Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You simply must explain to me your reasoning,” Lan Zhan says. The slip of paper in his hands is still curled at the corners, and the seam where it had been folded is still crisp.

Nie Huaisang claps him on the shoulder, to his chagrin, and smiles widely. “Yes, Lan er-xiong,” he says. “You’re going to be absolutely perfect in the role; I can see it already.” 

“And I am to believe that you have no ulterior motives for this?” 

“Of course! I’m nothing but an innocent event planner, what other motives might I have?” 

“Nie Huaisang,” Lan Zhan starts. It’s not a sigh because he would never be so unsightly and impolite in front of anyone other than his brother, but it’s as close to as he will allow himself to get. 

“Lan er-xiong,” Nie Huaisang says with the same cadence, less exasperated, and his smile much too big. Lan Zhan wonders briefly if this is the kind of smile that Nie Huaisang usually hides behind his paper fans. “It’s for charity,” Nie Huaisang reminds him. “And if you just so happen to look like the kind of man who would be a perfect Mrs White, absolute femme fatale you both are, then so be it. The fates are being kind to me this one time.”

Lan Zhan does his best impression of a blank wall. It’s not that he isn’t proud of his brother and Nie Huaisang’s brother for the charity that they run — rather the opposite, really. It’s just that he doesn't understand the need for Nie Huaisang to throw themed fundraisers as the consulting event planner. It’s even worse that Lan Zhan is put in charge of handling the finances for all of these fundraisers. 

When Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue had first launched their first offices in Beijing, Nie Huaisang had offered to plan the opening ceremony, pro-bono (Lan Zhan had resisted the urge to openly stare at Nie Huaisang until he realised that his word selection was inapplicable). The theme had been traditional heritage — all of them wearing classy hanfu and eating at low tables, listening to erhu and xiao covers of pop songs. When a second outreach office opened in Beijing a year later, Nie Huaisang had been called in again to throw another elaborate fundraising party, and it had been decided then that he would be held on retainer as the official coordinator for their events. 

Their first foray into international philanthropy had been in Singapore. The party had been a chaotic night — food-market themed, with enough local vendors of all sorts of food and drink that Lan Zhan had been sure that most attendees wouldn’t even remember the purpose of the night for all the food comas that they’d all been reduced to. Chongqing had been a cyberpunk, neon nightmare for all that Lan Zhan could remember of the parts of the night he hadn’t been busy chasing away a migraine due to the brightness of the light pollution. Seoul had taken the spot as their second international venture, with a red carpet theme that had fake paparazzi snapping photos of them in their well-tailored suits and dresses. Macau the following year had been casino themed — slot machines, poker tables, and giant champagne glasses with beautiful women dancing in them that Lan Zhan had unfortunately heard some of the lower-ranking Jin cousins getting a little too excited about. 

Tonight, though, Lan Zhan is finally going home — to a party being held not in the heart of the city, but rather in a luxurious mansion in the rich outskirts of Shanghai. Nie Huaisang, when explaining his vision for the party, had lovingly explained that Shanghai was Lan Huan’s home and, thus, needed to have a homey theme. A theme for which Lan Zhan was going to have to roleplay a murder mystery. He’d watched Nie Huaisang pouring over the details for weeks, scouring to get only the best prop weapons the market offers, painstakingly crafting a storyline for guests to uncover, placing clues around the home that sat empty most of the time. Lan Zhan had had half a heart to be impressed with Nie Huaisang’s ability to meticulously plan out a whole murder, red herrings and alibis included, and the rest of him was reserved for pure internal grievance. Role playing. Mrs White.

Nie Huaisang had told him, when he’d read his role on the slip of paper, “Sexy Mrs White, of course — the 1985 film version. I would not have one of our star hotties marred by a grisly, white wig.” It hadn’t been as comforting as Lan Zhan imagined Nie Huaisang thought it had been.

“It is for charity,” is all Lan Zhan says, neatly folding the paper back up. “Please provide me with my clues.”

“That is the spirit!” Nie Huaisang says, a smile gracing his face again as he pulls out an envelope made of a thick, linen paper. “There’s just one more thing,” Nie Huaisang adds. His grin looks less friendly, more sinister than before. “The Jiangs confirmed their attendance.” 

Lan Zhan’s face would have fallen if he’d been making any expression.

It’s not that he has a problem with the Jiangs. Or, well, he doesn’t have a problem with Jiang Yanli. He’s found her perfectly pleasant in the past, well-read and kind when they’d discuss banal topics to pass the time. The problem is her brother. And their adoptive brother. 

“All of the Jiangs will be in attendance, I presume?” 

“Yes. Misters Jiang and Wei will be in attendance as well. Do your best not to glare at them, please, I know you can’t stand them.” 

“A-Zhan can’t stand whom?” Lan Huan asks, strolling into the room with the grace and dignity of someone who hasn’t been asked to portray Mrs White. 

“He hates the Jiangs,” Nie Huaisang clarifies.

Lan Huan fixes Lan Zhan with a look, his eyebrow raised in question even though he continues to have a perfectly pleasant smile on his lips. Lan Zhan doesn’t meet his eyes — he knows that his brother will see right through him. 

Lan Huan says simply, “I don’t believe that to be true.”

The problem is, ultimately, that Lan Zhan doesn’t hate the Jiangs. That isn’t entirely true, though — he rather dislikes the younger, Jiang Cheng, and has ever since they’d met long ago. The adopted one, Wei Ying, Lan Zhan has found irritating and shamelessly provocative. He’s been obsessed with Wei Ying since, try as he might to hide his feelings inside. Lan Huan, it seems, has been the only one to notice thus far. 

The first time he’d seen Wei Ying, he’d been dressed to the nines, and Lan Zhan had felt for the first time in his life that he’d lost his breath, that the sentence he’d started to say wouldn’t have an end. Wei Ying had shone brightly at that party — the initial Beijing opening — with red and black hanfu layers floating around him and making him look like a dream, like someone ethereal who had come down to mingle with mortals. Lan Zhan had barely made it through the rest of his conversation with his brother. 

He’d found Wei Ying at the bar later, leaning on the countertop and playing with the straw of his murky-coloured cocktail, eyeing the bartender salaciously. Lan Zhan had wanted to talk to him only moments before but had lost his nerve watching Wei Ying flirt shamelessly with someone else, and had turned to leave when their eyes had met. He ordered a mocktail just to have something to say, a reason to be at the bar. 

“Great party,” Wei Ying said, knocking back his cocktail and tearing his attention away from the bartender. “I’m Wei Ying,” he introduced, bowing the way Lan Zhan had seen in period dramas on television. 

“Lan Zhan,” he supplied. “I’m glad you are enjoying yourself, though I must give credit to my partner, Nie Huaisang, for organising the majority of the event.” 

“Damn, you speak just like your interviews.” Wei Ying popped the cherry from his cocktail into his mouth, held it between his teeth, then bit down. The red juice stained his teeth only momentarily before he closed his mouth to chew properly. 

“Pardon me?” 

“Your interviews — I’ve read them. First openly gay man in the Lan conglomerate. I had thought the way your interview was written was maybe because of like, I don’t know, pre-prepared answers because of nerves, but you really are just proper like that, aren’t you?”

Lan Zhan didn’t know what to say. Most people were intimidated to meet him, unwilling to speak so candidly and casually to him. He settled on answering, “I was raised to prioritise speaking well.” 

“Yeah, your white robes and perfect posture kind of give that impression.” Wei Ying made eye contact with the bartender again, and only a few moments later another cocktail replaced the empty one. Lan Zhan understood the murkiness, then — the cocktail was layered, red and blue juices not yet mixed together. Wei Ying continued, “Is it tough being gay in the public eye, though? I’m straight and already people put so much pressure just being in the Jiang periphery, it must be challenging, no?”

In another world, Lan Zhan might have taken to the line of questioning. A world where he hadn’t just found out that the most beautiful man he’d ever seen was straight. He didn’t know how to react, really — he’d never felt despondent like that before. Sure, he’d appreciated the aesthetic appeal of others before, had acknowledged the objective beauty of both men and women alike. He’d never before felt the urge to consume and take like he had with Wei Ying. None of his etiquette lessons, or classical upbringing, or heart-heavy conversations with his brother about the loss of their parents, could explain to him how to react in that moment. 

He’d felt hollowness before, of course. At the loss of his mother, surely. The loss of his father years later, too, had hurt more than he had initially thought it would. Lan Huan leaving home for schooling, though it was a natural transition in their lives, and the fact that they didn’t live together anymore. Coming out and seeing his uncle slightly disappointed but pragmatic enough to acknowledge he could still carry on the family name. Romantic hollowness, though, was a new game, and one that he so thoroughly did not want to play.

He usually kept to himself in those moments, sequestering himself away from the world for a few days with his cello and pet rabbits for company as he worked through whatever emotions he’d had. And in that moment, he needed exactly that. “I think I should be going,” he said, watching as Wei Ying’s face dropped. “Have a pleasant evening, Wei Ying.” 

He’d spent the rest of that first fundraiser night in Beijing dodging questions from Lan Huan, adamantly refusing to let himself worry about his brother on such an important night. 

The next time that Lan Zhan saw Wei Ying was at the Chongqing fundraiser. He’d been the plus-one guest of some Wen that wasn’t of the main branch of the family, and his themed outfit had left Lan Zhan needing a glass of water, like his mouth was too dry to even attempt speech.

“You’re certainly less elusive this time,” Wei Ying said to him once he wasn’t stuck with his brother or with Nie Huaisang. Wei Ying’s face had an easy smile, like there was some unspoken joke he was laughing at that Lan Zhan wasn’t privy to. 

“Pardon me?” Lan Zhan asked, eerily reminiscent of the last time they’d had a conversation. This time, at least, Wei Ying wasn’t in the middle of flirting with someone else, and he’d struck up conversation first, so Lan Zhan felt less like he was disturbing someone otherwise occupied. 

“After I met you the last time I was at one of these you were hard to find again,” Wei Ying clarified. “I kept looking for you, but only ran into your brother. Everyone told me that the Lan boys are basically twins, but I definitely think you’re the cuter brother,” Wei Ying continued, punctuating his sentence with a wink. Lan Zhan tightened his hand into a fist, only to restrain himself from the urge to grab Wei Ying by the ponytail and pull his hair. He didn’t even know where these desires came from. 

“I was preoccupied,” Lan Zhan said. It wasn’t necessarily a lie. 

“Too preoccupied to chat with me?” 

“You seemed otherwise engaged with the bartender at the time.”

“Ah, so that’s the truth. Er-gege, I was just saying some bullshit to get something free from the bartender; it would have been much more interesting to talk to you.” Another blasted wink. Lan Zhan didn’t know what it meant. 

“It was an open bar,” Lan Zhan parried. “Much like tonight.”

“Drinks aren’t the only thing I was getting out of him.”

“Shameless,” Lan Zhan said. If he was the type to sneer, he might have in that moment. He didn’t have to worry about that, though, as only a moment later the Wen woman came from out of nowhere, grabbing Wei Ying’s arm in a vice-like grip with a strong, steady hand. 

“Wen Qing!” Wei Ying said delightedly, looking at Wen Qing like she was his caretaker despite being a whole head shorter than him. There must have been something in her face that made Wei Ying sober up quickly, his body not so loose and languid, and he smiled apologetically at Lan Zhan. “Sorry, Lan Zhan,” he said as he was not dragged away but certainly not given the option not to follow. “We’ll chat some other time.” 

It wasn’t the last time Lan Zhan spotted Wei Ying that night, certainly not, but every time he’d look over his shoulder to see Wei Ying he was busy. Chatting with someone here, making someone laugh there, putting his arm around the shoulders of a timid looking man with pale skin that looked so much like Wen Qing it could be no one other than her brother. Lan Zhan didn’t care for the feeling of jealousy that arose in him at the sight, and had endeavoured not to look their way for the rest of the evening. 

It had worked, though he assumed that karma had it out for him when he spotted Wei Ying’s Weibo page only a day later. He’d only checked because Lan Huan’s charity had tagged him in a post on the platform, a candid photo of him and Nie Mingjue talking by some towering neon lights that threw both of their facial profiles into focus. Wei Ying had been tagged in another post, smiling broadly with his arm around Wen Qing’s waist, and Lan Zhan hadn’t been able to stop himself from snooping through the very public profile that had not enough photos for Lan Zhan’s curiosity to be sated. 

To this day, he still refuses to answer Nie Huaisang about why he’s spent more time on Weibo than ever before. He’s not entirely sure he’s convinced the younger of the Nie brothers himself is sure of Lan Zhan’s motivations for being online, but he’s also not the type to pry more than he needs to, and so Lan Zhan simply does not bring it up in the hopes that Nie Huaisang will continue to let dead dogs lie. 

“You’ll have no choice but to play nice tonight,” Nie Huaisang says, bringing Lan Zhan out of his memories and back into the present. “When I asked him, Wei Ying was more than happy to play a role in the mystery tonight.” Nie Huiasang taps Lan Zhan’s forearm with the folded-up edge of his fan. “You can’t go right to accusing him of murder.”

Lan Zhan says nothing, just looks over at Lan Huan. There’s not many things that his brother doesn’t tell him, and though he doesn’t outwardly display it, he’s sure that his brother can read the look of betrayal on his face. Lan Huan’s not entirely regretful smile tells Lan Zhan everything he needs to know. 

“Are we all ready to get into costumes, then?” Lan Huan asks, changing the subject. 

“Yes, Huan-ge,” Nie Huaisang says, sauntering over. “Doors open sooner than we expect. Shall we?” 

Lan Zhan says nothing as Nie Huaisang hands him a hanger with a thick garment cover on it. He doesn’t question how Nie Huaisang got his sizes — frankly, at this point, it would have been stranger for him not to know Lan Zhan’s size. He internally sighs as he makes his way down the stairs to the basement’s servant quarters. At least here, off limits to the guests come party time, he might have a few minutes to himself to prepare.

With the outfit change, Lan Zhan has to admit that at the very least, he will look nice for the evening. Nie Huaisang’s eye for detail hadn’t failed here, with the nice white suit he’d picked as Lan Zhan’s outfit. Otherwise, Lan Zhan’s patience is already reaching its limit. He wonders, somewhat pettily, why Lan Huan had agreed to a Cluedo themed party, and what it was about murder mysteries that screamed hometown to him. 

“Ge,” Lan Zhan says as he walks up to his brother.

“You look nice, didi,” he says back, eyes giving Lan Zhan a once-over. “Or should I say Mister White?” he asks with a glint in his eyes, like he knows exactly how tortured Lan Zhan feels right now. 

“You are absolutely certain that it is not too late to change the theme of the fundraiser?” Lan Zhan asks. He’s not petty frequently, but he can’t help letting out the question. 

“A-Zhan,” Lan Huan says calmly, in the same placating tone he used to use when Lan Zhan was a teenager and needed reassurance. “It is perfectly normal to be nervous to act in front of others. You are talented in other areas, and perhaps your quiet nature will serve to shroud you in mystery. You need only repeat the same phrases that are on your cue cards should one of the guests ask you for a clue.” Lan Huan smiles, now, a knowing look in his eyes that Lan Zhan doesn’t know that he likes. “You will certainly catch the eye of Mister Wei, if that is what you’re worrying over.”

Lan Zhan says nothing. Lan Huan reads the dirty look on his still face and laughs. “I think you should try talking to him again,” he says. “You may have Huaisang fooled, but I know that look in your eyes.” 

Lan Zhan continues to be silent, adamantly refusing to say anything to his brother — incriminating or not. 

The last of the final touches go up — a candlestick in the study, lead piping in the lavatory, and a rope in the conservatory — and by the time Lan Zhan has helped Nie Huaisang run over all the last minute details, the party is set to go.

Lan Zhan stands to the side near the grand staircase as the hired staff begin to pour champagne into flutes and get ready to showcase flowing towers of wine. He doesn’t see Wei Ying among the staff, and can only imagine that he was either briefed in advance about his role, or that Nie Huaisang has covertly pulled him aside to prepare for his role in the evening. Frankly, Lan Zhan isn’t even sure why Wei Ying was selected to assist, or what relationship he has with Nie Huaisang to be close enough to do such a favour, especially for an organisation that he has no personal ties to. 

Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue are the ones to finally announce the opening of the night — Mayor Green and Colonel Mustard, respectively, opening the doors to well-dressed guests, who trickle in like an estuary. Lan Zhan isn’t nervous, per se, as he has done this enough times to have cultivated a reputation for himself, but there is something to be desired when it comes to his role playing capabilities. He steels himself — he can do this for his brother and Nie Mingjue. He won’t even let Wei Ying overwhelm his thoughts. 

Twenty minutes later, the drinks are flowing, the music is playing quietly enough not to obstruct conversation, and the guests are milling about eating hors d’œuvres off of small plates handed out by the elegantly dressed wait staff. He can admit to himself that Nie Huaisang’s vision has paid off — there really isn’t anything out of place, granted the fact that the night has just started, of course. There is a subtle beauty to the organisation of the whole affair, with the formally dressed guests looking the part of old-fashioned, Western aristocracy as they saunter about the mansion’s entry hall. Lan Zhan hears a couple of the older looking women praising the theming of the event, giggling behind their opera gloves, flicking their faux cigarette holders. 

Nie Huaisang himself is nowhere to be seen from Lan Zhan’s vantage point, though he’d seen the colourful and elegant suit he’d donned earlier. He’d made a splendid Mister Peacock, even if the large, peacock feather fan he held in front of his face was a little ostentatious for Lan Zhan’s tastes. 

“Nice mansion.”

Lan Zhan feels his ears heat up. He’s not even sure why his ears are burning because it’s not like Wei Ying has said anything flirtatious, but when he turns to look at Wei Ying he feels overwhelmed all the same. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says cordially. He then nods his head at Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan, her husband and a rather large benefactor to their previous fundraisers, who are standing behind him a little ways away. Lan Zhan internally acknowledges that she and her husband look dashing in matching yellows — her dress, his pocket square, the cuff links peaking from beneath his jacket. It’s a well thought out get up. He appreciates their dedication to the details.

“How’s everything so far?” Wei Ying asks, extending his neck to peer around like a crane. 

“Everything is going well thus far,” Lan Zhan says “Nie Huaisang outdid himself on the theme. It is looking to be even better than the Seoul launch.”

“Now that was a party,” Wei Ying reminisces, a smile lighting up his face and making his eyes crinkle in such a genuine way. “I got so drunk at that one, challenging Jiang Cheng to out-drink me, hahaha. I’ll need a repeat.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t have it in him to say anything. He’s too distracted by the sight of Wei Ying — and what a sight he is. 

Dressed in red and black layers that cling to his form just right, his measurements obviously handled with great care by whichever tailor Nie Huaisang had enlisted, Wei Ying is captivating. His waistcoat is lined with red lace, but Lan Zhan’s eyes are drawn to the delicate silver chain that he can see beneath Wei Ying’s collar, tantalising like it’s meant only to be seen by a lover, hidden from the eyes of the common rabble. All of that is well and good, but it’s Wei Ying’s hair that really catches Lan Zhan’s attention.

He’s moderately used to Wei Ying’s hair, except in the year that they haven’t seen each other it’s gotten so much longer, long enough to sway behind him between his shoulder blades and tied back with a pretty silk ribbon. If Lan Zhan had thought before that he wanted to grip Wei Ying by the ponytail, then he has to concede that his past desires wouldn’t even hold a candle to his current ones. His fringe still frames his face, his features delicate and pretty even partially obscured, and Lan Zhan finds himself knocked out of focus as he watches Wei Ying’s long eyelashes flutter, casting shadows like the wings of a pitch-black raven. He’s stunning, and while Lan Zhan hadn’t forgotten that, it’s different seeing him in person rather than through images on Weibo.

Wei Ying cocks his head to the side, tilting slightly, curious. His eyes do a once over of Lan Zhan’s body as if taking him in, and he licks his lips, biting down on the bottom one before speaking. “You look good tonight.”

Lan Zhan isn’t unused to compliments. Nor is he unused to Wei Ying complimenting him. Regardless of those two facts, he still is never quite sure how to show his thanks for the kind words. He utters a simple, “Mn,” hoping that it conveys whatever it needs to.

“You’ve met my jiejie before, of course,” Wei Ying says, continuing on like he hasn’t just teasingly bit his lip in a way that will replay over and over in Lan Zhan’s mind for the rest of the night at the very least. “I know Nie-xiong is dressed as a Mister Peacock tonight, but the real peacock is this one, her husband.”

“Jin Zixuan,” Lan Zhan says. “We’ve met before.”

As if his voice broke them out of their own conversation, Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan advance, smiling politely. Lan Zhan nods to them as Jiang Yanli begins to speak with him. “The mansion looks wonderful, you’ve all truly outdone yourselves once again,” she says. Jin Zixuan stands by her side, and though he remains silent, Lan Zhan acknowledges him with a familiar look before answering. 

“Preparations were done mostly by Nie Huaisang. I will pass along the kind words.” 

“And the charity?” she asks. “I imagine that your brother has his hands full?” 

“Yes, he has been kept very occupied,” Lan Zhan says politely. He doesn’t mention that his brother has been perhaps too busy, leaving Lan Zhan to answer the banal questions of his guests. He tries his best not to feel some sort of irritation about it — it’s not Lan Huan’s fault that he has to schmooze real interviewers instead of making small talk with the guests. “I heard that things are going smoothly for you,” he says, gesturing toward her stomach. The bump isn’t big yet, but her pregnancy was widely announced and heavily celebrated despite still being in the early stages of her second trimester. 

“Thank you.” She smiles again, and Jin Zixuan tightens his arm around his wife’s waist, pressing his free palm to the shape of the bump. “It was nice catching up, but I’m afraid I must excuse myself. A-Ying,” she says, turning to her brother. “I will see you later. Have a nice evening!”

Wei Ying doesn’t walk away with them. He stands rooted to the spot, looking a little foggy in the eyes like he hasn’t been paying attention to anything going on around him. Lost in thought, perhaps, Lan Zhan surmises. He internally feels the urge to roll his eyes — Wei Ying, for all his bubbly personality and larger-than-life antics, is easily bored. A few minutes without flirting or teasing mustn’t be easy. 

Lan Zhan nods, moving to duck away and sneak to another part of the party. If he has to play this role for the sake of the fundraiser, then he will at least do it with dignity. Dignity, unfortunately, is not present when simply being in Wei Ying’s presence makes the apex of his thighs tight with heat, an uncomfortable bodily reaction to the mere presence of Wei Ying. “Good evening,” he says.

Wei Ying snorts. It should be unflattering. “You’re fucking unbelievable, you know that?” he asks before walking off, not even letting Lan Zhan answer or react to what he’s said. It’s different — in their past interactions, Lan Zhan has had more trouble avoiding Wei Ying than keeping him near, and though his plan was to walk away anyway, it did kind of hurt that he was so easily dismissed. 

He tries to rein in his errant thoughts. It works for a moment before his mind decides to ensure his maximum suffering, replaying the way that Wei Ying had licked and bit his lips on repeat in his mind’s eye. His ears still ring with the friendly, almost sultry tones of Wei Ying’s voice, repeating you look good tonight over and over in his ear drums. 

He needs to get a hold of himself. If he was a drinker, he thinks, this would be as good a time as any to hit the bar. 

The last of the guests trickle in slowly over the course of the next hour — the finance Jins, the medicine Wens, the business Ouyangs, the questionable Sus. There are a number of faces he recognises from previous parties or from his own business partnerships over the years, and does his best to cordially greet everyone while also maintaining his distance. He’s glad that his reputation has begun to precede him, and though he only offers a nod of acknowledgement to most, it suffices. 

Lan Zhan finds Nie Huaisang in the middle of the crowd, being the absolute social butterfly that he is. Sometimes, though Lan Zhan will never say it out loud, he wonders just how much of the success of these events rests in the hands of Nie Huaisang alone. Not to discount Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue’s contributions, but neither of them are as singularly personable as Nie Huaisang is and while they handle journalists and deep cut questions about their charitable intentions, Nie Huaisang runs circles around their top donors until their cheque books are falling open and they’re adding extra zeroes to the ends of the numbers written down. It is a commendable talent that Lan Zhan simply does not possess, but one that he can admire. He is glad, however out of his comfort zone that the rest of the evening will put him, that the fundraising portion of the night has been going swimmingly.

Lan Zhan continues to approach, remembering the mark that Nie Huaisang had given before the night had even begun, and settles himself in place. Inconspicuous — or as much so as he can be, given his height — and tucked away in a corner where guests can see him if they wish to request a clue. Far enough that he will not be accosted. 

He sees Nie Huaisang stand on a small platform that must be portable or well concealed. “Dearest guests,” he says, already dramatic. His peacock feather fan is wielded like a weapon, emphasising his words. “It is with great regret that I must inform you that this evening, in the very mansion that he owns, Doctor Black has been murdered. We need your assistance — the perpetrator is still among us, and the murder weapon has yet to be found. In your invitations to this fundraiser you have each received your three clues to aid in our investigation. Share liberally or hold your clues secret; the choice is yours. The wait staff have extra Cluedo cards should you need a new copy. Once you feel confident, you are welcome to share your accusations in the first-storey parlour room. Make friends, make enemies, make lovers — but most importantly, help us find a murderer. Good luck!” 

There is a raucous round of applause as he ends his speech with a dramatic flourish, fan opening so wide and colourfully that it hides most of Nie Huaisang’s torso and his face. His flare for the dramatics might have made Nie Mingjue an irritable mess of an older brother when Nie Huaisang was still in school, but Lan Zhan wouldn’t hedge his bets that he appreciates all the dramatics now. 

“A rather impassioned speech, wouldn’t you agree?” Lan Huan says, sidling up to Lan Zhan as he stands still in his corner. 

“Mn. He speaks well.” 

“A skill I greatly appreciate on these fundraising nights, I must admit. He adds a charm to the performance I do not believe myself fully capable of replicating,” Lan Huan chuckles. He peers at Lan Zhan over the rim of his champagne flute — filled with the same sparkling water he always favours at these events. Though he doesn’t immediately black out the way Lan Zhan does, Lan Huan does choose to abstain at events like these. Better safe than sorry, he’d said once, and Lan Zhan is fully inclined to agree. Lan Huan continues, “Have you spoken to Wei Ying, yet?”

The image of Wei Ying’s pretty silver choker and moistened lips pops into Lan Zhan’s mind. “Mn,” he says, making sure not to move. His brother would clock him immediately and he simply cannot cope with the potential for teasing. “He was preoccupied with the party.” 

“You looked content to be speaking with him.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Lan Huan winks. “If you say so.”

“Ge.”

“He seemed rather pleased to see you as well, didi. I’m sure you will have more opportunities to speak with him tonight.” Lan Huan looks around the room at the guests that have grabbed their Cluedo cards and are making their way around the mansion. He smiles at Lan Zhan, says, “Best of luck, tonight,” and excuses himself to make himself more readily available to chat with guests. 

Lan Zhan simply watches as his brother walks out of the room, the deep green of his tailcoat trailing behind him by just a second. He does look nice in green, though Lan Zhan isn’t sure how much good he would make as a mayor. Lan Zhan’s own role as Mister White isn’t necessarily one he would choose for himself, so, he supposes, who was to say that Lan Huan wouldn’t make a fantastic real Mayor Green. The thought, Lan Zhan admits, is not his finest work at distracting himself from the party. 

It’s not that he doesn’t like the fundraisers — he appreciates them for what they are, and what their purpose is, of course, but he’s just more introverted than extroverted. He’d gladly stay home without the chaos of all the guests if he had the choice. At least at home, when he’s unable to get Wei Ying's flirty eyes and wet mouth out of his mind, he’s able to hide himself. He should do so now, he thinks, watching as guests continue to mill about — he has precious little time for privacy, and he wants to make the most of it. 

He’s only barely decided to leave his spot when a voice roots him in place. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whisper-shouts, peeking from around the door Lan Huan had only just passed through. His fingers, now that Lan Zhan sees them in better lighting, are tipped with a short, red manicure. He has never before thought that lacquered nails were particularly attractive, but evidently he hadn’t considered how it would look on Wei Ying. 

“Wei Ying,” he nods. 

Wei Ying slinks into the room, his fingers trailing along the wall, tracing his path toward Lan Zhan. When he’s finally standing next to Lan Zhan (too close, perhaps, because Lan Zhan can smell the cologne on Wei Ying’s neck and feels like he might simply pass out from it), Wei Ying throws his ponytail over his shoulder, playing the the red ribbon tying his hair. Lan Zhan does his best not to explode on the spot. 

“Show me your cards.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your cards,” Wei Ying says.”I’m in this to win, Lan er-gege.”

Lan Zhan reaches into his inner pocket, feeling for the heavy, linen paper envelope that Nie Huaisang had slipped him earlier, right after he’d donned his costume. He hadn’t even looked at his cards yet. “How many would you like to see?” 

Wei Ying smiles. “How much do you like me?” 

Lan Zhan freezes, the envelope caught in his fingers. Wei Ying can’t possibly know — Lan Zhan had been exceedingly careful, hadn’t given anything away, not even after what had happened at the Macau fundraiser. Unless Wei Ying somehow found out, was being flirty because he knew, because he wanted to tease Lan Zhan. 

For a moment, he isn’t even sure he breathes. Wei Ying continues to look at him through those long, dark eyelashes, and though the difference in their height is subtle, Wei Ying somehow manages to make himself seem even shorter, small and docile. Lan Zhan feels the muscles in his jaw flex. If Wei Ying wants to play, then he will play along. The end result of the game is still a mystery to him — Wei Ying simply will not get a rise out of him. 

He shows all three cards to Wei Ying before tucking them back into the inside pocket of his jacket. He promptly forgets about the cards when Wei Ying bites his lip again and flicks his ponytail back behind him. Lan Zhan feels his ears burn hot, feeling bright like a spotlight is highlighting the very real, very noticeable reaction to Wei Ying’s not-flirting. 

“You’ve helped this poor, innocent maiden prove her innocence,” Wei Ying teases as he scribbles off Lan Zhan’s clues on his Cluedo card. “Thank you, Mister White,” he winks and walks away. Lan Zhan can’t help but stare at the sway of his hair behind him, the way the ribbon looks so vibrant against the dark hair it holds in place. Lan Zhan wants to pull it. Lan Zhan wants to get out of this mansion and scrub his mind clean of such improper thoughts. 

Lan Zhan does his best to keep himself occupied.

He recites the lines that Nie Huaisang had coached him on to keep the intrigue of the game going when a patron asks him a question. When he looks up, Wei Ying is there, staring with interest at the length of rope set out as one of the murder weapons. He shows his cards to guests when they are courageous enough to ask, and somehow Wei Ying is always there to mutter in passing just loud enough for Lan Zhan to hear about how Mister White is giving terrible energy, like the soul of a vengeful ghost is following him. When Lan Zhan engages in quiet discussion with Nie Mingjue about the need to ping security to the front gate as some unsavoury associates are trying to get in, Wei Ying is only a few metres away, looking the picture of innocence. 

It’s only when Lan Zhan realises his social battery is running low and he’s in need of a quiet moment alone that Wei Ying finally speaks to him again.

Lan Zhan sits, legs spread wide in a stance that he would never take if someone else were to see him, on a stool in the kitchen, the only person left now that hors d’d’œuvres have been moved to the ballroom and all the real cooking is done in the servant’s kitchen. He lacks the decorum he keeps about himself even in his most private of moments because — if he’s being fully honest — he’s exhausted and slumping in a chair sometimes is all that can help.

“You must be joking,” he hears from a little way away. When he whips his head around, Wei Ying is standing in the doorway, and whatever persona he’s been portraying so far is wiped clean, leaving Wei Ying bare for Lan Zhan’s eyes. Wei Ying, though, isn’t even looking at Lan Zhan’s face. His eyes are wide, and mouth slightly open, and his eyes are directed right to Lan Zhan’s splayed legs.

Lan Zhan shifts slightly, his posture improving as he sits up. “Yes?” 

Wei Ying doesn’t speak, just continues to stare as he makes a weird noise in his throat. Lan Zhan almost leaps up to ask if he’s all right, if he needs a glass of water or wine or anything, really, because that noise didn’t sound good at all. For a moment, it looks like Wei Ying might take a running start at him, tackle him and poke fun at his lack of decorum, perhaps, but he just turns away, leaving the exact same way he’d arrived. 

“Is everything all right with our Mister Scarlett?” Lan Huan asks, occupying the very same doorway that Wei Ying had just vacated moments before.

“Ge,” Lan Zhan acknowledges, standing from his stool.

“No need, A-Zhan,” he says. “You can relax for a bit. There are quite high expectations of you tonight, after all.” His smile is friendly, and his words are nothing but kind, but still Lan Zhan struggles to accept what is being said to him as objective. His brother, though one of his greatest allies, has his own motives sometimes. 

“How have you and Mingjue-ge been this evening?” 

“Well, but busy.” Another one of Lan Huan’s famous placating smiles. It does nothing to cool Lan Zhan off, his ears still flushed pink from all the subtle words and looks from Wei Ying over the course of the night. “You haven’t yet answered my question, though. Is everything all right with Wei Ying?” 

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hums, if only to give himself another moment to think. He’s not sure what Wei Ying’s end goal is, nor what his motivations have been over the course of the evening, but Lan Zhan is nothing if not perseverant, and he’s survived every single one of Lan Huan’s fundraisers thus far and intends to survive this one as well. “He is well,” Lan Zhan confirms finally. “He seems to be enjoying the game.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Lan Huan says. “He seems to have an eye on you tonight. Don’t let the opportunity pass by.” 

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer, and Lan Huan doesn’t seem to expect him to. He’s left to his own devices, alone in the kitchen with the door swinging shut behind Lan Huan only moments later. 

He breathes. 

Lan Zhan doesn’t know how it happens, but he ends up side by side with Jiang Yanli, who sits a little away from the rest of the partygoers. Though her shoes are a practical, short heel, Lan Zhan can only imagine that they’re not comfortable due to the pregnancy weight. He can empathise with how she feels if only because he doesn’t particularly care for wearing a tuxedo and is ready to slip into his pyjamas at his earliest convenience, and imagines she must feel much the same.

“The party really is lovely,” she’s saying, sipping at the sparkling apple juice provided for guests that don’t drink. “Nie Huaisang has an eye for this sort of thing, of course. From what I understand he has since he was just young,” she continues, “But these fundraisers really are something special. You know, A-Ying — or Wei Ying, I should say — grew up with nothing before he was adopted into my family and I know he really cares about these social causes that your brother has worked toward.”

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan says, for lack of anything else to say. He’s not sure what there is to say, because all he really wants to ask is about Wei Ying, and what she means that he had nothing. He knows vaguely that Wei Ying was once a ward of the Jiangs, though what that entails he’s always been in the dark about. It’s not something that is widely acknowledged in the circles they all run in. As much as the wealthy claim to love an orphan story, they sure are picky about which orphans are deserving of their praise, Lan Zhan has learned. It comes as no surprise to him that Wei Ying’s own story is no different. 

“I wanted to ask you, actually, about our A-Ying,” Jiang Yanli says. “I noticed he’s been… persistent about getting your attention.” She smiles, though it can’t exactly be characterised as sheepish. If anything, she seems knowing, in the same way that Lan Huan often is. Older sibling privilege, perhaps. “If he gets to be too much, just let me know, all right? I can set him straight; unfortunately for my mother, I’m the only one he’s listened to since he was a teenager.” Jiang Yanli laughs behind her hand at the confession, and her eyes look fond at the memories. If Lan Zhan had any right to know more he might have pressed for more information — what Wei Ying was like as a child, what his ticks are, his favourite foods and least favourite subjects back when he was a student. He keeps all his curious thoughts to himself.

“There is no need,” Lan Zhan dismisses courteously. “He is spirited. It is of no bother.”

“Spirited! I like that to describe him, it’s very accurate.” She and Lan Zhan spot Jin Zixuan from across the room, making his way over to where they sit. Before he arrives, Jiang Yanli tells Lan Zhan one last thing: “He was so excited getting ready for tonight, if you would believe it. I do believe it is for more than simply the fact that he is playing an active role in the storyline.” 

Excited. Wei Ying was excited. About the fundraiser? Except Jiang Yanli has implied his excitement is for other reasons. It certainly explains Wei Ying’s odd, if not erratic, behaviour all night. The teasing look, the bitten lips, the sly comments and over the shoulder staring — Jiang Yanli seems to think it is because Wei Ying was looking forward to tonight. 

He wonders if Wei Ying’s excitement about the night is justification for how he’s been acting. Lan Zhan moves through the party in a slight daze, thinking about the teasing, getting close to complimenting him, running away when Lan Zhan rises to the bait. It isn’t out of the ordinary for Wei Ying to be a flirt and an annoyance — those are some of his main traits, as far as Lan Zhan is concerned — but there is a certain enthusiasm to his actions tonight that Lan Zhan has been unable to place thus far.

Not for the first time that night, Lan Zhan thinks he needs a drink. 

Lan Zhan can’t keep his thoughts from running as he makes his way through the party. Though there are people that engage him in short conversation, Lan Zhan barely registers anything that they say to him. He keeps himself professional, cool and collected enough that no one can genuinely tell that anything is wrong or out of sorts with him.

That is, until Nie Huaisang sees him, standing outside of the dining room, deep in thought. He can’t help it, really, because the question of Wei Ying’s motivations claws at him, itching at his skin like poison ivy. It’s new. Not the teasing — that’s been a staple of Wei Ying’s personality since the day that Lan Zhan had met him — but the way that he is hot and cold, saying one thing and doing another. Lan Zhan is unsure what to think of it all. If it’s a ploy to mess with him, to be toy with Lan Zhan’s emotions because he finally realised — well. Lan Zhan will just have to face the music, deal with the consequences of his actions, unpleasant though those consequences may be. 

Nie Huaisang’s massive peacock-feather fan splaying out in front of his face brings him back to the present.

“You seem distracted,” Nie Huaisang says, eyebrows dipping conspiratorially. Lan Zhan has had the impression that Nie Huaisang always knows a bit more than he ever lets on, ever since he’d been younger and had met Nie Huaisang for the first time. Of course, as young teenagers there hadn’t been that much to hide, but Lan Zhan supposes that low-level manipulation and trickery is how all the greats start, so to speak. 

He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to. Nie Huaisang, once again, proves that he knows more than he lets on, when he speaks again. “There is more going on here,” he says, “I’ll let you figure it all out yourself, though, Lan er-xiong, perhaps with Wei Ying? Tell me, do you think using the dagger in the kitchen is a bit too on the nose?”

“You have the correct answer, do you not?”

“Of course I do,” Nie Huaisang smiles. Always that conspiratorial smile, as if Lan Zhan is in on the secrets that he holds and is sharing. “But the fun of the evening is guessing the end of the mystery, no? What kind of party organiser and actor would I be if I didn’t participate?” 

Lan Zhan doesn’t have an answer to that. He just nods sympathetically, doing his best to look as though he cares about whatever moral conundrum Nie Huaisang is facing. It’s not that he doesn’t, per se — he just has a lot going on all on his own. 

He wants, more than anything, to turn and face Nie Huaisang and the suspiciously sharp dagger he’s somehow acquired and holds in his hand, and scream what is going on in his mind. 

He wants to shout out loud the panic he’s experiencing, the confusion and overthinking about everything — the desire, somehow, to go outside and punch a tree like that will somehow help. He wants to confess to someone: I kissed Wei Ying. 

Is it so wrong, Lan Zhan wonders, to want someone’s jaw to drop and ask him to repeat himself? Is it so wrong to want someone who can tell him what to do next, because whatever gods are out there sure aren’t giving him any signs? He wants, perhaps ill-advisedly, for Nie Huaisang to tell him what to do next, to coach him through the insanity that is the racing of his mind. He doesn’t know why he thinks that Nie Huaisang would be able to do this, but Lan Zhan is not exactly swimming in prospects to confide in at the moment, and the nearest target will have to suffice for his intense stares. 

It had been so long, really. Lan Zhan, in his state of absolute mania, wants to clarify. It has been since Macau, over a year ago, that he has kept this secret.

(It’s been thirteen months, he tells himself. There is simply no use pretending like he is not counting when every dream, every idle thought, is about the tenderness of Wei Ying’s lips, pliant and willing, under his own. There is no world in which Lan Zhan would ever forget the way Wei Ying had submitted himself to what Lan Zhan wanted, had stopped fighting back, had let Lan Zhan touch, and take, take, take.)

He loses himself remembering the moment.

He’d been off to the side of everything, standing outside to cool off because inside the casino it had simply been too hot. There had been interviews, Lan Zhan remembers. He hadn't been a part of the interviews, close enough to be a VIP but not enough to have to force himself through the misery of red carpet interviews. He never did envy his brother the fact that he had to sit through so many questions, but Lan Huan did it all with a smile, not a single complaint ever spilling from his lips.

Macau had been the biggest fundraiser so far — it had remained so, as of yet — and Nie Huaisang had spent so much time organising it, not to mention the ample amount of extra time that had been dedicated to too many photographers, to many fireworks, too many glittery outfits and glittery makeup looks on influencers that had been invited alongside the legitimate fundraisers and celebrities. Even then, Lan Zhan remembers, the internet celebrities who had gotten popular on xiaohongshu and douyin had taken more than just a few minutes to take pictures and videos of the glamour. It had been rather overwhelming, even Lan Zhan had to admit. 

Lan Zhan wants to remember: the way he’d watched Wei Ying with amusement, crossing his legs as he leaned against a wall. The way he had glanced to his left, after clearing his throat, and made eye contact directly with Wei Ying.

It was almost funny, in a sense, the way that Wei Ying copied his body language, crossing his arms across his torso, the same way that Lan Zhan was at the time. Wei Ying raked his eyes up and down Lan Zhan’s body, his face neutral, and though despite the fact that everything about their interaction was casual, Lan Zhan felt his body heating up.

“Y’know you could actually try for an event like this” Wei Ying said.

“Pardon me,” said Lan Zhan.

“Just — this. All of it,” Wei Ying said, gesturing grandly not only at the auditorium that served as a backdrop to their conversation, but also simply at Lan Zhan himself. His navy blue suit with white shit, top buttons unfastened, didn’t work, perhaps. He’d donned a simple, silver chain, too — a decision he now recognised as a mistake, all things considered. Lan Zhan, despite the signs not to do so, wanted to lick across Wei Ying’s sternum. In comparison, Wei Ying was dressed much more elaborately. He wore a suit as well, but the way his shirt was unbuttoned left very little to the imagination, and Lan Zhan wasn’t sure if some sort of lust induced insanity that had his eyes glued to what appeared to be a gem — a piercing, dear lord — in Wei Ying’s navel. 

“You’re so handsome,” Wei Ying said, apparently not caring that Lan Zhan was silent and barely paying attention. “You should wear something crazy. We’re in Macau — Nie Huaisang got a whole damn casino! I’m intrigued by just how boring you make yourself seem.” 

Lan Zhan blinked at that. “I am perfectly comfortable not being at the centre of attention.”

“Clearly,” Wei Ying snorted. “I mean, look at how Nie Huaisang dressed for tonight — you’re lucky he’s your partner because that is an outfit that suits the vibes here. I can’t imagine how prim and proper these fundraisers would be if you didn’t have him.” 

“You still come to the fundraisers,” Lan Zhan pointed out. He never truly set out to be snarky, but sometimes it just came naturally to him. 

Wei Ying clearly hadn’t expected the words either, if the way he spluttered was any indication. “Well, of course — I have to. Look at Nie Huaisang’s outfit!”

“You are repeating yourself.”

Wei Ying pressed his lips together. He must have been wearing some kind of lip gloss, because Lan Zhan couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way they shone in the lights. Wei Ying then let out a laugh, high pitched and breathy, before simply walking away.

Lan Zhan didn’t know what it meant. He certainly wasn’t going to find out, either. 

He believed that he wouldn’t survive the night. 

The night had continued with more of the same. Whenever Wei Ying passed by him, he would chuckle, sometimes make a short remark about how Lan Zhan even stood stiffly, not even a few popped buttons could loosen him up. 

By the end of the night, Lan Zhan felt on edge and watched, walking a fine line between rude and tired with how quiet he had been. The high rollers had already left for the night, the fundraisers biggest donors making way for those simply partying instead. Lan Zhan recognised the shift in mood, and knew it was Nie Huaisang’s favourite part of the night, when the bar started whipping up shots instead of glasses of wine, and music was turned up louder. 

Lan Zhan had been standing alone, watching as Nie Huaisang dipped a beautiful woman in yellow on the makeshift dance floor, and was contemplating leaving early. Early, of course, was a stretch — but as the brother of one of the CEOs of the charity, and part of the financial team of the operation, he was always expected to stay.

He knew, objectively, that Wei Ying was someone who liked to show off. Was someone who enjoyed showing just how good he was at whatever skill he’d honed and cultivated, wasn’t someone who backed down from a challenge. Whatever that challenge had been that night, Lan Zhan was entirely unaware. He was not, however, unaware of the compromising position that Wei Ying was in then, with a red blindfold across his eyes, going to stand outside on one of the numerous balcony spaces the casino boasted. 

Lan Zhan was not exactly proud of the things he had done next.

Following Wei Ying out was easy — no one was looking at either of them, too busy dancing and drinking and watching their money roll away as the house claimed more and more chips. Easier, still, because Wei Ying apparently felt no urge to take off the blindfold, content to let the wind blow across this face without getting to see any of the skyline scenery. 

“Who is it that dares to approach so quietly?” Wei Ying teased, voice low and lilting. His mouth was drawn into an easy smile, one that conveyed such confidence and self assuredness. Lan Zhan balled his hands into fists, as if digging his blunt fingernails into the palms of his hands would suffice as a distraction from the way that Wei Ying made him feel. 

Lan Zhan can’t say that looking back in the moment doesn’t bring him some sort of satisfaction. It also brings shame, remembering how Wei Ying continued, “You shouldn’t come too close, you know? I’m a notorious gambler here tonight, I might bet you out of your savings.” He smiled easily, lips pulling apart to show off his teeth almost predatorily. 

Lan Zhan felt like his brain was melting, wiped entirely clean of any rational thought as he approached quickly. He let go of all restraint, grabbing Wei Ying by the wrists to pin them above his head, holding him against the stone of the building exterior. Lan Zhan watched Wei Ying’s Adam’s apple bob as he let out a disgruntled little noise. It was incredibly distracting. 

It was inevitable, really, the way that Lan Zhan lost control. Wei Ying was right there, chest heaving from the adrenaline runnining through him, pinned in place and too shocked to move or fight him off. 

And then Lan Zhan kissed him. 

All thoughts washed away, leaving Lan Zhan’s mind blissfully blank as he focused on Wei Ying’s mouth under his own. Wei Ying tasted of strawberry lip gloss and the fruity, sweet cocktails he’d been drinking, his mouth warm and wet as Lan Zhan took and took, kissing him deeply. The foot that Wei Ying had lifted as if to kick him away faltered, hanging in the air limply, stagnant. Finally, as if Wei Ying had decided that he was enjoying the kiss, his ankle rested on the back of Lan Zhan’s calf, holding him in place. 

Lan Zhan couldn’t help the trembling in his hands, shocked at his own brazenness and the nerves it took to forcefully kiss Wei Ying as he had. He felt like he could hardly breathe, like he wanted to pant into Wei Ying’s mouth because even though there obviously wasn’t enough oxygen getting to his brain, he didn’t want to disconnect from Wei Ying.

He transferred both wrists to one hand, still keeping Wei Ying pinned in place, and gripped him by the jaw, keeping his face at the perfect angle. The way his tongue pushed past Wei Ying’s lips was nothing short of an intrusion, and he couldn’t help but bite at Wei Ying’s lower lip when he’d pull back to breathe a little bit before diving back in. Wei Ying kept his head tilted at the perfect angle, even when Lan Zhan stopped gripping his face to grab his waist instead, his thumb resting dangerously close to the piercing in his navel, flicking over it just once to know what it felt like. 

Wei Ying let out a whimper, little and muffled in the back of his throat, and it broke Lan Zhan out of his blank-minded, lust-driven frenzy, the haziness of his body’s heat disappearing to bone chilling regret at his actions almost instantaneously. He ran away before Wei Ying could even realise what had happened, still slumped against the wall. His lips, even from a distance as Lan Zhan power walked away, were swollen, red and glistening in the light. 

He’d run away because — well, why wouldn’t he run? Wei Ying was first and foremost known as a notorious flirt, and Lan Zhan had seen him at more than enough fundraisers with a beautiful woman laughing at one of his jokes. Hell, the number of times he’d been seen with Wen Qing was enough to raise eyebrows, though there had been no confirmation about their relationship status (a fact he only knew by accident — it wasn’t his fault the news he’d been reading that day had mentioned Wen Qing’s famously quiet personal life). 

Lan Zhan cringes at the memory of Macau. It had been a mistake. Wei Ying, though he was beautiful and made Lan Zhan want to burn alive because of his feelings, was entirely out of his league. Was straight, for goodness sake. He’d tried to bury the memory ever since that night in Macau. He didn’t want to remember it when he closed his eyes, when he remembered Wei Ying in the dead of night or in the middle of the afternoon. He knew too well what it looked like to take from someone who didn’t want it — he would not be repeating the mistakes of his own family.

But now, with Wei Ying acting stranger than ever before, Lan Zhan doesn’t know what to do. He hadn’t told anyone about the kiss, guilty about the whole thing as he might have felt, but who was to say that Wei Ying didn’t put things together, finally? It might explain some of his erratic behaviour, at the very least. 

Maybe, Lan Zhan thinks, Wei Ying is trying to goad a confession out of him. Another kiss, this time without the blindfold, just so that he could be let down gently, be told that Wei Ying is with another, that he just can’t like Lan Zhan the way that Lan Zhan obviously feels about him. Frankly, if the roles had been reversed, Lan Zhan would definitely want to talk to the person who had accosted him. He might not choose to go about it in the same way, but the desire to have the conversation would exist nonetheless. A more direct approach would be appreciated, Lan Zhan thinks. At this point, if he’s being transparent, he isn’t sure if Wei Ying wants to fight him, or turn the murder-mystery roleplay into a reality. 

He knows immediately what Lan Huan would suggest if he were to ask for advice. He doesn’t even have to actually tell his brother — he can hear the smile in Lan Huan’s voice, saying, ‘You should talk to him’, as though Lan Huan is actually saying it in his ear. 

Part of the problem is that he still isn’t even sure if it has been a good idea to keep this from Lan Huan for so long. It had been immediately apparent, in any case, that right after the kiss there had been something wrong. Lan Huan had been assuaged by Lan Zhan’s poorly constructed lie that he’d accidentally consumed something alcoholic and was feeling sick over it, though Lan Huan hadn’t pushed for more details, didn’t accuse Lan Zhan of lying even though he was being blatantly untruthful. 

Lan Huan knew when he was lying, which was also part of the problem, and though he gave Lan Zhan the same look, his eyes saying ‘I know’ for the week that followed the Macau fundraiser, he didn’t pry. Lan Zhan wonders if he would have been better off telling, though, because the guilt is eating him alive and all he’s been able to think about tonight is Wei Ying. Not the costumes, not the murder mystery, not the fundraiser, or all the good that Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue are doing. 

The thing is — Lan Zhan likes the back-and-forth that he has with Wei Ying, little though he gives back. He likes that Wei Ying tries to get his attention, that he doesn’t let the fact that Lan Zhan is quiet and reserved with his words deter him. He likes that Wei Ying is loud and brash, so very different from the people he and his brother were raised to be. He likes that ever since the first time they’d met he hasn’t been able to forget Wei Ying, and his larger-than-life laugh, his smile that beams across whichever room he’s in to make everyone’s night a little brighter. He likes the risqué outfits, flirty comments, suggestive dancing. 

Wei Ying has lasted in his mind longer than Lan Zhan ever thought he would upon that first meeting. He’s not sure if it’s quite a good thing, really, just how obsessed he’s become with Wei Ying. He realises, with sudden clarity, that he worries that each fundraiser will be the last. Wei Ying still comes — but why he does is anyone’s guess. 

Lan Zhan doesn’t even entertain the thought about what he would do in a post-Wei Ying life — and the fact that he is even thinking that he’s living in a Wei Ying life right now. He doesn’t want to reflect on how Wei Ying will react to knowing that he was forcibly kissed by Lan Zhan — if he hasn’t already pieced together the puzzle pieces from that night. 

Right after the kiss, twenty minutes after Lan Zhan had run off to the nearest lavatory to splash tap-cold water on his face, Wei Ying had run into him in the lavatory. Lan Zhan had had flushed ears, his blood still rushing in his ears from the magnitude of what he’d done.

Wei Ying didn’t look much better. His lips still looked kiss-swollen, though it could admittedly just be Lan Zhan projecting onto him. It didn’t help that Wei Ying walked into the lavatory with his fingers resting gingerly on his lower lip, eyes a little dazed, and the apples of his cheeks dusted a light, barely noticeable pink. 

“Lan Zhan? What are you doing?” Wei Ying asked upon noticing the way that Lan Zhan was standing over the sink, knuckles curled over the lip of the wash basin. He felt a drop of water drip off the tip of his nose, a reminder of just how poorly he’d done at cooling himself down. Still, twenty minutes after accosting — assaulting — Wei Ying, and he wasn’t doing any better. His ears were still burning hot, his neck feeling too flushed under the collar of his button-down shirt. He knew, objectively, that he didn’t look his best — the mirror in front of his face confirmed those suspicions without having to second guess himself. 

“Woah, scary,” Wei Ying said, making eye contact with him through the mirror. Lan Zhan couldn’t tell if it was a legitimate comment, or if it was just more of his usual teasing. He wasn’t sure which of the options was worse, either, if he was being honest. 

“Leave,” was all Lan Zhan could say. He could not continue to make eye contact with Wei Ying, even through the reflection of the mirror’s glass. It felt like he shouldn’t, like it wasn’t allowed, like if Wei Ying looked too closely at his face he might realise what Lan Zhan had done. It wasn’t like Lan Zhan didn’t deserve it, either. He had it coming for him, deservedly, if Wei Ying wanted to ruin him for what he’d done. 

“I just got here, and Lan er-gege is already telling me to leave,” Wei Ying said exaggeratedly. The hand that had been hovering near his lips moved to rest against his forehead, dramatic like women in Victorian movies that were about to faint. In another reality, one where Lan Zhan wasn’t on the brink of an entire mental breakdown, he might have watched on with endearment. He didn’t say anything, kept quiet as his face dried, still warm, in the cool air flow of the lavatory.

“Do you really hate me this much?” Wei Ying asked, suddenly sober and serious. His eyebrows were stitched together, like he genuinely was worried. It hurt Lan Zhan, who couldn’t help but wonder how differently Wei Ying would be acting if he just knew what Lan Zhan had done to him. 

“You need to stay away from me,” Lan Zhan spoke quietly and steadily into the sink, his head dipping down so that he could stare down the drain. There was no use trying to keep his eyes off of Wei Ying in the mirror — if Wei Ying was there, he simply had to watch him. 

“What’s going on with you, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asked. The heels of his nice shoes clicked against the marble tile of the lavatory floor as he crossed the room, vibrating in Lan Zhan’s ear drums like the sound of a death march. Wei Ying should hit him for what he’d done, he thought, instead of trying to figure out what was going on with Lan Zhan at that moment. Lan Zhan jerked when Wei Ying’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, not to grab him threateningly or try to pull him away from the sink, but just to offer some physical comfort. It was odd — they’d never had much skin contact before, and Lan Zhan wasn’t sure he was glad that this was the way he was getting more of it. He felt sick. “Are you okay, Lan Zhan? If something is wrong, you need to speak up.” 

Lan Zhan still said nothing. It was cowardice, perhaps, that kept him from saying the truth. He didn’t want Wei Ying to look down on him in disgust. He didn’t want Wei Ying to hate him, as much as he deserved it. 

“Lan Zhan?”

“It is nothing,” Lan Zhan replied finally, pushing himself away from the sink and dislodging Wei Ying’s grip on his wrist by consequence. 

“Don’t be mad,” Wei Ying said. Pleaded? “I just grabbed you to make sure you’re okay. You are, right?” 

“You should join the party again,” Lan Zhan deflected. “Have a nice evening.” 

“Lan Zhan?” 

He didn’t look back at Wei Ying when he walked away. He now wishes he had, just so that he could better identify the emotions that had coloured Wei Ying’s voice in that moment. He recognises that he has no right to wonder about such things. It doesn’t stop him from wanting to know, though.

Nie Huaisang disappears, along with his sharper-than-advisable dagger, into the mansion, still going about his clue hunt as though he doesn’t already know the answer to the mystery. Lan Zhan could commend him on his dedication to acting, but he doesn’t bother. Instead, he finds himself also walking through the house, not looking for Nie Huaisang, but instead looking for the one person he both wants to and dreads seeing. He hopes he does not run into his brother and Nie Mingjue — the innocent ribbing from the latter and not-so-innocent teasing from the former would simply end him tonight. He’s not even sure what he’ll say to Wei Ying when he spots him. Perhaps ask a question about his wellbeing. How Wen Qing is doing. How his sister is doing. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t like not knowing what he’s going to do next.

Maybe, Lan Zhan thinks only a little hysterically, if he doesn’t spot Wei Ying at all, he can go on just admiring Wei Ying from a distance. He wonders, rather uncomfortably and with a heavy heart, if his father entertained such thoughts about his mother, before they were married. He concludes that even if his father had, Lan Zhan himself knew better. He might always look, but he’d only ever wish well for Wei Ying.

He turns the corner into yet another room in the elaborate house, only to bump directly into Wei Ying. 

“Hey, watch out — oh,” Wei Ying says, adjusting his footing from where he’d stumbled a little from Lan Zhan’s velocity. Karma, it seems, once again has it out for him. “Mister White,” Wei Ying continues, giving a mocking little nod in Lan Zhan’s direction before stepping out of his way.

Lan Zhan swallows. “Wei Ying.” Wei Ying lifts an eyebrow, and Lan Zhan corrects himself. “Mister Scarlett.” 

A rowdy group of young men and women that Lan Zhan doesn’t recognise — internet personalities, likely — rushes past them, clamoring about just needing to figure out the room now that they have the weapon figured out. They kick up enough of a gust of wind that the smell of Wei Ying’s nice cologne carries on the breeze, and Lan Zhan would breathe that scent in deeper if that wouldn’t be extremely creepy and unjustifiable. 

“Have you figured out the game, then?” Wei Ying asks, crossing his arms and leaning back. Their bodies are close, Lan Zhan thinks, closer than they need to be. He doesn’t feel obligated to move away, though good conscience would suggest that he does. He stays put. 

“No,” Lan Zhan answers. “It has not been on my list of priorities. I assume that you have figured it out?” Lan Zhan asks, feeling his throat dry with the false need to find some way to pivot the conversation. He’s not sure if the way Wei Ying narrows his eyes is a good thing, but he doesn’t move. Their bodies are still close enough that even without the inorganic breeze he can still smell Wei Ying’s cologne — perfume? It smells like one of the nice unisex smells he’d tried while in France, years ago, though he can’t exactly pin it.

“Help me search this room, will you?” Wei Ying says, walking into the room. The door isn’t closed, but it’s pushed enough that Lan Zhan thinks most guests would think this one is off limits, and it makes his blood rush under his skin. His ears and neck feel hot, like the indecent thoughts he’s had about Wei Ying are tangible in the room with them and Wei Ying will uncover them the way he’s uncovering the solution to the game. 

Lan Zhan only makes it a few steps forward before the uncontrollable part of him takes over, seeing Wei Ying bending over to look under the bed for a murder weapon. When he straightens up, shaking his head, Lan Zhan takes the chance. He hopes beyond hope that Wei Ying is just as uninclined to words as he himself is, and grabs Wei Ying by the wrist to pull him into a kiss. 

It’s messy, Wei Ying’s mouth already open from gasping when Lan Zhan crushes their lips together. It’s only natural that his tongue slips over Wei Ying’s easily, massaging against his taste buds and tasting of champagne and raspberries. It’s intoxicating, and Wei Ying doesn’t pull away, kisses him back with the same amount of urgency, like they have no time left and the world is falling apart around them.

When he makes a noise in the back of his throat, a little grunt of a moan, Wei Ying snaps out of the moment, pushing him away by his shoulders. 

“You kissed me in Macau, I wasn’t sure who but — it was you,” Wei Ying accuses. He doesn’t sound pleased about it, and Lan Zhan’s stomach drops out of his torso. He doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t play innocent, like you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about.” Wei Ying backs up, rounds the bed to get away from Lan Zhan. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to be touched, but Lan Zhan can’t stop himself from following hot on his heels, at least wanting to make sure that he can apologise and take responsibility before Wei Ying casts him away.

“You… You grabbed me in Macau — outside, on the balcony — when I had that blindfold on. Who knew that Lan er-gege was so filthy, that he could do such a thing,” Wei Ying continues. There’s something in his voice that Lan Zhan can’t quite pinpoint. Distraught, sure, distress. Disappointment? Wei Ying continues, “What would Nie Huaisang say? I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I tracked him down and told him exactly what you did? You’re unbelievable, you know that?” 

“Wei Ying, I am sorry,” Lan Zhan says as quickly as he can. “I was mistaken —”

“Mistaken? A mistake is accidentally forgetting someone’s birthday or getting them the wrong flavour drink. What you did is blatantly wrong, Lan Zhan, and I cannot believe that someone who goes around being so righteous would justify his actions and not tell Nie Huaisang — who, by the way, deserves better than that. In fact, I’m going to go tell him right now, because you would think to do it again.” Wei Ying begins to go for the door, still ranting, “Cheaters ruin relationships, Lan Zhan, you should feel terrible about this.” 

Lan Zhan grabs Wei Ying by the wrist one more time, holding him in place, his heart racing only just a bit slower than his mind. “Wei Ying — what do you mean, ‘cheaters ruin relationships’?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Wei Ying says. His eyes shine in a way that is as pretty as it is tragic. “You kissed me and cheated on Huaisang, and he doesn’t deserve that. No one does.” 

“I am not in a relationship with Nie Huaisang?” Lan Zhan doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but he can’t keep the confusion from his tone.

“He’s your partner.” Wei Ying tries to shake him off. “You said it yourself when we first met.” 

“My business partner.” Lan Zhan drops Wei Ying’s wrist, and the two of them don’t move, like statues carved of stone. Wei Ying’s face is red, from anger or embarrassment or some combination of the two, Lan Zhan can’t tell. “He plans these events, I am the financial coordinator to keep his budget in check.”

Wei Ying opens his mouth, then closes it, two, three times in succession. “What did you just say to me?” 

“Nie Huaisang and I work for our brothers,” Lan Zhan clarifies. The troubled expression on Wei Ying’s face shifts.

“So you’re…” Wei Ying trails off. “He’s… not…”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. He doesn’t know what exactly Wei Ying is asking, but he understands inherently. 

Wei Ying just keeps looking at Lan Zhan, still looking mightily dazed, and more than a bit confused. “What the hell,” he whispers to himself quietly, like Lan Zhan isn’t even in the room anymore. Then, he walks out, brushing past Lan Zhan like a ghost, passing through the room without any thought to the physical world around him.

For longer than he would like to admit, Lan Zhan stands in the room alone. He’s not sure where Wei Ying stands on… well… any of it, if he’s being honest. 

Lan Zhan thinks about it as he wanders the house. If he had the choice he would have gladly stayed in the empty room, imagining and reimagining the way that Wei Ying had felt under his lips, how he’d felt under his hands all those years ago. It sends chills down his spine, both good and bad, as he thinks about the way Wei Ying looked at him and the expression on his face that was entirely unreadable. He wants to believe that he saw something in Wei Ying’s eyes that meant he didn’t entirely hate him, but Lan Zhan was a pragmatist at heart — he knows, without having to be told outright, that the expression Wei Ying was wearing didn’t usually lead to good outcomes. 

He can’t dwell on it, though — it’s nearing time, and Nie Huaisang is very much strict about certain things when he wants to be. School work and honourable, high society expectations weren’t where he put his efforts, but he would set all Hell loose on whoever compromised one of his events. Lan Zhan counted himself lucky to have never been on the receiving end of Nie Huaisang’s directed and destructive wrath — and missing his cue to set up the final murder scene because he’s too distracted with the thoughts of Wei Ying’s soft lips and pretty navel is not about to ruin his perfect streak. 

Nie Huaisang manages to shake off some of the guests he’s mingling with when he sees Lan Zhan approach. Lan Zhan nods at him, and Nie Huaisang splays out his enormous fan to hide their conversation. In retrospect, Lan Zhan realises, hiding behind these giant fans with relative frequency definitely did not help his image as someone who is decidedly not kissing Nie Huaisang under the guise of privacy. 

“Excellent evening, no?” Nie Huaisang compliments. Lan Zhan hums, amused at the surreptitious little grin on his face. “I need you to put the murder weapon in the billiards room. Doable?”

“Billiards room?” Lan Zhan looks at Nie Huaisang. His eyebrows quirk a little, a sign he knows Nie Huaisang has gotten very used to over the years.

Nie Huaisang winks, “It’s classy, no? Take the revolver there, will you? It should be in the servant's kitchen.” 

“A bit predictable.” 

“You would think so, but I like to think of it as a blunt-force murder. After being brutally beaten at billiards, realising the game was rigged against him the whole time, and the players around him have all beaten him at his own game, our lovely victim was brutally cuffed by the butt of a firearm. No smoke, no proof who did it — poetic, no?” 

Lan Zhan says nothing, but makes a mental note not to cross Nie Huaisang. He thinks, perhaps, that he should look into Nie Huaisang’s alibis in the future just to be entirely sure that his business partner isn’t also a mafioso. At least, he thinks, it’s something else to think about instead of Wei Ying. 

It takes Lan Zhan longer than it realistically should to find the revolver in the kitchen. He can only assume that in the hustle and bustle of getting food out to the guests it got misplaced. It’s not in the top drawer of the credenza as Nie Huaisang had said it would be, but rather tucked away under the sink, pushed out of the way and hidden among some of the random bulk supplies kept there. He sees what appears to be a year’s worth of industrial sized bin bags amongst other things, but wisely decides it’s not worth looking at further. 

When he makes it to the billiards room, he hesitates. It’s unusual for him, to be sure, but there is some doubt in his mind about the best place to stash the fake weapon. Nie Huaisang hadn’t been clear about if this was another clue that was meant to be uncovered or if the grand finale is supposed to be easily distinguishable, with the story playing out easily in front of the eyes of the guests. 

In the end, he decides the best place for it is right in the centre of the billiards table — dramatic enough for Nie Huaisang’s tastes, easy enough to spot for the guests that are definitely intoxicated enough now that anywhere else might be too much of a challenge. It’s getting much too late, Lan Zhan thinks, missing his early bedtime dearly. He’s ready for this night to be over. 

The revolver is on the green worsted fabric for only a handful of seconds before the doors to the billiards room bang open, swinging wildly on their hinges. He turns immediately, expecting it to be a rowdy, drunken guest, and is greeted with the sight of Wei Ying, hair a little messy and pink in the cheeks. 

“Lan Zhan,” he breathes out.

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying steps into the room, his eyes never truly leaving Lan Zhan’s face. He closes the doors behind him, clicking the old, bronze lock into place without even looking at it. Lan Zhan is almost tempted to fidget, to make some move so that he could at least make some sense of what is happening around him. 

“The game will be over soon,” Lan Zhan says. His voice is quiet, but with the doors sealed shut the music of the party doesn’t penetrate enough to drown him out. “The guests will be arriving shortly.” 

It doesn’t seem like Wei Ying is registering any of the words coming from Lan Zhan’s mouth. Frankly, Lan Zhan thinks that nothing could distract Wei Ying from the mission he’s currently on. Wei Ying doesn’t stop advancing until he’s right in front of Lan Zhan, who feels the edge of the billiards table pressed into the backs of his thighs. Wei Ying is barely a breath away, his hands lacking confidence as he shoves them into the pockets of his trousers. His feet fit in the space between Lan Zhan’s own, bracketing Wei Ying almost protectively. His head is tilted back to look Lan Zhan right in the eye, and though he’s not much shorter, it makes him appear much more so.

“Tell me if I have this straight,” Wei Ying says. His voice is low, gentle, almost like he doesn’t want anyone to be spooked. Lan Zhan isn’t sure if it’s more for his benefit or for Wei Ying’s own. “The first time we met, you immediately called Nie Huaisang your partner, then immediately ditched me. Then, you just let me flirt with you at all those parties and I figured out you kissed me while I was blindfolded and vulnerable. Now I’m just confused, and I can’t tell if my flirting has worked or what.”

“You told me that you are straight.” Lan Zhan can’t think straight. With Wei Ying so close and the borderline confession, his mind is all over the place, his thoughts racing too fast to keep up with.

“I —” It’s Wei Ying’s turn to stutter a little, fumble his words even though he’s so clearly practiced this. “I thought I was straight. I had never — I mean — you stole my first kiss.”

“You’re —”

“And then you kissed me again tonight, and I couldn’t stop thinking about that first kiss for, like, a whole year, and now I know it’s you that kissed me and you’re not cheating on Nie Huaisang and I just —”

Wei Ying makes a noise in his throat, one of desperation, and it mirrors exactly what Lan Zhan is feeling at that moment. He decides to just go for it because, fuck it, what is there to lose?

It’s just as messy as their first kiss — wet and messy and overwhelming his senses in all the best ways. All he can think of is Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying, as he grips Wei Ying’s hips tightly in his hands. The hands Wei Ying had buried in his own pockets break free of their restraints, resting on Lan Zhan’s chest. He is sure that Wei Ying can feel the erratic beating of his heart underneath the fabric of his clothes, but the thought doesn’t bother him. Let him feel, Lan Zhan thinks, let him realise just how much Lan Zhan likes him, wants this. 

His hand shoots up to cup Wei Ying’s jaw, angling him just right to deepen the kiss. Lan Zhan licks into Wei Ying’s mouth relentlessly, like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to do, like his life depends on it. Wei Ying shivers in his hold, their bodies still pressed so close together that Lan Zhan feels it like a current going through his own body. 

One of Wei Ying’s hands slithers up his chest to wind around his neck, and Wei Ying whines into his mouth when Lan Zhan bites down on his lip. He’s just barely managing to control himself, to prevent his hips from bucking wildly into Wei Ying to get some sort of friction for relief. The way Wei Ying kisses with frenzied heat, gasping for air between kisses, leads Lan Zhan to believe Wei Ying feels the same. 

Wei Ying manages to get a leg hitched around Lan Zhan’s hip, pinning him to the table most effectively, and putting pressure exactly where he wants it. He grabs Wei Ying by the hips once more, manoeuvring his body into the perfect position for Lan Zhan to press their hardened lengths together through all of the fabric they’re both still wearing. Wei Ying whines again, his lips obviously parting in a smile and he breathes heavily and grinds his hips forward for more friction. 

Lan Zhan squeezes Wei Ying’s hips before he dips his hands to his thighs, holding him right at the crease where his rump transitions into his legs. It wrings another moan out of Wei Ying’s throat when he squeezes, pushing their bodies together at the perfect angle to feel as much as possible without having disrobed anything. Wei Ying shivers, his whole body trembling underneath Lan Zhan’s hands, and it’s so sexy that Lan Zhan thinks he could pass out and die and he’d be a happy man doing so. He doesn’t allow himself to do so, instead cups Wei Ying tighter under his ass while Wei Ying’s hands roam over his chest. 

With Wei Ying pressed so close to him, it’s impossible for Lan Zhan to ignore anything — the way that Wei Ying’s body is so hot pressed to his, the nice smell of his cologne, the sweet smell of the shampoo he must use, the way his manicured nails scrape over his neck, the loud, obscene sounds of their kiss. It’s overwhelming in the best way Lan Zhan has ever felt. He had never thought that he would go from Wei Ying being annoying but obsession-worthy to having the life kissed out of him. He could only cling on tighter to stop his hands from shaking, and if the only place to grab was Wei Ying’s ass, then he wasn’t going to complain. 

He fights off the call of oxygen for as long as he can, taking quick, useless breaths until Wei Ying pulls away from him. Gasping for breath doesn’t get them very far, not with the way that their foreheads are pressed together and their noses still touch. When Lan Zhan opens his eyes, he sees that Wei Ying’s are still closed, and he uses the opportunity to just look. As much as he stares from a distance, pretending to be engrossed in something else, he hasn’t had much opportunity to admire Wei Ying’s beauty face to face, and especially not so close. 

Wei Ying’s eyelashes are long, ink dark against the pink skin of his lust-flushed cheeks. His lips are red from the kisses, wet with saliva at the corners, and when he speaks his mouth looks so pretty it takes all of Lan Zhan’s will and self-determination to pay attention to the words instead of just diving in for more kisses. 

“You’re being so forceful with me,” Wei Ying is saying, his eyes fluttering open. “Where did you learn to kiss like this, Lan er-gege?” 

“Don’t —” Lan Zhan chokes out. The words alone are enough to make the whole length of his cock throb, desperate for attention. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Do you not like it, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying teases. There’s a mischievous shimmer in his eyes that Lan Zhan recognises all too well. “Would you prefer I call you something else, er-gege?” 

Lan Zhan hauls him into another kiss, not letting Wei Ying get another word out. It’s not polite, and totally against the rules he’d grown up with of not cutting people off while they’re speaking, but Lan Zhan is so past being polite and nice that he doesn’t give it a second thought. He’s only too happy to let all of his worries disappear, to lose himself in the heat of the moment and the pleasure of the all-consuming kiss that Wei Ying continues to pull him into. Wei Ying is happy to let Lan Zhan take control, to lick into his mouth and taste the sweet drinks he’d been sipping on from his teeth and tongue. He follows Lan Zhan’s lead, meeting his intensity with equal enthusiasm, his hands touching his chest and neck and hair like he can’t figure out where he wants to be touching more. 

Lan Zhan pulls him in again, hands still holding Wei Ying’s ass, and Wei Ying’s leg always slung over his hip. Another low noise, whiny like an injured animal, sounds from Wei Ying’s throat, and Lan Zhan realises just how badly he needs to break Wei Ying, to force more of those sounds out of him.

He moves one of his hands up Wei Ying’s back, following the curves of his spine and scapula until he gets his fist around the base of his ponytail to pull. A moan pours out of Wei Ying, loud and out of control, breaking the kiss. It doesn’t deter Lan Zhan — it spurs him on, trailing kisses down his jaw and over his throat. He bites Wei Ying’s earlobe and Adam’s apple while tugging on his hair again, and Wei Ying’s mouth is so close to his ear that he can hear the gasped little breaths he takes as pleasure mounts in him. Lan Zhan swears he’s never heard a better sound in his life. 

Without even having to say anything, Wei Ying unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt. The slinky fabric slides over his pale chest enticingly, and Lan Zhan licks his lips before diving in, fitting his teeth into Wei Ying’s clavicle. He doesn’t care about anything other than leaving his mark on Wei Ying’s body, permission be damned. 

“Ah — Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying gasps. His head lolls back into the hand Lan Zhan still holds him with, like he’s gone limp from the pleasure. “Lan er-gege, are you a dog, biting me like this? I’m going to be covered in marks, everyone is going to know I got ravished in this room.” He jerks his hips forward as Lan Zhan pulls his hair again, squeezes his ass again. “Are you the killer tonight, Lan Zhan? This will ruin your alibi — once people see how forcefully you marked me, they won’t believe your innocence — ah!”

Lan Zhan’s bite this time is sure to leave a mark, his jaw working powerfully to stake his claim on Wei Ying’s skin. He works on another love bite, higher up on Wei Ying’s neck where he won’t be able to button up his shirt and hide it. He doesn’t care about the game, about the cue cards Nie Huaisang had prepared for him to read out in the case that he is declared the culprit — he only cares about making Wei Ying his.

“You’re being so rough,” Wei Ying gasps again. Lan Zhan notes that he isn’t complaining, just observing. “Lan er-gege, were you raised by wolves? Who taught you to bite this way? Won’t your brother notice how vicious you are with your fragile Wei Ying?”

“Shut up,” Lan Zhan says. He can feel his ears burning with something, though he can’t pinpoint it. A combination of arousal, embarrassment, neediness. He does the only thing that he’s tried and succeeded in using to stop Wei Ying from speaking — another kiss. 

It deepens immediately, too heated and hungry for each other to remain chaste in any sense of the word. Wei Ying pushes his own shirt out of the way even more, exposing more of his chest and the pebbled nipples there. He keeps letting out little, quiet whimpers, driving Lan Zhan more and more to the brink of insanity, like he doesn’t even know what it’s doing to him. Lan Zhan lets out a growl from the back of his throat, low and nearly inaudible, but Wei Ying doesn’t need to hear it with how close they are — he could feel it. He lets out a whimper and pushes his hips forward even more, like he wants to crawl on top of Lan Zhan on the billiards table. 

Lan Zhan can’t lie and say that he’s never thought of Wei Ying climbing on top of him before. It would be a bald-faced lie to say his fantasies have never included Wei Ying and what he’d like to do to him. 

All of the fantasies from the years flash in front of him like a movie montage before settling on the reality of the scene in front of him, of Wei Ying desperate and needy and rolling their bodies together like he’s going to die if he stops. Lan Zhan feels much the same — his cock already too hard to ignore, nearly painful from being stuffed into tight trousers that are doing absolutely nothing to hide his desire for Wei Ying. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers against his lips. A low, keening noise escapes from his throat as one of his hands traces down Lan Zhan’s chest until it rests on the bulge at the apex of his thighs, cupping the outline of his cock. It makes Lan Zhan’s head tip back, breaking off their kiss as he barely manages to keep himself quiet. “Lan Zhan, will you let me? Can I suck you off?” 

Lan Zhan clenches his eyes, leaning back in and biting down on Wei Ying’s bottom lip harshly. He could feel his resolve crumbling before him. The way he wants to take Wei Ying and everything he could give is truly shameless. His brother will be mortified if he ever finds out what has transpired between them at this fundraiser. 

“Lan er-gege, let me take care of you,” Wei Ying whines. He palms at the outline of Lan Zhan’s cock, harder this time, enough to have Lan Zhan’s head thrown back of its own volition. He wants so badly, he needs it. Wei Ying attaches his lips to Lan Zhan’s throat, taking advantage of the moment to press kisses and bites into the column of his neck the same way that Lan Zhan had done to him. “Can I, er-gege? Will you let me help you?”

They’re in public, Lan Zhan realises. It’s not totally public, not the way being in a building with businesses or in a car would be, but the residence is not private. There are guests, many of them important people who could absolutely ruin his and Wei Ying’s reputations if someone were to force open the doors. The locks on the doors are well made — he’d realised so earlier when Wei Ying had slid it into place — but the excitement of the game nearing its end might encourage people, especially the drunken ones, to be rowdier and more forceful with their pushing. It would be easy, so very easy, to get caught. 

Lan Zhan, to his own equal surprise and nonplussed sentiment, realises that he doesn’t actually care. In fact, the threat of being caught out only makes the whole thing more thrilling. He doesn’t even know if he recognises himself anymore. 

“Yes,” he says finally, quietly enough that Wei Ying alone could hear him over the din of the party. “I want you.” 

Wei Ying moans into the column of Lan Zhan’s throat, sending vibrations up through his Adam’s apple. It feels strange and completely out of his control, but he kind of likes that — he likes the way that Wei Ying makes him feel a little bit more animalistic then he should. Then, as suddenly as the vibrations of Wei Ying’s moans had started, they’re gone, and Wei Ying is dropping to his knees quickly. He instantly misses the feeling of Wei Ying’s hot, wet breaths moistening his skin, but when he looks down between his knees and sees the eagerness, the hunger, written on Wei Ying’s face, it’s just as good. 

The way that Wei Ying licks his lips — intentionally or not, Lan Zhan doesn’t know — has Lan Zhan’s flimsy grip on his self control slipping even further. Another low sound rumbles its way out of the base of his throat, and Wei Ying’s eyes dart to the obvious tenting in his trousers. It’s impossible to tell the difference between pupil and iris in Wei Ying’s eyes from this distance, but the hungry way his lips part leads Lan Zhan to believe Wei Ying is very into his view. 

It’s almost maddening the way that Wei Ying does nothing but stare, looking between Lan Zhan’s clothed erection and his face as if awaiting instructions. Lan Zhan almost wants to wait, wants to see just how long Wei Ying will wait before he begins begging even more earnestly to get his mouth on Lan Zhan. Maybe, Lan Zhan thinks, he’ll just have to find out in the future. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying mumbles, blinking slowly and pressing his hands to the buttons of Lan Zhan’s trousers. “You’re so pretty, er-gege. Can I?” 

Lan Zhan’s eyes threaten to shut, the sight of Wei Ying desperate is already just too much for him to handle, but he doesn’t close them quite yet. 

“Wei Ying…” Lan Zhan trails off. He wants to warn him, to tell him to behave, to be a good boy and take Lan Zhan’s length into his mouth, but the words fail him. What he does do, though, is get his hand back on Wei Ying’s head, fisted around his hair again to bring his face forward forcefully. Even with his nose pressed into Lan Zhan’s crotch, Wei Ying manages to manoeuvre his lithe fingers into unbuttoning the trousers blocking his goal. Lan Zhan doesn’t let Wei Ying’s face move out of the way as Wei Ying shimmies the trousers down just under the crease of his butt. Wei Ying doesn’t seem to have a problem with that, if the way that he presses his nose to Lan Zhan’s briefs is anything to go off of. It should be a bit gross, the way that Wei Ying smells him so deeply, except it’s not — it’s almost overwhelmingly sexy, in fact. 

Wei Ying doesn’t waste his time, though. He pulls Lan Zhan’s briefs down, too, just enough for Lan Zhan’s cock to spring free in front of his face. Lan Zhan thinks he should, really, feel more shame at the fact that he’s indecent in a semi-public area, but that thought quickly flies out the window at the sheerly shameless moan that Wei Ying lets out upon seeing his erection. His ears burn at the sound of it, though he can’t help but to feel pleased with himself at the sound he’d wrung out without doing a single damn thing. 

“I’ve never done this before,” Wei Ying says as he wraps his hand around Lan Zhan’s cock. That statement alone would have Lan Zhan already near toppling-over, but the slow drag Wei Ying does, pushing his foreskin up and over the head, is what finally makes his knees buckle, one of his hands darting behind him to hold steady on the edge of the billiards table. “You have to tell me if I’m any good, Lan-didi.” 

“Wei Ying —” Lan Zhan gasps. He wants to tell Wei Ying that if he’s not ready he doesn’t have to, that there’s no pressure if he’s nervous or decides he wants to stop. He doesn’t say any of that, though, too caught up in the pleasure of Wei Ying’s fist pumping once, twisting his wrist on the next upstroke. Lan Zhan feels so aroused he might lose his mind, and looking down at Wei Ying doesn't help, not with the way that he’s so eagerly licking his lips and staring at the thick dribble of precome, honey thick and just as sticky, spilling from the tip of Lan Zhan’s cock. He’s the picture of sin, cheeks pink, hair messy, and his pretty silver choker glinting in the lamplight.

Lan Zhan feels it down to the very marrow of his bones when Wei Ying finally lowers his head, slides his hand to the base of his cock, and licks a stripe along the underside of his shaft. There’s so much wet pressure, enough to push around his foreskin until it’s half-covering the head of his cock. 

Wei Ying is slower than Lan Zhan had ever imagined in his fantasies, though whether it’s meant to be a tease or simply because he is learning, Lan Zhan is unsure. He takes his sweet time, though, pressing wet kisses along the thick vein of his shaft, unashamedly slurping up the string of precome dripping from the slit, open-mouth kissing against the tip. Lan Zhan barely manages to contain himself, his heart thundering in his chest and his hands shaking with his restraint. 

He doesn’t have to open his mind to beg Wei Ying to speed up, though. Wei Ying reads his mind — more likely his body language — and finally opens his mouth wide to slide Lan Zhan’s cock into his mouth. Wei Ying’s tongue is restless while he breathes through his nose, and Lan Zhan can’t help but tighten his grip on the base of Wei Ying’s ponytail, desperate not to let a single little noise spill from his lips. 

Lan Zhan tries to calm his breathing, tries to remember the slow exercises his uncle had taught him all those years ago as a child, as Wei Ying lets his eyes flutter shut. He tries, with surprising success, to fit as much of Lan Zhan’s cock into his mouth as he can, his lips meeting his fist at the base. The image it creates is downright pornographic. If Lan Zhan had more brain cells working he might pull out his phone just to take a picture. Frankly, for Wei Ying’s first time sucking dick, Lan Zhan is impressed. He knows he’s not lacking in any sense of the word, and watching Wei Ying take it all like he was made to do this just makes Lan Zhan hotter than he could ever reasonably explain. 

Then, Wei Ying hollows his cheeks and sucks, and Lan Zhan is amazed at his own ability not to finish on the spot. 

He does it again, and again, and again, bobbing his head slightly, pumping his fist to make sure that as much of Lan Zhan is covered as possible. Lan Zhan’s hand slips, sending one of the cue sticks clattering to the floor. Wei Ying opens his eyes at that, slightly panicked, but seems to relax once he realises that it’s just Lan Zhan making the noise. His eyes shimmer like he wants to smile, and he moves his hand from the base of Lan Zhan’s cock to hold his testicles, gentle like he’s trying to weigh them.

Wei Ying pulls back, working his tongue along the crown of Lan Zhan’s cock, pushing under the puckering foreskin to wriggle right against the slit. Lan Zhan’s choked out command of, “Don’t tease, Wei Ying,” is so quiet it barely even reaches his own ears, but Wei Ying hears him clearly. 

The command seems to do absolutely nothing, though. Wei Ying continues to work Lan Zhan’s cock as slowly as he pleases. He drags his tongue along the underside, takes it into his throat, pops off with a loud smack to rub the head and all his precome on his lips like some perverted version of lip gloss. It leaves Lan Zhan a mess, desperate to finish, trying not to be so forceful and just push Wei Ying down on his cock until he can spill down his throat. 

“Wei Ying —” Lan Zhan manages to grunt out, unable to pry his eyes away from the way Wei Ying is tearing up and sucking vigorously. “Close.”

“What do you need, er-gege?” Wei Ying asks. He pulls off entirely, letting Lan Zhan’s cock smack into his face roughly, covering the length of it like he's proud to show off just how big Lan Zhan is in comparison to him. “You can’t make a mess of me, now, we still have people waiting for us outside of this room. Do you want me to swallow it all down?” Wei Ying asks, letting his tongue slurp along the underside as he gets back to work. “Want to come all over my face, let everyone know what we’ve been up to? Get it on this nice outfit so that you can pin the murder on me, the mistress of the victim, after the inheritance money?” 

Lan Zhan growls at that, pulling roughly enough on Wei Ying’s ponytail to make him yelp before he’s forcing his cock down Wei Ying’s throat. He doesn’t like the idea of Wei Ying on his knees for anyone else, though he knows he doesn’t really have any true claim over Wei Ying. This entire thing could be just a one time thing for all he knows. 

Wei Ying lets him lead, lets his throat open until Lan Zhan can feel that Wei Ying needs to drop his balls, and holds tightly to his thighs. “So pretty,” is all Lan Zhan can say, utterly entranced by the shimmer of barely-there tears in Wei Ying’s eyelashes. He shakes through his orgasm, thrusting helplessly into Wei Ying’s mouth, grinding forward while Wei Ying chokes around him, struggling to swallow down his come. 

He doesn’t even know how long it lasts, how much time passes with Wei Ying moaning around his cock, milking him as thoroughly as he can. It feels like a lifetime has passed when he finally lets go of Wei Ying’s hair and slumps back, his chest heaving to catch breath like he’s the one who’s been stuffed full and barely able to breathe. 

Wei Ying doesn’t complain when he pops off of Lan Zhan’s cock. He places a delicate, gentle kiss to the tip before sitting back on his haunches to watch Lan Zhan’s cock, shiny with spit, start to deflate now that he’s had an orgasm. Wei Ying is beautiful like this, Lan Zhan thinks, with swollen lips, wet eyes, sweaty brows. He can see the bite mark he’s left on Wei Ying’s clavicle from this angle, and he abruptly realises that he needs to kiss Wei Ying more than anything else, needs to taste the saltiness of his own release on Wei Ying’s tongue. 

He reaches down, tugging Wei Ying to his feet, and pulls him into a wet, messy kiss. He can taste himself in Wei Ying’s mouth, and while the thought might be disgusting with anyone else, Lan Zhan thinks it’s phenomenal because it’s Wei Ying. It’s narcissistic, perhaps, the way that he’s happy Wei Ying will walk around smelling and tasting like him, and anyone that gets close enough will know exactly what Wei Ying was doing. He huffs into Wei Ying’s mouth as their tongues meet, and cups the back of Wei Ying’s head much more gently now, guiding him to position.

Wei Ying makes small, whimpery whines as they continue to kiss, and it’s not hard to guess the reason why. Lan Zhan can feel the way he keeps pressing their bodies together, grinding and humping against Lan Zhan’s thigh pathetically. The tenting in the front of his trousers is clear enough to Lan Zhan — Wei Ying had obviously enjoyed sucking him off. It’s enough to make him feel dizzy with desire again.

Lan Zhan surges forward with even more intensity, the feeling of Wei Ying grinding against him urging him like a devil on his shoulder to take and take, never stop until Wei Ying is reduced to silence from the unsurmountable waves of pleasure. Wei Ying moans freely, loudly, into his mouth, not bothering to hold back now that Lan Zhan is fully aware of what he’s doing. Their bodies are pressed so close together that it would be impossible to ignore him regardless, but it makes Lan Zhan feel some smug satisfaction about the lack of control Wei Ying has over himself. It’s right then and there that he decides that he needs more, that Wei Ying needs more, than what they currently have. 

He snakes his hand down Wei Ying’s body enough to get his hand cupped around the tent of arousal at the front of his trousers, rubbing at a slow teasing pace. Wei Ying groans against his lips and tries with all his might to push his hips closer, grinding against Lan Zhan’s palm like he’s going to be able to get anything out of the interaction that Lan Zhan himself isn’t actively giving. It makes him smile internally, the way that Wei Ying moves, thinking that he still has any control at this moment. “Er-gege,” he groans, weak and whiny still, “I need more.”

“Shut up,” Lan Zhan says, stealing another kiss from Wei Ying’s parted lips. His tongue lolls out, making it easy for Lan Zhan to plunder in with no resistance. Wei Ying makes a filthy sound, impossibly enticing, and Lan Zhan squeezes his hand against Wei Ying’s straining erection one more time before breaking the kiss and taking a step back. Wei Ying’s eyes spring open, but Lan Zhan sees the words die on his lips when he sees the way that Lan Zhan lowers himself, sitting on his haunches. 

“Ge, gege —” Wei Ying gasps out, breathless, as Lan Zhan pops open the button holding his trousers closed. He slides them to mid thigh before taking the time to raise an eyebrow at the briefs underneath. Briefs in the loosest sense of the word, because they’re small and dainty, red like the manicure on his nails. Lan Zhan chokes on his own saliva at the sight, and he sees Wei Ying blushing almost as vibrant as the briefs he’s wearing. He doesn’t dwell on it long, though — he’s more preoccupied with turning Wei Ying around, letting him brace his hands against the billiards table. He hears the way the billiards balls click against each other as they’re scattered across the table. 

Wei Ying’s ass is amazing, Lan Zhan thinks, because the words he wants to use to describe it are too advanced for his current mental capabilities. His lexicon is shortened by the sight of Wei Ying’s glorious ass, bent over the table for him, plush and cute in his briefs. Wei Ying makes another choked little noise as Lan Zhan’s hands grab his cheeks over the fabric, squeezing tightly, before sinking his teeth in to bite. He hopes it leaves a mark. 

Wei Ying makes another little noise, like he’s dazed and lost and doesn’t know what to do. His legs twitch, like he’s ready to collapse, and Lan Zhan hears more than sees the way that his hands scramble for purchase against the surface of the table. Lan Zhan doesn’t waste any more time, the promise of digging in too tempting, and he pulls the briefs down enough that they’re completely out of the way.

Wei Ying’s rump is too voluptuous, too juicy, for Lan Zhan to see all of him immediately, but that is quickly remedied by pulling apart his cheeks. He’s smoothly waxed, pretty, quivering under Lan Zhan’s gaze. He can’t help but hoist himself forward to press his tongue directly to Wei Ying’s hole, slobbering over him like the dog he’d been accused of being. 

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying gasps, sounding shocked and nearly appalled. “Are you sure that’s something that can be done?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer. He swirls his tongue over the furl of his hole, dragging against the muscle, salivating extra on purpose to let his drool run down Wei Ying’s perineum and over his tight balls. Lan Zhan isn’t ashamed to say that he could sit here for hours, listen to the litany of curses, broken-off moans of his name, and gasps spilling from Wei Ying’s mouth. He knows, without a doubt, that if he had the chance he’d relax and let Wei Ying sit on his face for hours on end, edging him over and over until he’d be left begging and desperate for Lan Zhan to fuck him hard and finally give him relief. He doesn’t have the time to do that, though — his brother might be looking for him, Nie Huaisang might be looking for them. 

He sucks in a deep breath before diving in and going to town, so enthusiastically using his tongue and lips on Wei Ying’s hole it’s almost like he’s making out with him. There’s something so endearing about the way that Wei Ying is shaking, falling apart under his hands and mouth, and Lan Zhan can’t see but can imagine the way his toes must be curling inside of his shoes. Wei Ying is so responsive, so eager for Lan Zhan’s tongue, it’s the best thing Lan Zhan has ever used his mouth for. 

He uses his hands to smooth over Wei Ying’s supple rump. It’s not the first time he’s noticed Wei Ying’s ass, definitely not, but it’s the first time he’s allowed to touch as much as he wants, and touch he does. Each squeeze wrings more moans out of Wei Ying’s throat, more wanton noises that echo around the room. He trembles near frantically, his hips jerking as if he’s not sure whether he wants to grind his cock into the side of the table or thrust himself back on where Lan Zhan’s tongue is breaching him. The small rocking motions drive Lan Zhan crazy.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying chants, breathless and winded, desperate to come. “Do it like that, Lan Zhan, just like that — ah, squeeze tighter, Lan Zhan.” His commands are airy, mindless, chasing towards his orgasm. Lan Zhan heeds them regardless, wanting to feel Wei Ying come undone underneath his mouth. He does just that when Lan Zhan brings one of his hands down in a loud smack against Wei Ying’s ass, with a shout, “Don’t!”

He trembles ever more underneath Lan Zhan as he comes in spurts against the side of the billiards table. The glossy wood will need to be wiped down for sure, but Lan Zhan can’t help but feel some pride at his handiwork. It takes a moment for the two of them to gather their bearings, and it hurts his knees some when he stands back up, but it’s all worth it. Frankly, if Wei Ying looks this disheveled from getting eaten out, then Lan Zhan can’t wait to find out what he looks like after being properly fucked the way he deserves. 

He helps Wei Ying shimmy his briefs and trousers back on, Wei Ying’s hands a touch too shaky to be able to do any fine motor tasks just yet. His fringe sticks to his forehead, and his face glows with a healthy pinkness that has Lan Zhan feeling smug. It’s his own personal little reminder of what has transpired between them, especially with the evidence of Wei Ying’s pleasure wiped away with a handkerchief that feels like it might burn a hole in Lan Zhan’s pocket, screaming guess what I just cleaned up, waiting to be caught. 

Lan Zhan is half hard again, tucked in his trousers, just from eating out Wei Ying. The tenting isn’t unnoticeable, but would be to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. He realises, a moment later, that the silence is a bit odd. His ears burn — are they going to pretend like nothing happened? Now that they’ve taken care of each other, does it end? Does the fundraiser come to its conclusion and Wei Ying and Lan Zhan go their separate ways until they maybe meet at another one next year? 

“Lan er-gege,” Wei Ying says, breaking the silence they’ve been standing in. His breathing is steadier, no longer erratic, but still not totally normal. “You’ve ruined this maiden, stolen her virtue and pinned a murder on her all in one night.”

Lan Zhan grabs Wei Ying by the wrist and pulls him in for a deep kiss. Wei Ying laughs into it, his smile making it hard to kiss him properly, but Lan Zhan’s heart is doing cartwheels for it. Maybe that’s why the kiss is less dirty, if no less intense. Wei Ying clutches at Lan Zhan’s shoulders, kissing him with ferocity, while Lan Zhan holds him tight, feeling winded, like his heart is boxing his ribcage. 

The loud banging on the door is the only thing that makes them break apart, makes Lan Zhan remember where they are. 

“It’s locked — it’s got to be this room,” a voice outside the room says, jingling the doorknob ineffectively. 

“You think we need to find a key as part of the game?” another voice asks. 

“The room,” Lan Zhan says as the voices right outside trail off into obscurity, unintelligible through the walls.

“Is that why you were hiding away from everyone, then, er-gege?” Wei Ying bats his eyelashes prettily enough for Lan Zhan to be mildly distracted. Though it’s the last thing his body wants him to do, he tears his eyes away from the way that Wei Ying is moving his body, sensual and languid, fucked out but obviously not well enough if he still has the capacity to tease Lan Zhan the way he is.

The neatly set-up billiards balls are scattered across the table, and the cue sticks have rolled away across the floor where they’d fallen. The revolver is still on the table, at the far end where neither he nor Wei Ying had managed to knock it askew.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hums, bending to pick up the cue stick, walking around the table to reset the balls in their positions in the billiard rack. “Nie Huaisang advised me that the party is reaching its conclusion and thus the final room must be set up. My task has been delayed, however.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Wei Ying says with a cheeky grin and a wink. “That means that I solved two parts of the murder, for sure — I totally called it, by the way: revolver in the billiards room.”

“Mustn’t you say your guess aloud before claiming to have foreseen this outcome?”

“That doesn’t matter.” 

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hums warmly. “The guests, alongside Nie Huaisang, will likely be here momentarily. Turn off the lights, we can leave now and sneak in with the rest of the guests and pretend like we didn’t… desecrate the room.”

“Fancy way to say we fucked on the table.” Wei Ying is still smiling making his way toward the door alongside Lan Zhan. “You know, if the arrival of guests wasn’t so imminent, I would have let you bend me over the table, gege.” 

“Did I not already?” Lan Zhan asks, flicking off the light and opening the door for the two of them to leave.

Wei Ying gasps. “Er-gege, how filthy your mouth is!” he laughs, delighted, eyes crescent moons with delight. “What would everyone say if they heard how the mighty, upstanding citizen Lan Zhan was so dirty? How shameless you are, gege, saying things like this to an innocent maiden.”

“You said it.”

“And now he blames the virginal Mrs Scarlett for his transgressions, how horrible!” Wei Ying collides into his side, pretend-fainting once again like a Victorian woman in a drama. His smile is contagious for how big it is, and his big doe eyes blink up at Lan Zhan, egging him on to continue joking along.

The two of them make it some ways away before another group of a handful of mostly-drunk party-goers pass by them in the opposite direction, heading to the billiards room. Lan Zhan hopes that the evidence, both the physical and the musky odor of sex, have been adequately cleared. 

“Lan Zhan — I’ll be back, all right?” Wei Ying asks, suddenly, before he’s gone, no longer clinging to Lan Zhan’s bicep for support. Lan Zhan supposes that he’s not actually fully needed anymore, Wei Ying’s legs steady and firm now that enough time has passed in the wake of his orgasm. He hums in acknowledgement, though Wei Ying has already taken off before he could hear it.

Be right back has different meanings to everyone, Lan Zhan realises later, after doing two more tours of the rooms of the mansion. He’s not looking for Wei Ying — of course not, Lan Zhan is busy on his own and needs to make sure that everything is still all right with the entertainment for the evening. It doesn’t make his antsiness any easier to deal with, though, especially for how little right he has to be feeling in such a way. 

It’s just that — like most unpredictable and never-before-navigated situations that Lan Zhan doesn’t have a base of reference for — he’s slightly panicked. It’s not unlike the feeling that he’d had in Macau after forcibly kissing Wei Ying, though his gratitude at karmic reasoning giving him explicit consent this time around is no joke. There’s still worry in his heart, though, because he doesn’t even know what any of it means. 

He and Wei Ying didn’t talk about it. They barely talked about the kiss, they didn’t get into the weeds about any of the behaviour they’ve displayed to one another over the years. Suffice to say, Lan Zhan is sure that his physical attraction is reciprocated at the very least, but he is unsure of anything else. He doesn’t even have Wei Ying’s WeChat. They don’t follow each other on Weibo. He’s not sure if friendship follows this, or a relationship, or if this was just a one-time thing and they’ll never see each other again.

Wei Ying, Lan Zhan remembers, is self-reportedly straight. He’s not sure when this changed, or if it’s within the mandate of Wei Ying’s straightness to climax from having his ass eaten, but Lan Zhan can’t rule out that possibility. There are too many questions he needs to ask once he finds Wei Ying. 

Unless, of course, Wei Ying doesn’t want to be found. It is a possibility, though it is one that Lan Zhan hates to entertain. 

Nie Huaisang is already in the middle of a dramatic confession by the time Lan Zhan slips back into the billiards room. The large, mechanical clock on the mantle of an unlit fireplace shows that it’s past midnight, a fact that doesn’t surprise Lan Zhan in the slightest. He’s much too set in his circadian rhythm — his bones ache for sleep, and his eyes burn. The night is almost over, at least. It might end with a heavy heart, but he has that to look forward to tomorrow.

“He himself was guilty, you see?” Nie Huaisang is saying dramatically, putting his heart and soul into the performance. “His web of lies caught up to him, our dear Doctor Black, and I had no choice but to be rid of him in our last game of billiards. I couldn’t take it after what he’d done to my family — I grabbed the revolver and hit him over the head with it. Blunt force, of course, this floor is Burmese walnut we simply can’t have blood soaking into it. But alas, I have been caught and brought to justice.”

Lan Zhan wonders, briefly, where Nie Huaisang’s boundless creativity stems from, especially in the case of his elaborately planned murders. He continues to listen as Nie Huaisang announces the winners of the night — those who had successfully pinpointed the weapon, room, and perpetrator on their Cluedo cards before submitting them — and what the prizes will be. Applause rings out around the room, some of the guests politely clapping, others less so. It’s a joyous feeling, Lan Zhan thinks, for the winners, and for Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue who stand off to the side with smiles. He knows they need to make their own speeches, but experience tells him that the two of them are decidedly less verbose than Nie Huaisang, and the night will conclude shortly. 

When the crowd thins out — the game over, the party over — Nie Huaisang corners him. “Lan er-xiong, your placement of the revolver was impeccable,” he says. “Not too on the nose, putting it off to the side of the table. The rack wasn’t in the centre, either; it added a nice touch of panicked realism. I didn’t realise that you were such a visual poet.”

“Nie Huaisang,” Lan Zhan says, tipping his head in acknowledgement. “Well put on, as always.”

“We have our geges to thank, no? The party was an absolute banger.”

Lan Zhan’s ears burn a little at the choice of wording. He hopes that Nie Huaisang isn’t perceptive enough to notice it. “I’ll be making a final round, will you be joining me?” Nie Huaisang asks.

“I must speak with my brother,” Lan Zhan says, then ducks away politely. It’s not entirely a lie, of course. He does wish to speak with Lan Huan, congratulate him on another fundraiser well done, but he’s also still on the lookout for Wei Ying. He hopes that he isn’t gone yet. 

“You look pleased, didi,” Lan Huan says, a few minutes later, in the servant’s kitchen where Lan Zhan has decided to look first. “Like the cat that caught the canary. Did you guess correctly in the game, then? Or is it something else that’s making you so smug?” 

Nie Mingjue, only a few metres off, looks on at the conversation with visible confusion. Lan Zhan is well aware that he is hard to read, so he can only imagine that Nie Mingjue is utterly baffled by Lan Huan’s teasing, considering Lan Zhan’s flat affect. Lan Zhan musters the dirtiest look he can and shoots it Lan Huan’s way, eliciting a hearty laugh.

“I wished to congratulate you both on a well done evening,” Lan Zhan says. “If you should need any assistance with cleaning, please tell me.” 

“There’s no need, A-Zhan,” Nie Mingjue says from across the room. “Huaisang organised plenty of cleaning staff, and it’s way past your bedtime. Thank you for your help as always.” 

Lan Zhan bows himself out of the room with polite nods to the two of them, and makes his way out of the servant’s kitchen. He wants to change and shower before he retires, as well as get this costume back to Nie HuaisangHe feels sticky and gross from a rather active evening, and is more than looking forward to the relaxing beat of water on his skin. The plus side of renting such an elaborate mansion for the party, at least, is not having to drive home while so sleep deprived — the mansion has enough rooms that Lan Zhan and a few others are welcome to stay the night before leaving in the morning. It makes Nie Huaisang’s job tomorrow of ensuring proper cleanup much easier, too. 

He’s near the grand staircase when he finally hears —

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. Lan Zhan nearly trips over his own feet at the sound of his voice, turning his head so quickly he hears his neck crack. Wei Ying looks, somewhat shockingly, uncomfortable, with his hands fidgeting on the edges of his pockets and his brows a little furrowed.

For just a moment, Lan Zhan and Wei Ying stare in silence, like neither of them are sure what they want to say or do. The world could be burning around him and he would struggle to pay attention to anything other than the way Wei Ying stands off to the side, the railing of the staircase digging into his back.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan nods cordially, approaching slowly. He’s still not sure what he wants to say, but this is his chance. He can’t let Wei Ying slip through his fingers this time. 

“You should know — I’m gay,” Wei Ying says. Underneath the silver of his choker, love bites of varying degrees of severity blossom on his neck. Lan Zhan almost misses the admission in his admiration, but when the words register in his mind, he nearly chokes. 

“Congratulations,” he says for lack of words otherwise. He knows it comes off as unintentionally snarky when Wei Ying looks shocked, his jaw dropping slightly, before he breaks into uncontrollable giggles. 

“You’re the funniest person I know, gege,” Wei Ying laughs, trying to catch his breath, bracing his weight on his knees. “You know, you’re part of the reason I figured it out,” Wei Ying continues, “I had always thought I just hadn’t met the right woman. They’re all so pretty, and I love my jiejie more than anyone so I thought I just needed to meet someone I like more than her. The problem is that the only person who is as pretty as she is is you, and apparently no straight man thinks about men as much as I do.” He looks a little bashful, cheeks flushed and lips wet from nervously licking them. “Then, you know, everything else confirmed it. I’m glad you kissed me. And you have no idea how glad I am that you’re not dating Nie Huaisang.” 

“My apologies for the misdirection,” Lan Zhan nods again, stepping closer to Wei Ying. It makes Wei Ying giggle again, and Lan Zhan feels his ears burning with how much he adores the sound.

“I thought Nie Huaisang knew about my crush and was going to use me to paint some sort of picture tonight about the consequences of lusting after a taken man,” Wei Ying rolls his eyes. “You know how dramatic he is, it sounds like it’s in his wheelhouse, no? Anyway, regardless of that, it’s just so much fun to tease you that I had to say yes to being in his little production tonight, if only so that I could play with you a little. I couldn’t say anything to you.” 

Lan Zhan’s breath feels caught in his chest, a heavy weight weighing on him with each word that Wei Ying says. He wishes mostly hopelessly, that he’d known, that he’d admitted his feelings toward Wei Ying earlier. There’s no point dwelling on what might have been, though, and he steps forward even closer, closing Wei Ying in against the balustrade.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. He’s typically not a man of words, and now is no different, but he knows that he needs to say these things. He recognises that his demeanour is cold and difficult to read, and Wei Ying needs to hear the words that are stuck in his mind. “I like you,” he says. “Fancy you.” He grabs Wei Ying, wrapping an arm around his waist while the other caresses his cheek. “Want you.” He wants to fall in love with Wei Ying and never let him go. 

“Lan er-gege, are you trying to seduce me?” Wei Ying squirms against him, but he doesn’t push Lan Zhan away or ask him to stop. Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow and pulls their bodies closer together. Wei Ying smacks a hand on Lan Zhan’s chest, “Lan Zhan!” he cries, smile brighter than the moon and all the stars. “Come back to my hotel with me. Please?” Wei Ying pulls out a hotel key card from who-knows-where, and holds it in front of Lan Zhan’s face, eyes pleading like a puppy. 

“Stay with me,” Lan Zhan hums. “I need to complete a few tasks,but I have a room in the mansion for the night.”

“I should…” Wei Ying trails off. Lan Zhan sees his eyes flicker toward where he’d just licked the corner of his own lips, and knows intimately what kind of distraction Wei Ying is suffering from. “I should at least go back to my hotel and get some pyjamas,” he continues, “But first —”

Their bodies move impossibly closer, the gap between them non-existent as their mouths meet hungrily. It’s wet and messy and definitely not the kind of kiss that should be shared out in the open where anyone can walk by and see them. Lan Zhan doesn’t care, uses the hand cupping Wei Ying’s jaw to tilt him at the perfect angle to plunge his tongue in, slicking over Wei Ying’s teeth and his tongue. He doesn’t taste like Lan Zhan anymore, and it’s hard not to miss the claim he’d had only a short while ago. It’s no matter, Lan Zhan thinks, he’ll just make sure Wei Ying tastes like him again later.

When Wei Ying breaks the kiss and Lan Zhan steps away, he wears a goofy, giddy smile on his face. “I’ll be waiting for you,” he breathes against Lan Zhan’s lips, their noses caressing gently when he leans in for one last kiss.

He’s nearly frantic with energy, the memory of their kiss burning his lips as he winds himself back to the set of a few private rooms that had been cordoned off from guests. 

“You look positively thrilled,” Lan Huan says when they run into each other in the corridor. He’s busy holding some documents, probably some last minute things to send off to the charity lawyer now that the fundraiser has concluded. “Something happened with Wei Ying?”

Lan Zhan says nothing, though he is sure that his brother sees right through his silence and understands everything, right down to the reason why his ears are so burning red.

“I should let you get back to him, then, shouldn’t I?” Lan Huan says, decidedly amused with himself. “Our rooms are soundproofed. Just in case the rest of us keep you awake with the cleaning,” Lan Huan winks, and Lan Zhan feels his neck burn hotly. He remains silent all the while, neither confirming nor denying his brother’s insinuations. There is something uniquely mortifying about being a younger sibling, Lan Zhan thinks.

The shower that Lan Zhan takes doesn’t exactly do much to calm his nerves. He’s not sure if the underlying arousal or the stress over what it all means is worse, even as he sits in the bedroom he’d taken for the night. He thinks, once again, that maybe he would have an easier time with these kinds of things if he wasn’t such a lightweight when drinking. 

He waits impatiently, wishing for perhaps the first time in his life, that he could be texting right now. At least if he knew what Wei Ying was doing, how far he was, if they are still doing this — whatever this is — he might feel less anxious about it all. He ate Wei Ying out and he doesn’t even have his WeChat. Surely his uncle would call him a shameless trollop if he knew that. 

Lan Zhan’s keen sense of hearing is piqued when he hears the gentle rapping of a fist on the door leading to his room, and he’s standing from the bed and across the room by the time Wei Ying is closing the door behind him. The look in his eyes is dark, and his mouth is wet, like he’d been biting his lips.

“Hi,” Wei Ying says, a little breathy, coasting on the waves of a laugh.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, opening his arms. Wei Ying takes the invitation, throwing himself into Lan Zhan’s wide arms, grabbing fistfuls of his linen pyjama shirt, and kissing him deeply. Wei Ying, too, is no longer dressed in the fancy outfit that had been curated by Nie Huaisang, though Lan Zhan still thinks he looks to die for in his casual clothes. It strikes Lan Zhan that this is the first time he’s seeing Wei Ying in normal attire in person, and it makes a heat flare in his stomach.

“You’re going to be in trouble tomorrow morning,” Wei Ying gasps wildly as Lan Zhan starts pulling him deeper into the room, closer to the bed. He has a fist wrapped around Wei Ying’s still-tied-up hair and he pulls, exposing Wei Ying’s throat to his lips and teeth. “I ran into Nie Huaisang, sneaking back in here,” Wei Ying continues breathlessly as Lan Zhan bites and kisses up and down the column of his neck. “He was surprised to see me. I had to ask him what room is yours — fuck, Lan Zhan, you’re a dog! A dog!” 

Lan Zhan feels Wei Ying hit the edge of the mattress as his bites intensify, and he resolutely does not respond to the teasing insult. He doesn’t mind being called a dog if it means that he can leave as many bites as he’d like on Wei Ying’s skin. Wei Ying topples onto the bed easily, and Lan Zhan follows, covering his body with his own. He only kisses Wei Ying harder with the extra leverage, and Wei Ying encouragingly spreads open his legs, bracketing Lan Zhan’s hips with his knees. Lan Zhan would manoeuvre them into a more comfortable position if he had the patience to do so, but he’s already so desperate to claw his way under Wei Ying’s skin and build a home there that he can do no such thing.

“The rooms are soundproof,” Lan Zhan says when they break for air. He kisses down Wei Ying’s neck, tugging aside the collar of his shirt to better bite at his clavicles. Wei Ying clings to his hair like he’ll float away if he doesn’t, letting out tiny noises, hitched little breaths and desperate gasps for more. 

“Is that your way of telling me I’m allowed to run my mouth, Lan er-gege?” Wei Ying asks. Lan Zhan doesn’t answer, but the truth is yes. He likes that Wei Ying talks near constantly, likes to hear his train of thoughts. He doesn’t want Wei Ying to be quiet or to censor himself — he wants the loud and dramatic, wants the brattiness and attitude that he has to break in. 

He doesn’t have the words to explain himself, and instead just rushes back up to kiss Wei Ying wildly, fiercely. Wei Ying moans freely into the kiss, making absolutely no effort to keep his noises in. Whether it’s a reflection of Wei Ying’s desire to endlessly tease him or if it is just the way he is in bed, Lan Zhan doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he cares much, either, because regardless of Wei Ying‘s motivations, Lan Zhan gets to hear him enjoying himself. 

Lan Zhan is caught off guard when Wei Ying’s hands slide down his body to rest on his lower back, using pressure to force their pelvises together. He barely holds back a groan of pleasure, but Wei Ying is loud enough for the two of them, moaning loudly when Lan Zhan circles his hips to grind into Wei Ying. 

“So big, gege,” Wei Ying mumbles absentmindedly while Lan Zhan trails kisses over his cheek and to his ear to bite on his neck and earlobe. “I need to get you naked, Lan Zhan, I need to see how pretty you are underneath all those clothes.”

They hadn’t gotten naked before, of course, something that Lan Zhan was disappointed by but ultimately understood — they just hadn’t had the time, nor had it been the place for it. Now, though, now he can indulge, take his time stripping Wei Ying of every last article of clothing still covering his body. 

Indulging, it turns out, doesn’t last long — the two of them are much too desperate to be relieved of their clothes.

Wei Ying peels Lan Zhan’s shirt off first, throwing it off to the side without a care in the world for where it lands. Lan Zhan speedily unties the drawstring of Wei Ying’s trousers and pushes them down his hips, which he then shimmies out of. Lan Zhan would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the little briefs that he’d been wearing before, but the loose boxers that Wei Ying has now do nothing to hide the tenting of his erection and that is also enough to make Lan Zhan lose his mind, so he can’t complain. His own trousers find their way to an armchair halfway across the room, tossed with hitherto unmatched gusto on Wei Ying’s part. Wei Ying’s shirt lands somewhere nearby, socks thrown about, too, until they are both down to their undergarments.

Lan Zhan wastes no time doing exactly what he’s always wanted to do — he bends over Wei Ying, nearly folding him in half from the way his thighs are spread around Lan Zhan’s hips, and bites directly into the soft skin of his stomach, right above his navel piercing. The metal shines and sparkles in the light of the bedside lamp, and though Lan Zhan has never been a piercings guy he thinks he’s been wrong up until this moment. There’s nothing in the world better than flicking his tongue against the gem of Wei Ying’s piercing, watching his eyes roll back and his back arch. 

His hands reach up, brushing over Wei Ying’s chest until he’s able to thumb over both nipples simultaneously. They perk up quickly, easily, and Wei Ying lets out an unintelligible little noise. “Sensitive,” Lan Zhan notes, biting and licking still at random spots on Wei Ying’s stomach. He’s going to have a strange set of bruises and bite marks come the morning time, but Lan Zhan likes the thought of that. Should someone else see Wei Ying they’ll know he was ravished, taken care of so thoroughly. It makes Lan Zhan feel feral. 

“Lan Zhan, er-gege, you need to come up here and kiss me,” Wei Ying finally whines, as if remembering that he has a voice and that he can use it for more than incoherent noises. “You need to kiss me, it’s a crime if you don’t kiss me.”

Lan Zhan acquiesces, using one arm to bracket himself on the side of Wei Ying’s head, the other still playing with his nipple. The kiss is just as heated as their previous ones, tongues immediately seeking each other out to slide wetly together. Lan Zhan rolls his hips down into Wei Ying, the stiffness of their erections undeniable even through the thin fabric they both still wear. Wei Ying’s hand — the one that isn’t gripping Lan Zhan’s shoulder like a vice — traces along his abdomen, along the dips of his muscles until his fingertips tease along the V of Lan Zhan’s groin.

“This is cheating, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying pants. His hand still moves frenetically, mapping out the planes of Lan Zhan’s body. “Who told you that you can hide such a nice body under all those clothes, huh? It’s against the rules that you’ve been hiding this from me, I would have climbed you like a tree sooner if I knew you were built like this.” 

“I didn’t know that this was a competition I could cheat in,” Lan Zhan says. He mouths over Wei Ying’s neck, lathing his tongue over the expanses of skin before biting into his Adam’s apple. He thrusts his hips down again, feeling the heat of Wei Ying’s cock next to his own and wondering if he’s imagining the moisture of precome seeping through the fabric already. Checking would mean moving his lips away from Wei Ying’s supple, sensitive earlobe, though, and he doesn’t want that. 

“Lan Zhan — I need to feel you. Take it off, both of us, want to feel you,” Wei Ying asks, pleads, and who is Lan Zhan to deny him of his wishes? Lan Zhan’s heart speeds up even faster in his chest as he peels Wei Ying’s boxers down his thighs, watching as his cock springs free. It’s just as nice as it had been earlier in the billiards room, though this time he is able to look at it properly. It’s pretty, he thinks, which is perhaps an odd word to use to describe someone’s cock, but it’s got a good colour to it, the head flushed a pretty, dark pink, and his balls are drawn up tight like he’s already close to his release. He is already wet at the tip, as Lan Zhan had suspected. 

He tugs his own briefs off quickly, leaving them to fall to the floor. This time, when Lan Zhan leans back in to kiss Wei Ying, it feels different. Though there had only been a scant portion of skin left to uncover of both of them, now their total nudity made everything amplify. Wei Ying’s cock was smaller than his, he noticed when he looked down between them, and when he thrust his hips forward to press them together he could see the way his own precome smeared across Wei Ying’s length. There was something primal about it that made him want to growl, pleased with the way he’d marked his territory. 

“I brought lube,” Wei Ying pants. His eyes are glossy, like he’s on the verge of crying out of desperation, and Lan Zhan thinks he’s gorgeous for it. “I have condoms, too, but — I want it so bad, and if you’re clean, and I am too, I mean, I’ve never even — I want your big dick inside of me, er-gege, can you do that for me?” Wei Ying is babbling, and it’s the most amazing set of incomplete sentences Lan Zhan has ever heard. “I want you to be inside of me, I can’t think of anything else since you kissed me earlier. Want you to force me to take it even if I cry and beg —”

Lan Zhan cuts him off with another kiss, surging forward powerfully. He barely contains the moan that threatens to crawl its way out of his throat, a low rumbling surging forward instead. He doesn’t think he can remember a single thing in his life that he’s ever wanted as much as he wants Wei Ying right now. It’s slightly mind boggling just how much this teasing, shameless, mildly arrogant man has taken over Lan Zhan’s desires, has occupied his thoughts for so many years, has starred in all of his fantasies. 

Wei Ying kisses back with the same enthusiasm, because it seems he can’t get enough of Lan Zhan either, funnily enough, for all that Lan Zhan worried what their interactions of the past meant. Perhaps, he realises at perhaps not the most convenient time, he hadn’t been sure of Wei Ying’s motives or what drove him to do and say the things he had in the past. Perhaps it was his own way of coping with a crush. 

“Er-gege, Zhan-er, in the bag I brought —” Wei Ying starts, stuttering out the words from how enthusiastic Lan Zhan is kissing and biting. “The lube — need you inside of me so badly, Lan Zhan, need you to take me apart with your massive dick. Can you do that for me, er-gege, can you make me need you to hold me up tomorrow because I can’t walk or sit without your help?”

Lan Zhan moves as fast as his body allows him too which is, truthfully, slower than he would have liked. Not because he himself is slow, but rather because Wei Ying whines so prettily every time that he tries to move away to go retrieve the lube from his bag. It’s difficult to be frustrated with the situation, though, and Lan Zhan isn’t complaining, frankly. 

He looks back at Wei Ying when they do finally detangle and he gets up from the bed to grab the lube. He looks messy in the best way already — pink in the cheeks, ponytail in disarray, cock hard and leaking against his tummy, his navel piercing commanding Lan Zhan’s attention. The best part is the hungry look in his eyes as they roam over Lan Zhan’s body, over his strong arms and toned thighs. 

“You are staring,” Lan Zhan says, voice deep and melodic as he speaks. The lust that colours his voice is undeniable, thick like honey as the words drip from his mouth. 

“Am I not allowed to appreciate such a specimen?” Wei Ying asks, quirking an eyebrow and shamelessly letting his gaze rest where Lan Zhan’s thick erection stands proud. “How did you get such a nice body, Lan er-gege? You’re so well built, and so big, and even your ass is great. You should be a model, instead of hiding under all those clothes. Actually — no, don’t do that. I don’t want to share.” The look in Wei Ying’s eyes is possessive, hungry and unforgiving. It makes Lan Zhan flush down his neck. 

Wei Ying doesn’t want to share, Lan Zhan thinks a little mindlessly, a little crazily. They’ve confirmed nothing, Lan Zhan has no idea, ultimately, what their relationship is or where they will take it next, but he doesn’t need anything like that right now — he has confirmation that Wei Ying wants to keep him to himself in some capacity. 

Lan Zhan slots their mouths together once more as soon as he gets back to the bed, letting the bottle of lube drop to the mattress while he occupies himself with plundering his tongue into Wei Ying’s mouth unrepentantly. He’s almost dizzy with the intensity — an intensity that hasn’t changed at all, still just as thrilling as the first time they’d kissed. He’d expected perhaps that he would habituate himself at least a little bit to the way Wei Ying melted under him, but the butterflies and fireworks haven’t stopped, over a year since that first kiss he’d stolen from Wei Ying. The electricity running through his veins is even more intense if anything, simply from having Wei Ying naked and underneath him. 

Lan Zhan can’t keep his hips from thrusting down into Wei Ying, grinding their hard lengths together. Wei Ying moans with each little move, panting and begging for more underneath him with uncontrollable, loud, little noises. He returns each one of Lan Zhan’s thrusts with his own movements, like his body is hungry for everything Lan Zhan can give him and more. Lan Zhan swallows down every noise like a man starved, wanting to taste everything on Wei Ying’s lips. 

It doesn’t take long before it’s not enough, the two of them equally needing more. “Er-gege,” Wei Ying pants out. “You need to —” he starts before immediately stopping, much too distracted by the way Lan Zhan started threading his fingers into his hair, pulling just the lightest bit. Lan Zhan is so hard he thinks he’s going to pass out, and his cock throbs with the need to be touched. He imagines that Wei Ying feels much the same. 

“Wei Ying,” he mumbles, just because he can, because Wei Ying’s name feels good in his lips, feels almost as good as the man himself beneath him. “Wei Ying,” he says again, lowering his mouth to bite harshly into the side of Wei Ying’s neck. 

“Lan Zhan! You bite like a hound — be gentle with your virginal Wei Ying, er-gege, you need to touch me and give me what I want.” He squirms under Lan Zhan’s touch, shuddering through the waves of pleasure. Lan Zhan bites his way down Wei Ying’s chest, sucking and biting his nipples until they’re both red and tender to the touch. He bites Wei Ying’s stomach, sucking on the taut skin until a bruise begins to form. The purpling of the love bite looks pretty next to the navel ring, Lan Zhan thinks. 

Wei Ying is impatient as Lan Zhan squeezes lube onto his fingers. He wriggles incessantly, as if he can goad Lan Zhan into moving faster if he acts annoying. It doesn’t work, but Lan Zhan goes as fast as he can anyway, because the thought of being inside of Wei Ying is the most phenomenal thought he’s ever had. 

Wei Ying holds his own legs up, thighs pressed to his chest, to present his hole. He’s flushed, sweat droplets clinging to his forehead, and his hair is so tousled it creates mesmerizing curls against the white sheets of the bed. Lan Zhan’s ears burn hotly at the way Wei Ying looks, his hole so smooth and furled tightly, untouched. He can barely hold himself back — he’s not even sure what he wants: to bury his face in and feast once more, or force his cock in with no preparation, ruin Wei Ying’s hole for his own pleasure. 

“Do you like what you see, Lan er-gege?” Wei Ying teases, puckering his hole. Lan Zhan stares at the flexing muscle like he’s being hypnotized. “Do you want to fuck me, Lan Zhan? Want to put your fingers and your big cock inside of me? Want to stretch me out until I cry and I can’t sit anymore? I think you should just fuck me, force your way inside so the first thing I take is your cock — ah! Cold, er-gege.”

The exaggerated pout on Wei Ying’s face does nothing to deter Lan Zhan from pumping his finger in a few times now that he’s finally breached Wei Ying’s rim. It’s also obviously not serious, not with the way that Wei Ying immediately tries to throw his hips back to get him to move his finger faster. It’s impossible in his position, but Wei Ying’s body is nothing if not determined to maximise his pleasure. He’s so damn tight, Lan Zhan thinks — even just one finger pulls on his rim, the clutch of his body so strong that Lan Zhan already shudders at the thought of having his cock squeezed the same way. He’s going to ruin Wei Ying. It might be the best thing he’s ever done in his life. 

He must not have noticed his fingers speeding up while lost in thought, but Wei Ying reminds him of it almost immediately. “Lan Zhan, er-gege, be gentle with me,” he whines, “It’s not wet enough and you’re being so rough.” Lan Zhan looks down between Wei Ying’s legs to watch his hole — it does look dry the slightest bit, but squeezing more lube out seems like too much effort. Instead, Lan Zhan spits directly on Wei Ying’s hole, watching it slip between his cheeks. Wei Ying lets out an absolutely scandalised gasp, but he pushes back on Lan Zhan’s finger even more enthusiastically. “More,” he gasps, eyes clenching. 

“Already?” Lan Zhan asks slightly cruelly. He can’t help that he wants to be a little mean to Wei Ying — there’s something deep inside of him that just wants to bully Wei Ying as much as he’s been teased all these years. It’s what they both deserve. He moves his finger harshly, slamming into Wei Ying’s hole with no niceness left in him. “You’re tight, do you think you can take it?” 

“Don’t bully me,” Wei Ying wails. One of his thighs slips from his grip, and he immediately uses it for leverage against the mattress, fucking himself on Lan Zhan’s finger with proper pressure. Lan Zhan takes the initiative to shove a second finger inside of Wei Ying, the slide way too dry for a virgin, but Wei Ying doesn’t stop him, only gasps louder and clenches tighter. His body speaks for him, the clutch of it unforgiving and desperate for more, and Lan Zhan can’t believe just how perfect Wei Ying is, made to be fucked and desperate for it. 

With his free hand, Lan Zhan grips the still-bent thigh Wei Ying has against his chest, then he leans down and takes just the head of Wei Ying’s leaking cock between his lips. Wei Ying lets out a wail that’s so loud, so obvious that he’s being fucked, that Lan Zhan prays internally that the sound proofing is as good as his brother has faith in. He’s not sure that he’s ready to look Lan Huan in the eye if he knows that his older brother is fully aware of just how loud Wei Ying apparently is in bed. 

He dips his tongue around the crown of Wei Ying’s cock, slurping up the precome beading at the tip, as his fingers speed up. Wei Ying arches fully off the bed, his back a bridge. It’s beyond sexy, and Lan Zhan can’t keep his eyes from staring up at Wei Ying from his vantage point. 

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan — I can’t — I’m so close, please, er-gege, you have to —” Wei Ying babbles, his head thrashing against the pillow and making his hair even messier. He turns his head as if to bury his noises in the pillow, but it’s too late. Lan Zhan’s fingers find his prostate, and Lan Zhan feels the way that Wei Ying tightens around his fingers, feels the tightening of his balls, and then Wei Ying is coming. It lands on Lan Zhan’s tongue, salty and bitter, but so good just because it’s Wei Ying, Wei Ying’s pleasure and the proof of it that he can choose what to do with. Lan Zhan has never been high in his life, but he imagines that it must feel something like this. 

“You need to kiss me, Lan Zhan. It’s a crime if you don’t come up here and kiss me,” Wei Ying is saying, tugging with both hands on Lan Zhan’s hair and shoulders. He hadn’t even realised that Wei Ying had let go of his other leg, but he doesn’t pay it much attention as he obliges. He pushes his come-covered tongue into Wei Ying’s mouth almost immediately as he does, and Wei Ying makes a noise — wrecked and whimpering — at the feeling of his own release being more or less spit into his own mouth. Lan Zhan has to hold back from immediately thrusting his cock into Wei Ying’s under-prepared hole at the sight of him with his mouth open, tongue playing with his own come. 

Wei Ying rolls his hips, grinding on the fingers Lan Zhan still has inside of him as he swallows down his come loudly. Lan Zhan can’t help but immediately thrust another finger inside of him, dryness be damned. His fingers move with no finesse, messy and urgent with the desperate way he wants to get inside of Wei Ying. He notes, with an internal satisfaction that he will never divulge, that Wei Ying is still hard, just one release not enough to satiate him. It makes Lan Zhan wonder how many times he can make Wei Ying come, in one session or in one day. He wonders how much Wei Ying will cry while he has a dry orgasm, if his body will shake and tremble while Lan Zhan fucks him for hours straight. He has to grip himself by the base of his cock to put off his own orgasm at the thought. 

“Need your big dick, Lan Zhan, are you finally going to give it to me?” Wei Ying whines. “I’m ready, I can take it, you have to give it to me. You’re going to make me crazy if you don’t spread my legs and fuck me.”

Lan Zhan pulls his fingers out — too dry, cold now that they’re not in the feverishly hot clutch of Wei Ying’s ass. Wei Ying whines loudly at the loss, though it doesn’t last long. Lan Zhan works a squeeze of lube over his cock as quickly as he can, shuddering at the chilliness of the liquid, and is leaning over Wei Ying’s body only moments later. He holds his cock at the base, the head pressing against Wei Ying’s hole. It’s the most incredible thing he thinks he’s ever experienced, with Wei Ying’s hole clenches and unclenches in little kisses against his tip. He’s never going to forget this moment for the rest of his days. 

Lan Zhan has never felt so tempted by someone in his life. Wei Ying is everything he’s ever wanted, so good and perfect beneath him. So responsive, so eager to be touched, that Lan Zhan can’t help but lean forward to close the gap between their mouths, letting go of his cock to be able to hold himself up properly. He can feel the way his length rubs hotly against Wei Ying’s inner thighs, the head nudging against his balls. He feels sticky with lube, so desperate to be inside of Wei Ying that he almost can’t breathe, but there’s something so nice about just being able to kiss Wei Ying lovingly at the same time. 

They kiss for a length of time that Lan Zhan can’t properly estimate — it might be two minutes or twenty, but he doesn’t really care either way. So long as he’s touching some part of Wei Ying he’s taking it as an absolute win. 

“In me, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whines against his lips, desperate and pitchy in a way that should be annoying but only makes Lan Zhan more eager to entirely ruin Wei Ying’s ability to speak. Lan Zhan squeezes an arm between their bodies again to steady his cock, and Wei Ying wraps his legs around his hips until they’re snugly pressed together.

Lan Zhan presses the head of his cock to Wei Ying’s entrance again, and tucks his head into Wei Ying’s neck to place wet, slick kisses to his neck while he presses in. Wei Ying’s fingers grip his shoulders tightly, the short, blunt nails digging in and surely leaving crescent-moon shapes in his skin. 

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying is repeating, over and over like there are no other words in his brain, like he’s lost all ability to say anything else. If nothing else, it greatly flatters Lan Zhan’s ego, and he can’t help but bite down on Wei Ying’s skin to leave a large bite mark into the crook of his neck. When he loses his patience and just thrusts in as much of his cock as he can in one go, Wei Ying throws his head back and lets out a full-throated noise, a cross between a moan and a shriek. His nails scratch wildly down Lan Zhan’s back, surely leaving red tracks in their wake as Wei Ying scrambles for purchase against the ferocity of Lan Zhan’s thrusts. It takes a few thrusts to fit his whole cock in, hips pressed to the plush swell of Wei Ying’s ass, but he bottoms out eventually. 

“Oh, fuck,” Wei Ying says, no longer bothering to pretend like he can even form coherent thoughts and sentences. Lan Zhan smiles against Wei Ying’s neck, hidden and secret, as he tries to catch his own breath. It’s a lot, he can’t lie. Wei Ying is so tight, so perfect on the inside, warm and just wet enough and squeezing his cock in the best way. He almost can’t believe it, is almost tempted to pinch himself just to prove to himself that it’s real. He’s inside of Wei Ying. Finally. 

It feels like a homecoming. 

He can’t stop his hips from moving, he realises a moment later, all rational thought lost to his baser instincts. “Wei Ying,” he mumbles, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s been raised up until this very moment to be well-spoken, to choose the right words at the right time, but he realises that there will never be the words to capture the depth of his feeling, the depth of how deeply he enjoys Wei Ying’s company, his infatuation, the way he wants to do this everyday for the rest of his days, that he never wants to let Wei Ying walk away again. “Wei Ying,” he repeats, hoping that everything he can’t say is said in his tone.

“Er-gege, does it feel good inside me? You need to fuck me properly,” Wei Ying says. His breaths are laboured, his words choppy like he’s doing an intense workout and is out of breath from it. “I like you so much, Lan Zhan, you need to make me yours. You need to fuck me until I can’t breathe anymore,” he continues, and that is definitely a task that Lan Zhan feels up for. Despite his exhaustion at being awake well beyond his usual bedtime, he feels more energised than ever before. 

He pulls back only to thrust in sharply, effectively shutting Wei Ying up for all of a few seconds. “You’re so harsh, Lan Zhan, you need to be gentle. How can you fuck someone like this, so vigorous with my sensitive body? You’re lucky you’re so pretty, Lan Zhan, only you’re allowed to fuck me like this.” Wei Ying’s eyes are rolling back, his legs tightening around Lan Zhan’s waist, and Lan Zhan says nothing, establishing a punishing pace. He feels Wei Ying shiver beneath him, the legs that had been wound tightly around him falling apart, spreading wide open as if to invite Lan Zhan in deeper. 

“Deeper, Lan Zhan, need to feel you inside me deeper,” Wei Ying babbles, and Lan Zhan can do nothing but acquiesce, thrusting harshly inside of Wei Ying with as much force as he can manage. His movements are short and small, but with his whole body behind each move he has Wei Ying making little lilting noises with each one. “Lan Zhan, it’s so much — I need it as deep as you can go, need you to come inside me and fill me up, make me yours.”

Wei Ying has tears gathering in his eyes, making him look even more pitiful and wrecked. Lan Zhan thinks he was made to be fucked like this, nearly goes feral with it. He draws his hips back again, thrusting forward until it winds Wei Ying, knocking all of the air out of his lungs. He doesn’t stop, either — he continues with the harsh pace, reducing Wei Ying to a trembling mess, scratching harshly against Lan Zhan’s back for some semblance of control. “You reap what you sow, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan nearly growls into his neck before leaning his weight on his elbows on either side of Wei Ying’s head so that he can observe better. He can faintly hear the creaking of the huanghuali bed frame and hopes a little ludicrously that it’s not an antique just in case they break it. 

He hears his own heartbeat racing in his ears, and wonders what Wei Ying is seeing, if he looks as wild and sexed-out as Wei Ying does. He wonders if the scratches Wei Ying is leaving all over him will swell and show on his skin still when the morning comes. He hopes they do.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying pants. Lan Zhan can feel the way his cock is clenched tighter in the clutch of Wei Ying’s hole and he almost loses all sense of humanity, wanting nothing more than to bite into Wei Ying’s neck and tear him apart like an animal. He thinks he should be afraid of his desires in some capacity, but his heart tells him that Wei Ying would probably like it, too. “You like me back, right?” Wei Ying asks.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hums. It’s the truth — he does like Wei Ying, fancies him so much that he’s gone against his strict upbringing just to be able to kiss him, touch him.

“You should have fucked me sooner,” Wei Ying whines into his ear, mouth wet and words sticky. “You should have taken advantage of me, dragged me away from a party and pinned me to the floor like you have me pinned now. You should have fucked me until I cried, made me take it until I promised to be yours. I would have let you, you know? Gege, er-gege, you’re — ah!”

Lan Zhan can’t help the pace of his thrusts, Wei Ying’s words driving him truly insane. He moves back up, grabbing Wei Ying’s spread thighs to toss one over his shoulder. Wei Ying throws his head back and lets out a loud noise, one that sounds barely human, and Lan Zhan looks between their bodies to watch his cock slide almost fully out before forcing it back in. Wei Ying is still so tight, still clinging to him like his body will fall apart if Lan Zhan isn’t inside of him. 

Wei Ying feels unbelievable like this, and Lan Zhan has never felt so out of control with lust in his life. They’re both sweating, the drops clinging to Wei Ying’s hair and making it messy and wet, moisture clinging to the crook of Wei Ying’s knee where it’s pressed into his chest.. He can feel his own lower back dripping with sweat, and it should be gross but it’s amazing. Even the stickiness of Wei Ying’s skin under his hands is perfect, the smell of sex in the room intoxicating, the experience holistically everything that he’s ever wanted. 

Wei Ying shivers underneath him again, using his free leg to push himself harder on Lan Zhan’s cock. “Need more, er-gege, need it deeper, please,” he begs, sounding on the verge of tears. Lan Zhan dips his hands down and around to grab at Wei Ying’s ass, squeezing the fat between his fingers while he fucks in deeply, grinding hard inside of Wei Ying’s body. “Don’t stop, don’t stop — please, Lan Zhan.” 

Lan Zhan doesn’t stop, can’t stop, though he deliberately continues not to touch Wei Ying’s red, dripping wet cock. The head is soaking wet with precome, a deep colour that looks almost painful, the foreskin pulled back to show off Wei Ying’s desire shamelessly. He wants to watch Wei Ying to come untouched again, to watch him paint his own belly with come and dirty his piercing with it. 

“Lan Zhan, go deeper. Can you?” 

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, somewhat regretfully, as he shakes his head no. He wishes he could, would get his whole body inside of Wei Ying if he could. 

“Let me on top, gege,” Wei Ying says. “Let me —”

It takes a bit of manoeuvring to get Lan Zhan on his back, Wei Ying cradled in his lap. He has to pull out, causing Wei Ying to whine needily, but slipping back inside is blissful, like rising to a higher level of living, entering a state of euphoria. Wei Ying sits on his cock perfectly, sliding down the length of it like he’s done so a thousand times, and Lan Zhan would feel a little jealous if Wei Ying hadn’t been so clear that this is his first time, and Lan Zhan is the only person who’s felt Wei Ying inside like this. He’s smug as he holds onto Wei Ying’s hips, listening to him make loud and unabashed moans as he sits himself on Lan Zhan’s cock. 

He didn’t think that it could get any better, but with Wei Ying’s weight and gravity working together, he does manage to get himself deeper. Wei Ying’s head is thrown back, the numerous bites and bruises shining with sweat. His piercing looks so pretty, and when Lan Zhan presses his thumb over it, he can feel the length of his own cock pressing into Wei Ying’s body through his skin. It makes him feel insane. 

Wei Ying’s pace starts slowly, pulling off only a centimetre or two before sitting back down, grinding his hips and moaning when Lan Zhan’s cock puts pressure on the right spot. It’s nice, but not enough, and Lan Zhan rectifies the situation by grabbing Wei Ying’s ass, holding him while meeting his thrusts. Wei Ying wails, steadying his palms on Lan Zhan’s chest while he starts to bounce with bigger motions.

Lan Zhan watches, when Wei Ying finally gets his rhythm going, that he reaches for his cock. Wei Ying almost makes contact, too, except Lan Zhan slaps away his hand. “No,” he orders, voice rough and deep. “Just this.” 

It’s enough for Wei Ying. He throws his head back, eyes clenched shut, his moans loud and reverberating in his chest as he comes between them. He grinds on Lan Zhan’s cock in small motions all the while, drawing out his orgasm as he makes a mess of the two of them. Come lands on both their bellies, up Lan Zhan’s chest. It’s the best thing he’s ever felt, with Wei Ying’s ass clenching sporadically around his cock. 

Wei Ying can barely move by the time he comes down from his orgasm, his cock softening and half hard on Lan Zhan’s stomach. “Come on, er-gege, fuck me, come inside of me,” he says, almost slurring, as he slumps onto Lan Zhan’s chest, smearing himself with his come. He mouths along Lan Zhan’s clavicle, his neck, his ears, mumbling all the while, “Give it to me, er-gege, come inside your Wei Ying, I need it so badly.” 

It doesn’t take Lan Zhan long, just a few more thrusts with Wei Ying clenching down on his cock at random, before he comes. He lets out a little noise as he comes, the warmth of his seed spilling deep inside of Wei Ying’s body. He trembles through it while Wei Ying presses kisses and mumbles sweet nothings, and he’s never felt better in his life. 

When Lan Zhan moves, jostling Wei Ying, he whines. “Stay with me. I like having you inside me,” he whispers piteously, like he’s embarrassed to admit it out loud. 

“We must clean up,” Lan Zhan says gently, using one of his hands to play with Wei Ying’s hair that has fallen entirely out of his ponytail.

“If we shower together, I’m just going to beg you to fuck me again, and we both need to sleep,” Wei Ying says bluntly, sticking his face into Lan Zhan’s neck and breathing deeply. 

“We must be mindful of our bodies. At least let me wipe up the mess.”

Wei Ying whines again when Lan Zhan rolls them over, though he doesn’t protest being manipulated into position on the bed. Lan Zhan is quick to run to the lavatory, wetting a cloth with warm water to clean himself and Wei Ying up before tucking them both into bed. 

Lan Zhan doesn’t usually wake to an alarm, though the days after one of Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue’s fundraisers is an exception. He does his best to mitigate the damage of staying up way too late through waking up early the mornings that follow a late night, and this time is no different.

What is different, though, is the body that he feels clinging to him. There’s hair tickling his nose, an arm heavy over his chest and a bent leg heavy across his pelvis. He’s warmer than usual, and the way Wei Ying is clinging to him is nothing short of furnace-like. Lan Zhan doesn’t think he’s ever slept better, doesn’t ever really want to move. What a life that would be — no responsibilities, no obligations, just Wei Ying clinging to him like the human version of a koala. 

He does his best to be gentle with Wei Ying, moving him gently so that he can start getting up. He has no idea what Wei Ying’s sleep schedule is like, and for all he knows Wei Ying will want to sleep for another few hours. He presses a kiss to the top of Wei Ying’s head before whispering, “Wei Ying, I need you to move, please.” 

“No you don’t,” Wei Ying mumbles. It should be kind of gross, Lan Zhan realises, as he finally notices the way that Wei Ying is drooling on his chest, but it’s only endearing. It’s beyond cute, he thinks, and he can’t help but press more kisses to Wei Ying’s head. 

“I have to go see my brother,” he says, justifying himself. It doesn’t matter much, because Wei Ying doesn’t let go, doesn’t stop clinging to him. He sighs, but holds Wei Ying against him, almost rolling him entirely on top of his body so that he can run his fingers over Wei Ying’s back, tickling him. Wei Ying sighs into it, letting his body sag weightlessly against Lan Zhan’s own. 

Lan Zhan can see the state of disarray of the bedroom. There are clothes strewn over the floor, Wei Ying’s bag thrown haphazardly to the wayside where he’d dropped it upon arriving yesterday — this morning? — and the bottle of lube innocently standing on the bedside table. He can’t help but run a tickling hand down Wei Ying’s back, pulling apart his cheeks just the slightest bit so that he can run a finger over the puffy, sensitive rim. He feels his cock throb at the way that Wei Ying is still slightly tacky and wet from their lovemaking before they’d slept. 

“Lan Zhan, I’m so fucking sensitive, er-gege,” Wei Ying whines into his neck, flinching away from the creeping fingers. “You fucked me so thoroughly, I’m not going to be able to sit for a week. How are you going to make it up to your Wei Ying?” 

“I can get breakfast and bring it up to the room,” Lan Zhan says quietly, his voice a deep hum. He’s not usually one to be so maudlin, but he can’t help but think that this is exactly the kind of romance that he wants — all encompassing, the heat of their bodies shared while the birds sing just outside the windows that are still closed tight. He wishes he’d opened one of the windows before sleeping just so that the moment could be made even more picturesque with a cool breeze to pinken their faces. 

It takes many gentle kisses to Wei Ying’s face, more tickles of fingers up and down his spine, and the promise of bringing something spicy before Lan Zhan is finally released from Wei Ying’s clutches. It’s in the middle of dressing that Wei Ying finally speaks again.

“I really like you, er-gege,” he says. His face is serious and his tone earnest, and Lan Zhan feels his heart jump into his throat. He’d hoped and prayed that this wasn’t a one time thing, and he hadn’t been sure how to tell Wei Ying his feelings, but it looks like he won’t even have to be the first to confess. “I think I might be obsessed with you, and I want to spend all of my time with you. I’m glad we did this, Lan Zhan, I don’t want it to be just once —”

He doesn’t finish whatever he’s trying to say. Lan Zhan’s arms wrap around him tightly, holding their bodies together so close that Wei Ying gasps in shock. 

“Fancy you, want you, need you,” Lan Zhan whispers back, trying his best to pour all of his feelings into his words. “Wei Ying, I…”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers back. His smile is big, taking up most of his face, and so, so pretty that Lan Zhan feels like he might pass out from how fast his heart is beating at the sight of him. Wei Ying continues, “Do you think we can postpone breakfast for, say, another hour?” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Lan Zhan wastes no time jumping in with a kiss.

“You know, I work remotely, but I was looking to establish a new office,” Wei Ying says casually, poking around his bowl with his chopsticks. Contrary to his previous statements, he is sitting just fine, even if he did request a cushion to sit on. Lan Huan and Nie Huaisang, who had joined them for breakfast, had said nothing at the request, though the looks that they both shared will haunt Lan Zhan for the rest of his days. They’re both gone now, leaving just Lan Zhan to sip at his tea, and Wei Ying to finish up with what he lovingly called second breakfast.

“The thing is,” Wei Ying continues, talking with sauce still clinging to the corners of his mouth in a way that is so cute that Lan Zhan doesn’t bother to chide him or clean him up. “With my jiejie moving to be with the Peacock and Jiang Cheng being kind of an asshole and too busy taking over the family company, I don’t really have any reason to stay in the area.” 

Lan Zhan’s heart speeds up in his chest. He has avoided thinking of it — he knows, from previous conversations and overhearing others talking about Wei Ying, that he isn’t based in Shanghai the same way that Lan Zhan is. He’s almost afraid to ask what Wei Ying is getting at. 

“I like it here, in Shanghai,” Wei Ying says. Lan Zhan’s heart beats even faster, enough so that he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. “I’d need to go home to pack up my things and if I want to establish myself here I might be a mess for a while,” he continues, “But if you’ll have me, I want to stay. I want…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Lan Zhan throws himself at Wei Ying, holding him, smiling, to press a deep kiss to his mouth. “I want you to stay,” he says. 

Wei Ying laughs loudly, overjoyed at the show of emotion on Lan Zhan’s usually flat affect. “Careful with that smile of yours, Lan er-gege, you’re going to make a real murder victim in this mansion, yet!”

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer, refrains from rolling his eyes at Wei Ying’s theatrics, and presses another kiss into Wei Ying’s lips.