Work Header

here is my heart (coming 'round the bend)

Work Text:

Mo Ran wakes with a crick in his neck.

It’s his second day of sleeping on Chu Wanning’s couch, and while the generosity remains touching, it was more touching when they thought the couch would pull out into a proper bed. Sure, his feet would still have been hanging off the edge, but he could have curled himself into a ball; nothing will let him avoid the discomfort of the couch arm beneath his neck, even through the pillows.

The apartment is silent around him. Mo Ran extricates himself from the blanket, wincing, and makes his way toward where his phone is plugged in.

Ah, after nine; Chu Wanning is just starting his first lecture.

He smiles on instinct.

Days spent here are quieter than he’s used to, but he doesn’t really mind. It’s his own fault for messing up the dates. While the lease on his new place starts in five days, he told Xue Meng he would be out two days ago, leaving him in a bit of a lurch.

If it were only Xue Meng, he wouldn’t have cared. They’re family. But Mei HanXue only barely tolerates him, and in the end, Chu Wanning was offering. My couch pulls out into a bed, he’d promised; Mo Ran was sold then and there. A place to stay without Mei HanXue, with the additional benefit of seeing Chu Wanning each night?

No way he would pass that up. Even if the bed situation is… less than desirable.

He spends the day caught between reading and running errands. There’s something calming about being in Chu Wanning’s space, for all its chaos—or maybe the chaos is why he finds so much peace in it? Every surface of the apartment is covered in objects being tinkered with.

While he didn’t realize what a mess Chu-laoshi was when under his tutelage, it makes a lot of sense to him now. In class he’s always so controlled. With his hobbies, would he not be a little more reckless?

Of course, that doesn’t make it easy to see him prick his finger on his tools for the 10th time in one evening, but Mo Ran is satisfied having a new glimpse into Chu Wanning’s life. He’s always been such a private person.

By the time Chu Wanning returns, he’s already well into preparing that night’s dinner. Mo Ran has only been here two nights, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Chu Wanning always comes back this late—he’s always doing some person a favor, or meeting with another student with a difficult schedule, or whatever over-worked and over-burdened thing he’s decided to take on today.

It’s not exactly comfortable, not with how new this much proximity is, but it’s nice. Mo Ran’s learned more about Jiangsu cuisine in the past two days than he ever thought he’d learn in his life.

He’s almost forgotten about his little problem, distracted at his strange enjoyment in feeding Chu Wanning, when he gets caught rolling his neck.

Chu Wanning frowns. “You’ve done that three times.”


“Your neck.” His hands are frozen over the keys of his laptop as he tracks Mo Ran’s movements from the dining room, the space open concept and airy. Mo Ran starts plating.

Chu Wanning moves the laptop only seconds before Mo Ran sets the dishes on the table. He hasn’t stopped staring; Mo Ran can’t help basking a little in that gaze, even if it’s not for the reasons he wants. He’d been the same way as a student under Chu-laoshi: bringing flowers for his desk, turning in things on time, raising his hand more than he’d ever raised it in any prior class in his life.

Now, watching him chew his way through Mo Ran’s food, warmth in those usually austere eyes, Mo Ran wants to laugh at how silly his former dreams were. Having had this, he wonders if he’ll ever be able to move past it.

“Is it the couch?” Chu Wanning asks, just as Mo Ran’s begun to relax. He stops with chopsticks halfway to his mouth.

“No, no,” he assures, “Chu-laoshi is considerate, but the couch is fine.”

The couch is not fine. He’s going to permanently bend his spine weird on it. That said, he also doesn’t want to take advantage of Chu Wanning’s hospitality, not when he—

When he really admires him.

He receives a narrow-eyed glare for his troubles, but nothing more.

They finish their meal in companionable silence. Chu Wanning looks down at his dish for the most part, avoiding Mo Ran’s gaze. It’s weird, but not weird enough to really be weird, considering how Chu-laoshi can get. Mo Ran chalks it up to something that happened at the school and resolves to leave it at that.





Halfway through the dishes, he’s proven incorrect.

“Mo Ran.”


He turns off the sink, drying his hands and turning to face Chu Wanning, who is once again avoiding direct eye contact. He wrings his hands. Mo Ran feels a twang of sympathy in his chest.

“I know that the couch is too small for you.”

Mo Ran frowns. “But it’s just another few days, and—”

“What if there’s another way?”

He’s speaking faster than he normally does, finally looking up and facing Mo Ran properly. He seems almost angry. Defiant. “There is. Another way.”

Mo Ran’s lips quirk. “Are you hiding a second bedroom?”

Chu Wanning flushes pink, mostly at the ears and across his cheekbones. “I can offer mine.”

The words clearly don’t come out as intended. Hearing them, Chu Wanning flushes far worse, splotchy red trailing down his neck so invitingly that, should Mo Ran have been holding anything at the time, he would have dropped it.

Luckily, all he does is tighten his hands on the island between them.

“I’d never put you out of your bedroom,” Mo Ran argues. His voice has dropped. He can’t help it. He would dare anyone to try thinking pure thoughts after being invited into Chu Wanning’s bedroom.

Chu Wanning crosses his arms. “I wouldn’t be leaving, either.” Still very red, he gestures to the hall. “Come. See.”

Mo Ran follows with trepidation, though probably not for any reasons that Chu Wanning would expect. Mostly, he doesn’t know how he’s going to will the beginning hardness of his cock back down at just the idea of Chu Wanning leading him to his bedroom.

The offer is clearly platonic—he’s never even touched Chu Wanning’s (pretty, soft-looking) skin—but it’s so fraught with implication and fantasy that he’s relieved to be facing Chu Wanning’s back.

It’s a short walk. The first thing Mo Ran notices is the increase in clutter, which he didn’t quite know was possible until he made it here. It’s difficult even to figure out where to step; Chu Wanning hurriedly clears them a path to the bed, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

“It’s a big bed,” he says, waiting for Mo Ran’s response. His tone is defensive, like the words alone are proof of something.

Mo Ran can do nothing but nod.

“Yeah,” he agrees, coughing into his hand. “Yeah, that it is.”

It’s the biggest bed Mo Ran has seen in real life, and it’s covered in an assortment of tools and half-tinkered trinkets. Does Chu Wanning simply let everything he’s working on fall from his hands, wherever he happens to be, and move on like nothing’s happened? After seeing the state of the house, he wouldn’t put it past him.

“You and I can fit,” Chu Wanning explains. “Not even touching.”

All Mo Ran is thinking about right now is touching.

“Right,” he says, looking at the graceful pillar that is Chu Wanning’s neck. What does it look like pressed against the pillow, just before he falls asleep? Now Mo Ran’s going to find out.

Fuck, he’s going to agree to this. The couch really is too damn small.


Chu Wanning’s arms are crossed again. His head is held quite high. Mo Ran already knows what he’s going to say, but if he didn’t, this would have convinced him; such a proud look can only be met with indulgence.

He nods. “We’ll fit. I appreciate it.”

Some of the tension leaves Chu Wanning’s shoulders, though not all of it. Mo Ran suspects some part of it remains even in sleep; he’ll get to test that theory soon. Wow. Fuck.

“I’m gonna—” He doesn’t finish, thumbing over his shoulder before darting out of the room in search of his toothbrush and phone charger. It doesn’t take much to switch from one room to another, considering he’s been living out of a suitcase. Even so, their late dinner hour means that by the time he’s finished getting ready, Chu Wanning is already curled up on one side of the bed.

He’s taken the side closest to the window and furthest from the door, which suits Mo Ran. There’s something much more comforting in being between the entrance and Chu Wanning’s body than there would be in reverse, even though he knows Chu Wanning would be none too pleased with such protective instincts.

Sadly, that’s the only easy part of the proceedings.

Chu Wanning didn’t get a second blanket. Mo Ran would, if he knew where one was, but it feels wrong to drag the already used one from the couch into someone else’s bed. After a moment of hesitation, he slides beneath the same blanket as Chu Wanning. There’s still plenty of room for both of them, the blanket hanging off the edges in spite of the two bodies beneath.

He settles on his side, looking at the long sweep of Chu Wanning’s hair against his pillow.

“Chu-laoshi?” he whispers, near silent. A pause. “Wanning?”

When there’s no answer, he isn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. He stares for a while longer, the darkness permitting, and somehow falls asleep.





Mo Ran shifts his weight forwards, cushioned against something warm and soft. It feels good.

His dream is rapidly fading, the way most dreams do, but it was about something close and hot, something just out of reach yet directly in his grasp. He feels like he’s waking up after a particularly good bender, with someone beautiful and willing still sprawled in his bed.

Speaking of which.

He buries his face in the neck of his partner, still half asleep—it appears they aren’t awake, either. They smell like something sweet and fragrant, something he wants to roll around in like an excitable pup. His cock is hard in his sweats just from being pressed against the rounded curve of their ass.

He ruts forward. It feels so good he does it again—long, slow grinds of his hips.

There’s no rhythm or finesse to Mo Ran’s movements; he’s not awake enough for it. All he knows is that he’s spooning someone who smells good enough to eat, and when he opens his mouth, pressing a wet kiss to the back of their neck, they taste good, too.

His own muffled groan is enough to wake him further, nudging him into the reality of the world. Mo Ran recognizes the scent at last—haitang blossoms.

He freezes.

Mo Ran takes stock of his situation, really noting things, for the first time. The way his body is curled around Chu Wanning’s, making any escape nearly impossible. The way his hand curves sweetly around Chu Wanning’s hip, the heat of his body scorching the front of Mo Ran’s.

His ass. It’s so soft and so round and it feels so good against his cock that Mo Ran thinks he might come in his pants, still loose and a bit sleepy, like he’s a teenager again.


Slowly, so as not to wake him—Mo Ran is deeply grateful Chu Wanning appears to be asleep—he forces himself to pry away his hand, to lean his hips back, to roll over so he’s staring at the ceiling. He’s indulged in his sleep in ways he never would’ve thought permissible when awake. Shaken, he moves to get out of bed.

A hand darts out to catch his arm.

Mo Ran turns to Chu Wanning, both terrified of what he might see and determined that he has no right to avoid it.

He’s beautiful. He’s always beautiful, but in the early rays of dawn, his face soft with sleep, there’s an ethereal nature to it that steals the air from Mo Ran’s lungs. He’s frowning, but it doesn’t detract from his beauty; soft like this, it could almost be a pout.

They stare at each other, exposed by the intimacy of sleep, the vulnerability shared between two people in one bed. Mo Ran fumbles for something to say.

“Sorry,” he starts, “did I wake you?”

He can’t tell if Chu Wanning is flushed from the warmth of sleep or if—if he—

“Don’t you want to?”

Mo Ran’s mouth falls open. This is—is he awake at all? Did he dream this? He can’t be awake, because Chu Wanning would never ask that.

He knows enough of attraction to know what that question means.

The longer the silence stretches, the more flustered Chu Wanning becomes, looking away and dropping Mo Ran’s wrist at the same time. If it is a dream, it’s hyper-realistic; Mo Ran can’t even bear the dream Chu Wanning misunderstanding his reticence as disinterest.

If interest is what he wants. Can that be possible?

Chu Wanning makes to escape the bed. Mo Ran acts on instinct, catching him with one arm around his waist, pulling him close.


He’s always called him Chu-laoshi before, but Chu Wanning has been hammering home that he doesn’t have to for months. It’s as good a time as any to start listening.

“What,” he snaps, all claws and tender skin. Mo Ran’s heart pounds.

In spite of his demeanor, Chu Wanning doesn’t do anything else, content to be held close.

Oh. Oh. Mo Ran grins.

He captures Chu Wanning’s chin with his fingers, turning his head so he can look at him properly. He looks affronted, yes, but there’s a hint of panic there, too, just beneath the surface of his gaze. Mo Ran takes a gamble.

“I think you felt how much I wanted to.”

Chu Wanning’s eyes go wide, pupils dilating, drowning out that phoenix color. Mo Ran feels a rush of thick satisfaction in his chest.

Still, he wouldn’t be Chu Wanning if he didn’t argue. “You were asleep,” he says, stiff and unyielding.

Clarity washes over Mo Ran in unadulterated waves, causing an almost dizzying level of delight.

“Does it matter?” Mo Ran asks, leaning in to brush his mouth over the delicate skin of Chu Wanning’s ear. “When I dream about you anyway?”

Chu Wanning leans in at his touch. He’s so responsive; Mo Ran can feel him clench his teeth to prevent a sound, smiling as he pulls back to look at Chu Wanning’s face again.

“I’ll be clearer,” Mo Ran promises, leaning in for a kiss.

He’s spent so long trying to keep his thoughts about Chu Wanning as innocent as possible—at least, in his company—that the instant he has his tongue in his mouth, his mind can only go straight to depravity. It’s just… small. Not the smallest he’s ever kissed, but small enough that he’d have a time stretching it wide around his cock. Just the thought is enough to make him throb in his sweats, precome sticking to the fabric.

Chu Wanning makes a sound, muffled by the slick, audible kisses they’re trading; Mo Ran only realizes he’s moved his hand to Chu Wanning’s hair when he grasps it at the noise. This elicits another weak sound, marginally louder, still well-contained.

He gives himself a new personal mission: get Chu Wanning whining so loudly it fills the room.

Mo Ran licks the taste of sleep from both of them, until all he can focus on is the sweet sound Chu Wanning makes when he fucks his tongue into his mouth, this little mewl he wants to hear every day until he has a heart attack from the overstimulation. One hand still gripping tightly to the hair at the base of his neck, Mo Ran brings the other to cup his face, feeling the way Chu Wanning’s mouth works beneath his touch with something like pride.

He never wants to stop kissing Chu Wanning, but he does want to hear what kind of sound he might coax forth if his mouth was unoccupied, and his neck has been a siren’s call to Mo Ran since the day they met. He pulls away—thrilled to hear Chu Wanning panting slightly—and presses his lips to his jaw, the hollow below his ear, the smooth line of his neck. When he hears the breath woosh from Chu Wanning’s lungs at one particular spot, he stays there, worrying at it with his teeth, sucking his mark into Chu Wanning’s skin.

The thought is heady.

He lowers Chu Wanning into the sheets, who goes easily enough at Mo Ran’s direction, eyes shut but his lashes fluttering.

“Is it good, baobei?” he asks, endearment slipping out before he can help it.

Chu Wanning opens his eyes. He’s frowning again, as though Mo Ran making him speak is the most put upon he’s ever been.

“Shouldn’t you know?”

Mo Ran laughs. “Because of my experience?” When Chu Wanning flushes hard, Mo Ran knows he’s right, even though he doesn’t get a proper answer. Mo Ran settles between his thighs, amazed at how easily they part, just for him.

“I still want to hear it,” he says, pulling Chu Wanning’s thin shirt up his torso. When he lifts his arms, Mo Ran takes it all the way off; without a shirt himself, they’re pressed skin to skin as he retakes his mouth, sucks a new bruise beneath his jaw, pulls a nipple into his mouth and wants to smile at the way Chu Wanning’s entire body arches, shivering, toward the sensation.

“Mo Ran!”

It’s more of a furious whisper than a shout, but it causes vicious satisfaction in him, his cock leaking harder than ever. He moves to the other nipple, alternating between sucking and biting carefully until Chu Wanning starts making desperate “nh, nh, nh!” sounds above him.

It’s beautiful. It’s going to ruin him.

He could do this for hours, but Chu Wanning starts rutting up with his hips, unsure pushes that clearly aren’t giving him the relief he needs. He sounds more and more frustrated—it’s cute, but Mo Ran wants to give him what he wants, too.

This first time, especially, Chu Wanning should be spoiled a little.

It’s not the most romantic thing in the world to start with dry-humping in their sleep, after all. If he wants, Mo Ran will provide… and hopefully make it special enough for a repeat performance.

With regret, Mo Ran leaves a trail of kisses down Chu Wanning’s stomach, dipping his tongue into his belly button and laughing when he squeaks. He has to pause, there, just for a moment, to press his temple to Chu Wanning’s skin and breathe.

To his shock, he feels a tentative hand in his hair. It just rests there, almost petting him rather than directing in any way, but it’s… sweet.

Chu-laoshi is full of surprises this morning.

WIth this encouragement, he tugs at Chu Wanning’s pants, looking up and waiting for his nod of assent. It’s a tiny thing, barely a hint of movement as he closes his eyes beneath Mo Ran’s hot gaze.

He slides the rest of Chu Wanning’s clothes off. On the way back up, he has to stop, pressing a kiss to the arch of his foot, then a delicate ankle, followed by a strong calf and a thigh that holds a surprising amount of fat for how small he always seems. Mo Ran’s kiss there elicits a sharp breath, but that’s not nearly enough sound, not for how deeply he wants to drink from Chu Wanning today.

Mo Ran finishes his crawl back up Chu Wanning’s body, not giving him a moment to prepare before he’s sliding his tongue up the length of his cock. Chu Wanning’s gasp has just the hint of a high sound behind it; Mo Ran wants to chase it.

He pauses briefly at the head, lips barely brushing it as he waits, but his breath fans out across him and Chu Wanning has no protest. He tightens his hand on Mo Ran’s head, but only slightly—no one would call it a grip.

Mo Ran slides his tongue out over his teeth and ducks his head down, the head of Chu Wanning’s cock held snug in his mouth. He’s leaking, not half as much as Mo Ran, but the taste of him—bitter salt, a hint of something earthy and sweet—makes Mo Ran groan. He clamps down on Chu Wanning’s hips with one arm, not because he’s uninterested in getting his face fucked, but because this time he wants to make Chu Wanning feel good all on his own, by his own power.

He’s quiet, at first. Mo Ran thought he might be. He moans around Chu Wanning again, this time for the sensation of it rather than for any particular reason, and takes him all the way in. Mo Ran has never had a particularly sensitive gag reflex, and Chu Wanning isn’t big enough to hurt him; the perfect length to deepthroat.

When he brushes the back of Mo Ran’s throat—the soft, fleshy wall of it—Chu Wanning moans properly for the first time.

Mo Ran is certain, now, that he’ll die if he doesn’t hear that again. He’ll die if he doesn’t hear it every day, and be cross if he doesn’t hear it more than once a day at that. He rolls his eyes up to watch Chu Wanning, loving the way both hands now scramble at his hair, trying to grab and to shove but kitten-weak, eyes closed, throat bared in the sweetest arch he’s ever seen.

Chu Wanning is beautiful. Mo Ran wants him to fall apart beneath his hands, knowing that to have that much trust would be an honor almost too much to bear.

He tries a variety of things to stave off the inevitable, of course. Mo Ran watches him as he bobs his head, alternating his rhythm based on how Chu Wanning responds. He definitely likes a firm touch, a harsh focus, even a punishing one, but the best part is watching how he tries and fails to keep himself contained.

Chu Wanning bites his lip so hard that Mo Ran can see the indents of his teeth when he finally lets go, surprised he didn’t bite hard enough to bleed. Every noise he makes is choked and bitten off; at one point, Mo Ran holds him steady as he coughs around it. Yet the closer he gets to orgasm, the more open he is, too, lashes fluttering, hand pressed to his lips so he won’t cry out.

Mo Ran reaches with his free hand to tug that arm, until there’s nothing to bar him from the soft but genuine whine that falls from Chu Wanning’s lips when he swirls his tongue around the head of his cock.

“I’ll,” he gasps, “Mo Ran—Mo Ran—”

The urgency in his voice is understood and recognized. Mo Ran links their fingers and squeezes, letting him know it’s okay, and goes faster.

It seems to be what Chu Wanning needs. With a hoarse cry, he fills Mo Ran’s mouth; he swallows greedily, not wanting to waste anything Chu Wanning has given him. He keeps his mouth around the head even as Chu Wanning comes down from the high, until his whining grows unsure and cautious, at which point Mo Ran pulls off and presses a sloppy kiss to his hip, panting against his skin.

He feels like he’s run five miles. He feels out of his body with it, with the high. Chu Wanning, whining because of him, coming because of him.

A tentative tug at his hair has Mo Ran smiling into his skin before sliding back up the length of Chu Wanning’s body to kiss him. He probably tastes himself on Mo Ran’s tongue, but he doesn’t seem to mind, opening for him just as easily as before, if not easier. Post-orgasm, he’s looser, bold enough to put his hand on the back of Mo Ran’s neck and keep him in kissing range.

“Gorgeous,” he says when he can get the breath to. Chu Wanning’s eyes go wide. “You’re so gorgeous,” he repeats, kissing his nose. Chu Wanning’s whole face wrinkles up. Mo Ran laughs.

They kiss like that for some time, lazy and free with it even though Mo Ran’s so hard he feels like all the blood in his body has been redirected to his cock. He doesn’t even really care if he comes at this point. Making Chu-laoshi come in his mouth is the highlight of his year, maybe even his life? He’s at peace. Content.

His heart is fucking pounding.

Chu Wanning touches his hip three times before gathering enough courage to move it, sliding down to the hem of Mo Ran’s pants. Suddenly, he’s very focused on coming. On his dick being touched.

Chu Wanning breaks the kiss to toy with the drawstring of Mo Ran’s sweats. “What about…”

Mo Ran hums. “About?”

“You didn’t—do you…”

He’s so breathless. Mo Ran has to kiss him again, causing Chu Wanning’s hand to spasm and brush his cock. He groans into his mouth, rutting forward against Chu Wanning’s naked hips and shocked at the desperate sound he makes in response.

Mo Ran had no idea it was possible for Chu Wanning to make such a sound, even in his wildest fantasies. He does it again.

“Like that, baobei?”

Chu Wanning nods frantically, face pressed to his neck, cock hardening between them once more. His refractory period is short. Mo Ran is satisfied that they’ll be able to keep pace with each other.

He shoves down his sweats, not even stopping to get them all the way off before he’s flipping Chu Wanning on his stomach, stroking a soothing hand down his back.


Chu Wanning nods into the pillow, a short, jerky motion. When Mo Ran is still for a second too long, he shifts his hips, pushing so his back falls in a low arch and his ass is slightly up in the air. “You, too,” he asks, too soft to be demanding, though that’s probably what he’s going for.

Mo Ran presses a kiss to his shoulder, sweeping his hair to the side so he has easy access to his neck.

Taking one of his thighs in each hand, Mo Ran closes them, bracketing them with his own legs as he straddles him. Chu Wanning makes a confused sound, but Mo Ran settles him, one hand on his hip as the other begins feeding his cock into the tight space between Chu Wanning’s thighs.

It’s a little dry, at first, but damp with sweat and hot, so hot it fries Mo Ran’s brain. “Fuck,” he breathes, sliding out, letting his ever-leaking cock help slick his thighs with the next thrust. “Fuck.”

Chu Wanning is moaning quietly into the pillow; apparently, the orgasm loosened a little of his inhibitions. Mo Ran grasps tightly at his hips and begins a slow rhythm, fucking his thighs, precome dribbling onto his balls when he slides by them.

He hasn’t done this in years, hasn’t been desperate enough for it. Usually, if he wants to fuck, he’ll take his time, open them with his tongue or his fingers before fucking them full. But he’s wanted Chu Wanning for so long, and his thighs are so surprisingly plush. He would dare anyone to resist such temptation.

“Mo Ran!”

He detects a hint of surprise in Chu Wanning’s tone that makes him grin. Most people don’t think of this, when they think of sex. He’s not sure how many people Chu Wanning has been with, but he’d bet that none of them bothered with this in their foreplay routine.

Mo Ran holds him tighter. Maybe he’ll bruise. The thought twists his stomach just as it sends a rush through him, but Chu Wanning gives no complaint, only pushing his hips back a little and biting down on the pillow.


“So good, Wanning,” he breathes, delighted by the way Chu Wanning’s breath hitches at the words. “You look so good like this, taking me so well.” He thinks he hears a muffled sob into the pillow, Chu Wanning’s hips shoving back toward him in a proper thrust for the first time. “Does it feel good?”

A nod, but it’s not enough. Mo Ran leans down, propping himself on his elbows and blanketing Chu Wanning’s body with his own, the roll of his hips languid and intimate. “I didn’t hear you,” he breathes, sinking his teeth into Chu Wanning’s shoulder.

Mo Ran sucks another mark there, some place easy for him to hide during the day but that Mo Ran will be able to feel out with his fingertips, reminding Chu Wanning of all they’ve done.

Chu Wanning turns his face to the side, pressing his cheek against the pillow, and whines. It’s not muffled or choked off, not hidden in any way; it’s so good Mo Ran thinks he might pass out for a second.

It’s still not what he asked for.

“Words, baobei.” He brushes a stray hair from the back of Chu Wanning’s neck, thrusts becoming clumsy. He wants to come so bad it hurts. “Tell me.”

He feels the full body shudder Chu Wanning gives in his bones.

“Good,” he mumbles, hiding his face in the pillow the moment he’s done, like he’s done something mortifying. Mo Ran rewards him by thrusting hard, so hard it presses Chu Wanning’s cock into the bed, giving him a little bit of added friction. The muffled keen he makes is more than enough reward.

Between the slide of Chu Wanning’s slick skin and the knowledge that he’s pleasured him—that he keeps pleasuring him—Mo Ran isn’t going to last. “Gonna come again, sweetheart?” he asks, hoping the answer is yes.

Chu Wanning nods into the pillow again.

“Want to come with me?” He’s gasping now, forehead pressed to Chu Wanning’s shoulder, hot breaths fanning across his skin. Chu Wanning moans, his voice breaking in the middle, even through the pillow. “You can,” he says, “you’ve been so perfect for me, Wanning, will you come with me?”

Just like that— the moment he has permission—Chu Wanning obeys. He comes, letting Mo Ran personally usher in his orgasm, and the thought of that much power over him has Mo Ran making a mess of his ass and thighs.

He’ll be thinking about Chu Wanning’s cry of pleasure when he came again for weeks, if not months.

Mo Ran falls on his back to the side, both of them panting. He’s forgotten anything about what happened before he kissed Chu Wanning. What time of day is it? What day is it? Is time or space real? Was this a dream?

Once he gets his breath back, he leans over and kisses the ball of Chu Wanning’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

Naked and happy, he goes to Chu Wanning’s bathroom to find a washcloth and run it under warm water. Not wanting to be gone too long, he hurries back, crawling across the bed to clean Chu Wanning’s body. Mo Ran takes his time, slow and methodical with it, pressing kisses to Chu Wanning’s back as he goes. Once he’s done, he gathers Chu Wanning into his lap and cleans his front, too, ignoring the wet spot for now. He makes an accurate toss to the hamper after, nuzzling Chu Wanning’s neck where he’s curled tight and trying to ease his nerves.

“Did you like that?” he asks, hoping the answer is yes. “I did. A lot.”

“I’ll be late, now.” He sounds remarkably affronted for someone cuddling into Mo Ran’s naked shoulder right now.

He smiles, squeezing Chu Wanning’s waist. “I’ll help you get ready.”

“I’m not a child.”

“No,” Mo Ran agrees, “I just like you this much. Will you let me help?”

Chu Wanning burrows tighter into his hold, burying his face. After a moment, he allows it. “You may wash my hair,” he states, prim and proper as anything, “and make breakfast.”

Mo Ran smiles into his hair. “I’ll do that.”





Later, when Mo Ran is in the middle of making dinner and definitely not overthinking the reasons Chu Wanning could have for coming home relatively early, he opens the wrong drawer and sees something… curious.

“Wanning?” he asks.

Chu Wanning looks up, a strangely eager flash in his eyes before they return to their usual inscrutable display. Mo Ran holds up the small metal part of… something, probably a project, that he found in the back of the knife drawer. “Did you need this?”

To his surprise, Chu Wanning flushes near crimson. Mo Ran blinks slowly. “Wanning?”

“No,” he says, turning away and opening his laptop before typing at such a rapid pace Mo Ran knows he can’t really be typing anything. He can, in fact, see the string of nonsense on the screen over Chu Wanning’s shoulder, because his eyes are getting bad and he writes everything in a huge character size.

Mo Ran’s lips curve, confusion not lessening his pleasure. Chu Wanning is so cute like this.

He looks again at the part. Really looks at it. Heart racing, he turns the burner on the stove to its lowest setting and walks over, setting the part on the table next to Chu Wanning’s laptop.

“Is this,” he asks, “what I think it is?”

“No.” Chu Wanning has at least stopped pretending to type, but his shoulders are quite stiff.

Mo Ran is beaming now. “Baobei, did you break the pull-out sofa?”

No answer. He’s so happy he thinks his face is tingling.

“Did you want to ask me to sleep in your bed? Did it take you two days to ask me to sleep in your bed, even after all that?”

Chu Wanning abruptly stands. “I’m not hungry. I’m turning in early.”

He goes to leave when Mo Ran catches him around the waist, turning him and kissing every inch of his face he can see. At first, Chu Wanning is stiff, hands on his chest like he wants to push away, but every kiss softens his demeanor. By the time Mo Ran is done with him, he’s leaning heavily into his body, looking up through his lashes as he continues to furiously blush.

“I like you,” Mo Ran reminds him. “I like you so, so much.”

Chu Wanning wraps his arms around Mo Ran’s waist, slowly, like he’s afraid he isn’t allowed. “Me too,” he says into Mo Ran’s sweater. “I do too. Like you.”

I can tell, Mo Ran thinks, by the way you broke the sofa.

Outwardly, he kisses Chu Wanning’s temple and stays quiet. At the very least, he’ll never have another reason to try tricking Mo Ran into his bed. Mo Ran will simply have to tell him every day.

The thought suits him well.