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Wei Ying is freshly cream-pied and still trying to remember where his legs are when Lan Zhan outlaws masturbation.
Wei Ying blinks.
“Mmh?” he mumbles in a belated response, because he isn’t quite sure if he heard him correctly.
Lan Zhan takes his time dragging a warm washcloth over Wei Ying’s belly before repeating himself.
“I don’t want you to touch yourself without my permission,” he says, as if it’s the most ordinary thing in the world. To be fair, it’s not even the most lewd thing that’s come out of Lan Zhan’s mouth in the last fifteen minutes, so any feelings of shock Wei Ying might have ordinarily experienced are muted considerably.
“Why not?” he asks.
“Because I don’t want you to.”
Wei Ying doesn’t know what he expected. It’s not as if Lan Zhan tends to give detailed explanations for most of his bedroom-related instructions, instead choosing to use Wei Ying’s trust in his abilities to make him feel good to make him do things without providing much reason as to why, but this is – different. This is an instruction Wei Ying will need to follow outside of the bedroom.
Because of the type of person he is, he immediately asks, “well how will you know?”
“I will know,” Lan Zhan says simply.
To his surprise, the feeling that fills him at the promise of such strictly-enforced rules isn’t one of discontent so much as a slow, pleasant tingle. He doesn’t know why he’s shocked about it. Being told what to do by Lan Zhan has always scratched a deeply buried itch in Wei Ying’s brain.
“What will you do?” Wei Ying presses.
Lan Zhan’s gaze flicks up to meet his.
“There will be consequences,” he responds.
Wei Ying’s lips stretch into a smile despite himself. He isn’t sure what exactly Lan Zhan means by that, but it sounds intriguing because it implies Lan Zhan intends to be mean to him and Lan Zhan is downright cruel to him in bed without seeming to put a lot of effort into it at all, so the thought of him making it a point to take Wei Ying in hand is especially thrilling.
“Lan Zhan,” he wheedles, excitement starting to grow, the feeling in his thighs starting to slowly return. “I know you have no intention of giving me permission if I ask for it. You’re setting me up to disobey,” he laments, tone solemn.
Lan Zhan seems unmoved by this. Wei Ying rolls his eyes.
“At least let me know what consequences you have in mind,” Wei Ying presses, sliding his bare leg over Lan Zhan’s. He does enjoy the rules, but he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t enjoy testing their boundaries just a little more. Seeing what Lan Zhan is going to do about it. “I might like it too much. Then it won’t be as effective.”
“I didn’t say you wouldn’t like it,” Lan Zhan says, in a tone that infers, you like everything anyway.
“If I like it, how is it supposed to deter me?” Wei Ying huffs, his other leg coming up to wrap around Lan Zhan’s waist. He isn’t sure when he decided to instigate round three but he’s suddenly very interested in ruining all of Lan Zhan’s washcloth-related efforts. “You aren’t a very good disciplinarian, Lan Zhan.”
“Do you want me to do something you won’t like?” Lan Zhan asks, eyeing Wei Ying intently.
“No,” Wei Ying blurts, instinctively. Lan Zhan has never done anything that he didn’t like – he has done cruel, torturous things to Wei Ying, but it’s never been the case that Wei Ying didn’t enjoy it, in one way or another. He thinks, for a short moment, about the ‘another’. Then he adds, “maybe.”
Lan Zhan eyes him for a few seconds longer, one of his warm hands rubbing absently where it’s settled by Wei Ying’s hip.
“You want me to do something you shouldn’t like,” he says finally, an offering.
Wei Ying nods, the wordless buzz of failed attempts to string together what it is he wants in his head quieting because, yes, that. That sounds nice.
“Sort of like that one time with the– that expensive metal toy with the fancy Bluetooth controller,” Wei Ying says, cheeks flushing as the memory comes to mind. Up ‘til now he’s only ever described the experience as torturous, but being at Lan Zhan’s mercy in a public setting had turned him on so much it scared him a little. Even if it was torturous.
“The vibrator,” Lan Zhan translates drily.
“Shut up, that was not a vibrator, that was a weapon, and you used it for evil. And at your work dinner too. Shameless. Your co-workers probably still think I have hemorrhoids or something because I couldn’t sit still.”
“They like you,” he says reassuringly, eyes glinting like he’s fondly reminiscing on the whole ordeal.
“You can like someone and still think they have hemorrhoids,” Wei Ying says icily. “Hemorrhoids have no effect on a person’s character.”
“I forgot about that toy,” Lan Zhan says musingly, not seeming to be listening.
“I can’t believe you’re okay with being known at work as the guy who’s boyfriend suffers from severe hemorrhoids,” Wei Ying says, and then Lan Zhan leans over him and kisses him. Probably just so Wei Ying will stop saying ‘hemorrhoids’, but Wei Ying will take it.
It takes no longer than a couple of days for Wei Ying to grow curious.
It isn’t his fault. It’s like Lan Zhan just set a giant red button labelled ‘DO NOT PUSH’ in front of him and walked away, except the button is his own dick, so he can’t just get up and walk away himself to take his mind off it like he does when his birthday is coming up and he’s desperately trying to resist the urge to open the present-shaped package that recently arrived in the post with Lan Zhan’s name on it.
The point is, Wei Ying’s impulse control has never been great, and he knows Lan Zhan was fully aware of this fact when he decided to revoke his masturbatory privileges, and Wei Ying will never forgive him.
He’s in the shower, staring down at his dick like it owes him money, when he hears the bathroom door open.
Lan Zhan comes in and starts to brush his teeth, and before the plan can even fully come together in Wei Ying’s head, Lan Zhan says, “you know better, Wei Ying.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wei Ying lies smoothly. Lan Zhan doesn’t reply, and Wei Ying resists the urge to grumble to himself as he finishes washing up and gets out of the shower, dick still untouched.
It’s so stupid. He gets fucked extremely regularly and ordinarily, he wouldn’t even think of taking things into his own hands when he knows he doesn’t have to, but the idea of invoking Lan Zhan’s mysterious consequences is so tempting that he’s suddenly thinking about getting himself off with the frequency of a teenage boy.
Logically, he knows he can already guess what Lan Zhan will do to him if he goes against his instructions. Vaguely, anyway.
He knows he’s going to end up getting fucked until time stops making sense without being allowed to come, or even worse –better?– still, Lan Zhan might give him what he wants and make him come over and over until he’s coming dry and it hurts so good Wei Ying can’t think. But just like when it’s almost his birthday and he knows Lan Zhan got him the shoes he’s been blatantly telling him he wants for the past few weeks, knowing what’s coming to him doesn’t make him any less eager to have it.
A week in, Wei Ying finds himself eager enough to disobey Lan Zhan somehow, in whatever small, meaningless way he can, that he petulantly refuses when Lan Zhan asks him if he can bring him a glass of water while he’s in the kitchen.
Lan Zhan watches him sulk back into the living room with a cereal bar for himself, and nothing else, pointedly ignoring his gaze as it rests on the side of Wei Ying’s face. He still uses Lan Zhan’s lap as a footrest though, because Lan Zhan is warm and why should Wei Ying suffer any more than he already has?
“I can punish you for no reason,” Lan Zhan says amusedly. “If it will help.”
“No,” he mumbles. He’s considered this option, and he doesn’t want Lan Zhan to humour him. “It won’t be the same.”
Lan Zhan hums pensively, then he kneels up on the cushion and wraps his hand around Wei Ying’s ankle, dragging him down the length of the sofa until he’s beneath him, so quickly and suddenly that Wei Ying drops his cereal bar onto the floor.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying gasps, sitting up only to be pinned back into place, Lan Zhan leaning over him. “My cereal bar,” he complains.
“My condolences,” Lan Zhan responds, kissing a hot trail down the column of Wei Ying’s throat, settling between his legs. Wei Ying’s dick twitches traitorously.
“I know I’m irresistible but control yourself,” Wei Ying huffs, breath hitching as Lan Zhan nips at him.
“I asked you for water. It’s your fault I’m thirsty,” Lan Zhan mutters against his skin. Wei Ying shakes with a laugh despite himself.
“You’re the worst,” Wei Ying groans.
“You’ve had an attitude all day,” Lan Zhan tells him, which isn’t untrue. Then he adds, “you need to be fucked,” and Wei Ying flushes red.
Grabbing Wei Ying by the waist, Lan Zhan unceremoniously flips him over, and then when Wei Ying gives a perfunctory grumble, Lan Zhan sharply taps his fingers against his ass; a silent warning. Wei Ying gasps, going still as Lan Zhan releases him from his pants. It didn’t hurt, he barely touched him at all, and it’s not like this is the first time Lan Zhan’s done it, landed a stinging slap on his backside just because he can, but it never fails to leave Wei Ying speechless in a particularly heady cross between embarrassment and shock and something else.
“Lan Zhan,” he breathes as Lan Zhan digs his fingers into his skin, massaging the warming flesh of his ass, and then spanks him again, harder, before spreading him. Wei Ying jolts, throat going tight. His mouth falls open around the start of a sentence, but Lan Zhan is already hushing him.
“Don’t talk back,” he murmurs, and then licks a hot, slow stripe over Wei Ying’s hole, and Wei Ying finds that he couldn’t even if he wanted to.
Embarrassingly, Wei Ying does feel much better after getting fucked, sated in the way that always comes after his constant pushing inevitably results in Lan Zhan railing him until his back teeth rattle in his jaw, but there’s something else there now too, low in his gut, and he’d initially assumed that was just Lan Zhan’s dick, but it doesn’t go away.
The feeling leaves Wei Ying staring at Lan Zhan’s hands and thinking of them coming down hard against his skin, repeatedly, intentionally, because Wei Ying deserves it, because he asked for it with his actions rather than his words.
Lan Zhan happily gets water for himself afterwards, but not without a smug comment about how it’s because he doubts Wei Ying’s legs will carry him to the kitchen right now. When he comes back, his eyes search Wei Ying’s face. Wei Ying has no idea what he sees there, but it makes him ask, “Wei Ying?”
Wei Ying swallows. “I–” he starts. It feels like his brain and his voice are fighting with each other, the words stuck in his throat, wanting to tell Lan Zhan how he’s feeling, or at least talk to him about it, let the shape of his thoughts fill the room so Lan Zhan can make a picture out of them like he usually does. But then Wei Ying shakes his head again. “Nothing,” he says.
Lan Zhan blinks at him, and then he lets it go, hands him the remaining half of his glass of water and makes him drink it all then fishes a replacement cereal bar out of his pocket and hands it to him too. Wei Ying smiles helplessly to himself as he unwraps it.
“You’re so in love with me, it’s so embarrassing,” he mumbles, stuffing his mouth and pressing himself against Lan Zhan’s warm side, every cell in his body singing in delight.
Wei Ying types the letters s-p-a into his search bar on his phone that night, when Lan Zhan is fast asleep next to him, and then backspaces everything, like his phone will snitch on him immediately if he dares to spell out the full word. Like it'll shake Lan Zhan awake and inform him that his boyfriend is over here looking up ways for him to hurt him, and isn’t that so messed up?
Things sort of take a turn when Wei Ying ends up lounging around at home all day on his day off, while Lan Zhan is at work and experiencing no such luxury.
Except somehow it’s still torture because, despite his best efforts, around midday he ends up hard in his sweatpants, so he texts Lan Zhan about it, about obtaining that permission he’d mentioned, and Lan Zhan’s response is about what Wei Ying expected.
Still, reading the ‘no’ sets something off in Wei Ying’s hindbrain and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s telling Lan Zhan he can do whatever he wants, it’s his dick, his ass, and Lan Zhan is being unfair, and several choice emojis that help effectively communicate his feelings on the matter.
Lan Zhan doesn’t respond. The Read at 12:36 sign mocks Wei Ying all day long.
When Lan Zhan gets home Wei Ying dutifully –and truthfully– informs him that he suffered from blue balls all day just to please him, but Lan Zhan seems to be hung up on his words of defiance from earlier, even though that’s so five hours ago and Wei Ying has since made a very strong case in favour of the importance of forgiveness. People change, and Lan Zhan should be able to see that Wei Ying clearly isn’t the person he was at 12:36 anymore. He even made dinner. Okay, he ordered takeout, but he ordered specifically from that noodle place Lan Zhan likes so much.
Alas, Lan Zhan refuses to be mollified and Wei Ying ends up bent over half naked on the table where they eat.
Wei Ying tries to seem indignant about being put in his place like this but his resolve wavers more with each rough squeeze of Lan Zhan’s fist around his dick.
“Who does this belong to?” Lan Zhan asks him, voice hard, lips by Wei Ying’s ear. He’s pressed against Wei Ying’s back, caging him in against the table. Wei Ying gives a strangled sound that is not a response, and Lan Zhan twists his wrist harshly, his hand already embarrassingly wet with Wei Ying’s precome.
“You,” Wei Ying manages, gasping as Lan Zhan fists his ponytail and tugs harshly on his hair, telling him again, “You, Lan Zhan, honest, I told you, I didn’t–”
He chokes on his words at the feeling of Lan Zhan releasing him and then shoving Wei Ying forward against the table with a hand on his back, spreading him with the other and working a finger inside him, like he’s looking for any excuse to accuse Wei Ying of being looser than he should be when he hasn’t had anything in there all day.
“And this?” Lan Zhan asks evenly.
“Ah– yours,” he chokes out as Lan Zhan gets impatient with him, teeth nipping at his ear, crooking his finger against Wei Ying’s spot.
“What’s it for?” he demands.
“You– your cock– Lan Zhan, please,” he breathes, blood running hot beneath his skin, and then Lan Zhan is unbuckling his belt, the sound of the metal making Wei Ying arch back against him, making him whimper quietly.
Want coils tight in Wei Ying’s belly with how much he needs it, needs whatever Lan Zhan wants to give him, and he starts to almost wish he’d actually defied him, fucked himself open without permission and then waited for Lan Zhan to come home and find out and make him even sorrier, pull on his hair even harder, leave bruises that will take forever to heal, spank him till he cries–
“Ah,” Wei Ying gasps, squeezing tight around the single digit Lan Zhan’s got stuffed inside him, squealing and spilling all over the table beneath him.
Lan Zhan’s mouth turns downright filthy then, his breath hot against Wei Ying’s ear as he tells Wei Ying how easy he is, how greedy, how he needs it so bad he can’t think without it, and Wei Ying can’t, he really can’t, can’t even last a couple of hours before he’s– before he’s texting Lan Zhan at work and begging to be allowed to touch himself, pitching a fit when he says no even when he knows what the outcome will be but wanting his attention anyway he can get it, even like this, especially like this.
Searching up spanking on it’s own is still too scary an option because what if he sees videos.
Searching I want my boyfriend to spank me brings a wide and overwhelming array of results that combine both suggestions and advice, the most frequent of which is ‘communication’.
Wei Ying bristles every time his eyes scan the word, partly because he knows this could be resolved so easily if he’d just tell Lan Zhan to hold him down and smack his ass red, but the thought of ever verbalising that– of even wanting that–
Okay, Wei Ying doesn’t know for sure that he wants it. He’s never wanted it before; on the contrary, whenever Lan Zhan does it, Wei Ying’s brain literally stops working, which just goes to show that his body is like, rejecting it, or something, so obviously, he doesn’t like it.
Of course he doesn’t like it. It hurts and it’s degrading, and Wei Ying doesn’t like things that hurt and degrade him.
Right?
There is no conceivable way to find out, so Wei Ying will probably have to just live out the rest of his life without knowing for sure.
Well the rest of his life until like, a week from today at most, when Lan Zhan will inevitably smack him again while he’s fucking him from behind and Wei Ying will be too cumdrunk and defenceless to resist pleading for him to do it again, his mouth running on it’s own accord. Then Lan Zhan will look at him like hawks look at field mice and be awful and mean and relentless about it in the way only he knows how and Wei Ying will literally die from humiliation and he will have no one to blame but himself.
None of these issues do anything to soften Wei Ying’s dick, which has been stubbornly tenting his pants ever since he first pulled up what the world wide web had to say about spanking on his phone.
Lan Zhan left to pick up groceries about a half an hour ago, which means he’ll probably be home within the next fifteen minutes, which means Wei Ying won’t have to wait much longer for some relief, but then there’s a devious little voice in Wei Ying’s head reminding him that he doesn’t need to wait at all.
He’s squirming out of his pants before he can think about it too hard, a hand reaching out blindly to tug the nightstand drawer open and get his fingers slick with lube. He really shouldn’t be doing this, but he has to, has to know what Lan Zhan will do, what price he will make Wei Ying pay for his insolence.
His fingers crook inside himself, too small, always too small, but he feels hot all over rather than frustrated because he wants this so bad he can hardly think straight, wants Lan Zhan to make him sorry, make him cry, tell him how dirty he is for liking it–
At the sound of keys in the front door, Wei Ying’s heart stutters in his chest.
Let him catch you, comes probably the same part of his brain that tells him that laundry pods taste good and he should try one.
He’s frozen for a long moment, eyes big, and then as Lan Zhan gets the front door open, Wei Ying rips his hand off his dick, squirms back into the shorts he’d kicked off, rolls onto his belly, and pretends to be asleep. Because he’s a coward.
He listens to Lan Zhan’s footsteps cross into the kitchen, where he spends a few minutes putting the fridge stuff in the fridge, and then he approaches the bedroom.
When he opens the door, Wei Ying lets his eyes flutter open, drowsily turning his head in a performance of someone who is just waking up because he knows he’s way too antsy to pass for a genuinely unconscious person right now.
“Hey,” Wei Ying greets, his voice too weirdly stilted to fully pass for casual. Lan Zhan gives him a once-over.
“You were sleeping,” he observes as he shrugs off his jacket and lays it over the chair.
“Just taking a nap,” Wei Ying says innocently, heart hammering in his chest.
“You don’t take naps,” Lan Zhan says, coming closer, and Wei Ying thinks oh fuck, but then Lan Zhan asks, “Is everything okay?” and Wei Ying realises he’s just being a good boyfriend and doing normal boyfriend things like checking in on him when he suddenly starts knocking out in the middle of the day when he never has before.
“I’m fine,” Wei Ying says, turning onto his back to face him properly now that he’s just about soft enough to no longer be at risk of tenting the sheets. “The, um, nap helped.”
Lan Zhan, mercifully, doesn’t press the matter.
He kneels onto the bed, a hand around the back of Wei Ying’s neck like he’s going to kiss him, and Wei Ying finally relaxes a little, the feeling that Lan Zhan would just take one look at him and know exactly what he’d really been up to starting to dissipate. But then Lan Zhan is tilting Wei Ying’s head up, hand tightening on his neck, making him look him in the eye.
Wei Ying blinks innocently up at him.
“What is it?” he asks.
Lan Zhan doesn’t respond, and his gaze doesn’t waver, and the hairs on the back of Wei Ying’s neck stand on end, and he can’t take it. He looks away, and Lan Zhan lets out this quiet exhale through his nose like Wei Ying has just made a full confession, admitted he cheated on him with himself.
After a short moment of shameful silence, Lan Zhan grabs him by the arm, bodily moving him as he sits at the edge of the bed, knocking Wei Ying off balance and draping him over his lap, face-first, working his shorts off of him.
Wei Ying squirms, mouth falling open around a shocked gasp. Lan Zhan presses his hand between Wei Ying’s shoulder blades, presses down until he’s got his full weight on top of him, so Lan Zhan can move his arms and readjust his thighs and position him exactly how he wants, thighs pressing firm against Wei Ying’s chest, his hot cheek finally coming to rest against the sheets.
He ends up with his ass squarely in Lan Zhan’s lap, right under his full gaze for him to do whatever he likes with. Wei Ying isn’t shy, and it’s not like Lan Zhan hasn’t been met with a view just like this countless times before, but he can’t help but squirm in embarrassment now, feeling every unspoken accusation Lan Zhan must be hurling at him land and stick.
Lan Zhan squeezes his thighs, fingers digging harshly into the fat and muscle, then runs his hands higher, spreading his cheeks. Wei Ying sucks in a sharp breath as he just stares for a moment, feeling like he’s being inspected, like Lan Zhan is checking, except unlike last time, there’s no way it’s not evident that Wei Ying is swollen, recently stretched, still slick.
“I left for an hour,” Lan Zhan says.
Wei Ying winces.
“I– I just kept thinking about what you’d do.” He pushes out a breath, feeling his face warm even more, rambling nervously because he doesn’t know what else to do. “I was going to– I thought about letting you walk in on me but I got– I got scared,” he explains haltingly.
“Why?” Lan Zhan asks. “You wanted a reaction, did you not? Don’t you always?”
“I–”
“Is it the thought of my reaction that scared you?” Lan Zhan asks, fingers digging into his flesh a little. “Is that what made you so desperate?”
“No,” Wei Ying says, sounding dumb even in his own ears.
“No,” Lan Zhan says, tone just this side of dry, just enough that it’s almost unbearable. “Wei Ying would never pleasure himself to something that scared him.”
“Lan Zhan,” is all Wei Ying can manage to choke out, hiding his burning face in the rumpled sheets. “What are you–”
“Don’t act innocent,” Lan Zhan says, rubbing a warm hand over Wei Ying’s ass and making him shiver even at the gentleness of his touch. “You know what’s coming.”
In the midst of all of his inner panic, Wei Ying hadn’t stopped to consider what usually tends to come after being taken over someone’s knee. He had assumed Lan Zhan had wanted to confirm his suspicions, humiliate Wei Ying while he is unable to deny his chronic greed, but it’s not until Lan Zhan’s palm comes down against his ass with a sudden, sharp slap that he’s filled with understanding.
Wei Ying’s mind goes blank, mouth falling open around a sharp inhale as he rears up in shock, at Lan Zhan and at himself for thinking he would want this, for thinking he could actually take this. Lan Zhan pushes him back down with practised ease, a hand on the nape of Wei Ying’s neck so his face is half-buried in the tangle of bedsheets again, and he– he spanks him again, and Wei Ying finds his voice, chokes out, “don’t– not that–”
Lan Zhan’s grip tightens on him, cold, unfeeling even as Wei Ying pleads for mercy, landing a series of stinging smacks against Wei Ying’s reddening skin with the hand not firmly holding him in place.
Sweat beads at Wei Ying’s forehead, his face bursting into flames as he gasps and pleads, reeling at the indignity of it all, of being taken onto Lan Zhan’s lap and disciplined like an unruly child, his whole world concentrated down to the steady, bruising impact of Lan Zhan’s palm against his ass, rendering him mindless, helpless. It’s overwhelming and heady and both the worst and best thing Wei Ying has ever felt in his life.
He thrashes and Lan Zhan steadies him like he’s a defiant pup. Wei Ying feels like he’ll die from it, from the throbbing heat, from how harshly Lan Zhan is handling him. He can hear himself whimpering, little yelps forcing their way from his mouth that make his eyes screw shut in embarrassment at the way they intermingle with the harsh crack of skin against skin.
“Lan Zhan,” he chokes out, squirming all over the place. “I can’t, it hurts,” Wei Ying wails pitifully, but Lan Zhan is not moved.
He twists, writhing ineffectually in place as Lan Zhan keeps him where he wants him. The inevitability of it all makes Wei Ying shake, leaves no other option but to plead.
“Lan Zhan, it hurts, it hurts.”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan rumbles, and he squeezes the abused flesh, molding it beneath his hand. Pain explodes across Wei Ying’s backside, blooming beneath Lan Zhan’s cruelly skilled hands, his whole body a livewire. “I believe you,” he says.
He slaps Wei Ying again, even harder. Wei Ying gasps, hair falling into his face, fingers digging into the sheets, balling into fists. The feeling of Lan Zhan’s hard cock pressed against his belly makes him shiver bodily, forcing a pathetic whimper from his throat, and with the next slap, he’s gasping around a sob, body going limp against Lan Zhan’s lap.
“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying blubbers, cheeks wet, fistfuls of the sheets still balled up in his sweaty hands. “I’m sorry, I’m– I–”
“I know,” Lan Zhan says quietly. He doesn’t stop. Wei Ying didn’t expect him to. He doesn’t do anything but muffle his whine in the sheets on the next stinging stroke, and Lan Zhan pets him more gently afterwards, the hand he’s got pressed down in the center of Wei Ying’s sweat-slick back stroking him in small circles. “I know you are,” he murmurs.
He feels like he’s watching from outside himself, seeing himself whimper pathetically, soaking the bed with tears and drool, spaced out like he’s been fucked out of his mind, the hot ache of every slap making him feel like a human-sized shiver.
“Lan Zhan,” he breathes, gut swooping, laying lax and loose-limbed, all the fight drained out of him.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan murmurs, hands rubbing over Wei Ying’s freshly tenderised ass, fingers digging in a little. “I asked you a question.” Wei Ying’s eyes flutter open. Did he? Wei Ying didn’t hear. Wei Ying can barely think. “Can you come like this?” Lan Zhan says, repeating himself, and Wei Ying makes a low noise, shakes his head because it hurts too much and–
“Look at how hard you are,” Lan Zhan murmurs, and then he bounces his knee, jostling Wei Ying. Wei Ying had all but forgotten that part of his anatomy even still existed, but at Lan Zhan’s words, it’s suddenly all he can focus on.
He’s hard.
“No,” he denies blindly, unsure whether he’s trying to convince Lan Zhan or himself. As if sensing Wei Ying’s internal panic, Lan Zhan tightens his grip on him, grinding Wei Ying’s dripping dick forward against his leg before Wei Ying can try to lift his weight out of Lan Zhan’s lap again. He might as well have not bothered. Wei Ying feels like a deadweight where he lays, and all he can do as his dick is shoved against Lan Zhan’s thigh is give a pitiful, choked-up noise he’s never heard out of his own mouth.
“Lan Zhan,” he says pleadingly, unsure what he’s even asking for anymore, but as Lan Zhan works him forward again, the friction making Wei Ying’s toes curl, he shakes his head. “N-No.”
Lan Zhan tugs Wei Ying’s trembling legs apart, landing his next slap in the innermost sensitive part of Wei Ying’s thighs. Wei Ying’s resulting yowl feels like it’s clawed right out of his chest.
“Sh, sh, sh,” Lan Zhan hushes, almost gentle, then smacks him again and says, “you like it,” and when Wei Ying starts to shake his head again, Lan Zhan gets his hand on the back of his neck again, squeezes him a little and says, “don’t lie.”
Wei Ying whines wordlessly, pushing against Lan Zhan because he’s not, he’s not trying to, but he can’t– he can’t say that, he can’t say he likes this, he can’t say he’s going to come from this, he can’t.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, voice sharp. Wei Ying turns his face into the sheets.
“Don’t make me say it,” he says, muffled.
Lan Zhan isn’t any gentler when he resumes, isn’t any more merciful when Wei Ying’s pained shrieks and slurred apologies echo through the room. If anything, they make him harsher, and when Wei Ying starts to cry again it feels like a different kind of release, a new, shivery, kind of desperation.
“Please– please, Lan Zhan, it hurts!” he cries out, making no move to shift away from where he is, even when he feels the coil that’s wound itself impossibly tight in his belly starting to come loose, even when he forgets how to talk and all that’s falling from his mouth is a babble of incoherent pleas for mercy mixed in with sobs of Lan Zhan’s name, and then– and then–
It’s like he breaks, shaking apart with a high, desperate whine that gives Lan Zhan pause, his hand coming to rest on the swell of Wei Ying’s ass as he shivers and jerks and comes all over his lap.
“There you go,” Lan Zhan murmurs.
He sucks in a ragged breath, eyelids fluttering as Lan Zhan’s other hand comes up to stroke his hair out of his face, thumb swiping at his cheek – and then he slides two fingers past Wei Ying’s lips, into his gasping mouth. Wei Ying sucks mindlessly, like it’s a reflex, his tongue curling around the probing digits as they press deep, then pull out, then push back in, over and over, until they’re slick with his saliva.
His head swims. Lan Zhan keeps going, fucking his mouth relaxedly, as if he has all the time in the world, as if he could keep Wei Ying like this, naked and bent over his lap and sucking on his fingers all day if he wanted to.
He could.
Wei Ying moans softly.
His eyelids flutter as Lan Zhan pulls his fingers out again, leaving his reddened mouth slack and wet. His cheeks burn as he feels Lan Zhan spread him, feels his spit-slick fingers rub up against him, an impossibly deep need starting to pulse through him as he presses them into him, holding Wei Ying down firmer when he twists and squirms. The slide is rough despite how boneless Wei Ying feels, despite his own illegal fingering efforts from earlier.
Wei Ying clenches up around him, hips jerking against Lan Zhan’s thigh with every slide of his fingers over his prostate, making breathy, wet noises that he’s thankful are mostly muffled by the bedsheets his face is buried in. But then Lan Zhan’s fingers slide out of him suddenly, and he’s moving Wei Ying, tugging on his hair, manhandling him into place. Wei Ying feels slow and stupid and Lan Zhan doesn’t lay him down like he’s expecting, doesn’t fuck Wei Ying on his belly so he doesn’t have to move. He tugs him upright until he’s sat with his back against Lan Zhan’s chest.
Wei Ying whines because he’s sore and his thighs feel like they’re made of liquid, but this doesn’t stop Lan Zhan from calmly undoing his fly.
“I can’t,” Wei Ying gasps out, the hard press of Lan Zhan’s cock against his ass making him shiver, because he can’t believe Lan Zhan is going to make him ride him, after all of that, as if Wei Ying can keep himself upright with Lan Zhan’s dick in him even on his best day.
“You can,” Lan Zhan says evenly, pressing his cock against Wei Ying’s hole. “You have to.”
“Fuck,” Wei Ying spits as Lan Zhan moves his hips, gripping his dick as he sits Wei Ying back down on it, shivering at the toe-curling stretch. “Oh, fuck,” Wei Ying moans, eyes fluttering closed as he’s fucked open around the blunt tip.
Lan Zhan hums, big hands on Wei Ying’s hips as he sinks into him, and Wei Ying gives a high, desperate sound, hips rotating and hitching as Lan Zhan’s cock continues the inexorable slide into his body. He feels so full already he can barely see straight. His thighs are shaking and he knows Lan Zhan is still only about halfway in. Wei Ying is going to die. He’s too bottom heavy for this. It isn’t fair.
“Lan Zhan,” he says wetly, muscles quivering with the effort of holding himself up.
“You know crying only makes me want to make you cry harder,” Lan Zhan says, fingers tightening on him. Wei Ying shakes.
“Please,” he whimpers.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Lan Zhan reminds him, gripping him tighter, tugging him down another several inches. He nips at his earlobe, soothing it with his tongue. “Isn’t this what you’ve been begging for since last week?”
Wei Ying gives a weak sob, and Lan Zhan shushes him, taking hold of Wei Ying’s jaw, turning his head so he can lick into his mouth.
“I can’t,” Wei Ying whimpers into the kiss.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, a little harder, like he’s losing his patience. “Sit in my lap.”
Whining, mumbling about how mean and unyielding and cold Lan Zhan is, Wei Ying wriggles the rest of the way down, legs shaking when he finally feels the heat of Lan Zhan’s balls pressed up against his own, crying out when Lan Zhan makes him bear down and grinds up inside him, the pressure against his raw ass sending sparks of pain shooting up his spine.
It’s even more overwhelming than the usual onslaught of his thrusts, he feels so full, like Lan Zhan is rubbing up against him everywhere, getting thicker inside him every time Wei Ying shifts his hips. With a satisfied purr, Lan Zhan bounces him in his lap, smiling against Wei Ying’s neck when he yelps.
Gripping handfuls of Wei Ying’s spank-sore ass, Lan Zhan starts to move him, lifting him off his cock and letting him slide back down, slow enough that it’s nothing but a cruel tease that sets Wei Ying’s blood alight beneath his skin.
“Ohh,” Wei Ying moans breathily, going cross-eyed. His dick jumps against his stomach, leaking steadily all over their thighs, the pain and pleasure coursing through him intermingling until he isn’t sure which is which, or whether or not it even matters.
“Lan Zhan,” he mewls, hips rocking against him even as fatigued as he feels, feeling like he’s going to go crazy if his body doesn’t get with the programme and fuck itself harder on Lan Zhan’s cock. “Hurts,” he says wetly, because he can’t think of how else to say it, how to tell him how bad he needs it.
Lan Zhan hums in response, mercifully fucking up into Wei Ying with a sharp snap of his hips that makes him cry out, then lifting Wei Ying again, tugging him back down hard and deep.
Wei Ying whines, letting his head loll onto Lan Zhan’s shoulder. Lan Zhan wraps his fingers around his throat, making Wei Ying shiver, breathing out an incoherent cluster of vowels and trying to bury his burning face in Lan Zhan’s neck. Lan Zhan lands a few slaps to Wei Ying’s inner thighs, and it feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin.
“You’re so mean to me,” Wei Ying says pitifully, squirming all over his cock. Lan Zhan hums.
“That’s why you came all over my lap, baby,” Lan Zhan murmurs, tugging on Wei Ying’s hair so he bares his neck for him even more. Wei Ying keens, and Lan Zhan says, “Hm? You don’t want me to tell you how much of a little painslut you are?”
“Lan Zhan,” he whines, heart thudding, making to turn his head away only for strong fingers to wrap around his neck, holding him firmly in place.
“How badly you need to be used? How you can’t think properly without it?” Lan Zhan rumbles, nipping at the flushed skin of his throat and fucking Wei Ying deeper when he shivers.
Wei Ying flushes red, wanting to cover his face, to squirm away and cover his ears so he can’t hear Lan Zhan’s filthy words, but there’s nowhere to hide, held spread open for Lan Zhan like this, for him to take what he wants from him.
“What are you?” comes Lan Zhan’s low, unforgiving voice, hips fucking up into him sharply. “Say it.”
“I’m– I’m– unh,” Wei Ying whimpers, eyes screwing shut, he can’t. He's suddenly losing his balance as Lan Zhan lifts him, a strong arm around Wei Ying’s waist, and turns them around, shoves Wei Ying into the mattress on his belly. He straddles his thighs and fucks into him deep, making Wei Ying squeal into the pillow his face is pressed against.
Lan Zhan stays buried inside of him, barely pulling out, fucking him in deep, slow, rolling thrusts, pinning Wei Ying beneath his weight until he sobs, “please.”
“I asked you a question,” Lan Zhan says, grabbing Wei Ying by the hips and tugging him into a deep arch that makes his eyes roll up in his head, moaning something into the sheets. “Words, A-Ying,” he orders.
“A– painslut,” Wei Ying slurs, sobbing when Lan Zhan slaps him again, then again, then he can’t breathe because it stings so bad, he’s hurting him, and he likes it, he needs it, he’d do anything for it, it hurts so good, it hurts so good.
“I know it does,” Lan Zhan says, and reaches a hand beneath him, wraps a hand around Wei Ying’s dick and squeezes, the wet, squelching sounds making Wei Ying hot with embarrassment.
“That’s sweet,” he says in a murmur. “Almost as messy as your cunt.”
He squeezes tighter, fist constricting hard enough that it aches, that it makes Wei Ying squirm and twist away from him, and he says, “If you can’t control yourself in future, I’ll have to start locking this up when I leave. Understood?”
“Uh-huh!” Wei Ying pants, clawing at the sheets. “I’ll– I’ll be good, Lan Zhan, I’ll be– oh,” he gasps, a hot shiver running through him as Lan Zhan starts to fuck him faster, hips snapping roughly against the reddened, sore flesh of his ass.
“Look at you,” Lan Zhan says, tugging on Wei Ying’s mess of a ponytail. “My greedy little cocksleeve.”
“Yeah,” Wei Ying sobs, toes curling. “Yeah, Lan Zhan,” he says, feeling himself clench up around him, the harsh sting of Lan Zhan’s hips against his sore ass only shoving him closer to the edge.
“You like getting fucked like a slut, Wei Ying?”
“Yeah,” Wei Ying squeaks, out of his mind, slick and open and desperate, and, “Yeah, I like– getting f-fucked–like a slut,” he gasps, arching up for it the little he can, Lan Zhan’s cock dragging along that sensitive, sweet spot up inside him until he’s coming again with a bone-rattling shudder and a cry of Lan Zhan’s name.
Lan Zhan buries himself inside him, thrusts becoming a little sloppier until Wei Ying feels the wet heat spilling into him, hears Lan Zhan huffing quiet groans into the skin of his neck as he fucks his come deep inside him.
Wei Ying goes limp. Lan Zhan presses a sweet kiss to the back of his neck. Wei Ying laughs breathlessly, and a hot, startling rush of emotion floods him and he buries his face in the pillow his cheek is pressed against.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, gentleness seeping into his tone.
“Nothing,” Wei Ying says nonsensically, trying to discreetly wipe his eyes.
It’s not like he’s never cried after sex before, and he’s never usually ashamed of it, Lan Zhan has done all sorts of stuff to him and Wei Ying always gladly takes the opportunity to be babied afterwards, but–
“You’ve been needing that for a while,” Lan Zhan murmurs, voice almost unbearably even, like he’s stating an indisputable fact.
Wei Ying sniffles fiercely, leaning up on his elbows, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes because he can’t handle the idea that this is what Lan Zhan planned to– how long has Lan Zhan planned to?– Is it so obvious? Is Wei Ying walking around with a neon sign visible to everyone but him that reads, spank me until I come on it? It’s bad enough that Wei Ying needs to be maintenance-fucked for his general wellbeing but this is. Something else. This is a lot to ask for. A lot to crave.
“No,” Wei Ying says wetly.
Lan Zhan pulls out of him slowly. Wei Ying winces both at the sudden emptiness and the come that slides out and slicks up his thighs. Just as he’s hiding in the pillow again, Lan Zhan pulls him onto his chest, wrapping his arms around him.
“I didn’t– need it,” Wei Ying insists, because that makes it sound so– so depraved, like Wei Ying would have died had Lan Zhan not taken him over his knee.
They lay in silence for a while, breathing slowly evening out. Lan Zhan rubs his thumb over the dip in Wei Ying’s waist in small, slow circles.
“It’s okay to have needs. I have them too,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying goes quiet for a moment. Lan Zhan plays with his hair, brushing it out of his face, massaging his scalp gently.
“And I– I meet them,” Wei Ying clarifies. It’s not the first variation of this conversation they’ve had, but Wei Ying can’t quite believe it sometimes. How well they fit.
“Effortlessly,” Lan Zhan replies, leaning down to kiss him, slow, until Wei Ying’s cheeks go pink. He pulls back after a long moment and they just stare at each other for a second.
Wei Ying is just about to open his mouth when Lan Zhan says, “if you thank me, I will make you ride me until your legs stop working.”
Wei Ying’s heart flutters in his chest. He smiles helplessly.
“Okay,” he says, grinning like an idiot. He probably looks like a mess. Lan Zhan swipes his thumb over his cheek like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “I love you,” Wei Ying says. “Even though you’re mean to me.” Because he’s mean to him, Wei Ying thinks.
Lan Zhan’s lips pull up in a smile. “I love you,” he says. “Even though you’re a brat.”
“It’s not my fault, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, eyes going big. “You indulge me too much. I’m getting spoiled.”
Lan Zhan says, “Good,” and tightens his hold on Wei Ying, pulling him a little closer. Wei Ying lays his head back down on Lan Zhan’s chest and sighs contentedly.
He feels giddy and exhausted at the same time. It’s fine. Lan Zhan says it’s fine so it’s fine and he’s not going to get tired of him, not going to push Wei Ying away the next time he gets wound up and antsy and needs to act up for attention, needs to get tossed around until his head is clear and quiet, and his body is sore and satisfied.
“We’re gross,” Wei Ying mumbles, feeling his eyelids start to droop. They should really shower. His body refuses to budge an inch.
Lan Zhan hums noncommittally, pulling the blankets over both of them, adding to the load of laundry they will need to do later.
“Sleep,” Lan Zhan tells him.
Wei Ying mumbles something incoherent against his chest. His next breath is a soft snore.