strangers often enough to know that it could be a possibility – that a partner could be in and out of his life within a few hours, and the Lan Wangji would sleep through the afterglow alone.
For whatever reason, he doesn't want that tonight.
“Stay,” he mutters into Wei Ying’s damp hair. “I wake up early. I can take you home.”
Wei Ying murmurs something, but Lan Wangji doesn't catch it, and Wei Ying doesn't repeat it. They fall asleep with Lan Wangji's arm loosely slung over his side in a tangle of tired limbs and unbound hair.