Work Text:
Wei Ying cups his hands over his chest, arms crossed, and stands in the doorway of Lan Zhan’s office. He stares directly at his husband. Lips slightly pursed, legs spread just ajar. Whatever Lan Zhan’s reading has him annotating in a notebook just off to the side—it takes him more time than usual to notice Wei Ying there. At least three seconds! Just long enough for Wei Ying to inhale, prepared to sigh out the travesty of such a lack of attention from his beloved.
Lan Zhan’s pen stops moving. He peers at Wei Ying over his glasses and then pushes them up to sit correctly, something they’ve both seen Lan Qiren do probably a thousand times. Wei Ying’s pout falters for a grin at the memory, and Lan Zhan’s voice comes out gently confused. “Wei Ying?”
“Lan Zhan! Our son is so cruel,” Wei Ying begins, lifting his elbows in demonstration as he continues holding his chest. Lan Zhan watches him silently and intensely. When Wei Ying shuts the office door behind himself, Lan Zhan pulls his glasses off and sets them on top of the notebook. They slot together easier than two grown men probably should in Lan Zhan’s office chair, Lan Zhan supporting Wei Ying under the thighs and ass as he perches on top of him. He wouldn’t put it beyond Lan Zhan to buy a chair with those qualifications.
“Your cooking is too delicious,” Wei Ying continues. “It’s throwing me under the bus. Take responsibility. I’m so full; he barely took any before his nap.”
Lan Zhan says, “Mn,” and shifts to a one-armed hold so he can thumb at Wei Ying’s wobbling bottom lip indulgently. “Does it hurt?”
Honestly, it’s just uncomfortable. He hasn’t reached the engorgement that would have him sprinting for the pump, but there’s an achy pressure in his chest, begging for relief. Lan Zhan glances up, observing his expression, and Wei Ying allows himself a sigh. The entire point of baby-led weaning is—baby led. They aren’t trying to force A-Yuan to do anything earlier or later than he’s ready. But oh, A-Yuan is so ready, more than happy to shovel banana pancakes and noodles and kiwi slices into his chubby-cheeked little face. Fucking adorable.
That doesn’t mean Wei Ying can’t be conflicted about it! And uncomfortable because of it. All this and more he’s already expressed to Lan Zhan, so it’s not like they need to go on and on. This is simple.
A-Yuan went down for his nap, and now Wei Ying is in Lan Zhan’s lap full of milk. “Mhm,” Wei Ying hums, absolutely pathetic as can be. “Hurts so bad.”
“Take off your shirt,” Lan Zhan says.
Wei Ying crosses both arms over his torso and pulls his shirt up slowly in what he hopes is a sexy, slinky movement. There’s no sexy way to unwrap his swollen breasts; he snorts when two milk-soaked pads plop out onto Lan Zhan’s lap.
It’s up to Wei Ying to toss them at the bin, because Lan Zhan’s dick has hardened under his ass and he’s palming Wei Ying’s waist and getting that look, the look of trying to think about what exactly he wants to do to Wei Ying through the wave of obliterating horniness consuming him. Wei Ying pushes his chest out towards Lan Zhan’s face.
“These first before anything,” he says. “They’re so sore, Lan Zhan, it’s all your fault.”
They both know Lan Zhan has taken apart, cleaned, and put back together multiple breast pumps—the one at home, the couple different ones Wei Ying tried for travel, the one Wei Ying borrowed from Jiang Yanli once—multiple times a day every day since A-Yuan was born, for months. It doesn’t matter in this moment. Lan Zhan hums agreeably: it is all his fault. He’ll make up for it.
Wei Ying watches as Lan Zhan palms one huge hand across his left tit, squeezing it softly, the flesh hot and growing firm from how full it is. Lan Zhan flicks a hot look up at him before tilting his head down to swallow the right. He sucks hard, once. Arousal leaps like a flame from his breast to his core, skin tingling as the milk lets down right into Lan Zhan’s waiting mouth.
“Yes, right there,” he pants. “Drink it up.”
Wei Ying grinds down onto Lan Zhan’s bulge and holds his head steady, fingers scratching through his undercut. He can feel Lan Zhan swallowing—feel the soft breaths coming out of his nose and the strong suction that even A-Yuan can’t replicate. There’d been that time with the clogged milk duct and Wei Ying having to dangle his breast over Lan Zhan’s mouth in bed as Wei Ying tried not to cry first from pain and then relief—Wei Ying giggle-sighs and looks down at Lan Zhan fondly. Lan Zhan’s eyes slit, looking back. Wei Ying explains, “’M just thinkin’ about my clog... You remember?”
“Mm,” Lan Zhan says with his mouth full. He stops sucking and pulls back, pinching Wei Ying’s slimy-wet and mouth-hot nipple cruelly between his thumb and index finger. Wei Ying moans. Creamy milk beads at the tip of his teat and dribbles down—Lan Zhan loses hold amidst all the slickness. He pinches again just as Wei Ying is shuddering from the post-pain heat.
“Mean!” Wei Ying snaps, sitting down roughly on Lan Zhan’s bulge. Both of their mouths fall open, but Lan Zhan recovers faster.
“I could be meaner,” he says. His hands skim down Wei Ying’s bare back, latching on around his hips and underneath the loose skin at his front. Wei Ying winces when his thumbs dig in above the pubic bone. They stare each other, Wei Ying with honest bashfulness and Lan Zhan with quiet suspicion.
And—yep, there it is. Wei Ying digs his knees into the chair in an effort to bolster his pelvic floor against the strong, sudden need to piss, cheeks flushing hard when he still drips, because of course he does. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says.
“I know, I know,” Wei Ying breathes. He shivers when the urge disappears like nothing was ever wrong. It’s the worst kind of trick his bladder plays on him, made even more troublesome by his always-moving, always-busy life with a baby. Always ‘one more thing’ and then he can go—Wei Ying knows better than to sprint for the toilet these days. It’s a losing battle. “Let me up. I’ll come right back.”
Lan Zhan hums consideringly. Wei Ying tries to shift backwards and off the chair, but Lan Zhan tightens his hold again, thumbs digging right into the swell of Wei Ying’s bladder. His body can hardly process so many sensations—the urge to pee, the heated throbbing at his core, his tight left breast. He murmurs pitifully, “Lan Zhan. You have a nice rug in here.”
“Rugs can be cleaned,” Lan Zhan replies. His voice goes a smidge deeper. “Hold it until I’m finished milking you.”
Wei Ying groans, swaying forwards, grinding his clit down onto Lan Zhan’s bulge. He shakes his chest playfully in Lan Zhan’s direction. The reaction—a heated glare—just makes him giggle and continue, “Oh, yes, farmer Lan. Milk your cute little cow.”
He jerks as Lan Zhan gently bites his nipple in reprimand. The giggles subside as Lan Zhan circles his tongue and latches on. Wei Ying sags against him as much as possible, wondering if Lan Zhan can feel the pulsing of his pussy through his pants and on his dick. Maybe he could ask—a sharp, involuntary gasp interrupts as the state of his bladder makes itself known again. The waves of need throb downward, not quite painful. Wei Ying tightens up with all his might, inner thighs shivering. Lan Zhan continues placidly sucking even though Wei Ying is squirming and whining and could soak them both with piss at any moment. How isn’t he full by now?
A few more droplets of pee leak out, beyond any help from Wei Ying’s muscles. The thin cotton shorts and panties he’s wearing are getting damper by the second. He sighs when the urge fades away, leaving behind only a fuzzy tugging fullness down there. “Will you touch me?” he whispers, nuzzling his face against the top of Lan Zhan’s head.
“Mm.” Wei Ying kisses his crown and hums happily as Lan Zhan’s hand slides under the band of his shorts and panties.
Wei Ying tilts his hips into the touch, moaning soft encouragement. They fucked two days ago in their own bed for a whole hour after A-Yuan went down for a nap in his crib. He’s simply the best baby—although the sex debt they racked up after he was born and Wei Ying wore ice packs for almost a month means they feel wild with it, sometimes. He rolls his pussy against Lan Zhan’s palm, feeling the emptiness inside where Lan Zhan’s cock should fit. “Wanna fuck?”
“No swimming until thirty minutes after eating,” Lan Zhan says, entirely seriously, giving Wei Ying’s nipple a little lick probably to distract himself from what he just said. Wei Ying bucks in his hold, gasping.
“Lan Zhan! Your dad jokes are absolutely out of control, this cannot be stood for! So crude! I’m getting up—let me go right now—ahhH!” He ends up clinging harder as Lan Zhan starts windshield wiper rubs against his clit, the kind that send fireworks down his legs and through his groin and make his pussy clench. “Mmm, I’m serious! Do something or—or I’m gonna go everywhere.”
Lan Zhan kisses his neck. Wei Ying reaches down between them and fumbles for the zipper to Lan Zhan’s pants—not such an easy feat, what with their positions and the hard-on stretching the fabric—and cries out in pleasure and frustration when his clit gives a particularly pleasureful throb. In response, his bladder remembers its fullness once again. He can’t do much else but pant and mouth at Lan Zhan’s red ear and tremble in his lap. “Hold it, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan orders.
A brief moment of respite—Lan Zhan cups Wei Ying’s pussy and presses his fingers right at the entrance, right against his pee hole—and then Wei Ying gives a small, strained sob. “I can’t hold it,” he says. “It’s so strong when it comes and—”
Shaking back and forth, writhing right on top of Lan Zhan’s dick, Wei Ying clenches but ultimately fails. They both feel as the first hot gush of piss wets Lan Zhan’s hand and lap, soaking through all the fabric between them. Wei Ying looks down at the wet spot, still struggling to stop the flow. When he manages, Lan Zhan strokes his clit again in reward.
“Fuck,” Wei Ying curses.
His body has had a taste of total relief and now it wants more. Hurriedly, he paws at Lan Zhan’s pants, the both of them working together to get Lan Zhan’s dick out at what feels like the very last moment before Wei Ying bursts.
Lan Zhan holds the crotch of Wei Ying’s clothes sideways and rests his cock right at the entrance of Wei Ying’s pussy, murmuring, “Let me feel it.” They both moan at the first strong stream of piss hitting Lan Zhan’s dick with force and soaking into his pants. The sound of it running off the chair and spattering onto the rug below lights Wei Ying up anew. He jerks Lan Zhan off lazily, letting his hand chafe on the wet skin.
When he looks up, Lan Zhan is watching him go with a terribly hot look. “Are you gonna come?” Wei Ying asks. Lan Zhan’s brow furrows slightly. Wei Ying bites his lip and glances back down, squeezing to get that last reserve out. It hits Lan Zhan’s dick and Wei Ying’s hand with renewed strength. Lan Zhan growls under his breath and makes him stop stroking, their fingers warm and dripping as they overlay on his length.
Rather than gloating, Wei Ying lowers himself until the tip of Lan Zhan’s cock squelches against his pussy hole, spreading him open. “I don’t think I can wait a half hour. We’re so messy, Lan Zhan~”
Lan Zhan hums in agreement and spits across his fingers, wetting the tip of his dick so that it slides in without resistance. Wei Ying can feel both of their pulses now, how Lan Zhan’s cock twitches inside of him, swelling with arousal. He tucks his head against his husband’s neck and mumbles fitfully, “Mm, you’re just the best, Lan Zhan. The best daddy. How do you feel, full of my milk and covered in my piss, hm? Gonna come? Gonna put another baby in me, hm?”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan warns, holding onto his hips and beginning to bounce him.
He’s so big, angling right for Wei Ying’s cervix each time, hitting it raw, making the walls of Wei Ying’s pussy suck at his dick with every thrust. Wei Ying scratches at his shoulders through his shirt, gasping and continuing to babble. “I’ll go off my birth control. I’ll throw it all down the d-drain. Maybe I’ll get pregnant again right now. Be full of milk for you and our babies for as long as you want—”
Lan Zhan comes, and Wei Ying trembles as it pulses out right against the tip of his cervix, hot and deep inside of him. It’s definitely one of the best rounds they’ve had in weeks. Wei Ying doesn’t have a spare breath to brag with, because Lan Zhan keeps pumping inside of him. He’s also playing Wei Ying’s clit skillfully and rocking against his cervix as if trying to help push his cum inside. Orgasm rushes through Wei Ying within moments; he muffles his cries into Lan Zhan’s neck, drooling and biting at the collar of his shirt. They both take a moment to catch their breath afterwards, wet clothes sticking together.
Lan Zhan leans back to peer at Wei Ying. His eyes are burning hot but holding all the fondness in the world. Wei Ying kisses him on the nose. “Is that a yes?” His smile reflects onto Lan Zhan’s face, smaller but just as warm.
“We should replace our rugs with ones that are less difficult to clean,” he replies.
Wei Ying squeals, throwing his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck to kiss him full on the mouth. They sit like that for a moment, just long enough to get cold and for A-Yuan to let out a small, slightly awake noise of foreboding. The rugs will have to wait.
This fic has been converted for free using AOYeet!