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The Taste of Your Honey's Sweet

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To say that he and Lan Zhan are friends would be a stretch. They’re lab mates, and occasional late-night last-minute rushing-to-finish-edits-before-deadline partners. They suffer through Professor Lan Qiren’s ranting criticisms of their ‘appallingly adolescent’ grant proposal drafts together and spend the next 48 hours holed up in Lan Zhan’s living room completely rewriting them. It’s quite the bonding experience, and Wei Ying does feel close to Lan Zhan, at least somewhat. But still, they’re not really friends, which was just fine with Wei Ying when he first enrolled in the graduate program here.

But there’s only so many times you can watch a man glove up right in front of you before you start to notice his elegant, long fingers, how big his hands are, how thin the latex stretches over them. And—oh no—the rest of him is quite attractive as well, isn’t it?

Then there was that one accidental chemical spill and subsequent emergency shower where Lan Zhan’s eyes had lingered a little too long on Wei Ying’s naked body while calling for medical help, his voice stuttering on the phone. Wei Ying only makes it through two more weeks of unaddressed sexual tension before he decides to do something about it.

First, he decides maybe he just needs to get it out of his system. The guy working in the Nie lab three doors over seems pretty down after Wei Ying accidentally matched with him on tinder. Wei Ying is content with his plan to bang out his weird obsession with Lan Zhan’s hands with a mediocre fuck—he really is.

Well, until the department assigns both him and The Nie Guy to assist the safety walkthrough for some newbie undergrads going into intro chem. It’s all going fine (if not a little boring with no one to tease), and then The Nie Guy breaks a $10,000 piece of lab equipment during a demo trying to impress Wei Ying with his (not so) charming wit in front of everyone. After being screamed at by the department head and then screamed at again by Professor Lan, he deletes the guy’s number. There’s no way he’s letting someone who can’t even remember to balance a centrifuge near his asshole. He deserves better than that.

And so, he defaults to the only real option he has left: seduce the object of his nightly shower jerk-off fantasies and pray/hope that maybe, just maybe, his extremely fuckable thighs and tiny waist will do their job and get him laid. Lan Zhan probably does, in fact, fuck. Wei Ying swears he’s seen hickeys under those turtlenecks and high collars, he’s also sure he could leave better ones.

Point being—Wei Ying knows he’s hot. He’s fairly confident, if nothing else, that he can at least annoy Lan Zhan to the point of hate-fucking his mouth in the stock room if he really applies himself.

Wei Ying’s usual problem is that he can’t get away with wearing anything sexy to the lab (PPE—what a cockblock) and he’s not keen on wearing anything sexy to sit and suffer in the cold library for eight hours overnight. As a result, he hasn’t gotten a chance to, you know, further advertise his assets. Prove to Lan Zhan that he’s worth railing.

In his defense, he wasn’t expecting Lan Zhan to be here tonight. There was an official holiday party for the entire microbiology department a few nights ago with champagne and fancy hors d'oeuvres and all that; Wei Ying had seen him there for a grand total of ten minutes before he’d made his exit. So really, who can blame him for not thinking Lan Zhan would show up to the hush hush, ‘don’t talk about it but everyone knows about it’, barely classier than a frat party, grad student only, end-of-semester rager.

But Lan Zhan is here, looking like the world’s sexiest tree topper—an angel in white silk chiffon and designer boots. Good thing Wei Ying had decided fuck it earlier, and rocked up to the gig wearing his very own impression of the slutty santa outfit from Mean Girls—though perhaps a bit sluttier. His thigh high boots leave just the slightest sliver of skin visible below his skirt, and in a last ditch effort to get laid before the new year, he’s worn a collar; white, with buckles and a large O-ring in the front. And if he was thinking of Lan Zhan when he bought it (he never wears white!) then that’s no one’s business but his own.

Wei Ying can hardly remember how he got here, shoved up against the wall in a corner of the basement, not even twenty feet from where other party-goers are still socializing and drinking. While the short-term memory loss is concerning, it’s not the most important thing. What is important, is that Lan Zhan has a leg between his thighs and a firm hand on his jaw, fingers tracing his mouth. His other hand is hooked into the ring of his collar, pulling gently, a delicious pressure against Wei Ying’s neck.

Lan Zhan pulls down his bottom lip with his thumb. “When I fuck you…”

Wei Ying whimpers. When. Like there’s no question about it. Like he’s absolutely sure Wei Ying will let him. Then again, Wei Ying’s imagination wanders as he shivers, maybe he doesn’t care whether or not I’ll let him.

“Pay attention, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan admonishes.

“Huh?” he mumbles, trying to keep his mouth open as his mind runs wild.

Lan Zhan hasn’t asked him to, but he wants to show him the pink of his tongue, the saliva he can feel pooling and making his mouth wetter. He wants Lan Zhan to fuck those fingers down his throat and make him gag. He might want Lan Zhan to laugh at him while he does it.

“When I fuck you.” Another swipe of his thumb against Wei Ying’s lip. “You’re going to beg me to let you come. Do you understand?”

Well, fuck. Wei Ying nods dumbly.

“Good.”

(Wei Ying adds ‘top of my dreams’ to his mental list of Lan Zhan’s sexiest personality traits, right next to ‘never forgets which dilution he’s at while he does serials’ and ‘the only one in this god damn lab besides Wei Ying who can actually count a plaque assay to save his life’. His competency kink is thriving.)

Lan Zhan spins him around rapidly, pressing his body against the wall and shoving a hand up under his skirt. Wow, okay, this is happening very fast and very here but he’s not going to complain about it. He’d let Lan Zhan fuck him anywhere.

Lan Zhan spends some time running his fingers over the lace panties he slid on this morning—Wei Ying mentally thanks his past self again for that stellar decision—before hooking his fingers into the waistband and pulling them down. Oh, he didn’t. When Wei Ying looks down his suspicions are confirmed. Yep, Lan Zhan has just pulled his panties down to rest well below the hem of his skirt, just above the tops of his boots, where anyone can see them.

So Lan Zhan really intends to do it like this, huh.

Wei Ying whines high in the back of his throat and squishes his flaming face to the cool wall. When he looks up again his gaze sweeps out over the rest of the room—he makes direct eye contact with that guy in the neighboring lab who keeps trying to ask for his data ‘just as a reference’. What was his name? Su something. It’s the same guy who got caught trying to copy Lan Zhan’s experimental design last semester and only got out of it by claiming he couldn’t possibly have known what Lan Zhan was doing since he was in another lab. Sure, right.

Su something looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel, so of course Wei Ying maintains eye contact with him. Let him see the way Lan Zhan can use Wei Ying wherever and whenever he wants, when he couldn’t even manage to get Wei Ying’s number. He keeps looking, lashes fluttering, as Lan Zhan grabs one of his hands and twists it behind his back, balling the fabric of his skirt up before pressing it into Wei Ying’s fist. Eat it up, Su Shit.

The sudden exposure makes the bare skin of his ass and backs of his thighs erupt into goosebumps. He can’t tell if it’s the temperature of the room, or the fact that anyone could look over and see him like this. Or that someone already has.

“Keep it there and don’t drop it,” Lan Zhan commands. Wei Ying finally peels his eyes away from his staring match to look over his shoulder at him; Lan Zhan deserves his full attention, anyway. He flashes him his largest smile.

“Yes, sir.”

The look Lan Zhan gives him after that is searing. Out of nowhere, a sharp stinging hit lands on his asscheek, making him yelp and squirm. Lan Zhan’s hands move with brutal precision onto his waist, gripping him hard so that he can’t get away.

Look, Wei Ying knows Lan Zhan has big hands—he wears extra-large gloves at the lab, which no one does—but they feel absolutely massive clutching around his hips. His cock twitches where he’s gone from half-hard to full-mast in a matter of seconds.

“Stay still. Don’t be a brat,” Lan Zhan says.

Past life experience suggests that he’s incapable of not being at least a little bit of a brat, actually—but Lan Zhan like this melts all of the fight right out his bones. As many times as he’s dreamed of Lan Zhan wrestling him into submission, fucking him right there on the lab bench and slapping his face when he tries to escape, right now he just wants to be good, docile, well-behaved. Wants to let Lan Zhan use him in front of everyone they work with like it’s nothing, like this is what Wei Ying is really meant for.

As Lan Zhan sinks to his knees behind him, Wei Ying gets a weird kick of pride at the fact that Lan Zhan is willing to stain his pretty, white, expensive pants just to get his mouth on Wei Ying’s ass. Lan Zhan nudges his legs further apart with his hands on his inner thighs—Wei Ying wonders if Lan Zhan could wrap a hand fully around one of them.

Spreading his legs reveals his hole to Lan Zhan; Wei Ying is grateful he planned, at least a little bit, for something like this to happen. He feels pretty under Lan Zhan’s hands, which is a good way to feel when you’re trying to beg for cock. Really, confidence is key.

Lan Zhan’s thumbs pull him open, fingertips resting right next to his hole where he can feel himself twitching under the attention. Wei Ying hadn’t actually prepared himself before coming and he’s sure Lan Zhan can tell, can see how tight and dry he is.

He’s expecting an inquisitive finger, but what he gets is Lan Zhan’s tongue, wet with spit, licking a flat stripe across his hole.

“Oh my god, Lan Zhan!” He flinches away in surprise, which earns him another spank. Those same hands pull his ass back against Lan Zhan’s face while he’s still burning with shame.

Lan Zhan eats him out like he’s starving for it—like maybe he was thinking about doing this every time Wei Ying bent over in front of him. Fitting his mouth—his hot, slurping mouth—over Wie Ying’s hole, he sucks hard, and Wei Ying throws his head back with a moan that probably qualifies as straight-up pornographic. If anyone hadn’t noticed them yet, they sure as fuck have now.

When Lan Zhan prods his tongue into Wei Ying’s hole, he’s not nice about it. Pushes in insistently, ignoring the way the muscle clenches around the intrusion in protest at such rapid penetration. Lan Zhan bullies his tongue inside of him incessantly, the stretch making Wei Ying’s head spin.

Sometimes, when Wei Ying gets drunk at parties, he laments his lack of consistent, good dick. He’s said it many times and he’ll say it again. He only has four standards: tall, a deep voice, a mean attitude in bed, and a big dick. Right now, he’s three for four, which is better than he gets most of the time. He’s still holding out for that last one. Lan Zhan has to be big, he just has to be.

Lan Zhan is so intense, so good, so mean. It makes him go fuzzy, panting openly and unable to hold back any of his noises, especially not when Lan Zhan gets him wet enough to slide two fingers in beside his tongue just as mercilessly. It stings a bit—Wei Ying really should have brought lube with him—but he likes it that way. A little pain adds to the nice hazy feeling, pulling him under to a place where Lan Zhan can get him opened up and ready in, frankly, record time.

Lan Zhan pulls back and delivers another harsh smack to Wei Ying’s ass before standing. Really, Lan Zhan, people can hear that! he thinks, heat rushing to his face. But the thought is quickly wiped from his mind when he hears Lan Zhan unzipping his pants, barely audible through the bumping music. He looks back over his shoulder; he needs to get a look at just what will be going inside him. There’s no way he’s letting Lan Zhan fuck him without even seeing his (most likely) glorious cock first.

Lan Zhan spits into his palm, which oh my god, and drags it over his cock. His cock, which is fucking gorgeous, and enormous. Of course it is; Lan Zhan doesn’t disappoint, he doesn’t do anything halfway. Pressed against his hole, it looks like it’ll never fit. Wei Ying bites his lip.

“That’s gonna hurt,” he whispers, making Lan Zhan pause where he’s beginning to push in incrementally. They make eye contact again, Lan Zhan holding the slightest hint of uncertainty in his gaze; a question. He’s giving Wei Ying an out.

Wei Ying doesn’t want it. “I like it.” A pause, confusion sitting between Lan Zhan’s brow. “If it hurts, I like it,” he clarifies, watching Lan Zhan’s pupils dilate.

He’s still holding his gaze as Lan Zhan’s cock breaches him for real this time. “Oh fuck,” he gasps out, weak and trembling already, mouth dropping open and eyebrows knitting together, “you’re gonna ruin me.”

Often he’s wondered what it would feel like to not have to worry about ensuring his own pleasure during sex. Every guy before had fumbled when Wei Ying put himself in their hands and expressed his desires, leaving him feeling like he wants too much, and that he can’t have it his way. He hasn’t been ruined in a long, long time, and maybe never quite the way he’d like. Lan Zhan’s fist in his hair feels like a promise, like Lan Zhan will finally wreck him the way he needs. He’s forced to drop eye contact, unable to hold his head back as pleasure wracks through his body.

Right now he can’t find the focus to worry; each brutal push in is edged with the pain of the stretch. Every time Lan Zhan pulls out he feels shockingly empty, like Lan Zhan has carved him out with just a few thrusts. He’s never had anyone fuck him his deep before, this cruel. It makes his blood sing, knowing Lan Zhan never meant to spare him an ounce of mercy.

He can’t stay still, scrabbling at the wall and reaching back to clutch at Lan Zhan’s strong thighs, feeling them flex underneath his palms as Lan Zhan drives into him over and over again. Each moan he lets out borders on a sob, and at some point he realizes he’s begun to cry hot tears, no doubt dragging glitter and eyeliner down his flushed cheeks.

He knows he’s being loud (he’s always loud), and he glances around the rest of the room, vision blurred, to check if anyone is still here. Their extremely blatant fucking seems to have driven most people to a different section of the house. Despite being tucked away into a corner of the basement, they still have a small audience. Wei Ying would think them shameless if he wasn’t the one currently getting his ass pounded against a stranger’s wall in plain view.

But these are people who Wei Ying recognizes. I have to work with these people next week, he thinks. Some of them are watching more obviously than others, some trying to hide it—some not even sparing them a single glance and carrying on with their conversations. Nonetheless, Wei Ying squeezes his eyes shut and turns his face away into the wall.

Lan Zhan grunts unhappily at that; he grabs Wei Ying’s jaw between his fingers with a force that might honestly bruise and turns him to face the onlookers again as he shoves into him ceaselessly, hard enough to make his legs go weak. Wei Ying can only let embarrassment and shame flood through him when he keens loud and open mouthed while looking directly at the senior undergrad he trained last semester. Sorry, Jingyi.

Jingyi just gives him a thumbs up and continues refilling his drink before leaving the room in absolutely no hurry. Wei Ying almost laughs. Horrible child! This is why he’s Wei Ying’s favorite. Well, besides Sizhui.

Pleasure spikes hot in his gut as Lan Zhan begins biting at his neck right below his ear, the sharp sting of teeth on his skin making him clench around Lan Zhan every time. Lan Zhan lets go of his face so he can pull Wei Ying back against him, bouncing him on his cock so quickly Wei Ying feels his orgasm whirling toward him. His moans take on a breathy quality, a higher pitch, and Lan Zhan takes notice.

Right in his ear, voice low and shaky, Lan Zhan says, “Don’t you dare come without permission.”

Wei Ying’s cock leaks pathetically against the inside of his skirt. He’s going to make a mess of it, just like Lan Zhan is making a mess of him. And oh, Lan Zhan is probably going to come inside of him, isn't he? Wei Ying hopes he does.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying manages through gritted teeth, throat hoarse, “please, let me come!”

“You’re in no position to make demands.” Lan Zhan shoves two fingers into his mouth, making him choke slightly, eyes wet. “Ask nicely or I’ll use your mouth and leave you like this.”

He’s so close, they’re both lucky Lan Zhan’s words don’t push him right over the edge. He brings his eyes up to Lan Zhan’s face. Lan Zhan looks amazing like this under the blue and pink lights, sweat beading at his temples and mouth open and panting as he fucks into Wei Ying’s tight heat. He looks like he could shake apart at any moment, barely holding himself together to ruin Wei Ying before he lets himself come.

Wei Ying feels a sudden surge of giddiness, a powerful riot inside of him. Oh, he made Lan Zhan look like that. And Lan Zhan wants to hear him ask politely for permission to come all over himself. Will Lan Zhan’s cock throb inside of him when he begs? Wei Ying needs to know, would give Lan Zhan anything to know.

“Gege, please may I come?” He slurs around Lan Zhan’s fingers, giving him a pleading look. “Haven’t I been good for you? Please, please, please!”

Lan Zhan gasps, leans in—removing his wet fingers from Wei Ying’s mouth and dragging them across his cheek to cup his face—then crushes his lips against Wei Ying’s. He licks into him messily, breathing hard into his mouth when he answers. “You may.” His lips drag across Wei Ying’s when he speaks. “Good boy.”

Oh. Wei Ying whines as he comes, falling apart at the seams and staining the inside of his skirt with white. He was a good boy for Lan Zhan. He never wants to stop being a good boy for him. He wants to get on his knees and let Lan Zhan pet his hair, wants Lan Zhan to lead him around by his collar and own him. The fantasies strobe through Wei Ying’s mind in flashes of light, prolonging his orgasm and making his dick jerk with each one.

When Lan Zhan comes inside of him with a low, sexy groan—one that Wei Ying will be dreaming about for months—Wei Ying shivers at the swell and pulse of his cock. He’s on fire, burning up from the inside out where Lan Zhan has filled him with warm cum.

The post-orgasm haze and the warmth of Lan Zhan’s hands on him keeps him fuzzy, still under, so reality comes filtering back slowly—the music, the lights, the rumble of voices. He can’t make any of them out except Lan Zhan’s: the deep hum of reassuring words in his ear. Trusting Lan Zhan to support him, he goes limp.

“Wei Ying, you did so well for me,” Lan Zhan says, releasing Wei Ying’s arms and turning him around in his grip to face him completely.

“Really?” Wei Ying rasps, tucking his face into the curve of Lan Zhan’s sweat-damp neck. He smells so good, like seasalt and sandalwood.

Lan Zhan huffs an amused breath through his nose, which is the closest thing Wei Ying has ever heard to a laugh from him. “Really,” he answers, and lifts Wei Ying off the ground and into his arms like it’s nothing. Wei Ying is definitely making him lug the buffer jars from the stock room the next time they need a refill.

The haze clears more as they walk, like Wei Ying is coming up from the dense bottom of a pool, able to just barely glimpse what’s above the surface. He wraps his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck and says, “Fuck, Lan Zhan, you’ve been holding out on me. If this was a one time thing I think I’ll really cry.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer him right away, searching for the nearest bathroom. When he does find it, he swings the door shut behind them and sets Wei Ying down on the counter to clean him up with a warm, wet handcloth. Lan Zhan swipes between his legs, up under his skirt, and down his messy thighs; exceedingly gentle compared to the rough hand he’d used earlier. Wei Ying sighs in soft contentment. This is the first time they’ve been alone together all night, and Wei Ying feels the quiet privacy blanket around him. Lan Zhan leans in and kisses him softly once.

“It’s not a one time thing, so no need to cry—” he pauses to pull back and look at Wei Ying’s face, “—any more.”

Ugh, right, the makeup. “Ah Lan Zhan, I’m a mess, take responsibility,” he whines. He does not want to walk home like this. “Take me home?”

Lan Zhan offers him another smile. “My home or yours?”

“Yours!” Wei Ying doesn’t even need to think about it. Wei Ying’s’s apartment is nice, sure, but something about going and being in Lan Zhan’s space when he really wants him there is sticky smooth in his veins. Tacky, like it could leak out of him and glue him there forever against Lan Zhan’s side. Something tells him Lan Zhan would not mind.

Lan Zhan is still busy arranging them back into some kind of decency to make the walk to Lan Zhan’s car when Wei Ying thinks to ask where the fuck this all came from. Last he checked, Lan Zhan had expressed exactly zero interest in fucking Wei Ying brainless.

“Gege, you know I’ve spent months dropping pipette tips on purpose just so I could bend over and show you my ass, right?”

“I did notice that, yes,” Lan Zhan responds.

“And you didn’t do anything about it!?”

“It is inappropriate to proposition your coworkers while running samples. Many would consider that workplace harassment.”

“But we were alone together so many times at your place, and my place, and the library!” Wei Ying sniffs, affronted. “And you clearly knew I wanted you.”

“We had deadlines.” Lan Zhan removes Wei Ying’s ruined panties and tucks them into his pocket. Wei Ying pretends not to notice, continuing with his tirade.

“Sure, but we had hours, Lan Zhan. You could have at least kissed me or something!”

“Wei Ying—” Lan Zhan fixes him with a very significant look, “—it is not that I didn’t want to kiss you all of those times.”

Wei Ying crosses his arms across his chest. “Okay, then what was it? Please, explain.”

Lan Zhan finishes tying his long black hair into a loose bun and cages Wei Ying in close, hands squeezing his upper thighs to push him back against the mirror. His gaze burns so intently that Wei Ying feels his toes curl. “I did not trust myself to stop with just a kiss,” Lan Zhan pauses, “and we would never have made a single deadline if we did all the things I wanted to do to you.”

A shiver runs up Wei Ying’s spine as a sly grin creeps onto his face. He tips his body forward even further into Lan Zhan’s space. Inches from those kiss-bitten lips, he whispers, “There’s no deadlines now, baby.”

Lan Zhan nearly growls and meets him in a slow, open mouthed kiss; Wei Ying can’t quite keep a smile off his face. In the quiet of the bathroom away from the party, their lips make slick sounds as they melt into each other again. Lan Zhan’s hands come to grab at his ass and hoist him off the counter, body flush against his front and licking deeper into Wei Ying’s mouth. It spills a moan from his throat and he pulls back just enough to take in Lan Zhan’s heated expression and speak, voice teasing and warm,

“Take me home and show me everything, then.”