Chapter Text
Lan Wangji clutches his phone in a tight grip. The dial tone drones a steady rhythm in time with his fluttering heart. Suddenly, the cloth of his shirt feels suffocating.
This is a mistake. He never should have written that number down—not from a flyer promising something so shameful.
Yet, safe in the quiet of his dorm room, he had dialed those fateful digits, and now he sits cross-legged at his desk, hand hovering over the end-call button he knows he should press before it becomes too late.
A crackling noise echoes through the phone, and Lan Wangji’s breath quickens. He scoops the phone up and holds it to his ear. Lan Wangji hears the rumbles of a quiet chuckle.
“You’ve reached the Burial Mounds Pleasure Hotline! How may I help you?” a playful male voice says in greeting.
Lan Wangji’s hand twitches. He cannot bring himself to speak.
“Hmm? Is anyone there?” the man asks. “Don’t be scared. I promise I don’t bite. Well, unless you ask me to!”
Lan Wangji closes his eyes and counts silently to three. “I am here.”
“Ah, there you are! Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Mn.”
The man giggles, and Lan Wangji shivers. “Man of few words I guess? That’s alright. I’ll talk enough for the both of us.”
Lan Wangji shifts positions. His back is growing rigid as he sits frozen at his desk. Swallowing, Lan Wangji asks, “What should I call you?”
“Oh! Um, you can call me Yiling. We don’t use real names here.”
“I see.” Lan Wangji nods, even though he knows Yiling cannot see him.
Yiling takes a sharp breath. “What about you? What would you like to be called?”
Lan Wangji waits a few seconds before answering. “You may call me…Hanguang-jun.”
“Hanguang-jun, huh? How cute,” Yiling teases. “So, Hanguang-jun, what’s brought you to me?”
The promise of more. Warring with himself, Lan Wangji whispers, “I find myself…looking at other men. Looking at them and thinking of shameful things.”
“Shameful?” Yiling repeats, voice swallowing devilishly around the syllables. “What makes these thoughts so shameful?”
“I have no right to think these things about strangers. About men,” Lan Wangji replies.
Yiling lets out a soft, questioning noise. “Just what kinds of thoughts are these, Hanguang-jun?”
Lan Wangji stays silent for the space of a few breaths. “I wish to touch their bare skin. To run my hands down the planes of their chest.” His voice does not waver as he admits this. It does not.
“Hmm, Hanguang-jun. How boring!” Yiling says, as if pouting. “Those are pretty tame. I wouldn’t call them shameful at all!”
“…”
Yiling chuckles. “I can think of much, much more shameful desires,” he says, voice piercing Lan Wangji’s very soul.
Lan Wangji loses his grip on propriety as he pleads, “Tell me.”
Yiling tuts. “So impatient, Hanguang-jun.”
Lan Wangji’s left hand grips his thigh and squeezes. “Yiling,” he says.
“Hanguang-jun, where are your manners?” Yiling replies, scolding him. “There’s a special word I need you to say before this goes any further.”
There is fire in Lan Wangji’s throat. “Please,” he whispers, and the word echoes down, down, down into the depths of his quivering heart.
“Good,” Yiling murmurs, and Lan Wangji floats. Is he really so transparent that someone he’s spoken to for a measly five minutes can already see into the deepest reaches of his desires?
“Hanguang-jun.”
“Mn?”
“Where are you?” Yiling asks, voice curling seductively.
“My desk,” Lan Wangji answers.
“Your desk?” Yiling scoffs. “I think a bed would be more suitable.”
Immediately, Lan Wangji stands, rushing to his bed across the room. Climbing on top of the soft covers, he closes his eyes. “I have moved,” he informs Yiling.
“Alright,” Yiling says gently. “What are you wearing, Hanguang-jun?”
Lan Wangji stares down at his clothes. “A button-up shirt and pants. Both are white.”
“Hmm, white’s such a dangerous color. So easy to stain,” Yiling says. After a momentary pause, he continues. “I’d like you to first get rid of the pants. You won’t be needing them.”
Lan Wangji slips his pants off. They land on the floor with a quiet thump.
“Done.”
Yiling lets out a pleased noise. “Good. Now, I want you to unbutton that shirt. Slowly.”
Lan Wangji starts on the first button, hands trying hard not to quiver. The fabric slips apart so easily. Warmth pools somewhere deep inside him.
“You know, Hanguang-jun?” Yiling says. His voice has a teasing lilt to it yet again. No one ever dares tease Lan Wangji like this in real life. Yiling’s playful prodding makes Lan Wangji realize what he’s been missing.
“You seem tightly wound. So controlled. It makes me want to see what will wreck you. I think I might have some ideas already.”
Lan Wangji’s on his fourth button now. He doesn’t let out a whimper at Yiling’s words. He doesn’t.
“I bet that shirt feels so heavy on you, Hanguang-jun,” Yiling says. “Are you on that last button yet?”
The snow-colored fabric is slipping off his shoulders. “Mn. I am almost finished.”
“Once you get out of your shirt, I want to you to touch your lips for me.”
Lan Wangji drops his shirt onto the floor beside the pants. They are the undeniable evidence of his indulgence.
“My lips?” he repeats.
“Yes,” Yiling says. “Run your fingers across them. Gently. Feel how sensitive they are. I bet your lips are so soft and plump. Probably begging to be kissed. Would you want to kiss me, Hanguang-jun?”
“Shameless,” Lan Wangji whispers.
“Awh, don’t be like that,” Yiling scolds. “Tell me the truth.”
Lan Wangji’s finger on his lips feels like a brand. “…Yes.”
“Yes what?” Yiling prods.
“Yes. I want you to kiss me, Yiling.”
There’s a strangled noise on the other end of the call. “Hanguang-jun. Your voice sounds so rough right now.”
Does it? Does Yiling enjoy the sound of his voice?
Yiling gives him new instructions. “Can you slip a finger into your mouth? Use your tongue and see how it tastes. You can even suck on it if you want.”
Lan Wangji’s lips close around his pointer finger. Swirling his tongue around, he tastes the salt of his skin. Letting out an almost imperceptible noise, he gently sucks on the digit. It’s good, but something’s missing. He needs more.
“Think you can add two more fingers?” Yiling asks.
Lan Wangji’s mouth gladly accepts two more fingers. Now, he feels more full.
“Imagine your fingers are my tongue, brushing past your lips.” Yiling’s words stir up Lan Wangji’s buried desires. “It’s so slick and warm inside your mouth, Hanguang-jun. I could kiss you for hours and not get tired. How does my tongue feel, Hanguang-jun?”
Lan Wangji is unsure if he can give a proper answer. “Like I’m whole.”
Yiling coughs slightly. He is silent for longer than usual. Lan Wangji stares at the ceiling, fingers sticky in his mouth.
“Hanguang-jun, do you think you can touch your chest for me?”
“Mn.” Lan Wangji takes his fingers out of his mouth and slides them down, down, down.
Lan Wangji hears Yiling swallow. “Hanguang-jun, since you seem so disciplined, I bet you work out a lot. Is your chest defined? I bet you’re strong.”
Lan Wangji peers down at his chest. “I believe I am as you describe.”
Yiling hums in acknowledgment. “I want to run my fingers across your chest and feel your skin, Hanguang-jun. Just like your shameful desires you told me about earlier.”
Lan Wangji’s breath catches for a moment.
“Of course, I wouldn’t stop there. No, I would take my tongue that I used to kiss you and taste your skin, map the planes of your chest. Perhaps I’d even drift upward. Do you know if your nipples are sensitive, Hanguang-jun?” Yiling asks, voice heavy.
“I…do not know,” Lan Wangji answers.
“How about you touch them for me, then? Brush your fingers around them lightly. When you feel like it, you can even give them a little pinch.”
Lan Wangji’s fingers trace a path around his nipples. He’s never really thought about them before—not in this way. There’s a faint tingle with each brush of his fingers. When he grips a nub between two fingers and twists, it feels like he’s been shocked.
“Oh,” Yiling breathes. “I guess you are sensitive there.”
As Lan Wangji continues to touch his chest while Yiling teasingly encourages him, a heat pools between his legs. He shifts in discomfort.
As if he has a sixth-sense attuned to the whims of Lan Wangji’s body, Yiling says, “Hanguang-jun, you must be hard by now. It’s been cruel of me to deny you for so long.”
Sure enough, when Lan Wangji lifts up his underwear, his cock is red and leaking. It looks almost pitiful, begging to finally be touched.
“You can go ahead and touch.”
Lan Wangji wraps his hand around his cock, fingers immediately slick from pre-cum. He feels like he’s melting with every slide of his hand.
“Does it feel good, Hanguang-jun? You’re doing so well for me,” Yiling says, praising him.
“Feels good,” Lan Wangji allows himself to admit.
He wraps his fist tightly around his cock and thrusts roughly into it. Pleasure sparks with every movement. He feels his control slipping with each desperate twist of his fingers.
“Yiling,” he calls out involuntarily.
“I’m here. Are you close?”
Lan Wangji’s thrusts grow more frantic. “Mn.”
“Hanguang-jun, can you do me a favor? Imagine it’s my hand wrapped around your cock right now. I know just how to pump you—know exactly how you like it. How to make you weak with pleasure. You’re dripping so much. I can see it. If I was there, I’d bring my hands to my lips and taste it. I’d taste you on it. I bet you taste so good. I’m so hungry, Hanguang-jun.”
Yiling is shameless, but so is Lan Wangji, because when he hears these words, he whines. Lan Wangji doesn’t ever whine, but perhaps Yiling is the exception.
“You’re whining, Hanguang-jun. Makes me want to do even more than this to you. I bet you make so many other beautiful noises. You’re just waiting for someone to pull them out of you.”
Lan Wangji feels like he’s about to burst. Everything is hot. Beads of sweat pool on his forehead. “I’m close,” he chokes out.
Lan Wangji’s mind might be clouded, but he thinks Yiling makes a soft noise of excitement. “You’ve been so good, Hanguang-jun. You can let go. It’s alright.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes close.
“Come for me,” Yiling commands. Lan Wangji does, and it feels like a dam breaks inside himself.
Sticky, he lies boneless on top of his sheets, breathing heavily. His body feels so light.
“You did so, so well, Hanguang-jun.” Yiling’s voice is a soft caress. “I enjoyed this so much. Thank you for calling me.”
“Needed it,” Lan Wangji admits, tongue loosened after experiencing so much pleasure.
Yiling laughs softly. “Yes, it seemed like you did.” He pauses. Lan Wangji waits until he continues. “Call me again sometime. I’ll be waiting.”
Then, Lan Wangji is left alone in his small dorm room, weary but sated somewhere deep in his soul. He glances over at his clock. It’s midnight. Yiling has kept him up three hours past his usual bedtime, but he can’t find it in himself to care.
He rises out of bed to grab a towel to wipe himself. Once clean, he slips underneath his bed covers and closes his eyes. He has his second week of classes tomorrow, and somehow he must try to sleep and not think of Yiling.
It might prove to be impossible. He drifts off to memories of a playful voice and gentle words. Maybe that is enough.