This is fine, Lan Zhan thinks. He has shared hotel rooms before. He has even shared hotel rooms with Wei Ying before. He’s got this. The movie playing on the lackluster cable TV is already in full swing, and they’re sitting on the same bed, sharing a bag of popcorn twists. It’s fine. This is fine. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know what the movie is about. There’s yelling, explosions, wooden acting. A single longing gaze before the leads are separated for the final battle. Par for the course.
What’s most important is that Wei Ying is pressed right up against him, their knees and elbows bumping together. “Scoot over, Lan Zhan,” he’d said. “The screen is weird and I can’t see it properly unless I look at it straight-on. Haha.”
Somehow, that had translated to what Lan Zhan is pretty sure constitutes “snuggling.” On the side not currently on fire because of Wei Ying’s… everything, Lan Zhan clenches his fist around a handful of the comforter and hopes his teammate—friend, whatever—doesn’t notice the developing situation in his pants.
Too soon, the movie ends and Wei Ying sits back up. “Well, that’s a fun way to waste a Saturday night, ah?”
Lan Zhan nods, even though it wasn’t a waste of time for him at all. He’s about to ask Wei Ying if he’d like to watch another—because Lan Zhan is a masochist who enjoys pain and suffering and being too close to the person he’s liked for years—when Wei Ying’s phone lights up. His hopes are shattered when Wei Ying shows him the text.
“The team’s doing a pub crawl!” he says, like Lan Zhan can’t read. Maybe he can’t, suddenly, he doesn’t know. “And they’re starting just across the street. You wanna come with?”
Wei Ying’s bright smile sends a flare of heat careening southbound. Lan Zhan shakes his head and shifts to a cross-legged position. “You go. I will remain here.”
Wei Ying pouts a little bit. Lan Zhan only notices because he’s spent a lot of time examining and analysing his facial expressions. Then he eyes Lan Zhan sideways. “Oh, okay. You sure?”
Every fiber of Lan Zhan’s being screams, go with Wei Ying! but the tattered remnants of his logic say, do not go out. If you go out, you will get drunk. If you get drunk, who knows what will happen.
So he doesn’t go out.
“Okay, don’t have too much fun without me!” Wei Ying says, waving cheerily as the door closes and leaving Lan Zhan with the room all to himself and wondering nervously if Wei Ying truly understood what kind of fun he was referring to.
He shakes himself out of his pondering and takes stock of the current set-up. Tissues on the bathroom counter, good. Lan Zhan retrieves the box and sets it next to his bed. The lights are already low from the movie, with only the bedside lamps turned on. For the ambience, Wei Ying had said. Since Wei Ying is usually right about things like that, Lan Zhan hadn’t argued.
If he were at home, he might light a stick of incense, but that would probably set off the smoke alarm here—and besides, he doesn’t have any with him anyway. No sound system, but his phone speakers will do just fine. He queues up the playlist while rummaging for the small bottle of lubricant he keeps tucked away in a secret pocket in his duffel bag.
It’s not ideal. The comforter is scratchy and the headboard hits his back at a weird angle, but Lan Zhan manages to get comfortable anyway. He presses play and lets the music guide him through the usual routine.
He tentatively lifts his sleep shirt—an old one of Wei Ying’s, actually, that had been left for so long in his room after a sleepover that he’d annexed it into his wardrobe—and teases his fingers across the soft skin of his belly. He wonders if he should give the shirt back for a little while, at least until it smells like him again. Speaking of, the pillow Wei Ying had been leaning against for the movie probably smells like his cologne. This is where the part of Lan Zhan’s brain responsible for logical thoughts and actions would usually stop him and say, hey, that’s kind of weird, but it’s pointedly silent tonight. He grabs the pillow and, yes, it does smell like Wei Ying’s cologne.
It comes as no surprise when his flagging erection springs back to life before he even slides a hand fully into his pants. The teasing pad of his thumb drags across the slit, already glistening from earlier. Wei Ying had run to the bathroom during a commercial break, and maybe Lan Zhan has grown a little shameless over the years. That’s all he’ll say on that.
After the sensuous chords of the first track, the next song on the playlist is a real pacesetter, so Lan Zhan pops open the lubricant and pours a generous helping onto his palm. He smears it over his cockhead, an indulgent drag of skin on skin, careful not to let any drip down onto his pajama pants. It’s been a long day, between travelling on the hired coach while seated next to Wei Ying and helping set up for the weekend’s events without a chance to take care of things. The heat of his palm, the easy glide of his fist over his cock—all of it feels so good, almost too good after being pent up for so many hours. He shudders.
His hips don’t match the tempo of the music. The thrusts come lazy and slow, like he’s running a distance race rather than a short, utilitarian sprint to the finish line.
It’s the thrill of a break in his routine that brings him around more quickly than he’d anticipated. Nearly losing himself to the sensation, he drowns out everything but a few snippets of sound—the rhythm of his music, the beep of...something, the way he’s already panting so hard he’s not sure how much longer he’ll last. His fist moves of its own volition and pumps his cock in time with every thrust—
The door is opening.
The door. Is opening.
There are two things he needs to do right now, and only enough time to accomplish one: either he pulls down his shirt, or he pulls his hand out of his pants.
His reflexes are not on his side.
He pulls down his shirt.
The hallway light provides an incandescent yellow backdrop for Wei Ying’s silhouette in the doorway. He’s got a bag of—something, but he drops it as the door swings shut with a loud bang! behind him.
Lan Zhan blinks. His cock jumps in his hand, and he realizes: his cock is in his hand. He drops it like it’s scalding and pulls his hand out of his pants, leaving his cock to slap noisily against his stomach.
“Uh,” says Wei Ying. “I brought, um, takeout.”
His mouth is gaping, and he’s very obviously fixated on Lan Zhan’s crotch.
The pajama pants, Lan Zhan realizes belatedly, do little to conceal his embarrassment. Would he like to crawl inside the stupid hotel mattress and live among the squeaky springs forever? Yes, yes he would. He should say something. Salvage this unfortunate situation before Wei Ying can make it worse. If that’s even possible.
But, as always, Wei Ying is quicker on the draw: “Ah, Lan Zhan. Do you, um, want some help with that?”
It’s Lan Zhan’s turn to stare in shock.
Wei Ying blinks. Huffs out a laugh. “You know. Help. Uh, I know lots of things about owning, a, um.” He laughs again. “You know.”
Registering that Wei Ying is in the middle of approaching the bed, holy fuck, Lan Zhan snaps out of his shock and tries to scramble away only to discover he has nowhere to go. Is it time to panic? He thinks it’s time to panic. Wei Ying is still getting closer, approaching from the end of the bed, and Lan Zhan is out of options with no escape plan. He watches with dismay as Wei Ying leans forward and captures the loose fabric at his ankle between two fingers, giving two sharp tugs with a teasing smile.
“What do you say, ah?” He sounds breathless. But why would he…?
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan starts. There’s...something, in Wei Ying’s face—Lan Zhan can’t quite pin it, but his expression is a hair shy of being vulnerable and it pulls on his heartstrings.
Wei Ying climbs onto the bed. He bites his lower lip, searching Lan Zhan’s eyes. “Is this why you didn’t want to go out?” A pause, like he’s waiting for confirmation. His eyelashes—have they always been so long?—flutter demurely against his cheek. “You could have said you needed some alone time, er-gege.”
When Wei Ying said ‘help out,’ Lan Zhan was fairly certain he meant as in, jerking him off. But his mouth is so pretty, with spit-slick lips bitten red, that Lan Zhan’s overactive, vivid imagination helpfully provides the image of Wei Ying between his legs with those lips wrapped around his cock. He twitches in his pants—at both the image and the nickname—apparently undeterred by all the excitement.
“Can I…” Wei Ying breathes, hand slowly approaching ground zero for all of Lan Zhan’s fantasies. Lan Zhan, possessed by the spirit of horniness and bad decisions, simply nods. So Wei Ying rests his palm on Lan Zhan’s erection. He says, very quietly, “Oh.”
“Wei Ying.” What Lan Zhan means to say next is, ‘don’t joke about these things if you’re not serious.’ What he actually says—with a voice much deeper than anticipated because, internally, he’s a Wreck—is, “Don’t tease.”
Wei Ying licks his lips and swallows hard, and his face flushes so completely red, it’s obvious even in the low light. “Okay,” he says. “No teasing. Promise.” He tugs on Lan Zhan’s pants, and Lan Zhan lets him, lifting his hips so they’ll slide off his ass and then-
And then. Lan Zhan’s dick is right there. In the open. Because he decided to go commando tonight, of-fucking-course. His cock is so hard it hurts, an angry, glistening red against his pale skin.
Wei Ying looks up at Lan Zhan and looks back down at this cock. In typical Wei Ying fashion, he blurts, “Do you think I can fit that in my mouth?”
This is the story of how Lan Zhan dies at the tender age of 21. The team will simply have to do without him at the competition tomorrow. He has left the building, astral projected off this mortal plane. He thinks- well. No. He doesn’t think. His mind has gone entirely blank, and then Wei Ying wraps his beautiful, slender fingers around the base of Lan Zhan’s cock. They barely close the loop, and it’s a struggle.
“Hm. I think I’m gonna try,” Wei Ying muses, mostly to himself. He stands the cock upright. Looks Lan Zhan in the eye. Opens his mouth and devastates him with seven little words before taking the cockhead right into his mouth with a quiet moan.
Lan Zhan watches helplessly as the words bounce around in his empty brain like the DVD menu screensaver: “This is what friends are for, right?”
Friends. This is what friends are for. Right?
Lan Zhan groans, screwing his eyes shut at the sensation of Wei Ying’s hot, wet mouth enveloping his length. Friends. He can’t focus on anything except Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying.
Wei Ying does something magical with his tongue that makes Lan Zhan cry out. He takes the encouragement, licks a long stripe along the underside of the shaft. Lan Zhan knows he’s above average size, but when he peeks one eye open and sees Wei Ying’s perfect little mouth dribbling spit down his length, he grabs a handful of the bedding to anchor himself. The sight is even hotter than he imagined.
The sensation stops for a second—Wei Ying is leaning off the bed, grabbing a water bottle from the other night stand, taking a swig—before it resumes, colder but infinitely wetter too. Lan Zhan cannot remember what his life was like before he had Wei Ying’s mouth on his cock.
“There,” Wei Ying declares in the same voice he might use to announce the final touches on his artwork. “I think that’ll fit down my throat a little better. What do you think, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Zhan...doesn’t. Think, that is. Mind still blank, please try again later. Instead he watches, enraptured, as Wei Ying licks his lips all the way around, not caring if he drools down his chin a little, and envelops the head of his cock again. He sinks down, slowly and mindful of his teeth, until he’s got Lan Zhan’s cock halfway covered. And then he fucking moans like it’s the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth. Like he hasn’t thoroughly ruined Lan Zhan, inside and out. Fuck.
Lan Zhan has no clue how he doesn’t come right then and there. It’s a close thing too, especially when Wei Ying seals his lips around the shaft and sucks with hollowed cheeks until he has to pull back for breath.
He wipes his spit on the back of his hand and glances up at Lan Zhan, having the audacity to look shy. “This is a lot harder than it looks,” he laughs. “Sucking cock, I mean. Yours actually is as hard as it looks.”
Staring incredulously, Lan Zhan processes the words at the speed of molasses running uphill. They finally click. “...You’ve never done this before?”
“What? No, of course not! Why would I have?”
“‘It’s what friends are for,’” Lan Zhan echoes. His heart does some acrobatics in his chest. A few flips. It doesn’t quite stick the landing.
“I mean. Sure! But not any friend,” Wei Ying replies as though that should be obvious.
Lan Zhan has either missed out on an entire section of the so-called “bro code,” or Wei Ying is-
No, no, Wei Ying said this is...friendly. A friend thing. He didn’t mean it as anything...more, than that.
When Lan Zhan says, “Wei Ying,” he intends to follow up with, ‘please, you’re killing me. End my life now. Get it over with,’ but he doesn’t get the chance.
Wei Ying’s eyes widen a fraction, and then he winks—he winks!—before he ducks his head down again. This time, he adjusts his angle. Brings himself closer to Lan Zhan, tucking himself between his thighs.
The pajama pants are in his way.
“Lan Zhan,” he says, leaning back. “Take off your pants?”
Wei Ying slides the garment off Lan Zhan’s body and Lan Zhan simply...cooperates. Head empty. Only Wei Ying. And also Wei Ying’s mouth? Which is part of Wei Ying, but Lan Zhan’s mind fixates especially on that. Suddenly, he is pantsless, naked from the waist down, laying on a hotel bed with Wei Ying curled over him and sucking him off. Has he died after all? Is this what reward he gets for his diligence? For his- his- “Fuck,” he groans, the curse slipping unbidden off his tongue as he thrusts roughly upward, untethered.
Wei Ying pulls away and coughs. Lan Zhan almost apologizes, but then Wei Ying says, “Yeah. Okay. This is a good angle, if I relax my throat, I think I can get you all the way in.”
If Lan Zhan wasn’t teetering on the edge of oblivion before, he is now. His hands fly to Wei Ying’s hair as he thrusts upward, heat spiking through his groin. Drops of precome leak from his cock and Wei Ying laps them up desperately, makes delighted little sounds around his length when he fucks into his mouth. Wei Ying’s glassy eyes find his.
Oh. Oh fuck. Lan Zhan might not know much about blowjob etiquette but he does know that hairpulling is rude without asking first, and he would prefer not to offend the beautiful man sucking his cock if he can help it. He lets go of his hair.
With a disappointed whine and determination in his face, Wei Ying grabs Lan Zhan’s hand and puts it back where it was, forcing himself to take more of the cock until tears spill from the corners of his eyes. Because they’re friends. His other hand moves frantically between his legs and, oh, fuck. Fuck. He’s getting off on this too.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan gasps. His arousal is a wire, taut and ready to snap. He trembles under its barrage like a weakening levee against the sea.
Any second. Any second now. “Wei Ying,” he says, begs, and this time Wei Ying looks up. Their eyes meet. If he-
If he doesn’t pull off soon, if he doesn’t pull off immediately, right the fuck now—
But he does. His throat flexes when he chokes on Lan Zhan’s cock, coming up for air with an aborted cough.
Lan Zhan almost sobs at the rush of cool air on his cock when all he wants is heat. There’s a meager solace in Wei Ying’s fist wrapping around him, taking over to stroke him to completion. Lan Zhan wants nothing more than to debauch him, to take and take and take until there’s nothing left to give. Wei Ying opens his mouth, tongue out, and moans—so Lan Zhan paints his face white.
Rope after rope of cum splatters over Wei Ying’s tongue, cheeks, eyelashes. “Fuck,” he whimpers, jerking forward to take Lan Zhan’s length into his mouth again.
It’s almost too much. Lan Zhan’s grip on his hair tightens. But this is Wei Ying, so he rides it out, feeling his cock twitch with the last few pulses until he’s milked dry. When his softening cock slips free, Wei Ying licks his lips and swallows and Lan Zhan might be in love. Fuck.
He falls back against the headboard with a gratified sigh, body tingly all over in a way he’s never achieved on his own. “Wei Ying-”
He startles and opens his eyes when he feels something soft brushing his cockhead, only to find Wei Ying dutifully cleaning him off with a tissue. There’s still cum all over: dripping down his chin, splattered on his cheeks, hanging in droplets on his lashes. Lan Zhan reaches out before he can think better of it and swipes some off with his thumb before it gets in Wei Ying’s eyes.
The earlier redness on his face has settled into a pretty flush. He blinks up at Lan Zhan, dazed. “Was it...good?”
His voice is hoarse, his lips swollen and red.
Lan Zhan wants to kiss him. Even though there’s cum everywhere. Especially because there’s cum everywhere. Fuck, that’s hot. “Wei Ying. Yes.”
His voice is also hoarse, but he has no excuse for it other than the fact that Wei Ying sucked his soul out through his dick and he’s going to need some time to recover.
“Oh. Good.” Wei Ying looks away. “Ah. Haha, I should wash my face, huh?”
Lan Zhan blurts out, “Can I?”
Wei Ying tilts his head. “...Wash my face?”
Shaking his head, Lan Zhan reaches for the button on Wei Ying’s jeans. “No. With that.”
“Um. I, uh. It’s okay, actually! It’s fine.”
Of course. Right. Lan Zhan nods. Wei Ying had wanted to- help, yeah, get him off. And he’d done that. There was no expectation to return the favor. Their...transaction? No, Lan Zhan hates that thought immediately. Their …arrangement is complete. He can go through his life knowing he’s had Wei Ying’s lips on his cock and try to be content that he was afforded that much.
“Um,” Wei Ying says. He laughs nervously. “I kind of, uh-”
Lan Zhan realizes he’s trying to get his attention. Wei Ying waves vaguely at his crotch. “You were so fucking hot, Lan Zhan, I- ah, fuck, this is embarrassing. I fucking came in my jeans.”
“You,” Lan Zhan begins. “Oh.”
“Aha, yeah. So. No need to um, help out.”
“It’s not just helping,” Lan Zhan murmurs, because all propriety has gone out the window in his post-orgasmic bliss, apparently.
“Not just helping,” Lan Zhan repeats. “Wanted to. I do want to. For you.” Wei Ying’s eyes go wide and maybe Lan Zhan should have followed his propriety out the window. To retrieve it and put it back where it belongs: in his brain, before his mouth. But he’s half naked and his jizz is all over Wei Ying’s face, so they’re kind of past that point, aren’t they?
And here is exhibit A for how Lan Zhan can ruin everything when he opens his uncharacteristically big mouth. His heart sinks into the growing pit of his stomach.
“I…” Wei Ying shakes with laughter bordering on hysterical. “I…also...wanted to.” He lets out a long breath and keeps laughing. Lan Zhan would be offended, except he says, “Fuck, I think I’ve been wanting to. Is that...? Is that okay? Lan Zhan, please say something. God, I want to kiss you so bad.”
Deadpan, Lan Zhan asks, “As a friend?” Because he is petty, he relishes the confusion and horrified realization in Wei Ying’s expression before he grabs him by the lapels and hauls him in, heedless of the mess. And it is messy, undignified with their teeth colliding and Lan Zhan’s cum getting everywhere, but it’s also everything he’s ever dreamed of and more. When they pull apart, breathless, Wei Ying shakes his head.
“Is that how you kiss all your friends, Lan Zhan?”
“Lan Zhan! You’ve been holding out on me! You never told me you were packing. Did you want to watch another movie?” He catches Lan Zhan’s eye in the mirror, sees him nod. “Great! Ugh. Everybody paired off at the bar like right away, and it was so boring without you there. Plus the drinks were way overpriced, so I decided to come back, and uhh…”
“I may have,” Wei Ying says, biting his lip on the last syllable. “Ahaha. I maybe kinda knew what I’d be walking into. I hoped. Um.”
After a moment, it clicks. “You knew?”
“Ah. Yeah. Fuck, Lan Zhan, you’re kinda huge, you know? It was hard not to notice it earlier.”
Lan Zhan reaches down, thoughtlessly resting a hand across his own crotch. “I see.”
“So uh. Yeah. Haha.” Wei Ying turns away from him before pausing and thinking better of it. Instead, he spins around to face Lan Zhan. “Anyway, I gotta wash these jeans because they’re the only ones I packed.”
“I should take them off to make sure I get everything.”
“Okay.” Wei Ying flicks the button open with one hand, watching Lan Zhan’s expression while Lan Zhan watches the show. He unzips, revealing the red boxers underneath, soaked with cum.
Lan Zhan swallows. Under his hand, his cock stirs.
Wei Ying gives a little wiggle with his tongue sticking out before shimmying back and forth to get the tight pants off his ass. Gravity takes over and they slide down to his knees, baring the full mess he’s made of his underwear and the way his half-hard cock bulges against the fabric.
Bathroom floor, meet Lan Zhan’s knees. And Lan Zhan’s hair, meet Wei Ying’s hands. Their eyes meet, both questioning, before a silent agreement passes between them. Wei Ying gives a sharp tug and Lan Zhan noses at his waistband before pulling the boxers down with eager hands.
Later, when they’re both cleaned up, Wei Ying remembers the takeout. It’s miraculously unscathed. They curl up together with leftover pub food on Lan Zhan’s bed to watch another movie, and this time, neither of them pays any attention.