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Sundays are Wei Ying’s favorite day of the week. Multiple reasons—most of them revolving around his roommate Lan Zhan, whose schedule is also blissfully blank on these treasured days. He sleeps in. They trade off which sibling they’ll eat brunch with—Lan Xichen or Jiang Yanli—except for the days with Jiang Cheng included, then it’s a separate affair.
“Stop pouting about your boyfriend. He shouldn’t hold such a grudge,” Jiang Cheng had said, on the second Sunday he most certainly did not ruin because Wei Ying loves his brother, really he does, and pouting about Lan Zhan not always being nearby is ridiculous. And obvious.
“Lan Zhan’s not my boyfriend. And you fought him,” Wei Ying had reminded, sipping his mimosa, “over giant drunk Jenga. Which he wasn’t even playing.”
“No, he was too busy staring at your ass when he bumped into the tower and ruined the whole fucking game,” Jiang Cheng said.
Ah. Yeah. This is according to Jiang Cheng, but he’s the only eyewitness as everyone else was too sloshed. And Wei Ying has tried to recreate the results. As far as he can tell, Lan Zhan is a proper gentleman. He even looks Wei Ying dead in the face when he walks around in his tiny, butt-cupping shorts with ‘enemy of all 51 states’ printed across the ass. It’s disheartening.
On this Sunday, Wei Ying says goodbye to his siblings and nephew. Walks back home to their apartment. Technically, it’s Lan Zhan’s apartment that he was paying rent for alone, so it’s not like he needed Wei Ying to move in, but Wei Ying came over often enough anyway. The offer to play as one of Lan Zhan’s pet rabbits was noted and ignored. “Just a regular roommate, then?” Wei Ying had said.
“That’s better,” Lan Zhan replied, even though Wei Ying had only been joking. A little.
Lan Zhan’s requirements were a quarter of the rent, diligent mindfulness of the chores board, and no hook-ups that stay the night. He even requested a full two-day warning before Wei Ying planned such activities, so Wei Ying did the same. Lan Zhan has never needed it. Neither has Wei Ying, because it feels weird to bring strangers where they live together, into the intimacy of their space.
“Honey, I’m home!” he chimes, closing the door behind him and shucking his shoes off.
Lan Zhan is standing right there in the kitchen, washing something in the sink. He’s already changed out of brunch attire and is—oh, thank god—wearing another reason Wei Ying loves Sundays. The grey sweatpants. “Whatcha doin’?” he asks, and goes over, resisting the urge to hook his chin over Lan Zhan’s shoulder.
Then he sees the assorted array of treats already sitting on the counter. And the clicker.
“For later,” Lan Zhan says.
Wei Ying hums. He steals a blueberry and pops it into his mouth while Lan Zhan gives him a reproachful look before putting the radish he just washed onto the cutting board. Wei Ying mindlessly nibbles on a piece of carrot, watching his fingers and hand working, spaced out until Lan Zhan makes a noise at him. “Huh?” he says, eyes snapping up.
“You’re in the way,” Lan Zhan replies, mild. “How was brunch?”
“Fine, fine,” Wei Ying says. He edges sideways so Lan Zhan can put the treats up. The rabbits sleep during the day, so Wei Ying will have to wait to watch him training them to perform their little routine later. “Jin Ling is cutting his first tooth, so he was all drooling and fussy. Wanna see?”
As Lan Zhan closes the fridge and steps back over to his side, Wei Ying holds up his phone so they can both see the screen. He plays the Snapchat video he took, him cooing at Jin Ling until his nephew gives one of those barely-sentient, open-mouthed baby expressions, before it pans to a waving Jiang Yanli and then Jiang Cheng, who flicks him off. “Pleasant as always,” Lan Zhan says.
“Ha!” Wei Ying replies. “Tell me about it.” He swipes through a few more failed video attempts, then realizes Lan Zhan hasn’t stepped away from him, is still standing and peering over his shoulder, close enough for Wei Ying to smell, to feel the heat off his ridiculously exposed body—a plain white t-shirt, is he trying to kill Wei Ying? That, coupled with the sweatpants, is enough to make his poor bi heart palpitate. “I’m gonna go change out of these stuffy clothes.”
“Mm,” Lan Zhan hums, and returns to scraping vegetable bits down the garbage disposal.
Well, two can play at that game. Wei Ying goes and puts his booty shorts on. Slathers his legs in shea butter and throws on an old band t-shirt with a loose, stretched-out collar, then goes back into the living room. Except now Lan Zhan is doing something in his room, so Wei Ying flops down on the couch and opens TikTok.
His FYP is full of daddies and their children, doing their hair or including them in the newest dance moves, on top of the most recent trend. Mostly it’s women walking in naked on their husbands gaming or dudes doing it to groups of friends that all yell in disappointment or laugh. And because it’s Wei Ying’s feed, there’s plenty of men doing it to their partners, too.
Wei Ying sighs in envy before opening his own profile. Clicks on his newest video, which is of Lan Zhan’s rabbits doing their tricks. It has 400k likes.
He goes to the comment section and—of course. Most of them are about Lan Zhan, visible just off-screen, hands moving to cue and treat the two giant, white, floppy-eared bunnies as they twirl and sit pretty. Wei Ying kicks his legs out, crossing his ankles petulantly.
Okay. So maybe it’s his fault. Most of his followers are from that viral ‘hot roommate check’ video he did three months ago, where he filmed Lan Zhan all day, from morning yoga to brunch, guqin practice and composing and rabbit care, to their nighttime activities, with Wei Ying finishing by flipping the camera view around and holding up a peace sign with a face mask on. The very end catches Lan Zhan behind him in the bathroom applying his own before turning to look. It was a panda mask. It was fucking adorable. It got Wei Ying three million likes and 500k new followers.
Thus, the pining continues. Wei Ying sighs and throws his head back against the couch’s arm. His followers will just have to get in line for the thirst train with him in the caboose. He swipes to his DMs.
Nie Huaisang is at the top, having linked the new video.
sangsanglovesyou: do the walk-in naked challenge w/ him next
Objectively an awful idea. But Wei Ying is also objectively awful. And he and Lan Zhan used to do swim team together, so it’s not like nudity is weird, right? It could be a nice throwback to the horniest, most crisis-filled years of Wei Ying’s life. Lan Zhan knows about TikTok, as much he scorns it. He’ll have to forgive Wei Ying eventually.
weibabysquared: brb
sangsanglovesyou: seriously? can I have all ur Fenty?
weibabysquared: no, fuck off!!!!
Wei Ying loathes to strip off his carefully curated outfit, but he passes by Lan Zhan’s room on the way and stops to listen. All he can hear is the soft clack of laptop keys, which, weird, Lan Zhan could just work in the living room, but Wei Ying shrugs and leans towards the door. “Lan Zhan? You busy?”
A pause. “No.”
“Ohkay, I’m about to do something so promise not to be mad. But stay there. I’ll be right back.”
If Lan Zhan says anything in reply, Wei Ying doesn’t hear it. He tap-tap-taps to his room on his bare feet, wiggles out of the shorts and throws his shirt on the floor, and does a little twist back and forth in the full-length mirror next to his bed. Then he pulls up TikTok again with only a small amount of clamminess wiping across the screen.
He has one chance to get this right—Lan Zhan will probably lock him out after, or, if it’s really not that big of a deal, he may even agree to re-do it and his face will be so blank it’ll damage Wei Ying’s ego to irreparable shreds.
So. Wei Ying times the video to thirty seconds and hits the red record button, shooting a shot of his bare feet moving down the hallway between their rooms. He raises his phone as his palm connects with the heavy, grey wood of Lan Zhan’s door, and then he’s pushing it open.
Lan Zhan is sitting on his double bed, legs crossed, laptop open in front of him. Not doing anything. Obviously waiting after Wei Ying preemptively announced something was going on. At once, his gaze drops down then rakes back up, lips parting enough to betray genuine shock.
Because Wei Ying is actually sort of nervous, he cheers, “Surprise! Naked challenge!” And makes sure his phone is obvious, so Lan Zhan doesn’t outright murder him for all his poor, thirsty followers to see. But the silence that rings after his announcement is…not quite murderous.
Wei Ying watches through his phone’s camera as Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow, as he reaches out and pushes his laptop closed, then uncrosses his legs, moving to get up. Time runs out on the video and Wei Ying quickly drafts it, flailing for the doorknob. “Lan Zhan! I’m sorry! Huaisang dared me and you know how competitive I get—my followers love all the videos with you in them, anyway. I know you’ve warned me about the dangers of getting hooked on outside validation from strangers and the dopamine feedback in our—”
Lan Zhan has crossed the room to Wei Ying, but he steps around him and shuts the door. Wei Ying swallows down the rest of his words as the lock snicks, a chill racing up his legs, arms, even prickling across his ass. “You locked the door? Why?”
“Why do you think?” Lan Zhan says. He takes Wei Ying’s phone from him. Tosses it with alarming accuracy backwards onto the bed while Wei Ying chokes down an awful sound at the sight of it airborne. “You’re very obvious, Wei Ying.”
“I am?” Wei Ying squeaks. Lan Zhan’s eyes, scorching, look at him up and down again, and then—then Wei Ying sees the tent at the front of his sweatpants, and Wei Ying nearly falls to his knees in hallelujah. “Wait. This is seriously a challenge. I didn’t have—an ulterior motive, or anything. I swear.” The entire time he’s been backing against the closed (and locked!) door, and Lan Zhan has followed him, has maneuvered him there as if he reached into Wei Ying’s hindbrain to steer. He licks his lips. Being looked at so openly, knowing Lan Zhan is hard because he’s naked in front of him is too much.
His own traitorous dick is hardening and there’s nothing for him to use to hide. The more Lan Zhan stares at him, the more he flushes, hot all over his face, legs crossing as he presses his spine to the door, palms splaying there too. “Lan Zhan ah, why do you look like…” Like you want to eat me?
“Turn around,” Lan Zhan says.
Wei Ying’s mouth pops open. His dick throbs even harder. “What?”
But, without a reply, Lan Zhan grabs him by the hips and bodily twists him to face the other way around. His grip is sure, firm, even when Wei Ying shudders and his feet smack on the wooden floor, rooting himself back steady from the sudden movement.
He bites his lip. When he tries to hook his left foot around his right ankle to maybe stop feeling so exposed, Lan Zhan’s own foot is there, stopping him, tapping in what seems like warning. Wei Ying presses his burning forehead to the door, looks down at his pitiful erection, and realizes—maybe he’s about to ascend, because Lan Zhan, his best friend, his viral roommate, the curse that’s drowned every one of Wei Ying’s relationships and hook-ups from going past the beginning stages for the last three years, is visibly turned on by him, is into things like locking Wei Ying in his room and manhandling him into position.
Wei Ying is panting. “You want this?” he whispers.
“Spread your legs,” Lan Zhan replies.
“Is that a yes?” Wei Ying asks, and does as he was told, legs opening. He even edges backwards, spine arching and forearms crossing over his head because—well. Being looked at by Lan Zhan has always been the most thrilling thing in the world.
There’s a moment of damp breathing when Wei Ying is certain Lan Zhan is just going to make him stand there, wide and vulnerable, until he melts into a puddle of horny lava, but then he feels Lan Zhan stepping closer to him. He runs a hand down the left curve of Wei Ying’s butt-cheek, thumb coming to press in the meaty curve where it meets his thigh. He digs it in, pulls. Wei Ying swallows as his mouth goes dry, as cool air brushes against his hole. Fuck, Lan Zhan is barely touching him and he’s leaking precum, maybe enough to start dripping on the floor—he has never known so much shame in such a short amount of time. It doubles every sensation, pushes his mind hyper-aware nearly out of his body.
When Lan Zhan is satisfied from looking, his hand slides up the smooth arch of Wei Ying’s back, and Wei Ying can’t stop the full-bodied tremble he gives under it, the stuttered, whining exhale of breath. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. “Look at me.”
As Wei Ying gets his legs more fully under him again and turns, he breaths, “Lan Zhan, what the fuck,” because why does Lan Zhan get to be so hot like this when he’s already near-perfect? It makes no sense and it also makes all the sense in the world. He slumps back against the door because his face is burning, his dick is drooling, and Lan Zhan is still looking. Can see how much just this little bit of action has affected him.
Lan Zhan’s expression is reminiscent of when Jiang Cheng got pissed over that giant Jenga game and shoved him, just a little, because Jiang Cheng can be kind of an asshole and was drunk. Wei Ying tries to swallow again. “Please tell me this, uh, ends with me getting fucked? I think I’ve wanted your dick in me since I can remember. This is so unfair.”
That cracks through the dark glaze in Lan Zhan’s expression. His eyes do that thing at their edges, amused with him. Wei Ying gets bodily pressed against the door and he wraps greedy hands around Lan Zhan’s biceps and over his shoulders, whimpering when his dick meets smooth grey cotton. The friction is delicious. He grinds up, smearing little wet spots everywhere, maybe getting a little too excited and into it because Lan Zhan’s hands are on his waist and he’s kissing Wei Ying’s neck and it’s so good, Wei Ying has had approximately one hundred wet dreams that start out exactly like this.
Lan Zhan’s hands tighten. He mouths down to Wei Ying’s deltoid and bites, teeth blunt, pressing hard enough to make Wei Ying go still and cry out. “A-ah!” Heat rushes in after the immediate pain recedes, flowing down his entire body. “Again,” he says. “Bite me again, Lan Zhan. Bite me any—ah! Fuck!”
A harsher nip on the thin skin near his clavicle. Lan Zhan’s hands pin his hips back against the door to stop him frantically rocking because, oh—Wei Ying had been close. Just from being bitten, and held, just from the entire thing because it’s Lan Zhan. He whimpers at the pulses of unsatisfied, needy pleasure. “Let me come on you,” Wei Ying says. Bucks into the strong, unyielding hold, as Lan Zhan continues leaving little nips of sparking heat across his chest. “Lan Zhan, who would have thought—you’d be this kind of lover?”
Finally, Lan Zhan speaks. He pulls his mouth away from Wei Ying’s throbbing, sore skin. “You like it.” Still staring at Wei Ying, Lan Zhan touches his dick, trailing fingers all over the slick head to ease the slide.
“Yeah, yeah,” Wei Ying gasps. But then Lan Zhan starts jerking him off too fast, too rough, and Wei Ying arcs onto his tippy-toes, pushing into the touch and also pulling away except there’s nowhere to go. “AH! Fuck, Lan Zhan, slow down, I’m—” Lan Zhan doesn’t listen. He uses the other hand to fondle Wei Ying’s balls gently, such a soft touch compared to everything else, and Wei Ying clings on and writhes through the roughest orgasm he’s ever felt, exploding out of him too fast.
His mouth is open, gasping for air, when Lan Zhan presses a chaste kiss to the bottom lip and wipes cum across his stomach. Then Wei Ying is being picked up, hiked around Lan Zhan’s waist, and dropped onto the bed next to his phone and Lan Zhan’s laptop.
It’s like—the fourth time he’s been in Lan Zhan’s bed. The other times were innocent, and once he may have cried about something he can’t even remember. Which, embarrassing. Why is he thinking of this now, when Lan Zhan is moving their technology to a safer place and grabbing things and also getting naked? “Wait,” Wei Ying says, sitting halfway up. “I wanted to do that.”
Lan Zhan knee-walks from the bottom of the bed towards him, hard cock bobbing. “Too bad.” Holy shit, he’s so hot. And Wei Ying knew his dick was big—he had that feeling you get in your gut sometimes, plus during the crisis years he stared a lot at everyone in their speedos because, yeah, and Lan Zhan was no exception.
Wei Ying is figuring out his role in this by now. He squirms away from Lan Zhan on the bed just to see and grins when Lan Zhan’s hand clamps down over his ankle, yanking until he slips, back meeting the mattress hard. Again, he digs a foot in and pushes up, away. The covers ruck all around him.
Lan Zhan grabs him by the calf muscles and pulls again, effortlessly. Wei Ying is tiring, breathing hard already, so he throws his arms above his head and stretches his body out, showing off the lines of muscle and arching as Lan Zhan goes on all fours above him, enjoying the view, looking everywhere until it becomes a near-physical thing. Wei Ying squirms. He’s never felt so sexy, so wanted, especially as Lan Zhan bends and noses past his still-soft cock, pressing firmly to Wei Ying’s thigh and inhaling. Must be the shea butter. “You like it?” Wei Ying asks, wiggling a little.
Blinking up at him, Lan Zhan says, “You always smell like this.” He grabs Wei Ying by the thighs and pushes, until Wei Ying is bent, knees up by his head. Looking down, he prods a dry finger against Wei Ying’s hole, feeling it flex. “And you shave.”
“I’m a snack, Lan Zhan, we’ve discussed this,” Wei Ying says, biting his lip hard as Lan Zhan paws around in the mussed bed covers for a second before unearthing the bottle of lube he must have dropped while wrestling Wei Ying. “I have standards. Don’t you?”
“I’m looking at them,” Lan Zhan replies, and slicks his fingers up before pushing one right in, twisting it around, making Wei Ying choke out some garbled nonsense. He shakes as Lan Zhan pushes another in too soon, thighs twitching where they’re spread wide open. If he comes again, early, from this after he already came just from getting bitten against a door, he’ll…
Wei Ying whines, and starts twisting away as Lan Zhan’s wrist flexes with intent, curling, searching. “Don’t—don’t! Just put it in! Lan Zhan!” He jolts, moaning. Lan Zhan’s eyes flick up to his face. With a wet, delirious chuckle, Wei Ying tosses his head back against the pillows. “Ah, fuck, fuck you if you make me come again.”
Challenge accepted, Lan Zhan starts working his other, lubed-up hand across Wei Ying’s steadily thickening dick until it's full again, if a little more sensitive than before. Lan Zhan is so attentive. What did Wei Ying expect—he knows how Lan Zhan is. Wei Ying tenses, toes curling hard.
His gasps as the sounds of him being fingered echo in the room, and he closes his eyes, losing himself to it, to Lan Zhan’s control, but at the last moment he pulls his hands away from Wei Ying’s cock and out of him and it’s—it’s the worst, meanest thing anyone has ever done to Wei Ying. The promise of a mind-blowing orgasm fizzles away. Dull pulses still run through his ass, and he cries out, oversensitive again with nothing to show for it. He groans. “Lan Zhan! Are you serious?”
“Thought you didn’t want to come?” Lan Zhan replies. He lets Wei Ying’s legs settle back down, spread around his knees. Then he starts rolling on a condom.
Wei Ying stares down, then back up. “Is this because of my shorts? Have you really been staring at my ass this entire time? Building all of this up? Jiang Cheng wasn’t lying?”
Lan Zhan drags him closer again, tucking pillows up under his hips. Wei Ying flexes his core muscles, waiting, as Lan Zhan nuzzles his dick back and forth in the cleft of his ass before fitting it against him. “Those shorts,” Lan Zhan says. He pushes in a little, and Wei Ying exhales hard, swallowing a whimper. “Next time, I’ll rip them off.” The image must fill him with indescribable emotion, because in the next moment he’s grabbing Wei Ying by the waist and shoving in, not stopping for a single breath. All the chiming bells from next time?! in Wei Ying’s head rattle abruptly silent.
Wei Ying cries out, “It’s too big! Ow!” He writhes, even as Lan Zhan puts a delicious amount of weight into his hold, smushing Wei Ying down into the bed. “Too big, it hurts, take it out!” The stretch does burn—nothing Wei Ying can’t handle. He’s hot all over. Punched deep in the guts by that thing Lan Zhan calls a dick. “I can’t take it.”
“I know you can,” Lan Zhan says. Then starts fucking him, hard and fast from the start.
Wei Ying’s arms slap across the bed, digging in, looking for a tether to reality as the burning, oversensitive sparks make him feel oxygen-deprived, holding on until it’s impossible to not cry out, chest heaving, tears building in the corners of his eyes. Lan Zhan rests a hand across his stomach, light pressure. His balls are sticky from the lube, slapping Wei Ying with every thrust. “Please, pl-ease, please,” Wei Ying starts gasping.
Arching over him, hips angling deeper, Lan Zhan is suddenly there, in his face, mouthing at his lips until he opens them wider, lets their tongues touch and slide together. He curls his arms under and around Wei Ying’s shoulders. Pressed together like this, Wei Ying’s dick is trapped between them, rubbing with each smack, and it’s like being shocked, liquefying every nerve in his body until he’s singing with pain-pleasure down to the soles of his feet.
“Hmn, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says in his ear. He’s moaning softly, and Wei Ying pulls himself up out of the water long enough to grab him by the roots of the hair, kiss him harder until even his lips are aching, until Lan Zhan feels inspired again and drags them between his teeth. Bite, pull, bite, pull. Wei Ying is one giant throb.
Then Lan Zhan reaches down and wraps a hand around his dick, and Wei Ying stutters, “I can’t, Lan Zhan, I can’t!”
“You will,” Lan Zhan says.
Wei Ying’s chest cracks open with a near-sob. But he’s too sensitive for anything less than one hundred percent, needs— “Harder, Lan Zhan, fuck me harder, I will, I can come—oh, there, there—” Every thought flies out of his head as Lan Zhan starts thrusting into him with near-mechanic strength, showing no signs of fatigue even as Wei Ying tightens, eyes shut, body rolling up into the hand stripping against him until he bursts, coming so hard he arches and slams back down, crying incoherently.
Lan Zhan fucks him through it, grunting until he too stills, and then they’re laying there together, panting.
Wei Ying is so sweaty he feels like he’ll slip right off the bed. Lan Zhan’s cock pulses hot, still inside of him. He wipes his face in the covers, sighing in pure indulgence, and lets Lan Zhan move his legs around and pull out without a fuss.
“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks, as the bed dips for the second time, his weight returning. Subtext: you’re being quiet, was that okay, are you okay?
“I can’t think,” Wei Ying replies. “I have no thoughts left.”
“What about the video?” Lan Zhan says. He hands him his phone before Wei Ying can even confirms he wants it, and he hums with lazy satisfaction, wiggling to lay on Lan Zhan’s chest while opening TikTok to his drafts.
The video starts playing. There’s his feet. The door. Lan Zhan on the bed, checking him out and being surprised. But as the camera sits there, unmoving, Wei Ying frozen behind it, the look in Lan Zhan’s eyes transforms to hungry lust as he starts to get up. They hold the promise for everything that just happened, and it makes Wei Ying hot all over again. “I think I’ll have to tag this NSFW, or something,” Wei Ying mutters. “Or maybe I won’t post it at all. My followers will never shut up.”
Lan Zhan is tickling fingers back and forth over his shoulder. “That’s a bad thing?”
“Anyone who watches this is gonna know I got fucked out of my mind once it cut out,” Wei Ying says. “I already get hundreds of comments on my thirst videos calling me a twink. Give me a fucking break.”
Kissing him on the rounded bone, Lan Zhan murmurs, “You aren’t?”
Before Wei Ying can climb out of the bed, Lan Zhan grabs him by the elbow and pins him back down, kissing his neck over the bites left there. Wei Ying groans. Reaches out and makes sure his phone is settled on the bedside table before hooking his legs back up around Lan Zhan’s waist.