Work Text:
They often do it on weekends.
It’s a slow saturday, a beautiful snowy morning outside, the world hidden behind frosted windows. All Wei Ying knows is that the sky is cloudy, and that Lan Zhan has the whole day to spend with him. He already has an idea what to do with it.
“I want to be collared today, Lan Zhan,” says Wei Ying while they’re having breakfast. He spins his spoon in his congee, playing with it, not feeling like eating—hoping that Lan Zhan will notice and maybe reprimand him. Maybe.
Lan Zhan slows down his chewing, eyes barely moving from his colourful selection of vegetables. He swallows and entertains the idea for a second before dismissing it. “Eat,” he tells him. “We’ll think about it afterwards.”
Wei Ying hums. He feels warm flutters in his belly, looks down at his bowl and pets the surface of the congee with his spoon. Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything else about it.
In the past Wei Ying would not have been able to wake up early enough to join Lan Zhan for any kind of breakfast. Today, he is there, after a round of kisses and instructions—or in other words—after a very lazy morning. He feels like a puddle, because Lan Zhan knows how to put him into a mood where Wei Ying doesn’t want to think. Or eat. Or to do anything other than be there for Lan Zhan, to be there and to be taken care of. To be directed.
He knows he has to eat now that Lan Zhan has told him to. He eyes the bottle of chili oil on top of their stove. He thinks about wearing a collar today and picks up a spoonful of congee. Lan Zhan will indulge him, he knows. He just has to behave and be patient.
Lan Zhan notices his wandering gaze. “Do you want the bottle, Wei Ying?” he asks. Because of course he does.
Wei Ying nods, pouty. Appearing cute.
Lan Zhan stands up to fetch the bottle. He opens it and pours it into Wei Ying’s bowl without asking. Wei Ying grabs his forearm and nuzzles his face into it, as a thank you. Lan Zhan knows him so well.
After putting the bottle away, Lan Zhan threads his fingers through Wei Ying’s hair and calls his name softly. “Wei Ying. Let me do your hair today.”
Wei Ying smiles. “Mm-hm.”
—
Wei Ying doesn’t know he is in luck. Very recently, Lan Zhan has bought him a brand new set. It’s a collar made out of white faux leather, with a pressed cloud pattern and handmade sewings, as well as a matching leash.
“Undress,” says Lan Zhan, because pets don’t wear clothes. Lan Zhan gives him the command like he knows Wei Ying wants it.
Wei Ying obeys, expectant of what’s to come.
Lan Zhan makes a round through the apartment, making sure the heating is on, the air inside the living room warm and nice, the windows and their balcony door closed. Their furniture style is a mixture of dark wood and white surfaces, the most prominent eye catcher being the big, white fluffy mat.
That is where Wei Ying will wait.
Lan Zhan goes to change. Their bedroom closet houses a section just for this. He eyes the selection of different suits, garments, ties, suspenders, gloves—and with a nice flash of a memory of Wei Ying writhing on the bed—lacy underwear. He runs his hand over the corners of the row of hangers and lands his eyes on the one on the very left.
He puts on the black slacks he often uses during sessions with Wei Ying, and matches it with a white dress shirt which Wei Ying had ironed last week. He will not be needing the vest or the jacket. As a last minute touch up he picks a pair of black leather half-gloves, puts his hair up into a bun above the undercut and finds the black cardboard box with a neat silk ribbon on it.
With care, he takes the leash and the collar with him and returns to the living room. He finds Wei Ying, who has undressed, and is silently waiting for him with his hands held in fists above his thighs. He sits on his knees, eyes closed and patient, like a good pet waiting for his owner.
When Lan Zhan walks to the room, Wei Ying’s eyes perk up. He meets Lan Zhan’s gaze with a smile.
He’s so excited. He loves this bit—loves to be leashed by Lan Zhan. He’s not in the headspace yet, really, but it won’t take long. He’s already feeling so warm. The fact that he’ll be commanded, treated like a house pet is enough to make him lightheaded. He likes it, the safety he has with Lan Zhan, the way Lan Zhan knows how to treat him.
When he sees what Lan Zhan is holding, his expression changes to a surprised one. It’s white. And pretty. And there’s a leash. He doesn’t recall seeing that one before. Is it new?
His heart beats a tad faster as Lan Zhan brings the collar in front of his face, showing it off to him first. Wei Ying’s eyes track the way Lan Zhan handles it, the way he opens the buckle with his gloved, slender fingers.
“We haven’t used this one yet,” Lan Zhan says.
Wei Ying nods. It’s so pretty. He smiles when Lan Zhan brings it around his neck, and his heartbeat quickens when he feels it tighten. Lan Zhan’s fingers work steadily, familiar with it.
Lan Zhan closes the buckle with what he believes is the right size, and Wei Ying gives him an even more pleased smile when he’s done. He’s beaming. Lan Zhan pets his head, digging fingers gently into his scalp.
“Is it alright?” asks Lan Zhan. “Tell me with words.”
Wei Ying nods. “Mm-hm. Very comfy.”
Lan Zhan acknowledges this with a nod as well. “It’s new. I bought it just for you. Custom made. What do you think?”
Wei Ying looks down at it. It’s hard to see below his jaw, so he doesn’t see the collar itself, but he does see the leash that Lan Zhan has on a loop in his hand, and the way he connects it to the collar.
Wei Ying touches the material of the leash with his hand and rubs his thumb against it. It makes a tiny noise, leather against the pad of his finger. It’s smooth, not yet worn soft.
He likes that it’s white. White is Lan Zhan’s colour. He loves wearing anything that’s Lan Zhan’s.
“I like it. It reminds me of you,” Wei Ying says, hands placed back on his thighs.
“Mn.” Lan Zhan holds the other end, curls it around his finger. “Do you know why it’s white?” He stands in front of Wei Ying, appearing tall and serious. It’s the height difference that’s slowly creating the imbalance between them—the hierarchy. He is the owner.
Wei Ying shakes his head. He asks, “Why?”
“It means that you are mine, Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying’s breath stutters a little. He inhales as he nods. “I understand.” That pleases him a lot, the declaration. That’s what he wants, to be his—for Lan Zhan to fulfill his fantasy of being owned. He will gladly let Lan Zhan do that. He needs these days as much as Lan Zhan.
When he moves his head around he feels the collar’s steady strain. It’s very thick, perfectly fitted around his throat. It’s handmade, right? That’s what Lan Zhan had said. Usually his collars are. Wei Ying is aware that Lan Zhan will accept nothing less, since he cares so deeply about quality, safety and comfort. Only the best for his pet.
The level of care and adoration makes Wei Ying feel fuzzy inside.
“How do you want to start?” asks Lan Zhan. His hand circles the leash around itself for a better grip, and he brings his other hand to Wei Ying’s jaw.
It’s the pressure around his neck that Wei Ying likes, the way Lan Zhan tugs on the leash gently and pulls him towards him. Wei Ying goes, his position changing to being on all fours. He looks up, ears tinted red. “The—The sofa. With scratches.”
That’s what he usually likes to start with. It’s already a good sign that his sentences turn shorter and words simpler.
“Mn.” Lan Zhan guides him to the couch. With the way he sits down, legs wide—hello, this man knows how to spread—Wei Ying is given a wonderful view of his crotch. Lan Zhan gestures for him to come closer, pats his thigh for Wei Ying to lay his head on it. “Come here.”
Wei Ying follows his lead, already feeling the rush of blood all over his body. Dilated veins. Flushed capillaries. Especially at his ears and at the sides of his face. His hair is tied into a ponytail with his favourite red scrunchie. Lan Zhan had picked it for him. He wears it with pride, like he wears the collar.
Lan Zhan looks at him tenderly as his hand finds the back of his neck and plays with the baby hairs there. Wei Ying relaxes to his touch, resting his head on the firm thigh, bringing his hands to the edge of the couch as well. His body sways closer, closer. Shutting his eyes—he lets himself drift.
Lan Zhan’s fingers feel amazing. Wei Ying is aware of the gloves he’s wearing, wondering how they would feel against his skin elsewhere, how they would feel in his mouth. Maybe he could even bite down on them without being scared of ruining them.
A small smile escapes Lan Zhan’s serious pet owner facade. Wei Ying is so cute, so very adorable. His. His petite, precious little pet, who could curl up into Lan Zhan’s lap and be content to sleep there. So easy to throw around, so rewarding to take care of.
“Mine,” Lan Zhan says then, very softly, and Wei Ying imagines himself purring. He tilts his head to give Lan Zhan better access at his neck. The leather covered fingers play with his hair. They curl around and press down. “What are you?” asks Lan Zhan.
Wei Ying wonders.
He’s Wei Ying, but he’s also a pet. He doesn’t want to be a dog, and he’s not really feeling like being a cat either. Maybe a little bit of both?
“A little fox,” he answers eventually, slurring his words a little on purpose.
“Alright. Wei Ying. My little pet fox. Will you be a good little fox for me today?”
A pleased sound from Wei Ying as he nuzzles closer. “Mmm.”
It’s the names that really, really get him. He feels smaller, his mind floaty. He pushes his face better against the warm thigh, inhaling deep and letting all the tension pour out with a sigh.
Lan Zhan reaches over to the living room table to pick up the book he’s currently in the midst of reading. While Lan Zhan reads, Wei Ying loses himself in it, fully, and they let time pass together.
As Wei Ying rests against his leg, Lan Zhan continues reading the book, one hand holding it and the other hand in Wei Ying’s hair, sometimes slipping a finger underneath his collar. He’s a master at turning pages one handed. The gloves help with the grip.
Lan Zhan spends a good while scratching Wei Ying’s neck. It’s very comforting. When the hand movement stops eventually, Wei Ying stirs.
He opens his eyes, batting the blurriness out of them. When he sees that Lan Zhan has stopped, a displeased expression takes over his features. Why has his owner stopped rubbing him? He tilts his head, nudges it towards Lan Zhan’s hand to give him the sign to continue.
Lan Zhan does, but does not spare him a glance. He knows Wei Ying frowns with his whole face—and yet his attention stays on the book. Lan Zhan knows this will make his pet frustrated.
Wei Ying tries to fight it, to behave, but the lack of attention gets to him. He wants Lan Zhan to look at him, to pay attention to him. Humans are always like this, not giving their pets enough attention. They’d rather do boring things that pets do not understand. That’s very unfair.
Lan Zhan makes it seem like the movement of his hand only slows down… until it stops again. Wei Ying lets out a displeased huff. No, he can’t stop!
He nudges his hand, the leather making contact with his cheek. Lan Zhan doesn’t look at him as he speaks. “Mm-m. Behave. Good behaviour will be rewarded.”
The promise of a reward motivates Wei Ying. Hmm. He wonders—What will the reward be? Play time? Treats? He tilts his head to the other direction, feeling a lot more awake now. He wants a treat. Will Lan Zhan give him a treat?
Lan Zhan ignores the curious eyes looking up at him and turns a page. His other hand leaves the back of Wei Ying’s neck and adjusts the way the leash rests between them.
Wei Ying wants to do something—to have something in his mouth. He bites on the leash and tugs. At that, Lan Zhan finally turns to look at him. He tells him, “No.”
The single word makes Wei Ying stop in an instant. He lets it go.
He might be pouting. A whine comes out through his nose, and they look at each other for a moment. Without a word, Lan Zhan goes back to his book.
Riling Wei Ying up is what Wei Ying always wants, and so Lan Zhan makes sure to not even touch him this time. He only keeps a hold of the leash, tightening and loosening his grip around it so it makes a distinct sound.
Wei Ying wants to bite the book into pieces. He holds back on that urge, for now at least, but with very little control. He has a history with poor impulse control, they both know this, so it is no surprise when Lan Zhan stays quiet long enough that Wei Ying moves and goes to sit between his legs.
He leans forward to place his head right on where Lan Zhan’s cock is resting. He closes his eyes as he nuzzles it. Slowly, daringly, but affectionately, too. Wei Ying wants it so bad. He wants. His treat. He wants to have a taste, to use his tongue, to have something in his mouth. He wants it soft and he wants to lap at it until it hardens. He’s had it before, he knows how to.
It’s only when Wei Ying openly mouthes it that Lan Zhan suddenly tightens his grip at where the leash is attached to the collar and pulls Wei Ying’s head back. The look he holds is disapproving, to say the least. Where’s that good behaviour now?
Wei Ying does not feel apologetic.
Instead, he decides to test the limits. He pushes forward and whines when the collar tightens around his throat, on the verge of getting uncomfortable. Lan Zhan looks at him as he sets down the book, lifting an eyebrow. Nothing is verbal between them now, only their locked gazes and their movements. Lan Zhan fakes an expression of arrogant realization.
He lets go of the leash and collar. Right as Wei Ying is allowed, he goes right back to nuzzling the cock. A treat—his treat. He brings his tongue out to lick the dry fabric to show Lan Zhan how much he wants it. He wants to taste it, wants to have it in his mouth, filling it, so he can trace all the shapes with his tongue and suck on it.
It’s still not allowed though, so Lan Zhan’s hand comes to press against his forehead. He pushes Wei Ying’s head away, gently, and when he stops pushing, Wei Ying stares at him.
Hand, no hand. Wei Ying leans back in. The hand is back, Lan Zhan pushes him away. It’s a game! Wei Ying almost laughs, but masks it as a panting sound. Each time he gets closer to Lan Zhan’s crotch, the latter’s hand comes to lay flat on his face and forces him away. It’s fun.
The game goes on like that, of them going back and forth, back and forth. Wei Ying tries different angles and every time his face meets Lan Zhan’s open, half gloved palm. Lan Zhan keeps his amusement hidden, letting Wei Ying believe that he’ll get it, only to be denied and pushed away again and again. He enjoys it as well.
Lan Zhan has his hand flat against his nose, forehead, eyes, as he pushes, many times, and Wei Ying tries to dodge him, too. It’s all very controlled and gentle—no hurt. Wei Ying lets out a little sound of laughter, changing that up into a hrrmph, whatever that means.
Wei Ying does it again and again, and at one point he tries to open his mouth so he can mimic biting. He gnaws Lan Zhan’s hand, and that’s what makes Lan Zhan’s brows furrow and grab Wei Ying by his ponytail, looking at him with a humorless expression, eyes stern. He holds Wei Ying in place, using his hair to pull at his scalp. A reminder.
The leather glove makes it so that his grip on his hair is tight. It’s still fun to Wei Ying, the sting not having passed the threshold of bad pain, so he merely smiles up at him. Lan Zhan is playing with him! Of course it’s nice. He likes a little challenge.
Their lasting eye contact leads up to a moment of silence. Wei Ying wants to go again. He writhes in Lan Zhan’s hold, wanting to get away and start over.
Lan Zhan sees this and releases his ponytail, and this time presses his hand against Wei Ying’s forehead before he can get closer. Lan Zhan pushes, and the force of it makes Wei Ying’s head tilt back. That and the covering of his eyes almost causes him to lose his balance, to land on his back. It looks a bit funny.
Lan Zhan won’t blame him—Wei Ying loves to be moved around. He’s so easy when he’s like this. He knows Wei Ying thrives on being pushed and guided by his owner.
When Lan Zhan’s hand retreats and comes back to Wei Ying’s view, Wei Ying tries to take a playful bite. Lan Zhan dodges it and raises his hand up, out of his reach. Then, as quickly as he has raised it, he brings it down to Wei Ying’s mouth to block it, a thumb on his cheek and the other four fingers on his other.
He usually doesn’t have to hold him tightly, because Wei Ying is usually very well behaved and he doesn’t bite. Now though, Lan Zhan notices that he has a bit too much energy, maybe, especially when Wei Ying tries to lick the glove.
It doesn’t do anything. It merely has Lan Zhan putting a little more strength into his hold.
“No,” he tells Wei Ying. “No licking. That is messy, Wei Ying.” His hold slips so he adjusts it a bit, covers Wei Ying’s mouth tighter and looks at him as he says, “Bad.”
All movement stops.
Wei Ying feels startled. He only wanted to play..!
Lan Zhan, who’s familiar with Wei Ying’s oral fixation, considers something while holding Wei Ying’s head in place. “Hm.”
He uses his free hand to detach the leash. He lets go of Wei Ying’s face, letting him breathe through his mouth, with residue spit around his lips that Lan Zhan watches him lick away.
“Go fetch your toy,” he says, nonchalant.
Wei Ying cheers up. Play time! Now, where is his favourite toy? The soft, very gnaw-able dog toy that Lan Zhan bought him a few months ago. It’s light blue and bone shaped, with little rubbery dots on the surface.
Wei Ying looks at Lan Zhan, eyes questioning. He’s waiting for permission. Is it really okay? Can he go?
Lan Zhan hums, a bit higher pitched at the end, “Hmm-m.” It means that Wei Ying can go. “Go find it. Bring it to me,” he orders, gently, and Wei Ying goes. He wonders where Lan Zhan has hidden it this time.
Earlier, when Lan Zhan had changed, he had taken the toy out and simply left it on the floor of their bedroom. Wei Ying moves on all fours as he looks for it, finding it on the floor, exactly where Lan Zhan had thrown it, and brings it in his mouth to Lan Zhan.
When he’s kneeling in front of him, he doesn’t let Lan Zhan take it. Lan Zhan tries to grab the toy but Wei Ying dodges. Lan Zhan stills before he quickly grabs the other end of it and tries to pull it away. He doesn’t pull with too much force—because Wei Ying’s teeth aren’t exactly wolf teeth—and that’s how it turns into a gentle tug of far.
There’s drool on the toy when Lan Zhan twists it around. It stimulates Wei Ying’s mouth, and Wei Ying lets tiny nngh noises escape. Lan Zhan loves the sound of that. The game causes Wei Ying’s head to move from side to side, so Lan Zhan tries to be mindful about his neck.
Wei Ying is very occupied. He doesn’t want to let go of the toy so soon, not when Lan Zhan is indulging him like this. He’s content when Lan Zhan holds it and plays with him, until Lan Zhan decides to put an end to it when he’s had enough.
“Let go,” Lan Zhan tells him. Wei Ying hesitantly obeys, but leans back to sit down properly on his knees.
Lan Zhan keeps the toy in his hand. “Fetch,” he says, and then throws it across the room.
Wei Ying goes to get it, bringing it back happily, certain that his imaginary tail is wagging. He hands over the toy. Again, he wants Lan Zhan to throw it again!
“Good boy. What a good little fox you are.”
Hearing that feels nice. Wei Ying’s neck flushes a litte, and he squirms his legs together. His cock is soft, nestled between, small and free.
Lan Zhan throws the toy a few more times.
After the fourth one, he abruptly gets up from the couch while Wei Ying is still on his way back. Lan Zhan tells him, “Stay,” before Wei Ying manages to follow him all the way to the kitchen.
Wei Ying wants to. He sits properly with the toy still in his mouth, spit escaping, bare limbs against the flurry carpet, and waits. Well-behaved, right by the couch so that he’ll get his reward. He tilts his head when Lan Zhan disappears behind the corner. What will Lan Zhan bring from the kitchen?
Wei Ying becomes more aware of the air in the room, the nothing that surrounds his bare skin. Now that he’s alone and without attention, it’s much more noticeable. He’s already lonely. As if Lan Zhan had left the apartment completely.
He hears the sound of their kitchen drawer open and close. He doesn’t know what Lan Zhan takes out. A cutting board noise follows. He plays with the possibilities—Lan Zhan is cutting something—and Wei Ying abandons the blue toy. He eyes it and nudges it with his hand—paw—rolling it underneath the couch with a pout. He misses his owner.
Knowing he has to wait, he stays rooted in place. The waiting is bearable if this means that he’ll get his treat. Only a very small ache threatens to creep up his back, so he lays down sideways on the carpet. While the floor is hard against the arches of his body, the mat is still soft to the touch.
He kneads his hand into it, mindful to not rip out any of the fur. He sighs like animals do and waits, his field of vision of the kitchen doorway tilted. Mind fairly empty from mundane thoughts, his only focus is on the sounds, and then he hears the soft footsteps of Lan Zhan’s socked feet.
Wei Ying’s imagined fox ears perk up. When Lan Zhan appears he has a plate in his hand. A white porcelain plate with a gorgeous pattern: blue and golden strings, forming traditional cloud swirls, kind of like on his collar. Lan Zhan must like that design.
Lan Zhan brings the plate in front of Wei Ying, placing it on the floor next to the mat. Lan Zhan also sits down, cross legged, the slacks of his legs traveling up and creasing at his groin. The plate holds fruit.
There’s a selection of some slices of kiwi, oranges, a few grapes, and some neatly cut pitaya cubes. They look like little dice. Wei Ying’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. Will he be fed? Or will he eat from the floor?
The fresh smell of citrus invades his nostrils, strongest of all the fruits there. Lan Zhan reaches to pat his head. “Good. You know to stay when I tell you to.”
Although Wei Ying wants to, he doesn’t lean into the touch. He’s waiting for the next command.
Lan Zhan retreats his hand and Wei Ying follows it with interest. The gloves are still on him when he picks up one of the slices of kiwi with his thumb and index finger. “Lay down on your back,” he instructs and waits for Wei Ying to move while holding the piece of fruit in the air.
So. Feeding time!
Wei Ying situates himself closer to Lan Zhan, his side meeting the other’s knees. Lan Zhan approves of this and gives him the first slice. The taste is soft and sweet. It’s difficult to swallow while laying down, but the fruits are small and juicy, and Wei Ying is well trained for this.
They go in order. First it’s the kiwis and then the pitayas. One by one Lan Zhan picks up the pieces, delicately placing them on Wei Ying’s shy awaiting tongue and watches his jaw move as he munches on them. At the end of it he brings his fingers to his own mouth to be licked clean.
Wei Ying smiles at Lan Zhan when he thinks about how his owner is taking such good care of him. The atmosphere around them feels loving and domestic. Perfect for their lazy saturday.
Though, when Lan Zhan happens to glance at his soft cock, he stops to think about something. He likes seeing Wei Ying nude, they both know this, and earlier Wei Ying had been eager...
Lan Zhan’s golden eyes find Wei Ying’s gray ones. Now, Wei Ying gets a small blush on his cheeks. He feels seen. He instinctively tries to close his thighs a little. Lan Zhan is about to open his mouth to speak, but then stops himself.
He takes a green grape and feeds it to Wei Ying. It bursts open into fleshy juice when Wei Ying bites down on it. It’s good—the sweetness takes over his mouth.
The next grape Lan Zhan holds between his fingers. He waits, looking intently at Wei Ying, and tells him, “This one—You are not allowed to bite.”
Wei Ying eyes the grape, then focuses his gaze on Lan Zhan again.
“You cannot eat or break it until I say so. Nod if you understand, Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying nods. What is Lan Zhan going to do, he wonders?
Lan Zhan waits, dragging out the silence. With an indifferent face he puts the grape between his own lips, very gently, and leans down, bringing it right above Wei Ying’s mouth.
Lips brushing, Wei Ying accepts it between his front teeth. He feels a shudder down his spine from his owner being so close. His body must be so warm, since his presence already makes him so hot. It goes away when Lan Zhan retreats.
“Good,” Lan Zhan says, “You will keep it there until I say or do otherwise. Nod again if you understand.”
A double nod from Wei Ying.
“If you break it, drop it or lose it, there will be punishment.”
Another nod and a little more blushing. He’s ready.
“Then, we can start.” Lan Zhan licks the remnants of fruit juice from his gloves as he looks at Wei Ying in the eyes. He brings his hand to Wei Ying’s lower belly and holds it there, palm flat against his skin. It’s warm, moving every time Wei Ying breathes.
To Wei Ying, it feels like he’s melting under his owner’s hand. Lan Zhan slides it lower, and lower, and lower. He starts carefully—teasingly—rubbing his cock. It’s still very small in his hold.
A tiny gasp escapes Wei Ying. Sometimes Lan Zhan drags his fingers against his base, sometimes presses his whole palm on it. Wei Ying sighs when Lan Zhan’s fingertip teases his tip, circling around and just barely touching the skin as he mimics languid stroking.
Lan Zhan is intent on watching how he grows harder, how he gets stiffer. At least a good minute or two pass as he fondles him. Everything’s still quite dry, so he teases Wei Ying by wetting the tips of his gloves with a dip into his own mouth, all the while Wei Ying stares at him and holds back soft gasps.
“You are allowed to make sounds,” Lan Zhan says, voice low, because he loves hearing them and he knows Wei Ying needs to be reminded.
Despite the encouragement, Wei Ying is silent the whole time. Now stiffer and heavier between his legs, he closes his eyes and keeps his elbows bent on the sides of his body, wrists resting on his ribs and hands in a paw-like position near his sternum, knees bent upward.
Lan Zhan holds his cock with care and teases the head with his thumb. That draws out a whiny noise from Wei Ying, who focuses on the grape in his mouth so it stays intact.
Lan Zhan leans down to whisper to his ear, “You will come like this. Then, I will make you clean it all up.”
Wei Ying whimpers, lips pursed.
Lan Wangji knows all of his sensitive spots. In Wei Ying’s mind it’s good and bad at the same time, because it means he knows where to rub fast and when to slow down to make Wei Ying writhe just by the dip of his tongue. Lan Zhan holds breaks in between, not entirely edging him yet, but slowly getting there.
He repeats the action. He strokes Wei Ying and then stops to hold him, and then starts again, just to stop once more. When Wei Ying can’t hold back the shy moans anymore, Lan Zhan removes his hand completely.
While Wei Ying is left whining, sounds muffled because of his pursed lips and the grape, Lan Zhan takes two slices of orange into his fist. He brings them on top of Wei Ying’s lower belly but doesn’t warn him when he squeezes them, releasing the juice and letting it drop from the ruined slices on Wei Ying’s abdomen, to the hair at the base of his cock. The next thing Wei Ying knows is Lan Zhan’s fist, now wet, giving his cock strokes, aware of the small sting he brings to the tip of his cock. Wei Ying gasps, somehow managing it through his nose.
He’s never felt that before. Lan Zhan hasn’t used food like this, ever. It’s foreign, a little bit scary, but Wei Ying thinks it’s—he wants more. He wants to thrust up into his hand, but can he? He’s allowed, isn’t he? His owner has said so. He will come like this, as long as the grape stays, right?
Wei Ying’s chest heaves. The smell of citrus has become strong.
Lan Zhan loves seeing Wei Ying like this. He diligently watches his reactions, studies the way his hips try to push up from time to time. He feels fond, as well as aroused at the same time. Wei Ying is gorgeous when his thighs twitch and he’s gasping for breath, so responsive, just for him, for Lan Zhan’s eyes.
Wei Ying is barely aware of the fact that he’s even laying down on the floor at this point. The hardness of the surface doesn’t bother him anymore, although it digs into the protruding bones at his back and makes it hard to find a good position for his head. His only focus is on Lan Zhan and his hand, giving everything Wei Ying is prepared to take.
Lan Zhan keeps his wrist loose, strokes lazy. There’s a moan from Wei Ying, muffled, followed by an even louder one, and then, just like before, Lan Zhan stops jerking him when Wei Ying is just about to go over the edge and ride his impending orgasm into the hand.
Wei Ying lets out a desperate sob. His hips move up without even trying, but there’s nothing. He’s chasing what Lan Zhan has left him with, which isn’t enough, it’s not enough, not enough—
He almost comes out of Lan Zhan’s hand around him, but then Lan Zhan lets go of his cock completely.
Wei Ying stops breathing for a moment.
Calmly, Lan Zhan waits for the edge to go away. He looks down at Wei Ying, his flushed face and neck, his shaky thighs. The pretty white collar on him. Lan Zhan runs his hand from his knee up the inner thigh and flicks his cock softly.
“Cute.”
Wei Ying’s whole body twitches, his nails digging into the skin on his chest. So mean. He exhales, and for a second he thinks that he’s going to get a break. He’s proved wrong when Lan Zhan’s hand is back around him, giving him the kind of halfway strokes that Wei Ying absolutely dreads.
Wei Ying inhales through his nose, feeling the rise of the wave now even closer, the edge, quicker than before. His hips move on their own, thrusting into Lan Zhan’s fist, and just as it’s getting good, that’s when the hand stops again.
Tears well up at Wei Ying’s eyes. One of them trails down, falls on the carpet.
Lan Zhan loves it. “So cute.”
Another short break.
Lan Zhan is so mean. He is so, so, so mean.
He waits until the edge subsides, and then wraps the hand tightly around the cock. Wei Ying shudders, not being able to hold it back anymore, he can’t, just a little more and he’ll come—
“Move your hips, Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan gives him the encouragement he so desperately wants to hear. Wei Ying does, immediately.
“Just like that. Keep going. Fuck into my fist. Like the animal you are.”
That almost makes Wei Ying bite the grape. Almost. Jaw tense, he mewls.
Lan Zhan makes sure he’s just holding his hand in place, keeping it as a tight space for Wei Ying to push into, and lets Wei Ying do the rest of the work.
Wei Ying’s pace starts slow. Lan Zhan feels the need to remind him. “Don’t be shy. Fuck it.” He keeps his fist snugly on the length and two of his fingers at the sweet spot right under the cockhead. That’s just what Wei Ying needs, just what he’s after. It’s so good.
Wei Ying fucks, imagining that he’s just a needy little fox, using a hole to get off. He fucks like he is commanded, and shudders when the pleasure almost spills over. His hips come up from the mat repeatedly, quicker and quicker, and this has Lan Zhan paying attention to the droplets of juice that threaten to escape from his navel.
Ah. Lan Zhan figures he could still save the mat. “Slow down,” he says abruptly, just as Wei Ying’s building up a good rhythm.
Wei Ying lets out a rebellious cry. He doesn’t want to stop! Why so soon? It pains him to force himself to obey.
His hips still and he pants. His owner is so unfair, he thinks. He had been so close.
Lan Zhan knows his mind is floating. Wei Ying is desperate already, lashes damp and mouth glistening from spit he hasn’t been able to swallow. He looks at the intact grape. “Well done.”
It’s not even an exaggeration to say that when Lan Zhan leans down to lick the juice from his belly, Wei Ying feels like he’s no longer in the living room, no longer on this planet. All of Lan Zhan’s movements become slow to the point of being torturous.
Wei Ying goes crazy. All sensations on his skin are magnified, and Lan Zhan’s hot tongue tickles him more on the belly than it would tickle the undersides of his feet.
While Lan Zhan hovers there, his hot breaths landing on wet skin and the tip of his tongue collecting the juice, he swallows once and starts leaving kisses right under Wei Ying’s belly button. He sucks a few marks there, going lower, lower, and then up. His fist stays tight around Wei Ying’s cock all this time, unmoving. Bringing out his tongue, he licks a trail across Wei Ying’s belly and when he comes back, dips it right into his belly button.
Wei Ying squirms. It’s dizzying. He’s really getting short on breath, being only able to inhale and exhale through his nose. He wants to open his mouth and cry. That’s almost enough to send him over the edge, but still not quite.
Lan Zhan stops licking him way too soon, murmuring against the sensitive underbelly skin. “You are so beautiful like this, Wei Ying. You can come whenever you want.”
That is illegally sweet.
Then, Lan Zhan kisses his way up to Wei Ying’s abdomen and chest and throat, gently gnawing under his jaw, eventually reaching his mouth. He drags his tongue against the skin of his cheek and makes his way to his lips. His only intention is to tease him, and that’s for sure effective. Licking around his mouth, tongue wet with spit.
It’s so hot Wei Ying feels like he could choke. It’s like Lan Zhan is stealing his breath away.
As Lan Zhan finds the corner of his mouth, he presses his tongue there and moves to the middle, closing his lips around the grape. It’s a kiss, somewhat, with added tongue and fruit, and Wei Ying is gone. He’s so gone. He’s going to come. It’s incredible, unfair, the best thing ever, all of that at the same time.
He wants to kiss Lan Zhan back, but he can’t. He wants to moan into his mouth, but he can’t. The only thing he’s capable of is to whine like a little baby. This is why he loves it—the restraint. This is why he loves to be treated like this by Lan Zhan, who knows how to make him practically immobile and still make it seem like it’s about self restraint.
He can’t hold his hips still. Desperate for a release, he thrusts back up into Lan Zhan’s fist. With a few erratic buck ups of his hips and his abdomen flexing he releases himself. Finally. Allowing himself to let out the breath he’s been holding and ride the wave of his delicious, hot orgasm.
Lan Zhan’s leather glove is the receiver, curled around the tip to catch it and stop it from getting on the carpet. Wei Ying moans, needy and relieved, the sound of a controlled nasal exhale.
Then, as if any of that hasn’t been enough, Lan Zhan bites down on the grape and eats it out of Wei Ying’s mouth. With the fruit gone, Wei Ying startles. A numb dread takes over the satisfying hotness previously spread all over his body. There's no time to bask in the relief. He thinks he has dropped the grape.
Lan Zhan sits up straight, watching as Wei Ying tries to understand what has happened. Then, Wei Ying sees Lan Zhan swallow it.
Realization slowly hits him. Wei Ying’s jaw falls slack and then he’s free to pant, open mouthed, crying. "Lan Zhan," he begs, eyes half lidded, a few rare tears spilling out. He had thought—he had really thought he had dropped it right a the very last second, and his stomach had sank, an he had thought that Lan Zhan would punish him, and—
Lan Zhan bends down to kiss him on the lips. “You did so well, Wei Ying. You are so good,” he mouths against his lips.
Even with the praise, Wei Ying still cries. Just a bit. His hands fly up to grab Lan Zhan's shirt, to tug on the lapels.
Lan Zhan loves him. He lets out a very faint oh, and comes closer, kisses the tears away from the corners of Wei Ying's eyes, carefully mends the tiny crack in his heart.
(He already knows, that after Wei Ying has stopped sobbing, he will carry him to the bathroom. They will need to decide on a bubble bath color, and he will talk to Wei Ying until he's properly responsive, but before that, he will let him stay, head rested on Lan Zhan's lap, for as long as he wants.)