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Wei Ying’s shoulders are shaking.
Lan Zhan can’t see his face; the motion itself is small, almost as to be imperceptible. Lan Zhan didn’t mean to barge in on him — he knocked and the door swung open, and there Wei Ying was, kneeling by his bed. With his shoulders shaking.
So far, Lan Zhan hasn’t seen Wei Ying cry even once. They’ve known each other for slightly more than two years now, and the closest Wei Ying had come to crying was on the day his brother had passed on the message that Wei Ying was no longer welcome in their family home. Wei Ying joked and laughed and jabbed Jiang Cheng’s arm with his elbow, saying it was good to be rid of his ugly face during the holidays. Then, after Jiang Cheng left and only Lan Zhan was there to see him crumble, Wei Ying’s lips thinned into the slightest of frowns and he sniffled and swiped his knuckles below his eyes, once for each side, and that was that.
If Lan Zhan strains his ear, he thinks he can hear Wei Ying whimpering now. Something soft and sorrowful.
He didn’t mean to intrude on Wei Ying’s privacy; but Lan Zhan cannot, in good conscience, turn away and pretend he didn’t see him crying.
He can’t watch the boy he loves suffering without making an attempt to ease his hurt.
It’s not so much that Lan Zhan fell in love with Wei Ying. It was more like he fell into a love that had already been there, that had existed before they had met, an empty space in his heart waiting to be filled, a melody yearning for a counterpoint, winter waiting for the first kiss of spring. The first week of their acquaintanceship is fragmented in his memory, distorted; here was reality without knowing Wei Ying, here was this exasperating boy trying hard to make friends with him, here was Lan Zhan, in love, as if he’d been in love for years. He can’t say if it was Wei Ying’s smile or voice or eyes or the first casual touch of his hand on Lan Zhan’s shoulder. All Lan Zhan knows is the inevitability of it, the certainty, the permanence.
Lan Zhan’s steps are soft; his voice as well. He does not mean to surprise him, calling out in a low voice, "Wei Ying," as he enters the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. He doesn’t mean to but he ends up making Wei Ying jump, letting out a yelp that is an octave higher than what Lan Zhan is used to from him.
"Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying turns around and his face is red — splotchy from the tears, Lan Zhan thinks, except that isn’t it. Wei Ying’s eyes, albeit terrified, are clear. His cheeks are a healthy, exhilarated pink. His hands — instead of coming up to wipe his face or hide his embarrassment, his hands are laying in his lap, and… and…
Lan Zhan turns around, face burning.
Wei Ying is hard. Wei Ying wasn’t crying. Lan Zhan thought he caught Wei Ying in his moment of need — that he might offer comfort, support, a hesitant sort of sympathy, that they could grow closer from sharing this experience, and instead…
Instead he’d walked in on Wei Ying masturbating.
"This isn’t what you think!" Again with the high voice, an embarrassed squeak. "Lan Zhan, I swear, I don’t… I’m not trying to hurt myself."
Hurt himself? Lan Zhan never assumed Wei Ying was — why would Wei Ying think that —
"Can you look at me?" Wei Ying asks in a small voice. "Lan Zhan, please? I promise I’ll explain."
There is no embarrassment deep enough to prevent Lan Zhan from obliging him. He turns back to face the room, gaze sliding over Wei Ying at first, avoiding eye contact. It’s the sad sound of Wei Ying’s shuffling that does Lan Zhan in, that draws him back to Wei Ying’s still-kneeling form.
That, and the shameful, secret, burning curiosity about whether Wei Ying is still aroused, if Lan Zhan could catch a glimpse of it. He tries to keep his gaze on Wei Ying’s face but it keeps sliding down. Ruddy cheeks, flushed neck, clothes in disarray. His hands in front of his body, nervously wringing together. Hiding the view of where his shorts are tented. There’s an angry red mark on Wei Ying’s wrist, Lan Zhan notices only now. The sound of his gasp spreads between them, echoing the painful shock that spreads in his chest like the ring of a bell, sharp and clear.
"Wei Ying."
He hurts. He does hurt, and Lan Zhan was willing to dismiss the scene so easily.
Wei Ying brings his hands up to chest level, palms facing forward assuagingly. "I know what it looks like, but I promise —"
Lan Zhan very deliberately keeps his eyes from traveling back down this time. He stares at a spot underneath Wei Ying’s ear, trying to ignore the flush in his neck. Stares at his clavicles, the tempting dip between them. His palms, slightly calloused, as always. And… his wrist. From up close, Lan Zhan can tell there’s a simple rubber band wrapped around the place where the circumference is smallest, right below the joint. The angry red marks — it’s not an injury, but rather, it’s… it looks as though…
Wei Ying tracks his gaze worriedly and then hurries to explain. "I don’t do this often. I swear, Lan Zhan." He picks at the rubber band nervously, then remembers himself and lets it go, allowing his hands to fall back down. Lan Zhan does not look down. He looks at Wei Ying’s face. "And I swear I’m not doing this for the pain! Or, I mean, it’s… it is for the pain, but not because I want to hurt myself. Not in a… not in a bad way, not in a kind of," Wei Ying rambles, "you know, an 'I think I deserve to be punished' way."
Lan Zhan’s mouth is dry. So dry. "Explain."
Wei Ying stands up with difficulty. He still has a hard time maneuvering — Lan Zhan tries very hard not to think of the reason. His knees must ache. That’s it. Nothing else. Wei Ying wobbles towards the bed, sitting down carefully. "It helps me concentrate."
"Meaning?"
The flush is slowly receding from Wei Ying’s skin as he swallows, as he lowers his eyes to the floor. He looks so very different from the boy Lan Zhan knows, from the image Lan Zhan has in his head, and yet, he is so achingly Wei Ying. Lan Zhan yearns to gather him into his arms, to tell him that no matter what, Lan Zhan has him. If Wei Ying wants that.
Self-harm is a serious matter though, Lan Zhan reminds himself. He positions himself before Wei Ying, feet planted in front of the bed, and tries to look attentive.
"You know how I was… you remember, right, Lan Zhan? When we just started school." Wei Ying laughs, short and bitter. "I was all over the place. You couldn’t stand me. My brain was always fluttering from one thing to another, busy-busy-busy, all the time. I know it made me insufferable."
"Wei Ying had been… lively," Lan Zhan says slowly. He cannot outright say that the reason he’d been cold towards Wei Ying at first — the reason Wei Ying had overwhelmed him — had not been his restlessness or even his loudness, but the intensity with which Lan Zhan had wanted him. "Not insufferable," he adds, because it’s important that Wei Ying knows.
Wei Ying smiles at him gratefully. "Of course you’re obligated to say that, now that we’re friends."
Lan Zhan shakes his head, but doesn’t respond. His heart unfurls at the comment, a flower opening its petals towards the sun. Of course he knows they are familiar with each other now. To hear Wei Ying say it — to be called Wei Ying’s friend — that’s a different matter entirely.
"Anyway," Wei Ying continues. "Sometime… last year? Yeah, I remember because we had that course on the nervous system. Anyway…" He takes a deep breath. Though he looks as though he’s about to talk, his mouth remains closed, his entire posture frozen.
"Wei Ying."
Lan Zhan won’t judge him. Won’t do a single thing that might drive Wei Ying away. His helplessness feels like sand running through his fingers, the fear of Wei Ying slipping away, disappearing, too scared to confide in him. All Lan Zhan wants is to be trusted by him.
"I am listening," he tries to say gently. "No judgement."
Wei Ying lets out a long, loud breath. "Okay." He rubs his palms over his thighs. Lan Zhan still isn’t looking anywhere south of his sternum. "Okay. So. Basically." He looks at Lan Zhan pleadingly. "If my body is given the proper stimulation —" he raises his arm, pulls the rubber band with his fingers and allows it to flick back against his skin. Lan Zhan does his best not to flinch. "My brain shuts the fuck up."
Lan Zhan is struck speechless.
"It works!" Wei Ying adds, somewhat defensively. "I swear."
Slowly, Lan Zhan licks his lips. Slowly, he allows himself to look, starting at where Wei Ying’s arms are once again extended forward, then lower, to his lap, to his… still notable erection.
When Wei Ying realizes what Lan Zhan is staring at he yelps, feet scrambling on the mattress as he retreats backwards, as if to meld with the wall behind him.
"This…" he says. Bites on his lip. "This… happens. Sometimes. But I’m not —" For the first time in this conversation, Wei Ying looks as though he truly regrets bringing up the whole thing. "Ah, Lan Zhan, I promise, I didn’t know. I’m not doing it for… I’m not."
Lan Zhan takes a deep, measured breath. Another. Another. He’d never imagined — he’d thought, after those first few months since meeting Wei Ying, that his mind had gone over every possible scenario, dreamt up the most impossible things, the most outrageous fantasies. And yet never had he considered —
"Say something," Wei Ying whispers. "We’re friends, right? We’re still… you still like me?"
It ripples through Lan Zhan’s heart, deep and mournful, like a heavy stone thrown into still water. "We’re still friends." Of course they are. Lan Zhan looks at Wei Ying’s hands, once again in his lap, consciously trying to hide himself away, to make himself small. His wrist is bruised and raw. Lan Zhan wants to take him in his hand, to apply an ointment, to rub it into his skin and whisper soft words of reassurance.
Wei Ying might need it. This is not about Lan Zhan. This is about safety.
"Are you being safe?" he asks, when Wei Ying still seems stuck between relieved and lost.
Wei Ying blinks. His eyelashes are so long. His lips are red when they form a tiny surprised 'o', when they open as he speaks. "I… try? I read some stuff. Researched." He chuckles. "Though it’s not that easy to find information on…" he peters out.
Yes. Lan Zhan is aware.
"Let me help you." Like his love, this sentence bursts out of him unintentionally, sudden and forceful. This wish of his did not exist in the world and now it does, has been in existence eternally. Lan Zhan wants it desperately. "I know how to be safe."
"You… do?"
There was a boy in high school. Lan Zhan had experimented with him a bit. It had always been pleasant enough, but something was off, the world tilted at an angle. He knows now — has known for a long time — that it’s because he wasn’t Wei Ying.
The other people he had done this with — passing, discrete encounters during his years at university — he’d always known not to look for what he was missing with them. They’d been there to satisfy a particular need, a mutual exchange.
Lan Zhan has learned things in his years doing this. The certainty rests in his chest, safe and warm — all of that had been in preparation for this moment. Everything that he’s learned, he can put into practice with Wei Ying, fulfilling his needs and keeping him safe from harm, simultaneously.
"May I?" Lan Zhan asks and gestures at the space beside Wei Ying on the bed. Wei Ying blinks at him, as though confused, but then he nods.
Lan Zhan takes Wei Ying’s wrist between his hands, examining the abused skin there. "Do you have a cream for this?"
Wei Ying licks his lips. "I bought something. In the, uh. In the drawer." He looks as though he wants to add something — as though he might want to reach for the drawer himself — but instead he lets his hand fall down softly by his side as Lan Zhan lets go of him to fish for said cream.
The drawer is small and tidy, and its contents make Lan Zhan’s eyes widen, his face heat. He does his best to keep his expression neutral. The knowledge that Wei Ying keeps his sex toys by the bed, that Wei Ying has a small, lovingly kept collection of sex toys at all…
Lan Zhan will have to practice compartmentalizing, until he is safely back in his own room.
"Is that what you meant —" Wei Ying starts, as Lan Zhan gently applies the salve to his wounded skin. "When you said you know safety, you meant… treating it? Because I can do that myself, you know."
Lan Zhan hushes him, a soothing hum. Wei Ying grows quiet, his eyes watching the movement of Lan Zhan’s fingers. His blinking becomes more prolonged, his posture relaxing.
"It’s nice when you do this," he mumbles quietly. "I never imagined… never mind."
Lan Zhan doesn’t press it. Instead, he shuffles closer to Wei Ying on the bed, and wraps his arm around him. It feels awkward. Unnatural. All those times Lan Zhan has imagined this have done nothing to prepare for the real thing.
Once Wei Ying has settled into his hold, Lan Zhan confesses, "I know how to inflict pain safely." He keeps it to a murmur, his low voice mingling with the sounds of Wei Ying’s deep, calm breathing. Wei Ying makes an interested sound, a kind of "Hmmm?" but other than that he stays quiet. His eyes are closed, his weight sinking slightly into Lan Zhan’s body, as if it has dipped to make a place for him. "I also know that aftercare is necessary," Lan Zhan continues, the word feeling strange on his tongue in the middle of the day, in Wei Ying’s dorm room. "Physical, but also… emotional. You should not be doing this alone."
"I’ve been doing alright." But Wei Ying turns and snuggles into his embrace, sighing happily. "This is… really nice though." He peeks open one eye. "Brain still quiet."
Lan Zhan huffs out a small laugh. Now both of Wei Ying’s eyes are wide open, taking him in with delight.
He softens his face into a smile, bathing in Wei Ying’s incandescence. "That is good."
"So when you said, help." Wei Ying floats the words like a suggestion after a while, letting them wrap in circles around them in their small, unexpected cocoon of coziness.
This is not an invitation Lan Zhan had ever yearned for, seeing as it had been so outside the realm of possible. He recognizes that it is an invitation, and he tells himself that it is his concern for Wei Ying that guides him, as though the love that he feels isn’t the most purely selfish emotion Lan Zhan has ever felt. Loving Wei Ying has always been a privilege.
"I meant it," he says with an ease that he does not feel. "Next time you need it… come to me."
*
"So, Lan Zhan." Wei Ying perches on the spare bed in Lan Zhan’s room, looking intrigued. "When you said you knew how to —" his voice takes on a different inflection, as if emulating Lan Zhan’s manner of speaking "— 'inflict pain safely', what did you have in mind?"
"What would you want?" Lan Zhan counters. He sits on his own bed, opposite to where Wei Ying is sitting. He was grateful to discover he’d been assigned a room on his own, the second bed mostly serving as a decorative piece. Now Wei Ying sits in this part of Lan Zhan’s room that he barely acknowledges, and all of a sudden the entire room feels different. Livelier.
Wei Ying shrugs. "I don’t know. I just…" He fidgets, endearing in his inability to sit still. Lan Zhan tracks his movements, his hand that reaches out to the rubber band still around his wrist, his heels sliding restlessly on the bare mattress. If he could, he would take Wei Ying’s unruly fire and cultivate it, turn it into a flame that nourishes, that warms and glows, something that is soothing.
Lan Zhan wants to give it to him.
"I just need something, you know? To stop —" Wei Ying’s jaw moves with difficulty, his hand etching abstract shapes in the air. "It feels good when it hurts," he whispers, low and shameful. "I want to feel good."
Lan Zhan’s hands clench into fists on his thighs. "I can give you that." His voice does not betray his agitation, the lazy arousal already raising its head and stretching itself wide. His hands itch to touch Wei Ying. To hurt him. "I need to know what you are okay with. What you aren’t." He pauses, then adds, "That is part of doing it safely. Setting limits."
Wei Ying chuckles, "You mean, just trial and error to see what works and what leaves me shaking is not good enough?"
The image this conjures is horrifying. Lan Zhan stands up. Walks the few steps separating between him and the second bed. He sits down and, unthinkingly, takes Wei Ying’s hand in his. The one with the rubber band. He rubs his thumb over Wei Ying’s wrist, the shallow dent left in the skin by the rubber band. Wei Ying’s breath stutters.
"I have had some experience in this," Lan Zhan says carefully. "The negotiation part — setting the expectations — can be unpleasant. But it is necessary. Please trust me." It feels as though the yearning screams from his voice, plain and raw.
Wei Ying tries to smile up at him, a crooked attempt at reassurance. "You really… you really get these things, huh?"
This morning, Lan Zhan woke up to a message from Wei Ying.
Lan er-gege. If you meant it, about helping… Soon would be good.
It had been a couple of days since he walked in on Wei Ying in his dorm room. The interaction between them hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary in the intervening time — Lan Zhan watching and yearning from afar, Wei Ying teasing and touching then flitting away, like a butterfly.
Since this morning, Lan Zhan’s heart has been beating irregularly, hope and trepidation pulsing through his veins. He never thought the want could intensify; he’d been horrified to discover that it did.
"I have some experience," he says again, an admission, finding sure footing for himself again. He wants to coax Wei Ying to be open with him, to reward him for his vulnerability. To lead them back to that place Wei Ying was when he allowed Lan Zhan to take care of him. "I’ve found that I enjoy… being on the giving end."
Wei Ying lets out a small hysteric chuckle. "But you… you don’t look like someone who needs to go to the extreme to get his brain to shut the fuck up. You always look calm. Like someone who’s secretly always meditating on the inside."
The entire time he talks, Wei Ying’s wrist rests still in Lan Zhan’s palm. He does not move to pull it away, nor to fuss with the rubber band. Lan Zhan’s thumb keeps rubbing soothing motions along it, up and down.
He considers the question hidden in Wei Ying’s words. "It’s true that it’s not… entirely… about concentration. For me." Though he’s heard of it. He’s seen it, even, occasionally, when his partner would go blissfully lax at the pain, a release that was more than physical, the mind going tranquil. Some — the livelier types — seemed as though that was what they were seeking, more than the thrill of the pain itself.
"So what is it about, for you?" Wei Ying pokes him with his free hand, a gentle tap of his finger against Lan Zhan’s side, the surprise of which nevertheless making Lan Zhan flinch.
Wei Ying twists his mouth. "I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. I didn’t mean to do that."
This is the first time in the years they’ve been familiar with each other that Wei Ying has apologized for intruding on Lan Zhan’s space. Lan Zhan hastens to mollify him, lest it becomes a habit. He’s long since grown accustomed to — hungry for — Wei Ying’s touching.
"You should not apologize. You should be able to touch me freely, same as I am going to touch you."
Wei Ying’s body shivers, a tremor he attempts to suppress, turning his head away from Lan Zhan for a moment.
"As for your question," Lan Zhan continues, in the hope that it’ll allow Wei Ying to relax from this sudden onset of tension. "I would say it’s about… letting go. Allowing myself to be unrestrained, when I spend my days…"
This is harder to admit than he thought.
Wei Ying understands, though, his face shining with recognition when he turns it back towards Lan Zhan. If only Lan Zhan could keep Wei Ying’s eyes fixed on him the way they are now, forever, to bask in this gaze that is so sharp and yet sweet and kind, bringing an ease to his heart the way no one else ever has.
"Lan Zhan is always so proper and careful," Wei Ying says, a gentle tease. "Always appropriate, always a gentleman, but sometimes he just wants to…"
"Yes," Lan Zhan cuts him off drily. "I have found this to be my particular form of release."
"It sounds so responsible when you say it like that."
"Responsibility is important. Even when letting go of restraints." Lan Zhan could never forgive himself if he had hurt someone in a way they did not want to be hurt. Crossed someone’s limits uninvited. He softens his voice, his hand now traveling all over the inside of Wei Ying’s forearm, soothing, reassuring. "Please tell me what feels good. And what doesn’t."
"For you, Lan er-gege." Wei Ying giggles nervously. But then, he tells him.
*
Their first scene ends up being simple. Straightforward. Lan Zhan coaxes Wei Ying to dispense with the rubber band, secretly hoping it would never return. Instead, once they are done talking, Lan Zhan closes his fingers around Wei Ying’s wrist, a vice grip, tightening and tightening and tightening until Wei Ying has to bite his lip in order to avoid shouting out. Near the end, Lan Zhan moves to Wei Ying’s neck — not quite choking him, but placing a gentle pressure on his windpipes, then a harder press to his trapezoids. Wei Ying’s eyes close, his mouth opens, and he sighs, soft, dreamy. Lan Zhan can feel his breathing at the tips of his fingers. "This is… this is good, Lan Zhan. Just what I needed. Thank you for doing this."
He allows Lan Zhan to check the state of his skin when they’re done, to massage it soothingly for a few moments, before wriggling in place and saying, "Sorry, I really have to go now."
Lan Zhan is torn between the need to keep him close for further examination and the desire to shove his hand into his pants and jerk off thinking of Wei Ying’s face when he gave himself over to Lan Zhan’s hands.
"Please let me know how you’re doing this evening," Lan Zhan says, awfully formal. Before Wei Ying leaves Lan Zhan attempts to touch his shoulder, an act that makes Wei Ying shy away and skitter closer to the door.
Lan Zhan’s heart feels as though it is bleeding.
"This… was good for me," he tries all the same.
"Yep, aha, me too, Lan Zhan! Sorry, I really gotta scram!"
His erection flags a little at this response, at the thought that Wei Ying might not want anything to do with him after this. That this pathetic attempt of his to provide Wei Ying with what he needs and steal these moments of vulnerability for himself has been a one-time, sad experience, a lonely comet burning a bright trail through the night sky, disappearing without a trace.
He does jerk off though, hasty and shameful, trying to recapture the memory of Wei Ying’s sweet expression when he sighed, This is good, Lan Zhan. It’s enough to bring him to climax, images of his hands on Wei Ying’s skin, Wei Ying’s mouth so close, so open, so inviting. The permission Wei Ying has given to him — and the permission he has yet to give. Might never give.
Lan Zhan cleans himself up somberly, and reminds himself that this was not about him. He wants — more than anything, more than being able to touch freely, to have his feelings or at least his physical attraction returned — he wants to be good to Wei Ying.
To provide him with something no one else is able to give him.
He also wants to hurt him so badly.
Come nighttime, his phone flashes with a text from Wei Ying. Sorry I had to run out, it says. Something came up. Last minute. I had to… anyway. Today was good, Lan Zhan, thank you for doing this! I feel good. Think we could do it again soon, maybe?
*
It is less than a week since that first time, and Lan Zhan feels the ground slipping under his feet when Wei Ying brings up the idea of biting.
"I tried to do this myself a few times, actually," he confesses, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "It felt good, in fact, but also… it felt too wrong to be doing this to myself. I felt too guilty after."
"Guilty?"
"It left a mark," Wei Ying admits, and Lan Zhan feels a rush of arousal, a lightning strike of want. A mark. "Feels sort of wrong, don’t you think? To see your teeth marks on your own skin? Like, whoa, I hurt myself. Intentionally. And it left something behind, it wasn’t…" Wei Ying fumbles for words. "I just thought it was strange. Don’t you think?"
Lan Zhan takes Wei Ying in, sitting on the unused bed leaning back on his hands, forearms and shins bare. A blank canvas, waiting. His feet are bare as well, toes happily wriggling in the air.
Lan Zhan put sheets on the spare bed earlier today before Wei Ying’s visit, remembering how at ease Wei Ying had been there; how he’d naturally elected to shy away from Lan Zhan’s personal corner of the room and over to its more neutral environment. The change threw Wei Ying off — he sauntered confidently into the room, heading towards the spare bed, then did a double take. "I thought you didn’t have a roommate?"
"I do not. I thought it would be more comfortable." Mortification had sent its stalks through Lan Zhan’s body, an unpleasant cold turned warm all at once at Wei Ying’s appreciative chuckle.
"Nice." He sat himself down on the bed, spreading his legs, wiggling his toes. "My roommate’s an asshole, coming and going at all hours. I don’t know how he doesn’t get kicked out, his father is some rich donor or something. It’s much better to be doing this here, your room is nicer."
It had been perfectly amicable small talk, of no more substance than the foam left behind by the sea, and then — biting.
"Lan Zhan?" The question brings Lan Zhan back to the present to see Wei Ying gazing up at him. His eyes are big, radiant. His mouth is so tempting. "If this is too intimate, we don’t have to— you can just do what you did the last time, I don’t know why I—"
"Biting," Lan Zhan interrupts, putting an end to the spiral, "is a personal favorite."
"Oh." Wei Ying grins and Lan Zhan all at once feels exposed, as though his innermost secrets are written plainly on his face. "Does Lan er-gege like to chomp?"
Lan Zhan ignores him. "Do you remember the rules?"
"If I tell you to stop, you stop." Wei Ying pouts at him. "Lan Zhan, come on, you’re going to have your mouth on me." As if Lan Zhan could forget. "Share a little. I just told you I used to bite myself."
"Are marks acceptable? Teeth marks? Hickeys?" Lan Zhan busies himself with the technicality of it, the need to know up front what Wei Ying expects of him, what he is opposed to. He pretends that the question does not make his blood run hot in his veins and his dick start to fill at the possibilities flooding his head.
"Everything goes," Wei Ying says breezily. "I just meant it was sort of unnerving to see my own marks on myself — you know, I was doing this to feel better, but if I’m going this far then maybe—"
"Lie back," Lan Zhan orders. "Stop talking."
He can see it when the pulse jumps in Wei Ying’s throat as he lies down, swallowing, closing his mouth and staring at the ceiling. "Lan er-gege, this is really too intimate," he says quietly.
"If you want me to stop, say stop," Lan Zhan instructs. Then he straddles Wei Ying, keeping a safe distance between their bodies, leans forward and attaches his mouth to Wei Ying’s neck.
"Ah, hah, hahhhh." Wei Ying makes a small choked sound and then goes quiet, body going limp. He bares himself for Lan Zhan to take, and Lan Zhan takes. He’s forgotten how good it feels, primal, simple, exquisite. He sinks his teeth deeper and sucks on the skin, taking in Wei Ying’s sudden gasp with satisfaction.
Wei Ying doesn’t respond when Lan Zhan moves to the other side of his neck, when he presses his fingers into the bruise he left behind. Lan Zhan latches on to the tendon, tasting the skin, the light tang of sweat. He holds himself above Wei Ying and feels himself grow hard, and all this time Wei Ying doesn’t give him anything, not a sound, not a flinch, no indication of whether he is enjoying this. Getting what he needs from it.
Lan Zhan bites him one more time, shallow and vicious, before letting go. "Tell me how you feel."
Wei Ying’s voice comes out in a whisper, dreamy, slurred. "Good… ’s good, Lan Zhan. Keep going."
Lan Zhan maneuvers down the bed, creating distance between himself and Wei Ying, between his aching dick and Wei Ying’s body, so within reach. He takes Wei Ying’s arm in his hands, peppering soft, shallow bites on the forearm, finding the meaty part and sinking his teeth deep into it, sucking, nibbling.
"Ah…"
Wei Ying shifts on the bed, and Lan Zhan, emboldened, says, "I could bite your legs as well. If you would like that."
"Never could reach my own legs…" Wei Ying mumbles. "Do it. I wanna… wanna…" His voice goes gradually quiet, and Lan Zhan allows himself to smile, unseen. Wei Ying is already calmer, more still than he had been when he walked into the room. Lan Zhan shuffles even lower down the bed, hunched over on his knees at the end, and gently lifts one of Wei Ying’s legs, holding his ankle with his other hand.
Wei Ying’s body is exquisite all over. Toned but delicate, the hair on his legs smooth and soft, the bones in his foot prominent, the toes elegant. Lan Zhan nuzzles into his skin for one moment and then bites — this area is less padded, less plump, and as a result Lan Zhan keeps to scraping his teeth against the skin more than actually sinking them in. Less satisfying for him, but he wants. The knowledge that he has been all over Wei Ying’s body is a whole other kind of satisfying.
Once he’s left Wei Ying shivering and gasping, open-mouthed, his head thrown back, Lan Zhan makes his way back up. Just one small taste, one last moment of feeling this utter and complete control over Wei Ying’s body, his teeth fastened securely into skin, driving the pain inside, taking without thinking, and then—
Lan Zhan’s face comes level with the bulge in Wei Ying pants as he makes his way to the top of Wei Ying’s body. Wei Ying’s jeans do nothing to hide how aroused he is. While Lan Zhan contemplates whether to ignore it or address it, Wei Ying makes the decision for him. He gazes down at Lan Zhan from where he lies, liquid gray eyes, voice husky. "This happens sometimes. Like the pain makes — it makes everything feel good."
Lan Zhan nods carefully. "That is natural."
"I wasn’t sure." Wei Ying chuckles. "Though I did take advantage, when I was on my own, sometimes, I’d…" He closes his mouth abruptly, but quickly opens it again to ask, "Are you also?"
Lan Zhan shifts, bringing his knee over Wei Ying’s body, not getting their bodies to touch but exposing himself enough so that it is clear how hard he is.
"Usually when I do… this." Lan Zhan’s voice is also rough and low, unrecognizable. "It had been sexual. In the past."
Something flashes on Wei Ying’s face. "Are you into guys?"
That is like the sun asking Lan Zhan whether he expects it to rise tomorrow morning. "I am gay," he confirms.
Wei Ying licks his lips. His eyes are lucid again, no more of that blissed-out look. Lan Zhan mourns its loss, but then again, if this is headed where he thinks — where he wants it —
"No reason we couldn’t help each other out?" Wei Ying suggests, casual. "Since we’re both here, and everything."
In the space of Lan Zhan’s single, long blink, his attempt to process what is offered on a platter after years of living on crumbs, Wei Ying hastens to add, "Only if you want to, of course. Not everyone is into, y’know. The friends with benefits kind of thing."
"I am into it," Lan Zhan rasps.
Wei Ying grins at him and then reaches to take his shirt off, his arms mottled by the red marks of Lan Zhan’s bites. Lan Zhan busies himself with removing his own shirt, too overwhelmed to be able to take Wei Ying in as he undresses before him. The shirt offers only a temporary reprieve, and then Lan Zhan is helpless, facing Wei Ying’s pale torso, dark nipples, his ribs that stand out under the skin, the dark trail of hair on his toned midriff.
Wei Ying shimmies his hips, wriggling an inch out of his jeans. "Some help, er-gege."
They move as though in a dream — Lan Zhan standing off the bed to allow Wei Ying room, then leaning back down when all Wei Ying does is look at him expectantly, and lowering Wei Ying’s jeans and underpants simultaneously. No time for regrets. Wei Ying’s cock springs free from his clothes, dark and hard and the most beautiful sight Lan Zhan has ever seen. He removes the rest of his own clothes mechanically, and then they stare at each other, both naked, both awkward.
Finally, Wei Ying pulls on Lan Zhan’s hand. It is the first time that Wei Ying has purposefully touched him, in this context — always touching Lan Zhan during the daytime, between lessons, slinging a friendly arm around his shoulder, nudging him with his elbow, inching into Lan Zhan’s space when Lan Zhan does not want him there, and now…
"C’mere, Lan Zhan." Wei Ying smiles, sweet and genuine. "I won’t bite. You, on the other hand…" His free hand gestures at his entirety, as though inviting, go ahead.
Lan Zhan does not need to be told a second time. He feels the pull of Wei Ying’s nipples, dark, tight, tempting, but he brings himself down between Wei Ying’s legs, starting on his inner thighs instead. Incapable of meeting Wei Ying’s eye — Wei Ying whose cock is flushed and leaking, who treats this all so casually. Wei Ying has always been the boy who laughs, the boy who outshines all the rest, this person who was light and open and forthcoming, all the things Lan Zhan was never able to be. Lan Zhan breathes in his musk and sinks his teeth into the delicate skin of Wei Ying’s inner thigh and Wei Ying keens. From the corner of his eye, Lan Zhan is able to see Wei Ying’s cock respond, jerk violently upwards, then again when Lan Zhan gently sucks a mark into the skin.
Wei Ying cusses softly under his breath. Lan Zhan, regretfully, lets go.
"You may tell me to stop at any time," he reminds Wei Ying. He hopes that the helplessness in his voice translates to authority, reassurance. That the arousal muddling his senses is read as sexual attraction and nothing more.
"Lan Zhan, I’m…" Wei Ying throws his arm over his eyes, conveniently sparing Lan Zhan from having to meet his gaze. He is beautiful, head to toe, lips lush and red from where he bit them, chest heaving, neck, arms, now thighs as well, all covered in marks. Lan Zhan’s bite marks. The thrill that passes through his body is stronger than attraction, a dark, satisfied sense of possession. Of power. "Don’t stop," Wei Ying says. Don’t stop. "I’m good. I’m so good."
"You are," Lan Zhan tells him, and this too makes Wei Ying respond, a twitch of his dick, a shudder through his body. Lan Zhan sets to finding each and every sensitive spot on the inside of Wei Ying’s upper thighs, and then he makes his way up, not hiding his own growing interest this time. He allows his cock to rub against Wei Ying’s leg, his thigh, ruts against him mindlessly when he finds Wei Ying’s nipple and closes his teeth around it.
Wei Ying moans. His entire body thrashes; Lan Zhan grabs his hips, fingers sinking into the naked flesh, holding him in place.
"I’m close," Wei Ying breathes, tugging on Lan Zhan’s hair. Lan Zhan moves to the other nipple. Wei Ying tugs again. "Lan Zhan, ah, ah, I’m close, please, can you… can you kiss me?"
Lan Zhan can give him anything. Everything he asks for. Always.
The touch of Wei Ying’s mouth is unfamiliar, exhilarating. This is the moment it hits Lan Zhan — how long it has been since he last shared intimacy with another person. Since he’s felt this simple joy — the touch of lips against lips, tongue gently seeking the taste of Wei Ying’s mouth, Wei Ying’s hand and its sudden caress to the back of Lan Zhan’s head. He shifts and then they are sliding together, Lan Zhan’s hard dick against Wei Ying’s hot length, thrusting and grinding against each other.
"Ah, ah, yes, please, yes —" Wei Ying won’t shut up so Lan Zhan makes him, claiming his mouth in another kiss, partaking of his intoxicating flavor once again. They are sweating, slick and sticky against each other, and Lan Zhan recognizes the exact moment in which Wei Ying jerks and shudders, in which he starts spilling, adding his come to the mess between them.
There’s a reluctance in him to follow Wei Ying through to the other side, to allow himself to let go. If Lan Zhan lets go this will end — Wei Ying’s body underneath him, his hair in disarray, all over the spare pillow, his sated smile and shining eyes.
"Wanna feel you," Wei Ying tells him and grabs his ass, driving Lan Zhan closer to him, tilting his hips to meet Lan Zhan’s thrusts. And so it’s over, the sensation too strong to ignore, Wei Ying’s urging, the slide of him against Lan Zhan’s cock. He comes and he buries his face in Wei Ying’s neck, breathing him in, sucking softly on one of the bruises he left there earlier.
*
They lie in bed quiet, like this, bodies entangled together, for a long time.
Wei Ying’s breathing is soft and steady. He does not seem to be in pain, but it is that niggling doubt that finally causes Lan Zhan to rise, to pad across the room to find a clean cloth and a bottle of water, to return and clean them up. Wei Ying is drowsy but pliant, making sweet little sounds when Lan Zhan examines his body. There are a couple of places where Lan Zhan’s teeth broke the skin, but there is no bleeding. Wei Ying hisses at the touch of the antiseptic, but hums appreciatively at the cool balm massaged into his skin.
Once he’s done, Lan Zhan returns to lie behind him, spooning him with his body. His muscles tingle, the good burn of exertion fading and making place to a pleasant fatigue. The nape of Wei Ying’s neck is still damp with sweat, and his hair sticks to the skin. Lan Zhan cards it gently with his fingers.
Silence rests around them, like the embrace of a blanket.
It is Wei Ying who breaks it, while Lan Zhan is still contemplating the appropriate timing, the words "How are you feeling?" stuck halfway through his throat. In a little while, he keeps telling himself. In a little while, and so it takes him by surprise when Wei Ying shifts and starts to talk.
"So this is a sexual thing for you?" He does not sound judgemental, merely curious. They are both still naked, underneath the insufficiently wide blanket. Lan Zhan didn’t have another duvet as big as his to spare.
His soft dick is pressed lightly against Wei Ying’s back, the crease of his ass. Lan Zhan feels each point of contact with Wei Ying’s body like a brand on his skin.
"Among other things," he prevaricates. It is the truth, in that Lan Zhan thinks and believes he would enjoy the inflicting of pain without the following sexual encounter. He is good at what he does, what he’s learned.
It is a lie, in that other than Wei Ying, Lan Zhan has never done it as a separate thing. There had been no need. His own bodily response — that is always tied to arousal. Even if sometimes not acting on that arousal can be a thing in and of itself.
So he adds, "But yes."
Wei Ying hums, a knowing sound, although Lan Zhan cannot possibly fathom how he could know. He shifts again, light as the touch of a butterfly’s wings. Never fully still, always in motion, Wei Ying. "Are you…" his voice is hesitant, still carrying the lushness in it from before, pleasure and release and indulgence. "Are you doing this with anyone else? Besides me?"
"No."
Lan Zhan really has only ever done this in passing, other than with that boy in high school. He does not do it often. He wonders now, if that had been a sort of self discipline.
"I have not done it much," he adds.
"Mmm." Wei Ying snuggles back into him, takes one of Lan Zhan’s hands in his and laces their fingers together, lying above Wei Ying’s stomach. "I like that. That way I get all your attention to myself."
That has been the truth of Lan Zhan’s existence since that first week in freshman year. He is ridiculously pleased to know that Wei Ying is pleased with having his attention.
"How are you feeling?" Lan Zhan finally allows himself to ask.
"Do you even have to ask?" Wei Ying stretches himself in Lan Zhan’s hold with a satisfied sigh, then resumes the snuggling with full force. Lan Zhan’s heart used to be a glacier, now molten by the sun.
"I do."
"You’re…" For a moment it feels as though Wei Ying might turn around, seek to meet Lan Zhan’s eyes, but instead he ducks his head, continuing more quietly. "You’re amazing, Lan Zhan. I feel… brand new. Like my whole body has been remade." There’s no hiding the quiet awe in his voice, no stopping the surging pride in Lan Zhan’s chest. "Also, I haven’t had anything but my own hand touch my dick in so long."
As if possessed, Lan Zhan’s fingers skitter over the front of Wei Ying’s body, coming down to brush his now soft cock, to cup it in his hand.
Wei Ying sighs. "Yeah…"
"I am glad this has been good." Lan Zhan kisses Wei Ying’s shoulder and allows his mind to go blank, to give himself over to the feeling of having Wei Ying in his bed. Or close enough.
It is this bed Wei Ying ends up sleeping in, when they both realize that it is later than they’d thought, that they are both sleepy, long blinks and languid movements.
"I could go —" Wei Ying suggests halfheartedly, mid-yawn, eyes already closing again.
"Hush," Lan Zhan tells him, and kisses his forehead as he pulls the covers over him.
*
Lan Zhan sleeps in his own bed and wakes to find Wei Ying still dozing on the other side of the room, facing him. He does not stir when Lan Zhan quietly leaves the room to go to the bathroom, nor when Lan Zhan returns, his face scrubbed raw and his eyes clear and his heart pounding in his chest, a sense of elation he has never felt before.
Nothing happened, Lan Zhan tries to reason with himself. Nothing of significance. They recognized a need in each other — another need — and satisfied it mutually. Beneficially. That is all.
When he exits the room again, Lan Zhan’s feet feel like skipping, an accompaniment to the pitter-pattering of his heart. He refrains. He buys tea and coffee and pastries. He shakes Wei Ying’s shoulder gently when he returns to find him still slumbering. Wei Ying wakes up with his nose first, sniffing the fresh smell of coffee, lips stretching into a wide grin.
"Hello," he tells Lan Zhan when he opens his eyes. He moans with appreciation when Lan Zhan hands him the coffee.
Lan Zhan expects the morning after to be awkward, but it isn’t. Wei Ying is perfectly friendly, relaxed and chatty over his cup of coffee. He snags a pastry to go with an apology — "Gotta change out of these," he gestures at his day-old clothes. He does not blush, not even then.
He stops by the door, and gives Lan Zhan’s shoulder a squeeze. "Thank you for yesterday. Be in touch, yes?"
They see each other every day. They talk, almost every day, if one counts Wei Ying chattering mindlessly in Lan Zhan’s ear, Lan Zhan doing his best to ignore him. They’ll probably see each other in less than two hours, when the first lesson of the day begins.
"Mn," Lan Zhan manages. Wei Ying kisses him on the cheek swiftly, then leaves.
*
Some of the marks Lan Zhan has left on Wei Ying’s neck are visible above his collar. Wei Ying grins at him when he catches Lan Zhan staring, slowly brings a thumb up to press against the most prominent bruise. His eyes roll with pleasure, his mouth opening into a perfect circle, a silent moan of delight. No one else pays them any attention. No one else knows what they did together.
Lan Zhan spends the day trying to fight an unwanted erection. Despite his best efforts, he spends most of the day at least partially hard.
During lunch, Wei Ying catches his eye over the tables separating between them, and sucks the straw of his iced-coffee obscenely between his lips.
It is nothing. A game, a tease, the excitement over something new. Lan Zhan jerks off in his room at night, wishing for his phone to light up with a message.
There’s nothing. He goes to sleep alone.
*
"So I thought about it."
Wei Ying is once again in Lan Zhan’s room, sitting cross-legged on Lan Zhan’s spare bed. He brought a bag with him — an overnight bag. It has been four days since the last time, four days filled with teasing, four agonizingly lonely nights. Lan Zhan has been on the verge of erupting, and then Wei Ying texted him, Feel like helping me out again?
"You should fuck me," Wei Ying continues, unaware of the effect this is having on Lan Zhan’s heart. "You should fuck me up, gege."
Responding to Wei Ying should not be as difficult as it is. "You mean…?" He swallows and he feels like he is back to the age of fifteen, getting hard at the most arbitrary stimulus. Like this is the first week, month, year since he’s met Wei Ying all over again, fighting the urge to take flight, to take action, to grab this infuriating boy and drag him to an abandoned corner and have his way with him.
"I need the pain," Wei Ying explains, scratching the back of his head — no. Seeking that bruise that has long since faded. "And I loved the sex." His eyes flash wickedly at that, as though challenging Lan Zhan to be embarrassed.
It makes Lan Zhan love him even more. It’s ridiculous.
"So I figured, why not combine the two?"
"That is possible." Lan Zhan has done it before. It is not uncommon.
"I think we should do it." Wei Ying has a finger pulling on his lower lip, a clear tease, his body swaying from side to side, a clear invitation. If Lan Zhan glances at his lap — which he does, he can’t help it — he can see Wei Ying’s evident excitement, the way he already grows hard from expectation alone. "And I think," Wei Ying adds, just as Lan Zhan summons the courage to get up and get down to business, "I think we should have a safeword. So I could tell you no. And not mean it."
*
Lan Zhan cages Wei Ying under his body, and all but rips his shirt off his torso.
"Ah, ah, Lan Zhan, slow down a little." Wei Ying grins at him, exhilarated, and Lan Zhan’s blood is molten lava in his veins, all of it flowing south towards his cock.
"No," he almost growls, and starts tugging on Wei Ying’s pants. "You asked for it."
"I did, I know, but I —" Wei Ying gasps convincingly when Lan Zhan exposes him. "Gege, I’m not sure I want it so rough anymore."
Lan Zhan muffles his words with his hand, cupping it effectively over Wei Ying’s mouth. When Wei Ying mumbles in protest, Lan Zhan shoves his head down forcefully into the mattress and then continues applying pressure, forcing Wei Ying’s chin up, his neck strained, until tears glimmer at the corners of his eyes.
"You will take," he says, "what you are given."
Lan Zhan is so hard, so hard, so hard. He never said a word about his — about those more secret urges, about the darker side of wanting to harm another person and having it be sexual, about his wish to drag Wei Ying to dark secluded corners and —
No, it was Wei Ying who said, "I want it to be a little like a game — like you force yourself on me. Is that something you would —"
And Lan Zhan said yes, and they came up with a word, ground rules, and then they simply — started.
Wei Ying is writhing on the mattress, kicking his feet to the sides, mouth hot and damp against Lan Zhan’s hand.
Lan Zhan allows him a momentary freedom when he reaches to take off his own pants.
"Ah, gege, please, be gentle, I take it back, I take it back!"
Fuck me up, is what Wei Ying had asked of him. And then, again, make it hurt.
Lan Zhan strokes his cock slowly, leisurely, and looks down at Wei Ying with cold eyes. "Don’t move."
Wei Ying’s body goes lax abruptly, arms and legs pulled tightly against his body. "I won’t move. I’ll behave, gege. Be good to me."
The lube is all the way by Lan Zhan’s bed, but he makes the trip there and back in record time. He does not squeeze much of it out. He allows his barely slicked finger to reach between Wei Ying’s legs, to circle his entrance.
Wei Ying whimpers. "It’s my first time, gege, be nice."
"Mn," Lan Zhan lies, and thrusts his finger into him. Wei Ying is hot and dry and tight and Lan Zhan plays with his rim, stretching it with his finger. He does not attempt to be nice. Instead, when Wei Ying yells out in protest, Lan Zhan covers his mouth again, pressing his thumb and his middle finger against the edges of Wei Ying’s jawbone, forceful and calculated.
Wei Ying hisses in pain through his nose. Lan Zhan adds another finger.
"Hnngh," Wei Ying tries against Lan Zhan’s hand. "Hnngh!"
Lan Zhan lets his mouth go, takes his fingers out, and squeezes more lube into his hand. His cock is aching, and when he touches himself with his slicked hand, his body shivers, anticipation making his skin bloom with goosebumps.
"Lan Zhan, please," Wei Ying tries. "I’ve never done this, I want —"
Lan Zhan wonders if the claim of virginity is a part of Wei Ying’s fantasy, or a confession of something real.
"Shut up," he tells Wei Ying, and positions himself between Wei Ying’s legs, spreading them further apart. He props Wei Ying’s knees up, Wei Ying’s ankles going over Lan Zhan’s shoulders, and slides a pillow under his pelvis. He gives Wei Ying’s hole another perfunctory examination with his finger, pulling on the puckered skin.
Then he slides his cock inside, slow but inexorable, and Wei Ying keens.
It has been a while since Lan Zhan has done this, but he also carries within himself two pent-up years in which he couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be doing this, particularly, with Wei Ying. He observes the sensation almost as if from afar, at first — Wei Ying writhing on the mattress, the pressure Lan Zhan exerts on his shins to keep him in place. His tightness around Lan Zhan’s dick, the shape and the sound of his moans. It’s all a part of the scene — something Lan Zhan has never imagined — and as such Lan Zhan finds it in himself to stay observant. To maintain a bit of distance.
Wei Ying’s paws at his sides, weak and ineffective. "Hurt me, gege," he whispers.
All of that distance evaporates.
Lan Zhan snaps his hips forward, forceful, shaking Wei Ying and the bed. Wei Ying moans and clenches around him and Lan Zhan shifts his grip to Wei Ying’s thighs, where he is fleshier, where Lan Zhan can leave behind imprints of his hands and fingers. The preparation has been perfunctory, and that’s felt, but Lan Zhan powers through. Treats Wei Ying like Wei Ying asked him to — as though Wei Ying was something for Lan Zhan to hurt, to mess up, to fuck up a little. A lot.
He bends Wei Ying’s legs further towards Wei Ying’s shoulders. Wei Ying is limber, flexible, but Lan Zhan doesn’t stop until his face breaks into an expression of pain. He bites his lip — Lan Zhan wants to be there to bite it for him. He forces Wei Ying’s legs to open wider, spread-eagle, and leans forward, keeping his hold firm behind Wei Ying’s knees. Digging his fingers into the skin. Wei Ying gasps into Lan Zhan’s mouth and Lan Zhan drives his cock out and back into him, slamming him harder into the mattress. Then he takes his mouth in his.
He is quieter than Lan Zhan had expected, almost dreamy. Going under, Lan Zhan is realizing. One hand lets go in order to pull on Wei Ying’s hair and Wei Ying’s free leg wraps around Lan Zhan’s back, beckoning him closer. The tears in Wei Ying’s eyes are real when Lan Zhan forces him to extend his neck, pulling on his hair until his muscles are straining. Yet he rocks into Lan Zhan’s motions, encouraging him on with every slight tilt of his pelvis and small dig of his heels into Lan Zhan’s back.
Lan Zhan wants to fuck him up so good he won’t be able to walk.
He can tell that Wei Ying is surprised when he reaches for Wei Ying’s cock, when he squeezes it at the base. He does not quite come out from where he’s drifted, no words, but he is panting, expectant. Lan Zhan releases him from his touch, grabs him by the waist, and fucks into him forcefully.
Wei Ying whimpers.
It has been a while since Lan Zhan rode this high, since he felt like he could shape and mold the pleasure of another person with his hands. The pleasure and the pain. When he runs a nail down Wei Ying’s flank, leaving a shallow scratch behind, Wei Ying hisses and moans, a low sob, a hitch in his breath, a gratified sound. Lan Zhan does it again, again, again. His cock is so hard inside Wei Ying and he can tell that Wei Ying is beginning to feel uncomfortable, the muscles in his thighs quivering. Lan Zhan turns his head and bites him on his shin, then catches Wei Ying’s mouth again and steals the sounds away from him.
Fuck me up, gege.
Lan Zhan is keeping his promise.
There is a part of him that keeps waiting for Wei Ying to ask for a reprieve — to signal that he has had enough. Lan Zhan has tried being attuned to him but he can admit to himself that he is lost in it now, drunker than on any liquor, unraveling at the edges. Wei Ying feels so good around him, tight and hot and resistant just enough that it feels like a struggle, like a victory. Lan Zhan can press on any of his buttons. Another bite, higher up his leg. A nibble to his maddening, tempting lips, that makes Wei Ying’s cock jerk between them. And that game of touch and go, give and tease, allowing Wei Ying to come closer but never providing him fully with what he needs.
Not until Lan Zhan has had his way with him.
He can last. Lan Zhan has never been more grateful for the times he spent denying himself, for training his own self discipline. He fucks Wei Ying until he can no longer feel his own legs, hips going backward and forward mechanically, any other purpose of his body forgotten. He groans when he tips over the edge — if it was up to him, he would’ve waited longer, he would’ve stayed inside Wei Ying until the morning came. Being inside of Wei Ying has been a single, endless moment, and Lan Zhan watches it go with sorrow, even as his pleasure hits him, as he swells and pulses and empties himself dry, still fucking Wei Ying, small rolls of his hips.
Wei Ying is beautiful and hard and helpless before him. He does not beg, not even now, staring at Lan Zhan with eyes like stars, distant and glowing. Lan Zhan curls his fingers around him — no teasing now, no pain. Only the sweet, sure feeling of Wei Ying’s arousal at the palm of his hand, as Lan Zhan strokes him — once, twice, thrice — and Wei Ying arches off the bed, coming, his hole clenching around Lan Zhan’s dick that’s softening inside him.
Lan Zhan carefully puts Wei Ying back together, slipping out, setting his legs back down to the mattress, releasing him from Lan Zhan’s grip. He allows them to stay soiled for now, rolling Wei Ying over onto his side and holding him close. Cuddling. His own heart is beating loud in his ears, forceful in his chest, and he can hear Wei Ying’s answering puffs of ragged breath, feel the way Wei Ying’s body longs for his nearness.
"Alright?" he asks Wei Ying, once, soft.
Wei Ying nods. His eyes are closed, his face free of pretense. Lan Zhan hugs him close.
This has been everything he ever dreamt of and more.
The comedown lurks at the back of his mind, gray brushstrokes of watercolor threatening to turn the whole world monochrome. Lan Zhan insistently, meticulously ignores it.
He breathes in the scent of Wei Ying’s skin, of Wei Ying’s hair. He counts Wei Ying’s heartbeats — slowly returning to their regular rhythm, evident in the place where their bodies are touching, little Morse code taps from another world. Wei Ying’s world. Wei Ying relaxes in increments, growing even more lax and pliant. Lan Zhan watches him unravel, a wonder, and allows his own face to go soft and slack.
"N’Zhan," Wei Ying finally murmurs.
"I’m here," Lan Zhan tells him. He rubs his hand soothingly over Wei Ying’s back. "Water?"
"Mm." Wei Ying smacks his lips together, seeming to contemplate the question. His eyes still don’t open. "Yes, please."
Lan Zhan brings him water and leftover mantou, and he slowly coaxes Wei Ying to sit up. He situates himself behind Wei Ying’s back, legs spread wide to accommodate him. Wei Ying drinks on his own but Lan Zhan feeds him the mantou, small nibbles he tears away and offers to Wei Ying’s anticipating mouth. Wei Ying licks Lan Zhan’s fingers every now and then, pressing soft kisses to their pads. Lan Zhan doesn’t shy away from him.
"You’re a lot more tactile when we do this," Wei Ying says eventually, refusing Lan Zhan’s offer for more food. Lan Zhan puts the plate away. "I never thought… you’re very different like this, Lan er-gege."
Lan Zhan clears his throat. Wei Ying is a comfortable weight on his chest, between his legs, easy and warm.
"In order to do this responsibly," he starts. His voice still sounds rough. His mind flashes back to earlier — Lan Zhan’s cock drilling into Wei Ying’s body, Wei Ying’s whole being at the mercy of Lan Zhan’s hands. Giving up responsibility is not an option. "Touch is necessary. During aftercare. Sometimes during the scene itself." An anchor. A reminder. To both of them.
"You also talk more."
"Communication is also a part of it." Lan Zhan can’t quite explain it, how hard being a person can be outside of his own head sometimes. Having structure is good. Having this permission to be himself — even if it does require him to be more open, be more tactile, it is infinitely easier than waking up in the morning and going about his day and pretending he is friendly and open as so many other people easily are. "It is a part of the rules." Rules are good. Easy. Comforting.
Wei Ying shifts against him. Lan Zhan’s cock is still sensitive against his skin, and yet it is so easily excitable.
"So you’ve been like this — this has all been about following rules? Doing it properly?" Wei Ying’s voice slips into a whine. "Is that all I am to you, er-gege? Is that all this is?"
This is an act of love.
Lan Zhan does not tell him that.
"I enjoy your company," he says instead, and even that does not come out without difficulty. "I enjoy the things we do together. And I like… to be able to help." Help Wei Ying, particularly.
The answer seems to appease him. "Ah, Lan er-gege, my knight in shining armor. I really enjoyed it too. Although…" He hesitates and Lan Zhan waits patiently, runs his hand up and down Wei Ying’s arm in what he hopes is an encouraging manner. "That was a bit intense, wasn’t it?"
"It was," Lan Zhan agrees. Tentatively, uncertainly, "Should I have done anything differently?"
"Aw, no, you were perfect." Wei Ying turns around and kisses his cheek hastily, the flicker of sunlight between clouds, gone before it can be registered. "I’m just… not used. To being so passive."
Lan Zhan hums. "We can discuss it further if you like."
Wei Ying stretches in his hold, a sinuous motion. "Maybe some other time. That was perfectly pleasant. I feel like a puddle now."
"Mm." Lan Zhan kisses the back of his neck, amused.
"So how did you… where did you learn all those rules?"
"There was a boy. In high school."
Wei Ying gasps, theatrical. "Corrupted so young, Lan er-gege?"
Lan Zhan pinches the side of his stomach. Wei Ying yelps and giggles and shuts up. The satisfaction curls inside Lan Zhan’s belly. "We did not know much of what we were doing. But we learned it together. And then I sought out more." At Wei Ying’s questioning sound he adds, "The internet, mostly."
"Not… other people?"
"There have been other people," Lan Zhan acknowledges. "In passing. Nothing serious."
"Not like that boy in high school."
"That had not been serious either." All in good fun. The joy of discovery. Lan Zhan owes him a debt of gratitude, won’t ever forget him, but… he can’t say he misses his company. "There are communities," he adds. "But I never felt comfortable enough to try and join one."
Instead he’s been painstakingly gathering information on how to hurt someone safely, reading, experimenting, sometimes on himself, sometimes with other people. Learning what turns him on. What gets his blood going. Training, it felt like. For that moment he’d be good enough. Worthy.
"You’re very good at this," Wei Ying tells him seriously. He twists around in Lan Zhan’s hold, meeting his eyes for a single charged moment, then pulling on Lan Zhan’s hands, coaxing and nudging him to lie back down with him. Once they are flat down on the mattress Wei Ying shamelessly nestles into Lan Zhan’s body, laying his head on Lan Zhan’s chest.
Lan Zhan’s entire nervous system is singing.
"I had this girlfriend — freshman year," Wei Ying suddenly says, speaking into Lan Zhan’s pectorals. Lan Zhan is aware of the girlfriend. Lan Zhan did not like the girlfriend. Not the idea of her, and not the reality — the way she’d sometimes treat Wei Ying as if she could ever find someone better. "She liked to… to slap me, sometimes. As a kind of… I don’t know, I think she thought it was sexy. Or sometimes she’d use her nails. That was better. I didn’t really like the slapping." Lan Zhan notes this down in his heart, burns the knowledge permanent. "But the scratching… that did sort of make me horny. And both made my brain go quiet. From the shock, I thought at first," he chuckles. "It took me a while to piece it together."
"You two broke up," Lan Zhan says despite himself. If she was giving Wei Ying what he wanted — what he needed —
Wei Ying shrugs, an awfully intimate gesture in their close quarters. He is silky smooth and warm and reassuring. Lan Zhan gathers him closer.
"It didn’t — it wasn’t good. Those things — she thought she did it to be sexy, I guess, but it mostly just felt mean." Wei Ying hums in contemplation and Lan Zhan feels it reverberating through his body. "Like taking." He leans his hands on Lan Zhan’s chest and pushes himself up to meet Lan Zhan’s eyes. "Whereas what you do is give."
There’s no place to hide from the force of that gaze, and Lan Zhan feels exposed to his very core. Everything, he wants to say. He would give everything, to have Wei Ying like that — wholly. Completely.
Wei Ying chuckles again and kisses the corner of his lips, fleeting and soft.
"Why haven’t we done this before?" Wei Ying asks and Lan Zhan’s breath stutters to a halt. "Hang out, I mean. I’ve always wanted us to be closer. But you never really… we never really…"
Lan Zhan is incapable of explaining that he had to keep his distance, or he would have swept Wei Ying up with the force of his yearning, the tide becoming shackles becoming a prison. Loving him from a distance had been better.
It is no longer better, now that Lan Zhan knows the taste of Wei Ying’s skin, the feel of him under his hands.
"I would like that," he dares to say.
Wei Ying’s face breaks into a radiant grin. "Okay then. Yes. Okay."
He snuggles back into Lan Zhan after that, breathing softly, quietly. Still. Occasionally he wriggles to make himself more comfortable and Lan Zhan’s heart starts hammering, the feeling of sand grains slowly trickling past the point of no return, their time running out on them.
"I brought clothes," Wei Ying says through a yawn. "And a toothbrush. If you don’t mind." He blinks at Lan Zhan, waiting for a reaction. He looks adorably mussed.
It’s been niggling at the back of Lan Zhan’s mind, a worry he’d rather not address, but he must. "I don’t mind," he starts. But — "When we started doing this… you mentioned you did not do it often."
Wei Ying looks more awake now, sheepish and blushing. "Ah, Lan er-gege, don’t worry about me." Lan Zhan will always worry about him. "I’m not — I just enjoy your company too much. Plus, this bed is so much comfier." He snuggles a little into the covers, as if to demonstrate. It takes him away from Lan Zhan, the loss of his warmth against Lan Zhan’s body palpable.
Lan Zhan chooses his words delicately. "This is not about your brain giving you trouble, or… your roommate?"
He wouldn’t mind giving Wei Ying shelter, if that’s what Wei Ying is looking for. And as for the growing frequency of their assignations — there have been no other symptoms indicating distress of any kind. Lan Zhan is probably worrying for nothing.
Wei Ying laughs out loud, and Lan Zhan’s heart feels buoyant. Relieved. "My roommate’s an ass, but he’s harmless. Er-gege, I only…" He turns his head, hiding himself in the pillow. "I like what we’re doing," he mumbles. "Does that bother you?"
It’s hard to draw the line between their so-called benefits and their friendship. Perhaps Lan Zhan shouldn’t kiss him like this, right now. He does anyway, leaning above him to steal a swift smooch, hoping the casualness of the act covers the depth of his feelings. His heart is beating, beating, beating.
"It does not bother me."
"Mm." Wei Ying relaxes and touches his lips, smiling. "And you really — you really just have this extra bed here?"
"It came with the room." Before Wei Ying can start doubting himself again, Lan Zhan adds, "Wei Ying. You are welcome to stay."
Wei Ying stays.
*
It takes all of two days before Wei Ying appears in Lan Zhan’s room again, asking to be hurt. Two days of Wei Ying seeking his company at class, walking him back to his room, chattering animatedly, nudging his shoulder, stealing food off his tray at lunch. Sometimes Wei Ying turns his head towards Lan Zhan and Lan Zhan’s cheek starts tingling in anticipation for a kiss that never comes; sometimes Wei Ying’s gaze on Lan Zhan dips down and his eyes grow heated, his lips spread open — and then he’ll crack a joke or laugh a good-natured laugh and the moment will dissipate, stardust in the wake of a miracle that didn’t happen.
When Wei Ying shows up in Lan Zhan’s room he does so unannounced this time, no texting ahead, no time to prepare. Lan Zhan is in his sweatpants, trying to concentrate on his latest assignment. There’s a knock on his door and then Wei Ying is there, bringing his brightness into Lan Zhan’s room.
"Heya, Lan Zhan," he says. "I think you should fuck me."
Arousal flares bright and ready in Lan Zhan’s gut, but he hesitates to approach. Something feels wrong; Wei Ying’s foot is tapping on the floor, restless. His beloved face — there are tear tracks on his cheeks, blotchy stains too hastily wiped.
"Wei Ying," he says and stands up. Wei Ying sidles up to him.
"Please, er-gege," he pouts. "Fuck me up good."
"What happened?" Lan Zhan asks him.
"Nothing happened!" Impatient, loud, urgent. "I just need it, that’s all. You said you wanted to help—"
"I do," Lan Zhan says softly. But helping is not always about doing what Wei Ying wants him to do.
Wei Ying grabs his ass, a sudden breach of Lan Zhan’s personal space. He pulls them closer together, undulating his hips between them. "Do it, then, Lan Zhan. I want —"
"You wish to be hurt."
Wei Ying lowers his head. He lets go of Lan Zhan’s backside. He becomes utterly still, except for his tiny nod, his whispered, "Please."
"Do you trust me?" Lan Zhan asks him. "Will you listen?"
Another nod.
"Take off your clothes."
Wei Ying undresses automatically, listlessly.
"On your knees."
He drops down to his knees. The joints make a cracking noise against the bare floor. Lan Zhan regrets not bringing him a pillow; then he thinks better of it. The harsh flooring is preferable.
"Reach your arms forward."
This gets Wei Ying to respond, confusion breaking through the numbness and the sorrow. He obeys without question though.
"Good," Lan Zhan praises, and immediately continues. "Palms facing up. Open your hands."
When Lan Zhan moved into the dorms, his uncle took him shopping. They bought clothes and linens and an electric kettle and a rice cooker. They bought cleaning equipment. A broom, a mop, a bucket. "You take care of your environment," his uncle had told him. "And it will take care of you."
Lan Zhan unscrews the broomstick, weighing it in his hands. It is not quite like the cane he used to practice with at home, once, a long time ago. But it has the heft, the feel; the division of weight is satisfactory. It’ll do.
He places the broomstick across Wei Ying’s hands. "Hold this. Do not drop it."
A tremor goes through Wei Ying’s body. Lan Zhan can tell that he is restraining himself from talking back, clamping his lips tight together against his instinct to be cheeky.
He caresses Wei Ying’s face. "Good. Be quiet."
Lan Zhan resumes his schoolwork. It is infinitely easier to concentrate with his attention divided — a part of his brain summarizing his thesis, another part watching Wei Ying silently kneeling on the ground.
When Wei Ying starts fidgeting Lan Zhan tells him, without turning to look, "Patience."
Wei Ying freezes.
A few more minutes pass. Wei Ying’s arms start trembling. Finally, a whine breaks its way out. "Gege, this hurts!"
"It is what you wanted," Lan Zhan reminds him. "Be good."
"Not like this," Wei Ying huffs, but Lan Zhan can tell that his eyes are glazed over, that the muscles of his face are relaxed where they were tense before.
"Be good," Lan Zhan reiterates. He stands up, walks around Wei Ying until he is standing right behind him. Lan Zhan carefully drops down to the floor and bites him between neck and shoulder, teeth sinking into the yielding flesh there. Wei Ying moans softly. Lan Zhan reaches forward with his hand and pinches his nipple. Wei Ying whines, wordless, thankful.
There’s a flicker of a movement in Wei Ying’s fingers, and Lan Zhan draws back.
"Gege," Wei Ying whines, breathes, begs. "Please."
"Stay like this for a little while longer." Lan Zhan pats him over his chest, the place where his nipple is sore and abused. Wei Ying trembles, but the steadiness of the stick in his hold does not lessen.
Lan Zhan straightens himself back up, walks back to his chair. He does not really read this time around, staring at the space in front of him, entire body attuned to Wei Ying’s cues, his little huffs and groans of exertion.
He can pinpoint the moment Wei Ying lets go, his body shivering violently and then — a softening, a gentle kind of resolve. His face is set into an unseeing expression. His dick is jutting hard and red from his body, desperate.
Lan Zhan walks towards him, slow and measured steps. "You are doing good," he whispers into Wei Ying’s ear. He considers Wei Ying’s right shoulder — the slope leading up to the neck, the skin smooth and unmarred. He gifts Wei Ying another bite, matching the one on the other side. Wei Ying chokes, shudders. He does not let go of his load. Lan Zhan nibbles on his skin, shoulder to elbow, on both sides. He runs his hands down Wei Ying’s body, feeling the concealed tremors in his muscles. When he stands up again, he plucks the broomstick from between Wei Ying’s hands and Wei Ying keens. Lan Zhan allows the broomstick to fall down to the floor, clattering as it rolls away.
He grabs Wei Ying’s hair and pulls, and Wei Ying shuts up immediately. He breathes — tiny, delicious gasps accompanying the wide open expression on his face, the sudden tension around his eyes. Lan Zhan pulls harder. Wei Ying stifles a sob.
"You may cry," Lan Zhan tells him, and Wei Ying’s chest heaves, a choked sound of relief. Lan Zhan maneuvers his head from side to side, examining the marks that he’s left. It starts small — a tear at the corner of Wei Ying’s eye, a whimper. Lan Zhan pulls on his hair harder and presses his thumb into the bruise on the side of Wei Ying’s neck. The whimper is louder this time.
Dimly, he remembers in the back of his mind that he is doing this for Wei Ying. His mind — his unaware mind — is sharp, focused, concentrated. Where to push, where to pull, what would hurt. When Wei Ying wheezes and lets out a real, full sob, Lan Zhan’s heart overflows with tenderness.
"You did so well before," he whispers in Wei Ying’s ear, then walks to stand before him. Wei Ying cries, tears streaming down his eyes, sending Lan Zhan a disbelieving gaze. "So well," Lan Zhan repeats. And, "I’m proud of you."
Wei Ying trembles uncontrollably, and Lan Zhan strokes his cheek.
"Would you like my cock? You’re allowed to say no," he asks, voice still soft, keeping his distance. Keeping that particular part of himself distant from Wei Ying. He longs for it — hungers for it, has been hard for a while now though arousal’s hum has faded into the background, a dull knife’s edge.
Wei Ying nods, enthusiastic. He opens his mouth then closes it, looking at a loss.
"You don’t have to speak." Lan Zhan caresses his cheek again and slips a thumb into Wei Ying’s mouth. Wei Ying sucks on it eagerly. "If you want it, nod again."
Wei Ying nods his assent. Permission, unfettered.
It is easy to grab Wei Ying’s hair with one hand, and lower his pants with the other. Easy to feed him Lan Zhan’s cock — slow, careful, allowing his mouth to adjust — and then fuck his face forcefully. Wei Ying gasps through his nose and then makes a feral, ravenous sound. His mouth is tight and wet and hot and Lan Zhan uses it as he’d so often imagined — the same and yet different, because Wei Ying is here with him, willing and real and as in need as Lan Zhan is.
Lan Zhan groans when he comes, slipping out of Wei Ying’s mouth and streaking his face, his chest, his toned stomach.
Wei Ying’s chest is moving in stutters, the tears running freely. "Thank you," he breathes, when Lan Zhan reaches out to touch him. He touches the soft skin under Wei Ying’s eyes, wipes the tears away. New ones appear. Lan Zhan will tend to them as well.
"Anytime," he answers softly, and means, always.
He picks Wei Ying up — Wei Ying yips, a short sweet sound — and, after a moment’s hesitation, carries him towards the spare bed. Earlier, Lan Zhan had berated himself for foolishly keeping the bed made, in the hopes that…
Now, he is merely grateful for his foolishness.
"Please," Wei Ying is telling him. His hands are all over Lan Zhan, attempting to topple them both, touching Lan Zhan’s hair and face and shoulders and chest. "Please, yes, please."
Lan Zhan jerks him off, slow, attentive. He kisses Wei Ying — for the first time today, he registers, the first time in too long. Wei Ying turns to the kiss as a flower would seek out the sun, eager and responsive, and he fucks into Lan Zhan’s fist, tiny thrusts of his hips, tiny moans from his mouth that Lan Zhan swallows greedily.
He comes, shuddering, for a very long time. Lan Zhan gathers him close in his arms afterwards.
They drift. Sunlight sparkling over still water, a gentle spring breeze. Lan Zhan does not often disappear into these moments but now he does, safe and secure in the knowledge that Wei Ying is right there with him. They kiss and Lan Zhan runs his hand over Wei Ying’s body, fleeting, soothing touches where previously he bestowed hurt. He talks — murmurs of reassurance, "You did so well," and "So beautiful," and "Perfect."
"D’you really mean that?" Wei Ying gingerly rolls over onto his back and asks him, eyes opening wide.
Lan Zhan swallows. "Of course."
Wei Ying’s mouth twists, cute in his incredulity.
"I do," Lan Zhan hurries to add and then kisses him, wiping away the painful uncertainty.
"Oh," Wei Ying breathes, when Lan Zhan lets go, into the space between them. "Oh."
He ensures that Wei Ying is comfortable before making the trip away from the bed, bringing back wet cloth, fresh water, fruits and chocolate. Wei Ying screws up his face when Lan Zhan wipes away the come and the sweat from his body, and Lan Zhan can’t help from kissing him on the tip of his nose, endeared. Wei Ying drinks the water obediently and eats when Lan Zhan feeds him the fruit, grapes and small cubes of cantaloupe he’d prepared for tomorrow’s study session.
"Would you like anything else to eat?" Lan Zhan asks him softly. Wei Ying shyly licks the juice off Lan Zhan’s fingers and does not answer. "Wei Ying?"
Wei Ying shakes his head. Lan Zhan places the plate to the side and resettles into the bed, tugging Wei Ying to lie above him. Wei Ying lays his head on Lan Zhan’s chest, humming happily. Lan Zhan caresses his hair.
"Would you like to tell me what happened?" His voice is low, not pressuring. The spare bed underneath his body is comfortable — Lan Zhan is growing used to this unfamiliar mattress, this unused place, now theirs.
Wei Ying shakes his head but after a moment he opens his mouth to speak. "My sister is getting married."
"Congratulations," Lan Zhan replies, somewhat puzzled.
"Thanks. It’s… her fiancé is this stupid peacock of a guy, but she likes him, so I guess it’s alright."
Lan Zhan hums.
"I’m not invited."
Like an arrow piercing his heart, hurt on account of Wei Ying. Lan Zhan swallows around the sudden ache in his throat.
"Jiejie wants me to come, but her mother — it’s better like this, to be honest. Wouldn’t want to make a scene on her big day and all."
"Wei Ying."
"It’s not… I don’t need to be there." Wei Ying shuffles restlessly and Lan Zhan effortlessly turns them over, trapping Wei Ying beneath his body. Wei Ying sighs and allows himself to melt into the bed, appeased. His eyes close. His face looks so awfully young.
Wei Ying’s eyelashes are long and delicate, his mouth bruised red — from Lan Zhan’s cock, a voice at the back of his head reminds him. His lips are plump and tempting, and the small downward curl of his expression makes Lan Zhan’s heart ache unbearably.
"You ever feel like no one really wants you?" Lan Zhan watches the shape of Wei Ying’s lips shifting as they move, not comprehending the words. "Like… this life is a mistake. You should not have been here. You should’ve been… I dunno. Somewhere else. Someone else." Wei Ying inhales audibly, a loud sniffle. He opens his eyes, laughing. They shine like the moonlight on dark lonely nights. "What am I saying, Lan er-gege, you’re loved and adored and wanted by all."
Lan Zhan kisses him. Like the first bite from a plum, soft and sweet and luscious. He can’t put it into words, can’t give away his heart on a platter like this, but he can kiss Wei Ying, can tell him with his lips and his touch and his body, you are wanted here. You belong with me.
"Wei Ying was good today," he allows himself to say when they break apart, Wei Ying panting softly. "Good," he repeats. "Wanted." He swallows. "Appreciated."
Wei Ying touches his cheek. The look in his eyes is faraway, tender.
"Can I… can I sleep here? Again?"
"Of course."
"And will you… stay with me here, a little?"
Lan Zhan stays. His eyelids grow heavy, his body lulled by the soothing sound of Wei Ying breathing, the feel of Wei Ying’s body relaxing in his hold. When he can no longer stop himself from dozing and waking, each interval longer than the previous, he drags himself away.
He tucks Wei Ying in, pulling the covers securely around him, before regretfully making his way to his own bed.
*
Wei Ying is his own bright self the following morning, ducking his head when he thanks Lan Zhan for all the help the day before.
"I don’t know what got into me." He laughs breezily. "Sorry, Lan Zhan, it was just this kind of mood."
"No need to apologize." It tastes sour in Lan Zhan’s mouth, the memories of yesterday turned rotten.
"Aiyo, Lan Zhan, don’t pretend I made good company last night."
"You did," Lan Zhan insists, helpless, thrown off-kilter. "I was happy to help. I enjoyed it."
"Yeah…" Wei Ying grins wistfully, and runs his thumb over Lan Zhan’s lips. Lan Zhan stands stupefied in front of him. "Even when I deserve to be scolded, Lan er-gege manages to make it good for both of us."
"Wei Ying." This coyness, this distance between them, makes Lan Zhan feel as though he is drowning. Wei Ying does not meet his eyes. He rubs the back of his neck, presses his hand into the bruises there. It dawns on Lan Zhan, terrifying. "You wanted to be punished."
"Nothing I don’t deserve." Wei Ying smiles at him, brittle. "Of course, Lan er-gege instead—"
"Wei Ying." Lan Zhan slams him against the door, urgent, blood boiling hot in his veins. "I am not here to help you hurt yourself."
Wei Ying’s face softens. "I know that, Lan Zhan. It was wrong of me. I’m sorry."
"Do. Not. Apologize." He is making Lan Zhan so mad. He wraps his hands around Wei Ying’s neck, not exerting any pressure. Wei Ying’s eyelids flutter, his breath caught in his chest. "This…" Lan Zhan is at a loss for words. Wei Ying’s skin is warm under his fingers, his pulse the beating of a hummingbird’s wings. "What we’re doing." Lan Zhan’s voice is rough. "It is not a punishment."
It’s a gift.
Wei Ying’s eyes are open wide, twin silvery pools Lan Zhan could drown in. "What if I deserve it though." His voice is small and lost and lonely.
Lan Zhan touches the edge of his jaw, drawing a line to his chin with his thumb. "Wei Ying is good," he says with difficulty. "And he deserves only good things."
"Ah," Wei Ying murmurs, and his eyes close. He licks his lips. "Lan Zhan is mistaken. He is the good one among us."
Lan Zhan kisses him, brief and fleeting. "Ridiculous," he says, in his best impression of his voice from the early days of their acquaintance. It has the desired effect of making Wei Ying chuckle.
It is easier, after that, to unwrap his hands from Wei Ying’s body, to help him with his bag and see him out. Lan Zhan is going to miss him.
"Can I see you again tonight?" Wei Ying turns towards him, standing outside of Lan Zhan’s room, at the edge of the corridor. There’s the hubbub of a school day morning passing them by, back and forth, like the blurry sight through a car’s window. Lan Zhan feels as though he is the one moving, while the rest of the world stands still.
"Mn," he manages.
"I’ll see you later then." Wei Ying smiles, and disappears into the crowd.
*
It is later, and the second bed is gone.
Lan Zhan returns from his lessons on edge and tired, impatience like pinpricks through his body, to find Wei Ying’s bed gone.
It is ridiculous to think of it as Wei Ying’s bed. It hasn’t been that long — he has no right to… assign it ownership. Even if he desperately wanted it to be Wei Ying’s.
Lan Zhan had stripped the sheets off the bed before leaving, hoping to get a laundry run done in the afternoon. Now he regrets that — regrets leaving any hint that the bed had been unoccupied.
He gets in touch with dorm maintenance. According to their records, the room had one unoccupied bed, which they now needed as a replacement for a broken one. They are being unhelpful, grating on Lan Zhan’s nerves. They are right, of course — having a second bed in a room with a single occupant is not a necessity, and they are allowed to take back unused equipment without notice.
"Unless you had an unauthorized roommate? Someone who wasn’t supposed to be there?" Their voice makes it clear what Lan Zhan should answer. Lan Zhan ensures them there is no need for worry.
He sits down on his bed once the call is over, heavy, devoid of the pleasant-unpleasant feeling of anticipation that’d been crawling through his veins like a parasite. It’s too late to call it off. He doesn’t want to call it off; his entire body is humming, waiting for Wei Ying’s joyful melody of a presence to arrive.
To discover his bed has been taken.
Lan Zhan tries to reason with himself.
So there’s only one bed. It was easier, he realizes, with the spare bed. To keep in mind everything it symbolized, the division between what they were and what they weren’t. It’s been hard enough keeping it clear in his mind when Wei Ying kept escalating, kept asking for more, kept… spending the night.
Probably Wei Ying won’t want to stay the night, like this.
Lan Zhan shakes his head, fists the sheets in his hands. That’s fine. Wei Ying has never wanted to be more than friends with benefits in the first place, and those don’t always stay the night. They have shared the other bed, when they were doing the things they are doing together. They can do the same in Lan Zhan’s bed, and nothing has to change because of it.
*
Wei Ying stops in his tracks when he enters Lan Zhan’s room.
"The bed."
"Maintenance," Lan Zhan explains unhelpfully. "It was needed elsewhere."
"Oh." Wei Ying stands there, gaping, Lan Zhan’s door left ajar. Lan Zhan walks over to him and closes the door.
"We can still…" he offers, silly and shy and obvious.
"Yes. Yes!" Wei Ying springs to life, walking into the room, placing his bag down. "I thought we could… like we did before. With the biting. Also, um. Pinching? Is that something you’d be into?"
Lan Zhan pinches him in the arm, strong and pointed.
"Ow!" Wei Ying protests, and rubs the sore spot looking satisfied. "So should I just… in your bed?" He crab-walks all over the room, zigzagging to and fro, keeping a respectful distance.
Lan Zhan nods.
"And… my clothes?"
Lan Zhan shakes himself mentally. Wei Ying needs him to be in control; he breathes, bringing himself back to that place of ease and focus.
"Off," he commands. Wei Ying hurries to follow his order. He seems better now than he did this morning, much better than he had been twenty-four hours ago. It’s hard to believe, almost, when yesterday he had been so lost, so sad.
"Tell me how you’re doing," Lan Zhan asks without thinking. "Tell me about your day."
Wei Ying lies face down on the bed, wiggling his backside. "Really, er-gege? You want me to talk? Thought you’d be more in the mood to shut me up."
"For every new thing you tell me," Lan Zhan says pointedly, drawing close. "I will bite you harder."
Such a shameless offer. Wei Ying burrows into the covers, taking a deep whiff. "Mm. Okay. I’m doing fine." He pillows his head on his crossed hands.
Lan Zhan bites him. Shallowly. Warningly. Wei Ying yelps.
"What do you want me to say? You were there." There, in the same classroom. There, on the other side of the lecture hall. There, watching Wei Ying from afar on their lunch break. But Lan Zhan can never be in Wei Ying’s head, can never be close enough to know what he’s thinking, feeling. Outside of these little bubbles of time, Lan Zhan has no access to him.
Same as he’d been watching him from afar all this time, never knowing what they could have.
Lan Zhan still doesn’t know what they have.
He should ask Wei Ying what he needs, seeing as Wei Ying isn’t cooperating. Should give him direction, a purpose, coax him to communicate. He should put his own bottomless pit of want aside, and focus on what Wei Ying wants from him. In the morning Wei Ying had been energized, manic almost. He is not particularly jumpy now, nor lethargic. He does not seem sad or needy or…
Lan Zhan abruptly sits back between Wei Ying’s legs. "Why did you come here?" he asks.
The marks from last night still bloom fiercely on Wei Ying’s skin. Why would he need new ones so soon?
"Lan Zhan?" Wei Ying twists to look at him, opening his eyes.
"Are you still trying to get punished?" But that can’t be it, can it? That Wei Ying had failed in getting what he wanted yesterday, and today he is making another attempt? In the morning, perhaps, Lan Zhan would’ve deemed him capable of it, but…
He thought Wei Ying had listened. It seemed as though Wei Ying had listened to him.
He looks at his hands. His long fingers, the hint of veins under the pale skin. The strength hidden underneath, forbidden from coming out, from finding release. He can give Wei Ying the gift of pain. He can reconcile himself to being the person who gives Wei Ying that and nothing more, same as he had made his peace with being a spectator in Wei Ying’s life from afar.
He won’t be Wei Ying’s punishment.
"No!" A flash of motion, too quick to grasp, as Wei Ying sits up to face him. His voice, his face, all of him is genuine. "Lan Zhan, you’re…" Wei Ying touches his face, deft fingers running lightly over his cheekbones, his jawline. "Should I leave?"
He sits naked in Lan Zhan’s bed, and Lan Zhan wants to keep him here indefinitely. Leave? "No," Lan Zhan says hoarsely. "Stay."
"The truth is…" Wei Ying doesn’t stop touching him, a finger over Lan Zhan’s lips, then curiously outlining the shape of his ear. But he does not meet Lan Zhan’s eye, instead looking down demurely. "I wanted to see you again after what happened. To apologize. And… feel good. I wanted us to make each other feel good together."
"Isn’t that what we always do?" Lan Zhan asks woodenly. This is their arrangement; Lan Zhan hurts Wei Ying when he needs it and then they have sex together. Is it any wonder that Lan Zhan is disintegrating from within, coming to this realization that loving from up close is no better than loving from afar if both are not really forms of loving.
Insufficient. Unreciprocated.
"I thought tonight could be just about… feeling good. I love — when you hurt me. You’re really — Lan Zhan, this has been so good. But I also think…" He darts forward, planting a shy kiss on Lan Zhan’s lips. "What if we just did this part tonight?"
Lan Zhan kisses him. He is helpless not to, the swell of the tide drawn by the moon, a distance impossible to breach and yet he attempts to breach it all the same. Shameful. Wei Ying reciprocates eagerly, their lips sliding together in perfect harmony, bodies growing warm, growing aroused. When Wei Ying breaks away he laughs, carefree and joyful. Lan Zhan looks at him warily.
"Aiyo, Lan Zhan," Wei Ying says. "Can I stay the night?"
He jumps from subject to subject, non sequitur after non sequitur. "Of course," Lan Zhan tells him. Except — "There is only one bed."
"Lan er-gege." Wei Ying pouts at him. "I can’t sleep without you anymore."
"Wei Ying." Why is he so ridiculous? How can he be so ridiculous? Lan Zhan shakes his head, fond despite himself, his heart split open. "You can stay."
"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying repeats, serious and sweet. "I can’t sleep without you." His eyes are sparkling. His gaze is soft. Lan Zhan looks at him helplessly. It is as though Wei Ying is trying to tell him something, and Lan Zhan…
"Wei Ying, I…" Lan Zhan has no idea what he wants. Has lost the ability to read him completely.
"Lan Zhan." Some of the laughter is back in his eyes, a kind of bubbly joy. "You really do love me, don’t you?"
Lan Zhan is coming undone, sent reeling. "Yes," he admits plainly, feeling his face heat. Is that why Wei Ying is teasing, has been acting so paradoxically? Does he…
"I had hoped," Wei Ying says, a shy smile hovering on his face. He plays with Lan Zhan’s hair, tugging on it until Lan Zhan is pulled close once again, sealing their lips into a kiss. The bed around them is warm, familiar. Lan Zhan’s bed. Where Wei Ying had willingly — where he had specifically asked to —
Lan Zhan breaks away. "Hoped?" He shouldn’t sound the way he does, breathless and excited. This is not the agreed upon dynamic — it’s not why they’re here, it’s not…
Or maybe it is?
"Lan er-gege." Every syllable is caressed by Wei Ying’s voice, fond, as though it was a cherished thing. "My Lan er-gege. I’ve been in love with you forever. Didn’t you know?"
It is like staring directly at the sun when it rises, blinded by the blaze of a brand new day. A brand new world. Lan Zhan blinks at him, dazzled.
"You had… a girlfriend." At least the one. And, Lan Zhan thinks — thought — there had been others as well. It’s hard to follow that line of thought, hard to gather the threads of his conviction in his hands when they are uncoiling faster than he can comprehend.
"Yeah, that was…" Wei Ying laughs, short and terse. "A mistake. I thought you didn’t want me —"
Lan Zhan makes a wounded noise. Wei Ying brings their foreheads together, cradling the nape of Lan Zhan’s neck with his hand.
"You never said," Lan Zhan says quietly. He swallows. "You wanted to be… friends. With benefits."
Wei Ying breathes shakily between them. "When we met, at first, I thought I was too annoying. Or that maybe… maybe you weren’t into that kind of thing. I made up so many excuses all this time, Lan Zhan. You just wanted it platonically. Then, just for the sex. And then…" Wei Ying lowers his voice. "You kept on… giving. No matter how much I asked for, you always said yes."
"Not always," Lan Zhan says, remembering last night, this morning.
To his surprise, Wei Ying smiles. They’re so close to each other that Lan Zhan feels it more than he sees it, all the muscles in Wei Ying’s face stretched into this familiar expression.
"Yeah," he whispers. "After last night. That’s when I knew."
Lan Zhan clears his throat. Their faces are so very close. "What gave it away?"
"The way you…" Wei Ying starts and then groans, pulling away and hiding his face with his hands in embarrassment. Lan Zhan pries them off, one after another. Wei Ying squawks. "Okay, okay! It’s embarrassing, though."
"I would like to hear," Lan Zhan tells him seriously.
Wei Ying’s smile is, as always, the prettiest in the world. More so now, when it’s for him. When Wei Ying touches his face and every sweep of his fingers screams of love. "You were perfect, Lan Zhan. When I came to you I was so pathetic —"
"Not pathetic," Lan Zhan intones. He wraps one hand around Wei Ying’s wrist, tightening it warningly. Wei Ying’s mouth opens on a soft gasp.
"Yeah, well, I was… not doing well. I just wanted to forget, to not be alone a little, and instead you… you saw me," he says with awe. "You saw all of that, and all you wanted was to make me feel good. Feel better about myself. Even this morning, when I was acting like a little shit again, because I was too afraid to believe this was real."
"I love you," Lan Zhan says seriously.
Wei Ying falls into him with a squeal, inserting himself into Lan Zhan’s space easily. He presses small kisses to Lan Zhan’s neck, his cheek, his ear, his lips, any bit of him he can lay his mouth on. "Lan Zhan! I should’ve known, when you just let me stay over all the time. But I was too hopelessly in love to see it."
In love. It sounds just as thrilling as the first time Wei Ying said it, Lan Zhan’s heart threatening to burst out of his chest, seeking to place itself in Wei Ying’s hands.
"In my defense though." Wei Ying pulls away to look at him, eyes sparkling joyfully, lips curled in a smirk. "My Lan er-gege never realized either, even when I was sure I was being so obvious. Too busy making me feel good to notice how in love I was."
He really had been. But also, "I always want you to feel good." The sun rises in the morning, Wei Ying is the love of Lan Zhan’s life, Lan Zhan would give him everything. All unshakeable truths.
And now Wei Ying knows.
Wei Ying kisses him again, throws his arms around him. All of him is in motion, insinuating himself close to Lan Zhan’s body, rubbing against him, the soft and not-so-soft parts of him. "Let’s make each other feel good, then, gege?"
And they do.