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It's never easy to convince Lan Zhan to go to a party. Wei Ying has his long list of party related dislikes memorized at this point. Too many people, music that’s too loud, too much drinking. Sometimes, though, Wei Ying can swing it.
He knows he goaded Lan Zhan into going to Mianmian’s birthday only a few weeks ago, but that was tipsy minigolf and they had a blast. Hardly a rager. Lan Zhan even seemed smug at the advantage his sobriety gave him over Jiang Cheng when it came to putting. But Wei Ying thought, you know, that they were close these days. Not just old high school acquaintances who are difficult to be around for opposite reasons, desperate for a vaguely familiar roommate after going to college. He and Lan Zhan have been living together for two years now, and it's better. They hang out. Lan Zhan has held back Wei Ying’s hair and he’s narrowly avoided alcohol poisoning through deeply unpretty bodily mechanisms.
So anyway, he thought Lan Zhan would come to his birthday.
“It’s alright,” Wei Ying finds himself saying, cutting off whatever remark Nie Huaisang was preparing behind their narrow-eyed expression. “I mean, it’s your apartment too so if you want me to find another venue—”
“No need,” says Lan Zhan. He looks down at his salad, picking at it, the tips of his ears red. “I would not force you out of your space on your birthday.”
“I would not force you out of your space on my birthday either, Lan Zhan!”
“Unreasonable.” He says.
Wei Ying and Nei Huaisang make exasperated eye contact. But he decides not to force the issue.
“But costume,” Huaisang days, popping the B. “The whole courtesan thing—”
“I really can't believe I'm letting you talk me into this.”
“Well it was supposed to be a two birds with one stone gift situation,” Huaisang says, in their I'm being cryptic tone that Wei Ying always chooses to ignore. “I can totally lend you a costume. It’s going to be much better than Cat Noir.”
“What's wrong with being cat noir for a Halloween birthday?” Wei Ying protests.
“You’re an adult first of all?”
Wei Ying scoffs, launching into his canned rant about the miraculous lady but being quite entertaining for all ages, actually. He tries to throw his whole back into the melodrama, tries not to acknowledge the prickling feeling of being watched he gets every time he looks away from Lan Zhan. At some point, they make eye contact. Lan Zhan’s honey brown eyes seem to consider his for a long moment, and then he looks down to pack his food away.
“Physics will begin soon.” He intones, and stands, heading to class. He doesn't look back. Wei Ying follows anyway.
Wei Ying tries to keep the party talk to a minimum when he’s around Lan Zhan. They plan what flavor of marg to keep in those massive Gatorade coolers and how to best put gummy worms in the jello shots, but every time it comes up among their group of friends Lan Zhan goes quiet. Quieter than usual. So he stops bringing it up.
A week before, Wei Ying checks again, as Lan Zhan hands him coffee before they both commute to campus. The apartment is cozy in the dull morning light, and usually Wei Ying would savor it, but he feels antsy.
“I really don’t want to put you out!” He says, “Like, can I do something to make you comfortable?”
“Not put out,” says Lan Zhan, “Visiting my brother.”
“And Lan Xichen is wonderful, but you’re avoiding the question.”
Unresponding, Lan Zhan turns to the kitchen, beginning to hack at their small pile of dishes. It's a poor attempt to end the conversation. Wei Ying follows him, leaning on the counter by the sink.
“No but really, can I do anything to make you comfortable?”
There is a pause, in which Lan Zhan seems to stare out the kitchen window and gather strength. Then he resumes rinsing the dishes.
“I do not think I can be polite, seeing Wei Ying in this context.” He says, carefully.
Wei Ying furrows his eyebrows. “Will the party bother you that much? It doesn't have to happen, I mean—”
Giving him one last unreadable, but certainly exhausted look, Lan Zhan leaves for his bedroom and closes the door behind him.
So the party goes on. Nie Huaisang arrives early, dressed as a playboy bunny, with a large garment bag. They shoo Wei Ying into the bedroom to dress and then promptly follow at Wei Ying's pleading. The layers are too much, the dudou and the sashes especially. But Nie Huaisang is able to layer it all together nicely. Then Wei Ying sits on his bed and laughs through Nie Huaisang’s grumbling about the state of his room, patiently letting them apply his makeup. When they hold up a mirror, his face is smooth and dewy looking, eyes and lips painted in a rich magenta with a flower cresting his forehead.
“I sure look like I'm desperate for the emperor," Wei Ying comments.
“Good! That’s the point.”
They're lightly pre-gaming and starting the jello-shot prep when Lan Zhan walks out of his room, overnight bag under his arm.
“Ah!” Says Huaisang, “Gotta pee, BRB!”
“Go piss, girl,” Wei Ying murmurs, heart only half in it in the face of Lan Zan’s startled expression. After several seconds of staring at each other, Wei Ying laughs. “Like what you see, Gege?”
Lan Zhan swallows, starts towards the door again.
“Oh don’t be like that!” Wei Ying says, dashing forward to catch him by the arm. “I’m just getting into character! You know, it’s my job to entertain the guests.”
The last part of this is said with appropriately bouncing eyebrows. Lan Zhan looks unamused.
“Ah, Gege, at least wish me a happy birthday!”
“Happy birthday, Wei Ying.”
“And now give me a birthday kiss,” Wei Ying says, presenting his cheek.
Wei Ying didn't actually expect more than the glare he gets, but he pouts dramatically anyway.
“You look beautiful,” Lan Zhan says, and then he is gone, the front door closing softly behind him.
Wei Ying gets trashed for reasons that are totally unrelated!
It’s good to see everyone again, the last big gathering was Mianmian’s birthday, as they’re approaching midterms and schedules begin to fall apart. But Jiang Cheng shows up dressed as himself, as he does every year. Zixuan has been dragged along with what looks like lazily drawn eye liner whiskers on his face. Wei Ying makes sure he gets sloshed enough to accidentally spill a drink on him. Jin Zixuan looks down at his ruined shirt and sighs long-sufferingly, but that’s what he gets for proposing to Yanli.
The night is good, and full of laughter. Wei Ying does his best to drape himself over laps and toy at loose hair flirtatiously. Everyone takes it in good spirit, but the secret of Wei Ying’s virginity was spilled a long time ago, so no one takes it seriously.
Maybe he had too much fun, to be honest. Because Wei Ying wakes up on his couch in the middle of the night, the apartment’s silence echoing to the same drum beat as his building headache. He forces himself to rise enough to survey the damage, and honestly, his guests were fairy polite. Most of the cups have made their way to the trash can, most of the food has been eaten. If Wei Ying really focuses, he can get it all cleaned up before Lan Zhan gets home. Then, it’ll be like all of this never happened, and Lan Zhan didn't look at Wei Ying and see something he didn't like. Whether it's the drinking habits, or the recklessness, or the shamelessness — Wei Ying can practically hear Lan Zhan’s scolding voice echoing in his ears — he can just sweep it all under the rug!
Wei Ying checks his phone, intending to text Lan Zhan something like If you get home a bit late so I can finish cleaning I certainly wouldn't complain! But it’s dead. He plugs it in and promptly forgets about it.
Stumbling towards the brita— Wei Ying is maybe still a little drunk— he manages to down a glass and a half of water before he gets to work. The dishes are emptied, the cups gathered and the trash set outside to be taken down to the dumpster at an hour where mobs won’t spawn.
Wei Ying is standing on the dining room chair, pulling the Halloween themed streamers for the ceiling, when the front door opens. Startled, Wei Ying shrieks, jumping out of his skin. The combination of sudden fear, his lingering tipsiness, the hour, and the chair means the floor is approaching before Wei Ying can gain any of his bearings. The chair falls with a clatter but Wei Ying ends up cradled in a pair of strong arms, held hostage by a very worried expression.
“Hello, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying greets, cheerfully, as if nothing happened, and he gets bridal carried by his he’d-like-to-think best friend on a daily basis. “Why are you up this late?”
“It is six in the morning. I am returning from my run.”
“Oh,” Wei Ying says, demonstrating an incredible amount of intelligence as he peaks at the microwave clock. Six in the morning indeed.
Wei Ying grabs hold of Lan Zhan’s neck, his head swimming a little bit. Honestly, the time explains why he still isn't sober. He takes a moment to get his bearings. Lan Zhan is…damp? And breathing heavily. Based on the overnight bag that lay abandoned on the floor, he probably took his morning run on the way back from his brother's house. A gentle layer of dew like sweat covers his body, bringing with it a pleasant musk. Wei Ying pushes his face into Lan Zhan’s throat, breathing deeply. Thinking.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, his voice tense.
“Oh sorry, Gege. I'm just tired. And still a bit drunk I think? Maybe I shouldn't have tried to climb anything.”
“Mm.” Lan Zhan says. “You should go to bed.”
“Gege should take me to bed,” Wei Ying murmurs. Then, hearing what came out of his mouth, startles, throwing off their balance and forcing Lan Zhan to hold him tighter. “I mean! Yeah! Sleep! Great idea!”
“Do not engage unnecessary risk,” Lan Zhan says, with a tiny adorable burrow between his eyebrows.
“It didn't seem unnecessary when I thought of it, I had a whole plan! I was like, Lam Zhan doesn't want to get involved in the party and Lan Zhan should always get what he wants. So I’d get rid of all the evidence and then you wouldn't be upset with me, anymore!”
Lan Zhan stares. After a moment, he says “Not upset with Wei Ying.”
“I don't believe you.”
Feeling wide awake again, Wei Ying forms half a plan to right the chair and finish the job, but Lan Zhan's grip tightens, perhaps sensing the general foreboding that comes with Wei Ying having half a plan.
“Lan Zhaaan,” Wei Ying says. “You have to let me go eventually.”
Instead of responding, Lan Zhan asks, “Have you eaten?”
Enough silence passes that Lan Zhan makes a decision, depositing Wei Ying in the kitchen counter like a bag of groceries and digging through the fridge. He takes out two of his bland, terrible overnight oat breakfasts, looks at Wei Ying, sighs, and upends half a tub of Nutella into one of them.
“Eat,” he says, presenting Wei Ying with hazelnut chocolate decadence.
It really is delicious. Wei Ying can't help the moan that escapes him when he takes a bite, the food instantly soothing his empty, slightly nauseous stomach. Lan Zhan gives him a bewildered look.
“Sorry, Gege,” Wei Ying laughs, “Maybe I'm getting too into character.”
Something flashes in Lan Zhan’s eyes, and then it's gone.
When they’re finished, he takes the jars and leaves them to soak in the sink, turning back to Wei Ying with a furrow in his brow again. Wei Ying reaches up to press at it, feeling the muscle of Lan Zhan’s warm, damp skin relax. His expression seems softer, like this, almost loving.
“Oh, haha,” Wei Ying says. “I got Nutella on your forehead, wait.”
He makes a valiant effort to wipe it away, but ends up smearing it further. Finally, Wei Yung huffs.
“Here,” he says, taking Lan Zhan’s face in his hands and pulling him forward. Lan Zhan says very still as Wei Ying runs his tongue over his forehead, licking it off. “All clean!”
Lan Zhan looks at him with a dark expression. “You have some on your face as well,” Lan Zhan says slowly. He scrapes his thumb nail over the bottom of Wei Ying’s mouth, and then plucks his lip open, entering his mouth unbidden.
Wei Ying is aware this isn’t normal, but the taste of chocolate salted with sweat is sweet and addicting. He lathes his tongue over the pad of Lan Zhan’s thumb, looking up through his lashes to make eye contact, and is promptly shoved back against the kitchen window.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying exclaims, it comes out more as a gasp, drowned by the frisson of pleasure Lan Zhan draws up with his tongue on Wei Ying’s jaw. His vision seems to swim with the suddenness of the feeling, body alight with sensitivity. “Lan Zhan.”
“I told you,” Lan Zhan growls, low in his ear as he teeths at Wei Ying lobe, pulling at the dangling faux-jade earrings with his tongue, “I cannot be polite when I see you like this.”
“Mmph! Then don't be,” Wei Ying goads, not sure what he's asking for but certain that he wants it. He lowers his voice, putting on the same sultry tone he uses at the party. “Treat me like the slut I am.”
The kiss this provokes is fierce and all consuming. Wei Ying feels like he’s choking on tongue and teeth and lust. Lan Zhan’s hands — his big, strong, long fingered hands— yank the robes off at Wei Ying shoulder’s, revealing the lilac dudou underneath. He's still in this silly costume. Lan Zhan doesn't seem to have any complaints.
Far from it, he attacks every inch of the newly bared skin, sucking and biting, surely leaving marks. Wei Ying’s mouth is moving in the shape of words he can barely understand. Something something, mark me, claim me, I'm yours, something. No one listens to him anyway.
When Lan Zhan thumbs at his nipple through the rough fabric, Wei Ying can only lean back and keen, arching to press his chest closer to Lan Zhan.
“Gege,” he moans. “Please, please.”
He knows what he’s begging for now, even if the words stumble on his kiss-bitten tongue. He can feel it rutting against him, the swell of Lan Zhan’s cock through those unbearably tiny running shorts rubbing against Wei Ying's own. He spreads his legs wider, pulling Lan Zhan closer with an ankle hooked around his thigh. More, he wants more.
“Wei Ying wants me to make a mess out of him?” Lan Zhan punctuates the question with the delicious scrape of his canines over Wei Ying’s neck. “He wants me to ruin all the hard work he put into getting ready.”
“Want it,” Wei Ying says, high off the touch and the warmth and the smell of him. “Want to leave a lipstick stain on your cock.”
There’s a tearing sound, then, as the seam of Wei Ying's sash parts under Lan Zhan’s eager hands. It is so delicious, the sound of being desired. The robes fall open, Lan Zhan mouths at all of him, sinking his teeth into Wei Ying’s shoulders, favoring him, praising the taste of his skin and the sounds of his helpless moans.
“Good for you,” Wei Ying says, “Only for you.”
Wei Ying meeps as his hips are pulled unceremoniously to the edge of the counter, Lan Zhan’s hands tracing up the side of his thighs, groping appreciatively. It doesn't take him long to find the band of the costume’s shorts. Wei Ying rocks his hips side to side until Lan Zhan can get them off, moaning his disappointment when Lan Zhan has to step back to discard them.
But in an instant, Lan Zhan is there again, filling in the space where the cold air of his absence once was. He licks his way into Wei Ying’s mouth like a battering ram, leaving saliva coating his mouth and forcing his way in. It’s utterly filthy. Wei Ying loves the sounds of his gasps echoing through the chamber of Lan Zhan’s throat.
Lan Zhan seems to fumble for something, and then there's the distinct pop of their olive oil dispenser’s lid flipping open. Wei Ying shudders, buries his face into Lan Zhan’s neck as the man rubs at his rim with slick fingers. This touch, at least, is gentle.
“Haven't done this before, Gege,” Wei Ying pants. “Need you to show me, need you to open me up.”
The first breech of his finger makes Wei Ying gasp and squirm. The knowledge of something inside of him is so erotic it dulls the discomfort. Slowly, Lan Zhan coats his walls with oil, and the slide becomes easier. It’s easier to appreciate the rough drag of Lan Zhan’s musician calloused fingers, and the length of them as they so slowly press inside. Lan Zhan bullies Wei Ying into leaning back, pressing in with his body. Then one, swift, sure movement of his fingers and stars erupt across Wei Ying’s vision.
“Relax,” Lan Zhan cooes, as if he isn't breaking Wei Ying into a million pieces, changing him forever, teaching him a new definition of pleasure his brain can barely comprehend. Apparently, Wei Ying obeys, because Lan Zhan says, “Good.” And the soft, warmth of his approval make Wei Ying twitch, fucking himself deeper.
He adds more fingers, bit by bit over the course of what must be an eternity, until he’s stretching Wei Ying open on four of fhem, scissoring them wide and narrow again. He ignores all of Wei Ying pleads of “need you, need you, now, gege, fuck me now.” working him open slowly and gently, feeding Wei Ying sips from his honeyed mouth in a series of kisses both filthy and sweet.
Finally Lan Zhan whispers, voice rough. “I’m going to turn you around and fuck you into the countertop, and you’re going to take it.”
Wei Ying's response hardly qualifies as language, but he scrambles into his feet, Lan Zhan catching him when his jellied legs almost send him sprawling.
It feels so exposing, to bend over with his ass in the air, wearing an outfit that feels more like unadulterated lingerie the more Lan Zhan tugs at it. Lan Zhan palms his ass cheeks, holding them open and just staying there, even as Wei Ying wriggles and groans and begs. It’s only when Wei Ying gasps, feeling the sharp, delicious cold of his cock against the tile counter, that Lan Zhan finally comes to his senses. His terrible, brutish cock lining up at Wei Ying's entrance.
“Do it, do it. Fuck me already,” Wei Ying demands. His wish is obeyed swiftly, and it’s all he can do to keep his tongue in his own mouth as he sinks onto Lan Zhan’s cock, breathless at the stretch of him. Lan Zhan saws his way in, pressing deeper with every thrust until his hips hit Wei Ying’s ass and Wei Ying is certain something inside of him is going to break. But somehow, his body makes room for Lan Zhan and all the pleasure he brings, even as some of the pleasure overflows into tears.
“Don’t stop,” Wei Ying sobs, feeling Lan Zhan hesitate in his movements. “It’d good, too good. Make me cry, gege. Don’t you want to ruin me?”
It is an out of body experience. The pleasure building, and building, and yet Wei Ying seems to float in a space of satisfied thoughtlessness. Held down and secured by the weight of Lan Zan on his back, the pressure of teeth in his neck. Wei Ying is rattled by each of Lan Zhan’s thrusts, quick and deep, and he takes it happily, glad to hand over the reins for a moment, to Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan who gasps silently at his ear between love bites and says things like “beautiful,” "And “so good for me,” and “how can I survive you, Wei Ying?”
Wei Ying comes to the sound of this praise, Lan Zhan reaching around him to wrap an oil-slick palm over Wei Ying cock, jerking him off with only the motion of his own thrusts. The orgasm is pleasant and tired, almost chafing in its intimacy. Wei Ying’s thoughts start to swim back into focus as Lan Zhan fucks his limp, relaxed body, finally coming with a groan and an addicting surge of warmth.
They stay there, breathing together, until Wei Ying whimpers. Seeming to read his mind, Lan Zhan carried him to the couch, climbing into the small space beside him and draping the throw blanket across them both.
“Wei Ying,” he says, face tucked into Wei Ying’s shoulder, idly soothing the love bites there with his tongue. “Wei Ying.”
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying responds. He feels the sudden urge to giggle, like he always does like this, when Lan Zhan has gotten closer than he ever expected. He lets it pass. “Lan Zhan… Iwant you.”
Wei Ying feels eyelashes flutter closed against his skin. Lan Zhan takes a deep, steading breath. Then he says, “Sleep.”
Disappointed, but soothed by the slow circle of Lan Zhan’s thumb at his waist, Wei Ying obeys.
Huaisang, it turns out, did not expect him to return the costume. They make use of it, again and again. As boyfriend's, rather than roommates.