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When it comes to the matter of anal insertion, Wei Ying is far from inexperienced. Some might even argue that he’s too experienced, but as a guy coming from a background of having a high sex drive, a low income, and easy access to the vegetable aisle at the supermarket, he’s more than used to making do with just about whatever he can get his hands on.
Miraculously, he hadn’t experienced any mishaps back then. And when he’d started making enough money to be able to afford higher quality, non-perishable dildos, he had assumed that he was out of the woods.
He had been wrong.
Naked and spread wide on his bed, as he often finds himself, it takes him a while to realise that something is amiss. But that’s mostly because Lan Zhan is still distractingly mouthing at his neck. The toy in Wei Ying’s ass had slid into him again, dragging against his prostate, making him clench and shudder, and then suddenly, it had just stopped.
Then slowly, Lan Zhan stops, taking his teeth out of Wei Ying’s skin.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying groans, nails digging into Lan Zhan’s shoulders pitifully as he pulls away from him. Wei Ying sits up on his elbows, and says “Stop being such a tease– oh,” he gasps as Lan Zhan suddenly, almost distractedly, pushes him onto his back again, not looking at his face.
“Stay still,” Lan Zhan says, and then pushes one of Wei Ying’s knees up against his chest to get a better look at him. Wei Ying obligingly stares up at the ceiling and pants. It’s not like this is anything too out of the ordinary; Lan Zhan can be very bossy when his dick is hard.
But then Lan Zhan pensively says, “Hm,” and alarm bells start to ring in Wei Ying’s sex-hormone-addled brain.
Because that’s... not generally a remark he tends to make when he’s face-to-hole with Wei Ying’s ass. Shockingly filthy dirty talk and wordless grunts? Yes. Noises that one might hear from a person boredly considering a set of dish towels on sale? No.
Wei Ying tenses. The dildo is… still inside him. He can feel it, stretching him, moving when he clenches. But Lan Zhan... isn’t touching it.
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says warily.
He doesn’t even want to have to ask the question. There’s no way.
Lan Zhan’s eyes flick back up to Wei Ying’s face like he just remembered that he’s here. Then he slackens his tight grip on Wei Ying’s thigh, rubbing the area softly, being suspiciously sweet for a man who had recently been entertaining himself by sexually torturing Wei Ying to tears while contentedly ignoring all of his pleas for his dick.
“Yes?” Lan Zhan says mildly.
“What’s wrong?” Wei Ying asks finally, eyebrows drawn together. “Is everything okay?”
Thumbs stroking circles into his skin as if to comfort him, Lan Zhan says, “Don’t panic.”
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, sitting up on his elbows. “What did you do to my ass?”
“Nothing,” Lan Zhan says, convincing nobody. “But we need to go to the hospital.”
Wei Ying gapes at him.
“‘Nothing but we need to go to the hospital’?” he squawks incredulously, making a scramble to his feet, only to be gently wrestled back onto the bed by Lan Zhan again. “ Let me go,” he demands, wriggling out of Lan Zhan’s grasp.
Lan Zhan does not let him go.
“Stop fighting. It’s too far inside you for me to see,” Lan Zhan says as he lovingly incapacitates him, sitting on top of him to keep him in place. Wei Ying squeals. “I’m worried if you move around too much, it’ll move too,” Lan Zhan says, holding both of Wei Ying’s wrists against the mattress. “Wei Ying, please,” he says.
“I have to at least try to get it out,” Wei Ying insists, heart slamming against his chest, half from the exertion, half from the whiplash of being edged to an explosive orgasm and then suddenly becoming the main character in a sitcom that should have ended three seasons ago. And he’d liked that toy too. Now it had turned on him.
He feels betrayed.
“How do you feel?” Lan Zhan says, eyes searching his face. “Does it hurt?”
Wei Ying opens his mouth to be dramatic, but then notices the way Lan Zhan’s face is pinched with worry.
Wei Ying takes a deep breath and takes stock of his below the waist situation. He doesn’t feel any pain, thankfully; on the contrary, he still feels good. Full.
He lets out a sound of despair.
Lan Zhan looks anxious. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
“No!” Wei Ying says. “No, I am not getting in a fucking ambulance just because of– Look, you try to pull it out.”
He lets out a breath and then tries to unclench despite never having felt more tense in his life. This isn’t happening. There’s no way this is happening to him. This is the stuff of movies and surreal news articles. Wei Ying refuses to be a night shift nurse’s funny story.
Lan Zhan looks unsure.
“I’m sure doctors see things like this all the time,” he attempts to reason.
Wei Ying glares.
“Lan Zhan, either pull it out or get off me so I can do it myself or I’m going to start biting,” he threatens. “And not in a sexy way.”
“I have to save you from yourself,” Lan Zhan says softly. “I took vows.”
“We aren’t married.”
“Not to you. To Yanli. When we started dating.”
Wei Ying rolls his eyes.
“I am saving myself,” Wei Ying tells him. “From the mortification of having to have a sex toy pulled from the depths of my ass by a medical professional.”
“It… might not be so bad,” Lan Zhan tries. Wei Ying levels him with a rare, silent stare. Lan Zhan visibly restrategizes. “The toy is smooth and rounded at both ends. Hard to grip,” he reasons. Wei Ying swallows. This very toy, when lubed, has slipped out of his grasp more times than he can count. Just, somewhat miraculously, never into his ass before.
He’s not going to be able to get it out. Lan Zhan is right.
He’s going to have to go to the hospital.
Potentially undergo some sort of surgical procedure.
His dick is still hard.
Wei Ying closes his eyes slowly. He expects tears to come forth next, but instead of a sob, what burbles out of his mouth is laughter. A stream of helpless, endless giggles.
“What the fuck. What the fuck,” he groans, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. Lan Zhan pets his stomach gently, having slowly relaxed his grip now that it seemed like Wei Ying wasn’t going to shove his fingers knuckle-deep in his ass at the next available opportunity.
“Maybe try not to... Clench. So much,” Lan Zhan suggests mildly, fingers splaying comfortingly across Wei Ying’s belly. “You do that when you laugh.”
Wei Ying feels a little insane.
“You really can’t see it?” he asks, hands falling from his face, eyes blinking open again. Lan Zhan shakes his head. Wei Ying hums musingly, leaning into the delirium. “Maybe if you fuck me deep enough it’ll come out of my mouth.”
Lan Zhan seems to honestly consider that for a second, before shaking his head again.
“You’ll choke,” he says apologetically.
“Yes,” Wei Ying says. “Clearly, the only problem with that idea. You know this wouldn’t have happened if you’d just fucked me when I asked?”
Lan Zhan doesn’t quite seem guilty enough about the situation to give Wei Ying a free pass to being a little shit.
“Or if you bought proper anal toys with a flared base instead of cheap ones intended for vaginal use,” he tells Wei Ying, and yeah, alright, fine, so maybe Wei Ying hadn’t completely stopped skimping out when it came to his sex toy budget. Old habits die hard.
“Whatever. Just go call us an Uber,” Wei Ying sniffs, folding his arms.
First, Lan Zhan cleans the sweat and jizz off of them both, and then he dresses Wei Ying up. Wei Ying sullenly raises his arms so Lan Zhan can slide a soft hoodie over his head, then lays back down flat again, and then they finally have to address the fact that they’re both still hard.
Lan Zhan’s own erection seems to have flagged slightly in the space of time that he was getting them both clothes to wear to the hospital, but the longer he stares down at and handles Wei Ying’s now half naked body, the more swollen his dick becomes.
Without a word, Lan Zhan reaches out to wrap his fist around Wei Ying’s dick. Wei Ying gasps and bucks, taken by surprise.
“Oh,” he chokes out. Lan Zhan squeezes the base and strokes upwards. “Warn a guy– but– ngh– f– feel free to continue,” he pants. Lan Zhan stops touching him just as suddenly.
“Too much… movement,” he says apologetically, eyes on Wei Ying’s spasming hole. “Sorry.”
Wei Ying whines. “I’ll stop. I can control it,” he offers.
“You can’t control anything you do during sex. You can barely even speak sometimes,” Lan Zhan reminds him, and then reaches for the pair of underwear he brought along with him, sliding them up Wei Ying’s legs.
Wei Ying can’t believe he’s going to have to attend the ER with a boner due to the fact that his apparent sinkhole of a body is at risk of sucking up the dildo it’s got trapped inside it if he dares release himself, but also, he totally can. Of course this would happen to him. Of course.
“Are you going to get off?” Wei Ying asks icily, eyeing Lan Zhan’s cock with a mixture of contempt and lust.
“Out of respect for you, I will abstain,” says Lan Zhan.
Getting downstairs and into the Uber is a task and a half because Wei Ying refuses Lan Zhan’s offer to carry him – he does have some dignity left – also because every time he moves, so does the toy. It’s extremely distracting, the way it rubs against his walls, shifting minutely with every careful step, every slow tilt of his hips. Halfway down the staircase, it grinds right into his prostate and he pauses with a startled gasp, a hand flying to his gut as if he could reposition from the outside. Lan Zhan, half a step behind Wei Ying, grabs him by the waist to steady him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, low and serious. Wei Ying lets out a choked groan. “Wei Ying, what is it?”
“What if it just. Keeps going,” Wei Ying breathes, gripping the banister with a shaky hand. ”What if it gets so deep that they can’t even get it out?”
“It won’t,” Lan Zhan says, fingers tightening on him, sounding bizarrely certain. “I won’t let that happen, Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying looks up at his boyfriend’s sweet, earnest expression and bites his tongue against asking how the fuck he plans to stop it. If the traitor currently lodged deep within his guts decides to continue along on its travels, who are either of them to say no?
“Okay,” Wei Ying says tiredly, because there’s no point in arguing the matter.
He’ll be okay because Lan Zhan said so. Simple.
The Uber ride is tense.
Every pothole, every bump in the road, is like a jolt right to Wei Ying’s core. His eyes squeeze shut as he feels the dildo move inside him, jabbing insistently at his prostate, keeping him stretched and aroused. He doesn’t realise he’s panting quietly until he feels Lan Zhan’s hand swipe along his forehead, and then his neck, like he sometimes does when Wei Ying’s feeling under the weather and he’s checking if he has a fever.
“You’re sweating,” Lan Zhan whispers. “Are you in pain?”
“No,” Wei Ying responds, just as quietly. “Just. Trying not to cream my pants,” he says, voice strained.
Lan Zhan reaches for his wallet, before leaning forward to slip the driver a folded bill and request that he step on it.
When they arrive at the hospital, Wei Ying’s throat closes up entirely with the shame of it all.
He stands silently by Lan Zhan’s side while he gives the receptionist Wei Ying’s details, and then the more sordid details, regarding what exactly they’re here for. To her credit, she barely flinches. Maybe this really is a common occurrence. Maybe they get greedy bottoms with immovable silicone stuck in their orifices swanning in and out of here everyday.
Because of the sensitivity of the matter, they’re led into a private examination room, where a nurse writes a bunch of stuff down on his clipboard regarding the material and size of the dildo, how long it’s been there for, and how Wei Ying is feeling, and then he tells them they’ll need to hang around in the waiting room for a doctor.
“What are our options?” asks Lan Zhan before they head back out there. Wei Ying continues to avoid eye contact with everybody and be grateful for his boyfriend’s presence.
“Well that depends on how far the object has travelled. You said you couldn’t fish it out with your fingers?” confirms the nurse.
“Yes, but I’m not sure if that means anything. He’s very tight,” Lan Zhan explains. Wei Ying takes back his earlier feelings of thankfulness and prays to die.
“Ah,” says the nurse after a beat. “Well, either way, the doctor will try to see if he can open him up and remove the object before anything. Unfortunately, if it is too deep inside, we will need to perform an X-ray and then operate on him as soon as possible, in order to prevent it from entering his digestive system.”
Very cool.
The nurse looks at Wei Ying.
“Is there anyone else you want me to call for you in the meantime?” he asks. Wei Ying glances up finally, and notices the guy has this meaningful look on his face, like he’s worried about him, and not solely because of the stick of plastic apparently en-route to his intestines.
“No,” Wei Ying says; a little too urgently, but really, none of his friends or family can ever, ever know. God, he can just imagine the jokes. The custom-made cards that will read, “Sorry About Your Hole!” in elaborate cursive font.
The nurse looks vaguely alarmed at Wei Ying’s panic. “Are you sure? Parents, friends?”
“Lan Zhan is my boyfriend,” Wei Ying explains, looping an arm around Lan Zhan’s and trying to look very much like someone who isn’t being held hostage by an over-controlling sexual deviant, which seems to be this nurse’s concern. “I’m fine with just him.”
He nods. “Okay,” he says. “But if you change your mind…”
“I won’t,” Wei Ying assures him.
With that, they’re ushered back to the waiting room again. Lan Zhan rubs Wei Ying’s back as he walks, seemingly unmoved by the indirect accusation of being some lecherous criminal.
“I’m sure he meant well,” Wei Ying tells him anyway. Lan Zhan remains unperturbed.
“It was the responsible thing to do. You did seem very uncomfortable.”
“I wonder why,” Wei Ying deadpans.
“Are you sure you don’t want to tell anybody?” he asks. “Maybe your sister should know, at the very least. Especially if you end up having to undergo–”
“No!” Wei Ying yells again, horrified at the idea of telling either sibling about his fucking ass surgery. The nurse, halfway down the hallway in the opposite direction, whirls around to look at them. Wei Ying gives a smile and wave he hopes is reassuring. Frowning, the nurse turns again and continues along.
“I’m going to end up being escorted out of here by the police,” Lan Zhan says, sounding amused more than anything.
“It will be no more than your due,” Wei Ying responds, tone grave.
Just as when they arrived, there are only four people in the waiting room, which is good, because it means there are less witnesses because unfortunately, all of them seem to have heard the receptionist talking about “foreign object insertion” earlier. Wei Ying can nearly pinpoint the moment they all piece together the other visible clues that are: his limp, his perpetually flushed face, and Lan Zhan’s vaguely sheepish expression.
There’s also the fact that neither of them sit down. Wei Ying, because he physically can’t do so without feeling like he’s going to explode. Lan Zhan, out of solidarity. The sensation of being stuffed full with no end in sight, usually incredibly arousing, is now starting to edge towards irritation. Wei Ying tilts his head back against the wall behind him and lets his eyes slide shut.
“Can I get you anything?” asks Lan Zhan.
“A time machine,” Wei Ying replies morosely. Lan Zhan puts his hand on Wei Ying shoulder, massaging encouragingly. Wei Ying’s insides flutter in response, like they always do when Lan Zhan touches him; only this time, they’re fluttering around something designed to get him off.
At his sharp intake of breath, Lan Zhan pauses his ministrations and slowly slides his hand over to envelope Wei Ying’s fingers instead.
“This is so embarrassing,” Wei Ying whimpers, eyes sliding shut. He strokes a hand over his belly again, wishing he could just bounce around a little and squeeze it out of himself, like a ketchup packet. “I feel like I’m about to go into labour or something.”
He glances at Lan Zhan to find his eyes glazed in thought.
“Hm,” he murmurs, a telling husk to his voice.
Wei Ying, eyes rolling, tucks that away in a ‘for later’ file in his brain and anticipates some weirdly intentional sex in their future. Then, he jabs Lan Zhan with his elbow.
“Let’s focus on one foreign bodily object at a time here,” he says. Lan Zhan bows his head, admonished.
To Wei Ying’s immense chagrin, he is still very much erect when the time comes to show the doctor his naked lower body. He steps outside to let Wei Ying undress, and then Lan Zhan helps him up onto the examination table and murmurs words of encouragement every time Wei Ying starts to look like he’s about to throw himself out the window.
“It could be worse,” Lan Zhan says softly. “It could be vibrating.”
Looking into the middle distance, Wei Ying deadpans, “Yes, on the bright side, at least I’m not orgasming uncontrollably all over this hospital room.”
Lan Zhan gives him fortifying headpats that Wei Ying leans helplessly into.
Laying on his back with his ugly, backless hospital gown lifted to his waist while an older man with an impassive expression on his face examines his hole, Wei Ying reflects on his life’s choices.
The doctor had given him the whole ‘nothing to be ashamed of’ spiel, but at this point, Wei Ying can’t help but feel like everyone who isn’t currently facing the looming possibility of undergoing a serious medical procedure to remove a sex toy, while sporting wood like Lan Zhan watching him put on lotion, needs to shut the fuck up about feelings of shame and appropriate times to have them.
The doctor ends up putting him in stirrups and using a speculum on him, which is all sorts of humiliating. Lan Zhan, feigning purely clinical interest, saunters over to the other end of the bench to observe the doctor and to get a good look at where his dick lives for several hours out of every week.
“You’re not in any pain?” asks the doctor after a moment, sounding a little surprised.
“Other than the pain of intense embarrassment, no,” Wei Ying tells him.
“It’s gotten quite deep,” he says, adjusting the speculum some more, stretching him wider. Lan Zhan’s eyes gleam. “But there’s still a chance of non-surgical extraction. I asked because most patients would be experiencing quite some discomfort by now, but you seem fine. You have quite a resilient rectum.”
“Thank you?” Wei Ying says at the same time that Lan Zhan murmurs, “Thank you.”
The doctor looks mildly alarmed.
Wei Ying’s eyes slide closed.
Ever the professional, the doctor breezes on. “I’m going to attempt a removal with forceps. If all goes well, that will be the end of it, but if not, I’m afraid we will need to get you to imaging and then prep you for the operating room.”
“Mm. Okay,” Wei Ying says tiredly.
The doctor nods, turning to remove his gloves and wash his hands. “Perfect. I’ll call in a nurse to get you ready and set up your IV. Your file said you were okay with the use of painkillers?” he confirms.
“Yes,” Wei Ying says emphatically. “I’m perfectly okay with any amount of drugs.”
“Got it. The nurse will be with you soon,” the doctor says. He finally leaves again. Wei Ying slides his gaze over to Lan Zhan.
“Stop staring at it, you pervert,” Wei Ying grumbles. Lan Zhan glances up at Wei Ying with a perplexed look on his face, like he’s concerned Wei Ying might be revoking all hole privileges as punishment.
“Why?”
“I don’t want you seeing it all... stretched out like that.” Lan Zhan blinks. “Stretched out with medical instruments,” Wei Ying elaborates sullenly.
Lan Zhan, seeming to be stifling a smile, obligingly comes to stand by his side again.
“You’re going to be okay, Wei Ying,” he tells him. The headpats resume. “I saw it. The toy. It hasn’t gone too far. Just far enough to be out of direct reach.”
“That little bastard.”
“The doctor is skilled. He has very steady hands.”
“Yeah I’m sure you got a great look at his steady hands. Stop being so reassuring,” Wei Ying huffs, in the mood to pick a fight out of nothing, even as he rubs his head against Lan Zhan’s palm so he’ll keep making that nice, circular massaging motion with his fingers. “I’m in stirrups. Spread wide open. How does that make you and your newfound impregnation kink feel?” he asks, lowering his voice.
“Are you trying to make me hard?” Lan Zhan asks. Wei Ying shrugs innocently. “Do you think I’m not already?” Lan Zhan asks.
Wei Ying glances down, and then lifts up Lan Zhan’s oversized sweatshirt to get a good look at his crotch.
Huh. So he is.
“Good,” Wei Ying says triumphantly. At least they’re both uncomfortable.
In preparation for the ordeal, they get Lan Zhan a stool, to sit by Wei Ying. Thankfully, because it’s not a major surgery, he can stay, as long as he doesn’t touch anything.
The nurse had hooked Wei Ying up to some scary-looking machines, as well as some bags of liquid that had intimidating names; not that any of that matters now that the cocktail of painkillers and muscle relaxants have worked their way into Wei Ying’s bloodstream.
“How are you feeling?” Lan Zhan asks, holding his hand.
“Spectacular,” Wei Ying breathes. Between his legs, the doctor wields several torture instruments. Wei Ying smiles serenely. “I can’t even feel my ass.”
“You’re high,” Lan Zhan says.
“Mmm,” Wei Ying hums, eyelids fluttering. “You’re taking the fact that another man is fingering my asshole oddly well.”
“I think I can allow it just this once.”
“Yeah?” Wei Ying pouts, reaching out to tug on Lan Zhan’s bangs. “You gonna rail me about it later though?”
Lan Zhan says, “You are in no position to be railed.”
Wei Ying’s pout deepens. “I’m literally in stirrups.”
“I would advise abstaining from all anal sex activities for at least the next forty-eight hours,” comes a woman’s voice. The nurse. Wei Ying’s head rolls around to blink at her. Huh. He had forgotten other people could hear him.
“Oh.” He makes a face. “Just the tip?” he asks hopefully. Her eyes crinkle behind her facemask, like she’s laughing.
“Not until you recover,” she says again, then looks at Lan Zhan pointedly. “It’s important to ensure he heals properly.”
Lan Zhan nods. He doesn’t seem to mind the array of people who seem to be concerned for the integrity of Wei Ying’s hole, having made the assumption that Lan Zhan is uncaringly pushing him too far in the bedroom.
“It was my dildo,” Wei Ying confesses, awash with a sudden wave of guilt over letting everyone eye Lan Zhan like he’s some selfish pervert all day. He can be a selfish pervert; but Wei Ying enjoys it. “I made him use it on me. I asked for it deeper. This is all my fault–”
“It’s okay,” Lan Zhan hushes him, touching his face, his hair. “No one is angry with you, Wei Ying. We just want you to feel better.”
Wei Ying lets out a shuddering breath and then gives a shaky nod. Lan Zhan smiles and strokes his thumb over Wei Ying’s cheek. Warmth floods him. Something starts to beep loudly but Wei Ying is on too many drugs to figure out what it is.
“Okay,” he says wetly, feeling settled again. “Okay. Ow,” he cries as the nurse, having been mainly handing the doctor his tools and lightly prodding at Wei Ying’s belly up ‘til now, suddenly presses down on his stomach very firmly. It looks like they’re going to give him the ketchup packet treatment after all. Wei Ying’s face screws up; he can’t quite feel the pain, but he feels his guts twist, nausea rising in his throat.
“This is the worst part; you’re almost there,” comes the doctor. “Just keep breathing deeply.”
Wei Ying can’t feel his face. His brain feels like static.
“I can’t remember how,” he whines, panicking.
Lan Zhan’s back straightens, head turning in the direction of the ongoing medical proceedings.
“He’s just a little loopy from the narcotics,” the nurse explains to Lan Zhan. “His vitals are steady, he can breathe fine.”
“You don’t know that. What if it ends up suffocating me for real,” Wei Ying says, wide-eyed.
“Got it,” comes the doctor suddenly. There’s a small flurry of activity that takes place outside of Wei Ying’s periphery. Lan Zhan squeezes his hand gently.
“It’s out,” he says. “You did it.”
“Me and my resilient rectum,” Wei Ying says with an edge of hysteria.
“I’m so proud of you both,” Lan Zhan says.
Afterwards, Lan Zhan helps him get dressed again for the second time. The nurse comes in and asks if they would like to keep the toy and they both look at Wei Ying who gives a firm, “Fuck no.”
As Lan Zhan ties Wei Ying’s shoelaces for him, Wei Ying is suddenly overcome with emotion about this journey they’ve been on together. Emotion and narcotics.
“Lan Zhan, I would have a hundred ass surgeries for you,” he proclaims. Lan Zhan links their fingers together.
“And I, you,” Lan Zhan says automatically. “But let’s not.”
Wei Ying hums contentedly. “Okay.”
Wei Ying feels fine in the morning.
Okay he’s still a little loopy from the drugs and his ass could be less tender, but Lan Zhan has fucked him when he was in worse shape so Wei Ying doesn’t see what the big deal is.
He says as much one or ten (or fifty) times during the day. In bed before they get up, in the shower, while they’re brushing their teeth, over text while Lan Zhan is at work and Wei Ying is at home taking a sick day to recover from what he vaguely describes as ‘a cold.’ His language gets increasingly colourful as the hours tick by and his ass remains unfucked but Lan Zhan remains resolute.
“Forty-eight hours. You heard what the doctor said,” he keeps saying. Well, he said it one time. The first time Wei Ying asked for it. After that, he just started ignoring it when Wei Ying complained or rubbed up against him or sent him nudes from the sofa while he was at work.
Rude.
That evening, when Lan Zhan kisses him hello, its carefully chaste instead of slow and passionate like he’s used to. Wei Ying doesn’t see any sign of Lan Zhan budging on the matter, so after dinner, when they settle down to watch something on T.V., Wei Ying lays with his head resting in Lan Zhan’s lap, reaches into his own pants, and pulls his dick out.
Aside from the little catch in his breath when he sees what Wei Ying is doing, Lan Zhan doesn’t react. As he starts to stroke himself, sighing softly, he feels Lan Zhan growing hard beneath his head. He doesn’t move to touch, and so Wei Ying doesn’t touch either. If he wants to get off, he knows where he can shove it. Literally.
But then things backfire a little when Lan Zhan, almost absently, cards his fingers through Wei Ying’s loose hair. Wei Ying sucks in a breath, glancing up at him to find his lust-darkened gaze trailing over his body.
“Do it properly,” Lan Zhan tells him, fingers digging into his scalp. “Get it wet.”
Shivering, Wei Ying releases his cock, bringing a hand to his mouth and licking a stripe along his palm before reaching back down to stroke himself again.
Lan Zhan tugs on his hair harshly, making Wei Ying moan.
“Properly,” he repeats, tone low and chastising. “Suck on your fingers.”
Breaths coming faster, Wei Ying pushes two of his fingers into his mouth, tongue running over them eagerly. He blinks up at Lan Zhan, who watches him for a long moment before yanking Wei Ying’s head out of his lap, shoving him back into the sofa, and straddling his chest.
It’s not exactly how he planned for things to go, but it’s enough that Wei Ying watches him pull out his dick with a serene, smug expression on his face. So of course, the first thing Lan Zhan does is slap his cock against his cheek.
“Brat,” he says.
Wei Ying hums contentedly.
Lan Zhan ends up jerking off over his face, a hand against Wei Ying’s chest to keep him in place. He slides his dick against his lips, cock dripping precome into his mouth, onto his cheeks, his chin. He feeds it to him, fucking into his mouth, making his cheeks bulge.
Wei Ying moans, squirming, trying to sit up for more, but the grounding weight of Lan Zhan on top of him keeps him in place.
“Open,” Lan Zhan grunts, and Wei Ying does it without thinking. “Let me see your tongue.”
He slides in and doesn’t stop until he hits the back of Wei Ying’s throat. Wei Ying swallows, lips stretched around the thick shaft. He squeezes and tugs at his own cock, drooling and flushed, against his stomach. He’s going to come so fucking hard, just like this, Lan Zhan using his mouth in place of his hole.
When Lan Zhan comes, he groans and floods Wei Ying’s mouth. Then, breathing hard, he reaches back and wraps his fingers tight around Wei Ying’s softening cock, lips pulling up in a smile when Wei Ying squeals.
“You’re the worst,” Wei Ying mutters lovingly.
Lan Zhan hums. “Are you feeling better? Answer like somebody who values their health more than sex.”
Wei Ying flicks his thigh. “I feel fine,” he says. Lan Zhan stares at him. Averting his gaze, Wei Ying admits, “Okay, it does kind of hurt sometimes. But only when I sit down too hard. But forty-eight hours is such a long time,” he complains.
Lan Zhan strokes his cheek. “I’ll make it worth it.” He pats Wei Ying’s ass. “Kiss it better.”
Wei Ying makes his eyes go big and asking. “Yeah?” he breathes, shamelessly trying to tempt him into giving in early.
All it gets him is another mouthful of cock.
Wei Ying can’t say he minds.