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The boy goes easily to his knees. No—it is easy to put him there, his cultivation new and budding in comparison to the famed Hanguang-jun. What disciple would not be eager to kneel and share his table? It should fill Lan Wangji with revulsion, the stark difference in power between them, and it does.
That, and more.
“What are you doing?!”
Lan Wangji’s fingers trace over the talisman once more, ensuring it’s secure in its place around Wei Ying’s throat. “Wei Ying,” he murmurs, tasting the name and finding he wants to savor it. “Courtesy name Wuxian.”
Wei Ying’s eyes flash. “How did you know that?” He does not move to get up—so easily distracted. Lan Wangji’s throat tightens momentarily. Surely, if he was afraid, he would fight? He would not be so easily captivated as this: given a simple mystery and unable to resist the urge to solve it.
Wei Ying is young, but not that young.
Lan Wangji tilts his chin up, thumbing across Wei Ying’s full lower lip. Wei Ying tries to duck out of the way, but there is no escaping Lan Wangji’s tightening grip. Should he admit that he has seen Wei Ying’s name listed as an incoming guest disciple during his preparations for the upcoming lectures? Wei Wuxian, head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang.
There are those around Lotus Pier who would consider him something of a prodigy.
He decides against it. The mystery has ensnared Wei Ying for now, and may continue to do so for as long as possible; Wei Ying’s curious nature suits Lan Wangji’s desires.
Lan Wangji has always practiced control and discipline, taking his pleasures in moderation. There is nothing in his life that has made him burn the way looking at Wei Ying does, as though his very soul stretched taut the moment he saw this rumpled disciple lingering in the dining hall with one last drink, long after the others had gone up to bed. The pull was so strong that Lan Wangji had found himself unable to resist it long enough to drag Wei Ying upstairs.
Fortunately, he kept several privacy talismans in his qiankun pouch at all times—though shufu might begrudge his preparedness, were he to realize what Lan Wangji now planned on using it for.
There can be no answer for his surety besides the hand of fate itself. And if Wei Ying is meant to be his, then his loss of control is understandable; who would not succumb, when presented with Wei Ying on his knees?
Wei Ying, so helpless and not even aware that he is. Helpless and so, so pretty with it, cheeks already faintly pink, hair in disarray long before Lan Wangji ever stepped into the room.
“Quiet.”
This, of course, pushes Wei Ying toward disobedience. Lan Wangji thinks, briefly, that this should surprise him, but the sense of rightness he feels is justified. He would grow bored with a man that always did what he was told.
“Help!” Wei Ying cries out, high and frightened. He does scramble to leave now, but Lan Wangji holds him in place with just that hand on his chin, no matter how hard he pushes at his leg or thrashes in his grip. “Someone help me!”
“Even if you are loud,” Lan Wangji says, brushing away the hair that’s fallen into Wei Ying’s eyes, “no one will hear.”
Wei Ying’s eyes widen. “Help!” he shouts, louder than before. Lan Wangji allows him to turn his head enough to see as the patrons of the establishment continue to mill about, none of them reacting, their eyes sliding past their table as if it doesn’t exist at all.
He turns back to Lan Wangji with true anger in his gaze. “What did you do to them?!”
“Nothing,” he answers honestly. “You and I are the ones hidden.” Lan Wangji taps two fingers against the talisman at Wei Ying’s throat. “It will be easier this way.”
“What?” That shiver of fear in his voice is nearing a crescendo. Wei Ying looks up at him as though he is facing death itself, as though he has stumbled upon a particularly malicious yao in the forest with no sword in hand.
Lan Wangji considers him in return. He feels a moment of inward revulsion at the fact that Wei Ying’s fear fills him with anticipation rather than sympathy, but it fades beneath the thrum of that steady surety, the sense of rightness that refuses to depart. If Lan Wangji was made to want such things, then surely Wei Ying was made to equal him.
“What will?” Wei Ying asks again, overwhelmingly innocent. “Hanguang-jun? I think you should let me go… Maybe we can talk later? Tomorrow we’ll all go to the Cloud Recesses—you’ll be there, won’t you? So whatever you wanted to do...”
Cute. He is trying to make himself smaller in Lan Wangji’s grip, obvious in his attempts—perhaps thinking that the noble Hanguang-jun would never take advantage of something small and helpless. This tactic is smarter than his original ploy—Wei Ying catches on quickly.
“Do not act ignorant.” There is a reason Wei Ying has not made any true attempt to escape. A reason for the flush on his cheeks, and for the way he sways forward when Lan Wangji leans close rather than away.
Wei Ying must know what he is to Lan Wangji. Whether he accepts or not, whether he understands it or not, his body thrums with that same awareness.
The flint in Wei Ying’s glare shows that he is not so naive as he appeared moments previous. “I thought the Lans were respectable!” he exclaims, changing tactics with an air of panicked incredulity. “You’re supposed to be ascetics!!!”
Lan Wangji adjusts his position in an effort to ease the ache between his legs, eyes half-lidded as he looks down at Wei Ying. Though they sit on the same surface, Wei Ying is much smaller than he is—he shouldn’t like that part, either.
“You heard wrong,” Lan Wangji replies, unable to keep the low heat from his voice, though he doubts Wei Ying can tell the difference. “Come.”
Wei Ying gapes at him. Even wide open in surprise, his mouth is… small. Lan Wangji is not sure he would fit inside at first pass. There’s a dizzying, satisfying rush when he imagines trying, making space for himself inside of Wei Ying. As made for Wei Ying as Wei Ying is made for him.
“I’m not a dog! You can’t just—and why would I—”
Lan Wangji does not permit him to finish. As Wei Ying rants, Lan Wangji threads his fingers through his hair and tugs. Wei Ying’s words are interrupted by a pained cry, but he goes with the motion rather than making Lan Wangji lift him by the hair, which would have been unpleasant, for now.
Unpleasant for Wei Ying, anyway. The pained sound he makes tightens Lan Wangji’s trousers beneath his robes, makes hungry for more—but they must work up to that.
Wei Ying fits well between his thighs, shoulders small and rounded, head still ducked, as though he’s cowering. He doesn’t seem the type, but Lan Wangji notes it could be tied to his earlier ruse. I am so small, he hears Wei Ying’s voice in his mind, so slight, so helpless. How could you take advantage of someone so delicate?
Lan Wangji loosens his robes enough that Wei Ying is exposed to the impressive outline of his cock beneath his trousers. He is unashamed to admit to himself that it is impressive; it is not hubris to speak honestly, and is detrimental not to be honest with oneself.
Wei Ying refuses to look, at first, but he has already shown himself to be of the curious sort. His eyes dart downward eventually, like he can’t help it, and when they catch on Lan Wangji’s cock, his attention seems stuck there, nearly hypnotized despite himself.
Lan Wangji feels a rush of satisfaction.
“What are you going to do to me?”
Wei Ying’s voice is quieter than it was before, and Lan Wangji is not the only one who notices. He drags his eyes up Lan Wangji’s body to glare at him again—difficult to manage with Lan Wangji’s hand tangled in his hair, but not impossible.
A fierce little thing. Yes, Lan Wangji has chosen well.
“You will take it out.”
“I will not!”
Lan Wangji’s fist tightens, forcing Wei Ying into a muffled whimper of pain. This sound is sweet, syrupy like candied haw. Lan Wangji wonders if he will sound the same with his cock down his throat.
He wants to find out.
“Wei Ying.” The hard edge of his voice allows no refusal, but still Wei Ying grabs onto his wrist and tries to force him to let go, nails digging into his arm, drawing little crescent moons of blood. Lan Wangji suppresses a sigh and lets go, curling out of the lotus position just enough to put one leg around Wei Ying’s body and press down on his calves to keep him kneeling.
Already, he knows that Wei Ying has a curious mind; he’s likely to follow whatever loop is thrown in front of him, whether or not he’s actually caught. So Lan Wangji tries a different approach.
“A wager.”
“Huh?” Wei Ying’s eyes snap up toward Lan Wangji’s, his gaze having listed down to the bulging cloth again of his own accord. Lan Wangji’s single kindness is in moving on without pointing this out.
“Succeed, and you go free.”
Wei Ying swallows hard, but he’s stopped squirming, eyes alight with a calculating curiosity. “And if I fail?”
“I take what’s mine.”
A visible shiver runs through his lithe frame. Lan Wangji presses down a fraction harder on his legs, waiting for an answer and running out of patience. His whole body is hot. If he could flush, he’s sure he would be pink by now. It would only take one press of Wei Ying’s hand to find how hard his heart is beating.
“What’s the wager?”
“Take it out,” Lan Wangji offers, tone soothing and calm. He’s been told his voice is pleasant to the ear. To him, it is only a voice, but if it will have an effect on Wei Ying, he will use it.
The boy is already his. This is merely a demonstration.
“Is that all?” Wei Ying asks, fingers twitching in his lap. Eager, even through his show of reluctance. Lan Wangji almost wants to smile.
“No,” he says, “I will show you afterward.”
Wei Ying huffs. “No fair!”
“You already want to take it out for yourself,” Lan Wangji points out, patience running thin. “Lying to both of us serves you ill.”
Wei Ying looks up, but cannot meet his eyes. After another moment of twitching and twisting his hands together, he gives in to his curiosity, reaching out to clumsily slide Lan Wangji’s cock out from his trousers. It’s unclear whether he usually acts in such a manner, or if he makes himself so clumsy on purpose, deliberately choosing not to treat Lan Wangji with care.
It matters little.
The moment he slides free, Wei Ying looks to the side, eyes resolutely on the floor. He touches Lan Wangji for as short a time as possible, taking both hands and putting them behind his back afterward, like even having them in front of him—closer to Lan Wangji—would be too much.
The position sends a thrill through Lan Wangji. Wei Ying would be very pretty if he were tied up. Perhaps with the Lan ribbon—a reminder of who he belongs to.
Something to consider for later.
“What—” Wei Ying’s voice cracks, young and shy for a moment before he remembers the airs he’s been trying to put on. “What now?”
Lan Wangji feels a single bead of liquid trail down from the head of his cock where it stands, prominently, against his stomach. Wei Ying doesn’t even chance a glance this time, perhaps cognizant of his earlier inability to look away when it was still hidden beneath Lan Wangji’s trousers and robes.
“Kiss me.”
Wei Ying frowns, looking up at Lan Wangji’s face and settling somewhere around his mouth. After an unsure moment, Wei Ying starts like he’s going to rise toward him, only for Lan Wangji to press down against his calves again.
“Not there,” he says, knowing where Wei Ying’s mind went—where Lan Wangji deliberately led it. He nods down toward his cock. “Here.”
Wei Ying flushes pretty pink.
“I’m not doing that!” he cries, scrambling to get away before remembering he’s pinned. “That’s—you can’t make me do that!”
“That’s the wager.”
Wei Ying’s mouth has dropped open again. If he does it another time, Lan Wangji will force his way inside, regardless of the outcome of their game.
“What sort of wager is that?!”
Lan Wangji nods downward again. “After, if you do not want more, I’ll let you go.”
Wei Ying freezes. He looks up with distrust in his eyes, still avoiding where Lan Wangji wants him. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” He thinks of Wei Ying’s eyes fixating on the outline in his pants, the way he avoids Lan Wangji’s cock even now, like he’s afraid of what he’ll do. Lan Wangji has enough evidence to be reasonably sure of his success.
If he’s not, then he can cling to his very last shred of righteousness while he still has it.
“Okay,” Wei Ying says after a while, drawing out the syllables. “That’s really all?”
“Yes.”
Wei Ying finally allows himself to look. His lips part—not the dropped, wide ‘o’ of before, but a breathy little motion, accompanied by a sudden intake of air. He looks—
Lan Wangji does not have words for this look. He will have to invent some.
Wei Ying takes him in hand without needing to be asked, tilting the head of his cock down. There are many ways for him to have gone about this little game; Wei Ying chose this. He wanted to touch.
His breath fans over the head, the sensation enough to make Lan Wangji dizzy. “Just a kiss?”
“Mn.” Even that syllable is an effort to get out, but if he shows the pleasure-pain he feels at Wei Ying’s gentle touch, it will give him away too soon.
Wei Ying’s eyes narrow. He leans forward the cun necessary to press his lips to the head of Lan Wangji’s cock; it pulses in response, wetness catching on Wei Ying’s lower lip. The new sensation makes Wei Ying jump and disconnect from Lan Wangji entirely, but it doesn’t matter. His eyes have fallen shut. Pearlescent liquid still stains his red mouth. Lan Wangji can see his whole body trembling.
Slowly, as if against his will, Wei Ying’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, catching Lan Wangji’s precome and taking it inside. His mouth is still so close that the tip of his tongue also catches the head of Lan Wangji’s cock—for less than an instant, of course.
Wei Ying makes a tiny noise in the back of his throat.
Lan Wangji is typically known for his patience, but it is more difficult now than it has ever been, waiting these scant few moments for Wei Ying to stop shivering, lashes dark where they fan against his cheeks, his pink little mouth barely open and begging to be stretched wide.
Wei Ying leans forward, hand twisting a little on Lan Wangji’s cock as he adjusts the angle, and presses a clumsy, open mouthed kiss to the head. His tongue moves a bit desperately over Lan Wangji, obviously trying to coax out more of the taste. Wei Ying moans properly upon receiving his reward; when Lan Wangji slowly threads his fingers through Wei Ying’s hair, he doesn’t really notice, too busy lapping at his cock like it’s something sweet.
It doesn’t take much more to urge him on. A careful press at the base of his skull prompts Wei Ying to open his mouth wide enough to take the head inside. “Good,” Lan Wangji says; he cannot be sure whether the praise or the stretch of Wei Ying’s jaw is what prompts the whimpering moan around his cock. Wei Ying’s mouth presses that sound into Lan Wangji’s sensitive skin, causing his hand to tighten and Wei Ying to moan again, soft and wet.
“Do you see?” Lan Wangji asks, pressing him further. He stops when his cockhead touches the back of Wei Ying’s throat and sees he’s made it perhaps a quarter of the way down. Lan Wangji’s heart is pounding so loudly that he wonders if Wei Ying can feel it in the vein that throbs against his tongue. It is clear that Wei Ying is trying very hard, but his mouth is too small, and too tight.
Lan Wangji feels feverish. “See how you need it?”
The words seem to wake something dormant in Wei Ying. He struggles, trying to back off, but Lan Wangji will not entertain it now. The wager is lost; that Wei Ying made the mistake of not asking what his forfeit would be is only another mark in Lan Wangji’s favor. Wei Ying’s strength, while decent for his age, is still no match for Hanguang-jun, who presses him back down until he chokes.
“So much to learn,” he murmurs, the words sliding from his mouth in a rare loss of control. Wei Ying looks up with a defiant fire in his eyes, lashes wet—has he been holding back his tears?
Lan Wangji eases up enough to let him breathe, coughing and spluttering. “You may cry,” he allows.
He does not give Wei Ying time to respond before shoving back inside that tight sheathe; the garbled noise Wei Ying makes as his speech is cut off is electrifying. His hands go to Lan Wangji’s knees, trying to get enough leverage to push back and off, but he’s careful to keep his teeth away in the process, tongue squirming pleasurably against Lan Wangji’s cock.
“Confused?” Lan Wangji asks. “This is what you wanted.” He judges by now that Wei Ying has found a way to breathe around him—if only just—and shoves in further, appreciative of the way Wei Ying’s throat closes around the head of his cock every time he tries to force his way inside.
Wei Ying’s struggles grow weaker, whether because he finds it difficult to breathe and keep up his movements, or because he understands the truth of his own desire. He works his tongue with a little more finesse, sliding over the head of Lan Wangji’s cock when he pulls out to thrust inside again. His defiant silence turns into helpless, muffled sounds of pleasure.
His hands tighten just a little on Lan Wangji’s legs, fingertips digging into the skin. He isn’t pushing, just—holding on? Lan Wangji watches a single tear trail down from Wei Ying’s left eye and reaches with his free hand to thumb it away at his jawline.
Wei Ying is beautiful like this; later, when Lan Wangji is not so desperate with want, he will take Wei Ying’s mouth for as long as he pleases. For now, he wrenches Wei Ying’s head back, watching as Wei Ying grows entranced with the line of saliva still connecting him to Lan Wangji’s cock. He licks his lips. It breaks.
Slowly, Wei Ying’s eyes rise to meet his. There’s an attempt at defiance there, but they’re a little too glassy, his shoulders slumped, face sticky and wet. “Is—” he interrupts himself with a cough, throat hoarse but not nearly as well-used as it could be, “—is that all?”
Oh. Wei Ying.
He appears only to realize what he’s said after saying it, flushed cheeks growing redder, pink spreading down his neck and up to his ears. “Not like that,” he rushes to correct, “I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant—”
“No,” Lan Wangji interrupts. He is uninterested in further lies from Wei Ying. His head feels full of smoke, like the fire raging within has spread, clogging everything, turning need to something requiring more desperation than he has the language to express. He lets go of Wei Ying’s hair, both hands reaching down to flip Wei Ying face down onto the table as Lan Wangji readies behind him.
Wei Ying yelps, of course, struggling to get out of his grip. Lan Wangji calmly bunches Wei Ying’s robes, hiking them up enough to get at his trousers. “What are you doing!” Wei Ying shouts, kicking ineffectually at Lan Wangji’s legs. “Stop, you said, you said if I—if I kissed it you would let me go!”
“If you kissed it,” Lan Wangji reminds him, “and did not want more.”
“I didn’t! I don’t!!! Get off me, just because you’re stronger you think you can do whatever you want? I’ll tell!”
“You will not.” He drags Wei Ying’s trousers down around his knees, keeping them held together; they are not held as tightly together as he would prefer, but then, it’s not Wei Ying’s thighs he’ll be fucking.
Wei Ying thrashes, the hardest he’s tried to get away since they began. For a boy his age, he is quite strong. Not so strong that Lan Wangji needs two hands to hold him—pinning him with one at the center of his back, pressing him so hard into the surface he gasps for air—but strong enough for him to be pleased.
“You don’t know anything,” Wei Ying gasps, trying hopelessly to pull himself free. He barely manages a cun of movement, sliding ineffectually, huffing in frustration. “You don’t, you can’t—”
“I do,” Lan Wangji practically snarls, “and I can.” The curves of Wei Ying’s ass are plush before him, his thighs quivering, body shaking with how overwhelmed and desperate he is.
Wei Ying would tell himself he is desperate to get away. Lan Wangji knows better.
He slides his thumb between Wei Ying’s cheeks, satisfied by the faint, wet sheen of his skin. “Your body does not blame you for your ignorance,” he murmurs, thumb slowly making his way down to where Wei Ying is already damp. It’s like the taste of Lan Wangji has imprinted itself on Wei Ying’s body, opening him, showing him how badly he needs to receive.
Wei Ying gasps when that thumb runs over his hole. Lan Wangji doesn’t linger there, not yet, but Wei Ying’s hips twitch back into the touch anyway, a startled sound half-caught in his throat. When Lan Wangji looks up, he can see blood trickling from Wei Ying’s mouth where he bit down, trying to muffle his own confused pleasure.
He tries to speak and only manages a cough, voice hoarse and weak, before trying again. “What did you do to me?”
“Nothing.”
Lan Wangji takes his own cock in hand, spreading Wei Ying wide and watching the way he glistens: still not wet enough to take him, but he knows Wei Ying will do his best.
“You did,” Wei Ying gasps, “I didn’t, I wasn’t like this—”
Lan Wangji shushes him, hand pressing him down into the low table again, until he can no longer breathe well enough to speak. “You needed me,” Lan Wangji explains, voice steady and calm though he feels nothing of the kind. “I will demonstrate.”
He slides his cock through Wei Ying’s slick wetness—not enough, not nearly enough—and shoves inside, not waiting for him to adjust, not stopping at the head. Wei Ying’s cry of pain only pushes him faster, his free hand tightening to the point of bruising on Wei Ying’s hip.
For the first time, he has truly shocked Wei Ying into speechlessness. The next sound that pours from his throat is a miserable whine, a pained, animal sound that does nothing to dispel the heat coiling in Lan Wangji as he fucks his way inside him. Wei Ying is too tight to be breached all at once. Each time Lan Wangji pulls back and thrusts a little further, Wei Ying makes another wanton sound, forced from the back of his throat—anguish incarnate.
Wei Ying is pure heat around him, scorching warmth that clings to the length of his cock each time he pulls out, greedy to keep the fat head inside. Wei Ying would likely not categorize himself as such, but Wei Ying cannot see how hungry his pink little hole looks when Lan Wangji fucks it.
Wei Ying gives a wretched cry when Lan Wangji bottoms out inside him, hands scrabbling at the table, pulling at the edge like he can pull away from such an onslaught.
“Take it out!!!!” he demands, breathless and indignant. He kicks ineffectually at the air, missing Lan Wangji’s legs and leaving himself with no leverage. “Take it out, it’s too—that’s too much, I can’t!”
Lan Wangji gathers Wei Ying’s hips in his hands and hefts him upward, forcing a startled noise from Wei Ying as he arches his back on instinct, moving where Lan Wangji demands.
He has already told Wei Ying he can take it. He does not enjoy repeating himself.
This time, with the angles of their bodies changed, Wei Ying’s noises shift into urgent pleas and gasping moans as Lan Wangji presses his advantage. “What did—what—ah, ah!”
Lan Wangji fucks ruthlessly inside him, the slapping of their skin so loud he knows Wei Ying’s ass and thighs will be red long after they’re finished. He pushes down again at the center of his back when Wei Ying struggles to sit up, panting, face flushed as he turns back to Lan Wangji in a now-tormented confusion.
There we go.
Before Wei Ying can speak again, Lan Wangji lifts his hand and shoves two fingers into Wei Ying’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue until he makes a choking sound, eyes rolling back. “Do not argue,” he snarls, unable to keep the inflection from his voice any longer, not angry but—desperate. Desperation of a different sort, perhaps.
“Suck,” he offers instead, using his fingers in Wei Ying’s mouth to turn his face forward again, palm holding his chin as he presses a third finger against the corner of his lips. Wei Ying makes a sound that can only be described as pitiful and tries to stretch his mouth open further, drooling around Lan Wangji’s fingers. The sight only intensifies that hungry, raw feeling inside, goading Lan Wangji to fuck him faster, holding Wei Ying in place with one hand vicious around his waist and the other inside his mouth. Lan Wangji is inside of him in so many ways and it’s still not enough; he wants to hollow Wei Ying out, make a permanent space inside Wei Ying for himself and live there, kept snug in the omnipresent warmth.
A rush of wetness floods around Lan Wangji’s cock as he moves, the harsh sound of skin hitting skin morphing into something slick and easy as that last barrier within Wei Ying breaks down. He bites down on Lan Wangji’s fingers in an attempt to hold back his keening, but it doesn’t do much.
Still, Lan Wangji takes his hand from Wei Ying’s mouth in punishment, gripping him at the shoulder to fuck inside with more leverage. Without something to suck on, Wei Ying starts babbling on, cheek sliding slightly where it presses against the table.
“What’s w-wrong with me, what did you, what, ah! You shouldn’t do that, um, you, to me, I mean—what did you do, it’s not supposed to feel—”
Lan Wangji changes angles again, shifting just slightly, just enough that the slight curve of his cock can be put to good use inside Wei Ying. Sure enough, the movement cuts Wei Ying’s concentration altogether, dissolving his words into high, punched-out noises, as though Lan Wangji’s cock is choking the words in his throat. His hole is a mess, slick dripping down his thighs, more than ready for Lan Wangji to fuck into without restraint.
So he will hold nothing back, not from his Wei Ying.
Wei Ying, whose ass has gone red from the force of Lan Wangji’s thrusts as they hit him. He wants to slap it redder, but saves that for another time; he has a funny feeling that he’d like to make it special.
He wonders how red he can make Wei Ying blush.
When he tries lifting Wei Ying’s hips and finds the angle of the table too awkward, Lan Wangji lifts him off it entirely and lays him out on the floor beside him, pushing down on Wei Ying’s back until his chest presses flat to the floor before raising his hips. The act causes him to slide out of Wei Ying’s hole for a moment; he takes his cock in one hand and taps it twice against Wei Ying’s hole before pushing back inside.
“Don’t hit me!” Wei Ying cries, but his body tells a different story, hips pushing back onto Lan Wangji’s cock.
Yes, spanking him will be good enough to have a day of its own.
Lan Wangji fucks his way inside once more, the intensity of his invasion too much for Wei Ying, who claws violently at the floor, having apparently forgotten all language apart from the word “no”, which falls from his lips again and again. It is a mindless thing, an almost animal fear of something too good to be borne. Lan Wangji feels a brief pang of sympathy.
He twists his hand into Wei Ying’s hair again, growing more comfortable with the hold each time he does so, and pulls Wei Ying back by the hair. He yowls. When he can see Wei Ying’s face properly, Lan Wangji realizes he’s been crying, tears streaking down his face, eyes red-rimmed and furious.
Wei Ying is so, so beautiful. Lan Wangji wants to fuck him until he breaks.
“You cannot run from me,” he assures, surprised by the slight breathlessness of his voice. He has not been so affected by anyone, not ever.
Wei Ying’s tears continue to fall. “Please,” he gasps. Lan Wangji isn’t sure Wei Ying even knows what he’s begging for.
He lets Wei Ying fall back to the floor, pushing him down at the nape of his neck until his face is barely pillowed by his arms. Lan Wangji ignores the few pleas for mercy that are understandable—which are few and far between as Wei Ying’s words grow less and less discernible from the mewls he tries to muffle, biting down on his own arm.
The game grows tiring. If Wei Ying still cannot decide what he wants, Lan Wangji must find the proper way to demonstrate.
On the next thrust, Lan Wangji pauses, the head of his cock snug in Wei Ying’s hole, holding himself still with incredible restraint. His hands tighten on Wei Ying’s hips.
Waiting.
He could restrict Wei Ying’s movements, but he waits patiently, sure in the knowledge that beneath the surface of his complaints, Wei Ying is just as needy as Lan Wangji feels. He does not have to wait long to feel the twitch of Wei Ying’s hips—a desire to move that cannot be contained.
The agony of patience is its own kind of pleasure, the sort that comes from watching Wei Ying struggle, pulling back from his arm to gasp and rock back, just a bit, like he almost doesn’t realize he’s doing so. Then again, a few seconds later, his movements a little more determined.
“Greedy,” Lan Wangji murmurs.
“‘M not,” Wei Ying mumbles, muffled by his shoulder as he tries to wipe the drool from his chin. How precious.
Lan Wangji hums, hands tightening around Wei Ying’s waist when he tries to fuck back onto his cock again. “Your body says differently.”
He lifts Wei Ying over him, one hand on his hip and the other at his neck, keeping him in position on the head of his cock. Wei Ying gasps. There is no leverage for him this way, not with Lan Wangji holding him too far from the floor.
Wei Ying squirms in his lap regardless.
“You want it?”
“N-No.” Gone is the surety from earlier. Now that Lan Wangji has withheld, Wei Ying cannot stop moving, body eager as much as it pains him to admit it. A violent attempt to escape Lan Wangji’s hold slips his cock from Wei Ying’s body, but in the next second he makes a small, bereft sound, clawing at the hand around his throat.
Lan Wangji sighs. “If you are good, I will fuck you.”
“Shut up.” Wei Ying says it with no real heat, barely whispering, though Lan Wangji is not actually cutting into his capacity to breathe. Not much, anyway.
He takes the hand from Wei Ying’s throat and wraps it around his torso, freeing the other to re-align his cock with Wei Ying’s hole. “Then do it yourself.”
Lan Wangji lets go. Even with all of Wei Ying’s weight atop him—even with how wet he is, how he drips into Lan Wangji’s lap—he still slides slowly onto his cock, too big to take all at once for someone so tight as Wei Ying. His hand finds Wei Ying’s throat again, encouraging him to lean back onto Lan Wangji’s shoulder. He drinks in Wei Ying’s hitching breaths as he bottoms out.
Wei Ying is clearly overwhelmed. The tears flow faster now, lashes fluttering as he twitches, clearly not sure if he wants to get away or figure out how to feel the pleasure from earlier once again. Lan Wangji drags a thumb over his nipple, over and over again—slow, light movements designed to drive Wei Ying mad.
“Don’t,” Wei Ying gasps, rocking his hips in response. When Lan Wangji continues, a moan wrenches free from Wei Ying’s tortured throat.
Lan Wangji kisses his neck. “No?”
Wei Ying shakes his head, rocking back and forth, clearly interested but keeping quiet. His back arches as he finds a pleasurable angle once more, but Lan Wangji knows this cannot be enough, this barely-extant pressure. He will be left wanting.
Lan Wangji pinches his nipple, rolling it between his fingers. Wei Ying arches up into the touch with a wail, despite how it must hurt, and bounces properly on Lan Wangji’s cock for a few tries. When he collapses back to lean on Lan Wangji’s chest, he’s shuddering.
“You like it,” Lan Wangji murmurs, kissing Wei Ying’s shoulder. Wei Ying tries to manage a response, but he rides Lan Wangji at the same time, like he can’t resist. The only thing that comes out of his mouth is a garbled moan.
“Good,” Lan Wangji continues on, as though Wei Ying responded in the affirmative. “You want more?”
Wei Ying doesn’t answer, continuing his little bounces in fits and starts. Is he perhaps trying to get off without having to confess?
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, chastisement in his tone. “Ask.”
He doesn’t shake his head, but he doesn’t ask for what he wants, either. Close. Lan Wangji stops the jerking thrusts Wei Ying is making by exerting pressure with the hand on Wei Ying’s throat. He receives a wheeze in return.
“Not enough, is it?” Lan Wangji asks, resisting the urge to fuck up into the tight heat surrounding him. He understands, now, that Wei Ying’s happiness will be contingent upon him realizing what he needs. “Say it.”
Wei Ying reaches up and squeezes Lan Wangji’s forearm, eyes closed. “Please?” he tries.
“Hm?”
A sigh against his ear. Wei Ying’s hot breath fans his face. “Are you always such… such a bully?”
Lan Wangji kisses the very edge of Wei Ying’s ear, enjoying the way he leans closer at even the slightest touch. “First, tell me what you want.”
Wei Ying’s brows furrow. A few strands of hair cling to his face, his eyelashes still clumped with tears when he manages to look back at Lan Wangji. “More?” he whispers, questioning, like even he isn’t sure of the answer anymore. When Lan Wangji doesn’t move, he blushes so deeply his entire throat is blotchy pink. “You?”
It isn’t the answer Lan Wangji was going for, but it’s the answer he needed to hear. He lifts Wei Ying off of him briefly to turn his body, then eases back inside, stroking Wei Ying’s back as he hiccups rather miserably over Lan Wangji’s shoulder. Wei Ying clings so tightly it’s hard to thrust inside him, but he’s been keeping them both on edge so long it almost doesn’t matter. Lan Wangji’s other hand clings tightly to Wei Ying’s ass, lifting him up so that he can thrust inside in just the way he needs.
When Wei Ying comes he sobs with it, soaking both their chests sticky and white. He squeezes so tightly around Lan Wangji that he comes as well, feeling that sense of perfection wash over him once more as Wei Ying’s legs squeeze tightly where they’re wrapped around his lower back.
Once he catches his breath, he will take Wei Ying back to his room and do his best to voice this feeling inside him. For now, Lan Wangji is content with the knowledge that Wei Ying accepted him in the end—and in his certainty that Wei Ying enjoyed the refusal perhaps as much as Lan Wangji did.
He doesn’t remember waking up, exactly; Lan Wangji only realizes he’s awake when the feeling of Wei Wuxian’s weight changes, distributing itself along his front rather than settling in his lap. His hand continues to pass soothingly up and down Wei Wuxian’s back, though he pauses to move the thick tangle of his husband’s hair to one side.
It takes a long time for Wei Wuxian to wake up properly. He licks sleepily at Lan Wangji’s chest for a bit before he realizes he’s out of the dream. “Lan Zhan,” he mumbles, yawning. “Lan Zhan, did you like it?”
He did. “Mn.” The scent of incense still permeates the room, giving everything a quiet, hazy quality. Incense burned with this particular burner always lingers longer than it should. “We used your talisman.”
“We did!” Wei Wuxian props himself up enough to beam down at Lan Wangji. “I finished it right after I had that dream, you know. Fell asleep right at the table! I must have really missed you, to have dreamed up all that… But when I woke up, I knew exactly how to finish my talisman. Do you think it’s a message? Like, I work better when I’m thinking about you taking advantage of me?”
Lan Wangji reaches up to tug Wei Wuxian down into a kiss. “Happy to help,” he murmurs, distracting himself with a bite on Wei Wuxian’s lower lip.
After a bit of distraction, Wei Wuxian can’t help laughing. “By fucking me in my dreams? By taking advantage of my defenseless, nubile form?!”
Lan Wangji flips them over so that Wei Wuxian is trapped beneath him. Despite his physical appearance, the Wei Ying of their dreams and the Wei Wuxian of reality share that same infectious smile. “Anything,” he promises.
Wei Wuxian spends the rest of the morning “punishing” him for being overly romantic.