Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Order for Wei Ying?" calls the barista.

Wei Ying perks up, his head lifting from his phone. 

Jiang Cheng had just texted, don't sprain yourself today!! and Wei Ying had been trying to think of the best way to make that into a sex joke. Maybe something like, I won't get sprained during the game but maybe later tonight ;), which would make Jiang Cheng ghost him for two days, but sacrifices must be made for good sex jokes.

It's not like Wei Ying will actually get laid tonight. He'd thought of going to university as a fun foray into casual sex, but he hasn't done much beyond kissing a friend while high. The saddest part is that he's still disappointed that it was just a kiss, not even a proper make-out. He tried Tinder and, once—since coming to terms with his attraction to men—Grindr, but it felt too impersonal for him. In the back of his mind, he wonders if maybe he just wants something that might feel more permanent. Real.

It's also hard to say to a casual hookup, So in a sexual relationship, how would you feel about bossing me around a bit?

He's not sure if he would have the guts to say that to anyone, ever. And he's not gonna find someone like that, someone who he likes so easily, on the streets, much less a coffee shop. So he taps out the reply to Jiang Cheng and makes his way over to the counter, where his drink is waiting for him.

Well, there's a few drinks waiting for him. He picks one up without thought and brings it to his lips.

"That is my drink."

The voice is—well, there's no other way to put it—pretty commanding. When Wei Ying turns his head, he's met with a guy in a zipped-up blue and white letter jacket, white jogging pants, and sharp dark eyes framed by long eyelashes. He's tall—a couple inches taller than Wei Ying—and his eyes narrow when Wei Ying balks.

"Oh! Sorry," Wei Ying says. But he doesn't let the drink go. "Do you want mine instead?"

The guy looks at the other drink on the counter, where a bit of whipped cream with chocolate sprinkles peers out through the drinking slot on the lid. Wei Ying asked for extra cayenne pepper, too, so if the guy takes it, he's in for a surprise.

But the guy says, "No. I would like my drink."

"Well," Wei Ying says, and turns the drink around so he can see the name, "Lan Zhan... Wait, did you order green tea? You spent three dollars just for a cup of green tea?"

Lan Zhan's eyes flash. "I do not believe I asked for your opinion."

The coldness of his voice makes Wei Ying's spine shiver. Now this is a guy who—well, perhaps it's too early to say. Sometimes people are just mean, and that doesn't indicate anything they'd like in bed.

Still, Wei Ying can't help but push a little. "I can tell you now that even I spent too much on my drink," he says, which is true; his had nearly amounted to five dollars. "But I wanna see how good this tea is for you to spend three dollars on it."

"I have not ordered from here before," Lan Zhan says, as Wei Ying presses his lips to the mouthpiece, meets Lan Zhan's eyes, and sips.

The green tea is nothing special, hot and maybe watered down compared to whatever his parents usually make him drink, but they like their tea strong. Lan Zhan watches, eyes furious but more importantly dark, a heady weight that Wei Ying surely isn't imagining.

Wei Ying takes the cup out of his mouth, tips of his fingers warm all of a sudden. Tips of his toes, too. And something new, like a wandering mist, creeps at the back of his brain. 

"Uh," he says, and tries to remember how to formulate words. "Um."

"Give me my drink." Lan Zhan holds out his hand.

Wei Ying doesn't want to. He doesn't want to, but—

He feels small under Lan Zhan, still staring into his eyes. He puts Lan Zhan's drink in his hands.

Instead of wiping off the mouthpiece or storming away or maybe dumping the rest of the tea onto Wei Ying, Lan Zhan takes the other drink left on the counter. He turns it around so he can see the order and name.

"You are Wei Ying," he says. Hearing his voice say Wei Ying's name does something to Wei Ying, though he's not sure what it is. "Why is Wei Ying inquiring about my drink when he has spent nearly two dollars on toppings alone?"

Ouch. "Okay, okay, you make a point," Wei Ying says, grabbing for it.

Lan Zhan pulls it out of his reach. "Are you typically such a brat to all strangers you encounter in coffee shops?"

The word brat isn't spat out, but the way Lan Zhan intones it feels like it should be. That mist is coming back, and Wei Ying shrinks into himself more. He hasn't felt like this since the first time he pinched and slapped his thigh and edged himself while jerking off, so that when he started rubbing his dick again, his instantaneous orgasm took him by surprise. He wants to—he wants to arch his back, blink prettily, bare his throat—

"No," Wei Ying says, and it comes out as a hoarse whisper.

Something in Lan Zhan's gaze softens. He hands Wei Ying's drink over to him, and waits patiently as Wei Ying's palms slip the first few times until he gets the warm paper cup secure in his hands. Then Lan Zhan lets go. 

"Good," he says, and Wei Ying doesn't know if it's about him holding the cup or Wei Ying saying no. Either way, it makes that fog a bit heavier.

Lan Zhan walks to a tall table. Unable to focus on anything else except for the long line of his back, Wei Ying joins him. Lan Zhan doesn't seem surprised though; when he turns around and rakes his eyes over Wei Ying's face, he just says, "Drink."

Wei Ying drinks. The sugar and hotness is a shock to his system, and the fog lifts, clearing his head. Lan Zhan's still observing him, something considering on his face. Breathing out, Wei Ying rests the cup on the table.

"So," Wei Ying says. "I haven't seen you before. What are you, a liberal arts major?" He chuckles to himself.

To his surprise, Lan Zhan nods. "I study music composition." His fingers are long around his paper cup. Holding his gaze with Wei Ying's, he drinks from it, in the same place that Wei Ying's lips had been earlier. 

Wei Ying's throat feels dry.

"Cool," he says. "Cool, that's uh. That's cool, yeah. I'm in engineering, uh, computer science, which is why I made that joke at first, but that's. Um, yeah. You look like you study music composition."

"I do?" Lan Zhan asks with no inflection.

"No," Wei Ying confesses. "You don't really look like you, uh. Well, I don't think you can assume what people are studying based on what they look like. I'm just talking, you know, I don't know why I said that. But I like talking. Do you like talking? I don't think you do—I do mean that, by the way, I think you look like you don't like to talk."

Lan Zhan takes another small sip of his tea instead of answering. There may be something amused in the corner of his mouth. It fills Wei Ying with delight.

Lan Zhan glances at the watch on his wrist. "I believe it is time for me to depart," he says, stepping away from the table. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Wei Ying."

Pleasure. Wei Ying wants to ban certain words from this man's vocabulary, except—except he doesn't. Every word, especially words like pleasure and brat sound lovely coming from his mouth. 

"You too," Wei Ying says, as Lan Zhan nods at him and heads towards the coffee shop doors.

Wei Ying places his mouth on the open slot on the lid of his cup, and wonders what it would've tasted like if Lan Zhan had tried his drink as well. 

"You too," he says again, to himself.

He has to jog back to his dorm to change into his practice jersey and shorts, so he's about ten minutes late by the time he makes it to the men's locker room. 

"I'm here, I'm here," he says breathlessly, to whoever's left in the locker room.

It's just a few guys on his team, who greet and chide him because maybe Wei Ying has a bit of a reputation for being late, which is the primary reason he's not captain. But it's fine. Wei Ying stuffs his bag into his locker, takes out his water bottle, and makes his way out onto the court.

They're scrimming with a new team today. The college basketball association drew new lines for regions this semester, so rather than scrimming with the team they've been on decent terms with for the past few years, they're trying the Gusu Dragons on for size instead. Since Wei Ying was a freshman, he's known that the Gusu lineup is formidable, but he's not afraid. He's made MVP three years in a row on his team, and he thinks that the Yiling Crows are pretty formidable, too.

When he gets out, he sees his own team in their red practice jerseys, but the other team is in very familiar colors. Just earlier today, not an hour ago, white jerseys and dragon motifs, blue lines and white shorts...

"Thirty-eight!" his coach calls from a huddle, and Wei Ying goes to join them, although it feels like someone is watching him, tracking his every movement.

While their coach talks, Wei Ying peeks above the heads. But it's hard to tell, until both coaches have them line up, the Gusu coach acting as temporary referee. Wei Ying's eyes shoot down the line of the Gusu players, and—

Lan Zhan is there.

Lan Zhan, in the jersey and shorts, with a white sweatband around his forehead, gaze already fixed on Wei Ying. Wei Ying startles, but Lan Zhan's face doesn't change at all. If anything, he seems just as shocked to see Wei Ying here after their encounter at the coffee shop. That's what Wei Ying would assume from the endless staring, anyway. 

Then the Gusu coach blows the whistle and tosses the basketball up in the air, and it's like any other game. Only it's not, because as Wei Ying tracks the ball, makes call outs, passes and steals and intercepts, he becomes very aware of Lan Zhan. Even when Lan Zhan's not looking at him, it's like there's a little alert in the back of Wei Ying's mind when Lan Zhan comes close to him, in his line of sight, calling out to his own teammates, running interference himself. 

They're playing against each other, but that's not what's throwing Wei Ying off. It's that Lan Zhan is on his court, at his school, and Wei Ying had run into him only about an hour ago at his favorite coffee shop on campus. He hadn't thought much of Lan Zhan's getup, but maybe he should've. It's so obvious now, the line of a blue dragon down his sleeves in the same way it's curled into the circular logo in the middle of his jersey; the white on white, the clean accents, the traditional motifs. Wei Ying knows the leagues, has heard Lan Zhan's name before. He just hadn't realized this was that Lan Zhan.

And it's not like they've never played against each other, either, but Wei Ying had always been aware of the Lan from Gusu who was also MVP on his own team three years in a row, not the Lan Zhan he almost asked to fuck in broad daylight. And Wei Ying didn't know he wanted that either, except in the middle of this game, of this scrimmage, it feels so obvious now. The way Lan Zhan's words had cut into him and made him want to bend over, the way Lan Zhan didn't put up with the bullshit Wei Ying fed him, the way he drank from the same spot Wei Ying had to piss him off in the first place—

"Here," says a hard, dark voice.

Without thinking, Wei Ying bounces the basketball in the voice's direction—and meets Lan Zhan's gaze. Lan Zhan takes the ball without hesitation, and even smirks.

One of Wei Ying's teammates yell, "Wei Ying, what the fuck was that?" 

Wei Ying is wondering that himself. To Lan Zhan, who used the same fucking voice he'd used earlier in the coffee shop to make Wei Ying obey, on the court, as Wei Ying watches him dribble over to his net and score.

Wei Ying runs up to him, blood rushing in his ears. "What did you do that for?" he demands. "How could you—" He cuts himself off, face warm.

Lan Zhan looks bored. "You were lost in thought," he says. "You did not have to listen."

"I didn't have to—?"

Lan Zhan jogs off, high-fiving one of his teammates. Wei Ying fumes.

It doesn't get any easier, though. When the game starts again, Wei Ying makes a point to avoid Lan Zhan, getting lost in his own teammates and callouts. But when the ball is in his hands again, he's dribbling and ducking blocks, until there's a presence close to him—not enough to be touching to foul—and Lan Zhan's voice saying, "Wei Ying."

Wei Ying's still in momentum, but he stops dribbling to look at him. Lan Zhan stops, then the whistle blows.

"Thirty-eight, traveling!" calls the Gusu coach.

"Oh, for the love of—" Wei Ying turns and slams the ball down. "I need time," he says to his own coach, and goes to the bench as he gets swapped out. 

His head feels heavy. That mist is back, lingering and unfamiliar. He rubs his forehead and tries to shake it out.

When he looks up, he sees Lan Zhan watching him again. Not a smirk in sight, but he's probably gloating internally, Wei Ying thinks. He glares at Lan Zhan until Lan Zhan turns his attention back to the game. Wei Ying decides he doesn't want to know what his deal is.

But it's not that easy, when that fog hangs in his head for the rest of the scrim. It's light, but there. His body itches with need, with want for something. Like he wants to burrow into his skin, cave into Lan Zhan's voice—except he doesn't, he doesn't, Lan Zhan's an asshole, and—

The rest of the scrimmage goes fine as Wei Ying avoids Lan Zhan and, seeming to understand, Lan Zhan avoids him too. It doesn't make it any better, though, when a part of Wei Ying wants Lan Zhan to lose control the same way Wei Ying did, to fuck up in the middle of a scrimmage as obviously as Wei Ying. To expose himself as much as Wei Ying feels exposed, on the court and in the coffee shop and in front of everyone else.

Afterward, their coaches make them shake hands, congratulate each other, and separate. But instead of going to his own locker room, Wei Ying stomps towards the visiting team's room, which are smaller and off to the side. 

When he gets in, the other boys on the Gusu team startle. One of them asks, "What are you doing here? You're not allowed to be in here."

"Where's your captain?" Wei Ying sneers. Calling him Lan Zhan feels too off, too intimate right now. "I want to have a few words with him."

"Well, you can't," says the Gusu kid snottily.

Another boy elbows him. "Jingyi, be nice."

"Why not?" Wei Ying says. "I'm going to go find him." 

The rest of the boys in the locker room don't seem to be amenable to this, but Lan Zhan's not among them, so Wei Ying doesn't care. Finding Lan Zhan is what's important right now.

He doesn't often prowl through the visitor's locker rooms, so it takes him a moment to find the private showers. One of them is definitely running. Wei Ying marches over to it and calls into the curtain, "Lan Zhan!"

The shower stops. A rustling, then Lan Zhan's head is poking out, eyebrows drawing together when his gaze lands on Wei Ying.

"Wei Ying," he says. "What are you doing here?"

"I'd like to have a little talk." Wei Ying pushes Lan Zhan back into the shower, for at least an illusion of control.  "About what you did on the court." 

Lan Zhan doesn't get pushed so much as he goes along with it, and Wei Ying can feel the force in his own palm falter.

Wei Ying demands, "Because what the fuck was that? What did you do that for?"

Lan Zhan blinks at him. His hair is wet and cropped short. His chest is impeccable, hard lines and muscles and broad shoulders. A droplet of water slides down his neck.

"I did not realize," Lan Zhan says, "that your inclination to submission was so easy."

"What are you talking about?" Wei Ying says incredulously. "Submission? Who says I'm submissive? You've seen me on the court before, I'm better than half your team, don't tell me I'm inclined to anything—"

"Do you not know what I am talking about?" Lan Zhan interrupts.

Wei Ying rolls his eyes. "Of course I know what you're talking about. I understood all the words you said, didn't I?" he snarls. "But you're still the one who—who—and the coffee shop, what the fuck was that? What's this—"

Before he knows what's happening, Lan Zhan grabs him by both of his wrists, shoves him backward, and presses him into the wall. His hands are large and tight, applying enough pressure that Wei Ying knows he wouldn't be able to wriggle out if he tried. He's still fully clothed while Lan Zhan is half-naked, only his towel covering the lower half of his body. More water drips from his hair, down his cheek to his chin. His long fingers are damp.

Lan Zhan cocks his head, looking Wei Ying in the eyes. Wei Ying stares defiantly back.

Then without warning, Lan Zhan is kissing him. Wei Ying had barely seen the movement, how it happened—one moment they’re staring at each other, and the next, Lan Zhan's biting Wei Ying's mouth open, and Wei Ying's eyes are closed as he twists and moans and kisses back. It's an instinct, and he barely feels like he's doing anything—all he knows is Lan Zhan on him, all over him Lan Zhan's hands wrapped around his wrists, his thighs pressing into Wei Ying's, and his body, his body—

Wei Ying goes from annoyed and confused to rock hard and desperate in an instant. Intellectually, he knows that Lan Zhan isn't that much bigger than him, but he feels like it right now. Lan Zhan bites Wei Ying's lips until he bleeds, rolling his hips against Wei Ying's. Wei Ying goes, "Ah," and, "Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan," and Lan Zhan keeps kissing him. 

Both of Wei Ying's hands are still out of commission, while one of Lan Zhan's hands snakes down to the waistband of Wei Ying's shorts. Wei Ying realizes that Lan Zhan is holding him in place with a single hand, and fuck, that's hot. 

"Shit," Wei Ying says, as Lan Zhan slips a hand into his shorts, wraps his long fingers around him, thumbs the slit, teases. "Shit." 

Lan Zhan kisses the words out of him, licking the back of his teeth with his lips. There's a massive weight against Wei Ying's thighs. 

Wei Ying wants to feel it desperately.

"I am going to let you go," Lan Zhan says, "and I want you to put my cock in your mouth. Is that clear?"

Their faces are so close together. Wei Ying tries to look at Lan Zhan directly and goes cross-eyed.

"Yeah," he says, nodding. "Yeah, yes."

"No sucking," says Lan Zhan. "Only my cock in your pretty mouth."

The way Lan Zhan says cock is obscene. The way he says pretty is obscene. The only reason Wei Ying isn't squirming is because he's pretty sure Lan Zhan doesn't want that. Otherwise, he'd be desperate for friction in his shorts, against Lan Zhan's palm that's still stroking him.

"Yeah," Wei Ying babbles, "yeah, okay, yeah, please Lan Zhan."

Lan Zhan lets him go. Wei Ying drops to his knees immediately, unbothered by the wetness staining his shorts, the watery tiles of the shower. All of his focus is on the massive length beneath Lan Zhan's towel, and then Lan Zhan strips it off.

Wei Ying's mouth waters at the sight. It's so—it's big, heavy against Lan Zhan's stomach, thick and curved upwards. Wei Ying's mouth feels so small in comparison, and he can only imagine what it would taste like, filling him up. And he can, he remembers, he can put it between his lips and feel the fullness of it. It's what Lan Zhan wants, and Lan Zhan's waiting as Wei Ying kneels closer, straightens his back, and without using his hands, wraps his lips around Lan Zhan's dick.

A small grunt from above him, but Wei Ying's not really paying attention, getting Lan Zhan's dick deeper into him. Feeling it stretching his lips wide, his throat, as he doesn't breathe and goes for more. He feels empty everywhere else, only fuller with Lan Zhan's cock in his mouth, exhaling heavily through his nostrils but not wanting to stop. Lan Zhan's cock fills him so well, and Wei Ying moans around it, around the girth of it, trying to go for more.

He gets a little more than halfway before it hits somewhere in the back of his throat, and he gags. Whines, because he wants more. All of him, all of Lan Zhan who is watching him steadily from up above, stroking down Wei Ying's cheek, pressing his thumb to his lips to open him up a bit more.

"You are greedy," Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying whines again. "You are submissive, Wei Ying. Did you not know that? I could see it when we were in the coffee shop. When you took my drink."

The haze in Wei Ying's head is thicker. He mewls and tries to get Lan Zhan deeper into him, but Lan Zhan stops him, gripping onto his hair from the back of his head. The tug makes his scalp sting. Wei Ying mewls some more.

"Obey," Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying stops. "I will fuck your mouth. Would you like that, Wei Ying?"

Rapidly, Wei Ying's thoughts grow softer, lighter. He can't feel anything anymore, the humidity seeping beneath his shorts and jersey, the shower tiles marking bruises into his knees. All he feels is the thick weight of Lan Zhan's dick on his tongue. 

He nods.

Lan Zhan grabs a proper fistful of his hair, his other hand to hold onto the base of his cock, and starts fucking Wei Ying's face, using him. Wei Ying feels wonderfully helpless, watching Lan Zhan's face as Lan Zhan thrusts in relentlessly. Not all of it, not making Wei Ying take the entire length, just as much as Wei Ying had taken earlier. It's not everything Wei Ying wants, but it's enough. Wei Ying gags less as he keeps his lips parted, swollen and sore for Lan Zhan. Not sucking, like he was told, and not licking, even though he wants Lan Zhan's musky taste on every one of his taste buds, breathing him in through his nose. Lan Zhan holds him in place and fucks into him, hips growing erratic the longer he goes, puffing out small breaths through his nostrils.

"Touch yourself," Lan Zhan says. 

Wei Ying does, over his shorts, and his cock twitches. Just the briefest friction and he's moaning and coming, sending vibrations all up Lan Zhan's dick, so solid and heavy in his mouth.

Lan Zhan grunts, sinks his cock in a little deeper. Wei Ying gags again, but it's impeded by the warm, tacky thickness that fills his throat, salty and bitter and so fucking good. Wei Ying moans and moans again, with Lan Zhan's cock twitching down his throat, his hips rolling as Lan Zhan continues to come. There's so much of it, but Lan Zhan was right: Wei Ying is greedy, keeping his throat and mouth open for Lan Zhan to give him all he's got. Lan Zhan's spend, Wei Ying thinks, is marking him from the inside, and he thinks of where else he might want to be marked.

His own limp cock jerks in his shorts. He winces at the oversensitivity, but then Lan Zhan starts pulling his cock out, wipes the tip of it, whatever's left, on Wei Ying's lips. Wei Ying licks at the slit with his tongue.

Lan Zhan uses his thumb to push his tongue back into his mouth. "Submissive," he tells Wei Ying.

Wei Ying's head is so full of white noise that he can't bring himself to argue. He can barely bring himself to say anything at all, just going after Lan Zhan's dick, until Lan Zhan puts his towel back around his hips, hiding it from sight. Wei Ying whimpers.

"Get up," Lan Zhan says, and pulls Wei Ying up by the hair, effortlessly.

Lan Zhan searches his eyes then kisses him. Wei Ying lets him; he feels he doesn't have a choice anymore. He feels loose, pliant, like he’s a doll for Lan Zhan to use however he wants. Lan Zhan's tongue roams around his mouth, licking the edges like he's licking his own taste out.

Then he bites Wei Ying's bottom lip. Hard.

"Ow!" Wei Ying says. 

His voice is scratchy and sore, and he tastes copper in his mouth. Lan Zhan doesn't let up though, scraping his teeth down Wei Ying's neck until he gets to his collarbone. Bites down again, a shock to Wei Ying's system that makes the white noise let up a bit, words coming back to him.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying protests. "You can't just bite people! You can't just bite me."

Pulling away, Lan Zhan searches his face again. Wei Ying's body feels like it's tipping forward, but he reels it in. He feels a bit off, but he reminds himself to breathe, of where he is, what he's been doing. He's in his wet as fuck basketball jersey in the visiting team's locker room, and he and Lan Zhan just—he just blew Lan Zhan. He just let Lan Zhan shove his dick into him.

"How are you feeling?" Lan Zhan asks. 

His hair is drier now, floppy against his forehead. A strand presses against the side of his face. Wei Ying's fingers twitch to push it back.

Wei Ying massages his neck, trying to wrap his head around the last however-fucking-long minutes. "Like I just had a massive dick in my mouth," he says, soothing his chin.

Lan Zhan's light voice doesn't quite match his gaze when he says, "I am indeed well-endowed."

"That's one way of putting it." 

Wei Ying stands up, now feeling the ache in his knees. He isn't quite steady, but when Lan Zhan tries to adjust him by the elbow, he shakes him off. His head is still—there's a weirdness, an inkling in the back of his head that Lan Zhan just wanted to use him. But it's fine. He and Lan Zhan hardly know each other. And even if Lan Zhan wanted to just use him, that's still hot.

Lan Zhan meets his gaze and says, "You did well."

Wei Ying shivers—he can't help it. The small shower is humid, but Lan Zhan's words bring a chill right to his bones, settle there. The fog lifts a bit more.

Not wanting to think about it too much, Wei Ying mumbles, "Uh, you did too. Good job, um. Fucking my face, I guess." 

He starts to move away to the shower curtains.

Behind him, Lan Zhan says, "Wei Ying—"

"I'm gonna go," Wei Ying says, because suddenly he can't look at Lan Zhan anymore, can't look at anyone. 

He mindlessly makes his way out, heading back to his own team's locker room. He strips himself off and heads into the showers, drenching himself in hot water.

When he tries to jerk off again, it's just not as good without Lan Zhan filling his mouth.

Wei Ying—well.

He thought he knew what he would want out of a relationship. Maybe not out of sex. Up until Lan Zhan, he figured that he would learn what he wanted when he got into a real sexual, and possibly also romantic, relationship. He thought that he would meet someone nice and get to know them over a long period of time and eventually things would come to where he or the other person would ask to kiss the other and it would just turn into a nice relationship. He'd ask the person if they wouldn't mind being rough with him during sex and they'd probably try and it might not be as hard as Wei Ying would want it, but it would be good enough.

Things with Lan Zhan had been unexpected. For one thing, Wei Ying barely knows the guy. The coffee shop had turned into the court which had then somehow turned into Wei Ying on his knees in the visiting locker room, hungry and drooling for Lan Zhan's dick. Wei Ying didn't know he could be reduced to something so—so pathetic. But every so often, he runs his fingers over the fading bruises on his knees, wishing he could be there again.

But it's no matter. It was a fluke, a one-time thing, and it's not like it's going to happen again. Thanks Lan Zhan, Wei Ying thinks, for being his probably one and only chance at indulging in rough sex. His first time, too. Wei Ying doesn't think about how that might color any other sexual encounters he might have, that other people's dicks wouldn't be as big, as hefty, wouldn't fill him as well. That other people might not just yank at his hair so carelessly, command him without a thought, wipe their genitals on him like he's just a napkin to be used. That's good, Wei Ying thinks. That was kind of an asshole move.

Wei Ying ignores how he licks his lips every time at the thought.

He puts it out of his mind easily, though, focusing on his team's own practices into September. The basketball season is far more important than whatever's going on in his sex life—although not more important than academics, as his parents make note to remind him on their call once a week. 

Their next scrimmage with Gusu is later in the month, on a chilly Saturday that Wei Ying's looking forward to. Scrimmages are fun, no matter who they're against; it's all prep for the main game season, where they don't hold back anymore, don't run drills together, just give their all. This time, the scrim is going to be on Gusu's court, so Wei Ying drops by the coffee shop much earlier than usual to get his regular drink before they leave. If a part of him almost expects Lan Zhan to walk in—even though it's a thirty minute bus ride between, even if Wei Ying's the one on the visiting team today—he refuses to think too much about it.

The bus ride to Gusu is almost like entering another country. Yiling University has a lot of secondhand equipment: the backboards are worn, everyone comes in their own sneakers, and there's barely a clean strip of hardwood on the ground. In Gusu, it's different.

It's not Wei Ying's first time, but it's been long enough that the contrast is stark. Polished floors, perfectly clean basketballs without any finger marks, and at least half of the team is wearing Jordans. Lan Zhan's one of those guys, big white sneakers squeaking as he wipes the sweat from his brow. Wei Ying pretends he's not looking for him as their team files into the gym and the Gusu team stops practicing.

Things aren't much different than last time, despite being in another school. Wei Ying doesn't care about how refined and clean Gusu is, as long as they can give them a good game, as long as Lan Zhan does. Lan Zhan himself seems to be unsure if he wants to look at Wei Ying or not, by the ways Wei Ying will catch him looking and he'll sometimes glance away, while other times he keep staring. It makes Wei Ying's cheeks burn.

Then the whistle's blowing and the scrimmage starts. Someone on Gusu's grabbed the ball for the jump shot. The Yiling team in their black jerseys today flock like ravens, scattering around their opponents.

The ball gets passed between the boys on Gusu, then gets intercepted. Gets passed to Wei Ying, who tosses it to Wen Ning, who speeds down the court with it until it gets stolen again. Wei Ying watches the trajectory of the ball as it goes from Gusu member to Gusu member, and then, eventually, into Lan Zhan's hands.

An idea occurs to him. "Hey, Lan Zhan," Wei Ying says, jogging over to him. 

He tries to steal the ball—the normal thing to do—but Lan Zhan easily swerves it out of his grasp. 

"Ah, Lan Zhan, so mean," Wei Ying says with a giggle. "C'mon, don't you think you owe me?"

"No," Lan Zhan says, and turns around. 

Wei Ying tries to crowd him, but Lan Zhan moves again, keeping his back to Wei Ying. He won't look Wei Ying in the eye.

Wei Ying pouts. "Please? I'll beg you for it. I'll beg you so nicely," he says. "I bet you want to hear that, huh? Don't you think you'd like to get me on my knees and begging?"

Lan Zhan's dribbling gets more violent. Wei Ying grins to himself, at Lan Zhan's shoulders. Lan Zhan doesn't reply.

"Please, gege?" Wei Ying asks. "Gege, can you give me the ball?"

"Lan Zhan!" calls a teammate.

Lan Zhan swivels and makes to pass the basketball. Except his movement is off—too fast, too hard, and when he bounces the ball, it slams onto the ground, short, popping up. 

Wei Ying easily grabs it one-handed from the air.

He laughs, dribbling it away. "Thanks gege!" he says, running back to the other side of the court.

Lan Zhan gets progressively more off-kilter as the scrim progresses. Running too fast, speeding too long down the court with the ball, overshooting at the hoop once, causing the ball to bounce aggressively off the rim and narrowly miss Wen Ning's face. About halfway through he says something to his coach. They call for a timeout, and Lan Zhan disappears behind a door that says MEN'S LOCKER ROOM.

Well. He looks at Wei Ying before disappearing. And Wei Ying knows he doesn't have to follow Lan Zhan in, but Lan Zhan didn't have to—didn't have to fuck Wei Ying's throat last time. So.

Wei Ying follows.

The locker rooms are as nice as the gym, all clean white walls and pale blue lockers, barely a speck of dirt in sight. Wei Ying has about a second to take this in before he's being slammed against the locker room door, Lan Zhan's strong hand pinning him by the base of his throat.

It's not enough to choke, but it does catch him off-guard. "What are you doing?" Wei Ying manages out, trying to twist away. It's impossible; however much Lan Zhan lifts has paid off. Wei Ying can't budge at all. "Are you trying to throttle me?"

Lan Zhan's grip gets tighter. At that response, a shock of electricity shoots through Wei Ying's veins, down to his dick.

Fuck, egging Lan Zhan on is so good.

"You are infuriating," Lan Zhan says, voice dark and low. "Do you want me to throttle you?"

His hand is so big. Strong. Wei Ying wonders if it's big enough to hold his waist. "Hm, I dunno, gege," he says, making a perfunctory attempt to twist away again. As usual, it does nothing. "Would that be a reward or punishment if you did?"

Lan Zhan growls—and then he's on Wei Ying, their teeth clacking together as he kisses into him, licks the inside of his mouth. He's restless and violent, and Wei Ying expects him to be shaking. But he's not, movements jerky but measured as he shoves his body against him. Wei Ying can feel him hard in his basketball shorts.

Wei Ying pants in his mouth. He wants to wrap his legs around Lan Zhan's waist, see what Lan Zhan could do to him. What Lan Zhan wants to do with him. 

"Do you like that?" Wei Ying murmurs between their lips. "Like it when I call you gege? Want me to cry that out instead of your name, when you're fucking me?"

He doesn't know where this is coming from, but it's definitely the right thing to say when this makes Lan Zhan bite his chin, hard. Like he's trying to dent his teeth into Wei Ying's skin, his bone. It doesn't quite tear but it hurts and Wei Ying cries out, moans as Lan Zhan bruises and bites a line down Wei Ying's throat.

Lan Zhan uses him, like before, grabs Wei Ying by the ass, shucks their shorts and underwear down, grinds their dicks together, staring all the while. Wei Ying looks down too, Lan Zhan's huge cock against his, throbbing and red, wet. 

"Gege," Wei Ying moans. "Gege's so big, wanna feel it, wanna feel you. Come on—"

"Shut up," Lan Zhan says, and covers Wei Ying's mouth with his again. 

Wei Ying moans, as Lan Zhan fills his mouth with his tongue, moving a hand to rub their cocks together. His other hand is still on Wei YIng's ass, squeezing and dragging his fingers into the soft skin of his cheek. Drifting between, inside, to his crack, three fingertips brushing against his dry hole—

Wei Ying comes, and Lan Zhan does too, a moment later, both of them spilling all over their dicks as Wei Ying whines into Lan Zhan's mouth. It's a surprise that Wei Ying's still standing, with the way that his legs feel like jelly when he comes down from his orgasm. 

Lan Zhan is breathing hard in his face. His eyes are out of focus, pupils big, though his cock is still limp against Wei Ying's. He thrusts forward anyway, and Wei Ying goes, "Ow," tries to twitch away when Lan Zhan grinds against him again.

Wei Ying's helpless, but it's not terrible, Lan Zhan's cock slipping underneath his balls. It slides along the wiry hair there, tip still wet, and Wei Ying feels it when Lan Zhan grips the base of his dick, slips it soft between Wei Ying's thighs. He smears some of his come between Wei Ying's legs, and god. Wei Ying's belly is hot, even if his cock is too oversensitive to get hard in this instant.

Lan Zhan exhales through his nose. Wei Ying looks up at him; light is coming back to his pupils the longer Wei Ying holds his gaze. It becomes less heavy, until Lan Zhan is pulling back, tucking his cock back into his shorts.

"What you did," he says, as Wei Ying remembers to catch his breath, too. "Do not do that again."

"What?" Wei Ying tilts his head. He thinks he'll wait a second before pulling his shorts back up. The cool air is a relief against how the rest of him is a little dizzy, overheated. "Come on your dick? Call you gege?"

"No," Lan Zhan says. "On the court."

He pauses for a second. Wei Ying opens his mouth.

Lan Zhan says, "I am aware that at the last scrimmage, I was the one who—" He cuts himself off, which might actually be the first time he's been less than sure in what he's said. "I provoked you," he admits. "I should not have done that. We should not do that, again."

"Oh," Wei Ying says. 

Suddenly he feels ashamed of his dick hanging out, and, blushing, drags his shorts back up. Lan Zhan's saying that they—that their whatever is a mistake. That he probably wishes he hadn't slept with Wei Ying in the first place. Well, sleep is a generous word for it, considering both times were in the middle of the day, a fully lit locker room, rubbing and panting against one another—

Lan Zhan grabs onto his arm. God, his hand really is big. "Wei Ying," he says. "Talk to me."

Wei Ying shakes him off, although at the movement, it's more like Lan Zhan lets go than anything else. "It's okay, I get it," Wei Ying says. "This is a mistake, you don't think we should fuck again or—or whatever."

"No," Lan Zhan says. "That is not what I am saying."

Wei Ying halts. He's got himself situated again, though the insides of his thighs feel tacky with Lan Zhan's come on them. God, even if they don't fuck again, Wei Ying hopes that it stays till tonight, so that he can think about it, run his fingers over where the dried come would be, jerk off to it. Feel owned, like he's someone's, like he's Lan Zhan's.

Lan Zhan, who says, "I would like to fuck you again." Hearing the word fuck come out of his mouth almost makes Wei Ying's head start hazing over, tipping into that territory again. "But I think we should avoid bringing it during a scrimmage or on the court."

He doesn't specify it, but Wei Ying knows what he's talking about. Whatever he did earlier—talking about begging, calling Lan Zhan gege. He was looking for a specific reaction—to get Lan Zhan to lash out. All hard edges and demanding, the same way during the first scrim, Lan Zhan's dark voice had made him loose and obedient, itching to both rebel and obey at the same time. It's them, whatever it is, but it doesn't belong on the basketball court.

Wei Ying wonders how long they've been here. If the others are wondering where they are, what they're doing. If they think they're fucking.

Some things must be sacrificed in the name of fair play, Wei Ying decides.

"Okay," he says. "But that doesn't mean I'll go easy on you on the court, either."

September falls to October and they're not set to scrim with Gusu until a week before Wei Ying's birthday. It's fine, Wei Ying can live with it. He thinks of opening Tinder or Grindr to find someone else to hook up with in the meantime, but he wusses out. It's not like anyone is as hot or demanding or aggressive as Lan Zhan is.

It's just easy now that they've accidentally started this thing. So what if Wei Ying thought he was more of a romantic, wanted to properly get to know someone first before fucking them? He and Lan Zhan, they're, well. They're not anything, just happen to be sexually compatible and are both really into this dynamic they have, whatever it is. It's not too much to think about. Wei Ying jerks off to the memory of both times, wonders what else Lan Zhan might want to do to him, what he might want Lan Zhan to do. Grips the base of his neck with his own hand, grinds against his pillow, hands raised, tries to come untouched. Teeters into that soft, empty territory into his head once in a while, thinking, dreaming, maybe even wishing for something a bit more.

Practice goes as usual. Jerking off so often has him relaxed, no less clear-headed as Wen Ning has them run drills under Wei Ying's advice. The actual games start in November, and they're seeded second so there's no games to look out for until later in the tournament.

Of course, Gusu is seeded first. Despite that in last year's tournament Qishan had overcome Gusu in a fluke—the captain's leg had been injured, Wei Ying remembers, and now realizes that it must have been Lan Zhan—and then Yiling defeated Qishan, Gusu wins consistently enough that even a recent loss has no effect on their seeding, especially since Lan Zhan has clearly been back in commission this year. Wei Ying knows he's made Yiling a wildcard since joining, even more when he persuaded Wen Ning to join too early last year. Yiling was unseeded before Wei Ying's first year at university, and being seeded second in a matter of a couple of years is almost unheard of—except they've done it. He's done it, Wei Ying knows when he's feeling less than modest: he, and then Wen Ning, have led Yiling up and down the court, bringing the team up consistently to be second at championships in his freshman year; and, last year with Wen Ning and without Gusu in the way, first.

But Wei Ying refuses to let them intimidate his team, even though Gusu won two out of three for both of the first scrims. When they get to Gusu again, Wei Ying smirks at Lan Zhan across the court. Lan Zhan doesn't quite react, though he takes a long drink from his water bottle, exposing the taunt of his long, pale neck.

There's not much to talk about, so they don't talk. It's getting ready for the scrim, then it's the scrim, diving for the basketball and ducking and weaving around Gusu's royal blue practice jerseys, focused on the game. Regardless of whatever he and Lan Zhan are off the court, there's five people Wei Ying's playing against, four people backing him up, and one ball—that's what he focuses on. The black jerseys of his team and getting the ball away from their side of the court, shooting, dunking, scoring.

It looks like Wen Ning has Lan Zhan cornered at one point, except then Lan Zhan jumps, tosses the ball above his head. It could easily be a pass, intercepted midair; but it shoots high, far, soaring in a perfect arc before swishing through the net. Wen Ning compliments Lan Zhan on it afterward, but Wei Ying's watching, and Lan Zhan's gaze meets his. Wei Ying can't just compliment him, that's not what they do. He rolls his eyes at Lan Zhan and sees Lan Zhan grit his teeth. Wei Ying smirks.

That's the extent of it. On the court, that's what they are—rivals. Wei Ying doesn't want Lan Zhan to win. Lan Zhan doesn't want Wei Ying to win. And in the end, it's gonna be one of them, or one of their teams, for this scrimmage.

Today it's Yiling. For the first time this season, despite Lan Zhan's impressive throw, Wei Ying's team comes out the victor. Wei Ying had hoped for it, since they've been running defensive drills for the past two weeks, and it's a relief to have it pay off. And his teammates are ecstatic, thanking Gusu for a good game, high on their win.

Pride bubbles pleasantly in Wei Ying's throat. He searches for Lan Zhan again. 

Then Lan Zhan's ducking in close, murmuring into his ear, "Get your bag," and disappearing in the direction of the men's locker room.

Wei Ying frowns after him. 

Wen Ning comes up and asks, "What's that about?"

Wei Ying hasn't mentioned this—thing with Lan Zhan, to anyone. Any of it. "Don't worry about it," he says to Wen Ning. "I'll take care of it."

Because Lan Zhan's voice had held promise, and by the time Wei Ying has his bag and is closing his temporary locker shut, his toes are tingling with anticipation. He wants, he wants—he wants Lan Zhan to tell him what he wants. He wants to be told to shut up again, pressed against a door, a floor, told what to do. He wants it, whatever Lan Zhan will give—

He's only standing around in the locker room when the door from the gym end opens; noises of his own team chattering amongst each other, enthusing about winning sound down the hall. But at the other end, near the entrance door Lan Zhan appears, his own white duffle bag over his shoulder.

With his long strides he sees Wei Ying first. And he doesn't say a word, just wraps a hand around the back of Wei Ying's neck. Wei Ying slumps in his hold.

Lan Zhan says, "Walk."

The nerve of Lan Zhan to ask for such a thing—but the softness has fallen over Wei Ying's head faster than before, Lan Zhan's grip steady around his neck. Wei Ying drags and Lan Zhan hoists him straight, voice harder when he repeats, "Walk." He leads them out of the locker room, Wei Ying feeling like dead weight, before any of Wei Ying's teammates can see.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying slurs. His mind is growing groggier and groggier. "Lan Zhan, you—we won, you know."

Lan Zhan doesn't reply. Wei Ying doesn't know where they're going, what he's doing. He can only focus on Lan Zhan, his visage bright in the afternoon sunlight, holding Wei Ying like he's a paper mug. 

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying says. "Aren't you proud of us? Of me?"

Still nothing. They're entering a building, climbing stairs. Lan Zhan takes out a key from his bag with his free hand, still cupping the back of Wei Ying's head. Wei Ying rolls his head in Lan Zhan's grasp. Lan Zhan tightens without looking at him, and Wei Ying moans.

Lan Zhan opens the door.

He pushes Wei Ying inside, then lets go. Wei Ying is dizzy immediately. Without Lan Zhan, he doesn't know how to stand, how to do anything.

A lock, a turn, then Lan Zhan is pushing him backward. Wei Ying is about to fall; he should be alarmed, but he wants to, wants to fall if it's what Lan Zhan wants him to do, and something soft lands on his back before he reaches the floor.

Couch, he notes absently, as Lan Zhan crawls all over him, pressing him into the cushions. His duffle, along with Wei Ying's, have fallen to the floor.

"I want to fuck you," Lan Zhan snarls. "I cannot fuck you the way I would like to in the locker room."

Wei Ying parts his lips. "Okay," he babbles. "Okay, Lan Zhan, yeah."

Lan Zhan bends down to kiss him, but he's kissing so hard it's more like he's bruising Wei Ying's mouth inside and out. Wei Ying lets Lan Zhan ravage him, not even attempting to kiss back as he keeps his mouth open so that Lan Zhan can thrust his tongue inside, thick like his dick, melding them together. 

He grabs Wei Ying by the ass, flips him around. One-handed and effortless and so hot, if Wei Ying were in his right mind. But right now all Wei Ying can think about is being a thing for Lan Zhan, a thing for him to use. This is his prize for winning, or maybe his punishment. Wei Ying will take either, as Lan Zhan strips down his basketball shorts, cupping his ass. Wei Ying can't help but push his ass back, trying to look as enticing as possible.

"You want this?" Lan Zhan's voice says, rough, and Wei Ying nods. Moans. "You want this, but you are not open for me." He grabs one of Wei Ying's ass cheeks, pulls him apart, pinches. Gives a light slap. Wei Ying cries out. "Look at this. I will have to open you myself."

Wei Ying's panting into the cushion. His shorts are down to his thighs, above his knees, and he tries to spread his legs open, his hole open. Wants Lan Zhan to know how bad he wants it, he would get wet there if he could—

Wetness, the sound of spitting. Right on his hole, around his rim, and Lan Zhan's thumb tracing through the wetness. "I have lubrication in my bag," Lan Zhan says. "But I think you want it like this. Want it to hurt."

Wei Ying is gone, so gone. He moans and nods.

But Lan Zhan doesn't take him dry like this, not with just his spit and thumb dipping into where Wei Ying's never touched himself before, even though he's certainly thought about it, especially since this thing with Lan Zhan started. It's just—he wanted Lan Zhan to be the one to do it, for Lan Zhan to know that his hole is his, and now Lan Zhan knows. With the thumb and spit and then the lubricant he grabs from his duffle, he works Wei Ying open until Wei Ying's arching his back and thrashing into the couch, jersey raking up his chest. Lan Zhan runs a hand over his stomach, under his jersey, pinches and squeezes a nipple. Wei Ying can feel the thickness of Lan Zhan's cock through his own basketball shorts and pushes back on it, grinding his hips.

"You have never been fucked before," Lan Zhan's voice says through the fog.

Wei Ying nods his head in agreement.

"Never," Lan Zhan repeats. Inexplicably, Wei Ying feels him grow stiffer against his thigh. "Have you fucked another before?"

If he keeps saying fuck, Wei Ying is going to come, he's sure of it. 

"Mm-mm," he declines, because he doesn't quite remember how to verbalize, head just a jumble of feelings and wants. 

He opens his mouth but all that comes out is desperate panting. When he turns to look at Lan Zhan, he can't quite make eye contact, out of focus, light-headed.

Lan Zhan must see something there because he stops asking questions, instead leans down to kiss Wei Ying on the mouth. His own shorts have been stripped down now, and two of his fingers have been roaming inside Wei Ying for god knows how long, spreading him open, making a home like they belong in there.

And it's easy, so easy for Lan Zhan to take his fingers out, part Wei Ying's cheeks, and slide in. Wei Ying is loose and relaxed and now plugged full of Lan Zhan, his big hot dick, heavier in Wei Ying's hole than in his mouth. 

"Ah," he says, except talking is still hard. "Ah, uh." 

Then it's only whines and whimpers coming out of his throat, filling the air. Lan Zhan rocks into him, pulls his hair back, bites down on his neck, and it's so good. It's good especially when Lan Zhan pushes his face into the couch cushion, fucks into him harder, and Wei Ying's noises are escaping from his mouth in a tidal flood of desperation.

He's just his body and senses, nothing else, not even his own cock when Lan Zhan wraps a hand around it. Strokes him and fucks him raw, his hips pinning Wei Ying into place as if Wei Ying would think about moving. His thrusts speed up, thighs slapping against Wei Ying's cheeks and Wei Ying feels out of his body and used and open and better than he's ever felt before. This might be the best feeling in the world, better than when he crests over Lan Zhan's fist in a jerk of oversensitivity. It's better when it's just Lan Zhan and his low grunts, rough and ruthless and then, "Wei Ying," slicking up Wei Ying from the inside, shooting into him.

Afterward, Lan Zhan cleans them up with a towel, says to Wei Ying in a low voice that he can use his shower when he drops. Wei Ying doesn't know what that means, but he nods, lets Lan Zhan get him a glass of water, feed him some cubed fruit. He dozes on the couch as Lan Zhan pads around the space—his apartment, Wei Ying will realize later—checking on Wei Ying every once in a while, and, once, asking again if Wei Ying's slept with anyone else before.

Wei Ying gazes at him and shakes his head and smiles. Parts his lips, manages out the words, "Lan Zhan." 

A small choked sound comes from the back of Lan Zhan's throat, but he says, "Do you think you can shower?" 

Wei Ying can hear what Lan Zhan wants the answer to be, so he shuffles himself up, barely not tipping over, and says, "Yes."

Much later, when Wei Ying's on the bus ride back to Yiling, Wen Ning asks, "So what did Lan Zhan want?"

"Hm?" Wei Ying's head is still on the edge of foggy, not quite fully faded away yet.

Wen Ning looks a bit embarrassed. "After the game, you and Gusu's Lan Zhan just left," he says. "Where did you go? Huaisang thought he was gonna knife you in the back alley."

"I did not," protests Nie Huaisang, who holds the national record for being nothing but a benchwarmer since day one.

"Oh, we, uh," Wei Ying racks his brain, "hung out."

Now both Wen Ning and Nie Huaisang look at him skeptically. "Hung out," Nie Huaisang says. "What does that mean? Did you knife him in a back alley?"

"No one knifed anyone in a back alley," Wei Ying says, although that part of him that sends bad sex jokes to Jiang Cheng almost says, but he certainly "knifed" me somewhere else. "We're just. Uh."

"Friends?" Wen Ning suggests.

"Familiar," Wei Ying revises. "He wanted to give me critique. Yeah. I turned him down, of course, and then we argued about it."

"For two hours?" Nie Huaisang says.

"Hey, sometimes you argue with someone from another team for two hours."

Neither Wen Ning nor Nie Huaisang try to parse that one.

Their campuses are a thirty minute bus ride apart, and by the time it's early November the season properly starts, with biweekly games for every other university in the league.

So it's a bit of a surprise when Wei Ying's coming out of the CS lab and comes face-to-face with Lan Zhan, who seems a bit out of place at first, until he spots Wei Ying too, and steels himself. Wei Ying sees the way he straightens his back, hardens his gaze, makes himself look bored and indifferent as Wei Ying approaches.

"What are you doing here?" Wei Ying asks once he's within earshot. 

Seeing Lan Zhan out of his basketball getup is jarring. He's in a crisp white linen button up with a beige cable knit sweater over the top. Down his mile long legs are practical grey trousers. Wei Ying wants to make him sweat, mess him up.

Lan Zhan considers for a moment. "Nie Huaisang," he says. "Our brothers are friends."

"So you came to the engineering school?" Wei Ying says with a raise of his eyebrows. "You know Huaisang's studying fine arts, right? Why would he be here?"

Lan Zhan purses his lips and doesn't respond.

Wei Ying feels like this is a cue, that he should keep talking, so he does. "And I didn't know you and Huaisang were good friends," he says. "He should've mentioned that to me! That way, we could've, um. You know. Sooner."

Lan Zhan's the one who raises his eyebrows this time, but he doesn't comment on this either.

"Anyway," Wei Ying presses on, "how did you get here? Your campus bus?" He chuckles to himself.

It turns out that Lan Zhan had driven here with his own car. It’s the end of his fall break, so on his way back he had decided to stop by and visit Huaisang, allegedly. 

"And I recall that you are a computer science major," Lan Zhan says, when they're driving down the sidestreets back to the main campus. "I did not think you would mind my visiting, either."

Wei Ying knows that there's something off about Lan Zhan's excuses. Lan Zhan's not a very good liar, and Wei Ying is tempted to say, if you just wanted to visit me, you can say it. But he knows he can't, and besides, that's an acknowledgment of something they don't talk about. That the reason they've had sex three times now might be more than because they're compatible and convenient. 

So Wei Ying doesn't say it, and Lan Zhan asks Wei Ying where his apartment is. Wei Ying tells him he still lives on campus.

"But it's almost dinnertime, Lan Zhan, let me take you to my favorite Szechuan place!" 

Lan Zhan agrees so Wei Ying gives him directions, though being alone with Lan Zhan—in his proximity—makes him squirm.

It is not a long drive, but Lan Zhan must notice. He keeps glancing at Wei Ying in the car as he gets them downtown, finds a place to park, and stops. Wei Ying feels like he's saying less and less as time goes on, as he's in the small, claustrophobic car with Lan Zhan and not touching him. He wants to get close, get closer.

"We are here, Wei Ying," Lan Zhan says in a hard voice. The car is parked. He brings down the visor in front of Wei Ying in the passenger seat, looks at him through the mirror there. Wei Ying still finds it hard to meet his gaze. "Get out of the car."

Wei Ying huffs. Words won't come out of his mouth, and he tries as defiantly as he can to hold his stare.

Lan Zhan climbs out first, then comes around to Wei Ying's side and opens the door. "Out," he says, and Wei Ying caves in this time, clambering out on wobbly legs.

Being in public together is treading uncharted waters, with no clear promise of sex any time soon. Lan Zhan does not touch him as they enter the restaurant. There's nothing intimate about it, just Lan Zhan watching as Wei Ying wriggles into a chair, and when Lan Zhan tells him to move to the one next to him, Wei Ying plops onto Lan Zhan's lap. Lan Zhan dumps him unceremoniously onto the chair next to him and pinches his thigh beneath the table. Wei Ying scowls at the napkin in front of him until Lan Zhan fondly says in his ear, "Brat."

His head drifts. Lan Zhan's fingers are twisting his skin, grounding him. Lan Zhan looks too nice, Wei Ying thinks, as Lan Zhan reads over the menu, asks soft questions about what kind of food Wei Ying likes but not his favorite dishes, digging his blunt nails into Wei Ying's bare knees underneath his basketball shorts. Lan Zhan is in his nice sweater and Oxfords, instead of the obnoxiously expensive Jordans he flaunts on the basketball court. But Lan Zhan's mean, mean when Wei Ying tries to wriggle away from him and his nails dig deeper, when his hand trickles up Wei Ying's spine to pinch the back of his neck, when the waitress comes over to take their orders and tries to ask Wei Ying a question and Lan Zhan says, "I have already ordered for him." He should look meaner, Wei Ying thinks, but maybe this is why Lan Zhan allows himself to look so unsuspecting. So he can trick boys like Wei Ying into, into relationships like this. Especially when Lan Zhan lets him go after ordering, does not touch him anymore—that's the worst.

"Wei Ying, drink your tea," Lan Zhan tells him.

Wei Ying drinks. It's hot, burns his tongue, and the fog in his head lifts, a bit. He remembers how to verbalize.

"So how long have your brother and Huaisang's been friends?" he blurts out, not because he wants to know, but because he needs something to distract him from the tumultuous itch and need of Lan Zhan's skin against his.

Lan Zhan's gaze softens. He takes a drink from his own tea. "Several years," he says. "They played lacrosse in high school together."

"Oh, lacrosse," Wei Ying says, needing his mind to latch onto something. "Lacrosse is fun. I thought about playing it when I was in high school too. Have you played, Lan Zhan? Did you ever have that phase where you played a bunch of sports to see which one you liked?"

Lan Zhan regards him. "I did," he says. "But I enjoy basketball the most."

"Yeah, um." Wei Ying takes a sip of his hot tea again. It shocks him; he feels the weight in his head. "Me too."

He gets better control of his functions as dinner progresses. They're sitting next to each other, so Wei Ying has to turn every time he wants to talk, to gauge Lan Zhan's reactions this close. But it's nice, when Wei Ying tries to get a piece of koshuiji into Lan Zhan's mouth, teasing and heckling him, smearing his nice pink lips with the chili oil. Most of the food that's ordered is spicy, and Wei Ying notices early on, while gobbling down his own food, that Lan Zhan is merely watching, barely partaking in any of the dishes or his rice himself.

"Aren't you going to eat?" he asks, finishing the koshuiji.

Lan Zhan says, "I am not hungry."

Wei Ying squawks. "What? Then why are we getting dinner together? You didn't have to come if you didn't want to."

"Wei Ying said he was hungry."

"Yeah, but." Wei Ying flounders, then gestures to the singular bland vegetarian dish on the table. "What's this then? I didn't tell you I liked this. Isn't it for you?"

"You did not list any vegetables," Lan Zhan says. "I ordered it for you. Eat."

Wei Ying rolls his eyes. "You can't just tell me to eat my vegetables," he says, diving into the Szechuan beef. "It's not like you're my mom or anything. I'm not a baby."

Lan Zhan's eyes flash. Then he's got a pair of chopsticks out, grabs a piece of bok choy, and shoves it into Wei Ying's mouth.

"Do you need me to feed you?" he asks meanly.

The way Wei Ying plummets is almost instantaneous. It's not complete, not like when they're fucking, but it's close. He opens his mouth, then Lan Zhan closes it, hand on his chin, and says, "Chew. Swallow."

Wei Ying does as he's told.

"You should feed me," Wei Ying slurs.

Lan Zhan puts his chopsticks away. "You are correct," he says. "You are not a baby. You can feed yourself."

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying whines.

Lan Zhan pushes his teacup toward him. "Drink," he says, then murmurs, "We are in public." 

The reminder washes humiliation over Wei Ying, and he does as he's told again, unable to escape the darkness of Lan Zhan's eyes.

His skin tingles, both inside and out. Lan Zhan pays for dinner and Wei Ying's protests are silenced by the hand Lan Zhan places lightly over his mouth.

Afterward, he shows Lan Zhan back to his dorm, on the third floor of the building closest to the outdoor recreational court. Lan Zhan looks down at it from his window.

"We have both chosen living spaces near basketball courts," he observes.

Wei Ying shrugs. "Yeah. I prefer practicing outside, anyway." 

It had been a no brainer at the time, even though all the actual games are held in indoor stadiums. Early in on the school year, before it gets too cold, he likes to try to get his team to practice outside when they're off-time. Not everyone on the team likes playing outside of schedule, though, so frequently it's just him and Wen Ning doing one-on-ones.

Lan Zhan turns to evaluate Wei Ying's room. "Your dorm is also a single," he states.

Wei Ying swallows. His hand twitches. "Yeah."

Lan Zhan's on him in mere seconds, kissing him against the window. Wei Ying breathes into his mouth, but Lan Zhan is intent on pressing him back, Wei Ying's head bumping into the plexiglass and catch. Lan Zhan's hot mouth is on his own but feels like it's everywhere. His large hand slips to Wei Ying's waist, digging his fingers in, making fresh bruises that will surely show up under Wei Ying's black Naruto t-shirt, dark against his pale skin.

Wei Ying feels down Lan Zhan's chest as Lan Zhan mouths at his neck, just as rough, making Wei Ying twinge and flinch pleasantly. He paws desperately at Lan Zhan's trousers—he's so vast, Wei Ying wants to explore to the ends of him—until his hands bump into a small bottle at the pocket of his thigh.

Wei Ying reaches inside, takes it out. "You brought lube?" he says.

Lan Zhan grunts, pulls back to wrap his hand around the front of Wei Ying's neck. Wei Ying goes under immediately.

"Get on the bed," Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying hastens to obey.

Lan Zhan fucks him like this, hand around the front of Wei Ying's throat, Wei Ying on his back, both of them naked. On his bed, but with Lan Zhan's hand around his windpipe, staring down at Wei Ying; but there's a distance in his eyes and his thrusts grow so rough that Wei Ying wonders if Lan Zhan remembers he's still there, if he remembers that Wei Ying is more than just something to choke, to fuck. Probably not, Wei Ying thinks, as Lan Zhan's cock brushes his prostate and Wei Ying cries out and Lan Zhan doesn't even try to hit it again. He just keeps fucking him with his huge cock ruthlessly, cutting off Wei Ying's air supply. Wei Ying is so under, too, Lan Zhan's heavy gaze and cock pinning him into place, allowing him to be soft and thoughtless and used, like he's nothing.

Lan Zhan comes and doesn't stop, keeps fucking. Wei Ying can't stop moaning, so loud that he hopes his neighbors will hear.

It doesn't end when Lan Zhan comes again. Rather, with his spend wet inside of Wei Ying, they fall asleep together, Lan Zhan's soft cock still impaled where Wei Ying is red and oversensitive. Wei Ying's day had gone normally before Lan Zhan had arrived, but suddenly dinner and the car ride and Lan Zhan's chopsticks in his mouth have exhausted him. Lan Zhan collapses on him in a tired haze first, but Wei Ying goes almost right afterward, Lan Zhan warm and all skin around him.

He wakes up again when it's dark outside. The light in his dorm is still on; Lan Zhan's naked body is the only thing covering him. Wei Ying smiles at his unconscious face, rubs his cheek against his chest, then clenches instinctively. Lan Zhan's now stiff cock feels good, but Wei Ying wriggles himself out from under Lan Zhan, slipping him out, tugging his blanket over him.

Wei Ying doesn't sleep much, but Lan Zhan seems like the type to have an impeccable sleep schedule. All the tension must've tired him out, too. Wei Ying looks at his serene face on his bed and feels himself smile again, before he remembers that this isn't anything beyond a convenience, some horniness. A fuck. And it's fine. Wei Ying doesn't have to have his other feelings involved.

Lan Zhan did bring his duffle bag up. When Wei Ying goes snooping, he sees a change of clothes, and a few more bottles of lube. Smirking to himself, he glances at Lan Zhan again. He sure was optimistic, but at the same time, Wei Ying doesn't think he wouldn't have given in. All Lan Zhan has to do is say the word and Wei Ying will bend over.

Maybe this is bit more than just a fuck for him. But it's fine.

He's wide awake now though, no longer under. He's got a hot guy warming his bed. Wei Ying could be a good student and work on the problem set he has due at the end of the week. But instead, he pulls on a casual pair of basketball shorts, his Naruto t-shirt from earlier, his socks and sneakers, and grabs his basketball from his gym bag. It's a clear night out, cool, but Wei Ying will sweat himself out soon enough.

Making his way down to the basketball court, he dribbles, practices some lay-ups, shoots from the three point line. The ball makes the basket every time, nothing but net between him and the moonlight. The backboard barely gets touched as Wei Ying loses himself in the rhythm of dribbling, shooting, scoring, a slam dunk or two, some fake cheering and laughing at himself. He jogs up and down the court because despite it all, whatever he expects from school or sex or relationships, basketball is clean cut—he scores, or he doesn't. And he always scores.

He's grabbing the ball after another slam dunk when he turns around and sees a silhouette in the distance. It's Lan Zhan, approaching the court, shirtless and in the grey sweatpants Wei Ying had seen in his bag earlier.

Wei Ying smiles at him. "Heya, Lan Zhan," he says, before tossing the basketball overhead behind him. Without looking, he hears it swoop right through the net, not even touching the rim. "Sleep well?"

Lan Zhan's eyes follow the basketball bouncing behind Wei Ying. "It is midnight," he says.

"And there's no better time to shoot some hoops, don't you think?" Wei Ying goes to get the ball again, dribbles it casually between his hands. "Wanna join?"

Lan Zhan doesn't answer. He looks unfairly good, the moonlight shining on his pale pecs and abs, accentuating his biceps, his arms that had held Wei Ying in place hours before. His hands are in his sweatpant pockets.

Wei Ying bounces the ball toward him. Lan Zhan catches it immediately with one hand. "How about some one on one?" Wei Ying asks brightly.

Lan Zhan's gaze searches him for a moment—then he's rushing down the court, dribbling one handed, easing into a smooth layup as he nears the basket. The ball arcs in, swishing through. As Lan Zhan raises his arm, Wei Ying catches a glimpse of his dark armpit hair, a tease.

Lan Zhan catches the ball again as it falls from the net. "One," he says.

Wei Ying grins.

When Lan Zhan starts up again, Wei Ying goes to block him. Lan Zhan's fresh sandalwood scent—or maybe it's deodorant, Wei Ying doesn't remember if he saw any in Lan Zhan's duffle—greets his nose, but he pushes through, says, "I can't believe you got a head start on me."

Lan Zhan dribbles, tries to duck around him. Wei Ying sees an opening and steals the ball from him, ignoring the way his forearm presses into Lan Zhan's chest, a stiff brown nipple. He grabs the ball and dribbles it down to the other side of the court, Lan Zhan racing after him.

Lan Zhan steals it back. But then Wei Ying intercepts a shot, speeds off like a light, and makes a three pointer before Lan Zhan has the chance to grab the ball back. 

"One-one," Wei Ying says with a smirk.

He hears Lan Zhan huff as he grabs the ball for himself.

It's a bit of a proper one-on-one, a bit not. They get to 15-16 before Wei Ying proposes that they play HORSE, and then they keep shooting and shooting and neither of them gets an H until Wei Ying licks Lan Zhan's shoulder blade, bends down and noses at his armpit hair. When it's Wei Ying's turn, Lan Zhan lifts him up mid-throw, one arm around Wei Ying's waist, and Wei Ying shrieks as the ball bounces off the rim.

"No fair," he says when Lan Zhan releases him, turning around.

Lan Zhan raises his eyebrows at him.

In the end it becomes a back and forth of reverse HORSE, passing the ball between them and scoring from wherever the ball lands. Lan Zhan makes a truly impressive half-court throw that Wei Ying matches right afterward. They're completely equal here, even without the sex. Wei Ying thinks he could stay in this space, this time forever.

"Do you want to do basketball professionally?" he asks, when it's Lan Zhan's turn with the ball.

From the other side of the court, Lan Zhan shoots to the closest basket. The ball sails into the air, barely touches the backboard, and soars in. 

"Perhaps," Lan Zhan says.

"Yeah," Wei Ying says, as they watch the basketball bounce down the gravel. He goes to where it stops, picks it up, dribbles it a little. "I think I'm good enough, you know? But it's so short-lived that sometimes I'd rather work on something that I know will last."

He tosses the ball and makes the shot. The ball rolls fast down the middle, nearing the three point line. Lan Zhan strides over to it.

"You are skilled enough that your name may live long in basketball history," Lan Zhan says, positioning himself to shoot. He does. "That will last."

Wei Ying flushes. The ball makes it, but Lan Zhan must've thrown it pretty hard. After it lands, it bounces off the base, into the foul zone. 

"Yours too," he says, because it's the only way he knows how to respond to compliments, and it's true.

He goes to get the ball, considers, and decides he can probably make it from here. Even though he can't see the hoop and even though he's not even technically on the court, he's in proximity. He considers the angle and aims.

"It's just something I enjoy and like to take seriously," he says, sticking his tongue out, closing one eye. Decides, fuck it, and shoots. "But professions are something else. It might just be easier for me to focus on my academics in that sense."

The ball doesn't even touch the backboard. It grazes the rim, then drops through the net. Wei Ying cheers. Lan Zhan grabs the ball where it lands. He might look impressed.

"I agree," Lan Zhan says. "While you cannot do a sport for the rest of your life, it is important to recognize if it is your hobby or your career."

"Exactly! And basketball's a lot of fun—playing against you is a lot of fun." Wei Ying watches as Lan Zhan calculates, then goes off the court, into a position similar to Wei Ying's earlier, behind the backboard and net where he can't see much. "That's how I'd like to play it—I want it to be fun. And I think it's fun now."

"It may be fun long-term," Lan Zhan says. He has his head cocked, but otherwise there's no visible expression of thought on his face. Then he throws the ball, and it makes a perfect arc from behind the backboard, into the net. "You do not know."

"Well, of course I don't know, no one does!" Wei Ying eagerly runs after the ball, picking it up when it slows. "Do you think basketball is fun, Lan Zhan?"

Lan Zhan comes back onto the court. He's sweating as much as Wei Ying, abs glistening and shimmering under the dark ocean of the sky. 

"I would not be playing if I did not," he says. "Playing against Wei Ying is fun, as well."

Wei Ying doesn't think he means to, but there's a dark edge to his voice that makes Wei Ying aware of his spine, makes him shiver. His throat goes dry, and he swallows. 

"Yeah," he says, and goes to shoot again.

It doesn't take long for that voice to creep back in, though, for Wei Ying to bare his neck, lower his eyelashes prettily every time his and Lan Zhan's gazes meet. For the loose line in Lan Zhan's sweatpants to grow bigger, more pronounced, until it's nearly two in the morning and Lan Zhan's body is pressing Wei Ying down onto the bench, on his stomach, sweatpants down to his thighs as he slips into where Wei Ying is still gaping and loose, fucking him outside under the shadow of the moon.

It's surprisingly easy to balance his studies and basketball as December rolls around, studying for his finals one day and practicing in preparation for a game against Yueyang Chang the next. After the night then day that Lan Zhan had visited, they'd exchanged numbers. Wei Ying had set the tone by texting him a week later, gege, can't stop thinking about your fingers. Lan Zhan had replied, Wei Ying's are not sufficient, and Wei Ying had replied yheah and Lan Zhan sent, Do not text me with typos. I will not reply to them.

Naturally, of course, this doesn't stop Wei Ying, who doesn't give a shit, who likes to egg Lan Zhan on, especially with his messages that have spelling and grammar errors. He sends things like, want yuor dick in my mouth and can i come yettt ples and thought of u calling mee baby<33 with a picture of his spent cock still leaking on his stomach. Lan Zhan stays true to his word and does not reply to these messages, but sometimes when Wei Ying is obediently typing, i'm so hard, lan zhan. i wanna come so bad, Lan Zhan replies, No. You have misbehaved.

Wei Ying whines and scrambles at his sheets from where he's facedown on his bed. He's typing one-handed, thumb mostly missing the typos—it's easy to, he's deft with his fingers. He doesn't make typos unless it's for effect—unless it's for Lan Zhan. 

please, he sends. my back is curved so well. i'm thinking of you fucking me. i can send you a picture if you want.

Lan Zhan replies, Wei Ying is too easy. No, do not come.

when can i come?

You may after your winter break.

"Ah," Wei Ying cries out, thrusting against his bed. He releases his other hand from his cock immediately, collapsing dick-first onto his bed. It hurts, red and leaking onto his sheets. "Ah, no, Lan Zhan."

what??????? lan zhan???? why?????
so mean ｡゜( ｀Д´) ゜｡
i'm so close, please
i wanna come tonight

You may not, Lan Zhan replies. It is getting late. Goodnight, Wei Ying.

"What!" Wei Ying squawks at his phone, but even when he rings to call Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan doesn't pick up.

And so Wei Ying doesn't masturbate for all of winter break—or, most of it. He goes home and marvels at how pregnant Jiang Yanli is and asks Jiang Cheng about soccer. When Jiang Cheng makes a comment about the bruises on Wei Ying's back, wondering if they were from a rough basketball game, Wei Ying almost says, "Not from basketball but I definitely got rough with something," before he remembers that's the truth. The bruises are from when Lan Zhan held him, fucked him, and Wei Ying still presses into them to feel his mind drift down.

He says, "Haha, yeah," and changes the subject.

On the last day of break, he caves. After so much sex, and now going cold on masturbation, he feels on edge constantly. He's buzzing, wanting his mind to fall, to drift into that safe space where everything's soft and warm, where Lan Zhan takes care of him. He squirms in his bed in the morning and touches himself, and then he's spilling all over his hand in a matter of strokes.

Lan Zhan texts him on his train ride back to campus, innocuous things like, Wear fingerless gloves when playing outside so you do not get too cold and I would like to fuck you in a pool. Wei Ying responds like normal—or what he thinks is normal—until he's back at his dorm and sends Lan Zhan a selfie where he's throwing up a peace sign with the caption, i'm back!! ヽ(･∀･)ﾉ

Lan Zhan sends, Did you disobey my order?

Heat fills Wei Ying's face. no, he replies, almost too fast.

Do not lie to me.

Wei Ying can practically hear the text in Lan Zhan's voice. He drops. Everything falls away as he climbs into his bed and stares at his texts. 

it was the last day, okay!!! gege doesn't have to be so mean about it

I am mean, types Lan Zhan, because it is what you need.

He calls Wei Ying then, makes Wei Ying sob and beg and plead for it, doesn't let Wei Ying come at all as he listens to Wei Ying's whines and just barely replies enough to taunt him back. Wei Ying does not come, not really, but there's a fulfillment when Lan Zhan eventually tells him that he's good when he ruins his own orgasm, that he'll remind Wei Ying when he wakes up to get some water and food later, that he can sleep now.

So Wei Ying does.

Yiling has a scrimmage with Gusu again in January, with Gusu visiting this time. Wei Ying visits the coffee shop again as a little joke to himself, and with some hope. But he's early to something for the first time ever, even though he's late to practice, because as it turns out, Gusu doesn't arrive until the afternoon, mid-practice.

As usual, Lan Zhan is elegant on the court. They start with some drills together, up and down the court with basketballs, then laps around the gym. Wei Ying wants to race Lan Zhan, but Lan Zhan eyes him with disdain when Wei Ying says, "Don't you want to see who's faster?" Lan Zhan continues at his pace, although by the end, his strides are longer and he's a bit more out of breath than usual, sweat on his temple.

Wei Ying throws his head back to drink his water. He's acutely aware of Lan Zhan watching him.

And then it's the scrimmage games themselves, and Wei Ying remembers the last time they were doing something like this—the one-on-one, Lan Zhan shirtless in his grey sweatpants, fucking Wei Ying outside. It makes his body go all hot, gets the adrenaline pumping more. Wei Ying eagerly throws himself into the game, calling out, passing, looping around his opponents and teammates and Lan Zhan, remembering that winning is first.

"Here, here!" he calls for a pass, and the ball gets passed to him. 

He swerves around Lan Zhan, the other Gusu players, and passes it to Wen Ning who, after Wei Ying maneuvers himself into the clear, passes it back. Wei Ying scores, and goes to high-five Wen Ning.

"Let's go!" he enthuses. 

Games are for the first team who can score fifty or more points, and in this first game out of three, they're already at 42-38 in their favor. He wrangles an arm around Wen Ning's neck, who laughs while Nie Huaisang cheers them on from the side.

Wei Ying winks at Nie Huaisang from the bench, and goes, "Yeah, let's get this!"

The Gusu coach whistles and frowns at Wei Ying. "Get back on the court," he says.

"Yes, xiansheng," Wei Ying replies, and then throws a grin at Lan Zhan, too, just for fun.

Lan Zhan doesn't respond. This isn't out of the ordinary; Lan Zhan doesn't react much to anything. But when the game starts back up again, when Lan Zhan gets the ball, he weaves a weird path down the court, first back towards his own hoop, before, in mere seconds, faking and swiveling back around the Yiling players. 

His team seems to know what he's doing and while Wei Ying can't guess his movements, he can go just as fast. He dashes after Lan Zhan, keeping an eye on the ball and the direction of his body, mind firing between what Lan Zhan's doing now and what he might do two steps after.

It's when Lan Zhan's feet turn, when his elbow bends and he raises his arm, that Wei Ying knows what's going to happen next.

When the ball barely escapes Lan Zhan's hands, before it can fly overhead to meet the waiting hands of a teammate, Wei Ying blocks it midair and grabs it for himself.

He smirks at Lan Zhan, and, dribbling the ball, he begins running down the court.

But he doesn't make it very far until there's a pressure at the back of his neck.

It's hard, deep into his bone, two points on either side of his throat, dragging out the fog lurking at the back of his mind instantaneously. Wei Ying slumps and lets go of the ball. 

At the same time, the whistle blows, Gusu's coach shouting out incredulously, "Lan Zhan! Foul!"

But Wei Ying's not paying attention to that. He pants, eyes growing dark. He turns to Lan Zhan, whose expression is now stricken for some reason. 

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying says desperately. Everything's too hot now, his clothes itch, he wants to shake them off. He wants Lan Zhan to strip him down and take him, right here. "Lan Zhan, can you—"

The hand around his neck disappears and he whines. Lan Zhan's backing up, but Wei Ying follows him. "Lan Zhan," Wei Ying says. "Please."

"Stop," Lan Zhan tells him.

Hurt, Wei Ying curls back. He can't tell what's happening around him, loose-limbed and dizzy. His focus is all on Lan Zhan, who's stepping away, something unreadable in expression. 

Wei Ying will realize later that it's regret. 

He pants, mouth open, wanting Lan Zhan to tell him what to do. To use him.

"Wei Ying?" says another voice. It's very, very far away in Wei Ying's mind. Vaguely, he recognizes it as Wen Ning's—but it's not Lan Zhan's, not right. "Are you okay?"

Wei Ying makes a small noise in the back of his throat. He turns to the source of the voice, can recognize Wen Ning, but it's not—Lan Zhan told him to stop. What did Wei Ying do wrong? In his mind, Wei Ying feels torn between the soft haze and compliance, warring against his need to check with Lan Zhan, ask him what he wants, do whatever he asks. If laced in Lan Zhan's tone there might be a demand, an expectation for Wei Ying to talk back to him, an excuse to be punished.

But right now there's nothing, just Wei Ying alone on the court for what feels like forever, until he feels a tug at his elbow and he's being dragged to the bench. It's Wen Ning and Huaisang who look worried, searching his eyes. Wei Ying can't meet their gaze, wasn't given permission to.

"What's wrong with him?" he hears faintly. 

In response, "I don't know," and then, "Would water help?" 

His water bottle being placed in his hands, room temperature being poured into his mouth. But he's off center still, dizzily staring into the court, unused and wrong.

The scrim starts back up, but Wei Ying doesn't feel here. He doesn't feel much of anything, not until Lan Zhan glances at him once or twice, from the court, then immediately away. And the wrongness of that makes Wei Ying sink into his head deeper and deeper.

Wei Ying doesn't notice when the scrim ends, head muggy and half-hard in his shorts. Everything should be soft around him, but it's not—the hard bench digging into his thighs, the ground too solid beneath his feet. And Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan—

"C'mon Wei-xiong," Nie Huaisang says gently, lifting him by the elbow. "You should take a shower."

"Ah," is all Wei Ying manages out. 

He wishes Lan Zhan were here. Lan Zhan's hand on his neck, digging bruises into his chin.

Huaisang and Wen Ning get him off the bench, dragging him limply towards the men's locker rooms. That's how it feels to Wei Ying, at least, nothing but dead weight as he's pulled into the showers, fully clothed. 

And then, when Wen Ning and Nie Huaisang look at each other and nod, doused in freezing cold water.

Wei Ying jumps. "Ah!" 

It's like his veins have been shocked, the cold going straight to his core. The haze in his mind lifts, but still—why is he here, without Lan Zhan? Where did he go, why does he still want—

"Sorry, Wei-xiong," Nie Huaisang says apologetically. 

His hand is on the hot water dial. He turns it and the water turns searing hot, Wei Ying's skin turning red and white. Wei Ying yelps and tries to shy away from it, but Wen Ning pushes him back in so that he gets a scalpful of hot water.

"What the fuck!" Wei Ying shouts. "You guys, you—"

"I think he's back," Nie Huaisang says, and turns the hot water off. 

Wen Ning turns the cold water off too. The three of them are drenched, in their jerseys and socks, Huaisang and Wen Ning considering Wei Ying carefully.

Wei Ying seethes. He's hot and shivering all at once; his scalp hurts and his bare arms are dripping wet. His jersey feels heavy on him but not heavy enough, now that he's slammed back into his body, down from that high place in his mind, all too aware of his soaked socks and shorts hanging off his hips. His mind reels back to just moments ago, being mindlessly pulled by Wen Ning and Nie Huaisang; during the scrim, where he was staring uselessly into space, lips parted; trying to catch Lan Zhan's eyes and not, Lan Zhan turning away from him, Lan Zhan's hand around his neck, the pass—

Suddenly it comes back to him. Wei Ying's hands ball into fists. Lan Zhan had pushed him over that edge. He knew exactly what to do, hand on his neck, to get Wei Ying to obey, to let go of the ball. And they said, not during scrims, not during games.

Furious, Wei Ying storms out of the shower without a second thought, sneakers squeaking on the locker room tiles as his socks squish under his feet. Behind him Wen Ning goes, "Wei Ying?" but Wei Ying doesn't care, making his way out of his locker room and into the visiting men's.

The Gusu team is pristine in their white jerseys and shorts. Wei Ying's never hated them more, never felt so full of rage at the sight of them, flawless like they can do no wrong. 

"Lan Zhan!" he barks, because Lan Zhan's talking to one of his teammates. 

When Lan Zhan turns at the sound of his name, he balks.

Wei Ying doesn't wait for one second. "You said not on the court," he accuses. "You fucking touched me—"

"Wei Ying." Lan Zhan's stupid face has an apologetic expression. "I'm—"

"I'm sure you're fucking sorry," Wei Ying says. "Lost control, did you?"

Lan Zhan's eyes flash, but he says nothing this time.

"You told us we weren't—" Wei Ying is very aware of everyone around them. He can't decide if he cares or not. The Gusu players are gawking. "That this doesn't come on the court," he hisses, getting close. "What do you think we are?"

"I do not know," Lan Zhan says. His voice is toneless.

"Well, we're not teammates," Wei Ying says. "We're not friends. You're—I'm not yours, you can't just—"

"Are you not?" Lan Zhan says, voice sharp. 

When Wei Ying flinches, Lan Zhan's face pulls with regret. "I am sorry, Wei Ying. I know that we," and he hesitates so briefly, "are not much beyond what we have agreed on. I promise it will not happen again—"

"But what if it does?" Wei Ying snaps. "How do I know that you won't, if you promised before that it wouldn't? That we agreed—"

"It was a mistake."

"I was out for the entire scrim!" Thunder roars in Wei Ying's ears. He didn't realize how under he'd been, how much of what Lan Zhan does affects him. His hand, his everything. "That's not a mistake that I can afford to make! What if it was a real game, huh? What if we were playing against each other and you'd done that?"

Lan Zhan has nothing to say. Someone on his team goes, "Duizhang," and he says, "No," to them.

Wei Ying finds himself backing away slowly. Fuck Lan Zhan—fuck this team. "We can't," he says. "Not anymore. I don't know why we did this in the first place." 

His head spins. He thinks of Lan Zhan ruining his orgasm during winter break. Sleeping in his bed, a glorious sight, outdoors and shirtless under the moon. Hand around his throat, choking him, fucking him so sweetly. 

"We've had enough," he says. "I'm done."

Lan Zhan's eyes go wide. Almost imperceptibly, if Wei Ying wasn't attuned to all of his movements. "Wei Ying—"

"You're right, even if we like it, we need to know the difference between doing things long-term or just for fun," Wei Ying says. "And this was for fun. It's over now."

He turns on his heel and walks away.

Lan Zhan doesn't text him. Afterwards, Wei Ying doesn't know what he expected, except that he feels shitty and needy and useless. He doesn't know what he's doing playing basketball. He doesn't know what he was doing fucking around with Lan Zhan. It doesn't matter. His studies are all that count, anyway.

Except right after, he doesn't know if it was his fault or something else. Maybe Lan Zhan wanted to push him away. Maybe Lan Zhan was getting tired of him. Wei Ying's head is a mess and when he gets back to his dorm, he tries to sleep away the jumbled thoughts. It doesn't work. 

He thinks of how Lan Zhan would tell him to drink tea, drink something hot, bite into his skin. Wei Ying leaves his throat dry and itches for Lan Zhan again, tosses and turns in his bed and tries to climb out of his head.

It's January. Wei Ying remembers Lan Zhan mentioning once, during a phone call, that his birthday is in January. Wei Ying wonders when it is. When it was October, he hadn't made any noise about his birthday, mostly because he feels weird about it and there's nothing to celebrate, especially when Lan Zhan only uses him to fuck. Lan Zhan wouldn't care. Wei Ying burrows himself further under the covers.

Of course, he still has practices. He calls out for the next few until Nie Huaisang and Wen Ning show up at his door and force him to shower and change out of his clothes. Wei Ying doesn't know why he's like this. He can still feel the phantom press of Lan Zhan's hand on the back of his neck. Sometimes when he thinks too hard, he rests his own hand there, pretends it's Lan Zhan's. Until Nie Huaisang slaps his hand away and gives him big sad eyes and says, "Don't."

January passes. Lan Zhan doesn't text him on his birthday, whenever it is. Wei Ying can't miss games, he's too important, so he talks himself up and goes. It's good that he got himself back into mental shape during the practices, though. He only falters once during the game against Tongshan, a hand on his wrist in the shape of a foul making him dizzy for just a moment. But they win, climbing up the rankings.

Lan Zhan doesn't text. Lan Zhan doesn't visit, and what had felt like falling from a high at first turns into what's normal, what Wei Ying expects. It's not like he liked Lan Zhan for anything other than his dick or his hands or his hard voice, and if he can't control that, Wei Ying's not interested. As good as it had been before, Wei Ying refuses to want anymore. So what if he's not having sex regularly anymore, doesn't jerk off because it feels wrong, because he's missing too much? 

(It's a lie—one time when he and Nie Huaisang and Wen Ning are spending the evening in with weed and some beers, Wei Ying begs off early to go home and finger himself desperately until the orgasm tips over, unasked for, not good enough. He tosses and turns into bed, half-under, and finally falls to sleep at six in the morning.)

Valentine's Day is weird. The Lunar New Year is even weirder because Wei Ying gets a single text from Lan Zhan. His heart thumps at first, but all it is is the letter W, and nothing else. No follow-up with an apology or an explanation the next morning. Wei Ying refuses to care. He doesn't. He doesn't.

Of course, even though they're reaching March, the season of the final games, they still have scrimmages. Only two since the last, but Wei Ying and Lan Zhan had pointedly avoided each other. Lan Zhan didn't show up for one, and Wei Ying sat on the bench and gossiped with Nie Huaisang during the other. He could feel Lan Zhan's gaze fixated on him, a heavy weight; but as he wondered with Huaisang about who Jiang Cheng might want to date, it was surprisingly easy to ignore. Lan Zhan's surprisingly easy to ignore.

(Except he isn't, with his presence that beckons Wei Ying at every second. Except for the way he isn't easy to ignore at all, not really.)

It's another scrimmage in late February on Gusu's court when Wei Ying meets Lan Zhan's eyes for the first time in what feels like forever. He's earned it, he thinks; he's not afraid of Lan Zhan, never has been. Lan Zhan's a bit surprised, he can tell, when their eyes lock as Wei Ying comes onto the court. But he doesn't say anything, so Wei Ying cracks the joints in his neck and lines up with the rest of the team.

He refuses to back down. He can tell Lan Zhan does, too, by the way Lan Zhan immediately dives for the ball after the ref—the Gusu coach—throws it up for the jump shot. Immediately, Wei Ying tries for it too, but Lan Zhan's a bit taller, arms a bit longer. He gathers the ball up and sprints down the court with it, Wei Ying and the rest of the Yiling team hot on his heels.

Lan Zhan passes the ball to one of his teammates. It's too quick for Wei Ying to intercept but when the Gusu player tries to bounce it to someone else, Wen Ning cuts in to grab it instead. "Wen Ning!" Wei Ying calls as they jog back down the court, and Wen Ning passes the ball to him, a quick, one bounce stride that Wei Ying catches immediately.

Wen Ning can dodge the blocks but it's Wei Ying who can make the shots, no matter who's in the way. He's far from the hoop but from here, he calculates that he might make it, so as long as—

Lan Zhan's in his vision. A few more other Gusu players are also hanging around, too close with their long arms, easy for them to smack away the ball if Wei Ying tries to shoot. Wei Ying grumps and turns back to the court, passes the ball to someone else, and runs down, trying to find an open spot.

But it's not easy, especially with Lan Zhan blocking him all the time. Wei Ying doesn't know when it started, but suddenly Lan Zhan's always in his way, his back or his chest. Wei Ying glares at him as he tries to find an open spot. Lan Zhan stands steady, meeting Wei Ying's, gaze, challenging him.

It would be easy to ignore, easy to dismiss as just someone from the Gusu team guarding him, if it weren't Lan Zhan. The next time Wei Ying tries to get the ball, to shoot it, Lan Zhan towers over him—not looking at him directly, but a menacing and very solid presence—and Wei Ying does an underhanded pass instead of going for the score.

It's annoying. Lan Zhan's annoying. When he's playing defense again, when Gusu has the ball and his teammate calls out to pass it to him, Wei Ying intercepts—not by grabbing the ball mid-pass, but by elbowing Lan Zhan in the side, taking his place instead.

The ref's whistle blows. "Thirty-eight, foul!" the Gusu coach says, scowling at Wei Ying.

Wei Ying brushes him off, tosses the ball to him. He meets Lan Zhan's eyes. His eyebrows are furrowed, and Wei Ying smirks.

It doesn't end there. When Wei Ying has the ball several minutes later, after ducking and passing, Lan Zhan shoulders him from the side and as Wei Ying reels from the impact, steals the ball. 

The coach goes, "Twenty-five! Foul!" His voice is angrier this time, and Lan Zhan goes over to him to apologize.

Wei Ying can't help it. Lan Zhan has the ball shortly after the game resumes, and Wei Ying bodily shoves him aside to grab the ball. In retaliation, after another called foul, Lan Zhan knees him from behind when Wei Ying is empty-handed and just running down the court with the rest of them.

Wei Ying turns around and shoves Lan Zhan right in the chest. Even though Lan Zhan is bigger than him and likely weighs more, the mid-momentum that he interrupts tips Lan Zhan right over. He stumbles on his pretentious white Air Jordans. Wei Ying shoves him again, but Lan Zhan rights himself. Then, with a ferocious scowl on his face, Lan Zhan pushes him right back.

And then Wei Ying doesn't know how but he's punching at Lan Zhan's shoulder, Lan Zhan punching him back, arms and legs and trying to leave bruises anywhere, everywhere. Chests heaving as Wei Ying finds parts of Lan Zhan to pummel with all his might. Lan Zhan tries to shove him off and hit him back, pushing him to the ground while Wei Ying struggles, kicking and thrashing. They're not talking, not yelling, just skin meeting skin, knuckles leaving marks, Wei Ying deliciously sore all over with his back on the ground, caught between fighting Lan Zhan and shoving him off. Lan Zhan goes for his throat, his wrists, but Wei Ying bats him off, until Lan Zhan gets one wrist in his hand, and Wei Ying twists, moans, feels a weight by his thigh—

"Boys!" the Gusu coach barks. "Are you still in primary school? What do you think you're doing?"

Beside him is the Yiling coach, casting a disappointed look at Wei Ying. Guilt fills Wei Ying's stomach, but not enough. 

Wei Ying's wrist is still caught in Lan Zhan's grasp. Lan Zhan looks up at his coach, and says, "Sorry."

Lan Zhan's still got Wei Ying pinned down on the floor. Wei Ying can feel his boner, can feel himself growing hard in his shorts, squirms.

Everyone else on the court is gaping at them.

"Both of you," the Yiling coach says. "Out of the gym for the rest of the scrim." 

The Gusu coach looks like he will brook no argument.

Lan Zhan gets off of Wei Ying. His erection is visible from here, but maybe that's because Wei Ying's looking for it hungrily, can't take his eyes off of it. Wei Ying gets up off the floor himself, goes, "I apologize," to his coach with a small bow. He doesn't look at Lan Zhan as he gets his water bottle from the bench, gives a tired smile to Nie Huaisang, and goes to the locker room.

He doesn't shower. He grabs his bags and makes his way to his dorm. Except when he gets to the front entrance of his building, Lan Zhan is there with his own duffle, something dark and intent in his gaze.

Wei Ying doesn't say a thing, just opens the door, lets him in. Climbs the stairs with Lan Zhan behind him, all too aware of the heat on his back, his ass; makes it to his dorm, the bruises fresh on his knees and chest and thighs, delightfully sore in all the right places.

When he opens the door and hears it shut behind him, that's when he's spun around, pressed against the wall of his closet, and Lan Zhan is all over him. His hands and mouth and everything—and Wei Ying knows, wants, wants to wrap his legs all around him, dig his heels into Lan Zhan's ass, climb him. Lan Zhan's kissing him like he's never been kissed, and they've done it all before but Lan Zhan's hand winds so nicely around his throat, fingers pressing into the hollow, the base. Wei Ying pushes up into him, gasping into Lan Zhan's mouth as their boners rut against each other through layers and layers of clothing.

"Off," Lan Zhan grunts, tugging at Wei Ying's shorts.

Wei Ying is all too eager to obey, especially as Lan Zhan's arm winds around him, and with his large hand, presses his entire palm against Wei Ying's ass, holds and squeezes it tight. Wei Ying moans, so sensitive to the mere touch there, bucking more into Lan Zhan's body.

Lan Zhan carries him with one strong arm, bringing him over to his twin bed, flopping him onto his red patterned bedsheets. His feet bump against a rustle of papers on the floor but Wei Ying doesn't care, Lan Zhan can step all over his school notes as much as he likes. He takes their shoes off and flips them around so Wei Ying's sitting on him, the bulge of Lan Zhan's cock right against Wei Ying's ass, between his cheeks. Wei Ying gasps and whimpers.

When Lan Zhan strips them down, Wei Ying can see the bruises he left on Lan Zhan, can see the welts and fresh purple on his own chest that Lan Zhan inflicted too. Lan Zhan presses on them and Wei Ying cries out, and Lan Zhan smirks, fully. Presses harder, hands sliding down to Wei Ying's wrists, squeezes and Wei Ying's eyes drift shut, shuddering, and mind collapsing. His head is a misty morning; he grinds down on the tease of Lan Zhan's cock beneath him, relishes in Lan Zhan's groan, the rumbling of his chest against Wei Ying's cheek.

They're supposed to be in game suspension, but instead they're in Wei Ying's dorm, kissing and biting, though Wei Ying's bites are soft and petulant, especially when Lan Zhan sticks a finger in his mouth, just to watch him. They don't say anything, although Wei Ying yearns to hear Lan Zhan say something like, Missed you. Instead, when Lan Zhan's biting his shoulder and shucking Wei Ying's underwear down, he says, "On my face."

"Wh," Wei Ying goes. "Hah?"

"Turn around." Lan Zhan smacks Wei Ying's butt pointedly, making Wei Ying go, ah! "On my face."

That can't be—Wei Ying can't articulate what he's thinking, even as his body moves automatically, in tandem with Lan Zhan's hands shifting him around. He's still got his jersey on, Lan Zhan's still fully clothed, but, but—

Lan Zhan's nose is between his cheeks. Wei Ying yelps, as Lan Zhan's arms come around his thighs, shoving his ass down. 

"Ah," Wei Ying says, and what he means is, Lan Zhan, what are you doing? 

But Lan Zhan doesn't seem to notice, or care, as he opens his mouth and spreads Wei Ying open and licks, sucks, eats.

He's filthy with it, his mouth. Wei Ying wonders if his team knows that Lan Zhan is so deprived, so dirty. Wei Ying tries to buck forward, an instinctive movement, but Lan Zhan pulls him back. Wei Ying can practically feel all of Lan Zhan's face on his ass, between his cheeks, tongue lapping at his hole, squirming in, thick and wet. Wei Ying gives up and leans back in, sits on Lan Zhan's face completely, grinds down, rides him. Beneath him, he feels Lan Zhan moan. His licks get more enthusiastic.

They fuck like that, with Wei Ying's ass in Lan Zhan's face, Lan Zhan pushing him forward so that Wei Ying is mouthing at his clothed cock beneath Lan Zhan's boxer briefs. Afterwards, after the taste of come seeps through the fabric and Wei Ying comes untouched, rutting against Lan Zhan's chest, Lan Zhan flips him around and slots his still hard cock into him, making them both moan in pain. Lan Zhan is a beast with the way he just starts fucking him again, where Wei Ying’s rim isn't quite stretched out from Lan Zhan's mouth, used and sore and dripping. His hands are by Wei Ying's neck, which he glances at but doesn't touch—and then Wei Ying needs it, wants it that badly. Doesn't care, it's just them in his bedroom, so he takes one of Lan Zhan's hands and wraps it around his throat.

Lan Zhan lets out an animalistic noise. His large hand touches the base of Wei Ying's neck, tightens, then he comes with a low groan, using Wei Ying like he used him before.

He doesn't get up when he's done, just pulls out and breathes against Wei Ying's collarbone. Wei Ying thinks he might be under, too, that they both might be under together, but over it, tired and soft. He rolls them over, so that Lan Zhan's chest is pressed to his back, feels the weight of Lan Zhan moving closer to him, wet against the back of his thighs. Wei Ying cuddles back.

He still can't speak, but perhaps he doesn't need words. One of Lan Zhan's arms winds across his chest, pulling him even closer. He noses at the back of Wei Ying's neck, and Wei Ying makes a small sound against him. They're not tired enough to sleep, but they lie there, pretending that this is all they want and need. 

Lan Zhan touches his bruises again, almost like a reminder. Wei Ying touches the bruise on Lan Zhan's arm in response.

March begins a thunderstorm of madness, game after game, practice after practice, no more time for scrimmages. Suddenly Wei Ying and his team are being escorted back and forth between schools and cities, all the while doing problem sets at sides of gyms, on airplanes and trains and buses.

They win against Baixue and Yi, making their way through the bracket as the tournament progresses. Wei Ying's mind becomes a cycle of basketball and computing and more basketball, sweatbands and jerseys and his bare, slightly bruised knees under the lighting of the basketball court. Of course, it all falls away when Lan Zhan starts texting him again—no prelude the first time again, just, Make yourself alone. Wei Ying sequesters himself in a bathroom in the Dafan locker rooms, calls Lan Zhan and touches himself, doesn't get off until he cries, until there are salty tears running into his lips and Lan Zhan, satisfied, tells him he can come.

The thing with Lan Zhan, well. It starts up again, but it's best that they're going into game season, so it's not like they can see each other very much anyway. Wei Ying goes back to sending messages with typos when he doesn't want a response, ones without typos when he does, and sometimes Lan Zhan still doesn't respond, regardless. Wei Ying will slot a finger into himself and text, miss ur cock, gege and Lan Zhan will text back ten minutes later with, Behave yourself, A-Ying.

Lan Zhan says a lot of things—well, as much as Lan Zhan can say a lot of things, anyway. They don't talk basketball but Wei Ying will occasionally ask, ur playing against yunmeng today? or Lan Zhan will text, Good luck against Lanling.

i will put lanling's ass into the ground! Wei Ying replies, and Lan Zhan reacts with a thumbs-up emote.

Lanling is one of the higher ranking teams, seeded fourth in the tournament, the game a week before the final bracket. Wei Ying pushes his sweatband up—it reminds him of Lan Zhan's white one, though his is red—and pockets his phone. He gathers his duffle and loops his arm around Nie Huaisang's neck as they get off the bus, shouting, "Go Yiling!"

They get themselves ready in the visiting locker room. He places his foot on a bench and stretches; there's a minor strain in his leg that he hadn't thought much of this morning, but it might not exactly be the easiest thing to play on. He winces.

Wen Ning glances at him. "Are you alright?" he asks.

Wei Ying clears his expression and takes his foot off the bench. He grins. "Yep! Just checking something. But I should be fine."

A little bit of tension isn't unheard of. He does pre-game stretches with the rest of the team, and figures he'll be okay.

When the game starts, his leg is easy to ignore at first. He takes it easy, jogs down the court, doesn't make for the ball like he usually does. No one asks him about it, though Wen Ning glances at him a couple of times. He catches the passes as they come, scores easily when he can, focuses on defense more than offense. He can take it slow. He doesn't have to aggress on the court.

After the second quarter, the pain in his leg doesn't let up. It's from overuse, nothing serious—everyone's felt it, though Wei Ying hasn't before. He figured that this was something, like his ability to miss, that just didn't exist for him. But he can feel it now, trying not to wince during break while he takes a swig out of his water bottle.

Back on the court, there's a guy on the Lanling team who won't leave him alone. Wei Ying doesn't remember who he is except that maybe Wei Ying stole the ball from him a few times even with his bad leg, but he's done that for a few other players. But the Lanling guy doesn't leave him alone, getting too close to block him, up in his face when Wei Ying has the ball. 

Fed up, Wei Ying says, "Can you move?"

The guy sneers. "We're still in the middle of the game," he sneers. "Can't just let you score on my watch."

"Yeah, but—" Wei Ying sighs, then ducks with his bad leg, putting more of his weight on it, trying not to flinch. He gets under the guy's arm and mutters, "Whatever," to himself, passing the ball back to a teammate.

That might be all, except next time Wei Ying has the ball again, the guy nearly steps on his foot. His knee crashes into Wei Ying's bad leg, and Wei Ying falls over.

The ref blows the whistle. "Foul! Yiling ball!"

"Ow," Wei Ying says, as someone from the Lanling bench comes to scold the guy who'd accidentally made Wei Ying fall over. Wei Ying tries to get up, winces at the weight on his left calf. "Ow," he says again.

Wen Ning comes over. "Wei Ying," he says, looking between him and his leg. "Are you alright?"

Wei Ying laughs as Wen Ning helps him up. "Yeah, just a speed bump."

"I think it's a bit more than that," Wen Ning says. He drags Wei Ying's arm around his shoulder and starts leading him off the court. "You should sit out."

"Wen Ning," Wei Ying protests, but Wen Ning doesn't hear any of it. Neither does Nie Huaisang as they approach the bench, who raises his eyebrows at them and looks at Wei Ying's leg.

"Oh shut up," Wei Ying says to him.

"I didn't say anything," Nie Huaisang says.

"Yeah, but you were definitely thinking things," says Wei Ying, and Nie Huaisang snorts.

Grumpily, Wei Ying sits at the side of the court, watching the rest of the game. Nie Huaisang is kind enough to retrieve Wei Ying's phone when he gets up for an apparent bathroom break, and comes back from the locker rooms, passing the phone to Wei Ying. 

"Don't say I don't do nice things for you," Huaisang says.

"You broke into my things. I could sue you for theft," Wei Ying replies.

But having his phone is good for distraction—especially when, after playing a few puzzle games on his phone, Wei Ying ends up going to his conversation history with Lan Zhan, scrolls through it a bit, stops the drift that threatens to cloud his mind, and maneuvers to the text box. 

out of commission rn, he sends. bad leg (っ- ‸ – ς)

Lan Zhan's response is immediate. You are at your game against Lanling?

yeah, but dw about me lan zhan!! my team is totally good enough to win without me (* ＾ ▽ ＾) ／
don't u have a game anyway???

Tomorrow, Lan Zhan replies, and that's all he sends for a good while.

Wei Ying goes back to his puzzle games, then when he's less depressed about not playing, cheers his team on. They are good enough to win without him, with the drills and strategies Wei Ying told them they should work on, playing to each person's individual strengths.

And then they do win, in the sharp buzz of the timer, the scoreboard showing 125-96, Yiling. Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang cheer from the bench, while their teammates on the court shout and high-five each other.

They get into the locker rooms, excitedly chattering, while some of them lament that Wei Ying couldn't play the second half of the game. 

"The guy who pushed you, I heard he was a bad sport anyway," says Mo Xuanyu. "Jin Zixun. He's only on the team because of nepotism."

Wei Ying waves a hand. "It's fine, I don't care. It was an accident, anyway," he says. "Some guys can't help but be dicks wherever they go."

"We're going to finals, though," says Nie Huaisang, undoing his shoelaces on the locker room bench.

Wei Ying laughs at him. "Who's 'we', Sang-er?" he says, and Nie Huaisang sticks his tongue out at him.

They're making their way out, discussing what they could have for dinner, when of all the people to appear in the Lanling rec center lobby after a game, it's Lan Zhan. He's standing by the entrance, hands in his trouser pockets.

Wei Ying doesn't miss the way his teammates glance at each othe. He ignores it and lifts himself off from where he's leaning against Wen Ning's shoulder. 

"Lan Zhan!" he calls, and tries to bound over. 

He falls into a limp. Lan Zhan moves ever so slightly forward even though the security for IDs is still blocking his way, and Wen Ning and Mo Xuanyu try to help him up.

Wei Ying waves them off. "It's fine, it's fine," he says, and passes through security, to Lan Zhan. "What are you doing here? Isn't it like, a three hour drive to here from Gusu?"

"Two," Lan Zhan says, but his eye is on Wei Ying's leg. "I wanted to make sure you were alright."

Wei Ying rolls his eyes. "I told you, I'm fine. This is gonna go away in like, two days," he says. "Maybe three. This hasn't happened to me before. Everyone else always made it look more painful."

"Does it not hurt?" Lan Zhan says, and touches his leg to Wei Ying's, thumb to his wrist.

Immediately, Wei Ying crumples into his arms. It's not like when what's-his-face had pressed his knee to his leg, but rather the pressure on his pulse point. He hears his teammates behind him make more worried noises, but he says to them over his shoulder, "Aha, I think Lan Zhan will take care of me now! You guys go, uh, go to your dinner! I'll meet you back at the bus."

"Wei Ying," starts one voice, but then Nie Huaisang's going, "He'll probably be fine, he can take care of himself. No back alley knifing, Wei-xiong."

Wei Ying laughs into Lan Zhan's arms as the sounds of his team peter out. He looks up. Lan Zhan's expression is adorably possessive and confused.

"You really didn't have to come," Wei Ying tells him. "I'm okay, seriously. But you drove here, right?" 

He wriggles the front of his body against Lan Zhan's. The hand still on his wrist is undoubtedly giving him a boner.

Lan Zhan tilts his head to the side. "You are inquiring if I brought my car?"

"That's right," Wei Ying says with a grin.

Lan Zhan is not tender with his body even though he is with his leg, folding Wei Ying in half and fucking him against the leather backseat of his car.

It takes four days for Wei Ying's leg to recover. He supposes if his team had any say in it, it would've been a full week—except four days feels long enough, as he still trudges himself to practices and games, missing the squeak of the court beneath his sneakers. As soon as he's sure that there is not a single ounce of pain in his leg, even though he should probably rest it more, he clambers to the game against Qiongqi and jogs like normal and doesn't let anyone have any other say in it.

Yiling makes their way up the bracket. Wei Ying keeps an eye on Gusu, too, even though he and Lan Zhan don't talk about it. Gusu is putting every team they play against into the water, and Wei Ying watches a game or two on TV, the long line of Lan Zhan's figure gracing the court.

He doesn't go to any of Lan Zhan's games, and aside from the visit to Lanling, Lan Zhan doesn't attend any of his games, either. What they have is good as it is. Lan Zhan sends, Address me properly and Wei Ying sends, a-zhan? (´∀｀•) and Lan Zhan doesn't let him come that night.

It's good.

Then it's the last week and the third to last game. The second to last game, and they send Qishan into the ground, winning 139-55. Wei Ying jumps up and down with his team, cheers, grinning smugly in the direction of Qishan and their supposed superstar point guard, Wen Chao.

And then it's the last game, Yiling vs Gusu, and Wei Ying and his team are making their way onto Gusu's court.

Like gravity, an ocean tide to the moon, he meets Lan Zhan's eyes. He grins. Lan Zhan does not smile back, although there's something fixed and deliberate in his gaze. He looks Wei Ying up and down—Wei Ying shivers—but falters at Wei Ying's left leg.

Wei Ying cocks an eyebrow. Lan Zhan runs his teeth over his bottom lip—which is way too sexy of a worried gesture—as he finally glances away. It's been weeks since Wei Ying's cramped leg, he even told Lan Zhan that he's over it. Still, after they change into their game jerseys, black with red accents, white with blue, Lan Zhan holds himself precariously around Wei Ying.

Yiling might not have Air Jordans or a squeaky clean gym or newly bought equipment, but they do have drills upon drills, and their winning streak under their belt. And now Wei Ying's not thinking about sex or whatever he and Lan Zhan are off the court, but just the game. Just the basketball, the two nets, the hardwood beneath his feet. His mind feels as clear as the night he and Lan Zhan had that one-on-one on the concrete. He places his hands on his knees, as Wen Ning and Lan Zhan get in position for the jump shot.

The whistle sounds, the game starts. Lan Zhan gets the ball, and in a murder of crows, the Yiling players gather around Gusu. The ball gets passed—Mo Xuanyu intercepts, and the Gusu players scatter to defend. Mo Xuanyu passes the ball to Wei Ying, who sends it to Wen Ning, who scores. The first point goes to them.

It's tense. Wei Ying can feel it in his blood, his heart, the way he and his team want to prove they can win again, especially against Gusu, against Lan Zhan. They were evenly matched during all of the scrimmages, in the end, with Gusu winning only one scrim more. But no game is perfect, no scrim is perfect, and none of them know how they're gonna play a minute, a second from now. All they can do is keep playing.

Wen Ning has the ball. Wei Ying has the ball. It gets stolen, they're playing defense, Lan Zhan scores. And again, a back and forth that they don't let up. There's no advantage with defense or offense between both teams. Wei Ying pushes up his sweatband at the end of the first quarter, takes a drink of his water, and looks at the scoreboard.

28-30. It's too close.

It's going to be close all game, he knows. And it is, even though, when Lan Zhan has the ball and Wei Ying's on him, Lan Zhan looks doubtful. Wei Ying sees the moment he hesitates and glances down at Wei Ying's calf again, and wants to roll his eyes. This Lan Zhan, he thinks, but he'll use it to his advantage this one time. It's Lan Zhan's fault for thinking that he needs to be babied.

In the moment of hesitation, Wei Ying ducks down and easily swipes the ball from Lan Zhan's dribbling, pivoting and turning down the court at the speed of the light. Ears attuned to everything about Lan Zhan, he hears a small puff of what might be laughter, as Wei Ying makes his way over to the Yiling net, does a twirl, and dunks the ball in.

The crowd cheers. Wei Ying catches the ball and lands back on the ground, grinning at Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan narrows his eyes, and Wei Ying feels excitement bubble through his bones. That's more like it. He turns to the crowd and goes, "Let me hear you yell YILING!" and the crowd screams, "YILING!" back at him and Wei Ying loves this, the competition, the adrenaline, the audience cheering him on when he still has a long game to go.

When the buzzer sounds at the end of the third quarter, Wei Ying goes to the Gusu side. The ref tries to yield him back, but Wei Ying shouts, "You guys are going down!" then laughs and runs away.

Gusu scores 3 points. Yiling scores 2. Yiling scores two 3-point shots in a row, then Gusu gets a 3-point and a foul for another free throw. They're in the lead by two and Wei Ying's forehead is lined with sweat, as he wipes his cheek with his wristband.

It's easy to get lost in the rhythm, running up and down the court, but Wei Ying is aware of every move he makes. It's the last quarter and too early to say, trying to avoid fouls and goad the other team into slipping up. Free throws become sparing, as all they're doing is shouting at each other for callouts, finding a teammate who's free, faking and ducking and covering as the timer gets closer and closer to 0.

Yiling in the lead by one point. Gusu in the lead by two. Yiling in the lead by two thanks to a free throw, then another three-point shot courtesy of Wei Ying when a smaller guy on Gusu tries and fails to cover him. Wei Ying grits his teeth and glances at the timer again. Forty seconds left, but forty seconds can easily turn into five minutes.

Five minutes to secure their win. Both teams have run out of time-outs. Wei Ying knows not to loosen himself up, not to get too stressed right now. The end is in sight.

Forty seconds of the game to go, and Gusu has the ball now. On defense, Yiling tries and fails to block two layups, putting Gusu back in the lead. Twenty seconds left. Not enough time.

Too much time. Wei Ying cracks his neck, and narrows his focus.

It's Lan Zhan with the ball then. To prolong the game, the last chance to score from either side. No more fouls—everyone's playing it safe, ducking and weaving around each other until they're a wash of black and white dominos on the court. Wei Ying watches every one of Lan Zhan's movements, knowing he's at the disadvantage, that Yiling is at a disadvantage in the defense right now.

But then it's like he knows what Lan Zhan's going to do before he does it. A slight give of his elbow—he's going to pass it, and Wei Ying takes a chance, knows that Lan Zhan favors overhand, knows that Lan Zhan must know that. He goes for the ball at knee level—

—and swipes it, barely catching the lightning-fast ball with the tips of his fingers.

He has the advantage now, dashing back. Wen Ning is free for a brief second—Wei Ying tosses to him, jogs up farther, no matter how much the Gusu players try to guard him. Wen Ning gets the ball to Mo Xuanyu. From the bench, Nie Huaisang is screaming, "Go, go, go!" and Wei Ying is watching everyone's hands, his teammates, Gusu's, Lan Zhan's, his own.

The ball arcs in the air. Mo Xuanyu doesn't even say his name, but Wei Ying knows it's for him, breezes by the Gusu players, catches the ball midair. When he pivots, he can see Lan Zhan is on his way—he has a half a second, no, a millisecond to make this shot—

It's far and then Lan Zhan's in his sight and he can't see the net properly. But Wei Ying's scored without seeing the net before. Lan Zhan has, too. Before Lan Zhan can raise his arm into the air fast enough, Wei Ying's hurling the ball into the air, a perfect parabola over Lan Zhan's head as it sings in the air and swishes into the net.

A second later, the buzzer. The game is over.

Wei Ying turns to his teammates. They're all staring at each other—and then they're rushing into a big pile, even Nie Huaisang from the bench, whooping and cheering.

"We won the game!" Wei Ying shouts.

They won the game.

It's only a moment of celebration before they're pulled apart and sent to make nice with the Gusu team. But they're good about it too, one of them going, "You guys deserved it," and another hissing to him, "Don't be too nice, Sizhui!" Wei Ying beams at them, and Lan Zhan is expressionless when they shake hands, though his grip is tight.

Wei Ying shivers. He hopes that's a promise of something especially punishing later.

But right now, they're still on the court. Right now, Wei Ying is a basketball player first, human fleshlight second. Right now, they're champions, and Wei Ying has almost never felt higher than this.

They don't go into the locker rooms right away, instead taking all the congratulations from the crowd, covering Jiang Cheng with his sweat, telling Jiang Yanli that they'll name the winning game ball after her kid, whatever she chooses to name him. Yanli says they don't have to, but Wen Ning says, "Of course we will, guniang," and Jin Zixuan rolls his eyes and says to Yanli, "Let them."

It's a whole lot of fussing and socializing, but Wei Ying is all geared up, thinks he could probably play another championship game. Even if he had to, though, he knows he wouldn't, partially because it would be bad for his body, and also because his teammates would figure it out and conspire to find some way to keep him out of the vicinity of a basketball for another seventy-two hours. But it's the adrenaline that counts, as he bounces from saying hi to Wen Ning's sister, to ribbing his coach who's sharing his rice wine recipe with some of the parents there.

He sees Lan Zhan talking to a man who looks similar to him, maybe older—his brother, Wei Ying fills in, when he sees Nie Huaisang and Nie Mingjue nearby. Nie Huaisang's brother is talking to someone else Wei Ying can't see from here, but it seems like a party of people who know each other, so—so Wei Ying doesn't go over, isn't interested, he tells himself. He fills the sex part of Lan Zhan's life, nothing else.

Everyone trickles out of the gym slowly, everyone except Wei Ying, and eventually—when Nie Huaisang says, "We won't save you a spot at dinner!"—Lan Zhan, too. They're the last ones here in the empty gym, everyone else in the locker rooms or headed back to the lobby. Even the cameramen and TV stations are all gone.

Lan Zhan walks over to Wei Ying. Wei Ying's dribbling a basketball—a spare one he'd gotten from the supply closet, his team had taken the game ball—and goes to shoot.

Lan Zhan swipes it easily out of the air.

Wei Ying smiles. "Good game, huh?" he says, and tightens his ponytail. His sweatband is a little damp, gross with sweat, but he doesn't have the heart to take it off.

Lan Zhan's short hair is sticking up too, the way it does sometimes after sex. "Wei Ying," he says, and by the drive in his voice, Wei Ying can hear the adrenaline racking through him too. "Would you like to get some coffee?"

"Coffee?" Wei Ying says, going for the ball. Lan Zhan moves it out of his way. "This late in the day?"

"Do you not drink coffee in the evening?" Lan Zhan reminds him, tossing the ball to the net one-handed. It drops through. God, that's hot. "We are stopping that, however."

"We are?" Wei Ying teases, going for the basketball.

Behind him and to his back, Lan Zhan says, "Wei Ying, I would like to take you out on a date."

Wei Ying falters in front of the ball. He could pick it up, but—but the season's over. The tournament's over.

He's probably going to play basketball seriously for one more year.

Lan Zhan, however. What he has with Lan Zhan is crazy. Nonsensical, especially the way his body wants to obey everything Lan Zhan says, listen and wait until Lan Zhan gives him the go-to. It's crazy how Wei Ying looks forward to his texts, his voice, him, the occasional tone of amusement he can ease out. The selfies Lan Zhan sends him, shirtless and dark-eyed and, in the mirror of his bathroom once, with a cartoon bunny popsocket.

A date. They met in the coffee shop, they had dinner at the Szechuan restaurant, but they've never put words to this. They've never been on a date.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying says, as he turns around. "Are you serious?"

There's something nervous in Lan Zhan's expression. He does not scuffle his feet or glance away like a normal person. He looks Wei Ying dead in the eye and says, "I am."

"But we're not—"

They're not a lot of things. Or so Wei Ying has told himself. The basketball rolls by his feet.

Lan Zhan comes over to him. "I do not know if you like me," he says, which is ridiculous, because there are so many things to like about Lan Zhan, starting with the way he drank from the same spot as Wei Ying all those months ago to the way he lets Wei Ying talk at him under the light of the moon, "but I would like to get to know you more, beyond the bedroom."

"And in the bedroom?" Wei Ying can't help himself from saying.

Lan Zhan picks up the basketball. "And in the bedroom," he agrees. "But if Wei Ying was wondering if there was anyone else, if Wei Ying had any doubts—"

"Wei Ying can deal with it," Wei Ying says.

"There is no one else. There is only you."

Only him. Wei Ying could swoon. He nearly does, with how close they are, except Lan Zhan is holding the basketball in both of his hands, so he puts his hands on top of Lan Zhan's. 

"You are a ridiculous, aggressive man," Wei Ying tells him. "Also, I like you very much. Yes, I will go to coffee with you."

He leans in to kiss Lan Zhan, and Lan Zhan cups his face, dropping the ball into Wei Ying's open palms, and kisses him back. Wei Ying moves the ball above his head to toss it backward, and when he hears it nudge the rim and swoop through the net, he laughs into Lan Zhan's mouth as Lan Zhan holds him tight.