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It’s been raining nonstop for hours now. Wei Ying sits on the floor of Lan Zhan’s bedroom and despairs. They were supposed to go to the movies and then cobble a meal together at the mall’s food court, but instead they’re stuck inside with, like, basically nothing to do but rot away from boredom.
“I’m going to die,” Wei Ying says. Maybe because this is his fourth time saying it in the past half hour, Lan Zhan ignores him. He keeps reading his stupid book and doesn’t even look at Wei Ying, which is — unacceptable. He cannot accept that. “Lan Zhan.”
Still nothing.
He collapses onto his back and stares up at the white ceiling, and then turns his vision to look upside down at Lan Zhan on his desk chair. Lan Zhan’s face still looks perfectly symmetrical even from this angle; that’s so fucked up. So unfair. “Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, I’m gonna die, do you not even care? Doesn’t it matter to you that I’m gonna die? What kind of friend are you? Do you even love me? Lan Zhan.”
Lan Zhan doesn’t look away from his book, but he finally acknowledges that Wei Ying is a human person, which is a start. “You will not die.”
“I’m dying right now,” Wei Ying says. “If you looked at me you’d see.”
“When I look at you and you’re not dying, will you be silent?”
“Mmmm,” Wei Ying says, which can very easily become whatever answer the other person wants it to be. Lan Zhan, unfortunately, knows this, so it only works on him, like, three percent of the time, but he must also be bored, no matter how he tries to hide it, because he lowers the book and glances down at Wei Ying. Wei Ying grins upside down. “Hi.”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, very neutrally. Very boring. Wei Ying needs an impassioned mn. He sighs and sits back up.
Wei Ying is still thinking about what he can do to get a proper reaction out of Lan Zhan, annoyed at how quickly Lan Zhan went back to his book, when a loud rumble of thunder rattles the windows, seems to make the entire house shake. Wei Ying has to take a moment to reorient himself, remember where he is. He kinda hates thunder and lightning. It’s not — a huge deal, he doesn’t think so, but when he was in the orphanage before he got adopted, he was left outside a lot, and now he has this, whatever, random weird thing about thunder. Lightning actually is mostly fine. It’s not like he can’t think about lightning. It’s been storming for ages, but there hasn’t been any yet, and the forecast didn’t predict thunderstorms. The forecast didn’t predict rain at all. So useless, he thinks, and digs his nails into his palm.
It’s seriously not a big deal, but Lan Zhan is one of his closest friends and knows way more about Wei Ying than anyone should, even stuff Wei Ying can’t remember telling him that Lan Zhan somehow knows, so he knows about Wei Ying’s childish and stupid thing about thunder. Wei Ying’s eyes aren’t closed, but they gloss over when another loud crash shakes the house, so it takes him a few to realize that Lan Zhan put the book away and sat down on the rug with him.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and puts his palm on Wei Ying’s neck, in the grove where Wei Ying feels his pulse. His hand is big. Expansive, in size and purpose, and the warmth resettles Wei Ying’s sense of place and time.
Wei Ying blinks rapidly and then turns to face Lan Zhan. “Lan Zhan. Hey, I’m bored.”
“You’ve said,” Lan Zhan says. He removes his hand.
Wei Ying’s mouth turns down. “Then what’re we gonna do,” Wei Ying whines, slapping his palms on Lan Zhan’s knee. “I can’t live like this.”
“Literacy is a gift,” Lan Zhan says, because he’s an asshole.
“Boring,” says Wei Ying.
“Would you like to use my laptop?”
Wei Ying relaxes his weight and flops his head down onto Lan Zhan’s lap. Lan Zhan is well-acquainted, and pets Wei Ying’s hair before Wei Ying even asks. Wei Ying sighs happily, and gets lost in the cozy feeling of Lan Zhan’s hands in his hair, the pounding rain outside, and the chill of the central air conditioning inside. It is good to be in a space like this with his best friend. Safety is easy with Lan Zhan.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan murmurs.
“Hm?” Wei Ying blinks his eyes open, unsure when they even closed.
“You fell asleep,” Lan Zhan says. His eyes are so pretty from this angle. How can someone have such a serene and handsome face. Wei Ying… well, he doesn’t know.
“Did I?” He yawns and turns onto his cheek. Lan Zhan’s shorts are soft on his skin, good cotton, the type that keeps quality even with dozens of washes and feels like clouds of comfort.
He glances up at Lan Zhan from under his eyelashes. His ears are a soft color, and there is a small razor tick on the sharp line of his jaw. Wei Ying wants to ask him not to shave for a while, just so that he can see what Lan Zhan looks like with facial hair. It grows slowly, Wei Ying is pretty sure, so a long-term experiment is necessary.
Wei Ying means to bring this up, but then when he nuzzles closer to Lan Zhan’s thigh, almost at his hip, and blows out a heavy breath that makes Lan Zhan’s plain grey shirt flutter, Lan Zhan twitches, just a quick and subtle arch away from Wei Ying’s mouth.
“Are you ticklish?” Wei Ying asks. Unbelievable. Lan Zhan, of all people, ticklish. How did Wei Ying not know this?
“I am not,” Lan Zhan says.
“Then why’d you twitch away?”
Lan Zhan does not say anything. This means that he doesn’t want to lie, but really doesn’t want to tell the truth either, and the only thing that makes sense is that he’s ticklish. His mouth even turns down for a split second, which… Lan Zhan is ticklish. Lan Zhan is definitely ticklish.
Wei Ying pokes his inner thigh, keeping a close eye on Zhan’s face. Lan Zhan’s eyebrow rises and then falls, and his ears get brighter. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. “I am not ticklish.”
“Why lie,” Wei Ying croons, and trails his fingers lightly across Lan Zhan’s inner thigh again, at the edge where it sits right above his knee. Lan Zhan’s knee tenses. Oh, this is the best day of Wei Ying’s life.
Except — when he pokes right under Lan Zhan’s armpit, there’s no reaction. He pokes his stomach, and nothing. Not even the pad of his feet, that easy and obvious spot. What the hell, Wei Ying thinks.
“Lan Zhan, stop pretending,” he says, and runs his fingers over Lan Zhan’s armpit, where it should definitely trigger at least a twitch. Nothing.
“I am not,” Lan Zhan says again. “I am not ticklish.”
“Don’t you wanna make me happy?” Wei Ying makes his eyes bigger, in the way that works on Lan Zhan every third time. “Won’t you be honest about this?”
“I am honest,” Lan Zhan says. “Are you ticklish?”
Wei Ying is an embarrassment to himself and his bloodline. “No,” he says immediately, way too quickly, come on, he has to know better than this. He knows how Lan Zhan’s curiosity can spike sometimes. “I mean, I’m not.” Doubling down is even worse. He should know this.
He sits back up. Lan Zhan’s eyes are steady and clear when he turns his head to face Wei Ying. “Hey, do you wanna torrent Sims on your laptop? Or watch a movie?”
Lan Zhan shakes his head.
“Okay, then, I think I’m gonna go find a snack downstairs, do you think your brother will make me something? Like, a sandwich? Do you guys even have meat or will I have to, um, well I’ll find out what I can make, I’ll be back,” but when he rises up on his knee in the first motion to standing, Lan Zhan pulls his calf and he loses his balance, pulls so hard that Wei Ying collapses onto his back, an awkward thud against his spine. “Lan Zhan, what—ah!”
Wei Ying made a foolish mistake. Lan Zhan is too perceptive, and also evil. No one ever believes Wei Ying when he says how evil Lan Zhan can be. Even with the loud yelp Wei Ying lets out when Lan Zhan trails his fingers over Wei Ying’s stomach, Lan Huan probably will assume they’re just playing around.
“Stop, I’m hungry!”
“You’re ticklish,” Lan Zhan says, like it’s one or the other. He tickles under Wei Ying’s armpit, and even though Wei Ying tries so hard to hold his sounds in, lips pressed firmly shut, when Lan Zhan does it again, he has no control over the anxious laugh that jolts out of his mouth, body writhing from the discomfort. When Wei Ying tries to push away from Lan Zhan, his grip tightens, and Wei Ying regrets every single joke he ever made about Lan Zhan’s lifting; try as hard as he does, when Lan Zhan uses his other hand to pull Wei Ying’s body close again across the carpet, Wei Ying has no choice but to go.
“Lan Zhan, let—oh, wait, okay, okay!” he yells, squirming wildly when Lan Zhan tickles his feet. He laughs hysterically, way out of his control. The sensation is so overwhelming that he almost can’t breathe, fuck. His basketball shorts rub awkwardly around his skin and his shirt rides up on his belly as he twitches violently with high and near-painful giggles, but Lan Zhan doesn’t let up at all. When Wei Ying kicks his legs out, Lan Zhan just sits on his calves and tickles his sides; when Wei Ying tries bucking his hips up, Lan Zhan scoots further up until he’s sitting on Wei Ying’s thighs, and with a calm face and bright eyes, tickles incessantly under Wei Ying’s armpits until tears well up and trail down Wei Ying’s temples.
“Please,” Wei Ying wheezes, “okay, I’m sorry, Lan Zhan, fuck, I get it, you, I’m gonna,” except he doesn’t know what he’s gonna do, doesn’t understand the strange and tense feeling in his gut until he shifts again from the torture and his dick shifts with him, swelling up and already beginning to leak beneath his shorts.
He’s — not wearing any underwear, and panic rises in his chest so quickly he thinks he might have a heart attack.
“Lan Zhan, you win, you win, okay? Lan Zhan please, ah, ahhh, oh my god, you win, please stop, I’m serious!” He’s terrified, suddenly, of Lan Zhan looking down and seeing how hard he is, and he wouldn’t even have an answer if Lan Zhan asked why; he doesn’t know why. Lan Zhan is just his best friend, and it doesn’t make sense that being treated this way and being tickled to literal tears somehow makes him hard? His body doesn’t make sense a lot of the time. Wei Ying hit puberty late and is not yet fully out of that phase where a light breeze makes him hard, but this is beyond standard. This is more than he can accept.
“You ignored me,” Lan Zhan says. “Why should I not ignore you?”
“It hurts,” Wei Ying whines, and it does, seriously, and it will hurt ten times more if Lan Zhan notices how quickly his dick swelled to half-mast. If he notices that it happened at all. “Lan Zhan, I’m serious!”
Finally, after one last tortuous swipe over Wei Ying’s waist, Lan Zhan sits on Wei Ying’s calves, a smug and pleased look on his face while Wei Ying tries to catch his breath.
Because Wei Ying is a fucking idiot, the worst person in the world he knows, he uses this unguarded moment as leverage to fumble them over so that Lan Zhan is on his back and Wei Ying straddles his lap. Useless because when Wei Ying tickles Lan Zhan’s torso and waist, he gets no reaction, like maybe Lan Zhan actually isn’t ticklish after all. Less useless, when… when Wei Ying shifts on Lan Zhan’s lap in the process and ends up sitting on his dick, the shape of it distinct and firming up. The size makes him think it should already be full, but there’s a give there that implies, like, half, and Wei Ying cannot think much further about this.
He freezes and stares down with wide eyes at Lan Zhan. “Lan Zhan?” He doesn’t know what else to say.
Lan Zhan didn’t say anything. He looks up at Wei Ying and doesn’t move at all, barely even blinks, as if Wei Ying isn’t sitting on his fattening dick.
Wei Ying shifts, and then shifts again more purposefully. When Lan Zhan still doesn’t say anything, he grinds his hips down onto Lan Zhan’s dick, and a soft huff of breath escapes him with the tight pleasure that hits him in his gut and rises up and spreads throughout his entire body.
Wei Ying rocks down on Lan Zhan’s cock and his mouth parts, lips open slightly with pleasure when he rubs his ass down over Lan Zhan’s cock again. He does it another time, a high and wired arousal building and controlling his body before he can even register a thought in his brain, and Lan Zhan’s cock jumps in his pants, twitches up in desperate search for the soft and insistent weight rubbing off on him. Wei Ying loves to think that’s him, that Lan Zhan is — feeling this way, his body is reacting this way, because of him. Lan Zhan’s hips jerk up with a low grunt that makes Wei Ying burn all over, like — he doesn’t know what this is like; this is a new and impossible venture. “Lan Zhan,” he says again, still controlled and consumed by pleasure.
Lan Zhan’s hands twitch by his side, a subtle movement, but Wei Ying really is always watching, always so aware. Wei Ying lets out a soft and breathy moan as he collapses forward with his palms onto Lan Zhan’s broad and firm chest, his ass grinding back increasingly frantic on Lan Zhan’s cock. He wants, he wants…
No time to finish processing when he finds himself flipped onto his back, a heavy huff of breath escaping his mouth with the sudden shift. When he regains equilibrium, Lan Zhan is above him again, this time with a knee between Wei Ying’s thighs, elbows braced on either side of Wei Ying’s face.
“What… what are you doing?” Lan Zhan asks. His voice is rough and uneven. The timbre is new, and it makes Wei Ying feel the thick haze of horniness that’s controlling all his thinking right now fog his mind even more. He is rarely so speechless.
“Do you want to fuck me?”
It’s not like he has anything to lose. Wei Ying avoids thinking about his sexuality and he avoids thinking about his best friend in that way, except maybe when he wakes up from a really intense wet dream and feels his teeth rattle with the phantom ache of Lan Zhan inside of him, or when he gets high and horny and jerks himself dry imagining Lan Zhan’s mouth on his neck and cock, Lan Zhan’s mouth on his own, but those aren’t frequent moments, and Wei Ying tries a lot to not let them be. Right now, though, hasn’t he already gone far enough? Is anything too far now? A moment ago, feeling Lan Zhan’s cock against his ass, sliding between the crease over his thin gym shorts and twitching up when Wei Ying grinded down — god, he doesn’t know how to think about anything other than being fucked right now.
Lan Zhan swallows. Wei Ying wants to suck his Adam’s apple. “We should talk about this, Wei Ying.”
Lan Zhan’s eyelashes flutter when Wei Ying reaches his hand down and palms his crotch. Fuck, Wei Ying thinks. His mouth dries up quickly just from the weight through Lan Zhan’s cotton sweat shorts, from the sheer size, imposing and impossible even through his clothing. He feels hot all over. Like the slightest shift will make him sweat. He wants to sweat for Lan Zhan. He wants Lan Zhan to make him work for it.
“Lan Zhan,” he says again. He looks up at Lan Zhan through his eyelashes, and doesn’t think about anything but this moment, this second, Lan Zhan’s bated breath. “Do you want to fuck me?”
Lan Zhan, thankfully, doesn’t make him ask a third time. He crashes their lips together, hard and with little finesse. Wei Ying wonders if this is Lan Zhan’s first kiss like it is his… There is an unfamiliarity in how their mouths move, but Wei Ying doesn’t mind bumping noses or clacking teeth, not when it means he’s kissing Lan Zhan, not with the spreading and building heat in his body. He moans softly and rubs Lan Zhan’s cock over his clothing, out of it with want. When Lan Zhan nips his bottom lip open and licks his tongue inside of Wei Ying’s mouth, he loses every thought but the desire to be full of him until it burns.
-
“You’re sure?” Lan Zhan asks, rubbing the head of his cock over Wei Ying’s wet and loosened hole. His eyes are fixated there, and it makes Wei Ying flush all over at how much Lan Zhan sees of him. Does Lan Zhan see the way Wei Ying’s hole tightens every time his cock passes over it? He wants it inside so much, but now that the moment is here, it’s overwhelming and just — a lot. Lan Zhan slaps his cock against Wei Ying’s hole once, and then another time, and then a third time, and it’s so embarrassing and so fucking hot that Wei Ying has to cover his face with his palms to keep himself from shooting all over his belly before Lan Zhan even gets inside. Lan Zhan is so much more than Wei Ying could’ve ever hoped for.
Lan Zhan leans down and presses his mouth to the back of Wei Ying’s hands. “Come on,” he says quietly, so Wei Ying swallows and removes one of his hands, tilts his face up so that Lan Zhan can kiss him, sweet and wet while he continues rubbing his cock over Wei Ying’s entrance, the lube and Lan Zhan’s precome slicking the way. Maybe a bit too much, Wei Ying thinks with a gasp, because when Lan Zhan applies more pressure, the tip pushes inside, and just that, just that stretch — Wei Ying tears up almost immediately, the closest he’s gotten to crying in years, and his breathing comes out faster when Lan Zhan keeps pushing in.
He considers telling Lan Zhan to pause, to give him a second to get used to it, but when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is a high moan, a desperate exhale that almost sounds like Lan Zhan’s name.
There’s just so much of it to take. This much high sensory feeling, and Wei Ying doesn’t even think he’s taken more than a handful of centimeters. It feels so good, though, like… Wei Ying has fingered himself before, and Lan Zhan fingered him just now, just this is an entirely different level, it feels like every single nerve in his body is centered on Lan Zhan’s fat cockhead holding his wet hole open, and he could spend entire lifetimes just lying here on Lan Zhan’s bedroom floor, thinks he could come just like this if he got a hand around his cock.
“Lan Zhan,” he breathes, and squirms up into Lan Zhan’s touch. He opens his mouth again to say kiss me, but he loses the chance and the breath when Lan Zhan lets out a low groan into his neck and shoves all the way into Wei Ying’s too-tight hole.
Wei Ying goes out of body. Vaguely, he registers Lan Zhan pressing kisses all over his face and neck and murmuring apologies while he rocks his hips into Wei Ying. Then the tacky wetness on his belly, and the gradual awareness that it’s because of how much his cock is leaking, insanely wet for no good reason, pooling in and around his belly button.
Lan Zhan kisses his pulse point, and Wei Ying realizes that the impossible keening is him, that’s him making this noise, clenching tight around Lan Zhan’s cock and arching onto the pressure inside. Mindless, stupid and overwhelmed like a bitch in heat as Lan Zhan fucks him before he even has time to relax.
Even more overwhelming when Lan Zhan rocks in faster and breathes heavier into his ear, his cock driving into Wei Ying’s ass, shallow and quick thrusts that make Wei Ying whimper from the friction. It’s a good thing that they’re on the carpeted floor, because how fast Lan Zhan’s fucking in would make the wooden bed frame creak, and Wei Ying really doesn’t want Lan Huan-gege to think something is wrong from downstairs and find them like this.
Wei Ying doesn’t know much about sex, he can admit, but this does feel dirtier then he imagined his first time would be. He feels like he’s being used. Maybe it’s the haphazard way his t-shirt is pushed up on one side to right above his chest from when Lan Zhan played with his nipples while fingering him, or maybe it’s the reverse of Lan Zhan having all of his clothes on while he fucks Wei Ying, just his boxers and shorts pulled down under his balls while Wei Ying is half-undressed and rumpled. Maybe it’s the act itself. Lan Zhan shoves into him with great speed and not much restraint, if any, and his mouth and teeth are relentless on Wei Ying’s neck and clavicle, like if he doesn’t bite Wei Ying raw then the sex won’t be as good for him. Wei Ying feels used and raw, and every thrust in pushes him even closer to a very close orgasm.
“Lan Zhan,” he says. He wraps his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck and wriggles underneath him. Fuck, he likes being underneath Lan Zhan. “Lan Zhan,” he says again, more of a whine this time, and tightens erratically when Lan Zhan’s cock hits a soft and sensitive spot deep inside. Lan Zhan fills so much space inside of him no matter how shallowly he moves. “Hnghh, uh… you, you have to be gentler, it’s my first time, Lan Zhan, you’ll tear me apart.”
Lan Zhan’s head jolts up. His eyes look wild and way darker than normal when he repeats, “first… first time?”
Wei Ying bites his bottom lip and nods. “I’m a virgin, so you can’t be so mean to me,” he says, and feels the rise of heat to his face at how candid he was, at the ridiculousness of saying something like this out loud.
Maybe Lan Zhan doesn’t find it ridiculous, though, because Wei Ying feels his cock swell even bigger inside, impossibly bigger and stretching Wei Ying’s hole raw and full. “Fuck,” Lan Zhan says. He doesn’t swear often, has told Wei Ying that he doesn’t feel the need to, and it makes something inside Wei Ying flare bright and wanting, to think that he gave Lan Zhan a need to.
“Do you like that,” Wei Ying asks, digging his nails into Lan Zhan’s broad back and gasping at the pleasure of Lan Zhan’s cock twitching inside of him, “do you like that you’re the first person fucking my hole?” He flushes again at the vulgarity from his own mouth, but it only makes this hotter, the combined twirl of embarrassment and desperation for Lan Zhan’s approval.
Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything, but his body talks plainly. He lowers his face into Wei Ying’s neck again and starts — just pounding into Wei Ying, hard and rough thrusts that burn and make Wei Ying feel like he’s being turned inside out, crying out loudly and clinging to Lan Zhan weakly as he gets taken hard. It almost — hurts, to be taken this roughly, and Wei Ying is so fucking hard it consumes him. “I can’t stop,” Lan Zhan admits, exhaling harshly into Wei Ying’s ear. He moves his hands down to clutch Wei Ying’s hips roughly as he ruts inside of Wei Ying’s eager body. “You’re too tight,” Lan Zhan says, like it’s nothing to say this, like it really affects him that much, and Wei Ying flushes hot and tightens around him again.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan breathes, and then with a low grunt and the vicious erratic slap of his balls against Wei Ying’s ass, he spurts inside of Wei Ying’s hole, scorching hot and thick pulses of come that don’t ever seem to end, pushed deep inside and held there. Wei Ying lets out a small and shocked noise at the sudden pressure, hole clenching sporadically around Lan Zhan’s cock as he struggles to wrap his mind around someone fucking spend inside his body, let alone Lan Zhan, his Lan Zhan. The feeling is incredible. Wei Ying gasps through it and tightens his legs around Lan Zhan’s waist, his weight keeping Wei Ying pinned down while Lan Zhan breathes heavily and catches his breath.
Wei Ying… isn’t disappointed, because that was really good and he liked it a lot, and he would gladly live a life where all he is is a glorified onahole for Lan Zhan, but that just. Wasn’t as long as he wishes it was.
Lan Zhan has such a nice body, and he works out, shouldn’t his stamina be better? It’s great, feeling Lan Zhan’s seed filling him up, but Wei Ying was so close to coming and then to have it ruined like that, and Lan Zhan isn’t even touching —
Oh. Lan Zhan is still hard. Wei Ying jolts out of his thoughts when Lan Zhan pulls out and rearranges him onto his stomach, heedless of the distressed noise Wei Ying lets out from the sudden emptiness, and then slides his cock right back into Wei Ying before he even has the register to complain. So that’s — that is…
“Fuck,” Wei Ying says, clenching desperately around the heavy and fat line of Lan Zhan’s cock inside his body, and how much deeper he is like this. “Fuck, fuck, wait, oh my god, fuck—“ It feels impossibly big like this, and Wei Ying wonders how he even took it the first time, how he’s taking it now. It can’t be — right, for Lan Zhan to be this big and to fit inside Wei Ying and to fuck him and feel this good. It feels so good.
“Sorry about the first time,” Lan Zhan mutters. He pulls Wei Ying’s knees up by the thigh, but when Wei Ying tries getting up onto his hands, Lan Zhan pushes down on Wei Ying’s back. Wei Ying collapses back onto his stomach with a huff, and the position makes him feel flustered and exposed. Lan Zhan fucks him deeper now, more deliberately, although his pace and the sounds it produces are still deafening. Wei Ying doesn’t know if Lan Zhan just learned his body this quickly or if his dick is just so big that it hits the right place no matter how he moves, but he doesn’t care at all when every fuck in sends sharp shockwaves of lightning up his spine and throughout his entire body.
Getting fucked like this makes him feel kind of slutty, which he thinks might not be super fair for him to say about a position billions of people have enjoyed without any weird attachments to it, but maybe it’s not weird or unfair for him to say it if he likes it this much, feeling like this? Who knew sex would be this good. He can’t believe he felt disappointed just a few minutes ago. Honestly, it feels even better with Lan Zhan’s first release keeping him wet, making him sloppy.
“Feels good,” he slurs, eyelashes fluttering on his cheek. “Nnnghh, Lan Zhan, it’s so, you’re so—” He cuts himself off with a needy whimper when Lan Zhan gropes his ass and spreads him apart. Is Lan Zhan watching? He imagines Lan Zhan wanting to see how his cock looks like sliding deep into Wei Ying’s hole, how stretched and raw the skin is. Wei Ying keeps thinking he can’t possibly take all of Lan Zhan, right up to the moment that Lan Zhan forces him to. Even when Lan Zhan is all the way in, Wei Ying expects it to hurt. It does, a little, but only in a way that makes everything feel eons better.
“What am I?” Lan Zhan asks.
“Hnn?” Wei Ying is barely conscious of anything he says or thinks right now. His mind is loud static; every centimeter of his body sparks alight into an erogenous zone, even his cheek pressed into the plush carpet. Every strand of hair on his body is connected to this sweeping pleasure.
“What am I?” Lan Zhan squeezes Wei Ying’s ass and digs his fingernails in, right at the fullest rise. It makes Wei Ying’s cock throb and leak, when Lan Zhan kneads his ass like this. Wei Ying never anticipated that he’d be so fucking stupid with want just from getting his ass played with or that Lan Zhan is the type of man who gets off on playing with Wei Ying’s ass, even in this limited capacity, but fuck, sometimes reality is so much fucking better than Wei Ying’s wildest fantasies.
“Too much,” Wei Ying manages. Lan Zhan pulls back until only the tip is holding Wei Ying open and pinches his ass meanly when Wei Ying squirms under him and squeezes around the stretch. “Please,” Wei Ying begs. He tries to shove back onto Lan Zhan’s cock, but Lan Zhan easily holds him still with a hand on his hip. Lan Zhan shushes him and slowly rocks his hips into Wei Ying, but never more than the head, and Wei Ying is going to cry and go insane if this keeps up for a second more. “Please, Lan Zhan, please. Come on. Lan Zhan? Please, can you—Lan Zhan.”
“You said it is too much,” says Lan Zhan.
“It’s not,” Wei Ying rushes, “seriously, it’s not, I can take it, I swear.” He tries pushing back onto it again, but Wei Ying knows from more platonic situations and is reminded now that there’s no moving when Lan Zhan doesn’t want him to. “Why are you making me beg,” Wei Ying whines.
Lan Zhan hums softly. “No particular reason,” he says. “You are very easy.” He slams all the way back in, grinds his hips deep until Wei Ying can feel the brush of Lan Zhan’s pelvic hair on his ass. Wei Ying cries out, and tears well up in his eyes again. Breathing is impossible. Lan Zhan pulls out and slams back in, cruel in his movements and the way he gropes Wei Ying’s ass to keep him spread apart.
Wei Ying tries to be quiet. He tries really hard. Lan Huan is likely still downstairs in his office, maybe in the sunroom if they’re lucky, and Wei Ying is making far too much noise for someone who doesn’t want to be caught getting fucked ass up on the floor, but it’s difficult when everything feels this good. The downpour outside helps drown him out, he thinks. Lan Zhan doesn’t say he’s too loud or tell him to shut up, but Wei Ying is starting to think Lan Zhan is crazy enough to like how much noise he makes.
“Even if it is too much,” Lan Zhan murmurs, “you take it so well.”
Every push in forces small, punched out noises from deep within Ying’s throat. He feels sweaty all over and as easy as Lan Zhan said he is. He wants Lan Zhan to come inside him again, to fuck him full, beyond what he’s capable of taking, and then he wants Lan Zhan to do that again, to take him on his back and on his knees every day until Wei Ying’s body takes Lan Zhan’s cock like it was made for it. Even now, he thinks he was made for it.
“Going to come again,” Lan Zhan says, running a palm over Wei Ying’s back. His thrusts get rougher and harder, the heavy slap of sweaty skin as ceaseless as the rain outside. Wei Ying is glad they didn’t go to the mall, he’s so, so glad they got stranded inside. This is — he could never be bored doing this.
Wei Ying comes when Lan Zhan’s pace gets messy enough that there’s no rhythm to it anymore, just Lan Zhan’s hips slamming in and in, both his big hands holding Wei Ying’s ass open for the easiest slide in. Mindlessly drifting up to palm his hips when Wei Ying’s hole tightens around him, already anticipating more of Lan Zhan’s thick and hot seed inside while he jackrabbits in. Wei Ying drools into the carpet and thinks this is where he belongs, how he should be always. He falls apart with a long and needy whine, an unintelligible sound that might be Lan Zhan’s name; might be the only sound capable of articulating even half of his pleasure.
He tries getting a hand under himself to catch his release before it gets onto Lan Zhan’s carpet, but his arms are weak and his reflexes are slow and still overwhelmed by desire and the blunt pressure of Lan Zhan’s cock, and he only gets some of it. He’s hypersensitive, sharp tingles of near-painful sensation shooting across his body while Lan Zhan fucks into him harshly, as fast and selfish as the last time he came inside of Wei Ying. Fuck, Wei Ying thinks drowsily, fuck, Lan Zhan’s really fucking him raw a second time, and he’s going to come in him raw a second time. He wants Wei Ying this much. Wei Ying is still shaking with overstimulation when Lan Zhan groans and erupts inside of him again — again — and even though he loses his breath and almost dies when Lan Zhan collapses onto him and makes him fall onto his belly, breathing wildly as his cock throbs inside of Wei Ying, he likes the sloppy fullness so much that he almost passes out.
“The carpet,” he says nonsensically.
“Mn,” Lan Zhan responds lazily. He doesn’t move. Outside, the rain continues. The house rattles with a terrible shock of thunder. Wei Ying matches his breathing to Lan Zhan’s, and feels no rush to go anywhere.