Lan Wangji wakes up with Wei Wuxian’s cock sliding in his hand. The dream haze lifts and his hand stills, squeezes minutely against the bare, solid flesh beneath it. Wei Wuxian takes a long shuddering breath before curling up, trapping Lan Wangji’s hand against his skin.
They’re still in their underclothes; Lan Wangji is not sure how his hand found its way down a tied-up pair of trousers, but he can’t remove it now even if he wants to. He should be ashamed at the tide of lust washing up his body when he thinks of Wei Wuxian awakening to find himself at Lan Wangji’s mercy. He should push Wei Wuxian away. He should remove himself from his hold, get out of bed, and take a very long, very cold bath until he can calm down enough to look Wei Wuxian in the eye without shoving him down on the bed. He doesn’t do any of those things. Wei Wuxian is asleep, and Lan Wangji tightens his grip.
“Mmn,” Wei Wuxian whines, a tiny sound just inside his throat.
It makes Lan Wangji’s face burn, makes his heart race. His own arousal twitches helplessly when Wei Wuxian’s hips start to move in a lazy facsimile of a rhythm, rocking forward and back once, twice, before Lan Wangji pulls him tight against his body.
It’s been two weeks since they started sleeping in the same bed, and only three days since Wei Wuxian dropped any pretense of nightmares and shamelessly pressed himself into every curve on Lan Wangji’s body while they slept. Each morning, Lan Wangji wakes up, extricates himself from Wei Wuxian’s tangle of limbs, and meditates for an hour to calm himself. They don’t talk about their sleeping arrangements. They have definitely not talked about this.
But, even asleep, Wei Wuxian is stubborn. He stretches out, arching his back and pressing his ass against Lan Wangji’s groin with a quiet, “anh”. His breath hitches and Lan Wangji is all at once terrified and thrilled that he might be awake, or waking, but instead, another long, quiet moan escapes his lips, nearly sending Lan Wangji to another plane of existence with the shock of how wanton he sounds.
Lan Wangji slides his hand in practiced cadence over Wei Wuxian’s hot flesh, his thumb gathering the tiny beads of moisture leaking from the tip to smooth the way down. He hasn’t fantasized about this in so long, been too focused on the thrill of having Wei Wuxian, his Wei Ying, alive and safe and here in his arms. But he has that now, and his thoughts wander back to an old daydream of Wei Ying on his bed, undershirt rucked up to his chest and trousers carelessly yanked down to his thighs, displaying all that taut skin for Lan Wangji’s lips, for his tongue to make their own. Wei Ying’s face, hot and flushed red (Wei Ying looks so good in red), and drawn tense with desire, would tell him by expression alone everything he does right. Lan Wangji would suck lovebites into every inch of Wei Ying’s skin, making him cry out and to grab his hair and pull and-
The fantasy has him thrusting forward involuntarily, restrained by the traitorous fabric of his nightclothes, and tightening his grip on Wei Ying.
“Lan Zha-aa-an,” Wei Ying gasps brokenly.
Lan Wangji fails to bite back his groan, Wei Ying’s name falling desperately from his lips, voice low and gruff and filled with need. “Wei Ying,” he repeats, pressing his nose against Wei Ying’s ear, follows up with a lick and a bite. “Mine,” he growls.
“Lan- Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whines, more clearly this time. “Oh. Lan Zhan.” He sucks in a deep breath, and holds it, and Lan Wangji is alarmed for a moment that he might pull away, ask what the fuck he’s doing. Instead Wei Ying lets out a cracked “Aa-aah,” thrusting his hips with an early-morning vigor Lan Wangji didn’t think was possible. Somehow Wei Ying’s free hand finds its way to Lan Wangji’s trousers and tugs the fabric down, but only enough for the hot, slick tip of his erection to slip out and leak all over Wei Ying’s underclothes.
They could stay like this, with Lan Wangji’s arm wrapped around Wei Ying’s waist and his deft fingers sliding faster and faster over Wei Ying’s cock until he cries out and moans and begs for release. He could listen to Wei Ying’s breaths coming out in tiny, gasping pants punctuated by each little anh and ah, Lan Zhan more frantic than the last, until Wei Ying climaxes and comes for him and screams his name, and then lays sated and sweaty in Lan Wangji’s arms. They absolutely could do all of those things.
But then Wei Ying reaches back and tugs on Lan Wangji’s hair, right at the roots, and oh, oh fuck-
Every last shred of coherent thought evaporates and Lan Wangji’s hips jerk forward. He twists onto his back and pulls Wei Ying on his back on top of him, desperately seeking the friction only his body can provide, pressing him down by the waist with his free hand. The other twists and slides at a delirious pace over the slick hardness twitching beneath his palm.
“Anhh,” Wei Ying cries out, grinding deliciously against Lan Wangji’s erection with every backward thrust, sending him careening into the sky. “Ah, Lan Zhan, ah-” he gasps out between breaths. “Gonna-”
Lan Wangji can barely process words anymore.
“Gonna- ahhh, please, Lan Zhan- I’m gonna- Gonna- Anhh!”
The first hot spurting drops of Wei Ying’s release coat Lan Wangji’s hand and suddenly the tense, coiled wire holding him together snaps, and blinding, bright white sears across his vision as he follows Wei Ying over the precipice. His relief spreads like a floodtide through every available inch of his body and draws back like a wave, and he regains coherence to find he’s all but sobbing, “Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying,” into Wei Ying’s hair where it’s pressed against his cheek.
“Lan… Zhan,” Wei Ying gasps, and Lan Wangji’s suddenly-crystalline mind shatters with dismay at what he’s just done. “I didn’t think… you would… take the bait,” Wei Ying says, punctuating his words with breathy and soft laughter. “I’m so proud.”
Lan Wangji’s grip tightens on Wei Ying’s hip for a long moment. Finally, he gasps out an admonishing, “Wei Ying!” before sliding Wei Ying off onto the bed onto his back to look him in the eye. “It was you?”
“Lan Zhan, ah!” Wei Ying chuckles, looking up at him with too-bright eyes for how early it is. A pleasant blush sits on his cheeks. He bites his lip. “I woke up and you were moving your hands in your sleep. I only helped a little!”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji mutters again, but only because he’s just now realized that his desire has ruined both sets of underclothes. He tears his gaze away from Wei Ying to look down, mortified, at the mess between them.
Wei Ying reaches up and tugs gently at his hair, reigniting the satiated flames of his desire in one tiny action. “Let’s have a bath then, ah, Lan Zhan? Then we can try that again if you want!”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji mutters in agreement, sure that his face has turned entirely red. But that’s alright. He’s decided red is his favorite color.